So then on Tuesday the 15th of April, 1567, at midday, I stood with Thomas and others who did not know what the future would bring in the courtyard of the Grimmenstein. The weather was horrible, with hail between patches of sun, then from the east a wall of frightening dark clouds. The sun disappeared, and a truly icy wind blew through the court. Shivering, I pulled my coat tightly around me and held on to my hat with one hand. I felt anxious, first because of the parting from my lord, to whom, in spite of everything, I still felt a connection. It is true I had come to know him as a weak and easily seduced man, but he had also been a good patient who wanted to do what is right, and he had provided for me well. Despite his high education, he held back in medical matters and did not ask his doctor irritating or distrustful questions, as, for example, for the contents of an infusion or the exact effects of a medication.
Second, my future was uncertain, since I did not yet know how useful my letter to the elector had been, in which I had distanced myself from my lord. Too, I was not sure about my own good conscience. Had I not essentially betrayed the hand that fed me? Should I have remained true to him even at the risk to my career, my family, and even my life? Did that fall under a physician’s responsibility? Also now, as I am writing this, I still feel discomfort at the memory, which I will probably take with me into the grave. God will judge.
We stood and shivered as there was movement in the small crowd. A wagon covered with a black tarp drawn by four white horses draped in black and with manes and tails dyed red entered the castle courtyard to get Duke John Frederick and take him away.
His wife and children and servant staff stood beside the wagon crying bitterly. Duchess Elisabeth held her beloved husband in her arms and could barely be separated from him. The crowd was still. Two people on the outside made some abusive calls but were quickly silenced. In spite of all the unhappiness their lord had brought over them, the people seemed moved and compassionate.
Before he ascended into the wagon, something unexpected took place. The duke beckoned me over, which in view of my uncertain relationship with the new powers caused me some anxiety. He thanked me for my medical attentions and formally released me from his service. He even said, if it was offered, I could serve as personal physician to his cousin, Elector Augustus. This I found very generous. After all, the elector had been until now his worst enemy.
So much kindness brought tears to my eyes and did not make my conscience feel any better.
With the words, “Now in God’s name!” the duke entered the wagon. He had no idea he would never again see his castle and his lands. He probably thought his imprisonment would last only a short time; therefore, as he bid his coachman good-bye, he commanded him to look now for another master, but when he was again free, he hoped the man would return to him.
In the following you can see how unequally God deals out penalties and bounties. While Gotha suffered greatly from the consequences of the siege, and the followers of the duke were terribly punished and left in misery, the duke, though a prisoner, had a comfortable, secure future well attended by a servant staff.
For staff he was allowed to take: treasurer, page, pharmacist, barber, house servant and room heater, cook with two kitchen boys, a cellarer’s servant, and a Protestant predicant.
For escorts there were a squadron of riders and four companies of foot soldiers—an impressive number of more than a thousand guards—in which it can be seen that the emperor and the elector were not sure whether the subjects of the duke or Grumbach’s chivalrous followers would undertake to free him.
For the duke’s maintenance, Duke John William paid the emperor 15,000 thalers annually, which in the summer of 1572 was reduced by 3,000 thalers.
His remaining servants had to swear allegiance to the emperor and promise under oath to in no way advise, help, or encourage their imprisoned lord; also, similarly, to give the prisoner neither nor paper, ink, or writing boards nor to provide him with anything else, be it large or small, not agreed to by the guarding officer. And if they had any suspicions, they were to notify the emperor immediately.
At a stop in Meissen at Albrechtsburg Castle on the way to Vienna, John Frederick, still not cured of his madness, wrote on the wall with a pencil, “It will surely succeed. H.F.H.Z.S. (Hans Friedrich Herzog of Saxony)” But under that in red chalk, probably by the guard commander, had been written, “May the Almighty God have mercy on you.”
The duke left behind, first of all, not only his family but also many people with broken hopes and destroyed existences. His faithful wife, who fled first to Weimar with their children, moved to Vienna in 1572 to share his imprisonment. The imprisonment was here more of an abstraction, since it consisted of a small court and a leasehold garden. And he could write and, with the help of a small library, pursue his scientific inclinations.
I confess I had had hopes under John Frederick to indulge my plans of making gold out of base metals. This unfulfilled hope was once more stirred when I attended the interrogation of Hans Beyer.
I will say in advance, I had engaged in various alchemical attempts at gold production in my small laboratory in Weimar, equipped by Anna, but in my short stays there had made little progress.
In Gotha and the ducal laboratories in Reinhardsbrunn as well as at the Grimmenstein, I had been rather passive because I did not want to be counted among the people who exploited the duke’s dreams of wealth and money for their own enrichment. I saw very soon what charlatans most people became in pursuance of this delicate task and that the gullible duke repeatedly fell victim to them. His craving for gold had been further stimulated by the news from Dresden, where it was said that Elector Augustus and his skillful adepts were on the track of the biggest and most rewarding of all secrets—the making of gold. Should this hostile cousin, who owned wealthy lands and rich mines, also come into the enjoyment of an inexhaustible treasure of gold?
How I later became involved in gold making and invested much of hand and head is spoken about in its appropriate place.
As the court jester, Hans Beyer, who had almost always been at court and now quickly learned new ways of making faces when he was painfully interrogated, made known: Duke John Frederick had spent over 10,000 guldens on alchemists.
Ten thousand guldens. One may imagine it. The estates, cities, and farms and all taxable people would hardly have wanted their hard-earned money spent on futile attempts at gold making. On the other hand, they also hoped for gold because they believed that if their lord made enough of it, their taxes would be lower.
Every time a gold maker was convicted and imprisoned for his lies and mischief, was painfully interrogated, and often was executed or at least expelled from the country, there were great spiteful cries among the people, who at first had cried “Hosanna!” when the gold maker had been received at court with great pomp, then cried “Crucify him!” when he was unmasked.
The men or, more properly, the adventurers with whom John Frederick forged a connection were Liprand of Güllhorn, ostensibly a Swedish colonel, and his assistant, Valentin Hachenbach. Their trickery, however, was soon recognized, and in their place entered in 1566 Hans Rudolf Plumenecker, Hans Tyrol, and Hans Föhrenschild. And they practiced for a short time their adventurous activities in the ducal laboratory at Reinhardsbrunn.
Among the prisoners in Gotha was to be found also a deceitful alchemist, Matthias Friedrich, who was questioned on the order of Duke William by the bailiff Paul Schalreuther; then, as some people said, the executioner gave the final answer. I know of this last only from rumors. Perhaps he got away.
The preachers Abel Scherdiger from Hohenkirchen and Philipp Sömmering or Therocyclus from Schönau claimed to be able to make the secret philosopher’s stone and put it into effect.
They concluded a contract with the duke (6th of November, 1566) and received 760 thalers and 16 lots of pure gold for their experiments, which, however, they could not begin because the siege soon started.
I still had a difficult hour to survive w
ith Elector Augustus of Saxony after the departure of Duke John Frederick. Augustus, duke of Saxony, archmarshal of the Holy Roman Empire and elector, landgrave in Thuringia, margrave of Meissen, and burgrave of Magdeburg, summoned me.
But the fear was unnecessary. He received me gracefully in the castle, let me know that he had received my letter, and wanted my medical advice. He had been plagued for a long time with loss of appetite. And since he was only in his forty-first year, he could not befriend himself with it.
I took a deep breath at this unexpected reception, tried to gather my senses, and ran my collection of medical recipes through my mind. Loss of appetite is well treated with sage. The advantage, I explained to the elector, is that one can use the leaves of the plant, as one picks them, as seasoning for almost anything that comes to the table. The effect, I said, will be apparent within a few days.
The gracious elector thanked me and then dismissed me. It is possible that out of this small medical affair the rumor spread at the time that I had been Augustus’s personal physician. That was not correct, and I would also not have liked it. Such a quick change between warring lords demanded an even more flexible mind than I possessed. And, thank God, the elector in those days did not offer me such a position.
With my possessions, I hurried to Weimar to my beloved wife and children, whose number meanwhile had grown to four. So one can see that I, though often in Gotha, still had had time to attend fruitfully to my wife.
My little daughter Margarethe was already a firm young maid of twelve years who, by her diligence in school for maidens, which was conducted in the deaconry house, gave us much pleasure. I want to add here that in 1554 a fifth teacher was hired at the Weimar city school, from which the school for maidens also received benefits. And everything was financed from the common chest, with additional contributions from the city in the form of payment in kind to the teachers.
Johann Ernst was almost seven years old. He had received his first name from his godfather, my brother Johann. Johann Friedrich was five and, as you may guess, named after my lord, the duke. Anna, our youngest, born in 1564, was now three.
After the first excitement and joy of reunion, and after my wife had expressed her satisfaction at my safe escape from the Grumbach Feud, she gave the children into the care of the maid and led me into my study. There awaited me a huge and pleasant surprise in the form of a letter. Not a letter from a vague nobody but rather one from the elector of Brandenburg, Joachim II, Hector from the lineage of the Hohenzollern. I put before the reader’s eyes what such an honor implies, because so much is easily forgotten in daily life. But above all, through this I want to make clear how the importance of this letter puts my person in the right light.
There are in the Sacrum Romanum Imperium, the Holy Roman Empire, seven prince-electors, who have the right to elect the German king. For many hundreds of years, the election of the king was made by the entire group of spiritual and secular princes, and the archbishop of Mainz had the privilege of managing the voting process. Later, it was seven princes alone who were allowed to vote. And so it has stayed. With the electoral dignity are connected the arch offices: the elector of Brandenburg, for example, is the archchamberlain, an office of honor, which no longer requires the carrying of the royal chamber pot from the bedchamber.
By their letters of intent about all important imperial decrees, the electors take part in the government. Their power is increased through the Election Capitulations, to which the king before his crowning must swear. Still more important is the privilege of mine ownership and the mining for gold, silver, and iron, whereby, for example, the elector of Saxony is very rich. The electors are treated like kings; they go under canopies, and in processions swords are carried ahead of them. Also, it was for a long time a custom that the emperor went to meet the electors when they arrived at the imperial diet. This custom was abolished under Charles V.
At the crowning of the emperor, they sit alone at a raised table and keep their heads covered with the electoral hats.
For important decisions concerning the empire, the emperor must seek their advice. It should also be noted that the emperor calls the spiritual electors his nephews and the secular electors his uncles. The electoral domains may not be divided or sold and are inherited always by the oldest prince. Also, no elector can own more than one domain. Among these highly noble persons belong the archbishops of Cologne, Mainz, and Trier, the count Palatine of the Rhine, the duke of Saxony, the margrave of Brandenburg, and the king of Bohemia. Because of this, it is no wonder my imprisoned lord had striven to regain his father’s place among them.
I was not a little proud and also somewhat vainglorious—God forgive me this sin—as I caught sight of the letter from one of these electors. I broke the seal and read:
Given in Berlin on Tuesday after Decollationis Johannis, Anno Domini 1567.
To the highly learned, our personal physician and dear faithful Herr Paul Luther, Doctor of Medicine.
Joachim, by divine right Margrave of Brandenburg and Elector.
First our greeting, erudite dear and faithful, because we here require you, we graciously desire you, to raise yourself at once and come to us here to join our service, which we deign to offer you with favorable grace.
Archiator of the elector of Brandenburg, of the archchamberlain of the empire! And in the letter both appointment and invitation. My wife, who had read this precious letter over my shoulder, had tears in her eyes from joy. This was now a position for her husband that corresponded with all her innermost desires. I had no illusions about the reasons for this appointment to Berlin. Certainly my medical reputation had traveled over the Saxon border, but I had to mainly thank the name of Luther and my brother Johannes.
As told above, Duke John Frederick had allowed Johannes to go on vacation. But he, despite an increase of salary by 130 guldens and the additional grant of two horses, a servant, stable rent, and feed, had preferred to stay in Prussia, where he for a time joined the service of Duke Albrecht, whose councillor and envoy he became.
Through his good connections and relationships as well as our Luther name, my brother succeeded in providing good positions for himself and me with the elector of Brandenburg. It is to be noted here that this happened at the right time, because Duke Albrecht of Prussia, temporarily under the imperial ban because of his consistent implementation of the teachings of our father and the conversion of the State of the Teutonic Order to the Duchy, was in great difficulty through his declaration against the very strict Lutherans. Everybody wanted to vent their anger on him; the nobility wanted to maintain their privileges against the princes, the theologians of various persuasions wanted to retain their independence and influence, the Polish king wanted to secure his supremacy, and the simple people followed those who most skillfully whispered their message.
In June 1568 the duke, weakened by grief, died of the plague. His worst grief fell on him when his confessor, Johannes Funck, and two other of his allies were sentenced to death for high treason and executed.
Chapter 21
. . . reports on our time in Berlin and on gold water.
We had hardly settled down in a beautiful, large house, situated near the River Spree island, where the electoral residence was to be found, when I started my medical activities for the elector and his family. I regularly went to the palace, which my new master had begun building in AD 1538. The elector loved architecture, and he was also inclined to the noble musica. He even sometimes conducted the chant in the cathedral and was an admirer of the other fine arts and sciences, which started to blossom at that time.
His various passions, the court banquets and buildings, and his almost-thoughtless lavishness led to permanent pecuniary embarrassment, which happily did not affect my salary.
Also, his love affairs were not cheap. They grew in number after his second wife, Hedwig, daughter of King Sigismund of Poland, fell and suffered an injury to her belly and therefore had to use crutches as long as she lived.
/> This, of course, did not contribute to the enjoyment of the marriage, though several times I examined the electoress and tried to restore her belly, which of course was hidden under a blanket while being examined. I had a good knowledge of the lower female anatomy, but under these circumstances neither an exact diagnosis nor an effective therapy was possible. So the elector had to look for compensation, which, according to my observations, he did not really abhor. Womenfolk made it easy for him and crowded around his person and wanted to have children by him, as he was known to provide for them generously. I could understand his feelings. Is there anything more beautiful, more attractive, than a fresh, new woman?
The elector’s best-known affair was with the beautiful widow of the cannon founder, a captain of the artillery, Dieterich, born Anna Sydow, called among the common folks the Beautiful Foundress, with whom Joachim fathered several love-children. The Beautiful Foundress was not without ambition and even interfered with state business and appointments. This was to become her undoing after the death of her princely lover. Despite promises to the contrary and strict prohibition by his father, the son and successor of Joachim II, John George, ordered the poor woman to be incarcerated in the underground dungeon of the Spandau citadel, where she died AD 1575. Before her death, she threatened to appear in the future as a White Lady in the Berlin residence and frighten the respective rulers and their courts. She began these appearances immediately after her death and succeeded in terrifying a number of courtiers almost to death. Thank God I was no longer there when that happened.
There are some people in Berlin who maintain that the foundress was walled in, still alive, in the hunting lodge in Grunewald.
Lippold ben Chluchim, the court and finance Jew of my lord the elector, was at the same time, although innocent, imprisoned in Spandau. About him I will speak later.
Shadows of My Father Page 25