Communities of Devotion: Religious Orders and Society in East Central Europe, 1450-1800 [Reprint ed.] 0754663124, 9780754663126, 9781315572956

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Communities of Devotion

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Communities of Devotion Religious Orders and Society in East Central Europe, 1450–1800

Edited by Maria Crăciun and Elaine Fulton University of Cluj, Romania and University of Birmingham, UK

First published 2011 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © Maria Crăciun and Elaine Fulton and the contributors 2011 Maria Crăciun and Elaine Fulton have asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the editors of this work. 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. 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 Communities of devotion : religious orders and society in East Central Europe, 1450-1800. – (Catholic Christendom, 1300-1700) 1. Monasticism and religious orders – Europe, Central – History. 2. Monasticism and religious orders – Europe, Eastern – History. 3. Monasticism and religious orders – Europe, Central – Influence. 4. Monasticism and religious orders – Europe, Eastern – Influence. 5. Religion and sociology – Europe, Central – History. 6. Religion and sociology – Europe, Eastern – History. 7. Church renewal – Europe, Central – History. 8. Church renewal – Europe, Eastern – History. 9. Europe, Eastern – Church history. 10. Europe, Central – Church history. I. Series II . Crăciun, Maria. III . Fulton, Elaine, 1975– 271’.00943–dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Communities of devotion : religious orders and society in East Central Europe, 1450-1800 / [edited by] Maria Craciun and Elaine Fulton. p. cm. — (Catholic Christendom, 1300-1700) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7546-6312-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Monasticism and religious orders—Europe, Central— History. 2. Monasticism and religious orders—Europe, Eastern—History. I. Crăciun, Maria. II . Fulton, Elaine, 1975– BX2676.C36C66 2011 271.00943—dc22 ISBN 9780754663126 (hbk) ISBN 9781315572956 (ebk)

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Contents Series Editor’s Preface   List of Contributors   List of Illustrations   List of Maps   Acknowledgements   Introduction Communities of Devotion: Religious Orders and Society in East Central Europe, 1450–1800   Maria Crăciun and Elaine Fulton 1 2 3 4 5 6

Mendicant Piety and the Saxon Community of Transylvania, c.1450–1550   Maria Crăciun*

vii xiii ix xi xvii

1

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The Influence of Franciscan Friars on Popular Piety in the Kingdom of Hungary at the End of the Fifteenth Century   71 Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, translated by Max von Habsburg The Third Path: Charity and Devotion in Late Medieval Transylvanian Towns   Carmen Florea

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Conflict and Cooperation: The Reform of Religious Orders in Early Sixteenth-Century Hungary   Gabriella Erdélyi

121

Between Bishop and Prince: Monasteries and Authority in Austria in the Late Sixteenth Century   Rona Johnston Gordon

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Mutual Aid: The Jesuits and the Courtier in SixteenthCentury Vienna   Elaine Fulton

171

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7

Jesuits, Confessional Identities and Landlordship in God’s Transylvanian Vineyard, 1580–1588   Christine Peters

197

Tanquam Peregrini: Pilgrimage Practice in the Bohemian Franciscan Province   Martin Elbel

227

The Basilian Monk and the Identity of the Uniate Church in Eighteenth-Century Transylvania   Greta-Monica Miron, translated by Maria Crăciun

245

8 9

Epilogue   Ronnie Po-chia Hsia

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Index  

277

Series Editor’s Preface The still-usual emphasis on medieval (or Catholic) and reformation (or Protestant) religious history has meant neglect of the middle ground, both chronological and ideological. As a result, continuities between the middle ages and early modern Europe have been overlooked in favor of emphasis on radical discontinuities. Further, especially in the later period, the identification of ‘reformation’ with various kinds of Protestantism means that the vitality and creativity of the established church, whether in its Roman or local manifestations, has been left out of account. In the last few years, an upsurge of interest in the history of traditional (or catholic) religion makes these inadequacies in received scholarship even more glaring and in need of systematic correction. The series will attempt this by covering all varieties of religious behavior, broadly interpreted, not just (or even especially) traditional institutional and doctrinal church history. It will to the maximum degree possible be interdisciplinary, comparative and global, as well as non-confessional. The goal is to understand religion, primarily of the ‘Catholic’ variety, as a broadly human phenomenon, rather than as a privileged mode of access to superhuman realms, even implicitly. The period covered, 1300–1700, embraces the moment which saw an almost complete transformation of the place of religion in the life of Europeans, whether considered as a system of beliefs, as an institution, or as a set of social and cultural practices. In 1300, vast numbers of Europeans, from the pope down, fully expected Jesus’s return and the beginning of His reign on earth. By 1700, very few Europeans, of whatever level of education, would have subscribed to such chiliastic beliefs. Pierre Bayle’s notorious sarcasms about signs and portents are not idiosyncratic. Likewise, in 1300 the vast majority of Europeans probably regarded the pope as their spiritual head; the institution he headed was probably the most tightly integrated and effective bureaucracy in Europe. Most Europeans were at least nominally Christian, and the pope had at least nominal knowledge of that fact. The papacy, as an institution, played a central role in high politics, and the clergy in general formed an integral part of most governments, whether central or local. By 1700, Europe was divided into a myriad of different religious allegiances, and even those areas officially subordinate to the pope were both more nominally Catholic in belief (despite colossal efforts at imposing uniformity) and also in allegiance than they had been four hundred years earlier. The pope had become only one political factor, and not one

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of the first rank. The clergy, for its part, had virtually disappeared from secular governments as well as losing much of its local authority. The stage was set for the Enlightenment. Thomas F. Mayer, Augustana College

List of Illustrations 1.1 1.2 1.3

Central panel of the altarpiece of Mălâncrav   31 Predella of the altarpiece of Mălâncrav   32 Panel with St Elizabeth from the altarpiece of Biertan (Birthälm, Berethalom)   44 1.4 Panel with the martyrdom of St Peter from the altarpiece of Hălchiu (Heldsdorf, Höltövény)   47 1.5 Panel with the meeting at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem from the altarpiece of Biertan   48 1.6 Panel with Anna Selbdritt at Biertan   49 1.7 Panel with Anna Selbdritt from Şaeş (Schaas, Segesd)   50 1.8 Panel with Holy Kindred at Sebeş (Mühlbach, Szászsebes)  52 1.9 Triptych at Biertan 53 1.10a Panel with the Death and Assumption of the Virgin at Mălâncrav   54 1.10b Panel with the Death and Assumption of the Virgin at Mălâncrav   55 1.11 Panel with the Coronation of the Virgin at Jidvei (Seiden, Zsidve)/Tătârlaua (Taterloch, Felsőtatárlaka)   56 1.12 Central panel from Prejmer (Tartlau, Prázsmár)   59 1.13 Central panel from Sibiu (Hermannstadt, Nagyszeben)   63

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List of Maps I.1 1.1 4.1 4.2 9.1

East central Europe c.1550   Mendicant convents and parish churches in late medieval Transylvania (showing only parish churches where altarpieces have survived)   Mendicant and eremitical orders in Hungary c.1500   Körmend in the Middle Ages   Transylvania c.1550–1800  

5 33 122 131 246

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List of Contributors Marie-Madeleine de Cevins is Senior Lecturer in Medieval History at the University of Angers, France. She completed her PhD at Paris Sorbonne with a thesis on the Church in late medieval Hungarian towns, and achieved her Habilitation à diriger des recherché in 2007 on the subject of Church and society in medieval Hungary. Her field of interest is society and mentalities in late medieval Hungary, with special emphasis on parish churches, mendicant orders and lay confraternities. Her publications include: L’Église dans les villes hongroises à la fin du Moyen Age (v. 1320–v. 1490) (Paris and Budapest, 2003), translated into Hungarian as Az egyház a késő-középkori magyar városokban (Budapest, 2003); Saint Étienne de Hongrie (Paris, 2004); Les Franciscains observants hongrois de l’expansion à la débâcle (v. 1450–v. 1540) (Rome, 2008); and Formation intellectuelle et culture du clergé dans les territoires angevins: milieu du XIIIe– fin du XVe siècle (Rome, 2005), edited with Jean-Michel Matz. Maria Crăciun is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Medieval and Early Modern History of the Babeş-Bolyai University, Cluj, Romania. She has published a monograph on Protestant communities in sixteenthcentury Moldavia and has co-edited (with Graeme Murdock and Ovidiu Ghitta) Confessional Identity in East Central Europe (Aldershot, 2002). Recent publications include: ‘Conversion in the Confessional Age’, in Almut Bues (ed.) Martin Gruneweg (1562–nach 1615) – Ein europäischer Lebensweg (Wiesbaden, 2009), pp. 241–62; ‘Art, Religious Diversity and Confessional Identity in Early Modern Transylvania’, in C. Scott Dixon, Dagmar Freist and Mark Greengrass (eds), Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe (Farnham, 2009), pp. 81–108; and ‘The Construction of Sacred Space and the Confessional Identity of the Transylvanian Lutheran Community’, in Evelin Wetter (ed.), Formierungen des konfessionellen Raumes in Ostmiteleuropa (Stuttgart, 2008), pp. 97–124. Martin Elbel is a lecturer in Early Modern History at the Olomouc University, Czech Republic. In 2001 he was awarded the Andrew Mellon Fellowship at the Institute for Advanced Studies at the Warburg Institute, and the Visiting Fellowship at the Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities, University of Edinburgh. His current research interests are religious orders in early modern Europe, religious festivities, Catholic Enlightenment and popular religion. He is the author of a

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2001 monograph published in Czech on the Franciscan order in the Czech lands during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and has written several articles, including ‘Pilgrimage Practice and Confessional Identity in Early Modern European Lands’, in Eszter Andor and István György Tóth (eds), Frontiers of Faith: Religious Exchange and Constitution of Religious Identities, 1400–1750 (Budapest, 2001); and ‘On the Side of the Angels: Franciscan Communication Strategies in Early Modern Bohemia’, in Heinz Schilling and István György Tóth (eds), Religious Exchange in Europe, 1400–1700 (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 338–59. Gabriella Erdélyi, Research Fellow in the Institute of History at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest, received her PhD in history from Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest, in 2003. Her publications include The Register of a Convent Controversy (1517–1518): Pope Leo X, Cardinal Bakócz, the Augustinians and the Observant Franciscans in Contest (Budapest and Rome, 2006) and Kolostorper Körmenden (Budapest, 2005), which examines religious culture in late medieval Hungary. Her research interests are lay–clerical relationships; crime, violence and litigation; marriage and gender relations; and the history of the early Protestant reformation in Hungary. Her forthcoming book, based on the requests for pardon of the ordinary man at the papal curia, explores late medieval everyday conflicts and the rites of violence and justice. Carmen Florea is a teaching assistant in the Department of Medieval and Early Modern History at the Babeş-Bolyai University of Cluj, Romania. She has recently completed her doctoral thesis on the cult of saints in late medieval Transylvania. Her recent publications include: ‘Shaping Transylvanian Anti-Trinitarian Identity in an Urban Context’, in Maria Crăciun, Ovidiu Ghitta and Graeme Murdock (eds), Confessional Identity in East Central Europe (Aldershot, 2002), pp. 64–81; ‘The Cult of Saints in Medieval Transylvania’, in Graham Jones (ed.), Saints of Europe: Studies Towards a Survey of Cults and Culture (Donington, 2003), pp. 43–68; ‘Relics at the Margins of Latin Christendom: the Cult of a Frontier Saint in the Late Middle Ages’, in Jean-Luc Deuffic (ed.), Reliques et Sainteté dans l’Espace Médiéval (Pecia, 2005), pp. 471–96; and ‘The Construction of Memory and the Display of Social Bonds in the Life of Corpus Christi Fraternity from Sibiu (Hermannstadt, Nagyszeben)’, in Lucie Doležalová (ed.), The Making of Memory in the Middle Ages (Leiden, 2010), pp. 283–309. Elaine Fulton is Senior Lecturer in Early Modern European History at the University of Birmingham, England. After completing a PhD at the University of St Andrews, Scotland, she wrote her first monograph based on her doctoral work: Catholic Belief and Survival in Late Sixteenth

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Century Vienna (Aldershot, 2007). Her other publications include ‘Wolves and Weathervanes’: Confessional Moderation at the Habsburg Court of Vienna’, in Luc Racaut and Alec Ryrie (eds), Moderate Voices in the European Reformation (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 145–61. She is currently working on aspects of Catholic reform in the Swiss city of Lucerne. Rona Johnston Gordon is a Research Fellow at Yale Divinity School. Her research focuses on the Habsburg lands of central Europe in the early modern period, with particular interest in expressions of dynasticism, the shaping of confessional identities and the character of Vienna. She received the Carl S. Meyer Prize from the Sixteenth Century Society in 2002. Her publications include ‘Melchior Khlesl und der konfessionelle Hintergrund der kaiserlichen Politik im Reich nach 1610’, in Friedrich Beiderbeck, Gregor Horstkemper and Winfried Schulze (eds), Dimensionen der europaeischen Aussenpolitik zur Zeit der Wende vom 16. zum 17. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 2003) and ‘Controlling Time in the Habsburg Lands: The Introduction of the Gregorian Calendar in Austria below the Enns’, Austrian History Yearbook, 40 (2009), 28–36. She is currently working on a full-length study of the career of Cardinal Melchior Khlesl. Greta-Monica Miron is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Medieval and Early Modern History, Babeş-Bolyai University of Cluj, Romania. Her doctoral dissertation, published in Romanian as a monograph, ‘… porunceşte, scoale-te, du-te, propovedueşte …’ Biserica greco-catolică din Transilvania. Cler şi enoriaşi (1697–1782) (Cluj-Napoca, 2004), focused on the institutional development of the Greek-Catholic Church in Transylvania in the first half of the eighteenth century. She is also interested in historiography, the Catholic Reformation in east central Europe and especially in the Uniate Church of Transylvania. Her list of publications includes Biserica greco-catolică din comitatul Cluj în secolul al XVIII-lea (Cluj-Napoca, 2007) and ‘The Transylvanian Greek-Catholic Church in the Eighteenth Century: Towards Catholic Reformation. The Marriage Question’, Colloquia, 10–11 (2003–2004), 120–42. Christine Peters is a lecturer in Early Modern History at The Queen’s College, Oxford. She works on the social context of religion, devotional patterns and the process of Reformation in Britain and Romania. Her recent publications include ‘The Virgin Mary and the publican: Lutheranism and social order in Transylvania’, in Bridget Heal and Ole Peter Grell (eds), The Impact of the European Reformation: Princes, Clergy and People (Aldershot, 2008); Patterns of Piety: Women, Gender and Religion in Late Medieval and Reformation England (Cambridge, 2003); and Women in Early Modern Britain, 1450–1640 (New York, NY, 2004).

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Ronnie Po-chia Hsia is the Edwin Erle Sparks Professor of History at Pennsylvania State University. His publications include several books, such as Society and Religion in Munster 1535–1618 (New Haven, CT, and London, 1984); The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany (New Haven and London, 1988); Social Discipline in the Reformation: Central Europe 1550–1750 (London, 1989); Trent 1475: Stories of a Ritual Murder Trial (New Haven and London, 1992); The World of Catholic Renewal 1540–1770 (Cambridge, 1998); and A Jesuit in the Forbidden City: Matteo Ricci 1552–1610 (Oxford, 2010). He has dealt with issues of religious minorities, religious toleration, confessional identity, religious cohabitation, ritual and an anthropological approach to historical studies and missions initiated by religious orders. His numerous articles, published in edited volumes and prestigious journals, reflect those interests.

Acknowledgements The editors of this volume would like to thank the following for their assistance with this project: Max von Habsburg for his help in translating the chapter by Marie-Madeleine de Cevins; Deborah Jewison for her work on several of the maps in the volume; and Teodor Traistă and Elena Doina Crăciun for their work on the Transylvanian maps. The editors are also indebted to the anonymous reviewer who made some very useful suggestions at the end stages of this project. Maria Crăciun and Elaine Fulton, January 2011

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Introduction Communities of Devotion: Religious Orders and Society in East Central Europe, 1450–1800 Maria Crăciun and Elaine Fulton Between the later Middle Ages and the eighteenth century, religious orders were in the vanguard of reform movements within the Christian Church. They have been credited with devoting themselves to the pastoral care of the laity and transferring devotional patterns from the convents to the secular world.1 Recent scholarship on medieval western and especially northern Europe has suggested that mendicants, and in particular Franciscan friars, exercised a significant influence on the religiosity of the laity by actually shaping their spirituality and piety.2 1

  On the integration of the laity in the Church, see André Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages: Religious Beliefs and Devotional Practices (Notre Dame, IN, and London, 1993). For the role of confraternities placed under the spiritual guidance of mendicants in this process, see John Henderson, Piety and Charity in Late Medieval Florence (Cambridge, 1995); Giles Gérard Meersseman, Ordo fraternitatis: confraternite e pietà dei laici nel Medioevo (Rome, 1977); M. D’Alatri (ed.), Il movimento francescano della Penitenza nella società medievale (Rome, 1980). For the ways in which lay devotional patterns were shaped by the religious, see Henk van Os (ed.), The Art of Devotion in the Late Middle Ages in Europe 1300–1500 (London, 1994); Jane L. Carroll, ‘Woven Devotions: Reform and Piety in Tapestries by Dominican Nuns’, in Jane L. Carroll and Alison G. Stewart (eds), Saints, Sinners and Sisters: Gender and Northern Art in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 182–201; Jeffrey Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary: Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany (New York, NY, 1998), pp. 31, 427–68. 2   Jacques Le Goff, ‘Apostolat mendiant et fait urbain dans la France médiévale. L’implantation des ordres mendiantes. Programme-questionnaire pour une enquête’, Annales E.S.C., 23 (1968), 335–52 ; Le Goff, ‘Ordres mendiants et urbanisation dans la France médiévale; Etat de l’enquête’, Annales E.S.C., 4 (1970), 924–47; André Vauchez, ‘Les ordres mendiantes et la ville en Italie centrale (v.1220–v.1350)’, Mélanges de l’École française de Rome, 89 (1977), 557–773; Giorgio Chittolini and Kaspar Elm (eds), Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV (Bologna, 2001), especially André Vauchez, ‘Gli ordini mendicanti e la città nell’Italia dei comuni (XIII–XV secolo). Alcune riflessioni venti’anni dopo’, pp. 31–44; Cécile Caby, De l’érémitisme rural au monachisme urbain. les Camaldules en Italie à la fin du Moyen Âge (Rome, 1999). For the role of images in this process, see Hans Niewdorp, ‘The Antwerp Baltimore Polyptych. A Portable Altarpiece Belonging to Philip

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In a similar way for the early modern period, religious orders have traditionally been credited with disseminating Tridentine reform, training new clergy, gaining new converts and bringing those who had strayed back into the fold.3 Much, however, remains unknown, with still relatively limited scholarly coverage of the role played by religious orders in the formation and implementation of reforms within the Church, particularly in the context of Catholic renewal.4 This dovetails with a curious scarcity of the Bold Duke of Burgundy’, in van Os (ed.), The Art of Devotion, pp. 137–51; Pamela M. Jones and Thomas Worcester (eds), From Rome to Eternity: Catholicism and the Arts in Italy, ca. 1550–1650 (Leiden, 2002); Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship: Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (Princeton, 2002). The role of the Dominicans as skilled preachers able to disseminate official viewpoints of the Church to a wider social body should also be noted: see Alain Boureau, La Légende dorée: le systeme narratif de Jacques de Voragine (d.1298) (Paris, 1984); Jacqueline Hamesse and Xavier Hermand (eds), De l’homélie au sermon: histoire de la prédication médiévale (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1993); Nicole Bériou and David L. D’Avray (eds), Modern Questions about Medieval Sermons: Essays on Marriage, Death, History and Sanctity (Spoleto, 1994); Jacqueline Hamesse et al. (eds), Medieval Sermons and Society: Cloister, City, University (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1998). For the activities of these orders in east central Europe, see Erik Fügedi, ‘La formation des villes et les ordres mendiantes en Hongrie’, Annales E.S.C., 25 (1970), 966–87; Jerzy Kłoczowski, ‘The Dominicans in the Polish Province in the Middle Ages’, and ‘The Brothers Minor in Medieval Poland’, in his La Pologne dans l’Église médiévale (Aldershot, 1993). The research of Marie-Madeleine de Cevins is more concerned with mendicant establishment in towns: Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, L’Église dans les villes hongroises á la fin du moyen age (vers 1320–vers 1390) (Budapest, Paris and Szeged, 2003), pp. 49–62; Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, Les Franciscans Observants Hongrois de l’expansion á la débâcle (vers 1450–vers 1540) (Rome, 2008). Note too, however, the warning sounded by Christopher F. Black, who cites John Henderson to point out that mendicant records have tended to survive to a far greater degree than parish ones, and that mendicants have also had ‘some good self-promoters, past and present’: Christopher F. Black, ‘Confraternities and the Parish in the Context of Italian Catholic Reform’, in John Patrick Donnelly and Michael W. Maher (eds), Confraternities and Catholic Reform in Italy, France and Spain (Kirksville, MO, 1999), pp. 1–26, p. 6. 3   For instance, in Hungary Catholicism recuperated souls lost to Protestantism after the Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum was founded in Rome. See István Bitskey, ‘The Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum in Rome and the Beginning of the Counter Reformation in Hungary’, in R.J.W. Evans and T.V. Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates: Central European Politics in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (New York, NY, 1991), pp. 110–22. For the role of the Society of Jesus in post-Tridentine Catholicism, see John O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA, 1993), and Paul Shore, Jesuits and the Politics of Religious Pluralism in Eighteenth-Century Transylvania: Culture, Politics and Religion, 1693–1773 (Aldershot, 2007). For the role of religious orders in the Catholic transformation of Bohemia, see Howard Louthan, Converting Bohemia: Force and Persuasion in the Catholic Reformation (Cambridge, 2009). 4   Coverage of the Jesuits in the early modern period is something of an exception. As well as the aforementioned work of John O’Malley, there is, for example, John Joseph Scarisbrick, The Jesuits and the Catholic Reformation (London, 1988), and Robert Bireley, The Jesuits and the Thirty Years Wars: Kings, Courts and Confessors (Cambridge, 2003). On

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literature dedicated to a general assessment of the activities and role of religious orders,5 despite the publication of histories of individual orders or national surveys concerning their activities.6 Another dominant tendency has been to explore the later Middle Ages and the early modern period as two completely separate worlds. Historiography has, furthermore, almost wholly failed to explore the full dimension of medieval and early modern Europe, equating its sphere of interest only with the western part of the continent. This volume attempts to redress the balance, by examining key episodes and developments in the history of a number of religious orders in east central Europe in the period 1450–1800. It will consequently address issues concerning the role of religious orders throughout the late medieval period, the upheavals of the Reformation and the developments of the eighteenth century. It will examine the work of the mendicants in the late medieval period, the Jesuits and Franciscans in the post-Tridentine era and the activity of new religious orders such as the Basilians in the Greek-Catholic Church. Most importantly, the volume will act as a valuable addition to the relatively few studies in English of the religious world of late medieval and early modern east central Europe.7 religious orders as a whole there is Richard De Molen (ed.), Religious Orders of the Catholic Reformation (New York, NY, 1994); Luke Clossey, Salvation and Globalization in the early Jesuit missions (New York, NY, 2008); Eric Nelson, The Jesuits and the Monarchy: Catholic Reform and Political Authority in France (1590–1615) (Aldershot, 2005); Harro Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought: the Society of Jesus and the State, c. 1540–1640 (Cambridge, 2004). 5   Notable exceptions are: Clifford Hugh Lawrence, The Friars: The Impact of the Early Mendicant Movement on Western Society (London, 1994); R.N. Swanson, Religion and Devotion in Europe c. 1215–c 1515 (Cambridge, 1995); Anna Ohlidal and Stefan Samerski (eds), Jesuitische Frommigkeitskulturen: konfessionelle Interaktion in Ostmitteleuropa 1570–1700 (Stuttgart, 2006), pp. 37–62; Emilia Jamroziak and Janet Burton (eds), Religious and Laity in Western Europe, 1000–1400: Interaction, Negotiation, and Power (Turnhout, 2006); James William Brodman, Charity and Religion in Medieval Europe (Washington, DC, 2009). 6   K. Esser, Origins of the Franciscan Order (Chicago, IL, 1970); W.A. Hinnenbusch, The History of the Dominican Order (New York, NY, 1972); Rosalind Brooke, The Coming of the Friars (New York, NY, 1975); David Burr, The Spiritual Franciscans: from Protest to Persecution in the Century after Saint Frances (University Park, PA, 2001); Michael Robson, The Franciscans in the Medieval Custody of York (York, 1997); Roberta A. McKelvie (ed.), The Friars Minor in Ireland from their Arrival to 1400 (New York, NY, 1994); Thomas M. McCoog, English and Welsh Jesuits (London, 1994); Thomas M. McCoog, The Society of Jesus in Ireland, Scotland and England 1541–1588: ‘Our Way of Proceeding’ (Leiden, 1996). 7   Exceptions include: Stanko Andrić, The Miracles of St. John Capistran (Budapest, 1997); Martin Elbel, ‘Pilgrims on the Way of the Cross: Pilgrimage Practice and Confessional Identity in Early Modern Bohemia’, in Eszter Andor and István György Tóth (eds), Frontiers of Faith: Religious Exchange and the Constitution of Religious Identities 1400–1750 (Budapest, 2001), pp. 275–84; Martin Elbel, ‘Archbishop’s Secular Entry: Power and Representation.

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The region being explored here under the name of east central Europe is not easy to define. Taking in Hungary, Transylvania, Austria and Bohemia (see Map I.1), the region was a far from homogenous one, in which the distribution of different ethnic groups did not match political boundaries. In Transylvania, for example, Hungarians, Saxons, Szeklers and Romanians lived together, while in Upper Hungary Slovaks shared space with Germans, Hungarians, Poles, Ruthenians, Romanians and Jews. What unites these territories is, however, a series of economic, social, political and religious characteristics that makes east central Europe a distinctive region well worthy of further study: indeed, one historian has identified the area as the ‘third monastic region’ of medieval Europe.8 For one thing, the territories named above were separate from the Latin west as well as the Eastern Orthodox east in both economic and social structure. Compared to western Europe this region was sparsely populated and had a low rate of urbanization. In the fourteenth century, most of east central Europe only had two to 10 inhabitants per square kilometer, as compared with 20 per square kilometre in Italy, the Netherlands, parts of France and the Holy Roman Empire.9 The economic activity of the east European cities confirms their less powerful status as they were primarily engaged in exporting raw materials such as timber, grain and metals, while importing finished products from the west.10 The towns of eastern Europe did not become large production centres and consequently artisans constituted a more limited group within the cities. Ceremonies of the Eighteenth Century Bishops of Olomouc’, in José Pedro Paiva (ed.), Religious Ceremonials and Images: Power and Social Meaning (1400–1750) (Coimbra, 2002), pp. 47–60; Martin Elbel, ‘On the Side of the Angels: Franciscan Communication Strategies in Early Modern Bohemia’, in Heinz Schilling and István György Tóth (eds), Religion and Cultural Exchange in Europe 1400–1700 (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 338–59; Gábor Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses: Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (Cambridge, 2000); István György Tóth, ‘A Forgotten Weapon of the Trento Reform: the Apostolic Visitation’, in Paiva (ed.), Religious Ceremonials and Images, pp. 231–52; István György Tóth, ‘Missionaries as Cultural Intermediaries in Religious Borderlands: Habsburg Hungary and Ottoman Hungary in the Seventeenth Century’, in Schilling and Tóth (eds), Religion and Cultural Exchange, pp. 88–110; 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, 2009). 8   József Laszlovszky, ‘Foreword’, Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU, 9 (2003), 199–201. 9   Henrych Samsonowicz and Anton Maczak, ‘Feudalism and Capitalism: a Balance of Changes in East Central Europe’, in Henrych Samsonowicz, Anton Maczak and Peter Burke (eds), East Central Europe in Transition (Cambridge, 1985), pp. 6–23, especially p. 8. 10   Maria Bogucka, ‘The Towns of East Central Europe from the Fourteenth to the Seventeenth Century’, in Samsonowicz, Maczak and Burke (eds), East Central Europe, pp. 97–108, especially pp. 102–3.

Map I.1

East central Europe c.1550

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East central Europe also had a distinct political culture, continuing a late medieval tradition where authority was shared between the monarchy and estates.11 This survived from the previous centuries when the estates had established themselves, competing with the monarchy for power and creating the dualist political culture (the dominium politicum et regale) of Jagiellonian Europe.12 This situation lasted until the beginning of the sixteenth century, when it was dislodged by Habsburg ascent to power and the impact of the Reformation. The growing central authority in these areas was not, however, comparable to that of western Europe. When monarchy in east central Europe was strong, noble factions were kept in check; but when it was weak they had significant decision-making power. The sovereignty of the Habsburg rulers, separately constituted in the several kingdoms, duchies and counties over which they reigned, was until the reign of Ferdinand II deeply fragmented.13 The monarchy still had to rely on the traditional local authorities to carry out their policies, and their control over these authorities was often inadequate when their interests did not coincide.14 This duality of power was complicated by the nature of the late medieval institution of estates or privileged corporations. The estates sat as diets, which were either quasi-parliamentary bodies – such as the Reichstag, the Bohemian Sněm and the Hungarian Országgyűlés – or highly particular institutions, such as the Transylvanian diet which existed almost independently of any formally constituted estate. Operating as administrative, judicial and financial institutions, all the estates used their vote concerning taxes to enhance their political influence.15 The 11

  Robert Evans, ‘Introduction’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 17–29, especially pp. 17–18. Some have seen this as a political weakness: for example, Ioan-Aurel Pop, ‘Transylvania in the 14th Century and the First Half of the 15th Century (1300–1456)’, in Ioan-Aurel Pop and Thomas Nägler (eds), The History of Transylvania (ClujNapoca, 2005), vol. 1, pp. 247–98; Pál Engel, The Realm of St. Stephen: A History of Medieval Hungary, 895–1526 (London, 2001), pp. 345–71. 12   Inge Auerbach, ‘The Bohemian Opposition, Poland-Lithuania and the Outbreak of the Thirty Years War’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 196–225, especially pp. 198–9. 13   The notion of a single Habsburg crown is a construct covering the reality of diverse households, courts and administrations. See Evans, ‘Introduction’, p. 18 and Géza Pálffy, The Kingdom of Hungary and the Habsburg Monarchy in the Sixteenth Century (Wayne, NJ, 2009). 14   H.G. Koenigsberger, ‘Epilogue: Central and Western Europe’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 300–310, especially p. 304. 15   Volker Press, ‘The System of Estates in the Austrian Hereditary Lands and in the Holy Roman Empire: A Comparison’; Alfred Kohler, ‘Ferdinand I and the Estates: Between Confrontation and Co-operation, 1521–1565’, both in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 1–23 and pp. 48–57, especially p. 48.

Introduction

7

status of towns was different again. On the one hand, a number of royal free cities (granted a privileged charter) were a result of colonization and ethnically distinct from the main body of the population.16 On the other hand, in Hungary the noble landowners had created a system of small towns which served mainly as a market place, called oppida. They were entirely under the control of the nobles and consequently could not counterbalance the decision-making power of the landholding elite. Even the free Bohemian and Hungarian cities had only limited representation in the diets and therefore little influence in political decision-making.17 The Ottoman threat provided the nobility with one of the most favourable opportunities to negotiate terms with their rulers. The enormous cost of protecting the borders and repelling the Turks could never be entirely covered by the taxes paid by clergy and monasteries; as a result, the sovereign was to a large extent dependent on the provincial estates that had to agree to provide so-called Türkenhilfe. Unsurprisingly, concessions were often wrung from the ruler during these sensitive negotiations, not least concerning religious practice. This can be seen with particular clarity in the territories of the Bohemian crown, but also in the case of the Lower Austrian diets. In a diet of 1562 for example, the Lower Austrian diets refused to provide assistance against the Turks without first securing the provision of legal guarantees – albeit limited ones – for Lutheran worship.18 Indeed, it was the Protestant Reformation that was a major source of upset to the equilibrium of the dominium politicum et regale of east central Europe as a whole. Religion was deeply entangled with the rights and privileges of the local elites and in central, much more than in western Europe, the issue of hereditary and 16   Robert Bartlett, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change, 950–1350 (Princeton, NJ, 1993); István Petrovics, ‘Foreign Ethnic Groups in the Towns of Southern Hungary in the Middle Ages’; András Végh, ‘Buda: the Multi-Ethnic Capital of Medieval Hungary’, and Katalin Szende, ‘Integration through Language: The Multilingual Character of Late Medieval Hungary’, all in Derek Keene, Balázs Nagy and Katalin Szende (eds), Segregation – Integration – Assimilation: Religious and Ethnic Groups in the Medieval Towns of Central and Eastern Europe (Farnham, 2009), pp. 67–88; pp. 89–100 and pp. 205–34. 17   It has been suggested that the economic development and the trading pattern of towns and cities of eastern and central Europe, often centred on export of raw products, prevented them from becoming strong production centres and that this led to social consequences, as artisans constituted a smaller and less assertive group within these cities. See Andrew Pettegree and Karin Maag, ‘The Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe’, in Karin Maag (ed.), The Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe (Aldershot, 1997), pp. 1–18, especially p. 7; Vera Bácskai, Magyar mezővárosok a XV. században [Hungarian Market Towns in the Fifteenth Century] (Budapest, 1965). 18   Kohler, ‘Ferdinand I and the Estates’, pp. 51–5; Günther R. Burkert, ‘Protestantism and Defence of Liberties in the Austrian Lands under Ferdinand I’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 58–69, especially pp. 58–60.

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elective monarchy gave the diet a further, powerful bargaining tool.19 The profession of a religion different from that of the sovereign was tantamount to an assertion of independence from state authority on the part of the leading circles of the cities and nobility, and almost inevitably led to crisis and confrontation.20 Such a confrontation was played out in Bohemia when the Protestant nobility, centred on the estates, was crushed in the battle of White Mountain in 1620 by the Catholic Emperor Ferdinand II. Subsequent repercussions were heavy, with the Protestant nobles suffering executions, banishments and confiscations. By 1624 urban citizenship had been restricted to Catholics only, and in 1627 all Protestant noble families were given six months to convert or emigrate.21 A further and related distinguishing feature of the region was its multi-confessional character. Both eastern and western churches had tried to assert themselves in the area after the mid-eleventh century, conducting a mission from Rome and Constantinople with varying degrees of success. One immediate result of these circumstances was the creation of a militant Catholicism and a more assertive brand of Orthodoxy, intrinsically linked to the political interplay of the region. Although Catholicism was the dominant religion in most of the Bohemian lands, Hungary and the Austrian lands, Catholics shared the space with Orthodox communities as well as Jews who were also present in towns. This already complex situation was further diversified by the growth of Hussite communities in Bohemia, Hungary and even neighbouring lands such as Poland or Moldavia. The Hussite churches grew at the Catholics’ expense, unlike comparable heretical movements elsewhere in late medieval western Europe which usually had no impact 19   The case of Poland is best known in this respect. In 1573 in Poland, during the first interregnum, there were several candidates for the throne. This allowed the nobility of Poland-Lithuania to step in to guarantee mutual tolerance in matters of faith in the socalled Confederation of Warsaw. The confederation became a consistent part of all future pacta conventa (electoral agreements). The Catholic king subsequently joined the order of oathtakers and by this step legitimized the confederation. Koenigsberger, ‘Epilogue’, pp. 304–5; Auerbach, ‘The Bohemian Opposition’, pp. 198–200; Daniel Tollet, ‘Religious Coexistence and Competition in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth’, in Schilling and Tóth (eds), Religion and Cultural Exchange, pp. 64–87. 20   Winfried Schulze, ‘Estates and the Problem of Resistance in Theory and Practice in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 158–75, especially pp. 168–9. 21   Ronnie Po-chia Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal 1540–1770 (Cambridge, 1998), p. 76; Auerbach, ‘The Bohemian Opposition’, p. 203; Olivier Chaline, ‘Religious Frontiers in the Bohemian Lands after the White Mountain’, in Schilling and Tóth (eds), Religion and Cultural Exchange, pp. 49–63; Karin J. MacHardy, War, Religion and Court Patronage in Habsburg Austria: The Social and Cultural Dimensions of Political Interaction, 1521–1622 (Basingstoke, 2003).

Introduction

9

on church wealth and little on church attendance. In east central Europe, Hussites also offered a complete religious service, which most western European heretical movements did not.22 The Compacta of Jihlava (1436) even provided a legal framework for the Roman Catholic and Hussite bi-confessionalism of Bohemia and Moravia, while the movement also existed in its more moderate, Utraquist form and in the more radical Bohemian Unity of Brethren, influenced by the Taborites. The Utraquists in particular enjoyed the support of significant sections of the nobility and institutional backing from the University of Prague.23 Not to be outdone, the Eastern Orthodox Church harboured ‘heretics’ of its own in the guise of Bogomils and Paulicians, mentioned in missionary reports even up until the eighteenth century.24 This picture became even more complex with the progress of the Protestant Reformation. An important trait of this region is that the Reformation was successful at an early date, especially in the Germanspeaking context of urban settlements. It has been suggested that the variety of Protestant confessions in east central Europe by the sixteenth century was a result of both toleration and the balance of power between political forces in this region.25 Moreover, the Turkish onslaught, which had brought several territories under direct Ottoman administration, also contributed in significant ways to the religious composition of the region. As a rule, Ottoman administrators were eager to benefit financially from 22

  Euan Cameron, The European Reformation (Oxford, 1991), p. 43.   Winfried Eberhard, ‘The Political System and the Intellectual Traditions of the Bohemian Ständestaat from the Thirteenth to the Sixteenth Century’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 23–47; Winfried Eberhard, ‘Bohemia, Moravia and Austria’, in Andrew Pettegree (ed.), The Early Reformation in Europe (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 23–49 especially pp. 26–7; Cameron, European Reformation, pp. 71–74. 24   Paulicianism refers to a Christian sect that originated in Armenia and the eastern regions of the Byzantine Empire, flourishing in particular between 650 and 872 in Anatolia. It was a Gnostic sect and was distinctive for its emphasis on the teachings of the apostle Paul, its denial of the Trinity (followers baptized in the name of Christ) and its practice of adult baptism. Bogomilism refers to a Gnostic, dualist sect that was the synthesis of Armenian Paulicianism and the local Slavonic Church reform movement in Bulgaria and Bosnia Herzegovina between 950 and 1396, and in the Byzantine Empire between 1018 and 1186. It may be seen as the connecting link between the heretical sects of the east and those of the west: see Dragan Tashkovschi, Bogomilism in Macedonia (Skopje, 1975), and Maja Angelovska-Panova, Bogomilstvoto vo duhovnata kultura na Makedonija [Bogomilism in Macedonian Spiritual Culture] (Skopje, 2004). 25   Pettegree and Maag, ‘The Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe’, p. 14. See too Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, MA, 2010); Janusz Tazbir, A State without Stakes: Polish Religious Toleration in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (New York, NY, 1972); Béla K. Király (ed.), Tolerance and Movements of Religious Dissent in Eastern Europe (Boulder, CO, 1975); Jean Bérenger, Tolérance ou paix de religion en Europe centrale: 1415–1792 (Paris, 2000). 23

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discord among the various Christian denominations, as all litigants had to come before the local kadı.26 Moreover, Ottoman progress had left the area weak and the institutions of both Church and state debilitated.27 Thus a variety of Protestant denominations came to exist in the region, the most notable being Lutherans, Calvinists, Unitarians, Anabaptists and Hutterites. Wedged between the mostly Protestant north and the Catholic Mediterranean, central Europe became a religious battlefield, the location for a veritable clash of faiths.28 Contrary to this impression, however, is another key feature of late medieval and early modern Europe: tolerance of the confessional ‘other’. The Council of Ferrara-Florence (1438–1445) was a significant event in this regard, fostering as it did changes in the attitude of the central authority towards the Orthodox in the region and enabling, for example, the hitherto unthinkable social ascendancy of certain Orthodox nobles.29 In terms of the accommodation of religious difference, the region thus displays a degree of continuity between the later Middle Ages, when the Orthodox came to be seen less as ‘schismatics’ and more as the faithful of the universal Church, and the early modern period when most 26   Alexander Ungváry, The Hungarian Protestant Reformation in the Sixteenth Century under the Ottoman Impact (Lewiston, NY, 1989); Pál Fodor, ‘The Ottomans and their Christians in Hungary’ in Andor and Tóth (eds), Frontiers of Faith, pp. 137–48, especially pp. 142–3, 146. 27   David P. Daniel, ‘Hungary’, in Pettegree (ed.), The Early Reformation in Europe, pp. 49–69, especially pp. 54–9; István György Tóth, ‘Hungarian Culture in the Early Modern Age’, in László Kósa (ed.), A Cultural History of Hungary: From the Beginning to the Eighteenth Century (Budapest, 1999), pp. 154–228, especially 155–8. Fodor, ‘The Ottomans’, pp. 144–5. 28   Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, p. 60. 29   For example, the need for the political and military support of the Romanian knezes, the local landowning nobility in the peripheral regions of Transylvania, meant that hundreds of knezial families received donation writs for their knezates in the decades between the reign of Sigismund of Luxembourg and the reign of Matthias Corvinus. Those knezes who converted to Catholicism were further allowed to become part of the estates. Thus families from the district of Haţeg in Hunedoara county, such as the Cândea or Cândreş families, became part of the nobility of the Hungarian kingdom as Kendefi or Kenderesi. Ioan Drăgan, Nobilimea romaneasca din Transilvania 1440–1514 [The Romanian Nobility of Transylvania] (Bucharest, 2000), pp. 72–106; Cosmin Popa-Gorjanu, ‘From kenezii to nobiles Valachi: the evolution of the Romanian elite from the Banat (fourteenth-fifteenth century)’, The Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU (1999–2000), 109–28; Ovidiu Ghitta, ‘Biserica ortodoxă din Transilvania (secolul al XVI-lea a doua jumătate a secolului al XVII-lea)’ [The Orthodox Church of Transylvania (from the Sixteenth to the Second Half of the Seventeenth Century)], in Ioan-Aurel Pop, Thomas Nägler and András Magyari (eds), Istoria Transilvaniei (Cluj-Napoca, 2005), vol. 2, pp. 263–76; Ioan-Aurel Pop, ‘Transilvania în secolul al XIV-lea şi în prima jumătate a secolului al XV-lea (c.1300–1456), in Ioan-Aurel Pop and Thomas Nägler (eds), Istoria Transilvaniei (Cluj-Napoca, 2003), vol. 1 (to 1541), pp. 233–82.

Introduction

11

denominations benefited from legal protection. People of east central Europe have, it seems, always had to live with the idea of diversity and with the practice of alternative forms of ritual. What, then, was the condition of the Roman Catholic Church in this confessional smorgasbord? Because of the strength of numerous other confessions, and the wealth of literature on the Protestant churches, a favoured cliché of existing historiography is that the Roman Catholic Church in late medieval and early modern east central Europe encountered a major crisis. There is no doubt that on many levels this was indeed the case. In Bohemia and parts of Moravia, Hussitism resolutely suppressed the Catholic Church and stripped it of its landed property and of its political power.30 Within the Empire members of the noble estates were granted the right to worship according to the confession of Augsburg in all of their own territories; consequently, by the end of the sixteenth century, only Bavaria remained a stronghold of Catholicism in central Europe.31 In Hungary a number of bishops had died in the battle of Mohács of 1526 and the possessions of the Catholic Church had been expropriated by the king and nobility; the magnates’ collection of the revenues from these possessions gave them a vested interest against the return of the Catholic hierarchy.32 In Transylvania the hierarchy was completely absent, as the estates prevented the filling of the see.33 Nor was there any acting ecclesiastical authority in the Ottoman area, as the bishops appointed to those sees continued to reside in Royal Hungary without ever going to their diocese.34 Even where bishops existed, their power was fairly limited.35 Equally serious problems existed in the parishes of east central Europe. There was an acute lack of priests, and those parishes that did have an incumbent were rarely blessed with a welleducated one. Despite efforts in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to raise the intellectual level of the parish clergy, priests in this region had 30

  Jaroslav Pánek, ‘The Religious Question and the Political System of Bohemia, before and after the Battle of the White Mountain’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 129–48. 31   Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, p. 11. 32   Katalin Péter, ‘Hungary’, in Bob Scribner, Roy Porter and Mikuláš Teich (eds), The Reformation in National Context (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 155–67, especially pp. 162–3. 33   Béla Köpeczi (ed.), History of Transylvania (Budapest, 1994), pp. 251–4. 34   Jean Bérenger, Istoria Imperiului Habsburgilor 1273–1918 (Bucharest, 2000); p. 204; Fodor, ‘The Ottomans’, pp. 137–47, especially p. 144; István György Tóth, Relationes Missionariorum de Hungaria et Transilvania (1627–1707) (Rome and Budapest, 1994), pp. 13– 14; A. Molnár, ‘L’Eglise catholique dans la Hongrie ottomane (XVIe–XVIIe siècles), Folia Theologica, 9 (1998), 166–168. 35   Erwin Iserloh, Joseph Glazik and Hubert Jedin, Reformation and Counter Reformation (London, 1967), p. 326.

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rarely, if ever, attended university. They had usually been educated in parish schools, and had received practical training alongside an older parish priest who may himself not have been the best role model.36 A different set of problems faced the Catholic Church in territories under Turkish rule. The notion that the Ottomans tolerated the religion of their subjects is a familiar one.37 The Turks supposedly, for example, granted Protestants religious freedom, and even assumed a protective role towards the new creed.38 However, additional evidence suggests that if there was a Church favoured by the political authority in territories administered by the Ottomans, it was the Orthodox one. Provincial administrators were often recruited locally by the Ottomans from the south Slav populations, which had significant connections and even family in the hierarchy of the Eastern Orthodox Church and would consequently support Orthodoxy whenever possible.39 Thus while the Orthodox Church received at least a measure of local political patronage, and while Protestants benefited from the protection of the local nobility, encouragement from co-religionists abroad and the lack of sustained persecution, Catholics were completely deprived of their former institutional framework and support networks. Attempts to revive Roman Catholicism in east central Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries also often met with limited success. The implementation of Tridentine decrees was intended to strengthen the Church at both episcopal and parish level. This had the broad approval in principle of the Habsburg sovereigns, for whom conviction went hand in hand with statecraft.40 Catholicism had much to offer the prince as 36

  De Cevins, L’Église dans les villes hongroises, pp. 38–41, 154–164.   ‘Besides all these divisions the Ottomans, splendidly indifferent to which type of infidels they governed, allowed religious toleration in their own sector’: Cameron, The European Reformation, p. 279. Fodor, ‘The Ottomans’, pp. 139–40, discusses the religious policy of the Ottomans. 38   Fodor, ‘The Ottomans’, pp. 141–143. 39   Steven Runciman, The Great Church in Captivity: A Study of the Patriarchate of Constantinople from the Eve of the Turkish Conquest to the Great War of Independence (Cambridge, 1968), pp. 168–207; Fodor, ‘The Ottomans’, pp. 140–41; István György Tóth, ‘Between Islam and Orthodoxy: Protestants and Catholics in Southeastern Europe’, in Ronnie Po-chia Hsia (ed.), Cambridge History of Christianity (Cambridge, 2006), vol. 6, pp. 536–57; István György Tóth, ‘Between Islam and Catholicism: Bosnian Franciscan Missionaries in Ottoman Hungary, 1583–1717’, Catholic Historical Review, 89 (2003), 409–33. 40   It is, however, important to note that this was still to be Catholic reform on the Habsburgs’ own terms; maintenance of the appearance of legislative autonomy, including autonomy from Rome, was an important feature of what has been referred to by R.J.W. Evans as the ‘aulic Catholicism’ of the Habsburg rulers of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Evans bases this on ‘the dynastic ideology of the Habsburgs … an aulic Catholicism revivified by the example of Counter-Reformation, especially after 37

Introduction

13

an ideological and organizational prop for his sovereignty, and it has been suggested that the image of the Catholic prince was developed to perfection in Austrian Habsburg propaganda. Linked to a miraculous legend and associated with cults of devotion to the Eucharist, the Crucifix and the Virgin Mary, the Pietas Austriaca was transformed into allegiance to the imperial institutions and loyalty to the dynasty.41 Catholicism could become the prerequisite for upward social mobility. As early as the reign of Ferdinand I, Catholics were being appointed to high office and restrictive measures imposed on non-Catholic religious practice.42 Ferdinand II initiated a policy to promote Catholicism as a state religion, and implemented wider-scale strategies of re-Catholicization which he had already carried out in his hereditary possessions. During his reign the consolidation, social stabilization and Catholicization of the court and administrative institutions were completed.43 Yet signs of broader success were much slower to come and uneven in impact. Although Ferdinand II’s policies were continued in Bohemia and Hungary until the reign of Joseph II, it was only in the former that these policies could be regarded as successful, with significant Catholic restoration in the Czech lands during the seventeenth century. In Hungary, however, Catholic reform was generally blocked by the opposition of the estates, and at the Hungarian diet of Bratislava (Pozsony) of 1608 the Habsburg rulers were even forced to agree to the legalization of Protestantism in Royal Hungary following the defeat of the Habsburg forces by an army led by István Bocskai.44 It has further been argued 1600, yet never identical with it’: R.J.W. Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy 1550–1700: An Interpretation (Oxford, 1979), pp. 59–61. See too Elaine Fulton, ‘Wolves and Weathervanes’: Confessional Moderation at the Habsburg Court of Vienna’, in Luc Racaut and Alec Ryrie (eds), Moderate Voices in the European Reformation (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 145–61. 41   Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, p. 76. On Pietas Austriaca, see Anna Coreth, Pietas Austriaca: Ursprung und Entwicklung barocker Frömmigkeit in Österreich (2nd edn, Vienna, 1982). She investigates the relationship between religious beliefs and practices and Habsburg political culture. Habsburg rulers used Catholic sacraments, rituals and symbols to create a sense of identity for their possessions in Europe. 42   Eberhard, ‘The Political System and the Intellectual Traditions of the Bohemian Ständestaat’, pp. 23–47. 43   R.J.W. Evans, ‘The Austrian Habsburgs: The Dynasty as a Political Institution’, in A.G. Dickens (ed.), The Courts of Europe: Politics, Patronage and Royalty 1400–1800 (New York, NY, 1977), pp. 121–46, especially pp. 134–8. See also Gernot Heiss, ‘Princes, Jesuits and the Origins of the Counter-Reformation in the Habsburg Lands’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 92–109, especially, p. 103. 44   Pettegree and Maag, ‘The Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe’, p. 16; Evans, Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, pp. 52, 71–2; Evans, ‘The Austrian Habsburgs’, pp. 144–5.

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that Hungary, Bohemia and Moravia had several features in common making them resistant to Catholic and royal influence.45 The language and ethnic background of the nobility were different from those of the ruler, and they were among the most Protestant populations in the area.46 The impact of international Calvinism in particular, brought to this area by returning students and academics who had spent time in the Palatinate and elsewhere, strengthened the nobles’ interest to defend their prerogatives against royal power.47 It is no surprise then, that in terms of Catholic reform, Habsburg-sponsored Tridentine norms did not even begin to be established until the early seventeenth century, and came to patchy fruition only in the eighteenth century. The process was slowed further by the continued existence of a traditional, local Catholicism that defended corporate privileges and devotional customs.48 It is in this context that the importance of the religious orders becomes clear. On the one hand, the ultimate success of re-Catholicization was indeed ensured by the superimposition of Counter-Reformation goals with the interests of Catholic dynasties in centralizing the early modern state. This, however, took generations, and in the meantime it was the religious orders that sustained local Catholic communities. These were not just the new orders, such as the Jesuits, which were supposed to implement a modern religiosity associated with reform and with the

45   That is not to say that there were no significant steps forward in Hungary, not least through the establishment of a Jesuit-run training college in Rome, the Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum, in 1578. Even though the college’s enrolment was relatively small, with only 45 Hungarian students between 1520 and 1600, its impact was considerable, largely because of the calibre of its graduates and the pivotal posts they later went on to fill. Examples include Imre Lósy, who became archbishop of Esztergom in 1637, and also Zsigmond Pozsgay, who became the secretary of István Báthory, Prince of Transylvania (1571–1586). István Bitskey, ‘The Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum and the Beginning of Counter Reformation in Hungary’, in Evans and Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates, pp. 110–15, especially p. 113. 46   Pettegree and Maag, ‘The Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe’, p. 16. 47   Joachim Bahlcke, ‘Calvinism and Estate Liberation Movements in Bohemia and Hungary (1570–1620)’, in Maag (ed.), Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe, pp. 72–91, argues in favour of a transnational solidarity of the confessions which instigated interregional resistance, raising the issue of a fundamental connection and interaction between Calvinism and estate liberation movements. See too Graeme Murdock, Beyond Calvin: The Intellectual, Political and Cultural World of Europe’s Reformed Churches (Basingstoke, 2004), pp. 31–53, especially pp. 41–4, and Graeme Murdock, Calvinism on the Frontier 1600– 1660: International Calvinism and the Reformed Church in Hungary and Transylvania (Oxford, 2000), pp. 46–76. 48   Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, pp. 74–5.

Introduction

15

Council of Trent, but also the ‘old’ orders which survived the Reformation and had to forge new strategies adapted to the new context.49 ‘Religious orders’ is a rather loosely defined term used to designate those prepared to make the total commitment to a life of devotion and service to God. This did not automatically result in a cloistered life in a monastery or, if one was a mendicant, a life based in a convent or friary; the primary goal was simply that of living according to a defined ‘rule’ in a shared and regulated existence which was distinct from that of both the laity and the secular clergy.50 Their communities were set apart, for a performance of Christian life was deemed impossible to attain outside such a framework.51 The orders of east central Europe had, however, two key differences with those based in western Europe in the early modern period. By contrast with the west, where religious orders aimed to combat traditional religion and effectively implement a deeper Christianization of society, in east central Europe the main purpose was to bring Protestants back into the Catholic Church.52 Secondly, the orders in east central Europe were also concerned with relations with the east. This had been a major concern for religious orders over time, and a study within a broad chronological context can highlight fascinating continuities in this respect, such as Franciscan involvement in the negotiations for the union of the eastern churches, carried out at the councils of Lyon (1274) and Florence (1439), and Jesuit involvement in similar projects in the early modern period. A revival of the missionary spirit, with integration as a goal, was eventually implemented beginning with the sixteenth century through several regional unions with the Catholic Church: the union with the Ruthenians at Brest (1595–1596) and Uzhorod (1646) and the unions with the Romanians at Alba Iulia (1697, 1698 and 1700). This also encouraged the emergence of a new type 49

  Ibid., pp. 75–6.   ‘Convent’ or ‘friary’ is used to describe the size of a mendicant community rather than the gender of its members. 51   Swanson, Religion and Devotion, pp. 104–8; R.W. Southern, Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages (London, 1970), pp. 214–15. 52   For the Christianization thesis, see Jean Delumeau, Catholicism between Luther and Voltaire: a New View of the Counter Reformation (with an introduction by John Bossy) (London, 1977); Paolo Prodi, ‘Controriforma e/o Riforma cattolica: Superamento di vecchi dilemma nei nouvi panorami storiografici’, Römische historische Mitteilungen, 31 (1989), 227–37. On the Jesuits in central Europe, see Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, p. 32. István György Tóth, ‘Missionaries as Cultural Intermediaries in Religious Borderlands: Habsburg Hungary and Ottoman Hungary in the Seventeenth Century’, in Schilling and Tóth (eds), Religion and Cultural Exchange, pp. 88–110; Daniel Tollet, ‘La reconquête catholique en Europe centrale (fin de XVIIe siècle–début XVIIIe siècle)’, Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome, 109 (1997), 825–52. 50

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of monasticism, the Basilian, which combined a traditional eastern rule with the rigors of Tridentine reform and played an important role in the development of the new Greek-Catholic Church.53 The way that religious life was understood by the orders was shaped to a significant degree by the needs of society.54 Of all the religious orders active in the late medieval period, the Franciscans fitted particularly well into the newly developed concern for the laity proclaimed by the fourth Lateran Council (1215). Compared to the traditional religious orders such as the Benedictines or Cistercians, and even eremitical orders such as the Augustinians, they were more interested in edification, carried through by the power of the Word. The religious life of the laity could be shaped by their preaching.55 Despite the tensions within the order (the rift between spirituals and conventuals and that between the latter and the supporters of the Observant movement), Franciscans saw themselves essentially as a tool in the hands of the Church, to be used when and where it was most needed. In response the papacy gave the order its protection. The mendicant orders were exempt from episcopal control as they were subject directly to the Holy See. Despite initial reluctance, many Franciscans were appointed as bishops in all parts of the world, a process which, while bringing the friars more closely into the governance of the church, also introduced a new element into the life of the order. The papacy employed friars into their personal service and often called upon them to undertake special missions, some of them of extreme difficulty.56 Due to their skill in organizing debates and conducting disputations, the Franciscans were deeply involved in, and extremely well suited for, promoting and establishing the order in new Christian kingdoms of 53

  Oskar Halecki, From Florence to Brest 1439–1596 (Rome, 1958); Enrico Morini, ‘L’identità delle Chiese orientali cattoliche: prospettive storiche’, in Morini (ed.), L’identità delle chiese orientali cattoliche (Vatican City, 1999), pp. 35–70; Borys Gudziak, Crisis and Reform: the Kyivian Metropolitanate, the Patriarchate of Constantinople and the Genesis of the Union of Brest (Cambridge, MA, 1998); Sophia Senyk, ‘The Union of Brest: An Evaluation’, in Bert Groen and Wil van der Bercken (eds), Four Hundred Years Union of Brest (1596–1996): A Critical Re-evaluation, (Leuven, 1998), pp. 1–16; Greta-Monica Miron, ‘… scoale-te, du-te, propovedueşte …’: Biserica greco-catolică din Transilvania în secolul al XVIII-lea. Cler şi enoriaşi [‘Rise, Go and Proselytize’: The Greek-Catholic Church of Transylvania in the Eighteenth Century: Clergy and Congregations] (Cluj-Napoca, 2004); Ovidiu Ghitta, Naşterea unei biserici. Biserica greco-catolică din Sătmar în primul ei secol de existenţă (1667–1761) [The Birth of a Church: The Greek-Catholic Church of Sătmar in its First Century of Existence] (ClujNapoca, 2001). 54   Southern, Western Society and the Church, pp. 215–16. 55   Caroline Walker Bynum, Docere verbo et exemplo: An Aspect of Twelfth Century Spirituality (Missoula, MT, 1979). 56   John Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order: From its Origins to the Year 1517 (Oxford, 1968), pp. 141, 203, 296–7.

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northern and east central Europe, as well as for the mission in the east, as an evangelical rather than military crusade was more likely to integrate eastern populations into the Catholic Church. The friars also played their part in the negotiations for a reunion between the Christians of the east and west as they could produce scholars able to argue doctrinal questions with the theologians of the Orthodox Church.57 Moreover, in the towns and villages of Europe the friars, especially the Observants (who showed loyalty to the ideals embodied in the original Franciscan rule), found that they won the respect and affection of the people who valued their intercessory prayers, and often convents were built at public expense. Indeed, their concern for the laity led to tense relations with the secular clergy. On 18 February 1400 the bull Super cathedram intended to be a permanent solution of the three great problems which divided the friars of all orders and the secular clergy: preaching, hearing confessions and the right of sepulture (burial).58 It attempted to limit the rights of the friars in assuming pastoral duties: they could only preach in parish churches if invited to do so by the incumbent or ordered to do so by the bishop; they could only hear confessions if they were presented by their superior to the bishop and received formal permission from him; and, although they could bury in their churches and churchyards upon request, a quarter of all fees and legacies was to go to the parish priest. The sixteenth century saw a continued concern for the laity among the new orders that characterized the period. The Capuchins, for example, who began as a renegade movement in the Italian Observant community and obtained papal recognition in 1528, became a driving force of Catholic revival. Embodying the renewal of Franciscan spirituality, they endeared themselves to the common people by their works of charity (caring for the sick, feeding the poor) and preaching the simple message of the Gospel. In their preaching tours, confraternities were organized, sins were confessed, and the 40-hour Eucharistic devotion promoted. In areas of Protestant progress they also acted as spiritual fighters of the Counter-Reformation. Their success lay in transforming the emotions of a Catholic society while leaving essentially intact its structures of power.59

57

  Moorman, History of the Franciscan Order, pp. 226, 298, 300–302, 429–37. By 1398 the Societas Peregrinantium was founded in order to preach the Gospel in the east. This comprised both Franciscans and Dominicans. Claudia Dobre, ‘The Mendicants’ Mission in an Orthodox Land: A Case Study of Moldavia in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’, Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU, 9 (2003), 225–48. 58   Moorman, History of the Franciscan Order, pp. 201–2, 283, 303, 442. 59   Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, pp. 28–30.

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It was, however, the Jesuits who undoubtedly made the greatest impact on the world of Catholic Europe in the early modern period. Founded by Ignatius of Loyola and his followers in 1534, members of the Society of Jesus were unlike traditional religious orders in that they did not share in communal liturgical life. Their priority was to preach and minister in streets, hospitals, prisons and in foreign lands.60 Consequently, this highly centralized order contributed to Catholic renewal by acting as missionaries and teachers. They undertook preaching tours of the countryside, explaining the faith, combating folk beliefs and reconciling opposing factions. They established Catholic missions in Protestant territories, strengthening the Catholic populations in the Netherlands, northern Germany and Ireland. They embarked on journeys into hostile realms, sometimes in the wake of Catholic armies. In the two centuries after the Council of Trent they expanded the Catholic world to nonChristian lands while diminishing the territories of Protestant Europe. However, the main achievement of the Jesuits lay in educating the clerical and secular elites of Catholic Europe. The colleges they founded, generously endowed by princes, prelates and city governments, provided a strong stream of recruits, mainly from the middle and upper ranks of society. While some students of Jesuit educational institutions were destined for the parish clergy, others graduated to pursue secular vocations. In northern Europe even Protestant youngsters attended these colleges, and some converted to Catholicism. Together the Capuchins and Jesuits limited the gains of Protestantism in northern and central Europe and thus became emblematic religious orders of the Catholic revival.61 In central Europe the energy of the Jesuits was deployed to secure Catholic supremacy and eliminate Protestantism.62 The Catholic restoration in central Europe depended on the training of Catholic priests. The Collegium Germanicum was established in Rome in 1552. Its task was to train Catholic priests for Germany. In 1580 the Collegium Germanicum merged with the newly founded Collegium Hungaricum. Those trained in the college became bishops, canons or provosts and took part in the process of Catholic restoration.63 After the Jesuits came to Graz in 1572, the Society’s institutions there helped supply priests for 60   O’Malley, The First Jesuits, pp. 69–83, 91–103, 110–26, 168–87; Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, p. 31; John O’Malley, ‘The Society of Jesus’, in Ronnie Po-chia Hsia (ed.), A Companion to the Reformation World (Oxford, 2004), pp. 223–36. 61   Hsia, World of Catholic Renewal, pp. 27–32. 62   Ibid., pp. 76–77; Heiss, ‘Princes, Jesuits and the Origins of the Counter Reformation’, pp. 93–7. 63   Bitskey, ‘The Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum in Rome’, pp. 111–18.

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Inner Austria and the neighbouring lands. Suitably qualified candidates who applied for missions in Bohemia, Hungary and Transylvania were encouraged.64 In fact these national colleges could only work effectively where Catholicism in the country concerned had enough energy for a revival.65 It has been suggested that in Styria the Jesuits’ educational mission was beginning to score successes among the elite, while direct support for their work was still provided only by members of the dynasty, the higher clergy and a few members of the court nobility.66 The Jesuits were introduced into Bohemia in 1555, in the years of the first signs of Catholic renewal. They settled in Prague, in Olomouc and later in some smaller towns (usually with the support of the local nobility). Originally they were affiliated to the Austrian province, and from 1623 formed an independent Bohemian province. They soon established a university within their Prague college (the so-called Clementinum), which became a strong rival to the old and by then decayed University of Prague (Carolinum). Later in the seventeenth century the two institutions merged. In 1573 the Jesuits established another university in Olomouc, which together with the papal Collegium Nordicum contributed to the training of missionaries for Scandinavia and the Baltic area. The Jesuit colleges gained a monopoly on higher education, despite fierce protests from the Archbishop of Prague and other religious orders, and during the seventeenth century they played an important role in local cultural life. At first they operated mainly in towns in similar ways to their activities in other areas – establishing Marian congregations, using theatre, sermons in vernacular and other means to draw the sympathies of the public – but later they became involved in the rural mission as well.67 In the wake of the unions of the eastern churches with Rome in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the issue of reforming eastern monasticism occurred as part of a broader reformation of the church itself. This movement is concomitant with the institutionalization of the union. In Poland-Lithuania this reformation was much needed as a consequence of circumstances relating to the ecclesiastical hierarchy. Poland-Lithuania needed an ecclesiastical body with sufficient power 64   Regina Pörtner, The Counter-Reformation in Central Europe: Styria 1580–1630 (Oxford, 2001), pp. 195–207. 65   Bitskey, ‘The Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum in Rome’, p. 120. 66   Pörtner, Counter-Reformation in Central Europe, p. 214. 67   Olivier Chaline, ‘Religious Frontiers in the Bohemian lands after the White Mountain’, in Schilling and Tóth (eds), Religion and Cultural Exchange, pp. 49–63. Anna Ohlidal, ‘Die (Wieder-) Einführung der Wallfahrten nach Sankt Johann unter dem Felsen und Altbunzlau um 1600 – ein Verdienst der Prager Jesuiten?’ in Ohlidal and Samerski (eds), Jesuitische Frömmigkeitskulturen, pp. 207–24. Louthan, Converting Bohemia, pp. 83–114.

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to promote the union and revitalize religious life. This reformation was initiated by the Metropolitan of the Uniate Church of Poland, Joseph Veljamyn Rutskyj. The reform of monasticism was inspired by a return to the sources of early eastern monasticism, the rule of Basil the Great. The order was characterized by certain specific traits, such as the fact that these monasteries functioned within secular communities, and thus their social involvement was much enhanced. They even functioned as parish churches; they acted as schools, especially for catechizing; they founded printing presses and focused the piety of the faithful on pilgrimage places, cared for by the order. Moreover, this reformed order constituted the main body for the selection of bishops: in the eastern tradition the higher clergy were recruited from among the regular rather than the secular clergy, because the secular clergy were married.68 Until recently a volume such as this that explores the role of such orders in east central Europe would have been unthinkable. This was due in large part to political factors: for western historians, the circumstances in the aftermath of the Second World War rendered archival research beyond the Iron Curtain virtually impossible. Nor was the situation much more promising for eastern European scholars, as the communist ideological context discouraged such topics from even being approached.69 Though the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 finally opened up amazing opportunities for scholarship in this field, historians have been slow to lift their gaze from a strictly western picture. The mental frontiers induced by the existence of actual geographical and political ones led to significant distortions in the interpretation of various processes, such as the spread of Lutheran ideas or the progress of re-Catholicization after the Council of Trent. Just as these movements can only be fully understood if the lands of the Bohemian crown, Hungary and the hereditary provinces of the House of Austria are taken into account, so too can the role of the religious orders in Europe only be truly understood if the central and eastern part of the continent is finally examined. While east central Europe moves rapidly towards political integration into the European Union, it is also time for the historiographical reintegration of the two sides of Europe. Research into this area has been greatly aided by recent steps forward in research made by eastern European scholars. Before 1989 there existed 68

  Sophia Senyk, ‘Rutskj’s Reform and Orthodox Monasticism: A Comparison. Eastern Rite Monasticism in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Seventeenth Century’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 48 (1982), 406–30. 69   For instance in Czechoslovakia a strong tradition in the historiography concerning religious orders was discontinued after the Second World War, especially after 1950 when the communist police closed monasteries and interned all the religious.

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only some rather traditional histories of the various orders, or works focused on a moment in the history of a particular order.70 Since then vigorous efforts have been made to publish fresh sources relating to individual religious orders and their missions.71 There is some literature 70   On Benedictines, see László Erdélyi and Pongrác Sörös (eds), A pannonhalmi Szent Benedek-rend története [The History of the Order of Saint Benedict from Pannonhalma] (12 vols, Budapest, 1902–1912). The work is a comprehensive history of the order. On Cistercians, see Johannes Lajos Csóka, Geschichte des benediktinischen Mönchtums in Ungarn (Munich, 1980); Alán Baumgartner, A kerci apátság a középkorban [The Cistercian Abbey of Cârţa in the Middle Ages] (Budapest, 1902); Géza Entz, ‘A kerci építőműhely‛ [The Architectural Workshop of Kerc], Művészettörténeti Értesítő, 12 (1963), 121–47; Levente F. Hervay, Repertorium historicum ordinis cisterciensis in Hungaria (Rome, 1984); Arisztid Oszvald, Adatok a magyarországi premontreiek Árpád-kori történetéhez [Data Concerning the Hungarian Premonstratensians from the Árpád Period], Művészettörténeti Értesítő, 6 (1957), 231–54; Lajos Dedek, Crescens: A karthausiak Magyarországban [The Carthusians in Hungary] (Budapest, 1889). On Augustinians, see Ferenc Fallenbüchl, Az ágostonrendiek Magyarországon [The Austins in Hungary] (Budapest, 1943); Elemér Mályusz, ‘Az Ágostonrend a középkori Magyarországon’ [The Austin Order in Medieval Hungary], Egyháztörténet, 1 (1943), 427–40. On Franciscans, see János Karácsonyi, Szt. Ferencz rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig [The History of the Franciscan Order in Hungary until 1711] (2 vols, Budapest 1922–1924). On Dominicans, see Nikolaus Pfeiffer, Die ungarische Dominikanerordensprovinz von ihrer Gründung 1221 bis zur Tatarenverwüstung 1241–1242 (Zurich, 1913); András Harsányi, A domonkosrend Magyarországon a reformáció előtt [The Dominican Order in Hungary before the Reformation] (Debrecen, 1938). 71   For Premonstratensians, see James Bond, The Premonstratensian Order: A Preliminary Survey of the Growth and Distribution in Medieval Europe (Woodbridge, 1993); László Lukács, A független magyar jezsuita rendtartomány kérdése és az osztrák abszolutizmus (1649–1773) [The Problem of the Jesuit Independent Province and Austrian Absolutism (1649–1773)] (Szeged, 1995); Adrian Andrei Rusu, ‘A Glimpse into the Inner Life of a Transylvanian Monastery: The Dominican Monastery of Vinţu de Jos’, in Maria Crăciun and Ovidiu Ghitta (eds), Church and Society in East Central Europe (Cluj-Napoca, 1998), pp. 13–21; Adrian Andrei Rusu, ‘Mănăstirea franciscană din Haţeg’, Ars Transilvaniae, 3 (1993), 137–44; Mihaela Sanda Salontai, ‘Mănăstirea dominicană din Sebeş’, Ars Transilvaniae, 6 (1996), 27–32; Zsigmond Jakó, ‘Egy középkori kolostor társadalomrajza (a kolozsmonostori apátság történetéből)’ [A Description of a Medieval Monastic Community (the History of the Abbey of Cluj Mănăştur)], Korunk, 1 (1990), 117–26; Radu Mârza, ‘Iezuiţii în Transilvania (1579–1588)’ [The Jesuits in Transylvania, 1579–1588], Anuarul Institutului de Istorie şi Arheologie CN, 3 (1995), 149–52; Martin Elbel, Bohemia Franciscana. Františkánský řád v Českých zemích 17. a 18. století [Bohemia Franciscana: the Franciscan Order in the Czech Lands of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth centuries] (Olomouc, 2001); Bálint Keserű (ed.), Adattár XVI–XVIII. századi szellemi mozgalmaink történetéhez [Data Concerning the Circulation of Ideas between the Sixteenth and the Eighteenth Centuries] (Szeged, 1965–1980); Mihály Balázs, Ádám Friczy, László Lukács and István Monok (eds), Erdélyi és hódoltsági jezsuita missziók [Jesuit Missions from Transylvania and from the Hungarian Parts under Turkish Rule], I/1 (1609–1616), I/2 (1617–1625) (Szeged, 1990); Mihály Balázs, Tamás Kruppa, István Dávid Lázár and László Lukács (eds), Jezsuita okmánytár. Erdélyt és Magyarországot érintő iratok 1601–1606 [Jesuit Diplomatics: Documents Concerning Transylvania and Hungary], I/1–I/2 (Szeged, 1995); Edit Madas (ed.), Fekete Könyv. Az erdélyi ferences kusztódia története. Kájoni János kézirata, 1684 [The Black Book: The History of the Transylvanian Franciscan Custody. The

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on the expansion of various orders in the region based on archaeological research, combining information provided by recent excavations with documentary sources.72 Since 1990 attention in Hungary has been bestowed on various religious orders, especially if an important event in the life of the order was commemorated – for instance the foundation of the Benedictine abbey of Pannonhalma (996–1996). This led to the publication of a study of the abbey from a historical, architectural and artistic point of view.73 Indeed, architecture has been a particular interest, especially in studies of the mendicant orders in east central Europe.74 An Manuscript of János Kájoni, 1684] (Szeged, 1991); Lorenz Weinrich, Hungarici Monasterii Ordinis Sancti Pauli Primi Heremitae de urbe Roma. Instrumenta et priorum registra (Rome, Budapest, 1999); Tóth (ed.), Relationes missionariorum de Hungaria et Transilvania (1627– 1707); István György Tóth (ed.), Litterae missionariorum de Hungaria et Transilvania (1527– 1717) (2 vols, Rome and Budapest, 2002); Zsigmond Jakó (ed.), A kolozsmonostori konvent jegyzőkönyvei 1289–1556 [The Registers of the Convent of Cluj-Mănăştur 1289–1556] (2 vols, Budapest, 1990); Levente F. Hervay, Die Geschichte der Zisterzienser in Ungarn. 800 Jahre Zisterzienser im pannonischen Raum (Klostermarienberg, 1996), pp. 27–42. 72   Imre Takács (ed.), Paradisum plantavit. Bencés monostorok a középkori Magyarországon [Benedictine Monasteries in Medieval Hungary] (Pannonhalma, 2001). This publication is accompanied by a catalogue of all Benedictine abbeys in Hungary, which is a very useful research tool. Levente F. Hervay has published a repertory of the Cistercian order in Hungary, with an introduction concerning the history of the order: Repertorium historicum ordinis cisterciensis in Hungaria (Rome, 1984); also Levente F. Hervay, A pálos rend elterjedése a középkori Magyarországon [The Spread of the Pauline Order in Medieval Hungary] (Budapest, 1984). Beatrix Romhányi has also put together a comprehensive database concerning monastic establishments in medieval Hungary, including information collected from written sources: Beatrix F. Romhányi, Kolostorok és társaskáptalanok a középkori Magyarországon [Monasteries and Collegiate Chapters in Medieval Hungary] (n.p., 2000); Beatrix F. Romhányi, ‘Monasteriologia Hungarica Nova’, dissertation, Eövös Loránd University of Budapest, 1996; Sanda Mihaela Salontai, ‘Consideraţii privind identificarea amplasamentului unor mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania’ [Considerations Concerning the Identification of the Location of Dominican Convents of Transylvania ], Arheologia Medievală Caraş Severin, 1 (1996), 187–193; Josef Svátek, ‘Organisace řeholních institucí a péče o jejich archívy’ [Organisation of Religious Institutions and Care of their Archives], Sborník archivních prací, 20 (1970), 505–624; P. Vlček, P. Sommer and D. Foltýn, Encyklopedie českých klášterů [Encyclopaedia of Bohemian Monasteries] (Prague, 1998); František Šmahel, ‘Intra et extra muros: Spoleczna rola franciszkanów obserwantów i klarysek na zemiach czeskich od polowy XIV do konca XV wieku’ [Intra et Extra Muros: Common Role of Franciscan and Poor Clares in the Bohemian Lands from the Middle of the Fourteenth to the End of the Fifteenth Century], in Franciszkanie w Polsce śriednowiecznej [Franciscans in Medieval Poland] (Lublin, 1983), pp. 275–325; Ivana Čornejová, Tovaryšstvo Ježíšovo: Jezuité v Čechách [Society of Jesus: The Jesuits in Bohemia] (Prague, 1995). 73   Imre Takács (ed.), Mons sacer 996–1996. Pannonhalma ezer éve [Mons Sacer 996– 1996: A Thousand Years of Pannonhalma] (3 vols, Pannonhalma, 1996). 74   Research concerning the mendicants was stimulated by a conference held in Szeged at the beginning of the 1990s, which brought together the best specialists in the field and led to the publication of a volume concerning mendicant architecture. Chapters on all of medieval Hungary, except Transylvania, were included: Andrea Haris (ed.),

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interest in religious orders has also been manifest in studies which have attempted to initiate a discussion concerning Catholicism in east central Europe.75 These have sometimes focused primarily on the political or social history of a particular region, while other studies have dealt with the intellectual history and spiritual life of an order.76 Some authors have focused on the Catholic mission in this region, particularly in the early modern period.77 An interest in the integration of lay piety and models

Koldulórendi építészet a középkori Magyarországon. Tanulmányok [Mendicant Architecture in Medieval Hungary: Studies] (Budapest, 1994 ); Mihaela Sanda Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania [Dominican Monasteries from Transylvania] (Cluj-Napoca, 2002). In his two works focused on Transylvanian architecture, Géza Entz also analyses mendicant buildings: Géza Entz, Erdély építészete a 11–13. században [Transylvanian Architecture in the Eleventh to Thirteenth Centuries] (Cluj-Napoca, 1994); Géza Entz, Erdély építészete a 14–16. században [Transylvanian Architecture in the Fourteenth to Sixteenth Centuries] (Cluj-Napoca, 1996). 75   Maria Crăciun, ‘Contrareforma şi schimbările din viata religioasă transilvăneană a secolului al XVI-lea’ [The Counter-Reformation and Changes in Religious Life in SixteenthCentury Transylvania], in Iacob Mârza and Ana Dumitran (eds), Spiritualitate transilvană si istorie europeană [Transylvanian Spirituality and European History] (Alba Iulia, 1999), pp. 57–93; Maria Crăciun, ‘Traditional Practices: Catholic Missions and Protestant Religious Practice in Transylvania’, in Helen Parish and William G. Naphy (eds), Religion and Superstition in Reformation Europe (Manchester, 2002), pp. 75–93; Maria Crăciun, ‘Implementing Catholic Reform: The Jesuits and Traditional Religion in Early Modern Transylvania’, in Ohlidal and Samerski (eds), Jesuitische Frommigkeitskulturen, pp. 37–62; Violeta Barbu, ‘Rezidenţele iezuite din prima jumătate a secolului al XVII-lea în vestul Transilvaniei. Strategii misionare’ [Jesuit Residences in the First Half of the Seventeenth Century in the West of Transylvania: Mission Strategies], Verbum, 6–7 (1995–1996), 279–88. 76   Marius Diaconescu, ‘Catolicismul în Maramureş. Mănăstirea eremiţilor’ [Catholicism in Maramureş: The Monastery of the Hermits], Studii şi Comunicări. seria istorie, 14 (1997), 123–32; Viorel Achim, ‘Catolicismul la românii din Banat în evul mediu’ [Catholicism and the Romanians of Banat], Revista istorică, 7 (1996), 41–55; Viorel Achim, ‘Ordinul franciscan în ţările române în secolele XIV–XV: Aspecte teritoriale’ [The Franciscan Order in the Romanian Lands in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries: Territorial Aspects], Revista istorică, 7 (1996), 391–410; Bitskey, ‘The Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum in Rome’, pp. 110–22; Vasile Rus, ‘P. Rudolphi Bzemszky e societati Yesu: Relatio de ecclesia Transilvana studiu introductiv şi text reconstituit’ [Rudolphi Bzemszky and the Society of Jesus: Relation of the Transylvanian Church. Introductory Study and Reconstructed Text], Mediavalia Transilvanica, 2 (1998), 289–330; Vasile Rus, ‘Syllogimaea Transylvanae ecclesiae de Rudolph Bzemszky’ [Collection of Historical Data Concerning the Transylvanian Church by Rudolph Bzemszky], Acta Musei Napocensis, 33 (1996), 269– 357; 34 (1997), 183–275; László Szilas SJ, Alfonso Carillo jezsuita Erdélyben, 1591–1599 [The Jesuit Alfonso Carillo in Transylvania, 1591–1599] (Budapest, 2001). 77   Lucian Periş, Le Missioni Gesuite in Transilvania e Moldavia nel Seicento (Cluj-Napoca, 1998) is based on previously unknown documents collected in Roman archives. See too Lucian Periş, Prezenţe catolice în Transilvania, Moldova şi Ţara Românească [Catholic Presence in Transylvania, Moldavia and Valachia] (Blaj, 2005); Violeta Barbu, Purgatoriul misionarilor. Contrareforma în Ţările Române în secolul al XVII-lea [The Purgatory of the Missionaries: The

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promoted by the orders is only beginning, and is often the subject of ongoing doctoral dissertations.78 This volume is in part a product of these developments in scholarship, but also an attempt to move the discussion on by drawing aspects of this material and the region from which it comes into a broader discussion about the relationship between religious orders and the worlds in which they operated. It regards this relationship as one of ‘communities of devotion’, a term that may be applied not only to the religious orders at the heart of each chapter, or to the secular worlds and societies in which and with which those orders operated, but, crucially, also to the interaction and intersections between the two. For this, a study in the longue durée is necessary: all the processes characteristic of the late medieval and early modern period, in particular those associated with Catholic reform, developed in east central Europe under distinctive circumstances and usually over a longer time period than in western Europe. It would, furthermore, be impossible to conduct this investigation in any form other than a collective volume as the research requires considerable linguistic expertise, which is usually unavailable to one person. Like other recent work on the region, these studies are also based on sources that have Counter-Reformation in the Romanian Lands in the Seventeenth Centuries] (Bucharest, 2008). 78   Several dissertations are being written on Premonstratensians (Jana Oppeltpvá), Servites (Veronika Čapská), dissolution of the Jesuits (Jaroslav Šotola) and Augustin canons (Filip Hradil). See too Jana Oppeltová, ‘Příspěvek k typologii barokních klášterních slavností: Na příkladu premonstrátské kanonie Klášterní Hradisko u Olomouce’ [A Contribution to the Typology of Baroque Monastery Festivities: The Case Study of the Premonstratensian Canony Klášterní Hradisko u Olomouce], in V. Bůžek and P. Král (eds), Slavnosti a zábavy na dvorech a v rezidenčních městech raného novověku [Festivities and Amusements at Courts and Residential Cities in the Early Modern Period] (České Budějovice, 2000), pp. 505–36; Martin Elbel, ‘Pilgrims on the Way of the Cross: Pilgrimage Practice and Confessional Identity in Early Modern Bohemian Lands’, in Andor and Tóth (eds), Frontiers of Faith, pp. 275–83; Martin Elbel, ‘On the Side of the Angels: Franciscan Communication Strategies in early Modern Bohemia’, in Schilling and Tóth (eds), Religious Exchange in Europe, pp. 338–59. Veronika Čapská, ‘Konkurrenz der Frömmigkeitsmodelle und ordensinterne Innovation. Serviten nördlich den Alpen im 17. bis 18. Jahrhundert’, Bohemia, 48 (2008), 116–29; Jaroslav Šotola, ‘Amica defensio Societatis Jesu. Die Debatte über den Jesuitenorden in Deutschland 1773–1800’, in Rolf Decot (ed.), Expansion und Gefährdung. Amerikanische Mission und Europäische Krise der Jesuiten im 18. Jahrhundert (Mainz, 2004), pp. 173–84; Ivana Čornejová (ed.), Úloha církevních řádů při pobělohorské rekatolizaci: sborník příspěvků z pracovního semináře konaného ve Vranově u Brna ve dnech 4.–5.6.2003 [The Role of Religious Orders in the Post-White Mountain Catholic Restoration: A Volume of Papers from a Conference – Vranov u Brna, 4–5 June 2003] (Prague, 2003); Ivana Čornejová, Hedvika Kuchařová and Kateřina Valentová (eds), Locus pietatis et vitae: sborník příspěvků z konference konané v Hejnicích ve dnech 13.–15. září 2007 [Locus pietate et vitae: A Volume of Papers from a Conference – Hejnice, 13–15 September 2007] (Prague, 2008).

Introduction

25

been little used, comprising archival documents, narrative sources and visual ones. The studies included in this collection therefore offer food for thought for all historians of late medieval and early modern religion in Europe, both in terms of content and approach. The volume opens with three chapters that examine the nature and extent of the impact of religious orders on lay society in the late medieval period. The contributions from Maria Crăciun and Carmen Florea, both dealing with material from Transylvania, together build a compelling case for the central role played by the mendicant orders in the development, expression and practice of lay piety. Indeed, Florea is able to suggest that in the three cases she has examined – in the Transylvanian towns of Cluj, Brașov and Bistriţa – the mendicant orders, and in particular the Dominicans, were in certain cases able to offer much more than the local parish church by way of spiritual and temporal care. Crăciun’s chapter, on the religious world of the Transylvanian Saxons in the mid-fifteenth to the mid-sixteenth centuries, employs the iconography of altarpieces as well as written bequests to demonstrate the attachment of the laity to the forms of Eucharistic and Marian piety promoted by the local Franciscan and Dominican friars. Marie-Madeleine de Cevins’s chapter on Hungary at the end of the fifteenth century, however, offers a helpful counterbalance: significant as the mendicant impact on lay religious belief and practice evidently could be, analysis of the sermons of two contemporary Franciscans, Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó, suggests that in the Hungarian kingdom at least, there remained lively remnants of popular religion which proved very difficult to eradicate. The middle section of the volume consists of four chapters that develop this theme of conflict for the religious orders of the late medieval and early modern periods. Some of this was conflict associated with the need to reform themselves, an imperative that came in part from the reform movements within the church. However, as Gabriella Erdélyi suggests here in her chapter on the case of the convent of Augustinian hermits in the town of Körmend in western Hungary, the laity could also agitate for the restoration of religious life in their local convent, reinforcing the view that what went on within the convent was inextricably linked to the community outside, with laity and order members well known to each other, vital to each other and acting as a key influence on each other. Rona Johnston Gordon’s contribution looks at the issue of reform from a very different yet equally telling perspective. Focusing on the monasteries of Lower Austria in the later decades of the sixteenth century, Johnston Gordon demonstrates the difficulties of implementing monastic reform due to a rather different type of influence from the secular world: the confrontation between princely and episcopal authority over intractable questions of jurisdiction.

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Communities of Devotion

No volume on religious orders in the early modern period would be complete, however, without paying due attention to the immense role played by the Jesuits, whose strength grew exponentially in the decades after their foundation in 1540. Yet even for these champions of Catholic reform, their work in the world of east central Europe was also beset with serious challenges. Elaine Fulton’s chapter looks at one way in which the Jesuits attempted to overcome political and popular resistance to their early work in Vienna in the second half of the sixteenth century through their association with and sponsorship of an influential layman, Georg Eder, holder of key positions in Viennese court and civic life. Christine Peters’s chapter, however, on the failed Jesuit mission to Cluj in Transylvania in the 1580s, acts as a reminder that, sometimes, even the Society of Jesus did not succeed in its efforts to stimulate piety in the communities into which it came. The volume closes with two chapters that deal with material from the later seventeenth century and the eighteenth century, and because of this emphasize slightly different aspects of the relationship between religious orders and society in east central Europe. Martin Elbel’s chapter on pilgrimage practice in the Bohemian Franciscan province focuses on the period after 1650, when the position of the Franciscans in the Czech lands had become settled. From this position of relative strength and revival they were able to promote pilgrimage as an important aspect of their interaction with local society, culminating in the development of the via crucis as a widespread expression of lay piety that survived even the reforms of Maria Theresa and Joseph II. Such longevity was not to be attained by the Basilian monks of the Transylvanian Uniate Church, who are the subject of the final chapter in the volume. As Greta-Monica Miron points out, however, despite their fleeting appearance they remain a significant order in the region for their role in the development of the Uniate Church, formed in 1698 as a union of the Eastern Church of Transylvania with the Catholic Church of Rome. It was the Basilian monks rather than secular clergy who were charged with the complex task of building this new church and shaping the devotional belief and practice of its members. In so doing, their role was defined by the needs of the laity and by imperial legislation, in yet another example of the close interaction between religious orders and society in early modern east central Europe. Indeed, it is in these areas of overlap and intersection, of conflict and cooperation, that the true dynamics of the various communities of devotion at the heart of this volume can best be seen. For the religious orders, the secular worlds in which they lived and worked were the scene for their missions and sermons, their prayers and their works of piety; they were their chief source of income and support, and yet also

Introduction

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a source of great challenge for the religious, not least in terms of the regular clashing of jurisdictions with other orders, secular clergy and secular rulers. For the secular world, the orders were a pivotal part of local life, offering an alternative devotional focus to that of the parish church, and often invigorating lay piety in striking ways. Yet the orders could also be a source of frustration for a laity whose wish to see the religious live in proper observance to their rule was often disappointed; for those in power, too, the religious orders could on occasion prove to be useful tools of state, but just as often provoked conflict over disputed lines of authority and control. For all the tumult of change in the period covered by this volume, these areas of conflict and cooperation between religious orders and the secular world were a constant. Most striking of all, however, is the porous nature of the boundaries between religious orders and society in early modern east central Europe, to the extent that one is barely comprehensible without the other. It is these interacting, intersecting and hitherto little-examined shared communities of devotion that this volume seeks to explore.

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Chapter 1

Mendicant Piety and the Saxon Community of Transylvania, c.1450–1550 Maria Crăciun* On the central panel of the altarpiece placed in the church at Mălâncrav (Malmkrog, Almakerék) in southern Transylvania, the female donor, kneeling in front of the enthroned and crowned Virgin, is represented with Chiara (or Clare) of Assisi (Figure 1.1).1 The saint, standing behind the donor and holding the monstrance above the woman’s head, is depicted as introducing her protégée to the Virgin. The donor is also depicted as addressing the Virgin directly through a speech scroll which asks for her protection and mediation with God: ‘Ora pro me sancta Dei genitrix.’ Thus, the female donor appeals to Mary as a major intercessor, a role reserved for her because of her special status as the Mother of God.2 On the other side of the Virgin, the male donor, introduced by the archangel Michael, directly addresses the Christ Child seated on the Virgin’s lap: * I would like to thank the Consistory of the Evangelical Church CA of Sibiu for allowing me to photograph the altarpieces. Thanks are also due to Carmen Florea for her comments and suggestions. 1  Anca Gogâltan and Dóra Salay, ‘The Church at Mălâncrav and the Holy Blood Chapel of Nicholas Apa’, in Petér Szőcs and Adrian Andrei Rusu (eds), Arhitectura religioasă medievală din Transilvania [Medieval Religious Architecture in Transylvania] II (Satu Mare, 2001), pp. 181–210, here p. 196 footnote 76, suggests that the saint is Margaret of Hungary. In Anca Gogâltan, ‘Patronage and Artistic Production in Transylvania. The Apafi and Their Church at Mălâncrav (Fourteenth to Fifteenth Centuries)’, dissertation, Central European University, 2002, p. 149 footnote 531, the saint is identified as Chiara of Assisi. Because Chiara is generally represented with the monstrance as her specific attribute, it seems rather more likely that the saint at Mălâncrav is indeed Chiara rather than Margaret. George Kaftal, Iconography of Saints in Tuscan Painting (Florence, 1952), pp. 269–79. 2   Rosemary Muir Wright, Sacred Distance. Representing the Virgin (Manchester, 2006), pp. 23–5. Catherine M. Mooney, ‘Imitatio Christi or Imitatio Mariae? Claire of Assisi and Her Interpreters’, in Catherine M. Mooney (ed.), Gendered Voices. Medieval Saints and Their Interpreters (Philadelphia, PA, 1999), pp. 52–76, argues that Chiara is constructed in hagiographic and iconographic sources forged by the Franciscans as an example of Marian piety. This could explain why she is represented addressing the Virgin rather than directly the Christ Child.

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‘O fili Dei Miserere mei.’ As it is generally accepted that the church at Mălâncrav was built by several generations of the Apafi family,3 it is not too difficult to identify the male donor as Mihály Apafi, also considered to be the commissioner of the altarpiece which was produced sometime in the mid-fifteenth century.4 This conclusion is supported by the fact that the male donor is introduced to the viewer of the piece by the archangel Michael, presumably his name saint, while special devotion to Michael is also reflected by his full-length depiction as a dragonslayer on one of the fixed wings of the altarpiece. It is, however, more difficult to identify the female donor as there is little surviving written evidence, and one of the coats of arms on the predella of the altarpiece which would have helped with this identification has disappeared over time (Figure 1.2).5 Although the identification of the female donor remains an intriguing issue, more interesting for the purposes of this volume is the question of why this woman chose to be represented by Chiara of Assisi in the first place. Her choice may simply suggest attachment to a personal protector with whom she possibly shared a name; it may also indicate an affinity with mendicant saints, as Chiara was a Franciscan saint – the founder of the Poor Clares. The depiction itself, however, provides one further, final clue as to the reason behind the donor’s choice. Chiara is clearly represented here with her particular attribute, that of the monstrance:6 Chiara’s legend claims that she saved Assisi sometime in the first half of the thirteenth century during a siege by the German Emperor Frederick II, when she walked on the city’s walls with the holy sacrament held in such a vessel.7 The visually prominent depiction of the host within the monstrance, then, may well suggest an attempt to promote a piety focused on the eucharist, apparently endorsed by both Chiara and her fifteenth-century protégée. 3   Gogâltan, ‘Patronage and Artistic Production in Transylvania’, pp. 15–50. Gogâltan and Salay, ‘The Church at Mălâncrav’, pp. 189–92. 4   Gisela and Otmar Richter, Siebenbürgische Flügelaltäre (Thaur bei Innsbruck, 1992), p. 47. Gogâltan, ‘Patronage and Artistic Production in Transylvania’, p. 148. Andrei Kertesz, ‘Pictura germanilor din sudul Transilvaniei pînă la 1800’ [German Painting in Southern Transylvania to 1800], dissertation, University of Cluj, 1998, p. 73. 5   Richter, Siebenbürgische Flügelaltäre, p. 47. Several documents mention a woman called Klára as Apafi’s widow but do not provide her surname: 7 September 1469, 10 January 1473 and 17 January 1473 in Gustav Gündisch (ed.), Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen, (1458–1473) (Bucharest, 1981), vol. 6, no. 3736, p. 417; no. 3936 and no. 3938, p. 539. 6   Wolfgang Braunfels (ed.), Lexikon der christilichen Ikonographie (Rome, 1974, 1994), pp. 314–18. 7   Robert Scribner, ‘Popular Piety and Modes of Visual Perception in Late Medieval and Reformation Germany’, in R.W. Scribner (Lyndal Roper, ed.), Religion and Culture in Germany (1400 1800) (Leiden, 2001), pp. 104–28, here p. 112.

Mendicant Piety and the Saxon Community

Figure 1.1

Central panel of the altarpiece of Mălâncrav

31

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Figure 1.2

Predella of the altarpiece of Mălâncrav

Yet Chiara does not appear on any other surviving Transylvanian painted panels or frescos; the question remains, therefore, as to whether the evident attachment to the mendicants and the eucharistic and Marian piety they sought to promote was unique to this donor and this church, or is suggestive of the existence of the broader influence of the mendicants among the laity of late medieval Transylvania. In answering this question, this chapter will explore the religious world of the Transylvanian laity – especially that of the Transylvanian Saxons – and demonstrate that their beliefs and practices were not only framed by the parish but also informed by the discourse of the religious orders most popular at that time: the Dominicans and the Franciscans. Consequently, this study aims to assess the impact of the mendicants on secular society in late medieval Transylvania (c.1450–c.1550), particularly at parish level, by exploring the attachment of the laity to the specific eucharistic and Marian piety promoted by the friars. Despite the official adoption of evangelical ideas by the Saxon community in 1544–1545, religious orders were only expelled from Transylvania in 1556 following the decisions of the diet of Sebeş.8 Although in some cases this event was preceded by violent attacks by the town population who sacked the convents, most communities seemed to be surviving in the 1530s, with convents housing as many as 33–34 monks or nuns.9 There is no direct evidence from Transylvania suggesting that Franciscan friars embraced evangelical ideas and became ardent preachers of the Reformation, as 8

  Edit Szegedi, ‘Constituirea şi evoluţia principatului Transilvaniei (1541–1690)’ [The Constitution and Development of the Principality of Transylvania], in Ioan-Aurel Pop, Thomas Nägler and András Magyari (eds), Istoria Transilvaniei [History of Transylvania] (Cluj-Napoca, 2005), p. 113. The diet secularized the bishoprics of Oradea and Alba Iulia and prepared the ground for turning Transylvania into a Protestant principality. 9   At Bistriţa Franciscan friars were expelled by the citizens in 1540. The Dominican convent at Cluj was sacked by the inhabitants of the town in 1552 and secularized on 15 March 1556. The most violent events took place at Cluj where the Franciscan convent was attacked in 1556, the prior was killed and the friars were beaten and driven out of town through the Turda gate. In 1534 this convent had 34 friars. See Adrian Andrei Rusu, Dicţionarul mănăstirilor din Transilvania, Banat, Crişana şi Maramureş [The Dictionary of Monasteries of Transylvania, Banat, Crişana and Maramureş] (Cluj-Napoca, 2000), pp. 69, 80, 106–8, 237.

Mendicant Piety and the Saxon Community

Map 1.1

33

Mendicant convents and parish churches in late medieval Transylvania (showing only parish churches where altarpieces have survived)

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Communities of Devotion

was the case in other regions of Hungary.10 However, the enthusiasm of the laity for the eucharistic piety promoted by the mendicants may have increased their receptivity to evangelical views on the sacrament. Both visual and textual evidence suggests that Transylvanian secular society was strongly impacted by the pious models promoted by the mendicants. As a consequence, the study will investigate the relationship between the laity and the friars expressed primarily by the iconography of altarpieces placed mostly in parish churches, as well as by endowment of mendicant establishments (churches, chapels and altars) through various types of bequests, requests to be buried in mendicant churches and expressions of a desire to benefit from the guidance provided by the friars (Map 1.1).11 The study will therefore deal with two types of evidence: visual, in the case of lay commissions for the parish churches; and textual, in the case of bequests for convent churches. By looking in particular at the art placed in parish churches, produced under lay patronage without direct involvement from the friars, one is better able to assess the impact of mendicant spirituality on secular society by highlighting the presence of themes and compositions promoted by these religious orders. Most of the altarpieces to be examined in this chapter, produced between 1450 and 1550, are examples of provincial art with arguably little aesthetic value. But being manufactured with secular financial support, which implies control over the iconographic programme, they may provide insight into lay understanding of religious experience. Starting from this premise, the chapter will attempt to explore all surviving examples of mendicant-influenced altarpieces in Transylvania made between the mid-fifteenth and mid-sixteenth centuries, analysing iconographic choices in terms of the specific doctrinal messages transmitted, the particular devotional patterns they expressed and the distinctive piety they were intended to shape. By focusing on images in particular, the study attempts to explore the religious world of a broader and generally less articulate segment of the laity. Images on altarpieces were seen by the entire village or urban community in the 10   Ferenc Szakály, Mezőváros és refomació. Tanulmányok a Korai magyar polgárosodás Kérdéssehéz [Oppidum (Market Town) and Reformation Studies on Early Hungarian Urbanization] (Budapest, 1995). See also Gabriella Erdélyi’s Chapter 4 in this volume. A number of early Lutheran preachers had been Franciscans, for example Mátyas Dévai Biró, András Szkhárosi Horváth and István Benczédi Székely. 11   Generally, because of the much more intense iconoclasm in urban contexts, very few of the altarpieces placed on the high altar of urban parish churches have survived; altarpieces from secondary altars have been dismantled and relocated, if not destroyed. Moreover, following the expulsion of religious orders and the dissolution of their convents, very little of their furnishings, including altarpieces, has been preserved. That makes it virtually impossible to study mendicant commissions or the art produced for their churches.

Mendicant Piety and the Saxon Community

35

context of the parish church, whereas in the late medieval period texts written by the mendicants were usually only read by the elite. Finally, by privileging the visual the study wishes to highlight an alternative vehicle for the two-way communication between the clerical elite and the laity. This will show that the Saxon community was certainly attached to the parish church – which framed their daily religious experience and which they wished to decorate in an impressive manner – but no less to the convent churches where they sought the spiritual guidance and, above all, the intercessory powers of the friars’ prayers. It is not surprising that the Apafi, prominent members of the Transylvanian nobility, endowed their church with an altarpiece meant to decorate the high altar. During the second half of the fifteenth century and until the 1520s, the commissioning of altarpieces even for rural parish churches had become the prevailing tendency. Indeed, due to the comparatively early date of their mid-fifteenth century altarpiece, the Apafi could perhaps be considered trendsetters in this regard. However, taking into account the location of their estate, in the county of Alba but in close proximity to the Saxon districts of southern Transylvania, it is equally possible that they were susceptible to a fashion which had developed in the Saxon towns.12 Consequently, this study will attempt to place the analysis of the iconography of the altarpieces within the context of a piety which was forged within a specific community, the Saxons of Transylvania. Settled in Transylvania as a privileged community, the Saxons had developed particular institutional structures, including ecclesiastical ones. In 1191 the Hungarian king, Béla III, granted the Ecclesia Theutonicorum the right to become the free provostship of Sibiu directly affiliated to the archbishopric of Esztergom, rather than to the bishopric of Transylvania at Alba Iulia. This ensured a degree of ecclesiastical autonomy for the Saxons which other inhabitants of the region did not benefit from, while the Andreanische Freibrief of 1224 allowed Saxon communities in Transylvania the right to elect their own priests.13 It is consequently natural to conclude that the specific piety of the Saxon community developed within the context of these particular ecclesiastical institutions, especially the parish.14 However, religious 12

  Most surviving altarpieces come from the Saxon areas of Transylvania. For a general survey of these altarpieces, see Viktor Roth, Siebenbürgische Altäre (Strasbourg, 1916). For a more recent survey of these altarpieces, see Richter, Siebenbürgische Flügelaltäre. 13   András Kubinyi, ‘Plebános valsztások és egyházközségi önkormányzat a középkori magyarországon’ [Parish Priest Elections and Parochial Autonomy in Late Medieval Hungary], Aetas, 6 (1991–1992) 24–46, here 24–6. 14   For the role of the parish in framing the religious life of the laity in broader European context, see Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars. Traditional Religion in England 1400–1580 (New Haven, CT, 1992), pp. 11–52, 91–130, 131–54, 301–37. For the

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orders, particularly mendicant ones, were also a strong presence in Saxon lands. The major Saxon towns of Sibiu (Hermannstadt, Nagyszeben), Braşov (Kronstadt, Brassó), Bistriţa (Bistriz, Beszterce), Sighişoara (Schässburg, Segesvár), Mediaş (Mediasch, Medgyes) and even Cluj (Klausenburg, Kolozsvár) had at least one mendicant establishment.15 Both Dominicans and Franciscans were also present in rural parts, albeit to different degrees. While Dominicans founded only one rural establishment, the convent of Vinţu de Jos (Winz, Alvinc), Franciscans had a completely different mission strategy.16 During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries they were increasingly interested in settling in oppida or market towns, as well as the rural environment.17 This willingness to explore other places than the rich royal free towns can be used to account for their popularity in the later Middle Ages. This movement was supported by the nobility who wished to have monasteries built on their estates. It has also been suggested that Franciscan success in Transylvania during the fifteenth century may have been influenced by the Observant movement within the order.18 development of the parish network in Hungary in general and in the Saxon towns in particular, see Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, L’Église dans les villes hongroises á la fin du moyen age (vers 1320–vers 1390) (Paris, 2003), pp. 23–45. 15   Erik Fügedi, ‘La formation des villes et les ordres mendiants en Hongrie’ Annales E.S.C., 25 (1970), 966–87; Beatrix Romhányi, Kolostorok és társaskáptalanak a középkori Magyarországon. Katalogus [Monasteries and Chapters in Medieval Hungary. Catalogue] (Budapest, 2000); Rusu, Dicţionarul, pp. 67–9, 80–82, 105–9, 169–70, 198–9, 232, 234–40, 242–5; Mihaela Sanda Salantai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania [Dominican Convents of Transylvania] (Cluj-Napoca, 2002); Zoltán Soós, ‘The Franciscan Friary of Târgu Mureş (Marosvásárhély) and the Franciscan Presence in Medieval Transylvania’, Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU, 9 (2003), 249–74, here 249–51. De Cevins, L’Église, p. 49 notes that the Dominicans, first present at Győr in 1221, had 35 convents by 1303 in the most dynamic cities in the kingdom, while the Franciscans, first present at Esztergom in 1229, had 41 convents by 1300, most of them also in urban settings. 16   Adrian Andrei Rusu, ‘A Glimpse into the Inner Life of a Transylvanian Monastery. The Dominican Monastery of Vinţu de Jos’, in Maria Crăciun and Ovidiu Ghitta (eds), Church and Society in East Central Europe (Cluj-Napoca, 1998), pp. 13–21. Rusu, Dicţionarul, pp. 280–82. De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 50–51 also notes that the Dominicans preferred to stay in the most important towns, episcopal cities and the Saxon towns of Transylvania. 17   Their foundations include Suseni (Marosfelfalu), Ciuc (Csíksomlyó), Harale (Haraly), Albeşti (Fehéregyháza), Hunedoara (Vajdahunyad), Teiuş (Tövis, Dreikirchen) and Coşeiu (Kusaly). Rusu, Dicţionarul, pp. 54, 119–20, 124–5, 128–9, 147, 149–50, 172, 175, 186–7, 200, 203–4, 241, 251, 260–62, 266–7, 271–2. De Cevins, L’Église, p. 51 notes that observant mendicant establishments, more often Franciscan than Dominican, developed especially in smaller towns which did not have a mendicant convent, but also in places like Transylvania where the parish network was more limited. 18   Mária Lupescu Makó, ‘Catholic Piety in Medieval Transylvania. Donations and Testaments Given to Monasteries and their Churches’, dissertation, Central European University, Budapest, 1999, pp. 7–16.

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37

It has long been observed that the religious life of the Transylvanian laity was framed both by the parish church and the mendicant establishments.19 This has been explained through the weakness of the parish network, which may account for the inability of parish priests to adequately control the religious experience of the laity. Few and overpopulated, the urban parishes of the kingdom of Hungary were also large, which meant that parishioners sometimes had a considerable distance to walk to Mass.20 Within this general trend, Transylvanian towns were the least well equipped in terms of their parish network.21 Despite this situation, parish clergy tried to maintain control over the spiritual life of the town’s inhabitants. This is suggested by the location of parish churches in the centre of towns, close to the markets, crossroads, close to points of access – such as gates and bridges – as the church wished to make its presence felt where the artisans gathered. Moreover, parish churches were physically far from other ecclesiastical establishments in the town. Thus, they were placed near the centre of activity and far from competitors.22 This suggests that the parish clergy competed with the mendicant friars for the allegiance of the town’s population. In Transylvania, conflicts between the parish clergy and the mendicant friars, mostly revolving around the execution of their pastoral duties, are frequently attested between the fourteenth and the sixteenth centuries.23 One of the main responsibilities of the parish clergy was the 19

  This was first suggested by Lajos Pásztor, A magyarország vallásos élete a jagellók korában (Budapest, 1940). 20   De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 23–33. Half of the towns in Hungary only had one parish. The number of parishioners for each church was 3,000 to 4,000, as opposed to western parishes which could comprise 200 to 500. 21   Many of them still had only one parish until the sixteenth century. Sibiu and Braşov had 4,000 to 6,000 or even in other opinions 8,000 to 11,000 inhabitants in the sixteenth century. 22   De Cevins, L’Église, p. 48, suggests that the location of the parish churches favoured excellent territorial control and close supervision of the inhabitants. 23   De Cevins, L’Église, p. 198, mentions the conflict with the Dominicans of Cluj concerning burial. Another conflict is attested for Sibiu. De Cevins, L’Église, p. 52, shows that, in the second half of the fifteenth century the parish priest of Sibiu opposed the request to move the Dominican convent within the city walls when the latter was threatened by the Ottomans. For the conflicts at Cluj, see Mária Lupescu Makó, ‘Egy konfliktus margójára a világi papság és a domonkosok kapcslatai a középkori kolozsváron’ [About a Conflict: Relations between the Secular Clergy and the Dominicans in Medieval Cluj], in Ionuţ Costea, Carmen Florea, Judit Pál and Enikő Rüsz Fogarasi (eds), Oraşe şi orăşeni. Városok és városlakók [Towns and Burghers] (Cluj-Napoca, 2006), pp. 404–17. For the relations of the parish clergy with the mendicant friars, see Carmen Florea’s chapter in this volume, ‘The Third Path: Charity and Devotion in Late Medieval Transylvania’. For the economic dimension of the conflict, see Marie Madeleine de Cevins, ‘A plébániai papság és a koldulórendi barátok kapcslatai a Magyar városokban a keső-középkorban: Sopron

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administration of the rites of passage: baptism, marriage and extreme unction/burial. This allowed them to frame the fundamental religious experiences of the faithful. While the friars did not perform baptisms or marriages, they had received papal approval for other services within the cura animarum, especially preaching, performing burials, hearing confessions and, sometimes, even administering communion.24 In Hungary the bull Super Cathedram was used as a reference for the outlining of mendicant pastoral duties and their limits.25 This suggests that the parish clergy opposed the performance of these duties with every opportunity.26 However, mendicants were able to offer spiritual guidance to members of the third orders and to devotional confraternities placed under their care, thus weakening spiritual links with the parish.27 Moreover, convents, especially later foundations, were located at the periphery, next to the town walls, suggesting that the mendicants lived on the margins of the urban space in the neighbourhoods.28 It has been suggested that this particular location made mendicant churches attractive to underprivileged and marginal groups.29 Mendicant orders also created a preaching network which ensured the dissemination of doctrine, while their direct contact with the people led to the development of a dialogue between order and laity, resulting in their adaptation of the formal teachings of the institutional

példaja’ [Relations of the Parish Clergy and the Mendicant Friars in Hungarian Towns of the Late Middle Ages: the Example of Sopron], Soproni Szemle, 3 (1999), 196–208. 24   For the ongoing tensions, also see Carmen Florea, ‘Despre tensiunea unei solidarităţi în evul mediu târziu: exemplul unor oraşe transilvănene’ [The tension of solidarity in the late Middle Ages: the example of Transylvanian towns], in Mihaela Grancea (ed.), Reprezentări ale morţii în Transilvania secolelor XVI–XIX [Representations of Death in Transylvania, Sixteenth to Nineteenth Centuries] (Cluj-Napoca, 2005), pp. 51–69, especially p. 57, as well as her chapter in this volume. 25   De Cevins, L’Église, p. 60, argues that the friars’ right to administer communion was recognized formally by Pope Alexander IV in 1255. In practice, it was opposed by the parish clergy. Also see Florea’s chapter in this volume. 26   De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 45, 57, 60, suggests that the conflicts with the mendicants concerning rights of burial show that the parish clergy did not wish to renounce their pastoral duties, while arguing that Hungarian parish priests always recruited a secular priest and not a mendicant friar to fulfil preaching duties in their church. Finally, the author shows that preaching outside was restricted to special occasions, such as summoning people for a crusade and missions of conversion on the borders of the kingdom. 27   De Cevins, L’Église, p. 198. See too Florea’s chapter in this volume. 28   De Cevins, L’Église, p. 52. 29   Florea, ‘Tensiunea’, p. 68. The parish church tended to be favoured by the town’s elite as a focus for their religious life. For the attitude of marginal groups, see Florea’s chapter in this volume.

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church to meet the devotional needs of its lay members.30 Scholars have also suggested that the mendicants placed images firmly at the centre of devotion and encouraged the laity to associate images with certain devotional practices, such as that of prayer.31 Consequently, it is argued, the art commissioned by the mendicants, whether mural or panel paintings, gave expression to what has been seen as a new form of spirituality for the period.32 From a Franciscan point of view, this was focused on Christ’s suffering, the so-called ‘compassion for the Passion’, the eucharist and imitation of the life of Christ, reiterated by the founder of the order in his advocacy of poverty, humility and obedience. This spirituality found particular expression in the Passion cycles sponsored by the order.33 The Dominicans, on the other hand, focused mainly on 30   Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, p. 12. For the mendicants’ right to preach, see Robert Swanson, Religion and Devotion in Europe c. 1215–c. 1515 (Cambridge, 1995), p. 70; Rona Goffen, Spirituality in Conflict. Saint Francis and Giotto’s Bardi Chapel (University Park, PA, 1988), pp. 39–40; C.H. Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism. Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages (London, 1989), pp. 238–73. De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 49–62, especially pp. 57–9, suggests that ecclesiastical legislation in the kingdom of Hungary forbade mendicants to preach in parish churches without the consent of the parish clergy (synod of Nyitra, 1494). Moreover, in Hungary, as a consequence of the bull Super Cathedram, sermons in the convent churches were to take place at different times from sermons in the parish church. This principle seems to have been observed in the fifteenth century as the friars preached in the afternoon (post prandium), while the parish clergy preached in the morning. As further evidence for the importance of preaching, the mendicants built lecterns and pulpits in their churches, while the plan of the building was modified for better acoustics and visibility thanks to the introduction of a single nave and the elimination of the transept. 31   For the place of images in devotion, see Eugène Honée, ‘Image and Imagination in the Medieval Culture of Prayer: A Historical Perspective’, in Henk van Os (ed.), The Art of Devotion in the Late Middle Ages in Europe 1300–1500 (London, 1990), pp. 157–74, here pp. 159–63; Goffen, Spirituality, pp. 24–5; Anne Derbes, Picturing the Passion in Late Medieval Italy. Narrative Painting, Franciscan Ideologies, and the Levant (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 19–21. Jeffrey F. Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary. Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany (New York, NY, 1998), pp. 19–29, argues that devotional images and devotional literature complete and contradict one another, in which they ‘stand not only in dialogue but also in argument – at times even in outright confrontation’, p. 19. Craig Harbison, ‘Visions and Meditations in Early Flemish Painting’, Simiolus, 15/2 (1985), 87– 118, especially 112–15, suggests that Andachtsbilder (devotional images), whether statues or manuscript miniatures, became increasingly common in monastic orders beginning with the thirteenth century and were intended to function as instruments of visionary experience. For an analysis of a specific devotional text impacted by Franciscan ideology, see Amy Neff, ‘Palma Dabit Palmam: Franciscan Themes in a Devotional Manuscript’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 65 (2002), 22–66. 32   Goffen, Spirituality, pp. 40–41. 33   Derbes, Picturing the Passion, pp. 11, 16–21, 31. For more details, see Goffen, Spirituality, pp. 10, 15, 22, 34, 47, 60–67; Rona Goffen, Piety and Patronage in Renaissance Venice. Bellini, Titian and the Franciscans (New Haven, CT, 1986), pp. 20, 54, 114; Henk van

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preaching and followed Christ in apostolic poverty bearing their crosses even when the road led to martyrdom as in the case of Peter of Verona. They showed interest in representations of the Virgin and the crucified Christ, or related images with eucharistic meaning, such as the Man of Sorrows, and only developed iconographic programmes related to the saints of their order (Dominic, Peter of Verona and Thomas Aquinas) at a later date.34 Moreover, the Virgin was hailed as their particular protector (advocata nostra), while her human qualities were increasingly emphasized. Thus, altarpieces from Dominican churches proclaim the importance of the Virgin and the status of Dominican saints in the hierarchy.35 Moreover, scholars have also highlighted mendicant influence on the development of belief and devotional practice in secular communities.36 Brought to the fore by reform movements within these religious orders, increased attention to the spiritual life of the laity could be equated with the adaptation of monastic models to the needs of a secular public, resulting in a more devout lifestyle.37 The mendicants had considerable influence outside the walls of the friaries as preachers and by encouraging the foundation of brother- and sisterhoods, dedicated to penitential good works and living according to versions of the mendicant rules.38 Moreover, the mendicants brought the life of prayer into the cities, transforming their repetition into an important factor of religious life.39 This revival of attention to the care of souls led to the energetic efforts among Dominicans to promote the Rosary devotion and to found brotherhoods dedicated to it.40 If the spiritual life initially took place in

Os, ‘St Francis of Assisi as a Second Christ in Early Italian Painting’, Simiolus, 7 (1974), 115–32. 34   Julian Gardner, ‘The Cult of a Fourteenth Century Saint: The Iconography of Louis of Toulouse’, in Julian Gardner, Patrons, Painters and Saints. Studies in Medieval Italian Painting. Variorum (Aldershot, 1993), pp. 169–93. Joanna Cannon, ‘Simone Martini, the Dominicans and the Early Sienese Polyptychs’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 45 (1982), 69–93. 35   Cannon, ‘Simone Martini’, pp. 75–6, 91. 36   Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism, pp. 256–61. 37   Anne Winston-Allen, Stories of the Rose. The Making of the Rosary in the Middle Ages (University Park, PA, 1997), pp. 73–9. Hamburger, The Visual and the Visionary, p. 18, suggests that pastoral care of nuns paved the way for the care of the laity. 38   Swanson, Religion and Devotion, pp. 105–7, 109–14. 39   Henk van Os, ‘The Culture of Prayer’, in van Os (ed.), The Art of Devotion, pp. 50–86, here pp. 60–61. The history of the Hail Mary and its popularity in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries is typical of late medieval devotion. 40   Winston-Allen, Stories of the Rose, p. 76.

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a world apart, the daily life of people in the later Middle Ages became permeated with religious ritual.41 The accuracy of these views can be measured more sharply by looking at art that was not commissioned by the mendicants themselves or by the laity for their convents/friaries, but rather by ordinary people for their parish churches. This approach may prove more strongly that mendicant spirituality was disseminated to the broadest social spectrum. By looking at a specific secular community, a study of the Transylvanian case can add to the body of literature which has until now focused primarily on mendicant commissions for their major churches.42 The selection of a particular iconography, expressing doctrines promoted by the mendicants for altarpieces commissioned by the laity – especially by members of a specific community (the Saxons) for their parish churches – will be able to highlight their attachment to the doctrines and devotional patterns fostered by these orders. So far, in the case of medieval Hungary, the relationship between the laity and the mendicants has not been explored through a study of the existing visual evidence.43 Moreover, it has been suggested that in Hungary, mendicant orders displaying particular sensitivity in accommodating the local religious milieu of central Europe became the supporters of an archaic, dynastic concept of sainthood and/or simply endorsed the new official cults promoted by the church in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, namely the Holy Blood, the Holy Name of Jesus and the feasts of the Virgin.44 An interest detected at parish level in devotion to the Passion of Christ, veneration of the cross and the practice of the Rosary would support this view. However, by looking at the visual evidence and by examining devotion to the Virgin as Maria in Sole and Queen of Heaven, this study hopes to enrich and 41   R.W. Southern, Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages (Harmondsworth, 1970), pp. 217–30, 250–59. 42   Goffen, Spirituality, focuses on major Franciscan commissions in Florence such as Santa Croce. Goffen, Piety, focuses on the art commissioned for the Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari in Venice. Joanna Cannon, ‘The Creation, Meaning and Audience of the Early Sienese Polyptychs. The Evidence from the friars’, in Eve Borsook and Fiorella Superbi Gioffredi (eds), Italian Altarpieces 1250–1550. Function and Design (Oxford, 1994), pp. 41–80, considers a group of polyptychs connected to orders of friars. See also Cannon, ‘Simone Martini’, pp. 69–93. 43   De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 12–17, focuses mainly on written sources and uses charters produced by ecclesiastical institutions, the monarchy and the urban authorities. 44   Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Le culte des saints dans la Hongrie médiévale (Problemes de recherché)’, Acta Historica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 29/1 (1983), 57–78, here 65. Gábor Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses. Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (Cambridge, 2000), p. 291.

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nuance these views by suggesting that other cults, supported by the mendicants, related to doctrines which they had developed – such as the Immaculate Conception and the Bodily Assumption of the Virgin – also made their way to the parishes. This will show that in medieval Transylvania, the mendicants did not behave as mere instruments of the highest ecclesiastical authority and that, while adapting to local needs, they also had their own agenda of transmitting their specific doctrines and religious practices to the widest possible social segment. The analysis will start by looking at compositions and themes that indicate interest in mendicants and the doctrines they promoted.45 The essay will, first of all examine images of mendicant saints and will then focus on compositions which express doctrines promoted by these orders, such as the Immaculate Conception and the Bodily Assumption of the Virgin, and devotional practices they endorsed, such as the veneration of the cross, meditation on the Passion of Christ and devotion to the sacrament. Finally, these particular iconographic choices will be placed in the context of textual evidence which suggests the attachment of the laity to the friars. Italian examples suggest that the mendicants promoted the founding saints of their orders, whose lives were sometimes presented in extended iconographic programmes.46 In medieval Transylvania, the fact that the mendicants promoted the founding saints of their orders is suggested by their presence in one altarpiece which probably came from the vicinity of a mendicant establishment, although whether it is a mendicant commission or not is almost impossible to establish.47 The central panel of 45

  Derbes, Picturing the Passion, p. 20, suggests that the inclusion of Francis and other Franciscan saints (such as Clare and Anthony) or the stigmatization indicates that the patron especially venerated Francis. 46   The existing literature points to noticeable differences between the Franciscans and the Dominicans. Goffen, Spirituality, pp. 29–50; Julian Gardner, ‘The Louvre Stigmatization and the Problem of the Narrative Altarpiece’, in Gardener, Patrons, Painters and Saints, pp. 217–47; Gardener, ‘The Iconography of Louis of Toulouse’, pp. 169–93; Joanna Cannon, ‘Dominic alter Christus? Representations of the Founder in and after the Ara di San Domenico’, in Kent Emery Jr and Joseph Wawrykow (eds), Christ among the Medieval Dominicans. Representations of Christ in the Texts and Images of the Order of Preachers (Notre Dame, IN, 1998), pp. 26–48. 47   One other example should be discussed. The existing literature mentions an altarpiece from the convent church at Sighişoara (Schässburg, Segesvár), which it associates with the Dominicans, primarily because one of the figures on the central panel of the altarpiece was identified as St Dominic. Roth, Siebenbürgische Altäre, p. 91; Dénes Radocsay, A középkori Magyarország táblaképei [Medieval Altarpieces from Hungary] (Budapest, 1955), pp. 181, 421; Virgil Vătăşianu, Istoria artei feudale în Ţările Române [The History of Feudal Art from the Romanian Lands] (Bucharest, 1959), p. 795; Richter, Siebenbürgische Flügelaltäre, p. 165; Kertesz, ‘Pictura germanilor din sudul Transilvaniei’, p. 104. More recent research undertaken by Ciprian Firea, ‘Polipticul din Sighişoara. Un retablu Dominican?’ [The Polyptych of Sighişoara. A Dominican altarpiece?], Ars Transsilvaniae,

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the altarpiece at Şumuleu Ciuc (Csík Somlyó) includes figures of St Francis and St Dominic in a composition which comprises the enthroned and crowned Virgin together with Peter and Paul.48 The fact that both Francis and Dominic are depicted according to medieval pictorial conventions, kneeling at the feet of the Virgin and on a smaller scale than the rest of the characters, suggests that mendicant friars themselves may have been the donors of the altarpiece.49 The inclusion of Peter and Paul conveys messages related to the apostolic mission that the mendicants undertook in this border region of western Christianity and the pastoral duties they committed to in relation to the laity, carried out mostly by preaching.50 If one looks outside mendicant establishments, one notices that the founding saints of the orders are rarely represented, although this may be a consequence of the vagaries of survival. In the Szekler lands, St Francis is depicted receiving the stigmata on the interior of the wing of the altarpiece of Leliceni (Csíkszentlélek) (1510), commissioned by the sons of Csaki, a member of the local nobility, as indicated by the inscription on the 19 (2009), 69–80, especially 72–4, has demonstrated that the figure on the central panel previously presumed to be St Dominic is really St Egidius. This identification has also been suggested by Emese Nagy Sarkadi, ‘Szent Mártonnak szentelt szárnyosoltár Segesvárról’ [The Polyptych Dedicated to St Martin from Sighişoara], in Monika Zsánbéky (ed.), ‘… és megosztatta köpenyét …’ Szent Márton Kultuszának közép-európai emlékei [‘… and he gave out his cloak …’ Central European Evidence about the Cult of St Martin] (Szombathelyi Képtár, 2008), pp. 94–6. This new identification raises questions concerning the connection of this altarpiece to the Dominican order. Ciprian Firea, ‘Art and Its Context. Late Medieval Transylvanian Altarpieces in Their Original Context’, in New Europe College Yearbook, GENEC II (Bucharest, 2010), pp. 319–59, especially p. 338, has discussed its association with a chapel donated by Dorothea Cruez. This would have turned it into an interesting example of a lay commission for a convent church. 48   Gyöngy Török, Gótikus szárnyasoltárok a középkori Magyarországon [Gothic Winged Altarpieces from Medieval Hungary] (Budapest, 2005), p. 21, considers the panel, now in the National Gallery of Budapest, to come from the parish church of Şumuleu, dedicated to Peter and Paul, where it had decorated the high altar. Rusu, Dicţionarul, p. 174, considers the altarpiece to come from the Franciscan church at Şumuleu dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Ciprian Firea, ‘Altar sau Retablu? O Reconsiderare a problematicii polipticelor medievale din Transilvania’ [Altar or Retable? A Reconsideration of the Issue of Medieval Transylvanian Polyptychs], I, Ars Transsilvaniae, 14–16 (2004–2005), 121–42, here 127, 130, considers the panel to come from Cioboteni Ciuc and suggests that it was produced before 1500 for the high altar of the parish church dedicated to SS Peter and Paul, as indicated by its iconography. 49   Harbison, ‘Visions and Meditations’, p. 101, analyses Flemish examples and discusses the kneeling donor, with hands uplifted together in a generally prayerful and devout attitude. 50   Şumuleu Ciuc is near the border with Moldavia, an Orthodox principality. Soós, ‘The Franciscan Friary of Târgu Mureş’, pp. 252, 269–72, argues for the role of the Franciscan friary of Târgu Mureş in urban development and its involvement in missionary activity. He suggests that the friaries of Şumuleu Ciuc and Albeşti were also particularly active in this respect.

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Figure 1.3

Panel with St Elizabeth from the altarpiece of Biertan (Birthälm, Berethalom)

predella. Chiara’s presence on the central panel of Mălâncrav (see Figure 1.1) confirms the attachment of the nobility to the mendicant orders which has been suggested by the existing literature.51 The Apafis connection to the mendicants, particularly to the Franciscans, is also suggested by the depiction of St Francis and St Anthony of Padua on the southern wall of the chancel at Mălâncrav.52 Francis is depicted during the stigmatization, receiving the wounds from the Christ seraph. Moreover, angels in general – and particularly the archangel Michael – had special significance for the Franciscan order. The stigmatization of St Francis was associated with the cult of Michael as, when he received the wounds of the crucifixion, Francis 51

  See for example Lupescu Makó, Catholic Piety, pp. 8–15. Mária Lupescu Makó, ‘Item lego … Gifts for the Soul in Late Medieval Transylvania’, Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU, 7 (2001), 161–86. 52   Vasile Drăgut, Iconografia picturilor murale gotice din Transilvania (Consideraţii generale şi repertoriu pe teme) [The Iconography of Gothic Mural Painting from Transylvania (General Remarks and Thematic Repertory)] (Bucharest, 1972), p. 66, considers that the saint next to Francis is Dominic. Gogâltan, ‘Patronage and Artistic Production in Transylvania’, pp. 83–6, identifies this saint as Anthony of Padua.

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had gone to Alverna to observe a 40-day fast in honour of St Michael.53 Consequently, the choice of Michael as a patron may also have been connected to patterns of piety induced by the Franciscans. In altarpieces commissioned by the Saxon community mendicant saints are only rarely present. Francis is depicted with Anthony of Padua at Bruiu (Braller, Brulya), while Elizabeth of Hungary is represented at Biertan (Birthälm, Berethalom) (Figure 1.3). Outside the Saxon region, but in the proximity of a Franciscan establishment, Elizabeth is depicted on one of the wings of the altarpiece decorating the high altar of the Holy Spirit church at Leliceni. While the presence of the founders of the orders could be construed as an expression of allegiance to the mendicants, the inclusion of Elizabeth is more problematic as she is primarily a prominent dynastic saint.54 However, Elizabeth was very much a Franciscan saint as well. Under the influence of the friars and particularly her Franciscan confessor, Conrad of Marburg, without ever actually taking vows, even after she was widowed, Elizabeth chose the life of the religious as she lived at the end of her life in a Franciscan hospice. Consequently, she was one of the chief advocates of the new religious model promoted by the mendicants, generally embraced in central Europe by members of the royal households. Focused on charitable work and renunciation of power, this model of sanctity adapted the ideal of poverty to the tradition of dynastic sanctity.55 Thus, the inclusion of Elizabeth among the female saints depicted at Biertan could be explained through a preference for the spirituality proposed by the mendicants, a model of female sanctity which could easily become a life strategy for the noble ladies of Transylvania.56 Elizabeth is easily recognizable because of her attributes, the bread and the wine which define her as a woman who has gained sanctity through her charitable deeds. Although Elizabeth uses the bread and wine to nourish the poor one cannot help being reminded of the two species of the sacrament which provide spiritual nourishment for the faithful. Besides promoting the founding saints of their orders, the mendicants may also have encouraged the veneration of apostles, because they had chosen to emulate the apostolic lifestyle and because some of these saints were patrons of their order.57 Peter and Paul as a pair 53

  Goffen, Piety, p. 20.   Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, pp. 202, 227–9. 55   Ibid., pp. 196, 203, 209, 233, 248, 250, 266, 272. 56   Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Legends as Life-strategies for Aspirant Saints in the Later Middle Ages’, in Gábor Klaniczay, The Uses of Supernatural Power. The Transformation of Popular Religion in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 95–110, especially pp. 99, 103. Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, pp. 200–201. 57   Goffen, Spirituality, pp. 37–9; Cannon, ‘Simone Martini’, p. 79. 54

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are explicitly associated with Francis and Dominic on the altarpiece of Şumuleu Ciuc. In the altarpieces commissioned by the Saxon community they are present at Băgaciu (Bogeschdorf, Szászbogács) and Jidvei (Seiden, Zsidve)/Tătârlaua (Taterloch, Felsőtatárlaka), while Peter’s martyrdom is given additional attention on the altarpiece of Hălchiu (Heldsdorf, Höltövény) (Figure 1.4). As his martyrdom explicitly mirrors that of Christ, with the additional emphasis provided by the reversed cross, this can be read as a case of Imitatio Christi. The iconography of Transylvanian altarpieces from the Saxon towns and villages suggests a preference for the compositions which are generally held to express doctrines supported by the mendicant orders, such as the Immaculate Conception and the Bodily Assumption of the Virgin.58 Officially sanctioned only on 8 December 1854 (the bull Ineffabilis Deus), the Immaculate Conception was a controversial doctrine throughout the Middle Ages. Its supporters claimed that Mary was exempt from original sin and took an active part in the salvation of mankind, while its opponents considered that she was merely absolved from the effects of Adam’s fall.59 Despite these heated debates, the doctrine benefited from the support of the papacy and enjoyed widespread observance.60 Because such a complicated theological issue has no self-explanatory iconography, the doctrine found visual expression in the context of the cult of the Virgin.61 This involved the development of various compositions which were able to convey these complex theological tenets.62 The doctrine was expressed either through narrative scenes informed by textual references, such as the Protoevangelium of James, or through iconic images.63 The basic ideas of the story of Mary’s exceptional birth and early life are represented in abbreviated form at Biertan: the Meeting 58

  Kathleen Ashley and Pamela Sheingorn, ‘Introduction’, in Kathleen Ashley and Pamela Sheingorn (eds), Interpreting Cultural Symbols. Saint Anne in Late Medieval Society (Athens, GA, 1990), pp. 1–68, here p. 25. Mirella Levi D’Ancona, The Iconography of the Immaculate Conception in the Middle Ages and Early Renaissance (New York, NY, 1957), pp. 3–25; Goffen, Piety, pp. 58, 76; Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, p. 85. 59   For a detailed discussion of the controversy, see Levi D’Ancona, Iconography of the Immaculate Conception, pp. 5–13, 26–9. Goffen, Piety, pp. 74–9, suggests that the battle between Dominicans and Franciscans was waged not only in words but also in images. 60   Goffen, Piety, pp. 58, 77. 61   Charles Hope, ‘Altarpieces and the Requirements of Patrons’, in Timothy Verdon and John Henderson (eds), Christianity and the Renaissance. Image and Religious Imagination in the Quatrocento (Syracuse, NY, 1990), pp. 535–71, here p. 556. 62   Levi D’Ancona, Iconography of the Immaculate Conception, pp. 11–15, 43. 63   Ibid., p. 6; Ashley and Sheingorn, ‘Introduction’, p. 18; Susanne L. Stratton, The Immaculate Conception in Spanish Art (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 20–28; Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, pp. 119–20.

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Figure 1.4 Panel with the martyrdom of St Peter from the altarpiece of Hălchiu (Heldsdorf, Höltövény) at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem, with the Annunciation to Joachim in the background (Figure 1.5); the Birth of the Virgin and the Betrothal of the Virgin; and at Sebeş (Mühlbach, Szászsebes), the Meeting at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem and the Selection of the Groom. The fact that the narrative is meant to illustrate the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception is usually indicated in visual terms by the inclusion of halos, angels and explanatory inscriptions.64 However, the doctrine could be equally well expressed by various types of iconic compositions, such as

64   Henk van Os, ‘Devotional Themes’, in van Os, Art of Devotion, pp. 87–129, here p. 96. Levi D’Ancona, Iconography of the Immaculate Conception, pp. 5–11, 44–5.

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Figure 1.5 Panel with the meeting at the Golden Gate of Jerusalem from the altarpiece of Biertan

Figure 1.6

Panel with Anna Selbdritt at Biertan

50

Figure 1.7

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Panel with Anna Selbdritt from Şaeş (Schaas, Segesd)

the so-called ‘Anne Threesome’ (Anna Metterza, Anna Selbdritt), the Tree of Jesse and the Woman of the Apocalypse. Bringing together Anne, Mary and Jesus in a sort of vertical genealogy, the Anne Threesome composition conveys the idea of the two miraculous maternities with strong Immaculist connotations.65 The composition 65   Levi D’Ancona, Iconography of the Immaculate Conception, p. 39. Stratton, Immaculate Conception in Spanish Art, pp. 28–33, suggests that the capacity of the image to express the doctrine depends on context as the Virgin and Child could also be merely the attributes of St Anne. Virginia Nixon, Mary’s Mother. Saint Anne in Late Medieval Europe (University

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appears a few times on altarpieces from the Saxon region: at Biertan (Figure 1.6), at Şmig (Schmiegen, Somogyom) and at Şaeş (Schaas, Segesd) (Figure 1.7). Similar compositions are depicted at Armăşeni (Csíkmenaság, 1523) and Leliceni, which are both close to the Franciscan convent at Şumuleu Ciuc.66 In fact, the inclusion of a Stigmatization of St Francis at Leliceni reinforces the idea of Franciscan influence. These images support the view that the cult of St Anne was actively promoted by the friars; indeed, the Legenda Sanctae Annae, first printed at Louvain in 1496, was written by a Franciscan.67 The horizontal arrangement of the Anne Threesome usually placed at the centre of a Holy Kindred composition, as it appears on the predella of Biertan (1524) and on the wings at Sebeş (Figure 1.8), highlights the association between the two exceptional maternities by giving the two women equal status.68 Although there is no consensus among scholars concerning the association between the Tree of Jesse and the Immaculate Virgin, it appears that during the Middle Ages this composition was often used to give visual expression to this particular doctrine.69 The Tree of Jesse is only present in Transylvania in the shrine of Sebeş, but this composition is crowned with a Woman of the Apocalypse.70 The Virgin of the Apocalypse or Maria in Sole has the longest career in giving visual expression to the Immaculate Conception.71 Informed by a passage in the Revelations of St John (John Park, PA, 2004), pp. 15–16, considers the idea that Anna Selbdritt was intended to represent the Immaculate Conception untenable, because this is not supported by textual evidence. 66   For the last two examples, see Török, Gótikus szárnyasoltárok a középkori Magyarországon, Figure 77, p. 103; Figure 73, p. 99 and Figure 41, p. 67. 67   Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, p. 46. 68   Nixon, Mary’s Mother, p. 2, remarks on the equality of status that is emphasized by this composition. Pamela Sheingorn, ‘Appropriating the Holy Kinship. Gender and Family History’, in Ashley and Sheingorn (eds), Interpreting Cultural Symbols, pp. 169–98, especially pp. 173–8, argues that this type of composition tends to emphasize the female genealogy of Jesus and the role of women in the incarnation. She also suggests that when Anne and the Virgin and Child in this Trinitary arrangement are the focus of a holy kinship group, it brings an additional layer of meaning, one that elevates St Anne to a position in the group equivalent to the position of God the Father in the traditional Trinity. 69   For the theological discussion of the association, see Levi D’Ancona, Iconography of the Immaculate Conception, p, 46. For the Tree of Jesse as an iconographic type, see Anne Rudloff Stanton, ‘La Genealogye Commence. Kinship and Difference in the Queen Mary Psalter’, Studies in Iconography, 17 (1996), 177–214. 70   What we see in the shrine today is an eighteenth-century copy. The original was removed by Zsigmond Kornis and placed in the church at Coroi. 71   Levi D’Ancona, Iconography of the Immaculate Conception, pp. 24–8; Sixten Ringbom, ‘Maria in Sole and the Virgin of the Rosary’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 25 (1962), 326–30; Laurie J. Bergamini, ‘From Narrative to Icon: The Virgin Mary and the Woman of the Apocalypse in Thirteenth Century English Art and Devotion’, Studies in Iconography, 13 (1989–1990), 80–112.

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Figure 1.8

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Panel with Holy Kindred at Sebeş (Mühlbach, Szászsebes)

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12: 1), the iconography of this composition shows Mary with the attributes listed by St John: surrounded by the sun, standing on the crescent moon and crowned with stars. The Immaculists focused the attention of the viewers on the Virgin by eliminating the narrative details.72 The Woman of the Apocalypse makes frequent appearances in Transylvanian polyptychs. She is present on the same panel as the Anne Threesome at Biertan (see Figure 1.6) and she is depicted twice on the little triptych that serves as a coronamentum for the same altarpiece (Figure 1.9). These depictions are interesting, as the Maria in Sole takes the place of the women in the visions of both the Emperor Augustus (the Ara Coeli legend) and the prophet Ezekiel (Ezekiel 41: 1).73 It has been suggested that, as the Virgin is sometimes called the ‘Gate of Heaven’ – especially in Franciscan writings, such as the office of the Immaculate Conception written by Leonardo Nogarolis – it seems possible that the image of the Maria in Sole in the vision of Ezekiel before the closed gate

Figure 1.9 72

Triptych at Biertan

  Bernhard Ridderbos, ‘The Rotterdam-Edinburgh Diptych: Maria in Sole and the Devotion of the Rosary’, in van Os (ed.), Art of Devotion, pp. 151–6, here p. 154; Levi D’Ancona, Iconography of the Immaculate Conception, p. 56; Bergamini, ‘From Narrative to Icon’, pp. 80–81, 93, 103; Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, p. 123. 73   Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, p. 123, suggests that the visual similarity of the vision of Augustus to that of John in the Book of Revelation encouraged a conflation of ideas, and thus the Virgin of the Ara Coeli was identified with the woman clothed by the sun: the ‘mulier amicta sole’ of Apocalypse 12.

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Figure 1.10a Panel with the Death and Assumption of the Virgin at Mălâncrav may be read as an expression of the doctrine. Moreover, Duns Scotus, the Franciscan supporter of the doctrine, had used the word ianua (gate) in arguments meant to prove the Virgin’s immaculacy. He explained that the gate would not need to be opened for Mary because she had already been redeemed.74 Finally, the original statue from the shrine at Sebeş and the Madonna and Child from the shrine at Băgaciu are both depictions of the Maria in Sole. Another of the doctrines supported by the mendicants is that of the Bodily Assumption of the Virgin. Following the logic of the Immaculate Conception, this doctrine reaffirms belief in the resurrection of the body. Because Mary was free from original sin, she was also free from the corruption of death and her body did not rest in the grave. Moreover, just as Christ had released Mary from the restrictions of human time by calling her from the grave, so he would 74

  Goffen, Piety, p. 58.

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Figure 1.10b Panel with the Death and Assumption of the Virgin at Mălâncrav release Christian souls from their own mortality. Mary’s bodily presence in heaven assures a more valid mediation for the faithful. Such emphasis on Mary’s intercessory role is in itself characteristic of Franciscan spirituality.75 It has been suggested that Franciscan piety was responsible for the depiction of the Assumption as something susceptible to sensory understanding. The imagery of the Assumption offered to both artists and patrons a formula by which the logic of physical reality could be applied to the mystical idea of the Virgin’s bodily ascent.76 The doctrine provided artists with the related themes of the Assumption and the Coronation of the Virgin, which affirmed Mary’s heavenly presence

75

  Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, pp. 80–108; Goffen, Piety, pp. 91–8.   Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, pp. 87, 103.

76

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Figure 1.11 Panel with the Coronation of the Virgin at Jidvei (Seiden, Zsidve)/Tătârlaua (Taterloch, Felsőtatárlaka) in body as well as in spirit.77 These compositions are both present in Transylvania’s altarpieces. At Mălâncrav, the Assumption is depicted on two panels showing Mary on her deathbed and in her grave (Figure 1.10a and b). In the second image, the apostles are gathered around the 77   For instance, the Assumption and the Coronation were depicted in full by Cimabue in the Upper Church of San Francesco in Assisi. Goffen, Piety, p. 142.

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grave holding candles and flowers while Jesus is receiving Mary’s body in heaven together with prophets and angels. The doctrine of the Bodily Assumption is made visually explicit by the presence of the apostles and the Virgin’s soon to be empty tomb.78 At Sîntimbru (Csíkszentimre), Mary is shown surrounded by apostles praying while God the Father is waiting for her in heaven. In opposition to these two solutions, at Jidvei/ Tătârlaua Mary is shown while being crowned by the Trinity (Figure 11). It is generally accepted that the Resurrection of Christ anticipated the Assumption of the Virgin and the resurrected Christ awaits his mother in heaven, where her ascent will culminate in her coronation as Regina Coeli.79 The scene of Mary’s heavenly coronation is also present at Leliceni. In this case, Franciscan influence is made more explicit by the proximity of the village to a Franciscan establishment and the depiction of the stigmatization of St Francis. The two Marian doctrines are interrelated and part of the same logic. The feast of the Immaculate Conception was associated with the Assumption both theologically and liturgically. The description of Mary’s body as ‘without stain’ is an allusion to the innate relationship between her assumption and her immaculacy. The former was taken as inherent proof of the latter by analogy as the assumption of Mary’s body into heaven demonstrated that her flesh was without stain and incapable of physical corruption. Defenders of the Immaculate Conception asserted a priori that her soul must have been untainted by spiritual corruption. It has been further suggested that Mary’s identification with Christ was adduced as another argument in favour of her immaculacy. She died like her son, not because of guilt but to share his suffering and his work of redemption. Thus, iconographically, the Assumption could be an image of the Immaculate Conception.80 The panels of the altarpiece of Jidvei/Tătârlaua, one of the two examples where Mary’s coronation is actually depicted, provide another interesting association between the Coronation and the Annunciation. As the interior of the wings is divided between the episodes related to the Virgin and two martyrdoms, one could speculate that in the shrine of Jidvei/Tătârlaua, which now houses an eighteenth-century Crucifixion panel, there must have been a statue of the Virgin Immaculate. But what had determined the choice of the two Marian episodes? It has been highlighted that, according to Franciscan belief, the Madonna’s 78

  Muir Wright, Sacred Distance, pp. 100–102, suggests that in general the cavity in which lilies and roses grow referred specifically to Mary’s empty grave and more obliquely to her Assumption. 79   Ibid., p. 87. 80   Goffen, Piety, pp. 87–93.

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Immaculate Conception is an integral part of the privileges that made her capable of fulfilling her role as co-redemptrix. When a scriptural basis was sought for this matter, perhaps the single most important biblical text was the phrase with which the archangel Gabriel greeted Mary in the Annunciation. The Angelic Salutation was considered evidence for the attribution of all her special privileges to the Virgin. Interestingly enough, it was the Franciscans who provided this interpretation of the Angelic Salutation. For them ‘full of grace’ also implied immaculate. It was because of her role in the incarnation that Mary was exempt from the corruption of death.81 Thus the two panels from Jidvei/Tătârlaua do not allude solely to the incarnation and the salvific message embedded in Mary’s Bodily Assumption but also include an Immaculist twist. Consequently, as all these examples persuasively suggest, the iconography of the altarpieces highlights the enthusiasm of the Saxon community for the doctrines promoted by the mendicants. Also significant is the particularly high level of interest shown by the mendicants in the sacrifice of Christ and its place in the process of redemption. In a Franciscan context, the cult of Christ crucified was inextricably associated with the cult of St Francis himself. The Franciscans believed in St Francis as the compassionate mediator whose efficacy is guaranteed by the stigmata.82 The change in the depiction of the Crucifixion to an image where the death and suffering of Christ are more explicit and poignant appeared during the thirteenth century under Franciscan patronage. In this context, the Christus Triumphans, Christ who transcends suffering and is victorious over death was gradually replaced by a new type, the suffering Christ or Christus Patiens.83 Surviving examples throughout Europe demonstrate the clear association of this pathetic imagery with Franciscan spirituality. Christ shown dead or dying is part of the compassionate interpretation popularized by the Franciscans.84 In Transylvania, this new type of Crucifixion is depicted on both central panels (Prejmer [Tartlau, Prázsmár], Sibiu) and wings, when it is part of a narrative Passion cycle (Dupuş [Tobsdorf, Táblás], Feldioara [Marienburg, Földvár], Sîntimbru, Sebeş, Beia, Fişer [Schweischer, Sövénység], Cund [Reussdorf, Kund], Şaeş, Mediaş, Soroştin [Schorsten, Sorostély], Leliceni, Armăşeni). In many of these compositions Jesus is depicted as the Christus Patiens on the Tau cross (Prejmer, Sibiu, predella of Şaeş, Mediaş, triptych of Biertan), sometimes with a highly 81

  Ibid., pp. 61, 76, 100.   Ibid., p. 20. 83   Derbes, Picturing the Passion, p. 5. 84   Goffen, Spirituality, pp. 21–2, 30. 82

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visible wound in his side (Sibiu). In some cases the primarily devotional function intended for these panels is suggested by the lack of narrative detail and the frontal presentation of all three characters: the crucified Christ, the distressed and compassionate Virgin and John the Evangelist (Prejmer, Dupuş, Feldioara, Sîntimbru, Sebeş, Beia, Fişer, Cund, Şaeş, Leliceni, Armăşeni and the sculpture in the shrine at Biertan).

Figure 1.12 Central panel from Prejmer (Tartlau, Prázsmár) At Prejmer (Figure 1.12) particularly, the blood flowing from Christ’s wounds which falls on the heads of Mary and John suggests eucharistic messages emphasizing the role of Christ’s sacrifice in salvation and the power of the sacrament in securing the redemption of mankind. Sometimes the sacrificial eucharistic meaning is conveyed by adding details rather than by eliminating them. This is the case at Biertan on

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the central panel of the triptych which serves as a coronamentum (see Figure 1.9). On this occasion, the eucharistic emphasis is much enhanced by the symbolism of the vine as, in the foreground of the composition, Mary and John the Baptist are planting and watering the vine at the foot of the cross. The analogy between Christ’s blood and the wine in the sacrament is closely drawn, while the presence of John the Baptist as one of the major intercessors suggests a Deesis (prayer, intercession) composition with a strong devotional function. All the apostles are present around the crucified Christ (again a possible connection with the apostolic ethos promoted by all mendicants) while John the Evangelist is collecting blood from Christ’s side into a chalice. This gives strong visual expression to the doctrine of the real presence.85 Interest in the symbols of the Crucifixion in Transylvania is further substantiated by the inclusion of St Helena, who was engaged in the discovery of the Holy Cross, at Biertan (see Figure 1.3) and Jidvei/Tătârlaua . In both examples she is holding the Tau cross which has become her attribute. The new type of Christus Patiens is also accompanied by changes in the narrative of the Passion itself, primarily promoted by the Franciscans.86 The latter saw the life of Francis as a reiteration of the Passion of Christ, especially through the stigmatization. Consequently, the Franciscans favoured narratives of Christ’s Passion as devotion to the Passion was central to Franciscan piety as a defining attribute of both Francis and the order he had founded. The term ‘Franciscan spirituality’ has become virtually synonymous with the veneration of Christ’s suffering on the cross.87 Moreover, the Franciscans did not confine their promotion of the Passion to the commissioning of narrative cycles. They also constructed new versions of these narratives, which invariably stressed Christ’s human suffering during the Passion, reflecting the devotional literature they produced.88 This tendency is illustrated in Transylvania by the popularity of the eight-episode Passion cycle, frequently depicted on the exterior of the mobile and the fixed wings of altarpieces, visible when the artefact was closed.89 Moreover, the selection of episodes and their details, 85

  Maria Crăciun, ‘Iconoclasm and Theology in Reformation Transylvania. The Iconography of the Polyptych of the Church at Biertan’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschchte, 95 (2004), 61–97, here 90. 86   Derbes, Picturing the Passion, pp. 7–8. 87   Goffen, Piety, pp. 20, 54, 114. 88   Derbes, Picturing the Passion, pp. 17–21; James H. Marrow, Passion Iconography in Northern European Art of the Late Middle Ages and Early Renaissance. A Study of the Transformation of Sacred Metaphor into Descriptive Narrative (Kortrjik, 1979). 89   This is present at Mediaş, Dupuş, Feldioara, Beia, Fişer, Soroştin, Cund, Roadeş, Hălchiu, Sibiu and Şmig within the Saxon region, and Leliceni and Armăşeni in the Szekler lands.

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emphasizing suffering, strongly mirror the imaginative repertory forged by the Franciscans.90 One example will have to suffice: the consistent depiction of Christ at Prejmer with a transparent loincloth which is present in the Crucifixion scene on the central panel (see Figure 1.12) and in the Lamentation and Flagellation episodes. Images with the transparent loincloth appear to have been understood in Byzantium as depictions of the nude Christ. But the naked Christ was a key figure for St Francis and references to Christ hanging nude on the cross abound in Franciscan texts. Writers of devotional literature consistently note Christ’s nudity during the Crucifixion, describing his stripping in increasing detail. Moreover, Christ’s nudity proclaimed his poverty and thus validated the vow upon which Francis founded the order.91 Moreover, eucharistic emphasis is also present as, in both the Crucifixion and Lamentation episodes, Christ’s blood, flowing from his side wound, is clearly visible through the cloth. Separated from the narrative context of the Passion (the ‘Descent from the Cross’, the ‘Lamentation’ and the ‘Entombment’), the Vir Dolorum or Man of Sorrows was the image that encapsulated Christ’s sacrifice for mankind, conveying doctrines such as the real presence of Christ in the sacrament as well as providing viewers with an opportunity to express emotions aroused by Christ’s dead body.92 Franciscans were interested in 90   The standard sequence of images would be (1) the ‘Agony in the Garden’; (2) the ‘Arrest’; (3) the ‘Hearing’; (4) the ‘Flagellation’; (5) the ‘Crowning with Thorns’; (6) ‘Ecce Homo’; (7) the ‘Bearing of the Cross’; (8) the ‘Crucifixion’. This is present at Cund, Hălchiu, Roadeş, Fişer and Beia. 91   Derbes, Picturing the Passion, pp. 30–31. 92   Erwin Panofsky, ‘“Imago Pietatis”: Ein Beitrag zur Typengeschichte des “Schmerzensmannes” und der “Maria Mediatrix”’, Festschrift für Max Friedländer zum 60 Geburstag (Leipzig, 1927), pp. 261–306; Romuald Bauerreiss, Pie Jesu. Das Schmerzensmannbild und sein Einfluss auf die mittelalterliche Fromigkeit (Munich, 1931); Gert van der Osten, ‘Der Schmerzensmann. Typengeschichte eines deutschen Andachtsbildwerkens von 1300 bis 1600’, Deutschen Verein für Kunstwissenschaft (Berlin, 1935); Colin Eisler, ‘The Golden Christ of Cortona and the Man of Sorrows in Italy’, The Art Bulletin, 21 (1969), 107–18, 233–50; Hans Belting, The Image and Its Public in the Middle Ages. Form and Function of Early Paintings of the Passion (New Rochelle, NY, 1981); Hans Belting, ‘An Image and Its Function in the Liturgy: The Man of Sorrows in Byzantium’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 34–5 (1980–1981), 1–16; Louis M. La Favia, The Man of Sorrows. Its Origin and Development in Trecento Florentine Painting. A New Iconographic Theme on the Eve of the Renaissance (Rome, 1980); Bernhard Ridderbos, ‘The Man of Sorrows. Pictorial Images and Metaphorical Statements’, in A.A. MacDonald, H.N.B. Ridderbos and R.M. Schlusemann (eds), The Broken Body. Passion Devotion in Late Medieval Culture (Groningen, 1998), pp. 147–81; Michael Camille, ‘Mimetic Identification and Passion Devotion in the Later Middle Ages: A Double-Sided Panel by Meister Francke’, in MacDonald, Ridderbos and Schlusemann (eds), The Broken Body, pp. 183–210; Dóra Sallay, ‘The Eucharistic Man of Sorrows in Late Medieval Art’, Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU, 6 (2000), 45–80.

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the Vir Dolorum because of the eucharistic associations of the image. But this image was equally attractive for the Dominicans.93 The Vir Dolorum was frequently depicted on Transylvanian altarpieces, generally on the predella – Mălâncrav (see Figure 1.2), Băgaciu, Cincu [Grossschenk, Nagysink], Jidvei/Tătârlaua, Leliceni – and sometimes on the central panel, like the example of unknown provenance kept in the collection of the Brukenthal Museum of Sibiu (Figure 1.13). The dead Christ is shown with a visible side wound (ostentatio vulnerum), for example at Mălâncrav (see Figure 1.2), accompanied either by Mary and John the Evangelist (Băgaciu, Mălâncrav, the old predella of Cincu, Leliceni) or by angels collecting the blood from his wounds into chalices – Jidvei/ Tătârlaua and the central panel from Sibiu (see Figure 1.13). As these altarpieces were present in courtly and parish churches and as the cult of Corpus Christi and Sanctus Sanguinis had developed within the parish context, this specific iconography illustrates the impact of Franciscan spirituality on the lay community.94 Thus, Transylvanian altarpieces witness the integration of beliefs and devotional patterns promoted by the mendicants expressed by subtle thematic associations and elaborate compositional devices. No matter how eloquent this visual discourse can be, it is important to note that interest in the mendicants and their spirituality is also highlighted by written sources, especially wills. Although it has been argued that the nobility endowed mendicant establishments because they were the most powerful segment of society in both economic and political terms, their behaviour may have been stimulated by a desire to emulate the royal family.95 For instance, the Franciscan friary of Cluj consistently benefited from royal support, first from its founder, Matthias Corvinus, and then from Vladislas II.96 Moreover, the governor of Hungary, Joannes Hunyadi, made bequests to three Franciscan friaries – Şumuleu Ciuc, Teiuş and 93

  Derbes, Picturing the Passion, p. 17; Henk van Os, ‘The Discovery of an Early Man of Sorrows on a Dominican Triptych’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 41 (1978), 68–75; Cannon, ‘Simone Martini’, p. 73. 94   Lidia Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania (secolele XIV–XVI) [Medieval Confraternities in Transylvania, Fourteenth to Sixteenth Centuries] (Cluj-Napoca, 2004), pp. 199–244. De Cevins, L’Église, p. 198, mentions that in 1460, when the parish priest of Sibiu initiated a procession before the liturgy of the Corpus Christi confraternity, which was celebrated every Thursday in the parish church, the decision was reached in agreement with the members of the confraternity. 95   Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, pp. 206, 209–21, 260–64. 96   András Kovács, A kolozsvári Farkasutcai templom címerei [The Coats of Arms of the Church from Farkas Street in Cluj] (Budapest, Cluj, 1995), pp. 65–8; Elek Jakab (ed.), Oklevéltár Kolozsvár története első köteléhez [Chartulary for the First Volume of Cluj History] (Buda, 1880) (hence KvOKL), vol. 1, pp. 305–6.

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Figure 1.13 Central panel from Sibiu (Hermannstadt, Nagyszeben)

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Hunedoara (Eisenmarkt, Vajdahunyad) – which again suggests that he felt a crucial connection with the Franciscans. He also endowed the Dominican convents of Braşov and Cluj.97 This behaviour was faithfully copied by the nobles. One interesting case is that of Leonard Barlabássy, whose preference for the Franciscans is obvious as he endowed the Franciscan convents of Târgu Mureş, Albeşti, Mediaş, Hunedoara and Teiuş as well as the Dominican convent of Sighişoara.98 But while this suggests that many mendicant establishments, including those located in Saxon cities, benefited from the attention of the Transylvanian nobility and the royal household, it does not tell us very much about the relations of the convents with the citizens of the royal free towns. Did burghers lavish the same kind of attention on the mendicant establishments in their towns? Existing literature suggests that until 1490 burghers were not interested in founding altars and chapels in the churches of the mendicants.99 This situation seems to change over time, especially in the sixteenth century, when particularly the mendicant churches of Cluj and Sighişoara seem to be generously endowed by the citizens of the town. Perhaps the most relevant example one could invoke is the donation made in 1506 by the Saxon community, the universitas septem sedium saxonicalum, which gave money to the Franciscan friaries of Sibiu, Orăştie (Broos, Szászváros) and Albeşti, and to the Dominicans of Sighişoara. It seems that the Saxons were interested in providing financial assistance to the friaries situated on Saxon land.100 Even before that, in November 1486, Ambrose, the judge of the town of Cluj, and the city councillors made a donation in the name of the whole community to the Franciscans for the construction of their friary.101 Finally, Claire, Mark Pemfflinger’s wife, bequeathed money to be distributed among the

97

  Gustav Gündisch (ed.), Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen im Siebenbürgen (1438–1457) (Bucharest, 1975), vol. 5, p. 509; Géza Entz, Erdélyi építészete a 14–16 században [The Architecture of Transylvania between the Fourteenth and Sixteenth Centuries] (Cluj, 1996), p. 343. 98   Lupescu Makó, Catholic Piety, pp. 8–15. 99   De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 197, 224–6, suggests that the nobility endowed cathedrals and mendicant convents, while the inhabitants of towns tended to privilege the parish church. 100   Lupescu Makó, Catholic Piety, p. 21. Soós, ‘The Franciscan Friary of Târgu Mureş’, pp. 249–50, considers that the very emergence of the Franciscan order in Transylvania was related to Saxon colonization. For dedications made by burghers to a Dominican convent, see Mária Lupescu Makó, ‘Death and Remembrance in Late Medieval Sighişoara (Segesvár, Schässburg)’, Caiete de Anntropologie Istorică. Oamenii şi moartea în societatea românească, 3 (2004), 93–106. 101   Entz, Erdélyi építészete a 14–16 században, p. 346. KvOkl, vol. 1, p. 272.

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friaries and convents of Sibiu and for each of the Franciscan establishments at Mediaş, Sebeş, Orăştie and Teiuş.102 The fact that many of these people were under the spiritual guidance of the mendicants is attested by their wish to join an order. This is the case of Dorothy, the widow of Bartholomew Drágffy of Béltek and the daughter of Emeric Héderváry, who referred to herself as a Franciscan nun of Coşeiu (Kusaly).103 Judging from these circumstances, she had been a wife and mother and must have taken the veil later in life, probably after she was widowed. Her decision is an indication of personal piety as she chose to live the religious life promoted by the Franciscans. Ordinary members of the town communities also formed close connections with the mendicants. For example, George Lapicida’s widow Magdalene made her will in 1531 at Cluj and left money to the Franciscan friaries of Cluj, Teiuş, Albeşti and Târgu Mureş as well as to the Dominican friary of Cluj. Magdalene’s obvious interest in the Franciscans is explained by the fact that she refers to herself as confratrissa fratrum minorum claustri beatissime Mariae in eadem Coloswar, thus identifying herself as a member of the third order. She also had a Franciscan confessor who may have suggested the beneficiaries of the bequests.104 Finally, attachment to the Franciscans is suggested by the testament of Mihály Apafi, who was a benefactor of the Franciscan friary at Târgu Mureş, wished to be buried in that church and asked the community of Franciscan friars to pray for him.105 This type of request was not unusual, as suggested by Denis Veres of Farnas’s will stating that he wished to be buried dressed in Franciscan habit in the convent church of Târgu Mureş.106 This leads one to consider the significance of burial in sacred ground and its relation to the piety fostered by the mendicants. One definite consequence of burial in the sacred ground of mendicant convents was that one could benefit from the intercessory value of the prayers recited by the monastic community for the salvation of their souls. Many nobles and burghers consequently chose mendicant convents 102

  Lupescu Makó, ‘Item lego’, p. 182.   Zsigmond Jakó, A kolozsmonostori Konvent jegyzőkönyvei 1289–1556 [Convent Records from Cluj Mănăştur 1289–1556] (Budapest, 1990), vol. 2, no. 3469. 104   Lupescu Makó, Catholic Piety, pp. 16–19. KvOkl, p. 373. Entz, Erdélyi építészete a 14–16 században, p. 340. Magdalene’s will was also published by Vince Bunyitai (ed.), Egyháztörténelmi emlékek a magyarországi hítújitás korából [Ecclesiastical Historical Records from the Hungarian Reformation] (Budapest, 1904), vol. 2, pp. 178–81. 105   Bunyitai, Egyháztörténelmi emlékek a magyarországi hítújitás korából, p. 488; Lupescu Makó, Catholic Piety, p. 10. Soós, ‘The Franciscan Friary of Târgu Mureş’, p. 261, mentions a fragment of tombstone dating from the late fifteenth century which bears the coat of arms of the Apafi family. 106   Entz, Erdélyi építészete a 14–16 században, pp. 379, 453. 103

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as their preferred place of interment.107 Sometimes simple citizens of the town expressed similar wishes in their wills. Thus, Magdalene, the stonemason’s widow mentioned in her will that her husband was buried in the Franciscan friary at Cluj and consequently she requested to be buried there as well.108 In 1464 Simon Clomp and Christian Rod, burghers from Braşov, asked the Dominican friars of the town to pray for them.109 This suggests added confidence in the intercessory powers of the clergy as well as attachment to mendicant orders and belief in the efficacy of their intervention. But how much of the mendicant discourse did the laity really integrate into their beliefs and devotional practices? Many of the faithful openly professed their devotion to the Virgin Mary, the Holy Trinity and the Saviour.110 One of the earliest examples is that of Ladislas Funczencz, a burgher from Sibiu who made a bequest in 1360 ‘ad sanctam Elisabeta pro structura ecclesia’.111 The interesting element here is that he makes Elizabeth, the patron of the Franciscan church of Sibiu, the focus of his devotion. Interest in Mary is highlighted by the bequest of Joannes Erdélyi of Somkerék who, together with Francis Mikola of Szamosfalva, commissioned an altarpiece for the capela Rosarii and gave money to the Dominican friars of Cluj to build a chapel dedicated to the Virgin.112 Lorenz and Agnes Wermeser, burghers of Cluj, made their will together on 6 December 1458 and generously endowed the Virgin Mary altar of the Dominican friary of Cluj on condition that the friars would pay for a pilgrimage to Rome and one to the Virgin Mary church at Aachen.113 John Sleser’s widow Margarete, who wrote her will in 1454, left wax for candles to be used on the Feast of the Assumption.114 Generally, the Ave

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  Samu Barabás (ed.), Codex Diplomaticus Sacri Romani Imperii Comitum Familiae Teleki de szék. A Római Szent Birodalmi Gróf Teleki Család Oklevéltára (Budapest, 1895) (hence TelOkl), vol. 2, pp. 450–55; Jakó, A kolozsmonostori Konvent jegyzőkönyvei 1289–1556, vol. 2, no. 2832; Jolán Balogh, Az erdélyi renaissance 1460–1541 [The Transylvanian Renaissance 1460–1541] (Cluj, 1943), vol. 1, p. 346; Lupescu Makó, Catholic Piety, p. 19. 108   Bunyitai, Egyháztörténelmi emlékek a magyarországi hítújitás korából, vol. 2, pp. 178–9: ‘Item sepulturam eligo in iamfato claustro Beatae Virginis fratrum minorum quemadmodum et maritus meus predecessor.’ 109   Gündisch (ed.), Urkundenbuch, vol. 6, pp. 162–3. Entz, Erdélyi építészete a 14–16 században, p. 241. 110   Jakó, A kolozsmonostori Konvent jegyzőkönyvei 1289–1556, vol. 2, no. 3469. 111   Albert Berger, Urkunden Regesten aus dem Archiv der Stadt Bistriz in Siebenbürgen 1203–1570. Schriften zur Landeskunde Siebenbürgens (Cologne, 1986), vol. 2, p. 438. 112   KvOkl, vol.1, pp. 354–6; TelOkl, vol. 2, pp. 450–55. 113   Jakó, A kolozsmonostori Konvent jegyzőkönyvei 1289–1556, vol. 1, no. 1327. 114   Ibid., no. 1153.

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Maria and Salve Regina requested by testators highlight the prominence of the Virgin as intercessor and the strength of Marian devotion. Interest in the Passion is also underlined by the will of Lorenz and Agnes Wermeser (1458) as they had asked the Dominican friars of Cluj to recite prayers in honour of Christ’s suffering.115 Magdalene also stipulated in her will that seven Masses for the Passion of Christ should be performed in the parish church, while the liturgy for Corpus Christi should be held in the chapel of the Tertiaries.116 Finally, to return to religious art and the family at the start of this discussion, Nicholas Apafi demonstrated his Christocentric piety by donating a wooden Crucifix to the Franciscan friary of Târgu Mureş in 1537.117 In conclusion, one must ask: how profoundly was Transylvanian secular society impacted by mendicant presence? The textual evidence examined in this study suggests that the laity was interested in endowing both the parish church and the various mendicant establishments. The visual evidence analysed so far further suggests that the laity had integrated doctrines and devotional patterns promoted by the mendicants. Based on these findings, one is led to conclude that the religious life of both urban and rural communities – particularly those that, like the Saxons, enjoyed extensive freedom in their ecclesiastical organization – was framed by both the parish and the spiritual models offered by the orders. This is not surprising in the case of towns as the mendicants are traditionally urban orders, which in Transylvania competed with a weaker parish network where the parish priest may not have been able to meet the spiritual needs and expectations of the community.118 As the Saxons were the most urbanized community of Transylvania, their receptivity to mendicant discourse is easier 115   Ibid., no. 1327. For other examples, see Karl Fabritius, ‘Zwei Funde in der ehemaligen Dominikanerkirche zu Schässburg’, Archiv des Vereins für siebenbürgische Landeskunde, 5/1 (1861), 8–9; Gündisch (ed.), Urkundenbuch, vol. 6, pp. 503–4; KvOkl, vol. 1, p. 373. 116   Bunyitai, Egyháztörténelmi emlékek a magyarországi hítújitás korából, vol. 2, pp. 178–9. For further examples of the Christocentric piety of the third order, see Carmen Florea, ‘Instituţionalizarea obţinerii mântuirii: între modelul intercesoral şi iniţiativa personală’ [The Institutionalization of Salvation between the Intercessory Model and Personal Initiative], in Mihaela Grancea and Ana Dumitran (eds), Discursuri despre moarte în Transilvania secolelor XVI–XX [Discourses Concerning Death in Transylvania, Sixteenth to Twentieth Centuries] (Cluj-Napoca, 2006), pp. 203–25. 117   Lupescu Makó, ‘Item lego’, p. 175. 118   De Cevins, L’Église, p. 30, points out that even the bigger Transylvanian towns such as Bistriţa, Sibiu, Braşov and Cluj had one parish around 1320, while Bistriţa and Sibiu (perhaps even Braşov) were still in this situation at the beginning of the sixteenth century. As an explanation the author suggests that the ethnic homogeneity of Transylvanian towns did not encourage the founding of a second parish to accommodate non-German

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to understand. This was generally facilitated by the language issue. Recruitment in mendicant convents was mostly local, although in Transylvanian towns which had stronger links with the Empire several friars were foreign, and considerable attention was paid to the ability to communicate with the local population. Often in the same friary, friars who spoke different languages were recruited to accommodate the needs of the local communities. For instance the presence of preachers for the Hungarians (predicator ungarorum) is attested among the Dominicans of Bistriţa and Cluj by the end of the fifteenth century; while at Sibiu, in 1474 the municipality imposed on the Dominican friars who wished to move their convent intra muros the need to accept members who spoke German.119 One is thus led to believe that the mendicants communicated easily with the urban population. However, due to the peculiarities of their settlement in Transylvania, Franciscans at least were present in the rural environment as well. Within this context, the interest of the nobility can be explained by their wish to emulate the monarchy. As the Hungarian kings gave their support to the mendicants, the nobility may have wanted to follow suit and receive spiritual guidance from the friars. In fact several fifteenth-century convents, such as Albeşti, Suseni and Teiuş, are noble foundations.120 This is most apparent in their preference for the founding saints of the orders, as illustrated by the examples of Mălâncrav, Leliceni and Şumuleu Ciuc. A perhaps striking feature is the fact that nobles did not seem to prefer a particular order but rather to manifest allegiance to a less specific mendicant ethos. The nobility tended to make bequests to several mendicant convents, both Dominican and Franciscan, while on the central panel of Şumuleu Ciuc both Francis and Dominic are represented at the feet of the Virgin, accompanied by Peter and Paul who embody the apostolic ideals of both orders. Whether Franciscans or Dominicans are directly involved in this commission or not, one is tempted to conclude that the Transylvanian nobles were drawn by this implicit pastoral dimension and chose mendicants as spiritual guides on earth and efficient intercessors for their salvation in the afterlife. By contrast, interest in specifically mendicant doctrines and devotional patterns seems to have been stronger among the Saxons, inhabitants, and that the early and successful establishment of mendicant convents may have stunted the growth of urban parishes. 119   The archives of the city of Sibiu, the medieval document collection, no. U II 355. The document is discussed by De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 179–81. 120   János Karácsonyi, Szent Ferenc rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig [The History of the Franciscan Order in Hungary until 1711] (Budapest, 1923–1924), vol.1, pp. 45–7, 198.

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both in the towns and in the villages. While the general iconographic programme of the altarpieces accommodated the liturgical calendar and the needs of the parish church, transmitting the doctrines of the incarnation, the real presence of Christ in the sacrament and his offer of salvation – the inclusion of compositions which express specific late medieval doctrines supported by the mendicants (the Immaculate Conception and the Bodily Assumption of the Virgin) – reflects the Saxon community’s enthusiasm for the new devotional foci created with the help of the friars: the Virgin Immaculate, the Queen of Heaven and the Christus Patiens. This leads one to believe that urban inhabitants who were equally interested in the spiritual services of the mendicants were more exposed to the instruction offered by the friars particularly through the medium of sermons, but also presumably through images. By relying primarily on visual evidence to gain insight into the religious experience of secular society, and by using iconographic choices as a tool for understanding the beliefs and devotional patterns of the faithful, this essay highlights the role of images in religious communication, in the reciprocal exchange between clergy and laity. Yet by endowing parish and courtly churches, lay commissioners had also made these images available to a wider social body. One can thus safely conclude that lay religious experience in the Saxon communities of late fifteenth and early sixteenth-century Transylvania – although often expressed in the parish church – was primarily shaped by the mendicant ethos. As individuals, the faithful sought the spiritual guidance of the friars and their mediation in the afterlife; as a community they took pride in their parish churches and wished to decorate them resplendently with images that witnessed their newly constructed piety.

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Chapter 2

The Influence of Franciscan Friars on Popular Piety in the Kingdom of Hungary at the End of the Fifteenth Century Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, translated by Max von Habsburg In the decades preceding the military defeat suffered by royal troops at Mohács against Ottoman soldiers in August 1526, the kingdom of Hungary went through a period of political, socio-economic and cultural troubles. Almost imperceptible at the end of King Matthias Corvin’s reign (1458–1490), these tensions and dissensions culminated under the Jagellon rulers Vladislav II (1490–1516) and Louis II (1516–1526). They weakened the country at a moment when it had to face the threat of an Ottoman conquest, while Bohemia and most of Poland seemed to enter their ‘golden age’ for the early modern period.1 The purpose of this study is to examine the extent to which the Franciscans succeeded in fashioning popular piety among the inhabitants of the Hungarian kingdom at this time, including Transylvania. Existing research tends to stress the success with which the mendicant brothers nurtured a deepening of faith within the populace, noting in particular the success of the Observant Franciscans.2 Such studies, mostly based on Polish evidence, imply that in late medieval Hungary too there existed 1

  Overview of Hungary at the end of the Middle Ages in (for example): Pál Engel, The Realm of St Stephen: a History of Medieval Hungary, 895–1526 (London, 2001); Pál Engel, Gyula Kristó and András Kubinyi, Magyarország története II: 1301–1526 (Budapest, 1998), also available in a French translation as Histoire de la Hongrie Médiévale, vol. 2: Des Angevins aux Habsbourgs (Rennes, 2008). For the central European context, see Antoni Mączak, Henryk Samsonowicz and Peter Burke (eds), East Central Europe in Transition: From the Fourteenth to the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, 1985). 2   Jerzy Kłoczowski, ‘Les ordres mendiants en Europe du Centre-Est et du Nord’, in L’Eglise et le peuple chrétien dans les pays de l’Europe du Centre-Est et du Nord (XIVe–XVe s.), Actes du colloque de Rome (27–29 January 1986) (Rome, Collection de l’Ecole Française de Rome no. 128, 1990), pp. 187–200; Kłoczowski, ‘L’Observance en Europe centrale-orientale au XVe siècle’, in Atti del’XI convegno internazionale di Studi Francescani (Assisi, 1983), pp. 169–91; Kłoczowski ‘The Mendicant Orders between the Baltic and Adriatic Seas in the Middle Ages’, in La Pologne au XVe siècle. Etudes sur l’histoire de la culture de l’Europe centrale-

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an almost perfect congruence between popular religion and Franciscan spirituality. They deem the old pagan beliefs to have vanished after the conversion ordered by King Saint Stephen (d. 1038) at the beginning of the eleventh century, but also suggest that the ritual faith of the Arpadian period (from 1000 to 1301) had been gradually replaced by the more emotional and individualistic Christianity of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. This success has been attributed, in Hungary as well, to the great popularity of the Minor Friars from the Franciscan Observant movement.3 It is true that after the mid-fifteenth century, among all the regular families, that branch of St Francis’s order was the most numerous: it represented more than 70 convents and 1,700 brothers around 1510, when all the monasteries and convents totalled about three hundred, many of them (especially the Benedictine ones) being almost empty.4 In towns, reformed and ‘conventual’ mendicant institutions were also particularly numerous, often outnumbering the parish churches.5 But it was the Observant Franciscans who also had an important influence in the countryside, and not solely restricted to the religious sphere; this is especially exemplified by the alleged participation of certain Franciscans in the peasant uprising of 1437 in Transylvania – though they actually arrived from Poland via Moldavia6 – and then in the great peasant war of 1514, which started as a crusade but ended as an anti-seigneurial rebellion.7 orientale, Actes du Congrès International des Sciences Historiques de Bucarest (Wrocław, 1980), pp. 95–110. 3   See the previous footnote and Lajos Pásztor, A magyarság vallásos élete a Jagellók korában [Religious Life in Hungary in the Time of the Jagellons] (Budapest, 1940, reprinted 2000), pp. 6–7. 4   Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, Les franciscains observants de l’expansion à la débâcle (v. 1450–v. 1540) (Rome, 2008), especially pp. 231–2. 5   Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, ‘Les religieux et la ville au bas Moyen Age: moines et frères mendiants dans les villes du royaume de Hongrie des années 1320 aux années 1490’, Revue Mabillon, 9 (1998), 97–126. This can also be seen in the case of Transylvania: see Carmen Florea’s chapter in this volume. 6   György Galamb, Marchiai Jakab prédikációs és inkvizítori tevékenysége (A ferences obszervancia itáliai, boszniai és magyarországi szerepéhez) [The Preaching and Inquisitorial Activity of James of the Marches (the Influence of the Italian and Bosnian Franciscan Observant Movement in Hungary)], dissertation, Budapest, 2001, pp. 163, 188–93. 7   Jenő Szűcs, ‘Ferences ellenzéki áramlat a magyar parasztháború és reformáció hátterében’ [Franciscan criticism/opposition during the Hungarian peasant revolt and the Reformation], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 78/4 (1974), 409–35; German translation: ‘Die oppositionelle Strömmung der Franziskaner im Hintergrund des Bauernkrieges und der Reformation in Ungarn’, Etudes Historiques Hongroises, 1 (1985), 483–514; Szűcs, ‘A ferences obszervancia és a 1514. évi parasztháború. Egy kódex tanúsága’ [The Franciscan Observant Movement and the Peasant Revolt of 1514. A Codex Lesson], Levéltári Közlemények, 43 (1972), 213–63.

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The problem is that, according to the urban registers (last wills, town ledgers) – the villages having left no written traces about religious life at this time – and the Franciscan sources, such as lists of brothers and donation charts, the mendicant orders were only supported by a limited category of the lay population: it was mostly nobles and then burghers who tended to be the ones to give them material support and possibly led to them their sons as friars.8 This may cast doubt on the strength of the Franciscans’ impact on popular piety. This chapter will demonstrate that, although the order played an undeniably significant role in the development of lay religiosity in the kingdom of Hungary at the end of the fifteenth century, it was far from the only influence. As the sermons of two contemporary Franciscans, Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó reveal among many texts, there remained lively remnants of popular religion which proved impossible to eradicate. It is this issue of the discrepancy between the spiritual messages disseminated by the Franciscans and the reality of religious beliefs and practices of Hungarian laity, hitherto neglected by historiography, that will be assessed here.9 Pelbart of Temesvár (d. 1504) was born in Timişoara (Temesvár) about 1435. After time spent as a student in Cracow he became a theology teacher in Buda in the 1480s, and then provincialis of the Hungarian Observant province. Osvald of Laskó (d. 1511), probably born around 1450, is named as having been a student at the University of Vienna in the early 1490s; he taught theology from 1496 and was twice elected provincialis.10 The sermons composed at the turn of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries by these two famous Hungarian preachers are in fact the sole Hungarian homiletic texts of the medieval period to have been preserved in their entirety. For that reason they will be used here as documentary basis for the investigation of the message spread by 8   Marie-Madeleine de Cevins and László Koszta, ‘Noblesse et ordres religieux en Hongrie sous les rois angevins (v. 1323–1382)’, in La noblesse dans les territoires angevins à la fin du Moyen Age, Actes du colloque international d’Angers (Angers-Saumur, 3–6 June 1998) (Rome, 2000), pp. 585–606 ; de Cevins, ‘Les religieux’. 9   Lajos Pásztor alone raises the issue of the discrepancy which separates the discourse of mendicant preachers and the religious life of Hungarians under the Jagellon kings, but gives only rare examples of this, regarding indulgences. See Pásztor, A magyarság. 10   Cirill Horváth, Temesvári Pelbárt és kódexeink [Pelbart of Temesvár and our Hungarian Codices] (Budapest, 1891); Richárd Horváth, Laskai Ozsvát (Budapest, 1932); Lajos Pásztor, ‘Temesvári Pelbárt és Laskai Ozsvát az egyházi és világi pályáról’ [Temesvári Pelbárt and Laskai Ozsvát on Lay and Religious Life], Regnum (1937), 141–54; Áron Szilády, Temesvári Pelbárt élete és munkái [The life and work of Temesvári Pelbárt] (Budapest, 1880); Kálmán Timár, ‘Ferencrendi hitszónokok a XV. és XVI. Században’ [Franciscan Preachers during the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries], Religio, 17 (1910), 260–62; Tivadar Vida, ‘Temesvári Pelbárt kapcsolata kora társadalmával’ [Temesvári Pelbárt’s Connections with His Fellow Intellectuals], Vigilia, 41 (1976), 671–9.

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members of the Observant Franciscans. Yet it should be stressed from the start that they were not really representative of the whole order, firstly because of the very high cultural status of Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald de Laskó, and secondly because of their leading position inside the Observant branch: they express the religious tendencies desired by the rulers of the order rather than the everyday piety of the minor friars and, of course, of the laity. These sermons, gathered for the most part in two collections – the Pomerium (or Sermones pomerii) by Pelbart of Temesvár, published from 1499, and the Biga salutis by Osvald of Laskó, published for the first time in 1497 – conform to the ars praedicandi defined progressively in France and Italy towards the end of the thirteenth century according to the scholastic method. There are few significant divergences between the two preachers; they only differ in their style, Osvald’s being somewhat sophisticated and elliptic while Pelbart tends to use clear demonstrations and concrete examples. The value of these sermons lies not in their questionable status as records of what may or may not have been actually delivered to a congregation, but rather in their role as models of a basic structure intended to help the parish clergy in charge of preaching to the faithful, in particular to those clergy who could not access the reference works needed for the production of informed sermons.11 From the fifteenth century onwards, the papacy tried to reform the parish clergy using the Observant Franciscans as intermediaries. Writing sermons for secular priests was thus part of their mission in Hungary. Analysis of Hungarian piety at the end of the Middle Ages will also be undertaken here from a selection of heterogeneous sources, including synodal statutes from the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth centuries;12 the stories of the miracles of John of Capistrano at Ilok and of Saint Paul the Hermit at Buda;13 and collections of urban 11

  For a detailed discussion of these texts, see Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, ‘Le stéréotype du bon laïc dans les sermons franciscains hongrois de la fin du Moyen Age’, in Les stéréotypes: construction et déconstruction (Rennes, 2003), pp. 15–49; de Cevins, ‘La religion des laïcs, vue par les prédicateurs franciscains hongrois de la fin du Moyen Age’, Specimina Nova (Pécs, 2001). 12   Ignác B Batthyány, Leges ecclesiasticae regni Hungariae, et provinciarum adiacentium (Claudiopoli, 1827); Carolus Péterffy, Sacra concilia ecclesiae Romano-catholicae in regno Hungariae celebrata, ab anno Christi MXVI. usque ad annum MDCCXV (Posonii, 1741), vol. 1. Concerning the synodal statutes of Veszprém of 1515, see László Solymosi, ‘Vallásos élet a 1515. évi veszprémi szinodiális könyv tükrében’, in István Lengvári (ed.), In memoriam Barta Gábor. Tanulmányok Barta Gábor emlékére (Pécs, 1996), pp. 113–23. 13   On the miracles of John of Capistrano, see Stanko Andrić, The Miracles of St John Capistran (Budapest, 2000); Erik Fügedi, ‘Kapisztránói János csodái: a jegyzőkönyvei társadalomtörténeti tanúltságai’ [The Miracles of St John Capistran: The Miracle Collection’s Importance for Social Life], Századok (1977), 847–98; Fügedi, ‘Kapisztránói János csodái:

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wills.14 Future investigations could include further written sources as well as iconographical and archaeological materials, and could refine the comparisons with other regions in east central Europe from the same period. It is not the aim of this study to have the last word on the subject, but merely to draw some initial conclusions and suggest avenues for future research. The nature of the limitations of Franciscan influence on popular piety in the kingdom of Hungary at the end of the fifteenth century will be examined under three headings: religious beliefs, religious practices, and finally conflicting concepts of the place of Christians in the Church and the world. Religious Beliefs Faith, Works, Saints At the basis of any conception of religious life towards the end of the Middle Ages is the question of the relative place of faith and good works (bona opera), alongside questions of predestination and free will. In their sermons, Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó adopted a very clear stance, in conformity with papal prescriptions. According to them, God knows in advance who will be good during their time on earth; but that does not have any influence on the behaviour of believers, who enforce their will freely.15 Free will is even presented by these two Hungarian Franciscans as the most precious gift given to man by God.16 Some signs make it possible to know whether one is chosen or not; they are characterized as much by the will to do good as by the effective accomplishment of bona opera. But the two Franciscans introduced some restrictions as to the value of these good actions in obtaining eternal salvation. First of all, they had to respond to a real desire for pleasing

találkozás a középkori népi vallásossággal’ [The Miracles of St John Capistran: Encounters with Medieval Popular Devotion], Ethnográfia, 88 (1978), 555–64. Concerning the miracles of St Paul the Hermit, see Gregorius Gyöngyösi, Vitae fratrum eremitarum ordinis sancti Pauli primi eremitae (1525), ed. F. Hervay (Budapest, 1988); Éva Knapp, ‘Remete szent Pál csodái’ [The Miracles of St Paul the Hermit], Századok (1983), 511–57. 14   Jenő Házi (ed.), Sopron szabad királyi város története [The History of the Free Royal Town of Sopron], 2 series of 7 and 5 vols (Sopron, 1921–1938), especially second series vols 1 and 2; Municipal Archives of Bratislava (MAB), Protocollum Testamentorum, 1409/1422– 1529. 15   Pelbart of Temesvár (hereafter, PT), Sanctis I, 37. This idea is expressed in several other sermons by the same author. Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 13–14. 16   Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 14–17.

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God: intention takes precedence over action.17 Moreover, these works were insufficient in themselves even if they had a laudable intention: grace was indispensable for the achievement of salvation.18 Evidently, such ideas reflect less the questions which disturbed the mass of believers than the discussions which, on the eve of the Reformation, had begun to trouble the intellectual clerical milieu. By taking such a position, there partly existed a discrepancy with popular convictions. Popular beliefs clearly placed emphasis on merit, acquired by good works rather than by grace: in other words, on action rather than intention. This is suggested by the numerous charters of donations granted by the faithful to ecclesiastical establishments, because few of them elaborate upon the motivations of the benefactors, other than by stereotypical formulas (ob remedio anime sue, pro refrigerio anime sue, pro remissione peccatorum suorum). The two Hungarian preachers elaborated upon the fact that there was nothing like seeking intercession with the saints, and especially the Virgin Mary, in order to obtain grace. Everything indicates that, in practice, believers attached a real importance to saintly intercession until the 1520s at least. When an itinerant Hungarian preacher, inspired by Lutheran ideas, declared to the inhabitants of Sopron in 1522 that it was illusory to rely on the help of the saints, it provoked a riot in the town and he had to escape immediately.19 Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó, however, warned the believers against all types of excesses in Marian devotion: devotion to the Virgin Mary must not eclipse that given to Christ, who, due to his divine nature, is situated above all His creatures, however perfect they may be.20 This advice was not always heeded by the faithful as there are numerous signs which illustrate that Hungarian Christians dedicated a cult to the Virgin Mary that was more popular than any other. A large number of chapels and side altars founded by some laymen in the last decades of the Middle Ages were dedicated to Saint Mary, often 17

  This idea foregrounds the totality of the work of the two preachers, who thus espouse a true moral of intention. Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 15–16. 18   Non potest per liberum abritrium sufficienter salvari homo sine gratia Spiriti Sancti. PT, Sermones de Tempore (hereafter, Temp.), II, 39; this conception appears equally in other sermons of Pelbart of Temesvár, and in two of those of Osvald of Laskó. Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 16. 19   Jenő Házi, Sopron középkori egyháztörténete [The Religious Life of Sopron in the Middle Ages] (Sopron, 1939), p. 56. 20   ‘Maria non videlicet deus sed mater vera dei: et sic infra deum tamen supra omnem creaturam verbo in unitam unione personali; hoc est sub christo super omnia alia creata’. PT, Stellarium coronae gloriosisimae virginis mariae splendissimum, Pomerium Sermonum de Beata Virgine, XII, part I, art. I.

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with a designation recently spread by the Observants themselves and inscribed onto the liturgical calendar: Our Lady of Snow, Our Lady of Roses, Our Lady of the Assumption, Our Lady of Pity, Our Lady of Seven Joys. These dedications were more frequent than those attributed to Christ, with the exception, however, of that of the Holy Sacrament. The anniversary foundations show the success of prayers addressed to the Virgin at that time, especially that of the Salve Regina, just like the increasing practice of the recitation of the Rosary. The iconographical representations undertaken at that time also treated, for the most part, the different periods of the life of Saint Mary and developed more specifically the theme of Pietà and the Mater dolorosa after the 1500s. Examples include the Pietà of Keszthely and the Presentation of Christ in the Temple of Okolicsnó (now in the Hungarian National Gallery), as well as the Calvary of Master MS (in the Christian Museum of Esztergom) and the Lamenting Christ and Mary of the cathedral treasury of Esztergom.21 Disseminated for the most part by the Franciscans themselves for almost two centuries, Marian devotion then seemed at least as great in the hearts of the Hungarian faithful as that owed to Christ. However, the two Franciscan preachers disagreed with the rest of their order on this issue, seeking greater balance of worship that did not place the Virgin at the centre of devotion. What to Believe? What to Know? In the minds of the two Hungarian preachers, it was not necessary for the laity to possess any depth of theological knowledge. It sufficed for them to know and to understand the three fundamental prayers (Pater Noster, Ave Maria, Credo) as well as the Ten Commandments.22 It was fine if believers, out of their own initiative, endeavoured to deepen their

21   For further details and analysis, see (among others) Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 160–66; Sándor Bálint, Ünnepi kalendárium [The Liturgical Calendar] (2 vols, Budapest, 1977); Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Le culte des saints dans la Hongrie médiévale. Problèmes de recherche’, Acta Historica Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 29 (1983), 57–78, especially 65; de Cevins, L’Église dans les villes hongroises à la fin du Moyen Age (Paris/Budapest, 2003), here pp. 227–41. For an iconographical approach to Marian devotion, see Ernő Marosi (ed.), Magyarországi művészet 1300–1470 körül [The Art of Hungary between 1300 and until about 1470] (2 vols, Budapest, 1987); more recently, and still unpublished, see Marie Lionnet, ‘Les peintures murales en Hongrie à la fin du Moyen Age (v. 1300–v. 1475). La transmission des traditions iconographiques et les formes originales de leur appropriation locale sur deux thèmes majeurs: la Mère de Dieu et le Jugement dernier’, 4 vols, dissertation, University of Paris X-Nanterre, 2004, here vol. 1, pp. 153–212. 22   PT, Rosarium II, 144 c; Pásztor, A magyarság, p. 13.

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knowledge of the doctrines of faith by reading liturgical hours or piety literature, but that would not increase their chances of salvation at all.23 Without doubt Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó thus expressed a certain realism in a society where access to the written word was restricted to a narrow circle of clerics and royal or seigneurial administrators. Their views seemed to be shared by the higher clergy as the synodal statutes of this period did not demand more from the faithful, and it is unlikely that the majority of the faithful would have had the intellectual or scholarly resources to explore their faith much further anyway.24 In fact secular and regular clergy alike seemed to have doubts about the consequences of making theological knowledge available to the laity. For example, it needs to be remembered that during this period reformers belonging to the order of the Hermits of St. Paul reserved the experience of devotio moderna only for the members of their order, forbidding the laity to have access to works of spirituality.25 In 1533 the Franciscan tertiary sisters received the same prohibition from the leaders of the Franciscan order. In spite of the lack of sources, the lists of books they read – when they read any – suggest that this prohibition was effective.26 In a country which was not spared from the Hussite crisis, the clergy was concerned to limit the access of the laity to theological knowledge also through fear of heresy. Dealing with theological questions was the prerequisite of the educated clerics. On this point, their precautionary advice seems to have been largely irrelevant, owing to the absence of a real lay spiritual elite in Hungary, at least until the very end of the fifteenth century.27 The wills of the Hungarian laity certainly mention some Bibles, but name very few spiritual works – such as lives of saints and devotional guides – until the emergence of Lutheranism and the large diffusion of printing from the 1520s.28 While trying to limit the laity’s engagement with theological issues, the two preachers insisted on the fact that believers had to abandon any 23

  The will to expand religious knowledge was a sign of election for Pelbart of Temesvár, but was not indispensable for obtaining salvation: PT, Sanctis I, 92 FG. 24   See the statutes of the synod of Veszprém, held in 1515. Solymosi, ‘Vallásos’, p. 116. 25   Elemér Mályusz, Egyházi társadalom a középkori Magyarországon [Ecclesiastical Society in Medieval Hungary] (Budapest, 1971), p. 273, p. 304. 26   De Cevins, Les franciscains, p. 396. 27   László Mezey, ‘A Devotio Moderna a dunai országokban’ [The Devotio Moderna in the Danubian Countries], Egyetemi Könyvtár Évkönyve (1970), 223–37; in German: ‘Die “Devotio moderna” der Donauländer: Böhmen, Österreich und Ungarn’, Acta Literaria Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 12 (1970), 37–51. 28   See the testaments of Bratislava and Sopron (passim).

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form of superstition.29 They emphasized the absurdity of traditional beliefs. By frequently reiterating in their sermons what was forbidden, the two preachers indirectly provide evidence of existing beliefs. The numerous details supplied by Osvald of Laskó on their beliefs, in particular the signs which were supposed to bring misfortune (such as the song of the rooster, a rabbit crossing in front of somebody, a crow landing and settling, a tooth falling out) reveal to them alone the diffusion and variety of popular superstition in Hungary at the end of the Middle Ages.30 Interestingly enough, the concerns of the higher clergy seem to be different. For example, the synodal statutes of the same period only touch on such popular beliefs indirectly, from the perspective of witchcraft. That does not suffice, of course, in proving that the majority of believers had lost all attachment to popular beliefs: they would remain in Hungary as in the West, especially in the countryside, right up to the middle of the nineteenth century. Religious Practices Basic Practices In the matter of religious practices, the concerns of the regular and secular clergy seem to coincide. Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó recalled, in terms very similar to the synodal prescriptions, what were the compulsory practices of the believers. The faithful were supposed firstly to observe holy Sundays and feast days by not working on those days and by making their way to church in order to hear the celebration of Mass. Lapses in attendance of the liturgy were tolerated only in exceptional circumstances such as illness, family bereavement and the marriage of a daughter, in conformity with Hungarian customs (consuetudo patriae). Absence from church had to be compensated, if the case arose, by almsgiving and prayer.31 With regard to those who did attend Mass, the two Franciscans underlined the necessity of being receptive and attentive throughout the duration of the service.32 They emphasized moreover the necessity of preparing for Easter communion

29

  R. Horváth, Laskai Ozsvát, p. 63.   Ibid. 31   Osvald of Laskó (hereafter, OL), Quad. 14; PT, Temp. III, 1 E-F; Pásztor, A magyarság, p. 66. 32   PT, Temp. III, 50 L; OL, Sermones Quadragesimales Quadragesimale 14 et Sermones dominicales (hereafter, Dom.), 79, 6 b; Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 66–7. 30

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in an appropriate manner, especially through confession.33 With this reasoning, the important issue then was not the number of Masses heard, or their frequency, but instead the interior state of the faithful when they went to church. Believers also had to pay the tithe, since it was justifiable to pay clerics for the indispensable services they provided for the community of believers.34 The synodal statutes from the beginning of the sixteenth century seem to indicate that the majority of Christians respected their Sunday obligations; these texts were no longer confined, as in the early periods of Hungarian Christianity, to enjoin believers to go to church every Sunday and to pay the tithe, but were applied henceforth to more specific issues such as the clothing of believers, especially female; the calendar of liturgical feasts; and gestures to adopt at the moment of receiving the Eucharist.35 They were equally very precise on the practice of confession which the believer had to carry out before receiving communion.36 The sources on this practice allow one to believe, however, contrary to the spirit of the recommendations formulated by Pelbart of Temesvár and by Osvald of Laskó, that the majority of Hungarian Christians had not totally renounced the formalistic morality of the central Middle Ages. Proof for this point of view can be provided by the sudden multiplication of numerous Mass foundations at the turn of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, which are testimony to cumulative logic rather than a mass internalization of faith, even if one could also express interior faith by outward means.37 According to the two Hungarian preachers, believers could not content themselves with cultic obligations. They said that it was as important for them to practise evangelical virtues, on the first rank of which were love, humility and chastity, considered to be an ideal which was supreme for men as well as women.38 Evaluating the impact of these recommendations on the daily life of Hungarians is impossible due to the lack of relevant sources: no lay literature, such as moral treatises, has 33

  PT, Sanctis I, 64 E-F; PT, Temp. 57 K; Ludovicus Katona (ed.), Specimina et elenchus exemplorum quae in Pomerio serm. Quadragesimalium et de tempore fr. Pelbarti de Temesvár occurrunt (Budapest, 1902), p. 43. He is closer in this case to the French sermons of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries: Michel Zink, La prédication en langue romane avant 1300 (Paris, 1976), pp. 445–8; Nicole Bériou, La prédication de Ranulphe de la Houblonnière. Sermons aux clercs et aux simples gens à Paris au XIIIe siècle (Paris, 1987), vol. 1, pp. 134–7. 34   Sándor Kovács (ed.), Temesvári Pelbárt válogatott irásai (Budapest, 1982), p. 13, p.16. 35   Solymosi, ‘Vallásos’, pp. 118–19. 36   Ibid. 37   Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 75–93. 38   One cannot cite here all the sermons of Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó concerning the practice of virtues.

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survived before the sixteenth century. For the same reason, the question of private devotion provides similar difficulties of analysis. Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó limited the compulsory prayers which every Christian was expected to make every week, such as several Pater Noster, Ave Maria and Credo, if possible in church but not during Mass.39 If the two Franciscans then did not encourage extempore and spontaneous prayer, they nonetheless insisted on the interior state of the believer at the moment of prayer, a state which had to be characterized by conviction and emotion, if possible to the point of tears.40 They endeavoured in this way to remedy the mechanical and routine recitation of set prayers with a result that cannot possibly be measured. Some clues may be offered by the practices of confraternities placed under the guidance of the friars. One should note that even the lay confraternities scarcely encouraged private, intimate and spontaneous devotion; according to the statutes of confraternities which have been preserved for this period, the emphasis was placed on public celebrations, not on ‘spiritual exercises’.41 The Cult of Relics and Pilgrimages If they stressed the importance of the saints as intercessors and even more as models for the Christian life, Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó opposed the view that prayers should be made to one saint in a specific context; they even qualified these prayers as being superstitious.42 Despite these warnings, in Hungary as everywhere else, popular belief considered each saint to be efficacious for certain specific problems: for example, St Sebastian and St Rochus for the plague, St Job for the morbus gallicus, St Gratian against thieves, St Sophia for torments and oppression. This tendency would persist well beyond the sixteenth century, as can be seen in missals which contain lists of votive masses.43 In the same way, the two Franciscans asserted that pilgrimages (and the cult of relics with which they were associated) were only beneficial to salvation if the true intention of the pilgrim was directed towards getting closer to God.44 In practice, the act of pilgrimage was not always motivated by a real pious intention; in fact far from it. One extreme 39

  PT, Sanctis II, 103 B.   OL, Dom., 83 O; Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 17–19. 41   Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 22–39; de Cevins, ‘Les confréries hongroises au Moyen Age. L’exemple de la confrérie “Mère de Miséricorde” de Bardejov (1483–1525)’, Le Moyen Age, 105 (2000), fasc. 2, 347–68; fasc. 3, 495–511. 42   PT, Sanctis II, 82 F. 43   Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 73–4. 44   PT, Temp., Pars Paschalis 7, Pars Aestiva 61 N. 40

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example is provided by judicial pilgrimages, enforced upon murderers by certain urban tribunals (and more seldom by royal or seigneurial tribunals) towards the end of the Middle Ages. These were often completed by a third person who was duly paid for undertaking the prescribed journey.45 Even in other cases, the popularity of pilgrimage shrines was sometimes the result of popular belief that ran counter to that propagated by the Church. Instead of addressing God or the saints, people asked for help from the relics themselves. For example, even as late as 1519 a Transylvanian noble invoked the Virgin of Mariazell (and not the Virgin Mary herself) in order to control his horses which had bolted.46 In a general sense, the attitude of believers towards miraculous tombs conveyed a similar transgression, and one that was endorsed by the ecclesiastical authorities themselves, Franciscans included, with the clear concern of preserving the material interests and the spiritual influence of their order. The structure of the extant miracle stories – in particular those of John of Capistrano, who lived precisely in the period being considered – shows very effectively the self-interested dimension of the behaviour of Hungarian (and Italian) believers regarding miracles, with an implicit contract founded on the principle of wanting something in return for a service. According to this outline recently underscored by Stanko Andrić, a woman who was struck by misfortune, and informed of the possibility of receiving miraculous help by calling upon John of Capistrano, implored the saint (still not canonized but who died in the odour of sanctity) by vowing to make a pilgrimage to his tomb. After doing so, she was miraculously freed from her ill-fortune.47 For the two Hungarian preachers, the effectiveness of indulgences was subject to the same requirement of intention. In any case, as they asserted unambiguously, the practice of indulgences in itself did not guarantee a reduction of time spent in purgatory by its beneficiaries.48 Existing evidence suggests that popular practice did not resonate with the beliefs that the two preachers were attempting to inculcate as indulgences experienced considerable success in Hungary until 1520. 45   Pásztor, A magyarság, p. 114; Arnold Ipolyi, ‘Beszterczebánya városa műveltségtörténeti vázlata’ [Excerpts from the Cultural Life of Beszterczebánya], Századok (1874), 622–3; Enikő Csukovits, ‘Cum capsa … cum bacillo. Középkori magyar zarándokok’ [Cum capsa … cum bacillo. Hungarian pilgrims in the Middle Ages], Aetas, 1 (1994), 10; Pál Krizkó, A körmöcbányai római katolikus egyházközség története [The History of the Catholic Community of Körmöcbánya] (Budapest, n.d.), vol. 1, pp. 25–6; László Fejérpataky (ed.), Magyarországi városok régi számadáskönyvei [Old Tax Registers of Hungarian Towns] (Budapest, 1885), p. 85. 46   Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 97–8. 47   Andrić, The Miracles, chapters 6 and 7, pp. 193–298. 48   Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 111–12.

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According to urban and rural sources, the bestowal of indulgences on visitors or benefactors of whatever sanctuary contributed greatly to the frequency with which they were visited, as well as to their prosperity.49 It is undoubtedly true that believers, with their beliefs in this practice confirmed by the majority of the clergy, saw in indulgences a genuine hope of alleviating their suffering in purgatory. Penance and Mortification As far as additional practices were concerned, the two preachers showed themselves to be quite suspicious. They were on their guard about physical mortification, which could easily be overused, an excess prompted by the devil.50 It was perhaps due to these possible abuses that the two Hungarian preachers did not encourage believers to join confraternities, Beguine convents or Tertiaries (even Franciscan) without, however, condemning them explicitly for so doing. In a period during which the Flagellant movement took on a certain short-lived vigour in Hungary, and when the number of confraternities enjoyed a spectacular growth, the discrepancy between the views of the two preachers and the reality of the religious practices of the times is clear.51 This should not, however, be overestimated. Like the French preachers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó certainly preferred the practice of almsgiving to that of individual mortification.52 Naturally, the gestures did not suffice in that context either, since it was necessary to give alms with the sincere intention of relieving the suffering of others.53 If the intention of pious donors remains unknown to us (apart from some of the stereotyped preliminaries already mentioned at the beginning of this chapter), one does know that lay donations to the poor and to ecclesiastical establishments continued to flood in towards the last decades of the Middle Ages in Hungary.54 49   István Szabó, A középkori magyar falu [The Hungarian Medieval Village] (Budapest, 1969), p. 206. 50   PT, Sanctis II, 17 D; Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 19–21. 51   Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 22–39; De Cevins, ‘Les confréries de Bratislava au bas Moyen Age d’après les sources testamentaires’, Confraternitas, 9/2 (1998), 3–22. 52   Like the French (non-mendicant) preachers of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries: Zink, La prédication, pp. 443–5; Bériou, La prédication, vol. 1, pp. 137–8. 53   PT, Temp. II, 21 R, 62 Z; Katona (ed.), Specimina, pp. 14, 44; Kovács (ed.), Temesvári, p. 12; Pásztor, A magyarság, pp. 63–5. 54   Pásztor, A magyarság. Examples from Sopron (up to 1524): Katalin Szende, ‘A soproni későközépkori végrendeletek egyház- és tárgytörténeti tanulságai’ [Late Medieval Testaments from Sopron and their Importance for Ecclesiastical History and the History of Material Culture], Soproni Szemle, 3 (1990), 268–73, especially 268–9.

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Admittedly, this corresponded to an exchange rather than a gift in the true sense of the word, in the case of gifts associated with the celebration of donors’ funerals, of Mass foundations (exceptional or perpetual) or even still of work on ecclesiastical buildings.55 In short, the two Franciscan preachers did not criticize the common religious behaviour of the faithful but only recommended that they act with more conviction and less routine or self-interest. The Christian in the Church and in the World A Traditional Ecclesiology? The question of the role of the laity at the heart of the Church cannot possibly be neglected. In accordance with official teaching since early Christian times, the two Hungarian preachers presented the structure of the Church with the clergy forming one part, which represented the head, and with the laity as the other part, which represented the members; the former then supervised the latter.56 The faithful had consequently to show respect and obedience to the members of the clergy, who were superior to them in terms of dignity as a result of their priestly office. Even if these clerics committed serious sins in their daily lives, the laity had to consider them, in spite of everything, as the indispensable assistants of their salvation.57 In the eyes of God, however, added the two Franciscans, a good layperson was worth more than a bad cleric who did not even respect the basic obligations of his station.58 The two preachers should be seen thus in a pivotal position between traditional ecclesiology and a latent or vocal anticlericalism from a growing proportion of believers right at the end of the Middle Ages. Indeed it can be observed that the accusations made against clerics multiplied in Hungary during this period. Since the thirteenth century, these accusations had been made against the rural lower clergy relatively 55   This was in conformity with the tendency observed in the West in the same period. Jacques Chiffoleau, La comptabilité de l’au-delà. Les hommes, la mort et la religion dans la région d’Avignon à la fin du Moyen Age (Rome, 1980). 56   Ecclesia est corpus misticum Christi simile corpori naturali secundum apostolorum. OL, Dom., IV, 227 a; Lajos Pásztor, ‘Temesvári Pelbárt és Laskai Ozsvát az egyházi és világi pályáról’, Regnum (1937), 145, note 16. The theme is obviously in no way original. French examples starting from the twelfth century may be found in Zink, La prédication, pp. 400– 401; Bériou, La prédication, pp. 134, 141, 144. 57   PT, Sanctis I, 55 L. 58   Sic quidam in inferiori ordine vel etiam saeculari statu meliores sunt bene vivendo, quam qui sunt in superiore ordine minus bene viventes. PT, Rosarium II, 179 b.

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frequently, not always without foundation, and even by the admission of the ecclesiastical authorities; this is shown by the ecclesiastical legislation in Hungary, in which bishops and legates continually lament the ignorance and immorality of the parish priests. From the 1520s, perhaps influenced by Lutheran ideas, overt criticism grew in towns, especially Sopron.59 One should not consider this attitude to be the norm for all believers; the donations, as mentioned before, continued to flood into rural and urban ecclesiastical establishments until the end of the 1520s, at least in the form of anniversary funds or of perpetual lights.60 Social Hierarchy and Spiritual Hierarchy Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó did not establish any conformity between social and spiritual hierarchy. For them, earthly nobility founded on blood ties did not have any relation to spiritual nobility, which was the only legitimate factor in the eyes of God: it was better to be born rustic and to practise Christian virtues than to be of noble descent and to live in sin.61 The Franciscan preachers expressed in this way a new terrestrial hierarchy, founded on merit and not birth. As far as the conservation of the homiletic sources reveal, no other Hungarian clerics said this so explicitly before them. Nevertheless, it would be excessive to attribute a revolutionary characteristic to their writings, and in particular an explicit calling into question of economic and seigneurial domination. However, their sermons criticized time and time again the contempt expressed by the powerful towards the lowly in the society which surrounded them.62 They were also indignant about the abuses committed by certain noblemen towards their tenants.63 This was interpreted by some historians during the socialist era to mean that Hungarian mendicant 59

  Házi, Sopron középkori, p. 48.   See for example the testaments of Bratislava (Municipal Archives of Bratislava, Protocollum Testamentorum, 1409/1422–1529), recently explored by Judit Majorossy: ‘Church in Town: Urban Religious Life in Late Medieval Hungary’, PhD dissertation, Central European University, Budapest, 2005. 61   Nobilitas sanguis est inane nomen, quare secundum eumdem nobilitates carnis est quandam laus de meritis parentum proveniens. PT, Sanctis II, 15 CD. This idea surfaces on several occasions in the sermons of the two Franciscans: OL, Sanctis, 32; Pásztor, ‘Temesvári’, pp. 152–3; Tivadar Vida, ‘Temesvári Pelbárt kapcsolata kora társadalmával’, Vigilia (1976), 673. 62   [potentes] qui rusticos etiam bonos reputant quasi bruta. OL, Sanctis, 32; Pásztor, ‘Temesvári’, p. 153. 63   The moderni principes et nobiles ac barones et rectores are notably accused of extortion of the poorest, of superfluous taxation and of acquiring church goods. PT, Sanctis II, 15 F; Vida, ‘Temesvári’, p. 674. 60

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friars, by developing a revolutionary ideology, might have played a major role in the peasants’ war in 1514.64 This point of view needs to be qualified. Pelbart of Temesvár emphasized, for example, the necessity of giving a percentage of revenue drawn from taxes or tithes to those who, be they laity or clerics, exerted collective responsibilities because they worked for the common good. He also wrote that social promotion had to correspond to real abilities, and that no violence was justifiable.65 Professional and Familial Morality Moreover, the two Hungarian Franciscans asserted that wealth and salvation were not incompatible. The important factor, according to them, was to use whatever means that would lead to a meritorious goal.66 It is not possible to find in their sermons unconditional praise of poverty, especially when it was not voluntary. This discourse could only comfort, in its principal points, the opinions of the wealthy fringe of believers, both rural nobles and urban patricians. It opposed, however, the uses that the richest made of the bulk of their money: the construction of sumptuous residences or the purchase of luxury goods such as furniture, china, jewellery or silk, confirmed by written and archaeological evidence from Hungary, was obviously in contradiction to the evangelical precepts of charity and humility.67 The primacy of the intention behind the action was also applied to professional activities in the sermons studied. According to Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó, all occupations were considered to have a priori equal value on the spiritual level, that is to say these jobs were a justifiable means of sanctification. However, certain activities necessitated particular precautions. Thus, war had to be waged for a just cause, the most justifiable war being the defence of one’s country against the infidel.68 In the context of the growing Turkish threat, this call for a crusade against the Turks came up against almost complete indifference. 64

  See the references given in footnote 7.   Kovács (ed.), Temesvári, p. 15. 66   This theme appears in numerous sermons. See particularly PT, Sanctis II, 55 F; Kovács (ed.), Temesvári, pp. 7–10, 17–18, 19–20, 21, 23, 99–100; László Zolnay, Fény és árnyék a középkori Magyarországon [Brightness and Shadows in Medieval Hungary] (Budapest, 1983), pp. 230–32. 67   See for example the accounts of the primate of Hungary at the end of the fifteenth century: Erik Fügedi, ‘Az esztergomi érsekség gazdálkodása a XV. század végén’ [The Economic Activity of the Archbishopric of Esztergom at the End of the 15th Century], Századok, 94 (1960): pp. 82–124 and 505–55. See also Erik Fügedi, ‘Hungarian Bishops in the Fifteenth Century. Some Statistical Observations’, Acta Historica, (1965), 89–113. 68   PT, Temp., Pars aestivalis, 20; OL, Sanctis, 88. 65

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It is known that numerous Hungarians among the ruling elite as well as the mass of the population living far away from the southern boundary of the Hungarian kingdom did not seem to be aware of the reality of the Turkish threat before the military disaster at Mohács.69 Another suspect activity in the opinion of the two preachers was usury. It was not strictly condemned by the two Franciscans but, according to them, it had to be practiced honestly, without being motivated only by cupiditas.70 It would have been difficult for the authors of the sermons to voice their criticism further in a society which amply resorted to credit, like anywhere in Christendom, in all the social categories including ecclesiastical establishments. The two preachers finally endeavoured to moralize about married life. Several times they recalled in their sermons the value of the sacrament of marriage;71 they especially emphasized the necessity of preparing for marriage religiously.72 Future spouses, wrote the preachers, had to be fully aware of the triple purpose of Christian marriage: procreation, mutual help and the regulation of sexuality.73 They recalled in particular the canonical prohibitions relating to the matter of consanguinity, which harmed procreation. Their concerns do not seem to have been fully shared by the ecclesiastical hierarchy. For example the Hungarian synodal statutes only explicitly demanded a publication of marriage banns from 1515.74 With this logic, one would scarcely be astonished to see that Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó both severely condemned adultery.75 To what extent were believers convinced of these purposes? It is obviously difficult to know the answer. It seems in any case that the practice of regulating births was frequent among certain social sectors towards the end of the Middle Ages, in particular the nobility on the one hand and the urban bourgeoisie on the other.76 Pelbart of Temesvár 69

  Pál Engel, The Realm of St Stephen: a History of Medieval Hungary, 895–1526 (London, 2001), pp. 345–71. 70   PT, Sanctis I, 72 F; OL, Sanctis I, 106 ; Kovács (ed.), Temesvári, pp. 7, 14, 21–2 ; Pásztor, ‘Temesvári’, pp. 151–2; Pásztor, A magyarság, p. 12. 71   Kovács (ed.), Temesvári, pp. 48–9. 72   Ibid., p. 50. 73   Ibid., pp. 48–51. 74   Solymosi, ‘Vallásos’, p. 118. 75   This theme recurs in many sermons, illustrated by terrifying exempla. 76   Erik Fügedi, ‘A középkori Magyarország történeti demográfiája’ [Historical Demography of Medieval Hungary], Történeti Demográfiai Füzetek, 10 (1992), 1–60; Erik Fügedi, ‘The Demographic Landscape of East-Central Europe’, in Maczak, Samsonowitz and Burke (eds), East-Central Europe in Transition, pp. 47–58, especially pp. 54–5. For the example from Bratislava, see Katalin Szende, ‘Families in Testaments. Some aspects of

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and Osvald of Laskó emphasized that the conjugal union could not be motivated by material interests, echoing popular opinion.77 They recognized, however, the necessity of taking human criteria into account, such as parental consent and agreement concerning the age and social status of each spouse.78 The urban and rural sources illustrate that social criteria prevailed, as everywhere, over emotional or religious motives. The important issue for spouses and their families was to maintain their rank in society, or, if the opportunity arose, to start a process of social promotion via an opportune matrimonial alliance.79 In spite of the limited available evidence presented here, one can thus state that the influence of the Observant Franciscans on the popular piety of Hungarians was important, but not the only one. To believe, as some have done, that a large part of religious behaviour was ‘modelled from the top’ by the discourse of the preachers, according to the words of Hervé Martin, would be excessive for Hungary.80 If it is very likely that the mendicant orders contributed, from the thirteenth century, to the development of a less ritualistic and formalistic faith among the inhabitants of the Hungarian kingdom than the period of ecclesiastical legislation of Saint Etienne or Saints Ladislas (d. 1095) and Coloman (d. 1116), there still remained however a certain discrepancy between the message they transmitted and the reality of their times at the end of the Middle Ages. In short, it has been possible to observe that the sermons of Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó more or less openly criticized many of the specific forms of ‘flamboyant religion’. Curative pilgrimages, pious foundations, the admission to confraternities, mortification and the collection of indulgences, without being systematically condemned, were all at least submitted to the obligation of a pious foundation. Conversely, common characteristics between the points of view expressed by the Observant preachers and the beliefs or practices of believers may also be identified, such as the central place of charity as embodied by almsgiving, or Marian devotion, although it sometimes eclipsed Christocentric devotion among believers. If there was an emergent tendency towards an internalization of faith from the beginning of the sixteenth century, however, it was in this region apparently restricted to a narrow circle of believers – namely those who had access to spiritual literature. demography and inheritance customs in a Late Medieval Hungarian town’, Medium Aevum Quotidianum 35/Otium 3/1–2 (1996), 113. 77   Kovács (ed.), Temesvári, p. 51. 78   Ibid., p. 50. 79   Example from Bratislava: Szende, ‘Families’, pp. 110–11. 80   Hervé Martin, Le métier de prédicateur en France septentrionale à la fin du Moyen Age. 1350–1520 (Paris, 1987), p. 10.

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How can one interpret these differences? Quite evidently, it was not the result of a competition which was occurring between the secular clergy and the mendicant preachers concerning pastoral activity. The sermons of Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó were explicitly destined for parish priests and, before that, at least from the fourteenth century onwards, they used the theological works authored by members of the mendicant orders from abroad, like James of Voragine or Nicholas of Lyra.81 The gap observed between the discourse of Observant preachers and popular piety is quite similar to that discerned in other peripheral regions of medieval Christendom, like Poland, Lithuania, Prussia and the Scandinavian region.82 It shows firstly the persistence of archaic religious beliefs and practices whose roots go back to a period prior to Christianization, and secondly the ‘immaturity’ of the Christian faith in these regions of ‘new Christendom’.83 These clerical complaints are closer to those expressed in the high medieval council statutes (such as in the Merovingian kingdom) than those found in the north-western European synodal statutes of the fifteenth century. However, reasons for this discrepancy may also be found in the order itself: its position in Hungarian society at the end of the Middle Ages, its own internal dissensions and its dramatic fate at the beginning of the sixteenth century. As Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó belonged to the highest intellectual circle of the Observant Franciscans, they were in no way representative of the whole order in Hungary. They were, so to speak, ahead of their time. Admittedly, most of the Franciscan preachers of the same generation, when speaking to the faithful or confessing them, confined themselves to a ritual religion, mostly made of bona opera, which was not very different from that of the Hungarian contemporary parish priests.84 Moreover, the rivalry between the ‘conventual’ Franciscans (that is unreformed, though they adopted new reformed constitutiones 81

  Mályusz, Egyházi társadalom pp. 316–20.   See particularly L’Eglise et le peuple chrétien dans les pays de l’Europe du Centre-Est and Jerzy Kłoczowski (ed.), Christianity in East Central Europe. Late Middle Ages, Actes du Congrès de la Commission Internationale d’Histoire Ecclésiastique Comparée (Lublin, 2–6 September 1996) (2 vols, Lublin, 1999). 83   Jerzy Kłoczowski, ‘Le développement de la civilisation en Europe centrale et orientale aux XIVe et XVe siècles’, Quaestiones Medii Aevi, 1 (1977), 111–38 ; Jenő Szűcs, Les Trois Europes (Paris, 1985). 84   The leaders of the Hungarian Observant province were still conservative at the beginning of the sixteenth century. According to several documents – especially a manuscript formulary written between 1510 and 1525 – the leaders of the Franciscan province still firmly opposed an aggionarmento of their spirituality, though it was requested by the new generation of brothers and supported by the Italian delegates of the Cismontan Observant ‘family’. De Cevins, Les Franciscains, pp. 277–366. 82

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in 1454) and the so-called ‘observant’ brothers caused violent conflicts between both kinds of Franciscans in the last decade of the fifteenth century. Many burghers, satisfied by the conventual convents of their city, chose their side against the Observants. These conflicts started to bring them into disrepute among the urban laity. Besides the primate of Hungary and the papal legates, the king and the nobility were their only support in the country. Then the participation of several Observant friars in the great peasant war of 1514 brought discredit upon the Observance among the Hungarian nobility and aristocracy as well as in the higher clergy.85 Combined with the propagation of Lutheranism and the Ottoman occupation after the 1520s, these events may explain why the rich collection of sermons of Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó remained almost unknown in Hungary – except in the very few surviving Franciscan convents – until the Counter-Reformation. At the time of their production, the piety they expressed was more programmatic than actual.

85

  Ibid., pp. 296–300.

Chapter 3

The Third Path: Charity and Devotion in Late Medieval Transylvanian Towns Carmen Florea In the year 1520 a wealthy woman named Dorothy, widow of Martin Cruez from Braşov (Kronstadt, Brassó), issued her last will. In its clauses Dorothy lavishly endowed the Dominican friary at Sighişoara (Schässburg, Segesvár), including sufficient funds to found a chapel.1 Her instructions stated that the chapel was to be dedicated to no fewer than five holy figures: the Virgin Mary, St Francis, St Dominic, St Rupert and St Ulrich. Dorothy’s will also contained the precise obligations the friars would have to fulfil in exchange for this important bequest: for 20 years a Mass should be performed weekly for the salvation of her parents, her husband and herself.2 Yet this is more than just another typical, if particularly generous example of a lay bequest to the Church in this period. As well as offering an example of less known (at least to a western readership) Transylvanian pious bequests, Dorothy’s legacy is notable for her choice of a mendicant order – in this case the Dominicans – as the object of her posthumous devotion. Yet she was far from alone in this. The Dominican convent at Sighişoara attracted large numbers of donations, indeed more than any other Dominican convent in Transylvania. This reflects not only the pattern across Europe, in which mendicant friars were the great beneficiaries of the testamentary clauses in the last centuries of the Middle Ages, but across the whole 1   Karl Fabritius, ‘Zwei Funde in der ehemaligen Dominikanerkirche zu Schässburg’, Archiv des Vereins für Siebenbürgische Landeskunde, 5/1 (1861), 16–17. 2   The Dominicans from Sighişoara included these obligations in the so-called Liber Ambonis, the book which enumerated the commemorative Masses the friars would have to accomplish for the salvation of their benefactors. Fabritius, ‘Zwei Funde’, published all the donations made to this Dominican convent and the Masses the friars had to perform. The testament of Nicholas Bethlen drafted in 1498 offers the fullest information regarding the role of the friars as intercessors. They would have to pray not only for the salvation of Nicholas Bethlen, but also for that of King Mathias Corvinus. Furthermore, since these prayers would have to be accomplished in perpetuity, this important role ascribed to the friars would have been regularly in evidence.

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of Transylvania too: the testaments and donations produced in this region in the second half of the fifteenth century and the first half of the sixteenth century point to an increased use of the mendicant orders as the preferred vehicles through which salvation could be attained.3 This is demonstrated not only by the valuables left to their convents, but also by the requests that testators be buried in the mendicant churches, sometimes even wearing the mendicant habit, and above all by the great number of commemorative Masses performed by the friars.4 Yet lay affiliation with the mendicant orders was not restricted to death. For those men and women wishing to live a certain type of religious life not inside a convent’s walls but in the world, a third path was available. In the late Middle Ages a member of the laity wishing to embrace a pious way of life could become affiliated with the religious orders of the age, be supervised by mendicant friars or join one of the confraternities functioning in the friaries. This institutional framework provided by the mendicants was directly connected with the friars’ wish to recreate the vita apostolica of the early Church and strongly impacted on the religious aspirations of the laity, as is proven by the rapidly growing number of laypeople who entered into such devotional associations.5 Late medieval piety became increasingly dominated by these forms of associations aiming to adjust the good deeds performed in this life to the requirements of salvation. The confraternities gathered dead and living members alike, being animated by the highest of all Christian virtues: charity. As such, devotional associations of the late Middle Ages not only fostered social cohesion, but also allowed all their members to share in the spiritual benefits accumulated through the regular practice of piety.6 Confraternities represented a universal form of institutionalization in as 3   Mihaela Sanda Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania [Dominican Convents of Transylvania] (Cluj-Napoca, 2002), p. 233; Jacques Le Goff, Nașterea Purgatoriului [The Birth of Purgatory] (Bucharest, 1995), vol. 2, pp. 245–8; Jacques Chiffoleau, La comptabilité de l’au-delà. Les hommes, la mort et la religion dans la région d’Avignon à la fin du Moyen Âge (vers 1320–vers 1480) (Rome, 1981). 4   Mária Makó Lupescu, ‘Item lego … Gifts for the Soul in Late Medieval Transylvania’, Annual of Medieval Studies at CEU, 7 (2001), 161–85. The chapter by Marie-Madeleine de Cevins in this volume points out the increasing importance attached by the laity to commemorative Masses, an importance which tended to dominate their religious life from the end of the fourteenth century. 5   C.H. Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism. Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages (London, 1989), pp. 238–65; John Moorman, A History of the Franciscan Order from the Origins to the Year 1517 (Oxford, 1998), pp. 36–42; William A. Hinnebusch, The History of the Dominican order (2 vols, New York, NY, 1966–1973). 6   Recent work has drawn attention to the impact charity had on late medieval religiosity: Robert Swanson, Religion and Devotion in Europe c. 1215–c. 1515 (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 209–25; Catherine Vincent, Les confréries médiévales dans le royaume de France

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much as the only requirement members had to fulfil was pursuit of the same religious goal. Despite social or political standing, or even parochial affiliations, the members lived a common religious life. As the famous Observant Franciscan preacher Pelbart of Temesvár noted, salvation was something ordinary believers could strive for while they were alive and living in this world.7 The mendicant ideal sought through the living experience of its members to embody humility, poverty and simplicity, all qualities that could be equated with charity. Being themselves bound to live only on what others were willing to give up, the friars stimulated the laity associated with their convents to practise charity. Yet charitable activities were first and foremost valued for the important role they played in the scheme of salvation. Although good works needed to be accomplished in this life, their effect was felt in the next one. As such charity was available to all. Everyone could assist each other by simply praying for the salvation of souls. It is this feature which characterizes the purpose of late medieval confraternities. They assumed a charitable function first and foremost for their members, living and dead alike. By the late Middle Ages, charity became the focal point of ecclesiastical discourse, liturgical practices and forms of religiosity developed by the laity. It also became highly institutionalized, particularly through the involvement of urban authorities, which organized, financed and controlled those spaces of charity, such as hospitals, where the poor, the ill, orphans and other vulnerable people lived. This demonstrated the Christian virtue of charity propagated by the clerics, but also the institutional forms of assistance provided for the needy. The daily exercise of charity, however, is best reflected in the functioning of devotional associations. They provided the institutional framework necessary for the townspeople not only to share in mutual help for each other, but also to devise effective means for poor relief.8 The effort of providing spiritual assistance for the dead and the (Paris, 1994), pp. 85–99; André Vauchez, The Laity in the Middle Ages. Religious Beliefs and Devotional Practices (Notre-Dame, IN, 1993), pp. 61–127. 7   Lajos Pásztor, A magyarság vallásos élete a Jagellók korában [Religious Life of Hungarians in the Times of the Jagellons] (Budapest, 1940), pp. 27–49, highlights this idea when discussing the functioning of parish and mendicant confraternities in late medieval Hungary. As de Cevins argues in her chapter in this volume, the practice of charity was a key recommendation in the sermons of the two famous preachers of late medieval Hungary, Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó. According to de Cevins, charity was a common characteristic feature of the Observant Franciscan ideal religious life and the devotional practices pursued by the laity. 8   Highly inspiring in this respect is the book by John Henderson, Piety and Charity in Late Medieval Florence (Cambridge, 1995), which considers charity as being articulated by the functioning of the confraternities who provided relief for their members and devised ways of furthering this assistance to other needy people not enrolled in this institution.

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brotherly love promoted by the mendicant friars were the points where the religious needs of the laity and the purposes of the friars met. This study will attempt to analyse the complex relationship between mendicants, laity and charity in the late medieval period by looking in detail at three case studies from urban centres in Transylvania: the confraternity of the Dominican convent of Cluj (Kolozsvár, Klausenburg); the fellowships of the journeymen of Braşov; and the confraternity of the Rosary from Bistriţa (Bistitz, Beszterce). Towns have been chosen because, aside from the availability of sources, they were the places par excellence where a dynamic social life and the existing ecclesiastical infrastructure enabled these charitable lay–mendicant associations to emerge and exist. Furthermore, the religious experiences of the late medieval Transylvanian laity have received little scholarly attention so far. The monographs of the inter-war period dedicated to the Dominican and Franciscan orders in Hungary have until recently been the only available works on this subject.9 Of these, only one manages to decipher the religious life of the laity as it was influenced by the secular and the regular clergy.10 From this point of view, the most important research is related to the modalities within which the Church integrated the religious experiences of the laity in the medieval kingdom of Hungary, as compared to the similar developments taking place in western Europe.11 The Transylvanian laity was finally given a voice through recent studies assessing the importance played by the Eucharistic devotion in their daily lives,12 the various forms of veneration of the Virgin Mary and the 9

  János Karácsonyi, Szt. Ferenc rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig [The History of the Franciscan Order in Hungary until 1711] (2 vols, Budapest, 1923–1924); András Harsányi, A Domonkosrend Magyarországon a Reformació előtt [The Dominican Order in Hungary before the Reformation] (Debrecen, 1938). There are several recent works which reconstruct the history of the Dominican houses from Transylvania: see Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, or the dictionaries dedicated to the religious orders from this region, such as Adrian Andrei Rusu, Nicolae Sabău, Ileana Burnichioiu, Ioan Vasile Leb and Mária Makó Lupescu, Dicţionarul mănăstirilor din Transilvania, Banat, Crişana şi Maramureş [The Dictionary of the Monasteries of Transylvania, Banat, Crişana and Maramureş] (Cluj-Napoca, 2000); and Beatrix Romhányi, Kolostorok és társaskáptalanok a középkori Magyarországon [Monasteries and Chapters in Medieval Hungary] (Budapest, 2000). The functioning of the Observant branch of the Franciscans in the kingdom has been discussed by de Cevins, Les franciscains observants de l’expansion à la débâcle (v. 1450–v. 1540) (Rome, 2008). 10   Pásztor, A magyarság vallásos élete a Jagellók korában, pp. 27–85. 11   Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, ‘L’Église dans les villes hongroises aux XIV et XV siècles’, dissertation, University of Paris-Sorbonne, 1995. 12   Maria Crăciun, ‘Eucharistic Devotion in the iconography of Transylvanian Polyptych Altarpieces’, in José Paiva (ed.), Religious Ceremonials and Images. Power and Social Meaning (1400–1750) (Lisbon, 2002), pp. 191–230.

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saints,13 and by several attempts to understand their religious choices from the point of view of their relationship with the Church.14 A recently published monograph dedicated to the confraternities of late medieval Transylvania scrutinizes the functioning of these forms of association from the point of view of their organization, their institutional relations with the parish church or religious orders, and their membership.15 While taking such existing work into account, this chapter will try not only to nuance it, but also to propose new interpretations. The poor scope and quality of the Transylvanian source material means that it is very difficult to observe in close detail the evolution of a certain type of devotion promoted by a confraternity or stimulated by the clerics, secular or regular. However, this lack can be supplemented by developing an understanding of the social context to which the laity involved in religious life belonged. The three cases to be discussed in this chapter, involving the lay devotional associations in Cluj, Braşov and Bistriţa, all permit creation and analysis of such social contexts. What emerges is a picture of a laity who, particularly when they found themselves somehow on the margins of their local society, regarded the mendicants – and in these three cases, the Dominicans – as able to offer more than the local parish church by way of devotional comfort, solidarity and the exercise of charity that was at the very heart of the late medieval economy of salvation.

13   Ciprian Firea, ‘Pietà Cibiniensis’, in Artă românească. Artă europeană. Centenar Virgil Vătășianu [Romanian Art. European Art. The Virgil Vătăşianu Centennary] (Oradea, 2002), pp. 69–75; Maria Crăciun, ‘Narativ și iconic. Rolul educativ și devoţional al iconografiei referitoare la sfinţi în altarele poliptice din sudul Transilvaniei’ [Narrative and Iconic. The Educational and Devotional Role of the Iconography of the Saints in Southern Transylvanian Polyptychs], in Nicolae Bocșan, Ovidiu Ghitta and Doru Radosav (eds), Tentaţia Istoriei. In memoria profesorului Pompiliu Teodor [The Temptation of History. In Memory of Professor Pompiliu Teodor] (Cluj-Napoca, 2003), pp. 37–82; Maria Crăciun, ‘Moartea cea bună. intercesori și protectori în pragul marii treceri. Între discursul clerical și pietatea populară’ [The Good Death: Intercessors and Protectors on the Threshold to the Beyond. Between the Discourse of the Clergy and Popular Piety], in Mihaela Grancea and Ana Dumitran (eds), Discursuri despre moarte în Transilvania secolelor XVI–XX [Discourses on Death in Transylvania Sixteenth to Twentieth Centuries] (Cluj-Napoca, 2006), pp. 226–70. 14   Makó Lupescu, ‘Item lego’, and Mária Makó Lupescu, ‘Death and Remembrance in Late Medieval Sighişoara (Schässburg, Segesvár)’, Caiete de antropologie istorică, 1–2 (2004), 93–106. 15   Lidia Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania (secolele XIV–XVI) [Medieval Confraternities in Transylvania (Fourteenth to Sixteenth Centuries)] (Cluj-Napoca, 2004).

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The Mendicant Orders in Transylvania The presence of the Dominicans and Franciscans in Transylvania can be attested from the second half of the thirteenth century. It is beyond any doubt that their convents at Alba Iulia (Gyulafehérvár, Weissenburg), Bistriţa, Cluj, Sibiu (Hermannstadt, Nagyszeben) and Sighişoara16 accurately reflected the pattern according to which the friars settled in the medieval kingdom of Hungary, preferring initially localities with strong urban features.17 On the other hand, one must immediately add that while the Dominicans founded just two more male convents during the fourteenth century and only one at the very end of the fifteenth century, the Franciscans distinguished themselves by founding the majority of their convents during the fifteenth century. The explanation at hand for this situation is the success enjoyed within this region by the Observant movement, whose noteworthy propagators such as John of Capistrano and Jacob of Marches visited Transylvania in the midfifteenth century.18 By the end of the Middle Ages no less than five towns, Alba Iulia, Bistriţa, Braşov, Sibiu and Cluj, benefited from the presence of both Dominicans and Franciscans. This proportion coincides with that detected in the entire kingdom and it is likely that it responded to need. The Transylvanian towns of this period underwent spectacular development, suggested by population growth, differentiation at the level of society and economic prosperity. This was precisely the case in four out of the five towns where both mendicant orders settled, namely Sibiu, Cluj, Braşov and Bistriţa. It is only in Cluj where from the second half of the fifteenth century the structure of the urban populations, both German and Hungarian, was reflected in the government of the town and in the creation of a separate parish church for the latter group; the other three towns remained largely inhabited by a German population until late in modern times. This ethnic homogeneity might explain the existence of a single parish church in most of the Transylvanian towns and the spectacular success enjoyed by the mendicants in this region. The great number of their convents served a better integration of the laity to religious life, since a single parish church would have been unable to accommodate several thousand believers. Even if we refer only to the 16

  The Dominicans are attested in Alba Iulia (1289), Sighişoara (1298), Cluj and Sibiu (thirteenth century), Vinţu de Jos (1300), Bistriţa (1309), Sebeş (1322), Braşov (1323) and Odorheiul Secuiesc (1496/1497). See Rusu et al., Dicţionarul. 17   Erik Fügedi, ‘La formation des villes et les ordres mendiantes Hongrie’, Annales E.S.C., 25 (1970), 966–87. 18  Karácsonyi, Szt. Ferenc rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig, pp. 335–8 and Stanko Andrić, The Miracles of St. John Capistran (Budapest, 2000), pp. 11–27.

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smallest of these towns, Bistriţa, the population has been estimated at around 3,000–4,000 by the end of the Middle Ages.19 Although the mendicants settled themselves in this region very soon after the official approval of their respective orders, their initial establishments tended to be male convents. A significant delay is noticeable in what concerns the female branches of both Franciscan and Dominican orders. Interestingly enough, whether we speak of Dominican nunneries or the houses of Poor Clares, all the female establishments belonging to these orders can be dated with a high degree of certainty to several decades after the foundations of their male counterparts. The most striking example in this respect is that from Sibiu, where the Dominican friary of the Holy Cross was founded in the first half of the thirteenth century, while the Dominican nunnery of Mary Magdalene is attested only in 1502.20 Due to the greater number of female Franciscan houses, the Friars Minor were able to surpass the number of foundations of the Friars Preachers.21 Despite this tardiness in the spread of the female houses it must be observed that all four of the largest Transylvanian towns had in the first half of the sixteenth century two Dominican convents (a male and a female one) and at least two Franciscan establishments (a male convent, a female one and/or a beguinage). This latter form of religious institution makes the population of Franciscan foundations outnumber that of the Dominican ones. Even the small places where the Observant friars settled themselves were provided with a house for the beguines, something rather unusual for the Dominicans who can count just one such case (Sighişoara) out of the three places where they were the only mendicant friars.22 If one compares the spread of the female branches of the mendicant orders in Transylvania then the following picture emerges: Bistriţa, Braşov, Cluj, Sibiu and Sighişoara all had Dominican nunneries, 19

  De Cevins, L’Église, vol. 1, pp. 213–35. A detailed discussion of the key role played by the parish church in the religious life of Transylvanian Saxon towns can be found in Maria Crăciun’s contribution to this volume. 20   Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, pp. 224–5. 21   Dominican nunneries are attested in Bistriţa (1476), Braşov (1502), Cluj (1450), Sibiu (1502) and Sighişoara (from the end of the fifteenth century). Poor Clare nunneries were founded in Braşov (1486), Cluj (1506), Mediaş (1525) and Sibiu at the end of the fifteenth century. Houses of the beguines dependent on the Observant branch of the Franciscans are attested in the majority of cases in the first half of the sixteenth century. The list comprises those from Albeşti (1535), Bistriţa (1531), Braşov (1534), Cluj (1522), Coşeiu (1507), Mediaş (1525), Orăştie (1334), Suseni (1535), Tirgu Mureş (1503) and Teiuş (1520): see Rusu et al., Dicţionarul. 22   The three places are: Sebeş, Vinţu de Jos and Odorheiul Secuiesc (where the presence of the Friars Minor is very poorly attested).

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whereas the Poor Clares can be found only in Braşov, Cluj, Mediaş and Sibiu. One must emphasize that all the Dominican nunneries from Transylvania are attested, with a high degree of certainty, predominantly in those towns where the Observant movement within the Dominican order manifested itself most prominently: in Braşov, Cluj and Bistriţa.23 Although the debates around strict observance of poverty finally led to the division of the Franciscans into two branches (the Conventuals and the Spirituals), a situation the Dominicans were able to avoid, for the medieval kingdom of Hungary the result was quite unexpected. While the number of Clarisse nunneries remained extremely low (six for the entire kingdom), there were 30 houses of beguines.24 Their emergence coincided with the papal policy to entrust the third order to the supervision of the Observants, the main propagator of the Franciscan Observance into central Europe, John of Capistrano, being extremely active in drafting the rule for the tertiaries.25 As far as surviving sources allow us to observe, the beguines/tertiaries from Transylvania led a cloistered life, regulated by severe obedience. They belong to the socalled category of the Third Order Regular, although the development towards that form of institutionalization was not complete by the time the Reformation occurred.26 This period coincides precisely with an increased involvement of the mendicant orders in the religious life of the Transylvanian towns. These were not only the decades when the Dominican and Franciscan nunneries were founded, but also those when devotional groups came to be associated with the friars, either becoming enrolled into the third order or in one of the confraternities supervised by the friars. Evidence of this development is scarce, as most of the documents which might have been produced during the process are now lost. However, it is beyond any doubt that the nunneries, houses of beguines and confraternities 23

  Harsányi, A Domonkosrend Magyarországon a Reformació előtt, pp. 37–94.   Karácsonyi, Szt. Ferenc rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig, vol. 2, p. 540. 25   Particularly important in this regard is the study of Atanasio G. Matanić, ‘Il Defensorium Tertii Ordinis Beati Francisci di San Giovanni da Capestrano’, in Mariano d’Alatri (ed.), Il movimento francescano della penitenza nella società medioevale (Rome, 1980), pp. 82–6. 26   The provincial chapters of the Observant Franciscans adopted several regulations concerning the third order at their meetings from 1533: see Ferenc Kollányi, ‘Magyar ferencrendiek a XVI. század első felében’ [The Hungarian Franciscans in the First Half of the Sixteenth Century], Századok, (1898), 317–27, 405–19, 510–18, 600–620, 716–31, 814–21, 909– 30, here 913–14. It cannot be determined precisely to what extent these regulations reached all the communities of the beguines given the very difficult times following the defeat at Mohács, the abandonment of several Franciscan houses because of the Turkish occupation and the equally significant disturbances created by the spread of the Reformation. 24

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associated with the Dominicans and the Franciscans can be attested after both orders experienced the Observant movement. The available sources allow us to observe in more detail this enthusiasm on the part of the laity to become associated from an institutional point of view with one of the two orders.27 It was the Dominican order which offered an institutional framework for such associations very soon after the Observant mission undertaken in Hungary by Leonardus de Brixenthal and Jacob Richer. The first convents to be reformed as part of this process were those at Cluj and Braşov in the mid-fifteenth century and later on those in Bistriţa. The first mention of different groups associated with the Dominicans occurs very soon after the adoption of the Observance by the convents in these towns. Thus in the year 1460 we learn about a confraternity of the Dominican convent at Cluj; three years later a fellowship of the journeymen was founded in the Dominican convent of Braşov, while the confraternity of the Rosary of Bistriţa dates back to the first decades of the sixteenth century. It has been observed that in medieval Hungary the great majority of devotional associations functioned in the parish church, most of them having their origins in professional groups which assumed religious goals. This seems to be true for medieval Transylvania too, with a significant nuance: the examples proving the functioning of religious associations gathering members of different professions in a mendicant church come predominantly from this region.28 As such, this situation can be explained only by the strong impact the mendicants had on the religious needs of the Transylvanian townspeople. Furthermore, the reasons why these three fellowships came to be associated with the Dominicans could be better understood if their devotional and charitable needs are analysed within the wider ecclesiastical and social context to which they belonged.

27   The laicization of religion, a process strongly impacted on by the reform movements taking place within various religious orders in the late Middle Ages, was considered better able to accommodate the devotional needs and expectations of the laity which increasingly tended to control religious life. A detailed discussion of both the term ‘laicization of religion’ and the reform movements within the Benedictines, the Premonstratensians, the Observant Franciscans and the Augustinians in late medieval Hungary can be found in this volume by Gabriella Erdélyi, ‘Conflict and Cooperation: The Reform of Religious Orders in Early Sixteenth-Century Hungary’, especially pp. 125–7 and pp. 135–43. Concerning interest in the reform movements on the part of the laity, see also the study by Kaspar Elm, ‘Riforme e osservanze nel XIV e XV secolo. Una sinossi’, in Giorgio Chittolini and Kaspar Elm (eds.), Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV, (Bologna, 2001), pp. 489–501. 28   De Cevins, L’Église, pp. 294–9.

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The conflict with the parish clergy is a constant feature of the history of the mendicant orders. Divergences occurred very soon after the friars engaged in the evangelization of the urban population. Their effective preaching attracted the townspeople, who increasingly sought the spiritual care provided by Dominicans and Franciscans. Cura animarum, most particularly performing burials and hearing confessions, brought the friars into open conflict with the parochial clergy.29 For the towns of late medieval Transylvania this kind of conflict is attested from the first half of the fourteenth century, evidence of it continuing to occur until the time of the Reformation. As elsewhere in Latin Christendom, the conflict always centred on the rights of the friars to perform burials and hear confession. The long dispute between the parish clergy and the mendicant friars in late medieval Transylvanian towns proved to be so acute that in most of the cases papal arbitration was needed.30 These phases of severe disagreements are explained by the particularities of Transylvanian religious life in late medieval towns. The monoparochial profile of the great majority of these towns during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and the very active role played by the urban elite in the governing of their parish churches through the election of their plebanus, might adequately explain the firm reaction of the parish clergy against the mendicant friars. On the other hand, the significant number of privileges gained by the friars from the papacy must be emphasized. According to these regulations they had the right to preach, bury and confess in Transylvania, particularly because the constant Turkish pressure, the existence of the Orthodox population and the vicinity of the pagan groups of Cumans and Tartars were regarded by the Holy See as sufficient reasons to allow the Dominicans and Franciscans to freely exercise these pastoral duties.31 The scene was set for competition and conflict between parish and mendicant, and it is in 29

  Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism, pp. 252–63. The conflict between two divergent ecclesiologies, with an episcopal one that placed great emphasis on the pastoral care provided by the parish church and a mendicant one based on papal central authority which justified the role of the friars in providing spiritual guidance to the laity, is discussed within the context of late medieval towns by Dieter Mertens, ‘Clero seculare e cura d’anime nella città del tardo medioevo’, in Chittolini and Elm, Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV, pp. 259–80. 30   The conflicts between the mendicant friars and the local clergy were solved by papal intervention in 1341 in Bistriţa and in 1465 in Cluj: see Franz Zimmermann and Carl Werner (eds), Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen (Hermannstadt, 1892), vol. 1, doc. no. 568, pp. 517–18 and Urkundenbuch, vol. 6, doc. no. 3461, pp. 237–8. 31   Several papal documents issued in the year 1444 were intended to enforce the situation of the Dominican and Franciscan friars in Transylvania. The Holy See granted indulgences to several mendicant convents severely affected by the Turkish attacks and allowed the Franciscans and Dominicans to preach and confess: see Gustav Gündisch (ed.),

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analysis of those flashpoints on which documentation survives that we can better assess the nature of the relationship between the mendicant orders and the laity in their shared devotional lives. The Dominican Confraternity of Cluj A most illuminating example in this regard is the conflict that troubled the religious life of Cluj several times during the fifteenth century. The years between 1460 and 1465 witnessed a fierce dispute between the representatives of the fraternity of the Virgin Mary Dominican convent and the parish priest of the town concerning the right of members of the confraternity to be buried in the Dominican cemetery.32 The documents issued by local ecclesiastical authorities as well as by the papacy are the only source of information still available concerning this Dominican fraternity. Therefore although not very much can be said about their devotional practices, there are still several aspects which deserve our attention. The first is connected with the collective quest for salvation, so typical of late medieval devotional associations, a collective search which prolonged in the next world the solidarity articulated through common religious practices during this life. The insistence with which the members repeatedly stressed their wish to be buried in the sacred space surrounded by the Dominican walls, where a special spot seems to have been designated for their needs, is one of the innumerable similar examples from other European towns. Urkundenbuch zur Geschichte der Deutschen in Siebenbürgen (Bucharest, 1975), vol. 5, doc. no. 2487, doc. no. 2488, doc. no. 2489, doc. no. 2495, p. 134. 32   Recent studies have discussed the phases of this conflict and its relevance for the functioning of St Michael’s parish, the organization of this confraternity and the relationship between the parish curia and the Dominican convent: see Mária Makó Lupescu, ‘Egy konfliktus margójára: a világi papság és a domonkosok kapcsolatai a középkori Kolozsváron/Pe marginea unui conflict: relaţiile dintre clerul secular şi dominicani în Clujul medieval’ [On the Margins of a Conflict: Relations between the Secular Clergy and the Dominicans in Medieval Cluj], in Ionuţ Costea, Carmen Florea, Judit Pál and Enikő Rüsz-Fogarasi (eds), Oraşe şi orăşeni. Városok és városlakók [Towns and Burghers] (Cluj-Napoca, 2006), pp. 404–17; Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, pp. 172–80; Carmen Florea, ‘Despre tensiunea unei solidarităţi în evul mediu tîrziu: exemplul unor oraşe transilvănene’ [Concerning the Tension of Solidarity in the late Middle Ages: The Example of Some Transylvanian Towns], in Mihaela Grancea (ed.), Discursuri ale morţii în Transilvania secolelor XVI–XX [Discourses about Death in Transylvania Sixteenth to Twentieth Centuries] (Cluj-Napoca, 2005), pp. 51–70. The strong impact of the mendicants on the religious way of life of the Transylvanian laity, including the preference of the townspeople to choose Dominican friars as mediators of salvation, is discussed at length elsewhere in this volume by Maria Crăciun.

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During the summer of 1460, however, members of the Dominican confraternity at Cluj complained that Gregory Schleunning, the parish priest, forcefully buried some of their deceased members in the parish cemetery. This was considered a serious offence as their ancestors had been buried in the Dominican church on the spot reserved for the confraternity.33 Not only was the memory of these ancestors insulted, but also the wishes of those parents who wished to have their children buried with the Dominicans: again, the parish priest opposed them. Finally, the custom of the fellowship was further offended when even the wish expressed by one of their members both during his lifetime and on his deathbed was disregarded by the priest Gregory.34 The most serious concern of the Dominican confraternity members from Cluj was thus related to the daily exercise of their charity. The burials performed by Gregory prevented them from expressing brotherly love within the Dominican walls, and thus offering spiritual assistance to their departed members. Family and professional bonds seem to have been the basis for the articulation of a more solid loyalty among them as members of the Dominican confraternity. According to the sources, the protests were made by the closest relatives of those deceased individuals whom the priest Gregory had forcefully buried in the parish cemetery. One of these was a woman who confirmed her late husband’s wish of being buried in the Dominican cemetery, and similar testimonies were made by the parents of deceased children.35 Thus these cases reveal the way family bonds could be prolonged to the next world. Common affiliation with the Dominicans of Cluj might have been prompted not only by family relations but also by professional connections, as is suggested by the name of some of the protesters.36 Taking into account that prior to 1460, the year of these protests, except for the guilds of butchers and that of tanners no 33

  Zsigmond Jakó, A kolozsmonostori konvent jegyzőkönyvei [Convent Records from Cluj Mănăştur] (Budapest, 1990), doc. no. 1465, p. 569; doc. no. 1466, p. 570 and doc. no. 1470, p. 571. 34   Ibid., doc. no. 1470, p. 571. As has been suggested within the pages of this volume by de Cevins, one of the characteristic features of lay confraternities in medieval Hungary seems to have been their desire to pursue publicly the religious goals they assumed, rather than to encourage private devotion. Seen within this line of reasoning, the insistence of the Dominican fellows from Cluj to have their members buried in the fellowship’s spot in the Dominican cemetery – a place of both religious identity and public display of devotion – conforms to practices developed elsewhere in the medieval kingdom of Hungary. 35   Jakó, A kolozsmonostori konvent jegyzőkönyvei, doc. no. 1466, p. 570. 36   Ibid., doc. no. 1465, p. 569. Among the representatives of the Dominican confraternity who testified against the parish priest were two locksmiths: Lakatos (serator) János and Lakatos (serator) Péter.

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other guild is attested to have functioned in Cluj, professional loyalties might have prompted enrolment into the Dominican confraternity.37 Common professional allegiances and family solidarity were merged in the same religious affiliation. These protests highlight precisely the wish to practise charity for the benefit of those whose religious identity surpassed family or professional links. In the light of our sources, the institutional framework they were provided with by the friars was considered to be the place where this type of charitable exercise could be undertaken. But what of the parish priest, Gregory Schleunning? He belonged to one of the most influential patrician families of the town of Cluj, an influence he was able to strengthen during the decades in which he filled the most important ecclesiastical office of the town. His training in canon law at foreign universities enabled him to successfully defend the jurisdictional rights of his parish church.38 During the sixth decade of the fifteenth century Gregory had to face the emergence of another parish church in Cluj, that of Saints Peter and Paul, located amidst the Hungarians who inhabited the streets in the eastern part of the town.39 The presence of the mendicant orders in Cluj thus provided another occasion for disputes precisely at the same time that some of its inhabitants decided to live their religious life within the church of Saints Peter and Paul. The conflicts with the mendicants can be better understood if one focuses on a specific detail contained in the priest Gregory’s complaints addressed to the Holy See. It is the complaint from 1465 which seems to generally accuse the Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelites and the Austin Friars of assuming pastoral duties. According to this document, the friars prevented the believers attending the Mass in the parish church on Sunday and other feast days, distributing the sacraments and burying the parishioners in the friaries.40 As someone trained in canon law, Gregory was able to argue his position by taking into account the clauses of the bull Super Cathedram issued by Pope Boniface VIII and the decisions of the Council of Vienne of 1311. While the existence of an Augustinian convent, respectively a Carmelite one, remains highly improbable for medieval Cluj, this did 37   Elek Jakab, Oklevéltár Kolozsvár története első kötetéhez [Documents Concerning the History of Cluj] (Buda, 1870), doc. no. 95, pp. 161–3 and doc. no. 107, p. 183. 38   Sándor Tonk, Erdélyek egyetemjárása a középkorban [Transylvanian Peregrinations to University in the Middle Ages] (Bucharest, 1979), p. 234. 39   Zimmermann and Werner (eds),Urkundenbuch, vol. 4, doc. no. 2839, pp. 391–2; doc. no. 2956, pp. 481–2; ibid., vol. 6, doc. no. 3494, p. 262. 40   Jakab, Oklevéltár, doc. no. 130, pp. 213–4.

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not exclude the presence of their representatives at some point in the town. Undoubtedly, a town like Cluj, becoming more and more dynamic and prosperous, must have been an attractive place of settlement for the Friars Minor. It seems that an attempt to found a convent here dates back to the mid-fifteenth century, an interpretation which can further be sustained by an indulgence granted to the altar of St Francis placed in the church of St Michael in 1451. That this altar became the focal point for several believers is demonstrated by a document issued in 1463 when Michael, minister provincial of the Franciscan order, sanctioned the entrance into the tailors’ fraternity of their wives and children.41 According to this document the fraternity was an Observant Franciscan association, grouped around the altar of St Francis in St Michael’s parish church. It is thus understandable how irritated priest Gregory might have been when noticing that a fraternity which de facto functioned in his parish church, de jure came to be subordinated to a different, competing religious institution. This Franciscan fraternity explains very well why the complaints addressed to the pope in 1465 referred to the Franciscan order as well. The ecclesiastical relations in the town remained troubled, as is proven by the events taking place in the following year, when the last complaint of the Hungarians inhabiting the streets outside the town’s walls against the parish curia of St Michael occurred. The Hungarians’ ascension to the town’s leadership probably contributed to the final transformation of the church of Saints Peter and Paul into a parish church used by the Hungarians inhabiting the eastern part of the town. In 1466 the parish priest Gregory complained again to the Holy See. This time he reacted only against the Dominicans and their persuasive actions of convincing believers to choose burial places in the cemetery of their convent.42 Recently, it has been argued that the conflict between the parish priest and the Dominicans or, more precisely, the wish of the members of the Dominican fraternity to be buried with the friars, was so acute because at stake was the canonica portione, or the fourth part of the bequests made by the laity on the occasion of funerals.43 I think that if we reverse the 41

  Zimmermann and Werner (eds), Urkundenbuch, vol. 6, doc. no. 3331, p. 154.   Ibid., doc. no. 3461, pp. 237–8. 43   Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, ‘A plébániai papság és a koldulórendi barátok kapcsolatai a magyar városokban a késő-középkorban: Sopron példája’ [Relations of the Parish Clergy and the Mendicant Friars in Hungarian Towns of the Late Middle Ages: The Example of Sopron], in Soproni Szemle, 3 (1998), 196–208. The author makes a significant contribution to our understanding of the relationship between the parish clergy and the mendicant friars in the urban milieu of the Hungarian kingdom, particularly because her detailed analysis of the conflict between these two parties in the town of Sopron focuses on 42

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angle of interpretation we can take a step further in understanding the motivations of some of the inhabitants of Cluj in remaining so attached to the friars and the religious life they proposed. If the amount of goods to be received was the motive of disputes between the parish and the mendicant clergy, and if repeated appeal to the Holy See was considered to be a viable solution to this conflict, then this amount must have been a significant one and consequently might reflect the great popularity the Dominicans enjoyed among the believers of this town. Moreover, this interpretation is sustained by the strong bonds which, as we have seen earlier, existed between the members of the Dominican fraternity. Physical proximity to the Dominican convent might have also played a role, since the house of one of the confraternity members was on a street next to the friars’ church and interestingly enough one of the complaints was formulated in that house.44 However, the most important feature of their complaints reveals their strong attachment to the way their fellowship provided care for those in need. They wanted the friars to supervise their religious life both in this world and in the next. The conflict institutionally carried on with the parish priest Gregory thus enables us to decipher the expression of their solidarity at the most critical point of everybody’s life. The case study of the Dominican confraternity from Cluj is therefore illustrative of the popularity the friars had in the town, a popularity which possibly increased after the adoption of Observant ideals in the mid-fifteenth century. The Dominican confraternity members’ choice to be buried in the Dominican cemetery and insistence to have this custom respected not only interfered with one of the most important pastoral obligations of the parish curia, but it equally reveals the multiplication of institutional choices available to the ordinary believers of Cluj in the late Middle Ages. Some of them, together with their families and those practising the same profession, decided to pursue devotional goals outside the parochial framework. Since the key responsibility of any confraternity was the spiritual assistance provided for those departed, the case of Cluj highlights precisely this moment of acute vulnerability, when one’s salvation depended entirely on those left behind. The parish priest of the town not only offended the memory of the ancestors by disregarding decisions made concerning a place of burial. Even more significantly, his gesture affected the proper functioning of the Dominican confraternity whose members found it difficult, if not the fourth part of donations the friars were obliged to give to the parish clergy. Following her suggestions, Makó Lupescu, ‘Egy konfliktus’, undertakes a similar analysis of the conflict taking place in Cluj between the Dominicans and the local curia. 44   Jakó, A kolozsmonostori, doc. no. 1470, p. 571.

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entirely impossible, to fulfil their most important religious goal: that of easing their loved ones’ way to salvation. The Fellowship of the Journeymen of Braşov The case of the journeymen’s fellowship in Braşov complements that of the Dominican fraternity from Cluj in that it deepens our understanding of the ways in which lay devotion and charity could be articulated within a Dominican context. Information about this type of association dates back to the same period, the second half of the fifteenth century. The most detailed regulations concerning their functioning refer to the Friars Preachers as being supervisors of the journeymen’s religious life. Braşov, the town where these fellowships functioned, was the largest town of late medieval Transylvania, with a population of 11,000–12,000, its importance coming from its prominent commercial profile.45 Because of Braşov’s large population and very active commercial life, from the second half of the fifteenth century onwards the town’s professional associations became increasingly numerous, drafting their own regulations and succeeding in sending representatives to the governing bodies of their locality, thus becoming an important part of the town’s elite.46 It is perhaps this dynamic social life which explains the emergence of the fellowships of the journeymen in Braşov. According to surviving sources, two out of the four statutes of the fellowships documented to have functioned in this town in the late Middle Ages chose to establish their organizations in the Dominican church. These were the fellowship of the journeymen of the shoemakers and the fellowship of the journeymen of the furriers.47 Interestingly enough, when the journeymen of the shoemaker’s guild decided to institute a fraternity in 1463 they did so having the approval of the parish priest, although the foundation took place at the Holy Cross altar of Saints Peter and Paul Dominican church. This approval was also accompanied by that of the magistracy. Obtaining the consent of the town’s most important officials (both lay 45   Maja Philippi, ‘Die Bevölkerung Kronstadts im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert’, in Paul Philipp (ed.), Beiträge zur Geschichte von Kronstadt in Siebenbürgen (Cologne, Vienna, 1984), pp. 91–155. 46   Konrad Gündisch, Das Patriziat siebenbürgischer Städte im Mittelalter (Cologne, Vienna), pp. 260–68. 47   Maja Philippi, Die Bürger von Kronstadt im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte und Sozialstruktur einer siebenbürgischen Stadt im Mittelalter (Bucharest, 1986), p. 176.

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and ecclesiastic), and the mention of this consent right at the beginning of this act, enforces both the idea that the journeymen wished to avoid any possible future conflicts, and the frailty of their status in the town. In late medieval towns, journeymen were perhaps among those most exposed to economic fluctuations and most affected by the lack of any regulations protecting their interests, since the guilds’ statutes concentrated on protection of the rights of the masters, including their right to have one apprentice at a time and the obligation to keep him for four years.48 Even when he was lucky enough to secure employment, the journeyman was, in most cases, underpaid and after finishing his contract quite often might have had to look for work elsewhere, since medieval professions tended to remain almost exclusively family businesses. This vulnerability is even better reflected by the case of the ‘outsiders’, those originating from other places, who came to a strange, unfamiliar place to spend four years of their adolescence or young adulthood as apprentices. After finishing their training, those who managed to find some work, either with their former master or with another one from the same town, needed to integrate themselves into local society and to become part of a social network. For these young men, the experience might have proven to be a very difficult one, hence their wish to articulate firm bonds of solidarity within the circle of their acquaintances. The decision of the general chapter of the Dominican order held in Barcelona in 1323, that a convent dedicated to Saints Peter and Paul was to be founded in the town of Braşov, must have been part of the order’s broader policy. It is useful to remember that eight out of the nine Dominican convents which existed in medieval Transylvania first appear in the sources from the second half of the thirteenth century and the first three decades of the fourteenth century. The foundation of the Dominican convent in Braşov is the last one in this row of foundations and undoubtedly the Order of the Preachers paid close attention to the geographical and economic peculiarities of this town when deciding to found a convent there. Its urban features would have made it an appealing place of settlement for the Dominicans, who generally preferred to establish their convents in large commercial centres.49 Braşov’s location on the main commercial route towards the east, the royal privileges it 48   Gernot Nussbächer and Elisabeta Marin (eds), Quellen zur Geschichte der Stadt Kronstadt (Kronstadt, Heidelberg, 1999), vol. 9, doc. no. 2, pp. 24–6; doc. no. 33, pp. 82–4; doc. no. 34, pp. 85–7. 49   Erik Fügedi, ‘Városfejlődés és koldulórendek’ [Town Development and Mendicant Orders], Kolduló barátok, polgárok, nemesek. Tanulmányok a magyar középkorról [Mendicant Friars, Burghers and Nobles. Studies Concerning the Hungarian Middle Ages] (Budapest, 1981), pp. 73–88.

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enjoyed (including the commercial ones with neighbouring Wallachia and Moldavia) and the process of fusion of the five nuclei into what would become the medieval town of Braşov certainly appealed to the missionary zeal of the Friars Preachers. The location of their convent within the town reflects not only the situation from the beginning of the fourteenth century, being placed at the margins of the urban territory, but also the urban development during subsequent decades. The socalled Klostergasse was named after the Dominican convent and became, from the second half of the fourteenth century, one of the most important commercial streets of Braşov. Further evidence of the friars’ wish to settle in those areas of town with high social mobility is provided by their position next to one of the town’s gates, which was named after the Dominican dedication, porta Petri.50 In order to better understand the choice of the Dominican friary as the most suitable ecclesiastical institution for the journeymen of the shoemakers and of the furriers to establish their fellowships, additional information concerning this convent should be added. In the midfifteenth century this convent became an Observant one, thus adopting the severe way of life prescribed by the order. The donation made by John of Hunyad in 1455 acknowledged this transformation which possibly gave a new impulse to the mission of the friars among the burghers of Braşov.51 In the same year, 1463, that the fellowship of the journeymen of the shoemakers was founded, a significant donation was made by Peter Greb to the Dominicans of Saints Peter and Paul. His testament, drafted on 1 June and considered to be one of the most beautiful pieces of literature composed in medieval Braşov, required that ten silver Marks be given to the friars who would have to pray for the salvation of his soul.52 It is worth remembering that Peter Greb, educated at the University of Vienna, belonged to one of the most prosperous and influential families of the town. Moreover, for many years he had been juror as well as holder of one of the most important offices, that of town judge. In the following year two other jurors of Braşov, Simon Clomp and Christian Rod, also made a significant donation to the friars.53 The donations made by these noteworthy citizens demonstrate the popularity enjoyed by the Dominicans of this town in the decade following the adoption of the Observance.

50   Erich Jekelius (ed.), Das Burzenland (Kronstadt, 1928), vol. 3, pp. 30–31; Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, pp. 125–35. 51   Zimmermann and Werner (eds), Urkundenbuch, vol. 5, doc. no. 2992, p. 509. 52   Philippi, Die Bürger von Kronstad, pp. 117–19. 53   Zimmermann and Werner (eds), Urkundenbuch, vol. 6, doc. no. 3344, pp. 162–3.

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For the journeymen of the shoemakers, the priest in the town of Braşov and the urban magistracy were the ones who could efficiently back their plan of founding a fraternity with the Dominicans. As we have seen, members of the urban magistracy endowed the Dominican friary, while priest Peter, former dean of Țara Bârsei, was the one who reconfirmed their donations.54 For the unprivileged group of the journeymen, it was essential to find supporters capable of helping them integrate into the life of the town. The friars were par excellence the best-suited vehicles through which this integration could take place. Popular in the town during these years (a popularity which might have increased after 1464 when the papacy granted an indulgence to their convent), familiar with the needs of the poor and well acquainted with different kinds of people wandering around their convent, the friars were ready to help these journeymen. But this was a two-way street. The journeymen not only perfectly matched the religious goals of the friars; they also contributed to an increased influence of the Dominicans in the life of Brașov. A thorough reading of the document sanctioning the foundation of the fellowship of the shoemakers’ journeymen reveals several noteworthy features of the transformation of a professional solidarity into a charitable one. The most important point is the requirement that each member conform to the rules of their association, an obligation mandatory from the moment the fraternity was joined and enforced if necessary by the provision of several penalties. The misdeeds identified as severely diminishing the prestige of the fellowship reveal a strong concern for discipline, simplicity and a moral life. Perhaps the influence of the mendicant ideal can be seen in the requirement that no member was allowed to wear more than one type of cloth. Uniformity and conformity regulated the life of these journeymen, distinguishing them from other groups. Although this was a fellowship founded in the Dominican church of Braşov, at the altar of the Holy Cross, it is surprising how little attention their statutes devote to the religious routine of the members. Still, the four main points which organized the life of these journeymen – namely the entrance into the fellowship, the upholding of honour of the fellowship, the meetings of its members and the authority of the fellowship over its detractors – might offer additional insights into the devotional requirements the members had to meet. The moral side of their lives and the brotherly love with which each journeyman was accepted into the fraternity formed the daily conduct of the members. But this affection deserves at least one further nuance: those journeymen who did not join the association failed to merit the assistance the fellowship could provide. 54

  Ibid., doc. no. 3335, p. 155 and doc. no. 3356, pp. 169–70.

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Moreover, both those who continued to maintain contacts with these outsiders and those who did not notify the fellowship about this misdeed were to be severely punished. Thus, the only beneficiaries of brotherly love would be those enrolling in the fellowship of these journeymen. The manifestation of a professional solidarity was not considered sufficient to allow one to benefit from the protection this association was able to offer. This restriction highlights a limit of the manifestation of charity on the part of a social and professional group whose status was so frail in everyday life that the bonds of their solidarity needed to be articulated continuously. Furthermore, the great emphasis placed on moral conduct supplemented and enforced the obligation to attend the two mandatory gatherings: at church and at the fellowships’ meetings. Placing church attendance and involvement in the daily running of the fraternity on the same par reveals the seriousness each and every member was requested to show for the proper functioning of this fellowship.55 Information about the other fraternity founded in the Dominican church of Braşov, that of the furriers’ journeymen, comes from a document issued in 1644 intended to reconstruct from various other sources a complete list of all those who had been journeymen within this craft since medieval times.56 The short introductory part of this document mentions that the fellowship was founded in 1468 in the church of Saints Peter and Paul for the salvation of the souls of the most honourable journeymen of the furriers; then the names of the ten founders are listed. Unlike the shoemakers, whose surviving guild regulations date only from 1510, thus making an enquiry into their position in Braşov most difficult, more information exists concerning the furriers. This is explained by the very important place they held, not only in the economic life of their town but also in its government. The furriers were perhaps the most prosperous and influential group among all other craftsmen, as is reflected by the tax registers and the surviving lists of the members of the city council.57 For the town of Braşov the first regulation of a guild dates back to 1424, and it was precisely the furriers who organized themselves into this 55

  Ibid., doc. no. 3346, p. 165.   In a recent article, Gary Richardson convincingly demonstrates that the spiritual and occupational goals pursued by professional associations completed each other in order to assure the success of the respective craft guild: ‘Craft Guilds and Christianity in Late Medieval England. A Rational-Choice Analysis’, Rationality and Society, 17 (2005), 139–76 This interplay has been focused on by the appeal to the rational choice approach of organisational behaviour which considers that the performance of an organisation, guilds included, depended on the variety of rules that organised its inner life and the ways in which these rules were respected. 57   Nussbächer and Marin (eds), Quellen, doc. no. 14, pp. 49–54. The list comprises the names of 20 of the journeymen of the furriers in the period up to 1548. 56

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kind of professional association. As usual with this type of document, the most important part is concerned with the protection of their profession, including strict regulations under which journeymen had to work.58 The only point valuing the journeyman is the one prescribing that the master and the journeyman had to prove their abilities as furriers if they were to work within this guild. All other parts of this statute treat the journeyman as being at the disposal of the master, closely supervised and severely fined for every mistake. But in order to better understand the motivations on the part of the journeymen to protect themselves by means of a devotional fellowship one must take into account several other aspects. As pointed out above, the furriers were an important professional category of Braşov, deeply involved in the government of the town. According to the sources this group produced, the only way to integrate the journeymen was through a professional route. As compared to the apprentices – who had specific religious duties such as attendance at the guild’s altar in the Virgin Mary parish church, or more charitable ones, such as contributing to the preparations of the funeral of one of their fellow furriers – the journeymen were completely left out by this network of community. Their decision to found a fellowship within the Dominican convent can also be understood within the general enthusiasm surrounding the friars during the seventh decade of the fifteenth century. While some motivations at work in the above-discussed case of the shoemakers might have been relevant for the journeymen of the furriers as well, others complete the picture. Choosing the Dominican church could very well be seen as a differentiation from the other furriers (masters and apprentices alike) whose religious life was so centred on the parish church. It is perhaps parochialism which the journeymen tended to avoid. This is suggested by the membership of the fellowship founded in 1468. Thanks to the list compiled a century and a half later, the names of the ten young men who decided to start a fraternity are known to us. Among them, three came from outside Braşov and two were Hungarians.59 The inherent status of the journeyman made him socially mobile. For him the parish church might not have seemed appealing to his religious aspirations. The parish church was the centre of religious life of the masters and apprentices, those categories which excluded the journeymen from their social network. Furthermore, for those coming 58   Gündisch, Das Patriziat, pp. 254-60. For example, the tax register of 1489 records 741 craftsmen as tax payers with the largest group among them being that of the furriers, comprising around one third of the whole. For the years 1424-1498 no fewer than 258 furriers earned the title of master within this craft. 59   Nussbächer and Marin (eds), Quellen, doc. no. 2, pp. 24–8.

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from other places the parish church was the most powerful symbol of local loyalties. The friars, by contrast, were mobile, cosmopolitan and eager to integrate the journeymen into devotional life. The friars were men the journeymen could even have encountered in the past, preaching in their own hometowns, while their church, located in one of the most dynamic parts of the town, accommodated a wide variety of people. In the quest for the highest of all virtues, that of charity, it was again the mendicants who offered the journeymen of Braşov the space and scope for participation and social integration. The Confraternity of the Rosary in Bistriţa The confraternity of the Rosary which functioned in another German town of Transylvania, Bistriţa, acts as a third and final case study that explores the interaction of laity and religious orders within the context of the practice of charitable devotion. The emergence of the cult of the Rosary took place in the Observant Dominican environment from north of the Alps in the third quarter of the fifteenth century. Its success is proven by the high rate with which the confraternities of the Rosary spread in the Dominican Observant convents from Germany, Italy and France.60 Its development was aided by the support of the papacy, which forcefully recommended it, and by the centralized policy of the Dominican order. It had been decided that the Master General would be responsible for associating the members of the Rosary confraternities to the religious benefices of the order.61 Thus, it is not surprising at all to find supporters of this cult in late medieval Transylvania, in those Observant Dominican convents actively involved in the religious life of their hometowns. It is interesting to observe that the availability implied by the religious practices on the part of the Rosary’s devotees is the best documented trait of the presence of this cult in the Transylvanian towns of Cluj and Bistriţa. Very soon after the official approval of the Rosary confraternity by the Holy See, a family chapel dedicated to it was founded in the Dominican church of Cluj in 1491. The foundation was not the initiative of the burghers, but of a noble family, an initiative 60   Those journeymen whose place of origin was outside Braşov were Sigismundus von Midwisch, Laurentius von der Langaw and Crestel von Midwisch; the Hungarian journeymen were Zegedini Balind and Lossgany Fabian. 61   Gilles Gerard Meersseman, Ordo fraternitatis. Confraternite e pietà dei laici nel medioevo (Rome, 1977), pp. 1144–1206; Marina Warner, Alone of All Her Sex. the Myth and the Cult of the Virgin Mary (New York, NY, 1983), pp. 307–14 and Swanson, Religion and Devotion in Europe, pp. 144–5.

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that might have been a result of the active preaching of the friars in the neighbouring areas surrounding the town of Cluj. This family devotion was reinforced by another donation made several years later by the father, John Erdélyi, who clearly requested that the friars were obliged to celebrate a Mass in perpetuity for the salvation of the donor’s relatives. Failure to perform this task meant the friars would have to renounce all the possessions bequeathed to them.62 Similar in its universality seems to have been the devotional routine associated with the recitation of Ave Maria by the members of the confraternity from Bistriţa. It has been argued that, thanks to the numerous donations received, the friars were able to reconstruct their church and convent between 1485 and 1523.63 A very interesting detail is that almost all donors were nobles, not inhabitants of the town, although in the midfifteenth century the burghers seemed to have been very interested in supporting the Dominican convent.64 This situation might be explained by a particular regulation which was issued by the urban magistracy in 1504. According to this, for a testament to be valid it had to be drafted in the presence of at least one chaplain and other honourable persons. Furthermore, the parish church of St Nicholas should be mentioned first in the series of bequests made by the testators.65 This decision of the urban magistrate is consistent with the long-term collaboration which existed between the leaders of the town and the parish church. This was a collaboration deriving from the privileges enjoyed by the free royal towns and cemented by the particular situation of the Transylvanian towns where a single parish church existed throughout the Middle Ages. The foundation of a confraternity dedicated to the Rosary in Bistriţa cannot be dated. The only piece of information we have is a register compiled by a certain Frater Laurentius who, according to a central decision of the Dominican order, had been moved from the convent of Sibiu to that of Bistriţa.66 This register contains only the female members of this confraternity, and since this is our sole source of information we must limit ourselves to analysing its functioning exclusively through 62

  Harsányi, A Domonkosrend Magyarországon a Reformació előtt, pp. 312–15.   János Eszterházy, ‘A kolozsvári Boldog-Azonyról czímzett domonkosok, jelenleg ferencziek egyházának történeti és építészeti leírása’ [The Cluj Formerly Dominican Convent Dedicated to the Virgin, Now Franciscan: The History of the Church and Stages of Construction], Magyar Sion, 4 (1866), 573–5. 64   Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, pp. 118–20. 65   Zimmermann and Werner (eds), Urkundenbuch, vol. 5, doc. no. 2914, pp. 449–50 and Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, pp. 99–103. 66   Friedrich Teutsch, Geschichte der Evangelische Kirche in Siebenbürgen (1150–1699) (Hermannstadt, 1921), vol. 1, pp. 149–51. 63

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its female profile.67 Despite this limitation, I would like to argue that this unique source of information about a confraternity dedicated to the Rosary in late medieval Transylvania is still able to offer precious insights into the devotional world of the people of this time. It is therefore necessary to enlarge the social and religious context within which this register was produced. As has been discussed above, at the beginning of the sixteenth century the Dominicans from Bistriţa seem to be preferred by noble testators, as the male urban elite appeared to be much more interested in supporting the parish church of the town. At the same time, it must be observed that members of the female urban elite were integrated into the Dominican structure of the Rosary’s confraternity. How could one explain this development? Information dating back to the last quarter of the fifteenth century reveals that the Dominicans in Bistriţa promoted not just their male convent, but also the nunnery and possibly the enrolment of the tertiaries within their ranks. A decision taken in 1476 by the Master General allowed the prior of the convent, Laurencius de Valle Rosarum, to receive new members, women and men alike, in the third order. He was also in charge of supervision of the Dominican nuns, having the right to allow them to wear scapula and to receive three new members into the second order.68 As is demonstrated by the testament of Thomas Farkas issued in 1485, not only the recently founded Dominican nunnery, but also the women associated with the third order, benefited from a growing popularity since the testator requested them to pray for the salvation of his and his relatives’ souls.69 To this general attempt to better integrate ordinary believers from Bistriţa in the religious life supervised by the Dominicans should be added the spread of the cult of the Rosary in this region.70 It is beyond 67

  ‘Registrum Rosarij scriptum per fratrum Laurencium anno 1531’, in Richard Schuller, ‘Andreas Beuchel. Ein Beitrag zur Bistritzer Stadtgeschichte in dem Zeitalter des Thronsstreites zwischen Ferdinand I und Zapolya’, Archiv des Vereins für siebenbürgische Landeskunde, Neue Folge, 23 (1890), 5–72, especially 37. The original was kept in the archive of the town of Bistriţa before the Second World War. It has been recently argued that a copy of the register would have existed in a fragmentary condition in the collections of the Sibiu Archive and Bruckenthal Museum: unfortunately this can no longer be found. See Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, p. 177. 68   Otto Dahinten, ‘Beiträge zur Baugeschichte von Bistritz’, Archiv des Vereins für Siebenbürgische Landeskunde, 50 (1941–1944), 311–461, 395 and Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, pp. 178–80. 69   Béla Iványi, ‘Geschichte des Dominikanerordens in Siebenbürgen und der Moldau’, Siebenbürgische Vierteljahrschrift, 62 (1939), 22–59, 30. 70   Zimmermann and Werner (eds), Urkundenbuch, vol. 7, doc. no. 4592, p. 388: ‘pro monialibus et sororibus ordinis sancti Dominici confessoris … ut orent pro parentibus et aliorum defunctorum fratrum animabus’.

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any doubt that among the main propagators of this cult the friars played a key role. One of the channels must have been represented by those studying abroad, more precisely in those places where the Rosary cult had been flourishing.71 There were not many Transylvanian people who studied at Cologne University in the late Middle Ages, but among them, precisely in these years when the Rosary cult took firm root, were three Dominicans who can be associated with the Observant Dominican convent of Cluj.72 They are mentioned in the university’s register in the years 1478 and 1479, and one can safely assume that the foundation of a chapel dedicated to the Rosary next to the convent in Cluj a decade later must have been influenced by those friars aware of this new devotion. Secondly, this cult spread in the medieval kingdom of Hungary thanks to the centralized policy of the Dominican order. John, a Dominican friar from the Hungarian province, was entrusted in 1496 by the Master General to propagate the psalterium b. Virginis Mariae. The last quarter of the fifteenth century and the first half of the next one is the period when in several places from the Hungarian kingdom strong evidence of the Rosary cult occurs. The closest in time to our confraternity from Bistriţa is the one attested to function in Kosiče in 1522, and their establishment may well be a result of the propaganda initiated by Friar John.73 Returning to the members of the Rosary confraternity from Bistriţa, I would like to point out some features which are highly relevant for our understanding of their religious life. First of all, five women out of the 17 mentioned by this register appear to have been members of this confraternity for several years.74 This points, at least formally, to their lasting attachment to the cult of the Rosary. It is perhaps not an accident that all of these five Rosary devotees are identified as becoming members of the confraternity in the same year, 1525, a time coinciding 71

  As we learn from Maria Crăciun’s chapter in this volume, newly developed Marian and Christocentric devotions such as the Immaculate Conception, the Bodily Assumption of the Virgin or Eucharistic devotion were strongly supported by the mendicant friars of late medieval Transylvanian towns, to the point that the doctrines they promoted and devotional practices they endorsed made an impact on the religious life lived within the parish churches of this region. 72   Meersseman, Ordo fraternitatis, p. 1163. On 30 May 1478 the confraternity was approved by Pope Sixtus IV; in the following year the papal bull Ea quae strongly recommended the devotion of the Marian psalterium. 73   Tonk, Erdélyek egyetemjárása a középkorban, pp. 287, 244–5 and 319. These friars were Martinus Frigh de Colozwar, Jacobus de Holostwar and Petrus Polner, alias Italici ordinis praedicatorum Colorosensis. 74   Pásztor, A magyarság vallásos élete a Jagellók korában, pp. 30–31. The other towns with evidence of the existence of a Rosary cult (Sopron, Bratislava, Buda) all have a large German population and a strong commercial profile, features which might explain the spread of this new cult in those towns.

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with the growing popularity of the friars in the town. Moreover, this favourable attitude to the Dominicans is also proven by evidence of two cases in which mothers and daughters were members of the Rosary confraternity, as well as the example of two sisters enrolled in this fellowship. Undoubtedly, family connections played an important role in the spread of the Rosary cult. In the cases of the mothers and daughters in the Rosary confraternity, this was apparently a short-lived impulse: according to our register they were members of the confraternity just for a short time.75 However, for the daughters of Martin Schneider, Barbara and Eve, the confraternity of the Rosary proved to be a more lasting devotional environment – particularly for the former, who was its member for six years. Their case also illustrates that the female members of the most important families of the town were active supporters of the Dominicans and chose to become part of their institutionalization of religious life, the Schneider family being counted among the oldest and most influential patrician families of Bistriţa in the late Middle Ages.76 Youth seems to be one of the most interesting features of the Rosary confraternity from this town. In addition to the medieval custom of identifying women through the status of their fathers or husbands, in the case of this devotional fellowship for ten of its members registered as daughters other factors might have been at work. The confraternity of the Rosary required its members to lead a contemplative religious life, based on meditation on the mysteries of Christ and Virgin Mary, while reciting in a very strictly specified manner the 150 Ave Marias. This attempt to improve the religious literacy of laypeople might have seemed appealing to the burghers of Bistriţa, but for reasons other than purity of devotion. At the end of the fifteenth century the town experienced a high rate of development, both in terms of its population and its economic resources. It has been observed that for the period between 1403 and 1526, the most important office of the town, that of judge, was filled by members of 22 families only.77 Seven members of the 75   These were Magdalena der Jula Mathis Tochter, 1525–1534; Margaretha Thomas Waldorfers Tochter, 1525–1533; Anna die Jacob Burgeren, 1525–1532; Barbara Merten Schneiders Tochter, 1525–1531 and Elisabeth der Lieb Iacoben Tochter, 1525–1531. Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, pp. 287–8. 76   ‘Martha die Her Gabrielen bis 1527 mit ihrer Tochter Barbara blos 1525’ and ‘Margaretha die Hannes Gebwren bis 1526 mit yrer Tochter Anna’. Ibid. 77   Konrad Gündisch, ‘Patriciatul orăşenesc medieval al Bistriţei pînă la începutul secolului al XVI-lea’ [The Medieval Town Patriciate of Bistriţa until the Beginning of the Sixteenth Century], File de Istorie, 5 (1976), 190–91. The Schneider family was involved in the town’s government between 1403 and 1526, with several of its members acquiring the most important offices in the urban administration. For example, Martin was judge of the town in 1522.

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Rosary confraternity were wives or daughters of former judges of the town, while another three women can also be associated with the urban administration since their husbands were members of the city council and notaries respectively.78 Thus, more than half of the known members of this fellowship belonged to the most important families of the town, both in terms of wealth and authority. It might well be true that for these husbands and fathers actively involved in running the town’s business, for whom Dominicans were still respectable and popular, the devotional life spent in prayer by their wives and daughters constituted highly desirable, socially acceptable conduct in the dynamic atmosphere of the town during these decades. In the late Middle Ages, although women were not ascribed a public role, thanks to a very well-articulated matrimonial policy they were used by prosperous families first and foremost to strengthen their social status and their wealth.79 This was the case in Bistriţa as well, where rapid economic and social changes were reflected at the beginning of the sixteenth century by fierce conflicts between different families. An important part of these conflicts was represented by the matrimonial strategies which involved no less than three Rosary devotees: Margaret, daughter of Thomas Werner; Barbara, wife of Andreas Beuchel; and her daughter-in-law, also named Barbara, the daughter of the abovementioned Martin Schneider. Within the political context profoundly marked by Ottoman advance in eastern Europe and the disintegration of the Hungarian kingdom after 1526, the rivalry between the faction led by Thomas Werner and that of Andres Beuchel reached boiling point. This was precisely at the time when the former did not succeed in having his daughter Margaret marry the stepson of Beuchel, Servatius, who ended up marrying Barbara Schneider.80 For the purpose of my investigation this escalating conflict, which several years later in fact led to the execution of Andreas Beuchel, illuminates the difficult position in which Margaret and Barbara found themselves. Members of the Rosary confraternity from the same year, 1525, possibly meeting regularly in the Dominican church, and praying in the same manner to the Virgin of the Rosary, as individuals the two girls were without doubt in a complex relationship with each other. Yet they remained enrolled in the Rosary confraternity all through those years of conflicts, perhaps finding comfort 78

  Ibid., p. 171.   Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, pp. 178–9; Gündisch, ‘Patriciatul’, pp. 181–91: Rosa die Jacob Tartlerin; Margaretha Bros Brewers Tochter bis 1529; Praxeids die Stadtschreiberin. 80   Christiane Klapisch Zuber, ‘Femeile şi familia’ [Women and the Family], in Jacques Le Goff (ed.), Omul medieval (Iaşi, 1999), pp. 263–84. 79

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in the pious goals this association assumed. However, Barbara Schneider seems to have left the confraternity in 1531, possibly as a result of these turbulences, possibly because of her marriage or even because of her death. As with so many other women from this period, our sources are silent about her fate. Margaret, by contrast, remained a Rosary member two years more. About her too nothing else is known after the year 1533. It was in the Rosary fellowship, however, that both young women were united for many years, and undoubtedly profoundly influenced by the religious way of life promoted by the Dominicans. The last piece of information concerning this Rosary fellowship dates back to the year 1544, when a certain Prisca dy Kures Schneider became enrolled in it.81 The long silence surrounding this confraternity between the years 1534 and 1544 coincided with the times when the Reformation tended to dominate the religious life of Bistriţa, taking firm root in the urban magistracy. As a result, the Dominican friars were almost constantly troubled by the urban authorities, the recourse to the protection of King John Zápolya in the year 1539 being seen as an efficient way of counterbalancing this opposition. As with the mendicant friars from other Transylvanian places, the decision taken in 1556 led to their expulsion from this region.82 The entrance of Prisca into the Rosary confraternity in 1544 is proof that this devotional fellowship continued to function, despite the difficulties the friars had to endure. Her choice additionally demonstrates that the spread of the Reformation in Transylvanian towns owed a great deal to the male authorities capable of supporting this enterprise. On the other hand, as in the first years of the functioning of this confraternity, the role played by women in this process should be observed. This has increased relevance in the new context created by the adherence to the Protestant ideas of the male urban elite. Prisca, however, seems to have continued a family tradition transmitted by the women of the Schneider family, who, as we have seen above, were so well connected with the Rosary confraternity. If she belonged to the same Schneider family, highly influential in the life of the town, then her entrance reinforces the female elitist profile of this fellowship.

81

 Schuller, ‘Andreas Beuchel’, pp. 6–7.  Richard Schuller, ‘Christian Pomarius. Ein Humanist und Reformator im Siebenbürger Sachsenlande’, Archiv des Vereins für Siebenbürgische Landeskunde, 39 (1913), 185–246, especially 215, and Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania, p. 178. The enrolment of Prisca is evidenced by a copy of the register of the Rosary confraternity executed by Wilhelm Wenrich and contained in his collection of documents pertaining to the town of Bistriţa: see note 67. 82

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Finally and ironically enough, a paradox resulting from the nature of the sources available to those studying late medieval Transylvanian religiosity, the information from 1544 allows us to observe more closely the devotional practices of the Rosary confraternity from this town. The cult of the Rosary, through its cumulative round of prayers, facilitated direct access to the mercy of the Virgin Mary. Thus, the powerful mediation the Mother of God was able to offer increased the chances of salvation on the part of her devotees. It is therefore not at all a surprise that Marian feasts were part of this religious routine. Prisca became a Rosary member on the Sunday before the Visitation of Mary, a celebration for which the confraternity paid a certain amount for the necessary candles.83 Despite the difficulties encountered by the friars during these years, the Rosary confraternity continued to function. Even more, its functioning seems not to have been affected, since a new member entered into this devotional association and the Visitation of the Virgin Mary was celebrated with appropriate reverence. The social context in which the members of this confraternity lived deepens our understanding of the functioning of this devotional association. It is the peculiar situation of the Dominican convent from Bistriţa and of the town itself in the first quarter of the sixteenth century that significantly contribute to this understanding. The Rosary confraternity seems to have been that charitable and devotional framework in which divergences occurring outside this context among the families of the Rosary members were dissolved. After all, the universal benefit resulting from the regular prayers to the Virgin helped these women, mothers and daughters alike, to find, through a commonly grounded devotion, ways of accommodating themselves in a time of profound social and political disturbances. Conclusion Integrated into the general effort of the mendicants to adapt themselves to local situations, the diversification of the ways in which men and women became part of the religious life proposed by the friars reveals several noteworthy features. A first one is connected with the urban context of this region, where the most predominant ecclesiastical institution, the parish curia, sought to preserve this position even by means of open conflict with the mendicants. On the other hand, it should be observed that thanks to these conflicts the religious world of the laity concerned became accessible to us and the impact of the mendicant ideal could be 83

  Salontai, Mănăstiri dominicane din Transilvania, p. 105.

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assessed. Despite the peculiarity of the Transylvanian sources, which do not allow one to survey the evolution of the different modalities through which the laity came to be associated with the friars, the assessment of lay social contexts goes some way to complete this deficiency. It is the positioning of different groups on the scene of their hometowns that helps this enquiry to better reflect the reasons and motivations accompanying the attachment of individuals and groups, at certain moments and in particular circumstances, to the mendicant friars. Although this attachment is revealed by particular types of sources, namely those produced by the authorities (either ecclesiastical or those compiled with the approval of urban, secular powers), the logic on the part of those opting to favour the friars in their devotional practices seems to have been dominated by a genuine wish. As we have seen, this was a desire combining devotion and charity in an attempt to ensure individual and collective stability and salvation. Undoubtedly, this choice cannot be divorced from the popularity enjoyed by the preachers in the towns of Cluj, Braşov and Bistriţa in the aftermath of adopting the Observance in the second half of the fifteenth century. It is also useful to observe, however, that the Dominicans appear to have had particular appeal to marginal groups. For the members of the Dominican confraternity from Cluj it is clear that the vicinity of the convent and the distance from the parish church might have additionally prompted their choice. The firm opposition on the part of the priest of their town provoked a further distance from the choice of the parish cemetery as their final resting place. Perhaps the most interesting case was that of the members of the journeymen founded in the Dominican church of Braşov. In late medieval towns this professional category was among the most vulnerable, given the uncertainty of their daily life. This prompted them to organize themselves, and the Dominican framework was not only available but was also a worthy alternative in a town dominated by a single church where the masters of all professions practised their religious life. Somehow similar in the display of brotherly (or in this case, sisterly) love and affectionate provisions was the case of the Rosary confraternity from Bistriţa. Although firmly grounded in the constant practice of Marian devotion, the functioning of this fellowship attempted to provide its members with a stable social framework. Despite the tensions dividing their families, the Rosary members managed to ensure the survival of their fraternity and its devotional practices. Thus men, women and children were all able to find within the mendicant orders and the devotions they promoted a secure and fruitful place for the exercise of the virtue of charity in life as well as in death.

Chapter 4

Conflict and Cooperation: The Reform of Religious Orders in Early Sixteenth-Century Hungary Gabriella Erdélyi This chapter explores the reform of religious orders in the kingdom of Hungary in the early sixteenth century, considering in particular lay expectations towards the clergy, and especially the regular clergy. Within the framework of a case study I will demonstrate how lay attitudes and practices had a key influence on the changes taking place in the spheres of religious and regular life. I will use the case of a particular mendicant convent in western Hungary, in which religious life dissolved, to show how the strategies of town communities were aimed at restoring religious services. An eyewitness called the actions of the townsmen against the negligent mendicant friars of the town at the heart of this study a ‘rebellion’.1 This could prompt us to place the actions of the laity in the sphere labelled by historians as ‘anticlerical’, especially since recently the role of anticlericalism has surfaced again as an effective interpretative model of the motivational forces of the evangelical movement.2 Below, however, it will be argued that anticlericalism as animosity and violent behaviour against the clergy should, in this instance, be viewed rather as a by-product of changes in the sphere of religion. I suggest rather that the driving force for reform in this case seems rather to have lain in the laity’s growing religious consciousness; in other words, the lay practices aimed at securing salvation reflect a deep interest in spiritual matters and the workings of the sacred. For the townsfolk of our case study in 1518, the clergy and the mendicants in particular still had a crucial role as mediators with the sacred sphere, a role which placed them in the centre of lay attention. 1

 Processus, fol. 68v (for full reference see note 3).  Hans-Jürgen Goertz, Antiklerikalismus und Reformation. Sozualgeschichtliche Untersuchungen (Göttingen, 1995); Peter A. Dykema and Heiko A. Oberman (eds), Anticlericalism in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Leiden, New York, NY, Cologne, 1994). 2

Map 4.1

Mendicant and eremitical orders in Hungary c.1500

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The case in focus will be the convent of the Augustinians in Körmend, a market town in western Hungary (see Map 4.1). In 1518, an ecclesiastical process was carried out after Observant Franciscans had taken over the convent with the support of the local landlord. The availability of rich documents, including the detailed register of witness interrogations concerning the everyday life of the friars, provides an exceptional opportunity for a close analysis of late medieval lay and regular piety within the framework of a case study.3 But how can we conjecture the words, attitudes and actions of the ordinary man from a text that had been homogenized by the normative structures of power and law into a stilus curiae Latin text? The witness interrogation is in itself such a peculiar encounter where the witnesses, while trying to answer questions put to them, remember, construct and relate stories in front of a judge of whom they might be afraid or want to impress. Therefore, they may sometimes conceal certain details or make up others. Moreover, the processes of remembering and communication in this case were extremely unbalanced.4 The dialectics of a cultural dialogue were threatened partly by the inequality of power relations and partly by the method of formulating the questions put to the witnesses.5 The Franciscans’ representative – the lawyer of the local landlord, magister Martinus Újhelyi – presented his statements in writing in seven articles (articuli) enumerating the Augustinians’ alleged transgressions, which they then had to support with the help of witnesses.6 The last article contained the following: ‘All that he has said is true as a whole as well 3

  The register of the 1518 examination conducted in Körmend on papal instructions consists of two major parts: the collection of official documents and charters recording the different phases of the process, followed by the testimonies of 49 witnesses. These consisted of local townsmen, priests and villagers answering questions concerning the conditions of the convent in preceding decades, including the state of buildings, the celebration of liturgies during the time of the Augustinians, as well as their tavern-going and womanizing. The documents of the investigation survive in Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Fondo Barberiniani Latini, vol. 2666 (subsequently Processus). The register is published by Gabriella Erdélyi, The Register of a Convent Controversy (1517–1518) (Budapest, Rome, 2006). 4   For a deconstructionist reading of the narratives of witnesses see Gabriella Erdélyi, ‘Tales of immoral friars: morality and religion in an early sixteenth-century Hungarian town’, Social History, 34 (2009) 184–203, especially 187–94. 5   The notion of cultural dialogue is used here as proposed by Carlo Ginzburg in relation to inquisitorial processes: ‘Inquisitor as Anthropologist’, in Ginzburg, Clues, Myths and the Historical Method (Baltimore, MD, 1989), pp. 156–65. 6   He was otherwise the procurator of the archbishoprical vicar’s tribunal. Magyar Országos Levéltár (MOL) Diplomatikai Levéltár (DL) [Hungarian State Archives, Charters] 75 778; András Kubinyi, ‘Írástudás és értelmiségi foglalkozásúak a Jagelló-korban’ [Literacy and the Intelligentsia in the Jagiello Era], Magyar Herald, 1 (1984), 186–208, 193, 204.

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as in parts, and it was, and still is, the popular opinion about them.’7 The examination centred on the notoriety of the Augustinians’ way of life.8 The witnesses, therefore, were not required to answer questions based on their personal knowledge, but they simply had to take sides in a debate, confirming or refuting the assertions of the articles. Therefore, we can detect the knowledge and attitude of the ordinary man only in the gaps of the performance of lawyers and clerks. We can best infer their own stance if we focus our attention on their stories evoking concrete events concerning the life of the Augustinians.9 These short narratives condense their personal memories and experience in the grip of the prescribed articles of the plaintiff read out to them and the additional questions asked about the Augustinians (the so-called litterae interrogatoriae). Their stories, lacking the formulaic nature of the rest of the scribal evidence, reflect a two-sided picture of the relationship between town and convent. The stories primarily feature the friars’ abuses and the revolt and sanctions of the laity, but behind the witnesses’ chance remarks another, often peaceful and at certain moments definitely convivial side of their everyday life also faintly occurs. We learn that although the friars’ sins revolted the parishioners, they still frequented not only the gambling table of the drunken and lascivious friars, but their Masses and holy hours too. In short, the parishioners’ attitude towards the friars was extremely ambivalent, as will be discussed below in more detail. Though most of the events described in this paper happened in a period that coincides with the beginnings of the evangelical movement in Germany, this would not reach Hungary until several years later, in the early 1520s. The framework of the Protestant Reformation remains, nonetheless, still relevant to this study. Church historical discourses in Germany traditionally discuss the late medieval reform of cloisters (Klosterreform) and its spiritual aspect, the Observant movement of

7

  Processus, fol. 17v.   As opposed to the ordo iudiciarius, which involved the interrogation of eyewitnesses of both parties, this procedure was known in canon law as the ordo per notorium. Instead of proving the offences, it was enough to demonstrate their notoriety. Gillian Rosemary Evans, Law and Theology in the Middle Ages (London, New York, NY, 2002), pp. 96–8, pp. 121–36. 9   For similar approaches to legal documents and witness hearings see for example Miri Rubin, ‘The Making of the Host Desecration Accusation: Persuasive Narratives, Persistent Doubts’, in S. Marchand and E. Lunbeck (eds), Proof and Persuasion. Essays on Authority, Objectivity, and Evidence (Brepols, 1996), pp. 100–123; Laura Gowing, Domestic Dangers. Women, Words, and Sex in Early Modern London (Oxford, 1996), pp. 232–62; Thomas V. Cohen, ‘Three Forms of Jeopardy: Honor, Pain and Truth-Telling in a Sixteenth-Century Italian Courtroom’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 29 (1998), 975–98. 8

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religious orders, as the antecedents of the Protestant Reformation.10 Therefore, Martin Luther, the reformer – earlier a representative of the radical wing of Observants – and his order, the Augustinian Hermits, tend to dominate attention.11 As opposed to the earlier prevailing notion that the Reformation was a complete break with the Middle Ages, more recently it is the continuities which have been emphasized.12 The focus has now shifted to the structural parallels between the ‘Observant’ foundation and reorganization of convents and monasteries implemented by secular authorities in the fifteenth century and the later Protestant dissolution of religious houses.13 Both the Observant reform and the Protestant closure of convents are considered to be movements that had started within the Church but finally served the ‘laicization of religion’.14 The church(es) that thus evolved responded more actively to the needs of the laity and came increasingly under lay authority and control. Below, different aspects of the process of the ‘laicization of religion’– such as lay participation in the reform of religious houses, the ways the laity took care of their own salvation, and the different expectations of the laity from secular and regular clergy – will be examined. The lay–regular interactions and the expectations of the laity from the local regular clergy will be conceived here using an anthropological approach, considered within the context of religious mentalities and everyday needs, the workings of the sacred economy as well as civic 10   On theological continuities between Lutheran and Observant Augustinian teachings see the influential work of Berndt Hamm, Frömmigkeitstheologie am Anfang des 16. Jahrhunderts. Studien zu Johannes von Paltz und seinem Umkreis (Tübingen, 1982). 11   On Luther as a friar see Adolar Zumkeller, ‘Martin Luther und sein Orden’, Analecta Augustiniana, 25 (1962), 254–90. 12   See Heinz Schilling, ‘Reformation–Umbruch oder Gipfelpunkt eines Tempts des Réformes’, in Bernd Moeller (ed.), Die Frühe Reformation in Deutschland als Umbruch: wissenschaftliches Symposium des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 1996 (Gütersloh, 1998), pp. 13–34. On friars as the first generation of Protestant preachers see Johannes Schilling, Gewesene Mönche. Lebensgeschichten in der Reformation (Munich, 1990). 13   Walter Ziegler, ‘Reformation und Klosterauflösung. Ein ordensgeschichtlicher Vergleich’, in Kaspar Elm (ed.), Reformbemühungen und Observanzbestrebungen im spätmittelalterlichen Ordenswesen (Berlin, 1989), pp. 585–614; Manfred Schulze, Fürsten und Reformation. Geistliche Reformpolitik weltlicher Fürsten vor der Reformation (Tübingen, 1991); Dieter Stievermann, ‘Die württembergische Klosterreformen des 15. Jahrhunderts. Ein bedeutendes landeskirchliches Strukturelement des Spätmittelalters und ein Kontinuitätsstrang zum ausgebildeten Landeskirchentum der Frühneuzeit’, Zeitschrift für württembergische Landesgeschichte, 44 (1985), 65–121, 93–9. 14   Here I use the term coined by Paul L. Nyhus to describe the process of lay participation in the Observant reform of convents in particular, and the growing lay authority in church affairs in general: Paul L. Nyhus, ‘The Franciscan Observant Reform in Germany’, in Elm (ed.), Reformbemühungen, pp. 207–18, p. 217.

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identity and concepts of morality. The convent – as it will be argued by analysing the witness testimonies – was considered by the townspeople not only as a source of additional resources of the sacred, but also as a possibility for voluntary and individual religious experiences that differed from the prescribed celebrations in the parish church with the participation of the whole parish community.15 For the late medieval mind, the spiritual and the physical sphere were closely interwoven, and the manifestations of the sacred within the material world established the principle of order. Liturgical rites as well as the rites of passage of the individual’s life-cycle were a key instrument in the regulation of both the sacred and the social order. Late medieval people could experience the sacred most regularly within the liturgy of the Mass.16 Christian dogma and liturgy were formed by the Church’s mediation in salvation through the exclusive ecclesiastical administration of the sacraments and the ever-growing activity of the laity in ensuring both their afterlife and their prosperity in this world.17 The dynamic relationship of lay interpretations and the teachings of the Church formed the focal aspects of contemporary religion such as eucharistic worship and confessional practice, the notion of Purgatory and the idea of merit and good works.18 The Church emphasized the efficacy of good personal conduct, good works and repentance in the attainment of salvation.19 In practice, however, these notions fostered 15

  For other aspects of mendicant spirituality which, compared to the local parish church, offered additional possibilities for lay devotional practices see Carmen Florea’s chapter in the present volume. 16   The concept coined to describe this phenomenon, the ‘economy of the sacred’, is discussed in detail by Robert W. Scribner, Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany (London, 1987), pp. 2–16 and pp. 32–41. 17   For a rich survey of lay religious practices see L. Pásztor, A magyarság vallásos élete a Jagelló-korban [The Religious of Life of Hungarians in the Jagiello Era] (Budapest, 1940). From among recent works see Enikő Csukovits, Középkori magyar zarándokok [Medieval Hungarian Pilgrims] (Budapest, 2003). On confraternities see Marie-Madeleine de Cevins, ‘Les confréries en Hongrie à la fin du Moyen Âge: l’ exemple de la conférie Mere de Miséricorde de Bardejov (1449–1525)’, Le Moyen Âge, 106 (2000), 347–68. 18   On eucharistic devotion see Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi. The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge, 1991). From the abundant literature on confession see Martin Ohst, Pflichtbeichte: Untersuchungen zum Busswesen in Hohen und Späten Mittelalter (Tübingen, 1996). About beliefs connected to Purgatory see Jacques Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory (Aldershot, 1984); Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England 1400–1580 (New Haven, CT, 1992), pp. 338–54. 19   See the popular sermon collection of the Franciscan preacher Pelbárt Temesvári, Sermones Pomerii. Pomerium de Sanctis, Pars Hyemalis, 3, L: ‘Omnis Christianus in extremo iudicio iudicabitur de operibus misericordie’, Pomerium Quadragesimalium, I, 5, U: ‘plus facit misericordiam deus ad unicam veram penitentiam quam faceret ad intercessiones omnium sanctorum. Nam si unus homo in pecto mortali existens nollet penitere, tali deus

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the institution and system of intercession based on the principle of reciprocity and mediation.20 The mediators of contact with the sacred were also connected with the laity through mutual obligations, and if they offended against their duties, be they saints or ordained clergy, they could become the objects of ridicule and anger. A specialized and numerous group of intercessors, however, in the shape of the mendicant orders, were facing serious difficulties by the beginning of the sixteenth century. For example, evidence suggests that by the very beginning of the sixteenth century mendicant orders had ceased to offer an appealing career for ambitious young men of the lower social strata: although many entered the orders, they also left them as soon as they had acquired the education in their schools that was necessary to function as a secular intellectual or a secular priest.21 It has also been observed that as a result of the pious donations of the laity, the mendicants had acquired considerable lands and wealth, which in turn made it difficult for the laity to differentiate them from monastic orders, since they became entangled in everyday economic conflicts with local communities.22 The symptoms of crisis, however, were matched with ideas and practices of revival, such as the return to strict poverty or the preaching designed for ordinary listeners of the Observant Franciscans.23 The atmosphere of change and the intensive nature of their relationship with wide layers of lay society meant that the life of the regular clergy had become an everyday topic of conversation in the decades preceding the evangelical movement. Monks and friars became typical and central peccata non dimitteret etiam si omnes sancti et Beata virgo pro illo intercederent.’ On the editions of the sermon collection see Károly Szabó (ed.), Régi Magyar Könyvtár [Old Hungarian Library] (3 vols, Budapest, 1879–1896), vol. 3, 1486–1521, passim. 20   Clive Burgess, The Parish, Church and the Laity in Late Medieval Bristol (The Bristol Branch of the Historical Association. Local History Pamphlets 80, Bristol, 1992), pp. 4–6. 21   This statement is based on my research of the supplications handed in to the Apostolic Penitentiary, which was the curial office giving pardon for grave sins in the form of absolutions and dispensations. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Sacra Poenitentieria Apostolica, Registra Matrimonialium et Diversorum, vols 55–9, 62–4, 66, 68, 70, 72–5 (for the years 1510–1527). 22   Beatrix F. Romhányi, ‘A koldulóbarátok szerepe a XV–XVI. századi vallási megújulásban’ [The role of mendicant friars in the fifteenth- to sixteenth-century religious revival], in Beatrix F. Romhányi and Gábor Kendeffy (eds), Szentírás, hagyomány, reformáció. Teológia- és egyháztörténeti tanulmányok [The Holy Script, Tradition and Reformation. Studies of Theology and Church History] (Budapest, 2009), pp. 143–55. 23   Duncan Nimmo, ‘The Franciscan Regular Observance: the Culmination of Medieval Franciscan Reform’, in Elm, Reformbemühungen, pp. 189–205; Predicazione Francescana e società veneta nel Quattrocento: committenza, ascolto, ricezione, Atti del II Convegno internazionale di studi francescani (Padua, 1995).

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figures of common talk at different places, from the market place to the universities to the papal court itself.24 Their everyday life and characters entered the pages of the satirical writing of humanist authors dealing with current features of the day.25 At the beginning of the sixteenth century the idea of womanizing and avaricious but publicly pious, hypocritical friars must have been familiar figures to many. So it should not come as a surprise that the characters, events and turns of the stories related by the people in Körmend about the Augustinians’ lewdness (a preaching friar’s lover in his cell; fornication in the church), swindles (a friar stealing and selling a horse) and drunkenness (saying Mass in the pub) reveal an early occasional consonance with the topoi of the written tradition. This study will therefore also explore why evangelical rhetoric particularly set the mendicants as its target. The case of Körmend suggests that the evangelical criticism of the friars could be effective precisely because they were central figures of late medieval lay–clerical interactions and religious life. However, it will be proposed that the criticism was also generated by the rivalry of the evangelical preachers and the Franciscans, who had the most vitality from among the old clergy in Hungary in terms of opposition of evangelical preaching in word and writing. When the middle part of Hungary, including the capital Buda, came under Turkish occupation in the 1540s, the Catholic Church was almost completely devastated. It was only the Observant Franciscans and the Paulines who were able to maintain and inhabit a few houses notwithstanding the victories of the Turks and the new faith.26 The following reconstruction of the trial over the convent at Körmend will reflect on the contexts and concepts outlined above. First, I will present the claims and arguments of the opposing parties in the course of the 24   See Susan E. Phillips, Transforming Talk: The Problem with Gossip in Late Medieval England (University Park, PA, 2007), where the author argues that clerical discourses of sermons and confessions, which primarily structured lay–clerical relations, are largely indebted to everyday gossip. Moreover she maintains that Chaucer’s stories also employ the rhetoric and themes of gossip to undermine canonical texts. 25   Eduard Fuchs, Illustrierte Sittengeschichte vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart, Band 1: Renaissance (Munich, 1909); Henrik Horváth (ed.), Az apácafőkötő. Régi olasz novellák [The Nun Hood. A Collection of Old Italian Short Stories] (Budapest, 2003). On theological, legal and penitential literature see Dyan Elliott, Fallen Bodies: Pollution, Sexuality, and Demonology in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia, PA, 1998). 26   In Ottoman Hungary, two Franciscan convents survived in Gyöngyös and Szeged, while the Paulines had five or six houses in Habsburg Hungary. Pál Ács, ‘Katolikus irodalom és kultúra a reformáció századában’ [Catholic literature and culture in the century of the Reformation], Vigilia, 5 (1995), 360–74; Ferenc Szakály, ‘Török uralom és reformáció Magyarországon a 16. század közepe táján’ [Turkish rule and Reformation in Hungary in the middle of the sixteenth century], Világosság, 1 (1984), 51–9.

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trial. On the one side there was Cardinal Thomas Bakócz, Archbishop of Esztergom (Strigoniensis), and the Observant Franciscans.27 The cardinal, who was also the landlord of the town and patron of the convent in 1517, initiated a process against the Augustinians, then expelled them and introduced the Observant Franciscans into the emptied convent. On the other side we find the Augustinians, who appealed to the papal curia in order to reclaim their convent. During the local investigations ordered by Pope Leo X, the Augustinians complained about the great influence of their opponents and therefore the bias of witnesses in favour of the Franciscans.28 Indeed, the role played by the cardinal should make us investigate the ecclesio-political backgrounds of the transfer of the convent to the Franciscans. Bakócz was a very talented self-made man who, despite being born the son of a serf, almost reached the papal throne.29 In the 1510s he was ‘pope and king in his country, in short, he can be whatever he wants to be’ – as the Venetian ambassador described the great authority of the Hungarian renaissance prelate-politician who wielded a power comparable to that exterted by the cardinal-chancellors of western monarchies.30 Therefore, in the second section of the study the cardinal’s role in the late medieval reform movement of religious orders in Hungary will be examined more broadly, which will help us better understand his role in the events of the particular case in Körmend. The archbishop’s intervention, as his lawyers put it, was incited by the indignation of the civic community at the scandals which had become regular.31 The words 27   He was archbishop from 1497 to 1521 and cardinal from 1500 to 1521. Vilmos Fraknói, Erdődy Bakócz Tamás élete [The Life of Thomas Bakócz of Erdőd] (Budapest, 1899); György Székely, ‘Reform und Politik im Leben des Kardinals Bakócz’, in Siegfried Hoyer (ed.), Reform – Reformation – Revolution (Leipzig, 1980), pp. 81–6. 28   The pope delegated as judge Georgius Szatmári, bishop of Pécs (Quinqueecclesiensis) and royal chancellor. He, however, delegated the task to Michael Vitéz, Provost of Székesfehérvár (Alba Regia), who had previously been the Hungarian confessor in the papal curia (1511–1516). Later, in 1521, we find him in the cardinal’s service as an advocate at the see of Esztergom. He heard the legal representatives of both parties in Buda, but sub-delegated another prelate to carry out the investigations in Körmend. He chose for the task Bishop Attádi, suffragan and domestic prelate of the bishop of Pécs, who also stayed in close contact with the circles of Bakócz in Esztergom. József Köblös, Egyházi középréteg Mátyás és a Jagellók korában [The Middle Layers of Ecclesiastical Society during the Time of King Matthias Corvinus and the Jagiellos] (Budapest, 1994), pp. 376–7; Processus, fol. 1r, 18r. 29   On the papal election of 1513 see Ludwig Pastor, Geschichte der Päpste, vol. 4 (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1906), pp. 15–17. 30   The ambassador is quoted in Székely, ‘Reform und Politik’, p. 83. On his personality see Fraknói, Bakócz, p. 178. 31   Processus, fol. 17v.

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of the witnesses interrogated suggest, however, that their relationship with the Augustinian friars in the preceding decades had been more complex than this. Anxiety, anger, hatred and contempt: these are the words that keep returning in the people’s descriptions of their relationship with the friars.32 The third part of the chapter will examine the contents and contexts of these attitudes. The microanalysis of the relationship of convent and town will depict ‘from below’ how lay expectations helped shape the reform impulses which took place among the regular clergy at the time. The late medieval reform and the Protestant abolition of the regular clergy both form part of the process of ‘laicization of religion’, which will be contextualized in the final conclusion. The Conflict over the Augustinian Convent in Körmend Körmend was an average-sized late medieval market town, and although it was not a manorial centre, its seigniorial and religious institutions ranked it among the most important towns of the county. Market towns were franchised settlements, as the townsmen of Körmend had the right to choose a town judge each year, traded in the region customfree and had a weekly market. Still, as opposed to free royal cities, their inhabitants were considered serfs by law and lived under the authority of landlords. Körmend underwent conspicuous development in the second half of the fifteenth century under the predecessors of Thomas Bakócz, the Ellerbach magnate family. Although Johannes Ellerbach held his residence elsewhere in the county, he fortified the medieval castellum at the north-east corner of the town and founded the parish church of St Elisabeth in the south-east. As for the clergy living in the town, besides the parish priest and his chaplain there is further evidence of four altarists (rector altaris) – members of the lower clergy having an altar as a stipend – in the parish church, and another serving in the old parish church of St Martin in the north-western part of the town (see Map 4.2).33 Besides them, the senior clerical students (students in the minor orders of priesthood) and the schoolmaster of the parish church

32   The adjective ‘scandalizatus’ keeps returning, most often describing the general attitude of the laity (e.g. Processus, fol. 103r). Moreover, we often read about their ‘despicio’, ‘contemptus’ and ‘indignatio’ (fols 101v, 71r, 87r) towards the friars, who were ‘exosi’ (fol. 72v) for their misbehaviour. 33   Processus, fols 64v–65r (chaplain). On altarists see Zsuzsanna Bándi, Körmend a középkorban [Körmend in the Middle Ages] (Budapest, 1987), pp. 71–2, 91; Processus, fol. 27v.

Map 4.2

Körmend in the Middle Ages

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school also helped the parish priest at festive liturgical ceremonies.34 For example some of the witnesses remembered them performing the Ascension of Christ on Ascension Day in the town judge’s house.35 The secular clergy thus numbered seven priests and numerous clerics in the town. Their liturgical services were complemented by the Masses and holy hours in theory offered by the Augustinian convent standing in the main square of the town, intended by its royal founder in the thirteenth century to house 12 friars.36 The convent was closely integrated into the religious life of the parish. The warden of the convent church was elected by parishioners and collected money to restore church buildings left in poor repair as a result of the friars’ negligence.37 It is also interesting that the lay confraternity of parishioners, mentioned by witnesses who were its members, founded its altar in the convent church.38 In the absence of further evidence, we can only speculate why parishioners placed their confraternity under the guidance of the Augustinians rather than the parish priest, which was the general practice. Did they thus perhaps try to construct a sphere of autonomy against the parish priest, who was nominated by the landlord? Although the laity seem to have striven to integrate the convent into their religious practices, they did not have an easy task. Due to the centralized organization of their orders, mendicant friars were geographically exceptionally mobile compared to the parish clergy. The friars in Körmend also came from distant places and only temporarily lived in the town, thus lacking any kinship relations to the local citizenry.39 This circumstance tended to render them social outsiders in local communities. 34   On the school in subsequent centuries see István György Tóth, ‘Iskola és reformáció Körmenden a 16–18. században’[School and Reformation in Körmend in the Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries], A Ráday Gyűjtemény Évkönyve, 6 [The Yearbook of the Ráday Collection, 6] (Budapest, 1989), pp. 10–21. 35   Processus, fol. 74rv. 36   On the convent’s earlier history see Zsuzsanna Bándi, ‘Ágostonos remeték Körmenden’ [Augustinian Hermits in Körmend], Vasi Szemle, 23 (1979), 359–66. 37   Mentioned by several witnesses, for example Processus, fol. 86v. 38   It was called the ‘confraternitas sive societas Beate Marie Virginis’, mentioned exclusively in Processus (fol. 86v) but not in other sources. On confraternities in late medieval Hungary see de Cevins, ‘Les confréries en Hongrie’. In German cities confraternities tended to choose the churches of reformed mendicant convents: Bernhard Neidiger, Mendikanten zwishen Ordensideal und städtischer Realität. Untersuchungen zum wirtschaftlichen Verhalten der Bettelorden im Basel (Berlin, 1981), pp. 162–7. 39   For example Prior Sigismund came from the more distant see of Vác, and Friar Antonius (‘the drunkard’) from the market town of Pápóc (diocese of Győr), where he celebrated his first Mass. Processus, fols 23v, 67r.

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In the course of a controversy over the ownership of the convent in 1517–1518, several witnesses were heard by the bishop-judge. From their depositions we learn that the citizens of Körmend at the beginning of the 1500s repeatedly asked the provincial of the Augustinian mendicant friars, orally as well as in writing, to take care of the convent of the order ‘for God and for all our salvation’, to which effect the provincial sent some more friars to the convent.40 The town had more and more frequently become the scene of scandals excited by the friars’ neglect of liturgical services and their moral laxity. For instance, Friar Simon, dressed in secular clothes and armed with a sword, paid nightly visits to taverns and other places of ill repute during the Lent period, when he was slapped by one of the citizens, Blasius Szalay. Blasius unclothed the friar with his companions and (probably with the castellan’s help) put him in the stocks in the main square of the town.41 At other times the wrong-doing friars managed to get away unpunished. The prior, for example, who was said to have dallied with one Margareth Prodon in the garden of the convent, fled just in time into the cloister when he noticed a small group of young men approaching threateningly − as the episode was recalled at the hearing by one member of said group.42 The disruption of peaceful everyday life finally prompted Cardinal Bakócz, the convent’s patron, to interfere: in 1517 he expelled the Augustinians from the convent, replacing them with Observant Franciscans. The Augustinians, however, did not accept the cardinal’s decision and sought protection from the pope. Pope Leo X ordered the investigation of the case at the Augustinians’ appeal. During the in partibus process started in May 1518, the opposing sides related the events in contradictory ways. In the formulation of Cardinal Bakócz and his men, their actions were aimed at reforming the convent, that is restoring the integrity of religious communal life.43 According to the seven articuli compiled by the landlord’s lawyers, the convent, contrary to the will of the founding king, was either abandoned or inhabited by only one or two friars. Consequently, the Augustinians performed the divine services defectively, or not at all. The convent buildings had become ruined as a result of their negligence. In addition the friars visited taverns, where they ate and drank with peasants, and in their drunkenness often got into arguments and fights. Finally, they 40

  The written requests of the townspeople are mentioned only in Processus, fol. 83v.   Ibid., fols 85r, 103r. 42   Ibid., fol. 43r. 43   Although by this time the cardinal’s estates in Körmend were governed by his nephew, Petrus Erdődy, who was present at the investigation at Körmend, we must consider his role only secondary to that of the cardinal. 41

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did not even recoil from associating with ‘suspicious women’, who they took into the convent as well.44 In their appeal the Augustinians declared, however, that they had led an exemplary life and regarded their removal as a violent action on the part of the archbishop and the Franciscans. Instead of reform, they talked about unlawful dismissal (spolium).45 Convent life was often reformed by introducing representatives of another religious order into the convent, a process in which secular authorities also claimed an active role, frequently initiating the reform themselves.46 Thus the reform of convents became a complex process involving a clash of different interests and arguments. Therefore it seems useful to try to detect the network of interwoven interests around the events in Körmend. The Augustinians interpreted the background of their removal as a disadvantageous chapter in the rivalry between the religious orders. They presented the expropriation of their convent as a violent action based on fictitious allegations and carried out in unlawful circumstances. Their opponents, the landlord supporting the Franciscans, on the other hand, talked about the lawful reform of the convent for appropriate religious reasons. And they sensed and made a significant distinction not between the Augustinian and Franciscan orders but between the two great camps of Conventual and Observant monasticism. The fault-line between Conventual and Observant monasticism was formed as a result of the differing stances of members of the orders with regard to monastic revival, or in contemporary terms, the ‘reformation’ of the orders. The adherents of reform, demanding the observance of the original regulations, intended to revive the heart of monasticism: poverty, chastity and obedience. They were confronted by the Conventuals, denying the necessity of change, who thought the customs and privileges that had emerged with time did not prevent them from keeping their monastic vows. The advocates of change believed at the same time that contemporary practice fell far from the original norms and consequently talked about the crisis of the orders. It becomes clear from their reform demands, including the prohibition of private possessions and the strict observance of enclosure with the exclusion of women from convents, what they regarded as the source and symptoms of corruption. Also of great importance was the restoration of an obligatory communal life, to 44

  Processus, fols 16v–17v.   Ibid., fols 24r–25v. For the German literature on late medieval monastic reform see footnote 12; Bernhard Neidiger, ‘Stadtregiment und Klosterreform in Basel’, in Elm, Reformbemühungen, pp. 539–69. 46   See the studies in Elm, Reformbemühungen, especially ‘Landesherren, städtische Obrigkeit und Ordensreform’, pp. 515–70. 45

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be observed without exception, with compulsory attendance at Masses and evening prayers, participation in common meals, wearing of the appropriate habit and obedience to a stricter asceticism that included periods of fasting and silence.47 The articles of the Körmend process are congruous with this: the Augustinians ‘led a loose life in neglect of monastic discipline, ignoring their superiors’.48 So the transfer of the cloister of Körmend was inspired, at the level of words at least, by Observant ideals. In order to better understand the events surrounding the Augustinian convent in early sixteenth-century Körmend, we will explore how this particular case fits in with the broader picture concerning the reform of religious orders in Hungary in the same period. We will concentrate on the role Cardinal Bakócz played in this reform process, which will help us clarify his role in the exclusion of the Augustinians in Körmend. The Reform of Religious Orders in Late Medieval Hungary The Benedictine and Premonstratensian Reform and Cardinal Bakócz At the beginning of the sixteenth century a dynamic reform process started both in the Benedictine and the Premonstratensian orders in Hungary. The reformers tried to create favourable conditions to revive communal religious life through the practice of the canonical election of superiors, the holding of regular meetings and visitations, and the organization of isolated convents into closer units under one leader. The first significant results in this field appeared in 1510–1512 in both orders.49 47

  For a good summary of the Observant movement see Kaspar Elm, Verfall und Erneuerung des Ordenswesen im Spätmittelalter. Forschungen und Forschungsaufgaben, Untersuchungen von Kloster und Stift (Göttingen, 1980), pp. 188–238. See also the studies in Elm, Reformbemühungen, pp. 3–400. 48   Processus, fol. 17v. For an analogous case see Paul L. Nyhus, ‘The Franciscan Observant Reform in Germany’, in Elm, Reformbemühungen, pp. 207–18, p. 211. 49   For a more detailed study of the reform movements see Elemér Mályusz, Egyházi társadalom a középkori Magyarországon [Ecclesiastical Society in Medieval Hungary] (Budapest, 2007; 1st edn 1971), pp. 206–19; László Erdélyi (ed.), A pannonhalmi Szent Benedek-rend története [The History of the Order of St Benedict of Pannonhalma] (vols 1–12b, Budapest 1902–1912), vol. 3, pp. 86–102; Arisztid Oszvald, ‘Fegyverneky Ferenc, sági prépost, rendi visitator 1506–1535’ [Ferenc Fegyverneky, Provost of Ság, Visitor of the Premonstratensian Order 1506–1535], in Lajos Kovács (ed.), Emlékkönyv Szent Norbert halálának 800 éves jubileumára (1134–1934) [On the 800th Anniversary of the Death of St Norbert] (Gödöllő, 1934), pp. 51–108.

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The reform of the Benedictines was initiated and supported by the monarch himself, Wladislaus II (1490–1516); the leading figure of the movement was Matthaeus Tolnai, abbot of Pannonhalma, appointed by the king in 1500. Bakócz disfavoured the Benedictines’ efforts to organize the congregation because they encroached on his authority as primate: the reformed abbeys had come under the authority of Pannonhalma; instead of the synod of Esztergom they visited the great chapter, and the abbeys were visited not by Bakócz but by the arch-abbot. The conflict deepened further after the king’s death and papal confirmation of the congregation in 1518: the archbishop supported the endeavours for independence of those abbots who denied the strong power of Tolnai, the arch-abbot, and this way the archbishop could effectively impede the efficient operation of Benedictine reform.50 In short, political envy seems to have motivated Bakócz in his blocking of the Benedictine revival.51 On the other hand, the successful implementation of the reform movement of the Premonstratensians, spreading from France, can also be attributed to the influence of the archbishop. As a first step, from 1506 the archbishop’s protégés became heads of three great provostries with the king’s cooperation: Franciscus Fegyverneky, Uriel Majthényi and Andreas Dévai were all learned clerics originating from the gentry, and all joined the order after their appointment. They became the superiors of the provostries of Ság, Turóc and Bozók, respectively, all under royal patronage, while the fourth house selected for reform in Bény had Bakócz as its patron. In 1510, almost unperceived, control passed into their hands and, through them, it came under the primate’s influence. In the light of his stubborn anti-reform activity concerning the Benedictines, Bakócz’s reforming zeal of the Premonstratensians can probably be explained by non-religious factors, such as his well-known pride and wish to enforce his own authority.52 Nonetheless, the reform of the order achieved considerable results in restoring monastic life as the archbishop’s men were genuine supporters and restless champions of internal revival. Franciscus Fegyverneky, being entitled as the general visitor (in fact, head) of the order, put his own men in command of the convents but these were simple friars on whose assistance he could rely in implementing reform; he visited the provostries, maintained contacts with the French centre and was a careful administrator and protector of the assets of the order that had been previously lost out of negligence. Meanwhile he considered it 50

  Mályusz, Ecclesiastical Society, pp. 206–12.   Ibid., p. 229. 52   Oszvald, ‘Ferenc Fegyverneky’, pp. 53–6, 58–9, 80; Mályusz, Ecclesiastical Society, pp. 213–15. 51

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important that a book of holy offices should be compiled in Hungarian (the Lányi Codex) for nuns.53 Franciscus Fegyverneky also did everything in his power to regain the lost provostries. These included the two important houses of Zsámbék and Csut, which were in the hands of the Paulines at the time. With approximately 80 houses, the Paulines were the most popular religious order besides the Franciscans in Hungary in this period, which was probably due to their very special profile: they were of Hungarian origin; they lived in poverty; they performed elaborate liturgies and were the carriers of mystic religious traditions; and, finally, they participated in the cure of souls, which in the fifteenth century rendered them similar to mendicant orders as opposed to their earlier monastic-eremitic profile.54 Even Bakócz could not elude their influence, which is reflected by his numerous pious donations to the hermits. The Premonstratensian order also had him to thank for obtaining in 1493 the abbey of Visegrád at the Danube bend, which had been neglected by the Benedictines. In addition, the prelate contributed money, if only in small measure, towards the restoration of the buildings.55 The archbishop’s sympathies towards Pauline devotion may have been strengthened by his personal relationship – formed in Rome – with Georgius Gyöngyösi, general (1520–1521) and spiritual reformer of the order, and earlier prior of the Pauline convent in Rome.56 The female Benedictine convent of Somlóvásárhely – under the protection of the lords of the neighbouring castle, Bakócz and his nephew – on the other hand, seemed to be in need of reform.57 The first sign of problems was Wladislaus II’s charter of 9 September 1510 in which the king called upon the nuns to stay under the protection of Petrus 53

  Oszvald, ‘Ferenc Fegyverneky’, passim; Mályusz, Ecclesiastical Society, pp. 215–16.   See the latest studies published in Gábor Sarbak (ed.), Decus Solitudinis. Pálos évszázadok [Pauline Centuries] (Budapest, 2007); Gábor Sarbak, ‘Die Devotio moderna in Ungarn’, in M. Derwich and M. Staub (eds), Die ‘Neue Frömmigkeit’ in Europa im Spätmittelalter (Göttingen, 2004), pp. 249–64; Gábor Sarbak, ‘Der Paulinerorden an der Schwelle der Neuzeit’, in H. Specht and R. Andraschek-Holzer (eds), Bettelorden in Mitteleuropa. Geschichte, Kunst, Spiritualität (St Pölten, 2008), pp. 316–25. 55   Between 1493 and 1496 he gave alms to the Paulines 13 times, to the Franciscans twice and to the Carthusians once. Kabos Kandra, Bakocs codex. Bakócs Tamás egri püspök udvartartási számadó-könyve az 1493–1496. évekről [Bakocs Codex. The Account Book of the Court of Tamás Bakócz, Bishop of Eger] (Eger, 1888), pp. 360–61, 364–9, 374, 413–36. On Visegrád see Erdélyi (ed.), The History of the Order of St Benedict of Pannonhalma, vol. 12b, pp. 52–3. 56   Elemér Mályusz, ‘A pálosrend a középkor végén’ [The Pauline Order at the End of the Middle Ages], Egyháztörténet, 3 (1945), 1–53, 18. 57   Pál Lukcsics, A vásárhelyi apácák története [The History of the Nuns of Vásárhely] (Veszprém, 1923), pp. 18–19. 54

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Erdődy, landlord of the castle of Somlóvásárhely, and his castellans. The warning was issued because, as the king had been informed, the nuns had tried to evade the authority of the landlord and in the interest of ‘living more freely and loosely, they are not willing to accept the control of the superintendent’. For this reason they induced the nobility of the county to support them against Petrus Erdődy, although he had done no harm to either their properties or their serfs but, rather, intended to preserve them in safety. The king was all the more surprised since, as he wrote, previously the nuns themselves asked him to place them under the protection of the castellans of Somlóvásárhely.58 Before the transfer in June 1511, based on a scenario identical to that of the Körmend case, there was an examination conducted, with witness interrogation, concerning the demeanour of the nuns of Somlóvásárhely. The record of this process is not known. The events are alluded to in detail by the archiepiscopal vicar’s final decree ordering the nuns’ departure. In this we read that ‘the abbess and some nuns, neglecting religious discipline, did not blush to lead a lecherous life, to visit pubs and, submitting to their wanton desires, to organize dances in the convent, to indulge in debauchery and to descend to even worse, and to slope about outside of the convent’.59 Whether the nuns really lived such an exuberant life we do not know. But obviously the objections against the nuns, such as the transgressions of enclosure, the visits to pubs and their rampant life, do coincide with what was cast up by Bakócz’s men against the Augustinians of Körmend. We have seen that Cardinal Bakócz was an ambitious person who tried to keep everything under his control and hindered any independent aspirations. Thus, even if often driven by political rivalry rather than religious aims, he played an intensive role in the reform movements of the above-mentioned orders both at the level of central leadership of the orders as well as locally, in the reform of particular convents. This supports our argument that he must have also actively interfered in Körmend. The following analysis of his relationship with the Augustinian and Franciscan orders will shed even more light on the convent reform in this market town.

58   Österreichisches Staatsarchiv (ÖStA), Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchiv (HHStA), Familienarchiv Erdődy, Urkunden 10 247. 59   MOL DL 22 140.

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The Observant Franciscans, the Augustinians and the Cardinal Observant Franciscans enjoyed enormous popularity in late medieval Hungary. During the fifteenth century their supporters built 44 new convents for them. Among others, they had a new convent at Egervár near Körmend.60 Thus it is very unlikely that they would have set their eyes on the old and ruined cloister of the Augustinians in Körmend out of their own initiative. The cardinal’s relationship with the order was burdened by events of the peasant revolt of 1514, which developed out of the crusade proclaimed by Bakócz as a papal legate. It was traditionally the Observant Franciscans who were entrusted to preach the anti-Turk crusades in Hungary. Bakócz, in his youth, directly experienced the success of their crusade-preachings in the entourage of Gabriele da Rangoni, a fellow friar and aide of John of Capistrano, preacher of the 1456 crusade.61 Therefore it is surprising that Bakócz approached the Observant Franciscans to preach the crusade only when he did not find effective enough the work performed by the episcopal clergy, whom he entrusted first.62 But what could have restrained him from choosing the Franciscans in the first place? On the one hand, the chronicle of the order makes short mention of the scandals which reached the order around 1512–1513 in connection with their collection and administration of the jubilee indulgence monies.63 On the other hand, we also know that Hungarian Observants were struggling with serious internal debates at the time. Against the conservative superiors, under the leadership of the Italian commissioner of the order delegated to Buda, a radical group of younger friars demanded the tightening of rules of religious life and openly voiced their discontent, leading to a revolt.64 Several small signs indicate that Bakócz was aware of the difficult situation of the superiors 60   Erik Fügedi, ‘Koldulórendek és városfejlődés Magyarországon’ [Mendicant Orders and Urbanization in Hungary], in Erik Fügedi, Kolduló barátok, polgárok, nemesek. Tanulmányok a magyar középkorról [Mendicant Friars, Burghers, Noblemen] (Budapest, 1981), pp. 83–4; János Karácsonyi, Szent Ferencz rendjének története Magyarországon 1711-ig [The History of the Order of St Francis in Hungary until 1711] (vols 1–2, Budapest, 1922– 1924), vol. 1, pp. 58–9, p. 331. 61   Stanko Andrić, The Miracles of St. John Capistran (Budapest, 2000), pp. 22–9. 62   Jenő Szűcs, ‘A ferences obszervancia és az 1514. évi parasztháború. Egy kódex tanúsága’ [Franciscan Observants and the Peasant War of 1514], Levéltári Közlemények, 43 (1972), 213–63, 235–6. 63   Ibid., p. 236. 64   Jenő Szűcs, ‘Ferences ellenzéki áramlat a magyar parasztháború és reformáció hátterében’ [The Movement of the Franciscan Opposition in the Context of the Hungarian Peasant War and the Reformation], Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények, 78 (1974), 409–35, 420–23.

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of the province. The archbishop was a patron of the Franciscans and it seems that he had a close relationship with Balázs Dézsi, their provincial: the friar had collaborated already in the first preaching of the crusade bull in Buda. This episode suggests that although Cardinal Bakócz had a close relationship with the Franciscan leadership and their cooperation was traditional, the Franciscans at the time were in a difficult situation, which caused their failure in the crusade-preaching of 1514. The case might serve as an analogy to the events in Körmend. In the case of both the crusade-preaching and the transfer of the convent it was the cardinal who constrained the Franciscans’ participation in the mission. In both events the order submitted to the cardinal’s will, contrary to its own needs and interests. As a result, the crusade-preaching turned into a peasant rebellion, and the transfer of Körmend, since the Franciscans did not have enough zeal and energy to rebuild the convent, also ended in failure: in 1524 they would abandon the town. The manifestations of the cardinal’s private devotion point towards the Franciscans rather than the Dominicans, who were the other potential candidates for reforming the convent. He may have started his studies in the school of the Dominicans in Szatmár and he also chose a Dominican as his confessor, the prior of Esztergom. However, as the popes’ theologians had also been provided traditionally by this order, this can also be regarded as a sign of the Roman orientation of his religious mentality.65 It is also worth noticing that the altar of the Renaissance chapel (1519), which is regarded as the main achievement of his life, was adorned with motifs characteristic of the Observant Franciscans.66 There is one single brief note concerning the relationship of Cardinal Bakócz with the Augustinian order: on 10 April 1520 General Gabriele da Venezia addressed a circular to the Hungarian province of the Augustinian order in which he urged the friars to ‘lead a holy life and especially to pacify the Archbishop of Esztergom’.67 The laconic note in the general’s registers can, considering its date, possibly refer to Bakócz’s anger aroused by the appellation of the Augustinians against their exclusion from their convent in Körmend. The waves of the cardinal’s anger were so high that they even reached the Augustinian general in Rome. As we have no other and earlier direct evidence concerning their relationship, 65

  Mauro da Leonessa, Il Predicatore Apostolico. Note storiche (Isola del Liri, 1929).   For example the placement of the ‘IHS’ monogram in a round medallion on the altar table is considered to be an Observant motif, which spread in Hungary with the mediation of John of Capistrano. Jolán Balogh, Az esztergomi Bakócz kápolna [The Bakócz Chapel in Esztergom] (Budapest, 1955), p. 35, picture no. 89. 67   Archivum Generalis Ordinis Eremitarum Sancti Augustini – Rome (AGA) Serie Dd (Registri dei Reverendissimi Padri Generali), vol. 13, fol. 132v. 66

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we must explore the situation of the order in Hungary at the time in order to ascertain whether or not the expulsion of the Augustinians from Körmend was indeed justifiable. Were there any reform endeavours in their circles which could have also offered an appealing solution to the situation in Körmend? After a two-decade-long crisis of leadership, the Augustinian order was headed by Egidio da Viterbo, an outstanding humanist scholar, preacher and reformer (1506–1517).68 In the Hungarian province, which had approximately 40 convents, the difficulty lay in planting the spirit of reform and introducing a stricter way of life. 69 In order to ensure a continuous relationship with the Italian and trans-Alpine provinces, including Hungary, the general often wrote to the provincials urging them to go on with the reform, and expected from them monthly reports on conditions within their provinces.70 The extrapolation of reform was further supported by a new procedure whereby the newly elected provincials and the decisions of provincial chapters were acknowledged by Rome only on condition that they were committed to the cause of reform. In practice, this meant making a promise to introduce eight regulations concerning discipline, personal poverty and a common liturgy. After such antecedents, in 1509 magister Martinus Pécsi (‘de Quinque Ecclesiis’), in 1514 Paulus Dombus and probably in 1518 Blasius Pécsi were confirmed in their positions as provincials.71 However, the fact that the general’s urges to reform did not cease signals that the promised actions had not been implemented by the Hungarian provincials. In November 1509 Martinus Pécsi was threatened with dismissal if he continued sabotaging the desired reform.72 All this shows that the older generation of Hungarian superiors, even if they did not expressly resist, did not perform the reforms initiated by Rome. Da Viterbo’s decree which prescribed that only those who 68   Clare O’Reilly (ed.), Giles of Viterbo O.S.A. Letters as Augustinian General (Lettere ufficiali, 1506–1517) (Rome, 1992); Francis Xavier Martin, Friar, Reformer and Renaissance Scholar: Life and Work of Giles of Viterbo, 1469–1532 (Rome, 1992). 69   Romhányi Beatrix, ‘Ágostonrendi remeték a középkori Magyarországon’ [Augustinian Hermits in Medieval Hungary], Aetas, 20 (2005), 91–101. For more detail on the reform movement see Gabriella Erdélyi, ‘Crisis or Revival? The Hungarian Province of the Order of Augustinian Friars in the Late Middle Ages’, Analecta Augustiniana, 67 (2004), 115–40. 70   Albericus de Meijer (ed.), Aegidii Viterbiensis O.S.A. registrum generalatus (vols 1–2, Rome, 1984–1988), vol. 1, no. 577 (1510) and 614 (1510); vol. 2, no. 883 (1517). 71   Ibid., vol. 1, no. 275 (1509) and vol. 2, no. 122 (1514); 23 July 1518: ‘Acta capituli Vngarie confirmamus omnia preter gradus […] Litteras reformationis publicas ad provinciam illam Vngharie scribimus’, AGA Serie Dd, vol. 12. fol. 79v. 72   Aegidii Viterbiensis O.S.A. registrum, vol. 1, no. 407.

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were willing to accept the stricter norms could study at the order’s colleges seemed to ensure that the next generation of superiors would be committed to reform. The most suitable places for this were the Italian schools, from where students would return home with a desire to foster reform in their homelands. It appears that in sending students to Italy the Hungarian province lived up to the expectations of Rome, and had to be urged only occasionally not to forget about their financial support.73 The general, however, was not satisfied with this and insisted on introducing his moderate reform programme in the remote Hungarian province too. In July 1512 he sent an Italian friar to Hungary: Agostino da Vicenza, magister of theology, who had been magister regens of the order’s colleges in Rome and then in Siena and was now appointed to this position in Esztergom. His foremost task was to introduce the new educational system, which was a pivotal point in the reform.74 Subsequent provincials, however, stubbornly opposed the activity of the Italian professor. It is probably not a coincidence that da Vicenza was commissioned during Bakócz’s stay in Rome, on 12 July 1512. This was the time of the first part of the Lateran Council, opened by the speech of Egidio da Viterbo, in which, referring also to the Hungarian cardinal, he urged the joining of forces against the Turks. Altogether, then, it seems that the seeds of reform in the Augustinian order did not fall on fertile ground in the Hungarian province in the sixteenth century, just as the reform endeavours of the fifteenth century had also ended in failure. However, we do not know whether the hostile reaction at the beginning of the sixteenth century arose against the very idea of reform or against the interference of Rome. There are several signs suggesting that conditions in Hungary were not as bad as they had been in the first half of the fifteenth century. Financial contribution to the central administration was paid regularly.75 There was a sufficient number of students studying in the Italian convents and, besides the majority of leaders having the title of lector,76 some attained a higher scholarly degree.77 Still, the leaders of the province, even if they were 73

  AGA Serie Dd, vol. 13, fol. 39v (1518).   Aegidii Viterbiensis O.S.A. registrum, vol. 2, nos 478 and 569. 75   AGA Serie Ll (Collette del padre Generale), vol. 2 (1441–1519), fols 75–6. 76   For the period between 1472 and 1482 see Ede Petrovich, ‘Új magyar egyetemi vonatkozású adatok a XV. századból egy római levéltárban’ [New Hungarian Data Concerning University Life in the Fifteenth Century from a Roman Archive], Filológiai Közlöny, 16 (1970), 158–63. Also see ‘Martinus, Bologna 1455’ (AGA Serie Dd, vol. 6, fol. 289); ‘Michael de Crigio Ungarus, Siena 1510’ (Aegidii Viterbiensis O.S.A. registrum, vol. 2, no. 614); ‘Franciscus Ungarus, Rome, 1519’ (AGA Serie Dd, vol. 13, fol. 74v). 77   Examples include the lector of the convent in Sárospatak, Johannes Kisvárdai (1489–1490), and Thomas Uz, prior of Esztergom (1508), baccalaurei. Mályusz, ‘The 74

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not representatives of the Italian-based Observant movement, were well qualified and placed emphasis on maintaining the regularity of communal life. The internal conditions of the order may have been favourably influenced directly by the fact that, in the person of Blasius Pécsi, the order found a qualified and popular leader who enjoyed the patronage of King Louis II. Their relationship must have contributed beneficially to the political significance of the order.78 The fact that they questioned the righteousness of the cardinal’s decision would also seem to reflect the Augustinians’ self-confidence. Our overview of the revival of the religious orders and their relationship to Cardinal Bakócz has shown that the cardinal strongly influenced their activities: either supporting their revival, as in the case of the Premonstratensians, or hindering it, as in the case of the Benedictines. As political, religious and personal aspects were tightly interwoven when he interfered, we can probably assume that this characterized his activities in Körmend too. In other words, he was both politically and personally closely attached to the Franciscans, which coincided with popular expectations: the citizens – as suggested by their depositions as well as the otherwise well-known popularity of the Franciscans in Hungary in general – also must have preferred the renewed Franciscans to the Augustinians who rejected any changes. The witnesses cited before the judge in Körmend were ordinary men from the town and neighbouring villages. While they, with only one exception, very consciously affirmed the expectations of the stronger party by stating that they wanted the Franciscans to stay in their town, the dozens of stories they spontaneously related open a very colourful window onto their daily encounters with the Augustinians. The Conflict and Cooperation of Town and Convent As the witnesses heard in Körmend unanimously confirmed, the friars’ negligent and loose way of life revolted the people. Their anger and contempt found expression in action as well. The community apparently tried everything to reform the Augustinians: scolded them, argued with them, laughed at them or mocked them, threatened them in word and in action, and even appealed to local and central authorities. At other times Augustinians’, 435; Xystus Schier, Memoria provinciae Hungaricae Augustinianae antiquae, ed. M. Rosnak (Graecii, 1778), pp. 51 and 101. 78   On his relationship to the king see the letter of the prior general written to Blasius on the occasion of his illegal re-election: AGA Serie Dd, vol. 14, fols 41v–42r (1521). See also the letter of King Louis II to the general: ibid., vol. 15, fol. 94r (1526).

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they chose to be tolerant and helped the friars in fulfilling their liturgical services, showed a good example for them or sometimes simply kept away from the drunken friars.79 The climax of the crisis was signalled by the friars’ open self-isolation and disrespectful behaviour which resulted in the community’s subsequent plan to drive them away.80 It should not be forgotten, however, that whatever was said during the interrogations belonged not to the normal but to the extraordinary way of things. Behind the witnesses’ chance remarks, the other, often peaceful side of their everyday life also faintly occurs. People had rather varied relationships with the friars, extending from the indifferent characteristic of those from outside Körmend and the conscious detachment of some, to occasional conversations in taverns, to drinking together in the convent, characteristic of the priests from the neighbouring villages.81 Above all, then, the people of Körmend seem to have had a rather ambivalent relationship with the friars: although revolted by the frairs’ sins, the local laity still made use of their remaining liturgical services and their company. For example they still went to confession to friar Antonius, nicknamed ‘the drunkard’, even though they knew he had not been consecrated as a priest. And besides being privy to the concealment of offences, there were also cases of transgressions committed jointly: during the Epiphany procession, for example, the laity themselves took large draughts of the wine smuggled into the holy-water stoup; or they often sat down with the friars in the tavern to play a game or two of chance.82 The crisis of the convent therefore should not be seen as a oneway process, but rather as a road with peaks and valleys. The goals of the community drifted from supporting the friars to restore their communal religious life to driving them out; the public mood seemed to waver between despair and resolution. Communal actions and attitudes were shaped by everyday conversations in the streets and taverns, which centred on stories of when the friars were punished by the townsmen for their misbehaviour. The most popular story in circulation concerned friar Michael, who had been found with his lover Dorothea in his cell, and after being carried across the town 79

  Processus, fols 88r, 93v (quarrel in the tavern); fol. 90v (beating of the friars); fol. 70v (mocking in the tavern); fols 88r, 74r, 75v (complaints to local priests); fols 83v, 100v (town magistrate’s letter to the Augustinian provincial); fol. 39v (helping the friars to celebrate Mass); fol. 87r (townsmen avoid the friars and their church). 80   Processus, fol. 86r (disrespectfulness of friars); fols 68v, 87r (talk about expelling the friars). 81   See Gabriella Erdélyi, ‘Causa Scientiae. Egy 16. századi tanúvallatási jegyzőkönyv anatómiája’ [Causa Scientiae. The Anatomy of Sixteenth-Century Witness Interrogation Records], Korall, 9 (2002), 5–31. 82   Processus, fols 72v, 67v, 54r.

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centre the friar was put in prison and the woman flogged in the pillory and banished.83 It can also be seen that private and group beliefs became the official opinion of the community through the self-positioning of local leaders – that is the parish priests and castellans.84 The question arises then as to why the long-planned ‘revolt’ was put off for decades, leaving an ambivalence based on the dialectics of conflict and solidarity as the determining aspect of the relationship of the community with the friars. It seems that this can be explained by the immense need of laymen for spiritual ministrations. First and foremost they called the Augustinians to account for not holding the prescribed divine services in the convent church. As rendered by one of the nobleman of Rádóc: ‘there were not as many services as there should have been in such an outstanding friary, due to which the people living here became so indignant that many complained of how these magnificent buildings were lacking in friars and services’.85 The townsmen of Körmend did not easily give up on the potential liturgical services of the convent, which meant additional occasions and different forms of religious experiences that the secular clergy could offer. The anger against the Augustinians in Körmend was primarily aimed at the mediators who neglected their duties, because in this way the friars disturbed the economy of the sacred, thus jeopardizing the spiritual and physical well-being of the community. Moreover, they did this at a time when parishioners wanted to take part in the duties of ordained priesthood in ever more varied forms in order to receive a share of their merits. For example the parishioners in Körmend were worried by the cancellation of the holy hours in the convent church because they themselves often took part in these, especially in the early morning and at evening prayers. Moreover, they regularly attended Mass during weekdays.86 From the late fourteenth century onwards it also became customary to join the brotherhoods of mendicant orders. This may have been the culmination of an earlier relationship to an order, or to an individual friary, manifested in donations or in the choice of the confessor. Lay brethren (confratres), then, shared in the merits of the friars’ liturgical acts, and could have gained a burial place in the 83

  Seventeen witnesses repeated the story with some variations. See, for example, ibid., fols 90v–91r. 84   The radical but marginal voices that gave expression to the intention of expelling the friars strengthened only after the castellan put friar Michael in prison and pilloried his lover. 85   Processus, fol. 55r. 86   Ibid., fol. 60v (attendance of matutina and vespera); fols 45r, 60v, 72r (attendance of weekday Masses); Mályusz, Ecclesiastical Society, p. 140.

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convent. Of the interrogated witnesses, two Körmend citizens attested to being lay-brethren of the Augustinians, and one of them, Simon Rosos, that of the Franciscans.87 Apparently, the lack of instruments of social control contributed to the friars’ loose way of living. The lower secular clergy were more deeply socially embedded in local communities through kinship relations and were also under the authority of the patron and the parish. The general practice of concubinage among parish priests, although in contravention of official church norms, at least rendered local priests more similar to their layfolk and was tolerated as natural by the laity.88 It seemed completely normal to them if their parish priest, just like them, brought up children with a woman. Several married parish priests who administered the sacraments are recorded as having been praised by their parishioners for leading morally exemplary and honest lives.89 Also their appearance – with no special priestly garments – fostered the sense of their similarity to the laity. Mendicant friars, however, wearing special habits and tonsure, appeared to the laity as basically different. 90 Moreover, as a result of their communal way of life and vow of poverty, friars could not maintain such a family-like way of living. Consequently, the friars became involved in sexual and other occasional misbehaviour that threatened the peace and the social institutions of town life and could not be tolerated by the community. They had ‘suspicious’ relationships, primarily with unmarried women and widows. Margareth, for instance, who had a child by the prior, lived alone with her swineherd son in the town while maintaining a secret relationship with the father. ‘Once he was in the convent and saw one of the Augustinian friars, the crippled prior, in the upper house of the convent … beside the cells with Margareth, a suspicious woman from Körmend, as they were talking’, as Nicolaus Borsos recalled at the interrogation.91 At other times they tried to veil their fornications with pretended reference to the social institution of spiritual kinship. To cover their romantic meetings, most often they addressed 87

  Processus, fols 83r, 30r.   This is well documented by the registers of church visitations of the archdiocese of Esztergom (1559–1562). Vojtech Bucko (ed.) Reformatio in archidioecesi Strigoniensi ad a. 1564 (Bratislava, 1939), pp. 121–284. 89   Ibid., p. 154, p. 196. 90   In this respect mendicant friars and the monastic orders with considerable properties must be handled separately. The visitations of the Benedictine monasteries in 1508 show that monks living ‘honestly’ with their lovers and building houses for their families was generally accepted. Erdélyi (ed.), The History of the Order of St Benedict of Pannonhalma, vol. 3, pp. 617–24. 91   Processus, fol. 82v. 88

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their lovers, whom they took into the convent, as their godsisters (soror spiritualis). Spiritual kinship relations were formed in baptism and, similar to consanguinity, involved the canonical prohibition of marriage.92 Still the friars seem to have perceived the spiritual network of relationships less monitored by the community if they tried to disguise their illicit dates as regular meetings between godsisters and godbrothers. The townsmen were not shocked when local priests, as everybody else, visited the taverns regularly but briefly for talking and moderate drinking, although ecclesiastical regulations strictly prohibited taverngoing even for the secular clergy. But they frowned at the friars drinking excessively and sitting from morning till sunset in the taverns. As they said ironically: the friars celebrated the morning Mass in the tavern.93 As they expected not only the friars but all members of the community to complete their duties, drunken and negligent friars were generally disdained. Lacking the means of legal and social discipline, the community was unable to enforce the Observance and penalize the breach of norms obligatory for all its members. The friars’ behaviour was perceived by the citizenry as immoral as they neglected the towns’ general code of behaviour and therefore disturbed community harmony. However, the scandalous conduct of the Conventual friars of Körmend was not merely a question of morals. In lay interpretation, a priest celebrating Mass irregularly, in a state of hangover, for instance – specifically mentioned by some witnesses – mediated immediate spiritual and physical danger for participants. The correct performance of liturgy was a crucial experience for the laity, who expected their priests to mediate efficiently between the heavenly and earthly spheres, the preconditions of which included the observance of the moral code as well. Priests failing to satisfy this requirement brought immediate danger rather than help expected from the sacraments. Lay attitudes towards the sacred and its anointed mediators was characterized by a particular ambivalence between need and fear, help and harm.94 Returning to the events at Körmend, despite the fact that the Augustinians were regularly endangering the townsmen’s spiritual and physical well-being, their negotiation reached a deadlock. The 92   John Bossy, ‘Godparenthood: The Fortunes of a Social Institution in Early Modern Christianity’, in Gaspar von Greyerz (ed.), Religion and Society in Early Modern Europe, 1500– 1800 (London, 1984), pp. 194–201. 93   Processus, fols 67v and 57r. 94   This kind of perception is also reflected by the ideas connected to harmful saints. Mentioned by Robert Scribner, ‘Cosmic order and daily life: sacred and secular in pre-industrial German society’, in Scribner, Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany (London, 1987), pp. 2–16, p. 14.

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community was unable to permanently improve the conditions of convent life, although they tried many strategies. Although at times the ultimate sanction of driving away the Augustinians was raised, and perhaps they themselves singled out the Observant Franciscans as their new pastors, they finally recoiled from this ‘revolt’. In other words, the community seems to have refrained from assuming the role of secular authority.95 Although during the process at Körmend it was repeated many times by the witnesses that the landlord reformed the convent ‘for the sake of religion and the salvation of Christians’, secular or church authorities alike undertook the financially very demanding reform of convents rather to restore public peace and welfare, which was in the case of Körmend disturbed by the violent conflicts between the friars and the laity.96 The intrusion of groups of laypeople into the convent ending with the public punishment of lecherous friars, as happened with friar Michael, or other fistfights with drunken friars in the streets, as was the case with friar Simon, must have seriously worried landlords.97 Moreover, the authority’s action functioned as a symbolic tool of legitimizing the superiority of both the Church and of the landlord, which had been called into question by the friars’ conduct. As the witnesses unanimously confirmed, due to the abuses of the Augustinians the people did not only condemn the friars themselves but also the whole order and even the entire clergy.98 That the landlord’s action at Körmend was primarily induced by the indignation of the people is reinforced by the final frustration of the reform. The Franciscans left the still ruinous convent in 1524, for reasons that suggest that the joint interest and cooperation of the community with the secular authority had ceased to work. On the one hand, the convent in the town centre was a central object of communal self-fashioning. The community tried to restore the damaged buildings, the restorations being organized by the confraternity of townspeople – as related by some of the witnesses – but their financial resources were enough only 95   The idea that they could have driven the friars away if they wanted to is not entirely unrealistic in light of several cases of market-town communities choosing their own parish priests, and a generation later replacing them by Protestant preachers, notwithstanding the landlord’s unchanged Catholic sympathies. András Kubinyi ‘Plébánosválasztások és egyházközségi önkormányzat a középkori Magyarországon’ [The Choice of Parish Priests and Parish Self-Government in Medieval Hungary], in Kubinyi, Főpapok, egyházi intézmények és vallásosság a középkori Magyarországon [Prelates, Church Institutions and Religiosity in Medieval Hungary] (Budapest, 1999), pp. 269–86. 96  Processus, fol. 79r. 97   See notes 82 and 40 above. 98   Processus, fols 71r and 74r.

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for partial improvements. On the other hand, the landlord was not interested in the convent buildings as an instrument of representation. The cardinal, who initiated the reform of the convent by the pope as its patron, lived in Esztergom, which he could hardly leave after 1519 due to severe illnesses. Petrus Erdődy, his nephew – who governed the estates of his uncle since 1511 and legally became the landlord of Körmend in 1517, therefore acting as landlord during the process – kept his permanent residence in the county elsewhere (in the market town of Monyorókerék), and the churches of Körmend did not function either as funeral places for his family.99 In the absence of aristocratic political and sacred representation, the patron was not interested in the condition of the convent after the scandals in the town had come to an end.100 Conclusion During the interrogation the witnesses recalled many interesting stories about the friars with whom they shared tense and happy moments alike. Their relationship was rather ambivalent than hostile. Although the townspeople were sometimes outraged, they still lived together with the negligent friars for decades. On the basis of our general impression in relation to religious life in late medieval convents and monasteries, we must suppose that the life of the Augustinians was not much worse here than elsewhere. It is difficult to explain why Cardinal Bakócz decided to interfere in the life of this particular convent and not in others. Although the surviving register of the Körmend case is unique, the process – as in the above-mentioned case of the Benedictine nunnery of Somlóvásárhely – must surely have had its parallels. Therefore the everyday life and religious culture of the late medieval convent, town and landlord of Körmend, as reconstructed above, may be special in some of its particulars, but also bears the general structural characteristics of the period. We have also seen that mendicant friars as preachers and confessors had an intense relationship with urban populations in the late Middle Ages.101 Therefore the general discontent towards the clergy in this 99

  At this time the king approved the testament of the cardinal, which legalized the descent of his huge estates to his family rather than the Church. MOL DL 89092. 100   Contrary to the case of Körmend, the cases of successful reforms of convents (see above, Szécsény, Sárospatak and Újlak) formed part of the landlords’ endeavours to build up or improve their residences as well as to establish a burial place for their families. For Újlak see Andrić, The Miracles, pp. 42–3. 101   For the complex relationship between mendicant convents and their host towns see, for example, Neidiger, Mendikanten; Norbert Hecker, Bettelorden und Bürgertum. Konflikt und Kooperation in den deutschen Städten des Spätmittelalter (Münster, 1981).

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period stemming from the laity’s growing religious consciousness and activity manifested itself with special intensity towards this particular group of the clerical order. This might be relevant to understanding the striking phenomenon that the focus of attacks led by urban evangelical movements against the old clergy was trained on the regular clergy and, in particular, the mendicants.102 In Hungary, from among the well-known preachers it was primarily András Szkhárosi Horváth, preacher in Tállya (1542–1549), who admonished the friars’ false belief and morals with an emphasis on their ‘excessive lewdness’. He contrasted the friars’ lechery, which arose from celibacy, with the virtues and chastity of marital life by which he adopted the rhetorical strategies of his fellow reformers.103 In Hungary, this was first written down in a conjugal advisory poem by András Batizi, a preacher in Tokaj, who borrowed Luther’s arguments verbatim to state that God created marriage for the ‘removal of lechery’ as well as the multiplication and aid of man.104 As opposed to marriage, which was created by God, monasticism was, consequently, an invention of man and a perversion of Christian doctrine, a disruption of moral order and the unity of the Church.105 Obviously the polemic against the old clergy, who originated part of their privileges from their vow of chastity, moved on a theoretical-theological as well as on an empiricalmoral plane. In the town of Gyöngyös there were pamphlets circulated in 1538 about the forbidden relationship between Franciscan friars and the Beguines, and the 1562 Synod of Debrecen urged the destruction of the ‘brothels’ of the friars and the nuns.106 It was also a recurring 102   Robert W. Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda and the German Reformation (Oxford, 1994), pp. 37–58; Geoffrey Dipple, Antifraternalism and Anticlericalism in the German Reformation: Johann Eberlin von Günzburg and the Campaign against the Friars (Aldershot, 1996). 103   András Szkhárosi Horváth, ‘Emberi szerzésről’ [Poem on Human Inventions], in Áron Szilády (ed.), 16. századbeli magyar költők művei [Works of Hungarian Poets from the Sixteenth Century] (Budapest, 1880), vol. 1, pp. 227–30. For example Philipp Melanchthon, ‘Declamationes, De conjugio’ (1555), in Heinrich Ernst Bindseil (ed.), Philippi Melanthonis Opera quae supersunt omnia (Brunsvigae, 1844), vol. 12, pp. 128–38, esp. pp. 128–9; Jean Calvin, ‘Institutio religionis Christianae’, in Guilielmus Baum, Eduardus Cunitz and Eduardus Reuss (eds), Ioannis Calvini opera quae supersunt omnia (Brunsvigae, 1864), vol. 2, p. 936. 104   András Batizi, ‘A házasságról való ének’ [Song on Marriage], 1546, in Szilády (ed.), Works of Hungarian Poets, vol. 1, pp. 120–24. Compare with Martin Luther, ‘Eyn Sermon von dem Ehelichen Stand’ (1519), in J.K.F. Knaake et al. (eds), D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe (Weimar 1884), vol. 2, pp. 166–71. 105   Luther, ‘De votis monasticis iudicium’ (1521), in Luthers Werke (Weimar, 1889), vol. 8, pp. 564–666; Calvin, ‘Institutio religionis’, pp. 929–41. 106   V. Bunyitay, R. Rapaics, J. Karácsonyi, F. Kollányi and J. Lukcsics (eds), Egyháztörténelmi Emlékek a Magyarországi Hitújítás korából [Sources on Church History in the

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charge against the friars taking care of the nuns’ souls that they used the occasion of hearing people’s confessions to seduce respectable and pious married women.107 Even if all this reminds us of the stories told by the witnesses at Körmend, we must also remember the parishioners’ tolerance. This makes one wonder if this exceptionally sharp and tendentious attack on the mendicant orders can indeed be explained exclusively by the friars’ sins and the laity’s frustrated expectations. In order to fully grasp its startling intensity, the social and the political atmosphere of the day seems to serve as a context. More concretely, the process of the new clergy’s identity formation and the power contest between the old and the new reform generations must be considered. Szkhárosi, the preacher cited above, was himself admittedly a ‘friar turned pastor’, possibly a former Observant Franciscan. His rhetoric against the friars may have served to justify his personal conversion just as much as it was a piece of propaganda aimed at discrediting his rivals.108 The Franciscans’ popularity among the laity was openly bemoaned by the new evangelical preachers: ‘They still preach the sacred word of Christ/But it is called falseness and Luther’s heresy by the friars,/And all the noblemen, the poor blind, have been lulled by them’, Szkhárosi complained.109 Our case study of the relationship of a particular convent and a market-town community in the early sixteenth century also supports the view that the rhetoric against the old clergy, and particularly against the regular clergy, may have coincided with the experiences and needs of Time of the Reformation] (vols 1–5, Budapest, 1902–1912), vol. 3, pp. 308–11; Áron Kiss (ed.), A XVI. században tartott magyar református zsinatok végzései [The Decrees of Calvinist Synods in Sixteenth-Century Hungary] (Budapest, 1870). Szkhárosi also mentions that friars ‘live shamefully’ with nuns. ‘Az Istennek irgalmasságáról és ez világnak háládatlanságáról’ [On God’s Mercy and the World’s Ingratitude], in Szilády (ed.), Works of Hungarian Poets, vol. 2, p. 204. 107   Dipple, Antifraternalism, pp. 30–33, pp. 150–51; Steven Ozment, The Reformation in the Cities: The Appeal of Protestantism to Sixteenth Century Germany and Switzerland (New Haven and London, 1975), pp. 53–4. 108   Luther’s De votis monasticis was also intended to help overcome the spiritual and political crisis and facilitate the marriages of apostate friars and monks. Szkhárosi was earlier Franciscan preacher in Várad (Oradea, Romania). This eastern Hungarian town was also the scene of one of the earliest religious disputes: the polemical treatise of the Lutheran preacher Mátyás Dévai Bíró was disputed in the first half of the 1530s by the Franciscan guardian, Gergely Szegedi. János Horváth, A reformáció jegyében. A Mohács utáni félszázad magyar irodalomtörténete [Engaged with the Reformation. Hungarian Literary History in the Sixteenth Century after the Battle of Mohács] (Budapest, 1957), pp. 162–3. Another militant anti-Lutheran Observant Franciscan was Demeter Csáti. Ibid., p. 181. 109   Szkhárosi, ‘On God’s Mercy’, p. 206.

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the laity. The charge of monastic lechery, contrasted with marriage, in many instances could have received a sympathetic hearing. Besides other factors, the double standard of the laity, the tolerance shown towards the concubinary secular clergy and the impatience towards the friars’ sexual habits may have influenced the process of reform which entailed the abolition of religious orders and the normative establishment of clerical marriage within the Reformed Church, which can also be considered as part of the laicization of religion. This process of transformation gives therefore an interesting insight into the dynamic relationship of social practice and norm systems. However, the efficiency of the rhetoric cannot exclusively be attributed to the obvious gulf between lay expectations and the friars’ performance. It is well documented how the tendencies of late medieval crisis and revival were experienced by the regular clergy, and especially the mendicants. The disintegration of religious life in the convent of Körmend, followed by an efficient reform with the introduction of Observant friars, was itself an episode in this process. The landlord wanted to stop the scandals that derived from the laity’s dissatisfaction with the friars. By the early sixteenth century the laity had become very active in matters of religion and wanted to ensure their own spiritual salvation. To this end, they expected effective mediation towards the sacred sphere from the regular clergy both in liturgical and moral terms, which the friars could rarely meet. Moreover, the townsmen expected the convent to provide occasions of religious experiences and activity which were independent from the framework of the parish. The attempted reform of the convent in Körmend was therefore an achievement of both the landlord and the town community, and may be seen as a telling moment in the process of the laicization of religion in this region at the beginning of the sixteenth century.

Chapter 5

Between Bishop and Prince: Monasteries and Authority in Austria in the Late Sixteenth Century Rona Johnston Gordon Catholicism in the Habsburg hereditary lands in the early modern period was sanctioned and shaped by temporal authorities. This was not the whole story of Catholic reform, but it provided a vital central strand to the very nature of Austrian baroque Catholicism.1 Pietas Austriaca, the active and visible piety of the Austrian Habsburgs, functioned as both an expression of the dynasty’s association with the institutions of the Catholic Church within the boundaries of its lands and as a model for devotional practice.2 The Catholicism of the nobility was no mere shadowing of the ruler; their beliefs and practices were integral to their relationships with their prince, their peers, their family and their locality. For the processes of reform the Catholic Church in the Habsburg lands recognized and often welcomed its integration with such institutions: again and again the ecclesiastical authorities called on the temporal arm to fulfil its godly duty to provide active support for the rejuvenation of the clergy and to bring the laity to obedience to the Catholic Church. The religious houses of the Austrian Habsburg lands were one component of this dynamic relationship and this chapter examines a specific and illuminating event within these processes of integration and 1   R.J.W. Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy 1550–1700: An Interpretation (Oxford, 1979), with its three-fold integration of dynasty, nobility and Catholicism, continues to dominate any debate over the nature of the hereditary lands. 2   Anna Coreth, Pietas Austriaca: Ursprung und Entwicklung barocker Frömmigkeit in Österreich (2nd edn, Vienna, 1982); Thomas Winkelbauer, Ständefreiheit und Fürstenmacht, Länder und Untertanen des Hauses Habsburg im Konfessionellen Zeitalter (Vienna, 2003), vol. 2; Laura Lynne Kinsey, ‘The Habsburgs at Mariazell. Piety, Patronage and Statecraft, 1620– 1760’, dissertation, University of California, 2000. To see the early and problematic stages of this relationship, see also Howard Louthan, The Quest for Compromise: Peace-Makers in Counter-Reformation Vienna (Cambridge, 1997) and Elaine Fulton, Catholic Belief and Survival in Late Sixteenth Century Vienna: The Case of Georg Eder (1523–1587) (Aldershot, 2007).

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renewal. In the late sixteenth century the monasteries of Austria below the Enns – the archduchy lying in the north-east of the Austrian Habsburg lands and whose principal city was Vienna itself – were caught up in a dispute over jurisdiction which occupied a range of Catholic authorities.3 All parties, both within and outside the boundaries of the archduchy, agreed that the reform of the monasteries was much needed. They had a long and distinguished history in shaping the medieval sacred landscape, serving as both landowners4 and parish patrons.5 Yet by the midsixteenth century internal disintegration left these formerly prestigious houses struggling to retain their roots in their localities.6 Their political 3   This chapter focuses in particular on the relationship between the Catholic authorities within the archduchy of Austria below the Enns as both experienced and shaped by the diocesan representative of the bishopric of Passau, resident in Vienna. See also Rona Johnston, ‘The Bishopric of Passau and the Counter-Reformation in Lower Austria, 1580–1630’, dissertation, University of Oxford, 1997. The diocese of Passau also covered neighbouring Austria above the Enns, and there the situation has been examined in particular in Karl Eder, Studien zur Reformationsgeschichte Oberösterreichs (Linz, 1932– 1936) and the more recent work of Joseph F. Patrouch, A Negotiated Settlement: The CounterReformation in Upper Austria under the Habsburgs (Boston, MA, 2000) and ‘The Investiture Crisis Revisited: Religious Reform, Emperor Maximilian II, and the Klosterrat’, Austrian History Yearbook, 25 (1994), 59–77. 4   The medieval houses had been significant landowners throughout much of the archduchy. The principal houses, and landowners, were Augustinian Klosterneuburg, north of Vienna; Benedictine Melk and Göttweig in the Wachau; Altenburg in the eastern Waldviertel and Seitenstetten, close to the border with Austria above the Enns; Premonstratarian Geras and Pernegg, north-east of Altenburg, and relatively less accessible Cistercian Zwettl in the Waldviertel; Heiligenkreuz in the Wienerwald; and Lilienfeld in the western Alps of the archduchy. For landholding in Austria below the Enns, see in particular Helmuth Feigl, Die niederösterreichische Grundherrschaft vom ausgehenden Mittelatler bis zu den theresianisch-josephinischen Reformen (Vienna, 1964); also highly significant is Robert D. Chesler, ‘Crown, Lords, and God: The Establishment of Secular Authority and the Pacification of Lower Austria, 1618–1648’, dissertation, Princeton University, 1979. 5   Chesler, ‘Crown, Lords, and God’, pp. 9–10. Although a few of these parishes were held incorporatio quo ad temporalia by secular clergy under the full discipline of the bishop and with only limited rights of intervention from the monastery, most of these parishes were held by the monasteries as incorporatio pleno jure, provided by members of the orders without limiting their obedience to their order in favour of the diocesan authority and with the income of the parish transferred directly into the monastery. At its most extreme the incorporatio plenissimo jure transferred the authority of the bishop fully into the hands of the prelate of the house: Helmuth Feigl, ‘Entwicklung und Auswirkungen des Patronatsrechtes in Niederösterreich’, Jahrbuch für Landeskunde von Niederösterreich, Neue Folge 43 (1977), 81–114, especially 90 (henceforth JLkNÖ). 6   This is clearly demonstrated, for example, for Klosterneuburg by Floridus Röhrig in ‘Protestantismus und Gegenreformation im Stift Klosterneuburg und seinen Pfarren’, Jahrbuch des Stiftes Klosterneuburg, Neue Folge 1 (1961), 131ff and 153ff. See also I.F. Keiblinger, Geschichte des Benedictiner-Stiftes Melk (Vienna, 1851); Gerhard Floßmann, ‘Abt Caspar Hofmann von Melk (1587–1623)’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 1964; Günther

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weight, derived from their membership of the first estate, was much diminished, supplanted by the largely Lutheran nobility.7 A visitation of 1543–44 revealed that monastic discipline was little in evidence and that many associated parishes were without priests, in part due to a lack of candidates.8 At the same time a large proportion of monastic possessions, the material wealth of the houses, had been transferred into secular hands, including income originally intended for the upkeep of parish livings. While visitation records must be used with care, and the context for their creation borne in mind, the dramatic testimony of the visitation of 1563 – which listed 122 religious houses with 436 monks, 160 nuns, 199 ‘concubines’, 55 wives and 443 children – demonstrates both the substantial institutional presence of the monasteries within the archduchy and the practical problem of maintaining these communities, let alone nurturing the spiritual life envisaged by the recently concluded Council of Trent.9 Revival within the monasteries often preceded reforms in their incorporated parishes, where the demands or non-compliance of the laity presented an additional challenge.10 The historic spiritual, political and economic potential of the monastic houses was considerable and legally their position remained well entrenched, but in the process of renewal they were to be tethered to the interests of both bishop and prince. Appelt, ‘Georg Falb von Falbenstein Abt des Stiftes Göttweig (1578–1631)’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 1964; Margarete Kusztrich, ‘Abt Caspar Berhard von Zwettl’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 1950; Martin Riesenhuber, ‘Das Benediktinerstift Seitenstetten in den Jahren 1602–1648’, JLkNÖ, 12 (1913), 1–78; Gerhard Winner, ‘Die niederösterreichischen Prälaten zwischen Reformation und Josephinismus’, Jahrbuch des Stiftes Klosterneuburg, Neue Folge 4 (1964), 111–27. 7   For evidence of the decline of the monasteries in Austria below the Enns, see the visitation reports cited in Robert Waißenberger, ‘Die hauptsächliche Visitationen in Österreich ob und unter der Enns sowie in Innerösterreich in der Zeit von 1529 bis 1580’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 1949; and also the fine study of Klosterneuburg, Röhrig, ‘Protestantismus und Gegenreformation’. 8   Waißenberger, ‘Die hauptsächliche Visitationen’, pp. 31–9. 9   Waißenberger, ‘Die hauptsächliche Visitationen’; Röhrig, ‘Protestantismus und Gegenreformation’, 125, n.100. 10   In 1581 Archduke Ernst issued a decree recognizing the reform of the monastery of Klosterneuburg by the Propst Kaspar Christiani (1578–84) but highlighting the continuation of old standards in the incorporated parishes and noting that the subjects of the monastery still attended Protestant preaching in other places. He ordered immediate improvement: Röhrig, ‘Protestantismus und Gegenreformation’, 153. The Bavarian monasteries turned only as a later step to their parishes in distant Austria below the Enns, thus the Collegiatstift Vilshofen regained the patronage of Weiten, surrendered in 1577, only in 1625: Johann Weißensteiner, ‘Die bayerischen Klöster und ihre Pfarren in Niederösterreich’, in Helmuth Feigl (ed.), Die bayerischen Hochstifte und Klöster in der Geschichte Niederösterreichs (Vienna, 1989), pp. 185–6.

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The need for reform was recognized, but the processes were much disputed. The contested points were by no means unfamiliar: the exemption of the monasteries from episcopal influence, the extent of seigniorial authority over a parish priest and his living, the boundaries of episcopal jurisdiction and the definition of the crown regalia all emerged in sharp relief. Such issues, as Patrouch has argued, can be traced back to the Investiture Controversy of the eleventh century.11 Their context in the last decades of the sixteenth century was, however, new, shaped by a number of interrelated strands, including economic imperatives. The Turkish threat and defence of the Hungarian borders had had a profound effect on the intellectual and economic life of the archduchy from which it would take many generations to recover. Additionally, the flourishing self-confidence and ambition of the noble estates in the second half of the sixteenth century were reflected in both their Renaissance building projects and their fraught relationship with their prince. And the impact of the Reformation, while so problematic to quantify and classify in the Austrian context, brought fresh impetus and new dimensions to traditional disagreements.12 Religious confessions were now introduced into longstanding debates where both political expediency and personal conviction – their boundaries often blurred – can be observed, from the arrangement by Maximilian II in 1568 with the noble estates of Austria below the Enns which permitted Lutheran worship in their possessions in exchange for a grant of taxation, to the dramatic exodus of the Viennese to attend Lutheran preaching outside the walls of the city.13 11

  Patrouch, ‘Investiture Crisis Revisited’. Also illuminative of the medieval background is Othmar Hageneder, Die geistliche Gerichtsbarkeit in Ober- und Niederoesterreich von den Anfaengen bis zum Beginn des 15. Jahrhunderts (Graz, 1967). 12   On Protestantism in Austria below the Enns, see in particular the work by Gustav Reingrabner, ‘Der “Alte” und der “Neue” Glaube. Einiges vom Nebeneinander der Konfessionen im 16. Jahrhundert’, Unsere Heimat, 37 (1966), 6–21; ‘Der evangelische Adel in Niederösterreich – Überzeugung und Handeln,’ Jahrbuch der Gesellschaft für die Geschichte des Protestantismus in Österreich (henceforth, JGGPÖ), 90–91 (1975), 3–59; ‘Die Reformation in Horn’, JGGPÖ, 85 (1969), 20–95; ‘Evangelische Frömmigkeit in Niederösterreich zwischen Reformation und Auslöschung’, in A. Raddatz and K. Lüthi (eds), Evangelische Glaube und Geschichte G Mecenseffy zum 85. Geburtstag (Vienna, 1984), pp. 140–62; ‘Religiöse Lebensformen des protestantistischen Adels in Niederösterreich’, in Grete Klingenstein and Heinrich Lutz (eds), Spezialforschung und ‘Gesamtgeschichte’ Beispeile und Methodenfragen zur Geschichte der frühen Neuzeit (Vienna, 1981), pp. 126–38; Adel und Reformation. Beiträge zur Geschichte des protestantischen Adels im Lande unter der Enns während des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts (Vienna, 1976). 13   The ‘Auslauf’ from Vienna is well known but was repeated in various forms throughout the archduchy. To cite only one example particularly telling here: in 1594 the parishioners of Korneuburg attended neighbouring Lutheran worship while the

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At the end of the sixteenth century the religious houses of the archduchy were caught up in the friction between tradition and renewal in a debate in which custom, expediency and personality all had a role to play. At the heart of this dispute was a confrontation between princely and episcopal authority over jurisdictional rights within the inherited medieval network of parishes and monastic houses. But both players and their interests were multi-fold. Much of the archduchy was within the diocese of Passau, a so-called ‘foreign bishopric’ which lay both geographically and politically between the lands of the Habsburgs and the Wittelsbachs. To oversee the eastern half of his very extensive diocese the bishop of Passau had traditionally appointed an Official, resident in Vienna.14 In 1580 Urban of Trenbach named to this position Melchior Khlesl, a Jesuit-educated convert to Catholicism and native of Vienna, whose personality and convictions tended to inflame situations throughout his long and remarkable life.15 At this early stage of his career, and in addition to authority over the secular clergy within the diocese, Khlesl could claim, in the name of his bishop, a useful degree of influence over the affairs of the monasteries; the nature and extent of the ‘exemption’ of various orders remained debated. The precise extent of his authority was not, however, commonly agreed but was based, as so often in this period, on opportunity and expediency. Examples provided by the Augustine house at Klosterneuburg are suitably illustrative of both the ambiguities and possibilities of his position. In 1584, at the time of the election of a new abbot, the canons, fearing the involvement of the secular government in the election, appealed to Khlesl, stressing that the episcopal and monastic authorities were in dispute over the parish priest. Floridus Röhrig, ‘Protestantismus und Gegenreformation im Stift Klosterneuburg und seinen Pfarren’, Jahrbuch des Stiftes Klosterneuburg, Neue Folge 1 (1961), 163–4. See also Benjamin J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, MA, 2007), pp. 144–9. 14   Vienna itself had not been part of the diocese of Passau since the creation of the Habsburg bishopric of Vienna under Frederick III over 100 years earlier, but Passau also continued to dispute this claimed incursion into its authority – another example of the long historic memory of jurisdictional dispute, but one which must await discussion elsewhere. 15   Joseph von Hammer-Purgstall, Khlesl’s, des Cardinals, Directors des geheimen Cabinetes Kaiser Mathias, Leben. Mit der Sammlung von Khlesl’s Briefen und anderen Urkunden (4 vols, Vienna, 1847–1851), remains the most illuminating account of Khlesl’s remarkable career from diocesan administrator to cardinal and chief minister to Emperor Matthias and on his fall and partial rehabilitation. Also useful is Anton Kerschbaumer, Kardinal Klesl (Vienna, 1865; 2nd edn, 1905). On the ways in which Khlesl’s early experiences in Passau’s service continued to shape his responses, see Rona Johnston Gordon, ‘Melchior Khlesl und der konfessionelle Hintergrund der kaiserlichen Politik im Reich nach 1610’, in Friedrich Beiderbeck, Gregor Horstkemper and Winfried Schulze (eds), Dimensionen der europäischen Aussenpolitik zur Zeit der Wende vom 16. zum 17. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 2003), pp. 199–222.

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installation of the abbot was the role of the bishop of Passau. As Official he was also a possible point for appeal for those who believed themselves to have been mistreated by the monastery authorities, from the widow of a priest of Korneuburg who appealed to the Passau Official on the grounds that Klosterneuburg was preventing access to the possessions of her dead husband, to the members of that monastery who complained to the Passau Official that the new abbot was miserly, keeping them short of food and drink.16 The princely authority also claimed an active interest in the affairs of the monastic houses within the hereditary lands. As Fulton has demonstrated, the Protestant presence at the Austrian Habsburg court, and contemporary Catholic condemnation of confessional moderation, should not be allowed to obscure the continuing Habsburg commitment to Catholicism within their own lands.17 Even as Maximilian II strove for an irenic and conciliatory solution to the confessional rift, in 1567 a general ordinance for discipline in the monasteries was issued. The financial benefits of enforcing the identification of the monasteries as crown regalia were highly significant; the heavy taxation raised from the church in the 1520s had, for example, contributed greatly to financing the defence against the Turks. Precedent and longstanding papal privilege were cited for princely claims to tax the church within the hereditary lands, but the decline in the monasteries provided additional grounds for intervention to protect this significant source of revenue. In 1563 the competence of the princely official in Klosterneuburg had been extended from auditing the monastery accounts into a voice in the very administration of these financial matters.18 This involvement in the affairs of the religious houses was given a distinct institutional basis with the creation in 1568 of the Monastery Commission (Klosterrat), which rapidly proved to be the most vital princely administrative body for ecclesiastical matters, its jurisdiction effectively extending to include incorporated parishes and the parishes to which the monasteries held the rights of nomination.19 With this link to the crown regalia, the Monastery Commission also took an active interest in all parishes in which the ruler held the rights of patronage, the so-called ‘Imperial parishes’. 16

 Röhrig, ‘Protestantismus und Gegenreformation’, 132–3, 151.  Elaine Fulton, ‘“Wolves and Weathervanes”: Confessional Moderation at the Habsburg Court of Vienna’, in Luc Racaut and Alec Ryrie (eds), Moderate Voices in the European Reformation (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 145–61. 18  Röhrig, ‘Protestantismus und Gegenreformation’, 126. 19  On the creation of the Monastery Commission, see Johann Sattek, ‘Der niederösterreichische Klosterrat’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 1949 and Patrouch, ‘Investiture Controversy Revisited’, 65–6. 17

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The authority of the prince was reinforced by a declaration in 1580 that in the archduchies of Austria above and below the Enns, ‘All prelates, parish priests, holders of benefices and other clerics are of the crown demesne.’20 Specifically intended by the emperor to ensure that taxes could be raised from the clergy in his lands, it also explicitly stated the authority of prince over both secular and regular clergy within his lands. When the bishop of Passau learned that the Monastery Commission planned a visitation of the monastic houses in his diocese in 1575, he sent enthusiastic and extensive instructions to Khlesl’s predecessor as Official in Vienna, assuming that he would participate. Initially rebuffed by the Commission, the bishop was eventually informed his representative could travel with the visitors and report separately on the religious affairs. This was a distinction too far for Bishop Urban, who called instead for joint action and a common report.21 Interaction and cooperation were regarded by the bishop as essential components of reform. Not only should each authority respect the other, but they should also work together and be mutually supportive. Such optimistic thinking explains why Urban wrote to the emperor the following year requesting that the authority of the Monastery Commission be enhanced, for he evidently viewed the body not as a rival but as an ally in reform.22 He expressed his approval for the aims of the Commission, as he interpreted them: the reform of the monasteries and of individual parishes which would in turn ensure a general reformation in the archduchy. He proposed that Passau be represented on the Commission and that its competence be extended to enable it to act with greater independence of other princely authorities in order to ensure that its resolutions were less frequently questioned and its decisions more quickly and effectively implemented. Such practical cooperation between the princely and episcopal authorities – in practice between the Monastery Commission and the Passau Official, their respective representatives in Vienna – could be highly productive, as Bishop Urban had foreseen. To give but one example: in November 1579 a list of 18 articles of complaint from the magistrate and community of Mossbrunn against their parish priest had been received at the Official’s residence in Vienna. The priest in turn complained to the Monastery Commission about the animosity of the local community. The commissioners, aware that the case was being examined by the Passau Consistory, requested further information

20   15 August 1580, cited in Theodor Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation im Lande unter den Enns (Prague, 1879–86), vol. 2, pp. 378–9. 21   Patrouch, ‘Investiture Crisis Revisited’, 68–71. 22   Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, pp. 368–75.

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from the Official.23 The situation investigated and the priest’s failings identified, Melchior Khlesl, the newly appointed Passau Official, decided that there was no hope of improvement, and requested in May 1580 that the Monastery Commission demand that the abbot of Melk should force the priest to resign.24 The diocesan administrative structure which Khlesl now oversaw could provide the Monastery Commission with an efficient source of local information. Melchior Khlesl did not, however, view the role of the episcopal interests he represented as advisory and confirmatory alone. Again and again his highly active intervention and even his personal presence were accompanied by protests from the religious houses and parishes and complaints from his prospective allies. As early as 1580 he received a sharp reprimand from Archduke Ernst, Emperor Rudolf II’s brother and representative in Vienna, for unacceptable involvement in a number of those Imperial parishes.25 As Passau Official, Khlesl seized the initiative to shape the reform programme, insisting in particular on clerical celibacy and active discouragement of the lay chalice – neither a cause which lay close to the Monastery Commission’s immediate concerns. Khlesl’s recommendation to the Commission that Joseph Fuxen’s application for the parish of Enzersfeld be rejected as he was married and incompetent was evidently ignored.26 In 1586 Khlesl again is found writing against Fuxen, who had applied for another parish, on the grounds that he had misused his current living and had failed to perform his parish duties; if he did not mend his ways he should be deprived of his current living, not promoted. Khlesl also insisted on authority in the name of the bishop to an active role in the monasteries and their parishes. A particular point of contention was the right to secure and draw up an inventory of the estate on the death of the head of a religious house or of a parish priest, for not only was the Monastery Commission particularly concerned to protect the right of spoils, but such actions also appeared to imply authority over the estate itself.27 23

  Niederösterreichisches Landesarchiv: Klosterratsakten (henceforth NÖLA: KR) 190; 107r+v, 23 April 1580. 24   NÖLA: KR 190; 101r+v, received 9 May 1580. 25   Probstdorf, Reschnitz, Speisendorf, Altpölla, Schweinbart, Ernstbrunn, Enzersfeld and Waldkirchen. Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, p. 378. Khlesl insisted that he had acted solely according to the methods of his predecessors: NÖLA: KA 46; 11. 26   NÖLA: KR 190; 398r–399v, n.d. 27   In 1585 the Lower Austrian government complained to Passau about Khlesl’s incursion in securing and listing the priests’ estate in seven Imperial parishes, including Speisendorf and Altpölla. Hammer-Purgstall, Khlesl, vol.1, p. 44.

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Although we must be wary of adjudicating at this distance, the records do also propose a strong personal element to the animosity between Official and Commission. Each party cited the antagonism of the other. Khlesl named as particular hurdles, for example, Christopher Hillinger, the former Passau Official who had become a member of the Monastery Commission, and Wolf Unverzagt, president of the Commission. He himself certainly consistently refused to give way: in 1590, as the tensions reached their climax, he instructed one rural dean to carry out his annual visitation of all parishes in his deanery, be they under princely, Passau or monastic patronage or in any other way exempt.28 In numerous instances Khlesl’s vision of reform in the parishes, both Imperial and monastic, was impeded by disagreements over procedure. In 1587, after he had unsuccessfully tried to examine the priest in Zistersdorf for suspected Lutheran practices, he appealed to the Monastery Commission for help; the commissioners interpreted Khlesl’s involvement as undue interference in the affairs of the Cistercian monastery of Zwettl, which held Zistersdorf.29 In 1590, when Khlesl replaced the married priest of Gars, the Monastery Commission complained about the incursion into princely authority and Khlesl was forced to accept the first priest back again.30 In 1587 he secured and then took an inventory of the estate of the priest in the Imperial parish of Probstdorf, bringing complaints from the Monastery Commission; five years later he removed from the same parish a priest he deemed incapable, but was forced to install him again by the Monastery Commission.31 This dispute over procedure extended into the monasteries: in 1589 Khlesl challenged the method of appointment of a successor at Dürnstein and insisted on the presence of representatives of the bishop of Passau at his installation.32 The quarrel with the abbot of Göttweig over events following the death of the dean and priest of Niederalm resulted in an appeal by Khlesl to Archduke Ernst, in which he complained that the abbot had installed a priest who was married and had ‘heretical’ convictions which made him unsuitable for the charge.33 When Khlesl complained to Archduke Ernst that the candidate whom Göttweig 28

  Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 3, p. 277.   Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 3, p. 405ff. It appears that in fact Khlesl was supported in his actions by his close friend Ulrich Hackel, who was prior of Zwettl. 30   Ibid., pp. 130ff. 31   Ibid., pp. 402ff. 32   Magdalena Lohn, ‘Melchior Khlesl und die Gegenreformation in Niederösterreich’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 1949, p. 77. 33   Hammer-Purgstall, Khlesl, vol. 1, p. ii, pp. 48–50. 29

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proposed for the parish of Unteralb was unsuitable as he was not celibate, Ernst confirmed the complaints of the monastery that Khlesl was intervening in a matter over which he traditionally had no jurisdiction.34 In April 1589 Bishop Urban submitted an extensive list of grievances to Archduke Ernst as Rudolf II’s representative; the voice of Khlesl, who had made submissions to Bishop Urban, is heard clearly.35 The bishop used the opportunity to raise a range of cases, such as the diversion of various benefices to secular ends and the use of the stabling in the Passauer Hof in Vienna by outsiders. The impact of the Reformation was also still felt strongly: Lutherans controlled livings and their endowments; unsuitable schoolteachers were appointed who refused to take the Catholic oath. The financial security of both bishopric and parish was being attacked. 36 But again and again Urban cited examples where Passau was being excluded from involvement in the affairs of the religious houses and parishes, where patronage rights were being exploited and where the episcopal authorities were not being informed of the situation. It was this rejection of Passau’s involvement which lay at the heart of most of Bishop Urban’s grievances. According to Urban, that essential cooperation between the two bodies had been gravely harmed, not by his Official’s actions but by the exclusion of Passau in favour of the prince. The clergy were called before the Lower Austrian government and refusal to attend was considered defiance of the ruler. Unification of parishes and their incorporation in monasteries were carried out without informing Passau. Legal matters were called before the wrong court: the abuse of jure patronatus was heard by the government and matrimonial issues were dealt with by various local secular authorities rather than before the Passau consistory. In particular, this transfer of authority brought, in Passau’s eyes, investment in the Monastery Commission of various rights and duties which belonged to the ecclesiastical authorities alone, including citations before the Commission, the examination of priests and interference beyond the temporalia in the religious houses. Urban called specifically for cooperation: Passau needed support in the work of reform, in the establishment of a seminary and the prevention of 34

  Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, p. 376.   The discussion that follows is based on the letter of grievance from Bishop Urban to Archduke Ernst reproduced in Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, pp. 394–9. It forms an extensive summary of the matters over which the two bodies would repeatedly clash in individual instances in so many of the parishes of the Lower Officialdom. 36   For example, Passau was being denied the customs freedom granted by St Leopold; priests were being prevented from selling their wine by the claims of the local landowner to a monopoly; indebted Passau subjects had the property which they held from the bishopric seized in preference to any other possessions. 35

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secret marriages by the publication of the Tridentine decrees. Instead of promoting unsuitable priests, the Monastery Commission should help put into effect the Official’s measures against incapable and unworthy clergy. Bishop Urban was clearly at one with Khlesl’s view that the Monastery Commission was actively preventing proper reform. There were two-and-a-half years between this first request for a meeting to settle his grievances and the eventual gathering of the representatives of the two sides in Vienna in October 1591. The impetus was provided by Passau, directed by Bishop Urban through various commissions and embassies.37 Why was there this delay in even agreeing to a discussion of the disputed points? All parties were aware of the acrimonious relations between Official and Monastery Commission, and, as Bishop Urban repeatedly stressed, the situation was worsening. Passau had no doubt about the necessity of a settlement; the reservations were on the princely side and the advisability of permitting a meeting was long debated by the Imperial advisers. The Lower Austrian government, to which the matter had been referred by Archduke Ernst, was against the meeting, on the grounds that ‘the request of the Bishop of Passau should lead to the editing, airing and disputation of continuous and long-held privileges’.38 This was a precedent which should not be established. While recognizing the strength of this argument, Archduke Ernst took a more practical line: the disputes between the Passau Official and the Monastery Commission were becoming increasingly numerous and bitter; it was also preferable that the case should not be referred to Rome. A meeting was therefore, in Archduke Ernst’s opinion, desirable, although care should be taken to avoid such ‘editing of the privileges’.39 In Prague, Rudolf II, after long delays, also eventually decided that a settlement was preferable. Practical considerations again came into play, which Urban knew how to exploit. Rudolf II stated his willingness to accept the meeting proposed by the bishop to settle these grievances as a sign of his good feeling towards Passau, being aware of their sound reciprocal friendship.40 The emphasis on the affection the bishop had shown towards the House of Habsburg was not coincidental: when Rudolf informed Archduke Matthias, Archduke Ernst’s successor as Rudolf’s representative in Vienna, of his decision to grant the meeting, 37   The chronology of the various embassies and exchanges of letters between Passau, the Passauer Hof, the archdukes when resident in Vienna and Graz, the Lower Austrian government, the Monastery Commission and Rudolf II in Prague is laid out in Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, pp. 394–421. 38   Ibid, vol. 2, p. 406. 39   NÖLA: KR 191; 32r–34v, 15 July 1590. 40   NÖLA: KR 191; 209r–210v, 27 May 1591.

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he stressed that the time was opportune as they could not be guaranteed such friendly authority in Passau after Urban’s death.41 He also thanked Urban for appealing to Prague for he was eager that the case should not be referred to Rome, as had previously been suggested by the Passau representatives.42 In agreeing to this meeting and thus accepting Passau’s wishes, Rudolf went against the recommendations of the Lower Austrian government. Rudolf did agree, however, that there must be no incursions on the ‘princely sovereignty and authority’ and that the Passau commissioners at the meeting and in the agreement which followed would not debate the privileges of the House of Austria.43 Even after the decision to meet had been taken, the agenda remained to be settled. The grievances of 1589 were all-encompassing, and a narrower basis for discussion was sought. Asked to specify the cases which should be addressed at the meeting, Khlesl’s reply was directed specifically at the actions of the Monastery Commission: the usurpation of the rights of the bishop by failing to inform him of events, to function alongside him or to support his work – again we see the cooperative nature of the episcopal vision.44 The Imperial commissioners appointed to the meeting were required to be fully informed of Passau’s grievances, to examine the members of the Monastery Commission in person and to be aware of the rights and privileges on which the Commission had formerly based its decisions, requiring any relevant documents and evaluating their

41   NÖLA: KR 191; 213r–221r, 27 May 1591. The question of events in the bishopric after Urban’s death had clearly already been raised as a concern to the Habsburgs; see also NÖLA: KR 191; 24r–25v, received 6 June 1591. The Habsburgs had long experience in taking the measure of a change in Passau, for example usefully exploiting the death of Ulrich von Nussdorf in 1479 to help carve out the new diocese of Vienna from the Passau diocese: see Ernst Tomek, Kirchengeschichte Oesterreichs (Vienna, 1949), vol. 2, p. 47. 42   See for example Ernst’s report to Rudolf II favouring a meeting to discuss the accusations raised by Passau, against the recommendation of the Lower Austrian government: NÖLA: KR 191; 32r–34v, 15 July 1590. 43   NÖLA: KR 191; 211r, 27 May 1591, Rudolf II to Matthias. 44  By May 1591 Rudolf II had received detailed lists of Passau’s grievances and the response of the Imperial commissioners to them. He had also received the requests for settlement put by Passau representatives sent to Prague. See Rudolf’s description of this embassy in his letter to Matthias on 27 May 1591: NÖLA: KR 191, 211r. On 6 September the Monastery Commission had recommended that, for speed, Khlesl be required to list Passau’s grievances so that the commissioners would need to assemble only those documents relating specifically to individual cases: NÖLA: KR 191, II. 129r–v. Reflecting the pressure of time, this request was sent as an instruction to the Lower Austrian government, their acquiescence recorded on the same day and a list of the bishop of Passau’s complaints requested from Khlesl: NÖLA: KR 191, II. 129r and NÖLA: KR 191, II. 133r, 6 September 1591, Ernst to Khlesl. Hammer-Purgstall, Khlesl, vol. 1, p. ii, pp. 147–9.

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worth.45 The Monastery Commission was ascribed an advisory role to the Imperial commissioners as they assembled in Vienna. The request by the First Estate, the prelates of Austria below the Enns – that their interests be separately represented at the negotiations which would examine ‘the dispute which has run for seventy years about jurisdiction over the prelates and the visitation of them, their incorporated parishes and filial monastery lands, their people, spiritual and secular and their possessions’ – was rejected.46 The interests of the monasteries were to be discussed in the same breath as the interests of the parishes under princely patronage.47 The implications for the status of the monasteries within this Habsburg archduchy and their close, even dependent, relationship to the temporal princely authority were profound. When they came together both parties were determined that a meeting which had taken so much effort to arrange should not fail to produce some general agreement. Indeed this was the reason for the decision to ratify the settlement reached on the first five points on the agenda, while the final point – events on the death of a parish priest – remained in dispute. The Imperial commissioners claimed that they had on occasion given way in order that resolution could be reached.48 The final settlement did give formal recognition to longstanding, but

45

  NÖLA: KR 191, 211r–213r, 27 May 1591. At the beginning of July 1591, in accordance with the instructions received from Rudolf II, Archduke Ernst required the Lower Austrian government and, separately, the Monastery Commission to nominate members of the Imperial commission and to suggest a time and place for the meeting: NÖLA: KR 191, 247r+v and 254r+v. Only on 2 September 1591 were the commissioners officially appointed, three weeks before the meeting in the Hofburg was due to take place. They were, however, required to make strenuous efforts in the short time remaining to investigate the various complaints and establish the Imperial position. In particular they were to coordinate these efforts with the Monastery Commission: NÖLA: KR 191, II. 112r–115v, 2 September 1591. By 17 September the necessary documents had been prepared for all those Imperial commissioners who were by then in Vienna, and again they were referred to the Monastery Commissioners for any points on which the Imperial position still was unclear. During the meeting any points which the commissioners could not resolve were to be submitted to Archduke Ernst. 46   NÖLA: KR 191 224r–225v, First Estate to Ernst, n.d. 47   It was a point made again as initial attempts to create an Austrian Benedictine congregation stalled until 1625 on the opposition of the bishops and individual abbots; an even broader German-speaking congregation faced even wider opposition: see Ernst Bruckmüller, 900 Jahre Benediktiner in Melk (Melk, 1989), p. 359. 48   The Imperial commissioners emphasized that this was due to their willingness to give ground to the bishop in some instances in order that the meeting would bear fruit. Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, p. 426, Imperial commissioners to Archduke Ernst. The settlement, agreed by Rudolf II and Urban of Trenbach in Prague, is printed in Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, pp. 449–57.

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recently vulnerable episcopal claims.49 Thus, for example, the right of the Ordinary to carry out visitations of discipline, life and morals in the non-exempt monasteries and convents in the two archduchies which were substantially part of the diocese of Passau was acknowledged.50 The bishop, or his representative, would also give the order to the members of the house to obey their new superior and would invest him in his authority over the spiritualia such as the church choir, sacristy and sacred vessels. The bishopric was recognized as the first legal instance for the prelates in the Passau diocese. The episcopal paradigm, drawn from Trent, of reform based in the parishes on a model clergy appeared to have been strengthened: even after a priest had received the letters of presentation to a living, the bishop of Passau had the right to examine him and, if he deemed it necessary, to require another candidate. This right to reject a nominee was central to Passau’s claim to authority over the parishes within his diocese, whatever their patronage. But the princely authority had also gained dramatically, if less explicitly, in the negotiations. Within clearly defined spheres the jurisdiction of the ruler was now also specifically acknowledged; no longer were these simply claims to be tested in practice. The temporalia of religious houses and monastic and Imperial parishes were the responsibility of the prince when settling an estate, investing a new incumbent or carrying out a visitation. This clearly sited these rights within the crown regalia. The ties between prelates and prince were being more tightly drawn. And the advantages for the prince now went beyond the mere statement of jurisdiction rights. The Imperial spectre hung over almost every action: informed of episcopal actions; acting as a court of appeal, present at the installation of a prelate; sanctioning the travel of prelates to Passau; implementing disciplinary measures; even, indeed, overturning the election of a prelate on the (vague) grounds of ‘significant concern’. In the negotiations, however, no decisive common ground could be found on the issue of the events which would follow the death of a parish priest. The Imperial commissioners explained, from their point of view, the substantial differences between the two parties.51 They could accept 49

  The strengthening of ecclesiastical authority by such settlements is also noted for Upper Austria in Patrouch, ‘Investiture Crisis Revisited’, 74–6 and for the Tyrol in Jürgen Bücking, Frühabsolutismus und Kirchenreform in Tirol (1565–1665) (Wiesbaden, 1972), pp. 100–191. 50   The settlement permitted the Imperial representatives to enter a convent – but not the cloister – although permission had to be received in each case from the Ordinary, who could also nominate additional commissioners and was to agree to the date for the visitation. 51   Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, pp. 455–7.

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Passau’s requirement that the estate should be secured immediately, if provisionally – ‘before anything be relocated’ – by the local dean alongside local secular authorities; but while Passau apparently insisted that the processing of the estate was the responsibility of the Official and the Consistory alone, the Imperial negotiators believed this was the responsibility of a princely representative working alongside the dean or a local priest. To the Imperial commissioners Passau’s claims were not based on precedent: examples which Passau could cite were only the result of the Official’s exploitation of the confusion of jurisdictions between various princely institutions following the establishment of the Monastery Commission. Execution of property throughout the archduchy was the business of the ruler: Passau’s proposals would demote him to the rank of a noble in the countryside or a citizen of the towns. Nor was Passau’s situation identical to that of the bishoprics of Vienna and Wiener-Neustadt, which were Imperial foundations and therefore did not represent a separate legal instance. The Imperial representatives would not accept the jurisdiction of this independent legal authority within their lands – and one in which cases could be transferred out of Habsburg lands (from the Passau Consistory in Vienna to Passau) and even to Rome. This attitude is also implicit in the rejection of Passau’s arguments based on canon law. The continuing dispute thus operated on two levels: firstly over seigniorial rights over the parish, echoing clashes with individual patrons in many parishes; and secondly over the very nature of princely authority. While Passau urged progress towards a settlement, the Commission insisted compromise was impossible on a matter which was not as minor as it might appear, but rather, as we now know to expect, represented an incursion into ‘princely sovereignty, power and authority, also the customary freedoms, law and justice of the most worthy house of Austria’.52 A settlement of this sixth point was, however, reached in 1600.53 On the death of the parish priest, the estate would be secured provisionally by the rural dean or by two neighbouring priests, and the Passau Official was then bound to inform the princely authority of this event. The principal processing of the estate was subsequently to be carried out by the rural dean in the presence of a neighbouring Catholic landowner, although the inventory of the church itself was solely the work of the rural dean. The priest’s will was to be read in the presence of a princely representative, although he had no directing voice or vote. In the case of a priest who died intestate, a face-saving and rather vague formulation 52   NÖLA: KR 192; report of Monastery Commission on Passau’s claims regarding the disputed sixth point, n.d., but before 3 September 1593. 53   Cited in Wiedemann, Reformation und Gegenreformation, vol. 2, pp. 465–6.

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was found: the parties were to settle ‘peacefully and without recourse to legal process’. Until this point in the proceedings the process would be dominated by episcopal interests; however, if the settlement were then contested, this appeal was to be heard by a commission comprising two episcopal and two princely representatives meeting in the Hofburg in Vienna as the final instance, thus implicitly rejecting a right of appeal outwith the province. In the case of tied voting, a fifth educated and Catholic man was to be appointed to give the casting vote. It was a solution defined by so many of the hallmarks of the process as a whole: practicality, cooperation and the appearance, at least, of the preservation of traditional rights. There were two distinct parties involved in the negotiations which generated this agreement and each party laid claim to specific historic rights and privileges, buttressed by practical example, in order to control processes and, in practice, further its own interests. This is not, however, the whole story. The settlement also in effect now codified a very long tradition of cooperation between ecclesiastical and secular arms. General visitations were, for example, specifically to be carried out jointly, ‘by reason of greater impact and fruitfulness’.54 The jurisdictional spheres of the two bodies were separate, but they were clearly acknowledged as part of one whole. This was implicit in the numerous circumstances where information was to be exchanged, or where both parties would be represented within the same physical space, or where reciprocal consent was required which would, in effect, generate common goals.55 It was not just rival claims to jurisdiction which had produced this crisis, but also a breakdown in cooperation and communication when the Monastery Commission established in the 1560s to oversee ecclesiastical institutions back onto a sound financial footing failed to find sufficient common ground with episcopal interests set on generating true devotion in the laity through a model clergy. Cooperation was built on consensus, a model well known to Habsburg experience in their own lands and in the Empire.56 This agreement was designed to re-establish a modus vivendi, 54

  Ibid., p. 452.   Thus at the election and installation of prelates, the two parties were to work in parallel rather than in union, informing each other of the arrangements and being present during the work of the other. 56   For the Empire see, for example, Heinz Mohnhaupt, ‘Gesetzgebung des Reichs und Recht im Reich vom 16. bis 18. Jahrhundert’, in Barbara Dölemeyer and Diethelm Klippel (eds), Gesetz und Gesetzgebung im Europa der frühen Neuzeit (Berlin, 1998), pp. 83–8; for the hereditary lands, see Josef Pauser, ‘“sein ir Majestaet jetzo im werkh die polliceyordnung widerumb zu verneuern.” Kaiser Maximilian II. (1564–1576) und die Landstände von Österreich unter der Enns im gemeinsamen Ringen um die “gute policey”’, in Willibald Rosner (ed.), Recht und Gericht in Niederösterreich (St Pölten, 2002), pp. 17–65. 55

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and in so doing fed into that interdependency of church and state which would prove to be so typical of the Habsburg lands. The main participants in these events – the monastic houses of the archduchy, the bishop of Passau and his representatives, Rudolf II and his various representatives, both family members and others, in Vienna – all spoke the language of Catholic renewal and reform; all agreed that cooperation was key to restoring and reviving the Catholic presence within the archduchy. However such reform had to be built on a platform of existing rights and privileges, and the priorities of this reform were contested by specific parties. The vibrancy of seventeenthand eighteenth-century Catholicism was certainly crafted by, for example, local contexts, flexible engagement with lay piety and new modes of instruction. Progress was, however, rarely rapid and had to be accommodated within existing structures and debates. There could be no wholesale introduction of Tridentine reform, even as recast at local diocesan synods after 1562: visitations, schooling and clerical discipline, for example, had to be accommodated within longstanding dialogues and existing, if desolate, ecclesiastical structures. Nor did the agreements of 1592 and 1600 prevent all further dispute, not least because of the general terms in which the most heated points were often couched, but also because practice continued to require additional definition. In 1637, for example, the papal nuncio caused consternation for both princely and ecclesiastical authorities when he secured with his own seal the rooms, records and chests in the Melkerhof in Vienna on the death of the abbot of Melk and threatened with excommunication anyone who removed his seal.57 In 1644 the form of the undertaking to be given by abbots, priors, deans and parish clergy at their installation was agreed between Ferdinand III and the bishop of Passau.58 The settlement did, however, provide a new baseline for cooperation, cited to each new Passau Official in the instruction he received on taking office. Defence of the bishop’s rights continued to be uttered in the same breath as the model role of the clergy and religious instruction of the laity. Innovation and reform were to be securely anchored by privilege and tradition.

57   A contemporary account is cited in full in Bernadette Kalteis, ‘Konfessionalisierung und klösterliche Reform im Stift Melk (1564–1637)’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 2003, pp. 157–60. 58   Haus-, Hof-, und Staatsarchiv, Vienna: Reichskanzlei, Geistliche Wahlakten; 16 March 1644.

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Chapter 6

Mutual Aid: The Jesuits and the Courtier in Sixteenth-Century Vienna Elaine Fulton The year 1623 was one of triumph for the Jesuits in Vienna. Not only did they at last receive control of most of the city’s university thanks to the Pragmatic Sanction of Ferdinand II, but work was able to begin on what would eventually become one of the gems of baroque Catholicism in Europe: Vienna’s Universitätskirche, also known as the Jesuitenkirche.1 The Society of Jesus was finally and visibly established with security, power and growing authority in one of the major urban centres of early modern, east central Europe, where their role would continue to go from strength to strength in the decades to come.2 Yet it had not always been thus for the Jesuits in Vienna, and their later pre-eminence there belies some inauspicious beginnings in the middle of the sixteenth century. They were there by royal appointment, after the Habsburg Archduke Ferdinand (later Emperor Ferdinand I) wrote to the order’s General, 1   The Jesuits in Vienna were much aided by having the warm and wholehearted support of the Holy Roman Emperor himself. In a codicil to his testament of 1621, Ferdinand II had written to his heir that ‘we earnestly commend to you the well-deserving Society of Jesus … Through their skill, their instruction of our dear youth, and their exemplary manner of life, they do much good in the Christian Catholic Churches and more than others loyally work and exert themselves to maintain and propagate the Catholic religion.’ Cited in Robert Bireley, The Jesuits and the Thirty Years War: Kings, Courts and Confessors (Cambridge, 2003), p. 10. On the Jesuits’ long struggle for control of Vienna University, see Ulrike Denk, ‘Schulwesen und Universität’, in Karl Vocelka and Anita Traninger (eds), Wien, Geschichte einer Stadt, Bd. 2: Die frühneuzeitliche Residenz (16. Bis 18. Jahrhundert) (Vienna, 2003), pp. 365–422, especially pp. 377–84; Kurt Mühlberger, ‘Universität und Jesuitenkolleg in Wien. Von der Berufung bis zum Bau des Akademischen Kollegs’, in Herbert Karner and Werner Telesko (eds), Die Jesuiten in Wien: Zur Kunst- und Kulturgeschichte der österreichischen Ordensprovinz der ‘Gesellschaft Jesu’ im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Vienna, 2003), pp. 21–37. 2   Bireley’s Jesuits and the Thirty Years War examines the influence that the Jesuits came to hold in the Viennese court in the first half of the seventeenth century, while Anna Coreth’s Pietas Austriaca: Ursprung und Entwicklung barocker Frömmigkeit in Österreich (2nd edn, Vienna, 1982) remains the classic study of the interpenetration of Catholic piety and Habsburg authority in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

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Ignatius Loyola himself, in December 1550 asking that he dispatch men from his new Society as soon as possible to the city of Vienna. On 31 May 1551, ten Jesuits duly arrived: two Spaniards, three Dutchmen, three Italians and two Frenchmen – including Claude Le Jay, leader of the group.3 They were met, however, with an extraordinarily difficult set of political, ecclesiastical and social challenges in their early decades in Vienna, from the uncertain confessional notes being sounded from the Hofburg by the Habsburgs themselves, to a situation of almost complete spiritual and ecclesiastical meltdown in the local parishes. Although scholars have rightly pointed to the gradual strengthening of Habsburg authority as well as the slow (re-)conversion of the Lower Austrian nobility as key factors in explaining the eventual restoration to Catholicism of the city and its environs, these developments only reached their apogee in the early seventeenth century, gaining pace particularly under the rule of Ferdinand II (1619–37).4 Historians have yet to explore in detail not only the nature of the early decades of the Jesuit mission in Vienna, before the dawn finally began to break for them and the Catholic Reformation in Lower Austria as a whole, but also how they attempted to manage the challenges they met. This chapter will therefore attempt to make an initial contribution to the subject, by examining the fraught beginnings of the Jesuits’ work in Vienna and focusing on one particular strategy the Jesuits used to advance their own cause in this period: enlistment of the help of a local prominent Catholic layman and Habsburg courtier, one Georg Eder.5 The significance of this will not be overstated; it is not being suggested that the Society of Jesus could not have survived the rigours of the early Viennese mission at all without their lay friend. Other factors – such as the Jesuits’ own internal strengths and adaptability, plus the limited support they did receive from the Habsburgs themselves – were of course also critical in

3   Karl Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, in Vocelka and Traninger (eds), Wien, pp. 311– 64, p. 323. 4   See Karin J. MacHardy, War, Religion and Court Patronage in Habsburg Austria: The Social and Cultural Dimensions of Political Interaction, 1521–1622 (Basingstoke, 2003) for a very helpful recent examination of this process. Also full of insight is Regina Pörtner’s The Counter-Reformation in Central Europe: Styria 1580–1630 (Oxford, 2001). See too Robert Bireley, ‘Confessional Absolutism in the Habsburg Lands in the Seventeenth Century’, in Charles W. Ingrao (ed.), State and Society in Early Modern Austria (West Lafayette, IN, 1994), pp. 36–53. 5   Eder’s career is explored in full in Elaine Fulton, Catholic Belief and Survival in Late Sixteenth Century Vienna: The Case of Georg Eder (1523–87) (Aldershot, 2007). This chapter develops some of the themes raised therein.

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determining the order’s ability to persevere in this environment.6 Yet Eder’s role and contribution were highly valued by them, and analysis of the reciprocal nature of their relationship with Eder does act as a telling example of one way in which the order attempted to deal with the complexities of the secular world with which they had to engage. They did so by drawing on the friendship, position, energy and expertise of a prominent member of that world, encouraging him and supporting him as he himself worked towards the same goal as the Jesuits, namely the restoration of correct Catholic belief in the region through the reform of worship, and the production of solidly Catholic pedagogical writings. This chapter will thus add yet a further element to this volume’s analysis of the interaction between religious orders and society in early modern east central Europe by accessing, thanks to unusually plentiful sources, the minutiae of the relationship between one order and one man in a particularly trying environment and at a difficult time for the progress of Catholic reform in a key urban and political centre of the region. It will demonstrate, in common with other chapters in this volume, that the role of religious orders in early modern east central Europe can only fully be understood when examined as an integral, fully engaged part of the secular world in which they had to operate. Yet it will also suggest that, for those orders, there could be a recognition that a pious layman could serve them and their cause just as effectively as a regular cleric; indeed, on occasion, as the case to be explored here will show, he could even do what the order was sometimes either unwilling or unable to do for itself. The early decades of the Jesuit mission in Vienna were faced with serious practical and strategic difficulties that came from three directions: above, below and within. The challenges ‘from above’ refer to those that emanated from the Habsburg court itself, described by John P. Spielmann as ‘the most important resident of the city’ and the seat of power of no less than three Habsburg rulers during the period under scrutiny.7 The Archduke and later Emperor Ferdinand I had been there since 1522, and Vienna would remain one of his key bases until his death in 1564. He was succeeded by his eldest son, who ruled as Emperor Maximilian II between 1564 and 1576, but who also continued in his father’s role as ‘local’ archduke of Lower Austria, with his capital

6

  On the dynamics of the early Jesuits, John O’Malley’s The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA, 1993) is still unsurpassed. 7   John P. Spielmann, The City and the Crown: Vienna and the Imperial Court 1600–1740 (West Lafayette, IN, 1993), p. 4.

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again in Vienna. 8 And though his successor as emperor, Rudolf II, chose to move his court to Prague, Rudolf’s younger brother, Archduke Ernst, also remained predominantly in Vienna, from whence he administered Lower Austria between 1576 and his death 20 years later. The religious tenor of the Viennese court in the latter half of the sixteenth century was thus not only central to the setting of the confessional climate of the city and the Habsburgs’ own substantial hereditary east central European territories, but also to the character of the Imperial title itself.9 There was, however, much to concern the Jesuits in this regard. The personal faith of the three rulers in question does seem to have been one of genuine devotion to the Catholic faith. Though Ferdinand, for example, was a chief architect of the Peace of Augsburg, this had been done on pragmatic grounds: he was also a staunch defender of Catholic orthodoxy, doing what he could to halt the spread of Lutheran ideas. It has already been noted that it was Ferdinand who had personally called the Jesuits to Vienna in the first place, and who did what he could to support their stay in the city in practical ways: it was Ferdinand, for example, who granted the Society an endowment of 1,200 florins per year in their early years in Vienna to help pay the costs of their accommodation.10 It was also Ferdinand who encouraged the Jesuit Peter Canisius to work on his famous Catholic catechism, once it was completed ordering that it should be the only one used throughout his whole domain.11 Though his 8   Under Ferdinand, the Viennese court developed into an administrative centre for the Habsburg dynasty’s territories in east central Europe, including their hereditary lands of Upper Austria, Lower Austria, the duchies of Styria, Carinthia and Carniola and principalities of Istria, Gorizia and Trieste that together made up Inner Austria; and the Tyrol, or Outer Austria, as well as Bohemia, acquired in 1526. The death of Ferdinand saw the division of the hereditary lands, with Maximilian retaining Upper and Lower Austria as well as acceding to the Imperial title. It has been helpfully noted by Volker Press, however, that even while presiding over the diets held in the hereditary lands, Ferdinand and Maximilian would have been dealt with in their capacity as Holy Roman Emperors: ‘The System of Estates in the Austrian Hereditary Lands and in the Holy Roman Empire: A Comparison’, in R.J.W. Evans and T.V. Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates: Central European Politics in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (London, 1991), pp. 1–22, p. 1. 9   As a city, Vienna did have its own civic political structures. Yet these were usually subordinate to the will of the crown, not least since one of Ferdinand’s first acts on his arrival in the city was to execute the mayor of Vienna, Martin Siebenbürger, as punishment for his leadership of a failed rebellion against the archduke. 10   James Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius, S.J. 1521–1597 (London, 1935), p. 199. 11   That this was ever the case is in doubt, for reasons to be discussed below. However, as O’Malley notes, this decree did much to aid the dissemination of Canisius’ catechism: The First Jesuits, p. 123. On Ferdinand, see Paula Sutter Fichtner, ‘The Disobedience of the Obedient: Ferdinand I and the Papacy, 1555–1564’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 11 (1980), 25– 34; also her Ferdinand of Austria: The Politics of Dynasticism in the Age of the Reformation (New York, NY, 1982). For more on the Canisius catechism, see below, note 94.

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son and successor Maximilian’s personal confessional allegiances have come under as much scrutiny from historians as they did in his own day, with allegations regularly made that he was a crypto-Protestant, he too demonstrated himself anxious to bolster the position of the Catholic Church in his territories while minimizing, if not entirely removing, the influence of Lutheranism.12 In a decree of 18 February 1572, for example, Maximilian decreed that all heretical clergy should be evicted from their posts and the vacancies filled with Catholic clergy only.13 And it was also Maximilian who set up the Klosterrat or Monastery Commission in 1568, the chief purpose of which was to act as a quality control on the standard of preaching and administration of the sacraments in every monastery in Lower and Upper Austria.14 As Johnston Gordon notes elsewhere in this volume, the jurisdiction stretched to include those parishes that had become incorporated into monastic holdings, and also the so-called ‘Imperial parishes’, where the Habsburg ruler held the right of patronage.15 And though much less research has been done on the career of the Archduke Ernst who took over control of Lower Austria in 1576, he too did what was within his power to halt the spread of heresy, attempting to ban Lutheran worship both inside and outside the city.16 Yet for the Jesuits, none of this could make up for the results of a Habsburg religious policy that appeared to give to Catholicism with one hand, and yet take away with the other. Some of this could not be helped. All three rulers in question were indebted to the support of Protestant princes to help defend their territories against the Turkish threat from the east; this can be seen at the level of Imperial politics in Ferdinand’s reluctant acceptance of the cuius regio, eius religio formula at the Diet of Speyer in 1526, where limited Lutheran worship was to be permitted, 12

  Not for nothing did one of Maximilian’s first biographers describe him as ‘the mysterious emperor’: Victor Bibl, Maximilian II. Der rätselhafte Kaiser. Ein Zeitbild (Hellerau, 1929). Maximilian came in for severe censure from his family, and particularly his cousin in Spain, Philip II, over some of his practices, which included a determination to take communion in both kinds and willingness to act as a patron to Protestants. On Maximilian’s sometimes seemingly ambiguous confessional stance, see Howard Louthan, The Quest for Compromise: Peacemakers in Counter-Reformation Vienna (Cambridge, 1997), p. 87 and Fulton, Catholic Belief, pp. 89–90. On Maximilian’s career as a whole, see Paula Sutter Fichtner, Emperor Maximilian II (New Haven, CT, 2001). 13   Pörtner, Counter-Reformation in Central Europe, p. 23. 14   On this body, see Joseph F. Patrouch, ‘The Investiture Controversy Revisited: Religious Reform, Emperor Maximilian II, and the Klosterrat’, Austrian History Yearbook, 25 (1994), 59–77. 15   See Chapter 5, p. 158. 16   The most recent work dedicated to Ernst is now over 100 years old: Victor Bibl, ‘Erzherzog Ernst und die Gegenreformation in Niederösterreich (1576–1590)’, Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung, VI Ergänzungsband (1901), 575–96.

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temporarily, in return for much needed Protestant military support. It was a precedent, however, for the settlement made less than 30 years later in the 1555 Peace of Augsburg saw Ferdinand forced to agree to Lutheran freedom of worship throughout the Empire. Less known, however, is the impact that similar financial and military pressures had on the Habsburg rulers on their ‘home’ soil, and in particular their highly vulnerable city of Vienna. Vienna had already survived a heavy, two-week Ottoman siege in 1529, and the fear of the same happening again, but with a different outcome, was never far from the minds of the ruling Habsburgs. In 1546 Ferdinand summed up this guiding sentiment well: ‘our city of Vienna is almost a frontier town against them [the Turks] … Vienna is important and precious not only for the hereditary dominions, but for all Christendom and the German nation’.17 Yet the Habsburgs were also confronted with a local, Lower Austrian nobility, the majority of whom, like their counterparts in the Empire, had seen the appeal of Lutheranism and were willing to use any opportunity to wring religious concessions out of their rulers.18 As a result, when in the mid1560s Maximilian had good reason to fear another Turkish onslaught on the city, in return for the financial and military support of his nobility he had to grant them the Lower Austrian Religions-Konzession of 1568. Formally, this permitted Lutheran worship only to members of the noble estates ‘in all their castles, houses and possessions’.19 Yet it held a further clause that was disastrous for the Catholic Church in the city. The nobles were also permitted to provide services for their Lutheran subjects. This they did, installing Lutheran Schloßprediger, or ‘castle preachers’, at their own properties outside the city walls: a Lutheran visitation of Lower Austria in 1580 uncovered no less than 138 such preachers.20 Their sermons proved to be such a draw, however, that every Sunday several thousand people would flock from Vienna – the city itself was excluded from the terms of the Konzession – to attend the Lutheran services on the nobles’ own land. Georg Eder himself noted in 1585, almost two decades 17

 Quoted in Ilsa Barea, Vienna: Legend and Reality (London, 1966), p. 38, citing material in Albert Starzer, ‘Fortsetzung’ in his (ed.), Quellen zur Geschichte der Stadt Wien (Vienna, 1906), part I, vol. 5, pp. 11–397, p. 104. 18   It has been estimated that by the 1580s approximately 90 per cent of the Lower Austrian nobles claimed allegiance to Lutheranism: Gustav Reingrabner, Adel und Reformation. Beiträge zur Geschichte des Protestantischen Adels im Lande Unter Der Enns Während des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts (Vienna, 1976), p. 79. 19   Quotation from the Religions-Assekuration of 11 January 1571, cited in Rona Johnston Gordon, ‘Patronage and Parish: The Nobility and the Recatholicization of Lower Austria’, in Karin Maag (ed.), The Reformation in Eastern and Central Europe (Aldershot, 1997), pp. 211–27, p. 214. 20   Reingrabner, Adel und Reformation, p. 85.

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after the issue of the Konzession, that as many as 3,000 people were still participating in the so-called ‘Auslaufen’ to attend services conducted by a Lutheran preacher at just one such location, Inzersdorff.21 And as if the terms of the Konzession had not been damaging enough to the future of Catholicism in Vienna, Maximilian bowed yet further to the demands of the Protestant nobility and granted them a room for worship in the Viennese Landhaus, right in the heart of the city and the traditional meeting place of the Lower Austrian government; the establishment of a Lutheran school and even a bookshop in Vienna were soon to follow.22 Not only were the Jesuits faced with the haemorrhaging of the Viennese population Sunday by Sunday to Lutheran services beyond the city walls, but when the city’s Lutherans came back to Vienna they could, on occasion, even display violence against visible signs and symbols of Catholicism. According to Georg Eder – who also happens to be one of our most helpful sources of information for this period in Vienna thanks to his voluminous correspondence with the Wittelsbach dukes of Bavaria – some nuns in the St Lorenz church were intimidated, and even had guns fired at them by Lutheran traders in the city in January 1584; and the Corpus Christi procession of 1578 was famously disrupted when Catholic participants fled in terror, thinking that they were about to be attacked by Protestants.23 Perhaps most worryingly for the Jesuits, 21   Eder to Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria, 19 March 1585, in Victor Bibl (ed.), ‘Die Berichte des Reichshofrates Dr Georg Eder an die Herzoge Albrecht und Wilhelm von Bayern über die Religionskrise in Niederösterreich (1579–1587)’, Jahrbuch für Landeskunde von Niederösterreich, Neue Folge 8 (1909), 67–154, 144–6. 22   Between 1576 and 1578 the Lutheran school flourished, with five members of teaching staff. Grete Mecenseffy, ‘Wien im Zeitalter der Reformation des 16. Jahrhunderts’, Wiener Geschichtsblätter, 29 (1974), 228–39, 236. Ernst succeeded in closing it, along with the church and bookshop in May 1578, withstanding the later public protest of an estimated 6,000 nobles, burghers and knights in order to do so. According to Georg Eder, later describing the scene for Duke Albrecht of Bavaria, when the young Archduke Ernst went to the window on the day of the so-called ‘Sturmpetition’, 19 July 1579, ‘6,000 people fell to their knees and cried with loud voices to grant them the word of God …’. Eder to Duke Albrecht, 10 August 1579, Bibl (ed.), ‘Die Berichte’, 90–93, especially 90. Ernst was not, however, able to stop the regular flouting of laws that also attempted to put a stop to the practice of Auslaufen. 23   More than 120 of Eder’s letters survive in the Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv in Munich (Kurbayern Äußeres Archiv, Status Ecclesiasticus-Religionsacta des Erzhauses Österreich, signatures 4240–42), and also in various edited collections: Karl Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath Dr Georg Eder. Eine Briefsammlung. Als Beitrag zur Geschichte der Gegenreformation in Niederösterreich (Vienna, 1904); Felix Stieve (ed.), ‘Briefe des Reichshofrathes Dr G. Eder zur Geschichte Rudolfs II und der Gegenreformation in Österreich unter der Enns’, Mitteilungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung, 6 (1885), 440–49; and the collection by Victor Bibl (‘Die Berichte des Reichshofrates Dr Georg Eder’) already cited. The incident concerning the nuns was mentioned by Eder in a

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though, the violence could on occasion even be directed against them. In 1577 Eder reported to Duke Albrecht that a large crucifix had been pulled down from the door of the Jesuit church in the city, and the figure of Christ himself thrown in the mud in an iconoclastic attack that continued for three hours.24 If the Habsburgs themselves could not be held responsible for such outrages and for the popularity of Lutheran worship that they had been compelled to grudgingly allow, they did however have far greater control over their own court and their own religious policies. Yet these too were areas in which factors ‘from above’ could hardly be said to have helped the Jesuit position in the city. For one thing, Ferdinand and particularly Maximilian were keen to turn the Viennese court into a bastion of humanist scholarship.25 While this in itself was hardly damaging to the Jesuit cause, this late, central European flowering of humanism laid an emphasis on confessional moderation and religious compromise, prizing these as a higher goal than the advance of exclusively Catholic belief and practice that was central to the Jesuit raison d’être.26As a result, the Habsburg court of Vienna in the 1550s, 1560s and 1570s was a base for humanist scholars, many of whom were themselves Protestant, standing in influential opposition to the confessional purity sought by the Jesuits.27 Partly because of the need for competent administrators filling the growing number of offices at the Habsburg court, and simultaneously as an extension of this policy of religious compromise and toleration of the confessional ‘other’, the Habsburgs also employed a number of Protestants (or at least non-Catholics) in significant positions at the Viennese court: as report to Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria dated 26 January 1584: Bibl (ed.), ‘Die Berichte’, 135–6, especially 136. On the Corpus Christi incident, see Louthan, Quest for Compromise, pp. 155– 6; also Eder to Duke Albrecht, 30 May 1578, in Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath, pp. 202–5. 24   Eder to Duke Albrecht, 30 November 1577, in Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath, pp. 126–7. 25   This court culture has received extensive scholarly treatment. See especially Louthan, Quest for Compromise, passim; R.J.W. Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy 1550–1700: An Interpretation (Oxford, 1979), Chapter 1; and Kurt Mühlberger, ‘Bildung und Wissenschaft. Kaiser Maximilian II. und die Universität Wien’, in Friedrich Edelmayer and Alfred Kohler (eds), Kaiser Maximilian II. Kultur und Politik im 16. Jahrhundert, Wiener Beiträge zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 17 (1992), 203–31. Leading lights of the Viennese court included Wolfgang Lazius, physician and historian; Jacopo Strada, court antiquary and artist; Hugo Blotius, keeper of the Imperial library; Augerius Busbequius, botanist and collector; Johannes Sambucus, historian and philologist; and Johannes Crato and Carolus Clusius, both botanists. 26   This subject too has been examined effectively, in particular by Evans, Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, pp. 19–20 and Louthan, Quest for Compromise, passim. 27   Of the humanist scholars named above, for example, every one except Lazius and Strada would have described themselves as Protestant.

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a result, no fewer than three members of the Reichshofrat were Protestant, while the Reichsvizekanzler between 1563 and 1577, Johann Baptist Weber, was notorious for his lack of devotion to any faith at all.28 It was not just for their open opposition to any entertainment of heretical belief, however, that the Jesuits, though in the city at the behest of the ruler, were not always welcome guests at its court. The Austrian branch of the Habsburg dynasty in the second half of the sixteenth century became, partly through the political necessity of confessional moderation but mainly due to the need to demonstrate their own authority in their troubled territories, experienced practitioners of what R.J.W. Evans has described as an ‘aulic Catholicism’.29 This refers to the exercise of a Catholicism that was Roman Catholic in terms of belief and practice, but which had the Habsburg court at its centre as the base from which the direction and implementation of religious policy was to emanate. For Ferdinand, Maximilian and Ernst the maintenance of the hard-won religious peace and relative stability in their own territories was too precious and fragile to be derailed by the infinitely less conciliatory confessional policies of Rome and the Spanish branch of the Habsburg dynasty itself, in Madrid. They also wished to send out a clear signal to the Austrian nobility that they were in no way vulnerable to the ‘foreign’ influence of Rome or Madrid. It was therefore to be Vienna, not Rome, that set the pace and tone of reform in Lower Austria, at a speed and to a level which the archdukes deemed appropriate; as a result, in the Austrian lands neither Index nor Inquisition was introduced, and the decrees of the Council of Trent would not be promulgated in the region until 1637, even then only in part. Even the implementation of the Gregorian calendar reform was delayed by one year in Lower Austria, in part as a symbolic display of autonomy on the part of the archdukes of Austria, while the establishment of the Klosterrat, mentioned above as a sign of Maximilian II’s commitment to Catholic reform, can also be read as an attempt by the secular authority to wrest control over the monasteries from the Church.30 For the Jesuits in Vienna, such an 28

  Membership of the Reichshofrat was not only one of the court’s, but also the Holy Roman Empire’s highest judicial positions. Headed, at least in principle, by none other than the Emperor himself, members of the Reichshofrat were responsible for the administration of justice throughout the Empire. On these Protestant holders of high court positions, see Fulton, Catholic Belief, pp. 27–8. 29   See Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, pp. 59–61 and Elaine Fulton ‘“Wolves and Weathervanes”: Confessional Moderation at the Habsburg Court of Vienna’, in Luc Racaut and Alec Ryrie (eds), Moderate Voices in the European Reformation (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 145–61. 30   The reform was not implemented in Lower Austria until 1583, a year after Rome had decreed that the change should take place. Rona Johnston Gordon, ‘Controlling Time

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environment was deeply uncomfortable. They certainly had allies at the court, not least from among the Spanish contingent there, headed by Maximilian II’s wife Maria, sister of Philip II of Spain and representative of his utterly uncompromising stance towards Protestantism.31 But the overall tenor of policy and personality at the Viennese court in the early decades of the Jesuits’ mission in the city was one that was at best wary of the order’s proselytizing intentions and, at worst, outright hostile. As early as 1555, and three years after he too joined the work in Vienna, the Jesuit Peter Canisius found himself supplied with an armed guard on his visits to the Viennese court, arranged through concern on the part of Ferdinand I that the mood of the court might spill over into violence against a member of the order.32 If the situation ‘from above’ was highly problematic for the Jesuits in Vienna, it was at least one that developed over time: they were not faced with the consequences of the Religions-Konzession, for example, until after 1568 and they had at least become somewhat settled in the city. The situation ‘from below’, however – taken here to refer to what they encountered at the level of parish religion – was catastrophic from the moment they arrived. There was, for one thing, no strong episcopacy to give even a modicum of direction to the three urban and 14 rural parishes of which the city was comprised.33 The bishopric of Vienna had only been created as recently as 1469, and its small size and poor endowment meant that it was never going to attract the best clerics to act as incumbents. Indeed, there was no bishop of Vienna at all until Johann Kaspar Neuböck took on the role in 1574; until then, the see was only administered by clerics who also held posts elsewhere, and between 1555–1558 and 1568–1574 not even such an administrator could be found.34 And even when they could – such as Friedrich Nausea, who managed the diocese between 1541 and 1551 – the results were hardly what the Jesuits would have desired: Nausea was not only an advocate

in the Habsburg Lands: The Introduction of the Gregorian Calendar in Austria below the Enns’, Austrian History Yearbook, 40 (2009), 28–36. Joseph Patrouch has described the Klosterrat as representing ‘the first step towards an imperial ecclesiastical policy operated with secular sanctions’: Patrouch, ‘The Investiture Controversy Revisited’, 61. On the Klosterrat, see too Rona Johnston Gordon’s chapter in this volume. 31   On the Spanish circle in Vienna, see Christopher F. Laferl, Die Kultur der Spanier in Österreich unter Ferdinand I. 1522–1564 (Vienna, 1997). 32   Brodrick, Canisius, p. 195, citing Matthew Rader, Peter’s earliest biographer, who heard this from eyewitnesses and published it in De Vita Petri Canisii libri tres (Munich, 1614). 33   Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 311. 34   Martin Krexner and Franz Loidl, Wiens Bischöfe und Erzbischöfe (Vienna, 1983).

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of permitting the laity to receive communion in both kinds, but also of a relaxation of the rules concerning clerical marriage.35 The lack of a strong, ‘on message’ episcopal figure was not enough to cripple the Jesuit work in Vienna – they faced such problems elsewhere – but what these decades of either absent or inappropriate direction had resulted in was a Catholic Church that had impoverished, crumbling buildings, an inadequate supply of clerics in terms of quality and quantity, and a population who had either converted to Lutheranism or simply fallen away from the old faith. In their defence, not all of Catholic Vienna’s problems could be blamed on the clergy. When the Jesuits arrived in Vienna in 1551 they came to a city still trying to recover from two disasters of the 1520s: a major fire in 1525 which had destroyed a third of the 1250 buildings located within the city walls; and the results of the Turkish siege of 1529 which, for the Church, saw not only the predictable physical destruction of a number of churches just outside the city walls but also serious damage to many inside.36 To compound problems, those parishes and also religious orders that saw their ecclesiastical buildings survive the military onslaught found that they were then asked to open these up to shelter those rendered homeless in the fighting, while the city’s convents and monasteries suffered the additional hardship of having to hand over to Ferdinand 36,000 florins between them to help pay the costs associated with the siege.37 As a result, the physical infrastructure of Catholicism was hit hard by the events of the 1520s, but so too was the human one. After the siege, ten of the city’s 13 parishes were left without a priest, and the sharp decline of Vienna University’s matriculation rates in the years after the siege, including the intake to the theology faculty, meant that it was difficult to replenish these pulpits.38 According to the bishop of Laibach, writing in the late 1540s, not a single priest had been ordained in Vienna in two decades, while the religious orders of the city were in a situation of equal crisis.39 Even before the siege, a visitation of the city’s Schottenkloster 35

  Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 316 and p. 321.   On the fire, see Andreas Weigl, ‘Frühneuzeitliches Bevölkerungswachstum’, in Vocelka and Traninger (eds), Wien, p. 109. On the results of the siege, see Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 319. 37  Weigl, ‘Frühneuzeitliches Bevölkerungswachstum’, p. 111 and Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 319. 38   Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 319 and Kurt Mühlberger, ‘Zu den Krisen der Universität Wien im Zeitalter der konfessionellen Auseinandersetzungen’, Bericht über den achtzehnten österreichischen Historikertag in Linz veranstaltet vom Verband Österreichischer Geschichtsvereine in der Zeit vom 24. bis 29. September 1990, Veröffentlichungen des Verbandes Österreichischer Geschichtsvereine, 27 (1991), 269–77, 271. 39   Brodrick, Canisius, pp. 170–71. 36

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revealed that there were in residence only seven monks, headed by an abbot who had a mistress.40 A wider visitation held in 1566 indicated that no progress had been made, with only a handful of monks left in the Schottenkloster, hardly any ordained priests and in the Dominican, Augustinian and Minorite houses only monks who had originated from outside the territory.41 A further survey two years later by the Hofkammer found that the largest religious house in Vienna was that of the Observant Franciscans, consisting of a grand total of 12 monks, while the largest female house was that of St James with just nine inhabitants.42 The impact of such decline on the population of Vienna was serious and lasting. By 1569 the number of those taking communion in the city’s parish of St Michael had fallen to less than 1,000.43 In a letter written the year before, the papal nuncio, Biglia, had calculated that only 5,704 souls had participated in communion sub una that Easter in Vienna as a whole; bearing in mind that by then the city’s population had recovered to around 25–30,000 living within Vienna’s walls, these were hardly healthy figures.44 It might also be surmised that those who remained faithful to the Catholic rites were an ageing population: in 1577 a gloomy Georg Eder observed in a letter to the Duke of Bavaria that ‘the church will soon become a desert’ as in the entire preceding month not so many as two children had been brought to Stephansdom for baptism.45 As Karl Vocelka has observed, in the sixteenth century Catholicism became a ‘minority church’ in Vienna, physically and spiritually impoverished.46 Last but by no means least, the first Jesuits in Vienna faced a further set of issues from within themselves. This is not to imply internal discord, but rather to suggest that the nature of the Society itself brought its own challenges to working in such a complex, unforgiving and sometimes uncomprehending environment. One example is the Jesuits’ commitment to the vow of poverty. This was common to all religious orders of the period, but for the Society of Jesus it was an imperative for the authenticity of their faith and their ability to win souls for Christ. As John O’Malley has noted, the early Jesuits worked on a principle of ‘evangelical poverty’, where the emphasis was ‘less on being in want than 40

  Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 319.   Ibid., p. 321. 42   Roderick Geyer, ‘Dr Johann Caspar Neubeck, Bischof von Wien, 1574–1594’, dissertation, University of Vienna, 1956, p. 42. 43   Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 320. 44   Ignaz Philipp Dengel (ed.), Nuntiaturberichte aus Deutschland 1560–1572 (Vienna, 1939), part 2, vol. 6. On Vienna’s population, see Spielmann, The City and the Crown, p. 30. 45   The letter was dated 12 January 1577. Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath, p. 95. 46   Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 319. 41

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in having nothing to call one’s own’.47 As a result, what goods the Jesuits received were to be held in common, in imitation of the early church. Crucially and distinctive to the Jesuits, though, was their insistence that they would receive no direct recompense, financial or otherwise, for any of their ministry; so firmly was this principle held that the second General of the Society, Diego Laynez, explicitly forbade the installation of ‘poor boxes’ in Jesuit churches, in case the presence of such boxes implied that they expected any form of payment from the people.48 Yet the Jesuit mission also evolved into something very ambitious; the Society of Jesus itself grew exponentially in the first decades of its existence, and the schools and colleges it founded were hardly free of running costs.49 As a result, this meant that the Jesuits were heavily reliant on powerful and wealthy patrons for even the fundamentals of life, such as somewhere to live. This they had in Vienna in the person of Ferdinand I: it has already been noted that he made a major contribution towards the costs of their accommodation, and he also held sufficient authority to command that those religious houses that were being so severely under-used in the city should have part of their space given over for the Jesuits’ use. As a result, their first home in Vienna was a disused wing of the city’s Dominican monastery; three years later, in 1554, they moved again, this time to an almost vacant Carmelite monastery close to the city centre. Happy as the Jesuits were to have such accommodation, their reluctant hosts were less so; the Dominicans only allowed the Jesuits access to their territory on condition that they would be temporary guests, while in December 1558 the Carmelites tried to reclaim their requisitioned property, only to be stopped by the Emperor himself.50 As a result, relations with other orders in the city were not always harmonious. The support of Ferdinand I was in itself also something of a doubleedged sword for the first Jesuits in Vienna, and this was felt in particular by Peter Canisius. Canisius’ posting to Vienna in 1552, just one year into the mission, was one of the first in what was a remarkable 54-year career as one of the leading Jesuits in central Europe in the sixteenth century: indeed, just four years after his arrival in Vienna, Canisius was promoted to the position of first superior of the German province of the Society of Jesus. On his arrival in Vienna, however, Canisius’ evident talents were quickly noticed by the Habsburg archduke. He not only played 47

  O’Malley, The First Jesuits, p. 348.   Ibid., p. 349. 49   Ronnie Po-chia Hsia has noted that there were 1,000 Jesuits worldwide by 1556, but just nine years later this had risen to 3,500: Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal, 1540– 1770 (Cambridge, 1998), p. 29. 50   Brodrick, Canisius, p. 199. 48

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his part in the task of Jesuit mission work – including ministry to those sick, poor or in prison, and took on the preaching of regular sermons at Vienna’s church of St Mary by the River – but he also lectured on the New Testament at the ailing university’s theology faculty. Before long he was also Ferdinand’s court preacher, but Ferdinand had an even larger task in mind for this energetic and talented young Jesuit: the bishopric of Vienna itself.51 Though it was not intended as a punishment, this was greeted with utter horror by Canisius, who privately described the prospect as ‘a prison and a labyrinth’.52 According to one of Canisius’ first biographers, Sacchinus, the Jesuit marshalled a number of arguments against the plan, telling the canon of the cathedral chapter who put the suggestion to him in the autumn of 1553 that not only did he not feel called by God to such a role, but that there was also ‘the argument for public utility, for, supposing myself to possess any gifts, I shall be able to use them to best advantage if I am free to go where I am needed and if I am not tied to one place’.53 Canisius’ other line of argument reflects what he was experiencing in Vienna on a daily basis: such is now the state of affairs in Vienna, so sunk are the people in error and so much at odds with their lawful pastors and with the pope, that there would seem to be a far better chance of helping the country by ordinary works of mercy, sermons, and general friendly intercourse than by occupying a position of honour and authority.54

For Canisius, the acceptance of such a post would have acted as a serious hindrance to ability to fulfil what he saw as the key to his and the Society’s mission: the encouragement and winning of souls through preaching and good works. Nor was this just the view of Canisius: according to John O’Malley, writing of the early Jesuits as a whole, they ‘deliberately forswore for themselves the very offices with which reform was concerned – papacy, episcopacy, pastorate. Such reform did not concern them directly or touch the way they wanted to live their lives or do their ministries.’55 Yet such was the sway that Ferdinand held with Loyola and with a papacy anxious to stimulate what improvements it could in the 51

  Ibid, pp. 180–81.   Ibid., p. 192, citing Otto Braunsberger, Beati Petri Canisii Epistulae et Acta (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1896), vol. 1, p. 478. 53   Ibid., pp. 190–91, citing Sacchinus, Vita P. Petri Canisii (1616), pp. 76–9. 54   Ibid. 55   John W. O’Malley, ‘Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism’ (1993), reprinted in David M. Luebke (ed.), The Counter Reformation (Oxford, 1999), pp. 66–82, p. 70. 52

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problematic Austrian situation, Canisius was eventually compelled to take on the role in 1554, though only as administrator. He also managed to leave the onerous post as early as 1555, but the incident demonstrates yet more of the problems faced by the early Jesuit work in Vienna, where their very purpose was misunderstood, perhaps deliberately, even by their patrons, and they had to struggle to define themselves amid the minefield of local politics as well as the usual challenges of mission. The Jesuits did not only manage to survive in Vienna, however, but even to thrive. Within a year of the start of the mission the Jesuits had seen their number in Vienna increase to 25.56 A year later they opened a school in Vienna; by 1554 this had five classes with a total of 300 pupils; just two years later it was comprised of six classes with 400 pupils.57 And in 1559 the Jesuits even opened their own printing press in Vienna as a means of further spreading their message.58 The order’s continued growth in the city may be attributed to the calibre of men within their ranks, and their ability to work as best they could with what help they received from the court. This chapter will, however, draw attention to another tactic that is particularly relevant to the theme of this volume, and that is Jesuit patronage of a local, prominent layman, Georg Eder, to assist them in their mission. At first sight the Society’s relationship with Eder can seem like a simple and somewhat cynical instance of Jesuit wooing of a locally influential layman, indeed a Habsburg courtier no less, in order to further their cause. And there is certainly no question of Georg Eder’s prominence in the Vienna of his day. When Eder first arrived in Vienna in 1550 as an ambitious 27-year-old Bavarian, it is doubtful that even he could have imagined the extent to which he would come to dominate the life of the city for the best part of the next four decades, right up to his death in 1587. The holder of a doctorate in law, Eder was perfectly qualified to accept the important role of Kammerprokurator at the Habsburg court just two years after his arrival in the city.59 Eleven years later, Eder’s service in 56

  Bernhard Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Ländern deutscher Zunge. Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Ländern deutscher Zunge im XVI. Jahrhundert (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1907), vol. 1, p. 275. 57   Vocelka, ‘Kirchengeschichte’, p. 324. 58   This was another result of the patronage of Ferdinand I, who granted the Jesuits an annual sum of 300 talern for the running of the press, as well as the grant of an Imperial printing privilege: Moritz Grolig, ‘Die Buchdruckerei des Jesuitenkollegiums in Wien (1559–1565)’, Mitteilungen des Österreichischen Vereins für Bibliothekswesen, 13 (1909), 105–20, 108. 59   This role meant that Eder was one of a small group of councillors given responsibility for the management of Habsburg financial affairs, especially the administration of the crown estates.

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this post was rewarded with promotion to an even more prestigious role: that of Reichshofrat, in which he would have enjoyed, as one historian has noted, ‘precedence in rank over all other councillors of the emperor except members of the Imperial Privy Council’.60 Georg Eder served on this council for 20 years, from 1563 to 1583; only one of his Reichshofrat contemporaries served for a longer period. This was, however, by no means Eder’s only claim to prominence in the Vienna of the latter half of the sixteenth century. He also attained an unparalleled dominance of Vienna University, where he was elected Rector an unmatched total of 11 times between 1557 and 1584.61 In this role, Eder carried overall responsibility for the management of all university affairs, including finance, discipline and education, and, more publicly, chaired all academic councils and led all ceremonies, such as doctoral promotions. Yet Eder went further still, using his influence as Rector to encourage the revival of the Latin oration as a cultural event within the university (including the public crowning of a poet laureate), and organizing the production of the first ever written history of Vienna University.62 Perhaps it is unsurprising then that it was also Eder who was called upon to deliver a number of public orations himself at key moments in the life of the city in which he worked. As early as 1558, for example, it was Eder who led Vienna University’s contribution to the festivities surrounding the return of Ferdinand I to Vienna as Holy Roman Emperor.63 Just one year later it was again Eder who was entrusted with the writing of a speech to mark the funeral of the former Emperor Charles V, and it was also Eder who delivered a speech of public praise

60   Henry Frederick Schwarz, The Imperial Privy Council in the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, MA, 1943), p. 18. On the position of Reichshofrat, see note 28. 61   For a summary of Eder’s university career, see Kurt Mühlberger, ‘Bildung und Wissenschaft. Kaiser Maximilian II. und die Universität Wien’, in Friedrich Edelmayer and Alfred Kohler (eds), Kaiser Maximilian II. Kultur und Politik im 16. Jahrhundert. Wiener Beiträge zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 17 (1992), 203–31, 224. 62   On the crowning of the laureates, see Georg Eder, Laurea poetica, ex caesareo privilegio in celeberrimo archigymnasio Viennensi tribus nuper viris eruditiss … (Vienna, 1558), containing the text of the speeches delivered in connection with the award of the laureate titles. In these Eder receives extensive and perhaps predictably overblown praise: for example, court historian Wolfgang Lazius, present at one such event, noted that ‘You, Rector Eder, are elevating your school to the skies’, Laurea poetica, fol. A vi verso. The history of Vienna University was intended to be a collaborative work, but all that survives today is Eder’s contribution: Georg Eder, Catalogus Rectorum et Illustrium Virorum Archigymnasii Viennensis (Vienna, 1559). 63   This was published as Georg Eder, Triumphus D. Ferdinando I. Ro. Imperator (Vienna, 1558).

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for Emperor Maximilian II’s son Rudolf on 21 September 1572, on the occasion of Rudolf’s coronation as King of Hungary.64 And if Eder’s public life thrived during his long career in Vienna, so too did that of his family. Eder married twice and fathered eight children, of whom at least four seem to have survived into adulthood: Bernhard, Maximilian, Adam and a daughter, Regina.65 By 1566 at the latest we know that Eder and his family were living in a two-storey house close to Stephansdom, right in the heart of the city, and such was the Eder family’s standing that in 1581 his daughter Regina was considered a suitable bride for none other than one of the Emperor’s privy councillors, Leonhard Dilherr.66 The wedding ceremony itself was commemorated in print and was evidently another public occasion in the city, in which even the then poet laureate himself, Elias Corvinus, also participated.67 Yet there was rather more to the Jesuits’ relationship with Eder than a simple desire to capitalize on the fame and reputation of this prominent figure. Before his arrival in Vienna the young Eder had spent six years between 1543 and 1549 studying in the faculties of philosophy, arts and law at the University of Cologne, and it was here that he would have encountered the fledging Society of Jesus in one of its most dynamic periods.68 Only approved by the pope in 1540, it was Cologne that was the site of the very first Jesuit college in the German-speaking lands, founded just four years later and at the very moment of the start of Eder’s studies in the city.69 Leading lights in the order who were based in Cologne during Eder’s time there included Peter Faber of Savoy, one of the most eminent of the first generation of Jesuits, and none other than a young Peter Canisius, whose introduction to the order began when he was led through the Spiritual Exercises by Faber. Yet it was also the 64

  These speeches were published as Georg Eder, Luctus Archigymnasii Viennen: Pro Funere D. Caroli Quinti (Vienna 1559) and Orationes II. Gratulatoriae, Ad Rudolphum Sereniss (Vienna, 1573). 65   Eder was widowed the first time in 1559, and again in 1573: details are on a tablet erected at Stephansdom and still visible today on the portico of the north tower. Further details in Archiv der Universität Wien (UAW), Karl Schrauf, Konvolut, Altes Biographisches Material-Eder, fol. 70r. 66   Albert Camesina Ritter von San Vittore (ed.), Urkundliche Beiträge zur Geschichte Wien’s im XVI. Jahrhundert (Vienna, 1881), p. 38. 67   Epithalamia. In nuptias nobilis et Praestantis viri D Leonardi Dilheri S.Rom.Caes. Mtis Aulae familiaris etc Sponsi ac Nobilis … Reginae filiae Magnifici … Doctoris Domini Georgii Ederi … Sponsae. a clariss. et honestiss. viris tum prosa tum metrica oration … conscripta. Anno MDLXXXI. 68   Hermann Keussen (ed.), Die Matrikel der Universität Köln (Düsseldorf, 1979), vol. 2, p. 982. 69   O’Malley, The First Jesuits, p. 55 and p. 273.

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young Canisius who supported his fellow-student Georg Eder, who he described as being ‘dear to him in Lord’, during his six years of study.70 Eder’s family background appears to have been modest, while Canisius’ father was a wealthy Dutch burgomeister; as a result, Canisius appears to have given Eder financial aid.71 This was, furthermore, a relationship that evidently lasted. Canisius arrived in Vienna just two years after Eder, and it is hard to imagine that the two men would not have been in close contact for the duration of Canisius’ mission there.72 Even after Canisius’ promotion in 1556 to the position of first superior of the German province of the Society of Jesus, he still returned to Vienna regularly, including visits in 1558, 1560, 1561 and 1562; and he and Eder evidently remained close until at least 12 October 1577, the date of the last surviving letter, in which Eder refers to the warmth of his relationship with Canisius.73 Eder’s reputation as a friend of the order also apparently went much further than his relationship only with Canisius. Later on, it was the support of the Jesuits which enabled Eder’s eldest son Bernhard to attend the German college in Rome between 1573 and 1585; the Jesuit Provincial in Vienna, Johann Magius, intervened on Eder’s behalf to no less than the General of the order himself, Everard Mercurian, describing Eder senior as a spirited defender of Catholicism and enthusiastic supporter of their order.74 It was the Jesuits too who sponsored Eder’s promotion in 1571 to an honorary doctorate in theology from Vienna University, and it 70

  Eder is mentioned by Canisius in several letters from Cologne written between 1544 and 1548, including one dated 12 August 1548 in which Canisius makes his reference to Eder being dear to him in the Lord and also the holder of great prospects: Braunsberger (ed.), Beati Petri Canisii (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1896), vol. 1, pp. 281–6. 71   ‘In order to show my gratitude I most willingly confess and acknowledge that for up to almost 7 years I was brought up by alms provided by … Doctor Peter Canisius’, Eder, Catalogus Rectorum, p. 10. On Eder’s background, see Theodor Wiedemann, Geschichte der Reformation und Gegenreformation im Lande unter der Enns (Prague, 1880), vol. 2, p. 143. 72   Indeed, the lack of letters surviving between the two men in this period would seem to indicate that they were in close personal contact, with no need to write to each other. 73   Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath, p. 123. 74   Magius to Mercurian, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu, Epistolae Germaniae 153, fols 235r–v. The Jesuits’ support, plus some financial aid from Gregory XIII, meant that Bernhard Eder was able to stay in Rome for 12 years, after which time he was made canon of Breslau and Olmütz. For more on his career, see Andreas Steinhuber, Geschichte des Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum in Rom (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1895), vol. 1, pp. 304–5. Despite his prominent role in the city and court, Eder appears to never have been materially well off, hence his need for financial support for his son’s education. For example, in a letter of 28 August 1574 Eder complained to Duke Albrecht of Bavaria that he had now gone for five years without payment from his Habsburg employers: Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath, p. 88. He echoed similar complaints in another letter to the duke three years later, on 7 September 1577, ibid., p. 111; and in 1584 commented that were it

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was also the Jesuits who supported Eder’s career as a Catholic polemicist and educator, granting their approval to each book he produced.75 Eder was, therefore, a man known well to the Society of Jesus, and was held in high regard by them. The feeling, it seems, was mutual. The very public achievements of his career in Vienna were inevitably due to a drive to succeed in matters temporal. Yet perhaps above all else, Eder was profoundly inspired throughout his life by the ethos of the Society of Jesus, writing towards the end of his life that: who has to deal with Jesuits finds in their speech, in their dealings … in short in all things, that one is as the other, as if they are one person … [and as if] they all have the single spirit of God … with them lies the true religion.76

In another equally reflective letter written a few months later, in January 1585, while railing against the dangers of what he saw as the ‘lukewarm’ Catholicism of the Habsburg court, Eder came out with an even more strident statement: ‘whoever is not like a Jesuit, is not a Catholic’.77 It is no surprise then that it was to the service of the Jesuits and that of their cause that Eder devoted the bulk of his energy. Despite his status as a layman, Georg Eder worked tirelessly to bolster the ailing Catholic Church in Vienna, and personally authored no less than ten instructional and polemical writings, all designed to help educate the young in the way of Catholicism and to persuade those who had fallen into Protestant heresy of the error of their ways.78 In Georg Eder the Jesuits had found a man whose ability, position and passion meant that he not only made a significant contribution to their Viennese mission in its troubled early decades, but that he could on occasion do what they themselves either felt unwilling or unable to do. One way in which Eder was able to do this was through the functioning of the Imperial Klosterrat, already mentioned. Eder is never explicitly described in any source as being a member of this body, but not for the intervention of the Wittelsbach dukes, he would have fallen into poverty: Bibl (ed.), ‘Die Berichte’, 141. 75   UAW, Theol. Akten, Th4 (1567–1644), microfilm 075, fol. 11. 76   Letter from Eder to Duke Wilhelm of Bavaria, 7 September 1584, in Bibl (ed.), ‘Die Berichte’, 138–9. 77   Ibid., 23 January 1585, 142–4. 78   Eder’s status as a layman seems clear. John W. O’Malley has noted there were ‘temporal coadjutors’ within the Society of Jesus who never went on to take sacred orders: The First Jesuits, p. 60. Yet they took a vow of chastity and tended to have a very limited educational background, both factors which would seem to exclude Eder. He may well have participated in a confraternity, but lack of surviving sources means that this cannot be confirmed. Eder’s writings will be discussed below.

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does seem to have been closely involved in some of its proceedings. As a secular body, very much under the control of Maximilian II as a means of working for Catholic reform on his terms, this was not a group with which members of the Society would have felt comfortable, even if they had been invited to join. Eder, however, used his position and ease with legal process to ensure that those Klosterrat cases with which he was involved had outcomes consistent with the aims and methods of the Jesuit mission. Three examples survive, the first one being Eder’s role in the search for a suitable preacher to fill the vacant pulpit of Vienna’s church of St Michael. Eder was one of those who listened to a sermon preached in St Michael’s on Whit Monday 1572 by a Georg Puelacher. His sermon was, however, apparently lacking, either in content or style, and the post was filled several months later not by Puelacher but by one Martin Radwiger ‘because his sermon was pleasing’.79 In so doing, Eder had found a preacher who, though not a Jesuit, would supplement their work in the city by delivering a sound, Catholic message. Furthermore, a man of Eder’s standing and strong opinion on the panel would almost certainly have been enough to block out any possibility of a priest with the slightest Lutheran tendencies being appointed. Two other cases that survive of Eder’s explicit involvement in the work of the Klosterrat relate to his investigations of the monastery of St Dorothea and the convent of St James. The former, investigated by Eder and a fellow-Catholic Reichshofrat in 1571, was found to have inhabitants who were ‘very irritating’ and ‘thoughtless’; while the convent of St James, investigated in 1573, proved to be a nest of immorality in which the canon had fathered two children with one of the nuns, an excess of wine was kept within the convent buildings and the nuns themselves were lacking in discipline. Action in this instance was swift and decisive: the two illegitimate children were removed from the premises; the convent’s abbess was imprisoned in another convent outside Vienna; and the head of the convent of St Laurence was placed in administrative charge of the shamed convent of St James.80 These were not tasks that the Jesuits would have been able or willing to do; such acts of reform were, as we have seen, not at all part of their self-image and declared mission. Yet the ‘cleansing of the temples’ in such a way could only further their cause, by removing yet another source of scandal within their own church and giving the enemies of Catholicism one less piece of anti-clerical ammunition to throw their way. On occasion, however, such a punitive decision by the Klosterrat could also work in the Jesuits’ favour. In July 1571, for instance, a Klosterrat evaluation found that the 79

  Wiedemann, Geschichte der Reformation, vol. 2, p. 132.   Ibid., p. 127 and p. 130.

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Klarissenkloster of St Anna was a wealthy house but was inhabited by only one nun. The Klosterrat therefore advised the Emperor to incorporate the Klarissenkloster into that of St James, but the Jesuit Provincial Magius asked rather if the wealth of the Klarissenkloster could not be used to support the income of the Jesuit college. Maximilian agreed to this, albeit slowly.81 Although there is no explicit evidence of Eder’s involvement in this particular transaction, he had been involved in another one just three years earlier, when the Carmelite property in which the Jesuits had been based since 1554 was formally handed over to the Society of Jesus. On 15 October 1568 the Reichskanzlei entrusted the administration of the exchange to Georg Eder himself, not only another example of Eder’s known association with the Jesuits but also making it wholly credible that he was involved in some way with the negotiations over the Klarissenkloster too.82 A second way in which Eder was able to support the Jesuits’ mission in Vienna, in this case by doing something that we have already seen that Peter Canisius had explicitly refused to do, was to act as bishop of Vienna. Tellingly, Eder himself was offered the bishopric of Gurk in 1574, and turned it down, citing reasons similar to those which Canisius had raised when he had been offered the diocese of Vienna 20 years earlier.83 In a letter to Duke Albrecht of Bavaria dated 28 August 1574, Eder wrote that he would be able to serve the Church just as effectively where he was and as he was, as a layman.84 Taking on the role of the bishop of Gurk would have removed Eder from the mission to Vienna to which he was already deeply committed; indeed, in the same letter to Duke Albrecht Eder wrote that in the time when the bishopric of Vienna was vacant, he had done as much as if a bishop were there.85 Whether Eder was referring to the entire period of his career in Vienna when there had never been a bishop ‘proper’, or merely those periods between episcopal administrators, is not clear. Nor do the sources reveal – aside from those Klosterrat activities noted above and the writing projects to be discussed below – what Eder had actually done to justify such a comment.86 Yet his credentials were evidently substantial. When a bishop of Vienna was finally found, in the form of Johann Kaspar Neuböck, it would be a full seven years, between 1574 and 1581, before he was able to actually base 81  Ludwig Bittner, Inventare des Wiener Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchivs, vol. 5: Gesamtinventar des Wiener Haus-, Hof- und Staatsarchivs (Vienna, 1936), vol. 4, pp. 519–21. 82   Ibid., p. 526. 83   On this see Fulton, Catholic Belief, pp. 96–8 and pp. 133–4. 84   Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath, pp. 88–9. 85   Ibid. 86   The role of administrator was vacant in 1555–1558 and also 1561–1563.

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himself in the city. As a result, Eder and another layman, Friedrich Hipp, were offered the temporary administration of the Viennese diocese, and this Eder accepted: his objections to taking on the bishopric of Gurk had indeed evidently been about his desire to remain in Vienna rather than the work involved in such a post per se. Frustratingly, sources are also patchy as to what Eder’s role as episcopal administrator in this period actually involved, but he does seem to have continued his task of seeking out suitable clerics to fill the many vacant pulpits in the city, apparently acting in conjunction with the work of the Klosterrat. A report submitted on 6 September 1579 reveals that Eder wished to gain approval for the appointment of a 35-year-old priest by the name of Johann Harbort to a parish in the city. Though not a Jesuit, according to the report submitted on him Harbort apparently had just the qualities that the Jesuits would have most prized: he was learned, led an upright personal life and, most important of all, was a strong preacher. He had, crucially, also been educated at the Jesuit college in Vienna, and Eder’s request was soon granted. 87 Less than three decades after the Jesuits had first arrived in Vienna, their mission was beginning to bear fruit, and it was their influential lay supporter who was helping to smooth the way. Eder was, however, able to advance the Jesuits’ cause in another way too, and one that impacted much further than Vienna: through the medium of print. Between 1568 and 1585 Eder composed ten Catholic polemical but primarily instructional works, mainly in Latin but some in German, and almost all first published in either Cologne or Ingolstadt, two of the great Jesuit bases in the Holy Roman Empire.88 Moreover, these works found an audience, with a number of them making it into more than one edition or going through more than one print run.89 They fall into two general categories. First are those which were most notorious in their own day: the polemical works that attempted to educate those who Eder frequently described as the ‘poor simple folk’ as to the nature

87

  Wiedemann, Geschichte der Reformation, vol. 2, p. 179.   Oeconomia Bibliorum (Cologne, 1568); Partitiones, Catechismi, Catholici (Cologne, 1568); Catechismus Catholicus (Cologne, 1569); Compendium Catechismi Catholici (Cologne, 1570); Evangelische Inquisition Wahrer und falscher Religion (Dillingen, 1573); Das guldene Flüß Christlicher Gemain und Gesellschaft (Ingolstadt, 1579); Methodus Catechisimi Catholici (Lyon, 1579); Malleus Haereticorum (Ingolstadt 1580); Confessio Catholica S.S. Concilii Tridentini (Lyon, 1581); Mataeologia Haereticorum (Ingolstadt, 1581). For details of all these works, including their full titles and details of further editions, see Fulton, Catholic Belief. 89   The Oeconomia Bibliorum, Partitiones, Catechismi Catholici, Das guldene Flüß Christlicher Gemain und Gesellschaft and Confessio Catholica S.S. Concilii Tridentini were all reprinted once. The first two titles also went through two new editions, as did the Evangelische Inquisition, while the Malleus Haereticorum went through one. 88

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of heresy.90 This was the theme of 1573’s Evangelische Inquisition, which employed a simple question and answer format to convey for the reader what constituted false doctrine. It caused such a storm that Eder for a short time felt his entire career, and possibly even his life, to be in utmost danger; he had made the mistake of using his book also to criticize Maximilian II’s court, with its ‘court Christians’ who Eder described as ‘moderates [who] do more damage to the Church than the heretics themselves’.91 The storm did pass, however, and Eder survived to write again. Das guldene Flüß of 1579 acted as a sequel to the controversial Evangelische Inquisition, setting out, again in question and answer format, the truths of Catholicism as an antidote to the heresies laid out in the earlier volume. Two other works, less polemical in tone and in Latin, so intended for a different audience, also focused on the identification of heresy: the Malleus Haereticorum of 1580 and the Mataeologia Haereticorum that was published the following year. Perhaps less famous, however, are those works of Eder that attempted to act as a guide to correct Catholic belief; yet these actually constitute the bulk of his output. The second category of Eder’s writings is therefore those that he intended to act as a summary and explanation of scripture and Catholic doctrine. His major, fully self-authored work with this aim was also his earliest: the massive Oeconomia Bibliorum was a guide to the history, content and correct interpretation of every book of the Bible, and designed for the use of parish priests. The material was, furthermore, broken down where possible into charts and tables for ease of digestion, and drew praise from the pope himself.92 Eder put most of his energy, however, into another task: the elucidation of the catechism of the Council of Trent itself. The Tridentine catechism, first published in 1566 as Catechismus ex Decreto Concilii Tridentini ad parochos, was a catechism intended for parish priests rather than the populace in general. Not the most user-friendly of documents, in his Partitiones, Catechismi, Catholici of 1568 Eder took the content of the Tridentine catechism – the Creed, the Sacraments, the Decalogue and the Lord’s Prayer – and, as he had done in the Oeconomia Bibliorum, broke the material down into charts and diagrams to provide a more accessible presentation of the complex material contained therein. His other publications were all variations on this same approach. His one publication from 1569, the Catechismus Catholicus, was another simplified version of the Tridentine 90

  Evangelische Inquisition, p. 2v.   Ibid., p. 72v. On this rare example of Eder’s serious misjudgement of the political mood, see Fulton, Catholic Belief, Chapter 4. 92   Subsequent editions open with a letter of praise from Pope Pius V to his ‘beloved son, Georg Eder’. 91

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catechism, this time aimed at the education of younger Catholics; the same was published again in 1579, almost verbatim, as Methodus Catechisimi Catholici. The Compendium Catechismi Catholici of 1570 was yet another reworked presentation of the catechism of Trent, but this time with the addition of numerous illustrations designed to help the reader understand the text. Eder’s final work moved away somewhat from the catechism of Trent, but still demonstrated a wish to propagate Tridentine belief. His Confessio Catholica S.S. Concilii Tridentini, first published in 1570 as an appendix to the Compendium Catechismi Catholici and again separately in 1581, was a list of the key doctrines of the Catholic Church, with a short explanation of each. It may of course be queried to what extent the composition of such works were necessary to the Jesuit mission, or even reflected it at all. As O’Malley has pointed out in his seminal 1993 essay ‘Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism’, the Society of Jesus was conceived well before the Council of Trent, and when it began, to quote O’Malley, the Jesuits ‘had an agenda of their own, generically related to the agenda of the Council but specifically independent of it and different from it’. He goes on to note that Trent was heavily focused on the parish structure, while the Jesuits tended to operate outside this.93 That is not to say, however, that they were wholly disinterested in the Tridentine agenda or what it could bring to aid their own work: clarity of what constituted correct Catholic belief and practice; improved clerical discipline, and a commitment to the proper training of parish priests that the flock might receive a full and effective ministry would all go far to make their task, in Europe at least, considerably more manageable. And as this chapter and indeed the volume as a whole demonstrates, the Jesuits were, like other religious orders, deeply enmeshed in the politics, parishes and piety of the areas in which they came to mission. Eder’s careful distillation of the key points of Trent were therefore wholly congruent with the broader work of the Jesuits, and Eder’s approach to his own writing – the simplification and distillation of Tridentine doctrine – while not following quite the model of his friend Canisius’ famous catechisms, was certainly consistent with the ideal of dissemination and elucidation of correct Catholic doctrine to a broader audience.94 The Jesuits themselves 93

  O’Malley, ‘Was Ignatius Loyola a Church Reformer?’, p. 77. O’Malley adds that a number of Jesuits were directly involved in the Council of Trent. 94   Canisius’ first version of the catechism, the Summa doctrinae christianae … in usum Christianae pueritiae, first published in 1555, was intended for university students and advanced grammar school students, unlike his Summa … ad captum rudiorum accommodata of 1556, which was aimed at very young children. Canisius’ Parvus Catechismus Catholicorum of 1558 was an intermediate text. See O’Malley, The First Jesuits, p. 123, for more on the Canisius catechisms.

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were, furthermore, closely involved with the production of Eder’s writings. Eder’s status as a doctor of theology, granted to him in part thanks to the sponsorship of the Jesuits themselves, in principle would have placed him on a similar plane of authority as a bishop.95 In spite of this, however, Eder sought the Jesuits’ approval of all he wrote. While he was composing Das guldene Flüß, for example, Eder sent a copy not only to the Jesuits in Vienna but also to the Jesuits in Ingolstadt, and later told the Duke of Bavaria that he was particularly hopeful that Canisius himself would peruse the text.96 And approval was always forthcoming: all of Eder’s published works note the approval of at least one Jesuit theologian on their opening or closing pages. How significant was the contribution of Eder to the early decades of the Jesuit mission in Vienna? After all, many editions and adaptations of the Roman catechism were developed after 1566: Eder was hardly unique in that respect.97 As noted above, the crisis over the publication of the Evangelische Inquisition in 1573 temporarily rendered association with Eder something of a liability for a religious order trying to walk the fine line between the advancement of their own agenda and the rather different one of the Emperor Maximilian II; and an incident in 1567 reveals that the Jesuits preferred that the more sensitive work of the translation of a catechism, as opposed to Eder’s mere enhancement of the presentation of the Latin original, should be done by a Jesuit rather than a layman, no matter how learned. According to a letter written on 23 June 1567 by Peter Hoffaeus, Rector of the Jesuit college in Munich, the rumour had reached him that ‘the imperial counsellor Doctor Eder, a great friend of the Society’, was at that time working on a translation of the Tridentine catechism from Latin into German.98 Hoffaeus, however, had also commenced work on exactly the same project, and asked the then General of the Society of Jesus, Francis Borgia, for advice on how to proceed. Borgia replied on 23 September with an instruction from the pope himself that it was to be Hoffaeus’ translation that continued, rather than that by Eder.99 95

  Willem Frijhoff, ‘Graduation and Careers’, in Hilde de Ridder-Symoens (ed.), Universities in Early Modern Europe: A History of the University in Europe (Cambridge, 1996), vol. 2, pp. 355–415, pp. 366–70. 96   Eder to the Duke of Bavaria, 12 June 1577, in Schrauf (ed.), Der Reichshofrath, p. 102; Eder to the Duke of Bavaria, 12 October 1577, ibid., p. 123. 97   Gerhard J. Bellinger has demonstrated that between 1566 and 1587, the year of Eder’s death, there were 54 different editions of the Roman catechism: Bibliographie des Catechismus Romanus Ex Decreto Concilii Tridentini ad Parochos 1566–1978 (Baden-Baden, 1983), passim. 98   Duhr, Geschichte, vol. 1, p. 782. 99   Ibid.

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Yet despite some apparent restrictions on Eder’s role, his work was highly prized both within and without the Society of Jesus. For example, the Dominican prior Dietrich von Herzogenbusch described the Partitiones as a pearl of incomparable price, while the cathedral preacher of Speyer, Heinrich Fabricius, used Eder’s Compendium Catechismi Catholici as the basis for a German version of the same.100 It was, however, the Jesuits themselves who gave greatest praise to Eder’s contribution to their mission, in words and in deeds. The leading Jesuit, Antonio Possevino, for example – who acted as papal legate and nuncio in Scandinavia 1577–1587 – relied closely on Eder’s Partitiones for one of his catechisms and again in his 1586 work Theologi Societatis Iesu, de Sectariorum nostri temporis Atheismis liber, where he refers to Eder as one of his sources.101 On 19 May 1587, the day that Eder died, the Viennese Jesuits’ Hauschronik described him as the order’s ‘noteworthy friend’ and as someone who ‘had a share in all the good things of our society, and was a diligent bulwark and promoter of the Catholic faith’.102 Six decades later, and with the Jesuits at the peak of their powers in the city that had proved such a difficult place of mission, Georg Eder’s contribution was still being commemorated, in public, at the university that was now under Jesuit control. He was named as a ‘particular defender of the immaculate mother of God’ alongside the likes of his friend Peter Canisius.103 In the challenging early decades of the Jesuit mission in Vienna, engagement with the secular world could be a trial, but could also bring benefits. And the Jesuits proved themselves, once again, to be a highly flexible, adaptable body, willing and able to work with laymen as well as clerics to help win over a lost city, bit by bit.

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  Cited in N. Paulus, ‘Hofrath Dr Georg Eder. Ein katholischer Rechtsgelehrter des 16. Jahrhunderts’, Historisch-politische Blätter für das katholische Deutschland, 115 (1895), 13–28, 81–94, 240, 26. 101   Antonio Possevino, Kurtzer Catholischer Catechismus Wie sich desselben die Heilig Ro. und Apostolisch Kyrch, von anfang biß dahero jeder zeit recht gebraucht. Auß dem grossen Catechismo so hie beuor vermug des Algemeynen Tridentischen Concilii Beschluß außgage, Der Catholische Jugend zu guten newlich mit fleiß gezogen, und jetzo in hoch teutsch ubergesetzt (Cologne, 1570); Antonio Possevino, Theologi Societatis Iesu, de Sectariorum nostri temporis Atheismis liber (Cologne, 1586), pp. 83r–96v. 102   Österreichische Nationalbibliothek (ÖNB), Cod. 8367, fol. 35r, cited in Wiedemann, Geschichte der Reformation, vol. 2, p. 145. 103   R.P. Sebastiano Mitterdorffer, Conspectus historiae universitatis Viennensis ex actis veteribus que documentis erutae atque a primis illius initiis ad annum usque 1701 deductae. (etc.) (Vienna, 1724), vol. 2, p. 250.

Chapter 7

Jesuits, Confessional Identities and Landlordship in God’s Transylvanian Vineyard, 1580–1588 Christine Peters With Antitrinitarians preaching, as at least one Jesuit thought, that women had no souls, or, at best, that their souls were the same as those of dogs, there was scope for even more than the habitual optimism of members of the Society of Jesus about the spiritual fruits that could be harvested in God’s Transylvanian vineyard.1 Arriving in Cluj (Klausenburg, Kolozsvár) in the frozen winter of 1579–1580 in two groups from Vienna and Poland respectively, it is however doubtful that these first arrivals knew much about the misogyny of souls, but they did recognise Antitrinitarianism as unquestionably a dire pestilence. Moreover, those from Poland knew first-hand how difficult it was to help such infected souls. In these circumstances their optimism drew strength in pragmatic terms from three aspects: the support of the prince, István Báthory; the welcome from Catholics who had been bereft of systematic sacerdotal care since the expulsions of 1556; and the assumption that German-speaking Saxon Lutherans would be soft targets for conversion. Nevertheless, arguably their mission was a failure, and not merely as a result of the dynastic and political events that led to expulsion in 1588. However, this failure was not straightforwardly a result of the weakness of Catholicism in the region – Jesuits were overwhelmed by Catholics requesting priests, sacraments and preaching from the areas south and east of their base in Cluj; and nor was it necessarily an intractable matter of logistics. Although the shortage of Hungarian speakers within the group was clearly a problem, it does not, for example, explain the lack of progress among the leaderless Saxon Lutherans of Cluj. Perhaps then, 1

  Antonio Possevino, Transilvania (1584), ed. Andreas Veress, Fontes Rerum Transylvanicarum 3 (Budapest and Cluj, 1913), p. 142. Ferencz Dávid, in the preface to his Rövid magyarázat [Short Explanation] (1567), tried to distance himself and the Antitrinitarian movement from such views, identifying the idea that women had no souls as one of the ridiculous slanders offered by his opponents. Mihály Balázs, Early Transylvanian Antitrinitarianism (1566–71): From Servet to Palaeologus, Bibliotheca Dissidentium – scripta et studia, 7 (Baden-Baden, 1996), p. 104.

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failure could be rooted in a confusion of aims. Although Jesuit historians have valiantly grafted together the initial concerns of Jesuits as wandering pilgrims helping souls with the developing focus on establishing colleges offering an elite humanist curriculum, it is perhaps less clear that such hybrids could thrive wherever they were planted.2 Moreover, it was not even clear what guidance rules applied in Transylvania in the absence of a functioning bishopric but with many lapsed and semi-abandoned Catholics. Could Jesuits function as if they were in India, or was the more appropriate model that of Poland or the German lands, despite the absence of a complementary diocesan structure? Finally, they had to work out how to use the available conventions of proselytisation in a region of official religious toleration; how to cope as landlords instinctively ‘more polonico’ of their village estates; and how to harness valuable female support whilst being concerned about male clausura and the need to avoid public scandal. Recent studies of the first Jesuit mission to Transylvania have added much to our understanding, but still leave many questions unanswered concerning prevailing religious practice, the impact of the mission and the viability of its strategies in a context of confessional interaction.3 A principal source for all authors is the accounts of the Jesuits themselves, and much attention has focused on the criticisms of the Rector, Jakub Wujek (1541–1597), and of the missionary strategy of the community, written by one of their number, István Szántó (c.1540–1612). Both the accuracy of Jesuit reports, which might be thought to amplify successes, and the questionable acceptability of Jesuit whistle-blowing might make this seem to be doubtful evidence. However, whilst all such letters are, of course, shaped by their authors, accusations of specifically Jesuit duplicity to a large extent misunderstand Jesuit epistolary practice. The volume of correspondence in practice provided a system of checks and balances, and as early as 1561 in the ‘Formula Scribendi’, whilst it was 2

  John W. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA, 1993).   Literature on the first Jesuit mission to Transylvania includes Cesare Alzati, Terra Romena tra Oriente e Occidente: Chiese ed etnie nel tardo ‘500 (Milan, 1982); Radu Mârza, ‘Iezuiţii în Transilvania (1579–1588) (Consideraţii Preliminare)’ [The Jesuits in Transylvania (1579–1588) (Preliminary Considerations)], Anuarul Institutului de Istorie Cluj, 34 (1995), 149–57; Claudio Madonia, La Compagnia di Gesu el la riconquista cattolica dell’Europa Orientala nella secunda metà del Cinquecento (Genoa, 2002), chapter 7, ‘Il Collegio di Kolozsvár’, pp. 183–223; Maria Crăciun, ‘Traditional Practices: Catholic Missionaries and Protestant Religious Practice in Transylvania’, in Helen Parish and William G. Naphy (eds), Religion and Superstition in Reformation Europe (Manchester, 2002), pp. 75–93; Maria Crăciun, ‘Implementing Catholic Reform: The Jesuits and Traditional Religion in Early Modern Transylvania’, in Anna Ohlidal and Stefan Samerski (eds), Jesuitische Frömmigkeitskulturen: Konfessionelle Interaktion in Ostmitteleuropa 1570–1700 (Stuttgart, 2006), pp. 37–61. 3

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envisaged that inferiors could not routinely report to superiors, the need for inferiors to have access to an arbitration and appeal system was already recognised.4 Almost 20 years later the precise mechanism of 1561 is hard to detect, but in France, and it seems in Transylvania, there was an ongoing concern both in the centre and in local colleges that fledgling communities staffed with relatively ill-prepared and nonnative members of the Society needed careful monitoring and that rectors could be inadequate.5 Jesuit letter-writers were trained rhetoricians, drawing initially upon Cicero for their style of persuasion. However, in fulfilling Jesuit expectations of obedience, superiors of residences and rectors of colleges were also instructed to report setbacks and advances, and the good and bad behaviour of members of the community so that the Provincial could see ‘everything as if he were present’.6 An aim of verisimilitude naturally did not prevent some distortion, and some Jesuit statistics can deal in suspiciously round numbers; but, especially in the many letters which were also requests for advice and assistance, ‘shaping’ is perhaps more visible to the historian than in many sources. By the early 1580s Jesuit concerns had evolved significantly beyond their founders’ ideas, not only in the introduction of colleges but also in the concept of mission. Everywhere Jesuits were also obliged to make some adaptation to local circumstances. It is therefore worth sketching the particular context of the expectations of members of the first Jesuit mission to Cluj. Several trends and influences seem formative, and partly account for the tensions between the Polish contingent and other Jesuits. As early as 1554 Loyola had floated the idea of the establishment of a Hungarian College in Rome, but for the next decades the handful of Hungarian Jesuits were members of the Collegium Germanicum. However, in 1579 there was a sustained attempt, in which István Szántó was one of the prime movers, to establish a separate Collegium Hungaricum. This proved unable to attract enough students and the following year the two colleges were united as the Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum.7 By this time the German College had undergone a reorientation from Loyola’s original aims in 1552, when the focus had been on instruction in piety 4   Grant Boswell, ‘Letter Writing amongst the Jesuits: Antonio Possevino’s Advice in the Bibliotheca Selecta (1593)’, Huntington Library Quarterly 66 (2003), 247–62. 5   A. Lynn Martin, The Jesuit Mind: The Mentality of an Elite in Early Modern France (Ithaca, 1988). 6   Boswell, ‘Letter Writing’, 256. 7   István Bitskey, ‘The Collegium Germanicum Hungaricum in Rome and the Beginning of the Counter-Reformation in Hungary’, in R.J.W. Evans and T.V. Thomas (eds), Crown, Church and Estates: Central European Politics in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (London, 1991), pp.110–22, especially pp. 111–14.

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and doctrine for members of a mainly lay elite, who by their example in various walks of life would strengthen Catholicism in their homelands. The re-establishment of the college in 1573 by Pope Gregory XIII finally put it on a sound financial footing, but more importantly signalled a redirection of emphasis. No fewer than 100 ‘German’ students were to be educated there in philosophy, theology and controversial theology, and were required after six months’ probation to commit themselves to proceed to holy orders and, after completing their studies, to return to their homeland to sustain Catholics and convert heretics. Moreover, although these students received most of their tuition at the Roman College, the need to confront heretics in the German lands meant that the German College organised extra classes in controversial theology to supplement those offered in the Roman College, and also placed the emphasis in scriptural studies on arguments for polemical countering of Protestantism. The 1580 amalgamation with the Hungarian College also contributed to reinforcing this more aggressive stance.8 In contrast, the Polish formation had followed a different trajectory, in part because the reconsolidation of Catholicism had been built upon saintly bishops with a strong sense of pastoral responsibility, most obviously Stanislaw Hozjusz, who was instrumental in bringing the Jesuits to Poland in 1564, the same year that the king officially accepted the Tridentine decrees. Consequently, in the mid-sixteenth century the characteristics of the so-called ‘Polish theological school’ were largely Erasmian, focusing on strengthening faith and love of God with the aid of the Bible and Church Fathers, and with an accompanying emphasis on moral theology and the cultivation of an inner life. In this general approach controversial theology was far from centre stage.9 It was this milieu that largely shaped Wujek and the rest of the Polish contingent, although Wujek himself had received some of his Jesuit education in Vienna and Rome in the 1560s. Wujek’s On the True Church of Christ the Lord (Poznań, 1580) limited participation in theological disputation to ‘learned laymen who understand Latin’, and maintained that the vulgar sort, characterised especially as ‘cobblers, tailors and women’, should simply accept Church teachings and not presume to form opinions

8

  Francesco C. Cesareo, ‘The Jesuit Colleges in Rome under Everard Mercurian’, in Thomas M. McCoog (ed.), The Mercurian Project: Forming Jesuit Culture 1573–1580 (Rome and St Louis, MO, 2004), pp. 621–7. 9   Jerzy Kłoczowski, ‘Catholic Reform in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (Poland, Lithuania, the Ukraine, and Belorussia)’, in John W. O’Malley (ed.), Catholicism in Early Modern History: A Guide to Research (Ann Arbor, MI, 1988), pp. 83–111.

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about whether an article of faith could be supported by scripture.10 However, this was a stance that was far from unconcerned about the ordinary Catholic laity. Adapting Chrysostom’s response to the songs of the Arians, Wujek’s commitment to writing postils in Polish, which occupied much of his time whilst Rector of the college at Cluj, was based on the urgent need to provide a good Catholic antidote to heretical postils, especially to counter the pernicious influence of the Calvinist postils of Mikolaj Rej.11 Similarly, Wujek’s translation of the Bible into Polish drew strong objections from a slightly later generation of Polish Jesuits in 1592, who were concerned that, although Wujek’s base text was still the Vulgate, his translation was insufficiently literal and thus a danger to the ability of Jesuits to be firmly united in their defence of the Catholic position. Wujek, on the other hand, considered his attempts to assimilate the sense of the Greek version and to adopt the vernacular style of Protestant texts as a means to assist the Catholic cause in its struggle with Protestantism.12 Moreover, despite his immense commitment to producing Catholic texts, he was certain that Catholics would benefit more from listening to their priests. As he noted in his 1573 dedicatory epistle to Adam Konarski, bishop of Poznań, postils would not be so necessary if the increasingly literate Poles would actually go to church rather than preferring to stay at home reading dubious books to learn about God’s word and morality.13 As Mârza emphasises and Madonia has documented in greater detail, that there was a Jesuit mission to Transylvania in the 1580s at all was largely due to Polish initiative, Habsburg support being unforthcoming once the Transylvanian prince, István Báthory, became ruler of PolandLithuania.14 However, Hungarian Catholic initiatives had also been pressing for Báthory support, including the efforts made by István Szántó from 1574.15 Initially more productive was the role of Mihály Balásfi, a merchant of Lipova (Lippa), who had helped gain a letter of protection for a lay Catholic preacher in Cluj from István Báthory, and who in 10   David A. Frick, Polish Sacred Philology in the Reformation and Counter Reformation: Chapters in the History of the Controversies (1551–1632) (Berkeley, CA, and London, 1989), p. 140 n. 18. 11   Ibid., pp. 139–40. 12   Ibid., pp. 167–80. 13   Ibid., pp. 137–8. 14   Mârza, ‘Iezuiţii în Transilvania’, pp. 150–51; Madonia, Compagnia di Gesu, pp. 160, 211 also stresses the role of Habsburg geopolitics on the delaying tactics employed by Lorenzo Maggio, Provincial of Austria, even after the Polish province separated from the Austrian province in 1574. 15   Madonia, Compagnia di Gesu, p. 195.

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1576 obtained from his successor as prince, Kristóf Báthory, a Catholic foothold in the former convent of St Francis which was to be served by a Franciscan from Oradea (Grosswardein, Nagyvárad). However, the Epiphany attack on the building by Protestants the following year made this position untenable.16 More decisive princely support was cemented by the unauthorised visit to Cluj in March 1579 of the Hungarian Jesuit János Leleszi, whose venture was encouraged to some degree by both Balásfi and Szántó. Leleszi’s generally favourable reports on Catholic support in Cluj, and his conversations at the princely court of Alba Iulia (Weissenburg, Gyulafehérvár), culminated in the ruler’s decision to inform the Transylvanian diet on 18 July 1579 of the imminent arrival of a Jesuit mission and its establishment in Cluj.17 Leleszi’s seizure of the initiative thus allowed the final fruition of a mission plan which had been advocated by the Jesuit General Everard Mercurian and the papal and Jesuit leaders in Poland, Francesco Sunieri, the Polish Provincial, Alberto Bolognetti and Giovanni Andrea Caligari.18 As is well known, princely or elite support played an important part in convincing the Jesuit hierarchy to develop new areas of mission. In Transylvania this was particularly vital given the events of 1556, which included the exile of the bishop of Alba Iulia; the decision of the diet to suppress the bishopric and the remaining monastic or mendicant foundations; and the decree a decade later in 1566 which formally proscribed papistical clergy. The Báthory rulers, whilst not formally altering the powers of the diet, were prepared to inform the assembly of the prince’s will and prevail upon the representatives to assent to policies that would otherwise never have been successfully initiated from within the diet.19 The fragility of this situation would become evident in the events leading to the expulsion of the Jesuits at the diet of Mediaş (Mediasch, Medgyes) in 1588. In the meantime, princely instructions, even if not submitted to the diet, gave the Jesuits some protection and freedom to act in the grey area created by a general respect for princely power. Once in place, a Jesuit mission would draw its strength from the extent of Catholic continuity or survival. It is clear that the decisions of 1556 and 1566 weakened, but did not extinguish, Catholic belief in the area. This was partly because the exile was not always thoroughly 16

  Alzati, Terra Romena, pp. 67–8.   Ibid., p. 70; Madonia, Compagnia di Gesu, pp. 212–14. 18   Mârza, ‘Iezuiţii în Transilvania’, p. 151. 19   For a general outline of the de facto constitution see, Krista Zach, ‘Fürst, Landtag und Stände: Die verfassungsrechtliche Frage in Siebenbürgen im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert’, Ungarn Jahrbuch, 11 (1980–1981), 63–90. 17

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enforced. For example, at Tîrgu Mureş (Neumarkt, Marosvásárhely), although the Franciscan convent became the new school, the nunnery was retained due to the noble status of many of its inhabitants. In Cluj itself continuity was more fragile, but Alzati highlights the example of two Dominicans living within the city and maintaining a Catholic chapel dedicated to the Holy Trinity until at least 1576.20 As important was the commitment of the laity. By the time of Possevino’s visit in 1583, he was able to relate a catalogue of lay self-help that had sustained the small Catholic community in Cluj in recent years. First, in the absence of a priest, the Catholics had asked a poor weaver to read to them from the postils and sermons on the gospels, which he did faithfully until his death, notwithstanding the taunts and jeers of the heretics. His successor, Gregory, a carpenter in Cluj, took over the role, having sought reassurance from the curate at Şumuleu (Somlyó) that, in the absence of a priest, it was permissible for a layman to act in this way.21 Similarly, as János Leleszi reported, in Alba Iulia by 1579 the lay Catholic community, numbering between three and four hundred people, was thrown back on its own resources. Its members refused to attend heretical services, and were sustained instead by a layman, who on Sundays and feast days set forth and explained the gospel in Hungarian.22 In Oradea and its surrounding villages, on the Báthory estate of Şumuleu (Somlyó) and also in those districts of the Szekler lands (Készd and Orbai) that kept the faith, finding a Catholic cleric was not impossible although they were few in number. Some continuity of lay Catholicism can also be assumed in Tîrgu Mureş, Aiud (Grossenyed, Nagyenyed), Turda (Thorenburg, Torda) and the Valachian areas of Lugoj (Lugosch, Lugos) and Caransebeş (Karanschebesch, Karánsebes). Here, inhabitants were keen to petition the Jesuits for support in providing priests, sacraments, preaching and reopening Catholic churches.23 Considering the difficulties of the previous decades, these traces of Catholic continuity and positive responses to the presence of the Jesuits in Transylvania in the 1580s suggest significant Catholic commitment. However, they tell us relatively little about the nature of that Catholicism, although we can assume that from the pre-Reformation period it was 20

  Alzati, Terra Romena, p. 58 n. 18, p. 68.   Possevino, Transilvania, p. 110. 22   Epistola et Acta Jesuitarum Transylvaniae temporibus Principum Báthory (1571–1613), ed. Andreas Veress (Vienna and Leipzig, 1911), vol. 1 (1571–1583), pp. 67–8 (Leleszi to Mercurian, 7 April 1579). 23   Alzati, Terra Romena, pp. 58–61; Possevino, Transilvania, pp. 65–6; Monumenta Antiquae Hungaricae (hereafter MAH), ed. Ladislaus Lukács (Rome, 1976), vol. 2 (1580– 1586), p. 126 (Tîrgu Mureş); p. 527 (Aiud); p. 631 (Lugoj and Caransebeş). 21

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not only tangible items such as the books used by the lay preachers of Cluj which were handed down from religious orders to the Catholic laity of the 1580s. Particularly striking is the pre-Reformation strength of the mendicant orders, the Franciscans and, to a lesser extent, the Dominicans, both with a broad social reach. Tertiary confraternities of Franciscans for women are attested in both Oradea and Cluj. The will of the widow Magdalena of Cluj in 1531 illustrates both the relatively high social status and the range of devotional commitments of some of these female votaries, and also their links with other religious communities, as amongst her executors was one Catharina de Chyk ‘prelata’.24 The strength of participation in the Dominican confraternity in Cluj is also indicated by the ongoing conflicts into the 1520s between the Dominicans and the priest of the parish church who was losing out on burial fees as his parishioners favoured the Dominicans.25 On the eve of the Reformation the parish church of St Michael in Cluj hosted a wide variety of confraternities and altars, some of which, but by no means all, were linked to particular craft guilds in the city. Amongst those commemorated were the female saints Katherine and Mary Magdalen, the Hungarian patron St Ladislaus, as well as more unusual dedications such as the confraternity of the Three Magi. Although relatively sparsely documented, it is clear that there was also a Corpus Christi confraternity in the city.26 Aspects of Franciscan piety, in particular its meditational focus on Christ, and the evidence for a high degree of lay initiative in corporate devotion and individual commitment, would, it might seem, provide particularly fertile ground for Jesuit activity, being a movement that drew much of its initial inspiration from the same sources.27 In this context, it was a happy coincidence that the Jesuits aimed to establish 24   Lidia Gross, Confreriile medievale în Transilvania (secolole xiv–xvi) [The Medieval Confraternities of Transylvania (Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries)] (Cluj, 2004), pp. 170– 71; Carmen Florea, ‘Instituţionalizarea obţinerii mântuirii între modelul intercesorial şi iniţiativa personală’ in Mihaela Grancea and Ana Dumitran (eds), Discursuri despre moarte în Transilvania secolelor xvi–xx [Discourses on Death in Transylvania, Sixteenth to Twentieth Centuries] (Cluj, 2006), pp. 203–25, discusses the nature of Franciscan piety in the region, and (pp. 219–21) the evidence for female tertiaries and a supervisory hierarchy. For the testament of Magdalena of Cluj, see Elek Jakab, Oklevéltár Kolozsvár Története [Documents Concerning the History of Cluj] (Buda, 1870), vol. 1, pp. 372–5, and the chapter by Maria Crăciun in this volume. 25   Gross, Confreriile medievale, pp. 174–5. For earlier disputes, see the chapter by Carmen Florea in this volume. 26   Gross, Confreriile medievale, pp. 204, 246–8, 291–2. 27   Other overlaps in Franciscan and Jesuit piety are observed by Martin Elbel in his contribution to this volume.

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Corpus Christi and the Assumption as additional feasts on which the laity were encouraged to confess and to receive the sacrament. It is also no surprise that soon after their arrival the Jesuits were heartened to find that three of their peasants at Leghia (Jegenye), who had been recently subjected to years of Antitrinitarian preaching, could still remember the songs of the Resurrection to be sung in the fields whilst carrying an image of Christ crucified.28 At Oradea the ritual of men singing songs of the Resurrection in the hills and fields around the city until dawn when the image of Christ was brought back into the city was such a powerful one that the Calvinist minister was inspired to threaten his congregation with no further sermons if they did not take steps to destroy the idolatrous image of Christ. Since Oradea was a frontier town, it was Calvinist soldiers, perhaps under the influence of drink, who enacted his instruction, hacking off the head and limbs of the statue and, for good measure, depriving many of the ambushed singers of their garments.29 For all these reasons, gaining support for Catholic renewal could seem a promising prospect. After all, as the Jesuit István Szántó noted a few days after he first entered the city of Cluj, although there were four heresies established in the city, there were also many men and women who had been unbaptised for 20 or 30 years and yet remained constant in their faith and welcomed the arrival of the Jesuits with joy.30 Amongst the heretics the Saxon Lutherans seemed the best prospect for conversion, and, although sustaining Catholics was worthy work, it was hard for Jesuits in a world of confessional polemic not to see the winning of a heretic as in some sense a greater prize. Wujek, the leader of the Polish contingent and head of the Jesuit community at Cluj, recognised the Lutherans as a good target early on. Added to the language advantage in a city in which the German language was losing ground to the Hungarian one, there was also the fact that their resistance so far to the blandishments of Calvinists, Antitrinitarians and Anabaptists meant that they were not in Catholic eyes quite so steeped in heresy and were thus more easily winnable to Catholicism.31 As it transpired, nothing could have been further from the truth. Moreover, it is possible, if the statistics of heretic converts included in Jesuit reports have some validity, that it was amongst this group of heretics that Catholic mission had least success. The reasons for this are worth exploring in more detail, since it

28

  MAH, vol. 2, p.49 (Wujek to Caligari, 11 April 1580).   MAH, ed. Ladislaus Lukács (Rome, 1981), vol. 3 (1587–1592), pp. 26–8 (Pitačić to Bader, 10 June 1587); (Rome, 1987), vol. 4 (1593–1600), pp. 547–9. 30   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 32–3 (Szántó to Ranaldi, 25 February 1580). 31   MAH, vol. 2, p. 36 (Wujek to Mercurian, 28 February 1580). 29

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initially appears as counter-intuitive to a modern historian as it did to the Jesuits themselves. From the beginning of their mission in Cluj, the Jesuits established morning and afternoon sermons in both languages, with István Szántó acting as preacher to the Hungarians, and Wolfgang Schreck to the Germans. From the outset the German sermons attracted a smaller audience. By the summer of 1580 Wujek was able to report that attendance at the Hungarian sermon was almost full to capacity, whilst that of the German sermon could only be described as respectable. Moreover, in comments that perhaps betray both optimism and disappointment, he noted that scarcely any of the Germans attending were Catholic, and then added that they were all Lutherans who, lacking a preacher of their own, preferred to listen to the Jesuits rather than to the Antitrinitarians. The situation did not improve much thereafter. By 1584 two ‘conversions’ could be claimed, but the newly arrived Rector, Ferrante Capeci – of what was by then a very troubled community – may have been optimistically and inaccurately informed.32 In 1581 the Hungarian preacher Szántó attempted a diagnosis of his German colleague’s lack of success, after drawing attention to the contrast between the two. Whilst Schreck attracted audiences of c.40–50, Szántó claimed attendances of c.300 for the morning sermon and 800 (rising to 1,000 on feast days) in the afternoon. Against the one German speaker who had made a confession in the past two years, he claimed that c.400 Hungarian speakers had been converted from heresy. Szántó’s explanation for this was that Schreck was too soft and misguided. Faced with the Saxons’ assertion that they were accustomed only to celebrate Sundays, not other feast days, he had given in to their position, thus, in Szántó’s analysis, confirming them in their heresy and encouraging religious compromise rather than conversion.33 It is possible that Szántó was correct, but it is more likely that Schreck knew his congregation well and recognised that compromise was desirable in a context in which one’s audience was not obliged to attend. A similar softly-softly approach to conversion was in practice also what lay behind the Jesuit school system, with its predominantly humanist curriculum. Moreover, Schreck, having been brought up in Wimpfen (Baden Württemberg), must have known that in this instance he was not dealing with expected Lutheran preferences. Lutherans in southern Germany, or for that matter in the more solidly Saxon cities to the south-east of Cluj, did not limit feast days to Sundays, and accepted 32   MAH, vol. 2, p. 70 (Wujek to Mercurian, 28 June 1580); p. 677 (Capeci to Acquaviva, 27 February 1584). 33   MAH, vol. 2, p. 164 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 22 August 1581).

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more of the Catholic calendar than this would have implied.34 It seems that, although broadly Lutheran in their theology to the extent that they eschewed Antitrinitarian preachers even of the adorantist kind, these ‘Lutherans’ had either borrowed from, or responded to, some Antitrinitarian currents of thought. Alternatively, they may have come under Calvinist influence. If so, the doctrine of justification by faith and hostility to the distant papacy were not the only, or perhaps even the most immediate, obstacles in the way of these ‘Lutherans’ declaring themselves Catholic converts. Some form of Antitrinitarian influence on these Lutherans seems the most likely, not least because they were by this date the most dominant group in Cluj.35 Possevino’s account of Antitrinitarian beliefs, supposedly culled from cases heard recently in the courts in Transylvania, offers two versions of their views on feast days, at least as understood by a Jesuit: first, a judaising substitution of Sunday with Saturday (the Jewish Sabbath); secondly, that since God’s command to keep the Sabbath had been superseded, there should be no distinction of days, and no day should be set aside for greater celebration, whether Sunday, Easter or Christmas.36 Schreck’s Lutheran congregation clearly espoused neither of these two positions. Instead their views appear more in line with the Lutheran pastors’ response to the Szekler Antitrinitarians’ assertion of the second of these positions at the Saxon clergy ‘synod’ in Alba Iulia in 1575. The Lutheran defence against this point was weak, only finding arguments to validate observing Sundays, and then vaguely bolstering this with a general warning about the dangers of wanton destruction of customary religious practice.37 It seems probable that Schreck’s 34

  For the correspondences between Lutheran observance of feast days in Nürnberg and the Saxon cities of Transylvania, see Erich Roth, Die Geschichte des Gottesdienstes der Siebenbürger Sachsen (Göttingen, 1954), pp. 110–12. 35   Their leader, Ferenc Dávid, who had been appointed as a German-speaking Lutheran plebanus of Cluj in 1556, developed an interest in Antitrinitarianism by the mid1560s. From 1568 the status of Antitrinitarianism as a ‘received religion’ was confirmed, the main church in Cluj became the centre for Antitrinitarian preaching and the only school in Cluj before the Jesuits’ arrival was monopolised by Antitrinitarians. Dávid remained in post as plebanus and superintendent until his attempt in 1579 to advocate a non-adorantist version of Antitrinitarianism, which resulted in his imprisonment for breach of the noinnovation law of 1576. Following the trial of Dávid, his successor in both roles was an adorantist Antitrinitarian, Demeter Hunyadi. A useful summary of these developments focusing on Cluj is Carmen Florea, ‘Shaping anti-Trinitarian Identity in an Urban Context’, in Maria Crăciun et al. (eds), Confessional Identity in East-Central Europe (Aldershot, 2002), pp. 66–73. 36   Possevino, Transilvania, p. 143. 37   For a complete text of this source, see Antal Pirnat, Die Ideologie der Siebenbürger Antitrinitarier in den 1570er Jahren (Budapest, 1961), pp. 139–48.

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Lutherans had experienced similar problems and hence doubts, which resulted in a quiet reshaping of their own religious practice. Although not capable of proof, this seems more likely in the context of Cluj than that of Calvinist influence, since here the Reformed Church did not follow Geneva in retaining only Sunday as a special day of worship.38 Rather, observance was guided by the Debrecen Confession, which warned against celebrating popish festivals but accepted that Christ’s birth, circumcision, passion and resurrection could be celebrated without superstition. It is perhaps unlikely that Lutheran resistance centred only, or principally, on the issue of feast days, but their insistence indicates that it was a distinctive part of their confessional identity, and thus a contributory factor. Eucharistic doctrine may also have been significant. Luther’s advocacy of consubstantiation, although a reaction against Catholic transubstantiation, offered a bridge to Catholicism in its acknowledgement of a real presence and its rejection of sacramentarian beliefs. However, in the early development of Transylvanian Lutheranism ‘Swiss’ and Melanchthonian influences can be traced. Moreover, if by the 1580s Lutherans in Cluj and the surrounding area followed the Lutheran policy in the core Saxon lands, the arrival of the Jesuits coincided with an endorsement of Philippism and a clear rejection of ubiquity doctrine at the synod of Mediaş in 1580, thus drawing a stronger contrast with the Catholic belief in real presence as well as rejecting the Formula of Concord.39 Whatever the precise basis of Lutheran confessional identity in the Cluj area, it is clear that Lutheran resistance was sustained and irksome to the Jesuits. Consequently, although Szántó recognised the Calvinists as the chief opponents of the Catholics in Oradea and the Antitrinitarians in Cluj, in his history of the Jesuit mission in Transylvania he took care to record gleefully the ability of the parishioners of ‘Cheke’ to outwit and silence their Lutheran minister by using his attack on good works to avoid giving coins and candles to the altar, and by refusing to pray for him because he rejected intercession to saints who were clearly more 38

  Philip Benedict, Christ’s Churches Purely Reformed: A Social History of Calvinism (New Haven, CT, 2002), p. 495. Graeme Murdock, Calvinism on the Frontier, 1600–1660: International Calvinism and the Reformed Church in Hungary and Transylvania (Oxford, 2000), pp. 15, 155. The Debrecen Confession, published in 1562, was accepted by the synod in 1567. The attempt to limit special days to Sundays and to stop celebrating days like Christmas and Easter was rejected by the synod in 1646. 39   Erich Roth, Die Reformation in Siebenbürgen: Ihr Verhältnis zu Wittenberg und der Schweiz (2 vols, Cologne, 1962–64); Ludwig Binder, ‘Theologie und Bekenntnis in der evangelischen Kirche Südsiebenbürgens mit besonderer Berücksichtigung des Zeitraumes von 1570–1630’, Kirchliche Blätter, 1–3 (1976), 3–6, 3–6, 3–4.

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worthy of prayer than he was.40 The Tyrolean Jesuit Johann Ardolph reported from Cluj in 1585 that those living in Hungary (probably referring to the area of the Partium near Oradea) were more inclined by far towards Catholicism than those in Transylvania, and especially than the Germano-Saxons, who seemed to be more resistant than any rock and more immoveable than any cliff.41 If Lutherans remained rather intractable, did the Jesuits maximise their other opportunities to help souls and thus cultivate the Lord’s vineyard? To begin with all seemed to be going well. In particular, the two villages granted to the Society alongside their first foothold, the abandoned abbey of Cluj Mănăştur (Kolozsmonostor), responded well to the initial approach. As landlords, the Jesuits were able to expel the Antitrinitarian ministers of Baciu (Kisbács) and Leghia, and to report a positive response to the first visits there by Jesuit priests. At Baciu, as early as February, the Jesuits administered the sacraments, baptised adults and blessed marriages. At Leghia, where the existing minister was removed a little later, it was reported that, after only two or three Catholic sermons, all but two of the villagers wished to return to the Catholic faith, and there was insufficient time to hear all those who wished to make their confessions. At Easter there were 157 and 72 communicants at Baciu and Leghia respectively, almost double the number who were willing to receive the sacrament in the city of Cluj itself. Moreover, Jesuits were heartened to discover that at Leghia three of the peasants still remembered the old Catholic songs in honour of Christ’s Resurrection, and, after the departure of the heretic minister, produced the chalices and vestments they had kept hidden away.42 However, even by June Wujek, Rector of the Jesuit College, expressed doubts that all might not be what it seemed in the villages. Conversion to Catholicism, he feared, might last only as long as peasants continued to have Catholic lords. Certainly, in his reports the optimism of the first few months soon faded – although there were still said to be 60 communicants at Baciu at Easter the following year (a year in which the report dealt in round numbers), this was approximately 100 fewer than the total number reported for the whole area the year before, and Leghia was not even mentioned. The report of 1582, despite the Jesuit attachment to statistics of success, simply claimed that in the Society’s villages there had been ‘many confessions’. By Christmas 1582, by which time the prince had granted the community three more villages that had 40

  MAH vol. 4, p. 542.   MAH vol. 2, p. 754 (Ardolphus to Acquaviva, 27 January 1585). 42   MAH vol. 2, p. 36 (Wujek to Mercurian, 28 February 1580); p. 43 (Odescalchi to Caligari, 27 March 1580); p. 49 (Wujek to Caligari, 11 April 1580). 41

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formerly belonged to the abbey, Szántó claimed that in all six villages not more than three people could be found who wanted to confess and that, even more disturbingly, the same was true at Easter 1583 when more confessions and communicants would normally have been expected.43 Three possible, and potentially overlapping, explanations exist for this decline. First, the weakness of conversion by lordship, recognised by Wujek, was aggravated when the Society was short-handed and, in any case, followed the guidelines of the order in rejecting established parish ministry as a suitable Jesuit role. Another, more critical, explanation was offered by István Szántó, a zealous member of the Jesuit community, and consequently a whistle-blower. In his view, almost all the good work in preaching and administering the sacraments was undone by the cruelty and worldliness of the Rector and the Polish brethren in their treatment of their peasants according to Polish norms, a practice that scarcely fitted the image of pious, humble and dedicated men of God. Moreover, some of these practices undermined key aspects of the Catholic message, especially their advocacy of saints’ days. When members of the Society ordered their peasants to church on such feast days and then counterordered labour services, occasionally even whilst their own brethren were preaching, they gave their opponents the powerful polemical gifts of Jesuit hypocrisy, cruelty and worldliness. Moreover, even without the rhetoric of such vociferous opponents, it is hard to imagine peasants, who, it was alleged, came to recognise the Jesuits as far worse lords than any they had previously known, retaining much confidence in the Jesuit version of religion. If they thought in religious terms at all, they cannot have considered the Jesuits to be the representatives of the Antitrinitarians’ ‘poor Christ’, but rather of the ‘rich Christ’ upon whom had been grafted all the notions of the pope as antichrist already familiar for several Reformation decades. This adverse reading of the Jesuits and their religion was thus accessible without an Antitrinitarian background, and also in an Antitrinitarian context, however effectively the concept of the ‘poor Christ’ was disseminated to the grass roots.44 A further line of enquiry would locate at least part of the problem in the initial mode of conversion in the Society’s villages and Jesuit unease about it. The story of how the village of Baciu was converted as a result of the ecstatic and divinely inspired revelations of a local adolescent and his father was omitted in the letters back to base, whether in Poland or Rome. 43  MAH, vol. 2, p. 70 (Wujek to Mercurian, 28 June 1580); p. 109 (Wujek to Acquaviva, 12 April 1581); p. 346 (Wujek – annual letter, 1582); p. 421 (Szántó to Possevino, 15 March 1583). 44   Balázs, Early Transylvanian Antitrinitarianism, pp. 171–5, discusses possibilities of transmission in relation to the 1568 text, Antithesis pseudo Christi cum vero illo ex Maria nato.

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Interestingly though, as an episode testifying to God’s providential care of the mission in its early days, it was included in Szántó’s later account of the history of the Jesuit mission that is replete with providential proofs and punishments, and links the process of conversion to a world of belief inhabited by revelation, miracle and malign demonic spirits.45 Catholic culture and Jesuit culture were more diverse than the expectations of the leadership, and, in part, the problems of success and failure lay in the uneasy coexistence of the two. On a less dramatic but equally vital level, similar dilemmas permeated the Jesuit approach to the hunger of survivalist Catholics, and even heretics, for sacraments and religious rites of passage. Similar unease underpinned Jesuit recognition of the particular strength of female attachment to Catholic piety and their anxieties about monastic propriety in their relationship with women. It is worth beginning with Szántó’s allegations and examining their substance. Whistle-blowers, of course, should not always be trusted, and Szántó in many ways broke what is often thought of as the Jesuit mould – most obviously in his direct and vehement attack on the Rector, which was clearly not an act of Jesuit hierarchical obedience. However, the atypicality and ultimate unacceptability of such a stance should not be taken for granted, and in this case the recipients of his letters took his views seriously, responding with a visitation. Moreover, perhaps owing to the difficulty of working in the Transylvanian vineyard, most reports sent to Rome and Poland, although highlighting some achievements, were generally more low key than one might expect, not least because their authors were seeking help and guidance to resolve genuine dilemmas and problems and recognised the fragility of their Transylvanian project. There was, however, some pre-history to Szántó’s diagnosis of the adverse effect of the Rector’s governance on the prospects for gaining and retaining converts. Szántó’s first clash with the official line concerned the content of his preaching, which was considered by some as too disruptive and antagonistic in slandering heretics, and calling them dogs.46 His manner of proceeding was said to offend both Catholics and heretics, and his persistence was viewed by the Rector Wujek as severe disobedience.47 Arguably Szántó’s approach may have crystallised in the minds of his hearers the need to make a choice between heresy and 45   MAH, vol. 4, Appendix 1: P. Stephanos Szántó S.I. – ‘Historia Societatis Iesu in Transylvania (1579–99)’, p. 534. 46   MAH, vol. 2, p. 76 (Sunyer to Mannaerts, 10 September 1580), reporting correspondence of July that year. Both heretics and nobles were said to be much offended and had complained to the prince. 47   MAH vol. 2, p. 109 (Wujek to Caligari, 29 May 1581).

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true religion, and thus have had some benefits in moving waverers. Yet, it contravened the principles of Jesuit preaching that fused humanism with a homiletic approach, and sanctioned charismatic preachers, but expected them to move their audience towards piety by evoking love rather than fear. Slandering one’s opponents was thus a betrayal of that pious equilibrium that Jesuits hoped to inculcate in themselves and their followers, and which underpinned their reluctance, or at least display of a lack of eagerness, even to enter into academic disputation with their misguided opponents in religion.48 It would be mistaken though to view Szántó’s criticism of the Rector’s practices as merely a continuation of a quarrel.49 Rather, it was driven by a zeal to sustain Catholics and to secure conversions, which was based on a slightly different set of assumptions of the purposes and characteristics of the Jesuit order. He, and not the Rector, for example, was concerned that clausura was not being maintained, noting that seculars, including peasant women and girls carrying out domestic tasks, were visibly present in the monastery and that visiting merchants and nobles were given hospitality and socialised freely with the brethren in the refectory. Similarly, the Rector appeared unconcerned that church buildings, even in the heart of the Jesuit community itself, were neglected: altars were illprovided with liturgical ornaments; sacring bells for use at the elevation had been converted to worldly uses; and dilapidation, ranging from cobwebs to gaping holes, unglazed windows and piles of rotten beams, was seen as of little importance.50 In most of these matters the visitation of 1582 sided with Szántó rather than with the Rector, even if after its departure there was little amelioration. The visitors though, perhaps because they considered it to be beyond their remit, did not comment on the college’s governance of its peasants. However, they did recognise that, if women were to carry out domestic tasks in the college, they should be paid for their labours, tacitly agreeing with Szántó that the existing situation was an unwarranted extension of servile obligations.51 Szántó’s accusations concerning the mistreatment of the peasantry were numerous, centring principally on labour services, inhumane punishments, extortion of revenues and lack of compassion for the poor. For Szántó, the abbey’s subjects and local peasant and citizen informants, 48

  O’Malley, The First Jesuits, pp. 91–104.   Most of Szántó’s criticisms can be found in two lengthy letters: MAH vol. 2, pp. 163–77 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 22 August 1581) and pp. 225–31 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 10 December 1581). 50   MAH vol. 2, pp. 226–7 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 10 December 1581). 51   MAH vol. 2, ‘Memoriale Visitationis Collegio Claudiopolitano Relictum’, pp. 247–53. 49

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the Jesuits’ treatment of their peasants was much worse than that experienced under the lordship of their Antitrinitarian predecessors. For many this new Polish slavery was clearly worse than Turkish. Moreover, this rankled even more since, as Szántó observed, the local peasants did not expect to be treated as serfs or as slaves, but as citizens. It is clear that some of Szántó’s complaints were justified. He was correct to point out that in Hungary labour services did not normally include domestic obligations, and thus the Rector’s practice of forcing serfs to work in the college, carrying wood and stoking the stoves for five to ten days at a time without allowing them to return home, and supplying them with no more food than black bread and water, violated many conventions. Similarly, his keenness to imprison those who responded with less than alacrity to a summons to forced labour, or the administering of beatings for the same offence, was probably not standard practice. That children and women were called upon to carry out domestic tasks and to work in the community’s gardens also contravened standard practice, as also, probably, did the extent to which burdens of labour as well as dues were placed upon widows heading households. The natural reading of the separate entry for the number of widows in the survey of dues and households carried out by the Jesuits in 1580 is that, as was common practice in many estates in Transylvania, incomplete households headed by widows faced fewer burdens.52 Nevertheless, it is also clear that some aspects of the Jesuits’ estate management conformed to those of other lords, even if they may not always have been thought best practice, and to general trends in lordship and labour obligations in the period. The first of these, and one only obliquely mentioned by Szántó, was the trend towards increasing the amount and range of agricultural labour services.53 This was possible because on many estates local custom did not limit labour services according to the number of days, but assumed that those owing obligations would work for the lord in various tasks according to the labour needs of his demesne. However, until the latter part of the sixteenth century in some areas and later in others, not only had the size of lords’ demesnes kept these demands in check, but a combined sense of viability and responsibility had meant that in practice much of the lord’s demesne was cultivated by paid employees using the lord’s own ploughs and oxen. The potential flexibility of labour obligations, and probably the weakness of market prices for agricultural produce, 52

  MAH vol. 2, pp. 97–101.   MAH vol. 2, p. 172. Szántó notes in 1581 that peasants of one of the college’s villages complained that in the previous year they had been ordered to sow 20 measures of wheat, barley and oats, but 28 measures in that year. 53

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suggested an alternative means to increase the profits of landlordship. By selling draught animals and laying off estate employees, it was possible for the lord to cultivate his demesne more profitably using servile labour, as occurred, for example, at Beltiug (Bildegg, Krasznabéltek) when lordship passed from the traditional Dragfys to the Báthorys in the 1570s. This is precisely what happened during the eight years of Jesuit control of the Cluj-Mănăştur estates, as can be seen from a comparison of the Jesuits’ estate survey of 1580 and the one ordered by the prince in 1588 immediately after the estate had reverted to him following the diet’s expulsion of the Jesuits from Transylvania.54 New and expanded duties of ploughing, sowing, haymaking and, in the case of the peasants of Baciu, being obliged to work lands for the lord that had previously belonged to the villages of Chinteni (Kajántó) and Tiburţ, must have stretched peasant resources and ability to cultivate their own lands. They must also have made the apparently unwarranted demands by the Jesuits that they should also provide labour services at the college even more intolerable. In other areas of feudal abuse charted by Szántó it is less clear how far these were also becoming common features of landlordship. As Prodan notes, we should expect a penumbra of practices that exist but are not clearly specified in estate surveys. Some of these often invisible elements may be beneficial: it is impossible to say whether all landlords provided food for those carrying out labour services, the practice being visible where accounts survive but rarely in estate surveys, perhaps because it was assumed to be the norm. What is certainly clear is that the city of Cluj was more generous to its mowers than the Jesuit Rector was to his peasants. The grudging diet given to those working at the college consisted of black bread and water, and was indistinguishable in content from that provided to disobedient workers incarcerated in the college’s prison. In contrast, even if a contemporary could comment that if the mowers had been given three times as much they would have eaten it all, the city of Cluj offered its workers bread accompanied with onions and garlic in the morning, with meat and cabbage at lunch and with cheese in the evening.55 It also seems likely that the peasants were justifiably aggrieved in terms of the college’s practices regarding income from wine. That tithe was due on wine was uncontroversial as an obligation in many areas. More specific to Transylvania, but also accepted, was the practice of 54

  David Prodan, Iobăgia în Transilvania în secolul al xvi-lea [Serfdom in Transylvania in the Sixteenth Century] (2 vols, Bucharest, 1967–1968), vol. 1, pp. 308–9, vol. 2, pp. 561–92. 55   Ibid., pp. 314–15. There may have been some premium on harvest work, but this is unlikely to account for the scale of the contrast.

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forcing peasant communities to buy back three barrels (vasa) of wine in total at Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. In the Jesuit villages the particular injustice was perceived to lie in being obliged to buy this, often very bad wine at a price higher than the prevailing market cost, perhaps even at double the price.56 Yet again though, it seems that this practice was not unparalleled on Transylvanian estates. On the domain of Baia Mare (Neustadt, Nagybánya), for example, where the practice may have been introduced in 1576 since it is not mentioned in the estate surveys of 1566 and 1569, the Hungarian-speaking villagers of Dumbrăviţa (Dumbravica) complained bitterly that they were obliged to acquire wine from the lord at a higher price than the prevailing market value. The Valachian villagers, subject to the same estate regime, apparently saw no purpose in protesting against being forced to pay over the odds for a product that was generally unsaleable and undrinkable. Moreover, compared to the inhabitants of Dumbrăviţa, those on the estates of ClujMănăştur may not have been suffering so badly from this obligation. There is no indication that the quantity of wine that the peasants of Dumbrăviţa were forced to purchase was limited to three barrels a year.57 Expectations of mercy are harder to assess. Did lords, or their estate managers, habitually reprieve poverty-stricken individuals when collecting tithes of wine and corn? It is impossible to tell, but absence of mercy from those whose religion preached mercy, and the manifestation of avarice from those who preached against it, cannot have contributed to the plausibility of the supposedly pious and apostolic Jesuits. Whether or not such rigidity could be found on other estates, Jesuit behaviour could be judged against two standards, and, if true, it was certainly illadvised for the tithe-gatherer to refuse the petitions of an elderly man and woman to be able to keep a bundle of corn with the riposte, ‘Our purse is not filled by the name and love of God.’58 Similarly, it seems that the Rector may have been within his rights to appropriate the goods 56

  Szántó claimed that the price was double, MAH vol. 2, p. 172, but Giovanni B. Carminata’s attempt to summarise and explain the system, perhaps in the light of different experience, stated that peasants had to pay ‘uno nummo’ above the common price for each ‘cantaris’ or tankard of wine. MAH, vol. 2, p. 258. 57   Prodan, Iobăgia în Transilvania, vol. 2, p. 256. The practices on both the estates of Cluj Mănăştur and of Baia Mare differ markedly from the prevailing process in Hungary, where lords sought to establish a monopoly of wine sales and exercised a right of pre-emption. Z.P. Pach, ‘Sixteenth-Century Hungary: Commercial Activity and Market Production by Nobles’, in Peter Burke (ed.), Economy and Society in Early Modern Europe (London, 1972), pp. 113–33. This may be one reason why regulation of the practice of the sale of wine featured frequently in the business of Hungarian diets but not in Transylvanian ones. 58   MAH, vol. 2, p. 166 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 22 August 1581); p. 311 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 19 October 1582).

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of a recently deceased pauper in one of the estate villages since he died without a wife or children, but that he had bequeathed his goods, worth 3–4 florins, to a more distant relative resident in the village should perhaps have given pause for thought.59 Punishment is equally hard to assess. The labourer who, under the influence of drink, had the temerity to call the Rector a ‘whore’ may have received some punishment from most lords, but, at least to Szántó, his being forced to work in fetters in the college’s kitchen for several days amounted to treating him like a Turk. Frequent use of imprisonment or beatings for those who did not appear promptly when summoned to work, frequent use of libertini to distrain goods as pledges (often running up a tavern bill as security) from those who could not pay dues on time or who happened to be out of their house when summoned to perform some labour service, and episodes like the beating with cudgels of those peasants selling goods in the marketplace of Cluj because they had not been at home when summoned to work, all contributed to an image of extraordinary cruelty. Of course, as the Rector, Wujek, pointed out in his clarification to his Jesuit superiors, it was easy for the heretic scandalmongers and polemicists in Cluj to make capital out of lord– peasant tensions. They, after all, were not lords of any estates, and did not have to deal with the difficulties attendant upon lordship, or with members of their community unhelpfully giving credence to inflated stories of peasant suffering.60 However, a reputation for cruelty, when it could be joined with ideas of religious hypocrisy, was a potent reason for doubting the Jesuits’ claims to be the representatives of a true religion. After all, Catholic hypocrisy and profiteering from the gullibility of the would-be faithful were particularly associated in reformation discourse with attacks on the Catholic Church and the papacy. Moreover, the development of Antitrinitarianism in recent decades had kept the notion of good and bad lordship to the fore. Support for Antitrinitarianism had been driven by a strong commitment to biblicism and had avoided the Polish-style social radicalism that made all lordship per se an obstacle to Christian society. Gczmidele’s attempt in 1569 to preach a version of community of goods in Cluj had been rapidly closed down by the Saxon leadership, 59   MAH, vol. 2, p. 166; Prodan, Iobăgia în Transilvania, vol. 1, pp. 390–91. János M. Bak, Péter Banyó and Martyn Rady (eds), Stephen Werbőczy: The Customary Law of the Renowned Kingdom of Hungary in Three Parts (1517), Laws of the Medieval Kingdom of Hungary, vol. 5 (Budapest, 2005), p. 417: whilst acknowledging that local customary provision varied, this states that in general all goods, movable and immovable, of an intestate peasant reverted to the lord. 60   MAH, vol. 2, p. 205 (Wujek to Acquaviva, 19 September 1581).

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but the fact that this was the end of the matter illustrates how shallowrooted such ideas were in Transylvania.61 Rather than dreaming of an egalitarian society without lordship, for the inhabitants of Cluj and its hinterland the key difference was between good and bad lordship, the former making life easier and being consonant with Christian morality. A sense that the Jesuits, or at least the dominant Polish contingent, were bad lords was therefore potentially damaging, and arguably became irreparable when joined with policies that directly undermined Catholic teaching. That Jesuits were not merciful lords was to some extent inherently a subjective judgement balancing unclear obligations and expectations. Moreover, in some instances, such as the peasants of Baciu’s attempt to claim that they were exempt from the tithe on pigs that roamed the oak forest, part of a response to Jesuit lordship may well have been trying to pull a fast one, perhaps to balance other newly invented obligations.62 In contrast, that on a particular saint’s day Jesuits taught that people should not work but should come to church was incontrovertibly undermined when the Rector ordered hay to be carried through the city, or worse, when on a rare occasion a brother was preaching in a village, his sermon was disrupted by new orders directing the peasants to labour services.63 This was bad enough, but especially so given that observance of saints’ days was one of the key distinguishing and controversial marks of Catholicism amongst the confessions in Transylvania, and that the rarity of pastoral care in the Society’s six villages meant that such bad impressions could not easily be erased. Whether such lordship and religious confusions actually lay behind the decision of ten serfs of Baciu to leave in 1581 for the Muscovite war, or the decision of the leaders of the nearby oppidum of Viştea (Magyarvista) to withdraw its request to receive Catholic preaching in the same year, for example, cannot be certain, but they may have helped tip the balance.64 Yet the Jesuits still held some potentially strong cards in regaining and maintaining the support of the local population for Catholicism: desire for the sacraments, the support of women and beliefs in providence and the supernatural. Of these, baptism was perhaps the most obvious, given the Antitrinitarian rejection of infant baptism, which seems to have 61

  Balázs, Early Transylvanian Antitrinitarianism, pp. 179–81; Antal Pirnát, ‘Elias Gczmidele’, in André Ségueny (ed.), Bibliotheca Dissidentium, vol. 11, Ungärlandische Antitrinitarier (Baden-Baden, 1990), pp. 151–7; Samuel Goldenberg, ‘Frămîntari sociale şi religioase la Cluj oglindite într-o scrisoare din 1571’ [Social and Religious Unrest at Cluj Mirrored in a Letter from 1571], Anuarul Institutului din Cluj, 1–2 (1958–59), 371–3. 62   MAH, vol. 2, p. 167 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 22 August 1581). 63   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 227–8 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 10 December 1581). 64   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 167, 172–3 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 22 August 1581).

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prevailed in ministers’ practice both before and after Dávid’s public support for this position. Moreover, if Ardolph is to be believed, such ministers could fail to carry their congregations with them on this point: even some of those still firmly committed to Antitrinitarian doctrines sought Catholic baptism.65 However, although the hearing of confessions was uncontroversially a mainstay of Jesuit activity and served to brighten many a report, baptism presented more problems. Wujek had to ask whether his community could assume the parochial care of souls ‘as in India’.66 However, from at least February 1580, when some adults were baptised in the Society’s village of Baciu, such qualms could be overridden, as they were also in Csik by February 1581.67 In fact, it seems possible that it was the increase in baptisms by the autumn of the community’s second year that prompted Wujek’s enquiry: Szántó claimed that there was scarcely a feast day on which they did not baptise six or seven infants or children in Cluj.68 In the same year, a novice priest sent for four days to the Szekler lands heard 100 confessions, baptised four adults and 18 infants, and was barely able to get a bite to eat as eager Catholics besieged his lodgings.69 Baptism, at least in some areas, could help strengthen Catholic support, and it can be seen as a missed opportunity that Jesuits (or rather the few Hungarian-speaking ones) did not leave their monastery sufficiently often on missions to areas of high demand, like the Szekler lands. However, the problems raised by baptism were not just those of the appropriate extent of the Society’s parochial duties. It is far from clear that the unbaptised were Catholically inclined but bereft of clerical support. Their stance could be one of resistance, whether based on an Antitrinitarian principled rejection of infant baptism or a more deepseated disaffection with organised religion that predated Antitrinitarian dominance.70 In the Szekler lands, Jesuits were told that the heretic 65

  MAH, vol. 2, p. 754 (Ardolphus to Acquaviva, 27 January 1585).   MAH, vol. 2, p. 205 (Wujek to Acquaviva, 19 September 1581). 67   MAH, vol. 2, p. 36 (Wujek to Mercurian, 28 February 1580); p. 107 (Odescalchi to Caligari, 25 February 1581). 68   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 192–3 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 1 September 1581). 69   MAH, vol. 2, p. 234 (annual letter, 1581). 70   Precisely when Transylvanian Antitrinitarians rejected infant baptism is a matter of debate. The letter of the Transylvanian congregations to the Węgrów synod (1565) warns against the disruptiveness of insisting on baptismal matters, whilst commenting that baptism does not help salvation, even if in ancient times it was useful in converting pagans (Lech Szczucki, ‘Polish and Transylvanian Unitarianism in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century’, in Robert Dán and Antal Pirnát (eds), Antitrinitarianism in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century (Budapest and Leiden, 1982), pp. 232–3). Such diplomacy suggests a desire to keep the Transylvanian and Polish churches under one umbrella and 66

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(Antitrinitarian) ministers had not baptised for ten years, a period that fits well with the chronology of this aspect of Antitrinitarian belief and influence in the area.71 In Cluj, however, upon their arrival in 1580 the Jesuits discovered many unbaptised men and women who were aged between 20 and 30 years, and this suggests an earlier, and more general, religious alienation.72 Moreover, in many instances in the city of Cluj Jesuits were reliant on Catholic women taking advantage of the temporary absence of their heretic husbands to bring their children to be baptised. If the Jesuits had any qualms about this subversion of patriarchal authority, they managed to overcome them, presumably in the same way as they later dealt with the fact that many of those they baptised turned up with heretic godparents. Their priority was expressed in Christ’s statement: suffer little children to come unto me.73 Such a pragmatic attitude was clearly advantageous, and gained at least initial support. Nevertheless, the situation could seem more difficult with other rites of passage and ongoing pastoral care. Acquaviva, for example, was less accepting of the idea that Jesuits should perform marriages than that they should baptise when circumstances required.74 One of the strong features of the Jesuit movement was its rejection of the role of parish priest. As the Constitutions clearly established, Jesuits were forbidden from accepting any beneficed curacy of souls. This restriction was designed in part to avoid worldliness and fixed settlement (the latter consideration being in practice overridden later with the move towards the provision of Jesuit schools), but it was also based on the expectation that Jesuit help for avoid divisions between them, and perhaps also within Transylvania itself. It is clearer that by 1568, although phrased circumspectly in his earlier writings, Dávid rejected infant baptism (Balázs, Early Transylvanian Antitrinitarianism, pp. 197–210) and was prepared to disseminate these ideas more widely. Daniel Liechty, ‘The Hungarian “Booklet Concerning the True Christian Baptism”: Its Flemish Origins and Theological Significance’, The Mennonite Quarterly Review, 62/3 (1988), 332–48, explains how in 1569 this text reached Dávid in Transylvania through a Polish intermediary and aroused sufficient interest to be translated from German into Hungarian in 1570. Whilst presenting a firm view that infant baptism was a papal invention, outward baptism was not rejected provided that it was used as an outward sign of a preceding inner baptism. Moreover, since God has established baptism, not practising it when warranted would be a presumptuous privileging of human wisdom above God’s. From this evidence the safest date for popular dissemination would be c.1570, a date that fits with the Szekler experience. However, the tenacity with which Antitrinitarian ministers upheld their position on baptism (formally established at the synod at Turda in 1578) in practice after Dávid’s fall in 1579 serves as a reminder that such ideas could be disseminated and could flourish independently of a movement’s leaders. 71   MAH, vol. 2, p. 107 (Odescalchi to Caligari, 25 March 1581). 72   MAH, vol. 2, p. 32 (Szántó to Ranaldi, 25 February 1580). 73   MAH, vol. 2, p. 755 (Ardolphus to Acquaviva, 27 January 1585). 74   MAH, vol. 3, p. 129 (Acquaviva to Bader, 6 May 1588).

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souls would be supplementary to diocesan provision, thus entailing voluntary acceptance of it by the Christian.75 This worked well in many areas of Europe, including Poland, where the invitation to the Jesuits coincided with episcopal support, and also allowed the early Jesuits to assume that confession and the eucharist were the only sacraments that Jesuits would normally be expected to administer.76 Amongst pagans, as in the Indies, rules were, of course, different, but it was more complex for Jesuits in Transylvania working amongst heretics, parish structures and in a lapsed Catholic diocese to know clearly which rules they were to follow. Some progress was made, albeit rather slowly, with the aid of the prince. Thus, agitation about the absence of consecrated Catholic burial grounds, and the impropriety of the Jesuits’ church being used for the burial of ordinary Catholics, resulted in the prince entrusting one of his supporters to search out suitable places in the suburbs of Cluj and Alba Iulia to establish Catholic graveyards. However, this decree came three years after the Jesuits’ arrival, and made no provision for Catholics elsewhere.77 Given the popularity of baptism in many areas of Catholic survival and the possibility that many Antitrinitarians rejected the idea of a consecrated burial ground, the Jesuits, arguably, were missing an opportunity.78 Marriage presented significant additional problems. Jesuits were at once both heartened and appalled by the practice of marriage and sexuality they discovered in Transylvania. On the one hand, carnal vices were thought to be rare due to the fact that Hungarian law offered the possibility of the death penalty for adultery, and fornicators could be whipped out of town.79 On the other hand, they were scandalised by the ubiquity of divorce. As Possevino noted, heretic ministers had assumed authority in matrimonial matters, and used this to dispense with all degrees of consanguinity except the first, to separate couples for 10 florins upon the slightest quarrel and, even worse, then allowed them to embark on new marriages.80 This did, of course, give the Catholics 75   Saint Ignatius of Loyola: The Constitutions of the Society of Jesus (St Louis, MO, 1970), ed. George E. Ganss, pp. 177–8; O’Malley, The First Jesuits, pp. 73–4. 76   Jan Korewa, ‘Les débuts de la Compagnie de Jésus en Pologne, 1549–1564’, Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 34 (1965), 3–35; O’Malley, The First Jesuits, pp. 134–5. 77   MAH, vol. 2, p. 134 (Acquaviva, Responsiones ad Quaestiones rectoris Collegii Claudiopolitanae, May 1581); p. 141 (Wujek to Acquaviva, 2 June 1581); p. 232 (Acquaviva to Wujek, 23 December 1581); p. 287 (Campano to Gallio, 24 August 1582); p. 381 (Báthory, Litterae mandantes de rebus S.I. in Transylvania, 29 January 1583). 78   Possevino, Transilvania, p. 145. 79   MAH, vol. 2, p. 192 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 1 September 1581). 80   Possevino, Transilvania, p. 63.

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good material for casting salacious aspersions on heretic ministers who separated wives from their husbands so that they could marry them, which could do something to counteract the charges of their opponents that, for example, there were transvestite women amongst them who had recently given birth.81 However, these were, in theory at least, the kind of battles for public support that Jesuits were meant to eschew. In any case, the scandals caused by the sexual indiscretions of some members, often the coadiutatores, of their own community, and the fact that the marriage of Catholic priests was commonplace in the Szekler lands, suggested that this was ground that was best avoided.82 What was not so clear was what Jesuits should do in the existing situation. Turning a blind eye to married clergy was relatively easy, especially since the Jesuits were unable to supply parish priests, but could they in good conscience bless the marriages of those who still had two or three spouses living; and could they bless marriages between a Catholic and a heretic? But, they also reflected, if they did not, did they render themselves guilty of driving would-be Catholics into the arms of the heretics who would perform the marriage and who would not burden their relationship with sin? That the Jesuits themselves sought advice from their superiors in these terms probably suggests a desire for leniency that may well have informed their practice, although it seems likely that they were happier with the idea of a Catholic man marrying a heretic woman than vice versa on the assumption that the husband was likely to convert his wife.83 The problem of all ecclesiastical jurisdiction being in practice in heretic hands was brought to a head in June 1582 when a Catholic woman whose husband was a heretic took refuge with her parents in the Jesuit college at Cluj. For various reasons, including the fact that he would not allow her to practise her religion, the wife no longer wished to cohabit with her husband; but nor did she wish to submit to heretical matrimonial jurisdiction.84 Although the Jesuit sources do not record the outcome of this dispute, it helped to trigger pressure on the prince to resolve the issue of jurisdiction in ecclesiastical matters conflicting with conscience. The ensuing royal decree of January 1583 was concerned to prevent Catholics being forced into marriages or divorces, the validity of which they did not recognise, and, in the absence of a Catholic bishop in the region, determined that the Jesuits should be considered as the arbiters of the Catholics in ecclesiastical matters.85 However, although a 81

  MAH, vol. 4, p. 542; MAH, vol. 2, p. 80 (Odescalchi to Caligari, 30 September 1580).   Alzati, Terra Romena, pp. 62–4. 83   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 755–6 (Ardolphus to Acquaviva, 27 January 1585). 84   MAH, vol. 2, p. 278 (Wujek to Acquaviva, 29 June 1582). 85   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 378–9 (Regia Constitutio in Defensionem Catholicorum). 82

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step forward, this provision did nothing to resolve jurisdictional issues in mixed marriages in which presumably neither party could be compelled to submit to a ruling contrary to conscience, and, in practical terms, most Jesuits were unlikely to relish such conflicts. This raises the wider issue of how much the Jesuit endeavour was hamstrung by the absence of a bishop and a supply of Catholic parish priests. In theory, despite this, the legal and institutional context was auspicious: they had the support of the ruler, and Catholicism was included among the ‘received religions’ by the diet. However, in effect, this appeared to mean that landlords and the outcome of power struggles within urban leaderships determined religious provision. Moreover, as Balázs has pointed out, the label ‘received religion’ often suggests a much more institutionalised status than is actually contained in the wording of the resolutions at the diets of Turda (1568) and at Tîrgu Mureş (1570). These essentially safeguarded individuals from prosecutions for heresy, but did not legitimise aggressive proselytisation or the planting of churches, or provision of sacraments, against the wishes of the parish.86 The decree of 1 May 1581 ameliorated this position somewhat since it allowed the Jesuits to establish an evangelising presence beyond their first footholds in Cluj and Alba Iulia if invited to do so by the majority of inhabitants of a village or town.87 Clearly, Jesuits did not obey these rules to the letter, and royal protection gave them some liberty not to do so, but they also recognised the difficulty of their task. Possevino, for example, decided that it was prudent to administer the eucharist from a covered wagon due to the hostility of local heretics.88 In such circumstances, it was tempting to devote most efforts to that increasingly dominant aspect of Jesuit endeavour, the education of boys in a humanist-inspired curriculum, rather than fostering Catholicism in the towns and villages, particularly since more of the community could claim skills in Latin than in preaching charismatically in Hungarian. Nevertheless, most success came from adopting different priorities, and not necessarily by using preachers who had reached the expected levels of Jesuit educational achievement. By the mid-1580s, alongside 86

  Balázs, Early Transylvanian Antitrinitarianism, pp. 212–15.   MAH, vol. 2, p. 151 (Leleszi to Acquaviva, 8 August 1581); Andreas Veress (ed.) Annuae Litterae Societatis Jesu – De Rebus Transylvanicis temporibus Principum Báthory (1579–1613) (Fontes Rerum Transylvanicarum, vol. 5, Budapest, 1921), pp. 230–31. Other commentators, for example Crăciun, ‘Traditional practices’, p. 81, have seen the 1581 decree as being more restrictive than ameliorative. However, Wujek’s correspondence suggests that he saw it as an improvement on the 1579 position, and an opportunity from which the Transylvanian Jesuit mission could benefit if only it had more Jesuits, or at least priests, available. MAH, vol. 2, pp. 206–8 (Wujek to Acquaviva, 19 September 1581). 88   MAH, vol. 2, p. 732 (annual letter, 1584). 87

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the tireless work of István Szántó, it was the achievements of Valentine Ladó, who had not yet completed his novitiate and had scarcely studied grammar, which were responsible in 1585 for the Catholic revival in about a hundred villages around Oradea, and even the ejection of four heretic ministers.89 The example of Ladó, a Szekler and a member of the Transylvanian mission since its inception, suggests that Leleszi was mistaken in rejecting the suggestion of the surviving Catholic priests in the Szekler lands that he should be their leader and guide them in spreading a greater understanding of Catholicism in their area.90 The success of Szántó and Ladó stemmed not only from their tireless zeal and repeated presence, a contrast with the more distant villages belonging to the college of Cluj which were lucky to catch sight of a preacher more than a couple of times a year. It was also a matter of approach, of being closer to the concerns of grass-roots Catholicism, observing saints’ days and never imagining that it would make sense to delete commemoration of the Hungarian royal saints that served as protective patrons in these local communities.91 As importantly, at least in the case of Szántó, they embraced the providential concerns of the local populace and also engaged with the world of miracles, malign spirits and exorcism. The importance of this cannot be overstated. One of the inadvertent problems the Jesuits faced during their mission was of being forced to advocate the new Gregorian calendar: for many, tinkering with time was highly disturbing and was clearly the work of antichrist.92 89

  MAH, vol. 2, p. 793 (Campano to Acquaviva, 25 May 1585).   Possevino, Transilvania, p. 66. 91   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 227–8 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 10 December 1581); pp. 242–7 (Szántó to Acquaviva, Memoriale, February 1582); pp. 338–44 (Catalogus Festorum in Transylvania Celebrandorum). Maria Crăciun, ‘Superstition and Religious Differences in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Transylvania’, in Eszter Andor and István György Tóth (eds), Frontiers of Faith: Religious Exchange and the Constitution of Religious Identities, 1400–1750 (Budapest, 2001), pp. 220–21. 92   According to Szántó, after he had been ordered by the vice provincial to promulgate the new calendar in 1582 in Cluj, the ‘arian ministers’ immediately began to inveigh against it, citing it as proof that the pope was antichrist because he alters time. Sermons countering this view were of little avail: MAH, vol. 4, p. 538. In drafting his annual report, Wujek noted that the heretics kept to the old calendar and had imprisoned some Catholic followers of the new calendar who had worked on the old Christmas day: MAH, vol. 2, pp. 610–11. The new calendar was still being cited as proof the pope was antichrist in 1585, thus causing a loss of support for Catholicism: MAH, vol. 2, p. 777 (Capeci to Piatti, 10 March 1585). Anna Ziemlewska, ‘The “Calendar Upheavals” in Riga (1584–1589)’, Acta Poloniae Historica, 96 (2007), 87–111, discusses the riots that broke out in Riga, which came under István Báthory’s control in 1581, following his introduction of a Jesuit college and the new calendar there in December 1584. Rona Johnston Gordon, ‘Controlling Time in the Habsburg Lands: The Introduction of the Gregorian Calendar in Austria below the Enns’, 90

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Such understandings mattered, and the only way to combat them was to adopt a similar mode. The story of the Catholic nobleman who had a vision in the middle of the night of Christ’s Nativity accompanied by an angel instructing him to arise and praise God because Christ is born today was especially useful, occurring as it did according to the new calendar. The problem of response to the new calendar, the fact that this story had no folkloric admixture and had as its subject a nobleman of impeccable Catholic credentials, guaranteed that it would be retold in much Jesuit correspondence.93 Szántó’s Latin history of the Jesuit mission in Transylvania includes this tale, but here it is far from centre stage, and his text is the only source for most of his other miraculous anecdotes.94 In general, the content of Jesuit preaching in the towns and villages can only be surmised, but in the case of Szántó and Ladó, the content of Szántó’s ‘Historia’ can be a guide to key aspects of their approach. A consciousness of the demonic underpins much of the account. It is even significant that on the day that the Jesuits inaugurated public sermons in Cluj, the gospel text happened to be ‘Jesus ejecting the devil’. More obvious are the stories, often with a competitive confessional edge, such as that of the heretic minister of Tileag (Telegd), whose house was infested with spirits who at night raised a great din and broke the pots but could not be dislodged by the concerted singing efforts of the ministers from the surrounding area. Other stories focused on the miraculous lessons that God could use to teach unbelievers who disparage Catholic practices. Those baking bread on the feasts of St Margaret of Hungary and Corpus Christi, respectively, should not have been surprised to discover that their bread had turned into stones. Nor, Szántó wished his audience to believe, should the peasants of a village not far from Şumuleu (Somlyó) have been surprised at what happened when they killed a pig during Lent to prepare a feast. Not only did the dead pig come to life when his bristles were being singed, but, having been recaptured and cooked, it was allegedly observed that the salt had turned to blood and the cooked meat was transformed into living frogs.95 This was a very different world from that of the Jesuit Rector Wujek working on his postils and Bible edition in the Erasmian spirit of the so-called ‘Polish theological school’.96

Austrian History Yearbook 40 (2009), 28–36, focuses on the implications of the adoption of the new calendar for ecclesiastical and secular loyalty and confessionalisation. 93   For example, MAH, vol. 2, pp. 640–41, 650, 678. 94   MAH, vol. 4, ‘Historia Societatis Iesu in Transylvania’, p. 538 (1583). 95   MAH, vol. 4, ‘Historia Societatis Iesu in Transylvania’, pp. 533, 542, 541, 534. 96   Kłoczowski, ‘Catholic Reform in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth’, pp. 83– 111.

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Nevertheless, even if the frogs might seem to be stretching a point, it was a world with which Szántó and Ladó’s audience, perhaps in particular the women, could engage. It is notable that in Szántó’s account it is the women who supplement the Jesuits’ powers over the demonic and supernatural. Szántó tells the story of how in February 1584 at ClujMănăştur Catholic women expelled two demons from another woman by using holy water, blessed candles and prayers.97 But it was not only a woman’s world: prayers of Catholic members of the congregation in ‘Fenes’ succeeded in expelling a demon who had gained access because, despite Catholic warnings, the heretics had insisted on going ahead with a wedding in Advent. In Cluj itself, the period of Jesuit mission coincided with trials for witchcraft that had been part of the urban culture since at least 1565.98 When the Jesuits first arrived in Cluj and reported their successes, they noted that it was the women who initially gave them the most enthusiastic reception, whether kneeling to thank God for their arrival and vociferously defending them against heretic ministers, as at Cluj, or proffering a gift of local fruit as at Aiud.99 Reporting only a few weeks after sermons had begun in Cluj, Odescalchi noted that attendance was quite good, even if it was mostly women and only a few men who made their confessions in Lent.100 The Jesuits were, however, often reluctant to capitalise on the Catholic piety of women, or to see progress in fostering it as a significant fruit of their mission. In part, this was due to a confused sense of monastic identity: Szántó wanted all women to be excluded from the Jesuits’ church, an attachment to clausura that exceeded the Constitutions, whilst Wujek had to be told by the visitors both that servant girls should not be allowed to clean the church and that a candelabrum should be installed before the sacrament, specifically for the devotional needs of women.101 In the Jesuits’ missionary work women’s needs were generally better met, even if the visitors were concerned that in hearing their confessions the decorum appropriate to members of the Society 97

  MAH, vol. 4, pp. 539–40.   Carl Göllner, Hexenprozesse in Siebenbürgen (Cluj, 1971); Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Witchhunting in Hungary: Social or Cultural Tensions?’ in his The Uses of Supernatural Power: The Transformation of Popular Religion in Medieval and Early-Modern Europe (Princeton, NJ, 1990), pp. 156–8; Andor Komáromy, Magyarországi boszorkányperek oklevéltára [Documents of the Hungarian Witch Trials] (Budapest, 1910), pp. 1–12. 99   MAH, vol. 2, pp. 183, 193 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 1 September 1581); p. 527 (annual letter, 1583). 100   MAH, vol. 2, p. 42 (Odescalchi to Caligari, 27 March 1580). 101   MAH, vol. 2, p. 226 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 10 December 1581). Loyola, Constitutions of the Society of Jesus, p. 159: ‘Furthermore for the sake of decorum and propriety, it is expedient that women should not enter the houses or colleges but only the churches’. 98

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should be observed.102 The Jesuit emphasis on confession and baptism, although not explicitly targeting women, seems to have elicited more support from them. However, it was Szántó’s broader sense of a Jesuit’s pastoral and ritual task that enabled him to meet specifically female needs, including the ritual of purification after childbirth.103 It was also a distorted sense of mission and identity that tempted Jesuits to see success in terms of hierarchy, even if the citizens of Cluj largely snubbed them, and there was little initial connection between education in Jesuit colleges and strong Catholic commitment leading to membership of the Jesuit order. That Szántó, Ladó and a few others managed to garner Catholic support was almost despite the agenda of their Jesuit brethren. In general, the Jesuit order was well adapted to supplementing flagging diocesan structures, and also to the freedom of action and the focus on elementary teaching in the Indies. However, in the peculiar context of Transylvania it became locally synonymous with bad lordship and preferred to neglect its strengths: a strong popular culture rooted in sacraments, saints’ days, providential readings of the supernatural and an ongoing struggle with malign spirits, which was often safeguarded by devoted Catholic women. Committed Lutherans, Calvinists and Antitrinitarians, despite, and because of, their capacity to assimilate elements of belief and practice from each other, were unlikely to be persuaded by a Catholic anti-Reformation. That Catholic support could be garnered at all in a region largely bereft of Catholic clergy for two decades speaks to the strengths of the continuity of a primarily lay Catholicism. It speaks also to the weakness of popular support for Transylvanian Antitrinitarianism which dismantled the ritual supports of baptism, and godparents without fostering, as in Poland, a correspondingly evangelical social vision. Whilst perhaps not quite realising the residual strength of the traditional good–bad lordship dichotomy in Transylvania, Wujek did recognise that it was only to a limited extent that the exercise of lordship by the Society could truly confessionalise. As Szántó recognised, a reputation for bad lordship put this aspiration in wider jeopardy. In contrast, charismatic mission could build successfully not only on active lay Catholicism, but also on ritual deprivation.

102

  MAH, vol. 2, ‘Memoriale Visitationis’, pp. 248–9.   MAH, vol. 2, p. 306 (Szántó to Acquaviva, 19 October 1582).

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Chapter 8

Tanquam Peregrini: Pilgrimage Practice in the Bohemian Franciscan Province Martin Elbel1 Pilgrimage had its relevant place in the activities of religious orders, and the Franciscans were no exception. According to the legacy of their founder they were supposed to live like ‘pilgrims on earth’, tanquam peregrini, spreading the gospel to the world. There was no stabilitas loci as held by the old monastic orders, and most of the friars spent part of their lives outside the friary, on the road. They went on missions, travelled to provincial or general chapters, visited other friaries or collected alms for their houses. But they were pilgrims in a literal sense too. They wandered to the Holy Land, to sites associated with the life of Francis of Assisi or to other major pilgrimage shrines in Europe and elsewhere. Many times they accompanied noble pilgrims, serving as both secular and spiritual guides on their journey. And even those friars who never left their own province had many opportunities to visit popular shrines in the vicinity of their houses. But pilgrimage practice did not only play an important role in the spirituality of the friars themselves.2 It belonged – besides administering sacraments in friary churches, preaching and organizing religious brotherhoods – among the most effective means of Franciscan mission. Some of the friaries became popular pilgrimage centres; others regularly hosted a number of visitors, at least annually on 2 August for the feast of Portiuncula. Pilgrimage festivity, when thousands of people joined in processions, was a sphere of interaction between two worlds: the inside world of the friary and the outside world of society. It was also

1

  This contribution was written with the support of the Grant Agency of the Czech Republic. I am also grateful to the Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities in Edinburgh for its hospitality and help in my research. 2   On pilgrimage as a way of imitating the religious founder, see Victor W. and Edith Turner, Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture: Anthropological Perspectives (New York, 1978), p. 33.

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a meeting point of several traditions: local religion, the spirituality of the order and the universal teaching of the Church. This study aims to discuss the place of pilgrimage practice in the activities of the Bohemian Franciscan province in the period after the Council of Trent.3 The late medieval origins of the practice are, nonetheless, relevant. The development of the province had been seriously disrupted by the spread of the Reformation, and later Franciscan engagement in Catholic reform was strongly influenced by attempts to link to older traditions. It is clear that pilgrimage practice played an important role in this effort to renew the province, hence the need for an analysis of the ways the Franciscans used pilgrimage and other devotions in order to promote their interests and strengthen their position in society. This chapter will, however, deal mainly with the period after 1650, when the position of the Franciscans in the Czech lands became settled and pilgrimage practice represented an inseparable constituent of order activities. In that period the friars assumed custody of several established pilgrimage centres. The arrival of a new administrator provides an opportunity to observe more clearly the role of the Franciscans as the physical and spiritual overseers of pilgrimage shrines and how they merged local pilgrimage practice with their order’s traditions. Finally, this study will examine the influence of Franciscan pilgrimage upon lay society, focusing in particular on devotions that reflected Franciscan spirituality and simultaneously corresponded to the principles of early modern Catholicism. As such, this study will offer a fresh insight into Franciscan devotional activities and their impact on lay society in a period of revival for the Franciscans in the early modern period. The foundations of the Bohemian Franciscan province had been laid by John of Capistrano, an itinerant friar who himself perfectly embodied the Franciscan ideal of life as a pilgrimage.4 Accompanied by 12 companions, he spent his later years wandering in the regions of central Europe, preaching spiritual revival and moral reform. In 1451 he visited the Czech lands and spent three years there – minus some interludes – before finally leaving for Hungary. In Moravia and especially in Bohemia his mission was enriched by another task: the attempt to bring the Hussites back to obedience to the Church. As in 3   The Bohemian province covered the areas of Bohemia, Moravia and Silesia. The friaries of Silesia were separated in 1755 and created an independent province. Martin Elbel, Bohemia Franciscana: Františkánský řád v českých zemích 17. a 18. století [Bohemia Franciscana: the Franciscan Order in the Czech Lands of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries] (Olomouc, 2001). 4   Stanko Andrić, The Miracles of St John Capistran (Budapest, 2000), especially chapter 1.

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other countries, his activities were accompanied by an endeavour to introduce the Franciscan Observance as a guarantee for the continuation of his mission.5 With the help of local clergy, municipal councils and Catholic nobles he initiated the foundation of new friaries, independent from older houses inhabited by unreformed Friars Minor (Conventuals). The new houses were intended to become spiritual centres of religious renewal which would reform the morals of the local population and create barriers against heresy. In this endeavour he was more successful than in the anti-Hussite campaign itself. By the time of Capistrano’s departure for Hungary in 1454, there were already ten Observant houses united in a separate Observant province covering vast areas of Austria, Poland and the Czech lands. The further spread of the Observants did not stop after Capistrano’s death in 1456, and soon it was necessary to split the large province into three parts. Thus in 1469 12 Bohemian, Moravian and Silesian friaries created an independent Bohemian Franciscan province dedicated to St Wenceslas.6 Capistrano had a charismatic personality and during his life enjoyed the reputation of a holy man – an image he partly nourished himself. His spectacular sermons were said to have been accompanied by the performance of miracles and usually attracted audiences of thousands. Witnesses said that his ardent tone and flamboyant gestures moved people to tears before the interpreters had even started to translate his Latin speech into the vernacular. Although Capistrano was canonized relatively late, in 1690, traces of his cult were in evidence as early as the fifteenth century.7 The places connected with Capistrano – especially those friaries founded on the spot where some of his sermons had been delivered – soon became potential objects of pilgrimage. Some of the friaries kept the pulpit from which he was believed to have delivered his sermons; others guarded wells which Capistrano had supposedly consecrated. The place of greatest prominence, however, belonged to the friary of St Bernardino in Brno, the oldest friary of the Bohemian province. There believers could visit the cell occupied by Capistrano during his second stay in the town. In that cell friars had preserved two other important relics: Capistrano’s penitential tunic and his habit. 5

  For the origins of the Franciscan Observance and further bibliography, see Andrić, Miracles, pp. 11–18 and 29–31. 6   The most important source for the late medieval history of the province is the manuscript ‘Chronica Fratrum Minorum de Observantia Provinciae Bohemiae’, deposited in the Library of National Museum in Prague (classmark VIII F 75). 7   Early attempts to canonize Capistrano are discussed by Andrić, chapters 4 and 5. Also see Martin Elbel, ‘Kult sv. Jana Kapistrána v českých zemích’ [The Cult of St John of Capistrano in the Czech Lands], Acta Universitatis Palackianae Olomucensis, PhilosophicaAestethica, 16 (1998), 81–99.

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Besides this, pilgrims were shown a sign painted by Capistrano on the wall: a solar disc with three letters ‘yhs’ in the centre. This sign was a pictorial expression of the veneration of the Name of Jesus, a devotion promoted by Bernardino of Siena and his pupil Capistrano. Capistrano used this sign during sermons and made similar symbols in other places he visited.8 Those signs were usually accompanied by various legends and people attributed them protective meaning. The minuscule letters ‘yhs’ (or later ‘ihs’) in a halo of rays soon appeared in many copies on churches, town gates and town halls, private houses and even on personal possessions.9 The fact that they multiplied over the country suggests that pilgrimage practice at Franciscan friaries could have been one of the means of their dissemination. Despite a lack of clear evidence, it can be safely assumed that pilgrimage represented an important element of devotions supported by friars. Besides Capistrano’s friaries, some new houses apparently also held the status of a place of pilgrimage. The geographical position of the friaries copied Capistrano’s route, which itself reflected the religious setting of the Czech lands. During his campaign he was able to visit and gain support solely in those areas where the Hussite tradition was relatively weak, and it was only in Moravian and Silesian towns that he was able to gain support for building new friaries. Although some new houses were gained in Bohemia, the attempt to establish a friary in Prague ended with failure in 1483 when the friars were expelled. The centre of the province therefore remained in major Moravian and Silesian towns – places with strong German populations. This background limited the efficiency of Observant missions against Czech-speaking Hussites. It also contributed to the abrupt decline of the province as Luther’s challenge found a response first and foremost in the German population. In the 1520s former Catholic strongholds against Hussites turned gradually into the local centres of the evangelical movement.10 The friars suddenly lost protection and support, a situation that always held serious consequences for mendicants. In some places the friars were exposed to animosity usually leading to their expulsion. Other houses had to be abandoned due to a decreasing number of friars. While at 8   Ivo Hlobil, ‘Bernardinské symboly Jména Ježíš v  českých zemích šířené Janem Kapistránem’ [Bernardin Symbols of the Name of Jesus in the Czech Lands Propagated by John of Capistrano], Umění, 44 (1996), 223–34. 9   With its great devotional potential it was an important supplement to other images promoted by Observant Franciscans. See the chapter by Maria Crăciun in this volume. 10   The progress of the evangelical movement and its interaction with local religious tradition in Bohemia is discussed in Zdeněk V. David, Finding the Middle Way: The Utraquists’ Liberal Challenge to Rome and Luther (Washington, DC, 2003).

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the turn of the fifteenth century the province flourished – its 27 houses were inhabited by 700 friars – in 1571 the province was on the verge of perishing. It consisted of only five houses inhabited by a mere 17 friars.11 Nevertheless, the province survived. The crisis culminated in the decades when the Catholic Reformation was already beginning to place roots in the Czech lands. In 1556 the first Jesuits were introduced to Bohemia, and in 1561 the new archbishop of Prague was installed after a century of vacancy caused by Hussite wars. The new generation of Catholic elite, brought up on Tridentine ideals, was much more interested in supporting religious institutions. By the end of the sixteenth century friars acting with the support of the higher clergy and some noble families renewed three of the deserted friaries.12 The order’s authorities became increasingly aware of the importance of central European provinces. In 1603 the minister-general visited Prague and succeeded in founding a new friary directly in the city.13 That was an important step as it ensured that the Bohemian province gained a new centre, close to the Imperial court. There the friars could find both protection and support from influential Catholic lords. Despite such striking accomplishments, the process of renewal remained, however, slow and painful, and was soon interrupted by the outbreak of the Thirty Years War. The Catholic victory in the battle of White Mountain in 1620 enabled the emperor to launch his re-Catholicization policy and proclaim Catholicism as only legal confession in the country (1627).14 However, due to turns and twists of war it was only the Peace of Westphalia in 1648 that definitively secured Catholic monopoly. Only then, too, could the Bohemian Franciscan province fully recover and enter a new golden age lasting until the religious reforms of Joseph II in the 1780s.15 11

  For figures and data related to the renewal of the province, see Martin Elbel, ‘Česká františkánská provincie sv. Václava, 1570–1790’ [The Czech Franciscan Province of St Wenceslas 1570–1790], Acta Universitatis Palackianae Olomucensis, Historica, 29 (2000), 83–96. 12   Elbel, ‘Česká františkánská provincie’‚ 84. 13   Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 15: Archivum Conventus Neo-Pragensis, Tomus I, without pagination. 14   See Howard Louthan, Converting Bohemia: Force and Persuasion in the Catholic Reformation (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 16–51. 15   In the first half of the eighteenth century the province comprised 30 houses with almost 1,000 friars. There is a detailed description of the province by Severinus Wrbczansky, Nucleus Minoriticus, seu vera, et sincera Relatio Originis, et Progressus Provinciae Bohemiae, Conventuum, et Residentiarum, Fratrum, et Sororum Sancti-Monialium, Ordin. Minor. S. P. Francisci Strict. Observ. Reform. in Provincia, sub Patrocinio Sancti Wenceslai Ducis, et Martyris, Per Bohemiam, Moraviam, et Silesiam existentium (Vetero-Pragae, 1746). During the reign of Joseph II, five houses were dissolved and the number of friars was limited to 300: Elbel, Bohemia Franciscana, p. 19. For religious reforms of Joseph II, see Derek Beales,

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In the course of their revival the Franciscans had to struggle for their position in society, even in the regions that had been brought fully under the control of Catholic authorities. In particular they had to cope with the existence and competition of new religious orders, especially the Society of Jesus.16 The Jesuits had quickly taken over the role of the most prominent representatives of Catholicism, by the early seventeenth century holding a position akin to that held by the Franciscan Observants 100 years earlier. The Jesuits experienced swift expansion and their activities provoked both adoration and hatred. A sixteenth-century antiJesuit song described the followers of Ignatius of Loyola as new barefoot friars (bosáci – a Czech term for Observant Franciscans) sent by the Devil.17 The spirituality of the Jesuits was, moreover, quite close to that of the Franciscans.18 They adopted many elements of Franciscan tradition and readjusted them to the new demands of Catholic Reformation. Immaculate Conception and other cults thus became associated rather with Jesuits than with Franciscans. A particularly clear manifestation of this can be seen in Jesuit appropriation of the sign ‘yhs’ promoted formerly by Observant friars. In the sixteenth century it transformed into majuscule form ‘IHS’ and became sometimes considered almost an exclusively Jesuit badge.19 Although this may be in part a result of the relative paucity of Franciscan sources – especially in relation to those of the Society of Jesus – it does seem that the Franciscans were very much in the shadow of the Jesuits. The friars themselves seem to have recognized this and took a defensive stand. The author of one of the friary chronicles, for example, took pains to emphasize the strengths of the Franciscan approach against those of the Jesuits. He claimed that while the Jesuits merely reformed and converted people, it was the Franciscans who informed them and

Prosperity and Plunder: European Catholic Monasteries in the Age of Revolution, 1650–1815 (Cambridge, 2003). 16   Martin Elbel, ‘On the Side of the Angels: Franciscan Communication Strategies in Early Modern Bohemia’, in Heinz Schilling and István György Tóth (eds), Religion and Cultural Exchange in Europe, 1400–1700 (Cambridge, 2006), pp. 338–59. For conflicts at universities (Prague and Olomouc) where the Franciscans, together with other orders, criticized the Jesuit monopoly which excluded other theological traditions (Scotism), see Louthan, Converting Bohemia, pp. 97–100. 17   Zikmund Winter, Život církevní v  Čechách: Kulturně-historický obraz z  XV. a XVI. století [Ecclesiastical Life in Bohemia: Cultural and Historical Image of the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries] (Prague, 1996), vol. 2, p. 712. 18   Also see John W. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA, 1993), p. 46. 19   Erika Langmuir, ‘Sign and Symbol’, in Gabriele Finaldi (ed.), The Image of Christ (London, 2000), pp. 9–11.

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made the superficial conversion of population genuine.20 Franciscans also stressed their older tradition and merits from the past. Writers of friary chronicles took pains to carefully record old legends which depicted friars and their shrines as miraculous protectors of local communities.21 On occasions when all religious communities met for joint devotions, like the Corpus Christi processions, the Franciscans as well as the other orders did not hesitate to quarrel about precedence ensuing from their antiquity.22 In such a situation, pilgrimage practice was an important tool which could make a remarkable contribution to the restoration of the province.23 Friaries, which belonged among ancient pilgrimage shrines, were in a much better position to guarantee their legitimacy and continuity with pre-Reformation tradition. These sites could also rely on the support, both material and political, of influential persons.24 And sometimes the support could even cross confessional frontiers. During the eightyear Swedish occupation of Olomouc (1642–50), Protestant soldiers and officers used to visit a local Franciscan friary, specifically the well supposedly consecrated by John of Capistrano, where they used its water as a remedy for fever and other diseases. They also begged the guardian for Schedae B. Salvatoris, slips of paper bearing various holy inscriptions. Grateful Swedes rewarded the Franciscan friary with protection and alms, sometimes at the expense of other monasteries in the city.25

20   The notice from the chronicle of the friary in Loebschitz (Silesia) quoted by Klemens Minařík, Kazatelé, zpovědníci a lidoví misionáři františkánské provincie [Preachers, Confessors and Popular Missionaries of the Franciscan Province], fol. 3, MS in Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Uherské Hradiště, carton 22, vol. 10. 21   Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 9: Archivum Conventus Olomucensis, pp. 10–14. 22   There are several records of such quarrels at various places. For example, the quarrels in Prague in 1613 and 1636 are mentioned by Winter, Život církevní, vol. 2, p. 824. On quarrels of precedence in the late Middle Ages, see Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge, 1991), p. 263. 23   Also see Philip M. Soergel, Wondrous in His Saints: Counter-Reformation Propaganda in Bavaria (Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA, 1993). 24   This was the case of the Franciscan friary in Kadaň, which in 1595 was an objective of a demonstrative pilgrimage of Mary Manrique de Lara, a noblewoman of Spanish origin and a head of Bohemian Catholic devotees. The friary was endowed by gifts and soon attracted the attentions of other benefactors: Winter, Život církevní, vol. 2, pp. 938–9. 25   Martin Elbel, ‘Dva světy? Konfesijní hranice za švédské okupace Olomouce, 1642– 50’ [Two Worlds? Confessional Frontiers during the Swedish Occupation of Olomouc, 1642–50], in Martin Elbel and Milan Togner (eds), Konec švédské okupace Olomouce a poválečná obnova [The End of Swedish Occupation of Olomouc and the Post-War Renewal] (Olomouc, 2002), pp. 99–105. In Dalmatia similar slips called zapis were popular even with

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Despite the popularity and merits of pilgrimages, the attitude of Franciscan authorities towards pilgrimage practice in their churches was much more complicated than might first seem to be the case. In order to restore their position within society it was necessary for the Franciscans – as well as for the other religious – to renew confidence in their order. At the same time, each order wanted to emphasize its own importance in an attempt to ensure its position among the others. As for the Franciscans, the crucial matter was the return to their ideal of absolute poverty, as confirmed by the decrees of the Council of Trent.26 Poverty became a priority, which influenced to a certain degree all other aspects of their activities, at least in the first half of the seventeenth century. The province decided to abandon the Observants and join the Reformed branch of the Franciscan order, which was inclined to a more severe application of the Rule of St Francis.27 The change was outwardly manifested by a new official name: Fratres Minores de Observantia became Fratres Minores Strictioris Observantiae. Besides the institutional changes, it was of vital importance to purify the image of a friar, seriously shaken by the Protestant critique. Figures of fat, hypocritical friars enjoying the luxuries derived from collected alms had become a commonplace.28 In response, the provincial leaders issued several rules modifying the behaviour prescribed for friars. Particular attention was paid to appearance with, for example, friars being forbidden from continuing to use pouches, keys and private seals since these were symbols of possession.29 Further the Muslim population. Peter Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe, revised reprint (Aldershot, 1994), p. 55. 26   For the original ideal of Franciscan poverty, see M.D. Lambert, Franciscan Poverty: The Doctrine of Absolute Poverty of Christ and the Apostles in the Franciscan Order (London, 1961). The Council of Trent confirmed that the Franciscans and Capuchins were forbidden from possessing property, not only as individuals but also, unlike other orders, as communities. Elbel, Bohemia Franciscana, pp. 55–61. 27   The Reformed movement spread mainly in Italian and Central European provinces. For a general overview of the Franciscan order and its branches in the seventeenth century, see Lazaro Iriarte, Franciscan History: Three Orders of St Francis of Assisi, transl. P. Ross (Chicago, 1982), pp. 169–88. 28   As Gabriella Erdélyi discusses in this volume, the relationship between people and mendicants was highly ambivalent even before the spread of the Reformation. The dissatisfaction with the behaviour of friars and the need to respond were important factors in the reform movements of religious orders. See also Martin Elbel, ‘Making of a Perfect Friar: Habit and Reform in the Franciscan Tradition’, in Laszlo Kontler and Jaroslav Miller (eds), Friars, Nobles and Burghers-Sermons, Images and Prints: Studies of Culture and Society in Early-Modern Europe (Budapest, 2010), pp. 275–83. 29   National Archives in Prague, Collection Franciscan Order, book 68: Acta praecipua & notabilia conclusae in Capitulis Provincialibus et Diffinitoriis celebratis, Ab Anno 1614 ex Provinciae Protocollo excerpta, passim.

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restrictions were imposed on friaries and their churches, especially on the decoration of altarpieces, which were to be made simple.30 Pilgrimages and religious festivities in general were not excluded from these endeavours. All feasts were to be celebrated modestly and free of any worldly vanities. This trend culminated in the middle of the seventeenth century, when the provincial authorities forbade any figurative music in Franciscan churches and allowed plainchant as the only acceptable music for the liturgy, even on festive occasions.31 Later, when the position of both the order and the Catholic Church had become more solid, a relaxation of these efforts may be discerned, resulting in a gradual change towards more moderate application of the ideal of poverty.32 Many of the rules – originally imposed on friars without any exception, such as the prohibition to use tobacco – remained valid only in public. Franciscan churches and their altars became richly decorated with frescoes, paintings and statues. Festivities became celebrated with splendour. Plainchant was gradually substituted by magnificent figurative music with trumpets and drums, or later with organs.33 Pilgrimage practice remained, nonetheless, a menace to the ideal of seraphic poverty. The presence of large groups of pilgrims in the grounds of the friary could endanger some of the basic principles of religious communities. As a result, a number of temporal rules regulating the behaviour of friars were imposed during major festivities. Some of these rules were intended to protect the image of a friary as a solely religious community. Other restrictions aimed to save the inner life of the community by securing the separation of the inhabitants of the friary from pilgrims. Friars were forbidden to enter areas designated for lodging and refreshment of pilgrims, while pilgrims were to be kept out of the cloister. It seems that the prohibition from entering the cloister was not so strictly observed in the case of noblemen and noblewomen, and also in some other cases. On the main pilgrimage day at Kroměříž 30

  Ibid.   Ibid.: Statuta praecipua in Capitulis Provincialibus et Diffinitoriis facta (1614– 1759), p. 1 (entry relating to 1653). 32   New provincial statutes of 1673 permitted more solemn services; the prohibition of the use of an organ or figurative music was not repeated. See Klemens Minařík, ‘Provinciál P. Bernard Sannig, učenec, spisovatel a organisátor františkánské provincie (1637–1704)’ [Minister Provincial P. Bernard Sannig: Scholar, Writer and Organizer of the Franciscan Province, 1637–1704], Časopis katolického duchovenstva, 61/86–71/96 (1920–30), passim: here 62 (1921), 35. 33   See the chronicles of individual friaries. For example, the Olomouc friary acquired organs in 1689. In the same year, the main altar was richly gilded. Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 9: Archivum Conventus Olomucensis, p. 102. 31

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(Cremsier), the pilgrims (including women and children) were, due to lack of space, lodged in the cloistered part of the upper floor of the friary.34 Festivities and devotions themselves were occasions for other lapses too. Pilgrims expected their pilgrimage to be an extraordinary event, not only in a purely religious sense. Some of the traditional customs and rituals on great pilgrimage festivities soon met with the disapproval of provincial authorities. For example, in 1685 the minister provincial, Bernhard Sannig, issued a decree prohibiting abuses during Good Friday processions in the friaries of Hostinné (Arnau) and Kroměříž. He limited usage of religious pageants and forbade the participation of people wearing masks, carrying torches or riding on horseback. In future, the procession was to be accompanied only by flagellants or persons carrying crosses.35 Yet, again in 1757 the provincial authorities had to limit the number and appearance of pageants carried in Kroměříž Good Friday processions.36 The efforts of the province leaders were complicated by the fact that friars often participated in these customs: in 1700 the provincial authorities had to forbid the friars from wearing disguises, especially to disguise themselves as women, at All Saints Day and Carnival festivities.37 These misdemeanours did not, however, disrupt the importance of pilgrimage practice, and the merits of pilgrimage prevailed over any reservations. The majority of friaries contained relics, images, chapels, wells and other sacred objects, all of which attracted the attention of pilgrims. Some of the houses became famous pilgrimage centres, transcending their local importance. Moreover, in the second half of the seventeenth century the leaders of the province accepted several offers from noble benefactors to become administrators of other popular pilgrimage shrines. Such a convention was convenient for both sides. The noble benefactor could gain prayers and other spiritual benefits for himself and his family. Moreover, he obtained highly qualified clergy 34   In 1722 the province leaders attempted to suppress this abuse. Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 5: Protocollum Conventus Cremsiriensis, part Memorabilia Conventus, entry no. 23. This was not the only case of the violation of a cloister. In 1743 the guardians of the friaries in Tachov and Turnov were ordered to modify the way of celebration of the Corpus Christi procession, which had been used to trespass the cloistered part. Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, books 17 (Archivum Conventus Tachoviensis, no pagination) and 21 (Archivum Conventus Turnoviensis, no pagination). 35   Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 5: Protocollum Conventus Cremsiriensis, part Memorabilia Conventus, entry no. 9. 36   Ibid. 37   National Archives in Prague, Collection Franciscan Order, book 68: Statuta praecipua, p. 7.

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and good preachers for his shrine for relatively little cost. Franciscan friaries were usually smaller and – contrary to Jesuit and other houses – did not require or were not allowed to possess land or other property. For Franciscans there were several advantages too. The province received a new friary endowed with sufficient funds, usually intended to cover the needs of 12 friars composed of eight or nine clergymen and the remainder made up of lay friars. Besides this, every well-established pilgrimage centre could increase the prestige of the whole province. And last but not least, the friars acquired an important tool not only for missionary efforts but also for the order’s propaganda.38 One of these new friaries was founded at Hájek near Prague, where in 1623 Count Žďárský founded a Loreto chapel as a thanksgiving for the birth of a male heir. Due to its advantageous position near Prague, the friary soon developed into a popular place of pilgrimage. Growing numbers of pilgrims compelled the founder’s son to look for clergy who would have their residence at the chapel. Finally, he decided to establish a monastery there and offer it to the Franciscans. Later friars claimed that divine providence wanted to consign the chapel to the Franciscans, who had always been zealous adorers of the Virgin Mary and ardent defenders of her Immaculate Conception.39 They did, however, admit to other reasons as well. They were on very good terms with Count Žďárský, and Father Donulus Palea, the first guardian of Hájek, had been acquainted with and popular with him.40 The Franciscans accepted the place in 1659 and immediately began taking pains to improve the quality of local divine service. Under their custody Hájek became one of the most famous pilgrimage shrines in Bohemia. During the same time the place underwent profound transformation. The Loreto chapel was surrounded by an ambit with several altars dedicated to Franciscan saints. New, more impressive forms of pilgrimage devotions lasting overnight were also designed. Two guidebooks written for the needs of visitors reveal such changes. The first one, by Henricus Labe, was printed in 1686 and recorded the early form of devotions. Labe mentions that after the Mass, sermon and Loreto litanies the pilgrims did their private devotions in which they prayed the Rosary, confessed and so on. The later book, published in 1718 by Damascenus Marek, depicts a 38

  Foundation charters usually specified the rights and tasks of both the founder and the friary. One of the duties of friars was, for instance, to keep records of any miracles that would happen at the shrine. Wrbczansky, Nucleus Minoriticus, passim. 39   Damascenus Marek, Vůdce cesty všech pobožně putujících do Hájku svatého … [Guide to All Pious Pilgrims to the Holy Grove etc.] (V Starém Městě Pražském, 1718), p. 23. 40   Ibid., p. 29.

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different image. Marek instructs the pilgrims on how to make a proper pilgrimage instead of a secular trip for amusement. The entire journey to the shrine was to be filled with prayers to the Virgin Mary. The prayers were included in the guidebook and, not surprisingly, most of them were of Franciscan origin, composed by St Francis of Assisi, St Bernardino of Siena or St Peter of Alcantara. After the main services the pilgrims were invited to make a ‘spiritual journey’ around the grounds of the friary. This consisted of devotions at the altars and images in the ambit, where beside the images of the Virgin Mary the pilgrims could admire ‘images of saints – both martyrs and confessors – of the Holy Seraphic Order [i.e. Franciscans] with short notice in the Latin language on their lives, which sweetly move both ecclesiastics and laymen to following and loving the Lord God’.41 Prayers to Franciscan saints, including litanies to St Francis, St Anthony of Padua and St Peter of Alcantara, represented a substantial part of the suggested devotions. The transformation of the place was concluded by a set of 20 chapels built between 1720 and 1724 alongside the main road from Prague to Hájek. Each chapel was decorated with frescoes depicting parallel scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary and Francis of Assisi. Pilgrims were already confronted with such images during their journey, which convincingly demonstrated the association between the story of the Virgin Mary and that of St Francis and his order.42 The process of appropriating the pilgrimage shrine by the Franciscans was successful and Hájek soon became a distinctively Franciscan pilgrimage place. The miracle books of the shrine provide a convincing testimony.43 In the seventeenth century most of the pilgrims confessed that miracles had happened after their prayer to Our Lady of Loreto. In the following century the majority of them attributed miracles to the common intercession of the Virgin Mary of Loreto, St Francis of Assisi and St Anthony of Padua. The trinity of the Virgin Mary and both Franciscan saints also started appearing on votive gifts that people brought to the chapel.44 Nor is it surprising that the festivity of the centenary of the chapel in 1723 was a glorification of the shrine’s custodians as well as the shrine itself. Invited preachers celebrated not only the Virgin Mary and what was supposedly the oldest Loreto chapel in the country, but also the merits of the local Franciscan community. One of them, Jiří František Procházka de Lauro, delivered a sermon in which he depicted Hájek as 41

  Ibid., p. 33.   Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 6: Protocollum Conventus Sanctosilvensis seu Hagecensis, passim. 43   National Archives in Prague, Collection Franciscan Order, books 210 and 214. 44   Marek, Vůdce cesty, p. 84. 42

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a Garden of Pleasure, comparable to the Garden of Eden. According to de Lauro, while God had placed cherubim in Eden to prevent mankind from approaching the Tree of Life, at Hájek: in front of the Garden of Pleasure, the Lord God placed the Seraphim, that is the angels of the Seraphic Order … to invite, allure, and pull with honeystreaming mouth those who doubt; to welcome sweetly with the name of Mary those who come; to wish them much good from the Virgin and to accompany them in front of the throne of the Most Glorious Queen.45

However, the import of new devotions and attempts to develop new pilgrimage centres were not always as smooth as in Hájek. Bigger towns with a high density of religious institutions could cause particular problems for such endeavours. In 1700 Jerome Veit, a former missionary in Egypt and the Holy Land, was made the new guardian of the Franciscan friary of St Bernardino in Olomouc. He returned from his missions with a vow to build a chapel of Holy Stairs in order to stimulate the piety of local inhabitants. The new chapel was supposed to be a copy of Scala Sancta at St John of Laterano in Rome. The Roman prototype consisted of 28 marble steps which were believed to have been brought to Rome by St Helen from the original staircase of Pilate’s house in Jerusalem. According to tradition they were stained by the blood of the flagellated Christ, who descended them on his ultimate journey to Calvary. In 1589 Pope Sixtus V ordered that the steps be placed into a staircase leading to the chapel Sancta Sanctorum, where the most valuable relics were kept. Believers who climbed up the stairs on their knees and recited particular prayers could gain rich indulgences as a result.46 By constructing a similar chapel Veit also intended to invigorate the cult of the Passion, which had already a strong tradition in the Olomouc friary: at that time there was a chapel of the Holy Sepulchre and an altar with a venerated statue of Ecce Homo.47 However, the prospect of a new chapel upset the town’s 45   J.F. Procházka de Lauro, Hortus Voluptatis … To jest Zahrada Rozkoše … [Hortus Voluptatis … That is the Garden of Pleasance …] (V Starém Městě Pražském, 1724). The description of the centenary ceremonies is recorded in Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 6: Protocollum Conventus Sanctosilvensis seu Hagecensis, pp. 66–8. 46   Andacht Der Heiligen Stiegen Nechst an der Kirchen Dess Heil. Bernardini der W.W.PP. Franciscanern in der Königlichen Haubt-stadt Ollmütz auff der Bielten (Ollmütz, 1726). 47   The cult of the Passion of Christ occupied a central position in Franciscan spirituality from the time of Francis of Assisi. In the eighteenth-century Bohemian province almost every friary had at least one altar or chapel of the Holy Cross, Holy Sepulchre or similar dedications. In total there were 34 such altars in the 30 friaries of the province. Wrbczansky, Nucleus Minoriticus, passim.

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spiritual balance. On the one hand it aroused the enthusiasm of the laity; on the other it provoked heated protests from the town’s other religious institutions. First, neighbouring Ursulines claimed that the chapel would shade their grounds. Before the friars were able to reach a compromise with them other critics appeared, bringing even more intense objections. Local mendicants, notably the Capuchins, complained bitterly that the new shrine would attract alms at the expense of other religious communities. They accused Veit of being a simoniac who had promised the believers false indulgences. When the Franciscans decided, regardless of the protests, to begin the construction, the crisis escalated. The bishop’s consistory and the abbot of a nearby Premonstratensian monastery joined the ranks of opponents. The consistory withdrew its permission for construction, while the abbot refused to give the Franciscans their annual alms and instead distributed them to other mendicant friaries in the city. Their disapproval was nourished by the recent memory of another conflict. A year earlier – after some jurisdictional quarrels with the metropolitan chapter – the municipal council of Olomouc had been excommunicated. The Franciscans had ignored this act and provided the council asylum in their church. And although the emperor declared the excommunication invalid, the behaviour of the Franciscans over this incident had scandalized the local clergy. On the other hand the municipal council became, of course, very grateful to the friars. In the controversy over the Holy Stairs the council – together with some state officials – vigorously backed the Franciscans. It was this support from the secular authorities that proved decisive. It helped the Franciscans to overcome all the obstacles and proceed, albeit with great delay, with the building of the chapel.48 The case of Scala Sancta illustrates some of the key aspects of the attempts by early modern religious orders to promote pilgrimage: the element of partial rivalry with other clergy, the influence of secular patrons and especially the importance of the friars’ international contacts. In this regard the position of the Franciscans was unique due to the fact that they were custodians of the most venerated Christian shrines in the Holy Land, especially the church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem.49 48   Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 9: Archivum Conventus Olomucensis, pp. 132–43. 49   Leonard Lemmens, Geschichte des Franziskanermissionen (Münster, 1927), pp. 71–2. The Franciscans were restored to that position in 1690, after several decades of turmoil. Their return was a result of Ottoman defeats after the unsuccessful siege of Vienna. Franciscan chronicles lauded the vow of Emperor Leopold I made in 1685, in which he promised to liberate Jerusalem or at least to secure again the church of the Holy Sepulchre for the Franciscans, and therefore for Catholic pilgrims too. Cf. Bernhard Sannig, ‘Chronica de origine & constitutione Provinciae Bohemiae Ordinis Fratrum Minorum S. Francisci

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Besides caring for pilgrims, they wanted to communicate the experience of a Jerusalem pilgrimage to believers who were not able to travel to the Holy Land.50 These endeavours led not only to the production of devotional literature and description of holy places but also to the construction of various imitations of sites in the Holy Land, including individual chapels of the Holy Sepulchre or even whole complexes of shrines claiming to be exact copies of the Mount of Calvary in size and disposition. Such imitations were neither new in the early modern period nor exclusively Franciscan in origin.51 Their privileged position in the Holy Land nevertheless enabled the friars to introduce a new devotion, which remained a specific of the Franciscan order and originally became available only to believers attending Franciscan churches. The new devotion, called Via Crucis or the Way of the Cross, was closely related to the pilgrimage practice at Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem.52 It developed in the seventeenth century, but its heyday came only in the second quarter of the eighteenth century, when the Ways spread rapidly to all regions of Catholic Europe and far beyond. The popularity of Via Crucis led to the extension in 1731 by Pope Clement XII of the licence to erect Ways of the Cross – originally limited only to Franciscan churches – to parish churches and other places. The Franciscans nonetheless retained the privilege to consecrate the Ways and remained the most enthusiastic promoters of the devotions. In the Bohemian Franciscan province, for example, Viae Crucis appeared in friary churches in the 1730s. In the next 50 years the friars consecrated another 500 Ways in various locations throughout Bohemia and Moravia.53 Via Crucis was a late but significant Franciscan contribution to the religious life of early modern Catholic Europe. It was a relatively simple Reformatorum & ejusdem conventuum’, Tomus II, entry relating to 1685 (MS in National Archives in Prague, Collection Franciscan Order, book 21). 50   For an anthropological approach to Jerusalem pilgrimages, see Glenn Bowman, ‘Christian Ideology and the Image of Holy Land: The Place of Jerusalem Pilgrimage in the Various Christianities,’ in J. Eade and M.J. Sallnow (eds), Contesting the Sacred: The Anthropology of Christian Pilgrimage (London, 1991), pp. 98–121. 51   See Lieselotte Kötsche, ‘Das Heilige Grab in Jerusalem und seine Nachfolge’, in H. Budde and A. Nachama (eds), Die Reise nach Jerusalem (Berlin, 1996), pp. 64–75. 52   Martin Elbel, ‘Pilgrims on the Way of the Cross: Pilgrimage Practice and Confessional Identity in Early Modern European Lands’, in Eszter Andor and István György Tóth (eds), Frontiers of Faith: Religious Exchange and Constitution of Religious Identities 1400–1700 (Budapest, 2001), pp. 275–83. 53   Consecrations of all the Ways in Bohemia and Moravia between 1735 and 1786 are recorded in the manuscript ‘Communicationes Viae S. Crucis’ (National Archives in Prague, Collection Franciscan Order, book 352). Pages pertaining to Silesian friaries were cut out, probably after the split of Silesia from the Bohemian province in 1755. Elbel, ‘Pilgrims’, p. 281.

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devotion which reflected the order’s spirituality and corresponded to the challenges of the Catholic Reformation. The interest of the Church elite in spreading the new devotion is manifested by the fact that Via Crucis was endowed with indulgences far richer than any other devotion. This ‘new model pilgrimage’ became an alternative to more pompous pilgrimage festivities.54 For example, the once-controversial chapel of Holy Stairs in Olomouc discussed above became incorporated and ‘dissolved’ in the Way of the Cross erected on the premises on the friary. The Way started in the chapel, then went on to other altars dedicated to the Passion of Christ and ended at the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre, transforming the entire friary into a stage commemorating the Passion.55 Each Via Crucis consisted of several stations commemorating main events from Christ’s journey to Calvary, from his condemnation to his burial. The stations were represented only by crosses or pictures and could be installed almost anywhere: in the countryside, in churches, in graveyards or even in private houses. At the beginning of the eighteenth century the number of stations settled on 14 and the accompanying devotions were organized into a system which echoed original Franciscan ideas of clarity and simplicity. The priest led the layfolk in procession from station to station; if there was not enough space in the church only the priest and his ministrants made the tour while the believers remained standing. They prayed, sang and meditated at each of the stations and at the end the priest blessed them with the Eucharist. The whole devotion stressed the importance of Christ’s sacrifice and recalled fundamental principles of Christian faith. Moreover, it provided balance between communal and personal piety.56 Prints and devotional books published by friars encouraged further private meditation as an extension and continuation of public ritual.57 There were no pageants, masques or other semi-official rites, and the expectation of miracles was not supposed to be a reason for attending this devotion. A strict clerical control enabled the introduction and maintenance of a uniform devotion

54   The similar shift of paradigms ‘from the militant, glorious sainthood of the Jesuits to a model inspired by Franciscan spirituality’ is observed for the eighteenth-century cult of saints by R. Po-chia Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal, 1540–1770 (Cambridge, 1998), p. 137. 55   Moravian Land Archives in Brno, Collection Franciscans of Dačice, book 9: Archivum Conventus Olomucensis, pp. 234–5. 56   The character of Via Crucis corresponded to the eighteenth-century trend toward more individual and private devotion. See also Marc R. Forster, Catholic Revival in the Age of the Baroque: Religious Identity in Southwest Germany, 1550–1750 (Cambridge, 2001), p. 61. 57   These were usually translations or slight modifications of Via Sacra spianata ed illuminata by the Italian Franciscan Leonard of Port Maurice.

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based on the Gospel texts and firmly associated with the Eucharist.58 As a modest devotion free of popular excesses and superstitions, the Via Crucis was relatively close even to the ideals of Catholic enlightenment. Having both popular support and official approval, it survived the wave of religious reforms and restrictions of pilgrimages during the reign of Maria Theresa and Joseph II.59 The reforms of these rulers nevertheless marked the end of an era. A history of the Bohemian Franciscan province of that period illustrates the significance and multiple meanings of pilgrimage in the activities of religious orders. In the early stage of Catholic revival it was an important proof of continuity with the pre-Reformation period. Ancient pilgrimage practice at friary churches was a central argument in the competition with new religious orders. It also made a major contribution to the restoration of the province. Regular pilgrimages helped to establish a network of sympathizers and supporters necessary for the functioning of individual friaries. It increased the popularity and strengthened the position of Franciscans and their houses. At the same time pilgrimage was an important means of Franciscan operation among lay society. It enabled the friars to spread their traditions and spirituality beyond the friaries. The organization and international contacts of religious orders helped to introduce new elements into local religious life. Moreover, Franciscan links to the Holy Land nourished devotion to the Passion of Christ and led to the origin of the Ways of the Cross, a more moderate form of pilgrimage that met the complex demands of early modern Catholicism. Although the friars never ceased to support more traditional pilgrimage practice, the Via Crucis became the most distinctive devotion they promoted and represented a zenith of Franciscan pilgrimage practice.

58

  Aims of the reformers to bring popular piety under clerical control are discussed, among others, by R. Po-chia Hsia, Social Discipline in the Reformation: Central Europe 1500– 1700 (London, 1989), p. 183 and Robert Bireley, The Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450–1700 (Basingstoke, 1999), p. 107. 59   For a general overview of religious reforms, see Timothy C.W. Blanning, Joseph II (London, 1994), chapter 4.

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Chapter 9

The Basilian Monk and the Identity of the Uniate Church in EighteenthCentury Transylvania Greta-Monica Miron, translated by Maria Crăciun This study wishes to unravel the role and mission of Basilian monks – regulars of eastern Christianity – in the Transylvanian Greek-Catholic diocese of Făgăraş (Fogaras, Fogarasch) during the eighteenth century. Basilian monks made their appearance on the scene in the context of Transylvania’s recent affiliation to the Habsburg monarchy and the pressures of the late Catholic Reformation, which led to the union of the Eastern Church of Transylvania with the Catholic Church of Rome – resulting in the Greek-Catholic or Uniate Church. New institutions required new personnel and it was the regular rather than the secular clergy who were invested with important roles in the building of this church and in shaping the identity of its members. Regular clergy were also the pool from whence the church recruited its hierarchy. The study addresses issues of background, recruitment and education of this regular clergy as well as questions concerning the Basilian monks’ function within the Uniate Church – for example in organizing the internal life of the monasteries – and in Transylvanian society as a whole (Map 9.1). In answering these questions, the chapter wishes to explore the role played by Basilian monks in constructing the identity of the Uniate Church as they sought to accommodate both the traditions of the Eastern Church and the influence of the Roman Catholic environments with which they came into contact. The history of this order was short lived: it made its appearance in Transylvania and strove in the context of the implementation of the ecclesiastical policies of the Viennese court on the margins of Imperial territory, only to decline when Theresian and Josephine strategies concerning the reform of monasticism were implemented in these regions. It is the contention of this study that, in these circumstances, the roles of the monks were simultaneously defined by the needs of the Uniate Church and Imperial legislation, while their sphere of activity shifted from monasteries to parishes. The study deals primarily with the monks from the episcopal residence of Blaj (Balázsfalva, Blasendorf) as they are more visible in documents and

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had a more important role in the leadership of the diocese. However, differences between centre and periphery are not neglected as they allow one to assess whether the model of the monk shaped within the episcopal residence travelled to the rest of the diocese.

Map 9.1

Transylvania c.1550–1800

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The study will start with a discussion of the institutionalization of the Uniate Church and the development of its identity in the context of the threats posed by rivalry with the Orthodox and the religious policies of the Habsburgs. The chapter will then focus on the role designed for the Basilian monks by both political and ecclesiastical Catholic and Uniate authorities. In practical terms, this meant the recruitment and training of monks able to forge the confessional identity of the Uniate Church at the level of the Church hierarchy, of the parish clergy and the faithful. The essay will show that this goal was achieved not only through the production of religious literature, but also through the establishment of firm principles of monastic practice, negotiation between the traditions of eastern and western monasticism and, finally, through missionary endeavours and pastoral activities. The latter were equally shaped by the competition with Orthodox propaganda and by the advances in religious communication made by the Catholic Church in the early modern period. A Reformed principality through most of the seventeenth century, Transylvania was integrated into the Habsburg monarchy in 1699.1 This involved changes at all institutional levels, including the presence of the Austrian army, but it also exposed the region to Habsburg religious policies and ultimately the implementation of Catholic reform. By the eighteenth century the dynasty had identified with the Catholic cause and supported efforts to strengthen Catholicism throughout the realm, with the intention of bringing the many Protestants living in the regions under their authority back into the fold and drawing the faithful of the Eastern Church to Catholicism. Such ambitious goals and the missionary turn of Imperial religious policies placed emphasis on the regular clergy. While old orders were reformed, it was the new orders such as the Jesuits that became the promoters of Catholic renewal in the realm. The effort to transform a diffuse eastern monasticism, prevalent among the Orthodox in these regions, into an institutionalized order was part of this process. However, the importance of regular orders was short-lived as, by the end of the eighteenth century Habsburg strategies changed with Joseph II’s initiation of a religious reform of his own, focused on the revitalization of the parish network and the secular clergy.

1   In 1699 Habsburg rule in Transylvania was accepted through the Treaty of Karlowitz. Imperial troops entered Transylvania as early as 1686, while on 4 November 1691 Emperor Leopold I confirmed the charter which became the juridical basis of the Austrian system of domination in Transylvania. Mathias Bernath, Habsburgii şi începuturile formării naţiunii române [The Habsburgs and the Beginning of the Forging of the Romanian Nation] (Cluj-Napoca, 1994), pp. 57–70.

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Part of a broader process of consolidation of Catholicism in east central Europe, the union of the Romanian Orthodox with the Church of Rome was finalized between 1697 and 1701 through negotiations between the Romanian clergy (bishops and archpriests), the Jesuits, the Viennese court (through Cardinal Kollonich) and the Transylvanian estates.2 The support afforded by the political authority to the union was expressed in two central documents. The first, an Imperial charter issued on 16 February 1699, the very day the Treaty of Karlowitz was signed, was intended to stimulate the union by granting the Uniate churches and their clergy equal status with that of the Catholics.3 The second document, a charter of 19 March 1701, marked the finalization of these negotiations by appointing Atanasie ‘the bishop of the Wallachian nation’.4 The charter included in its articles the most important political and cultural requests expressed in previous years by the Romanian ecclesiastical elite, the Uniates being considered ‘sons of the homeland’ and not merely tolerated. Although the Viennese court never took into account the political requests of the document, it is still relevant for the fact that the Romanian bishop and his entourage succeeded in making their requests heard on a political level. As far as religious aspects were concerned, similar to the other unions of Brest5 and Užhorod (Ungvár),6 2

  For the expansion of Catholicism in east central Europe, see Olivier Chaline, La reconquête catholique de l’ Europe Centrale. XVIe–XVIIIe siècle (Paris, 1998). For the union of the Romanians with the Church of Rome, see Bernath, Habsburgii, pp. 73–108; Ovidiu Ghitta, Naşterea unei biserici. Biserica greco-catolică din Sătmar în primul ei secol de existenţă (1667– 1761) [The Birth of a Church. The Greek-Catholic Church of Sătmar in its First Century of Existence (1667–1761)] (Cluj-Napoca, 2001); Greta-Monica Miron, Biserica greco-catolică din Transilvania în secolul al XVIII-lea. Cler şi enoriaşi. 1697–1782 [The Greek-Catholic Church of Transylvania in the Eighteenth Century. Clergy and Congregations] (Cluj-Napoca, 2004), pp. 31–53; William O. Oldson, The Politics of Rite: Jesuit, Uniate, and Romanian Ethnicity in Eighteenth Century Transylvania (New York, NY, 2005). 3   Nicolaus Nilles, Symbolae ad illustrandam Historiam Ecclesiae Universalis in Terris Coronae S. Stephani (Oeniponte, 1885), vol. 1, pp. 224–7. 4   Ibid., pp. 292–301. 5   For the Union of Brest, see Boris Gudziak, Crisis and Reform: The Kyivan Metropolitanate, the Patriarchate of Constantinople and the Genesis of the Union of Brest (Cambridge, MA, 1998); Boris Gudziak, ‘The Ruthenian Bishops in Rome: Visit and Stay’, in Johann Marte (ed), Internationales Forschungsgespräch der Stiftung Pro Oriente zur Brester union (Würzburg, 2005), pp. 14–25; see too the essays in Johann Marte (ed.), Internationales Forschungsgespräch der Stiftung Pro Oriente zur Brester Union (Würzburg, 2004); Sophia Senyk, ‘The Union of Brest: An Evaluation’, in Bert Groen and Wil van der Bercken (eds), Four Hundred Years Union of Brest (1596–1996): A Critical Re-Evaluation (Leuven, 1998), pp. 1–16; Sophia Senyk, ‘Vicissitudes de l’union de Brest au XVIIe siècle’, Irénikon, 65 (1992), 462–87; Ambroise Jobert, De Luther à Mohila. La Pologne dans la crise de la chrétienté. 1517–1648 (Paris, 1974), pp. 322–43. 6   On the union of Užhorod, see Athanasius B. Pekar, The History of the Church in Carpathian Rus (New York, NY, 1992), pp. 19–70; for a comparative analysis of the unions

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the Romanian clergy who participated in the synods (bishop, archpriests and priests) imposed the condition of preserving unchanged the rites, the calendar, the customs and the laws of the Eastern Church. Consequently, two concepts regarding the union were developed, focusing on the relationship of the new church with the Catholic one: the Florentine model, understood as an equal partnership between the two churches,7 backed and promoted by the Romanian bishops (Teofil and Atanasie); and the Tridentine model, forged by Jesuit circles and supported by Cardinal Leopold Kollonich, the architect of the Transylvanian union, which aimed to integrate and gradually assimilate the Uniate within the Catholic Church.8 Given that from the beginning of the existence of the new church two possible directions of development were outlined, one attached to the eastern tradition and the other a Latinizing one, identity became a central issue for the Uniate Church, especially for its hierarchy. This issue became increasingly crucial as the Uniate Church was, soon after its birth, threatened by competition from the Orthodox of Moldavia and Wallachia and those from Arad and the lands of the Serbs.9 The two Orthodox movements directed against the union – that of the Serbian monk Visarion Sarai (1744)10 and that of the monk Sofronie of Brest, Užhorod and Transylvania, see Enrico Morini, ‘L’identità delle Chiese Orientali Cattoliche. Prospettive Storiche’, in Morini (ed.), L’identità delle Chiese Orientali Cattoliche (Rome, 1999), pp. 35–69. 7   Joseph Gill, The Council of Florence (Cambridge, 1959); Oskar Halecki, ‘From Florence to Brest (1439–1596)’, Sacrum Poloniae Millennium, 5 (1958), 13–444. For the details of the unions with the Church of Rome, see Cesare Alzati, ‘Patriarcato Occidentale e identità delle Chiese Unite’, in Nicolae Bocşan, Ana Victoria Sima and Ion Cârja (eds), Identităţi confesionale în Europa Central- Orientală (secolele XVII–XXI) [Confessional Identitites in East Central Europe (Seventeenth to Twenty-First Centuries)] (Cluj-Napoca, 2009), pp. 17–31. 8   Relevant for this concept concerning the union is the so-called ‘union-scheme’ produced by the Jesuit Francisc Ravasz in 1687 at the request of Cardinal Kollonich: Nilles, Symbolae, vol. 2, pp. 780–86. Among Kollonich’s actions which highlight his attachment to the union according to the Tridentine model one must note his insistence on the reordination of Atanasie Anghel as a bishop, the institution of the office of theologian (generally filled by a Jesuit) with the role of controlling the Uniate bishop, and his request that priests should produce professions of faith according to the Tridentine formula: ibid., vol. 1, pp. 325–7. 9   Keith Hitchins, ‘Identity and Religion: the Romanian Orthodox of Transylvania and the Orthodox Commonwealth, 1730s–1750s’, in Argatu Calinic, Constantin, episcopul Argeşului şi Muncelului, Moraru Alexandru, Vasile Raus and Vasile Coţia (eds), Slujitor al bisericii şi al neamului [Servant of the Church and Nation] (Cluj-Napoca, 2002), pp. 336–44. 10   A monk of Serbian origin, Visarion had wandered through part of southwest Transylvania in the spring of 1744, goading the faithful to refuse the sacraments administered by Uniate priests and saying that the latter were not ‘real priests’. For his movement, see too Keith Hitchins, ‘The Court of Vienna and Confessional Problems in Transylvania, 1744–1759’, Annales Universitatis Apulensis. Series Historica, 1 (2007), 252–68.

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(1759–1761)11 – further stimulated the interest of the Uniate elite, namely that of the Basilian monks, for the forging of Greek-Catholic confessional identity and, more importantly, for devising the most effective means of disseminating it among the faithful. Parallel to these events, developments at institutional level also played a part in strengthening the union and in the growth of the Uniate Church. During the first six decades of the eighteenth century, the episcopal residence was established at Blaj, a printing press became operational (1747), the first schools opened their doors (1754), a diocesan seminary was set up (1760) and two monasteries were founded.12 The first monastery, dedicated to the Trinity, was established in 1747 as a royal foundation, while the second, dedicated to the Annunciation, was established in 1762 as an episcopal foundation.13 Concerning the other monasteries in the diocese,14 the evidence provides a discouraging image. The earliest known statistical evaluation, drawn in 1748 – albeit a partial one referring only to the district of Făgăraş

11   The intensity of the movements against the union determined Maria Theresa to appoint on 13 July 1761 an Orthodox bishop for Transylvania, namely Dionisie Novacovici: Silviu Dragomir, Istoria desrobirei religioase a românilor din Ardeal în secolul XVIII [The History of the Religious Liberation of the Transylvanian Romanians in the Eighteenth Century] (2 vols, Sibiu, 1920, 1930), vol. 2, pp. 247–54. 12   The bishopric kept its title as stated in the diploma of canonization of 1721, that is the bishopric of Făgăraş, even after 1737 when the episcopal residence moved to Blaj. 13   On the beginnings of Basilian monasticism in the Uniate diocese of Făgăraş, little is known until the founding the Trinity monastery in 1747. The first to join the Uniate Basilian order (that we have information about) were Bishop Ioan Patachi and his spiritual heir Ioan Micu, who, after one year spent as a novice at Mukačevo took his vows on 25 September 1730: Octavian Bârlea, ‘Ostkirchliche Tradition und westlicher Katholizismus. Die Rumänische Unierte Kirche zwischen 1713–1727’, Acta Historica, 6 (1966), 1–129, especially 117; Zenovie Pâclişanu, ‘Istoria Bisericii române unite’ [The History of the Romanian Uniate Church], part 1, 1697–1751, Perspective, 65–8 (1994–1995), 1–392, especially 232. For Basilian monasticism, see C.H. Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism: Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages (London, 1993), pp. 8–10; Agnès Gerhards, Dictionnaire Historique des Ordres Religieux (Paris, 1998), pp. 82–3. 14   For the historiography on this issue, see Ioan Raţiu, ‘Din trecutul ordinului basilitan’ [From the Past of the Basilian Order], Anuarul Institutelor de învăţământ grecocatolice din Blaj pe anul şcolar 1911–1912 [The Annual of the Educational Institutions of Blaj for the Academic Year 1911–1912] (1912), pp. 1–61; Zenovie Pâclişanu, ‘Vechile mănăstiri româneşti din Ardeal’ [The Old Romanian Monasteries of Transylvania], Cultura Creştină, 7–8 (1919), 151–70; George Mânzat, ‘Vechile mănăstiri din ţinutul Someşului’ [The Old Monasteries of the Someş Region], Cultura Creştină, 10 (1936), 583–91; Ştefan Meteş, Mănăstirile româneşti din Transilvania şi Ungaria [The Romanian Monasteries of Transylvania and Hungary] (Sibiu, 1936); A.A. Rusu (ed.) Dicţionarul mănăstirilor din Transilvania, Banat, Crişana şi Maramureş [The Dictionary of the Monasteries of Transylvania, Banat, Crişana and Maramureş] (Cluj-Napoca, 2000).

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– mentions 20 Uniate monasteries.15 However, these establishments seemed to be sparsely and randomly populated. Moreover, discipline standards seem to have been lax, while the life of the monks was riddled by hardship. Some of the monasteries were almost deserted: in the one in Breaza de Jos there lived only one blind elderly nun, while at Lisa there lived an old monk who was looked after by his children and by another monk who went out begging every day. In the following decades many of the monasteries in this region became Orthodox in the wake of Sofronie’s movement and the actions against the union.16 However, all of the monasteries, whether Uniate or Orthodox, were impacted on by the decree of 1761 through which the general commander of Transylvania, Adolf Buccow, ordered the destruction of some Romanian monasteries of Transylvania.17 In the Făgăraş region this decree was implemented by order of Count Miklόs Bethlen on 13 June 1761 and consequently only one monastery was left in the area, the Orthodox one of Sâmbăta de Sus.18 The arguments presented by Transylvanian government officials concerning the destructions they were involved in were not just confessional in nature, but also of a juridicial nature. Many monasteries, they argued, did not posess founding documents, while their building trespassed rights of property. The authorities also suggested that some monasteries threatened public safety as they were deeemed to be places of refuge for thieves and fugitives.19 These arguments convinced the Empress Maria 15

  Three other monasteries were Orthodox ones (Şinca de Jos, Şinca de Sus and Sâmbăta de Sus). In the 23 monasteries there lived at the time 70 monks and 41 nuns. Some lived by begging; others kept beehives and raised livestock. The most prosperous seems to have been a monk from the Scoreiu monastery who owned four oxen, two horses, eight cows, four heifers, 40 sheep, 12 pigs and 15 beehives: Augustin Bunea, Episcopii Petru Paul Aron şi Dionisiu Novacovici sau istoria românilor transilvăneni de la 1751 până la 1764 [The Bishops Petru Paul Aron and Dionisiu Novacovici or the History of the Transylvanian Romanians from 1751 to 1764] (Blaj, 1902), pp. 231–5; Pâclişanu, ‘Vechile mănăstiri româneşti din Ardeal’, p. 153. 16   Thus, in 1761 there were only three Uniate and 27 Orthodox monasteries in the Făgăraş region. 17   Bunea, Episcopii Petru Paul Aron, p. 226. 18   The Orthodox monastery at Sâmbăta de Sus was founded by the Prince of Wallachia. The explanation offered by the authorities for its preservation was that it was the only one that posssesed foundation documents. The reasons may also have been political, namely maintaining good relations with the founder’s family, Brâncoveanu. We do not know the exact dates for the destruction of the other monasteries; however, in 1767, the year a report was sent to the empress by the officials of the district concerning the fate of the monasteries and the lands they had held, the monasteries no longer existed. Magyar Országos Levéltár (MOL), B2. Acta generalia, rola 34252, no. 24/1768, pp. 314–24. 19   The arguments were presented in a document addressed by the government officials to the Viennese court on 10 December 1767: MOL, B2. Acta generalia, rola 34252, no. 24/1768, pp. 329–34.

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Theresa to support the continuation of the demolitions through the decree of 6 February 1768 addressed to the Transylvanian government which decided on the destruction of the monasteries deprived of special privileges, such as those located in woods and on isolated roads.20 The act indicates the empress’s wish that monasteries, which were to be built in future within the Uniate diocese only with her consent, should play a different role in Romanian society from that which they had previously held. Monasteries were not intended to be places of refuge, far from the ordinary world, but rather foundations which through their location would be in the midst of communities. Even though we do not know how many monasteries were destroyed in the entire diocese in the wake of these decrees, it is certain that their number did gradually decrease: in 1766 there were 40 Uniate monasteries in this diocese,21 in 1770, 36,22 while in 1774 there remained only 34 monasteries and 24 monks, 11 monasteries having been abandoned.23 The last statistic highlights a frail monastic life within the diocese, sustained by a few monks: more than a quarter of the total number of monasteries were empty. The precarious living conditions, combined with the opportunities offered by the school system, may account for this situation. The village primary schools, created through the initiative of the political authority, represented for the teacher monks an alternative to life within the monasteries.24 Priests and deacons took up residence in some of the monasteries which had been abandoned by the monks, a sign that their activity was focused on performing religious services for the laity living in the vicinity.25 20

  In the published version of the document the privileges requested are not specified: Bunea, Episcopii Petru Paul Aron, p. 337. 21   The figure of 40 monasteries is mentioned by Filotei Laszlo in his report of 20 September 1766: Archivio della Congregazione di Propaganda Fide (ACPF), Rome, Scritture riferite nei Congressi. Greci di Croazia, Dalmazia, Schiavonia, Transilvania e Ungheria dal 1649 al 1760, 2, f. 255r. 22   Arhivele Naţionale Direcţia Judeţeană Cluj [The National Archives for the District of Cluj] (ANDJC), Document Collection Blaj, no. 514. 23   ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 362; Zenovie Pâclişanu, ‘Istoria Bisericii române unite’, part 2, 1752–1783, Perspective, 53–60 (1991–1993), 114–15. 24   One such example is that of the hegumen of the monastery of Monor (county of Cluj), who left the monastery in 1766 in order to become a teacher in the state school: Susana Andea and Avram Andea (eds), Transilvania. Ierarhi şi monahi [Transylvania. Hierarchs and Monks] (Cluj-Napoca, 2008), pp. 154–5. Consequently, in the report of 1774 refering to the monasteries of this diocese, the monastery is mentioned as uninhabited, without any monks: ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 362. 25   This happened in the case of three monasteries in the county of Cluj, namely Sânmărtin, Milaş and Şopteriu, concerning which the archpriest wrote in February 1783: ‘la ceaste trei mănăstiri niciun călugăr monah nu să află, fără numai cîte un popă de liturghie, şi câte un diiac şi câte o babă care să-i spele’ [‘in these three monasteries there is no monk,

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Monastic churches became complementary to parish ones which had proven to be insufficient for the growing population, offering the faithful the pastoral care they needed. These developments lead one to believe that Josephine reformism in this area, which aimed to destroy monasteries which did not serve useful purposes within society and in the parishes, such as the provision of education, did not have significant impact.26 The Josephine decree of 12 January 1782 came to reinforce the tendency to make monasteries subservient to the communities which had become manifest in the Uniate diocese during the 1760s and 1770s.27 Following the implementation of the decree 19 monasteries were allowed to function, considered necessary for ‘the care of souls and the education of the children’.28 This was a new and decisive step in the trend initiated by Maria Theresa, to place the monasteries in the service of public good. If the image offered by the monasteries dispersed through the diocese is one of poverty and destitution, in the episcopal residence the situation was different. The monks who resided there played an important role in the process of institutionalization and identity-building. They gradually replaced the representatives of the secular clergy in the leadership of the diocese. From 1745 the vicar general was no longer appointed from among the archpriests, but rather from among the Basilian monks. Starting in 1767, the latter occupied permanent positions in the consistory. They were also the teachers in the schools in the episcopal residence. Through education and the offices they filled, they constituted the elite of Romanian Transylvanian society, who by the end of the century were disseminating the ideas of the Enlightenment. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that their role in strengthening the union and in disseminating the discourse intended to forge the identity of the Uniate Church was essential.29 This was already apparent during the negotiations for the only a priest perfoming the liturgy, a deacon, and an old woman to do the washing’]: Daniel Dumitran, Un timp al reformelor. Biserica greco-catolică din Transilvania sub conducerea episcopului Ioan Bob (1782–1830) [A Time of Reforms. The Greek-Catholic Church of Transylvania under the Leadership of Bishop Ioan Bob (1782–1830)] (Cluj-Napoca, 2007), p. 80. 26   For Theresian and Josephine reformism in ecclesiastical matters and its implementation in Austria and Hungary, see Derek Beales, Joseph II: Against the World. 1780–1790 (Cambridge, 2009), vol. 2, pp. 271–306; Derek Beales, Prosperity and Plunder: European Catholic Monasteries in the Age of Revolution, 1650–1815 (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 179–228; Derek Beales, Enlightenment and Reform in Eighteenth Century Europe (London, 2005), pp. 227–55. 27   The decree of 12 January 1782 was detailed for the Transylvanian authorities through a new aulic decree, that of September 1782: Dumitran, Un timp al reformelor, pp. 76–7. 28   Ibid. 29   For the history of Basilian monks in the Uniate diocese during the eighteenth century, see Pompiliu Teodor, ‘Le monachisme et l’Église uniate’, in Donato Giordano (ed.),

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founding of the Holy Trinity monastery of Blaj. Each of the parties involved expressed their opinions concerning the mission of the monastic body which was to be established in the episcopal residence. Through the canonization act of 1721, the papacy designed an important role for monks in the running of the Uniate diocese, modelled on Catholic examples, especially that of chapter canons.30 In order to avoid offending the sensibilities of the Uniate and in agreement with the instructions of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide of 1669, the letter consented that the monks should care for the upkeep of the specificity of the Uniate Church through the promotion of the Greek rite. The recommendation of the papacy was taken on board by Bishop Inochentie Micu Klein who, in order to obtain the funds necessary for institutional expansion, requested the help of Charles VI in 1731. In the memo addressed to the emperor, the bishop outlined the profile of an elite monastic group which was supposed to become involved in the leadership of the Uniate Church and in the dissemination of the union to the benefit of the political authority. The Basilian monks, wrote the bishop, would build a chapter of canons who would administer the diocese during episcopal vacancies, contribute to the education of the faithful and be the main propagators of the union in the diocese through missions and conversions. In order to become more convincing to the Viennese court he emphasized the political aim of the monks’ actions: consolidation of the monarchy through the spread of Catholicism in its Greek version and through incessant prayers for the House of Austria.31 If the bishop specified the role of the monks in relation to the desires of the Roman curia and the Viennese court, the local clergy invested the monks with the role of fulfilling the programme forged in the first years of the negotiations for the union: they were to defend the rights of the clergy and of the laity of the Romanian nation in general, and establish themselves as a group sensitive to the ecclesiastical and political needs of Romanian society.32 Symptomatic of the threat of Latinization which loomed large over the Uniate clergy was the wish that the monastery Il ruolo del monachesimo nell’ecumenismo (Siena, 2002), pp. 129–37. The issue of defining the identity of the Uniate Church has been discussed in Romanian historiography especially during the last two decades. See Ciprian Ghişa, Biserica greco-catolică din Transilvania (1700– 1850). Elaborarea discursului identitar [The Greek-Catholic Church of Transylvania (1700– 1850). The Development of Identity Discourses] (Cluj-Napoca, 2006). 30   Nilles, Symbolae, vol. 1, p. 435. 31   Ibid., vol. 2, p. 533. 32   The local clergy, priests and archpriests who attended the general synod of 1738 had a say in the matter of the role of the monastery, especially since they were expected to contribute financially to its construction. It was decided by the synod that the clergy would contribute the sum of 25,000 florins over a period of five years: Ioan Micu-Moldovanu, Acte

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would host only Basilian monks. However, the participants at the synod also requested that the monastery should enjoy the same privileges as Catholic ones. Eastern by rite and Catholic by privilege was how the Uniate clergy saw the Basilian monks. The principal deciding factor, the Emperor Charles VI, saw the monks of the future monastery from the episcopal residence as clerics who would be involved in public life, and useful to society through their role in educating broader segments of society for the benefit of the union. In the opinion of the emperor, the monks were intended to be men of exemplary moral conduct, erudite citizens able to function in the public sphere, and familiar with the languages used in the principality.33 In order to reach this level of moral conduct and education, three monks were supposed to be sent annually to study in Rome. In the view of those involved in the founding of the monastery, the monks were intended to become more easily identifiable with the Catholic clergy through the offices they filled (especially that of canon). They were to form a privileged body through both education and status, and to play an important role in the Uniate Church and in Romanian society in general. However, establishing an elite group proved to be a difficult task for the Uniate bishops – and was certainly a lengthy project, as suggested by the dynamics of entries into the monastery. Following the pattern of recruitment to the monastery of royal foundation, Sfânta Treime (The Holy Trinity), one notices that monastic life at Blaj started slowly, in itself proof that this career was not attractive to the young. The crisis within the hierarchy of the diocese,34 followed by the interdiction to send new students to Rome as decreed by Maria Theresa,35 may have been other reasons that kept the young away from monasticism. To the sinodali ale baserecei romane de Alb’a Iulia sî Fogarasiu [The Synodal Acts of the Romanian Church of Alba Iulia and Făgăraş] (2 vols, Blaj, 1869), vol. 2, pp. 93–4. 33   Charles VI expressed his opinion concerning the profile of the Basilian monks in his act of 21 August 1738, through which he endowed the bishopric with the Blaj estate and thus doubled the diocesan income. He described them as: ‘viros imprimis dictam Unionem verbis et operibus profitentes, vitae irreprehensibilis, eruditione claros, moribus exemplaribus praeditos, linguarum plurium gnaros, clero et populo unito, exemplo bono praeituros recipere’, Nilles, Symbolae, vol. 2, pp. 537–8. 34   Bishop Inochentie Micu had left the diocese in 1744 and escaped to Rome, where he arrived in January 1745. Displeased with the bishop’s behaviour, Empress Maria Theresa forbade him from returning to his diocese and pressured him to renounce the episcopal office. The bishop eventually abdicated in 1751. For the Roman exile of the bishop, see Francisc Pall, Inochentie Micu-Klein. Exilul la Roma 1745–1768 [Inochentie Micu Klein. The Roman Exile 1745–1768] (3 vols, Cluj-Napoca, 1997). 35   The tense situation between the Viennese court and Bishop Inochentie Micu had determined the empress not to accept the dispatch of new students to Rome. There was only one exception to this rule in those years: Filotei Laszlo, who had studied philosophy

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three monks with whom the monastery opened its gates in 1747 was soon added a Greek monk from the isle of Naxos, Leontie Mosconas.36 Until 1756, however, only two more monks joined the monastery: Atanasie Rednic in 1750 and Filotei Laszlo in 1756. It seemed to be difficult to find young men willing and capable of achievement in a mostly poor and illiterate world. Establishing schools in the diocese seemed to make this task easier. Consequently, the rhythm of entries intensified between 1758 and 1761, probably because graduates from the Blaj schools (opened in 1754) or of Catholic colleges became interested in obtaining scholarships to study outside the diocese.37 Becoming a monk was a compulsory condition for this. The founding of a diocesan seminary in 1760, together with the opening of a second monastery in the episcopal residence, may also have led to the enhancement of monasticism. The five monks who opened the Annunciation monastery in 1762 were recruited from among the seminary students, and were no older than 16. Following this institutional development, monastic life was effervescent in the 1760s.38 Gradually the status of monk was coveted by educated young men, eager to assert themselves in the Uniate Church. Strengthened in its numbers, the group of Basilian monks from the episcopal residence reached their most glorious period in the 1760s and 1770s, only to diminish gradually later under the influence of Imperial reformism in the realm of education and ecclesiastical life.39 The Viennese court supported the training of the between 1753 and 1756 at the Urban College. See Pâclişanu, ‘Istoria Bisericii române unite’, part 2, p. 51. 36   These three, Grigorie Maior, Silvestru Caliani and Gherontie Cotore, had finished their novitiates at the Basilian monastery of Mukačevo, where Bishop Inochentie Micu had also completed his: Pâclişanu, ‘Istoria Bisericii române unite’, part 1, p. 270. 37   Ibid., part 2, pp. 59–60. 38   During the episcopacy of Atanasie Rednic (1764–1770) 13 men became monks: Meteş, Mănăstirile româneşti din Transilvania şi Ungaria, pp. 21–2. 39   In 1764 there were six teaching monks in the Holy Trinity monastery, dedicated to the translation of the philosophical and theological works of St Damascene: ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 437, f. 2r. According to a report signed on 8 June 1766 by the provost of the Holy Trinity monastery, Filotei Laszlo, the following personnel were supported from the income of the monastery: four monks (these resided in the monastery at the time – the provost; Silvestru Caliani, the confessor; and Iacob Aaron and Alexiu Mureşan, both teachers); five teaching clergymen (of whom three were studying in Rome and one at Tirnavia); five novices and 22 fellows: MOL, B1. Acta generalia, rola 34253, no. 68/1769, p. 380. By the Theresian decree of 18 April 1773 it was decided to compile a list of all the monks, students and laity from each monastery and religious house in Transylvania, of all confessions, together with all their property (real estate, foundations, benefits, scholarships, income from collections, donations). It was requested that the number of members of a religious house involved in the care of souls would be registered, as would the number of those exercising ecclesiastical office in the neighbouring areas. The mendicant orders were required to provide a correct report in which to indicate the annual

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secular clergy, who would act at the same time as useful agents of the state, opening new horizons for the young who wished to study without becoming monks. In this sense, the court reorganized in 1775 the St Barbara Institute, destined to train the Greek-Catholic secular clergy of the empire.40 The importance afforded by the political authority to the secular clergy, and the growth in general of opportunities offered to the young who were eager to learn, led to a decrease in the number and importance of Basilian monks in the Uniate Church.41 Thus, in 1777, the two monasteries from the episcopal residence merged and gradually the monks became fewer in number: in 1796 in the monastery there were seven Basilian monks; by 1804, only five and by 1806, just three.42 Although it had a rather short life, the Basilian order made its mark on the destiny of the Uniate Church. Many of the monks conformed to the profile outlined by Charles VI in the years of the foundation of the Holy Trinity monastery. The intellectual profile of the Basilian monks had important consequences for their confessional identity. A student of the Catholic colleges of Transylvania, especially of the Jesuit College of Cluj, or of the school at Blaj; a student in philosophy and/or theology at Rome, at the Urban College of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, at sum used for the upkeep of a ‘religious’, including food and clothing, as well as money used to meet other needs. The statistics put together by the provost of the Holy Trinity monastery, Filotei Laszlo, in answer to this request of the empress and dated 12 January 1774 noted the following personnel: ten clergymen who lived in the monastery and three who lived outside it; two students in the monastery and three outside it; a layperson who resided in the monastery, two novices and 20 fellows who lived in the monastery: ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, nos 560, 566. 40   For the names of the 23 fellows from Blaj at St Barbara College, see Iacob Mârza, Şcoală şi naţiune. Şcolile din Blaj în epoca renaşterii naţionale [School and Nation. The Schools of Blaj in the Time of National Rebirth] (Cluj-Napoca, 1987), pp. 74–8. For the rules of the seminary and the studies of the Romanians outside the diocese, see I. Zoltán Tóth, Primul secol al naţionalismului românesc ardelean 1697–1792 [The First Century of Transylvanian Romanian Nationalism 1697–1792] (Bucharest, 2001), pp. 273–80. For the history of the seminary, see Willibald Plöchl, ‘Sankt Barbara zu Wien. Die Geschichte der griechischkatholischen Kirche und Zentralpfarre St. Barbara’, Kirche und Recht. Beihefte zum Österr. Archiv für Kirchenrecht, 13 (1975), 1–262; 14 (1975), 1–219. 41   Educational opportunities diversified in Transylvania through the foundation in 1784 of the Military Institute at Năsăud. During the last decade of the eighteenth century the institute had approximately 150 students each year: Remus Câmpeanu, Intelectualitatea română din Transilvania în veacul al XVIII-lea [The Romanian Intellectuals of Transylvania in the Eighteenth Century] (Cluj-Napoca, 1999), pp. 129–30, 253–4. 42   Between 1788 and 1790 some monks were obliged to leave the monastery building which had been occupied by the military hospital: Dumitran, Un timp al reformelor, p. 237. For the situation of the Basilian order in the Habsburg monarchy in the mid-nineteenth century and the attempts of the Holy See to reinvigorate it, see Ana Victoria Sima, ‘Ordinul bazilitan în Imperiul austriac la mijlocul secolului al XIX-lea’ [The Basilian Order in the Austrian Empire in the Mid-Nineteenth Century], Cultura Creştină, 1–2/6 (2003), 251–8.

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Tirnavia or at Vienna (the Pazmaneum Institute or the University) – the Basilian monk was ready for an important career within the Uniate Church.43 Basilian monks later became bishops, but also occupied offices such as vicar or consistory member.44 From these influential positions they developed the discourse intended to forge the confessional identity of the Uniate Church, essential in ensuring the fidelity of the priests and the faithful, and in persuading them not to abandon the union or – if they had already abandoned it – to return to it. Consequently, they were the authors of a polemic literature, intended to shape confessional identity, produced in response to Orthodox propaganda and focused on explaining the Florentine concept of union.45 The literary and intellectual discourse intended to shape identity was associated with a prosaic one focused on behaviour and daily life. Through their attire the monks transmitted signals related to their identity. Discussions regarding clothing, diet and behaviour within monastic life were equally relevant for the self-image they wished to project within society at large, as well as for their opinions concerning issues of political identity. Thus, in the episcopal residence two views 43   Between 1757 and 1758 three students of the Jesuit College of Cluj entered the monastery and took vows. These were Meletie Neagoe, a priest’s son who took his vows on 15 August 1757, and Iacob Aaron and Alexie Mureşan, who took their vows in 1758: I. Zoltán Tóth, Primul secol al naţionalismului românesc ardelean 1697–1792, p. 240. 44   One of the examples could be that of Grigorie Maior: in 1737 he attended the rhetoric class at the Jesuit College of Cluj; between 1740 and 1747 he studied philosophy and theology at the Urban College of the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide and defended a doctoral thesis in Newtonian philosophy; and in 1747 he joined the Holy Trinity monastery. In 1754, the year of its opening, he was the principal of the Latin school of Blaj, where he taught languages and sciences and also acted as a librarian. Between 1759 and 1762 he was the provost of the monastery, while in 1765, because he had led the opposition of the clergy to the appointment of Atanasie Rednic as bishop, he was sent to do penance outside the diocese, to the monastery of Mukačevo. He was freed in 1770 by Emperor Joseph II and appointed censor at the Illiric printing press at Vienna (1771–1772). After ten years as a bishop (1772–1782) he was pressured to abandon the episcopal dignity and retired until his death, in January 1785, to the monastery Maieri near Alba Iulia. 45   This literature comprised catechisms and works of doctrinal edification such as Floarea adevărului [The Flower of Truth] (Blaj, 1750) and Dogmatica învăţătură [The Dogmatic Teachings] (Blaj, 1760). For an analysis of this literature, see Pompiliu Teodor, ‘The Romanians from Transylvania between the Tradition of the Eastern Church, the Counter Reformation and the Catholic Reformation’, in Maria Crăciun and Ovidiu Ghitta (eds), Ethnicity and Religion in Central and Eastern Europe (Cluj-Napoca, 1995), pp. 175–86; Cristian Barta, ‘Studiu istorico-teologic’ [Historical and Theological Study], in Meda Diana Hotea (ed.), Floarea adevărului. Dogmatica învăţătură [The Flower of Truth. Dogmatic Teachings] (Cluj-Napoca, 2004), pp. 9–54; Ovidiu Ghitta, ‘Pânea pruncilor – context istoric, discurs şi mize’[The Bread of the Infants – Historical Context, Discourse and Goals], in Florina Iliş (ed.), Pânea pruncilor sau învăţătura credinţii creştineşti strînsă în mică şumă [The Bread of the Infants or the Short Teaching of the Christian Faith] (Cluj-Napoca, 2008), pp. 7–95.

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were formed concerning the image of the monk: one of the ascetic, with his body mortified by fasting, dressed in simple monastic garb as a sign of his modesty; and another of the monk who wished to express through his attire and lifestyle his inclusion in an elitist group. Behind these images stood two conceptions, ultimately related to the identity of the Uniate Church. The representatives of one view clamoured for unfailing respect of the Eastern tradition, while the others believed that the Eastern tradition could be adapted to Greek-Catholic models. Consequently, in the monasteries of Blaj two divergent opinions were configured regarding the organization of monastic life. One was supported by the first monks from the Holy Trinity monastery, Grigorie Maior and Silvestru Caliani, who had chosen a moderate dietary regime after the example of the Ruthenian Basilian monastery where they had been novices.46 Remembering his novitiate at Mukačevo, Silvestru Caliani stated that both the bishop and the novices ate meat, while in the Basilian monastery of Beresna the monks consumed dairy products: consequently it seemed to him appropriate that the diet at Blaj should be similar and be comprised of meat and dairy. After they asked the opinion of the superior from Mukačevo, who refused to judge on this matter, the monks addressed themselves to Bishop Inochentie Micu, still the legitimate authority despite his exile in Rome, who accepted that the diet of the monks could include dairy products.47 The monks also expressed their point of view in the matter of clothing, tending to wear on top of their surplice, instead of the monastic habit, a coat trimmed with marten; on their head, instead of the customary eastern headgear, they wore a simple cap. These views, which attempted to model the internal life of the monastery on the example of other Uniate monasteries of the empire, were not shared by Bishops Petru Pavel Aaron and Atanasie Rednic, the promoters of traditionalism. For Bishop Aaron, monastic life had to be defined by asceticism, humility in demeanour and attitude, obedience and respect.48 He was aware of the ascetic constraints, fundamental for a monk, of fasting and chastity, which he also considered the means to make progress in spiritual life. Even if he did not explicitly define his views concerning 46

  Abstinence from meat had been abandoned by Ruthenian monks in the middle of the seventeenth century, supported by law in 1667 by a rule which allowed consumption of meat three times a week: Sophia Senyk, ‘Rutskj’s Reform and Orthodox Monasticism: A Comparison. Eastern Rite Monasticism in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the Seventeenth Century’, Orientalia Christiana Periodica, 48 (1982), 406–30, especially 419. 47   These opinions were expressed in a report concerning the problems of the monastery written on 27 June 1772 by Silvestru Caliani for the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide: ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 566; ACPF, Greci di Croazia, vol. 2, f. 421. 48   ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 236.

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life in the monastic community, from the regime he suggested it transpires that he would have wished to impose in the Blaj monastery a monasticism that was close to that of the first centuries, for which the cardinal virtues were tenderness, kindness, humility, purity of heart, obedience to God and respect for the Holy Scriptures, the rules of the order and one’s superiors.49 Bishop Aaron had proven to be an adept of the idea that control over and disciplining of the body through fasting were universal therapies against evil inclinations, ways besides prayer to prevail in all circumstances.50 He was himself an example, renowned for the fact that during his episcopacy he continuously wore an iron belt, or girdle, across his middle and above his elbows. He also supposedly fasted like the monks of early Christian times, was reputed to sleep no longer than four hours each night, and was known for a strict regime of personal prayer and refusal to abandon his monastic habit.51 Aaron imposed his views on monastic life in the Annunciation monastery, which was his own foundation. The regime comprised a strict diet consisting only of vegetables, while the clothing consisted of a monastic habit worn over a surplice with traditional eastern headgear.52 It seems that for the first monks, on the threshold of adolescence, it was very difficult to bear the dietary regime. Some became ill, while one of them died because of physical weakness. It seems that the bishop wished to put into practice the formula from Mark’s Gospel, according to which some demons cannot be banished except through prayer and fasting, and which had been implemented literally in the deserts of Egypt.53 At least this was the opinion of Samuil Micu who, remembering the monastic regime he had experienced himself under Bishop Aaron, wrote that the

49   For the monasticism of early centuries, see Sergio Casali, ‘Il monachesimo delle origini tra conoscenza di sé e paternità spirituale: Antonio e Pachomio’, Studia monastica, 48 (2006), 25–58. For the monastic tradition adopted by Basil the Great, see Jean Robert Pouchet, ‘Basilio e la tradizione monastica’, in Donato Giordano (ed.) Tradizione monastica e monachesimo contemporaneo (Siena, 1997), pp. 11–34. 50   For this meaning of fasting, see Jacques Paul, Biserica şi societatea în Occident. Secolele IX–XII [Church and Society in the West. Ninth to Twelfth Centuries] (2 vols, Bucharest, 1996), vol. 2, p. 372. 51   Samuil Micu, Istoria românilor, ed. Ioan Chindriş (2 vols, Bucharest, 1995), vol. 2, pp. 341, 342. 52   The regime described by Samuil Micu is as follows: vegetables only; on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays there was no dinner; for lunch they only had peas, beans and lentils, boiled without any oil and no fruit; on Sundays they had vegetables cooked with oil; they drank only water: ibid., p. 338. 53   Paul, Biserica şi societatea în Occident, vol. 2, p. 372; the passage in the Gospel according to Mark which the author refers to is Mark 9: 12.

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hierarch was ‘striving to turn this public monastery into the Egyptian desert’.54 The heir of Aaron, Atanasie Rednic, was also attached to the principles of early Christian monasticism.55 Like his predecessor he was a living example of asceticism and modesty through his attire and his diet: he never wore silk clothing, he ate only vegetables and he ‘wished to turn the whole world into monks and to subject them all to a hard life’, in the opinion of the same Samuil Micu.56 The latter emphasized the attachment of the bishop to the Eastern tradition, stating that ‘he suffered Latinization not in his ecclesiastical clothing, nor in ceremonies, nor in anything else’.57 In order to be more persuasive among the monks who were little inclined to such a severe regime, the bishop also worked towards their instruction and theoretical edification. Proof is provided by the fact that in 1768 a 500-page volume was published by the printing press of Blaj comprising the ascetic works of the saints Pahomie, Dosoftei and Theodore Studite.58 Also, in order to ensure that future monks would be familiar with the theoretical frameworks of the monastic regime, in 1769 he introduced a series of lectures for the novices concerning the rules of Basil the Great, to be given on fast days, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.59 The bishop was interested in outlining for the monks a modern programme of instruction which would be formative for their identity as Basilian monks.

54

  Micu, Istoria românilor, vol. 2, p. 331.   He not only retained the rules of his predecessor, but he also succeeded in extending them to the monastery of royal foundation, probably taking advantage of the fact that the veteran monks who could have opposed him had been punished. The three monks who had been in the monastery since its beginnings – Grigorie Maior, Gherontie Cotore and Silvestru Caliani – were punished after they had opposed the empress’s appointment of Bishop Atanasie Rednic. The first was sent to do penance at the monastery of Mukačevo; the second remained in the diocese, but at the monastery of Nicula; and the third stayed at Blaj, but he occupied for a while the position of porter: Greta Miron, ‘Un episod din viaţa lui Gigorie Maior. Penitenţa la Muncaci’ [An Episode in the Life of Grigorie Maior. The Penance at Muncaci], in Nicolae Bocşan, Ana Victoria Sima and Ioan Cârja (eds), Identităţi confesionale în Europa central-orientală (secolele XVII–XXI) [Confessional Identities in East Central Europe (Seventeenth to the Twenty-First Centuries)] (Cluj-Napoca, 2009), pp. 137– 62; Pâclişanu, ‘Istoria Bisericii române unite’, part 2, pp. 92–5. 56   Micu, Istoria românilor, vol. 2, p. 354. 57   Ibid. 58   The volume was entitled Sanctorum Parentum nostrorum Pachomii Aegyptiaci, Dosithei Thebani et Theodori Studitae Ascetica: I. Bianu and Dan Simionescu, Bibliografia românească veche (4 vols, Bucharest, 1944), vol. 4, p. 87. 59   The letter of the monk Ambrozie Sadi to the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, 28 December 1768, ACPF, Greci di Croazia, vol. 2, f. 267. 55

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In the programme of monastic life he established, however, Atanasie Rednic did not take into account the worldly, mundane dimension of the monks’ activity. This is suggested by the rule of silence he wished to impose. In order that the monks would be more inclined to meditation and inner life, they were forbidden to visit one another and to talk among themselves, to walk in the monastery’s corridors or to talk to the laity, even to those who came to the monastery to be instructed on issues regarding the union (with the exception of the monk who was in charge of that issue). They were not even to speak with relatives who had come to visit from afar; correspondence was also forbidden.60 If the bishop believed that asceticism, defined through strict seclusion and silence, would help the monks come closer to spiritual perfection, he was prone to ignore their other duties. Because didactic and missionary activity involved communication skills, seclusion and silence were not the best means to educate the monks in the spirit of openness to the other. As the dogmatic edification of the faithful required powers of persuasion, conviction and the ability to debate, identify and understand the preconceptions of the laity and their concerns, isolation was hardly the proper path in their training for this activity. Perhaps only during missionary activity, which aimed at conversion, the ascetic look that followed severe fasting and the simplicity of attire may have impressed the faithful. Concerned to make themselves heard by the monks, and to establish their authority over them, the bishops lost sight of the fact that the increasing involvement of the regular clergy in public life impacted on their behaviour. Thus, Grigorie Maior himself, one of the longtime critics of the severe monastic regime, entered into a dispute with the monks and complained of their excesses. He wrote that he had found in their cells such delicacies as roast meat, coffee and sugar, expensive clothing, furs, delicate undergarments and money, but he seldom saw any of them meditating in church; they did not seem to ever pray, but could be found instead in a drunken state in the public houses.61 Through such behaviour the monks were sending a signal to their superior that, through the way of life inspired by their experiences while studying at Vienna or Rome,62 which also copied the lifestyle of the Hungarian nobility,63 they 60

  Pâclişanu, ‘Istoria Bisericii române unite’, part 2, p. 114.   I. Tóth Zoltán, Primul secol al naţionalismului românesc ardelean 1697–1792, p. 268. 62   In the 1760s wine, meat, coffee and chocolate were not absent from the daily rations of the students of the Urban College: Laura Stanciu, Între răsărit şi apus. Secvenţe din istoria bisericii românilor ardeleni [Between East and West. Sequences from the History of the Church of the Transylvanian Romanians] (Cluj-Napoca, 2008), p. 99. 63   I. Tóth Zoltán, Primul secol al naţionalismului românesc ardelean 1697–1792, p. 268. 61

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wished to be appreciated as members of the representative elite for the intellectual and public life of the Uniates. Moreover, they had stated this wish in no uncertain terms: they did not believe that they were bound to obedience and poverty until death because they were not ascetics, but public persons – canons of the cathedral chapter, vicars general, chancellors and teachers.64 These statements show that too much of a discrepancy had been created between the aspirations of the monks from Blaj and the disciplinary regime imposed, in a world that was stepping towards modernity. Discussions concerning the organization of monastic life only targeted this elite group of Basilian monks of Blaj, and was mostly an intellectual exercise as well as a display of authority on the part of the circles at the top of the hierarchy in the leadership of the diocese, illustrating ultimately different opinions about the directions of development of the Uniate Church. The core issue remained the openness of this church to reform, especially the delineation of the role that Eastern tradition was to play in later years in defining the identity of the Uniate Church. If for the monks from the monasteries of Blaj their lifestyle was an identity issue, a matter of self-definition, for those in the rest of the diocese it was a matter of survival and subsistence. The imposition of general rules of monastic conduct within the entire diocese was almost impossible because of the extreme poverty of most monasteries where the monks lived from day to day. In the provincial monasteries, monastic life had a different rhythm from that at Blaj. The description of the Nicula (Füzesmikola) monastery written by the proto-notary Ladislau Szambathfálvi who had visited the establishment in 1768 is highly evocative in this sense.65 He recounted that, after climbing a hill covered in trees, he came across a small place for prayer (oratorioculum), beautifully decorated as a consequence of the piety of the Armenians from the area. There, he found two hovels (tuguriola): one had two little houses linked by a small atrium, where the one they called ‘superior’ lived, while one of the rooms served as a guest room and a place to instruct the children. The other was a house with an atrium which led to a small covered arch, exposed to the fire; it was thus surprising that

64   ‘Profussi sunt obaudientiam et paupaertatem, usque ad mortem, hanc eludunt, dicentes: non se esse Monachos, et Ascetas, sed Canonicos fundatos, sed Dominos consistoriales et Capitulares, Vicarios generales, Cancellarios, Doctores Romanos, et Professores publicos, Reverendissimos, Clarissimos quae arrogantia et pruritus, usque ad parvae Magistrum (exclusive tamen) prodecere solet’: letter addressed by Ignatie Darabant to Bishop Grigorie Maior on 11 July 1778, ibid., p. 268, footnote 2. 65   MOL, B2. Acta generalia, rola 34258, no. 208/1768.

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a fire had not struck until that moment. Here lived another old monk.66 The monastery had no financial resources; the students, who came there wishing to learn during the winter, did not have money, and thus the monks came to fast and to dress from charity given through alms due to need. According to the notary, the monks’ only possession was an area surrounding the monastery which had been deforested and planted with an orchard. In other words, wrote the visitor, one would wish to avoid such a lifestyle; moreover, as he had heard, out of thrift the superior of the monastery had forbidden those who officiated at the services to light candles and, by administering the sacraments in this way, they had no audience. Informed about the state of the monastery and the thrift that the monks were obliged to undergo, Empress Maria Theresa ordered on 6 June 1768 that the bishop would ensure that everywhere in his diocese, and especially in that monastery, the ‘scandalous’ custom of not using candles would come to an end.67 The deplorable state of this monastery belies the fact that this was actually a significant place of pilgrimage for the laity and that the choice of lifestyle of its inhabitants was in itself an act of penance, proof of humility on the part of the monks and perceived as such by the inhabitants of the region on whose goodwill the monks depended for their subsistence. Between the villagers and the monks a relationship of mutual aid was established: the villagers needed the monks in order to educate their children, while rewarding the monks for their effort in this regard enabled them to continue living in the monastery. Thus, beyond the considerable differences between these impoverished monks and those from the episcopal residence as far as lifestyle was concerned, there were also some similarities. All of them fulfilled an educational role and were models of learning for the predominantly illiterate laity. Although the image of the monks is essentially related to the inner space of the monasteries where they lived, this picture is incomplete if one does not take into account the impression they made in public space, either when they occasionally left the monastery in specific circumstances or on their missions, in their organized attempts to convert as directed by the bishops. Activities outside the monastery reveal whether the monks assumed a distinctive conduct from that of the laity to ultimately highlight whether and how the ideal image projected in the episcopal environment concerning the monk also took shape in reality. In fact, diet, attire and attitudes towards others were also image issues. Obviously 66

  The monk lived together with Gherontie Cotore, a monk of Blaj who lived for a while at Nicula in order to do penance for his disobedience towards the appointment of Bishop Atanasie Rednic. 67   MOL, B2. Acta generalia, rola 34258, no. 208/1768.

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there were always monks who disregarded elementary rules of conduct, and others who abided by them. As the extremely scarce evidence does not allow quantifiable conclusions concerning the dominant tendency, we must restrict ourselves to outlining two cases of very different types of behaviour. One is highlighted by an incident of 1759 which took place at Blaj during the sessions of the general synod. The priest Inochentie, who had retreated to the monastery of Sâncel (Szancsal, Simtschal), and the monk Damaschin from the Holy Trinity monastery of Blaj spent two nights in an inn’s barn, bought wine and a leg of lamb (for the payment of which they had sold a Book of Hours)68 and, inflamed by drink, started to quarrel and fight. According to the testimony of the publican, ‘the one who was literate had pushed the other, who did not know his letters, from the table to the oven’.69 The party had been joined for a while by the teacher Constantin, who taught at Blaj.70 As their conversation had degenerated into a fight, they had started calling one another ‘pusillanimous’, ‘pigs’ and ‘damned’.71 Nothing about their attitude distinguished them from the laity, except the fact, remembered by the publican, that one of the monks was literate (a feature that set him apart from his companion as well). Education, no matter how precarious, was a distinguishing mark of some of the monks, noticed even by the common folk. Another example suggests the concern of some monks for the impression they made on those around them. This concerns the visit in 1768 of Gherontie Cotore, at the time still prepositus of the Holy Trinity Monastery of Blaj, and two other monks to Jószef Harsány, assessor of the court of the county of Târnava and public notary in the same county. The host recounted with a hint of disappointment that his three guests, when invited to partake of some nourishment, declined, saying that they had already had a meal despite the fact that he had taken their abstinence from meat into account. He then offered them some very good wine, which they sipped with some disgust, so he offered them another made from dried grapes, which again they tasted without any pleasure. In fact they stayed only a short time, hurrying off to fulfil the mission they had

68

  The ‘ceaslov’, the eastern equivalent of the western Book of Hours, was also used for educational purposes, mostly as a primer. 69   ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 301. 70   This refers to the teacher Constantin Dimitrievici, a layman from Oltenia who was in charge of the elementary school at Blaj. Between 1756 and 1757 he copied a chronicle, the Hronicul of Dimitrie Cantemir: I. Zoltán Tóth, Primul secol al naţionalismului românesc ardelean 1697–1792, p. 235. 71   ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, nos 301, 328, 329.

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set out to accomplish.72 At this level of socializing between influential persons in monastic and secular environments, the individuals involved were careful to respect prescribed conduct in their gestures and attitudes. The hospitality of the host and the moderation of the monks were the appropriate attitudes during such encounters. External attire, behaviour and the education of the monks were even more relevant for their self-image and the projection of a constructed status in their relations with the laity during missions and during acts of conversion, when they were promoting the union. Instituted and instructed to become efficient propagators of the faith, in direct contact with the faithful, the monks of Blaj had to perfect their discourse and persuasive methods in order to be as convincing as possible.73 Their role as propagators of the union had been reaffirmed in 1757 by Bishop Aaron. In a letter addressing the empress, he stated that the main duty of the monks was that of travelling throughout the diocese and teaching the laity the meaning of the union.74 Their role in explaining and propagating the union was enhanced after the movement led by Sofronie as they were, in the eyes of both the sovereign and those of the Uniate bishops, the principal agents of the programme to reinvigorate the union and reconquer the territory lost by the Uniates to Orthodoxy. Thus, through the decree of 9 May 1763, Maria Theresa required the bishop to try to increase the number of those who had taken monastic vows so they could be sent to the parishes.75 Gradually, the defining space for the activity of the monks ceased to be the monasteries of Blaj, but rather the villages and parishes in the diocese. The culminating point of missions, conversions, was reached in the 1770s thanks to the missionary zeal of Grigorie Maior. Determined to strengthen his flock through conversion, the bishop mobilized every possible resource, especially human, deciding in 1774 to call the young students from Rome before finishing their studies in order to accompany him on his visitations.76 72

  MOL, B2. Erdélyi Kancelláriai Levéltar. Acta generalia, rola 34260, no. 363/1768.   Generally, Basilian missions were centred on debating ‘eternal truths’ such as death, sin, hell, atonement and the sacraments. In order to make themselves heard and to be convincing, Basilian constitutions forced the missionaries to prepare themselves in the art of eloquence, to lower themselves to the level of those who listened to them and to avoid exaggeration. The sermons had to be original, thought out by the missionaries themselves and no more than an hour long so as to avoid tiring the audience: M.M. Wojnar, ‘Basilian Missionary Work’, Analecta Ordinis S. Basilii Magni, 9 (1974), 95–110. 74   ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 236, f. 7r. 75   Bunea, Episcopii Petru Paul Aron, p. 294. 76   The letter addressed to the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide of Sibiu, on 8 June 1774, invoked the ignorance of the people regarding the union. The bishop requested that the second-year students in theology at the Urban College should return to the diocese in 73

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Willing to sacrifice the theoretical education of the monks in favour of practical activity in the parishes, four years later he wished to cease sending new students to Rome altogether. On 20 June 1778 the apostolic nuncio from Vienna informed the prefect of the congregation, Cardinal Castelli, that Bishop Grigorie Maior had declared that he could no longer send students to Rome, as he needed them and the money necessary for their support at Rome in order to further conversion.77 Consequently, the monks were called to contribute to the aversion of the crisis which the Uniate Church underwent after the Orthodox movement of 1759–1761 by going into the parishes and teaching the faithful about the union. The short visitations in the villages around the episcopal residence were associated with longer visitations – in the arch-priestly districts and with the missions that initiated the creation of Uniate parishes in areas with an Orthodox majority, either in the diocese or outside it. Such missions were undertaken in Alba Iulia (Gyulafehérvár, Karlsburg) between 1769 and 1772, a parish where the experience of Filotei Laszlo, engaged in missionary activity since 1759–1761, the peak years of the Orthodox troubles, had to be used to annihilate the influence of the community of Greek merchants from the town.78 Outside the diocese there were missions to Timişoara (Temesvár, Temeschwar) and Zăbrani (Temeschidegkút, Guttenbrunn) between 1767 and 1777. In order to be more efficient, Grigorie Maior allowed monks with experience, like Ignatie Darabant and Ieronim Kalnoki, the right to canonical visitation in the entire territory of the diocese, the right to found parishes and the right to take all measures necessary to strengthen the union. Towards the end of the eighth decade of the eighteenth century the monks of Blaj were increasingly present in the parishes through short visits, sometimes of only one day, on feast days or Sundays, with the aim of teaching the faithful about the union.79 The effervescence of their actions suggests the perseverance and determination that the bishops deployed that year, while three others should be sent in their place: I. Dumitriu-Snagov, Românii în arhivele Romei (secolul XVIII) [The Romanians in the Roman Archives (the Eighteenth Century] (Bucharest, 1973), pp. 258–9. 77   ACPF,Greci di Croazia, 2, f. 628. 78   On 11 May 1759, when he was still a fellow at the Urban College, Filotei Laszlo had received an affirmative answer from the pope, Clement XIII, to his request to be granted ‘la grazia dell’altare privilegiato personale’, the right to bless the dying, and to sanctify medals and crucifixes: ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 299. 79   They attended on those occasions the office of the Mass, administered the sacraments, especially confession and communion, and assisted the ill and the dying. These main events of a brief one-day visitation were recounted by Spiridon Fogarasi in a letter dated 8 September 1779 to the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, ACPF, Greci di Croazia, vol. 2, f. 675.

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in mobilizing the monks in order to fulfil the project of strengthening the Uniate Church through conversions and the reinforcement of the faith of those already converted. Their task was not an easy one, as they were confronted by an illiterate and ignorant world, laden with prejudice and fearful of change. The intellectuals who contributed to the production of literature intended to shape the identity of the Uniate Church failed in their attempts to be convincing and in persuading the people to renounce Orthodoxy. This was the case for Grigorie Maior, sent in 1759 on a mission to Sibiu (Nagyszeben, Hermannstadt) and the surrounding area, one of the parts most affected by the anti-union movements starting from 1744. He consequently met Orthodox villagers who received him with hostility and violence. Thus the mission became a test of courage and endurance, an exercise in survival. He recounted that he had been met ‘with clubs, with forks, with strife and blasphemy, with people saying “whoever has sent you here, go away, leave this place and our lands, and never dare to come back”, and saying this they started to hit the horses and the riders, our people, us, to pull and shove us onto the road’.80 However, he did not allow himself to become intimidated, and despite the unfriendly reception he did not abandon the mission. His strategy was to draw to his side the leaders of the villages, the opinionforming elders. After capturing their goodwill he read prayers aloud from books, ‘according to custom’, blessed them with the cross and then discussed the union with the elders of the village and with the Orthodox priests. In November of the same year, invited by the bishop to travel again among the faithful who had abandoned the union, Grigorie Maior refused the mission, invoking the difficulties of the task and reminding the bishop of the earlier humiliation he had endured and the threats he had had to face: ‘only we know and those who have seen, how much we have paid … this past spring! We travelled while being slandered, hit and with our heads in our hands.’81 The reaction of the villagers shows that, despite being present in a region and in a time of confessional tensions, the prestige bestowed upon him by his education and by his status (he was a teacher at Blaj) did not matter. The vehement contesters of the union were not intimidated by the importance of the character who had visited them; they were not interested in his education or behaviour, but only in the fact that he was Uniate and consequently their adversary. The failure of Grigorie Maior in making himself heard was also a signal that the monks had to improve their missionary methods, to adapt to the places they visited and the people they encountered so 80

  ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 293.   The letter addressed by Grigorie Maior to Bishop Aaron, 2 November 1759, ANDJC, Document Collection Blaj, no. 312. 81

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that their discourse concerning the meaning of the union would arouse interest. Some of the monks could not adapt to the existing situation. Vasile Kerestesi, for example, who had been active as a parish priest at Timişoara between 1771 and 1775, perceived this task as an unwanted and difficult to bear exile. He sincerely confessed that the only thing that consoled him in the midst of those ‘ferocious Serbians and Wallachians’, who he described as ‘two semi-barbaric nations’, was the handsome income of 150 scudi per year offered by the empress.82 At a certain point he evidently decided that even this was not enough, and he asked the bishop to bring him back to the diocese.83 The tone of this monk reveals, beyond his dissatisfaction, a shade of superiority which expresses his inability to adapt to the parish world he had been sent to shepherd. Lack of interest or his failure to teach those uneducated laypeople is somewhat difficult to understand considering that before he was sent to Timişoara he had been a catechism instructor in the schools of Blaj, so he would have accumulated experience in disseminating the fundamentals of the faith.84 Moreover, in those years young men who had been former students in Rome were active in the diocese. They had the opportunity to absorb the latest advances in religious communication and the successful dissemination of discourse. Consequently, upon their return home the monks enriched their missionary methods by associating the spoken word with visual propaganda. Those who had studied at Rome adopted practices of captatio benevolentia used by the Catholic missionaries, such as the dispensing of the Agnus Dei.85 Thinking about the devotional potential of these objects, vehicles of visual propaganda in a mostly illiterate world, in 1777 the Fogarasi brothers received from Rome, at their own request, effigies of Agnus Dei which they gave to the faithful, while in 1778 they also asked for effigies of the Holy Martyrs.86 In the same vein of stimulating the piety of the faithful during the mission, 82

  ACPF, Greci di Croazia, vol. 2, f. 456r.   ACPF, Greci di Croazia, vol. 2, f. 486r. 84   He was also an accountant of the Holy Trinity monastery: see his correspondence with the Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, ACPF, Greci di Croazia, vol. 2, f. 343r. 85   Wax medals representing Jesus, the Lamb of God, made from the candles from the Lateran cathedral of Rome and blessed by the pope, were used, for instance, by Catholic missionaries in Hungary in the seventeenth century: István György Tóth, ‘The Missionary and the Devil: Ways of Conversion in Catholic Missions in Hungary’, in Eszter Andor and István György Tóth (eds), Frontiers of Faith: Cultural Exchange in Europe, 1400–1750 (Budapest, 2001), p. 80. The Jesuits present in Transylvania at the beginning of the eighteenth century made full use of the devotional potential of the Agnus Dei: Ghitta, ‘Pânea pruncilor’, pp. 62, 74. For the Catholic missionary method, see also Adriano Prosperi, Tribunali della coscienza. Inquisitori, confessori, missionari (Turin, 1996), pp. 600–49. 86   Letter of 10 August 1778, Dumitriu-Snagov, Românii în arhivele Romei, pp. 284–5. 83

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in 1784 Spiridon Fogarasi asked the Congregation to send a Jerusalem cross where a piece from the Cross of Jesus should be placed. He also considered that the external aspect was important in order to attract the faithful, and that the quality of his clothing and the luxurious fabrics used could also make a positive impression on the laity. Thus, he asked for silk fabric to be used to make his vestments for the celebration of the liturgy.87 Despite the interest of the monks in becoming efficient propagators of the union and their presence in public space, their direct and unmediated involvement in parish life was no longer considered desirable by Joseph II, especially since it influenced their behaviour towards the bishop. They wished for increased independence from the bishop, which led to tensions within the group.88 Consequently, the emperor brought them back to obedience and put an end to their missionary actions through the decree of 12 December 1781, which forbade the use of monks in activities which involved leaving the monastery.89 He made a clear distinction between the role of the monks, stipulated in the foundation act – of counselling the bishops, instructing the young in the faith and training the priests – and the role of the secular clergy, who had to care for the souls of the faithful. He had decided that only the secular clergy, especially those educated in public seminaries, would be appointed to missions, parishes and archdeaconries. The emperor wished the monks to fulfil the duties for which they had been trained, and to respect monastic discipline. Distinguishing thus the sphere of activity of the monks from that of the secular clergy, the emperor promoted his religious reform. His decision suggests that the times of the monk omnipresent in the diocese were gone, while his dispositions of the following year regarding the dissolution of the monasteries served only to strenghen this stance. This survey of a few decades of the history of Basilian monasticism reveals the particularities of the development of Basilian monks of the Uniate Church of Transylvania. Created to lead the diocese, to educate the laity in the spirit of the union with the Church of Rome and in obedience towards the sovereigns of the House of Habsburg, Basilian monks from the episcopal residence had an essential role in defining 87

  Letter of 10 October 1784: ibid., pp. 408–11; he was answered that the Congregation could not undertake additional expenses (in reference to the silk garments), while as regards the crosses from Jerusalem and the relics, they would consider what to do in the event that such items were actually received: ibid., pp. 412–13. On 10 December 1785 he was told that the wood from Jesus’ cross, being so rare, would be difficult to obtain and thus he could not be promised anything regarding its acquisition: ibid., pp. 494–5. 88   The conflict, started in 1779, centred on the appointment of a new hegumen for the monastery: Pâclişanu, ‘Istoria Bisericii Române unite’, part 2, pp. 163–6. 89   Nilles, Symbolae, vol. 2, pp. 650–54.

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the identity of the Uniate Church. The schools where they were trained and the monasteries where they spent their novitiate influenced their conceptions of group identity and, on a larger scale, the identity of the Uniate Church. Aware that they belonged to a distinctive elite group through education and offices, they raised the issue of formal, external expression of difference from others in clothing, attitudes and behaviour – an issue which gained increasing importance, while the monks became more visible in public space in their missions, visitations and pastoral work. For some, belonging to the Basilian order meant fully respecting the precepts of Basil the Great; for others, the latter could be adapted to the times they lived in and the public role they were meant to play.

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Epilogue Ronnie Po-chia Hsia Imagine a triptych representing Catholic religious orders and lay patronage in east central Europe. The first panel, to the viewer’s left, depicts the later Middle Ages, and consists of three detailed portraits of the mendicant orders in the predominantly German-speaking towns of Transylvania. We see Observant Franciscans, Dominicans and the men and women of the third order in acts of devotion, against the background of the townscapes of Cluj (Klausenburg, Kolozsvár), Braşov (Kronstadt, Brassó) and Bistriţa (Bistriz, Beszterce). The objects and forms of that devotion – Marian statutes, pious testaments, tertiary orders and confraternities – remind the viewer of many similar scenes in medieval western and central Europe. These scenes in miniature reflect the work by Herbert Grundmann, Jacques Heers and Jacques Le Goff, who had painted broad canvases of female religious movements and medieval urbanization, both phenomena intimately associated with the expansion of the mendicant orders in western and central Europe.1 And, finally, we see depicted in one of the scenes two Observant Franciscan preachers, Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó, haranguing the people against excessive Marian devotion, reminding them of the central significance of the Passion of Christ. As we turn our gaze to the central panel, the scenarios change to the sixteenth century. Already, a sense of foreboding hangs in the background, even if not actually depicted in the scenes: the Catholic Church and its clergy were under siege. We see a first scene set in 1518, in the town of Körmend in western Hungary, where the convent of the Augustinian Hermits had been taken over by the Observant Franciscans. Negligence of duty, dwindling membership and general indiscipline had led to the intervention of Cardinal Thomas Bakócz, Archbishop of Esztergom, who turned over the convent to the Observant Franciscans. His ability to intervene was due not so much to his archiepiscopal 1   Robert Grundmann, Religious Movements in the Middle Ages: The Historical Links between Heresy, the Mendicant Orders, and the Women’s Religious Movements in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, with the Historical Foundation of German Mysticism (South Bend, IN, 1995); Jacques Heers, La ville au moyen âge en Occident: paysages, pouvoirs et conflits (Paris, 1990); Jacques Le Goff et al., Histoire de la France urbaine, tome 2: la ville medieval: des Carolingiens à la Renaissance (Paris, 1980).

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dignity, but to the fact that Bakócz was the lord of Körmend as well as the Augustinian convent. Without overwhelming political authority, it seemed, the reform of the religious orders in fifteenth-century Hungary achieved little. In the generally deplorable clerical state, the Observant Franciscans came out the best. They represented the strongest religious order in pre-Reformation Hungary, with several thousand members and 120 convents, 44 of which were founded in the fifteenth century alone. But as the examples of Pelbart of Temesvár and Osvald of Laskó show, there existed a gap between Franciscan and popular piety. Were the friars growing more rigorous and Christocentric? Did they become alienated from the demands of healing and expectations of rewards associated by the common folk with religious devotion? In less than a generation, many Franciscans would turn to the message of Luther: among the earliest Protestant reformers in Hungary were the three ex-Franciscans – Mátyás Dévai, Mihály Sztánai and István Benczédi Székely; and by the end of the Reformation century, the Franciscan order had suffered a crippling blow as 90 per cent of the population adhered to one of the Protestant creeds.2 Things were not better across the linguistic divide. In Germanspeaking Austria, the convents were also in need of reform; and, similar to the situation in Körmend, it took a strong hand from above to set the procedure in motion. But whereas the Archbishop of Esztergom combined secular and ecclesiastical authorities in one person, monastic reform in Austria below the Enns was mired in jurisdictional disputes between the Bishop of Passau and secular authority, as expressed by the Imperial Monastery Commission. As we progress toward the end of the sixteenth century, the picture emerges ever more clearly from this middle panel that Catholic reform and renewal in Austria were impossible without princely support. In the case of Vienna, this took the shape of an alliance with a new religious order, the Society of Jesus, called to the Habsburg lands by Emperor Ferdinand to serve as an instrument of the early modern Catholic state. A new model of ecclesiastical–secular cooperation for the early modern period took shape to fill the void left by the collapse of the alliance between the mendicants and their secular noble and urban patrician patrons. We see the portraits of Georg Eder and Melchior Khlesl in this central panel, rising from their respective urban middleclass backgrounds in Bavaria and Vienna, studying civil and canon law, becoming imperial aulic councillor and cardinal, both serving at some 2

  See István György Tóth, ‘Old and New Faith in Hungary, Turkish Hungary, and Transylvania’, in R. Po-chia Hsia (ed.), A Companion to the Reformation World (Oxford, 2004), pp. 205–20, here pp. 206–7.

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time as rector of the University of Vienna, friends of the Jesuits, implacable foes of Protestants, ardent supporters of a reformed Catholicism and servants of the early modern state, as Robert Evans has so vividly described in his study of the making of the Habsburg monarchy.3 In the three paintings of the right panel, the focus turns back to the clergy. In the 1580s, the Jesuits expanded from their bases in Hungary and Austria and gained a tenuous foothold in solidly Protestant Transylvania. When the fathers arrived in Cluj, they received strong support from the women, much like the Observant Franciscans in the fifteenth century. But, unlike the friars, the Jesuits never gained the trust of the male urban elites, who had turned solidly Protestant by the late sixteenth century. Perhaps the foreign origins of the Jesuits provoked resentment. Trained in Rome, the leading Jesuits in Cluj were foreigners: the rector of the college, Jakob Wujek, had translated the Bible into Polish; the Hungarian István Szántó preached in Hungarian; and Wolfgang Schreck preached in German. Established under Polish initiative, the Jesuit College in Cluj followed the Polish model of noble lordship, subjecting its serfs not only to harsh economic exactions, but also to strict confessional allegiance. Catholic renewal in east central Europe was due, however, not only to lordship and coercion, as our eyes gaze upon a scene of pilgrimage in Bohemia. Here the Franciscans, having suffered a grievous decline as a result of the Reformation, recovered slowly during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. While the friars might have ceded the glory of Catholic reconquest to the fathers of the Company, they adroitly revived late medieval popular piety, notably in the form of popular pilgrimages. But if Franciscan fortunes in the baroque rose on a growing wave of popular piety, those of the new order of Basilian monks in eighteenthcentury Transylvania depended almost entirely on the benevolence of their Habsburg patrons. Established in lands recaptured from the Ottomans, the Basilian monks were established by the Habsburgs as fulcrums for the spread of Roman Christianity in an area thick with adherents to the Romanian Orthodox Church. The limited success of the Basilian monks petered out as the order itself was suppressed during the reforms of Emperor Joseph II, and offered a powerful reminder of the very different conditions of lay patronage of religious orders after the Protestant Reformation. The chapters in this volume, like the altar triptych in a church, must be viewed in a larger context. Stepping back from the vivid portraits depicted in the panels, the viewer might well be struck by the contrast between the intense colours of the triptych and the desolation of the 3   R.J.W. Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy 1550–1700: An Interpretation (Oxford, 1979).

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church decorations. The latter may serve as a metaphor for the reform movements that began with Jan Hus, crested with Luther, Calvin and their followers, resulting in a plethora of anti-Roman churches and sects in east central Europe, from Poland in the north to the frontiers with Islam and Eastern Orthodoxy in the south, and wrought havoc in the edifice of the Catholic Church. We should therefore be grateful, in view of the complexity of the historical development and the often sparse survival of historical records, for the detailed and vivid scenes of lay and ecclesiastical life rendered by these studies.

Index Acquaviva, Claudio 206 Agostino da Vicenza 142 Aiud 203, 225 Alba Iulia 15, 23, 32, 35, 96, 202–3, 207, 220, 222, 255, 258 Albeşti 36, 43, 64–6, 97 Albrecht of Bavaria 177–8, 188, 191 Anna Selbdritt (Anna Metterza) ix, 49, 50–1 Anabaptism 205 Andreanische Freibrief 35 Annunciation 47, 57–8, 250, 256, 260 Angelic Salutation 58 Apafi, Mihály 29, 30, 35, 44, 65 Ara Coeli 53 Armăşeni 51, 58–9, 60 Anticlericalism 84, 121, 150 Antitrinitarianism 197, 207, 210, 216–19, 222, 226 Atanasie 248–9 Augsburg Confession of 11 Peace of 174, 176 Augustinian xiv, 16, 21, 25, 99, 103, 123–5, 128–9, 130–5, 138–9, 140–9, 154, 182, 273–4 Convent 103, 130, 132, 135, 274 Order 140–2, Austria 153–6, 158–9, 160, 162–7, 171–7, 179, 180, 185, 201, 223–4, 229, 247, 253–4, 257, 274–5 Inner 19, 174 Lower 7, 25, 154, 160, 162–5, 172–7, 179 Baciu 209, 210, 214, 217–18, 276 Băgaciu 46, 54, 62 Baia Mare 215 Bakócz, Thomas (Cardinal) xiv, 129, 130, 133, 135–9, 140, 142–3, 149, 273–4 Balásfi, Mihály 201–2

Baptism 9, 38, 147, 182, 217–19, 220, 226 Barlabássy Leonard 64 Basil the Great 20, 260–1, 271 Basilian vi, 3, 26, 245, 247, 250, 253–8, 261, 263, 266, 270, 275 Order 16, 250, 257, 271 Monastery 256, 259, 270 Batizi, András 150 Báthory, István 14, 197, 201, 203, 214, 220, 222–3 Báthory, Kristóf 202 Bavaria 11, 155, 177–8, 182, 185, 188–9, 191, 195, 233, 274 Beguines 97–8, 150 Beia 58–9, 60–1 Beltiug 214 Benedictine 16, 21–2, 72, 99, 135–7, 143, 146, 149, 154, 165 Bény 136 Beresna 259 Bethlen, Miklós 91, 251 Biblicism 216 Bi-confessionalism 9 Biertan ix, 44–6, 48–9, 51, 53, 58–9, 60 Biglia 182 Bistriţa 25, 32, 36, 67–8, 94–9, 100, 112–19, 120, 273 Blaj 23, 245, 250–2, 254–9, 260–1, 263–9 Bocskai, István 13 Bodily Assumption 42, 46, 54, 57, 69, 115 Bogomils 9 Bohemia vi, xiv, 2–9, 11, 13–14, 19, 20–2, 24, 26, 70–1, 174, 227–9, 230–4, 237, 239, 240–1, 243, 275 Bolognetti, Alberto 202 Borgia, Francis 195 Bozók 136 Braşov 36–7, 64, 66–7, 91, 94–9, 106–9, 110–12, 120, 273 Bratislava (Pozsony) 13, 75, 78, 83, 85, 87–8, 115, 146

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Breaza de Jos 251 Brest 15, 16, 248–9 Brno 229, 231, 233, 235–6, 238–9, 240, 242 Bruiu 45 Buccow, Adolf 251 Buda 7, 73–4, 115, 128–9, 139, 140 Caliani, Silvestru 256, 259, 261 Caligari, Andrea 202, 205, 209, 211, 218–19, 221, 225 Calvinism 14, 208 Calvinist 10, 151, 201, 205, 207–8, 226 Canisius, Peter 174, 180–1, 183–5, 187–8, 191, 194–6 Capeci, Ferrante 206, 223 Capuchin 17–18, 234, 240 Caransebeş 203 Carmelite 103, 183, 191 Monastery 183 Castelli (Cardinal) 267 Catechism 174, 192–6, 258, 269 Catholicism 2, 8, 10–15, 18–19, 23, 153, 157–8, 169, 171–2, 175, 177, 179, 181–2, 184, 188–9, 190, 193–4, 197, 200, 203, 205, 208–9, 217, 222–3, 226, 228, 231–2, 243, 247–8, 254, 275 Catholic Church xv, 3, 11–12, 15–17, 26, 128, 153, 171, 175–6, 181, 189, 194, 203, 216, 235, 245, 247–9, 253–4, 273, 276 Baroque 24, 153, 171, 242, 275 Charles V (Emperor) 186 Charles VI (Emperor) 254–5, 257 Chiara of Assisi 29, 30 Chinteni 214 Christus Patiens 58, 60, 69 Christus Triumphans 58 Cincu 62 Cistercian 16, 21–2, 154, 161 Order 22 Monastery 161 Claude le Jay 172 Clement XII (Pope) 241, 267 Clerical celibacy 160

Cluj xiii, xiv, xv, 25–6, 32, 36–7, 62, 64–8, 94–9, 100–6, 112–13, 115, 120, 197–9, 201–9, 214–19, 220–1, 223–6, 247–9, 250, 252–5, 257–8, 261–2, 273, 275 Cluj Mănăştur 21–2, 65, 102, 209, 214–15, 225 Clomp, Simon 66, 108 Cologne 115, 188, 192 University of 187 Coloman 88 Compacta of Jihlava 9 Confession 17, 38, 80, 100, 126, 128, 144, 151, 206, 209, 210, 218, 220, 225–6, 231 Congregatio de Propaganda Fide 254, 257–9, 261, 266–7, 269 Constantinople 8, 12, 16, 248 Conrad of Marburg 45 Coronation of the Virgin ix, 55–6 Corpus Christi 62, 67, 126, 177–8, 204–5, 224, 233, 236 Procession 177, 233, 236 Coşeiu 36, 65, 97 Cotore, Gherontie 256, 261, 264–5 Cracow 73 Crucifixion 44, 57–8, 60–1 Csut 137 Cund 58–9, 60–1 Cura animarum 38, 100 Darabant, Ignatie 263, 267 Debrecen 208 Synod of 150 Deesis 60 Dévai, Andreas 136 Devotional associations 92, 93, 95, 99, 101 Dézsi, Balázs 140 Diets 6, 7, 174–5, 196, 202, 214–15, 222, 258 Dietrich von Herzogenbusch 196 Dombus, Paulus 141 Dominican 1–3, 17, 21–3, 25, 32, 36–7, 39, 40, 42–3, 46, 62, 64–8, 91–2, 94–9, 100–9, 110–19, 120, 140, 182–3, 196, 203–4, 273

Index

Order (Friars Preachers, Order of the Preachers) 3, 21, 43, 92, 94, 97–9, 107, 112–13, 115 Convents 22, 36, 64, 92, 97, 107, 112 Nunneries 97–8 Dominium politicum et regale 7 Drágffy, Bartholomew 65 Dupuş 58–9, 60 Dumbrăviţa 215 Dürnstein 161 Eastern Church 15, 19, 26, 245, 247, 249, 258 Ecclesia Theutonicorum 35 Ecclesiology 84 Eder, Georg 153, 172–3, 176–8, 182, 185–9, 190–6, 274 Egervár 139 Ellerbach, Johannes 130 Elizabeth of Hungary 45 Enlightenment 243, 253 Enzersfeld 156, 160 Erdélyi, Joannes 66 Erdődy, Petrus 133, 138, 149 Ernst (Archduke) 156, 160–5, 174–5, 177, 179 Estates 6, 7, 8, 11, 13, 36, 133, 149, 156, 174, 176, 185, 198–9, 213–15, 248 Esztergom 35–6, 77, 86, 129, 136, 140, 142, 146, 149 Archbishop of 14, 129, 140, 273, 274 Eucharist (Holy Sacrament) 13, 17, 25, 30, 32, 34, 39, 40, 59, 60–2, 77, 80, 94, 115, 126, 208, 220, 222, 233, 242–3 Communion 79, 80, 175, 181–2, 267 Faber, Peter of Savoy 187 Fabricius, Heinrich 196 Făgăraş 245, 250 Fegyverneky, Franciscus 135–7 Feldioara 58–9, 60 Ferdinand I 6–7, 13, 114, 171, 173–4, 180, 183, 185–6

279

Ferdinand II 6, 8, 13, 171–2 Ferdinand III 169 Ferrara-Florence Council of (1439) 10 Fişer 58–9, 60–1 Franciscan 1, 3, 4, 12, 15–17, 21–6, 29, 30, 32, 34, 36, 39, 41–6, 51, 53–5, 57–8, 60–2, 64–8, 71–5, 77–9, 81–9, 90, 92–4, 96–9, 100, 103–4, 113, 123, 125–9, 133–5, 137–9, 140, 143, 146, 148, 150–1, 182, 202–4, 227–9, 230–9, 240–3, 273–5 Conventual 89 Nunneries 98 Observant 71–2, 74, 88–9, 93, 98–9, 104, 123, 127–9, 133, 139, 140, 148, 151, 182, 230, 232, 273–5 Fogarasi, Spiridon 37, 101, 255, 267, 269, 270 Fuxen, Joseph 7, 160, 169 Gabriele da Rangoni 139, 276 Gabriele da Venezia 140 Gars 161 Graz 163 Greb, Peter 108 Greek Catholic Church 248, 253–4 Gregory XIII (Pope) 188, 200 Gregorian calendar xv, 179, 180, 223 Göttweig 154–5, 161 Gurk Bishopric of 191–2 Gyöngyös 75, 128, 137, 150 Gyöngyösi, Georgius 75,137 Habsburg 128, 153–4, 157–8, 163–5, 167–9, 171–9, 180, 183, 185, 188–9, 201, 223, 245, 247–8, 257, 270, 274–5 Court xv, 13, 158, 172–3, 178–9, 185, 189 Hájek 237–9 Harbort, Johann 192 Harsány, József 265 Hălchiu 46–7, 60–1 Hermits of St Paul 78

280

Communities of Devotion

Hillinger, Christopher 161 Hipp, Friedrich 192 Holy Blood (Sanctus Sanguinis) 29, 41, 62 Holy Name of Jesus 41 Holy Sepulchre 239, 240–2 Holy Trinity Monastery 254, 256–9, 265, 269 Hoffaeus, Peter 195 Hostinné 236 Hozjusz, Stanislaw 200 Hunedoara 10, 64 Hungary 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10–15, 19, 20–3, 25, 29, 34–9, 41–3, 45, 62, 68, 71–5, 77–9, 81–9, 90, 93–4, 96, 98–9, 102, 115, 121–4, 128–9, 132, 135, 137, 139, 140–3, 148, 150–1, 187, 199, 208–9, 213, 215–16, 224–5, 228–9, 250, 253, 269, 273–5 Royal Hungary 11, 13 Hunyadi, Joannes (John of Hunyad) 62 Hussite 8, 9, 78, 228–9, 230–1 Hutterites 10

James of Voragine 89 Jesuits 2, 3, 13–15, 18–19, 21–4, 26, 171–5, 177–9, 180–5, 187–9, 190–2, 194–9, 200–9, 210, 212–19, 220–6, 231–2, 242, 247, 258, 269, 275 Society of Jesus 2, 3, 18, 22–3, 26, 171–2, 182–3, 187–9, 191, 194–7, 220, 225, 232, 274 College 187, 191–2, 195, 200, 209, 221, 223, 226, 257–8, 275 Clementinum 19 Collegium Germanicum (1552) et Hungaricum 2, 14, 18–19, 23, 188, 199 Jesuitenkirche (Vienna) 171 Jews 4, 8 Jidvei 46, 56–8, 60, 62 John of Capistrano 74, 82, 98, 139, 140, 228–9, 230, 233 Joseph II 13, 26, 231, 243, 247, 253, 258, 270, 275 Josephine 245 Reformism 253

Identity 13, 102–3, 126, 151, 207, 225–6, 242, 245, 247, 249, 253–4, 258–9, 261, 263, 268, 271 Confessional 24, 207–8, 241, 247, 250, 257–8 Ignatius of Loyola 18, 220, 232 Ilok 74 Imitatio Christi 29, 46 Immaculate Conception 42, 46–7, 50–1, 53–4, 57–8, 69, 115, 232, 237 Immaculate Virgin 51, 57, 69 Imperial parishes 158, 160, 166, 175 Indulgences 73, 82–3, 88, 100, 239, 240, 242 Ingolstadt 192, 195 Inquisition 179, 192–3, 195 Intercession 60, 76, 126–7, 208, 238 Inzersdorff 177

Kalnoki, Ieronim 267 Karlowitz 247, 248 Treaty of 247, 248 Kerestesi, Vasile 269 Készd 203 Khlesl, Melchior xv, 157, 159, 160–4, 247 Klosterneuburg 154–5, 157–8 Klosterrat (Monastery Commission) 154, 158, 160, 175, 179, 180, 189, 190–2 Klosterreform 124–5, 134 Kollonich, Leopold (Cardinal) 248–9 Konarski, Adam 201 Körmend 25, 123, 128–9, 130–6, 138–9, 140–1, 143–9, 151–2, 273–4

Jagiello 6, 123, 126, 129

Labe, Henricus 237 Ladó, Valentine 223–6 Laibach Bishop of 181

Index

281

Laicization of religion 99, 125, 130, 152 Lateran Council (1215) 16, 142 Lauro, Jiři František Procházka de 238–9 Laurencius de Valle Rosarum 113 Lányi Codex 137 Laszlo, Filotei 252, 255–7, 267 Laynez, Diego 183 Leleszi, János 202–3, 222–3 Leghia 205, 209 Leliceni 43, 45, 51, 57–9, 60, 62, 68 Leo X (Pope) 129, 133 Leonardus de Brixenthal 99 Lipova 201 Lisa 251 Litterae interrogatoriae 124 Loyola, Ignatius 18, 172, 184, 194, 199, 220, 225, 232 Louis II 71, 143 Lugoj 203 Lutheranism 78, 90, 175–6, 181, 208 Lyon Council of (1274) 15

Mercurian, Everard 188, 200, 202–3, 205–6, 209, 210, 218 Michael Archangel 29, 30, 44–5 Micu (Klein), Inochentie 254–6, 259 Micu, Samuil 260–1 Mikola, Francis 66 Mission 3, 4, 8, 9, 11–12, 15–19, 21–4, 26, 36, 38, 43, 74, 99, 108, 140, 172–3, 180, 183–5, 188–9, 190–2, 194–9, 201–2, 205–6, 208, 211, 218, 222–9, 230, 233, 237, 239, 245, 247, 254, 262, 264–9, 270–1 Mohács 11, 71, 87, 98, 151 Moldavia 8, 17, 23, 43, 72, 108, 249 Monyorókerék 149 Moravia 9, 11, 14, 228–9, 230–1, 233, 235–6, 238–9, 240–2 Mosconas, Leontie 256 Mossbrunn 159 Mount of Calvary 241 Mukačevo 250, 256, 258–9, 261 Munich (Jesuit College) 195

Magius, Johann 188, 191 Maior, Grigorie 256, 258–9, 261–3, 266–8 Majthényi, Uriel 136 Maria in Sole (Woman of the Apocalypse) 41, 50, 51, 53–4 Maria Theresa 26, 243, 250, 253, 255, 264, 266 Marek, Damascenus 237–8 Marriage 38, 79, 87, 118, 147, 150–2, 163, 181, 209, 219, 220–2 Mater Dolorosa 77 Matthias (Archduke) 157, 163–4 Matthias Corvinus 10, 62, 71, 129 Maximilian II 154, 156, 158, 168, 173, 175, 178–9, 180, 186–7, 190, 193, 195 Mălâncrav 29, 30–2, 44, 54–6, 62, 68 Mediaş 36, 58, 60, 64–5, 97–8, 202, 208 Melk 154, 165 Abbot of 160, 169 Melkerhof 169

Name of Jesus 41, 230 Nausea, Friedrich 180 Naxos 256 Nicholas of Lyra 89 Nicula 261, 263–4 Niederalm 161 Neuböck, Johann Kaspar 180, 191 Odorheiul Secuiesc 96–7 Olomouc 4, 19, 232–3, 235, 239, 240, 242 Oppida (Market town) 7, 36, 123, 130, 138, 148, 149, 151 Oradea 202–5, 208–9, 223 Orăştie 64–5, 97 Orbai 203 Orthodoxy 8, 12, 174, 266, 268, 276 Orthodox 4, 8, 10, 12, 20, 43, 100, 247–9, 250–1, 258–9, 266–8 Church 9, 10, 12, 17, 275 Osvald of Laskó 25, 73–9, 80–1, 83, 85–9, 90, 93, 273–4

282

Communities of Devotion

Ottoman 7, 9, 10–12, 37, 71, 90, 117, 128, 176, 240, 275 Palatinate 14 Palea, Donulus 237 Pannonhalma 21, 22, 136 Passau bishopric of 154, 158, 159, 161, 162, 163, Diocese of 157 Official 158, 160, 161, 163–9, 274 Passion of Christ 39, 41–2, 60, 67, 239, 242–3, 273 Paulicians 9 Pauline Order 22, 137 Convent 137, 206 Pazmaneum 258 Pécsi, Blasius 141–3 Pécsi, Martinus 115, 141 Pelbart of Temesvár 25, 73–9, 80–9, 90–3, 273–4 Philip II of Spain 180 Pietà 1, 77, 95, 112 Pietas Austriaca 13, 153, 171 Pilgrimage 20, 26, 66, 81–2, 88, 227–9, 230, 233–9, 240–3, 264, 275 Virgin of Mariazell 82 Poland 2, 6, 8, 20–2, 72, 89, 197–8, 200–2, 210–11, 220, 226, 229, 276 Poland-Lithuania 19, 201 Pomerium 74–6, 126 Poor Clares 22, 30, 97–8 Possevino, Antonio 196–9, 203, 207, 210, 220–3 Poznan 200, 276 Prague 9, 19, 22–4, 159, 163–5, 174, 188, 229, 230–8, 241 Prayer 17, 26, 35, 39, 40, 43, 60, 65, 67, 77, 79, 81, 91, 117, 119, 135, 145, 193, 209, 225, 236, 238, 239, 254, 260, 263, 268 Ave Maria 77, 81, 113, 116 Pater Noster 77, 81 Prejmer ix, 58–9, 61 Premonstratensian 21–4, 99, 135–7, 143, 240 Order 135–7

Printing press 20, 185, 250–8, 261 Probstdorf 160 Protestant Reformation 7, 9, 10, 124–5, 275 Puelacher, Georg 190 Purgatory 23, 82–3, 92, 126 Queen of Heaven (Regina Coeli) 41, 57, 69 Rádóc 145 Radwiger, Martin 190 Reichstag 6 Rej, Mikolaj 201 Religions-Konzession 176, 180 Richer, Jacob 99 Rednic, Atanasie 256–9, 261–4 Rod, Christian 66, 108 Rome 66, 71–3, 84, 92–8, 112, 123, 137, 140–2, 163–7, 179, 188, 198–9, 200–5, 210, 211, 221, 231–9, 249, 252–9, 262–9, 270–5 Rosary 40–1, 51, 53, 77, 94, 99, 112–19, 120, 237 Royal free cities 7 Rudolf II 160–9, 174 Rutskyi, Joseph Veljamyn 20 Şaeş ix, 50–9 Ság 135–6 Saints 204–10, 217, 223–6, 233–9, 242, 261 St Anne 50–1 Klarissenkloster of 191 St Anthony of Padua 44, 238 St Barbara 257 Institute 257 St Bernardino of Siena 238 Friary Olomouc 238 St Dominic 42–3, 91 St Dorothea Monastery of 190 St Elizabeth ix, 44 Parish church St Francis 40–4, 58, 61, 72, 91, 139, 234–8 Altar 104 Convent of 202

Index

Stigmatization 51–7 St Helena 60 St James 182 Convent of 190–1 St Ladislas (Ladislaus) 204 St Laurence 190 Convent of 190 St Margaret of Hungary 224 St Martin 43 Parish church 130 St Mary Magdalene St Michael Parish church Cluj 204 Vienna 182, 190 St Paul the Hermit 75–8 St Peter 47, 238 St Peter of Alcantara 238 St Rupert 91 St Stephen 71, 87 King 6 St Ulrich 91 St Wenceslas 229, 231 Sannig, Bernhard 235–6, 240 Sarai, Visarion 249 Sâmbăta de Sus 251 Sâncel 265 Scala Sancta 239, 240 Schreck, Wolfgang 206, 275 Schleunning, Gregory 102–3 Sebeş 21, 32, 47, 51–9, 65, 96–7 Seminary 162, 250–7 Sermons 2, 19, 25–6, 39, 69, 73–9, 80–9, 90–3, 128, 176, 184, 203–9, 223–9, 230–9, 266 Sermones pomerii 74, 126 Sibiu 29, 35–7, 58–9, 60–9, 96–8, 113, 114, 250, 266–8, Siena 142, 230–8, 254, 260 Sighişoara 36, 42–3, 64, 91–7 Silesia 228–9, 230–3, 241 Sîntimbru 57–9 Şmig 51, 60 Sněm 6 Sofronie 249, 251, 266 Somlóvásárhely 137–9, 149 Sopron 37–8, 75–8, 83–5, 104, 115

283

Soroştin 58, 60, 72 Speyer 13, 196 Diet of 175 Spiritual kinship 146–7 Şumuleu 203, 223 Şumuleu Ciuc 62–8 Sunieri, Francesco 202 Suseni 36, 68, 97 Szambathfálvi, Ladislau 263 Szántó, István 198–9, 201–8, 210, 211–19, 220, 226, 275–6 Szatmár 129, 140 Szkhárosi Horváth, András 150 Taborites 9 Tállya 150 Târgu Mureş 36, 43, 64–7 Tartars 100 Teiuş 36, 68, 97 Tertiaries (Third Order Regular) 67, 83, 98, 114 Tiburţ 214 Tileag 224 Timişoara 73, 267–9 Tirnavia 256–8 Three Magi 204 Tokaj 150 Tolnai, Mattheus 136 Transylvania 197–9, 201–9, 210–19, 220–9, 245–9, 250–9, 269, 270–5 Tree of Jesse 50–1 Trent Council of 15, 18, 20, 155, 166, 179, 193–4, 228, 234 Tridentine reform 2, 16, 169 Decrees 12, 163, 200 Doctrine 194 Turda 32, 203, 207, 219, 222 Turóc 136 Újhelyi, Martinus 123 Uniate Church 245–9, 250–9, 261–9, 270–6 Union Alba Iulia (1697, 1698, 1700) 15, 255, 258

284

Communities of Devotion

Brest (1595–6) 15, 16, 248–9 Užhorod (1646) 15, 248–9 Unitarianism 218 Unitarians 10 Unity of Brethren 9 University of Prague 9, 19 University of Vienna 73, 108, 154–8, 161, 169, 182, 275 Unteralb 162 Unverzagt, Wolf 161 Urban of Trenbach 157, 165 Urban (Bishop) Ursulines 240 Utraquism Utraquist 9, 230 Užhorod 248–9 Veit, Jerome 239, 240 Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) 26, 240–3 Via Dolorosa 241 Vienna 13, 26, 73, 106, 108, 153–9, 160–9, 171–9, 180–9, 190–2, 195–7, 200, 203, 240, 249, 258, 262, 267, 274–5 Vinţu de Jos 21, 36, 96 Virgin Mary 13, 43, 51, 66, 76, 82, 91, 94, 101, 111–12, 116, 119, 237–8 of Loreto 237–8

Queen of Heaven 41, 69 Vir Dolorum (Man of Sorrows) 61, 62, 76 Visegrád 137 Visitation 146, 155, 159, 161–9, 176, 181, 182, 211, 226, 266–7 Vita apostolica 92 Viterbo, Egidio da 141–2 Vladislas II (Vladislav II, Wladislaus II) 62, 71, 136–7 Wallachia 108, 125, 248–9, 251, 269 Weber, Johann Baptist 179 Westphalia Peace of 231 White Mountain Battle of 231 Wiener-Neustadt 167 Wimpfen 206 Wittelsbach 157, 177, 189 Wujek, Jakub (Jakob) 198, 200–9, 210–19, 220–9, 275 Zápolya, John 118 Zăbrani 267 Zistersdorf 161 Zsámbék 137 Zwettl 154–5, 161