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Home , Agnes Bernauer, Altarpiece, Alter Hof, Augustus Henry Keane, Bavaria, Bavarians

The Artistic Patronage of Albrecht V and the Creation of Identity in Sixteenth-

Century

A dissertation presented to

the faculty of

the College of Fine Arts of Ohio University

In partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree

Doctor of Philosophy

Adam R. Gustafson

June 2011

© 2011 Adam R. Gustafson All Rights Reserved 2

This dissertation titled

The Artistic Patronage of Albrecht V and the Creation of Catholic Identity in Sixteenth-

Century Bavaria

by

ADAM R. GUSTAFSON

has been approved for

the School of Interdisciplinary Arts

and the College of Fine Arts

______

Dora Wilson

Professor of Music

______

Charles A. McWeeny

Dean, College of Fine Arts 3

ABSTRACT

GUSTAFSON, ADAM R., Ph.D., June 2011, Interdisciplinary Arts

The Artistic Patronage of Albrecht V and the Creation of Catholic Identity in Sixteenth-

Century Bavaria

Director of Dissertation: Dora Wilson

Drawing from a number of artistic media, this dissertation is an interdisciplinary approach for understanding how artworks created under the patronage of Albrecht V were used to shape Catholic identity in Bavaria during the establishment of confessional boundaries in late sixteenth-century . This study presents a methodological framework for understanding early modern patronage in which the arts are necessarily viewed as interconnected, and patronage is understood as a complex and often contradictory process that involved all elements of society.

First, this study examines the legacy of arts patronage that Albrecht V inherited from his Wittelsbach predecessors and developed during his reign, from 1550-1579.

Albrecht V‟s patronage is then divided into three areas: northern princely humanism, traditional religion and sociological . The final chapter follows the influence of Albrecht V‟s patronage through the Thirty Years‟ War, during the reign of his grandson, Maximilian I. During the early years of Albrecht V‟s reign, his patronage reflected his values as a noble who pursued a particularly northern, humanist .

During his reign, a resurgence of traditional religious experience occurred in Bavaria that the Jesuits, supported by Albrecht V, used to rouse support for Catholicism. This movement affected Albrecht V‟s identity, and his patronage and the legacy of his 4 patronage reflected and supported the entrenchment of traditional Bavarian Catholicism.

Jacque Ellul termed the establishment of such structures sociological propaganda.

That Bavaria remained staunchly Catholic during the Protestant is often attributed to the absolutist policies and social discipline of Albrecht V – a process known as confessionalization. However true the confessionalization thesis is, any approach for analyzing Bavarian artworks of the period must also include the possibility that the lower classes were as influential in shaping the patronage and religious identity of Albrecht V as the Wittelsbach court was in shaping the religious identity of Bavaria.

Approved: ______

Dora Wilson

Professor of Music 5

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would not have completed this work without the guidance and support of my academic advisor and committee chair, Dr. Dora Wilson. I am eternally grateful. I would like to thank the hard work of all of the professors at the School of Interdisciplinary Arts and throughout Ohio University. I no longer see the world or the arts in the same way as I did before beginning this journey. Especially, I would like to acknowledge my committee,

Dr. Condee, Dr. Buchanan and Dr. Michele Clouse.

There are so many other people that were vital to this project and to my development as an artist, a scholar and as a person. I will forever appreciate Dr. Jay

Peterson for insisting that I am a worthy musician and scholar, despite my own doubts.

Dr. Diane Brewer gave me a love for theater that I did not know I had. Finally, I owe a note of appreciation to Dr. Elizabeth Crowley, who started me on this trip.

I cannot thank my family enough, especially my parents, Jessie and Mike and

James and Sheila. I‟m certain that you know not what I do, but you have always been supportive nonetheless, and that is all a son could ask. My , James Gustafson, was the first college graduate in my family, and his accomplishments and character have always been a beacon. My sister, Niki Gustafson, has been a listener and a best friend.

Charles Leverton‟s huge dreams inspired me to have some of my own. To the entire

Kosmalski clan, your disfunctionality somehow works and often keeps me sane. James

Morehead, Blake Arthur and Trevor Kaul are of no relation, but I them as brothers.

A big thank you goes to Josephine Kosmalski; thanks for the extra set of eyes. 6

To Grace:

Thank you for your patience, your lack of patience and for giving me and my

dream. This is as much yours as it is mine.

7

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

ABSTRACT ...... 3

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... 5

DEDICATION ...... 6

LIST OF FIGURES ...... 8

INTRODUCTION ...... 10

CHAPTER I: Confessionalization and Patronage: Defining a Methodology...... 22

CHAPTER II: Precedence: Wittelsbach Patronage before Albrecht V ...... 41

CHAPTER III: The Early Years of the Reign of Albrecht V: the Kunstkammer, Northern Princely Humanism and Courtly Patronage...... 83

CHAPTER IV: Pious Patronage: The Chapel at Altötting, the Mary and Jesuit Support for Traditional Religion...... 118

CHAPTER V: Sociological Propaganda in Bavaria: The Legacy of Albrecht V to the Thirty Years‟ War...... 150

CONCLUSION ...... 196

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 200

APPENDIX A: Timeline of Bavarian History: 1300-1650 ...... 226

APPENDIX B: Family Tree of the Line of Wittelsbach ...... 231

8

LIST OF FIGURES PAGE

Figure 1: Aventinus, Map of Bavaria (1523) ...... 45

Figure 2: Genealogical Mural (c. 1460)...... 49

Figure 3: Wolgemut, Munich, Nürnberg Chronicle (1493) ...... 56

Figure 4: Completed Munich Frauenkirche (1525)...... 56

Figure 5: Tombstone of (c. 1473) ...... 59

Figure 6: Matthes Maler, Woodcut of (1523) ...... 67

Figure 7: Hans Schwartz, Sketch of (1519) ...... 74

Figure 8: Jörg Breu the Elder, Death of Lucretia (1528) ...... 82

Figure 9: Hans Wertinger, Wilhelm IV of Bavaria (1526) ...... 82

Figure 10: Hans Mielich, Albrecht V of Bavaria (1545)...... 90

Figure 11: Mielich, Miniature of jewelry in Book of Jewels (1552-55)...... 93

Figure 12: Mielich, Albrecht V and Anna playing chess in Book of Jewels (1552-55)..94

Figure 13: Mielich, Portrait of Lasso in Penitential (1571) ...... 102

Figure 14: Mielich, Illuminated music manuscript in Penitential Psalms (1571) ...... 110

Figure 15: Mielich, Lasso and the Munich hofkapelle in Penitential Psalms (1571)...110

Figure 16: of Altötting (c. 1300s) ...... 128

Figure 17: Hans Mielich, High (1572) ...... 145

Figure 18: Hans Mielich, Virgin as w/ Ducal Family (1572) ...... 146

Figure 19: , Assumption of the Virgin Mary (1518) ...... 147

Figure 20: Mariansäule (1638) ...... 152

Figure 21: Hubert Gerhard, The Virgin and Child (1590) ...... 153

Figure 22: Ferdinand Murmann, Heresy Putto, Mariansäule (1638) ...... 154 9

Figure 23: Hubert Gerhard, Perseus (1590) ...... 186

Figure 24: Friedrich Sustris, Redesigned Antiquarium (1600) ...... 187

Figure 25: Façade of St. Michael‟s , Munich (1597) ...... 192 10

INTRODUCTION

If we do not concentrate all our energies on the defence of Bavaria, our poor will have as good as nothing left that is orthodox and genuinely Catholic. The must therefore be encouraged and stirred up to glowing zeal for the protection of religion; he must be admonished not to remit or modify any of the Church’s commands if he wishes to maintain peace and loyalty among his subjects.1

Albrecht V, duke of the Munich line of Bavarian Wittelsbachs from 1550-79, pursued an aggressive program of arts patronage during his reign. The work of the artists and collectors who received his support positioned Munich as a center of European culture in the sixteenth century. Albrecht V established several of Bavaria‟s most important landmarks, including the , the and the High

Altar in . Collectors such as Samuel von Quiccheberg and Hans created the early modern museum and library in Munich. Influential artists of every discipline were part of the Munich court, including di Lasso, Hans Mielich, Jörg

Breu the Elder, Martin Eisengrein, and many others. The duke‟s legacy provided for the creation of the Mariansäule, one of Munich‟s most recognized artworks. His support of the Jesuits allowed for the rise and promotion of Jesuit theater, perhaps the most popular genre of theater anywhere in Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. At its climax, Albrecht V‟s court rivaled the largest in Europe in both number and splendor.

Set in the larger religio-political context of the sixteenth century, Bavaria under the reign of Albrecht V was unique in that it was one of the few non-Habsburg in the Holy that remained, by and large, Catholic during the Protestant

1 quoted in Johannes Janssen, History of the German People at the Close of the , vol. 8, trans. A.M. Christie (London: Kegan Paul, Trench Trübner & Co., 1905), 313. 11 reform movements of the sixteenth century. This dissertation will examine how, if at all,

Albrecht V‟s artistic patronage reflected and shaped Bavarian Catholic identity during this time of great religious fragmentation. By engaging with similar studies and with current historical methodologies, this study demonstrates that Albrecht V and the artworks that were created through his patronage supported a growing popular movement of “traditional religion” that was responsible for creating a uniquely Bavarian form of

Catholicism in the second half of the sixteenth century.2 Ultimately, traditional religious expression through the arts evolved into a form of what Jacques Ellul called “sociological propaganda,” which represents a deeply instilled sense of identity at every level of society that is simultaneously reflected and reinforced in the actions and expressions of all levels of that society.3

This position is meant to augment and in some ways challenge the widely- accepted position that Albrecht V transitioned Bavaria into an early modern, absolutist

Catholic state through the implementation of state and religious mechanisms and the use of top-down social control. , such as Wolfgang Rheinhard, labels this process confessionalization and recognizes it as a sixteenth-century movement that occurred in the and was practiced by both Protestant and Catholic rulers.4

2 Traditional religion is defined in Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of : Traditional Religion in England c.1400-c.1580 (New Haven, CT: Press, 2005). 3 Jacques Ellul, Propaganda: the Formation of Men’s Attitudes, trans. Konrad Kellen and Jean Lerner (New : Vintage Books/Random House, 1973). 4 Wolfgang Rheinhard, “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State: a Reassessment,” Catholic Historical Review 75 (1989): 383-404. 12

Supporters and critics of the theory have come to see Bavaria as the most obvious example of Catholic confessionalization.5

Since it was introduced in the 1980s, scholars of the arts have increasingly adopted the confessionalization theory into their scholarship. The increase in scholarship about the role of the arts in the process of confessionalization is indicated by a growing number of book titles, such as: Rebecca Oettinger‟s Music as Propaganda in the

Reformation, Philip M. Soergel‟s Wondrous in His : Counter-Reformation

Propaganda in Bavaria, Noel Malcom‟s Reason of State, Propaganda and the Thirty

Years’ War and Luc Racaut‟s Hatred in Print: Catholic Propaganda and Protestant

Identity during the . These works represent a small sampling of scholarship that has increasingly come to see early modern art as a form of political propaganda that was used by all sides in the fight to shape cultural and religious identity.6

This study, however, reveals Albrecht V‟s patronage as, often times, reactionary.

Whether it be to other nobles or to the larger culture in which he lived, his patronage was the result of cyclical influences between artists, other nobles and peasants. As such, his patronage was less in control than linear, top-down notions of social control can support.

This is not meant to suggest that Albrecht V was always out of control, nor is it meant to make a blanket statement that all artworks created at the Munich court were haphazard

5 Marc R. Forster, “With and Without Confessionalization. Varieties of Early Modern German Catholicism,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 4 (1997): 326. 6 Rebecca Wagner Oettinger, Music as Propaganda in the German Reformation (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2001); Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter-Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), accessed June 21, 2010, http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft738nb4fn/; Noel Malcolm, Reason of State, Propaganda and the Thirty Years’ War: An Unknown Translation by Thomas Hobbes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Luc Racaut, Hatred in Print: Catholic Propaganda and Protestant Identity during the French Wars of Religion (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2002). 13 and without a goal. Rather, this study is an attempt to provide a balance to the increasing amount of scholarship that takes confessionalization and its artistic byproduct, political propaganda, as a fundamental aspect of the Holy Roman Empire in the late sixteenth century. This dissertation shows that not all art had political concerns. Further, art that existed at the religio-political level was often a reflection of the collective will of

Bavarians rather than the assertion of identity onto against their will.

There are many resources for understanding the individual artists who received the patronage of Albrecht V. To name a few, Jeffrey Chipps Smith has done extensive research on the visual arts in Bavaria and throughout the Holy Roman Empire in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.7 Dorothea and Peter Diemer have documented the vast catalogs of Albrecht V‟s collections.8 Lorenz Seelig has written a great deal on the context and meaning of Albrecht V‟s collections.9 Horst Leuchtmann, Peter Bergquist and Crook are a small representation of the many great scholars studying the musicians of sixteenth-century Bavaria.10 William H. McCabe has provided an excellent introduction to Jesuit theater, and the collection of articles on Catholic theater by Kevin J.

7 Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship: Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (Princeton University Press, 2002); Smith, The Northern (London: Phaidon Press Limited, 2004). 8 Dorothea Diemer, Peter Diemer, Lorenz Seelig, Peter , Brigitte Volk-Knüttel, et al., Die Münchner Kunstkammer, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Abhandlungen, Neue Folge, Heft 129, 3 vols. (Munich: C. H. Beck, 2008). 9 Lorenz Seelig, “The Munich Kunstkammer, 1565-1807,” in The Origins of Museums: The Cabinets of Curiosities in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Europe, ed. Impey and Arthur MacGregor (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985). 10 Horst Leuchtmann, Orlando di Lasso: Sein Leben (: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1976); David Crook, Orlando di Lasso’s Imitation for Counter-Reformation Munich (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994); Peter Bergquist, ed., Orlando di Lasso Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 14

Wetmore Jr. is an invaluable introduction to the genre.11 As mentioned, Philip M. Soergel has produced an impressive work on the dissemination of pilgrimage texts.12 The bulk of these studies are primarily focused, rightfully so, on biographical information and the analysis and interpretation of the actual artists and artworks. There are only a few studies of the arts as a whole at the Bavarian court. Rainer Babel‟s study of the Wittelsbachs provides an exceptional overview of the court, but it deals with such a long period that it cannot go into great detail.13 Samuel John Klingensmith‟s book, The Utility of Splendor:

Ceremony, Social Life, and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600-1800, and

Andreas M. Dahlem‟s dissertation, “The Wittelsbach Court in Munich: History and

Authority in the Visual Arts (1460-1508),” both provide amazing overviews of Bavarian court life, but as the dates of their studies indicate, they focus on either side of the reign of Albrecht V.14

Likewise, the amount of scholarship on sixteenth-century Catholicism, in , has undergone a resurgence since the 1980s, with many studies adopting the notion of confessionalization as a methodological framework. The of confessionalization is examined in detail in Chapter One. While confessionalization happened in both Protestant and Catholic circles, the former has traditionally been given more consideration. Two books of note that represent the growth of scholarly focus on

11 William H. McCabe, An Introduction to Jesuit Theater (St. Louis, MO: The Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1983); Catholic Theater and Drama: Critical Essays, ed. Kevin J. Wetmore, Jr. (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, Inc., 2010). 12 Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints. 13 Rainer Babel, “The Courts of the Wittelsbachs c. 1500-1750,” in The Princely Courts of Europe, ed. John Adamson (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1999), 189-210. 14 Samuel John Klingensmith, The Utility of Splendor: Ceremony, Social Life and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600-1800 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993); Andreas M. Dahlem, “The Wittelsbach Court in Munich: History and Authority in the Visual Arts (1460-1508)” (PhD diss., University of , 2009). 15

Catholicism in the Holy Roman Empire during the sixteenth century are R. Po-Chia

Hsia‟s, The World of Catholic Renewal 1540-1770 and Robert Bireley‟s, The

Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450-1700.15

Concomitantly, scholarship since the late 1980s has also increasingly begun to adopt the confessionalization thesis as a means for understanding sixteenth-century art.

Andrew L. Thomas‟ wonderfully detailed study of Wittelsbach court culture, for example, contains a great deal of information on the arts and other areas of court life. In his study, he explicitly states that Wittelsbach actions were part of a “process of confessionalization in which rulers created state churches and used the resources of the churches, such as schools and in attempts to further increase their own control over their subjects as well as demonstrate their commitment to their respective .”16

Rebecca Wagner Oettinger also cites confessionalization as the basis for her study of music in early modern Germany. Critical musicologists might note that Oettinger‟s work contains only the slightest amount of music and focuses instead on the dissemination of song texts. Her work, whatever the focus, is fascinating and is one example of the number of studies mentioned that have taken confessionalization one step further by presenting sixteenth-century artworks as a form of political propaganda used to shape and control society.17 Philip M. Soergel uses a similar approach in his study of

15 R. Po-Chia Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal 1540-1770, New Approaches to European History (Cambridge University Press, 1998); Robert Bireley, The Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450-1700 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1999). 16 Andrew L. Thomas, “A House Divided: Wittelsbach Confessional Court Cultures in Bavaria, the , and , c. 1550-1650” (PhD diss., Purdue University, 2007), 1-2. Thomas‟ dissertation has since been published as A House Divided: Wittelsbach Confessional Court Cultures in the Holy Roman Empire, c. 1550-1650, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions (Leiden, The : Koninlijke Brill NV, 2010). 17 Oettinger, Music as Propaganda. 16 pilgrimage texts from Bavaria.18 These works are quite good in that they combine contemporary historical methods with a detailed understanding of the arts. However, they do not step far beyond their specific artistic medium. Each provides a glimpse of the larger artistic culture of their subject, but they do not expand their scope in any great detail beyond the artifacts within that medium. In their defense, neither work claims the understanding of larger artistic contexts as a goal.

This is the only comprehensive, multidisciplinary study of the artistic patronage of Albrecht V, a figure who proved to be one of the great fulcrums upon which religion in sixteenth-century Europe was balanced. His patronage is presented from three perspectives: northern princely humanism, Bavarian traditional religion and sociological propaganda. These divisions are meant primarily as way of focusing on the various aspects of his patronage and are not necessarily intended to be a set of chronological delineations. While certain periods of the duke‟s reign certainly focused more and less on each of the three aspects, Albrecht V‟s patronage simultaneously engaged with all three categories throughout his reign. The common denominator in each category is the idea that Albrecht V was as much reacting to his environment as he was in control of it.

Chapter One begins in 1563 with the arrest of Joachim von , a Bavarian noble, who tried to establish Calvinist reforms in his lands. Ortenburg‟s case shows how precariously balanced religious identity was in Bavaria and throughout the Holy Roman

Empire during Albrecht V‟s reign. Cases of religious rebellion similar to Ortenburg‟s are also presented in order to show how far-reaching rebellious attitudes were and how integral the arts were in the formation of religious identity.

18 Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints. 17

The second half of the chapter places these cases within the context of confessionalization with the intention of understanding the strengths and the weaknesses of the methodology as it relates to patronage. A historiography of confessionalization is provided along with a working definition of patronage. The chapter concludes by adopting Linda Levy Peck‟s definition of patronage as a “symbiotic” process in which the patron, artist and consumer all maintain a certain amount of authority in the creation of an artwork.19

Chapter Two traces the legacy of Bavarian Wittelsbach patronage back to the fourteenth century. The family‟s patronage at the end of the Middle Ages generally reflected an attempt to create a body of works that would validate their authority and greatness. to the sixteenth century, Bavaria‟s history is that of a fragmented territory, divided amongst various competing factions of the Wittelsbach family and other minor nobles and merchants. Initially, patronage provided artworks and artifacts that supported each family member‟s claim of authority. For the Munich line, patronage was used to assert the concept of the Haus Bayern, which resulted in the centralization of Wittelsbach authority. The construction of the Neuveste, the commission of Aventinus‟ Bayerische

Chronik and other works aided in the manufacture of a sense of heredity, unity and greatness meant to convince others that Wittelsbach status within the of Bavaria was longstanding. Early Wittelsbach patronage was constantly a matter of proving their identity to other nobles and especially to the people over which they ruled, who always maintained some authority because of their willingness to rebel.

19 Linda Levy Peck, Court Patronage and Corruption in early Stuart England (New York: Routledge, 1993), 3. 18

Outside of convincing, early patronage also became a particularly effective means of providing expressions of communal identity that served to pacify the general community and strengthen the reputation of the Wittelsbachs. This idea manifested itself in the form of the Frauenkirche in Munich, which was a project undertaken at all levels of society.

The Wittelsbachs of the late-fifteenth and early sixteenth century came to value art as a primary indicator of their greatness – an early modern version of Pierre

Bourdieu‟s notion of objectified cultural capital – and they began to seek the most talented artists as an expression of their inherent goodness.20 The career of the organist and player, Conrad Paumann, demonstrates the lengths to which the family went in order to secure top artists. The Wittelsbachs were even willing to overlook religious difference in the case of exceptional talent. This was the case with Ludwig Senfl, a court musician and open supporter of , and with the Beham brothers, who were both miniaturists and open disbelievers.

By the reign of Albrecht V‟s father, Wilhelm IV, the seeds for centralized

Catholic authority and identity were seemingly not in fertile ground. The establishment of the university in Ingolstadt provided a base of Catholic defense in the Holy Roman

Empire, but the Munich line was rather tolerant or just ineffective in silencing opposing religious views. In fact, the dukes often held opposing views themselves. The cases of

Argula von Grumbach‟s writings, the general resistance of the Wittelsbachs to support the establishment of the Jesuits and the corrupt religious dealings of the family all

20 Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, trans. Richard (New York: Harvard College and Routledge & Kegan Paul, Ltd., 1984). 19 underline a rather lax attitude toward the official doctrine of Catholicism. Chapter Two concludes with an overview of the history cycle of paintings that was commissioned by

Wilhelm IV and his wife, Jacobäa. The cycle, which was Wilhelm IV‟s last major commission, is an indicator that Wittelsbach patronage was turning toward humanist pursuits.

Chapter Three outlines the beginning of Albrecht V‟s reign, which in many ways followed in the tradition of his father. In pursuing art as the stick by which his rule was measured, Albrecht V was willing to ally himself with any artist that had talent, including artists of differing religious and political . This chapter defines Albrecht V‟s early patronage within the context of northern princely humanism. This form of humanism is defined using the works of Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Erwin Panofsky, Michele Foucault and others. Northern princely humanism began to focus on particularly German, as opposed to classical, history, and eventually, it came to value collected knowledge as a measure of greatness on par with great art. This aspect of Albrecht V‟s patronage led to the establishment of the ducal library, the Kunstkammer and the Antiquarium, all buildings that were constructed to house the duke‟s insatiable appetite for collecting.

Like many other European rulers, Albrecht V‟s continued in obtaining quality artists resulted in the massive expansion of his court, often in financially irresponsible ways. As it became imperative for nobles and wealthy merchants throughout Europe to vet and maintain the best artists they could find, the relationship between artist and patron was altered in such a way that even more agency was placed in the hands of the artist. The musician, Orlando di Lasso, and the painter, Hans Mielich, 20 were often treated more like family than employees, and both lived rather comfortably throughout their lives at the expense of their duke. In the case of Lasso, Albrecht V was even willing to defend his composer‟s sometimes lewd taste against the admonishments of .

Chapter Four traces a series of events that transpired in the middle of Albrecht

V‟s reign, after which the duke began to embrace something akin to Eamon Duffy‟s definition of traditional religion. Duffy defines traditional religion as the continuance of regional varieties of late-medieval Catholicism that were never in decline, transcended all levels of society and relied on forms of expression that often went against the official confessions and reform measures that were being adopted by the .21

Albrecht V was simultaneously caught up in and responsible for perpetuating Bavarian traditional religion, and he used patronage to fuel the growing popular support for local versions of Catholicism even when they contradicted official Catholic doctrine. The duke became especially supportive of the emergence of the Jesuits and of artworks that demonstrated the importance of the role of the Virgin Mary in Bavarian Catholicism at a time when Christocentrism was a major concern of European Christian reform movements. The exorcism of Anna von Berghausen, Martin Eisengrein‟s book, Our of Altötting, the reemergence of pilgrimage to Bavarian sites and Hans Mielich‟s High

Altar in Ingolstadt were all popular movements and artworks that went against official

Catholic doctrine even while creating a strong sense of local Catholic identity.

Chapter Five begins by presenting the Mariansäule, which was erected during the reign of Albrecht V‟s grandson, Maximilian I. This public is the final

21 Duffy, The Stripping of Altars, 2-6. 21 manifestation of Albrecht V‟s legacy of patronage and the embodiment of Bavarian

Catholic sociological propaganda, which stemmed from Bavarian traditional religion. In addition to the Mariansäule, the emergence of Jesuit theater in the early seventeenth century and the support of the Jesuits in building St. Michael‟s Church were all actions that functioned as much on behalf of the larger social fabric as they were responsible for making that fabric.

That Albrecht V planted the seeds for the confessionalization of Bavaria is too aggressive a stance, but this is not because social discipline, state mechanisms or religious reforms were inexistent in Bavaria. Scholars are correct in their recognition of early modern Bavaria as a highly-ordered state mechanism, and they are correct in interpreting artworks as a means of supporting the mechanism. However, art, artists and citizens were considered of such high value to the duke that they had also had a major impact on every phase of his reign, including his patronage.

Chapter Five concludes that Albrecht V‟s patronage was one thread in the fabric of what Jacque Ellul calls sociological propaganda. As opposed to confessionalization, sociological propaganda questions top-down – or even the down-top – linear hierarchies, and it suggests that cultural identity in sixteenth-century Bavaria was a cyclical arrangement of mutual agreement and influence between all levels of Bavarian society.22

22 See Ellul, Propaganda. 22

CHAPTER I

Confessionalization and Patronage: Defining a Methodology

I knew a very wise man, that believed that if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of the nation.1

In December 1563, Albrecht V seized the castle of Count Joachim von Ortenburg.

Ortenburg was a Bavarian noble who introduced reformed religious practices into his region, an action that he felt was in line with his standing as a noble. A few years earlier, in 1556, Albrecht V conceded that Bavarian nobles could allow some Protestant practices to exist in Bavaria. Ortenburg, perhaps empowered by this earlier success, felt he had the right to invoke the Peace of policy of cuius regio eius religio and was attempting to abolish Catholicism altogether from his lands. The count‟s actions were a direct affront to Albrecht V‟s authority and his wishes to maintain Catholicism as the official religion in all of Wittelsbach-controlled Bavaria.2

The Ortenburg incident placed Albrecht V in the same position as rulers across

German-speaking lands who were attempting to navigate their role in the emerging religious and political upheaval of the sixteenth century. Albrecht V took a stern, yet conciliatory, attitude concerning the Ortenburg case. His response reveals a sensitivity to the increasingly complex religio-political environment he inhabited. The duke stated,

“„For, however glad and thankful I should be if I could keep my land and my people, all

1 Scottish noble, Andrew Fletcher, quoted in Peter Burke, in (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2009), 111. 2 James Brodrick, Peter Canisius (Chicago: Loyola Press, 1980), 604-606. Also see Johannes Janssen, History of the German People at the Close of the Middle Ages, vol. 8, trans. A.M. Christie (London: Kegan Paul, Trench Trübner & Co., 1905), 309-12; Wilhelm Volkert, Geschichte Bayerns (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2001), 50-51; Andreas Kraus, Geschichte Bayerns: von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1983), 216-19. 23 and every of them, in the old Catholic , I do not insist on sounding and directing the heart and spirit of every one of my subjects: that would be an impossibility, and indeed it is the prerogative of the Almighty alone.‟”3 Ortenburg, and those found to be acting in his favor, received punishments, which, while harsh, were primarily meant to embarrass and intimidate. At the same time, the duke also allowed Ortenburg the opportunity to openly defend himself in a series of court actions that lasted into the 1570s.4

For the Jesuit missionary, Peter Canisius, Ortenburg‟s rejection of Catholicism was a long time coming. Canisius‟ assessment of the religious environment in mid- sixteenth-century Bavaria is described in a letter he sent to Father John Polanco,

Secretary-General of the Society of in 1550. Canisius wrote, “The situation is enough to numb the heart of one who gives it serious thought. Heresy is not being overcome either by force or by reform, and, with the best will in the world to restore the faith that has been lost, we are powerless owing to the fact that priests are too few, or, indeed, entirely lacking.”5 Canisius‟ letter coincides with the beginning of Albrecht V‟s reign and represents a continuous series of warnings from his advisors to treat the existence and propagation of Protestant ideologies within the duchy with the utmost seriousness, and they were insistent that he begin to take a harder line against the actions of Protestant Bavarian nobles.

3 Albrecht V quoted in Janssen, History of the German People, vol. 8, 310-11. 4 The Cambridge Modern History, vol.3, The Wars of Religion, ed. A.W. Ward, G.W. Prothero and Stanley Leathes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1905), 160. The case as presented to the Reichstag can be found in Deutsche Reichtagsakten Reichsversammlungen 1556-1662, Historische Kommission bei der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (München, Oldenbourg Wissenschaftsverlag GmbH, 2010), 392-95. 5 Peter Canisius quoted in Brodrick, Canisius, 145. 24

Ortenburg‟s religious forthrightness was not a confined instance. Robert W.

Scribner shows precisely how active various levels of society could get in his ,

“Ritual and Reformation.” He describes a conflict between the Catholic and the Evangelical warden of St. Mortiz church, Marx Ehem, in the Bavarian free- of Augsburg in 1533. Ehem had taken several bold steps to block the celebration of at St. Mortiz, which included removing sacred objects and locking up certain parts of the church. The Fuggers countered by purchasing new items to replace those removed by

Ehem. The conflict climaxed when the Fuggers attempted a theatric raising of a statue of the through a hole in the roof on Ascension Day. Ehem first attempted to board up the hole, after which he sought to have the statue removed during the middle of the ceremony. Scribner reports that the situation became so tense that knives were eventually drawn. In a final attempt to control the situation, Ehem dropped the suspended statue, and it was destroyed.6

The growing issue of religious identity during the middle of the sixteenth century even divided the Wittelsbachs. Friedrich III, of the equally powerful Palatinate line of

Wittelsbachs, had already renounced his Catholic upbringing in 1546 in favor of

Lutheran doctrine, which he then renounced at the outset of his reign as Elector of the

Palatinate in 1559 in favor of . The resulting growth of Calvinist in the Palatinate led to the destruction of organs, baptismal fonts and other religious works of art throughout .7 In his dissertation, “A House Divided: Wittelsbach

6 Robert W. Scribner, “Ritual and Reformation,” in The German People and the Reformation, ed. R. Po-Chia Hsia (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1988), 128-29. 7 Julius Ney, “Frederick III., the Pious,” in The New Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge, vol. 4, Draeseke – Goa (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1952), 375. 25

Confessional Court Cultures in Bavaria, the Palatinate, and Bohemia, c. 1550-1650,”

Andrew L. Thomas states that Friedrich III began to cut support of the arts in an effort to secure the finances of his court and to align it with Calvinist principles. The condition of the arts deteriorated to such an extent that visiting courts wishing to be entertained had to supply their own musicians.8

The Fuggers, Friedrich III and Ortenburg may have been from wealthy and noble families, but their actions were part of a larger movement. During the sixteenth century, seemingly every level of society, including merchants, peasants, and nobles, began to engage in both personal and communal reassessments of religious and political identity in Bavaria and throughout Europe. Both Scribner‟s article and Thomas‟ dissertation discuss multiple instances of people of every class reacting publicly for and against their notions of proper religious belief. Peter Blickle echoes these sentiments in his book,

Obedient ? A Rebuttal, in which he traces the number of peasant uprisings in the sixteenth century in an attempt to show how active and powerful that element of society was in shaping the affairs of their lands.9

Scribner and Thomas also highlight the integral role of the arts in helping to shape and destroy identity. Every realm of religious life in the Holy Roman Empire was imbued with images, songs, words and play or the active elimination of those elements. More than a mere accompaniment to ritual or an accessory to learning, the arts were fundamental to the formation and rejection of religious identity during the sixteenth

8 Andrew L. Thomas, “A House Divided: Wittelsbach Confessional Court Cultures in Bavaria, the Palatinate, and Bohemia, c. 1550-1650” (PhD diss., Purdue University, 2007), 101. 9 Peter Blickle, Obedient Germans? A Rebuttal: A New View of German History, trans. Thomas A. Brady, Jr. (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 1997). 26 century. Indeed, as both the Fugger incident and the conversion of Friedrich III show, it was often the arts that bore the brunt of Protestant and Catholic attacks against each other.

As with any historical endeavor, the interpretation of these events varies depending on the lens through which they are viewed. Before moving forward, it is necessary to clearly outline a specific methodology for understanding how the arts were supported, produced and understood. A brief investigation of the historiography of sixteenth-century studies will be helpful for evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of past methodologies in order to shape an appropriate methodology for this study.

By most accounts, the body of historical literature on sixteenth-century studies has traditionally been a one-sided affair, with the balance of scholarship given to the

Protestant reform movements.10 John Bossy states that this is the result of the ‟s propensity for valuing the nonconformist over what is perceived to be the everyday. In the case of sixteenth-century scholarship, the Catholics who went about everyday life much in the same way as Catholics had been doing since the Middle Ages were much less interesting than the rise of the reformers.11

John W. O‟Malley states that eighteenth- and nineteenth-century scholars allowed their religious leanings to shape their research, and he traces the term “Counter-

10 For essays on the historiography of sixteenth-century Catholicism, see Trevor Johnson, “The Catholic Reformation,” in Palgrave Advances in the European , ed. Alec Ryrie (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2006), 190-211; John W. O‟Malley, Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000); David M. Luebke, “Editor‟s Introduction,” in The Counter-Reformation, Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. David M. Luebke (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 1999), 1-16; Robert Bireley, The Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450- 1700 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1999); Marc R. Forster, “With and Without Confessionalization. Varieties of Early Modern German Catholicism,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 4 (1997): 315-43; Jeffrey R. Watt, “Introduction,” in The Long Reformation, Problems in European , ed. Jeffrey R. Watt (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2006), 1-10. 11 John Bossy, “The Counter-Reformation and the People of Catholic Europe,” in The Counter- Reformation, Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. David M. Luebke (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1999), 86-87. 27

Reformation” to Protestant historians of the eighteenth century.12 Counter-Reformation was a pejorative understanding of the period in which Catholics forced their doctrine back onto unwilling Lutherans.13 Later the term Counter-Reformation was replaced by notion of the Catholic Reformation, which suggested that the Protestant movements were an impetus for the Catholics to reassess their own corruption. This angle, while a bit more sympathetic, still presented Catholicism as a negative institution.14

By the twentieth century, some historians came to understand Catholic reform as something independent of and more complex than the reaction to the rise of .

The Catholic Reformation was presented as an independent, internal reform movement with its beginnings in the fifteenth century.15 This movement was carried to fruition with reform initiatives that were created at the councils at Trent. This understanding of history tended to regard Protestantism as a mere byproduct of a much larger reform movement rather than as an impetus for reform.16

These two ideologies competed in various guises until Hubert Jedin‟s seminal

1946 article, “Catholic Reformation or Counter-Reformation?”17 Jedin proposed that the two ideologies were complementary rather than contradictory. His article suggested that larger reforms within the Church were indeed afoot prior to Luther‟s break from

Catholicism, but it took a schism such as the Protestant Reformation to compel the

12 O‟Malley, Trent and All That, 20. 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid., 21. 15 Trevor Johnson, “The Catholic Reformation,” 192. 16 R. Po-Chia Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal 1540-1770, New Approaches to European History (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 2-3. 17 Hubert Jedin, “Catholic Reformation or Counter-Reformation?” in The Counter-Reformation, Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. and trans. David M. Luebke (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 1999), 19-46. 28

Catholic Church to accelerate its own pursuit of internal reform.18 Jedin‟s article invited scholars to move past their own contemporary religious infighting and begin looking at the sixteenth century on a more objective, macro level for the relationships and movements that shaped the era.

Building on Jedin‟s approach, scholars in the 1950s began to look to macro religio-political movements as a means of understanding the sixteenth century. One of the stronger theses that developed after Jedin‟s article was that of confessionalization. Ernst

Walter Zeedin is commonly credited for laying the foundations of the theory in 1958.19

Zeeden‟s approach was further developed and clearly defined by Schilling and

Wolfgang Reinhard in the 1970s and 1980s.20 Reinhard‟s 1989 article, “Reformation,

Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State: a Reassessment,” is considered the clearest outline of the confessionalization thesis.21 In this article, Reinhard was looking to summarize a system that could avoid the religious pitfalls of earlier historians.22

A top-down approach, confessionalization views Protestant and Catholic initiatives in the Holy Roman Empire as two sides of the same ideological coin. Both were religions that underwent similar processes of defining in which religious advocates aligned with secular rulers to form religio-political structures that could clearly display and enforce specific belief structures, or confessions. These institutions then undertook

18 Ibid., 37. 19 Johnson, “The Catholic Reformation,” 204; O‟Malley, Trent and All That, 108; Luebke, “Editor‟s Introduction,” 11. Also see Ernst Walter Zeeden, “Grundlagen und Wege der Konfessionsbildung in Deutschland im Zeitalter der Glaubenskämpfe,” Historische Zeitschrift 185, no. 2 (1958): 249-99. 20 Johnson, “The Catholic Reformation,” 204. 21 Ibid.; O‟Malley, Trent and All That, 111-12; Luebke, “Editor‟s Introduction,” 3. Also see, Wolfgang Rheinhard, “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State: a Reassessment,” Catholic Historical Review 75 (1989): 383-404. 22 Rheinhard, “Reformation, Counter-Reformation and the Early Modern State,” 383-84. 29 the process of enforcing their new confessional identities, which allowed to clearly identify themselves and, just as importantly, to distinguish themselves from those who participated in other confessions. A legal and cultural phenomenon, confessionalizing states used civil codes, religious rigidity and cultural persuasion to control the information and, in theory, the mindsets of the people under their charge.23

The emergence of early modern state structures such as codified education, systematized legal systems, political propaganda, censorship and social discipline were all developed out of the need to ensure that the citizenry of the now fragmented Holy Roman Empire clearly recognized what it meant to be of a certain religious confession, what it meant to be of a specific region and to guarantee that they adhered to those belief systems and modes of identity.24

The councils, institutions and works of art developed on behalf of Catholic and

Protestant identities in the Holy Roman Empire helped to define, create, promote and enforce respective confessional identities.25 R. Po-Chia Hsia suggests that the development and establishment of these confessionalized states occurred over very long periods of time – from 1540-1770 by his assessment.26 Thus, the events of the sixteenth century are often presented as smaller pieces in a much larger movement that began at some point in the fifteenth century and did not end until the eighteenth century. This has come to be known as the “long sixteenth century” or the Long Reformation.27 According to this model, the councils at Trent and the subsequent events of the Catholic Counter-

23 Ibid., 398-99. 24 Ibid., 390-92. 25 Rheinhard, “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State,” 403. 26 Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal. 27 Bireley, The Refashioning of Catholicism, 2. Also see Watt, The Long Reformation. 30

Reformation were smaller steps in a larger movement toward the centralization and assertion of monolithic confessional authority.

Three assumptions are inherent in this view. The first is that there is a group in need of control. The second is that those doing the controlling actually accepted the official confessions of their faith and sought to enforce them. The third, most fundamental, assumption is that rulers were ever really in control in the first place. Critics of confessionalization have pointed out that in many cases, sixteenth-century Catholics were content observing local Catholic customs and needed very little persuasion to remain in the fold.28 In Bavaria, as well as , , and , the standards defined at the councils at Trent often stood in direct opposition to rulers, who saw themselves as the primary stewards of the faith in their lands. The following chapters present multiple instances where the Wittelsbachs and their Jesuit allies altered or just ignored the decrees of Trent whenever those decrees conflicted with the personal and political needs of the court. The events that took place at Altötting, which is presented in Chapter Four, show that Albrecht V was happy to embrace what Eamon Duffy calls traditional religion – often containing practices that the councils were hoping to eliminate – to attract members back to the faith.29

Eamon Duffy states that forms of traditional religion were maintained, in part, on an immediate level, and local Catholic traditions were still very appealing throughout the

Holy Roman Empire in their ability to allow interaction with demons, , saints and

28 Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of Altars: Traditional Religion in England c.1400-c.1580 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 4. 29 Ibid., 2-3. 31 even past relatives.30 In many cases, these superstitious beliefs, as they came to be known by many Protestant and humanist Catholic activists who were trying to mock them, were maintained by everyday adherents of the Catholic faith, and these often proved much more effective at attracting and sustaining the faithful than any officially sanctioned reform. Martin Luther repeatedly acknowledged his own frustration with the prevalence of traditional Catholic religion as one of his biggest hurdles. Statements such as,

“Superstition, idolatry and hypocrisy have ample wages, but truth goes a begging,” recur frequently in the reformer‟s writings.31 The ever-growing pilgrimage movement in

Altötting in the middle of the sixteenth century that was alluded to earlier was specifically centered on the healing powers of a statue. Wittelsbach support of and interaction with pilgrimage sites and pilgrimage books, such as Martin Eisengrein‟s Our

Lady of Altötting, are a testament to the idea that social discipline and the codification of religious belief were often less effective in early modern societies than a numinous experience could be. This was true at every level of society, and Albrecht V and his advisors were as caught up in the mass fervor surrounding the events at Altötting as the peasants who came seeking miraculous intervention. Alötting is not an isolated instance, leaving the question: Was Albrecht V shaping his people, or was he being shaped by them? Or, did a hierarchy of control really exist in the sixteenth century?

Critics and scholars working with other methodological models have asked similar questions. Several have accused proponents of confessionalization of misinterpreting popular social movements as something created and controlled by

30 Ibid. 31 Martin Luther, The Table Talk, trans. William Hazlitt (Orlando, FL: Bridge-Logos, 2004), 34. 32 authority.32 With its focus on top-down social control, confessionalization assumes that the majority of Europeans living in the Holy Roman Empire were powerless in the face of authority. It is particularly interesting to note that, Ernst Walter Zeeden, Heinz

Schilling and Wolfgang Reinhard, the three scholars commonly acknowledged for developing the notion of confessionalization – with its focus on political propaganda, social discipline and other modes of social control – were active during the height of the

Cold War. Thomas A. Brady Jr. alludes to the notion that theories of top-down rule specifically developed in post-World War II Germany as a means of explicating the atrocities that took place:

One does not have to be particularly well read in modern European history to

recognize the image of the Germans in modern times as a politically passive, even

docile people, who are more readily swayed than other Europeans by appeals to

authoritarian values and methods. This image is often advanced to explain how a

nation of philosophers and poets came to strive for world power and employ

methods of brutality rarely displayed by Europeans, at least in Europe.33

In other words, the best way to explain away mass participation in horrific events is to explain away the agency of those perpetrating them by providing a lineage of social control. Brady‟s statement, which is found in a book on peasant empowerment in early modern Germany, indirectly suggests that scholars of confessionalization might have

32 See John O‟Malley, Trent and All That; Jean Delemeau, “,” in The Long Reformation, Problems in European Civilization, ed. Jeffrey R. Watt (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Corporation, 2006), 61-69; Marc R. Forster, “With and Without Confessionalization. Varieties of Early Modern German Catholicism,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 4 (1997): 315-43; Mary Laven, “Recent Trends in the Study of in Sixteenth-Century Europe: 3. Encountering the Counter- Reformation,” Renaissance Quarterly 59, no. 3 (2006): 706-20. 33 Thomas A. Brady, Jr., translator‟s introduction to Obedient Germans? A Rebuttal, by Peter Blickle (Charlottesville, VA: The University Press of Virginia, 1997), ix. 33 been shaped by their own contemporary biases in the same way as their nineteenth- century counterparts, whose views were shaped by their religious differences.

Other scholars have tried to broaden the notion of confessionalization in order to include all levels of society. The research of Jean Delumeau and John Bossy is centered on popular religious movements and everyday life.34 Both scholars even go so far as to acknowledge that the mechanisms put in place to control society often failed. However, each of these scholars, despite the variances in their methods, still ultimately advocates for a top-down hierarchy of power, which is a fundamental aspect of the confessionalization thesis.

A further objection to confessionalization is that it is too broad in its scope and fails to recognize the importance of some of the finer points of the religious schism in the sixteenth century. John O‟Malley acknowledges the benefits of confessionalization, but also questions whether lumping religion, politics and society together negates some of the unique aspects of each field.35 An almost Schenkerian approach to history, confessionalization tends to pay more attention to the Ursatz than to the foreground.

While it may be true that Protestantism and Catholicism were part of the same macrostructure, not realizing the drastic differences between the two and the ways in which these differences affected the formation of identity leaves a highly inaccurate view of the time. Eliminating the personal and regional religious nuances involved in understanding the Holy Roman Empire in the sixteenth century in favor of looking on a

34 See John Delumeau, Catholicism between Luther and Voltaire: A New View of the Counter- Reformation, trans. Jeremy Moiser (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1977); John Bossy, “The Counter- Reformation and the People of Catholic Europe,” in The Counter-Reformation, Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. David M. Luebke (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 1999), 85-104. 35 O‟Malley, Trent and All That, 138-39. 34 general level at overarching tools of social discipline reduces religion to an unrecognizable, neutered state.

Mary Laven in her essay, “Encountering the Counter-Reformation,” argues that the biggest fault of confessionalization is its tendency to “project modernity backwards onto the past.”36 She and others, including John W. O‟Malley, argue that researchers must be careful not to assume that state and religion were all that well organized. For example, O‟Malley argues that the Jesuits, who are often presented as some of the staunchest promoters and biggest innovators in creating confessionalizing tactics, rarely knew what the outcome of their actions would be, contradicted each other as often as not and many times took actions that suggest an utter lack of planning on their part.37 In projecting the organization of modernity backwards, scholars run the risk of distorting the actions of sixteenth-century figures to fit desired outcomes. Just as states today often fail in their attempts to operate efficiently, sixteenth-century rulers often failed to effectively assert any type of real control over their subjects. O‟Malley warns against the problem of applying a model to data, which always results in “a self-fulfilling prophecy.”38

Despite its weaknesses, confessionalization has become one of the more prominent means for interpreting the scope of the sixteenth century – and for good reason.

It has provided a system for viewing the sixteenth-century Holy Roman Empire outside of the context of purely Protestant-Catholic divisions. In doing this, scholars have

36 Mary Laven, “Recent Trends in the Study of Christianity,” 709; O‟Malley, Trent and All That, 138. 37 See John W. O‟Malley, “Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism” in The Counter Reformation, Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. David M. Luebke (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 1999), 65-82. 38 O‟Malley, Trent and All That, 138. 35 developed a new lens with which to look at the . For all of its weaknesses, the fact remains that German did, with great frequency, align themselves with religious organizations in order to promote and enforce certain modes of faith in their lands. In Bavaria, in particular, there is a distinct shift in the way that religion was presented and promoted at the Wittelsbach court in Munich by the end of the

1560s. Disregarding the collaboration of government and religion in this region during this time fails to capture many of the innovations of Albrecht V, and it negates much of what made him such a pioneering patron of the arts.

In the spirit of Jedin, this study accepts that certain elements of confessionalization and certain criticisms can be complementary rather than subtractive.

As he suggests, “It is not a matter of either or, but one of both and.”39 Albrecht V was a ruler who used coercion, censorship and social discipline, which are all qualities of the confessionalized state. He also participated in and was shaped by the same forms of unofficial, traditional religion as even the most common Bavarian. Just as often, he was reacting to, rather than influencing, many of the identity shifts occurring in Bavaria.

Certainly these shifts had an impact on his patronage and the artworks that were produced during his reign. This recognition is paramount given the role of patronage in sixteenth-century culture. Linda Levy Peck suggests that “patronage structured early modern society.”40 In the sixteenth century, patronage conveyed a variety of relationships that existed between the ruling and upper classes and those in need of their support.

Throughout Europe, this process played itself out in every imaginable way. Patronage

39 Jedin, “Catholic Reformation or Counter-Reformation?,” 45. 40 Linda Levy Peck, Court Patronage and Corruption in early Stuart England (New York: Routledge, 1993), 2. 36 was provided not only to artists but seemingly to anyone who had a skill to offer and needed support. As the number of arts scholars who have integrated notions of confessionalization into their works increases, a growing body of literature is increasingly positioning the arts as political propaganda. The implication is that artists were part of the mechanism for implementing social control. Given the changing role of the patron and the artist, and the importance of this relationship, it is necessary to understand how, if at all, patronage and confessionalization came together.41

Melissa Miriam Bullard points to a shift in the importance of artists during the sixteenth century that was responsible for positioning patronage as a complex power relationship.42 Bullard, whose subject is the Medici, understands sixteenth-century patronage as a means of support in which both patron and artist were able to exert power in order to reach a mutually beneficial goal.43 Jacques Barzun makes a similar observation. He asserts that sixteenth- century princes

. . . needed the propaganda of art to give luster to their reign, to associate

with civilization. They gathered at their court painters, sculptors,

architects, poets, musicians, dramatists, choreographers, plus an historian or two

to make sure the cultural largess was recorded for posterity. Like their

predecesors [sic] – the Italian princes and – the managed to get a lot

41 See Introduction, n. 6, 16, 19. 42 Miriam Bullard, “Heroes and Their Workshops: Medici Patronage and the Problem of Shared Agency,” in The , Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. Paula Findlen (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2002), 305-06. 43 Ibid., 306. 37

of good work done, and in the course of it established the custom that a great

nation owes it to itself to support the arts.44

For Bullard and Barzun, sixteenth-century art was, in many ways, the rule by which nobles and wealthy merchants measured their greatness. The competition to find the best artists put a certain amount of authority in the artists‟ hands, blurring the hierarchy in the relationship between patron and artist. Barzun cites the popular story of Michelangelo‟s response to Cardinal Marcello and the , who were complaining about his unwillingness to share his artistic plans with them. The artist assured them that he was under no obligation to share information with them and that their responsibility was merely to gather money and to ensure that it stayed safe.45 With Michelangelo, and others, it seems evident that for many artists, establishing authority was sometimes a confusing process.

The power of the artist and the needs of the patron ensured that patronage existed beyond a purely businesslike patron-client relationship. Linda Levy Peck states, “At once symbiotic and symbolic, these private, dependent, deferential alliances were designed to bring reward to the client and continuing proof of power and standing to the patron.”46

For example, the Wittelsbachs repeatedly provided patronage that extended generous support to generations of an artist‟s family and provided status to the artist that implied much more than a working partnership. The case of Orlando di Lasso is the most obvious in the case of the Munich court and is presented in Chapter Four.

44 Jacques Barzun, “An Insoluble Problem: The Patronage of Art,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 131, no. 2 (June 1987): 124. 45 Ibid., 126. 46 Peck, Court Patronage and Corruption, 3. 38

Francis William Kent has tried to turn the focus away from the people involved in the act of patronage altogether, suggesting that too much agency is given to the patron and the context of an artwork and not enough to the actual artifact. “All of us, we suppose, have sat through papers where the details of an art patron‟s life and ideas loomed larger than the commissioned artist‟s work, on which they anyway appeared to have had only the most general – or even far-fetched – bearing.”47 Implicit in Kent‟s statement is the possibility that a patron often was not overly involved in the works being produced and collected on their behalf. The number of collectors under the employ of Albrecht V and the amount of objects collected were certainly too numerous for the duke to track.

Similarly, many of the miniatures produced by Hans Mielich and the musical works of

Orlando di Lasso were part of the everyday function of the court and more than likely would have been created outside of the duke‟s supervision.

In the case of Albrecht V, many of the artworks that were created in Bavaria in the sixteenth century were part of an agenda that valued collecting items and artists of the highest caliber. His relationship with the members of his court was, as Peck says, symbiotic.48 Thus, the framework for understanding his patronage must always take into consideration the situation in which art was created or collected. Sometimes the situation fits the top-down notion of patronage. Sometimes it was an act of singular piety. Other times, it was to fulfill the ego of a duke who saw his city as one of Europe‟s great cultural centers. Just as often, he had little to do with the creation of art at his court.

47 Francis William Kent with Patricia Simons, “Renaissance Patronage: An Introductory Essay,” in Patronage, Art and Society in Renaissance Italy, OUP/Humanities Research Centre of the Australian National University Series, ed. F.W. Kent and Patricia Simmons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 17. 48 Peck, Court Patronage and Corruption, 3. 39

The methodology for the chapters that follow presents Albrecht V‟s patronage as a complex relationship between the patron, the artist and the larger cultural environment in which both lived. This study accepts that the arts were highly influential in creating and reinforcing confessional identity. However, patronage was not a top-down process.

Rather, it was cyclical. All levels of society played a major role in determining Albrecht

V‟s own sense of identity, and he, in turn, used his artists to project that sense of identity back onto the larger fabric of Bavarian identity. Marc R. Forster defines this process as confessionalism, and he suggests that it was one of the greatest strengths of early modern

Catholicism. He states:

Decentralization and relative disorganization of the Catholic Church at the

national level left considerable room for the population to shape Catholic

religious practice as it needed and desired. . . . Even where the state took a major

role in enforcing church discipline, as in Bavaria, the population retained

autonomy in organizing everyday religious life. . . . In the end, Catholic

confessionalism was not imposed from above, but created at the intersection of

church reform, state policy, and popular needs and desires.49

A similar process is defined by Jacques Ellul as sociological propaganda.50 Ellul, like Forster, asserts the power of all elements of society in the creation of an overarching mechanism of social definition. Ellul posits sociological propaganda as the expression

49 Marc R. Forster, “With and Without Confessionalization. Varieties of Early Modern German Catholicism,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 4 (1997): 343. 50 See Jacques Ellul, Propaganda: the Formation of Men’s Attitudes, trans. Konrad Kellen and Jean Lerner (New York: Vintage Books/Random House, 1973), 62-63. 40 and enforcement of collective identity.51 These approaches are valuable because they allow for all of the elements of confessionalization to exist but only as one small part of a larger expression of group identity. Like Brady‟s criticism of obedient Germans, sociological propaganda and confessionalism empower all elements of society.52 The following chapters show that the patronage of Albrecht V, who was a product of the zeitgeist of sixteenth-century Bavaria, served as a means by which a collective traditional

Bavarian Catholic identity was able to express itself.

51 Ibid., 118. 52 Ibid., 65-70. 41

CHAPTER II

Precedence: Wittelsbach Patronage before Albrecht V

This chapter surveys the role of Wittelsbach patronage in Bavaria during the centralization of Wittelsbach authority in Munich from the fourteenth through the early sixteenth century. During this time, the family began to adopt Munich as the center of

Bavarian rule. Initially, late-medieval Wittelsbach patronage supported artworks that were created to establish physical artifacts and indicators that proved their right to rule the duchy. These works were meant to convince other elements of Bavarian and German society to accept their authority, which was essential given Bavaria‟s many noble families, guilds and merchants and their propensity for rebelling against the Wittelsbachs.

The family promoted the use of architecture as a means of protection and diplomacy during the and into the Renaissance. Munich was an unusual late-medieval city in that it was governed by two that often came into conflict, the Wittelsbachs and an government. The uncertainty of the fourteenth and the fifteenth centuries made the establishment of protective structures a necessity.

Other buildings were meant to unify the duchy around religious identity. Establishing points of communal pride, such as the Frauenkirche, was an indirect way of keeping all sides at peace.

Finally, as Renaissance notions of art began to permeate the court in Munich, patronage of music and visual art was used to reflect the general greatness of the patron and as a means of guidance. The new view of artists as a symbol of the cultural capital of the court, empowered many musicians and visual artists. This chapter shows that artists 42 were even able to maintain religious views that differed from their patron so long as their art remained of high quality. By the sixteenth century, Albrecht V‟s father and grandfather, began to commission works that were meant to provide instruction on how to properly rule. This made for a unique power relationship in that the artist was the one realizing the vision of what the ideal ruler should be.

Each of these elements of patronage implies an act of convincing. Despite the centralization of ducal authority, power in Bavaria in the sixteenth century continued to be a loose concept. Free imperial , merchants, guilds, minor nobles, dukes, princes and electors all participated in a variety of localized legal systems that ensured that every member of society was accountable to someone else. Add to this a peasant class that was prone to rebellion, and the Wittelsbachs found themselves in an environment where they were unable to merely disregard people of lesser standing. They also found themselves competing with artworks that were produced by Bavarians outside of the Munich court and that often carried contradictory ideas. Whether it be to other nobles, to their people or to themselves, Wittelsbach patronage prior to Albrecht V was a powerful means of establishing and maintaining the family‟s acceptance by the larger structure of Bavarian society.

In 1255, seventy-five years after the Wittelsbachs gained control of Bavaria, the duchy was partitioned into two areas: Upper and . Ludwig II, who ruled

Upper Bavaria until 1294, established a residence, the Alte , in Munich.1 Munich‟s position in was solidified when Ludwig IV, who became the twice-

1 Enno Burmeister, “, München,” in Historisches Lexicon Bayerns, accessed June 18, 2010, http://www.historisches-lexikon-bayerns.de/artikel/artikel_45034. 43 excommunicated of Germany and Holy Roman , claimed the Alte Hof as the permanent seat of his authority in 1317.2 Ludwig IV united and reigned over Bavaria from 1301 to 1347, and he brought trade to Munich by granting the city a monopoly on tolls for the transportation of salt throughout the region.3

Munich is situated on the River at the intersection of several major land- and water-based trading routes that were in use since the Romans occupied the territory (fig.

1). Despite its location, the free cities of and Augsburg, with their independent city governments, dwarfed Munich in almost every way, especially in terms of trade and culture during the Middle Ages. Jeffrey Chipps Smith, points out that

Nuremberg‟s population, for example, was approximately forty thousand by 1500 compared with Munich‟s thirteen thousand five hundred inhabitants at the same time.4

Further disadvantaging the city was the fact that while Munich rested on a major tributary of the , it was not actually situated on the Danube, such as other Bavarian free cities like that also eclipsed Munich in size.

In addition to the Wittelsbachs, Munich also maintained an independent city charter, which enabled it to function like a free city.5 The division of power between the city council and the had a major impact on shaping the role of Wittelsbach

2 Michael Menzel, “München: Ludwig der Bayer und der Alte Hof,” in Schauplätze in der Geschichte in Bayern, ed. Alois Schmid and Katharina Weigand (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2003), 134. 3 The importance of salt is demonstrated by the names of some of the region‟s most important cities, such as . Munich‟s founding is said to have been a result of a salt trade conflict between a Bavarian duke and the of . See E. Ritz, “The History of Salt – Aspects of Interest to the Nephrologist,” Nephrology Dialysis Transplantation 11 (1996): 969-75; Mark Kurlansky, Salt: A World History (New York: Penguin, 2003). 4 Jeffrey Chipps Smith, “A Tale of Two Cities: Nuremburg and Munich,” in Embodiments of Power: Building Cities in Europe, ed. Gary B. Cohen and Franz A.J. Szabo (New York: Berghahn Books, 2008), 164. 5 Merry E. Wiesner, “Political, Economic, and Legal Structures,” in Early Modern Europe: Issues and Interpretations, ed. James B. Collins and Karen L. Taylor (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 225. 44 patronage in Munich. Like many of the neighboring free cities, Munich began to flourish in the middle of the fourteenth century, giving certain residents in the city a sense of power. Compounding the issue, Ludwig IV ensured political instability when he once again decided to divide his territories among his sons after his death in 1347.6

Tension between the Wittelsbachs, the lesser noble families and the guilds of

Munich, reached a boiling point by the end of the fourteenth century. The lower and merchant classes in Bavaria took Ludwig IV‟s division of the family as a symbol of the weakness of Wittelsbach rule and eventually decided to challenge the family and each other. As Hermann Neumann states, “Dividing the imperial legacy meant a loss of power to the Emperor‟s descendants so that his grandsons found it prudent around 1385 to raise defences against a mercantile class that had become proudly assertive.”7 The merchants and lesser nobles of Munich became so assertive by 1397 that, during a major dispute about the rights of Munich‟s citizens, the Wittelsbachs were forced to barricade themselves in the Alte Hof, which was located in the center of the city. For the duration of the dispute, the family was barred from freely entering and leaving the structure.8 Similar conflicts continued to arise until 1403 when a new city constitution was created that appeased both the guilds and the nobles. By the fifteenth century, city government was divided into two councils that in theory, though not always in practice, permitted landowning, taxpaying residents the right to take part in government affairs.9

6 Wilhelm Volkert, Geschichte Bayerns (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2001), 53. 7 Hermann Neumann, The Munich Residence and the Treasury (Munich: Prestel, 2008), 9. 8 Andreas Kraus, Geschichte Bayerns: von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1983), 167-8. 9 Ibid., 167-68. 45

2

5

3

1

4

Fig. 1. Aventinus, Map of Bavaria from the Bayerische Chronik, 1523. Originally a woodcut. Facsimile reproduced by the Geographischen Gesellschaft in München, 1899. Bavarian Regional Library Online: Historical Maps of Bavaria, accessed 27, 2011, http://www.bayerische-landesbibliothek-online.de/histkarten/suche?kartenid=95.

Important cities include: 1. Munich, 2. Ingostadt, 3. the location of Altötting, 4. Salzburg and 5. Augsburg.

46

The conflicts with citizens of Munich exposed the vulnerability of the Alte Hof’s centralized location, so the Wittelsbachs set out to build a new , the Neuveste, in

1385 on the outskirts of the city.10 The Neuveste‟s first incarnation was as a small fortress that allowed protection from the citizens of Munich by providing direct access to beyond the city wall. This enabled the Wittelsbachs to come and go as they pleased. It was a luxury that they did not always have in the Alte Hof. The Neuveste reflected its function as a fortress. The early structure was surrounded by a large moat and high walls. It sent a clear message to of Munich about which of the city‟s inhabitants really held sway. In 1466, the citizens tried to assert the authority of the city over the ducal family.

They decreed that the Wittelsbachs could not use the Neuveste as a residential palace, and so the family remained in the Alte Hof until the sixteenth century when Wilhelm IV began a palatial conversion toward permanent residence in the Neuveste.11

By the middle of the fifteenth century, the Wittelsbachs had divided Bavaria into four major duchies: Bavaria-, Bavaria-Ingolstadt, Bavaria- and

Bavaria-Munich.12 Each ruling member now acted as an individual agent. The familial infighting that ensued promoted more instability throughout the region. During the first half of the fifteenth century, as many as eight different Wittelsbachs maintained control over various portions of Bavaria, creating a political scene that, as often as not, bordered on chaos.13 The family, which was once powerful enough to have one of its own elected

10 Menzel, “München: Ludwig der Bayer und der Alte Hof,” 147. 11 Samuel John Klingensmith, The Utility of Splendor: Ceremony, Social Life and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600-1800 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993), 21. 12 Gerhard Immler, “Wittelsbachische Primogeniturordnung 1506,” in Historisches Lexicon Bayerns, accessed June 18, 2010, http://www.historisches-lexikon-bayerns.de/artikel/artikel _45352. 13 Reinhard Stauber, “Staat und Dynastie Herzog Albrecht IV. und die Einheit des ”Hauses Bayern” um 1500,” Zeitschrift für Bayerische Landesgeschichte 60 (1997): 540-41. 47

Holy , had gone relatively silent by the fifteenth century amidst yet another fragmentation.

In the late 1400s, Albrecht III and his son, Albrecht IV, began to call for the

Wittelsbach family to unite around the notion of the Haus Bayern.14 The House of

Bavaria implied several ideas, the most important of which was that Bavaria be unified under a centralized authority. For Albrecht III, this meant authority that was based on familial cooperation.15 Albrecht IV, who reigned from 1465 to 1508, saw things differently. For the young duke, the Haus Bayern was possible only if that house had one roof. Albrecht IV was used to asserting himself. He was the third of Albrecht III‟s five surviving sons, and he was only able to play a political role by demanding it after the death of his oldest brother, Johann IV, in 1463, and after his second oldest brother,

Sigmund, abdicated from public life in 1467, thereafter maintaining a primarily ceremonial role.16

Bringing order to Bavaria under the concept of the Haus Bayern required the

Munich Wittelsbachs to focus much of their patronage on legitimizing and providing a lineage for their authority. Of the four branches, Munich was not the most powerful.

Andreas M. Dahlem, who has written a thorough study on the use of visual culture in late-medieval Munich, reports that by 1438 the Landshut line of the family was the most

14 Ibid., 539-40. 15 Ibid., 540-41. 16 Hans and Marga Rall, Die Wittelsbacher in Lebensbildern (München, Piper Verlag GmBH: 1986), 109. 48 reputable, which only furthered the need for the patronage of artworks that could prove the Munich line‟s long dynastic greatness to onlookers. 17

The first large-scale, semi-public artwork was a genealogical mural created for the Alte Hof in the 1460s.18 Only two fragments from the mural remain (fig. 2).

Combined, the original work is estimated to have been nearly seventy feet long and over six feet tall.19 It was probably meant for display in a public space within the Alte Hof and, according to Dahlem, it represents the family‟s earliest attempt at publicly presenting images of the lineage of the Munich Wittelsbachs. The mural originally contained sixty- one figures depicting both real and imagined Wittelsbach ancestors.20 The sheer size of the mural is impressive even today. If, as Johan Huizinga suggested, late-

“had to be enjoyed as an element of life itself, as the expression of life‟s significance,” then surely the Munich Wittelsbachs felt significant in its presence. More importantly, the mural asserted their significance to the noble families and merchants who visited the Alte

Hof.21

17 Andreas M. Dahlem, “The Wittelsbach Court in Munich: History and Authority in the Visual Arts (1460-1508),” (PhD diss., University of Glasgow, 2009), 17-18. 18 Burmeister, “Alter Hof, München.” 19 Dahlem, “The Wittelsbach Court in Munich,” 134-35. 20 Ibid. 21 Johan Huizinga, The Waning of the Middle Ages (Toronto: General Publishing Company, 1999), 224. 49

Fig. 2. Remaining Fragments of the Alte Hof Genealogical Mural, c. 1460s. Approx. 70x6 ft. , Munich.

50

The genealogical mural was the visual manifestation of a genre of medieval literature the purpose of which was to prove noble descent. According to Helen

Watanabe-O‟Kelley, descent served an important function throughout Europe because it distinguished various classes of nobles. Descent shaped every part of a noble‟s life, from , to authority, to participation at festivals and tournaments. Even more importantly, descent was something that only certain nobles could prove.22

Dahlem‟s research reveals that in Munich, the mural was part of a larger program of lineage works that were created throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.23

Beyond genealogical works, which primarily proved descent, another genre, the historic chronicle, was also promoted by the Wittelsbachs. Chronicles aimed to prove , and they became popular during the fifteenth century as nobles attempted to inextricably tie themselves to the people and regions in which they ruled.24 The chronicles were not passive or objective. The author‟s main goal was to present their patron as part of a long tradition of greatness, even when that contradicted actual historical events.

The various lines of Wittelsbachs began a race to present their version of the family‟s history in the 1420s with Andreas von Regensburg‟s Chronica de principibus terrae Bavarorum. This chronicle of Bavarian princes was commissioned by Ludwig VII of the Bavaria-Ingolstadt line and was translated into German a few years later.25 The commission of the work paralleled a dispute about Ludwig VII‟s claims to certain

22 Helen Watanabe-O‟Kelley, “Literature and the Court, 1450-1720,” in Early Modern German Literature 1350-1700, Camden House Literature 4, ed. Max Reinhardt (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2007), 628-29. 23 Dahlem, “The Wittelsbach Court in Munich,” 134-35. 24 Watanabe-O‟Kelley, “Literature and the Court, 1450-1720,” 630-31. 25 Ernst Ralf Hintz, “Chronicles, Regional/ Territorial, German,” in Medieval Germany: an Encyclopedia, ed. John M. Jeep (New York: Garland Publishing, 2001), 194-95. 51 territories after the death of Johann III of Bavaria-Straubing-Holland in 1425 that led to the establishment of the four main fifteenth-century Bavarian lines.26 The tone of the chronicle is set in the opening sentences, where Andreas von Regensburg quickly praises

God and moves directly to heaping praise and validity upon Ludwig VII. In the opening three sentences, Regensburg positions Ludwig VII as a direct descendent of Otto I, the first Wittelsbach ruler of Bavaria, Ludwig IV, the most powerful Wittelsbach, and he creates a connection between Ludwig VII, the Wittelsbach family and the .27

Albrecht IV also commissioned several historic chronicles. One of the early authors who received his patronage was the painter and poet Ulrich Füetrer. Füetrer was as much a writer of fiction as he was a historian, and his Buch der Abenteuer was a retelling of the Arthurian legends that Albrecht IV commissioned during his reign.

Füetrer came to the Munich court in 1453, and completed a chronicle of Bavarian history, the Bairische Chronik, by 1481.28 In the Chronik, Füetrer outlines the history of the

Wittelsbachs from 60 BCE to 1481. His work comes to the unsurprising conclusion that

Albrecht IV is the one true and right heir of Bavaria because he descended direclty from

Ludwig IV.29 This conclusion served to further validate Albrecht IV‟s assertion that the

Wittelsbach family should centralize Bavaria under his rule.

26 Dorit-Maria Krenn, “Straubinger Erbfall, 1425-1429,” in Historisches Lexicons Bayerns, accessed June 18, 2010, http://www.historisches-lexikon-bayerns.de/artikel/artikel_45582. 27 Andreas von Regensburg, Chronik von den Fürsten zu Bayern, in Andreas von Regensburg: Sämtliche Werke (Munich: G. Himmer, 1903), 591. 28 Christine M. Kallinger-Allen, “Fuetrer, Ulrich (ca. 1420- ca. 1496/1502),” in Medieval Germany: an Encyclopedia, ed. John M. Jeep (New York: Garland Publishing, 2001), 410-11. 29 Watanabe-O‟Kelley, “Literature and the Court, 1450-1720,” 631; Dahlem, “The Wittelsbach Court in Munich,” 127-30. 52

The historical chronicle reached its pinnacle in Munich in the when

Johannes Aventinus compiled his Bayerische Chronik. A linguist and one of Germany‟s great humanist historians, Aventinus was hired to tutor Albrecht IV‟s two youngest sons,

Ludwig and Ernst. In 1517, Aventinus was appointed official historian for the court, and he was commissioned to write the Bayerische Chronik.30 The work originally appeared in

Latin, and it was later translated so that the Wittelsbachs could read it.

Unlike Füetrer‟s work, Aventinus took an unabashedly humanist approach. He understood history as an objective pursuit and derided the earlier histories for their attempts to praise rather than find the truth.31 He pursued archeological and literary evidence to prove his claims.32 In short, he did not primarily pursue the ambitions of his patrons, who were concerned with the creation of a history that, once again, would legitimize their greatness. Aventinus‟ objection to what he saw as poor scholarship caused a delay in the actual publication of his chronicle, which did not happen until the

1550s.33 Aventinus was often in trouble at the court, and his works and actions were indicative of a larger shift taking place at court and throughout the Holy Roman Empire.

Despite his assertion that history is a laborious pursuit of the truth, the bulk of

Aventinus‟ history is still spent trying to tie Bavarians to Christian Rome. Two of the four volumes that comprise the German translation investigate the years prior to 500. The

30 Pia F. Cuneo, Art and Politics in Early Modern Germany: Jörg Breu the Elder and the Fashioning of Political Identity, ca. 1475-1536 (Boston, MA: Brill, 1998), 194. 31 Christopher S. Wood, Forgery, Replica, Fiction: Temporalities of German (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 257-58. 32 Cuneo, Art and Politics in Early Modern Germany, 195-96. 33 Watanabe-O‟Kelley, “Literature and the Court, 1450-1720,” 631-32. 53 other two volumes comprise the next one thousand years of history.34 This lopsided attention was probably a combination of the humanist scholar‟s own interest in early history and his need to fulfill the wishes of his patrons, who still wanted to be tied to great historical periods.

The historical chronicles were meant to validate dynastic claims and provide models of greatness. They were meant for a literate class, and they were probably not consumed outside of the realms of nobility. Outside of convincing nobles, however, a constant concern was the age-old question of how to peacefully align the unique makeup of Munich‟s class structure behind the notion of a clear leader. As mentioned, Albrecht

IV believed that the concept of the Haus Bayern included himself as that clear leader, and during his reign, he took the position that civic cooperation was advantageous to nobles, merchants and the Wittelsbachs. This approach briefly managed to work, and the seeming willingness of the entire community to work together led to the creation of one of

Munich‟s greatest buildings, the Frauenkirche.

Munich‟s population was approaching 13,500 people by 1500. The combination of the city‟s growing populace and their willingness to line up behind a powerful royal family that was again becoming firmly established created a certain amount of civic pride that began to move the wealthier merchants to push for a new church that symbolized

Munich‟s arrival as a major metropolitan area and that could rival the of neighboring cities such as and Regensburg. Perhaps more important was the

34 Martin Ott, “Römische Inschriften und die humanistische Erschliessung der antiken Landschaft: Bayern und Schwaben,” in Deutsche Landesgeschichtsschreibung im Zeichen des Humanismus, vol. 56, Tübinger Beiträge zur Universitäts- und Wissenschaftsgeschichte, ed. Franze Brendle, Dieter Mertens, , Walter Ziegler (: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2001), 213. 54 need to create a structure that could rival the new, two-hundred--tall Church of Our

Lady in Ingolstadt that was commissioned by Albrecht IV‟s first-cousin twice-removed,

Ludwig VII, Duke of Bavaria-Ingolstadt.

On 9, 1468, Albrecht IV‟s brother, Sigmund, placed the cornerstone for the building of a new Frauenkirche. Jörg von Halspach, an area mason with close ties to the Wittelsbachs, was chosen to lead the project.35 Funding for the church was a truly multi-faceted affair, with income provided by the city council, the Church and by the

Wittelsbachs. The most notable source of income was through the sale of indulgences from 1480 to 1482, an act that required the Wittelsbachs to get the approval of the Pope.36

The Frauenkirche forever altered the city of Munich, and it still stands as one of the most impressive buildings in the city (figs. 3-4).

Each of the works mentioned were attempts at documenting or presenting a history of Bavarian greatness and thus Wittelsbach greatness. The Frauenkirche was the expression of the collective will of great people. The genealogical mural inserted the

Wittelsbachs into that tradition. The chronicles proved a past that not only empowered the ruling class, but all Bavarians. It is particularly important to note that with these works, the greatness of the Wittelsbachs is only determined in relation to the greatness of

Bavaria. Even though the works follow the actions of heroic Wittelsbachs, the perspective positions communal identity first and individual identity second. Andreas von

Regensburg acknowledges that Ludwig VII is a great Bavarian ruler, not a great ruler of

Bavarians. These works show the Wittelsbachs in an ideal light, but they also underscore

35 Hans Ramisch, “Frauenkirche, München,” in Historisches Lexicon Bayerns, accessed June 18, 2010, http://www.historisches-lexikon-bayerns.de/artikel/artikel_45380. 36 Dahlem, The Wittelsbach Court in Munich, 101-04. 55 the Wittelsbachs‟ need to convince themselves and others that Bavarians are people worth ruling. They do this by empowering those very people with acts of civic expression and by creating histories that link the community with the greatest societies in history.

The fifteenth century also saw the rise of the court in Munich as a musical center.

The patronage of musicians in the late fifteenth century was different than that of the

Frauenkirche, the Alte Hof genealogical mural and the historical chronicles. With these works, the artists were attempting to create tangible documents that proved Bavaria‟s greatness. The prose in the chronicles and the form of the architecture were all part of the overall message, which was always clear. By the end of the fifteenth century, as

Renaissance ideas were established, musicians became a commodity in and of themselves.

Great leaders were still attaching themselves to the past, but artists were becoming increasingly valuable as artists.

Germany was particularly well known for its instrumentalists in the same way that the Franco-Netherlands region was known for producing singers. The importance of instrumental music in Bavaria was so great that Keith Polk has uncovered twenty-five cities within one hundred miles of Munich and Augsburg that budgeted for professional instrumental ensembles with municipal funds between 1380-1450.37 Masters of both haut

(loud) and bas (soft) instruments, German instrumentalists found themselves travelling throughout Europe and performing in some of its most lavish courts.38

37 Keith Polk, “Instrumental Music in the Urban Centres of Renaissance Germany,” Early Music History 7 (1987): 176. 38 Keith Polk, “Voices and Instruments: Soloists and Ensembles in the 15th Century,” Early Music 18, no. 2 (May 1990) 180. Also see Keith Polk, “Patronage and Innovation in Instrumental Music in the 15th Century,” Historical Brass Society Journal 3 (1991): 151-78. 56

1 2 3

Fig. 3. , Illustration of Munich from the Nürnberg Chronicle, 1493. Woodcut print. Bavarian State Library, Munich Digitization Center, accessed January 27, 2011, http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/bsb00034024/image_524.

View of Munich from the southeast. Important structures include: 1. Frauenkirche, 2. Alte Hof, 3. Neuveste. The onion of the church were not finished at this time.

Fig. 4. Frauenkirche with onion domes, which were added in 1525. The church was restored after being damaged in World War II. Munich. 57

From Boethius to Guido d‟Arezzo, medieval instrumentalists and singers were typically portrayed as the lowest type of musician.39 In the fifteenth century, however, instrumental music had integrated itself into the greater community and reached a point of amazing technical complexity. Suddenly, instrumental performers who mastered their instrument – usually instruments – with all of the unwritten rules for ornamentation and improvisation were highly prized. Patrons began to view the support of quality performers as a symbol of their own quality. Towns and courts began to import musicians from other countries. Polk points out that the culture of international travel in the profession became so common that cities and courts began earmarking money in their annual budgets to pay for the additional costs of out-of-town musicians in addition to their support of permanent ensembles.40

The growing value of musicians as a means of cultural capital caused a shift in the power structure of the patron-artist relationship. For the first time, fifteenth-century musicians in Germany were known and valued by name. As they came to realize their talents, instrumentalists began to ask for and receive certain concessions from their patrons. This phenomenon was not unique to musicians, and as mentioned, it is one of the distinguishing features of the beginning of the Renaissance. However common it was, this movement still promoted a certain amount of empowerment on the part of the artist.

One example of the relationship between the patron and the empowered artist is the life of the blind organist and lute player, Conrad Paumann. Paumann was born in

39 Dolores Pesce, “Guido d‟Arezzo, Ut queant laxis, and Musical Understanding,” in Music Education in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, Publications of the Early Music Institute, ed. Russell E. Murray, Jr., Susan Forscher Weiss and Cynthia J. Cyrus (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2010), 26-27. 40 Polk, “Instrumental Music in the Urban Centres,” 177. 58

Nuremberg around 1415, and he maintained a very successful career in that city for the first half of the century.41 As mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, Nuremberg was widely acknowledged as a far more commercially and culturally advanced city than

Munich at the end of the Middle Ages. Jeffrey Chipps Smith points out that many considered Nuremberg the cultural and commercial capital of the Holy Roman Empire if not all of Europe.42 In 1447, Paumann was awarded the post of city organist in

Nuremberg but only upon promising not to leave the city for another post without gaining the permission of the city. In Nuremburg, Paumann had the opportunity to play on a new, and large, organ at St. Sebald Church, and he had the freedoms that came from working in a free city.43 However, Paumann broke his promise. In 1450, he secretly left

Nuremberg for the court of Albrecht III. In Munich, the duke provided Paumann and his wife with an annual salary and a house. To smooth things over with the city of

Nuremberg, Albrecht III‟s second wife, Anna, personally went to Nuremberg to have

Paumann absolved from his contractual obligations.44 Luring the organist from his post with the promise of a home, the personal intervention of the duke‟s wife and with the prestige of international travel underline just how important Paumann was as an addition to Albrecht III‟s court.

41 Christoph Wolf, “Paumann, Conrad,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, accessed June 18, 2010, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/21114. 42 Smith, “A Tale of Two Cities,” 165. 43 George Ashdown Audsley, The Art of Organ Building, vol. 1 (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1965), 45. 44 Wolf, “Paumann, Conrad.” Incidentally, Albrecht III‟s first wife, , was a commoner, which did not sit well with Albrecht III‟s father, Ernst. To remedy this, Ernst had his son‟s wife accused of witchcraft, and she was drowned in the Danube in 1435. See Marita A. Panzer, “Ermordung der Agnes Bernauer,” in Historisches Lexicon Bayerns, accessed June 18, 2010, http://www.historisches- lexikon-bayerns.de/artikel/artikel_45822. 59

Paumann‟s fame spread throughout Europe, and the Wittelsbachs shared their prized musician with courts in Italy and the Holy Roman Empire. On these travels, he was lavished with gifts and offers to work at some of Europe‟s most prestigious courts.45

Paumann – also a virtuoso on the lute – wrote some of the earliest extant method books for musicians, including the Fundamentum organisandi. This work was compiled in 1452 and served as the standard training manual for organists during the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.46 Paumann died before the new Frauenkirche was complete, but he was buried on that site. The image on the organist‟s epitaph in the Frauenkirche, depicts the organist holding a hand-pumped organ surrounded by other instruments (fig. 5).

Fig. 5. on Conrad Paumann‟s tombstone, c. 1473. Red marble. Frauenkirche, Munich.

45 Wolf, “Paumann, Conrad.” 46 Willi Apel, The History of Keyboard Music to 1700, (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1972), 48. 60

Paumann‟s career also reveals how personal patronage in the fifteenth century could be. When the Wittelsbachs obtained a talented artist, their patronage of that artist often extended to his family, and it is common to find the court supporting that artist‟s family for generations. Conrad‟s son, Paul Paumann, served as a court musician in

Munich after his father‟s death.47 Albrecht V supported Orlando di Lasso sons, and Hans

Mielich‟s father worked at the court prior to his son‟s position at the court. During Paul

Paumann‟s tenure, a new organ was built in the Frauenkirche in 1491, marking the continued growth of music at the Munich court.48 At great expense, Albrecht III and

Albrecht IV created a music culture that rivaled the court of Philip the Good of

Burgundy.49

Albrecht IV‟s goal of centralizing the Wittelsbach court went beyond establishing civic unity and promoting courtly life in Munich. His aim was to raise Bavaria‟s status as a political leader in the Holy Roman Empire as Ludwig IV had once done. One of the first major political moves that Albrecht IV – “the Wise” as he came to be known – undertook was a bold act of provocation. Through several aggressive deals, Albrecht initiated a land grab that extended Wittelsbach reach into Habsburg territories, a move that incited the ire of the , Friedrich III.50

Making matters worse for the Habsburg emperor, Albrecht IV had taken a liking to one of his daughters, Kunigunde. The two arranged a secret marriage in 1487, an event that nearly drove Friedrich to military action. At the Peace of Augsburg in 1492,

47 Wolf, “Paumann, Conrad.” 48 Horst Leuchtmann and Robert Münster, “Munich,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, accessed June 18, 2010, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/ music/19360. 49 Polk, “Voices and Instruments,” 187. 50 Herman Weisflecker, Maximilian, vol. 1, (: R. Spies and Co., 1971), 251-52. 61

Friedrich was eventually pacified through deals brokered by his son Maximilian I, who saw to it that Albrecht IV returned some of the land that he had recently taken from the

Habsburgs as a payment for the right to marry Kunigunde.51

While this move initially provoked the Habsburgs, Albrecht‟s marriage to

Kunigunde proved the first of several very tentative steps toward strengthening

Habsburg-Wittelsbach relations. Tentative remained the operative word throughout much of the sixteenth century, however, as both the Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs seemed more than ready to squander any relationship with their in-laws if the right opportunity presented itself. Despite the setbacks caused by these opportunities, of which there were many, the marriage established a trend that saw the two families allied with each other by the 1600s around the cause of reestablishing and maintaining Catholicism within the

Holy Roman Empire.

Albrecht IV‟s marriage to Kunigunde created valuable external relationships for the Wittelsbachs, but, like his medieval ancestors, he still had to deal with the fragmented political system within Bavaria. By the end of the fifteenth century, the majority of

Bavarian power rested primarily in two duchies. Bavaria-Landshut was ruled by Duke

Georg, son of Ludwig IX, who had peacefully co-ruled Bavaria with Albrecht III under the original notion of the Haus Bayern. Bavaria-Munich was controlled by Albrecht IV.

The two cousins had an agreement that should either one of them fail to produce a male heir, their lands would be inherited by the male heir of the other. It was Duke Georg who failed to produce a son. When he tried to name his daughter, Elisabeth, as his successor,

Albrecht IV took issue, resulting in the 1503 War of Landshut Succession. The war lasted

51 Ibid. 62 two years, during which both Elisabeth and her husband, Ruprecht of the Palatinate, died.52 By 1505, Maximilian I, who became the Holy Roman Emperor in 1508, saw an opportunity to maintain Wittelsbach instability and to increase his own lands. He intervened just as he had with Albrecht IV‟s marriage to Kunigunde, and tried to keep both sides fighting for as long as possible. Eventually, he brokered an agreement between the two warring factions of the family. The intervention resulted in the unification of the

Landshut and Munich territories, with land concessions given to Maximilian I, the

Palatinate and several free cities and smaller territories as payment for their political and military support during the conflict.53

Thus, the reigns of Albrecht III and Albrecht IV trended toward the centralization of authority within the duchy of Bavaria. This process was not unique to Bavaria, and it is seen as one of the hallmarks of Europe‟s transformation out of the Middle Ages into the early modern period. Karin Jutta MacHardy explains, for example, that the Habsburgs underwent a similar process:

Maximilian I . . . was succeeded by rulers whose main aim it was to expand and

consolidate the Habsburg dominions, centralize the administration and improve

their military capacity. Although political culture retained many feudal elements

in the following two and a half centuries, they are usually considered to be part of

52 Gerhard Tausche and Werner Ebermeier, Geschichte Landshuts (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2003), 48- 49. Also see Immler, “Wittelsbachische Primogeniturordnung 1506.” 53 Immler, “Wittelsbachische Primogeniturordnung 1506.” 63

a stage in modern state-building; and this process, while slower and on a smaller

scale, resembled the road to absolutism in other European countries.54

Now unified, Albrecht IV set out to ensure that the duchy would never again fracture by implementing the rule of in 1506. Unlike Georg of Landshut,

Albrecht IV‟s misfortune was that he produced too many potential male heirs, and shortly after his death in 1508, the rule of primogeniture was put to the test. That Albrecht IV unified Bavaria under what many believed to be aggressive circumstances did not sit well with many lesser Bavarian nobles. They feared control being in the hands of one person and tried to use Albrecht IV‟s abundance of sons against him.

Each of Albrecht IV‟s sons, Wilhelm IV, Ludwig X and Ernst, was born before the 1506 decree, and as none were of age to rule at the time of Albrecht IV‟s death, the duchy was left in a precarious position. Wilhelm IV was the oldest son, and by rule, he was to assume his father‟s position as Duke of Bavaria. The two sons were groomed to assume roles within the Church as a means of extending Wittelsbach reach in that realm. This plan quickly fell apart. Bavarian nobles recognized the potential to fragment Wittelsbach power. Wilhelm IV‟s mother, Kunigunde, who was supported by the Habsburgs – who saw this as yet another chance to further ensure the instability of their neighbor – began to urge Ludwig X not to accept religious orders and to challenge the rule of primogeniture.55 Ludwig X forced the issue and claimed that the decree did not apply to him because he was born before it went into effect. The younger brother won

54 Karin J. MacHardy, War, Religion and Court Patronage in Habsburg : The Social and Cultural Dimensions of Political Interaction, 1521-1622 (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2003), 21. 55 Max Spindler, Handbuch der bayerischen Geschichte, vol. 2, Das Alte Bayern Der Territorialstaat (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1988), 327. 64 his case, much to the delight of those working against Wilhelm IV. In 1514, an agreement was brokered calling for both dukes to co-rule Bavaria while maintaining separate estates.56

Unexpectedly and much to the surprise of the supporters of both Wilhelm IV and

Ludwig X, the brother‟s policies were pursued in the spirit of cooperation, and the two brokered a deal in 1516 to co-rule under a unified agenda until Ludwig X‟s death in 1545.

After this, the law of primogeniture was not questioned and rule over Bavaria was passed from Wilhelm IV to Albrecht V and subsequent generations of oldest sons.57

In 1525, the onion-shaped domes of the Frauenkirche were finally installed, marking the true completion of that great landmark (fig. 4). It also marked the end of a period of artistic growth in Bavaria. Economically, the duchy, which was mostly comprised of rural, illiterate farmers, began to go into a state of decline after the reign of

Albrecht IV. As with the rest of the Holy Roman Empire, church corruption, a general disinterest in the affairs of Rome and an ongoing distrust of papal authority consumed every level of Bavarian culture. Jeffrey Chipps Smith describes the state of the duchy:

By the mid-sixteenth century two generations of strife had left broad scars, and

many of Germany‟s Catholics were either wavering in their faith or dispirited. A

deep-seated suspicion of Rome, that „foreign‟ center of Catholicism, predated the

56 Gerald Strauss, “The Religious Policies of Dukes Wilhelm and Ludwig of Bavaria in the First Decade of the Protestant Era,” Church History 28, no. 4 (December 1959): 351-52. 57 Rall, Die Wittelsbacher in Lebensbildern, 110. 65

Reformation, as did complaints about a bloated clergy known, deservedly, as

much for its moral laxity as for its piety.58

While Bavaria never officially waivered from Catholicism, the actual state of Bavarian religious affairs was very similar to that of the rest of Germany in the years surrounding the dissolving religious stability of the early sixteenth century. James Brodrick describes a papal official‟s report about the state of Bavaria:

(Dr. Augustine) Paumgartner, the Bavarian ambassador at Trent in 1561,

informed the Council that among the parochial priests of his country were to be

found men professing the views of Zwingli, Luther, Flacius Illyricus, and other

sectaries, and that at the visitation of 1558 more than 90 per cent [sic] of the

clergy were discovered to be living in open or secret .59

The Wittelsbach court was initially passive and even sympathetic at times to the growing

Protestant movements after 1517. Indeed, Munich‟s unique political structure created religious complexities that came from unusual sources and ended with unusual results.

The actions of Argula von Grumbach are an example of the Protestant sentiment that was spreading through Bavaria after 1517. Grumbach was a minor noble who served as lady-in-waiting to Albrecht IV‟s wife, Kunigunde. She was one year older than

Albrecht IV‟s son, Wilhelm IV, and the two maintained relatively close ties throughout childhood. Grumbach proved a very passionate theologian who sympathized with the views of Martin Luther. Peter Matheson describes that both open Protestant sympathizers and Catholics who secretly held Protestant views were common throughout Bavaria in

58 Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship: Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (Princeton University Press, 2002), 13. 59 James Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1980), 131-32. 66 the years following 1517.60 Grumbach was a part of the long tradition of independent- minded Bavarian nobles, and in 1523, she came to the defense of a young teacher at the

University in Ingolstadt who had been accused of being sympathetic to Lutheran doctrine.

She wrote a letter to the faculty explaining why they were wrong to censure the teacher

(fig. 6).61 She also sent a letter directly to her long-time acquaintance, Wilhelm IV.

Neither letter received an official response. Unofficially, Wilhelm IV had Grumbach‟s husband stripped from his civic position, and he was warned to control his wife.62 In hindsight, the duke might have wished to have been sterner. Grumbachs‟s writings were subsequently published, and nearly 30,000 copies of her works, including the letters to

Ingolstadt and Wilhelm IV, were circulating throughout Bavaria and Germany in 1524.63

Another long-time Wittelsbach acquaintance was the subject of a similar religious fiasco. Aventinus, the humanist author of the Bayerische Chronik, had also become disenchanted with many of the policies of the Catholic Church that he found to be hypocritical or outright incorrect. His criticisms were not unique, and they followed in the tradition of and other humanist Catholics who wished to see the Church undertake reforms. He was also very vocal about how he thought these criticisms should be remedied, which led to his arrest in 1528. However, Aventinus was eventually released after promising to soften his tone toward religion. 64

60 Peter Matheson, Argula von Grumbach: A Woman’s Voice in the Reformation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), 13. 61 Merry Wiesner, “Women‟s Response to the Reformation,” in The German People and the Reformation, ed. R. Po-Chia Hsia (New York: Cornell University Press, 1988), 168. 62 Matheson, Argula von Grumbach, 18. Early historians claim that the Grumbach‟s were expelled from Bavarian, but Matheson states that these claims cannot be substantiated. 63 Peter Matheson, “Argula von Grumbach,” The Reformation Theologians: An Introduction to in the Early Modern Period, ed. Carter (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2002), 95. 64 Strauss, “The Religious Policies of Dukes Wilhelm and Ludwig of Bavaria,” 350. 67

Fig. 6. Matthes Maler, Cover of the edition of Argula von Grumbach‟s letter to the faculty at the , 1523. Originally a woodcut.

68

These incidents highlight the precarious religious position that the Wittelsbach dukes, and dukes throughout the Holy Roman Empire, occupied during the religious schisms of the sixteenth century. The religious schisms presented potential opportunities and pitfalls. Wilhelm IV was a ruler who wanted to see to it that Bavaria was strengthened, and he wanted to maintain ties with those whom he perceived to be the strongest allies. As each side of the religious debate began to take irreparable steps away from reconciliation, the Wittelsbachs, who remained strategically ambiguous, were forced to take action. By the Edict of Worms in 1521, the Wittelsbachs began to solidify their stance by decreeing that all teachings of Luther were to be banned in Bavaria.65

However, Wilhelm IV and Ludwig X still took a soft line when dealing with violations of their decrees by Lutheran sympathizers. The worst offenders received banishment from

Bavaria, but the more likely results were public apologies and assurances of future compliance with the Catholic Church. Gerald Strauss states that the Wittelsbachs religious policy in the early sixteenth century was “based on purely indigenous considerations.”66

The most internal support for maintaining ties with Catholicism came from the

Northern Bavarian city of Ingolstadt. There, the university, which was founded in 1472, had become for what the university in Wittenberg was for Lutheran thinkers. Ingolstadt became the home for some of Catholicism‟s greatest German supporters, including the theologian Johannes Eck, and it eventually served as a headquarters for the Jesuits, whose impact on patronage is investigated in Chapter Four.

65 Ibid., 362. 66 Ibid., 363 69

However, the source of guidance concerning Bavaria‟s religious policy primarily came from Wilhelm IV‟s political advisor, Leonhard von Eck. Eck, perhaps more so than even Wilhelm IV, was very quick to realize the shifting landscape across Germany in the second decade of the sixteenth century.67 He was also keenly aware of the Wittelsbach-

Habsburg rivalry and wanted as much as Wilhelm IV to thwart any Habsburg advances within the Empire, so long as it could be done without damaging Bavarian interests.

Repeatedly, the dukes proved that they were happy to forget their Catholic devotion if it meant political advantage over their neighbors. When Charles V had his brother

Ferdinand I installed as the next in line to become Holy Roman Emperor, the

Wittelsbachs became convinced that the Habsburgs were trying to establish hereditary rights to the . To prevent this, Eck advised Wilhelm IV and Ludwig X to ally themselves with Francois I of France, who had brought together an alliance of German

Protestant princes and Turks to oust the Habsburgs.68 Particularly inviting for the

Wittelsbachs was Francois I‟s promise to have Wilhelm IV installed as Holy Roman

Emperor should he cooperate against the Habsburgs.69 It was not until Eck accepted that

Charles V and his successor, Ferdinand I, were too powerful to topple that he urged

Wilhelm IV to throw the full support of Bavaria behind the Catholic Church.70

This type of political and religious ambiguity and the willingness to serve the family first was further demonstrated in the career of Albrecht IV‟s youngest surviving son, Ernst. Ludwig X‟s assertion as partial head of Bavarian lands after the death of his

67 Hajo Holborn, A History of Modern Germany: The Reformation (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1967), 170. 68 Kraus, Geschichte Bayerns, 205-06. 69 Holborn, A History of Modern Germany, 215. 70 Kraus, Geschichte Bayerns, 205-06. 70 father in 1508, because of the primogeniture loophole, had the unintended effect of leaving the same challenge open to his younger brother, Ernst, who was born in 1500.

Troubled at the prospect of losing even more control to a third party, the two older brothers, Ludwig X and Wilhelm IV, set out to find a way to pacify the younger brother‟s wont for power and to insure that he would not assert his right to a third of Bavarian lands.71 The two older brothers found a solution that they hoped would both satisfy their brother and put a dent in the growing authority of the Habsburgs. In 1513, they set out to establish Ernst as the of Salzburg, a city that rested on the border of Bavaria and Austria. Their mission, however, proved to be a failure during the early years of their attempt, and Ernst, who had no interest in taking , maintained the position that he should control a third of Bavaria. 72

Initially, Ernst‟s predicament could not have been better for the Habsburgs, who once again threw their support behind the youngest brother, the same as they had done with Ludwig X. However, by the 1530s, the Habsburgs were embroiled in much larger conflicts. The 1520s saw the need for the Habsburgs to reorganize a governmental structure that had been weakened by family deaths and the growing threat of invasion by the Turkish Empire. Given the enormity of these problems, they were forced to stop focusing on the Wittelsbach primogeniture controversy. With the Habsburgs weakened,

71 Felix F. Strauss, “The Effect of the on the Episcopal Tenure of Duke Ernst of Bavaria, Archbishop-Confirmed of Salzburg, in 1554,” The Journal of Modern History 32, no. 2 (June 1960): 120. 72 Ibid., 120-22. 71

Ernst‟s primogeniture claim fell apart, and he agreed to renounce his claim to the throne in exchange for a large sum of money.73

Ernst‟s renunciation put Salzburg back on the table. The area, with its vast salt deposits and its position as a European crossroads, was extremely valuable. With the

Habsburgs dealing with political issues in almost every corner of their realm, the brothers finally fulfilled their mission of obtaining the archbishopric. In 1525, they made a secret deal with the Bishop of Salzburg that Ernst would be next in line in exchange for military support during a skirmish involving the bishop. The two older brothers flirted with both sides in the debacle by maintaining ties with the Habsburg opposition while at the same time signing a treaty with the Habsburgs at Linz in 1534. In 1538, the two brothers asserted their claim, and by October 1540, Ernst was installed in Salzburg. 74

The first of the councils at Trent was held midway through Ernst‟s tenure in

Salzburg. The councils highlighted the glaring flaw in Ernst‟s position, namely that he had not taken holy orders. Pressures from Rome about the issue began to mount prior to the opening council in 1545; how the Wittelsbachs handled the issue suggests that perhaps they were only as Catholic as was politically advantageous. Ernst never did take holy orders, and for fourteen years, his brothers were kept busy fabricating excuses in order to maintain his position. The earliest reason was that he could not take orders for dynastic purposes. Neither of the older brothers had children, and they argued that Ernst needed to remain a secular leader in case he was needed to produce a male heir. After

Albrecht V was born, raised and married, this reasoning became less convincing to

73 Ibid., 121. 74 Ibid. 72

Church reformers. The Wittelsbachs continued to try various excuses until Ernst was finally ousted in 1554.75 The story of Ernst suggests that Wittelsbach interest in

Catholicism was primarily as a political alignment meant to strengthen the duchy.

The same religious indifference in the face of political gain can be found in

Wilhelm IV‟s patronage. Two cases exemplify the initial religious tolerance of the

Wittelsbachs during the early years of the reformation. The first example is the tenure of

Ludwig Senfl, who served as a court musician in Munich during approximately the same years that Ernst served in Salzburg. The second study focuses on a series of humanist paintings commissioned by Wilhelm IV.

The tradition of musical excellence that began with Conrad Paumann, under the patronage of Albrecht III, was maintained during the reign of Wilhelm IV. The most famous person to receive Wilhelm IV‟s patronage was Ludwig Senfl, a singer and vocal composer. Senfl was born in Basle around 1486 (fig. 7). He was a well-travelled musician who joined the court of Maximilian I as a boy and remained under the

Emperor‟s patronage until his death in 1519.76 When Charles V came to power, he disbanded Maximilian I‟s court, and Senfl spent several years trying to convince Charles

V that he should remain with the court. These attempts failed, and Senfl found himself without a patron in 1522 when he composed music for the wedding of Wilhelm IV and

Maria Jacobäa von .77 A year after the wedding, Wilhelm IV sought after Senfl to

75 Ibid., 126-28. 76 Martin Bente and Clytus Gottwald, “Senfl, Ludwig,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, accessed June 21, 2010, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/ grove/music/25409. 77 Bente and Gottwald, “Ludwig, Senfl.” 73 serve as a composer at the Bavarian court. Senfl came to be recognized as one of the leading composers of lieder in the early sixteenth century.

Germany maintained a very vibrant, yet provincial, vocal-music culture in the sixteenth century that was embraced by all levels of society, including the courts.

Melodies and poetry from popular songs were often used as models for larger works, and most vocal composers working in Germany during the sixteenth century were expected to be equally adept with popular as well as larger, polyphonic musical forms.78 Such was the case with Senfl, who led the Bavarian hofkapelle out of the Middle Ages, bringing it in line with other European centers and allowing the Wittelsbachs to compete when recruiting new singers. At the same time, Senfl‟s secular works were almost exclusively written in German, using traditional German forms such as the Tenorlied.79

Senfl was so respected by his peers, Catholic and Protestant alike, that his ,

Ecce quam bonum, was chosen to open the Diet at Augsburg in 1530. Taken from Psalm

133, the opening lines of the text read, “How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!”80 Invoking the original intent of the council, this motet served as a call to unity within the Holy Roman Empire and earned Senfl praise from all sides.81

78 Howard M. Brown, Music in the Renaissance, Prentice Hall Series (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1976), 229. 79 Bente and Gottwald, “Ludwig, Senfl.” 80 Psalms 133: 1 (New Revised Standard Version). 81 Rebecca Wagner Oettinger, “Ludwig Senfl and the Judas Trope: Composition and Religious Tolerance at the Bavarian Court,” Early Music History 20 (2001): 213. 74

Fig. 7. Hans Schwarz, Sketch of Ludwig Senfl, 1519. National Museum.

While working for the Catholic Wittelsbachs, Senfl also maintained open communication with Martin Luther, who considered Senfl‟s works the pinnacle of

German music.82 Senfl and Luther maintained contact even after the confutation of the

Augsburg Confession by Charles V, who by this time was receiving the support of the

Wittelsbach family in the religious affairs of the Holy Roman Empire. Rebecca Wagner

Oettinger reports that at one point Senfl and Luther were involved in communications

82 Bente and Gottwald, “Ludwig, Senfl.” 75 wherein Luther asked to receive certain arrangements of Senfl‟s music and admitted that he had grown weary of the overall religious conflict. Senfl responded by sending him two arrangements.83 In his letter, Luther fully articulated the dangers inherent in communicating with Senfl, but acknowledged that Senfl‟s talents were so great that the letter was worth the risk:

Grace and peace in Christ! Although my name is so thoroughly hated and

despised, dear Ludwig, that I must fear you will receive and read my letter hardly

with safety, my love for music, with which I perceive has adorned and

talented you, has conquered all my fears. My love for music leads me also to hope

that my letter will not endanger you in any way, for who, even in , would

find fault with anyone who loves music and praises the artist? I, at least, love

your Bavarian dukes, even though they certainly dislike me. I honor them above

all others because they cultivate and honor music.84

This series of correspondence between the two men took place in October 1530, in the midst of the Diet at Augsburg and almost ten years after excommunicated

Luther with the , Decent Romanum Pontificem, which put into effect the threat leveled against Luther in the earlier document, Exsurge Domine.

Senfl remained at the court in Munich until his death, around 1543. By this time, the Wittelsbachs were under pressure to see to it that Ernst took holy orders in order to fall in line with Catholic doctrine. Wilhelm IV was receiving attention from advisors and friends from within Bavaria and Rome about the loose nature of his enforcement of

83 Oettinger, “Ludwig Senfl and the Judas Trope,” 214-15. 84 Quoted in Walter E. Buszin and Marin Luther, “Luther on Music,” The Musical Quarterly 32, no. 1 (Jan 1946): 84. 76

Catholicism in Bavaria. As early as the 1520s, the duke‟s advisor, Leonhard von Eck, and

Luther‟s great rival, , both pressured Wilhelm IV to take stronger measures against Lutheran ideology, which both Ecks saw as a gateway ideology to Anabaptist beliefs.85 The Anabaptists, whose views sought to erase larger religious organizations altogether, seemingly proved to be too far from the Catholic fold for even Wilhelm IV, and he spent a great deal of energy and wealth trying to eradicate that system of belief from his duchy.86 By 1524, a system was set up that provided financial rewards to those who reported suspected heretics; however, even the payment system seemed to support the notion that Wilhelm IV was fairly tolerant of Lutheran ideology. He offered 32

Gulden for exposing Anabaptists while Lutherans only fetched 20 Gulden.87 And while

Wilhelm IV imposed legal regulations on religion in Bavaria and went so far as to support the ousting of extreme heretics from the duchy by either banishment or death,

Senfl‟s career suggests that he did not seem to mind a bit of religious diversity when it was advantageous.

If the Wittelsbachs wished to use art as propaganda, or if they intended to use the artists in residence at the court in Munich as examples of proper religious leanings, they could have used Senfl‟s death as an opportunity to put an end to any doubts about their religious ambiguity by supporting a musician of proper Catholic heritage. Instead,

85 Strauss, “The Religious Policies of Dukes Wilhelm and Ludwig of Bavaria,” 366-68. 86 Beginning in the late 1520s, Wilhelm IV‟s intolerance of Anabaptists did lead to a number of executions, including the execution of a young woman that was witnessed by the painter Jörg Breu the Elder. See Pia F. Cuneo, Art and Politics in Early Modern Germany: Jörg Breu the Elder and the Fashioning of Political Identity, ca. 1475-1536 (Boston, MA: Brill, 1998), 179. 87 Strauss, “The Religious Policies of Dukes Wilhelm and Ludwig of Bavaria,” 367. 77

Ludwig Daser was installed as the new Kapellmeister in Munich in 1552.88 While Senfl sympathized with Luther, Daser was outright open about his Protestant beliefs. Daser, who had been with the court as a singer since childhood, was eventually dismissed, but it was much later, during the reign of Albrecht V. While the composer appears to have been dismissed for his beliefs, there is evidence that suggests that Daser was merely cleared out of the way to make room for the much more talented composer, Orlando di Lasso.89

Whatever the reasons, Daser spent eleven years as an openly Protestant Kapellmeister with the Munich court during the height of Tridentine reform.

Wilhelm IV was no more discerning with the religious beliefs of his painters than he seems to have been with his musicians. In 1524, a minor storm was for three visual artists in Nuremberg. Two brothers, Barthel and , and fellow painter and miniaturist, , had been accused of renouncing Catholic doctrine and, for

Barthel Beham, religion in general. When questioned about his beliefs, “Barthel held and the „as wicked human fraud.‟ Nor could he believe in Holy Writ, and would therefore bide his own belief „till the truth came.‟”90 The three were banished from the city. Sebald and Georg stayed relatively close to Nuremberg, but Barthel headed south. He ended up in the court of Wilhelm IV where he apparently dulled his rhetoric but never recanted his statements.91 Wilhelm IV certainly would have known about his banishment, and the idea that he would have kept Barthel employed seems in line with

88 Daniel T. Politoske, “Daser, Ludwig,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, accessed June 21, 2010, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/07237. 89 James Haar, “Lassus,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, accessed 29, 2011, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/16063pg1. 90 Dr. Adolf Rosenberg, “The German Little Masters of Durer‟s School,” in The Early Teutonic, Italian, and French Masters, ed. Robert Dohme and Henry Keane (London: Chatto and Windus, 1880), 144. 91 Ibid., 144-45. 78 his lack of concern for the religious leanings of talented artists. Under the employ of

Wilhelm IV, Barthel went on to paint portraits of the two dukes, Wilhelm IV and Ludwig

X, and their family, creating a series that reinforced the ever-lingering notion of the Haus

Bayern by displaying the lineage and scope of Wittelsbach rule, much the same as the genealogical mural commissioned for the Alte Hof in 1460.92

Aside from retaining one of the “three godless painters,” as Barthel Beham came to be known, Wilhelm IV also pursued paintings whose subjects helped to usher in

Renaissance Humanism north of the . Indeed, his largest contribution to the world of painting was the commissioning of a history cycle meant for the Residenz. This series of sixteen paintings was undertaken as a joint project with his wife. The entire series involved eight artists and took thirteen years to complete.93

The subject of these large panel paintings are divided into two categories. Eight horizontal paintings depict famous heroines from various historical periods, including figures from Ancient and Rome, the and Catholic saints. Eight vertical paintings depict famous battles from the same periods.94 As Ashley West describes, these paintings served to engage the viewer with a Humanist understanding of history. She points out that humanist historical paintings generally fit into two categories:

92 Ibid. 93Ashley West, “The Exemplary Paintings of the Elder: History at the Munich Court of Wilhelm IV,” in Orthodoxies and Heterodoxies in Early Modern German Culture: Order and Creativity 1550-1750, ed. Randolph C. Head and Daniel Christensen (Leiden, The Netherlands: Koninlijke Brill NV, 2007), 199. 94 Ibid. Also see Pia F. Cuneo, Art and Politics in Early Modern Germany;” Pia F. Cuneo, “Jörg Breu the Elder‟s Death of Lucretia: History, Sexuality and the State,” in Saints, Sinners, and Sisters: Gender and Northern Art in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. Jane L. Carroll and Alison G. Stewart (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2003), 26-43; Barbara Eschenburg, “Altdorfers Alexanderschlacht und ihr Verhältnis zum Historienzyklus Wilhelm IV,” Deutscher Verein für Kunstwissenschaft 33 (1979): 36-67; and Gisela Goldberg, Die Alexanderschlacht und die Historinbilder des Bayerischen Herzogs Wilhelm IV und seiner Gemahlin Jacobaea für den Münchner Residenz (München: Hirmer Verlag, 1983). 79 those of the and those of the virtuous exemplars. Both categories used a number of historical characters to represent certain virtuous deeds or qualities. These paintings provided a means of historical study that allowed a contemporary viewer to learn from the lessons of the past. She states that “Renaissance thinkers widely maintained that history should not only be true, but also useful.”95

Certainly Wilhelm IV could have used exemplars to help him navigate the fragmented religious and political landscape of the 1530s. Splitting his attention between local religious skirmishes, the installment of his brother Ernst, his failed bid at challenging Charles V and the constant threat of the invading Turks might have provided the inspiration for wanting to produce works of art that were more than merely inspiring.

These paintings served as instructions for how to apply the appropriate to any given situation. As West explains, “Knowing the cycles of history thus became a tool for prognostication, more reliable than reading the stars.”96

Like Aventinus‟ Bayerische Chronik, this series of paintings was also meant to establish the Wittelsbachs as powerful rulers to all who participated with the work. In several cases, such as Breu‟s Lucretia and Hans Schöpfer‟s Virginia, the likeness of

Wilhelm IV or Maria Jacobäa were painted into the works. Pia F. Cuneo points to the similarity between the fourth figure from in Breu‟s painting and Hans Wertinger‟s portrait of Wilhelm IV (figs. 8-9).97

More than vanity, being depicted in paintings was a means of accessing the universal virtue implicit in the subject of the painting. After all, this was an era in which

95 Ibid., 201. 96 Ibid., 201-02. 97 Cuneo, “Jörg Breu the Elder‟s Rape of Lucretia,” 35. 80 great power was given to images. Such was their power that most European legal systems had adopted the legal term, “Punishment in Effigy,” which allowed punishment to be inflicted on the image of a criminal if that criminal was not actually present to receive the punishment. In Spain, for example, of the nearly 32,000 people sentenced to death between 1481 and 1809 during the , more than half were executed in effigy.98

Furthermore, the Iconoclasm debate was one of the driving factors in the dissolving religious scene in Germany during the sixteenth century. Religious symbols, ritual and spaces of ritual all factored into the power given, or not given, to religious images, and there seems to have been a general acceptance throughout Europe that many different types of images could have magical properties. This made them dangerous or, in the case of Wilhelm IV‟s inclusion in several of the paintings of the historical cycle, powerful tools.

Power was a strong motivation, and once again, religious diversity amongst the artists receiving his patronage was more than acceptable, so long as the resulting products fit his needs. At least three of the eight artists commissioned for the series were openly sympathetic to some aspect of the Protestant movements that were occurring throughout the Holy Roman Empire. Beham, who scared Catholics and Lutherans alike with his godlessness, was commissioned, as was Jörg Breu the Elder, whose journal, the Chronik des Malers Jörg Breu, was highly critical of both Wilhelm IV in particular and religious institutions in general. In his journal, Breu went so far as to describe

98 Dr. Wolfgang Schild, “Punishment of the Dead and Inanimate Objects and in Effigy,” in Criminal Justice Through the Ages: From Divine Judgment to Modern German Legislation, trans. John Frosberry (Rothenburg o.d. : Mittelalterliches Kriminalmuseum, 1993), 223. 81

Wilhelm IV as one of the most cruel and intolerant rulers of the day.99 The third

Protestant-leaning painter, Hans Burgkmair, who painted two scenes for the cycle, went on to illustrate the section of the reissue of Luther‟s German translation of the .100

Because his patronage reflected ambiguous religious values, it is hard to define an outward religious program for the artworks and artists under the patronage of Wilhelm IV.

Wilhelm IV died on March 7, 1550. At his death, Bavaria found itself at the end of a long period of centralization on behalf of the Munich line of Wittelsbachs. Like his father,

Wilhelm IV‟s vision for Bavaria included a return to prominence as one of the most powerful duchies in the Holy Roman Empire, and he was willing to pursue any means necessary to strengthen the duchy, including changing political and religious alliances, and promoting his family to religious posts for which they were not qualified. His patronage reflected these values. From the artists he supported to the artworks that he commissioned, Wilhelm IV was one in a long line of Wittelsbach patrons who understood the power of art. The works of the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance were meant to offer guidance to rulers by providing historical examples of the superiority of Bavarians and, by extension, the Wittelsbach family. Wilhelm IV‟s son, Albrecht V, took up his father‟s torch during the early years of his reign, but he also took Bavaria in a different direction. It was with Albrecht V that art and the patronage of artists became fully integrated with the promotion and enforcement of specific political and religious policies in Bavaria.

99 Cuneo, “Jörg Breu the Elder‟s Rape of Lucretia,” 36. 100 Tilman Falk, "Burgkmair," in Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, accessed March 29, 2011, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T012373pg2. 82

Fig. 8. Jörg Breu the Elder, Death of Lucretia, 1528. Oil on panel; 40x58 in. , Munich.

Fig. 9. Hans Wertinger, Wilhelm IV of Bavaria, 1526. Oil on panel; 18x27 in. Alte Pinakothek, Munich. 83

CHAPTER III

The Early Years of the Reign of Albrecht V: the Kunstkammer, Northern Princely

Humanism and Courtly Patronage

These were truly generations born on a threshold, shaken and often confused by the violence of the change that took place within them.101

The history cycle of paintings, with its ancient and early biblical subjects, and the

Bayerische Chronik, with its focus on new historical objectivity, represent a shift in the patronage of the Wittelsbachs. Whereas late medieval artworks and artists, such as the

Frauenkirche and the court musician, Conrad Paumann, stood and worked to signify the greatness of Bavaria and, by extension, the Munich Wittelsbachs, the painting cycle and the Chronicle both functioned as works meant for the enrichment of the individual.

Undoubtedly, attaining and supporting great artists such as Altdorfer, Ludwig Senfl and

Aventinus was still a means of validating the power of the court at Munich; the new works, however, were created in a humanist spirit, and it is this spirit that Albrecht V inherited when he began his reign in Bavaria.

The purpose of this chapter is to show that, in many ways, Albrecht V‟s patronage was a continuation of his father‟s patronage, which became more concerned with the personalized questioning of princely value and the demonstration of that value.

Understanding the early years of Albrecht V‟s reign helps to highlight how drastic and personal his conversion from a humanist patron to an obsessive religious devotee was. It

101 Reinhard P. Becker, “Introduction,” in Erasmus, Luther, Müntzer, and others: German Humanism and Reformation, ed. Reinhard P. Becker (New York: The Continuum Publishing Company, 1982), xv. 84 also emphasizes how unfocused the duke‟s patronage could be, which casts doubt on his role as a top-down social organizer. As mentioned in the Introduction, these aspects of

Albrecht V‟s patronage tend to get overlooked in favor of presenting his entire reign as motivated by an organized, early modern, agenda of confessionalization.102

Describing the patronage of the Wittelsbachs in the early sixteenth century as humanist is only helpful when the concept of humanism is explicitly defined. Today‟s humanist, for example, is a far cry from the definition used to describe humanists of the fifteenth and sixteenth century. Compounding matters is the shift in the use of the term

Renaissance humanist. For example, today‟s understanding of compared to a nineteenth-century scholar‟s understanding of the same concept is quite different. Indeed, the term has undergone so many changes in definition and usage that in

1962, Paul Oskar Kristeller stated:

Humanism can be, and has been, defined in a variety of ways, and we might very

well take the view that any definition is acceptable provided it is explicitly

formulated, the range of its application is clearly indicated, and its original

meaning is consistently maintained, especially if the definition seems to have

some relevance or validity for the phenomena which is it intended to describe.103

102 See, Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter-Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), accessed June 21, 2010, http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft738nb4fn/; Andrew L. Thomas, “A House Divided: Wittelsbach Confessional Court Cultures in Bavaria, the Palatinate, and Bohemia, C. 1550-1650,” (PhD diss., Purdue University, 2007); Joel F. Harrington and Helmut Walser Smith, “Confessionalization, Community, and State Building in Germany, 1555-1870,” The Journal of Modern History 69, no. 1 (March 1997): 77-101. 103 Paul Oskar Kristeller, “Studies on Renaissance Humanism During the Last Twenty Years,” Studies in the Renaissance 9 (1962): 7. Also see, Paul Oskar Kristeller, Renaissance Thought and the Arts (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990). 85

Michel Foucault similarly asserts that “the humanistic thematic is in itself too supple too diverse too inconsistent to serve as an axis for reflection.”104

Following the lead of Kristeller, and perhaps not living up to the charge of

Foucault, this chapter defines and uses the term, “northern princely humanism,” when referring to the patronage of the Wittelsbachs. More than an exercise in pedantry, northern princely humanism precisely describes the unique role that humanist ideology played at the court in Munich during the sixteenth century.

The quote at the beginning of this chapter describes Renaissance humanism as a rather intimate undertaking. The highly individualized nature of the movement led Erwin

Panofsky to say that humanism “was not so much a movement as an attitude.”105 While this attitude resided in the minds of individuals, there were certain shared characteristics.

For Panofsky, who was studying Italian humanism, humanists began to refocus on classical Greek and texts and a humanities-based education as a new way of informing, but not replacing, theological training. Panofsky emphasized that humanism was more than a secular movement that focused on man at the expense of theological study, and he suggested that the study of humanities was an attempt to reconcile the classical concept of a relationship between civilized and uncivilized man with the medieval concept of the relationship between man and divinity.106 In short, Panofsky‟s definition of Renaissance humanism might be summed up as an attempt to understand

104 Michel Foucault, The Foucault Reader, ed. Paul Rabinow (New York: Pantheon Books, 1984), 44. 105 Erwin Panofsky, Meaning in the Visual Arts (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), 2. 106 Ibid. 86 how to fully live as a Christian in the context of Renaissance society by using classical texts as a guide.

The history cycle of Wilhelm IV exemplifies such a notion. These paintings were intended to be used for more than reflection and representation. Humanist historical investigation was meant to be practical. Artists sought to provide patrons with valuable instructions and inspiration within their works of art. When Wilhelm IV saw the paintings, he was to examine the of each so that he might understand how better to rule his own duchy. The paintings that portrayed ancient subjects were not to be interpreted as a secular understanding of history; rather, they were understood as tools to be used within the context of a duchy that viewed living outside of Christianity, and specifically

Catholicism, heresy.

The coupling of great military and political leaders with virtuous women in the history cycle was in line with what Diarmaid MacCulloch termed, “princely humanism.”107 Generally, humanism was an individual process of discerning how man should behave toward other men in accordance with God, and this allowed for various interpretations depending on the social status of the person doing the thinking. Humanism was attached to a growing literate, merchant population, as much as it was to nobility, and two very different ideologies emerged from both camps. While ideas about the liberty and republican values of the ancients were being adopted by those who had the most to gain from them, nobles focused on different aspects of classical Greek life, including examples of how great leaders ruled and fought.108 The history cycle, much like

107 Diarmaid MacCulloch, The Reformation: A History (London: Penguin Books, 2005), 77. 108 Ibid. 87

Machiavelli‟s The was more a treatise on how leaders should govern. Like The

Prince, the history cycle equally advocated the concepts of nurture and might.

Unlike their Italian counterparts, who saw ancient Greek and Roman writings as a part of their cultural lineage and who lived every day surrounded by remnants of these cultures, the German princes and scholars who took an interest in humanist pursuits expanded the scope of their historical investigation by looking at the lineage of specifically .109 The first generation of German humanists were educated in Italy, but second and third generation northern humanists began to take the concepts of their Italian counterparts into completely different directions given the different cultural landscapes that they occupied. By the beginning of the sixteenth century, a form of humanism had taken hold in Germany that was entirely discernable from the movement that had been taking place in Italy.110

The Bayerische Chronik is an example of an early humanist treatise about the people that resided north of the Alps. Like the medieval chronicles, it was meant to provide a justification of Wittelsbach rule through lineage. However, it also sought to provide historical examples of effective rule for the contemporary leaders of Bavaria.

According to Reinhard P. Becker, this new type of northern humanism “involved primarily neither classics nor philosophy but what might be roughly characterized as literature.”111 Jeffrey Chipps Smith supports Becker‟s statement in describing a uniquely northern Renaissance in the visual arts: “I argue that there was indeed a distinctively northern European Renaissance, but one in which curiosity about the individual and the

109 Becker, “Introduction,” German Humanism and Reformation, xvi. 110 Ibid. 111 Ibid. 88 natural world was valued more than a renewed dialogue with antiquity. The latter occurred in the sixteenth century but never to the same degree as in Italy.”112

Court patronage in Munich at the beginning of the sixteenth century was a mix of

MacCulloch‟s notion of princely, as opposed to civic, humanism and Becker‟s and

Smith‟s understandings of northern humanism. The result is best defined by the term, northern princely humanism. Northern princely humanism clarifies all of the nuances that were mentioned in the preceding paragraphs. In short, northern princely humanism was the study of classical, biblical and Germanic texts for the purpose of proving the legitimacy of a ruling family‟s reign and for discerning models for the most effective ways for a Christian prince to rule his duchy.

Although not unique to the north, northern princely humanism gave rise to a spirit of inquiry about all knowledge, allowing those who could afford it a great deal of freedom to explore, through artworks and objects, not only the past, but also the greater world in which they lived. The same curiosity and training that drove humanist scholars to look backwards also drove them to look outward, creating a movement, especially among princes, that pushed the collection and maintenance of as many objects of knowledge, of any kind, as possible.113

Northern princely humanists could also be superficial. Humanism as an act of artistic patronage was much different than actually embracing and living as humanist.

Albrecht V avidly sought classical texts and artifacts. He amassed some of the best collections in Europe. However, the humanist spirit of inquiry and proof through the

112 Jeffrey Chipps Smith, The Northern Renaissance (London: Phaidon Press Limited, 2004), 12. 113 Paula Findlen, “The Modern Muses: Renaissance Collecting and the Cult of Remembrence,” in Museums and Memory, ed. Susan A. Crane (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000), 162-63. 89 study of the past and of the foreign was mostly the result of those doing the collecting rather than those paying for it. Albrecht V‟s impressive collections were more a testament to his ability to hire good collectors than to his personal humanist leanings. In short, it was the collectors themselves who provided the substance of his humanism.114

Albrecht V was born in 1528, the same year that Wilhelm IV and his wife began their commission of the history cycle of paintings (fig. 10). The cycle marked one of several shifts taking place at the court during the beginning of the sixteenth century, both physical and ideological. Wilhelm IV finally completed a full transfer of residency from the Alte Hof to the Neuveste, which allowed the Wittelsbachs freedom to come and go as they pleased. The Neuveste had begun as a medieval fortress; the dukes of the sixteenth century began to convert the property into a Renaissance palace, the Residenz.115

Albrecht V‟s upbringing coincided with the maturation of humanism north of the

Alps. Clergy such as Erasmus were advocating for the application of humanist principles to help reform the Catholic Church. The young duke began his education at the university in Ingolstadt. In Ingolstadt, Albrecht V was exposed to the teachings of Johann Eck, under whose leadership the university became the center of Catholic humanist thought in the Holy Roman Empire.

114 Lisa Jardine, Worldly Goods: A New History of the Renaissance (New York: Norton, 1996), 58 115 Samuel John Klingensmith, The Utility of Splendor: Ceremony, Social Life and Architecture at the Court of Bavaria, 1600-1800 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1993), 21. 90

Fig. 10. Hans Mielich, Albrecht V of Bavaria, 1545. Oil on panel; 26.5x34 in. Alte Pinakothek, Munich.

91

Albrecht V continued the tradition of strengthening Wittelsbach ties with their traditional Catholic rivals, the Habsburgs. In 1546, he married Anna of Austria, the daughter of the soon-to-be Holy Roman Emperor, Ferdinand I. On the cusp of the

Schmalkaldic War, the marriage signified the continuation of recent political cooperation between the two families. However this move was as much about Wilhelm IV‟s political belief that siding with the Habsburgs would offer the biggest eventual rewards as it was about uniting behind Catholicism. As the tensions between Charles V and the

Schmalkaldic league increased, Wilhelm IV created an escape route from Catholic loyalty in case the Protestants prevailed. Rather than siding with Charles V, the Bavarian duke merely asserted the neutrality of his duchy and allowed the Habsburg armies to pass freely through Bavaria.116

When he began his reign, Albrecht V continued to nurture the importance of the arts at the Munich court. He expanded the size of the court from 308 members at the beginning of his reign in 1552, to 866 members by 1570, a fourfold increase from the 162 members of the court that were employed in 1508.117 During Albrecht V‟s reign, the costs of maintaining the choir alone grew to account for nearly twenty percent of all wage payments at the court. Despite warnings from his advisors, Albrecht V maintained an aggressive program of patronage, driving the duchy to near bankruptcy by the end of his reign. Bavaria did not recover until the middle of the seventeenth century.118

116 Alastair Duke, Dissident Identities in the Early Modern , ed. Judith Pollman and Andrew Spicer (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2009), 128. 117 Rainer Babel, “The Courts of the Wittelsbachs c. 1500-1750,” in The Princely Courts of Europe, ed. John Adamson (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1999), 193-97. 118 Ibid. 92

One avenue of Albrecht V‟s patronage was the continuation and expansion of the humanist principles of his father. In 1552, he commissioned Hans Mielich to create the

Book of Jewels, which contains over one hundred miniatures documenting the inventory of the duchess‟ collection of jewelry (fig. 11). Interestingly, the book‟s first image depicts

Albrecht V and Anna playing chess surrounded by onlookers, perhaps signifying the duchess‟s intellectual equality (fig. 12). The book was so highly prized that it remained in the private collection of the Wittelsbachs until 1843, when King donated it to the Bavarian State Library.119

The Book of Jewels was an early incarnation of Albrecht V‟s passion for collecting and documenting. Both qualities are hallmarks of northern princely humanism, and the tiny book was just the beginning. In the early , Albrecht V commissioned plans to build a four-winged structure that would serve as a repository of humanist collecting. The building, designed in accordance with the latest styles, eventually contained the court library, the house treasures, an Antiquarium and a

Kunstkammer.

119 Marianne Reuter, “Beschreibung der Handschrift Cod.. 429 Tresorhandschrift,” in BSB CodIcon Online, Elektronischer Katalog der Codices iconographici monacenses der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek München, accessed January 27, 2011, http://codicon.digitale- sammlungen.de/inventiconCod.icon.%20429.pdf. 93

Fig. 11. Hans Mielich, Miniature from the Book of Jewels of the Duchess Anna of Bavaria, 1552-55. Watercolor on vellum and parchment; 8x6 in. Cod. Icon. 429, Image 11, Bavarian State Library, Munich Digitization Center, accessed January 27, 2011, http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/bsb00006598/image_11.

94

Fig. 12. Hans Mielich, Miniature from the Book of Jewels of the Duchess Anna of Bavaria, 1552-55. Watercolor on vellum and parchment; 8x6 in. Cod. Icon. 429, Image 10, Bavarian State Library, Munich Digitization Center, accessed January 27, 2011, http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/bsb00006598/image_10. 95

Construction of the new building began in 1563 on the site of recently-acquired

Franciscan property.120 The building was partially based on the plans of .

Strada was a Mantuan-born collector and architect who came to know Albrecht V through a mutual acquaintance, Hans Jakob Fugger of the famous Augsburg banking family. Strada was well known in Germany by the late as a successful collector in both Nuremberg and subsequently in Augsburg for the Fuggers. He and Albrecht V began their relationship in the 1550s, and Strada served as one of Albrecht V‟s main buyers of Italian art.121 Strada, however, was not selected to oversee the actual construction of the building. That responsibility was left to Simon Zwitzel, another of

Hans Jakob Fugger‟s employees.122 Rather, Strada was charged with finding artifacts to fill the building. Most notably, Strada was able to acquire the sculpture collection of

Andrea Loredan on behalf of Albrecht V, a collection that was large enough to prompt another phase of building for a room big enough to hold the entire collection.123

The Antiquarium wing, which was constructed in 1568, was specifically designed to house “antique and pseudo-antique , in particular busts and statues, clearly named and of the highest quality.”124 It was one of a series of rooms that comprised a larger program of collecting. Alongside the Antiquarium, the duke was quickly amassing

120 Dorthea Diemer and Peter Diemer, “Das Antiquarium Herzog Albrechts V. von Bayern Schiksale einer fürstlichen Antikensammlung der Spätrenaissance,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 58, no. 1 (1995): 56. 121 Dirk J. Jansen and Annemarie C. van der Boom, "Strada." in Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, accessed March 29, 2011, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/ art/T081694pg1. 122 Diemer and Diemer, “Das Antiquarium Herzog Albrechts V,” 59. 123 Hermann Neumann, The Munich Residence and the Treasury (Munich: Prestel, 2008), 10. 124 Lorenz Seelig, “The Munich Kunstkammer, 1565-1807,” in The Origins of Museums: The Cabinets of Curiosities in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Europe, ed. Oliver Impey and Arthur MacGregor (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 77. 96 objects to place in his Kunstkammer. The concept of the Kunstkammer was set forth by another collector who worked for both the Fuggers and the Wittelsbachs, Samuel von

Quiccheberg. The Flemish-born Quiccheberg was trained as a and collector, and he found his way to Germany by serving initially as a physician and later as a librarian at the court of Hans Jakob Fugger in the 1550s. Quiccheberg is credited with creating the concept of the early modern museum.125

Rather than earlier Kunst- or Wunderkammern, which were primarily collections of oddities that had been around since at least the fourteenth century, the Kunstkammer in

Munich was arranged according to Quiccheberg‟s concept of the theatrum. The theatrum was a program of organization meant to lead viewers toward an encyclopedic understanding of the world.126 Items in the Munich Kunstkammer were situated so that viewers, upon entering the room, would be overwhelmed with the amount of material in the collection. Viewers were led throughout the room in a prescribed manner, with various tables each containing articles that embodied a different aspect of knowledge.127

The range of materials in the collection was extensive and often blurred the lines between art and artifact. Tables arranged with minerals were located in the same room as gold works from modern-day Mexico, a region from which the Wittelsbachs had amassed quite a large collection of items. Portraits of Wittelsbachs hung on the walls over tables that contained unicorn horns – which were later identified as the tusks of male narwhals.

Scientific instruments appeared next to , each object a testament to the amount of knowledge collected by the Wittelsbachs. In all, Quiccheberg‟s theatrum was divided

125 Ibid., 84-86. 126 Ibid. 127 Ibid. 97 into five general categories: 1. religious art and princely lineage, 2. sculptures and applied arts, 3. natural sciences, 4. instruments, games and weapons, and 5. paintings, heraldry and textiles.128

If Panofsky‟s assertion that humanism was more an attitude than a definable movement is correct, Albrecht V seems to have embodied the general spirit of the acquisition of knowledge that led so many humanists to rediscover ancient texts and philosophies when he created the Kunstkammer. The Munich Kunstkammer was one of the earliest rooms to attempt the organization and categorization of objects of accumulated knowledge in a systematic manner. By 1598, the Munich Kunstkammer held nearly six thousand items, not counting a coin collection that was one of the largest in

Europe.129

The Antiquarium and the Kunstkammer comprised two of the four wings in the building that contained the Wittelsbach collection. A third wing was meant to house the princely treasures, which Albrecht V began to amass and to designate as such in 1565, when he decreed seventeen objects to be the sole property of the Wittelsbachs in perpetuity.130 As with the objects for the Kunstkammer and most other works receiving

Albrecht V‟s patronage, the duke‟s advisors did not always support his need to create such large collections at the expense of the family‟s wealth.

128 Eileen Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge, (New York: Routledge, 1992), 108-09. 129 Seelig, “The Munich Kunstkammer,” 80. Also see Dorothea Diemer, Peter Diemer, Lorenz Seelig, Peter Volk, Brigitte Volk-Knüttel, et al., Die Münchner Kunstkammer, Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Abhandlungen, Neue Folge, Heft 129, 3 vols. (Munich, C. H. Beck, 2008), an exhaustive three-volume resource with detailed explanations of many of the works listed in the 1598 inventory of the collection. 130 Neumann, The Munich Residence and the Treasury, 95. 98

Albrecht V was as concerned with literature as he was with objects, and the fourth wing of his collection was devoted to a library. The Wittelsbach dukes had amassed a small collection of literature, mostly Arthurian legends and gifts from other royal families, during the reigns of Albrecht IV and Wilhelm IV.131 If the commissioning of Aventinus‟

Bayerische Chronik showed the family‟s long-held interest in attaining and creating texts specifically about Bavarian glory, it was Albrecht V‟s aggressive pursuit of several of

Europe‟s prized libraries that allowed him to amass a library of eleven thousand volumes that was only rivaled in size by the imperial library in Vienna as the largest library in the

Holy Roman Empire.132

In 1558, Albrecht V was presented with the opportunity to purchase the library of

Johann Albrecht Widmanstetter. Widmanstetter was part of the early generation of northern humanists. Born in 1506, he was trained in the humanist tradition and spent much of his early career in Italy, where he became proficient in Greek, and

Hebrew. In 1533, Widmanstetter was called before Pope Clement VII to explain

Copernicus‟s cosmological theory, and in 1555, he produced the first edition of the

Syriac New Testament.133 During his travels, Widmanstetter managed to amass quite a serious collection of oriental and ancient texts. In 1557, a year after his death, Albrecht V, acting on the advice of Hans Jakob Fugger, acquired Widmanstetter‟s library for one

131 Jeffrey Garrett, “The Bavarian State Library,” in International Dictionary of Library Histories (Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers, 2001), 202. 132 Felix F. Strauss, “The „Liberey‟ of Duke Ernst of Bavaria (1500-1560),” Studies in the Renaissance 8 (1961): 128. 133 Robert Wilkinson, Orientalism, Aramaic and Kabbalah in the Catholic Reformation: The First Printing of the Syriac New Testament (Leiden, The Netherlands: Koninklijke Brill NV, 2007), 140-41. 99 thousand florins.134 The collection of approximately two hundred and sixty manuscripts included one hundred and forty works in Hebrew and forty in Arabic.135

Albrecht V‟s second acquisition was a little closer to home. After being ousted from the archbishopric of Salzburg in 1554, Albrecht V‟s uncle, Ernst, retired to Glatz, a county which is now located in southern and was then within the boundaries of the . Ernst‟s resignation from Salzburg came as a surprise, not so much because it happened, but because Ernst sought no financial gain in return for his resignation.136 That Glatz was in Bohemia led Albrecht V to worry that Ferdinand I would claim Ernst‟s possessions as was his right to do as ruler of that duchy. To solve this, Albrecht V sought to have Ernst donate his possessions to Munich before he died in order to avoid leaving things to Ferdinand I. Over twenty-five hundred manuscripts were donated at a cost of eighteen thousand florins, which included their transport back to

Munich. Proving the true sentiment of Albrecht V and his wish to obtain Ernst‟s possessions rather than to help the elder Wittelsbach in any way, Felix Strauss notes that part of the overall transport costs included the cost of bringing Ernst‟s body back to

Munich, a fact that was barely mentioned and seen as incidental in light of recovering his uncle‟s collection.137

Ernst‟s books represented a hodgepodge accumulation of knowledge that he received throughout his career in Salzburg. The manuscripts and books, which were kept in barrels and mostly unbound, covered a great deal of liturgical knowledge with other

134 Strauss, “The „Liberey‟ of Duke Ernst of Bavaria (1500-1560),” 129. 135 Garrett, “The Bavarian State Library,” 202. 136 Strauss, “The „Liberey‟ of Duke Ernst of Bavaria (1500-1560),” 130. 137 Ibid. 100 works on science and philosophy. Strauss suggests that such a state of disarray attests to their lack of mention or display at Albrecht V‟s court, where books served the dual purpose of providing actual knowledge while at the same time making the duke‟s library look aesthetically pleasing.138

The third acquisition that formed the nucleus of Albrecht V‟s early library was that of Hans Jakob Fugger. Fugger‟s relationship with Albrecht V was professionally very close. In the building of the Antiquarium, the Kunstkammer and the library, Fugger‟s advice and knowledge of capable buyers and artists proved invaluable. Fugger‟s contribution to the artistic affairs of the Wittelsbachs was rewarded in the 1560s when

Albrecht V hired Hans as a personal advisor to the Munich court after the Fugger family had been financially devastated by Habsburg loan defaults and the family‟s own propensity for putting patronage before sound financial policy. Albrecht V also agreed to acquire Hans‟ library in order to help the Fuggers financially. This library was especially extensive, being the result of the Hans Jakob Fugger‟s far-reaching connections, both in

Europe and beyond. Through his network of buyers and traders, Hans Jakob Fugger was able to accumulate a huge collection of texts of the highest quality as indicated by the fifty thousand florins that Albrecht V paid for the collection.139

With the Antiquarium, the library, the treasury and the Kunstkammer all located in the same building, Albrecht V created a nexus for scholarship north of the Alps. More than placing several collections in one area, what makes Albrecht V‟s efforts more interesting is the amount of cataloging and organization that went into creating the

138 Ibid., 140-41. 139 Ibid., 129. Strauss suggests that this was actually under the value of the collection which was estimated to be worth seventy to eighty thousand florins. 101 collections. Viewers were supposed to marvel at the sheer size of the collections; more importantly, they were also supposed to use them. The library underwent several librarians in its first years in order to find someone who could catalog the works in a manner as useful as Quiccheberg had done with the Kunstkammer and Antiquarium.

Albrecht V‟s patronage of those involved in each avenue of his collections went well beyond the notion of patronage as a hierarchy of power whereby the patron controls the aspects of the project. For example, Albrecht V‟s relationship with Hans Jakob

Fugger suggests that a large part of the patronage of collecting was trusting the knowledge of the collector.

The Munich collections are a testament to Albrecht V as a northern princely humanist. He created a collection designed for other leaders to admire, but there is also a sense that Albrecht V fervently wanted to surround himself with as much accumulated knowledge about the world as possible. The collections were the foundation of an optimism about man‟s ability to exist in the world and to understand the wonders put forth by God. This notion extended into other areas as well, including music.

Music played a large role in courtly life at Munich, and Albrecht V continued the

Wittelsbach program of court expansion in this realm. Like his father, Albrecht V showed a high level of ambivalence about the religious disposition of his artists. Albrecht V named , the openly Protestant singer, Kapellmeister in 1552. The previous chapter mentioned the ongoing suspicions about the true reasons for Daser‟s early departure from Munich. One side suggests that religious leanings were the culprit. The other suggests the fame of Orlando di Lasso is a more accurate cause (fig. 13). Clearing 102 the road for Lasso would not have been an illogical step in a court that prided itself on having the best that culture could offer. Stories of Lasso‟s abductions as a child due to the beauty of his voice were so prevalent that many scholars often still begin biographies of the composer by disputing the legend. False or not, the stories only serve to underscore just how important this musician was to Bavaria and all of Europe.140

Fig. 13. Hans Mielich, Portrait of Lasso in the Penitential Psalms, 1571. Black and reproduction from Mus. Ms. A II, Bavarian State Library, Munich Digitization Center, accessed April 6, 2011, http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/bsb00035009/image_187.

140 For more on the life of Lasso, see Horst Leuchtmann, Orlando di Lasso: Sein Leben (Wiesbaden: Breitkopf und Härtel, 1976); James Haar, “Lassus,” in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online, accessed August 6, 2010, http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article /grove/music/16063; Wolfgang Boetticher, Orlando di Lasso und seine Zeit (: Bärenreiter, 1958). 103

Lasso was part of the Franco-Netherland tradition of singing that stood as the pinnacle of vocal music in the sixteenth century. Born around 1532, Lasso was a cosmopolitan artist who traveled extensively throughout Europe during his youth, spending time in Italy, the Netherlands and finally settling in Bavaria. Through the suggestion of Hans Jakob Fugger, Albrecht V convinced the singer to join the court in

Munich along with a new crop of singers from the Netherlands in 1556. This was no small feat, as Lasso had attained a reputation for being an outstanding musician, and he had already accrued a handsome number of publications by the time he went to Munich.

According to Roche, “Lassus‟s fame in his own day was perhaps comparable only to Mozart‟s in his.”141

Lasso was an exceptionally talented polyglot who composed as many French chansons, Italian madrigals and German lieder as he did Latin masses, and other sacred works. Lasso was adept with both sacred and secular styles and keenly aware of an array of international styles, and he proved the crowning gem in a court that had a bounty of excellent musicians. His output was so prolific that Roche states, “Between 1555 and his death there appeared 530 publications with at least one item by Lassus – more than one per month – and these constitute roughly half of all the music printed in the last four and a half decades of the 16th century.”142 Lasso was so well respected that Albrecht V ensured that the composer was given a full salary for life just before the duke‟s own death in 1579, and the court continued the patronage of Lasso‟s family for two more generations, keeping two of his sons and one grandson on staff at the chapel. Lasso‟s

141 Jerome Roche, “Lassus Yesterday and Today,” The Musical Times 123, no. 1671 (May 1982): 353-54. 142 Ibid., 354. 104 tenure corresponded with the rise of northern princely humanism in Munich, but his music did not always fit as neatly into the humanist mold as the duke‟s collections.

Don Harrán defines sixteenth-century musical humanism as a movement toward the assertion of a hierarchy which placed music in the service of text.143 Music and text were to stand as a unified piece, allowing music to fully enhance the meaning of the text.

In secular works, this manifested itself in songs that attempted to either set classical texts or to use classical subjects. Lasso‟s Prophetiae Sibyllarum are examples of the latter.144

These motets present the sibyls of antiquity as prophesiers of the coming of Christ. While the motets were probably composed before Lasso‟s employment in Munich, the works were meant to function much in the same way as Wilhelm IV‟s history cycle of paintings, doubling as both a guide for Christian living and as proof of the bridge between ancient and contemporary cultures.

Accepting the Prophetiae Sibyllarum as humanist due to the subject of the text raises several questions concerning the distinction between text and actual music. Perhaps, the most glaring question stems from the fact that musicians of the Renaissance had no idea what Greek music sounded like, a problem that largely exists still today. Unlike humanist painters who could study classical examples, musicians had only a few treatises on the subject of Ancient music with which to work and no examples of the actual music.

Musicians who devoted themselves to studying Greek music were stuck primarily discussing the acoustic and aesthetic qualities of sound based on the writings of a few

143 Harrán, In Defense of Music: The Case for Music as Argued by a Singer and Scholar of the Late Fifteenth Century (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1989), 53. 144 A thorough overview of the music and paintings involved in the Prophetiae Sibyllarum is found in Peter Bergquist, “The Poems of Orlando di Lasso‟s „Prophitiae Sibyllarum‟ and their Sources,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 32, no. 2 (Autumn 1979): 516-38. 105 philosophers. These discussions of modes and universal harmonies were interesting enough, but very little of those theories were actually put into practice by working musicians.145 This left musicians in a peculiar spot. Even though the subjects of the texts that they set to music often involved classical subjects, such as the Prophetiae Sibyllarum, there was no way of knowing whether or not the music being composed actually resembled anything close to the sounds of Greek music.

In grappling with this dilemma, scholars have generally accepted Harrán‟s assertion that text and music were intertwined in such a way that both functioned as one unit, and that this was the way that humanism was made manifest within this art form. In short, sixteenth-century music and text were not conceived of as two parts of a whole because of the inextricable relationship between the two. Thus, if music became so complex as to muddle the meaning of the words, it was no longer functioning according to Greek ideals. Both sides of the religious divide were wrestling with this exact concept.

Luther, who loved music, sought to make texts more accessible to churchgoers by writing songs in German and simplifying music so that all could participate and understand the words that they were singing. Calvin rejected the notion of music altogether both in church and at home unless it contained clearly understood Biblical texts. For Calvin, the polyphonic music of the Catholic Church was a distraction from the all-important Word of God.

Musical reforms within the Catholic Church were also afoot. Erasmus, the father of northern humanism, summed up one charge for reform when he stated, “We have

145 Ruth Katz, The Powers of Music: Aesthetic Theory and the Invention of (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 1994), 95-96. 106 introduced an artificial and theatrical music into the church, a bawling and an agitation of various voices, such as I believe had never been heard in the theatres of the and

Romans.”146 It is interesting to note that Erasmus, who became famed for his use of historical investigation when analyzing and often correcting biblical translations, would make such a statement, considering the complete lack of understanding about how Greek music actually sounded. Nevertheless, his criticism of church music was popular and it was one of the many issues addressed at the councils at Trent. The recommendations from the councils were vague at best, instructing churches to dispose of “impure,”

“worldly” and “profane” music without actually defining what those words meant.147

Within Catholicism, ideals about how proper music should sound were abundant, with some conservative members of the Church going so far as to recommend that polyphonic music should be stricken from the Church altogether in favor of a return to monophony. By 1564, a council of cardinals, headed by Carlo Borromeo and Vitellozo

Vitelli, convened around the issue of music reform in the Church. Despite the vagueness of the decrees from Trent, several common problems with polyphonic music were addressed. First, the music had become so complex as to render the words incomprehensible. Second, composers were borrowing music from secular sources to use along with sacred texts. Third, music had become so affected and theatrical that it distracted from the solemnity of the church service and from the meaning of the texts that were set in the work. Rather than return to monophony, the councils concluded that a

146 Quoted in Hugo Leichtentritt, “The Reform of Trent and its Effect on Music,” The Musical Quarterly 30, no. 3 (July 1944): 319. 147 Edward Schaefer, Catholic Music Through the Ages: Balancing the Needs of a Worshipping Church (Chicago: Hillenbrand Books, 2008), 84-86. 107 simpler, more easily understood form of polyphony was the answer, and, as the unfounded legend goes, when the cardinals met in 1565 to test new styles of polyphonic writing, Palestrina‟s Missa Papae Marcelli won over the council. Although unlikely that his Mass was actually performed at that meeting, the reformed style of church music is commonly attributed to Palestrina, who has become known as the master of High

Renaissance music, despite not being as well known or as musically diverse as Lasso during the sixteenth century.

In Lasso‟s case, the hierarchy of text always stood on shaky ground. Many of

Lasso‟s sacred works are described as imitation works. Imitation works were commonplace during the sixteenth century, and they involved borrowing polyphonic material from one piece in order to create another. It was common for composers to use another composer‟s well-known piece as a starting point for the creation of a new work.

Composers would then manipulate that composer‟s materials as they saw fit. In other cases, the imitation would be a direct application of new words to borrowed music.

Lasso‟s imitation works came from an astonishing array of sources and materials, and he often added a bit of humor to his imitation works by using risqué secular pieces as the model for his new sacred works. Such is the example with Lasso‟s setting of the

Magnificat text to his chanson, Dessus le marché d’Arras.148 The chanson was actually a setting of a folk song about a Spaniard who meets a young girl while traveling through the market in the northern French town of Arras. The two strike up a conversation in which the soldier propositions the girl and the two run off. The original folk song was

148 A diagram outlining which parts of Dessus le marché d’Arras were used in the imitation is provided in David Crook, Orlando di Lasso’s Imitation Magnificats for Counter-Reformation Munich (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 234-35. 108 popular and was used by both Lasso and the maestro di cappella of St. Mark‟s, Adrian

Willaert. Lasso‟s setting of the Magnificat uses very little newly composed music; the original chanson is kept intact for the first half of the Magnificat.

Debate still exists as to whether these settings were meant to be humorous at the expense of religious solemnity or, as David Crook suggests, whether they were attempts at raising the profane through the application of sacred text.149 Given Lasso‟s often wry sense of humor, which is indicated in his many letters to Albrecht V‟s son, Wilhelm V, the latter argument seems a bit revisionist. It is hard to imagine a churchgoer hearing a portion of the Magnificat set to his favorite drinking song or a popular song about sex without having a less than sacred reaction.

Publishing music was given as much consideration as the actual works. A byproduct of the humanist spirit was the need to catalog information. The Book of Jewels and the collections were systems of organization that developed in order to keep tabs on the attainment of knowledge. Catalogs tracked the value of the collections, and they were also an account of contemporary society and its values, especially among wealthier families. Mary Lewis, in her article “The Printed Music Book in Context: Observations on some Sixteenth-Century Editions,” points out that catalogs of works detailed much more than the basic information about a book. Descriptions of bindings and contents, about how music was received and about the level of prestige afforded to the book all indicated “an edition‟s intended status as routine or deluxe.”150

149 Ibid., 82. 150 Mary S. Lewis, ”The Printed Music Book in Context: Observations on some Sixteenth-Century Editions,” Notes 46, no. 4 (June 1990): 900. 109

Albrecht V encouraged and financially supported the cataloging of the composer‟s works and musical life at the court. One result was the Patrocinium musices, a five-volume compendium of Lasso‟s sacred music that was compiled from 1573 to

1589.151 Another compilation, Lasso‟s Penitential Psalms, shows just how involved the creation of music books could get. This collection of seven psalms was a private gift to

Albrecht V. The music is thought to have been completed by 1559. The compilation of artworks for the book, however, took another eleven years and was not completed until

1570. The result, with miniatures by Hans Mielich, is considered one of the most expensive music books ever produced (figs. 14-15).152

Hans Mielich was born in Munich in 1516, where his father was a municipal painter. He spent his life in Munich with short trips to Regensburg to study with Albrecht

Altdorfer in the 1530s and to Italy where he studied briefly with Titian in the early

1540s.153 By 1545, Mielich returned to Munich where he began to receive the direct patronage of Albrecht V. In 1558, he became the head of the Munich painter‟s guild.

Mielich painted in a variety of genres, but he excelled at miniatures, including those found in the Penitential Psalms, which are some of the best secondary sources for understanding musical culture in the sixteenth century.154

151 James Haar, “Lassus.” 152 Orlando di Lasso, The Seven Penitential Psalms and Laudate Dominum de Caelis, ed. Peter Bergquist, Recent Researches in the Music of the Renaissance, vols. 86-87 (Appleton, WI: A-R Editions, Inc., 1990), vii. 153 There is some debate as to the dates of Mielich‟s visit to Italy. This issue is outlined in Charles Hope, “Hans Mielich at Titian‟s Studio,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 60 (1997): 260- 61. 154 For more on Mielich, see Bernhard Hermann Röttger, Der Maler Hans Mielich (München: H. Schmidt, 1925); Kurt Löcher, Hans Mielich, 1516-1573: Bildnismaler in München (München: Deustcher Kunstverlag, 2007); Kurt Löcher. "Mielich, Hans," in Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, accessed August 6, 2010, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/ art/T057859. 110

Fig. 14. Hans Mielich, Illumination of music manuscript in Penitential Psalms, 1571. Black and White reproduction from Mus. Ms. A II, Bavarian State Library, Munich Digitization Center, accessed April 6, 2011, http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/ bsb00035009/image_10.

Fig. 15. Hans Mielich, miniature of Lasso leading and the Munich Hofkapelle in Penitential Psalms, 1571. Black and White reproduction from Mus. Ms. A II, Bavarian State Library, Munich Digitization Center, accessed April 6, 2011, http://daten.digitale- sammlungen.de/ bsb00035009/image_186. 111

The Penitential Psalms also received a two-volume commentary by the collector and librarian, Samuel von Quiccheberg, who, as mentioned, was responsible for designing the layout and cataloging system for the Kunstkammer. The completed work, coupled with the two-volume commentary, remained in Albrecht V‟s private collection until his death in 1579 when it was finally allowed to be presented for mass publication.155 It might be dangerous to presume the motivations of a sixteenth-century duke, but it is easy to imagine that a person so invested in collecting and cataloging the past would want to leave as much detailed proof as possible of his own greatness for future generations.

The notion of proof was one of the most important elements of humanist understanding during the sixteenth century. Textual analysis was undertaken because scholars of the sixteenth century began to demand that biblical and historical texts be presented as accurately as possible. The urge to purge illogic and misinformation in favor of learning pervaded humanist culture.156 Humanism in the sixteenth century played a major role in the mass redefining of culture in Europe, and it was based on a more accurate understanding of the past, which resulted in a more aggressive attempt to record the present. The works of Luther, Calvin, Zwingli and Erasmus stemmed from a new logic that came from an intimate understanding of old religion. The councils at Trent served as a reassessment of the Catholic faith. Royal families throughout the continent were examining classical literature in order to better understand how to govern and live

155 Orlando di Lasso, Seven Penitential Psalms with Two Laudate Psalms: An Edition of Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Mus. MS. A, I and II, ed. Charlotte Smith (East Brunswick, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1983), 7-8. Also see, Philip Weller, “‟Notre divin Orlande‟: Lassus in His Time and in Ours,” Early Music 27, no. 3 (August 1999): 493-99. 156 MacCulloch, The Reformation, 81-82. 112 as leaders.157 In each case, defining was a project accompanied by growing pains, especially in relation to those who resisted being swept up in the new current of thinking.

For those in charge of doing the sweeping, the notion of humanism occurred in fits and starts.

Like so many other nobles in Europe, Albrecht V embraced certain humanist principles, but he also retained some of the late medieval policies of his Wittelsbach ancestors. His sons, for example, were an extension of the earlier Wittelsbach policy of the Haus Bayern. He sought to use his children as tools to maintain the unification of the duchy under his family while concurrently extending their power to other areas in Europe.

Albrecht V‟s oldest surviving son, Wilhelm V, was educated in Ingolstadt, which was beginning its transition into a Jesuit stronghold. Wilhelm V maintained his father‟s love of overspending on the arts, an obsession that led the young duke to nearly drive Bavaria into financial ruin and to his early abdication as duke of Bavaria.

Prior to Wilhelm V‟s reign, Albrecht V saw to it that his son was positioned to enhance political life in Bavaria as much as possible. In 1568, at the age of twenty,

Wilhelm V was married to Renata of , who came from a duchy that had long shared diplomatic relations and Catholic identity with Bavaria.158 No less than three accounts of the wedding festivities, which lasted from February 21 to March 9, were recorded, the most famous of which was Massimo Troiano‟s Dialoghi. Troiano, who was employed under Lasso at the Munich court in 1568 and whose writing was exceptionally

157 Ibid., 81-85. 158 See Paulette Choné, “Lorraine and Germany,” in Glasgow Emblem Studies, vol. 5, The German-Language Emblem in its European Context: Exchange and Transition, ed. Anthony J. Harper and Ingrid Höpel (University of Glasgow, 2000), 1-22. The two duchies had a policy of exchanging secretaries between Munich and Nancy in order to provide legal and language education. 113 biased toward presenting a magnificent account of the proceedings of his patrons, depicts festivities in which no expense was spared.159 Orlando di Lasso played a very large role in producing the entertainments at the festivities. Showing a great range of diversity, the master musician is documented by Troiano as leading instrumental and vocal music, and he is described as organizing and even acting in comedia dell’arte performances, in which the choir master performed as Pantalone.160 Continuing in the vein of extravagance,

Lasso also conducted a forty-part motet that was presented to Albrecht V as a wedding gift on behalf of Alessandro Striggio, who was under the patronage of the Medici family at the time.161

Extravagance was essential when it came to the of Albrecht V‟s children, and a similarly huge ceremony was given in 1571 when his daughter, Maria of

Bavaria, married her uncle, Charles II Archduke of Austria, son of the Holy Roman

Emperor, Ferdinand I. The wedding took place in Vienna, and the Wittelsbach delegation did their best to make a show of their participation in the events, beginning with their arrival in Vienna by ship after sailing down the Danube.162 Entertainment at the festivities surrounding the wedding included knightly tournaments, music and plays. The entertainments included an entire day devoted to a tournament that was embedded in a larger theatrical presentation based on humanist-inspired themes. The tournament was

159 Troiano‟s account has become a boon for Renaissance theater and music scholars, as his account primarily deals with these two art forms. Mielich was also present at many of the ceremonies, and he painted several performances by Lasso. 160 M. A. Katritzky, The Art of Commedia: A Study in the Commedia dell’Arte 1560-1620 with Special Reference to the Visual Records (Amsterdam: Rodopi B.V., 2006), 55. 161 David S. Butchart, “A Musical Journey of 1567: Alessandro Striggio in Vienna, Munich, Paris and London,” Music and Letters 63, no. 1/2 (Jan – Apr 1982): 8. 162 Robert Lindell, “The Wedding of Archduke Charles and Maria of Bavaria in 1571,” Early Music 18, no. 2 (May 1990): 258. 114 part of a plot in which Juno, who was defended by the continents of Africa, Asia and

America, challenged Europe to a contest. The day involved costume parades, horseback riding games and music.163 Robert Lindell, however, asserts that most spectators did not understand the humanist themes because explanations were only given to the highest nobles. Rather, for the majority of the audience, the parade served as a chance for the

Habsburg family to show off its own collection of costumes and other cultural artifacts from around the world.164

Collecting, both in terms of objects and artists, became such a preoccupation for

Wittelsbachs and Habsburgs, and other European nobles, that their humanist intentions risked becoming detached from the actual act of collecting. Both the Wittelsbachs and the

Habsburgs very quickly went from collecting ancient texts to collecting elephants, from maintaining pieces that served cultural and scientific purposes to amassing as much exotica as possible. Despite the knowledge accumulated through his collections, despite the number of madrigals and lieder that entailed classical subjects and despite the number of paintings in the Wittelsbach residence depicting sibyls and other classical figures,

Albrecht V was sometimes more than willing to abandon humanist thinking in favor of merely collecting interesting things.

Christianity was as much a part of sixteenth-century humanism as the investigation and presentation of ancient themes. Indeed, Martin Luther‟s ninety-five theses were initially part of a growing reform movement within the Catholic church that was concerned with how the Church understood God‟s and whether the Church

163 Ibid., 261. 164 Ibid. 115 was providing the correct means for society to access that salvation. These questions lay at the heart of humanist inquiry. Researching and collecting historical biblical texts and church documents was as much part of the humanist spirit as was collecting narwhal tusks. Luther and other reformers were initially seeking to understand how an individual was supposed to relate to God. This question was so important that it led reformers such as Luther, who was initially a devout Catholic, to take drastic measures.

The first large-scale Catholic attempt to clean its own house occurred in the form of the councils at Trent. Certainly it is arguable whether or not the councils at Trent were centered on the application of humanist thinking, but there is little doubt that reorganizing the church, finding new justifications for the faith and documenting everything were, at least in part, byproducts of the humanist spirit. Wilhelm IV reigned in Bavaria when the first of the councils began in 1545, and, as with other European nobles, he was more than willing to eschew the decrees coming from Trent when it was advantageous. For example, when Wilhelm IV sought for his brother Ernst to become archbishop of Salzburg, he was directly standing in the way of a Catholic Church in the midst of reorganization.

Like his father, Albrecht V had little use for religious reforms if they did not prove advantageous to Wittelsbach interests. For example, while the heads of

Catholicism were trying to ensure that members of the clergy were actually trained priests, Albrecht V had his youngest son, appropriately named Ernst, elected bishop of

Freising in 1565 at the untrained age of twelve. However, the child, who spent very little time in Freising, was destined for something greater, and throughout the same period of time that the reforms from Trent were being implemented, the Wittelsbachs were 116 attempting to position the younger Ernst as the bishop of , an act that eventually came to fruition under the reign of Albrecht V‟s oldest son, Wilhelm V, and which has come to be seen as one of the early victories during the Counter-Reformation.165

By the time Ernst ascended to the bishopric in 1583, Cologne had already begun its transition to the Lutheran cause, a shift that would have proven disastrous for

Catholicism in the Holy Roman Empire. The conflict, however, ended when Wilhelm V sent Bavarian troops under the command of his younger brother, the militarily adept

Ferdinand, to put down the Protestant uprising that was developing in opposition to

Ernst.166 Even Catholics agreed that Ernst was not an ideal candidate for the bishopric, as he never took holy orders and was considered a “great sinner” by one papal nuncio.167

Despite his less-than-stellar qualifications, most of the Catholic leadership also agreed that it was better to have a sinful Catholic in charge at Cologne than no Catholic at all, and they were willing to turn a blind eye to Ernst‟s faults if it meant the continued military support of Wilhelm V.

Ernst‟s story is a reminder that Albrecht V‟s interest in humanist pursuits did not always result in an actual adoption of humanist reform, which for the Catholic powers that be included clergy who were properly trained. As the quote that opens this chapter suggests, Albrecht V was of a generation on the threshold, who was shaken by the changes that were taking place within him. Humanism was an attitude; but, attitudes change, and in the individual, changes likely to occurred again and again. With Albrecht

165 Hajo Holborn, A History of Modern Germany: The Reformation (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1967), 288-89. 166 Hans and Marga Rall, Die Wittelsbacher in Lebensbildern (München, Piper Verlag GmBH: 1986), 121-25. 167 Holborn, A History of Modern Germany, 288-89. 117

V, humanism was only one facet of his patronage and of his reign, but it was not the only one. By the middle of his reign, Albrecht V adopted new reasons for commissioning the artworks that he did. His later patronage reflected a different set of values, which very often contradicted the logic that northern princely humanism valued. 118

CHAPTER IV

Pious Patronage: The Chapel at Altötting, the Virgin Mary and Jesuit Support for

Traditional Religion

Lake Starnberger, located just southwest of Munich, is by no means an imposing body of water. However, it must have seemed like an ocean to Albrecht V when he found himself facing peril in its midst in 1570. “The royal yacht had been caught in a terrible storm and all on board had given up hope of being saved from death. When the duke cried out to Our Lady of Altötting, the boat was brought to safety and all came ashore unharmed.”1 This story, while anecdotal in the grand scheme of Albrecht V‟s reign, affirms a particular form of spirituality that began to experience a resurgence in Bavaria in the middle of the sixteenth century. Albrecht V‟s plea for the intercession not only of the Virgin Mary, but specifically of the statue of the Black Madonna at Altötting suggests that by 1570 Albrecht V‟s piety was firmly rooted in what Eamon Duffy calls “traditional religion.”2

In this chapter, the focus shifts from Albrecht V‟s patronage as a northern princely humanist and focuses on his patronage as an early modern Catholic defender.

Albrecht V‟s initial support of artists in the creation of religious art and the resulting artworks were initially an attempt at demonstrating his individual spiritual views. These views were rooted in and shaped by traditional Bavarian Catholicism, which was a local

1 David Crook, Orlando Di Lasso’s Magnificats for Counter-Reformation Munich (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 68. 2 Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of Altars: Traditional Religion in England c.1400-c.1580 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 4-5. 119 form of late-medieval Catholicism that began to reemerge during the middle of the sixteenth century and was promoted in the actions of Jesuits who came to work in

Bavaria. Albrecht V was heavily influenced by traditional Bavarian Catholicism.

Locating the influence of Albrecht V‟s patronage in the collective identity of the people of Bavaria eliminates the top-down notion of patronage. In short, Albrecht V was still in charge of what art was produced, but his actions were a reflection of a culture that shaped him rather than an imposition of his views on that culture.

This chapter begins by analyzing the resurgence of traditional Catholic religious culture in Bavaria during the second half of the sixteenth century. Eamon Duffy‟s description of traditional religion serves as the basis of this conversation.3 Second, it posits that the initial success of the Jesuit order was tied directly to the appropriation of traditional religious practices in Bavaria. This chapter accepts John W. O‟Malley‟s assertion that the organization‟s early development was often highly individualized, not focused on reform and mildly dysfunctional.4 The introduction of the Jesuits into Bavaria and the initial support – more accurately, the initial lack of support – of the order by

Albrecht V is presented through the lens of traditional religion.

The Jesuits, perhaps more than any other group, played a key role in abetting the resurgence of traditional religion in Bavaria. Their support of traditional religion was responsible for returning many to the fold. However, the movement often ran contrary to the reform efforts taking place within the Church, including the work being done at Trent.

3 Ibid. 4 See John W. O‟Malley, “Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism,” in The Counter-Reformation, Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. David M. Luebke (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 1999), 65-82; John W. O‟Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993). 120

The controversy surrounding Albrecht V‟s patronage of Martin Eisengrein‟s book, Our

Lady of Altötting, is the starting point for a discussion of the duke‟s patronage of works portraying the Virgin Mary. The importance of the Virgin Mary was paramount in

Bavaria as she simultaneously served as an anti-Catholic target, a locus of Catholic identity and a cross-confessional traditional cultural icon. The importance of the Patrona

Bavariae, as she came to be known, was tremendous. The artworks that were created in

Bavaria depicting the Virgin immediately put that artwork under the scrutiny of all sides of the Bavarian religious cultural divide.

It is appropriate, or perhaps convenient, to begin this chapter with the disclaimer that history is messy, and Albrecht V was often engaged in the patronage of humanist, traditional religious and other pursuits during the same periods of his reign. The diverse nature of the duke‟s patronage highlights the necessity of maintaining several lenses with which to view the overall scope of the works that resulted from his support. This is precisely the case with the arrival of the Jesuits in Bavaria, especially the arrival of Peter

Canisius, their influence on Albrecht V and their early support of traditional Bavarian religion as a tool for Catholic resurgence.

Bavaria‟s guardian of the Catholic faith and one of Luther‟s most capable opponents, Johann Eck, died in 1543, ending thirty-three years of service to the university in Ingolstadt. When he died, Eck took the reputation of the university as a bulwark of

Catholic theology with him. Six years later, in 1549, Wilhelm IV – on the eve of his own passing – began a campaign to secure the intervention of an upstart religious order to help reinvigorate the beleaguered university. The Jesuit order had been founded ten years 121 earlier by Ignatius Loyola.5 Three men, Peter Canisius, Alfonso Salmeron and Claude

Lejay, were sent to Ingolstadt upon Wilhelm IV‟s assurances that the Jesuits would be allowed to set up a college within the university. 6

Their reception was lukewarm at best on the part of both Wilhelm IV‟s court and the faculty in Ingolstadt. Making matters worse for the three Jesuits, Wilhelm IV died shortly after their arrival, leaving Albrecht V as the new leader of the duchy. Albrecht V, who was more interested in pursuing his northern princely humanist agenda than he was the religious affairs of Ingolstadt during the early years of his reign, saw to it that praise was heaped upon the three Jesuits in place of actual money and support. Albrecht V‟s bluff was called in 1550, when Ignatius, who had quickly grown tired of the unfulfilled promise of Wittelsbach support for the founding of the Jesuit college at Ingolstadt, pulled

Lejay from Bavaria with Salmeron following suit a few months later. Canisius, who was the only Jesuit of the three who could speak German in the first place, was left to see to it that Albrecht V fulfilled the promise of his father.7

Despite these actions, Albrecht V remained only passively committed to the Jesuit cause until two years later when Ignatius instigated the humbling maneuver of sending

Canisius on loan to Vienna, an action that aroused the Wittelsbach duke‟s jealousy of the

Habsburgs.8 Despite this tenuous beginning, Albrecht V funded the opening of a Jesuit school in Ingolstadt in 1556. Once on board with the Jesuit educational mission, Albrecht

5 James Brodrick, St. Peter Canisius (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1980), 124-25. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid., 166-67. 8 Otto Braunsberger, “Blessed Peter Canisius,” in The , vol. 11 (New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1911), accessed October 11, 2010, http://www.newadvent.org/ cathen/11756c.htm. 122

V fully committed. Just three years later, a similar school was founded in Munich. Both schools marked the establishment of a permanent Jesuit presence in Bavaria, a presence that remained under the constant supervision of Canisius, who came to be known as the

“second Apostle of Germany.”9

That Canisius became such an integral part of Catholic resurgence in the Holy

Roman Empire was both a testament to the priest‟s own willpower and a result of the

Jesuit mission and philosophy. The Jesuit program was centered on allowing individuals to experience and understand God‟s grace. The spiritual exercises that were developed by

Ignatius were a tool for guiding a participant who might be faced with a major life decision on what appeared to be an exceptionally personal journey toward a more devout life.10

In this light, the purpose of the exercises was rather generic. There were many orders devoted to attaining a more intimate devotion with God. What made the Jesuit order so successful was its adaptability. For instance, the exercises were created so that anyone could participate under the proper supervision. If the exercises, with their intense day-long investigations, proved too much, Ignatius provided an abridged, unofficial version. The exercises were open to priests and laymen alike, and they could be administered on location rather than requiring one to commit to long-term stays at a , college or church.11

9 Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (Princeton University Press, 2002), 17. 10 O‟Malley, The First Jesuits, 37-38. 11 Ibid. 123

The Jesuit program typified a larger trend that was taking place in the middle of the sixteenth century toward a more personal form of Catholic piety and spirituality in general. The act of confession, for example, was increasingly becoming a private affair.

In his book, “Poor, Sinning Folk:” Confession and Conscience in Counter-Reformation

Germany,” William David Myers traces this development in his analysis of the confessional practices of the Middle Ages through the first half of the seventeenth century. Myers describes late-medieval confession as a public, communal affair. He states of the Middle Ages, “One could not find a confessional booth in medieval Europe, because this product of the late sixteenth century appeared in Germany only after

1600.”12 By the sixteenth century, it was established practice in German-speaking lands that those partaking in confession did so in front of their peers and in front of their priest.

The public nature of late-medieval confession led to all types of interesting situations, and it influenced how interactions outside of confession took place within the larger community. Public confession ensured that the was as much about settling communal disputes as it was a religious affair, and priests often found themselves both resolving the personal conflicts that arose among their parishioners and absolving their sins.13

Public confession also ensured that people with needs that might have seemed publicly embarrassing or worse, publicly incriminating, did not attend confession. During the second half of the sixteenth century, confession began to move toward becoming an entirely private affair, with even the priest being separated from the confessor. The

12 William David Myers, “Poor, Sinning Folk” Confession and Conscience in Counter- Reformation Germany (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press 1996), 3. 13 Ibid., 48. 124 intended effect was that penitents could begin to focus on their personal sins without fear of public reprisal.14 The privatization of confession changed the way in which Catholics came to view their own spirituality. As with Ignatius‟ spiritual exercises, the focus of confession became focused entirely on the individual, marking a gradual shift during the middle of the sixteenth century in which Catholics began to see faith in general as an individual matter.

The movement toward individualization has traditionally been thought of as a harbinger of the Protestant Reformation. Certainly, vernacular and liturgy and the belief that justification was not through actions but one‟s personal faith put the onus of salvation squarely in the hands of the individual. Protestant movements may have proclaimed individuality the loudest, but Catholics remained active in coming to understanding faith and the consequences of faith as an individual matter during the sixteenth century. John O‟Malley states that Ignatius‟ Spiritual Exercises were created as a means of accessing an individual‟s religious experience.15 The original purpose of the exercises was very much in the same spirit as Luther‟s personal investigations of religious salvation.

In his book, The Stripping of the Altars, Eamon Duffy notes that Catholicism was still a very active and common, if disorganized, body prior to the Protestant movements and remained so after them. He argues that while many see the Protestant movements as the fulfillment of early modern individuality and a reinvigoration of Christian identity, there is plenty to suggest that Catholicism, which never stopped being a vibrant faith,

14 Ibid., 5. 15 O‟Malley, The First Jesuits, 42. 125 embraced the same ideas as their Protestant counterparts.16 Marc R. Forster supports

Duffy‟s assertion. He suggests that the formation of all Christian religious identity in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was a result of the active participation in religion by all levels of society.17 John Bossy also points out that Catholicism was trending toward individuality. He asserts that Catholic reform could only have happened at the hands of willing participants of all levels, and that Catholicism in the sixteenth century was “a conglomerate of autonomous communities” rather than a monolithic structure of nonparticipants.18

Duffy defined traditional religion by studying early modern in

England. Given Bossy‟s assertion that Catholicism was largely defined locally, relating

English traditional religion to Bavaria presents several challenges. England underwent a religious schism in which the rulers largely supported a Protestant agenda. The

Wittelsbachs remained allied with the Catholic church. England was a more cohesive political entity than the Holy Roman Empire. Bavaria was physically surrounded by politically powerful competing entities. England‟s borders were, in general, well defined given the geography of the island. Like Forster‟s definition of confessionalism, however, the biggest strength of traditional religion is that it is regional. Thus, regional variance is seen as an indication of the existence of traditional religion, not as a disqualifier.

16 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, 4. 17 Marc R. Forster, “With and Without Confessionalization. Varieties of Early Modern German Catholicism,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 4 (1997): 315-16. 18 John Bossy, “The Counter-Reformation and the People of Catholic Europe,” in The Counter- Reformation, Blackwell Essential Readings in History, ed. David M. Luebke (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1999), 88-89. 126

Scholars studying religion throughout Europe have presented several variations on the theme of traditional religion, Forster‟s confessionalism being one example.

Popular piety is another term that recognizes the cyclical nature of early modern society.

However, as Tessa Watt has suggested, the term, popular, often points to a complex set of issues.19 To avoid confusing confessionalism and confessionalization and to avoid the pitfalls of defining what it means to be popular, Duffy‟s term, traditional religion, seems an accurate summation of the cultural situation in Bavaria in the sixteenth century.

Traditional religion has three features. First, it refutes the notion of Catholic religious decay during the Middle Ages by recognizing the existence of a vibrant religious tradition that lasted throughout the late Middle Ages. 20 Duffy argues that despite the attention of scholars on the fringes of early modern society, the largest percentage of people in Europe were still committed to the Catholic Church – at least to their perception of what the Catholic Church was – and they still based their lives around the lifecycles that the Catholic liturgical year provided. Second, traditional religion does not draw a distinction between elite and lay culture. The symbols and rituals inherent in early modern Catholicism were shared by all levels of society. Third, traditional religion was not perceived by those participating in it as superstitious or magical. Rather, actions that have since been presented as such were being interpreted by reformers who were trying to eliminate the practices or biased historians who were looking back at them rather than by the experiences and logic of the people actually taking the actions.21

19 Tessa Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety, 1550-1640, Cambridge Studies in Early Modern British History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 1-4. 20 Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars, 5. 21 Ibid., 2-6. 127

Despite the changes that occurred in Bavaria during the sixteenth century, the fundamental traits of traditional religion never went away, and the culture of late- medieval traditional Catholic religion saw a resurgence in the early modern individual.

The revival was supported by the Jesuits and led to the reclamation of the faith within the duchy.

Albrecht V‟s calls to the Virgin of Altötting during his accident is an example of traditional religious expression. Altötting, a town sixty miles east of Munich, was a popular late-medieval pilgrimage site because of a number of miracles attributed to the

Black Madonna, a fourteenth-century, linden wood sculpture of Mary (fig. 16). The Black

Madonna‟s role in the revival of two children in 1489 – one had drowned and the other was crushed by a wagon – sparked a flurry of pilgrimage to the statue.22 Pilgrimage to the chapel began to wane in 1503 as the War of Landshut Succession created unstable conditions in the region and for the chapel, which saw its resources diminished by

Palatinate dukes in order to finance their failed end of the dispute. Despite a brief revival after the war, Altötting did not return to its previous state as a pilgrimage site until the second half of the sixteenth century.23

22 Linda K. Davidson and David Gitlitz, Pilgrimage: from the Ganges to Graceland: an Encyclopedia, vol. 1 (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2002), 24. 23 Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter-Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 29, accessed June 21, 2010, http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft738nb4fn/. 128

Fig. 16. Our Lady of Altötting, c. 1300s. Linden wood; 25 in. Photo used with permission by Ella Rozett, accessed January 27, 2011, http://www.interfaithmarianpilgrimages.com/pages/Alt%F6tting.htm.

129

Philip M. Soergel asserts that late-medieval pilgrims who traveled to Altötting were motivated by the belief that such places were very real centers of healing where saints, who were still active in a spiritual and sometimes physical sense, intervened on behalf of people in order to resolve conflicts more efficiently than could be done by those still confined to an earthly existence.24 Pilgrimage sites were centers where people from all classes gathered in order to share in their collective belief about the healing power of faith. These sites were not only for the poor, the unintelligent or the superstitious. Then

Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick III, was reported to have visited Altötting in 1491, and the Wittelsbach family became increasingly devoted to making annual pilgrimages to the site after a resurgence of pilgrimages began around 1570.25 Frederick III and the

Wittelsbachs were among thousands of peasants, merchants and lower nobles who also visited the site. The of Albrecht V for the intercession of the statue at Altötting and his subsequent pilgrimages were acts of partaking in a tradition that had been shared by Bavarians of every social strata for at least a hundred years before his boating accident.

He was but one of many threads in the fabric of traditional religion in Bavaria.

In part, the decline of pilgrimage in the early sixteenth century can be attributed to

Protestant beliefs. The everyday religious experience of Bavarian Catholics and Catholics throughout Europe came increasingly under attack by Protestants, and Catholic reformers, after 1517. The following quote by Martin Luther is an aggressive affront to what he felt was the prevailing religious experience throughout the Holy Roman Empire:

24 Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints, 211. 25 H.C. Erik Midelfort, A History of Madness in Sixteenth-Century Germany (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 292. 130

Besides, consider what in our blindness, we have hitherto been practicing and

doing under the Papacy. If any one had toothache, he fasted and honored St.

Apollonia; if he was afraid of fire, he chose St. Lawrence as his helper in

need…such abominations, where every one selected his own saint, worshipped

him, and called for help to him in distress…For all these place their heart and trust

elsewhere than in the true God, look for nothing good to Him nor seek it from

Him.26

Luther‟s accusation positioned the entire notion of empowering saints as a misguided act and was a direct assault on the traditional religious logic that led to actions such as

Albrecht V‟s prayers to a statue while adrift on Lake Starnberger.

As the sixteenth century progressed, and as more Germans pursued various

Protestant agendas, stories of attempts to position the logic of Catholic traditional religious behavior as little more than superstition or to outright mock Catholic practices became more common. For instance, Robert Scribner describes the actions of the parishioners of a church in in 1524 who went around town during the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin scattering flowers and herbs that had been blessed and placed in churches throughout town after being incited by their preacher. The whole affair eventually dissolved into an outright display of public disorder as citizens began to tear images out of the churches to destroy them.27

26 Martin Luther, Large Catechism, Project Wittenburg, trans. by F. Bente and W.H.P. Dau, accessed October 17, 2010, http://www.iclnet.org/pub/resources/text/ wittenberg/luther/catechism/web/cat- 03.html. 27 Robert W. Scribner, “Ritual and Reformation,” in German People and the Reformation, ed. R. Po Chia-Hsia (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1988), 126-27. 131

In Bavaria during the 1520s, the number of Protestant sympathizers and disenchanted Catholics gained such momentum that the citizens of Neuötting, which neighbored Altötting, began to publicly decry pilgrimages to the Black Madonna and

Marian worship in general. The city even removed the image of the Virgin from their city seal, and citizens actively attempted to block pilgrims from reaching the chapel at

Altötting.28 Johannes Jannsen points out that these protests sometimes took a violent turn.

He states, “On one occasion a priest, who was making a pilgrimage to Altötting with a cross, was attacked and fatally injured.”29

While accusations of superstitious activity came from the outside, the Catholic

Church fervently continued its own process of trying to dispel some of the elements within its structure that it perceived to be superstitious. The Jesuit mission, however, seems to have eschewed many of the Church‟s reform measures during the order‟s formative years. Indeed, the order‟s early success was based on its malleability, which was maintained by purposefully avoiding attaching itself to many of the larger reform measures being implemented by the Catholic Church, opting instead on instilling religious zeal through their highly-localized and personalized style of training and education.30

Rather than trying to directly enforce the decrees that were coming from Trent,

Jesuits often found themselves adopting local traditional religious practices in order to nourish those forms of Catholic identity that were already in place, even if that meant

28 Reinhold and Jörg Zellner, Altötting die Geschichte der Wallfahrt: Dargestellt anhand der Raumbilder in der “Schau” im Marienwerk (Burghausen: Blick-Punkt Verlag, 1984), 14. 29 Johannes Jannsen, History of the German People at the Close of the Middle Ages, vol. 7 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench Trübner & Co., 1905), 173. 30 O‟Malley “Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer?,” 78. 132 occasionally breaking away from the conventions of the Catholic Church and the reforms that it set out to introduce. R. Po-Chia Hsia explains that what might have been perceived as laxity in terms of implementing strict Tridentine reforms during the early years of the

Jesuit order was actually an attempt to adapt the goals of the order to the many forms of traditional religion that still existed. He explains that “Tridentine Catholicism succeeded in the long term not by suppressing „superstitions,‟ but by grafting orthodoxy onto traditional and popular spirituality.”31

The personal nature of Ignatius‟ exercises aimed to ensure that those who passed through the process were absolutely devoted to Catholicism, even if that meant accommodating for the nuances of a practitioner‟s local customs when they ran contrary to the official dictums of the Church. Many in the Jesuit order probably had little experience with any of the reform measures being handed down at the councils taking place in Trent or elsewhere, leaving doubt as to how observant of new decrees converts could be if those doing the converting lacked a knowledge of what those decrees entailed.32

Despite being based on an individual coming to God, the spiritual exercises were a highly codified experience that simultaneously removed the individual from what was perceived as an individual experience, ensuring that Ignatius‟ order remained, on the whole, steadfastly devoted to a system that both liberated and controlled its participants.

In short, the order was centered on convincing members who came to operate within a rather strict corporate hierarchy that they were acting as individuals.

31 R. Po-Chia Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal 1540-1770, New Approaches to European History (Cambridge University Press, 1998), 200-01. 32 O‟Malley, “Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer?,” 78. 133

The fierce devotion that members of the order often displayed, both to their own order and to Papal authority, caused sixteenth-century Jesuits to be perceived as aggressive proponents of a confessional agenda and as reformers of Catholicism. As tools of the Counter-Reformation, their educational mission has come to be seen as a method of indoctrination, and their publishing mission is often understood as an act of propaganda meant to counter those of the various Protestant confessions. Moreover, their near-militant social discipline has become the subject of countless legends, mostly negative. A. Lynn Martin suggests that, since their inception, the Jesuits have been treated and understood according to a certain, often inaccurate, mystique, which included the notion that “. . . the Jesuits were the shock troops of the Counter-Reformation. They were the stage directors of the Church‟s reaction to Protestantism.”33 Martin describes the common view of the order as a group that sought connections with the European power elite at every turn in order to ensure the broadest influence possible.34 Jeffrey Chipps

Smith has written a fascinating study about the artistic program of the Jesuits in which he suggests that even the arts were part of a program meant to influence those who came into contact with the order.35 Their political influence, coupled with a brilliant organizational structure, allowed the Jesuits to flourish in the sixteenth century, and that led many of their contemporaries to see them as “assassins, ferocious wild boars, thieves, traitors, serpents, vipers, . . . filthy billygoats.”36

33 A. Lynn Martin, “The Jesuit Mystique,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 4, no. 1 (April 1973): 31. 34 Ibid. 35 See Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany, (Princeton University Press, 2002). 36 Martin, “The Jesuit Mystique,” 31. 134

Like Martin, John O‟Malley argues that historians have perhaps gone too far when they label the early tactics of the Jesuits as early modern and confessionalizing. He points out that, in its early years, the group was not organized enough to present a confessionalizing agenda or concerned enough to implement such an agenda.37 As mentioned, O‟Malley proposes that the Jesuit order was more occupied with the salvation of individual Catholics, whatever form that faith took, than it was with the reassertion of the Catholic faith as an organization. Citing a dearth of language concerning reform during the early years of the order, O‟Malley concludes that the concept of using the

Jesuits as a tool for reform was, at best, never made explicit by the order and, at worst, entirely foreign to Ignatius.38

Ignatius acknowledged the inroads that the Protestant movements were making in

Germany. Peter Canisius kept Ignatius informed concerning the Peace at Augsburg, an agreement which distressed the leader greatly. However, this was an organization that had spread quickly to various corners of the world, and, for Jesuits such as Canisius,

Protestants were to be understood, less as Christians in need of reform and more in a manner similar to natives of lands where Christianity had not yet been introduced.

Canisius repeatedly remarked that the majority of German Protestants, and Catholics for that matter, were simple-minded folk who were entirely honest but misguided about their faith.39 Indeed, Canisius initially warned that more extreme forms of social discipline – one of the most basic elements of confessionalization – would be counterproductive in the quest for souls. His initial rejection of Catholic strategies that hinted at social

37 O‟Malley, “Was Ignatius Loyala a Church Reformer?,” 69-71. 38 Ibid., 78. 39 Brodrick, St. Peter Canisius, 129-31. 135 discipline is summed up in a letter warning against attacking Protestant writers by belittling them. The letter produced his now famous quote, “We do not heal the sick by such , we only render their disease incurable.”40

Rather than seeing the years surrounding the Reformation as the end of traditional

Catholic religion, as the drawing of sides or as an age of Catholic decay, it is more accurate to assert that, at least in Bavaria, a large part of the population was initially more interested in trying to come to terms with what the changes being brought about by the

Protestant upheaval meant for them. For example, Canisius was amazed to find that the library in Ingolstadt had many Protestant texts despite their being deemed heretical and banned in Bavaria, a sure sign that they were being read. Likewise, James Brodrick tells of a good number of students who reportedly turned in their own copies of banned books to Canisius once the Jesuit had gained their trust.41 Throughout Bavaria and Germany, individual priests were found trying to accommodate to both belief systems by offering

Catholic and Lutheran services. In 1556, Albrecht V submitted to the wishes of his people and allowed communion in both kinds.42 Official Catholic leadership in Bavaria after Eck was admittedly lacking given Albrecht V‟s obsession with princely pursuits.

This left a hole for the early Jesuits who came to Germany to fill, but it is inaccurate to describe the area as entirely void of religious devotion or to suggest that it had gone the way of Protestant observation. The more accurate picture rests somewhere in the middle.

40 Johannes Jannsen, History of the German People at the Close of the Middle Ages, vol. 8 (London: Kegan Paul, Trench Trübner & Co., 1905), 237. 41 Brodrick, St. Peter Canisius, 138. 42 Andreas Kraus, Geschichte Bayerns: von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1983), 215. 136

In the 1570s, the confusion surrounding religious practices in Bavaria, the traditional religious patronage of Albrecht V and the non-traditional methods of the Jesuit agenda all came together during a debacle surrounding Martin Eisengrein‟s book, Our

Lady of Altötting. The publication of this book, Albrecht V‟s patronage of its author and the influence of Peter Canisius on both suggests that the Jesuits were often willing to accept and support the traditional religious practice and patronage of the Bavarian duke, even when it contradicted their own judgment, as long as it meant bringing more members to the fold.

In 1569, the Fugger family of Augsburg summoned Peter Canisius to exorcise demons that had possessed Sybil Fugger‟s -of-honor, Anna von Bernhausen. Anna was one of two young girls in the employ of the Fugger family who suffered from apparent demonic possession. The other girl, Susanna, maid of Ursala Fugger, was so afflicted that she had reportedly begun to eat .43 Susanna was taken to Loreto by

Johann Fugger to have her demons exorcized. Anna‟s caregivers, Mark and Sybilla, called Canisius to Augsburg to handle her situation locally.44 Despite his reservations and the direct protests of the Jesuit -General, Francisco Borja, about the validity of exorcisms, Canisius agreed to come to the aid of one of Europe‟s most powerful financial and one of Catholicism‟s most fervent German supporting families. He arrived in Augsburg on October 18.45

During the second half of the sixteenth century, the Catholic Church began to reevaluate the rite of exorcism. Moshe Sluhovsky states that during the fifteenth century a

43 Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius, 695. 44 Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints, 119-20. 45 Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius, 696. 137 trend away from practices that were increasingly coming to be seen as superstitious had begun. Among the practices was the exorcism of demons, which, by the end of the century, was the domain of very specifically trained priests. Further, the Catholic Church began to understand the definition of possession as a conflict of the mind and soul.

Possession was the result of impure thoughts – something more akin to a mental illness – rather than an actual infestation of demons in the body.46

The changing definition of exorcism makes the exorcism at Altötting all the more interesting, not because it happened, but because of the logic that was used to support its happening. Canisius was warned by Borja not to undertake the exorcism because he feared that the Fuggers were acting out of a superstitious belief that Anna was actually possessed by a physical demon. In other words, Borja was okay with the act of exorcism so long as it fit the early modern definition. When it did not, it became an act of superstition that he could not support. Even Canisius began to grow weary with the wealthy family when he discovered that they were acting less than Catholic toward the situation. “It was the news that Johann had taken up astrology and necromancy which caused St. Peter to pull up and become suspicious.”47

Despite Borja‟s protests and Canisius‟ attempts to sway the family away from exorcism, the Fuggers held fast to the belief that Anna was indeed physically possessed by seven demons, six of which were exorcised at public ceremonies at St. Ulrich in

Augsburg.48 The seventh demon proved more difficult, and in 1570, after Anna had

46 Moshe Sluhovsky, Believe Not Every Spirit: Possession, Mysticism, and Discernment in Early Modern Catholicism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 1-2. 47 Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius, 696. 48 Crook, Orlando Di Lasso’s Magnificats, 68. 138 received instructions in a vision from the Virgin Mary, Canisius led a small group to

Altötting. The shift in location happened as much out of political necessity as spiritual.

The leaders of the city of Augsburg, who were leaning heavily in the direction of

Protestantism in the second half of the sixteenth century, banned exorcisms in 1568 and were none too happy about the actions of the Jesuit priest.49 Upon arriving in Altötting,

Canisius set to work, at first reciting the Litany of Loreto, which proved to be the start of an effective exorcism.

In 1571, shortly after Canisius performed the exorcism, Martin Eisengrein, who was appointed provost to Altötting in 1567, had his miracle book, Our Lady at Altötting, published in Ingolstadt by Wolfgang Eder.50 The book recounts the exorcism and many other miracles that took place at the shrine. Apparently, the same Catholic authorities who initially attempted to turn the Fuggers away from their mission on the grounds that it was a superstitious undertaking were happy to print the very same story, knowing of its appeal to the traditional religious atmosphere in Bavaria. Eisengrein was a Protestant- raised convert who made a name for himself in Vienna at St. Stephen‟s and came to work in Ingolstadt later in life. He was as zealous as converts are wont to be, and his book quickly circulated throughout Germany, undergoing at least ten editions between 1571 and 1625.51 Borrowing from Aventinus‟ Bayerische Chronik, Eisengrein‟s two-hundred

49 Midelfort, A History of Madness in Sixteenth-Century Germany, 318-20. 50 Philip M. Soergel, “The Counter-Reformation Impact on Anticlerical Propaganda,” in Anticlericalism in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought, ed. Peter A. Dykema and Heiko A. Oberman (Leiden, The Netherlands: E.J. Brill, 1994), 639. 51 Midelfort, A History of Madness in Sixteenth-Century Germany, 318. 139 page book attempted to inextricably link Catholicism and Bavaria, arguing that Altötting had been a Catholic holy site since the age of .52

Both the exorcism and the book forced Bavarians, including the ruling

Wittelsbach family, to publicly take sides concerning the irreconcilable issues of image worship, saints and, most importantly in Bavaria, the power and role of the Virgin Mary in religious life. One of Eisengrein‟s intentions was to prove that Catholics were more effective at warding off the devil than Lutherans, a notion that went against the reformed

Catholic definition of exorcism, but which fit rather nicely within the traditional religious spirit of Bavaria.53 According to Philip Soergel, the Lutheran response was swift, “At

Strasbourg, Johannes Marbach, President of the Lutheran Church, hastily wrote and published a 400-page reply entitled On Miracles and Miraculous Signs, which denounced

Canisius as a sorcerer.”54 The resurgence of late-medieval religious traditions at pilgrimage sites across Bavaria grew until it peaked in the first half of the eighteenth century, with a reported 160 group pilgrimages and 115,000 confessions annually taking place at the tiny chapel in Altötting.55

Beyond pilgrimage, the small, rural, town of in Alpine Bavaria also maintained ties with medieval traditions. The city opted for the performance of a medieval as an appropriate thanksgiving after being spared from an outbreak of the plague in 1633. The village‟s choice of a medieval form of theater is interesting because it occurred seventeen years after the death of Shakespeare and more than thirty

52 Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints, 115. 53 Soergel, “The Counter-Reformation Impact on Anticlerical Propaganda,” 639-40. 54 Ibid. 55 Robert Bireley, The Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450-1700 (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1999), 111-12. 140 years after Jakob Bidermann introduced Jesuit drama to Bavaria with his play,

Cenodoxus, which is discussed in Chapter Five. Oberammergau might be an instance of a rural community being out of touch with the latest dramatic trends, as was the case with much of Bavaria, which was a primarily rural duchy, and it is out of line with the extensive nature of Jesuit drama, which permeated even the most remote parts of Europe.

For his part, Albrecht V did his best to support and encourage traditional religion.

The Bavarian duke concentrated a great deal of his creative efforts on nourishing the burgeoning popular support of what Bridget Heal describes as “the cult of the Virgin

Mary” that was again taking hold in Bavaria and throughout Europe during the middle of the sixteenth century.56 In 1570, just after the exorcism of young Anna in Altötting,

Munich adopted the Litany of Loreto into their liturgical schedule, to be sung no less than twenty times throughout the year. In 1571, the duke and his wife made their own pilgrimage to Altötting in thanksgiving for his rescue the year before on Lake

Starnberger.57

Albrecht V also pursued the patronage of music that began to lean heavily on

Marian themes. Orlando di Lasso, for example, wrote or had the bulk of his 102

Magnificat settings published between the late 1560s, just as the cult of Mary was beginning its resurgence in Bavaria, and his death in the 1590s when Albrecht V‟s son,

Wilhelm V, had fully latched onto Marian worship. That Lasso set the Magnificat is not an indicator of the support that the Virgin received in Bavaria. The number of times that the composer set the text, however, is telling. David Crook points out that “no composer

56 Bridget Heal describes the Marian phenomenon in The Cult of the Virgin Mary in early Modern Germany (Cambridge University Press, 2007). 57 Crook, Orlando Di Lasso’s Magnificats, 71. 141 in the entire history of European music set even half the number of Magnificats that

Lasso did.”58

With the support of Albrecht V, the Pope and the Jesuit order, Canisius also got into the Marian act. In 1577, a few years after the exorcism, he wrote the first Jesuit treatise on the Virgin Mary, De Maria Virgine incomparabili.59 David Crook describes this work as the quintessential apologetic Marian text of the sixteenth century, and it was but one of many already impressive devotional credits gained on behalf of the Bavarian

Jesuit.60

One of Albrecht V‟s earliest and perhaps biggest contributions to the cult of Mary and the revival of traditional Bavarian Catholicism in general was the High Altar that was commissioned for the centennial celebration of the university in Ingolstadt in 1572 (fig.

17). The altar was the first major work of public, religious visual art commissioned by the

Bavarian duke during his reign. This was not unusual given the state of public Catholic works throughout the middle of the sixteenth century. Jeffrey Chipps Smith states,

“Catholics in the Holy Roman Empire, shocked by the continuing threats of iconoclasm and, perhaps, chastened by Protestant criticisms of religious art, commissioned relatively few new, non-memorial paintings and sculptures for their churches. . . . The revival of large-scale Catholic religious art occurred only rarely before the 1580s.”61 If the risk of

Protestant interference created a decline in the creation of large public religious works

58 Ibid., 4. 59 Walter S. Melion, “‟Quae Lect Canisius Offert Et Spectata Diu’ The Pictoral Images in Petrus Canisius‟s De Maria Virgine of 1577/1583,” in Early Modern Eyes, ed. Walter S. Melion and Lee Palmer Wandel (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill NV, 2010), 207. 60 Crook, Orlando Di Lasso’s Magnificats, 71. 61 Jeffrey Chipps Smith, The Northern Renaissance (London: Phaidon Press Limited, 2004), 12. 142 during the first half of the sixteenth century in Bavaria, the High Altar served as the resounding reentry of the Munich Wittelsbachs into the world of religious art patronage.

Interestingly, Albrecht chose to commission the court painter in Munich, Hans

Mielich, to oversee the creation of the altar. Mielich, who was primarily known for his work as a miniaturist and portrait artist, seems an odd choice for such a large undertaking.

The piece was commissioned in 1560, twelve years before the university actually celebrated its centennial. Mielich was given twenty-two hundred gulden as payment, an amount that was almost sixty times the normal fee.62 Appropriately, the setting of the altar was the Liebfrauenmünster in Ingolstadt. The stands over thirty feet tall and contains ninety-one paintings by Mielich and a great number of statues and carvings by the sculptor, Hans Wörner.63

The altar‟s focal painting is the Stifterbild, or founder‟s painting, entitled Virgin as Queen of Heaven with the Ducal Family (fig. 18). Above this painting sits an image of the likeness of Christ. Small paintings of the twelve apostles are situated on each side of

Christ. The founder‟s painting itself sits in the center of the altar with another six paintings on each side, twelve total, that comprise a cycle detailing the , from her birth through the trials of Jesus to her assumption. The last painting in the cycle depicts the Assumption of the Virgin. Wörner‟s carving of the of the Virgin, which sits atop the entire altar serves as the last piece in the cycle. The remaining sides of

62 Bernhard Hermann Röttger, Der Maler Hans Mielich (Munich: H. Schmidt, 1925), 111. 63 Smith, The Northern Renaissance, 376. 143 the altar contain their own cycle of paintings in which the Virgin is figured prominently.64

Commissioning cycles depicting the life of the Virgin Mary reached its climax during the late Middle Ages, at least a hundred years before the altar in Ingolstadt was created, raising the question of why the duke and his artists chose to bring back a seemingly antiquated form of presenting the life of Mary. The Italian-centered view might hold that it was just another example of the Holy Roman Empire being slow to catch up with the innovations of the Italian art movements. However, the artists in the

Wittelsbach court at Munich made regular travels throughout Europe; Mielich visited

Rome and in the early 1550s, meeting with Titian along the way.65 The Munich court was considered an artistic innovator in many areas. This makes the plausibility of the notion that the altar‟s construction was yet another example of northern artists being behind the times rather weak. It seems just as likely that, much like the play at

Oberammergau, the High Altar was a revival of traditional ideas. Indeed, the paintings show that while Mielich certainly was not an artistic innovator, he was capable of reproducing the methods being used throughout Europe in the sixteenth century.

Mielich‟s painting, Virgin as Queen of Heaven with the Ducal Family, shows the influence of Titian‟s Assumption of the Virgin Mary (fig. 19). Titian‟s work, which was completed early in the sixteenth century, is arranged in a three-tiered structure. The lower layer depicts the apostles. The middle layer shows the Virgin surrounded by putti, and the upper-most layer reveals God. Mielich‟s painting has only two layers. Mielich opted to

64 Röttger, Der Maler Hans Mielich, 124-130. 65 Charles Hope, “Mielich in Titian‟s Studio,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 60, (1997), 260-61. 144 place Mary in the highest tier, omitting God altogether. The top layer depicts the Virgin with the infant Jesus on her lap, while the bottom layer shows Albrecht V with his wife and two children, surrounded by other family members praying to the Virgin, leaving little doubt as to whom the object of Wittelsbach piety was directed.

Wittelsbach devotion to Mary continued throughout and long after the reign of

Albrecht V. His son, Wilhelm V, “the pious” as he came to be known, helped found, along with the help of his father, Munich‟s first Marian sodality in 1578. Wilhelm V‟s wife, Renata, was responsible for founding devotional services to Mary in 1575. After the death of their first son, Wilhelm V and his wife began making pilgrimages to Marian shrines throughout Bavaria, including trips to Altötting which became an annual affair.

Wilhelm V‟s son Maximilian I, who was best known for reclaiming the duchy after it had been occupied by the Swedish, Gustavus Adolfus, followed in his family‟s passion for

Mary by, among many other actions, beginning the tradition of signing a blood oath to the Virgin at Altötting.66

66 Crook, Orlando Di Lasso’s Magnificats, 72-3. 145

Fig. 17. Hans Mielich and Hans Wörner, Front of the High Altar, 1572. Mixed media. Church of Our Lady, Ingolstadt. 146

Fig. 18. Hans Mielich, Virgin as Queen of Heaven with the Ducal Family, on the High Altar, 1572. Church of Our Lady, Ingolstadt. 147

Fig. 19. Titian, Assumption of the Virgin Mary, 1518. Oil on panel; 22.5x11.6 ft. di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, Venice. 148

The earlier quote by Martin Luther rather succinctly outlines one of the main points of contention that early Protestants had with their Catholic counterparts during the sixteenth century. That Catholics would worship what amounted to false idols in the eyes of Lutherans was a main point of concern for Luther. It was also an issue for the

Calvinists, who saw this type of devotion more as superstition than proper Christian practice. Luther and Calvin were not far removed from the daily march of Bavarian life; the other half of the Wittelsbach family who still ruled in the were steadfast devotees to Calvinism, and they maintained a very vocal opposition to

Catholicism and the Munich line of Wittelsbach‟s support of it. In other words, the very debates that caused the schism between Protestants and Catholics were coming to be a regular feature of the interactions between Catholics and non-Catholics in Bavaria.

Despite the growing trend in Germany – even in Bavaria – toward Protestant ideals, the question of how to understand the Virgin Mary‟s place within either side of the faith was still something of a mixed bag. The importance of the Virgin as a religious symbol for both Protestants and Catholics is presented in Bridget Heal‟s description of pre-Reformation Germany:

On the Eve of the Reformation the Virgin Mary was, without doubt, the most

frequently depicted, described and invoked saint in Germany. The proliferation of

Marian images and devotional practices that occurred during the late Middle Ages

testified to the deep attachment that people felt for the Mother of God. By 1500 149

most German churches had at least one altar dedicated to Mary and some, such as

the church of St. Laurenz in Cologne, had two or three.67

Heal cites various writings by Luther suggesting that he still held special place for Mary within religious life. After 1517, Marian devotion remained a vital part of both sides of the confessional divide for the majority of the sixteenth century.68 The movement both toward the reassertion of Mary‟s importance within the Catholic faith and her demotion on behalf of Protestant belief systems only occurred after both sides began to aggressively define their confessions. Likewise, the use of Mary as a tool for religious identity occurred only after she was revived through the patronage of art that presented and encouraged the resurgence of traditional religious piety that swept through Catholic

Bavaria, causing those qualities that separated Catholics and Protestants to be drawn into sharper contrast.

67 Heal, The Cult of the Virgin Mary in early Modern Germany, 1. 68 Ibid., 3-4. 150 CHAPTER V

Sociological Propaganda in Bavaria: The Legacy of Albrecht V to the Thirty Years‟ War

As, in the case of bodily illness, it is first necessary to remove what causes the disease and then to apply restoratives which renew health or establish it firmly, so in this plague of souls which various heresies have made to rage in the King’s dominions, the first thing to be done is to see how the causes of it may be rooted out, and then, how the vigour of healthy Catholic doctrine may be restored and confirmed.1

In 1638, Albrecht V‟s grandson, Maximilian I, erected the Mariansäule in thanksgiving for Munich‟s liberation from the occupation of King and his Swedish army, which lasted from 1632-34 during the Thirty Years‟ War. For much of Munich and Bavaria, the Swedish occupation made manifest the worst elements of war. Even worse for the Wittelsbachs was the way in which the occupation began.

Gustavus Adolphus struck at the heart of the courtly prestige that the Wittelsbachs had established and maintained in Munich for well over two hundred years. Geoffrey Parker describes the arrival of the occupiers in Munich: “Gustavus and Frederick V held a triumphal entry on 17 May [1632], reviewed their victorious troops, played tennis together on the ducal courts, surveyed the ducal art collection, and plundered it as thoroughly as the Bavarians had plundered Heidelberg ten years before.”2 Jeffrey Chipps

Smith also describes events in which Swedish soldiers used religious relics and church stalls for firewood, destroyed images of the saints and damaged church organs in

1 Quoted in James Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1980), 211. This quote was taken from Ignatius Loyola‟s response to Peter Canisius‟ requests for advice on the decline of Catholicism in Austrian lands. 2 Geoffrey Parker, The Thirty Years’ War, ed. Geoffrey Parker (New York: Routledge, 1997), 120. 151 Bamberg.3 Munich was largely spared in comparison with many of the outlying communities in Bavaria. Many of the rural communities in the duchy were plundered and leveled, sending the duchy into a time of deep famine.

The Mariansäule was a symbol of Bavaria‟s belief that through faith in the Virgin

Mary – the same faith that had been fervently cultivated nearly seventy years before by

Albrecht V at Altötting – the duchy had come through the worst of times (figs. 20-22).

The monument consists of a pedestal and column that rises to a height of approximately thirty-five feet in the midst of one of Munich‟s busiest public squares. At the top of the column, a bronze sculpture, The Virgin and Child, depicts Mary holding the infant Jesus while sitting on a crescent moon. The statue was created by Hubert Gerhard, and it was originally intended to adorn the tomb of his patron, Wilhelm V, the exceptionally pious son of Albrecht V. Four bronze putti are situated at each corner of the base of the marble structure, each one meant to guard against the afflictions of plague, war, famine and heresy.4 Appropriately, the putti at the base of the artwork are depicted battling the maladies that had recently laid the country low and from which Maximilian I and the citizenry of Munich wished to be protected in the future.

3 Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship: Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002), 203. 4 Verena Beaucamp, et al. “Munich,” in Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online, accessed January 4, 2011, http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T060321. 152

Fig. 20. Mariansäule, 1638. , Munich. Photo courtesy of Hither and Dither, accessed January 27, 2010, http://www.vanderkrogt.net/. 153

Fig. 21. Hubert Gerhard. The Virgin and Child on top of the Mariansäule, 1590. Gilded bronze. Marienplatz, Munich. Photo courtesy of Hither and Dither, accessed January 27, 2010, http://www.vanderkrogt.net/. The statue was placed atop the Mariansäule in 1638. 154

Fig. 22. Ferdinand Murmann, Putto at the base of the Mariansäule defeating heresy, 1641. Bronze. Marienplatz, Munich. Photo courtesy of Hither and Dither, accessed January 27, 2010, http://www.vanderkrogt.net/. 155 Three of the four putti battle physical dangers that constantly threatened the duchy throughout the Thirty Years‟ War. War and famine were direct results of the Swedish invasion of Bavaria. Further adding to the bleak situation, the entire duchy was ravaged by an outbreak of the plague that killed fifteen thousand Munich residents during the same year that the Bavarian Wittelsbachs saw the end of the Swedish occupation.5 The plague hit close to home for all elements of society, including the Wittelsbachs, who saw the plague claim the lives of several influential court artists, including the Jesuit-trained court organist, Anton Holzner and his wife, who decided to stay in Munich throughout the Swedish occupation despite a one-third pay reduction in the former‟s salary.6 As the myth goes, the outbreak of the plague in 1633 also led city leaders in the small Alpine town of Oberammergau to vow that they would perform a passion play every ten years as an act of faith if God would spare the city from further affliction. Even today, the city upholds its end of the bargain by performing the play in years ending in zero.

The putto that stands out in relation to the three depictions of physical threats to the duchy is battling a serpent that represents heresy (fig. 22). The inclusion of heresy as an affliction on par with the suffering that accompanies the other three maladies indicates just how seriously the duchy – perhaps more accurately the Wittelsbachs – had come to understand the correlation that existed between the duchy‟s heavily Marian-based

Catholicism and the health of the community. For the Catholics of Bavaria, the act of heresy could often manifest itself as a malady that was just as physically afflicting as famine, war and plague.

5 Alexander J. Fisher and Anton Holzner, “Introduction,” in Viretum pierium (1621) (Middleton, WI: A-R Editions, Inc., 2009), viii. 6 Ibid. 156 Despite being erected fifty-five years after his death, the Mariansäule in many ways represents the highest manifestation of the patronage of Albrecht V. By the end of his reign in 1579, he had begun to integrate his Catholic confessional identity with the mechanisms of state. Wittelsbach patronage, from the final years of Albrecht V‟s rule to the reign of his grandson, Maximilian I, began to promote art as a platform for presenting, enforcing and reinforcing notions of Bavarian Catholic identity, which was obsessed with Marian devotion.

Beginning with the altarpiece at Ingolstadt in 1572, Albrecht V‟s patronage began to promote artworks that expressed the duke‟s peculiar mixture of traditional religious observance and Jesuit-influenced spirituality. Under the influence of the Jesuits, who used assimilation and education as a strategy, Wittelsbach patronage shifted during the second half of the sixteenth century from the support of artists who created works that presented and reinforced the political greatness and spiritual steadfastness of the

Wittelsbach family to the creation of religious art that was intended for mass public consumption by every level of Bavarian society.

In Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion, Andrew Pettegree asserts that such large public works were part of a diverse program of identity building:

Reformers recognized a necessary double process of engagement: with the

individual Christian, and with a collective religious consciousness that also had to

be nurtured and reinforced. Hence in this study an attempt is made to relocate the

role of the book as part of a broader range of modes of persuasion that used every

medium of discourse and communication familiar to pre-industrial society.

Preaching, singing and drama would all play their part, alongside the careful 157 private tutelage of the new Protestant family in catechism class and

reading.7

While his subject is Protestant works, Pettegree would have been accurate in asserting that the same modes of persuasion existed for Catholics, and they also included the visual arts and architecture. Like Pettegree, many historians of the early modern period have increasingly become interested in understanding the social impact of the arts, and a growing number of scholars are presenting a strong case for the influence of the arts as political propaganda in confessionalizing countries.8

As it has turned into one of the central methodologies for studying early modern

Germany and especially Bavaria, this chapter begins with a reevaluation of the notion of confessionalization as it relates to the arts. Confessionalization has provided valuable insights into understanding the collapse of the Holy Roman Empire and the rise of the early modern state on a macro level, and it is very useful in pointing out the similarities that existed within the development of each religious confession. However, confessionalization and its artistic byproduct, political propaganda, are not entirely accurate tools for understanding Bavarian patronage during the latter half of the sixteenth century on a micro level. These works of art were not acts of propaganda in the political

7 Andrew Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2005), 8. 8 See Rebecca Wagner Oettinger, Music as Propaganda in the German Reformation (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Company, 2001); Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter- Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), accessed June 21, 2010, http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft738nb4fn/; Noel Malcolm, Reason of State, Propaganda and the Thirty Years’ War: An Unknown Translation by Thomas Hobbes (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); Luc Racaut, Hatred in Print: Catholic Propaganda and Protestant Identity during the French Wars of Religion (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2002). It should be noted that Pettegree also acknowledges the existence of confessionalization, but he criticizes what he considers an exaggerated focus on the success of top-down authority. Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion, 186-87. 158 sense. Rather, Wittelsbach patronage that expressed traditional Bavarian Catholic values was part of the emergence of sociological propaganda in the duchy.

Understanding patronage and the resulting artworks as a sociological rather than as a political process dismantles the notion of a top-down hierarchy of patronage and posits that each of the individual parties involved in the patronage, creation and reception of an artwork maintained a certain level of autonomy in their relationship with the artwork. This is not meant to suggest that the power and influence wielded by the

Wittelsbachs were in any way lacking. However, by reexamining the relationship between all parties, it is possible to view the artworks and the patronage of artworks throughout the duchy as a cooperative effort that required both action from the top and pressure, acceptance and support from the bottom.

In many ways, Bavaria has become the standard example for the development of early modern absolutism in which a ruling body imposes its belief structure upon the masses through the use of social discipline. R. Po-Chia Hsia describes late-sixteenth- century Bavaria as a place of centralized authority and enforced Catholic conformity.9

Ulrike Strasser, presents Bavaria as Germany‟s first absolutist state.10 Similarly,

Wolfgang Behringer describes Bavaria as absolutist, mentioning that the Wittelsbachs were the first to “crush” their religious opposition.11 Marc R. Forster repeatedly points

9 R. Po-Chia Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal 1540-1770, New Approaches to European History (Cambridge University Press, 1998), 76. 10 Ulrike Strasser, State of Virginity: Gender, Religion, and Politics in an Early Modern Catholic State (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2004), 3. 11 Wolfgang Behringer, Witchcraft Persecutions in Bavaria, trans. J.C. Grayson and David Lederer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 18. 159 out that sixteenth century Bavaria is often presented as the closest example of a duchy where the confessionalization thesis seems fit without issue.12

Interpreting early modern Bavaria as absolutist supports one of the most basic components of confessionalization: social control. The extension of social control into the realm of the arts is perhaps most strongly conveyed in the increasingly accepted understanding of the early modern artwork as a piece of political propaganda. Wolfgang

Reinhard, in his foundational article on the establishment of confessionalization, posits that political propaganda was the first of many tools used to spread and enforce new rules of governance in a particular region.13

The history of the term, propaganda, however, presents multiple challenges to scholars trying to apply it. Since the end of World War II, propaganda has come to represent a mode of communication necessarily tied to politics, and it is generally perceived as something sinister, akin to brainwashing and subversion. The following statement from David Welch‟s book, Propaganda and Mass Persuasion: a Historical

Encyclopedia, 1500 to Present, echoes the opening sentences of any number of works on the study of propaganda. He notes that the contemporary usage of the term “suggests that propaganda is a cancer on the body politic that manipulates our thoughts and actions and should be avoided at all costs.”14 Welch calls for a repositioning of the term, but he concedes that the usage of propaganda as a cultural weapon during the early twentieth

12 Marc R. Forster, “With and Without Confessionalization. Varieties of Early Modern German Catholicism,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 4 (1997): 326. For other examples, see Introduction, note 6. Forster goes on to assert that even in Bavaria, the definition is too general in nature. 13 Wolfgang Reinhard, “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State: a Reassessment,” Catholic Historical Review 75 (1989): 391-92. 14 Nicholas J. Cull, Davic Culbert and David Welch, Propaganda and Mass Persuasion: a Historical Encyclopedia, 1500 to Present (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, Inc., 2003), xv. 160 century has made it difficult to salvage a neutral notion of propaganda that is applicable to earlier time periods.15

Given how loaded the modern understanding of propaganda is and given the growing acceptance and application of the confessionalization thesis and its focus on social control, the importance of defining propaganda is paramount. It means the difference between understanding the Mariansäule as a work that was positioned in a public space by a ruler who wanted to impose Catholic identity in his lands and who wanted to control, actively and passively, the art to which the citizens of Munich had access, and understanding the monument as the public manifestation of a unified set of communal beliefs. It means the difference between the patronage of public works that reflected the identity of Bavaria and the patronage of works that forced an identity on

Bavaria.

Evonne Anita Levy explains that the modern term “propaganda” is derived from the Latin term, propagare, meaning “to sow.” The term was put into use by the Catholic

Church during the Thirty Years‟ War.16 In 1622, Pope Gregory XV founded a missionary organization called the Sacra Congregatio de Propaganda Fide. The initial purpose of the organization was to oversee the foreign missions of the various Catholic religious orders.17 The term originally described the creation of an organization whose mission it was to ensure that those going to preach in the field were fully knowledgeable about the tenets of their faith. Propaganda was a specific type of education meant to ensure that

15 Ibid. 16 Evonne Anita Levy, Propaganda and the Jesuit Baroque (Berkeley: University of California Press 2004), 56. 17 Cull, Culbert and Welch, Propaganda and Mass Persuasion, 340. 161 those who went on to spread the faith actually knew something about the subject matter they were disseminating.18

Scholars of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries understood the lineage of propaganda as at first representing the people and then the strategies that were employed in order to convert others to a certain idea or confession. With this transformation, propaganda became less about the information being conveyed and more about the various methods used to convey that information. Propaganda as a strategy was increasingly used for political ends. Ideologies were the property of leaders; propaganda itself merely provided the method for imposing the ideology. As Philip M. Taylor states,

“There is no real point, in other words, in making moral judgements concerning whether propaganda is a „good‟ or a „bad‟ thing; it merely is. Rather, one needs to redirect any moral judgement away from the propaganda process itself and more to the intentions and goals of those employing propaganda to secure those intentions and goals.”19

Wolfgang Reinhard applied the modern understanding of political propaganda within the context of confessionalization. Propaganda was a complex system of communication and censorship, in which the arts, literature, music, sermons and ritual were all tools used to control every level of society under the ruling elite. As with

Taylor‟s definition, Reinhard recognized that both Catholics and Protestants were using the same methods to present entirely different ideologies. For Reinhard, patronage in the

18 Levy, Propaganda and the Jesuit Baroque, 56. 19 Philip M. Taylor, Munitions of the Mind: A from the Ancient World to the Present Day (New York: Palgrave, 2003), 8. 162 early absolutist state, which did not separate religion from politics, was employed to create propaganda for all religious confessions.20

While the notion of the term, propaganda, was not in modern use until the seventeenth century, the modes of delivery of which Taylor, Levy and Reinhard speak when they describe propaganda existed alongside other forms of communication, such as rhetoric and polemic, early in the sixteenth century. Scholars of propaganda in the early modern period have typically separated propaganda from these other modes. Both

Rebecca Oettinger and Andrew Pettegree cite Miriam Usher Chrisman‟s distinction between polemic and propaganda in order to fully articulate the political nature of propaganda.

Polemic can be defined as a controversial argument, a discussion in which

opposite views are presented and maintained by opponents. It connotes a two-way

process, a dialogue, although it may be a dialogue between the deaf. Propaganda

lacks that quality of interchange. It is one-sided, a systematic attempt to propagate

a particular opinion or doctrine. Its purpose is to influence men‟s opinions and

attitudes and thus their actions and behavior.21

Similarly, Norman Davies presents five rules for political propaganda that have become widely acknowledged: “simplification,” where all data is reduced to a choice between good and bad; “disfiguration,” in which ridicule and other illogical means are used to discredit opponents; “transfusion,” in which the general consensus is manipulated to match one‟s needs; “unanimity,” which is the act of presenting one viewpoint as the only

20 Rheinhard, “Reformation, Counter-Reformation, and the Early Modern State,” 392. 21 Oettinger, Music as Propaganda in the German Reformation, 10; Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion, 183. 163 viewpoint of logical people using peer and social pressure; and “orchestration,” which consists of endlessly repeating the same message in many different ways.22

These definitions, and other variations on the same theme, are all tied to notions of political control. While some are more detailed than others, each maintains that political propaganda, as a form of communication, is an act of convincing that involves dishonesty – or omission at the very least – for the sake of control. Randal Marlin posits the following definition of propaganda: “The organized attempt through communication to affect belief or action or inculcate attitudes in a large audience in ways that circumvent or suppress an individual‟s adequately informed, rational, reflective judgment.”23

Certainly, artworks and policies that pursued a political agenda were present during the early modern period. Broadsides, songs, sermons, poetry, public sculptures and public displays were often created with the direct objective of influencing the ideals of the population. In her book, Catholic Belief and Survival in Late Sixteenth-Century

Vienna, Elaine Fulton states, “For the Dukes of Bavaria, Catholicism thus became the tool with which they imposed unity on and asserted control over their own lands.”24

Fulton draws attention to the growing number of initiatives aimed at perpetuating

Catholic belief within Bavaria. During the years leading up to 1563 – the same year as the debacle surrounding the expulsion of the Count of Ortenburg and the end of the councils at Trent – there were plenty of signs that point to the fervent establishment of a mechanism of bureaucratic social control in Bavaria. William David Myers describes the

22 Norman Davies, Europe: a History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 500-01. 23 Randal Marlin, Propaganda & the Ethics of Persuasion (Ontario, Canada: Broadview Press, LTD., 2002), 22. 24 Elaine Fulton, Catholic Belief and Survival in Late Sixteenth-Century Vienna: the Case of George Eder (1523-87) (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2007), 106. 164 establishment of the notion of “pietas Bavarica, a Bavarian piety inculcating devotion, discipline, and obedience by employing local religious traditions in the service of a larger orthodoxy overseen by secular institutions.”25 Diarmaid

MacCulloch supports a similar notion, noting that Albrecht V‟s son, Wilhelm V, working in conjunction with certain Habsburgs, intended to establish control “‟not with sound and fury, but surreptitiously and slowly; . . . not with words, but with deeds.‟”26

Under the influence of the Jesuits, Albrecht V began to establish organizations that saw to it that Bavarians remained appropriately Catholic, according to his definition of what it meant to be Catholic. In 1558, he established an ecclesiastical council, the

Geistliche Rat, with the mission of ensuring unified religious practices throughout the duchy and reporting on those areas that were still noncompliant. Punishment could be stiff. For example, cases where parishioners refused to give proper confession sometimes resulted in imprisonment.27

Adding to the notion of pietas Bavarica was a policy that encouraged the marriage of Bavarian Wittelsbachs only to other Catholic nobles, thus keeping the religious identity of the court unified.28 These marriages were typically to Habsburgs, which served to maintain a strong Catholic bloc within the Holy Roman Empire. During the final decade of Albrecht V‟s reign, the duke began issuing decrees forcing Munich‟s

Protestants to either leave the duchy or face severe penalties. In 1567, the duke decreed that in Bavaria only be granted to Catholics. By the early 1570s, regular

25 William David Myers, “Poor, Sinning Folk” Confession and Conscience in Counter- Reformation Germany (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1996), 117. 26 Quoted in MacCulloch, The Reformation, 451. 27 Myers, “Poor, Sinning-Folk”, 119. 28 Andrew L. Thomas, “A House Divided: Wittelsbach Confessional Court Cultures in Bavaria, the Palatinate, and Bohemia, C. 1550-1650,” (PhD diss., Purdue University, 2007), 164. 165 tribunals were being held to investigate accusations of the religious leanings of various lower nobles throughout Munich.29

As a patron, David Crook suggests that Albrecht V was trying to adopt artistic policies that were more in line with the reforms that were being presented in Trent and in

Rome. In tracing the Mass settings of Orlando di Lasso, Crook shows that by the 1570s, much of Lasso‟s liturgical music moved from using texts from the Freising liturgy, a locally developed set of rites that were quite varied from Rome and other , to adopting texts as set forth in the Tridentine .30 Philip M. Soergel positions

Albrecht V‟s patronage of Martin Eisengrein‟s book, Our Lady of Altötting, as part of a series of “propagandistic campaigns that Bavarian counter-reformers and state officials waged for local devotions.”31 Soergel goes on to state that the Wittelsbachs often used pilgrimages as an extension of state power and order.32

Despite the evidence supporting confessionalization, top-down social hierarchies have increasingly been questioned as a valid method for understanding artworks of the early modern period. Concurrent with his absolutist laws, Albrecht V also took part in a tradition of finding local solutions to Bavarian issues. He sent delegates to Trent to try and convince the Pope to relax policies on the celibacy of clergy and for communion of both kinds to be permitted in parish churches. In 1564, he received permission by the

29 Strasser, State of Virginity, 17-18. 30 David Crook, Orlando di Lasso’s Imitation Magnificats for Counter-Reformation Munich (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), 56-63. 31 Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter-Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 4, accessed June 21, 2010, http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft738nb4fn/. 32 Ibid. 166 Pope to permit the latter.33 According to Peter G. Bietenholz, Albrecht V, due to his poor financial management, often found himself adopting proposals from the Bavarian

Landtag that went against his Catholic wishes. The parliament went so far as to ask for acceptance of the . When challenged by Rome, Bietenholz states that “the duke answered that he could not ignore the will of his people and that the Italian and Spanish curials in Rome could not understand the situation because the proverbial

Germanic love of freedom meant nothing to them.”34

Throughout the 1570s, the duke successfully managed to keep Munich‟s convents open to the outside world, allowing the the freedom to host outsiders, a privilege that the reforms coming from Trent were trying to end.35 The abuses mentioned in earlier chapters concerning the placement of his children into positions of power within the

Church, despite their being toddlers in some cases, points to the notion that Albrecht V was not looking necessarily to abide by the rules and regulations laid down by Rome.

The reactionary nature of Wittelsbach policy is also worth noting. The increasingly restrictive laws that were being put forth were typically set in place only after a minor crisis. This was a government that was continually trying to keep up with the demands of Bavarians. Even with the help of the Jesuits, who were doing their best to establish the foundation of a confessional state, it is hard to imagine top-down social control working in a duchy with an overwhelmingly rural populace and a reactionary government. Further compounding the issues of religion, Augsburg and Nuremberg, both

33 Andreas Kraus, Geschichte Bayerns: von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1983), 215. 34 Peter G. Bietenholz, ”‟Petra Scandali‟: The Index of Rome and the Dilemmas of Catholic Reformers in ,” in Le contrôle des idées a la Renaissance, ed. J.M. Bujanda (Geneva: Librairie Droz S.A., 1996), 143. 35 Strasser, State of Virginity, 78-79. 167 bi-confessional cities, sat within the borders of the duchy, ensuring a fresh influx of ideas no matter how strict Wittelsbach policies were.

With Albrecht V, and throughout much of the Holy Roman Empire, there is as much a history of peasant influence and leaders working to appease the lower classes as there is a history of top-down rule. Indeed, the fragmentation of the Holy Roman Empire during the sixteenth century was in large part the result of minor nobles, lower-ranking clergy and masses of common people who acted upon their own disenfranchisement with the views and actions of the ruling class.

In his book, Obediant Germans? A Rebuttal, Peter Blickle suggests that the stereotype of Germans throughout history as orderly, rule-following people needs to be erased. As mentioned, Thomas A. Brady, Jr., who penned the introduction to the English translation of Peter Blickle‟s book, states, ”This image is often advanced to explain how a nation of philosophers and poets came to strive for world power and employ methods of a brutality rarely displayed by Europeans, at least in Europe.”36 The atrocities of the twentieth century were a motivating factor in finding a root cause that could justify why so many everyday people would go along with such terrible events. The traditional answer, Blickle argues, is to blame incorrectly a supposed part of German nature that strives to be controlled or to live in an orderly environment. Blickle suggests that historians have typically placed the root of this form of passive obedience in the Middle

Ages.37

36 Thomas A. Brady, Jr., “Translator‟s Introduction,” in Obedient Germans? A Rebuttal, by Peter Blickle (Charlottesville, VA: The University Press of Virginia, 1997), ix. 37 Blickle, Obedient Germans?, 97-101. 168 Blickle asserts that the notion of obedient Germans has very little basis in actuality. He points to the nearly four hundred notable urban and rural peasant uprisings that took place in the Holy Roman Empire from 1300 to 1800, an average of one major revolt nearly every year.38 These revolts were both urban and rural, a testament to the varying class levels that took part in the uprisings. The willingness of people of all classes to revolt caused a shift in the relationship between nobles and non-nobles from a linear hierarchy in the Middle Ages, to something more cyclical in the early modern period.

Remarkably, there were no major rebellions by the citizenry of Munich and

Bavaria during Albrecht V‟s reign; the only major uprisings within the duchy occurred in

1634, well after Albrecht V‟s death. Sigrun Haude points out that the uprising was the result of peasant dissatisfaction with the status of Bavaria and with military that took place during the Thirty Years‟ War. During the uprising, Albrecht V‟s grandson,

Maximilian I, actually met many of the needs of the peasants, an action that supported the duke‟s theory that “a prince should abhor excessive punishment as much as a physician abhors corpses.”39

The relative stability of Bavaria during a time of great turmoil in the rest of the

Holy Roman Empire tends to be explained by describing just how intricate the system of social discipline was in Bavaria. However, the peasant classes were much more active and influential in determining how they were governed than is typically presented, which draws attention to the weakness of the notion of social control. As Blickle states,

38 Ibid., 62. 39 Quoted in Sigrun Haude, “Social Control and Social Justice under Maximilian I of Bavaria,” in Politics and Reformations: Communities, Polities, Nations, and Empires: Essays in Honor of Thomas A. Brady, Jr., ed. Christopher Ocker et al. (Leiden, The Netherlands: Koninklijke Brill NV, 2007), 426. 169 “Historically, subjects in Germany were not just faceless peasants, pawns without strategic worth whom the pushed about on the chessboard. On the contrary, the subjects were actors, black playing against white.”40 In other words, the peace that was sustained in Bavaria was not entirely an act of top-down social discipline. The success of

Wittelsbach policy was as much an act of general acceptance from below as it was enforcement from above.

Similarly, Marc R. Forster presents sixteenth-century identity as a cycle of influence in which all classes participated. As mentioned, his notion of confessionalism, as opposed to confessionalization, attempts to show that religious reforms could not have happened if they were imposed from the top. Forster asserts that religious uniformity and obedience never took place in the Holy Roman Empire, because the Empire remained a region full of stratified, local religious customs, both Catholic and Protestant.41 He states,

“Many central aspects of German Catholicism developed out of the interplay between elite initiatives and popular religion. Studies of pilgrimages, the cult of saints, and eucharistic piety show not only how these traditional Catholic practices changed their character during the early modern period, but also how vital a role the population played in their development.”42

As scholars continue to challenge the notion of early modern top-down social hierarchies and social discipline, it is important to apply their findings to the arts and to patronage. Peter Burke has set out to prove, for example, that diversity of communities and the cultures that each member of a community identified with were typically quite

40 Blickle, Obedient Germans?, 97. 41 Marc R. Forster, “With and Without Confessionalization. Varieties of Early Modern German Catholicism,” Journal of Early Modern History 1, no. 4 (1997): 318. 42 Ibid., 319. 170 strong. Nobles constantly found themselves being influenced by popular art forms.

Carnival celebrations, folk songs and folk tales are all examples of elements of culture in which the entire population participated. In short, all classes were involved in a process of shaping and of being shaped.43 Albrecht V‟s participation in pilgrimages to Altötting is one of several examples where the leader followed the actions of his people.

Elaine Fulton‟s assertion that the Wittelsbachs used Catholicism as a political tool, presents power as something more important than religious confession. Indeed, this study has mentioned several instances of Wittelsbach actions that directly contradicted official

Catholic doctrine. However the Wittelsbachs felt about official Roman Catholicism, it is inappropriate to adopt the notion that early modern people, of any class, saw traditional

Catholic piety and salvation as a political choice. Faith was an integral part of defining community. The were intertwined with life cycles. The saints and the immediacy of traditional Catholicism often provided the population with a means of hope and direct access to a perfectly real and logically numinous world.

Conversion often meant a tectonic shift in how life was to be lived and, more importantly, how truth was to be revealed. As Patrick Collinson states, “Cuius regio, eius religio made many martyrs from all faiths, destroyed families, and broke consciences, a heavy price to pay for the stability of the state. Not that it made for a stable state, either.”44 Diarmaid MacCulloch echoes the magnitude of maintaining or changing faith in early modern Europe. He states, “The old Church was immensely strong, and that strength could only have been overcome by the explosive power of an idea. The idea

43 Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe, 49-56. 44 Patrick Collinson, The Reformation: A History (New York: Random House, Inc., 2006), 149-50. 171 proved to be a new statement of Augustine‟s ideas on salvation.”45 It is not a far leap to assert that MacCulloch‟s statement could just have easily read that, for many the strength of the old Church was overcome by the explosive power of the revelation of a new truth, rather than a new idea, about salvation.

On practical grounds, changing faith meant dissolving relationships with loved ones. Religious shifts could put one‟s life and the lives of one‟s family in danger. In the case of cuius region eius religio, it meant literally losing a sense of community, as the only legal provision for those with belief systems that did not correspond with the ruling duke was a one-time allowance of safe passage out of their native territory and into one that would accept them. The only other options were silence or uprising.

Descartes‟ self-realization of observable, abstract truth was still quite distant to the average early modern mind; and for all of the Renaissance humanist‟s attempts at discovering the truths of antiquity, the ability of the lower classes, and most of the upper classes for that matter, to conceive of an environment in which abstract truth existed beyond the still-very-physically tangible truth of a particular form of salvation is not accurate. The immediacy of religious faith, coupled with the responsibility felt by rulers to oversee the spiritual foundation of their people, calls into question the validity of applying a primarily political function to the works of religious art such as the

Mariansäule.

The late sixteenth century was fraught with uncertainty and fear about the future, or the lack thereof. These issues created an environment in which salvation was just as

45 Diarmaid MacCulloch, The Reformation: A History (London: Penguin Books, 2005), 107. 172 important as the political atmosphere in Europe for all people. Wolfgang Behringer describes late-sixteenth-century Bavaria:

Broadly speaking, we can observe a shift away from the life-loving, open, sensual

mentality of the Renaissance, with its orientation to this world and its points of

contact with a widespread popular culture of pleasure, and a flight towards

dogmatic, confessional-religious, ascetic modes of thought and behaviour, their

sights fixed on the next world, which appeared to offer a refuge in a situation that

was growing more and more precarious.46

The constant threat of the Ottoman Empire, plague, poverty, and religious and political fragmentation existed for every level of society. Most of Europe was trying to deal with the very real threats of famine, an apparent resurging threat of witches, demons and devils, the access to and proliferation of information and misinformation throughout the upper and lower classes the likes of which Europe had not previously seen, and, most to be feared, the coming wrath of God, which for many seemed all too imminent given the list of maladies affecting their communities. The importance of the notion of salvation and the obsession with the end of days leaves the possibility that another purpose of

Albrecht V‟s artistic patronage was to save souls, which was of primary concern after beginning his fervent devotion to traditional Bavarian Catholicism in the 1560s. The hierarchy of salvation-over-power continued with the reign of his son, Wilhelm V, who went so far as to abdicate in order to more fully devote himself to his religious lifestyle.

It would be deeply naïve to suggest that religion was never abused for the sake of power. It would be equally naïve to suggest that patronage did not pay for artworks that

46 Behringer, Witchcraft Persecutions in Bavaria, 104. 173 served political means along the lines of political propaganda. However, interpretations of religious artworks need to account for more than purely political ends or motives of power during the early modern period.

Patronage was a part of the cultural exchange between various facets of Bavarian society, and it was subject to the same symbiotic relationship as was Wittelsbach governance. The patronage of the Munich Wittelsbachs as far back as the fourteenth century reflects the amount of power that all classes wielded. Wittelsbach relations with the citizens of Munich during the building of the Alte Hof and Neuveste is an appropriate example of a group of citizens who were more than willing to keep their leaders in check.

The Frauenkirche involved the unification of the entire community as relative equals working toward one goal. The domes of the Frauenkirche were added in 1525, during the middle of the Peasant‟s War, a conflict that had consumed several of the duchies surrounding Bavaria. Bavaria itself remained relatively unscathed by the uprisings. The

Peasant‟s War, the furthering growth of imperial free cities and the proliferation of artworks and other media throughout the empire all point to an era in which various elements of the population were becoming more powerful than ever. Albrecht V was born into this environment, and despite the turmoil that surrounded his duchy during his upbringing and early rule, his passive demeanor appeased the peasant classes, which ensured a mostly peaceful duchy.

Patronage during the latter part of Albrecht V‟s reign and throughout the reigns of his son and grandson was shaped by the relationship between artist, ruler and society.

With the High Altar, Wittelsbach patronage shifted away from artworks meant only for the upper classes toward artworks that sought to allow the public to identify with what it 174 was to be Bavarian. The ever-increasing role of Jesuit advisors and concomitantly the growing role of formal education allowed more people than ever a say in determining what these public works of art should be. The need for mass appeal, and the almost universal fear of the unknown, ensured that artworks began to take on a highly emotional character, ushering in the era of the Baroque. Trying to simplify the notion of Bavaria during the second half of the sixteenth century as an absolutist state, full of political propaganda, social discipline and a militant ruling class, omits the confusion and contradiction that often surrounded the duchy in the sixteenth century.

A more passive and all-encompassing notion of propaganda includes the participation of all classes of society in the proliferation of a specific identity is a more accurate way in which to view late-sixteenth-century Wittelsbach patronage. Jacques

Ellul described this notion as sociological propaganda. He defined sociological propaganda as:

The group of manifestations by which any society seeks to integrate the maximum

number of individuals into itself, to unify its members‟ behavior according to a

pattern, to spread its style of life abroad, and thus to impose itself on other groups.

We call this phenomenon “sociological” propaganda, to show, first of all, that the

entire group, consciously or not, expresses itself in this ; and to indicate,

secondly, that its influence aims much more at an entire style of life than at

opinions or even one particular course of behavior.47

Ellul contends that sociological propaganda is nearly the opposite of political propaganda in that it does not try to promote an ideology that is meant to mislead or control the

47 Jacques Ellul, Propaganda: the Formation of Men’s Attitudes, trans. Konrad Kellen and Jean Lerner (New York: Vintage Books/Random House, 1973), 62-63. 175 masses. Rather, sociological propaganda is a self-reproducing propaganda in which everyday life and identity becomes a means of social control that is enforced at every level of society.48 For an early modern Catholic in Bavaria, identification as both

Catholic and Bavarian automatically conferred notions of good and bad. These notions were not shaped by universal, abstract, logical truths about good and bad; they were shaped by the everyday, lived existence of being Catholic and Bavarian.

Sociological propaganda is necessarily passive. It does not come about through planned action, and once established, it is typically practiced without awareness. Ellul states, “As a result, man adopts new criteria of judgment and choice, adopts them spontaneously, as if he had chosen them himself. But all these criteria are in conformity with the environment and are essentially of a collective nature.”49 One of the major characteristics of Ellul‟s theory of sociological propaganda is the notion of pre- propaganda, which is the establishment of the norms that people eventually come to adopt as logic. Pre-propaganda involves the psychological preparation of people in order to get them to accept the ideas presented in the propaganda.50 This is done through the propagation of myths, beliefs and feelings of identity.

What makes Ellul‟s idea so interesting is that, by his definition, it was Albrecht V who seems to have become conditioned by the sociological propaganda of traditional

Bavarian Catholicism. This conditioning guided how he viewed the world, and ultimately, it affected how he chose to direct his patronage. For the better part of a hundred years, the

Wittelsbachs may have flirted with Catholicism insomuch as it could be used as a tool for

48 Ibid. 49 Ibid., 64. 50 Ibid., 30-33. 176 strengthening their own political structure; but in doing so, they were also constantly exposed to the myths and beliefs of that culture. Albrecht V‟s acceptance of that culture on a spiritual level was the final act in the establishment of sociological propaganda from above and below.

After he accepted and sought to propagate traditional Bavarian Catholicism, his actions were less about establishing and controlling and more about maintaining and encouraging a structure that was already in place. This did result in direct disciplinary action in some cases, as with the expulsion of many Lutherans. It also resulted in direct political action, as with the establishment of an organized educational system that integrated Catholic doctrine. But it is only seen as social control in light of those

Protestants who were expelled. For the Catholics of the region, Albrecht V‟s actions were a matter of doing good. They were a matter of reinforcing and protecting an already existing culture that he adopted. This was a different set of circumstances than that facing the Lutheran nobles of the Holy Roman Empire, who had to rely on the more traditional form of political propaganda because they had no history, no pre-propaganda, upon which to build. They were establishing practice rather than maintaining, and that involved a fundamentally different strategy. The Wittelsbachs, on the other hand, had several hundred years worth of documentation and lineage from which to work, including genealogical murals, historical chronicles, museums, libraries and pilgrimage sites all devoted to the greatness of Bavarian Catholicism.

A large part of maintaining the effectiveness of sociological propaganda was the establishment of an education system in Bavaria. Three factors played into the explosion of education within the duchy in the second half of the sixteenth century: the increasing 177 need to be literate, the establishment of education as central to the Jesuit mission and the need to combat the ideologies that were being presented by competing confessions. It was of such importance that, according to Gerald Strauss, every parish in Bavaria had an elementary school by 1560.51 The Jesuit takeover of Ingolstadt, which took place under the watch of Peter Canisius, was the beginning of an equally concentrated effort on higher education. Later, this led to the establishment of a Jesuit college in Munich and others throughout Bavaria and the Holy Roman Empire.

However, formal education was potentially dangerous. Much like Ignatius‟ exercises, literacy and education were vital for the formation of individual thought, but they also functioned as an extra means of control so long as the information and materials that were presented were in line with maintaining the larger sociological norms. One of the strategies at which the Jesuits were experts was the ability to assimilate rather than to dominate, and this became part of their program of education. In 1569, Peter Canisius undertook the task of rewriting the Augsburg Breviary, which by Tridentine standards was unusual because it meant rejecting the more centralized Roman Breviary.52 Canisius guided the breviary toward the notions of the Roman work, but the very idea of adopting such a localized text emphasizes the nature of Jesuit assimilation. The breviary was a minor work in comparison to Canisius‟ most widely-read volume, his Small Catechism, which was published in 1558 and was used throughout the Holy Roman Empire as a

51 Gerald Strauss, “Techniques of Indoctrination,” in Literacy and Social Development in the West: A Reader, ed. Harvey J. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 98-99. 52 Brodrick, St. Peter Canisius, 440. 178 primary tool for Catholic education. In 1569, Albrecht V ordered that the catechism be obligatory in all schools in Bavaria.53

One of the most effective tools within Jesuit education was Jesuit theater, which became one of the most popular art forms of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. These dramas were quite affecting to their audiences due in large part to the great spectacle of the works. Jesuit productions employed music, bright costumes and supremely complex special effects, including scenes of Hell and the appearance of ghosts on stage. They mingled popular forms of entertainment into productions, recruiting jugglers, jousters and others when the need arose. Considered by Jesuit leaders as a tool for training students in the art of public speaking, Jesuit theater coupled the spectacle of the productions with a very basic, often highly emotive, plotline in which rather generic characters chose whether or not to live good lives and dealt with the ramifications of that choice. In other words, for all of the emotion and spectacle involved, audience members were never left in the dark about why things turned out the way they did.54

The plays were typically free to attend and open to all members of society,

Protestant and Catholic alike. Joohee Park recounts several instances of Protestant audience members, even nobles, being moved to the point of donating money to the school that produced the play.55 Often, the plays were in competition with Lutheran equivalents, and the subject matter sometimes took jabs at specifically Protestant themes.

53 Ibid., 700-01. 54 See William H. McCabe, An Introduction to Jesuit Theater (St. Louis, MO: The Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1983); Catholic Theater and Drama: Critical Essays, ed. Kevin J. Wetmore, Jr. (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, Inc., 2010); The Jesuits II: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540-1773, ed. John W. O‟Malley et al. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press Incorporated, 2006). 55 Joohee Park, “Not Just a University Theatre: The Significance of Jesuit School Drama in Continental Europe, 1540-1773,” in Catholic Theatre and Drama: Critical Essays, ed. Kevin J. Wetmore, Jr. (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, Inc., 2010), 35. 179 Park tells of a production in Cologne in which characters playing Luther, Calvin and an Anabaptist are all condemned to eternal damnation, much to the delight of the crowd.

Certain rules were even established about how to best write a drama so as to attract and retain the greatest number of viewers.56

In Munich, these plays were supported as fervently as elsewhere. However, the subjects were typically aimed at folks who were already Catholic. William H. McCabe, who has written one of the best introductions the genre, holds Munich as the height of spectacle for these plays. The most spectacular was a 1577 production of Esther that included an opening procession of approximately seventeen hundred people, “some mounted, others on foot, others riding on floats or in carriages, all richly dressed.”57

Musicians took part in the procession in large numbers, including bagpipers, drummers, trumpeters, kettle drums and many others.58 Orlando di Lasso composed several motets based on texts taken from the work. He went on to do this several more times with other notable Jesuit plays.59 Albrecht V even had direct involvement with the work, lending valuable furnishings from his vast collections to serve as stage props. This particular performance lasted three days and was comprised of three hundred participants.60

Jesuit theater remained a vital part of Munich‟s culture well into the seventeenth century, reaching its height under one of the most famous playwrights within the genre,

56 Ibid. 57 McCabe, An Introduction to Jesuit Theater, 57. 58 Franz Körndle, “Between Stage and Divine Service: Jesuits and Theatrical Music,” in The Jesuits II: Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts, 1540-1773, ed. John W. O‟Malley et al. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press Incorporated, 2006), 480. 59 Peter Bergquist, “Introduction,” in The Complete Motets 3: Motets from Four to Eight Voices from Thesaurus musicus (Nuremberg, 1564), by Orlando di Lasso, ed. Peter Bergquist (Middleton, WI: A- R Editions, Inc., 2002), xiv. Also see Körndle, “Between Stage and Divine Service;” Philip Weller, “Lasso, Man of the Theatre,” in Orlandus Lassus and His Time: Colloquium Proceedings Antwerpen 24- 26.08.1994, ed. Ignace Bossuyt et al. (Peer, : Alamire POB, 1995), 89-128. 60 McCabe, An Introduction to Jesuit Theater, 57. 180 Jakob Bidermann. Born in 1578, Bidermann entered into the Jesuit order in 1594 and began teaching as a rhetoric instructor in Munich in 1606, during the reign of Albrecht

V‟s grandson, Maximilian I.61 Bidermann is most known for the advances he made in theatrical forms. Descriptions of him tell of a man who was obsessed with every aspect of theater. Roger Savage quotes a description from 1666: “I‟ve often heard grave men say that they believed that the leader of a great army on the day he had to fight with a fierce enemy was not troubled with more cares than the choragus of a big show on the day it was to descend into the theatrical arena.”62 Savage goes on to explain that Bidermann was responsible for every aspect of a production, from costumes to programs.63

Bidermann‟s most lasting work was , which is often considered one of the first to blur the Renaissance genres of comedy and tragedy. He labeled it a comico- tragoedia, and it became a hallmark of Bidermann‟s style to begin his plays in a humorous manner to attract an audience, only to have them take a turn for the worse by the end. The plot of Cenodoxus is a predecessor of Goethe‟s , and it tells the story of a Parisian doctor who falls from God‟s grace because he chooses only to do good when others notice. After being damned by God, the final scene shows Cenodoxus‟ friends attending his funeral when, what is now rather comical but was then quite astonishing, Cenodoxus‟ corpse shoots up, decrying, “Ah me! Most wretched of all men!”

61 Richard Tierney, “James Bidermann,” in The Catholic Encyclopedia (New York: Robert Appleton Co., 1907), accessed January 14, 2011, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/02558c.htm. 62 Quoted in Roger Savage, “Precursors, Precedents, Pretexts: The Institutions of Greco-Roman Theatre and the Development of European Opera,” in Ancient Drama in Music for the Modern Stage, ed. Peter Brown and Suzana Ograjensek (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 10. 63 Ibid. 181 Cenodoxus goes on to inform his friends that he has been eternally damned for his actions.64

Perhaps more important than Cenodoxus‟ role is that of Bruno, one of his friends.

Bruno‟s final scene also comes at the funeral where he is confused because he has only known the doctor to do good things. After Cenodoxus‟ warning, he is left with the decision that pride must have done Cenodoxus in, and he had better do his best to avoid such folly. The scene ends when Bruno, who represents the choice of a good man says, “I leave this ominous corpse; and being unable/ To save another, seek my own salvation.” A final scene shows Cenodoxus in Hell, being ridiculed by other inhabitants.65 As the myth goes, when the play was premiered in Munich in 1609, all were stunned silent and fourteen audience members directly requested to undergo the spiritual exercises. The player in the role of Cenodoxus joined the Jesuits. In the end, it was said that “the play accomplished more than a hundred sermons.”66

From the perspective of the audience, it is hard to perceive Jesuit theater as anything other than political propaganda. Nor is it the intention of this study to try and dismiss its existence. After all, Cenodoxus and the earlier Jesuit plays of Albrecht V‟s time exhibit all of the qualities that Norman Davies described. These plays were an oversimplification of reality, providing the audience with choices that were very obviously meant to be understood as choices between good or bad. The Cologne play featuring caricatures of Luther and Calvin sought to demonize and ridicule opponents of

Catholicism. These plays served to push a Catholic agenda as the only truth, leaving out

64 , “Cenodoxus, 1602,” in Early Modern Catholicism: An Anthology of Primary Sources, ed. Robert S. Miola (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 349. 65 Ibid., 350-52. 66 Quoted in Miola‟s introduction to “Cenodoxus,” Early Modern Catholicism, 344. 182 all other perspectives. Jesuit playwrights often expected audiences to react with emotion rather than logic. Finally, these plays were repeated throughout Europe in great number, allowing a singular message to permeate the culture. William H. McCabe asserts that Jesuit theater “constituted one of the most extraordinary dramatic collections that history has known, unified in its larger aims, methods, and animating principle, diversified by the variations in form and taste imposed by the surroundings in which it locally flourished.”67 McCabe‟s most conservative estimate places the number of Jesuit plays written from 1550 to 1650 at nearly one hundred thousand.68

However, theater has many elements, and at least a modicum of credence must be lent to the idea that the Jesuits did not hold the audience as the main focus of the genre.

The plays were part of a larger educational program that was meant to train young students in the ways of public speaking and rhetoric. From a practical standpoint, students who were attending Jesuit schools were already predominantly Catholic, and so for them, the subject matter would have been one of reinforcement more than convincing.

Joohee Park states that these plays were meant to help students envision aspects of the spiritual exercises that they were having trouble with.69 From the perspective of the actor, the plays were merely rehashing a doctrine that was already accepted by the participant.

McCabe also points out that the Jesuits were keenly aware of their audience and tailored their plays to fit in with the local culture. The early Jesuits accepted the notion of change through assimilation rather than force, giving rise to an amazing diversity of forms within the genre. There are as many examples of plays written for a Catholic

67 McCabe, An Introduction to Jesuit Theater, 47. 68 Ibid. 69 Park, “Not Just a University Theatre,” 32-34. 183 audience as there are of plays written for audiences in need of conversion. Ellul saw this notion as critical to his understanding of sociological propaganda. He used the example of an American filmmaker who makes a film with no regard to spreading a political or ideological message and certainly with no regard to serving a propagandistic end. However, this filmmaker, by virtue of having been brought up in the context of

American society, will automatically make choices, even if subconsciously, that reaffirm and promote notions of what it means to be an American.70 Likewise, Cenodoxus was a play written by a Catholic about Catholics for a Catholic audience. Given its internal nature, Cenodoxus was more apt to strengthen preexisting identity than it was to change identity. Again, this is not to dismiss the political nature of Jesuit theater, but it is equally important not to dismiss the sociological function of the genre by not forgetting the educational and internal focus that many of the plays had. In Bavaria, where folks were still very likely to identify themselves within some spectrum of traditional Catholic identity, the latter definition seems equally necessary.

By his death in 1579, Albrecht V accepted the traditional religion of his people, and he began to promote artworks that reflected his piety. Although he never left the northern princely humanist entirely behind, he passed a legacy of patronage in support of

Bavarian Catholicism to his children. The duke managed to install a major Jesuit presence into an already thriving environment of traditional religion, and that order assimilated itself within the traditional framework, using the arts as a means of promoting sociological propaganda. Andrew L. Thomas shows that even the duke‟s funeral was an act of pious spectacle, a multi-day affair complete with music, , services,

70 Ellul, Propaganda, 64. 184 almsgiving and processions.71 Ulrike Strasser points out that the duke even had

“honorable mourners” from Munich‟s Ridler and Pütrich convents, an act of thanks for the duke‟s support in resisting the implementation of Tridentine reforms, which would have effectively closed their convents off to the outside world.72

Albrecht V‟s heir, Wilhelm V, was ill-prepared to rule. He was even more irresponsible with court expenses than his father, and he continued to drive the duchy into financial ruin. He was also as passively Catholic as his father had initially been. Rather than religious pursuits, Wilhelm V embraced his father‟s northern princely humanist leanings and maintained an entirely independent court in Landshut. While in Landshut,

Wilhelm V began an ambitious architectural campaign by hiring the painter Friedrich

Sustris and architect Georg Stern to remodel and decorate Castle.73 Wilhelm

V‟s penchant for updating and extravagance followed him to Munich, with Sustris in tow.

Wilhelm V entered Munich after his father‟s death with a close, trusted group of very capable artists at his disposal, including Sustris, Hubert Gerhard, a sculptor, and the duke‟s close friend, Orlando di Lasso. He wasted little time leaving a mark. Susan

Maxwell describes Wilhelm‟s patronage as follows:

Under Wilhelm‟s reign, the of Munich attracted artists from all over

Europe, who were deployed in projects ranging from large-scale architectural

undertakings, designing court festivities and fireworks, creating paintings,

71 Andrew L. Thomas, “A House Divided: Wittelsbach Confessional Court Cultures in Bavaria, the Palatinate, and Bohemia, C. 1550-1650,” (PhD diss., Purdue University, 2007), 105-06. 72 Strasser, State of Virginity, 79. 73 For information on Wilhelm V‟s transformation, see the chapter, “Landshut – eine Stadt der Renaissance,” in Gerhard Tausche and Werner Ebermeier, Geschichte Landshut (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2003), 51-59. 185 tapestries, and sculpture, as well as producing liturgical and luxury goods in

gold, crystal, and other precious materials.74

Sustris immediately began remodeling the Residenz, which included lush gardens at the palace‟s inner Grottenhof that were based on Classical themes such as ‟s

Metamorphoses and the building of a Grotto Hall which was decorated to showcase the theme of nature and included displays of animals, minerals and other objects. In the middle of the grotto stood the Perseus Fountain. It was created in 1590 by Gerhard, who also sculpted the statue of Mary that sits atop the Mariansäule.75 The sculpture, which is the centerpiece of the small fountain, shows Perseus standing on Medusa while holding her head in his hand. Marble statues were taken from Albrecht V‟s personal collection and placed in the courtyard to signify Medusa‟s earlier victims (fig. 23).76

Perhaps the greatest secular work commissioned under Wilhelm‟s patronage was

Sustris‟ remodeling of the Antiquarium, which Hermann Neumann rightfully describes as

“one the supreme achievements of the Renaissance north of the Alps.”77 Wilhelm began using the Antiquarium as a hall for affairs of state, and the splendor of the room, with every square inch painted or featuring a sculpture, underlies, once again, the northern princely humanist‟s concern with making clear to the privileged few who were able to enter the room the cultural prestige of the Wittelsbach family (fig. 24).

74 Susan Maxwell, “The Pursuit of Art and Pleasure in the Secret Grotto of Wilhelm V of Bavaria,” Renaissance Quarterly 61, no. 2 (2008): 414. 75 Hermann Neumann, The Munich Residence and the Treasury (Munich: Prestel, 2008), 31. 76 Ibid., 32. 77 Ibid., 34. 186

Fig. 23. Hubert Gerhard, Perseus Fountain, 1590. Bronze with additional figures from the . The Residenz was reconstructed after bombings in World War II. Residenz, Munich.

187

Fig. 24. Friedrich Sustris. Redesign of the Munich Antiquarium, which was completed in 1600 and reconstructed after World War II. Residenz, Munich.

188 Wilhelm V also continued the Wittelsbach policy of following only those aspects of Catholicism that were good for Bavaria. In 1583, he oversaw the forceful installation of his uncle, Ernst, as the bishop of Cologne. He arranged the marriage of his daughter, Maria Anna, to Ferdinand II, the son of Charles II, who later became the Holy

Roman Emperor. Wilhelm V saw to it that his son, Philipp Wilhelm, was installed as the bishop of Regensburg in 1579, when Philipp was only three years old.78

Wilhelm V underwent a spiritual conversion that came on the heels of several life changing events and that fostered a fervent adoption of local traditional religious customs.

His marriage to , who came from an area that also maintained a strong devotion to Mary, put the duke in constant contact with the pious life. Renata was very devout, and even before Wilhelm V ascended to Munich, she was establishing regular

Marian pilgrimages throughout Germany, which included a journey to Tutenhausen in

1577 in thanksgiving for the birth of their first son Ferdinand.79 During the 1570s,

Wilhelm V suffered several severe illnesses that were followed with pilgrimages of thanksgiving after his recoveries. During these journeys, he began, more and more, to seek solitude so that he might spend time in prayer. His lifestyle increasingly became centered on ascetic pursuits. He also began to rely on the Jesuit order, which was responsible for his education at Ingolstadt, in his pursuit of the spiritual life. Jeffrey

Chipps Smith reports that by the late 1570s, the “duke attended mass daily and spent four hours praying and in spiritual observation.”80

78 Hans and Marga Rall, Die Wittelsbacher in Lebensbildern (München, Piper Verlag GmBH: 1986), 125-27. 79 Crook, Orlando di Lasso’s Imitation Magnificats, 70-71. 80 Smith, Sensuous Worship, 58. 189 Wilhelm V held the Jesuits in such high regard that they began to occupy a larger space in the sphere of his patronage. Particularly, he revered Peter Canisius. James

Brodrick relates the story of the elder Jesuit dictating in his room one day in 1577 to a scribe in Landshut where he was tutoring Wilhelm V. The scribe had to leave in the middle of the session to run errands. As Canisius continued to sit in his room, Wilhelm V entered, and Canisius, mistaking the duke for the scribe, ordered the young prince to sit and begin writing again. Wilhelm V did as he was told. As the scribe returned, he shouted to Canisius that he had been making the prince work. After apologizing, Wilhelm V responded that it was his honor to be a part of the work of such a brilliant man.81

His poor financial dealings coupled with the increasing amount of time that he spent in devotion caused Wilhelm V to abdicate the throne in 1597, leaving the duchy under the control of his son, Maximilian I. Maximilian I was raised entirely under the care of the Jesuits. The Jesuits and his parents‟ religious devotion ensured that

Maximilian I was brought up in a rigidly devout environment. Under the watch of the

Maximilian I and Wilhelm V, the traditional Catholic piety of Albrecht V blossomed, as the two sought to glorify Mary and other saints. Sodalities with services devoted specifically to Mary began popping up throughout the duchy; pilgrimages to sites at

Altötting became even more popular as the dukes began taking high-profile trips to such places. Wilhelm V even ordered certain members of his court to travel to Marian sites, including Orlando di Lasso and other court musicians who traveled to Loreto in 1585 to pay homage to Mary at one of Europe‟s most popular shrines.82

81 Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius, 744. 82 Crook, Orlando di Lasso’s Imitation Magnificats, 71. 190 With the responsibility of governing no longer an interference, Wilhelm V took up his father‟s support of public artworks. Jesuit theater continued to be supported throughout Bavaria as it had under Albrecht V. Likewise, Wilhelm V began collaborating with the Jesuit Order for the biggest religious building project in Munich since the

Frauenkirche.

In 1582, plans were announced for the construction of a new Jesuit church and college, which served to solidify the presence of the order in Munich. Fifty homes were torn down to make room for the complex, an action that no doubt displeased certain residents of the city.83 The façade of the church is imposing and, according to Jeffrey

Chipps Smith, unique in its style (fig. 25).84 Adorning the front are three levels of statues, each representing various Bavarians who helped to bring the duchy to its current state. In the center of the façade, Hubert Gerhard‟s enormous statue, St. Michael Vanquishing

Lucifer, stands as an imposing welcome to all who enter. The building took fourteen years to build and was completed in 1597. When it was finished, it stood as the largest

Renaissance church north of the Alps, with some local publications even referring to it as the eighth wonder of the world.85

The choice of St. Michael as the guardian of the Jesuit church and college was an easy one for Wilhelm V to make. The duke was born on St. Michael‟s day. The saint represents the defense of good from evil, a position that the duke felt he occupied. St.

Michael was closely allied as a caretaker of the Virgin Mary, which played into the popularity of Mary in Bavaria. Jeffrey Chipps Smith provides an outstanding analysis of

83 Behringer, Witchcraft Persecutions in Bavaria, 106. 84 Smith, Sensuous Worship, 64. 85 Ibid., 58-59. 191 the church, and any further description here will only do a disservice to his wonderful scholarship.86

Smith points out that every aspect of the church was related to a unified program.

The outside served as a dedication to the greatness of the duchy and, by extension, the

Wittelsbachs and by extension Bavarian Catholicism. The inside was entirely about the glorification of God and the Catholic Church.87 No detail was spared, with the intention of creating an experience that would bring one closer with God, or at least the Bavarian

Catholic Jesuit version. Again, Smith does a wonderfully detailed job of describing the exact program, so that will not take place here. What is more important to this study is how the church was received and how it functioned within the context of everyday

Munich life. More to the point, it is important to understand whether St. Michael‟s

Church existed as a form of political or sociological propaganda.

It is interesting to note that Smith describes the church as a representative of the

Bavarian Catholic Church, a term that rightfully acknowledges the extremely localized traditional identity of the duchy at that time.88 It is also hard to describe the façade, with its past rulers and large inscription of dedication to Wilhelm V, as anything other than

Wittelsbach self-aggrandizement. However, the purpose of this study is not to deny the role of political propaganda within the framework of patronage. The goal is to locate the political, absolutist, confessionalized and socially imposing nature of the artwork as only one thread in a larger fabric of patronage.

86 For a detailed analysis, see Smith‟s third chapter, “A Militant Paradigm: St. Michael‟s in Munich,” in Sensuous Worship, 57-68. The subsequent chapter, “St. Michael‟s and the Worshipper: Ways to Read a Church,” is of equal value. 87 Ibid., 61. 88 Ibid., 75. 192

Fig. 25. Friedrich Sustris, Façade of St. Michael‟s Church, and Hubert Gerhard, St. Michael Vanquishing Lucifer, 1597. Reconstructed after World War II. Munich.

193 To begin, as with Jesuit theater, the church stands as a public testament of identity. This is a change from earlier works that were primarily meant for private, noble consumption. The public nature of the work again raises the question of what or whose identity it is supposed to be representing. If it is supposed to represent the will of

Wilhelm V, the question then turns to how Wilhelm V envisioned himself, and while this may seem impossible to answer, there are some clues.

Throughout this study, the Wittelsbachs have been shown to have thwarted the notions of a centralized Catholic Church over and over again. The third chapter of this work argued for the adoption by Albrecht V of a localized form of traditional Catholicism that maintained a specifically Bavarian flavor and that often went against centralized

Catholic authority. Further, the cultural exchange between classes was much more blurry than the notion of top-down rule can explain, meaning the Wittelsbachs were often as influenced by those below them as they were the ones providing the influence. The close association between the Wittelsbachs and the Jesuits, who maintained an agenda of assimilation, suggests that Wilhelm V may very well have been acting as a top-down ruler, and he may well have been imposing his building upon the citizens of Munich, as leaders are often wont to due. However, it is also possible that he was not imposing an ideology on the citizens of Munich. Rather, he was representing and strengthening an ideology that was already a fundamental part of a large segment of Bavarian identity that spanned across culture and class.

There was absolutely dissent from traditional Catholic culture in Bavaria. There was absolutely political pressure to rout that dissent on the part of the Wittelsbachs. But it is equally true that a prevailing identity of local Catholicism was already ingrained in the 194 people of Bavaria, which allowed for the presence of a very strong element of sociological propaganda. The Wittelsbachs reflected traditional Bavarian religion and supported the sociological propaganda of Bavaria in the large public artworks that were created by Albrecht V, his son, Wilhelm V, and his grandson, Maximilian I. The presence of sociological propaganda does not make the duchy any less absolutist. The artworks created by the Wittelsbachs were certainly made to send a very specific message.

However, that message was part of a larger mechanism of cultural expression that existed long before the Wittelsbachs began their patronage of great public displays. In short,

Bavarian religious identity was reflected in Wittelsbach patronage as much as

Wittelsbach patronage shaped it.

This brings the focus of this study back to the artwork that began this chapter, the

Mariansäule. How is this joint effort, this hodgepodge of artworks that were commissioned by artists under both Wilhelm V and Maximilian I and then thrown together to form one of Munich‟s most recognizable monuments, to be understood? In a very large sense, the monument stands as a testament to an absolutist state. Maximilian I could be frighteningly devout, and he expected the same of all Bavarians. He instituted laws requiring a to be carried at all times.89 He had the Virgin Mary officially declared the patron saint of Bavaria in 1610, and he had his heart deposited at Altötting upon his death.90 But there is just as much evidence to suggest that the Mariansäule was an extension of the identity of all Catholic Bavarians. The monument was built by their

89 Trevor Johnson, Magistrates, Madonnas and Miracles: The Counter Reformation in the Upper Palitinate, St. Andrews Studies in Reformation History (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2009), 239. 90 Crook, Orlando di Lasso’s Imitation Magnificats, 65-66. 195 leader to support an identity that, through years of sociological propaganda, developed into a more organic and deeply-entrenched form of intolerance. 196 CONCLUSION

From a historiographic standpoint, the Wittelsbachs of sixteenth-century Bavaria have suffered from an identity crisis in terms of both artistic and social history. Not as politically influential as their Catholic rivals, the Habsburgs, and not as revolutionary as the of the Holy Roman Empire, the Wittelsbachs and the court at

Munich often stand on the fringes of historical inquiry. Always the bridesmaid, the court at Munich is usually presented, when it is mentioned at all, in passing reference within a discipline-specific study of art, creating a sense that the artists who worked for the

Wittelsbachs were great despite being in Bavaria. Contrast this with notions of sixteenth- century Italy or Vienna, for example, where artists seemingly became genius by merely touching the soil. Scholars of political and social history have come to adopt a view of

Bavaria in which rulers embraced confessionalizing strategies and forced their populace to do the same through social discipline, thus preserving a manufactured Catholic identity throughout the Reformation. Within this context, Bavaria has come to be seen as a fluke within an otherwise disrupted Holy Roman Empire or a minor player in the larger arena of early modern Europe.

The original motivation for this study was borne from a dissatisfaction with the common and often unchallenged presentation of Catholic identity in Bavaria during the sixteenth century as something forced from the top and from the lack of interest that the court in Munich seems to suffer when compared to other great courts of the period.

During the initial research for this dissertation, it became apparent that the court was seldom presented in an interdisciplinary manner. A painting would be studied here, a music work there, but there were very few attempts at providing a unified vision of the 197 court and even fewer that sought to place that vision within the social context of the period.

The first goal of this study is to address this deficiency by examining the artistic patronage of the Wittelsbach dukes during the years leading to and following the establishment of multiple religious confessions in Europe in the sixteenth century.

Attempting to do this is fraught with peril. Which works stand as representative of a duke‟s intent? Which works and which artists should be included in the study? Is it possible to get an accurate understanding of the intention or impact of a patron, an artist or an artwork on those consuming the artwork? Who was the intended audience for each work? Further compounding this issue are the number of methodological viewpoints from which each work, patron and artist can be analyzed, each one fascinating and enlightening in its own way, and each influenced and limited by the context of its own particular time and place.

Thus, this study is necessary because it brings together multiple artistic disciplines under the umbrella of patronage without eliminating the unique power of the arts in the face of the political will of the patron. It also shows the diversity of patronage without compartmentalizing each art form into disparate fields, creating a perspective that is certainly more akin to how the artworks were conceived and consumed. The intended result, if it has succeeded, has been to break beyond discipline-specific barriers and top- down notions of social order in order to uncover the dynamism of the arts and the interrelated role they often played in shaping late-medieval and early modern Bavarian identity, an identity that depended on the ability of both the ruling and peasant classes to exert more or less influence on each other at any given time. 198 Accepting that Albrecht V and the Wittelsbachs who preceded and followed him were as shaped by those below them as they were responsible for shaping those below them creates an entirely new way of understanding their policies and the artworks that were created in support of those policies. The Wittelsbachs were certainly interested in power and the maintenance of that power through means very similar to modern notions of political propaganda. Certainly, Jesuit drama and architecture were often employed in this manner; however, the dukes also participated in and were highly influenced by a peasant culture that often times supported a version of Catholicism that ran counter to the official doctrines of Trent. In locations such as Altötting and with artworks such as the Mariansäule, the dukes produced works that both reflected and created the cultural identity of a large segment of Bavaria. In doing so, the dukes were participating in the already strong sociological propaganda that was perpetuated throughout the region by the traditional religion of all classes.

In summation, the goal of this study has been to adopt a methodology that acknowledges that specific events in society are influenced by multiple factors, and it is the obligation of the historian to be open to the idea that artworks and actions can simultaneously maintain entirely opposite functions. In doing this, historians must accept that a building like the Frauenkirche, for example, is only a complete work of architecture when it is filled with its people, its music and its art, even when each of these parts seem to contradict one another. Further, the multi-disciplined approach of this study has repositioned the importance of sixteenth-century Bavaria, both culturally and politically, so that it is no longer seen as a fringe duchy. Like its geography, Bavaria, its 199 artworks, its people and its rulers were situated in the middle of the struggle for identity during the long sixteenth century. 200 BIBLIOGRAPHY

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226 APPENDIX A

Timeline of Bavarian History: 1300-1650

Date Event 1301 Ludwig IV begins his reign in Bavaria. 1317 Munich is established as the seat of ducal authority in Bavaria. 1330 Black Madonna is replaced in Altötting's Gnadenkapelle (Chapel of the Miraculous Image). 1340 Bavaria is reunited under Ludwig IV. 1347 Ludwig IV dies. Bavaria is divided amongst Ludwig's sons. 1380 Munich Residenz is constructed in Munich. 1385 Wittelsbachs put down an uprising by Munich citizens over use of the Residenz. They construct the Neuveste. 1401 Albrecht III is born. c. 1415 Conrad Paumann is born. 1420 Ludwig VII commissions Andreas von Regensburg‟s Chronica de principibus terrae Bavarorum. 1437 Johann IV, son of Albrecht III, is born in Munich. 1439 Sigmund is born, third son of Albrecht III. Dec. 15, 1447 Albrecht IV is born in Munich. 1450 Conrad Paumann joins the Wittelsbach court in Munich. 1452 The Fundamentum Organisandi is compiled. c. 1460 The Genealogical Mural is created for the Alte Hof. 1460 Albrecht III dies. 1463 Johann IV dies. 1466 The city of Munich forces the Wittelsbachs to agree that they will not occupy the Neuveste as a residence. 1467 Sigmund abdicates, leaving Albrecht IV as sole ruler of Bavaria-Munich. 1468 Building of the Frauenkirche commences. 1472 The university at Ingolstadt is founded. c. 1475 Jörg Breu the Elder is born. 1481 Ulrich Füetrer completes the Bairische Chronik for Albrecht IV. 1482 Jan Pollack is listed as head of the Munich painter's guild. Jan. 1, 1487 Kunigunde, daughter of HRE Friedrich III of the Habsburg family, marries Albrecht IV. 1489 A drowned, three-year-old boy is reportedly revived in front of the Black Madonna at Altötting. 1493 Wilhelm IV is born, the oldest son of Albrecht IV. 1495 Ludwig X is born, second oldest son of Albrecht IV. 1500 Ernst is born, third son of Albrecht IV. Munich's population reaches 13,500. 1503-1505 War of Landshut Succession gives Albrecht IV control of a mostly unified Bavaria. 1506 Albrecht IV instates primogeniture. 1508 Employees at the Munich court number 162. March 18, 1507 Albrecht IV dies leaving Wilhelm IV as the heir to Bavaria. Wilhelm is too young and must wait 3 years under regency to gain power. 227 1509 Aventinus is hired as tutor to Ludwig and Ernst. 1510 Johann Eck accepts position at Ingolstadt. 1511 Wilhelm IV claims his place as Duke of Bavaria. Ludwig soon lays claim to his share of control, citing the timing of the rule of primogeniture, which was enacted after he was born, as his claim to legitimacy. 1512 Leonhard von Eck becomes councilor of Wilhelm IV. 1513 Ludwig X goes to Worms in order to gain the post of Archbishop of Salzburg for his youngest brother Ernst. 1514 An agreement is reached whereby Wilhelm and Ludwig would co-rule along with an advisory committee comprised of the estates of Bavaria. 1516 Hans Mielich is born, the son of Wolfgang Mielich, who was an influential painter and teacher in Munich. 1517 Wilhelm and Ludwig forbid the sale of indulgences in Bavaria. Oct. 31, 1517 Luther posts his theses in Wittenberg. 1518 Johann Eck, who had expressed interest in becoming a friend to Luther, rebukes his theses in his Obelisci. The two become theological adversaries. c. 1518 Wilhelm IV moves the Munich court to the Neuveste. 1519 Leonhard von Eck becomes chancellor to Bavaria. June 15, 1520 Pope Leo X issues the Exsurge Domine, demanding retractions by Luther over some of his theses. 1521-23 Wilhelm IV commissions Aventinus‟ Bayerische Chronik. 1521 Pope Leo X dies. May 8, 1521 Peter Canisius is born. 1522 Wilhelm and Ludwig agree to enact policies of allegiance to the Catholic Church across Bavaria as set forth in the Edict of Worms. Those not professing allegiance to the faith are penalized or exiled. Pope Adrian VI is elected. 1523 Ludwig Senfl is hired to the court's Hofkapelle after presenting compositions to Wilhelm IV during his wedding to Maria Jacobaa von Baden in 1522. 1525 Domes are added to the Frauenkirche. c. 1525 Barthel Behem is banished from Nurnberg. Moves to Munich. Feb. 29, 1528 Albrecht V is born. 1528 Wilhelm IV begins the commission of the history cycle of paintings. Wilhelm V begins trying to align the powers of France, England and Lorraine to oust Charles V. His argument was that Charles V was failing in his ability to maintain the faith. Oct. 1528 Dukes Wilhelm IV and Ludwig X arrest Aventinus, sparking the first major actions taken in Bavaria by the rulers to oust . 1529 Samuel Quiccheberg is born. 1530 Senfl composes: Ecce quam bonum et quam iucundum habitare fratres in unum for the Diet of Augsburg as a plea for Christian unity. 1531 Wilhelm enters into a brief alliance with the Schmalkadic League in an effort to oust power from the Habsburgs. 1532 (1530?) Orlando di Lasso born. Sept. 11, 1534 Habsburgs and Wittelsbachs sign the Treaty of Linz, an agreement of friendship. 228 Jan. 10, 1540 After a secret deal fifteen years earlier, Wittelsbachs lay claim to the Salzburg seat. 1540 In October, Ernst is officially elected into the seat at Salzburg. 1543 Johann Eck dies. Ingolstadt begins a precipitous decline. May 8, 1543 Canisius joins the . 1546 Martin Luther dies. 1545-47 The councils at Trent begin. 1546-47 The Schmalkaldic War ends with Charles V as victor; Bavaria backs Charles. 1547 Albrecht V marries Anna von Habsburg as part of an attempt to end a family rivalry with the Habsburgs. 1548 Wilhelm V is born. Nov. 13, 1549 Canisius arrives in Ingolstadt at the request of Wilhelm IV with two other Jesuits, Claude Lejay and Alphonsos Salmeron. 1550 Canisius becomes rector at Ingolstadt. March 7, 1550 Wilhelm IV dies; Albrecht V becomes Duke of Bavaria. 1551 Canisius begins a program of banning books at the University of Ingolstadt and creating inquisitorial workers, whose job it was to seek out and expel heretic writings. 1552 Munich Court employees number 308. Canisius moves to Vienna, on loan from Albrecht V. 1555 Hans Mielich completes the Book of Jewels. Charles V calls for a meeting in Augsburg, resulting in the Augsburg Confession. Cuius regio, eius religio is the resulting policy. Dec. 17 Jesuit College at Ingolstadt University is established. 1556 Canisius becomes Provincial of Upper Bavaria; he remains until 1569. Lasso accepts invitation by Albrecht V to join the court in Munich as a tenor under Ludwig Daser. Munich court employees number 485. 1558 Albrecht V appoints Simon Eck, a Catholic stalwart as his chancellor. Eck takes an increasingly paranoid view of Protestant tolerance in the duchy.

Albrecht V establishes the Geistliche Rat, a council to oversee religious conformity throughout Bavaria. Canisius publishes his Small Catechism. Albrecht V purchases the library of Johann Albrecht Widmanstetter. 1559 A Jesuit college is established in Munich. 1560 Albrecht V commissions Hans Mielich to begin plans for a new altarpiece to be built at Ingolstadt in celebration of the centennial of the university.

1563 Work on the Antiquarium, with plans by Jacapo Strada, begins. One of Albrecht V's , the Graf von Ortenburg, abolishes Catholicism from his territory as a reaction against the ban on freely exercising the Augsburg Confessions by the Ingolstadt . Albert seizes the Ortenburg in December, 1563. 1564 Albrecht V's son, Ernst, is elected as bishop of Freising and later as bishop of , Liege, Halberstadt, Munster and Cologne. 1565 Samuel Quiccheberg writes the Theatrum Sapientiae. 1567 First mention of Lassus as maestro di cappella in Munich. 229 Albrecht V's three-year-old son, Phillip, is elected bishop of Regensburg. 1568 Massimo Troiano records Wittelsbach court culture in his Dialoghi. 1570s Wilhelm V maintains an entirely separate court in Landshut, at great expense to the Wittelsbachs. 1570 Albrecht V prays to the Virgin of Altötting during a yachting incident. Jan. 21, 1570 In Altötting, Peter Canisius exercises demons from seventeen-year-old Anna von Bernhausen, lady-in-waiting of the Fugger family from Augsburg. 1571 Court employees at Munich number 866, bigger than the Medici court. Martin Eisengrein publishes Our Lady at Altötting, capitalizing on the exorcisms and the resurgence of pilgrimage to that site. Albrecht V's daughter, Maria, marries Archduke Charles of Inner Austria, uniting the Habsburg and Wittelsbach family in their common cause to maintain Catholicism in their lands. 1572 The altar in Ingolstadt is completed. 1573 Hans Mielich dies. 1573-1579 Lasso's Patroncinium musices is compiled and completed with miniatures painted by Hans Mielich. 1577 Canisius publishes De Maria Virgine incomparabili. Carlo Barromeo publishes Instructiones Fabricae et Supellectilis Ecclesiasticae, an instruction manual for the thematic building of churches.

The Jesuit play, Esther, is produced, involving 1700 people. 1578 Jakob Bidermann is born. The first Marian sodality is founded in Munich by Albrecht V and Wilhelm V. 1579 The two-volume Penitential Psalms, with music by Lasso, miniatures by Mielich and commentary by Quiccheberg is released after Albrecht V's death. Oct. 24, 1579 Albrecht V dies. His library holds approximately 11,000 volumes upon his death, making it the second largest library in Germany. Wilhelm V succeeds Albrecht as Duke of Bavaria. 1582 Wilhelm V announces plans to build St. Michael's Church and a new Jesuit college in Munich. 1583 Wittelsbachs gain control of the Bishopric of Cologne. They hold it, without interruption, until 1761. 1587 Lasso composes an imitation Magnificat based on his Dessus le marché d’Arras. 1590 Hubert Gerhard installs the Perseus Fountain at the Residenz in Munich. June 14, 1594 Orlando di Lasso dies amidst an ongoing reduction in the number of artists at the Munich court. 1597 After nearly driving the court into financial ruin, Wilhelm V abdicates in favor of his son, Maximilian I. Nov. 21, 1597 Peter Canisius dies in Fribourg. 1598 Albrecht V's Kunstkammer houses nearly 6,000 items. 1600 Lasso's Prophetiae Sybillarum is published. The motets were probably composed much earlier. 1606 Jakob Bidermann becomes the rhetoric instructor at the Jesuit college in Munich. 1609 Bidermann's Cenodoxus is premiered in Munich. 230 1610 The Virgin Mary is announced as the patron saint of Bavaria. 1618-1648 Thirty Years War. 1634 An outbreak of the plague decimates the population of Munich and Bavaria. The residents of Oberammergau vow to produce a passion play every ten years in exchange for being spared from the plague. 1638 The Mariansäule is erected in Munich, with sculptures by Gerhard. 231 APPENDIX B

Family Tree of the Munich Line of Wittelsbach Dukes

Ludwig IV (1282-1347) Duke of Bavaria, 1294; King of Germany 1314; Holy Roman Emperor 1328

Ludwig V Stefan II (1319-1375) Ludwig VI Wilhelm I Albrecht I Otto I Joint reign through 1375

Stefan III Friedrich Johann II (1341-1397) Joint reign through 1397

Ernst (1373-1438) Wilhelm III Joint reign through 1438

Albrecht III (1401-1460) Reign 1438-1460

Johann IV Sigmund Albrecht IV (1447-1508) Joint reign through 1508

Wilhelm IV (1493-1550) Ludwig X Ernst Joint reign to 1545, when Ludwig X abstained

Albrecht V (1528-1579) Reign 1550-1579

Wilhelm V (1548-1626) Reign 1579-1598: Abdicated

Maximilian I (1573-1651) Reign 1598-1651