Saint Emmeram's Abbey

Stand still for a moment in the forecourt. The cobbles under your feet are uneven, worn into shallow dips by centuries of shoes. Ahead of you, pale stone walls rise without much decoration. Somewhere a bell sounds from a tower that stands apart from the church. From the outside, this place looks quiet, almost plain. Inside, it is anything but.

You are at Saint Emmeram's Abbey in Regensburg, one of the oldest monastic sites in Bavaria. The name comes from a man, not a building. Emmeram was a Frankish bishop and missionary. He came to this region in the seventh century, when Regensburg was the seat of the Bavarian dukes. He met a violent death, and his remains were brought here for burial. Soon his grave drew pilgrims, and around that grave a community began to grow.

That community became a Benedictine monastery in the eighth century. The Benedictines are monks who follow a sixth-century rule of prayer, work, and study. For over a thousand years, monks lived, prayed, and wrote on this spot. The abbey grew powerful. Eventually it answered directly to the Holy Roman Emperor rather than to a local lord. That status made it an imperial abbey, a small state in its own right, inside the walls of a busy trading city.

Here is the first surprise. Kings and an emperor chose this church as their final resting place. Arnulf of Carinthia, who held the imperial title at the end of the ninth century, is buried here. So is Queen Hemma, wife of the Carolingian king Louis the German. Look for her tomb inside. It carries a carved stone figure of the queen, made several centuries after her death. Her face is calm, her robes fall in long, soft folds.

Now look at the north entrance before you go in. Set into the wall are carved stone reliefs from the eleventh century. They show Christ, Saint Emmeram, and Saint Dionysius. These are among the oldest large stone sculptures in Germany. The figures are stiff and frontal, with large eyes and flat drapery. They do not try to look lifelike. They try to look eternal. Many visitors walk straight past them. Take a minute — they are older than most cathedrals in Europe.

Why Saint Dionysius? He is better known as Saint Denis, the patron saint of Paris. In the Middle Ages, the monks here claimed that his relics had been brought to Regensburg. The monks of Saint-Denis near Paris strongly disagreed. Historians today treat the Regensburg claim as a medieval invention, made to raise the abbey's prestige. Still, the story shows how much relics mattered. A famous saint's bones could bring pilgrims, gifts, and political weight.

Step inside, and the mood changes completely. The medieval church is still there in its bones, but in the eighteenth century it received a new skin. The Asam brothers, Cosmas Damian and Egid Quirin, transformed the interior. They were two of the leading Baroque artists of southern Germany. Baroque is the style of drama and movement — gold, colour, painted skies, and figures that seem to float. Look up at the ceiling frescoes, then down to the plain old pillars. You are seeing two very different eras at once.

Below your feet lie older spaces. The church has crypts, low vaulted rooms that hold the graves of saints. One is linked to Abbot Ramwold, who led the monastery in the late tenth century. Another holds the memory of Saint Wolfgang, a bishop of Regensburg in the same period. Wolfgang is still loved across Bavaria and Austria. The crypts are dim, cool, and hushed. The stone feels close and heavy. If they are open when you visit, go down. It is the oldest atmosphere in the building.

The abbey was also a centre of learning. Its scriptorium, the room where monks copied books by hand, produced manuscripts of great beauty. The abbey also owned one of the most precious books of the Middle Ages, the Codex Aureus, or Golden Book. It is a gospel book written in gold letters and made for the Frankish king Charles the Bald. It probably came here through the emperor Arnulf. Today it is kept in the Bavarian State Library in Munich. The monks who guarded it would have walked the same paths you walk now.

Here is the second surprise. The monastery buildings around you are now a palace, and a family still lives in it. In the early nineteenth century, church lands across Germany were taken over by the state. The abbey was dissolved. A few years later, the monastic buildings passed to the princely family of Thurn und Taxis. This family had grown rich by running the postal service of the Holy Roman Empire. They turned the cloisters and halls into their residence.

So the abbey today has two lives. The church remains a working parish church and holds the rank of a minor basilica, a title of honour from the Pope. The surrounding buildings form Saint Emmeram's Palace, the home of the princely family. Parts of the palace, including the medieval cloister and the family's burial chapel, can be seen on guided tours. In winter, the palace courtyard hosts a Christmas market with lanterns, wooden stalls, and the smell of roasted almonds.

The cloister deserves a slow walk if you take a tour. Its arcades mix Romanesque and Gothic forms. Romanesque means heavy, rounded arches. Gothic means lighter, pointed ones. You can see the change in the stone, side by side. This is where monks once walked in silence between prayers. Afterwards, wander out into the streets around the abbey. You are inside Regensburg's old town, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, where medieval houses and narrow lanes still follow their old lines.

Before you leave, turn back toward the church one last time. Notice how little the outside tells you. Plain walls, a separate tower, an old doorway with stiff stone saints. Behind it lie kings, crypts, painted heavens, and a palace that was once a cloister. Listen to the bell again, and to your own steps on the cobbles. Monks, pilgrims, and princes have crossed this same ground. For a moment, you are one more traveller in that long line.