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December 1998/January 1999
Eye for an Eye?
Crime and Punishment in Early Modern Germany
By Robert A. Selig
Between 1545 and 1699, 281 people were executed in the city of Augsburg: 141 were beheaded, 123 hanged, 10 were broken by the wheel; the remainder were burnt or drowned.
The Free Imperial City of Nuremberg with its 40,000 inhabitants executed 361 criminals between 1573 and 1615. When the last poor soul ascended the scaffold in 1781 in Nuremberg, his death brought
the total for the preceding four centuries to 903. In the Markgrafschaft Ansbach with its 100,000 or so subjects, 474 people were executed between 1575 and 1603. Their crimes were murder, homicide, infanticide,
robbery, arson, theft, embezzlement, counterfeiting, forgery, rape, incest, bigamy, sodomy, heresy, blasphemy, or witchcraft. People could and did lose their lives for any number of offenses. Tens of thousands
more were subject to excruciatingly painful torture during criminal investigations often ending in equally mortifying sentences such as blinding, severing—hands, fingers, tongues, or ears—branding, birching,
ducking, or serving years on penal galleys or on city fortifications.
Had our forefathers no feelings, no compassion for the suffering they inflicted on others? Were they so insensitive that they did not recoil from the instruments of torture we shudder to see
displayed in museums today? The answer is simple: Our ancestors were not all bloodthirsty executioners. They felt pain and suffering, feared torture and death, as much as we do. To understand their approach to
crime and punishment, we must investigate the reasoning behind their system of seemingly merciless retribution and its reliance on killing and mutilation as the ultima ratio of the penal code.
The foundations of criminal law regulating the investigation and punishment of crimes in early modern Germany were laid at the turn of the 16th century. During the ineffectual reign of Emperor
Frederick III (1440–1493), the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation had become a battlefield where small Imperial Estates such as the Imperial Knights fought desperately to preserve their independence from
powerful neighbors. Derisively called Raubritter (Robber Barons), they feuded and fought their private wars under the pretense of seeking justice. The empire was on the verge of disintegration when Emperor Maximilian I (1493–1519) and his son Charles V (1519–1556) embarked on an ambitious program of legislative reform aimed at strengthening the empire’s central authorities. The reform of the judicial system and the concentration of juridical powers with the emperor formed an integral part of the program.
To combat this lawlessness, the Reichsstände (Estates of the Empire) assembled at Worms in August 1495, proclaimed the Immerwährenden Landfrieden, or Perpetual Peace, which outlawed
private justice: After 1495, all civil and criminal claims had to be pursued via a court system culminating in the Reichskammergericht, or the Imperial Chamber, that was established as a court of last
appeal the day the Perpetual Peace was proclaimed. Whoever ignored the Peace was outlawed; anyone could kill the offenders and their supporters with impunity.
If the Perpetual Peace outlawed private feuds, the Halsgerichtsordnungen, or codifications of criminal law by estates which had acquired Regalia (royal rights) for their territories,
regulated prosecution and punishment of capital crimes in which the culprit's Hals (neck) was at stake. The most important codification was known as the Bambergische Peinliche Halßgerichts-Ordnung or Constitutio Criminalis Bambergensis of 1507 compiled by Johann Freiherr von Schwarzenberg. In 1532 this code of law became the model for Imperial legislation when the Constitutio Criminalis Carolina (named after Charles V) was promulgated at the Diet of Regensburg. Though only subsidiary law—local law could remain in effect—it became the model for numerous state codes and remained valid in its outlines in some states even after the end of the empire in 1806.
Side by side to the Carolina stood the various Landrechte, or codifications of common law rooted in the tribal laws of the early Middle Ages. Landrecht was applicable to all persons living
within a territory in all cases pertaining to the juridical rights of a territorial lord, be that a city such as Rothenburg, a corporation such as the Deutsche Orden (Teutonic Knights), or an ecclesiastical or secular ruler such as the Duke of Bavaria or the Archbishop-Elector of Trier. Criminals accused of a capital crime who lived in the territory of a lord without the right to a Hochgericht (high courts, or courts trying capital crimes) or a Blutgericht (bloody tribunals) had their trial at the seat of government of the Estate with jurisdiction over that territory.
At the bottom of the judicial system were the Imperial Policeyordnungen, or Police Codes of 1530, 1548, and 1577. These police codes (from ius politiae, the law of the community or polity as opposed to the ius
territorialis, the law of the territory or state), covered any aspect of public life, from blasphemy to drinking, prosecution of gypsies, begging, vagrancy, idleness, and observance of luxury laws—what we
would commonly call misdemeanors. Punishments prescribed in the police codes, such as standing at the pillory, wearing a crown of straw, dunking, or being locked in the stocks were generally aimed at the honor
of the culprit, though were not necessarily less painful.
Binding these three tiers—Carolina, Landrecht, and Policeyordnung—was (what we deem now as) the arbitrary and excessively harsh nature of the punishments they meted out. Yet there are social,
legal, and even religious reasons for this approach. By the early 16th century the population losses caused by the Black Death had been overcome. The resulting decrease in available land, coupled with rising
food prices, led to increased demands on the peasantry by lords eager to increase profits from the sale of foodstuffs and attacks on the legal status of the peasantry, while the deterioration of the standard of
living caused peasant unrest. Martin Luther's successful defiance of secular and religious authorities after 1517 and the dangerous ideas espoused in his work Freedom of a Christian (1520) became sparks for the Peasant War of 1525. The revolt was drowned in a sea of blood, demonstrating to the lower classes so lastingly the uselessness of overt resistance to state power that there was no general attempt at revolt in Germany again until 1848.
Instead, the lower classes responded with covert resistance, both as a form of protest and as a means of survival--as income levels continued to--fall interpreted as crime by authorities.
Historians agree that during latter half of the 16th century crime levels rose faster than the population increased. The Carolina and its correlatives in the Poor Laws and work houses were driven by an awareness
of the changing character of crime, which was increasingly defined in a social context as an attack by the poor on the rich. This meant that additional powers needed to be vested in those institutions charged
with maintaining social norms: the emerging absolutist state. As the gap between rich and poor widened and crime levels reached new heights in the chaos of the Thirty Years' War, the state increasingly relied on
the penal code to enforce obedience to itself and its representatives.
The Carolina was admirably suited for that purpose in that it merged two distinct concepts: the Judeo-Christian idea of justice as both retribution and forgiveness and the concept of Roman Law
with its emphasis on written documentation and evidence. The Roman inquisitorial trial demanded a confession as the basis of all guilty judgments because only a truthful confession eliminated the risk of
punishing or executing an innocent person. That left open the interrelated questions of how to find the truth and how to get people to confess.
The absolutist theory of state answered these questions and also justified the arrogation of powers necessary to enforce social norms by the ruling elites. Rather than assume that men were either
created good by nature (Genesis 1:13) or were rational beings who knew how to do good and would rather do good than evil, theorists such as Jean Bodin (1530–1596) and Jacques Bossuet (1627–1704) and their
followers argued that humans were evil by nature. Since in a law of nature the notion of “dog eat dog” prevailed, the primary function of government was to maintain law and order. Governments, in turn, were
established when people gave up all their rights and transferred them irrevocably to a central authority personified in a ruler responsible for his actions to God alone. This theory of state not only deprived
subjects of their rights, it also vested prosecutorial powers in the state alone while considering any criminal activity as an attack on society as a whole. Criminal law became an aspect of state authority at a
time when these authorities considered themselves under attack. The severity and quantity of corporal and capital punishments, used sparingly during the Middle Ages, thus increased disproportionately as monetary
fines declined in importance either because the offenders were too poor or the desired deterring effect was not achieved. Before any punishment could be meted out, however, the law required a confession of guilt.
Since a criminal was considered evil by nature and indisposed to telling the truth voluntarily, he needed some encouragement to do so. Enter torture. Torture became an integral part of any
inquisitorial process that assumed people were by nature evil and disinclined to tell the truth. Torture became the last legal means of finding the truth, taken by the court to get an imprisoned but impertinent
criminal to testify truthfully by applying appropriate instruments to his body. Any suspect who denied a crime despite circumstantial evidence and good grounds for suspecting him, could be ordered by the court
to undergo the peinliche Befragung (painful questioning.) There were several avenues of procedure and various degrees of torture, but a typical sequence would have been like this:
- Accused is threatened with torture outside torture chamber
- Accused is taken inside the torture chamber
- Accused is taken inside the torture chamber and stripped and bound
- Accused is suspended by his arms and left hanging for some time
- Accused is hanging while ropes are shaken, or accused is beaten with ends of ropes, or weights are attached to "stretch" the prisoner
Among the other instruments of terror employed other than suspension, thumbscrews or cords were considered the mildest form, followed by Spanish boots or leg screws. (These were wooden rails in
which a curved piece of wood with numerous notches notches and points on the inner side were pressed on the leg of the prisoner by means of screws.) As a rule, torture had the desired effect of producing the
confession needed for punishment, which became the real purpose of criminal law rather than compensation of the victim as it had been in the Middle Ages or the rehabilitation of the offender as it is today.
"Severe physical punishment," writes historian Michael R. Weisser, was "one way of inculcating discipline into the lower classes." It often took on the form of matching punishment. Perjury,
false witness, and blasphemy were punished by cutting out the tongue because the offense was verbal. Perjury could also be punished by cutting off of the right or left hand, whichever hand had been raised when
the oath was taken; assault, cheating, or damaging city fortifications could also cost a hand.
Imprisonment as a form of punishment was rare, if nothing else because lengthy prison terms in establishments such as the Lochgefängnis in Nuremberg invariably meant death for the prisoner. It is indicative of a social definition of crime, however, that the precursor of our prison system with its goal of re-socialization can be found in the workhouse, the first of which were established for the poor, beggars, vagrants, orphans, and petty criminals in Amsterdam in 1595 and 1597. During the 17th century the idea spread throughout Germany, and though the idea of extracting the greatest possible benefit from the inmates predominated during most of the 18th century, the prison cum workhouse represented a big step forward from the concept of simply executing the criminal.
Executions provided the maximum deterrence and became frequent public spectacles. There was hardly a felony not punishable by death under the Carolina, though we need to keep in mind that
punishments varied widely due to the discretion left to the judge and the multitude of criminal codes in the 460 plus Imperial Estates of the Empire. Quartering or breaking on the wheel was reserved for men
convicted of aggravated murder; common murderers, robbers, forgers, or arsonists were usually beheaded. Thieves were hung; heretics could be drowned or boiled in water, wine, or oil. Witches, who usually had
gotten off with a monetary fine as late as the 15th century, began to be burned at the stake. Persons convicted of infanticide, as well as rapists, were often buried alive; in a form of matching punishment,
rapists had a stake driven through their bodies after the live burial.
Although an execution was a spectacle, it was not without educational or religious aspects. It served as a demonstration of the unlimited power of the state. Parents could bring their children to
watch an execution as a warning of the fate that awaited a wayward child. Finally the spectacle demonstrated the redeeming powers of salvation available through the Church Visible. Criminals were by definition
sinners: Confession of a crime was a necessary step toward forgiveness of sin. That did not mean that earthly punishment would be forgiven as well—after all, Christ had not told the criminal next to him on the
cross to step down but rather that he would be in paradise with him that very day. A criminal about to be executed was a sinner whose sin had been forgiven by the clergyman by his side, and there was no reason
why he too could not go to heaven. Torture may have brought about confession, and thus had a place in the sequence of salvation.
As Europe entered the Age of Enlightenment, calls for reform of the judicial system usually began with an attack on torture. As early as 1705 Christian Thomasius's Disputation de Tortura questioned the value of torture, but it took decades until Prussia became one of the first states to restrict (1740) and finally abolish its use in 1754. Other legal reformers continued to defend its use. In 1745 Johann Heinrich Zedler argued in his 68-volume Universal Lexicon that "if villains knew that, in the event of their guilt not being proved, which proof is often most difficult to obtain, they could not be tormented to obtain the truth in any other way, but would have to be released as innocent, the world would be filled with innumerable villains and evildoers to the greatest prejudice of the common weal." Wiguläus Xaver Aloys Freiherr von Kreittmayr (1705–1790) retained torture in his Codex Iuris Bavarici (1751–56) for that same reason. It was only in July 1806 that Maximilian I Joseph prohibited its use in his kingdom.
The German Confederation of 1815 left the organization of the judicial system to the individual states. Consequently, remnants of the Carolina, such as the Inquisitionsprozess and 18th-century cabinet justice, survived in some states. After 1819 and the Karlsbader Beschluesse,
states such as Kurhessen used the judicial system to persecute liberal, democratic, and nationalist movements. From early on, reform of the judiciary along western European lines became a cornerstone of the
oppositional movement in the German Confederation, which found its strongest advocate in Paul Johann Anselm von Feuerbach, the father of modern criminal jurisprudence.
Sixteen years after Feuerbach’s death, the constitution passed by the Frankfurt National Assembly in March 1849 declared in Article 42 that "Judicial power shall be exercised by the courts
independently. Cabinet and ministerial justice is not permissible." The constitution never went into effect, but its principles were slowly integrated into the constitutions of most of the member-states of
the German Confederation after 1849. The uniformity that Emperor Maximilian had sought to introduce to the German judicial landscape, however, was not achieved until almost 350 years after the Carolina with the
Judicature Act and the Code of Criminal Procedure of October 1879.
Contributing editor Robert A. Selig writes from Holland, Michigan.
For information, including a published guide, contact:
Mittelalterliches Kriminalmuseum
(Museum of Crime in the Middle Ages)
Burggasse 3
91541 Rothenburg ob der Tauber
Germany
Tel.: 011.49.9861.5359
Fax: 011.49.9861.8258
EDITORIAL — December 1998/January 1999
A Thoroughly Modern Germany
Be it the winter season, there’s a feeling in Germany of spring thaw.
During a whirlwind tour this September, under the auspices of the Hanns Seidel Foundation (affiliated with the CSU), I observed the last week of election campaigning and was struck by the varied
character of the party rallies. Yet the composite picture retained a modern sense of “Germanness”:
In Cologne’s recently opened sports arena—filled to its 20,000-seat capacity—Gerhard Schröder’s (SPD) “show” opened with live entertainment and a television advertisement impugning Helmut Kohl’s
backwardness. Strobe lights and blasting music accompanied Schröder as he made his way through the crowds. A sign-language interpreter translated his speech, which concentrated mostly on the jobs he promised to
create.
On a square in eastern Berlin’s Lichtenberg section a group of young female performers beating on drums introduced PDS politician Christa Luft to a gathering of some 40 people. After speaking
about eastern Germans’ need for a greater state role, Luft was less than cordial to the group of American journalists asking her questions.
In the Giessen convention hall, tables were piled with brochures espousing the Greens’ position on issues ranging from peace and asylum seekers to unemployment and tax reform. Joschka Fischer
electrified the audience as he talked about the country’s need for progressive change.
Flowers adorned the stage in the Oberursel municipal hall at the FDP rally where people sat at tables, ordering food and beverages. In the comfortable, yuppy-like environment, they listened
attentively as Foreign Minister Klaus Kinkel talked about Germany’s duty to help the world’s needy.
During our next to last rally, supporters stood for hours on the cobblestones of Munich’s Marienplatz listening to Helmut Kohl and his CDU and CSU compatriots campaign for their causes.
Accompanied by an oompah band, it was the most stereotypically “German” rally—and the most out of touch.
It wasn’t the traditional beer-and-sausage culture—or even Kohl’s campaigning on past achievements rather than future plans—that caused him and his party’s sympathizers to appear outmoded.
Instead, it was narrow-mindedness, including anti-foreigner sentiments, that revealed a mindset refusing to see Germany for its modern, multicultural plurality.
With an SPD/Greens coalition comes a sense of inclusiveness. People born elsewhere but who have lived in Germany for decades may now possibly be granted dual citizenship; women’s issues and
environmental concerns will also receive some attention. The voters’ response to these issues adds to veteran political journalist John Dornberg’s take in the And Finally department when he lauds the outcome of
the national election as a victory for democracy.
Heidi L. Whitesell, Editor
Kumm Esse (Come Eat)
Christmas in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania
By Annette Lockwood
What part does good eating play in celebrating the holidays in bucolic Lancaster County, the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch (read: German) Country? "Pennsylvania Germans seem to do everything
around food," laughs cookbook author Betty Groff, whose internationally acclaimed restaurant nestles in the famous county's countryside. For the 70,000 "plain people" plus the "church
people" constituting Lancaster County's vast Pennsylvania Dutch population, Christmas only heightens their love affair with the delicious regional cuisine.
Although most of the four million annual visitors to Lancaster County come to southeastern Pennsylvania during the summer, Groff reports that Groff's Farm Restaurant is "swamped" around
Christmas. Yet, while recreational offerings abound at this time of year, the general pace in Lancaster County becomes tranquil during winter—just the way members of the "plain" Amish, Mennonite and
Brethren religious sects in residence like it most.
After all, Lancaster County's fame rests on its status as North America's oldest settlement of "plain people," where 35,000 people still wear distinctive clothing and 25,000 drive
horse-drawn carriages or buggies. The subgroup best-known today for strictness—the Amish—was one of a variety of sects that emigrated mainly from the German Rhineland and Switzerland in the 1600s and early 1700s
to take advantage of William Penn's offer of religious freedom in Pennsylvania.
The Mennonites and Amish were part of the Anabaptist movement that broke away from traditional religions during the Reformation in Europe (Brethren and Moravians developed from a similar Pietist
movement) . For their beliefs in separation from society, baptism as adults, opposition to formal church attendance, or other then-revolutionary ideas, Anabaptist and Pietist groups were persecuted throughout
Europe before fleeing to America.
These "plain" immigrants, who continued to split into different Mennonite, Amish, and Brethren denominations, were joined in eastern Pennsylvania by "church people" of German
ancestry (including Lutherans and today's Moravians). Collectively, both groups became known—erroneously—as the "Pennsylvania Dutch" when the German word Deutsch was misunderstood by other settlers.
Regardless of their beliefs, the newcomers found the new land's broad valleys, abundant streams and rich soil reminiscent of home and used their farming talents to turn what is now Lancaster, Lebanon, Berks, and
nearby counties into a garden spot.
Centuries later, the Amish and stricter sects of Mennonites and Brethren that are concentrated in Lancaster County still farm and refuse to mingle with the outer world or adopt modern
conveniences such as cars, telephones, and electricity. In addition to each district's Ordnung (unwritten rules of conduct), language further separates the Amish from their English-speaking neighbors. At home, most speak a dialect of German (supposedly similar to "Platt," spoken in parts of northern Germany) and use High German in their worship services.
Despite widespread use of old-fashioned equipment and horsepower to till the land, the tradition for high output continues today on the nearly 5,000 farms covering two-thirds of Lancaster County's
land area. Lancaster is the most productive non-irrigated farming county in the U.S., a ranking at least partly due to the hard work and ingenuity of the "plain people" who raise corn, hay, wheat,
soybeans, barley, potatoes, and other crops in their fields.
Its small family farms not only place the county among the nation's top producing/processing areas, but through the years have helped contribute to a unique regional cuisine, adapted from fine
German cooking, and a reputation for quality foods. Amish cooks in particular stick to plain foods produced on the farm, including pork, chicken, beef, turkey, and garden vegetables, but their religious heritage
has taught them to make the most of the bounty with which they've been blessed. Coupled with some of the world's best soil and a relatively long growing season, Lancaster County provides a natural setting
for preparing fresh farm-to-table dishes and sharing them with others.
"The Pennsylvania German influence is so strong," notes local food authority Betty Groff. She points to the smoked meats the Pennsylvania Dutch enjoy today "because people from the
Old Country didn't want to waste anything." Then there are the hearty favorites that have been prepared for generations—schnitz und knepp (dried apples and dough boiled with ham), chicken pot pie (a
slippery-dough noodle dish), pork and sauerkraut, scrapple (ground pork cooked with cornmeal) and many more.
Visitors to family-style restaurants—where diners help themselves to food passed around the table—experience firsthand the variety of this cuisine and begin to understand its vital role. Starches
like bread, noodles, and potatoes predominate because "plain people" need the supply of energy to fuel lives of hard farm labor. And, with no television or outside amusements, a main form of recreation
is visiting each other and sharing meals.
Whether for work or socializing, the Amish community is built on group effort. Church services (which are held in members' homes), barn-raisings, weddings (held in November and December after the
harvest is in) and funerals can require participants to travel long distances in a slow-moving carriage. Amish events therefore last most of the day and require at least two large meals for multiple
"tables" or shifts of diners. Several meat dishes, filling (stuffing), mashed potatoes and other vegetables, rolls, pickles and relishes, fruit, cheese, crackers, cakes, pies, and candy are typical.
The most celebrated day for the Amish, however, is Christmas. Their customs are simple, religious, and family-oriented (no tree or decorations and few gifts), but seasonal treats and big dinners
are important. On Christmas Eve in some "plain" homes, the children put a special plate on the dinner table and find it filled with candies and nuts the next morning. Holiday delicacies for everyone
include mincemeat pies, coconut cake, candied walnuts, puddings, festive yeast breads, and cookies.
Because families are large, Christmas socializing spills over to the day after—December 26. Following a European custom, the strict Old Order Amish observe this "Second Christmas" as a
full-fledged holiday. A day off from work, it's earmarked for further visiting, extended-family dinners and get-togethers with friends.
This two-day Christmas observance might be mildly inconvenient for winter visitors (some Pennsylvania Dutch restaurants are closed on December 26 as well as on Sundays), but also presents a
wonderful model for enjoying the holiday season with others. The local family-style tradition, in which different groups of restaurant diners sit together, is a case in point.
Lancaster County's original family-style restaurant—Plain and Fancy Farm Dining Room—has served patrons from all over the world since 1959. Situated between the towns Bird-in-Hand and Intercourse,
Plain and Fancy offers such traditional foods as sweet-and-sour relishes, apple butter, homemade bread, country meats, noodles, dried corn, vegetables, and baked desserts.
Another good family-style experience awaits at Good 'N Plenty Restaurant, located in a remodeled 1871 farmhouse near Smoketown. A typical dinner might include baked ham, roast beef, fried chicken,
sausage, mashed potatoes, chow chow (a vegetable relish), pepper cabbage, and shoofly pie (a molasses pie for which Lancaster County is famous).
In addition, Strasburg's Historic Strasburg Inn serves family-style meals to groups. Its Pennsylvania Dutch dishes are presented by Dee Dee Meyer, a member of the "plain" Brethren faith,
who also oversees the Inn's Thursday luncheon buffets.
For a closer look at the "plain" lifestyle, visitors can arrange to enjoy meals in Meyer's rural home near Manheim on certain nights of the week. In December, this includes Christmas Eve
and Second Christmas, when she serves seasonally themed foods like red and white "velvet salad" and red and green pickled vegetables. In addition to dinner, she gives tours of her kitchen, and, during
the holidays, plays Christmas carols for guests on her antique pump organ.
At the Kling House, part of Kitchen Kettle Village in busy Intercourse, the Germanic seven sweets and seven sours are menu staples because 60-plus relishes, jams, and jellies are produced on-site.
Visitors can watch local cooks at work in the Jam and Relish Kitchen, visit the Village's 32 shops—or sample the local food in its cafe or restaurant. The Kling House offers smoked turkey sandwiches, chicken
corn soup, and many other regional favorites. In December, a festive Kitchen Kettle hosts children's activities that include the Pennsylvania German traditions surrounding the Santa-like Belsnickel.
Groff's Farm Restaurant, located outside Mount Joy, is set in the quiet environment of the family farm. Housed in an 1756 farmhouse, it offers authentic Pennsylvania Dutch dishes presented by
Betty Groff—hailed by food critics as an authority on American country cuisine—and her son Charlie.
Groff's serves homemade breads, soups and desserts, and other traditional standards, but the house specialty is its trademark chicken Stoltzfus. Her successful restaurant,
cookbooks--including Betty Groff's Pennsylvania Dutch Cookbook, local cable TV show, and other accomplishments have led the Pennsylvania German Society to honor Groff for preserving her heritage.
From smearcase (cottage cheese) to funnel cake to red-beet eggs, the Pennsylvania Dutch have added an historic cuisine to the American landscape that can still be fully experienced in Lancaster
County. Besides the authentic cooking at area restaurants, visitors find whoopie pies, apple dumplings, and other treats at numerous farmers’ markets (in summer, baked goods and fresh produce are also available
at roadside stands). Freshly baked pretzels from local factories like Sturgis Pretzel House in Lititz give visitors another sample of Lancaster County flavor.
Such quaint towns as Bird-in-Hand, Lititz, Paradise, Intercourse, Ephrata, and Strasburg not only offer lots of food choices to visitors, but also an all-around view of the Pennsylvania Dutch
lifestyle. Attractions include horse-and-buggy rides, Amish homestead tours, farm museums, a one-room schoolhouse, quilt displays, and much more. Of course, sightseeing in the county's beautiful countryside on
winter's deserted back roads gives visitors their best look at a way of life devoted to time-honored ways.
Shoofly Pie*
Crumbs
1 cup flour
2/3 cup light brown sugar
1 Tbsp. shortening
Mix flour and sugar. Cut in shortening. Measure 1/2 cup crumbs and set aside.
Bottom Part
1 egg, slightly beaten
1 cup molasses
1 cup boiling water
1 tsp. baking soda
1 9" unbaked pie shell
To large portion of crumb mixture add egg and molasses. Blend in 3/4 c. boiling water. Dissolve soda in remaining 1/4 c. water and add last.
Pour into unbaked pie shell. Sprinkle reserved crumbs on top. Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees and bake 40-45 minutes longer. Makes one 9" pie.
*Reprinted with permission by Phyllis Pellman Good from her cookbook The Best of Amish Cooking.
Information
Pennsylvania Dutch Convention & Visitors Bureau:
Tel.: (717) 299–8901
Mennonite Information Center:
Tel.: (717) 299–0954
From a Mennonite family with roots in Lancaster County dating to the 1700s, Annette Lockwood writes from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
Letters to the Editor
Oktoberfest Picks
I found the Oktoberfest feature of the Oct./Nov. ’98 issue very informative. However, I would like to point out that by the time I received the issue, out of the 19 festivals listed three were
over, three were open only on that weekend, and four were on-going and half over. Nevertheless, eight did have at least two weeks to go. I am sure I am not the only one that would appreciate a little more
advance notice. Quite often it takes more than two weeks notice to make the necessary travel arrangements to attend an out-of-state festival.
Don C. Wright, President
The German-American Society of Tulsa
Tulsa, OK
Reading your picks for Oktoberfest celebrations in North America, I cannot believe that you left out one of the best in Texas—the Wurstfest in New Braunfels is much more popular than the one
in Fredericksburg. You goofed on this one.
C. Owen Beauford
Via Email
Solving Political Riddles
I’d like all of you at German Life to know how much I enjoy each issue. Thanks for the work that makes this valuable magazine possible. In particular, I am appreciative of John Dornberg’s helpful articles on the German election and political system (Oct./Nov. ’98). The summer and year abroad I spent working and studying in Germany instilled in me a lifelong interest in and enthusiasm for Germany, German history, and for my German-American heritage. I confess that I find the German political procedures and structures so complicated, however, that despite my strong, general interest, I have not yet been persistent enough as to grasp even their basics. At last, thanks to your magazine and to Dornberg, I have been exposed to a perspective which is neither above my head (as are most German explanations of their politics) nor overly simplistic (as are most American news interpretations). Keep up the great work.
Kelly P. Slinkman
Washington D.C.
DEFA Information
We at the DEFA Film Library are delighted to have German Life readers become aware of the presence of this important German cultural legacy in the United States. Unfortunately, the article (DEFA Review, Aug./Sept. ’98) contained certain information that is out of date or inaccurate, especially the information on the contacts to obtain the films.
Film and video version of DEFA films can be rented from our library directly. Inquiries can be directed to the DEFA Film Library, 504 Herter Hall, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, MA
01003; Tel.: (413) 545–6681; Fax: (413) 545–6995; Web: www.umass.edu/defa
Videos can be purchased from a German company which has recently located an office in the United States: Ice Storm Entertainment, 78 Main Street, Northampton, MA 01060; Tel.: (413) 587–9334;
Fax: (413) 587–9305.
The article has already led to a number of inquiries from interested people and organizations. We look forward to hearing from more.
Barton Byg, Director
DEFA Film Library
Amherst, MA
Ethnic Germans
I was very pleased and surprised to read the letter from Joseph H. Kovacic in your fine magazine (Oct./Nov. ’98).
I was born in 1935 in the small German-speaking enclave of Gottschee in Slovenia. As Mr. Kovacic briefly mentioned, the Gottscheers had to leave their home country in 1941 due to the
ever-increasing pressure of the Yugoslavian government to eradicate all German traces in Yugoslavia. To this day, the country still does not recognize its German-speaking population, and the Gottscheers are
denied all rights to their confiscated property.
The Gottscheers opted to move and leave everything behind, rather than be interned in labor camps in southern Italy (since the Gotschee region was occupied by Italian troops).
After the war the majority of the Gottscheers were able to immigrate to the United States and Canada, where they started new lives and today remain active in several regions. In New
York, for instance, they have their own clubhouse where they meet for various functions or just to mingle with old friends. Among other gatherings, they have an annual Volksfest at Plattdeutsche Park, NY, with an attendance of about 3,000. They also actively participate in the annual German-American Steuben Day parade on 5th Avenue in New York City. Moreover, every Labor Day weekend features the Gottscheer Treffen (gathering), which rotates between cities in New York and Ohio and Kitchener in Canada.
The older generations of the Gottscheers still speak an ancient German dialect that probably has not changed much since A.D. 1330, when Gottschee was settled by Austrian and South German
farmers.
If readers wish to learn more, they can contact: The Gottscheer Relief Association, 657 Fairview Avenue, Ridgewood, NY 11385; or
The Gottscheer Archives at St. John’s University, 8000 Utopia Parkway, Jamaica, NY 11439.
John Jellen
Glendale, NY
Nuremberg: Germany Incarnate
By John Dornberg
Martin Luther said the city “shines forth throughout Germany like a sun among the moon and stars.” Goethe praised it lavishly. Hans Christian Andersen, the Danish storyteller, spoke of its
"royal dignity" and as the "quintessence of medieval culture." To the 19th-century Romanticists it was a "living, vibrant treasure chest."
Yet Mozart was depressed by its formidable battlements and Gothic severity. "An ugly city," he wrote in 1790 to a friend.
Nuremberg is bound to evoke mixed emotions because, like almost no other city in Germany, it embodies the contradictions of the German character and soul: the spirit of both Christmas and the
Holocaust; the artistic splendor of medieval craftsmen and artists versus the architectural pomposity of a murderous regime; the forces of light and of darkness locked in perpetual conflict but also in perennial
symbiosis.
It is the city of artists Albrecht Dürer, Veit Stoss, Peter Vischer, and Adam Kraft. Their legacy endures on paper and canvas, in wood, bronze, and stone. But it is also the city of
Albert Speer whose bombastic temples of Nazism survive. It is the city of Hans Sachs, the master cobbler turned mastersinger of poems and fables, but also of Julius Streicher, the sadistic anti-Semite whose
vicious rag Der Stürmer was the mass-circulation gazette of genocide. It is the city of the world's first pocket watch, mechanical toys, and of Europe's first railroad, and where one Martin Behaim theorized that the world is round and made the first globe. But it is also the city of Hitler's party rallies and racial laws, and of the trials that sealed the Götterdämmerung of a Reich that was to have lasted a thousand years.
What Nuremberg was and represented crumbled in the shambles and ashes of its red sandstone and half-timbered houses the night of January 2, 1945, when 525 British Lancaster bombers turned the city
into rubble. Though the loss in lives—1,829—was relatively modest compared to the thousands in other cities, the physical destruction was total. The fire storm left 100,000 people homeless—a fourth of the
population—and flattened the city's historic center.
To most Nurembergers today, the war, Hitler, and the Nazi era were only a brief though embarrassing moment in nearly 950 years of history. They would like to forget.
Nuremberg has been splendidly rebuilt. Proposals for an entirely new city were rejected in favor of a plan to patch up as many historic monuments as could be salvaged from the wreckage
while simultaneously recreating the rest of the Altstadt (Old Town) in an updated rendition of the original steep-roofed Medieval and Renaissance style, using materials that had been typical of Nuremberg for centuries, especially red sandstone. Moreover, the planners also adhered to old maps and preserved so many narrow, crooked old cobblestone streets that Dürer and Sachs or Stoss and Vischer would find their way. The rebuilding took more than three decades. In fact it was not until the early 1980s that reconstruction of the half-timbered chatelaine’s house within the Kaiserburg, the Imperial Castle, was completed.
The view from that mighty fortress, built between the 12th and 16th centuries on a bluff above the city, is of a clutter of gabled roofs, slender church spires, turrets and bastions—a crazy-quilt
of streets, lanes, and courtyards, bisected by the meandering Pegnitz River, encircled by the massive walls and moats of the defensive wall.
By German standards Nuremberg is comparatively young. It was first mentioned as "Nourenberc" in a document signed by Holy Roman Emperor Henry III in 1050 and had probably been founded a
few years earlier as a fortress on the eastern frontier of the empire.
A hamlet grew on the hill sloping down from the fortress, and the castle soon became a favored hostel for the peripatetic imperial court. Royal favor brought wealth and growth. In the early 13th
century, under Emperor Frederick I—Barbarossa—Nuremberg had became a "free city" of the realm, subject only to the emperor himself, and virtually self-governed by a council of patricians. The
"Golden Bull" of 1356, which established imperial succession on the basis of a vote among the realm's seven "electors," made the city the Holy Roman Empire's de facto capital. The document
stipulated that each newly elected emperor had to convoke his first diet—the Reichstag—in Nuremberg.
Moreover, the city became the permanent repository of the imperial insignia—the ball, scepter and crown of Charlemagne—which were kept at Heiliggeist (Holy Ghost) church. They remained there until 1796 when they were transferred to Vienna, seat of the Habsburgs, who had become, for all practical purposes, hereditary emperors.
But Nuremberg's role as capital of a realm that was neither Roman, nor holy, and actually not much of an empire, was only one factor in its rise to fame, wealth and power. Far more important were
the craftsmanship and technological inventiveness of its burghers, and its fortuitous location on the junction of four major European trade routes. These factors made it a principal commercial and manufacturing
center of the Middle Ages and the Northern Renaissance.
The 14th through 16th centuries were its golden age, an era of incomparable achievements in the arts, humanities, sciences, technology, and industry. It was not only the city of artists but of
brass-founding, metal smithing, cloth weaving, watch-, gun-, toy- and musical instrument-making, printing, and navigational equipment.
Ironically, Nuremberg's contribution to navigation precipitated its decline. Discovery of the New World and sea passages to Asia detracted from the importance of the old land routes that crossed
in the city. The Thirty Years’ War did the rest. By 1806, when Napoleon elevated the duchy of Bavaria to a kingdom, giving it Nuremberg and surrounding Franconia as a province, the city had only 25,000
inhabitants—about half its population of 300 years earlier.
Though Bavaria's King Ludwig I did commission Europe's first railroad line between Nuremberg and Fürth in 1835, the city did not regain importance until the late 19th-century's industrialization,
and it was only due to Hitler that it again made a mark on history.
To Hitler, because of its architecture, appearance, and role in the empire, it represented the quintessence of Germanism and the Third Reich he envisioned. Add to that the special role of Julius
Streicher, the Franconian Nazi leader, to whom Hitler had pledged eternal friendship because of his key role as agitator and propagandist during the abortive 1923 "beerhall putsch" in Munich.
Hitler's cult in Nuremberg had begun two months before that event when his National Socialists and other radical right groups staged a so-called "German Day" in the city, the
high-point of which was a review of their private armies on the picturesque Hauptmarkt, the market square.
The Nazis held party congresses in Nuremberg in 1927 and 1929, and after taking power in 1933 Hitler made the city the permanent convention and rally site. It was during the 1935 congress that he
also convened a special session of the Reichstag to enact the so-called "Nuremberg Racial Laws" which heralded the Holocaust.
To stage these frightening displays of political power he commissioned Albert Speer to build obscene temples of Nazism on a 1,500 acre plot at the southeastern edge of the city.
How Nurembergers feel today about the Nazi past is perhaps best reflected by what has happened to Speer's concrete mecca. Most of the huge plot has been turned into a park with ponds and wooded
glens. Apartment blocks; the ultra-modern Meistersingerhalle, a convention and concert hall; and trade-fair grounds occupy another chunk of it.
The horseshoe-shaped "Kongresshalle," larger than Rome's Colosseum, completed except for its central auditorium roof, serves as a warehouse for a mail-order company and as the recording
studio for Nuremberg's philharmonic orchestra.
For those with a macabre bent to sightseeing, the relics of Nazism are there to ogle. But, fortunately, Nuremberg has more and better sights to offer.
It is a city strictly for walking. No tour on wheels will do it justice. Moreover, much of it is open only to pedestrians. But because of the size of its historic medieval center, strong legs and
sturdy shoes are a must. Alone the l4th- to 15th-century defensive wall is three miles long.
That wall, eight yards high, with covered ramparts, 120 sentry towers, 12 fortified gates, numerous bastions, counter-scarp, and 60-foot moat, is also the perfect starting point. A hike along it
is a way to get your bearings and a feeling for the city.
Huddled inside those fortifications right at the Königstor (King's Gate), near the southern tip of the Altstadt and the Hauptbahnhof (main railway station), is the Handwerkerhof (Crafts Court), an enclave of half-timbered shops and stalls that conjures images of life in the Middle Ages.
The wares made and sold here range from wooden toys and stained glass to Nuremberger Bratwürste and Lebkuchen, the city's most renowned comestibles.
Those finger-sized Nuremberg-style sausages are made of pork and various spices. They are charcoal-broiled at booths like the ones in the Handwerkerhof. The sausage man standing high above the
action and shouting, "One, two, three, four" and so on, is not an auctioneer. You're expected to shout back the number of sausages you want. Six or less are a snack, 14 will make lunch. They are best
with sauerkraut, a slab of rye bread and mustard.
Lebkuchen, sometimes called gingerbread cookies though traditional recipes do not call for ginger, are to Nuremberg what marzipan is to Lübeck. Nuremberg
has been the Lebkuchen capital of the world since 1409 when baking them was first mentioned in municipal records as an independent craft, subject to taxation. The oldest Lebkuchen-maker has been in business
since 1598. (See At Home, pp. 50-51).
Construction of the town wall in its present form did not begin until Nuremberg was some 150 years old. Until then there were virtually two towns, each enclosed, separated by the Pegnitz. To call
it a river stretches the term: a creek or small stream would be more appropriate, for nowhere, as it bisects the city along an east-west axis, is it more than 50 feet wide. But it gives Nuremberg a verdant and
picturesque charm. A walk along its banks and over its nine bridges is like a stroll into a fairy-tale world.
The most memorable views are of the Heiliggeistspital (Holy Ghost Hospital), with foundations in the streambed; the Weinstadel, a 15th-century wine warehouse; and the Henkersteg (Hangman's Bridge), fittingly surrounded by weeping willows.
Nuremberg's heart is the cobblestone Hauptmarkt (Main Market Square). Eleven months of the year it teems with flower, fruit and vegetable vendors. But during four weeks from Advent Sunday until December 24th it turns into a small town of wood and canvas stalls and the scene of one of the city's most colorful events: the Christkindlmarkt (Christ
Child Market), which expresses the German tradition that the Christ Child, not Santa Claus, brings the seasonal gifts.
Not only is it the world's oldest Christmas fair, having been held on the same spot for more than 400 years, but by far the most dazzling: a kaleidoscope of booths selling toys, tree
ornaments, tinsel, handicrafts, candles, lights, candy, fruitcakes, Lebkuchen, Glühwein (mulled wine) and fragrant herbs. There are daily carol and trombone concerts, and performances by theater, dance
and puppet groups. The setting is as spectacular as the month-long event itself, for the square is tucked between the filigreed facade of the Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady), the Rathaus (Town Hall), and the gilded Schöne Brunnen (Beautiful Fountain). The Frauenkirche was built on the site of a Jewish synagogue, destroyed along with the entire quarter in a 14th-century pogrom. The 16th century clock on its facade depicts the seven electors paying homage to the emperor. The Rathaus combines late Gothic and early Renaissance elements in its design. The Schöne Brunnen was completed in 1396 and is the finest example of Gothic fountain architecture anywhere.
Wherever you walk in Nuremberg, the Kaiserburg is in view. A visit is essential to understanding the city and its history. It is one of Europe's largest fortified castles and unique in that it was
never a home but more a hotel for the emperor, electors, princes, and dukes during sessions of the diet. There are guided tours of its knights' hall, chapel, apartments, and council chambers.
Just below the western part of the fortress there is a picturesque square and the Albrecht Dürer House. The artist bought it in 1509 and lived there until his death in 1528. This perfect example
of a burgher house contains period furnishings and interiors, and originals and copies of his work.
Nuremberg abounds with Gothic churches, two of which—St. Sebald and St. Lawrence, both Protestant since Martin Luther's days, dominate the city skyline.
St. Sebald's, three steep blocks downhill from Dürer's house and named for Nuremberg's patron saint, was built in the late 13th century and represents the transition from Romanesque to Gothic
styles. It abounds with works by famous Nuremberg artists. The masterpiece is Peter Vischer's elaborate bronze tomb for St. Sebald's remains, sculpted and cast in 1519.
St. Lawrence's, begun in the 13th century and completed in the 15th, contains three prized works of art: a magnificent stained glass rosette window at the west end of the nave; the "Angelic
Salutation," an intricate wood carving by Stoss, suspended from the vaulted ceiling over the entrance to the choir; Kraft's remarkable tabernacle, chiseled from stone, and supported by a kneeling
self-portrait of the sculptor and two of his apprentices.
St. Martha's Church, near the Handwerkerhof, noted for its 14th-century stained-glass windows, was secularized in 1526 and was where Nuremberg's Meistersinger had their school and rehearsed from
1578 to 1620. It became a church again in 1808.
Cemeteries evoke mixed emotions, but two of Nuremberg's—St. Rochus and St. Johannis ought not to be missed. Both contain the graves of some of the city's most celebrated burghers, artists and
artisans: Dürer, Stoss, Vischer, Kraft, Hans Sachs, the astronomer Martin Behaim, the inventor of the first pocket watch Peter Henlein, and the 19th-century painter Anselm Feuerbach.
Unlike some other old cities, whether preserved or reconstructed, Nuremberg's Altstadt is not a museum but a thriving, vibrant district. Life and commerce throb in its narrow, twisting streets and
behind the chiseled and half-timbered facades of its picturesque houses. But much of what Nuremberg was in its golden age is best seen in one of its many museums.
One of the most charming is the Spielzeugmuseum (Toy Museum), a mindboggling collection of dolls, doll houses, tin figures, miniature trains, mechanical toys, and children's books from medieval days to the present. It is a tribute to one of the city's chief industries—there is a "dealers only" international toy merchandise fair in Nuremberg each February. The museum is located in a restored Renaissance mansion on Karlstrasse, a block from St. Sebald's church.
The Germanisches National Museum (Germanic National Museum) is housed in a whole complex of buildings, including parts of a 600-year-old Carthusian monastery and a new 1993 wing designed by Israeli architect Dani Karavan, along the Kornmarkt.
This singular, privately financed institution exhibits and preserves the art, culture, handicrafts, and technology of all the German lands and tribes, from the earliest times through the 19th
century. Its art collection, which alone would take several days to see, includes some of the finest paintings, sculptures and wood carvings by Dürer, the Cranachs, the Holbeins, Baldung-Grien, Kraft, Vischer,
Stoss, and Riemenschneider. There are more than 1,000 old musical instruments, countless pieces of medieval armor, the original score of Wagner's "Die Meistersinger," Behaim's famous globe, and
Henlein's original pocket watch.
The Deutsche Bahn und Post Museum (German Rail and Postal Museum) in the Verkehrsmuseum (Transport Museum) at the corner of Königsgraben and Lorenzer Strasse, is equally overwhelming. It includes one of the world's largest postage stamp collections, stage coaches, early railroad cars, and a working replica of the "Adler," that 1835 train which ran between Nuremberg and Fürth.
There is more to the city than its collected past in museums. Gustatory pleasures abound. Besides the one in the Handwerkerhof, the Altstadt teems with Bratwurst inns: "Bratwurst-Häusle"
at Rathausplatz 1, "Bratwurst-Röslein" at Rathausplatz 6, the "Historische Bratwurstküche von 1419" at Zirkelschmiedgasse 26, and "Bratwurst Friedl" at 21 Hallplatz, to name a few.
A proper Nuremberg Bratwurst consists of high-grade minced pork seasoned only with pepper, salt, marjoram, and coriander. It should weigh about an ounce, be a half to three-fourth of an inch thick, and around
four inches long. They are best washed down with beer or dry Franconian white wine.
For more discriminating palates there are several historic restaurants that merit Michelin or Gault-Millau ratings and specialize in Franconian regional dishes prepared to the dictates of nouvelle
cuisine.
Among the most pleasant is the "Goldenes Posthorn" which has catered to Nurembergers at the same location across the street from St. Sebald's Church, since 1489. Cozy, candlelighted, and
wood-paneled, it is decorated with old handicrafts, paintings and historic mementos, including a 445-year-old set of playing cards that once belonged to Hans Sachs.
To really see and explore the city you should allow at least several days.
Contributing editor John Dornberg writes from Munich.
For more information contact:
Congress- und Tourismus- Zentrale Nuernberg
Postfach 4248, 90022 Nuernberg
Tel.: 011.49.911.2336-0; Fax: 011.49.911.2336166
tourismus@nuernberg.btl.de - http://www.nuernberg.de
HOTELS
Grand Hotel
1–3 Bahnhofstrasse
90402 Nuremberg
Tel.: 011.49.911.23220; Fax: 011.49.911.2322444
Deluxe and expensive, but within easy walking distance of the main sights. Doubles DM 320 to DM 530 ($214 to $355).
Hotel am Jakobsmarkt
5 Schottengasse
90402 Nuremberg
Tel. 011.49.911.20070; Fax: 011.49.911.2007200
Somewhat sterile in decoration but close to the Old Quarter sights. Doubles DM 194 to DM 214 ($130 to $143).
Romantik Hotel am Josephsplatz
30–32 Josephsplatz
90403 Nuremberg
Tel. 011.49.911.214470; Fax: 011.49.911.21447200
Right in the Old Quarter, rustic furnishings. Doubles DM 190 to DM 300 ($127 to $201).
Dürer Hotel
32 Neutormauer
90403 Nuremberg
Tel.: 011.49.911.208091; Fax: 011.49.911.223458
Burghotel
3 Lammgasse
90403 Nuremberg
Tel.: 011.49.911.204414; Fax: 011.49.911.223882
In the Old Quarter below the Kaiserburg, be sure to reserve well in advance. Doubles DM 170 to DM 250 ($114 to $168).
Skiing in Austria’s Tyrol
By Ted Heck
For German skiers Austria is where the action is. Down the Autobahn a piece are world class ski resorts whose billowy snowfields promise exciting adventure for every class of skier from timid
novices to aggressive experts.
There is excellent skiing in Germany, of course, well known not only by natives but by millions of Americans who served overseas in the military after World War II. Many of them learned to ski in
the U. S. Army recreation centers of Berchtesgaden and Garmisch-Partenkirchen, the latter the site of the 1936 Winter Olympics. These veterans often return to the Alps to ski in Bavaria or Austria.
Other German alpine resorts include Oberstdorf and Reit im Winkl. On the western end of the country the Black Forest has several ski areas, the largest of which is Feldberg. The Schwarzwald also
has more than 14,000 miles of hiking trails and paths; many of them become cross-country tracks in winter.
But the Austrian Alps have considerably more skiing opportunities—grander and most of it above the treeline. Austria is close and comfortable. A German skier there is not a “foreigner,” because
there are many shared customs and an intertwined history. And the common language helps. In other countries of polyglot Europe a cable car full of skiers can sound like an elevator in the Tower of Babel.
The high comfort index is a major attraction in the Austrian state of Tyrol, which twists along Germany’s southern border for more than 100 miles. Mountainous Tyrol, wedged between Germany and
northern Italy, would fit within the state of Connecticut. Yet it is a skier’s paradise, with 119 resorts that offer downhill skiing and snowboarding. That’s about three times the number of all ski areas
combined in Utah and Colorado. Skiers have more than 2,000 miles of prepared runs to choose from and nearly 1,200 lifts to ride. There are countless off-piste opportunities for downhillers and almost 2,500 miles
of tracks for cross-country skiers. In many of the larger resorts the mix of skiers is roughly two thirds German, one third Austrian, with only a single digit percentage for other nationalities, including
Americans. The demographics of the skiing population appear to be similar to those seen in the United States: all ages represented, but predominantly in the 20 to 50 age bracket and from all walks of life.
Some of the smaller resorts are anonymous to the U.S. market, even though they may be important links in impressive ski circuits, such as the Wilder Kaiser—Brixental region, where 27 resorts
operate on one ski pass. Such circuits, sometimes called circuses, are a major draw in the Alps. Rarely in America can one ride up a mountain, cruise to the bottom of another peak, go up and down again on still
another mountain, and end up in a village miles away from the starting point.
American skiers gravitate to better-known Austrian resorts, such as nearby Kitzbühel in the northeast corner of the Tyrol, the ski areas around Innsbruck, and famed resorts of the Arlberg region
on the western end of the state.
Popular Innsbruck
The capital of Tyrol is probably the best known of these resorts to skiers from the United States. Innsbruck hosted the 1964 and 1976 Winter Olympics and television coverage created a high level
of awareness for the city.
In 1964 viewers saw the first American males ever to win Olympic alpine medals when Billy Kidd and Jimmy Heuga earned silver and bronze in slalom. A dozen years later Austria’s Franz Klammer
stirred skiers around the world with his careening, sometimes out-of-control downhill race for the gold, a run that has been seen hundreds of times on TV.
The Patscherkofel mountain, above the village of Igls, is a big ice cream cone that looms over Innsbruck. It has the number one downhill course in the region and when not closed for a race, the
trail is popular with recreational skiers who play at being Klammer. The mountain also contains the bobsled run, where thrill seekers can reach high speeds while sitting down.
Innsbruck has five other ski areas. On the north side of the city is Seegrube-Nordkette, with steep snowfields that intimidate many visitors. More comfortable are the slopes at Glungezer and
Mutterer Alm. But the busiest areas are Axamer Lizum and the Stubai Glacier. Axamer Lizum was the Olympic venue for the women’s downhill. The course is wide and offers a delightful cruise for anyone not trying
to schuss it. Rated blue, it can be studied by intermediates while they ride up the mountain on a funicular railcar. Jagged rocky peaks rim the area and provide a spectacular backdrop.
The Stubai is more than 10,000 feet high and the snow is likely to be better on the glacier than elsewhere in the region. In winter long runs of several miles are possible all the way back down to
the parking lot. In summer one can ski the Stubai in the morning, and when the sun turns snow into Slurpee, go whitewater rafting on the Inn River.
(For anyone susceptible to altitude illness Innsbruck is a blessing. Less than 2,000 feet above sea level, the city offers welcome relief to skiers who get headaches or become nauseated and weak
when oxygen decreases at high altitude. A person who cannot sleep at night in Breckenridge, Colorado, where the town is 9,600 feet high, finds all of Austria comfortable because of lower elevations of towns and
villages. Skiing in the Alps is also warmer.)
Innsbruck is not a ski in / ski out resort. The various ski areas are 30 to 45 minutes away from center city by car or the free ski bus. A longer and also scenic drive puts skiers into Seefeld, a
resort on the road to Garmisch. Seefeld has several interesting downhill runs, but it is better known for its cross-country loops, which were Nordic venues in the two Olympics.
Innsbruck is often recommended to mismatched couples, i.e., partners who do not need to match each other in the number of vertical feet skied in a day. Or for those who feel there is a life
after skiing. Other outdoor adventures abound, including ice skating, sledding, sleigh riding, and tobogganing. The more casual skier can drop out to sample the city’s considerable indoor attractions: palaces
from the heydays of Habsburg rulers, folk museums, art galleries, magnificent churches, and hundreds of shops where cash registers can scoop up Schillings faster than a croupier’s rake in the casino.
A walk around the Old City is a hug by history. Narrow, cobble-stoned streets where kings and queens have trod, renaissance buildings with the patina of centuries, quaint restaurants where famous
authors and composers have compared notes over coffee.
The après-ski scene in Innsbruck goes beyond the conviviality of a typical ski resort. Small talk still shuttles across a dinner table, but it stops during a concert or an aria at the opera in
this culturally rich city.
St. Anton am Arlberg
If Innsbruck is cosmopolitan, St. Anton is a paradise for those whose great passion is skiing.
One Austrian matron, stopping for a breather on the slopes of the Galzig mountain above the village, sweeps her hand around the panorama: “You know, we don’t have anything to compare with this in
all of Austria.”
Aficionados of other areas may quarrel with her local pride. But they cannot challenge statistics. St. Anton has a vertical drop nearly a mile high. The run from the top of the Valluga peak, which
dominates the area, down to the village is five miles long, mostly through open snowfields. And once the skier has done that and looks for another excursion, he or she can go back up, change sights a couple of
clicks and make the long run over to tiny St. Christoph, the highest resort in the Arlberg.
It is an ideal place for a leisurely lunch on a sunlit deck, where the menu challenges: Bratwurst? Rösti? Gulasch soup? Tafelspitz? Bier? And for dessert—a plate of Kaiserschmarm that everybody can dip into? Or a Germknödel, a huge dumpling smothered with poppyseed and vanilla sauce?
Maybe there is time after lunch for a quick look at the 14th-century hospice that is centerpiece of this romantic village. But certainly more skiing before the next opportunity for Gemütlichkeit,
the all-embracing German word that says fun and fellowship and good feeling. For some skiers that means a stop on the final run home, in a mountain hut to watch the sun go down, while they sip from a mug of hot
wine.
Most skiers, however, hurry back to St. Anton to join the après-ski scene. The pedestrian zone becomes Grand Central Station at commuter time, but happy people carry skis instead of briefcases.
They head for their favorite pub or today’s “in” place. Animated conversations are mostly in German, but a surprising amount of English is heard, both in broad British accents or American twangs. After the happy
hour and a shower, it’s out to dinner in one of the resort’s many fine restaurants.
Somewhere along the line, skiers without partners hope to make connections. Perhaps there is serendipity in lift lines and cafes. But most romance in the Alps is intramural, a continuation of
friendships that began back in Berlin or Philadelphia. There just aren’t enough German barons or French countesses to go around.
For those already connected, one charming place that can be recommended is the candlelit dining room of the Heimat Museum. A cozy fireplace and a good chef make this former private home a quiet
and different way to end the day. In the second-floor museum drawings and photographs depict the history of the village and St. Anton’s place in the history of skiing. The sport was already big business way back
in 1922. And Hannes Schneider developed here the Arlberg technique that revolutionized the sport by showing people that it really was easy to turn awkward pieces of wood in the snow.
St. Anton has been home to Olympic and World Cup heroes. The town is trumpeting the World Alpine Championships, which it will host in 2,001. A banner across the main street announces the event two
years ahead of time. The 8,000 beds will surely be booked long before then and some spectators may have to stay in other villages on both sides of the Arlberg Pass.
A look at Lech
Although the focus here is on the state of Tyrol, a few words should be added about Lech, an important ski resort in the Arlberg region. Just outside the Tyrolean border, Lech is in the
westernmost state of Vorarlberg. But it is promoted with St. Anton and St. Christoph in the Tyrol as well as Stuben and Zürs—other villages in Vorarlberg. They share a common ski pass that allows access to 85
lifts, 160 miles of prepared runs, and boundless ungroomed terrain.
Some adventurous skiers drop off the top of the Valluga for a backcountry trek through deep snow toward Zürs and Lech, but that’s a one-way journey that calls for a bus or cab ride back. It is
more likely that skiers who choose St. Anton over Lech as their base in the Arlberg will spend at least a day in Lech. One popular ski tour is to follow the sun around the mountains, skiing the circus that
connects Lech and Zürs.
Lech’s bed base is almost as large as St. Anton’s. The village’s chalets, mostly intermediate slopes and lively après-ski scene are the stuff of mouth-watering brochures.
Both Lech and St. Anton are members of the “exclusive” group of 11 resorts that market themselves as “The Best of the Alps.” Two others in Austria are Seefeld and Kitzbühel. Switzerland also has
four—Davos, Grindelwald, St. Moritz, and Zermatt. Germany has Garmisch-Partenkirchen. Only two are in non-German speaking sections of the Alps—Chamonix in France and Cortina in Italy.
If you go
The nearest gateway for the Arlberg is Zurich, Switzerland, where Swissair is the major carrier. The airport is about 2–1/2 hours away by car or bus. International trains stop in the middle of St.
Anton.
Munich’s airport is an hour farther from the Arlberg, but less than two hours from Innsbruck. Easy rail connections there, too. Lufthansa has the most international flights to Munich.
For more information contact the Austrian National Tourist Office in New York City, Tel.: (212) 944–6880. Fax: (212) 730–4568.
Writing from Blue Bell, Pennsylvania, Ted Heck is an editor of The Blue Book of European Ski Resorts and author of Euro-On-Skis on the Internet
at www.aminews.com
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