Day 8
Altenburg
Monday morning dawned much sooner than some of us might have
wished. But here we were in Altenburg, seeing it for the first time by daylight.
Located on the Pleisse River in the northeastern corner of Thuringia, Altenburg
is a small, industrial city noted for its production of sewing machines and
playing cards and also for the fact that it fortuitously managed to escape the
Allied bombing in WW II. Its neighbors were not so lucky. But our destination
on this gray and chilly morning was the castle church and its famous
"Bach" organ. The castle dates back to the twelfth century and has
survived at least three fires and at least as many restorations. Today only the
tower and the chapel are open to the public. The original organ, built at the
end of the fifteenth century, had already undergone several renovations when
Gottfried Silbermann's advice was sought in the year 1733. A proposal for a new
instrument by the local Thuringian builder, Tobias Heinrich Gottfried Trost,
was accepted at that time. Trost, whose organ at Waltershausen we had visited
only a few days before, was a colleague and a good friend of Bach's, and we can
well imagine that Bach might have taken a lively interest in this instrument,
whose disposition does indeed seem to reflect many of Bach's ideas and
preferences regarding organ design. It is interesting to speculate on the fact
that somewhere along the way, two additions were made to the original
specification--a 32' posaune and a glockenspiel! Due to financial and technical
difficulties, the organ was not actually completed until 1739, at which time
Bach performed on the instrument and declared it an unqualified success. Also
of interest is the fact that Johann Ludwig Krebs, perhaps Bach's most famous
pupil, was court organist at Altenburg for a quarter of a century (1756-1780),
and it was for this instrument that his organ works were written. Helmut Werner
of the Eule firm was responsible for the recent restoration (1974-76) of this
important instrument.
The interior of the chapel, with its high, vaulted ceiling,
is breathtaking. The organ (II/39) sits high on the north wall, its shallow
case magnificently ornate with gilt and elaborate carving. The scene is
altogether one of quintessential "Baroquial" splendor. But by now we
had become somewhat inured to the sight of gorgeous castle interiors, and it is
the indescribable sound of this instrument that draws us in and wraps itself
around us. It is penetrating, yet gentle; bold, yet never brash. The plenum has
presence, but is never overpowering. There is gravitas aplenty, and the tierce
rank in the mixtures gives the full organ a reedy flavor. There is a
preponderance of 8' flue stops, and the strings really sound orchestral.
Organist Felix Friederich was on hand to greet us and to demonstrate the
instrument. There was open console time for those who wished to play.
I found myself reluctant to leave. Not only were we leaving Altenburg,
but also Thuringia. For the past three days, though we had traveled to several
cities and visited many organs, we had remained always within a rather
circumscribed area at the heart of Bach country. For me, musically, it had been
a landmark experience. The sights and sounds of Thuringia had altered forever
my perceptions and my understanding of Bach, the man, and his musical legacy.
Saxony
But now it was on to Saxony. Destination: Dresden. We had a
relatively long drive ahead of us--nearly two hours--and with his infallible
sense of timing, Michael seized this opportunity to let us get better
acquainted with our fellow passengers. Our bus was equipped with a good
portable microphone, which Michael and Sonja had been putting to excellent use
along the way. Now each of us was invited, as the spirit moved us, to take over
the microphone and share briefly something about ourselves and what had led us
to this time and place.
Everyone, indeed, had a story, the telling of which space
does not permit. But let me attempt a brief summary. There were perhaps only
six among us who had professional ties to the organ. There were, as one might
expect, a number of retired people. Some were seasoned travelers; others were
neophytes. Professions represented were many and various: organ builder,
physician, librarian, pastor, farmer, securities analyst, commodities trader,
tour guide, lawyer, restaurateur, academic administrator, engineer, computer
experts, and teachers. One among us had a famous name, being none other than
the son of Alexander Schreiner of Mormon Tabernacle renown. We hailed from
every corner of the country, from Alaska to California, to Florida, to Rhode
Island, and everywhere in between. Almost without exception, all were loyal
fans of Michael Barone and Pipedreams. Once begun, this "oral
history" project took on a life of its own and would continue, as
traveling time allowed, for the remainder of our trip.
Meissen
Our first stop along the way was the ancient city of Meissen
where we were scheduled to tour the famous porcelain factory and see and hear
the Meissen/Jehmlich organ, I/4, with pipes of porcelain. Meissen is a
picturesque city on the banks of the Elbe River, whose mix of medieval and
Gothic architecture attests to its more than one thousand years of history.
Since the thirteenth century, porcelain had been produced only in China. But in
1710, as a result of the research instigated by Augustus II, King of Poland and
elector of Saxony, the manufacture of white, European, hard porcelain was begun
in Albrechtsburg Castle, high atop a hill overlooking the town below. Later on,
in the nineteenth century, the operation was moved from the castle to the
Meissen factory, which we would be visiting today. A tour of the facility takes
perhaps an hour and a half, affording the visitor the opportunity to actually
observe the complex process of porcelain making at each step of the way from
the creation of the design to the finished product. The pièce de
résistance is a walk through the many showrooms of priceless pieces on
display. The Meissen factory has been, from the very beginning, a state-owned
business, drawing thousands of visitors annually from all over the world.
In 1730, and again in 1920, unsuccessful attempts had been
made to produce sounding organ pipes of porcelain. Since a porcelain pipe is
not adjustable, the technological problem is to find a way to position the lips
of the pipe accurately so as to enable the wind to set up an appropriate
vibrating air column. In the year 2000, success was finally achieved through
collaboration between Horst Jehmlich of the Jehmlich Orgelbau of Dresden and
Ludwig Zepner, porcelain designer and artistic director of the Meissen factory.
The instrument is undeniably a work of art. The case of the little Positiv is of
pearwood with porcelain door wings designed by the Meissen artist Christoph
Ciesielski. The twenty-two façade pipes are porcelain flutes at 2'pitch.
The organ is opus 1140 of the Jehmlich firm, one of the oldest organbuilding
firms in Germany. All involved in this project are justifiably proud of this
unique connection between porcelain and music.
Coswig
We had one more stop to make before we reached Dresden, and
that was the Alte Kirche in the town of Coswig. The church, whose newly
restored organ may well be the oldest in Saxony, celebrated its 500th
anniversary in 1997. The builder of the organ is not known, and the earliest
documentation is from 1735, the year it came to Coswig. It is thought to be
quite old, probably dating back to the seventeenth century. The organ, of one
manual and ten stops, had become quite dysfunctional by the end of the
nineteenth century. Since there were no funds to replace it with a new
instrument, the church made do with a harmonium. A slowly evolving restoration
project in the '30s was interrupted by the war, at which time all of the metal
pipes were taken. In 1989, at the time of the reunification, Christian
Wegscheider approached the authorities about the possibility of a restoration,
and the work was begun in 1992. Almost all of the pipes are new, and a
zimbelstern has been added. The keyboard has a short octave, and the hand
bellows date from 1531. The pipe shades and their decoration are from the
eighteenth century, and the instrument has been tuned in an early Baroque meantone.
The organ was back in its case in time for the 500th anniversary jubilee in
1997, and has been playable since 1998. It was demonstrated for us on this day
by the music director Volkmar Werner, who played a Pachelbel toccata followed
by sets of variations by Pachelbel and Sweelinck. Herr Werner thoughtfully
provided us with the organ specification as well as the registrations he used
to show off the rather amazing variety of delightful sounds. But I'm getting
ahead of myself.
From the outside, this late-Gothic structure, with its
rather massive tower and gated stone walls, seemed to me more suggestive of a
fortress than a house of worship. It is not a graceful structure, but rather
staunch, and stolid, and firmly rooted, as if serving notice that it has every
intention of standing unaltered for at least another five hundred years. When
one enters the church, it is indeed to step back in time. There is an aura of
decay, and the air itself seems to come from ages past. The walls are full of
cracks and peeling plaster. The ancient stone floor, dark, sturdy wooden pews,
and large multi-paned Gothic windows are neither warm nor welcoming, and are a
far cry from the golden splendor to which we had recently become accustomed.
The room is not large and seats perhaps 100 people. The ceiling is flat and
surprisingly low, and there is a small gallery running along the north and west
side which houses the organ. What seem to light the room from within and bring
it aglow with life and warmth are the extraordinary Gothic-style paintings on
the wooden panels of the ceiling and on the fronts of the gallery rails. They
are painted directly onto the wood and date from 1611. It was a space unlike
anything in my experience--a place of sanctity, diffuse with an eerie loveliness.
That this ancient organ with its mysterious origins should reside here seemed
most apt.
It was something of a jolt to leave this otherworldly place
and find ourselves once again in the real world. As we gathered to re-board our
bus, I was touched to take note of a World War I memorial, which had been
erected on the church grounds. It listed on five separate plaques the names of
the dead for each year from 1914 through 1918. Whether members of this church
or of the entire community, it was not clear, but I was surprised to see that
there were so very many of them.
Loschwitz
Back on the bus, we were rapidly approaching the city of
Dresden. But first we had one more stop to make in the suburb of Loschwitz,
where Michael had arranged for us to visit the Evangelical Church and its new
II/20 organ by Christian Wegscheider, whose restoration of the anonymous
Renaissance organ we had just visited in Coswig. The original organ and the
original church both dated back to the eighteenth century. The organ had been expanded
and altered in typical fashion over the years. And then, in 1945, both church
and organ were destroyed by a firebomb. The reconstruction of the church was
completed in 1994, and a new instrument has been built according to
eighteenth-century practice. Christian Wegscheider has incorporated design
elements, which reflect the work of Silbermann, Hildebrandt and Leibner, the
builder of the original organ. Parking turned out to be a bit problematical,
and we ended up leaving our bus on a residential side street across from a row
of neat and rather uniform houses. The houses were smallish, as were the lots,
and all were impeccably kept. Colorful gardens reflected loving care. This was
working-class suburbia, and one presumed that the owners were likely off in
Dresden earning their livelihood. And we too were on our way to Dresden and our
next adventure.
Dresden
We would spend the next two nights in Dresden, and during
that time we would see quite a bit of the city--some of it on foot, and much of
it by bus as we moved between various locations. Dresden is a manufacturing
city and a cultural center of more than half a million people, comparable
perhaps to Leipzig, though not quite so large. Like Leipzig, it too has a
history of many wars and occupations over the centuries. Long regarded by many
as one of the world's most beautiful cities, it has been an architectural
showplace, much of it the creation of Augustus the Strong, King of Poland, who
ruled in the eighteenth century. It is a city of museums and palaces. Among the
most famous buildings are the Semper Oper and the Zwinger Palace, which houses
a priceless collection of paintings. As hard as it is for us to imagine, nearly
all of this was destroyed in 1945 during one awful night of firebombing during
which as many as 35,000 people were killed. Fortunately, the paintings had been
removed and stored for safekeeping somewhere outside the city. Now, more than
half a century later, the city is still in the process of rebuilding, stone by
stone.
Dresden is also an important inland port on the Elbe River.
Four graceful bridges cross the Elbe, and beautiful old homes line the banks of
this long, narrow river valley with the occasional hilltop palace and/or castle
sitting high above the river on the other side. There is the usual commercial
river traffic, and there are pleasure boats and paddlewheel steamers as well,
filled with tourists and visitors on holiday. Lilacs and rhododendrons were in
bloom, and there were vineyards along the river valley and lovely old half-timbered
houses, which were by now becoming a familiar sight. Always with us were the
contrasts of old and new, as in the occasional sighting of an encroaching
shopping mall or the ubiquitous "Golden Arches." We could not know
that only a few months hence, this beautiful river would be over its banks and
on the rampage, leaving a path of destruction in its wake and the recently
restored historic buildings of the old city partly submerged. Three thousand
people were evacuated. Miraculously, the more than 4,000 paintings were
salvaged by heroic efforts, and the Semper opera's production of Carmen was
staged last fall in the Volkswagen factory. "No more fire--the flood next
time!" This is indeed a remarkably resilient city whose citizens treasure
their cultural heritage and are determined to preserve it.
Kreuzkirche
That evening some of us elected
to attend an organ concert at the Kreuzkirche. This eighteenth-century church
was seriously damaged in World War II and is still rebuilding after 57 years.
There are colorful medieval paintings, and there is a curious mix of old and
new stone work. The church is home to the famous Dresden Kreuzchor and was a
meeting place for freedom demonstrators in the eighties, as was the
Nikolaikirche in Leipzig. The organ is a 1963 Jehmlich (IV/76) with mechanical
action and an enclosed Swell. The specification is typical neo-Baroque
eclectic. The performer was Christian Collum from Cologne, and the performance
was in memory of his father, Herbert Collum, who had been organist at this
church for 47 years (1935-1982). It was the twentieth anniversary of his death,
and the second half of the program was devoted entirely to his compositions.
The program was well attended, and the audience was attentive and enthusiastic.
I enjoyed the evening thoroughly and felt very much at home in my non-tourist
guise.
And then it was back to our
hotel to settle in for the night and to ponder the multitudinous events of an
unbelievably full day.
Day 9
A new day. Tuesday morning, so
it must be Dresden. Dresden is, of course, the capital of Saxony, and Saxony is
Silbermann country. All of my professional life, I had heard about Silbermann
organs and tried to imagine their "silvery" sound. And now, here we
were, about to spend an entire day seeing, hearing, and playing the instruments
of Gottfried Silbermann.
Gottfried Silbermann (1683-1753)
was a friend and colleague of Bach's. He had learned the art of woodworking
from his father, and then he had apprenticed as an organ builder with his older
brother Andreas, during which time he had spent two years in France, where he
came under the influence of both French and Italian sounds and ideas. In 1710
he returned to his native Saxony where he set up his shop in Freiberg and built
his very first instrument for his hometown of Frauenstein. He built 45
instruments in all, and 31 organs remain extant today. By 1723, such was his
reputation that he requested and was granted the title "Honorary Court and
State Organ Builder to the King of Poland and Duke of Saxony."
St. Nicholas, Langhennersdorf
On this particular day we were
scheduled to visit at least five Silbermann organs--all in the general vicinity
of Dresden. But first on our schedule was a stop in the village of Langhennersdorf
to visit a 1722 Hildebrandt (II/21) in the parish church of St. Nicholas. Some
of the non-organists in our group had elected to stay behind and do some
sightseeing on their own, so we were a somewhat smaller group than usual. What
a pleasure it was to get off the main highways and escape the ever-encroaching
roadside emblems of modernity in the form of automotive centers and shopping
malls. Instead, winding, narrow roads took us past storybook villages and small
rural farms with only an occasional graceful church spire punctuating the
horizon.
The church of St. Nicholas has
an ancient medieval tower, dating from 1350, which was part of the original
fortification around the town. The more recent adjoining chapel dates from
1530. The present organ was, so to speak, the "graduation project" of
Zacharias Hildebrand at the end of his apprenticeship to Gottfried Silbermann.
The instrument is earlier and much smaller than the Hildebrandt we had heard in
Naumburg on Friday. It was regrettably, but predictably, altered in the early
twentieth century. In 1989, after the reunification, the restoration was begun
by Christian Wegscheider and completed in 1996. The casework is lovely with
gilded pipeshades, and the contrasting panels--behind the case and on either
side of the key desk--are in that same lovely shade of blue we had seen earlier
at Naumburg. Andreas Hain, the parish organist, demonstrated for us with music
of Sweelinck, Scheidt, Bruhns and, predictably, the Bach D-minor Toccata and
Fugue. Perusing the stoplist, one can see that this early instrument is
smaller, more conservative, and lacking in some of the innovative color stops
and the gravitas of the larger, later Hildebrandt. But the glorious sound of
this little organ blows us away, leaving absolutely nothing to be desired. It
is a sound that is, quite literally, incomparable and sufficient unto itself.
How does one describe such a sound? Let me try: rich, intense,vibrant, but
never overbearing. It visibly lifted our spirits--a real ear-opener in every
way. What a way to start our day!
Perhaps this might be a good
place to comment on the relationship between the organs and those among us who
were playing them. For several days now, I had become aware of a subtle yet
unmistakable transformation that was taking place with each individual player.
It was fascinating to observe the mysterious and complex interplay that was
occurring as mind, body and instrument responded to each other, becoming more
and more as one. Many times I had to remind myself that these complex
conglomerations of wood and metal, to which we have given the name organ, are,
nevertheless, inanimate objects. All evidence to the contrary, they do not have
hearts and minds and wills of their own.
St. Petrikirche, Freiberg
And then it was back on the road
and on to Freiberg where we would see, hear and play no less than three
Silbermanns. Freiberg is an old city whose wealth came from its iron and silver
mines. Our first stop was the St. Petrikirche. Situated high on a hilltop, it is
perhaps the oldest and most important of the Freiberg churches, dating back to
the year 1210. It has been altered, damaged and reconstructed many times over
the centuries, and the original organ no longer exists. The present instrument
(II/32) was completed by Silbermann in 1735. It is the largest of Silbermann's
two-manual instruments. Nineteenth-century additions and alterations were
removed in the 1959 restoration. Much to our surprise, our demonstrator turned
out to be none other than Andreas Hain, who had just played for us at
Langhennersdorf. Herr Hain is the cantor at St. Peter's, and in an apparently
not-all-that-unusual arrangement, his services are divided among three
congregations. On this occasion, we heard works by Mendelssohn and Petr Eben.
St. Mary's Cathedral
Next on our agenda was St.
Mary's Cathedral, which houses two Silbermanns--a 1714 (III/44) and a 1719
(I/14). Both instruments were restored by Jehmlich in 1983. Gottfried
Silbermann built only four three-manual organs in his lifetime, and this was
his first. It was demonstrated for us by Jacob Wagler. It was interesting to
note that though the St. Peter's instrument was built twenty years later than
that of St. Mary's, the stoplists were basically identical, and the
sounds--including those of the one-manual organ--were unmistakably Silbermann.
Silbermann was greatly admired and respected in his time, and continues to be
today. His craftsmanship was solid, and he found his own distinctive voice
early on--powerful, colorful and brilliant. I would not have described it as
"silvery." Unfortunately, we were unable to visit the two-manual 1718
Silbermann in the Jacobiekirche because of structural work being done on the
building.
Grosshartmannsdorf and Zethau
And so we left Freiberg and
continued on to Grosshartmannsdorf to see a typical two-manual Silbermann from
1741. And then it was on to the village of Zethau and the recently restored
1788 Oehme organ (II/20) in the Elisabethkirche. This lovely old Baroque
church, built between 1728 and 1736, stands atop a rather steep hill. One must
park below and climb the path leading up to the old tower and gatehouse. The
old gated cemetery is here and--as we have come to expect--is beautifully
landscaped and tended. The interior of the church, with its vaulted ceiling and
double galleries, is at once simple and elegant. The building has been lovingly
restored between the years 1982 to 1983. Adam Gottfried Oehme (1719-1789)
apprenticed under Silbermann and was perhaps his most important student. The
restoration by Christian Wegscheider was completed in 2001.
Parish Church, Nassau
One more Silbermann to go, and
that would be in the parish church at Nassau. In 1745 the congregation decided
to replace their organ from which pipes had been stolen, leaving it in a very
sad state of disrepair. On the basis of his reputation for quality materials
and workmanship, a contract was signed with Gottfried Silbermann for a
"standard" village organ of two manuals and nineteen stops. Not only
were there problems in coming up with the necessary cash, but the Silesian War
was raging, and Prussia had invaded Saxony. Two thousand cavalry troops were
quartered in Nassau during the winter of 1745, and the village suffered all
manner of hardships and deprivation. The details are not precisely clear, but
apparently some financial assistance was forthcoming through the offices of
authorities in Dresden and/or Freiburg. In 1748, the organ was finally
delivered. After the reunification in 1990, the church itself was restored, and
in 1998, the Jehmlich firm of Dresden undertook a complete restoration of the
organ in time for its 250th anniversary in 1998.
Another beautiful, park-like
setting with lovely tall shade trees. The graveyard and the surrounding grounds
enchant us. The church is impressive both outside and in. A tall tower graces
the steep, slate-tiled roof. Inside, narrow, arched floor-to-ceiling windows
illuminate the interior and its two-tiered galleries. The acoustics are
wonderful--live and very intimate. Before we take our turns at the organ, Herr
Katschke demonstrates for us with works by Zachau, Pachelbel and Krieger.
What a day it has been. We take
our leave reluctantly, our ears filled with Silbermann sounds, and our hearts
filled with the beauty and the peace of these lovely old churches and the
surrounding countryside. It is late afternoon as we settle in for our drive
back to Dresden. Time to reflect on what we have seen and heard as we pass
through evergreen forests punctuated by birch and accompanied by ever-meandering
streams. Far off to our right, in the distance, we could see the Czech Republic
across the border. It was dinner on our own this last night in Dresden, and
some of the hardier souls in our group had made plans. Three of us joined
forces and made our way to an outside table at what appeared to be a popular
restaurant/bar up above the street level. Relaxing over a beer and a simple
meal, my companions and I pretended that, for at least a little while, we were
simply "Dresdenites"--old friends out to enjoy the early evening.
Day 10
Up early. Ah, yes, I
particularly remember the birds of Dresden--no silent spring here! My hotel
room was high and overlooked a commercial, not-all-that-attractive back street
with relatively few trees. I slept with my window open and had wakened each
morning to the cheerful song of birds soaring over and above the traffic noise
below. The birds of Dresden seem to be as resilient and indomitable as their
human counterparts.
Last minute packing. Luggage in
the hall to be collected. Only two more days remain. We would be leaving
Germany today, and tonight we would sleep in Prague. But, as usual, we had some
interesting stops to make along the way.
Lohmen
Destination: Lohmen. We traveled
again along the Elbe to reach this beautiful, rural area of woodland and
meadow, settled by German farmers as early as the thirteenth century. An
earlier church no longer exists. The church that stands today is thought by
many to be the most beautiful in Saxony, and it is not hard to see why. Planning
for this remarkable structure began as early as 1781, and the first stone was
laid in 1786. It is constructed of massive squares of sandstone. With its
sturdy clock tower dominating the landscape, it presents an almost
fortress-like appearance. The overall structure of the building is that of a
symmetrical octagon with two longer opposing sides and three shorter sides on
each end. The interior is breathtaking--all in white and gold, including the
organ, which sits high above the altar. There are three (!) tiers of galleries,
and the multi-paned windows, which rise all the way from floor to ceiling, seem
to bathe this magnificent space with ethereal light. The church seats more than
eight hundred people, and the pews on the first level--also in white--sit on
the original stone floor. They are in three banks, facing the organ and altar
(east) as well as north and south, giving at least a partial effect of
"church-in-the-round."
The organ (II/18) was built in
1789 by Johann Christian Kayser (1750-1813), another student of Silbermann.
Just as we saw in the case of Hildebrandt, the organ looks and sounds very like
the work of the teacher. No surprises here: lovely, exquisite, individual colors, all of which blend well
together, and big but gentle principals. There are no manual reeds, but the 16'
posaune in the pedal supplies ample gravitas. The acoustics are wonderful--a
felicitous conjunction of surface and space that could not be improved upon. I
can only describe it as "surround-sound," eighteenth-century style.
With eyes closed, my ears hadn't a clue as to where the organ was located.
There was no one to officially greet or play for us (perhaps because it was a
regional holiday), and so we were free to explore the instrument on our own. It
was hard to leave, and one wished for time to explore the old, walled
churchyard with its ancient stones and inscriptions.
Reinhardtsgrimma
But today we did indeed have
many miles to go before we slept, and so it was back on the bus and on to
Reinhardtsgrimma, another small village with a very special organ in the
Evangelical Lutheran Church. The organ, a Silbermann (II/20), was purchased for
the church in 1731 by a wealthy widow of high position. In its white and gold
case, it sits high in a rear balcony. It was recently restored by Christian
Wegscheider. Again, there were no surprises, visually or tonally, and the now
familiar, bright Silbermann sound did not disappoint. Herr Katzschke, whom we
remembered from the parish church in Nassau on the previous day, played Tunder,
Pachelbel and Mendelssohn for us.
Frauenstein
We had one last stop to make
before heading for the Czech border. Destination: Frauenstein, where we would
have time for lunch before visiting the Silbermann Museum. Frauenstein is the hometown
of Gottfried Silbermann, and it was to this place that he returned after his
apprenticeship to establish his own business in 1711. The museum, founded by
the Silbermann scholar Werner Muller, is located in a sixteenth-century castle,
which sits on a hill high above the town. It opened in 1983, just in time to
celebrate the 300th anniversary of Silbermann's birth. The exhibits have been
thoughtfully and attractively arranged, and there is a plethora of material to
be seen in the form of photographs and documents. One of the most popular
exhibits is a "hands on" working model provided by the Jehmlich
company, which demonstrates the inner workings of an organ from bellows, to
stops, to keys, to pipes. The pièce de résistance is the small
1993 organ (I/8) by Wegscheider--an exact replica of the1732 Silbermann, which
now resides in the Cathedral in Bremen. Ordinarily, I enjoy museums, but after
two days of such intense exposure to the real thing, the museum seemed
anti-climactic.
Back on the bus once more, we
settled in for the relatively long drive to Prague. By now, nearly all of us
who wished had taken a turn at the microphone. Another pastime, in which we had
been engaging, also deserves mention here. I'm not quite sure exactly how it
all began, but for several days now, several of us had been indulging in
limerick writing, along with some other equally silly word play. These
contributions were deposited with Michael, who proceeded to serve them up at
what he deemed to be appropriate times. Here, for example, is one of my humble
contributions:
When a feisty old lady from
Kassel
Tried the organ at Altenburg
Castle,
It is sad to relate
A pipe fell from the Great,
And her fingers are no longer
facile.
A word of caution is due here:
limerick writing is known to be habit forming and may become seriously
addictive.
It was a pleasant bus ride
marked only by what seemed to be an unwarranted and nerve-wracking delay at the
border crossing. The Czech countryside offered a welcome contrast to the
landscape to which we had become accustomed. There was a lot of climbing
through forested, mountainous country, marked occasionally by some rather
spectacular panoramic vistas. When we reached Prague, we would be checking into
two separate hotels because of space limitations, and then we would gather for
a meal that had been arranged at a local restaurant. So we had a good
introduction to Prague from the bus during the rather lengthy process of
dropping people off at two different locations and then picking them up again to
transport them to dinner. Tomorrow--our last day--would e a whole new
adventure, albeit a short one. Since tomorrow belongs to Prague, this seems to
be the time and place to tie up a few loose ends and to give some overall
consideration to the Bach-country experience.
First, the loose ends. I
believe, but am not sure, that the incident which I'm about to describe
happened en route from Freiberg to Grosshartmannsdorf. Sonja Ritter's parents
live in the little village of Brand-Erbisdorf and had been told by Sonja that
our bus would be passing right by their house. There was no time to stop, but
Manuela slowed the bus down just enough to allow time for big smiles and
enthusiastic waving all around. Forever engraved in my memory is the sight of
this merry couple leaning out of their second story window, beaming and waving,
looking for all the world like storybook characters out of a nineteenth-century
children's tale. And speaking of tales, mention needs to be made here of the
storybook charm of the countryside through which we had been traveling the past
few days. The small "storybook" farms are right in the villages, or
perhaps I should say that the villages are really clusters of small farms with
one or two small shops near by. A typical front yard might have flowers, a
vegetable garden, a cow and/or a goat, pig or sheep, and perhaps a few geese,
ducks and chickens. Outside one of the old, stone churches to which we had
climbed, we were greeted by a tethered sheep grazing contentedly on the grass.
One has the impression that nothing has changed all that much over the
centuries. There is a timelessness and an authenticity about these places
unlike anything I have ever experienced. The churches we visited were typically
on hilltops, and when Manuela would park our bus at the side of the road below,
it sometimes caused quite a stir--this anachronistic behemoth driven by a
woman, no less!
At one of these small
churches--and I forget which one--we were warmly received by a gentleman who
proceeded to give us a fascinating and detailed history of the organ, told with
great pride and enthusiasm. We all assumed that he was the local organist.
Imagine our astonishment when he turned out to be the pastor! No longer
subsidized by the state, and with attendance and membership down, times have
been difficult for these small churches since the reunification. The amazing
thing is the pride that the people take in these wonderful old churches and
their organs. Their tenaciousness and their strong sense of stewardship in
preserving and restoring them is to be marveled at. Many of these churches have
concert series and festivals and are a real source of pride to the entire
community.
And lastly, but not at all in
the least, the organs we had seen, and heard, and played. Peter Williams' book,
The European Organ: 1450-1850, begins
with a quote from D. A. Flentrop: "It is not easy to write about organs;
they need to be played or listened to." And to that, I would add the word,
seen. The vivid intensity of each individual experience was indeed
indescribable. So very many instruments in such a few short days! Our senses
were at times overwhelmed. The larger, sometimes newer, instruments in the
cities were magnificent to be sure, but in retrospect, I find that what I
treasure most are the memories of the smaller instruments in the smaller
parishes off the beaten path. In this case, the whole was indeed greater than
the sum of the individual parts, and now, in memory, these kaleidoscopic images
seem to have merged into a kind of visual and sonic template: the incredible
sweetness and vibrancy of the sounds combined with that translucent,
transforming light which flooded the rooms with an almost palpable energy. Most
important of all--and a real gift, since I hadn't expected it--is the recent discovery
that my approach to the music of Bach has been forever changed in some
fundamental, yet mysterious way. This is not a conscious change, and I am not
speaking of things musicological. I can neither describe nor explain it. It
remains my own priceless souvenir.
And having said all of that, I
must in all honesty admit that Prague, with all of its magnificence and
splendor, would be, for me, an anti-climax.
Day 11
Prague
Thursday, May 2. It is blessedly
warm, and the sun is shining! It is the last day of our tour, and our one and
only day in Prague. It is, of course, impossible to do more than barely scratch
the surface. Prague is the first really large city we have visited since we
started out in Berlin. Berlin, in many aspects, resembles any modern western
city. Prague, by comparison, seems strange and exotic. Though the Germans have
a certain formality about them, they are, by and large, a warm and friendly
people. The Czechs seem more distant and remote. Since we were not due at the
Basilica of St. James/St. Jacob until ten o'clock, we began our day with a
walking tour accompanied by our new guide. Sonja was still with us, but our
arrangements through the travel agency specified that here, in the Czech
Republic, we should use a Czech guide.
Architecturally, Prague is
undeniably stunning--a city of golden domes, graceful spires, and red-tiled
roofs. Back in the fourteenth century, Emperor Charles IV set out to create the
most splendid city in all of Europe, and it would seem that he succeeded. It is
a colorful city whose buildings and streets span a period of more than a
thousand years. Castles, palaces, cathedrals, libraries, museums, theaters and
concert halls attest to a marvelously rich cultural heritage. Charles
University, one of the oldest and largest in all of Europe, dates back to 1348.
This is the city of King Wenceslaus, Kafka, Kepler, Smetana and Dvorák,
to name but a few. Music is everywhere, and Prague is home to many of Europe's
finest orchestras and chamber music groups.
Prague is a port city with an
important inland harbor. The Vltava River (the Moldau to us Westerners) divides
the city in half with two ancient castles standing sentinel on the right and
left banks of the river respectively. It is a city of bridges--fifteen in
all--the most famous being the Charles, with its splendid Gothic arches dating
back to the fourteenth century. Pleasure boats ply the river along with the
usual commercial river traffic. None of us could know that only a few months
hence the newspapers at home would be filled with photographs and accounts of
the devastating flooding of the Vltava into the old sections of Prague.
Thousands would be evacuated from their homes and much property destroyed.
I had been told by friends at
home that this was an excellent time to visit Prague because we would be there
before the height of the tourist season. I cannot, nor do I want to, even
imagine what that must be like. As it was, we were surrounded by a great number
of tourists--many in groups like ours. I found this phenomenon to be a major
distraction to say the least--dominating the scene and tending to obliterate
those very sights and sounds that had drawn us here. It was pedestrian gridlock
of the worst kind, and it was all we could do to stay connected with our own
group and not end up in another! Not only that, but there was a plethora of
little tourist shops which seemed to have sprung up in every nook and cranny,
seriously--in my opinion--detracting from the authenticity of the old parts of
the city. Perhaps I was a bit travel weary at this point and wasn't really
ready for Prague. But the truth is that I had left my heart back in Bach
country.
Basilica of St. James/St. Jacob
Our first musical stop was at
the Basilica of St. James/St. Jacob. The organ had its beginnings in 1705 as a
two-manual instrument of twenty-six stops by the builder, Abraham Stark.
Although it has been expanded, the original case remains today along with a few
of the original Stark registers. Over the years, it has been extensively
altered and expanded, most recently by the Rieger-Kloss firm in 1982. It now
has four manuals and 91 stops, and it may very well be the largest organ in the
Czech Republic. On this day, the organ was impressively demonstrated for us by
Irene Chribkova.
By now it was nearly noon, and
so we were able to join the droves of tourists in the Old Town Square as we
waited in front of the Old Town Hall for the striking of the fifteenth-century
astronomical clock. At noon, twelve elaborately carved apostles appear, while a
bell-ringing skeleton dances off to the side.
Strahov Monastery
Then it was on--or perhaps I
should say up--to the ancient monastery at Strahov, which was built on the
highest point on the approach to Prague Castle. Now the Museum of National Literature, the library houses
many thousands of books and works of art, the oldest dating back to the tenth
century. We had come to see and hear the small cabinet organ of six registers
in the chapel upon which Mozart once improvised.
Tyne Church
Our last organ--and the last
organ on our tour--was an instrument by Hans Heinrich Mundt built in 1673 for
the Tyne Church. A two-manual instrument of twenty-nine stops, it was restored
in the year 2000 by the Klais firm. The organ has survived largely intact and
offers an interesting blend of Austrian-Moravian and Netherlands-North German
building styles.
A farewell dinner had been
arranged for us at a restaurant overlooking the river at the foot of the
Charles Bridge. There was much camaraderie as well as some spontaneous toasts
and impromptu entertainments. Some in our group departed early in order to
attend various performances in the city that evening. The more adventurous
among us concluded the evening by walking across the famous Charles Bridge. And
then it was back to our bus and on to our hotels for the night. Some had very
early departures in the morning, a few would remain in Prague for more
sightseeing, and the rest of us would be bussed to the airport where we would
begin to go our separate ways. Our extraordinary journey had come to an end.
Postlude
Though we have come to the end
of this narrative, the astute reader will have noticed that little mention has
been made of our genial tour host, Michael Barone. That is simply because it is
Michael's style to keep a low profile. As his Pipedreams fans have come to
expect, the focus is always on the organs and the music. Throughout the entire
trip, he seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Talk about
multi-tasking! In his quiet, efficient way, he somehow managed to keep us
always on schedule. Up in the organ loft, he was our great "enabler,"
ever ready to lend a hand or an ear as needed to register, pull stops and turn
pages. He encouraged those who needed encouragement and made sure that no one
took more than his/her fair share of time at the organ. Often, but not always,
he also played. If everything was under control at the console, he was off to
sample the sounds of the organ from as many different locations in the room as
possible. In addition, he held doors, distributed sandwiches or concert tickets
as the occasion demanded, and otherwise kept himself in constant circulation in
order to ascertain that all was well with each of us. In regard to the hosts
and performers at our many and various venues, he was ever the gracious
ambassador, sowing seeds of goodwill and laying the groundwork for future
exchanges. Yet the casual observer might easily have been unaware that he was,
indeed, our leader. A Pipedreams organ tour is not unlike the weekly radio
broadcast. The difference--and it is a big one--is that in this case, we have
become much more than mere armchair travelers. Michael's challenge to each of
us, as it is each week, is to open our ears and our minds--and in this case,
our eyes--and make our own discoveries.
It was our good fortune on this
particular tour to be the direct beneficiaries of Michael's having led an
almost identical tour two years before. Not only were we able to profit from
this experience, but we also inherited the other two members of this great leadership
team--our bus driver, Manuela Huwe, and our German tour guide, Sonja Ritter.
Manuela was wonderful, always keeping us safely on track, getting us there on
time, and taking our bus into places it was never designed to go! Sonja's
excellent English and her engaging and informed commentary enriched our whole
experience immeasurably. Our one day in Prague without Sonja as our guide only
made us appreciate her all the more.
Another important aspect of this
tour, in my opinion, was the makeup of our group. We were as unlikely a
collection of people as one could possibly imagine, coming from an amazing
variety of backgrounds, experiences and expectations. How marvelous to think
that this unique and ancient instrument we call the organ had brought us all together
in a joint adventure of discovery and enlightenment. In the light of the
uncertain and disturbing political climate in which we find ourselves today,
tours such as this afford a wonderful opportunity to build bridges between
countries and cultures and people.
I hope you enjoyed reading about
my Pipedreams adventure. If, in the future, the opportunity to take a
Pipedreams tour presents itself, I urge you to take it. Much will be promised,
and you will find few, if any, disappointments, and a great many unexpected
delights. In the meantime, I encourage you to take the "virtual"
Pipedreams tour each week and to support your local public radio station. To
learn more and whet your appetite even further, you can explore Pipedreams
online at
<www.pipedreams.org>.
Ending on a lighter note, this
is my limerick for Michael, which I wrote somewhere along the way:
Through ancient cathedrals so
pietal,
With organs of endless varietal,
With Baronial splendor,
Apt words he did tender.
Heartfelt praises and thanks to
our Michael!
