149 - Graveyard Shift

The Pleasures of Being a Tombstone Tourist

- Lindsay Pereira

I stumbled upon Ludwig van Beethoven’s grave by accident. I was there to pay my respects, of course, but to come across a large marble slab embellished with just that famous surname was still mildly disconcerting. I stepped up to the grave gingerly, determined to spend a few minutes in silence. And then, to the right, I noticed another tombstone over the earthly remains of Franz Schubert. To his right lay a bust of Johannes Brahms, right hand on forehead, presumably contemplating his immortality. Johann Strauss was at peace a few steps away and, in the centre of this exalted circle, stood a memorial to the missing Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, whose remains had, centuries ago, been lost forever.

These giants – locals referred to them as ehrengrab or ‘graves of honour’ – lay in the Zentralfriedhof, Vienna’s main cemetery, which I had come to via a long trip on the metro, followed by a tram ride. I was there not out of morbid curiosity, or mere respect for these composers who had provided a soundtrack for my life, but because I often find cemeteries to be as beautiful as museums. They hold stories, for those who take the time to listen. Beethoven, for instance, was exhumed twice before being laid here: once because his burial site wasn’t good enough, and then because a second cemetery was forced shut. Schubert was buried twice too, removed from Währinger Ortsfriedhof, a cemetery that is now a park, and placed beside his idol for all time.