Showing posts with label Vorarlberg. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vorarlberg. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 26, 2026

Who Gets to Pick the Priest? Bregenz Remembers Its Church

Sometimes an archival document tells you about the period when it was written.

Sometimes it tells you about the period it remembers.

And sometimes it rummages through two and a half centuries of church history because somebody in 1658 is annoyed about those over-reaching monks over at Mehrerau.

This is one of those latter documents.

I was working through material connected with the parish church of St Gall in Bregenz when I came across a memorandum recorded at the Rathaus on 18 February 1658. (Thank you, Florian Guggenberger, for the ready access to the Stadtarchiv materials on VERY short notice earlier this summer!)

This document is, on first encounter, a list of priests: Joß Laimbthebler in 1401; Simon Amma[n] in 1475; Peter “Noth” in 1483 and 1490; Hans Berlinger in 1509, 1519, and 1527; Claus Arger in 1541; Michael Geiger in 1575; Ferdinand von der Tannen in 1585; and then a rather messier succession of late-sixteenth- and early-seventeenth-century clergy.

Lists! I like lists. I have, in fact, spent a slightly alarming amount of time reconstructing the chaplains, prebendaries, priests, and pastors who served medieval Bregenz. (Stay tuned, that article on Bregenz Chaplains is coming soon to a Florilegium issue near you!)

But this document is not really a list.

It is an argument.

And the argument is really about who gets to control a parish.

STAGE ONE: Ecclesiastical Spaghetti

The medieval parish church of St Gall had accumulated a complicated set of institutional relationships.

The parish church of St Gall stood within a complex web of monastic patronage and ecclesiastical rights, including important connections to the Benedictine abbey of Mehrerau. The parish was served by a succession of Leutpriester or Pfarrer, while the high-altar Pfründner – the benefice holder who was functionally the parish's “Number Two” priest – was under the patronage of the Premonstratensian abbey of Weißenau (Minderau). It’s like if Picard and Riker had different bosses. Weird, hunh?

To emphasize that reality: the pastor of the parish was historically a secular priest (with a few exceptions), not simply a monk sent over from the abbey. Mehrerau had important rights in relation to the parish, but – as we are about to see – exactly what those rights entitled the monastery to do was still being argued about in the seventeenth century.

His “second,” on the other hand, was another important clerical position at St Gall, the high-altar prebend or Pfründe. This role belonged to an entirely different monastic orbit. Its patronage rights lay with the Premonstratensian abbey of Weißenau, also called “Minderau” in the local sources. My reconstruction of the Bregenz clergy follows Weißenau canons through that benefice for generations. Moreover, the monastery not only presented candidates; its own members repeatedly served as Bregenz Pfründner.

So, very roughly, our characters so far are:

Bregenz: parish community with a long history of secular parish priests.

Mehrerau: important rights over the parish.

Weißenau: rights over the separate high-altar Pfründe.

Everyone clear?

Excellent.

Now let us spend two centuries arguing about it.

The arrangement was old enough that in 1390 Jakob vom Tor, then Bregenz Pfründner, was already fighting with Weißenau about whether the monastery had to provide firewood for a room associated with his benefice.

Never let it be said that medieval ecclesiastical jurisdiction was all theology and canon law. Sometimes it is also: who owes me firewood?

STAGE 2: We enter the seventeenth century

By the later sixteenth century, these old divisions of authority were being reformulated.

In 1581, the abbots of Mehrerau and Weißenau made formal arrangements concerning their respective Bregenz rights. Then, in 1610, Mehrerau purchased Weißenau's right to place clerics in the high-altar Pfründe outright.

That transaction matters.

But it did not automatically give Mehrerau the right to put one of its own monks into the separate office of parish priest.

And that distinction is precisely where our 1658 document gets interesting.

The memorandum opens by insisting that the Bregenz pastors had historically been weltliche Priester, that is, secular priests, also known as Leutpriester. (A secular priest is a Catholic priest who serves in the ordinary life of a diocese or parish rather than belonging to a monastic or religious order such as the Benedictines or Franciscans.) The document’s compiler says this can be demonstrated authentically from numerous sealed parchment charters and open instruments, and then starts producing his receipts from the past.

In 1401: Joß Laimbthebler.

In 1475: Magister Simon Amma[n].

In 1483 and 1490: Magister Peter “Noth”—almost certainly Peter Rott, whose surname the seventeenth-century reader has misread.

In 1509, 1519, and 1527: Johannes Berlinger.

In 1541: Claus Arger.

In 1575: Michael Geiger.

The compiler is not collecting a list of priests just because priests are interesting (though they can be).

He is establishing custom.

For generations, he argues, the people exercising the cure of souls at Bregenz were secular clergy.

Plus, he supplements his claims with reference to an alphabet soup of documents. Joß Laimbthebler “accepted the obligation for the Metzger anniversary. (Ref. J).” Simon Amman served in 1475 “(according to document B).” And so on. When I say he brought his receipts, well, he sure did reference them. Though as is the way of such things, the appendices have gone missing from the record. But his allusions to external documents sure SOUND like proof is being provided.

STAGE THREE: When parchment gives out, ask the old people

Eventually, of course, the documentary trail becomes patchier.

And this is where the memorandum proves delightful.

Its compiler turns to people who remembered the priests.

One witness, Georg Hüglin, was 94 years old.

His recollections are not always chronologically precise, and the compiler knows it. He remarks that people remembered these priests and had known them personally but could no longer recall the exact years reliably enough to write them down:

Doch bis dato die eigentliche Zeit und Jahr noch nicht erkundiget werden mögen, denn die Leute, so dessen zwar wohl gedachten und sie gekannt, können sich jedoch der Zeit nicht so gewiss [erinnern], dass man's schreiben könne.

But up to the present the precise times and years have not been ascertained, for although the people remembered them well and had known them, they could not remember the dates with sufficient certainty for them to be written down.

That distinction – we know the man was here; we don't know exactly when – is rather sophisticated historical practice for 1658.

Hüglin remembers, for instance, the earliest Bregenz pastor he could recall, a man associated somehow with Bildstein and “den man genent Lörman” – “whom they called Lörman.” Alas, I have not yet identified him.

Others of his remembered (secular) priests appear under uncertain names: one proves to be Müllegg (first name unspecified); another is the already independently documented Moises Hagen/Haag.

These are precisely the sorts of clerics who fall through institutional lists. And that matters to me; I have worked hard in that Florilegium article to reconstructs the much larger clerical world surrounding St Gall: chaplains, prebendaries, altar priests, assistants, and other men whose relationship to the parish was more complicated than a tidy succession of pastors.

To my eye, this new document effectively catches seventeenth-century Bregenz trying to do some of the same prosopographical work.

But for completely different reasons.

STAGE FOUR: Apparently Kaspar Schmidt's sermons were not a hit

And then, on the next page, we get to the gossip.

Or, more fairly, to the oral historical testimony, some of it reinforced by a secondary witness.

Kaspar Schmidt became Bregenz pastor in 1589. A surviving description of the parish income, written by Schmidt himself on 22 July 1594, says that he was then in his fifth-going-on-sixth year and intended to leave.

The 1658 testimony, however, tells us why some people remembered him leaving:

der Schmid im praedigen nit angenemb gewesen

Schmidt had been “not pleasing/acceptable in preaching.”

His sermons, apparently, were not to Bregenz parishoners’ taste.

As a result, our document explains, the prelate moved Schmidt to Grünenbach, and Andreas Krafft came to Bregenz.

This is a tiny piece of evidence, but I love it because it restores something that institutional histories often flatten out. Parishioners actually listened to sermons. They evaluated. They had expectations.

And apparently they could make their dissatisfaction consequential enough that somebody rearranged the clergy appointments!

The timing makes the story especially intriguing. Schmidt was preparing to leave in 1594, precisely when Catholic institutions around Bregenz were undergoing intensified post-Tridentine reform. At nearby Thalbach, for instance, a visitation in 1594 was followed in 1595 by substantial reforms of the sisters' liturgical practice.

To be honest, I do not know what Bregenz disliked about Schmidt's preaching. Perhaps he was insufficiently reformist. Perhaps he was too reformist. Perhaps he was doctrinally tedious. Perhaps he had all the charisma of damp wool.

The document doesn't tell us.

But it does tell us that preaching mattered enough to be remembered more than sixty years later as the reason for replacing a priest. And that’s an interesting historical factoid all its own!

STAGE FIVE: And then everything gets more complicated

Righto. So, one of the curiosities of our unfolding saga is that Krafft was not another secular priest.

He was a conventual of Mehrerau.

The memorandum documents him serving the Bregenz parish in 1602. Later, after the secular priest Ulrich Stueff had served and then gone to Wasserburg, another Mehrerau conventual, Michael Boner, apparently came onto the parish.

So if the old Bregenz custom was secular Leutpriester, what were Mehrerau monks doing there?

Temporary permissions, apparently. Or, as my administratively inclined self would say: “waivers.”

The memorandum cites a letter of 31 January 1619 from the episcopal authorities at Constance. From it, the writer says, it appears that Mehrerau sought to have prolonged for several years an indult allowing the abbey to have the Bregenz parish served by one of its conventuals.

And at this point our 1658 writer positively pounces on this simple but telling detail, switching from German into Latin. (You can almost hear his excitement!)

Ergo ex propria confessione.

By your own admission.

The logic here is deliciously straightforward:

If staffing Bregenz with Mehrerau monks was your ancient and permanent right, why were you asking the bishop in 1619 to extend your permission to do it?

STAGE FIVE-AND-A-HALF: Buying one job does not get you the other one

This becomes even more pointed when placed beside the Pfründe.

Weißenau's association with that benefice remained active surprisingly late. Sebastian Reck, a Weißenau monk, was formally invested in half the Bregenz Pfründe in 1563 and was still Pfründpriester in 1570. Thomas Lachmair, another Weißenau monk, appears as Pfründpriester zu Bregenz in 1573. Mathias Bildstein, a Bregenz-born Premonstratensian associated with Weißenau, is the next documented holder in 1591.

Then came the 1610 purchase.

Mehrerau acquired Weißenau's presentation rights to the high-altar prebend.

Fine.

But, importantly, the Pfründner was not the Pfarrer.

Nine years after buying one permanent appointment right, Mehrerau was apparently still asking Constance to prolong a temporary permission concerning the other.

That, I think, is the constitutional distinction around which the 1658 memorandum revolves.

Or, put less constitutionally:

Congratulations on buying the Pfründe. The town would like to remind you that this does not mean you own all the priests.

TAKE-AWAY #1: Why remember 1401 in 1658?

Because institutional memory is power.

By 1658, the town was not simply interested in antiquarian trivia about Joß Laimbthebler, Simon Amma[n], Peter Rott, or Johannes Berlinger.

It needed them. It needed their history.

Each dead priest became evidence.

The parchment charter from 1401 mattered because it demonstrated what Bregenz believed its church had once been. So did the documents from 1475, 1483, 1490, 1509, 1519, 1527, 1541, and 1575.

When the parchment evidence thinned, the memories of elderly townspeople extended the chain.

And when Mehrerau's own paperwork supplied the word indultum, the town turned the monastery's archive against it.

This is church history being made into legal argument.

TAKE-AWAY #2: Reform is not a straight line

It is tempting to describe post-Tridentine Catholic reform as a movement toward centralized authority: standardized liturgy, disciplined clergy, regulated religious communities, stronger institutional oversight.

There is plenty of that here.

At Thalbach, the sisters themselves experienced reform directly in 1595, when they took on the Roman Breviary. Their later institutional culture remained deeply attentive to proper worship. Maria Euphrosina Vöglin, Maisterin from 1683 to 1713, was praised precisely because she ensured that divine service was performed properly, attending particularly to music and chant; she also navigated the financial and political relationships necessary to keep the community functioning.

But the Bregenz parish dispute reminds us that “reform” did not simply mean authority flowing downward from Rome to bishop to monastery to obedient local Christians.

Authority was being renegotiated sideways.

Between town and abbey.

Between Mehrerau and Weißenau.

Between secular priests and religious clergy.

Between parishioners and the men preaching at them.

Between episcopal privilege and local custom.

Even between documentary memory and living memory.

And the institutional rearrangement unfolded gradually. In 1581, Mehrerau and Weißenau formalized the division of rights. In 1610, Mehrerau bought Weißenau's Pfründner rights. In 1619, it still sought episcopal extension of permission to place a conventual in the parish office. In 1639, its privileges were confirmed. And in 1658, Bregenz was still arguing about what all of that actually meant.

That is not a clean transition.

It is negotiation.

TAKE-AWAY #3: The priests behind the list

There is another reason this document arrived at a particularly good moment for me.

I have just finished page proofs for an article reconstructing Bregenz's chaplains and ecclesiastical benefices. That project began from the problem that a parish church was never just its parish priest. St Gall supported an extraordinary ecology of clerics attached to altars, chapels, charitable foundations, and subsidiary benefices.

The surviving evidence makes those men visible unevenly.

And now, too late to sneak into the article – because of course this is when archives produce the really juicy document – I have found Bregenz itself attempting a reconstruction of its clergy.

But the town's question is different from mine.

I asked:

Who served this church, and what did they do?

The compiler of 1658 asked:

Who served this church, and how do their identities prove who has the right to control it?

Same priests.

Same archive.

Different stakes.

And that difference is useful.

My forthcoming article reconstructs the ecclesiastical machinery of medieval and early modern Bregenz from the surviving traces of the people who operated it. The 1658 memorandum, on the other hand, shows what happened when that machinery itself became historical evidence.

Two hundred and fifty years of priests were summoned into a seventeenth-century argument.

Even the one whose sermons nobody liked.

And somewhere behind the whole dispute I can still hear Jakob vom Tor, back in 1390, asking Weißenau to send firewood for the cold, cold winters.

Over the years, the questions have changed. The institutional arrangements have changed. Even the uses of the past have changed. But those arguments left traces – and, fortunately for us, Bregenz kept the receipts. 


WORKS CONSULTED:

Bregenz, Stadtarchiv Historische Akten 516 (In Bregenz tätig oder ansässig gewesene katholische Priester, 1491-1926), Document 5: “Protocoll vnd bericht die succession der pfarrherren zu Bregenz betr. de 18. febri 1658 beschreiben.” [Record and report describing the succession of parish priests in Bregenz, dated 18 February 1658.]

Cynthia J. Cyrus, “Bregenz Chaplains, 1387–1587,” Florilegium 39 (2026): forthcoming.

YOU MIGHT ALSO BE INTERESTED IN:

The Vorarlberg Chapel I Wasn’t Looking For  A wrong turn on a research hike leads to the history of chapels, convents, and religious communities scattered through the landscape above Bregenz – and a reminder that archival connections don't always make a smooth hand-off.

BregenzShooting Confraternity of 1498  What happens when civic life, devotional practice, and parish memory get bundled into one Bregenz brotherhood? This post translates and explores the 1498 regulations of the city's shooting confraternity.

SisterAnna Wittweilerin Looks Up  A young Thalbach sister becomes Maisterin in 1619, keeping a diary that preserves everything from liturgical reform to spectacular weather – and a comet. It's a glimpse of how large historical changes actually looked from inside a Bregenz convent.

Diligent Devotion: MariaEuphrosina Vöglin’s Leadership at Thalbach  Maria Euphrosina Vöglin's long leadership at Thalbach brings together devotion, administration, money, music, and the practical work of sustaining a religious community in the post-Tridentine world.

The1507 South Wall Frescoes of Brand’s Parish Church (Vorarlberg)  A close look at another Vorarlberg parish church and the evidence embedded in its decoration – useful for thinking about how local communities built, remembered, and interpreted their churches over time. The post appears in the archive alongside the North Wall follow-up.


Saturday, August 22, 2026

The Vorarlberg Chapel I Wasn’t Looking For

I was in Vorarlberg, Austria (on the Bodensee) for research as part of a large summer archival trip – thanks to the Fyfe Faculty Excellence fund. Mostly, that was museum, or library, or archive, or street-front, or church, or chapel, or waystation.

And then there was the day I set off to see if I could hike to the Hirschberg.

This wasn’t a random destination, though it was definitely research-adjacent. You see, once upon a time the Franciscans (MY Franciscans if you’ll permit me an ownership-by-affection) were gathered up at the convent of Thalbach in Bregenz. That initial foundation happened in the 14th century (if you believe the Sisters’ Chronicle) or 15th century (if you tie yourself to actual documents like a true historian, sigh).

And they lived at Thalbach for centuries. And they became Franciscan-affiliated formally in the period after the Council of Trent, living as Tertiaries.

And time went on.

And then, AND THEN, closure happened. During the Aufhebung, when Emperor Joseph decided that contemplative work was at odds with state productivity needs, the convents of Thalbach and of St Anne’s in Bregenz were both closed (in 1782), the sisters dispersed, and the innards were sold or burned as useless.

So the building sat empty.

And sat empty some more.

But, BUT. One of the nearby surviving sisterhoods – a Dominican group – had, once upon a time, been living in community on the Hirschberg near Bregenz. And then the storms came through. Bad storms. Zapzapzap of lightning. Poof, their convent went up in flames. 1462 was a bad year. And you know what? So was 1463, when lightning struck again. Yikes!

So the sisters moved to Hirschthal bei Kennelbach. Yay, happy endings! For a while, that is. But the Kennelbach convent was vulnerable, too, and in 1796, their not-on-a-hillside convent was destroyed in yet another fire on the night of January 1–2, 1796. In the middle of winter. The fear was fierce. Could they survive?

The answer lay in an empty building. One even commissioned and, in part, built by nuns through the labor of their own hands, as it happens. Thalbach had been sitting around, just aging (as buildings do) for sixteen years. One of the Hirschberg (aka Kennelbach aka Hirschtal) sisters had a great idea: ask the city council for some building-based charity. And it worked! They were able to move in! And within six months, on 22 April 1979, they bought the “verwiaste Kloster Thalbach” from the city outright – for 4700 gulden, on the condition that they provide free schooling for girls in Bregenz.

And now Thalbach, which had been built for Franciscan Tertiaries, became, after that chronological gap, a home to Dominican sisters. And thus it stayed until 1983, when declining vocations and an economically disadvantageous environment meant another closure. This time, the building went to another Catholic spiritual group, Das Werk, and they still inhabit the convent now.

My chosen task on a Sunday, then, was to wander my way up to the Hirschberg. Because I can. Because it’s there. Because it’s easier to hike somewhere than just to hike when you want to plan your day.

It’s a longish hike from Bregenz, and I knew enough of my own capacities to plan for the bus-ride back in advance of my adventure. So I set off as one does, with water-bottle and snacks and hiking kit and phone charger, and went exploring uphill in the mountains.

It was splendid.

Hiking in Vorarlberg is easy (well, except for the hiking part). I use a combination of Waldfinder (the Vorarlberg hiking app) and AllTrails (which gives decent trail-dotted lines) and Google maps (which gives names, yay), and just zig and zag on the dotted trail indicators as mood takes me (and as the various trail signs indicate). I started by hiking up the Gebhardsberg to the former site of a Bregenz chaplaincy in the mountains, though the buildings there reflect the impact of the Swedish invasion – rebuilding in sacred spaces is certainly a “thing.”

GEBHARDSBERG

Uphill, yup: hiking up to the Gebhardsberg

Classic ruins

Inside the reconstituted chapel, set for someone's wedding

And then up and over hillsides, past lovely streams, in and out of shade, through various towns (Langen bei Bregenz being the most notable), and up and across 

VORARLBERG COUNTRYSIDE 

Shrub and hill-view

St. Wendelin at Fluh; founded in 1666, and rebuilt 1846–47; served as pilgrimage chapel and then in 1872 as Parish church; St Wendelin of Trier is patron of country folk and herdsmen.

Glorious roads and paths...

And stunning hillside views

A small waterfall

A parade of old cars

Lovely plantings -- the yellow blossoms were full of bees!

Yes, I was having a good time. Meadow and trees and a bit too much sun!

until I got up to the trail on up ….

The chapel of Maria Heimsuchung -- the Visitation -- at Hirschbergsau: a cute rural chapel dating from 1893, built over the grounds of a previous chapel. Contains a bell dated 1619, cast by Johann Baptist Ernst.

Another view of the Hirschbergsau chapel

...to the wrong Marian chapel. Yes, It seems that I went to the Maria Heimsuchung Kapelle (The Visitation chapel) in the Hirschbergsau -- the meadow part -- instead of the Marienkapelle (The Marian Chapel) at the mountain peak on the other side of the mountain. In other words, coming up from Langen, I chose the wrong fork in the trail, and went about 90 minutes out of my way. Whoopsies!

YELLOW GOAL / RED DESTINATION

Two Marian chapels, both in the mountains above Langen...

The day already being a long one, however, I took it as a signal that hiking is about the journey, not the destination, and instead of adding another two hours to my weary legs, I took my photos of the chapel that greeted me at MY destination, and put “hike to the Hirschberg Marienkapelle” onto my list for some future adventure.

And then I hiked back down and caught my bus back, and had a lovely beer and a quiet evening, and got ready for a scholarly week by list-making (as one does).

About all of this I have several reflections:

1) Wherever you are, that’s the adventure you’re having.
2) Hiking in Vorarlberg is among the most lovely things one can do in all of this wide world.
3) A sunny day of hiking is NEVER a mistake.
4) Always double-check your destination. If you care. Do you really care?
5) History gives us connections, but the hand-off isn’t always smooth.
6) Be interested in what’s around you; that can be as joyous as the thing you think you’re working on.
7) When in doubt, your next destination is probably uphill. Be ready for that.
8) Wrong turns still take us places. Sometimes they even have chapels.
9) Maps are excellent tools. Users can be excellent fools. You have permission to enjoy that gap!
10) Go for it. Take water, a sun hat and bus fare (or a bus app), but go for it.


Resources

You might also be interested in…

Sunday, November 30, 2025

Manuscript and incunable research links

This listing reflects my “frequently consulted” list of resources for manuscript and incunable research as I’m working on a medieval/early modern house of tertiaries, Thalbach in Bregenz, Vorarlberg, Austria. My aim in compiling this list of links is not to be systematic, but rather utilitarian, since I’m now frequently across browsers and even computers, and want “my” link list all in one place. There is a strong bias toward vernacular German / Austrian resources, since Vorarlberg was linked sometimes to Bavaria, sometimes to Tyrol and Innsbruck, and always to the broader Bodensee orbit.

Though I don’t claim “coverage” of digital resources, I did want my list to be useful to others, so I’ve done a few things. I’ve grouped it in clusters that might help a new researcher get started. I’ve tried to provide a brief explanation of what a resource is, and sometimes provided a “jump in” link that let’s you navigate more quickly to a search page.

I’m certainly open to adding further resources as they come to my attention, and invite your contributions. You can reach me at my vanderbilt.edu email (cynthia.cyrus “at”…) with suggestions.


Navigation


Manuscripts, Works, & Catalogues


UMBRELLA SITES FOR DIGITIZED MANUSCRIPTS

  • Manuscripta.at – digitized manuscripts from Austria: https://manuscripta.at/digitalisate.php
  • e-codices – Virtual Manuscript Library of Switzerland https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/
  • KdiH – German-language illustrated manuscripts of the Middle Ages: https://kdih.badw.de/datenbank/start
  • Siân Echartd, Medieval Manuscripts on the Web – guide to online manuscript resources (scroll down for location-based listings) https://sianechard.ca/web-pages/medieval-manuscripts-on-the-web/
  • Open Culture – list of 160,000 medieval manuscripts online https://www.openculture.com/2020/12/160000-medieval-manuscripts-online-where-to-find-them.html
  • Mechthild transmission Study (MMMMO) – Overview of manuscript transmission of Liber specialis gratiae https://zfdg.de/2024_002

  • FRAGMENTS


    INCUNABLES


    CALENDARS & SAINTS


    Nuns' Libraries (Projects)


    MEMORIA

    Ottosen, Responsories of the Latin Office of the Dead (a reformulated version of the database undergirding his doctoral thesis, The Responsories and Versicles of the Latin Office of the Dead, https://www.cantusplanus.de/databases/Ottosen/index.html

    Hugener, Buchführung für die Ewigkeit, Totengedenken, Verschriftlichung und Traditionsbildung im Spätmittelalter, https://play.google.com/books/reader?id=rgVMDAAAQBAJ&hl=en


    Early Modern Vorarlberg Resources

    Women's monastic communities

    Let me know if this was useful. And, to navigate back around the page, here's that navigation list again:

    Saturday, September 6, 2025

    When the Gestapo Came for the Sisters

    In June 1945, just weeks after World War II ended in Europe, Bishop Paulus Rusch of Innsbruck wrote a sworn account of how Nationalsocialism had targeted the Catholic Church in Tyrol and Vorarlberg. Buried in the Nuremberg Trial records, his testimony gives us a stark glimpse of what happened to nuns and other women religious under Nazi rule.

    The crackdown began early. Already in Spring 1938, the ever-popular Corpus Christi processions were banned, and over the course of the summer Catholic schools shuttered, and priests began to be jailed. This crackdown extended to charitable work. One priest was imprisoned simply for giving bread and coffee to two hungry Dutch prisoners. Such gestures of compassion were deemed “favoring elements foreign to the race.” But by 1939, the regime turned directly against convents.

    The Nazis expelled the Dominican Sisters of St Peter’s in Bludenz, closed their convent, and partly demolished the interior of their church. The Innsbruck Sisters of Perpetual Adoration fared worse; they were dragged out of their cloister one by one by Gestapo officers. Their church was seized and turned into a military installation.

    This parallels actions elsewhere; Convent churches were closed, desecrated, or turned to military use. In Bregenz, the Abbey of St. Gallus saw its church gutted; at Mehrerau, the abbey and sanatorium were seized. And yet one local consultant, a Josef Gschwilm, thought it was funny; he liked to dress up as a priest and get himself photographed during these monastery closures (Pichler 253).

    Layfolk were impacted just as dramatically. Across Vorarlberg, 348 Catholic associations and congregations were disbanded (Pichler 252).

    Even schools for girls -- the lifeblood of these communities and the social safety-net for orphans -- were dissolved. In Bregenz alone, the three girls schools of Thalbach, Marienburg, and Riedenburg were all forced to close. In short, the infrastructure that had sustained Catholic belief and practice for generations was systematically dismantled.

    These stories remind us that the Nazi assault on faith was not abstract. It reached into classrooms, chapels, and convent walls, stripping women of their vocations, demolishing sacred spaces, and silencing communities of prayer.

    What Bishop Rusch called “the fighting of Nationalsocialism” was, for these sisters, a fight simply to exist. And yet, exist they did. Though their convent walls were broken and their schools closed, their witness of faith and service endured beyond the war years -- a quiet defiance that outlasted the regime that tried to silence them.

    NOTE ON SPELLING:

    I follow the one-word, no-hyphen spelling of “Nationalsocialism” adopted in the Nuremberg Trial documents.

    SOURCES:

    Meinrad Pichler, Das Land Vorarlberg 1861 bis 2015, Geschichte Vorarlbergs Bd 3. Wagner Universitätsverlag, 2015.

    Bishop Paulus Rusch, “The Fighting Of Nationalsocialism In The Diocese Of The Apostolic Administration Innsbruck-Feldkirch, Of Tyrol And Vorarlberg,” translated and published in Nazi Conspiracy and Aggression, vol. 5, aka the “Blue Series” of the Nuremberg Trials (1945), books.google.com/books?id=iGN2rIerJR0C&pg=PA1077



    Sunday, June 8, 2025

    The North Wall of Brand’s Parish Church: Challenges of Interpretation

    The church of Mary’s Assumption into Heaven in Brand, Vorarlberg has a significant set of frescoes dating to the early 16th century. The church was under construction for nearly 30 years, and consecrated in 1507. I have written about the South wall of the Parish church HERE. The frescoes of the North Wall are the focus of today's post.

    As before, there are pairs of images which combine biblical scenes with saints and others, each image framed in a brick-reddish painted frame.

    LEFT (Obscured Image and Noli me tangere)

    The North wall has had more fading than its South wall counterparts, especially the left-hand pair of images.

    Brand (Vorarlberg) frescoes: a haloed figure (above), and the Noli me tangere (below)

    The church brochure identifies this pair as “a faded figure” above and the Risen Christ with Mary Magdalene below. 

    About all we can tell about the faded figure of the top panel is that it was located centrally in the image and had a halo. However, the curious sweeping patterns behind the figure, combined with the upward gesture of the right arm, and the context of a church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary incline me toward an identification of this damaged image as a likely annunciation scene. 


    Compare the Brand fresco image with the Hallstatt Altar from Upper Austria by Lienhart Astl. Astl positions Gabriel above Mary, gives generous space for his wings, raises his arm in a two-finger blessing, and has a swirl of cape to enhance the angel's body. (Note, however, that I've flipped the image manually to put the angel to the left; the Hallstatt altar can be seen in full glory with its original orientation.) 

    So too, the Louvre relief from the early 16th century, stemming from Tyrol, includes a pointing finger, sweeping wings, a superior position for Gabriel, a swirl of cape. These are common cliches in images of the time, which is what remains of the Brand fresco seems to my eye to align with the Annunciation most closely.

    More of the lower panel has been preserved, but there's still substantial damage. The Risen Christ has a cross in the background, and we have glimpses of the faces of the protagonists, but the years of plaster have obscured the details of this pair of images. Given the context, this is the Noli me tangere, though the brochure doesn’t explicitly make that claim.

    RIGHT (Christ Emergent and Four Saints)

    The other surviving fresco pair on the North Wall, although clearer, is equally hard to interpret. The church pamphlet (Fragments, p. 6) identifies THIS top image as an Annunciation – something we would absolutely expect in a church devoted to the Blessed Virgin. Unfortunately, this designation doesn’t seem to match the visible attributes that survive. I think that the image is better read in a Christological context  – and not just because I think that the previous image was an Annunciation scene!

    Brand (Vorarlberg) Fresco: Christ emerging from the tomb, with angel

    There is clearly an angel, but situated on the right, rather than the left, of the “main figure.” The angel is pulling aside a cloth from a rectangular object – the empty tomb? – signaling the role of revelation or discovery.

    The main figure has a dramatic pose with right arm up-flung, unlike Mary who is typically reading or occupied in a garden. Moreover, this standing figure holds a banner and, if I’m not mistaken, sports a short beard. He is cloaked and hooded, with an outsized halo. He faces away from the angel, looking not at the viewer but rather to a spot over the viewer’s left shoulder.

    Given the angel’s action, we are likely seeing Christ’s triumphant emergence from the tomb, though why this comes after and not before the image of Christ with the Magdalene is an interesting, but for me unanswerable, question. The presence of a tomb scene, coupled with the Harrowing of Hell on the opposite wall and the Noli me tangere nearby to this image provide a firm Crucifixion-to-Resurrection grounding for the church's imagery.

    Below, we find another assortment of saints with halos, evenly spaced.

    Brand (Vorarlberg) fresco: Four male saints

    The left figure is gesturing to the group with his left hand; the next is wrapped closely in his cloak, the third holds a short sword and wears knee-length britches, and the last is pivoted to look at the group, his hand signaling something extraordinary, his forefinger and little finger both point up; his thumb and the other two fingers are tucked in. The back of his hand is toward us.

    That left figure might – might – be St Denis, who was prone to rhetorical gestures. He’s holding something in his cupped hand; it could be a shrunken rendition of his severed head, but that is a stretch interpretation based on knowing the story and seeing the cupped hand around an object.

    The wrapped figure might be St Giles, a figure known for reserve and suffering. The sword-holder is most likely Achatius, a martyred Roman military figure

    The last figure with the hand gesture is likely performing an apotropaic gesture, one designed to avert evil or bad luck; St Vitus with his protection against seizures and demonic possession seems the most likely candidate.

    The Fourteen Emergency Saints: A Program Disrupted?

    Given that the South wall started with the three women of the “Nothelfer” saints, Margaretha, Barbara and Katharina, and given the presence of Erasmus and other Nothelfer on the South wall, we can then read each pair of panels as including 3 or 4 of the so-called “Vierzehn Nothelfern,” the fourteen Saints in times of need, though only ten of the fourteen are represented here, highlighted in blue if they're extant, and purple if not:

    • South Wall Left:  Margaretha, Barbara and Katharina (below: Anna and Mary)
    • South Wall Middle:  Erasmus, Eustace, Cyriacus (below: Mary Immaculata)
    • South Wall Right: Harrowing of Hell (below: 4 Men without halos – patrons?)
    • North Wall Left: Obscured figure (below: Christ and Magdalene)
    • North Wall Right: Christ emerging from the tomb (below: Denis, Giles, Achatius, Vitus)
    • Presumed missing panel of the remaining four of the 14 Nothelfer: Blaise, Christopher, George, Pantaleon

    To put that another way, we have:

    • 2 images of Mary (as child with her mother and as Immaculata). We lack other scenes such as the Annunciation, Visitation, Mary and John at the foot of the Cross, or Pietà.
    • 3 images of Christ post-Crucifixion: the Harrowing of Hell, the Noli me Tangere, and Christ emerging from the tomb.
    • 3 images that seem to include 10 of the 14 Nothelfer
    • 1 image of a group of men without halos 

    There are a few oddities I’d like to comment on here. 

    First, the idea of the Noli me tangere occurring before the emergence from the tomb is at best strange; our images seem to be out of order. 

    Second, the style of that North Wall Christ emergent is out of keeping with the rest of the program. While it may be an artifact of restoration, the scene is almost chiaroscuro in its rendition. 

    Third, the conflict of identification – annunciation or Christ emerging from the tomb – is a signal that this particular image is problematic in some way. Expectations are here thwarted. 

    And fourth, though I’m not an art historian, and didn’t have a formal measure of tint and tone to hand when I visited the church, the colors of the Christ emergent tend toward the green rather than the coppery backgrounds of the other parts of the program.

    What it might mean 

    My hypothesis is that the last set of North Wall images might in fact have been over-painted. If the Christ emergent had actually been a panel with the four missing Emergency Saints, the program would be complete. Then, the order of Nothelfer up top and Christological/Mariological below would be disrupted only for the patrons.

    HYPOTHESIS: The North Wall Right might originally have been: Blaise, Christopher, George, Pantaleon [later over-painted by Christ emerging from the tomb] (below: Denis, Giles, Achatius, Vitus)

    In that case, the intended program might have looked something like this: 

    This provides us with a Marian presence appropriate to a Marian church on both sides of the nave. It also completes the full program of the 14 Nothelfer by including all 14 of the 14 expected saints-in-times-of-need.

    Moreover, the significantly popular Christopher and George, missing from our current cycle, would be part of the important and complete cycle of emergency saints. After all, they appear frequently without their companions – more so than Blaise and Pantaleon; their omission from the set is indeed a puzzle to be solved.

    This isn't the only possible solution, of course. It is possible that the missing four saints were on a panel which has been lost through the adaptations of the church over time. A back wall or front wall placement would no longer be part of our preserved legacy as the church has been adapted to its modern usage.

    Whatever has happened with the almost-but-not-quite coherent program of the Brand church, it is clear that the frescoes of this out-of-the-way alpine church have much to tell us about worship in the period immediately prior to the Reformation.

    CONCLUSION

    The North wall of the Brand church is more heavily damaged than its South wall counterpart, but in some ways that makes it feel even more intimate – as though we’re glimpsing devotional patterns that were deeply local and possibly improvised. There’s less visual clarity, but maybe that opens a different kind of space: one for private reflection or a more personal encounter.

    The Nothelfer panel, in particular, suggests concern for daily protection, healing, and perhaps a kind of communal spiritual insurance policy. It's messier, less polished, but still rich with meaning. And what we make of the so-active angel and its triumphant counterpart figure, well, it has certainly kept me pondering through many-an-hour.

    I keep thinking of Carolyn Walker Bynum’s work on how medieval Christians engaged with materiality not as distraction but as a conduit to the divine. These frescoes might have operated that way too, drawing attention to the import of sacred signs (with Vitus’s gesture) and the nearness of sacred power. Even in partial ruin, the frescoes pull you in, and ask you, like the Magdalene, not to touch, but to witness.

    WORK CITED

    [Anonymous]. Parish Church “Our Lady of the Assumption” Brand: Fragments from the Church History Chronicles of Brand / Vorarlberg. [Undated Church Pamphlet.]

    Bynum, Carolyn Walker. Christian Materiality: An Essay on Religion in Late Medieval Europe. New York: Zone Books, 2011.

    Cyrus, Cynthia. "The 1507 South Wall Frescoes of Brand’s Parish Church (Vorarlberg)" [Blog Post]. Silences and Sounds, June 6, 2025, https://silencesandsounds.blogspot.com/2025/06/the-1507-south-wall-frescoes-of-brands.html.


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