A Humanist on the Frontier: The Life Story of a Sixteenth-Century Central European Pastor 2021009100, 2021009101, 9780367482961, 9781032059280, 9781003039129

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A Humanist on the Frontier

A Humanist on the Frontier explores the remarkable life of Sebastian Ambrosius, a 16th-century Lutheran minister and intellectual from Késmárk (now Kežmarok) in present-day Slovakia, formerly on the borderland of the Kingdom of Hungary. Through an examination of Ambrosius’ publications and correspondence, this book throws new light on the dynamics of urban communities in Upper Hungary, communication within the humanist Republic of Letters in both Central European and wider European networks and ecclesiastical controversies. Adopting methods of microhistory and cultural history, it also reconstructs Ambrosius’ life by positioning him in various contexts that trace his relationship to, and interpretations of, themes of power, tradition, vocation, communication and identity. This book is essential reading for scholars and students of early modern European history, as well as those interested in microhistory, cultural history and the Republic of Letters. Marcell Sebők teaches early modern history and cultural heritage at the Central European University, Budapest-Vienna.

Microhistories Series editors: Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon and István M. Szijártó

The Microhistories series is open to books employing different microhistorical approaches, including global microhistories aimed at grasping world-wide connections in local research, social history trying to find determining historical structures through a micro-analysis, and cultural history in the form of microhistories that relate directly to large or small scale historical contexts. They are interesting stories, that bring the everyday life and culture of common people of the past close to the readers, without the aspiration of finding answers to general “big questions” or relating them to the grand narratives of history. The series is open to publishing both theoretical and empirical works, but with a focus on empirical monographs which can communicate stories from the past and capture the imagination of our readers. Published Power in the Village Social Networks, Honor and Justice among Immigrant Families from Italy to Brazil Maíra Ines Vendrame The Exorcist of Sombor The Mentality of an Eighteenth-Century Franciscan Friar Dániel Bárth Who Killed Panayot? Reforming Ottoman Legal Culture in the 19th Century Omri Paz A Humanist on the Frontier The Life Story of a Sixteenth-Century Central European Pastor Marcell Sebők For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge .com/Microhistories/book-series/MICRO

A Humanist on the Frontier The Life Story of a Sixteenth-Century Central European Pastor

Marcell Sebők

First published 2022 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2022 Marcell Sebők The right of Marcell Sebők to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Sebők, Marcell, author. Title: A humanist on the frontier: the life story of a sixteenth-century central European pastor / Marcell Sebők. Other titles: Humanista a hataron. English Description: Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY: Routledge, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2021009100 (print) | LCCN 2021009101 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367482961 (hbk) | ISBN 9781032059280 (pbk) | ISBN 9781003039129 (ebk) Subjects: LCSH: Ambrosius, Sebastian, 1554-1600. | Kezmarok (Slovakia)–Biography. | Spis (Poland and Slovakia)–Church history. | Reformation–Spis (Poland and Slovakia) Classification: LCC DB2791.A43 S4313 2022 (print) | LCC DB2791.A43 (ebook) | DDC 284.1092 [B]–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021009100 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021009101 This English-language edition is a fully revised version of Humanista a határon. A késmárki Sebastian Ambrosius története (1554-1600), originally published in Hungarian (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2007). Translation funded by the László Tetmajer Fund of the Hungarian Studies Program, Department of Central Eurasian Studies, Indiana University-Bloomington. ISBN: 978-0-367-48296-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-05928-0 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-03912-9 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

Contents

Acknowledgements Translator’s note Introduction Notes 13

vii x 1

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To be young, gifted and motivated Educational reform and the eminent scholar 18 Wittenberg: Scholarship and experience 29 Homecoming: Homeland, hometown 38 Notes 44

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Confessio Scepusiana, confessio Ambrosiana From Késmárk to Eperjes 54 ‘In that period, the Formula Concordiae assumed the role of troublemaker’ 59 From Eperjes to Késmárk 67 Everyday routines 72 Notes 84

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Controversy and the art of persuasion A pamphlet attacking Ambrosius 93 Ambrosius and Gergely Horváth: The genesis of their confessional dispute 96 The Antithesis and the responses to it 112 Support marshalled by means of letters 120 A convoluted battle of words 131 Personal debates: The Késmárk Colloquia 140 The turning point 144 Notes 157

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The practice of humanism in the Republic of Letters Ambrosius’ legacy 173 ‘I would like to ascertain whether my letter actually arrived’ 179 News from the garden 190 The Schöppel affair: Recommendations and reputation 192 The society of ‘true-believers’ 198 Notes 212

173

Conclusions Notes 232

222

Bibliography Index

235 253

Acknowledgements

By the time this book first appeared in Hungarian in 2007, I had already spent several years researching and reconstructing my protagonist’s life story. In 2020, I reread and rewrote certain sections of the book in producing this English version, and when I reached the final chapter, in which the main character, Sebastian Ambrosius, writes to his friends about the epidemic that was ravaging the countryside around his city, I was immediately struck by the disheartening parallel between his time and our own: like Sebastian in 1600, I am now in 2020 formulating my thoughts in a time of plague. Our communication, our tools and our knowledge of nature and the world obviously differ, but our two points in time are also bound by the similar objectives of our labour and the essence of our occupations: teaching, the composition and interpretation of texts and their distribution – humanist activities. The preparation and finalisation of this English edition took place during the coronavirus quarantine, which fact has had several consequences: I now have a much better understanding of the anxieties that gripped Ambrosius when the plague struck his region. The lockdown has given me more time to concentrate on the emphases of sentences written long ago and the contemporary conclusions to be drawn from them. Another positive consequence of the curfew that has decisively helped me in my work is the fact that vast databases have recently been made available, allowing me free access to an enormous quantity of scholarly literature. The past decade and a half has seen the digitisation of a great volume of primary sources and professional literature; however, the sudden dawn of the age of open access has now made it possible to cite a range of previously hidden or difficult-to-find texts and images. This circumstance has been particularly advantageous in producing the volume at hand, given that a large quantity of relevant scholarly literature has been published in the 13 years since the printing of the Hungarian edition of Ambrosius’ story. In a significant portion of this recent work, ecclesiastical historians, early modern social historians and biographers have used familiar conceptual and chronological frameworks to examine the personalities, communities and movements of the period of the reformations. At

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the same time, however, contemporary researchers have also exhibited a notable desire to acquaint their readers with new approaches, methodologies and milieux. The writing of history is still geopolitically determined (here I am thinking above all of the resharpening of the classical East–West divide), and the relative unfamiliarity of the languages of East Central Europe has also contributed to the maintenance of a sort of distance. Even so, the younger generations of historians who study Central Europe have now been producing English-language studies for at least two decades, and thus the region’s early modern protagonists are being discussed by an everexpanding circle of students; their histories have inspired new scholarly discourse and helped reconceptualise certain historiographical traditions. This book was born of similar aspirations: in the person of Sebastian Ambrosius, it introduces a previously obscure humanist pastor from a small town called Késmárk (now Kežmarok, Slovakia), who was also one of the most active intellectuals of his generation, a man who participated in Europe’s communication network on an equal footing with his peers across the continent. The contexts of his activities have been a crucial source of help in my attempts to reconstruct his career; I have presented and interpreted Ambrosius’ thoughts and deeds against a variety of backdrops – the urban history of Szepes County, the history of the Lutheran Church, confessional debates, humanist education and teaching, patron–client relationships and the network of the Respublica litteraria. I have likewise provided an introduction to my protagonist’s urban-intellectual contemporaries (also unknown to the broader scholarly public), thus shedding light on the opportunities available to the intellectuals of this Protestant-majority border region, the pressures and constraints they faced as a result of their kingdom’s lack of a university and the partial institutionalisation of the theory and practice of 16th-century late humanism. The chapters of this book, like microhistorical cross-sections, introduce a series of thematics in Ambrosius’ life – his scholarly peregrination, the process of confessionalisation, confessional debates, correspondence and other means of communication – which period-specific contexts serve to illustrate the peculiarities of his career, the choices he made as an actively engaged theologian and the consequences thereof. This attempt to reconstruct Ambrosius’ story is thus a mosaic of interpretations, not a traditional historical biography. When a book is ready for publication, we always take note of the people who helped us bring it into being, and the personal and professional network that took shape during this period very much resembles the early modern Respublica in the way it supported and facilitated my creative process. From the start, my friend and colleague Gábor Klaniczay encouraged me to work on an English version of Ambrosius’ story and would not allow me to put off the decision to do so. I was assisted by the editor of the Microhistory series, István M Szijártó, who immediately accepted this manuscript and – with the approval of his co-editor Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon – promoted its publication. Katalin Szende always helped me with my urban-historical

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questions about Szepes County and Upper Hungary, and also alerted me to the possibility of submitting an application for translation. Fortunately, it was funded by the László Tetmajer Fund of the Hungarian Studies Program, Department of Central Eurasian Studies, at the Indiana University, Bloomington, for which I am grateful to László Borhi. I would also like to express my thanks to Jason George Anthony Vincz for the quality of his translation, to Éva Eszter Szabó for reviewing the text and to Sebastian Krasnovsky. Having inspired me earlier in my academic career, Pál Ács has likewise recently helped me with the writing of this book; he also produced the most thorough review of its original Hungarian version. András Szabó and the recently departed Katalin Péter played significant roles in my early research and in the processing and discussion of this material. My work was also improved by the questions and advice of István Monok, Péter Ötvös, Bálint Keserű, Miklós Latzkovits and György Endre Szőnyi, as well as the late János M Bak, who perceptively and sarcastically pointed out which of my assertions were still imprecise. Two other charismatic individuals have had an enormous effect on my vocation as a historian and on the topics I have chosen: Natalie Zemon Davis and Marianna D Birnbaum. Throughout their careers, they have both demonstrated the beauty and importance of storytelling, and I am grateful to them for their supportive expressions of interest in my writing. Last, but certainly not least, I would like to express my thanks to those who are closest to me and have been with me over the course of the decades it took to process Ambrosius’ story. In harmony with the historical chronology, I would like to thank Emese, Kinga and Andi for their help in making it possible for me to concentrate on my tasks and the writing of this book, which I dedicate to my sons, Áron, Gergő and Artúr. If my boys ever read it, I hope these lines and chapters will impress upon them the value of living a life of serious plans and ambitions.

Translator’s note

Much of the following took place in the 16th-century Kingdom of Hungary, in a region now located in Slovakia, and thus I have generally retained the author’s Hungarian place-names with their modern Slovakian variants noted in parentheses; this is also the case for the Transylvanian and Subcarpathian portions of the old Kingdom, which now belong to Romania and Ukraine, respectively. I should also note that in trying to mimic the 16th-century feel of the Latin, German and Hungarian polemics here, I have reported the speech of the dramatis personae in an English characteristic of the Elizabethan era; where appropriate, I have patterned their diction and spellings after the two influential English Bibles which bookended the period under discussion (the Geneva Bible of 1560 and the King James Bible of 1611). I will almost inevitably have allowed certain anachronisms to slip through, but I have made every effort to present these literary exchanges as clearly as possible using period-appropriate theological vocabulary.

Introduction

At the end of the 16th century and the beginning of the 17th, this leading pastor of Késmárk was a famously learned man; he enjoyed the favour of the lords of the Thököly family and other aristocrats. In writing, he defended the general understanding [of scripture] against Albert Grávérus, who behaved impetuously in Hungary. They quarrelled over Christianity, the Last Supper, and the Person of Christ, as well as The Science of Differentiation. They published books against one another. Grávérus conducted himself with great heat and passion in the course of this rivalry, as is made clear even by the titles of the books he released on these subjects in Jena; in 1618, Grávérus issued the quarto The Absurdity of the Most Absurd Absurdities, Absurd Calvinism.

Péter Bod, a Transylvanian writer and pastor of the Reformed Church, wrote this description of ‘Sebestyén Ambrus’, the leading pastor of Késmárk (now Kežmarok, Slovakia), in the 18th-century Magyar Athenas, the first encyclopaedia of Hungarian literature.1 I first encountered this ‘famously learned man’ by chance in the course of an archival investigation more than two decades ago. A little research revealed that he lived from 1554 to 1600 and signed his letters and books Sebastian Ambrosius.2 The correspondence which randomly made its way into my hands was distinguished by the quality of its Latin composition and the stylish – sometimes genuinely audacious – structures of its sentences. Further exploration made clear that scholars have remembered Pastor Ambrosius of Késmárk primarily as a religious polemicist. Setting aside the recollections of his immediate successors, two distinct modes of discussing Ambrosius would develop starting in the 18th century: some, like Péter Bod, focused on his erudition and made brief mention of his career and participation in the religious disputes of the late 16th century;3 others’ accounts concentrated almost exclusively on his doctrinal debates with his nemesis Gergely Horváth4 and maintained that Ambrosius had grown increasingly convinced by the teachings of John Calvin and ultimately became a Calvinist.5 These two narrative constructions, along with a third variant which combined them, have been handed down to subsequent scholars, significant numbers

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Introduction

of whom have been critical of Ambrosius.6 But why? I would love to know the reasons for this scholarly stigmatisation and pigeonholing, given that Ambrosius seems to have been a more interesting figure than many other writers of the period. Of course, I did not immediately discover any answers to this question; in fact, even today it is impossible to determine with any certainty whether Ambrosius was intentionally abandoned to the category of converts and ‘misguided Calvinists’ as a consequence of competition among the various strains of (ecclesiastical) historiography, or merely stranded there as a result of scholarly disinterest.7 Nevertheless, it is striking that discussions of Ambrosius do not seem to be the result of meticulous analyses of his deeds and writings, but rather narratives assembled from the rhetoric and argumentative systems of his doctrinal opponents; these accounts also reproduce certain social inequalities, though they rarely show any regard for the disputants’ social embeddedness: it is taken for granted that the righteousness of the zealous magnate of great learning trumped the opinions of the cultured but misguided pastor.8 However, focused research has allowed me to establish that Ambrosius led a much more active life than previous scholars seem to have understood. This trained humanist from Késmárk published extensively, thought a great deal about the relationships between – and potential of – his friends, his community and his region and left a considerable oeuvre to posterity.9 Thus, when I managed to assemble all the relevant data and sources, I transcribed and gave shape to the story of his life; in historiographical terms, I reconstructed his era and assessed his place in it; strictly speaking, I accumulated information, arranged it and manufactured a microhistorical biography. At the centre of the resultant narrative stands a vigorously active individual: Sebastian Ambrosius, as he was known to his contemporaries.10 His career was in many ways typical of – and in some respects, identical to – those of several generations of priests and teachers who were raised with a humanist education in that period, though Ambrosius’ life was enriched by a number of distinctive twists and turns, particularly in connection with the way he made use of the public sphere, which make his story more diverse and interesting than most of his peers’, as do certain details characteristic of the northern Hungarian county of Szepes (now the Spiš region of Slovakia).11 Encapsulating Ambrosius’ life poses a number of problems and questions, and in narrating it, I have lingered on certain dilemmas of manner. How can one write a contemporary biography of an early modern figure who has been left out of the official historiographical canon? How should one comply with the prescription Edward Muir laid out in his book on microhistory?: ‘We must examine those individuals who made their decisions and formulated their strategies with the constraints of the framework of their era and the space available to them’.12 How best to describe the vigorously active role Ambrosius played in his community when certain periods of his life are richly documented and other

Introduction

3

years were not chronicled at all? How might one bridge the gaps created by these missing years, and what sorts of narrative techniques should one employ when one has exhausted the objective and subjective sources of information about the course of his life? How should one evaluate Ambrosius’ place within his network of personal and institutional relationships, and thus demonstrate the intensity of his existence? Some of these questions arose in the course of a traditional attempt to write a biography in the form of a chronological (re)construction, while others were the by-product of general expectations associated with the genre and my own perfectionist impulses: I wanted this microhistorical biography to be a colourful, wide-ranging account of the main character’s personality, motivations, plans, strategies and deeds, as well as a survey of the opportunities his environment provided him, the pressures he faced and the roles he played within his inner circle and his broader community.13 And since I will not be able to enlist the aid of more than a few modern-style biographies of early modern Hungarian protagonists,14 I will rely on the work of several international scholars for certain kinds of methodological assistance, using as my models studies which introduce figures of the era by contextualising them, drawing parallels and comparing their careers to those of their contemporaries.15 Even so, it is striking that a large majority of this biographical work focuses on the ‘great’ and the ‘famous’; these authors seem not to have wanted to occupy themselves with protagonists who might be called ‘everyday people’. In reconstructing Ambrosius’ life, however, I encountered a seemingly everyday individual who behaved in his own distinctive manner, and while almost all his activities were in some way average or traditional, he was also much more self-aware and ambitious than many of his contemporaries. These traits led him to engage with networks of acquaintances and correspondents across Europe, to publish (not only volumes of theological argumentation but also collections of poems and songs) and to express himself in a variety of other public settings. He maintained friendly or collegial relationships with a number of ‘famous’ figures including the wandering humanist scholar Albert Szenci Molnár and the Genevan theologian Théodore de Bèze, as well as one of the formative figures of the Central European humanist poetry of the era, Bálint Balassi, who demonstrably copied one of Ambrosius’ verses. With the patronage of the lord of his city, Sebestyén Thököly, Ambrosius wrote a historical study of 16th-century Hungary, the details of which he then debated with Szenci Molnár and Hugo Blotius, the director of the Imperial Library in Vienna. As a result of examples like these, it has been possible to assemble a biographical reconstruction which emphasises coexistence, mutual reflection and collaboration, and thus to avoid the traditionally familiar opposition of ‘minor’ and ‘major’ humanists. Ambrosius’ story is a window into the reality behind late humanist discourse, and thus – though this was not the objective of my work – it bears

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Introduction

within it the possibility of doing a kind of historical justice. Ambrosius and his coevals who pursued similar careers need to be positioned within the context of the cultured urban intellectuals of the 16th century, a milieu which previous scholars have generally treated as the domain of ‘famous’ figures. Emphasising this positionality is not merely a scholarly gesture, but the conscious methodological choice of a microhistorian.16 Thus the goal here is not merely to learn about the leading pastor of Késmárk, but through him to get to know a number of his contemporaries; representatives of his generation – among the hundreds who occupied similar ecclesiastical, educational and courtly positions – followed similar career paths in helping to shape the urban culture of Upper Hungary.17 Introducing them alongside Ambrosius will make it possible to shed light on the opportunities provided to the intellectuals of this Protestantmajority region, the careers to which they were impelled by the lack of a local university, and their partial institutionalisation of the theory and practice of humanism. In The Uses of Biography, Giovanni Levi asked: ‘Is it possible to write [the story of] an individual’s life?’ He continued, This question, which raises a number of important historiographical issues, is often evaded by means of certain simplifications rationalized by a lack of sources. My objective is to demonstrate that a lack of sources is not the only and not even the primary difficulty. In many cases, the most glaring distortions arise from the fact that we as historians imagine our historical actors to have been obedient to a limited and anachronistic model of rationality. Thus, in following an established biographical tradition and the rhetoric of our own discipline, we bind ourselves to models which combine an orderly chronology, a coherent and stable personality, actions without inertia, and decisions without uncertainty.18 This rather severe pronouncement from Levi’s inspiring study not only calls attention to certain defects in existing biographies but also affirms the method by which I have attempted to reconstruct Ambrosius’ life: context serves as a proxy for missing documentation, insofar as a life cannot be understood only through its deviations and peculiarities; on the contrary, each apparent departure must be traced back to the norms [of the era] so as to demonstrate that it took place in a historical context which made it possible.19 In the course of shaping Ambrosius’ story into a book, however, I took an even more nuanced approach to describing his social contexts, attempting to heed Pierre Bourdieu’s warning: ‘At a given moment in time … an individual [can] occupy positions … in different fields … simultaneously’.20

Introduction

5

In reconstructing and analysing the course of Ambrosius’ life, I have attempted to capture the (sometimes) intersecting contextual planes on which my protagonist took action. These fields include the urban history of Szepes County, the ecclesiastical history of Protestantism, humanist culture and education, the court-patronage system and the so-called Republic of Letters (Respublica litteraria). Depending on the phase of his life, the personality on display was sometimes steady and sometimes inconsistent, focused and incoherent, resolute and indecisive, self-reliant and helpless. Sometimes we see his thoughts, plans and goals clearly; on other occasions, even when there are sources at hand, it is impossible to understand why he becomes so lethargic or gives up on a particular course of action at a given time. It is not always possible to construct a logical explanation, nor is it worth suggesting a binding rationale lurking behind his deeds, as doing so would force an unwarranted clarity onto the norms, rules and habits that actually motivated his actions. Furthermore, it is worth trying to account for the degree of free will such individuals enjoyed, given that – as Levi has suggested – ‘for each individual there exists significant free space, the origin of which is found precisely in the incoherence of social confines, and which gives birth to social change’.21 If we take into account all of the foregoing methodological considerations and experiential elements of biographical composition, it becomes clear that any book about Ambrosius will necessarily be structured like a mosaic, each tile of which will be one in a series of microhistorical cross-sections.22 The primary setting for this microhistorical analysis and its constituent sequences of case studies is the relatively autonomous Upper Hungarian county of Szepes, which had its own particular legal customs, though the academic, courtly and theological conditions in this area were almost always reflective of those of other sites and social systems in Central Europe and elsewhere. In recent years, Slovak, Polish and Hungarian scholars have published more and more research on Szepes County, primarily studies of urban history, historical accounts of pilgrimages and large-scale surveys of regional history,23 though there seems to have been little growth in the number of references to the urban and social history of Szepes County which appear in modern treatments of the area. It is thus my hope that this biographical analysis will provide its readers with some of the missing cultural and social history. In doing so, I will draw on the research of contemporary scholars who study the Reformation, the social conditions of early modern Europe and the Respublica litteraria. One of the most important developments of the last decade and a half has been the increasingly frequent publication of studies of Central and Eastern European phenomena related to the Renaissance and the Reformation, which work has assumed an increasingly prominent place in professional literature.24 This research includes specialised analyses of figures who were active in the urban, courtly, educational and cultural spheres, a certain portion of which work is derived from relatively recent

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Introduction

re-evaluations of the Renaissance and the Reformation.25 Accordingly, it is worth discussing the Renaissance and Reformation as cultural processes and programmes rather than depicting them primarily as a historical era and ‘the dawn’ of the modern age, as earlier generations of scholars tend to have done. This was not a process in which information and knowledge were diffused from cultural centres and (mechanically) received on the periphery, but one of interaction and in many cases simultaneity. These were common European phenomena, and though certain varieties featured local and/or national peculiarities, they clearly interacted both with their medieval precursors and with the transformational changes of the 16th century.26 Re-examinations of the traditional centre–periphery dichotomy may also produce a significantly more nuanced picture of this borderland region, including the communities that were active there and the preachers in its cities. While ‘the Renaissance’ and ‘the Reformation’ had become conventional categories of periodisation by the middle of the 19th century (insofar as these terms did not signify mere sequences of events, but were rather considered historical turning points), scholars had begun to subject both these designations to revision by the latter half of the 20th century.27 Thus according to recently published textbooks and surveys of European history, the Renaissance and the Reformation (or more precisely, the renaissances and the reformations) did not signify a ‘great leap’ from the Middle Ages into modernity.28 The Renaissance and the Reformation were gradual processes which developed from the late medieval period to the early modern era; in the broadest sense of the expression, they constituted a cultural movement based on humanism, the arts, the classical (and reinterpreted) practices of antiquity, the activities of the (primarily) urban and intellectual social strata, a revaluation of Christian principles and profound changes within the church, and thus do not signify a discrete historical era.29 Furthermore, as a consequence of the Reformation, the traditional ritual system of the Western Christian Church was cleft in two and lived on in the distinct ‘languages’ of Protestant and Catholic rites.30 Thus, despite the fact that they emphasised the Holy Scriptures and interpretations thereof, Protestants still experienced divinity through their rituals, and therefore the experience of the Reformation was that of a ritual process.31 The architects and organisers of religious reform – along with the active participants in the movement – believed in a better, broader understanding of doctrine, and yet the Reformation itself turned out to be a ritual process – for instance, in the way it changed the liturgical calendar, altered everyday routines (such as holiday observances and the memorisation of the catechism), parodied and rejected Catholic rites and eliminated religious iconography.32 By the latter half of the 16th century, this ritual process had taken root in the new system and entered a new phase known as confessionalism, sometimes described as the era of late humanism (Späthumanismus), the primary representatives of which were

Introduction

7

a functional association of Protestant rulers, ecclesiastical leaders and theologians in the Holy Roman Empire.33 However, the confessional age did not unfold in the Hungarian county of Szepes the way it did in the German Protestant principalities, insofar as the former was subordinated to Catholic rulers and ecclesiastical authorities – though it was also home to a fairly diverse group of local church administrators, as well as Lutheran landowners and patrons. Even so, its situation was similar to that of the German territories in one important respect: in Szepes County, as in other counties of Upper Hungary, opposing groups of Lutherans who disagreed on certain interpretive and existential questions often engaged in ruthless battles in this culturally, educationally and artistically rich period.34 As Katalin Péter put it in a recent survey of the Reformation, behind this spiritual effervescence ‘stood individual and collective patrons, or more often, simple intellectuals’.35 Interacting with this geopolitical context was the geographical entity known as Szepes County. This administrative unit was situated in the northeastern portion of the province formerly known as Upper Hungary, most of which is now in Slovakia. As a result of the disintegration of the medieval Kingdom of Hungary, this area was under the control of the Habsburg Empire at the time of Ambrosius’ birth in the mid-16th century.36 After the Ottoman Empire defeated the Hungarians at Mohács in 1526 and occupied the capital city of Buda in 1541, the kingdom was divided into three parts: its central and southern regions were ruled by the Turks; Hungary’s eastern territories, including Transylvania – which were led by princes elected from among the area’s nobles – had become a vassal state subordinated to the Sublime Porte by the late 16th century;37 the remaining northern and northwestern portions of the kingdom were governed by the Habsburgs. In traditional historiographical descriptions and popular accounts, Hungary is generally characterised as having been crushed between two empires or caught in a stranglehold, which formulations, judged from the perspectives of political independence and geographical unity, are reasonable depictions of the situation. These traditional notions are most often connected to narratives involving Hungary’s decline and disintegration, its suffering under Ottoman rule for 150 years, or the imposition of Habsburg autocracy. Understandably, Hungarians often describe the conditions which arose following the catastrophic defeat at Mohács using similar terms, such as ‘twilight’ and ‘dismemberment’, though the geopolitical and historical conditions of the era were considerably more complex than this sort of terminology might suggest. Hungarian historians from both the interwar period and the subsequent Marxist era tended to lament the former magnitude and lost glory of the Kingdom of Hungary instead of presenting the kind of explanations and interpretations that might have facilitated an understanding of this malfunctioning historical legacy of the medieval era – an entity which even then had been undergoing a transformation.

8

Introduction

These sorts of historiographical expressions and dramatic descriptions of collapse have given rise to a genre of historical accounts in which the Kingdom of Hungary was victimised as a buffer state between the Habsburg and Ottoman-Turkish Empires, or simply colonised. The Battle of Mohács has assumed a place in Hungary’s historical and collective memory as a national tragedy and the end of a golden age. In reality, the kingdom’s disintegration (or division) into three parts led to profound changes in local mechanisms of military and political control; the resultant vulnerability contributed to a great deal of suffering and the loss of a significant proportion of the population in the interior of the country, though it would be senseless to describe this era as entirely discontinuous with the period that preceded it. Both powers regarded the Kingdom of Hungary as a valuable acquisition: the country’s natural resources made it a ‘pantry’ that provided both empires with food, minerals, precious metals and manpower; thanks to its geographical position, it also served as the ‘bulwark of Christendom’ and played a crucial role in checking the Ottomans’ advance into Europe. The professional literature of the recent past also features descriptions and evaluations in which scholars have argued that the Kingdom of Hungary, despite its having been divided into three parts, was characterised by a certain degree of integrity and continuity in the 16th century, insofar as Habsburg rulers did not aspire to mere external domination but were also interested in integration and the negotiation of compromises between their dynasty and the Hungarian nobility.38 This novel historical approach provides a suitable conceptual framework for understanding the social processes at work in Szepes County and evaluating local conditions there. The Habsburgs strove to organise their administrative, financial and military affairs using the most effective means available, and thus they did not implement their centralisation plans simply for their own sake. Even so, one should not forget that Austrian nobles dominated the administrative councils in Vienna which decided how Upper Hungary would be governed. Hungarian nobles and aristocrats would play a marginal role at the imperial court in Vienna (and later Prague), though the Hungarian estates did manage to maintain certain hereditary privileges, such as the right to elect their king, all the way up to the end of the 17th century. This is just one example of the forms of autonomy typical of this period of compromises, which was characterised more by pragmatic centralisation than by outright absolutism. It was in this era that Ambrosius grew up and became a humanist – a teacher, author, pastor, theologian, religious polemicist and literary authority. From the perspectives of religious, scientific and literary history, this period was a genuine transitional phase marked by several sorts of paradigm shifts. The latter half of the 16th century was a time in which scientific understanding flourished and interpretive frameworks were transformed; it was also a golden age of vernacular literature and a period of transition from political and economic vulnerability to relative territorial and confessional independence. Or as William Bouwsma described this era,

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paraphrasing Johan Huizinga, these changes represented the ‘waning of the Renaissance’, though certain forms of identity and personality traits were still undergoing a process of transformation.39 Like microhistorical cross-sections, the chapters of this book will introduce certain cultural nodes or junctions where I will use Ambrosius’ life as a lens to focus on one or another set of issues, thus presenting the peculiarities of his career within a series of meaningful contexts. Alongside Ambrosius, the other main characters who ‘speak’ in these pages are his close friends and colleagues, as well as his most committed adversaries. Ambrosius’ letters and other writings, along with the testimony of relevant contemporaneous documents, will play the leading role here; their content will occasion discussions of certain relationships, analogies and contextual threads, which will in turn provide me with opportunities for interpretive analysis. The narrative arc I have thus created is a largely chronological reconstruction based on my examination and interpretation of the currently available sources. Mostly as a result of the various reformations which were implemented over the course of Ambrosius’ life (which lasted less than half a century), he was confronted by a series of unexpected situations and conflicts. However, these tensions and disputes will serve as a useful analytical category here, helping us to understand the evolution of the confessional landscape and the process of negotiating for autonomy. Furthermore, examining all this in the context of the traditions and relationships of Ambrosius’ city and county will provide insight into the attitudes and strategies which led individuals and groups there to make their value-judgements and (trans) form their identities. Before offering a detailed synopsis of the contents of the following chapters, I would like to take a few words to explain the multiple connotations of the word ‘frontier’, which appears in the title of this book and in several places in its text. The phrase ‘humanist on the frontier’ is above all a reference to Ambrosius’ geographical location, given that he lived the greater part of his life in Késmárk, in the northeastern corner of the Habsburg-controlled portion of Hungary, just across the border from Poland; this area was also the southeastern borderland of the Respublica Christiana, near the territories occupied by the Ottoman Empire, and was thus threatened by potential military campaigns.40 In a more general sense, living on the frontier also meant that the conditions of one’s existence were fundamentally determined by rules and adaptations characteristic of a ‘contact zone’.41 In this sort of milieu, coexistence plays a much more important role than it would elsewhere, both in the form of necessity and as a source of opportunity. Ambrosius was acutely aware that he was communicating with his contemporaries from the borderlands, and this peripheral perspective motivated him to attempt to establish friendships with residents of the ‘centres’ of the era. He almost always made reference to this situation at the ends of his letters, though usually with pride; he rarely expressed regret in describing his circumstances in Szepes County.

10

Introduction

Furthermore, the thematic focus of this book’s title is also a reference to the process which characterised Ambrosius’ changing position within the hierarchy of his church. Early in his career, he was an esteemed citizen of his urban community, though by the last decade and a half of his life, he was increasingly marginalised by his congregation, insofar as his theological opponents – the more orthodox wing of the Lutheran community – would not accept his interpretations of scripture. A series of conflicts developed between Ambrosius and his coreligionists who preferred a different statement of faith, and thus he enjoyed fewer and fewer opportunities to express his theological views without restrictions. My examination of the regional practice of humanism demonstrates that Ambrosius did have allies, though he was almost completely alone in espousing the views he expressed in the course of his conversations with his (Central) European friends. His participation in the European Republic of Letters obviously required personal motivation and ambition, though he unquestionably exhibited at least as much intensity in the way he embodied the idiosyncrasies of frontier existence in this intellectual community. His participation in this cultural milieu may have served as a kind of consolation, given that the etiquette of the Respublica required treating each of its members as equals, whether they lived in the ‘centre’ or on the ‘periphery’. In 1577, Ambrosius was elected to serve as the headmaster of the Latin school in the town where he had been born in 1554. Just 23 at the time, he had exactly 23 more years to live before his death in 1600. I will open the first chapter of this book by taking a retrospective look at his youth, describing his childhood in Késmárk, the teaching materials used in local and regional schools and the ways humanist models were adapted for use in Szepes County. I will then – on the basis of the vanishingly small quantity of available information about his family – attempt to sketch a portrait of his childhood companions and his immediate surroundings in Késmárk. His peregrination to Wittenberg, which he embarked on in 1575, proved to be a pivotal moment in his career and in the development of his confessional identity. His brief university period, which I will introduce by describing experiences typical of the Hungarian and European colleges of the day, was a time of intensive study, though Ambrosius managed to acquaint himself not only with the usual teaching materials but also with a community of international students, as well as the Respublica litteraria. Once he returned home, Schulmeister Sebastian’s activities were more reliably recorded, and it is on the basis of this documentation that I have attempted to sketch a portrait of the young Ambrosius’ developing personality. Having tried to account for the fundamental influences on him, his formative experiences and the knowledge available to him, I made significant use of analogies and parallel life histories in constructing this first chapter. The second chapter, Confessio Scepusiana, Confessio Ambrosiana (‘The Szepes Confession, Ambrosius’ Confession’), deals with the beginning of Ambrosius’ ecclesiastical career, including his move from Késmárk to

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Eperjes and back, which I have discussed against the backdrop of the daily routines and general social embeddedness of the pastors of Szepes County in that era. This chapter likewise features an account of his literary activities, including song writing and the composition of poetry. It was at the beginning of his employment as the leading pastor of Késmárk that Ambrosius’ future opponent in theological debates, Gergely Horváth, happened to take up residence nearby; Ambrosius’ patron Sebestyén Thököly was also finally able to move into the Késmárk Castle in this period. I have also provided an account of the practices of Szepes County’s ecclesiastical organisations, which I have discussed in light of the denominations which were accepted in the region in the 16th century, as well as the rulings of their church councils. This period was marked by numerous disputes over the obligatory introduction of the Formula Concordiae or Formula of Concord, the Lutheran Church’s statement of faith, and then by violent attempts to force congregations to accept its Liber Concordiae or Book of Concord. Ambrosius played an active role in this series of debates. Wary of extremes, Ambrosius had been considered a so-called Philippist (a follower of Philipp Melanchthon) as far back as his time at Wittenberg and would become an increasingly firm defender of this school of thought after his return to Késmárk. Thus in addition to a discussion of our protagonist’s religious beliefs and daily routines, this second chapter will also serve as a confessional map of Szepes County, an environment in which the various strains of Protestantism were not exclusive or ‘pure’; in practice, there was a gradient of nuances between the more stubbornly segregated camps. Not only were there orthodox Lutherans and factions which would go on to become Calvinists, but also a group of Philippists who gathered around Ambrosius, as well as pastors and teachers who had become uncertain of their faith or the meaning of their existence. Conflicts of [social] classification, [class] distinction, and representation also involve the socially solidary group’s influence over each of the members who comprise it, just as [these conflicts] expose the margins of liberty and constraint within which forms of solidarity develop and function.42 This chapter and the subsequent section will thus revolve around a discussion of these ‘margins’ or gaps and their relationship to the region’s conflicts. Ambrosius began his career as a preacher in the multi-ethnic cities of Szepes County, which necessarily raises questions about his understanding of nationality and the manner in which questions of nationality arose in the borderlands; I will also attempt to address these issues in this chapter. The third chapter, entitled ‘Controversy and the art of persuasion’, begins with an attack on Ambrosius which took the form of an eight-page pamphlet; I will then proceed to explain the various episodes of verbal and written debate in which Ambrosius participated; previous scholars have

12 Introduction generally described these disputes as ‘turmoil’ or evidence of ‘the unremitting advance of Helveticism’, as well as the most important period of Ambrosius’ life. Of course, the situation was more complicated than that, and thus introducing and interpreting these disagreements will necessarily take up a significant portion of this book. I hope to use this meticulous reconstruction to demonstrate that Ambrosius’ everyday life was not dominated solely by religious polemics; he also saw the culmination of his career and found a kind of fulfilment in his humanist practices over the last 15 years of his life. This was the period in which he embarked on an intensive programme of correspondence, sometimes writing letters to renowned European humanist scholars with whom he exchanged tangible and symbolic forms of assistance. I have covered these debates in detail, comparing them to related disputes in the region, the rest of Hungary and Saxony, while also subjecting them to rhetorical and linguistic analysis in the context of the public discourse of the period. I have also used this chapter to discuss power relations and patronage networks, particularly the relationships between Thököly, Ambrosius and Gergely Horváth, given that a deeper understanding of Ambrosius’ adversary is another key to understanding the humanist from Késmárk. On the other hand, I will not engage in any more theological analysis than is absolutely necessary. Gergely Horváth died in January 1597, though Ambrosius’ doctrinal debates would continue all the way up to his own death in 1600. In the meantime, Ambrosius would continue to behave in accordance with his humanist beliefs and to do his duty as a faithful familiaris – editing his books, writing his songs, participating in a collaborative European publication, preparing a historical study, accompanying Sebestyén Thököly’s son on a scholarly peregrination and smoothing the way for his own son. In the final chapter of this book, I will use Ambrosius’ diverse correspondence to help me wrap up this discussion of the everyday life of a humanist who had been accepted into the Respublica litteraria. This section of the book will acquaint the reader with the habits of the circle of friends Ambrosius assembled and the distinctive perspective from which he viewed their lives in a small town in the foothills of the Carpathians. Ambrosius departed the realm of the living on 24 October 1600, having fallen victim to the black plague which ravaged Szepes County. After his death, a group of European scholars and humanists including Théodore de Bèze collaborated in planning a book which would immortalise Ambrosius’ memory. It would seem that this volume never actually took shape, though its organisers assumed it would feature unusually magnanimous remembrances. In and of itself, this discussion was an indication of the status accorded to Ambrosius’ work and his connections within the European Republic of Letters. Nevertheless, this ‘sentimental journey’ ended with a more grimly realistic conclusion: the epidemics of the early 17th century claimed the lives of a generation of intellectuals; in a country without a university, where cultural education took place in a peculiar set of urban conditions, this was

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a loss of tragic proportions. The Long Turkish War (1591–1606) and the Catholic (Counter-)reformation would also rearrange the balance of power in Szepes County. Finally, in summarising this volume, I will address the following issues: whether the persistent labours of a figure like Ambrosius, who was at home in European intellectual discourse, did anything to change the state of humanism in Szepes County by the turn of the 17th century; whether there was, in fact, any independent intellectual discourse in the decades under discussion here; and whether Ambrosius did in reality become a Calvinist at the end of his life.

Notes 1 In this volume, which was published in Nagyszeben (now Sibiu, Romania) in 1766, Bod used a colloquial tone in documenting the lives of 528 Hungarian and Transylvanian scholars, writers and poets. Reprint, Budapest: Magvető, 1982. 2 Throughout the book I stick to this usage of his name, although a more elaborate examination of Sebastian Ambrosius’ name and his nicknames will also be offered in the consequent chapters. 3 Such references include the allusion to Ambrosius in a work of educational history written by Johann Rezik, the headmaster of the Lutheran school in Eperjes (now Prešov, Slovakia). See page 229 of Rezik’s Gymnasiologia EvangelicoHungarica sive Historia scholarum et earundum rectorum celebriorum opera et studio, the manuscript of which is located in the archives of the National Széchényi Library (Latin Folios, section 59). The next discussion of Ambrosius was made by Johann Samuel Klein, a Lutheran pastor from Késmárk, in his 1789 work Nachrichten von dem Lebensumständen und Schriften evangelischer Prediger in allen Gemeinen des Königreiches Ungarn. Leipzig, 1789, 1–6; see also Carolus Wagner’s collection of source texts, Analecta Scepusii, Sacri et Profani. Leutschau, 1774–8, vol. IV, 161–3; Johann Ribini’s Memorabilia Ecclesia Augustanae Confessionis in Regno Hungariae. Pozsony, 1787–9, 291– 312; and Jacob Meltzer’s Biographien berühmter Zipser. Kaschau, 1832, 86–91. 4 Gergely Horváth Stansith de Grádecz (1558–97) was not only the main adversary of Ambrosius but a representative of rising nobility and a patron of humanism. A deeper understanding of his character, positions and family and other relations, which I present in the following chapters (a similar mosaic-type microhistory to that of Ambrosius), could lead to a better understanding of the main protagonist, Ambrosius’ actions. 5 Some scholars – without any explanation – offered a precise date for his conversion to Calvinism; see Alexius Horányi’s Nova Memoria Hungarorum et Provincialium scriptis editis notorum, part I, A–C. Pestini, 1792, 87–92. Andreas Schmal, the Lutheran archdeacon of Gömör County, had previously offered evidence of Ambrosius’ espousal of Calvinism in his Brevis de vita superintendentum evangelicorum in Hungaria Commentatio. Osterlamm, 1861, 129. Ioannis Ladislaus Bartholomaeides later did the same in his Memoriae Ungarorum qui in alma condam universitate Vitebergensi. Pesthini, 1817, 59. 6 Of the roughly 50 scholarly references to Ambrosius which I examined, a third offered negative evaluations of his output; a fifth or so characterised his life’s work as significant; approximately a quarter consisted of neutral, descriptive accounts of his life which were in some cases a sign of indifference.

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7 ‘In 1591, he began to gravitate toward Calvin’s teachings, which exposed him to a host of unpleasantnesses until he unequivocally converted to the Reformed faith’; see József Szinnyei’s Magyar írók élete és munkái (Hungarian Writers’ Lives and Works), published in Budapest by Viktor Hornyánszky from 1891 to 1935, 143–4. Later, in the Magyar protestáns egyháztörténeti lexikon (Encyclopedia of Hungarian Protestant Ecclesiastical History), Budapest, 1977, 24, historian Zoványi characterised Ambrosius as someone who had ‘taken a position in support of the Helvetic Confession’. 8 The saddest example of this sort of uncritical acceptance is the ‘method’ of David P Daniel, whose entry on Ambrosius in the encyclopaedia of the Reformation is simply an unattributed reproduction of an entry in a Slovakian biographical encyclopaedia, complete with the original’s errors. See the section on ‘Lam, Sebastian’ in Hans Hillebrand, ed., The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, vols. I–IV. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996, vol. II, 386–7; cf. Slovensky Biografcky SlovnikI. Matica Slovenská: Martin, 1989, vol. III, 343. 9 The ‘sunny’ side of the scholarship on Ambrosius is also deserving of attention: in his 1969 study of Imre Újfalvi, Bálint Keserű referred to Ambrosius as someone whose ‘fresh, worldly interests’ should not be allowed to moulder within the tiresome framework of doctrinal debates; see Keserű, ‘Újfalvi Imre és az európai “későhumanista ellenzék”’ (Imre Újfalvi and Europe’s ‘LateHumanist Opposition’), Acta Historiae Litterarum Hungaricarum IX (1969): 18. Péter Ötvös then discussed Ambrosius in his doctoral dissertation; see A szász flippizmus és első föllendülésének felsőmagyarországi recepciója (Saxon Philippism and the Upper Hungarian Reception of its Initial Spread). Szeged, 1971. When a source collection on Johann Jacob Grynaeus – which included a number of Ambrosius’ letters – was published in 1989, András Szabó rightfully called Ambrosius one of the most interesting figures of the late humanist period, see Johann Jacob Grynaeus magyar kapcsolatai (Johann Jacob Grynaeus’ Hungarian Connections). Szeged, 1989, 133. 10 I discussed Ambrosius’ life in my undergraduate thesis (1992) and in my doctoral dissertation (2000), the latter of which I developed into a Hungarian-language monograph (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2007). 11 Slovakian scholars have also largely ignored Ambrosius, generally reproducing the same familiar formulae and accounts found in previously published sources; see Ján Kvačala, Dejiny reformácie na Slovensku, 1517–1711. Liptovsky Mikuláš, 1935, 127–9, 131–3; Ján Lipták, Geschichte des evangelischen Distriktual Lyzeums A.B. In Kesmark. Kežmarok, 1933; Jozef Kuzmík, Slovnik autorov Slovenských a so Slovenskými uztahmi za humanizmu, vol. I, A–M. Martin: Matica Slovenská, 1976, 46–7. 12 Edward Muir and Guido Ruggiero, eds., Microhistory and the Lost Peoples of Europe. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991, Preface, viii. 13 Jacques Le Goff discussed interpretations of the role played by ‘protagonists’: ‘Historical characters always represent a “role.” The historian who writes a biography is obliged to study and introduce his protagonist in context, in the society in which he lived and acted’. See Le Goff, ‘The Whys and Ways of Writing a Biography: The Case of Saint Louis’, Exemplaria 1 (1989): 210. 14 Hungarians have, however, published numerous surveys of ‘his life, his work, and his era’; see, for example, István Botta’s Huszár Gál élete, művei és kora, 1512?–1575 (The Life, Works and Time of Gál Huszár). Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1991. Even so, a few smaller-scale Hungarian studies of the last decades have proven useful, such as Keserű’s work on Imre Újfalvi (see note 9) and Ferenc Szakály’s Mezőváros és reformáció. Tanulmányok a korai magyar polgárosodás kérdéséhez (Market Towns and the Reformation. Studies of Early Hungarian Embourgeoisement). Budapest: Balassi Kiadó, 1995; most recently,

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16

17 18 19

20 21 22 23

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15

Gábor Almási has produced a parallel biography, the methodology and content of which have some bearing on Ambrosius’ story; see The Uses of Humanism. Johannes Sambucus (1531–1584), Andreas Dudith (1533–1589), and the Republic of Letters in East Central Europe. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2009. See, for example, Mario Biagioli, Galileo, Courtier: The Practice of Science in the Culture of Absolutism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993; William J Bouwsma, John Calvin. A Sixteenth Century Portrait. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988; John B Gleason, John Colet. Berkeley; Los Angeles; London: University of California Press, 1989; Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning. From More to Shakespeare. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984; Heiko Augustinus Oberman, Luther: Man between God and the Devil. Trans. Eileen Walliser-Schwarzbart. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989; Giovanni Levi, L’ereditá immateriale. Carriera di un esorcista nel Piemonte del Seicento. Einaudi, Torino, 1985; and, of course, Carlo Ginzburg, The Cheese and the Worm. The Worldview of a Sixteenth-Century Miller. London: Routledge-Kegan Paul, 1980; and Natalie Zemon Davis, The Return of Martin Guerre. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983. This practice has become increasingly common in the most recent scholarship, including microhistorical surveys and case studies; see István M Szijártó and Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon, What Is Microhistory? Theory and Practice. London and New York: Routledge, 2013. Upper Hungary, Felső-Magyarország in Hungarian, was the 16th- to 17th-century name of the region, and later it was also called Felvidék, ‘Uplands’, most of which is now the territory of Slovakia. Giovanni Levi, ‘Les usages de la biographie’, Annales ESC November–December no. 6 (1989): 1325–36. Ibid., 1331. Levi later elaborated these ideas in an analysis of ‘global microhistory’, to which school of thought – the global-history and microhistory approach – Past & Present dedicated a special issue; see Giovanni Levi, ‘Frail Frontiers?’ Past & Present 242, no. Supplement 14 (November 2019): 37–49. Pierre Bourdieu, ‘L’illusion biographique’, Actes de la Recherche en Sciences Sociales 62–63 (1986): 69–72. Levi, ‘Les usages de la biographie’, 1335. On the possibilities of a mosaic method, see István M Szijártó, ‘Puzzle, Fractal, Mosaic. Thoughts on Microhistory’, Journal of Microhistory (2008). See, for example, Gerhard Jaritz and Katalin Szende, eds., Medieval East Central Europe in a Comparative Perspective: From Frontier Zones to Lands in Focus. New York: Routledge, 2016; Iulia Capros, Students from Kosice at Foreign Universities before and During the Reformation Period. Kiel: Solivagus Verlag, 2013; Martin Homza, Terra Scepusiensis: Stav bádania o dejinách Spiša (The State of Research on the History of Szepes County). Eds. Ryszard Gładkiewicz and Martin Homza. Levoča and Wrocław: Kláštorisko, 2003; Martin Homza and Stanislaw A. Sroka, eds., Historia Scepusii, vol. I–II. Bratislava: Post Scriptum, 2009, 2016. This historiographical turn is among the subjects of Maria Crăciun, Ovidiu Ghitta and Graeme Murdock’s ‘Religious Reform, Printed Books and Confessional Identity’, which appears in their co-edited volume Confessional Identity in EastCentral Europe. Ashgate: Aldershot, 2002, 1–30. It should also be noted that Hungarian literary historians have been publishing on these subjects since the 1960s, primarily in German, though also in French and Italian; this list includes, but is not limited to, Tibor Klaniczay, László Szörényi, Andor Tarnai, Péter Kulcsár, Sándor Iván Kovács, Iván Horváth, Ferenc Zemplényi, Antal Pirnát, Róbert Dán, Bálint Keserű, István Monok, Péter Kőszeghy and András Szabó. English-language scholarship written by Hungarians, on the other hand, is a

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26

27

28 29 30 31 32 33

Introduction more recent development; see the subsequent footnotes and this volume’s bibliography for references to studies by Pál Ács, Gábor Almási, Gabriella Erdélyi, Gábor Kármán and Katalin Péter. It is also important to mention that numerous studies were published around the 500th anniversary of the beginning of the Reformation, some as part of a large-scale publication programme entitled Refo500 Academic Studies. Among the many such books produced in recent years, the following volumes provide useful background material: Howard Louthan and Graeme Murdock, eds., A Companion to the Reformation in Central Europe. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2015; István Keul, Early Modern Religious Communities in East-Central Europe: Ethnic Diversity, Denominational Plurality, and Corporative Politics in the Principality of Transylvania (1526–1691). Leiden: Brill, 2009; Marta Fata, Ungarn, das Reich, der Stephanskrone im Zeitalter der Reformation und Konfessionalisierung: Multietnizität, Land und Konfession 1500 bis 1700. Münster: Aschendorff, 2000; Karin Maag, ed., The Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe. Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997. For a European overview of this period, see Roy Porter and Mikulaš Teich, eds., The Renaissance in National Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992; Bob Scribner, Roy Porter and Mikulaš Teich, eds., The Reformation in National Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. For example, William Bouwsma helped launch this re-evaluation with his presidential address at the 1978 conference of the American Historical Association; see ‘The Renaissance and the Drama of Western History’, in Bouwsma, ed., A Usable Past. Essays in European Cultural History. Berkeley; Los Angeles; Oxford: University of California Press, 1990, 348–65. See, for example, Thomas A Brady, Jr., Heiko A Oberman and James D Tracy, eds., Handbook of European History, 1400–1600. Late Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Reformation, vols. 1–2. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1994, ‘Introduction’, xvii. Peter Burke called attention to this fact in The European Renaissance. Centres and Peripheries. Oxford: Blackwell, 1998. The description of Catholicism and Protestantism as ‘languages’ comes from Natalie Zemon Davis’ ‘The Sacred and the Body Social in Sixteenth-Century Lyon’, Past and Present 90 (1981): 59. For a detailed discussion of this subject, see Edward Muir’s ‘The Reformation as a Ritual Process’, in his Ritual in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997, 185–228. See chapter 5, ‘Ritual and Reformation’, of Robert W Scribner’s Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany. London: Hambledon Press, 1987. One consequence of the process of confessionalisation and the activities of this association was that this new sort of religious oversight also served as a form of social control. Heinz Schilling, whose analyses focused primarily on German and Dutch history, was the first to conceptualise confessionalism as a paradigm shift; see Schilling, Konfessionskonfikt und Staatsbildung. Eine Fallstudie über das Verhältnis von religiösem und sozialem Wandel in der Frühneuzeit am Beispiel der Grafschaft Lippe. Gütersloh, 1981; see also ‘Confessionalization: Historical and Scholarly Perspectives of a Comparative and Interdisciplinary Paradigm’, in John M Headley, Hans J Hillebrand and Anthony J Papalas, eds., Confessionalization in Europe, 1555–1700. Essays in Honor and Memory of Bodo Nischan. Ashgate, 2004, 21–36. For a treatment of these issues in a Central and Eastern European context, see Joachim Bahlcke and Arno Strohmeyer, Hrsg., Konfessionalisierung in Ostmitteleuropa. Wirkungen des religiösen Wandels im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert in Staat, Gesellschaft und Kultur. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1999.

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34 International scholars have described this period, in which the Lutheran Church was established and Calvinism developed, as a ‘second Reformation’, most of the leaders of which broke with (or drifted away from) the first generation of Lutheran reformers. See Heinz Schilling, ‘The Second Reformation – Problems, Issues’, in Schilling, ed., Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992, 247–301; see also Ronnie Po-chia Hsia, Social Discipline in the Reformation: Central Europe, 1550–1750. London and New York: Routledge, 1989. For more on conditions in Hungary, see Katalin Péter, ‘A reformáció. A hazai protestantizmus sajátos képe’, (The Reformation. An Idiosyncratic Portrait of Hungarian Protestantism) in R. Várkonyi Ágnes, ed., Magyarország története 1526–1686, vol. 3/1. Budapest: Akadémiai, 1985. 35 Katalin Péter, A reformáció: kényszer vagy választás? (The Reformation: Coercion or Choice?). Budapest: Nemzeti Tankönyvkiadó, 2004, 121. 36 More precisely, the crown of the Kingdom went to the Habsburgs, who could not, however, control its entire medieval territory due to the Ottoman conquest of the central areas and the emergence of the Principality of Transylvania in the east (as a result of the election of a rival king, János Szapolyai, in 1526). 37 Among the most recent monographs on Transylvania’s political situation is Felicia Rosu’s Elective Monarchy in Transylvania and Poland-Lithuania, 1569– 1587. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017, which explains the Principality’s peculiar position by comparing conditions there to those of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. 38 Géza Pálffy is among the scholars most responsible for this sort of re-evaluation of the conditions in – and prospects for – the Kingdom of Hungary; see The Kingdom of Hungary and the Habsburg Monarchy in the Sixteenth Century (East European Monographs, DCCXXXV; CHSP Hungarian Studies Series, no. 18). Boulder, CO: Social Science Monographs; Wayne, NJ: Center for Hungarian Studies and Publications, Inc.; New York: distributed by Columbia University Press, 2009. 39 William J Bouwsma, The Waning of the Renaissance, 1550–1640. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002. Though this word appears as ‘autumn’ in the most recent English translation of Huizinga’s work, Bouwsma used the phrasing of an earlier edition. 40 This volume has nothing to do with so-called ‘frontier research’, scholars of which are primarily concerned with expanding the existing boundaries of – and access to – knowledge. And though the spirit of this study is avowedly microhistorical, if I were to have to categorise it, I would say it comes closest to the Anglo-American field of ‘area studies’, in which numerous disciplines are combined in analysing culturally or geographically defined entities or territories. 41 Mary Louise Pratt introduced the concept of ‘contact zones’, which I consider to be at least partially relevant to the conceptual inventory of the ‘borderland’ where Ambrosius lived; see Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation. London and New York: Routledge, 1992, 6–7. 42 Levi, ‘Les usages de la biographie’, 1335.

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Educational reform and the eminent scholar On 5 May 1575, Mathias Thoraconymus, the headmaster of the school in Késmárk, issued a letter of recommendation on Ambrosius’ behalf.1 Then 21 years old, Ambrosius was preparing to leave the town of his birth for the University of Wittenberg. This brief document is distinct from others of its kind insofar as it offers friendly summaries of both the young man’s scholarly preparations and the curriculum of the era. Thoraconymus also supplemented his letter of recommendation with a Latin verse in couplets, which would have conveyed that his endorsement was heartfelt. From childhood onward, Sebastian Lamius, as a result of the work of learned and loyal instructors, has earned outstanding testimonials for his virtue and scholarship. During his years of study, he has acquired an excellent understanding of the Latin language and an intermediate-level acquaintance with the Greek language; he has succeeded in understanding the so-called artes dicendi, or arts of oral expression; he has acquired a smattering of mathematics, so that if he were given a more appropriate opportunity to study [the subject], he could make not inconsiderable progress. His mastery of theological materials is such that he is not alone in his certain knowledge of the things in which to believe and place his hopes, but is also capable of offering wholesome advice and instruction to others, and can honorably exchange and discuss opinions on these subjects with pious and learned men. In the exhausting position of assistant instructor, he has demonstrated a loyal diligence and diligent loyalty by taking a large burden off my shoulders. Ambrosius’ education thus seems to have been a reflection of the notions Martin Luther expressed in his Large Catechism: For if we want to have excellent and suitable people in both secular and ecclesiastical leadership, verily, we must not spare any effort, diligence, or cost in educating and training our children so that they might serve God and the world.2

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As Philipp Melanchthon put it in his 1528 Schulordnung (School Organization), ‘A school serves to educate those who can then invest their talents in ecclesiastical and secular administration’.3 We do not know whether Ambrosius had any concrete career plans at that time. As Thoraconymus’ letter of recommendation suggests, Ambrosius was an excellent student, and in that era, Wittenberg would have been the inevitable next step for any of the region’s young men with aspirations to an intellectual or civil-administrative career. Whether as a result of his own inclination or the urging of his family or his teacher, he embarked on a ‘peregrination’, which sort of trip abroad was considered an almost obligatory stepping stone on the urban career paths of the period. Considerably later, when Ambrosius wrote to Johann Jacob Grynaeus in Basel in 1590, he composed a short autobiography by way of introduction, therein emphasising that his hometown teacher Thoraconymus had helped familiarise him with Melanchthon’s books and other writings when he was a child.4 Even so, Ambrosius did not make mention – in this or any other letter – of his decision to go to Wittenberg, though the choice to move to Saxony would have been an obvious one for most of the educated youth of Szepes County. His school in Késmárk and the educational system of Szepes County had prepared him well for a decision of this sort. The Reformation, and in particular the programmes formulated by Martin Luther and Philipp Melanchthon, soon won over significant numbers of followers in Szepes County. Given its peculiar historical characteristics, this region was quick to react to reformers who intended to reinvigorate its ecclesiastical and secular life. The Zipser Germans, who lived in accordance with Saxon traditions and laws, readily accepted the ideas of the Reformation, as did the other nationalities of the region.5 The institutionalisation of the conceptual framework of the Reformation, however, would take decades, and certain areas of Upper Hungary which converted to Protestantism – its mining towns, for example – exhibited historical characteristics similar to those of Szepes County. Although the Reformation began to gain ground quickly starting in the 1520s, it did not immediately lead to the creation of new types of educational institutions. The schools founded in Selmecbánya (now Banská Štiavnica, Slovakia) in 1528 and in Késmárk in 1533 operated on the model of the urban-parish schools previously established in the region, such as the famous school in Bártfa (now Bardejov, Slovakia) – though they were now led by headmasters who had converted to Protestantism and supervised by pastors and city magistrates who had also become Lutherans. The most detailed scholastic history on the period argued, The scholastic developments of the 16th century constitute one of the most unified developmental periods in the history of the Hungarian educational system. And this unified development – or the unity itself – was a function of the presence and gradual incorporation of humanist educational materials.6

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Even so, these important educational changes were not accompanied by a simultaneous reform of the country’s system of ecclesiastical institutions or its ‘everyday routines’ – the liturgy, rites of confession, veneration of saints, funeral ceremonies, and other practices would endure unchanged. Structural and organisational modifications would take several decades to implement and were initiated only in the middle of the 16th century.7 Over the course of that century, numerous parallel practices and systems survived alongside one another, and thus it is not surprising that pastors who were educated in a programme of studia humanitatis would preach in accordance with their churches’ demands and the expectations of their communities.8 A series of debates gave way to acceptance of the reformers’ ‘new’ teachings (as they were traditionally framed), and thus religion itself was secularised – that is, the church came to belong to the congregation rather than to the pastor. Here the faithful, even citizens of unanimously Lutheran cities, could request either of two types of communion.9 They could also sing hymns of the sort Ambrosius, for example, wrote – not just as a good humanist pastor, but explicitly for his congregants and because of them. These songs of praise combined Catholic expressions of devotion, Melanchthonian poetry and Lutheran praxis.10 Even though the new type of school had yet to be created, the residents of Szepes County were already aware of the need for educational reform. German schools and gymnasia would serve as the primary models for scholastic reorganisation, as would certain passages of Melanchthon’s 1528 Unterricht der Visitatoren (Instructions for Visitors), in which he wrote about three-tiered humanist schools. In 1612, Stephan Xylander, the deacon of the 24 parishes of Szepes County, recalled those years as follows: After Luther took action, Szepes County attracted numerous evangelists who were not particularly well-versed in the art of teaching and were inept in their repudiations of the papacy. Of course, they were very provincial in their manners, and many thought them lunatics, as there was no one to restrain them until the affairs of the schools and churches were finally arranged by some learned men, chief among them Stöckel.11 A humanist teacher from Bártfa, Leonhard Stöckel played a significant role in the development, drafting and publication of the region’s educational and ecclesiastical reforms.12 Stöckel began his teaching career in Breslau (now Wrocław, Poland), then spent eight years in Wittenberg, where he became familiar with – and was taught by – Luther and Mikael Agricola, though Stöckel’s primary scholarly circle was that of Melanchthon, with whom he corresponded until the end of his life. Severin Sculteti, a theological adversary of Ambrosius’ who represented orthodox Lutheranism in the religious debates of late 16th-century Szepes County, wrote a volume of ecclesiastical history in which he described Stöckel’s work as follows:

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Luther and Philipp [Melanchthon] sent three extraordinarily learned men to Transylvania and Hungary to establish churches and schools, including Johannes Honterus and Leonhard Stöckel. The former was sent to Transylvania; Stöckel was dispatched to Bártfa in May or June 1539, as evidenced by sealed letters written in Luther and Philipp’s own hands.13 Stöckel’s scholastic reform, the Leges scholae Bartphensis, was introduced in Bártfa in the 1539–40 school year; this programme adhered faithfully to Melanchthonian principles, and was thus a combination of humanist pedagogical practices and Lutheran theological teachings.14 Stöckel divided his pupils into three tiers or classes: members of the first group were enrolled in reading, writing and Bible study; the second got acquainted with Latin grammar and the plays of Terence; in addition to continuing their Latin, the third group studied Greek, literary classics, rhetoric, poetics and mathematics. Scholarly activities commenced at five in the morning with a second shift beginning at noon; the language of instruction and conversation was Latin.15 There were four exam days per year, preparations for which included the writing of weekly Latin-language essays. Nor were the old traditions discarded entirely, as school administrators preserved classroom exercises such as recitation and debate.16 Melanchthon was not the only educator whose work left its mark on the schools of Szepes County; the methods of Valentin Friedland of Trotzendorf, who implemented his own pedagogical system in Goldberg (now Złotoryja, Poland), and Johannes Sturm of Strasbourg also influenced the reorganisation of Szepes County’s schools.17 The golden age of the Goldberg School lasted from 1531 to 1554, during which period dozens of youths from Szepes County visited it. Paul Kramer and Anton Platner of Lőcse, for instance, lived at the Goldberg School under Trotzendorf’s constant supervision.18 The Strasbourg Gymnasium that Johannes Sturm oversaw for close to 50 years divided its pupils into 9 instructional groups, the 2 lowest of which had already completed their Latin studies and were tasked with assimilating Greek grammar; the uppermost groups were assigned humanist-oriented literary analyses of the classics.19 The primary task of the urban schools of Szepes County was providing their students with a general education. Pupils tended to be divided into eight study groups, and after being familiarised with the basics, they would focus on Latin grammatical instruction, with Greek pushed somewhat into the background – as was the case with Ambrosius, who had ‘an intermediate-level acquaintance with the Greek language’.20 The curriculum also included the seven liberal arts, though the level of instruction varied from city to city and was especially divergent in the free royal cities and the towns that had been forfeited to Poland.21 Most of the schools of Szepes County depended on church congregations for material support, for which reason their pupils were generally divided into only three groups for

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basic instruction. The schools of the free royal cities were in many respects reminiscent of Melanchthon’s schola privata, the boarding school he established in his own home, insofar as they served not only to prepare pupils for university studies, but also provided vocational training, especially to those students who would not be able to go abroad to continue their education. By local standards, Lőcse and Késmárk were well situated, given that the curriculum in these cities’ schools included not only the trivium (logic, rhetoric and grammar), but also the Latin, Greek and Hebrew languages, as well as the fundamentals of theology. In the communities of Szepes County where elementary scholarship was supplemented with practical instruction, these schools were initially called Brotschulen (‘bread schools’). Once an institution incorporated the teaching of classical languages, it would be known as a Lateinschule or a ‘genuine training school for the liberal arts’. The headmaster or rector, who served at the pleasure of the citizenry, was a defining figure in these schools. He was assisted by co-rectors and sub-rectors, as well as other colleagues and collaborators, including a cantor, an organist and upper-division students who helped teach younger pupils. In Késmárk, the headmaster who ran the Lutheran school was assisted by five other individuals; students there were obliged to work their way through five separate grades, sometimes spending several years in a given class.22 The structure of the educational system which developed there, the curriculum on which it was based, and the schoolwork itself made the hierarchical nature of the local social order clear even to young students. By means of extraordinarily strict exercises and purportedly indispensable teaching materials, students were habituated to an unquestioning acceptance of ‘reality’. In addition to imparting the formal elements of its curriculum (logic, rhetoric and grammar), this reformed educational system also reinforced the importance of authority, the sanctity of tradition and the acceptance of the prevailing social order. This method, especially in the early 16th century, involved uncritical acceptance and the complete subordination and indoctrination of the student body.23 The syllabi of Ambrosius’ childhood in the latter half of the 16th century indicate that mandatory activities were lined up from early Monday morning to Saturday afternoon. It is worth examining the 1589 educational programme of the school in Lőcse, which reflects the expectations of what might be called a well-developed Latin-school curriculum. The youngest pupils in the seventh and eighth classes acquired basic knowledge; the students in the third through sixth groups studied a curriculum focused on Latin grammar, and the older students in the first and second forms occupied themselves with poetics, rhetoric and theology.24 This system offered very few breaks in which students could have relaxed or played, insofar as their free time was generally taken up with handwriting and vocabulary-building exercises or memorising the text of the Gospel to be discussed the following Sunday. While this Protestant-inspired reform of Szepes County’s educational system was facilitated by easily adaptable foreign models, it was also urged

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on by Catholic attacks on the Reformation itself and the coercive force of certain resolutions passed by the Hungarian Diet. Though it has become a political and ecclesiastical-historical commonplace to suggest that Article XI of the legislation passed by the 1548 Hungarian National Assembly had a significant effect on confessional developments in the five free royal cities of Upper Hungary, it would appear that Article VI, which regulated education, might also have worked to encourage or validate the pedagogical practices of the Protestants of Szepes County. The latter law declared: Every city and locality shall be assigned priests of the sort who espouse the true doctrine and teach it; they shall administer the sacraments according to the teachings of the Catholic Church. These same prelates shall, according to their ability, establish schools in which they shall teach the good sciences and the true faith so that noxious religious doctrines [that is, Protestant beliefs] will be obliterated day by day and the ancient faith restored.25 Protestants felt an urgent need to oppose such decrees by demonstrating the viability of the alternative. As a result of a lengthy process of negotiation, a new Protestant canon was formulated. By the middle of the century, a number of principles inspired by reformist ideas were articulated in the form of texts, confessions of faith and fundamental rules. Of course, the Catholic Church also formulated a series of anti-reformist doubts and demands in its attempts to restore the status quo ante, steeling itself with the decrees of the Council of Trent (1545–63). The Catholic Church of Szepes County found itself in a ‘desperate situation’: by the last few decades of the 16th century, only the parish of Szepeshely (now Spišská Kapitula, Slovakia) was still capable of functioning; other than a few monks and the canons of the cathedral chapter, the county had no Catholic priests left.26 In this sense, Szepes County was in a distinctive, protected position, insofar as the Counterreformation – meaning actual Catholic attempts to interfere in their affairs – reached this area only in the final decade of the century, and even then these efforts were unsuccessful. Ambrosius was a year old when Leonhard Stöckel, the renowned headmaster of Bártfa, arrived in Késmárk.27 In 1554, the year of Ambrosius’ birth, the residents of Szepes County had been forced to confront a great deal of unpleasantness. Another epidemic of plague had ravaged the countryside; a great many houses in Lőcse and other cities had been consumed by fire; meanwhile, it became clear that the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, despite his earlier promise, was not going to deploy any troops to the territory of the Kingdom of Hungary in an attempt to expel the armies of the Ottoman Empire. Despite these wretched circumstances, the residents of Szepes County lived in relative peace in the mid-16th century. It was only towards the end of the century that the various imperial

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and mercenary armies began to file through the area; until then, Szepes County would continue to be a favourable site for the development of urban culture. At that time, Késmárk was not among the five free royal cities of Upper Hungary; this small, royal market town in the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains was inhabited by a population typical of the Kingdom’s multiethnic borderlands – German-speaking Zipsers (the largest of the local ethnic groups), Hungarians, Slovaks and Poles – many of whom became followers of Luther in the early stages of the Reformation.28 Named for its cheese market, ‘Käsemarkt’29 lay on an important trade route and enjoyed a relative degree of prosperity. King Matthias Corvinus granted it a royal charter of privileges in 1463; its staple rights engendered a lasting rivalry with the neighbouring town of Lőcse; it was also home to a dozen guild workshops.30 A 1542 tax ledger which divided the city into 12 sections suggests that a decisive majority of its population was employed in commerce or physical labour. This document recorded a total of 260 homeowners and primary breadwinners, which allows us to draw the conclusion that Késmárk had something like 1300 to 1500 residents.31 The financial information contained in this ledger suggests that the average citizen of Késmárk was somewhat better off and held more assets than his counterpart in Lőcse.32 The Polish lord Albert Laski took control of the city in 1541 and was assisted in his administrative endeavours by a freely elected judge and a 12-member city council.33 As in other cities in Szepes County, magistrates organised the appointment of Késmárk’s pastors and educators, notaries managed the account ledgers and the minutes of the sessions of the city council, and the city’s judge and his deputy were the local representatives of executive power; the latter reported to the provost of Szepes – in 1554, Balázs Váradi – and the lord lieutenant of Szepes County, Szaniszló Thurzó.34 The starosta-captain of the 13 towns of Szepes County which had been forfeited to Poland in 1412, an administrator who lived in the nearby city of Lubló (now Stará Ľubovňa, Slovakia), rarely interfered in the daily lives of these towns.35 The educator Leonhard Stöckel was obliged to leave Bártfa, the town of his birth, because he did not want to assume a role on its city council.36 He was preceded at Késmárk’s Latin school by Georg Leudischer, a Lutheran pastor and the school’s founder; Leudischer was succeeded in this office by Johann Sommer. Sommer had been a student at the University of Wittenberg for two years and intended to implement Melanchthonian reforms as the headmaster of the Késmárk School, though his departure for Lőcse prevented him from doing so. Soon thereafter, Erasmus Krossensky – court pastor to the lord of the city of Késmárk, Albert Laski – took over the administration of the school, though he was also unsuccessful in reforming it.37 Thus Késmárk’s educational system had yet to be restructured when Stöckel arrived, which fact made his presence in Késmárk all the more important. According to the scattered documentation, Stöckel began to introduce reforms but was unable to complete his task because he was recalled by the

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Bártfa city council. He also received invitations to Breslau and Kassa in this period and eventually went home to Bártfa in 1556. Stöckel’s activities in Bártfa were noteworthy not merely from a regional perspective, but within the broader European context as well, as evidenced by a letter Stöckel’s successor and son-in-law Thomas Fabri wrote to the city of Bártfa, in which he described Stöckel’s renown throughout Europe.38 On 24 June 1556, with Stöckel having completed his effort to reform Késmárk’s educational system, his disciple Gergely Simon was invited to the city; Simon continued Stöckel’s work, and thus his school system endured largely unchanged until 1596.39 When Ambrosius enrolled at the school, his first teachers might have been Gergely Simon and Richard Kauffny.40 The lack of sources makes it impossible to do more than estimate, but Ambrosius seems to have started school between 1558 and 1560, when he was somewhere between the ages of four and six. He probably finished his studies at the Késmárk School, which was divided into five grades or classes, between 1560 and 1570; it should be noted that students did not necessarily make their way through these five grades in five years. In 1589, Ambrosius reminisced about one of his childhood teachers, Lukács Fabinyi, who directed the Késmárk School for one year, 1570–1.41 Fabinyi, who compiled a Donatus-style textbook for beginning students, was among the significant pedagogical personalities of the era.42 Ambrosius probably did not use Fabinyi’s manual while studying at the Késmárk School, but rather the texts which then made up the curriculum there. It seems clear that Melanchthonian materials made up a majority of the syllabus: there was the Latin grammar Melanchthon had compiled, a collection of aphorisms, the Confessions of Saint Augustine and a collection of commentaries on them, the Corpus doctrinae, philosophical texts and even the Johann Carion-style universal history Melanchthon edited – a compendium of historical information which was very much characteristic of the humanist pedagogical model and quite popular in the era.43 Beyond the obvious theological influence of the praeceptor, this curriculum was also a reflection of the high level of humanist instruction on offer at the Késmárk School, the rigour of which (along with the qualifications of some of the teachers) would have been appropriate in places like Strasbourg or Görlitz. After finishing his basic studies, Ambrosius seems to have put his knowledge to use, serving as the headmaster of the schools in Szepesszombat (Spišská Sobota, Slovakia) in 1573 and Szepesbéla (Spišská Belá, Slovakia) in 1574.44 These were the years in which he gained practical experience; it was customary for older students to test their pedagogical aptitude by participating in the teaching process as assistant instructors or aides to the headmaster. By the age of 20 or so, Ambrosius was what might be called an experienced youth; his teacher Matthias Thoraconymus played a decisive role in the first few decades of his life. Thoraconymus studied for one year at the University of Wittenberg,45 which academia was then the relatively tranquil centre of Saxon Philippism.46

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He returned from Saxony in the autumn of 1570 and took a position at the Bártfa School under headmaster Thomas Fabri. After only half a year, he departed for Késmárk, which city was seeking a suitable headmaster for its school. Bártfa and Késmárk had been tightly connected since the period in which Stöckel had taught in the latter community; thus in this situation, the people of Késmárk were confident that they could turn to Bártfa for a competent, well-prepared headmaster. Faced with the traditional career paths of the period, Thoraconymus was a committed, enthusiastic teaching prospect (in one of his letters, for example, he described a pedagogical career as his true calling), and thus he gladly accepted Késmárk’s invitation.47 He took over the Késmárk School in the spring of 1571, and Ambrosius was almost certainly one of his assistants from the beginning of his time there. In directing the school, Thoraconymus also made use of Melanchthon’s teaching methods: he led readings of the classics and taught Greek and Latin grammar, dialectics, rhetoric and arithmetic. The relationship between the headmaster and his student was formalised in the 1574–5 school year, when Ambrosius took an official position as Thoraconymus’ teaching assistant and collaborator. While it is possible to sketch a relatively detailed panorama of Ambrosius’ early scholarly endeavours, we have almost no sources describing the everyday circumstances of his childhood. Furthermore, we have no information about his relatives and no documents that would allow us to reconstruct his family background. Ambrosius’ own recollections of his roots are extraordinarily fragmentary. In his 1591 book Antithesis ubiquitatis … , he made reference to his grandfather, whose lameness in one leg earned him the unfortunate nickname Lahm, which sobriquet Ambrosius then inherited.48 His grandfather lived to be more than 90 years old, though he would die before his grandson’s birth.49 Ambrosius also dedicated a few words of this volume to his father, a simple citizen ‘who never saw a [military] encampment, but occupied an honorable position in the government of his native city, and thus grew old without having made his name known beyond the city limits’. A glance back at Késmárk’s 1542 tax ledger shows that a tailor by the name of Ambrus served on the 12-member city council; given the lack of sources, we might imagine this man to have been Ambrosius’ father.50 Among the expenditures listed in Késmárk’s 1579 account ledgers, we find an entry for expenses related to the burial of Ambrosius’ father; this document suggests that the city spent a significant sum honouring the dearly departed, though unfortunately it does not indicate the age at which he passed away.51 Our protagonist, his father and his son were all called Ambrosius; thus this name was used by at least three successive generations. We have no information whatsoever about Ambrosius’ mother or any possible siblings. Ambrosius dedicated a conspicuously small proportion of his correspondence to his childhood, and thus we cannot unravel more than a few references to childhood friends and family relationships. In a letter to Hugo

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Blotius, Ambrosius reminisced about his friend Gregorius Amman (who was by then living in Graz), with whom he shared a certain life trajectory: When we were little boys, we grew up together and studied in Szepes County; when we became young men, we went to the Wittenberg Academy together, and now we continue to be friends as grown men. He is both my well-wisher and my benefactor.52 Other kinsmen and neighbours appear in letters he wrote to Blotius; for example, Lazar Henckel, a wholesale trader from Lőcse who lived in Vienna, was a friendly neighbour (mihique affnitate) who always helped forward Ambrosius’ letters and find lodgings for his acquaintances.53 In other letters to Blotius, Ambrosius referred to two more individuals as affnus meus, Georg Sifer and Stephan Feichter, whom ownership records suggest were not merely neighbours, but rather in-laws. He described Feichter as auditor meus as well, indicating that the latter was (also) his student, and not a relative.54 In another letter, he mentions Sigismund Moes of Lubló, a tax collector for the 13 forfeited cities of Szepes County, as an affnis.55 Other letters indicate that a cousin on his mother’s side, a certain Christoph Unterbaum, went to Vienna on several occasions, which trips allowed Ambrosius to forward letters to his friend Blotius.56 Other letters to Blotius make mention of a relative named Bartholomeus Gutsmittel, the son of Késmárk’s judge, who also travelled to Vienna and complied with Ambrosius’ requests to deliver letters; Ambrosius refers to Gutsmittel as cognatus meus (‘my in-law’, or ‘relative by marriage’, which in this case must mean his wife’s brother).57 Given this paucity of information, any attempt to outline Ambrosius’ family relationships will be limited to guesswork, as will any effort to characterise the principles or models according to which the elder members of the Ambrosius family might have raised their children. It is possible that they took direction from Luther’s dictum in his Catechism: This would be the proper way to raise children well, because one can also train them with goodness and joy. For that which one enforces with rods and beatings alone will not produce good behaviour, and in the end they will remain pious only as long as the rod lies across their backs.58 Luther wrote these passages in the 1520s, convinced that children belong above all to God and only secondarily to their parents. Starting in the 1530s, he became increasingly concerned that the average parent, an illiterate or insufficiently educated person, was not fit to raise children, and thus advised that local representatives of the state and the church be entrusted with their indoctrination. The Schulpredigt (‘school sermon’), which was preached to parents from the pulpit, also promulgated the parenting methods Luther considered to be proper.59 Not only did educators enlighten the public by

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means of sermons, they often integrated corporal punishment into the compulsory curriculum as well. It is worth noting that the schools in Késmárk and Lőcse employed such methods, as did the Trotzendorf educational system used at the Goldberg School. Both schools in Szepes County gave their students a day off so they could go into the forest to cut hazelnut-switches and deliver them into their towns.60 In certain cases, this system of moral supervision prescribed detention in locked cells for disobedient students, or expelling them from school altogether. If Ambrosius’ father indeed occupied a position in Késmárk’s city government, one would assume that he was a good Lutheran and thus familiar with the aforementioned passages, though this supposition does not provide us with any further insight into his childrearing practices. In 1586, Ambrosius’ future religious adversary Georg Creutzer wrote: I myself have heard that [Ambrosius] was already ingesting the poison of Calvinist books in his youth, for which reason his father severely chastised him, declaring that he would rather have had [the boy] drown in his first bath than read such books.61 Creutzer, who lived in the nearby community of Nagyőr (now Strážky, Slovakia), allegedly heard this rumour from Ambrosius’ relatives, though the pamphlet in which this statement appears as the first ‘charge’ against him served primarily to discredit Ambrosius and stigmatise him as a Calvinist. Nevertheless, we cannot exclude the possibility that the young Ambrosius endured the sort of paternal discipline which was common in the period. In his book, When Fathers Ruled Steven Ozment examined German and Swiss examples and deduced that the image of the stern, heartless father was not fully applicable to the family men of the century of the Reformation, nor did the fathers of that period have free reign over their households, given that potentially tyrannical fathers were restrained by serious moral prescriptions and legal regulations.62 Most 16th-century parents prepared their children for school and for life with love and concern. Ozment also substantiated this central assertion in his later book Ancestors, in which he disputed the models of certain social historians and anthropologists.63 Linda Pollock emphasised a similar set of theses in her book Forgotten Children, in which she repudiated previous scholars’ simplistic explanations of childhood, demonstrating that it was a distinctive stage of life and that most families raised their children in an environment of loving care.64 This book was a response to Philippe Ariès’ popular ‘little adults’ theory,65 the refutation of which has only recently achieved general acceptance among historians. In the 1990s, Giovanni Levi and JeanClaude Schmitt collected historical studies of European children into an edited volume which did more than simply refute Ariès’ thesis. In their introduction, written from a historical-anthropological perspective, they emphasised that every researcher should be aware that childhood is not

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merely a social and cultural construction, but rather a peculiar transitional period of a marginal or liminal character, which obliges them to study the nature of change and transition itself.66 A similar impulse inspired the compilation of the more recent volume Early Modern Childhood, which provides an introduction to the manner in which the modern social environment – families, households, religion and education (along with concepts and practices related to these factors) – has shaped children’s lives.67 And while international scholars have provided certain reference points with which to contextualise such analyses, most of the relevant Hungarian studies concentrate on the lives of children raised in aristocratic settings. Patterns established by regional examples suggest that the beginning of Ambrosius’ career most probably unfolded in accordance with the following scenario: as the child of a bourgeois family, he could have chosen to follow in his father’s footsteps and take a position at city hall, or to become a pastor or educator. Thus we cannot know the extent to which Ambrosius’ fate was ‘predetermined’ and how much freedom of choice he might have had. For now, all we can be sure of is that among these three similarly named generations of the Ambrosius family (Ambrosius’ father Ambrosius, Ambrosius himself and his son of the same name), the protagonist of our story and his son both studied at the school in their native city before moving on to university.

Wittenberg: Scholarship and experience ‘So Sebastian longs [to get away, and sets out] to see other lands’, wrote Thoraconymus in a poem to his student.68 Thoraconymus also advised a noble youth named Ferenc Paczoth on the relative merits of German and Italian universities, arguing in favour of Wittenberg in an attempt to dissuade the young traveller from studying in Italy, ‘insofar as morals there are corrupt and the living is expensive. Wittenberg, on the other hand, is better than any Italian university’, asserted the teacher, despite his never having gone anywhere else.69 Ambrosius enrolled at the University of Wittenberg on 4 June 1575, and his entry in the register there reads Sebastian Lammius Kesmarcensis Sepusius.70 Beyond this piece of official data, we have barely any information about his studies there. Ambrosius himself was only minimally interested in his university years; his correspondence reveals only a few particulars. Even so, this investigation appears hopeless only at first glance, given that Ambrosius’ studies probably conformed to several of the customs typical of university attendance in the period. Having the available information about Ambrosius’ age group and the Hungarian coetus at Wittenberg, historical scholarship will help us sketch the kinds of things that might have happened while he was studying at university there.71 By the latter half of the 16th century, the division of Europe into three large confessional communities had fundamentally changed students’ patterns of travel, one result of which was the establishment of three (basic)

30 To be young, gifted and motivated types of universities and high schools: Protestant universities, which continued to do the serious work of proselytisation; Catholic universities, which operated in support of the Counterreformation and also tried to win converts with the help of the Jesuits who worked in their classrooms; and a third group, which a historian of universities has described in a relatively recent monograph as universities that consciously adopted a tolerant attitude, and did not willingly refuse students who were not of their religion: for instance, Padua and Siena, Orléans and Montpellier, all of them Catholic universities, or Leiden and the other Dutch universities, model Calvinist universities though they were.72 This also meant that several kinds of peregrinatio academica had developed by the 16th century; most Hungarian youths went to foreign academies in accordance with well-defined ‘itinerant’ traditions. The general custom of students from Szepes County was to go immediately to Wittenberg, or to start by studying at the highly regarded gymnasia of Silesia, such as the schools in Görlitz, Goldberg (Złotoryja), Brieg (Brzeg) and Breslau (Wrocław). For the Zipser Germans of Szepes County, Wittenberg was an obvious choice, and more than a thousand Protestant youths from Transylvania and elsewhere in the Kingdom of Hungary travelled abroad to study at this Saxon university over the course of the 16th century. The first ethnically Hungarian student to enrol at Wittenberg did so in 1520. By the latter half of the 16th century, Wittenberg had become the most popular destination for these mobile Hungarian students, though many would attend the universities in Jena and Leipzig. Hungarian youths also continued to travel to Padua, Bologna, Strasbourg and Geneva, though they were far fewer in number than those who went to study in Saxony. The number of university students who went to Vienna and Kraków – which might have been described as typical or traditional destinations in the 15th century – dwindled, primarily for confessional reasons, insofar as it would have been impossible to train new members of (Upper) Hungary’s Protestant clerical society at these Catholic institutions.73 In the final decades of the 16th century, the universities of Heidelberg and Herborn (and later Leiden) would take over Wittenberg’s leading role, which changes were motivated by unfortunate developments in Saxon political life.74 It is clear that Ambrosius did not take any detours, but rather went directly to Wittenberg, as evidenced by the fact that only a single month passed between the issuing of his documents and his enrolment at the university; given the transportation options of the period, this journey would have required several weeks. His itinerary was also likely motivated by financial concerns.75 In addition to complying with Protestant traditions, a trip without detours would have been dictated by the financial circumstances of the progeny of Szepes County’s bourgeoisie. Departing students

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generally received only enough money to travel, enrol and begin their studies. Nevertheless, it is important to emphasise that by the 1550s (or before), the region’s academic institutions had accepted a principle formulated elsewhere in Europe: reformed schools were the arenas in which students would achieve mastery of basic subjects, while university studies were structured around the dual objective of familiarising students with the humanist curriculum and teaching them a trade.76 Educated and (well) trained people were needed not only by their ecclesiastical communities but also by local governments, the employees of which performed their duties in accordance with moral principles that resembled those of evangelists, insofar as both groups understood themselves to be serving the public good and the Respublica. Thus schools, especially gymnasium-level academic institutions, not only represented the first steps in acquiring knowledge of the true faith but were also obliged to train the future officials of the area’s urban communities. City councils sent more and more alumni of local schools to regional gymnasia – and especially to the University of Wittenberg – with the explicit hope that they would then return home and take up positions in their city governments. In many cases, cities achieved this dual objective with the assistance of aristocrats and other patrons who had converted to Protestantism. Hans Rueber, the Captain General of Upper Hungary and the lord of the Késmárk Castle, helped fund Ambrosius’ trip to study in Wittenberg; the year before, he had also paid the travelling expenses of Ambrosius’ friend Caspar Pilcius. Ambrosius expressed his gratitude for this support by dedicating a book of poems to Rueber, whom he held in the highest esteem.77 Ambrosius’ later benefactor, Sebestyén Thököly, gave generously to help the youth of Késmárk study abroad so that they might, ‘upon completion of their studies, dedicate themselves to the service of their churches or to public affairs’.78 In the 1580s, István Báthory of Ecsed decided to pay for two alumni of local schools to study at German universities, primarily Wittenberg, each year.79 The Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County began supporting its own study-abroad programme in 1567.80 In addition to direct material support, financing by foundations also made it possible to study abroad. The Schlaker Foundation of Selmecbánya and the Thurzó Foundation of Lőcse were established with the intention of distributing scholarships to students who had shown promise at their hometown schools so that they might pursue further studies elsewhere.81 For instance, these organisations helped the youth of Selmecbánya study in Breslau and students from Lőcse pursue academic careers in Goldberg and Wittenberg. Well-prepared students, however, did more than further their own educations in the course of their studies at the Goldberg School; some also acquired teaching experience there. For example, Anton Platner, a future member of Ambrosius’ circle of friends, decided to pursue a teaching career after studying in Goldberg.82 In the last few decades of the 16th century, this system of patronage took contractual form, especially in Lőcse and Késmárk. Beneficiaries assumed

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obligationes, signing promissory notes to return home after their scholarly peregrinations and serve their cities for a certain number of years.83 After a time, former beneficiaries of this system of support began to help other young scholars apply for aid. For instance, Platner wrote to the Lőcse city council on behalf of Stephan Xylander, asking that the latter’s scholarship to Breslau be extended to Wittenberg.84 It was only natural, of course, for students’ stipends to run out eventually, at which point they generally wrote to their cities or to local aristocrats for further support, in which letters they often repeatedly offered to dedicate themselves to the good of the city while addressing a variety of polite honorifics to their patrons in praise of the generosity they had already shown. In most cases (such as those of the scholarship students of Lőcse, for example), their benefactors disbursed the requested sums, and Késmárk’s account ledger demonstrates that the people of that city prioritised the renewal of such support, though Lőcse’s documents contain a great deal more information about the magnitude of such grants than do Késmárk’s.85 The situation was different for the children of aristocratic families who embarked on scholarly peregrinations; their trips conformed to the traditions known as the grand tour or iter italicum and often involved a fairly large number of destinations.86 Mihály Forgách, for example, studied in Strasbourg, Wittenberg and Padua; Forgách and his former teacher Demeter Krakkai were inseparable, the latter accompanying the young aristocrat everywhere he went on his academic odyssey. Ambrosius’ future adversary Gergely Horváth also wandered through Europe for years; he turned up in Basel, Geneva, Strasbourg and Paris, seeking out personalities such as Théodore de Bèze, in whose home he stayed for six months. Horváth’s later writings expressed views diametrically opposed to de Bèze’s, and thus his long sojourn at de Bèze’s home in Geneva serves as proof that these itinerant scholars did not necessarily choose their destinations on the basis of confessional identity; the ‘celebrity’ of a given individual was another important consideration. Another member of Ambrosius’ circle of acquaintances, Zsigmond Máriássy of Márkusfalva, began his studies in Sárospatak before enrolling at the Strasbourg Gymnasium and the University of Wittenberg alongside Mihály Forgách, Demeter Krakkai and Zsigmond Péchy. Around the turn of the 17th century, Ambrosius himself accompanied Sebestyén Thököly’s eldest son István on a scholarly peregrination to Brieg and Breslau. Ambrosius was later called upon to accompany the youngest Thököly boy Miklós to Sárospatak, where István Miskolczi Csulyak then took responsibility for the young man’s education.87 A small number of scholars also attempted this sort of multi-city, multiuniversity peregrination without the benefit of significant financial resources. The aforementioned Stephan Xylander began studying at Wittenberg in 1592, then moved to Leipzig that same year before returning to Wittenberg to study from 1593 to 1596. Starting in February 1597, he spent roughly a year and a half in Regensburg and Königsberg, then went back to Wittenberg

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for another two years before returning to his native city in 1600. Samuel Spielenberger of Lőcse spent six years wandering Europe courtesy of his city’s magistrates; he studied in Görlitz, Wittenberg, Altdorf, Regensburg and Strasbourg, during which time he spent a month in Basel at the home of Felix Platter, a leading physician. In 1598, he returned to Basel, where he was certified as a doctor, then returned home at the request of authorities in Lőcse, where he equipped the city’s pharmacy at his own expense. Other travelling scholars from Hungary include Imre Újfalvi and Albert Szenci Molnár, whose correspondence, diaries and memorabilia record both their destinations and their continual requests for further financial support.88 Ambrosius’ son also spent several years abroad, first as a student at the Görlitz Gymnasium, then at the University of Heidelberg. If we compare the scholarly peregrinations of the last few decades of the 16th century with the traditions typical of the 18th-century Respublica Litteraria, we see that Ambrosius’ era was not yet marked by a striking dichotomy between the representational value of these journeys and a genuine desire to study while abroad. In the 17th and 18th centuries, many young travellers were clearly motivated by a desire to seek out ‘big names’. Upon returning home, they could publicise the lists of luminaries they had visited and show off the epigrams and signatures these celebrities had scribbled into their scrapbooks and albums. Several scholars have recently called attention to the fact that a young 18th-century traveller was considered to have achieved real success and could take real pride in his ‘scholarly achievements’ if he had personally visited as many renowned scholars as possible.89 The measure of a scholarly peregrination was not the knowledge and skills a traveller had acquired, but rather the names which appeared in his album. In the latter half of the 16th century, travellers were already feeling the need to appear before certain theologians, professors and learned humanists, though they generally sought to satisfy this desire in the periods between their visits to various universities. Back then, travelling scholars occupied themselves with more than simply decorating an album amicorum or Stammbuch.90 The offspring of bourgeois families such as Ambrosius used their travels primarily for the purposes of studying.91 Wittenberg was an obvious choice for Ambrosius. He must have been aware of the role Melanchthon had played there, and was surely cognizant of the fact that Wittenberg would provide him with the necessary training for a career in preaching or pedagogy. He was acquainted with Thoraconymus, a former student at Wittenberg, and a considerable number of his colleagues from Szepes County had been there as well, including future members of his circle of friends like Caspar Pilcius, János Jancsi and Anton Platner. It is also likely that he was inspired by contemporaneous theories about scholarly travel, such as those which Péter Laskai Csókás – who went to Wittenberg a few years later – put to paper in summarising the dominant views of the 1570s. Laskai Csókás distinguished five types of scholarly travel, the second of which was the so-called philosophica peregrinatio. According to his

34 To be young, gifted and motivated definition, this designation was applicable whenever a traveller set out to visit a site in hopes of making progress in the study of the sciences, theology and religious affairs or the seven liberal arts. Given that we want to increase our wisdom by visiting these various locations, we characterize this [sort of] peregrination as philosophica … This is the reason that many today burn with the desire to study sapientia, taking to the road without regard for endless paths, rocky precipices, fires, bodies of water, and robbers, travelling to Germany, Saxony, Switzerland, or Italy.92 Thus while Ambrosius’ decision might have been motivated by the traditions and models characteristic of his region, it is likely that theoretical notions about scholarly travel and ideas about Wittenberg’s symbolic position also played a role in the choice he made. At the time of his arrival, the aftershocks of the so-called Gnesio-Lutheran-Philippist debate were still being felt there, given that this years-long religious dispute had led to a series of radical political decisions in 1574. The origins of this debate can be traced back to the years immediately following Luther’s death. After the great reformer of Wittenberg died in 1546, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V defeated the Schmalkaldic League of Protestant princes in 1547 and issued the Augsburg Interim in 1548, which period of conflict and compromise serves as the historical context of Ambrosius’ era. Two rival camps formed in the mid-16th century: the ‘genuine’ Gnesio-Lutherans, who were completely opposed to Charles V, believed themselves to be the true representatives of Luther’s views and theology, while the ‘Philippists’ (those who gathered around Philipp Melanchthon) demonstrated a greater willingness to compromise and focused on promulgating the humanist theological programme which Melanchthon, their praeceptor or teacher, represented. The disputes between these two camps waxed and waned before reaching a peak in the 1570s, when Augustus von Sachsen, the Elector of Saxony, attempted to resolve the conflict. His approach involved seeking the help of the radical-orthodox Lutheran theologian Jakob Andreae and embarking on a kind of purge. Around the time of this spiritual ‘settlement’, numerous Philippist professors were imprisoned, including Melanchthon’s son-in-law Caspar Peucer, a professor of medicine and mathematics who was eventually removed from his position at Wittenberg. Andreae and his colleagues ultimately compiled the well-known Formula Concordiae, which was published in 1580 on the 50th anniversary of the presentation of the Augustan Confession at the Diet of Augsburg, though this effort did not succeed in reconciling the two opposed camps. Philippism was not completely eradicated during this conflict, though the German Philippists who had been active in Wittenberg were forced to find new positions in places like Pfalz, Anhalt and Brandenburg. Even so, the most recent scholarly analyses suggest that despite Elector Augustus’

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vigorous efforts to suppress it, Philippism remained a relatively potent influence in Saxony; following Augustus’ death in 1586, his son and successor Christian I openly embraced the Philippists and Crypto-Calvinists.93 Unfortunately, we do not know which social circles Ambrosius might have frequented during his time at university, though one piece of information seems certain: like Thoraconymus, a Slovak born in Breznóbánya (Brezno), and his friend Caspar Pilcius, Ambrosius was not a member of the Hungarian coetus. Hungarian students had formed this ethnic organisation in 1555 so as to help look after one another and to assist future Hungarian students with their scholarly, social and spiritual concerns. Two types of ethnic associations had developed in the Middle Ages: the coetus and the natio. A coetus was originally an organisation embedded within the structure of the host university from its inception (sometimes appearing in the institution’s founding charter); its members were granted certain privileges by their university, such as those the Hungarian community enjoyed at the University of Vienna. The natio, on the other hand, was a community organised along exclusively ethnic lines, like the bursa (society) of Hungarians in Kraków, for instance. The Hungarian coetus at Wittenberg combined these two traditions in the terms of its founding bylaws, though this Saxon university had issued an order explicitly forbidding the formation of nationes on its campus.94 Melanchthon had helped them navigate this difficult situation; up to the end of his life, he presided over the Hungarian community’s biweekly debates. Every Sunday, Melanchthon also hosted a Latin-language devotional meeting for the benefit of the large number of Hungarians who were unfamiliar with German; these sessions were dedicated to Biblical exegesis, but also included presentations on grammar and history. This custom was preserved after the death of the praeceptor in 1560; subsequent gatherings were hosted by Paul Eber. This Hungarian society became more and more denominationally homogeneous, especially after the Hungarian Reformed Church adopted the Second Helvetic Confession in 1567; from 1560 onward, Lutheran Hungarians tended not to join the coetus. Another peculiarity is that many Hungarians came to Wittenberg solely to be ordained, given that the process of ordinatio was disorganised for much of the 16th century. Over the course of that century, close to 300 of the more than 1000 Hungarian students at Wittenberg were ordained as pastors in the church there.95 Ambrosius’ later history makes clear that he did not come to Saxony for his ordinatio, but rather because he wanted to acquire knowledge. It thus seems likely that he would have joined the members of the university’s Hungarian coetus96 in attending these Sunday Biblicalinterpretation sessions, which were led by Paul Crell starting in 1574.97 At this point, it is worth posing an important question: what was Ambrosius’ ethnicity? Is it possible to make a precise determination, given that we once again lack unequivocal sources? As I have discussed, he was born in Késmárk, into what seems to have been a German-speaking Zipser family. He went to the local Latin school where compulsory exercises were

36 To be young, gifted and motivated conducted in the ancient languages, but where German was a language of conversation; we know that during Latin grammar lessons there, supplementary materials were discussed in German.98 Given the multiethnic nature of the society of Szepes County, it seems likely that Ambrosius also knew at least some Hungarian and Slovakian. His teacher, who went by the Latinised name Thoraconymus, was a Slovak who had been christened Matej Kabat, though his later writings indicate that his command of the Hungarian language was outstanding. During the years Ambrosius spent in Eperjes, he served as the city’s German minister, one precondition of which might have been German origins, not just coursework in German or an understanding of the language. Ambrosius’ correspondence does little to settle this question, given that he had much more to say about his city and his region than about his own origins. Of course, this is unsurprising, given that the discourse of the early modern Republic of Letters rarely touched on questions of ethnic belonging; its members were not in the habit of delving into each other’s ethnic roots. Ambrosius often closed his letters with the phrase, ‘I am writing this letter from the city of Késmárk in the foothills of the Carpathians, where they speak the Missingsch dialect of German’, and reminded his correspondents on several occasions that the people of Késmárk were of Gepid (that is, Germanic) origin. The inhabitants of other cities in Szepes County also liked to trace their origins back to the Gepids; according to their genealogies, their forefather Gether was the grandson of Noah’s son Shem. Gether’s descendants begat the Getae, the Gepids’ ancestors, who had settled in this region at a very early date.99 Of course, this contrived etymology did not have much historical basis, but locals enthusiastically formulated ‘traditions’ which made their origin stories seem as ancient as possible, which was particularly important in establishing their German communal identity. In addition to concluding his letters with phrases that emphasised his sense of German identity, Ambrosius also regularly referred to Késmárk’s position along the border by using ‘last stop’ metaphors. ‘I am writing this letter from Késmárk, where the Kingdom of Hungary ends and that of Poland begins’. The contemporaneous notion of ‘the last bulwark of Christendom’ does not appear in his correspondence, though he did make use of the phrase ‘living in the borderlands’, most often amplifying it with the sort of exaggerations that were common in humanists’ letters, thus emphasising his geographical remoteness and the distance between his home and the intellectual centres of Europe. Nor do other pieces of evidence help clarify this situation. For example, certain publications specified Ambrosius’ nationality in attributing his poems and other writings (‘carmen Sebastiani Ambrosii Hungaro-Scepusij’), though this is little more than an acknowledgement that he, like many of his contemporaries, lived in a particular region of the Kingdom of Hungary; Ambrosius never referred to himself using a designation of this sort. Many inhabitants of the territory of the Habsburg Empire wrote the epithet

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hungarus before or after their names, including a certain Croatian named Djurdević or Georgievits, who listed himself as hungarus first, then as croatus.100 There is no question that a kind of hungarus-consciousness existed in the territory of historical Hungary, though this mindset was more likely a manifestation of belonging to the kingdom rather than an awareness of ethnic identity. In the course of his harshly polemical literary exchanges in the 1580s and 1590s, Ambrosius was never harassed on account of his ethnic identity; his opponents generally focused on his statements, though they did occasionally take note of the name he had inherited (Lahm or Lám, meaning ‘lame’).101 In the first 25 years of his life, he generally used two different names: on official documents, including the register at Wittenberg and his first printed publication, he appeared as Sebastian Lammius (Tyropolitanus); after his return home, however, every written document refers to him as Schulmeister Sebastian. The first usage seems to be a nod to family tradition or a sign of his intention to honour his grandfather, though it is unclear why he did not use his full given name. The second version of his name was an obvious choice, given that he had become a teacher by the time he returned from his peregrination. In his later letters and publications, he would always refer to himself as Sebastian Ambrosius. There is little further information to add to this investigation of Ambrosius’ name(s) and ethnic ties. In any case, we do know this much: Ambrosius was the sort of Zipser who regularly and proudly reminded his correspondents of the German-Saxon traditions of his city and region, though he never said anything more about his personal sense of identity. As the later sections of this book will make clear, however, he was not merely a preacher who focused on local concerns. Though he was attached to Szepes County, he was a Central European humanist with links to other important locales in Central Europe. He considered himself to be a citizen and inhabitant of the Kingdom of Hungary in the same way that other individuals of his era did; he was just as concerned as his contemporaries about developments in Hungary’s ongoing war with the Turks, for instance. Ambrosius’ studies in Wittenberg enriched his life in a number of ways: above all, he acquired a great deal of knowledge at one of the most prestigious universities of his era, though he was also certainly aware that the destination of his scholarly peregrination offered another set of advantages which Mihály Forgách described a few years later in his famous Oratio de peregrinatione. An adherent of Justus Lipsius’ theory of travel, Forgách extolled the virtues of scholarly peregrination, saying, ‘Traveling is a grand opportunity to acquire friends and establish friendly fellowships, though the most precious and useful of these friendships are those which connect us to the most famous men’.102 Ambrosius’ later letters reveal that he struck up a friendship with the book dealer Samuel Seelfisch during his time at Wittenberg; Seelfisch would later become the mayor of the city and be reelected to this office 11 times. Ambrosius lived with Seelfisch in the latter’s

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house at 4 Marktviertel Street, across from city hall, and entrusted Seelfisch with forwarding his letters to Basel; Seelfisch would later publish a book of Ambrosius’ German hymns.103 The mayor was also popular with other Hungarian students; Péter Laskai Csókás, for instance, dedicated his book De homine to Seelfisch.104 More unequivocal evidence of their friendship is that Ambrosius hosted the younger Seelfisch in his home in 1590; the two men were presumably exchanging books and letters at that time as well.105 The rewards of Ambrosius’ year and a half in Wittenberg also included the relationships he seems to have established with other students, including Silesian humanists and scholars who went on to teach at Heidelberg. One of his 1592 letters reveals that Ambrosius fondly recalled the period of his scholarly peregrination, when he himself helped forward others’ letters. The greater part of this characteristically humanist task involved conveying correspondence for friends, acquaintances and colleagues from Hungary, though we cannot exclude the possibility that he also helped individuals of various other nationalities with their exchanges of letters. Ambrosius’ later letters were delivered along several routes (through Wittenberg, Frankfurt, Heidelberg and Kraków) which he recommended to his correspondents; a certain proportion of these relationships can be traced back to his time at Wittenberg. In addition to deepening his knowledge, another of the most important benefits of his Wittenberg education was his introduction to international scholarly society and the individuals who made up its constituent networks. Ambrosius probably familiarised himself with the conventions of fraternisation which were typical of the late-humanist Respublica Litteraria; he likely observed the ‘techniques’ he later used for making friends with other scholars and also got a taste of the vocabulary and gestures characteristic of this community. In short, he gained a certain insight into the everyday life of the international scholarly community of which he himself would soon become a member.

Homecoming: Homeland, hometown According to an ancient aphorism, ‘Those whom the gods hate are made to teach’. This dictum persisted into the 16th century; János Sylvester chose it as his motto and János Bocatius paraphrased it while serving as the headmaster of the school in Eperjes. Ambrosius, however, does not seem to have had any such notion in mind when he returned from Wittenberg and assumed the position of headmaster at the Késmárk School on 1 April 1577. The intellectual and professional examples set by the best local teachers, such as Stöckel, Fabinyi, and Thoraconymus, likely helped him make this decision, though it is also possible that he was obliged to take this job by the terms of a scholarship he had received from the city. Késmárk’s account ledger indicates that Ambrosius agreed to a salary of 52 forints and 50 dinars for the remainder of that year, which matched the amount

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Thoraconymus had received for the 1575 school year. Ambrosius earned 75 forints the following year, which sum was supplemented by certain forms of payment in kind (wood, grain, etc.). By way of comparison, the headmaster of the school in Lőcse had received 66 forints in 1566, though his wages had dropped to 50 forints by 1587. In Bártfa, the headmaster was allotted a sum of 62 forints, plus a gift of 8 forints, 25 bushels of wheat and 26 cords of wood. In Eperjes, the Schulmeister received 70 forints in the mid-1570s. In Késmárk, the pastor was paid 142 forints in 1578, while the city’s notary earned 65 forints and 50 dinars.106 The rights and responsibilities of Késmárk’s teachers were enumerated when its school system was reorganised in 1596; Johann Mylius, a member of Ambrosius’ closest circle of friends (whom Ambrosius had previously recommended to serve as Lőcse’s rector), was Késmárk’s new headmaster at that time.107 Ambrosius’ letter of invitation contains certain details characteristic of the conditions of the late 1570s. For instance, throughout the 1570s and 1580s, the Késmárk School continued to teach the septem artes liberales in the spirit of Philipp Melanchthon. The terms of his appointment also described the sorts of supplementary income the headmaster and his teachers were to receive. Each student was to offer the headmaster two dinars on the occasion of a major feast day, though they were allowed to substitute a kalács (milk loaf typically baked for holidays) for this payment. Funerals were another source of regular income for the school and its students. Large funerals, which were attended by the entire faculty and student body, earned the school 40 dinars; regular burial ceremonies, at which only the cantor and half the student body appeared, were worth 28 dinars; smaller interments brought in 15 dinars. The headmaster, his teaching assistant, the cantor, the bell-ringers and the local pastor each received an agreed-upon proportion of these sums. Private lessons were another source of extra income, though local authorities delegated the payment for these sessions to students’ parents. An interesting tradition developed in connection with the exams which were conducted at the Késmárk School on Saint Gregory’s Day (March 12) and Saint Gall’s Day (October 16). Students were organised into various classes, each of which was expected to contribute three dinars so that the headmaster could buy eggs for newly enrolled pupils, which practice was intended to help them develop an attachment to their new school. Even so, beyond specifying the headmaster’s salary (and the other forms of remuneration he would receive) and insisting that the region’s standard confession serve as the school’s basic educational framework, the city of Késmárk did not otherwise interfere in the headmaster’s work. Thus in principle, Ambrosius was free to teach his students according to the dictates of his own conscience and in line with his understanding of the profession’s best practices. He oversaw the teaching of religion, conducting theological presentations for the students in the uppermost class and supervising the subsequent debates. He was also responsible for responding to older pupils’

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questions about the catechism. The city’s pastor was tasked with overseeing ecclesiastical affairs at its schools, including Késmárk’s Lutheran lyceum; he was obliged to provide supplies to the schools’ headmasters on certain days. The pastor thus functioned as a kind of superintendent, and wielded an important set of powers; for instance, no headmaster could be suspended without his input and approval. The headmaster’s personal morals had to be beyond reproach; he could not serve wine at school, for instance, and was expected to behave in accordance with his sacred duty at all times. If he was negligent or insubordinate, he would be reported to the deacon of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County. Multiple warnings for ‘bad behavior’ could result in termination and his being banned from further employment in any of the 24 cities. Many headmasters regarded this job as a kind of stepping stone, given that they were dependent on or subordinated to city authorities and local pastors whose professional qualifications were (or might have been) equivalent to their own. Furthermore, pastors earned nearly twice as much as schoolmasters, and thus qualified candidates tended to choose preaching careers over teaching jobs whenever they were able. Even so, Ambrosius and several members of his closest circle of friends (a group which seems to have consisted of 13 individuals) – Frölich, Mylius, Platner, Thoraconymus and Fabricius Tolnai, for example – did the opposite, becoming headmasters or teachers upon returning from studying abroad. Eight of Ambrosius’ friends went to the University of Wittenberg, though another peculiarity of that era – corroborated by the examples of several of the individuals on this list – is that they tended to study there for short periods, two years or less. Of these 13 scholars, we have no information about the studies of the 3 – Boborowiczi, Kraus and Tribelius – who later served as officials of royal institutions or worked as entrepreneurs. Five found work as teachers and four took positions as pastors; Zsigmond Máriássy, on the other hand, settled into a way of life which we might describe as relatively typical of noble biographies, returning to his estate and playing barely any role in public life. The headmasters of the era were also entrusted with certain honourable tasks, sometimes serving their cities as envoys (as Thomas Fabri did for Bártfa, for example), which endeavours could also provide them with a regular source of income. Richard Kauffny, who worked as the headmaster of the Késmárk and (briefly) Kassa schools, received a regular salary and a barrel of wine in exchange for his work as an envoy, and served with such distinction that he was later raised to the nobility by the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Hungary Ferdinand I. Several of 16th-century Késmárk’s communal customs and traditions were connected to its school or its guilds, and Ambrosius presumably participated in these revitalising and rejuvenating celebrations. It was customary, for example, to host a so-called recordatio, which served to provide poor students with supplementary income.108 On certain designated days, these

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students – either alone or in the company of their teachers – would appear before the city’s dignitaries and sing hymns for them. In exchange for recognition in the recordatio (or ‘commemoration’), these notables would contribute to the students’ fund. Other cities, such as Selmecbánya,109 developed similar institutions. The recordatio was set down in the school regulations of the city of Bártfa, though these guidelines specified that students had to be able to sing and to have been at school for at least two months in order to be able to participate. In the Szepes community of Igló (now known as Spišská Nová Ves, Slovakia), the institution of the recordatio survived for a considerable period in the form of hymns sung by so-called kánensek. These singers performed at funerals and other church services, at which point the faithful would take up a collection on behalf of the kánensek, who were generally poor students in the lower grades at the local gymnasium or teacherpreparation institution. In addition to donations from aristocrats, they also received contributions from the city treasury. The city of Késmárk, for instance, gave 12 dinars to a recordatio fund on 12 June 1583 and another 50 dinars on 21 January 1584. The city’s account ledger indicates that the students who sang in Nagyőr on 1 May 1584 received 15 dinars from the Késmárk city council. The school regulations Leonhard Stöckel drew up in 1540 feature instructions for the recordatio, including the stipulation that only students with an understanding of music be allowed to participate in these choral performances. This clause is found in the section concerning the convictus (or ‘communal accommodations’) which term was used to refer to the lodgings where poor students were quartered. Pupils who lacked housing were sometimes accommodated at the school or in the homes of their teachers. The convictus was supervised by a senior who led the students out to beg for food every morning at ten; those who stayed behind were punished. The youngest pupil would say grace at the subsequent communal lunch. Poor students were sometimes obliged to ring the church-bells as well, and by nine in the evening everyone was to be in his room. Headmaster Johann Mylius’ 1596 letter of invitation indicates that the proceeds from the recordationes conducted on the Sunday after Saint Gall’s Day (October 16) were to be delivered to him. The recordationes performed at baptisms and on Saint Martin’s day supplemented the salaries of the cantor and the headmaster’s assistant, while the ‘commemorations’ conducted on Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, as well as those organised every Thursday and Sunday were all dedicated to helping poor students get by. The references to recordationes in these school schedules and letters of invitation indicate that these traditional ceremonies were organised within certain limits. Among the guidelines which imposed behavioural norms on students were warnings and prohibitions that reveal the sorts of pastimes they might otherwise have enjoyed. Several sets of regulations suggest that ‘students’ name-day revelries and the occasional farewell festivities organised around the departures of students who have completed their studies produce much more bad than good, insofar as the general objective of these

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[gatherings] is drinking’. Some cited the ancient maxim that many students prefer a symposium (‘party’) to a gymnasium (‘high school’), and limited celebrations by insisting that they take place in humble settings and that their hosts obtain the permission of the headmaster.110 It is impossible to know the extent to which recordationes and student parties might have served as initiation rituals or welcome ceremonies for these groups of young people. Might they have been patterned after the racket and caterwauling of the charivaris typical of the French countryside?111 Young people there organised gatherings in ‘honour’ of a cuckolded husband or to ‘celebrate’ a married couple’s infertility. Teenaged boys darkened their faces with ashes and often dressed in women’s clothing, then produced an unholy din with rattles and slapsticks, banging on drums and bells while chanting rhymes to ridicule their chosen quarry. They humiliated individuals who deviated from consensus norms and traditions, confounded communal expectations or failed in some way to conform to group values.112 The consequences of these sorts of festivities, which might also have taken place in Késmárk, often included altercations, violence and beatings. Violence was a fact of life in the cities of Upper Hungary, within every social stratum, both in public and in private settings.113 This everyday violence varied in its intensity, though the rivalry between the neighbouring cities of Lőcse and Késmárk sometimes culminated in physical strife. Authorities developed techniques for managing these conflicts, though finding methods for keeping the peace proved to be one of the most difficult tasks facing these cities over the course of the 16th century. Another custom unique to the Késmárk School was cockfighting (Hanbeissen). The 1596 letter of invitation which enumerated the responsibilities of Késmárk’s schoolmaster indicates that cockfights were held annually on Saint Gall’s Day, though this same document expressly forbade such competitions.114 It seems that students completely abandoned their studies as October 16 approached, focusing instead on training roosters; they also suffered a number of accidents associated with these cockfights. The town’s educational regulations thus required all students to pay their headmaster the three dinars his letter of invitation promised he would receive on Saint Gall’s Day, even though that day’s cockfights had been outlawed. However, beyond this letter of invitation, we have no sources or data confirming that cockfights were a popular form of entertainment among the youth of Késmárk, and none of the other educational institutions of Szepes County seem to have hosted such competitions. This custom was almost certainly related to the name of saint on whose feast day it was organised. The Benedictines had been venerating Saint Gall in Hungary as far back as the Árpád era, as evidenced by the existence of the community of Szentgál, so named because the primeval forest of the Bakony region where it was established resembled the woodlands where the village’s patron saint, the missionary Gallus, had become a hermit and

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befriended the local animals. The saint’s name, gallus, is Latin for ‘rooster’, which explains the fact that his feast day was celebrated with cockfights, and the subsequent fame of the library and school at the Abbey of Saint Gall explains the fact that he came to be considered one of the patron saints of students. These were among the medieval customs which were preserved or revived by Protestants, particularly Lutherans; students at the cathedralchapter school of Várad (now Oradea, Romania), for instance, celebrated Saint Gall’s day by presenting their church superiors with a rooster or hen. In 1585, the priest of the Hungarian town of Csepreg received a rooster from its people on Saint Gall’s Day; the teachers at the town’s school each received a rooster from their students: Once again, each of the students who pays according to the covenant, whether he be the son of burghers or the son of nobles, though not of Germans, shall owe a rooster on Saint Gall’s Day, the which is denominated ‘Saint Gall’s rooster’.115 Cockfights were also a familiar pastime among the Slovak students of Besztercebánya (Banská Bystrica, Slovakia), who were presumably under German influence as well. The festival of the ‘student-king’ was celebrated every year on Saint Gall’s Day. In the morning, the young people filed out onto the green accompanied by the adults. Gifts intended for the students were deposited into the middle of a circle. A rooster was tied to a stake. One after another, students tried to knock the rooster down. The next student in line would be blindfolded and handed a stick. When the student set off in pursuit of the rooster, his fellows and their teacher would sing a song. Anyone who struck the rooster would receive a kalács or crescent roll; those who missed withdrew in a funk.116 The rooster festival held on Saint Gall’s Day at the Saxon gymnasium of Brassó (now Brașov, Romania) also resembled Késmárk’s custom.117 This school would choose the king of its rooster festival during a celebration which featured cockfighting and rooster-shooting. The outstanding and otherwise prominent students who were nominated for this royal election would each bring a rooster to school, where they organised a cockfight; the owner of the winning rooster would become the king of the student body. (This sort of competition survived into the 19th century, by which time the student-king was being crowned with a gold-plated copper diadem which had belonged to the school since the 17th century.) Then various forms of poultry (geese, ducks, hens, etc.) were released, chased down by a group armed with swords and beheaded. These bloody battles were staged over the course of three days; the victims of the slaughter were served at banquets where the student-king received fruit, pastries and money from students who

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participated in the massacre.118 We also know that the marksmen’s guild of Késmárk organised annual competitions on the occasion of major holidays and celebrations. Rooster- and goose-shooting were popular in the city, and these contests achieved a certain fame because the winners were rewarded with live roosters and geese. These shooting contests were also symbolically significant, as they marked spring’s return to Szepes County.119 Over time, this sort of ‘manly’ game would come to be regarded as brutal animal abuse; even in the mid-17th century, participants were being blindfolded before they attempted to strike down animals who had been tied to a stake. Entries in Késmárk’s account ledgers indicate that its citizens also had access to other forms of communal entertainment. On 9 January 1579, Headmaster Ambrosius gave a forint to a troupe of comic actors; on 4 February 1581, the cantor paid a forint to another group of thespians; on 11 January 1585, some clowns who wandered into Nagyőr received one and a quarter forints from the city.120 These expenditures were almost certainly related to New Year’s and Farsang celebrations. Games associated with Carnival-style Farsang festivities were popular in student circles, and though Késmárk’s city council initially supported these forms of entertainment, by the middle of the 17th century they had deteriorated to the point where local authorities were using fines to try to rein in the more boorish sorts of amusement associated with Farsang. Our understanding of Késmárk’s Fastnacht is also limited by a lack of informative sources, though it is clear that theatrical performances were part of the social life of the cities of Szepes County. Headmaster Leonhard Stöckel, for example, wrote and staged a didactic drama based on the apocryphal Biblical narrative of Susanna.121 Following productions like these, the city council of Bártfa paid a sum of 1.5 forints to the youthful performers and the teacher who prepared them for their roles and directed the play.122 Stöckel’s drama was a commentary on the social conditions of the era; the title character Susanna embodied the Protestant community, while the two spiteful elders who harass her represented the Catholics and Turks who threatened the faith. These presentations were staged on Bártfa’s Theatergasse, the street where its city hall was located, as was typical of the cities of Szepes County, where plays were often performed at the city hall itself.

Notes 1 For the original, see Thoraconymus Matthiae epistolae, declamationes et poemata in the Manuscript Archives, OSzK (Latin Octavos, section 149, f. 58–58v). András Szabó recently reevaluated the entirety of Thoraconymus’ manuscript output in ‘Thoraconymus Mátyás levél- és beszédgyűjteménye mint tankönyv’ (Mátyás Thoraconymus’ Letter- and Loquence-Collection as Textbook), in G Kecskeméti and R Tasi, eds., Filológia és textológia a régi magyar irodalomban. Miskolc: Miskolci Egyetem BTK, 2012, 127–37. 2 This version is translated directly from Der große Katechismus (Das vierte Gebot, sections 172–3), available at bookofconcord.org: ‘Denn wollen wir

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3 4

5

6 7

8

9 10

11 12

13

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feine, geschickte Leute haben, – beide, zu weltlichem und geistlichem Regiment, so müssen wir wahrlich keinen Fleiß, Mühe noch Kosten an unsern Kindern sparen, zu lehren und erziehen, daß sie Gott und der Welt dienen mögen’. Cited in Reinhold Vormbaum, Die evangelische Schulordnungen des 16. Jahrhunderts. Gütersloh, 1860. ‘Doctrinam ortodoxam, in libris Melancthonis e praescripto verbi divini dexterrime traditam, quam partim a Praeceptoribus, qui me viva voce erudierunt, partim e mutis Magistris didici, primum in munere scholastico tum alibi, tum in hac ipsa civitate, quae me nascentem excepit, cum Mathia Thoraconymo’. This brief curriculum is all Ambrosius had to say about his childhood; see Grynaeus I. For more on the first few decades of the Reformation, see the following studies produced by 20th-century scholars: Győző Bruckner, A reformáció és ellenreformáció története a Szepességen (The History of the Reformation and the Counterreformation in Szepes County). Budapest, 1922; Jenő Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus 1565-től 1600-ig (Hungarian Protestantism from 1565 to 1600). Budapest, 1977. With the help of reproductions of early modern texts, more recent scholars have also produced accounts of the spread of the Reformation; see, for instance, Tadeusz M Trajdos, ‘Reformacja i kontrreformacja na Spiszu’ (The Reformation and the Counterreformation in Spiš), in Ryszard Gładkiewicz and Martin Homza, eds., Terra Scepusiensis. Stav bádania o dejinách Spiša (Terra Scepusiensis. Recent Research on the History of Spiš). Levoča and Wrocław, 2003, 467–86. István Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink és a ‘Studia Humanitatis’ (Hungary’s Sixteenth-Century Schools and the ‘Studia Humanitatis’). Budapest: Akadémiai, 1981, 51. For more on the institutionalisation of humanism, see Anthony Grafton and Lisa Jardine’s examination of conditions in Western Europe, From Humanism to Humanists: Education and the Liberal Arts in Fifteenth- and SixteenthCentury Europe. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986. For more on this process in Central Europe and Silesia, see Manfred P Fleischer, ‘The Institutionalization of Humanism in Protestant Silesia’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 66 (1975): 256–74. For a survey of these parallel practices, see Marcell Sebők, ‘Traditions and Transitions: Examples of Parallel Practices in a Sixteenth-Century Central European Region’, in Ian Johnson and Ana-Maria SA Rodrigues, eds., Religious Practices and Everyday Life in the Long Fifteenth Century (1350– 1570). Brepols, 2020. Katalin Péter’s most recent book includes a lengthy analysis of the process of ‘reformation’ and the new attitudes of the communities involved; see Péter, A reformáció, 60–89. I will discuss these elements at greater length in the section describing Ambrosius’ pastoral activities; the hymnal to which I have referred here appeared in Wittenberg in 1588 under the title Acht und Zwantzig Geistliche Lieder (Twenty-Eight Spiritual Songs). Carolus Fejérváry, Sylloge Miscellaneorum ad Hist. Hung. Evang. Ecclesiaticam. Manuscript Archives, OSzK (Latin Folios 2086/2, 236). For a recent account of Stöckel’s life, see Barnabás Guitman, Hit, hatalom, humanizmus. Bártfa reformációja és művelődése Leonhard Stöckel korában (Faith, Power, Humanism. Reformation and Culture in Bártfa in the Age of Leonhard Stöckel). Budapest: Szent István Társulat, 2017. Severin Sculteti, Hypomnema sive admonitio brevis ad Christianos regni Ungarici cives de asserenda et retinenda veteri seu avita vere Christiana doctrina in Confessione Augustana comprehensa. Bártfa: Gutsegel, 1599, RMK II.

46

14 15

16 17 18

19 20

21

22

23

24 25

To be young, gifted and motivated 292, RMNy 854. They did not, in fact send Honterus to Transylvania; after his peregrination through Vienna, Kraków and Basel, he returned to Brassó (now Brașov, Romania) of his own accord. See Klein, Nachrichten, I., 332–41; Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink, 153–8. In other schools, such as those of Lőcse (Levoča, Slovakia), Besztercebánya (Banská Bystrica, Slovakia) and Késmárk, the school day started at 6 in the morning, generally with linguistic exercises. See Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink, 89–93. See the collection of Thoraconymus’ writings entitled Epistolae, declamationes et poemata. Local bibliographies suggest that pedagogical tracts by Erasmus and Jean Luis Vives also had an impact, though German models were the primary influences in the region. See Platner, Kramer and Trotzendorf’s letters in Tünde Katona and Miklós Latzkovits, eds., Lőcsei stipendiánsok és literátusok. 1. Külföldi tanulmányutak dokumentumai 1550–1699 (Scholarship Recipients and Men of Letters from Lőcse, vol. 1. Documentation of Scholarly Peregrinations, 1550–1699). Szeged, 1990. In March 1551, Platner wrote to the Lőcse city council to say that the ageing headmaster of the Goldberg School was no longer capable of performing his duties in a manner he found acceptable. See Barbara Sher Tinsley, ‘Johann Sturm’s Method for Humanistic Pedagogy’, Sixteenth Century Journal 20 (1989): 23–39. For a comparison of the gymnasia of Strasbourg and Besztercebánya, see Mészáros. For a detailed monograph on the humanist school in Strasbourg, see Anton Schindling, Humanistische Hochschule und Freie Reichstadt. Gymnasium und Akademie in Strassbourg, 1538–1621. Wiesbaden, 1977. For a relatively recent introduction to Sturm’s educational system, including critical editions of certain relevant sources, see Lewis W Spitz and Barbara Sher Tinsley, eds., Johann Sturm on Education: The Reformation and Humanist Learning. St. Louis: Concordia Press, 1995. These were the 13 Szepes County towns King Sigismund had put up as collateral for a loan from Poland in 1412. Free royal cities (liberae regiae civitates) were considered royal property and were subordinated directly to the king, to whom they paid their annual taxes. They enjoyed a number of privileges, such as staple rights, authorisation to host markets and fairs, the right to build walls around their cities and the right to confer citizenship on newcomers. Citizens of these communities were also immune to outside legal prosecution, free to elect their own parish priests and enjoyed the right to compose their own last wills and testaments. It is worth mentioning that Pál Máriássy established the county’s first private school on the Máriássy family’s land in Márkusfalva (now Markušovce, Slovakia). This school’s first rector appears in the historical record in 1567, see MOL Batizfalvi portion, Máriássy family archive, file XXV, no. 17. After the death of his father Pál, Zsigmond Máriássy would become this school’s chief patron. In addition to Hungarian and Zipser-German educators, several Slovak instructors would also eventually teach at this school. Gerald Strauss thoroughly examined these issues; see Luther’s House of Learning. Indoctrination of the Young in the German Reformation. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978 (particularly chapters 2–4); see also ‘The Social Function of Schools in the Lutheran Reformation in Germany’, History of Education Quarterly 28 (1988): 191–206. See Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink, 88–93. Magyar Országgyűlési Emlékek I–XII (1526–1606) (Hungarian Parliamentary Records, vols. I–XII (1526–1606)), ed. Vilmos Fraknói and Árpád Károlyi.

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26 27 28

29

30

31 32

33

34 35 36 37 38

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Budapest, 1881–1917; see also Mihály Zsilinszky, A magyar országgyűlések vallásügyi tárgyalásai a reformatiotól kezdve (Hungarian Parliamentary Debates on the Subject of Religion from the Reformation Onward), vol. I. Budapest, 1881. József Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános testvérülete (XXIV regalium plebanorum fraternitas) és a Reformáczió a Szepességen (The Fraternity of the 24 Royal Parishes and the Reformation in Szepes County). Miskolcz, 1895, 137. Stöckel taught in Késmárk from July 1555 to January 1556. Unfortunately, we have no precise data about the ethnic composition of Késmárk’s population. As a market town (mezőváros or oppidum), it had a smaller range of rights than its neighbouring free royal cities (Lőcse, Eperjes and Bártfa, for example), though the lord of this territory was able to grant it certain privileges. The most important privilege accorded to market towns was of course the right to host fairs and markets. The charters of the era record the town’s name in a great variety of spellings: Cesmark, Kasmark, Kesmarek, Kesmarga, Kesmark, Kezimbarg, Kezmark, Kismark, Kümark, Tyropolis, Khässmargkh, Kaisersmarckt; see Nora Baráthová, Kežmarský hrad (The Castle of Késmárk). Martin: Osveta, 1989. For more on the history of Késmárk and Szepes County, see Győző Bruckner, A késmárki céhek jog- és művelődéstörténeti jelentősége. Okirattárral, 1515– 1757 (The Legal- and Cultural-Historical Significance of the Guilds of Késmárk, with a Compendium of Documents, 1515–1757). Miskolc, 1941; Bruckner, Késmárk szabad királyi város műemlékei (Monuments of the Free Royal City of Késmárk). Eperjes, 1908; Kálmán Demkó, A felsőmagyarországi városok életéről a XV–XVII. században (On Life in the Cities of Upper Hungary from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century). Budapest, 1890; Antal Fekete Nagy, A Szepesség területi és társadalmi kialakulása (The Social and Territorial Evolution of Szepes County). Budapest, 1934; Gáspár Hain, ed., Szepességi avagy lőcsei krónika és évkönyv a kedves utókor számára (The Chronicle and Almanac of Lőcse and Szepes County, Compiled with Love for Posterity). Budapest: Magvető, 1988. Béla Iványi, ‘Késmárk város lakói és azoknak vagyoni viszonyai 1542-ben’ (The Inhabitants of the City of Késmárk and Their Financial Circumstances in 1542) KSzM (1916): 68–86. The basis of this comparison is a tax ledger compiled in Lőcse that same year; see Béla Iványi, ‘Lőcse város lakóinak vagyoni viszonyai 1542-ben’ (The Financial Circumstances of the Inhabitants of the City of Lőcse in 1542) KSzM (1909): 158–224. King Matthias granted the Késmárk Castle to Imre Szapolyai in 1462; it ended up in the hands of his nephew King János Szapolyai before being given to Hieronymus Laski, Albert’s father. Albert Laski pawned the castle to Hans Rueber, the Captain General of Upper Hungary, for 42,000 forints; the edifice ultimately found its way into the possession of Sebestyén Thököly. For an account of Albert Laski’s adventurous life, see ‘Olbracht Łaski,’ in Polsky Słownik Biografczny. Warszawa: PIW, 1973, vol. 18, 246–50. Reporting to the Catholic provost meant that he still had the ecclesiastic authority over the county. Frigyes Sváby, A Lengyelországnak elzálogosított tizenhárom szepesi város története (A History of Thirteen Cities Forfeited to Poland). Lőcse, 1895. Guitman, Hit, hatalom, humanizmus, 161. Sommer and Krossensky were both ordained in Wittenberg, where both had been disciples and friends of Melanchthon. ‘Is affrmavit aliquando in consessu doctissimorum in Helvetia virorum factam esse mentionem scholarum celebriorum, quae passim sunt in regnis Europae

48

39

40 41 42

43

44 45 46 47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

To be young, gifted and motivated et ibi illatem etiam fuisse mentionem Bartphae, scholaeque illius et Stöckelio’. This letter, dated 18 March 1567, is housed in the Bártfa Archives. The city council of Eperjes later wrote that Thomas Fabri had maintained the good reputation the school had acquired during Stöckel’s tenure. The duties of the headmaster of the Késmárk School (1596). Berufungschreiben des Rektors Mylius vom Jahre 1596. The headmaster of the school at that time was Johann Mylius, a friend of Ambrosius’; Mylius’ letter of appointment enumerated rights and responsibilities which had complied based on the practices of the preceding decades; this same set of duties is recorded in the invitation issued in 1596 as well, see Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink, 201–3. Kauffny was the headmaster of the school from 1552 to 1570, during which period he spent two years (1556–8) in Kassa. At that time (1589), Fabinyi’s daughter was married in Eperjes, which community was the site of Ambrosius’ clash with his nemesis Gergely Horváth. For more, see the chapter (4) on religious debates. Exempla declinationum et conjugationum, quae sunt anima Donati, utilissimis regulis illustrata, aarmina differentialia, item brevis et pueriles praeceptiones de Orthographia, edita in usum scholae Eperiensis, a Luca Fabino Popradiensi. Neisse, 1570. Fabinyi took over as the headmaster of the Eperjes School in 1571 and taught there until his death in 1586. See Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 315. See also: Ivan Chalupecky, ‘Knižnica Kežmarského Lycea v kultúrnych dejinách Spiša,’ (The Library of the Késmárk Lyceum in the Cultural History of Szepes), in Historický fond lyceálnej knižnice v Kežmarku. Bratislava, 1986, 108–23. In addition, textbooks such as Christoph Hegendorf’s Rudimenta grammatices Donati and Sebald Heyden’s Puerilium colloquiorum formulae were also customarily used in Szepes County. Samuel Weber, Monographie der evangelischer Gemeinde Bela. Késmárk, 1885, 136. The date of his enrolment was November 7, 1569; see Album Academiae Vitebergensis II. For a survey of Thoraconymus’ life and work, see András Szabó, ‘Levelek és levelezés a kései humanizmusban’ (Letters and Correspondence in the LateHumanist Era), in Szabó, Respublica litteraria. Budapest: Balassi, 1999, 103–4. ‘Ego, si divina fuerit voluntas, perpetuo meam operam erudiendae juventuti dicabo. Quod si non semper hic fet, tamen alibi’; see Thoraconymus’ Epistolae, f. 37v. Imre Újfalvi incorporated Thoraconymus’ Orthographia into his own work, thus preserving its text; see Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink, 203–17. Anthithesis, xi. This datum might merit some scepticism, given that the people of this period very rarely reached the age of 90. This is, of course, pure speculation; see Iványi, ‘Késmárk város’, 69. Recordanz oder Wyssbuch an der Stadt Keysmark, 1579; the total outlay amounted to 6 forints and 44 dinars. Blotius XVI. Blotius II, IV, VIII, XV. Blotius XI, XVI. Blotius XIII, XVII. Blotius XI, XIII. Blotius VIII, XVII. Der große Katechismus (Das zweite Gebot, section 76), available at bookofconcord.org: ‘Das wäre auch die rechte Weise, Kinder wohl zu ziehen, weil man sie mit Gutem und Lust kann gewöhnen. Denn was man allein mit Ruten und Schlägen soll zwingen, da wird keine gute Art aus, und wenn man’s weit

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59 60 61 62 63

64 65 66

67 68

69 70 71

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bringt, so bleiben sie doch nicht länger fromm, denn die Rute auf dem Nacken liegt’. See Strauss, ‘The Social Function of Schools’, 192–5. Bruckner, A reformáció, 522. Georg Creutzer, Sendbrieff Georgij Creutzers alm einem ersamen und weisen Rath und der gantzen christlichen Gemein der Statt Keismarckt … Monyorókerék/Eberau: Manlius, 1587. RMK II. 197.a., RMNy 598, iii. Steven Ozment, When Fathers Ruled: Family Life in Reformation Europe. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983. Steven Ozment, Ancestors. The Loving Family in Old Europe. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2001. In addition to criticising the work of Philippe Ariès, Ozment also offered critical evaluations of studies by Michael Mitterauer, Reinhard Sieder, Edward Shorter and Lawrence Stone. Linda Pollock, Forgotten Children. Parent-Children Relations from 1500 to 1900. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Philippe Ariès’ best-known book, L’Enfant et la vie familiale sous l’Ancien Régime, was published in English in 1962 under the title Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life. Giovanni Levi and Jean-Claude Schmitt, eds., Storia dei giovani, vol. 1. Dall’antichità all’età moderna. Roma and Bari: Laterza and Figli Spa, 1994. Published in English as A History of Young People in the West. Translated by Camille Naish. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1997. Anna French, ed., Early Modern Childhood: An Introduction. New York: Routledge, 2019. The complete text of the poem reads: ‘Ergo Sebaste cupis, peregrinas visere terras, Ergo Sebaste tibi, sit via fausta precor. Sit via fausta precor, prae enti numine Christi, Felix qui Christi, numine carpit iter. Carpit iter felix, Christi qui numen adorat, Carpere si faustum, vis iter, adde preces. Adde preces precibus, subsunt sua pondera votis, Clementem faciunt, candida vota Deum. Vota Deum flectunt quae fido pectore surgunt, Vota fac & placidum, sic tibi fiet iter. Fiat iter, quod te varios cognoscere mores, Et verum doceat, religionis iter. Religionis iter, discat peregrina profectus, Tu loca cognoscas iura, statusque virum. Iura statusque virum noscens qui diligis artes, Doctiloquas: miseros ars bene semper alit. Semper alit doctam, regio bene quaelibet artem, Ars pietasque viris, est decus eximium. Est decus eximium virtutem semper amare Semper amare Deum, per decus eximium est’. Thoraconymus, Epistolae, ff. 34r–35v. Album Academiae Vitebergensis II. 254b. 32. The only other student to enrol that day was Gregorius Cobizus of Pfalz. Older scholarly accounts include Miklós Asztalos, A wittenbergi egyetem és a magyarországi kálvinizmus (The University of Wittenberg and Hungarian Calvinism). Budapest, 1932; Ioannis Ladislaus Bartholomaeides, Memoriae Ungarorum qui in alma condam universitate Vitebergensi. Pesthini/Pest, 1817; Fraknói, A hazai és külföldi iskolázás, 288–319 (this text includes a register of

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To be young, gifted and motivated 16th-century Hungarian university students); Vilmos Fraknói, ‘Melanchthon magyarországi barátai’ (Melanchthon’s Hungarian Friends), Sz 1874; Imre Révész, ‘Magyar tanulók Wittenbergben Melanchthon haláláig’ (Hungarian Students in Wittenberg up to the Time of Melanchthon’s Death), MTT 1859; Géza Szabó, Geschichte des Ungarische coetus an Universität Wittenberg. 1555–1613. Halle (Saale), 1941; Etele Thúry, A wittenbergi akadémián járt magyar tanulók társaságának anyakönyve (A Register of the Society of Hungarian Students at the Wittenberg Academy) 1555–1608. Iskolatörténeti Adattár II. Pápa, 1908, 3–67; Album Academiae Vitebergensis. Ab A. Ch. MDII usque ad A. MDCII. Volumen Secundum. Sub auspicis Bibliothecae Universitatis Halensis ex autographo editum. Halis: Sumptibus Maximiliani Niermeyeri, 1894. Reprint: Max Niermeyer Verlag, Tübingen, 1976. For more recent scholarship, see Katalin Keveházi, Melanchthon és a Wittenbergben tanult magyarok az 1550-es évektől 1587-ig (Melanchthon and the Hungarians who Studied in Wittenberg from the 1550s to 1587). Szeged, 1986; András Szabó, ‘Magyarok Wittenbergben (1555–1592)’ (Hungarians in Wittenberg, 1555–1592), in Szabó, Respublica litteraria, 79–90. The most recent and possibly most relevant monograph is András Szabó’s Coetus Ungaricus. A wittenbergi magyar diáktársaság, 1555–1613 (The Hungarian Cohort. The Society of Hungarian Students at Wittenberg). Budapest: Balassi, 2017. Hilde de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Mobility’, in Walter Rüegg, general ed., A History of the University in Europe. Vol. II: Universities in Early Modern Europe (1500–1800). Ed. H de Ridder-Symoens. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996, 421. Adorján Divéky, ‘Szepességi tanulók a krakkói egyetemen 1400–1550’ (Students from Szepes County at the University of Kraków, 1400–1550), KSzM 1 (1909): 88–98. Roughly 400 students from Szepes County would attend the University of Kraków over the course of these 150 years, though their numbers dropped steadily after 1520. See the Album Studiosorum Universitatis Cracoviensis. Kraków, 1887. See for example János Heltai, ‘Adattár a heidelbergi egyetemen 1595–1621 között tanult magyarországi diákokról és pártfogóikról’ (Database of Hungarian Students at the University of Heidelberg and their Benefactors, 1595–1621), in Az Országos Széchényi Könyvtár Évkönyve. Budapest, 1980, 243–347; see also János Heltai, Alvinczi Péter és a heidelbergi peregrinusok (Péter Alvinczi and the Foreigners in Heidelberg). Budapest: Balassi Kiadó, 1994. Jacob Meltzer, another of Ambrosius’ biographers, began his narrative by articulating Ambrosius’ situation as follows (though, without any documentation): ‘Though Ambrosius was born into great poverty, which obliged him to economize, he later did well for himself, setting aside enough money to be able to travel to the German university in Wittenberg with ease’; Biographien berühmter Zipser. Kaschau/Košice, 1832, 82. See De Ridder-Symoens, ‘Mobility,’ 417; Ronnie Po-chia Hsia, Social Discipline in the Reformation: Central Europe, 1550–1750. London and New York: Routledge, 1989; Lewis W Spitz, ‘The Importance of the Reformation for Universities: Culture and Confession in the Critical Years’, in JM Kittelson and PJ Transue, eds., Rebirth, Reform and Resilience. Universities in Transition, 1300–1700. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 42–78. Ambrosius’ first known printed work, a copy of which can be found in the library of the Reformed College of Debrecen, was the Metaphrasis Graeca Psalmi Primi, the title page of which reads as follows: ‘Et ex eodem Elegia ad Illvstrem … Dominum Iohannem Rvbervm, Liberum Baronem in Büchsendorff et Grauenwert, sacrae Caesareae Regiaeque Maiestatis in Hungaria superiore supremum belli duecem et Capitanum etc’.

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78 Ambrosius spoke these words as part of an oration he delivered at the funeral of Thököly’s wife Zsuzsanna Dóczy; he illustrated the Thökölys’ generosity by mentioning Zsigmond Dávid of Kassa, a young man who had begun studying at Wittenberg in 1577 with the Thökölys’ help. Oratio funebris in obitum Memoriae Generosae ac Magnifciae Dominae Svsanne Doczi … Heidelbergae, Typis Christophori Leonis. Anno MDC, RMK III. 944. 79 One of his beneficiaries, Izsák Fegyverneki, described this plan in a letter to Grynaeus; see Grynaeus XXXVI. 80 Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 75. 81 The Schlaker Foundation began serving the youth of Selmecbánya in 1544; 5 per cent of its general fund of 800 golden Hungarian forints was enough to enroll two Hungarian students at foreign universities every year; these students were funded for three years each. See János Breznyik, A selmecbányai ágostai hitvallású evangélikus egyház és lyceum története. I. rész: A XVI. századi események (The History of the Augsburg-Confession Lutheran Church of Selmecbánya and its Lyceum, part I: The Events of the Sixteenth Century). Selmecbánya, 1883. The Thurzó Foundation was established in 1543 in accordance with the last will and testament of Judge Royal Elek Thurzó, who left 10,000 forints to the city of Lőcse, an annual 40–50 forints of which was allotted to pay for two students from Lőcse to enroll in foreign schools. The foundation did more than pay for students to travel abroad, however; its funds were also used to compensate the city’s teachers and to buy books and food for poorer students. Cited in Wagner, Analecta I., 168. 82 In 1553, Platner wrote to the chief justice and city council of Lőcse: ‘olim patriae in functionibus scholasticis et exercenda pueritia servire possem’. See Lőcsei stipendiánsok és literátusok, 28. 83 See Lőcsei stipendiánsok és literátusok, letters no. 64, 91 and 98. 84 Lőcsei stipendiánsok és literátusok, letter no. 96. The Thurzó Foundation continued to serve as a reliable source of assistance in the first half of the 17th century, as evidenced by a letter written by Peter Zabler of Lőcse, ibid, letter no. 139. 85 Késmárk’s Recordanzbuch features a much smaller number of entries, but it is known that Ambrosius’ cousin, Unterbaum, received support from city. 86 For a scholarly account of such journeys, see Thomas A Brady Jr. and Heiko A Oberman, eds., Itinerarium Italicum. The Profle of the Italian Renaissance in the Mirror of Its European Transformations. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975. 87 Ambrosius described his work as an ephorus (or academic escort) in his letters to Johann Jacob Grynaeus, as did Miskolczi Csulyak in his autobiography. István Thököly later enrolled at the University of Heidelberg, where Albert Szenci Molnár supervised his studies. 88 See András Szabó’s recent critical edition of Szenci Molnár Albert naplója (The Diary of Albert Szenci Molnár). Budapest: Universitas, 2003. Ambrosius appears in this diary several times as the bearer of funding for Szenci Molnár’s travels. Keserű provides a thorough introduction to Újfalvi’s scrapbook in his article ‘Újfalvi Imre’. 89 See Anne Goldgar, Impolite Learning: Conduct and Community in the Republic of Letters, 1680–1750. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995; Dena Goodman, The Republic of Letters: A Cultural History of the French Enlightenment. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994. 90 Over the course of a three-year peregrination, Máté Skaricza also visited Bèze, as well as Johannes Sturm, Matthias Flacius and Johannes Foxius; see RMKT XI, 457. 91 There is a great deal of scholarly literature on early modern theoretical works concerning the subject of travel (the ars or methodus apodemica); it is worth

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94 95 96

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99 100 101 102 103 104

To be young, gifted and motivated mentioning one particular study by Iván Kovács Sándor, ‘A régi magyar utazási irodalom az európai utazáselméleti művek tükrében’ (Historical Hungarian Travel Literature as Reflected in European Works of Travel Theory), in Kovács, Szakácsmesterségnek és utazásnak könyvecskéi. Budapest: Szépirodalmi, 1988, 93–200. Péter Laskai Csókás, Speculum exilii … Brassó/Brașov, 1581, chapter IV. RMK II. 163, RMNy 483. Gabriella Hubert has called attention to this theory of peregrination (‘Péter Laskai Csókás’ 1581 peregrination-theory’) in her book Régi és új peregrináció (Old and New Peregrinations), 549–55. András Szabó, in his attempt to position the Hungarian community within the Saxon context and the spiritual life of Europe as a whole, suggests that the university’s golden age began in the late 1570s and lasted roughly a decade and a half. See Szabó, Coetus Ungaricus, 28. Szabó, Coetus Ungaricus. Miklós Asztalos arrived at this number after critically examining the Ordiniertenbuch and conducting his own archival research. It should be noted that not every Hungarian student took part in the life of the coetus; it was certainly not mandatory to do so. Miklós Asztalos was the first to publish a study of Hungarian students’ difficulties with the German language; he concluded that many Hungarians lived in isolation from the inhabitants of Wittenberg as a result of their (lack of) linguistic abilities, though this does not necessarily mean that they were cut off from students of other ethnicities, as certain scholars have assumed. See Asztalos, ‘A wittenbergi egyetem’, 4–5. András Szabó characterised this period at the university as follows: ‘A peculiar, schizophrenic situation developed: orthodox Lutherans kept a tight grip on the theology department, while Melanchthon’s followers – Crypto-Calvinists and humanists – made up the majority of every other department’s faculty’. Ambrosius was probably already a Philippist by this time; I will substantiate this contention in the following chapter. Another characteristic of these older pedagogical systems was that the curriculum could be divided, as was the case with the materials prepared for the mixed, Hungarian-German populace of regional towns. Luther’s catechism was among the required texts for both study groups, but native German speakers were obliged to recite the passage under discussion in Hungarian, while native Hungarian speakers read it aloud in German; this process familiarised students with the use of both languages early in their school careers; see Mészáros, XVI. századi városi iskoláink, 111–12. At the end of his 1639 book Medulla, the famous Késmárk scholar Dávid Frölich wrote, ‘[This] summary of the regions of the globe [was produced] by the author Dávid Frölich, mathematician of Késmárk, in the Gepid Carpathians’. For more on Georgievits, see Marianna D Birnbaum, ‘Humanists in Ottoman Captivity’, in Birnbaum, ed., Croatian and Hungarian Latinity in the Sixteenth Century. Zagreb and Dubrovnik, 1993, 230–69. This sort of cognomen was applied to others as well; see the example of Ambrosius’ contemporary, the Reformed Bishop Márton Sánta Kálmáncsehi (sánta being the Hungarian word for ‘lame’). Oratio de peregrinatione et eius laudibus … a Michaele Forgacz. Vitebergae, 1587. RMK III. 769. Szabó, Coetus Ungaricus, 27. In this 1585 work, Seelfisch’s name was listed first on a roster otherwise made up of Hungarians who studied at Wittenberg. Hans Leonhard’s account of Seelfisch’s life continues to be a useful resource; see Samuel Seelfsch. Ein deutscher Buchhändler am Ausgänge des XVI. Jahrhunderts. Leipzig, 1902.

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105 Grynaeus I: ‘vel ad Samueles Seelfschios Bibliopolas Witebergenses, quorum alter senior, cum Witebergae essem, activus; alter junior, cum a Patre ad exigenda vetera nomina in has partes missus esset, passivus hospes meus in hac mea patria fuit’. 106 These figures come from Késmárk’s Recordanzbuch or were compiled by Vilmos Fraknói. 107 This information comes from a letter filed among Mylius’ 1589 correspondence, located in batch number 50 of his writings, housed at the Archiv Mestá Levoče, Trieda V (section 5 of the Archives of the City of Lőcse). 108 See the relevant section of Bruckner’s book A reformáció. 109 See Breznyik, A selmecbányai, 311. 110 See, for example, Bártfa’s school regulations, cited in Mészáros, XVI. századi városi iskoláink, 153–8. 111 See Jacques Le Goff and Jean-Claude Schmitt, eds., Le charivari. Paris, 1981. 112 For a detailed treatment of this sort of cacophony, see chapter four (‘The Reasons of Misrule’) of Natalie Zemon Davis’ Society and Culture in Early Modern France. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP, 1975, 97–123. 113 Concluded by Blanka Szeghyová, ‘Erőszak és konfliktuskezelés a polgárok mindennapi életében a 16. században’ (Violence and Conflict-Management in the Everyday Lives of the Sixteenth-Century Bourgeoisie), in Enikő Csukovits and Tünde Lengyel, eds., Bártfától Pozsonyig. Városok a 13–17. században. Budapest: MTA Történettudományi Intézet, 2005, 223–44. 114 See item number 36. 115 For more on the feast of Saint Gall, see Sándor Bálint’s description of 16 October in Ünnepi kalendárium II. (Calendar of Celebrations II), Budapest, 1998. ‘cockfighting’s connection with this saint’s feast day, along with its becoming a school holiday, have unquestionably lent this custom a certain distinction, allowing it to flourish among our urban citizens, above all in our German Lutheran cities, over the course of several centuries. As we have mentioned, students’ cockfights were a peculiar form of commemoration and holiday observance’. 116 Cited in Zoltán Újváry, ‘Az átadás, átvétel és a funkció kérdései egy népszokásban’ (The Issues of Presentation, Reception, and Function in a Popular Custom), Műveltség és Hagyomány 3 (1961): 34. 117 See Johann Dück, Geschichte des Kronstädter Gymasiums. Kronstadt, 1845, 35–9. 118 Works of historical anthropologists would be relevant here who have examined the so-called ‘world turned upside down,’ though in this case we have no precise information about the status concerns and forms of embeddedness that could serve as the basis of this sort of evaluation. For a description of socalled ‘animal weddings’ (állatlakodalmak) and other ethnographic accounts, see József Turóczi-Trostler, Fenékkel felfordult világ. Tanulmány a mesés képzetek történetéből (A World Turned Upside Down. A Study of the History of Fabulous Imagery). Budapest, 1942; see also Turóczi-Trostler, ‘A tótágast álló világ’ (The Upside-Down World), Egyetemes Philologia Közlöny, 1943. 119 For more on this subject, see Bruckner, A késmárki céhek, 179–81. 120 Ausgabenbuch der Stadt Kesmark, 1579, 1581 and 1585. 121 Historia von Susanna in Tragedien weise gestellet, zu vbung der Iugent, zu Bartfeld in Vngarn. This piece was first performed in 1556, then published by Hans Lufft in Wittenberg in 1559. 122 Guitman, Hit, 128–9.

2

Confessio Scepusiana, confessio Ambrosiana

From Késmárk to Eperjes Ambrosius was married in Késmárk in 1579, and in accordance with local tradition, the city council gave him a silver chalice as a wedding gift.1 Records show that other teachers and pastors employed by the cities of Szepes County received similar gifts, presumably in recognition of their work; these sources, however, do not reveal the name of Ambrosius’ bride. Not long afterwards, Sebestyén Thököly’s nuptials took place in Késmárk as well. In accordance with family ‘tradition’, Albert Laski, the former lord of the Késmárk Castle, had pawned his newly acquired property to Captain General Hans Rueber for 42,000 forints; the cash-strapped Rueber was also obliged to pawn the castle, which thus ended up in Sebestyén Thököly’s hands.2 Thököly wanted to use his new property as the site of his marriage to Zsuzsanna Dóczy de Nagylucse, but the terms of Rueber’s mortgage agreement allowed him to veto Thököly’s plans, and thus the young couple were forced to celebrate their union at city hall.3 The pre-wedding festivities and the banquets they initially arranged for their guests were quite lavish, but city hall proved rather disappointing as a substitute venue, for which reason Thököly and his youthful wife moved on to the nearby town of Savnik (Spišský Štiavnik, Slovakia) after two weeks. Thököly, who did his utmost for the city of Késmárk, had invited Archduke Ernest of Austria, who had previously intervened on Thököly’s behalf in a property-acquisition dispute by appealing to his brother, King Rudolf of Hungary (Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II); even so, Ernest declined this invitation, saying, ‘as concerneth Thököly, he is of inferior stock; furthermore, he hath no genuine servants’.4 We do not know whether Ambrosius had met or got to know his future patron, though the city’s news must certainly have made him aware of the new lord of the castle. ‘In the 1580s, when the city of Eperjes unexpectedly offered [Ambrosius] the position of pastor, he decided to embark on a clerical career and accepted’, wrote an earlier researcher who studied Ambrosius’ life.5 Ambrosius’ letter of invitation from Eperjes does not seem to have survived, though these offers, particularly in free royal cities which enjoyed the right to choose

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their own clergy, were generally extended to potential pastors only after a selection committee had exercised a certain degree of due diligence. In the last few decades of the 16th century, the diaconate of the 24 cities of Szepes County regulated expectations for pastoral candidates in accordance with a 1298 statute.6 The most desirable traits in a pastor were honesty, integrity and seriousness. These regulations stipulated that the pastor’s personal morals and public conduct be impeccable; he was to live sensibly, avoid taverns and social clubs, maintain his clerical gravitas at banquets, dress in accordance with the dignity of his office and make his parsonage a place of moderation. He was to be indefatigable in his pastoral activities, and whenever he left town for an assembly, he was to hurry back to his church as quickly as possible. As the Apostle Paul wrote in his first letter to Timothy,7 A bishop then must be blameless, the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober, of good behavior, given to hospitality, apt to teach; not given to wine, no striker, not greedy of filthy lucre; but patient, not a brawler, not covetous; One that ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gravity; (For if a man know not how to rule his own house, how shall he take care of the church of God?); Not a novice, lest being lifted up with pride he fall into the condemnation of the devil. Moreover, he must have a good report of them which are without; lest he fall into reproach and the snare of the devil, [which terms are echoed in Szepes County’s regulations]. Given that pastors were responsible for more than simply conducting worship services, it was also important to the citizens of Eperjes that this consequential post be entrusted to an educated candidate, preferably one who had studied at a foreign university; as demonstrated by the letter of invitation Ambrosius would later receive from Késmárk, these cities hoped to find cultured individuals who would stand guard over their communal moral lives. If they considered a candidate to be suitable, then in accordance with all this, the office of pastor would not only enjoy a relative degree of respect, in general at least; [he] would also be invested with a significant degree of power over the faithful, who were thus required not only to listen to the Word, but to follow it as well.8 Other examples, such as that of Thomas Frölich, could be adduced to substantiate these claims; on the occasion of Frölich’s return to the office of chief pastor of Kassa in 1574, the city’s judge assembled the community’s German, Hungarian and Slovak pastors, along with the headmaster of the local school, his assistant and his choir director, before whom he solemnly declared that ‘Frölich, as the head of [our] ecclesiastical government, is owed reverence and obedience’. A city’s pastor also had a number of obligations to his community and its officials; for instance, he was expected to

56 Confessio Scepusiana, confessio Ambrosiana provide its schoolmasters, cantors, sacristans and choir directors with a certain amount of financial assistance and payment in kind; he was responsible for the maintenance of the church’s buildings; and from time to time, he was also called upon to host certain local authorities, such as the members of the city council or the judge. Ambrosius wrote about the beginning of his career in Eperjes in his 1598 book Kurze Wiederholung der reinen und gesunden Lehr (A Brief Recapitulation of the Pure and Sound Doctrine). Thinking back on the 1580s, he recalled that he had gladly accepted his invitation to Eperjes partly because he had received it the same year that the nobles of Sáros County and the Five Free Royal Cities had formulated their rejection of the Formula Concordiae. They wanted to maintain their accepted confession; in addition to the holy scriptures, their articles of faith and their ‘symbols’ (i.e. Lutheran religious texts), they also took direction from Melanchthon’s Corpus Doctrinae, which collection of writings contained the praeceptor’s discussions of the three main ‘symbols’ (Symbolum Aposolorum), his version of the Augsburg Confession and the associated Apology and other documents including his Loci communes, Examen ordinandorum and the Responsio ad articulos Bavaricos.9 Ambrosius thus consciously decided to seek an environment where Melanchton’s Corpus was completely accepted and where no one would interfere with his religious convictions. And though certain passages of Ambrosius’ autobiographical writings – which he wrote more than a decade and a half later – function as a kind of retrospective legitimation, it is clear that he was already a Philippist in 1580. His decision was also motivated by the fact that his former teacher Lukács Fabinyi was the headmaster of the Eperjes School at that time; not only was Fabinyi the author of the widely used textbook Exempla declinatonium, he was also the possessor of an extensive personal library. As a candidate for pastor, Ambrosius was required to undergo the process of ordination, which as we have seen, did not take place in Wittenberg. After the Confessio Scepusiana, a regional confession of faith, was composed and accepted in 1570, Gergely Bornemissza, the (Catholic) provost of Szepes County, convoked a synod, inviting all the representatives of the ecclesiastical district of Szepes County to negotiate the features of their liturgy and sacred rites. Bornemissza informed the region’s pastors that a decree issued by the King of Hungary (Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II) threatened disciples of the Sacramentarians (Crypto-Calvinists) and Arians (Antitrinitarians) with the death penalty. Provost Bornemissza went on to declare that Szepes County’s rites were to be modelled after those of the ecclesiastical community of Wittenberg, and raised no objection to pastors’ going to the Silesian city of Brieg to have themselves ordained.10 Thanks to Duke Frederick II of Liegnitz and Brieg, this city had been officially Lutheran since 1527 and regularly received pastoral candidates from all over Central Europe. Their documents were drawn up not by consecrated bishops, but rather by Lutheran pastors. Laurentius Serpilius, the pastor of Lőcse and

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later Leibic (L’ubica, Slovakia), had received his certificate of ordination in Brieg back in the 1550s. Anton Platner received his ordination documents in this Silesian city in 1568, and Ambrosius was ordained there as well. Having been consecrated, Ambrosius was free to assume the office of pastor, and we know from his Brief Recapitulation that he then issued a written declaration in accordance with the customs of the period, proclaiming his acceptance of the Corpus Doctrinae and the creed of the free royal cities.11 In his declaration, he emphasised that the community of Brieg absolutely affirmed the validity of Melanchthon’s books and Ambrosius’ adherence to the Confessio Pentapolitana. Furthermore, he noted that his colleague Benedek Bels – who had served as Ambrosius’ predecessor starting in 1575, then had taken a position as the deacon of the ecclesiastical district of the Five Free Royal Cities (and was also the person from whom Ambrosius had received his copy of the five cities’ Confessio) – had been discouraged from using the Formula Concordiae and urged to stick to older teachings. In addition to illustrating the traditional contractual formalities that characterised the start of his preaching career, these passages also demonstrate that Brieg was an important way station on the career paths of Szepes County’s pastors, insofar as it was an institutionalised ‘outpost’ of Melanchthonian doctrine in Central Europe.12 Thus did Ambrosius become a concionator or preacher in Eperjes, delivering the city’s German-language sermons alongside evangelists who – in accordance with local practice – also proclaimed the Gospel in Hungarian and Slovakian. Here I should pause for a moment, given that some of the aforementioned confessions of faith and ecclesiastical organisations are in need of at least a brief introduction. During the period in which the Reformation was gaining ground in Szepes County, the region’s confessions and ecclesiastical structures did not necessarily exhibit immediate evidence of reform. The documents which recorded such changes – the creeds which were adopted in one area or another and thus served as the spiritual foundations for the actors who worked in close connection with the church in these urban areas – were not formulated until the middle of the 16th century. The first statement of belief to be published in the region was the 1549 Confessio Pentapolitana, a confession of faith for the Five Free Royal Cities of Upper Hungary.13 This document was a kind of response to Articles VI and XI of the legislation passed by the 1548 Hungarian National Assembly, which dictated that any Anabaptist or Sacramentarian found within the territory of the Kingdom was to be expelled and that members of these denominations were to be refused the right to enter the country.14 The cities of Upper Hungary were thus obliged to adopt a clear position on the subject of their denominational loyalty, which led to the composition of the Confessio Pentapolitana. The text of this confession affirms the basic doctrines of the Augustan (or Augsburg) Confession of the 1530s and closely follows Luther and Melanchthon in its treatment of the sacraments, the liturgy and the rite of baptism.15 Very few of the doctrines of Zwingli or Calvin appear

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in this statement of faith; indeed, when it was presented to the Catholic King of Hungary and Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand I in 1558, he did not express any objections to it. When it was brought to the attention of Archbishops Antonius Verantius of Eger and Nicolaus Olahus of Esztergom in 1560, they approved of it as well.16 Seven of the so-called ‘mining towns’ of Hungary adopted a modified version of the Confessio Pentapolitana in 1559; this Confessio Heptapolitana provided another model for the confession of faith which the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County compiled in 1569.17 Provost Gergely Bornemissza ordered Deacon Laurentius Serpilius to compose a uniform statement of faith for Szepes County, and at Serpilius’ behest, Pastors Valentin Megander and Cyriac (Obsopaeus) Koch of Szepesváralja (now Spišské Podhradie, Slovakia) prepared the text of this confession.18 On 26 October 1569, the final version of this document was presented to the elders of the local churches, who gave it their blessing.19 Provost Bornemissza, however, had been aware that the region’s preachers were developing conflicting interpretations of certain articles of faith as early as November 1565, when he addressed a letter to the pastors of Szepes County: ‘We shall soon attend to it, even with the aid of secular force, so that these sorts of stiff-necked people [i.e., bickering pastors] soon become sensible of the seriousness of the sin of failing to heed the church’. It was precisely this lack of a uniform confession of faith that motivated Bornemissza to convoke a synod of the 24 cities of Szepes County. The complete text of the newly completed Confessio Scepusiana was read aloud at a deliberative session in Ménhard (now Vrbov, Slovakia); the participants in this synod, having found the confession to be consistent with the Word of God and their teachings, approved its text.20 Like the regional confessions of faith which had been compiled before it, the Confessio Scepusiana is a brief document composed in extraordinarily diplomatic terms, the primary sources for which were the Invariata, or unaltered version of Melanchthon’s Augsburg Confession, and the associated Apology.21 Its 20 articles provided a survey of Lutheran teachings and summarised the most important tenets of the faith, though it did not recommend any new course of action to its adherents. It was diplomatic in the sense that it did not exacerbate the disputes that had divided Lutheran congregations from the old Catholic Church. It did not restate the articles of faith of the original Augustan Confession which enumerated the abuses of the Catholic Church, and simply avoided the sort of language which might have drawn objections from the king and archbishop who presided over Szepes County’s ecclesiastical province. Thus like other regional confessions of faith, its articles did not discuss the mass, dietary restrictions, monastic vows, the power of the church or the causes of sin. Furthermore, the Confessio Scepusiana did not touch on the sensitive issue of the number of sacraments, though it did unequivocally assert that the veneration of saints was an erroneous and superfluous practice; it likewise dedicated very little space to rituals. All

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three of the regional confessions of faith were prepared primarily for the ecclesiastical authorities and clerical bodies of Upper Hungary, and thus the Scepusiana was signed by the pastors of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County, not by political figures or urban authorities. The document’s moderate tone and circumspect formulation facilitated its official acceptance and also left considerable room for interpretation; its succinct phrasings allowed for various readings, and in areas which were not explicitly discussed, practising pastors were free to use their own discretion in deciding how to proceed. As the beginning of Ambrosius’ pastoral career in Eperjes makes clear, the synods which the Five Free Royal Cities of Upper Hungary convoked in the 1570s not only approved of the Confessio Pentapolitana, they also seem to have come out at least implicitly in favour of the Corpus Doctrinae. The diaconate of the 24 cities of Szepes County seems to have behaved in similar fashion, having used Melanchthon’s Corpus and the three regional Confessiones – the Pentapolitana, the Heptapolitana, and the Scepusiana – as its spiritual foundations. Of course, not everyone there was an adherent of this sort of Philippist-style confession of faith, though the formal declarations of these synods suggest that the churches of Szepes County were the sort of Lutheran congregations for whom the teachings of Luther and Melanchthon, the two founding fathers of the Reformation, belonged together. The religious policies of the Hungarian king (and Holy Roman Emperor) Maximilian (II) had created a favourable environment for both Lutherans and Philippists, insofar as the Imperial Court concentrated its attacks on Arians and Anabaptists (as evidenced by the 1572 legal provisions that targeted heretics), which efforts were supported by more mainstream Protestant denominations.22 The situation worsened when Maximilian’s son Rudolf II took the imperial throne in 1576; the latter placed further restrictions on the exercise of religious liberty starting in 1578.23 The Hungarian Protestant estates’ dissatisfaction would intensify over the course of the 1580s as they attempted in vain to register their concerns at sessions of the National Assembly.

‘In that period, the Formula Concordiae assumed the role of troublemaker’24 The early phase of Ambrosius’ pastoral career has to be evaluated within an even more nuanced context of religious politics and confessional conflict. Disputes over Szepes County’s reception of the Formula Concordiae were preceded by the so-called Flacian debate of the 1570s. In 1574, Thomas Fröhlich, the deacon of the Five Free Royal Cities, wrote a letter to the inhabitants of Lőcse warning them not to accept the erroneous teachings of the hateful, pernicious Flacians, and condemned Hans Rueber, the Captain General of Upper Hungary, whom he considered to be a proponent of this school of thought. The Wittenberg-educated, originally Istrian Matthias

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Flacius Illyricus was the pastor who lent his name to this movement; after Luther’s death, Flacius had come into conflict with Melanchthon and the Philippists.25 According to one of Flacius’ most famous teachings, original sin was of the essence of man, though this doctrine was not universally accepted even among conservative Gnesio-Lutherans.26 Thomas Fröhlich might have considered Hans Rueber a Flacian because the Captain General was originally from the province of Lower Austria, where Flacius’ teachings enjoyed their greatest popularity.27 Moreover, the pastor at Rueber’s court in Kassa, Mento Gogreff, publicly defended Flacius’ teachings on several occasions. In accordance with the customs of the era, a synod had to be convoked – in this case by the Five Free Royal Cities of Upper Hungary – to settle the disputes related to Flacianism. At a 1574 assembly in Kassa, Deacon Fröhlich presented an eight-point condemnation of Rueber and Gogreff’s theological views. The resultant debate, however, focused not on Flacian principles, but rather on issues related to the Eucharist, even though a majority of the participants considered Flacius to be a false teacher. The complexity of Fröhlich’s situation is illustrated by the fact that a certain proportion of the clergy who participated in this synod held the moderate Lutheran pastors of the free royal cities responsible for the dissemination of various heresies, claiming that the Philippists’ moderate views facilitated the spread of Sacramentarian teachings even though such doctrines were incompatible with genuine Lutheran theology.28 Thus while Fröhlich and his colleagues were attacking Flacianism, they themselves were attacked by Lutherans who objected to their Melanchthonian conceptualisation of the Eucharist and considered them to be overly permissive in certain theological spheres. This synod ultimately accepted the eight-point condemnation of the Flacians and decreed that the 1571 Wittenberg Catechism – which was derived from the standard Corpus Doctrinae – would serve as the basis of their teachings. Following the synod, these eight points were delivered to the faculty of the University of Wittenberg by Caspar Pilcius, who was beginning his studies there with the financial support of Hans Rueber, just as Ambrosius had. In the interest of demonstrating that confessional identity was not necessarily an insurmountable obstacle to maintaining a relationship, it is worth adducing one more example of the utter entanglement of these personal and theological threads. On 16 February 1575, another of Hans Rueber’s court pastors, Johann Leuchamer, married Thomas Frölich’s daughter. Among those invited to the reception were members of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County, including its director Anton Platner, who was known to be a Philippist pastor. The young couple received some generous gifts, such as a silver- and gold-plated goblet valued at 15 forints.29 Even so, however much the Philippists may have appeared to be the majority in Szepes County at that time, the region’s confessional identity could not have been described as homogeneous. Nor was it possible to differentiate the era’s schools of Protestant thought into neatly bounded categories.

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In practice, there was a gradation of numerous shades between camps which seemed to be distinguished by well-defined principles. Not only were there orthodox Lutherans and factions which came to be known as Philippists, there were also pastors and educators who were uncertain or in search of an identity, some of whom formed ad hoc associations in hopes of finding a theological home where they could consolidate their short-term or longterm positions. Whether in associations of convenience or conviction, they sought solidarity for a certain period, though it was precisely their minor theological conflicts which highlighted the space between coerced declarations of faith and real religious freedom, the margins or gaps in which they actually lived their lives. Beyond public synods, there was the praxis of daily existence, the non-normative content of which exposed the ‘aberrations’ of official ecclesiastical assemblies. If we take these jumbled chronological phases – periods marked by seemingly forthright declarations of principle, followed by stigmatisation and revisionism – and consider them as a single process, then the last few decades of the 16th century could be characterised as a paradigmatic period of rapidly reconstituting associations and communities of interest in search of their identities. In other words, it was an age of doubt and debate. The road which led to the composition of the Formula Concordiae was also paved30 with debates and compromises. In the early spring of 1576, Elector Augustus of Saxony convened an ecclesiastical council in Torgau, where theologians consolidated the Swabian-Saxon Concord and the Maulbronn Formula into the Torgau Book, the first chapter of which (the so-called Epitome) was a summary written by Jacob Andreae; the Epitome would go on to serve as the outline and opening chapter of the Formula Concordiae. The Formula consisted of 12 articles which encapsulated the fundamental doctrines of the Lutheran Church. This document was circulated for comment among the clergy of the relevant provinces and principalities, whose emendations were incorporated into a revision produced at the Bergen Abbey. This second portion of the Formula, known as the Bergen Book or Solid Declaration, was presented to Elector Augustus in 1577. Over the course of the following three years, during which period this document’s introduction underwent a series of revisions, close to 8400 theologians, teachers, and pastors appended their signatures to the Solid Declaration.31 At a synod in Körmöcbánya (Kremnica, Slovakia) on 16 March 1580, representatives of the aforementioned seven mining towns became the first inhabitants of Hungary to debate the Formula in a public setting. The central question was whether they would accept it as the fundamental expression of Lutheran doctrine. Yet again, Thomas Frölich would represent one of the disputed views; having completed his service in Kassa, Frölich had become the director of the hospital in Besztercebánya.32 Frölich rebuked Besztercebánya’s pastor Gregor Meltzer for having spoken out in praise of the Formula, though he then used the occasion of a sermon to promote the doctrine known as communicatio idiomatum, which was itself found

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in the Formula. Meltzer urged the synod’s participants to add their signatures to the Formula,33 though the members of the synodical council ultimately refused to do so, instead composing a statement affirming their continued adherence to the 1559 Confessio Heptapolitana and its 1569 and 1577 revisions. Their resolution read, ‘No one dares subscribe himself to [Andreae’s book lest he suffer] the now certain punishment of removal from office’.34 They demanded that Frölich, in his public declarations, refrain from raising objections to teachings concerning the power of Christ, then ordered Frölich and Meltzer to furnish unequivocal proof that they were of one and the same Lutheran confession. The synod also approved a statement which openly condemned anyone who denied the genuine presence of Jesus’ body and blood in the Eucharist, singling out Pastor János Jancsi and Headmaster Elias Vodmann of Zólyom (now Zvolen, Slovakia) for their alleged adherence to the doctrines of the Sacramentarians, though the two managed to provide sufficient evidence to prove their innocence of the charges.35 These decisions clearly indicate that this synod did not dispute Luther’s teachings on the subject of the Eucharist. Even so, representatives of the local churches made clear that they were sympathetic to the Melanchthonian approach of avoiding any (more) ontological debates on the subjects of bread and wine. They seem to have believed that further analysis of the principles of the Formula might re-inflame disputes over the communicatio idiomatum and Christ’s actual presence in the Host, or even lead to the re-adoption of certain Roman Catholic teachings about transubstantiation and Eucharistic adoration.36 The latter possibility might have jeopardised the very existence of the Lutheran congregations of Upper Hungary, insofar as they had not yet fully established their institutional independence from the Church of Rome. They were also concerned that ongoing ontological debates on the subject of Christology might provide an opening to the Antitrinitarians, who had established a foothold in the nearby Principality of Transylvania, where the Unitarian Church was officially recognised in 1568.37 Further doubts arose: if they were to endorse the Formula, they might be accused of converting to a new sect and thereby risk compromising the already uncertain objective of finding greater acceptance in Hungary. Besztercebánya’s representatives received some unequivocal guidance at the Hungarian National Assembly of 1580. After the assembly adopted a resolution opposing the acceptance of the Formula, Councilor Ferenc Révay and the future Vice Palatine Miklós Istvánffy reminded Besztercebánya’s delegates that if they were to sign the document, they would truly ‘place themselves in the greatest peril, from which they might not free themselves with ease’.38 These factors were more than enough to convince the churches of the seven mining towns to keep the peace by sticking to their traditional confession of faith.39 In 1581, Hans Rueber and Gergely Horváth instructed their pastors Caspar Cratzer and Christian Vandalus to use their pulpits to persuade their congregations to embrace the terms of the Formula, and personally convinced other pastors from the Brotherhood of Szepes County to subscribe to

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the book’s tenets.40 As we have seen, Rueber had already been rendered suspicious by accusations of Flacianism, while his court pastor in Kassa, Mento Gogreff, was a spokesman for Gnesio-Lutheranism. And though Rueber had taken possession of the Késmárk Castle in 1570,41 his base of operations continued to be his court at Nagysáros (Veľký Šariš, Slovakia), and he tended to spend most of his time down in Kassa. Gergely Horváth, in 1581, was just returning to Upper Hungary after two and a half years of scholarly peregrination through Europe. And thus the pastors of Szepes County did not comply with Rueber, Horváth, Cratzer and Vandalus’ demands; they did not agree with this book and would not vow to preach it as doctrine. They in fact reported Cratzer and Vandalus to Provost Gergely Bornemissza, accusing them of disturbing the peace of the church with their new teachings.42 Bornemissza then paid a visit to Szepes County in January 1582, hosting the diaconate’s pastors in Svabóc (Švábovce, Slovakia). Pastor Valentin Hortensius of Leibic, the senior pastor at this assembly, characterised the Formula as a herald of Servetism and a likely source of sectarian dispute.43 Bornemissza was convinced; he took a firm stand against the propagation of the principles of the Formula, denounced Cratzer and Vandalus’ methods, and warned Horváth that the dissemination of alien religious doctrine was a crime punishable by seizures of property and imprisonment.44 Bornemissza took control, forbidding the Brotherhood’s pastors from promoting the Formula of Concord, though he did exonerate Horváth and his priests at the request of the senior pastor. Vandalus fell to his knees in asking Bornemissza’s forgiveness, justifying himself by saying he had acted not out of evil impulse, but ‘out of a simplicity of spirit’ (ex simplicitate animi). The provost concluded his visit by taking a copy of the new book back to Pozsony (Bratislava) to have it examined by the theological worthies there.45 In Caspar Pilcius’ Brevis et perspicua responsio (A Brief and Transparent Response), which he wrote a decade later, he suggested that Cratzer and Mento Gogreff had taken a brief tour of Szepes County to spread their proFormula propaganda and dampen support for Melanchthon’s Corpus.46 Even so, ‘because everyone regarded Gogreff as suspicious’, the two fellow travellers had fallen out by the summer of 1582, attacking each other from the pulpit and publishing pamphlets in which they denounced one another. After much debate, their patron Hans Rueber decided that the time had come to turn the substance of their dispute over to the orthodox Lutheran theologians at the University of Rostock. However, the faculty there ruled that Cratzer and Gogreff’s disagreement was not a matter of doctrine, but rather a terminological dispute. They recommended that Cratzer comply with the Holy Scriptures’ teachings on the subjects of faith and love in Christ, cite the church fathers less frequently and avoid more substantial theological questions. The dispute itself they blamed on Gogreff, who subsequently returned home to Germany for a period.47 Debates continued in Szepes County, where Ambrosius and some of his acquaintances adopted explicitly anti-Formula positions. In his capacity

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as the pastor of Eperjes, Ambrosius stood forth at a synod that city convened on the 19 and 20 June 1583. The most important question facing this council – as had been the case with the previous two synods convoked that year – was whether its participants would accept or reject the Formula. Ambrosius spoke out against it, stressing that outside pastors had come to Szepes County to force the book on locals even though they did not wish to accept it. He recited passages from Luther’s Kirchenpostilla, in which the Wittenberg theologian had asserted that the Lord’s Supper, Christ’s body and blood, was to be understood in a spiritual or metaphysical sense, which did not seem to accord with the tenets of the Formula. Benedek Bels, the deacon of the Five Free Royal Cities, spoke out in similar terms, justifying himself by referring to the writings of Martin Bucer.48 Having heard all this, the synod resolved to maintain its existing statement of faith; its participants also revised article XII of the Kisszeben (Sabinov, Slovakia) Synod of 1575, which ordered the elimination of altars and the removal of idols from all churches. These decisions suggest that the Philippists managed to consolidate their institutional position at this synod and reaffirmed their desire to impose limits on the unjustifiable practice of idolatry. In reality, very few Szepes County churches underwent this sort of ‘cleansing’, and a number of communities refused to comply with the synod’s resolutions. In Lőcse, for instance, the liturgy did not change, the Lord’s Supper was shared as before, and churches continued to be decorated with their traditional artwork.49 In the early 1580s, the Philippists of Szepes County were a voting majority, and thus in a position to dictate the terms of debate. The Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes and the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities often collaborated in formulating important principles and approaches to practical questions, and the clergy of Lőcse, as members of both organisations, played a leading role in such cooperation. Provost Bornemissza, the county’s highest-ranking representative of ecclesiastical authority, also advocated the rejection of the Formula, though it was not just the church hierarchy which tried to impose its will on the religious life of the region. Along with Gergely Horváth, Captain General Rueber – the chief representative of local secular authority – also attempted to influence events from the other side, though the church eventually obstructed his attempts to interfere. The senior pastor of the 24 Parishes was justified in appealing to Bornemissza, given that – despite the organisational changes imposed as a result of the Reformation – the provost still had canon-legal jurisdiction over the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood’s dependence on Bornemissza is illustrated by the fact that they continued to pay the provost his customary cathedraticum (and shower him with gifts) even after the formulation of the Lutheran confession of faith; they accepted his ruling on marriage and generally turned to him to settle everyday legal disputes. The practice known as the canonica visitatio was another institutionalised representation of ecclesiastical hierarchy, though the provost’s annual church visits did not amount to thorough inspections. The Brotherhood was guaranteed a relative degree of

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autonomy by a 13th-century document which established a regular schedule for the provost’s visits.50 Moreover, Bornemissza understood the impracticality of visiting every church and often simply neglected his duty. When he toured Szepes County, he generally limited himself to questions of theology, property rights and inheritance disputes;51 there were no regular church visits until the king of Hungary (Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II) ordered Bornemissza’s successor to revive the practice on 18 September 1592. The question of ecclesiastical discipline and control is also complicated by the fact that the provost could not dismiss pastors or suspend them from their offices without the assent of these synods, and in theory, could not prevent them from convening their annual meetings. Thus a relatively equal ‘balance of power’ seems to have developed between the provost and the churches of Szepes County, one important element of which was the diplomatic conduct of the region’s ecclesiastical leaders, both at the sessions where these various confessions of faith were formulated and on the occasions when the National Assembly issued its decrees. Provost Bornemissza used the powers of his position to exert his influence several times, such as during the period preceding the formulation of the Confessio Scepusiana. On other occasions (in 1570, for instance), he summoned the area’s pastors to discuss the orders which had been issued against the Arians and Sacramentarians, reminding them that they would sacrifice their relative autonomy if they were to renounce their confession of faith. Bornemissza acknowledged that his long absences ‘created a significant openings for the pastors [to exercise] their liberty’, though even in these circumstances, the pastors of Szepes County were still obliged to comply with traditional regulations. Instead of conducting the requisite church visits, he called their attention to the resolutions of the first four ecclesiastical councils of the Catholic Church, though he assured them that he would look after ‘his children [the pastors] with fatherly concern’.52 In 1572, he asserted himself as the protector of the region, promising in writing to protect the people of Szepes County from having to pay tithes and tributes to the Polish starosta Szaniszló Thurzó or the captain of Lubló; in fact, Bornemissza went on, Captain General Hans Rueber was also obliged to support the provost’s efforts – by force of arms, if necessary.53 Rueber actually did intervene with the starosta and the captain of Lubló, though his protests that the pastors of the 13 towns owed their allegiance to the provost of Szepes County, not to Polish authorities, fell on deaf ears; Captain Maczejowski accused the preachers of treason and insurrection.54 The Commissio Rueberiana convened in May of 1580 at least partly as a result of these strained relations, but given that Bornemissza was unable to attend, the perambulation he had planned with his Polish neighbours never materialised. In connection with the growing network of ecclesiastical and secular representatives who were interested in maintaining control of this situation, I should note that after Archbishop Antun Vrančić of Esztergom died in Eperjes on 21 July 1573, this ecclesiastical province went without a chief prelate until 1596. Thus

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without an immediate supervisor, Bornemissza himself enjoyed an unusual degree of autonomy, which the representatives of the Brotherhood of Szepes County surely sensed, particularly in their negotiations with the provost.55 In the tumultuous year of 1580, when Cyriac Koch, the senior pastor of the 24 Parishes and the author of the Confessio Scepusiana, delivered the provost his customary cathedraticum, Bornemissza urged Koch and his deputy to continue to be loyal to the Catholic Church. He informed them that he was aware that followers of Zwingli and Calvin were making their presence felt in the ecclesiastical province and that Antitrinitarians and certain local preachers were wasting their lives with scandalmongering. He therefore instructed the senior pastor to reprimand and forgive these trespassers, and to report any recalcitrant dissenters to him.56 In the context of Szepes County, there is only one way to read these periodic demonstrations of institutional power, namely that the provost regularly marked out the boundaries which consensus dictated his parishioners would not be free – or allowed – to cross. The senior pastors honoured his requests in exchange for the maintenance of the status quo. Another guarantor of their consensual coexistence was their shared desire to avoid extremes; neither the provost nor the leaders of Szepes County’s churches wanted to permit the spread of Protestant doctrines which did not accord with their commonly accepted Lutheran norms. The provost and the Captain General of Upper Hungary both tried to deflect Polish authorities’ periodical attempts to assert control over the churches of Szepes, as such efforts presented a significant danger to their autonomy. Moreover, various organisations and associations also stepped in to advance their members’ interests. All of these factors likely contributed to the situation of the early 1580s, during which period local churches maintained a relative degree of autonomy, preserved Szepes County’s traditional ecclesiastical policies and joined the provost in rejecting the Formula Concordiae. In 1598, Senior Pastor János Jancsi recalled the late Bornemissza as someone under whose leadership the Brotherhood ‘had enjoyed peace’.57 The Formula’s Szepes County history very much resembles its reception in Silesia, insofar as both sites embodied – and brought to the surface – the region’s confessional conflicts. In Silesia, the local schools of Lutheran thought were developed by an array of Anabaptists, Antitrinitarians, Zwinglians, Sacramentarians and Schwenkfelders58 (along with other independent dissenters who were suspected of belonging to one group or another) – that is, even clergy and educators who had explicitly rejected the first section of the Formula. Furthermore, a significant number of Silesian Lutheran nobles and clerics had warmly received Matthias Flacius Illyricus, granting him a public audience when he visited to seek support for his teachings on the subject of original sin. On the other hand, 26 pastors from the diocese of Brieg – where a decisive proportion of Szepes County’s pastors were ordained – composed the Heidersdorf Formula of Concord in which they disavowed the ancient heretics, the pope, Schwenkfeld, Zwingli,

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Calvin and de Bèze (who corresponded with Silesia’s Philippists and CryptoCalvinists, as Ambrosius later would). As was the case with the composition of Szepes County’s confession of faith, this step was an attempt to consolidate the region’s churches – a ‘step back’ that served as an assertion of confessional self-determination.59

From Eperjes to Késmárk Ambrosius spent very little time in Eperjes after his successful showing at the city’s synod in 1583, as he soon received a job offer from his hometown, Késmárk. He later wrote, ‘In peace and tranquility, I then humbly withdrew from my position as a German concionator in the city of Eperjes, to which I had been called three years before’.60 Having lost the rights to the Késmárk Castle to Sebestyén Thököly, Hans Rueber – the man who had sponsored Ambrosius’ education at Wittenberg – had left Késmárk and taken his court pastor Caspar Cratzer with him to Kassa.61 At a plenary session on 19 September 1583, the Késmárk City Council unanimously chose Ambrosius as its next pastor.62 According to his letter of invitation, the assembled parties – the city’s judge, the council and the entire community – had voted as one to bring Ambrosius back to his homeland and hometown (Vaterland – Vaterstadt) to serve as their preacher. This assembly also resolved to pay the 60-forint tax debt Ambrosius had accumulated in Eperjes so that he could return home with honour. Records indicate that other pastors-to-be also needed help with their debts. For instance, when Gál Huszár arrived in Kassa in 1559, the city council reminded him in writing that it would not have been appropriate for him to leave his prior post and settle in Kassa if the municipality had not assumed his obligations and paid the 100-forint debt he had amassed in Óvár (Mosonmagyaróvár, Hungary).63 According to the contract-like stipulations of Ambrosius’ invitation, the people of the city of Késmárk would always revere their pastor; always support him in teaching the true faith, in performing the sacraments, in promoting moral behaviour and in avoiding sin; and vowed to force the disobedient to obey. It was especially important in formulating these agreements to specify the manner in which the city would protect its future employee. Other pastors, such as Thomas Frölich, had been frustrated by their employers’ failure to enforce such provisions; the latter wrote to the people of Kassa to complain that ‘the city is incapable of providing pastors with the protection it has promised, and armed defense simply makes no sense’.64 The city of Késmárk accepted Ambrosius’ confession of faith, which was based on the chief Lutheran ‘symbols’ or texts – the Augsburg Confession and its associated Apology, Luther’s large and small catechisms and the Confessio Pentapolitana. Késmárk’s representatives also specifically promised to support Ambrosius’ plan to join the Diaconate of the Five Free Royal Cities and the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County. They allocated him three forints per week until the parsonage could be completed,

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plus tithes of grain, fodder for his cattle and a forint for every funeral service conducted at the church. They also pledged to supply him with a share of his congregation’s cheese and flax, along with customary contributions from the town’s guilds.65 Levies paid by the local chamber of commerce, the Kaufherren Brüderschaft, were reserved for the headmaster of the town’s school. Over the course of the 16th century, most of the cities of Upper Hungary negotiated similar formal contracts in which they specified their pastors’ rights and responsibilities. Ambrosius’ colleague János Jancsi received a 15-point letter of invitation from the city of Igló, which registered the document with its notary public on 12 October 1582. It specified the terms of the relationship between the city and its pastor at much greater length than Késmárk’s letter would, and attached conditions to certain situations which Ambrosius’ offer did not regulate, even though similar practices were probably in place in Késmárk. As was the case in Késmárk, the first condition of Jancsi’s contract was that he preach in the spirit of the Augustan Confession twice per week, on Thursdays and Sundays, and refrain from introducing the city to any new religious doctrine. Having learned the lessons of the era’s debates, the people of Igló used point two to insist that their pastor avoid scholarly debates on the subject of the Lord’s Supper and instead preach and teach in accordance with Luther’s catechism. He was to use the liturgy and rites developed by his predecessor, a certain Bogner, and after the examinatio (in which parishioners examined their consciences) on Sundays and feast days, he was to hear the confessions of penitent Christians. Jancsi was also required to retain a Slovak preacher to whom he was obliged to provide a yearly stipend (rye, barley and wheat, plus accommodations at the parsonage with free heat – all the essential provisions); he was required to do the same for a German preacher, plus these two preachers’ wives, the headmaster of the school and the cantor, all of whom were to be served lunch on Sundays as well. The fifth point suggested that the new pastor ignore calumnious discourse, a clear reference to public debate. He was not to utter blasphemies or imprecations from the pulpit, and was to report any complaints against the authorities to his superiors. He was tasked with supervising the city’s school and feeding its organist and cantor, as well as their wives. He was to maintain the parsonage in an appropriate condition so as to be able to pass it on to his successor, at which point they would check the inventory of items he was lent at the time of his installation. In terms of income, the pastor was entitled to tithes including a tenth of the community’s grain and peas, though he was also obliged – as in other cities of the region – to provide 200 wagonloads of manure for the city’s tillable fields. The pastor had the right to sell the produce in his possession, though he was obliged to keep his unit prices a dinar or two below market cost. Furthermore, he could not sell beer or wine, and was permitted to brew only enough beer for his personal use – except at harvest time, when he was authorised to

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sell from his personal stock. Point number 11 said the pastor was to avoid inessential travel and could not take longer trips without the prior consent of city authorities. He would enjoy the same rights to the city’s common forests and fields as the rest of Igló’s citizens. The pastor had the right to visit other parishes, though he was to announce such departures a full season in advance. And finally, the pastoral candidate was instructed to sign off on each of these provisions, thus promising to abide by them, though he did have the right to object to these terms and offer counterproposals, which – assuming they did not contradict the Word of God or undermine the city’s political order – might be incorporated into a further draft of the agreement before its final signing.66 Compared to the letter of invitation Jancsi received from Igló, Késmárk’s document was written in a more indulgent tone, and left certain issues open or unaddressed, thus giving its pastor more latitude. This invitation makes clear that the city of Késmárk wanted to lure Ambrosius home and was willing to make material sacrifices to make him return. They assured him that their support would include exemplary religious education and the enforcement of moral codes, which would have been basic preconditions for any 16th-century urban pastor. The section on the confession of faith, however, raises an interesting question. As we have seen, Ambrosius had opposed the Formula Concordiae from the start and openly voiced his objections. Even so, the confession of faith in his letter of invitation was nothing more than a collection of the writings (the main ‘symbols,’ i.e. the Augustan Confession, its associated Apology and Luther’s catechisms) which, excluding the Formula itself, formed the core of the Book of Concord. The citizens of Késmárk could also presumably have added the regional Confessio Pentapolitana to this list. Melanchthon’s Corpus Doctrinae was not mentioned anywhere in Ambrosius’ invitation, even though the members of the council surely knew about his open declaration of opposition to the Formula in Eperjes. The Book of Concord and the Corpus diverged on several essential points, insofar as the latter omitted the original Augustan Confession and Luther’s catechisms, instead featuring Melanchthon’s revised confession of faith, which no longer agreed with the orthodox Lutheran creed on the subject of communion. According to the original 1530 version of the Augustan Confession, ‘the Body and Blood of Christ are truly present, and are distributed to those who eat the Supper of the Lord’.67 Melanchthon’s 1541 Variata, however, suggests that the body and blood of Christ were ‘truly shown’ or ‘offered’ to those who eat of the Lord’s Supper, which Lutherans took to mean affirmation of His physical presence, while Philippists and Calvinists understood it as a description of a symbolic union or spiritual identity. Thus, what could it mean for this letter to say that ‘the city accepts Ambrosius’ confession of faith’? At first glance, it suggests that despite Ambrosius’ Philippist public declaration, it was not important to him to have Melanchthon’s confession of faith specified in his letter of invitation.

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Even so, it is worth noting another possibility, namely that the city had reached a tacit agreement with its pastor-to-be. The citizens of Késmárk traditionally required that their preacher sign this sort of contract, and in Ambrosius’ case, they seem to have ‘brought him over’ from Eperjes knowing that he had Melanchthonian tendencies. In his Brief Recapitulation,Ambrosius noted that he had kept the certificate of discharge the city of Eperjes had issued him upon his departure; he does not cite its precise contents, saying only that this document proved he had been teaching the people in the same, unchanging spirit for almost two decades, back to the beginning of his time in Eperjes. This would mean that he had always taught the accepted regional confession (the 1570 Confessio Scepusiana) in the spirit of Melanchthon’s 1560 Corpus Doctrinae. That Ambrosius made this unverifiable claim, based on personal recollection, in the context of a polemic renders its credibility somewhat suspect, but it is possible that the city of Késmárk wanted to avoid a confrontation with ecclesiastical authorities and thus agreed with Ambrosius to omit discussions of Melanchthon’s texts from his letter of invitation. It is also possible that they declared their acceptance of ‘Ambrosius’ confession’ because they knew the kinds of attacks an openly Philippist preacher might face and decided to protect him with a preemptive defensive manoeuvre. Sebestyén Thököly was just finishing his long tug of war and moving into the Késmárk Castle when that city’s council voted unanimously to offer Ambrosius its pastorship. Even so, we have no documents to indicate that Thököly made any personal effort to intervene on Ambrosius’ behalf. Furthermore, the letter of invitation itself suggests that Késmárk’s citizens had once again exercised their own discretion in making an offer to a pastoral candidate. It is unlikely that Thököly had acquired any control – or even developed any influence – over the decisions of the city council. In fact, earlier generations of scholars have suggested that his relationship with the people of Késmárk was adversarial at first, at least up to 1583.68 Thököly arrived in town as a result of having extended a loan to the Késmárk Castle’s previous tenant, Albert Laski; when neither Laski nor his debtor Hans Rueber proved capable of making the payments, Thököly took possession on Saint George’s Day, 23 April 1583. Thus, like Rueber, Thököly was a homo novus in the community and cannot be presumed to have had any say in the selection of the new pastor. The city and the Brotherhood took joint responsibility for issuing letters of invitation. Even so, Ambrosius and Thököly seem to have known each other since the wedding in 1579, or to have gotten acquainted not long thereafter, insofar as they soon developed a relationship that could be described as close. Thus when Ambrosius accepted his position as the pastor of Késmárk, he had subscribed to the region’s accepted confession, rejected the Formula Concordiae and praised the Corpus Doctrinae, none of which troubled the citizens of his new community. And as is made clear by later city records

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and testimonials concerning citizens’ behaviour toward Ambrosius, he continued to be free to act in accordance with his religious convictions. In Ambrosius’ letter of invitation, the city of Késmárk authorised him to join the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities and the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes. According to a historian of the Brotherhood, ‘given the privileges this association had long since enjoyed, it wielded much authority; in fact, one might say it assumed a certain position of superiority over other such organizations’.69 In 1583, Késmárk still belonged to the Fraternity of Lower Poprád, which society allowed its pastors to join the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes as well. The latter organisation raised no objection to the presence of Késmárk’s pastor at its assemblies, and was in fact positively predisposed to accepting Késmárk’s representatives as regular members, given that Késmárk had originally belonged to the Brotherhood. Ambrosius officially took over the parish of Késmárk on 21 November 1583, and on 17 March of the following spring submitted a membership application to a session of the Brotherhood’s assembly in Poprád. Ambrosius’ petition briefly explained the reasons for this request, as noted in the Matricula Molleriana: ‘At this assembly, a man of learning known as Sebastian Ambrosius, or Pastor Lam of Késmárk, petitioned for admission, adducing several quite weighty causes for his doing so’.70 Ambrosius’ most compelling argument was an appeal to tradition: ‘According to the testimony of the annals, Késmárk’s pastors hath bound themselves to our fellowship [the 24 Parishes] before, enjoying the special privilege of choosing whether to associate with us or with the Fraternity of Lower Poprád’.71 This formulation suggests that Ambrosius knew about Késmárk’s long-extant privilege when he raised the possibility of re-joining the Brotherhood (possibly before he assumed his position), which effort Késmárk then officially supported. With nothing to impede Késmárk’s acceptance, the Brotherhood officially recognised the city’s membership at its subsequent assembly in Ruszkinóc (Ruskinovce, Slovakia) on the Julian date of 18 June 1854. In accordance with its general rules and centuries-old traditions, the Brotherhood limited its membership to pastors who led exemplary lives and preached in one of the cities which belonged to the fellowship of the XXIV regalium parochorum or royal parishes. In addition to his city’s authorisation and recommendation, the pastor of an urban parish would also need the approval of the Brotherhood’s presiding senior pastor in order to be accepted. In 1584, that senior pastor was Ambrosius’ friend Valentin Hortensius, who presumably found no cause to object to the membership of Késmárk’s new preacher. By going to Poprád to submit a verbal request for admission, Ambrosius had acted in accordance with the terms of the Brotherhood’s founding charter; he almost certainly would have done so publicly before the entire assembly, which then generally deferred an applicant’s formal hearing to the subsequent synod – Ambrosius’ petition, for example, was approved at the assembly in Ruszkinóc. It had once been sufficient for new members to raise their hands before the senior pastor and

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solemnly promise to live and work in the spirit of the fellowship’s founding charter. They would later be obliged to read out the text of a short vow; and by the time of Ambrosius’ admission, they were also required – as the result of a resolution adopted at the assembly in Igló on 14 February 1582 – to subscribe to the creed of the local ecclesiastical district, the Confessio Scepusiana. In pronouncing his oath, Ambrosius recited his confession of faith and read out the required lines as others had, possibly stating, ‘I salute [the confession] with mine holy kisses and avouch it as mine own’, and ‘I affirm it with mine hand and with mine understanding’.72

Everyday routines The region’s confessions and letters of invitation clearly delineated pastors’ rights and responsibilities, and the complexity of the task Ambrosius faced is striking. The pastor was saddled with an extensive range of duties: in addition to serving as the community’s spiritual leader, conducting its weekly worship services and preaching the Gospel in its language, he was also obliged to manage – and provide for – the members of his own household, the other employees of the parish and the staff of the local school. Accomplishing these tasks required concentration, perseverance and a sense of responsibility, though Ambrosius would presumably have been aware that the complexity of the pastoral vocation had been on the rise since the mid-16th century. By the 1580s, the pastor had become a central figure in the urban division of labour, in comparison with whom other city officials were charged with a significantly smaller range of responsibilities. This state of affairs was reflected in their compensation, the primary element of which continued to be tithes, a form of taxation the Reformation had not eliminated.73 Tithes were taken everywhere and from every kind of produce, but in Ambrosius’ case it is clear that grains formed a significant portion of his income; the Késmárk city council also ordered the congregation to provide Ambrosius with flax and cheese. Lutheran pastors generally received their tithes in kind, though some cities collected produce and exchanged it for cash with which to pay their pastors a salary. These tithes – assuming they were not expropriated by the lord of the local castle or a neighbouring Polish starosta – provided many pastors with a sizeable income. In cases in which a large proportion of the local produce was requisitioned by the lord of the castle, pastors whose contracts stipulated cash payments could come out ahead. Combined with his 3 forints per week, these in-kind tithes provided Ambrosius with a healthy income – an annual minimum of 154 forints when, the reader will recall, he had earned only half that much (75 forints) as the headmaster of Késmárk’s school in 1578. The Késmárk city council’s account ledgers indicate that Ambrosius received his compensation in 2 annual instalments of 66½ and 87½ forints;74 even so, Pastor Georg Moller of Lőcse had been making this kind of money as far back as 1558. Ambrosius was also obliged to use whatever

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tithes he collected in kind to provide compensation for the ecclesiastical and scholastic employees under his supervision. He had to provide assistant pastors, schoolmasters, cantors, organists and sacristans with room and board, and was also expected to maintain the parsonage and its agricultural buildings. Assistant pastors earned between 40 and 50 forints per annum and often received a share of the tithed produce, in addition to full board, or at least free provisions on certain agreed-upon days. Ambrosius also supplied the school’s headmaster with full board or free food on certain days. The pastor of Késmárk also generally fed the cantor and organist whenever they performed their duties at the church – thus Sunday mornings and evenings, Thursday and Saturday evenings and twice on feast days. In exchange for being fed, the organist was expected to serve everyone at the table during these communal meals.75 The sacristan was generally entitled only to lunch, though he was also a likely recipient of other forms of in-kind remuneration such as grain and beer, which Ambrosius almost certainly had prepared for his own use as well. Compliance with these stipulations was verified every year on the eve of Epiphany.76 So what sorts of things might have happened at Ambrosius’ church? What kind of liturgy did Ambrosius follow in conducting his services? We know that the seven mining towns adopted a set of guidelines – Matthias Eberhard’s Kirchenordnung – at their 1580 synod in Körmöcbánya.77 Bertalan Bogner had formulated a liturgy for the congregation of Igló in 1556, and a fragment of a later version produced in Lőcse has survived as part of an Agendenbuch that summarised the structures of various church services. Even so, we have no specific information about Késmárk’s formulary.78 Lőcse’s agenda-book and the fragment of Bogner’s liturgy make clear that Lutheran churches preserved certain aspects of Catholic practice; for instance, in celebrating the major feast days such as Christmas, Easter, Pentecost and the Feast of the Holy Trinity, they continued to sing a German-language praefatio, the text of which prelude was identical to the Catholic version. Alongside his own compositions, Ambrosius’ 1588 hymnal includes songs which the dearly departed Melanchthon and other theologians had written for almost every occasion.79 Published in Wittenberg, this 28-hymn collection consisted of matinals, vespers, songs of thanksgiving for the bounty of nature, to be sung before and after meals and at harvest time, as well as melodies written for Christmas, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension Thursday, Pentecost and the Feast of the Holy Trinity, with each hymn’s music notated at the beginning of its text. The subjects of Ambrosius’ other psalms included the deepening of Christian faith, God’s benevolence, a pastor’s goodness, the fear of God, consolation and justification through Christ, times of famine and distress, repentance, the transience of human life and preparations for death. His other songbook, Vierzehn Geistliche Lieder (14 Spiritual Songs), also published in 1588, included hymns on quotidian themes, old Catholic songs and prayers translated into German.80 Given the lack of a

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liturgical record, these published materials are worthy of attention because they provide us with some indirect insight into the order of the services at Ambrosius’ church.81 They are also important because they demonstrate a kind of continuity between the everyday practices of Catholic and Lutheran congregations, which we might call ritual coexistence. The old order did not disappear completely from Késmárk’s liturgy, and Ambrosius presumably included these older songs in his hymnal because he wanted them sung on a daily basis. They might also have survived because his congregation wished to preserve them. Although the official language of the liturgy – and in particular the sacrament of communion – would continue to be Latin for some time, masses in Szepes County were no longer conducted according to custom. Ambrosius was already delivering homilies in German, and other evangelists were authorised to preach to their flocks in Slovakian and Hungarian. These fragments of data illustrate one of the lesser known (or acknowledged) peculiarities of the process we call the Reformation, namely that Lutheran pastors – even vigorously critical thinkers who played active roles in their communities – were completely at ease using old prayers and formulae that conformed to their congregations’ expectations (and with which they themselves, by extension, had no real problems). Old customs and new methods coexisted side by side, sometimes combining instinctive impulses and conscious choices into new traditions. This was the case in other regional cities of the period, such as Igló and Lőcse, where pastors were still delivering Latin-language masses as late as 1593, and it would continue to be the case – in a diminishing number of locations – up to the last few decades of the 17th century. The particulars are clearer for another important ‘surviving’ institution, namely auricular confession; we can state with certainty that Ambrosius, like his colleagues in Igló and the seven mining towns, heard the confessions of penitent Christians after they had examined their consciences on Sundays and feast days. Synods reaffirmed the decrees of the previous decades in maintaining auricular confession; they also issued resolutions on the subjects of baptisms, bridal blessings and prayers for women who had given birth. All solemn rituals and consecrations involving ‘female individuals’, they said, were to be conducted in the church. And behold – old traditions and customs lived on in these records of daily activity. In fact, it is worth ‘reading’ these ecclesiastical assemblies as if these congregations were negotiating their own still-living traditions, a portion of which they affirmed again and again; that is, the faithful could force their superiors to maintain certain practices even though the latter had been charged with implementing an official confession of faith and enforcing the observance of particular formulae. Thus a pastor could not entirely ignore the will of his community. We know that in Lőcse, the practice of elevatio (raising the Host when distributing Communion to the faithful) was still customary to as late as 1593.82 Lutheran pastors also made regular use of chrism (or holy anointing oil). The assistant pastor of Szepesváralja used such oil in administering the

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sacrament of extreme unction, which led to the filing of an official complaint against him at the 1586 assembly of the Brotherhood of Szepes County. The organisation’s deacon opposed this practice and officially prohibited a revival of the use of holy oil, though this ritual would continue to survive for years.83 A similar situation developed with the adiaphora or ‘inessentials’, the (Catholic) symbols and rituals which were still permissible elements of church services.84 Luther entrusted these decisions to individual congregations, leaving them free to preserve or disavow adiaphora, and thus places like Szepes County were slow to develop a uniform set of everyday rituals. The practice of casting out devils at a baptism (exorcium), the wearing of the white vestment known as the alb and the burning of candles were customs that survived for considerable periods; portraits and statues were left in churches and continued to be venerated as well. In 1603, János Sylvester was hired as the pastor of Zsákóc (Žakovce, Slovakia) on the condition that he respect the observance of certain adiaphora, and thus he committed himself to wearing an alb at funerals, burning wax candles on the altar and conducting exorcisms at baptismal ceremonies. However, he was not admitted to the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes, which disapproved of such practices, until he testified that ‘the will of the people had forced him to maintain these old Catholic customs’ and that he had no attachment to them. Ambrosius presumably avoided wearing an alb at funerals, though we do know he conducted funeral masses, delivered eulogies and composed epitaphs.85 Weddings and funerals were certainly part of his everyday routine as well. A letter written by Pastor Anton Platner of Lőcse indicates that when Márton Hetessi-Pethő was installed as the new bishop of Várad and provost of Szepes County, four pastors – Platner, his consenior Cristoph Fabrizius of Lőcse, Sebastian Ambrosius and Valentinus Hortensius – visited a Késmárk couple, Jonas Brichenzweig and Sophia Ussray, to give them advice on their upcoming marriage.86 According to existing canon law, the Catholic Church had legal jurisdiction over marriages and annulments; under the influence of the Reformation, however, various Protestant brotherhoods began to assert the right to sanctify marriages. It was in this spirit that Platner resolved to take action – before the Catholic provost could make any arrangements. In the 16th century, the diaconates of Szepes County took into consideration both their county’s legal code and the so-called Magdeburg rights, which featured an extensive discussion of marriage law. The cities of Szepes County had been governed in accordance with their own code (the Zipser Willkühr) up to the 15th century, when 13 of Szepes County’s towns were forfeited to Poland, where Magdeburg rights served as the primary urban legal model.87 Recognising that this code might help them protect their common interests, the cities of Szepes County accepted the Sachsenspiegel (‘Saxon mirror’) version of the Magdeburg rights,88 although this act did not completely invalidate Szepes County’s existing legal code. The Lutheran diaconate of the 24 cities of Szepes County may already have been acting in compliance with these Magdeburg rights when it nullified a 1585 engagement because the

76 Confessio Scepusiana, confessio Ambrosiana bride-to-be had agreed to it against her father’s wishes. Paragraph five of Márkusfalva’s 1581 Máriássy statute forbade marriages between close blood relatives;89 the Máriássy statute followed Szepes County’s code in setting the age of consent at 14 for ‘women’, but diverged from it in fixing the age of consent for men at 20. Márkusfalva’s code also made marriage contingent on both parties’ learning the Ten Commandments, ‘the articles of the faith, and the supplicant’s prayer [oratio oecumenica]’, as only thus would they be able ‘to teach their children in the future’. This law further stipulated that engaged couples take communion for at least a week or two before they marry, and that the ceremony take place in a church. These regulations and responsibilities were presumably the subjects on which the four pastors advised the brideand groom-to-be at the aforementioned meeting in Késmárk.90 Returning to the original questions about daily life in Ambrosius’ church and the possible characteristics of his preaching there, our only guidance comes from indirect sources. In 1587, Johann Manlius’ mobile printing press, then in Monyorókerék (now Eberau, Austria), issued an eight-page pamphlet prefaced with a German-language open letter (Sendbrief) addressed to the city of Késmárk by a certain Georg Creutzer.91 Creutzer indicated on this pamphlet’s cover page that he wished to respond to the public calumnies of Pastor Sebastian Ambrosius of Késmárk, who had used his pulpit to ‘fling filth and muck at the servants of Christ’. He also warned his former neighbours not to waste any thought on the cripple (dem Hindenken über Lahm) and his accomplices, who had sworn in vain a thousand times over to teach the truth of the Lord’s Supper; their every word was deception. Creutzer’s open letter continued with a description of his personal efforts, then circled back to Ambrosius. In Creutzer’s telling, Ambrosius had hatefully persecuted him; when fate had dictated that Creutzer accept an invitation and leave Késmárk (to go to Csepreg), Ambrosius allegedly announced from the pulpit that a ‘loathsome stench trailed after [Creutzer]’ as he left his home in Szepes County. Creutzer said there was nothing his adversary could bring up to impugn his moral standards or conduct, and thus the purported ‘stench’ had to be a reference to his battling the Calvinists in defence of the truth about communion. Creutzer then offered a ten-point summary of the characteristics that supposedly proved Ambrosius was a Sacramentarian. For now, I will focus on the two points with a direct bearing on Ambrosius’ liturgical praxis.92 According to point 6, ‘If Sebastian Lám preacheth in the church during Holy Week, he bringeth the teachings of Danaeus, Tossanus, and de Bèze with him, and unquestionably draweth his preaching from them’. In point 7, Creutzer claimed that He hath likewise locked down the high altar, of which act only a Sacramentarian would be capable, and to which act he hath already referred in his work entitled Proba, wherein he revealeth the devilish manner in which [Pilcius] thinketh.

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Creutzer concluded this list (and his pamphlet) as follows: Thus it is demonstrated that Sebastian Lám’s interpretations – though he promise a thousand times from the pulpit to confess pure principles of faith, studied since childhood – cannot be reconciled with the pure doctrine of the true Christian Church to be found in the Augustan Confession and the writings of Luther. In 1580, Creutzer had returned from abroad and moved back to his native city of Késmárk, and as he had previously promulgated the doctrines of the Flacians, he was compelled to renounce their teachings in the presence of the deacon of the Fraternity of Lower Poprád and a few other Szepes County pastors. After publishing a retraction, Creutzer became the preacher on Gergely Horváth’s estate in Nagyőr, whence he issued polemics against Caspar Pilcius before turning his attention to Ambrosius. His writings suggest that he was intimately familiar with his adversary’s life; he certainly gathered information, and presumably had occasion to meet with Ambrosius.93 It is also possible – given that this was the period in which Creutzer’s patron Gergely Horváth started seeking open confrontation with Ambrosius – that Horváth provided the spiritual motivation and funding for the effort to gather and publish damaging information about Késmárk’s leading pastor. Even so, the strongly worded sentences of Creutzer’s pamphlet suggest a personal level of animosity and resentment. Whether or not Ambrosius would ‘fling filth and muck’ from the pulpit, he might truly have preached from the works of de Bèze, and Tossanus, and Danaeus during Holy Week, as Creutzer alleged, though one suspects Ambrosius’ sermons would have responded to other works as well. The aforementioned authors were among the most eminent theologians of the second generation of European Calvinists, and thus placing their books in Ambrosius’ hands served above all to identify him as one of them. Robert Scribner has aptly suggested that the 16th-century ecclesiastical reforms’ most significant impact on pastoral practice was a rebirth of preaching.94 Villages and urban communities put a great deal of effort into finding appropriate pastors to transmit the Word of God, given that ‘listening to the Word’ was at least as important a sacrament as baptism or communion. As Ambrosius’ letters of invitation make clear, cities generally sought pastors who could preach the Word in harmony with their community’s traditions. In and of itself, however, this emphasis on preaching was not a characteristic which distinguished the Reformation; mother-tongue homilies had already appeared in Szepes County by the 1520s.95 However, the intensity – and the sphere of influence – of the preaching of the Reformation era distinguished it from the preceding period. Reformist ministers proceeded sola scriptura (‘by scripture alone’), emphasising unconventional portions of the Bible and treating its text as the ultimate source of religious truth; they also called attention to other documents, such as catechisms. The conventions of fn-de-siècle

78 Confessio Scepusiana, confessio Ambrosiana preaching to which Ambrosius likely conformed were probably already established routines, unlike the intense, innovative or more radical praxis of the first 50 years of the Reformation, back when discussions often spilled out beyond the walls of the church and local communities participated in theological assemblies as more than passive audiences. By the 1580s, the interactivity that had emerged in the first half of the 16th century was already an institutionalised element of communal prayer, and like most of the other new communal rituals, disputation remained within the walls of the church, too. Written guidelines obliged all of Késmárk’s pastors to return home after their Thursday and Sunday sermons (though not after feast day services). Ambrosius could certainly have used the pulpit to disseminate his own opinions, and very likely did so, especially during the religious debates of the late 1580s. As he noted in his 1592 Defensio Orthodoxae Doctrinae, ‘I was accustomed, in accordance with the requirements of my office, to explain from the pulpit how to perceive idols’.96 In this same work, he reiterated several times, ‘In accordance with Luther’s teaching, I have dedicated myself to the necessity of chasing idols from the souls of men with the help of the Word of God’. He was always binding the souls of the faithful to cast the idols out of their souls – and out of the church; Ambrosius helped remove the graven images and wooden sculptures from above the high altar at the Késmárk Church of the Holy Cross where he preached, then closed the altar and locked it. In a letter he wrote to Grynaeus in 1590, he said that Gergely Horváth first advocated my removal before Késmárk’s city council because I had the church’s altar locked up. About this subject, however, I teach – according to his interpretation – that four-legged, many-handed golden swine, arrayed in gilded women’s garments and bearing gold-plated chalices decorated like those of the whores of Babylon in the Book of Revelation, are displayed in the church before the eyes of all the congregation.97 Ambrosius implemented such measures in an attempt to comply with synodical resolutions prohibiting altars and idols, such as those issued by the synods of Bártfa (1557), Kisszeben (1575) and Eperjes (1583). The 12th article of the resolution adopted by the assembly of Kisszeben mandated that altars be locked up and that idols be removed from churches. These directives were reaffirmed at the assembly in Eperjes, which formulated its decision as follows: Idol worship may bring damnation upon pastors and blot the Word of the Lord out of the hearts of the faithful; let these otherwise suitable regulations be entrusted to the city council, along with an exhortation [to do] their duty.98

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Christian Generisch was the first local historian to tell the story of Ambrosius’ being ordered by Sebestyén Thököly ‘to remove the images from the high altar in the main church there’.99 Even Győző Bruckner, a relatively evenhanded historian of Szepes County, took an almost indignant tone in his study of Késmárk’s monuments: when Sebestyén Thököly, on the advice of his court pastor Sebestyén Lám and later Tamás Fabricius, decided to remove [the cross] from the church and lock up the wings of the altarpiece, even the Protestant citizenry rose up to prevent him from doing so.100 These are interesting claims and conclusions, though they make no reference to any sources. Even so, they do accord with Horváth’s 1592 description of Ambrosius as having ‘perpetuated the wicked tradition of [Andreas] Karlstadt in Szepes County when, on orders from Thököly, he locked up the high altar in Késmárk’.101 In his response, which also appeared in 1592, Ambrosius began by citing Psalm 115:4, ‘[The heathen’s] idols are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands’. He went on to explain, It is not true that I had the high altar nailed shut; I merely removed the tasteless, gold-plated idols from it. The graven image placed above the altar was taken down; this image was like unto the Babylonian courtesan mentioned in chapter 17 of Revelation, insofar as it depicteth a female figure dressed in gilded clothes bearing a golden goblet, sitting on a forward-leaning, gold-plated, hairy quadruped. Once even a Papist, upon seeing this idol, observed in the presence of others that he would not tolerate such an abominable creature in a church. Furthermore, neither is Horváth correct in comparing all this to Karlstadt, given that Luther repudiated Karlstadt’s theses on the subject of idolatry … As for the lord of the Késmárk Castle, whom I regard as my superior: he requested only that I keep the already locked altar closed.102 Ambrosius continued, ‘This [action] was also supported by the city’s magistrate, who had previously restored the carving to its place year after year’. He then commended himself to the judgement of the followers of the true Gospel: ‘Be it possible to look on ambivalently when idols are decked with robes, and decorated with crowns they repair every year, and repeatedly transported from one place to another?’ All this was known to be happening on Horváth’s estate in Nagyőr, at the behest of the lord of the manor, and was not viewed with ambivalence by the participants in the 1575 synod of the Five Free Royal Cities in Kisszeben. This assembly’s resolution prescribed the locking of altars and the removal of idols, as evidenced by the handwritten notes taken by Ambrosius’ dearly departed teacher Lukács Fabinyi. ‘Despite this [order], Horváth not only increased superstition among the peasants by adorning the old idols, he also boasted of having

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managed elsewhere to bring forth idols which had been locked away long ago’.103 Years earlier, Elias Lani, an assistant instructor at Horváth’s school and the future pastor of Mosócz (Mošovce, Slovakia), had written a summary of the uses and benefits of imagery in churches, in the course of which he spoke about the adiaphora and suggested that neither Ambrosius nor Thököly’s court pastor Tamás Tolnai Fabricius had actually disturbed the church: ‘They left the four statues of Christ in the middle of the church, the paintings in their frames, the carvings on the citizens’ seats, and the gravestones of their lords [in their places]’.104 If we refer to the most important regional creed of the era, the Confessio Pentapolitana, we find that none of its 20 articles address the question of idols. Any believer would have known or been able to read the unequivocal language of the second commandment: Thou shall not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.105 Luther also condemned idolatry in his Large Catechism, expressing his thoughts at length in the first section on the Ten Commandments (‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me’): Thus the heathen actually make their own manufactured conceit and dreams of God into an idol, and thus abandon themselves to an empty nothingness. So it is with all idolatry, for it consists not only of setting up an image and worshiping it; it [happens] above all in the heart.106 In the Apology of the Augsburg Confession, Melanchthon had addressed this issue by referring to a passage from the book of the prophet Ezekiel: ‘Walk ye not in the statutes of your fathers, neither observe their judgments, nor defile yourselves with their idols’.107 According to the Formula Concordiae, idolatry had proliferated as a result of human and ecclesiastical laws.108 For as the Apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians, what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.109 Paul also said, ‘If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are’.110

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Thus most of these confessional documents contained sections warning against or forbidding idolatry, and it would appear that Gergely Horváth consciously opposed such prescriptions. The written debate between Horváth and Ambrosius began to unfold in 1587, and though none of the relevant manuscripts has survived (see Chapter 3), we do have a record of a remark that Ambrosius made on the subject of Horváth’s alleged idol worship. According to Ambrosius’ Antithesis, at a 1587 debate held in the Késmárk Castle, ‘my adversary was struck by disaster when he solemnly declaimed a misinterpretation of the book of Exodus’.111 Ambrosius provided a more detailed account of this scene in the first of his letters to Grynaeus, claiming that when Horváth cited the well-known passage of Exodus in which Aaron declares ‘Tomorrow is a feast to the LORD’, Horváth did not assume – in accordance with what Ambrosius considered to be a universal understanding – that this exclamation applied not to Jehovah, but rather to the calf of molten gold, for which reason Ambrosius considered Horváth to be an idolater.112 Horváth, however, adopted another position. For him, it was certain that paintings and statutes were necessary elements of the worship of God and the practice of devotion. While Ambrosius and others were advocating protecting the faithful from superstition and doing so by cleansing the churches, Horváth was translating and publishing Martin Chemnitz’s Treatise on the Image of God in Man,113 his introduction to which read, the chief reason for this translation is the straying of certain Christians, whose groundless locking away, and pulling down, and tossing out of images, first, along with their sluggishness in distributing Christ’s last supper, justify an analysis of the true science of His person and of other Christian confessions, either by themselves or others. This gesture aligned Horváth with an orthodox Lutheran authority whose work had served as an important reference point at previous synods. At the same time, he was signalling that there might be room for other interpretations. The illustrated wings of Késmárk’s altarpiece were surely closed during Lent. Their outer panels, which would have been visible at that time, depicted Christ’s sufferings, which decorations were appropriate to the occasion. However, art historians are increasingly unanimous in concluding that high altars were closed not only during Lent, but in general, and were opened before the faithful only for major feasts.114 If we thus read these polemics in the context of this information (and alongside Lani’s description of Ambrosius’ relatively light touch), it seems logical to assert that Ambrosius opened the altar only when he had a functional reason to do so. The sculptures and ‘idols’ which he considered ‘unnecessary’ were probably removed from the church, and thus for a significant portion of the year, the bare, Puritan-style interior of Késmárk’s church would have been

82 Confessio Scepusiana, confessio Ambrosiana in compliance with the relevant synodical resolutions. And while Thököly might have reinforced this process, he is unlikely to have initiated it. The issue of church decorations had come up in 1576 as well, when Thököly still lived in Nagyszombat (Trnava, Slovakia). As he was preparing to intervene with Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II to ensure that his city be allowed to elect its own pastor (‘so that we shal be free to reteine a preacher of the true Augustan Confession’), Thököly offered the following summary of his discussions with the Nagyszombat City Council: ‘Thus as regardeth the stripping of the altar and the throwing of images out into the myre, his Highnes shal in the future prouide commissioners (whom I beleue shal neuer be)’.115 This suggests that the church in Nagyszombat may also have undergone a certain ‘cleansing’, the legality of which Thököly did not debate, instead prioritising the city’s right to self-determination and autonomous decision-making over investigations conducted by imperial commissioners. Horváth, on the other hand, might have done exactly the opposite: his basic position had been that decisions concerning imagery were to be entrusted to local churches and the discretion of the faithful. In the 1590s, when Tamás Tolnai Fabricius involved himself in the local pamphlet war, it became clear that Horváth was an ‘idol worshipper’, insofar as he attached a certain importance to relics and ritual objects. In his attempt to expose Horváth’s idolatry, Tolnai Fabricius composed his charges in the harshest terms, though in their regularly published responses, neither Horváth nor his associates ever denied Tolnai Fabricius’ accusations. It thus seems certain that Horváth actually did gather up the artwork that had been tossed out of the local churches and did, in fact, have a silver-plated crucifix made for his own church. The most important information about altars, however, was that Horváth had managed to get the altars in Bártfa reopened. Thus it would seem that they were generally closed there as well, possibly because the locals respected the relevant synodical resolutions. In Lőcse, on the other hand, no one lay a finger on the altar or the church’s sculptures. All these contradictory actions can ultimately be divided into two basic sets of interpretations and solutions, each derived from a distinct approach: we could call Ambrosius a simplifier and Horváth a traditionalist. Ambrosius wanted a purer, more puritanical space for religious contemplation, while Horváth wanted to serve the community by decorating ‘idols’. Ambrosius unquestionably kept Lutheran precepts in mind, not just the resolutions of the local synods. According to Luther, artistic creations had to be proper, simple and iconographically appropriate. Melanchthon also argued for the simple style.116 Horváth’s attitude and actions indicate that he believed in the power of representative art, the impact of ‘visuality’. Both sets of convictions had their justifications, and both sides were able to legitimise their perspectives by referring to their groups of supporters. Thus whether it was Horváth and Ambrosius, Elias Lani and Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, or others who tried to convince the faithful of the justice of their impulses, the

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preservation of artwork and the obliteration of idols were practices that lived on side by side. It is not surprising that such debates persisted over the course of the 16th century, given the periodical reemergence of the following question: which is the better and more effective means of communication, the image or the written text? According to the Catholic camp, if we train our gaze on a painting or a sculpture, our thoughts might also be moved in a particular direction. Lutherans tended to argue that while imagery has its merits, it is not a genuinely suitable means of communicating complex religious truths, for which purpose written text is a much more appropriate tool. Perhaps surprisingly, when the German master Albrecht Dürer weighed in during a debate on representations of the Last Supper, he said that pictorial means were inadequate to the task of expressing the significance of the subject.117 Another noteworthy consequence of the questioning attitude of the Reformation was that members of these various communities were able to participate, whether in open debates on issues of public concern or by taking actions motivated by conviction. Their freedom to form their opinions and make their own choices was limited in certain cases, sometimes depending on the will of their patrons, though in some cases, it was precisely these patrons who tried to take action for the benefit of the community. If, for example, Horváth actually gathered up the paintings that were ‘tossed out’, he was not simply trying to justify his own principles or prove himself right. And if Thököly went to Vienna to intercede on behalf of free pastoral elections, he was not thereby prioritising his own interests, but rather those of his city. When Késmárk’s high altar was open, Ambrosius and his congregation could see the Holy Cross that gave the church its name, Mary Magdalene kneeling at Christ’s feet and the predella. All this artwork was prepared in the late 1400s and was still there a century later.118 Recently published studies indicate that the interiors of the churches of the era were distinguished by the fact that the congregation’s attention was now drawn away from the altar and more toward the pulpit. Likewise, a variety of old rituals were jettisoned in favour of congregational singing and new sequences of prayers with the Scriptures at their core.119 In this light, it seems likely that Ambrosius was sensitive both to the changes wrought by the Reformation and to the attention of his congregation. In fact, this assertion is also likely true of his relationship to imagery. According to Theodore de Bèze, ‘We know from experience that singing has the power to inflame the souls of the faithful, which [induces them] to pray to the Lord more fervently than ever’. The hymns Ambrosius wrote were intended for congregational signing and were surely chosen for their symbiosis with the sermons he preached from the pulpit. When the people of Késmárk went to church, they saw and used a 14-seat choir stall assembled in 1518. Its centre portion was decorated with Renaissance-style paintings of female musicians.120 The row of seats below

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the organ was the work of carpenters from Késmárk. Guilds also offered masterpieces to the church; in Késmárk, these artisans included goldsmiths and cabinet-makers. Master carpenters Johann and Christoph Lang produced Késmárk’s prayer chair (prie-dieu), which was eventually placed in the chapel of Thököly’s castle; goldsmiths made a ciborium for the Host and a cruet for the wine.121 In accordance with their guilds’ charters of incorporation, all these masters enthusiastically attended worship services in the company of their kin, listened attentively to the Word and offered donations at every major feast. Meanwhile, the well-to-do citizens of Késmárk, like the residents of other cities who were motivated by a sense of prestige, also made donations to the church to help decorate the house of the Lord.

Notes 1 Ausgabenbuch der Stadt Kesmark, 1579, 23. Jan. dem h. Schulmeister Sebastian auff die Hochzeit ein becher verehret f. 6 d. 68. One of the editors of the Confessio Scepusiana, Pastor Cyriac Obsopaeus of Szepesváralja (now Spišské Podhradie, Slovakia), was married – for the second time – to Catharina Göppelius on 4 September 1588, on which occasion Subdeacon János Jancsi gave him a silver goblet valued at 7 forints and 44 dinars; see Samuel Weber, ‘Árak a Szepességben’ (Prices in Szepes County), TT 1894: 734. In his monograph on Szepesbéla, Weber mentions that the gifts Ambrosius’ friend Valentin Hortensius received at his 1587 wedding included a chalice worth 6 forints; see Weber, Monographie der evangelischer Gemeinde Bela. Késmárk, 1885, 58. 2 Magistrat Mesta Kežmarok, PAP 190. 1579, Copie des Contractes zwischen Albert Laski und Johannes Rueber. 3 Emil Jurkovich, ‘Thököly Sebestyén esküvőjéről’ (On Sebestyén Thököly’s Wedding) KSzM (1909): 176–8. 4 Archduke Ernest expressed this opinion in writing in May 1580, cited by Jurkovich, ‘Thököly Sebestyén esküvőjéről’, 177. 5 György Ráth, ‘Horváth Gergely és Lám (Ambrosius) Sebestyén hitvitája’ (The Religious Debate between Gergely Horváth and Sebestyén (Ambrosius) Lám), ItK 1 (1894): 156. 6 The complete text of this law, along with Joachim Goltz’s marginalia, is reproduced in Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 50–60. This law was rewritten in 1605, at which time a number of its earlier provisions were dropped. And here it is worth offering a brief summary of the history of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County, given its fundamental importance to the course of Ambrosius’ life and the fact that this association’s records preserved a significant quantity of information about the region. Established in the 13th century, this association of clerics under the jurisdiction of the provost of Szepes united 24 of the German-inhabited urban communities of Szepes County, and largely overlapped (though was not completely coterminous) with the ‘24 royal cities’ that enjoyed a form of secular autonomy. King Sigismund forfeited 13 of these 24 localities to Poland in 1412 (see above), at which point a significant portion of this association’s membership (including 11 sizeable and wealthy market towns) was subordinated to Polish authority. Though the secular organisation of the ‘24 royal cities’ disintegrated as a result of this peculiar division of Szepes County, the association itself was able to maintain a kind of unity, and developed into a Lutheran diaconate during the century of the Reformation, though in numerous spheres it continued to acknowledge the

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authority of the Catholic provost who exercised the powers of a bishop in the Szepes region. The association’s records include account ledgers, meticulously transcribed minutes, rosters of newly admitted members and parish registers, all of which were compiled by the ranking member and written in his own hand (for which reason certain periods’ records are filed under headings like Matricula Molleriana or Goltziana). 1 Tim. 3: 2–7. Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 183. The Corpus Doctrinae was published in 1560 by a group of Wittenberg theologians and self-declared followers of Melanchthon. This collection contained a total of six of Melanchthon’s works and – as its title suggests – summarised his understanding of the true Christian doctrine of the holy apostles. In 1566, Elector Augustus made this volume the obligatory basic text for the pastors of Albertine Saxony. See Wagner, Analecta Scepusii vol. II, 261; Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 104; Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 217; Pirhalla, A szepesi prépostság, 270. The confession of faith he signed upon assuming the office of pastor of Eperjes was reproduced word-for-word in Latin and German in Ambrosius’ Brief Recapitulation. For a detailed account of the reception of the Formula Concordiae in Silesia, see Manfred P Fleischer, ‘The Reception in Silesia’, in LW Spitz and W Lohff, eds., Discord, Dialogue, and Concord: Studies in the Lutheran Reformation’s Formula of Concord. Philadelphia, 1977, 119–35. RMNy I. App. 21. For the complete text, see Ribini, Memorabilia, 78–86. Authorship of this document was originally ascribed to Leonhard Stöckel, though recent philological analysis seems to exclude the possibility that Stöckel wrote it. In all probability, the five cities’ confession of faith was composed by the Lutheran senior deacon Michael Radaschin, Stöckel’s pastoral colleague in Bártfa and a mediator of religious disputes; see Guitman, Hit, 85–8. MOE vol. IV, xx; see also Zsilinszky, A magyar országgyűlések, 40: ‘It is striking that [this legislation] makes no mention of the Protestants of the Augustan Confession and demands action against only the Sacramentarians and Anabaptists, which demonstrates that the Augustan [confession] was by that time, if not unequivocally and legally, at least effectively considered an “accepted” religion in Hungary’. Point number 10 of the Confessio followed Luther’s original understanding of the Eucharist; point number 11 proclaimed that all those who were baptised would thereby obtain eternal salvation; point number 15 dispensed with all the ecclesiastical formalities and rituals which ‘might embellish church services’, preserving only those which ‘could be maintained in good conscience’; it did not identify any obligatory feast days by name, nor demand any fundamental liturgical reforms, nor insist on any regulations governing clerical attire. This confession of faith did not represent a break with the formalism of the established church, which led, for instance, to heated debates about the definition of idolatry. According to Bruckner, ‘this confession of faith helped reconcile cities which were otherwise engaged in economic battles [e.g., constant disputes over staple rights], and connected the churches of the five free royal cities through their common interests’; see A reformáció, 111. Ribini reproduced the complete text of the Confessio Heptapolitana in his Memorabilia (133–47), as did Breznyik, who used the copy in the archives of Selmecbánya (Banská Štiavnica) as the basis for the version that appears in his A selmecbányai … (145–60). Breznyik made certain corrections to Ribini’s version, which he considered to be imprecise.

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18 King Ferdinand I appointed Gergely Bornemissza to serve as provost on 26 June 1561, which appointment was confirmed by Archbishop Nicolaus Olahus on 10 July of that year; Bornemissza would hold this post until his death in 1584; see Wagner, Analecta III., 89; see also Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 135–6. For more on Bornemissza’s activities, see Pirhalla, A szepesi prépostság, 253–62. For a recent discussion of these confessions of faith based on the original versions of these texts, see Trajdos, ‘Reformacja i kontrreformacja’, 467–77. 19 Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 217; Ötvös, A szász flippizmus; Bruckner, A reformáció, 117. 20 A few years later, on 3 January 1573, the Confessio was re-approved at another such session (by which time Anton Platner was the ranking member or senior pastor); later, at a session in Zsákóc (now Žakovce, Slovakia) on 3 November 1590, Platner had the Confessio transcribed into a red leather-bound book which was then given to the Brotherhood so that every future pastor who belonged to the organisation could sign it in his own hand; see Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 169, 172, 174. 21 For the complete text of the Confessio Scepusiana, see Ribini, Memorabilia, 224–39. 22 ‘[Maximilian II] was positively predisposed toward adherents of the Augustan Confession in particular, and never in the course of his entire reign did he issue any law mandating their extermination or forcible conversion’; Zsilinszky, A magyar országgyűlések, 153. A decree issued by the Hungarian National Assembly of 1572 read, ‘The estates hereby unequivocally resolve that Arians and deniers of the Trinity shall be burned along with their books’; MOE vol. V, 285 and 291. 23 Rudolf II was assisted in his anti-Protestant activities by Vrančić’s archiepiscopal successor, Prince Primate Miklós Telegdi. For a discussion of the ecclesiastical policies of Maxilimian II and Rudolf II, see M.E.H.N. Mout, ‘“Dieser einzige Wiener Hof von Dir hat mehr Gelehrte als ganze Reiche anderer”: Späthumanismus am Kaiserhof in der Zeit Maximilians II. und Rudolfs II. (1564–1612)’, in Notker Hammerstein and Gerrit Walther, eds., Späthumanismus. Studien über das Ende einer kulturhistorischen Epoche. Göttingen: Wallstein, 2000, 46–64. 24 This metaphor comes from Zoványi’s A magyarországi protestantizmus, 183. 25 Starting in the 1540s (in debates over adiaphora or ‘inessentials’, for instance), Flacius would espouse orthodox Lutheran views in disputes over the Catholic rituals and forms of representational art which were permissible in church services. A proponent of literalist applications of Lutheran doctrine, Flacius rejected Melanchthon’s diplomatic attempts to find ecclesiastical common ground. See Oliver K Olson, Matthias Flacius and the Survival of Luther’s Reform. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2002. 26 The prefix gnesio (‘genuine’) was generally used to denote the conservative or orthodox school of Lutheran thought, though the term ‘Flacian’ was often employed as its equivalent in the religious debates of the 16th century. Flacius also appeared in Silesia in 1574, where certain locals welcomed him warmly, though the pastors of the Duchy of Brieg issued the so-called Heidersdorf Formula of Concord (Formula concordiae Heidersdorfensis) to distinguish their beliefs from Flacius’ teachings, as well as those of the ancient heretics, the pope, Schwenkfeld, Zwingli, Calvin and de Bèze. See Fleischer, ‘Reception in Silesia’, 122. 27 See Sándor Payr, ‘Flaciánus lelkészek Magyarországon’ (Flacian Pastors in Hungary), in Theologiai Szaklap (1916): 1–4. 28 The synonymous terms Sacramentarian and Crypto-Calvinist were applied primarily to Philippists, meaning followers of Melanchthon. This attempt to

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assign blame also demonstrates that most Lutherans were determined to comply with the legislation issued by the Hungarian National Assembly, hoping that they might thereby avoid further conflict with Catholics. See Weber, ‘Árak a Szepességben’, 730; Weber, Monographie, 47. See, for example, Spitz and Lohff, eds., Discord, Dialogue, and Concord: Studies in the Lutheran Reformation’s Formula of Concord. Philadelphia, 1977; see also the Book of Concord. The 400th Anniversary of the Formula of Concord. Special Issue, Sixteenth Century Journal 8 (1977). For a recent, thorough treatment of issues related to confessionalism, see Schilling, ‘Confessionalization’, 21–36. Saxon subscribers’ signatures begin on page 435 of the copy of the Liber Concordiae located in the National Széchényi Library (Latin Quartos, section 1177); they are listed under the heading Nomina ministrorum ecclesiae et scholarum, qui in Electoratu Saxonico, Libro Concordiae subscripserunt. Their signatures are followed by those of clerics and theologians who worked in other German principalities; a former owner of this volume counted a total of 8390 individual autographs. The signatories who worked in the Kingdom of Hungary began adding their names in the 1590s; their signatures start on page 476. When Frölich vacated his post as the German-language preacher of Kassa in 1578, it was filled by Mento Gogreff; Ambrosius’ teacher Thoraconymus became the headmaster of Kassa’s school at that same time. Gogreff did not spare Thoraconymus denunciation, calling him a Sacramentarian in several public forums, though Gogreff tried not to allow himself to be entangled in any open debates on the subject. The dispute between Frölich and Meltzer had begun the year before, when Meltzer accused Frölich of being a Calvinist. On Palm Sunday of 1579, however, Frölich delivered a sermon in Selmecbánya featuring a detailed explanation of his understanding of the Eucharist. He began with Luther’s catechism, which then served as the foundation for his discussion of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper; he therein rejected Karlstadt’s, Zwingli’s, Oecolampadius’ and Calvin’s teachings on the subject. ‘und mit gedachten Buch D. Jacobi Andreae genzlich zu frieden sin und keiner sich darunter schreiben solle, bei jetzt vermelter Straf, nemblich remotione ab offcio’. The decisions and resolutions of this synod have been reproduced in Breznyik (A selmecbányai, 238–47), though he begins his citation of this material thus: ‘This point [meaning the preceding sentence], though it is quite significant, is missing from Ribini’s text’. Frölich and Meltzer formulated a refutation; as Breznyik described it, ‘the two kinsmen of Zólyom saw that it was good to bow before the wisdom and zeal of the synod’. The future pastor of Igló and deacon of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County, János Jancsi was at this point being forced for the first time to confront public accusations of Crypto-Calvinism, though he did diplomatically sign on to the confession of faith the synod had approved (Anno 1580. Qua pastor Vetezoliensis subscripsit Confessioni Septem Montan. Civitatum in conventu Cremnicii d. 16. Martii habito; see Rezik, Gymnasiologia, 360). Thomas Frölich passed away on 4 May 1580, not long after the conclusion of this synod. For a detailed summary of his life, see György Ráth, Két kassai plébános (The Two Parish Priests of Kassa). Budapest, 1895, 18–34. The synod ordered its pastors not to discuss or even mention the communicatio idiomatum in their sermons. For more on this issue, see Mihály Balázs, Az erdélyi antitrinitarizmus az 1560as évek végén (Transylvanian Antitrinitariansim in the Late 1560s). Budapest,

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Confessio Scepusiana, confessio Ambrosiana 1988; Antal Pirnát, Die Ideologie der Siebenbürger Antitrinitarier in den 1570er Jahren. Budapest, 1961. See Zsilinszky, A magyar országgyűlések, 196–7; Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 179. It is worth recalling (as Ambrosius himself did) that the synod of the Five Free Royal Cities and the nobles of Sáros County also resolved not to sign the Formula in 1580. On the basis of Wagner’s Analecta, Hradszky (in A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 178), concluded that Rueber gave Horváth a copy of the Book of Concord which Horváth then passed on to Pastor Vandalus of Szepeskereszt (now Spišský Kríž, Slovakia) with instructions to explain it to the people by reading it aloud instead of preaching. Even so, we should probably assume that Horváth already had a copy of his own. Thököly eventually settled into the Késmárk Castle in 1583. The Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes was obliged to pay the provost an annual fee proportional its pastors’ income. ‘this sum of money was an acknowledgment of the dependence of the pastor’s office on the episcopal see’ (A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 97). Without doubt, these regular contributions served to consolidate Bornemissza’s authority, though the inequalities that characterised this dependent relationship were the result of more than simple financial obligations. Matricula Molleriana, 585. ‘Tunc serviter allocutus est Nobilem Gregorium Horvath, ostendens illi mandata Imperatoria, quod non solum in pastores hanc authoritatem habeat, ad et in nobiles et eorum bona, ubi peregrina dogmata incoeperint spargere, ea confscandi, sed et in carceres, usque ad emendationem mittendi’. Wagner, Analecta II, 266–7. Brevis et perspicua responsio ad maledicam et futilem apologiam Martini Wagneri, Thomae Fabri, et Severini Sculteti. Basel, 1591. RMK III. 812. Ráth, Két kassai plébános, 70–1; Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 189. The deacon’s peers nonetheless considered him to be a strict Lutheran, though he did not declare himself as such in speaking out at this synod. Ambrosius’ friend Pilcius, for example, wrote a short German-language polemic against Bels, alleging that the deacon had wrongfully attacked and persecuted him; Pilcius affirmed his adherence to the confession of the Corpus Doctrinae and rejected all the other doctrines, such as Calvinism, which had been imputed to him. Ein notwendige Protestation. Cracoviae, 1584. RMK III. 730. Conditions there were similar as late as 1593; in the seven mining towns, confession continued to be conducted in accordance with Catholic practice. The first point of this 1278 accord reads, ‘Only once per annum shall the provost conduct his official investigations in the XXIV cities; on such occasions, he must be satisfied with a retinue of 26 men and 30 horses. It shall be the duty of the parishes to receive the provost appropriately and provide him with lodgings for a day and a night. These visitationes shall be conducted between Saint Michael’s Day, September 29, and Ash Wednesday’. The synod of pastors verified compliance with this stipulation; they were regularly compelled to remind the provost of its provisions, by which he generally abided. See Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 41. At the Hungarian National Assembly of 1572, Bornemissza had also been named bishop of Várad and justice of the peace of Upper Hungary. Wagner, Analecta II, 261. The demands of the starosta and the captain of Lubló concerned the 13 Szepes County towns which had been pawned to Poland.

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54 Wagner, Analecta II, 264–5. Maczejowski made such threats on several occasions, though his efforts to interfere were ineffectual. 55 Miklós Telegdy, the vicar of the archiepiscopal cathedral chapter, wanted to voice his opinion, but King Maximilian of Hungary (Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II) barred him from the synods of Szepes County and forbade him from visiting churches. See Pirhalla, A szepesi prépostság, 282–3. 56 Matricula Molleriana, 565. 57 By 1598, Jancsi had been the Brotherhood’s senior pastor for close to eight years. See Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános testvérülete, 36. 58 A ‘Schwenkfelder’ was a follower of the teachings of Kaspar von Schwenkfeld (1489–1561), a German nobleman and radical reformer, founder of small spiritual communities. 59 See Fleischer, Reception in Silesia. In this respect, Brieg’s regional Formula resembled the Swabian-Saxon Concord of 1574, the Maulbronn Formula of 1575–6 and the Bergen Book of the Formula Concordiae. 60 Grynaeus I: ‘Deinde ad offcium Concionatoris Germanici in civitatem Epperies vocatus triennium ibi bona pace et tranquillitate exegi’. 61 In the Matricula Molleriana (597), Cratzer was still being described as a Flacian: ‘D. Generalis Johannes Rueberus Tyropolio avexit secum clamosum Flaccianum Casparum Kratzerum, Cassoviam’. 62 Christian Genersich reproduced the entire text of the council’s letter of invitation in Merkwürdigkeiten der Königlichen Freystadt Keysmark in Oberungarn, am Fusse der Carpathen, Zweyter Theil. Berühmte Manner der Stadt. Leutschau/ Levoča, 1804, 122–5. 63 TT (1889): 602. 64 Letter dated 20 March 1561, from the Archives of the City of Kassa (Košice, Slovakia). The protection these cities promised could be particularly important when the collection of tithes – another source of the pastor’s remuneration – was disrupted or simply prevented, usually owing to the resistance of certain nobles. 65 For more on the guilds, see Bruckner, A késmárki céhek. 66 See Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 181–2. Hradszky discusses a letter of invitation issued to Pastor Elias Daniel of Szepesváralja, which nine-point document was largely an enumeration of duties. Only the third point referred to sources of income; the pastor was entitled to the entire tithe donated on the occasion of a baptism. 67 Article X. According to the original German text, ‘Christ’s body and blood are truly and substantially present beneath the surface of the bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper. We reject any contradictory teaching’. See The Book of Concord, vol. 1, 26. 68 Árpád Károlyi, ‘Thököly Sebestyén megszerzi Késmárkot’, Három közlemény (Sebestyén Thököly Acquires Késmárk, Three Publications), Sz (1878): I, 68–77; II, 169–82; III, 267–78. 69 Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 185. 70 ‘In hac congregatione introitum petiit eruditus Vir, Sebastianus Ambrosius, seu Lamius Tyropoliensium Pastor, addens gravissimas causas, cur id faciat’. Matricula Molleriana, 610. 71 ‘Siquidem et antea, ut in Annualibus patet, sese huic nostrae Fraternitati associarunt Tyropoliensium Pastores, ob speciale Privilegium, quo gaudent, ut sese adjugant nostrae, vel Inferioris Poprad Fraternitati’. Matricula Molleriana, 617. 72 The text of Ambrosius’ vow was not recorded; thus we are limited to speculation based on surviving examples of others’ oaths; these specific lines were uttered by pastors Wolfgang Schönfuss and Jacob Moler; see Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 175.

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73 See Wagner, Analecta I. 273. Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II had also affirmed pastors’ rights to tithes. 74 Magistrat Mesta Kežmarok, 1570–1600; list of payments from the Archives of the City of Poprád. Ambrosius’ pay grade remained the same throughout the period from 1583 to 1600; he also paid a 30th of his income to the tricesimator (for example, Mathias Bobrowiczi), who collected such sums on behalf of the king. 75 Bruckner, A reformáció, 175–6. 76 Even though no such stipulations appear in Ambrosius’ letter of invitation, it was also general practice for cities to provide care for a deceased pastor’s surviving family members; pastors also had the right to compose their own last wills and testaments. 77 For the complete text of this document, see Breznyik, A selmecbányai …, 248–58. 78 Hradszky’s reference to this subject includes an ordered list of songs and prayers; see A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 180. 79 Acht und Zwantzig Geistliche Lieder. Wittenberg, 1588. RMK III. 775. a. 80 See, for example, the pieces entitled Da pacem Domine in diebus nostris, Ne reminiscaris Domine delicta nostra, Contere Domine fortitudinem inimicorum Esslesiae tune, and Cur mundus militat sub vana gloria. 81 In his history of German literature, Béla Pukánszky said, ‘Lam’s hymnal, however, bears hardly a trace of Crypto-Calvinism’. See A magyarországi német irodalom története. A legrégibb időktől 1848-ig (A History of the German Literature Written in Hungary. From the Earliest Era to 1848). Budapest, 1926, 111. 82 Protocollum Comitati Sepusiensi. Vol. 6. 1593, in the Archives of the City of Lőcse (Levoča). 83 Matricula Molleriana, 646–7. 84 Adiaphora originally meant ‘indifferent things’; the Formula Concordiae defined them as ecclesiastical rites which were neither forbidden nor prescribed by the Holy Scriptures. 85 These works were written later in his career: an epitaph for the remembrance of Petrus Codicillus; a eulogy on the occasion of the death of Johann Kraus’ wife; an oration he composed for Zsuzsanna Dóczy; details of these works are in the Bibliography. 86 For Platner’s letter, dated 26 December 1588, see the Archives of the City of Lőcse (Levoča), vol. 52. 87 Kálmán Demkó, A szepesi jog (Zipser Willkühr). Keletkezése, viszonya országos jogunkhoz és a németországi anyajogokhoz (The Code of Szepes County (Zipser Willkühr). Its Origins and Relationships to Hungarian National and German Matriarchal Law). Értekezések a történeti tudományok köréből, vol. XV, no. 3. Budapest, 1891. For a more recent set of studies of the legal and political history of Szepes County, see Gładkiewicz and Homza, eds., Terra Scepusiensis. 88 For a critical edition of this text see M Dobozy, ed., The Saxon Mirror: A Sachsenspiegel of the Fourteenth Century. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999. The Magdeburg-Saxon and Szepes County legal systems were reconciled and codified into a single set of statutes by Balthasar Apellus in 1628; see Wagner, Analecta I. 240–61. 89 Iványi, A márkusfalvi Máriássy család levéltára, 1243–1803. KSzM 1917. 90 For more on the weddings and receptions of the era, see Kálmán Demkó, Polgári családélet és háztartás a XVI. és XVII. században (Bourgeois Households and Family Life in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries). Lőcse/Levoča, 1882, 73–6; see also Béla Radvánszky, Magyar családélet és háztartás a 16. és 17. században (Hungarian Households and Family Life in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries), vol. 3. Facsimile edition. Budapest, 1986.

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91 See footnote 97. At that time, Creutzer was employed at the Nádasdy estate in Csepreg. 92 These ten points will be cited and discussed in Chapter three. 93 For his rhetorical attacks on Caspar Pilcius, see Warnung vor der Sacramentierer, Zwinglianer und Calvinisten Lehre … Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1586, RMK II. 190, RMNy 574. Creutzer’s retraction was attached to this publication. In addition to the Warnung, he wrote another pamphlet in Nagyőr: Proba der Calvinischen Merkzeichen Caspari Pilcij Kirchdorffers, dabey er vermeint ein Schefein Christi zu erhennen sein … Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1587, RMK II. 194.b., RMNy 590. 94 See ‘Preachers and People in the German Towns’, in Scribner’s For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994, 123–44. The literature on preaching is extensive, but I should mention at least two works, Norbert Schindler’s ‘Die Prinzipen des Hörensagens. Predigt und Publikum in der Frühen Neuzeit’, Historische Anthropologie, Jhg. 1, 3 (1993): 359–94; and Larissa Taylor, Soldiers of Christ. Preaching in Late Medieval and Reformation France. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. 95 The regional pioneers of this practice included Andreas Fischer and Georg Leudischer, who spread the Gospels both as itinerant preachers and as the contractually obligated pastors of various cities; see Bruckner, A reformáció, 53–70. A recent account of Fischer’s life is Martin Rothkegel’s ‘Andreas Fischer: Neue Forschungen zur Biographie eines bekannten Unbekannten’, Jahrbuch für die Geschichte des Protestantismus in Österreich 121, Vienna (2005): 325–51. 96 Defensio, 18. 97 Grynaeus I. 98 Matricula Molleriana, 593. 99 Genersich, Merkwürdigkeiten, 89; Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 309. 100 Bruckner, Késmárk szabad királyi város műemlékei, 49. 101 Horváth, Responsio pars prima. This passage makes clear that Genersich and Hradszky considered Horváth’s account to be credible. 102 Defensio, 18 ff. 103 Here Ambrosius offered yet another detailed digression on the subject of Aaron’s exclamation before the altar in the book of Exodus (‘Tomorrow is a feast to the LORD’, Ex. 32:5). This passage had already been the subject of an exegetical dispute; Ambrosius assembled a serious scholarly apparatus with which to refute Horváth’s interpretation. 104 Defensio libertatis Christanae in usu imaginum Historico. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1599, RMK II. 291. 105 Ex. 20:4–5. 106 This version is translated directly from Der große Katechismus (Das erste Gebot, sections 20–2), available at bookofconcord.org: ‘Darum die Heiden eigentlich ihren eigenen erdichteten Dünkel und Traum von Gott zum Abgott machen und sich auf eitel nichts verlassen. Also ist es um alle Abgötterei getan; denn sie steht nicht allein darin, daß man ein Bild aufrichtet und anbetet, sondern vornehmlich im Herzen’. 107 The Apology of the Augsburg Confession, part 20 (Article XV of the Augustana, ‘Of Human Traditions in the Church’); see also Ezek. 20:18. 108 I have made use of a critical, English-language edition of the Formula Concordiae; see The Book of Concord. The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church. Trans. and ed. Theodore G Tappert in collaboration with J Pelikan, RH Fischer and AC Peipkorn. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1959, 613. 15. 109 2 Cor. 6:16.

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110 1 Cor. 3:17. Paul also wrote, ‘we know that an idol is nothing in the world, and that there is none other God but one’ (1. Cor. 8:4); according to the Book of Psalms, ‘Confounded be all they that serve graven images, that boast themselves of idols’ (Ps. 97:7). 111 Nicolas Erhard, one of the teachers on Horváth’s Nagyőr estate, produced a very different, possibly biased evaluation of his patron when the latter died, on which occasion Erhard recalled ‘the burning enthusiasm [Horváth] felt for the true faith’. The lord of Nagyőr ‘flipped through the Holy Scriptures day and night, and was so familiar with them that he could be compared to King Alfonso [X] of Castile, who was said to have read the entire Holy Book fourteen times. He took communion every third or fourth week, and declared that he was miraculously refreshed and fortified by it’; see RMK I. 401, RMNy 930. 112 The passage reads, ‘all the people brake off the golden earrings which were in their ears, and brought them unto Aaron. And he received them at their hand, and fashioned it with a graving tool, after he had made it a molten calf: and they said, These be thy gods, O Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt. And when Aaron saw it, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made a proclamation, and said, Tomorrow is a feast to the LORD’ (Ex. 32:2–5). For Ambrosius, Horváth’s misunderstanding of ‘the LORD’ as a reference to the golden calf was unmistakable proof of his idolatry. 113 The complete title of Horváth’s Hungarian version was Az képekrol valo tvdomany, mely Doctor Chemnitz Márton irásábol, kit déákúl kiboczátot, minden embernek iauára, magyar nyelwre fordétatot: Stansit Horvat Gergely által [The Science of Images, from the Writings of Doctor Martin Chemnitz, which he Published as a Student, translated according to the Hungarian language for the Goode of all Mankinde by Gergely Stansit Horvat], Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1588. RMK I. 220.b., RMNy 591. 114 See, for example, Sergiusz Michalski, The Reformation and the Visual Arts. The Protestant Image Question in Western and Eastern Europe. London and New York: Routledge, 1993. 115 From the Missiles housed in the Archives of the City of Nagyszombat (Trnava); 8 March 1576, Vienna. Cited in Zsuzsanna Újváry, ‘Katolikus papot vagy prédikátort? Nagyszombat város küzdelme a protestáns hitért az 1570-es években’ (Catholic Priest or Preacher? The City of Nagyszombat’s Struggles over the Protestant Faith in the 1570s), Ráday Gyűjtemény Évkönyve 7 (1994): 108–9. 116 For more on the conceptual background of these 16th-century disputes over symbology, imagery and idolatry, see Sergiusz Michalski, The Reformation and the Visual Arts. The Protestant Image Question in Western and Eastern Europe. London and New York: Routledge, 1993. 117 Michalski, The Reformation and the Visual Arts, 193. 118 In all likelihood, we will never know more about this high altar’s 16th-century characteristics than we can reconstruct from its 1868 restoration, at which time it was augmented with neo-Gothic ornamentation. Except for its central portion, every other element of the altar was produced in the 17th century or later. For more on visuality, images, ‘idols’ and issues of perception and reception, see Joseph Leo Koerner, The Reformation of the Image. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2004. 119 This issue has been discussed in detail by Andrew Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. 120 ‘Entirely reminiscent of the paintings of Venice’, according to Bruckner. For more on Késmárk’s church, see Dušan Buran et al., eds., Gotika: dejiny slovenského výtvarného umenia (Gothic: The History of Slovakian Fine Arts). Bratislava: Slovenská národná galéria, 2003. 121 Bruckner, A késmárki céhek, 160–70.

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A pamphlet attacking Ambrosius In 1587, Georg Creutzer published a vivid German-language open letter in which he portrayed Ambrosius as a Sacramentarian. This chronologically arranged, ten-point outline of attributes and anecdotes serves as an introduction to the life of the leading pastor of Késmárk: 1. I myself have heard from Ambrosius’ relatives that he was already ingesting the poison of Calvinist books in his youth, for which reason his father severely chastised him, declaring that he would rather have had [the boy] drown in his first bath than read such books. 2. In Wittenberg, Lám lived with the most prominent Hungarian Calvinist, [whom] he attentively served as an assistant. 3. When he returned from university to the school in Késmárk, he publicly rejected the pure doctrine of the dignity of Christ, as his notes confirm. 4. He was always a good friend of Kabat’s [Matthias Thoraconymus’], who publicly proclaimed the teachings of the Sacramentarians in Késmárk, and of his successor Pilcz’s [Caspar Pilcius’], whom he hired as a preacher without his having denounced his mistaken views, either publicly or privately. 5. The pastor of Leibic [Valentinus Hortensius], with whom [Ambrosius] is together day and night, is also a Sacramentarian, for the catechism he hath delivered into the hands of the children teacheth that the Lord’s Supper is a commemoration of the death of Christ and an expression of gratitude for his sufferings. This Sacramentarian teaching is plainly false. Christ’s body and blood are embodied in the bread and the wine we consume in the Lord’s Supper. A public declaration denying this proveth that its speaker is no pure preacher. 6. If Sebastian Lám preacheth in the church during Holy Week, he bringeth the teachings of Danaeus, Tossanus, and de Bèze with him, and unquestionably draweth his preaching from them. 7. He hath likewise locked down the high altar, of which act only a Sacramentarian would be capable, and to which act I have already

94 Controversy and the art of persuasion referred in my work entitled Proba, wherein I reveal the devilish manner in which [Pilcius] thinketh. 8. Lám rejecteth and persecuteth the pure doctrine of the Lord’s Supper. 9. He is the sworn enemy of the pastors and schoolmaster of Bártfa, as well as the instigator of the sending of the Bártfa [pastors’] work entitled Examen to the Sacramentarian Ameling for his judgement. 10. Samuel Braccius, who was lawfully summoned to the border country as a parish pastor, hath been prevented by Thököly from assuming his position because he doth not stand with the Sacramentarians. On the basis of the contents of this list, Creutzer considered Ambrosius’ guilt to have been proven; he concluded with several more points’ worth of questions related to the Lord’s Supper, to which he expected definite concurring or dissenting responses. Ambrosius himself did not respond to this letter; four years later, he noted in the introduction to his Antithesis ubiquitatis that he was aware of Creutzer’s letter, which the latter ‘scattered everywhere’.1 One of the striking features of this ad hominem pamphlet, however, is the level of familiarity with which Ambrosius’ neighbour described the details of his ‘target’s’ life. Each of these points suggests that he had followed Ambrosius’ career attentively, and a number of his remarks – for example, ‘I … have heard from Ambrosius’ relatives’, ‘his notes confirm’ and ‘[when he] … preacheth in the church’ – suggest that Creutzer had conducted a personal investigation into Ambrosius’ life. He wanted to expose Ambrosius, to provide proof of the latter’s heresy and the righteousness of his own religious principles. And thus of course he was familiar with Ambrosius’ ‘co-conspirators’, his writings, the character of his preaching and Thököly’s patronage. This exaggerated ‘curriculum vitae’ is an interesting source primarily because Creutzer’s point-by-point account condensed the essential chronological phases, positions and activities of Ambrosius’ life into a set of biographical cornerstones. This Sendbrief is a typical example of the public religious polemics and personal attacks that would directly affect Ambrosius in the last decade and a half of his life. Creutzer’s pamphlet was designed to be readily understood and rapidly distributed. He composed it using simple sentences, reliable-seeming bits of data and heavy doses of passion, all of which presumably made it easier for readers to identify with this series of statements. Above all, he appealed to emotion in attempting to discredit a pastor he considered guilty of malpractice, which effort he specifically addressed to the city council and the entire Christian community of Késmárk. And just like Horváth, who had also intervened with the city council in an effort to have Ambrosius removed during the controversy over the altar, Creutzer likewise failed to achieve his goal. The publication itself, however, was widely distributed and presumably widely read, as more members of the community understood German than understood Latin. Whether he was attacking Pilcius or Ambrosius, Creutzer – deliberately,

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it would seem – published his work exclusively in German. He enumerated the offences he had suffered in another publication entitled Newe Zeitung, which resembled his anti-Ambrosius polemic in its extent, its format (quarto) and in the elementary, readily comprehensible level at which it was written.2 These publications were typical of the second ‘moment’ of pamphleteering3 (that is, cheap and readily available), though they presumably also reached readers with the means to purchase more expensive and sophisticated printed materials. Taken together, these factors suggest that virtually any kind of pamphlet like Creutzer’s – including writings distributed in handwritten form – could have reached a relatively large reading public. As we have seen, this intense period of religious debate was preceded by – and coincided with – disputes that related to the Késmárk pastor’s life in a number of ways.4 In the course of the debate over the Formula, opinions became increasingly polarised. These clashes were not primarily questions of principle but rather disputes over local representation and orientation, personnel and positioning, and the acceptance of particular documents. However, these pamphlet wars began to intensify around 1584–5, when disputes over the doctrinal content of the Formula and the Book of Concord escalated into the tediously documented public battles over dogma for which the 16th century is known, which debates were generally conducted at a rather low rhetorical level. Thus, given that earlier generations of scholars tend to have described Ambrosius’ participation in this series of disputes as the most important phase of his life, we will need to catalogue and analyse the various oral and written debates that unfolded in this period (which can itself be subdivided into various stages). The period variously described as the ‘upheaval’, the ‘spread of orthodoxy’ or the ‘continual advance of Helveticism’ should be treated primarily as a process which conformed to the confessionalisational tendencies of late humanism.5 This period in the history of European Protestantism was marked by seemingly furious battles between various factions within the church who hoped to prove the validity of their interpretations. Viewed from up close, these polemics and the argumentation of these public disputes suggest that this sort of discord was typical of Szepes County as well. Viewed from a somewhat greater critical distance, however, these events may be summarised best by Paul Oskar Kristeller’s apt remark about the polemical culture of the early Renaissance: ‘Such controversies … were mere episodes in a long period of peaceful coexistence’.6 Even so, during this genuinely intense period of his biography, Ambrosius’ everyday life was not dominated solely by religious contention. The last 15 years of his life also saw him reach the pinnacle of his career and refine the humanist practices that typified his personality. In the following analysis, I will approach conditions in Szepes County from several angles, supplementing detailed discussions of these debates and the numerous personalities involved with discussions of power relations and

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patronage; inquiries into this period’s intertwined networks of Hungarian, Saxon and regional relationships; analyses of the vocabulary and rhetoric of these debates; and dissections of the public discourse of the era, including means of communication ranging from publishing and correspondence to gossip. Furthermore, I intend to provide support for a novel interpretation of the public discourse of the late 16th century; as others have highlighted, perhaps the most interesting aspect of these confessional disputes was their relevance to the public. Though we now regard them as tedious hairsplitting, it is not an exaggeration to assert that the country’s population followed these theological skirmishes with bated breath. In regular public debates, the ‘soldiers’ of the Catholic and Protestant [faiths] – and later, of the competing Protestant confessions – compared principles and subjected them to the judgement of the community.7 I hope to clarify the theological content of – and ecclesiastical relationships highlighted by – these disputes, though theological analysis is not my primary concern here. As Montaigne bitterly remarked in looking back over the 16th-century eucharistic debates sparked by Jesus’ pronouncement Hoc est enim corpus meum (‘This is my body’), ‘How many – and how important – are the quarrels which have been produced in the world by doubt about the meaning of this syllable, “Hoc.”’8 I myself agree with Katalin Péter, who responded to this issue as follows: The change [wrought by] the Reformation was plain to see: the faithful received wine along with their bread. The debates that followed, however, whether over the theology of the old church or within Protestantism, were incomprehensible, perfectly unintelligible without a serious theological education.9 I would thus like to begin this reconstruction of the confessional disputes of Szepes County with a brief introduction highlighting the roles Ambrosius and his contemporaries played, the characteristics of the schools of thought they represented and the stances adopted by the participants in these ‘multifront wars’.

Ambrosius and Gergely Horváth: The genesis of their confessional dispute At some point in 1584, Gergely Horváth came to Késmárk and entered Ambrosius’ church. Sending everyone else out of the House of the Lord, Horváth asked the pastor what had brought him to reject the doctrine of ubiquity.10 Ambrosius then took out the book in which he had written his notes as a schoolboy and located the page on which he had taken down

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his instructor’s refutation of the Ubiquitarians’ teachings. We cannot confirm the reliability of this anecdote given that Ambrosius recorded it several years later in his book, though if genuine, it would appear to be the first of the disputes between the two men.11 In 1587, at the time of Georg Creutzer’s written attack, Horváth offered to debate Ambrosius in person at the Késmárk Castle. According to Ambrosius’ description in the Antithesis, the only observer of this disputation was his patron Sebestyén Thököly, though this text does not mention the subject or outcome of their argument. The only specific information in Ambrosius’ account is his rather malicious observation that Horváth misquoted the book of Exodus and had to be corrected by Thököly.12 Starting in 1587, Horváth would publish a number of now-lost written attacks on Ambrosius. This purported collection of eight polemics was the ‘fruit’ of this first phase of contention, and Ambrosius responded to all but one. In his first polemic, Horváth spoke out in defence of ‘idols’ and the doctrine of ubiquity, though Ambrosius heeded the advice of ‘other notable men’ and did not reply, assuming that Horváth would eventually quiet down. However, the latter then issued a second text citing Saint Peter’s admonition ‘to be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you’ (1. Pet. 3:16). At this, Ambrosius took up his pen, declaring that sinners were not only those who commit offences, but also those whose silence withholds the truth. ‘Serious men of mature judgment’ considered this to be a dignified response; Horváth, however, did not, and Ambrosius would continue to be perplexed ‘why he hath singled me out as his adversary’. Horváth wrote a reply to Ambrosius’ rejoinder, so Ambrosius then answered Horváth’s third piece as well, claiming that his adversary had distorted the content of his previous argumentation. For this reason, Ambrosius substantiated his response to Horváth’s third piece with citations from the Holy Scriptures, the Fathers of the Church and ‘the continuous teachings of the orthodox church’. In his fourth pamphlet, Horváth discussed the principle of communicatio idiomatum, to which Ambrosius again replied, though this time he ‘also mentioned to a few noble lords’ that the thoughts expressed in Horváth’s writings bore a close resemblance to the tenets of Arianism. Horváth then wrote a fifth document, which ‘sharptoothed reply’ he had an armed servant deliver to Ambrosius. Késmárk’s pastor composed a short response to this salvo as well, expressing his hope that his challenger’s omission of the usual disquisition on idols was a sign that Horváth had ‘finally returned to the right path’. Horváth, however, resumed his discussion of idols in his sixth text, which was also conveyed to Ambrosius by an armed servant. Ambrosius once again formulated a reply, though this time he first sent it off for the appraisal of his colleagues in Eperjes, where he had begun his preaching career. Three months later, however, he had yet to receive any response. Thus when he went to the wedding of the daughter of his former teacher Lukács Fabinyi (by then Eperjes’ notary public), he asked Fabinyi

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what had happened to his manuscript and discovered that despite its having been addressed to his friends, it had somehow made its way into the hands of the lord of Nagyőr. Hence Horváth, who was also a guest at the wedding (whether he was there on Ambrosius’ account is not clear), had come ‘armed’ with books and other auxiliary materials and challenged Ambrosius to an oral debate. The latter was completely unprepared for the situation and was thus forced to improvise; he discussed this public exchange of views both in his Antithesis and in a letter he wrote to Johann Jacob Grynaeus on 1 March 1590.13 In both texts, he recalled that after the wedding in Eperjes, Horváth had begun distributing a summary of the results of this unpleasant colloquium in which he exaggerated his role and made marked revisions to his rhetorical contributions. He ‘incorporated barely a twentieth’ of Ambrosius’ argumentation, thereby giving the impression that he had managed to silence Késmárk’s pastor. This was the seventh in Horváth’s series of polemics, to which the resolute Ambrosius composed yet another rather ingenious response. He sought out the wedding guests who had witnessed this debate and with their help compiled a more realistic account of its argumentation, then read this text aloud before the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes, three other members of which association had also been present at the wedding. Ambrosius asked these witnesses to correct any possible mistakes or omissions, but they confirmed the authenticity of his version of events. Ambrosius then prepared copies of this memorandum, and though he left no record of his intentions, he surely meant to distribute his community-approved ‘true story’ of the wedding-reception debate. Some copies, at least, were probably distributed, insofar as Horváth came into the possession of one and immediately wrote an eighth attack on Ambrosius. According to Ambrosius’ Antithesis, he received this eighth pamphlet on 14 October 1588, at which point he began to wonder whether it was worth responding to yet another of Horváth’s writings. Four months later, in February 1589, ‘in accordance with the instructions of his superiors’ (in all likelihood, at the request of Sebestyén Thököly), he set about writing a larger-scale work in which he would attempt to address all the issues which had arisen in the course of this polemical exchange.14 The kinds of doubts that might have tormented Ambrosius are exemplified by the latter half of the aforementioned letter to Grynaeus. Here Ambrosius discussed Horváth’s eighth text, in which the latter declared that Ambrosius’ account of the events at the wedding in Eperjes was an audacious fabrication and again challenged his adversary to a public debate. Ambrosius then requested Grynaeus’ advice: ‘I would thus ask you, “What shall I do?” My opponent presseth a debate, and I do not wish to run away’.15 Events began to accelerate around Ambrosius; as he was starting to write the Antithesis, Horváth succeeded in arranging a public debate in the Késmárk Castle on 5 February 1589. Observers included Judge Wolfgang Ligustius of Késmárk, that city’s royal tax collector Matthias Boborowiczi, Pastor

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Johann Schulz of Szepesbéla and Pastor Paul München of Szepesszombat. The outcome of this debate is unknown, though Horváth did propose yet another public colloquium, very likely the one about which Ambrosius wrote to Grynaeus. Ambrosius was also made aware that the students at the school Horváth had founded on his Nagyőr estate in 1588 were constantly making copies of his eight polemical pamphlets, ‘which he habitually pushed on anyone and everyone’. In contrast, Ambrosius wrote in the Antithesis that he himself was unable to make copies, and was thus ‘forced to publicize his work by means of the press’. Of course, Ambrosius did not mention the number of European theologians to whom he had written about this affair in the period preceding the publication of the Antithesis, Grynaeus chief among them. Before I go any further in recounting these events, it is worth reviewing the communicative techniques Ambrosius and Horváth used in the course of this dispute. Despite the fact that Ambrosius’ recollections are our only source of information about these debates, I do not wish to call the veracity of his account into question. Horváth initiated this dispute, but Ambrosius responded to each of his writings with the exception of the first, and was thus an active participant in this exchange.16 It is true that this conflict was not to his taste, and that he considered Horváth’s constant, repetitive declarations to have been of substandard quality. Even so, it appears that this was an important tactical element of Horváth’s approach: he hoped to exhaust the pastor of Késmárk and thereby force him to concede the debate. Ambrosius, however, continued to reply, and in preparing his responses, he sought the input of ‘his superiors’, ‘men of mature judgment’ and his colleagues in Eperjes, not to mention his effort to win the approval of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes. Thus, Ambrosius was not helpless or alone in waging this battle; in fact, his patron Sebestyén Thököly stood resolutely behind him and almost certainly urged Ambrosius to respond decisively to Horváth’s eighth pamphlet. Ambrosius’ later European correspondents also encouraged him to reply. Not only did Ambrosius want to legitimise his actions by seeking the approval of ecclesiastical authorities, but he also strove to level the symbolic playing field by making continual references to dignitaries and patrons, which backing presumably served as a kind of counterbalance in his struggle with the more powerfully positioned Horváth. Horváth, on the other hand, just kept writing, pamphlet after pamphlet, and his use of armed servants in delivering these messages may have lent them another kind of weight. Horváth was also able to intercept Ambrosius’ writings on two occasions, which suggests that he paid close attention to his opponent’s reactions. He did not consider the acquisition of this advance knowledge of Ambrosius’ writings to be problematic, but rather a practical concern; he appears to have wanted to steer the debate and thus took pains to put himself in the driver’s seat. As we have seen, however, it was not just Horváth who availed himself of opportunities to reproduce and distribute his writings, but Ambrosius

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as well, given that both men had an interest in spreading the word about this debate and the positions they espoused. Furthermore, both parties also made use of oral methods of ‘delivering the news’. Creutzer claimed that Ambrosius and his friends were reconnoitring Szepes County even in the early 1580s: ‘A feverish movement hath sprung up among the Calvinists. They run from one lord to another holding secret gatherings where the pastors of Leibic (Hortensius), Igló (Jancsi), and Késmárk (Ambrosius) in particular hold forth’.17 It is also worth pointing out that in this first phase of their debate, neither Ambrosius nor Horváth exploited the possibility of typographical mass production, though they might have had opportunities to do so. In the late 16th century, the printing press had yet to break through as a standard tool for distributing information; most news was still spread by means of traditional oral transmission and hand-copied documents. This handwritten prelude to the Ambrosius–Horváth debate demonstrates that both participants were aware of the need to exploit the communicative tools of their era if they wanted to publicise their views. And perhaps the time-consuming nature of typography was the reason they decided in favour of traditional methods. Other religious debates of this era indicate that their participants regarded speedy distribution – by means of the relatively quick method of hand-copying, for instance – to be among their most important considerations. They believed that the immediate dissemination of their perspectives would not only expose the public to their thoughts and principles but bring the truth itself to light. Before the modern ‘structural transformation of the public sphere’, as Habermas called it, the act itself legitimised its contents. It would thus seem that for the polemicists who participated in these public debates, it was enough for their arguments and concerns to reach the public by means of rapid communication, so that ‘the true faith’ and ‘correct thinking’ might make their way into the appropriate spheres.18 Their calculations might well have been correct, insofar as the quick distribution of their competing manuscripts may have been enough to keep the members of their urban society informed, from everyday arenas – at weddings and funerals, within the walls of churches and schools – to the assemblies of ecclesiastical associations. However, we have only the most fragmentary data about urban audiences’ reactions to these debates. Even so, we might assume that the people of Szepes County reacted like observers at the Colloquy of Montbéliard: What did sixteenth-century lay Protestants know about complicated theological arguments? The Protestant reformers knew that to succeed they must have both the hearts and minds of the people. To well-prepared sermons were added carefully supervised instructions in catechism classes. The people were therefore instructed in these difficult matters and knew very well what they believed and what they did not believe. Not only did the common people understand their confessions

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of faith, duly drawn up and taught in both school and church, but their lords, those German dukes who are sometimes caricatured as illiterate boors, knew their theology as well and carried on complicated theological debates with their peers.19 In addition to launching public attacks on Ambrosius, Horváth initiated disputes with other local figures as well. On 10 July 1585, he engaged in a religious debate with Thoraconymus, which event could not have been organised without the approval of Sebestyén Thököly.20 Thoraconymus eventually left Késmárk to become the headmaster of the school in Kassa, where he came into conflict with Mento Gogreff. Kassa’s city council solved the problem by dismissing both disputants, at which point Thoraconymus went to Sárospatak: ‘Thoraconymus defended the true faith against the Papists and the Ubiquitarians, and because of the latter was forced to abandon his position in Kassa’.21 Thoraconymus had already joined the Reformed Church when he took part in the 1585 public debate.22 According to a brief note in Horváth’s album, he and ‘Matei Kabat, a skillful scholar of Greek literature who signed his name Thoraconymus as the headmaster of Késmárk, argued over the Lord’s Supper at city hall in the presence of several pious and erudite men’.23 Nor, of course, did Horváth spare Pilcius, with whom he staged a public colloquium on issues related to the Lord’s Supper on 1 September 1590. We have only Horváth’s version of the outcome of this debate, which he recorded in his album and in the Responsio pars altera he wrote to Ambrosius in 1593, wherein he referred to his disputations with Thoraconymus and Pilcius in Késmárk.24 Horváth claimed that both these ‘Calvinists’ had signed the minutes of these debates at their conclusion,25 and that Thoraconymus and Pilcius had both praised him for his etiquette and the propriety of his tone. Even so, it must be noted that Horváth described himself with such humility when he was trying to persuade Ambrosius to participate in another public colloquium, and that the pastor of Késmárk had objected to a public exchange of views precisely on account of Horváth’s vehemence. Indeed, as we have seen, the episode at the wedding in Eperjes and the tone of his manuscript debate with Ambrosius do not bear witness to Horváth’s politesse. Horváth systematically sought out opportunities to engage in public disputes where he could familiarise audiences with his Lutheran beliefs. And it was not just in Szepes County that he monitored the promulgation of Luther’s doctrine; his opinion was solicited in other locations as well.26 In November 1587, Ferenc Révay and István Homonnay invited him to Ungvár (now Uzhhorod, Ukraine) for a debate with area clergymen. Horváth went over to Ungvár with two of the ‘investigators’ of Bártfa, Martin Wagner and Thomas Fabri, though they achieved little there, as Deacon Albert Kállai prevented them from debating other deacons without his permission. Horváth’s explicit goal in founding the gymnasium in Nagyőr in 1588 was to educate the youth of Szepes County in a proper Lutheran spirit.

102 Controversy and the art of persuasion The school’s first headmaster was Conrad Gera, who had previously taught in Strasbourg; in addition to serving as a school administrator in the late 1590s, Gera also helped publish polemics against Pilcius. These examples (as well as the 1591 colloquium in Csepreg, where Horváth was a guest of honour and one of the keynote speakers for the Lutheran side) demonstrate that the lord of Nagyőr began to implement a conscious communication strategy as soon as he returned to Hungary. Over the course of the 1580s, the central elements of this strategy were public debates and colloquia. Anyone Horváth considered suspicious, he summoned onto a public stage where, having done his preparatory study, he attempted to prove that their views were mistaken. And as I have noted, he strove to make himself into a leading voice of orthodox Lutheranism outside Szepes County as well, travelling to distant locales in his attempts to implement certain policies or influence particular situations. The pillars of his methodology were personal attendance, public argumentation, proselytisation with the help influential preachers and the dissemination of handcopied polemical literature. Of course, Horváth’s systematic approach to propagating the faith required a number of assistants, colleagues and supporters who participated in various ways depending on their abilities. In addition to discussing the ‘investigators’ of Bártfa and the teaching staff of his school in Nagyőr, it is also worth turning back to Georg Creutzer, whose zeal led him to attack the ‘Sacramentarian heretic’ in the pamphlet mentioned at the beginning of this chapter and to wrangle with Caspar Pilcius. It is also worth citing from Creutzer’s first printed work, given that he repeated its central questions at the end of the Sendbrief in which he attacked Ambrosius. In his pamphlet Warnung, Creutzer discussed five signs (Merkzeichen) that would enable a layman or even an illiterate peasant to differentiate Lutheran and Sacramentarian teachings on the subject of the Eucharist, and thereby identify Sacramentarians.27 If a preacher, schoolmaster or anyone else seemed suspicious, they were to be asked the following five questions: 1. Do ye believe that Christ, in accordance with his mortal nature, existeth in a particular, definite, circumscribed location in Heaven, and therefore cannot simultaneously and in reality be anywhere else? 2. What is it that one taketh into one’s hand and mouth in the Sacrament? 3. If in the Sacrament the faithless and unworthy consumeth the same genuine body and blood of Christ that is consumed by the worthy and the true-believer, doth it serve the latter as comfort and salvation and the former as damnation? 4. How do ye interpret the pure, clear words of Christ, ‘Take, eat, this is my body; Drink ye all of it, for this is my blood?’ Do ye understand this literally or figuratively? 5. Is it correct to destroy images, burn crosses, shut down and crush organs, interfere arbitrarily in the Christian freedom and rituals of a

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well-organized Protestant Church, denounce innocent acts as crimes, let the Sacramentarian swarm go unpunished, and revise or forbid Christian songs? If a respondent were to answer the first question in the affirmative, he would be unlikely to reply to the second by claiming that one consumes the genuine body and blood of Christ in the sacrament of the Eucharist, nor was he likely to respond to the third question with a straightforward yes; this interview subject would then likely answer the fourth item by saying that Christ’s words require some explanation, by which point it would be clear that he was a Sacramentarian to be avoided like the devil. Creutzer’s instructions to his ‘interviewers’ clearly outline the central questions of Szepes County’s religious debates, though they also demonstrate the extent to which these disputed doctrines could be simplified for the benefit of lay believers. Given his familiarity with the audience that would receive and assess it, the author of this pamphlet wanted to distribute it to the public as a kind of survey. It is enough to glance at the title page of this publication: its text is set entirely in capitals, with an even larger font to highlight its warning to the Sacramentarians, amplified by the Biblical citation with which this publication begins: ‘Be not deceived. Evil communications corrupt good manners’.28 Furthermore, this document is a clear indication of the conditions in Késmárk, insofar as Creutzer was urging the youth of his native city to take up the battle against the members of Sacramentarian, Zwinglian and Calvinist society (who also considered themselves citizens of Késmárk).29 And as I noted above, after being spoon-fed these five questions, ‘even an illiterate peasant could recognize a Sacramentarian’. This latter wish might have been fulfilled; reading aloud was still an important tradition in the late 16th century, as the absolute number and proportion of literate Europeans was still small even in urban settings.30 Numerous pamphlets and other publications explicitly urged the public to read them aloud, and thus to disseminate and debate their propositions among the illiterate.31 And while it is possible that a few people actually posed Creutzer’s five questions, it might also have been the case that these works were read aloud and then discussed by the people of Szepes County in inns, taverns, dining halls, spinneries or guilds.32 It is obvious that the Lutheran community of Szepes County had polarised into two competing camps; the various principles, dispositions and power relations that separated the orthodox Lutherans and Philippists of the area soon became clear as well. Even so, evaluating these debates (and Ambrosius’ activities) solely within the context of this public discourse would produce a one-sided portrait. It is thus worth determining the ‘place value’ of a public polemicist like Ambrosius by analysing his actions in comparison with the biographies of the two great local patrons and homines novi, Gergely Horváth and Sebestyén Thököly. Though their impulses

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helped determine conditions in Késmárk and Szepes County, both these landowners were recent arrivals without deep roots in the area. Horváth settled in Nagyőr, just a few miles from Késmárk, on the estate his father Márk – the hero of the 1556 Siege of Szigetvár – had received from the King of Hungary and Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand I.33 Thököly originally formulated his demands of the city in 1579, though he was unable to move into the Késmárk Castle until 1583. By that time, the two nobles’ life stories had already intersected with Ambrosius’ at a number of points, and during the 1580s, the three neighbours developed a peculiar sort of triangular relationship. Familiarising ourselves with these nobles’ personal histories will thus contribute to a better understanding of Ambrosius’ experience as a born-and-bred resident of Késmárk. Márk Horváth married Krisztina Porkoláb-Hahóti in 1555; guests at their wedding included their family friend Palatine Tamás Nádasdy and his wife. Gergely was born three years later, on 1 August 1558, though his mother would die within a year of his birth. Márk Horváth’s second wedding took place at Ferenc Batthyány’s castle in Németújvár in 1560; his second wife, Erzsébet Both, seems to have raised the young Gergely in Körmend.34 By 1561, Márk Horváth had passed away as well, leaving everything to his three-year-old son: ‘Furthermore, to mine sonne Gergel Horwath Stansith I leaue all mine cattel and money … [and] all mine instruments of warre’.35 Gergely was cared for by his stepmother and by guardians designated in his father’s will.36 Gergely received his elementary education in Körmend and/or Csepreg; he became a Protestant in Körmend in the late 1560s, and there was a reputable Protestant school in Csepreg, which lay on the Nádasdy estate.37 And though Gergely had inherited all his father’s ‘instruments of war’, it would seem that he chose to further his education under the influence of Semsey or one of his other guardians. At the age of 15, he embarked on a scholarly peregrination in the company of his tutor Mátyás Polányi, travelling through the German principalities to France, and from there to Padua, where he enrolled at the university on 8 April 1574.38 He spent a year there, making the acquaintance of Hugo Blotius, who was employed as János Liszthy’s tutor at that time.39 In 1575, he returned to Ferenc Nádasdy’s home in Sárvár, though he would embark on another journey shortly thereafter. He initially wanted to return to Italy,40 though his 1576 peregrination took him not to Padua or any other Italian city, but rather through Vienna to Linz.41 After this long series of journeys through Europe, Horváth returned to Hungary in 1581, which fact is notable for two reasons: only a small proportion of the nobility took part in such peregrinations, and the majority of those who did spent relatively short periods of time abroad. Journeys like Forgách’s and Thurzó’s were still exceptional in this era, though Horváth also managed to travel extensively. The priorities on such trips were the making of friends and acquaintances and the acquisition of knowledge; the prestige and representational value of these journeys were secondary

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concerns. On the other hand, his itinerary and the list of individuals he visited paint an interesting portrait, insofar as his Stammbuch featured an array of renowned teachers and theologians.42 Horváth later vehemently disagreed with some of their views, though this should not be a surprise given the likelihood of drifting away from one’s academic role models in the course of developing one’s own independent voice and system of thought. Horváth received his Stammbuch from Ferenc Nádasdy on 15 April 1575 as the latter was preparing for his wedding.43 Just a year later, on 3 July 1576, he arrived in Linz, where the headmaster of the local school, Joannes Menhardus, signed Horváth’s album. His next destination was Strasbourg, where he studied at Johann Sturm’s famous academy for almost two years starting in September 1576.44 By September 1578, he was already in Basel, where several other acquaintances inscribed their names, including Johann Jacob Grynaeus, who had an extensive network of Hungarian connections, and Simon Sulcerus.45 On 3 January 1579, Professor Theodor Zwinger of the University of Basel’s medical faculty, wrote a brief message: ‘Vive moriturus, morere victurus’ (Live and die to live!).46 Not long after that, Zwinger’s brother-in-law Basilius Amerbach – a lawyer, collector and owner of a famous Kunstkammer – signed the album. By the end of January, Horváth was in Zürich; he then went to Bern and Lausanne47 and had arrived in Geneva by 6 May 1579, when the theology professor (and Horváth’s future teacher in Leiden) Lambert Danaeus wrote an entry in Horváth’s Stammbuch. In mid-July, he spent some time in Paris.48 By September he was back in Strasbourg, where he stayed until the spring of 1580; among others, Robert Sidney signed there on 29 March.49 He then returned to Geneva, where he stayed at the home of Théodore de Bèze for six months (‘Genevae cum esset per sex menses eruditissimi Theodori Bezae nom est familiaritate’).50 By 22 September 1580, he was in Stuttgart, where the composer and theologian Lucas Osiander wrote Horváth a message in Greek; two days later, his album was signed by the theologian Ludovicus Rabus in Ulm.51 Horváth was in Altdorf on October 9 and in Regensburg on the 11 and 12.52 He then went to Nuremberg53 to visit the well-known doctor Joachim Camerarius, who wrote: ‘Vita quid est hominis? … formido future, multum tristitae’ (What is human life? … a fear of future, a lot of sorrow). On 25 October, he paid a call to Jakob Andreae, the father of the Formula Concordiae, in Dresden. That same day, the superintendent of Wittenberg, Polycarpus Leyser, wrote an entry in Horváth’s album, who by 30 October was already in Prague.54 He then stayed in Vienna for a time before returning to Sárvár at the end of the year. The name of the Frankfurt book dealer Andreas Wechel also appears in this volume, though without a date. The final entry is that of Mátyás Szegedi, who signed in Sárvár on 13 September 1581. Among the most important aspects of this grand tour was the amount of time Horváth spent in Strasbourg. Studying and assimilating Johannes Sturm’s methods in person provided Horváth with a sufficient foundation

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for further humanist inquiry, and was surely helpful to him in founding his school in Nagyőr. It is impossible to gauge the depth of Horváth’s scholarship on the basis of this Stammbuch, though he does appear to have sought out the renowned intellectuals and personalities of the era in the locations he visited. This was partly the result of his own conscious decisions, though it probably (also) reflected the preferences of the tutor(s) who accompanied him. Of course, the inscriptions in this album are not necessarily indications of genuine friendship, but rather signs of the courteousness the members of the Respublica Litteraria habitually practised with one another. It was customary for leading scholars to help a traveller assemble a record of his journey by making their marks in the form of citations, aphorisms, advice or simple signatures. An examination of the confessional backgrounds of Horváth’s signees reveals that while he visited several of the important Reformed theologians of his era (de Bèze, Grynaeus, Danaeus), the only orthodox Lutheran he went to see was Andreae. As I have noted, in 1581 – that is, immediately after his return home – he joined Hans Rueber in disseminating the Formula.55 In 1582, Boldizsár Batthyány informed Horváth that he had run out of copies of the Liber Concordiae and asked Horváth to write to him if any more were to be delivered. It would not have made sense to write a letter of this sort unless its addressee was intimately involved in promulgating and distributing the Book of Concord in Hungary.56 Horváth’s album also indicates that he spent six months at de Bèze’s home, and that in acquainting himself with the scholarly life of the era, he sought out not only leading theologians but also doctors and lawyers like Zwinger, Amerbach and Camerarius. This information suggests that Horváth was fairly circumspect in arranging a scholarly peregrination rich in experiences and impressions, then made a conscious decision to return home, live as a disciple of the genuine Lutheran faith and help disseminate the theological principles enumerated in the Formula. Sebestyén Thököly did not go on any such educational journeys. Though the career of the future baron of the Kingdom of Hungary would later reach spectacular heights, he spent his youth involved in the trading of cattle and salt. We have no record of his formal education, though numerous signs would later indicate that he was well-versed in theology and other fields.57 The manner in which Thököly accumulated wealth and rose through society was unique among his contemporaries, and he achieved these accomplishments in accordance with a conscious strategy consisting of three central elements: amassing sufficient wealth; founding a family dynasty; and acquiring political power by manoeuvring his way into Hungarian aristocratic society. Having begun as a merchant, Thököly had already accumulated a substantial fortune by the 1560s, and had also developed a nationwide network of connections, including contacts in the Ottoman-occupied territories. In the 1570s, he lived in Nagyszombat, where he was ennobled and soon began lending money to other merchants and the royal court. By the end of that decade, he had acquired the Késmárk Castle (which he was

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unable to occupy until 1583) and married Zsuzsanna Dóczy, whose relatives included the Thurzó, Nyári, Forgách and Homonnay families. In the wake of his move to Késmárk and the 1584 death of Hans Rueber, a serious struggle developed between Thököly and the local citizenry. As Ferdinand Nogarolli, Rueber’s successor as the captain general of Upper Hungary, wrote to Archduke Ernest in 1584, Thököly is quite aggressive, full of himself, haughty, an unreasonable tyrant who is generally hated within the city and without, whereas Laski [the previous lord of the castle] is idolized. [Thököly] speaketh more freely of your Grace than would be fitting, and hath raised his voice even with me.58 After relinquishing the Késmárk Castle, Laski continually wrote letters of complaint to the royal and imperial court, and even before then had once publicly remarked that Thököly was ‘worse than a Jew!’ On Easter Day of 1584, Laski sneaked into the city without Thököly’s knowledge and gathered his supporters, to whom he delivered a speech. He said, ‘I would like to wish you happiness and peace, my dear children’ (his nickname for the people of Késmárk), whereupon he promised them a ten-year tax exemption if they would help him regain his estate. And though the citizenry had just pronounced an oath of loyalty to Thököly, they nevertheless took up arms on Laski’s behalf and set out for the castle. Thököly, however, vigorously defended himself and requested Nogarolli’s assistance from Kassa. The new lord of the Késmárk Castle then wrote a letter of complaint to Archduke Ernest in which he described this incident in detail. Laski went to Prague in the expectation of help, but in vain, as Emperor Rudolf II considered Thököly’s support to be more valuable, likely as a result of the latter’s intensifying money-lending activities. Rudolf resolved the situation by ordering Nogarolli to be ready to defend Thököly at any time. In 1586, after Laski orchestrated another attack, Thököly and Nogarolli cooperated in banishing him and announcing that the city would be disarmed; the resulting seizures of citizens’ weapons helped Thököly stockpile a small arsenal of his own.59 The scholars of the last century have expressed a fair degree of sentimental bias in evaluating the relationship between Thököly and Késmárk, almost unanimously describing the post-1583 period as one in which the people of the city were brought to heel.60 There is no doubt that Thököly had assumed complete control of the city by 1586. After disarming the citizenry, he issued a seven-point set of demands that the city’s people surely regarded as an ultimatum. Thököly obliged them to sell a set quantity of his wine, to provide lodging for his guests and – in case of an insurrection among his fellow nobles – to assist him with horses, carriages and money. Craftsmen were required to work for him for free, and to graze his cattle on the city commons.61 Thököly also demanded a say in the selection of the

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city’s representatives, put its jurisprudence under his direction and detained certain citizens and council members on several occasions. Such practices were certainly not out of the ordinary in the 16th century, but they were glaringly exceptional by Késmárk’s standards, as neither the lord lieutenant nor the provost of Szepes County, nor the previous lords of the castle, Rueber and Laski, had ever interfered with the free election of the city’s council and judge. This concentration of power necessarily led to a series of uprisings, after which Thököly convoked a so-called iudicium delegatum involving the vice-counts of Szepes and Sáros counties and the lords of the region. And though they had no legal jurisdiction over the city, they unanimously convicted the city of the crime of conspiracy, sentencing numerous citizens to decapitation or seizures of property. In response, the city issued an appeal in the form of a promissory note in which they acknowledged their guilt. They conceded that taking up arms against Thököly had been unlawful and promised to track down and punish the leaders of the resistance movement. They expressed a ‘desire’ to reach an agreement with Thököly on the sentences that had been imposed, compensated the lord of the castle for damages and promised not to incite any further uprisings in Késmárk. After expressing their remorse, they then asked Thököly for his forgiveness and requested that he leave the city’s remaining liberties intact. This settlement was implemented over the course of that year, and no further hostilities disturbed the city’s peace in the subsequent period.62 The situation was theoretically optimal, insofar as Thököly and the citizens of Késmárk were all Lutherans, but this fact was not enough to create a good relationship; even so, the turmoil of the ‘new order’ lasted only a few years and no further extreme strife developed during Thököly’s tenure. There is no question that he exercised stricter control over the city than his predecessors had in the 1570s, though Thököly did attempt to ameliorate the situation by handing out gifts; his wife Zsuzsanna Dóczy distributed clothing to the poor and helped care for the sick.63 Local historian Győző Bruckner formulated an interesting hypothesis about the unpleasant relationship between Thököly and the citizens of Késmárk: there may have been ethnic antagonisms lurking behind some of the conflicts. Members of Késmárk’s largely German-speaking Zipser community were quite proud of their city’s traditions and privileges, which were based on Saxon codes and rights, and despised the parvenu Hungarian Thököly. Despite his noble title and his wife’s connections, he was still a simple cattle-trader in their eyes, which may have been among the reasons they opposed him at every turn.64 Questions of nationality, however, are only one possible element of the explanation for this discord, insofar as Késmárk was inhabited by other groups than Zipsers, and none of Thököly’s actions seems to have been ethnically motivated. We cannot know whether Ambrosius played a role in legitimising Thököly’s authority, and we have no data describing the pastor’s reactions to Thököly’s violent centralisation of power. Ambrosius’ depictions of

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Thököly are exclusively positive; in Ambrosius’ books, letters and speeches, Thököly is always portrayed as a noble patron. It is conceivable that Thököly used the deeply rooted local preacher for the purposes of mediation and intervention, and as we have seen in the altar affair, Ambrosius complied with Thököly’s requests as if he agreed with them. And as we will see, within a few years, the pastor and his patron would be cooperating even more closely. It also appears that the dispute between Ambrosius and Horváth did not lead to any formal confrontation between Késmárk and Nagyőr; in fact, Késmárk’s account ledgers suggest that there was a lively relationship between the two communities.65 In the period before the founding of the school in Nagyőr, the people of Késmárk continually offered support to this neighbouring settlement, while Horváth extended financial assistance to the city of Késmárk. Nor do we have any evidence of personal antagonism between Sebestyén Thököly and Gergely Horváth. Thököly certainly paid attention to the pamphlets in which Ambrosius was attacked, and acted as the preacher’s ‘superior’ in encouraging him to write his responses. Horváth was aware that Thököly helped publish the work Thoraconymus wrote against his ‘investigators’. Thoraconymus mentioned his benefactor in the foreword to his 1586 response, noting that every element of the debate about Caspar Pilcius was familiar to Thököly. The lord of Késmárk ‘continually occupied himself with the reading of the Holy Scriptures, and was perfectly familiar with the central articles of the Christian faith’.66 Thököly and Horváth, however, never came into any personal conflict. They had mutual interests in certain financial affairs, such as the extension of loans, but neither ever seems to have interfered with the other’s legal authority. The relevant records all concern economic transactions, but we have no evidence of any personal interaction at that time.67 Assuming we believe Ambrosius’ previously cited claim that Horváth attempted to have him removed from his post, this particular intervention is thoughtprovoking. Why would Horváth have tried to interfere in a territory outside his legal jurisdiction? And was Thököly in a position to protect his pastor in 1584? It seems certain he was not, and that Horváth intervened in the city’s affairs when it was not yet under Thököly’s control. These were active individuals whose lives were defined by their sense of confessional duty, though in Ambrosius and Horváth’s case, it would be misleading to let their intense confessional commitment obscure their other spheres of activity. Soon after settling in Szepes County, Gergely Horváth founded his Latin gymnasium in Nagyőr and outfitted it with a substantial library. He allocated 600 forints per year to assisting poor students and supported the people of Késmárk and Bártfa on various occasions as well. In addition to his personal participation in confessional debates, he also translated two of Martin Chemnitz’s books into Hungarian.68 The title of the works featured the phrase ‘translated according to the Hungarian language for the Goode of all Mankinde’, an unequivocal indication that he was not merely

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concerned with the dissemination of scholarly knowledge, but wanted a broader audience to have access to a text he considered to be exceedingly important. Given Horváth’s personal participation, the propaganda which appears in this version is worth examining. Horváth could presumably have had someone else translate these works, but his personal involvement is suggested by the precise dates of completion he recorded in the afterwords to both translations – four in the afternoon on 14 June 1587 and 26 February 1588. There is also another possible reading for his active personal participation in this just cause: taking works he considered to be classics and translating them into his mother tongue might have been a kind of humanist-pedagogical patriotism. We know that Horváth taught at the school he founded in Nagyőr, and taking all the foregoing into account, it seems to me that however disagreeable this vehement, if not violent proselytiser appears in the rather dark-toned portraits others painted of him (particularly in Ambrosius’ presentation), Horváth’s arrival in Szepes County helped lay the groundwork for the area’s humanist educational programmes. He was the sort of magnate who chose to use his many gifts in the service of goals like disseminating the Formula, implementing humanist teaching methods and raising the level of the local culture. Likewise, Ambrosius’ activities in the 1580s cannot be reduced to the publication of thoroughgoing theological arguments. For instance, he contributed an epigram to Caspar Pilcius’ 1583 Meditationes piae… in which he wrote about the beauty of the terra Scepusiaca.69 This poem makes no reference whatsoever to confessional debates, instead describing the sort of idyll for which the humanists longed, a garden tended by the Muses where men of culture could devote themselves to books and the arts in peace. Ambrosius wrote an epigram with a similar tone to commemorate the mathematics professor Petrus Codicillus of Prague, who passed away in 1589. Ambrosius’ correspondent Martin Bachaček, also of Prague, published the memorial volume in which these verses appeared (after a piece by Nathan Chytraeus), alongside 11 other scholars who paid their respects to Codicillus (the son of Jan Codex), including Ambrosius’ friend Johann Mylius, the headmaster of the school in Lőcse.70 Ambrosius also released his hymnals in 1588. Thus it is obvious that Horváth and Ambrosius both led genuinely active spiritual and intellectual lives outside their strident doctrinal debates. Their emphases and interests varied, primarily as a result of their divergent social positions (or more broadly speaking, their differing interpretations of the reforms of the era and their understanding of their responsibilities), and of course they approached their objectives with differing plans and methods. And precisely for this reason, they cannot be understood within a misleading dichotomy of ‘good and bad’ or ‘right and wrong’. Three events took place in 1589 which would change the tenor of local confessional debates. First, the embittered disputant Georg Creutzer, who had added an interesting splash of colour to the polemics of Szepes County, passed away, and thus the voice of a certain kind of extremism fell silent.

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Second, Ambrosius began working on his Antithesis ubiquitatis…, which would turn out to be one of the most extensive and comprehensive analyses of the theological doctrines and events of the era. And finally, the Five Free Royal Cities convoked a synod, hosted at a monastery in Bártfa from 28 February to 1 March, at which their new deacon Martin Wagner required the assembly’s pastors to accept an important order. After everyone, in accordance with tradition, had signed the Confessio Pentapolitana and Melanchthon’s Corpus Doctrinae, Wagner declared that if anyone could not settle a confessional dispute by referring to Melanchthon’s Corpus, he should not turn to Calvinist writings for assistance, but rather to the books of Martin Luther. The true doctrine of the Lord’s Supper was to be found in Luther’s confession of faith, namely his final, smaller catechism.71 Of course, this decidedly Lutheran order was not immediately and unanimously accepted. In signing the document, János Fabricius, the Hungarian pastor of Eperjes, affirmed his adherence to the Augustan Confession and the Corpus, but refused to assume responsibility for Luther’s catechisms, as he was unfamiliar with them. Moreover, at a synod in November 1590 (by which time he had presumably familiarised himself with these texts), he added that his conscience was not completely at ease with Luther’s Small Catechism. Headmaster Johann Mylius of Lőcse concurred, saying that he accepted Luther’s catechism only insofar as it did not conflict with the Corpus Doctrinae.72 Though orders of this sort were an unquestionable sign of the growing strength of the orthodox Lutheran school of thought, the fact that objectors could make their voices heard suggested that there was still relative balance within the church. Above all, this 1589 resolution marked the beginning of a process in which orthodox Lutherans used institutional means such as decrees in their attempts to drive Philippist views out of their territories. The new provost of Szepes County was of assistance to them in their efforts. In a letter dated 17 November 1590, Provost Márton Hetessi-Pethő summoned the seniors and conseniors of the various ecclesiastical associations to meet with him on 29 November because it had come to his attention that numerous pastors were suspected of Crypto-Calvinism.73 The provost warned all the leaders of the ecclesiastical district under his authority that if they no longer intended to be Catholics, they should adhere to the Augustan Confession; under no circumstances should they defect ‘to the Calvinist sect, because only as Lutherans would they be able to count on his protection and the good will of the ruler’.74 This was the symbolic and informal end to the era which began in 1580 with the interpretive debates surrounding the release of the Formula Concordiae. Officially, the pastors of Szepes County had not been obliged to subscribe to the Formula as late as 1589, even though certain ecclesiastical associations were already under the leadership of individuals who had accepted the Book of Concord. By 1590, the Lutherans and Philippists had found a balance in the sense that they had similar numbers of representatives

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in the ecclesiastical district, participated in written polemics with roughly equal intensity, were supported by patrons with sufficient power and used equivalent methods in their attempts to win over the public. Only Lutheran deacons and pastors took steps to discredit the other side, such as issuing decrees that targeted its representatives. The leadership of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes – Anton Platner, and later János Jancsi – worked to protect Philippist traditions, though they did not want any conflict with the orthodox Lutheran community. Researchers who have studied events in Saxony, where the confessional split resembled that of Szepes County, have called attention to some of the two camps’ characteristic traits.75 The Saxon Gnesio-Lutherans, for instance, wanted to debate, in public and in detail, every questionable subject and problem. In contrast, Saxon Philippists did not seek out squabbles over minutiae, instead preferring general statements and efforts to avoid the disputations of the past. The confessional history of Szepes County in the last two decades of the 16th century was similar, possibly as a result of the fact that these two schools of thought held differing views of the nature and role of the church. As the Formula-debate and the dispute over calendrical reform demonstrate, it became clear during this first phase of local confessional conflict that the real fault line separating these two schools of thought involved their attitudes toward authority; on the one side was respect, and on the other, doubt. As a result, orthodox Lutherans and Philippists differed in their understanding of the concept of supervision and the practices of discipline and control, which led to a situation in which one ecclesiastical association might ‘prescribe’ a course of action while a neighbouring brotherhood made a ‘recommendation’. Meanwhile, the pastors of Szepes County had no inkling that their debates would resemble the power-political techniques and institutional practices of the absolutist state which was soon taking shape.

The Antithesis and the responses to it Ambrosius’ 492-page Antithesis was published by the Bonaventura Faber Press in the Saxon town of Zerbst in 1591. Despite the fact that I have already made numerous references to it, a summary of its chapters is merited given that this opus was not only Ambrosius’ longest book and the fruit of years of his labour but also – in my opinion – the most substantial work of confessional-polemical literature produced in this period. Ambrosius began by introducing his two main characters, the conflict between them and thus the dichotomy to be discussed throughout this work: on one side stood Gergely Horváth, battling on behalf of the orthodox Lutheran confession and the doctrine of ubiquity, while on the other stood the author, pleading self-defence. Ambrosius employed an obvious method in composing the Antithesis, organising Horváth’s principles into chapters, using word-for-word citations to demonstrate that he was engaged in a struggle against a genuine adversary. Employing the exegetical

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method of figures like John Chrysostom and Saint Augustine, Ambrosius buttressed his responses with references to the Scriptures, which was the most reliable source of – and standard for – proper judgement. Ambrosius thus constructed his work in the form of a dialogue, first listing Horváth’s positions under the name Nobilis provocator, then attributing his responses to Ecclesiasta provocatus. This format was quite popular in the 16th century, and Ambrosius considered these rhetorical pairings effective enough to have maintained this structure throughout the Antithesis. Given that he supported his responses to Horváth’s contentions with numerous citations, this book is extraordinarily rich in references – and not just to relevant passages of the Bible. He quoted extensively from the Church Fathers, and went beyond the familiar phrases from the Nicene and Athanasian Creeds that had served as the foundation for the Augustan Confession, citing numerous early Christian theologians including Athanasius of Alexandria, Theodoret, Saint Basil the Great, Aurelius Ambrosius, John of Damascus, Origen, Saint Bonaventure and Gregory of Nazianzus. He also marshalled the support of several of the authors of ancient classics, such as Virgil, Tertullian, Euripides and Suetonius. He incorporated numerous passages from Saint Augustine, though Thomas Aquinas and Aristotle were also featured. The writings of Luther, Melanchthon and Andreae naturally appeared among his references as well. Ambrosius was intimately familiar with the colloquia of his era, and thus cited the 1580 disputation in Wittenberg and the 1586 Colloquy of Montbéliard. Ambrosius also had precise knowledge of the works of Johann Brenz, Georg Major, Josias Simmler and Hieronymus Zanchius, as well as the writings of Ferenc Dávid, Péter Károlyi and Péter Melius – that is, he was well-versed in the Antitrinitarian literature and debates of the 1560s. He was even acquainted with the document Horváth had prepared for his colloquium in Ungvár, which Ambrosius cited in introducing certain sections of his book. And the diversity of these references overlaps with one of Ambrosius’ central objectives, as the majority of his citations come from anti-Arian books, polemical tracts and pamphlets, which literature he used to legitimise and lend credibility to his demonstration that Gergely Horváth was an Arian – if not, as he claimed in one place, a Servetist. In addition to using references as a persuasive technique, Ambrosius’ citational method is also evidence of the humanist approach associated above all with Melanchthon. In a letter written to Johannes Crato von Krafftheim of Breslau in 1559, a year before his death, the German theologian had expounded a thorough analysis of the authors of late antiquity in the interest of resolving the Eucharistic debates which had divided the Protestant community. Melanchthon advocated rereading Origen, Tertullian and Gregory of Nazianzus, insisting that their work would shed light on the problems of his own era.76 The Philippist Crato adopted a similar stance; having served as an imperial court physician in Vienna, he had returned to Silesia, where he engaged in debates on the doctrine of communicatio idiomatum alongside Jacob Monavius, who helped him find arguments to

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support their position. They found validation in the work of Theodoret of Cyrus, an author who had brought balance to the Christological debates of late antiquity; his 5th-century writings provided the key to resolving this doctrinal dispute. Monavius summarised their attitude as follows: ‘Who could formulate a better, more lively, more precise [argument]? Whosoever embraceth [Theodoret’s] views shall avoid the traps of Schwenckfeldianism, Flacianism, and other blasphemies’.77 Ambrosius cited Theodoret several times in the Antithesis, and whether he did so at his own discretion or under the influence of Monavius (with whom he may already have been corresponding at that time), he employed the rhetoric of late antiquity in his attempt to play a mediating role in the confessional debates of Central Europe. Ambrosius simply rejected the accusations of Calvinism which had been made against him, and took pains throughout this work to demonstrate that his teachings were true – that is, identical with the confession of the Lutheran Church. In discussing Jesus’ ascension into heaven, he vehemently and self-assuredly declared that if he was a Calvinist, then the Son of God was a Calvinist, too, as were the authors of the Gospels, the angels who spoke to the disciples who looked on as Jesus was carried up into heaven, the Apostles Peter and Paul and the Fathers of the Church. Horváth’s views really did approximate the Arian heresy, as he had made public statements which resembled those of Ferenc Dávid and Giorgio Biandrata, who attacked the notion that the Son of God was of the same divine, eternal nature as God the Father. Over the course of hundreds of pages, Ambrosius attempted to demonstrate that Horváth had strayed from the true path, and though the presentation of his arguments was repetitive, he embellished them with all sorts of citations, and thus the Antithesis is not as monotonous as the works of his contemporaries. Gergely Horváth did not waste much time in replying, as his Responsionis pars prima, the first piece of the multi-part refutation he had planned, was issued by the Gutgesell press in Bártfa in 1592.78 Horváth and his associates always had Gutgesell print their work (a total of 22 volumes during this period of confessional debates), while Ambrosius was forced to have most of his polemical writings printed in Görlitz.79 It should also be noted that Horváth felt compelled to respond to Ambrosius’ book with printed materials; by this stage of their dispute, the lord of Nagyőr wanted his publication format to match that of the pastor of Késmárk. Horváth launched into his argument unceremoniously, calling Ambrosius a Calvinist even on the title page of his book. He insisted that the instigator of their dispute was actually Sebestyén Lám (he did not refer to him as Ambrosius), whose behaviour was an affront to Christian liberty, as he had followed the example of the German Andreas Karlstadt (who in Luther’s absence had tossed the artwork out of the church in Wittenberg) in locking up the high altar of the church in Késmárk and in prohibiting certain ecclesiastical rituals. Moreover, he implicated Lám in several more serious ‘aberrations’ which were unknown to his friends who occupied certain public offices and considered the pastor

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of Késmárk to be a follower of the Augustan Confession. For this reason, Horváth felt it was his duty to urge Lám to repudiate his violent actions in the church, and to clarify the situation with Lám by means of a calm, open colloquium (ad calamum institutio colloquio), to be taken down in writing. Given the danger to the community, Horváth had taken up his pen in the spirit of the liberty bestowed on believers in Christ. He hoped in this way to steer his adversary back onto the path of righteousness, and if he was unable, he wanted at least to publicise Lám’s heresies so as to keep his followers from being led blindly down the path of falsehood. He justified his right to do so with citations from the Holy Scriptures. Horváth went on to say that Lám had made various excuses in refusing to participate in his proposed colloquium. Lám had cited his inexperience with extemporaneous speech and his ignorance of dialectics and syllogistic argumentation. Lám’s friend Caspar Pilcius had made the same excuses years earlier in cancelling a public debate with Horváth. Lám later expressed a willingness to debate, but only with the approval of local ecclesiastical and political authorities. Horváth had thus sought the permission of his adversary’s pastoral association, but the latter declared that it was not their practice to issue orders to their members. The magister of the Késmárk Castle had responded in similar terms when Horváth turned to him. Thus unfortunately, he had been unable to convince Lám to comply with multiple requests to face him in a location of his choosing. Lám was unwilling to appear before witnesses and recorders, neither in his own parsonage, nor in Horváth’s mansion in Nagyőr, nor in the Késmárk Castle, and thus they would be limited to occasional debates without anyone present to record the proceedings. And now, four years after all that wrangling, Horváth was surprised to discover that Lám had published a book in Zerbst. All that time, he had been ‘pregnant with his baby, looking for a midwife in Germany’, and though Lám had vaingloriously declared that the most notable and scholarly German theologians had expressed their opinions of his work, Horváth suggested that the Calvinists there had simply rewritten it for him. Thus he did not intend to use his Responsio to dispute every single article of their faith, insofar as a variety of works discussing each of these theological principles were already in circulation. These included, for example, the writings on the subject of the Formula Concordiae which had appeared in Tübingen, or the proceedings of the Colloquy of Montbéliard. Horváth emphasised that he had spent six friendly months at the Geneva home of one of the participants in this colloquy, Théodore de Bèze, and had also met the latter’s Montbéliard opponent, Jacob Andreae, in Dresden. He proceeded to note that he had structured his work by following Ambrosius’ Antithesis, though he did not approve of its organisation. Horváth made use of the well-known custom of the era, commencing each point with one of Ambrosius’ propositions and following it with his own more extensive argumentation, which he presented in syllogistic form.

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However, his theses correspond only to the first 41 pages of the Antithesis. Horváth then reverted to personal attacks, saying that he would be glad to maintain peace within the church, but that this had proved impossible with ‘Sebastian’ (as he called him here, rather than ‘Lám’). He and his partners in crime were organising a conspiracy against Christ, abusing God-given freedoms, distorting the words of the Testaments, attacking the dignity of the Lord in print and accusing Horváth himself of the most awful mistakes before the entire congregation of the church. The lord of Nagyőr took exception to the accusations of Arianism, noting that he had listed the most conspicuous proofs of Christ’s divinity in this very document. In contrast, Ambrosius had persecuted the prophets of the true faith like his intellectual forefathers Karlstadt, Zwingli and Calvin, whose Szepes County followers were ready to do the same, possibly with the sword. In his closing remarks, Horváth declared that he would continue to do battle on behalf of the Book of Concord and divine truth, as he had promised to do in signing the credo of the Strasbourg Academy.80 These first two publications of the second phase of this confessional debate feature an extraordinarily large number of fascinating elements – variously interpreted religious doctrines, principles of composition, rhetorical devices and elements of style, not to mention the personalities of these two adversaries, who served as the local leaders of their respective schools of thought. Ambrosius had created the longest and perhaps most substantive work of his career, while Horváth’s 42-page document responded only to the opening portion of the Antithesis, and thus if we disregard its content for a moment, it appears to be a rather modest reply. In contrast, Ambrosius’ book is highly variegated, both in its structure and its rhetoric. It is a repository of theological scholarship, a chronicle of the confessional debates between Horváth and Ambrosius, a general history of the religious disputes of the era, a guide to the public discourse and public opinion of the period and at times a satirical portrait of Gergely Horváth. Of course, the Antithesis and the Responsionis pars prima resemble one another in several ways. The fundamental analytical framework of the Antithesis is the dichotomy, with its argumentation arranged in the form of syllogisms, which format Horváth then adopted into his own work. Ambrosius, however, enhanced his dialectics with certain rhetorical twists, framing his duel with Horváth as a kind of trial involving a noble accuser and a clerical defendant and using variations on the words ‘attacker’ and ‘defender’ throughout his text. He reinforced this dichotomy on several occasions by comparing Horváth’s enormous stature to his own insignificant build, using this ‘embodiment’ of inequality to demonstrate that their contest did not take place on a level playing field. It is important to mention that Ambrosius made conscious use of this polarised description whenever he wanted to give the impression – in his introduction to the Antithesis, for instance – that their duel was not a fair fight and that he had been forced into it. He thus used images of inequality as a rhetorical device with

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which to arouse his readers’ sympathy. In contrast to this rhetorical selfdeprecation, however, this nearly 500-page book was in itself a testimony to his erudition and a representation of his sense of spiritual superiority. In arranging his thoughts into dichotomies, Ambrosius determined the course of this ‘negotiation’, and thus it seems possible that he was not merely proceeding in accordance with the traditions of the era, but again making a deliberate choice. The shape Ambrosius gave to this discourse, along with the fact that Horváth never departed from this structure, demonstrates that Ambrosius succeeded in imposing his own will. This written debate flowed through the channel Ambrosius created for it. A glance at the objectives the two men set for themselves reveals that both of them took up their pens in the interest of defending the truth; both men were driven by a need to bring the truth to light and to explain it. Of course, at that time (as would continue to be the case), the sources that corroborated that truth were the Holy Scriptures, the writings of the Church Fathers and the work of the notable proponents of the Reformation, though Ambrosius supported his argumentation with a much more extensive list of references. In accordance with the conventions of confessional argumentation, both men expressed confidence that enumerating their adversary’s positions alongside ‘their own truth’ would make it possible for every reader to see the differences between them and to understand which of their interpretations was correct. And like their aforementioned contemporaries, both these men were deeply convinced that their communities would be satisfied by the fact of their having made this truth public – that this sort of altruistic behaviour had the power to legitimise their actions. Even so, not only did Ambrosius justify himself by referring to this sort of self-sacrifice, but he also cited the support of the like-minded ecclesiastical and secular authorities who stood behind him. He repeatedly emphasised that he had acted ‘on the orders’ or ‘on the advice of his superiors’, which was both a sign of his enthusiasm as a sponsored client and proof that he had been authorised by his community. His pastoral vocation also obliged him to respond appropriately, and the fact that he had held the same beliefs since childhood further reinforced his sense of the righteousness of his actions. In contrast, Horváth – as the leading personality of the local orthodox Lutheran community – felt it was his duty to steer his adversary and the latter’s misguided friends back onto the right path. Horváth revelled in his role as the region’s watchman, responsible for maintaining order in the communities of Szepes County and preventing pastors from straying. It was precisely this presumption, however, which rankled Ambrosius, who rightly pointed out that Vice-Count Horváth was interfering in the affairs of a church of which he was not the leader, and in a territory which was not under his supervision. These were the years in which Lutheran Churchunification initiatives were implemented by the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities, in which organisation Horváth played a leading role. The Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes successfully resisted the Szepes County

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vice-count’s attempts to interfere at that time. Horváth, as he wrote in his Responsio, did not accomplish anything in his dealings with the 24 cities, nor with Késmárk, having tried in vain to use their mediation to force the scheduling of a colloquium. Ambrosius and his fellow pastors were in complete agreement that Horváth’s zeal was unwarranted, if not illegitimate, and the Brotherhood – always protective of its autonomy – repeatedly denied the requests of the lord of Nagyőr. Ambrosius’ detailed disquisition on public debates and his actual understanding of the public sphere are worthy of attention. As a genuine believer in this sort of rhetorical ‘weapon’, Horváth did not give up on the idea of a colloquium, though after the appearance of the Antithesis (or in the first part of his Responsio, at least) he demonstrated a renewed willingness to engage Ambrosius in a colloquium in the presence of witnesses and recorders who would take it down in writing. The preacher of Késmárk, however, continued to find fault with these preconditions for a public debate; at the end of the Antithesis, he again questioned the sense of such a meeting, though this objection could be interpreted as a tactical manoeuvre. It is also possible that he felt much more comfortable expressing himself in writing, though it is not true – and not even Horváth believed – that Ambrosius was unfamiliar with dialectics, syllogisms or extemporaneous speaking. The structure of the Antithesis demonstrated his facility with argumentation, though unlike Horváth, who considered oral debate to be his ‘native territory’, Ambrosius thought their exchanges would be more meaningful if they had time to develop their ideas. Humour and irony also played an important rhetorical role in the Antithesis, and Horváth demonstrated a rather thought-provoking inability or unwillingness to respond in kind. Ambrosius’ ironic rhetorical inventory was fairly extensive. For instance, after citing several examples of Horváth’s ‘gladiatorial stomping’, Ambrosius referred to his own meekness, saying, ‘With my hands bound together, I commend myself and my cause to God’, but then immediately added that ‘putting your hands together is a sign of prayer!’ Ambrosius was also able to play with the theory of ubiquity and Horváth’s sense of omnipotence. One of the most sneeringly funny passages in his book is his use of one of Horváth’s syllogisms in apparently validating the doctrine of ubiquity. According to the principle of ubiquitas, He to whom everything is subject does not appear in His complete corporeal reality in one place only but is present everywhere. As far as Ambrosius knew, Horváth was the lord of Nagyőr, and thus every place in the village was subject to him, from which it followed that ‘the substance of Gergely Horváth’s body is not limited to one place in the village of Nagyőr, but is ubiquitous, that is, everywhere in the village of Nagyőr’.81 While Ambrosius employed numerous ecclesiastical and historical citations in exposing his adversary’s zealotry, he did not refrain from recalling some slightly less lofty anecdotes. He could not help but recount an accident Horváth had suffered on the third day after submitting his last manuscript,

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when he had fallen into a cesspit, ‘which cannot be mentioned without [a feeling of] disgust’. His wounds were treated by a special surgeon and required several weeks of therapy. God’s punishment had thus been visited upon him, who had mocked the able-bodied as lame and was then hobbled himself. ‘So let Horváth take this case as a warning and abandon his error, for according to the familiar testimony of history, he who openeth the way to Arius’ blasphemous teachings will end his life in a similarly disgusting place’. In vain had Horváth given voice to a desire to pass away quickly; in vain had Julius Caesar and Pliny opined that a sudden death is the greatest good luck; for as Ambrosius instructed his adversary, ‘I do not consider [such wishes] to be compatible with true Christian endurance and the obedience we owe to God’. Ambrosius may have tested the limits of shamelessness in challenging Horváth to enlist in the struggle against the Ottomans, suggesting that his ‘gladiatorial stomping’ was the sort of ‘display of strength’ that emerges from ‘an utterly disjointed mind’; he also dismissed Horváth’s disputational style as something more suited to a huckster at a market. It was not a coincidence that the pastor of Késmárk also brought up Horváth’s usury, overindulgent idolatry and the nobilis provocator’s crude style of communication. Ambrosius consciously selected elements that would be damaging to Horváth because casting his adversary’s personality in the worst possible light was an essential means of conveying the truth he had uncovered. Horváth, on the other hand, simply reiterated his usual principles this time, hewing much more closely to his own system of argumentation than Ambrosius did, possibly because he considered that to be the most reliable approach. The pastor of Késmárk was surprisingly graceful in bearing the burden associated with his name, though handling this issue could not have been easy for him. His grandfather really had been crippled, which family legacy Horváth and his associates began to use as a rhetorical weapon in the mid1580s. In the late 16th century, descriptors like claudus and lahm not only elicited sorrow, they also had a more malign connotation. As various sources demonstrate, lameness was often associated with dishonesty, and it was common practice in Protestant polemics to mock one’s adversary’s name in the crudest terms; the various denominations were in complete agreement on this point.82 In her discussion of the 16th-century Martin Guerre affair, Natalie Zemon Davis demonstrated that the saying ‘trickery arrives on lame legs’ was an embodiment of a popular prejudice.83 Both parties were probably aware of this, as Horváth went out of his way to call Ambrosius a cripple during their public appearances and deliberately referred to him as Lahm in the first phase of their dispute, just as Georg Creutzer had begun his Sendbrief by exclaiming, ‘Don’t believe the cripple!’ They did so in an attempt to impugn Ambrosius’ credibility, and while it might have been clever of Ambrosius to remind the readers of his Antithesis that Horváth and Creutzer had themselves been crippled, he may nonetheless have felt an

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unpleasant sensation in doing so. There is no better proof of this than the first of his letters to Johann Jacob Grynaeus, which he closed with a synopsis of this situation: Sebastian Ambrosius, Pastor of the Church of Késmárk, whose adversary will henceforth attack the defect of my paternal grandfather, who was lame in one foot, frequently mocking me as Lame: thus it follows that God, whose sandals the Apostles described, will in the same spirit preserve the bodily health of my feet.84 Ambrosius presumably had serious spiritual reasons for incorporating a message of this sort into his first letter to a foreign theologian whom he had never met. Perhaps he wanted to arouse sympathy. Whatever the case, this letter to Grynaeus is otherwise the presentation of an ambitious and dynamic preacher, a comprehensive portrait of his life history, debates and friends in Szepes County and abroad – and thus the image of a slightly crestfallen pastor in a woeful situation stands out somewhat, however much his final words managed to resolve the contradiction. It is rather more likely that Ambrosius wanted to call attention to Horváth’s ignoble wrangling and baseless accusations. It is also possible that he wanted to convey all the details of this conflict to the Basler theologian and make him understand his adversary’s style (perhaps in the knowledge that Horváth had visited with Grynaeus). At that time, Ambrosius may have had only the slightest inkling that his grandfather’s lameness would be used against him in an even more boorish manner in the coming years; the fact that Horváth had unexpectedly called him ‘Sebastian’ in his Responsio would go for naught.

Support marshalled by means of letters In the fall of 1590, Ambrosius received a visit from Jacob Monavius, a humanist from Breslau who was famous across Europe. Among other subjects, they discussed a somewhat circuitous route for delivering correspondence to Késmárk; letters addressed to Ambrosius could be handed off to book dealers in Basel, then make their way to Jean Aubry at the Wechel Press in Frankfurt, who would cooperate with Monavius’ acquaintances in Breslau in getting this mail to Késmárk. Ambrosius had presumably been corresponding with Monavius since the 1580s, and commemorated the latter’s visit to Szepes County by editing a volume of poetic salutes called Carmina gratulatoria.85 Published in Görlitz, this volume featured verses by Ambrosius and 26 other Szepes County authors,86 and was thus not only an introduction to the region but to Ambrosius’ circle of friends as well. The most important consequence of Monavius’ visit, however, was that the encouragement of the noble from Breslau prompted Ambrosius to begin corresponding with some of the most famous European theologians and humanists.87

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Ambrosius had written to Johann Jacob Grynaeus in Basel for the first time on 1 March 1590, then sent his first letter to Johann Wilhelm Stücki in Zürich in 1591. That same year, he wrote to Théodore de Bèze in Geneva, Heinrich Wolf in Zürich and Hugo Blotius in Vienna. This conscious communication initiative, which unquestionably required self-confidence and ambition in addition to the support of his friend from Breslau, was one of the most important systematic efforts of Ambrosius’ life. His goal was to establish connections and form friendships with some of the preeminent personalities of his era, and to keep them informed about his life and the activities of his circle of friends. He acquainted his correspondents with cultural and political developments in his city and his region, the history of the local confessional disputes and other significant issues, then asked for their advice and tried to inspire feelings of solidarity with his ‘struggle’. This period was marked by qualitative changes both in his approach to confessional disputation and in the manner in which he disseminated his thoughts, insofar as disputes conducted by means of oral argument and hand-copied pamphlets were supplanted by clashes involving printed polemical publications. From 1590 onward, the content of Ambrosius’ work underwent a qualitative change as well, in which process his new correspondents played an important role by providing him with spiritual guidance and doctrinal ammunition. At a certain point, they went beyond simply giving advice and developed a sense of symbolic solidarity, which an examination of their few surviving responses suggests was crucial. An understanding of these qualitative changes is important because Ambrosius’ adversary Gergely Horváth continued to use the methods and tactics that characterised the earlier phase of their dispute. Horváth preferred oral colloquia and shorter written formats, and continued to rely on a different sort of support network including the teachers at his gymnasium, certain representatives of the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities and the German university faculty who supplied him with ‘official’ opinions.88 Ambrosius made his debut on the stage of the European Respublica Litteraria with the letter he wrote to Grynaeus on 1 March 1590. This vivid, sophisticated self-introduction89 begins with a reference to the fact that he had taken up his pen to write to Grynaeus on the advice of his friend Jacob Monavius, who had informed Ambrosius that Grynaeus was about to stage a public performance of the Parodia Eucharistica, a vocal piece Monavius and Ambrosius had co-written, at the Basel Minster Church.90 He continued with a brief autobiographical sketch (discussed in Chapter 2), then turned immediately to Gergely Horváth, whom he introduced as ‘the lord of a larger estate who resideth in nearby Nagyőr’. Horváth was ‘both a cultured and superstitiously religious man, a wealthy landowner whose enormous physical frame inspireth wonder in all … He urged the Késmárk city council to have me removed because I locked up the altar of the church’. Here Ambrosius recited some now-familiar, graphic examples of Horváth’s idolatry, including a precise description of the latter’s interpretation of the passage from Exodus

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32 which he presented at their debate and the opinion Horváth had expressed about the calf of molten gold and other idols. After his adversary had accused him of interpreting the doctrine of communicatio idiomatum in accordance with the teachings of Melanchthon, Ambrosius had considered it necessary to defend the truth against such abuse.91 This was the genesis of his Antithesis ubiquitatis, which would be printed with the assent of certain wise and pious men.92 It was not clear whose approval he might have needed for its publication, though he was likely referring to Sebestyén Thököly or his colleagues in the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes. It should be noted that while this book was not issued until the following year, Ambrosius’ manuscript was already complete by March 1590. Ambrosius’ letter also mentioned the skirmish in Eperjes, where Horváth had challenged him to a public debate at a wedding reception: ‘I would ask thee what I should have done, forasmuch as I did not anticipate such combat’.93 ‘My adversary urged me, and my secular and ecclesiastical superiors encouraged me not to run away, but rather authorized me to express the truth and defend God’.94 A significant portion of Ambrosius’ long letter was thus a detailed description of the roles he and his adversary had played in the Késmárk debate. In the final portion of this missive, he delved into the particulars of the means by which Grynaeus might respond, either by entrusting a letter to their mutual friend Monavius, or to the family of the Wittenberg bookseller Seelfisch, or to the book dealers of Kraków, who always attended the Frankfurt book fair. Ambrosius continued, ‘If a document [of mine] were to be delivered from Heidelberg, may it please the theologian of Basel [Grynaeus] to accept it’. Ambrosius also mentioned that Grynaeus could send him a letter with a messenger dispatched to summon Mihály Clementides home from Strasbourg, or with Clementides himself. He then went back to praising Monavius before listing all of his friends who sent their greetings from Szepes County. This society of ‘true-believers’ (omnes Φιλορθοδοξοι, as it appeared in his letters) included his immediate circle of friends (Pilcius, Hortensius, Fabricius and Jancsi), his patron Sebestyén Thököly and Johann Kraus, who was at that time the provisor of the 13 Szepes County towns that had been forfeited to Poland. He closed his letter by offering a brief evocation of the land of his birth: I send this letter from Késmárk, Szepes County, known in Greek as Tyropolis, in the foothills of the Carpathians, which are not a particularly high mountain range, though even at their modest height they turn white, and are thus known as the Schneegebürg, as the Missingsch dialect of German is spoken throughout the entire extent of this territory.95 Within six months (on 2 August 1590), Ambrosius had sent another letter to Grynaeus, this time enclosing the manuscript works of his adversary Horváth. In his third letter (dated 19 October 1590), he did not mention Horváth, whom he regularly called Antagonista meus, nor their dispute. In his fourth letter (of 11 February 1591), however, he again brought up the

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subject of his dispute with Horváth, as Grynaeus had yet to respond to his first letter. Ambrosius justified his participation in this debate and the tone of his responses by saying, ‘An essentia Patris, Filii et Spiritus Sancti vere et realiter, ut Antagonista meus vult, distincta sit!’ (‘How my antagonist wishes that the essence of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit were really and truly distinct!’). Though Ambrosius did not say so explicitly, this perspective was diametrically opposed to the Augustan Confession. Ambrosius did not understand the meaning of Horváth’s pronouncements,96 as the latter gave voice to fanatically Antitrinitarian, Servetist views. Ambrosius had entrusted the Hungarian students at Wittenberg with delivering the documentation of his debate with Horváth, including the text of his Antithesis, to Grynaeus, though his next letter (dated 10 July 1591) indicates that the students had neglected to take these books and pamphlets to Basel. He then sent along a copy of his friend Pilcius’ freshly published work, which he said would convey Szepes County’s ecclesiastical situation as well as his own Antithesis.97 Ambrosius wrote this fifth letter without knowing that Grynaeus had dispatched his first reply to Késmárk on 24 June. After writing to Heinrich Wolf, Ambrosius continued to introduce himself to Europe’s intellectual community by writing to the theologian Johann Wilhelm Stücki in Zürich on St. James Day, 1591.98 He explained his decision to write by saying that he had great respect for Stücki’s pastoral predecessor Ludwig Lavater, a copy of whose work he had acquired and studied with great interest during his time at Wittenberg.99 He had also been encouraged to write by his highly esteemed colleague Jacob Monavius and by Professor Heinrich Wolf of Zürich. As he had done in writing to Grynaeus, Ambrosius proceeded to offer a brief description of Szepes County: I am writing from the Kingdom of Hungary, which includes Transylvania, which is bordered by Wallachia, and [from] Szepes County, which shares a border with Poland. They speak the Missingsch dialect of German in this region, and Szepes County partakes of Gepid ancestry as Transylvania does of Saxon.100 In the pages that followed, he again sang Monavius’ praises, saying that the latter had encouraged him to ‘write to Lavater’s extraordinary colleague’, then extolled the virtues of Lavater himself. In accordance with the conventions of humanist correspondence, he also dedicated many long lines to ‘courting’ Stücki himself, lauding the theologian’s talents while referring to himself as inept (‘ego homo ineptus sum’). He then turned to the work on the Eucharist which he had sent to Stücki, in which ‘one can find my own rather middling observations’. In comparison, ‘the work of my friend and former teacher Matthias Thoraconymus is more significant’, as evidenced by the fact that ‘I have used his analysis in my own description’. Ambrosius mentioned Leonhard Stöckel, who had helped compile his region’s confession of faith, as well as the Szepes County tradition according to which ‘we

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subscribe ourselves to the writings of Melanchthon, who was an opponent of senseless atrocities’. At the end of his letter, he turned to the subject of Gergely Horváth’s ceaseless provocations and the polemical writings that he and Horváth had exchanged, the tone of which was initially seething but had later turned to more ‘sensible subjects’. Ambrosius said his writings had been examined by men of great seriousness who agreed with them completely.101 He did not ask for help in dealing with Horváth on this occasion;102 in closing, he simply sent his warmest regards to Stücki’s colleagues and noted, ‘I am writing this letter from Késmárk, in the foothills of the Carpathians’. The situation with the correspondence between Ambrosius and Théodore de Bèze was precisely the converse, insofar as we lack even a fragment of Ambrosius’ letters; only de Bèze’s responses seem to have survived.103 The first letter de Bèze wrote to Ambrosius was composed in Geneva on 23 August 1591; like de Bèze’s subsequent letters, it suggests that Ambrosius turned to him primarily for advice on confessional disputes. Not only did de Bèze respond with traditional humanist formulations, he also offered Ambrosius detailed guidelines for his struggle against Horváth. In his first epistle to Ambrosius, de Bèze urged his colleague in Késmárk to ‘respond as vigorously as possible [when] thou art wrathfully besieged by thine adversary’, though he also reassured Ambrosius that battles of this sort were an everyday affair in Geneva as well. In the first of the three sizeable paragraphs of his response, de Bèze expressed his opinions on the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, then moved on to the human and divine nature of Jesus Christ, thus working his way through precisely the same doctrines Ambrosius analysed in his Antithesis. Finally, he referred Ambrosius to the passages in his own Tractationes theologicae he thought might serve as counsel if Horváth were to reply. In December 1591, Ambrosius began corresponding with Hugo Blotius, the director of the Imperial Court Library in Vienna. In comparison with Ambrosius’ other missives, this first letter was brief; Jacob Monavius played the leading role here, as Ambrosius once again opened with a reference to his Silesian friend. During a pleasant conversation on the occasion of Monavius’ visit to Szepes County, he had spoken warmly of Blotius, which had motivated Ambrosius to write to Vienna. In this humbly phrased letter, Ambrosius expressed the hope that an unsolicited overture of this sort would not strike Blotius as presumptuous: I know thou workest in a glitteringly starry city, while I am an obscure man hidden away in this obscure corner of Szepes County [homo obscurus, in obscuro isto Scepusii angulo delitescens]. I ask thee for thy friendship, may it please God, and if thou acceptest this, thou shalt find in me a genuinely worthy friend. He enclosed a book with this letter (its text does not indicate whether this was his already published Antithesis or some other volume), though he

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supposed that Blotius might already have it. ‘I know it to be unworthy of the library of which thou keepest charge, yet even so I have had it delivered to thee with a few lines of commendation, that thou mayest see what friendly sentiments I bear toward thee’. Near the end of his letter, he again referred to Monavius, saying that if Blotius were to bless Monavius with the gift of his friendship, Ambrosius would enjoy something of this sentiment as well. The formulation of his sign-off should sound familiar by now; he had written this letter ‘from Késmárk in Szepes County, which they call Tyropolis in Greek, and pronounce with similar syncopation as Keysermark in German, and which lies in the foothills of the Carpathians’. His subsequent letter (dated 4 February 1592) indicates that he had either sent a copy of the Antithesis to Vienna or knew about Blotius’ relationship with Horváth, as he spent several lines discussing Antagonista meus, about whom he asked Blotius to share his opinion. Ambrosius did not wait long before sending a third letter to Vienna on 24 February, the opening line of which expresses his gratitude for Blotius’ reply to his previous epistle. He dedicated only a brief passage to his adversary on this occasion, which suggests that it was not yet completely clear how Horváth would respond to his latest publication, with which Blotius was now familiar as well. However, Blotius’ first letter (the response to which Ambrosius had referred) does not seem to have survived.104 In a letter dated 20 August 1592, Blotius discussed a different set of personalities and themes, and thus it would appear that Ambrosius’ fifth letter (of 13 May 1592, in which he enclosed a copy of Horváth’s most recent work) was written in vain, as Blotius made no observations about their confessional debate, not even a fleeting reference. Among the Hungarian friends listed in the personal album Blotius began keeping in the mid-1570s, there are only two from Szepes County – Hans Rueber and Gergely Horváth. Not a single Szepes County humanist, preacher, headmaster or other urban official appears in Blotius’ album, only nobles and aristocrats.105 Perhaps the head of the Imperial Library did not want to insult his acquaintance in the letters he wrote to Ambrosius, or simply did not wish to reveal his opinion on the subject of this debate. In the period between 1590 and 1592, Ambrosius made an intense effort to establish connections with these five European scholars, though only the still authoritative de Bèze reacted to Ambrosius’ confessional debates by offering substantive, worthwhile advice. It is possible that Stücki, Wolf and Grynaeus shared their thoughts as well, though we are not aware of any responses in which they did. The ambiguities of this situation make it difficult to evaluate this two-year endeavour, though Ambrosius at least achieved the goals of establishing connections with citizens of Europe’s Respublica Litteraria and familiarising these five men with his own history and circumstances, as well as the writings and events associated with his dispute with Horváth. It is also interesting to note which of the relevant details and ‘provocations’ he shared with his various correspondents. He addressed his most detailed account to Grynaeus (and presumably to de

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Bèze), whom he expected to be the most effective sources of assistance. In writing to Stücki, he said no more about Antagonista meus and himself than he did any other subject, and provided Blotius with only the most essential information. Thus in doling out descriptions of the facts and his explanations and interpretations of them, Ambrosius consciously gauged the appropriate amount of information to share with each of his correspondents. And this was true not just of his discussions of the dispute with Horváth, but in general, as he tailored the content and composition of each letter to its recipient. Ambrosius adopted a precise strategy in his correspondence, mixing appropriate quantities of humanist voluptas and theological utilitas into each of his letters. Ambrosius formulated his letters of self-introduction so that the individuals and facts he mentioned did not merely convey the primary information, but also functioned as meaningful allusions to referents embedded in the Respublica’s system of code. In addition to embellishing his introductory letters with the expected baseline level of Latin eloquence and Greek citations, he also employed the sort of vocabulary which would have been familiar to these citizens of the Respublica.106 Among the striking characteristics of Ambrosius’ well-constructed letters of introduction were his repeated references to Jacob Monavius. The humanist from Breslau had played an important role in the Respublica since the mid-1570s, when he began building up a massive network of correspondents and personal relationships with humanists across Europe, as is convincingly demonstrated by the personal album he published in 1581.107 Ambrosius’ constant references to Monavius were consistent with standard 16th-century humanist practice, insofar as the mention of a famous, well-regarded mutual friend was among the most effective forms of recommendation.108 Recipients of such letters often conferred with the mutual friend to see if it would be worth responding, and though we do not know whether any of these men actually checked Ambrosius’ references, their subsequent letters demonstrate that dropping Monavius’ name could serve as the foundation on which to establish a friendship.109 Furthermore, Ambrosius kept two other 16th-century traditions in mind in accordance with a popular saying of the period, namely that letters were a dialogue between friends who had been separated.110 Letters were an indispensable means of maintaining friendships within Europe’s community of culture, which developed a kind of cult around the notion of amicitia. Above all, these letters functioned as a kind of self-documentation, though they also served to make their authors known among the narrower circles of friends and acquaintances who forwarded them to each other. Several studies have demonstrated that groups of friends expected newly received letters to be circulated among themselves; humanist etiquette required the recipient of a letter to convey its contents to his fellows.111 These letters might also be made completely public, as it was customary to collect them and print them so as to document their authors’ erudition and style and to provide a record of their humanist friendships.112

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Ambrosius called attention to his unusually intense relationship with Monavius by constantly describing it in superlative terms; he referred to the parody they had co-written, mentioned the Breslauer humanist’s visit to Szepes County and told figures like Grynaeus that they could forward letters to him through Breslau. In that same letter to Grynaeus, Ambrosius mentioned the various routes by which letters might be forwarded to him, and in addition to its primary function as practical advice, these directions also conveyed a message: by mentioning Wittenberg, Heidelberg, Breslau and Kraków, Ambrosius signalled to his correspondents that his network of connections was extensive and that he was already well acquainted with the customs of the Respublica. As it was noted earlier, Ambrosius had lived in the home of the bookseller and future mayor of Wittenberg, Samuel Seelfisch. Thus by referring in 1590 to having recently hosted the younger Seelfisch, he conveyed to the theologian in Basel that he was still in contact with the acquaintances he had made during his university years in one of Protestant Europe’s most important spiritual workshops. It should also be noted that in Ambrosius’ letters to Grynaeus and Stücki, he also mentioned his former teacher Matthias Thoraconymus, whom he described as their ‘mutual friend’. In the self-introduction he sent to Stücki in Zürich, he praised Thoraconymus as an outstanding pedagogue. In writing to Grynaeus, he mentioned their mutual friend in the knowledge that the Basler scholar had helped Thoraconymus – who was by then already working in Sárospatak – publish a book he had co-written with Péter Beregszászi. In the only letter Thoraconymus wrote to Grynaeus (dated 5 April 1586), he provided a variety of practical information related to the publication of this book.113 The difference between Ambrosius’ letter and that of his former instructor was stark. Concerned exclusively with publication-related issues, Thoraconymus’ writing was objective, if not boring. Only at the end of his letter did he praise Grynaeus’ virtues and seemed to do so there only because the limitations of the nascent Hungarian printing industry made it impossible to publish his book domestically. In an earlier text, Thoraconymus had vowed to make his living as pedagogue, expressing his disinterest in the effort of maintaining connections with his contemporaries.114 Ambrosius, on the other hand, used his letter to try to insinuate himself into Grynaeus’ good graces; his complex descriptions were much richer than his former master’s, and simultaneously demonstrated a greater sense of purpose.115 The range of scholars to whom Ambrosius sent his initial letters indicates that he made a conscientious effort in selecting them. In his attempt to establish a sort of spiritual community, Ambrosius wrote to confessionally sympathetic figures, recognising that one of the most important benefits of their possible participation was that the actual or symbolic support of influential figures within the increasingly polarised Protestant Church might help him make headway in his struggle against Gergely Horváth. The first of the scholarly authorities Ambrosius contacted, Johann Jacob Grynaeus, had studied in Tübingen before becoming the leading pastor of Rötteln,

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then worked in Basel. Between 1584 and 1586, he was a professor of theology at the University of Heidelberg, where the Heidelberg Catechism was reintroduced with the support of Frederick IV, the Calvinist Elector Palatine of the Rhine. He moved back to Basel in 1586, where he was a leading figure in Reformed theology and orthodoxy until the end of his long life (1540–1617). Heinrich Wolf was a Reformed pastor in Zürich; Johann Wilhelm Stücki (1521–1607) was a Reformed theologian in that same city. The Genevan theologian Théodore de Bèze had succeeded John Calvin as that city’s spiritual leader and was thus the most important figure in the Reformed Church, though he was also well known as the author of hymns, poems and emblem books.116 After a scholarly peregrination through Padua and Strasbourg, the Dutch-born Hugo Blotius was invited to serve as the founding director of the Imperial Court Library in Vienna.117 Of these five scholars, Blotius might be described as the most moderate member of the Reformed community, insofar as he was occasionally obliged to disguise his Calvinist convictions at the Catholic court of Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian II in Vienna.118 Almost all the scholars Ambrosius contacted were leading Protestant theologians of the period who supplied him with theories and interpretations that would be important to his work. And again one should be aware of an ulterior motive here, insofar as the scholars he chose were not simply renowned theological specialists, but also humanists with extensive networks of correspondents across Europe. Grynaeus, de Bèze, Blotius and especially Monavius were the chief representatives of the centres of humanism in which they lived; these individuals made Basel, Geneva, Vienna and Breslau (respectively) into hubs of humanist communication. Critical editions of their published correspondence (such as compilations of the letters of de Bèze119), along with Blotius’ letters120 (thousands of which are archived in manuscript form) and the Monavius collection121 at the archive in modern-day Wrocław demonstrate that these scholars were central figures in the Respublica Litteraria of the late 16th century, having spent many long years accumulating the sort of influence that allowed them to play decisive roles in late-humanist communication.122 They were the repositories of information who received and redistributed their colleagues’ ideas. In this context, Ambrosius’ approach makes a great deal of sense, insofar as he was not only seeking professional advice, but also deliberately positioning himself in relation to the most relevant centres of humanism. Ambrosius may thus have offered his brief, vivid descriptions of Szepes County so as to let his (potential) correspondents know exactly where he and his city were situated, though local patriotism may have played a role as well. The digression on the land of his birth in his letter to Blotius, in which he describes his region as distant and ‘obscure’, also seems to have been a humble means of inspiring goodwill. It is unlikely that he simply wanted pity, as he clearly conveyed to Grynaeus, Stücki and Blotius that his was

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a region in which the Missingsch dialect of German was spoken, possibly thereby signalling that the people of Szepes County enjoyed a special status within the Kingdom of Hungary. His reference to the Greek version of Késmárk’s name, Tyropolis, seems to have been an outright expression of pride, an illustration of the humanists’ antiquarian proclivities. Within the context of the content of these letters, his brief representations of Szepes County served to convey the message that even the unknown, far-off land from which Ambrosius was writing had its cultured circles and patrons who supported the arts and sciences. Ambrosius served as his own primary example, insofar as he was already well connected, and the work he enclosed as gifts demonstrated that his town had a well-educated pastor. The quantity of information he inserted into each letter varied, as he tailored his messages to their individual recipients. This ‘variable weighting’ was most striking in the case of his letter to Grynaeus, which was the most detailed by far: only here did he offer a brief autobiography, an extensive account of his dispute with Horváth, the names of the members of his circle of friends, a short description of Szepes County and the lines about his crippled grandfather, in addition to the aforementioned references to Monavius. Among the conventions peculiar to late-humanist correspondence was an assumption that the friendships formed by means of these letters involved reciprocal exchanges of connections. In this particular case, Ambrosius disseminated these extensive disquisitions in the hope of forming such friendships. On other occasions, once a correspondence had been established, a writer could expect to receive a reply of a similar extent, consisting of similarly interesting information. As János Rimay wrote to Justus Lipsius, ‘We transmit news about everything that happens around us and among us’,123 which expression might also serve as Ambrosius’ letter-writing motto. In addition to articulating humanist ideals and exchanging beautiful citations, the correspondents of the late 16th century also had fairly utilitarian goals: the citizens of the Respublica wanted to keep each other up to date on the political and cultural events of their era, and thus many of them were constantly exchanging news items, rumores and scholarly gossip. Ambrosius’ letter to Stücki featured a much smaller quantity of personal information than did his letter to Grynaeus, though his praise of Stücki’s scholarship and his reference to Melanchthon served to position his outlook and confessional views as he had done in his letter to the theologian in Basel. The least informative of Ambrosius’ exploratory letters (though it might be the best illustration of the phrasings typical of humanist correspondence) was the one he wrote to Blotius, a possible indication of Ambrosius’ limited expectations of the Viennese librarian. Ambrosius’ extravagant use of superlatives in this letter – ‘vir clarissimus’ (‘a most renowned man’), ‘praestantissimus’ (‘most outstanding’), ‘celebratissimus’ (‘most celebrated’) – suggests he consciously engaged in the ‘politics of praise’ in his attempt to win over this well-known humanist.124 Ambrosius’ references to Blotius’ exceptional virtues, superlative humanism, outstanding scholarship

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and famed acquaintances were, of course, standard elements of the humanist vocabulary, though like many other intellectuals, Ambrosius expressed certain anxieties – the possibility of giving offence or behaving importunately, concerns over the wars and epidemics that endangered the scholarship of the era – that were also organic components of the idiomatic structure of such letters. Ambrosius’s compositional style was generally characterised by a rhetorical dichotomy: self-deprecation in describing his own affairs and flattering, if not obsequious turns of phrase in praising the recipients of his letters. Even so, he was never a prisoner to the stylistic conventions of humanist etiquette: sometimes he conveyed valuable information by combining traditional phrasings into refined formulations, and at other times he simply forwarded news without any sort of grandiloquence. In addition to patrons and mutual friends, Ambrosius’ initiative also required personal ambition, which was reinforced by the expectations and assumptions of the 16th-century Respublica. The citizens of this community were the kind of people who considered themselves men of science capable of defending the values of the Respublica by means of free and open dialogue. They did not engage in this discursive practice in isolation, insofar as the members of this virtual community were also university faculty, courtiers, city councillors, parish priests and pastors – thus, engaged members of their given societies. Even so, the Respublica also represented a kind of escape from reality, an artificial, parallel world into which it was possible to withdraw in times of war, when the muses fell silent. Numerous examples from the 15th century onward demonstrate that this European community united scholars, patrons, urban officials and university professors regardless of their individual social backgrounds.125 Confessional and ethnic identity did not play any particular role in their exchanges of ideas and information, though as Ambrosius’ case amply demonstrates, the citizens of the European Respublica were naturally inclined to connect primarily with members of similar denominations and not with their confessional opponents. Over the course of the 17th century and during the age of the Enlightenment, individual aspirations would come to the fore: ‘applicants’ could become members of the Respublica of their own personal volition, without needing sponsors to recommend or vouch for them. These self-nominated candidates could become citizens on the strength of a single letter or personal visit.126 Publicising and authenticating one’s qualifications required confident selfpromotion, and the legitimation necessary for acceptance often came from the candidate himself, rather than the more famous recipients of his letters.127 Ambrosius, however, acted more in accordance with 16th-century traditions; his effort to join the Respublica involved a realistic enumeration of his own talents and the reasonable expectation that his colleagues would assist him.128 As a result of the foregoing, and especially on the basis of Ambrosius’ letters to Blotius, I would like to submit the following hypothesis: Ambrosius embarked on this communications initiative, defined its direction and chose

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the recipients of his letters in an effort to establish relationships with individuals who were already connected to Gergely Horváth. The subject of Ambrosius’ first letter to Blotius was classified upon receipt as ‘de Horwato’ even though Horváth’s name did not appear in this document, nor did any of Ambrosius’ explanations of his motivations for writing to Blotius have anything to do with Horváth. The hand in which ‘de Horwato’ was written likely belonged either to Blotius or to the secretary responsible for taking down notes summarising the contents or important elements of the letters he received – in this case, ‘regarding Horváth’. If Blotius’ secretary appended such a note, then the Viennese librarian would have known before reading the letter why Ambrosius had written to him. If, on the other hand, Ambrosius himself had classified his message in this way, one would assume he did so with the intention of letting Blotius know the subject of the Antithesis, a copy of which he had enclosed with the letter he sent to Vienna. The situation is clearer with the second letter Ambrosius sent to Blotius: he hoped that Blotius would take his side in this dispute, or at least be willing to help settle it and make peace between the two adversaries.129 Ambrosius would not have expected Blotius to adopt a position if he had not known that the imperial librarian understood his adversary’s principles as well as his own – that is, he would not have asked Blotius to mediate if he had not known that Horváth and the librarian were in contact. Given all this, one might assume that Ambrosius turned to Blotius in the middle of his theological dispute precisely because Horváth had already done the same, and that Ambrosius was aware of the long-standing relationship between Horváth and the famous, enormously well-connected director of the imperial library. Ambrosius might have received this information from Monavius (whom he mentioned in his first letter to Blotius), or from another source. We cannot be entirely certain on the basis of the available documents, given that Horváth’s relevant letters do not seem to have survived, but many of the details in these letters serve as convincing circumstantial evidence that this hypothesis is correct.

A convoluted battle of words It was still 1592 when Ambrosius issued his rapid response to Gergely Horváth’s Responsio. Ambrosius’ 136-page Defensio ortodoxae doctrinae… was published in Vizsoly, Hungary, and its foreword indicates that he had completed the manuscript on 1 September.130 At the very beginning of this book, Ambrosius insisted that he had provided verbatim citations of Horváth’s argumentation in his prior work, the Antithesis, and thus Horváth could not credibly complain that he had been misquoted. He had assembled Horváth’s argument from the latter’s own original writings, and men of integrity hath confirmed the precision of my citations … Mine adversary hath fallen silent on this subject in the first part of his

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In the Responsio, ‘he hath called me a Calvinist and entitled my work as Calvinism, though it be fairly clear what he hopeth thereby to achieve’.131 He went on: According to the testimony of history and other experience, he who lacketh confidence in his own case addresseth his adversary with hateful names and trieth by stirring up personal hatred to render opposing opinion suspicious. For the persecutors of the Church of the New Testament, the designation ‘Christian’ was sufficient cause to condemn those who bore it and to decry them as disturbers of the peace, causes of public strife, and enemies of mankind. For this reason, I ask my readers not to listen to such insinuations, but rather to judge righteously, without respect of persons.132 In the first of this book’s longer sections, Ambrosius stressed that idolatry had been the subject of the first phase of the dispute into which he had been forced. And now, having received the first part of the Responsio and the letters Horváth had continued to address to him, he understood that Horváth had sponsored the creation of a gold-plated silver idol in Késmárk, where the lawful terms of Ambrosius’ employment obliged him to proclaim the Word of God and protest against such idolatry; the fact of Horváth’s persistence underscored the necessity of Ambrosius’ present work. Ambrosius sequenced his Defensio according to the structure of Horváth’s Responsio, and thus began by discussing idolatry, then moved on to the erroneousness of orthodox Lutheran teachings such as the doctrine of ubiquity before concluding with a refutation of certain other contrarian opinions. With almost poetic flair, Ambrosius asked whether Horváth was ‘in reality a provocateur, a genuine provocateur, who [battleth] for his own pleasure, of a penchant for disputation’.133 He proceeded to recount the aforementioned affair in which he had locked up Késmárk’s high altar,134 then embarked on a detailed refutation of the theses of Horváth’s Responsio, including short citations of the latter’s opinions on idols, the trinity, human nature and other matters, and using extensive Biblical and ecclesiasticalhistorical sources – as well as his own Antithesis – to cast doubt on his adversary’s interpretations.135 He then responded to some of Horváth’s more personal observations, appending the admonitions of famous authors to each item. He refuted his opponent’s assertion that it had taken him four years to compose the Antithesis, suggesting that less time had elapsed since the conclusion of their pamphlet war and oral debates. In response to Horváth’s characterisation of Ambrosius’ German publishers as ‘midwives’, the pastor of Késmárk said,

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he thereby revealeth himself, for if it were in his power to prevent writings that defend the truth from coming to light, he would follow the example of the Pharaoh of Egypt and order the midwives to do away with the newborn Jewish children. Happily, however, if no publisher for such writings appeareth here at home, they may yet come into being elsewhere. And in any case, the truth always remaineth the truth.136 In his Responsio, Horváth had accused Ambrosius of having men of learning examine his Antithesis in advance of its publication, to which Ambrosius replied: ‘My opponent is also known to have shown his writings to all and sundry’. His reviewers had done a poor job, though, as the Responsio was teeming with grammatical sins committed against the purity of the Latin language. He cited numerous examples – sometimes with their inflectional errors marked off in capital letters – of usages that might have been acceptable in common conversation, but were improper for ‘a former student of the Strasbourg Academy … and professor of theology who regularly teacheth from the works of Cicero, Plautus, Terence, and Caesar’.137 In discussing their possible colloquium, Ambrosius started with a sidenote in which Horváth had suggested that his opponent was inexperienced with dialectics. In fact, Ambrosius said, I have not made as much progress in this beautiful science as I consider desirable, though I have learned enough to be able to apply its rules in recognizing the true and the false. In contrast, I have never studied and would never want to learn the sort of dialectics according to which one’s task in a dispute is proving one’s expertise at contentiousness rather than examining the truth. Horváth himself had acknowledged as much in his own work when he said that the objective of debate was not subtle argumentation and the flaunting of knowledge, but rather the interpretation of heavenly truth, which had convinced Ambrosius to take part in a private debate. Thus I will not now, as I did not before, refuse to participate in a public colloquium if it were to be arranged [on the basis of] mutual understanding and in accordance with the dignity thereof. But I do not wish to subject myself to that which has come to pass several times: Horvath’s triumphantly yelling at me, ‘Behold, I have caught thee!’138 In concluding his book, Ambrosius asked his adversary to take into account the grave condition of their homeland and church, harassed as they were from all sides, and to put an end to this theological battle. ‘Let him not besmirch his own good name by making God’s servants feel the wrathful passion of his soul, but rather do like his father and confront the sworn enemies of Christendom, the Turks’.139

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Ambrosius sent a copy of the Defensio to Horváth in February 1593; the latter responded immediately (in March) by releasing a short, six-point work entitled Admonitio…, wherein he enlisted the support of his own confession of faith in presenting ‘the capture and entanglement of his adversary’.140 By 20 March, Horváth had also published the second part of his Responsio.141 In this Pars Altera, he listed the statements in the Defensio which Ambrosius had not ventured to prove with the assistance of the Holy Scriptures, as well as those passages of the Bible the contents of which he claimed Ambrosius had distorted. Horváth declared his desire to continue his polemic against the Antithesis and again discussed the issue of idolatry. He reminded his readers of the scene that had taken place at a county assembly a few years before, when a member of his adversary’s circle, a corpulent church official who was not particularly pious, knowledgeable or authoritative, had attacked Horváth and the then-recently deceased Georg Creutzer. Horváth, however, had succeeded in subduing this furious individual, so much so that he had declined to participate in a colloquium the county had proposed, and had even neglected to acknowledge the county’s invitation. Horváth advised his readers that they ‘should not ask the Sacramentarians for clarifications of the city’s regulations concerning altar decorations, but rather the pastors of the five free royal cities themselves’. Once again he referred to Ambrosius exclusively as Lám, and assured him that a colloquium would be arranged in accordance with his preferences and that he should not worry about any improprieties. He offered as proof the contention that when he had debated the issue of the Lord’s Supper with Thoraconymus and Pilcius, both his opponents had acknowledged his civility. Horváth finished by saying that Lám should thus be aware of the conditions for this colloquium – or be able to acquire information about them – given that on the occasion of Horváth’s debate with the pastors of the Hungarian Evangelical Lutheran Church District of the Tisza River, he had already publicised its preconditions. The printed works which appeared during the second ‘round’ of the Horváth–Ambrosius dispute were characterised by some conspicuous features. These publications were shorter, so as to facilitate rapid printing, and Horváth reiterated certain familiar formulations in the hope of arranging a colloquium. In his Defensio, Ambrosius once again offered a circumspect and well-grounded analysis of the first part of Horváth’s response, though this time he softened his tone somewhat. The censoriousness did not disappear, however, as he continued to condemn Horváth for idolatry, to criticise his Latin and his general knowledge and to insult him personally. The most important change, however, was the disappearance of Ambrosius’ defensiveness. He no longer constructed rhetorical dichotomies or reacted as though he had been unjustly attacked (the word ‘provoke’, for instance, rarely appears in this text), but rather responded with a series of declarations while questioning Horváth’s intentions and abilities. Again and again, he circled back to the positions he had described in detail in his Antithesis,

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with marginal notes indicating the precise page numbers and opening words of the passages he cited from his prior work. When, for instance, he discussed his knowledge of dialectics, the sense of inferiority that characterised his earlier writing is missing. Ambrosius was more self-confident in this work than ever before. His exchanges with his European correspondents indubitably contributed to this growing self-assurance. Théodore de Bèze, for instance, offered another substantial response to the debate materials Ambrosius had sent him.142 In a letter dated 20 May 1592, de Bèze once again recommended passages from his collection Tractationes theologicae that he thought might be of use to Ambrosius, and called the latter’s attention to the pieces he had written to refute the views of the German theologians Johann Brenz, Nicolaus Selnecker and Wilhelm Holder.143 In his subsequent letters (dated 30 August and 7 September 1593), the Genevan theologian assured his colleague in Késmárk that he had numerous supporters abroad who believed in the righteousness of his struggle. The letters Johann Jacob Grynaeus wrote in this period do not seem to have survived, though Ambrosius’ responses to them make it possible to guess at some of their content. As was his custom, the pastor of Késmárk sent all the documents associated with his dispute to Basel, saying that they made it plain to see ‘how shameless my adversaries are’. He regularly asked Grynaeus to respond with his opinions and recommendations. ‘My most recent piece, the Defensio, hath already been printed, though your counsel would not be without use, for mine adversary hath declared that someone else shall make the next reply in his stead’.144 Printingrelated issues had also been important in connection with the Defensio, as Ambrosius had written to Grynaeus as early as 21 January 1592 to ask whether a worthwhile book written in his region might be sent to Basel to be printed there, as Beregszászi and Thoraconymus’ work had been. ‘Changes similar to those in Saxony are making it harder and harder to publish our writings’.145 Christian I, the Elector of Saxony, had died in 1591, at which point the Philippists had been expelled from the University of Wittenberg. The orthodox Lutherans took a series of forceful steps including threatening printers such as the presses in Zerbst and Görlitz where Ambrosius had had his work published.146 The developments in Saxony, however, had another more general and perhaps more noxious consequence: not only did the Hungarian coetus lose its spiritual home in Saxony, Philippists throughout Central Europe lost their chief source of institutional support, which simply ceased to exist. Ambrosius wrote another of his longer letters to Johann Wilhelm Stücki in August 1594, voicing a certain indignation at the fact that he had not received a reply to his first detailed letter, even though Stücki could have sent a reply to Késmárk via their mutual friend Jacob Monavius or with the assistance of travellers at the Frankfurt book fair. In addition to the many other subjects he discussed, Ambrosius allowed himself a word about Antagonista meus, ‘who will not desist from his attacks’. He said no more

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about Horváth, though, and did not mention his adversary at all in the third letter he wrote to Stücki in 1595.147 In 1593, Ambrosius and Horváth broke off their dispute, or at least we have no documentary records of further written or personal debates. Even though their next real clash would not occur until the Késmárk Colloquia of 1595, the year 1593 nonetheless brought on a number of interesting changes. First on this list of events was Caspar Pilcius’ so-called ‘declaration of conversion’, which he purportedly issued at the Feast of the Transfiguration on 6 August 1593.148 This proclamation began: I, Gáspár Pilcius, who was not the last in the line of wild and beastly Szepes County Calvinists who follow and speak out on behalf of the terrible and devilish doctrine of Calvinism, confess that I, in the church, before the believers entrusted to me, mistakenly proclaimed the theses and antitheses of the Word of God, and did not perform the sacraments or administer them to the faithful in accordance with the orders of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Woe, woe, woe therefore unto my mouth; woe, woe, woe unto my tongue; woe, woe, woe unto my heart; woe, woe, woe unto my life. He then provided a detailed list of his sins, including his condemnation of the writings of the dearly departed Luther, his throwing relics and altars out of churches, his taking the advice of his brothers who were ‘wavering in delusion’ and the fact that ‘I defended the appealing but false and empty teachings of Calvinism against true [doctrines] at gatherings and assemblies alongside false and illusory brothers and ravening wolves’. Pilcius then provided another detailed list of his accomplices, followed by a recantation in which he vowed, ‘I shall never again defend the novel delusion and most false, devilish doctrine of Calvin’, but instead work in accordance with the teachings of Luther. He then rebuked his accomplices once more before finally lending weight to his declaration with a prayer. It is obvious that Pilcius himself did not write this effectively edited declaration of conversion, as its stylistic elements and descriptive constructions – false friends, ravening wolves, austere Calvinists, devilish doctrines – were drawn straight from the orthodox Lutheran glossary. It should also be noted that Pilcius was still issuing Philippist polemics in 1591, and espoused similar viewpoints in a 1598 dispute with Conrad Gera, and thus it is virtually impossible that he converted in 1593. It seems certain that the authors of this document prepared it with the intention of discrediting the ‘Calvinists’ of Szepes County by parading a living example of ‘conversion’ and naming his misguided associates. This list included Ambrosius and Court Pastor Tamás Tolnai Fabricius of Késmárk, János Jancsi of Igló, János Frölich of Batizfalva (Batizovce, Slovakia), Peter Praetorius of Rókus (Rakúsy), Pastor Valentinus Hortensius of Leibic, Headmaster Johann Mylius of Lőcse and Pastor Cyriac Obsopaeus Koch of Szepesváralja, as well as the pastors of

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Zsákóc and Duránd (Tvarožná). This list of blasphemers was restated at the end of the document, where it was supplemented by the name Matthias Thoraconymus, who ‘hath lost the joy of his heart, buried the mirth of his soul, and left his disciples with the tares’. Thus portrayed as deceivers of the Church of Szepes County, the members of this ‘dirty dozen’ were clearly being monitored by their adversaries. The precision and repetition of this list suggest that orthodox Lutherans were keeping tabs on the Philippists, and thus knew about their assemblies and the message they were still free to disseminate. As this document’s author said of Ambrosius, ‘O, hateful error of which thou art proud, [man of] Késmárk!’ Very nearly this same group appears as a society of true-believers in the letters Ambrosius wrote in 1590–1, which in its way confirms the list in the forged declaration attributed to Pilcius. We have no other records with which to confirm this data; Ambrosius and his associates never mentioned Pilcius’ purported conversion, and nowhere is there any evidence that this document influenced public opinion.149 The subsequent assembly of the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities took place in Eperjes on 5 and 6 October 1593. Having been elected deacon, Severin Sculteti immediately took responsibility for the ‘Calvinist’ headmaster of Lőcse, Johann Mylius,150 whom he alleged to have been raising suspicions with certain public declarations as far back as the synod of 1590; Sculteti claimed that the city of Lőcse wanted to clarify the headmaster’s situation with local ecclesiastical authorities.151 This assembly’s participants compiled an ad hoc confession of faith for Mylius – consisting primarily of the doctrines of ubiquitas and communicatio idiomatum – before allowing the headmaster of Lőcse to stand forth with his own statement of belief. The synod did not accept his declaration, instead asking Mylius to follow the terms of the confession of faith they had compiled for him in pronouncing a brief and unequivocal affirmation of his personal beliefs. The headmaster, however, insisted that he could not accept the confession in question without expressing reservations. Pastor Anton Platner of Lőcse was the only participant who stood up for Mylius; Sculteti then announced that he was willing to organise a colloquium at an upcoming synod if Mylius and his associates were willing to cover the costs of doing so. In certain respects, this synod was a microcosm of the situation which developed after 1589, wherein opponents of the Formula Concordiae were called to account and ordered to accept traditional Lutheran confessions of faith. It also demonstrates that this association and its deacon were free to establish their own independent policies in dealing with the ecclesiastical officials under their supervision. We should recall that the office of provost went unoccupied for more than three years after Bornemissza’s death in 1584, and that his successor Márton Hetessi-Pethő – with the exception of an inspection in 1590 – did not interfere in Szepes County’s church life at all.152 After Hans Rueber’s death (also in 1584), the large landowner and gymnasium administrator Gergely Horváth would become the secular authority

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in charge of the region, taking over as the vice-count of Szepes County in 1591.153 It would appear that Horváth and Sebestyén Thököly maintained the peaceful relationship they had previously established. They divided the secular sphere between themselves; Thököly was responsible for the region’s political and confessional domains, as he controlled Késmárk with the consent of the royal court and the Captain General of Upper Hungary (Nogarolli, and later Teuffenbach). Horváth supervised Lőcse, Eperjes and Bártfa (providing material support to both the city and the printing press there). The lord of Nagyőr offered significant support for the consolidation of the orthodox wing of the local Lutheran Church, hoping to set an example with the disciplinary action he took against Ambrosius. The changes in Saxony in 1591 further validated his aspirations; in the years that followed, developments there would inspire a kind of renewal within Horváth’s circles. This power-sharing arrangement allowed the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities and its deacon to operate in peace, without the direct oversight that had characterised Szepes County up to 1584. The Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes, to which Ambrosius belonged, also took advantage of their relative independence. The deacon of the brotherhood, János Jancsi, who also took responsibility for the organisation’s record-keeping during his nine-year tenure there, declared that ‘his community enjoyed peace under the departed Bornemissza and the current provost Pethő’. In the summer of 1593, in accordance with Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II’s 1592 edict reviving the practice of church inspections, the Catholic canon of Esztergom expressed a desire to visit Szepes County to collect the payment of the traditional cathedraticum, at which point Koch and Jancsi spoke on behalf of the pastors of the 24 cities of Szepes County in refusing to pay and declaring that they had no interest in any inspection.154 The events at the 1593 synod in Eperjes might have been a signal to the Philippists; alongside the declaration of conversion attributed to Pilcius, Ambrosius and his circle had received two unmistakable signs within the space of a year that they would be expected to acknowledge their errors and publicly renounce their ‘Calvinist’ teachings. The fact that no one at the assemblies of the 24 Parishes was pressured to affirm a ‘true’ confession of faith the way Mylius was at the synod in Eperjes is attributable primarily to Deacon Jancsi. The Brotherhood was also still largely autonomous at that time, as exemplified by the fact that they were able to reject Gergely Horváth’s request to force Ambrosius to confront him in a colloquium. Nor did Sebestyén Thököly, as the patron of Ambrosius and his associates, challenge Horváth at that time; the pastor of Késmárk generally fought alone on his benefactor’s behalf – and symbolically, at least, on behalf of his pastoral fraternity. Not only did Thököly do battle on behalf of the city he had acquired nearly a decade before, but he also – in accordance with his personal strategy of social advancement – did his part in the struggles against Hungary’s Turkish occupiers.155 The interminable struggle that came to be known as

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the Long Turkish (or Fifteen Years’) War began in the summer of 1593; these battles involved representatives of the imperial court, as well as ‘participants in various commercial enterprises, such as Sebestyén Thököly, Ferenc Dobó, and Miklós Istvánffy, [who] regarded the restoration of the Kingdom’s former unity to be the fundamental condition of the preservation of the Hungarian state’.156 Thököly’s personal ambitions and the loans he extended to the imperial court played a considerable role in the resulting campaign, and this offensive initially appeared to be successful. In 1594, however, Hungarian and allied forces failed in their attempt to lay siege to Esztergom, and by September of that year the strategically crucial city of Győr had also fallen into Turkish hands. Szepes County managed to avoid the destruction associated with this conflict and the armies that reported to and withdrew from it, though the soldiers known as hajdúk would continue to march through the area in the years to come. Over the course of the eventful year of 1593, Thököly’s court pastor Tamás Tolnai Fabricius wrote a book about the ‘idols’ which could be permitted in churches.157 This disputation was directed at Gergely Horváth and his idolatry; as Tolnai Fabricius indicated in his foreword, he had been outraged to discover that his neighbour Horváth had sponsored the preparation of a silver crucifix for his patron’s church, which was utterly inconsistent with the doctrine of ubiquitas Horváth alleged to espouse. Tolnai Fabricius had also been informed that the lord of Nagyőr had travelled around Szepes County gathering up the icons which had been thrown out of the churches and having them delivered back to his estate; he had also apparently managed to have the locked altars of Bártfa reopened. In hopes of convincing Horváth of the error of his ways, Tolnai Fabricius buttressed his argumentation with citations from the Bible, the Fathers of the Church and the great reformers.158 Tolnai Fabricius’ book unquestionably provided Ambrosius with a boost, insofar as it demonstrated that other members of his circle were capable of responding to Horváth in writing. It is also clear that Théodore de Bèze played a role in its publication; in late August of 1593, shortly before Tolnai Fabricius’ work appeared, de Bèze wrote him a long, seven-page letter. Tolnai Fabricius had presumably taken up his pen on Ambrosius’ advice, given that de Bèze said he had begun to write to Thököly’s court pastor upon receipt of a letter from Ambrosius, who had sent it to him through the usual intermediary; the Genevan theologian closed his letter with a respectful nod to both Ambrosius and Thököly. This extensive letter, which also discussed European political news, focused primarily on the presence of imagery at sacred sites and clearly influenced Tolnai Fabricius’ work.159 If we compare the role Théodore de Bèze played in the 1590s to his involvement with an earlier generation of Hungarians, we see several parallels. In the 1560s, Péter Melius and his associates had sought to establish connections with de Bèze in a similar fashion; like Ambrosius and Tolnai

140 Controversy and the art of persuasion Fabricius, they had sent all the documentation of their confessional debates to Geneva. They also enlisted the help of young Hungarians who were studying abroad, such as Mátyás Thúri and Mihály Paksi Cormaeus, in delivering news and books to de Bèze and to Heinrich Bullinger in Zürich. In 1569, at the behest of Christophorus Thretius, Melius contacted Bullinger for help finding a foreign publisher to print his Latin-language criticisms of Ferenc Dávid. Bullinger did not consider Melius’ work worthy of publication, however, and forwarded it to de Bèze, who wrote letters in March and June 1570 expressing a variety of objections to publishing Melius’ writing, tactfully making clear that he agreed with Bullinger’s assessment.160 In comparison, de Bèze was much more helpful to – and expressed a great deal more solidarity with – Ambrosius and his associates. And given that Tolnai Fabricius’ text was the second book connected with the confessional debates of Szepes County to have appeared with the assistance of de Bèze, the question naturally arises: were Ambrosius and Tolnai Fabricius considered Calvinists because they received advice from de Bèze (and others) in preparing their work? I will return to this question in the conclusion of this book.

Personal debates: The Késmárk Colloquia In October 1595, Ambrosius departed for Silesia in the company of Sebestyén Thököly’s first-born son István, whom he escorted to the gymnasium in Brieg and entrusted to the care of the teachers there.161 Their host in Brieg was the ducal councillor Venzel Zedlicius, who introduced them to all of his city’s outstanding features. They visited Jacob Monavius as well, who was also living there and serving as an advisor to Duke Joachim Frederick at that time; they brought Monavius a gift of letters written by Johann Jacob Grynaeus. They then took in the sights of Breslau, chief among them the personal library Monavius had amassed, which they spent several days admiring. On November 24, Ambrosius wrote to Blotius to express the longing this trip had inspired: ‘If only I could see the imperial library in Vienna’.162 The pastor of Késmárk sent his latest writings to Vienna, asking Blotius to distribute copies to certain of their mutual friends. This idyllic period of humanist pastimes, however, soon came to an end, as Gergely Horváth’s long-standing wish for a colloquium would finally be fulfilled at the Késmárk Castle on 5 December. Sebestyén Thököly invited Gergely Horváth to lunch that day; the latter, however, arrived with a host of uninvited guests including Nicholas Erhard (the headmaster of his gymnasium in Nagyőr), Albert Grawer (a new teacher whom he had just hired a few months prior), Elias Lani, Peter Türck (the pastor of Nagyőr) and Abraham Christiani (the pastor of the estate of Keresztfalu, now known as Krížová Ves, Slovakia). At Horváth’s request, Ambrosius and Johann Mylius were also summoned to this luncheon. After saying a postprandial prayer, the group at the table began to

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converse as Grawer expounded an argument. The late-arriving Mylius was urged to engage in a debate, but refused. Thököly asked his guest Grawer about the situation in Wittenberg, and soon everyone present was expressing familiar positions, particularly on the subject of the doctrine of ubiquity. The discussion did not develop into a genuine exchange of views, and as he was taking his leave, Grawer invited Ambrosius to a debate which was being organised on Horváth’s estate in Nagyőr; as usual, the pastor of Késmárk declined. As they were departing, Horváth apologised if he and his associates had given anyone any offence; these details were recorded in Ambrosius’ 1598 Declaratio, which I have used as the basis for my reconstruction of these colloquia.163 The precision of Ambrosius’ descriptions suggests that he recorded these discussions in the manner of a courtroom stenographer, taking them down in their entirety and including even those exchanges which were personally insulting to him. And while he may have been offended by Grawer’s often aggressive style, Ambrosius never called him anything worse than a professor controversarium or a ‘bellicose theologian’. Thus while Ambrosius’ text is not an objective source in the strictest sense of the word, it nevertheless seems to be a relatively unbiased account. On 24 January, five days before the second colloquium was to take place in the Késmárk Castle, Ambrosius wrote a letter to Grynaeus in which he enclosed his detailed transcription of the December colloquium. He told Grynaeus that this manuscript was not worth reading given that neither side had said anything new. ‘This debate was forced [upon us] by the shamelessness of my adversary, who provoked [us] unceasingly and argued theatrically’. Even so, Ambrosius added that he would be grateful if Grynaeus were to take a look at his transcription.164 Grawer joined Horváth at this debate as well; guests included Caspar Tribelius – a student from the University of Heidelberg – and his tutor.165 Grawer was the first to take the floor, asking Tribelius whether Pareus was still alive; he received an affirmative response.166 Grawer continued: ‘Is he [still] waiting for Hunnius’ reply?’167 When Tribelius again answered yes, Grawer quickly retorted, ‘Pareus is sure to receive a harsh response, and would have received one already if Hunnius did not have so many commitments and such a great number of enemies’. At that point, the student from Heidelberg intervened to say that it was not the number of scholars who wrote against Hunnius that mattered, but rather the content of their writing; in his opinion, Pareus was capable of responding to Hunnius on his own. Grawer expressed his doubts and immediately changed the subject. He voiced his astonishment at Calvin’s misquotation of the teachings of Saint Paul, at which point his host Sebestyén Thököly interrupted him (interloquebatur), noting that a few months before, Horváth had attributed certain theses to Calvin, only to discover later that Calvin had professed precisely the opposite.168 Following this awkward confrontation, Grawer took the floor again and rebuked ‘Lám’ for committing their December colloquium to paper and

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producing several copies of the transcript. Grawer and his associates knew all about it – though perhaps not about the fact that Ambrosius had sent a copy to Grynaeus. Ambrosius noted that he had duplicated the transcript so as to be able to ensure that he could defend himself, as it had come to his attention that his adversaries, in accordance with their long-standing habit, had spread a rumour that they had reduced their interlocutors to silence;169 moreover, Grawer himself was preparing a manuscript about this debate which he intended to have printed. At Horváth’s request, Ambrosius was obliged to read his manuscript aloud, every line of which was challenged, of course – though as the pastor of Késmárk pointed out, Sebestyén Thököly had been there, too, and could thus vouch for the accuracy of his transcription. This second colloquium seemed to be moving inexorably down the path of the ad hominem attack. As he had done at their prior gathering, Thököly turned to Grawer and teased him about the possible presence of the body of Jesus Christ, inspiring a typically Ubiquitarian response, though at this point Ambrosius interjected that Grawer was not abiding by the Formula Concordiae, either, but was instead mutilating the sense of Andreae’s words.170 At Grawer’s initiative, they proceeded to exchange thoughts about the Marburg Colloquy of 1529 and the role of the Reformed theologians Christoph Pezel and Zacharias Ursinus. Grawer then once again demanded that Ambrosius take part in a colloquium in Nagyőr, to which the latter replied that he had not been called to debate at the school in Nagyőr, but rather to proclaim the Word of God at his own church in Késmárk.171 Grawer, however, thought that anyone who had been called to teach had a duty to participate in debates as well, insofar as refuting false doctrine was just as essential as the teaching of the truth. Ambrosius responded by saying that he was accustomed to proceeding in the same manner as long as it was in his power to do so, though he was not in the habit of interfering in the affairs of other churches as Grawer was wont to do. The teacher from Nagyőr then referred to Gergely Horváth, who had invited him to this exchange of views, at which point Ambrosius interjected – presumably somewhat heatedly – that Horváth was neither the bishop nor the judge of the city of Késmárk and had no right to disturb the peace of the church.172 Sorely offended by Ambrosius’ observation, Horváth himself then spoke up, but the pastor of Késmárk did not back down, saying that if Horváth did not wish to expose himself to such opinions, he should tend to his own affairs; let him do battle against the Turks as his father had done, and while he fights the Turks, let him not meddle in his countrymen’s prayers or the practice of their faith with his superfluous bickering.173 Horváth then angrily accused Ambrosius of abandoning the true faith; Grawer declared that the pastor of Késmárk had been seduced by false doctrine, whereupon Ambrosius replied that his thinking had been the same since his childhood and he had the books to prove it. He had no new confession of faith – but here Horváth cut him off and tried again. If Ambrosius had not been seduced by any new faith, then why did he teach the believers

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in his church otherwise? According to Ambrosius, Horváth and Grawer continued to argue in bad faith, though the latter did tell his patron, ‘Thou, My Lordship, in interrupting, hast usurped the rights of our host’; Thököly refused to allow any further recrimination.174 Ambrosius’ transcription of this debate ended on page 45 of his Declaratio, at which point he launched into a detailed analysis of the issues at the heart of this polemic. He discussed the attempt to stigmatise him as a Calvinist – which form of stigmatisation Melanchthon had condemned – then endeavoured to refute his adversaries’ contentions with citations drawn from the Bible and from Luther’s writings (often inserting the original German text as well). He closed this volume with an epigram dedicated to Horváth and Grawer, ‘mercenary soldiers in the war of theology’. In this ironic poem, Ambrosius again referred to his adversary’s father and his successful battles against the Turks. If we glance for a moment at this repeated argument, we see that Gergely Horváth did not, in fact, do battle against the Turks. Unlike Thököly, Horváth does not seem to have participated in any conflicts larger than this regional confessional struggle. There are no surviving documents suggesting that he personally fought in – or lent any material support to – any of the anti-Ottoman military campaigns of the era. A note recorded in the Matricula Molleriana says that two canons visited Horváth in Nagyőr on 16 June 1594 to gather evidence about his condition and confirm that he could not go to war because ‘his entire body was covered with a most revolting leprosy and he could not let his ample shirt be changed without great sadness’.175 Ambrosius was presumably aware of Horváth’s condition, though he never weaponised his illness against him, instead making constant references to his having avoided the war. Horváth’s rather unpatriotic behaviour became a useful tool in Ambrosius’ polemical struggle against the lord of Nagyőr. Outside of his printed work (in his letters, for example), Ambrosius never referred to Horváth’s refusal to go to war, but instead catalogued his adversary’s most monotonous and tedious arguments. Having bogged down in personal attacks, the Késmárk Colloquia did not produce any real results, and in this respect resembled most of the debates of the 16th century.176 During the era of Reformation, rhetoricians drew a distinction between a colloquium (a formalised dialogue on the subject of a disputed religious doctrine) and a disputation, an outgrowth of medieval university traditions which became the chief genre of 16th-century confessional debate.177 The Késmárk Colloquium exhibited elements of both traditional colloquia and disputation, though the intransigence of the disputants there almost guaranteed its futility. As demonstrated by the Késmárk debate, disputation was also useful for ‘proving’ charges of heresy against one’s opponent, and thus for damaging his authority and reputation. As this method of debate gained acceptance, avoiding a disputation or public dialogue came to be considered a shameful defeat. Running away was an admission of having been wrong and a stain on one’s honour. This was

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among the reasons that Horváth and Grawer pressured Ambrosius to participate in a debate to be held in Nagyőr or at another site; they knew that their adversary had no interest in the sort of combat they preferred. The character of the participants in these colloquia determined their outcomes before they had even begun; neither of the opposing parties was willing to make any sort of compromise. Convinced that the truth was on their side, they simply repeated their theses, cited their usual sources and the authors they considered to be reliable, and ultimately refused to negotiate. In this respect, Ambrosius was no different from Horváth and his associates, insofar as he was certain of his knowledge of the truth and refused to broaden his perspective, though at least he did not attempt to impose a confession of faith on his adversaries. It is possible that these colloquia helped their participants hone their dialectical and rhetorical abilities, or re-confirm certain groups’ sympathies toward them, but they almost never conveyed any new message to the public.178

The turning point Immediately following this debate in late January 1596, Albert Grawer’s Argumenta de persona Christi was published in Bártfa.179 According to its dedication, the author submitted the manuscript on February 8, which confirms the contention voiced at the December debate that Grawer was preparing to issue an account of it as quickly as he could. His pretext for publishing it was the contention that the eight handwritten copies of Ambrosius’ transcript of the first colloquium had omitted the arguments that proved Ambrosius had lost. For this reason, Grawer had done his best to summarise the doctrines for which he was fighting, to specify and explain the arguments which Ambrosius had failed to discuss and thus to prove that he was living up to the task he had assumed in Nagyőr – which effort he dedicated to his former teachers and his current benefactor Gergely Horváth. Ambrosius did not publish anything in the period immediately following this debate, though he quickly sent accounts of these events to his foreign friends. On 21 February 1596, he wrote to Johann Wilhelm Stücki to report that he had been shamelessly attacked by a certain Albert Grawer, a recent arrival from the University of Wittenberg who had defended the orthodox doctrine of ubiquity without the aid of any particularly high-flown argumentation.180 Ambrosius wrote to Zürich again that August to describe the events of Hungary’s war against the Turks, into which report he wove a brief account of these confessional debates. He informed Stücki that his doctrinally orthodox adversaries had attacked him with two publications in the meantime, one written in Latin, the other in German.181 Grawer had issued the second of his 1596 attacks under the title Kurtze aber doch gründliche Entdeckung und Widerlegung…182 This book’s dedication letter was addressed to the dignitaries of the Five Free Royal Cities, as Deacon Sculteti had informed the author that the five cities adhered to

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the pure, unadulterated Augustan Confession and rejected the teachings of the Calvinists. Grawer wanted to demonstrate that Ambrosius’ printed publications denied the omnipotence of the Saviour and confounded His teachings. Grawer declared that after Luther, Chemnitz and (more recently) Hunnius had spent decades debating the doctrine of the Lord’s Supper in writing, those who agreed with them had little left to say. Lám’s obstinacy had nevertheless compelled him to take action. In a text teeming with disparaging remarks, Grawer insisted that Ambrosius was attempting to smuggle the Calvinists’ ignominious and ungodly teachings into the church, and had offered frivolous excuses in rejecting the efforts Grawer and others had made to engage him in public disputation and friendly conversation. The present work was thus the only remaining way to achieve Christian consensus on the subject of the Lord’s Supper and put an end to these superfluous scribblings. Grawer summarised his approach as follows: I have extracted the blasphemous propositions from Lám’s Latin work and set them down in German [for the benefit] of the people who understand not the Latin language. With the help of this [method], all shall recognize those doctrines against which they must defend themselves. For the Calvinists are not merely mistaken about the question of the Lord’s Supper, but also espouse disgraceful doctrines with regard to baptism and the person of Christ as well. Ambrosius informed Grynaeus of Grawer’s publications in August 1596 and forwarded German and Latin copies of these attacks to Basel immediately thereafter.183 He reported that he had already prepared a refutation of Grawer’s first text (the Argumenta) and was then at work on a response to the second. Ambrosius worried only that he lacked a suitable publisher and the money to cover printing costs. He thanked Grynaeus for his letter of 26 April in which he had expressed his thoughts about the Késmárk Colloquia. And indeed, this is the only known letter in which Grynaeus reflected on the ‘debate held in the castle of his excellency, Lord Thököly’, though beyond this courtly acknowledgement, the only allusions to disputes in this missive were Grynaeus’ references to the colloquium held in Heidelberg in 1584 and the 1586 Colloquy of Montbéliard, in which ‘our de Bèze’ had participated. He almost immediately shifted course to a lamentation of the ongoing war in France and the Low Lands.184 It would appear that the letters Ambrosius continually sent to Basel had little effect, insofar as the scholarly Grynaeus was occupied with other, more important matters and thus reacted to the news of the Késmárk Colloquia politely, but without offering a substantial response. Ambrosius’ letter of 1 August (in which he enclosed the commentaries he had written on the colloquium and his reflections on Grawer’s German-language publication) did not elicit a response, though Grynaeus did ask mutual acquaintances for news of the preacher from Késmárk. On 4 September 1596, Ambrosius sent Blotius a

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similar description of the situation, with one small but notable change, referring to Horváth as Antagonista Nobilis meus – who, ‘if am not mistaken, was thy companion on thy peregrination in Gallia’.185 Ambrosius continued, ‘Horváth hath had himself a companion delivered out of Germany who hath published two texts against me, one in Latin and one in German’. Ambrosius sent Blotius the two texts Grawer had written, and according to this September report, Ambrosius had already replied to both of them. He again mentioned his publishing difficulties and requested the Viennese librarian’s opinion; Blotius, however, had not responded to Ambrosius since 1594. The intense publishing offensive which had been launched against Ambrosius did not end in 1596, as Horváth himself then issued the third part of his Responsio, though illness obliged him to entrust its finalisation to Nicholas Erhard, the headmaster of his school in Nagyőr.186 In the preface he wrote on 13 November, Horváth asserted that wrangling with Ambrosius over the conditions of their debate had repeatedly delayed the publication of this text, as he had hoped to convince his adversary to agree to a colloquium in the presence of agreed-upon recorders. Nevertheless, I have in the meantime realized why Lám refuseth to permit himself to debate with me. For it is his habit, when he hath dealings with such men as would slice his evil Calvinist suppositions to pieces with the sharpest of swords, the Word of God, to seek refuge with a Calvinist doctor in the German lands. Horváth turned to crass formulations even in his introduction: ‘Thus doth the crippled man accept his crippled birth and zealously medicate his debility, substantiating his arguments by admixing something to them till they be transformed and the brainchild thus conceived finally maketh its way to the press’. Here Horváth clearly signals his awareness of Ambrosius’ correspondence and the role his accomplices played in ‘forging’ his work, saying, ‘I would not write this if I did know it to be so’. The continual postponement of the colloquium served as more evidence of Ambrosius’ duplicity, and after the publication of the two works by Albert Grawer, it became clear that ‘we destroyed Lám’s Calvinism with both philosophical and theological arguments’. Horváth went on, It was truly fascinating to note Lám’s face at the second colloquium. He took his seat at the table cheerfully, laughing. However, after he spewed a certain author’s knowledge out onto the table and was met with such responses as cut off his escape route to any other interpretation, he suddenly fell silent. From this, everyone could see that this person was very much in need of the midwifery of others ‘in bringing his newborns into the world’. The lord of Nagyőr continued,

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Being a sick man, I am threatened by death, and it would surprise me greatly if, before the publication of my book, Lám were to declare himself victorious and disgrace the true faith by making a dead man the object of scorn. Horváth then continued with his refutation of the Antithesis, starting with page 177 of Ambrosius’ five-year-old opus before returning to the issue of idolatry. In a letter he later wrote to Imre Forgách, Ambrosius characterised the third part of Horváth’s Responsio by saying, ‘my adversary could not make peace even with death, and [continued to] bite me in the knowledge of the old saying, “the dead do not bite”’.187 Though his letters and the book itself suggest that Ambrosius had completed his manuscript by 5 March 1596, it was 1598 by the time he managed to get his Declaratio…, a detailed description of the Késmárk debates, published in Zerbst. The interval between the two dates felt infinitely long. The Declaratio, however, includes an explanation of some of the reasons for this delay. First, Ambrosius thought Sebestyén Thököly – who had hosted these colloquia – should have the opportunity to review his reply to Grawer’s pamphlet.188 Thököly, however, was not in Késmárk in the spring of 1596; his wife, Zsuzsanna Dóczy, died on 9 June of that year. According to the preface of the Declaratio, when Ambrosius sent Thököly a revised version of this text on 1 February 1597, the latter was in Pozsony for a session of the Hungarian National Assembly which began the next day. Not long thereafter, the lord of the Késmárk Castle fell ill, then enlisted in the military campaign against the Turks. In the eulogy Ambrosius wrote for Zsuzsanna Dóczy, he reported that when Thököly had been informed of the planned liberation of Győr at the National Assembly, he had immediately hurried off to lend his support to Adolf von Schwarzenberg and Miklós Pálffy.189 Thököly played an active role in this siege and remained in camp until the Győr Castle was taken in 1598. He helped liberate Nagyvárad in similar fashion, and lent financial support to the raising of an Upper Hungarian army to face the Turks. Thököly thus repeatedly left Késmárk for long periods, and perhaps Ambrosius demonstrated an excess of loyalty to his patron in adopting his wait-and-see attitude. It should be noted that he seems not to have had other sources of support with which to cover the printing costs mentioned in his letters. Even so, Ambrosius’ introduction to the Declaratio and his commemoration of his lord’s eminent lady are both overflowingly reverent, and a letter he wrote in the spring of 1593 also bears witness to his wholehearted devotion to his patron. At that time, he sent word to Blotius that he had been preparing to set off for Vienna when he received the news that Thököly was on his way home from Pozsony.190 ‘I felt it would be unpleasant for him not to find me here, and thus I decided to remain at home and write you another letter instead’. One would assume that Ambrosius was also kept in Késmárk by certain tasks Thököly had assigned him, though we have only circumstantial evidence to support this

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conjecture. One such indicator is the fact that Ambrosius ceased writing letters between 1596 and the spring of 1598, which is highly suggestive given the intensity of his correspondence from 1590 onward. In the early spring of 1598, he mentioned to Grynaeus that he could write all sorts of things about his own affairs, but these matters were so sad he would rather be silent about them. He told Blotius in September 1598 that his house and its front gate had burned down the year before, which must have been among the concerns that had been weighing on him.191 Events had also taken another significant turn, which Ambrosius mentioned in the introduction to the Declaratio as well. Gergely Horváth had already fallen ill by Christmas of 1596 and was tortured by terrifying visions of death. He soon entrusted the completion of his Responsio to the headmaster of his school, then gave him instructions for raising his son Márk.192 Detailed descriptions of Horváth’s mortal agony have survived as a result of the fact that Headmaster Nicholas Erhard reported everything to Severin Sculteti.193 In his eulogy for Horváth, Erhard recalled the selfless work his patron had done in promulgating the true faith, and it is worth citing one of its more extravagant passages given that published funeral orations could also be an outstandingly useful form of propaganda:194 Let the netherworld revolt, and Calvin rage, let Zwingli grumble, and Lám our neighbour rave, though their disciples break in and forge new gospels and set up new Christs, our Gergely, by himself, teareth you apart and striketh you down, you robbers in the night! With the institutions of learning he hath erected in these parts of Hungary, and with the bounteous fields of this faith, he blocketh the path before your followers, and with his disciples hath laid siege to you within your own borders, and layeth siege to you now, and shall lay siege! In addition to Erhard’s commemoration, this volume features numerous elegies written by Horváth’s admirers. In his Declaratio, Ambrosius voiced the hope that the passing of his greatest nemesis might make it possible for him to turn the page on their decade-long battle. Meanwhile, however, his adversaries were distributing distorted versions of two of his sermons, prompting Ambrosius’ friends at home and abroad to urge him to respond to Grawer’s truncated and falsified account of the Késmárk Colloquia by publishing his own more faithful transcripts. In April 1597, Headmaster Erhard wrote a letter in which he claimed that one of his deceitful, Calvinist enemies – almost certainly a reference to Ambrosius or Tolnai Fabricius – was spreading the most disgraceful slanders about the events which took place during the illness of the dearly departed Gergely Horváth.195 It would seem that defamation had been incorporated into Szepes County’s traditions of debate to such a degree that slander, and damning accusations, and condemnation had become ‘compulsory elements’ of every kind of exchange of information, from printed

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publications to gossip. Thus Horváth’s death did not put an end to these disputes. It was not a turning point, not even in a symbolic sense. The real turn had already taken place. Every sign indicates that with the publication of the two texts by the coarse but dynamic Albert Grawer and the posthumous release of Horváth’s work, the orthodox Lutheran community had taken the initiative. They had moved to the fore, and it seems to me that Ambrosius had begun to direct his polemics at them as far back as the Antithesis, and was certainly doing so by the time he wrote the Defensio. Horváth merely published short responses while continually trying to prod his adversary into public debates, though he did all this from a reactive posture. After the confessional debates in Késmárk, however, the orthodox Lutherans were able – now with Grawer’s help – to seize the initiative, and in this phase of the conflict, when rapid responses were paramount for all the participants, Horváth’s associates were better equipped to perform this task. Ambrosius’ humble financial circumstances and relative vulnerability, along with his loyalty and devotion to Thököly, would determine the dramatic structure of the third phase of these disputes. In fact, it should be said that Ambrosius was mistaken in thinking that he was better off communicating the latest details of this dispute to his friends abroad rather than finding local support for the publication of his work. It should not be forgotten that he was much more dependent on his patron than his adversaries were on theirs, now more so than ever. Moreover, Ambrosius had lost the immediate support of his friend and colleague Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, who had left Késmárk in 1595 to become the leading pastor of Sárospatak.196 Ambrosius’ letters suggest that he did not plan to ‘wait it out’, given that his first response was ready in March of 1596 and his second in September. It would seem, however, that the unfortunate delays and waiting put him at an irremediable disadvantage. Grawer published his second post-colloquium text in German, which was a good strategic decision insofar as it helped him achieve his goal. As Grawer put it in this 1596 text, ‘The lower classes must be able to recognize false, and thus true doctrines in the German language’. The proportion of the population who could read and write in any language was certainly not very high in the late 16th century, but simply written, German-language propaganda like Grawer’s was much more likely to be successful in a majority-German-speaking region than Latin texts were. This situation prompted Ambrosius to respond to Grawer’s Kurtze Entdeckung… with his own German-language Kurtze Wiederholung…, which – as a result of all the delays – appeared in 1598, immediately after his Declaratio. The orthodox Lutherans’ offensive, however, had already reached peak intensity in 1597. After Horváth’s death, Albert Grawer took over the leading role. Aegedius Hunnius, the Wittenberg professor who had written Grawer’s letter of recommendation, attempted in vain to warn his former student that while he ‘appreciated the struggle against the Sacramentarians, he trusted that [Grawer] was handling this affair with the requisite wisdom, caution,

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and moderation, and would build rather than demolish’. Nevertheless, in March 1597, Grawer – who was already working as the headmaster of the school in Kassa – published another attack on Ambrosius.197 Severin Sculteti wrote a special introduction to this volume, declaring that the battle had begun in the Garden of Eden and been waged under the leadership of Jesus and Satan for 5559 years, according to the Book of Revelation, and there was no indication that it would be brought to an end before Judgement Day.198 Grawer and Sculteti formulated two key statements in this book which shed light on the issues at the centre of Szepes County’s confessional debates. The so-called Calvinists generally differed from orthodox Lutherans in their explanations of only two articles of faith, namely in their interpretations of the person of Christ and of the Lord’s Supper. In their public statements, the ‘Calvinists’ declared themselves to be followers of Luther, and as their publications demonstrate, they consistently made reference to the propositions of the Augustan Confession, though orthodox Lutherans considered such references to be dissimulation. If we examine the history of other Central European confessional debates on similar issues, or the period of the Scandinavian Reformation following the publication of the Formula Concordiae, we see a great deal of similarity: these questions were debated by theologians and humanists starting in the 1580s,199 and by the latter half of the 1590s, the associated disputes were becoming increasingly radical. Recrimination was intensifying and attempts to exclude ‘heretics’ were gaining momentum. Almost everywhere in Europe, the power positions and confessional allegiances of patrons played decisive roles. In Szepes County, however, the battle which had developed in the discursive sphere continued to be waged by pastors and teachers; with the one exception of Gergely Horváth, it was not the confessional allegiances of the patrons that determined the course and the rhetoric of Szepes County’s debates, but the partisanship of local preachers with various levels of preparedness. The final years of the 16th century were marked by a consolidation of Lutheran orthodoxy. As other scholars have noted, ‘With the deaths of the reformers, the heroic era of Protestantism came to an end; the foundations had been laid and the period of construction had begun’.200 Their catechisms, confessions of faith and formulae had been drawn up, and now ‘each church closed itself off behind the doctrine it held to be true, thereby establishing its own orthodoxy and erecting barriers to reconciliation with other denominations’.201 Recent scholarly accounts have demonstrated with precision that the school of thought known as Protestant orthodoxy was rich in intellectual and humanist elements; the theologians associated with it employed mixtures of Aristotelian philosophy and Scholastic formalism in their attempts to articulate reformist doctrines as precisely as possible.202 Orthodox theologians raised dogmatics to the throne; from then on, dogmatics would be the highest expression of theological scholarship. Not all of Szepes County’s confessional disputants were associated with this

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high-level, yet increasingly stagnant orthodoxy, though it should be noted that Ambrosius, who corresponded with worthies of Reformed orthodoxy including de Bèze, Grynaeus, Polanus and later Junius, did exhibit certain tendencies associated with this school of thought. Ambrosius’ work bears witness to his quality as an interpreter and exegete, though he did little to develop Melanchthonian thought. Péter Pázmány, a future leading light of Hungarian Catholic theology, maliciously encapsulated the situation as follows: In comparison to you, there are a great many followers of the Augustan Confession who can easily be made to believe by looking at the free cities, the mountainous regions, and the dependents of the lords of the Augustan Confession. But what of your unity and love could be understood by someone who glances through the book recently printed in Bártfa by Albert Graverus, the headmaster of Kassa, who writes of the war Jesus Christ and John Calvin are fighting against one another?203 Pázmány’s observations may have been biased, but characterised the situation in fn-de-siècle Szepes County with precision. Another session of the synod of the Five Free Royal Cities was hosted in Eperjes on 22 and 23 April 1597. Its resolutions harshly condemned Flacians, Calvinists and the errors of the theologians of Heidelberg, and decreed that if any such peril were to be encountered in the local ecclesiastical district, Luther’s writings were to be forced into the mouths of those who fell into temptation.204 The representatives of this ecclesiastical district soon assembled in Lőcse, where Gergely Horváth’s spiritual heirs moved to adopt a number of positions and recommendations ‘against the Calvinists’.205 In the course of this session, ‘they condemned Sebastian Lám’, and Deacon Sculteti went so far as to denounce Pilcius and Ambrosius as false prophets. He fulminated against Ambrosius in particular, recommending that he be shunned without any sort of acknowledgement.206 The participants in this synod, however, reacted with restraint, refusing to accept their deacon’s proposal – though they did so in Erhard and Grawer’s absence. The deacon then began to express his suspicions about the participants who had voted against his recommendation, cautioning them in the strongest terms not to append their signatures to their confessions of faith, which at that time were still the Confessio Pentapolitana and Melanchthon’s Corpus Doctrinae. The assembled delegates, however, ignored him and signed their traditional statements of belief. This synod, which was overseen by Sculteti and conducted with Grawer’s assistance, was of great significance, insofar as the community managed to keep these two tenacious Lutherans in check and restrain some of their disciplinary efforts. Sculteti and Grawer failed once again to force the assembly to accept the Formula, and were limited to oral – rather than formal written – condemnation of Ambrosius. Nor did the members of this assembly

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wish to help the deacon in his diligent, almost daily public efforts to excommunicate his opponents. The year before, senior pastor János Jancsi had gone before the provost to denounce seven preachers – almost certainly Grawer and his associates – and ask that they be disciplined for inciting a civil war within the association. Jancsi’s action does not seem to have accomplished much, though it does demonstrate that the Philippists were not entirely passive in the face of their adversaries’ provocations.207 The synod in Lőcse was also momentous because it represented the culmination of a process that had begun in 1589, namely the effort of the deacon of the Pentapolis to use this assembly’s resolutions to stigmatise preachers who were not under the jurisdiction of his ecclesiastical district. This form of interference was utterly atypical given that Sculteti was not Ambrosius’ ecclesiastical superior; that honour belonged to János Jancsi, the senior of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes. By 1597, however, the incorrigible Sculteti was allowing himself to cross certain lines between the two fraternal associations in an unprecedented manner. At the end of that year, Szepes County Provost Márton Hetessi-Pethő warned the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes that deceased pastors should not be replaced with new preachers who would bring new confessions into their communities. Even so, the provost was only the nominal superior of the Lutheran pastors who had enjoyed the support of Gergely Horváth and thus generally exercised their own independent judgement; given that no one else issued any such warnings to their communities, they could continue to adjudicate their own cases in peace. The only member of Ambrosius’ circle to publish anything in 1597 was Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, who finally managed to respond publicly to the text Elias Lani had written in 1595. At some point in 1597, Ambrosius received a supportive letter from Menso Alting, the leading pastor of the Frisian city of Emden, who offered him advice on responding to theologians of the Hunnius school, though Ambrosius could not publicly acknowledge the Calvinist Alting’s input.208 Tolnai Fabricius’ publication was also delayed significantly: he fell ill; he was unable to use his hand during the period in which he composed his book and was thus forced to dictate its text. The manuscript then sat at the press in Vizsoly for close to a year.209 The leading pastor of Sárospatak used the 12 chapters of his Exarmatio Scuti Laniani to refute the theses of Lani’s 1595 text, occasionally using some fairly sharp and spicy language. He thoroughly dissected Lani’s ‘follies’, noting that his adversary was ‘such an insignificant person, he could not tell black from white’. Tolnai Fabricius also lambasted Gergely Horváth for his violent opposition to the locking away of the artwork in Késmárk’s church, which reaction had launched this interminable dispute. Ambrosius began his 128-page Kurtze Wiederholung by saying ‘I felt prompted to write because something of such slander always sticketh in the mind of the public’.210 In the first of this text’s two major sections, Ambrosius again attempted to demonstrate that his views had never changed since his

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days as a student at the Késmárk School and the local churches. He had continued to believe the same things about the three distinct Persons of the inseparable Divine Being, the two distinct natures united in the One and Indivisible Person of the Saviour and the Lord’s Supper that he had believed as a child. He expressed these principles in German, in plain language similar to that of the hymns he had composed. He thus turned to the language that his adversaries had already begun using as a more effective means of conveying their beliefs than Latin. In the second section, he meticulously refuted Grawer’s argumentation and parried the personal attacks that had been made against him. He could not understand the reasons that Grawer, ‘a master of feuds’, had chosen to engage with him in the first place. Ambrosius took no offence at Grawer’s precise reconstruction of his Palm Sunday sermon because it clearly demonstrated that he ‘had not denied the genuine presence of Christ’s body and blood in the Lord’s Supper’. He could not, however, take responsibility for the marginalia appended to his adversary’s text, as those notes consisted exclusively of citations from the work of foreign writers. He likewise rejected Grawer’s ‘tossing around’ the epithet Calvinist, reminding his adversary that the 42 children in the Book of Kings had achieved little by mocking the prophet Elisha for his baldness.211 Quarrelsome individuals had tried to belittle Melanchthon by calling him a Calvinist, and – Grawer was asked to recall – the Papists had stigmatised even Luther’s doctrines as Wycliffist, or Hussite, or heretical when they were unable to refute them by means of argument. Defenders of the doctrine of ubiquity, unable to substantiate their belief by means of reason, had also tried to cast suspicion on Ambrosius. He himself did not resort to such methods because he was familiar with Saint Paul’s prohibition on citing his name to create divisions in matters of religion (1 Cor. 3). In fact, Luther himself had forbidden his followers from referring to themselves as Lutherans. ‘Furthermore, I have no need of these lowly methods, for I do not disseminate novel doctrines; it is the people of the Formula Concordiae who do so’. Ambrosius then posed one of his most incisive questions: if the Formula was correct, why had the people of Szepes County not accepted it publicly? And if it was not, if it contained new doctrines, then ‘why do they want to smuggle these fraudulent schemes into [our] churches, and why do they persecute the opponents of such practices as blasphemers?’ At the end of this text, Ambrosius aptly cited yet another passage of scripture, this time from the Psalms: ‘Let the wicked fall into their own nets, whilst that I withal escape’ (Ps. 141:10). In closing, he addressed a satirical Latin poem to Grawer, whom Horváth ‘hath accepted into his pay to aid him in competition with the word and the pen’. Grawer immediately published two more texts in 1598. His late-March publication involved two disputations which he had presented to his students at the school in Kassa. In the first, he edified the youth of that city by explaining the taking of the body of Christ into the mouth at the Lord’s Supper, in which disquisition he differentiated three kinds of manducatio,

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or eating: the physical, the sacramental and the spiritual. The second record of his cerebrations involved a discussion of Jesus’ agonies, the accusation that members of the Helvetic school of thought were guilty of Nestorianism and finally a denunciation of moral particularism.212 He wrote the foreword to his second 1598 text, the 20-page Confutatio,213 on July 23, noting that he was responding to a similarly titled book Ambrosius had written. Grawer dedicated this publication to Gergely Horváth’s son Márk, expressing the hope that he could fulfil the promise he had made to the elder Horváth by defending their confession of faith from ‘Lám’s gnawing’. Page after page, he tried to refute Ambrosius’ declarations and prove with citations that his adversary had not learned his principles from Melanchthon. Though Ambrosius would not publish any more polemical texts after 1598, his dispute with Grawer had yet to reach its conclusion. In fact, Grawer’s writing took on a furious tone, becoming coarser and coarser until he was disparaging Ambrosius with simplistic vulgarities. The pastor of Késmárk did not respond in kind, though the humorous formulations that characterised his Antithesis seem to have disappeared over the course of that decade. Grawer, of course, continued to refer to Ambrosius as Lám, and the style of his numerous publications suggests that he hoped to outdo Horváth – and everyone else. In 1606, after the confessional debates of Szepes County had finally come to an end, Grawer published an extensive book in which he flogged the absurdity of Calvinism and looked back on his time in Hungary from his position as the headmaster of the Eisleben Gymnasium in Saxony.214 ‘I had barely arrived in Hungary when I stumbled across a person begrimed with Calvinist iniquities and hobbled in body and soul, Sebestyén Lám, whom they falsely call by his father’s name, Sebastian Ambrosius’.215 Gergely Horváth had made reference to Ambrosius’ crippled grandfather, but not in such harsh terms. Even so, the rhetoric of Ambrosius’ adversaries had not undergone an instantaneous transformation; Georg Creutzer’s work had featured crude and vulgar expressions as far back as the 1580s. From 1583 onward, the Lutherans’ vocabulary had been dominated by descriptors like ‘devilish’, ‘heretical’, ‘delusional’, ‘misguided’, ‘dishonest’ and ‘fraudulent’, all of which they enjoyed attaching to the names of ‘Calvinists’. Among their favourite rhetorical devices were comparisons to wolves. In 1583, for example, when Pastor Martin Wagner left Bártfa for Besztercebánya, the citizens of the former wrote: ‘pastors will not be able to deflect the suspicion that they, in the manner of mercenaries running from intruding wolves, are fleeing before the Jesuits, and Sacramentarians, and other envoys of the devil who populate the neighboring locales’. Creutzer made use of wolf metaphors in the Proba he wrote against Caspar Pilcius, saying it was ‘his duty to examine his adversary’s writings so as to strip the sheepskin off the wolf’. Pilcius’ argumentation about the lamb of Christ went for naught, as Creutzer nevertheless characterised him as a Sacramentarian wolf, not Christ’s obedient lamb. He defined the task of

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every faithful preacher like himself as ‘crying out against the wolf, as God commanded’. Deacon Benedek Bels used similar argumentation against Pilcius in the introduction to his 1586 Examen: ‘If in circumstances such as these, they do not cry out against the ravening wolf, how will they justify themselves at the Final Judgment?’ Thus by the 1580s, the word wolf was being used with increasing frequency as a synonym for Sacramentarian, though we cannot be sure what kind of connotations this sort of scare tactic might have had. Wolves also appear in the forged declaration of conversion that was attributed to Pilcius in 1593: ‘I defended the appealing but false and empty teachings of Calvinism against true [doctrines] at gatherings and assemblies alongside false and illusory brothers and ravening wolves’. In the introduction to his Bellum Ioanni Calvini, Grawer started right off with this sort of language: ‘Lám, the wolf of the church of Késmárk, is on the loose’ (Lámius quidam Sebastianus pastor sive Lupus Eccl. Kesmarciensis). Lutheran authors seem to have considered wolf metaphors a very effective means of arousing fear, and their primary source of such language was very likely the Bible: ‘Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves’.216 They might also have been thinking of the parable of the wolf in sheep’s clothing, the Hungarian moral of which says, ‘Many who make themselves appear useful in society are pernicious wolves’.217 The popularity of this trope is illustrated by the letter in which Théodore de Bèze warned his colleague Péter Melius not to give any ground to the Antitrinitarians: ‘Protect your flock from the wolves’.218 This motif would appear in Péter Pázmány’s Kalauz as well: Once a man be chosen pastor, he is to be considered a true and lawful pastor only as long as he remaineth in the province for which he was chosen as pastor to teach, for if he breaketh away from it, he becometh a wolf and a thief from whom the sheep must run far afield.219 These increasingly crude rhetorical attacks were only one of the instruments available to the Lutherans. The Philippists of the period might have found it significantly more worrying that the deacon of the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities was interfering in Ambrosius’ life even though the latter was not under his jurisdiction. A similar incident took place in 1598, though this time it was an ecclesiastical authority from the Diocese of the Lower Poprád Valley who took note of Ambrosius’ activities.220 Pastor Abraham Christiani of Keresztfalu, who had accompanied Gergely Horváth to the Késmárk Colloquium, submitted a report condemning the cursed heretics Sebastian Ambrosius and Peter Praetorius to the fires of hell. When Ambrosius was informed of the situation, he reported it to Sebestyén Thököly, who sent emissaries to the diocesan synod to demand satisfaction on behalf of his pastor. Daniel Cornides was the only attendee who spoke out in Christiani’s defence, and thus the synod’s closing resolution called

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for the damning passage to be struck from the record.221 The following year, Pastor Ezechiel Hebsacker of Eperjes personally apologised, declaring that Thököly’s pastor Ambrosius was ‘our dear brother’. Thököly’s intervention presumably had a significant effect not only on the assembly of the Diocese of Lower Poprád Valley, but also on others who had been made to feel uncomfortable by the Ambrosius affair. Thököly’s involvement also signalled that he intended to protect the reputation of his loyal pastor. No other incidents of this sort were recorded in the period after Ambrosius’ patron returned from the Hungarian triumph in Győr on 29 March 1598.222 At the beginning of 1599, however, Thököly did not get involved in a situation where his authority might have been of even greater import. Deacon Sculteti sent a letter to the city of Késmárk in which he attacked its confessional orientation and its pastor in the strongest terms.223 Of course, the city was not under Sculteti’s jurisdiction, and thus Késmárk’s city councillors began by sending a detailed letter to Lőcse in which they recounted the lengthy and complicated debates of the preceding years and defended their pastor.224 Ambrosius, however, compiled a statement of belief and sent it to the Association of the Five Free Royal Cities – yet another indication of the reactive position into which he had been forced. At a synod in Kisszeben on 9 and 10 March 1599, the assembled representatives examined Ambrosius’ confession and declared that while the pastor of Késmárk had previously been a Calvinist in secret, he was now openly and intractably so, and thus had to be publicly condemned.225 It was no longer of any help to Ambrosius that preacher István Gönczi had published his Panharmonia, sive Universalis consensus Jesu Christi … et Joannis Calvini that same year, which massive book he had written in response to Grawer’s Bellum.226 Gönczi condemned Grawer’s efforts (often referring to him as ‘the boorish Grober’), saying that in the regions of the country outside Szepes County, his work and behaviour ‘disturb the Hungarian churches that live in peace, incite the great landlords to hate their pastors, and encourage the persecution of his adversaries as heretics’.227 Ambrosius’ letters from this period do not mention the two synods that condemned him. At the same time, he regularly summarised his adversaries’ most recent writings and forwarded their latest publications, including Sculteti’s Hypomnema, which did make reference to the 1597 synod. Among his last known letters was a missive written to Johann Wilhelm Stücki on 27 February 1598, in which he described Thököly’s participation in the Turkish war rather than his own battles.228 In his last letter to Blotius (written in September of 1598), he bitterly recounted the disputes that were always unfolding around him, and drew his friend’s scholarly attention to a particular phenomenon: most people do not debate so as to learn, but learn so as to have something to debate at infinite length.229 Ambrosius sent one of his last letters to Grynaeus during Farsang of 1599. He sent his friend in Basel a copy of his Declaratio via Kraków, saying that in this text, ‘I have defended thee from the adversaries, too’.230 His final letters are full of complaints, most of which concern either his adversaries and their shamelessness

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or the ongoing war in Hungary. In a letter dated 29 January 1600 (according to the new calendar), he sent Grynaeus a copy of Sculteti’s latest book, a certain section of which was of personal interest to the Swiss theologian.231 Sculteti had asserted that Grynaeus’ great uncle Simon had lived in Buda between 1521 and 1523. Ambrosius had his doubts about the accuracy of this information and asked Johann Jacob to look into it. Write whether thou hast ever had a relative in Buda, and if he in sooth did live there, see whether he left of his own will or under compulsion. If he was there, he lived among the true-believers even then; if he was not, then the author doth deceive. In the spring of 1600, Franciscus Junius, a theologian who had moved from Heidelberg to Leiden, wrote Ambrosius a warm message,232 thanking him for the books he had sent and conveying the good will of his colleagues in distant lands. He then briefly discussed his willingness to help Ambrosius and his associates confront their adversaries by compiling a text, saying, ‘I am ready to take up your cause in the service of the Lord’. Junius then inquired about the practical details of the planned publication, given that we shall have to decide jointly whether I shall have the book printed or send [the manuscript] to Késmárk. It would be worthwhile to have every copy delivered to you so as to make gifts to thirty or forty learned men. This scholarly gentleman requested nothing for himself, only a suitable place where he could draw everything up, for he was a servant of the Lord and the church. At the same time, he recommended that they come to a decision quickly so that he might get to work as soon as possible. We have no other details about the plan Ambrosius presented to his colleague in Leiden, as none of his other letters mention it. Nevertheless, it would appear that their exchange was more than a simple sign of solidarity, given that one of the notable Calvinist theologians of the era expressed a willingness to take up his pen on behalf of Ambrosius and his colleagues; this plan seems to have been more than the usual offers of help correspondents extended to one another. In this January letter and in his final letter to Basel (dated 6 July 1600), Ambrosius expressed his concern – in addition to all his other ordeals – that an epidemic of plague was ravaging Silesia, Poland and the nearby Hungarian countryside.233 By that time he had only a few months left.

Notes 1 ‘ut jam taceam de coviciatrice epistola typis adversum me edita, quae ut in multos hic et alibi spargentur.’ Antithesis, IV.

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2 Newe Zeitung. Bártfa, 1586. RMNy I. 573. 3 This terminology comes from Pettegree’s Reformation; see his chapter ‘Pamphlets and Persuasion’, 156–84. 4 Polemics were common in Szepes County and the rest of Upper Hungary even before the appearance of the Formula Concordiae; Leonhard Stöckel, for instance, was forced to clarify his beliefs in public debates. 5 The relevant literature is extensive, but I should cite at least a couple of the more closely related analyses, such as Erika Rummel’s The Humanist-Scholastic Debate in the Renaissance and Reformation. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 1995; see also Schilling, ‘Confessionalization’, 21–36. 6 Kristeller made this assertion in a description of the debates between representatives of humanism and scholasticism: ‘Such controversies, interesting as they are, were mere episodes in a long period of peaceful coexistence between humanism and scholasticism. Actually, the humanists quarreled as much among each other as they did with the scholastics’; see ‘Humanism and Scholasticism in the Italian Renaissance’, in Harold Bloom, ed., The Italian Renaissance. New York: Chelsea House Books, 2004, 132. 7 Ferenc Szakály, Virágkor és hanyatlás, 1440–1711 (Golden Age and Decline, 1440–1711). Budapest: Háttér Könyvkiadó, 1990, 160. 8 This exclamation appears in Montaigne’s Apology for Raimond Sebond; see Essais, vol. 2, chapter 12. 9 Péter, ‘A reformáció’, 535. 10 The doctrine of ubiquitas, according to which Christ was omnipresent, was a central tenet of the orthodox Lutheran faith. 11 Antithesis, 14. 12 Ibid., 19. 13 Antithesis, 21; Grynaeus I. 14 The resulting volume was the stout, 492-page Antithesis ubiquitatis. 15 Grynaeus I. 16 Ráth’s version of the story (1894) suggests that Ambrosius was coerced into participating in these debates. 17 See the foreword to his Sendbrief. The situation involving Pilcius (described in Chapter 2 above) is another example of the spreading of gossip. 18 For more on the notion of structural change, see Jürgen Habermas’ classic (though often disputed) The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere. An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1989. For a discussion of certain aspects of the early modern public discourse see Sándor Bene, ‘Az »Erény Múzeuma«. Az irodalmi és politikai nyilvánosság humanista modellje’ (The ‘Museum of Virtue’. The Humanist Model of Literary and Political Publicity) Beszélő 4 (1999, 7–8): 166–81. 19 See the introduction of Jill Raitt’s The Colloquy of Montbéliard. Religion and Politics in the Sixteenth Century. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. 20 Péter Ötvös based this assumption on the fact that Thököly was trying to establish control over the city at that time. 21 Szabó, Grynaeus, 74. Izsák Fegyverneki wrote this assessment in a letter to Grynaeus. 22 ‘At that time, Thoraconymus took a small step which divided the Melanchthonians and Calvinists, first becoming an assistant teacher, and later the headmaster, of the Reformed gymnasium in nearby Sárospatak’, Szabó, Respublica Litteraria, 103. 23 ‘Cum Matthia Cabbatheo, qui se Thoraconymum scribebat Rectore Kesmarkiensi, viro graecarum litterarum peritissimo de Sacra Domini caena praesentibus aliquot piis et eruditis viris a 1585 d. 10 Julii in aula sua disputavit’;

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26 27 28 29 30

31

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35 36 37

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from page XVI of a copy of Gergely Horváth’s Stammbuch, annotated by Jenő Ábel, from the Horváth-Stansith family archive in Nagyőr (Strážky, Slovakia), MTAK MS 335–12. Responsionis Gregorii Horwath pars altera… Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1593. RMK II. 234; RMNy 711. ‘In eadem materiae [again, the Lord’s Supper] cum Pilcio Varaliensi homine Calvinissimi suspecto anno 1590. d. 1 September in arenam descendit Ad colloquium de religionis articulis cum Ecclesiarum Hungaricarum ministris qui ad Tybricum vivunt habendum a quodam primario viro invitatu fuerat’. Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 192. Warnung vor der Sacramentierer, Zinglianer vnd Caluinisten Lehre, auch gewisse Merckzeichen, wobey solche verfürische Geister zu erkennen, Georgen Creutzers Keißmarckers Predigers zu Neerer. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1586. RMNy 574. 1 Cor. 15:33. The following verse continues the thought: ‘Awake to righteousness and sin not; for some have not the knowledge of God: I speak this to your shame’. Creutzer chose an appropriate citation from the book of Psalms for the title page of his Sendbrief: ‘Let the lying lips be put to silence; which speak grievous things proudly and contemptuously against the righteous’ (Ps. 31:18). See ‘Oral Culture and the Diffusion of Reformation Ideas’, in Robert W Scribner, ed., For the Sake of the Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994; József Balogh, ‘»Voces Paginarum«. Adalékok a hangos olvasás és írás kérdéséhez’ (‘Voces Paginarum’. Contributions to the Discussion of Reading Aloud and Writing), Replika 31–2 (Sept. 1998): 227–55. Unfortunately, we have no visual record of life in Szepes County in the late 16th century; German-style woodcuts would be of great help in understanding these public settings and the debates that followed the publication of these sorts of documents. Similar situations crop up in histories of the German Reformation; see Scribner’s book on Popular Culture; see also David W Sabean, Power in the Blood. Popular Culture and Village Discourse in Early Modern Germany. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984; Norbert Schindler, Widerspenstige Leute. Studien zur Volkskultur in der frühen Neuzeit. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 1992. Márk Horváth, the Captain General of Sziget, achieved nationwide fame in the summer of 1556 when his heavily outnumbered troops defeated the forces of the Pasha of Buda, who had laid siege to his castle, and Emperor Ferdinand I granted Horváth the title of baron afterwards; see Wagner, Analecta I. 176, 182–3. Samuel Weber, Grádeczi Stansith Horváth Gergely és családja. Történelmi korrajz kivált a XVI. század második felében (Gergely Stansith Horváth de Grádecz and His Family. A Historical Sketch of the Latter Half of the Sixteenth Century). Késmárk, 1896, 30. Weber, Grádeczi Stansith Horváth, 121. In accordance with this will, a royal order of 14 September 1561 declared the Catholic György Draskovich and the Lutherans Ferenc Semsey (Sennyei) and Tamás Therjék to be Gergely’s guardians. Wagner, Analecta I, 182–3. László Szelestey, ‘Adalék a csepregi iskola és a nyugat-dunántúli protestantizmus történetéhez’ (A Contribution to the History of the Csepreg School and of Western Transdanubian Protestantism), in Tanulmányok a lutheri reformáció történetéből. Budapest, 1984, 240–7. ‘Georgio Horvath aliter Gradecz fuerunt mandati Padua de Vienna Aprilis 8. 1574 a domino Francisco Sennyei 200 ducati aurei Hungarici’. Endre Veress,

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Controversy and the art of persuasion A paduai egyetem magyarországi anyakönyve és iratai (1264–1864) (The Register and Documents of the Hungarians at the University of Padua, 1264– 1864). Budapest, 1915, 83. I will discuss Hugo Blotius’ activities and correspondence with Ambrosius in the following chapter. ‘Studiorum suorum literariorum continuandorum causa Italiam reverti volens’. Cited in Béla Iványi, ‘A Grádeczi Horváth-Stansith család történetéhez’ (On the History of the Horváth-Stansith Family of Grádecz), KSzM (1918): 117. In a volume published on the occasion of Gergely Horváth’s death, an elegy by his contemporary Paulus Malus immortalised Horváth’s peregrination, including his visits to Sturm, de Bèze and Danaeus; see Duae orationes funebres. Item lachrimae gymnasii Neerensis super praematuro obitu … Gergorij Horwath Stansith ac Euphrosynae de Sember. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1597, RMK II. 266, RMNy 789. I have used two versions of his album in the course of this reconstruction: the first being the manuscript copy made by Jenő Ábel, who wrote: ‘An exquisite Stammbuch, sturdy leather binding with clasps, with quite beautiful paintings depicting Christ’s agonies. The first few pages [feature] biographical [and family] records from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. These I find interesting’. The entries Horváth logged in the course of his journeys – assuming we accept that Ábel’s copy was a faithful reproduction – are not precisely chronological. Certain insertions were made at considerably later dates and in others’ handwriting. The second copy was made by Béla Iványi, who took down names, years, and most of the entries that appeared in Horváth’s Stammbuch. ‘17 aprilis 1575 Donavit me hoc libro spetis et Mag. D. Fran. de Nadasd Comes Comitatus Castriferr. cum se praepararet ad nuptias suas celebrandas in oppido Varano quae futurae’. Sturm was responsible for two entries in Horváth’s album, dated 4 September 1576 and 14 January 1577; on the latter occasion, Theophilus Golius and Paulus Hochfelder also inscribed their names. Wolfgangus Pachelbel also signed in 1576; Guilelmus Robertus and Joannes Comes did so in August 1578. Grynaeus, whose inscription read ‘S. Theologiae in Academia Basiliensi Professor publicus 1578’, also inserted a citation from the First Letter of the Apostle Peter: ‘Finally, be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another, love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous’ (1. Pet. 3:8). On 22 December 1578, Pastor Simon Sulcerus wrote out a passage from the Gospel of John: ‘If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free’ (John 8:31–32). In addition to medicine, Zwinger also taught Greek and ethics at the university. He was known for his encyclopaedic work Theatrum Vitae Humanae and his discussion of the art of travel, Methodus apodemica. The inscriptions: Rudolphus Gualtherus signed in Zürich on 24 January 1579; Joannes Fedmiger and Abrahamus Musculus in Bern on 2 February; and Johannes Bos., A Sadael, and Chand. Alberius in Lausanne on 5 February. Entries there were signed by ‘Alfonsus Martinus de Richalde Hispanus’ and ‘Jac. Loxius in Lutetiae Paris’. The preceding entries include an inscription from Michael Beutherus Carolopolites dated 6 September 1579, and one written by Johannes Pappus on 3 February 1580. Sidney was the brother of the famous poet Philip. Inscriptions in Geneva: Dionisius Gothofredus signed on 2 August 1580; Simon Goulart Sylwanectinus on 23 August; and Joannes Franciscus Bernardus on 24 August. The preceding entry was signed by Julius Pacius on 10 September 1580 in Vienna, though this would appear to be a major detour.

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52 Joan. Thomas Frejius signed on 9 October 1580, Abraham Rorer on 11 October and Bartholomaeus Rosinus on 12 October. 53 The lawyer Christophorus Herdissiamis, a member of the Nuremberg city council, also signed while Horváth was there. 54 A certain Georgius Susilius signed the Stammbuch in Prague. 55 Rueber gave Horváth a copy of the Book of Concord, which – as we have seen – he then regifted to the pastor of Szepeskereszt; Horváth’s album makes it fairly clear that he already had his own copy. 56 Boldizsár Batthyány’s letter of 3 October 1582, written from Szalónak and addressed to Gergely Horváth Stansith de Grádecz; cited in Béla Iványi, ‘Könyvek, könyvtárak, könyvnyomdák Magyarországon 1331–1663’ (Books, Libraries, and Printing Presses in Hungary, 1331–1663), 85. 57 Most scholars have focused on his commercial activities and the political aspects of his career; see Lajos Gecsényi’s ‘Egy nagyszombati kereskedő és hódoltsági faktorai. Thököly Sebestyén felemelkedésének hátteréhez’ (A Merchant from Nagyszombat and his ‘Factors’ during the Ottoman Occupation. The Context of the Rise of Sebestyén Thököly), in his doctoral dissertation, Fejezetek Magyarország kereskedelmi kapcsolatainak történetéről a XVI–XVII. században. Budapest, 1992; Szakály, Mezőváros és reformáció, 417–19; Zsuzsanna J Újváry, ‘A ponyvásszekértől a közjó szolgálatáig. Thököly Sebestyén pályafutása’ (From a Covered Wagon to the Service of the Common Good. Sebestyén Thököly’s Career), HK 105 (1992): 75–93; Vera Zimányi, ‘Adalékok Thököly Sebestyén és partnerei kereskedelmi tevékenységének történetéhez’ (A Contribution to the History of the Commercial Activities of Sebestyén Thököly and his Partners) TSz 27 (1984): 61–6. 58 Cited in Károlyi, ‘Thököly Sebestyén,’ I: 76. 59 Győző Bruckner provided an itemised list of these weapons in his ‘Késmárk és a Thököly-család’ (Késmárk and the Thököly Family) KSzM (1909): 15. It should be noted as background to these events that the marksmen’s society of Késmárk dated back to the 15th century, and that notable citizens attended its gatherings with unwavering enthusiasm. Events organised by the city’s guilds (banquets and unveilings, for instance) were often followed by target-shooting contests known as Freyschiessen. The winner of these two-day competitions was crowned the ‘shooting king’ (Schützenkönig) and enjoyed certain special privileges during his ‘reign’; see Bruckner, A késmárki céhek, 181. 60 Károlyi described Thököly’s mercilessness in particularly harsh terms, and a number of more recent studies have reproduced this sort of language; see Újváry, ‘A ponyvásszekértől’, 75–93; Győző Bruckner’s study was considerably more nuanced, though he also wrote that Thököly ‘was regarded as a hated tyrant, but he was merely heavy-handed’; see Bruckner, ‘Késmárk és a Thököly-család’, 14. 61 See Wagner, Analecta II, 297–304. 62 Wagner, Analecta II, 304–7. 63 Ambrosius detailed some of Zsuzsanna Dóczy’s charitable work in the eulogy he delivered at her funeral; see his Oratio funebris, RMK III. 944. 64 Bruckner, ‘Késmárk és a Thököly-család’, 16. 65 See the sections dated 1582–93 in the Recordanzbuch oder Wyssbuch an der Stadt Keysmark, as well as the entries dated 1579–87 in the Ausgabenbuch der Stadt Kesmark. 66 Thoraconymus, Strenae examinatoribus propositionum de coena Domini…, ii. 67 For a loan transaction involving Thököly and Horváth, see Protocollum Comitati Sepusiensi, vol. 5 (1574–90), in the Archives of the City of Lőcse (Levoča), fol. 177–9; see also Magistrat Mesta Kežmarok, PAP. 154, No. 8. Fasc. XXII. (1585). 68 The complete title of Horváth’s version of this text was On the Presence of the Bodie and Bloode of Christ in the Lords Supper, and the Bodily Consumption

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Controversy and the art of persuasion of Them By the Mouthes of Them Who Come Vnto Him, From the Three Evangelists and From St. Paul, compiled by Dr. Márton Chemnitz and translated according to the Hungarian Language by Gergely Stansit Horvat. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1587, RMK I. 219.d; RMNy 591. This book was a partial translation of Martin Chemnitz’s 1561 Repetitio sanae doctrinae de vera praesentia…; Chemnitz was one of the authors of the Formula Concordiae. Meditationes piae, vario metri genere ex Evangelijs concinuate. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1583, RMK II. 171; RMNy 521. Epigramma έπιτάφιον. Epitaphia clarissimi viri ac doctissimi viri, Domini M. Petri Codicillii a Tulechova… Prága, 1589. A majority of the authors of these elegies also evoked Melanchthon’s memory in their verses. Manuscript Archives, OSzK, Latin Folios, section 2078. Ibid: ‘ut ea non opponatur Corpori doctrinae, et aliis scriptis Philippi ac Lutheri dextra, iuxta normam in verbo Dei monstratam acceptis’. László Babura, ‘Adatok Hetessi Pethő Márton kalocsai érsek, szepesi prépost (1587–1605) életéhez’ (Notes on the Life of Márton Hetessi Pethő, Archbishop of Kalocsa and Provost of Szepes County (1587–1605)), Szepesmegyei Történelmi Társulat Évkönyve 3 (1887): 84–96. This warning was thus addressed to the elders of the Five Free Royal Cities and the 24 parishes of Szepes County; see Egyháztörténeti Emlékek (Memories of Ecclesiastical History) II, 451; Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 187–8. See, for example, the chapter ‘Dynamics of Party Conflict in the Saxon Late Reformation, Gnesio-Lutherans vs. Philippists’ in Robert Kolb’s Luther’s Heirs Defne His Legacy. Aldershot: Variorum, 1996, 1–17. Corpus Reformatorum, Philippi Melanchthonis Opera, vol. IX. Edited by G. Bretschneider. Halle, 1842, 784. From the Manuscript Archive of the Library of the University of Wrocław, R248 microfilm, 325r–326r. A recent account of Johannes Crato and the Philippist humanists of Silesia, which focuses on their role as intermediaries within the network of European Crypto-Calvinists, is Howard Louthan’s The Quest for Compromise. Peacemakers in Counter-Reformation Vienna. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997, 85–105. Responsionis Gregorii Horwath aliter Stansith de Gradecz, Pars Prima… Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1592, RMK II. 226; RMNy 677. At that time, the orthodox Lutheran printer in Bártfa had no significant domestic competitors with whom the Philippists could consistently publish their writings. As was his custom, Horváth noted this work’s date of completion (10 December 1591) in a closing remark entitled Conclusio totius scripti. ‘Gregorio Horuath omnia loca pagi Neerensis subiecta sunt. Ergo Gregorius Horvath substantia corporis sui non est in uno loco pagi Neerensis, sed ubiq. seu in omnibus pagi Neerensis locis’. Antithesis, 417. Luther’s Hungarian opponents, for instance, called him Márton Lator, ‘Martin the Rogue’. Tamás Balásfy dedicated an entire book to these sorts of contemptuous puns; see his Echo Christiana, Pozsony, 1616. See the chapter ‘Of the Lame’, in Natalie Zemon Davis’ The Return of Martin Guerre. Cambridge, MA: Harvard U. Press. 1983, 114–22; see also Montaigne’s aforementioned ‘Of Cripples’. Grynaeus I: ‘Sebastianus Ambrosius Pastor Ecclesiae Keismarcensis: quem adversarii repetito inde a defectu avi paterni, qui altero pede claudus fuit, convicio, Claudum frequenter vocant: Deus ut hactenus, ita deinceps tam animi (quorum calceos Apostolus describit) quam corporis pedibus sanum conservet’. Carmina gratulatoria. De Felici In Scepusium adventu Egregiis Verae Nobilitatis Ornamentis Clarissimi, bonomque omnium amore dignissimi viri D. Jacobi

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Monavii, Patricii Vratsilaviensis ets. Scripta Ab Aliquot Amicis: et ijsdem procurantibus edita. Anno 1591 Mense Octobri Gorlicii Imprimebat Ambrosius Fritsch. (quarto, 18) RMK III. 813. The other writers whose work appeared in the Carmina gratulatoria were Caspar Frank, Johann Kraus, Mathias Bobrowiczi, Zsigmond and Pál Máriássy, Gregorius Tribelius, Johann Grundel, Adam Huterinus, János Jancsi, Caspar Pilcius, Valentinus Hortensius, Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, Serafin Gasconovicius, Johann Rodolphus, Johann Erythraeus, Andreas Ragecenus, Thomas Agricola, Martin Theretrius, Johann Mylius, Michael Marth, János Frölich, Jacob Moller, Michael Clementides, Adam Kunisch, Leonhard Nicasius and Martin Duvorsky. We have no information about his earlier correspondence. Among earlier students of Ambrosius’ era, only György Ráth and Jenő Zoványi took note of the fact that Ambrosius began corresponding with de Bèze in 1591, though this observation also appeared in András Szabó’s 1989 volume on Grynaeus. Previously Endre Veress, for example, added to researchers’ understanding of Ambrosius’ life by describing his correspondence with Hugo Blotius. This latter relationship was also mentioned by Robert J. W. Evans in The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy 1550–1700. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991, 23. Horváth may have been aware of Ambrosius’ programme of correspondence, given that he referred to the Antithesis as a ‘baby’ delivered by German theologians, but we have no evidence that Horváth personally corresponded with any foreign scholars. Grynaeus I. This reference demonstrates that Ambrosius had been friends with Monavius at least as far back as the late 1580s, and that Grynaeus considered the work of his Central European ‘soul brother’ important enough to want to familiarise his congregation with it. Though this piece does not seem to have survived, it is yet another indicator of the formal diversity of Ambrosius’ output. ‘necessitatem mihi impositam esse defendendi veritatem contra adversarii calumnias’. ‘accedente virorum pietate et judicii dexteritate praestantium censura typis fortasse edetur’. ‘Hic, quid faciendum sit, quaeritur, equidem sicut certamen non expecto’. ‘Magistratus meus tam politicus quam Ecclesiasticus consenserit, non defugiam, exitum veritatis autori et defensori Deo permissurus’. As Dávid Frölich later described this area in a well-known work of natural history, ‘The steepest and highest of the ridges which stretch above the clouds along the border in Szepes County are named for my fervently cherished hometown of Caesaropolis, generally known as Késmárk, though as these “Késmárk Mountains” (Kesmarcken Gebürg) are covered by a perpetual blanket of snow, they are also known as the “Snowy Mountains” (Schnee-Gebürg). The Slavs use the designation “Tatri” or “Tarczal,” meaning “bald” or “barren” mountains. The peak which points in the direction of Liptó County is called “Kriván” by the locals, meaning “ox horn.” In their wildness and steepness, these towers of stone far surpass the Italian, Swiss, and Tyrolean Alps’. See Medulla Geographiae practicae. Bártfa, 1639, 339–40. ‘aut enim ego Antagonistae mei verborum sensum non satis assequor’. This text was almost certainly Pilcius’ Brevis et perspicua responsio. Stücki I; this letter is dated ‘St. James’ Day’, without a month or precise date. Stücki I; the Reformed theologian Ludovicus Lavater was born in Zürich, 1527, and died there in 1586. References to Gepid ancestors were typical of the antiquarian humanists of the area; as I have noted, Dávid Frölich referred to himself as a mathematician from the ‘Gepid Carpathians’ in his 1639 Medulla.

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101 ‘multis gravissimis viris videtur, satis plené accepisset’. Once again, this remark does not specify who saw these writings or which writings they saw. 102 ‘cujus editionem indesidentes Antagonistae mei provocationes mihi’. None of Stücki’s responses appear to have survived. Ambrosius’ aforementioned letter to Heinrich Wolf was also written in 1591. 103 The details of Ambrosius’ first letter to de Bèze are unknown, and while some of the letters he wrote to other friends and acquaintances – whether in Wittenberg, Heidelberg, Silesia or Kraków – may have survived in certain European archives, it has not been possible to examine them. For now, their existence is confirmed only by references to them in letters which are known to have survived. 104 The first letter which I can confirm that the Viennese librarian sent to Késmárk was dated 13 March 1592, and deals with a completely different set of subjects. 105 Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MSS 9690 and MSS 9708. 106 For more on such introductions, see Saskia Stegeman, ‘How to Set up a Scholarly Correspondence. Theodorus Janssonius Van Almeloveen (1657–1712) Aspires to Membership of the Republic of Letters’, LIAS 20 (1993): 227–43; Françoise Waquet, ‘Qu’est-ce que la République des Lettres?: Essai de sémantique historique’, Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartres 147 (1989): 473–502. In addition to the practical elements of these introductions (a general familiarity with conventional scholarship, praise of the intellectual achievements of the recipient of the letter, an emphasis on mutual acquaintances), it was also very important to stress a certain set of words in every letter. The terms humanitas, clementia, eruditio and benevolentia were crucial to the humanist vocabulary and almost indispensable elements of such epistles. For more on this subject, see Marta Fattori, ed., Il vocabolario della République des Lettres. Terminologia flosofca e storia della flosofa. Problemi di metodo (Firenze: Olschki, 1997); these lexical analyses cover a timeframe stretching from the 14th to the 18th century. 107 A copy is housed in the Manuscript Archives, OSzK Ant. 13.438; RMK III. 853b. 108 For a detailed discussion of such references, see Carol A. Staswick, Joachim Camerarius and the Republic of Letters in the Age of the Reformation. Ph.D. dissertation, Berkeley, 1992. 109 The contents of Ambrosius’ first letter to de Bèze are unknown, though the latter’s responses, along with the fact that Monavius had been corresponding with the Genevan theologian for quite some time, allow us to draw the conclusion that Monavius helped establish the connection between Ambrosius and de Bèze. For a discussion of the letters Monavius and de Bèze exchanged, see Theodor Wotschke, ‘Aus Jakob Monavius Briefwechsel mit Béza’, Correspondenzblatt des Vereins für Geschichte der evangelischen Kirche Schlesien 16 (1919): 314–48. 110 Important accounts of the compositional traditions, models and schools of thought that characterised the correspondence of the 16th and 17th centuries include Judith Henderson, ‘Erasmian Ciceronians: Reformation Teachers of Letter-Writing’, Rhetorica X, no. 3 (Summer 1992): 273–302; Hans Bots and Françoise Waquet, La République des Lettres. Belin and De Boeck, 1997. 111 Ambrosius, for instance, took Grynaeus’ letter with him to Brieg and Breslau to show it to Monavius and his friends. For more on this practice, see Willem Frijhoff, ‘La circulation des hommes de savoir: pôles, institutions, flux, volumes’, in Hans Bots and Françoise Waquet, eds., Commercium litterarium, 1600–1750. La communication dans les République des Lettres. Amsterdam: APA and Holland University Press, 1994, 229–61. 112 Justus Lipsius’ and Joachim Camerarius’ centuriae are shining examples of this tradition, as is the 1592 publication of the correspondence between Lipsius and Jacob Monavius.

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113 Grynaeus LX. 114 Matthias Thoraconymus, Epistolae, declamationes et poemata. Oct. Lat. 149. 115 Though Thoraconymus rarely passed up an opportunity to exchange letters, his known correspondence lacks the volubility and courteous flattery of Ambrosius’ writing. 116 Among other sources, see Paul-Frédéric Geisendorf’s classic biography Théodore de Bèze. Genève: Droz, 1967. 117 For more on Blotius, see Leendert Brummel, Twee ballingen’s lands tijdens onze opstand tegen Spanje. Den Haag, 1972; for a more recent account, see Louthan’s The Quest for Compromise, 53–84. 118 I should emphasise that Ambrosius’ new-found friends had a significant number of Hungarian and Central European connections. Grynaeus had already corresponded with the Moravian baron Karol Žerotín the Elder, and the volume Johann Jacob Grynaeus magyar kapcsolatai discusses 17 other Hungarians with whom he exchanged letters. As early as the 1560s, de Bèze had been corresponding with figures like Péter Melius; before accepting his position in Vienna, Blotius had tutored the son of the Hungarian bishop János Liszthy, and kept in touch with Zsámboky, the clergyman András Dudith, Martin Kessler and the botanist and doctor Georg Purkircher of Pozsony. 119 Several such collections have been published in recent decades, starting with Correspondance de Théodore de Bèze, edited by Alain Dufour and Béatrice Nicollier. Genève: Librairie Droz, 1960. 120 Österreichische Nationalbibliothek 9737z17. 121 The Archives of the Wrocław University Library, Akc. 1949/708. 122 This sort of central role had previously been played by figures like Bishop Johannes Dantiscus of Chełmno, who wrote more than 7000 letters between 1500 and 1548, and Andreas Dudith in Breslau. 123 See Régi magyar levelestár I (Old Hungarian Correspondence), 269. For more on Rimay’s letter to Lipsius, see Mout, ‘Die politische Theorie’, 256. 124 Staswick dedicated an entire chapter to the ‘politics of praise’ in his Joachim Camerarius, 115–71. 125 As Notker Hammerstein put it: ‘The Respublica Litteraria was – as Erasmus had called it – rather a Christian than confessionally determined intellectual society; and they could foster a society based on companionship in which social class distinctions were absorbed or disappeared altogether’; see A History of the University in Europe, vol. II, 121. See also Marc Fumaroli’s ‘La République de Lettres redécouverte’, Il vocabolario, 41–56. 126 Anne Goldgar, Impolite Learning: Conduct and Community in the Republic of Letters, 1680–1750. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995, 12–43; for a more general account, see ‘Les citoyens de la République des Lettres’, in Bots and Waquet, eds., La République des Lettres, 91–115. 127 Dena Goodman, The Republic of Letters: A Cultural History of the French Enlightenment. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994, 34–52. 128 The Dutch researcher Dirk van Miert has recently produced a chronological survey of the history of the Respublica, which even in the 16th century was based on the fundamental values of openness, moderation, perseverance, diligence and forgiveness; see his ‘What was the Republic of Letters? A brief introduction to a long history (1417–2008)’, Groniek 2014/2015, 269–87. 129 ‘Accedit et illud, quod non saltem de laboribus meis benigne judicas, sed etiam pro viribus in id incumbis, ut commodis et aequis rationibus inter Antagonistam meum et me pacem facias’. 130 On the second page of this volume, Ambrosius included a passage from the Apostle Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians: ‘Now as touching things offered

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Controversy and the art of persuasion unto idols, we know that we all have knowledge. Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth. And if any man think that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know. But if any man love God, the same is known of him’ (1 Cor. 8:1–3). ‘me Calvinistam et scripti mei titulum Calvinianum vocat’; Defensio, 7. At the beginning of the Defensio, Ambrosius referred to Horváth as Generosus Dominus Antagonista meus (‘My Magnanimous Lord Antagonist’), a characteristic mixture of diplomacy and provocation. Defensio, 8. Defensio, 16. ‘Tomorrow is a feast to the Lord’; Ex. 32:5. In this 136-page disquisition, Ambrosius once again assembled a rich bibliography of references to support his argumentation, including citations from the works of Origen, Eusebius of Caesarea, Gregory of Nazianzus and Jacob Heerbrand’s Compendium of Tübingen theologians; he also made reference to the Colloquium maulbrunnense, the disputations of Ferenc Dávid and Giorgio Biandrata, and Péter Károlyi’s criticism of the teachings of the Arians (alongside, of course, numerous passages from the Bible and the writings of Luther, Melanchthon, Chemnitz and Andreae). Defensio, 118–19. Here Ambrosius addressed Horváth using familiar pronouns: ‘te qui pro Argentoratensis Academiae, in qua talia non traduntur, discipulo haberi vis, qui tam propolitioris literaturae, quam Theologiae scholastico Doctore te geris, qui Ciceronem, Plautum, Terentium Caesarem et id genus alios primae notae autores saepe in ore habes, ferenda non sunt’; Defensio, 121. Defensio, 129. Defensio, 134. Admonitio, qua Gregorius Horwath aliter Stansith Sebastian Lam Calvinistam Keismarcensem captum ac irretitum ex propria illius confessione breviter ostendit. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1593, RMK II. 235, RMNy 710. Responsionis Gregorii Horwath aliter Stansith de Gradecz, Pars Altera… Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1593, RMK II. 234; RMNy 711. Of course, de Bèze’s name does not appear anywhere in the Defensio; Ambrosius could not allow himself to make this sort of mistake. The first of the three volumes of the collection entitled Tractationes theologicae had appeared in 1570, but these books were still in print two decades later. Most of the documents published in the Tractationes were related to de Bèze’s religious debates; for a detailed description of their contents, see F Gardy and A Dufour, eds., Bibliographie des oeuvres théologiques, littéraires, historiques et juridiques de Théodore de Bèze. Genève: L. Droz, 1960, 144–6. Grynaeus VIII. Grynaeus VI. This is at least part of the reason that his 1592 Defensio was printed in Vizsoly. Meanwhile, Ambrosius’ other correspondent in Zürich, Heinrich Wolf, passed away, and as I have noted, Hugo Blotius’ letters did not address Ambrosius’ confessional dispute. János Pilcius attested to this conversion in 1616 when he published a text entitled Topscha (prepared by Caspar Pilcius), an account of the devastation of the settlement of Dobsina (now Dobšiná, Slovakia). Wittenberg, 1616, 1671, RMK III. 2579. This declaration of conversion was distributed in several forms. Its original Latin version, published by János Breznyik, was kept in the Selmecbánya Archives, which presumably served as its initial point of distribution. Pastor Michael Gotthard of Igló published a German translation in 1795; György

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Ráth issued a Hungarian translation in 1893, which was then adopted by József Hradszky in 1896. Győző Bruckner scrutinised the details of this document in his 1922 monograph; Jenő Zoványi discussed it in his ecclesiastical history, and declared that ‘this entire document is nothing more than a partly satirical, frantic outburst against the Helvetic school of thought, an adherent of which its author hid behind and tried to pillory’. See Breznyik, A selmecbányai…, 262–6; Ráth, ‘Pilcz Gáspár’, 65–8; Hradszky, A XXIV. Királyi plébános, 181–91; Bruckner, A reformáció, 137–8; Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 199. In the summer of 1593, the Gutgesell Press in Bártfa published Sculteti’s book Erotemata de communicatione idiomatum, which the author dedicated to Ferenc Nádasdy. Written in a question-and-answer format, this volume naturally focused on the Book of Concord as the region’s obligatory confession of faith; its language served as a kind of prelude to the subsequent synod in Eperjes. See the Acta synodi Epperiensis in Hungaria, quinto et sexto die octobris anni 1593. celebratae in the Manuscript Archives, OSzK Latin Quartos, section 1196. Not only did Szepes County lack a provost, the archiepiscopal see of Esztergom went unoccupied for three years as well, nor was there anyone at the imperial court of Rudolf II responsible for the supervision of the people of Szepes County. Affairs there were thus handled by the vicar of the cathedral chapter and the notary public until Hetessi Pethő took over as provost on 13 August 1587, which office he occupied until his death in 1605. See, for example, Pirhalla, A szepesi prépostság, 298. Being a vice-count (vicecomes) meant a number of tasks such as the secular control over implementing (royal) legislation, internal administration, taxation, defence, the election of officers and authority over law enforcement too. Pirhalla, A szepesi prépostság, 312. Earlier generations of scholars believed that Thököly earned his baronial title for the valour he demonstrated in the struggle against the Turks, though Lajos Gecsényi proved that he was in fact rewarded for his activities a lender; see ‘Egy nagyszombati kereskedő’. With regard to Thököly’s other ‘struggles’, the Laski family withdrew from Szepes County around 1588, at which point they were forced to sell the last of their castles, and Thököly was able to acquire the rest of Késmárk and Savnik from Hans Rueber’s heirs, primarily his widow. ‘In 1593, for the first time since Mohács [1526], Hungarian royal troops and foreign units consisting of the sons of various nations assembled into armies, dispensed with the practice of defensive battles which was then more than half a century old, and launched an offensive against the Turks’. See Ágnes R Várkonyi, ed., Magyarország története 1526–1686 [The History of Hungary, 1526–1686]. 3/1. Budapest: Akadémiai, 1985, 656. Modesta et Christiana disceptatio de questione an imagines in templis Christianorum. Vizsoly, 1594, RMK II. 252.a, RMNy 756. Ambrosius’ only piece of writing which we know to have remained in manuscript form was his Ad duo scripta contraria de questione an imagines in templo Christianorum, which addressed this same subject; see the Manuscript Archives OSzK Latin Octavos, section 531. Letter from Geneva dated August 28, 1593. Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Paris, Epistolae Haereticorum, Cod. 1455, fol. 98–10. Correspondence de Théodore de Bèze, vol. XI (1570), edited by Alain Dufour and Béatrice Nicollier, Genève: Librairie Droz, 1983. István Szegedi Kis, on the other hand, was able to secure de Bèze’s assistance; he wrote the foreword to the book Szegedi Kis published in 1573.

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161 For a detailed description of this journey with his young disciple, see the foreword to the Oratio funebris Ambrosius delivered on the occasion of the death of Sebestyén Thököly’s wife Zsuzsanna Dóczy. 162 Blotius XV. 163 Details of this publication are in the Bibliography. 164 Grynaeus XIII. The text of this manuscript is missing from the letter to which it was attached. However, in an earlier letter (written to Stücki in July 1595), Ambrosius used almost identical words to characterise the writings that Horváth’s men had sent to him: ‘shameless’, ‘not worth reading’. 165 Tribelius would later take over the mortgage on – and thus take possession of – the castle of Zólyomlipcse (Slovenská Ľupča, Slovakia). 166 David Pareus was a Calvinist professor at the University of Heidelberg and a supporter of Hungary’s Helvetic community. See János Heltai, ‘David Pareus magyar kapcsolatai’ (David Pareus’ Hungarian Connections), in János Herner, ed., Tudóslevelek. Művelődésünk külföldi kapcsolataihoz. Adattár XVI−XVIII, 23. Szeged, 1989. 167 Aegedius Hunnius was the orthodox Lutheran professor at the University of Wittenberg who had recommended Grawer for his position in Nagyőr. 168 Declaratio, 29. 169 ‘passim gloriatus esse adversarios meos, quod in priori illo colloquio insignem de me victoria retulerint, ideoque mea nonnihil retulisse’; Declaratio, 32. 170 ‘ille contra … de mutilita citatione verborum Iacobi Andreae’; Declaratio, 37. 171 ‘ego vero respondi, non esse me vocatum ad disputandum in Schola Neerensi sed ad docendum verbum Dei in Ecclesia Keismarcensi’; Declaratio, 38. 172 ‘cum Horvvathius neque Episcopus, neque Magistratus hius loci sit esse ipsum Tyropolis, alienas Ecclesiam, in quas nihil omnino juris habeat turbantem’; Declaratio, 40. 173 ‘nominatim exemplis patris sui contra Turcas pugnet, nos vera nostra agere permittat, neuqe rixis suis exertia piarum precum in communi istuc periculo, quod nobis a Turcica tyrannidae imminet, impediat’; Declaratio, 43. 174 Declaratio, 44. 175 ‘Turpissima et per totum corpus dilatata scabie infectum … ne indusium quidem commode et sine magno dolore … sustinere queat’. 176 For a collection of famous debates, see Donald J Ziegler, ed., Great Debates of the Reformation. New York: Random House, 1969. 177 Disputation survived as a subject of instruction at universities; after a certain pause, the rules Melanchthon wrote for these exchanges in 1533 were put back into use at Wittenberg. Luther’s famous 95 theses – entitled Disputatio pro declaratione virtutis indulgentiarum, which he posted on 31 October 1517 – were written in the form of propositions for disputation, though scholars of the subject have never clarified whether they were actually debated at the university. For Vinzenz Pfnür’s summary of the themes and content typical of colloquia and Bernd Moeller’s description of disputations, see The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Reformation, vol. I, edited by Hans Hillebrand. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996, 375–83 and 487–90. 178 Here I should mention Bjørn Ole Hovda’s recent study of a similar set of confessional debates on the subject of the Eucharist, in which book he discusses the argumentation, communicative strategies and pre-determined positions of various factions and urban communities; see The Controversy over the Lord’s Supper in Danzig 1561–1567. Presence and Practice – Theology and Confessional Policy. Göttingen: Vanderhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018. 179 Argumenta de persona Christi… Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1596, RMK II. 258. Grawer dedicated this work to his teacher, Aegidius Hunnius.

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180 Stücki IV. The letter he wrote to Blotius on 14 February does not say a word about the Késmárk Colloquia. 181 Stücki V. 182 Kurtze aber doch gründliche Entdeckung und Widerlegung etlicher grewlichen Calvinischen Irthumben, so Sebastianus Lam Calvinist im Kessmarck von dem Abendmal des Herren Christi in seinen Lateinischen Büchern aussgesprenget und zum erteidigen sich noch heutiges tages unterstehet. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1596, RMK II. 259. 183 Grynaeus XIV and XV. 184 Letter written in Basel, dated 26 April 1596. Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Epistolae Haereticorum, Cod. 1455. Fol. 418–21. 185 Ambrosius was clearly familiar with the details of Horváth’s scholarly peregrination and Blotius’ personal history. Blotius XVII. 186 Posthumus Magn. D. Gregorii Horwath … hoc est responsionis Pars Tertia Reliquum quod adhuc in Sebastiani Lam Calvinistae Keismarcensis Antithesi expendendum erat, discutiens … Opera et studio m. N. Erhardi Dalhelmij Palat. Rectoris gymnasij Neerensis. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1597, RMK II. 267; RMNy 791. 187 Ambrosius’ letter to Imre Forgách, written in Késmárk, dated 17 September 1597: ‘tamen alias mortui non dicantur mordere’. 188 See the preface to the Declaratio: ‘It would not have been appropriate to release my description of these colloquia to the broader public as long as the person most interested in this subject [Thököly] had yet to form a precise impression of my work’. 189 See the Oratio funebris. The siege of Győr began in September 1597. 190 Blotius VI. 191 Grynaeus XVI; Blotius XX. 192 Horváth’s wife, Eufrozina Sembery, had passed away earlier in 1596. 193 Gergely Horváth passed from among the living at nine in the evening on 4 January 1597, his death bed attended by Erhard, Albert Grawer, Paulus Malus, Paulus München and Abraham Christiani. Headmaster Erhard was true to his word; within a short time, he published the work entitled Posthumus … Gregorii Horvath … hoc est Responsionis pars tertia…, for which Horváth’s loyal friends composed epigrams. Erhard also published the eulogies he delivered at the funerals of Eufrozina Sembery and Gergely Horváth, in which he immortalised the entire life-trajectories of these two ‘noble souls’; see Duae orationes funebres. Item lachrimae gymnasii Neerensis super praematuro obitu … Gergorij Horwath Stansith ac Euphrosynae de Sember. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1597. RMK II. 266; RMNy 789. 194 By way of comparison, see Ambrosius’ commemoration of Zsuzsanna Dóczy, Pilcius’ remembrance of Anna Wolkenstein, or James Michael Weiss’ article ‘Erasmus at Luther’s Funeral: Melanchthon’s Commemorations of Luther in 1546’, Sixteenth Century Journal 16 (1985): 91–114. 195 Letter written in Nagyőr, dated 27 April 1597; in Ábel’s bequest to the Bártfa (Bardejov) Archives (MTAK). 196 For a recent account of the conditions in Sárospatak, see András Szabó, A késő humanizmus irodalma Sárospatakon (1558–1598) [The Literature of Late Humanism in Sárospatak, 1558–1598]. Nemzet, egyház, művelődés, no. 1. Debrecen, 2004. 197 This time, Grawer set out to prove that it would be more accurate to refer to Sacramentarians as Calvinists than as Christians. Bellum Ioannis Calvini et Jesu Christi Nazareni Dei et Hominis. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1597, RMK II. 268. 198 Grawer’s book ends with János Bocatius’ epigram in praise of the author; in that period, Bocatius – – seemingly without regard for confessional

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200 201 202

203 204 205

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Controversy and the art of persuasion affiliation – wrote poems for almost all the major figures of Upper Hungarian public life, including Gergely Horváth and members of Ambrosius’ circle of friends. F Csonka has produced a critical edition of ‘Ioannes’ Bocatius’ Opera quae exstant omnia. Poetica 1–2. Budapest: Akadémiai, 1990. See Manfred P Fleischer, Späthumanismus in Schlesien. Ausgewählte Aufsätze. München: Delp’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1984; Trygyve R Skarsten, ‘The Reaction in Scandinavia’, in LW Spitz and W Lohff, eds., Discord, Dialogue, and Concord: Studies in the Lutheran Reformation’s Formula of Concord. Philadelphia, 1977, 136–49. The case of the Danish Melanchthonian, Niels Hemmingsen, is particularly worthy of attention; see Ole Peter Grell, ed., The Scandinavian Reformation. From Evangelical Movement to Institutionalisation of Reform. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. See, for example, Géza Szabó, A magyar református ortodoxia. A XVII. század teológiai irodalma [Hungarian Reformed Orthodoxy. The Theological Literature of the Seventeenth Century]. Budapest: Balás, 1943, 13. Szabó, A magyar református ortodoxia, 14. I will deal with questions of tolerance and Irenicist responses to ossifying orthodoxies in the following chapter. See, for instance, Richard A Muller, God, Providence, and Creation in the Thought of Jacob Arminius. Sources and Directions of Scholastic Protestantism in the Era of Early Orthodoxy. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1991; Jill Raitt, The Eucharistic Theology of Theodore Beza. Development of the Reformed Doctrine. Chambersburg, PA: American Academy of Religion, 1972; Robert Letham, ‘Amandus Polanus: A Neglected Theologian?’ in Sixteenth Century Journal 21, no. 3 (1990): 463–76. Öt szép levél (Five Fine Letters), no. 4, question 10; from Rajmond Rapaics, ed., Pázmány Péter Összes Művei, vol. II. Pozsony, 1609, Budapest, 1895. Collectanae ad historiam ecclesiasticam Protestantium Hungariae. Manuscript Archives OSzK Latin Folios, section 2078. This session lasted from the 24 to the 26 November 1597. After Deacon Sculteti’s opening remarks, Johannes Rhau, the headmaster of Lőcse, spoke out against his colleague Pastor Anton Platner of Lőcse, accusing him of Calvinism (accusans pastorem M. Antonium Platnerum Calvinismi). He cited Platner’s earlier public opposition to the Formula Concordiae, which by 1597 was enough in invite accusations of Calvinism. Sculteti’s minutes indicate that Platner’s adversaries recalled his rejection of the Formula in 1580, when he had said that Hans Rueber ‘wanted to shove [it] down our throats’. The synod then condemned Platner’s stance, whereupon he recanted the statements he had made at the present and previous assemblies and asked that he be forgiven (se quasi excusare). Platner later acknowledged his mistake from the pulpit; he died the following year. Albert Grawer played an active role in Platner’s harsh interrogation and urged everyone present to sign the Formula; despite the growth of the local faction which supported the Book of Concord, the representatives of the ecclesiastical district did not accept Grawer’s proposal. ‘Fateor quoque ego senior, me publice, occasione mei D. soceri, Pilcium et Lamium, ut falsos profatas nominatim damnasse … praesertim Lamium, et in tantum fugiendos, ut ne salutentur’. Pirhalla discussed this episode in A szepesi prépostság, 296. This letter was written in Emden on 21 July 1597; Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Epistolae Haereticorum, Cod. 1455. fol. 494–8. Alting was a central figure in the Calvinist city known as the ‘Geneva of the North’, where he took up residence after preaching in Heidelberg. For more on the role he played, see Andrew Pettegree, Emden and the Dutch Revolt: Exile and the Development of Reformed Protestantism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992; Biografsch

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211 212 213

214 215 216 217

218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226

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Lexicon voor de Geschiedenis van het Nederlandse Protestantisme, part 2. Kampen, 1983, 26–7. As Ambrosius wrote to Imre Forgách, ‘ob nervorum contractionem colicos dolores consecutam’. See Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, Exarmatio Scuti Laniani, quod Gregorius Horvath Gladio verbi divini imagines á sincera religione resecanti, temeré opposuit. Vizsoly, 1597, RMK II. 271. The quantity of text Ambrosius was able to send to the printer was amazing: the Antithesis contained 492 pages, the Defensio 136, the Declaratio 75 and the Kurtze Wiederholung 128; if we include his letters and hymnals in this tally, we see that he had a genuinely extraordinary capacity for labour. According to its foreword, the Kurtze Wiederholung was ready to be published on 1 February 1597, as Ambrosius had prepared his response immediately upon receipt of Grawer’s work in 1596. ‘I wrote my defense, then read it aloud before my councilors’, sharing these thoughts with every interested party. Before he could send it to the printer, however, the Turks lay siege to the city of Eger (taking its castle on 12 October 1596); these sorrowful circumstances forced him to suspend the publication of his work. Even so, the ‘poisonous slanders’ with which he was attacked at his adversary’s funeral and the accusations voiced against him in the subsequently published eulogies forced Ambrosius to offer an appropriate public response. 2 Kings 2:23–24. Disputationes duae, de orali manducatione corporis Christi in coena sacra et morte D. nostri Jesu Christi. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1598, RMK II. 278. Confutatio declarationis circumstantiorum gemini colloqui in arce Keismarkiensi habiti evulgati a Sebastiano Lamio Pastore Calviniano Kesmarkiensi, et oppositae consignationi quorundam argumentorum M. Alberti Graweri de persona Christi. Bártfa: Gutgesell, 1598, RMK II. 279. Absurda, absurdorum, absurdissima Calvinistica absurda. Jenae, 1606. ‘Vix ingressus Hungariam iudici in hominem Calvinianis sordibus inquinatum, corpore et anima claudicantem, Sebastianum Lamium, qui se falso Sebastianum Ambrosium a praenomine parentis suis vocitabat’. Mt. 7:15. Likewise, ‘For I know this, that after my departing shall grievous wolves enter in among you, not sparing the flock’ (Acts 20:29). We could also cite the fable attributed to Aesop, or Gáspár Heltai’s Reformation-era parable, ‘On the Wolf and the Sheep’. In his 1545 poem On Parsimony, András Szkhárosi Horvát wrote: ‘You made lords into headless legs / And raised them up out of much devastation / You trained them all to be merciful masters / And called the merciless wolf a sheep’. In this letter, written on 9 August 1567, de Bèze issued this warning to Polish and Hungarian rulers, nobles and pastors. Péter Pázmány, Kalauz (Guide), Book III, Part III. 176. Késmárk belonged to the Diocese of Alsópoprádvölgy and to the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes. Anathematizationem illam continens excerpta est; see OSZK Fol. Lat. 2078. Ambrosius also informed Johann Wilhelm Stücki of Thököly’s intervention; see Stücki VI. See the Archives of the City of Levoče, Trieda V. Čislo 52. Archives of the City of Levoče, Trieda V. Čislo 75. Ambrosius’ condemnation, see the second article of the synod’s resolutions; OSzK Fol. Lat. 2078. Panharmonia sive universalis consensus Iesu Christi veri Dei et hominis Ioannis Calvini oppositus raudicis calumniis M. Alberti Graveri rectoris scholae Cassoviensis… Vizsoly: Mantskovit, 1599, RMK II. 295. After studying in Debrecen, Wittenberg and Heidelberg, Gönczi served as the Reformed pastor of Gönc from 1591 until his death.

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227 Following the structure of Grawer’s work, Gönczi demonstrated the concord between Christ and Calvin by imagining six interactions between the master and his disciple. Gönczi as a theologian from outside the region had entered the polemical fray on Ambrosius’ side, though seemingly in vain. The only response to it came from Deacon Sculteti in the fourth section of his Hypomnema (Reminder), in which he raised his voice against the destruction wrought by Gönczi’s Panharmonia. 228 Stücki VI. 229 Blotius XXI. 230 Grynaeus XVIII. 231 Grynaeus XX. 232 Letter written from Leiden, 18 May 1600. Gemeentearchief Leiden, Coll. van der Meulen, nr. 386.2. and 386.3. 233 Grynaeus XX and XXI.

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Ambrosius’ legacy In January 1600, Ambrosius accompanied Miklós Thököly to Sárospatak, and in the letter to Basel in which he recorded this information, he told his friend Grynaeus: ‘If something were to happen to me, given the approach of the war and the plague, please take into your care my only son, named after me; I would also ask that you help him materially with his studies’.1 The younger Ambrosius had already enrolled at the gymnasium in Görlitz, but his father was still trying to smooth his path with letters and requests of his friends. Albert Szenci Molnár’s journal entry of 3 January reads: ‘I have arrived in Késmárk. The honorable reverend Sebastian Ambrosius received me here quite warmly. Friday, January 4: His Excellency Sebestyén Thököly hath invited the reverend pastor and myself to lunch’.2 Did they eat ‘lamb stuffed with bacon fat’, ‘goose with gravy’ or ‘capon with fruit juice’? These dishes may have been on the menu at this luncheon with Szenci Molnár, given that they are featured among the 54 (generally heavily spiced) specialties collected in the cookbook Thököly’s court chef Mihály Szentbenedeki compiled in 1601.3 In the dedicatory epistle to his 1604 Hungarian-Latin Dictionary, Szenci Molnár would recall his days as Thököly’s guest in the company of Sebastian Ambrosius.4 The itinerant scholar visited Ambrosius again on 11 February, and then met with Thököly in Pozsony in March; having arrived in the royal capital for a session of the Hungarian National Assembly, Thököly again offered his assistance in publishing Szenci Molnár’s dictionary.5 On 18 May, Ambrosius received the aforementioned letter from Leiden in which the theologian Franciscus Junius informed him, ‘if thy son were to come here in the future, my study shall be prepared for him’.6 On 6 July, Ambrosius wrote to Grynaeus, again requesting his help if anything were to happen to him as a result of the approaching plague; ‘My son is now studying at the Görlitz Gymnasium and it is possible that he will come to visit you at some point’.7 The next day, Ambrosius wrote to Szenci Molnár, who had recently returned to Heidelberg,8 telling him, ‘I have sent my son to Görlitz’ (‘flium meum iam ablegavi Gorlicium’); assuming

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the boy did well at the gymnasium there, he would set off the following year for Heidelberg with the intention of studying at the Collegium Sapientia. The younger Ambrosius wrote to Szenci Molnár as well, informing ‘his Albert’ about his life and associates in Görlitz.9 On 11 September, Szenci Molnár wrote in his diary that he had written letters ‘to [Reverend] Sebastian and his son in Görlitz’.10 The younger Ambrosius’ future certainly seems to have been arranged, as Ambrosius had conveyed the details to the Heidelberg professors Daniel Tossanus and David Pareus and was awaiting their reply. Ambrosius thus commended his son to the most outstanding Reformed scholars and institutions, and his well-defined plan succeeded, insofar as the younger Ambrosius did eventually settle in at Heidelberg and complete his education there. After he returned to Hungary, the younger Ambrosius’ life would be intertwined with that of Thököly’s son István. For instance, the two travelled together to the Hungarian national assembly of 1608 – which ratified the 1606 Treaty of Vienna, thus finally settling the Hungarian War of Independence led by the Protestant nobleman István Bocskai. The younger Ambrosius was by then the notary of Késmárk and arrived in Pozsony bearing his city’s charters of privileges, which he was to have confirmed. This confirmation, however, was significantly more expensive than he expected, and thus he needed the younger Thököly’s financial assistance to be able to execute the transaction. The younger Ambrosius, sadly, did not have much longer to live, as he passed away in 1609. His father’s historical study Consignatio historica was ready by 1600. He sent his ‘dear friend Albert’ a brief passage concerning the history of the city of Pápa, which section he had left out of the manuscript. Ambrosius had been working on this text for a considerable period, as evidenced by the brief historical descriptions he had sent to almost all of his correspondents. He had exchanged ideas on the subject of historiographical methodology with Blotius in particular. In addition to entrusting Blotius with the cataloguing of his library, Rudolf II had also authorised him to write a historical survey following the 1592 death of János Mihály Brutus.11 Blotius understood that it would be difficult to establish his own independent scholarly identity in the wake of the deaths of his two great predecessors, Brutus and János Zsámboky. We know that Brutus and Zsámboky’s papers and drafts ended up in Blotius’ care, and in scrutinising Zsámboky’s manuscripts, Blotius was astonished to discover that his predecessor had not actually performed the task assigned to him; as he wrote to Johann Trautson with some bitterness, ‘But he was paid to serve as a historian!’12 It was probably around this time that Blotius hatched the idea of creating his own independent work of history. He discussed the stylistic requirements in this 1594 letter to Ambrosius, along with the norms and moral imperatives Brutus’ work had impressed upon him. The texts the famous historian had left behind focused primarily on the events of Hungarian and Polish history, but he had hardly touched on the history of the Austrian lands.13 ‘Veritas est anima historiae’

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(‘Truth is the soul of history’), Blotius opined, and returned to that thought later in his letter. Ambrosius reacted to Blotius’ thoughts on this subject in a letter dated 20 March 1594, praising his noble intention to undertake such a project.14 This letter reveals that Ambrosius had similar plans, but was struggling with methodological questions. Ambrosius did not want to imitate Zsámboky, whose style struck him as overly sycophantic and insufficiently eloquent. On the other hand, he was unable to imitate the other famed historian of the era, Johannes Sleidanus, given that the latter had had financial resources that Ambrosius lacked. According to the pastor of Késmárk, Sleidanus ‘had given money to everyone who could provide him with the best possible information from princes’ bedchambers and secretariats’.15 Ambrosius was thus fairly familiar with this aspect of the historian’s craft. It is unlikely that he had any illusions about the field, given that he had committed himself to truthful presentations of history. At the end of his letter, he noted that the sudden appearance of the historical work of his contemporary Nicolaus Gabelmann ‘doth not deter me from my enterprise, and if everything proceedeth in an orderly fashion, I would like to publish this historical work together with [thy] letters’.16 Until then, he asked that his friend in Vienna ‘correct the work to which I have dedicated myself and decorate it with your recommendations’. Blotius responded quickly (on 20 May 1594) with the longest of the letters he wrote to Ambrosius, the chief subject of which was the writing of history.17 Blotius was a devotee of ‘genuine historiography’; thus as far back as his travels in France, and certainly during his stay in Vienna, he had struggled with the enormity of the task of revealing the truth. He had been forced to move several times during the French Wars of Religion, and given that he wanted to record the violent events that had uprooted him, he was constantly mindful of problems associated with the acquisition of reliable information. His own observations had proved faulty on several occasions; for instance, he had underestimated the Huguenot army and miscalculated the size of the Royalist cavalry at the 1567 Battle of Saint-Denis. After recounting these and other experiences, Blotius summarised his fairly cynical historiographical philosophy: ‘The historian needeth money so that he might circulate among the wealthy without their being able to purchase him’. Furthermore, he had to have authority, one source of which might be money, another of which was credibility. He lamented that the historian, if he wisheth to expose crimes, will draw the fury of the transgressors down upon himself. A much simpler solution would be to write these histories for our friends, and thus we should not have to observe the rules of form, either. This is likely the reason Blotius’ historical work has remained unknown to this day.

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Ambrosius articulated the fundamental principles of his approach to history in a response dated 21 January 1595.18 He declared, ‘With his writing, the historian hopeth to achieve the praiseworthy objective of creating enlightenment in the minds of mankind’. A knowledge of the past could help a simple mortal understand the present and the future as well, ‘for the same [things] always happen in the world, only the actors change’. This characteristically humanist outlook was followed by Biblical parables,19 whereupon Ambrosius proclaimed, ‘As entertaining as works of history may be, those who put their minds to the writing of history step onto equally dangerous ground’. He agreed with Blotius in professing, Those who would write the truth cannot expect the love of the public. For this reason, it is understandable that there have always been so few who write history, and even fewer who know, and want to write, and are capable of writing history. It also occurreth that the people disseminate true history in the form of tales ascribed to Aesop. Declarations placed in the mouths of animals reflect the opinions of man and guard them from exposure to unjust accusations Ambrosius thus approached Blotius’ outlook, insofar as both men were the sort of instinctively Irenicist humanists who aspired to peace and tranquillity while being fully cognizant of certain realities. Among the indispensable elements of the historiographical method were precise descriptions and nuanced presentations of events, which techniques Ambrosius aspired to apply to his historical work and genuinely mastered in his letters. Unfortunately, Ambrosius’ historical survey does not seem to have survived, though it may yet be hiding somewhere in Europe. We know only that he had already sent a sample of his work to Vienna by the end of 1595, saying, I would like to know thy opinion of my little pages of history [de pagellis historicis] which our friend Gabelmann hath also requested of me, though I have sent it to thee first that thou mightest acquaint thyself with it aforehand.20 We do know, however, that 1599 was the year in which Sebestyén Thököly planned a large-scale military operation to retake Buda from the Turks. Before sending this war plan to the imperial court, Thököly had conducted a detailed analysis of the military operations of the era, and given his intimate relationship with Ambrosius, along with the similar sets of assessments and battlegrounds and which appeared in Ambrosius’ letters, we certainly cannot rule out the possibility that the pastor of Késmárk helped Thököly develop this grandiose scheme.21 By the summer of 1600, the plague was already claiming victims in Szepes County, and within a short period 2500 people there would die, ‘not to mention

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those who lie in heaps in gardens, hospitals, and cloisters’.22 Severin Sculteti, one of Ambrosius’ most implacable adversaries, passed away on 30 June; the former headmaster of Nagyőr Nicholas Erhard also died, as did the headmaster of Lőcse, Johannes Rhau, who had accused Johann Mylius and others of Crypto-Calvinism. Ambrosius himself met his untimely end on 24 October.23 The plague took one of his best friends, János Jancsi, on 22 November. Not long before his death, Jancsi had been called upon to shed light on certain mysteries. According to local superstition, as the plague was subsiding, ‘supernatural phenomena would follow … apparitions would disturb the living … [and] hunting parties could be heard in the night’, as happened at the school in Lőcse, for example, where ghosts summoned the residents, and not just the terrified students, but ‘brave and learned men, into [their spectral] home’. Pastor Jancsi was of the opinion that the souls of the victims of the plague could not find peace and thus returned to their homes, which theory he voiced in a short poem.24 Of course, the destruction of the plague was more than a local affair: not only did Ambrosius and his friends fall victim to the disease, it also claimed a broad swath of the confessional disputants and other intellectuals of the period. Thus, with the passing of an entire generation of Szepes County’s government officials, teachers and pastors, this period of confessional debate came to a dramatic end; it would take the Protestant community of Szepes County many years to recover from the blow. Ambrosius’ work, primarily his hymns, spirituals and poems, continued to be published after his death. Nicolaus Schneider’s press in Liegnitz released his Zwey geistliche Lieder in 1600,25 then put out his Zwey newe geistliche Lieder and Neun geistliche Lieder in 1601.26 His volume of poetry which immortalised the Hungarians’ 1598 victory over the Turks in Győr and his patron Sebestyén Thököly’s valour in this battle was printed in Görlitz in 1602. As this volume’s subtitle indicates, the students at the Görlitz Gymnasium had commemorated Ambrosius himself in reciting this poem: ‘quae quotannis in Schola Gorliciensi celebrari, et grata memoria repeti solet Carmen Sebastiani Ambrosi Hungaro Scepusij, publice recitatum die 29. Martij, Anno Christi. 1602’.27 Thököly’s younger son Miklós and his tutor István Miskolci Csulyak, the future deacon of Zemplén, also contributed poems to this volume. That same year, Jakab Klösz’s press in Bártfa issued a commemorative publication, which featured the work of a number of elegists including Ambrosius, who contributed an ode.28 In 1604, János Farkasfalvi Filiczki published a collection of poetry featuring Ambrosius’ De navicula Christi29 and a number of poems which the students of the Elbing School fashioned in response to Ambrosius’ composition.30 This volume is noteworthy because it was the second posthumous public tribute to Ambrosius’ work, though it was not a coincidence that the Elbing School contributed to its publication, as Ambrosius’ close bosomfriend Johann Mylius had become the headmaster there at some point after 1598 and was surely responsible for his students’ expression of respect. His song collection Neun geistliche Lieder was reissued in 1624, and eight of Ambrosius’ compositions appeared in the 1628 Apotheca sacra

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psalmorum…, a nearly thousand-page collection of psalms, hymns and spirituals by some of the most notable songwriters of the 16th century. Published in Kassa, this volume features a representative cross-section of Ambrosius’ work as a composer.31 In 1630, Johann Serpilius issued a complete collection of Ambrosius’ ecclesiastical compositions entitled Geistliche Lieder…32 The foreword to this posthumous hymnal includes elegies written by Nathan Chytraeus, Christophorus Arnoldus and Johann Weidner, which may at first glance seem surprising.33 The letters of Ambrosius’ correspondents, however, explain the inclusion of these epicedia. On 13 October 1601, a year after Ambrosius’ death, Théodore de Bèze responded to a letter from Dániel Fabinyi with a short missive focused entirely on their dearly departed friend.34 At the request of the younger Ambrosius, de Bèze had taken up his pen to write a carmen epicedium or funeral ode. The now-elderly Genevan theologian wrote, While I never saw him in life, I loved him while he was alive … we regularly exchanged the most humane letters, and thus it is my duty to immortalize his blessed memory, for which purpose no last will and testament is sufficient … As thou hast asked of me in thy preceding letter, lo I hereby send to thee an elegy written in the name of his only son, and though it be not worthy or as elegant as thou mightest expect from me, it encompasseth the entirety of my good will … this being everything of which I was capable, for as I have aged, the muses have grown old with me as well. Fabinyi was still in Strasbourg at that time, and de Bèze implored him to ‘carry on with Ambrosius’ holy task, both at home and abroad’. The Genevan theologian then prefaced his six-line poem with a short dedication: Sebastiani Ambrosi fdi Keismarcensis in Scepuso Ecclesia pastoris beata memoriae Theodorus Beza maerens D. Sacris expromptam rixis qui fundere veram Suetus erat nobis ambrosiam Ambrosius Ecce obiit, lachrymas doctis piisque relinquens Omnibus, hoc etiam corpore toctus humo At quorsum huic lachrymas? Epotis iam sibi rivis Aeterna ex ipsa qui bona fonte bibit? Mournful Theodore de Bèze dedicated this to Sebastian Ambrosius of blessed memory, true citizen of Késmárk and pastor of Szepes Church Ambrosius, used to ministering us true ambrosia vindicated from holy disputes, See! died, leaving only tears to all learned and pious,

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even after he has been buried. But why do we shed tears for him? Him, who has drunk already rivers from the spring of eternal life? This epicedium was followed by an elegy written by the renowned Bernese hymnodist Joannes Jacomutus.35 The letter the younger Ambrosius wrote to Szenci Molnár from Heidelberg on 3 March 1603 indicates that he had requested this elegy from de Bèze because he was compiling a commemorative volume in honour of his late father. The younger Ambrosius wrote, ‘Thou hast long since heard the news that my father passed away. The men who were dear to him and all the German poets, among them de Bèze, Melissus, and Grynaeus, have made preparations to publish their verses’.36 The collection of these elegies was thus proceeding in an organised fashion, and others almost certainly worked alongside Fabinyi and the younger Ambrosius in gathering up commemorative poems, presumably from friends across Europe. We cannot do more than speculate about the other recipients of these letters of request, or whom the younger Ambrosius might have had in mind when mentioning ‘all the German poets and others’. In all likelihood, Jacob Monavius played a role in preparing this publication, and Grynaeus probably helped mobilise their mutual friends as well. Collecting remembrances of respected citizens of the Respublica Litteraria was an established practice. When János Zsámboky died in 1584, for example, Carolus Clusius asked their mutual acquaintances to write epitaphs in his memory.37 All this might explain the appearance of the elegies in the foreword to Ambrosius’ posthumous hymnal, though it would also suggest that the commemorative volume did not come together as originally planned. This volume does not seem to have survived, and we are likewise unable to cite any other surviving elements of his intellectual legacy. We have no record of any other texts he may have written or the volumes in his personal library, no last will and testament and no inventory of the property he left behind; thus his ultimate legacy was the son he entrusted to the scholarly guardianship of his European friends, a community in which he had been at home for a good ten years. A meticulous examination of his correspondence with his colleagues thus reveals the everyday practices, humanist rituals and other mechanisms at work in the Respublica Litteraria, and while these sorts of activities and modes of knowledge may have been taken for granted by this virtual community’s inhabitants, they also served Ambrosius as a fertile medium in which to cultivate his identity.

‘I would like to ascertain whether my letter actually arrived’ Ambrosius posed this question to his correspondents again and again. In a system of communication based on the continual forwarding of letters, this was above all a practical concern, though it was also a reflection of the

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system of etiquette the Respublica Litteraria imposed on its virtual citizens, whose fundamental duties included initiating, maintaining and encouraging exchanges of ideas by means of correspondence.38 Continuous communication was also a means of reinforcing friendships, as Montaigne expressed in his essay on friendship: ‘Friendship is nourished by communication … [but] the establishment of a friendship requires so many [happy] accidents that it would be too much to expect such [good] fortune to come along once in three centuries’.39 Despite the Respublica’s changing circumstances over the course of its several-hundred-year history, written correspondence was always the motor of this virtual society’s communication, for which reason all of its members were expected to increase their numbers of writing partners and bring new personalities into the network. Over the course of numerous decades, such correspondence engendered sets of prescriptions and codes which regulated the conduct and communicative processes of the citizens who participated in this community’s ‘social life’. The rules of Respublican etiquette were largely unwritten, but humanist educational practices contributed certain codes of conduct which every citizen began to assimilate while studying at the Latin schools of the era.40 Ambrosius’ personal history suggests that the knowledge he acquired during his elementary and university educations might have inspired him to follow the particular career path he chose, but also foretokened his participation in the Respublica. A confident mastery of the Latin and Greek languages, knowledge of the classic authors and rhetorical abilities were the preconditions of participation in Europe’s humanist network. There was also another more general circumstance which was of decisive significance in determining the intellectual connections of the early modern era: The international republic of learning did not, as did the medieval university, rest on the universal authority of the church. It rested rather on a new form of communication, the dialogue through which shared questions could be discussed from diverse standpoints. It penetrated into the mode of teaching in advanced secondary schools and universities, just as it came to predominate in the oral and written communication of the learned with each other and in the interchange of town and gown.41 The Respublica Litteraria, which was first described as such in the 15th century, was the cooperatively generated medium which gave rise to this new form of communication and provided it the forum in which it could continue to function.42 This was the humanist model of the public sphere, which functioned as an open forum, both in theory and in practice: ‘Acceptable’ public opinion found expression in cultured humanist discourse, which dialog was of decisive significance both as a way of life and as a literary genre; an outstanding scholar might make his way from the vulgus into this imaginary sphere by means of relentless

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autodidacticism, just as a political actor might if he dedicated himself to the studia humanitatis, which practice required substantial tenacity and self-discipline.43 After his first letters were forwarded in early 1590, Ambrosius justifiably hoped that he would receive responses, and Johann Jacob Grynaeus had already sent a reply to Késmárk by May 1590, as evidenced by a letter János Baranyai Decsi wrote from Strasbourg.44 Baranyai Decsi was the Transylvanian Hungarian aristocrat Ferenc Bánffy’s tutor at that time, and Ambrosius was counting on the fact that Bánffy’s messenger regularly travelled back and forth between Strasbourg and Transylvania. Even so, by August 1590, Bánffy’s tabellarius had yet to deliver any reply from Basel, nor did he make any delivery to Ambrosius in mid-October, by which time the pastor of Késmárk had written a third letter to Grynaeus.45 Writing yet again on 11 February 1591, Ambrosius started off in an understanding tone: ‘I do not take offense that thou hast not thus far responded to my letters, for something must surely have prevented thee from doing so’.46 He must nonetheless have been disappointed that he had already sent four letters to Basel and had yet to hear any response from the theologian. He was presumably relieved on 11 July 1591 when he finally received the letter Grynaeus had written on 9 December of the previous year and forwarded through János Baranyai Decsi.47 He learned from this missive that Grynaeus had responded the previous May and thus his prior letter must have been lost. In his response that July, Ambrosius asked his new colleague in Basel to send him the name of the messenger to whom he had entrusted the previous letter, hoping that they might be able to figure out where it had gone missing. Ambrosius would dedicate a great deal of attention to the instructions for forwarding letters thereafter, though he had incorporated notes on the subject into most of his letters even before he learned of the difficulties with Grynaeus. He knew he could depend on travellers to Western Europe and the assistance of his older acquaintances, though he was also aware of unexpected vicissitudes and the fact that parcels might simply be lost as a result of inattentiveness. When Grynaeus’ reply did finally arrive, Ambrosius used his fifth letter to Grynaeus to note that he was aware his book Antithesis had not made its way to Basel as a result of the negligence of the Hungarian students at Wittenberg.48 The routes Ambrosius recommended for forwarding letters form an interesting map of the friends and colleagues he had in the various cities of Europe, and thus deepen our knowledge of his European network and the nature of the recommendations he and his acquaintances wrote. Finally, the frequency of responses to his letters is a possible indicator of the reliability of these delivery routes or of the success of his efforts to introduce himself. On the basis of the available correspondence, we can sketch out several pathways. Most of the scholars Ambrosius attempted to contact with his initial letters lived in Switzerland, and once again it is worth commencing

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this review with Johann Jacob Grynaeus, insofar as the missives addressed to him best illustrate Ambrosius’ various delivery routes. Ambrosius’ recommendations to Grynaeus focused on three hubs: Breslau, Wittenberg and Frankfurt. Ambrosius mentioned these crossroads even in his earliest letters, which (as I have noted) was also a way of alluding to the fact that he already had connections in these cities. Breslau and its leading humanist Jacob Monavius played important roles in Ambrosius’ life until its very end, not only spiritually and in helping him make connections, but also in helping him maintain his other friendships. In sending letters from Késmárk to Basel, Ambrosius generally entrusted them to bookdealers in Breslau or Kraków, who then forwarded them to Frankfurt, where they regularly attended that city’s book fairs. He generally recommended this same route for sending replies back from Basel, as the bookdealers in that city maintained relationships with the booksellers Stephanus Dives and Zacheus Kesner of Kraków, who always obligingly forwarded parcels addressed to Ambrosius.49 Albert Szenci Molnár also played a role in forwarding correspondence: ‘I sent a bundle of letters to Frankfurt [intended for] Monavius in Breslau, Sebastian in Késmárk, and Fabricius in Sárospatak’.50 Ambrosius’ ‘man in Frankfurt’ was the director of the Wechel Press, Jean Aubry, who had an extensive network of Hungarian connections.51 Ambrosius recommended that Grynaeus use Aubry as a go-between on several occasions, speaking of him appreciatively in a 1593 letter as someone who had already ‘forwarded our more distant friends’ letters’ to him.52 The letters Ambrosius wrote to Johann Wilhelm Stücki also indicate that they were forwarded with the help of bookdealers in Frankfurt, though these epistles to Zürich do not describe any other possible routes. The pastor of Késmárk could also rely on his connections in certain German university towns, particularly Wittenberg, where his friends included the mayor, Samuel Seelfisch, and the students of the Hungarian coetus, though as the previously mentioned example demonstrates, the latter were not entirely dependable. Ambrosius could also count on the assistance of David Pareus and Daniel Tossanus in Heidelberg. In the early 1590s, he also tried to avail himself of the help of Hungarian students in Strasbourg in his attempts to establish a connection with Grynaeus. In his correspondence with Théodore de Bèze, Ambrosius – like many of his Hungarian and Central European contemporaries – entrusted his letters to Carolus Liffortius, a Genevan envoy who travelled throughout Central Europe seeking donations during the Savoyard blockade of his city. Liffortius is mentioned in all four of the letters de Bèze wrote to Ambrosius; he also appears to have played an active role in de Bèze’s correspondence with Tolnai Fabricius, Imre Forgách and Gregorius Tribelius.53 The letters Ambrosius wrote to Blotius were transported to Vienna along a much simpler route. On numerous occasions, the pastor of Késmárk entrusted his letters to Lazar Henckel, a wholesale trader from Lőcse who lived in Vienna, sometimes sending them to Henckel in the care of Szepes

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County youths whom he called ‘his countrymen’ or ‘his brothers-in-law’. Blotius confirmed that Henckel was a good choice in his first response to Ambrosius, characterising the adopted son of Vienna as his ‘familiaris and intimate friend’.54 Ambrosius also regularly employed occasional tabellarii to forward or deliver messages, including his childhood friend Matthias Amman, the son of Gregorius Amman, and a young man named Heinrich Neander, to whom he entrusted a letter because – as he wrote in April 1592 – ‘he hath a good reputation in our area, for which reason I have confidence in him’. Ambrosius wrote a short description of Neander at that time, drawing Blotius’ attention to the young man’s familiarity with the artes humaniores.55 On other occasions, he recommended sending letters with Bartholomeus Gutsmittel, the son of the judge of Késmárk, as the younger Gutsmittel lived in Vienna and often wrote home to his father. In addition to Henckel and Gutsmittel, Ambrosius also proposed the possibility of requesting the help of Johann Hirschhorn, the judge of Lőcse.56 Ambrosius’ letter of 20 April 1594 suggests that he soon found a solution to the problem of wayward postmen. He wrote, ‘It has come to my attention that our city council shall soon dispatch a tabellarius from Késmárk, and this letter carrier hath promised not to depart without my letters’.57 This messenger, however, got drunk and failed to deliver the letter Ambrosius had written to Blotius. The pastor of Késmárk then asked their mutual friend, the historian Nicholaus Gabelmann, to handle the task, given that he was the sort of person ‘who could not leave without it’. However, as the postscript to this letter reveals, Gabelmann was not an ideal solution either, as he planned to take a significant detour through Fülek (Fil’akovo, Slovakia) and Esztergom before travelling on to Vienna. At that point Ambrosius realised that his student Stephan Feichter was planning to head straight to Vienna, and thus entrusted the letter to him; always looking for the silver lining, Ambrosius wrote that the delay would make it possible for him to send Blotius the latest news and most up-to-date information about the war.58 On another occasion, a friend of Ambrosius’ was forced to return to Késmárk from Pozsony without having forwarded a letter of his to Vienna, though this messenger at least returned the missive rather than entrusting it to blind chance. Ambrosius then had this letter and some other documents taken to Vienna in the care of some Transylvanian students bearing letters of recommendation (‘who seem respectable’), ‘lest thou be jealous, [my friend Blotius], that other causes have delayed the arrival of my letter’.59 Ambrosius’ more distant contacts lived as far away as Frisia, the northernmost region of the Low Countries; the Reformed preacher Menso Alting also used the help of the bookdealers in Frankfurt to correspond with Ambrosius.60 In Leiden, beyond the aforementioned Franciscus Junius, Ambrosius was also very likely in contact with the botanist and physician Carolus Clusius, who was appointed to a university professorship in 1594.61 On numerous occasions, Ambrosius wrote, ‘My letter hath in truth arrived!’ His concern was warranted, insofar as the circumstances of the

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era did not always allow for secure correspondence, though his efforts to point out possible delivery routes and couriers sometimes seem excessive, especially in Blotius’ case. In many instances, not only did he write keywords indicating the contents of the letter under the recipient’s address, but also the names of the people who were supposed to help deliver it. The route from Késmárk to Vienna was in fact full of uncertainties, and the intensifying war against the Turks was not conducive to exchanges of information. These battles and the unstable political situation were impediments to communication both in literal terms (travellers’ vulnerability on unsecured routes, unpredictable troop movements) and in a symbolic sense (‘in times of war, the muses fall silent’).62 In 1598, Ambrosius wrote to Blotius, ‘because of the war, our people travel the trade routes less often, and thus it is no wonder that we, too, regular correspondents, suffer from the effects of the war’. At the same time, in addition to the reassurance these letters provided Ambrosius, they also reflect an increase in the value of fresh information. He wanted to provide his European colleagues with the latest news (and of course, he continued to send documentation of the local confessional polemics and his commentaries on them with undeviating intensity in this period), and like other correspondents of the era, he felt it was his duty to report on current events as often as possible. Ambrosius had kept his friends informed of political events from the time he introduced himself to the Respublica. His letters, for instance, discussed the wedding of Prince Zsigmond Báthory of Transylvania and Maria Christina of Austria, Sebestyén Thököly’s travels to the Hungarian capital Pozsony and the Imperial Court in Prague, the 1596 attack on the Turkish forces in Hatvan, Prince Krzysztof Mikołaj Radziwiłł’s demolition of the Jesuit church in Vilnius and the Jesuits’ activities in Kraków and Kassa.63 When he wrote to Grynaeus about his patron’s political activities and the fact that he was preparing to accompany Archduchess Maria Christina to Transylvania in the summer of 1595, he also told his friend in Basel that the Turkish sultan was en route to the Kingdom of Hungary, though his objectives were unknown.64 He later offered a precise description of the situation, saying that the Christian army that had been raised to confront the Turks would be divided into three groups: the first would be led by Archduke Maximilian, the elected but unrecognised king of Poland, whose soldiers would accompany Maria Christina to Transylvania and do battle there; the second group would consist of Transylvanian and Moldavian armies who would attempt an incursion and try to stop the main Turkish force in a suitable location; the third group, led by Count Karl von Mansfeld, would lay siege to Esztergom. Ambrosius explained the extraordinary precision of his account in a letter dated 24 January 1596, saying that this political information was not mere gossip, as he had heard it from Sebestyén Thököly himself,65 who had regrouped with Archduke Maximilian’s forces after his march to Transylvania. Ambrosius then offered Grynaeus an interesting piece of advice, saying he was free to convey this news to anyone

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he wanted as long as it did not appear in print. Ambrosius thus revealed that the source of his credible, up-to-date information was Thököly (which would amply demonstrate the intensity of the confidential relationship they seem to have had), and perhaps he asked Grynaeus to handle this information with some discretion because he was concerned about the safety of his informer (or himself), though it is possible that this was just an illusion on Ambrosius’ part. We cannot know why he made this request, but regardless of his motive, it is certain that Ambrosius was better informed than the average person; he regularly wove political news into his letters, often using constructions like ‘rumor has it…’ (constans enim rumor). And gossip was not his (only) source of information, as he was fully up-to-date within his local and regional context. In the letter he wrote to Stücki in August 1596, for instance, he began by reporting on a number of Hungarian battlegrounds in the war against the Turks (Esztergom, Tokaj, Eger, Hatvan, Szolnok), and provided intelligence on the situation in Transylvania as well.66 This demonstration of knowledgeability was an important gesture for his contacts. In addition to conveying his insider status, it also showed that they could count on him as a credible source of information, which was one of the practical functions of the correspondence of the era. In the period preceding the advent of regularly issued newsletters, newspapers and journals, these epistles were a fundamental means of distributing information; exchanges of letters, along with the manuscripts and other gifts contained in them, were the dynamic driving the Respublica.67 Like most active participants in the humanist-intellectual discourse of the period, Ambrosius clearly understood the importance of his role as a trustworthy informant and interpreter of the events of his age. From the time he launched his intensive correspondence initiative, Ambrosius constantly occupied himself with the potential responses he expected. In the later phase of this campaign, he expressed concerns about the maintenance of his relationships in several importunate letters. As we have seen, by the time Grynaeus’ first response arrived from Basel, Ambrosius was already at work on his fifth letter, and he continued to write regularly thereafter as well, though he sometimes inserted critical observations (arising from his dissatisfaction with the length of a reply, for instance). In his letter of 21 January 1592, Ambrosius initially expressed his happiness at having received Grynaeus’ response, but went on to lament that he had not received any oral report from the courier that might have served as recompense for the brevity of Grynaeus’ letter, as the messenger had avoided him.68 He later addressed the following delicate complaint to Blotius: ‘I have received thy letter, and though it was fairly brief, it was rich in spirit’.69 On another occasion, he conveyed his dissatisfaction by saying that he had very much hoped to receive a letter from Grynaeus after the Frankfurt book fair; the fact that he had not must have been attributable to the carelessness of the messenger or to Grynaeus’ other weighty responsibilities. He recorded similar sentiments in his second (1594) letter to Stücki (who had yet to reply to him),

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expressing his hope that the parcels which arrived from the Frankfurt book fair might include a letter from Zürich. Messengers often brought him only verbal greetings from Basel, to which he always reacted with expressions of joy, though on several occasions he also responded with observations like the following: ‘Just as I am not offended that I have not received a single letter of thee in several years, so too must thou forgive me for troubling thee once again with a letter of mine’.70 In addition to the other subtle signals and formulations of concern in his repertoire, Ambrosius regularly began his letters with expressions of dissatisfaction, as his first sentences almost always reported the receipt of a letter or his anxious anticipation of one. The pastor of Késmárk was more assertive with Blotius. In his second letter to the Viennese librarian (written only two months after his first), Ambrosius addressed Blotius in a resolute tone: ‘In my opinion, it is time to accept my friendship and be a friend unto our friends!’ He then cited the example of Monavius, whom everyone praised for his friendly disposition.71 Blotius responded shortly thereafter, writing his first letter to Ambrosius on 13 March 1592; he heaped praise on the pastor of Késmárk and made reference to the individuals Ambrosius had mentioned in his first letter. The first sentences of Blotius’ next letter (dated 20 August 1592) assured his new friend that he had not been forgotten and that his silence had been the outcome of certain loathsome affairs including deaths and legal proceedings. Even so, Blotius did not write to Késmárk the entire following year, which prompted another of Ambrosius’ expressions of displeasure.72 When Blotius finally took up his pen again to write some complimentary lines about a text Ambrosius had written, he pleaded, ‘As it happened, I did not anticipate that thou wouldst respond to my letter with such speed’.73 Later, after what felt like another long silence, Ambrosius wrote to Blotius in a fairly self-critical tone, saying, ‘The attached letters have saved me from silence; they are not long or substantial, though they be letters nonetheless’.74 Later, following a two-year silence in which neither Ambrosius nor his correspondents wrote to each other, he finally wrote to Blotius to say, ‘Despite long silence, friendship passeth not away’, which might serve as the motto for Ambrosius’ convictions and for humanist correspondence in general. He was confident that the friendships he had formed would not be lost, though after the personal difficulties he had suffered between 1596 and 1598, perhaps he was surprised that his constant letter-writing did not always elicit immediate responses. He might have been familiar with – or have heard of – the letter in which the great humanist Desiderius Erasmus complained that he spent half his days reading and writing letters. The scholars he came to know by means of these letters circulated similar quantities of correspondence, and almost all of them played active roles in public life. Thus it was not always appropriate to express anxieties or adopt a demanding tone in these letters. It would appear that Ambrosius was fully aware of this fact, insofar as his complaints were never phrased in excessively confrontational terms, and his anxious or sullen observations always resolved themselves into some other

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theme, or were couched in otherwise superlative or generously laudatory formulations. In addition to all the thoughtful measures Ambrosius took to specify the routes and ensure the security of his letters and the responses to them, he also took considerable pains to connect his students, colleagues and friends with one another. He regularly wrote to Blotius and Grynaeus to draw their attention to his Szepes County ‘kin’, as he often called his friends and the ‘countrymen’ who lived in his vicinity. On the one hand, he took advantage of the local traffic back and forth to Vienna, entrusting letters and packages to travellers headed in that direction. In one of his letters to Blotius, he recalled having delivered a significant quantity of mail during the period of his scholarly peregrination.75 He hosted numerous guests at his parsonage, which was a lucky break for many of them; his 1595 letters, for instance, indicate that he commended some visiting Transylvanian students to Blotius.76 The latter’s subsequent letter reveals that the Transylvanian scholars did in fact arrive in Vienna and that Ambrosius had been successful in drawing the librarian’s attention to them. In accordance with the customs of the era, this system of recommendations had both humanist and utilitarian elements. Ambrosius, not wanting his letters to be delayed, conveyed them to these reliable-seeming youths, who in exchange received a recommendation that would facilitate their entry into the Imperial Library. This sort of mediated introduction was an important means of support for the students of the era, insofar as direct recommendations could be at least as effective as the system of scholarships discussed in Chapter 1; a personal visit, in combination with a personally submitted letter of recommendation, could accelerate a more talented student’s advancement. Even more effective was the system of recommendations and support that Sebestyén Thököly put in place to help his first-born son István get ahead, seemingly with Ambrosius’ cooperation. When the pastor of Késmárk accompanied young István to Brieg to enrol at the gymnasium there in the autumn of 1595,77 the elder Thököly hoped that Ambrosius’ personal connections and the significant sums of money he had supplied his son would help the latter make headway at his new school. Ambrosius travelled to Kraków during Farsang of 1599 as that was the only way to convey money and letters to István, who later continued his studies at the University of Heidelberg. In a letter Ambrosius wrote from Kraków, he suggested to Grynaeus that he take note of the young Thököly, who he hoped would be able to visit Basel and give a personal account of events in Szepes County. Ambrosius also intended to use István’s help to send Grynaeus his latest book (the Kurtze Wiederholung) and his adversaries’ most recent writings as well.78 In the postscript to his letter of 10 July 1599, he informed his friend in Basel that if István Thököly were to arrive, he should let the young man know that his father had sent him a letter and 200 pieces of gold in the care of professors Tossanus and Pareus, from whom he could take possession of them when he returned to Heidelberg. These two scholars appear in Ambrosius’ earlier

188 The practice of humanism letters, and he readily helped the younger Thököly establish connections with them in hopes of advancing his career. István Thököly was, in fact, staying with Grynaeus in Basel; the young man enclosed an epistle from Grynaeus in a letter he sent to Ambrosius to assure the latter that Grynaeus would appreciate further news of the situation in Szepes County.79 In his letter of 29 January 1600, the pastor of Késmárk supplied Grynaeus with a precise description of the war against the Turks and an account of the epidemic of plague, also mentioning that he planned to accompany his patron’s younger son Miklós Thököly to Sárospatak the next day. Even so, he complained that ‘The route … is fairly perilous, primarily because of the epidemic and the recklessness of my adversaries’. The two travellers were also joined by István Miskolci Csulyak, the future deacon of Zemplén, who recorded this trip in his Diary: Finally, on January 26, I departed for Patak in the company of the young Baron of Késmárk, Miklós Thököly … While in Patak, I principally applied myself to learning the formal and informal Greek; my noble lord suffered greatly from constipation, which was remedied with apothecary’s syrup. This malady gave me occasion to write to His Excellency [Sebestyén Thököly] about the adverse condition of Miklós’ health.80 Miskolci Csulyak’s report goes on to describe Sebestyén Thököly’s patronage as well: In the Késmárk Castle, I applied myself most diligently to pedagogy precisely when my patron traveled to Pozsony for the national assembly. Upon his return, I conveyed unto him an epic verse written in hexameters. Likewise, on May 20, when he was married for the third time and took Erzsébet Pogrányi to wife, I presented him with epithalamia of various lengths according to the number of the muses, and yet I received nothing for them. The household servants, having seen my dedication to the boys, could not be reconciled to my receiving gifts, but rather disparaged with full throats the quality of my abilities in the presence of [the boys]. Thus despite all the enthusiastic tutor’s efforts, he was not accorded any real respect.81 In the preceding chapter, I discussed the possibility that Sebestyén Thököly entrusted certain tasks to Ambrosius when he was away from his court in Késmárk. Documents suggest that Thököly’s very capable and hardworking wife Zsuzsanna Dóczy de Nagylucse also served as her husband’s surrogate. She provided assistance to the poor in the form of food, money and medicine, and almost certainly collaborated with Ambrosius in planning the Thököly boys’ curricula. ‘She worked with a great relish for labor; she stockpiled much fabric, but was a very frugal woman’. Even when she was pregnant, Zsuzsanna Dóczy busied herself with the affairs of her court, and this was a woman who managed to bring 12 children into the world.82 She

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fell ill while delivering her last child, and two weeks later a pastor was called to perform last rites; Caspar Pilcius administered communion. According to Ambrosius’ recollection, she admonished one of her servants to ‘tend to everything, lest she find her lord hath returned and something thus serve him as cause to fret’. The lady soon passed from among the living, at which point further tasks were presumably delegated to Ambrosius. Among the interesting items Zsuzsanna Dóczy left behind was a poem entitled I Praise the Lord at All Times,83 the first two verses of which read as follows: I praise the Lord at all times, Glorifying the Holy name with my entire life, As long as I am in this world, my heart giveth thanks, My mouth shall not want for Expressions of exaltation. So very great and good hath God been unto me, My soul cannot number His good deeds, For which I glorify and trust in the great Lord God; His Holy Majesty shall be My hope. A quick examination of this poem suggests that it is a paraphrase of the Psalms (Psalms 34 and 35, in particular). It would seem that Dóczy was genuinely a poet, though none of her other creations or Hungarian-language correspondence seems to have survived. It is also possible that she was not the author of these lines and that someone else prepared them for her or gave them to her as a gift. This suspicion is reinforced by the fact that the initial letters of the poem’s first 11 stanzas (in Hungarian) form the acrostic DOCJ SVSANNA. The famed poets Bálint Balassi and János Rimay were known for such compositions, and in this case we could also hazard the guess that Ambrosius might have been its author. We know that he wrote paraphrases of the Psalms, and his close relationship with his deeply religious lady lends credence to this hypothesis. We have no way to be certain, though, as neither the Oratio funebris he wrote for her – which functions as a complete biographical sketch of her life – nor any of his correspondence mentions this poem. Returning to Sebestyén Thököly’s activities as a patron, the lord of the Késmárk Castle supported the scholarly peregrinations of several Szepes County youths and the publication of various books. János Filiczki referred to Thököly as ‘the magnificent Maecenas of the liberal arts’ in one of his volumes; Pastor Tamás Félegyházi of Debrecen dedicated his Bible-study guide to Thököly; the Lutheran preacher Valerianus Mader of Trencsén wrote a poem in his honour.84 When Késmárk’s scholastic regulations were revised in 1596, ‘we sought the counsel and approval of our merciful and authoritative lord, Sebestyén Thököly, in issuing this order’.85 Thököly

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thus seems to have been a significantly more multi-faceted actor in Szepes County’s spiritual life than previous generations of scholars assumed, and was quite deliberate in managing the support he disbursed. This may have been a crucial element in Thököly’s becoming a vir illustris, insofar as it was obvious by the 15th century that ‘a relationship with the studia humanitatis had become one of the fundamental criteria, if not the chief criterion’, for achieving such status.86 In analysing the dedications written by the beneficiaries of Thököly’s largesse, one should be aware of the ‘economy of dedication’87 which transcended obligatory expressions of thanks, insofar as the praiseworthy patron and writer who praised him were both aware of the value of his gifts. As was the case with exchanges of gifts in the early modern period, humanist principles were sometimes supplanted by utilitarian considerations when these writers composed their dedications and distributed their publications. When someone like Ambrosius or Tolnai Fabricius praised his patron in the warmest terms, he was not necessarily doing so from the traditional position of a client; he was also aware that a mellifluous oration might win him support for his next publication or his other activities. And Thököly knew that the more men of letters he supported, the more it would do for his reputation among the citizens of his patria, however broadly defined.88 Thus these dedications were of mutual benefit.

News from the garden Ambrosius wrote to Blotius on 28 June 1593, saying, Together with my letter, I send thee a rose called Radix rhodia, which bloometh in the foothills of the Carpathians where my home is found, that thou mightest plant it in thy garden and have it remind thee of me constantly hereafter. I have previously sent you rose plants for thy garden, thus thou mightest sneak a few of these in among them, though Augustinus de Arianda, a resident of the neighboring town of Lőcse who occupieth himself with medicine, expressed some alarm that a larger variant of the Radix rhodia can be found in the mountains of Austria, and thus my sending one such as this would be superfluous. Fear not, though, as thy garden shall not be without Szepes County plants: I am also sending a large-leafed sorrel (majoris rumicis or rheubarbari monachorus) which thou mightest plant as well. If thou settest it out around thy house, thou shalt bring in a generous harvest. Before thou wouldst plant them, thou shouldst soak them in saffron water in bundles of six and stir them through this liquid, then shouldst thou expect a good yield.89 Ambrosius had already sent Blotius some of his roses a year before, which the Viennese librarian took some time to acknowledge. This gift was an elegant gesture of friendship, insofar as the pastor of Késmárk knew that

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Blotius was an enthusiastic gardener, though he lacked the time for such avocations. It was also a graceful gesture in the sense that Ambrosius presented his friend with a rarity specific to the foothills of the Carpathians, thus calling his attention to the natural characteristics of Ambrosius’ Szepes County home. Last but not least, it was also a delicate hint that Ambrosius was well versed in horticulture and that the two could exchange thoughts on the subject if Blotius so desired. Thus in sending his friend in Vienna a useful gift, Ambrosius had also managed to introduce a new topic of conversation which had traditionally been a popular theme in cultured humanist circles. In the 16th century, the garden was a commonly used symbol of paradisiacal or idealised conditions, contemplative withdrawal and the cultivation of knowledge.90 Numerous metaphors were associated with this idealised locus – János Rimay’s poem which begins ‘This world is like a garden’ is a famous Hungarian example, though its significance manifested itself across humanist Europe in many dozens of poems, stories and essays, from Erasmus to Clusius to Lipsius. Ambrosius presumably had a well-tended garden in Késmárk, and as his letter to Blotius demonstrates, he was something of an expert on the subject of plants and flowers. When he stopped in Breslau while accompanying István Thököly to Brieg, he spent many hours in the Hortus Philosophicus, a famous garden belonging to the local doctor Laurentius Scholtz. Before visiting, he wrote to Scholtz to inform the learned doctor that he had sent him some plants through Monavius in hopes of securing his friendship (‘insofar as we do not know one another, may the flowers convey my greetings to thee’).91 Ambrosius also assured Scholtz that he was familiar with the latter’s catalogue, which he had perused with great enthusiasm. He concluded his letter with an epigram about the hortus medicus (‘medicinal garden’), penned by his charge István Thököly:92 EPIGRAMMATA De Horto medico industria et impensis. EXCELENTISSIMI VIRI DOMINI LAURENTII SCHOLCZII medicinae Doctoris VRATISLAVIAE consito et culto, multorumq praestantissimorum Virorum enconijs commendato. Non miror tantus hunc ferri laudibus hortum, Quem satis ut laudem non facilé invenio Ergo alij dignis quem tollunt laudibq, ipse Mirabor, nequeo dum celebrare satis. EPIGRAMS From the Hortus medicus praised in encomia by many remarkable men, set up and tended to thanks to the effort and fnances of the DISTINGUISHED LAURENTIUS SCHOLZ, Doctor of medicine of BRESLAU.

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In the humanists’ symbolic code, a rose given as a gift was the quintessential token of friendship,93 but correspondents attempted to send all kinds of gifts in this period; by the end of the 16th century, traditional presents like books and woodcuts were sometimes accompanied by parcels containing more novel or even exotic objects.94 Starting with the Renaissance, ancient coins (or more often, copies thereof) became a favourite type of gift, especially for humanists, as they symbolised the veneration of antiquity. Numismatics played an important role in the rediscovery of the classical past, and by the 16th century, scholars considered coins to be a form of historical documentation every bit as important as ancient manuscripts. Guillaume Budé and Fulvio Orsini took the first steps toward systematising the evaluation of coinage and integrating the results of such analyses into historical scholarship, though János Zsámboky’s numismatic studies are also fascinating examples of the interest in coins which typified the era.95 Parcels from the territories of the old Kingdom of Hungary were enlivened by ever-greater numbers of Turkish scarves and shawls, which must have struck the humanists of Western Europe as particularly exotic. In diplomatic circles, envoys and ambassadors had long since been making gifts of Turkish kaftans, sabres, carpets and even horses; precious watches and goblets inscribed with the symbols of certain theories of government also turned up among these presents.

The Schöppel affair: Recommendations and reputation In Blotius’ first response to Ambrosius (13 March 1592), he acknowledged the latter’s gift of songs and hymns, which the Viennese librarian had already ‘sung from memory’.96 Blotius also took the opportunity to include a few lines about his assistant, Petrus Schöppel of Lőcse, who had ‘won my support with his amiable conduct’. Schöppel had asked Lőcse’s city council for a one-year scholarship to allow him to continue his studies at a foreign university, which aspiration Blotius supported by writing a letter of recommendation to the city. After beginning his letter to Ambrosius with an ingratiating introduction, Blotius asked his colleague in Késmárk if it would be possible to ‘intervene so as to secure the approval of a high-ranking representative of Lőcse, for which I would be extraordinarily grateful’. Blotius presumably asked for Ambrosius’ support because he already knew how well connected Ambrosius was in Szepes County, largely as a result of the fact that the pastor’s letters said as much. On that same day, Petrus Schöppel himself wrote a letter to the city council and chief justice of Lőcse.97 He lauded the council’s charitable activities,

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which benefited the sons of Lőcse’s citizens above all. The city government had long since promised to support him if he were to gain admittance to a university, for which reason he now asked them to confirm his scholarship. In the interest of eliminating any lingering doubt, he also sent the council the letter of recommendation Blotius had prepared for him. While waiting to commence his studies at university, he had been working with Blotius in preparing an exhaustive catalogue of the Imperial Library’s collections, which was an enormous task given that it already contained more than 9000 volumes. Schöppel compared himself to the mythic Tantalus, as he was constantly working with books but had no time to read. Blotius used the same simile in his letter of recommendation: ‘My secretary [amanuensis meus] worketh like Tantalus, and is thus forced to forgo his reading’. Schöppel vowed, ‘Whether to the church, the school, or the city itself, I shall always be ready to express my gratitude for the scholarship on offer’. The eager young man persisted: ‘It shall not impose a burden on the city, insofar as the church hath income of its own, and thus it could not do harm for the council to provide poor students with material assistance’. When Hugo Blotius had taken over the Hofbibliothek from his predecessor Wolfgang Lazius in July 1575, the library’s holdings were in a lamentable state. Lazius had prioritised the acquisition of medieval manuscripts from various German and Austrian monasteries, which he used primarily as a means of verifying the history and genealogy of the House of Habsburg. Blotius, however, had a completely different vision for the library. He intended to reorganise the large quantity of texts that had been entrusted to him and create a clearly catalogued, thematically subdivided collection, something like a modern public library.98 Blotius immediately began renovating the monastery where these texts were housed, spending 800 forints of his own money to expand its storage space, eventually moving into the building himself. He spent his first three years bringing order to the chaos he had found. Then in 1579, he wrote a Denkschrift to Emperor Rudolf II specifying three conditions for the continued development of the library: the appointment of competent assistants and the designation of a knowledgeable successor; an appropriate location with sufficient space; and adequate financial support.99 Blotius employed assistants from the start, though he could not provide them with more than a paltry and unpredictable wage, which made it difficult to retain competent helpers; they often moved on quickly. On two occasions, his subordinates got entangled in extremely unpleasant situations: one of his attendants attacked Archduke Ernest’s chef, forcing Blotius to testify on the young man’s behalf in court; another of his assistants was brutally murdered. These distressing experiences moved Blotius to formulate his request that the emperor supply him with a capable assistant and name a successor with whom he could coordinate his efforts. He composed a job description, the first condition of which was a command of multiple languages.100 A good assistant would have to navigate his way through

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a forest of books written primarily in Latin and German, though Blotius stated his preference for a candidate with a functional understanding of Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, Spanish, Italian, French, Flemish, Croatian, Polish, Czech and Hungarian as well. The desirable candidate must have an outstanding memory so as to be able to orient himself among the shelves; moreover, a good librarian should, if possible, be an unmarried man capable of dedicating all of his energy and attention to the collection, as marriage cutteth one’s output in half.101 Blotius tackled this enormous task himself, initially making use of the cooperation of two unofficial assistants in producing a 7000-item bibliography in 1586, which was later published as an alphabetised, two-volume catalogue of the library’s holdings. Blotius adopted the methods the Swiss physician and natural philosopher Conrad Gesner had developed in compiling his Bibliotheca Universalis; he thus organised the Imperial Library’s documents in accordance with the descriptive format Gesner had devised.102 This was a slow process, however, as the cataloguing process was still underway when Schöppel arrived to assist Blotius in 1592. Within a month of receiving it (in a letter dated 12 April 1592), Ambrosius wrote a detailed response to Blotius’ query on Schöppel’s behalf.103 The pastor said that Petrus Schöppel had been to visit him, and that he needed a little time to formulate an opinion of Blotius’ protégé. Ambrosius did not tarry, however, soon informing Blotius that ‘thy friend’ Lazar Henckel had settled the matter by supplying the young Schöppel with a positive recommendation which he sent directly to Johann Hirschhorn, one of the notable dignitaries of the city of Lőcse. Ambrosius had thus mobilised his connections in precisely the manner Blotius had requested. The pastor noted that Schöppel had been taught in Lőcse by ‘Martin Sturm, who was preceded at his post by Anton Platner’, which suggested that the aspiring scholar was amply prepared for university studies. ‘In accordance with established humanist customs’, Ambrosius promised to send Blotius all the relevant correspondence and recommendations; ‘Thou shalt likewise receive Gregorius Tribelius’ opinion of thy amanuensis and this entire affair’. Blotius, however, took more than a year to respond to his friend’s gesture, and when he did, he angrily reported that Schöppel, ‘who was formerly my secretary, and whom I regarded as a member of my family, now speaketh abuse and stirreth up contention. The young man is in good physical condition, yet hath sunk so low’ as to have written a letter to his father in which he portrayed Blotius as a tyrannical taskmaster who had saddled him with the chores of a servant. ‘Whereas’, Blotius wrote, ‘Schöppel’s heart always turneth on ways to deceive me’. The Viennese librarian learned of the letter to his secretary’s father in a peculiar manner. Having written his missive in German, Schöppel re-read it aloud in the bathroom before sending

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it; Blotius’ daughter, however, happened to be (?) in the adjoining room and thus overheard the young man’s declamation, which she immediately reported to her mother. Blotius’ wife then hurried to share her daughter’s report with her husband, who flew into a rage. In his capacity as the director of the Imperial Library, he had just recommended Schöppel to several renowned humanists, but this incident completely transformed his sense of the young scholar’s character. In concluding this story, Blotius expressed his hope that Ambrosius had been devastated by it, too. The Viennese librarian lost interest in writing for a considerable period, and this incident seems to have precipitated his long silence. He did, however, dedicate a few gracious lines to thanking Ambrosius for significantly improving his mood with the roses and sorrel he had sent, which Blotius had planted in his garden and taken comfort from. We cannot know how upsetting this incident may have been to Ambrosius, given that he did not reflect on it in his next (known) letter to Blotius and neither man ever mentioned it again in the course of their extensive correspondence. Even so, this case is instructive as an example of a sort of everyday exchange of ideas typical of the Respublica. This anecdote illustrates the precarious fate of certain recommendations and confidential relationships, and also sheds light on another critical area: the defence of one’s reputation. At the beginning of this story, Blotius asked Ambrosius in the strictest confidence to intervene on behalf of a talented young man with university aspirations. As Blotius’ subsequent letter shows, not only did he use Ambrosius as a means of getting certain Szepes County dignitaries’ recommendations into the right hands, he also personally recommended Schöppel to his friends. This system of recommendations seemed to be functioning, and Blotius would never have imagined at that time that he might be risking his good name, given that the work the young scholar from Lőcse had done in his library exceeded his expectations, as evidenced by the affectionate tone of his letter of recommendation. However, when his assistant disappointed him, Blotius wrote to Ambrosius to express the feeling that he had been betrayed and that this unfortunate incident might jeopardise his connections. Even so, this story is marked by numerous peculiarities and raises a number of questions. When did the precipitating event take place? Blotius wrote to describe the incident more than a year after his initial request for Ambrosius’ help in recommending Schöppel, which in the context of the librarian’s customarily slow responses is not surprising, though it does complicate efforts to establish a chronology. His angry letter’s reference his ‘long silence’ suggests that the scene in the bathroom took place immediately after he first contacted Ambrosius. However, if that were the case, why did Blotius not write to Késmárk immediately to ask Ambrosius to withdraw the support he had marshalled? The circumstances of the initial allegation are suspicious as well. Why did Blotius believe his daughter’s report, given that this third-hand information reached him only as a result

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of his daughter’s eavesdropping and his wife’s mediation? Why did he not confront Schöppel directly? And why was his daughter hanging around Schöppel’s bathroom in the first place? His letter does not account for any of this, yet nothing in these lines could be construed as even the faintest shadow of a doubt. One possible interpretation is that Schöppel actually did write a letter of complaint to his father, and this missive divulged some genuinely regrettable truths about the renowned librarian, which revelations infuriated him. Blotius may have been worn down by a decade and a half of exhausting efforts to catalogue the Imperial Library, and we cannot exclude the possibility that his inability to retain capable assistants at the library was the result of a difficult disposition. As he once characterised himself in a letter to a friend, ‘In truth, I am a philosopher, not an epicurean; once I utterly renounced the pursuit of pleasures, I became melancholic, a sullen stoic’.104 Schöppel may have known all this and continued working like Tantalus in the library in the hope that Blotius would eventually acknowledge his effort and help him move on to a university. It is possible they had tacitly agreed that Schöppel would do everything in his power to help put the library in order, at which point Blotius would be expected to mobilise his connections in support of the young man’s plan to study at a university. However, when Blotius became aware of Schöppel’s insulting letter, he regarded this betrayal as a nullification of their arrangement. Despite all its irrational elements, the ‘Schöppel affair’ vividly illustrates the jealousy with which humanists guarded their reputations. Confidentiality and reputation were among the most important elements in the value system of the late-humanist Respublica. It had taken Blotius several decades of labour and correspondence to establish a reputation with his extensive network of contacts, and thus he was extremely protective of his good name. A reputation could be destroyed in a fraction of the time it took to build up; an ill-intentioned letter or malevolent rumour was enough to jeopardise one’s standing. The difference between a good name and ill repute might be (merely) chronological: confirming positive news took time, requiring recommendations and other documentation of good deeds, whereas ugly gossip could spring forth from its breeding grounds overnight. Unfortunately, we do not know the ultimate outcome of the situation under discussion here, only that Schöppel’s name would never again appear in Ambrosius and Blotius’ correspondence, the matriculation registers of any of the universities to which these men were connected or the records of the city of Lőcse. Reputations were also at stake in an exchange of letters which involved Ambrosius, Grynaeus and de Bèze. In the postscript to Ambrosius’ second letter to Grynaeus, he informed his colleague in Basel that there was a Transylvanian youth staying in Geneva, possibly the son of Ferenc Dávid. Ambrosius did not know it, but the rumour was true; Dávid’s son Johann Hertel was in fact on a scholarly peregrination abroad, and had even engaged in a disputation with Grynaeus at the University of Basel, the

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theses of which had been published in 1588. Furthermore, according to the rumours (est etiam rumor satis constans), Johannis Erasmus, of whom de Bèze had spoken with great respect in one of his texts, had become an Antitrinitarian and taken up residence in Kolozsvár, Transylvania (now Cluj-Napoca, Romania).105 Ambrosius asked Grynaeus to write to de Bèze to confirm this information, and if it were to prove true, to erase Erasmus’ name from his work, lest his adversaries have cause to lump him in with the Antitrinitarians. In September 1593, Théodore de Bèze wrote a third letter to his colleague in Késmárk, which he began by thanking Ambrosius for the humanity he had displayed in rendering assistance to the Genevan envoy Carolus Liffortius.106 This short message was followed by a postscript in which de Bèze informed Ambrosius that his book De controversis de Coena Domini had just been published, a copy of which he had enclosed in the hope that it might help the pastor of Késmárk orient himself in his confessional disputes. He proceeded to discuss the accusations against Johannis Erasmus of Kolozsvár; de Bèze thought the charges had yet to be proven and that the pastor himself should be asked about them. The Genevan theologian thus also included Erasmus’ response to those ‘who deceitfully accused me and scattered their evil in every direction in cooperation with their supposed friend’. This letter also included certain war-related predictions which de Bèze thought might be of use to Ambrosius. This is an illuminating episode. In his second letter to Grynaeus, Ambrosius presumed to solicit a favour he would have been unlikely to ask of a much more established contact. On the one hand, his message was a signal to the Calvinists of Switzerland that they should pay heed when anyone was stigmatised as an Antitrinitarian, as such accusations might put a person in serious danger. On the other hand, he was expressing concern about his own fate and the troubles facing his friends: ‘Let us not give our adversaries cause to mention us alongside the Arians’. Antitrinitarian and its synonyms were the maledictions of choice in the confessional debates of the period. As we have seen, Ambrosius himself used the word against Gergely Horváth. Even so, this may not be the most interesting aspect of this utterance. According to another reading, if de Bèze really had mentioned the convert Johannis Erasmus in his text, then he had (perhaps unwittingly) handed their adversaries a weapon. Above all, it would mean that Ambrosius’ adversaries could read (or perhaps had already read) de Bèze’s work and immediately link it to the pastor of Késmárk. The underlying message of Ambrosius’ warning, therefore, was that his opponents already considered him a Calvinist, but if Erasmus really had become an Antitrinitarian, and de Bèze had praised him, then it would ‘prove’ that Ambrosius was an Antitrinitarian, too. Thus no longer would such rumours be merely baseless accusations, which would be among the worst possible outcomes. Grynaeus forwarded Ambrosius’ warning to de Bèze, and one possible explanation for this decision was that Grynaeus was concerned about

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Ambrosius’ reputation, as well as his own. The Genevan theologian was considerably more determined as he had spent his life in the crossfire of disputes and allegations, and thus this latest attempt to tamper with his reputation did not strike him as particularly serious, though he did respond to it. Even so, the most noteworthy aspect of this brief interlude is that Grynaeus passed Ambrosius’ concerns on to de Bèze despite the brevity of his relationship with the pastor of Késmárk, perhaps inspired by the early modern ethos of solidarity to protect the interests of his fellow humanist. Because Ambrosius’ warning could also be interpreted as follows: the sense of solidarity that had impelled him to take up his pen, and which he hoped to inspire in his Western European friends, would be reduced to naught, and all his efforts be rendered futile, if a poorly chosen reference were to allow his Szepes County adversaries to stigmatise him as a Calvinist and Antitrinitarian. After a slight delay, the leading theologians of the era did manage to appease their distant friend, though in reality there was little more they could do to salvage Ambrosius’ reputation.

The society of ‘true-believers’ In all of the letters Ambrosius wrote to his Western European colleagues, he found a way to make mention of certain members of his circle of friends. On numerous occasions, he managed to fit a list of his friends into the thematic flow of a letter, though he also regularly – usually at a letter’s end – picked one of the more notable personalities of Szepes County’s public life to whom to call attention for one reason or another even though he had played no role in the subject matter of the rest of the message. In his second letter to Blotius, for instance, he digressed from a discussion of Jacob Monavius to mention Gregorius Tribelius, the director of the mine in Szomolnok (now Smolník, Slovakia) who had helped the famous humanist of Breslau travel to the Frankfurt book fair and whose son was a student at the University of Heidelberg (see the second Késmárk Colloquium).107 Ambrosius made a simple request of Blotius: ‘Accept the friendship of this outstanding man’. On another occasion, he wrote to Vienna about Sigismund Moes, a chamberlain (cubicularius) of János Liszthy’s (Blotius having been Liszthy’s childhood tutor); Moes at that time was a tax collector for the 13 Szepes County towns that had been forfeited to the Polish crown.108 While visiting Késmárk, Moes had shown Ambrosius letters he had received from Blotius in which the pastor of Késmárk ‘was mentioned in friendly terms’. A few years later, in 1595, when Ambrosius wrote to request the opinion of their mutual friend Nicolaus Gabelmann, a historian at the imperial court, he noted that he had learned from a friend in Kassa that Gabelmann would soon be dismissed for what the emperor’s men considered to be the disparaging tone of a book he had just published. The pastor of Késmárk asked his friend in Vienna, ‘What could this be?’109 It is also worth noting that while Ambrosius mentioned many of his friends to Blotius, he almost never brought them up in his messages to

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Zürich. In his letters to Stücki, he always included a few words to demonstrate his familiarity with the theologian’s friends in Switzerland (Lavater, Beumler and Zeeman, for example), but limited mentions of his own friends to generalities, referring to them simply as ‘the true-believers’. A comparison of the letters he sent to Vienna and Basel reveals another difference: in writing to Blotius, he mentioned numerous friends and colleagues by name, but never grouped them together the way he did in his messages to Grynaeus. In the introductory sections of each of the first three letters he wrote to Grynaeus, he listed the ‘true-believers’ who also sent their greetings to the scholar in Basel. Six of Ambrosius’ friends appear in all three of these letters: Pastor Caspar Pilcius of Márkusfalva; Pastor Valentinus Hortensius of Leibic; Pastor (and Deacon) János Jancsi of Igló; Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, Sebestyén Thököly’s court pastor in Késmárk; Matthias Bobrowiczi of Késmárk, the royal tax collector for the 13 Szepes County towns forfeited to Poland; and Johannes Kraus of Lubló, the provisor of the 13 towns. In his second and third letters, Ambrosius mentioned another three of his friends: János Fabricius, the Hungarian preacher in Eperjes; Headmaster Johannes Mylius of Lőcse; and the school administrator Johannes Frölich of Leibic. In his ninth letter to Grynaeus (dated 10 February 1594), he did not provide such a detailed roster, though at the end of this letter he did augment his list with a new set of names including the patrons who supported the members of his circle, such as Sebestyén Thököly, Gregorius Tribelius and the Máriássy brothers, Ferenc, András and Zsigmond. Two years later, in late January of 1596, he once again assembled a long list of the members of his circle of friends, including teachers, preachers and patrons ‘of the true faith’.110 By mentioning his friends in each of his first three letters, Ambrosius clearly hoped to demonstrate that he did not stand alone in opposing the orthodox Lutherans of his region, but rather enjoyed the support of a circle of friends backed by cultured patrons. The earliest mention of the links between the members of this circle appeared in the polemical pamphlet that attacked Caspar Pilcius in the mid-1580s. According to its author Georg Creutzer, Pilcius and Ambrosius had wandered into the mountains to confer with their other ‘co-conspirator’, Pastor Valentinus Hortensius of Leibic. Later, the 1593 forgery purported to be Pilcius’ declaration of conversion included a precise list of ‘disturbers of the peace and tranquility’, consisting of Szepes County pastors and headmasters who were considered to be ‘Calvinists’. In addition to the figures Ambrosius mentioned in his letters to Grynaeus, this list also included Pastors Peter Praetorius of Rókus, Cyriac Obsopaeus of Szepesváralja, Johann Erythraeus of Duránd, Matthias Ricetius of Zsákóc, Daniel Urbani of Velbach (now Bystrany, Slovakia), a certain pastor from Batizfalva and the ‘misguided’ Matthias Thoraconymus. Another document, a poem of Ambrosius’, adds several more names to this society, including Pastor Anton Platner of Lőcse, whose role in the local confessional disputes should by now be familiar, Pastor János Tarczy of Pálmafalva

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(now Harichovce, Slovakia) and Thomas Schnell of Szepesolasz (now Spišské Vlachy).111 This roster would expand further with the publications of the 1590s; the data suggests that this society had roughly 15 to 20 regular members and another 20 or 25 whose appearances in various commemorative publications and other settings suggest that they maintained friendly or collegial relationships with this inner circle in the last decade of the 16th century. The frequency and affection with which Ambrosius mentioned them suggest that the eight pastors and headmasters who formed the core of this inner circle were the people Ambrosius considered to be his closest friends. I have already discussed Caspar Pilcius in several different contexts; he served as the court pastor on the Máriássy estate in Márkusfalva from May 1587 until his death in 1612. Valentinus Hortensius’ name has already come up on several occasions as well; raised in Lubló, he began his pastoral career as a Catholic parish priest before moving on to the diocese of Szepesbéla (1558–72); after his conversion, he was chosen to serve as the pastor of Leibic, which office he would occupy until his death in 1597. In the meantime, from 7 November 1581 to 15 November 1585, he would serve as the deacon of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County. János Jancsi was born in Zólyomlipcse (Slovenská Ľupča, Slovakia); after completing his secondary studies, he enrolled at the University of Wittenberg on 25 September 1570. A year later, he was already employed as the assistant pastor of Bártfa, and later became the pastor of Zólyom. Thereafter he was invited to serve as the preacher of Igló. He advanced through the ranks quickly, serving as senior pastor Prokop Scholtz’s assistant between 1585 and 1587, then serving as consenior to Scholtz’s replacement, Deacon Anton Platner, until 13 November 1590, at which point he was elected senior pastor at an assembly in Leibic. He occupied this office until 6 August 1599, at which point he returned to his post in Igló.112 Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, whose writings lent Ambrosius support in his confessional debates, was a member of a younger generation. He and Izsák Fegyverneki enrolled at the University of Wittenberg on 25 October 1581 and joined the Hungarian coetus there that same day. Tolnai Fabricius was elected to serve as the senior of the coetus in 1584–5 and became the headmaster of the school in Eperjes in 1586. He subsequently took over as Sebestyén Thököly’s court pastor and remained at that post in Késmárk until 1595; he then became the leading pastor of the school in Sárospatak, where he served until his death on 2 February 1599. Matthias Bobrowiczi was the treasurer of Késmárk’s royal tax office in the 1590s, then took over as the chief tax collector (tricesimator) in 1601. János Fabricius enrolled at the University of Wittenberg on 21 January 1580, then became the Hungarian preacher in Eperjes. He got entangled in a fiery exchange with the local orthodox Lutherans in 1589, after which he stopped participating in the Association’s assemblies, though he continued to preach in Eperjes. Johann Mylius was a member of Ambrosius’ age cohort, having been born in the Moravian city of Iglau in 1557. He enrolled at the University of

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Wittenberg on 25 July 1580, then taught in Gross-Messeritsch as co-rector. With Ambrosius’ recommendation, he became the headmaster of the school in Lőcse in May of 1583 but was forced to leave this post in late 1593 as a result of the previously discussed synod in Lőcse. He paid a visit to Jacob Monavius in the summer of 1594, then served as the headmaster of the Késmárk School from July 1595 to April 1598, where he was instrumental in introducing new scholastic regulations. He left Szepes County to become the headmaster at the school in the Prussian town of Elbing, where he achieved renown across Europe and served until his death in 1629. János Frölich taught in the Pomeranian city of Stettin (now Szczecin, Poland), then at the school in Leibic before becoming the headmaster of the Késmárk School (1601–8). His polymathic son Dávid Frölich would become famous as a geographer and calendar-maker. The foregoing figures were the core of Ambrosius’ circle, and thus it is worth saying a few words about the patrons who supported their activities. I have written a great deal about Sebestyén Thököly and touched on the involvement of Gregorius Tribelius. Zsigmond Máriássy seems to have been born in 1565; then he studied in Sárospatak with his mother’s permission in 1585, though the young Máriássy had a harder time convincing her to accept his aspirations to study abroad. Despite her objection that ‘thy striving to a foreign land is only the issue of thy youthful mind’,113 he went to study in Strasbourg before joining the Hungarian coetus at Wittenberg with his friends Mihály Forgách, Demeter Krakkai and Zsigmond Péchy on 3 August 1587. Together they wrote a poetic introduction to Forgách’s speech on the subject of his scholarly peregrination, an envoi bidding farewell to the departing senior of the coetus, János Csanádi, and another poetic introduction to an oration Péchy delivered. By 1594, he was the vice-count of Szepes County, to which post he was reappointed in 1597 and 1600. According to the diary of the widely travelled scholar Albert Szenci Molnár, the Máriássy brothers regularly supported him.114 Máriássy probably made contributions to Szenci Molnár on a number of occasions; the latter’s 1618 Jubileus esztendei prédikáció (Sermon for the Jubilee) lists Zsigmond and Pál Máriássy among the patrons who supported his work. In the dedication to his translation of Postilla Scultetica, a liturgical commentary by the German theologian Abraham Scultetus, Szenci Molnár acknowledged the assistance of another gentleman: ‘Thy Grace’s father having been the provisor of the 13 cities of Szepes County, he was, as is well known in this region, the devoted patron of teachers of the true faith’.115 The individual mentioned here was Johann Kraus, the provisor of the 13 Szepes County towns that had been forfeited to Poland. Szenci’s supporter at the time of the publication of this text was Kraus’ son, as the elder Kraus had retired from his post in Lubló at the end of the 16th century. As Ambrosius wrote to Blotius on 24 March 1595: I am sending thee a description of the terms of the peace which the Polish estates have formulated in the name of the community of Christians

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The practice of humanism against the Turks. This document hath been conveyed unto me by my lord, the highly esteemed Johann Kraus, provisor of the 13 forfeited Szepes County towns. I would be greatly pleased if thou wouldst mention his name in thy letter to me, for it is always with his help that I would know whether something noteworthy happeneth in Poland, all of which I can then convey to thee.116

This list of patrons could be expanded to include Johann Kraus’ wife Anna Walkenstein. After Ambrosius’ circle produced the aforementioned volume of verse celebrating Monavius’ 1590 visit to Szepes County, their next such publication was a commemorative volume dedicated to Walkenstein upon her passing on 5 July 1594.117 Ambrosius once again served as editor for this brief publication and also contributed a commemorative address; like the group’s previous anthology, this volume was printed in Görlitz. The participating authors represented a narrower subset of Ambrosius’ circle of friends, and were presumably chosen by the pastor of Késmárk and Kraus himself.118 Perhaps the most notable aspect of this extensive list is the diversity of the social strata united by this circle of friends. The careers of Ambrosius’ closest friends, the pastors and headmasters who formed the core of this group, shared a number of characteristics with the pastor of Késmárk’s own life story: elementary and secondary education at a regional Latin school, followed by a few years of instruction at Wittenberg, then – depending on the opportunities available to them – a choice between teaching and preaching. Another of their common traits, as the preceding two chapters have demonstrated, was a commitment to Philippism; almost all of them took a public stand in favour of their traditional confessions and against the Formula Concordiae. Some of them (Hortensius, Jancsi and Platner) would serve as the senior of the Brotherhood of the 24 Parishes of Szepes County and were thus able to argue on behalf of this school of thought from a position of authority; the occupation of this seat also allowed them to protect the other members of Ambrosius’ circle and to counterbalance the power of the more orthodox-leaning Association of the Five Free Royal Cities. Others (Ambrosius, Mylius, Tolnai Fabricius and Fabricius) engaged in the struggle against local orthodox Lutherans both in writing and in person. The social situations of the figures who were more loosely affiliated with Ambrosius’ circle were characterised by studies at regional Latin schools and (sometimes) universities, after which they generally took ‘civilian’ positions as notaries, tax collectors and secretaries in Szepes County towns or other Upper Hungarian cities. In ethnic terms, German-speaking Zipsers made up the majority of Ambrosius’ wider social circle, though there were several Hungarians in this group, as well as a few Poles. Perhaps surprisingly, only Thoraconymus and a certain Duvorsky were of Slovakian origin, though confessional factors are the likeliest explanation for this seeming dearth, given that Slovak

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speakers tended to be committed to Lutheran orthodoxy and thus only a minimal number of them sympathised with the Philippist school of thought.119 The primary shared language of spiritual and public life in Upper Hungary, of course, was still Latin in this period, though by the end of the 16th century, German was becoming an increasingly important medium of communication in urban administration and confessional debates. After these two tongues, Hungarian was the third most significant regional language. The cities of this multinational region strove to adapt themselves to the idiosyncrasies of their ethnic composition and hired their pastors accordingly. In Lőcse, Anton Platner spread the Word in Latin, though two Germans and a Slovak pastor preached alongside him in this city. In Eperjes, János Fabricius delivered his sermons in Hungarian, though as the terms of Ambrosius’ employment indicate, this city always engaged a Germanspeaking concionator as well. In Késmárk, Ambrosius spoke from the pulpit in Latin and German, though Tamás Fabricius Tolnai proclaimed the Gospel in Hungarian as well. In Igló, János Jancsi delivered his Hungarian homilies alongside two German-speaking pastors. In education, however, Latin still played the leading role; even in Szepes County’s increasingly vernacularised churches, the most common hymns were still generally sung in Latin, which language thus continued to be a crucial means of communication in spiritual life, the arts, intellectual exchanges, everyday affairs and political commentary.120 In addition to the opportunities letters provided them, the citizens of the Respublica Litteraria also found Latin-language elegies, satires, epigrams, funeral orations, victory odes (epinikia) and carmina gratulatoria to be excellent tools for recording worldly phenomena. As David G Halsted put it in his monograph on the Silesian poetry, ‘Versification was part of a kind of economy based on exchanges of information and prestige’.121 Ambrosius and certain other members of his circle actively traded in this characteristically late-humanist ‘economy’, illustrative examples of which include the Carmina gratulatoria they compiled in honour of Jacob Monavius and the volumes of funeral orations they prepared to mark the deaths of Anna Walkenstein and Sebestyén Thököly’s wife Zsuzsanna Dóczy. On several occasions, Ambrosius enclosed poems or songs in his letters to his friends, or worked verses into the body of the letters themselves. In one message to Blotius, Ambrosius mentioned the 1592 wedding of King Sigismund III of Poland and Anne of Austria, adding, Much is said about marriage, and I am not well versed in such matters. Thus I wish only peace and God’s blessing unto this pair, in whose honor I wrote a poem, which is likewise a token of the respect I feel unto thee. He therewith sent this little eight-line tribute to Vienna.122

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He also enclosed some songs (cantiones) in this same letter, asking Blotius to examine them closely, saying that his doing so would encourage him to compose more. I have written songs previously, as well; it is enough to recall the recent appearance of the third edition of my collection. Our friend Monavius hath received this volume as well, and other outstanding men have likewise taken pleasure in my work … and perhaps neither they could have written better, or have found a better paraphrase of the ipse faciet. I have shown these songs to Gregorius Tribelius as well, the director of the mine in Szomolnok, who is an outstanding patron of various arts and authors. After consulting with my friends, I have therefore recommended the third edition of my hymnal to him. This message contains two particularly important words, ipse faciet. Jacob Monavius would choose ipse faciet as the motto for the emblem book he published in 1595.123 Humanist conventions dictated that he introduce his album with a motto, and Monavius asked his friends to write poems or epigrams inspired by these two words. The humanist of Breslau had begun working on this collection in the 1570s, and given his extensive network of friendly connections, could presumably have finished his compilation back then. In the summer of 1581, the famous numismatist and xylographer Hubert Goltzius124 wrote to the cartographer Abraham Ortelius125: ‘I have recently and previously told Giselinus to prepare a poem for the volume entitled Symbolum ipse faciet, to which he replied that he hath already written something, but was in no wise satisfied with it’.126 Nevertheless, the first Symbolum collection was published in Görlitz in 1581; it contained work by the friends and associates of the humanist from Breslau, including János Zsámboky and András Dudith. Monavius did not stop compiling poems and emblems, however, as he had another, larger version of this collection ready for publication in 1594, at which point he wrote to Ortelius in Antwerp: I have already noted that the poems thou sent long ago hath arrived. Thou shouldst not beg pardon for these two poems in no wise, as thou hast mentioned in thy most recent letter; I should rather blame myself that I brought such mischief into thy head … I have already more than two hundred excellent authors as thou shalt see from the catalog I have enclosed. In fact, I have likewise sent thee my verses addressed to the reader of the collection written on my motto, ipse faciet. In these, I explain that [we] have long since been gathering these verses, that some of them have already been published elsewhere, and that I am now issuing them again for three reasons: first, that they might serve to glorify God; second, that everyone might receive assurance from the good feelings I nurture toward my friends; and third, that they see the joy they lavish upon me. I trust the reader to judge these poems fairly.127

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This volume, a truly remarkable compilation of the work of 233 authors, was released to the public by Johannes Rhamba’s press in Görlitz in 1595. More than 400 pages in length, this collection functioned as a representative list of the citizens of the late-16th-century Respublica, a ‘who’s who’ of ‘everyone who mattered’. After a brief dedication and introduction, its poems commence with the Libellus Carminus Primus by Johannes Crato von Krafftheim of Breslau, one of the founding fathers of his city’s humanist movement, which is then followed by the contributions of Caspar Peucer and Théodore de Bèze. Soon thereafter comes a poem by Nicolaus Rhediger, another of Breslau’s cultural luminaries, who is succeeded by Johann Sturm and Zacharias Ursinus. Page 16 features verses by Martin Schilling and Paulus Melissus, shortly after which János Zsámboky salutes Monavius with an emblem he created in 1579. Given the wording of Ambrosius’ aforementioned letter to Blotius, one might assume that Ambrosius had sent Monavius a contribution to this volume in 1592. And his songs do play a considerable role in this volume; for instance, in section three, there is nothing between pages 257 and 263 but Ambrosius’ German-language psalms and other songs (with musical notation). One assumes that Ambrosius and Monavius would have agreed on the compositions to be included in this album. Even so, these songs are not the only pieces which represent Ambrosius in this publication; he also contributed verses written in other genres. The first of his poems, which he sent from Szepes County in 1594, appears on page 52. On page 283, we find the elegy he contributed in memory of Monavius’ brother Peter, who had died young; Ambrosius’ was the third in a set of these commemorative poems, the first written by de Bèze and the second by Caspar Peucer. On page 326, we see that Ambrosius also penned a longer panegyric in praise of his friend from Breslau, into which poem he worked a mention of Monavius’ visit to Szepes County. And finally, Ambrosius is the 6th of the 54 (!) poets gathered into the last of this book’s larger sections, entitled Parodiae varii generis et argumenti ad illam Horatianam: Quem tu Melpomene semel, etc. factae VI. Ambrosius’ parodia of Horace’s Ode to Melpomene, the muse of lyric poetry (page 360), is patterned after the conceptual structure of the 91st Psalm. Entitled Deo vitae mortisque arbitro (To God, the Judge of Life and Death), this poem is significant in two respects: this paraphrase of Horace was the first parodia composed by a Hungarian writer, and it served as the model for the much more famous Bálint Balassi’s poem of the same name.128 A lack of sources makes it impossible to know exactly how Balassi came to borrow the structure of this parodia; Monavius’ Ipse faciet was published a year after the great poet’s death. However, we cannot rule out the possibility that Balassi was personally acquainted with Ambrosius, as Késmárk was always an important way station on the former’s trips to Poland. I might also add that Ambrosius’ parodia was likely written before 1594, as were the other poems and songs he contributed to Monavius’ collection. This leads us to the investigation of

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another relationship; as the reader will recall, in the first letter Ambrosius sent to Basel, he mentioned that Grynaeus had staged a choral performance of the Parodia Eucharistica that Ambrosius and Monavius had co-written. From this, at least two conclusions follow: that Ambrosius was already writing parodiae by the late 1580s, and that the Deo vitae mortisque arbitro might have been the parodia presented to the congregation at the Basel Minster Church. Returning to Monavius’ Ipse faciet, the poem immediately following Ambrosius’ first appearance in this collection is an octave Johann Mylius wrote in 1594; shortly before it, on pages 45 and 46, is a carmen gratulatorum by Caspar Pilcius. Other members of Ambrosius’ circle who contributed poems to Ipse faciet include Zsigmond Máriássy and Johann Kraus; Gregorius Tribelius appears as well, insofar as Monavius dedicated its second section to him as a show of appreciation for his support. The humanists of Szepes County thus played a fairly significant role in this volume, which is surely a reflection of the quality of their relationship with Monavius. Even so, the presence of these residents of Szepes County might elicit a second possible reading, given that these six individuals can be divided into two groups: Ambrosius, Pilcius and Mylius were creators, scholars of the artes humaniores, while Kraus, Máriássy and Tribelius were these humanists’ patrons. Outside of Monavius’ brief description, we have no sources to indicate which sorts of principles might have governed the compilation of this volume, but perhaps it would not be an exaggeration to say that this arrangement conveyed a symbolic message. These six representatives of the intellectual life of Szepes County might have epitomised the conditions of the late-humanist era there: three humanists with three patrons standing behind them might have embodied an ideal set of conditions in the late 16th century. Above all, however, it is Ambrosius’ role in this publication that is most noteworthy, given that he ‘lavished joy upon’ his friend Monavius with five different genres of writing presented in five different places in this book. The eight-line Latin epigram that appears on page 52 of the Ipse faciet is interesting because Ambrosius followed it with a German variant of these lines before reverting to Latin for a final sestet: Fidere rite Deo magnum est: ab origine prime Arbitrio fecit qui bona cuncta suo. Si qua etiam bona sunt nostro quod degimus aeuo, IPSE boni solus fons et origo FACIT. Denique venturo speramus quae bona seclo, IPSE unus FACIET pro bonitate sua. Ab valeant et opes et inania gaudia mundi: Felix qui didicit fdere rite DEO. It is great to keep faith in God the proper way who from the beginning of times made the whole creation as he willed.

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If there is any good in the life we live now HE, the sole source and origin of good, DOES SO. Then any good we hope for in the coming age, HE alone, in his benevolence, WILL DO SO. Farewell to the wealth and the vain pleasures of the world, Happy who learned to keep faith in GOD the proper way. GOTT trawen uber alle ding/ Sol man nicht achten fuer gering/ Denn was je guttes ward vollbracht/ Von Unfang/ das hat Er gemacht. Ist etwas guts zu unser Zeit/ Macht Ers allein aus guettigkeit. Was wir guts wartn im andern Leben/ Das wil Er machen und Uns geben. Die Welt auff Geldt und Gut mag bawen/ Wol dem/ der recht kan auff Gott trawen. Trust God over everything; One should not pay heed to the small, For what ever is good was finished from the beginning, that He has made. If something be good for us in our time He makes it of goodness alone. The good we await in another life He will make and give to us. He might build a world of gold and good Who can rightly entrust it to God. IDEM Omnia quae mala sunt, faciunt Satanas, caro, mundus: Omnia quae bona sunt sed facit Ipse Deus. Iure igitur dilecte Deoq. pijsq. Monaui Illi te credis, qui bene cuncta facit. Ille unus quoniam facit, á te spernere perge Omnia quae possunt nil, male ni, facere. E Scepusio, 1594. Everything wicked is the work of Satan, flesh and world, everything virtuous, however, accomplishment of God. Justly then, Monavius, you are in delight of the God and the pious, justly you trust yourself to God, who makes all that is good. Since He is the only who has this power, continue to keep away from you all the things that can do nothing, if not evil.

208 The practice of humanism The psalms which appear on pages 257–63 (some of which previously appeared in Ambrosius’ hymnals, including a paraphrase of Psalm 37) are an elegant representation of Ambrosius’ work as a composer and lyricist, especially if one compares them to the songs of the famous poeta laureatus Paulus Melissus (Schede), whose work immediately precedes Ambrosius’ in the Ipse faciet. Likewise, the oratio funebris on page 283, the laudatio on page 326, and the final parodia all bear witness to Ambrosius’ talents as a poet. If we compare Ambrosius’ contributions to the poems supplied by other authors, we see that almost all of the better represented writers were from Monavius’ hometown of Breslau: seven of Valens Acidalius’ pieces are featured here; Nicolaus Rhediger and Georg Calaminus also supplied seven each; Monavius’ brother contributed six, as did Solomon Frenzelius and Nathan Chytraeus of Rostock. With their tributes, Nicolaus Reusner and Paulus Melissus equalled Ambrosius’ contribution of five pieces, while every other participating author received less space, generally represented by one to three poems apiece. Statistical analysis of Ambrosius’ contribution thus suggests that this exceptionally large number of pieces represents a quantitative acknowledgement of the friendship between Monavius and the pastor of Késmárk. And in addition to the force of this numerical recognition, Ambrosius must have been genuinely touched to find that Monavius appreciated his work enough to have incorporated poems he had written in five separate genres, an unequivocal signal to the citizens of the Respublica that the man from Szepes County was worthy of the attention of Europe’s humanists. In fact, by making room for six representatives of Szepes County, Monavius conveyed to this project’s participants and to the other citizens of the Respublica that he recognised Ambrosius and his associates as members of the European community in the same way he recognised Lipsius, Scaliger, Junius, Douza, Gruter and Polanus, all of whom also appeared in this volume. The question that arises is thus, ‘How should we characterise Ambrosius’ social circle?’ Was it a friendly association of humanists? A regional citizens’ group that did its best to live up to humanist ideals? The individuals with whom Ambrosius was most intimate – the close friends who formed his inner circle – all held similar religious views and stood together in the region’s confessional disputes. Having pursued almost identical career paths, they were all employed by the parishes and schools of Szepes County. Even so, a precise investigation of this question is complicated by the paucity and fragmentary nature of sources describing their possible meetings and gatherings. Ambrosius’ letters indicate that members of this circle sometimes gathered at his parsonage (as Jancsi and Kraus did in February 1598, for example129) and that he and his associates sometimes debated certain issues. A letter Ambrosius wrote to Zsigmond Máriássy130 is somewhat more ‘communicative’; dated 24 March 1595, this missive describes several sorts of activities. First, it makes clear that the widowed Johann Kraus, the provisor of the Lubló (Stará Ľubovňa) Castle and the 13 forfeited towns of

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Szepes County, had entrusted Ambrosius with the task of compiling elegies in memory of his wife and that this publication had been delayed because several participants had failed to submit the poems they had promised. Máriássy was among the procrastinators, and his friend in Késmárk hoped his letter might encourage Máriássy to make haste. Ambrosius employed an extended garden-metaphor in this letter: ‘Ac ad epigramma quod attinet, ut in excusatione tua libentissime acquiesco, ita virum optimum, qui hortum medicum excolit, eidem locum daturum esse confdo’. Máriássy was thus expected to submit the promised epigram to the hortus medicus or ‘medicinal garden’ – that is, to the planned collection of elegies. The vir optimus here was the printer, Johannes Rhamba of Görlitz, who was ‘cultivating’ (excolit) the aforementioned garden and would need to leave space in this publication for Máriássy’s late-arriving verses. Ambrosius’ letter also mentions the methodology for preparing a map of Hungary, which project is also discussed in other sources. On 9 December of that same year, Ambrosius wrote to Martin Bachaček in Prague, whom he had commissioned on behalf of an unnamed Hungarian to produce an updated version of an older published map of the Kingdom.131 Ambrosius presumably wrote to Máriássy because the latter had also played (or was willing to play) a role in this undertaking. A short study suggested the likelihood that this letter to Máriássy was an indication that Ambrosius might have been among the authors of a map of Hungary and Central Europe produced in the late 16th century.132 The data concerning its preparation, especially the written guidelines for it, suggest that Ambrosius did in fact participate in this project – a Central European and humanist undertaking through and through. This same letter to Máriássy also discusses yet another important subject connected to Ambrosius’ circle of friends, namely that the pastor of Késmárk had loaned Johann Kraus a copy of Justus Lipsius’ Politicorum sive civilis libri sex and lent Jacob Pribicer, the former headmaster of Kassa, András Dudith’s writings on the Great Comet of 1577.133 The former datum is important to discussions of the reception of Lipsius’ work in Hungary, insofar as it indicates that Lipsius’ ideas were disseminated not only among court pastors and their patrons but also among urban-bourgeois intellectuals like Ambrosius and his friends.134 This information suggests that the latter were discussing Neostoic thought, and one might presume that the loaning out of these books was followed by productive debates. In this same letter to Máriássy, Ambrosius also mentions a letter that Lipsius had sent to their mutual friend Monavius. Ambrosius wanted to forward this epistle to Máriássy as well, but could not find it (‘Sed hoc tempore inter alias chartas reperire non potui’). This sort of gesture was an established custom in humanist circles, where private correspondence was never assumed to be confidential; in fact, certain famous scholars’ letters would be circulated among humanists who had no connection to their authors. In the late-humanist period, such letters might be passed around and displayed to acquaintances as treasured artefacts, evidence

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of friendships or exemplary literary creations. When Ambrosius travelled to Breslau, for example, he took a letter from Grynaeus to show off to Monavius. Our understanding of the reception of Lipsius’ work is further augmented by a letter Ambrosius wrote to Imre Forgách, which missive reveals that Ambrosius was also on good terms with Lipsius’ chief contact in Hungary, Mihály Forgách. Thus it is possible that the relationship between Ambrosius and the Forgách family played a role in the dissemination and reception of the Flemish scholar’s work in Hungary.135 In any case, this 1597 letter amply demonstrates that the pastor of Késmárk was on friendly terms with Imre Forgách of Komjáti, the former lord lieutenant of Trencsén county. It also shows that Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, who had already departed for Sárospatak and had by that time fallen ill, was still a part of the humanist discourse of Upper Hungary. Furthermore, Demeter Krakkai (who was also employed in Sárospatak at that time), Zsigmond Máriássy and Caspar Pilcius (both of whom spent lengthy periods at the school in Sárospatak) might also have played an essential role in the region’s humanist communication.136 Albert Szenci Molnár, of course, also played an important role in these circles, as evidenced by a message he wrote in Heidelberg in 1598: I received a letter from Hungary, from the honorable reverend Tolnai Fabricius, the leading pastor of the congregation of Sárospatak, in which he recommendeth me for the position of lecturer at the Sárospatak School, which I had not considered, as I do not consider myself worthy of it.137 Ambrosius had come up with the idea of employing Molnár as a lecturer or teaching assistant,138 and given that the latter was in a difficult situation, living on loans, the opportunity interested him. Tolnai Fabricius was actually counting on Szenci Molnár to return from Heidelberg, though the former passed away in 1599, which information Szenci Molnár once again learned from Ambrosius.139 After a brief illness, Szenci Molnár headed for the German city of Speyer that fall rather than Sárospatak. Communications were always travelling back and forth along the routes which led from Sárospatak through Komjáti and Késmárk to Pozsony, and thus the residents of this war-torn region could still exchange letters and books, dreaming of peaceful gardens where they could dedicate themselves to the arts.140 This context facilitates the explanation of another piece of information in this letter to Máriássy, namely that Ambrosius had loaned András Dudith’s book to Jacob Pribicer, who had studied in Wittenberg and Leipzig before serving as the headmaster in Besztercebánya and later Kassa – and who, as the son-in-law of Thomas Frölich, became a passionate supporter of the Formula Concordiae. In 1578, Pribicer wrote the salutatory poem to the Confessio in which Gregor Meltzer attacked so-called Crypto-Calvinists. Above all, this loan demonstrates that confessional disagreements did not necessarily undermine humanist relationships. It also indicates that this

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famous book about the Great Comet of 1577, in which Dudith had confronted traditional superstitions by offering a thoroughly scientific explanation of this phenomenon, inspired exchanges of ideas among humanists and was very likely a subject of their debates.141 All the information and books discussed in this chapter give a sense of the kind of humanist practices that characterised Ambrosius and his circle of friends. I have intentionally used this formulation to denote the fact that in almost every instance where the sources describe a collective action taken by Ambrosius and his associates, he tends to have played a leading role. Ambrosius was the representative member of this circle, its spiritual centre, the architect who came up with most of the group’s ideas and the workman who put them into action. We could also play around with the notion that this group was a contubernium in the sense that Justus Lipsius and his Neostoic friends used the term to describe their circle, following Seneca in defining friendship as something that is created between honourable men, but can also, in the spirit of humanitas, occasionally extend to our creative colleagues as well.142 We might likewise ponder whether Ambrosius and his circle had connections at the court of Boldizsár Batthyány in Németújvár,143 another destination for the shipments of books sent out by the Frankfurt bookdealer Jean Aubry, where Carolus Clusius cultivated his garden and compiled the Latin-Hungarian guide to the plants of Hungary which he first published in Németújvár and later issued in Antwerp.144 He was assisted in the preparation of this volume by the confessional disputant István Beythe, who helped Clusius determine the names of Hungarian plants during the botanical hikes they took together;145 Ambrosius knew about all of this, as he indicated in his letters to Blotius.146 We have no direct evidence or references to suggest that Ambrosius was in contact with Batthyány’s court, but it is tempting to speculate about the possibility. Even so, this examination of the surviving sources has revealed that in the wake of the conscious and dynamic action Ambrosius took to introduce himself to the Respublica, he continued to participate in Europe’s intellectual life up to the end of the 16th century, and used the channels he thereby opened at least partly as a way of introducing his friends into Europe’s scholarly circles. At the same time, his letters and publications all bear witness to the fact that his local intellectual society would not have functioned without him; he alone embodied the steadfast presence Lipsius described in his De constantia. His activities also demonstrate – as was typical of the spread of the academic movements in the 15th century – that it was thanks to Ambrosius’ efforts that Europe’s cultural and scholarly aspirations resonated with many of the figures who defined intellectual life in Szepes County in the late 16th century. This was not a new Sodalitas Litteraria Danubiana, but if we examine the scholarly and cultural organisations of the Renaissance and the early modern period from a broader perspective, we see that Ambrosius’ circle exhibited characteristics which recall the humanist circles and associations of the preceding century.147

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Notes 1 Grynaeus XX. 2 Szenci Molnár Albert naplója (The Diary of Albert Szenci Molnár). Edited by András Szabó. Budapest: Universitas, 2003, 133. 3 Magyar étkeknek főzése Thököli Sebestyén Uram ő Nagysága Szakácha, Szent Benedeki Mihály által. 1601. X. Augusti Késmárkon (The Preparation of Hungarian Meals by Mihály Szent Benedeki, Chef to His Excellency Sebestyén Thököly. Késmárk, August 10, 1601). Copy in the Manuscript Archives, OSzK Latin Quartos, section 2906. 4 See Albert Szenci Molnár, Latin–Magyar, Magyar–Latin szótár: ‘Tu enim me cum annis superioribus patriam inviserem, in arce tua cum Reverendo viro D. Sebastiano Ambrosio Ecclesiaste Kesmarcensi honorifce excepisti et per Biduum clementer ac liberaliter tractavisti’. 5 Szenci Molnár naplója, 135. 6 ‘Si flius tuus huc venerit, ei parata studia offciaq. mea futura sum’. 7 Grynaeus XXI. 8 Szenci Molnár naplója, 137. In this letter to Szenci Molnár, Ambrosius mentioned Dániel Fabinyi of Eperjes (the son of his former teacher, Lukács Fabinyi); the younger Fabinyi was at that time in Strasbourg. 9 Letter written in Görlitz on 26 August 1600; see Szenczi, Levelezés, 116. 10 Szenci Molnár naplója, 137. 11 Blotius’ letter written in Vienna, dated 20 August 1592; ÖNB Suppl. 2896, Fol. 108. That Blotius intended to write a work of history is completely new information. It is, however, known that Blotius wanted to compile a portrait gallery of his friends and contemporaries, though this plan never came to fruition. See Géza Galavics, ‘Személyiség és reneszánsz portré. Ismeretlen magyarországi humanista-portré: Mossóczy Zakariás arcképe’ (Personality and the Renaissance Portrait. An Unknown Portrait of the Hungarian Humanist Zakariás Mossóczy), in Collectanea Tiburtiana. Tanulmányok Klaniczay Tibor tiszteletére. Adattár, 10. Szeged, 1990, 401–18. The originally Italian Brutus, Giovanni Michele Bruto, served as the court historian to the Transylvanian prince and king of Poland István Báthory before being hired by Emperor Rudolf II in 1588. Brutus’ most significant work was a continuation of Antonio Bonfini’s history of Hungary. 12 Almási, The Uses of Humanism, 186–7. 13 According to Blotius’ letter, Brutus had decided to go to Transylvania when he was informed that Prince István Báthory planned to publish his work. Brutus intended to do serious research there and assemble all the relevant historical data which painted Austria and the German principalities in an unflattering light. 14 Blotius X. 15 For more on Sleidanus’ methods, see Arthur G Dickens, ‘Johannes Sleidan and Reformation History’, in R Buick Knox, ed., Reformation Conformity and Dissent. London: Epworth Press, 1977, 17–44. For more on the era’s schools of historiographical thought, see Bruce Gordon, ed., Protestant History and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Europe, vol. 2. The Later Reformation. Hants: Scolar Press, 1996. 16 Gabelmann was also in contact with Blotius; see Lajos Thallóczy, ‘Adatok Gablman Miklós és Blotius Hugo viszonyához’, TT (1897): 422–39. He served as an imperial military historian as well; see Thallóczy, ‘Gablman Miklós császári hadi történetíró emlékezete’ (The Memories of Miklós Gablman, Imperial Military Historian), TT (1896): 577–646; Sándor Szilágyi, ‘Gablman Miklós 16. századi hadtörténeti író munkáiról’ (On the Work of

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the Sixteenth-Century Military Historian Miklós Gablman), MKSz (1881): 134–6. Vienna, 20 May 1594; ÖNB Suppl. 2896. Fol. 155. Blotius’ quick and thorough response is striking for two reasons. On the one hand, it demonstrates that he was not a sluggish correspondent when his favourite subjects were under discussion; on the other, the terms of endearment Blotius directed at Ambrosius (who was ‘sweeter than ambrosia’) are fascinatingly florid examples of humanist flirtation: ‘Accepi, quae misisti omnia, Ambrosi, ambrosia dulcior, et quidem animo libentissiomo accepi, legi, amavi’. Blotius XII. For example, God must have known when He sent the first heavenly sign to Abraham that he would have to narrate this event to his sons and the rest of his family, which is the vocation of the historian (post se narraturum, hoc est, historici offcio functurum esse). And when God, through Moses, ordered the slaughter of the Passover lamb, He explicitly told the parents to repeat the story of this ritual to their children so as to preserve the memory of their exodus from Egypt forever (servitute perpetuam ejus benefcii memoriam conservarent). Blotius XV. Újváry reproduced and evaluated Thököly’s plan in his ‘A ponyvásszekértől…’, 85–7, 90–3. This calamity is mentioned in Gáspár Hain’s chronicle of Lőcse and Bohusch’s Descriptio Scepusiae. The official entry in the Matricula Molleriana says no more about his death than this: Sebastianus Ambrosius alias Lam dictus, Pastor Kasmarkiensis obiit anno 1600. The ecclesiastical records of the Lutheran church are somewhat more descriptive: ‘die 24. Oct. Anno 1600. Rever. et Car. Sebastianus Lam Pastor Eccl. Kesmark peste est extinctus. Hic ille, est Lamius, quicum Gregorio Horvath Stansith de Gradecz de Coena Dni perpetuo disputabat’. Manuscript Archives, OSZK, Latin Folios 2086/2, page 132, item 859. ‘Vana recesserunt per inanes corpora ventos / Pestis ad infaustum fuerat mortalibus omen / Claudere namque omnes fata sumprema’; cited in Samuel Weber, ‘Babonák a Szepességen’ (Superstitions in Szepes County), Sz (1882): 771; for more on the epidemic of 1600, see Gyula Magyari-Kossa, Magyar orvosi emlékek (Hungarian Medical Memories), vol. I. Budapest, 1929, 300–1. Zwey geistliche Lieder. Liegnitz, 1600. Zwey newe geistliche Lieder wiederdie Türcken und Tattern und alle andere Feinde der christlichen Kirchen, RMK III. 971.c. and Neun gesitliche Lieder, Liegnitz, 1601, RMK III. 971.d. Ad solemnem miraculose recuperati Iaurini Recordationem… Görlitz: Johann Rhamba, 1602, RMK III. 989. Epicedia in praematurum obitum … Christophori Darholtz de Finta etc. ab aliquot doctis ac piis viris conscripta, cura ac industria. Bártfa, 1602, RMK II. 317; RMNy 882. The publication of this volume was sponsored by András Máriássy, to whom János Tolnai Balog addressed the book’s dedication. János Filiczki, Xenia Natalitia, Prague, 1604, RMK III. 1015. Sebastiani Ambrosii pastoris ecclesiae Keismarcensis hymnus et laudatae ejusdem vita pie acta plaude nuper functi memoriae conservatus a Scholasticis Elbigenses; mentioned in Ráth, ‘Gradeczi Horváth Gergely’, 156. Apotheca sacra psalmorum… Kassa: printed by Daniel Schutz, 1628, RMK II. 451. Geistliche Lieder auss schönen Lehr- vnd Trostsprächen H. Schrifft, vnd sonsten vornehmer Lehrer Sprächen, vnd auff fürtrefficher Meister Melodeyen gerichtet, durch Sebastianum Ambrosium, Weilandt Dienern desz Göttlichen

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The practice of humanism Worts in der Stadt Keyszmarck in Zyps. Jetz und auffs Newe in Druck gegeben. 1630. Serpilius was accused of Crypto-Calvinism in 1635 and imprisoned despite his convincing defence. Nathan Chytraeus was a humanist poet and professor of Latin in Rostock and later Bremen. For a relatively recent account of his life, see Thomas Elsmann, Hanno Lietz and Sabine Pettke, eds., Nathan Chytraeus 1543–1598. Ein Humanist in Rostock und Bremen. Quellen and Studien. Bremen: Edition Temmen, 1991. The last three lines of Weidner’s poem read: ‘Deliciae, concors mens, animiq; pares / Ó sortem! Ó vitam! Fata ó bene mascula! Jovae / AMBROSIUM Ambrosiá quae voluére frui’. Bibl. Ste. Geneviève, Ms. 1455, fol. 403v–405. Two characteristic lines of his poem: ‘Ambrosius felix obiit, certéque quidem / Anno relicta, possidet’. Szenci, Levelezés, 142. See Almási, The Uses of Humanism, 27. As the author of emblem books and a citizen of the Respublica, Zsámboky had done similar service in memory of his own late friends. See Paul Dibon, ‘Communication in the Respublica Literaria of the Seventeenth Century’, Res Publica Litterarum 1 (1978): 42–55; Patrick J. Lambe, ‘Critics and Skeptics in the Seventeenth-Century Republic of Letters’, Harvard Theological Review 81, no. 3 (1988): 271–96. Melanchthon, Ethica doctrinae elementa et enarratio libri quinti ethicorum. Edita Vitebergae anno 1550 (ex officina Iohannis Cratonis). ‘L’amitié se nourrit de communication…’ Michel de Montaigne, Essais, book I, chapter 27: ‘De l’Amitié’. Notker Hammerstein, ‘Schule, Hochschule und Res publica littararia’, in S Neumesiter and C Wiedemann, eds., Res Publica Litteraria. Die Institutionen der Gelehrsamkeit in der frühen Neuzeit, part I., Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz, 1987, 93–110. Walter Rüegg, ‘Themes’, in H de Ridder-Symoens, ed., A History of the University in Europe. Vol. II: Universities in Early Modern Europe (1500– 1800). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996, 7. Bots and Waquet, La République des Lettres, 11; Marc Fumaroli, ‘La conversation savant’, in In Bots and Waquet, eds., Commercium litterarium, 1600– 1750. La communication dans les République des Lettres. Amsterdam: APA and Holland University Press, 68–9. For a more recent account, see Anthony Grafton, Worlds Made by Words: Scholarship and Community in the Modern West. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Bene, ‘Az “Erény Múzeuma”’, 168. Grynaeus XXII. Grynaeus III. Grynaeus IV. Grynaeus V. Grynaeus V: ‘per negligentiam studiosorum nostratium Witebergae degentium, quibus id negotii commiseram factum est’. For more on Dives, see Polski Słownik Biografczny, vol. V. Kraków, 1939–46, 174; Kesner is featured in vol. XVIII. Kraków–Warszawa, 1973, 352. Szenci naplója, 124; entry dated 2 April 1598. For more on Aubry, see Ö Szabolcs Barlay, ‘400 éves francia levelek és könyvszámlák. Batthyány Boldizsár és Jean Aubry barátsága’ (400-Year-Old French Letters and Book Invoices. The Friendship of Boldizsár Batthyány and Jean Aubry), MKSz (1977): 156–74; Robert J. W. Evans, The Wechel Presses: Humanism and Calvinism in Central Europe 1572–1627. Past & Present Suppl. 2 (1975). It is not surprising that the Hungarian poet János Rimay contacted

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the Flemish philosopher Justius Lipsius through Aubry: ‘If thou wouldst reply to me in writing, send it to Jean Aubry in Frankfurt, through whom I intend my future letters to thee to be sent as well’. Grynaeus VIII: ‘quidquid ad me mittere voles vestri Bibliopolae Francofurti Johanni Aubrio Wechelianorum haeredum consorti tradant. Is sicut hactenus in curandis aliorum etiam longius dissitorum amicorum literis fdem et diligentiam suam abunde mihi probavit’. This suggests that Ambrosius might have had friends in England or the Low Countries who remain unknown to us. Mihály Bucsay has discussed Liffortius’ fund-raising missions: ‘Eine Hilfaktion für Genf in Ost- und Südosteuropa im 16. Jahrhundert. Die Kollektenreise von Charles Liffort 1592–1593’, Kirche im Osten. Studien zur osteuropäische Kirchengeschichte und Kirchenkunde 17 (1974): 163–79. Blotius II and IV. Henckel’s career was comparable to Sebestyén Thököly’s; he, too, lent serious sums of money to the imperial court in the decades under analysis here. Blotius IV and V. Blotius IX. Blotius XI. Blotius XI. Blotius XIV. See the letter he wrote from Emden, dated 21 July 1597. For more on Junius, see Christiaan De Jonge, De Irenische Ecclesiologie van Franciscus Junius (1545–1602). Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1980. For a recent account of Clusius, European communication networks, and the scholarship of the era, see Florike Egmond, Paul Hoftijzer and Robert Vissers, eds., Carolus Clusius in a New Context: Cultural Histories of Renaissance Natural Science. Amsterdam: Edita Publishers, Royal Dutch Academy, 2006. Leiden’s online database of Clusius’ correspondence was unveiled in 2015, though this collection of 1600 digitized letters does not contain the correspondence between Ambrosius and Clusius. See http://clusiuscorrespondence.huygens.knaw.nl. For a detailed account of the situation, see Maarten Ultee, ‘Res publica litteraria and War, 1680–1715’, Res Publica Litteraria, 535–48. Blotius IV, VI and VII; Grynaeus XI and XIII. Grynaeus XI. ‘politica non ex vulgi rumoribus, sed e sermonibus Magnifci Domini Theokeolii habeo’. Stücki V. For a detailed discussion of this subject, see ‘La dynamique de la République des Lettres’, in Bots and Waquet, eds., La République, 117–42. Grynaeus VI. Blotius XVII. Grynaeus X. It is interesting to compare these exchanges with the correspondence between Blotius and Justus Lipsius, which began in 1589. Blotius received a very brief reply only after his third letter to the celebrated Flemish scholar; he initially courted Lipsius with compliments and ingratiating formulations, but soon turned to cross demands that he be dignified with a response. See Jeanine De Landtsheer, ‘Forgotten Letters from Hugo Blotius to Justus Lipsius in Vienna, ÖNB MS. 9490’, Humanistica Lovaniensia 61 (2012): 319–31. Blotius VII. Blotius X. It is, of course, not clear whether he was referring to letters of his own, as he wrote these lines on 20 April 1594, having sent his previous letter to Vienna on 20 March. In many cases, unfortunately, the letters mentioned in such

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The practice of humanism correspondence are not the letters which have survived; the original referents have presumably been lost. Blotius III. Blotius XIV and XV. While there, István Thököly enlisted Imre Újfalvi’s aid in sending letters back to Késmárk. Grynaeus XVIII. Grynaeus XX. For Miskolczi Csulyak’s autobiographical sketch, see Régi Magyar Költők Tára, XVII. század, 2. Pécseli Király Imre, Miskolczi Csulyak István és Nyéki Vörös Mátyás versei (Compendium of Old Hungarian Poets. Seventeenth Century, vol. 2. The Verses of Imre Pécseli Király, István Miskolczi Csulyak, and Mátyás Nyéki Vörös). Budapest: Akadémiai, 1962, 287–8. Nor would he be entrusted with any more significant tasks: ‘In August [of 1601, Ambrosius’ successor] Gáspár Praetorius, the leading pastor of Késmárk, Headmaster János Frölich, and His Highness’ Tax Collector Mátyás Bobrowiczi were summoned to a council where they resolved to go to the Görlitz Gymnasium in Lusatia [where Johann Mylius was the headmaster] … the boy Miklós and I were sent off to Breslau … with two bottles of wine as a gift for Jakab Monavius, that he might help us in accordance with his high position’, Miskolci Csulyak, Önéletírás, 288. The citations here are from the Oratio funebris Ambrosius composed. This poem was published in a thematic issue of Palimpszeszt entitled ‘Vox Mulieris’ (no. 16, 2002): 20. János Filiczki, Xenia Natalitia, Prague, 1604, RMK III. 1015; Tamás Félegyházi, A keresztieni igaz hitnek reszeiröl valo tanitas… (The Teachings of the Trewe Christen Faythe), Debrecen: Rodolphus Hoffhalter, 1579, RMNy 430; Valerianus Mader, Libellvs exercitiorum poeseos scholasticorvm… Galgóc: Mantskouit, 1588. RMNy 611. The text of these scholastic regulations appears in an appendix to Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink. ‘In the pantheon of illustrious men (viri illustres), leading patrons, bibliophilic secular and ecclesiastical dignitaries, and humanists themselves all occupy places as parties of equal rank’; see Bene, ‘Az “Erény Múzeuma”’, 168. The expression ‘economy of dedication’ has been used by several scholars including Roger Chartier in his Forms and Meanings, Texts, Performances, and Audiences from Codex to Computer. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995, 25–42. Paula Findlen treats the early modern practice of gift-giving as a conventional form of communication in ‘The Economy of Scientific Exchange in Early Modern Italy’, in Bruce Moran, ed., Patronage and Institutions. Science, Technology and Medicine at the European Court, 1500–1750. Rochester: The Boydell Press, 1991, 5–24. For a discussion of the gift-giving customs typical of patron–client relationships, see Sharon Kettering, ‘Gift-Giving and Patronage in Early Modern France’, French History 2, no. 2 (1988): 131–51. Ambrosius expanded this treatise to include a detailed description of the colours to be expected when this rose bloomed. He then moved on, as usual, to the attacks of his adversary; he also mentioned Thököly’s trip to Prague, as well as a mutual acquaintance named Sigismund Moes. Péter Melius’ descriptions of the Radix rhodia and other plants are fascinating: ‘De Rhodia radice. It hath a large root, like that of a mandrake, but rose-scented, its leaves resembling those of a duckweed, except the edge of the latter’s leaf is tough and serrate, notched as if it had been chopped and split. It groweth in high mountains, in the forest. Cultivation: like a rose; profitable to keep cool and wet as one would

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a rose. With rose vinegar, it healeth headache’. Herbárium. A fáknak, füveknek nevekről, természetekről és hasznairól (Herbarium. On the Names, Natures, and Uses of Trees and Grasses). Bucharest: Kriterion, 1979 (Reprint), 169–70. See János Stirling, Magyar reneszánsz kertművészet a XVI–XVII. században (Hungarian Renaissance Horticulture in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries). Budapest: Enciklopédia Kiadó, 1996; Mark Morford, ‘The Stoic Garden’, Journal of Garden History 7, no. 2: 151–75; Richard Patterson, ‘The “Hortus Palatinus” at Heidelberg and the Reformation of the World’, esp. part II: Culture as Science 1, no. 2 (1981): 179–202. Ambrosius’ letter written from Késmárk on 4 April 1595. Library of the University of Wrocław, R 2177, n. 13: ‘Plantus aliquot e vicino huis patriae meae monte Carpatho ad virum eximiis verae Nobilitatis ornamentis Clariss. bonorumque bonorum amore ac benevolentia dignissimum D. Jacobum Monavium mitterem ut, si dignas putaret, quae locum aliquem in tuo horto haberem eas cum plurima ex me quamvis ignoto salute tecum communicaret’. For a detailed discussion of Scholtz, see Manfred P Fleischer, ‘The Garden of Laurentius Scholz. A Cultural Landmark of Late-Sixteenth-Century Lutheranism’, Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies 9 (1979): 29–48. This letter also featured his usual short introduction to Szepes County, though it now included mention of the Turkish threat to the land of his birth. Ambrosius expressed his anxiety thus: ‘It is no wonder that the muses whisper in such an abominable uproar’. This letter is an exemplary specimen of humanist correspondence, insofar as it unites all of the letter-writing traditions of the period – structure, style, rhetoric and compositional conventions. See ‘A reneszánsz rózsái’ (The Roses of the Renaissance), in János Géczi’s Természet-kép. Művelődéstörténeti tanulmányok. Budapest: Krónika Nova, 2001, 60–151. In addition to the rose, the tulip (which arrived in Europe in the 16th century) also played a significant role as a possible gift; in fact, it would become an increasingly important element of texts on the care of flowers and plants and the scientifically rigorous observations that appeared in the letters of the era; see Florike Egmond, ‘Observing Nature: The Correspondence Network of Carolus Clusius (1526–1609)’, in D van Miert, ed., Communicating Observations in Early Modern Letters (1500–1675), The Warburg Institute; Nino Aragno Editore: London and Turin, 2013, 43–72. For an account of 16th-century gift-giving customs and their significance, see Natalie Zemon Davis, The Gift in Sixteenth-Century France. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. The King of Hungary and Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand I (1503–64) was a major collector, and by the late 16th century, scholars like Jacopo Strada and Wolfgang Lazius were engaging in debates on the evaluation of coins at the Imperial Court in Vienna. See ‘Ancient Coins as Tokens of Friendship’, Journal of the History of Numismatics (1989): 13–32. ÖNB, Suppl. 2896. Fol. 95. Tünde Katona and Miklós Latzkovits, eds., Lőcsei stipendiánsok és literátusok. 1. Külföldi tanulmányutak dokumentumai 1550–1699 (Scholarship Recipients and Men of Letters from Lőcse, vol. 1. Documentation of Scholarly Peregrinations, 1550–1699). Szeged, 1990, letter no. 90, 146–8. See Hermann Menhardt, Das älteste Handschriften Verzeichnis der Wiener Hofbibliothek von Hugo Blotius, 1576. Wien: Rohrer, 1957. When he got started, Blotius was dismayed to discover that the books and manuscripts the Habsburgs had been accumulating for more than 300 years were in extraordinarily poor condition. Packed into an inappropriately small storage space in a Franciscan monastery near the Imperial Palace, these texts were ‘organised’

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The practice of humanism according to an old-fashioned system of indexing that made it difficult to navigate their contents with ease; more than a thousand manuscripts lay unbound in this monastic warehouse, where bookworms and other bugs had done considerable damage. Blotius’ efforts were eventually supported by the diplomat Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq, the imperial military commander Lazarus von Schwendi and the imperial court physician Johannes Crato von Krafftheim. ÖNB, HSS CVP 9386, 71r–v. There is some irony in the fact that Sebastian Tengnagel was single when he was appointed as Blotius’ successor, but then married Blotius’ widow when his predecessor died in 1608. See Justin Stagl, A History of Curiosity. Blotius IV. This 1595 letter was addressed to his former teacher in Strasbourg, the Flemish lawyer Hubert Giphanius; cited in Gertraud Leitner, ‘Der Wiener Bibliothekar Hugo Blotius und seine Strassburger Korrespondenz’, Österreich in Geschichte und Literatur 15 (1971): 204. Erasmus was a Transylvanian Unitarian pastor ‘whose religious views forced him out of the professorial administration of Antwerp; he initially departed for Poland and arrived in Hungary in the final quarter of 1588’; Zoványi, A magyarországi protestantizmus, 174. Like Imre Forgách and Gregorius Tribelius, both of whom received letters from de Bèze, Ambrosius presumably made a donation to the Genevan emissary’s collection. Letter to Forgách written from Geneva, dated 20 May 1592: Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Paris, Epistolae Haereticorum, Cod. 1455, fol. 68–9. Letter to Tribelius written from Geneva, dated 20 May 1592: ibid., fol. 65. Though the role of the mining entrepreneur and copper dealer Gregorius Tribelius of Szomolnok has been largely overlooked, he was a major patron of the arts and sciences, as János Bocatius acknowledged in one of his encomia. Tribelius was praised for his charitable activities by worthies like de Bèze; Monavius also spoke warmly of the support Tribelius had provided him. Blotius VII and IX. Blotius XV. Gabelmann had previously worked in Szepes County, then on Ferenc Nádasdy’s estate in Csepreg before becoming a court historian. His chef d’oeuvre was published under the title Monomachiae Hungaroturcicae carminum libri duo. Patavii, 1590. Grynaeus XIII. ‘Ut se salutaris concordiae, et pacis studiosum commonstraret, hora antelucama, nobis adhuc dormientibus discessimus, hoc pie eruditum in mensa reliquit Carmen: Ecce quam bonum, et quam jucundum habitare fratres in unum’. Genersich, Merkwürdigkeiten, Zweyter Theil, 124.

112 Still-useful sources of biographical data include works of Hradszky, Bruckner, Zoványi, the Matricula Molleriana and András Szabó’s work on Grynaeus and Szenci. 113 Cited by Farkas Deák; Magyar hölgyek levelei 1515–1709 (Hungarian Ladies’ Letters, 1515–1709). Budapest, 1879, 75. 114 Szenci naplója, 166. 115 Postilla Scultetica: Az egesz esztendoe altal valo vasarnapokra es fö innepekre rendeltetet euangeliomi textusoknac magyarazattya… (Postilla Scultetica: An Explanation of the Euangelical Textes Appointed for the Mayne Feast Dayes and Sundayes of the Entyre Yeare…). Oppenheim, 1617, RMK I. 475. 116 Blotius XIV.

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117 Memoriae Nobilis, Pudicissimae Et Lectissime Matronae Annae Wolkensteiniae… see details in the Bibliography. 118 The writers who contributed poems to this remembrance of Anna Walkenstein were Ambrosius, Frank, Thebesius, Jancsi, Hortensius, Pilcius, Wirth, Martin and Johann Mylius, Marth, Frölich, Nicasius, Praetorius and Jacob Kraus. 119 Among the scholars who have written about the 15th- and 16th-century history of ‘Slovakia’ and the ‘Slovakian nation’ in English, David P Daniel stands out for the enormous number of publications he has produced; see, for instance, The Historiography of the Reformation in Slovakia. St. Louis: Center for Reformation Research, 1977. 120 The spread of Hungarian-language literature was understandably slow in Szepes County. Practical considerations mandated that the region’s confessional disputes, whether in person or in print, be conducted in either Latin or German. 121 Poetry and Politics in the Silesian Baroque. Neo-Stoicism in the Work of Christophorus Colerus and His Circle. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz Verlag, 1996. 122 Blotius IV. 123 Symbolum Jacobi Monavii. Ipse faciet Variis variorum auctorum carminibus expressum et decoratum. Cum nonullis appendicibus, Gorlicii, Johannes Rhamba, 1595. RMK III. 853.b., OSZK Ant. 13.438. See also Psalm 37:5, Revela Domino viam tuam, et spera in eo, et ipse faciet (‘Commit thy way unto the LORD; trust also in him; and he shall bring it to pass’). 124 Goltzius did an enormous amount of work, travelling across Europe to gather the materials for his numismatic opus Vivae Omnium Ferre Imperatorum Imagines. 125 Ortelius achieved fame primarily as the creator of the first modern atlas, entitled Theatrum Orbis Terrarum. 126 JH Hessels, Ecclesiae Londino-Batavae Archivum I. Cambridge, 1887, letter no. 105. 127 Ibid., letter no. 242, written in Breslau on February 15, 1594. Monavius and his friend Wacker Wackerfels had previously convinced Ortelius to draw up a map of Utopia, which he finished in 1595–6. 128 Parodia was a particularly popular genre in this period; the term was used primarily to signify the following of a pattern established by prior work of verse, thereby producing either a similar or somewhat altered meaning. Thus Ambrosius himself created his imitation of Horace in response to a previous Horace-parodia, as Andor Tarnai pointed out in ‘A parodia a XVI–XVII. századi Magyarországon’ (Parodia in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Hungary), ItK (1990): 455–6. Géza Szentmártoni Szabó later demonstrated that Ambrosius’ poem had served as the model for Balassi’s poem in ‘“Quem tu, summe Deus, semel…”: Balassi megkerült irodalmi mintája’ [‘“Quem tu, summe Deus, semel…”: Balassi’s Overlooked Literary Model’], in Géza Orlovszky, ed., Mint sok fát gyümölccsel. Tanulmányok Kovács Sándor Iván tiszteletére. Budapest, 1997, 11–16. Bálint Balassi has long been considered one of the greats of Hungarian literary history, the only late-humanist Hungarian poet to rank among the towering figures of Europe. Thus it was a surprise to discover that the model for the work of this illustrious versifier was a poem by a less-known preacher. 129 Grynaeus XVI. 130 Ambrosius’ 1595 letter to Máriássy, in the MOL Máriássy family archive, Márkusfalva section P 1194, file no. 1, 1570–90. See András Szabó, ‘Ambrosius Lam Sebestyén levele Máriássy Zsigmondhoz’ [‘Sebestyén Ambrosius Lam’s letter to Zsigmond Máriássy’], in Bálint Keserű, ed., Collectanea Tiburtiana. Tanulmányok Klaniczay Tibor tiszteletére. Szeged, 1990, 225–9. Szabó also discusses the figurative hortus medicus which appears in this letter.

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131 See Szenci, Levelezés, 91–3. 132 Katalin Plihál, ‘Hazánk ismeretlen térképe a XVI. század végéről’ (An Unknown Map of Hungary from the Late Sixteenth Century), Cartographica Hungarica 3 (May of 1993): 32–9. 133 For a recent discussion of this comet, see Marcell Sebők, ‘Félúton az átmenetek között: Dudith András értelmezése az 1577-es üstökösről, és a korabeli tudományosság kontextusai’ (Halfway among Transitions: The Interpretation of the 1577 Comet by Andreas Dudith, and the Contemporary Contexts of Science), in Péter Kasza, Gábor Kiss Farkas and Dávid Molnár, eds., Scientiarum miscellanea. Latin nyelvű tudományos irodalom a 15–18. században. Szeged: Lázi, 2017, 95–115. 134 For more on this issue, see MEHN Mout, ‘Die politische Theorie in der Bildung der Eliten: Die Lipsius-Rezeption in Böhmen und Ungarn’, in Joachim Bahlcke, Hans-Jürgen Bömelung and Norbert Kersken, eds., Ständefreiheit und Staatsgestaltung in Ostmitteleuropa. Leipzig: Universitätsverlag Leipzig, 1996, 243–64. 135 Ambrosius’ letter to Imre Forgách, written in Késmárk, dated 17 September 1597. Slovensky Národny Archiv, Bratislava, Spolocny Archiv rodu Révay (miscellany), 1521–1641, fol. 92–4. I published this letter, with a brief introduction, in issue no. 33 of the journal Lymbus. Szeged (1994): 35–45. 136 For more on the relationship between Sárospatak and Upper Hungary, see András Szabó, ‘Melanchtontól Lipsiusig. Tanárok, diákok és prédikátorok Sárospatakon 1562–1598’ (From Melanchthon to Lipsius. Teachers, Students, and Preachers in Sárospatak) ItK (1986/5): 483–505. 137 Szenci naplója, 124, entry dated 23 February 1598. 138 Szenci, Levelezés, 106–7. Ambrosius’ letter to Szenci. 139 Szenci naplója, 130, entry dated 16 September 1599. This was the day he received Ambrosius’ letter (dated 10 July) reporting Tolnai Fabricius’ death (which had taken place on February 2); see Szenci, Levelezés, 109–110. 140 For a discussion of the cultural environment in Pozsony, see Ágnes Szalay Ritoók, Hortus Musarum. Egy irodalmi társaság emlékei (Hortus Musarum. The Memories of a Literary Society). Budapest, 1984; Tibor Klaniczay’s ‘Nicasius Ellebodius és poétikája’ (Nicasius Ellebodius and his Poetics), in his A múlt nagy korszakai. Budapest, 1973, 174–91. See also János Heltai, ‘Egy művészetpártoló kör a XVII. század elején’ (A Society of Patrons of the Arts at the Beginning of the Seventeenth Century), MKSz 108 (1982): 113–26. 141 Andreas Dudith, ‘De cometarum significatione’, in De cometis dissertationes novae cl. Vir. Thom. Erasti, Andr. Dudithii, Marc. Squarcialupi, Symon Grynaei. Basel: Perna, 1580, 137–45. 142 For a relatively recent collection of studies of Lipsius, see Karl Enenkel and C Heesakkers, eds., Lipsius in Leiden. Studies in the Life and Works of a Great Humanist on the Occasion of his 450th Anniversary. Voorthuizen, 1997. 143 Ö. Szabolcs Barlay, ‘Boldizsár Batthyány und sein Humanisten-Kreis’, MKSz (1979): 231–51. The most recent monograph on the subject is Dóra Bobory’s Batthány Boldizsár titkos tudománya. Alkímia, botanika és könyvgyűjtés a tizenhatodik századi Magyarországon (The Secret Science of Boldizsár Batthyány. Alchemy, Botany, and Book-Collecting in Sixteenth-Century Hungary). Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2018. Mikrotörténelem 8. 144 Charles de L’Écluse, Stirpivm nomenclator Pannonicvs, authore Carolo Clvsio Atrebate. Nemetújvár: Manlius, 1583, RMNy 536; Charles de L’Écluse, Stirpivm nomenclator Pannonicvs. Antwerpen: Plantinus, 1583. Supplementum ad Charles de L’Écluse, Rariorum aliquot stirpium per Pannoniam, Austriam et vicinas quasdam provincias observatarum historia. Antverpiae 1583, RMNy 538.

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Nil natura parit casu, sed maximus Author, Vult nosci in rebus, quae sua facta docent, Vos igitur medicae studiosi Pannones artis, Has varias stirpes noscere ne pigeat. Clusius illarum vulgari nomina voce Scripsit: vt hoc studium quilibet vsque iuuet.

S. B. (that is, István Beythe) wrote this poem honouring Clusius as part of the dedication of this botanical volume. 146 Blotius XII. 147 For more on these academic movements, see Tibor Klaniczay, A magyarországi akadémiai mozgalom előtörténete (The Prehistory of the Hungarian Academic Movement). Budapest: Balassi Kiadó, 1993. The Sodalitas Litteraria Danubiana, or Literary Society of the Danube, was established by the poet Conrad Celtis in 1497, with branches in Buda and Vienna.

Conclusions

Over the course of his life, Ambrosius rarely travelled. Other than his scholarly peregrination to Wittenberg, he visited Sárospatak in Eastern Hungary, and made it up to Breslau and Kraków, but otherwise never got as far as Vienna, as much as he would have loved to go. Many visitors turned up at his home, and he was in contact with the wider world, but he himself barely budged from his parsonage. This immobility is understandable, given that the responsibilities imposed on him by his pastoral vocation and his dedication to his patron tended to keep him at home. He was not a ‘wandering humanist’ in the mould of Albert Szenci Molnár, but rather the sort of creator who settles into a familiar home range. When Ambrosius accompanied István Thököly to the gymnasium in Brieg, he finally made his way to the Silesian city of Breslau where he visited Monavius’ library and Scholtz’s garden, two sanctuaries of humanist creativity and contemplation; Monavius marked the occasion by giving Ambrosius a Hebrew Bible printed in Hamburg in 1587.1 One assumes this trip to Silesia did not disagree with him, as he immediately immortalised it in song, which melodies he hastened to send to Blotius as tokens of their friendship.2 Throughout the book, I have attempted to capture the interconnecting contextual planes on which my protagonist acted and have tried to manufacture a microhistorical biography by interpreting these mosaics of information. The microhistorical approach and scale proved to be advantageous for reconstructing Ambrosius’ achievements, his latitude and constraints, and also for evaluating the individual who made his decisions and articulated his strategies in various ways.3 For a more exhaustive assessment of his efforts, this sort of microhistorical endeavour is combined with a comparative look at the contextual levels of his existence. We can improve our understanding of Ambrosius and the intellectual life of Szepes County by taking a glance at the social life of the intellectual community of Breslau, which two milieu exhibited numerous similarities even if their structures and the obligations they imposed on their ‘citizens’ were different. David Halsted examined Breslau’s intellectuals and the history of the elites of Silesia with a particular focus on the characteristics of the 16th- and 17th-century Respublica and the evolution of baroque poetry there. According to Halsted, whose work

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is based on the assumptions made by Erich Trunz and Manfred Fleischer, among others, Breslau functions as a map of the social situation of the broader Respublica.4 The world of culture and science was marked by a clear hierarchy of collegial sub-societies – local organisations and circles of friends whose members came from various backgrounds and worked in a variety of fields. These groups maintained connections with one another and expressed their respect for each other primarily through exchanges of poetry. These panegyrics and occasional poems transmitted the sorts of idealised values that appear in Lipsius’ Neostoic texts, for example, though on a more down-to-earth level; in this context, panegyrical texts performed a normative function. According to the prescriptions of the urban ethos which grew out of these roots, an understanding of history, law and civil government all went hand-in-hand with the moral precepts and personal talents that made the learned members of society fit for higher office.5 In Breslau, as in Szepes County, the members of the Respublica (Gelehrtenrepublik) obviously maintained relationships with other social circles; they were continually exploiting their various business, commercial and political relationships to participate in debates on – and find solutions to – problems which confronted their city and Silesia as a whole. Moreover, Breslau’s external connections covered the entire territory of Northern European humanism; starting in the mid-16th century, Silesian humanists’ careers would be characterised by continual changes of location, as were those of other European scholars, exiled humanists and diplomats.6 This academic ‘exchange programme’ allowed them to make scholarly peregrinations to – or at least present themselves in – university towns and other culturally significant locales; Crato, Monavius, Colerus, Gryphius, Opitz and others turned up at famous sites across Europe. Their activities in these cities included service as intermediaries, political interventions and even diplomatic tasks, and thus poetics and politics were often commingled in their work.7 The intellectuals of Szepes County were not this mobile, neither geographically nor in terms of social mobility. After their university studies, they tended to return to their hometowns; their decisions to relocate were generally limited to the region and motivated by offers of better-paying jobs. Very few of them had the means to choose to emigrate and settle elsewhere.8 In addition to maintaining contact with the acquaintances they made during their university studies, the Breslauer members of the Respublica – like certain residents of Szepes County – exchanged letters with members of other local social circles as well as the entire European community of correspondents. These interwoven networks gave young and talented individuals opportunities to interact with established figures who could help them advance in their professional careers and circulate in environments that would increase their social prestige. In Breslau, these figures included the exceptionally well-connected Johannes Crato in the generation before Monavius, and Martin Opitz in the generation that succeeded him. In the earliest phases of their humanist educations and careers, young scholars

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began to make connections and build up their networks of correspondents, then later, once they had joined the community of the Respublica, they could start making (real) use of its system by engaging in constant communication, primarily in the form of correspondence. The network itself had heuristic and social functions which provided useful tools to the youths capable of taking advantage of it, and thus the socialisation potential of the Respublica was considerable. Certain signs manifested themselves in exchanges of knowledge and ideas: students who arrived from various locales with the support of their city councils or patrons first tried to establish relationships within their universities’ international communities. Upon completing their studies, they brought home the value system that was cultivated by this European network, as well as a system of relationships that linked them to other ‘citizens’ who participated in the Respublica. Researchers who have studied the situation in Breslau have determined that Silesian humanists’ active participation in the European Respublica – and in fact, the existence of the network itself – directly affected the development of Silesian baroque literature.9 Taking this approach into account, it is interesting to consider what sort of effect Ambrosius’ and his associates’ nearly decade-long participation in this European community might have had on the intellectual life of Szepes County. It is clear that the 1590s were the period of the late 16th century in which Szepes County, with the help of this ambitious preacher, ‘reopened its doors’ to certain European schools of thought, and with Ambrosius’ leadership, redeveloped a tradition of intellectual exchange. Earlier, thanks to the region’s strong connections to Wittenberg and the Goldberg School, there had always been a few disciples of Luther, Melanchthon or Trotzendorf around who continued to exchange letters with those scholars and their followers. Even so, before Ambrosius, Szepes County had never seen anything like the correspondence initiative he introduced, which was noteworthy not only for its scope but also because of his drive to engage in constant communication. Ambrosius’ confessional adversaries chose other strategies, as they had differing sets of connections and relationships of varying intensities. The fate of Ambrosius’ communications initiative, however, was determined by a paradox that defined life in Szepes County at the end of the 16th century. The pastor of Késmárk reached out to the more renowned theologians of his day in hopes of finding expressions of professional solidarity precisely because he shared these Philippists’ and Calvinists’ orientation; however, the connections which developed out of this effort did not have a particularly broad impact on the intellectual life of Késmárk or Szepes County. That is, in the context of the region’s confessional debates, Ambrosius could not publicise his outside connections because he did not want to ‘confirm’ his confessional adversaries’ accusations that he was beholden to his Calvinist-humanist friends. In his dealings with local elites and intellectuals, Ambrosius could not mention the names of – never mind the letters he received from – Théodore de Bèze, Menso Alting or Grynaeus

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because their appearance in Szepes County’s public discourse would have ruined Ambrosius’ public image as a consistent Philippist.10 Thus Ambrosius was unable to profit from these connections except among his narrowest circle of friends, which society another regional group was continually attempting to stigmatise. These confessional conflicts therefore made it almost impossible for the various schools of Protestant thought to exert any real cultural influence on public life in Szepes County. Though Ambrosius broke out of the artificial space created by these confessional tensions, he was unable to achieve any real success in his efforts to usher the other intellectuals of Szepes County into his discourse with the Respublica. In maintaining contact with his European contemporaries, Ambrosius acted alone in both senses of the expression (independently and in isolation). Without any real companions, he found himself in an increasingly marginalised confessional position, and thus the channels he managed to create did not allow the culture of the Respublica to exert an influence on Szepes County’s intellectual life the way it did, for instance, on the intellectual strata of Silesia. Another peculiarity that characterised the end of the 16th century was the duality of Ambrosius’ personal identity and public intellectual role. As his work and thinking demonstrate, he was simultaneously a humanist who transcended sectarian divides and a theologian who spent a decade and a half embroiled in confessional disputes.11 This sort of duality (a natural consequence of the shifts in identity that may arise in the course of personal development or ‘self-fashioning’) was of course not out of the ordinary, even before the age of ecclesiastical reform. For example, the career of Johannes Reuchlin, the famed humanist scholar of Greek and Hebrew, was marked by ferocious debates, and Desiderius Erasmus consciously refashioned his identity several times.12 Ambrosius’ friends were characterised by a similar phenomenon: Pilcius, Thoraconymus, Mylius and Tolnai Fabricius all worked as humanist educators, and yet simultaneously participated (in accordance with their various abilities and interests) in confessional debates. The difference between Ambrosius and his friends, however, was reflected not only in the differing quality of the texts they created but also in the intensity with which they embraced this dual role. That is, not only did Ambrosius write at a higher level than his friends, he also tried his hand at a much more diverse range of roles, endeavours and genres. His erudition and the wide range of his cultural interests were indispensable preconditions both of successful participation in humanist and confessional debates and of the performance of his public role. This dialectic of creative ‘spiritual restlessness’ seems to have been a dominant element in the duality of his personality, and to have had a productive influence on his work. His intensive engagement with these two chief roles – a ‘double life’ of which he alone was capable among the members of his generation of Szepes County intellectuals – provided his identity with a kind of ‘balance’, insofar as these two components of his personality were not static layers, but rather mutually constitutive cognitive fields. Understandably, the course of Ambrosius’

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life exhibits traits which resemble those of his European humanist contemporaries who could be described as Philippists or Crypto-Calvinists – the humanist confessional disputants from Anhalt, the Palatinate, Saxony and Silesia whose creative work was bounded by similar desires, opportunities and obligations.13 Furthermore, Ambrosius might also be classified as a representative of Irenicism, the school of confessional peacemakers who became increasingly influential around the turn of the 17th century. For the pastor of Késmárk, participation in the humanist world represented a kind of consolation, an escape from the everyday vexations of confessional discord. This was the ‘profit’ to be extracted from the ‘use’ of humanism. At this point, it is worth returning to a question I posed earlier: could Ambrosius, whom other regional theologians considered a ‘Calvinist’, be accurately described as such, given his association with the leading Reformed theologians of his era and the advice he received from Calvinists in composing his confessional declarations? First of all, I am not ultimately interested in refuting the oversimplifications of earlier generations of scholars; I would prefer instead to evaluate Ambrosius’ ‘Calvinism’ in light of the information presented in the preceding chapters. Thus the simplest answer to this question is no, Ambrosius did not become a Calvinist; his relationships with the leading Western European representatives of Calvinism were simply a natural consequence of the situation facing Central European Philippists at the end of the 16th century. A richer, more nuanced response would also begin with a discussion of the system of values that characterised Melanchthon’s followers. A central tenet of their approach was the avoidance of extremist dogma, which applied equally to orthodox Lutheranism and to Calvinism. This temperate approach also involved the cultivation of a diverse range of humanist interests including philology, poetry, history, music and botany, as Ambrosius’ case illustrates. In their publications and public activities, Philippists tended not to betray any sign of attachment to the Helvetic school of thought, instead focusing on references to Melanchthon, the Church Fathers and of course Luther himself. They were, in the highest sense, Nicodemians who practised the ars dissimulandi in keeping their personal faith hidden, outwardly performing their tasks in accordance with the confessions of faith their congregations had accepted.14 They generally behaved as if they had reconciled themselves to the dominant faith; Blotius, for instance, after the death of the more permissive Maximilian II, conducted himself in the presence of Emperor Rudolf II as if he were a pious but moderate Catholic.15 Inside late-humanist circles or in communication with other citizens of the Respublica, however, Philippists did not have to hide their true convictions, as one of the most important principles of this virtual social network was an indifference to confessional identity. Thus vigorous exchanges of ideas with orthodox leaders of the Reformed Church did not necessarily indicate a conversion to their faith. For certain Philippists, such communication was simply evidence of erudition or curiosity, while for others it could signify the start of a transition

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from Philippism to the Reformed Church. Ambrosius clearly seems to have belonged to the former group; while he continually made overtures in the direction of Reformed orthodoxy, his theology never conformed to its principles. His reasoning, references and justifications were always fundamentally in accord with Melanchthonian tenets and ideals. A review of the correspondence between de Bèze and Ambrosius demonstrates that nothing in these letters refers to Ambrosius’ belonging to the same denomination or congregation as de Bèze or any of his followers. The tone in which they wrote was much more direct than that of Ambrosius’ correspondence with Blotius, who made a point of stressing that he was a ‘doctor of both laws’, civil and canon; de Bèze, on the other hand, treated the Szepes County pastor as if they were of equal rank. The leading theologian of Geneva helped Ambrosius, of course, but he also requested the latter’s help on occasion, and expressed his gratitude when he received it. Ambrosius’ exchanges with de Bèze and other Calvinists such as Menso Alting and Franciscus Junius were not marked by humanist embellishments and mannerisms, but were instead composed in more moderate, reciprocal terms. Ambrosius appears as an amator in these letters, de Bèze’s well-intentioned admirer, and though Calvin’s successor expressed his appreciation of Ambrosius’ work, when the latter was able to offer help to his Genevan colleagues, he did so as an outsider. At no point do they treat him as a member of their denomination, and thus these letters to and from Switzerland are in and of themselves convincing evidence that Ambrosius never converted to Calvinism. The stories of his friends Thoraconymus and Tolnai Fabricius, however, exemplify the second of the tendencies mentioned above, insofar they both took positions in Sárospatak and joined the Reformed Church in the latter stages of their lives. Ambrosius might thus be described as having stood in the middle of the road between Philippism and Calvinism, and in this sense he stood alone in Szepes County. The unvarnished truth is that while Ambrosius had his ‘brothers in arms’ in Szepes County, none of his colleagues was a creator of his significance or made such creative use of humanist practices. I could once again cite the range of genres in which he wrote, which covered every literary form typically associated with the so-called humanist school. He created epistolae dedicatoriae, fables, epigrams, sententiae, epicedia and parodiae; only emblems seem to have been missing from his catalogue, though he might have done this sort of work as well. Neither in the number nor in the variety of their compositions did his local associates match Ambrosius’ output, and only his experiments with these humanist forms produced work of international quality. In comparing Ambrosius’ oeuvre with that of Gergely Horváth, it is important to proceed from first principles. Both these men were humanists in both the practical and theoretical-symbolic senses of the word. As a result of their differing social backgrounds, they approached the elements of humanist scholarship from two distinct vantage points; given their differing

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experiences and sources of information, they brought their own interpretive lenses to Lutheran theology, and thus necessarily developed distinct strategies for presenting the truth as they understood it. As I have noted, there is nothing to be gained by categorising their positions in their disputes as ‘right or wrong’, as doing so simply reproduces the static dichotomies of earlier generations of scholarship. It would be easy to organise their work and personalities into simple pairs of opposites with Horváth, the representative of orthodoxy, on the one side trying to use his authority to silence the more free-thinking Ambrosius on the other. The foregoing, more nuanced analysis of their story, however, makes clear that this sort of opposition is unproductive. Methodologically speaking, a comparison of the two men’s lives is extremely complicated and problematic, insofar as we may have liberated the life story of the pastor of Késmárk from certain antiquated clichés, yet we still know comparatively little about Horváth’s life. It would be unjust to re-cast Horváth in a conventional role given that he was a teacher, school-founder and politician considerably more cultured than his average contemporaries among the nobility. At the same time, we cannot in the name of equal treatment pretend that we know as much about Horváth as we do Ambrosius. Our understanding of Horváth is simply not as deep; no one has produced a modern biography of him, thus we cannot subject him to a similarly intense analysis and thereby create a false sense of balance. We are therefore limited, in the course of reconstructing Ambrosius’ life, to comparing some of Gergely Horváth’s better-known achievements to the corresponding accomplishments of the pastor of Késmárk. Here, however, the interpretative possibilities for this comparison will be determined by their fundamental confessional positions and the directions in which these stances inspired them to move. It seems clear that both men put an enormous amount of effort into their attempts to communicate with the public. In fact, in numerous cases they seem to have wanted to create their own public spheres. In composing all their texts, both men were concerned primarily with conforming to the expectations of their audience; expressions of their own values and beliefs were presented as secondary concerns. This approach was an organic element of their communicative strategy, which they implemented with the help of the previously discussed variety of methods. Of course, all this played out in the communicative ‘arena’ we have been calling confessional debate, where they used a variety of means to persuade their audiences. As Pál Ács wrote in introducing the reproduction of a hymnal by Imre Újfalvi, The denominational debates of the 16th century often led to rancor. In trying to refute a rival’s purportedly mistaken views, a disputant would not be averse to undercutting his opponent’s human dignity and honor, stripping him of his job, possessions, personal freedom, or even – if possible – his life. This ruthlessness can scarcely be justified by the

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circumstance that religious tolerance was still unknown at that time; [moreover,] the victims’ understanding of tolerance may have differed somewhat from that of their tramplers. Even so, these spiteful adversaries did respect certain rules of the game: confessional disputants had their own unwritten ‘code duello’ – a language, a process, a ceremonial order – which, in theory, everyone respected.16 This description is almost entirely applicable to the Ambrosius–Horváth conflict, with one exception: they argued against one another in writing for years, but then at a certain point Horváth began to try to make Ambrosius’ life impossible. Neither Horváth nor the members of his group who took over after his death succeeded in this effort. Ambrosius, on the other hand, never attempted to destroy his opponent, rhetorically or literally. Beyond the standards of behaviour which were determined by their social embeddedness, this is perhaps the clearest expression of the difference in their attitudes and their positionality as confessional disputants – and, more generally, as human beings: Ambrosius believed in argumentation and the power of the written word to illuminate the truth, which stance was no mere rhetorical device, as he brought it to his adversary’s attention at almost every opportunity. Horváth, on the other hand, framed oral and written debate as combat, a competition from which he intended to emerge victorious. Ambrosius, though he presumably could have, did not exploit his patron Sebestyén Thököly’s increasingly powerful position to lend his declarations any additional authority; only at the end of his life, when the recurrent slander of ‘Calvinist heresy’ presented a genuine danger, did he enlist Thököly’s direct influence. Years later, Péter Pázmány referred to Szepes County’s confessional disputes through Thököly’s role as follows: ‘Indeed, even during Bocskai’s time it was but the cleverness of Sebestyén Thököly to have a reminder of the Helvetic Confession inserted into the Viennese decree’.17 The compositional similarities of their longer texts constitute another striking commonality between Ambrosius and Horváth. The first phase of their dispute resulted in quick, short texts, which were then followed by exchanges of printed work, which method Ambrosius seems to have adopted first, and – I believe – Horváth adopted in response. In addition to the use of traditional humanist modes of disputation, the pastor of Késmárk took every opportunity to analyse questionable theological principles using logical – though sometimes circular – arguments to expound on his views. He sometimes divided up his text by citing traditional topoi and inserting extravagant textual flourishes reminiscent of Renaissance ornamentation – proverbs, adages, aphorisms – and only after this rational analysis would he offer his own theses to refute his adversary’s assertions. The emphasis here is on the word ‘sometimes’ because in Ambrosius’ work (as in Horváth’s writing), while humanist-style citations continued to play the leading role, their overall discursive method was already evolving toward a new model. Humanists dating back to Erasmus and Vives had eschewed militant

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contention in favour of persuasion by means of rational argumentation, and by the turn of the 17th century, the overburdening of humanist discourse with confessional disputes gave rise to a school of thought whose adherents wanted to reconcile the rhetoric and dialectics of Aristotle and Melanchthon with that of Petrus Ramus.18 Logic modelled after that of the German ‘semiRamists’ appeared in the method of these two Szepes County confessional disputants, though they did not shy away from the use of sententiae and citations of the ancients. The use of this transitional and eclectic discursive mode – which arose under the influence of two apparently contradictory approaches – did not, however, seem paradoxical; in fact, this eclectic mode of reasoning was characteristic of many of the thinkers of this period.19 Taking all this into account, we might be tempted to ask whether Ambrosius and Horváth (and their associates) were actually the intellectual elites who fundamentally shaped Szepes County’s public discourse. If they were, how did their activities shape the local conversation? Or was their dispute simply an isolated intellectual exchange? Their decade-long confessional dispute sometimes gives the impression that its system of argumentation and even the discourse itself was organised around its own peculiar thematics, though this was not the case. They were interpreters, not theorists who founded new schools of thought. Ambrosius (and Horváth to a certain degree as well) could be a distinctive and sometimes original interpreter and utiliser of his chosen intellectual currents and texts, but he was not an innovator. Ambrosius’ literary and theological work was given structure by his adoption of old traditions and newly forming models, not by a notably independent voice. As an interpreter rather than an innovator, he attached himself to the thematic concerns and preferred genres of the ‘great wave’ that swept the era and stuck with them. One could sketch a rather dismissive portrait of all sorts of writers who worked alongside him in this period: not only did they fail to offer to any kind of independent spiritual guidance, they simply loitered within a framework of lazy imitation. In this regard, the dominance of the German language in Szepes County seems to have encouraged a certain conservatism and dampened the spirit of innovation. Hungarian-language literature proliferated throughout the other territories of the old Kingdom, but its impact here was limited. On the whole, if we assume creativity and cultural innovation to be preconditions of independent intellectual discourse, then there was relatively little to expect of Szepes County given the conditions there in the final decades of the 16th century. Stated more sharply, even the potential shapers of the discourse there were trapped within the regional traditions they helped develop, the models that were handed to them and their own receptivity. If evaluated as a stage in a longer chronology, this 30-year period was characterised by a diverse set of changes. Around 1570, Thomas Fabri wrote that Leonhard Stöckel had made the Bártfa School and its methods famous across Europe and that Szepes County was being celebrated in cities across the continent. In the 1590s, the county’s schools were still offering

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quality educations, though Bártfa itself was now home to preachers and teachers who advocated Lutheran orthodoxy, with its narrowing horizons – notably Fabri and Sculteti, who wrote more and more about the ‘defenders of the most depraved affairs of Zwingli and Calvin’, meaning the Calvinists of Szepes County. The famed printing press in Bártfa now published nothing but the writings of orthodox Lutherans. In the final decade of the 16th century, however, the information Ambrosius disseminated suggested the existence of an entirely different Szepes County. He described a territory swarming with activity, where an enthusiastic preacher and his circle of friends dedicated themselves to humanist ideals while participating in constant religious battles against adversaries who threatened Philippists’ lives and – symbolically speaking, at least – the existence of humanism itself. As a result of the efforts Ambrosius and a few of his predecessors had made, Szepes County was no longer completely isolated, though the sum of their labours produced little more than a small opening toward Europe, as the confessional situation that had developed in the land of their birth prevented the wider dissemination of the system of humanist values they represented. The success of their efforts was also limited by another factor: the region’s institutional backwardness. While the culture of humanism – and later Neostoicism – was institutionalised as the result of a long process in Silesia and certain parts of Scandinavia, nothing of the kind happened in Szepes County. And here it is worth taking a brief look at the instructive history of the failure of the academy in Lőcse. After the death of Nicolaus Olahus, the King of Hungary (and Holy Roman Emperor) Maximilian I (II) – who sympathised with the Protestants – expressed a desire to transform a school in one of the cities of Upper Hungary into a college. Given that the school in the Catholic stronghold of Nagyszombat20 was out of the question, Maximilian asked the Chamber of Pozsony to recommend a location. According to the report prepared by the three councillors of the chamber, Kassa would not be a suitable site for an academy of this sort, and thus they recommended Bártfa, though they thought the royal plan could be implemented in Lőcse as well. In the opinion of these Lutheran-leaning councillors, Four teaching positions should be organized from the outset, and these teachers should be invited from Germany … The income from the Savnik Abbey, the possessions of the Carthusians, and other previously ecclesiastical landholdings should be sufficient for their remuneration. The use of the conditional mood was warranted given that there are no surviving sources to suggest that Maximilian’s initiative proceeded any further. In 1588, the royal and imperial court was informed that the people of Lőcse wanted to transform their school into an academy, and that its city council would be embarking on a large and expensive construction project. The devoted Catholic Emperor Rudolf II, however, opposed religious reformers and thus on the last day of 1588 issued an edict forbidding the Lőcse city

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council from engaging in any activity aimed at the reorganisation of its school. He would allow the construction project to proceed only on the condition that the new institution not be used as a means of disseminating Protestant doctrine.21 Lőcse’s school thus remained a standard secondary institution, the plan to establish a college in Upper Hungary slipped off the agenda and efforts to institutionalise humanist culture stalled. There continued to be excellent gymnasia in Szepes County, but they were no substitute for university-level instruction, and as had happened several times over the course of the preceding century,22 efforts to establish a university in the region had failed. And perhaps precisely because of the confessional polarisation that divided them, the patrons and bourgeois strata of the city’s society were unable to muster sufficient strength to defy their ruler’s will and create an academy on their own. This reading suggests that Ambrosius’ history (and the fate of Szepes County humanism in the late 16th century) was a story of failure. This is in no way the only possible interpretation, however, as Ambrosius’ nowfamiliar life path demonstrates that despite all the constraints his world placed on him (whether existential or confessional), he persistently strove to expand the range of opportunities open to him and to develop an independent humanist identity. The career path he followed as a pastor, a confessional disputant and a client was in many ways typical or traditional, though in the last decade of his life, Ambrosius performed this complex set of tasks in his own distinctive, individual manner. As a humanist, he lived a uniquely multifaceted and rich life, and here again it is worth citing an observation from Ferenc Szakály’s survey of early modern European history: The Protestants understood themselves to be members of a great European society; they kept track of and encouraged [one another] and kept each other continually informed, thus even one whose employment kept him tied behind God’s back somewhere could imagine himself at the boiling point of this European cultural movement.23 Ambrosius’ story might thus corroborate an inversion of Szakály’s assertion as well: the life and work of a Protestant pastor in the borderlands might be important to our understanding of late humanism in Central Europe, the everyday life of an international network of intellectuals and a period of enormous cultural change.

Notes 1 This is the only volume we know Ambrosius to have kept in his library, though the existence of others can be deduced from references to them. This Bible is stored in the Old Prints Collection of the ELTE University Library in Budapest under the call sign Ant. 4895. See also: https://library.hungaricana.hu/hu/view/O RSZ_NEMG_kv_40_Matyas_01/?pg=131&layout=s.

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2 Blotius XV, ‘In ea ipsa peregrinatione mea natis et editis cantionibus Apodemicae exempla aliquot hisce literis adjicere volui, e quibus unum, si modo dignum, quod asservetur, esse judicabis, pro Te retinere, reliqua amicis’. 3 At the beginning of this book, I characterised Ambrosius as ‘a vigorously active individual’ who stands in the centre of the narrative I produced throughout this microhistorical biography. Evaluating him through the methodological considerations, it is worth referring to a pertinent formulation, offered by Sigurður Gylfi Magnússon: ‘In microhistory, the focus is on studies relating to individuals—whether famous or unknown—in which they are not studied for their historical significance, but as material for the shaping of our ideas about history’. See Magnússon and Szijártó, What Is Microhistory? Postscript, 154. 4 Classic studies of the social context of Silesian and German literature include Erich Trunz, Deutsche Literatur zwischen Späthumanismus und Barock. Acht Studien. München: Verlag C.H. Beck, 1995; Fleischer, ‘The Institutionalization of Humanism in Protestant Silesia’, Fleischer, Späthumanismus in Schlesien. Robert JW Evans’ monograph continues to be relevant; see The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 3–80. 5 Halsted, Poetry and Politics, 37–68. Lewis Spitz’s notions concerning the dissemination of humanist ideals and practices and the active roles played by cities and churches apply to Szepes County as well; see Spitz, ‘The Course of German Humanism’, in Thomas A Brady Jr. and Heiko A Oberman, eds., Itinerarium Italicum. The Profle of the Italian Renaissance in the Mirror of Its European Transformations. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1975, 378–9. 6 This group would include individuals like Hugo Blotius and Carolus Clusius, as well as other humanist refugees from the Low Countries or Huguenot France, whose peregrinations took them to numerous Central European courts where they were able to capitalise on their knowledge. For more on these issues, see MEH Nicolette Mout, ‘Political and Religious Ideas of Netherlanders at the Court in Prague’, Acta Historia Neerlandicae 9 (1976): 1–27. 7 In her monograph on the later history of the Respublica, Anne Goldgar provides a detailed account of these ‘go-betweens’, who played a significant role in the everyday life of their communities; see Goldgar, Impolite Learning, 30–5. 8 Of the members of Ambrosius’ circle, only Johann Mylius moved as far away as Elbing, Prussia, though Tamás Tolnai Fabricius did leave for Sárospatak. Caspar Pilcius though never moved away from Upper Hungary. 9 See Halsted’s ‘Conclusions’ in Poetry and Politics. 10 We should recall that Ambrosius’ adversaries suspected – and regularly spread rumours – that the pastor of Késmárk maintained relationships with Calvinists, though these accusations were always formulated in general terms as part of their continual effort to vilify him. 11 For more on this sort of dichotomy, see Steven Shapin, ‘“ A Scholar and a Gentleman”: The Problematic Identity of the Scientific Practitioner in Early Modern England’, History of Science 29 (1991): 279–327. 12 In fact, we could embark here on a lengthy digression into the subject of ‘rationalseeming’ scholars who were interested in magic or occult experiments. For a vivid introduction to this subject, see György Endre Szőnyi, ‘The Dark Offspring of Humanism. Erasmus, Reuchlin and the Magical Renaissance’, in Marcell Sebők, ed., Republic of Letters, Humanism, Humanities. Budapest: Collegium Budapest, 2005, 107–24. For more on Erasmus’ personal transformations, see Lisa Jardine, Erasmus, Man of Letters. The Construction of Charisma in Print. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993. 13 Other figures whose life paths exhibited similar patterns include the Philippist Wolfgang Amling of Zerbst (1542–1606), the Lutheran theologian Urban Pierius (1546–1616) and Petrus Calaminus (1556–98), who – like Pierius – was

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15

16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23

Conclusions

considered a Crypto-Calvinist and was thus obliged to leave the University of Wittenberg; he would later serve as a professor at the University of Heidelberg. Of course, it is often difficult to distinguish between simulatio (deceit or pretending) and dissimulatio (self-disguising or self-concealment), given that many of these life stories were characterised by both means of deception. See Perez Zagorin, Ways of Lying. Dissimulation, Persecution, and Conformity in Early Modern Europe. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990; more recently, Johannes Trapman, ‘Erasmus on Lying and Simulation’, in On the Edge of Truth and Honesty. Principles and Strategies of Fraud and Deceit in the Early Modern Period. Intersections: Yearbook for Early Modern Studies, no. 2. Leiden: Brill, 2002, 33–46. Calvin coined the term ‘Nicodemian’ in 1544, using this reference to the Biblical Nicodemus (John 3:1) to chasten Protestants who hid their beliefs from Catholics. Blotius’ commitment to the freedom of religion became a matter of public record around the turn of the 17th century, when Jesuits attacked him for the opacity of his confessional views. Even more interesting, that certain members of Blotius’ extensive network of contacts, including some of his close friends – Carolus Clusius and Abraham Ortelius, for example – were members of a mystical fellowship (or sect) known as the Family of Love (Familia Caritatis or Huis der Liefde). They repudiated the intercessory role of the existing church and proclaimed that faith and direct mystical communion with God make it possible to achieve a condition of sinless perfection even in the course of earthly life. The Familists kept their beliefs and practices secret, though of course both Catholics and conventional Protestants considered them to be heretics. Clusius and Ortelius (like their fellow Familist, the publisher Christophe Plantin of Antwerp) were good friends with Monavius as well. For more on this subject, see Mout, ‘Political and Religious Ideas’, 1–15; Alastair Hamilton, The Family of Love. Cambridge: James Clarke and Company, 1981. See ‘“ Tiszta énekek”—Újfalvi Imre: Keresztyéni énekek (1602)’ (‘Pure Songs’— Imre Újfalvi: Christian Songs (1602), in Ács, ‘Elváltozott idők.’ Irányváltások a régi magyar irodalomban. Budapest: Balassi, 2006, 47. Pázmány, Öt szép levél, 592. Thököly did, in fact, take a firm stand at the 1606 peace negotiations in Vienna, declaring, ‘I would rather allow my head to be cut off than this peace accord to be signed without mentioning the three faiths—Catholic, Helvetic, and Lutheran—by name’. Cited in Bruckner, Báró Thököly, 10–11. See Walter J. Ong, S.J., Ramus, Method, and the Decay of Dialogue. New York: Octagon Books, 1979. Once again, Pál Ács made this observation in examining the texts of Imre Újfalvi; see Ács, ‘“Tiszta énekek”’, 54. The archiepiscopal see of Esztergom had been moved to Nagyszombat (Trnava, Slovakia) in 1541. See Mészáros, XVI. századi iskoláink: the report of the Chamber of Pozsony is discussed on 167–9; the failure to transform Lőcse’s school into an academy is narrated on 86–7. See ‘Értelmiség egyetem nélküli országban’ (Intellectuals in a Country without a University’, in Tibor Klaniczay, ed., Pallas magyar ivadékai. Budapest: Szépirodalmi, 1985, 77–85. Szakály, Virágkor és hanyatlás, 236.

Bibliography

Abbreviations ADATTÁR ITK KSZM MKSZ MOE MOL MTA OSZK RMK RMNY SZ TSZ TT

Adattár XVI-XVII. századi szellemi mozgalmaink történetéhez = Repertory for the history of sixteenth- to seventeenth-century intellectual movements Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények = Studies of Literary History Közlemények Szepesvármegye Múltjából = Studies from the Past of Szepes County Magyar Könyvszemle = Hungarian Bookreview Magyar Országgyűlési Emlékek = Hungarian Parliamentary Records Magyar Országos Levéltár = Hungarian National Archive Magyar Tudományos Akadémia = Hungarian Academy of Sciences Országos Széchenyi Könyvtár = Hungarian National Library Régi Magyar Könyvtár = Old Hungarian Library Régi Magyar Nyomtatványok = Old Hungarian Prints Századok = Centuries Történelmi Szemle = Historical Review Történelmi Tár = Historical Repertory

I. Primary sources 1. Works of Sebastian Ambrosius 1.1. Individual printed works Metaphrasis Graeca Psalmi Primi, Et ex eodem Elegia ad Illvstrem ... Dominum Iohannem Rvbervm, Liberum Baronem in Büchsendorff et Grauenwert, sacrae Caesareae Regiaeque Maiestatis in Hungaria superiore supremum belli duecem et Capitanum etc. Scripta a Sebastiano Lammio Tyropolitano. Vitebergae Excudebant Clemens Schleich et Antonius Schöne. Anno M.D. LXXVI. (quarto, 7) Acht und zwentzig geistliche Lieder, aus heyliger göttlicher Schrift genommen. Anfenglich zu selbeigener vgung gemacht, darnach auff begeren vnd anhalten vieler guthertziger Leut zum andermal mit hinzugesetzten den meerern teyl von fürtrefflichen Meystern

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gestelten Melodeyen in Druck verfertiget, durch Sebastianum Ambrosium, Diener des Göttlichen Worts in der stadt Kyssmarck im Zips. Wittenberg, 1588, gedruckt durch Matthes Welack. (octavo, 24) RMK III. 775.a. Vierzehen geistliche Lieder, aus schönen Lehr vnd Troststucken Heiliger Schrifft genommen zum Theil zu sonderlicher Vbung seiner Haus-Kirchen, zum Theil auff freundliches begehren gutter freünde, gemacht, sonder mit Hinzugesetzten von fürtrefflichen Meistern gestelten melodeyen. In druck verfertiget, durch Sebastianum Ambrosium, Diener des Göttlichen Worts in der Stadt Keyssmark in Zips. Gedruckt zu Görlitz, durch Ambrosium Fritsch, 1588. (octavo, 24) Antithesis ubiquitatis Et Orthodoxae doctrinae de persona Christi, Illam propugnante Gregorio Horwath, Aliter Stansith de Gradecz, Domino in Neerer, aliter Strase etc. Hanc defendente Sebastiano Ambrosio, Seruo Christi, in Ecclesia Keismarcensi. Siricidae 4. v. 33. Vsque ad mortem decerta pro veritate, et Dominvs Devs pro te pugnabit .... Servestae (Zerbst) excudebat Bonauentura Faber, Anno M.D. XCI. 1591. (octavo, p. 488.) RMK III. 820; MTA Kézirattár Ráth 555/2/koll.2. Defensio Orthodoxae Doctrinae, Tvm De Alijs quibusdam Christianae religionis capitibus, tum etiam de Persona Christi, totiusque Sancrosanctae Trinitatis una ac individua essentia, corruptelis Gregorii Horwath, Aliter Stansith de Gradecz, Domini Neerer, aliter Strasa etc. opposita a Sebastiano Ambrosio Servo Christi in Ecclesia Keismarcensi, Zachar. 8. vers. 19. Veritatem tantum et pacem diligite ... Visolii (Vizsoly), 1592. (octavo, p. 136.) RMK III. 828; MTA Kézirattár RM III.253 és 927. Declaratio Circumstantiarum Gemini Colloqui, Alteris V. Decembris, Anni 1595. alterius 29. Januarij, Anni 1596. in arce Keismarcensi habiti, et aliarum quarundam actionum, e quibus, qua fide charta in titulo argumenta in ijsdem colloquijs proposita promittens, edita sit, haud obscure perspici potest: Ad Magnificum Dominum, Dn. Sebastianum Theokeoli, Dominum in Keismarck Zerbst, 1598. (octavo, p. 75.) RMK III. 929; MTA Kézirattár Ráth 1167 Kurtze Wiederholung der Reinen und gesunden Lehr, wie dieselbige in der Kirchen vnd Schul der Stadt Keissmark gefüret wird. Von den dreyen vnterschiedenen Gottlichen wesen: Von dem zweyen vnterschiedenen Naturen, in der einigen vnzertrennten Person vnsers Herrn vnd Heylands Iesu Christi: So wol auch vom Heiligen Nachtmal: Zur nothwendigen Widerlegung einer newlich aussgesprengten Neerischen Schmehekarten, gestelltet vnd an tag gegeben Durch Sebastianum Ambrosium, Pastorem vnd Seelsorger der Kirchen daselbst. M.D.XCVIII. Gedruckt zu Zerbst, Bey Bonauentur Schmidts Erben, im Jahr M.D. XCVIII. (quarto, p. 127.) RMK III. 928. Oratio funebris in obitum Memoriae Generosae ac Magnifciae Dominae Svsanne Doczi, Generosi ac Magnifici Domini Dn. Sebastiani Theokeolji Dominis in Keismarck etc. fidissime coniugis, que 9. Junii veteris Anni 1596. vitam preclare in his terris actam pie placideque clausit, consecrata a Sebastiano Ambrosio Pastore Ecclesiae Keismarcensi. Adiectum est fragmentum Epistolae qua eadem Generosa ac Magnifica Domina marito suo absenti valedicare coeperat, Hendecasyllabis expressum. Heidelbergae, Typis Christophori Leonis. Anno MDC. (quarto, 14) RMK III. 944. Zwey geistliche Lieder, Das Erste von der Eitelkeit, welcher der Mensch von seiner Empfengnüs vnd geburt an bis zum abscheid aus diesem jammerthal, vnterworffen ist. Das ander Wes sich ein Christ in solcher Eitellkeit zu trösten habe. Zur Liegnitz druckts Nicol Schneider A.C. 1600. (octavo, 12)

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Zwey newe geistliche Lieder wieder die Türcken vnd Tattern vnd alle andere Feinde der christlichen Kirchen. Daneben zwey alte Kirche Gebet, welche auch in diesen gegenwertigen Kriegsleufften nützlich können gebraucht werden, aus dem Latein, von wegen derer, so die lateinische sprache nicht verstehen, verdeutscht. Gedruckt zur Liegnitz, durch Nicolaum Schneider, A. C. 1601. (quarto, 4) RMK III. 971.c. Neun geistliche Lieder, Liegnitz, 1601. RMK III. 971.d. Ad Solemnem Miraculose Recuperati Iaurini Recordationem, quae quotannis in Schola Gorliciensi celebrari, et grata memoria repeti solet Carmen Sebastiani Ambrosi Hungaro Scepusij, publice recitatum die 29. Martij, Anno Christi 1602. Cvi Adiecta Svpplicatio ad Deum Opt. Max. pro defendenda contra immanitatem Turcicam Vngaria. Ecxusum Gorlicii Typis Johannis Rhambae Gerlicii (Görlitz), 1602. (quarto, 14) RMK III. 989. Geistliche Lieder auss schönen Lehr- vnd Trostsprächen H. Schrifft, vnd sonsten vornehmer Lehrer Sprächen, vnd auff fürtrefflicher Meister Melodeyen gerichtet, durch Sebastianum Ambrosium, Weilandt Dienern desz Göttlichen Worts in der Stadt Keyszmarck in Zyps. Jetzund auffs Newe in Druck gegeben. 1630.

IN MANUSCRIPT

Ad duo scripta contraria de quaestione an imagines in templo Christianorum. OSzK Oct. Lat. 531.

1.2. Ambrosius’ contribution to other publications Meditationes Piae, Vario Metri Genere ex euangelijs concinnatae; quibus etiam alia quaedam pia carmina sunt adiecta. A Casparo Pilcio Waraliense. Bartphae Excudebat Dauid Guttsegel, Anno 1583. (octavo, 86) RMK II. 171. Epitaphia Clarissimi Ac Doctissimi Viri, Domini M. Petri Codicilli A Tvlechova, Rectoris Ac Pvblici Professoris Mathematvm In Academia Pragensi, Praepositique Collegij Caesarei, alias Regis Vencesilai ... 4. Calendae Novembris ab amicis ... scripta: Anno Christi 1589. Sumptibus M. Martini Bachaczij Naumierziceni. Imprimebat Pragae Georgibus Iacobides Daczicenus. (quarto, 10) Carmina gratulatoria. De Felici In Scepusium adventu Egregiis Verae Nobilitatis Ornamentis Clarissimi, bonomque omnium amore dignissimi viri D. Jacobi Monavii, Patricii Vratsilaviensis ets. Scripta Ab Aliquot Amicis: et ijsdem procurantibus edita. Anno 1591 Mense Octobri Gorlicii Imprimebat Ambrosius Fritsch. (quarto, 18) RMK III. 813. Memoriae Nobilis, Pudicissimae Et Lectissime Matronae Annae Wolkensteiniae Egregii Veraque nobilis viri, Dn. Iohannis Krausii, Arcis Lublo et XIII oppidorum Provisoris integerrimi et conjugis, quae Anno 1594. die 5 Iulij hora 6. matutina in Christo Immanuele nostro pie et placidé obdormivit. Carmina Ab Aliquot Amicis Consecrata. Cum haud dissimilis Argumenti Appendice. Gorlicii Johannes Rhamba excudebat. Anno M.D. XCV. (quarto, 12) RMK III. 854. Symbolum Jacobi Monavii. Ipse faciet Variis variorum auctorum carminibus expressum et decoratum. Cum nonullis appendicibus, Gorlicii, Johannes Rhamba, 1595. RMK III. 853b., OSzK Kézirattár Ant. 13.438 Abraham Bucholzeri Index Chronologicus, Cura secunda Gottfridi Bucholzeri F. Grunbergensis Silesij Completatus, et accessione eventuum insignorum, ab

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eo tempore ubi pater desijt, usque ad finem anni 1598, fideliter continuatus ... Gorlicii, Johannes Rhamba, 1599. (octavo, 32) EψᶲHMIAI Quas Iuveni ut Nobilitatis dotibus eximio sic literarum cognitione exculto, Domino Stephano Kegelio Posoniensi, Vitebergae, 1602. RMK III./I. 995. OSzK App. H.1962.

2. Correspondence 2.1. Letters by Ambrosius PUBLISHED CORRESPONDENCE

To Johann Jacob Grynaeus, 1590–1600, in Johann Jacob Grynaeus magyar kapcsolatai. (Hungarian Contacts of Johann Jacob Grynaues) Ed. András Szabó, Szeged, 1989. (Adattár 22.) Letters numbered as Grynaeus I-XXI. To Martin Bachaček, December 9, 1595, Késmárk, original in MTA Manuscript Collection, published in Szenci, Levelezés. To Albert Szenci Molnár, Késmárk, August 12, 1598, July 10, 1599, July 7, 1600; Originals in MTA Manuscript Collection, published in Szenci, Levelezés. To Zsigmond Máriássy, 1595. MOL Máriássy family archive, Márkusfalva section P 1194, file no. 1, 1570–1590. See András Szabó, “Ambrosius Lam Sebestyén levele Máriássy Zsigmondhoz” (“Sebestyén Ambrosius Lam’s letter to Zsigmond Máriássy”), in Bálint Keserű, ed., Collectanea Tiburtiana. Tanulmányok Klaniczay Tibor tiszteletére. Szeged, 1990, 225–229. Sebastian Ambrosius Jr.’s letters to Molnár Albert Szenci, August 26, 1600, Görlitz, March 3, 1603, Heidelberg. Originals in MTA Manuscript Collection, published in Szenci, Levelezés.

UNPUBLISHED LETTERS BY AMBROSIUS

To Hugo Blotius, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. Vindob. Palat. Ms 9737z17 fol. 173–329. Copies in MTA Manuscript Collection, Documents of Endre Veress, MS 434/4. Letters numbered as Blotius I-XVII. To Wilhelm Stücki, 1591–1598; Staatsarchiv des Kantons Zürich, E II. 358 a., fols. 544–546; 586–588; 608; 614–615; 624–625; 668–669. To Laurentius Scholtz, April 4, 1595, Manuscript Collection of the University Library, Wrocław, Ms R 2177 (no. 13). To Imre Forgách, September 17, 1597, Kežmarok, Slovensky Národny Archiv, Bratislava, Spolocny Archiv rodu Révay/varia, 1521–1641, fol. 92–94. To Théodore de Bèze, February 10, 1594, in Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, Coll. Dupuy, Epistole Theologarum, f.128.

2.2. Letters to Ambrosius (and to his contemporary friends) UNPUBLISHED LETTERS

Letters of Théodore de Bèze, Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Paris, Epistolae Haereticorum, Cod. 1455.

Bibliography

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To Ambrosius, Geneva, August 23, 1591, fols. 56–58; May 20, 1592, fols. 66–68; August 30, 1593., fols. 94–96. To Imre Forgách, Geneva, May 20, 1592, fol. 68–69. To Tamás Tolnai Fabricius, Geneva, August 28, 1593, fol. 98–10. To Gregorius Tribelius, Geneva, December 1590, fol. 39; May 20, 1592, fol. 65; August 30, 1593, fol. 105. To Daniel Fabinus, Geneva, October 13, 1601, fols. 403–405. Menso Alting to Ambrosius, Emden, July 21, 1597, Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Epistolae Haereticorum, Cod. 1455. fols. 494–498. Franciscus Junius to Ambrosius, Leiden, May 18, 1600, Gemeentearchief Leiden, Coll. van der Meulen, nr. 386.2. (concept), nr. 386.3. Johann Jacob Grynaues to Ambrosius, Basel, April 26, 1596, Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève, Epistolae Haereticorum, Cod. 1455. fol. 418–421. Hugo Blotius to Ambrosius, between March 13, 1592 and May 20, 1594, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Suppl. 2896 fol. 95; 108; 133; 155.

3. Primary sources of church and urban history 3.1. Archival sources SOURCES FROM SZEPES COUNTY

Recordanz oder Wyssbuch an der Stadt Keysmark, 1554–1600. Ausgabenbuch der Stadt Kesmark, 1579–1587. Magistrat Mesta Kežmarok, 1570–1600. List of payments from the Archives of the City of Poprád. Rationes cassae domesticae Keismarcensis 1594–1608. Archiv Mestá Levoče, Trieda V.: section 5 of the Archives of the City of Lőcse/ Levoča. Protocollum Comitati Sepusiensi. Vol. 5. 1574–1590, Vol. 6. 1592–1599, Archives of the City of Lőcse/Levoča. HUNGARIAN NATIONAL ARCHIVES

E 249 Archives of the Chambers of Szepes County, Benigna Mandata. E 254 Archives of the Chambers of Szepes County, Repraesentationes, informationes et instantiae. P 108 Archives of the Esterházy family. P 491 Archives of the Máriássy family. P 1194 Archives of the Máriássy family, Missives. P 1197 Archives of the Horváth-Stansith family. MANUSCRIPT COLLECTION OF THE HUNGARIAN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES

Documents of Jenő Ábel: MS 335/8.: Notes from the Archives of Késmárk; MS 335/12.: Notes form the Horváth-Stansith family’s archives of Nagyőr; MS 335/4: Notes from the Archives of Bártfa MS 336/7. Documents of Endre Veress: MS 434/4. Copies of the Ambrosius-Blotius correspondence.

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Index

Caveat The protagonist of this book is Sebastian Ambrosius, whose name therefore appears at almost each and every page. His name – and the varieties of his name are also discussed within the book –, and that is why it was not included as a separate entry in the Index of Names. Amerbach, Basilius 105 Amling, Wolfgang 230n13 Amman, Gregorius 27, 183 Andreae, Jakob 34, 61–2, 105, 106, 113, 114, 142, 166n135 Anne of Austria 203 Aquinas, Thomas 113 Aristotle 113, 230 Arnoldus, Christophorus 178 Athanasius of Alexandria 113 Aubry, Jean 120, 182, 211, 214n51 Augustus, Elector of Saxony 34 Aurelius, Ambrosius 113 Bachaček, Martin 110, 209 Balassi, Bálint 3, 189, 205, 219n128 Bánffy, Ferenc 181 Baranyai Decsi, János 181 Báthory, István (of Ecsed) 31, 212nn11, 13 Báthory, Zsigmond, Prince of Transylvania 184 Batthyány, Boldizsár 106, 161n56, 211, 214n51 Batthyány, Ferenc 104 Bels, Benedek 57, 64, 88n48, 155 Beythe, István 211, 221n145 Bèze, Theodore de 3, 12, 32, 67, 76, 77, 83, 93, 105, 106, 115, 121, 124–6, 128, 135, 139–40, 145, 151, 155, 164n103, 165n118, 178–9, 182, 196–8, 205, 218nn106, 107, 224, 227

Biandrata, Giorgio 114, 166n135 Blotius, Hugo 3, 27, 104, 121, 124–6, 128–31, 140, 145–8, 156, 163n87, 165n118, 174–6, 182–7, 190–6, 198–9, 201, 203–5, 211, 212n11, 213n17, 215n71, 218nn99, 101, 222, 226, 227, 233n6, 234n15 Bobrowiczi, Matthias 90n74, 163n86, 199, 200, 216n81 Bocatius, János 18, 169n198, 218n107 Bocskai, István 174, 229 Bod, Péter 1 Bogner, Bertalan 73 Bornemissza, Gergely 56, 58, 63–6, 86n18, 88nn42, 51, 137, 138 Both, Erzsébet 104 Braccius, Samuel 94 Brenz, Johann 113, 135 Brutus, János Mihály (Giovanni Bruto) 174, 212nn11, 13 Bucer, Martin 64 Budé, Guillaume 192 Bullinger, Heinrich 140 Busbecq, Ogier Ghiselin de 218n99 Calaminus, Georg 208 Calaminus, Petrus 233n13 Calvin, John 1, 57, 66, 67, 86n26, 116, 128, 134, 141, 148, 151, 156, 172n227, 231 Camerarius, Joachim 105, 106, 164n112 Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor 23, 34

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Index

Chemnitz, Martin 81, 109, 144 Christiani, Abraham 140, 155, 169n193 Chrysostom, John 113 Chytraeus, Nathan 110, 178, 208, 214n33 Clementides, Mihály 122, 163n86 Clusius, Carolus 179, 183, 191, 211, 215n61, 221n145 Codex, Jan 110 Cornides, Daniel 155 Crato von Krafftheim, Johannes 113, 162n77, 205, 218n99, 223 Cratzer, Caspar 62, 63, 67, 89n61 Crell, Paul 35 Creutzer, Georg 28, 76–7, 91n91, 93–5, 97, 100, 102–4, 110, 119, 134, 154, 159n29, 199 Csanádi, János 201 Danaeus, Lambertus 76, 77, 93, 105, 106, 160n41 Dantiscus, Johannes 165n122 Dávid, Ferenc 113, 114, 140, 166n135, 196 Dives, Stephanus 182, 214n49 Djurdević, Bartolomej (Georgievits) 37 Dobó, Ferenc 139 Dóczy, Zsuzsanna 51n78, 54, 90n85, 107, 108, 147, 161n63, 168n161, 169n194, 188–9, 203 Douza, Janus 208 Draskovich, György 159n36 Dudith, András 165n118, 165n122, 204, 209–11 Dürer, Albrecht 83 Eber, Paul 35 Eberhard, Matthias 73 Erasmus, Desiderius 186, 225 Erasmus, Johannis 197 Erhard, Nicholas 92n111, 140, 146, 148, 151, 169n193, 177 Ernest, Archduke of Austria 54, 84n4, 107, 193 Erythraeus, Johann 163n86, 199 Euripides 113 Faber, Bonaventura 112 Fabinyi, Dániel 178, 179, 212n8 Fabinyi, Lukács 25, 38, 48n42, 56, 79, 97 Fabri, Thomas 25, 26, 40, 48n38, 101, 230

Fabricius, János 111, 199, 200, 203 Fabrizius, Christoph 75 Fegyverneki, Izsák 51n79, 158n21, 200 Feichter, Stephan 27, 183 Félegyházi, Tamás 189 Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Hungary 40, 58, 86n18, 104, 159n33, 217n95 Filiczki, János (Farkasfalvi) 177, 189 Flacius Illyricus, Matthias 51n90, 60, 66, 86nn25, 26 Forgách, Imre 147, 171n209, 182, 210, 218n106 Forgách, Mihály 32, 37, 104, 107, 201, 210 Frederick II, Duke of Liegnitz and Brieg 56 Frederick IV, Elector Palatinate of the Rhine 128 Frenzelius, Solomon 208 Frölich, Dávid 52n99, 163nn95, 100, 201 Frölich, Johannes 199 Frölich, Thomas 55, 60, 61, 67, 87n35 Gabelmann, Nicolaus 175, 176, 183, 198, 212n16, 218n109 Gera, Conrad 102, 136 Gesner, Conrad 194 Gogreff, Mento 60, 63, 87n32, 101 Goltz, Joachim 84n6 Goltzius, Hubert 204, 219n124 Gönczi, István 156, 171n226, 172n227 Grawer, Albert 140–56, 168n167, 169nn193, 197, 198, 170n205, 171n210, 172n227 Gregory of Nazianzus 113, 166n135 Grynaeus, Johann Jacob Gutgessell, David 114 Gutsmittel, Bartholomeus 27, 183 Hebsacker, Ezekiel 156 Henckel, Lazar 27, 182–3, 194, 215n54 Hertel, Johann 196 Hetessi-Pethő, Márton 75, 111, 137, 152, 167n152 Hirschhorn, Johann 183, 194 Holder, Wilhelm 135 Homonnay, István 101, 107 Honterus, Johannes 21, 46n13 Hortensius, Valentin 63, 71, 75, 84n1, 93, 100, 122, 136, 163n86, 199, 200, 202, 219n118 Horváth, Gergely (Grádeczi HorváthStansith) 1, 11–13n4, 32, 48n41, 62–4,

Index 77–9, 81–3, 88n40, 91n103, 92nn111, 112, 94, 96–101, 103–6, 109–10, 112– 27, 129, 131–44, 146–55, 159n23, 160nn41, 42, 44, 161n55, 162n80, 163n88, 168n164, 169n185, 170n198, 192, 193, 197, 227–30 Horváth, Márk 159n33 Hunnius, Aegidius 141, 145, 149, 152, 168nn167, 179 Huszár, Gál 67 Istvánffy, Miklós 62, 139 Jacomotus, Joannes Jancsi, János 33, 62, 66, 68, 84n1, 87n35, 112, 136, 138, 152, 163n86, 177, 199, 200, 203 John of Damascus 113 Kállai, Albert 101 Karlstadt, Andreas 79, 87n33, 114 Károlyi, Péter 113, 166n135 Kauffny, Richard 25, 40, 48n40 Kesner, Zacheus 182 Kessler, Martin 165n118 Klösz, Jakab 177 Koch, Cyriac (Obsopaeus) 58, 66, 136, 138 Krakkai, Demeter 32, 201, 210 Kramer, Paul 21 Kraus, Johann 40, 90n85, 122, 163n86, 199, 201–2, 206, 208, 209, 219n118 Krossensky, Erasmus 24, 47n37 Lani, Elias 80–2, 140, 152 Laskai Csókás, Péter 33, 38 Laski, Albert 24, 47n33, 54, 70, 107–8, 167n155 Lazius, Wolfgang 193, 217n95 Leuchamer, Johann 60 Leudischer, Georg 24, 91n95 Leyser, Polycarpus 105 Liffortius, Carolus 182, 197 Ligustius, Wolfgang 98 Lipsius, Justus 37, 129, 164n112, 191, 208–11, 215nn51, 71, 223 Liszthy, János 104, 165n118 Luther, Martin 18, 19, 111, 113, 114, 136, 143, 145, 150, 151, 166n135, 168n177, 224, 226 Mader, Valerianus 189 Major, Georg 113 Manlius, Johann 76

255

Mansfeld, Karl von 184 Maria Christina of Austria 184 Máriássy, Zsigmond 32, 40, 46n22, 163n86, 199, 201, 206, 208–10 Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary 24 Maximilian II, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Hungary 56, 82, 86n22, 89n55, 128, 226 Megander, Valentin 58 Melanchthon, Philipp 11, 19–22, 25, 26, 33–5, 39, 47n37, 52n97, 56–60, 69–70, 73, 80, 82, 85n9, 86n25, 111, 113, 122, 124, 129, 143, 151, 153, 154, 162n70, 168n177, 224, 226, 230 Melissus, Paulus (Schede) 179, 205, 208 Melius, Péter 113, 139–40, 155, 165n118, 216n89 Meltzer, Gregor 61–2, 87nn33, 35, 210 Miskolczi Csulyak, István 32, 51n87, 177, 188 Moes, Sigismund 27, 198, 216n89 Moller, Georg 72 Moller, Jacob 163n86 Monavius, Jacob 113–14, 120–9, 131, 135, 140, 163n90, 164nn109, 111, 112, 179, 182, 186, 191, 198, 201–10, 216n81, 218n107, 222, 223, 234n15 Montaigne, Michel de 96, 180 München, Paul 99, 169n193 Mylius, Johann 39–41, 48n39, 52n107, 110, 111, 136–8, 140–1, 163n86, 177, 199, 200, 202, 206, 216n81, 219n118, 225, 233n8 Nádasdy, Ferenc 167n150, 218n109 Nádasdy, Tamás 104, 105 Neander, Heinrich 183 Nogarolli, Ferdinand 107, 138 Olahus, Nicolaus 58, 86n18, 231 Opitz, Martin 223 Origen 113, 166n135 Orsini, Fulvio 192 Ortelius, Abraham 204, 219nn125, 127, 234n15 Osiander, Lucas 105 Paczoth, Ferenc 29 Paksi Cormaeus, Mihály 140 Pálffy, Miklós 147 Pareus, David 141, 168n166, 174, 182, 187 Péchy, Zsigmond 32, 201

256

Index

Peucer, Caspar 34, 205 Pezel, Christoph 142 Pierius, Urban 233n13 Pilcius, Caspar 31, 33, 35, 60, 63, 76, 77, 88n48, 93–4, 101–2, 109, 110, 115, 122–3, 134, 136–8, 151, 154–5, 158n17, 163n86, 166n148, 169n194, 189, 199, 200, 206, 210, 219n118, 225, 233n8 Plantin, Christophe 234n15 Platner, Anton 21, 31–3, 40, 46n18, 51n82, 57, 60, 75, 86n20, 112, 137, 170n205, 194, 199, 200, 202, 203 Platter, Felix 33 Polanus, Amandus 151, 208 Polányi, Mátyás 104 Porkoláb-Hahóti, Krisztina 104 Praetorius, Gáspár 216n81 Praetorius, Peter 136, 155, 199, 219n118 Pribicer, Jacob 209, 210 Purkircher, Georg 165n118 Rabus, Ludovicus 105 Radaschin, Michael 85n13 Radziwiłł, Krzysztof Mikołaj Prince 184 Reuchlin, Johannes 225 Reusner, Nicolaus 208 Révay, Ferenc 62, 101 Rhamba, Johannes 205, 209 Rhau, Johannes 170n205 Rhediger, Nicolaus 205, 208 Ricetius, Matthias 199 Rimay, János 129, 165n123, 189, 191, 214n51 Rudolf II, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Hungary 54, 59, 65, 86n23, 90n73, 107, 138, 167n152, 174, 193, 212n11, 226, 231 Rueber, Hans 31, 47n33, 54, 59, 60, 63–5, 67, 70, 88n40, 106–8, 125, 137, 161n55, 167n155, 170n205 Saint Augustine 25, 113 Saint Basil the Great 113 Saint Bonaventure 113 Schilling, Martin 205 Schnell, Thomas 200 Scholtz, Laurentius 191, 222 Scholtz, Prokop 200 Schöppel, Petrus 192–6 Schulz, Johann 99 Schwarzenberg, Adolf von 147 Schwendi, Lazarus von 218n99 Schwenkfeld, Kaspar von 66, 86n26, 89n58

Sculteti, Severin 20, 137, 144, 148, 150–2, 156, 157, 167n150, 170n205, 172n227, 177, 231 Scultetus, Abraham 201 Seelfisch, Samuel 37–8, 53n104, 122, 127, 182 Selnecker, Nicolaus 135 Semsey (Sennyei), Ferenc 104, 159n36 Serpilius, Johann 178, 214n32 Serpilius, Laurentius 56, 58 Sidney, Robert 105, 160n49 Sifer, Georg 27 Sigismund III, King of Poland 203 Simmler, Josias 113 Simon, Gergely 25 Sleidanus, Johannes 175, 212n15 Spielenberger, Samuel 33 Stöckel, Leonhard 20–1, 23–6, 38, 41, 44, 45n12, 47n27, 48n38, 85n13, 123, 158n4, 230 Stücki, Johann Wilhelm 121, 123–9, 135–6, 144, 156, 182, 185–6, 199 Sturm, Johannes 21, 51n90, 105, 160nn41, 44, 205 Sturm, Martin 194 Suetonius 113 Sulcerus, Simon 105, 160n45 Szegedi, Mátyás 105 Szegedi Kis, István 167n160 Szenci Molnár, Albert 3, 33, 51nn87, 88, 173–4, 179, 182, 201, 210, 212n8, 222 Szentbenedeki, Mihály 173 Tarczy, János 199 Telegdi, Miklós 86n23 Tengnagel, Sebastian 218n101 Tertullian 113 Theodoret of Cyrus 114 Therjék, Tamás 159n36 Thököly, István 32, 51n87, 140, 174, 187–8, 191, 216nn77, 89, 222 Thököly, Miklós 32, 173, 188 Thököly, Sebestyén 3, 11, 12, 31, 47n33, 54, 67, 70, 79, 82–4, 94, 97–9, 101, 103–4, 106–9, 122, 138–43, 145, 147, 149, 155–6, 158n20, 167n155, 173, 176, 177, 184–5, 187–90, 199–201, 215n54, 229 Thoraconymus, Mathias (Matej Kabat) 18, 19, 25–6, 29, 33, 35–6, 38–40, 87n32, 93, 101, 109, 123, 127, 134, 135, 137, 158n22, 165n115, 199, 202, 225, 227

Index Thretius, Christophorus 140 Thúri, Mátyás 140 Thurzó, Elek 51n81 Thurzó, Imre 104 Thurzó, Szaniszló 24, 65 Tolnai Fabricius, Tamás 80, 82, 136, 139, 140, 148, 149, 152, 163n86, 182, 190, 199, 200, 202, 210, 220n139, 225, 227, 233n8 Tossanus, Daniel 76, 77, 93, 174, 182, 187 Trautson, Johann 174 Tribelius, Caspar 141 Tribelius, Gregorius 163n86, 182, 194, 198, 199, 201, 204, 206, 218nn106, 107 Trotzendorf, Valentin 21, 28, 224 Türck, Peter 140 Újfalvi, Imre 33, 48n47, 51n88, 216n77, 228 Unterbaum, Christoph 27, 51n85 Urbani, Daniel 199 Ursinus, Zacharias 142, 205

257

Vandalus, Christian 62, 63, 88n40 Verantius, Antonius (Antun Vrančić) 58, 65, 86n23 Vodmann, Elias 62 Wackerfels, Wacker 219n127 Wagner, Martin 101, 111, 154 Walkenstein, Anna 202, 203, 219n118 Wechel, Andreas 105 Weidner, Johann 178 Wolf, Heinrich 121, 123, 128, 164n102, 166n147 Xylander, Stephan 20, 32 Zanchius, Hieronymus 113 Zedlicius, Venzel 140 Žerotín, Karol (the Elder) 165n118 Zsámboky, János (Johannes Sambucus) 165n118, 174, 175, 179, 192, 204, 205, 214n37 Zwinger, Theodor 105, 106, 160n46 Zwingli, Ulrich 57, 66, 87n33, 116, 148, 231