Shadows of My Father

by Christoph Werner

  Now I return to us. Anna had the apartment beautifully furnished and had assigned to me a study with many shelves and closets, from which I could look out and see Hornstein Castle, which was being reconstructed.

  A door led to a small windowless room in which there was a chimney. “Here,” Anna said, “you can have your laboratory.” On a stone shelf below the chimney I found beakers, glasses, spoons, and tweezers as well as a hand bellows to kindle the fire. I did an almost unworthy shout of joy as I caught sight of a magnifying glass. Here I must add, to the enrichment of the reader, that this blessed invention can be traced back to the Arabian scholar Abu Ali al-Hasan ibn al-Haytham, or Alhazen, which he made four hundred years ago.

  Anna’s eyes shone as she showed all this to me and said she had acquired the equipment from the widow of an apothecary in Wittenberg whose husband had died shortly before. I hugged her and thanked God for such a wife, who was sometimes rather strict but in the end dealt with me in a loving and just manner.

  On the following evening, my brother and our landlady, Frau Hagenstolz, came to dinner. My brother was widowed. His wife, Elisabeth, the widow Kegel, born Cruciger, whom he had married in 1553 and who had brought a son into the marriage and thus had relieved Johannes from some unnecessary but pleasant efforts, had died soon after the marriage in childbirth. The daughter, Katharina, survived and was now five years old.

  We wanted that night to consider our pecuniary circumstances as well as my expected payment in kind and suchlike. My wife was already very familiar with Frau Hagenstolz—one wonders at times how quickly women confide in each other—and so I had no objection to her presence in our family conversation. Also, it seemed to me that Anna was not uncomfortable if our landlady heard of our prosperity.

  Johannes said that he—before the official notification—was entitled to inform us of the expected salary and other material circumstances.

  Before he could do that, the maid brought in a roasted wild boar. She was a pretty Weimar girl with a pleasant feminine endowment whose ample breasts I noted first and then her sturdy legs—which I caught sight of when she stooped to fetch a knife that had fallen—as well as an inviting posterior. The roast was beautifully arranged and made one’s mouth water. Then came sauerkraut and white bread as well as beer. Anna said she had gotten the beer from the Black Bear, although soon we would be brewing our own beer since the house was provided with the brewing right, which Herr Hagenstolz allowed us to participate in. With this remark, our landlady had a look of proud satisfaction on her face.

  As appetizer there were, since it was after Easter and we no longer strongly observed the fast, colored refilled eggs, which I had long missed and therefore saw with great pleasure and then ate. The recipe Anna had gotten from my mother, and for the use of all the readers of this biography, I provide it here. Is the man in a bad mood, then, housewife, prepare for him these eggs.

  Take 8 eggs, 2 spoons of butter, and a small amount of pepper. As green ingredients, take chopped parsley, lovage, and sage. For yellow, take a pinch of saffron and 2 spoons of hot water. If one wants blue color, take dried and pounded violets.

  Blow the eggs out, and lightly fry the egg mixture with butter. Then season with pepper, a little chopped parsley, lovage, and sage, and then color it whichever you wish, yellow or blue. Now feed the egg mixture, which must still be wet, or add a raw egg to it, carefully into the empty shells, impale them on long thin wooden rods, and grill them over embers or in an oven for a short while.

  We ate well, and I discovered now for the first time what awaited me at the court. Three hundred guldens a year would be my salary, added to which came the gratuitous use of a horse from the ducal stables to accompany the highnesses as well as for my own private use. The rent for the apartment would be paid by the court, as well as wood for heating and cooking. A garden by the Erfurter Gate would be assigned to us to provide provisions for our household. My brother insisted I be aware of the generosity I received here, because due to the dukes’ new conditions, the recent wars, and the loss of a large part of their lands, there was not much money.

  In order not to fall into debt, restrictions were enacted in the ducal household, and John Frederick ordered a savings plan to be worked out: unnecessary expenses and superfluous servants and horses were to be gotten rid of and unnecessary spending curtailed, as he had announced. Still, at the time of my arrival at court, there were approximately four hundred people fed daily at fifty tables, which incurred expenses of 46,800 guldens per year. My brother had seen the account books for the ducal cellar and kitchen and added up the figures. The new plan contained numerous restrictions, the dismissal of many servants, and an accurate regulation about how many horses the councillors and the courtiers were allowed to keep. But as already stated, my salary as personal physician and the other benefits were not affected.

  Anna showed herself very content with our expected economic situation. She was in financial matters far more experienced than I. Additionally, we could rely on assets that both of us had brought into the marriage. Anna had brought an ample dowry consisting of, among other things, a stately sum of guldens as well as plentiful laundry and dishes, the latter of which would last us a full lifetime if we were spared from disaster.

  With respect to my person, Johannes, the oldest and thus head of the family, announced to me that he intended, with our agreement, to sell our parents’ house in Wittenberg to the university. He estimated that the expected sum would be near to 4000 guldens, which would benefit our sister, our brother Martin, Johannes, and me. What remained concerning the legacy of my parents, I have already had the opportunity to report.

  I had not mentioned that there was a residence in Wittenberg, called House Bruno or Brewer’s Hut, which Father had purchased as a widow’s residence for Mother. The purchase price was 430 guldens. We had agreed to its sale in 1557 as we, that is, Johannes, Martin, I, and brother-in-law Georg von Kunheim, husband of our sister, Margarethe, had met in Wittenberg.

  Since we had been living frugally, and I also in Jena had been going to neither whore nor bathhouse (a single visit to a questionable woman for experimental purposes aside—inexpensive but not very satisfying); and even apart from the barmaid Anna, who of course had given herself for free, we could look at the future, which after all is in God’s hands, with clear eyes.

  I remarked on this to my brother, who agreed with me.

  After our dinner the women began to talk about the drawbacks that the employment of wet nurses for the household brought with it. Frau Hagenstolz stressed that these women of lower status, once they started breastfeeding the infants in their care, made outrageous demands in regard to the food and housing. They demanded that in preference to the other servants, they had to be kept in a good mood, because their bad humor would affect the suckling babe. Many even possessed the boldness to demand that their own child—or even several of them—be allowed into the house, insisting their infants needed to be breastfed, as if a little warm cow’s milk would not have been sufficient for them. I dared to interject that I considered it better if the mother breastfeeds her own children, because of the possible transmission of sickness coming from the dirty homes of the wet nurses. Here Anna looked at me sternly and said that I must then also resign myself to an early sagging of her chest, whose delicate strength had so far been a pleasure to me.

  At this point, before the conversation could get contentious, Johannes indicated to me that he had something he wanted to discuss that would not be of interest to the women. I looked questioningly at Anna, who nodded at me, which I took as permission to comply with my brother’s request.

  We once again filled our tankards with beer and went into my study, where a tallow candle burned.

  Here my brother said, “Paul, I am happy that you have come to court here in Weimar, which our dear mother would have heartily welcomed. That it was a way to remove you from the life of the university makes me still happier. From my time in Königsberg, I know the intrigues, th
e squabbles, the jealousies, and the mutual calumnies that are prevalent among the professors. I need only remind you of the disputes, the center of which was Andreas Osiander, who challenged our honored Magister Philipp’s interpretation of Father’s doctrine of justification. But let’s leave it because you have had similar experiences in Jena.

  “The medical activities should bring you joy and satisfaction because the gentlemen are friendly and to some extent even obedient patients. They also have—different from the average burgher—the possibility to make use of all the achievements of medicine, even when they are expensive.

  “Now I come to my actual point, about which you must keep absolutely silent, although you must be prepared for it. Our duke John Frederick II, the Middle One, is, based on my observation, obsessed by an idea that the father of our lord, the Magnanimous, shortly before his death expressly warned his sons about. The idea is that he could once again bring the electorate back to the Ernestine house. The duke’s father, as you know, had the most painful experience in his dispute with the emperor, the empire, and his cousin Maurice of Saxony, and he wanted, after the Wittenberg Capitulation, to preserve his remaining lands and the Lutheran Reformation.

  “Now I have observed for some time how the surroundings of the duke, who more and more resides in Gotha, but especially his chancellor, Christian Brück, son-in-law of Master Cranach, strengthen him in the thought of restoring the electorate. I do not have enough influence in this situation to make the duke understand the legal groundlessness of his claims, though I am using every opportunity for this. He has been clearly told he has no claim at all other than in his heart. Only misfortune for the ducal house, for the new religion, and for the land can come from this endeavor.

  “My position as chancery-councillor is insignificant, and only the fact that I am the son of the Reformer sometimes results, rarely, in my occasionally being invited to speak with the duke. But the influence of the chancellor is great. In addition, Christian Brück is, since his marriage to Barbara Cranach, who received as a dowry from her father 5,000 guldens, growing ever more arrogant and more despotic, and he has the duke very strongly under his influence. But in the end it is the duke himself who indulges in this vain desire, and his entourage knows that and urges him on.

  “As his personal physician, you will often be around him and more often have access to him, and perhaps you can succeed in acting in a moderating sense. And when you realize his ideas are even a sickness, there are possible means that will bring his humors, and with them his head, back into balance.”

  My brother took a draught of beer and stared at me, awaiting an answer.

  At first I did not know what to say. I had just gotten away from the intrigues of Jena in the hope that things would be better in Weimar, only to quickly be made aware that here also affairs might not be so simple.

  Of course, there were medicaments that helped alleviate certain quick tempers in general; I needed only think of theriac enriched with an extract of opium. This beneficial remedy, already inscribed in stone on the walls of the Asclepeion of Kos, today also called Venetian theriac, is incredibly expensive and therefore available only to the nobility and other rich people. The theriac for poor people is garlic, and not to their harm.

  How well tried theriac is shows in its recommendation by the ancient physicians, for example, by Galen, who is the teacher of us all. While it was recommended by the ancient doctors mainly as an antidote, its scope can be enlarged by adding copious amounts of poppy juice and spirits. Enjoyed in the right amount, it leads the patient to a peaceful, leisurely mood, restrains him from hasty decisions, and makes him inclined to behave temperately to his surroundings. Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus of Hohenheim, who called himself Paracelsus, and from whom I learned a great deal, had achieved similar effects with his laudanum.

  If a person takes the refined theriac frequently, as with Paracelsus’s laudanum, he begins to love it and wants it more and more often. The physician who prescribes it and, with the patient’s money, obtains it in sufficient quantity makes himself indispensible to the patient.

  These thoughts went through my head while my brother stared at me.

  “Johannes,” I said then, “you certainly don’t want me to administer unchristian prescriptions to the duke that would perhaps weaken his will.”

  “God forbid,” responded my brother with a guileless expression. “I want only that you do everything to ensure his health, and if you now and again have the opportunity to speak a word for political reason, so much the better.”

  That was a clear retreat on my brother’s side.

  We went back to the women, whose conversation meanwhile had arrived at the prices at the Weimar market. The conversation went on for a bit, then our guests took their leave. Anna ordered our servant to accompany Johannes with a lantern to his house, which was gratefully accepted. Thanks to the four town guards appointed by the council and to the armed field guards, the city and surrounding areas were quite safe, in contrast to Jena, where at night drunken students often accosted passersby. Still, one could not completely rule out danger, and therefore we wanted to ensure that our guests arrived at home safely.

  That night I found it difficult to sleep, while Anna next to me soon closed her eyes and began, as on most nights, softly to snore, causing me to remember that I should—without hurting her feelings, because she did not believe she snored—recommend several cups of nettle tea throughout the day.

  The conversation with my brother had caused me to reflect, and I decided not to forget his advice concerning the duke. Meanwhile, if the duke fell ill and his plans stemmed from this disease, I could provide some ingredients that I needed for my version of theriac, as they were mainly anise, fennel, and caraway in addition to abundant meconium. For the last of these, however, I would have to wait until the formation of poppy heads in the garden. I decided to do without the magic ingredients recommended by Mithridates VI, Eupator, namely, duck blood, snake, and toad meat, because to me the effectiveness of the tinctura opii was decisive. It filled me with gratitude that in reviving Arab medicine, opium had again gained its rightful place among our medicaments. Charlemagne, hard to believe, had renewed the ban on opium that the old church had enacted. Sickness was a punishment from God, it was believed, and one should not mitigate the accompanying pain through opium or similar means.

  Before I fell asleep, I resolved to observe the duke calmly and listen to what he had to say before drawing any conclusions about his state of mind or body. False diagnosis and premature treatment, often at the urging of the patient, have injured many sick, the physician included.

  Chapter 17

  . . . tells how I met the duke and immediately became acquainted with the story of the false Anna, and how we fared in Weimar.

  In the month of June, I was for the first time called to Hornstein Castle and introduced to the duke. In the antechamber, the previous archiator of the duke, Dr. Schröter, received me and declared that he would introduce me to my work and make me familiar with the physical and mental sensitivities of the duke. In this way an abrupt and drastic change in the medical care of His Ducal Grace could be avoided, Dr. Schröter said.

  Then we proceeded into the duke’s presence and made our obeisances. I encountered a vigorous man of middle stature who appeared to enjoy the pleasures of good eating and drinking. His eyes stood out a bit and sometimes had a troubled and distant look and seemed to look beyond the men standing in front of him. Then suddenly, however, as though he remembered that attention was expected of him, he returned to the present and had affable and friendly words for us. He was at the time of our first meeting thirty-one years old, though his outer appearance suggested an older age.

  He questioned me about my life and, in particular, about my father and how I had experienced his passing away in God. Also, he wanted to know how I intended to apply my chemical knowledge of substances and plants in my medical treatment. As I was just beginning in this field, I remained v
ague and said only that I believed in the power of some natural and homemade mixtures that help to cure a variety of diseases and were based on century-long experiences.

  His Ducal Grace was pleased and asked if my salary and other conditions were satisfactory, to which I said yes, and then he dismissed me. Dr. Schröter remained with the duke. For an examination, checking of pulse, and the taking of urine and stool samples, I was not given the opportunity. The strange hurry was a surprise to me, but I soon found the explanation in the pressure the duke found himself under at the time because of the false Anna, about whom my brother enlightened me later.

  By the way, when I came to Weimar, Dr. Schröter, who in the beginning belonged to the party of the unspeakable Flacius and his followers, had become disgusted with the divisions and bitter disputes between the Lutherans and the Reformed Church and again between the strict Lutherans and the followers of Melanchthon, the Philippists, and he had turned away from the zealots of the Fläz. He tried to influence the duke to curb their impact on the people. Instead of following the Augsburg Confession, there were now hateful preachers and laymen who brought forward hairsplitting and damnation-seeking confessions, concord formulas, confutations, apologias, and similar things, which confused even the most well-meaning Christians.

  Instead of the great reformers, there were now theologians involved in furious disputes and in court intrigues or completely ignorant people who previously had been practicing simple trades. O Luthere, said Calvin in his Secunda Defensio Contra Westphalum 1556: Quam paucos tuae praestantiae imitatores, quam multas vero sanctae tuae jactantiae simias reliquisti. I translate for the reader unpracticed in Latin: “Oh, Luther, how few disciples of your noble teachings have come after you, but how many monkeys have heard of your boastful chatter?”