Set in a valley between two ridges of mountains, the peaks still patched with snow left over from the long winter, Innsbruck was a summer residence of the Hapsburg royal family, which had a history of court politics and romance that could equal that of the Tudors. Now it is teeming with tourists from all over the world. I have a room in the center of the old town at the Goldener Adler, which dates back to the 14th century. Nearby, just beyond the old town walls, the river Inns is rushing fast and high from the thaw of the first days of hot summer weather, the temperatures above 30o. A plaque on the stone wall near the entrance to the hotel carries names of kings and princes and other notables who sojourned there, including of late Camus and Sartre. My room is named after Nicola Paganini, who stayed here in 1820. The receptionist is dressed in traditional Tirol costume of tight bodice with puffed sleeves and apron, and she wears a necklace with a cross around her neck. In the hallways there are oil paintings of saints, and in the breakfast room, besides a crucifix, two stuffed marmots and gold gilt portraits of historical Tirolean dignitaries. The church bells ring each morning at eight and nine, and also at noon and the end of the day. Gabriele explains that they are a symbol of freedom, recalling the persecution of early Christianity, as well as of peace – because in time of war the bells are taken to make ammunition
I deliver a talk at the department of Christian Philosophy at the university, where there is a photo exhibition on Matthausen in the corridor. Matthausen was a concentration-labor camp, with a stone quarry in which the inmates slaved. It had twenty or more satellites throughout Austria, in which a total of 200,000 men (no women in any of the pictures) were imprisoned, half of whom perished from the harsh conditions and malnutrition. The introduction describes the different classes of prisoners, such as veterans of the civil war in Spain or French resistance fighters, and even Jews from Poland, but there is no mention whatsoever of Austrian Jews. I comment on this, but Gabriele does not respond, perhaps she did not hear. The next time we meet our philosophy friends I raise the subject again. They say that probably by the time Matthausen was opened all the Jews of Austria had perished. Still I find the omission strange, to say the least.
On the weekend, Gabriele invites me to a meal with her family, Ernst, her husband, and Antonia, their 12 year old daughter, and next day we go hiking in a valley to the west, in the direction of Lake Constanz on the border with Switzerland. We climb a gentle path through woods of pine and fir and low growing fern. Down below, near the village from where we start, cows roam freely, and we hear their bells from afar as we gain height. Then there is the song of the birds, and now and again, turning a curve, the sudden sound of water cascading in brooks and streams down the mountainside. Along the path are shrines that portray the 12 stations of the Via Dolorosa, and while in Italy there are madonnas at crossroads, here it is a crucified Jesus with open bleeding heart (so that’s where the expression comes from). We lunch at a simple restaurant that serves only sausage (wurst) and potatoes, next to a meadow spotted with alpine flowers, and a small chapel. After lunch Ernst and Antonia stride away to catch the bus back, and Gabriele and I continue to visit a friend with whom we sit talking till almost midnight. Driving back in the dark, the meadows high up on the mountain slopes are lit with bonfires in designs of hearts, crosses and saints. It is Jesus’ Heart festival.
I deliver a talk at the department of Christian Philosophy at the university, where there is a photo exhibition on Matthausen in the corridor. Matthausen was a concentration-labor camp, with a stone quarry in which the inmates slaved. It had twenty or more satellites throughout Austria, in which a total of 200,000 men (no women in any of the pictures) were imprisoned, half of whom perished from the harsh conditions and malnutrition. The introduction describes the different classes of prisoners, such as veterans of the civil war in Spain or French resistance fighters, and even Jews from Poland, but there is no mention whatsoever of Austrian Jews. I comment on this, but Gabriele does not respond, perhaps she did not hear. The next time we meet our philosophy friends I raise the subject again. They say that probably by the time Matthausen was opened all the Jews of Austria had perished. Still I find the omission strange, to say the least.
On the weekend, Gabriele invites me to a meal with her family, Ernst, her husband, and Antonia, their 12 year old daughter, and next day we go hiking in a valley to the west, in the direction of Lake Constanz on the border with Switzerland. We climb a gentle path through woods of pine and fir and low growing fern. Down below, near the village from where we start, cows roam freely, and we hear their bells from afar as we gain height. Then there is the song of the birds, and now and again, turning a curve, the sudden sound of water cascading in brooks and streams down the mountainside. Along the path are shrines that portray the 12 stations of the Via Dolorosa, and while in Italy there are madonnas at crossroads, here it is a crucified Jesus with open bleeding heart (so that’s where the expression comes from). We lunch at a simple restaurant that serves only sausage (wurst) and potatoes, next to a meadow spotted with alpine flowers, and a small chapel. After lunch Ernst and Antonia stride away to catch the bus back, and Gabriele and I continue to visit a friend with whom we sit talking till almost midnight. Driving back in the dark, the meadows high up on the mountain slopes are lit with bonfires in designs of hearts, crosses and saints. It is Jesus’ Heart festival.
