by Leo Ruickbie
More explicit charges of sodomy would later be made against Faustus. Lercheimer described the Kreuznach incident in just these terms: ‘he [Faustus] had to flee from there because he was guilty of sodomy.’13 Earlier references to unspecified moral misconduct in the source material can also be interpreted as euphemisms for sodomy. When Manlius said that Melanchthon called him a ‘wicked beast’ whose conduct was shameful, wicked and dissolute, we can read these as indicating sexual deviancy.14 Hogel, too, denounced his ‘evil life’, calling him notorious and wicked, and when Faustus was denied entry into Nuremberg in 1532 he was specifically named as ‘the great sodomite’ in the official report.
The charge of sodomy was a serious one. Sodomy was believed to have provoked God’s destruction of cities and whole peoples (Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 19). It was expressly forbidden in the first imperial law code, the Constitutio Criminalis Carolina of 1532, and punishable by death by burning. The Constitutio was only the codification of earlier legal sanctions applied to sodomy. Ulrich Tengler (c.1435–1511) had previously published guidelines for German lawyers in 1509 that stipulated death at the stake for same-sex acts and the 1532 Constitutio was based word for word on the 1507 law code for the diocese of Bamberg, but the precedent had been set since at least as early as 1277 when Rudolf I von Habsburg, King of the Romans, sentenced a nobleman to death by burning for vicim sodomiticum, the vice of sodomy.15
Sodomy was defined as a sin against nature, a generous definition that included such acts as masturbation, same-sex mutual masturbation, as well as same-sex penetrative intercourse, although it has been contended that the Renaissance uses of the term exceed the bounds of strict categorisation. Thus sodomy could be extended to cover usury, treason, lese-majesty or affront to the sovereign, blasphemy, impurity, ethnic difference and much else besides. The connection between sexual taboo and religious transgression was established early on in the prosecution of this ‘crime’, so that ‘heresy’ could also mean ‘sodomy’ and vice versa. Charges of sodomy also became part of the persecution of alleged witches, again showing the link between sexual and spiritual deviance as crimes against Christianity.16
It was not just witchcraft, that is, maleficent magic, but all forms of (non-Christian) magic that were associated with sexual transgression. Faustus’s claim to be the Second Magus not only associated him with the magical prowess of Zoroaster, but also – and we would presume unintentionally – with the supposed licence of Ham. A child of the sons of Seth, Ham inherited and preserved their demonic magic, according to the early medieval Christian writer John Cassian. Cursed by Noah for uncovering his drunken nakedness, Ham becomes a magnet for unflattering stories of sexual debauchery. In his Rule St Benedict prescribed Cassian’s Collations ensuring that a Benedictine monk like Trithemius would be only too familiar with such salacious tales. It would even seem logical to Trithemius that Faustus must be a sexual deviant.
To someone like Trithemius the mere fact that Faustus was a necromancer, a practitioner of forbidden arts, meant that he was morally debased. In his Antipalus Trithemius argued violently that witches were steeped in debauchery, revelling in ‘exceedingly defiled sexual relations’ with each other, their victims and with demons.17
As extreme as they seem to us now, Trithemius’s views were not original or exceptional. The Apostle Paul (Romans 1:26–8) had early linked sexual deviance with religious unorthodoxy, a view that Giovanni Francesco Pico (c.1469–1533) later took up and specifically directed towards magicians. For Trithemius and many others of his age, necromancy meant trafficking with demons and trafficking with demons meant having sex with them. For a necromancer who was a schoolmaster it follows – according to Trithemius’s logic – that his debauchery would have overflowed onto his pupils.
As a self-professed practitioner of the divinatory arts, Faustus would require, by tradition, the assistance of children, especially boys. Hartlieb’s descriptions of both hydromancy and pyromancy makes the assistance of a child – a girl or a boy – an absolute necessity. ‘When the innocent child sits there’ says Hartlieb describing hydromancy, ‘the charm master stands behind him and says various secret words to him in the ear’, adding, with his usual alarm, ‘and the evil Devil arises’.18
There is a documented case of a teacher using his pupils for just such an operation. John of Salisbury (1115–1180) recalled an incident from his youth in which a priest, who was teaching him Latin, co-opted him into the magical arts. In one experiment the priest anointed the fingernails of John and an older pupil with consecrated oil in an attempt to see images reflected in the glistening surface. In another, the priest used a polished basin as the reflective surface. The experiments would begin with ‘preliminary magical rites’ and, after anointing, the priest would call out strange names that, as John recalled, ‘by the horror they inspired, seemed to me, child though I was, to belong to demons’. The terrified John saw nothing in either fingernails or basin, but the other pupil reported seeing ‘certain misty figures’.19
Trithemius began the rumours of unnatural sexual practices that would dog Faustus ever after. Now in the spring of 1507 we must suppose him on the run. Even if the charges against him were the invention of Trithemius, the accusations that he repeats suggest some circulation of scurrilous rumours against Faustus in Kreuznach at this time – and if there were not, then after Trithemius’s letter there would have been. Trithemius concluded his report to Virdung in no uncertain terms:
These are the things that I know through very definite evidence concerning the man whose coming you await with such anticipation. When he comes to you, you will find, not a philosopher, but a fool driven by excessive rashness.20
Trithemius’s testimony is in reality only hearsay. He never met Faustus and got all of his information about him second-hand, but this does not stop him from thoroughly denouncing him. Trithemius may have trusted his sources, but a court judge or critical historian could never do so, and yet this is the judgement that history has handed down. Most academics – epitomised by E.M. Butler, who wrote so much about Faustus in the middle of the twentieth century – have accepted Trithemius’s views unquestioningly and repeated the libels against Faustus. At the very moment Faustus appears in recorded history he is given the worst sort of reputation and, as with the dog with the bad name, is hung ever after.
It is impossible for us to determine whether Trithemius’s accusation was true or not. Perhaps that is not even the question we should be asking. When Trithemius’s letter is taken on its own – as it so often is – the accusations made in it look exceptional, but they were not. Sexual defamation was (and, sadly, still is) a frequently employed weapon in character assassination and Faustus was not the only target. Just prior to Trithemius’s letter, the Alsatian priest and Humanist, Jacob Wimpfeling (1450–1528), was anonymously libelled as lusting after his male students and Johann Geiler von Kaisersberg was preaching against bůbenketzer, ‘those “heretics” who commit sexual acts with boys’.21
Accusations of sodomy were particularly effective because they were difficult to disprove and punishable by severe penalties. The connotations of religious deviance also served Trithemius’s purpose of ostracising Faustus, especially since the charge of sodomy could have arisen from magical practices in the first place. By repeating or inventing an apparently factual incident of sodomy, Trithemius makes his other denigrations based on the rhetoric of folly – but also straying onto pseudo-medical grounds with accusations of insanity – more persuasive. The purpose of Trithemius’s letter was to besmirch Faustus’s reputation before he visited Virdung, and Trithemius had career considerations of his own to motivate such an attack. Finally, we should not forget the old adage: ‘When Peter talks about Paul, you learn more about Peter than about Paul’.
6
Harrowing Times (1507–1512)
What happened to Faustus immediately after his fateful near-encounter with Trithemius? He probably little guessed the abbot’s venomous reaction, after all, he h
ad sent him his card and was probably somewhat perplexed that Trithemius had moved on without seeing him. According to Trithemius’s report, Faustus had just lost his position in Kreuznach. If Trithemius was right about the situation, then Faustus would have been unlikely to linger long in the town. Trithemius’s letter gives the vital clue that Faustus was expected by Johannes Virdung. The question then is, did Faustus visit Virdung?
At the Court of the Elector Palatine
The truth is that no one knows what Faustus did next, but it is likely that he did visit Virdung as intended. It would have been an important step: Virdung was a figure of some standing, a professor at Heidelberg university and court astrologer to Philipp von Wittelsbach (1448–1508), Elector of the Palatinate (1476–1508), and known by the virtuous nickname of ‘The Upright’.
Virdung had travelled in France, Italy and Denmark, and studied at the universities of Kraków (BA, 1486) and Leipzig (MA, 1492).Virdung’s student days in Kraków brought him into contact with astrology, and manuscripts preserved in the Vatican Library attest to the extent of his occult interests. In 1503 he had even travelled to England with the intention of studying magic there. He produced numerous works on astrology, as well as publishing annual astrological predictions (practica). His work was well-known and even admired by the likes of Melanchthon, for whom he had drawn up a nativity. In 1514 Virdung would be hailed as ‘the only important astronomer in Germany’.1 He would also be visited by the mysterious British nigromancer Nicholas of Fairmount in 1520, showing how far his reputation had spread. In 1522 his astrological works would be granted imperial protection against unauthorised reproduction in recognition of his prognostications made for the Emperors Maximilian I and Charles V.2
It is the association with von Sickingen that provides the bridge between Virdung and Faustus. We saw earlier how von Sickingen was known to make use of Virdung’s astrological expertise. It seems possible that whilst in Kreuznach, Faustus had been directed towards Virdung by von Sickingen, or vice versa. Unlike Trithemius, von Sickingen appears to have taken Faustus seriously and no doubt expected that Virdung would do the same.
When Faustus sought him out, Virdung had been in Philipp’s service since about 1493, so his position with one of the most important men of the period was well established. The House of Wittelsbach was a great power within the Empire. The Golden Bull of 1356 had created the Palatinate as one of the secular electorates, turning the Counts Palatine into the Electors Palatine with the hereditary offices of Archsteward of the Empire, Supreme Magistrate and Imperial Vicar. Count of the Palatine since the thirteenth century, Ruprecht III von Wittelsbach rose to become King of the Germans as Ruprecht I von der Pfalz from 1400 to 1410, and their line is anciently connected to the British royal family. But in 1507 Philipp was fifty-nine and only a year from his death. The best part of his greatness as well as his life was behind him.
Trithemius, running the risk of becoming one of those who ‘noisily catch the attention of kings and princes’ whom he said he so despised and again revealing himself in the insults he cast at others, had already written to Philipp with news of his tremendous schemes.3 In 1499 Trithemius wrote that the only other person to have been let into the secret of his hidden writing technique or steganography was Philipp, ‘whom I have shown the possibility of this craft with a clear demonstration’.4 Trithemius had evidently tried to win Philipp’s favour and indeed Philipp, together with his sons Ludwig and Rupert, had visited Trithemius at Sponheim in 1501. Trithemius had also visited Philipp in Heidelberg in 1506, apparently in connection with his move from Sponheim to St James’s in Würzburg. The outcome of this meeting was entirely to Trithemius’s advantage. Trithemius wrote that Philipp ‘has promised to provide me with as much abundance as is necessary for my life.’5 In light of this, the letter to Virdung against Faustus takes on ever more mercenary overtones: Trithemius was frightened of a rival.
Heidelberg University was intimately associated with the Wittelsbachers: Ruprecht I had founded it in 1386. As a university man and courtier Virdung moved in the highest circles. He had the ear of the Prince-Elector Palatine and access to the prodigious library of Heidelberg, the Bibliotheca Palatina. When the collection was stolen by the Catholic League during the Thirty Years War it amounted to almost 10,000 volumes, including a copy of Johannes Hartlieb’s book on the forbidden arts. It was not just the size of the collection, but also the rarity of many of its holdings that attested to the importance of Heidelberg as one of the foremost centres of learning during the late Middle Ages and Renaissance. In particular, with the encouragement and support of successive Prince-Electors, Heidelberg also became a centre of alchemical study and experimentation by the mid-sixteenth century.6
Faustus and Virdung may have sat together in Heidelberg’s great library, pouring over rare tomes and searching out the secrets of alchemy. Virdung had, amongst his own manuscripts, prescriptions for such things as imprisoning planetary spirits in finger rings. The method involved using exorcisms, seals, engraved gemstones and a metal appropriate to the character of the spirit to be trapped, as well as animal sacrifice. The manuscript also contained treatises on astrological and magical images. It seems likely that he showed this manuscript to another visitor, Nicholas of Fairmount, so it is again likely that, as one magus to another, he showed it to Faustus.
Some years previously in 1503 Virdung had published a Practica dedicated to Philipp in which he especially discussed the effects of the conjunction of Saturn, Jupiter and Mars in the sign of Cancer. It was a topic that Faustus would return to in his discussions with the Prior of Rebdorf some twenty years later. Virdung predicted the appearance of a prophet shortly after the conjunction, but also saw crop failure, pestilence and war in the stars. Virdung also discussed the meanings of comets and in 1506 he published a treatise on the comet of that year, which would have made a rich topic of conversation.
Perhaps Virdung even showed Trithemius’s letter to Faustus. They may also have discussed an astrological prediction of Trithemius’s ruin apparently made by Virdung or his predecessor around 1487, which was then being widely talked about by Trithemius’s supporters such as Beissel, Sicamber, Herbanus and Kymolanus, and of course Trithemius himself. It would have been a subject dear to Faustus’s heart. If Faustus made it to Heidelberg and Virdung’s opinion of him had not been soured by Trithemius’s vilifications, then we can expect that he enjoyed a most productive time here, at least until fate intervened in its usual unexpected and turbulent manner.
The Harrowing of Hell
In 1508, as Michelangelo began work on the Sistine Chapel in Rome, Maximilian I, King of the Romans – as he was until then titled – declared himself Imperator Electus (‘Emperor Elect’) in contravention of the usual requirement of being consecrated by the Pope. It was the result of military disaster and an act of forced compromise. Using his journey to Rome for the Imperial coronation as a pretext, Maximilian entered Venetian territory at the head of a large army in February 1508. Advancing on Vicenza, he was met by the Venetian army and repulsed. Several weeks later Maximilian tried again. This time he was decisively routed and forced to conclude a truce.
Prevented from reaching Rome, Pope Julius II had to issue a bull permitting Maximilian to confer the title upon himself. The adoption of this grand new title, triumphantly on his native soil, was hubris in the face of humiliation. The obstructiveness of the Venetians would not be overlooked. Calling von Sickingen and others to his banner he marched back into Italy. In addition to the support of his countrymen, Maximilian had persuaded the Pope, Ferdinand of Aragon, Louis XII of France and the Italian states of Ferrara and Mantua to join him in the so-called League of Cambrai, formed on 10 December 1508. There were great spoils to be won from the treasure chest of Italy – Louis XII’s support had been secured with the promise of the investiture of Milan. Hell was about to be visited upon Venice: ‘destructions and spoils of cities, a liberty of war’, in the words of the Florentine historian Francesco Guicciardini (14
83–1540).7
Italy was the Great Game of the sixteenth century. With more pressing foes on their borders and arguably easier and more strategic territories to conquer, the princes of Europe preferred to sport with each other for the trinkets and trophies of the peninsula. With hindsight it was an expensive and wasteful preoccupation, but there were real fears of growing Venetian power; any state that could say no to the Emperor was not to be taken lightly. As early as 1489 a diplomatic report had warned that Venice was out to subjugate all Europe. In 1499 the French ambassador, Philippe de Commynes, added his voice to the warnings, stating that Venice was ‘on the road to future greatness’.8
It was not just the big battles that were shaking the foundations of Faustus’s world. The Dominican inquisitor known as Bernard of Como (d. c.1510) published his comprehensive Treatise on Witches that would be reprinted many times in the following years. He described how the followers of this cult met in the presence of the Devil to renounce the Christian faith, specifically arguing against the idea that witchcraft is a delusion. In the cathedral of Strassburg, Geiler von Kaisersberg was preaching against witches during Lent of 1508.9 Like Bernard of Como, he too was convinced of the reality of the witches’ sabbat. With the Bible as his authority, he demanded that all witches, sorcerers and diviners be put to death. Von Kaisersberg used the vernacular to convey his message – this was not just a Latin epistle for the learnéd, but a war cry for the masses.
