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Edvard Munch’s (1863-1944) Die Söhne des Dr. Max Linde is apparently one of the landmark family portrait paintings of the twentieth century, or at least that’s what it says online and so it must be true. Painted in 1903, it shows the four sons of Dr Max Linde (1862-1940), a Lübeck eye doctor, collector and important early German supporter of Munch. The boys are not presented as neat little decorative cherubs, but they have individual personalities, varying levels of patience and the faint air of children who have been told to stand still by adults who are not fully in control of the situation.

The museum’s own account notes that Linde first encountered Munch’s work in 1902 and went on to commission portraits of his family, views of his house, garden and collection, as well as what became known as the Linde portfolio. Its presence in the Museum Behnhaus Drägerhaus is appropriate given that Munch was repeatedly active in Lübeck between 1902 and 1907, largely because of his relationship with Linde, and this work is one of the great results of that connection.

In terms of the children, Hermann leans in from the left, Lothar seems barely able to keep still, Theodor occupies the right-hand side with considerable confidence and Helmuth in the centre who looks straight out. I wonder what the children thought of it, it does show a sense of mischief between the two of them, I rather suspect that they liked it.

I’m more amused about AI’s response to whether it could tell me anything about this as it replied:

“The stone is very worn, and Latin inscriptions are unforgiving little beasts even before several centuries of feet have gone over them. I can provide some words with reasonable confidence but why put these stones where people walk over them?”

It seems to be humouring itself now, but I like its style. Anyway, the ‘Memento Mori’ which means something like ‘remember, you’ve got to die’ is a cheery little number at the bottom of the stone. It dates to 1730 although it’s not clear whether they’ve moved it because of the damage done during the Second World War. I suspect that it hasn’t moved very far, if at all, and in response to AI, it’s likely a good thing that they didn’t have this as a memorial on the wall, as that would have been less likely to survive the various attacks that there have been on this building.

However, this stone is readable enough without AI and it’s the tomb of Kaspar Andreas von Elmendorff (1658-1730). He was born in 1658 at Füchtel, located to the south west of Bremen, and became a Catholic canon in the otherwise mostly Lutheran cathedral chapter of Lübeck. Remarkably, he received the expectation of a canonry at Lübeck Cathedral when he was only ten, which goes to show what happens when you’re from a wealthy family.

He later held a canonry at St Alexander in Wildeshausen, before being ordained subdeacon in Münster in 1681 and priest in Hildesheim in 1700. He moved permanently to Lübeck in 1697, became an Imperial Councillor in 1705 and eventually served as senior of the cathedral chapter. He was also caught up in the rather tangled 1705 Lübeck bishopric succession dispute, supporting the Danish candidate Prince Carl, who ultimately lost out to Christian August of Schleswig-Holstein-Gottorf after a diplomatic intervention which all sounds very complex.

Elmendorff died in Lübeck in 1730 and was buried in the southern choir ambulatory of Lübeck Cathedral. Rather surprisingly perhaps, some of his donated liturgical silverwork survives, which is some achievement although it’s primarily just a saucer that is left.

There was an interesting little museum area at Lübeck Cathedral, but these two images tell the story of the damage done here during the Second World War. This photo of the cathedral was taken in 1930.

And here’s what is left following the air raid on Palm Sunday (Psalm Sunday if you’re Robert Jenrick) on 28 March 1942, with this photo being taken a month after the attack. A city left in ruins and a cathedral primarily reduced to rubble. Work to restore the building wasn’t completed until 1982, although the interior of the cathedral has been rebuilt with some considerable care.

More in future posts, but the cathedral authorities are challenged at the moment as their building is starting to fall down and they’ve decided that they’d better fix that. This is a long-term historic issue, although not really helped by the 1942 destruction.

Mainly just a few photos in this post, it’s the rather beautiful frontage in Lübeck along the River Trave. Originally this would have all been a trading space where goods were shipped, stored and handling, so primarily working warehouses. In the nineteenth century, it all became rather more industrial with cranes, slipways and docks being added along the river.

It’s all really rather beautiful now, there are plenty of spaces to sit, walking routes, restored buildings and it’s much more touristy. I didn’t have time to walk as far along the river as I would have liked, but another time…..

It took me a short while to notice that this was a stuffed snake and not a real one. I don’t like getting too close to them to inspect them, but it soon became apparent that it wasn’t moving and a lazy snake was hardly likely to stay in that position.

It’s fake nature was more obvious when I zoomed in. I don’t trust snakes though, they can be shifty little things, so I’m glad I checked.

Although there were other clues, like this sign that mentioned at the moment there wasn’t any “living” snake in the terrarium.

There should have been a grass snake here, for which the German is ‘Ringelnatter’. The word ‘natter’ can mean a snake or adder and it’s what came across into English as ‘nadder’ for snake. In middle English ‘a nadder’ became ‘an adder’, so by the seventeenth century or so the spelling had changed.

In the UK, very few Indian restaurants seem to open at lunchtime in some sort of moral statement, but across northern Europe there are no such restrictions. Given the very high online reviews for Namaste, which was also opposite the museum I was visiting, it proved to be sufficiently tempting for me to pop in for lunch.

I went for the chicken madras which seemed slightly expensive, but then I realised it came with rice which was entirely agreeable.

The environment was clean, modern and felt on-trend. The welcome from the team member, who helpfully spoke English, was immediate and he was personable and helpful. The surfaces were clean, the atmosphere was comfortable and it seemed an inviting location, it seemed a good choice at this stage.

The beer is the Duckstein Rotblond which I haven’t had before and it was inoffensive, malty and didn’t annoy me. I mean this wasn’t going to change humanity I suppose, but the beer went well with lunch and not every drinking option can be rated highly on Untappd….

After trying the food, I was pleased with my decision to go here. The chicken madras had some spice, although it wasn’t particularly hot, but the meat was tender and plentiful with the sauce being rich. The coconut added texture and the rice was light and fluffy. The peshwari naan had coconut and almonds running through it with a slight crispiness to it.

Overall, I very much liked it here with the service being attentive, the food and drink being of a good quality and the atmosphere being inviting. All really rather lovely and I can see why they’ve picked up so many positive reviews. I like making sound decisions.

This is a thirteenth century font and I always very much like these because of the history and heritage that they hold. It’s from the church in Behlendorf, located a little to the south of Lübeck, which was built in around 1250. The church partly fell down in 1837, so it was decided that they’d build a new one as they didn’t want the old one that was evidently not structurally sound. They got themselves a new font, designed by C. A. Schönemann, as they thought the older one was getting a bit worn. They kept it for a bit, perhaps to see if they liked the new one, but then decided that it would be sent to a museum (or somewhere, I’m not sure where as this museum is from the early twentieth century) in 1882.

I accept that it’s a bit knocked about, but I think that’s part of the charm and it would have seen nearly 600 years of baptisms. When this was installed in the church, the area was part of the Holy Roman Empire before becoming part of the Hanseatic Free City of Lübeck. The stone from the church had been imported from the island of Gotland in Sweden, so it had been on a bit of a journey to get there.

I think it’s rather charming and it has pride of place in one of the exhibition rooms of the museum.

Hans Kemmer’s (1495-1561) portrait of Hans Sonnenschein shows a wealthy Lübeck merchant with the calm expression of a man who has no intention of being impressed by frivolities. I like that sort of realism. The artwork was painted between around 1520 and 1534 and it belongs to a moment when Lübeck was not only a prosperous Hanseatic city but also caught up in the great religious and political changes of the Reformation. Indeed, this must have been a confusing and often sub-optimal time to try to be a political or business figure, the whole religious movement of the region was changing quickly and that direction wasn’t clear.

Sonnenschein was not just a wealthy merchant but he was influential, playing a role in promoting the new evangelical movement in the city. The artwork didn’t originally look like this, it’s assumed that his widow had his clothing painted black to use the portrait as something of a memorial and he was given a citrus fruit to hold as a symbol of eternal life. On the reverse of the painting, a skeleton was painted which is really cheery for all concerned.

AI has had a go at restoring the painting to how it might have looked and this doesn’t feel like an unreasonable attempt. It certainly looks better than the later efforts to blacken his clothing and shove fruit in his hand….

These are the Salzspeicher, six old salt warehouses beside the Holstentor in Lübeck, next to the River Trave. They are among the city’s most photogenic buildings, which seems slightly unfair given that their original purpose was basically storage. Built between the late sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, they were used to hold salt brought from Lüneburg, much of it arriving via the Stecknitz Canal before being exported onwards through Lübeck’s Baltic trading networks. Before refrigeration, salt was not just something delicious to add to crisps, it was used for preserving food and, in particular, fish.

The buildings look more decadent than perhaps any warehouse has a right to, but that is rather the point. Lübeck was one of the great Hanseatic cities, and its wealth came from the practical business of moving useful things around with ruthless efficiency and the occasional architectural flourish which is evident here. Over time, the warehouses were adapted for other goods as the salt trade declined and they are still used for commercial purposes.

Having already written about the Holstentor Gate, I thought that I would have a little look around the museum which is located inside it.

This was one of my favourite exhibits at the museum, it’s the sixteenth century oak double eagle that was originally on display above the outer gate. For hundreds of years, visitors to the city would have entered underneath this eagle, I like the significance of that.

The outer gate (on extreme left of this model in the museum) was removed in 1853 to allow the railways in as plans started to demolish the entire structure, with the inner gate (the other side of the river) already having been demolished in 1828.