I figured that the most interesting thing I could do after lunch would be to investigate the Hohensalzburg Fortress on top of its mountain, so I set out in its general direction and immediately found myself in the St. Peter’s Abbey cemetery, known as Petersfriedhof. I’m not normally a great fan of cemeteries, even historic ones, but Petersfriedhof proved to be a very unusual and beautiful place and I’m glad I didn’t miss it.
The cemetery is actually older than the abbey, having been used as a burial place by Christians from late antiquity. The graves are beautifully decorated, and when I was there in June the grounds were lush and verdant, with flowers in bloom throughout. But what really Petersfriedhof an extraordinary place is the chapels, the arcade crypts and the catacombs. At the back of the cemetery, right up against the mountain, is a long row of crypts fronted by elegant wrought-iron gates, containing tombs where the members of wealthy and aristocratic families are buried. These crypts are attractively decorated in various ways, some with frescoes, others with elaborate headstones, and included in the rent paid for the crypts is a floral service which places fresh flowers in each crypt every month.
Carved into the mountain above the crypts are catacombs, thought to have been built in the Roman era, possibly by Christians as places of shelter and refuge from persecution.
Among the notable persons buried in Petersfriedhof are the composer Michael Haydn, younger brother of Joseph Haydn; Maria Anna “Nannerl” Mozart, Wolfgang’s older sister; and Harry J. Collins, an American general who led the 42nd Infantry Division in the invasion of Germany at the end of World War II, liberated the Dachau concentration camp, served as military governor of western Austria after the war, and later retired to Salzburg, where he died in 1963.
Inevitably, Petersfriedhof also figures in The Sound of Music, which has a famous cliff-hanger scene set there: with the aid of the Mother Abbess of Nonnberg Abbey the von Trapps hide from the pursuing Nazis in the catacombs as they prepare to escape to Switzerland. (This episode is of course entirely fictional.)
After meandering around Petersfriedhof a bit, I came out on the north end of a small triangular plaza where I found an old waterwheel, slowly turning under the impulse of a stream that runs underneath. This wheel, or Wasserrad in German, powers the mill of St. Peter’s Abbey Bakery next to it. It’s a proud relic of an older time when technology was relatively primitive and yet provided an efficient and reliable way of harnessing the forces of nature. According to a local guide, there is a local legend to the effect that the Wasserrad was once part of a series of “talking” wheels, believed to whisper prophecies to those who listened closely on moonlit nights.
Across the court from the waterwheel and its bakery stands a statue of the Bohemian martyr St. John of Nepomuk (Johannes or Jan Nepomuk, 1345-1393). He is venerated in the Roman Catholic Church as the “martyr of the seal of confession,” because, as the confessor of the Queen of Bohemia, he supposedly refused to divulge the secrets of her confessions to King Vaclav IV, who had him drowned in the Vltava River in retaliation. Because of the manner of his death, he came to be considered a protector against floods and drowning, and touching his statue is thought to bring good fortune, especially for those about to embark on a journey over water.
Exiting from the courtyard of the Wasserrad into a narrow street called Festungsgasse – “Fortress Alley” – I shortly came to the lower station of the Festungsbahn, the funicular railway that transports people to and from the Hohensalzburg fortress. Near the entrance to the Festungsbahn is a pool with several intriguing fan-shaped contraptions which appear to be windmills operating water pumps, perhaps to irrigate the vegetation in the cemetery – that’s my guess, because I didn’t see any signs or plaques describing them. But tucked in behind the pool, next to the Festungsbahn station, is a small rock-walled tunnel, apparently quite old, called the Liebesgrotte, or Love Grotto. At the entrance there is a plaque which reads, in old-style German letters, “Küsst man sich in der ‘K & K Liebesgrotte’, wird die Liebe ewig w
The Festungsbahn has been in existence since 1892, although it has been updated several times since then, most recently in 2011. It is a single-track railway with a passing loop, and is 191 meters (627 feet) long; 99 of those meters (327 feet) are vertical, with a maximum grade of 62%. Two cars are operated, with a maximum rated capacity of 55 passengers each; I found it hard to believe that 55 passengers could fit into one car, and certainly not more than 20 were in the each of the cars I rode in. The ride up to the fortress takes only one minute.
It turns out that there is another railway that provides access to the fortress; it is used for hauling supplies, and it is far older than the Festungsbahn. The Reisszug is a privately operated cable railway running from the Nonnberg Abbey on the east side up to the central courtyard of the fortress. It was already in operation by the early 16th century, which would make it the oldest cable railway – or perhaps the oldest railway of any kind – still in existence. The cars then were equipped with wooden wheels and ran on wooden rails, and human or animal power was used to pull them to the top with hemp ropes. I pity whomever was called upon to provide the motive force, because the gradient is 65%. This situation prevailed until 1910, when the railway was updated with steel rails, steel cables and an electric motor for traction. It has only one car, which can carry 3 passengers or 2,500 kilograms (5,500 pounds) of freight.
The Hohensalzburg, sitting atop the Festungsberg (Fortress Mountain) at an altitude of 506 meters (1660 feet), is one of the largest medieval castles in Europe. Although there was a Roman fortification atop the hill in ancient times, construction of the medieval fortress began in 1077 under Archbishop Gebhard von Helfenstein. During the Investiture Controversy, which pitted the Holy Roman Emperor against the Roman Catholic Papacy, Gebhard was a supporter of Pope Gregory VII against Emperor Henry IV. Fearing the prospect of Henry’s wrath, and anticipating the need to defend his realm against Imperial forces, Gebhard had a basic motte-and-bailey castle – a bastion or keep with wooden walls – built atop the Festungsberg. It did him no good; Henry chased Gebhard out of Salzburg and installed an anti-archbishop in his place. (Gebhard eventually regained his archbishopric in 1086 with the support of the powerful Duke of Bavaria.)
The fortress was greatly expanded in the 15th and early 16th centuries, just in time for the Reformation. This was fortunate for Prince-Archbishop Matthäus Lang von Wellenburg, Prince-Archbishop from 1519 to 1540, who was besieged in the fortress in 1525 by local insurgents — the only time the fortress came under siege during its entire existence. Lang, a strong supporter of the Catholic Church and Emperor Charles V, had made himself unpopular in Salzburg, and a group of miners, peasants and townspeople wanted to get rid of him. But they failed to take the fortress, and the Archbishop called in help from outside to suppress the revolt. During the Napoleonic Wars, in 1800, French troops took the fortress, but they did not need to besiege it, because it was surrendered without a fight, and the last Prince-Archbishop, Hieronymus von Colloredo, Mozart’s nemesis, ran away to Vienna. Unfortunately Mozart was no longer alive to savor the Archbishop’s discomfiture.
After the Napoleonic Wars, with the imposition of direct Habsburg rule on the former archbishopric of Salzburg, the fortress became Imperial property and was used as a military barracks, storage depot and prison until 1861, when the government turned it over to the city of Salzburg. After the building of the Festungsbahn funicular railway in 1892, it became a major tourist attraction. However, during World War I it was again used as a prison, this time for Italian prisoners of war; and again in the 1930s, when the Austrian government incarcerated unruly Nazis there until the Anschluss of 1938, after which the inmates took over the asylum, in effect.
Since World War II, Hohensalzburg has become one of the pre-eminent tourist magnets in a city which is full of fascinating attractions. The fortress contains several enticing museums, which I would have loved to visit, but I only had enough time to do a superficial walk-through of the passages and courtyards. Even that took over an hour; I could have spent an entire day there. The Prince’s Chambers in the Hohe Stock are said to be quite impressive; on the ceiling of one room, the Golden Chamber, is a simulation of the night-time sky, consisting of gold stars on an azure background. I also regret to have missed the Salzburg Bull, which is not a bovine but a 500-year-old wheel-driven auto-playing barrel organ. But you can see and listen to it, as I did, on YouTube, via the fortress’ website.
The Salzburg Bull was installed during the tenure of Prince-Archbishop Leonhard von Keutschach, who was responsible for a number of major improvements to the fortress. There is a monument to him in the wall of St. George’s Chapel in the main courtyard of the fortress. He was elected Archbishop in 1495, and proved to be a highly effective administrator; during his reign Salzburg became one of the richest principalities in Europe. He stabilized the archbishopric’s finances and undertook important economic initiatives, including the reorganization of the salt trade and the development of silver and gold mining. He strengthened the defenses of the city and the fortress, and had several new castles built in his domains to improve its security.
But there was a dark side to his reign also. In 1404 the Jews had been expelled from the city, but since then had been allowed to return; Leonhard expelled them again and destroyed their synagogues. In 1481 Holy Roman Emperor Frederick III had granted the citizens of Salzburg the right to elect their own city council and mayor, a reform which was most unwelcome to the Archbishops. But Leonhard found a solution to that: in 1511 he invited the city officials to a posh banquet, where he had them clapped into prison and held there until they agreed to renounce the rights granted by the Emperor. He was also notorious for nepotism, placing his relatives in important positions throughout the archdiocese. Perhaps on account of these transgressions, in 1514 the Pope appointed a coadjutor to the archbishop. A coadjutor in the Roman Catholic Church is a kind of co-bishop appointed to assist in the administration of the diocese, and perhaps to keep an eye on the bishop if he is thought to be in declining health, or is incompetent or suspected of malfeasance. A coadjutor also has the right to succeed the current bishop on his retirement or death. Leonhard von Keutschach’s coadjutor was Matthäus Lang von Wellenburg, and the two did not get on well. The situation was resolved, however, when Leonhard died in 1519 and Matthäus Lang succeeded him. As I have already noted, Lang was no more popular with the citizenry of Salzburg than his predecessor, but he greatly benefited from Leonhard’s upgrades to the fortress, which helped him to weather the revolt of 1525.
Two of Leonhard’s predecessors, Burkhard von Weisbriach (1461-1466) and Bernhard von Rohr (1466-1481), had already made some significant additions in 1462, consisting of ring walls and towers. Leonhard picked up where they had left off, adding new walls and towers, strengthening the existing ones, and installing cisterns to safeguard the water supply. He was also responsible for the creation of the luxurious Prince’s Chambers in the Hohe Stock, for the construction of St. George’s Chapel, and for the acquisition of the Salzburg Bull organ. The Reisszug cable railway was established during his tenure. It was in his time that Hohensalzburg essentially acquired the form in which we see it today.
In addition to all the other enhancements he sponsored, Leonhard gave the fortress a new coat-of-arms, with a rather whimsical design taken from his own coat of arms, which depicts a lion and a turnip. The turnip was part of the von Keutschach family heritage; their coat-of-arms displays a white turnip on a black field. Although the coat-of-arms is displayed prominently on the wall of the chapel, I missed it and didn’t get a photo, but a good one can be seen on the Hohensalzburg page of the Exploring Castles website.
As one might expect, the views of the city and countryside from the parapets of Hohensalzburg are magnificent, and I did my best to shoot a full 360-degree panoply of photos in the limited time I had.
The view to the north overlooks the Aldstadt, the Old City, in the foreground, with the Cathedral, St. Peter’s Abbey, the Franciscan Church and the University Church all prominently in view. Behind them the Salzach River winds through the city, heading toward its rendezvous with the Inn River far in the north. Across the Salzach one may discern the major landmarks of the Neustadt: the Kapuziner Kloster – Capuchin Monastery – on the Kapuzinerberg; the Dreifaltigskeitkirche (Holy Trinity Church), a Baroque church with a large dome; the Andräkirche (St. Andrew’s Church), a neo-Gothic church on Mirabellplatz; and, of course, the Mirabell Palace with its gardens.
Immediately to the west lies M
To the east of the fortress may be seen the Nonnberg Abbey, where Captain von Trapp and Maria from The Sound of Music were married in real life; the Sportunion Sportplatz and the Sportzentrum Salzburg Mitte, a sports complex; the Nature and Life-Sciences Department of the University of Salzburg; and various other educational institutions.
The most stunning views for me were toward the south. That way lay the Berchtesgaden Alps, Untersberg, and the Tirol. The south view was filled by the Untersberg massif, with its lopsided peak of Berchtesgaden Hochthron. To the southwest and southeast, the Alps seem to march off endlessly into the distance.
At the foot of the Festungsberg, beneath the fortress ramparts, there is a broad squarish green space with a solitary small house in the middle. I found out later that this was the Krautwachterhaus (“Vegetable keeper’s house”), so called because from the time of its construction in 1380 down to the 19th century it was the dwelling of the caretaker of the vegetable gardens of St. Peter’s Abbey. The vegetable gardens are now a park called Krauth
The park is also the site of the Krauth
After descending from the fortress, again via the Festungsbahn, I had about a half-hour to get back to the rendezvous point at Marko Feingold Bridge by the appointed time of 3:45, so my picture-taking time was limited to quick pauses along the way. However, I did manage to see Kapitelplatz, which I had missed on the way in. This is the square just south of the Cathedral, and there I encountered a huge golden ball resting on an iron frame with a man standing on top clothed in what appeared to be dark pants and a flannel shirt. This is the Salzburg Sphaera, a work of art by the German sculptor Stephan Strahlhol (or Stangenhol, or Balkhol — he evidently goes by several different family names and nobody seems to know which is the real one). I felt sorry for the man standing immobile on top all day until I realized that he is just a statue of Paul F
There is no fence or other barrier around the Goldene Kugel and the lower part of its surface is within easy reach of a person standing next to it, so of course that expanse of the ball – which, if the ball were the Earth, would be about the area within the Antarctic Circle – is covered with graffiti. However, the graffiti extend up much farther than that, up to about the Tropic of Capricorn, 23° 26′ 22″ south of the Equator, so some people must have had ladders or stood on others’ shoulders to write their graffiti. The most prominent graffito was by someone from the city of Yaroslavl in Russia (a place which I visited in 1973 and where I walked on the ice-covered river Volga) and consists simply of the inscription “YAROSLAVLЬ 09.07.2019”. (The character Ь at the end of the city name is the result of a misguided attempt to retain the final Russian letter while transliterating the name into Latin letters. The usual way to represent the Russian letter Ь in Latin type is with an apostrophe, so the city name would come out as Yaroslavl’.)
Threading my way back to the rendezvous point through the narrow streets of the Altstadt to the Marko Feingold footbridge, I encountered a number of tempting establishments I would have loved to patronize if there had been time. On Goldgasse I passed a gin bar named the “5020 Destillerie” where the gin is distilled on the premises, and they will make drinks to go, which would probably be illegal anyplace in the USA. On Judenstrasse I came upon a caf
I made it back to the rendezvous point on time, boarded the bus and slept most of the way back to the ship. Thus ended my second visit to Salzburg, which turned out to be far more pleasant and edifying than the first.