Nikolaikirche

Leipzig was the only surprise on our trip through Europe last summer. The rest of it was quite delightful and full of new sights and experiences — but we were expecting that. Leipzig was a bit far off of our north-south travel planning axis, but I kept feeling its pull. I knew I might not have another chance to make this pilgrimage to the city of Bach, so when opportunity knocked, we slotted it into our itinerary.

Bach lived the last quarter century of his life in Leipzig (1723 – 1750). I was familiar with his story, with the churches and school he served and with the city’s general state of musical excellence. I imagined medieval buildings, weathered homes with chamber pots, travel by foot, horse and carriage – in short, a somewhat Dickensian world.

I also knew that Leipzig had fallen into the clutches of communism and that it had been relegated to the status of economic hub for the GDR (1949 – 1990). Not having a high opinion of communism, I suspected that Leipzig would have run down during this time. Beyond that my impressions were limited.

What we found, after being greeted by its magnificent train station, was the most beautiful city of our trip. The inner hub was clearly medieval in that crooked and roundabout way, and there were obviously old buildings. But the face of Leipzig’s streets was fresh, colourful and architecturally sumptuous. Most of what we were seeing was built after Bach’s death, culminating in the Wilhelminian style (1890 – 1918).

Leipzig’s St. Nicholas Church was begun around 1165 and was substantially reworked in the 1500s, so from the outside it looks old. But on the inside its sanctuary is the most gorgeous of any we saw that summer. The interior had been redone in the late 18th century in a neoclassical style, featuring pastel colours and palm frond-topped columns.

So the city and church that Bach knew had changed radically, much as musical styles do. This places Bach not at the source but as a pivot for Leipzig’s prominence. A millennium of trade lies at the root of its prosperity, giving it a university and making it a center for music and publishing.

Communism may have taken some of the shine off, but Leipzig’s heart kept beating. German Lutheranism was still going strong, and the Bach cultural tradition, among others, could not be stifled. Into this came a most remarkable phenomenon – the Peaceful Revolution of 1989 in which Leipzig and the Nikolaikirche figured prominently.

St. Nicholas Church prayer meetings in the 1980s became a sanctuary for dissatisfaction with communism, culminating in the Monday demonstrations that began September 4, 1989. These quickly grew in size and caught on in other cities as well. Police came out in full force but didn’t know what to do with massive crowds of peaceful people holding candles and infants, so they caved and two months later the Berlin Wall came down.

The church acted as midwife to this revolution, and a remarkable number of clergy ended up in the new government. But Leipzig itself, with its faded grandeur, its venturesome history and the ebullient music of Bach coursing through its veins, inspired its people’s deep desire for something better. In the thirty years that followed, Leipzig was transformed again and Bach festivals flourished once more.