The period between the French Revolution and the Battle of Königgrätz in 1866 was a markedly warlike one. Many of the political attitudes and animosities toward other groups, as well as the European nationalism of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries—which would also shape the history of Innsbruck—had their roots in the conflicts of this era. The monarchies of Europe, led by the Catholic Habsburgs, declared war on the French Republic. Although revolutionary Paris was far away and there was as yet no comprehensive press system for the dissemination of news, the godlessness of the murderers of Marie Antoinette was effectively propagated through pamphlets and church pulpits. Fear spread that the revolutionary slogan “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité” and its underlying principles might take hold across Europe. A young general named Napoleon Bonaparte advanced across the Alps with his Italian army during the Coalition Wars and encountered Austrian troops there. This was not merely a struggle over territory and power, but a clash of systems. The Grande Armée of revolutionary France faced the forces of the conservative and Catholic Habsburgs.

Tyrolean marksmen were actively involved in the fighting to defend the country's borders against the invading French. The men were used to handling weapons and were considered skilled marksmen. The historian Ludwig Denk put it this way in an essay in 1860:

"...The Tyrolean's main passion is shooting. Early on, the father takes his son hunting. It is not uncommon to see boys running around with loaded rifles, climbing high mountains and shooting birds or squirrels..."

The strength of companies such as the Höttingen Riflemen, founded in 1796, did not lie in open field battles but in guerrilla warfare. Moreover, they had a secret weapon on their side against what was then the most advanced and modern army in the world: the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Since 1719, Jesuit missionaries had travelled even into the most remote side valleys, successfully establishing devotion to the Sacred Heart as a unifying element in the struggle against pagan practices and Protestantism. Now, faced with the godless revolutionary French, it seemed only logical that the Sacred Heart would watch protectively over the Tyrolean warriors of God. In desperate situations, the Tyrolean troops renewed their covenant with the Sacred Heart—which had already been employed as a spiritual weapon against external enemies in 1703—to seek protection and support. Against all odds, the riflemen were successful in their defensive struggle. It was the abbot of Stams Abbey who proposed to the provincial estates that henceforth “the Feast of the Divine Heart of Jesus should be celebrated annually with a solemn church service, should Tyrol be delivered from the impending danger of the enemy.” Each year, the Sacred Heart celebrations were announced and discussed with great pomp in the press. Especially in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, they constituted an explosive mixture of popular superstition, Catholicism, and national resentment directed against all things French and Italian. Countless soldiers continued to place their trust in the Sacred Heart even amid the technologised warfare of the First World War, carrying images of this symbol with them through the hail of shells. Alongside Cranach’s Madonna of Mercy, depictions of the Sacred Heart remain to this day among the most popular Christian motifs in Tyrol and adorn the façades of countless buildings. Habsburg Tyrol emerged from the turmoil of war enlarged—albeit without notable success on the battlefields, and probably not without invoking the Sacred Heart. In the final throes of the Holy Roman Empire, shortly before its dissolution in 1803, the archiepiscopal territory of Trentino became part of the crown land. The provincial capital, however, had shrunk. Fallen soldiers and war-related economic hardships led to a decline in Innsbruck’s population from a little over 9,500 around 1750 to approximately 8,800.

After the Napoleonic Wars, Tyrol’s borders remained largely peaceful for around thirty years. This changed with the Italian Risorgimento, the national movement led by Sardinia‑Piedmont and France. In 1848, 1859, and 1866, the so-called Italian Wars of Unification took place. Over the course of the nineteenth century—at the latest since 1848—a veritable nationalist fervour swept through young men of the upper classes across Europe. Volunteer armies sprang up everywhere. Students and academics organised themselves in fraternities; gymnasts and riflemen alike sought to prove their newfound love of nation on the battlefield, supporting official armies against whatever enemy they faced. During this period, Innsbruck served as an important supply hub as a garrison town. Following the Congress of Vienna, the Tyrolean Jäger Corps became the Imperial and Royal Tyrolean Kaiserjäger Regiment, an elite unit deployed in these conflicts. Volunteer units such as the Innsbruck Academics or the Stubai Riflemen also fought in Italy. Thousands fell in combat against a coalition consisting of the archenemy France, the godless Garibaldians in their red shirts, and the threat posed by the Kingdom of Italy, which was being formed at Austria’s expense under the leadership of the Francophile House of Savoy from Piedmont. Media outlets inflamed public sentiment away from the front lines. The Innsbrucker Zeitung preached loyalty to the emperor and a Greater German‑Tyrolean nationalism in its articles, railed against Italians and Frenchmen, and praised the courage of Tyrolean soldiers.

“The strong occupation of the heights at the exit of the Valsugana near Primolano and Le Tezze has often given the Innsbruck Academics I and the Stubai riflemen cause to undertake voluntary excursions against Le Tezze, Fonzago, and Fastro, as well as to the right bank of the Brenta and the heights opposite the small camps of the Sette Comuni… On the 19th, the Stubai riflemen had already struck down several enemies when they ventured down for the first time, creeping up on them…”

The most famous battle of the Wars of Unification took place at Solferino in 1859 near Lake Garda. Appalled by the bloodshed, Henry Dunant decided to found the Red Cross. Writer Joseph Roth described the events on the opening pages of his classic novel Radetzky March:

"In the battle of Solferino, he (note: Lieutenant Trotta) commanded a platoon as an infantry lieutenant. The battle had been going on for half an hour. Three paces in front of him he saw the white backs of his soldiers. The first row of his platoon was kneeling, the second was standing. Everyone was cheerful and certain of victory. They had eaten copiously and drunk brandy at the expense and in honour of the emperor, who had been in the field since yesterday. Here and there one fell out of line."

The year 1866 proved particularly devastating for the Austrian Empire. In Italy, Venetia and Lombardy were lost. In the north, the Habsburg army suffered a crushing defeat at the Battle of Königgrätz. After this brief “brotherly war,” Prussia assumed leadership of the German Confederation—the successor to the Holy Roman Empire—from the Habsburgs. The Austrian Empire’s reorientation toward the east meant that Innsbruck definitively became a city on the western periphery of the realm. This development was accompanied by a revival of the national idea, especially prevalent among Innsbruck’s liberal upper bourgeoisie. Support for the so‑called Greater German solution—advocating a shared statehood with the German Empire instead of the Austro‑Hungarian Monarchy—was particularly strong in the city. The extent to which this German Question divided Innsbruck became evident more than thirty years later, when the city council proposed naming a street after the “Iron Chancellor” Bismarck, who had borne primary responsibility for the war between Austria and Prussia. While conservative loyalists to the emperor reacted with outrage, the Greater German liberals around Mayor Wilhelm Greil were enthusiastic. After the Second World War, the lost Battle of Königgrätz served Austrian arguments portraying Austria as the first victim of National Socialism, as the country had already been excluded from a pan‑German state in 1866. With the Tummelplatz, the Pradl Military Cemetery, and the Kaiserjäger Museum on Bergisel, the city still possesses several sites of memory commemorating these bloody conflicts, in which many Innsbruck residents marched off to war and never returned.

It was almost not Gavrilo Princip, but a student from Innsbruck who changed the fate of the world. It was thanks to chance that the 20-year-old Serb was stopped in 1913 because he bragged to a waitress that he was planning to assassinate the heir to the throne. It was only when the world-changing shooting in Sarajevo actually took place that an article about it appeared in the media. After the actual assassination of Franz Ferdinand on 28 June, it was impossible to foresee what impact the First World War that broke out as a result would have on the world and people's everyday lives. However, two days after the assassination of the Habsburg in Sarajevo, the Innsbrucker Nachrichten already prophetic: "We have reached a turning point - perhaps the "turning point" - in the fortunes of this empire".

Enthusiasm for the war in 1914 was also high in Innsbruck. From the "Gott, Kaiser und VaterlandDriven by the "spirit of the times", most people unanimously welcomed the attack on Serbia. Politicians, the clergy and the press joined in the general rejoicing. In addition to the imperial appeal "To my peoples", which appeared in all the media of the empire, the Innsbrucker Nachrichten On 29 July, the day after Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia, the media published an article about the capture of Belgrade by Prince Eugene in 1717. The tone in the media was celebratory, although not entirely without foreboding of what was to come.

"The Emperor's appeal to his people will be deeply felt. The internal strife has been silenced and the speculations of our enemies about unrest and similar things have been miserably put to shame. Above all, the Germans stand by the Emperor and the Empire in their old and well-tried loyalty: this time, too, they are ready to stand up for dynasty and fatherland with their blood. We are facing difficult days; no one can even guess what fate will bring us, what it will bring to Europe, what it will bring to the world. We can only trust with our old Emperor in our strength and in God and cherish the confidence that, if we find unity and stick together, we must be granted victory, for we did not want war and our cause is that of justice!"

Theologians such as Joseph Seeber (1856 - 1919) and Anton Müllner alias Bruder Willram (1870 - 1919) who, with her sermons and writings such as "Das blutige Jahr" elevated the war to a crusade against France and Italy.

Many Innsbruckers volunteered for the campaign against Serbia, which was thought to be a matter of a few weeks or months. Such a large number of volunteers came from outside the city to join the military commissions that Innsbruck was almost bursting at the seams. Nobody could have guessed how different things would turn out. Even after the first battles in distant Galicia, it was clear that it would not be a matter of months. Kaiserjäger and other Tyrolean troops were literally burnt out. Poor equipment, a lack of supplies and the catastrophic leadership of the high command under Konrad von Hötzendorf led to the deaths of thousands or to captivity, where hunger, abuse and forced labour awaited them.

In 1915, the Kingdom of Italy entered the war on the side of France and England. This meant that the front went right through what was then Tyrol. From the Ortler in the west across northern Lake Garda to the Sextener Dolomiten the battles of the mountain war took place. Innsbruck was not directly affected by the fighting. However, the war could at least be heard as far as the provincial capital, as was reported in the newspaper of 7 July 1915:

„Bald nach Beginn der Feindseligkeiten der Italiener konnte man in der Gegend der Serlesspitze deutlich Kanonendonner wahrnehmen, der von einem der Kampfplätze im Süden Tirols kam, wahrscheinlich von der Vielgereuter Hochebene. In den letzten Tagen ist nun in Innsbruck selbst und im Nordosten der Stadt unzweifelhaft der Schall von Geschützdonner festgestellt worden, einzelne starke Schläge, die dumpf, nicht rollend und tönend über den Brenner herüberklangen. Eine Täuschung ist ausgeschlossen. In Innsbruck selbst ist der Donner der Kanonen schwerer festzustellen, weil hier der Lärm zu groß ist, es wurde aber doch einmal abends ungefähr um 9 Uhr, als einigermaßen Ruhe herrschte, dieser unzweifelhafte von unseren Mörsern herrührender Donner gehört.“

Until the transfer of regular troops from the Eastern Front to the Tyrolean borders, the national defence depended on the Standschützen, a troop made up of men under 21, over 42 or unfit for regular military service. The casualty figures were correspondingly high.

Although the front was relatively far away from Innsbruck, the war also penetrated civilian life. Due to the mass mobilisation of a large part of the working male population, many businesses came to a complete standstill. Shelves in shops remained empty, public transport came to a standstill, craftsmen and labourers were missing everywhere. There was often a shortage of coal and firewood. Hunger and cold became bitter enemies of women, children, the wounded and those unfit for war in the city. This experience of the total involvement of society as a whole was new to the people. Barracks were erected in the Höttinger Au to house prisoners of war. Transports of wounded brought such a large number of horribly injured people that many civilian buildings such as the university library, which was currently under construction, or Ambras Castle were converted into military hospitals. The Pradl military cemetery was established to cope with the large number of fallen soldiers. A predecessor to tram line 3 was set up to transport the wounded from the railway station to the new garrison hospital, today's Conrad barracks in Pradl. The companies that were still able to produce were subordinated to the war economy. However, the longer the war lasted, the fewer there were. By the winter of 1917, Innsbruck's economy had almost completely collapsed.

As the war drew to a close, so did the front. In February 1918, the Italian air force managed to drop three bombs on Innsbruck. In this winter, which was known as Hunger winter When the war went down in European history, the shortages also made themselves felt. In the final years of the war, food was supplied via ration coupons. 500 g of meat, 60 g of butter and 2 kg of potatoes were the basic diet per person - per week, mind you. Archive photos show the long queues of desperate and hungry people outside the food shops. There were repeated protests and strikes. Politicians, trade unionists, workers and war returnees saw their chance for change. Under the motto Peace, bread and the right to vote a wide variety of parties united in resistance to the war. At this time, most people were already aware that the war was lost and what fate awaited Tyrol, as this article from 6 October 1918 shows:

 „Aeußere und innere Feinde würfeln heute um das Land Andreas Hofers. Der letzte Wurf ist noch grausamer; schändlicher ist noch nie ein freies Land geschachert worden. Das Blut unserer Väter, Söhne und Brüder ist umsonst geflossen, wenn dieser schändliche Plan Wirklichkeit werden soll. Der letzte Wurf ist noch nicht getan. Darum auf Tiroler, zum Tiroler Volkstag in Brixen am 13. Oktober 1918 (nächsten Sonntag). Deutscher Boden muß deutsch bleiben, Tiroler Boden muß tirolisch bleiben. Tiroler entscheidet selbst über Eure Zukunft!“

On 4 November, Austria-Hungary and the Kingdom of Italy finally agreed an armistice. This gave the Allies the right to occupy areas of the monarchy. The very next day, Bavarian troops entered Innsbruck. Austria's ally Germany was still at war with Italy and was afraid that the front could be moved closer to the German Reich in North Tyrol. Fortunately for Innsbruck and the surrounding area, however, Germany also surrendered a week later on 11 November. This meant that the major battles between regular armies did not take place.

Nevertheless, Innsbruck was in danger. Huge columns of military vehicles, trains full of soldiers and thousands of emaciated soldiers making their way home from the front on foot passed through the city. Those who could, jumped on one of the overcrowded trains or a car to leave the Brenner Pass behind them to get home. In November 1918, more than 270 soldiers lost their lives during these daring manoeuvres or had to be admitted to one of the city's military hospitals. The city not only had to keep its own citizens in check and guarantee rations, but also protect itself from looting. In order to maintain public order, the Tyrolean National Council formed a People's Army on 5 November made up of schoolchildren, students, workers and citizens. On 23 November 1918, Italian troops occupied the city and the surrounding area. Mayor Greil's appeasement to the people of Innsbruck to surrender the city without rioting was successful. 5000 men had to find shelter in the starving and miserable city. Schools were turned into barracks. Although there were isolated riots, hunger riots and looting, there were no armed clashes with the occupying troops or even a Bolshevik revolution as in Munich.

Over 1200 Innsbruck residents lost their lives on the battlefields and in military hospitals, over 600 were wounded. Memorials to the First World War and its victims can be found in Innsbruck, particularly at churches and cemeteries. The Kaiserjägermuseum on Mount Isel displays uniforms, weapons and pictures of the battle. Streets in Innsbruck are dedicated to the two theologians Anton Müllner and Josef Seeber. A street was also named after the commander-in-chief of the Imperial and Royal Army on the Southern Front, Archduke Eugene. There is a memorial to the unsuccessful commander in front of the Hofgarten. The eastern part of the Amras military cemetery commemorates the Italian occupation.

During the Middle Ages, Innsbruck officially developed into a city. Formal recognition by the territorial prince in 1239 brought with it an entirely new system for its citizens. Market rights, building rights, customs rights, and an independent jurisdiction were gradually transferred to the city. Urban citizens were no longer subject to their feudal lord, but to the city’s jurisdiction—at least within the city walls. The well-known saying “city air makes one free” derives from the fact that after one year of residence in the city, a person was released from all obligations to their former lord. Unlike unfree peasants and servants, citizens could freely dispose of their property and determine their way of life. Naturally, they also had rights and obligations. Citizens did not pay tithes, but instead paid taxes to the city. Which group within the city was required to pay which taxes could be determined by the city government itself. The city, in turn, did not have to pass these taxes on directly, but could freely dispose of its budget after paying a fixed levy to the territorial prince. In addition to city defense, expenditures included care for the sick and the poor. Needy citizens could obtain meals from the “boiling kitchen” (Siedeküche), provided they held civic rights. The city government paid particular attention to contagious diseases such as the plague, which periodically tormented the population. In return for their rights, every citizen had to swear the civic oath. This oath included the obligation to pay taxes and perform military service. In addition to defending the city, citizens were also deployed beyond its walls. In 1406, a contingent together with mercenaries confronted an Appenzell army to defend the Upper Inn Valley. From 1511 onward, according to Emperor Maximilian’s Landlibell, the city council was also obliged to provide a contingent of conscripts for territorial defense. In addition, there were volunteers who could enlist for military service in the city’s Freifähnlein; for example, Innsbruck citizens were among the defenders of Vienna during the Ottoman siege of 1529.

Im 15. Jahrhundert wurde der Platz eng im rasch wachsenden Innsbruck. Das Bürgerrecht wurde zu einem exklusiven Gut. Nur noch freien Untertanen aus ehelicher Geburt war es möglich, das Stadtrecht zu erlangen. Um Bürger zu werden, mussten entweder Hausbesitz oder Fähigkeiten in einem Handwerk nachgewiesen werden, an der die Zünfte der Stadt interessiert waren. Der Streit darum, wer ein „echter“ Innsbrucker ist, und wer nicht, hält sich bis heute. Dass Migration und Austausch mit anderen immer schon die Garantie für Wohlstand waren und Innsbruck zu der lebenswerten Stadt gemacht haben, die sie heute ist, wird dabei oft vergessen.

Because of these restrictions, Innsbruck had a completely different social composition from the surrounding villages. Craftsmen, merchants, officials, and servants shaped the cityscape. Merchants were often itinerant, while officials and courtly retinues also came to Innsbruck temporarily in the entourage of a prince and did not possess civic rights. It was the craftsmen who exercised a large part of political power within the citizenry. Unlike peasants, they belonged to the mobile social strata of the Middle Ages and the early modern period. After completing their apprenticeship, they went on their journeyman’s travels before taking the master craftsman’s examination and either returning home or settling in another city. Craftsmen were not only vectors of technical knowledge; cultural, social, and political ideas also spread through them. The craft guilds partly exercised their own jurisdiction alongside the municipal courts over their members. They were social structures within the urban framework that exerted considerable influence on politics. Wages, prices, and social life were regulated by the guilds under the supervision of the territorial prince. One could speak of an early form of social partnership, as the guilds also provided social security for their members in cases of illness or occupational disability. Each trade—such as locksmiths, tanners, armorers, carpenters, bakers, butchers, or blacksmiths—had its own guild headed by a master.

From the 14th century, Innsbruck demonstrably had a city council, the so-called Gemainand a mayor who was elected annually by the citizens. These were not secret but public elections, which were held every year around Christmas time. In the Innsbrucker Geschichtsalmanach von 1948 findet man Aufzeichnungen über die Wahl des Jahres 1598.

The Feast of St. Erhard, i.e., January 8th, played a significant role in the lives of the citizens of Innsbruck each year. On this day, they gathered to elect the city officials, namely the mayor, city judge, public orator, and the twelve-member council. A detailed account of the election process between 1598 and 1607 is provided by a protocol preserved in the city archive: "... The ringing of the great bell summoned the council and the citizenry to the town hall, and once the honorable council and the entire community were assembled at the town hall, the honorable council first convened in the council chamber and heard the farewell of the outgoing mayor of the previous year, Augustin Tauscher."

The mayor represented the city vis-à-vis the other estates and the territorial prince, who exercised supreme authority over the city with varying intensity depending on the period. Each councilor had clearly assigned duties, such as overseeing market rights and the quality of goods offered, managing the hospital and poor relief, or regulating customs—particularly important for Innsbruck. The city council was also responsible for discipline, ensuring social order and adherence to prevailing moral standards. Alcohol consumption and time spent in taverns were regulated differently at various times. Poorer segments of the population not only could not afford frequent visits, they were also permitted to enter taverns only at certain times. This was intended to prevent excessive drunkenness and begging from the upper classes. The council monitored the quality and safety of food in a manner similar to an early market authority, as cities had an interest in maintaining quality businesses to remain attractive as economic centers and destinations for visitors. In all these political processes, it should be borne in mind that in the 16th century Innsbruck had around 5,000 inhabitants, only a small proportion of whom possessed civic rights. The propertyless, itinerant people, the unemployed, servants, diplomats, employees, women, and students were not enfranchised citizens. Voting was a privilege of the male upper class.

Contrary to popular belief, the Middle Ages were not a lawless era of arbitrariness. At both municipal and territorial levels, there were legal codes that regulated in detail what was permitted and what was forbidden. Depending on the ruler and prevailing moral standards, these regulations could vary considerably. Carrying weapons, swearing, prostitution, noise, making music, blasphemy, children playing—everything and everyone could fall under the scrutiny of the authorities. If one also considers regulations on trade, customs, professional practice by guilds, and price controls imposed by the magistrate, pre- and early modern life was no less regulated than today. The difference lay in oversight and enforcement, which authorities often lacked. If someone was caught committing an unlawful or immoral act, there were courts that passed judgment. Medieval court days were held outdoors at the Dingstätte. The tradition of the Ding goes back to the ancient Germanic Thing, where all free men gathered to administer justice. The city council appointed a judge responsible for all offenses not subject to capital jurisdiction, assisted by a panel of sworn jurors. Punishments ranged from fines to the pillory and imprisonment. The observance of religious order was also monitored by the city. “Heretics” and dissenters were not disciplined by the Church but by the municipal authorities. Punishment involved methods less humane than those customary today, though torture was not applied arbitrarily. Its use as part of judicial procedure in particularly serious cases was regulated. Until the 17th century, suspects and criminals in Innsbruck were imprisoned and interrogated in the Kräuterturm at the southeastern corner of the city wall, at today’s Herzog-Otto-Ufer. Both trials and punishments were public events. Opposite the city tower stood the Narrenhäusel, a cage in which people were imprisoned and displayed. For lesser offenses, offenders were paraded through the city on the wooden “shame donkey.” The pillory stood in the suburb that is today Maria-Theresien-Straße. There was no police force, but the city judge employed assistants, and guards were stationed at the city gates to maintain order. It was a civic duty to assist in the apprehension of criminals. Vigilante justice was forbidden.

Jurisdiction between municipal and territorial courts was regulated as early as 1288 in the Urbarbuch. Serious crimes remained under the authority of the territorial court. Capital jurisdiction covered offenses such as theft, murder, or arson. The territorial court for all communities south of the Inn between Ampass and Götzens was located at Sonnenburg, south above Innsbruck. In the 14th century, the Sonnenburg court moved to the Upper City Square in front of the Innsbruck city tower, later into the town hall, and in the early modern period to Götzens. With the centralization of justice in the 18th century, the Sonnenburg court returned to Innsbruck and found accommodation under changing names and in various buildings, such as the Leuthaus in Wilten, on Innrain, or at the Ettnau manor, known as the Malfatti-Schlössl, on Höttinger Gasse.

From the late 15th century onward, Innsbruck’s executioner was centralized and responsible for several courts, residing in Hall. Execution sites changed over time. A gallows long stood on a hill in today’s Dreiheiligen district directly by the main road. The Köpflplatz was located until 1731 at today’s corner of Fallbachgasse and Weiherburggasse in Anpruggen. In Hötting, the gallows stood behind the Chapel of the Great God. The present chapel, which alongside a Baroque crucifix features ceramic figures by the renowned artist Max Spielmann (1906–1984), was relocated during roadworks in the 1960s. While Spielmann’s Dance of Death memorial commemorates those killed in the Second World War, those sentenced to death once sent a final prayer heavenward here before the noose was placed around their necks or their heads were severed—depending on social status and the nature of the crime. It was not uncommon for the condemned to give their executioner a kind of gratuity so that he would aim as precisely as possible to make the execution as painless as possible. Much could go wrong: if the sword missed its mark, the noose was improperly placed, or the rope broke, the suffering of the condemned increased. For authorities and public order, particularly dangerous offenders such as the “heretic” Jakob Hutter or the captured leaders of the Peasants’ Revolts of 1525 and 1526 were publicly executed in front of the Golden Roof. “Aggravated” punishments such as quartering or breaking on the wheel—derived from the Latin poena—were not routine but could be ordered in special cases. Executions were public demonstrations of authority and served as a form of purification of society and as a deterrent. Large crowds gathered to accompany the condemned on their final journey. On execution days, university lectures were suspended to allow students to attend and be morally instructed. The bodies of those executed were often left hanging and buried outside consecrated cemetery grounds or handed over to the university for study purposes. The last public execution in Austrian history took place in 1868. Although executions thereafter were still far from gentle, killings by strangulation at the gallows—used until the 1950s—were no longer public spectacles.

With the centralisation of law under Maria Theresa and Joseph II in the 18th century and the General Civil Code in the 19th century under Franz I, the law passed from cities and sovereigns to the monarch and their administrative bodies at various levels. Torture was abolished. The Enlightenment had fundamentally changed the concept of law, punishment and rehabilitation. The collection of taxes was also centralised, which resulted in a great loss of importance for the local nobility and an increase in the status of the civil service. With the increasing centralisation under Maria Theresa and Joseph II, taxes and customs duties were also gradually centralised and collected by the Imperial Court Chamber. As a result, Innsbruck, like many municipalities at the time, lost a large amount of revenue, which was only partially offset by equalisation.

The abundance of churches, chapels, crucifixes, statues, and paintings in public spaces strikes many visitors to Innsbruck from other countries as unusual. Not only places of worship, but also many private houses are decorated with depictions of Jesus, Mary, saints, and biblical scenes. For centuries, the Christian faith and its institutions shaped everyday life throughout Europe, and Innsbruck—as a residence city of the strictly Catholic Habsburgs and the capital of the self-proclaimed Holy Land of Tyrol—was particularly richly endowed with ecclesiastical buildings. In terms of number and scale relative to the conditions of earlier times, churches appear as gigantic features in the cityscape. In the 16th century, Innsbruck, with its approximately 5,000 inhabitants, possessed several churches whose splendor and size surpassed every other building, including the palaces of the aristocracy. Wilten Abbey was a vast complex in the midst of a small farming village that had developed around it.

The spatial dimensions of these places of worship reflect their importance within the political and social structure. For many inhabitants of Innsbruck, the Church was not only a moral authority but also a secular landowner. The Bishop of Brixen was formally equal in rank to the territorial prince. Peasants worked on the bishop’s estates just as they did on those of a secular ruler. The clergy exercised both taxation and judicial authority over their subjects, and ecclesiastical landowners were often regarded as particularly demanding. At the same time, it was also the clergy in Innsbruck who were largely responsible for social welfare, healthcare, care for the poor and orphans, food distribution, and education. The Church’s influence extended into the material world in a way comparable to how the modern state operates today through tax offices, police, schools, and employment services. What democracy, parliament, and the market economy represent for us today, bishops, the Bible, Christian devotional literature, and parish priests represented for people of earlier centuries: a reality that maintained order.

It would be incorrect to believe that all clergymen were cynical power-hungry figures who exploited their uneducated subjects. The majority of both clergy and nobility were devout and God-fearing, albeit in a manner that is difficult to comprehend from today’s perspective. It was not the case that every superstition was blindly accepted or that people were arbitrarily executed based on anonymous accusations. In the early modern period, violations of religion and morals were tried before secular courts and punished severely. Charges were brought under the term heresy, which encompassed a wide range of offenses. Sodomy—meaning any sexual act not serving reproduction—sorcery, witchcraft, and blasphemy, in short any deviation from the correct faith, could be punished by burning. The act of burning was intended both to purify the condemned and to destroy them and their sinful behavior completely, thereby removing evil from the community. For a long time, the Church regulated everyday social life down to the smallest details. Church bells structured people’s daily schedules. Their sound called people to work or worship, or informed the community of a death through tolling. People were able to distinguish individual bell signals and their meanings. Sundays and holidays structured time. Fasting days regulated diet. Family life, sexuality, and individual behavior were expected to conform to Church-prescribed morality. For many people, salvation in the afterlife was more important than happiness on earth, which was seen as predetermined by the course of time and divine will. Purgatory, the Last Judgment, and the torments of hell were real and served to frighten and discipline even adults.

While parts of the Innsbruck bourgeoisie were at least gently awakened by Enlightenment ideas after the Napoleonic Wars, the majority of the population remained committed to a mixture of conservative Catholicism and superstitious popular piety. Religiosity was not necessarily a matter of origin or social class, as repeatedly demonstrated by social, media, and political conflicts along the fault line between liberals and conservatives. Although freedom of religion was legally enshrined in the December Constitution of 1867, the state and religion remained closely linked. The Wahrmund Affair, which originated at the University of Innsbruck in the early 20th century and spread throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire, was just one of many examples of the influence the Church exercised well into the 1970s. Shortly before the First World War, this political crisis, which would affect the entire monarchy, began in Innsbruck. Ludwig Wahrmund (1861–1932) was Professor of Canon Law at the Faculty of Law of the University of Innsbruck. Originally selected by the Tyrolean governor to strengthen Catholicism at what was considered an overly liberal university, Wahrmund was a proponent of enlightened theology. Unlike conservative representatives in the clergy and politics, reform Catholics viewed the Pope as a spiritual leader but not as a secular authority. In Wahrmund’s view, students should reduce the gap and tensions between Church and modernity rather than cement them. Since 1848, divisions between liberal-national, socialist, conservative, and reform-oriented Catholic interest groups and parties had deepened. Greater German nationalist-minded Innsbruck citizens oriented themselves toward the modern Prussian state under Chancellor Bismarck, who sought to curtail the influence of the Church or subordinate it to the state. One of the fiercest fault lines ran through the education and higher education system, centered on the question of how the supernatural practices and views of the Church—still influential in universities—could be reconciled with modern science. Liberal and Catholic students despised one another and repeatedly clashed. Until 1906, Wahrmund was a member of the Leo Society, which aimed to promote science on a Catholic basis, before becoming chairman of the Innsbruck local branch of the Association for Free Schools, which advocated complete de-clericalization of the education system. He evolved from a reform Catholic into an advocate of a complete separation of Church and state. His lectures repeatedly attracted the attention of the authorities. Fueled by the media, the culture war between liberal German nationalists, conservatives, Christian Socials, and Social Democrats found an ideal projection surface in the person of Ludwig Wahrmund. What followed were riots, strikes, brawls between student fraternities of different political orientations, and mutual defamation among politicians. The “Away from Rome” movement of the German radical Georg Ritter von Schönerer (1842–1921) collided on the stage of the University of Innsbruck with the political Catholicism of the Christian Socials. German nationalist academics were supported by the likewise anti-clerical Social Democrats and by Mayor Greil, while the Tyrolean provincial government sided with the conservatives. The Wahrmund Affair reached the Imperial Council as a culture-war debate. For the Christian Socials, it was a “struggle of liberal-minded Jewry against Christianity,” in which “Zionists, German culture warriors, Czech and Ruthenian radicals” presented themselves as an “international coalition,” a “liberal ring of Jewish radicalism and radical Slavic movements.” Wahrmund, on the other hand, in the generally heated atmosphere, referred to Catholic students as “traitors and parasites.” When Wahrmund had one of his speeches printed in 1908, in which he questioned God, Christian morality, and Catholic veneration of saints, he was charged with blasphemy. After further, sometimes violent assemblies on both conservative and anti-clerical sides, student riots, and strikes, university operations even had to be suspended temporarily. Wahrmund was first placed on leave and later transferred to the German University in Prague. Even in the First Republic, the connection between Church and state remained strong. Ignaz Seipel, a Christian Social politician known as the “Iron Prelate,” rose in the 1920s to the highest office of the state. Federal Chancellor Engelbert Dollfuss viewed his corporative state as a construct based on Catholicism and as a bulwark against socialism. After the Second World War, Church and politics in Tyrol were still closely linked in the persons of Bishop Rusch and Chancellor Wallnöfer. Only then did a serious separation begin. Faith and the Church still have a fixed place in the everyday life of Innsbruck’s residents, even if often unnoticed. Church withdrawals in recent decades have dented official membership numbers, and leisure events are better attended than Sunday Mass. Nevertheless, the Roman Catholic Church still owns extensive land in and around Innsbruck, including outside the walls of monasteries and educational institutions. Numerous schools in and around Innsbruck are also influenced by conservative forces and the Church. And anyone who enjoys a public holiday, taps Easter eggs together, or lights a candle on a Christmas tree does not need to be Christian to act—disguised as tradition—in the name of Jesus.

In the pre-war period, the United States of America was regarded as the Land of unlimited possibilitieswhere dishwashers became millionaires. However, these success stories are not an exclusive phenomenon of the New World. Even in the society of the Danube Monarchy, which was not yet regulated down to the last detail, hard-working and capable people from the farming classes, the working classes or craftsmen were able to achieve astonishing success without formal training, qualification examinations or state authorisation. The three founders of the Tyrolean Glass Painting and Mosaic Institute, Josef von Stadl, Georg Mader and Albert Neuhauser, are examples of such a success story from Innsbruck's city history. While most of Innsbruck's industrial and craft businesses focussed on supplying the local market with tried and tested, solid products and consumer goods, the glass painting business was one of the few innovative and export-oriented companies of its time.

Josef von Stadl (1828 - 1893) grew up on his parents' farm and inn in Steinach am Brenner. Even as a child, he had to help out on the farm. The hard labour gave him periostitis in his arm at the age of nine. This made heavy physical labour impossible for him. Instead, the boy with a talent for drawing attended the model secondary school in Innsbruck, now the BORG. In 1848, he joined the Tyrolean snipers in his home town, but was not called up to fight on the country's borders. He then gained experience as a locksmith and turner. The talented young man worked on the reconstruction of the church in Steinach in 1853 after a village band. His skills were soon recognised and he gradually rose from labourer to master builder.

Georg Mader (1824 - 1881) also came from Steinach. He too had to work as a farm labourer at a young age. On the patronage of his brother, a clergyman, the pious youth was able to complete an apprenticeship with a painter, but had to give up his passion to work in the local mill. After his journeyman's journey, he decided to concentrate on painting. In Munich, he deepened his knowledge under Kaulbach and Schraudolph. After working on the cathedral in Speyer, he returned to Tyrol. As a history painter, he kept his head above water with commissions from the church.

Albert Neuhauser (1832 - 1901) learnt his trade in his father's glazier's and tinsmith's shop. He also had to give up his intended career path at an early age. He developed lung problems at the age of ten. Instead of working in his father's successful business, he travelled to Venice. For centuries, Murano had been home to the best glassworks for artistic glass production. Fascinated by this trade, he attended the stained glass school in Munich against his father's wishes. The products of the recently founded Bavarian factory did not meet his quality expectations. In his father's flat in Herzog-Friedrich-Straße, he undertook his first experiments with glass, similar to the nerds who would lay the foundations for the personal computer in their own garage a hundred years later.

Neuhauser's tinkering and experiments aroused the curiosity of his friend von Stadl. He made contact with the art-loving Mader. In 1861, the three decided to pool their expertise in an official company. Today, the founding of the company would probably be referred to as a start-up. Neuhauser took on the technical and commercial side as well as product development, Von Stadl took care of the decorative aspects and liaised with master builders and Mader took on the figurative design of the works, most of which were created for churches. The first branch, consisting of two painters and a burner, was set up on the third floor of the Gasthof zur Rose in the historic city centre. The raw material came from England, as the local glass did not meet Neuhauser's high quality standards. However, 25% duty was added to the import. Together with a chemistry teacher, Neuhauser managed to achieve the desired requirements himself after a trip to Birmingham and a lot of tinkering.

Josef von Stadl married the painter and doctor's daughter Maria Pfefferer in 1867. The farmer's boy from the Wipptal valley with the broken arm had not only become a member of the upper middle class, his wife's dowry also allowed him to live independently financially. In 1869, the three partners decided to expand the successful glass painting business with the financial support of Neuhauser's father. How dynamic and unregulated it was as a Wilhelminian style The example of the glassworks on the Wiltener Felder, which was opened in 1872 as an additional part of the Tyrolean Stained glass went into operation. Only 110 days after the start of construction, which was never officially authorised by the Wilten municipal administration, production began.

Starting with Neuhauser, who had to leave the company in 1874 due to health problems, the three company founders soon left their start-up to others, but remained partners in the Tyrolean stained glass company. In addition to their activities for the joint company, each of the three partners worked successfully on their own projects in their respective fields of activity.

Von Stadl had a lasting impact on Innsbruck. In its heyday, the number of employees at the stained glass factory had risen to over 70. In 1878, residential buildings for the company's employees, workers, artists and craftsmen were built according to von Stadl's plans. The Stained glass settlement comprised the houses at Müllerstrasse 39 - 57, Schöpfstrasse 18 - 24 and Speckbacherstrasse 14 - 16, which still exist today and differ markedly in their architecture from the neighbouring houses of the late Gründerzeit. Von Stadl was more sparing with the decoration of the houses, but was careful to include a small front garden. Workers and employees who lived in these houses were not supposed to feel inferior in any way to the residents of the cottage-style villas in Saggen. It was not unusual for large companies of the time to plan their own housing estates - think of Siemensstadt in Berlin - but it shows a company's self-image and vision for the future when a company like the Glasmalerei sees itself not only as a provider of labour and wages, but also as a provider of accommodation for its employees. The state maternity hospital in Wilten was another major project in Innsbruck that was realised under von Stadl's pen. After the construction of the Vinzentinum in 1878, he was made an honorary citizen and diocesan architect of Brixen. Pope Leo XIII awarded him the Order of St Gregory for his services. St Nicholas' Church, for which the Tyrolean stained glass company had produced the windows, became his final resting place.

Georg Mader continued to work as a painter on sacred buildings. He became a member of the Vienna Academy of Art as early as 1868. When he suffered a stroke in 1881, he was taken to Badgastein for rehabilitation. The spa town in Salzburg was a meeting place for the European aristocracy and upper middle classes at the time. In the midst of high society, the former journeyman miller died a wealthy man.

The restless and creative Neuhauser travelled to Venice again after resigning from his post as director of the Tyrolean stained glass workshop in order to found Austria's first mosaic studio with new inspiration. The merger of the two companies in 1900 opened up a wider range of opportunities. He was awarded the Order of Franz Joseph for his artistic merits. Neuhauserstraße in Wilten was named after him.