Basel and the Amerbachs

April, 1513

By the Muses!  What an exciting time I had in Basel.  I am drunk on the new wine of the city’s energy and the passion of its lettered citizens.

As the Reader recalls, a few weeks ago, I journeyed to Basel to study Hebrew with a converted Jew named Matthew Adrian.  Of the Jew, I have something to say, but much to say of the brilliant family, the Amerbachs, with whom he lives and the exciting atmosphere of the city of Basel.

1492 Edict of Expulsion of Spanish Jews

This Matthaeus Adrianus is a Spanish converso, a medical doctor.  Though Reuchlin and Pellicanus speak highly of him, no one speaks as highly of him as he does, for he calls himself the best Hebrew scholar in Germany, expert in the cabalistic arts.  Considering the state of Hebrew scholarship in Germany, I’d say that’s little praise.  I would wager that, had we not run them to ground, we have better Hebraists right here in Germany among our own Rabbis, and at least we could understand them.  For this Adrianus speaks the crude Latin in use in Spain, without grammatical agreement, and with a Spanish accent.  It is difficult to understand what he is saying in the tongue I know, much less the one I don’t.  He’s arrogant and teaches us with a grudging manner, all the while reminding us what a good Christian he is.

“The Marranos” by Moshe Maimon showing a Spanish family’s secret Seder

Nevertheless, he is what we have, and a hungry dog can not disdain any bone.  I have, in fact, furthered my studies of the language under his frowning eye, and, perhaps even more importantly, been introduced to the fascinating Jewish way of life, for he tells of marriages, funerals, and feasts.  Sadly, with the likes of that ass, Pfefferkorn lurking about, one must be circumspect about one’s interests.

But I must tell you now of the Amerbach family with whom I stayed, where also the Jew is staying.  It was as if I were suddenly plopped down in the midst of a house where the very air were permeated with scholarship, with languages, with talk of types and exemplars and bookseller intrigues.

The father, Johann Amerbach, studied in Rome and worked in the printing arts in Venice.  He settled in Basel and, discovering that the Carthusian monastery there had an excellent collection of manuscripts, he resolved to publish the collected works of the four doctors of the church: Ambrose, Jerome, Gregory, and Augustine.  Amerbach wishes his books to be beautiful and gave me a lesson at the dinner table of  the advantages of Latin type over Gothic or Italian.

The work of Jerome, which Amerbach expects to run to ten volumes, is now his passion, though he says that he fears he will not live long enough to finish it.  It is this endeavor that has drawn the Jew to him.  That, and the further education Amerbach wishes his sons to receive in Hebrew.  These sons are a most remarkable trio, scholars all, though their progress has not always lived up to the standards of their serious father.

Bonifacius

The eldest, Bruno, has around thirty years.  He returned from Paris without his degree, but with a solid knowledge of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew.  His father murmured that his oldest son’s studies were hampered by adventurous and amorous distractions.  Indeed, he is a fun-loving fellow.  Then there is Basilius, whom I knew at Freiburg, though not well.  He studied law and lived with Zasius, but he is very quiet and reserved.  Indeed, Bruno teases him that women terrify him.  Youngest is Bonifacius, who recently received his MA from the University here in Basel.  Perhaps the father felt that after Bruno’s unremarkable progress at Paris, he would keep his son and his money at home.

I also met the daughter, Margarete, whom the brothers whispered had once been disowned by her father.  She wanted to marry a young spice merchant, who was from a good family, but was rumored to be engaged to another.  Her father forbade the marriage, threatened to send Margarete to a convent, and so she eloped with the man.  Through the efforts of Bruno and family friends, she was reconciled.  She came to visit  with her young son, though I never met her husband.

Johann Froben

Another man, who is present so much at the Amerbach home that he seems part of the family, is another printer, Johann Froben.  Froben once worked in Nuremberg for the printer and publisher, Anton Koberger, whom I met at the Frankfurt Bookfair, (along with his famous Godson, Albrecht Durer.)  Koberger is good friends with the elder Amerbach, and Froben came to Basel as an assistant to Amerbach, before starting his own press, though the men remain friends and collaborators.

Froben’s Printer’s Device: As Jesus said, “Be wise as serpents, gentle as doves”

The commercial side of Froben’s press is managed by his father-in-law, who has close ties with an international bookseller named Birckmann.  This Birckmann does business in England, where Erasmus now resides, and it is rumored that Birckmann might bring the latest edition of Erasmus’ Adages to Froben’s press, rather than taking it to Paris, as was planned.  If this happens, it will highly elevate Froben and all of Basel, especially if it brings Erasmus to the city.

What grand days I had in Basel, studying Hebrew, watching the Amerbach and Froben presses at work, playing cards and drinking a little with the Amerbach sons.

But now, I am back at Bruchsal—I cannot bear to call it home.  What a desert it is.  I have no real friends, no meaningful work, and even no Bishop, for he who summoned me here has died.  It is said that his position will go to one who is not even a priest, and so must be trained and ordained before he may become Bishop. That could take two years.  In the meantime, though I value the benefice that keeps the wolf from the latchstring, I long–oh how I long–for Basel.

~~~~~

Capito directs the Reader to:  

The correspondence of Johann Amerbach : early printing in its social context / selected, translated, edited, with commentary by Barbara C. Halporn and digitized by the University of Michigan Press.

The Printers of Basle in the XV & XVI Centuries: Their Biographies, Printed Books, and Devices by Charles William Heckethorn

Contemporaries of Erasmus : a biographical register of the Renaissance and Reformation by Peter G Bietenholz

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The 16th-Century Scholar and the American President’s Wife

Georgius Agricola is considered the founder of geology.  Born in Saxony, Agricola studied classics at Leipzig University, taught Latin and Greek, and, in 1522, began to study medicine.  He became a practicing doctor in 1527 at Joachimsthal, a center of silver mining.

Agricola’s geological writings reflect an immense amount of study and first-hand observation, not just of rocks and minerals, but of every aspect of mining technology and practice.  His greatest work, De Re Metallica, means “On the Nature of Metals,” but the word metal includes any mineral. In this book, which remained the standard text on mining for two centuries, Agricola reviewed everything known about mining, including ores and strata, equipment and machinery, means of finding ores — he rejected the use of divining-rods and other magical means — methods of surveying and digging, assaying ores, smelting, mine administration, and occupational diseases of miners.

Agricola made fundamental contributions to mining geology and metallurgy, mineralogy, structural geology, and paleontology. He noted that rocks were laid down in definite layers, or strata, and that these layers occurred in a consistent order and could be traced over a wide area.  His work paved the way for further systematic study of the Earth and its rocks, minerals, and fossils. He died in 1555, one year before the posthumous publication of De Re Metallica.

In 1905, Lou Henry Hoover, an American woman who had studied geology at Stanford University, found a copy of De Re Metallica in London.  When she learned that it had never been translated into English, she used her knowledge of Latin and geology to work on a translation.  Her partner in this project was her husband, an experienced mining engineer named Herbert Hoover, later president of the United States.  The Hoovers worked with great care for five years, utilizing their knowledge of mining, and geology, and expanding their knowledge of Latin and medieval units of measure.  Herbert Hoover performed laboratory experiments to verify Agricola’s information.

Illustrated with Agricola’s 289 original woodcuts, the book shows how mining was done and a great deal about life in the early 16th century.  The Hoovers’ work still stands as the best and most scholarly study of Agricola’s own careful scholarship.  It remains in print.

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Biographical information on Agricola from the University of California Museum of Paleontology.

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Joss Fritz Returns

In my last post, Gentle Reader, I told you what I knew of the planned peasant uprising of 1502, under the leadership of Joss Fritz.  Such a revolt, called a Bundschuh, is named for a poor man’s rough, rawhide footwear, sometimes bound to the leg as far as the calf by long, crossed leather thongs.  Bund means binding or gathering into a bundle.  So Bund can symbolize union.

After the 1502 Bundschuh was betrayed to the authorities before it could occur, Fritz went underground.  In ten years, there was no word of him.  It is now rumored that he was serving as a mercenary for the Swiss.  In this capacity, he could be always raising support among the Swiss for his next attempt at revolution for the German peasants.

Then, about two years ago, Fritz quietly settled in the village of Lehen, two miles west of Freiburg.  He was given the village position of field watch.  The peasants in this area, though serving various ecclesiastical and secular lords within overlapping  jurisdictions, are writhing under the harsh thumbs of overlords like Gabriel von Bollscheil, who told his serfs that they must do as he says or be cut to pieces.

For two years, Fritz carefully laid his plans and organized peasants in the many surrounding villages.  It is said that a priest of Lehen joined with Fritz in promoting the Bundschuh as a just and godly undertaking to restore the world to the order that God intended.

However, unlike the planned  Bundschuh of 1502, this revolt was not against only one Bishop but against many secular authorities as well.  So the participants swore only an oath of secrecy, without religious litanies.

Peasant armed with flail

And the password ran: God greet you, fellow.  How fares the world?

With the answer: In all the world, the common man can find no comfort.

It is said that the flag of 1502 had been preserved and was to be completed.  It bore a Bundschuh on one side, and, on the other, a peasant kneeling before Mary, John the Baptist and Christ crucified, as if to say that it was for the common man that He had come.  Beneath was the plea:  Lord, stand by Thy Divine Justice.

Peasants with hands raised in same sign as Fritz statue. Notice flag.

At the beginning of September, in the night, Fritz met with the conspirators in a secluded field outside Lehen, where they planned their organization and attack.  As many as possible were to attend the Biengen church ale on October 9.  There, the Bundschuh flag would be flown high.

They would besiege the small country towns, marching southwards to join the Swiss, with whose support they could attack the fortified towns of Freiburg and Breisach.  Then they would control the whole right bank of the Upper Rhine and sweep all southwest Germany.

But Fabri tells me that the authorities were alerted in the summer that another Bundschuh was in the offing.  It seems a painter named Theodosion promptly reported to them that he had been contacted about completing the rebel flag.  However, though Freiburg put its watch on alert, it had no names to arrest.

Only in this month of October did a conspirator named Michael Hanser reveal the entire plan to the margrave of Baden, who immediately informed the Freiburg authorities.  A full-scale effort of scouts and armed posses was launched to round up the rebels. Fritz and two of his lieutenants, Jakob Huser and Kilian Meiger, headed for Zurich to seek assistance from the Swiss.  On the way, they were captured.

But Fritz escaped.

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Capito recognizes a most excellent source: Freiburg and the Breisgau, Town-Country Relations in the Age of Reformation and Peasants’ War by Tom Scott.

Two woodcuts from “Images of the Peasant, 1514-1525″ by R.W. Scribner in The German Peasant War of 1525 published by Frank Cass & Company. 

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Bundschuh!

Bundschuh.  A common word that strikes fear into every noble heart.  Like the word Fire! in a crowded city.  Almost as terrifying as Plague.

Bundschuh.  It is only a laced peasant shoe.  Symbol of the common man since “Duke Bundschuh,” Count Eckhart of Scheyern, carried two red-laced boots to call the common man on a crusade to Jerusalem in the eleventh century.

But now, it stands for the common man united in revolt against his overlords, be they secular nobility or ecclesiastical “Cloister Lords.”  It symbolizes havoc, anarchy, famine, for without the peasants, how should we have food?

Peasants surrounding a knight

As I travel to Basel to meet with the Jew about Hebrew lessons, the entire land is ablaze with talk of Joss Fritz and a Bundschuh he planned to launch at a Church Ale near Freiburg in this very month.

I have learned much about this Joss Fritz since I moved to Bruchsal, for his first attempt to rally the common man to revolt occurred among the peasants belonging to the Bishop of Speyer, who, as the Reader remembers, called me to his service earlier this year.  It was in 1502 that revolt was attempted, under the previous Bishop, but the memory is still green among those who lived through it.  This was told me by a young man whose father had taken part:

“We lived in the village of Untergrombach, which is south of Bruchsal.  I was twelve years old, but I remember it well.

“The bishop kept encroaching on the rights of his tenants to graze their animals and to cut firewood.  His tax collectors were known for their lack of mercy.  The Bishop was constantly feuding with the Swabian League, who retaliated by ravaging his peasants.  Then he put a limit on the number of beasts a man could hold.”

“But,” someone else said, “Bishop Ludwig was known for his Christian charity, which was one reason that he was always in debt.”

“Be that as it may,” the boy said, “it was little comfort to the people who had to provide boon-services and pay tithes and tolls and taxes from which all clergy are exempt.”  He dropped his voice and leaned forward.  “So there rose up a bondsman of the Bishop named Joss Fritz.  And he called the people to a new world.  A world based on Divine Justice.

“They held secret meetings in the countryside.  I went with my father the night he swore allegiance to the Rebellion.  He said I could be proud that he had a part in cleansing the church and freeing the common man from bondage.  I wanted to join too, but he said I was too young, though there were others there no older than me.

“All who joined fell on their knees and recited the Lord’s Prayer five times and five Ave Marias.  Then they recited the password which ran: God greet you, fellow.  How fares the world?  And then the reply: We cannot rid ourselves of this plague of priests.

“Fritz was a great orator.  He had a complete plan, and he could make you see it.  All the Church’s power would be abolished, and it would return to apostolic poverty.  Hunting and fishing, pasture and forest, would be under the governance of the villages, not the nobles or the Church.  There would be no more tithes, rents, taxes, or tolls.”

“But how,” I asked, “could all that possibly be accomplished?”

“They would take the Bishop’s castle at Obergrombach, and that would be their stronghold.  Then they planned to take Bruchsal, where it was said that half the citizenry would support them.  They especially hoped for an alliance and aid from the Swiss, once the Bundschuh was begun and they could demonstrate how many were in their number.

“Fritz had forty agents who worked throughout the south.  He said they could raise an army of 20,000 and keep it ever ready for engagement.  He believed he could take Pforzheim and from there the whole of the upper Rhine.”

“What happened,” I asked, though I thought I knew.

“They were betrayed.  Someone confessed to his priest, who, though bound to secrecy, coughed it up to the authorities.”

(Although I also heard that one of the mercenaries Fritz hired informed the Bishop.  I guess he thought the Bishop would pay him better than Fritz.)

The boy licked his lips.  “The authorities began to seek out the conspirators and interrogate them under torture.  Ten were executed, many were banished.  Some were fined.

“But Joss Fritz escaped.”

And now, eleven years later, he appears again.

Statue of Fritz at Untergrombach

~~~~~

For more on the plight of the peasants and the ideas fermenting revolt, see Capito’s posts:  The Dead Hand; In the Land of the Blind; City Air Makes Men Free; Everything Comes Down to Purgatory

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Dances of Death

St. Mary’s Church, Lübeck, Germany, 1463

Death is everywhere.  Does not common sense and experience teach this?

St. Mary’s Church, Berlin, c. 1485

So why should we wish to consider the fact over and over in our art, even in our entertainment?

St. Mary’s Church, Beram, Croatia, 1474

Why should all our festivals and carnivals feature morality plays in which death leads us away to our respective fates?

Jesuit College, Lucern, Switzerland

Why should the Dance of Death have become so popular in art that no artist feels his career complete until he has painted or engraved one?

Merchant, Hans Holbein Dance of Death, 1538

It is the plague, some say. Since the plague, Europe is obsessed with Death.

Cemetery of the Innocents, Paris, c. 1424

But if we are, as a common mind, obsessed with Death, why should our art not provide an escape rather than a study of the subject?

Church of Nørre Alslev, Falster Island, Denmark, late 1400s

Perhaps, it is more like a builder who must walk the high rafters of the new granary or climb to the heights of the cathedral. How can he master his fear?

Anonymous–early 16th century

“You get used to it,” one fellow told me. “You just go as high as you dare, and, when you’re comfortable there, you go higher.”

Clusone, Italy

Perhaps this is why we look so much at death, study death, handle death in our imaginations. Perhaps go so far as to mock Death. That we might, by these safe encounters, be less afraid.

Niklaus Manuel Deutsch, 1517, Berne

I view a painting of Death. And then I go home and eat my lunch, and so, I have, once more, walked the high beam without incident. And I am a little less afraid.

St Nicolas’ Church, Tallinn, Estonia, late 1400s

Perhaps, a very modern thinker might say: Macabre. Weird. Eerie.

Trinity Church, Hrastovlje, Slovenia, 1490

But, Gentle Reader, have you never read a scary book or viewed a frightening image purely for pleasure? Is there not a writer of great popularity known as Steven King?

Artist unknown, probably printed by Heinrich Knoblochtzer, Heidelberg, late 1400s

Could the popularity of all things terrifying be motivated by the same impulses that make our Dances of Death popular?

Chapelle Kermaria, France, 15th century

Just another way to walk on the highest rafter?

Local scene, yesterday

~~~~~

Capito thanks that most excellent site: Death in Art for most of these images.  There the Reader can find information on the location and history of each Dance of Death and a discussion of the genre.  

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Bruchsal–Part 1

December 1512

Like most choices, my decision to leave the university and move to Bruchsal to work for the Bishop has not resulted in a perfect situation, though it is nice to eat with the sons of nobility and to wear robes equal to the ones Zasius provides Fabri.

But my position entails far more than I expected.  The Bishop sends me on frequent errands, (hence, the lateness of this post), and the duties are beyond the scope of my abilities.  The Bishop believes that, since I studied briefly under Zasius, I should be able to answer legal questions.  Nothing could be farther from the truth, and I am frequently dispatching a courier on a fast horse to appeal to Fabri for advice.  And, too, I hate litigation and conflicts, and so, do not enter into argumentation with the passion it requires.

Then, there are the endless chapter meetings in which the daily business of the foundation is discussed.  I care not what arrangements should be made for the upcoming feast or at what hour this or that should occur.  But my position requires me to attend.  So there I sit, as stuck as a pig on a spit, but at least the pig has a purpose.

The people who attend our services are woefully ignorant and superstitious, particularly with regard to ghosts, demons, witches, and saints.  This results from several sources.  The clergy are poorly trained and often superstitious themselves, and they encourage the superstitions of the people in order to keep the common herd content and keep everything in stat quo.  While the people are not to blame that they were raised with superstitions, they cling to them tenaciously, for is it not much easier to simply follow a superstitious formula than to undergo a transformation of heart?

So, you may have surmised from all this, Gentle Reader, that I find myself at odds with several of the clergy.  They accuse me of stirring up the populace, for some find my lessons refreshing and authentic, but some cling to their old thinking, and so the congregation is divided.  How I shocked them last Sunday when I answered that, no, the sight of an icon does not protect one from sudden death for the rest of the day.  Does not experience itself teach this?

Hubmaier writes that discussion among the people is always to be desired, as it opens minds.  But truly, I feel that I am having little positive effect.

I am besieged by a mass of trivial duties, and one would surmise that I am too busy to think.  But I do think.  In my solitude, I find myself revisiting troubling questions that go all the way back to my childhood and my father’s affinity for John Wycliffe.

Is Christ really Present in the Eucharist?  I don’t know.  And yet, in my position, I declare my belief in that doctrine every time I say Mass.

I have no one with whom to share these concerns—dangerous as they are.  Oh how I miss Hubmaier and Zell and the lively discussions we had over our ale at the Hog’s Snout.  How I miss Fabri’s unwavering logic.  And the innocent wisdom of the young monk Michael.

Bruchsal is an intellectual desert, and there are few here who can have—or who wish to have—an intelligent discussion about humanistic studies, languages, poetry, ethics, or anything else.  Again, preserve the status quo.  So, when I have a free moment, I seem to gravitate to solitary places where I spend the time brooding.

The one bright spot in the last several months was the recent visit of Conradus Pellicanus.  Although a Franciscan, Conradus leads all Germany in the study of Hebrew, though when he began to study, he had no grammar and no teacher.  But he taught himself the letters, and then Reuchlin lent him the grammar of Moses Kimhi, for Reuchlin is convinced that if one wishes to find the truth in Hebrew, one must follow the grammatical and exegetical tradition of the medieval rabbis.

In 1501, Conradus published the first Hebrew grammar in any European language, which was most helpful to Reuchlin when he later began to publish his works.  (Reuchlin’s Augenspiegel has been suppressed, Conradus told me, thanks to the efforts of that idiot, Pfefferkorn.  Let them try to take my copy.)

Conradus is a model of how a man can educate himself in any subject if he only be willing to study and make the effort to do all that he can.  He tells me that in Basel, there is a converted Jew from Spain living with the Amerbachs and teaching Hebrew.  I have asked the Bishop for permission to make the trip to Basel to meet this Jew.

Many are studying the New Testament in Greek, but few can read the Old Testament in its original language or understand the tradition from which it came.  This is due to a dearth of study material and to the suspicion and hatred of anything Jewish.  A great tragedy.

Jewish scholars wearing pointed hats are suckled by their wetnurse, the Devil’s pig. Earliest extant anti-Semetic broadside. 1475

But I, Capito, find Hebrew fascinating, both for its own knowledge and for the light that it throws on the Bible.  If I could pursue Hebrew studies, my time here in Bruchsal might not seem so devoid of purpose.  So, I go to Basel to meet this Jew.  And we shall see what will be.

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Sixteenth Century Society and Conference

Basel

Gentle Reader, If you think Basel is a center of the study of humanities–where Erasmus works at Froben’s press, and one can study Hebrew at the home of the Amerbachs or see Holbein painting around town–if you think Basel is a city of delight and learning, you will love Fort Worth, Texas.

Fort Worth

At least, during the last weekend in October of this year, when that city hosts the annual conference of the Sixteenth Century Society.  Here, scholars of great renown will gather to discuss topics as diverse as educating children; crime and punishment; Islam and the Turks; book collecting; death; my old colleague, Martin Bucer; and puffer fish.  By the muses!  It will be as exciting as the Frankfort book fair.  See the complete program.

Capito will be there.

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From Christian child to Turkish Janissary

Diether von Michelstadt, Knight of the Holy Order of Saint John, missioned on the Isle of Rhodes, to his dear cousin, Wolfgang Capito.  May God bless you, beloved friend, in the sure hope of our resurrection on the last day.

Your welcome letter arrived today in good time, since our supply ships had favorable winds and nearly flew across the seas.  You say you have heard many horrible stories about the Turks and wonder if they are true.  You say you have heard of an elite army composed of stolen Christian children.  Sadly, this is indeed true.

Devsirme–Topkapi Palace

The practice is called the “devsirme,” which means “gathering,” and it is a human taxation, sometimes called the “boy harvest,” of the non-Muslim populations of Anatolia and the Balkans, primarily Greeks and Albanians and a few Armenians.  Every few years, the Sultan conscripts a certain percentage–perhaps ten percent–of Christian male children.  The boys are usually between eight and twelve years old.  The Sultan’s officer arrives in a village, the Christian fathers are ordered to appear with their sons, and the strongest, most promising boys are taken.

We hear many stories about this.  Some say the Christian parents will disfigure their sons to prevent their being chosen.  Others, that the Christians are starving and some children wish to go.  We hear that Muslim parents, desirous of the fine education and elite opportunities in the Sultan’s service, sometimes bribe Christians to claim their children.

Janissary–Gentile Bellini

The Janissary schooling, which may take 14 years, converts the children to the faith of Islam and teaches them the Ottoman view of the world.  They learn Turkish, Persian, and Arabic.  There is physical training, study of literature, the Koran, and the law called the Seriat.  The boys are separated forever from their families and, once in the palace school, they cannot leave for any reason or have any contact with the outside world.  They know they cannot marry until they retire.  They emerge passionate Muslims, eager to fight, ready to die for their faith and the Sultan.

The Janissaries live and train in tightly disciplined barracks communities to give them a cohesive strength unusual in any other army.  While many Turks favor beards, the Janissaries wear only a mustache and shave their heads, except for a scalp-lock.

Although they are slaves, they are well paid, have striking uniforms, and the best food and equipment available.  Their distinctive headgear looks like a folded sleeve.  A Muslim holy man, Hajji Bektash, blessed the new soldiers upon the founding of the corp.  Some say the sleeve of his robe touched their heads.  Others say he tore the felt sleeve off his white coat and placed it on a soldier’s head, calling him a “new trooper.”  Either way, the Janissaries wear these sleeves in remembrance.  Even in peacetime, the Janissaries never disband, but improve their training skills and their military installations, much as we are doing ourselves at the present moment.   They are expert with firearms and a great variety of other weapons of the most modern sorts.  They often carry small hand bombs called “grenades” because of their similar aspect to pomegranates.

In addition to his Janissaries, the Sultan can put an army in the field with hundreds of thousands of armed men, from his territories’ vast populations, and equip them with good arms and generous provisions, from his limitless wealth.   The majority of these soldiers are feudal cavalry, armed with lance and bow, brave, but not always well led.   But these are supported by artillerymen with some of the largest cannon in the world.   Their supplies of good powder and abundant shot allow them to maintain a steady fire by day and night.   The army is well served by a supply corps, by sappers and miners for an extended siege, and by a medical branch for the sick and wounded.

As you know, we are only a few leagues from the Turkish coast, with no other armed Christians nearby.

We concentrate on the addition of several small strong points in front of the main walls.  These go by the name of ravelin or demi-lune, and are intended to stop the shot from Turkish heavy cannon from reaching the main curtain walls.  Our supplies of rations and weapons are already quite large.  Together with our large supply of fresh water, I suppose we might survive a blockade of a hundred years.  The Sultan may indeed attack Rhodes, but I promise you, he will pay a dear price, including ruinous casualties to his precious Janissaries.  As always, we rely not only on our own arms, but on the mercy of God.  May he be eternally praised in all we do.

Sincere thanks for your welcome letters.  May your days be as happy and sunny as ours here in the Levant.

Diether

Diether von Michelstadt created by Leopold Glueckert, O.Carm.,Ph.D

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Jon Sayles, Heinrich Isaac, and a Hound

All parts of all music performed by Jon Sayles.

You see jugglers.  You see sword swallowers.  You see a man with a tiger in a cage.  You see a man with a Turk in a cage.  Relic sellers rattle their wooden saints’ medallions or their bones.  A mime follows you, imitating your movements for a few seconds.

Entertainers and vendors work the crowd of people making their way to the dedication of a new church.  Or celebrating a saint’s day.  Or just coming to a market fair.

You see a group of coarse players enacting the story of Pope Joan, who pretended to be a man and was elected pope until she bore a child and came to ruin.  A Meistersanger fills the air with a lyric poem set to music.  His song tells of Neidhart, who found a violet and rushed to tell the Duchess, but while he was gone, a peasant picked the violet, sending Neidhart into a rage.

You have brought your food from home, dried meat, bread, and a crock of pumpkin compote.  But you cannot resist the food vendors.  The sausages sizzling in skillets.  The whole hog rotating on a spit turned by a dog-powered treadwheel.  The very salty radishes.  The gingerbread cookies shaped like St. Anthony’s pig.  The beer flowing in rivers from casks and kegs.

There is music.  Hurdy-gurdies.  Pipes and tabors.  Portive organs.  Bagpipes.  A fidel.  But what are the tunes?  (Take a deep breath, relax, and listen, Gentle Reader.  Time travel takes only a few seconds.)

Perhaps you hear Die Katzenpfote (Cat’s Feet  1:37).

Or Ich Weiss Nit (I Know Nothing  2:16).

Or, my own favorite, Shaerffertanz.  (Shepherd’s Dance  1:37).

These wonderful songs, and many more, are available for free, thanks to the talent, generosity, and love of music of Jon Sayles.  Today, Capito speaks with this musician, blessed by Euterpe.

Capito:  Thank you, Master Sayles, for agreeing to speak with me.  And thank you for the wonderful gift of this music.  How did you become interested in classical guitar?

My mother was a music major, and my father, a naturally gifted jazz pianist.  He brought me a ukelele when I was about seven.  I learned to play it and a Roy Rogers plastic guitar at that time.  There have been numerous music teachers whom I owe huge thanks, and I have dedicated my site to them.

Capito:  And what prompted you to devote so much time and effort to early music?

At the University of Hartford, I was fortunate to work with Joe Iadone, a world-class lutenist, who introduced me to early music.  I taught music until 1983 and then switched to software development.  Now I take my two weeks of IBM vacation in December to record new tunes for the website.

Capito:  Your site has an interesting collection across several centuries and countries.  You have brought these songs out of rare academia and given them to the world.  And what a great job you do in performing them.  Let’s listen to a few more tunes composed by Heinrich Isaac.

Maudit Soy  (1:21)

And here’s the hound.  Der Hund  (the Dog 2:29)

Isaac is a very popular composer.  He was a singer for Duke Sigismund (a Habsburg) in Innsbruck in 1484.  The next year, he went to Florence, where he was employed as a singer at the church Santa Maria del Fiore.  He composed several important pieces in Florence, under the patronage of Lorenzo de’ Medici.  Isaac performed in Rome for the coronation of Pope Alexander VI.  In 1496, he moved to Vienna.  He was court composer for the Emperor Maximilian I and remains in his employ, though not in Innsbruck.  One of Isaac’s most famous works is the poignant Insbruck ich muss dich lassen (Oh Innsbruck, I must leave you.)

Here’s what I, Capito, know.  It is one thing to be a scholar of history, learning dates, wars, movements, religion.  Even knowing details of food, clothing, and farm implements.  But only when the music of a people comes alive for you, do you feel their soul.

~~~~~~~~~~

Capito thanks Susan Iadone for her help with this post.

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Capito Moves Away

(Illustrations from Illustrissimi Wirtembergici Ducali Novi Collegii Quod Tubingae qua situm qua studia qua exercitia Accurata Delineato digitized for the the Wolfenbüttel Digital Library by the Herzog August Bibliothek.)

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May 1512

I can’t sleep.  Two litanies of thoughts, like two acts of the same play, go through my head simultaneously.  One is comprised of scenes from my life here at the university since I returned in 1509; the other, the conversation we had at the Hog Snout tonight.

“I don’t think you should do it,” Zell said.  “The money is not everything.  We can get by.  I’ll soon be lecturing more.”

“How quickly life changes,” Michael said.  “I thought your plans were firm to stay here at the university until you secure your Doctorate.  Hubmaier is already gone,” he said sadly, “and now you’re leaving as well?”

“Stop it,” I said.  “You’re breaking my heart.”

“Why don’t you just become a Benedictine?” Michael asked.  “If you are going to be preaching in their church?”

“The canons don’t just preach,” Fabri said.  “They are advisors to the Bishop.  They handle the administration of the funds of the church and run the benevolent programs.  Doubtless, the Bishop of Speier wishes to surround himself with trustworthy men of scholarship.  That’s why he’s called our Capito to be canon and preacher to the Benedictine canonry.”

“The Bishop says,” I glanced at the letter I received earlier, “that I would perform errands and undertake missions for him.”

“This can be your first step to ecclesiastical politics,” Fabri said.  “You will meet important people, and they will recognize your talents.  It’s no small opportunity,” he added, “since we sons of blacksmiths have to make our own success—for we begin life with no title, no land, and no income.”

“What of your studies?” Zell said.  “Will you ever get your Doctorate?”

“I can continue to study,” I said.  The canonry is populated by the sons of poor nobility from the ‘castles of misery.’  They are not so devout as to want a sermon every hour.  I’ll have time to study.  I can still get my Doctorate from this university if I pass my trials.

Zell shook his head.  “You’re just trying to avoid this investigation.”

I shifted on the bench.  It was true that the victims of Eck’s graffitti campaign would not let the matter die, and they had howled to such an extent that the university prolonged the investigation.  I could be further implicated and punished, which would look bad on my record.  If I left, the matter would be dropped.

“Eck!” Zell said, as if it were distasteful in his mouth.  “First he lures Hubmaier to Ingolstadt.  Now you are leaving because of him.  He’s like a giant boulder dropped in a pond, and the ripples just go on and on.

“I need the money,” I said.  “It’s not that I want luxuries.  But I’m exhausted with keeping the wolf from the latchstring.  I want to repay my debts.  To buy books.  To eat regularly.”

“So you’ve decided then,” Zell said.  “You’re going to move to Bruchsal and work for the Bishop?”

“I think so.  I can still visit.  Bruchsal is not so far, just up the Rhine to the north.  I can come visit easily.  I can catch a boat.”

Michael lay his hand on mine.  “I shall miss you.”

Zell laid his hand atop ours.  “So shall I.  Especially as my roommate.  The snoring and farting.”

Fabri added his hand.  “We shall all leave someday.  Nothing lasts forever.”

Then the young monk lay his other hand on the very top.  “This is for Hub,” he said.  “We’re brothers all.  For all time.”

“For all time,” I said, my throat tight.

And the others repeated, “For all time.”

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