It was under the Hohenstaufen emperors – primarily Frederick I, Henry VI and Frederick II – that the Holy Roman Empire achieved its greatest power and influence. Frederick I (1152-1190) battled in Italy to preserve imperial rights and died on the Third Crusade in Asia. Henry VI (1190 – 1197) may have been the most powerful and successful emperor. His marriage in 1186 to Constanza (Constance), the sole heiress of the crown of Sicily, united the empire with perhaps the wealthiest Kingdom in Europe: Sicily. It was the worst nightmare for the now surrounded papacy. Frederick II (1198-1250), the son of Henry and Constanza, dazzled Europe with his many accomplishments – in his day he was known as stupor mundi (wonder of the world). He warred for decades again the popes. Yet this war to the death with the papacy eventually fatally weakened the central power of the empire.

The Holy Roman Empire revolved around Germany from 962 to 1806. Yet, as a result of Henry VI’s marriage to Constance, the period after 1190 through much of the 13th century forms an exception. In this era Italy emerged as the new center of the empire. Frederick II ruled mainly from Sicily and Naples even though the kingdom of Sicily, as oppposed to Northern Italy, previously had never been considered part of the empire at all. Certainly the most enthusiastic partisans of the empire in the 13th century – the Ghibillines and similar parties – were now found south of the Alps. It took the papacy decades of war to eliminate the last of the Hohenstaufen (Manfred, Conradin) from the Italian peninsula.

This history is why today we stand in wonder before the magnificent porphyry sarcophagi of Henry VI and Fredrick II in a side chapel of the cathedral of far-off Palermo. These are perhaps the most magnificent tombs of Holy Roman emperors, carved in the same rare stone we also can still see in late Roman imperial sarcophagi especially in the Vatican museums but also in Constantinople. Thus, continuity was established with the Roman empirs prior to the coronation of Charlemagne in 800.

Yet it is fitting that these emperors rest here, so far from their ancestral home or even Northern Italy. For, after the accomplishments of Frederick I, it seemed that Henry VI was at last achieving the promise of the empire to restore the unity of Christendom. Within his own domains, the German princes and the Italian city states suspended their opposition to the expansion of Imperial authority. Even the papacy adopted an accomodating policy. Within Europe, England, Denmark, Hungary and others accepted Henry’s overlordship. And the union with the Kingdom of Sicily opened up unheard-of vistas of a truly worldwide realm. Henry forced the Byzantine emperor to pay tribute, his authority was acknowledged by the Armenian kingdom and the kingdom of Jerusalem. Henry in 11197 was assembing a mainly German army for a crusade in the East. But then he died, leaving an infant son (the future Frederick II). The laboriously constructed structures and relationships of his vast realm collapsed. The stability of the Holy Roman Empire depended far too much on the personality of the ruler. After Henry’s death, some 20 years of succession disputes followed in what, after all, always remained an elective monarchy. It was in this period that the papacy, under Innocent III reached the apogee of its power over Christendom.

Frederick II could only be crowned emperor in 1220. He had, if anything, even more exraordinary “charismatic” and intellectual gifts than his father or grandfather. Fantastic hopes and expectations surrounded him. Yet by the time Fredrick was able to exercise undisputed rule, the papacy, the Italian city states and the German princes – not to mention the kingdom of France – had all gained dramatically in power and influence. The result was an endless struggle with the popes and their allies – primarily in Italy – and the decline of the central power of the emperor. The body of Frederick II still reposes in the capital of the kingdom of Sicily, where he spent most of the later years of his life.

A few doors down from the Munich hotel in which I was recently staying is Trinity Church (Dreifaltigkeitskirche), a modest but magnificent monument of baroque art. It’s located on the Pacellistrasse – named after Pius XII.

The genesis of this church springs from the convoluted political conflicts within the Holy Roman Empire. Bavaria, like Austria, had remained Catholic after the Reformation. In the 17th Century the electors of Bavaria had fought for the Catholic cause against the enemies of the Empire. Yet, despite all that, from 1700 till 1813 the Bavarian rulers more often allied themselves with France against the Holy Roman (later Austrian) emperor. (One thinks of the similar relationship between the two Protestant states of Saxony and Prussia). The result of their rulers’ ambitions for the people of Bavaria was generally disastrous.

That was certainly true of the War of the Spanish Succession, in which the French and Bavarians were disastrously defeated in 1704 by the Imperial forces led by Prince Eugene of Savoy and the English under the Duke of Marlborough.1) It looked like Munich might be burned to the ground. A local holy woman and mystic, Maria Anna Lindmayr, had a vision in which the city would be saved if a vow were taken to build a church to the honor of the Trinity, The “estates” of Bavaria (citizens, nobility and clergy) made this vow and the city was saved. It’s an interesting example of the life of a Catholic “integralist” commonwealth, with the different components of society united around a common faith. This unity was the legacy of the Counter-Reformation.

In 1705-06, outside of Munich, the Bavarians rose up (unsucessfully) against the occupation forces in a legendary struggle that became a critical element of Bavarian consciousness. However, this also created a rift between Austria and Bavaria, the two major German Catholic states, otherwise so similar in culture and language. It was one more element in the increasingly complex political life of the Holy Roman Empire.

The planning and construction, however, went on for years. The architect was Giovanni Antonio Viscardi of Graubunden, Switzerland, who worked mainly in Bavaria. His work is based on the architecture of the baroque churches of Rome. The other artists involved in the construction and decoration were locals. Ironically, most of the work on this building took place under, and with the support of, the Austrian occupation regime led by a deputy of the Holy Roman Emperor. For the elector of Bavaria, Maximilian II Emanuel, had been expelled from his domains after his defeat in 1704 and would be unable to return to Munich until after the war was over in 1714. Trinity church was finally consecrated in 1718.

Early on, a Carmelite monastery was attached to this votive church. Maria Anna Lindmayr eventually became a member of this convent. She died in 1726, widely revered as a saint – yet, after initial efforts, her cause was not pursued further.

Like many baroque churches, the Dreifaltigkeitskirche conveys the impression of a circular centralized space. The focal point of the decoration is the ceiling fresco by Cosmas Damian Asam – one of his earliest works and a foretaste of later masterpieces. It is a vast composition swirling around the image of the Trinity. It’s derived, of course, from the decoration of the ceilings and domes of various Roman churches of the previous century.

Thus Trinity church perfectly illustrates the creative interaction in the 18th century of Roman Baroque models in architecture and painting with native artists and traditions. It helped launch the most glorious period of art in Bavaria and adjacent regions of Germany. And such creative encounters are characteristic of the Holy Roman Empire, of which this church is a remarkable surviving witness. For Trinity was a votive church, inspired by the visions of a mystic and vowed by the estates which together constituted the people of Bavaria in that age. This vow sucessfully warded off the destruction of the city by the forces of the emperor – yet this same emperor enabled the construction of the church. Thus Trinity church testifies to the shared South German Catholic piety of Austrians and Bavarians – yet these peoples inherited from the era in which this church was built a certain resentment and animosity.

So much history of the days of the old Empire can be found just a short stroll from the contrasting world of a modern luxury hotel. And this hotel in the heart of Munich includes – another historical relic but one of a much later age – a Trader Vic’s restaurant! It’s a literal demonstration of Byung-Chul Han’s thesis that in the hyperculture of postmodernity we are all “tourists in Hawaiian shirts,” mixing, yet alienated from, all cultures (including our own). 2)

See generally Bieri, Pius, “Dreifaltigkeitskirche und ehemaliges Karmelitinnenkloster München” in sueddeutscher-Barock.ch.; “Dreifaltigkeitskirche München”  (de.wikipedia.org, acccesssed 4/29/2023)

1. The final decisive battle of 1704 is known in English as Blenheim. Thus Southey’s famous poem of 1796 After Blenheim.
2. Han, Byung-Chul, Hyperculture: Culture and Globalization (translator: Daniel Steuer) at 1 (referencing Nigel Barley) (Polity Press, Cambridge UK and Medford MA USA 2022; original German publication 2005)

That’s the title of a fiery new essay by John Zmirak in Chronicles magazine. Obviously, in a secular magazine the opportunity for frank, even provocative, speech is far greater than in a Catholic publication, e.g.,

An atheist pope is destroying the Church.

Mr. Zmirak explicitly compares the current post-Vatican II regime with twentieth century totalitarianism (“papal Stalinism”):

Vatican II itself, in the document Lumen Gentium, demanded that every Catholic on earth offer “religious submission” to papal opinions, even those offered with no infallible guarantee. There’s no other way to describe such a demand but as papal Stalinism, with each Catholic bound, like the poor Communist Party members in Arthur Koestler’s Darkness At Noon, to conform their consciences to every new adjustment of the party line, since the party alone was the “voice of History.”  Only a firm papal Stalinist like that would in 2023 still regard Pope Francis as a worthy pope, and his teachings as reliable. Sadly, countless bishops, priests, and public Catholics still affirm that stance, either explicitly or by their silence and acquiescence.

What follows is a very full – but still not exhaustive – catalogue of the papal iniquities of the last eleven years. My reservation regarding this excellent essay would be that Mr. Zmirak seems attracted to the “infiltration” explanation of the Church’s problems. I respectfully disagree – the anti-Christian forces both within and outside the Church are very public in their affiliations, ideology and tactics.

As for a solution, in the past that was easier to bring about:

[I}n centuries past, a Catholic emperor or council on rare occasions deposed an unworthy pope, that option was foreclosed by the end of the Holy Roman Empire in 1806—not to mention the hyper-papalist rulings of the First Vatican Council in 1870. That Council made the papacy absolutely supreme, but also impossible to correct. No one on earth may now judge or remove a pope. Historians of the Romanovs might have something to say about whether such an elevation was really a great advantage.

The loss of the Holy Roman Empire (as well as that of the other Christian kingdoms) still leaves a painful void.

Zmirak, John, “How Do You Solve A Problem Like Francis?” in Chronicles: a Magazine of American Culture (1/2024)

The Getty Museum has acquired the Irmengard Codex, a manuscript made for the 11th century noblewoman Irmengard of Nellenburg, a member of the House of Egisheim-Dagsburg in Germany.

The Irmengard Codex was created in Germany in the mid-11th century. A collection of readings for the Mass, the manuscript contains 15 full-page illuminations executed in the otherworldly pinks, blues, and lavenders that characterize painting of the so-called long Ottonian era.

Irmengard of Nellenburg, the codex’s patron, was a member of a powerful local ruling family, the House of Egisheim-Dagsburg. She was related to Pope Leo IX (1002-1054) and was the Ottonian Emperor Henry II’s niece (973-1024).

Based on the script, it is thought that the text of the Irmengard Codex was written around 1030-1050. The full-page miniatures were added shortly after 1053 at the order of Irmengard. The illumination program culminates in an extremely rare dedication image in which Irmengard presents her book in memory of her deceased husband Werner… .

“The Irmengard Codex represents the preeminent center of German illumination of the period, the Reichenau school, in which the powerful and theatrical figures underscore the stateliness of events they enact,” says Elizabeth Morrison, senior curator of manuscripts at the Getty Museum. 1)

Yet where did this book come from? From the Catholic University of Lille, France, which had owned it since 1881 and where it was known as the évangéliaire de Saint-Mihiel. You see, they needed to sell this treasure to finance various construction projects….2)

Sales of art by by Catholic institutions are an ever growing problem in Europe – and here – as religious communities diminish, money needs grow and any remaining reverence for the artistic and spiritual value of such objects evaporates. 3)

1, “Getty Acquires 11th Century Irmengard Codex,“ Fine Books & Collections (3/17/2023).

2. See Le Forum Catholique by “Vexilla Galliae,” (3/19/2023); Derogis, Paul, L’Institut “catholique” de Lille a vendu l’évangéliaire dit de Saint-Mihiel daté de 1040, Médias Presse-Info (3/19/2023)

3. Findeisen, Moritz, Kunstschätze in Gefahr? Von der kulturellen Verantwortung der Klöster, Katholisch.de (6/9/2022) ( A German momastery is threatening to sell manuscripts that had resided there since the 13th Century; “Of the 18,000 nuns living in Germany only 17 per cent are younger than 65.“)

The Art of the Book in the Holy Roman Empire 800-1500

Exhibition at the Pierpont Morgan Library (through January 23)

The Holy Roman Empire, despite many ups and downs, was a key force in European art, culture and politics between 800 and 1806. This exhibition basically covers seven centuries of book illumination in the empire from 800 to 1500. The exhibition focuses on the Holy Roman Empire as it existed around 1500, minus the Netherlands –  in other words,  Germany and German cultural areas. This way the exhibition achieves cultural and national unity.  For to cover all the territories under the domination of the empire at its greatest extent – by adding the northern Netherlands, eastern France, and North /Central Italy  – would make the exhibition a general history of Christian European culture. It is impressive that the exhibits are drawn mainly from the holdings of the Pierpont Morgan library itself, as supplemented by loans from other American institutions.

The exhibition also serves as a good course in the political development of the empire. At first,  the Holy Roman emperors themselves played a dominant role in patronage, commissioning works from monasteries and major ecclesiastical centers. This was gradually supplemented and succeeded by the growing patronage of the nobility and the princes. In the 14^th century the first real permanent capital of the empire was established in Prague, in the face of growing rivalry with Vienna and the Hapsburgs of Austria. Finally,  at the end of medieval times,  came the flourishing of the great imperial cities – Nuremberg, Augsburg, Strassburg –  as producers of art. Naturally there was much overlap: Emperor Maximilian I, who died in 1519, was one of the greatest patrons of all and the ecclesiastical center of Mainz – which never quite became a free imperial city – played a major role around 1450. Indeed, on display in this exhibition is a Gutenberg Bible (the Morgan Library has three!) printed in the same city of Mainz -using a technology that in the course of time would end the illuminated manuscript tradition.

The art on display consists primarily of illuminated manuscripts as well as  book covers and liturgical vessels in precious metal. Now one must understand that in the first centuries covered by this exhibition (800 to 1200) the so-called “fine arts” of architecture, painting and sculpture were not perceived as superior to “applied arts” like book illumination or goldsmiths work. Just as much care was given to the precious book covers, liturgical vessels, reliquaries  – as well as to the manuscripts –  as was given to the churches that contained them. In other words,  what we see in this exhibition are the main products of the art of these early medieval periods.

We see also a transformation of the role of the artist, his art and his patron. In the first centuries lavish illustrated manuscripts are encased in gold covers. These are primarily commissions by the imperial family themselves and the artists are primarily monks at the major monasteries. Later, monasteries and noble families joined the imperial families as major patrons of art. From the 13th century onward lay professional artists played an increasing role in illustrating manuscripts. By the 15th century professional artists had become the dominant force in free cities like Nuremberg and an export trade came into existence.  A growing interaction developed between book illumination and the new art of printing. Finally, we see the artists of the Renaissance – like Albrecht Dürer –  bringing their individual creativity to bear in exploring entirely new approaches to traditional themes.

Do not these masterworks demonstrate to us the importance the written word once had? Today a word appears on Outlook and – if it even survives the spell checker – shortly thereafter may vanish forever. Yet in illuminated manuscripts the word is carefully preserved for all time. This is particularly true of the early medieval period. But even towards the end of the centuries covered by this exhibition, we see the extreme care with which books, both printed and handwritten, are prepared. We see also the cultural importance of Latin – the language of most of the manuscripts in this exhibition. Throughout seven centuries it served as a unifying factor – and of course was always the Church’s liturgical language. After 1200, books written in the vernacular (German) start to appear – and in the 15th century we find one Czech example. Yet Latin retained its primacy throughout.

It may be obvious, but I still need to point out that in all the seven centuries covered by this exhibition, the Catholic Church was the overwhelmingly dominant artistic force of the “Holy” Roman Empire.  In the later centuries secular works do increasingly appear but were often Christian allegorical or philosophical treatises. From the end of the Carolingian age to the Renaissance,  artists interacted with the same elements of Christian belief: the Old and New Testaments, the lives of the Saints, edifying parables and allegories. The Morgan exhibition does point out the Christian meaning of many of the images and symbols of the objects on display and the role of certain items in church ritual (e.g., processional gospel books, large format books of chant).

The works these artists created over so many centuries of course show great stylistic differences and even artistic development; the Christian intellectual foundation, however,  remained the same. One also cannot speak of “progress”  – is a Dürer print superior to an Ottonian illumination? This is the nature of Western traditional art, which modernists – either in art or liturgy –  cannot understand:  the tradition remains the same even if each age makes its own contribution in creative dialogue with the permanent elements of the culture. 

The visitor can experience this unity first hand today if, proceeding beyond the timeframe of this exhibition, he visits the cities and monasteries where the books presented at the Morgan Library were created. Such as the immense baroque monastery of Weingarten in south-west Germany. Or St. Gallen – now infamous – which was built later and is more restrained, but has an incomparable library. Only Reichenau preserves somewhat the appearance of the abbey buildings as they existed when the magnificent manuscripts in this exhibition were created in Ottonian times. The city of Regensburg perhaps most perfectly illustrates this continuity – with sacred edifices dating from the 8th to the 18th centuries. The Holy Roman Empire – or at least parts of it – remained true to its Christian Mission even to the end of the 18th century.

It is this diversity in unity which distinguishes the art of the West – at least before 1800. The Holy Roman Empire was preeminently representative of such a culture, lacking as it did strong central political institutions throughout most of its existence. But this “Holy” Empire always had one clear focus of unity: Christianity. This exhibition brilliantly showcases just one example of this empire’s cultural achievements.

The Lindau Gospels with precious covers from the second half of the 9th century (front, above) and the second half of the 8th century (below).

(Above) Cover of Mondsee Gospels, Regensburg, 11th Century)

(Above) Gospels written on purple parchment wth gold ink, in imitation of late Roman work (Trier, 9th century).

(Above and below) Chalice and paten from St. Trudpert monastery, near Freiburg, Germany. (around 1230-1250)

(Above) This manuscript may have belonged to St. Hedwig of Silesia. (Early 13th Century)

(Above) Patronage by the nobility. (around 1247)

(Above) Celebration of the Mass – along with humorous animal scenes.

(Above) This illumination shows the influence of the revelations of St. Birgitta ( the Virgin Mary adoring the Christ Child Who is bathed in radiant light) (Prague, around 1405)

A new age dawns: (Above) a print from the Passion by Albrecht Dürer  (Below) An illumination in the style of contemporary Nuremberg art .

For the second famous image of the Assumption in the German lands, we must go back to between 1505 to 1510 – still very much the era of the late Middle Ages. The Herrgottskirche (Church of Our Lord) in Creglingen is a chapel, built around 1400, that takes its name from the miraculous finding of a Host by a ploughman. A pilgrimage soon arose and this small church was decorated with a number of carved wooden altars that have miraculously survived until today. This, even though Creglingen became part of a principality whose ruler joined the Reformation later in the 16th century. But when the altar of the Assumption of Our Lady was created these developments still lay in the future.

The altar of the Assumption was called, at the time of its creation, the Corpus Christi altar in keeping with the dedication of the pilgrimage chapel. One of Tilman Reimenschneider’s greatest masterpieces, it’s also one of the earliest works of art to depict the Assumption of Our Lady – as opposed to the traditional Byzantine/medieval image of her Dormition. Yet the image of Our Lady in Creglingen is still that of the Middle Ages: calm, transfigured and sunk in contemplative prayer. The back of the altar is opened up, as if by the windows of a Gothic church, allowing light from the background to surround and illuminate the spiritual action taking place. Here we find no ecstatic, almost explosive rush towards the heavens (as in the Assumption of Egid Quirin Asam) but serene union with – even absorption into – God. One senses the lingering presence of the sprituality of the German mystics of the 14th and 15th centuries: Meister Eckhart, Tauler and Suso. And, of course, also of their contemporaries in other countries: think of Julian of Norwich, Walter Hilton and the author of the Cloud of Unknowing – just in England alone.

The creator of the altar, Tilman Riemenschneider, was the premier artist of the city of Wuerzburg located, like Creglingen, in the region of Franconia. At that time it was ruled by a prince-bishop, and Creglingen was under his spiritual (but not temporal) jurisdiction.Riemenschneider worked in both stone and wood. About this time, perhaps influenced by the first stirrings of the Rennaissance north of the Alps, Riemenschneider and other German artists started to abandon the medieval practice of painting religious statuary. Among this artist’s greatest works are his wooden altars. This kind of grand reredos, often featuring movable carved or painted wings, enjoyed a magnificent flowering in the Holy Roman Empire between 1450 and 1530.

The art of the great wood altars of Germany ended in the turmoil of the Reformation. In the tremendous religious struggles that followed, the precious contemplative heritage of the Middle Ages went underground. Yet that mystical spirituality did not go utterly extinct. It flamed up again and again in the Holy Roman Empire in the wake of the Catholic Reformation. It resurfaces, for example, in the Asam brothers’ mystical use of light at the church of St. John Nepomuk. And this spirituality lives once more in the poetry of Angelus Silesius (1624-1677) – such as in the following poem, which proclaims the bond between the Assumption and the Eucharist – the origin of Riemenschneider’s altar.

The Virginal Body that enclosed our Bread from Heaven.

Is truly no longer dead,

No ceder of Lebanon rots: otherwise it not be so fine,

For her to be, besides the Temple of God, His Ark of the Covenant.

Angelus Silesius, Cherubinischer Wandersmann, Book III, 66 “On the Most Blessed Virgin” (1675)

See Kahsnitz, Rainer and Bunz, Achim, Die grossen Schnitzaltaere 238-253 (Hirmer Verlag, Munich, 2005)

The brothers Asam, architects, sculptors and painters, represented the epitome of the baroque in the first half of the 18th century in the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. They resided and did much their work in the electorate (principality) of Bavaria – an entity much smaller than the subsequent kingdom and present Land of that name – but were active in many other locations as well. But they only rarely had the opportunity to create an entirely new church, uniting all their talents in one unified work of art. Earlier, I have described one such example: their own house “chapel” of St. John Nepomuk in Munich. Another is the monastery church of Rohr, near Regensburg. Here Egid Quirin Asam created one of the three most famous images of the Assumption in European art. 1)

Rohr, now an out-of-the-way village, was in the time of the Asams the site of a monastery of the Augustinan canons. When we admire the almost innumerable number of baroque churches in 18th century Germany we forget that so many of these masterpieces were monastic churches. The eighteenth century in Germany was indeed the time of a great monastic flourishing after the tribulations of the Reformation and the wars of the 17th century – and before the destruction of the French Revolution and the subsequent secularizations (confiscations) by the German states. It was the patronage of these monks that in large part made possible the last great flowering of art in Europe in the age of the baroque and rococo. 2) The dedication of the Rohr monastery was to Our Lady of the Assumption.

The nave of Rohr is in a rather severe style, leading the visitor onwards to the main altar shimmering in the distance. Egid Quirin Asam was responsible for the decor and likely for the architecture as well.

The altar depicts the Assumption of Our Lady. Below, the apostles, in agitated conversation among themselves, marvel at finding her empty tomb strewn with flowers. Above, the Trinity and angels await the crowning of Our Lady as Queen of Heaven. The altar was the creation of Egid Quirin Asam in 1722-23.

Come away my Love,

Come away my Dove

Cast off delay:

The Court of Heav’n is come,

To wait upon thee home;

Come away, come away.

The ecstatic art of Egid Quirin Asam in Rohr corresponds to the expressive religious poetry of Richard Crashaw in the preceding century.

Thy sacred Name shall be

Thyself to us, and we

With holy cares will keep it by us,

We to the last,

Will hold it fast,

And no Asumption shall deny us.

All the sweetest showers,

Of our fairest Flowers

Will we strow upon it:

Though our sweetnees cannot make

It sweeter, they may take

Themselves new sweetness from it.

Richard Crashaw, “On the Assumption of the Virgin Mary”

1. The others are Titian’s great Frari Assumption in Venice and Riemenschneider’s masterpiece in Creglingen.
2. After World War II, German Benedictine monks expelled from Czechoslovakia came to Rohr and restored monastic life and many of the buildings.

We have seen how the remarkable Asam Brothers – Egid Quirin and Cosmas Damian – collaborated to create St. John Nepomuk, a jewel-box of a church in Munich. It was an example of lay initiative surpassing the wildest dreams of our Vatican II reformers. For the two artist brothers themselves financed, built and decorated the church. St. John Nepomuk is a unified work of art in which architecture, sculpture, painting and stucco – among other disciplines – collaborate, resulting in one of the supreme masterpieces of the baroque age. And all this 125 years before Richard Wagner advocated similar ideals – but oriented around music. He too was active in Bavaria, by the way, but resided mostly in a Protestant region (Bayreuth) that had only come under the Bavarian crown in the 19th century.

The Asam brothers, however, enjoyed only a handful of opportunities like the church of St. John Nepomuk. More typically, they acted as restorers and decorators of stuctures either ancient or built by others. For by the 18th century, the ecclesiastics, religious communities and secular lords of the Catholic half of the Holy Roman Empire were eager to give their churches and palaces a contemporary, magnificent appearance. In such circumstances the brothers had to fit their own art into an existing framework of architecture and art. But in no way did the Asams simply throw a baroque overlay over whatever they found. Rather, they carefully worked to express the architecture and history of the site and as well as to coordinate with any art already in place.

Typical of these commissions was the major reconstruction undertaken between 1731 and 1733 of the monastery of St. Emmeram in Regensburg on which both Egid Quirin and Cosmas Damian worked. Now St. Emmeram was a prime example of the convoluted political and religious relationships of the 18th century German empire. It was located in Regensburg, an “imperial city,” meaning that it was subject to the emperor in Vienna, but was de facto autonomous. Since the 16th century its governing council had been Protestant. Yet the city was dominated by a whole series of politically independent Catholic institutions – the Cathedral, St. Emmeram, the “Ancient Chapel” (Stift unserer lieben Frau zur alten Kapelle), the Scottish monastery, etc. The Prince-Bishop of Regensburg was ruler of his own separate small principality. Finally, Regensburg was in turn surrounded by the domains of the much more powerful, arch-Catholic prince-elector of Bavaria.

St. Emmeram abbey dates back to the early days of Christianity in this part of Germany and to an early martyr, St. Emmeram. Charlemagne was a benefactor, elements of the original 8th century church are incorporated into the present building, and the monastery enjoyed further imperial favor in the 9th century. Although destroyed and rebuilt several times, the church of St. Emmeram in essence dates back to the 10th century. Numerous noteworthy people are buried here: St. Wolfgang, bishop of Regensburg (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!), Emma, Queen of the East Frankish kingdom, Arnulf, Holy Roman Emperor…. Again and again St. Emmeram’s abbey played a major role in the art and politics of Bavaria, the Holy Roman Empire and Germany between 750 and 1100.

In the middle ages the monastery became a free (autonomous) imperial abbey. And in the 18th century its abbot was raised to the dignity of prince-abbot. The redecoration of the church by the brothers Asam commemorates that achievement. In these last years of St. Emmeram’s abbey a great revival of learning and science also took place. A thousand years after its founding this monastery had rediscovered the Benedictine role of spiritual and culural leadership.

The Asam brothers present to us a vast panorama of the religious and political history of the monastery – from Imperial Roman times to the last decades of the Holy Roman Empire in the 18th century. Of course, the decorative program highlights the privileges, titles and benefactions received over the centuries from popes and secular rulers! For it goes without saying that in this world the sacred and the political realms interact in a climate of “mutual enrichment”; concepts like “separation of church and state” and “healthy secularism” are completely alien to the Holy Roman Empire. After all, at his coronation didn’t the emperor receive a kind of diaconal ordination?

Indeed, the brothers Asam at St. Emmeram go beyond the confines of the Holy Roman Empire, European history and even Christendom. For, as we so frequently encounter in the German baroque, the scope of the decoration expands to embrace all the world then known. The sanctuary fresco shows St. Benedict honored by the four continents (Africa, Asia, Europe and America). Benedictine missionaries arrive by ship in the New World. Elaborate stucco “Chinese” vases, issuing waterspouts, incense or simply functioning as planters, are set about the church.

St John Nepomuk is one of those planned, unified works of art where every part has been deployed as a facet of a larger whole. It represents to perfection one artisic will (even if, in this case, that of two brothers!) at one moment in time in one specific style. St Emmeram, however, has an entirely different charm. It recalls the older churches and basilicas of Rome, such as S. Clemente, Sta Maria Maggiore or Sta Maria in Trastevere, where the succession of ages and styles over the ages conveys to us a sense of the stability of Christendom throughout the flux of time. The diversity of styles at St. Emmeram, the visible ups and downs of the course of history, reveal a great underlying unity. The final contributors to this ensemble, the brothers Asam, were able to preserve and express the historic nature of St. Emmeram while synthesizing these disparate elements into one aesthetically pleasing whole.

The splendor of St. Emmeram’s did not last long. Despite the new renown it was winning in education and scholarship, St. Emmeram’s, like almost all its sister German monasteries, was secularized at the beginning of the 19th century as the Holy Roman Empire was liquidated. It fell into the hands of the Bavarian state. The monastic community was dispersed, many of the abbey’s treasures taken to Munich and the grand abbey of St. Emmeram became a simple parish church. The monastery buildings other than the church, however, became the main palace of the House of Thurn und Taxis. Now the connection of this princely house with Regensburg is itself a fascinating chapter in the story of the Holy Roman Empire – it relates to its involvement with the “perpetual diet”(parliament) of the empire which convened in this city since 1663. In any case, the Princes of Thurn und Taxis have remained resident at St Emmeram’s to the present day. And more recently, the supporters of Catholic Tradition have had reason to be grateful to Princess Gloria of Thurn und Taxis for her generous support. Dare we say that, in a sense, a new spiritual chapter is being written in the 1300-year history of St. Emmeram’s?

Sources:

1. St. Emmeram/Regensburg, Schell Kunstfuehrer Nr. 573 ( 6th edition, 1979)
2. https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Baptist_Kraus_(Benediktiner)
3. https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kloster_Sankt_Emmeram

The “Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation” was the scene of an unimaginable outpouring of art and music between 1660 and 1770 – the final period of organic creativity in Western art. The works of this era were as a rule created for emperors, princes, monasteries and nobles. Yet in one case the artists themselves were the patrons. Egid Quirin Asam (sculptor and worker in stucco) and Cosmas Damian Asam (architect and painter) stood at the border between the baroque and rococo periods. They unfolded a vast activity all over the German lands, from Silesia to the Rhine. Yet in Munich they determined to build their own personal church, dedicated to the recently canonized St John Nepomuk (Nepomucene) whose cult quickly spread from Bohemia to all the Catholic lands of the Empire. They worked together on this church between 1733 and 1746.

The artists resided at Munich in the principality of the elector of Bavaria (an “elector” was a prince of the empire entitled to vote for the emperor). The reigning elector, Karl Albrecht, presided over an age of unprecedented artistic splendor for Bavaria. Yet he was tempted to grasp for the imperial crown, becoming the first non-Habsburg Holy Roman Emperor – Charles VII – since the 15th century. Alas, his reign was brief and unhappy. Loyalty to the Hapsburgs (represented by the redoubtable Maria Theresa) ran strong in the Empire, especially when the alternative was a prince dependant on the support of the king of France. Charles VII was forced on occasion to flee his own domains, and died in 1745. A double-headed eagle with the emperor’s coat of arms which still remains in the church of St. John Nepomuk is one of the few tangible remnants of Karl Albrecht’s brief imperial glory.

Egid Quirin purchased a row of late medieval houses in Munich. One he tranformed into his own house – lavishly decorating the exterior with allegorical and other figures. Another he made into a rectory, and in the middle he and his brother built the church of St. John Nepomuk, with their own money and designed and decorated by their own hands.

Entering, the visitor passes through a small vestibule with confessionals (in keeping with the church’s patron, St. John Nepomunk, one of its main purposes was to facilitate the sacrament of penance). Then, one stands before the dazzling interior. More than a century before Richard Wagner, it already constitutes a true Gesamtkunstwork in the German tradition, uniting architecture, painting, sculpture and stucco. Before a window, filled with yellow glass, was inserted in the apse by a 1982 restoration, the only light in the church was indirect, from hidden windows. As the visitor’s gaze gradually turns upward, the effect is that of rising from mysterious darkness into subdued light. The focal point of the entire artistic unity is the image, based on medieval motives, of the Trinity – Father, crucified Son and Holy Ghost – which soars far above the congregation.

In the overwhelming visual splendor one doesn’t at first appreciate the unusual layout of this church: extremely narrow yet long and high, as dictated by the restricted plot available to the brothers. For the same reason, it is oriented to the West instead of the East. The Asam house communicates directly with the church; there is also a window from which Egid Quirin Asam could follow the mass from his bedroom.

In subsequent decades the colorful, expressive art of the brothers Asam fell out of favor and neoclassical coldness prevailed. The Holy Roman Empire and, a century later, the monarchy of Bavaria itself, eventually disappeared. The church of St. John Nepomuk suffered from a long series of successful and unsucessful restorations, water damage to the paintings of the ceiling and bomb damage to the choir. Yet despite these inevitable vicissitudes of time, it has miraculously survived more or less intact until the present day.

On this October 7 let us reflect on today’s Feast of Our Lady of Victory (or Our Lady of the Rosary). We know that the spread of this feast throughout the Catholic world is owed first of all to the great victory of the Christian allies (mainly Spanish and Italian) over the Ottoman naval forces on this date. And afterwards Our Lady was invoked under this title in other conflicts with the enemies of Christendom; for example, after the victory of the forces of the Holy Roman Empire led by Prince Eugene over the Turks at Peterwardein in 1716 this feast was extended to the whole Church. The present bishop of Rome in his new encyclical has recently reminded us of his view that there can never be a just war; the sense of the Church – and for that matter, her doctrine – took a very different position regarding war up to the last Council. The following images illustrate that.

In the Bavarian town of Ingolstadt is one of the most extraordinary creations of the brothers Egid Quirin and Cosmas Damian Asam, 18th century German masters of the baroque. The church of Maria de Victoria was built and decorated between 1732 and 1736 as a oratory for the Marian congregation of the former University of Ingolstadt (a Jesuit university situated in the Electorate of Bavaria and the alma mater of Baron Frankenstein). The simple hall is rendered extraordinary by the immense ceiling fresco as well as by further decorations and furnishings added in the decades after completion of the church – and in some cases even in the 19th century.

The magnificent painting of Cosmas Damian Asam shows the Incarnation set amid symbols of the continents of the earth as they were then understood. The fresco abounds in unusual tricks of perspective.

(Above and below) In this church can be found the Lepanto Monstrance of 1708, claimed to be the most valuable in the world. Created by the Augsburg goldsmith Johannes Zeckl, it depicts the naval battle of Lepanto as exemplified by a Christian ship overpowering a foundering Turkish vessel.

Near the monstrance is a cross carried by Tilly, the commander of the Catholic League army in the Thirty Years’ War, who died from battle wounds in Ingolstadt. To complete the picture we should add that the town of Ingolstadt itself was a key military stronghold of Bavaria for many years into the 19th century. A “Museum of the Bavarian Army” is located here.

Closer to home – if on a considerably lower artistic level – is the huge apse painting in Our Lady of Pompeii in Greenwich Village (the dedication to Our Lady of Pompeii is a variant of that of the Our Lady of the Rosary). In the section shown above is a reference to the battle of Lepanto, as is in the text surrounding the back of the sanctuary. This painting is actually a recreation of the original, which had beeen destroyed after the Second Vatican Council.

Indeed, Our Lady of Victory continued to be invoked once more later in the Twentieth century: here is the downtown New York church of Our Lady of Victory erected in 1947 by Cardinal Spellman. It has this dedication:

This Holy Shrine is dedicated to Our Lady of Victory in Thanksgiving for Victory won by our Valiant dead, our soldier’s blood, our Country’s tears, shed to defend men’s rights and win back men’s hearts to God.

Although we may wonder about the dedication’s concluding sentiments regarding a war fought mainly against and with formerly Christian, secular states, there is sincere sorrow for the dead and wounded and gratitude for the nation having prevailed in the struggle.

For more on the church of St. Maria de Victoria, its art and its meaning see Hofmann, Siegfried, Die Kirche Maria de Victoria. (with contributions by Kurt Scheurer)