by Anne Boileau
Customers came in with prescriptions from one of the town’s physicians, and others came in with their ailments, seeking advice. Ave loved the work, and knew she was learning a valuable craft and doing something useful.
“He says I’m beautiful.”
“Well, you are,” I said. But I felt a stab of envy. No one had approached me in this way. Men looked at me with desire, but they did not approach me. On the other hand, I had not yet met a man who aroused my interest.
“Oh Ave? Has he kissed you yet?”
“No, but we touched hands yesterday. We were filling up a row of bottles with some sticky cough syrup and I knocked over one of them. We were wiping it up together and our hands touched. He looked into my eyes, Kathe, and then he said, ‘Ave, you are so beautiful.’ I didn’t know what to say. So I just looked away and giggled.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t giggle, Ave, he might feel hurt.”
“No he wasn’t hurt, he disappeared behind the counter and came back with a bunch of flowers. He gave it to me with a gallant flourish, as if I were a princess. Look, smell, aren’t they pretty?”
They were. A posy of wild roses, white and pink; and meadow sweet and irises and dog daisies, all mixed up with delicate grasses and sedges. I smelt them but my heart felt heavy at my friend’s good news.
I gave Ave a big hug. She had a glow in her face. It reminded me of certain times of extreme devotion in the convent, when I saw such a glow in the faces of my fellow nuns; at such times I was aware that my own face must be glowing with a fervour, as it were a manifestation of the fire burning within my soul. Was being in love with a man rather like being touched by the Holy Spirit? I thought of what Dr Luther had said, that women are created to be loved by a man, to bring children into the world. So maybe it was a similar thing, to be in love with Jesus, with God, and to be in love with a man. Then I thought, no, you’re being profane, Kathe, it’s not like that at all.
We walked to Church on Sunday with the Cranachs.
“Good morning Herr Cranach, Frau Cranach. Good day to you. And good day to you. How is your mother? Yes, we may see some rain later on.” Touching hats, occasionally pausing to shake hands. The whole town were making their leisurely way to St Mary’s Church for the morning service, to hear Dr Bugenhagen or Dr Luther preach. It was strange and seemed almost profane, but exciting, to be praying in our mother tongue; to hear the word of God in German. And we sang Dr Luther’s hymns and his setting of the Psalms in German. And every week, as we attended Church with Frau Barbara and Herr Lucas, we began to feel more accepted in the wider community of Wittenberg.
Pews have just been installed, at great expense, so people can sit comfortably to listen to the sermons. I sit next to Ave and think about her and her apothecary lover, Basilius. I like him and want to be pleased for her, but selfishly don’t want her to marry. I feel a gall of jealousy rising up inside me; but who am I jealous of? Basilius, for taking Ave away from me? Or Ave, for finding a man to love her? How stupid and shallow I am, to have such base feelings, when I ought to be glad for her!
A few weeks later I had another reason to feel jealous of my best friend.
It was a Sunday afternoon in September, a time when everyone is very quiet. Ave tip-toed over to my room and we were sitting together on my windowsill enjoying the afternoon sun, resting our bare feet on the roof tiles. She seemed strangely excited, but said very little.
“Go on, Ave, spill it out. What’s happened? Have you got betrothed, is that it?”
We were whispering so as not to disturb the household.
“No, Kathe, his parents say he’s too young, he must get his qualifications first. So we’ll have to wait. But oh Käthchen, something else has happened, I need your advice.”
“Tell me.”
She fished in her pocket and brought out a letter. It was written in a fine hand on good paper. As soon as I saw it I knew the signature, a famous signature. She handed it to me to read.
Black Cloister. Thursday.
My dear Fräulein Ave
I hope you do not think me too bold in writing. I wish to tell you of my feelings towards you.
I admire you greatly. You are a fine, talented woman. I am impressed by the dignity and courage with which you have adapted to secular life. I see you as being a woman of steadiness and good sense. Above all, I see you as living with the Lord Jesus.
I write to you to ask you, in all humility, if you would consider being my wife. I cannot offer you a life of luxury or wealth in this world. But I can offer what I have, which is my wit and intellect; and my calling to Christ.
I am sending this letter to you via my friend Lucas Cranach. He knows about my feelings and supports my suit. Should you wish, after due consideration, to reply to this letter, he will be happy to convey it to me in all confidentiality.
I remain your humble servant,
M Luther
So that was it. Over the last few weeks the Doctor had been calling in more and more frequently to eat with the Cranachs. He had discarded his frayed old habit and rope sandals and one of his wealthy admirers had paid for him to have some decent modern clothes made. He no longer looked like a shabby old monk. His tonsure had disappeared and his hair was growing thick and wavy. One evening he joined us for the evening meal; it was a Wednesday, because I remember we had been to the market that day. Dr Luther and Herr Cranach were discussing the creation of a large altar piece, a triptych, which the Council had agreed to pay for and Herr Cranach was planning to paint. The children were in bed, the candles were lit and we sang some songs; Dr Luther kept looking across the table at Ave.
“You have a beautiful voice, Ave.”
“Thank you, Herr Doktor.”
He continued to stare at her, until he gave a little cough, his hand to his mouth, and looked away, embarrassed. Ave blushed, and I pretended not to have noticed. It was clear that my friend had made another conquest. Somehow, though, I had put this out of my mind and only now did I recall that little scene.
Why was I so envious of Ave and her two suitors? I did not love Dr Luther, though I found him awe-inspiring and powerful. I didn’t love Basilius either. But I was envious of the way Ave was able to attract men, to gain their admiration. Men did not approach me like that. Am I ugly, unattractive? Or am I, as some of the senior nuns used to tell me, too outspoken and opinionated? Perhaps that puts them off. Whatever it is, I do not have what Ave has, the ability to draw men to her as a foxglove attracts bees.
“What should I do, Kathe? It’s such a compliment, I can’t really believe it, that the greatest man in Germany wants to marry me. Tell me what to do. Should I say yes?”
I felt torn. I loved Ave, we were like sisters. But I resented her too for apparently adapting so much better than me to secular life. What sort of advice was I supposed to give her? What did I know about such things? I scraped my foot up and down on the roof tile until my sole hurt, and wondered what to say. Eventually I twisted round and jumped back through the window into my room. I barked at her, rather more sharply than I meant to:
“Don’t ask me, Ave. Ask Barbara. Or Frau Reichenbach. Sorry. I really can’t help you.”
Chapter 10
Hieronymous
Wenn es keine Vergebung der Sünden bei Gott gäbe, so wollte ich Gott gern durchs Fenster hinauswerfen.
If God did not forgive us our sins, then I would happily throw God out of the window.
Ave was twisting her skirt anxiously in her hands, looking at me with wide eyes, as if I could make her mind up for her. She glowed with excitement and indecision. So when I told her she should go to Barbara or Frau Reichenbach for advice she looked hurt. I was sitting on my bed now, and she was sitting on the window ledge, her back to the light.
“But I want to know what you think, Kathe. You’re my best friend. Please. Help me.”
“Do you love the Doctor?”
“No, I’m rather scared of him, to tell the truth. I love Basilius and I’d like to live with him. But isn�
��t it an amazing chance, to marry someone so important, Dr Luther I mean?”
“Not if you don’t love him, Ave. I would have thought it could be very trying, living with a man like that; he’s always the centre of attention, he’s so important but people hate him too. And then he might get arrested and executed, and you’d find yourself a widow. And what about Basilius? If you love him, can you just turn your back on him?”
“He would probably marry someone else; oh heavens, I couldn’t bear that!”
“So that’s it: with your heart you want Basilius, but with your head you like the idea of being Frau Dr. Luther, am I right?”
“Are you angry with me, Kathe?”
“No, not angry. I think that I’m sad at the thought of losing you.”
At that she put her arms round me and whispered in my ear “you’ll always be my very best friend.”
We sat quite still on my little bed, embracing, but I knew that my friend was slipping away from me.
After a pause Ave slapped her knees and said:
“Dear Kathe, you’ve helped me make up my mind. I can’t turn my back on Basilius, even for the Doctor. I’ll write back to him, explaining that my heart is already pledged to another. He’ll understand. In fact, I think I might tell Basilius first. Maybe his parents would let us get married sooner after all, if they knew that another man was courting me? What do you think?”
“Yes, good idea, tell Basilius. As you say, his parents may reconsider, they wouldn’t want to lose you. After all, you’re not just a pretty face, you’re useful to them in the shop too, aren’t you?”
“You’re teasing me now. I do believe you’re jealous!”
“Yes, I probably am!”
So she told Basilius. He was dismayed at the thought of losing her to Dr Luther and persuaded his father to allow him to marry Ave the following month. And so Ave was able to write back to Herr Doktor telling him that unfortunately her hand was already given to another.
I feel bad about it. I did not attend their wedding. I had planned to go, of course, and I helped her choose the stuff, and the design for her wedding dress; we spent the previous day together preparing the breakfast and arranging the flowers. But on the morning of the wedding I woke with a terrible sick headache and could do nothing but stay in my room with the curtains drawn. Ave was hurt and wrote a curt little note saying I had let her down. But I really couldn’t help it.
They moved to Weimar six months later. Herr Cranach has opened an apothecary in the main square and Ave and Basilius manage the shop and live above it. What a wonderful opening it is for them both! They say Weimar is an elegant town, with a castle and park and a great many fine houses. But I do miss my friend; what a lot we had been through together! Of course we write letters to each other as often as we can.
In due course it was my turn to have an admirer. We had been living with the Cranachs for nine months when I met the student Hieronymous Baumgartner. He had pale blue eyes which looked at you bold and straight; he was tall and fair, with curly hair and his limbs were strong from riding and fencing. I had never set eyes on anyone so handsome. My first impression was that he knew it, and was consumed with self-love. Nevertheless, I fell under his spell. He treated me with respect, not the suspicion or barely cloaked disdain with which so many men treat women. He listened to me, and seemed interested in my story, my life in the convent, my escape; he did not judge me, or dismiss me as just another ex-nun. We talked and talked; about Rome and the evangelist movement, our neighbour Philip Melanchthon, who had been his tutor three years before; the teachings of Erasmus of Rotterdam; his prosperous mercantile family and their home in Nürnberg, his hopes and plans.
He told me about a famous painter called Albrecht Dürer, who lives in his city and is a friend of his parents; it was this connection which led him to come to University here and why he knew the Cranachs; the two great artists had never met but admired each other’s work and often wrote to each other about their art, their trade.
To begin with the two of us were seldom alone; at mealtimes our eyes would meet. I became aware of him watching me, and he was aware of my interest in him. Whatever he said at table to the wider company, I knew he was saying it partly for me.
He had returned to Wittenberg to learn about printing, which meant that he came to the Cranach House every day. After his stint at the press or the typesetting frame he took to coming through to the house. He enjoyed the company of the boys, Hans, aged ten and Lucas aged eight, and sometimes he joined us for the end of our lessons. I was teaching them Scripture, Music and Latin and would have taught them calligraphy and illumination, had they not both been far more accomplished than me, even at that age, in all things to do with art. So at the end of our sessions, towards lunchtime, we would finish off with some music and singing.
Hieronymous must have heard us one day and knocked on the schoolroom door. We were singing a song about a raven and his mate and he joined in. Then he said “Do you know the one about a swan?” “Yes, of course we do!” said Lucas, so we all sang the madrigal ‘The Silver Swan’ several times. Then he sang us an English song, called ‘My Dame Hath a Lame Tame Crane’, which we did not know. The children wanted to learn this one, because first of all the name Cranach was like crane, Kranich, and secondly because the family have a pet crane; she’s like an elegant old lady and limps about the yard with the poultry; now and then she ventures through the scullery into the kitchen and Cook shoos her out. Elsa’s father found her on the roadside with a broken leg which meant she could no longer fly; these long legged birds have to run fast before they can take off. So he brought the wounded thing to Hans, and his mother let him keep her. In the autumn they have to shut her in the hen house to stop her trying to fly away as the flocks gather in the sky for their migration south. So when we learnt the song about a crane it seemed very apt; the boys enjoyed getting their tongues round the English and sang it with Hieronymous at lunch until the whole company learnt the song and joined in: family, guests, apprentices and servants, all singing about a lame crane in a foreign language. How we all laughed, because as we sang the bird herself poked her head through the window, holding it on one side as if she knew the song was about her!
After that Hieronymous took to visiting the schoolroom regularly at midday, and the boys looked forward to his visits. Sometimes he took them fishing in the afternoon, or they invited him upstairs to their father’s studio. At other times he stole time off to be with me.
I remember one particular afternoon in April. The boys had finished their lessons and the morning chores were done; we had eaten lunch and the whole household was quiet for the midday rest. Hieronymous took my arm and we walked down the street, through the Elster Gate, past the fairground and over the causeway into the water meadows.
It was probably risky for my reputation, going out alone with a young man, but I wasn’t worried. The sun shone, the Elbe flowed past, smooth, powerful and eddying. I have never seen the sea, but this river is so wide and so deep, I sometimes pretend it is the sea, especially when it’s misty and you can’t see the far bank. A few horses were plodding upstream, pulling barges, their brown sails furled; other barges were gliding north with the current, a breeze in their sales; their horses accompanied them on the tow-path, occasionally trotting to keep up.
Life was thrumming after the long dormant season. Frogs and toads were croaking in the marsh and we breathed in the fragrance of wild flowers: speedwell, forget-me-nots, Pasque flowers, buttercups. The air was buzzing with insects: dragonflies, lacewings, butterflies, mayflies. Larks hung suspended above us, spilling out their strings of notes. We stood still to watch a great sea eagle circling above the river; without warning it dropped vertically into the water, then emerged beating its enormous wings in spray and floundered awkwardly back into the air, clutching a writhing fish in its talons. We held hands and laughed, and played ‘hit the cockchafer’; we felt alive and the air was heavy with love.
Suddenly, he stopped fooling
around, stood still in front of me and cupped my cheeks in his hands, his expression grave.
“Kathe,” he said. He kissed my hands: my knuckles first, then, turning them over, he kissed my palms; he kissed my wrists, and the soft skin inside my arm; then he embraced me, kissed my eyes, my cheeks, my lips. And overhead, a skein of cranes are flying, their long necks stretched out in front, their long legs behind, calling, calling. My knees are weak, and I am filled with desire for him.
There are those who like to imply that my husband was not the first man to know me. They can say what they like. If I were to refute their allegations they would not believe me. I have to admit I wanted him. I felt his lips on my lips, his tongue on mine; his warm breath on my neck, the ache within me. As our intellects entwined in sweet conversation and our spirits entwined with affection and humour, so it followed, as night follows day, that our bodies should entwine and want to become one as well.
