Like most of the salters, called Halloren, we lived in a tiny house of two low stories, dusky hallways with unpaved floors, and a tight close courtyard. The house lay in the middle of alleys, nooks, and blind walks, so narrow that in some places one could get through only with some effort. Yes, one might lose one’s way, even though one was a resident of the area.
The cardinal’s confessor, who was always addressed as Monsignor, had taken note of my father and made his acquaintance because my father, for the salvation of himself and his family, had made the donation of a small relic for the cardinal’s collection. It was the nail from the big toe of the right foot of St. Christopher, Holy Helper, after whom I was named because I was born on July 24th. The toenail had been handed down in my family from time immemorial; it had been brought back from a crusade to Lycia by an ancestor, so the saga goes, where he had bargained it out of a Jew. As a sign of its authenticity, it was noted that it had a highly visible ring of dirt at the upper edge.
In the course of the trade, it was said, a dispute arose in which the Jew was slain. The dispute had arisen because other dealers were offering the toenail of the same saint so that St. Christopher would have had to have at least five feet. At any rate, said ancestor took the toenail without having to pay the price because the Jew was dead. My father therefore believed that a curse lay on the toenail, which made it easier for him to dispose of it as a gift to the cardinal, together with the curse, which naturally he did not mention to the cardinal.
I can now, as I write this down, barely understand why such a fuss was made over a toenail. The fuss would have been justified had it been over the sanctum praeputium, the holy prepuce of our Lord Jesus Christ, which he took with him when he rose to heaven and which was transformed into Saturn’s rings. But even in that case a mystery would remain, as the Lord’s prepuce was often bought and sold, as if the Lord Jesus Christ had had many penises.
I rather side with Dr. Martinus’s dismissive teaching on relics and saints’ worship, despite the impressive story regarding Catherine of Valois, who in AD 1421 requested that her husband, King Henry V, find her this relic, whose sweet fragrance would ensure a good birth. A sweet-smelling prepuce seems to be reserved for the Lord Jesus; thus the story gains some credibility but cannot at the same time be connected to the Saturn rings.
I went over the drawbridge through the gateway where the monsignor’s servant awaited me, past the guards, and straightaway over the courtyard to the room of the confessor, which lay above the castle gate on the north side. In the room a fire was burning in the grate, and the servant provided additional wood before he departed.
The monsignor remained behind his desk as he extended his hand to be kissed. Then I stepped back and remained several feet away. He belonged to the Ordo fratrum praedicatorum, called by the people, in short, Dominican, and in secret, domini canes, the Beagles of the Lord—for good reasons, as was immediately evident.
I don’t know what induced me, but after the conclusion of the conversation I wrote everything carefully down, so it is here and can be read:
“You know, son, why I have called you here?”
“No, Monsignor, and your servant has given me no information about it.”
“You study now in the arts faculty in Erfurt? In your second year?”
“Yes, Monsignor. And of grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic I have acquired a good understanding, although in the quadrivium I have fallen somewhat short. But I hope to secure my magister.”
“Tell me, son, what do you and your companions do outside the lectures and your dormitory?”
“Monsignor, we have very little time. We do almost nothing but study and learn. Naturally, we spend some time with the fencing master, and we also work at dancing and riding.”
“Now let’s stop making roundabout remarks. I know of your subversive Lutheran activities, and our gracious elector is greatly irritated to see such subversive activities in the town to which he has a rightful claim.
“You know that Luther and his followers are heretics. And you know also what happens to heretics if they do not recant. And you know very well that the Edict of Worms, on the basis of the Bull of Excommunication from the Holy Father, forbids the supporting or the harboring of Luther and the reading or the printing of his works. Rather, it commands his detainment and transfer to the emperor. You know Luther is an outlaw, and you also know that anyone may kill him.”
I nodded.
Now the Monsignor took a small bell from the table and rang it. He said, “Now my servant will take you on a little walk to the lower cellar of the castle and show you something. Then we will continue our conversation.”
The servant, called by the bell, reappeared and led me silently through the courtyard. He opened a heavy iron-bound wooden door with a large key, behind which an apparently endless set of stairs led deep into the cellar. He took a torch from the wall and set it alight with flintstone and tinder and indicated that I was to follow him. The air grew damper and mustier, and I believe we were already below the water level of the Saale River.
The servant opened a barred door, beckoned me to pass through, and said, “Right now we do not work on a patient, so you have time to have a good look.”
And I saw, hanging and standing everywhere, the instruments. We saw the rack, the view of which seemed to brighten the look on my guide’s face. I looked at him questioningly, and he said, “The rack is just the first station, at which I often lend a hand. The first part of the stretching often does the patient good and frees him from complaints of the back so that he is silent. But if he already here confesses, he can go, sometimes healthier than when he came. In the second part he is already taut, and when he is then stretched farther, he begins to talk. Then I must rush to the desk over there and keep the minutes of the interrogation.”
At this point I did not feel well, and we went pretty quickly past the other instruments, which my guide did not need to explain—their uses were quite obvious such as the breast ripper, the iron maiden, the studded buck, applied stationary or mobile, the Judas cradle, the pear of anguish or choke pear, applicable both vaginally and anally, the thumbscrew, and several others. These all seemed so horrible that I could not rightly believe that they would actually be used. However, I had a few times in Erfurt seen a man who sometimes begged in front of our dormitory, and some said that his disfigured face was caused by the said pear and called the Glasgow Smile, while others claimed it was the Chelsea Grin.
Possibly many of these instruments were intended just for the territion, that is, the showing of the instruments, as just now in my case. It also should be pointed out that since the papal edict Ad Extirpanda of 1252, these instruments could be used for the painful interrogation of heretics, but it was also stated that no lasting physical damage should be inflicted. At the same time, some instruments have been used to increase the penalty, like for example the breast ripper, about which one can read in old criminal law that states the female delinquent shall be led to the usual place of execution, both breasts torn off with hot pincers, to be followed by her execution with the sword.
In any case it was clear why the confessor had arranged this demonstration. When we were once again in his room, I exhibited a lively willingness to talk.
He explained to me the network of Inquisition Mediators, also called IM, that the Holy Office had begun to spread throughout Christianity, and how I would be a small link in the chain.
“My son, you will now continue your studies in Wittenberg and live in the hostel at the Black Monastery with Martin Luther. The payment that Luther’s wife exacts as well as other necessary expenses will come from the purse of the cardinal.
“In the Black Monastery you will have ample opportunity to hear and to note down the words of the arch-heretic that he particularly likes to utter during his table talks. However, since he has hardly ever made a secret of his statements, of which many have been printed having barely left his poisonous mouth, it is more important to follow the comm
ents of the other participants at the table and to note them down with names and dates. And for all this, your heresy will not be forgiven, but its persecution will be postponed and even canceled if you faithfully follow through with this.”
With that, he pushed a paper across the desk, beckoned me, and handed me a quill and a bottle of ink, which was of a red tint. On the paper was a heading, which I have forgotten with the rest of the content, and remember only that it was a declaration to serve the Holy Office in its fight against heresy and unclean thoughts that did not comply with the doctrine of the Holy Church. I signed it and left soon thereafter for Wittenberg.
I moved into the hostel at the Black Monastery and began to study theology. The participation in Dr. Martini Lutheri’s dinner table was an inexhaustible source of information that I carefully took note of. That did not attract attention, for many around the table recorded the words of Luther and the others. I sent my notes to the monsignor confessor in Halle by a messenger who pretended to be looking for work in Wittenberg as a scribe. As has already been noted, these did not concern Luther’s remarks, which were anyway known and familiar since many were within days printed, but rather the thoughts of the students, bachelors, and other people at the table, who after completing their studies were to carry Luther’s heretic doctrines out into the world. In view of this, the confessor said in one of his secret messages to me, it was advantageous to know what they thought and what they later intended to do in order to either halt them at the outset or at the right time initiate anti-Lutheran movements. Soon came to me great scruples about my untrustworthy activity, because Dr. Martinus often engaged me in conversation, spoke to me in depth about theological matters, and was comfortable with my Christian-Evangelical utterances.
I was deeply troubled by the situation and began to get ill. When I learned that one of the table companions, who, after completing his studies and, trying to spread Luther’s teachings in the popish city of Trier and at the same time stop the worship of the Holy Robe, before he could take action and immediately on his arrival, was detained, painfully interrogated, and burned, I completely fell apart. Because I was the one who had reported to Halle about the student’s plans.
In his “Warning to the Dear Germans,” Dr. Martinus had explicitly written: “What pilgrimages had not the people been persuaded to go on! Only look at the new attempt to screw the believers in Trier with the Holy Robe. It is the Devil who has held big markets in all the world and sold innumerable faked miraculous signs. And worst, with this they have misled the people to trust those signs and thus drawn them away from Christ.”
Added to this was that Frau Katharina Luther cared for me in my fever sickness, which made my pricks of conscience almost unbearable.
So I have now written this confession and will seal it and entrust it to Frau Luther before I get a sturdy rope and commend myself to God’s mercy.
Wittenberg, the 9th of November, Anno Domini 1536
Christophorus Silberschlag
I, Paul Luther, will not comment on this report but only say how thankful I am that God saved me from getting into a situation like that of Silberschlag. Who can say they would be able to withstand the threat of persecution and painful interrogation by the Holy Office and not become ensnared?
Chapter 14
. . . is about death and life as it deals with my funeral sermon as well as with the birth and death of our little son Paul, who was four years old.
Life and death according to God’s will belong together; therefore they are told together here.
The reader will have noticed that I appreciate order, the regular course of things, the right and scheduled place, reliability, and punctuality above everything else and that I have been trying all my life to follow these principles myself. Yes, I must confess that I would rather tolerate injustice than disorder and see this confirmed by Ecclesiastes 3:1: “To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
Everybody knows that disorder and confusion are the result of devilry and that order and beauty are agreeable to God.
In order to keep to these maxims even into my grave, I yesterday received the Reverend Georgius Weinrich, pastor at St. Thomas Church in Leipzig, to discuss with him the sermon to be given at my funeral. And lo! he came well prepared and had written down the full text on the basis of my draft and even had a proof copy printed by Johann Berger in Leipzig.
I at once liked the title page, first, because my father was mentioned and, second, because it contained the prediction that numerous people would attend the funeral:
Funeral sermon at the Christian and well-attended burial of the Respectable, Honorable, and Highly Learned Paulus Luther, Doctor of Medicine and once Electoral Saxon archiator, etc., son of the highly enlightened Man of God Dr. Martinus Luther.”
Who in this 93rd year in true awareness and faith to his Savior Jesus Christ has passed away peacefully and after that in a most Christian manner interred and buried in the University Church of St. Paul.
That I would die this year and be buried in the university church was certain, so only the day of my death and of the burial would have to be inserted.
De mortuis nil nisi bene is regarded as a good tradition in Christendom (though it was coined by the heathen Romans). So my funeral sermon will only mention good things about me, though my life was often enough not free from cowardice, apprehension, and resulting lies.
God the Lord may forgive me. But a funeral sermon is something different and should serve the annunciation of Christ’s teaching more than the memory of the dead. It is also meant to convey to the living useful knowledge, which in my case is drawn from my profession, medicine, and its history. And so Pastor Weinrich had written:
Dear Friends in Christ the Lord. We can read in the histories of noble and famous Romans that it was the custom to build temples for people of high merit in order to honor their virtues and praise their laudable and chivalrous deeds. In these temples were marble columns or statues to help posterity remember them for eternity. Among these temples we find the names of many of the great Medici, who were honored in this way.
The Greek philosopher and historian Strabo writes about the world-famous Medicus Asclepius, to whose honor a beautiful temple was erected in Tetrapolis, of which the walls were almost completely covered by the names of the patients he had helped recover from dangerous sicknesses.
With this paragraph of the sermon I was quite content and would agree if people dealt with me as they did with Asclepius, even if he was a heathen god (which the good pastor was not quite aware of, but I did not want to correct him and spoil his goodwill) and I only a mortal. It is not quite just, I must say, although helpful for the doctor’s posthumous reputation if only those patients are remembered who were healed and not those who under the hands of the doctor said good-bye to this valley of tears.
And even the famous doctors of ancient times must have had quite a number of those. I had, I freely confess, some whom I could not help but had to let them die, though it was a useful and welcome custom to hand the moribunds over to a barber-surgeon, who then had to take the blame for the death of the patient, which of course was important in the case of persons of higher standing.
This did not help the reputation of the profession of barbers or barber-surgeons. Additionally, we doctors had to forgo the bloodletting, the lancing of boils, the setting of broken bones, and the couching for cataract or the removal of bladder stones (which was the work of the lithotomus), since all these treatments were unsuitable to our station. There were still others—midwives, wound nurses, and tooth pullers—under whose care many more people passed away than under that of the doctors.
The sermon mentioned more examples of famous doctors and healings, also those that happened through the heavenly doctor Jesus Christ, as for example that of the woman who, according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, had a twelve-year-long bleeding, had seen many doctors, and had spent all she possessed on them.
This latter
fact is not mentioned by Matthew but clearly underlined by Luke, a doctor, which I regard as believable.
I call this believable because even today one can observe physicians who enrich themselves through the afflictions and infirmities of the sick—alas, even delay the natural healing process by harmful herbs and essences. Others make healthy people believe that they suffer from sicknesses, imbalance of the humors or fluids, and the like, in order then to pride themselves after a rich fee on a healing, which never happened because there was nothing to heal.
At any rate, “The woman came behind him and touched the border of his garment, and immediately her issue of blood stanched and the fountain of her blood was dried up. And he said unto her, ‘Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace.’”
We must not forget her husband, who after twelve unclean years full of privation could finally cohabit with her again.
I was to be remembered like the good physicians of old, so the sermon went on:
It is only fair that also our deceased medicus, the Honored and Highly Learned Doctor Paulus Luther, is remembered not only because of his Herr Father Doctor Martinus Luther, whom God our Father used as his noble and chosen tool to bring the light of the Gospel out of the popish darkness into the bright daylight.
He is also to be remembered for the skill and ingenuity he displayed in curing many princely and noble people, and he lives in our memory as a gem of our good city.
Shadows of My Father Page 16