A Visit to Innsbruck's Hofkirche

Innsbruck's Hofkirche

The courtyard on a lovely day!

Some people are happy enough having one tomb. Not Kaiser Max! No, he needs one for everyday use, and one for Sunday best! 

I jest. The plan was for his ornate tomb to be housed in the St.-Georg-Kapelle in Wiener Neustadt. He supervised the design himself. But it eventually became clear that the chapel just wasn't suitable for a monument of that scope. 

So, after his death, his grandson Ferdinand saw to it that Maximilian's plans were realized. He had a new church built in Innsbruck just for that purpose: the Hofkirche. 

Have you ever been in a cathedral looking for a plaque or memorial of some kind, have no idea where to look, and are worried that you'll miss it?

There is NO chance you'll miss Max's cenotaph. It's right in the center of the nave, for one thing. Oh, and it's surrounded by 28 larger-than-life bronze statues. 

Some of which are quite fierce indeed:

I was sure I'd have nightmares
about this guy.

I've been reading about these people for so long, it was like being at a party (ok, a very quiet party) with a bunch of acquaintances.

Oh look, it's Mary of Burgundy!

And Philip the Good! 

Maximilian himself is depicted kneeling on top of the marble tomb.

The tomb is decorated with astonishingly detailed marble reliefs that show scenes from some of Max's greatest triumphs:

The Hofkirche also boasts a superb Renaissance organ, completed in 1560 by Jörg Ebert:

(I was hoping to HEAR it, but I didn't even get to SEE it!)

All in all, Maximilian's eternal honor guard was an astounding sight, the kind to give you chills (in a good way!) 

Leb, waiß nit wie lang 

und stürb, waiß nit wann 

mueß faren, waiß nit wohin 

mich wundert, das ich so frelich bin.

Leibspruch, or favorite saying of Kaiser Max, written in calligraphy on a wall at Schloss Tratzberg. Loosely translated:

I will live, I don't know how long

I must die, I don't know when

I must go, I know not where

I wonder why I'm so happy.

Adventures in Austria, Part II

After three lovely days on the Rennweg in Vienna with Olga and David, I departed for Innsbruck! That four-hour train ride was a magical experience I will never forget. Every 20 minutes the scenery got more dramatic! Here are just a few of the pictures I took from the train: 

When we were about 10 minutes outside of Innsbruck, we went through a long tunnel. When we emerged, there they were: the highest, snowiest mountains I've ever seen, right above my head! 

You must forgive my enthusiasm. I grew up in southeastern Michigan, where the highest peak was named Mt. Trashmore. Yes, you guessed it. A mountain of garbage.

Mouth still agape, I stowed my luggage in a locker in the train station and headed to the center of town, intent upon getting a glimpse of the Goldenes Dachl before meeting my Air B&B host. It was an easy 10 minute walk from the station.

The “Golden Roof” is the symbol of Innsbruck. The shiny tiles are not actually gold, but copper. It was commissioned by Kaiser Max to celebrate his marriage to Bianca Maria Sforza, and was completed in 1500. The emperor and his retinue used to watch tournaments and other spectacles from the loge.

MY spectacle as I admired the Golden Roof over a nice cool beer (it was a warm day!) included people watching and of course, gawping at the Alps. 

I just tilted my camera up from the Golden Roof
to take this pic! 

My Air B&B host was named Martin, a lifelong Innsbrucker. The apartment was nicely appointed, comfortable, and very conveniently located. Here's the view I woke up to each morning.

As soon as I told Martin the purpose of my visit to Innsbruck (writing a book about Kaiser Max) he immediately launched into one of the stories about him that still live on in the folk history of the Tyrol: Kaiser Max and the Martinswand.

Kaiser Max loved to hunt ibex and chamois in the mountains around Innsbruck. In fact, he pioneered a new way of hunting these creatures: climbing up the mountainside with long, pointy sticks, and spearing them when they were cornered.

Well, one day, Max (catlike) climbed up so high he couldn't get down again. Two days and two nights he was stuck in a cave up on the Martinswand, and on the third day he was rescued, thanks to divine intervention.

Max was a very brave man. He fought actively in numerous battles, and thought nothing of leaping from his horse in the thick of it to save a fallen comrade. By all accounts, his only fear was being forgotten after his death. That's why he spent so much time and energy on his Gedächtnis (memorial).

I kept running into examples of his 'living memory' during my time in Innsbruck. Hearing the Martinswand story. Seeing his Golden Roof. Encountering groups of schoolchildren and tourists in museums and hearing the teachers/ tour guides tell stories about Max. Seeing the armory he built. 

Armory now

Armory then! Painting by Jörg Kölderer

But without a doubt, the most awe-inspiring piece of Max's memorial is his cenotaph in the Hofkirche.

Come back next time to read about that!  In the meantime, here are some more random pictures:

Seen underneath the overhang at the Golden Roof
Sculptors will have their little jokes.

Max and the laydeez.
Bronze relief (1950) seen on random street. 

Selfie at Schloss Ambras.
The proximity of the centaur butt was an accident. 

View at Schloss Ambras.

Austrian Adventures, Part 1

Now that the beans are out of the bag, and the cats have been spilled, or something, (English is such a difficult language) I'd like to share some of my adventures in Austria with you!

(See “Buxtehude und der Kaiser”, in case you missed the announcement)

My friends Olga and David Wise (the same lovely people who taught Jim and me German!) were over here on a visit, and invited me to stay with them in Vienna for a few days. Given the new direction of my research, I didn't hesitate long before saying yes!

I was very interested in seeing Dürer's final portrait of Maximilian, which dates from 1519. It may have been painted posthumously from sketches he made six months prior.

Also Bernhard Strigel's family group, consisting of Maximilian, his son Philip the Handsome, his first wife Mary of Burgundy (who were both deceased when this was painted, btw!),  and his grandsons Ferdinand and Charles.

I think it's interesting that Max is embracing Ferdinand, and not his heir presumptive, Charles (later Emperor Charles V). But then again, Ferdinand was the one who completed the grandest piece of Max's 'Gedächtnis' (memorial): the breathtaking cenotaph in Innsbruck's Hofkirche. Stay tuned for more about that!

Both of those paintings are housed in Vienna's Kunsthistorisches Museum. I also saw a wonderful stag hunting scene by Lucas Cranach the Elder which depicts Max front and center, and Frederick the Wise too! Another stunner was a painting that Maximilian commissioned from Leonhard Beck: “St. George and the dragon”, which is emblematic of Max's ideals of chivalry. We see St. George slaying the dragon with a noble lady looking on, and in the midground, we see the 'after' scene: the lady leaving the scene with St. George following on his horse.

Maximilian identified strongly with St. George, and was depicted as that saint in several works of art. I read somewhere that if his mother, Eleanor of Portugal, had gotten her way, he would have been christened 'George'!

Another thing he identified with strongly was 'getting the girl', and I guess Leonhard Beck knew it!

Actually, the first thing I did upon arriving in Vienna was to leave it again! Weird, I know. I took a field trip down to Wiener Neustadt, located about 30 miles from Vienna. It was a terrible day for a pilgrimage: heavy drizzle, about 52 degrees F, and windy! But hey, if you're not prepared to get your feet wet for your research, you're not very invested, right? :-)

Wiener Neustadt is interesting for several reasons: first of all, it has a remarkably long history for something called “Vienna New Town”: it was founded by Richard the Lionhearted! Secondly, it has gone down in history as the place where Max first saw the light of day in 1459, and the place where he was buried in 1519.

His tomb is housed in the St. George Chapel, which is now part of the Theresian Military Academy. It was completely destroyed during World War II, and later rebuilt.

Mere mortals are allowed into the academy to view the chapel (I wrote ahead to inquire, just to be sure!) Just ask at the guardhouse, they said.

Easy enough, I thought to myself. You probably have to sign in, or leave your passport or something.

Nope.

You get a private guided tour by one of the soldiers (or cadets, I guess?)!!

Here's where I will share that I can understand German spoken by northern Germans pretty well. Southern Germans with a little more difficulty. Austrians with more difficulty still (just not used to it yet, I guess.)

I don't know where this nice young soldier came from, but I could barely understand a word he said. And we both knew it! Ha!

But he gamely recited his spiel, and I had done my homework beforehand, so I knew what I was seeing.

For example, the baptismal font where baby Max was baptized in 1459 survived the bombing (it's made of granite) and still stands in the rebuilt chapel.

At the other end of the timeline, Max left instructions that he was to be buried right in front of the altar, so that every time mass is said, the priest is standing right above him.

A dramatic soul, our Max.

The rebuilt 'Waffenwand', originally
commissioned by Emperor Friedrich III

After that interesting experience, I headed to the Wiener Neustadt City Museum, a small but nicely run facility located in a former church, St. Peter on the Sperr.

After visiting the 'Habsburg Wing', their exhibit on Wiener Neustadt during WWI and their antiquities collection in the basement (who knew that there were Celts in Austria?) I had a cup of coffee and a nice chat with the man at the desk, who was surprised to find a (somewhat) German speaking American in his museum! I told him about 'Project Max', and acquired a lovely catalogue from an exhibit they'd had about Max back in 2000.

He told me that Wiener Neustadt was heavily bombed during WWII (and suffered major civilian casualties) because a Messerschmitt airplane factory was located there. I asked whether the Dom (cathedral) had been destroyed, and it wasn't! Miraculous.

So, I headed there next, and took some pictures.

Friedrich III's insignia on the ceiling

The organist was practicing a piece that was SO familiar from my French Romantic organ music loving days, but I couldn't put my finger on it- so maddening! But afterwards it came to me: Grand Choeur Dialogue by Eugene Gigout! Which will now be linked to my memorable day in Wiener Neustadt in perpetuity!!

Here it is on YouTube if you're curious (or just want to hear it again.) :-)

Buxtehude und der Kaiser

You've heard of the saying 'changing horses in midstream'? How about 'changing horses before anyone has gotten their hooves wet'? No, cuz I just made it up.

Here's the deal: I love Buxtehude, and will always remain one of his biggest cheerleaders. But for now, the book about him is shelved. (Ha. See what I did there?)

What can I say? I've been thinking about this for over 10 years, but in purely abstract terms. In all that time, not even the ghost of an idea for a story outline about Buxtehude has occurred to me.

I feel guilty every time I pass St. Mary's, but the thing is, I've gotten a better offer.

Here's the story of how the change came about.

I've given a handful of lectures in my life, and most have them have had one thing in common: I have a great time doing the research and giving the talk, but once it's over, I'm sick of it and never want to hear about that particular subject ever again. At least for a good long while.

The lecture I gave in November 2013 at the Blanton Museum of Art in Austin about music at the court of Emperor Maximilian was different. After it was over, I kept wanting to know more. I bought and devoured a couple of books about Kaiser Max, along with more than a couple of CDs: de la Rue, Senfl, Isaac, Binchois, Brumel...

This subject kept nagging at me. I wanted more and more and more. It even insinuated itself into my dreams.

Just about a week after the lecture, I started writing about Max and his musicians. I haven't had the urge to write in years. Not like this urge. Ghost of an idea? This was a flesh-and-blood idea, with legs!

Hence my recent field trip to Vienna and Innsbruck. It was important for me to visit Maximilian's 'home turf': Wiener Neustadt, where he was born and buried; Vienna, where many of his artistic treasures are housed; and Innsbruck, by all accounts his favorite city. (And boy, is he everywhere in Innsbruck!)

Working title: The Eagle and the Songbird. In its present form, it focuses on the last two years of Kaiser Max's life (1517-1519), involving a fictional court musician who is based on a real person, and court composer Ludwig Senfl. With special appearances by Albrecht Dürer, Paul Hofhaimer, Duchess Margaret of Austria, and Martin Luther!

I have apologized profusely to Buxtehude for my sudden departure from 'The Plan'. He was very understanding. As a citizen of the Holy Roman Empire, he totally gets that when you've been summoned by the emperor, you don't tell him that you have a previous engagement.

:-)

Time goes both ways, you know?

Dieterich Buxtehude died on May 9, 1707. He was around 70 years old. In her book Dieterich Buxtehude: Organist in Lübeck, Dr. Kerala Snyder points out that his illness must have been a sudden one, since he was still making regular entries in the account books of St. Mary's up until about 2 weeks before his death. (Besides being organist, he also held the position of Werkmeister, meaning he kept the church's books.) He may have suffered a stroke, but we really don't know. He was buried within the walls of St. Mary's, where his music had resounded for nearly 40 years.

On the evening of May 9, 2014 we gathered under the great vaults at the site of his grave for a concert of his chamber music, interspersed with organ works. 

His original grave marker was destroyed during the Palm Sunday bombing of 1942, and this plaque marks the spot where he was laid to rest: 

Marienorganist Johannes Unger is a fantastic interpreter of Buxtehude's music (and I'm picky!!) so it was a true delight to hear him perform 2 of Bux's free organ works: the Praeludium in a, BuxWV 153 and the Praeludium in g, Buxwv 148, a personal favorite.

Also on the program was a work called 'Fried- und Freudenreiche Hinfahrt' (In peace and joy I now depart), BuxWV 75, which Herr Unger called one of the finest works Buxtehude left us. It was arranged for violin, viola da gamba and harpsichord. The 'Klaglied', based on the Lutheran hymn tune, is especially poignant, since Buxtehude wrote a very moving text on the death of his father Johann or Hans Buxtehude. (Yep, DB was a poet, too!) Hans was also an organist, and in his text Dieterich states that his father is now playing 'den Himmels Lustklavier', or the joyful heavenly keyboard.

It was incredibly moving to hear Buxtehude's music at his grave on the date of his death. I have an uncomfortable relationship with the idea of an afterlife, so I wasn't imagining him 'looking down from heaven' at the proceedings. Perhaps he was able to experience it right along with us.

Sound crazy? Maybe. Let me try to explain.

Lübeck creates the notion in me that history is still happening all around us. I'll give you an example. In 17^th century Lübeck there was a man named Peter Hinrich Tesdorpf, who loved how Buxtehude played the organ, and called himself DB's 'true friend and admirer'. Tesdorpf founded a wine import business in 1678, and if you walk down the Mengstrasse today, you can see it. I've bought wine there myself.

Tesdorpf's wine business goes on. Buxtehude's earthly afterlife perpetuates each time his music is played, either in live performance or via recorded media. His music is still in the walls of St. Mary's. At special moments like the concert on May 9, it's easy for me to imagine that their timelines are still unfolding, and that maybe time isn't as linear as we think it is.

Please forgive this metaphysical excursion. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog: matter-of-fact in tone, with gratuitous Lübeck pictures. ;-)

The Burgtor, one of two remaining original gates into the city.
It was built in 1444.

Lübecker Dom (Cathedral)

Mühlenteich

The towers of St. Marien, and the Rathaus

Happy Birthday, Franz Tunder!

I've never been to a 400^th birthday party before, let alone one with organ, baroque trumpets, sackbuts, cornetti and other period instruments! 

On May 8, Marienorganist Johannes Unger did his predecessors Petrus Hasse, Franz Tunder and Dieterich Buxtehude proud with his presentation of their music. Herr Unger directed Capella St. Marien, plus an excellent period instrument band and vocal soloists. There was also a special guest soloist: Dutch organist Pieter van Dijk, who played solo works by the three composers on St. Mary's Totentanz organ.

The star of the show was Franz Tunder, who was born in 1614. Poor Franz rarely gets to be the star anymore, overshadowed as he is by his more famous successor and son-in-law, the great DB. But Franz made an important contribution to Lübeck's musical history: he originated the famous Abendmusiken. It all started when Franz used to play the organ for Lübeck's wealthy merchants after work. Buxtehude took the idea and expanded it into a concert series featuring large-scale works for instruments and voices, complete with what we would now call 'corporate underwriting'! The tradition of Lübeck's Abendmusiken is still alive and well today, and we owe it all to Franz.

We heard several of his engaging cantatas, of which my absolute favorite was Hosianna dem Sohne David, which was joyous, dancelike, and even a bit martial at times. Tunder must have been a very inspiring guy, since this piece reminded me strongly of Buxtehude, especially in the interplay between the two violins, and in the more dramatic parts of the choral writing.

Speaking of Buxtehude (aren't I always??) Pieter van Dijk treated us to one of his most exuberant organ works, the Toccata in F, BuxWV 156. If you've never experienced Buxtehude's organ music, and want to know what all the fuss is about, that's a great place to start. Listening to Buxtehude's free organ works is like listening to a great story told aloud by a master storyteller. He never lets you get too comfortable; nope, he's off to the next thread before you know it!

The concert concluded with a work that must have been included in one of Bux's own Abendmusiken, the cantata Ihr lieben Christen, freut euch nun, BuxWV 51. As inundated with music as we are today, we can hardly imagine how thrilling it must have been back in the late 17^th century to hear a magnificent work like that, scored for 2 sopranos, alto, tenor, bass, choir, 3 cornetti, 2 trumpets, 3 sackbuts, 3 violins and basso continuo! Those of us who were in the audience (or listening along via the live internet broadcast of the concert) certainly got a taste of the exceptional musical life at St. Mary's, both in that century, and ours. 

PS- The sackbuts and trumpets pictured here were muted during parts of the performance. Now there's a unique sound! That effect was used to create a more intimate sound, so that one singer could be accompanied by brass instruments without being completely drowned out. 

On location in the library

Hello again from Slim in Lübeck! 

One of my first priorities upon arrival was to gain entry to the Lübeck city library. Well, anyone can gain entry, but I wanted to be able to check stuff out! So, Stretch and I first had to 'meld uns an', or register with the city. So, we spent about an hour in one of those temporal vacuums known as a bureaucratic waiting room, but I have to say that the entire process was about as smooth and painless as these things get! We obtained the necessary paper, and thence went I to the library and got my card! And here it is:

So while I was getting acquainted with the library, I noticed that they offer a free tour of the historic areas of the building on the first Wednesday of each month at 5:30, so I went and availed myself of this opportunity. We were guided by the very knowledgable Herr Schnoor, who I had met before via my membership in the Buxtehude Society.

Like most things in Lübeck, the library has a long history. In the 1520's, in the midst of his reforming, Martin Luther wrote to the city council of Lübeck to encourage them to create a place where the citizens could go to read and educate themselves. It took about 100 years, but finally the city created their 'Bibliotheca publica'.

The oldest room we saw dates from the 14^th century. It was originally a dormitory of the Katharinenkloster (monastery of St. Catherine). It is lined with shelves filled with historical volumes, plus portraits of prominent citizens of Lübeck and other important people, such as the aforementioned Martin Luther, and his emissary Bugenhagen. (Luther never visited Lübeck, but Bugenhagen did.)

Here's a picture I took in this room during my visit to Lübeck in 2012:

That's Meno Hanneken, a prominent Lübeck pastor. Buxtehude dedicated a work of learned counterpoint to his son, Meno Hanneken, Jr. A very jolly drinking song, to be precise. :-)

Herr Schnoor showed us a very interesting volume during our tour: a Bible printed in Hamburg in the 17^th century. Not only the contents were of interest, but also the manner in which one accessed the pages.

Picture your mental image of an ancient book. It's big and thick, right? With a wooden cover, and metal clasps? Exactly. But how do you open it? Well, I thought the metal clasps had something that you pressed on to release the clasping mechanism. Wrong! You thump the cover of the book with your fist in two places to release the clasps! Wow, I never saw that coming.

Funnily enough, in German, you still say 'aufschlagen' (to hit or crack open) when you talk about opening a book! Does English have an equivalent phrase? I was trying to remember. I guess we say 'crack open a book'.

Anyway, the contents of the Bible were as interesting as the manner in which it was accessed. The text was printed in German, Latin, Hebrew, and Greek! Each page had these four columns of text. It's almost miraculous to consider that each page was set by hand in moveable type!

Another interesting tidbit that I learned is that several of the oldest and most valuable volumes in the library are not kept on shelves at all, but in fire resistant cases. Even though the building is very fire resistant, in case of fire, the employees are charged with saving these two very important cases!

After the tour I scanned the shelves for a little while, and saw several 16^th century volumes, including an old and new testament translated by Erasmus, dating from 1519 and 1522!

To conclude this entry, here are a couple more gratuitous Lübeck pictures:

Here I am on my way to the library on my 'first day of school' if you will (check out the KMFA bag!):

Here's another charming street view:

And here's what I call 'Climbing Mount Dom'. The Lübecker Dom, or cathedral, is built on a steep hill. When you are standing on the bank of the Trave river, it towers over you like a small mountain. This picture was taken at the base of a steep and narrow set of stairs.

Next time: a report from the Buxtehude-Tage!

Alles gute,

Slim

PS- If you read this before 12:30 PM Central Time on May 8, you may want to know that the first concert of the Buxtehude-Tage will be broadcast live from St. Mary's, Lübeck via the Internet! Here's the link to the live feed:

http://www.fr-live.com