Faustus: The Life and Times of a Renaissance Magician

by Leo Ruickbie

  As might be expected, Mephistopheles was not pleased and, suddenly appearing, gave Faustus a beating. He reminded him that he had signed up with Lucifer and vowed himself an enemy to God and all men: ‘and now thou beginnest to harken to an old doting fool’. Mephistopheles informed him that it was too late to renege on the deal and forced him to write out another pact on pain of death. Again Faustus seated himself at his desk and, dipping his quill in a vein, wrote ‘I once again confirm, and give fully and wholly my self unto the Devil both body and soul’, specifically swearing that ‘I will never give ear unto any man, be he spiritual or temporal, that moveth any matter for the salvation of my soul.’16

  The whole incident is another invention of the Faustbook. Faustus did not sign a first pact and he did not sign a second, but the pestering of ‘good Christians’ must have been real enough. There were others they were pestering with far greater effect. In 1531 the sky above Waldsee was black with smoke from the burning faggots and the body of Elsbet Muellerin, tried and condemned for witchcraft. Faustus lived his life on a knife edge of heresy: the Inquisition on one side, the bigots of Reform on the other. As he made good his escape from Wittenberg he must have wondered if he would always be so lucky.

  Unsafe Conduct (Nuremberg, 1532)

  In the records of the city of Nuremberg for 10 May 1532 the deputy Bürgermeister made note of an undesirable character refused entry:

  Doctor Fausto, that great sodomite and nigromancer, at Furr refused [safe conduct].17

  Hieronymous Holzschuher, the official responsible for this information, was obviously not a fan. We know Faustus was not allowed entry to Nuremberg, but where was he when he made the request? Holzschuher wrote ‘zu Furr’. Unfortunately, there is nowhere of that name in Germany. Franz Neubert, writing in the first half of the twentieth century, reasoned that this place must be ‘Fürth’.18 It is a plausible interpretation; Fürth is a small town just nine kilometres outside Nuremberg.

  Tucked safely between the confluence of the River Regnitz and River Pegnitz, there had been a settlement here from at least 1007. Since 1440 Fürth had also become a centre of Jewish settlement. The town lost out to nearby Nuremberg in 1062 when Heinrich IV transferred the right to hold a fair and coin money from Fürth to Nuremberg. The town had been under the jurisdiction of the diocese of Bamberg since 1307 by the command of Count Konrad II, but the city of Nuremberg and the counts of Nuremberg all had their competing claims. The Bamberg connection might tie in with Faustus’s work for the Bishop there, but it is impossible to say for sure.

  Enclosed within triple walls behind a dry moat, its eight gates overlooked by 200 towers, Nuremberg was an impenetrable fortress. In the Faustbook Faustus’s magical journey takes in the sights of Nuremberg, unhindered by the deputy Bürgermeister and the formidable defences. It is possible that Faustus made it within the walls at some point, although probably not in the ‘sumptuous apparell’ that Mephistopheles had purloined for him there (and elsewhere), according to the Faustbook.19 Melanchthon (through Manlius) recounted a story of how Faustus had, at an unknown time, narrowly escaped from Nuremberg, just as he had from Wittenberg:

  When he had just started breakfast he became agitated and at once got up and paid the host what he owed. Scarcely was he outside the gate when the bailiffs came and searched for him.20

  If this story is true, we can imagine Faustus either escaping to Fürth and then requesting re-admittance, or else, cautioned by his previous narrow escape, writing in advance to test the waters. Safe conduct was an early form of passport granting freedom of travel without fear of harm. Luther was issued with a safe conduct to allow him to travel to the Reichstag in Worms in 1521 and in 1528 we find Agrippa seeking safe conduct to leave France. It is clear that safe conduct was only sought in situations of real and present danger and that Faustus had reason to fear for his safety. One interpretation is that Faustus was specifically denied protection from arrest by the city authorities, suggesting that he had been there before.21 Unfortunately, what Manlius tells us of Melanchthon’s account is a jumble of hearsay with no consistent chronological order.

  Nuremberg was a natural destination for Faustus; it was one of the great cities of Germany. In the mid-fifteenth century the town had a population of around 20,000, which was considerable for the period. At the beginning of the sixteenth century it reached the height of its magnificence. New possessions were gained after the War of the Landshut Succession – Nuremberg had backed Duke Albrecht of Bavaria-Munich – so that it could lay claim to more land than any other Imperial free city. Its political importance, industrial power, and superior culture earned it the title of the Empire’s Treasure Box.

  The children of Nuremberg were some of the most productive and influential people of the day, such as Hans Sachs and Albrecht Dürer. The city’s fame also attracted many of the foremost figures of the times, such as Conrad Celtis and the brothers Willibald and Charitas Pirkheimer. The great mathematician and astrologer Regiomontanus went there in 1471. As Faustus sat in Fürth awaiting a decision on his application, Johannes Schöner and Joachim Camerarius had already established themselves in Nuremberg since 1526. Both were professors at the University: Schöner of mathematics; Camerarius of Greek and history. Both were practising astrology.

  It is possible that with the Bishop of Bamberg’s sometime astrological advisor knocking at the gates of their own little patch of turf, Schöner and Camerarius conspired to keep the competition at bay. The deputy Bürgermeister Holzschuher was an acquaintance of Camerarius’s and it seems likely that he would have informed him of Faustus’s request. Camerarius and Schöner were friends as well as colleagues, so it is reasonable to suppose that they would jointly defend their interests. Camerarius and Faustus would lock horns later – we have the documents to prove it – so the suggestion that presents itself is that their rivalry began here, or if it began earlier, then first demonstrated itself here.

  Camerarius had taught Greek at the University of Erfurt in 1518, not long after Faustus was supposedly there, and had no doubt heard the tales in circulation concerning his magical feats. He had gone to Wittenberg in 1521 and there befriended Melanchthon. He was a better philologist than Melanchthon and would garner an international reputation.

  Now in Nuremberg, Camerarius was busy cutting out a fine career for himself. Towards the end of 1532 he published his Norica sive de ostentis about the comet of 1531. He was editing and translating from the Greek the works of Hephaestion of Thebes, Hermes Trismegistus and Vettius Valens for his book Astrologia. He had the handwritten manuscripts of Regiomontanus from Schöner’s library to help him. Schöner’s library proved to be a rich mine. From it Camerarius published the commentary of Theon of Alexandria on Ptolemy’s astronomical writings. He was also working on a Greek edition of Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos with translations and notes, which was eventually published in Nuremberg in 1535. Alongside this academic work, Camerarius was also providing private astrological consultations for the aristocracy. It was a lucrative business – as the Bishop of Bamberg’s payment to Faustus shows – and Camerarius would surely not have wanted any outsiders cutting in on it.

  It was also a Reichstag year for Nuremberg. After the Protestant princes and cities formed themselves into the mutual protection pact of the Schmalkaldic League in 1531, Charles V was forced to treat with them. The result was the Religious Peace of Nuremberg signed on 23 July 1532. The Protestants were granted an amnesty until the next Reichstag, while Charles was reinforced in his campaign against the Ottomans. Nuremberg sent double its quota of combatants and by September the Ottoman army was on the retreat. Was the Reichstag the reason for Faustus trying to get to Nuremberg? Given his former association with the Bishop of Bamberg, were there politico-religious reasons for keeping him out?

  In Nuremberg the old charge resurfaced against Faustus. He was the ‘great sodomite’. We are reminded of Trithemius’s libels all those years before. Here we find evidence that the rumours had now disastrously caught up
with him. Was he ‘the great sodomite’, or were Camerarius and Schöner laughing up their sleeves to see the gates barred against their rival?

  The Great and Powerful Sea Spirit

  According to a story printed by a seventeenth-century publisher, Faustus was already dead by 1532. He had left all his worldly goods to his assistant – the publisher called him Werner, but he is more usually known as Wagner – including the magical book that the publisher was now presenting to the public. However, this Werner had lost the book. It passed from hand to hand until it came into the possession of a man who used it to procure a vast fortune for himself. Perhaps fearful of its power, this man then buried the book in 1532. It was rediscovered in 1661 and now in 1692 the publisher was setting it before the public as the most effective and least complicated of the Faustian rituals.

  Published in Amsterdam as Doctor Faust’s Great and Powerful Sea Spirit, the book’s centre-point is the invocation of Lucifer himself and of course the sea spirits, Forneus, Vepar and Zaleus. An additional spirit called Paymon, although not invoked, makes an appearance as Lucifer’s attendant. With this unholy crew now present,

  You can now demand from Lucifer as much gold and silver and jewels or any other useful treasure that lies in the sea, grows in the sea or has been cast into the depths of the sea by shipwreck, as you like.22

  Although the work is very doubtfully that of Faustus to say the least, and probably dates from the late seventeenth rather than the sixteenth century as its publisher claimed, there are nevertheless authentic Renaissance spirits involved here. The four demons were listed by Wierus in 1563 and their characters faithfully reflect the descriptions given by the latter.

  What all this really suggests is that the publisher of the Sea Spirit had a copy of Wierus or something similar at hand. It also gives us an insight into the demonology of the period. Lucifer needs little introduction, but his spirits Forneus, Vepar, Zaleus and Paymon demand some explanation. Wierus claimed to be working from a manuscript called the Liber officiorum spirituum (Book of the Offices of Spirits). Some of the spirits named by Wierus, and hence presumably also found in this earlier Liber spirituum, are also to be found in Codex 849. The Codex contains conjurations involving both Lucifer and Paymon, but not Forneus, Vepar, or Zaleus.

  Forneus is given the rank of marquis in hell’s hierarchy, in command of twenty-nine legions drawn from the orders of thrones and angels. He is described as being ‘like unto a monster of the sea’. His special commissions are to endow those who invoke him with facility in rhetoric, an enhanced reputation, knowledge of all languages and to turn enemies into friends. Vepar, also known as Separ, is a duke, and like Forneus he commands twenty-nine legions of inferior demons. Although referred to as a ‘he’,Vepar takes the form of a mermaid and is described as ‘the guide of the waters, and of ships laden with armour’. His powers extend to making the sea ‘rough and stormy’ and to appear to be full of ships. On a less savoury note, he can also ‘killeth men in three days, with putrefying their wounds, and producing maggots into them’. Zaleus, named as Zaleos or Saleos in the text, is an earl of hell who curiously takes to wearing a ducal coronet. No legions are listed as being under his command; instead he comes forth alone in the appearance of a well endowed soldier astride a crocodile. Forneus and Vepar are clearly ‘sea spirits’, while the crocodile is the single element to connect Zaleus to the water.23

  The central theme of the operation is, like so many others, the finding of hidden treasure. What makes the Sea Spirit unique is that the scene of the operation has shifted from land to the ocean. Presumably having exhausted the hoards of land lubbers with more run-of-the-mill conjurations, the magician is now forced to turn to new avenues of wealth. However, contrary to the book’s publisher, in 1532 Faustus was not dead.

  Magic for the Archbishop (1532)

  If Faustus could not get into Nuremberg, or had just narrowly escaped, then where did he go? There is nothing else to suggest that he remained in Fürth, indeed Fürth, so close to Nuremberg and, for Faustus, so far, was a less than ideal location to practice his art. Where were the wealthy patrons? Where were the gullible crowds? Where was the money to be made? All in Nuremberg.

  A clue turns up in a letter written in 1583 from the papal legate Minucci to Duke Wilhem of Bavaria. Minucci told the Duke that ‘count Hermann von Wied had Fausto and Agrippa in his presence in the time of his apostasy, because he wanted to learn from the most famous people in the magic art.’24

  Hermann von Wied (1477–1552) was an Elector and Archbishop of Cologne. The ‘apostasy’ that Minucci referred to was his acceptance of the Reformed faith. The fourth son of Count Friedrich von Wied, he was virtually born into the Church. At the age of six he was given a benefice in the cathedral chapter of Cologne, later becoming Archbishop-Elector of Cologne in 1515 and Bishop of Paderborn from 1532 to 1547. He is remembered by some as having governed his electorate with energy and intelligence, although that is disputed. He was at first hostile to the Lutheran teachings, creating the first martyrs of the Reformation, but a quarrel with the papacy contributed to a change of mind. He still held out hope that reform would come from within the Church rather than from without.

  With the assistance of his friend John Gropper (1503–1559), he began, around the year 1536, to introduce reforms in his own diocese. This move was welcomed by the Protestants and the League of Schmalkalden promised to defend him. However, the victory of Charles V over William, Duke of Cleves, and the hostility of the people of Cologne significantly checked his ambitions. Gropper was more of an Erasmian than a Lutheran and eventually found himself opposing the direction being taken by von Wied. In 1542 von Wied brought in von Sickingen’s old chaplain Martin Bucer (or Butzer, 1491–1551), who leaned more towards Zwingli than Luther, to manage the Reformation and in 1543 invited Melanchthon to join him. Both the Emperor and the Pope summoned him to appear before them in Brussels and Rome respectively to answer for his conduct. He was excommunicated by Paul III in April 1546, and in January 1547 he was deposed by Charles V and replaced by Count Adolf von Schaumburg. He retired to his castle of Burg Altwied where he died on 15 August 1552.

  The particulars of von Wied’s career should make us suspicious of any report from a papal legate. Minucci may have been trying to smear von Wied’s name, but with von Wied dead for more than 30 years there was little point. It is difficult to judge Minucci’s motives or the sources of his information. However, we do know that the Archbishop possessed a copy of Agrippa’s Occult Philosophy, among other books of magic. If the Archbishop read Agrippa, then why not meet him? And if he met Agrippa, then why not Faustus?

  If we work on the assumption that the meeting could have taken place, the logical question is when? Minucci vaguely said ‘in the time of his apostasy’, which as we see from von Wied’s career could have been as late as 1536. The key to dating this may lie with Agrippa. His connection with von Wied is proven and he was known to have been a guest at von Wied’s country estate in Poppelsdorf.

  At the beginning of 1531 Agrippa was in Antwerp overseeing the printing by John Grapheus of the first edition of his De Occulta Philosophia, volume one. He dedicated it to Hermann von Wied with the most flowery and convoluted language imaginable. Prolix and sycophantic, Agrippa was clear in his aim: he wanted von Wied’s favour.25

  In early 1531 Agrippa left for Queen Margaret of Austria’s court at Mechelen, near Brussels, working for a time as court historian. It was from here in January that he wrote the supplicatory letter to von Wied. The approach was successful and in 1532 he was invited to Poppelsdorf.

  Poppelsdorf today is a smart suburb of Bonn, full of wonderful Art Nouveau houses, yet, overlooked by the Venusberg, still retains something of its country past. This is nowhere more true than in the botanical gardens that encompass the site of the Archbishop’s old residence. Now called Schloss Clemensruhe, the medieval moated castle was transformed in the sixteenth century into a more suitable abode and entirely rebuilt in the eighteenth
century in the French palatial style.

  Agrippa’s move paid off. The Inquisitor of Cologne, the Dominican Conrad Köllin (or Colyn), delayed publication of the remaining two volumes, but with the Archbishop’s intercession and some compromises on Agrippa’s part, publication was resumed and the whole book appeared in 1533. If Faustus was there at the same time as Agrippa, then 1532 is the most plausible date. Even if they were not there at the same time – and Agrippa’s hostility to that German sorcerer in France who may have been Faustus, suggests that they would hardly have been overjoyed to meet again – it seems that von Wied’s interest in the occult was at its highpoint and so increases the likelihood that he also met Faustus around this time.

  The townspeople may have once thrown a suspected witch from the top of the city walls, but the Archbishop preferred to bathe with magicians. Agrippa enjoyed a warm reception from this man of the cloth. The last surviving letters of his printed correspondence reveal that he and von Wied were relaxing in Bertrich’s baths in Bonn in the company of friends and good books. Faustus may not have been one of those friends, but if he and the Archbishop met, then we can expect that he was similarly entertained.

  The Prisoner of Batenburg

  Johannes Wierus told a curious story about Faustus that took place in a small town called Batenburg in today’s Netherlands. Batenburg lies on the River Maas, the same river that, under the name of the Meuse, flows through Mouzon, the town that von Sickingen had captured all those years earlier. It is possible that Faustus came here by river or overland from a town like Cologne, 165 kilometres to the south-east, or Münster, some 190 kilometres to the east. Previous historians have dated this particular adventure to 1530, whilst others are inclined to think it took place in 1532 or 1533.26 We have reason to believe that Faustus was in the vicinity of Cologne around the year 1532 and we have better reason to believe that he was in Münster in 1536, so the later date is plausible. The event could have taken place as late or later than 1536, but after Münster the references tend to locate our magician much further south. For the sake of establishing some sort of coherent chronology, we are going to risk dating this to 1532/3.