Chapter 11: Happy Birthday
Jagdschloss of the Duke of Sachsen-Eisenach, Marksuhl, Thuringia
July 9, 1634
Johann Ernst von Sachsen-Eisenach awoke early and felt a year older. Since it was his sixty-ninth birthday, he was quite right. But the date reminded him that he lived, if not on borrowed time, at least on the rest of his account. One year closer to his last day, and that was not all too far in the future.
The up-timer books told about the rearrangement of properties the Wettins had staged in 1640 in the other timeline. And there was only one possible reason for this, that one of the dukes died childless. And since it was not Altenburg or Weimar, that fate must have hit him, Johann Ernst, Duke of Saxe-Eisenach, and Hereditary Governor of the county of West Thuringia.
The comissarii always took their time before such a rearrangement was a done deal, so he estimated his death happened sometime in 1638. And he had no idea what the reason of this death could be, apart from his age. Being the oldest Wettin duke for centuries was a kind of honor. But a death caused by old age was one which was subject to the butterfly effect.
A nice American term for a horror situation. It was satisfying that these nearly omnipotent wizards had eventually come to realize what a clever Englishman had predicted in the sixteenth century.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
If it was Shakespeare or somebody else who wrote it didn't matter. Hamlet's words had needed nearly four hundred years to register with the scientists of the other world. But at last they had to admit that there was a limit to computability.
God was no clockmaker; the world was no mechanism. Johann felt satisfaction with this. Even if it meant for him that his life might end in four years or today. No. Not today.
It was not only his birthday. His shrewd beloved Christine had somehow bewitched the constitutional convention to set the official national day to July 9. Oh, she had only suggested it to be the Election Day, but then they thought it would be nice if they could have a day off for the whole duchy every year. And since the West Virginians had their Fourth of July in Grantville, why not have a Ninth of July in West Thuringia?
And this year it was even more. The news of the Treaty of Copenhagen ending the war at least between the USE and Sweden on one side and Denmark on the other had recently arrived and had to be celebrated.
And there was even more to celebrate. The American Catholic priest Mazzare had been appointed the Cardinal-Protector of the USE by the pope. With a single scratch of the pen, that had suddenly eased the relationship between Catholics and Lutherans tremendously. At least in the USE.
****
When Johann came downstairs in a very formal suit, Christine and Max—also in very formal dresses—welcomed him with quick kisses and hugs. They had decided the evening before to delay their private birthday party until the evening.
Hmmm.
Then they left the house. Johann had to squint in the already beaming morning sun, but before he could see anything, he heard a loud booming sound shattering his stomach. Then a loud hooting started. Good Heavens! He had heard that some people in Marksuhl had started a brass ensemble with rebuilds of up-timer instruments, but he hadn't known that they intended to blow him away on this very morning. And of course it was that infernal American song Happy Birthday!
But—noblesse oblige—he started to smile, nodded to the musicians and shook hands with the local dignitaries. Then he started to turn to his horse and froze. Something was there. Something that looked not exactly like a coach. And not exactly like an up-timer car.
Somebody had obviously taken one of these small rounded vehicles as a model, what some Grantviller had once called a "bug," and rebuilt it from dark and polished wood. They had attached a coachman's seat to it and a full-size tongue.
Four decorated horses were harnessed to it and his old personal coachman Wolff Schmidt sat grinning in his high seat.
"What is this?" Johann asked out of reflex.
"This," Paulus Pistorius, the mayor of Marksuhl, stated proudly, "is the birthday gift from our town to our duke. Happy birthday, Hoheit. It's an original German Volkswagen. The wainwrights, carpenters and upholsterers of Marksuhl have spent many hours building it up from its original base."
When Johann approached the backside of the car/coach, he could see that it had in fact a shiny symbol at its back with the letters V and W in a circle. They had even painted an American style license plate. Somehow Johann had the feeling that the sunlight glared into his eyes—although the sun was in his back—and forced some tears to appear.
"It's wonderful. Thank you very much."
Turning to Christine, he could see that she had known about this. Oh, yes, the formal clothes she had insisted on. Johann had already wondered what they would look like after the dusty road to Eisenach. But with this new coach . . .
Somehow he had the feeling that this was not the last surprise of this day.
St. Nicolai, Eisenach, Thuringia
"In nomine patris et filii et spiritu sancti. Amen. Introibo ad altare Dei."
They had arrived in Eisenach only ninety minutes later. Nearly an hour faster than with a normal wagon. Wolff had big fun by letting the four horses trot, where normally they could only walk. Suspension and air-filled tires did wonderful work.
So they had a lot of time before the Catholic mass in St. Nicolai. A complete novelty. Shortly after the constitution stating that freedom of religion had been established in the state of Saxe-Eisenach in 1632, a Catholic envoy from Erfurt had appeared to negotiate the return of one of the churches. They had all been very careful never to use the term "restitution" for this act.
St. Nicolai had been burnt in 1555 in the Peasants' War and afterwards used as a stable. The nearby abbey of the Benedictine nuns had been partly torn down for building blocks in the years after. So the city of Eisenach made a contract with the archbishop of Mainz to give back the buildings and the piece of ground they were standing on, in exchange for founding and running the first modern hospital in Eisenach.
And preparing the town for the plague outbreak that, according to Grantville's sources, should be expected for the year 1635.
The Catholics paid for the rebuild, and the craftsmen of Eisenach got the jobs. So everybody was happy. No Lutheran Johann knew of had joined any of their masses. But the times were still changing, and the new priest in Eisenach had visited him in Marksuhl two weeks before.
Jagdschloss of the Duke of Sachsen-Eisenach, Marksuhl, Thuringia
Two weeks earlier
Caspar Heinrich Marx was sitting in the entrance hall of the Jagdschloss in Marksuhl waiting for his audience with the duke.
He looked around. There was nothing of the splendor he had seen in other prince's castles. No golden chandeliers, no large tapestries. On the other hand, the electric lights were obviously expensive. And every thing here, even the floor, had an odor of cleanliness.
Suddenly a door opened. Caspar rose, but it wasn't the duke, and not one of his servants. A woman about his age approached.
"Good afternoon." She extended a hand, and Caspar took and shook it. "I'm Maximiliane von Pasqualini, the architect of the Wartburg reconstruction project."
Oh! This woman!
"Good afternoon," he answered. "I'm Cas—"
"Yes, I know," she interrupted him. Then quickly "Oops, sorry, Hochwürden! Where are my manners? It's always the same, when I'm deep in my work. Can you accept my apology?"
What else should he do? The woman had a peculiar way. So he nodded solemnly.
"Would you please join me for five minutes?" von Pasqualini asked and showed the way. "The duke will soon be back and I have some questions."
He nodded again and followed.
They entered a kind of study with a large work desk, and a huge table containing a wooden model of a house. Or was it a castle?
Caspar had heard of the duke's project presentation before the
Parliament and of the special effects they had used. This was perhaps the large model from this presentation.
"This is the model of the New Wartburg," the woman confirmed his conjectures. "And here," she pointed to the highest part, a kind of square tower with rounded corners, "we want to have our church.
"Of course there will be a Lutheran church. But I had the idea to have several churches under one roof, especially a Catholic one. What would you think about that, Hochwürden?"
Before Caspar could decide how to answer this question, the door opened and a portly woman with oriental features entered the room. She carried a tray with two cups. The smell of fresh coffee reached Caspar's nose and a smile passed over his face.
"But perhaps," von Pasqualini continued and pointed to a small table, "we should have a cup of coffee first. I heard you are very fond of it."
They sat down, while Caspar was wondering who might have given his "secret" away.
His puzzlement must have shown on his face, because the woman suddenly laughed. "No, we don't have spies in Erfurt. But our kitchen maid met your housekeeper at the market in Eisenach and she complained that there was no coffee available. So in the future you will have some of our stock on your breakfast table."
"Frau von Pasqualini," Caspar started to answer, but was again interrupted.
"Max, please call me Max. I lived among the Americans for three years, and I always look around to see if my mother is standing somewhere, when I'm called by that name."
"So you should leave the Hochwürden away and call me Caspar. But, Max, do you intend to bribe me?"
"Oh yes," Max laughed. "When you call it bribery, you may do so. I would say it's a sweetener for your difficult new job here in Eisenach. But now you should try it, before it gets cold."
When Caspar looked at the cup, he noticed no coffee but something like white foam with brown freckles on it. "What is this?"
"You will certainly like it. It's called a cappuccino. But be prepared, it's hot."
Caspar tried the beverage and found it delicious. The coffee was hidden under a layer of what seemed to be milk, but they had made a kind of foam from the milk. The coffee below was indeed very hot, obviously shielded from the cold air by the milk.
"Yes, I like it. But I should not—"
"Papperlapapp!" This was the third time, he was interrupted by this woman; it seemed to be a custom. "I don't intend to convert you to Lutheranism, if you fear that. I only want you to feel happy in Eisenach. It's much better to have an opponent with a good mood instead of a grouchy one."
"So you see me as your opponent?" Caspar wondered.
"Kind of," Max confirmed. "First, I'm directing the reconstruction of something that is one of the strongest visible symbols of the Reformation in Germany, which you have to oppose officially.
"Second, I'm the well-known mistress of a high noble, in case you have not yet learned the Number One gossip subject of Eisenach."
Caspar had already learned about this, about ten seconds after arriving in Eisenach. The few Catholic and the many Lutheran women in Eisenach seemed to have no other topic—apart from the availability of coffee.
So he answered very carefully. "I have learned it. But I have also learned, that your—ah—status seems to be appreciated by the duchess. So officially I have to condemn everybody who lives in sin, but from my personal feeling your—ah—situation doesn't seem to look like adultery."
" 'And adultery is the sin, not having illegitimate children,' " Max quoted. "I have heard that already. I think you should meet Peter Altmann, the Lutheran pastor here in Marksuhl, you will like him.
"And what about item one?"
"I have not only studied theology, but also philosophy, so I had to read Martin Luther's scripts, and even had to plead his cause in a discussion. I can personally subscribe to 'sola fide' and 'sola gratia,' but his refusal to accept the tradition of the church and the authority of the pope is unacceptable.
"And if you look to the Holy See and notice the decisions of His Holiness concerning the USE and the Americans, you have to accept that a strong pope has its advantages. As far as I can see, the Lutherans and Calvinists are still contemplating and disputing about praising them or burning them at the stake."
"I have my personal doubts," Max interjected, "that Pope Urban will succeed against all these cardinals, especially the Spaniards. That is more a political scene than a religious one in Rome."
What is happening here? I'm discussing religious topics with a woman? With the mistress of the duke?
"Nevertheless," Caspar continued. "The Reformation is a reality we Catholics, and especially we few Thuringian Catholics, have to live in. So I'd rather see a symbol of the Reformation reconstructed as a cultural center than a new fortress built. At least Martin Luther didn't ever intend to start a war or even two wars within a century."
"Spoken like a real German," a loud voice came from the side entrance.
Caspar had not even noticed its existence before. But now the figure of an elderly man approached. The duke. How long was he standing there?
Caspar rose and bowed. "Hoheit."
"Welcome to my modest little cottage, Hochwürden. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" The duke pointed to Caspar's chair, and sat down on another one.
"Oh, he only wanted to meet me and have the rumors verified that you fell into the hands of a witch whom he can report to the Holy Office," Max said frowning.
"Hoheit, I never intended—" Caspar couldn't continue. The two others burst into laughter.
"Calm down," the duke told him. "I never would have accepted a witch hunter as the new priest in my county capital. In fact, your Positiones Theologicae were a very interesting read."
"Hoheit, you have read my dissertation?"
"I always want to know with whom I will be concerned. A young ex-dean of the Catholic faculty from Erfurt isn't a normal parish priest."
"And what do you think I am? A worthy opponent?" Now Caspar's smile showed some shrewdness.
"He's learning fast," was Max's comment.
The duke laughed. "Yes, I think so. I really look forward to having discussions with you, as long as you don't want my ducal insignia."
Now Caspar scowled. "Has this story already reached Eisenach? I'm the only officially elected dean. This Lutheran upstart didn't have the authority—but that is over now. No, I've come here to invite you."
"To join the Catholic belief?" the duke said frowning. "Didn't they tell you that enticement of customers it not appreciated here?"
"Oh, no." Caspar decided to ignore the apparent jokes for now. "It's an invitation for the Holy Mass on Constitution Day, Hoheit. You are welcome with all of your household, witches included." Now all three were laughing.
"I will send this invitation to the Parliament and city council, too. But I wanted you to be the first one to know."
"I'm honored," the duke answered, "and it will be a nice start of my birthday celebrations. But, in exchange, I expect you and your parish to visit the barbeque in the Stadtschloss and give your donations for the Wartburg."
The duke rose and extended a hand. "Deal?"
Caspar rose, too, and took the hand, smiling. "Deal."
St. Nicolai, Eisenach, Thuringia
July 9, 1634, Constitution Day
Johann looked around while the unfamiliar liturgy moved on. Fortunately the Catholics had their ministrants to give the correct answers to the priest's sentences.
The Catholics in Eisenach were only a handful, but today they had assembled from the whole county. Not that they were enough to fill the large church.
Most of the worshipers were Lutherans today. The untitled members of Parliament and from the city council had appeared altogether with their families. Even some of the nobles had come.
Johann was sure that Johannes Götzius, the former General Superintendent would not have attended, but the man was now happily traveling the Germanies and collecting donations for the Wartburg.
And so the complete Lutheran consistory was also present.
****
"Ite missa est."
"Deo gratias."
Gottseidank. The Catholic Mass was a fair bit of time longer than the Lutheran service. All these ups and downs and answers from the parish took their time. So the dismissal came as a benediction.
But while the priest and the ministrants left the church, Johann heaved a deep sigh. He remembered that soon the new General Superintendent would be waiting before St. Georgen to welcome him. This day had just started.
Market, Eisenach, Thuringia
Afternoon
Caspar Marx approached the market through the Goldschmiedgasse.
He smiled while he carefully made his way around all the pits along the Goldsmiths' Alley. Yesterday had been a Communal Saturday. All people of Eisenach were called upon helping to build sewers. Every man who could hold a shovel was digging, every able woman was hauling buckets and pushing carts, and every child was hauling beer mugs. The duke himself had been the one operating the taps of the large beer barrels upon the wagon at the market's end of the alley.
They had closed the part of the trench where the pipes had already been buried, but the branches to the houses were still open and covered with jury-rigged bridges. It would take some time building all the pipes from the houses to have what the up-timers called "indoor plumbing," but the very idea of getting half of the costs paid by the county's government, as long as they finished it during this year, certainly added a big share of motivation to the house-owners.
And the government would get a solid part of this subsidy back from the taxes of the craftsmen who finally built all these house connections. What do the Americans call this? Oh yes, a win-win-situation.
****
Now he could hear music when he approached the market. It seemed that the "barbeque in the Stadtschloss" had larger dimensions than he had expected.
When he reached the area dominated by St. Georgen in its center, he noticed that the event took place all around the church. People were everywhere, most of them commoners from Eisenach, wives and children included.