The White King

Weißkunig (White King)

or

Anything you can do, I can do better

by Kaiser Max*.

The cover of my facsimile edition

I read somewhere that social media sites like Facebook are showcases for people's carefully curated public images.

Kaiser Max had that covered 500 years ago, namely in his illustrated 'autobiography' called Weißkunig. Several prominent artists worked on the woodcuts, including Hans Burgkmair the Elder and Leonhard Beck.

Apparently Maximilian didn't write it himself, but rather dictated it to his secretary, Marx Treitzsaurwein. 

Kaiser Max dictating to his secretary,
Marx Treitzsaurwein

(Yikes, I hope the secretary had a good chiropractor on speed dial.)

I'm sure Maximilian had his share of personal problems, but low self esteem was not among them. Some of the details in this book are SO over the top as to be truly laughable. For example, the woodcut which shows baby Max astonishing everyone by standing up in the tub during his first bath, the day after he was born***. Did anyone really buy that??

Some more choice examples: a comet was visible at the time Max was born, which signified the wonderful reign and achievements he was destined for. His birth was also supposedly quick and painless. Suppose we ask Empress Eleanor about that? 

When the time came for little Max to begin his education, “he put to [his teachers] questions they were not able to answer,” and soon became “so full of knowledge, and humility, and all fine qualities.” He learned the seven liberal arts in a very short amount of time, “and in them became unsurpassably learned, understanding more than was set forth in books, at which all learned men were, beyond measure, astonished.”**

He also learned to paint

and how to work with wood and metal

and all about musical instruments

And hunting

And jousting

And fighting on foot

And what do you know? He was the best at everything.

Believe it or not, there were a few things he couldn't do. When he went to Flanders in 1477 to marry Mary of Burgundy, he couldn't speak French or Flemish, and she couldn't speak German. But a few minutes spent gesturing to each other on a park bench solved all of that. ;-)

Weißkunig wasn't Maximilian's only autobiographical work. He also wrote/dictated a romanticized version of his journey to Flanders called Theuerdank, and a book about tournaments and mummeries called Freydal. Only Theuerdank was published during his lifetime.

*In case you have just stumbled upon this blog (welcome!), Kaiser Max refers to Maximilian I, Holy Roman Emperor from the Habsburg dynasty, who lived from 1459-1519. He is a main character in a book of historical fiction I am writing at this time.

**Translations taken from “The High and Puissant Princess Marguerite of Austria” by Christopher Hare (1907)

***Actually, that woodcut, by Albrecht Altdorfer, is from a different book entirely: Historia Friderici et Maximiliani. My bad. 

Henry VIII's faux pas

King Henry VIII of England and Emperor Maximilian each had their separate bones to pick with France, so in 1513 they joined forces for the Battle of Guinegate. (Actually, by then Maximilian had a skeleton's-worth of bones to pick with France, but we'll save that story for later. )

Henry VIII (1509)

Emperor Maximilian c. 1509

Contemporary woodcut of
the meeting between the two sovereigns

From the point of view of the English and Imperial forces, the Battle of Guinegate was a success. Here's what the Imperial Master of the Posts had to say about it:

"Early in the day the Emperor and the King of England encountered 8,000 French horse; the Emperor, with 2,000 only, kept them at bay until four in the afternoon, when they were put to flight. A hundred men of arms were left upon the field, and more than a hundred taken prisoners, of the best men in France; as the Sieur de Piennes, the Marquis de Rotelin, and others." (From Wikipedia.)

Henry's faux pas came later, when the victors came together to celebrate. Maximilian was well known for his charm and courtly behavior. When he and Henry arrived at the celebration, he courteously motioned for Henry to precede him into the room, which Henry promptly did, instead of deferring to Maximilian, as etiquette demanded. The emperor was more than 30 years his senior and one of Europe's most formidable rulers.

Always remember: age before beauty, Henry!

What I don't know is how Maximilian reacted to this. He could be quite unpredictable; equally likely to laugh off Henry's youthful arrogance as to swan off in a huff.

My guess is that he smirked to himself, quickly identified which lady present had Henry's eye, and seduced her himself.  ;-)

Marble relief depicting the Battle of Guinegate
on Maximilian's cenotaph in Innsbruck

"Let's take the scenic route," they said.

Travemünde is located on the Baltic Sea, about 20 km from Lübeck. That's about 12 miles. So Jim and I got the great idea to rent bikes and ride them there and back as a nice day trip. Fun, right?

Yes, fun! So, we got a handy map from the tourist bureau (please forgive the formatting, but it is important to remember that we got the map from the tourist bureau) with various routes inscribed upon it, including a scenic route along the Trave River. Great! Jim loves water, so we chose that route for our outbound journey.

We were going to have a lovely bike ride, and then devour a delicious Matjes (herring) sandwich for lunch in Travemünde.

The man at the bicycle rental agency said that if we rode at a normal pace we'd be there in an hour.

We left Lübeck at 10:30 AM. We reached Travemünde at around 2 PM.

That's 3.5 hours.

The first part of the journey was lovely. Here are some picture to prove it. These were taken when we were still 'frisch und munter'.

Selfie on the Trave

German bicycle paths are legendary. They are plentiful, they are wide, they are well marked, they are well maintained.

And so was this one, in the beginning.

Then it got narrower. And rougher. And obstacles began to appear, like large stones.

That's how Jim got a flat tire.

Flat tires happen. No biggie. We'll just find a bike shop. Everyone rides bikes here, they must be everywhere!

The path got even narrower, with dense foliage on either side. As in: grasses that were taller than Jim.

That's when I said, “I feel like I'm on the set of The African Queen...” You remember, this part:

(That's when I was still chipper, before the cursing started.)

Then, the “bike path” became a muddy rut, with fallen trees to negotiate. That's when the cursing started.

It got worse before it got better.

But then it got better. We emerged from the jungle onto something that resembled a bike path. Then we found the place where we needed to catch the bus to navigate the “Herrentunnel” (no cycling thru this tunnel.)

The bus driver noticed Jim's flat tire, and I asked him where we could find the nearest bike shop. Then he started soliciting help from the other cyclists on board, and that's when a guardian angel in the form of a weatherbeaten German man offered us a small container of compressed air that would fill Jim's tire and get us to the nearest bike repair place, which was about a mile from the tunnel.

We biked there, and they were nice enough to help us right away. Tire fixed.

At that point we decide we're both still full of fighting spirit, and continue on to Travemünde, where we had a lovely lunch and walk to the end of the breakwater, and here are some pictures:

The Passat, a famous Windjammer 

Selfie on the Baltic!

The Baltic Sea and fun clouds

You're not on the Mississippi anymore, Tom!

Ferry between Travemünde and Rostock

Jim, the old salt, was agog at all the lovely sailboats on the water!

One last word about the 'scenic route': I said to Jim, “Oh, we must have just gotten lost, there's no way that the tourist bureau would hand out a map with faulty information, not in Germany, where it's so orderly.”

And he replied that we were on a narrow strip of land in between two bodies of water, how and where would we have gotten lost, exactly?

Hmmm... good point. 

Minor Aha moment

When last we met, I was talking about the novel Buddenbrooks, and how I bought the most recent film version of it, a version that was not released in the US. (You can buy it from Amazon, but with the caveat that you'll receive a 'Region 2' DVD that doesn't play in standard American DVD players!)

Anyway, I watched it, and liked it immensely: great acting, good adaptation, and a lot of what I (rather unfortunately, I suppose) like to call 'Lübeck porn'. ;-)

Since our arrival, Jim and I have been amused by the groups of tourists who troop past our little house. The Gänge (courtyards) of Lübeck are famous, but ours, lovely though it is, is not quite as 'picture postcard' as others.

But I may have figured it out: a short but memorable scene in the movie was filmed here!

The main street (Engelswisch) was clearly recognizable (without cars, of course!):

As was the entrance to our courtyard:

The camera followed Tony Buddenbrook through the tunnel. You really have to bend over to walk through here!

The houses surrounding the courtyard could be clearly seen:

And I recognized this wall!

(That's where we take our garbage out, BTW!)

Anyway, such a hoot to be watching a movie and say 'Hey- that's my neighborhood!'

I'm on a roll, so here are some more pictures for you:

Burgtor and neighbor

Always remember to look up!

Piper, drummer, city crest of Lübeck

One of the oldest brickwork houses in Lübeck: built in 1260 as a convent:

Buddenbrooks, or "How to anger your neighbors in 5 easy steps"

You wouldn't know it by listening to me, but Buxtehude wasn't the only famous person who lived and worked in Lübeck. :-)

Today I'd like to tell you about Thomas Mann, who was born in Lübeck in 1875. He won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1929, and is famous for novellas like Death in Venice, and novels such as Buddenbrooks and The Magic Mountain.

Mann in 1937

I fell in love with Buddenbrooks at first reading, sometime in 2005 or so, when I was busily absorbing 'all things Lübeck'. It's an epic novel which details 'the decline of a family' (the book's subtitle) over three generations. I quickly came to admire Mann's wry, sly humor and brilliantly concise characterizations.

The city itself is never named in the book, but numerous landmarks (St. Mary's), street names (Breite Straße) and geographical features (the Trave River) are called by name.

Buddenbrooks is a work of fiction, but Mann didn't create all of the characters out of thin air. No, he populated his 'merchant town on the Trave' with actual people he knew growing up, including many members of his own family! He got quite a few people rather steamed up about that, since this is definitely a 'warts and all' kind of book! And the declining family of the subtitle? The Manns themselves. (He did change everyone's name, at least!)

It has always interested me that the decline really picks up speed with the introduction of a musical foreigner (Gerda Arnoldsen, the violin-playing Dutchwoman who marries Thomas Buddenbrook). She is portrayed as being not very strong, with her headaches and 'eyes with bluish shadows in the corners'.

Gerda and Thomas have just one child, Hanno, who bears the hopes of the entire family on his little shoulders. And with Hanno, the fate of the once-thriving merchant family is sealed. He couldn't care less about studying hard, eventually taking over the business, or being an upstanding member of Lübeck society. All he wants to do is play music. Not be a musician, mind you, since he doesn't have the energy even for that. No, his only wish is to sit at his harmonium and improvise interesting harmonies.

Hanno Buddenbrook was Thomas Mann's characterization of himself. So in his own mind, foreign influence (his mother was Julia da Silva Bruhns, a Brazilian of German and Portuguese descent who emigrated to Germany as a young girl) and artistic natures were the last straw for a family that was already foundering due to an obsession with status and a general downturn in business, combined with a few bad financial decisions.

It's a terrific book, which I highly recommend. It's also been filmed several times. The 1979 miniseries is available in America (you can get the DVDs from Netflix).

There's also a feature film version that wasn't released in the US, that was filmed on location here in Lübeck in 2007! I just purchased it at the Buddenbrookhaus today, and am really looking forward to seeing it! 

The Buddenbrookhaus, now a museum.
It was originally the home of Thomas Mann's grandparents.

And when you exit the Buddenbrookhaus, you see this:

St Mary's

The home church of the Mann family, or as I like to call it, Buxtehude's church. ;-)

Holding the ladder for Albrecht Dürer

Here's a great story about Kaiser Max and Albrecht Dürer that I came across in my reading just now. I have loosely translated it from "Maximilian I: Kaiser, Künstler, Kämpfer" by Sigrid-Maria Größing.

Kaiser Max and Albrecht Dürer had an almost friendly relationship, despite the fact that Dürer was not a nobleman, and at that time, even a genius like him was considered more of a 'craftsman' by many people in the higher classes. Maximilian thought differently; he was able to look past the lack of a name, a title, or a family crest when it came to men of talent and genius.

Self portrait by Dürer

One day, Dürer was painting on a ladder in the presence of the emperor and several other nobles. He was really getting into his work, and didn't notice that the ladder was wobbling. Maximilian noticed though, and called upon one of the nobleman to hold onto the ladder to steady it.

Well, that guy was shocked and appalled that the emperor would ask him to do such a menial thing. Me hold a ladder for a craftsperson, what is the world coming to. At this point, Maximilian just jumped in and held the ladder himself, while noting sarcastically that he could make any farmer into a nobleman, but he couldn't make any nobleman into an Albrecht Dürer!

Nice one, Majesty.

Drawing of Maximilian by Dürer
Augsburg, June 1518

LATER EDIT: About two months after reading this story, I had the opportunity to interview a leading scholar of Renaissance art, and Albrecht Dürer in particular, Dr. Jeffrey Chipps Smith of the University of Texas at Austin. I asked him whether this story was apocryphal and he said it probably was.  He cited a similar story about Henry VIII and Hans Holbein.

Just wanted to add that for the sake of completeness, but it's still a great story.

So you want to be Holy Roman Emperor...

Sit for a moment and consider the word 'emperor'. What pictures/concepts/suggestions does it call to mind? Do they include limitless power, boundless wealth and an unbroken familial succession?

Somewhere, Kaiser Max is laughing and rolling his eyes.

So, in Maximilian's time, the Holy Roman Empire was what they call an 'elective monarchy'. Meaning, you were in no way a shoe-in for the job just because your father was emperor.

Maximilian's father was Emperor Friedrich III (born 1415, died 1493), who apparently had a very hardy constitution and ruled for an unheard-of 53 years. He was considered a bit of an odd bird, more interested in his gem collection and alchemy than in ruling his empire. He was thoughtful, unemotional, methodical in the extreme and in no way given to snap judgments or hasty action. His nickname was 'Erzschlafmütze des Reiches' (Arch-Sleepyhead of the Reich). 

Emperor Friedrich III

Yet somehow he managed to father one of the most volatile, snap-judgment-trusting hotheads in the whole Habsburg lineage. “Why can't you be more like your old man, Maximilian,” he must have thought.

In the quest to become emperor, first you needed to be elected King of the Romans, which Maximilian was in 1486. The election was decided by the so-called prince-electors (Kurfürsten). Sometimes money changed hands in order to secure the vote of the electors. You were then crowned in great solemnity in Aachen while sitting on Charlemagne's throne. 

Aachen Cathedral

So let's talk a bit about money. 

Coin with Maximilian's image

Both Friedrich and Maximilian were chronically short of funds during their reigns. Lacking the ability to tax, the emperor was at the mercy of the electors to obtain the funds they needed for wars, crusades, a new pair of shoes, etc. Maximilian appeared at each Reichstag (Imperial Diet, or meeting of the estates of the Holy Roman Empire) with hat in hand, or so it seemed. “That's an internal Habsburg matter, we're not paying for that,” and “We're not going to finance your personal acts of revenge,” were a couple of the stock refusals by the prince-electors. 

Frederick the Wise,
Elector of Saxony during Max's reign

So Maximilian was forced to borrow mountains of money from the Fuggers, a wealthy family of merchant-bankers in Augsburg. He was in no position to pay off these debts, so his grandsons Charles (later Emperor Charles V) and Ferdinand had that dubious honor after his death.

Traditionally the emperor needed to be crowned by the Pope in Rome in order to be considered official. Maximilian was barred from his Roman coronation because Venice refused to let him traipse through their territory on his way to Rome. Long story. But being the tenacious kind of guy he was, he got to be emperor anyway. He declared himself 'Emperor-elect' and arranged his own damn coronation in Trento in 1508, thank-you-very-much. 

Maximilian as Emperor
by Bernhard Strigel

Here's his coronation motet: Virgo Prudentissima, by Heinrich Issac!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4cRtrB57Vw