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April/May 1997
Trier--Germany's Oldest and "Most Splendid City"
By John Dornberg
Saint Peter, whose statue tops the ornate fountain on Trier's market square, has stood there for 400 years, but he's really a newcomer in town, for Trier is at least five times older.
In fact, it was already a city when Peter was still out fishing on the Sea of Galilee.
Most guidebooks to Germany give Trier only a page or two, if that much. Package tours to the country do not include it. And even intrepid do-it-yourself travelers who map out their
itineraries tend to pass it by. Considering its size and location, perhaps that is understandable. Snuggled between rolling vineyard-covered hills at the confluence of the Moselle, Saar, and Ruwer rivers, on the
western edge of the state of Rhineland-Palatinate and within easy walking distance of the Luxembourg border, it does seem off the beaten path. (see also GL April/May 1995)
But what a shame, for not only is it Germany's oldest city, officially chartered in 16 B.C. as "Augusta Treverorum," but it was the "Rome of the North" and, in its
heyday in the 4th century A.D., as important and splendid as Rome itself.
In his De Situ Orbis, a description of the then known world, the 1st- century Roman geographer Pomponius Mela called it "urbs opulentissima"--the most opulent city--of the
empire. It was from Trier that six Caesars, including Constantine the Great, governed their far-flung Western European realm and ruled over Britain, Gaul, and Spain.
A history and reputation like that alone make Trier worth more than just a detour. The city is a treasure trove of antiquities and stunning old architecture covering two millennia: from
Roman through Romanesque, Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque to Neoclassical.
Actually Trier's origins go farther back than its period of Roman greatness, and no one knows for certain how old it really is. To be sure, Augustus Caesar chartered it in 16 B.C., but
it had been conquered 42 years earlier by his grand-uncle Julius Caesar, and there was something worth conquering: a Celtic town dating from around 400 B.C. It is from that tribe of Celts--the Treveri--that the
Romans took the city's name, Treverorum, and the French call it Treves.
But there are legends--and excavations--suggesting that the name derives from a settlement established 2,000 years before Julius Caesar by an Assyrian prince named Trebeta. He allegedly
was the stepson of Babylonia's mythical queen Semiramis, noted for her beauty, wisdom, conquest of many lands, and for vanishing from the earth in the shape of a dove.
"I wouldn't place too much credence in that," says Hans-Albert Becker, director of Trier's Tourist Information Office. "It's probably a legend concocted by one of my
predecessors in the Middle Ages."
One early booster, Johann Polch, the cathedral clerk and head of the bakers' guild, built the 17th-century Rotes Haus (red house), one of numerous lovely old buildings surrounding the
Hauptmarkt, the main market square. It has a Latin inscription, itself three centuries old, which reads: "Trier existed 1300 years before Rome. May it enjoy eternal peace."
At any rate, by A.D. 40 Pomponius Mela was already gushing about the city, and by the late 3rd century, when Diocletian made it the capital of Gaul and the western part of the empire,
it had a population of 90,000--almost the same as today.
In the 3rd and 4th centuries Trier rivaled Alexandria and Rome as one of the richest, most affluent centers in the empire--a fact reflected in the splendor and grandeur of its buildings
and facilities.
Constantine the Great's Imperial Baths, the Kaiserthermen, with their network of hot and cold water basins, drying rooms, dining halls and forum, cover an area of more than 400,000
square feet-- large enough to accommodate four football fields. The Amphitheater, built in A.D. 100, has seating for 25,000. The Romerbrücke, a Roman bridge across the Moselle, was built nearly two millennia ago
and its ancient pillars support modern traffic today. The 2nd- century Porta Nigra--Black Gate-- some 100 feet high and 120 feet wide, is the largest and most architecturally stunning city gate ever built in
Europe and an impressive symbol of Roman might and power. Two hundred forty feet long, 94 feet wide, and 108 feet from floor to wood ceiling, the Aula Palatina, the palace and audience hall of Constantine I,
Valentian I and Gratian, is second only to the Pantheon as the largest Roman public building to have survived the centuries.
So much of the glorious past is preserved, and so much more is being dug up--you can buy Roman coins and artifacts in almost every antique shop--that Trier would take weeks to explore.
There are two shortcuts. Spend half a day or so in the Rheinisches Landesmuseum (Rhineland Provincial Museum), which abounds with antiquities, then accompany one of the English-speaking guides--the most
knowledgeable I have found anywhere in Germany--for a walking tour. The Tourist Information Office is adjacent to the Porta Nigra, in the 11th- century Simeonstift, the St. Simeon convent, now a museum whose
collections are proof that there is more to Trier than its Roman legacy.
In fact, it is one of the wellsprings of Christianity and the site of Rome's acceptance of Christianity as the state religion, due to the conversion of both Constantine the Great and
his mother, St. Helena. Not only was St. Ambrose born there in 340, but it is the repository of a very sacred relic--the Holy Shroud, believed to have been worn by Jesus on his way to the Cross. It was brought
to Trier by Helena from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and is enshrined in the Petersdom, St. Peter's Cathedral. It is shown only every 30 years or so, the last time in 1996.
Portions of this magnificent Romanesque and Gothic cathedral were actually Helena's personal palace, and other sections were part of a basilica begun by Constantine in 326. The
Petersdom is adjoined by the Liebfrauenkirche, the Church of Our Lady, built on 4th-century foundations, completed in 1260 and considered the second-oldest Gothic building in Germany. Other must-see churches are
the 12th- century Basilica of St. Matthew; St. Maximus, part of a former Benedictine monastery; and St. Gangolf's, the 15th-century parish church near the Hauptmarkt.
Trier's greatest epoch lasted until 395, when the Roman state was formally divided into its eastern and western empires, a division that heralded the fall of Rome itself and invasions
by Germanic tribes. The Franks conquered and destroyed much of Trier. Only its archdiocese survived, preserving some culture in a city that had become a barbarian encampment. It enjoyed a revival during
Charlemagne's reign, but was raided and destroyed once more by the Normans in 882. Its rebirth in the 10th century was due to the archbishops, who had temporal as well as ecclesiastical powers. These
prince-bishops, who were also electors of the German Holy Roman Empire, contributed to Trier's renaissance as an important medieval metropolis.
This era of rebirth is represented by the profusion of churches and monasteries, and the many secular buildings and merchants' palaces along Simeonstrasse, the main shopping street, and
around the Hauptmarkt. Two of the loveliest are the 15th-century Steipe, erected as a dance hall, and the 13th-century Dreikönigshaus, so named for the effigies of the Three Magi on its facade.
Incongruous as it may seem, given its role as a font of early Christianity, Trier is also the wellspring of modern socialism and communism. Karl Marx was born there in 1818, the son of
a local lawyer, and spent the formative years of his youth in the city until matriculating at the University of Bonn. The house in which he grew up, on Brückenstrasse, is a museum and open daily, though there
have been noticeably fewer visitors since the demise of Eastern Europe's Communist regimes.
For those to whom history, architecture, art and ogling monuments are only half the pleasure of traveling, gustatory delights being the other, Trier also has plenty to offer. Situated
in the heart of the Moselle-Saar-Ruwer wine district, it is virtually synonymous with the light dry whites of that region. They ripen in the vineyards on the surrounding hills, making the city a kind of mecca
for serious imbibers, and also gourmets. Trier abounds with quaint and historic wine taverns and restaurants, such as Zum Domstein, facing the Hauptmarkt. In the Olewig district, southeast of the Amphitheater,
numerous vintners offer wine-tasting feasts with hearty stick-to-the- ribs food.
Besides wine and history, Trier is a good base for excursions to Luxembourg, the Belgian Ardennes, the extinct volcanoes and crater lakes of the Eifel region, and the densely wooded
rolling hills of the bucolic Hunsrück area. The best view can be had by taking the cable car from Zurlaubener Ufer, near Kaiser-Wilhelm bridge, to the Weisshaus terrace, 300 feet above town.
The city has an endearing way of living very much in the present and of putting its ancient monuments to current use. Constantine's throne hall does double duty as a Lutheran church.
Rock and pop festivals are staged in the Amphitheater. Convents and monasteries are used as hospitals, orphanages, nursing homes, and for government offices. The Dreikönigshaus harbors the city's best cafe and
pastry shop. Trier may be off the beaten path, and gets short shrift in the guidebooks, but what a rich and splendid city! And if you believe that inscription on the Rotes Haus, it was already old when Rome was
being built.
Contributing editor John Dornberg writes from Munich.
Altenburg and the International Music Academy
By Regine Wosnitza
In the spring of 1990 the small Thuringian town of Altenburg offered music connoisseurs a unique gem: Wagner arias sung by Arturo Sergi, veteran tenor at home on stages in Hamburg,
Bayreuth, London, and New York.
Professor Sergi had accepted the engagement at a friend's request, who had briefed him on the tucked-away place. A former Residenzstadt (royal seat) and the cradle of the popular German
card game Skat, Altenburg is located in eastern Thuringia, within easy commuting distance to Weimar and also to Leipzig and Dresden in Saxony, and one of the few German towns with an original flair, as it was
spared bombardment in World War II.
Today, Sergi warm-heartedly calls himself an Altenburger. Dividing his time between San Marcos, Texas and Altenburg, he devotes his heart, time, and money to helping the eastern German
town back on its feet.
Smitten upon first glance but shocked by the city's desolate state and desperate economic situation, Sergi recalls, "There was this voice inside me telling me I was to find a way
to help the town."
In his mind, an idea unraveled as smoothly as a Mozart aria: a music academy with first-class teachers, students from all over the world, and a series of concerts to give musicians the
opportunity to perform and to attract tourists.
Altenburg's city elders could barely follow the musical score. The community was far too busy shedding the familiar woes of communism and the sooty experience of regional coal mining.
To them, Sergi's plans rang discordant.
"I was very skeptical, but Mr. Sergi had the idea, and therefore it simply had to happen," vice-mayor Rolf Bräunig says of their first meetings. "We usually make plans
first and draw up contracts. He, however, needed none of this, but simply started."
Last June and July, the sixth session of the International Summer Music Academy Altenburg drew 120 young musicians to participate in two programs. "The Art of
Auditioning--Masterclasses in Voice" accepted a limited number of students for individual coaching sessions with internationally reputed teachers. "The East-West International Symphony Orchestra"
under the conductorship of Glen Cortese, Director of the Orchestral Studies Department at the Manhattan School of Music, involved musicians from Israel, Greece, Russia, Italy, Latvia, Romania, Macedonia, Hong
Kong, Taiwan, and the United States.
Halfway through the two-month program, after a spirited gala opera concert in the decorative banquet hall of the castle of the Dukes of Saxony-Altenburg, mayor Bräunig was less hesitant
albeit not totally convinced of the town's youngest tourist asset.
Any doubts of his are difficult to understand when strolling through the cobble-stoned streets, visiting the Lindenau Museum with the largest collection of 13th- to 16th-century Italian
tableaus outside of Italy, or watching performances at the theater designed by Gottfried Semper, famous for his Dresden Opera House. Why should contemporary sojourners pass by a place like Altenburg, whose
1,000- year-old castle, a mountain fortress high above the town, hosted many illustrious visitors, including Emperor Frederick Barbarossa and his entourage, Martin Luther, and Johann Sebastian Bach?
Moreover, Altenburg's populace has come up with some ingenious entertainment. Opposing French dominance in 1818, they created Skat, the most popular German card game to date. While one
resident experimented on the local ponds with what today are called water skis, another opened one of Germany's first dance schools, which fared so well that the family's fourth generation still keeps the beat
today.
Yet despite its rich and fascinating history, the 47,000-strong town radiates a melancholic air and suffers from a kind of underdog complex. Sitting in the castle's courtyard,
surrounded by market stands and beer casks for the annual castle festival, historian Hans- Joachim Kessler says that a "real stroke of luck" just never hit the town.
"Many important people came here but instead of staying they moved elsewhere," says Kessler. "You could call Altenburg the town of missed opportunities."
Although infatuated with its history, Kessler sounds resigned when describing the loss of hope that quickly followed the enthusiasm of German unification. Industry breakdown caused
unemployment to rocket to 25 percent. According to Kessler, the large number of visitors attending performances at Altenburg's theater cannot be attributed to cultural hunger but to solidarity. Providing work
for some 200 people, the theater is, after all, now one of Altenburg's largest employers.
Many citizens blame circumstances and lack of money for their withdrawal from the city's public life. Ingrid Rothe, proprietress of the Rathskeller on central market square, however,
argues that the isolative trend stems from a lack of initiative and the new tyranny of consumerism.
Being a fervent supporter of the International Summer Music Academy, Rothe provides its musicians with three tasty meals a day and, next to the city council, is one of their most
important sponsors. She enjoys immensely the musicians' babble over meals, but keeps entrepreneurial pragmatism in mind.
"We simply need tourists, and if those singers and musicians bring their parents and friends, we will become famous all over the world," says Rothe, whose experience has
convinced her that tenors are of a special make. "Professor Sergi's commitment is amazing, especially if you consider that an American from Texas has no obligation to invest here in any way."
Sitting in the Rathskeller, Professor Sergi last year explained why he wanted to help the sleeping beauty of Altenburg. In the 1950s, when he first started his career in Germany, people
generously helped him, even though times were hard for everyone. "I want to repay some of this now and show people here what they can achieve without a lot of money but with a lot of will," Sergi said.
"It's an absolutely crazy idea, and my wife often cannot believe I am doing it."
Nonetheless, Leonore Sergi, voice professor at Southwest Texas State University, has been on the team of teachers ever since the International Music Academy Altenburg held its first
masterclasses for voice in 1991. A year later, Professor Sergi provided the Salzburg festival with an international 87-seat orchestra, thus creating the "East-West-Youth-Symphony-Orchestra."
The Salzburg connection stalled for financial reasons, and the Academy also suffered some serious setbacks in Altenburg. Nevertheless, it kept expanding, and young people from all over
the world have become a familiar sight during the summer months. Street performances as well as classical concerts turn the musicians into public figures. They are often approached in shops or asked for
autographs in the street.
The two-month program starts with the arrival of the singers. They participate in daily voice and coaching sessions with highly reputed teachers from the United States, Russia, Italy,
and Germany; the singers improve their Italian, German, and Russian repertoire and learn how to walk, laugh, kiss, and die on stage.
In the evenings they have ample opportunity to put their newly acquired skills into practice in recitals in Altenburg, nearby Leipzig, or some of the picturesque manor houses and
castles in the vicinity. One of the major events each year is the Gala Opera Concert, where many singers can, for the first time, perform their operatic repertoire accompanied by a symphony orchestra.
Last year, Maestro Herbert Handt from Lucca, Italy, securely guided both orchestra and singers through arias by Mozart, Verdi, and Rossini. Thanks to the maestro's subtle conducting and
improvised prompting cues, the adventure turned into an unforgettable experience for everybody.
"It's totally different from anything I have done before, but once you get used to it, it's the most amazing feeling," 21-year-old Karen Smith from Texas said after singing
"Mi Chiamano Mimi" from Puccini's La Bohème.
Listening to her students that night, Lynne Owens, voice professor at the Manhattan School of Music and a long-time singer at New York's Metropolitan Opera House, was immensely glad she
had joined the Academy's staff that year. "The benefit of a lesson a day is just enormous, and I was thrilled by the progress they all made," Owens said. "And having an orchestra accompany you is
unique as well. Back in the States you can move through a major conservatory without ever being offered that chance."
The concert performance of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's "Cosi fan tutte" last year took the Academy's curriculum one step further. Working with Gundula Nowak, Stage Director at
the Leipzig Opera, and Professor Cortese, the production achieved an amazingly high musical standard; and stage performance from now on will become a regular with the Academy.
Once the singers had left, Cortese and the East-West International Symphony Orchestra concentrated on the study of symphonic literature, including oeuvres by Beethoven, Brahms, and
Berlioz. In addition, the musicians set up chamber music sessions among themselves, and each practice session concluded with a public concert.
Thus 19-year-old violinist Kostadin Bogdonavski and his friend from Skopje, Macedonia last year joined a Romanian and three Americans in performing a chamber music piece on a Hebrew
theme for string quartet, clarinet, and piano.
Appreciating the Academy's high standard as well as the friendly atmosphere, Bogdanovski spent his second summer in Altenburg. "I have gathered lots of useful information on
musical techniques and professional life in the various countries," he said. "And the large program we cover is a great opportunity to gather routine."
Meanwhile Professor Sergi has untiringly appealed to Altenburgers to join a fundraising association, peddled the Academy to private entrepreneurs and government officials, and founded
nonprofit organizations both in Germany and the United States to secure the Academy's future and to offer grants to students from Eastern Europe.
"Arturo Sergi, an experienced artist and globetrotter must have built a special relation to Altenburg, because his unselfish engagement for this town would hardly be understandable
otherwise," music critic Klaus-Jürgen Kamprad commented in the local paper. "Let's hope that he will be able to give continued impetus to this festival."
The tremendous success of last year's final concert was an encouraging omen. For the first time, a concert was completely sold out and people had to be turned away. The performance
ended with Dimitrii Shostakovitch's 10th Symphony, a piece whose condemnation of Stalinism and appeal for the preservation of freedom had significant impact on all participants and listeners.
"To bring together young people from east and west, who were enemies not long ago, and give them the opportunity to make music is simply tremendous," Professor Sergi said
afterwards. "When I heard the orchestra play that piece so beautifully and with so much drive I knew that one of my dreams had come true."
Regine Wosnitza writes from Berlin.
The 1997 summer program of the Music Academy will be expanded to include jazz and musicals in its repertoire. For more information, contact in the United States: Professor Arturo Sergi,
1213 Girard Avenue, San Marcos, TX 78666; Tel.: (512) 396-8988; Fax: (512) 7101. In Germany: Secretariat, Matthäussstr. 3, 42277 Wuppertal; Tel./Fax: 011.49.202.500975.
Eurasian Cranes in Goethe's Homeland
By Chris Bolgiano
Doch ist es jedem eingeboren,
Das sein Gefühl hinauf und vorwärts dringt,
Wenn über uns, im blauen Raum verloren,
Ihr schmetternd Lied die Lerche singt;
Wenn über schroffen Fichtenhöhen
Der Adler ausgebreitet schwebt,
Und über Flächen, über Seen
Der Kranich nach der Heimat strebt.
Surely it is born in everyone,
To feel emotion welling up and out,
When overhead, lost in blue space,
The lark her warbling song sings;
When over pointed tips of pines,
The eagle hovers on out-stretched wings,
And over the plains, over the lakes
The crane toward the homeland strives.
For Goethe, the Eurasian crane (Grus grus) served as an emblem of his beloved North German homeland. And as in Goethe's day, many residents of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania await the
call of the cranes as a harbinger of spring.
Standing nearly four feet tall, crowned with a red cap and sporting a bustle formed by long flight feathers, cranes are commanding figures in a smooth landscape of plains and lakes.
They have summered in the sandy lowlands along the North and Baltic Sea coasts for some 12,000 years, since the last glacier melted. The wetlands the glacier left behind provided moats and islands where cranes
could raise young in ground nests protected from foxes and wild boar. Fissured shorelines offered shallow inlets for safe gathering and resting places during migration.
Drainage projects throughout western Europe after 1950 wiped out cranes there. By the mid-1970s, West Germany had fewer than 20 breeding pairs. The birds fared better in former East
Germany, numbering about 1,500 pairs today. One reason for this success were the very large fields, collectively farmed, which supplemented the insect, snail, frog, and marsh-plant diet of cranes with grains and
mice. Another reason was the tolerance that collectivized farmers displayed toward crane consumption of seeds; the sowers simply planted ten to 15 percent more for the birds. Cranes were also fully protected,
and their nesting sites were identified to protect them from being disturbed. Dozens of volunteers carried out this documentation involving many years of painstaking effort--cranes are remarkably elusive on
their nesting grounds.
Wolfgang Mewes, formerly a teacher and now director of Naturpark Nossentiner/Schwinzer Heide in the state of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, coordinated the work of the volunteers and
compiled reports every two or three years. "There was intensive environmental protection under the former German Democratic Republic," Mewes said. "We were in part supported by the government, and
for the rest left alone. They figured that if we busied ourselves with cranes, we wouldn't be active in politics."
Cranes inspire devotion because of their elegant beauty and their intriguing behavior, especially the famous courtship dances. Their trumpeting may be heard more than a mile away. In
Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, there is no tradition of hunting cranes for meat or feathers, as is the case in parts of the Middle East, or of gathering crane eggs. In German folklore, the birds symbolize luck
and long life, as well as intelligence. "It can definitely be said that cranes have personalities," Mewes said. "They are smart, judicious, and highly observant."
When they gather for migration, cranes are very different creatures from the shy, quiet birds of summer. On the Darss/Zingst peninsula and the island of Rügen, 50,000 cranes from
Scandinavia and eastern Europe assemble in noisy groups. Such gatherings are largest in fall, because the young of the year swell the numbers and because spring migration routes are slightly different. The
cranes stay for weeks, fishing in shallow water along the coast and flying inland to feed in the fields and build up energy reserves for the flight to wintering grounds in France, Spain, and North Africa. These
cranes represent most of the western segment of the Eurasian crane population, which ranges across the former Soviet Union and is estimated to total approximately 200,000 birds.
East German researchers were not allowed to give out information to the West, but through the 1970s and 1980s, a loose network of crane conservationists developed on both sides of the
Iron Curtain. Under the auspices of the International Crane Foundation in Baraboo, Wisconsin, conferences were held in Hungary, Spain, and Estonia. Lufthansa Airlines, which carries a stylized crane logo on its
planes, provided tickets to participants who otherwise could not have afforded to go. In the 1970s the World Wildlife Fund and Naturschutzbund Deutschland (Environmental Protection League Germany) launched
projects in West Germany to restore crane nesting sites. Success can be measured by the fact that crane breeding pairs there now number over 100.
After reunification, these organizations worked closely with Mewes and other easterners to inaugurate Kranichschutz Deutschland (Crane Protection Germany), to safeguard nesting and
resting areas. Lufthansa has invested more than a million marks in the project since 1990, including publication of conference proceedings and free shipment of crane eggs for reintroduction programs.
Since reunification, Mewes has completed a doctoral thesis on cranes and now supervises graduate research. Last summer one of his students attached radio transmitters to five cranes and
took readings on their whereabouts every five minutes from 4:00 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. for three days, an exercise that left him understandably "kaput" (exhausted). His goal is to understand how cranes
utilize their habitat, so that land planners will have sufficient information to protect the areas cranes need. Other researchers are working on methods to disperse the concentration of cranes in fields during
migration because privatized farmers are no longer willing to bear the losses. There is a system of compensation for damages.
"These are problems I think we can work out, and there are no imminent threats to cranes in Germany at this moment," Mewes said, "but we have to think Europe-wide. In
Russia, especially, there may be a crisis for cranes if large moors are drained, and in Spain the oak woodlands where cranes overwinter are in danger of being cut." He is currently organizing an
international working group to address the various issues, in the hope that cranes will continue to "strive" toward Goethe's homeland.
Chris Bolgiano writes from Virginia's Shenandoah Valley.
For more information on Germany's crane protection efforts contact Naturpark Nossentiner/Schwinzer Heide, Zeigenhorn 1, Postfach 329, 19395 Karow, Germany; Tel./Fax: 011.49.38738.292.
Saxony-Anhalt's "Old March":
Where Prussia Had Its Roots
By John Dornberg
Mention the margraviate and duchy of Brandenburg, which later became the kingdom of Prussia and part of the German Reich, and you tend to think of Berlin. But Berlin didn't even exist
when Albert the Bear, Count of Ballenstedt--a village in Saxony-Anhalt on the edge of the Harz Mountains--began his eastward conquests and colonization of the Slavic Wends in the early 12th century and became
the first Markgraf, or margrave.
The base camp from which he launched his campaigns is the so-called Altmark, the Old March, a plot of real estate that would fit into the state of Delaware with lots of room to spare,
bordered by the Elbe River on the east and north, the Ohre and Jeetze Rivers on the west, and the industrial region around Magdeburg on the south.
It is a land of plateaus with fields of grain, potatoes, and sugar beets that seem to stretch to the horizon, laced by dozens of streams and creeks, marked off almost geometrically by
groves of poplars and willows, and dotted with farming villages.
What little industry there ever was in these parts has been in a comatose state since reunification, so that the official jobless rate is among the highest in eastern Germany--20
percent. Many more than that are no longer even listed by the labor offices, having gone into early retirement.
Cities and towns are also few, but if you are looking for the atmosphere of Germany as it used to be, this is the place to visit. Granted, in some towns, such as Stendal, Communist
mismanagement and desultory civic spirit have left gaping holes in the once historic urban fabric, and restoration and renovation are moving at a snail's pace. But there are others, such as Tangermünde, just six
miles away, or Salzwedel, that are gems of medieval architecture with magnificent Gothic brickwork, crazily leaning half-timbered houses, picturesque market squares, and winding cobblestone streets.
Stendal, the Altmark's largest city, with a population of 46,000, has a history going back directly to Margrave Albert the Bear, who founded and chartered it as a trading post on an
island in the little Uchte River in 1160. A market, customs, and coinage privileges gave it wealth, and in 1359 it joined the Hanseatic League. Until 1530 it was Brandenburg's largest city, but it declined
rapidly during the Thirty Years War.
Its most famous citizen was Johann Joachim Winckelmann, founder of modern archaeology. Born in 1717, he wrote epochal treatises on the history of the antiquities at Pompeii,
Herculaneum, and Paestum. His meticulously restored, half-timbered birthhouse is an art museum, archive, library, research center, and seat of the international Winckelmann Society.
Though not born there, Henri Beyle a.k.a. Stendhal, the French novelist and author of The Red and the Black and The Charterhouse of Parma, was so impressed by the beauty of the town
when he saw it in the early 19th century that he adopted its name, as then spelled, as his pseudonym.
Since reunification, nearly DM 20 million ($13.4 million) in federal, state, and local funds have been invested to restore Stendal's landmark-protected old quarter, though you'd hardly
notice, in part because everyone seems to be doing his own thing. Georg-Wilhelm Westrum, the chief of the city building office, estimates that DM 1 billion ($670 million) will be needed to renovate and complete
the ensemble, which, he promises, "will not be an open-air museum but a living, vibrant city."
Nonetheless there is plenty to see. Stendal's Rathaus, the city hall, is a jewel of 14th century brickwork, enlarged and embellished in Renaissance style. The council chamber has a
richly carved wooden wall from 1462. The statue of Roland, the medieval knight representing the city's freedom, on the square is a faithful copy of the 16th-century original that was destroyed by a storm in
1972. The adjacent 15th-century Marienkirche (St. Mary's church) abounds with ecclesiastical art, including an intricately carved main altar from 1472, a filigree-like stone rood screen, and a 16th-century
astronomical clock.
The Dom St. Nikolaus (St. Nicholas Cathedral), founded as a collegiate church in 1188, is a masterpiece of Gothic brick architecture, renowned for its 22 monumental stained glass
windows from 1430 to 1460 and for the 13th-century sandstone figures on its rood screen.
Although Stendal's medieval fortification wall was razed in the 19th century and replaced by a ring boulevard, two of the magnificent city gates remain standing. The 15th-century
Uenglinger Tor (Uenglinger Gate), a dazzling example of decorative brickwork, is considered one of the most beautiful in Germany, and the 13th-century Tangermünder Tor (Tangermünde Gate) is one of the oldest.
Tangermünde, population 12,000, at the confluence of the Tanger River with the Elbe, is one of the best-preserved medieval towns in all of Germany, still surrounded by its old walls and
six gate towers and dotted by a profusion of red-brick Gothic buildings. Its long cobblestone main street, appropriately called Lange Strasse, is lined by lovingly renovated half-timbered houses of burghers and
merchants. It calls itself the "City with Flair" and has become the main tourist attraction of the Altmark, with a plethora of cozy inns, historic hotels, and dozens of boutiques and arts-and-crafts
shops. Civic pride and community spirit, even during Communist times, are one reason for the marked contrast with Stendal. History is another.
Its fortress castle on the left bank of the Elbe, now a ruin, predates Albert the Bear and his campaigns by more than 100 years and served as one of the Holy Roman Empire's easternmost
border fortifications. In the 1370s, after he had won control of the Brandenburg march from the Wittelsbach dynasty and conferred the title of margrave and elector on his son Wenceslaus, Holy Roman Emperor
Charles IV enlarged the castle and designated it as his second capital and residence, after the Hradcin in Prague.
But by then Tangermünde was already a member of the Hanseatic League and one of the richest commercial towns on the Elbe.
Much of the city's splendor is a legacy from those times. You could spend days here imagining yourself back in the Middle Ages.
Among the must-sees are the fortifications and crenelated gate towers, some dating back 700 years. The Rathaus (City Hall), completed in 1480, is testimony to Tangermünde's erstwhile
wealth and power as a trading center and electoral residence. Its lavishly decorated, 75-foot-high facade is one of the finest examples of Gothic brickwork in Germany. The vaulted council room on the second
floor is used today for receptions and weddings, the ground floor and cellar house the municipal museum.
The outer walls, gates, and keep of Charles IV's castle have been preserved, and a statue of him towers over the landscaped courtyard. His gaze is directed not south toward Prague, the
splendid capital of his realm, but east into the march of Brandenburg that in 1411 was deeded to the Hohenzollern family, who then ruled it as margraves, dukes, electors, kings, and kaisers for the next four
centuries.
Though all of Tangermünde's towers are high, the tallest, visible from miles away across the plain, is the spire of St. Stephanskirche (St. Stephen's Church), which dates back to the
14th century and abounds with ecclesiastical art. Its greatest treasure is the organ, built in 1624 by Hans Scherrer the Younger of Hamburg, one of the best organ makers of the time. Its 370-year-old front and
half the pipes are original. It was played again for the first time in 1994, after 11 years of restoration work. It is one of the ten oldest organs in Europe.
Above all, crane your neck to gawk at Tangermünde's storks. On a recent visit I spotted eight nests, two atop the Rathaus.
From Tangermünde it is 22 miles north to Havelberg, a travel-poster town near the confluence of the Havel River, which rises south of Berlin, and the Elbe. On the hill just above it and
the river, there was a Slavic pagan temple that Emperor Otto I destroyed in 948, replacing it with a missionary church as part of his effort to subjugate and Christianize the Wends. They reconquered the
territory 35 years later and razed the church.
Then came Albert the Bear in his 1147 Crusade Against the Slavs. He established a missionary diocese whose bishop built a vast fortress--like basilica on the spot--the St. Marien Dom
(St. Mary's). It is a blend of Romanesque and Gothic brickwork that draws visitors by the hundreds. The cathedral is not only a masterpiece of medieval architecture but a repository of stunning ecclesiastical
art, of which the finest objects are the intricate stone carvings on the rood screen, the choir pews, sculpted stone candelabras, and the early- 15th-century stained-glass windows.
Havelberg made its secular mark as a shipbuilding town. One of the "apprentices" in the ducal yard, just below the cathedral, was Russia's Czar Peter the Great. He spent a
number of weeks there in 1716 learning the trade to build up his own imperial fleet and make Russia a naval power. Barges that ply the inland waterways from Berlin to Hamburg and other ports are still built in
Havelberg.
By German standards, the Altmark is not really old. But for all its seeming bucolic ambience and unemployment problems today, it was the font of a key chapter in German history, and it
is now on the mend as a travel destination.
Contributing editor John Dornberg writes from Munich.
For more information, contact City of Tangermünde, Tourist Information, Markstr. 13, 39590 Tangermünde, Germany; Tel./Fax: 011. 49.39322.3710.
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