Tim Dawe cycles along the Danube River to Melk in this third article in his series on Austria.
My six-day, 350km cycle tour along the Danube passed through the Austrian village of Melk. I feel a frisson of excitement at this prospect because it’s central to one of my favourite novels: the dankly-dark, medieval murder mystery: Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. Then I recall the novel’s abbey, with its scriptorium of priceless manuscripts, is set in northern Italy and the narrator is Adso of Melk. Travelling can be confusing sometimes – for a senior.
The massive Melk Abbey in front of me is far from dark and brooding. It’s layered in yellow and cream like a delicious Viennese cake. It’s light, bright and it’s baroque. From my bike I look up to the massive curved rear of the abbey, framed by a moat. Many day-trippers to Melk Abbey arrive from Vienna by riverboat (more an elongated viewing platform) then trudge 700m over river flats. As a cyclist, I arrive almost to the front door. Over a little footbridge, I pop up in the main street of town. Melk is pretty, and peaceful.
Melk Abbey is strategically set high on a rocky outcrop, with a commanding view of the Danube. It has serious history. The Romans installed a garrison there in the first century, then in 976 the Babenberg kings made it their seat from which to rule Austria. In 1089 Leopold II of Babenberg gave his castle to the Benedictine monks to endow a monastery. The current building, designed by Jakob Prandtauer, was built from 1702–1736.
Today, far below this commanding edifice, townsfolk and visitors stroll around the village, window shopping or eating lunch. It’s been a hard day in the saddle; I join others at Café zum Fürsten for coffee and Linzertorte.
The main street of the village is literally defined by the monastery’s long rocky foundation. With no possibility of cross roads, the entire village is spread out along this monastery wall. I deviate up the steeply-staired Steingasse (passage) to the entrance – an extraordinary plateau in the sky. A sign invites visitors to wander through the abbey’s extensive formal gardens.
Saints Peter and Paul welcome me as I cross Prelates Court to the modern ticket office. There’s nothing medieval about this modern, high-tech museum with its mood lighting, special exhibits, whirring and purring interactivity. It’s slightly incongruous. Parallel to this ultra-modern exhibition arcade is the uncrowded, 200m-long Imperial Corridor and a traditional line of Hapsburg portraits. I enter the Marble Hall. It’s beautiful, made more so with shafting golden sunlight. For a while I have the room to myself. It’s a formal space for special occasions, perhaps to receive a pope or potentate. While sparse, overhead it’s all wow and wonderment. The fresco by Paul Troger (1731) is a baroque masterpiece featuring St Benedict ascending to heaven. This room is sublime, yet most visitors continue interacting with museum machines.
Then with one step I’m outside on that first-seen, rounded rear balcony – on top of the world. Below me are towns, fields and the Melk River.
The library is this way, says the sign. That’s more like it; another Troger ceiling, aged books stacked to the ceiling and glass-topped cases displaying special books, maps and manuscripts. It’s a reminder that for hundreds of years, long before schools, universities and the internet, all knowledge resided in monasteries. If knowledge was power, that made monasteries, particularly world-renowned Melk, very powerful indeed. In alcoves there are large globes representing the known world over the centuries. There are more than 80,000 volumes held on 10 floors – two available to the public. Access is via spiral steps. Dubbed the staircase to God, it is stunning. Viewed from underneath it resembles a giant luminescent seashell.
My self-guided tour brings me to a highlight: Melk Church. Fittingly, light descends through a large cupola spreading over the brown and burnished-gold altar. Here I meet Peter and Paul again, this time bidding each other farewell. The statues’ perfect proportions are designed to inspire with awe. Exploratory instincts take me to niches along the sides. In glass cases abbots and other distinguished figures rest, not in stone or plaster, but as skeletons. One suggestively leans on a former elbow; all are dressed in their official clothing. It’s another reminder how customs and sensibilities change.
With Melk’s fact and fiction sorted, I reflect on this memorable visit of architectural and religious wonder presented through 21st century technology. But medieval monastic traditions remain – Melk Abbey today is a thriving community of Benedictine monks and scholars. But without the murders.
I cycle back to the Gasthof on another adventure-filled day.
