Interactive and Sculptural Printmaking in the Renaissance 9004340130, 9789004340138, 9789004354135

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Interactive and Sculptural Printmaking in the Renaissance

Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History General Editor Han van Ruler (Erasmus University Rotterdam) Founded by Arjo Vanderjagt Editorial Board C.S. Celenza ( Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore) M. Colish (Yale University, New Haven) – J.I. Israel (Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton) – A. Koba (University of Tokyo) – M. Mugnai (Scuola Normale Superiore, Pisa) – W. Otten (University of Chicago)

volume 270

Brill’s Studies on Art, Art History, and Intellectual History General Editor Walter S. Melion (Emory University)

volume 21 The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/bsai

Interactive and Sculptural Printmaking in the Renaissance By

Suzanne Karr Schmidt

leiden | boston

Two appendices (Catalogues a and b) have been made available online and can be viewed by scanning the qr code or by clicking on the dynamic link https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare .5442142. Cover illustration: German, Easter Calendar (rota paschalis) for 1466–1494, 1465/1466. Hand-colored woodcut with volvelle: 18.8 × 13.8 cm (image). nga (1944.2.1); Regiomontanus (German, 1436–1476), Lunar Volvelle and Quadrant from Calendarium (Venice: Erhard Ratdolt, 1476). Book with woodcut and letterpress in black and red, hand colored with brush and watercolor, pen and ink, with dial: 28.6×20.5cm (sheet). aic (1948.343); Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564) and Sebald Beham? (German, 1500–1550), Cruciform Sundial for All Latitudes, 1529. Woodcut: 44.1 × 17.6 cm (sheet). © gnm (h665); Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Broadsheet: Male (Anathomia oder abconterfettung eynes Mans leib), 1539. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with six flaps: 52 × 23.9 cm (block). berlin stabi (ya 249gr); Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621) and family, Courtesan and Blind Cupid, ca. 1588. Engraving with skirt flap: approx. 17.8 × 25 cm (sheet). nypl (mem b537v). The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2017034648

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0920-8607 isbn 978-90-04-34013-8 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-35413-5 (e-book) Copyright 2018 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Acknowledgments vii List of Illustrations ix Abbreviations xxviii Introduction

1

part 1 Revelatory Playthings: The Religious Origins of the Interactive Print 1

Handling Religion 23

2

Folding Triptychs 56

3

Dials and the Printed Host 82

part 2 Anatomy of the Reformation: Nosce Antichristum 4

Anatomies both Normal and Deformed 107

5

Bodily Shame 139

6

Indecent Exposure to the Anatomically Incorrect 157

part 3 Instrumentle auff Papir: Georg Hartmann of Nuremberg and the Printed Scientific Instrument Trade 7

Georg Hartmann as Interactive Printmaker 205

8

Instrument Printmaking before Hartmann 241

9

Hartmann as Collaborator 274

vi

contents

part 4 Consumption and Exploitation: The International Expansion of the Interactive Book 10

Conspicuous Consumption and Private Presses 293

11

Lotteries, Gaming, and the Public Reaction 325

12

Liftable Skirts and Deadly Secrets 353 Afterword: A User’s Guide to Art? 392 Bibliography 409 Index of Names 432 Index of Modern Scholars Index of Subjects 436

435

Online Appendices Catalogue a: Interactive and Sculptural Single-Sheet Prints 1466–1700 Catalogue b: Interactive Books 1474—ca. 1750

Acknowledgments Interactive and Sculptural Printmaking in the Renaissance would never have been published as a book without the support of curators, scholars, and generous individuals in many intersecting fields. Christopher S. Wood gave me the freedom to write an unusual dissertation on the “Renaissance Pop-Up Book” at Yale University, while Walter S. Melion offered both intellectual mentorship, and a contract in his series at Brill. Susan Dackerman, Jennifer Nelson, and Stephanie Leitch are fellow believers in a larger audience for Georg Hartmann. Martha Tedeschi, Suzanne McCullagh, and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation supported my related exhibition and catalogue at the Art Institute of Chicago, Altered and Adorned: Using Renaissance Prints in Daily Life. Many Kress European Art Seminar at the Newberry participants volunteered invaluable comments on a draft, especially Susan Gaylard’s timely aid on all matters Italianate. Freyda Spira and Elizabeth Zanis at the Metropolitan Museum of Art offered invaluable last-minute help with a very unique Reformation-era folding print. Museums, libraries, and private collections worldwide unearthed interactive treasures and permitted their publication. Especially key was the assistance of Rainer Schoch and Yasmin Doosry (Germanisches Nationalmuseum), Bernd Mayer (Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg), Ad Stijnman, Jill Bepler, and Christian Heitzman (Herzog August Bibliothek), Owen Gingerich (Cambridge, ma), Madeleine Viljoen and Michael Inman (New York Public Library), Pedro Raposo (Adler Planetarium), Stephanie Schuster (Bayerische Staatsbibliothek), Ingrid Kastel (Albertina), Miriam Mandelbach and Arlene Shaner (New York Academy Medicine), Peter Parshall, Gregory Jecmen, and Jonathan Bober (National Gallery of Art), Stephen Johnston (Museum of the History of Science, University of Oxford), and finally, Roger Wieck (Morgan Library & Museum), who shares my fascination with holy Hosts. Tim Barringer, Nicole Bensoussan, Suzanne Boorsch, Jo Briggs, Anne Dunlop, and Dick Field at Yale all contributed in important ways to the book. Timothy Young at the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library facilitated my first pass at this material in exhibition form in 2003. Terry Belanger and many others in the ever-broadening Rare Book School community inspired my interdisciplinary interest in the hands-on use of books, prints, and other artworks. Other crucial colleagues and partners in crime included Edward Wouk, Dániel Margócsy, Alison Stewart, Miriam (Lisa) Kirch, Eric Avery, and my extremely perceptive anonymous readers.

viii

acknowledgments

In it for the long haul were my father Lawrence F. Karr, the first PhD in the family, my husband Keith “There are three things wrong with this title!” Schmidt, our two little Holy Roman Emperors (and printed sundial testers) Karl and Maximilian, and my ultimate research model and editor, my mother Kathleen Karr. All errors and faulty constructions are my own.

List of Illustrations 0.1

0.2

0.3

0.4a

0.4b

1.1

1.2

1.3

1.4

South German, Apes Performing on Horseback, ca. 1440–1450. Handcolored woodcut with oval volvelle: 4.6×1.7cm (volvelle, vertical); 26.6×18.8cm (image); 28.6×20.4cm (sheet). © Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg (h 5690) (photo: Monika Runge). 6 German, Devil sheet, from Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst), after 1555. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress: 34.5×17cm (sheet). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Einbl. vii,23 a) (photo: Creative Commons). 16 Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Unassembled Cryptographic Volvelle, from De furtivis literarum notis (Naples: Johannes Maria Scotus, 1563 [but actually London: John Wolfe, 1591]), 73. Unassembled base, woodcut, and letterpress: 15.3×9.7cm (block); 19.4×14.4cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (z44 2m). 17 German, Pope flap, from Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst), after 1555. Hand-colored woodcut with gold: 10.5×17cm (flap). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Einbl. vii,23 a) (photo: Creative Commons). 18–19 Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Uncut Cryptographic Dial, from De furtivis literarum notis (Naples: Johannes Maria Scotus, 1563 [but actually London: John Wolfe, 1591]), 72. Woodcut dial (1): 4.2cm (diameter). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (z44 2m). 18–19 German, Easter Calendar (rota paschalis) for 1466–1494, 1465/1466. Handcolored woodcut with volvelle: 8cm (volvelle diameter); 18.8×13.8cm (image); 21.3×16cm (sheet). Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington d.c. (1944.2.1) (photo: author). 24 German (Nuremberg), Canon Table with a Calvary, ca. 1485; text, Cologne, ca. 1485/1488. Hand-colored woodcut on vellum with letterpress, folded: 14.6×10.3cm (image); 16.3×35.6cm (sheet). © Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg (h82) (photo: Monika Runge). 26 Netherlandish, Epiphany Crown, ca. 1570–1590. Woodcut crown, stencil colored in red and orange. From album owned by Philipp Hainhofer: 39×14.5cm (sheet). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (Cod. Guelf. 39.7. Aug. 2o, fol. 822). 28 Published by Harmen Jansz. Muller (Netherlandish, 1540–1617), King’s Letter, Amsterdam 1577. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress

x

1.5

1.6

1.7

1.8

1.9

1.10

1.11

1.12

list of illustrations broadsheet of Epiphany lottery slips to cut out: 37.6×28.7cm (sheet). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (Cod. Guelf. 39.7. Aug. 2o, fol. 821). 29 Raymon Llull (Spanish, 1232–1315), Fourth Figure (Quarta Figura), from Ars brevis (Lyon: Etienne Baland, 1514), a8r. Woodcut volvelle with two dials: 6.5–8.4cm (volvelle diameters); 10.5cm (block diameter); 16×10.3cm (sheet, trimmed). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (k8 l97 d514). 30 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Title Page, from Eyn schöne Und Gotselige Kurzweil/eines Christlichen Loßbuchs (Strasbourg: Heinrich Vogtherr, 1539). Woodcut and letterpress with double-sided volvelle: approx. 5.2cm (Christ Child volvelle diameter); 25.2×15.2cm (block). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409) (photo: author). 31 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder, verso of Title Page, from Christlichen Loßbuchs (Strasbourg, 1539). Woodcut and letterpress with double-sided, hand-colored volvelle: 6.4cm (Angel dial); 7.2cm (extended arm, when present); 11.7cm (diameter of block). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409) (photo: author). 33 Matthew Paris (ca. 1200–1259), Part of the Itinerary London to Jerusalem, from Historia Angloram, ca. 1250–1259. Pigment on vellum with two flaps: approx. 36×24.5cm (sheet). British Library, London (Royal ms 14 c vii, 4r) (photo: Art Resource, New York). 37 Marcus Gheeraerts the Elder (Netherlandish, 1521–1604), The Papist Mountain (Den Papen Berghe), ca. 1566. Etching and letterpress: 43.5×31.5cm (plate). Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg (photo: author). 38 Raffaello Schiaminossi (Italian, 1572–1622) and Domenico Falcini (Italian, ca. 1575–1628), after Jacopo Ligozzo (Italian, 1547–1627). View of a Church with a Partially Removable Rood Screen, from Fra Lino Moroni (Italian, active early seventeenth century), Descrizione del Sacro Monte della Vernia (Florence, 1612), f. Engraving with flap: approx. 47×32.5cm (plate). Newberry Library, Chicago (Wing oversize zp 6351 .12) 41 German (Lower Saxony), Monstrance Cabinet Door, and detail, ca. 1500. Oil on panel: 104.3×39.5×1cm (center panel); 121×56×2cm (with painted framework and lock). Diözesanmuseum, Freising (d 200–80) (photo: author). 43 German (Rhine), Shrine of the Virgin (Schreinmadonna), ca. 1300. Oak, linen covering, polychromy, gilding, gesso: 36.8×34.6×13cm (open);

list of illustrations

1.13

1.14

1.15

1.16

2.1

2.2

2.3

2.4

xi

12.7cm (width closed). Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (17.190.185a, b) (photo: www.metmuseum .org). 45 Netherlandish, Prayer Bead with the Adoration of the Magi and the Crucifixion, early sixteenth century. Boxwood: 5.8×5.5×5.6cm (closed); 11.2×8.1×2.7cm (open). Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (17.190.475) (photo: www.metmuseum .org). 47 Adam Dircksz and workshop (Dutch, active 1500–1530), Miniature Tabernacle Showing Scene of the Life and Passion of Christ, ca. 1500–1530. Boxwood, with pelican pinnacle whose removal opens four petals revealing a Madonna and Child: 22.2 × 9.3 × 10.6cm (including pelican and base); approx. 20 × 10.9cm in diameter (with petals lowered). British Museum, London (wb.233) (© The Trustees of the British Museum). 49 Johann Melchior Gutwein (German, active Augsburg, ca. 1740), Edible Prints (Schluckbilder or Eßzettel), ca. 1740. Etching on light greenish blue laid paper: 7.9×6cm (image/plate); 9.1×8.7cm (sheet). Private collection, Chicago. 53 German, Small Prayer Booklets (Breverl), seventeenth–nineteenth centuries. Engravings and woodcuts with letterpress and folding elements: dimensions variable, 8×5cm (bl 635) to 13×10cm (bl650). Detail of installation ca. 2005, Diözesanmuseum Freising (bl 613/615/629/631/635/641/643/645/650/652/653) (photo: author). 54 Gentile Bellini (Italian, ca. 1460–1507), Cardinal Bessarion and Two Members of the Scuola della Carità in Prayer with the Bessarion Reliquary, 1472/3. Oil on panel: 102.7×37.2cm. National Gallery, London (ng6590) (photo: Art Resource, New York). 59 German (Bavaria), Blutenberg Panel Illustrating the Reliquary Treasure of Andechs, 1497. Tempera, metal leaf, and vellum on wood: 116×161cm. Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich (Inv. Nr. ma 3302). 60 German (Bavaria), Andechs Relic Panel (Andechs Heiltumstafel … das wirdig hailthum das do rastet auff dem hailigenn Perg ze Andechs In obern payern), 1496. Hand-colored woodcut with xylographic text printed on four sheets: approx. 26.5×37.5 (each sheet); approx. 53×75cm (complete woodcut). British Museum, London (1895,0122.188–189) (© The Trustees of the British Museum). 61 Lucas Cranach the Elder (German, 1472–1553), Silver Monstrance, from Heiltumsbuch (Wittenberg, 1509). Book with woodcuts and letterpress: 19.3×14cm (sheet). Kate S. Buckingham Fund, the Art Institute of Chicago (1948.111). 63

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list of illustrations

2.5

German (Augsburg), Saint Bridget Giving Her Rule to the Nuns and Monks of Her Order, 1480–1500. Hand-colored woodcut printed from one block, now divided into three sheets mounted together: 26.5×9.7cm (left); 26.5× 19cm (center); 26.5×9.5cm (right); 27×39.3cm (overall). British Museum, London (1934-6-9-2/4) (© The Trustees of the British Museum). 67 Hans Baldung Grien (German, ca. 1480–1545), Saint Catherine, Madonna and Child on a Grassy Bench, and Saint Barbara, 1505–1507. Woodcut triptych with letterpress: Saint Catherine, 23.2×15.8cm (image/block); 27.3×19 (sheet); Madonna and Child on a Grassy Bench, 23.6×16cm (image/sheet); Saint Barbara, 23.6×16.1cm (image/sheet). The Amanda S. Johnson and Marion Livingston Fund, 2009.43 (Saint Catherine) and 2013.159 (Saint Barbara); Anonymous gift, 2013.172 (Madonna and Child), the Art Institute of Chicago. 69 Annotations on the sacred canon of the Eucharist, in Biblia cum co[n]cordantijs veteris et novi testame[n]ti et sacroru[m] canonu[m] (Lyon: Jean Marion, 1520), Luke 22 and Matthew 26. Letterpress with ink annotations: 37×26cm (full sheet). Spencer Collection, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (Spencer Coll. French 1520 81–58) (photos: author). 71 German (Basel), A Canon Table with a Lamentation, Lienhart Ysenhut, Basel, ca. 1490/1500. Hand-colored woodcut on vellum with manuscript additions: 12.7×12.8cm (woodcut); 15.8×13.4cm (folded); 15.6×39.7cm (full sheet). Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington d.c. (1959.16.15) (photo: author). 73 Melchior Lotter (German, 1470–1549), Canon Table, ca. 1500–1515. Handcolored woodcut with letterpress, in two states: 13.8×35.6cm folded, and 15.4×41cm with hinges. Foundation Schloss Friedenstein Gotha (Schreiber 1841) (photo: author). 76 Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), Canon Table (Hamburg, late 1520s). Woodcut with letterpress in black and red: 19×43cm (sheet). Houghton Library, Harvard University, (pga_typ_520_20_200). 78 Dirck Volkertsz. Coornhert (Netherlandish, 1522–1590), after Maerten van Heemskerck (Netherlandish, 1498–1574), Christ on the Cross Between the Two Thieves, ca. 1554 (wings with letterpress text dated 1559 printed on wrong sides of engraving). Engraving and letterpress: 38.2×12.9cm (each wing); 41.2×26.2cm (central engraving); 41.2×50cm (complete print). Albertina, Vienna (hb 532, fol. 30, 31). 80 German, Adam and Eve Calendar, 1470s. Hand-colored woodcut: 19.3×14.2cm (sheet). Universitätsbibliothek, Eberhard Karls Universität Tübingen (Ke xviii 4a.2-Nr. 12). German, Easter Calendar (rota paschalis)

2.6

2.7

2.8

2.9

2.10

2.11

3.1a–c

list of illustrations

3.2a–c

3.3

3.4

3.5

3.6

3.7

3.8

4.1

xiii

for 1466–1494, 1465/1466. Hand-colored woodcut with volvelle: 8cm (volvelle diameter); 18.8×13.8cm (image); 21.3×16cm (sheet). Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington d.c. (1944.2.1) (photo: author). ‘Lord and Lady’ or ‘Adam and Eve’ dice, fifteenth century. Ivory: each up to 2.5×2.5×2.5cm. Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich (photo: author). 83 German, Host Iron (Hostieneisen). View of instrument; detail of Host plate; and digital reconstruction of the Host, ca. 1500. Iron: approx. 2.6– 6.6cm (Host diameter); 11.4×18.9cm (plate); 80cm (length). Diözesanmuseum Freising (d 78107) (photo: author). 90 Machécho Master (Oudot Matuchet?) (France, Dijon), Sacred Bleeding Host of Dijon, 1530s. Miniature on vellum: 21.1×14.6cm (sheet). Collection of Mr. and Mr. Roger S. Wieck and Jean-François Vilain, New York. 94 Hans Baldung Grien (German, ca. 1480–1545), detail of Host, from Saint Barbara. Woodcut. The Amanda S. Johnson and Marion J. Livingston Fund, the Art Institute of Chicago, (2013.159). 96 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Title Page, details of Christ Child on Paten, and Paten, with dial digitally removed, from Christlichen Loβbuchs, 1539. Woodcut: 5.2cm (Christ Child volvelle diameter); 11.5cm (Paten diameter). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409) (photo: author). 100 German. Paten, ca. 1230–1250. Silver, partly gilt; niello, jewels: 2.2×22.2cm. The Cloisters Collection, 1947, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (47.101.27) (photo: www.metmuseum.org). 101 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Title Page and verso, details of Christ Child and Angel dials, Christlichen Loβbuchs, 1539. Woodcut: 5.2 and 6.4cm (dial diameter). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409) (photo: author). 102 Theodor Galle (Dutch, 1571–1633), Lottery Page of Jan David (Dutch, ca. 1545–1613), Veridicus Christianus (Antwerp: Plantin Moretus, 1601), 375. Engraving with four cut-out windows for volvelle, intended to be mounted behind with string or (as here), bound in book: 8.5cm (volvelle diameter); 16.6 × 11.5cm (engraving). Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (bx2349 .d3 1601). 103 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Broadsheet: Female (Anothomia oder abconterfectung eines/ Weybs leyb) (Augsburg: Jost de Negker, 1538). Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with seven

xiv

list of illustrations

flaps: 41×27.8cm (block). Bibliothèque nationale et universitaire, Strasbourg (r 6) (photo: author). 109 4.2 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Broadsheet: Male (Anathomia oder abconterfettung eynes Mans leib) (Strasbourg: Heinrich Vogtherr, 1539). Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with six flaps: 52×23.9cm (block). Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (ya 249gr) (photo: author). 111 4.3 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Pamphlet (Außlegung und beschreybung der Anatomi) (Nuremberg: Hans Guldenmund, 1539). Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress: approx. 19×14cm (sheet). Wellcome Library, London (epb 7408/b) (photo: Creative Commons). 113 4.4 Giovanni Antonio dei Nicolini da Sabbio (Italian, active 1530s), Anatomy Broadsheet: Female (Viscerum, Hoc Est/ Interiorum Corporis Humani Partium,/ Viva Delineatio.) (Venice: da Sabbio, 1539). Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with six (of seven) flaps: 44.3×32.5cm (sheet), 29.2×15.2cm (woodcut). Formerly Martayan Lan Rare Books (photo: author). 115 4.5–7 Lucas Kilian (German, 1579–1637), Anatomy Broadsheets: First Vision (Visio Prima); Second Vision (Visio Secunda); and Third Vision (Visio Tertia), from Johannes Remmelin (German, 1583–1632), Catoptrum Microcosmicum (Augsburg, 1613). Broadsheets with engravings containing numerous flaps, cut, with etching and letterpress: all approx. 35.9×26.5cm (engraved sheet); 51×34cm (letterpress-printed secondary support). Gift of Dr. Ira Frank, the Art Institute of Chicago (1944.461–462; 1944.521). 118 4.6a–4.7a Lucas Kilian, Interior views of Adam (Visio Secunda) and Eve (Visio Tertia), 1613. 120 4.8–9 Andreas Vesalius (Netherlandish, 1514–1564), Male and Female Anatomical Manikins, from De humani corporis Fabrica librorum Epitome (Basel: Johannes Oporinus, 1543). Woodcuts, cut and constructed, with partial hand-coloring: (a) Male (43.8×15.5cm) and (b) Female (41.8×14.4cm). Image Courtesy of the Malloch Rare Book Room of the New York Academy of Medicine Library. 128 4.10 Andreas Vesalius (Netherlandish, 1514–1564), Anatomy Broadsheet: Veins and Arteries (Venarum et Item Arteriarum Omnium Integra Absolutque Delineatio), from De humani corporis Fabrica librorum septem (Basel: Johannes Oporinus, 1543), fol. 313. Woodcut and letterpress, partially constructed (liver (f) and vein flaps added): 50.8×44cm (sheet). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (3Phys-2f). 129

list of illustrations 4.11–12

4.13

5.1

5.2a–d

5.3a–c

6.1

6.2a–c

xv

Hans Weigel (German, 1549–before 1591) after Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Broadsheets: Male and Female (Anathomia/oder abcontrofectung eines Mans Leib; Anathomia/oder abcontrofectung eines Weibs Leib) (Nuremberg: Hans Weigel, 1569). Handcolored woodcuts with multiple flaps and letterpress: 58×30cm (sheet) and 58.5×30cm (sheet). Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg (Einblattdr. nach 1500, Nr. 227–228) (photos: author). 132 Cornelis Bos (Dutch, 1505–1561), Anatomy Broadsheet: Male, ca. 1540. Unknown state of this engraving, with four flaps: 30×19cm. Only impression with the intact fig-tree branch crossing the thighs (to tuck in the fig leaf on the epidermal flap). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (69-8-aug-2f, pasted inside front cover). 136 German (Augsburg), Broadsheet on the Conjoined Twins of Ertingen (Im iar da man zalt tausent fünff hundert und zwolfften ist geborn ain solichs kind … un[d] sein nam ist Elβgred), 1512. Double-sided woodcut inserted in letterpress broadsheet: 11.4×8.7cm (woodcut); 27.7×15cm (sheet). British Museum, London (1876-5-10-619) (© The Trustees of the British Museum). 144 Sebald Beham? (German, 1500–1550), Anti-Clergy Transformation Woodcut: Doctor, Theologian (Luther?), Monk, Nun, Nuremberg, ca. 1526. Hand-colored woodcut with four folding flaps: 12.7×10.1cm (folded sheet). © Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg (hb25914) (photo: Monika Runge). 149 Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), The Pope; a Carthusian Monk; and an Itinerant Monk, in Hans Sachs?, Das Babstum mit seynen gliedern gemalet und beschrieben (Nuremberg: Hans Wandereisen, 1526), Aii; Biii; e. Handcolored woodcuts and letterpress: 19×14.5cm (sheet). Spencer Collection, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (Spencer Coll. Ger. 1526) (photos: author). 150 Pancratius Kempf (German, active 1548–1570) and Matthias Flacius Illyricus (German, 1520–1575), views of Anti-Interim Broadsheet: The Innocent Choir Robe (Der unschuldigen Adiaphoristen Chorrock) (Magdeburg: Christian Rödinger, 1549). Hand-colored woodcut with choir robe (alb) shaped flap: 29.5×36cm (sheet). Albertina, Vienna (dg1984_168); Second impression (missing flap): 27.8×36cm (woodcut); 30.1×38.1cm (sheet). Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg (Einblattdr. nach 1500, Nr. 257) (photo: author). 161 Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch (Swiss, 1525–1571), Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Monk; The Wolf; and The Greedy Monk, ca. 1550. Woodcut with two flaps and letterpress: 20.9×16.6cm (sheet). Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Brunswick (h.r.m. Deutsch ab 3.1). 168

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list of illustrations

6.3

Georg Bartisch (German, 1535–ca. 1607), Anatomy of the Head, from Opthalmodouleia; das ist Augendienst … (Dresden: Matthes Stöckel, 1583), Avr. Woodcuts and letterpress demonstrating internal layers of the head (five flaps, a–e) and eyes (six flaps a/b, c–g, not pictured): 14.3×11.9cm (outer head flap “a”); 20×15.2cm (block). Malloch Rare Book Room of the New York Academy of Medicine Library (photo: author). 170 Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch (Swiss, 1525–1571), Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Changing Face of the Catholic Church, 1556. Woodcut volvelle dial consisting of two circles, one notched, cut out from broadsheet. Dial rotates to show eight different satirical heads: 16.5cm (diameter). Albertina, Vienna (dg 2002/209). 173 German, Anti-Jesuit Broadsheet: Wolves in Jesuit Clothing (Der Jesuitter/sampt ihrer Gesellschafft/Trew und Redligkeit), 1632. Engraving and letterpress with two flaps: approx. 4×4.8cm (flaps); 37.5×27.2cm (sheet). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Einbl. v,8 a-71) (photo: Creative Commons). 174 German, after Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch (Swiss, 1525–1571), Wondrously Strange Roman Catholic Wheel of Fortune (Römisch Cathol. Wunderseltzames GlückRad/auch wahre Abcontrafactur des Antichristischen Bapsthumbs.), 1620. Engraving and letterpress broadsheet (here lacking volvelle dial and letterpress at top and bottom with title and date): 34.5×20.5cm (sheet, trimmed). © Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg (hb19894) (photo: Monika Runge). 175 Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471–1528), Knight, Death, and the Devil, 1513. Engraving: 24.5×19cm (image/plate); 25.3×19.7cm (sheet). Robert Alexander Waller Memorial Fund, the Art Institute of Chicago (1959.538). 177 Hans Brosamer (German, ca. 1500–1552), Title Page, from Johannes Cochlaeus, Sieben Koepffe Martini Luthers (Leipzig: Valentin Schulman, 1529). Woodcut: 18.3×13.4cm (block), 18.7×13.9cm (sheet). Courtesy of the Richard C. Kessler Reformation Collection, Pitts Theology Library, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta (1529 coch c). 179 German, Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst), after 1555. Hand-colored woodcut with gold and letterpress: 10.5×17cm (flap); 18.5×17cm (woodcut); 10.5×17cm (flap); 34.5×17cm (sheet). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Einbl. vii,23 a) (photo: Creative Commons). 181 French, Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Du Pape Alexandre Sixiesme), after 1566. Woodcut and letterpress: 15×12.1cm

6.4a–h

6.5

6.6

6.7

6.8

6.9

6.10

list of illustrations

6.11

6.12

6.13

6.14a–f

6.15

7.1

7.2

7.3

7.4

7.5a

xvii

(Julius iii); 30.1×18.4cm (Pope Alexander vi and Devil woodcut); 57.5×34.7cm (sheet with flap closed); 57.5×35.8cm (sheet with flap open). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (jh 12). 185 Vitus Jacobaeus (German, d. 1568), Anti-Lutheran Broadsheet: Anatomy of Martin Luther (Anatomia M. Lutheri), 1567. Woodcut and letterpress: 39×27.6cm (sheet). Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg (Album 276) (photo: author). 192 German (Wittenberg), Luther Triumphant (Lutherus Triumphans), 1568. Woodcut with letterpress broadsheet (lacking main text): 23×35cm (sheet). Courtesy of the Richard C. Kessler Reformation Collection, Pitts Theology Library, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta (1568 ehrw). 194 Wolfgang Meyerpeck (German, 1545–1600), Anti-Papal Caricature, 1569. Etching and letterpress broadsheet: 28.8×39.8cm (sheet). Bibliothèque nationale de France (reserve fol-qb-201 (7)). 195 Wolfgang Meyerpeck (German, 1545–1600), Anti-Jesuit Transformation Etching: Canisius and Eisengrein, ca. 1569. Hand-colored etching with four folding flaps: 29.5×10.2cm (full sheet). The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1959, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (59.508.92) (photo: www.metmuseum.org). 196 German, Luther Versus the Pope, after 1546, possibly 1570s or 1580s. Pen and watercolor with a double-sided flap: approx. 4.8×23cm (flap); 18.2×23cm (sheet). Kupferstich-Kabinett, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden (Ca 91 Bl.1). 200 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564) and Sebald Beham? (German, 1500–1550), Cruciform Sundial for All Latitudes, 1529. Woodcut: 44.1×17.6cm (sheet). © Germanisches Nationalmuseum (h665). 207 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Crucifix Sundial, 1544. Engraved and carved ivory: 9.7×3.9×1.6cm. © Germanisches Nationalmuseum (wi133) (photo: Jürgen Musolf). 208 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Turkish Sundial, 1529. Engraving: 16.4×6.2cm (inside border); 18.1×9.1 (outer plate). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 58) (photo: Creative Commons). 209 Peter Apian (German, 1495–1552) and Hans Brosamer (German, ca. 1500– 1552), Title Page, from Instrument Buch (Ingolstadt: Peter Apian, 1533). Woodcut and letterpress printed in red and black: 30.3×20.7cm (sheet). Owen Gingerich, Cambridge, ma. 212 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Paper Astrolabe, 1542, engravings glued to pasteboard and wood, with brass fittings: 16.8×13.3×3.4cm. Museum of the History of Science, University of Oxford (Inv. 49296). 217

xviii 7.5b

7.6

7.7

7.8

7.9

7.10

7.11

7.12

7.13

7.14

list of illustrations Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Astrolabe Kit, 1535–1542. Engravings bound within album, 23.5×17cm (album sheets); 16.7×13.5cm; (plates). Rare Book Division, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations. 217 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Astrolabe, 1540. Brass: 19.7×14×1.9cm. Adler Planetarium & Astronomy Museum, Chicago (m-22). 218 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Astrolabe Kit, 1551. Woodcut: approx. 19×16cm (block); 28.8×35cm (sheet). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 70; 127) (photo: Creative Commons). 219 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Octagonal Sundial, 1526. Engraving on two sheets: 28.2×19.7cm (left plate); 30.4×20.4cm (left sheet); 28.5×19.7cm (right plate); 30.4×20.4cm (right sheet). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (Inv.-Nr. 15 Astron. 2° (1r–v)). 220 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Pyramid Sundial, 1529. Woodcut with letterpress: 10.2×38.1cm (plate); 20.1×39.9cm (sheet). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (Inv.-Nr. 15 Astron. 2° (1p)). 224 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Roman Sundial (Delineatio Horologii Columne Cancave ex Vetustiss, Marmore Rome Reperto Sumpta), 1527. Engraving: 8.5×22.7cm (plate). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 32) (photo: Creative Commons). 226 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Nuremberg Sundial Dedicated ‘for the use of the Compastmacher,’ (pro utilitate Horologistarum, vulgariter Compastmacher), 1535. Engraving, from a set of eleven diptych sundial engravings for different latitudes: 18.2×9.5cm (plate). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 58) (photo: Creative Commons). 229 Peter Flötner (German, 1485–1546), Human Sundial, ca. 1540. Woodcut and letterpress broadsheet: 19.5×26.6cm (block); 26.9×31.4cm (sheet). Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Brunswick (PFloetner wb 3.11). 230 Jean Matheus (French, active 1614–1625) after Peter Flötner (German, 1485–1546), Audacious Astrologers (astrologues audacieux), 1614/1625. Engraving: 19.5×25.9cm (plate). Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg (album 128, no. 327) (photo: author). 233 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Compass or Sundial (Compast oder Sonnen Ur) for Nuremberg City Council (Rat), 1551. Woodcut and letterpress: 32×40.4cm (block). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 135) (photo: Creative Commons). 234

list of illustrations 8.1

8.2a

8.2b

8.2c

8.3

8.4

8.5

8.6

8.7

xix

Regiomontanus (German, 1436–1476), Universal Sundial with an Articulated Brass Arm and Lunar Volvelle Dial and Quadrant from Calendarium (Venice: Erhard Ratdolt, 1476). Book with woodcut and letterpress in black and red, hand colored with brush and watercolor, pen and ink, with dial and metal (and modern string elements): 28.6×20.5cm (sheet). Gift in memory of Mrs. Emil Eitel from Mr. Emil Eitel, the Art Institute of Chicago (1948.343). 242 Horoscope for Emperor Maximilian i (Horoscopion universal pro multiplici diversarum genium ritu), May 31, 1512. Hand-colored woodcut with hole for index string, and letterpress: 35.8×35.8cm (block); 46.8×46.3cm (sheet). Albertina, Vienna (dg 1950/219). 246 Horoscope for Jacob Bannisius (Horoscopion omni generaliter Congruens climati), August 8, 1512. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress: 33×20.2cm (block); 39×24.6cm (sheet). © Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg (hb 25805) (photo: Monika Runge). 247 Horoscope for Jacob Bannisius (Horoscopion omni generaliter Congruens climati) (Nuremberg: Hieronymus Höltzel, August 8, 1512). Unique impression of uncolored woodcut with two columns of letterpress instructions: 34.2×20.5cm (block); 40.8×52.1cm (sheet). British Museum, London (1909,0612.31–33) (© The Trustees of the British Museum). 249 Constructed facsimile of Springinklee Horoscopion, August 8, 1512. Reproduction on cardstock with metal sights, metal arm, and string with bead: 36.5×21.2×2.2cm (with sights). Based on Germanisches Nationalmuseum impression, and used as a hands-on didactic in 2012 Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe exhibition at Harvard Art Museums (photo: author). 250 Peter Apian (German, 1495–1552), Horoscopion, 1519. Woodcut: 24.2×15.5cm (block, including illusionistic sights); 34.5×19.2cm (sheet). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 2) (photo: Creative Commons). 251 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Universal Horoscope (Quadratum Horarium Generale), 1535. Engraving: 22.8×10.4cm (plate). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 95) (photo: Creative Commons). 253 Lucas Cranach the Elder (German, 1472–1553), A perpetually useful planetary device by Bonifatius von Zörbig (Ein ewig nutzbarlich Planetisch werck von magistro Bonifacio von Zorbegk), ca. 1513. Woodcut and letterpress printed in black and red: 28.4×36.7cm (block); 31.9×38.8cm (sheet). Albertina, Vienna (dg1929/190). 256 Photograph of Lucas Cranach the Elder (German, 1472–1553), Astrolabe

xx

8.8

8.9

8.10

8.11

8.12

9.1

9.2

9.3

9.4

list of illustrations for Students (Charta ad Usum Studiosorum), 1529. Photograph taken by Ernst Zinner before wwii of hand-colored woodcut volvelle: dimensions unknown. Formerly Universitätsbibliothek Jena (photo: Zinner Archiv, Frankfurt). 257 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Nuremberg-Jerusalem Sundial, 1552. Engraving: 9.7×21.5cm (plate). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 90) (photo: Creative Commons). 260 Johannes Schöner (German, 1477–1547), Terrestrial Globe, 1515. Twelve woodcut gores mounted on a sphere, with a wooden base: approx. 39.25×6.54cm (gores); 26.8cm diameter (constructed), 39cm (globe and stand). Historisches Museum Frankfurt (hmf x14610). 262 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Celestial Globe Gores, 1538. Engravings printed as separate gores; nine (of twelve) mounted out of latitude order in album: each approx. 33.2×5.9cm (plate). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 16–24) (photo: Creative Commons). 267 Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471–1528), Northern Celestial Hemisphere (Imagines coeli Septentrionalis cum duodecim imaginibus zodiaci.), 1515. Woodcut: 43.2×43cm (block). Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1951, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (51.537.1) (photo: www .metmuseum.org). 268 Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471–1528), Southern Celestial Hemisphere (Imagines coeli Meridionales.), 1515. Woodcut: 43.1×43.2cm (block). Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1951, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (51.537.2) (photo: www.metmuseum.org). 269 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Concave Sundial with Angels (Horologium in Concavam Columnam), 1533. Etching: 15.6×23.4cm (plate); approx. 15.6×15.8cm (constructed). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 50) (photo: Creative Commons). 274 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Turkish Sundial, 1529. Engraving: 16.4×6.2cm (inside border); 18.1×9.1 (outer plate); approx. 8×6.2cm (constructed). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 58) (photo: Creative Commons). 281 Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), The Siege of Vienna, 1530. Woodcut from six blocks and letterpress: 81.9×91.2cm (sheet). Kupferstichkabinett der Staatliche Museen zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Inv. 848–100) (photo: Volker-H. Schneider/Art Resource, New York). 282 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564) and Sebald Beham? (German, 1500–1550), Cruciform Sundial for All Latitudes, 1529. Woodcut: 44.1×17.6cm (sheet); approx. 17×12×4cm (constructed). © Germanisches Nationalmuseum (h665). 283

list of illustrations 9.5a

9.5b

9.6

10.1

10.2

10.3a

10.3b

10.4

xxi

Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), Moses and Brazen Serpent, from Biblia Veteris Testamenti & Historie (Frankfurt: Christian Egenolff, 1551), Num. 21. Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 5×7.2cm (block); 15×9cm (sheet). Rare Books Division, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (*kb 1551) (photo: author). 285 Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), Peasant and Peasant Woman with Goose, from Kunst und Lere Büchlin (Frankfurt: Christian Egenolff, 1552), d. Woodcuts and letterpress: approx. 10.2×12.5cm (block); 20×15.5cm (sheet). Spencer Collection, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (Spencer Coll. Ger. 1552) (photo: author). 285 Lucas Cranach the Younger (German, 1515–1586), Philipp Melanchthon, 1562. Woodcut with letterpress: 26.5×15cm (sheet). Gift of Bernard F. Rogers, Sr., the Art Institute of Chicago (1935.114). 287 Johannes Schöner (German, 1477–1547), Lunar Volvelle, from Aequitorium Astronomicum (Bamberg, 1521). Hand-colored woodcuts, letterpress, and volvelles: approx. 49×33.1cm (sheet). Universitätsbibliothek Ludwig Maximilians-Universität, Munich (w 2 Math. 336#1) (photo: author). 297 Hans Holbein the Younger, Instrument on the Course of the Moon (Instrument uber den Mondslauff ), Sebastian Münster, [Worms]: [Schöffer], 1529. Woodcut with central hole for index string: 61.5×44.5cm (sheet). Universitätsbibliothek Ludwig Maximilians-Universität, Munich (w 2 Math. 336#2). 299 Regiomontanus (German, 1436–1476), Lunar Volvelle and Quadrant from Calendarium (Venice: Erhard Ratdolt, 1476). Book with woodcut and letterpress in black and red, hand colored with brush and watercolor, pen and ink, with dial: 28.6×20.5cm (sheet). Gift in memory of Mrs. Emil Eitel from Mr. Emil Eitel, the Art Institute of Chicago (1948.343). 302 Detail of woodcut base layer of Lunar Volvelle and Quadrant, from Calendarium (Venice: Erhard Ratdolt, 1483), i.27b. Woodcut and letterpress volvelle (dial missing), showing wax remnants: approx. 22×16cm (sheet). Rare Book Division, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (*kb 1483). 303 Peter Apian (German, 1495–1552) and Michael Ostendorfer (German, ca. 1490–1559), Northern and Southern Celestial Hemispheres Volvelle, from Astronomicum Caesareum (Ingolstadt: Peter Apian, 1540), b3r. Black and white proof; hand-colored woodcut volvelle with letterpress: 48×34cm (sheet). Gift of Philip Hofer, 1942, Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, ma (Typ 520.40.150 pf); Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich, (Rar. 818). (photos: Harvard University; Creative Commons). 306

xxii

list of illustrations

10.5

Dragon and Lunar Volvelles, from Apian, Astronomicum Caesareum, 1540, g3v–g4r. Black and white proof; hand-colored woodcut volvelles with letterpress and silk index string: 48×34 cm (sheet). Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, ma (Typ 520.40.150 pf); Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 818) (photos: Harvard University/Creative Commons). 307 Hermann tom Ring (German, 1521–1596) and Remigius Hogenberg (Flemish, 1536–1587), True Movement of the Sun (Verus Motus der Sonnen) or Sun Circle (Sonnencirckel), from Leonard Thurneisser zum Thurn (German, ca. 1530–1596), Archidoxa … (Münster: Johann Ossenbrug, 1569). Eight etching and letterpress sheets, each with a two-dial volvelle: 17.2×13.7cm (folded); 30.9×24.6cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (Rs5 t42 569). 309 Sonnencirckel, from Leonard Thurneisser zum Thurn (German, ca. 1530– 1596), Astrolabium, accompanying Archidoxa (Berlin, 1575). Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with eight full-page volvelles: approx. 58×41cm (sheet). Private collection (photo: author). 310 Sonnencirckel tree volvelle dial, from Astrolabium, 1575. Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 28×24cm (block); 28.4×25cm (uncut sheet). Georg Hartmann album, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 107) (photo: Creative Commons). 312 Detail of Sonnencirkel volvelle. Private collection (photo: author). 313 Snake pointer and Venus dial cap. Woodcut: 26.5×3cm (snake); 4.6cm (dial diameter). Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg (photo: Dr. Bernd Mayer). 314 Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Cryptographic Volvelle from De occultis literarum notis (Naples: Jacobum Foillet, 1593), g 4. Woodcut volvelle, constructed, and letterpress: approx. 4.7cm (volvelle diameter); 16×10.5cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (1993 107). 319 Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Unconstructed Cryptographic Volvelle, from De furtivis literarum notis (Naples: Johannes Maria Scotus, 1563 [but actually London: John Wolfe, 1591]), 72–73. Uncut woodcut volvelle dials, base, and letterpress: 4.2, 4.6, 4.8cm (volvelle diameter); 15.3×9.7cm (base block); 19.4×14.4cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (z44 2m). 321 Italian, Wheel of Fortune, frontispiece from Lorenzo Spirito (active late fifteenth century), Libro dela ve[n]tura (Venice: Giovanni Padovano, 1537). Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 21×15cm (sheet). Rare Books Division,

10.6

10.7

10.8a

10.8b 10.8c

10.9

10.10

11.1

list of illustrations

11.2

11.3

11.4

11.5

11.6

11.7

11.8

11.9

xxiii

the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (*kb 1537) (photo: author). 326 Dice and Wheels, stages of mythological fortune-telling, from Libro dela ve[n]tura, 1537, a13; a19. Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 21×15cm (sheet). Rare Books Division, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (*kb 1537). (photo: author). 327 Angel Volvelle in Losbuch, Grünsfeld, 1492. Paint on metal volvelle set inside front manuscript cover: 5.6cm (volvelle diameter); 23×16.8cm (binding). Universitätsbibliothek, Heidelberg (Cod. Pal. germ. 552) (photo: Creative Commons). 329 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Angel Volvelles, from Christlichen Loßbuchs, 1539, title page verso; Pambst, Loßbuch (Strasbourg: Balthasar Beck, 1546), 3. Woodcut: 6.4cm and 4.8cm (dial diameter). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409 and 4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara) (photo: author). 330 Swiss, Book opening with Sea Monster Volvelle (a), and page with Lindtwurm (b), from Tierloßbuch (Basel: Martin Flach, 1485), [n.p.]. Woodcuts, letterpress, and vellum-reinforced volvelle, with ink annotations: approx. 7cm (dial diameter); 13.4×12.8cm (woodcut); 21cm × 15cm (sheet). Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Germany (8° Inc 424.5) (photo: Creative Commons). 331 Cologne, Germany, Broadside: An Invitation to an Arms Competition, in or after 1501. Hand-colored woodcut with letterpress on two joined sheets of paper: 61.5×46.6cm. Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington d.c. (1951.16.4). (photo: nga Images) 336 Attributed to Erhard Altdorfer, Lottery of Eler Lange, “Der Glückshafen zu Rostock,” Rostock, Ludwig Dietz, 1518. Woodcut and letterpress: 29.5×36.3cm (woodcut); 54.9×36.8cm (woodcut and letterpress). Rostock Universitätsbibliothek, Rostock (mk-12058). 338 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder, (German, 1490–1556), Unicorn Volvelle from Kartenloßbuch (Strasbourg: Jakob Cammerlander, 1543), fol. 4. Book with woodcuts and letterpress and double-sided volvelle: 8.5×5.8cm (volvelle recto dimensions includes horn; similar rosette dial on verso not shown); 19.5×13.8cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (1976 335). 339 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Wheel of Fortune, from Paulus Pambst, Loßbuch zu ehren der Römischen, Ungarischen und Böhmischen Künigin (Strasbourg: Balthasar Beck, 1546), 3–4. Woodcut and letterpress, inset with a double-sided volvelle: Volvelle (diameter): 4.8–

xxiv

11.10

11.11

11.12

11.13

12.1

12.2

12.3

list of illustrations 5.2cm (Angel, depending on completeness of pointing arm); 4.9cm (Christ Child); Recto: 12.5×10cm (woodcut); Verso: 17×17.2cm (woodcut); 26×20cm (sheet). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara) (photo: author). 342 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder? (German, 1490–1556), Dice and Mythological River Charts, from Pambst, Loßbuch, 1546, 43, 64. Woodcut and letterpress: 26×20cm (sheet). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara) (photo: author). 343 Pambst, Loßbuch, 1546, with hidden compartment bindings. Exterior binding; interior binding; hidden dice compartment. Top row: Binding, likely late 1560s–1570s in stamped pigskin. Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen, (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara) (photos: author). Bottom row: Binding dated 1568 in stamped leather (possibly calfskin). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (22 Poet. 2°). 345 Virgil Solis (German, 1514–1562), Booklike Box for Playing Cards, ca. 1544. 49 (of 52) engravings printed on cardboard, in a false book binding. With gold-stamped image of the Christ Child and vdmie (Verbum Domini Manet in Eternum), and faux edges of the book block in colored paper suggesting pages: 13×9.8cm (engravings); 15.3×13×6cm (binding). Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg (KpB.0011.Nr.). 347 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Dedication to Queen Anna of Hungary and Bohemia, from Pambst, Loßbuch, 1546, 1. Woodcut and letterpress: 7×7cm (woodcut). Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara) (photo: author). 349 Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621) and family, Courtesan and Blind Cupid, ca. 1588. Engraving with skirt flap: approx. 8.6×7cm (flap); 14.3× 19.8 (plate); 17.8×25cm (sheet). Print Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (mem b537v) (photo: New York Public Library). 354 Venetian Matron and Virgin, (Matrona Veneta and Virgo Veneta), from Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Diversaru[m] nationum habitus, (Venice: Pietro Bertelli, 1589), vol. 1, plates 1 and 3. Engraving: approx. 12×8.6 (plate); 17×10.7cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (2001 765). 355 Venetian Courtesan (Cortigiana Veneta), from Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Diversaru[m], 1589, vol. 1, plate 7. Engraving with skirt

list of illustrations

12.4

12.5 12.6 12.7 12.7a

12.8

12.9

12.10

12.11

xxv

flap: approx. 6.7×5.1 (flap); 11.6×8.1cm (plate); 17×11cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (2001 765). 357 Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621) and family, Venetian Courtesan series, ca. 1588. Nine engravings with seven flaps present: Tomb of Antenor (no flap, not illustrated); Carnival Maskers/ Courtesan in Interior (12.4); Courtesan and Blind Cupid/ Gondola (12.5); Courtesan Riding Donkey/ Courtesans in Carriage in the Veneto (12.6); Gondola Card Game/ Senatorial Barge (12.7): approx. 14.3×19.8 (plate); 25×17.8cm (sheet). Bound with Donato Bertelli (Italian, active 1564–1574), Le vere imagini et descritioni delle piu nobilli citta del mondo (Venice: Donato Bertelli, 1578). Print Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (mem b537v) (photos: author). 358 Courtesan and Blind Cupid/ Gondola 359 Courtesan Riding Donkey/ Courtesans in Carriage in the Veneto 360 Gondola Card Game/ Senatorial Barge. 361 Giacomo Franco (Italian, 1550–1620), Sponsa Veneta in Cymbia, from Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Diversaru[m], 1592, variant edition published 1638. Engraving: approx. 8.6×12cm (plate). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (a: 584.7 Hist. (1), plate 5). 361 Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Neapolitan Noblewoman in Sedan Chair (Nobilis Neapolitana) and Turkish Bride (Sponsa Turca Constantinopolitana.), from Diversaru[m], 1589, vol. 1, plates 31, 80. Engravings with flaps: approx. 11.4×8.4 (plate); 17×13cm (sheet). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (2001 765). 363 Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621) and others, Venetian Courtesan Wall Hanging, ca. 1588. Four engravings pasted on canvas, three with flaps: 27.1×38.2cm (combined plates); 30.2×40.8cm (sheet). Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg (xiii,321,178). 367 Nicolò Nelli (Italian, active Venice, ca. 1552–1579), Proverbi, printed by Ferrando Bertelli, 1564. Engraving with some etching: 38.9×51.7cm. The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (56.581.9) (photo: www .metmuseum.org). 369 Details of Phyllis from Nelli Proverbi (a), and Courtesan Riding Donkey from Bertelli, Venetian Courtesan series (b). The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (56.581.9); Print Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division

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of Art, Prints and Photographs, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (mem b537v) (photo: www.metmuseum.org and author). 370 12.12 German, Memento Mori Spinner, ca. 1525. Hand-colored woodcut with (later) lace-paper flap: approx. 8.3×6cm (flap); 14.1×10.6cm (block/sheet). Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Ms. Germ. Quart. 718, 65) (photo: author). 371 12.13 Elizabethan Conceit [manuscript], March 8, 1602/3 [Shrove Tuesday]. Black, brown, gray, orange, purple, and red ink, and paint on parchment, partially cut, and folded into fifteen rectangles: 11.5×21cm (folded); 53.5×42.3cm (sheet). Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington, d.c. (V.b.319) (photo: Creative Commons). 378 12.14 Andrea Andreani (Italian, 1559–1629), Allegory of Death, 1588. Chiaroscuro woodcut: 50.2×33.7cm (sheet). Gray Collection of Engravings Fund, Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum (g7519) (photo: Imaging Department © President and Fellows of Harvard College). 379 12.15 Matthäus Greuter (German, 1564–1638), Pride, 1596. Engraving with skirt flap: approx. 29×20cm (plate). Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Ya 2840) (photo: author). 382 12.16a–b Conrad Goltzius (Dutch, active 1587–1597), Pride, 1596. Engraving with skirt flap: 27.2×19.5cm (plate). Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington, d.c. (1964.8.1048) (photo: nga Images). 383 12.16c Detail of peacock from Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam impression (rp-p-1939–303). 384 12.17 Matthäus Greuter (German, 1564–1638), Memento Mori, ca. 1596. Engraving: 24.2×17.1cm (within plate). Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg (i,356,6b). 385 12.18 Prince of the World, (Fürst der Welt), 1320–1330. Sandstone sculpture: Just under life-sized, about 122cm tall. St. Sebalduskirche, Nuremberg (photo: author). 388 12.19 Western Switzerland, Memento Mori, ca. 1520. Ivory and ebony: 12.5× 42cm. Museum Schnütgen, Cologne (Inv. No. b 160) (photo: Rheinisches Bildarchiv). 389 13.1 British, Harlequin’s Invasion: a New Pantomine (London: R. Sayer [1770]). Folding sheet of four hand-colored engravings with eight flaps (pasted on at top and bottom): 18.3×7.8cm (each engraving, closed); 36×7.8 (each engraving, flaps open); 18.3×31.6cm (full sheet). Newberry Library, Chicago (Wing zp 745 .s274). 394 13.2 Jost Amman (Swiss, 1539–1591), Emblem of Hope with Blank Heraldic Shield, from Anthologia Gnomonica (Frankfurt: Christian Egenolff, 1579),

list of illustrations

13.3

13.4

13.5

13.6

13.7

13.8

13.9

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156. Woodcut and letterpress: 7.8×11cm (image); 10×15.5cm (sheet). Print Sales Miscellaneous Fund, the Art Institute of Chicago (1938.88.52). 396 Theodor de Bry (Flemish, 1528–1598), Unequal Lovers Outside in a Barrel, in Emblemata Nobilitate (Franfurt, 1592), emblem 11. Engraving with barrel-lid flap: 2.5×1.4cm (flap); 16.4×7.7 (plate). Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (2903–720) (photos: author). 397 Italian (Venice), Venetian Courtesan, in Philipp Hainhofer Stammbuch, entry dated 1597. Gouache miniature with skirt flap: 4.7×3cm (flap); 14.7×9.1cm (miniature); 20.5×14cm (sheet). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (Cod. Guelf. 210 Extrav., fol. 148). 397 Theodor de Bry (Flemish, 1528–1598), Adulterous Lovers in a Wine Barrel, ca. 1598. Engraving with flap (here missing) and letterpress in French: 17.2×22.6cm (sheet). Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg (album 128, no. 381) (photo: author). 399 German, Prostitute and Old Man in a Barrel, with Soldiers, before 1592. Engraving with flap: 17.4×22.8cm (sheet). Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg (album 128, no. 380) (photos: author). 400 Anton Mozart (1573–1625), Dedication of the Pommerschen Kunstschrank, 1614–1615. Oil on wood: 39.5×45.4cm. Kunstgewerbemuseum der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Ident. Nr. p 183 a) (photo: Karen Bartsch). 401 Possibly Johann Matthias Kager (German, 1575–1634), to the specifications of Philipp Hainhofer (German, 1578–1647), Presentation Drawing of Kunstschrank, called Stipo Tedesco (now in Palazzo Pitti, Florence), ca. 1625. Pen and ink and gouache with four flaps: 58×27.7cm (sheet folded into album). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (Cod. Guelf. 6.6. August. 2o, fol. 352). 403 Heinrich Füllmaurer, workshop, front and side views of Gotha Altar, ca. 1539–1541. Mixed media on fir panel: 96×48cm (inner wings); ca. 98×105cm (outer wings); 201×210cm (center). Foundation Schloss Friedenstein Gotha (sg 5) (photo: author). 405

Abbreviations Reference works Geisberg/Strauss Hollstein Dutch

Hollstein German

Max Geisberg; Walter L. Strauss, eds. The German Single-Leaf Woodcut, 1500–1550. New York: Hacker Art Books, 1974. F.W.H. Hollstein et al., Dutch and Flemish Etchings, Engravings and Woodcuts, ca. 1450–1700, 72 vols. Amsterdam, etc.: M. Hertzberger, 1949–2010. F.W.H. Hollstein et al., German Engravings, Etchings and Woodcuts, ca. 1400–1700, vols. 1– (Amsterdam, etc.: M. Hertzberger 1954–).

Major Collections aic albertina beinecke

Art Institute of Chicago Albertina, Vienna Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven bl British Library, London bm British Museum, London bsb Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich gnm Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg hab Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel haum Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Brunswick kk berlin Kupferstichkabinett der Staatliche Museen zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz mhs oxford Museum of the History of Science, University of Oxford mma Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City nga National Gallery of Art, Washington, d.c. nypl New York Public Library stabi berlin Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz sub göttingen Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen susb augsburg Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg veste coburg Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg waldburg-wolfegg Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg

Introduction Art always requires a beholder, but some artworks also need to be handled. Interactive and sculptural prints pervaded the European reading market of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but remain little known today. These single sheets and book illustrations featured movable flaps and dials, or functioned as separate kits for building three-dimensional scientific instruments. The hybrid nature of these constructions—part text, part image, and part sculpture—engaged readers as much as did their content. By using dials and flaps, or building instruments themselves, viewers learned to read images as interactively as they read text. Manuscripts had been indiscriminately copied with or without their movable parts since the thirteenth century; now mass production allowed those parts to be sold as complete, interchangeable packages. The viewer decided whether or not to use them, but the choice was theirs. Thus, interactive prints insisted on an actively personal, tactile, and autodidactic viewership. The implications of this interdisciplinary medium expand beyond art history and the history of the book—and broaden the understanding of the ephemeral tools of early modern propaganda, science, and medicine. Interactive and sculptural prints assumed many roles: as surrogates for devotional objects; as dissectable models of anatomies both normal and deformed by religious polemics; as scientific instruments for personal experimentation; as lavish, yet functional book illustrations and artworks for noble and humanistic patrons; and finally as moralizing emblems in Stammbücher. The latter led to the trivialization of the genre and its ultimate use as pop-ups in children’s literature. The interactive and sculptural print was pervasive during its sixteenthcentury heyday, and offered its viewers a dynamic new way to experience art. Almost three hundred unique interactive and sculptural books and prints survive from the sixteenth century.1 The fact that these prints still exist in such variety and numbers indicates that a much greater body of work has already been lost. Their integration into every published format—from inexpensive broadsheets with letterpress or ornate single sheets, to modest handbooks or 1 This total climbs to over five hundred when all the books and prints of the 1450–1750 period is considered. Two online appendices complement the present study (https://doi.org/10.6084/ m9.figshare.5442142). Catalogue a includes over a hundred and ninety sixteenth-century prints (including sets or pairs of sheets as a single print). Catalogue b includes about a hundred sixteenth-century books, excluding many translations of Apian’s Cosmographicus liber. Many more sixteenth-century manuscripts had flaps or dials as well; only the examples examined and a few other copies could be listed.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_002

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richly-decorated folio volumes—points to their frequent use in an increasingly visually-literate middle class and court culture. Printed globes, finely-engraved paper astrolabes and even portable woodcut sundials in fantastic shapes could also be cut out and mounted on wooden supports. (Fig. 7.1) Their flexibility suited impecunious students (who could assemble them themselves) and nobles alike—for pre-constructed colored versions took pride of place in the richest of collections. Anatomical and polemical flap prints in particular were available hand colored, as well as in black and white, again suggesting the market supported both types.2 (Figs. 4.1; 6.9) Although colored works would have been more expensive, none of the broadsheet examples extant have been painted with special care, and some suggest a large edition (due to the use of stencils).3 While the poor and illiterate might not have owned many of these interactive images, they would certainly have been aware of them. Anatomical flap charts were likely displayed by barber surgeons in bathhouses and by charlatan doctors at fairs, while paintings of public taverns imply that their owners posted bawdy, playful, and even polemical sheets.4 The topical imagery and playful tenor of many interactive prints—especially those revealing the pope as a devil or lifting a woman’s skirt—would have particularly endeared them to a lustful, inebriated audience. (Figs. 4.1; 6.9; 12.1) Estimates of European broadsheet runs in the sixteenth century suggest that at least a thousand copies may have been lost for each surviving woodcut— woodblocks could often support as many as three or four thousand impressions.5 The fine lines on copper plates wore down more quickly, but engravings 2 The number of colored copies conforms to Susan Dackerman’s contention that early modern prints were designed to be colored. Susan Dackerman, Painted Prints: The Revelation of Color in Northern Renaissance and Baroque Engravings, Etchings and Woodcuts (The Baltimore Museum of Art: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002). 3 Stencils had been widely used to color large printed editions since at least the fifteenth century. 4 Paintings in Berlin and Frankfurt by the Brunswick Monogrammist (Flemish; active in the second quarter of the sixteenth century), for example, show secular-themed prints pasted onto the walls of taverns and brothels. While his interiors were most likely fictive, the use of prints in this way was not. 5 “It has been claimed that the popular broadsheet appeared in editions of only 350, but in 1522 the authorities in Leipzig seized 1500 copies of a broadsheet attacking Jerome Emser. Moreover the woodcut block was capable of yielding perhaps three or four thousand copies before it began to deteriorate, and woodcut illustrations were often passed from printer to printer.” Robert Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation (Rev. ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 5; Keith Moxey, Peasants, Warriors and Wives: Popular Imagery in the Reformation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 22.

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were likely more expensive and thus may have been better conserved for their rarity. Although interactive examples have generally survived with three or four impressions at most, a thousand to two thousand copies in good condition might have been produced from each plate.6 Given the approximately hundred and ninety different prints and roughly three hundred and seventy-five impressions of all media of interactive prints that now survive—there may have been 190,000 in circulation in the sixteenth century alone.7 Since a book which sold 20,000 copies was considered a rare best seller during the Renaissance, a body of prints of this size must have been easily accessible, universally owned and enjoyed, and even more easily broken and discarded.8 Only a small percentage has survived, many of which are unique, and yet abundant evidence exists to suggest their one-time prominence, especially in Germany and Northern Italy, and their lasting influence throughout Europe. Forging beyond the mere imitation of existing objects, interactive and sculptural prints replicated the experimental uses of those objects. The hands-on format of a folding paper print could arouse as much devotion as a private painted diptych, or could serve as a functional sundial or astrolabe. Although the imperfect survival of these ephemeral objects has hampered our understanding of the genre, this book will leave readers in no doubt of its existence. Anonymous artists collaborating with scientists and other figures outside the standard realm of art history produced a number of these devices. However, the possibilities of interactive and sculptural prints also attracted many name artists, among them: Jost Amman, Sebald Beham, Pietro Bertelli, Cornelis Bos, Theodor de Bry, Lucas Cranach the Elder, Albrecht Dürer, Peter Flötner, Maerten van Heemskerck, Hans Holbein the Younger, Conrad Goltzius, Matthäus Greuter, Lucas Kilian, Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch, Hans Springinklee, and Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder. Like the small, but well-preserved editions of engravings, Peter Apian’s volvelle-laden, self-published Astronomicum Caesareum in collaboration with Michael Ostendorfer had already become a collector’s item in his own day.

6 “Without steel facing, copper-plates of line-engravings and pure etchings might be made to yield one, two, or even three thousand impressions, but the deterioration is constant, and the last prints would be mere ghosts of the original composition.” Arthur M. Hind, A History of Engraving and Etching: From the 15th-Century to the Year 1914 (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1963), 15. 7 These over 190 prints exist in roughly 375 impressions: about 44 are non-scientific; about 60 are anatomy flap prints; 15 represent a restricted selection of globe gores and interactive maps; at least 60 are other scientific instruments; finally, Hartmann’s instruments alone survive in 196 impressions. The books survive on average in at least two impressions. 8 On the size of book editions, see Moxey, Peasants, Warriors and Wives, 22.

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(Figs. 10.4–5) About a hundred and eleven copies are now known; an astounding number considering he likely published only a few hundred overall.9 This was not the case with all books with interactive parts. Though most have fewer than a dozen copies remaining, and many are unique, a predominant number went into multiple editions in different languages. Apian’s more accessible Cosmographicus liber textbook with four volvelles, for instance, entered about forty editions, though his massive Astronomicum only necessitated a single German pamphlet translation. Even the less-scientific volvelle randomizer dial that told fortunes in a 1539 book by Jörg Wickram became so popular that the text went into at least twenty interactive editions and variations in the sixteenth century. (Fig. 11.8) Apian’s Astronomicum volvelles were based on a serious study of the heavens—yet his dials could yield more work-intensive horoscope readings than Wickram’s unicorn dial, if their users so chose. Although most movable prints survive in unique impressions, several reappear with differing texts and layouts, which suggest their greater popularity. The anatomy sheets were the most frequently reissued of any movable print, and they survive in identical as well as revised or plagiarized editions from as early as 1538. Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder’s anatomy prints appeared that year with an imperial sanction, but that award hardly deterred his audience from demanding copies. (Fig. 4.1) One major woodcut type outside the anatomy tradition has four surviving variants, with two identical impressions: the German Pope is the Devil.10 (Figs. 0.2; 0.4; 6.9–10) Printed after his death in 1555, these images attack the militancy of Pope Julius iii (ruled 1550–1555) against the Protestants. The user lifted the upper body of the seemingly benign Borgia Pope Alexander vi (ruled 1492–1503), to find him not only possessed by, but transformed into the devil beneath. Some editions even included a damning portrait of Julius iii on the verso of the flap. If they so desire, the current reader may photocopy, or cut out and construct reduced-scale, working facsimiles of this German eschatalogical broadside, and of an Italian cryptographic volvelle, at the end of this introduction. (Figs. 0.2–4) In a different approach to the liftable skirt, publisher Pietro Bertelli’s Venetian Courtesan survives in five impressions, while two flap engravings of a memento-mori Pride by Conrad Goltzius from around 1600 exist in four impressions each. (Figs. 12.1; 12.16) Printed scientific 9

10

Owen Gingerich, “A Survey of Apian’s Astronomicum Caesareum,” ed. Karl Röttel, Peter Apian. Astronomie, Kosmographie und Mathematik am Beginn der Neuzeit (Ingolstadt: Polygon Verlag, 1995), 113–122. Wolfgang Harms, Deutsche Illustrierte Flugblätter des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts: Die Sammlung der Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbüttel, vol. ii. (München: Kraus International Publications, 1980), no. 13 describes four unique versions.

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instruments are now little known, but some have even better survival rates: the seventy-five engravings and woodcuts by the Nuremberg mathematician and instrument maker Georg Hartmann range from unique to nine impressions each, and together total nearly two hundred.11 (Figs. 7.1–3; 7.5–10) Together, the extant examples of these disparate formats and types of printed objects highlight the creativity of early modern printmakers, mathematicians, and humanists capitalizing on the flexibility of a very new medium. Only a small percentage of all of these prints and books have survived, many of them unique, and yet abundant evidence exists to suggest their one-time prominence, especially in Germany and Italy, and their lasting influence throughout Europe. Thus interactive and sculptural prints were both artworks themselves, and arbiters of the increasingly personalized reception of art. While initially developed in tandem with the revolution of printing itself, these prints offered a technological innovation preceding a much later concept of interaction. Indeed, Lev Manovich’s twentieth-century concept of new media art holds true for interactive and sculptural prints as the second new media of the early modern era: In contrast to design, in art the connection between content and form (or, in the case of new media, content and interface) is motivated; that is, the choice of a particular interface is motivated by a work’s content to such degree that it can no longer be thought of as a separate level. Content and interface merge into one entity, and no longer can be taken apart.12 Interactive prints transcend design and a single medium, becoming functional objects that are also works of art when they reach beyond the two-dimensional page to their viewer. Unlike modern so-called “new media” computer applications which do not affect the program and its user reciprocally, in this context interactive implies a visual and physical contact that alters both the user and his object.13 Though performing some early computing functions, these prints transcended the spatial limitations of the page, or the modern screen. 11 12 13

Hartmann’s seventy-five prints survive in about 198 total impressions. Lev Manovich, The Language of New Media (The mit Press, 2001), 67. Manovich, The Language of New Media, 36–45, posits that the term interactive is too general for use in discussing the composite nature of new media. Arguably, interactive and sculptural prints were in fact the first “new media” to require it, and they do so in an unmitigated fashion, lacking the animated montages and overlays of computer graphics and Power Point. While some graphical user interfaces require the user to perform tasks by navigating the mouse pointer through links and icons, touch-screen computers, phones, and tablets increasingly offer a directly tactile approach.

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figure 0.1 South German, Apes Performing on Horseback, ca. 1440–1450. Hand-colored woodcut with oval volvelle: 4.6 × 1.7 cm (volvelle, vertical); 26.6×18.8cm (image); 28.6 × 20.4 cm (sheet). © gnm (h 5690)

As a playful, hand-printed and colored woodcut dial with a duo of performing apes from the early 1440–1450s shows, these devices may even have been mass-produced before presses, movable type, and the Gutenberg Bible.14 (Fig. 0.1) While interactive prints could aid the calculation of horoscopes or the date of Easter, they could also be enjoyed entirely on their own merits. This, the earliest surviving print with a dial, is still the most curious and unexplained. Its mischievous, anthropomorphic apes are connected by a rotating band with stripes on the ends painted the color of their skin. Whenever their dial turns ninety degrees, they appear to exchange positions, bending over backward from their prancing steed to blow on the bagpipes or toss a mirror 14

gnm h 5690, Peter Parshall, ed., Origins of European Printmaking: Fifteenth-Century Woodcuts and their Public (National Gallery of Art, Washington, d.c.: Yale University Press, 2005), exh. cat. 63. The apes are built from the same type of sewn-in dial, or volvelle (from Latin volvere, to turn), with more definite functions, but its shape has been altered to fit a different purpose. The term seems to have originated at the same time as the woodcut, for the oed cites the term from a 1440 manuscript: ms. Ashmole 191, fol. 199, which described: “The Rewle of the Voluelle.”

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or ring through the air. Though scholars have suggested a moral, political, and even a courtly basis for this conceit, these creatures are not chained in servitude to masters or morality. Like the reckless monkeys stealing a peddler’s goods in other fifteenth-century prints, they could almost have purloined such colorful toys, and possibly even their charger. Not entirely blameless in their pursuits, the bagpipe offers boisterous phallic overtones. Yet the ring and the bar from which they swing refer back to the turning motion of the print as the viewer takes a vicarious part in their games and twists them about. While exploding into motion that breaches their two-dimensional space, the apes implicitly celebrate the sensory freedoms that this new application of print has brought to their capers. Interactive prints invented a more monumental, hybrid artform when they expanded the scope of their supports. Static pictorial hangings or codices with individual pages became bas reliefs with many layers. Flat sheets transformed into sculpture in the round. The least known category of prints—printed scientific instruments—best demonstrates the interactive print’s own unique ability, that of combining painting and sculpture. Any number of these designs could be fitted to geometrical or fantastical forms, decorated with iconography in any graphical style, and they would still remain unique objects. Hitherto, no one has compiled comprehensive lists of either single-sheet prints or books with moving parts. Many items remain unpublished, while the scattered literature alternates between surveys of the general types and catalogs with specific information on particular impressions without much context.15 Andrea Carlino’s Paper Bodies: A Catalogue of Anatomical Fugitive Sheets 1538–1687 offers a nearly integrated approach by balancing his catalogue entries with essays on workshop practice and plagiarism, as well as the dissemination and users of the prints.16 However, he pays insufficient attention to the evidence supplied by the prints themselves, including coloring trends, types of supports, and means of survival, as well as the visual difference between copies (a term Carlino equates too often with impressions). Perhaps due to

15

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Surveys: Sten G. Lindberg, “Mobiles in Books: Volvelles, inserts, pyramids, divinations, and children’s games,” trans. William S. Mitchell, The Private Library (Summer 1979): 49– 82; Gay Walker. Eccentric Books: An exhibit from the Yale University Library collections, January–March 1988 (Yale University Library, 1988); Owen Gingerich, “Astronomical Paper Instruments with Moving Parts,” in Making Instruments Count, eds. R.G.W. Anderson, J.A. Bennett (Brookfield, Vt.: Variorum, 1993), 63–74; and Jessica Helfand, Reinventing the Wheel (Princeton: Princeton Architectural Press: New York, 2002). Andrea Carlino, Paper Bodies: A Catalogue of Anatomical Fugitive Sheets 1538–1687, trans. Noga Arikha (London: Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine, 1999).

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the variable graphic quality of these images, few artists have been successfully associated with their interactive output. Georg Hartmann may have been the first and only artist of purely interactive prints; thus his printed instruments and their means of manufacture by the viewer are the focus of Part Three. The historian of science Ernst Zinner detailed Hartmann’s output in the 1950s, but overlooked several important collections. The historians John Roger Paas and Wolfgang Harms have carefully cataloged many anonymous political broadsheets with moving parts in the context of the long seventeenth century. Harms extensively documented the entire broadsheet collection at Wolfenbüttel, and is one of very few scholars to include the term Klappbild, or flap print, in his index.17 William Coupe’s older corpus of seventeenth-century broadsheets also remains valuable in its discussion of the themes of interactive broadsheets in a larger context, without relying on a bare bones catalogue format or reflecting the biases of a single collection. Robert Scribner’s groundbreaking social historical text, For the Sake of Simple Folk, remains the most cohesive discussion of propaganda broadsheets from the sixteenth century. In his insistence that the semiotics of the broadsheet images provided more effective arguments than the text, Scribner opened up a vital new field of visual analysis. Christiane Andersson, Keith Moxey and other art historians contributed important articles and books to the topic in the 1980s building upon Scribner, and examining important issues of the audience for other types of secular printing. This book addresses a wider variety of interactive objects, in part because the new format dovetailed admirably with Protestant efforts. It exemplified the binary distinctions of their propaganda, while exponentially increasing its visual impact. These studies must be seen in parallel with the classic, though sometimes oversimplified works of Adolf Spamer on the Andachtsbild, as well as David Freedberg’s Power of Images. Yet the genre of so-called popular print can never be entirely reconstructed due to the ferocity of belief and destructive use of images—painted, printed and sculpted alike. An outpouring of feminist readings of anatomical illustration brought some renewed attention to the flap anatomies. These focused anachronistically on violent images, rather than the genre’s use as teaching tools for students, as well as the curious and the mildly voyeuristic. For instance, the literally deconstructionist reading in the introduction of the 1997 anthology Body in Parts: Fan17

Perhaps the first to coin a term was Wilhelm Edouard Drugulin, who noted six flap prints, or Klappbilder, in his Historischer Bilderatlas, from 1863–1867. W. Drugulin, Historischer Bilderatlas: Verzeichnis einer Sammlung von Einzelblättern 2 vols. (Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1964), nos. 1761–1762, 1878, 2502, 2503 (2 sheets).

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tasies of Corporality in Early Modern Europe took one of the allegorical flap engravings designed by Johannes Remmelin and Lucas Kilian in 1613 even further, describing it as a Lacanian fantasy of “a body in bits and pieces.”18 (Figs. 4.5–7) While opened flaps reveal organs in a confusion akin to the scattered components of a jigsaw puzzle, a castration-anxiety inducing Medusa flap presides over the genitalia of the female torso in the center of the image. This analysis, while it makes compelling use of Kilian’s imagery, does not account for the history and broader popularity of the flap prints preceding it. The second and third plates of Remmelin and Kilian’s series, less frequently mentioned by scholars until recently, present a more normal conception of Adam and Eve with the goal of scientific dissection rather than haphazard amputation. (Figs. 4.6a–4.7a) Nor was the idea female anatomy was considered an inferior variation of the male the only conclusion to be drawn from these models—although the female models were depicted as pregnant—usually with a evidently male fetus. Curiosity about where babies come from had long been a human preoccupation, but few dissections were performed upon pregnant corpses to improve the available knowledge on the topic. Karen Encarnacion’s 2002 article on the generative imagery of these prints, while rooted in a discussion of the gendering of the images rather than their functionality, is a valuable source for discussing anatomy prints in the context of contemporary polemical works, and for locating the long-missing Hans Guldenmund anatomical woodcuts (Österreichisches Museum für angewandte Kunst, Vienna (mak)).19 Likewise, Lyle Massey’s 2013 “Alchemical Womb” article dealt with important issues of secrets and revelation in all three Remmelin plates that reflected publisher Stephan Michelspacher’s influence.20 The current author’s Altered and Adorned: Using Renaissance Prints in Daily Life, (2011), discussed in detail production issues based on copy-specific evidence and the set of related plates surviving into the eighteenth century.21

18 19

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21

David Hillman, Carla Mazzio, eds., Body in Parts: Fantasies of Corporeality in Early Modern Europe (New York: Routledge, 1997), xvi. Karen Rosoff Encarnacion, “The Proper Uses of Desire: Sex and Procreation in Reformation Anatomical Fugitive Sheets,” in The Material Culture of Sex, Procreation, and Marriage in Pre-Modern Europe, Anne McClanan and Karen Rosoff Encarnacion, eds. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 221–249. Lyle Massey, “The Alchemical Womb: Johann Remmelin’s Catoptrum microcosmicum,” in Visual Cultures of Secrecy in Early Modern Europe, eds., Timothy McCall, Sean Roberts, and Giancarlo Fiorenza (Kirksville, Missouri; Truman State University Press, 2013), 208–228. Suzanne Karr Schmidt, Altered and Adorned: Using Renaissance Prints in Daily Life, with Kimberly Nichols (Art Institute of Chicago: Yale University Press, 2011).

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Paper conservator Kim Nichols contributed significantly to this analysis and publication, and other copies at the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Munich, and elsewhere have since been studied in depth. Questions of the intended userbase remain open in both polemical and anatomical works, but they never existed as isolated phenomena. Another relatively recent addition to the broadsheet canon, is Jörn Münkner’s 2008 Eingreifen und Begreifen: Handhabungen und Visualisierungen in Flugblättern der Frühen Neuzeit thesis. It discusses this specific category of letterpress sheets with flaps, dials, optical illusions, and other visual games, with some overlap with the present work. The authors were in conversation about the topic in Berlin in 2007. Indeed, Münkner cites the current author’s 2006 dissertation, saying it “can be seen as a pendant to my study” in its focus on the interactive functions and materiality over the wide spectrum of the printing arts.22 Münkner’s emphasis on the hand and handling (or manipulation) has particular resonance for the present, revised text as well. His corpus includes broadsheets with accompanying text and a variety of visual puzzles that do not require physical interaction. While touching on anatomy, his study does not consider scientific instruments, separately-produced engravings, or the expanded use of these print technologies in book format. While the implications of broadsheets have been much examined, a number of recent studies also have explored the use of prints in the fifteenth century. A culmination of this effort was the joint National Gallery of Art and Germanisches Nationalmuseum exhibition in Fall 2005, The Origins of European Printmaking: Fifteenth-Century Woodcuts and Their Public. Curators Peter Parshall and Rainer Schoch organized this exhibition, supported by the research of Peter Schmidt, David S. Areford and Richard Field.23 Schmidt and Areford wrote dissertations on the subject of Gebrauchsgrafik, studying the contemporary use of images pasted into codices. Areford’s thesis and related 2010 book, The Viewer and the Printed Image in Late Medieval Europe, reinforces the tactile

22

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Jörn Münkner, Eingreifen und Begreifen: Handhabungen und Visualisierungen in Flugblättern der Frühen Neuzeit., in Philologische dien und Quellen 214 (Berlin: Erich Schmidt Verlag, 2008), 14–15. Articles by these three scholars occupy the first seventy pages of Studies in Iconography 24 (2003). David S. Areford wrote his dissertation at Northwestern University for Sandra Hindman: “In the Viewer’s Hands: The Reception of the Printed Image in Late Medieval Europe, c. 1400–c. 1500”; Peter Schmidt, Gedruckte Bilder in Handgeschriebenen Büchern: zum Gebrauch von Druckgraphik im 15. Jahrhundert. Pictura & Poësis: Interdisziplinäre Studien zum Verhältnis von Literatur und Kunst, eds. Ernst Ulrich, Joachim Gaus, Christel Meier. Band 16 (Köln: Böhlau Verlag, 2003).

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relationship between early prints and their collectors, who frequently altered their prints’ format or coloring, and grouped them within albums, manuscripts, or printed books to suit their own devotional purposes.24 Similarly, Kathryn M. Rudy’s ongoing work on medieval prints inserted into manuscripts engages closely with important issues of early materiality and interaction, including her 2016 Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art initiative to analyze dirt, abrasion, and other signs of use in manuscript illuminations, “Dirty Books: Quantifying Patterns of Use in Medieval Manuscripts Using a Densitometer.” This object-specific research is often best presented in the form of an exhibition. Prints in the Golden Age: from Art to Shelf Paper, at the Museum Boijmans van Beuningen in Rotterdam in Winter 2006 complemented the Origins show by integrating acclaimed masterworks with everyday printed material in its roles as wall coverings, as a lining for cabinets, and a sea chest, and even as hats worn on festive occasions. The present author explored many of the same themes in earlier artworks from the Art Institute of Chicago collection in her 2011 exhibition catalogue noted earlier, Altered and Adorned: Using Renaissance Prints in Daily Life. The scientific instrument print received scholarly and public exposure in Susan Dackerman’s Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe, on display at Harvard Art Museums and the Block Museum of Art at Northwestern University in 2011 and 2012. This major loan show involved numerous collaborators from the history of science as well as art history. It also set a new precedent in display of interactive prints by including several printed sundials by Georg Hartmann, as well as numerous constructed models of globe gores, sundials, astrolabes, and anatomical flap prints for the public to handle. The present author’s essay on Hartmann and numerous catalogue entries in that volume were written after the bulk of Part Three of this text, and take it in different directions.25 This book builds upon these exhibitions and the continuing discussions of materiality in art, for its subject matter inhabits a temporal and functional niche between the functional art of the fifteenth century and the sophisticated applied ornament of the seventeenth. This text focuses on the sixteenth century, when interactive printmaking was at its most creative and influential. The individuality of the viewer can be glimpsed through physical evidence 24 25

David S. Areford, The Viewer and the Printed Image in Late Medieval Europe (Burlington, vt: Ashgate, 2010). Suzanne Karr Schmidt, “Georg Hartmann and the Development of Printed Instruments in Nuremberg,” and sixteen catalogue entries, in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe, ed. Susan Dackerman (Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge, ma: Yale University Press, Spring 2011), 268–279.

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showing how the ways the prints were used diverged from the ways that they were meant to be used. This book includes four roughly chronological sections, each establishing the context and sculptural sources for a specific type of user interaction, primarily in the sixteenth century. Revelatory Playthings establishes the interactive print’s origins in the artworks and rituals of the Catholic Church, especially in the restriction of the Eucharist. Anatomy of Reformation compares the technical and political interconnections of the flap anatomy and the Protestant propaganda broadsheet. Instrumentle auff Papier introduces the accomplishments of printed scientific instrument’s most prolific inventor, the Nuremberg mathematician and engraver, Georg Hartmann. Consumption and Exploitation explores the production and plagiarism of lavish interactive books and prints for science and divination, with concluding sections on erotic flap engravings of women—and the logical results of such promiscuity, the memento mori. Two online appendices catalogue early modern interactive prints ca. 1440–1700 and books with interactive components ca. 1474–1750. Part One, Revelatory Playthings, examines the religious origins of the interactive print, especially in Northern Europe. The Catholic tendency to allow visual access to its mysteries only from a distance restricted tactile interplay with the body of Christ, consequently heightening the power of Communion, and increasing the demand for hands-on devotional objects as its surrogate. The new medium of interactive printmaking began as such a substitute, whether for triptych-format canon tables containing the words of consecration, or for the Host itself. The Christological volvelle guiding the viewer through radical printmaker and publisher Heinrich Vogtherr’s 1539 Christlichen Loßbuchs, or Christian Lottery Book, bears particular witness to religious source of the format. These tactile explorations set the stage for the more libelous interactive propaganda of Protestant broadsheets subsequently discussed. By relying on similarly interactive revelations, Reformation polemicists simultaneously embraced and denounced the religious origins of the medium. Part Two, Anatomy of Reformation, compares the technical and political interconnections of two of the most influential subjects for interactive printing: the flap anatomy and the Protestant propaganda broadsheets. These have not previously been linked in substantial discussions. Yet they both explored and problematized man’s assumptions about his own body—or the health of the ecclesiastical body in charge of the faith—and allowed the viewer to dissect it, one flap at a time. The popularity that greeted Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder’s male and female anatomies with liftable organs from the late 1530s partially inspired Vesalius’s more anatomically correct printed manikins in his 1543 Fabrica and Epitome. The contemporary rash of sheets against the Catholic clergy,

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the Interim, and the Pope functioned on a similar system of revealing dissection, whether uncovering illicit desires among monks, or the devil himself lurking within the pontiff. Paradoxically lively and cadaverous at once, the works create their sense of interiority and recreate the act of dissection by becoming increasingly sculptural objects through creative positioning and double-sided printing and pasting of the flaps. Part Three, Instrumentle auff Papier, introduces the genre of printed instruments through the context of the humanist circle of the Nuremberg cleric, mathematician and engraver Georg Hartmann. These sculptural objects are closely linked to the invention of printing, for unlike the earliest thirteenthcentury theological volvelles, no manuscript precursors survive that were meant for building actual objects, rather than for serving as schematic models. Although hand-drawn globe gores mounted on customized wooden spheres are extant from the late fifteenth century, no paper instruments marketed as kits for later construction were left intact for study until the sixteenth century. Hartmann was the most inventive and consistent producer of sculptural prints, bringing them to the attention of the nobility as well as the humanistic and artistic community. His work raises issues of secular versus religious iconography, and illustrates the visual and spatial difficulties of planning twodimensional printed instruments for building in three dimensions. Hartmann’s most impressive design, a woodcut sundial in the form of a crucifix, takes a central role in this section for its connections to influential personages, from the invading Turks, Philipp Melanchthon, Duke Albrecht of Prussia, to Anna, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia. Part Four, Consumption and Exploitation, continues to discuss the markets for these innovative prints by exploring the expansion of the interactive book trade. The first part details the manufacture of the most lavish interactive books and prints of the period, particularly for book illustrations of such complexity that the owner could not construct them by themselves. In the second part, the German secular lottery book, or Loßbuch, phenomenon and its relationship to Lorenzo Spirito’s Italian text offers a telling contrast with the great scientific works of Regiomontanus, Peter Apian and Johannes Schöner. The final section deals with a group of mildly-erotic flap prints of women popular in the late sixteenth century. Neither as explicit nor as censored as the Modi, these allegorical or earthly women and their liftable skirts ostensibly dissuaded their handlers from the evils of pride and promiscuity. However, the international success of the genre belied its serious message. Copies of these interactive entertainments contributed to the approval for deluxe engraved Stammbücher, and by doing so began to make themselves obsolete. These were intended to be filled with the arms of illustrious people

14

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and their decorative platitudes for the owner of the volume. Such albums combined the cult of personality with interactivity on an individual level. As the interactive print became increasingly popular during the seventeenth century, their once outré subject matter became more normalized as ornamental and mildly moral emblems, which finally subsided into the didacticism of children’s literature. Regardless of the format and the didactic or provocative content of interactive prints, it was the viewer’s need to build them, or to simply pick them up and manipulate them that made them so innovative. In their hands these printed objects came alive, and this dependence on interplay with fingers, palms, and even wrists activated the encounter: The hand wrenches the sense of touch away from its merely receptive passivity and organizes it for experiment and action. It teaches man to conquer space, weight, density and quantity. Because it fashions a new world, it leaves its imprint everywhere upon it. It struggles with the very substance it metamorphoses and with the very form it transfigures. Trainer of man, the hand multiplies him in space and in time. henri focillon, “In Praise of Hands”26 In more recent and less mystical terms, scientific historian Davis Baird underlined the value of instruments not purely as technological, mathematical or scientific tools, but as “crafted artifacts” in which “visual and tactile thinking and communication are central to their development and use.”27 Baird’s argument for revised thinking about the importance of instrumentation as a form of “material knowledge,” and the “reading” of instruments can also be applied broadly to the manufacture and impact of interactive prints. He cites Anthony F.C. Wallace on the importance of the hands-on creation process to communicate meaning: Speech (and writing) will provide only a garbled and incomplete translation of the visual image. One must make the thing—or a model, or at the least a drawing—in order to ensure that one’s companions has approximately the same visual experience as oneself. 26 27

Henri Focillion, “In Praise of Hands,” in The Life of Forms in Art (New York: Zone Books, rev. ed. 1989). Davis Baird, Thing Knowledge (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), xv–xvi; Baird cites Anthony F.C. Wallace, Rockdale: The Growth of an American Village in the Early Industrial Revolution (New York: Knopf, 1978), 238–239.

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The handmade, or self-crafted, artifact, especially literal printed instruments like sundials and astrolabes, offered access to new forms of knowledge through its material and physical connection to its audience. But all these prints were functional instruments for their time, whether their task was timetelling, dialing, or a simplistic before-and-after revelation, and all benefitted from their relative technological advancement. Indeed, interactive and sculptural printmaking flourished during the early modern era due to its flexibility, relative inexpensiveness and exceptionally direct appeal to the viewer’s sense of touch. Through manipulating these images, the viewer learned to read their dual meanings as if the act of handling them had brought the ideas themselves into a more concrete and understandable form. This radical medium took on the formal qualities of the printed line, folding codex, and self-sufficient sculpture, and by demanding participation, made every viewer both its subject and its artist. In a time of significant religious and cultural change, visual statements which could be easily grasped held sway over the imagination. The religious and social issues raised by these prints were too powerful to be restricted to the two dimensions of inert printed pictures. Forging beyond the mere imitation of existing objects, interactive prints replicated the experimental uses of those objects. By facilitating repeat acts of revelation, concealment, and calculation, these mechanically-reproduced artworks implicitly taught people from many levels of society that they deserved to access artworks of all types and functions regardless of their rank or wealth.28 When the format of a folding paper print could arouse as much devotion as a private painted diptych, or could serve as a functional sundial or astrolabe, it was up to the viewer to learn from their hands-on experience of the image. These prints would have failed utterly in their function if they had never been used. Judging from the small sample that remains, they were. Focillon’s active hand was already an inherent part of humanity, but with its help, the interactive and sculptural print too became a “trainer of man.”29

28

29

While interactive prints did not supply mechanical puzzles to the extent of the carved wooden ones discussed by Bret Rothstein, his discussions of visual difficulty are pertinent to this study in that like the flaps and dials discussed below, “mechanical puzzles necessitate the intertwining of vision with other sense data, especially hearing and touch.” Bret Rothstein, “Visual Difficulty as a Cultural System,”res 65/66 (2014/15): 332–347; and “Making Trouble: Strange Wooden Objects and the Pursuit of Difficulty ca. 1596,” Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies 13 (2013): 96–129. Focillon, “In Praise of Hands,” 184.

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figure 0.2 German, Devil sheet, from Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst), after 1555. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress: 34.5 × 17 cm (sheet). bsb (Einbl. vii,23 a).

The reader should photocopy, or cut out the Pope flap provided on 0.4. Paste the Pope flap at the top of this sheet in alignment with the woodcut border of the Devil to assemble the complete interactive broadsheet.

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figure 0.3 Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Unassembled Cryptographic Volvelle, from De furtivis literarum notis, 1563 [1591], 73. Unassembled base, woodcut, and letterpress: 19.4 × 14.4cm (sheet). beinecke (z44 2m).

The reader should photocopy, or cut out the dial from 0.4 and sew it with a knotted thread onto the center of this figure. Then Attempt to decode the messAge below the imAge here on 0.3! (Spin the dial to choose a new letter key, or three, for future encryptions.)

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figure 0.4a

introduction

German, Pope flap, from Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst), after 1555. Handcolored woodcut with gold: 10.5 × 17 cm ( flap). bsb (Einbl. vii,23 a).

figure 0.4b Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Uncut Cryptographic Dial, from De furtivis literarum notis, 1563 [1591], 72. Woodcut dial: 4.2 cm (diameter). beinecke (z44 2m).

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figure 0.4a

German, Pope flap, from Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst), after 1555. Handcolored woodcut with gold: 10.5 × 17 cm ( flap). bsb (Einbl. vii,23 a).

The reader should photocopy, or cut out this Pope flap to assemble the complete interactive broadsheet by adhering it to the top of the Devil broadsheet on 0.2.

figure 0.4b Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Uncut Cryptographic Dial, from De furtivis literarum notis, 1563 [1591], 72. Woodcut dial: 4.2 cm (diameter). beinecke (z44 2m).

The reader should photocopy, or cut out dial number 1, and sew it with a knotted thread onto the center of 0.3.

part 1 Revelatory Playthings: The Religious Origins of the Interactive Print

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Handling Religion In Homo Ludens, Johan Huizinga suggested that the act of play “moves between the twin poles of frivolity and ecstasy.”1 Despite their extreme scarcity today, early religious prints with moving parts once enabled a broad spectrum of society to indulge in such serious play. Creative printmakers, particularly in Germany, adapted this new medium to combine art and worship, allowing previously restricted viewer interaction in prints with sacred motifs and increasingly secular formats. (Figs. 1.1–2) The Catholic Church created a need for this new class of interactive objects by limiting physical lay access to its rites, particularly Communion. Before the Reformation, the laity frequently witnessed the Elevation of the Host, but was very rarely allowed to receive the wafer on occasions other than Easter. The rood screens and incense clouds of High Mass safely distanced the populace from the altar, while the clergy further mystified their seasonal rituals with relic showings, and liturgical dramas punctuated by theatrical machines and sculptures with moving parts or limbs. Static altarpieces housed relics throughout Europe, while in the North, at pertinent festivals, folding triptychs revealed hidden biblical scenes painted on interior wings. Many ritual objects were already interactive, but it was predominantly the clergy that set these functions in motion. Due in part to these ecclesiastical restrictions, most of the first interactive prints boasted moving parts such as simple dials and folded flaps. These shapes echoed the circular Host and the wings of triptych altarpieces or reliquary shrines. In the earliest interactive print with a religious theme extant, the brightly colored angel dial on a calendar from 1466 allowed users to calculate the date of Easter for almost twenty years. (Fig. 1.1) The Easter Calendar (rota paschalis) soon became available in separate versions in Germany and in Italy, while the symbolism and functionality of its design would still remain influential for an unusual devotional text, a German Christian Lottery Book, over sixty years later. (Fig. 1.7) The Italian fascination for contact with hidden relics was as strong as that in German-speaking territories, and relic-showing maintained a strong association with altars and altarpieces. Yet folding triptych prints were

1 Johan Huizinga, Homo Ludens: a study of the play-element in culture, R.F.C. Hull, trans. (London: Routledge & K. Paul, 1980), 21.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_003

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figure 1.1 German, Easter Calendar (rota paschalis) for 1466–1494, 1465/1466. Hand-colored woodcut with volvelle: 8 cm (volvelle diameter); 18.8×13.8cm (image); 21.3×16cm (sheet). nga (1944.2.1).

not a popular commodity for mass production in the South, possibly reflecting the majority of Italian public altarpieces that did not open and close.2 Printed altarpieces were not unheard of throughout Europe. Northern altarpiece-like objects composed partially or entirely of prints are documented, for example the eighty-five (or possibly eighty-nine) fifteenth-century woodcuts once arranged on a triptych in the Dominican Katharinenkloster in Nuremberg.3 In contrast, Francesco Rosselli’s set of fifteen engravings on the Life of the Virgin ca. 1490 came with ornamental borders for framing the images separately.4

2 Smaller-scale folding paintings do survive, with a more private focus (a Bernardo Daddi at the Getty (93. pb.16), and an anonymous Italian work in the Walters Art Museum, among others). 3 The Katharinenkloster work was detached from its mounting in the nineteenth century and is now at the gnm. Peter Schmidt, Gedruckte Bilder in Handgeschriebenen Büchern (Wien: Böhlau Verlag, 2003), 78–83; Origins, no. 40, entry also by Schmidt. 4 This dating was proposed in Madeline Cirrolo Archer, “The Dating of a Florentine Life of the Virgin and Christ,” Print Quarterly 5 (1988): 395–402; On Rosselli’s large format maps, see Suzanne Boorsch, “The Case for Francesco Rosselli as the Engraver of Berlinghieri’s Geographia,” Imago Mundi 56:2 (2004): 152–169 and on the framing mechanisms, Suzanne

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The group allowed flexibility within its narrative scheme. It decorated the predella of at least one large altarpiece (Berlin), or, pasted onto canvas or panel, may have constituted the entirety of so-called house-altarpieces (Paris, Hamburg, New York).5 Purchasers determined the order and format of display to the extent that they could choose whether to glue the engravings to an intermediary support instead of the wall, and how to arrange the resulting objects. The colored impressions at Hamburg, for instance, survive mounted in their own borders on canvas. It is possible that the prints could even have been purchased pre-assembled, as the inventory of Rosselli’s shop made after his son’s death in 1525 mentioned prints on canvas left in his stock.6 Many largescale devotional print cycles of this nature were affixed to walls temporarily, often lingering to be destroyed by weather or at the demolition of the buildings themselves. Wallpaper with a much more abstract and repeated Veronica (Vera Icon) pattern also survives from the fifteenth century in the University Library of Warsaw, and similar sixteenth-century papers were found in situ at the Wienhausen Cloister.7 Numerous woodcut triptychs on a smaller scale appeared in the North, which were dedicated to patron saints or bore sacred texts, secret contents that the user revealed by unfolding or opening the prints. The ornate qualities of painted altarpieces and manuscripts often persisted in these objects. (Fig. 1.2) A canon table on vellum printed in Cologne in the late 1480s has an elaborately colored woodcut Crucifixion and letterpress text illuminated with initials historiated by hand suggesting the hybridization of the print medium at the time.8

5

6 7 8

Boorsch, “Framed in Fifteenth-Century Florence,”Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal (2002): 35–40; David Landau and Peter Parshall, The Renaissance Print: 1470–1550 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 12–13, 28–29, on prints on canvas in Francesco’s shop inventory. Arthur Hind, Early Italian Engravings (New York: B. Quaritch Ltd., 1938–1948), 16, 120–126. Hind initially dated the prints to 1470–1490. Hind, Early Italian Engravings, 120–121, mentions that the twelve impressions of the Berlin series were colored (with gold highlights) and mounted onto the wooden, so-called “Bardini predella.” The Rothschild collection (Louvre) had eleven impressions that were colored and pasted onto wooden boards, as is the colored one from the London Poyntner collection (the two colored panels at the Metropolitan Museum of Art also came from this collection), while the Hamburg Kunsthalle series is on canvas and is complete excluding some drawings substituted as reproductions of the borders. Landau and Parshall, The Renaissance Print, 13. Horst Appuhn, Christian von Heusinger, Riesenholzschnitte und Papiertapeten der Renaissance (Unterschneidheim: Uhl, 1976), 6, 88–89. Peter Schmidt, in Parshall, Origins: cat 41. Schmidt identifies the woodblock as from Nuremberg, and the type from Cologne.

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figure 1.2 German (Nuremberg), Canon Table with a Calvary, ca. 1485; text, Cologne, ca. 1485/1488. Hand-colored woodcut on vellum with letterpress, folded: 14.6×10.3cm (image). © gnm (h82)

Yet its functional folding triptych structure implies that the interactive print was a hybrid of a different nature, encompassing the sculptural format of the objects it copied as well as their iconography. The surviving sample of fifteenthcentury interactive woodcuts is very limited; impressions of most appeared in the 2005 National Gallery of Art Washington Origins of European Printmaking exhibition. Still, many show signs that they were indeed physically altered to become functional replicas of folding altarpieces for personal devotion, even if they were not necessarily used on an actual altar. As Richard S. Field has noted, Hans Körner is the most recent in the short list of scholars to link the woodcut with the history of other media.9 Körner’s influential 1979 history of the early German woodcut, Der früheste deutsche Einblattholzschnitt, provides a convenient starting point. However, Körner’s argument that triptych-shaped prints visually recall, or errinern, their painted counterparts does not investigate the actual use of these prints. His contention that the prints were not intended to be used functionally by folding or direct application to a surface does not reflect their actual use in every case.10 Körner convincingly treats a fragmentary Crucifixion scene from the mid-fifteenth century 9

10

Richard S. Field, “Early Woodcuts: The Known and the Unknown,” Origins, 29. The other media explored have included painting, sculpture, stained glass, drawing, engraving, textiles, and the decorative arts, among others. Hans Körner, Der früheste deutsche Einblattholzschnitt (Mittenwald, 1979), 34. “Derartige

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as triptych-like, and a group of saints as pseudo-sculpture.11 Yet he ignores the ramifications of a triptych of St. Bridget for which surviving impressions were consistently altered to allow three-dimensional display, including at least one impression that was likely mounted to a wooden support.12 (Fig. 2.5) Körner also did not discuss the more obviously interactive prints with volvelles (dials), although, as this book argues, many of them are in their own way religious surrogates. Just as the dukes of Burgundy hoarded secular automata and movable joyaux for display at their feasts, sixteenth-century nobles and wealthy patricians—particularly in the North—controlled and augmented existing relic caches, or acquired collections of their own to rival their ecclesiastic counterparts.13 The wealthy enjoyed personal Masses at side altars or in private chapels they had endowed with paintings, lavish ritual objects, and a personal priest. Even the moderately affluent might have owned small paintings, but printing could make paper versions widely available. Körner termed them surrogates for “höheren Bildarten,” or higher art, though they relied more on function than aesthetics for their appeal.14 All viewers, wealthy and poor, lay and ecclesiastic alike could use interactive prints as part of their worship. Some of the prints leveled social boundaries during the semi-religious rituals of carnival and other festivals. At Epiphany, the viewer could draw printed lots to be appointed King with a cut-out paper crown.15 (Figs. 1.3–4) Assuming their own lottery-assigned roles regardless of age or gender allowed the entire company to playact for the occasion, but few used examples of the slips depicting these courtiers have been preserved. The King’s headpiece even more rarely survived, as it often became grease or liquor stained while he held court over

11 12

13

14 15

Blätter auf Holztafeln aufziehen—als Ersatz für gemalte Hausaltärchen—bot sich an, war aber mit der Abbildung von Altarformen nicht unbedingt intendiert.” Crucifixion woodcut, s 395a, ca. 1430, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (bsb); Four Female Saints, woodcut, ca. 1450, s 1772m, Dresden Sächsische Landesbibliothek. Anonymous, Bridget Triptych. Munich Graphische Sammlung, second state, ca. 1490 (they also possess the first state); another impression of the second state is at the British Museum and at the berlin kk. Körner illustrates a Crucifixion woodcut, s 395a, ca. 1430, Munich bsb; also Four Female Saints, ca. 1450, s 1772m, Dresden Sächsiche Landesbibliothek, s 1283. Huizinga, The Autumn of the Middle Ages, Rodney J. Payton and Ulrich Mammitzsch, trans. (University of Chicago Press, 1996), 178, 304–307. More recently on this topic, see Christina Normore, A Feast for the Eyes: Art, Performance, and the Late Medieval Banquet (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015). Körner, Der früheste deutsche Einblattholzschnitt, 35. Both are in hab 39.7 Aug. 2°, fols. 821–822.

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figure 1.3 Netherlandish, Epiphany Crown, ca. 1570–1590. Woodcut crown, stencil colored in red and orange. From album owned by Philipp Hainhofer: 39×14.5cm (sheet). hab (Cod. Guelf. 39.7. Aug. 2o, fol. 822).

a raucous banquet. Thus, only one Renaissance-era example of these popular wearable prints has been preserved in an album, tipped in next to a sheet of lottery slips from 1577.16 Together they make up an all-inclusive festival kit—with its adult-sized paper hat ready to be cut out and worn once the king was chosen. Cameo portraits of the Virgin and Child, Joseph and the Three Kings complete the woodcut’s wide band, which is already studded with gems stenciled in bold reds and oranges. A similar crown appears in Lucas Cranach the Elder’s 1506 Saxon Prince on a Pony Outside the Veste Coburg.17 That the anonymous woodcut is nearly as ornate as a prince’s metal crown suggests these prints allowed many a festival to be celebrated universally with the same pomp. A print peddler in the foreground of the January engraving from Hendrik Hondius the Elder’s 1614 Months series also attests to the format’s continuing popularity.18 An unpublished cache of five King’s letters and nineteen pilgrim pennants from the seventeenth century at the Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu WaldburgWolfegg further suggests the one-time ubiquity of these ephemeral devotional print categories.19

16

17 18 19

hab, Cod. Guelf. 39.7 Aug 2° (Lottery), fol. 821 and (Crown), fol. 822; nga copy of Cranach print. Pieter Brueghel’s Peasant Wedding painting of 1568/9 shows a paper crown hanging above the bride, while children wear it in Jan Steen’s Kassel and mfa Boston Twelfth Night paintings, ca. 1665 and 1662. For a more exhaustive list and the most sustained discussion of the genre, see Anke A. van Wagenberg-Ter Hoeven, “King’s Letter Prints and Paper Crowns,” Print Quarterly, xxiv, no. 4 (December 2007): 380–399. Geisberg (xxxvi, 8). New Hollstein Dutch and Flemish, 72. Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg, album 220, nos. 236–254.

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figure 1.4 Published by Harmen Jansz. Muller (Netherlandish, 1540–1617), King’s Letter, Amsterdam 1577. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress broadsheet of Epiphany lottery slips to cut out: 37.6 × 28.7 cm (sheet). hab (Cod. Guelf. 39.7. Aug. 2o, fol. 821).

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figure 1.5 Raymon Llull (Spanish, 1232–1315), Fourth Figure (Quarta Figura), from Ars brevis, 1514, a8r. Woodcut volvelle with two dials: 6.5–8.4cm (volvelle diameters); 10.5cm (block diameter); 16 × 10.3cm (sheet, trimmed). beinecke (k8 l97 d514).

While the crowns assisted the faithful in Epiphany and carnival revelry, other types of interactive prints imparted different religious messages or even doubled as propaganda. The earliest surviving manuscript dials, such as those in Matthew Paris’s ca. 1250 Chronica majora, calculate the dates for holy days, or tell his fellow monks’ religious fortune. Rather than preaching to the already converted, Ramon Llull’s late-thirteenth century Great Art purported to convert non-believers through its set of questions and answers linked to two concentric alphabetic dials in a simple format that was functionally identical in its many later reprintings.20 (Fig. 1.5) Protestant-printed flap images eventually went further, literally demonizing the Pope and defrocking the clergy during the Reformation. Instead of positively reinforcing one faith, they imaginatively dissected the opposing religion into its most objectionable components. (Figs. 5.2; 6.1–2) Before their formats were co-opted for negative propaganda however, interactive prints enabled a more catholic hands-on devotion.

20

Manuscript copies of both circulated, though Paris’s work was never printed; Llull’s was first in press in 1514.

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figure 1.6 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Title Page, from Eyn schöne Und Gotselige Kurzweil/eines Christlichen Loßbuchs, 1539. Woodcut and letterpress with double-sided volvelle: approx. 5.2cm (Christ Child volvelle diameter); 25.2 × 15.2 cm (block). sub göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409).

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Although prints of all types survived by being pasted into Bibles, one curious interactive print served as the movable fulcrum required for interpreting an entire devotional volume. This is the frontispiece from a Protestant German Christlichen Loßbuchs, or Christian Lottery Book, published by Heinrich Vogtherr on his own Strasbourg press in 1539. The page includes a deeply puzzling dial imprinted with the Christ Child. (Fig. 1.6) The surrounding text demands that viewers play with the Child, by turning the front of the double-sided dial. “treib umb das kind mit allem fleis,” i.e., “Vigorously spin the Child.” This action controls the unseen angel disc connected directly through the page, whom the viewer must consult to learn what the angel knows: “shauw was hinden der engel weis,” i.e. “Look behind at what the angel knows.” (Fig. 1.7) The angel’s pointing finger directs readers to their religious fortune alphabetically, much as the one on the 1466 calendar points out specific Easter dates. In a single stunning exemplar, (Göttingen), Vogtherr’s angel appears in bright color—a stark contrast to the pristine black-and-white Christ on the recto. Why was a Christian book built around such an unusually hands-on device? How could the adult viewer dare to play with the Child? And, why was only the angel colored? To answer these questions one must understand the connections between early religious movable prints and the late-medieval atmosphere from which they emerged. By manipulating the prints’ simple folds, flaps, and dials through their own direct touch, the owner revealed spiritual truths and prophesies in a process consisting equally of play, worship, and, increasingly after the Reformation, propaganda. Luther would denounce iconoclasts as idolaters for reconfirming the power of images by fearing and destroying them. But like the iconoclasts, Protestant designers of interactive propaganda adopted the powerful revelatory basis of Catholic liturgical practice in order to unmask its faults and present their alternative faith. Whether interactive prints spiritually elevated their users, or revealed apocalyptic visions denouncing the established Church, the effort would have been meaningless without the implicit religious genesis of the medium.

Sensory Ritual The Catholic Church defined itself as a universal faith, one which initially embodied all believers in Christianity. Catholicism was also universal in a different way—it was meant to be entirely participatory. From its inception in the Last Supper with Christ’s offering of himself to the world through consecrated bread and wine: “Take this, all of you, and eat, this is my body,” and “this

figure 1.7 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder, verso of Title Page, Christlichen Loßbuchs, 1539. Woodcut and letterpress with double-sided, handcolored volvelle: 6.4cm (Angel dial); 7.2cm (extended arm, when present); 11.7cm (diameter of block). sub göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409).

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is my blood,” the belief of the individual and the community alike was manifested in the outward signs of the sacraments, and the spirituality of the Mass. Church teachings varied, but the common understanding of the faith required a balance between its physical and visionary aspects. Indeed, at least one mnemonic fifteenth-century woodcut directly compared man’s natural modes of experience with those of religious morality—by illustrating the Five Senses, the Seven Deadly Sins and the Ten Commandments on a single sheet. Stefan Fridolin’s 1491 Schatzbehalter suggested that the hands are the ideal locus for touching devotion. This section will thus introduce the ways in which the Catholic Mass was an overtly sensory experience that significantly restricted and often excluded the common parishioner’s sense of touch. Every aspect of worship was organically linked to this sense, whether the acts physically occurred in church, or in private devotions. In order to understand why interactive surrogates were necessary, several categories of artworks will be examined that were not available to the common laity due to their high cost or symbolic role in the Mass. These include movable sculptures and paintings, devotional boxwood carvings, as well as the close interplay between the identities and revelation of the Host, monstrance, and reliquary. Like the functional artworks, Hosts and relics were distanced from the public sphere that desired to touch them—for once the consecrated wafer became Christ’s body, it too was considered a relic.21 Interactive and sculptural printmaking made the sense of touch and sculptural tactility central to the experience of art. Whereas the Catholic Church limited the laity’s physical access to religious objects, these subversive printed artworks were bound up with the crisis of religious life, and offered another form of surrogate in their hands-on approach. By expanding the spatial boundaries of the printed and manuscript page, these devices also pushed the limits of representation. The hand’s presence in the physical act of reading is implied in every language, from the Latin root of a handwritten manuscript to the German Handschrift and Handbuch, or manual, but interactive prints also reflected its uses outside the domain of the literate. This new printmaking genre proved effective because the organ of touch, the hand, had always been central to the most personal human acts of learning, praying, and playing. As Henri Focillon argues in his “In Praise of Hands,” “the hand means action: it grasps, it creates, at times it would seem even to think.”22 The hand adopted many active roles 21 22

G.J.C. Snoek, Medieval piety from relics to the Eucharist: a process of mutual interaction (New York: E.J. Brill, 1995). Henri Focillon, “In Praise of Hands,” in The Life of Forms in Art (New York: Zone Books, 1989).

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during the Renaissance—as a mnemonic surrogate for the entire body or for adoring the body of Christ; as an arbiter of secular morality; as a microcosm of God’s creation; or as a method of computation to interpret that world. Interactive and sculptural prints assume all of these functions in the hands of their users, who both create them and reinforce their meanings. In 1491, the Nuremberg cleric Stefan Fridolin argued for the multivalence of the hand, as well as for the value of creating paper surrogates for them. Pairs of hands open and close the devotional woodcut sequence in his Schatzbehalter, making them both the guardians of that treasure, and the mnemonic loci for its devotional use. As Claire Sherman explains in her Writing on Hands, Fridolin described the static woodcuts of his hantpuchlein, or handbook, as a partial surrogate for a rosary. He even offers an interactive solution to the indexical deficiency of the image: “Realizing that the numbers on the hands might form inadequate references, the author enjoins his audience to make large hands out of paper and then to place on the rings of the hands title words of the meditations with which they can associate visual images.”23 Using one’s own hands to build and manipulate a secondary set of mnemonic hands only deepened the user’s tactile engagement with their prayers. Fridolin never suggests annotating, or more importantly, cutting the woodcut hands out of the book. This desire to leave the sheet uncut likely derived from the practice of copying texts or images from a manuscript exemplar without altering the original. Printing allowed supplementary copies of illustrations to be produced for just this purpose, often, as in the enlarged hands of Fridolin’s case, improving the clarity and usability of the resulting object. Though movable dials made of paper or vellum dials were present in some manuscripts, no type of printed interactive illustration precisely replicates an older manuscript model. Instead, their owners frequently personalized the works by constructing them themselves, just as they reinforced the impact of the artwork through multiple viewings. The requisite tactility of these works,

23

Claire Richter Sherman, Writing on Hands: Memory and Knowledge in Early Modern Europe (The Trout Gallery, Dickinson College, and The Folger Shakespeare Library; Distributed by University of Washington Press, 2000), 64. For more mnemonic context, see Cynthia Anne Hall, “Treasury Book of the Passion: Word and Image in the ‘Schatzbehalter’ ” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 2002), 19–22. Stephan Fridolin, Schatzbehalter oder Schrein der wahren Reichtümer des Heils und ewiger Seligkeit (Nürnberg: Anton Koberger, November 8, 1491), illustrated by Michael Wolgemuth and Wilhelm Pleydenwurff. The book was intended for the use of the learned sister of Willibald Pirckheimer, Caritas, the Abbess of a nearby convent of Poor Clares, and the nuns under her care.

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and their ability to take increasingly sculptural shape within, as well as outside of the codex, is what differentiates this printed paper artform from all of its predecessors. Fridolin was already referring to a long tradition of hands-on mnemonics and devotion. As early as the thirteenth century, the interactive image had added to illuminated manuscripts and enhanced the union of religious texts and images. This required viewer participation above and beyond simply turning the page or reading verses or images. Daniel Connolly’s perceptive 1999 Art Bulletin article, “Imagined Pilgrimage in the Itinerary Maps of Matthew Paris,” deals directly with the sensory and performative aspects of the manuscript with the earliest surviving flaps and dials, Paris’s Chronica majora, ca. 1250. The work is now in the collection of Cambridge University’s Corpus Christi College—named after the Church festival dedicated to the Eucharist. Connolly sees the chronicle as a previously misunderstood and entirely “Sensate Vehicle for Imagined Pilgrimage,” albeit one intended exclusively for the benefit of the St. Albans monastery. These brothers journeyed by employing the volume’s Easter volvelle and the many folded permutations of the prefatory map, a technique used again in the British Library Historia Angloram in which the city of Rome appears on one of the extended flaps (Fig. 1.8): The monk imitated the map’s movements as he worked its pages and flaps, and the multisensorial experience of that working and the places it described constructed a performative setting in which the monk could realize an imagined pilgrimage to the Heavenly Jerusalem. The map, like monastic meditational exercises, cues the viewer into the spaces it depicts. Medieval manuscripts are generally analyzed in terms of how they look, which limits their appreciation to only one of the senses, sight. But when we examine this map within the performative context of its own codex, we will see that sight, sound and touch all combine to make the experience of reading the map a richer, more bodily implicated activity. Indeed, Matthew himself invoked such a synesthetic appreciation of his own illustrations when he wrote in one of his Saints’ Lives that he had drawn its images “so that what the ear hears, the eyes may see.”24 Although not yet technologically feasible in the thirteenth century, interactive prints would emerge to help fill the greater social need for total sensory

24

Daniel K. Connolly, “Imagined Pilgrimage in the Itinerary Maps of Matthew Paris,” The Art Bulletin 81: 4 (Dec. 1999): 606.

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figure 1.8 Matthew Paris (ca. 1200–1259), Part of the Itinerary London to Jerusalem, from Historia Angloram, ca. 1250–1259. Pigment on vellum with two flaps: approx. 36 × 24.5 cm (sheet). British Library, London (Royal ms 14 c vii, 4r).

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figure 1.9 Marcus Gheeraerts the Elder (Netherlandish, 1521–1604), The Papist Mountain (Den Papen Berghe), ca. 1566. Etching and letterpress: 43.5×31.5cm (plate). waldburg-wolfegg.

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participation in religious worship. The Catholic Church both created and frustrated this need by alienating the laity from its rituals, forcing them to participate in their faith in different ways. Polemical imagery that succored the Protestant cause would focus on the sensory emphasis and even the sensuality of the Catholic faith. While monks and nuns generally felt the brunt of this critique, rather than the laity, this analysis remains telling. Beyond pornography involving commingled clergy members, and prints showing monks’ true animal faces or guzzling the profits of unsuspecting parishioners, one of the most important visual critique of the life of the Church was levied by Marcus Gheeraerts’s 1566 etching, known as an Allegory of Iconoclasm, but entitled Den Papen Berghe, or The Papist Mountain, in the unique Waldburg-Wolfegg impression (Fig. 1.9) Gheeraerts’s Archimboldesque landscape is made up of sea of iconoclasts—though from further away, the scene resembles the distorted features of a monk’s head. As Joseph Koerner has noted, this “dialectical icon” is the epitome of iconoclasm, spelled out with an alphabetical key to its exhibits that simultaneously breaks down the larger, grotesque image.25 The work succinctly aligns the Catholic sacraments and usages to several of the monk’s misshapen parts: confession is heard in his ear; marriage and the orders confirmed in his blinded eyes. The nose is inhabited by fire-breathing monsters belching black smoke akin to incense. The Elevation takes place in the cavernous mouth. Here the priest remains turned away from the populace, the cross-marked wafer resplendent in the darkness between the buck teeth of the monkish mountain. Though a freely available Eucharist might have been more closely related to taste than to vision, by locating the sacrament here, the print suggests the gluttony of the priests who consumed it without sharing its benefits with the laity. Like so many ill-gotten coins, surplus wafers tumble with their gilded chalices into the bonfire of the vanities on the hill below. Before the Reformation, the laity had vainly attempted to participate fully in these mysteries. They heard the High Latin Mass chanted by the priest in low tones, occasionally responding on cue, or adding their own prayers. The lay public smelled the dense clouds of incense, a scent replicated by their perfumed rosary beads. Through holes in the rood screens, they saw the relics of saints, the interiors of triptychs, and on a daily basis, the Host, raised high above 25

Joseph Koerner, The Reformation of the Image (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 112. The print is at the British Museum (1933,1111.3) and at the Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg, with an added title: “Den Papen Bergh. Ghemaeckt ghelijck een Mommen aenghesicht/ met allen harenbedrie ghelijcken ende valschen bedroch/ daer mede dart mede dat sy den armen simpelen menschen bedrieghen ende verleyden.” Both known impressions lack the implied alphabetical legend.

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the celebrant’s head. Once a year on Easter, they even tasted the Body of Christ. But the people could never touch relics. Most especially, they were denied daily recourse to the most widely revered relic, the consecrated wafer which became Christ’s Body before their eyes. Visual contact with the sacrament at the culminating Elevation of the Mass sufficed for most of the year, while at the actual event of Communion, priests warily slipped the wheaten discs into the communicants’ mouths rather than letting them grasp the Host directly. The emphasis on sensory deprivation showcased in Gheeraerts’s Papist Mountain aptly reinforces this divide.

Seeing is Believing: Monstrances to Moving Christs Part of the need for interactive printed devotional aides came from the minimal amount that could actually be seen by the public. The literal Elevation of the Host usually improved its visibility. When many church choirs were sealed off by tall screens without perforations, however, only the clergy could glimpse the Elevation. Giorgio Vasari famously expressed his distaste at rood screens by demolishing two sets of them in Florence in 1565.26 Though the Council of Trent did intend to correct the remoteness of the layman from the liturgy, this change was very slow in coming. The Franciscan monk Lino Moroni’s Descrizione del Sacro Monte della Vernia guide book from 1612 for St. Francis’s sacred mountain, (the place of his stigmatization), still reproduces a full-scale rood screen in one of its movable illustrations, but with a notable twist as rood screens started to be phased out of use. (Fig. 1.10) Purporting to represent the church erected for Francis by Count Orlando Catani, the etching includes a flap which makes the rood screen partially removable. The flap reveals a set of terracotta reliefs of the Nativity and the Lamentation above their own altars. Though a door in the center could presumably have allowed some to see the Elevation at the high altar, the viewer’s high vantage point suggests a more historical than religious interest. The monks in the foreground reconfirm this impression; for none curtail the conversation in order to pray.

26

Marcia Hall, “The Ponte in S. Maria Novella: The Problem of the Rood Screen in Italy.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 37 (1974): 157. The renovated mendicant churches were S. Maria Novella and S. Croce. Vasari removed the choir screens during general renovations ordered by Duke Cosimo a dozen years earlier than Carlo Borromeo’s book on church architecture, in which he insisted on a clear view of the altar.

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figure 1.10

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Raffaello Schiaminossi (Italian, 1572–1622) and Domenico Falcini (Italian, ca. 1575–1628), after Jacopo Ligozzo (Italian, 1547–1627). View of a Church with a Partially Removable Rood Screen, from Fra Lino Moroni (Italian, active early seventeenth century), Descrizione del Sacro Monte della Vernia, 1612, f. Engraving with flap: approx. 47 × 32.5 cm (plate). Newberry Library, Chicago (Wing oversize zp 6351 .12).

Moroni intended the volume “to increase people’s devotion to this site … especially those who are far away,”27 though he probably inferred religious as well as antiquarian interest. The annotations on the New York Public Library’s Spencer collection Sacra Monte are written in German, and the Newberry’s in Italian, which suggests that Moroni found foreign and local audiences, and presents an interesting irony considering that the validity of Northern screens was called into question significantly earlier. Even more, though the rest of the volume details the miracles of St. Francis, and allows the viewer to literally move mountains around him, the rood screen only reveals part of its interior when the flap is lifted, rather than disappearing entirely. These exterior layers were removed only for festive occasions, and so this unusually maneuverable, printed rood screen offers the viewer unprecedented access to change elements of Catholic ritual by themselves.

27

Michael Bury, The Print in Italy 1550–1620 (London: British Museum, 2001), 66.

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Many types of artwork involved in the liturgy involved some variety of movement, whether visible or invisible. Indeed, the most common type was used to highlight festival days, but changed outside of the church service—the altarpiece with movable wings. However, numerous seemingly static objects were actually used to move and interact with the crowd during these ceremonies. For instance, the liturgical monstrance with its open cavity showing the consecrated Host would have been housed in a tabernacle, closed behind a door, both for dramatic effect and for safekeeping. While the Host would be carried in a monstrance in Corpus Christi processions, this receptacle could also be used for a regular Mass without universal Communion. The unconsecrated bread and wine could also be kept in the tabernacle, but in some cases, the monstrance itself took on reliquary attributes; many are illustrated in Heiltumsbücher catalogues of relic collections. (Fig. 2.4) As the consecrated Host was itself considered a relic during the Middle Ages and into the Renaissance, it required additional pomp, whether it was carried in a parade or merely to the altar. A cabinet door for an early sixteenth-century German monstrance that helps visualize this connection survives in Freising.28 (Fig. 1.11) It is entirely painted, with some trompe l’oeil elements, and shows two angels supporting a copy of the monstrance once held in the cabinet. The monstrance itself reveals a large Host and its detailed grisaille view of Christ on the Cross. (Fig. 1.11a) In contrast to the rich reds of the background and the etched gold leaf used for the angels’ garments and the spires of the painted monstrance, the wafer stands out dramatically, an effect increased by the bold shadow it seems to cast onto the painted cloth of honor backdrop. Though Christ suffers alone on the wafer, Mary and John appear as sculptural parts of the monstrance itself to the sides of the Host. The painted panel still retains the door frame around it, as well as the intricately-worked lock and key with its stern control over the treasure within. The metalwork blends almost effortlessly into the painted image, as the trefoil door-pull with its rosette base reappears in gold leaf on the left. If the lock had been gilded originally, the ensemble would have been even more unified. Two more perfectly integrated details hint at the revelatory effect the work would have exerted on the viewer in its original church context. The top and bottom of the painted monstrance share an abstract painted design of two circles and two tear-drop shapes twisted into a roundel. In the central two examples, the

28

Diözesanmuseum Freising, attributed to Lower Saxony, ca. 1500, d 200–80.

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German (Lower Saxony), Monstrance Cabinet Door, and detail, ca. 1500. Oil on panel: 104.3 × 39.5 × 1 cm (center panel); 121 × 56×2cm (with painted framework and lock). Diözesanmuseum, Freising (d 200–80).

design has been hollowed out through the entire plank, with its inner edges rounded and re-gilded. Though only the panel remains, even today, these two peep-holes—like those appearing in some rood screens—intimate the power of the relic contained therein. While monstrances, like reliquaries, were reserved in appropriately decorated cabinets, other liturgical props emerged, such as dramatically movable figurines. Several types of sculptures with moving limbs were produced between the 1300s and 1520s in Germany, France, England, Switzerland and Italy. Their mobility complemented the performance of specific liturgies. Far from representing antiquated ideas of display, these movable objects remained in constant and pious use in Catholic communities well into the Reformation. New statues of Christs with movable arms were still being made almost until about 1520, a practice that is particularly well documented in Saxony. The Duke Georg of Saxony and his wife Barbara gave one to the Meißen cathedral in 1513 for its Good Friday rites, while the Elector Friedrich der Weise

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may have commissioned another for the Allerheilgenkirche in Wittenberg in 1517.29 Johannes Tripps, who has dealt most extensively with the phenomenon of the handelnde Bildwerk, or acting sculpture, as he terms it, suggests that they functioned to intensify the realism of the Mass.30 His work spans religious sculpture with moving parts and wheels throughout most of Europe, and the church architecture in which they moved. In Italy, hydraulics and the theatrical know-how of Brunelleschi and others furnished numerous flying beings—from children dressed as angels, or large circular, rotating paintings of them—to the literally ascending statue of Christ.31 Likewise, many German churches manipulated and buried their Crucified Christ statues, often in a decorated “tomb” built for that purpose, and then replaced the figure on Easter Sunday with a second statue of the Risen One. Although the culminating events of the biblical year were enacted differently on either side of the Alps, the use of dramatic props remained common. These half- to life-sized figures included: Christ riding his donkey (with wheels), which rolled into the church on Palm Sunday; the Crucified Christ that hung on the rood screen or solitary crucifix, and whose movable arms allowed the sculpture to be ritually buried on Good Friday; and Schreinmadonna statues of the Virgin and Child that could also participate on Good Friday. (Fig. 1.12) These small-scale carved figures (usually between 25 to 40 centimeters tall) opened laterally to reveal relief sculptures of the Trinity, as well as painted views of the protected laity within the folds of the Virgin’s cloak. Often, the enclosed removable crucified Christ sculptures could be buried and resurrected in Easter celebrations similarly to those with movable arms. This Corpus is in fact missing from the pictured Schreinmadonna, a fourteenth-century German work now at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. However, static, outstretched arms did not offer the same sense of deadening finality afforded by a Christ with his once taut limbs hanging limp at his side. On occasion, the Christ Child perched

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Johannes Tripps, Handelnde Bildwerk in der Gotik: Forschungen zu den Bedeutungsgeschichten und der Funktion des Kirchengebäudes und seiner Ausstattung in der Hoch- und Spätgotik (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1998), 163. It is unclear if the crucifix donated by Elector Friedrich der Weise actually had moving arms—the donation is detailed in a document cited by G. and J. Taubert, “Mittelalterliche Kruzifixe mit schwenkbaren Armen,” in: Zs. d. Dt. Ver.f. Kunstwiss., xxiii (1969): 98–99: “zcu dankcksagung des heylwertigen und bittern leydens unseres lieben hern und Seligmachers. Auch zucu heyl, trost und selickkeit unsers gnedisten hern des Churfürsten zcu Sachsen … und der ganzen Christenheit.” Tripps, Handelnde Bildwerk, 11. Tripps, Handelnde Bildwerk, 128.

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German (Rhine), Shrine of the Virgin (Schreinmadonna), ca. 1300. Oak, linen covering, polychromy, gilding, gesso: 36.8 × 34.6×13cm (open); 12.7cm (width closed). mma (17.190.185a, b).

on Mary’s lap on the outside could be detached and laid in a manger, or simply removed for the festival of the Purification of Mary.32 32

For the most recent literature, see Elena Gertsman, Worlds Within: Opening the Medieval Shrine Madonna, Penn State University Press, 2015. Tripps and Gudrun Radler disagree on this point. Interestingly, Tripps does not consider the Schreinmadonna to be a major category of handelnde Bildwerke, referring only to this one example in his book and neglecting the function of the opening womb entirely. See Radler’s dissertation on the Schreinmadonna: Gudrun Radler, “Die Schreinmadonna ‘Vierge ouvrante’: von den bernhardinis-

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Understandably, any image of Christ bears a symbolic relationship to the Eucharist. Some of these bonds were explicit. Like the altars consecrated with Hosts instead of (or alongside) relics, each Crucified Christ statue may have been laid in its temporary tomb with a Host placed in each of its five wounds.33 The phenomenon of the Schreinmadonna is also of particular interest in interpreting the reception of the sacrament. Although recent scholarship has determined that the primary role of the Schreinmadonna (Shrine of the Virgin), or Vierge Ouvrante (Opening Virgin)—as the French termed it first and most literally in the 1850s—was not as a receptacle for the consecrated Host, numerous documents survive that compare these figures to monstrances, and demonstrably elide their functions.34 While Jean Gerson most famously railed against the figurines as improperly teaching that the Virgin gave rise to the entire Trinity (and not just the incarnated Christ) through her pregnancy, many of the figures had enough room left inside for a small pyx to hold consecrated Hosts. The Madonna’s wings could have been secured to guard the box, which was itself meant to be locked.35 Whether intended for that purpose or not, they enshrined the burgeoning Marian cult from thirteenth-century France to early fifteenth-century Britain and Germany. The dukes of Burgundy owned their own, small-scale, golden bejeweled Schreinmadonna, showing the popularity of the format for nobility as well as wealthy churchmen and women.36 These were one of many types of interactive devotional objects available to the affluent few at the time. By 1500, many boxwood carving workshops in the Netherlands specialized in luxury rosary beads and miniature altarpieces, many of which also display Marian overtones.37 A tiny South Netherlandish carved boxwood triptych in the Musée de Cluny on the Life of the Virgin bears laterally-moving hinged wings

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chen Anfängen bis zur Frauenmystik im Deutschordensland: mit beschreibendem Katalog” (PhD diss., Kunstgeschichtliches Institut der Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität, 1990). Tripps, Handelnde Bildwerk, 136. Renate Kroos, “ ‘Gotes tabernakel’: Zu Funktion und Interpretation von Schreinmadonnen,” “Nobile claret opus,” Festgabe für Ellen J. Beer, hg. v. L. Wüthrich, Zeitschrift für Schweitzerische Archäologie und Kunstgeschichte, Bd 43 (1986): 58–60. Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: the Eucharist in late medieval culture (Cambridge University Press, 1991), 45, “The requirements of Bishop Quivil of Exeter in 1287 were: ‘The eucharist pyx should be of silver or at least of ivory with a lock.’” Huizinga, Autumn, 179; “Laborde, L. de. Les ducs de Bourgogne, vol. ii, 264, no. 4238, Inventory of 1420; ii, p. 10, no. 77. Inventory of Charles the Bold.” Cluny (Cl. 13532); Munich Schatzkammer (1851 Inv.: 56–57, no. 28).

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figure 1.13 Netherlandish, Prayer Bead with the Adoration of the Magi and the Crucifixion, early sixteenth century. Boxwood: 5.8×5.5×5.6cm (closed); 11.2 ×8.1×2.7cm (open). mma (17.190.475).

that could easily have been copied as a folding print like the St. Bridget triptych. When an owner was finished meditating on the unpainted interior scenes, he or she could protected them by closing the wings. The deeply-carved screen on the predella also implies the safe-guarded presence of relics. More intimately interactive than the miniature altarpiece, boxwood rosary beads could be held entirely in the hand, rotated, rolled, and opened multiple times. (Fig. 1.13) They particularly inspired spiritual play by creating a separate, “complete meditative world” with a counting structure which ordered the experience and turn the bead into a variation on Huizinga’s perfect playground: “Inside the playground an absolute and peculiar order reigns. Here we come across another, very positive feature of play: it creates order, is order. Into an imperfect world and into the confusion of life it brings a temporary, limited perfection.”38 As Reindert Falkenburg noted in his essay for the 1999 Leeds exhibition on boxwood sculpture: “These were devotional “miniature amusement parks” which, however small, tore the worshipper, mind and body, away from everyday reality, and transferred the pious into a pleasure garden for the soul.”39 Offering total immersion, the miniaturization of this scene—not unlike 38 39

Huizinga, Homo Ludens, 10. Reindert Falkenberg, “Toys for the Soul: Prayer Nuts and Pomanders in Late Medieval Devotion,” A Sense of Heaven: 16th-Century Boxwood Carvings for Private Devotion (Leeds: Henry Moore Institute, 1999), 44.

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folding-triptych interactive prints—encourages mimicry, or simulation. This occurs by using the mystical or devotional imagination, rather than enacting a contest of skill or chance, as in the classification of games Roger Callais proposed in response to Huizinga.40 In contrast to the spherical rosary bead, an unusually shaped boxwood sculpture type effectively functioned as a monstrance. (Fig. 1.14) Indeed, in one example formed as a double bead on a pedestal, now in the Munich Residenz Schatzkammer, was described in these specific terms in the 1598 inventory: “in Buchsbaum holz ausgeschnitten Monstranz …” Julius Schlosser suggested it may have been acquired as early as 1563–1567 by the Duke Albrecht v for his Kunstkammer, a likely suggestion given the popularity of these objects among the German elite.41 Susan Jean Romanelli subsequently dated the work to the Southern Netherlands ca. 1500–1515 in her Columbia University dissertation, one of very few texts besides the Leeds exhibition to deal with devotional boxwood sculpture. Romanelli focuses on the context of rosary sculpture through contemporary religious movements and Devotio Moderna. She does not however acknowledge the oddity of creating a monstrance on a such a small scale that a full-sized Host could not be carried in it. She dwells instead on the artistry of this curiosity, noting that its decoration furnishes one “of the most sophisticated programs juxtaposing both Old and New Testament scenes.”42 In its closed state, the wooden object recalls the wide base and architectural pinnacles of a liturgical monstrance—especially the openable central portion which would have held and displayed the Host in a church setting. The boxwood “monstrance” opens in three places, in both vertical and outward motions. The larger bottom bead splits in half into a diptych at first showing a blank upper half above the Adoration of the Three Kings. When the user lifts the set of thin, blank wings obscuring the top half, they reveal a triptych of the Nativity flanked by views of the Annunciation and Presentation in the Temple.43 Thus far, the 40

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Roger Callais, “The Definition of Play and the Classification of Games,” in The Game Design Reader, Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman trans. and eds. (Cambridge, ma: Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2006), 127. Julius von Schloßer, Kunst- und Wunderkammern der Spätrenaissance (Braunschweig: Klinkhardt und Biermann, 1978), 143. Susan Jean Romanelli, “South Netherlandish boxwood devotional sculpture, 1475–1530” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1992): 203, 140. Romanelli, “South Netherlandish boxwood devotional sculpture,” 204. Romanelli argues that the secondary scenes in the background depict Moses and the Burning Bush, Gideon and the Golden Fleece and the Flowering of Aaron’s Rod among the Twelve in the Tabernacle, but they are quite tightly packed and difficult to discern from the available photograph.

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Adam Dircksz and workshop (Dutch, active 1500–1530), Miniature Tabernacle Showing Scenes of the Life and Passion of Christ, ca. 1500–1530. Boxwood, with pelican pinnacle whose removal opens four petals revealing a Madonna and Child: 22.2 × 9.3 × 10.6 cm (including pelican and base); approx. 20 × 10.9 cm in diameter (with petals lowered). bm (wb.233) © the trustees of the british museum

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“monstrance” unfolds exactly like a regular paternoster, especially as it can be separated from its base and upper bead. This behavior changes in the culminating level. That upper bead peels downward in four quarters, revealing the Madonna and Child in the round, as if they were inside a flower or ripe pomander fruit. The entire construct becomes a family tree, for as Romanelli describes, “The exterior of the Monstrance complements this iconography by including eighteen different scenes from Christ’s Passion. A pelican pierces its breast atop a close variant in the British Museum, while perhaps attempting to hatch the egg-shaped bead upon which it rests.”44 (Fig. 1.14) When the bird has been removed, the shell opens, but its interior at first appears to be empty. Then, dramatically, the figures of the Madonna and Christ move into sight as the owner pulls a hidden cord.45 At about 22 centimeters tall, both of these sculptures are obviously far too small for use in church. Their scale also requires the viewer to be located before and slightly above them, if they do not actually hold them. While the Host faced forward in a monstrance, these acts of vertical revelation must be geared toward a single, individually pious owner, rather than toward an entire congregation. Lay people generally did not own actual monstrances, given the clergy’s fears of Host desecration. These tiny substitutes still showcase their Madonna and Child with as much reverence as any gilt silver and crystal vessel. Notably, this devotion coincided with an ability to mechanically and invisibly elevate the pair. This unusual element cannot have been lost on its purchaser, nor on the early documenter of the Munich Kunstkammer inventory, although for these same reasons, it may have been considered as much a curiosity as it was a devotional object.46 As an object that may have been prized both for its offerings of visual delight and pious

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British Museum (Waddesdon Bequest, 1899: 42, no. 233). Romanelli, “South Netherlandish boxwood devotional sculpture,” 199–208. (Cat. 1–2) The secular variations on this mechanism suggest that this symbolism was indeed understood and enjoyed. Huizinga, Autumn: 179, refers to “Hansje in den Kelder,” or Hans in the Cellar, an early drinking cup for toasting expectant mothers, out of which a figure sprang when the cup was filled. The bnm holds a late seventeenth-century chess King which one could open—perhaps at the point of victory—to display a bent-over fool relieving himself. (bnm 13/547) Seventeenth-century silver “Hansje” cups survive, including one in the Dordrecht Museum Simon van Gijn by Jan Hermansz van Ossevoort (Dordrecht 1629). These format seem to complement the double, woman-shaped wedding cup, or Jungfraubecher, popular in Germany from the late sixteenth century. The 2005 mma exhibition, Princely Splendor: The Dresden Court 1580–1620, included a seventeenth-century example.

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simulation, this boxwood marvel transported the revelations of the Eucharist to a newly intimate scale.

Touch Like the ever-negotiated access to vision, the sense of touch was vital to the Catholic faith. Why, then would repeated sightings of the Host no longer pacify its flock? A major demand of the Protestants was access to Communion in both kinds in order to grant believers the physical expression of both Christ’s blood and his body—without merging them into one. The history of Doubting Thomas might offer a clue to this requirement, which Luther and other radicals had adopted from the fifteenth-century Jan Hus.47 After the resurrection, the stubborn apostle Thomas could not believe his eyes, but would only trust his hands that Christ had returned. Fifteenth-century paintings, sculptures, and woodcuts echoed his probing of the Holy Wounds, even to the point of lacerating the prints with both cut and printed lines so that the modern user too could penetrate.48 Koerner discusses these as part of a fervor that eventually decreased public confidence, after an increasing number of fraudulent miracles involving miraculous wounds and crying statues were unmasked at the turn of the century. Nonetheless, until the 1507 “Jetztler Affair,” among other trials, all of these fake tears must have been highly effective at heightening devotion and indulgence sales.49 In this dramatic light, the now-lost “Doubting Thomas” sculptural group dating from the end of the thirteenth century in Goslar would have been particularly evocative. The figure of Christ was

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Luther wrote a tract on Receiving Both Kinds in the Sacrament in April 1522; Martin Luther, D. Martin Luthers Werke; kritische Gesamtausgabe (Weimar: Verlag Hermann Böhlaus, 1883–.) (wa 10/ii, 24, 10). Anonymous woodcut ca. 1470, Graphische Sammlung, Albertina, Vienna (Inv. no. 130/192). Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, 146–147: “In 1507, a novice named Hans Jetzler arrived at the Dominican friary in Bern and received miraculous dreams and visions attesting to the Virgin’s immaculate conception … On a June morning, after having received the stigmata, Jetzler prayed to a carved pietà housed in the Dominican church, when she suddenly shed blood-red tears. The statue continued to weep at Jetzler’s devotions, and did so until, some months later, Jetzler was discovered posing as Mary atop the church’s rood screen. Under torture, Jetzler confessed complicity in a plot hatched by four Dominican brothers. Chronicled by the Franciscan satirist Thomas Murner, who traveled to Bern for the trial, the ‘Jetzler Affair’ became a household word throughout Germany.”

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built with a door that opened along the oval outline of his lower wound— perfect for reenacting the moving moment of physical contact and belief.50 Saint Thomas’s statue stood nearby on Christ’s right side, probing finger permanently extended. Christ held a chalice in his left hand, while his right remained raised in a blessing gesture, the more easily to offer the slit in his robe for his unconvinced apostle’s examination. Only black and white photography survives of this group, but these polychrome works likely included gilded haloes and chalice, and a bloody cross inscribed within the wound. Though they did not offer falsified tears or blood, interactive prints were also capable of supplying the full extent of sensory elements denied Catholic worshippers. One related category, called Schluckbilder or Eβbilder, unusually pertained to the sense of taste. (Fig. 1.15) Multiple-printed sheets showing the Madonna or the Crucified Christ, these were meant to be cut apart and consumed to cure illnesses or ward off bad luck. A variation on the Host—though most surviving examples are not round—they served as another apotropaic surrogate.51 No fifteenth or sixteenth-century impressions survive, suggesting they were indeed consumed. Over a dozen seventeenth-century devotional sheets at the Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg, however, may be intended for this purpose. Other prints functioned in a similarly revealing triptych-like manner to the Schreinmadonna, or opened into differently oriented wings along the lines of the rosary beads and boxwood “monstrances.” Other examples like St. Francis’s Sacro Monte mentioned earlier even allowed the viewer to alter church architecture or geography. Many so-called Klappblumen, or flap-flower prints, bore petal-shaped flaps and reinterpreted the rosary’s hortus conclusus imagery verbatim as shelter for the Madonna or other saints. In one of the earliest surviving examples, from the seventeenth-century, St. Regina appears within a pomegranate.52 There must have been earlier flo-

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Kroos, 60; formerly Niedersächsischen Landesgalerie in Hannover; it burnt there during wwii. It is unknown if relics or Hosts were ever stored in Christ’s compartments. See F. Stuttmann, ed., Kataloge der Niedersächsischen Landesgalerie: ii Katalog der Bildwerke (Hannover, 1954–1973), 50. C. Schneegass, “Schluckbildchen. Ein Beispiel der ‘Populärgraphik zur aktiven Aneignung’.” Volkskunst. Zeitschrift für volkstümliche Sachkultur 6 (1983): 27–32. The author has also discussed this example in Altered and Adorned: Using Renaissance Prints in Daily Life (Art Institute of Chicago: Yale University Press, 2011), 68–71. Though a number of prints and paintings of the family tree (Stammbaum) concept survive of kin or religious families, the most extended early modern version of this theme can be seen in Hartmann Schedel’s Weltchronik, in which the vines cross pages (and sometimes the gutter of the book) to insist on the historical continuity of important figures. While

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figure 1.15 Johann Melchior Gutwein (German, active Augsburg, ca. 1740), Edible Prints (Schluckbilder or Eßzettel), ca. 1740. Etching on light greenish blue laid paper: 7.9×6cm (image/plate); 9.1×8.7cm (sheet). Private collection, Chicago.

ral flap prints, as their sculptural equivalents range from the miniature “monstrances” discussed above to oversized floral towers. The Tulpenkanzel, or Tulip Pulpit, in the Freiburg cathedral, which was carved in stone by Hans Witten around 1510, begins with the dozing Jesse, winds its florid way up past numerous angels, to the flourish of Church fathers outside its unfurling petals. The preacher entered the structure from the rear. As if emerging from a Klappblume, he appears in the midst of the flower. The ornate sounding board above completes the vertical thrust of the stalk, suggesting that it has just lifted to reveal its blossoming oratorical contents. Though only a few of the similarly designed “monstrances” with the Virgin and Child have survived, Jesus also appears in this way on decorative borders of well-wishing Neujahrwunsch sheets, again supported by a flower. Like the Netherlandish trompe l’ oeil floral borders of Books of Hours, Klappblume also refer indirectly to the concentrated perfume that would have filled the openwork rosary beads.

relating to the Tree of Jesse, there were many Non-Western variations on this imagery. Buddhist paintings and sculptures frequently show him sitting on a lotus; the Yale University Art Gallery owns several tiny Pre-Columbian ceramic sculptures of old male gods in flowers which were probably some form of jewelry, which were produced on the Jaina island, ca. ad 900.

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German, Small Prayer Booklets (Breverl), seventeenth–nineteenth centuries. Engravings and woodcuts with letterpress and folding elements: dimensions variable, 8 × 5 cm (bl 635) to 13 × 10 cm (bl650). Detail of installation ca. 2005, Diözesanmuseum Freising (bl 613/615/629/631/635/641/643/645/650/652/653).

Tiny printed amulets also survive with fold-out images and devotional verses. These were some of the most cheaply made movable prints, called Breverl, after the Latin for a short text. (Fig. 1.16) The Breverl’s small woodcut images and biblical passages effectively fold down into envelopes that could be filled with relics or scented pastes. Used as amulets dedicated to saints or pilgrimage sites, they were hung on cords around the neck in open metal or leather containers. When worn, one’s body heat released the scent of the rosary. They could also have stood in for expensive carved paternosters at the end of the string. Numerous examples of Breverl from the Diocesan museum in Freising date from the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries. As was probably the case with the Klappblumen, manuscript versions of Breverl were likely produced even before the advent of printing. Like rosary beads imbued with perfume, and counted with their prescribed series of prayers, they would have been opened and closed regularly, particularly during Mass. Considering their poor survival rate, they may even have been used more often than the rosary. Again, the laity needed their participation in the Church to engage their sense of touch because that sense remained out of their control for the majority of the liturgical year. Huizinga specifically suggested that religion can be seen as a higher form of play, and defined that action as a voluntary process existing out of real time with set rules and a requisite measure of secrecy. Human players know that they are playing, which separates them from the purely physical play of animals. However, to truly take part in, rather than merely observe their religion from a distance, they needed to become aware of the way those rules worked. Matthew Paris’s flap-laden map from London to Jerusalem (Fig. 1.8) and his Easter volvelle were among the first devices to allow this:

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Neither the itinerary maps nor any of the other preliminary materials of the Chronica majora contain explicit instructions on their use or on how the monk was to approach and understand them. Rather, they were things that were “learned by doing”; that is, their audience had to generate by practice effective ways to manipulate and operate the materials. In this sense, the manuscript becomes a self-generating instrument of instruction, a tool that creates its own scenario of “learning by doing.” As Bourdieu remarked of the world of objects, “every made product—including symbolic products such as works of art, games, myths, etc.—exerts by its very functioning, particularly by the use made of it, an educative effect which helps to make it easier to acquire the dispositions necessary for its adequate use.”53 Interactive prints also ask the viewer to “learn by doing,” as evidenced by their contexts or sometimes their inscriptions, both of which indicate how they are to be used. Requiring physical manipulation as well as mental concentration for calculation or devotion, these playthings bridged the gap between observation and participation in the most secretive of all games, religion. Like Matthew Paris’s performative maps and dials, engrossing, movable boxwood or liturgical sculptures, and the ever-evolving forms of the Host, interactive prints drew on elements of all of the senses, and taught the user its rules. In their capability for mass reproduction, rather than finite manipulation within a guarded manuscript, the interactive print made new aspects of devotion available to all. 53

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Folding Triptychs While the clergy enjoyed better access to Communion than the laity, not all members of the cloth could afford the extravagant carved rosaries and miniature altarpieces made for nobles such as Charles v and Henry viii. As with many woodcuts and engravings, moving prints were probably first produced for monasteries, to be used as personal altarpieces, and perhaps even to be sold by the poorer clergy.1 As in the case of the angel calendar mentioned earlier (Fig. 1.1), many survived by being tipped into books owned by educated priests and nuns. The triptych’s function in ritual concealment, revelation, and above all, protection of its visual or textual contents, is particularly vital to understanding interactive prints. Printed triptychs served as a surrogate for their larger-scale painted and sculpted predecessors, while their insistence on personal interaction also stems from the desire to touch relics.

Reliquary Origins Folding diptych and triptych shapes originated in the religious rites and the self-enshrining writing tablets of antiquity. The hinges of these objects allowed for movement and cover, like the binding of a codex, which may have been developed initially to distinguish Christian texts from those stored in rolls. After allowing for numerous Deïsis groups and Mother and Son portraits, the format continued into the realm of lay portraiture.2 As it did with their church altarpiece counterparts, the ability to close these private paintings helped protect their contents, and controlled access to them. Indeed, the precious relic collections owned by churches and nobility were one of the original contents of the folding altarpiece. Most prevalently in the Cologne area, the function of the early triptych alternated between that of a cupboard for storing the relics 1 Peter Schmidt, “The Multiple Image: The Beginnings of Printmaking, between Old Theories and New Approaches,” Origins, 36–56, argues that there is not enough evidence to connect early prints directly to the relic trade, or producing many of the prints themselves, but this does not preclude the clergy acting as middlemen. 2 Angelica Dülberg, Privatporträts: Geschichte und Ikonologie einer Gattung im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (Berlin: Gebr. Mann, 1990); Barbara Shailor, The Medieval Book (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991), 8.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_004

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and an altarpiece.3 Like the interiors of the painted triptych, or the Schreinmadonna, relics were shown mainly on special occasions. Organizing or painting the reliquaries inside their own triptych in rows ordered by significance would have reduced the effort required for the showing, or Heiltumweisung. The relics of the Holy Roman Empire were shown in Nuremberg from the early 1430s until the early 1520s in a temporary tower or Heiltumstuhl.4 The relics hung quite publicly in the Heilig-Geist-Kirche for the rest of the year, as they would do, untouched and unremarked upon, for many decades after the Reformation. Their coffin-like, richly sculptured and painted chest was produced around 1440 by a team of goldsmiths and painters. The wooden bottom panel, which would have been closest to the viewer, shows two brightly colored and gilded angels holding full-sized, glowing renditions of the Holy Lance and fragments of the True Cross on an azure ground. Like the Freising monstrance cabinet seen earlier (Fig. 1.11), the portrait of a liturgical vessel, or relic, enhanced its visibility, just as it safeguarded the relics themselves. The chest remains in Nuremberg, now in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, while the recognizably similar relics are in the Vienna Schatzkammer. In contrast to the exacting reproduction of the German treasures, the Siena Cathedral reliquary cabinets painted by Benedetto di Bindo in 1412 depict six angels on separate doors. Only the angels’ scrolls identify the value of the contents of the cabinets, while the straightforwardly narrative scenes from the Golden Legend inside show the discovery of its relic, the True Cross.5 Vecchietta’s designs for the reliquary cabinet he painted for the sacristy of the Siena Ospedale Sta. Maria della Scala in 1445 are likewise idealized and remote from the objects themselves. The compartmentalized views of the saints suggest that each part of the cabinet may contain the relevant bones, but some local saints shown were never represented among the relics themselves. Similarly, the Christological relics receive no special treatment within the Passion sequence on the interior of the doors, as the nail in Christ’s right hand, the sponge, and the Cross itself figured in most visualizations of those scenes. One of only a few explicit Italian references to a relic as such on a relic repository

3 Donald Ehresmann, “Some Observations on the Role of Liturgy in the Early Winged Altarpiece,” The Art Bulletin 64:3 (Sept. 1982): 359–369; Harald Keller, “Der Flügelaltar als Reliquienschrein,” Studien zur Geschichte der europäischen Plastik: Festschrift Theodor Müller (München: Hirmer, 1965), 125–144, for detailed articles on this topic. 4 Rainer Schoch, Origins, cat. 59, 212. 5 Enzo Carli, Il Duomo di Siena. (Genova: Sagep Editrice, 1979), 87; Pèleo Bacci, Fonti e Commenti: Per La Storia Dell’Arte Senese, Dipinti e Sculture in Siena nel suo contado ed altrove (Siena: Accademia degli Intronati, 1944), 195–229.

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or on an altarpiece appeared in a fourteenth-century altarpiece by a Maestro Pietro à Ovile of the Assumption which showed the Madonna handing down her girdle to her worshippers.6 A fragment of this cloth was one of the Hospital’s most cherished relics, though the painting never claims to reproduce its actual appearance. The heightened drama of the scene and lack of exacting attention to detail operate in opposition to the German cataloguing tendency, which suggests the relic’s power through its individual and group identity, rather than surrounding it in rhetoric. Specific relics could also reflect positively on illustrious individuals. Between 1511 and 1513, Albrecht Dürer delivered to the Nuremberg Council two portraits of Holy Roman Emperors Charlemagne and Sigismund. They had commissioned this diptych as a pair of doors for a cabinet housing the relics during this once-yearly showing. Tellingly, the panels reproduce the priceless Reichskleinodien–the relics of the political as well as Christian empire—by placing them in the powerful hands of the Emperors. Instead of the angels holding monstrances and spears aloft, the Emperors themselves wield the imperial sword and scepter, the latter objects clearly meant to be seen as objects drawn by the artist from “life.” The practice of true relic portraiture may only have occurred once in fifteenth-century Italy, when the Greek Cardinal Bessarion gave his cherished Byzantine reliquary with a fragment of the True Cross to the Venetian Scuola della Carità in 1472.7 (Fig. 2.1) On the door for its tabernacle, Bessarion kneels beside a life-size portrait of his gift, and his right hand strokes it lightly. Though the panel by Gentile Bellini is now in the National Gallery of Art, London, signs of its original purpose remain. Like the Freising monstrance cabinet, this panel was outfitted with a lock and a keyhole that has since been filled. The Cardinal could caress the Cross while it stayed in his possession, but once it had passed into the monks’ waiting hands, its powers would literally be locked away from his touch. Bellini’s portrait of Bessarion clearly demonstrates the Cardinal’s inability to avoid physical contact with his treasure, even on the brink of losing it. The reliquary would theoretically become more public after its donation

6 Henk van Os, Vechietta and the Sacristy of the Siena Hospital Church, trans. Eva Biesta (New York: A. Schram, 1974), 9. 7 As seen in the Madonna della Scala fresco, most Italian treatments of relics situate them in a larger narrative. Other paintings by Gentile Bellini show a Procession in San Marco, while another is the 1496 The Recovery of the Relic of the True Cross at the Bridge of S. Lorenzo. Detailed works focused primarily on the relics in relation to their owners only appear again somewhat later, as in Titian’s Vendamin Family from 1543 (National Gallery, London), who revere their own personal section of the True Cross.

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figure 2.1 Gentile Bellini (Italian, ca. 1460– 1507), Cardinal Bessarion and Two Members of the Scuola della Carità in Prayer with the Bessarion Reliquary, 1472/3. Oil on panel: 102.7×37.2cm. National Gallery, London (ng6590).

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figure 2.2 German (Bavaria), Blutenberg Panel Illustrating the Reliquary Treasure of Andechs, 1497. Tempera, metal leaf, and vellum on wood: 116×161cm. Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich (Inv. Nr. ma 3302).

from an individual to the more populous body of the Scuola, but there was no guarantee that even its painted double would remain in plain sight. One final significant—albeit now fragmentary—triptych painting combined the relic cabinet and relic portraiture with the altarpiece proper when the Southern Bavarian abbey of Andechs commissioned an enormous group portrait of its collection of relics in 1494 (now partially destroyed), followed by the static version in 1497 at the Bayerisches Nationalmuseum.8 (Figs. 2.2– 3) Like Bessarion, the abbot appeared as a donor, although appearing on the predella, his scale pales in comparison to the expanse of gold and gems above. This meta-reliquary performed the work of the relic-showing merely by being opened, and doubly protected the actual collection by symbolizing, rather than shelving it within its painted wings. The need for a self-displaying, functional replica of the collection, as well as for painted and printed copies made after the original altarpiece is certainly unique. In a broader sense, Andechs serves

8 Now in fragments, the altarpiece can be partially reconstructed from its painted and printed copies.

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figure 2.3 German (Bavaria), Andechs Relic Panel (Andechs Heiltumstafel: … das wirdig hailthum das do rastet auff dem hailigenn Perg ze Andechs In obern payern), 1496. Hand-colored woodcut with xylographic text printed on four sheets: approx. 26.5 × 37.5 (each sheet); approx. 53 × 75cm (complete woodcut). bm (1895,0122.188– 189). © the trustees of the british museum

to underscore the physical draw of the relic, and the growing willingness of the church to exploit it through experimental new media.9 9 Duke Sigismund of Bavaria ordered the one-panel, painted copy for his Blutenberg Castle in 1497, with great similarity to the four-sheet woodcut of the altarpiece printed in 1496. An engraving copying the latter followed, possibly in 1559; another version sold from 1572–1583, and an enlarged engraving in 1715. Sabine Griese, “Bild—Text—Betrachter: Kommunikationsmöglichkeiten von EinblattDruckgraphik im 15. Jahrhundert,” in Dialoge: Sprachliche Kommunikation in und zwischen Texten im deutschen Mittelalter. Hamburger Colloquium 1999, Nikolaus Henkel, Martin H. Jones and Nigel F. Palmer, eds. (Tübigen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2003), 315–329. Griese wrongly assumes that the 1494 altarpiece was always displayed in its current location in the Andechs Kloster Heilige Kapelle. This was a space restricted by the dukes, and before renovations in 1518, the painting would probably not have fit. A location on one of the side altars in the main church is more likely, especially as this would have left the painting open to the 1662 fire, which may have destroyed its main body and lower wings. The Heilige Kapelle itself was supposedly impregnable to fire.

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Printed Reliquaries This creative display at Andechs suggests that the cult of relic-collecting—as opposed to relics themselves—partook of different traditions in German and Italy. The German public would soon attain wider visual access to the cult through print. The customarily careful identification of particular objects in paintings led to woodcut illustrations in printed texts boasting both greater circulation and the prestigious association of particular groups of relics with their private and civic owners. Relics had long attracted tourists. A sparselyillustrated, printed pamphlet of the Mirabilia Urbis Romae had guided pilgrims around the city and depicted the showing of the Veronica (Vera Icon) since the end of the fifteenth century, and there was a list of relics posted outside the Sancta Sanctorum by the late sixteenth century. A number of German and Austrian owners and entrepreneurs went further at the turn of the sixteenth century, advertising the miraculous possessions of collections in toto in the elaborate printed catalogues called Heiltumsbücher, after the relics, or Heiltum they illustrated.10 These books were no doubt helpful for pilgrims concerned that by accidentally missing Christ’s foreskin or St. Vincent’s finger, they were disqualified from earning the full quota of indulgences (and thus fewer years in Purgatory) bestowed on those viewing the entire set. Still, it is unclear if pilgrims stood to gain any direct indulgences from reading the volumes or looking at their pictures. These were benefits that did accrue from praying the Vera Icon directly to prints of the Vatican Veronica relic.11 Nonetheless, no exact Italian equivalent to the Heiltumsbuch exists, which suggests that the impetus for opening the vaults to the public, if only in print, remained predominantly Northern. Whether or not these publications presented an easier target for Luther is irrelevant. They were clearly popular, or the publishers would not have invested the significant necessary capital in them. Indeed, this clear documentation of the contemporary need to access the relics is one of the most important legacies of the guidebooks. Though the Mirabilia Urbis Romae originated in a twelfth-century Benedictine manuscript, it first appeared in print ca. 1475. It was not strictly a catalogue, but a tour guide, and duly appeared in numerous vernaculars shortly 10

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The dukes of Bavaria controlled the Andechs Monastery’s famous relic collection and enjoyed the ability to view it at any time. The Emperor Maximilian and his family donated objects on occasion, while guilds contributed to the imperial and religious showings in Nuremberg. Suzanne Karr, “Marginal Devotions: A Newly Acquired Veronica Woodcut,” note, Yale University Art Gallery Bulletin (2002): 98–103.

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figure 2.4 Lucas Cranach the Elder (German, 1472–1553), Silver Monstrance, from Heiltumsbuch, 1509. Book with woodcuts and letterpress: 19.3×14cm (sheet). aic (1948.111).

thereafter. Peter Vischer the Elder also printed an unofficial guide to the Nuremberg Heiltumsweisung in 1487, in German, gearing the pamphlet more toward the yearly event than the collection, and only illustrating portions of it. The first Andechs Heiltumsbuch, from 1473, only contained a few woodcuts, one of which was dedicated to the site’s trio of miraculous Hosts in their angelborne monstrance. Several single-sheet prints and longer texts were also popular throughout German-speaking Europe.12 In Vienna, the printer Johannes Winterburger produced the first heavily illustrated catalogue of relics in 1502 despite his lack of affiliation to Saint Stephen’s cathedral, where the objects were housed. Shortly thereafter, the Elector Friedrich der Weise enlisted Lucas Cranach the Elder and his shop for a similarly formatted 1509 book displaying a select number of the over 5,000 relics in his massive Wittenberg collection.13 (Fig. 2.4) Luther’s 95 Theses of 1517 were partially aimed at his patron

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Maastricht, block book, 1460; Maastricht and Aachen, sheet, 1460–1470; Nuremberg, sheet, ca. 1480; St. Georgenberg Kloster, Tirol, 1480; Würzburg, 1483; Nuremberg, 1483; Bamberg 1493; Augsburg, sheet, ca. 1494; Andechs sheet, 1496. Around 1509, Hans Burgkmair the Elder produced woodcuts for a Heiltumsbuch of the

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Friedrich’s relics, and were said to have been posted on the door of the very church which contained them. The Elector continued to acquire additional relics until 1519 and showed them until the following year. Friedrich’s collecting rival, Cardinal Albrecht of Brandenburg, produced one of the largest examples of the books even later, in 1520, to fit his hoard of over 8,000 relics. He also commissioned a manuscript catalogue which is so richly illuminated and laden with gold leaf that, like many of the German relic portrait paintings, it approaches the tactility of the original. Luther soon lambasted Cardinal Albrecht’s reliquary excesses, comparing his Halle church to a brothel in his “Wider den Abgott zu Halle,” or “Against the Idol at Halle,” in 1521. The 1594 Andechs Heiltumsbuch was one of the last of the genre. Its belatedness suggests that the abbey’s printed self-promotion had served it well, and that its printers hoped the relics might still inspire curiosity if not abject devotion.

Paper Triptychs Though no printed reliquaries with opening doors have survived, hand-painted equivalents to painted triptychs are known. Reduced-scale painted versions on parchment for the clergy predated the prints, and continued to be produced, but they were more expensive than woodcuts. In point of fact, the cache of devotional artworks found at the Wienhausen Cloister in 1953 included at least seven diptychs and triptychs. These consisted of painted miniatures on cloth or pasted on to wood, dating from about 1300 to 1500. Miniature-sized versions of cult images also appeared in abundance throughout Europe, including several at Wienhausen, but there are no early reproductions with movable parts of specific cult objects or painted altarpieces.14 Sketches for triptychs and organ shutters with working wings attached do survive, especially from the early sixteenth century, but these drawings were never mass-produced. The closest example to a printed reproduction of a specific altarpiece is the exacting contemporary woodcut of the Andechs triptych. (Fig. 2.3) Even at a reduced scale, over half of the reliquaries pictured are still

14

Ritter Florian Waldauf von Waldenstein’s collection in the Halle in Tirol Stiftskirche. Though a version of the manuscript survives with the woodcuts laid out preliminarily, the entire work was never printed. Heinrich L. Nickel., hrsg., Das Hallesche Heiltumbuch von 1520: Nachdruck zum 450. Gründungsjubiläum der Marienbibliothek zu Halle (Halle an der Saale: Verlag Janos Stekovics, 2001), 291. Horst Appuhn and Christian von Heusinger, “Der Fund Kleiner Andachtsbilder des 13. Bis 17. Jahrhunderts in Kloster Wienhausen,” Niederdeutsche Beiträge 4 (1965): 166.

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identifiable as monstrances, ostensoria, or so-called “speaking reliquaries”15 in the shape of head or arms, with their relics visible through inset crystals and opened cabinet doors. The unicum at the British Museum includes details such as the predella and legible labels for each reliquary, reconfirming their revelatory functions. Yet, neither it nor its derivative engraved copies attach flaps depicting the outer wings of the triptych, leaving researchers to speculate about the original exterior subjects for the lower panels of the now fragmentary painting. On the remaining Andechs panels, two of the abbey’s patron saints, Leo and Gregory, complete the show by assuming the function of a monstrance, displaying in lunettes held upright in their august hands the miraculous bloodied Hosts that formed the core of the Andechs relic collection.16 As can be seen in the 1497 version of the painting, these three Hosts would have reappeared in their proper monstrance in the center, and their presence would have been unveiled by opening its wings. Of the surviving folding drawings that demonstrate a similar use of the interactive approach, a highly colored and gilded model of an organ, at the Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg, reveals the pipes with as much devotion as a set of altarpiece wings. The draftsman may have been at the Innsbruck court during the second half of the century; his elaborately detailed flaps show the Annunciation on the exterior, and the Nativity and Adoration of the Magi on the inside. In contrast, a large Swiss triptych model ca. 1500 exhibited in the From Schongauer to Holbein exhibition in Berlin, Basel and Washington d.c., was clearly an intermediate working design. Dating from the earliest inventory at Basel, the work was probably part of the Amerbach Kabinett, which had already been formed in the mid sixteenth-century.17 Also shown at the same exhibit was one of Lucas Cranach the Elder’s many models for a cycle of Catholic polyptychs commissioned by the unrepentant reliccollector, Cardinal Albrecht of Brandenburg. These were to be carried out by his workshop for the cardinal’s church at Halle, a locale that would soon attract Luther’s ire. The drawings at Berlin date from around 1515 to 1520.18 The ink

15 16

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Cynthia Hahn, “Voices of the Saints: Speaking Reliquaries,” Gesta xxxvi/i (1997): 20–31. The lunette (or lunula in Latin and German), was a small golden crescent-moon shaped clip with a narrow stem, which was used for keeping the Host upright and visible in the monstrance. Christian Müller, et. al., From Schongauer to Holbein: Master Drawings from Basel and Berlin (National Gallery of Art, Washington, d.c.; Ostfildern-Ruit: Hatje Cantz Publishers, 1999), 51–52, no. 14. These include the Berlin drawings (Rosenberg 31), Weimar (r 29) and the two at Paris (r a23, 30) and at Leipzig (r 36–37) and two wings in private hands.

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drawings are quite finished in execution, and include up to two sets of exterior wings. Andreas Tacke has suggested ways to reconstruct the missing portions in his Katholische Cranach.19 Altogether, seven or eight original models survive for the sixteen paintings planned. No detailed movable sketches along these lines survive for post-Reformation triptychs, such as Cranach’s 1547 Wittenberg triptych, a lack which reinforces the idea that immobility was intended from their inception. Hermann tom Ring’s model drawing for his 1561 Altar of the Christian Faith, in contrast, is mostly text.20 The prophets on the outside and Moses on the inside all bear tablets with tenets of the faith. The praying donors on the insides of the movable wings, ignoring the Golden Calf and the Brazen Serpent in their backgrounds, take the Ten Commandments to heart.

Printed Triptychs: Saint Bridget Many triptych prints from before 1500 could have been purchased by the laity with a fondness for the subject matter, but clergy-bought impressions may simply have survived better when they were owned by members of a large order dedicated to a communal patron saint. For instance, the greatest number of surviving triptych-shaped prints venerate the fourteenth-century Swedish saint Bridget, mentioned briefly earlier in connection with Körner. (Fig. 2.5) In two states of an Augsburg woodcut from the 1480–1500, Bridget receives divine inspiration from an angel, while her clerical devotees witness from the wings, grouped tactfully by gender. These followers constituted the main market for the print. Bridget’s central position in the triptych also reflects the structure of her order, by highlighting their total spiritual communion, as well as her prophylactic effect on the nuns and monks in both senses. Copies could have been sold to them simultaneously, for Bridget established the first double monasteries with buildings separated by sex and a well-placed turnstile. Although she only appears in one panel, Bridget’s podium, regal throne, and outstretched arms recall the still familiar, resplendent form of the Schreinmadonna. (Fig. 1.12) Like the Trinitarian variety of those sculptures, with their crowds of the faithful painted on the inside, Bridget symbolically protects her flock under her robe. In the first state of the print, from the 1480s, when the ref-

19 20

Andreas Tacke, Der katholische Cranach: zu zwei Grossauftragen von Lucas Cranach d. Ä., Simon Franck und der Cranach-Werkstatt (1520–1540) (Mainz: P. von Zabern, 1992). nga, Inv. no. 1990.32.1.

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figure 2.5 German (Augsburg), Saint Bridget Giving Her Rule to the Nuns and Monks of Her Order, 1480–1500. Hand-colored woodcut printed from one block, now divided into three sheets mounted together: 26.5 × 9.7 cm (left); 26.5×19cm (center); 26.5×9.5cm (right); 27 × 39.3 cm (overall). bm (1934-6-9-2/4). © the trustees of the british museum

erence to the Schreinmadonna would have been more strongly felt, the Trinity looms overhead, as if displaced from Bridget’s womb. In both states, Mary looks on from a cloud, proudly displaying the infant Jesus. The positioning of the inspiring angel on Bridget’s left similarly recalls the presence of the Christ Child on Mary’s shoulder, though in reverse. One impression of the second state, now at the British Museum, shows the owner’s dissatisfaction with the incomplete stage in the saint’s inspiration—they filled in the waiting blank pages with a portion of her Prophecies and Revelations. These visual connections may well be intentional, considering the Schreinmadonna enjoyed much of its popularity in the fifteenth century under the Bridgettines.21 Two states of the triptych, both now at the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung in Munich, demonstrate the woodcut’s original function, as well as its geographical areas of use. Although each was printed from a single block, both

21

Lucas Wüthrich review of Gudrun Radler, Zeitschrift für Schweizerische Archäologie und Kunstgeschichte 47: 30 (1990): 254–255.

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sheets have been separated into three parts.22 Indeed, the British Museum impression of the later printing has undergone the same treatment. The surviving impressions of the first state even shows evidence of having been reinforced with manuscript scraps and pasted down around the edges, onto a hinged wooden support. This change would have allowed permanent upright display, but more importantly, the ability to open and close the wings protectively over the main image. At least three derivative copies of this woodcut retain Körner’s triptych-like format of the image, but combine it onto one plane, twice with a text block running across the bottom, proclaiming Bridget’s identity and identifying the men and women in the wings as her adoring sisters and brothers. In these cases, only two shields appear at her feet—the Swedish and Roman arms reflecting Bridget’s visionary influence on her homeland and the Pope. Surviving impressions of the latter images have not been altered in the same way as the larger triptychs, suggesting that some designs were considered more appropriate for this treatment than others, even within the worship of the same saint. Both states of the woodcut included these shields, but expanded upon their message by adding two more localizing devices. In the first state, these represented the Wittelsbach and Oettingen coats of arms. The second employed recarved wooden plugs to replace the two shields on the right with the rhomboid pattern and the crossed framework of the territories of Bavaria and the Palatinate. According to the onetime Keeper of Prints at the British Museum, Campbell Dodgson, the new version may have been intended for the Monastery of Mary Altomünster, near Augsburg.23 The Bridgetines established a double convent there in 1497, so once again, the balanced gender of the saint’s attendants makes perfect sense.

Canon Tables Around 1505, Hans Baldung Grien would create a set of three devotional woodcuts showing Saints Catherine and Barbara in opposing profile and the Madonna and Child in a frontal stance. (Fig. 2.6) This work, and the letterpress text still appended to some impressions, suggest it is another of Körner’s triptychlike objects, even though the sheets were likely never printed together on the same sheet. Baldung’s Barbara carries a chalice, and all three saints revere the 22 23

Personal inspection; Richard S. Field, Origins, exh. cat. 105, 327. Campbell Dodgson, Catalogue of early German and Flemish woodcuts preserved in the Department of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum (Vaduz, Liechtenstein: Quarto Press and British Museum Publication 1980), 16–17.

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figure 2.6 Hans Baldung Grien (German, ca. 1480–1545), Saint Catherine, Madonna and Child on a Grassy Bench, and Saint Barbara, 1505–1507. Woodcut triptych with letterpress: Saint Catherine, 23.2 × 15.8 cm (image/block); 27.3×19 (sheet); Madonna and Child on a Grassy Bench, 23.6 × 16 cm (image/sheet); Saint Barbara, 23.6×16.1cm (image/sheet). aic (2009.43; 2013.172; 2013.159).

abstract Host in the form of the central Christ Child. Around the same time, another type of printed triptych utilized similar images and even more secretive texts. (Figs. 1.2; 2.8) These so-called canon tables were meant only for the clergy. Like the St. Bridget and Baldung triptychs, two printed canon tables from 1480s Augsburg, and Leipzig around 1500 were both printed in starkly differing states. This type of triptych seems to have developed as a cross between folding painted altarpieces and functional tablets, also called canon tables, or tabella secretarum. These contained the main prayers of the liturgy, or Canon, written out to help the priest remember them exactly, and thus they too may have been placed on the altar. Handwritten examples are known from as early as the thirteenth century.24 The fact that there are few, if any representations of canon tables, or surviving examples in other media may be explained by the tendency

24

Adalbert Ebner, Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte und Kunstgeschichte des Missale romanum im Mittelalter. Iter italicum. (Freiburg: Herder, 1896), 159. Also Parshall, Origins, exh. cat. 39, 41. The central miniature in an unpublished fifteenth-century manuscript example in Erfurt shows the Man of Sorrows standing in front of the cross, flanked by Mary and John. Peter Schmidt was most generous in providing photographs of this object.

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to place a protective cover over them, or possibly the infrequency of use until the late sixteenth century, as Peter Schmidt posits.25 Permanent canon tables were in fact used upright on the altar, as a mid-seventeenth century gilt metal and silver Spanish example at the Loyola University Museum of Art suggests (Inv. no. 1–93), though the folding triptych shape the prints adopted may have proved particularly apt for their secondary use for private devotion. Eighteenthcentury hand-colored letterpress canon tables in red and black with a central image of the Last Supper (printed by Joseph Antony Labhart (Augsburg, 1713– 1759)) are still in use in ornate silver frames on four separate altars in the main church at the Holy Mountain of Andechs. The Latin text that consecrated the Host was the most important prayer the tables contained, and it often appears flanking a small image of the Crucifixion or Deposition, much like the woodcuts used to introduce the Canon in the Missal. Although the consecration prayer was taken almost verbatim from the Latin Vulgate, it still remained a fiercely guarded secret during the fifteenth century. Of the several annotated copies of such volumes in the New York Public Library, most bear monastery provenances. The Spencer Collection copy of a Latin Bible printed in Lyon in 1520 particularly illustrates this relationship. A contemporary hand underlined and annotated each of the four descriptions of the Last Supper, as well as their cross-referencing glosses. (Fig. 2.7) In Luke 22, a rudimentary manicule points with its index finger to the passage; in Matthew 26, a line runs from the words “hoc est corpus meum” into the left margin, where the words “Oblat[io?] s[y]mb[olum]” have been inked in. Not only does the reader clearly link the wafer (Oblate in German) with Christ’s self-dedicatory words, but he describes them as the Host Creed. This emphasis on their meaning suggests that the prayer had not lost all of its mystery, even by this late date. Some canon table triptychs with the consecration became personal, altarpiece-like devotional images for nuns, even though women could never elevate the Host. Barbara, Bridget and other female saints wielded the Host or a chalice or monstrance containing it as their attribute, but by the time of the Council of Trent, nuns were not even allowed to keep unconsecrated Hosts in their convents. Taking Communion consequently became a more difficult process. The December 1563 ordinances required nuns to communicate at least once a month with an external confessor and a priest to hold the Mass:

25

Peter Schmidt, Origins, exh. cat. 39, 41.

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figure 2.7 Annotations on the sacred canon of the Eucharist, in Biblia cum co[n]cordantijs veteris et novi testame[n]ti et sacroru[m] canonu[m], 1520. (Luke 22 and Matthew 26). Letterpress with ink annotations: 37 × 26 cm ( full sheet). nypl (Spencer Coll. French 1520 81–58).

Bishops and other Superiors of convents of nuns shall take particular care that the nuns be admonished, in their constitutions, to confess their sins, and to receive the most holy Eucharist, at least once a month, that so they may fortify themselves, by that salutary safeguard, resolutely to overcome all the assaults of the devil. This regulation suggests that the actual frequency of Communion in convents up to that point was probably even lower. As always, there were exceptions to the rule, but the most famous cases had both political and religious implications. Anna Lamnitt fooled the Emperor Maximilian into believing she could subsist on no food but one daily Host, but was later executed as a swindler. The behavior of the many lay women whose incredible, conspicuous acts of piety Carol Walker Bynum details in her Holy Feast and Holy Fast would have been extremely unusual, assuming they succeeded in communicating once a week if

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nuns received only monthly.26 Indeed, Eamon Duffy confirms that extreme lay piety could prove contentious simply for its independence from the communal norm: It is true that frequent reception of communion probably did encourage religious individualism, as it certainly often sprang from it. [Early fifteenth-century visionary and autobiographer] Margery Kempe’s weekly reception, representing a claim to particular holiness of life, marked her off from her neighbours, and was almost certainly resented by them.27 A late fifteenth-century woodcut and letterpress canon table on vellum, now at the National Gallery of Art (nga) in Washington, becomes a more complicated object in this light, as it was likely commissioned for and belonged to a woman. (Fig. 2.8) The nga print not only includes the Gloria, Ave, and the Credo, but also the prayers for the offerings of bread and wine. Nonetheless, it was probably owned by a nun. A letter sent with the canon table and account book notes pasted onto its box reveal that a Heinrich von Freyberg sent it to his daughter Apollonia, at the Mühlberg cloister of St. Clare around 1491.28 While the outermost box was reinforced with old records, the cloth and leather slip-cover that protected the folded print was embroidered with the Crucifixion. This cover appears to have been chosen later, and was possibly even stitched by the recipient or her sister nuns. The now subdued blue and green color scheme complements the brightly painted Lamentation woodcut, itself a copy of a well-known Master e.s. engraving published by the Basel printer Lienhart Ysenhut. The reds and blues applied to the print also rubricate portions of the text, though the most complex effect appears in the faux-porphyry marbling of Christ’s column. No other impressions of this same canon table are known, but the luxury support suggests that it may have been specially commissioned. Copies on paper could certainly have been produced at the same time—otherwise Ysenhut’s workshop might as easily have left the wings blank for others to fill in by hand. The woodcut is easily identifiable by the helmet on a shield

26 27 28

Carol Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: the Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). Duffy, 93. Edmund Schilling, “Zur Geschichte einer Basler Kanontafel des 15 Jahrhunderts,” Zeitschrift für Schweizerische Archäologie und Kunstgeschichte ix (1947): 149; Richard S. Field, Fifteenth Century Woodcuts and Metalcuts at the National Gallery of Art, Washington d.c. (Washington, d.c.: National Gallery of Art, 1965), no. 78. The photo crops the text from the reproduction, though discusses it in the entry proper.

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figure 2.8 German (Basel), A Canon Table with a Lamentation, Lienhart Ysenhut, Basel, ca. 1490/1500. Hand-colored woodcut on vellum with manuscript additions: 12.7 × 12.8 cm (woodcut); 15.8 × 13.4 cm ( folded); 15.6×39.7cm ( full sheet). nga (1959.16.15).

denoting the publisher and probable printmaker’s name, Eisen-Hut, or iron hat. That shield reappears in a two-sheet vertical wall calendar of 1499 with iconography ranging from the Nativity to Astrological Man, and on a single sheet print with an extended Ave Maria prayer. Indeed, the latter may be another example of Ysenhut’s interactive printmaking. The sheet included a horizontal Annunciation woodcut at the top of the Ave Maria sheet.29 The image is broken suggestively into three parts by columns. The pristine garden and supplicant donors on their opposing sides could easily fold inward to form a triptych once the image had been detached from the rest of the sheet. Yet, no evidence remains on the surviving copies of actual use as a triptych, so it seems most prudent to regard this work as another of Hans Körner’s triptychlike prints. Similarly to the three equally-sized components of the Baldung “triptych,” Apollonia’s canon table closes its wings in on itself without meeting in the center, but over the entire middle panel. This method of opening and closing 29

The introduction to Albert Schramm’s section on Ysenhut also commented on its triptychlike shape, in Albert Schramm, Der Bilderschmuck der Frühdrucke 22 (Leipzig: Deutsches Museum für Buch und Schrift, 1920–1948): 6. Isak Collijn, Nordisk Boktryckarekonst 10 (1909), 447–453, reproduces the entire sheet from a colored copy in the Katherinenkirche in Hamburg.

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makes it easier to read the work as a progression culminating in the central image, rather than just a static view between textual glosses. Indeed, the versos of the letterpress panels also contain religious texts. These are handwritten on paper pasted down onto the vellum over a reinforcing band of reused paper with a Hebrew text, reemphasizing its probable owner’s ongoing devotional process of handling and personalizing the canon table. In fact, she made one notable mistake. The center rear panel bears the first line of John, chapter sixteen, In principio erat v[er]b[u]m et v[er]bum erat deüm et deüm. It appears upside-down in relation to the texts on the other panels, and, as if realizing its mistake, ends there. Apollonia likely intended to make the texts legible in the four-panel sequence from left to right, and corrects her error by starting with John anew on top of the outer left panel. This text might be read first to emphasize the importance of the Word contained both within the canon table and the Mass. The printed Gloria and the Credo appear on its verso inside the table. The outside of the right-hand wing dedicates two prayers to the New Testament subjects of Christ’s sacrifice and the Trinity, suitably matched on the interior with the consecration prayer. If the canon table was intended for another recipient as part of an ongoing exchange, as Peter Schmidt suggests, it seems likely that the image would have been planned out in advance and would be less likely to have mistakes. The quotation from John also appeared on earlier canon tables of this type, so if the nuns were producing several of these objects at a time, they would have been unlikely to place that important text upside down on the hard to reach verso of the triptych. Folding canon tables generally included a single, Eucharist-related scene, such as the Crucifixion, and historiated initials within the text. Like Apollonia’s canon table, three other important examples show signs of use as triptychs; two have creases from folding, while the third actually bears a set of painted paper hinges. In a canon table from late 1480s Cologne, the printed parchment sheet has been handled like an illuminated manuscript. (Fig. 1.2) The rubricated letterpress text on its wings flanks a hand-colored Calvary woodcut with an entirely new decorative floral backdrop that resembles a cloth of honor. Visible creases in the vellum run through several painted tendril on the left, causing pigment loss; a repair at the bottom of the right-hand fold also suggests the repetitive motion of these wings. While the sheet’s original dimensions may have been wider than their current state, it would still have been just wide enough to cover the woodcut with either of its wings. Peter Schmidt has shown that the text was likely added by Johannes Koelhoff, a printer in Cologne, while the woodblock was likely produced by the circle of Hans Pleydenwurff in Nuremberg some years earlier. This borrowing practice is not unlike Ysenhut’s quotation of the Master e.s. in the only other

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surviving fifteenth-century canon table. A painter added the entire blooming border, including the images of the Virgin and Saint Barbara—surprisingly bereft of her Host—without printed guidelines. While seeing the unicum as a nexus of old and new media, Schmidt argues that the table’s triptych shape does not offer a surrogate of a higher art form, as it functioned differently than a folding altarpiece. Nonetheless, he confirms its devotional functionality. Schmidt also refers to a sixteenth-century Mexican canon table made of feathers, albeit without noting the fact that it too is a triptych.30 Given the secretive nature of the prayer these sheets contained, it is fitting that the printed ones often employed the shielding qualities of folding wings. While few examples of early canon tables remain, their scarcity hardly suggests they were not intentionally produced in this format, just as their secondary use as altarpiece-like devotional objects was likely quite common.31 Two states of a canon table survive from Leipzig at least twenty years later, suggesting that the triptych format persisted in this genre. (Fig. 2.9) These were probably printed there by Melchior Lotter, as scholars have noted its similarity to his type.32 In addition, Lotter frequently published religious texts. One of the two impressions at Gotha remains in unadulterated black and white, but both were originally meant to be colored. Illumination is also a more apt description here, as the initials on the painted impression are gilded, and delicate washes of red and blue set off the woodcut details. More striking is the faded reddish border around the entire sheet and its matching rectangular paper hinges, complete with faux nail heads painted in black. The uncolored impression bears no such hinges, but rather has been divided in almost thirds, leaving a permanent mark boxing in the central text. Neither print has been folded to cover the central panel exactly, but the care with which the colored, bordered impression has been measured is reflected in the retention of the external margins. The woodcuts here are printed closer to the center text, and the illuminator evidently chose not to trim the excess paper on the left and right in exchange for better coverage. As in the Cologne canon table, Lotter left blanks for the h capitals beside the vital phrases: Hoc est enim corpus meum, this is my body, and Hic est enim calix sanguinis mei; this is the cup of my blood. The triptychs also show 30 31 32

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of 1888, 88, 3. 1; James Clifton, The Body of Christ: In the Art of Europe and New Spain, 1150–1800 (New York: Prestel, 1997), no. 46, 106–108. Schmidt, Origins, exh. cats. 39, 41 for mentions of extant canon tables. W.L. Schreiber, Holzschnitte, Metallschnitte, Teigdrucke aus dem Herzoglichen Museum zu Gotha, und Kunst- und Altertumssammlungen Veste Coburg, from Einblattdrucke des fünfzehnten Jahrhunderts no. 64 (Strassburg, Paul Heitz, 1928): 7.

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figure 2.9 Melchior Lotter (German, 1470–1549), Canon Table, ca. 1500–1515. Hand-colored woodcut with letterpress, in two states: 13.8 × 35.6cm folded, and 15.4×41cm with hinges. Foundation Schloss Friedenstein Gotha (Schreiber 1841).

how variations of the movable type size could echo oral presentations of the sacred words. In the Cologne example, the text appears in two compact blocks describing the breaking of the bread and the subsequent offering of the wine. In contrast, the Leipzig tables emphasize the unity of the text by presenting the entire rite on a single central panel, flanked unusually by not one but two emblematic woodcuts. In this case, the images contrast Christ’s Passion and the Sorrows of the Virgin. The culminating words for transforming the bread and the wine appear in enlarged letters, dramatically set apart by the ample space allowed for each rubricated h, as if repeated for effect. The black and white impression adopts the same format and relative font size ratio as the colored one. Yet each section of its letterpress is larger in size, filling the blank lower margin remaining in the illuminated impression completely. The fact that the text was reset suggests the first run of the print sold out, possibly because it was finally available outside the church. Although there are several changes in the typestyles used, it is unclear when the two states

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were issued. Melchior Lotter published two editions of a clerical handbook, the Secreta Secretorum, in 1500 and 1515. No examples of Lotter’s canon tables have been found bound together with these texts, but it is possible that the sheets were issued in conjunction with it. In fact, the canon table, or tabella secretarum, might be seen as an even more condensed version of the book, as its title suggests. The church’s need to protect the Word clearly affected the most basic understanding of the populace. By the mid 1450s, Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa complained that the laity could not recite their prayers properly. On his recommendation, large tablets with the Ten Commandments, Our Father, Ave Maria and the Credo, all in the vernacular, hung in some churches for public edification.33 Luther’s 1529 publication of the Kleine Katechismus would first join the rite of consecration with these prayers in a widely available German version.34 Still, even canon tables reprinted at the turn of the century and issued during the late 1520s retained the Latin text.35 (Fig. 2.10) Rightly attributed to Sebald Beham by Geisberg, the table also hearkens back to the older format in its partial use of red letterpress text. Beham’s woodcut canon table should be seen alongside a British Museum unicum from the same period. It may have been last discussed by Campbell Dodgson in 1923, when he pointed out it is a reversed rubbing, apparently one pulled from an etched knife blade (Waffenätzung). What Dodgson did not discuss is the fact that this unusual mirror image reflects a second canon table. The central scene is the Last Supper, flanked with Christ on the Mount of Olives and his Baptism. Wreaths filled with text separate these scenes; the one on the right (if not reversed), says: “Sumite Hoc est Corpus Meum, Marci 14,” the words of the Institution. The original metalwork did not fold to hide its textual message, but the blade could have been used to break bread following Christ’s example.36

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Hartmut Boockmann, “Behlehrung durch Bilder? Ein unbekannter Typus spätmittelalterlicher Tafelbilder,” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 57:1 (1994): 1–22. Boockmann discusses several relevant, yet impermanent didactic tools of this nature which are no longer extant. Luther’s 1526 work on the German Mass and Order of Worship also heightened awareness to the Institution wording issue, though his followers continued to dispute its proper treatment long after his death. Oliver K. Olson, Matthias Flacius and the Survival of Luther’s Reform (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2002), 101 ff., 118ff. Bettina Wagner, “Original oder Falschung? Eine xylografische Kanontafel der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek,” Gutenberg Jahrbuch (2009): 210–220. Wagner argues the sheet is a slightly later reprinting (c. 1500) of mid fifteenth-century xylographic blocks. Geisberg/ Strauss, g.190, Hamburg, Vienna and Harvard (Houghton Library). Campbell Dodgson, “Neues zum Werke Hans Sebald Behams: i. Eine unbeschriebene Waf-

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figure 2.10

Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), Canon Table (Hamburg, late 1520s). Woodcut with letterpress in black and red: 19×43cm (sheet). Houghton Library, Harvard University, (pga_typ_520_20_200).

Unlike this etching, the woodcut is an absolutely typical rendition of the scene; historiated initials of the Last Supper and the Mount of Olives complement the central Crucifixion, and once again, the lettering allows for gilding in its overly large, outlined H-initials. The text format is closer to the Leipzig canon tables and splits the prayers for the bread and wine into separate panels, while its florid decoration suggests a printed form of the Cologne border illuminations. However, this woodcut was likely available to a wider audience than the previous examples of canon tables, given that the bulk of Nuremberg’s Catholic churches had been converted to Protestantism in 1525. Beham may have been one of the three famously “Godless Painters” who would be banished from Nuremberg for their heretical views, (along with his brother Barthel and Georg Pencz), but his treatment of the work is entirely serious. He likely designed it for one of his many publishers, rather than for a specific church, making the Canon Table all the more likely to be destined for public consumption. Beham may also have prepared woodcut designs for figures crossing the religious divide: a series of relatively positive portraits of the clergy for an antiCatholic pamphlet (Fig. 5.3); an anti-Lutheran interactive flap print (Fig. 5.2); and a monumental crucifix sundial with ambiguous religious roots (Fig. 7.1).

fenätzung,” Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für Vervielfältigende Kunst: Beilage der “Graphische Künste,” no. 2/3 (1923): 21. This symbolism is oddly appropriate, as is the Lucretia shown on an anonymous dagger etching in the “Ornament—German School” box at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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Disordered Crucifixion One last functional printed triptych made the folding image with text more universally available. In 1559, the Antwerp printer Hieronymus Cock outfitted impressions of a Crucifixion engraving by Dirck Volkertsz. Coornhert and invented by Maerten van Heemskerck with separate engraved wings containing letterpress in French.37 (Fig. 2.11) These wings are designed to match the rim around the Crucifixion and to create a sense of picture-frame depth to complement van Heemskerck’s Latin-inscribed predella. Impressions of the Crucifixion engraving on its own survive at the Rijksmuseum, in Brussels, and at the Albertina, but only the latter holds the state complete with its letterpress additions. In the Albertina impression, the panels happen to be reversed. When the print has been correctly ordered and reassembled, the letterpress printer’s information and a rare royal privilege appear on the lower right wing, and the text interacts more sensitively with the picture. Although the shape of the wings suggests they could represent the tablets containing the Ten Commandments, the copious text implies that they should contain the canonical texts of the Mass. Instead, nearly all are from the New Testament, and include an unprecedented variety of passages from Isaiah, John, Romans, Ephesians, Philippians and Colossians. All of the texts appear in their sequential New Testament order with the exception of the opening Old Testament passage from Isaiah. Starting at that point, the entire triptych should be read like a book, from top to bottom, left wing, then the right. The verses comment on the viewer’s relationship to God, predictably illuminated by Christ and his centrally depicted sacrifice. Though the earlier verses in the left wing cite Christ’s role as the Lamb of God, and God’s gift to mankind—the final verse, from Paul’s second letter to the Philippians, specifically mentions Christ’s death on the cross: “Il s’est humilié soymesme, estant faict obedient, insque à la mort, & ce à la mort de la croix.” This text, positioned at the very bottom of the left wing, segues into the central tableau. The upper quarter of each wing remains empty, allowing the center cross, and Christ’s downturned head to rise above the letterpress. The reader thus begins each side commensurate to the height of the good and bad thieves, suggesting that the reader’s faith counts toward their salvation. Just as the second thief raises his head toward the light of the crucified Lord, Paul’s letters to the Romans and Corinthians on the right wing 37

Manfred Sellink, “ ‘The very lively and whimsical Pieter Brueghel’: thoughts on his iconography and context,” Pieter Breughel the Elder (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2001), fig. 56. Cock added letterpress to other prints with the help of a local printer; though no other known engravings form a triptych.

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Dirck Volkertsz. Coornhert (Netherlandish, 1522–1590), after Maerten van Heemskerck (Netherlandish, 1498–1574), Christ on the Cross Between the Two Thieves, ca. 1554 (wings with letterpress text dated 1559 printed on wrong sides of engraving). Engraving and letterpress: 38.2×12.9cm (each wing); 41.2×26.2cm (central engraving); 41.2 × 50 cm (complete print). albertina (hb 532, fol. 30, 31).

consider faith sufficient justification for resurrection. The final verse resounds with the defeat of death itself: “O mort, ou est ta victoire?” Neither the text nor the crucifixion scene has been connected with an actual altarpiece, though textual panels were becoming more common. The popularity of van Heemskerck’s conceit and the physical destruction of the print through opening, closing, and other overuse could account for the single remaining impression, but more likely, the complications of printing engravings with letterpress reduced the number of triptych versions produced. The multi-step process required printing the engraved wings, then the letterpress in a second printing in a separate press, after which the sheet would be cut in half and attached to the pre-printed van Heemskerck engraving. As movable type could be reset, there may have been versions of the print circulating

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with Dutch, Flemish, or Latin text on the wings. Cock pasted new letterpress slips in different languages directly onto cartouches or empty areas of a print for several popular Pieter Brueghel engravings around this time, particularly the Stone Operation series, and the Merchant Robbed by Monkeys. Slips were unnecessary for van Heemskerck, as the text was already an integral part of the triptych design. Cock was preparing another engraving and letterpress project in 1559—The Funeral Procession of Charles v—with Christopher Plantin, so the triptych may have originated from that inventive press.38 From the Saint Bridget triptychs of the 1480s and the late fifteenth-century canon tables to the more mass-marketed woodcut and engraving by Beham and Heemskerck, laterally folding prints continued to offer a locus for experimentation with text, layout, and decoration. While not necessarily intended to simulate folding altarpieces, their format offered a conveniently portable package with the benefits of protection for the images and texts held tightly within them. The secrecy attached to Eucharistic prayers or even scripture, and the religious order-specific aspects of their production would decrease over time, making the later sixteenth-century examples more readily available, but the format and hybrid approach to their manufacture remained the same. 38

Sellink, 50–51.

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Dials and the Printed Host While the printed triptych allowed certain users to unveil its secret texts and images, before focusing their devotion on its contents, the other major type of religious interactive print—the calendar or lottery volvelle—required constant pressure and a steady hand to function properly. As with the roughly contemporary Art of Memory books, which suggested moderation in all things from diet to sexual adventures before attempting the mnemonic solutions they offered,1 there was always some danger of failure inherent in the turning dial. Whether it offered to predict the future, cast a moral spin on one’s endeavors, or simply prepare the user for the next holy day on which Communion would be given to those remaining pure, the errors were bound to be those of the user, and not the device.

Angel Calendars After the Apes mentioned earlier, the earliest printed volvelle may be a rota paschalis, an Easter Calendar (or table), dated 1466. (Fig. 1.1; 3.1b) The National Gallery of Art (nga) impression of this sheet appears to be the original source for at least three later variants in the North as well as in Italy.2 All four versions contain the same movable calendar, which functions for the nineteen-year cycle 1466–1484, which worked by aligning the ecclesiastical calendar with the lunar year. The volvelle contraption could also serve as a mathematical puzzle, allowing its users to calculate the date of Easter for themselves. The lower left dial offers a means for calculating the day of the week, or leap year, based on the golden numbers. Still, the print lavished the most visual emphasis on the large movable dial for Easter. 1 Karr, Constructions: 112. 2 Easter Calendars 1466–1484 (Five related types; nine impressions). a. National Gallery of Art, Washington, Rosenwald Collection, 1944.2.1; a1. Munich, Ludwig-Maximilians Universität, in Ratdolt 4° Inc. 317; b. Basel Universitätsbibliothek, ca. 1477; c. Berlin Kupferstichkabinett (lacking wheel), dated 1468; d1. Vatican Library, After 1477; d2. Arbe, Convent of Francescano di Campora (Dalmatia). In Supplementum Summae Pisanellae, by Nicolao da Osimo, Venice 1473; e1. Adam and Eve Table, Tübingen Universitätsbibliothek, 1470s; e2. Adam and Eve sheet copying either e1 or an earlier lost impression, Basel Universitatsbibliothek; e3. Adam and Eve variant, replacing them with clothed courtiers, dated 1478 (unlocated).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_005

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figure 3.1a–c

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German, Adam and Eve Calendar, 1470s. Hand-colored woodcut: 19.3×14.2cm (sheet). ub Eberhard Karls Universität Tübingen (Ke xviii 4a.2-Nr. 12). German, Easter Calendar (rota paschalis) for 1466–1494, 1465/1466. Handcolored woodcut with volvelle: 8 cm (volvelle diameter); 18.8×13.8cm (image); 21.3 × 16 cm (sheet). nga (1944.2.1). ‘Lord and Lady’ or ‘Adam and Eve’ dice, fifteenth century. Ivory: each up to 2.5×2.5×2.5cm. Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich.

This volvelle also required foreknowledge of the golden number, which was ostensibly difficult to procure. For instance, in 1466, an industrious owner could have calculated the date of Easter by adding one to the year, dividing by 19 to

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get the golden number which was the remainder, in this case, four: (1466+1 = 1467/19 = 77 and 4/19.) Rotating the angel to that number in its innermost ring reveals that Easter falls on April 6 of that year. The possible dates run from thence to 1484 (iii, April 18), but as golden numbers continue sequentially, the user could rely on the print’s lower rightmost wheel. Indeed, for those less competent in division, that immobile dial helpfully names both the calendar’s initial date, 1466, and the year’s golden number, by extending the ellipsis after the date all the way to the Roman numeral four.3 As the handwritten “hic incipie 91” annotation on the inside of lower righthand circle suggests, most viewers had no intention of doing it the hard way. The annotator was pointing out this shortcut by indicating the number ten for 1491. To perform a single calculation, subsequent users could “start here,” at that golden number. They could also continue using the wheel after the volvelle expired. Thus, no calculations were required to determine the date of Easter. Then again, there were still other ways to painlessly achieve one’s goal. If the user remembered that the previous Easter was on April 7, he could have nudged the dial with the angel’s foot to that date; the angel’s hand would then “perform” the calculation automatically. The banner around the angel explains this added function: “I give with the foot the past and with the finger the future Easter and the golden number.”4 Though there were many ways around actual calculation, these shortcuts would have amused and possibly even amazed their users. An even earlier booklet or almanac of five folded sheets with a printed, but incomplete volvelle, dates from 1457, and is now in the Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbüttel.5 It is astrological rather than paschal in nature, as the exterior concentric circles include the names of the Zodiac and the repeating numbers 10-20-30. Unfortunately, the central disc is missing in all known

3 Peter and Linda Parshall, Origins, cat. no. 101. Although the Parshalls’s entry noted this element, its importance as a shortcut to playing the game has been entirely overlooked! 4 Peter and Linda Parshall, trans. The Parshalls characterize the calculator as a game, perhaps unduly trivializing its effectiveness. From the number of other calendars in single sheet and book form which reproduce these golden number charts, and the locations of surviving copies, they do not appear to have been considered trivial at the time, or even into the early sixteenth century. 5 Cod. Guelf. 1189 Helmst. fols. 180–189. A. Stijnman, S. Gehrke, B. Lesser, “Ein neu entdecktes Blockbuch mit Sternzichenmann,” in C. Heitzmann, Die Sterne lügen nicht, Wolfenbüttel: hab, 2008, 41–45. Ad Stijnman, “Ein unbekanntes Blockbuch in Cod. Guelf. 1189 Helmst. der Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel,” in Gutenberg Jahrbuch 84 (2009), 79–94. The entire calendar can be viewed here: http://diglib.hab.de/inkunabeln/1189-helmst-2/start.htm.

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variations, despite the hole left by the thread that once secured it in place in this exemplar.6 The dial appears to the right of the calendar page for Capricorn (December/January) at the end of the annual cycle, and is backed with a zodiac man chart. A separate golden number chart appears earlier in the booklet, so the full packet would have offered a variety of temporal calculations. The demand for the standalone Easter calendars may have resulted as much from the novelty of their interactive components as their devotional graphics. Static versions which effectively accomplished the same calculations have survived in greater numbers, suggesting that the interactive versions were probably less frequent, they were presumably handled more, and eventually discarded. Such immovable tables could also enhance the playful qualities of those sheets with dials. Nonetheless, even the surviving dials are specimens showing use. Damage to the sheets where the volvelles were originally affixed demonstrates that all four known variants, including the Southern ones, originally included discs. However, the volvelles missing from the Italian examples can be assumed to have resembled the German variants, at least in part, as the calendars adhere closely to the rest of the design. Considering the contemporary use of large rotating dials painted with angels in Italian Ascension festivities, this subject matter would have been considered quite appropriate for Easter.7 This is confirmed by the fact that several copies of the calendar were owned by members of the clergy. These survived within liturgical books owned by at least two Carthusian monastery libraries in the North, and in the rather larger bibliographic stronghold of the Vatican. Members of the laity also enjoyed the pleasures of the angel dial for scientific reasons. The Munich Ludwig-Maximilians Universitätsbibliothek copy of an astronomical text printed by Erhard Ratdolt hid a much-used impression of the German first edition inside its cover.8 The use of the golden numbers was not limited to the Easter calendar sheet. Regiomontanus described their validity for determining festival dates, but declined to devote his 1474 lunar volvelle to religious purposes. Other sources summarized. The 1493 calendar

6 Similar calendars include: ‘Almanach von Main’ and ‘Almanach von Kachelouen,’ both ca. 1493, in Schreiber 4, 411–415, ill; 8, particularly cxv and cxvii. 7 An engraved Italian Easter calendar without moving parts dates to about 1561; it shows the Risen Christ, with the Apostles on the corners outside the circle. Hind, a.i.7. 8 Ludwig-Maximilian Universität, Munich: Erhard Ratdolt 4° Inc. 317. The woodcut was added to the book; it was not a planned illustration. Ratdolt did produce the second edition of the first book printed with a volvelle, his 1476 Venice reprinting of Regiomontanus’s Kalender.

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of Georg Glockendon the Elder, gnm, combined the circles for determining the golden number and the days of the week from the Easter calendar into one static, concentric circle. Even as late as 1516, the Hortulus Anime, a Nuremberg devotional illustrated by Hans Springinklee and Erhard Schön, still included immobile wheels for these calculations, referring back to the planetary origins of the cycle with cuts of the sun and moon above. With the variety of applications of this early computing technology, these initial prints were sold in different formats, some with even more bells and whistles. Though fully functional on its own, the original angel calendar may also have been issued as a two-sheet set. In these expanded versions, a rectangular table of figures flanked by the (mostly) unclothed Adam and Eve complemented the angel dial. (Fig. 3.1a) Together, the prints form an even more entertaining and well-equipped game. As many as four versions of the pendant woodcut were produced, though only the Basel copy was demonstrably pasted into a manuscript opposite the interactive Easter calendar. An additional pair was documented in a Carthusian monastery library in Buxheim in the eighteenth century.9 Though since lost, its Easter calendar was perhaps a variant on the German woodcut now in Berlin. The Tübingen Adam and Eve sheet may be another impression of its mate, but if Schreiber was correct in calling it a copy, the first edition may have been the nga Easter Calendar. These two examples have often been taken as proof that the sheets belonged together. The prints themselves and their interaction do in fact support this idea. The surviving Basel sheets have almost identical dimensions, allowing for their side-by-side display. Although few color reproductions were available for this study, almost all were hand painted, and the Washington and Tübingen sheets particularly employ the same shades. Though there is some similarity in the cutting of the underlying woodblock, particularly in the angel’s wings and on the edges of the human figures, the best proof lies in their combined function. Both calendars begin with the year 1466, though there is no way to determine this from the Adam and Eve sheet alone. Indeed, the golden number cycle could start anywhere in their table’s leftmost column, helpfully painted yellow-brown in the Tübingen impression. It is only in conjunction with the dated angel dial, and its specified golden number, that we can determine its starting point (without, of course, performing the math described earlier).

9 Peter Franz Krismer, Journal zur Kunstgeschichte iv (1787), Christoph Gottlieb von Murr, ed.: 126.

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The scientific historian Ernst Zinner catalogued only these two calendar sheets from this year, while no book-length calendars are known to which they could have belonged.10 Like the angel dial, the Adam and Eve table determines a set of dates. The rows following the column of randomly ordered golden numbers would have alerted the viewer to another significant ritual time of the year—the Lenten fast that led up to Easter. Conversely, it could have been used to find the dates for the upcoming feasts and carnivals which preceded it. The dice shown in the figures’ hands suggest this use, by referring to the gambling and other riotous behavior carnival entailed. Indeed, the banners beside the table urge the viewer to heed the tidings given both above (supra) and below (infra). Though obliquely referring to Heaven and Hell, their counterparts on earth are the blameless table and the shameful dice. The sheet itself cannot be used to gamble, but the angel dial on the corresponding sheet could, by being turned about at random to furnish the winning numbers. Thus, the fallen pair reinforces the playful nature of both calendars and serves as a subtle warning against too many pre-Lenten excesses. An updated version of the Adam and Eve sheet valid from 1478 to 1496 still retains the Latin banners, but expands the description below the now dignified and noble figures in Gothic German text (Gotha) and Latin lettering (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale). The later versions were probably sold on their own, as they are entirely self-sufficient. Indeed, these prints eliminate all graphical and physical need for the volvelle sheet by borrowing its golden number circle. Still, the image recalls the dial’s movable properties. The angel’s severed hand, or perhaps God’s, now behaves as an immobile pointer, indicating the golden number for 1478: sixteen. Again, the stationary dial could be used to determine any golden number on the likewise immobile table above, simply by counting around the circle the number of years that had passed. The statement of the hand here is stronger than that of the ellipsis; these motifs are assuredly related, for the Italian impressions of the calendar specify later golden numbers with them. One final change allowed the 1478 sheets to omit their pendants. Curiously, the dots from the dice have also spread to the blank areas behind the numbers in the table. Where the angel calendar required turning to be used as a lottery mechanism, the viewer can now use the static sheet as a randomizing device. Not only can the viewer employ the chart to determine the day of their last chance for overindulgence before Lent, but they can even gam-

10

Ernst Zinner, Geschichte und Bibliographie der Astronomischen Literatur in Deutschland zur Zeit der Renaissance (Anton Hiersemann: Stuttgart, 1964), 93, nos. 8–9.

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ble by simply pointing a finger at one of its compartments with their eyes closed. The later editions of the sheet showed clothed courtiers holding the dice, rather than Adam and Eve au naturel. Gambling was generally frowned upon for its tendency to provoke swearing and other punishable acts, especially when drinking was involved. Ivory dice were sold at the time that reflected this illicit behavior—in the shape of contorted naked female and male figures. The Bayerisches Nationalmuseum holds at least seven examples in varying levels of explicitness. (Fig. 3.1c) The six usually appeared on the wide expanse of the back, the four on the soles of the feet and base of the buttocks, the three along the upper edge of the hunched-shoulders and neck, the one suggestively near the female genitals or the male belly button. Even games of chance played without such indecent props were considered immoral, and so the Gotha print may have been sanitized into a more courtly design to avoid licentious connotations.

The Printed Host The angel volvelles and Adam and Eve calendars took their inspiration from an even older tradition of circular image-making. The perfectly round Host became an intensely symbolic object on consecration, and like the calendars, was itself prone to misuse. Straining to hear the secret consecration and to glimpse the Elevation often substituted for attending the entire Mass. Feeding this fascination was the Host’s near relic status, emphasized by its new tendency from the twelfth century on to bleed or perform other miracles. Perhaps the fears of the clergy were well founded. Many devout lay women begged for more frequent Communion, even though most members of the laity feared the consequences of receiving it in a spiritually unclean state. Still others stole the wafers as good luck tokens, or attempted to perform the sacred incantation themselves, unaware that Hoc est corpus had nothing to do with Hocus-Pocus.11 Kissing the Pax and eating blessed, but unconsecrated “Holy Bread” also substituted for actual Communion, just as Schluckbilder did outside of church. Though active participants, the laity still lacked both total comprehension of the liturgy and consistent access to the Eucharist. Thus, the desire for participation in the sacrament and the desire to hold and manipulate interactive prints were closely related, especially in those prints which functioned as surrogates for the Host.

11

On other uses for Hosts, see Zika, no. 118, 25–64.

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From a physical standpoint, the Communion wafer actually was a print. Like coins, bread had been imprinted with its maker’s mark since antiquity, but never in such religious detail. Woodblock-like bread stamps may only have begun to bear images of religious significance in the early Christian era. As Miri Rubin notes, these symbols identified the Hosts and reinforced them as vital components of the sacrament quite early on: “Graffiti in Chippenham Church (Cambridgeshire) show seven simple circles with a cross—seven hosts.”12 The tongs-shaped instruments used to produce the wafers are called Host Irons, also known as Hostieneisen or Moules à Hosties. Literally irons for forming perfectly circular Hosts, these had been used since the eleventh century when leavened bread was no longer permitted. Aden Kumler is preparing a full census, but two early examples survive at the Musée de Cluny and the Diocesan Museum in Freising.13 The Cluny example dates from the second half of the thirteenth century. It produces a large, double-sided Host with central images of Christ as Judge, ringed with scenes from his Passion. The sixteenth-century Hostieneisen from Freising is a more recent object which produced a total of four wafers with simpler designs.14 (Fig. 3.2a) The instrument is best imagined as somewhere between a one-sided waffle-iron and a small tortilla press. The unleavened wafer would not rise, but one side would be embossed, as at Freising, into the shape of a crucified Christ with inri written on the plank, tiny crosses instead of angels, and blood issuing from his wounds. (Fig. 3.2b) The two smaller wafer designs—which were likely meant for the consumption of the populace, rather than the public rite of Elevation—include Christ’s monogram ihs and a cross with nails below; the second large wafer rings ihs with the text Benedictum Sit Nomen Domine; Blessed Be the Name of the Lord. The wafers were considered unusable if they emerged from the fire with any color other than pure white. (Fig. 3.2c) To achieve this end, wax was used on the irons instead of oil, and only the finest wheat flour made up the dough. As William Russell, bishop of Sodor in the Isle of Man explained in 1350, each feature of the Host was symbolic: The wheaten host should be round and whole and without blemish, like the lamb without a blemish who has not had a bone removed from it.

12 13 14

Rubin, 41–42. Aden Kumler, “The Multiplication of the Species: Eucharistic Morphology in the Middle Ages,” res (Spring 2011). Diözesanmuseum Freising, d 78107.

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figure 3.2a–c

German, Host Iron (Hostieneisen). View of instrument; detail of Host plate; and digital reconstruction of the Host, ca. 1500. Iron: approx. 2.6–6.6cm (Host diameter); 11.4 × 18.9 cm (plate); 80 cm (length). Diözesanmuseum Freising (d 78107).

Hence the verse: Christ’s host should be clean, wheaten, thin, not large, round, unleavened. It is inscribed, not cooked in water but baked in fire.15 Not only were the ingredients strictly monitored, but the creation of the Host became a “ritualized procedure” for the monks from start to finish: “accompanied by recitations of psalms throughout the process of collection, washing and drying of the grains, the milling, mixing with water, and baking of the host.”16 Russell aptly describes the overall purity of the Host, from its ideal geometric shape and its lack of color, to the linear “inscription” of the image it bore. Although early recipes survive for the wafers, no regulations regarding the designs on them seem to have survived. Only their perfect circular shape and pearly hue remained constant. Admittedly, the laity would glimpse the symbols on the larger wafer from afar, and could only have seen the details of the small ones briefly at Easter. Nonetheless, the Host may be the original interactive print. How else could the lay public indulge their need to participate in the

15 16

Rubin, 39. Rubin, 42.

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liturgy as physically as the twelfth-century Hugh of Lincoln—who compared a relic of Mary Magdalene to the Host by biting off a bit of her bone?17 The repeated appearance of the same design on the wafers at one parish could have added to the continuity of experiencing Christ’s ever-renewable body, though those receiving might recognize more than one design. A miniature in the Taymouth Hours at the British Library, from around 1325–1335 shows a woman observing the Elevation, with a cross painted in red upon the upheld wafer. In the margin, a reader has inscribed a second image of the Host, replacing the cross with Christ’s monogram ihs. The wafer is devoutly or perhaps decadently held aloft between two hands that—though they share a bracelet mimicking the priest’s attire—may count as the annotator’s own.18 Though it is a difficult distinction to make in painted or printed representations, these printed wafers were no longer two-dimensional objects, but relief prints baked into the substrate of the bread using the Host Iron as a matrix. Kathryn M. Rudy’s extended study of molded Eucharist badges unequivocally supports this interpretation, saying “The host wafer turned bread into a substrate for an image.” She then specifies that when the iron was heated in a fire, “the resulting disks of bread had a relief form baked into their very structure.”19 Communion bread had been unleavened since the eleventh century, but like printing plates, Host Irons bore negative images, and imprinted positive, raised designs, rather than indentations. Thus, the Host bore the additional distinction of offering literally elevated images of the Risen Christ. Communicants were however unable to grasp the wafers and were unlikely to feel this slight embossing on their tongues. However, the many variations in Hostieneisen designs, including several versions of the Crucifixion, Ecce Homo, Christ’s many monograms, Christ as Judge, fish, and even the Agnus Dei, could account for any number of Host-related visions. Given the popularity of cheap woodcuts in the fifteenth century, the laity would have witnessed printed Hosts at close range more frequently when they were outside of church. Wilhelm Ludwig Schreiber’s epic Handbuch der Holzund Metalschnitte des xv Jahrhunderts includes almost forty prints depicting

17 18

19

Snoek, 28–29. bl Yates Thompson 13, folio 7r, Book of Hours, Use of Sarum, ca. 1325–1335. Although marginal sketches of this variety sometimes reflect the working process of illustrating the manuscript, the focus on the elevation does not give enough information for the artist about the rest of the image. Kathryn M. Rudy, “Sewing the Body of Christ: Eucharist Wafer Souvenirs Stitched into Fifteenth-Century Manuscripts, primarily in the Netherlands,” Journal of Historians of Netherlandish Art 8:1 (Winter 2016): 18. doi: 10.5092/jhna.2016.8.1.1

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Hosts with symbolic markings. This number includes half of the scenes of the Mass of Saint Gregory, and Saint Barbara, while the Last Supper occasionally includes bread represented by printed Hosts. Since the wafers generally appear as small details within the composition of larger artworks, representations of them usually limited the design to a simple cross shape. A taller cross with two parallel vertical lines to either side indicating the presence of Mary and John the Evangelist also appears with some frequency. The simple-cross Hosts can be ambiguous in other contexts, especially when money also bore similarly stamped figures. For instance, Marcus Gheeraerts’s Papist Mountain discussed earlier may show such Hosts being burnt almost as if they were coins streaming into a chest to pay for indulgences. A number of reproductions of marked Communion wafers survive in multiple media showing holy Hosts preserved as miracle-working relics, particularly when they established a large cult. Like the reliquary portraits discussed above, some of these representations can be identified as specific historical Hosts through their printed markings. These Host-centric artworks demonstrate the recognition and veneration of such cults from all tiers of society. In particular, the earliest altarpiece showing Christ offering his disciples actual Communion, which was completed around 1468 by Dirk Bouts for a confraternity devoted to the Eucharist and more importantly, a specific miraculous Host, at St. Peter’s Church in Louvain.20 While the subjects on the interior wings refer to the Eucharist through its Old Testament precursors, Bouts’s Last Supper occupies the center panel of the polyptych. The wafer appears almost dead center, and gleams against Christ’s dark attire. Undaunted by the single consecrated wafer of the original Eucharist miracle, three miraculous Hosts materialize on both the inner and outer panels of the Andechs Abbey’s 1494 triptych. (Figs. 2.2–3) Inside the altarpiece, this HostTrinity becomes its central, glowing focus, raised on gilded lunettes within a darkened monstrance. On the exterior, it is not Christ, but the Hosts’ two saintly donors who handle their gifts. The Andechs Hosts would appear only once in the subsequent series of more static painted and printed copies, but their

20

Edward Wouk, “Dirk Bouts’s Last Supper Altarpiece and the sacrament van mirakel at Louvain,” Immediations, The Courtauld 2 (2005): 41–53. Wouk relates Dirk Bouts’s most famous altarpiece to a specific Host revered by the Louvain Confraternity of the Blessed Sacrament, which donated the altarpiece to St. Peter’s. He also suggests that the possible portrait of Charles the Bold in the Melchizedek wing denotes noble interest in that Host. However, as the painting does not show a specific iron-imprinted design, it remains unclear whether Bouts portrayed the actual miracle Host worshipped by the confraternity.

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identity is clear. Uncannily, they bear nothing more than the common range of printed symbols, redefined in blood: the ihs, the cross, and a once lambshaped stain. These Hosts bled due to the presence of unbelievers, and offered a relatively peaceful demonstration of the power of transubstantiation. Their subsequent miracles were also bloodless, as when horses refused to carry chests of the relics away from the Andechs Abbey during dangerous times, passiveaggressively emphasizing that a consecrated wafer should not leave the church premises. Most other miraculous Hosts which formed the basis for cults were said to have been bought or stolen from the faithful, and attacked. The fact that Hosts were only available to the populace on Easter neatly situates many miracles involving their desecration on that symbolic day. The institution of the festival of Corpus Christi around 1264 ushered in many reports of such miraculous Hosts, particularly after the profanation of a sainte hostie by a Jew in Paris ca. 1290. It would even inspire a mystery play popular during the mid fifteenth century.21 In a famous case perhaps beholden to that drama, the bleeding Host of Dijon bore reddened traces of the fabled stab wounds from its Jewish assailants.22 Unlike the apparitions at Andechs, the underlying image of Christ as Judge does not appear in blood. Instead, the sacred bleeding Host of Dijon appears in manuscripts in crisp grisaille relief in illuminations from the early sixteenth-century Hours of Mary of Burgundy, and in the 1530s, the Machécho Master (possibly Oudot Matuchet).23 (Fig. 3.3) Both suggest a sense of depth on the wafer itself, which is monochrome except for the bloodstains. Positioned within a monstrance, (and in the Machécho Master’s rendition, surrounded by angels), the visual treatment of the holy Host recalls imprinting more than miniature painting. Indeed, the late-twelfth21

22

23

Marilyn Lavin, “The Altar of Corpus Domini in Urbino: Paolo Uccello, Joos Van Ghent, Piero della Francesca,” The Art Bulletin 49:1 (Mar. 1967): 4. Justus van Ghent’s Communion Altarpiece of 1474 for the Corpus Domini church in Urbino does not itself refer to a specific Host, but Paolo Uccello’s six predella paintings, completed earlier by 1468, detail the miracle of a desecrated Host, which is sometimes related to the Paris host. Roger S. Wieck, Illuminating Faith: The Eucharist in Medieval Life and Art (New York: Morgan Library & Museum, 2014). Exhibition catalogue. The miraculous bleeding Host of Dijon was the subject of numerous miniatures, many of which were added to existing books of hours. One appears in the 1505 Hours by the Master of Mary of Burgundy (Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna), though it may be by another artist; another was tipped into a Walters Art Museum manuscript (Walters 291, fol. 17v–18r). The blank recto of the folded sheet includes a set of crosses, inscribed as if perhaps keeping track of the number of prayers recited to the miniature inside. The illustrated illumination, dating to Dijon in the 1530s, is now in the New York collection of Mr. and Mr. Roger S. Wieck and Jean-François Vilain.

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figure 3.3 Machécho Master (Oudot Matuchet?) (France, Dijon), Sacred Bleeding Host of Dijon, 1530s. Miniature on vellum: 21.1 × 14.6 cm (sheet). Collection of Mr. and Mr. Roger S. Wieck and Jean-François Vilain, New York.

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century Cluny Host Iron pressed not one, but two images of Christ—enthroned on clouds and in an architectural complex—into the same Host, as if striking both sides of a coin. Though the iron dates significantly earlier than the miraculous Host, the choice of imagery in French Host-production could certainly have remained consistent. Though they would become elongated or even rectangular plates, decorated on only one side that accommodated four separate Hosts, the device began as single circles with elaborate, double-sided designs.24 In the light of the marked, miraculous Hosts, Hans Baldung’s woodcut of Saint Barbara includes an almost hallucinogenic amount of detail. The concentric borderline frames the Crucifixion: Christ’s twisted form; the gazes of Mary and John; their clasped hands; and their precarious roost atop Golgotha. These all combine to make her printed Host unique. (Fig. 3.4) Again, Barbara exuded a similar protective effect on the viewer as the Host she carried, and Baldung’s image masterfully reveals this power. Though Barbara brandishes the chalice under the Host in tightly clasped hands, it is her constant gaze that levitates the wafer to its upright position. Seeing the saint with her attribute was considered akin to seeing the Elevation; here she performs the Elevation herself. In special circumstances, the viewer could also perform this function. Thus we return to the viewer’s agency displayed in playing with the Christ Child and angel dial from the Christlichen Loßbuchs seen earlier.

Christian Lotteries Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder invented a new kind of interactive print in Reformation Strasbourg in his 1539 Eyn schöne Und Gotselige kurtzweil/eines Christlichen Loßbuchs, or a Beautiful and God-Blessed Leisure Entertainment of a Christian Lottery Book. Unlike the restricted Catholic Host, his accessible, maneuverable dial allowed the consumer to teach himself the mysteries of faith. It was not the format of Vogtherr’s book that was new, but his religious interpretation of the volvelle. The title page shows the young Christ on a dial superimposed on an ornate, shallow dish. (Fig. 1.6) As noted earlier, to learn their own spiritual fate, viewers must grasp the Child by the edge of the circle and turn him around at random. The opposite side of the dial in the Göttingen Universitätsbibliothek exemplar reveals a resplendently painted angel similar to those of the perpetual calendars. (Fig. 1.7) His outstretched finger and hand have been worn away by the book’s users, but his arm still points to random letters of the

24

André Breton’s collection of folk art was sold at Druout-Richelieu in Paris in April 2003.

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figure 3.4 Hans Baldung Grien (German, ca. 1480–1545), detail of Host, from Saint Barbara. Woodcut. aic (2013.159).

alphabet. These led readers to edifying religious fortunes listed alphabetically by letter instead of to the date of Easter. Lotteries and lottery books went back to pagan antiquity. During the medieval and early modern eras, they generally required randomizing dice or dials to work. However, the openly secular variety was counterbalanced by a number with religious themes and increasingly complicated components. Many of these devices offered advice in matters far beyond the bounds of entertainment. Even the English monk Matthew Paris prepared a dial in the midthirteenth century for his Christian lottery, the ominous-sounding Book of Fate. Connolly discusses the early users’ response to such items as quasi-serious. Certainly, Paris’s fellow Benedictines were the only ones using the book; many certainly interpreted the question and answers as more of an entertaining cipher than a divine judgment. Connolly argues that within this context, the wheels “transfer or displace the site of initial inquiry to some other place.”25 Like Paris’s

25

Connolly, fn 89.

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Chronica majora, the Book of Fate led its reader on a journey, associating cities with different questions and ultimately bringing them to the answer. Renaissance variations of the lottery book would still invoke religious geography by assigning the names of biblical rivers to the paths toward the answers and moral judgments awaiting the reader. Complex manuscript variants had continued to flourish throughout the fifteenth century. In one case a scribe and binder outfitted at least three nearly identical volumes with a hollowed-out circle in the front of the wooden binding for insertion of the volvelle. These survive in Munich, Nuremberg, and Heidelberg, though only the latter retains its metal volvelle painted with an angel.26 The unusual format of books doubling as interactive kits may also date back to Matthew Paris. The fourteenth-century copy of his lottery, now in Oxford (Digby ms 46), includes a dial fashioned as a double cogwheel set into the front binding. But lottery books did not always function by volvelle alone. As will be discussed at length in the final chapter, the Italian Renaissance equivalent to the German Loßbücher only required dice, while most German versions need only dials. Some German ones even used both dials and dice. These standard gambling props had other uses, but many unsavory connotations. Adam and Eve’s dice in the companion table to the 1466 Easter calendar dial semiinnocently allude to the wild temptations of religious festivals, while the Angel dial itself can effectively turn into a pair of dice to provide random numbers, as well as calculate the date of Easter. Two copies of the more secular 1546 Loßbuch from Strasbourg—whose numerous illustrations by Vogtherr include the Christ-dial—survive with hidden compartments in the rear binding. These could have been used for dice and chalk, perhaps intended for keeping score. The Göttingen copy still contains the chalk, though the more roughly hewn Wolfenbüttel compartments have been long disregarded, and are now unlined and empty.27 (Fig. 11.11) The importance of this discovery to the genre of interactive books will be discussed in more detail in the concluding chapter. Vogtherr intentionally combined elements of chance with the Eucharist when he printed the Christlichen Loßbuchs. In fact, his Christ-driven angel

26 27

gnm Bibliothek hs 7032; bsb Cgm 472; Heidelberg ub cpg 552. The compartment in the Wolfenbüttel volume (22 Poet 2°) had been overlooked for as much as four hundred years, as a sheet was pasted down over the entirety of the interior rear binding. The conservatorial staff at the hab kindly removed this sheet and photographed the compartment in October 2004 when the current author pointed out the similarity of the indentations in the binding to the copy at Göttingen.

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dial eliminates the need for gambling-tainted props—by faith alone. As noted earlier, he offers surprisingly direct instructions around the outer rim of the dish-like, concentric circles in his frontispiece: “treib umb das kind mit allem fleis. schaw was hinden der engel weis”; Vigorously spin the Child; Look behind at what the angel knows. Vogtherr chooses his words carefully. “Treiben” literally means push, propel or draw, while “um” suggests direct physical contact, which was indeed necessary to turn the reinforced wheel around the cardboard core fitted snugly through the hole in the page. However, there is another implicit meaning. “Ein Spiel treiben” means to play a game, as Huizinga pointed out, again in Homo Ludens. Though the verb generally requires the predicate noun, Spiel, for this meaning, Vogtherr assiduously avoids it, choosing instead to use “Kurtzweil,” or entertainment, twice in the introduction. Despite the author’s many claims to the contrary, this is a serious game indeed—salvation itself turns between the user’s fingers. Mindful of the radical moving imagery he has created, Vogtherr dedicated the “improving” work to his Christian Reader with a lengthy disclaimer, as a “narrisch” or “schimpflich,” foolish or disreputable entertainment. This is a necessary addition, given the pagan origins of his book’s format, and his unorthodox use of the Christ Child as part of the fortune-telling mechanism to boot. The rest of his text proclaims its adoration of God’s goodness in all seriousness. After turning the Christ-Child dial, the user must follow a letter (to which the hidden angel points) in order to navigate his way through the book. Even a random sampling of the angel’s alphabet confirms the extent of the text’s symbolism: c is for Christ; e for the Evangelists; h for the heart-felt belief in Christ, and hope (Hoffnung); l is for Love (Liebe), which springs from that belief. This brief initial discussion of each letter-fortune concludes with a poem. Then the viewer must consult the second half of the book for detailed instructions on how to live a good and Christian life. That part is again alphabetized, and each new text expands upon the first message. Although using the alphabet offered a convenient organizational scheme, Vogtherr’s title notes that it is specifically through this alphabetical order that man will witness God’s glory. Indeed, Vogtherr’s address to the reader ends by equating the most important letters, a and o—Alpha and Omega—to the eternal life granted to all by Christ himself. For the reader whose angel chooses the letter a, Vogtherr drives this point home on the first page of his Loßbuch’s text: a: First of all, the a means to us the beginning of creation, of heaven and earth. Also, how Christ our Redeemer is the Alpha and the Omega, the

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first beginning and the end of all things, in whom at the beginning of the world, God’s curse for the trespasses of our [fore]fathers Adam and Eve is taken away from us. The poem that follows the text refers to the crucial letter once again, roughly: “When this world did first begin/ it cast us into floods and sin/ the female sex caused our plight/ though such women have since been brought to rights/ by the great a’s might.” Vogtherr persists in his seriousness despite such doggerel. As the term Alpha and Omega appears only in Revelation, opening a lottery book with this discussion succinctly suggests that the author’s advice is also absolute. So Revelation (1:8), reads: “I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.” Vogtherr’s Christ-Child dial fully embodies this contrast. Though the Child’s body is young, the Lamb of God, symbol of his coming sacrifice, grazes behind him, and Christ’s blessing arms begin to reach out for the cross. While the frontispiece and its verso offer an inventive graphic design, most of the remainder of the forty-five folio book shrouds its text in the same two sets of foliate borders and ornate initials. Though ornamented with Italianate fronds and escutcheons with the Christological monogram apω, the repetition of these woodcut borders renders them almost entirely unobtrusive. The promised revelations do not occur within the heavy-handed text or its borders, but in the double-sided frontispiece. The book is driven less by the radical vocabulary of the Reformation than by unstructured devotional themes; only the rite of Baptism claims an entry of its own. Nonetheless, the work is not entirely devoid of references to the Eucharist. These allusions do not appear in the letterpress, but rather in the interactive images. Vogtherr’s pristinely black and white portrait of Christ print nestles within an elaborate dish on his title page. With the dial removed, it strongly suggests a Host nestled in the customary paten used to hold the Host during Mass. (Fig. 3.5) The ornate flourishes at its four corners could easily be read as the base of the chalice supporting it from below, or even a glory attached to an upright monstrance. This base is all but eclipsed by the paten and Living Body within it. The curving design around the center portion of the woodcut dish recalls examples produced as early as the Byzantine era, from the San Marco treasury in Venice.28 Specifically, the scalloped patterning is similar to the carved-out central portion of the alabaster surrounding an enam-

28

Basilica di San Marco, The Treasury of San Marco (Olivetti, Milan, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1984), 168–170, no. 18. (1325 inventory as vi 14)

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figure 3.5 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Title Page, details of Christ Child on Paten, and Paten, with dial digitally removed, from Christlichen Loβbuchs, 1539. Woodcut: 5.2 cm (Christ Child volvelle diameter); 11.5cm (Paten diameter). sub göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409).

eled metal disc of the Pancreator Christ. Likewise, in a thirteenth-century German paten from the Benedictine Monastery of Saint Trudpert at Münstertal near Freiburg im Breisgau, and now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the metal lobes of the paten surround a circular spot for the Host. (Fig. 3.6) Inscribed Greek letters flanking a portrait of Christ above clearly mark him as the Alpha and the Omega, just as does Vogtherr’s text. The operating instructions ring the outside of Vogtherr’s volvelle in bold letters, another visual similarity with the paten, whose text around the rim discusses the blessing of the bread. When the dial has been removed (or is now missing, as in copies at Strasbourg and London), the remaining background image recalls a shallow dish more than ever, especially when the hole where the dial was originally inserted is visible. (Fig. 3.5) To further complicate the issue, in numerous cases, miracleworking patens were set into monstrance frames and revered as relics themselves. The Braunschweig-Lüneburg family owned one, while Elector of Saxony Friedrich der Weise’s Heiltumsbuch catalogue reveals a second, from the early sixteenth century.29 Like the San Marco example, this paten contains a small wafer-like disc at its center displaying the adult Christ, bearing their own texts around the image. Unlike the wafers which would have been placed upon them,

29

Neumann, 1891, no. 65, and Hallesche Heiltums, Aschaffenburg ms, f85.

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figure 3.6 German. Paten, ca. 1230–1250. Silver, partly gilt; niello, jewels: 2.2×22.2cm. mma (47.101.27).

those discs do not move, and are often decorated in rich enamel tones. It is only in Vogtherr’s envisioning that the Child becomes double-sided, mobile and pure white. Unlike many contemporary religious prints, and even more from the fifteenth century, in no exemplar of the book examined has the Christ Child’s dial been colored. While most impressions of Vogtherr’s tome remain black and white, one of its anonymous users used a set of paints to proclaim his faith.30 In the Göttingen copy of the Christlichen Loßbuchs, the angel’s crimson robes and

30

The copies in hab Wolfenbüttel, Strasbourg, and the British Library are all pristine.

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figure 3.7 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Title Page and verso, details of Christ Child and Angel dials, Christlichen Loβbuchs, 1539. Woodcut: 5.2 and 6.4cm (dial diameter). sub göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409).

green wings appear on a mustard background, while the skin of his hands and face remain white. (Fig. 3.7) Given such care, the Child’s flesh and surroundings on his corresponding dial must have been intentionally left unsullied. Like the baking regulations for the liturgical wafers, which allowed only wax coatings on the irons, for fear that the pure wheaten discs would be darkened, this user’s selective, almost negative act of painting brought Vogtherr’s interactive lottery to its ultimate completion. As the setting and lack of coloring make clear, not only does Vogtherr’s waferlike printed disc represent Christ, but it also represents the Host. Turning the dial allows the reader to take physical hold of the most significant ritual object in their faith. By playing with the Host in this lottery book, the users actually reinforced their faith’s participatory nature. Sadly, Vogtherr’s inviting title page outperforms the rest of the volume it introduces. Never again would interactive printmaking so radically equate the sense of touch with Communion. That sacrament would not be received in the hand again with any consistency until well after the sixteenth century. Other books published in this format were also billed as Christian Lotteries. A 1602 Latin Veridicus Christianus, for example, with illustrations by Theodor Galle, followed Vogtherr’s example in using the Host as the physical indicator of the way to Christian truth. This time, the device has been reimagined for the Jesuit cause. (Fig. 3.8) The page with the dial no longer illuminates the frontispiece folio, but occupies the entire quarto sheet opposite the end of

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figure 3.8 Theodor Galle (Dutch, 1571–1633), Lottery Page of Jan David (Dutch, ca. 1545–1613), Veridicus Christianus, 1601, 375. Engraving with four cut-out windows for volvelle, intended to be mounted behind with string or (as here), bound in book: 8.5cm (volvelle diameter); 16.6 × 11.5 cm (engraving). Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (bx2349 .d3 1601).

the text. This dial bears no image of the Christ Child, but rather the monogram ihs which signifies his name—and doubles as the monogram of the Society of Jesus. Like a Communion wafer produced from the Freising Hostieneisen, the cross sprouts from the crossbar of the h, and there is an indication of three nails. As the two inscribed designs with the monogram in the mold at Freising suggest, those letters were one of the most frequent images to appear on Hosts, along with the cross and the Agnus Dei. Mary’s insignia appears on the verso of the Veridicus Christianus dial, forming as symbolically charged a wafer as any offered in church. The motto atop the decoratively floral border suggests the investigative purpose of the invention: Quaerite et Inventis, or Seek and Ye Shall Find. The dial’s instructions have migrated to a box below the image—rather than drawing the reader inward by surrounding the Host. In fact, they instruct the reader to turn the dial from the back of the page, via the disc denoting the Virgin, as if demurely choosing not to grasp the frontal dial symbolizing her Son. The dial consists of two separate circular engravings, the larger of which lies concealed on the verso. In Vogtherr’s creation the woodcut discs were glued together on a slip of cardboard positioned inside a hole in the page. In contrast, the 1601 verso dial turns around a thread— and no longer through the direct power of the Host in the reader’s fingers. The numbers denoting the pages for the reader’s fortune appear through holes cut in the page as tiny sepulchers. These are staggered in four concentric circles haloing the Host, and relate to the four evangelists whose attributes appear in

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the spandrels.31 Still, the book’s mechanism is considerably less dramatically engineered than Vogtherr’s. Only extreme radicals such as Andreas Karlstadt had insisted, albeit briefly, on administering Communion directly into the hands of the people. Luther continued to place the Host between their lips, not in their hands. His followers would continue to do the same, even when in 1548, after Luther’s death, the Augsburg Interim ostensibly made Communion more accessible to the laity. Allowing the sacrament to be administered in both kinds was one of its few concessions to the Protestants.32 To reiterate, Huizinga’s Homo Ludens terms the nature of all religious ritual play—albeit serious play. Plato’s Laws once described man’s proper role as God’s plaything: “God alone is worthy of supreme seriousness, but man is made God’s plaything, and that is the best part of him.” Huizinga takes this concept further: “The Platonic identification of play and holiness does not defile the latter by calling it play; rather it exalts the concept of play to the highest regions of the spirit.”33 Even seemingly frivolous or blasphemous interactive prints may therefore be said to have brought the clergy, and eventually, the common man, closer to religious ecstasy, and even divinity. Luther proclaimed that “All Christians are of Priestly Estate,” an idea that the ultimate Revelatory Plaything, Vogtherr’s Host-Dial, made concrete. Its alphabetic angel reinforced the basic need for literacy in order to direct one’s personal devotions, while the maneuverable Christ Child allowed the reader to become a celebrant himself. Through this repeated act of revelation—especially in selectively painted impressions—Vogtherr’s readers symbolically loosened the Catholic hold on their universal mysteries. Likewise, Protestants reinvented their religion through Luther’s vernacular Bible, his Catechism, and most importantly, the ready availability of the Eucharist. Their new faith stripped away the intermediaries between man, the Word of God, and the Body of Christ. By allowing immediate, hands-on access to the restricted sensory experience of religion, interactive prints did the same. 31 32 33

The Basel Universitätsbibliothek version of the angel calendar was one of the earliest examples of this evangelical layout. Olson, Matthias Flacius, 85. Huizinga, Homo Ludens, 18–19.

part 2 Anatomy of the Reformation: Nosce Antichristum

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Anatomies both Normal and Deformed For people of the sixteenth century … the devil was as real a presence as any physical reality, and when Dürer depicted him lurking around the corner from his quartet of lubricious witches, or accompanying the sombre knight on his lonely pilgrimage, his presence was as real as that of Christ in the Eucharist. To those who could see properly, he could be discerned behind his disguises, and one of the self-appointed tasks of religious reformers such as Luther was to strip away the masks and expose his terrible reality. robert scribner, “Ways of Seeing in the Age of Dürer”1 Appearances were deceptive during the Reformation. Reality donned a mask that could as easily hide the face of God as that of the Devil. Man’s soul was at stake, and his body furnished the battleground; even his natural skin could be alternately divine or a dissembling Deckel, a cover for something far worse. The human body reflected the omnipotence of its creator, as well as his image, but sometimes it camouflaged the sign of Christ’s antithesis, the Antichrist. Martin Luther peppered his letters and speeches with the notion of this ongoing and potentially apocalyptic masquerade. As numerous scholars have noted, he equated the hidden Devil with an equally hidden God.2 This dichotomy would inform much Protestant visual and written propaganda, from Luther’s Passional Christi und Antichristi (1521), to the late, bitter Abbildung des Pabstums, or Description of the Papacy (1545), both of which long remained influential.3 Shortly after he died in 1546, interactive prints revived Luther’s lifelong message of the treacherous duality of creation. Luther’s view of the world was dark, but not hopeless. He balanced the threat of diabolical hypocrisy with the traditional idea that the ordinary world was itself a mask of the holy. Communion was one of the protective masks, or larvae 1 Robert Scribner, “Ways of Seeing in the Age of Dürer,” Dagmar Eichberger and Charles Zika, eds., Dürer and his culture (Cambridge University Press, 1998), 93–117. Quoted from page 103. 2 Susan E. Schreiner, “Appearances and Reality in Luther, Montaigne, and Shakespeare,” The Journal of Religion 83:3 (July 2003): 349. 3 gnm (hb 24747.1–2, 9a; hb 27–30) R.W. Scribner, “Demons, Defecation and Monsters: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation,” Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany, Chapter 13 (London: The Hambledon Press, 1987).

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Dei, that permitted humans access to Christ without destroying them. Just as it was for Jupiter’s love Semele—who perished in the blaze of his unfurled glory—witnessing God too directly could otherwise be to mankind’s peril. Christ was also present in the everyday, especially in bodies of men that partook of the Host. Conversely, man had to protect himself by detecting hidden devils. The Fiend could appear disguised as a human being, as an angel, or even as God. Luther drew upon 2Corinthians 11:14 for this imagery: “For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.” He saw the threat everywhere, even on the margins of an illuminated Bible he owned, with its “inane phantasms of devilish faces, owls and other foul, hideous faces and monsters.”4 Not only did he warn that, “We must be on our guard against the devil who can pose and masquerade in the form and name of Christ,” but Luther continued with a call to action against these Scheine, or false appearances: “We must pull off their mask and point out the true nature of the Gospel, Baptism, and the ministry.”5 Interactive prints answered the call, removing the mask of lies or layers of flesh to reveal the internal truth. Although the juxtaposition may at first seem unorthodox, it is only by examining propaganda flap prints in conjunction with the anatomy flap prints invented by Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder slightly earlier (Figs. 4.1–13), that one can truly understand the wide ramifications of the interactive broadsheet during the Reformation. These connections have never been explicitly discussed, but they are central to the period. Early modern religion, art, and protoscience would coincide in the realm of interactive prints, particularly in printed instruments, where measuring man’s progress through time and geographical space meant paying simultaneous tribute to God. Protestant propaganda and anatomy prints of this era adopted an even more incisive, experimental approach to experiencing the rapidly changing world—by offering up the inner workings of men and demons to the probing fingers of their uncertain flock who, like Doubting Thomas, needed to touch Christ’s wounds before he could understand the miracle and believe. The messages both genres of flap prints offered were not subtle. Whether unmasking a lurking fiend, or the seats of the bodily humors, these interactive broadsheets were boldly effective didactic tools which, most importantly, resembled nothing ever seen before. 4 Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, 52, citing Christoph Walter, Bericht vom Unterscheid der Deudschen Biblien und andern Büchern des Ehrnwirdigen und seligen Herrn Doct. Martini Lutheri Bücher (Wittenberg, 1563): fols. Bii-Biii. 5 D. Martin Luthers Werke; kritische Gesamtausgabe (Weimar: Verlag Hermann Böhlaus, 1883–), and Luthers Werke im www (the electronic form); (hereafter, wa), 46. 13.7–10.

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figure 4.1 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Broadsheet: Female (Anothomia oder abconterfectung eines/ Weybs leyb) (Augsburg: Jost de Negker, 1538). Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with seven flaps: 41×27.8cm (block). Bibliothèque nationale et universitaire, Strasbourg (r 6).

Interactive propaganda broadsheets inspired by the Interim and other Church crises exhorted the viewer to come to terms on his own with the truths of deceptive appearances. (Fig. 6.1–2; 6.4–6) The broadsheets accomplished this by remapping Luther’s masked evils onto woodcuts with flaps that lifted to reveal the “true nature” of the Catholic Church. No member of the ecclesiastical body was spared. The lengths to which their greed and depravity had deformed them became painfully evident in the bestial and devilish limbs which replaced their own. This interactive imagery was rooted in the outpouring of anatomy prints with flaps that began less than a decade earlier. These sheets allowed the beholder to dissect more natural human specimens than the evil specters of the Catholic clergy that followed. (Figs. 4.1–13) In studying the anatomy sheets, the viewer approached God through the veritable epitome of his creation: the interior of men and women’s living bodies. Letterpress texts in the vernacular answered common questions of how the parts functioned, the workings of pregnancy, and ways to avoid or cure ordinary illnesses.

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The format could also serve philosophical ends. Aristotle’s standard De Anima text dealt predominantly with “the nature of the soul as the ‘first principle of animated being’” in general, rather than exclusively focusing on the soul of man.6 At Wittenberg, Philipp Melanchthon’s textbook commentary on Aristotle added a Lutheran subtext to the discussion, directly opposing man’s body and Christian soul: “instead of a few chapters at most, almost half of the book was devoted to an anatomy of the body.”7 He taught that the human soul was inextricably linked to this fragile body. One could not be fully understood without the other—to clarify the connection, an anonymous set of interactive anatomy sheets (including a spurious portrait of Vesalius) accompanied a posthumous edition of his commentary.8 Such flap prints offered greater dramatic and educational potential than the immovable sheets that preceded them. Understanding anatomy was thus another way to approach the divine. Knowing oneself was as important as knowing the enemy. Only a self-aware viewer could recognize the spiritually threatening other inherent in the Church. The classical dictum, nosce teipsum, know yourself, became a guiding sentiment and requisite tagline for the layered anatomy prints, while the more boldly Protestant propaganda flap sheets shockingly revealed the hidden form of the Antichrist, as if offering a parallel motto, nosce Antichristum. (Figs. 6.9– 10) The presentation was fresher than the ideas, but the revitalized broadsheet was capable of instilling newly animated terror in the hearts of its viewers. The early fifteenth-century radical Jan Hus had already declared the Pope and his subordinates to be the Antichrist. Luther was publicly perceived as Hus’s supporter and follower, and thus clearly aware of Hus’s dire view of the papacy. But the use of flapped images was such an innovation that the medium itself helped revive these commonplaces. Rather than contrasting Christ with a puppet-like pope balanced on stakes, as in the title page of a polemical tract from 1521, the

6 Sachiko Kusukawa, The Transformation of Natural Philosophy: the Case of Philipp Melanchthon (Cambridge University Press, 2003), 87. 7 Vivian Nutton, “The Anatomy of the Soul in Early Renaissance Medicine.” The Human Embryo: Aristotle and the Arabic and European Traditions. Dunstan, G.R., ed. University of Exeter, 1990: 147. Melanchthon published two versions of Aristotle’s text in Wittenberg: Commentarius de Anima in 1540, and the second, Liber de Anima, in 1556. The latter took account of Vesalius’s discoveries. The earliest dated set of broadsheet anatomies connected with this book was anonymously printed in Wittenberg in 1574. 8 Carlino no. 30, 1573. tabula exhibens insigniora// maris viscera. Edita Witebergae in gratiam studiosae inventutis, discentis elementa doctrinae Anatomicae in libello de Anima. m.d. lxxiii.

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figure 4.2 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Broadsheet: Male (Anathomia oder abconterfettung eynes Mans leib), 1539. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with six flaps: 52 × 23.9 cm (block). stabi berlin (ya 249gr).

outer appearance and inner reality of the diabolical figures were both within reach of the viewer’s hands.9 Anatomical flap prints became increasingly pervasive after their invention around 1538, and their influence on propaganda was almost immediate. The most incendiary anti-clerical flap prints produced in response to the anatomies equated the pope and his retinue with the devil or the Antichrist. The directness of these conceits would be unthinkable without the visual and technical inspiration of the multi-layer anatomy sheets. Over twenty variants of the male and female anatomical pairs were in circulation during the 1540s, and twice as many by the end of the century. The flexibility of the interactive medium allowed the technique to be reapplied again and again against new Catholic threats as they appeared, including the Jesuits. This influence was not one-

9 gnm, Anonymous, Vom alten und nüen Gott (1521).

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sided, for most of the anatomies were also influenced by the Reformation. Many of their inventors and reprinters had Protestant sympathies, and published in German and other vernaculars. This was an important parallel to the increasing number of sermons and masses held in German. While anatomy flap prints originated in Strasbourg, plagiarized editions from Nuremberg soon overtook the market until the early seventeenth century.10 From there, they exerted an international influence, especially in Switzerland and the Netherlands.

Theater of the Body Europe was already heavily invested in bodily and anatomical metaphor when Andreas Vesalius developed his hands-on approach to anatomy and published De humani corporis Fabrica libri septem, (Fabrica) and its shorter summary, De humani corporis Fabrica librorum Epitome, (Epitome), in Basel in 1543. These works were famous for their novel scientific content based on actual observation of the body, and for their stunning, naturalistic illustrations.11 For these woodcuts, Vesalius relied in part on other sources, including the ancient authority Galen and the popularly available anatomy flap sheets from the late 1530s. The flap anatomy may have appealed to him because it allowed users to simulate the act of dissection. In fact, one Fabrica illustration, and two in the Epitome, can be built into working models of the human form. (Figs. 4.8–10) Heinrich Vogtherr had already invented that interactive technique at his Strasbourg press in 1538, by layering the printed body of a seated woman with rudimentary flaps depicting over a dozen different veins and organs. These flaps were interlaced and glued together to approximate the relative depth and lateral juxtaposition of a human’s inner parts. The viewer could memorize the names of the organs from the surrounding text on the broadsheets and learn about common maladies and their cures from Vogtherr’s 1539 pamphlet, Außlegung und beschreybung der Anatomi, which accompanied the first male and female pair of the figures. (Fig. 4.3)

10 11

Andrea Carlino, Paper Bodies: A Catalogue of Anatomical Fugitive Sheets 1538–1687 (Noga Arikha, trans., London: Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine, 1999). Johannes Stefan van Calkar’s name appears with Vesalius on the Tabulae Sex sheets from 1538, but scholarly opinion remains divided over whether he or anyone else related to Titian illustrated the Fabrica.

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figure 4.3 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Pamphlet (Außlegung und beschreybung der Anatomi), 1539. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress: approx. 19 × 14 cm (sheet). Wellcome Library, London (epb 7408/b).

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Vesalius had not yet published accounts of his most path-breaking anatomy practice, although his six-sheet set of skeletons, veins, nerves, and views of the liver and generative organs from 1538 may have been an indirect inspiration. The Augsburg block cutter and printer Jost de Negker, who published a nearly identical cut of the female anatomy in 1538 from Vogtherr’s drawing, may have involved the artist in a plagiarized version of the Tabula the following year.12 (Fig. 4.1) Vogtherr never adapted his sheets to reflect any of Vesalius’s work but he was surely aware of the demand for anatomical imagery; at least three different sets of these Galen-based sheets were copied in the North within the year. Meanwhile in 1539 Venice, the publisher Giovanni da Sabbio printed a pair of anatomy sheets with flaps that did reflect these Vesalian changes.13 (Fig. 4.4) Vogtherr’s interactive innovations must come from a source other than Vesalius—perhaps the common sense of a barber surgeon who realized how little people understood about their bodies. In point of fact, Vogtherr’s family had been involved in the medical trade for generations, and he practiced medicine when he could not find work as an artist. While Vesalius became Charles v’s court doctor, Vogtherr traveled to Vienna near the end of his life to become Ferdinand i’s oculist and occasional painter. Vogtherr published separate tracts on eyes, urine, and the cures effected in bathhouses—even supplying his family with copious advertisements in a 1538 pamphlet. The period’s medical trade allowed minor surgery or dissection under the control of a doctor, and the ever-present bloodletting

12

13

Vogtherr published an edition of a Leonhard Fuchs treatise, and others mentioned in the German Tabula preface, suggesting Vogtherr may have been the one to help de Negker prepare the text for the sheets. However there is no evidence that de Negker ever issued Vogtherr’s female anatomy with the Tabula, or printed a male counterpart for it. The number of surviving impressions from both printers strongly suggests that the woman was initially printed alone: two sheets survive with Vogtherr’s by-line (Bethesda, nih; Basel ub), while an unprecedented five impressions of de Negker’s sheet survive (Albertina, Vienna, Strasbourg Bibliothèque Nationale et Universitaire, Leipzig, Augsburg Graphische Sammlung, Louvain University, formerly in the Klein collection in Munich). The anatomical and iconographical similarities of the vertebrae, cartouches, and foliage led Mimi Cazort to argue that the sheets may even have been cut by the same wood carvers as the Tabula. Mimi Cazort, The Ingenious Machine of Nature: Four Centuries of Art and Anatomy (Ottowa: National Gallery of Canada, 1996), 126. The differing visual and textual treatment of specific organs rule out the possibility that the Italian sheets inspired Vogtherr. Not only are the head and breasts excluded from Sabbio’s text, but the sheets lack the organs Vogtherr adapted for his 1539 pair from an extremely popular image of a dissection by Hans Wechtlin that had been steadily reprinted in Strasbourg since 1517.

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figure 4.4 Giovanni Antonio dei Nicolini da Sabbio (Italian, active 1530s), Anatomy Broadsheet: Female (Viscerum, Hoc Est/ Interiorum Corporis Humani Partium,/ Viva Delineatio.), 1539. Hand colored woodcut and letterpress with six (of seven) flaps: 44.3×32.5cm (sheet), 29.2×15.2cm (woodcut). Formerly Martayan Lan Rare Books.

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to relieve the predominance of dangerous humors. Barber surgeons often practiced in the premises of the town bath, and several scholars have suggested that the anatomy models pasted on canvas were meant to be hung there as reference works for those uninitiated with their own anatomy.14 Why did the bodies of subject and viewer become so important to these sheets? They, too, were fluid entities. Reinventing and gendering the body— among other forms of self-fashioning—have long been seen as a central historical force during the Renaissance. While God or the Devil created fearsome misbirths with seemingly mismatched parts, poets and artists attempted to construct beauty’s ideal from a miscellany of limbs. The opposite of this tendency—the unraveling of that body—has also been discussed from literature to art history as an equally important step towards self-knowledge.15 Luther’s search for truth in appearance and his ongoing attacks on the relic and indulgence trades targeted specific bodily parts and functions in order to shame the old line faithful and their ceremonies. Although there are no known interactive prints copying actual relics, early modern memento mori images abounded with skeletal forms. A suite of engravings from 1576 reinterprets the relic as a political statement—by showing the funeral of the Protestant leader Philipp der Großmütige, in which his coffin has been furnished with a liftable lid.16

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The Strasbourg Bibiliothèque impressions of the Jost de Negker printing of the 1538 Female Anatomy and the 1544 Frölich Man are both mounted on canvas, as is a French copy of Vogtherr’s Female Anatomy sheet from the Wellcome Institute. Sten Lindberg disagrees, citing de Lint’s assertion that the sheets were meant to be educational for students. This does not necessarily preclude the educating of non-students, as initially suggested by Ludwig Choulant in his 1852 History and Bibliography of Anatomic Illustration, Mortimer Frank, trans., annotator (Reprint of rev. ed. New York: Hafner Pub. Co., 1962); also see Sten Lindberg, “Chrestien Wechel and Vesalius: Twelve Unique Medical Broadsides from the Sixteenth Century,” Lychnos (Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksells Boktryckeri ab, 1953): 71; Dr. J.G. De Lint “Fugitive Anatomical Sheets,” Janus 28 (Leiden, 1924): 91. Proponents of the exhibition view include: Choulant-Frank, 156, Weindler, 104, and Crummer 1923, 190, 201ff. Carlino repeats the opinion of the latter group in his idea of a sizable lay public waiting for self-knowledge, 112–113. Jonathan Sawday, The Body Emblazoned: Dissection and the Human Body in Renaissance Culture (New York: Routledge, 1995). The unique, lost copy of the series of engravings (or possibly, book) by Hessian court artist Michael Müller was formerly in the Hessisches Landesmuseum Darmstadt. Landgraf Philipp der Großmütige 1504–1567: Hessen im Zentrum der Reformation: Begleitband zu einer Ausstellung des Landes Hessen/ hers. von Ursula Brassch-Schwersmann … in Zusammenarbeit mit der Historischen Kommission für Hessen-Neustadt an der Aisch: Ph. Schmidt, 2004. Entry by Jill Bepler (hab).

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The relic-collecting frenzy of the Middle Ages subsided in most of the North during the Reformation. Yet the idea of the body as a precarious aggregate of fragments lingered without the aura of holiness. These bits and pieces became secularized in the interactive print. While the arms of crucified Christ statues mimicked death by folding down to their sides, the ability of these interactive prints to move enhanced their liveliness. Dissections of “live” anatomical bodies—as well as from parts printed and glued together, instead of grown— created a new kind of life force for their viewers. As Melanchthon taught, without this animation of the rational soul, the “whole nature of man” could not coalesce, and these body parts remained incomplete.17 Some reimagined anatomies were more poetic than others. With their actively upright, albeit seated poses, flap anatomies never resembled corpses, an effect perpetuated by explicit textual references on many sheets claiming they were created from the life, “Viva Delineato.” (Figs. 4.4–7; 4.13) Vogtherr and the close copies after him do not make this textual claim to liveliness, but his bodies are clearly not inert, but rather inviting the viewer’s curiosity. Their external appearance thus served for more than simply differentiating the male figures from the females. In contrast, Lucas Cranach the Elder and his Wittenberg workshop spliced together glistening female nudes from rigorously idealized, often ill-fitting components. While each part was lifelike, the entire assemblage lacked the vital spark of life. Clement Marot’s poetic blason, popular in French courts in the 1530s, grew out of the Petrarchan tradition and celebrated the most perfect female bodies in a fragmentary style similar to the anatomy sheets, jumping from single ears to a rosy breast: “Tetin qui fait honte à la rose.” Marot’s contreblason of the Laid Tetin inverted this ode with the more realistic imagery of drooping skin. Vogtherr and his copyists did not praise or censure the body, but surrounded the main male or female figure with a full complement of its severed organs for the purpose of observation. (Figs. 4.1–2; 4.11–12) The corresponding flaps isolated specific body parts in a way similar to the outmoded relic: the disconnected parts are presented one by one, and are glued together into a reconstituted whole. Devotional love, violence, and dismemberment had always been standard parts of martyrdom. Though flaying had long been considered a terrifying form of torture, the myth of Marsyas and Apollo was frequently explored in the Renaissance, resulting, as many have noted, in the self-displaying, selfflaying figures in Juan de Valverde’s 1556 version of Andreas Vesalius’s Fabrica.18

17 18

Kusukawa, 88. Titian’s Marsyas, now in Kroměříž, Inv. no. ke 2380, is generally dated about 1575–1576.

figure 4.5–7

Lucas Kilian (German, 1579–1637), Anatomy Broadsheets: First Vision (Visio Prima); Second Vision (Visio Secunda); and Third Vision (Visio Tertia), from Johannes Remmelin (German, 1583–1632), Catoptrum Microcosmicum, 1613. Broadsheets with engravings containing numerous flaps, cut, with etching and letterpress: all approx. 35.9×26.5cm (engraved sheet); 51× 34 cm (letterpress-printed secondary support). aic (1944.461–462; 1944.521).

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Vogtherr’s sheets focus on the body’s nurturing abilities, and his treatment of women’s breasts in particular varies from most other flap anatomies. The female Italian sheets contained only a text about the workings of the generative organs, ignoring the breast entirely. (Fig. 4.4) Not only does Vogtherr mention the female (and male) breasts, but he adds an extra flap under the woman’s skin that attaches behind both breasts.19 (Fig. 4.1) This long, u-shaped vein both “turns the blood into white milk” and helps nourish the fetus—which can already be seen—in utero.20 However, despite this gentle emphasis of nutritional function over sexuality, Vogtherr’s pamphlet corresponds more closely to the violence of disassembling the chest area of the physician Johannes Remmelin’s spectacular Visio Tertia broadside depicting Eve from 1613 (Fig. 4.7a), which was engraved and etched by Lucas Kilian to include over a dozen flaps and detachable organs: But so that the upper part on the breast should be opened, one should by no means do this with a knife, but with a hatchet, with which one may flatten out the knobby peaks of the breast, which are over the breast for protection, and may break into this half cavity with delicate strokes from the side, after the rib bones have been broken down on either side, stroke by stroke.21 In the Remmelin plate, the breast flap no longer lifts upward, but rather breaks apart in the middle. (Fig. 4.7a) The engravings are double-sided, and cut jaggedly around the sternum and breasts. The viewer wrenches the breastbone upwards—then the breasts to either side—in order to glimpse a three-dimensional view of the interior of the ribcage. Though no hatchet is necessary, the sheet still recreates the difficulty of broaching the thoracic cavity. Within this space can be see the heart, lungs, and other body parts, many of them intentionally left unhinged and removable for study. These images reflect the idea that an understanding of the self, the body and soul, required knowledge of its underlying components. The disembodied

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Georg Lang female (mutilated), 1585. gnm hb 27071. Most photographs of these sheets flip the skin flap entirely up, only showing this component from underneath, and it appears almost as a reinforcement of the flap rather than a working part of the body. This slender curved strip, labeled “Lacmamil,” reappears on the main body and in the side figures until 1605 in Nuremberg, and definitively links the female figure of a set produced in Paris in 1539 to Vogtherr. Vogtherr, Außlegung und beschreybung der Anatomi: Aiii.

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figure 4.6a–4.7a

Lucas Kilian, Interior views of Adam (Visio Secunda) and Eve (Visio Tertia), 1613.

members of saints had long been prized, but now the relic turned personal, creating a tension between one’s parts, and the living, breathing sum of them. By knowing oneself, one could begin to understand one’s natural place in God’s creation. This knowledge also imparted the reminder of one’s certain demise. The topos of the memento mori gained momentum throughout the Middle Ages, and could not be divorced from the lively corpses of the flap anatomies. Indeed, Vesalius referred possessively to one of his study subjects, a skeleton he reassembled from various illicit sources, as “my skeleton.”22 There

22

Jost de Negker Tabula edition, 1539, reproduced in Die Anatomischen Tafeln des Jost de

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was an element of the macabre to the idea of dissecting your own, albeit paper body, or even an Everyman sufficiently similar to oneself. Yet the anatomy flap sheets, basic as they were, could prove just as useful for the workman as the learned. Even in winter months, artists and medical students were able to draw or learn from real bodies for only a limited time before they putrefied. Anatomy sheets might not reflect an up-to-date understanding of the human form. They might shed flaps with time and use. Unlike real organs, however, the flaps could be glued back together, or extraneous parts properly removed.23 Anatomy flap prints were vastly more accessible and less perishable than real specimens. As Revelatory Playthings demonstrated, interactive, handheld printed objects could act as substitutes for the Eucharist, performing some of the same sacrosanct functions of the Church. Dissection was also a performance, whether on paper, or held in anatomy theaters as an event for the edification of medical students and the public. Christina Klestinec discussed the theatricality of popular anatomy by exploring its links with Carnival in Italy, which routinely fell in January and February, the coldest and most opportune months for preserving cadavers. In fact, dissection was eventually restricted to these months.24 Klestinec cites a contemporary source that assumes dissections were held at Carnival to make them available to the revelers, while another late fifteenth-century edict objected to the problem of disruptive “maskers” in attendance during such dissections. Klestinec takes these accounts as an indication of a common practice and interprets the construction of a permanent anatomy theater in 1594 as a final attempt to elevate the seriousness of the event. Most public dissections in Italy, especially Padua, where Vesalius had studied, were intended for demonstrative rather than experimental purposes. The event often served as a chance to curry favor by assigning seats according to

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Negker 1539: Mit 6 Tafeln und 2 Abbildungen im Text, Professor Dr. Karl Sudhoff and Museumsdirektor Professor Dr. Max Geisberg, eds. (Munich: Hugo Schmidt Verlag, 1928). A 1544 printing of Heinrich Vogtherr’s male anatomy figure at Harvard’s Countway Library mistakenly includes a uterus and a set of tubes for breast milk; two anatomy flap sheets at Martayan Lan Inc. ca. 2006 from the same collection had been mistakenly repaired by placing a woodcut bladder from a 1539 Italian female by Sabbio on a seventeenth-century engraved male figure; the “Adam” figure in the set of Remmelin anatomy flap prints at the Art Institute of Chicago had two hearts before restoration. (Fig. 4.6a) Christina Klestinec, “Theatrical dissections and dancing cadavers: Andreas Vesalius and sixteenth century popular culture” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2001), 24, 29, 34– 35.

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rank. The ability to dissect or to observe thus became a much sought-after privilege, one that once resulted in a game of hide-and-seek when medical students—possibly dissatisfied with their appointed seats—made off with the corpse.25 This bodily theft suggests a macabre parallel to the Hosts supposedly purloined for Jews, other ill-wishers and even the occasional pious theft.26 From the Bolognese doctor Mondino de’ Liuzzi’s popular 1316 Anatomia treatise until Vesalius’s Fabrica, Italy had treated dissection as an unveiling of the wonders of God’s creation. Galen remained the classical source, regardless of Vesalius’s proof that he had dissected animals. With the intention of observing actual human bodies instead of Galen’s words, Vesalius became professor of anatomy at the University of Padua in 1537. He later served Charles v and his son Philip ii, dedicating the Fabrica to the former and the Epitome to the latter. The famous late fifteenth century Fasciculae medicinae text, a manuscript printed in Venice and owned by the German merchant Johannes de Ketham, contained illustrations showing the performance of a dissection with the apparent divide between doctors who theorized about the body, and barbers, who mechanically cut open the cadavers at their bidding. Even the Bolognese doctor Mondino de’ Liuzzi’s Platonic-inspired dissections would have been performed in this detached manner. In contrast, Vesalius’s frontispiece to the Fabrica and the Epitome conflated these roles of head and hand, and show him as the lead actor in the anatomy theater. He also appears in an equally well-known portrait posed with a partially flayed cadaver. In both cases, he uses his own skilled hands to uncover the book of the body, rather than relying on the preconceived notions handed down from Galen. In the frontispiece Vesalius seems to be lecturing the theater audience with each slice; in the portrait, the viewer is in a private session in his workshop. Heinrich Vogtherr went even further. Though he lacked Vesalius’s scholarly medical background, Vogtherr not only allowed, but insisted that the everyday viewer, the gemeine Mann, assume that leading role. His short pamphlet, Außlegung und beschreybung der Anatomi, first accompanied the pair of anatomy figures he published in 1539. It describes the set of prints as itself a type of substitute, a means of protecting the viewer from the unpleasantness of actual dissection.

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Klestinec, “Theatrical dissections,” 42–43. Patrick Geary, Furta Sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages (Princeton University Press, 1990), describes the compulsive stealing of relics from churches by their own congregations.

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First of all where anyone would because of lack of true knowledge and experience want to give himself to such handwork of Anatomy, or want to be present, that a human body would be opened, he should first consider, what his goal is, so for him his handling should be for serviceable and essential observations.27 Although these sheets seem to have been sold constructed, the description of cutting up the body might well apply as easily to a paper version as it does to one of flesh and blood. Both require the use of a sharp knife. In a short introductory description to his pamphlet, Vogtherr details the overall dissection process before he moves on to the traits of the specific organs within the body and their related illnesses. He uses Luther’s mask-like term Deckel to describe the outside of the body, “der deckel oder eüssere haut des leibs” and his account of the forces at work beneath the surface are enough to dissuade many curious from setting foot in an anatomy theater. Though he offers a paper surrogate for dissection, as has already been seen in the description of the breasts, Vogtherr does not spare the viewer from the full brunt of the drama: So now, the cover, or outer skin of the body, is opened with a sharp [blade] or shearing knife, and one cleaves the skin underneath the navel down to both haunches, and lays the outer skin on the side, then a strong net-like layer appears, which had confined and surrounded all of the inner organs, so were this same [net] to be opened, some women’s bodies drive out all the underlying parts with the greatest force, such as the bladder, matrix, kidneys, spermatic and menstrual veins … So then one must take a strong cord and knot the intestine at the lowest point that can be reached against the exit, to the width of four fingers over another, after which above on the top of the tubes, so before the stomach escapes out the anus, also [do] the same and cut above and below the two knotted bands, so the bowels and stink goes away, and so then one can see the inner members hanging onto the sides of the netlike membrane.28 The medical expertise in Vogtherr’s family, as well as his own roles as an oculist and barber surgeon suggest that he probably attended dissections, though he was unlikely to have performed one himself. Despite the evident difficulty in dealing with the slippery internal parts of the body, as well as its

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Vogtherr, Außlegung: Aii. Vogtherr, Außlegung: Aiiv-Aiii.

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corruptibility and resulting smell, he still manages to evoke a feeling of drama as each layer is successfully broached and subdued. The finale is bloody, but still divine. And then you should wash out the interior blood and underneath nearby the holes of the haunches, so that such water and blood may [pass through], so all will really see how the interior organs lie right next to each other and how wonderfully God ordered them and attached them to each other.29 Despite the unpredictability and stench of the innards, the performance of human dissections had long encompassed this theme of the wonder of God’s creation. Vogtherr’s pamphlet still followed Mondino’s order of dissection. This much-circulated guide to the body arranged dissection around the Platonic hierarchy of the seats of the soul, an organization also seen in Aristotle. “This theory placed the lowest aspect of soul in the belly, the next higher aspect of soul in the thorax, and the highest, the “animal soul” (often equated with the immortal soul), in the head.”30 No approach to self-knowledge could circumvent Christianity. The study of anatomy, too, began to reflect its divisions.

Protesting the Body Vesalius’s emphasis on exploring real bodies near mid-century opened up new worlds of understanding. Even in subsequent scientific dissections meant to dispel some of the mysteries of the human anatomy, religious metaphor abounded. Where Luther insisted on unveiling the true nature of the Church, Johannes Ammonius Agricola’s 1561 oration to medical students at the University of Ingolstadt, De praestantia corporis humani, politicized the body by making its organs into a Catholic triumvirate: The liver is thought to be the Duke, caring for the nourishment and the physical well-being of his subordinates, the heart distributing the lifegiving heat by the spiritus vitalis in the arteries is correlated with the

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Vogtherr, Auβlegung: Aiii. Andrew Cunningham, “Protestant Anatomy,” Religious Confessions and the Sciences in the Sixteenth Century, Jürgen Helm, and Annette Winkelmann, eds., Brill: Boston; 2001, 44–45. The limbs were not usually dissected.

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Emperor, and the brain mediating sensation and motion by the spiritus animalis is identified with the Pope, spiritually controlling the whole organism by a triumvirate consisting of “imaginatrix facultas, cogitativa, & memoratrix.”31 This was not the Church’s first bodily invasion, for debates had long raged over the Communion wafer, and what consumption and digestion of it did to the recipient’s body—not to mention that of Christ—as it passed through their stomach and intestines.32 While Agricola praised the duke, emperor, and pope as noble members of a greater organism, Luther might have denounced their organic unity as dangerous to one’s health, unnatural, and a downright demonic anti-trinity. Rather than reading the text of the body, as Luther would the Bible, Agricola overlaid the organs with so many layers of metaphor and interpretation that their real workings became indecipherable. Whatever their faith, believers feared the unknown and the false. Agricola’s misreading then, was for some less foreign than the actual contents of the body. For the non-medical student, self-contemplation began with the most tangible and available source, one’s own living body, rather than an executed corpse. The human form was corruptible—with only a short moment remaining between the present and its unavoidable demise. And yet, these bodies were made in the divine image, representing the microcosm of God’s creation. To a Protestant, who believed the Pope was the Antichrist, Agricola’s metaphors would be more than unpalatable. If the papacy had invaded their body to lay claim to their organs, as Agricola suggested, their very innards contained hidden devils. Luther and his followers also believed in the real presence of Christ’s Body in the Eucharist—the Word Made Flesh. Yet they focused their sermons on the

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Translated by Jürgen Helm, “Anatomical Education at Wittenberg and Ingolstadt,” Religious Confessions and the Sciences in the Sixteenth Century, Jürgen Helm, and Annette Winkelmann, eds., Brill: Boston; 2001, 67–68. Carol Walker Bynum, “The Presence of Objects: Medieval Anti-Judaism in Modern Germany,” Common Knowledge, 10:1 (Duke University Press, 2004): 25. She notes that the Host “would cease, once it decayed or was digested, to be Christ’s body.” Kathryn Rudy described the problem in her dissertation on pilgrimage: “Priests on board could not administer the Eucharist; hosts were not permitted on ships because damp conditions transmogrified them into moldy pudding; furthermore, seasick passengers caused a messy spiritual procedure.” Kathryn M. Rudy, “Northern European Visual Responses to Holy Land Pilgrimage, 1453–1550” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2001), 60.

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specifics of the Word, rather than Agricola’s doctrinally baseless metaphors. Printed propaganda would offer the Protestants a separate platform for this genre of distortion and exaggeration. By teaching the unadorned Word of God, Luther may have inspired Vesalius’s hands-on approach to anatomy. In his 1519 “Leipzig Disputation” with Johannes Eck on papal authority and free will, Luther argued that “it was an error to presume that the ‘spirit’ and ‘flesh’ were two different substances in man.”33 Diverging from Erasmus—who insisted the spirit possessed its own Will that existed free of the body—Luther inseparably linked anatomy with the soul in man’s predestined salvation, or damnation. Melanchthon’s Commentarius de anima thus considered the body equally worthy of study as the soul, and by proxy, the Word. The historian of medicine Andrew Cunningham expanded on this relationship, suggesting that Vesalius’s working methods were effectively Protestant because he clung to anatomical evidence as strongly as Luther did to the Word: I am not claiming that Vesalius was a Protestant by religious persuasion: but I am claiming that his mode of approach to anatomizing, which was to be enormously significant in its own time and highly influential, was Protestant in its structure and characteristics. What I am referring to here in particular, when I speak of its ‘Protestant’ nature, is the dispute between Catholics and their new rivals the Protestants, over authority: where should one look for the proper source of authority?34 Cunningham goes on to argue that Vesalius’s authoritative book was the body itself, and critical reading was his mode of investigating it. When he disputed against other professors: Vesalius rejected all forms of authority other than ‘the body.’ He rejected the authority of Galen and of all other anatomical writers, if they did not agree with ‘the body.’ ‘I am no anatomista’ says [Professor] Curtius to Vesalius in the middle of their very public quarrel in front of the students at Bologna as Vesalius pointed to a particular vein, ‘but there can well be still other veins nourishing the ribs and the muscles beyond these.’ ‘Where, I ask?’ Vesalius demanded, ‘Show them to me.’35

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Kusukawa, 89. Cunningham, 47–48. Cunningham, 48.

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Any student well-versed in deciphering the Epitome flaps could have demonstrated that there were no more to be found beyond these pages of skin. Yet even Vesalius did not always consult the correct text. His studies of the generative organs of women in particular rely partially on actual corpses, and partially on Galen. Nonetheless, his approach to the body was a more direct means of investigation than interpreting it through the filter of the ancient texts. Vesalius would not be outsold by Northern plagiarists a second time, as a letter to his printer, Oporinus, printed with the 1543 Fabrica suggested. Although Vesalius found a set of plagiarized Strasbourg woodcuts much worse than de Negker’s same-sized copies of his Tabula, and counted de Negker’s introduction as more spurious, Vesalius could not ignore the fact that vernacular versions of his sheets were selling. The Epitome appeared in German as well as Latin, and as noted, included extra sheets of organs and instructions on how to build them into male and female models.36 (Fig. 4.8–9) Although Vogtherr’s sheets likely came pre-glued, and the pamphlet includes no instructions, Vesalius’s audience had the option of completing or ignoring the sheets themselves. The detailed Epitome instructions allow the owner to learn by putting it together, unlike Vogtherr’s version, which only involved dissecting the print by lifting pre-existing layers. Vesalius’s version is more clinical in its labeling. Where Vogtherr uses Latin and German names on the organs, Vesalius uses letters and numerals: “I shall add a number to the figures so that I may explain in what place each is to be attached and provide as much advice as I can to facilitate the student’s endeavors.” Vesalius’s explicit wish to help students of medicine construct the prints shows that he aimed the concise Epitome at them, as well as toward humanists who might also study his full-length books. The dedicatee Charles v received a colored presentation copy of the Fabrica, as Ferdinand i did of the Epitome, but it is unclear if they read them. Despite Emperor Charles’s enthusiasm and financing for Peter Apian’s Astronomicum Caesareum with its numerous interactive volvelles (published only three years earlier in 1540), the Fabrica manikin remained unconstructed when Charles gave the book to a French ambassador.37 The Herzog August Bibliothek possesses a constructed example. (Fig. 4.10) At least twelve partially or fully constructed copies have been

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Vesalius, Epitome; one of the unnumbered pages to be used as a base describes the process (with some losses): “figura huic chartae im—sa cuique alia variis formata partibus agglutinatur … gurarum musculos ostendentium …” Haskell F. Norman Library of Science and Medicine, Part i, Christie’s New York, March 18, 1998, no. 213, 208 ff.

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Andreas Vesalius (Netherlandish, 1514–1564), Male and Female Anatomical Manikins, from De humani corporis Fabrica librorum Epitome, 1543. Woodcuts, cut and constructed, with partial hand-coloring: (a) Male (43.8 × 15.5 cm) and (b) Female (41.8 × 14.4cm). Image Courtesy of the Malloch Rare Book Room of the New York Academy of Medicine Library.

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Andreas Vesalius (Netherlandish, 1514–1564), Anatomy Broadsheet: Veins and Arteries (Venarum et Item Arteriarum Omnium Integra Absolutque Delineatio), from De humani corporis Fabrica librorum septem, 1543, fol. 313. Woodcut and letterpress, partially constructed (liver (f) and vein flaps added): 50.8 × 44 cm (sheet). hab (3Phys-2f ).

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recorded as surviving into modernity.38 Ferdinand i’s Epitome, on the other hand, was likely already assembled when it was presented.39 The Epitome’s brevity helped clarify its instructions, stating, “We wish to advise those who obtain unprepared copies, and put them together by their own efforts and industry, on the method of cutting each from the superfluous paper and pasting them on, and then of coloring them according to their ability and desire.” “Ability” refers here to both the cost of painting materials and the maker’s competent, if not necessarily artistic skill in using them. Vesalius’s mention of “unprepared” copies suggests two things. One, that prepared versions of his sheets were available, and two, that in his mind, a finished work was both three-dimensional and illuminated. The paucity of colored copies of his texts suggests, however, that he probably meant the coloring to be used mainly on the constructed figure as a way to help differentiate the layers. Still, only two of the six surviving Epitomes with flaps has been colored. In actuality, the coloring of Vesalius’s books was more dramatic than educational, and some copies include highlights in gold. Nevertheless, his separate categories of books—with their diagrams constructed, or in uncut sheets—likely helped accommodate varying budgets, just as Vogtherr’s cheap pamphlets and over-folio sized sheets did.40 38

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Many thanks to Dániel Margócsy for a timely update from his Fabrica census, which suggests 25–30 of the surviving 200 copies of the book may have been constructed. (Email correspondence 12/31/15.) Also see: Dániel Margócsy, Márk Somos, Stephen N. Joffe, “Vesalius’s Fabrica: A Report on the Worldwide Census of the 1543 and 1555 Editions.” Soc Hist Med 2017; 30 (1): 201–223. doi: 10.1093/shm/hkw108 The current author has seen copies at the Becker Medical Library at Washington University in Saint Louis and the Herzog August Bibliothek. The British Library and the University of Wisconsin-Madison own constructed copies of the Fabrica, while the University of Louvain’s constructed copy unfortunately burnt in a 1914 fire, and a final constructed Fabrica was found in a New York collection, possibly a Dr. Alfred Hellmann of New York. Ludwig Choulant, 183; mentions that this “magnificent parchment copy, alleged to be the dedication copy, of Vesalius’s Anatomy, which contains colored figures, and among them some which consist of several parts arranged one above the other, and pasted together, so as to be turned over consecutively.” Choulant suggests that these were taken from a copy of the Epitome, but they could have been made up from the sheet already supplied in the Fabrica. Leroy Crummer, “A Check List of Anatomical Books Illustrated with Cuts with Superimposed Flaps,” Bulletin of Medical Library Association (20, 1932): 132. Zlatko I. Pozeg and Eugene Flamm, “Vesalius and the 1543 Epitome of his De humani corporis Fabrica librorum: A Uniquely Illuminated Copy,” The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America, 103:2 (June 2009): 199–220. For the Epitome, the Cambridge University and Dartmouth College (both colored), New

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Most of Vogtherr’s sheets and their direct copies have some coloring, from Vogtherr’s 1538 woman at Strasbourg Bibliothèque nationale et universitaire (with its exterior-only daubs for a pink loincloth and lips and yellow hair) to the much more coarsely painted 1605 Nuremberg copy by Georg Lang (gnm). (Fig. 4.1) In his extensive catalogue of these flap prints, Andrea Carlino suggests that Jacob Frölich, who bought Vogtherr’s blocks in 1540, was the first to color the figures.41 Carlino did not locate impressions of Frölich’s 1551–1552 edition, which have entirely different coloring from Vogtherr’s (particularly in not copying his incongruously blond male head and starkly black beard) in the impressions at the University of Minnesota.42 Indeed, colors may only have been sporadically applied until the Nuremberg copies in the 1550s and 1560s by Hans Weigel.43 (Fig. 4.11–12) Weigel’s sheets seem to have been colored with the same stencils for decades, making the gall bladder green, the liver brown, and the heart red. Veins are usually blue or pink, not red. While these colors enlivened the black and white printing, as Carlino notes, they also cross-referenced the body parts appearing at the top of the broadsheets with the hidden versions inside the torso. The paired skins frequently reflect the social beauty canon, rendering the male in a swarthier tone. When the fairer sex displays more color than a soft pink wash, she turns light madder rose in the shadows, and glows even brighter at her lips and nipples. The images become no more realistic, but added shadows increase the sense of depth and overall liveliness. Like Vesalius, Vogtherr insisted on the accessibility of his publications. His interactive imagery correspondingly increased the visual legibility of his works.

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York Academy of Medicine and the Royal Library of Sweden (all Latin) copies have had their figures pasted together, as has a copy at the Huntington (German). Cazort, 133, cites another in the Karolinska Institute Library in Stockholm, probably a Latin copy. Carlino, 62; Sten G. Lindberg, “Mobiles in Books: Volvelles, inserts, pyramids, divinations, and children’s games,” The Private Library Series 3, 2:2 (1979): 72 (only mentions raisable parts, not colored copies); the Dover reprint, ie, Andreas Vesalius, The illustrations from the works of Andreas Vesalius of Brussels (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1973), 205, 220 (doesn’t mention where colored copies are, just that they are “occasionally encountered”). Carlino, 63. Carlino no. 23. University of Minnesota, Bio. Med Library (tc Bio-Med Wangensteen Flat w240 v88 7a). Those include pink shading on the blocks, green grass behind them, and tinted cheeks. The gallbladder is also green, as is usual. Carlino nos. 22 (1550), 24 (1556), 29 (1564). Carlino missed this well-preserved pair from 1569, Augsburg Staats- und Stadtbibliothek (Einbl. Nach 1500, 153), originally tipped into Walter Ryff, Reformierte deütsche Apoteck. 1573 (2° Med 145).

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figure 4.11–12

Hans Weigel (German, 1549–before 1591) after Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Anatomy Broadsheets: Male and Female (Anathomia/oder abcontrofectung eines Mans Leib; Anathomia/oder abcontrofectung eines Weibs Leib), Nuremberg, 1569. Hand-colored woodcuts with multiple flaps and letterpress: 58×30cm (sheet) and 58.5 × 30 cm (sheet). susb augsburg (Einblattdr. nach 1500, Nr. 227–228).

He brought the same ingenuity to his anatomy flap prints that he did to the communion-wafer volvelle in his Christlichen Loßbuchs, but with far more lasting results. That book was alphabetically organized, but requires its dial with a pointing Christ and angel to make sense. As noted earlier, Vogtherr’s entire output was in German. He insisted on the value of disseminating his anatomy sheets in the vernacular rather than Latin, in which he felt too much had already been written on the subject. While other members of his family had written medical tracts in German, he expanded their lessons with diagrams and interactive charts.44 The Kunstbuchlein, a popular handbook of motifs for 44

Vogtherr provided frontispiece illustrations for two of his brother Bartholmaeus’s three

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artists to copy that Vogtherr published in 1538–1539 consisted of one edition with a letterpress title page and no text. The images were reprinted by Jacob Frölich and others after Vogtherr left Strasbourg. But his movable illustrations remained his most effective means of showing the inherent truths of the body; in fact they did so more clearly than written word alone. His Außlegung begins: Because many Anatomies of the human body have been written in fluid Latin speech, and although such judgment and explanation might understandably be enough, so is there nevertheless not currently such an Anatomy of a capable nature, so as to visually invent for the eyes of the skillful learned who expect to read from dead letters, as when one achieves the experience and handwork of exterior examination. But the visual form of the eyesight from the life gives much more, as well as more truthful understanding; neither the most realistic imagination nor envisioning of writing, though many things have been well enough written with the stem of a feather, but the ignorance is born from difficult and uneven understanding. Even the title of the pamphlet, Außlegung, suggests the authoritative reading of Vesalius’s book of the body through its pictures. Setting out the woodcut body parts one by one—both as layers in the body and in the margins of the broadsheet—helps clarify their interrelations and functions. The fact that the names of the organs are inscribed directly onto them in Vogtherr’s sheets— instead of the letters used indexically by Vesalius and Sabbio—reconfirms the suggested directness and accuracy of the representation. The organs reappear a third time in the pamphlet, ensuring the recognizability of each section. Vogtherr also refers to the prints as an “abconterfetung,” a realistic representation or counterfeit of the dissected body. The early Strasbourg anatomy sheet by Hans Wechtlin that he used as a partial model also employs this language to confirm the source of the illustration as ein contrafact Anatomy.45 Though he personally published only three or four editions of the figures in German, variations on Vogtherr’s theme would soon appear in major Protestant centers throughout Europe in both Latin and the vernacular. Demand must

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tracts, and illustrated the entirety of his brother Georg’s treatise on sundials, which he also printed in Strasbourg. Frank Muller, Heinrich Vogtherr l’ancien: un artiste entre Renaissance et Réforme (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1997), 13, 214ff., 307. Frölich also reprinted it in 1544, along with the anatomy prints, booklet and the Kunstbüchlein. Peter Parshall, “Imago contrafacta: Images and Facts in the Northern Renaissance,” Art History 16 (1993): 554–579, discusses the status of this terminology and the realistic image.

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have been high, for like a skeleton broadside attributed to Wechtlin, Jean Ruelle’s ca. 1540 female flap anatomy with French text—itself reproducing the 1538 Vogtherr image—also survives in a manuscript copy (Yale, Medical Historical Collection).46 Vogtherr’s own blocks even appeared in Frölich’s 1551– 1552 edition with a text that translated the expanded German of the 1539 sheets back into Latin.47 None of the anatomy sheets bear explicitly religious texts, but there are several reasons for their geographical convergence in Protestant centers such as Strasbourg and Nuremberg.48 Printers were often free-thinking entrepreneurs, and many had converted to the new faith. Vogtherr’s pamphlets frequently have a pro-Protestant focus, even if his Christlichen Loßbuchs shies away from making this distinction. Hans Guldenmund of Nuremberg, who copied Vogtherr’s anatomy designs in 1539, persisted in publishing several anti-Catholic tracts, including one heavily censored by the city.49 In contrast, the Flemish printer Cornelis Bos, who made engravings after Guldenmund’s woodcuts around 1540, fled from Catholic Antwerp for religious reasons four years later, leaving his stock of anatomy engravings and the plates behind.50 46

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Carlino numbers the Ruelle figure 12 and the drawing on vellum 61. He incorrectly links the latter to Vogtherr’s 1538 female, probably because his photo was not sharp enough to compare the handwritten text with the Ruelle broadsheet. The original sheet makes it clear that the text is divided in precisely the same columns and letters as Ruelle’s version, with few deviations and omissions. It is possible that Vogtherr published a Latin version of the 1538 female figure, or perhaps he took the text from an untraced Latin source without interactive images. The peculiarities of both the translation and the flap image reappear in subsequent female sheets, discounting the possibility that Vogtherr copied his flaps too. Jean Ruelle’s 1539 Paris female was probably published directly after Vogtherr with no mate. This would explain why the male figure reflects Bos’s ca. 1540 copy of the lost Guldenmund woodcuts (1539), but adopts the text of the Italian Sabbio print for it. Sylvester van Parijs, who lived just around the block from Bos, was a likely source for the Sabbio woodcuts, as he produced his own version with that text. Second and third editions also appeared in French and Flemish from the Vogtherr female text, which he and Bos probably translated from Vogtherr. Two of Bos’s ca. 1540 editions include the closest equivalent to religious thoughts: a quotation from Job, as do his Antwerp neighbor Sylvester van Parijs’s French and Flemish editions. Michael Peterle’s 1560s version includes a memento mori meditation on the pair as a guilty Adam and Eve. Landau and Parshall, 223–227; Theodor Hampe, Nürnberger Ratsverlässe über Kunst und Künstler im Zeitalter der Spätgotik und Renaissance 1474–1618 (Wien, K. Graeser & Kie., 1904). Bos was suspected of heretical and perhaps Anabaptist tendencies, and left his workshop

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As did Guldenmund in his version of Vogtherr’s sheets, impressions of which were only recently rediscovered in Vienna, Bos only supplied several of his figures with one skin flap each, and illustrated the organs underneath on the main sheet.51 The medium of engraving allowed for more detail than in Vogtherr’s sheets, though other copies of Guldenmund’s woodcuts suggest Bos’s engravings are near duplicates, especially of the internal views. The single flap also allowed the sheets to introduce a different iconography—with Adam’s apple, his fig leaves, and Eve’s wilting flower. In Bos, a quotation from Job connects this carnation with the idea of man’s brief lifespan. The foliage serves a dual purpose in camouflaging both the genitalia, and the edges of the flaps. The almost perfectly preserved and little-known Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel, impressions retain three additional original flaps, and show that the end of Adam’s epidermal flap tucked beneath a delicately excised branch of the fig tree, protecting both the flap and its contents. (Fig. 4.13) Vogtherr’s sheets use drapery for this purpose, but the 1539 Italian sheets may serve as a secondary model, as they include the flower, and what appears to be a branch from a lemon tree. Although memento mori and Adam and Eve imagery is by no means exclusively Protestant, these attributes later contributed to the visual impact of most of the interactive polemical works. The Reformation would eventually cause a decline in demand for illustration—one of the financial reasons that Vogtherr’s personal press only published between 1535 and 1540—and yet the types of texts printed continued to be varied, especially in Strasbourg. Though the bulk of the works were religious or polemical in nature, it was the Protestants who opened up the market for standardized do-it-yourself books with their insistence on the importance of Luther’s similarly didactic Catechism. This tendency may have provided printers with new readers, since it promoted basic literacy far more

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in Antwerp in March 1544, presumably to escape jail and his impending trial. Landau and Parshall, 14. The eighteen sets of male and female anatomies in the inventory of his workshop suggest the sheets were still in demand; but the list does not mention the language of the text. Bos also illustrated a copy of Walther Ryff’s anatomy book in Antwerp in 1542. Choulant examined at least one impression of the Guldenmund anatomy pair during the nineteenth century, possibly from a Leipzig collection that was destroyed in wwii. The detailed description of the woodcuts in his 1852 History and Bibliography of Anatomic Illustration serves as the basis for this comparison. The rediscovered impressions of the Guldenmund pair are at the Österreichisches Museum für angewandte Kunst (mak) Vienna, among about a dozen anatomy flap prints of the same period, of which Carlino catalogues only two early Bos prints.

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figure 4.13

Cornelis Bos (Dutch, 1505–1561), Anatomy Broadsheet: Male, ca. 1540. Unknown state of this engraving, with four flaps: 30×19cm. Only impression with the intact fig-tree branch crossing the thighs (to tuck in the fig leaf on the epidermal flap). hab (69-8-aug-2f, pasted inside front cover).

than Catholicism did before the Jesuits. Luther himself noted that more universal schooling was intended for the purpose of isolating talented youths who could become preachers, rather than for interpreting the actual Bible on one’s own, a prospect that already appeared dangerous to the Reformers in the 1530s.52 Melanchthon and Luther interpreted anatomical knowledge as a means to greater understanding of the workings of the soul. Luther was most preoccupied with its appearance and reality, while Melanchthon connected it more concretely with the study of the soul. Indeed, one might even say he con52

Richard Gawthrop, Gerald Strauss, “Protestantism and Literacy in Early Modern Germany,” Past and Present, no. 104 (Aug., 1984): 31–55. The authors do not find textual support or any other direct link between Protestant teachings and literacy outside of recruiting practices. Protestants did not maintain their stance of wanting everyone to be able to interpret the Bible by themselves, but preferred the memorization of the catechism, which could not be misinterpreted.

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sidered anatomy as “almost as important” to one’s salvation as religion.53 In their minds, the soul was lodged in the body, and harming one physically or morally could only hurt the other. With the two editions of his natural philosophy commentary on Aristotle, Commentarius de anima in 1540 (in Wittenberg and Strasbourg among other locations) and Liber de anima recognitus in 1552, Melanchthon was “possibly the first person since Aristotle to treat De anima as requiring a preliminary knowledge of anatomy.”54 In the former he synthesized the latest Greek translations, and in the latter, Vesalius’s teachings. Melanchthon still incorporated Galen’s writings into his textbook, as he was aware that Italian faculties were often divided along Galenic and Vesalian lines. Some Catholic universities in the North, Ingolstadt included, also adhered to the Galenic tradition. The latter version became a popular teaching tool at Wittenberg, and as mentioned earlier, a set of flap woodcut broadsheets was marketed to accompany it posthumously, by the 1570s.55 Mimi Cazort mentions a 1538 version of Commentarius de Anima published in Strasbourg, and suggests that Vogtherr might have intended to bundle his anatomy sheets with Melanchthon’s commentary. While an interesting idea, the fact that the printer marketed his own pamphlet with his interactive broadsheets in 1539 makes this seem less likely. The possibility that Luther’s son Paul, himself a successful doctor, designed the drawing for the flap prints is a more intriguing theory.56 A third woodcut— of a skeleton—joins Vogtherr’s original seated male-female pair. Several of the internal organs appear around the main figure, a trait only seen in sheets deriving from Vogtherr. Those sheets come full circle to reflect the influence of 53 54 55

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Vivian Nutton, “Wittenberg Anatomy,” Andrew Cunningham, ed., Medicine and the Reformation (London: Routledge, 1993), 11–32. Cunningham, 46. Cazort, Ingenious Machine, 122. The current author has been unable to locate an edition of Melanchthon’s text earlier than 1540—the earliest published in Strasbourg dates from that year. Nutton, “Anatomy of the Soul,” 147, suggests Melanchthon was already working on the manuscript as early as 1538. This connection may bear future investigation. Vivian Nutton, correspondence, mentioned that a Dr. H.G. Koch described this earlier pair ca. 1562 by Paul Luther, but his more recent publications do not reflect this early date. “Bartholomaeus Schoenborn (1530–1585),” in: H. Scheible, ed., Melanchthon in seinen Schulern (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1997), 323–339; “Melanchthon und die Vesal-Rezeption in Wittenberg,” in G. Frank, S. Rhein, Melanchthon und die Naturwissenschaften ihrer Zeit (Sigmaringen: Wilhelm Fink Verlag, 1998): 203–218. The original source of the Paul Luther anatomy sheet idea is: Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 19 (Leipzig: Duncker und Humblet, 1884): 694.

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Vesalius as well, especially the illustrations of the generative organs. Although a second generation of flap anatomies reflected Vesalius’s first educational anatomy tool—the six fugitive sheets of the Tabula Sex—none of the other sheets related to Vogtherr was updated to show even the standard Galenic penis. In a more cosmetic touch, Vesalius’s portrait from the Fabrica reappears as the head of the male figure. The uterus adopts Vesalius’s infamously penislike shape both as a flap and in the repetition of the internal organ sequence around the main figure. For all his insistence on dissecting and reading from real bodies, Vesalius seems to have had difficulty in procuring enough female corpses to correct this misinterpretation.57 The final envisioning of Vogtherr’s line of flap prints also takes up three sheets—two are engravings of the man and woman, and the third the pregnant woman’s belly with its uterus enshrined, flanked by side views of the postlapsarian pair (in a nod to Albrecht Dürer’s 1504 master engraving). (Figs. 4.5– 7) Although exact copies of Vogtherr avoided this imagery, Lucas Kilian’s 1613 engravings for the Augsburg doctor Johannes Remmelin adopts every allegory from the fig leaves and snake-infested skull under Eve’s foot, to titling the work Absolutam Admirandae Partium Corpore Hominis, In Absolute Admiration of the Parts of the Body of Man. Not only is this work in awe of God’s creation, but it is also a vision illuminating Luther’s favorite passage on the disguises of the devil as an angel of light. In Visio Prima, the cloud hovering above the fruitful torso surrounded by cherubim contains the Hebrew name of God. There are several flaps beneath it with curious illustrations. A text printed on the bottom sheet comes from the apocryphal book of Sirach (38:2): “A Deo est enim omnis medela, et a rege accipiet donationem (For of the most High cometh healing, and he shall receive honor of the king).” The next verse of the chapter is implied by the title of the sheets, again reinforcing God’s role as cosmic doctor: “The skill of the physician shall lift up his head: and in the sight of great men he shall be in admiration.” Luther was very supportive of his son Paul’s medical career, but he would also have approved of the illustrations accompanying the Lord’s brilliant glory. Underneath the name of God we see the face of an angel, and on a flap even further down, the Devil himself. 57

Raphael Cuir, independent scholar, suggests that there was also a cultural bias that made it difficult for him to really see the difference in the actual bodies (especially pregnant corpses) from Galen.

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Bodily Shame Whether disclosing sins or oddities of the flesh, the revelation of new truths had more resonance for the user and viewer when they uncovered it themselves. Reality was never an attractive sight. Peeling away actual skin revealed pungent écorché flesh, and then bones wiped clean. Few of the flap sheets avoided moral and even biblical implications. Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder’s anatomies are the only examples that did not imply that his naked man and woman were Adam and Eve—the first criminals for disobeying God—and symbols of man’s mortality. It is no coincidence that the original sin was considered an act both gustatory and sexual. Slightly later sheets by Guldenmund and Bos give Adam an apple and fig leaves to cover his nakedness after his eyes were opened. (Fig. 4.13) Eve is already pregnant, and the classically “preformed,” adult-looking fetus covers his eyes, perhaps in mortification at being seen too soon. Such shame would continue to infuse Protestant, and sometimes even Catholic propaganda. Martin Luther wanted to open the viewer’s eyes—and nose—to the falsehoods and stench of the rotting ecclesiastical body. His legendary bowel trouble may have contributed to his colorful imagery and fixation on “Teufelsdreck,” or Devil-excrement, as one of the worthiest insults for shaming the Papacy. Luther saw the common turd as another hiding place for Satan. As such, one of the most direct ways to implicate papal wrongdoings was by combining excrement with the prosperous indulgence trade. Indulgences were even used as toilet paper for the inherent shock value of the act. They were among the earliest documents first handwritten, and then printed, in bulk, with blanks left for inscribing the names of the purchaser or recipient. Their easy personalization already made indulgences participatory in nature. Shamefully misusing them was not a large step beyond. In a 1523 carnival play, Niklaus Manuel Deutsch of Bern has a well-informed group of peasants explain this extremely interactive use of print. One of them had saved up for an indulgence. On realizing its worthlessness, he snatches it, and runs off to the privy: Und han den ars an brief gewst And then [I] applied the letter to my ass Nachpur Rufli. ich muss dir’s klagen as a remedy. I must complain to you, Es lit mir noch in minen magen! now I am still suffering in my stomach! One sheet from Luther’s broadsheet series Depiction of the Papacy (1545) shows peasants breaking wind at the pope; in another, mercenary soldiers defecate © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_007

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into the upturned tiara of the papal coat of arms. A later engraving copying the latter design exacerbates the offense by actually showing the indulgences being used to wipe their posteriors. Luther did mention the use of documents for this purpose, but it wasn’t indulgences. When the vice-chancellor of Leipzig University, John Hasenberg, wrote a list of the reasons Luther should not marry Katharina van Bora, Luther’s graphic retort insinuated that toilet paper was all the disagreement was good for.1 Luther’s supporters would soon take their propaganda beyond the symbolism of anatomically composite monstrosities and the befouling of the revered papal crown. Many prints exchanged a specific cleric’s head and its “animal soul” for the head of a soul-less animal in much the same way flap prints would later uncover their victims’ true appearances. The transformations implied in the broadsheets often made humorous verbal puns on the names of their subjects, and provided some insurance that only the initiated would understand the critique. Leo x became a lion, and so forth.2 Although the anticlerical sheets described thus far have no interactive components, their anatomical and polemical themes would reappear in more audacious interactive form during the second half of the century. At that time, the study of human anatomy also underwent a dramatic change thanks to Vogtherr and Vesalius. More of the public were aware of dissections, even if they did not attend such medical theaters, even if they did not possess their own anatomy prints. Again, broadsheets were available for viewing at hawkers’ stands, as well as for the curious waiting in line at barbers’ stalls or in public baths. Despite the growing popularity of German medical handbooks originating in Strasbourg from the early 1510s, the most commonly available rendition of the debased human form until the late 1530s remained the memento mori.3 This morally didactic trope took a sinister and more naturalistic turn when artists began to use real skeletons for models and labeled them as such. Schematically linking boiled-down bones to living beings combined science and morality with a marketable frisson of discomfiture. The binary opposition of this ultimate (and ultimately obvious) mnemonic device would become even more universally applicable as a revelatory effect in full-blown anatomy flap prints and the Protestant propaganda it inspired.

1 wa 26.545–554. 2 gnm hb 15079. 3 Karr Schmidt, “Memento Mori: The Deadly Art of Interaction,” in Push Me, Pull You: Interaction, Physicality, and Devotional Practice in the Late Medieval and Renaissance Art 2, Sarah Blicks and Laura Gelfand, eds. (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 262–294.

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Despite their allusions to execution and moral and physical decay, how often did flap prints show actual death? Anatomy sheets rarely acknowledged their origins. Two popular sheets from Strasbourg related to the artist Hans Wechtlin prove the exception and the rule. Both were tipped into Johannes Schott’s many editions of Gersdorff’s surgery manual, beginning in 1517. The first sheet attributed to Wechtlin shows a skeleton, schematically drawn, with the titles of the bones linked to the corresponding parts. The title of the sheet, however, mentions that the work was reproduced from a sculpture, a tomb sculpture, no less, but it is still described as ein contrafacter Todt, an accurate portrayal after an actual corpse.4 Successfully plying both the morbidity and scientific curiosity of the market, the sheet also has an extensive set of verses about the inevitability of death. The skeleton remained popular, for a silhouetted copy of it drawn in brown ink was pasted down onto the verso of a broadsheet on the Apocalypse dated 1620 at the Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum in Braunschweig.5 Dispensing with the scientific content, the copyist ignored the intrusive lines linking the bones with their Latin names on Wechtlin’s woodcut. The work’s message is now purely allegorical, for the memento mori poem is the only text it retains. The second sheet of a dissected cadaver Wechtlin designed is again dated 1517. The title also states that this corpse has been reproduced from an actual body dissected by doctor Wenzel Hock. An additional text at the bottom of some of the sheets mentions Wechtlin’s participation as well as the publisher, presumably so that more broadsheets could be sold. Like the skeleton, the block for this sheet was in use for several decades: both as a single sheet, and tipped into the Feldtbuch and Spiegel der Artznei, two of the bestsellers of the Schott printing house. Only the bodies of criminals could be dissected, and holding one’s wake at the anatomical theater was long considered the ultimate degradation. Even for the eighteenth-century satirist William Hogarth, the spectacle offered a fitting conclusion to his Reward of Cruelty series. The corpse wears the hangman’s noose, and his displaced entrails spill off the table onto the ground, where a dog chews on his severed heart. The accompanying text reinforces this dishonor, a fate far worse than hanging: 4 Parshall, “Imago contrafacta,” 554–579, again, for the ramifications of this term. 5 Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Kupferstich Kabinett (kk Fliegende Blätter 5256). The anonymous broadsheet is entitled: “Spiegel Göttliches zorns/ uber die sunde der itzigen/ argen/ letzten/ grundbösen Welt/ so uns durch dises Gesicht im Geist/ wie dann auch durch vil und mancherley Zornzeichen/ mit Fewrfallen/ vom Himmel Schwefel und Blut regnen/ so an underschiedlichen vilen orthen dises 1620 Jahres sich begeben und zugetragen haben/ Menniglich zur warnung und bußfertigem leben für augen gestellet.”

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Behold the Villain’s dire disgrace!/ Not Death itself can end./ He finds no peaceful Burial-Place,/ His breathless Corse, no friend … // His Heart expos’d to prying Eyes,/ To Pity has no claim;/ But, dreadful! from his Bones shall rise,/ His Monument of Shame. The bones shown boiling in a kettle at the front of Hogarth’s theater suggest both witchcraft and the early medieval practice of stripping elite corpses to the bone into their purer essence for easier transport before burial. The present corpse would not merit that treatment. Paul Binski confirmed that the practice, called “embalming more teutonico,” already was widespread in Germany by the thirteenth century: “Mortuary practices of this type were a form of extraction: by reducing the body to its bones, the dead person is reduced to a durable and pure essence. It follows that the practice of bodily division and extraction was taking on a more symbolic dimension.”6 From the fifteenth century, a sharp rise in memento mori images showed that the decay of the body was increasingly seen as a natural part of the dying process. Given this belief, bodies were understandably difficult to acquire for private study. Vesalius performed many clandestine dissections for his research in Paris and Louvain. In Jonathan Sawday’s reading, some of Vesalius’s accounts of body snatching become torridly sexual embraces, themselves acts of rape or thievery: “there is something more than urgent about Vesalius’s self-presentation, swinging like a carrion crow on the gibbet, ‘burning with so great a desire … that I was not afraid to snatch in the middle of the night what I so longed for.’”7 Reminders of one’s own imminent demise aside, dissection of an amateur or scientific variety conferred an aura of dishonor to the subject. A genre of Schandbilder, or shameful pictures, drew upon the social stigma of execution. These images recognizably portrayed enemies as if they were hanging upsidedown, to shame them and destroy their reputation. A November 2, 1438, letter from Johannes von Löwenstein to Landgrave Ludwig i of Hesse shows the Landgrave trussed at the ankles, with his coat of arms inverted on its own cord nearby on the gallows.8 Drawings also survive from Andrea del Sarto’s early sixteenth-century fresco of an upside-down figure on the wall of the Florence

6 Paul Binski, Medieval Death: Ritual and Representation (Ithaca, ny: Cornell University Press, 1996), 64. 7 Sawday, 186. 8 Scheltbrief of Johann von Löwenstein to Landgrave Ludwig i of Hesse, 2 November 1438 (Stadtarchiv Frankfurt). On this topic in general, see: Otto Hupp, Scheltbriefe und Schandbilder: ein Rechtsbehelf aus dem 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (München: Verl. G.J. Manz, 1930).

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city council building, not a great change from the medieval display of the heads of the slain.9 The Schandbild continued to evolve. Ironically, bodies executed by hanging were in particular demand for dissection, as all their extremities remained intact. In 1567, Luther’s detractors would shame his memory with this imagery. But, instead of simply inverting his corpse, they showed him anatomized and dismembered by his own supporters. (Fig. 6.11)

Elßgred and Other Paper Portents One way to read the anatomy prints was as a visual enumeration of the correct, God-given quota of bodily components. When a body had more or fewer parts than the norm, its status changed from awe inspiring to fearsome. The first image in the 1545 True Depiction of the Papacy was a woodcut of the socalled “Papal Ass” reprinted from Luther and Philipp Melanchthon’s 1523 outcry against the pope, their Deutung der zwo greulichen Figuren, Bapstesels zu Rom und Mönchkalbs zu Freiberg in Meissen funden.10 Melanchthon compared the misbirth’s womanly torso and donkey head to the pontiff, arguing its sudden appearance was a sign that he could no longer lead his empire.11 This freakish wonder had supposedly been found in the Tiber in 1496 during the reign of Alexander vi. It only reached the Reformers in the form of an engraving by the Bohemian artist Wenzel von Olmütz, yet its apocalyptic message still remained current, as shown by the reuse of the image in 1545. Luther contributed a second essay to the Deutung pamphlet on another wonder that was actually born in Freyberg in 1523, the “Monk Calf.” The creature’s sagging, cloak-like skin gave it a curious resemblance to the former identity of the Reformer himself as a monk, though it presents a travesty of the “holy vestments.” Luther was aware of this, speaking of the wonder in very personal terms. Though referring to himself as no prophet, Luther found the Calf’s message extremely relevant: “Ich will meyn Munchkalb meynem stand zu dienst deutten,” or, “I will interpret my Monk Calf for the service of my posi9

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Vasari reported that del Sarto preferred the images to be thought the work of a pupil. Also see S.Y. Edgerton, Pictures and Punishment. Art and Criminal Prosecution during the Florentine Renaissance (Ithaca-London: Cornell Univ. Press, 1985), 9–125. Phillipus Melanchthon, Doct. Martinus Luther, Deuttung der zwu grewlichen Figuren Bapstesels zu Rom un Munckalb zu Freyberg in Meyssen funden (Wittenberg, 1523). Robert Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation (Oxford: Clarendon Paperbacks, 1981; 1994).

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figure 5.1 German (Augsburg), Broadsheet on the Conjoined Twins of Ertingen (Im iar da man zalt tausent fünff hundert und zwolfften ist geborn ain solichs kind … un[d] sein nam ist Elβgred), 1512. Double-sided woodcut inserted in letterpress broadsheet: 11.4 × 8.7 cm (woodcut); 27.7 × 15 cm (sheet). bm (1876-5-10-619) © the trustees of the british museum

tion.” A woodcut showing the Calf before the short-lived pope Adrian iv again suggests this surrogacy. Luther never argued in front of a pope, and few early sixteenth-century woodcuts imagine this situation, preferring to compare the pontiff with Christ. Though Monk Calf was a powerful symbol of Luther’s opposition to the papacy, it is unlikely it argued or even appeared in front of the pope either. Luther’s rhetoric dealt with abnormal bodies throughout his career. Printing helped spread the news of deformed “prodigies,” offering the Protestants unnatural creatures whose composite forms could be seen as works of God, the

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Devil, or both. As mentioned earlier, the religious who disagreed with Luther were depicted in broadsheets with animal masks as early as the 1520s. These metaphorical commentaries with their subtle puns were not easily understood by broad, uninitiated audiences. The messages of fully participatory flap prints were simpler to grasp intellectually and physically. Luther’s account of the Monk Calf uses the language of both his masks and the practice of anatomy, by comparing the portent’s legs, posterior, and other mismatched parts to the ungainly lumping together of the Catholic clergy. The whole Calf offers a corrective to the Israelites’s mistaken worship of the Golden Calf. Unlike that heathen idol, the Monk Calf is not the devil in disguise, but a wunderzeichen, a miraculous sign, that all the monks and nuns are leading a “false, lying semblance of a pious life.”12 Portents could be interpreted in many ways; the Monk Calf would also be used as a sign of Luther’s transgressions in Catholic broadsheets after his death.13 An earlier anatomy flap print fused Luther’s themes of deformity and bodily confusion even before the advent of the Reformation, reconfirming their presence and urgency in society.14 (Fig. 5.1) Now at the British Museum, this print showcases another composite wonder, which it nicknamed “Elßgred,” born in the small village of Ertingen, Germany in 1512. Elßgred did not possess great beauty but achieved a certain renown, for she was a set of conjoined twins. Her two names—Elizabet and Margareta—combined as easily into one as did her body. The interactive broadsheet enumerated Elßgred’s astonishing features, as if its incantation could work the magic of a disassembling Petrarchan elegy or blazon. (Fig. 5.1a) Two woodcuts printed on either side of a paper slip are hinged into the broadsheet. This contrivance conjoined the frontal and 12

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Auffs erst und zursumma dises zeychens laß dir das keyn schimpff seyn: Das Gott eym kalb das geystlich kleyd, die heilige kutten hatt angezogen. Damit hatt er on zweyffel auff eym hauffen bedeut: das es bald offenbar werden muß, wie die gantze Muncherey und Nonnerey nichts anders sey denn ein falscher lugenhafftiger schein und eußerlich gleyssen eyns geystlichen gottlichen lebens. (Luther, Munchkalb, 1523, lines 20–25) Johann Nass’s 1569 (and 1588) “Ecclesia Militans” broadsheet shows the Monk Calf as part of an Antichristian retinue of various prodigies, explicitly linking it to Luther’s failures in the text. Strauss, 1550–1600, Alexander and Samuel Weissenhorn, no. 2, 1183. British Museum Prints and Drawings Department 1876,0510.619; bsb Einbl. i, 41 (only broadsheet, missing woodcut.) Klaus Walter Littger, “Flugblätter einer Mißgeburt,” Gutenberg Jahrbuch (2003): 74–85. Littger painstakingly establishes a chronology of the four extant broadsheets based on the texts, but does not consider the evidence of the illustrations, which points to the interactive image as the visual prototype for the sheet Littger argues is first. Littger also discusses Albrecht Dürer’s drawing of the twins, dated 1512 (though possibly done later).

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rear views of Elßgred into a single three-dimensional being. Thus, the sheet audaciously presented her naked body to the world, allowing viewers to discover the truth of her malformation for themselves. Though the image was probably not taken from life, the text concertedly attempts to give that impression of verisimilitude. As noted, Elßgred could be inspected at close range from either side, almost as if she were the skeleton sculpture Wechtlin used for his broadsheet.15 Even the flowers on her hilltop perch appear from behind on the verso, confirming the movement of the viewer around Elßgred. While the viewer handles the image, the text situated just behind the print on the right column performs a verbal dissection along the lines of Luther’s interpretation of the Monk Calf. “In the front down to the navel, both were two children and two maids; underneath, they were but one … in front, they had two breasts and two arms/ in the back, another two arms and but one rectum.”16 When the viewer turns over the woodcut to appreciate the succession of her charms, they must focus on each body part separately. The viewer must handle the image of the twins in order to read the entire text, for the inset woodcut obscures about thirty lines when it lies flat on the broadsheet. A second version, now in Eichstätt, printed the views side by side (without moving parts) and added text specifying which view was the recto and verso.17 The fact that an owner has slashed through the image of her pudenda on the front view in this broadsheet suggests a violent reaction to Elßgred’s nudity, or perhaps a preference for interpreting her as a young boy.18 In either case, the focus on a specific body part, the genitalia, eroticizes the image. Though the hand of the viewer permanently marked the static sheet in Eichstätt, the interactive one implicitly requires its own handling. The loss of the woodcut flap from a second impression in Munich may again reflect censure at its frankness. The anonymous poet of the interactive broadsheet states that he paid the child’s mother to turn her over in the crib; for good or ill, it is the viewer who handles her double-sided portrait. Through comparisons to famous historical

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Raphael’s nearly contemporary Three Graces (Musée Condé) similarly shows his divine beings from the front, back, and side. That painting was in fact based on a classical sculpture. “Wie vornen biß an nabel bayd/ Waren zway kind und zway mayd/ Underhalben ains/ … Vornen zwen brüst und zwen arm/ Hindten auch zwen arm ain maß darm/.” ub Eichstätt (collection of the former Staatliche Bibliothek, gs(3) 14-55-3). The Latin song at the top refers to the girls as a “puer,” while possibly required for the meter, suggests that the woodcut with its hand-cut lettering of the names of the girls was a later addition, and not seen by the writer.

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misbirths from Ravenna and Worms, the poet desires to show Elßgred’s significance as positive, and thus avoid the normal predictions of war and strife. References to the Emperor Maximilian suggest a preemptive military agenda—of heading off the threatening Turks before they invade. The Italian artist Agnolo Bronzino produced a double-sided portrait of a Medici dwarf which functioned in much the same way as this precursor to the flap anatomy prints. This was not the extent of Bronzino’s interest in deformity: about 1536, he painted a now-lost portrait of a pair of Italian conjoined twins and observed the dissection of the body after their death.19 Clearly there was scientific as well as religious interest in these creatures. As the Monk Calf was not the first prodigy to stand on his hind legs like a man, but remain an animal, the question of soul did not enter Luther’s discussion of that portent, nor did anyone think to dissect its body to look for one. Two other extant sheets about Elßgred demur at pinpointing her significance: “Was das bedeüth weiß der almechtig got,” (only) “the almighty God knows what it means.” The Eichstätt copy of the interactive sheet does claim that because the pair gazes peacefully at each other, as anyone can see (in the illustration), they will not bring conflict: “Dan das sicht gar wol iederman/ Das sie einander sehen an.” Only a creature with a single body but two antagonistic minds signals the war, death, and destruction common to other misbirths. Luther used similar language in interpreting the Monk Calf’s mismatched parts as separate sects of the Church: “So vil kopffe, so mancherley opinion sind da,” “there are as many opinions as there are heads.” The author of the interactive sheet repeats this cheery message, but simultaneously insists on the distinct character of the two girls. One of them laughed at him, while the other slept, the poet says. This is also the only sheet which explains that despite her summarizing nickname, she was indeed baptized with her two names: Elizabet and Margareta.20 Thus her two heads contain two souls, even though she shares one stomach as the seat of the “lower” soul. The sheet seems to end by warning the viewer not to misinterpret skin-deep appearances. There is always a temptation for people to behave like animals, whether or not they are shaped like them. Indeed, though most men may be perfectly formed in God’s image, some turn into the wild men reportedly terrorizing the countryside, as Lucas Cranach

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Fredrika H. Jacobs, The Living Image in Renaissance Art (Cambridge University Press: 2005), 155. Littger does not realize that Dürer probably saw the interactive broadsheet, as his note mentions their baptism quite similarly. Clearly this tidbit made an impression and is not as anecdotal as it may seem.

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the Elder’s contemporary woodcut of a so-called “Werewolf” implied.21 As Elßgred’s flap broadsheet suggested, “Der their findt man under uns vil”; “The animal can be found within many of us;” especially under our deceiving human skin.22

Shaming the Papacy and Its Opponents Just as Elßgred proved relatively harmless as a portent, the format of her interactive broadsheet does not seem to have directly inspired any further images. Another flap print format known from before the anatomy broadsheets was more influential in the long run than Elßgred—the Faltblatt (folding sheet), also known as the Klappverwandlung (flap transformation), which remained popular in Germany into the nineteenth century.23 The Germanisches Nationalmuseum (gnm) may own the earliest surviving print of this type: a curious, postcard-sized folding woodcut with its alternating views of a generic monk, nun, doctor and scholar.24 (Fig. 5.2) The latter would have been identifiable to contemporaries as Martin Luther. As will become evident, the woodcut may have been published as early as 1526 to protest Luther’s marriage the previous June to Katharina van Bora—a nun whom he had helped escape from the convent. The brightly-colored sheet is printed on both front and back, with two flaps that fold over onto either side. The upper flap transforms each figure’s identity (from monk to nun; from doctor to scholar), while the lower flap removes their garments from the waist down. The result may be one of the most inventive examples of early modern Catholic propaganda known today. The sheet sadly lacks a context, for there is no sign that it was ever tipped into a broadsheet like Elßgred. (Fig. 5.1) In fact, the flaps’ upward and downward motion would have made the print difficult to maneuver unless it was held entirely in the hand. Thus, the woodcut may have been sold as a self-sufficient polemical toy that—

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Geisberg (xi, 4); ca. 1512. “Der their findt man under uns vil/ Welchs ich also beweren wil/ Sy werffen menschen haupter hyn/ Nemen an der wilden tier syn/ Leben wie wild tier menschen wild/ Und seind geschaffen noch gottes bild.” Yasmin Doosry, Käufliche Gefühle: Kulturgeschichtliche Spaziergange im Germanischen Nationalmuseums 7. Nürnberg: gnm, 2004. gnm hb 25914. To the author’s knowledge, there are no fifteenth-century secular folding prints, making this woodcut quite possibly the first satirical Faltblatt. Triptychs, canon tables and probably Breverl do survive, as has been noted in Chapter One.

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Sebald Beham? (German, 1500–1550), Anti-Clergy Transformation Woodcut: Doctor, Theologian (Luther?), Monk, Nun, Nuremberg, ca. 1526. Handcolored woodcut with four folding flaps: 12.7×10.1cm ( folded sheet). © gnm (hb25914)

unlike the Breverl’s devotional act of opening and closing—manually protested Luther’s meteoric rise and his recent marriage. This format could be used for any message. Wolfgang Meyerpeck would frame his retort to the Jesuits as a Faltblatt etching around 1569, while the genre

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figure 5.3a–c

Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), The Pope; a Carthusian Monk; and an Itinerant Monk, in Hans Sachs?, Das Babstum mit seynen gliedern gemalet und beschrieben, 1526, Aii; Biii; e. Hand-colored woodcuts and letterpress: 19 × 14.5 cm (sheet). nypl (Spencer Coll. Ger. 1526).

also inspired an Italian allegory on love, and an allegory on pride printed by Theodor Galle, both around 1600. The Faltblatt was even adapted to at least one drawing on vellum. The Folger Library’s complex “Elizabethan conceit,’” conceals the Queen’s portrait beneath several rhetorical guises. (Fig. 12.13) These varied, unique survivors suggest that the Faltblatt shape was once common enough not to require separate directions for use, and could therefore have been sold separately. Rainer Schoch of the gnm attributes the folding woodcut in his collection to Sebald or Barthel Beham.25 Supporting evidence for this claim exists in the form of illustrations of the habits of the clergy designed by Sebald Beham around 1526. (Fig. 5.3) These do not have movable parts, but remain relevant for their stylistic and compositional similarity to the gnm sheet. Beham’s woodcuts accompanied an anonymous anticlerical tract (possibly by Hans Sachs) with an introduction and conclusion by Luther: Das Babstum mit seynen gliedern gemalet und beschrieben (The Papacy with its members painted and described). The Nuremberg printer and Vogtherr copyist Hans Guldenmund may have been the printer of this edition.26 Beham’s images are also close copies of the original Cranach school illustrations for the Wittenberg first edition, but neither version contains any overt criticism of its participants. Their

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Discussion at gnm, Nuremberg, August 2002. Christiane Andersson, Charles Talbot, From a Mighty Fortress: Prints, Drawings, and Books in the Age of Luther, 1483–1546 (Detroit Institute of Arts, 1983): exh. cat. no. 205.

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uncritical aspect would be employed to a different end in the gnm sheet. In fact, the Babstum images display the sects so that they may be identified on sight. Luther’s conclusion explains this documentary illustration style, for its subjects are already dissembling by assuming such pious dress. He likens these false appearances of the clergy to the scourge of locusts in Revelation 9:7, which only appear to be crowned in gold: “mit golt ganz gleich.” The clergy relies on clever embellishments of scripture instead of true interpretations. Their recognizable attire only contributes to this hypocrisy—for it suggests that membership in their sects is necessary in order to truly worship God. Although now a rare item, the 1526 Babstum was reprinted with Beham’s blocks and appears to have been common enough to influence costume studies into the late sixteenth century. These included works by Jost Amman, and the Bertelli publishing family in Italy—whose projects will prove to be intrinsically linked to interactive printmaking. Beham’s rendition of the Pope may also have been adopted in the 1550s as the basis of a flap print portrait of Alexander vi. Just as in Luther’s description, the pontiff’s seemingly normal exterior lifts to expose his demonic inner nature. (Fig. 6.9) The Babstum links Beham to the gnm Faltblatt for several stylistic and iconographic reasons, the most compelling of which is the seeming lack of criticism upon which Luther expounded. Robert Scribner and others have discussed the gnm woodcut as a Catholic invention due to the spectacled scholar’s slight resemblance to Luther—thus enlarging the small group of inventive antiLutheran propaganda extant.27 Scribner does note that the woodcut would have been ambiguous to those who did not make the connection with Luther and his wife. This ambivalence may have been intended by its author and publisher. Though Beham had already depicted Luther recognizably in at least two Protestant broadsheets in 1525, he may have chosen to keep the resemblance superficial in the gnm Faltblatt so that it could be enjoyed by Protestants as well as Catholics.28 Although no scholarship has convincingly linked Beham’s politics with his art, he was briefly banished from Nuremberg for deviant religious views in 1525.29 His return by 1526 left a narrow window open for the project

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Rainer Schoch, print curator emeritus of the gnm, doesn’t believe the scholar figure represents Martin Luther. Without this focal point, the conceit would fall flat and become a generic critique of the carnality of the Catholic clergy. Scribner, Simple Folk, 234–235, and Andersson, Polemical Prints, 54–57, convincingly disagree. Beham’s “Fall of the Papacy,” (Geisberg/Strauss no. 204; Hollstein German 231) and “Luther and the Artisans,” (Geisberg/Strauss, no. 238, Hollstein German 238), both date to ca. 1525. One attempt to link Beham’s art and politics was made by Herbert Zschelletzschky,

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before his final departure in 1530. Again, the connection to Luther’s recent nuptials suggests 1526 as a plausible date. As an artist for hire, Beham designed religious material for Catholic and Protestant audiences alike, from devotional images and canon tables to printed instruments and satirical broadsheets. His probable printer Guldenmund was never cast out of the city, but was frequently incarcerated for offensive publishing projects. These included Guldenmund’s edition of the radical Lutheran Andreas Osiander’s Eyn wunderliche Wyssagung von dem Babstum in 1527, which prophesied the downfall of the papacy. The similarity of the gnm work to the 1526 Babstum, which Guldenmund may have published anonymously, suggests these works were produced nearly simultaneously. Guldenmund was a Briefmaler (illuminator) by trade as well as a printer, and seems to have colored nearly his entire output, including the anatomy sheets. The boldly-painted gnm Faltblatt particularly suggests the use of stencils—in the displacement of the monk and doctor’s facial hair—and thus a fairly extensive edition of the woodcut. (Fig. 5.2) If Guldenmund contributed to developing and popularizing the interactive Faltblatt as well as his copied anatomy broadsides, he could be seen as a direct link between the imagery of the flap anatomies and propaganda prints. Indeed, Guldenmund would pirate Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder’s ideas in 1539 for his own anatomical fugitive sheets and pamphlet. Guldenmund’s choice to use a single skin flap for those prints (with the organs represented on a flat plane beneath)—instead of Vogtherr’s multiple flaps—suggests an extension of the Beham Faltblatt. Though the gnm flaps remove the clothes rather than the flesh of the figures, the substitution of the same legs for both pairs, male and female alike, is also reminiscent of Vogtherr’s streamlined production process.30 As suggested earlier, Guldenmund’s main iconographical change to the original was his recasting of the figures as Adam and Eve. His Adam held an apple, Eve a wilting flower, and both sported fig-leaf flaps over their movable nether regions.31 By drawing attention to his figures’ sinful awareness of their

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Die “Drei gottlosen Maler” von Nürnberg: Sebald Beham, Barthel Beham u. Georg Pencz: histor. Grundlagen u. ikonolog. Probleme ihrer Graphik zu Reformations- u. Bauernkriegszeit. (Leipzig: Seemann, veb, 1975). As already discussed, Vogtherr used one block for the female figure, simply adding the man’s head to the flap for his skin, as well as supplying the figures with different generative organs. Carlino 5. The Guldenmund original also included letterpress text directly copied from Vogtherr with inset woodcuts of the organs. Pair in Vienna. mak-Österreichisches Museum für angewandte Kunst (k.i. 2559-1; 2559-2).

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bodies and sexuality, Guldenmund supplied the anatomy genre with a subtext more explicit than Vogtherr’s clinical version. Guldenmund dabbled in pornography as well as biblical nudity. The barelyshielded genitalia of Beham’s gnm figures suggest the printer’s willingness to flout publishing statutes. In fact, Nuremberg council records show that Guldenmund constantly defended his less savory projects, including a “schandlich buchlein,” showing scenes of unusual lovemaking, which Peter Parshall suspects may have been a reprint of Giulio Romano and Marcantonio Raimondi’s scandalous Modi.32 That work circulated a decade later, during the mid 1530s, so it is likely unrelated to the gnm woodcut. Beham’s Faltblatt may yet have provoked a similarly scandalized reaction—for those who missed the connection to Luther, the scenes could seem sacrilegious. Indeed, whether the viewer was Catholic or Protestant, the woodcut remained obscene. When the viewer lifts the flap with the monk’s upper body, for instance, a nun’s torso appears beneath him. (Fig. 5.2c–d) This may be an attempt to ridicule Luther’s bride Katharina van Bora for leaving her order. Whether or not she was recognized as such, the stacking order intimates significant sexual tension, considering the fact that many contemporary illustrations showed nuns and monks riding suggestively on each others’ backs, and even caught in the act of fornication.33 When Beham’s Katharina drops the lower flap, her skirts disappear; so do those of the scholar, doctor, and monk. For Luther’s followers, the insult only intensified as their leader was exposed before their eyes. The woodblocks used for the gnm folding print are less evenly carved as those in the Babstum, but they similarly present a single figure in attire that is specific to the point of stereotype. Just as he avoided the distinct facial features of Luther or Katharina, Beham could have easily identified his monk and nun. Yet he did not specify a particular order for his religious. That decision allows the print’s interchangeable parts the greatest flexibility, allowing the monk and the nun to share one pair of legs and one lower tunic—or skirt, as do the scholar and the doctor. While latter pair have distinct attributes in their urine sample and glasses, the devotional props of the monk and nun are communal. Thus, they hold the same rosary, and lean on one walking stick to spare their bare feet. This imagery suggests that the monk is a member of an itinerant beggar order, but his beard and cowl do not match any of Beham’s Bapstum illustrations precisely.

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Landau and Parshall, 225. Heinrich Aldegrever, Bartsch 178–179 (the former is a copy after Georg Pencz).

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Likewise, the urine bulb and the glasses are common attributes. Reading glasses made their wearers an easy comedic mark. Pieter Breughel’s myopes are perhaps the most memorable examples censuring those too studious to note the world around them, though spectacles appear consistently on fools almost since their invention. Busy humanists admittedly required such visual aid, especially considering the low light levels afforded by candlelight.34 No fewer than six pairs of glasses owned by Nuremberg humanist Willibald Pirckheimer were recovered from behind the wall of his study when it was moved to the Wartburg fortress in Eisenach in the nineteenth century. Martin Luther was not depicted with spectacles in formal portraits by Lucas Cranach the Elder, but the Wittenberg Altarpiece of 1547 showed him in a pulpit. There he points to the mental image of the Crucifixion which he has conjured up for his congregation, his other index finger still keeping his place in a book. In the gnm woodcut, Luther holds his doctor’s cap in the same hand as the Bible, with his glasses perched precariously on his nose. He has stopped in the midst of reading and lecturing. Although his hand gestures would normally underline an element of scripture, here the slightly indistinct fingers of his left hand clench the scant remaining cloth between his legs. (Fig. 5.2a) Now much abraded through opening and closing at this central point, his hand could either be read as a fist, or as with one finger pointing between his wide-spread legs. Carved with a clearer gesture, the image of Katharina van Bora offers a simple stereotype instead of a lewd portrait. The nun shares the lower half of the monk’s attire, including his dusty wandering feet. Though sisters did occasionally help the community outside their convent, there were no intentionally itinerant female sects. In this context, Katharina might be seen as a nun who had ignored her elders’ cautions not to take to the road as a pilgrim, for fear she would have to resort to prostitution to support herself.35 The gnm woodcut only facilitates loosening her drawers, though its folding mechanism counter-intuitively requires the viewer to drop the flap, instead of lifting the garment. However, as the print makes clear, the main threat to her virginity actually lay within the religious orders themselves: the monk positioned

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Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini, later Pope Pius ii, was one of the first readers of Gutenberg’s type trials for the 42-line Bible, and he recommended the new invention in at least two letters to a friend. The surviving letter, from March 1455, describes the type as “easy to read without glasses.” This document was first published by Erich Meuthen, “Ein neues frühes Quellenzeugnis (zu Oktober 1454?) für den ältesten Bibeldruck,” Gutenberg Jahrbuch (1982), 108–118. Rudy, 61, notes that St. Boniface was particularly set against women pilgrims for this reason.

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directly atop her, and the theological scholar on the obverse who would coax her out of her order and into marriage. Like the apes with their joint navel discussed in the Introduction, the monk and the nun share this same lower body. The hand printed on the outside lower flap grasps a cane, precisely obscuring the genitalia when that flap descends. The pair of naked legs beneath cling decorously close together, no doubt a pointed contrast to the wide-spread limbs supporting the men on the opposite side. The monk-nun’s hips look larger and more feminine in contrast. The rosary the monk and the nun hold twists halfway around as the lower flap descends. The underlying view shows the pendant cross frontally, rather than from the side, further underscoring the tactility of the print itself. Indeed, the fact that the nun appears to be in the midst of her prayers and fingers a bead from her rosary turns into a more sexualized image when her lowered skirts reveal the positioning of her other hand. Though she could simply be shielding her sex from public view, the ambiguous placement of her fingers suggests the more explicit connotations of the Venus d’Urbino from a few years later, around 1538. As a rosary was sometimes depicted as a wreath of red and white roses for the joys and sorrows of the Virgin, this devotional prop parallels the wreath of flowers held by that famous Italian temptress-goddess. Not only does the nun point into her thighs with her outer two fingers, as does the doctor-scholar, but her central fingers grasp tightly at her clothing, or possibly her pudenda. Even if the nun is merely holding up her skirt, the implication of her sexual willingness and accessibility is clear. Again, considering the reference to Katharina van Bora, the print’s sexual licentiousness reinforces its Catholic origin. The simple fact that the viewer’s hands do the undressing further strengthens the insult to Luther and his wife. Indeed, ample evidence remains of those busy hands. Several well-worn areas suggest this unique impression of the woodcut was well used, although there is no evidence that the nun was revealed any more frequently than the doctor or the scholar. The higher survival rate of female anatomy sheets may suggest a greater demand for them as pin-ups of a medical fashion, while flap prints of courtesans in the later sixteenth century betray repeat viewings when parts of their engraved skirts have been worn down to the paper.36 Breakage appears especially at the ends of the flaps, and across the center, where it may have been folded for discreet storage in a small book. If Guldenmund himself

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The Berlin Lipperheide Kostumbibliothek’s Cortigiana Veneta, plate seven of Pietro Bertelli’s 1589 Diversaru[m] Nationum Habitus is but one example.

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produced the Faltblatt around 1526, it might have worsened his punishment for printing Osiander’s tract on the papacy the following year. The gnm work’s religious affiliations were complicated by its stylistic closeness to the Babstum. Beham’s generic depictions of the monk and nun somewhat distances it from Luther’s remarks in that text, for they were directed toward the hypocrisy of identifiable orders. Though he might have approved of the bawdy nature of Beham’s images, they are too plainly sexual to turn Luther’s idea of false appearances against him. Luther made no secret of his views on marriage in the church, nor his appetites—particularly for food and drink— and as already noted, he frequently used crude and scatological imagery in his Tischreden. These remarks he made even in the presence of his loving wife, whose many admirable qualities included a knack for brewing beer. Thus, Beham’s gnm Faltblatt may have exposed Martin Luther, but it served only as a superficial precursor to the anatomy-inspired polemical flap sheets.

chapter 6

Indecent Exposure to the Anatomically Incorrect Though the boldest antitheses of good and evil opposed Christ to his inverted self, the Antichrist, and Luther followed Jan Hus’s lead in linking that individual with the pope, the blame did not rest entirely on St. Peter’s successors. The behavior of the entire body of the Catholic Church was also at fault, down to each hypocritical member. Though not every failed churchman was the devil per se, each wore his own mask. As Luther put it in a Tischreden speech on the Christian life (Hazlitt trans. dcxcvii), “A Christian’s worshiping is not the external, hypocritical mask that our spiritual friars wear, when they chastise their bodies, torment and make themselves faint, with ostentatious fasting, watching, singing, wearing hair shirts, scourging themselves, etc. Such worshiping God desires not.” Although many of the popular visual conventions used by polemical flap prints were introduced by Luther in the 1520s and revisited in his 1545 Depiction of the Papacy sheets, the most influential interactive versions appeared after anatomy flap prints became widespread. Like the Guldenmund and Bos subset of these anatomies, most Protestant flap prints have one flap, which lifts the skin or another dissembling layer. The emphasis is more allegorical than the Vogtherr-Vesalius versions with multiple layers of organs. The Guldenmund message only requires the lifting of a curtain. Thus, the complexity of God’s creation becomes clear in a single view, as does the need to understand it through one’s own body. These polemical works still rely on diametric oppositions as did the Passional Christi und Antichristi. Yet they dissect the subjects into layers rather than compare them superficially, thus showing their inherent evil much more dramatically than two-dimensional images. Sebald Beham’s semi-erotic exposé of Martin Luther and the priesthood focuses on sexual intercourse as rudely as later interactive prints that dwell on other bodily functions. However, like the anatomy prints, Beham’s flaps do not uncover fantastical or apocalyptic bodies. Their only deformity is lewd nakedness. In subsequent works the shame remains, but it becomes exponentially worse when coupled with accusations of biblical proportions. Like Schandbilder and carnivalesque masks, these prints invert reality. Rather than disguising figures with symbolic animal heads or removing their clothes, they instead allow the viewer to strip away the masks of flesh to reveal the true beast within.

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The Interim Devil Bolder polemical interactive works began to appear in an increasing number of vernaculars after the subtly Protestant flap anatomies became a widespread phenomenon in 1538–1539. One explanation for this greater audience is its more startling, direct approach, because after Luther’s death, his followers in Germany were offered no clear guidance. A reiteration of Luther’s basic principles was necessary, while the irresistible new format of flap prints helped sell the sheets. The interactive print continued its general attacks on the clergy while beginning to focus on specific doctrinal issues as well. While the entire lineage of popes had often been equated with the Antichrist, interactive works renewed the concept’s bite. Under the auspices of the most creative critics, the flap print permitted scathing commentaries on matters of a pressing political nature. The Interim was one such matter. Charles v opened the Augsburg Diet in June 1547 on a victorious note by parading the Protestant leaders he had captured at Mühlberg, though they were not privy to the debates on the religious fate of Germany. Printing performed an active role in the Diet’s aftermath, for most reformers learned its outcome second-hand through pamphlets and illustrated broadsheets. Philipp Melanchthon admitted that even he did not see the preface to the imperial edict Charles v issued when the Diet ended in August 1548.1 Known as the Augsburg Interim, as its name suggests, the decree meant to temporarily reconcile the two faiths.2 Yet many Protestants saw it as an attempt to reinstate Catholic practices permanently. Hope for the Reformation seemed universally dire: Interim is a booke whiche was at ye Emperoures Maiesties commaundment prynted and put forth about the begynning of June, in this yere of our Saviours birthe 1548, wherin is commaunded that al the cities in Dutchlande that have receaved the worde of god, and made a chaunge of ceremonyes accordying to the word shal reforme their churches agayne,

1 Philipp Melanchthon, Bedanken auffs Interim des Ehrwirdigen und Hochgelehrten Herrn Philipp Melanchthonis. June 16, 1548, Magdeburg, Aiir. 2 Charles v published the demands of the Diet held in Augsburg from September 1547 to June 1548 as the Declaration of the Holy Roman Imperial Majesty on How Matters are to be Managed in the Holy Empire until the Settlement of a Common Council. Although the Interim was abandoned at the Peace of Augsburg in 1555, the Council of Trent was not officially concluded until January 1564.

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and turne to the olde popische ordinaunces as a dog dothe to that he hathe spued out, or a washen swyne to the myre.3 Luther’s seeming heir, Melanchthon, compounded this unease by contradictorily cooperating with the doctrine, then writing a number of private letters against it. When his critique of the Interim was mysteriously published without his consent, Melanchthon tore up a copy in the presence of the elector of Saxony.4 The above quote from an extended English translation expresses the very public desire to understand his motives. Melanchthon’s Bedanken auffs Interim appeared in mid-July, barely a month after the Interim, and the English translation followed on the first of August. The introduction explains that the work has been published to deny that the thinker has “recanted,” as was widely feared.5 In the text, Melanchthon explicitly rejects the decree that the Interim should not be questioned, and outlines all of the unacceptable changes—from the order to celebrate the Mass in Latin, complete with the uninterpreted Eucharistic prayer—to the insistence on the Elevation. To the Gnesio-, or new, Lutherans—especially Matthias Flacius Illyricus, the presumed publisher of Melanchthon’s tract—the heir apparent’s public attempts to salvage the faith diverged too much from Luther’s words, even if his private statements proved less accommodating. In fact, later that year, Melanchthon would abandon the cherished Lutheran concept of sola fides, and pen the revised Leipzig version of the Interim. Despite his substantial objections to the earlier text, this draft included no significant changes. While the initial Interim ostensibly gave the Protestants the right to offer Communion in both kinds and to allow priests to marry, papal dispensation was tacitly required.6 Melanchthon attempted to protect the Word, which was so central to Evangelical belief, but other innovations were also at stake. No liturgy had been developed, and the Protestants feared having the old one imposed by the

3 A Waying and Considering of the Interim by the honourworthy and highly learned Philip Melanchthon. Translated into Englyshe by John Rogers, August 1, 1548 [London], a iijv. 4 Melanchthon, Bedanken, Diiiv; Olson, Matthias Flacius, 96. 5 Waying, Aiiir. “Because I with great griefe have nowe often heard (most dere Reader) that ye highly learned and no lesse godly, jentle and loving man Philip Melanchthon is highlye belyed, in that a great sorte openly saye that he hath deneyed the trueth, or (that I maye use their owne wordes) recanted (whiche theyng they saye onelye to hyndre the furtheranunce of Gods trueth) I coulde do no lesse, but turne into our Englysche speache, and also put out, this litle treatise of his …” 6 Olson, Matthias Flacius, 85.

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imperial government. An excerpt of the Leipzig Interim, printed in Dresden in August 1549, showed that Melanchthon gained no ground, but enabled the governmental intrusion: “Besides an obligatory fast on Friday, passed off as secular law—Melanchthon’s suggestion—it required […]: psalm singing, elevation of the Host, the feast of Corpus Christi, and the surplice.”7 While less theologically important than the liturgy, the ill-defined category of adiaphora proved especially contentious. These “non-essentials” had not been forbidden or commanded in the Bible, and thus depended on tradition rather than scripture. One such change was ostensibly cosmetic: preachers should again wear the customary white alb, (Chorrock, or choir robe, in German). The garment did not have to be lavishly decorated, but they had to be worn. The insistence on this point was a calculated move, for the surplice had become a much-despised sign of the Catholic Mass in the North. Augsburg inhabitants “swore that they would never again hear a sermon from a preacher in an alb,” and the garment had been officially prohibited since 1536 in Württemberg.8 As the Gnesio-Lutheran pamphleteer and theologian Matthias Flacius Illyricus noted, the act of reinstating the surplice was itself a blatant form of propaganda, for parishioners were much more likely to see this obvious symbol of Catholicism during the service than they were to interpret changes to the liturgy. Turning the debated liturgical garment back into printed propaganda, specifically interactive propaganda, was an even more brilliant move. Flacius centered his boldest Interim protest on this very issue. Popular despite the complexity of its theological message, two editions of this broadsheet survive in a total of three impressions. Two retain their idiosyncratic flap—an enormous Chorrock covering the central third of the woodcut.9 (Fig. 6.1) Flacius, a professor of Hebrew at Wittenberg, had once been Melanchthon’s student. He intentionally raised awareness about the differences between Luther’s teachings and Melanchthon’s by publishing letters between the two theologians. Flacius also objected to the fact that Melanchthon remained at Wittenberg after the staunchly evangelical Elector of Saxony, Johann Friedrich, had been stripped of his title and imprisoned by Charles v in 1547. Fleeing to Magdeburg in the spring of 1548, Flacius was able to use some of the last free 7 Olson, Matthias Flacius, 139. 8 Paul Drewes, Der evangelische Geistliche in der deutschen Vergangenheit (Jena: E. Diederichs, 1905), 38. 9 The Albertina (in good condition) and Munich Graphische Sammlung (not seen) have flaps; the Augsburg Staats- und Stadtbibliothek impression (Einbl. nach 1500, no. 257) lost its flap, though remnants show it was applied after the sheet was colored. Strauss 1550–1600, Kempf no. 10, 507, shows the Albertina woodcut.

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figure 6.1 Pancratius Kempf (German, active 1548–1570) and Matthias Flacius Illyricus (German, 1520–1575), views of Anti-Interim Broadsheet: The Innocent Choir Robe (Der unschuldigen Adiaphoristen Chorrock), 1549. Hand-colored woodcut with choir robe (alb) shaped flap: 29.5 × 36 cm (sheet). albertina (dg1984_168); Second impression (missing flap): 27.8 × 36 cm (woodcut); 30.1 × 38.1cm (sheet). susb augsburg (Einblattdr. nach 1500, Nr. 257).

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presses to produce dozens of publications, some during the 1550 siege of the town by the new Saxon Elector Maurice. Flacius published at the two main printing houses, Christian Rödinger and Michael Lotter, where he worked as a supervisor. Magdeburg was the main German city that criticized the Interim, and it is likely there that Flacius illegally printed Melanchthon’s tract on the topic, rather than in newly-censored Wittenberg.10 Flacius’s flap broadsheet followed, along with a barrage of shorter polemical texts. Many of these works adopt simple language, exhorting the reader to follow Luther’s example. The clarity of Flacius’s statements only increased with didactic woodcuts by former members of the Cranach workshop, whom he may have known in Wittenberg. Although Flacius’s texts also appeared on some propaganda broadsheets with pre-existing blocks, he likely worked closely with the Monogrammist bp on a new illustration for his flap broadsheet.11 Whether editing documents, or writing his own pamphlets and illustrated sheets, his output continued at a frenzied pace: “Flacius was convinced that if he did not keep on writing, the truth would be suppressed.”12 While the idea that minor concessions to the Interim would lead to greater doctrinal defeats made sense to theologians, convincing the public required more vivid imagery. Word and image play became key. The Interim was not to be trusted, because it “had the devil behind it,” (literally hinter- im). In the interactive broadsheet, this simple theme intersects with Flacius’s well-documented obsession with publishing illicit manuscripts.13 Lifting the massive alb flap reveals a demon, though not in as compromising a position as the figures in Beham’s interactive woodcut. As if momentarily exposed by the viewer, the monster beneath the alb covers himself again—this time with a placard. (Fig. 6.1a) Abbreviated letterpress in the lower margin deftly aligned with the monster’s right foot assigns the sign’s ironic text to Flacius. The brightly-colored talons and hooked tail extend substantially beyond the alb, while a razor-sharp horn ascends from its collar. The real surprise beneath is the text itself. Covering the sign with the alb only increases its importance, as no explanatory verses appear outside the woodcut. The devil’s message becomes correspondingly

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Olson, Matthias Flacius, 96, 98. Pancratz Kempff published Cranach the Younger’s comparison of the Protestant and Catholic Faiths, with substantial Flacius texts beneath., n.d. Kempff also published a series of Cranach blocks in memorial to the former Elector of Saxony, Johann Friedrich and his wife, Sibylla, who died in 1554. Eduard Schmid, “Des Flacius Erbsünde-Streit” Zeitschrift für Historische Theologie xix (1849): 239. Olson, Matthias Flacius, 147–151.

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more secretive, and its controversial cover perverts the manuscript tradition of protecting religious miniatures with fabric curtains. No other known flap print does this for a text. Once revealed, the satanic message argues every major Interim controversy from the point of view of its supporting devil, handily dispensing with “faith alone” and “good works,” for the more peaceful unity of papal ceremonies. These concessions are belittled as “innocent adiaphora,” echoing the devil’s eponymous alter ego seen in the external flap, the seemingly “Innocent Adiaphoristic Choir Robe.” The text directly contradicts Flacius’s well-known view that, “Nihil esse adiaphoron in casu confessionis et scandalis”: In the situation of confession and incitement to sin, nothing is an adiaphoron.14 Although the text mentions the Augsburg Interim outright, the sheet responds to excerpts of the Leipzig Interim which were published in August 1549.15 The sign alludes to each of Melanchthon’s major concessions at that time: sole fides; the subordination of preachers to the highest bishop, the pope; the Corpus Christi feast with a monstrance on parade, and even the restored ban on eating meat on Friday. “The devil’s prohibition of eating meat should be immediately reimposed over the entire church, though under a pretense.” Flacius’s snide use of the term Schein (or pretense) may refer to Melanchthon’s politic suggestion that the Friday fast could be enforced through secular law. While the hidden Interim devil commands the viewer’s initial attention, his text panel also serves to divide the figures on either side into Flacius’s strict categories of adiaphoristic good and evil. The preacher wearing an alb on the right accepts the flap-robe’s “Apology,” from the sign hanging above: “It is but only a white dress, about which one fights so vehemently.” Allowing the alb would have saved the nation’s honor and the lives of its citizens ten times over; the eight converts point to the flap, and actively calculate the many advantages of healing the rift between Germany and Rome. On the left, four so-called Stoic preachers hold fast to the “Answer,” as if their sweeping arm gestures could drive the problem away: “But, one must understand, that under this white flag, under this angelic dress, a black devil lies entombed.” In the Munich Graphische Sammlung impression, the abstaining group on the left bears nearly illegible annotations above their heads.16 Three names 14 15

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Olson, Matthias Flacius, 133. The little-known Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg impression survived in an equally rare volume—Martin Schrot and David de Negker’s Zerstörung des Babstum, which may have been published as early as 1550. The available reproduction (non-photographic) of this impression, from Drewes, 39, is not very clear. The original may not have survived wwii.

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follow a capital “d,” suggesting that though there are no obvious portraits in the woodcut, its owner mistakenly identified the figures with the theologians Philipp (Melanchthon)—the central beardless figure—as well as Aurifaber and Eber. Flacius would not have condoned this generous interpretation of the compromisers. By erecting the alb flap as a tangible bridge between these two groups, Flacius decries the dangerous slope of minor concessions to the Interim as clearly as the demon’s text recommends it: “One can well find a middle way, so that one may serve two masters, and maintain both Christ and the godless world with profit.” Stating that “what one sees moves one more than what one hears,” Flacius was keenly aware of the power of his illustration as well as his text. To influence the public, “One must explain the matter to them with all diligence, magnify it, and inform them with powerful and moving words and picture the matter before their eyes.”17 The Monogrammist bp had already illustrated a broadsheet on the Interim for the Magdeburg Briefmaler Pancratz Kempff with a different type of Interim beast. Flacius probably collaborated with the artist, using the previous sheet as the basis for his Alb, and adding the flap.18 The resulting compositions are quite similar. Nearly identically ornamented frames holding text or music are organized around each central diabolical figure. The Kempff sheet attacks the singing of psalms, rather than the alb, substituting for lyrics

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Christina Hasslinger, “Die religiöse Propaganda des Matthias Flacius Illyricus und seiner Epigonen” (PhD diss., Universität Wien, 1970): 23 f., 112. Geisberg/Strauss, Master bp g. 928, Strauss 1550–1600, Kempf, nos. 1 and 10, 502; 507. Although Strauss reattributed both sheets to Kempff, Geisberg’s assignation of the woodcuts to the Monogrammist bp should be restored. The little-known Staats- and Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg impression of the Chorrock sheet includes a publisher’s by-line omitted from the other known edition, naming Christian Rödinger, not Kempff. The Albertina Kempff and Augsburg Flacius impressions were likely colored in the same workshop, however, as they use almost precisely the same colors. It is possible that Kempff was the only Briefmaler active in Magdeburg. Rödinger could have employed him or his workshop for the Flacius sheets even while Kempff was producing his own sheet on the Interim. Indeed, the Kempff and Rödinger sheets at the Albertina are colored in strikingly similar tones. The gnm Kempff sheet uses the same stencil and colors as the Albertina one, but its washes are much more diffuse, perhaps suggesting it was a later issue still using the same stencil. Further study of such workshop practices may reduce some of the confusion about Magdeburg printing. Flacius has been documented as collaborating with the Monogrammist bp in the 1550s on at least two publications. Olson, Matthias Flacius, 181. Their pamphlet “attacking the Erfurt Franciscan Konrad Kling,” and a longer text, “the Book of Conformities between Christ and St. Francis by Bartholomaeus of Pisa.”

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the commonplace warning not to “trust the Interim because it has the devil behind it.” These lyrics are repeated for the tonal ranges of an entire choir, though it does not belabor this verbal association; only two figures wear actual Chorröcke, and only half of each garment is visible. In both prints, the righthand preacher wears the alb, but though each scene appears in front of bricks, Flacius’s wall recedes in the center, enlarging its depth in preparation for its monstrous occupant. The Kempff sheet monster belches flame atop a half column, but despite the pyrotechnics, the shallow space only accentuates its miniature stature. After the addition of the alb-flap, Flacius’s most important visual alteration to the first Interim broadsheet was the appearance of his devil. Although the image of an Interim dragon had become standard representation of the devil in Magdeburg propaganda, he claimed he “never had a dragon, or dragon-head painted.”19 The Kempff sheet showcases that distinctive three-headed beast (with the faces of an angel, the Pope, and a Turk), which was seen everywhere from prints, to reliefs on steins, to Magdeburg medallions.20 Though the devil behind the alb isn’t the dragon, it too derives from a famous source. It is based on Albrecht Dürer’s Devil from his 1513 Knight, Death, and the Devil engraving, though there is no mention of this in the literature. (Fig. 6.7) The Augsburg impression of Flacius’s broadsheet is now missing its flap, allowing a clearer view of the entire face of the monster, its fiery eyes and twisted horns. (Fig. 6.1a) Dürer’s figure was known to reappear in several different contexts. The Devil occupied a cage as part of a comical carnival float in the Antwerp publisher Willem Liefrink’s large-scale mural woodcut of a children’s procession in 1536, which was likely designed by Jan Wellens de Cock.21 A volvelle from 1556, discussed below, would sample both the Devil and Death with an awareness of their evangelical potential. In Flacius’s woodcut, where the devil has been singled out to address the viewer, the connotations become more personal.

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Matthias Flacius, Bericht von tetlichen Artikeln der christlichen Lehr and von seinem Leben, aund endlich auch von den Adiaphorischen Handlungen, wider die Falschen Gedicht der Adiaphoristen (Jena: Thomas Rebart, 1559), h Ii r. A 1555 etching by Melchior Lorch exists (Passavant iv 182, 28), in which the beast appears to have legs and a more standard torso, covered by a cloak fastened with a toad. The continuing popularity of the latter is made clear by the fact it was later copied by Jost Amman (Halle Inv. no. f 430) and monogrammist i.w.g. (Köln). Jan van der Stock, Printing Images in Antwerp: the Introduction of Images in Antwerp, Fifteenth Century to 1585. Beverly Jackson, trans. (Rotterdam: Sound & Vision Interactive, 1998), 132.

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In this context, the devil stands opposite the viewer’s Christian Knight, rather than behind him, and implicitly urges him to take up his own vita activa. As Flacius suggests, with God’s grace, the viewer can finish what Luther started—at least once he has begun by lifting the flap. The idealized knight of Dürer’s engraving stoically ignored the specters in his wake, but the viewer of Flacius’s sheet could have noticed its proto-Protestant implications. In his diary almost a decade later, Dürer referred to his engraving, exhorting another great thinker, Erasmus, to commit himself to the intellectual battle of salvaging the new faith. Luther, the knight errant Erasmus would replace, was in hiding but presumed dead.22 Though no longer attempting to rouse Melanchthon into action, Flacius hoped his original Interim tracts and visual polemics might catalyze the nation on their own.23 His visual borrowing from Dürer lends the alb broadsheet its final attack on Melanchthon’s Leipzig concessions. Like Erasmus, Melanchthon did not commit to defending his faith in Lutheran terms. Instead of becoming a true Evangelical Knight, he gradually bartered away his beliefs, starting with the innocent alb. This reticence was damning, likening Melanchthon not to Luther, but to his worst adversary. As Flacius wrote, “the Adiaphorists say that it has to do only with a surplice, but look at how wide the surplice is, it covers the whole Antichrist.”24 The alb is not mentioned on the sign under its own flap. However, a concluding section in larger type speaking directly for Flacius invokes its powers one last time: “Whoever takes up this evil sign of the Beast,” meaning both the alb and the textual orders beneath it, “he will be bought and sold. Who however, wants to remain a lover of winning, remains contentious Luther’s student. [The 22

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Erwin Panofsky, The Life and Art of Albrecht Dürer (Princeton University Press, reprint 1995), 151–152. “O Erasme Roderodame, where wilt thou take thy stand? Look, of what avail is the unjust tyranny of worldly might and the powers of darkness? Hark, thou Knight of Christ, ride forth at the side of Christ our Lord, protect the truth, obtain the crown of the Martyrs!” The Chorrock sheet confines its letterpress to the title and to the three placards within the image; the mentions of Flacius and Rödinger in the immediate lower margins suggest these represent the entire text. The two published several anti-Interim pamphlets together in 1549; it is possible that the sheet was marketed at that time with a booklet, like Vogtherr’s all-inclusive anatomy kit. The most likely companion work was signed with Flacius’s name rather than a pseudonym, and like the broadsheet, dealt with the Leipzig Interim: Eine schrifft widder ein recht heidnisch ja epicurisch Buch der Adiaphoristen, darin das Leiptzische Interim verteidigt wird, sich zu huten fur den itzigen Verfelschern der waren Religion, sehr nutzlich zu lesen/ Ma. Flacius Illyricus. Olson, Matthias Flacius, 131.

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alb] is guilty of his [Luther’s] death.” Again, Melanchthon is blamed for his conciliatory half measures, which Flacius maps to the literally demonic center of the debate. His core concern reemerges in this last paragraph. Flacius paints the Interim crisis bitterly in Manichean black and white, reflecting his intolerance for a religious climate in which even once-trusted minds capitulated for a temporary peace. For Flacius, no part of saving Luther’s faith was insignificant; Nihil esse adiaphoron. His flap broadsheet was the least trivial of all.

The Headless Swiss Clergy While many polemical prints deformed two-dimensional bodies, and Sebald Beham’s 1526 flap print focused on the nether regions, two Swiss woodcuts from the 1550s used interactive dissection techniques that allowed the viewer to pare away the false faces of the clergy.25 (Figs. 6.2; 6.4) Although no anatomy flap prints are known to have been produced in Switzerland, these works still show their influence. The canton and city of Bern turned Protestant in the 1520s, allowing their star artist, poet, and statesman Niklaus Manuel Deutsch the freedom to create his anti-Catholic plays and artworks in the bawdy style of his contemporary, Urs Graf. The obscene method for recycling indulgences in Manuel’s Todtenfresser mentioned earlier was to be the extent of his interactive printmaking. His son Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch, who wrote carnival plays of his own, would later design two interactive broadsheets calculated to arouse similarly powerful reactions. The first, a woodcut with two flaps from around 1550, bears his monogram hrmd; the second, an unsigned woodcut volvelle dated 1556, should be attributed to him for stylistic and iconographical reasons.26 The former has letterpress text in the margins; in the latter, the two-ply circular

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Strauss, 1550–1600, Appendix d, 1399; John Roger Paas, The German Political Broadsheet, 1600–1700 (Wiesbaden: O. Harrassowitz, 1985): pa-288, reproduces the Bern impression of the Monk woodcut. Guido Messling has tentatively accepted the author’s attribution of the woodcut volvelle and flap prints in his New Hollstein German volumes on Niklaus Manuel and Hans Rudolf Manuel (Deutsch) (hrmd, repectively nos. 2 and 3). The Bern Stadtbibliothek impression of the sheet was pasted onto the front inside cover of a copy of a 1550 Basel edition of Gregory of Nazarinus. B. Aretius’s ownership mark from December 1550, providing a terminus ante quem for the completion of the binding. Although the print may not have been added immediately, Manuel was at his most active in this period, designing numerous city views in 1548 and 1549 for Sebastian Münster’s Cosmographia universalis, which was published in Basel in 1550.

figure 6.2a–c

Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch (Swiss, 1525–1571), Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Monk; The Wolf; and The Greedy Monk, ca. 1550. Woodcut with two flaps and letterpress: 20.9×16.6cm (sheet). haum (h.r.m. Deutsch ab 3.1).

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woodcut has been cut out and separated from its sheet, which likely included didactic text. The pair still incites the viewer to challenge the established church through its movable parts alone. They achieve this by imbuing Vogtherr’s interactive bodily imagery with explicitly moral contrasts. These externalized the self-reflective nosce teipsum, focusing it instead on the clergy. Vogtherr shied away from dissecting the head for practical reasons—it had been already been anatomized (by Wechtlin, and later by Johannes Dryander). As a result, Vogtherr’s figures still appear lively even though they have been sliced open. In contrast, Manuel’s protagonists retain one body, but allow the viewer a glimpse into their heads—penetrating the true motives of the clergy. As in Vogtherr’s sheets, the prints accomplish this with several interchangeable views—three layers for the flap print, and eight different positions on the rotating volvelle. Although the dial could theoretically have been produced with eight flaps, its sequential unveiling of the morally-rotted members of the Church is both an elegant solution and an entertaining, albeit chilling game of chance. Melding technical and polemical inspirations, the volvelle represents an anatomical theater of the Antichrist. The success and relative longevity of Manuel’s interactive prints are both due to his creative design and clear-cut attack on the ecclesiastical body. An underlying allusion to the execution of criminals probably added to their cachet, though these figures too remain alive. None of their metaphors approaches the violence of Dryander’s 1536 visual attack on an unquestionably dead human specimen. Georg Bartisch’s 1583 Ophthalmodouleia flaps would present sections of the brain isolated in an even more engaging, albeit less politicizing way, (and would reappear as details in Remmelin’s 1613 anatomy engravings). (Fig. 6.3) Both of Manuel’s woodcuts show a large figure posed with an open book. In the flap print, the monk’s head detaches; in the volvelle, the already-decapitated body in an ornate robe rotates among eight different heads. A cut-out wedge above its shoulders sequentially reveals ever more fiendish ecclesiastical monsters. Manuel’s earlier woodcut censures the excesses of one sect of Catholic monks; the other broadens this iconography to the entire clergy by citing popular visual sources, culminating in a critique of the pope himself. Though only two impressions of the flap print and one of the volvelle survive, these prints were well known in their day.27 They would serve as direct models for many interactive editions in the seventeenth century.

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The 1556 volvelle unicum is in the Albertina; An impression of the flap woodcut unknown

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figure 6.3 Georg Bartisch (German, 1535– ca. 1607), Anatomy of the Head, from Opthalmodouleia; das ist Augendienst …, 1583, Avr. Woodcuts and letterpress demonstrating internal layers of the head ( five flaps, a–e) and eyes (six flaps a/b, c–g, not pictured): 14.3×11.9cm (outer head flap “a”); 20×15.2cm (block). Malloch Rare Book Room of the New York Academy of Medicine Library.

In the undated flap woodcut, Manuel’s hrmd monogram overrides the text of the Bible itself. (Fig. 6.2) The book’s owner, an outlandishly-sized monk, is joined by a tiny widow and her son beseeching him for help. The money chest tucked into the strap of the monk’s habit next to his rosary is the first visual clue that his ministrations may not be entirely altruistic. The text from Matthew 23 above clinches this impression: “Suffer you learned and you Pharisees, you hypocrites who devour the homes of widows, and can still say your prayers at length.” Luther’s Tischreden on the Christian Life had already made hypocrisy a key term, and it repeats in Manuel’s own verses below. Oh hypocrisy, ignoble guest What greater devotion you possess The guise which is good gives thanks,

Until someone bestows your purse With a means to please God’s grace Then one may better view your pious face.

to Paas or Harms is in the Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum Kupferstichkabinett in Braunschweig; the one discussed in the literature is in Bern, Universitätsbibliothek, Aretius 2a*.

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As the caption to the left of the minuscule widow shows, she is pleading with the monk to pray for her. His exorbitant fee is more than she can afford—her heart is breaking, and her young son tears his hair in grief. While the widow’s hands can only stretch so far in supplication, the viewer’s can reach the uppermost flap. It is at first difficult to detect because it spans the entire sheet, but lifting it reveals the first of the monk’s two inner faces— a ravening wolf consuming a lamb. (Fig. 6.2b) This evil shepherd has turned his head away from his ultimate prey, the widow. Instead of piety, his upturned eyes suggest anticipation of the final course of his meal. In lifting the carefully excised second flap, the viewer banishes this threat, but unveils yet another. The human face of the monk reappears, his cowl flung further back to reveal his tonsure, and ruddy cheeks stuffed to bursting with the widow’s own house. To support a votive mass for her dead husband, or even simply to help pay the monk’s prebend, she has had to sell everything she owned. While she is not in danger of actually being consumed by the greedy cleric, he has effectively already devoured her livelihood. By reinterpreting Matthew so literally, Manuel risked reanimating a cliché. The prebends paid to clerics with few visible returns certainly weighed heavily on members of all parishes. German tracts against the practice were already circulating in the 1520s, one of which showed a cleric swallowing the steeple of his own church, egged on by a pair of grinning devils.28 Luther’s 1526 Babstum also refers to Pfrunden fressen, but only as a habit of the Curtisan, a more publicoriented celebrant than peripatetic or cloistered monks. Christiane Andersson has noted that Manuel’s voracious monk character was common, but the unsigned 1556 volvelle is her only other example of the use of the motif.29 By examining these works in context, this seeming iconographical coincidence will in fact prove that Manuel himself designed both the flap monk and the 1556 volvelle.

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The title-page woodcut of Der Curtisan unnd Pfrunden fresser (Augsburg: Jorg Nadler, ca. 1521), appeared shortly thereafter in reverse on another tract, reinforcing the issue. “It was widely believed that two-fifths of the German income was siphoned off to Rome through ecclesiastical channels.” Lewis W. Spitz, The Renaissance and Reformation Movements (Chicago: Rand McNally & Co., 1971), 313. Christiane Anderson, “Polemical Prints in Reformation Nuremberg,” New Perspectives on the Art of Renaissance Nuremberg: Five Essays, Jeffery Chipps Smith, ed. (Archer M. Huntington Art Gallery, College of Fine Arts, University of Texas at Austin, 1985), 52; Andersson, “Popular Imagery in German Reformation Broadsheets,” Print and Culture in the Renaissance (London: Associated University Press, Inc., 1986), 132.

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Manuel’s marauding monk is hardly the generic figure represented in past literature. Indeed, his attire is intentionally based on the white garb of the Carthusians. The sharply pointed cowl of Beham’s illustration makes this obvious, while Manuel’s lowest flap accurately shows the viewer that the monks were tonsured and beardless beneath it. (Fig. 6.2c; 6.4b) The white outer habit had open sleeves; these were only linked with bands of cloth at the stage the novice became a full brother. Thus, Manuel’s monk counts as a full-fledged Carthusian. By literally supporting the money chest with the symbol of the monk’s elevated rank, the habit itself abets his financial abuse of the poor. Though Carthusians were ostensibly a cloistered sect with strict laws on property ownership and isolation, Luther’s Babstum suggests that they equally destroyed the profits of their neighbors. Although there were Carthusian monasteries in Switzerland, particularly Basel, and Niklaus Manuel depicted one in his short-lived Dance of Death mural for the Franziskanerkirche in Bern, there seems to be no particular family resentment of the sect. Still, given the Manuels’s theatrical proclivity toward word games, Hans Rudolph’s unusual union of these monks with houses must be intentional, for he likely chose the order for its name. By making the house-eating monk a Carthusian, he plays on the similarity of the German terms for houses, heuser, and Carthusians, Cartheuser. Although this visual pun succeeds in the context of the flap print, what of the volvelle? Its fourth head recasts the wolf as a bishop, while the second one comes extremely close to a reversed depiction of Manuel’s tonsured Carthusian. (Fig. 6.4) In order to accommodate a fool, a snake-prelate, an owl-cardinal, the pope, death and the devil as well, the open wedge of the upper dial became too small to show much more detail. (Fig. 6.4b) However similar the house and the bulging cheeks of the monk may seem to the one in the flap print, his identifying habit has simply disappeared. Has another artist flattened Manuel’s double entendre into a generic friar? Could the Carthusian have been so easily defrocked? Later copies of the works suggest not; Manuel must once again be the author. A 1632 broadsheet attacking the Jesuits—by revealing them as a new pack of hungry dogs and wolves—reengraved Manuel’s book-holding figure, flaps and all.30 (Fig. 6.5) Tellingly, it also copied the verse against the Carthusian’s

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Nine impressions of this edition survive: stabi, Berlin (Ya 6825, flaps missing); Dresden, lb (Hist. Germ. c 16, 28); Gotha, sm (g 50, 15); Goslar, sa: (817); Hamburg, ub (Scrin. c/22, 91); British Library, London (1750b 29/93); bsb, Munich (Einbl. v,8 a-71, flaps present); Nuremberg (544/1337, left flap only); Wolfenbüttel, hab (ih 123). Paas, p-1793–1794.

figure 6.4a–h

Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch (Swiss, 1525–1571), Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Changing Face of the Catholic Church, 1556. Woodcut volvelle dial consisting of two circles, one notched, cut out from broadsheet. Dial rotates to show eight different satirical heads: 16.5 cm (diameter). albertina (dg 2002/209).

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figure 6.5 German, Anti-Jesuit Broadsheet: Wolves in Jesuit Clothing (Der Jesuitter/sampt ihrer Gesellschafft/Trew und Redligkeit), 1632. Engraving and letterpress with two flaps: approx. 4 × 4.8 cm ( flaps); 37.5 × 27.2cm (sheet). bsb (Einbl. v,8 a-71).

hypocrisy almost word for word.31 In contrast, none of the original text survives attached to the 1556 volvelle. It was almost definitely cut out of a broadsheet, for its numbered heads once corresponded to its text. This survives on a 1620 broadsheet with another engraving after the 1556 volvelle.32 (Fig. 6.6) The copy went into at least four editions, all of which were printed from the same textual source. Although the fool, cardinal, bishop, and pope have been retained unchanged, the other figures are now church officials in animal guise. Besides the updated Jesuit dog, they are most easily identified through their own corresponding text. One section of this text bears a striking resemblance to Manuel’s flap sheet. The head next to the fool has now become a donkey. There is no house to be seen, but his long ears peek out from under a pointed cowl. The broadsheet duly introduces and castigates him directly as “A Carthusian”: “What kind of strange fellow are you, that you stay so alone in your cell, warming meat for yourself, 31 32

The one exception further personalizes the Jesuits’s “hypocrisy” by substituting the line “Bey Jesuitten gefast” for “Was groffer fromkeit in dir haft.” Paas p-535–536. berlin kk, Flugblätter 898–143; berlin stabi (Handschriften) Ya 5229; Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum fb 3 xvi; gnm hb 19894; and possibly, Ulm Staatsbibliothek.

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figure 6.6 German, after Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch (Swiss, 1525–1571), Wondrously Strange Roman Catholic Wheel of Fortune (Römisch Cathol. Wunderseltzames GlückRad/auch wahre Abcontrafactur des Antichristischen Bapsthumbs.), 1620. Engraving and letterpress broadsheet (here lacking volvelle dial and letterpress at top and bottom with title and date): 34.5 × 20.5 cm (sheet, trimmed). © gnm (hb19894)

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when you pretend to be so holy. It is only utter hypocrisy, false appearance, and deceptions.” Again, the monk’s impious appetites come to the fore, while his original habit has been visually reinstated. This text clashes dramatically with the change in illustration. The unlikely carnivore gains an additional caption next to the Braunschweig dial—“he laughs too easily”—a more fitting vice for a braying ass. The publisher of the engraving must have retained the Carthusian’s original text, deeming its associations to be sufficient once he visually rhymed the animal’s long ears with a tall hood. As a result, the text still reflects Manuel’s original words. When he transferred his Carthusian to the volvelle, he would have had to make the connection explicit if he wanted his joke to survive. While he never actually wrote out the name of the sect in the flap print, here it becomes a necessary shortcut. The resumed use of the word hypocrisy in both the volvelle and the flap print further clinches the connection—and the attribution—of the dial to Manuel. No former attribution has been successful, though Hans Weiditz and Leonhard Beck were two candidates scribbled on its mount in the Albertina. Although the woodcut borders on pastiche by borrowing several figural and landscape elements—the final heads and the Gothic castle again derive from Dürer’s 1513 Knight, Death, and the Devil—Manuel’s style is still discernible. (Fig. 6.7) His limited monogrammed output also reinforces his authorship of the unsigned volvelle. Although Manuel produced many city views for Sebastian Münster’s 1550 Cosmography, this scene is not a real location, and instead reflects Dürer’s quarry and hilltop castle. The Cosmography sea-monster sheet is more suggestive of Manuel’s fantastical side, and of his tendency to draw eyes with the overly large pupils already seen in his wolf flap. As a result, like the sea beast marked “d” with a papal tiara-like crest of eleven staggered fins, the volvelle devil appears comically cross-eyed, while the Owl-Cardinal and webbed sea creature “h” share a beak and a similar bemused expression. By the time he produced the volvelle in 1556, Manuel had also contributed seven signed illustrations to Georg Agricola’s groundbreaking metallurgy book of the same year.33 Most of them are set in quarries and mine shafts, which partially explains his allusions to Dürer’s background. The volvelle separates the ore-rich mountain range from the foreground with a body of water, but the associations with mining remain. Many of Manuel’s stylistic elements carry over directly from the metallurgy images, as when the triangular groups of

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Georg Agricola, De re Metallica (Basel: Froben, 1556). Manuel’s signed illustrations all appear in the fifth book of the text.

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figure 6.7 Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471–1528), Knight, Death, and the Devil, 1513. Engraving: 24.5 × 19 cm (image/plate); 25.3 × 19.7 cm (sheet). Robert Alexander Waller Memorial Fund, aic (1959.538).

leaves in both cuts echo the devil’s comb. In several of these illustrations, Manuel placed his monogram beside a swath of newly excavated earth. Their carved edges mirror the curves to the right of the diabolical figure; clearing this path displaced the insubstantial boulder on the left. Its own surface advertises

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the volvelle’s date, but lends as little of Dürer’s towering gravitas to the scene as the tree trunk, an image peppered liberally throughout Agricola. When the volvelle’s purloined elements are not coincidental, they reinforce Manuel’s authorship. He produced a number of copies, including woodcuts after his father’s mercenary soldiers. Two of the volvelle’s repetitions gain additional significance in the context of interactive printmaking. Manuel chose Dürer’s engraving because it was a recognizable symbol of concentrated evil. As seen in the previous section, the theologian Matthias Flacius Illyricus also banked on its propagandic shock value. Manuel altered the engraving very little, adding only a second horn to the devil for symmetry, and eliminating one of death’s crowning snakes. The devil’s staff with its four sharp prongs derives directly from the print, where it plays hide and seek, the base reappearing below the knight’s massive steed. This detail may have inspired the strongest diagonal of Manuel’s volvelle, but the optical illusion of continuity can also be seen in the two-part fig leaf on anatomy prints produced by and after Cornelis Bos and Hans Guldenmund. (Fig. 4.13) Each volvelle face brings with it a satirical new weapon that aligns with the generic shaft gripped by the body. Together the two lengths span almost the entire diameter of the woodcut. To fit the format, death must forgo his hourglass and timepiece for the head of a lance; others wield spears, and sausages. Yet the pope still wields his triple cross, making that real-life symbol of his personage the most redoubtable weapon of all. No discussion of this print would be complete without mention of the sevenheaded pope and seven-headed Luther broadsheets produced in Germany in the early 1530s.34 (Fig. 6.8) Robert Scribner convincingly describes the inverted references to the Mass of St. Gregory in the anti-papal version, in which the indulgence chest supporting the monstrous reptile becomes an altar of sorts. Much more visibly related to the Manuel wheel is the Seven Heads of Martin Luther, with the seven heads attached to one studiously-reading body in a monk’s robe. At its simplest level, these prints document a finger-pointing exchange.35 Each side of the religious divide accused the other of being the beast of the Apocalypse; thus the seven heads. Manuel dispenses with Gregory, and instead extrapolates his volvelle’s rotating body from the anti-Luther print, embellishing the plain robe, and showing the figure at full length. Both Manuel’s solitary woodcut volvelle from 1556 and the engraved broadsheet from 1620 are organized in a circle of eight heads on a static sheet con-

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Geisberg/Strauss, g.1575 (Seven-headed Papal Animal). Scribner, Simple Folk, 102.

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figure 6.8 Hans Brosamer (German, ca. 1500– 1552), Title Page, from Johannes Cochlaeus, Sieben Koepffe Martini Luthers, Valentin Schulman: Leipzig, 1529. Woodcut: 18.3×13.4cm (block), 18.7 ×13.9cm (sheet). Pitts Theology Library, Atlanta (1529 coch c).

cealed beneath a movable dial. (Figs. 6.4; 6.6) While the immovable broadsheets just mentioned display Martin Luther and the seven clerical heads in a semi-circle, the open viewfinder of Manuel’s woodcut would have rotated in a full circle above the stationary heads. Both propaganda broadsheets likely inspired Manuel’s volvelle, but his movable interface makes the concept of the many-headed apocalyptic beast work on more levels. The original eschatological meaning appears again, almost as an afterthought in the 1620 title. “Auch wahre Abcontrafactur des Antichristischen Bapsthumbs,” or, Also an accurate portrayal of the Antichristian Papacy. That the pope is the Antichrist was perhaps no longer big news to Protestants. Indeed, the 1620 title suggests a more important second meaning dependent on its interactive format: “Romisch Catholisch Wunderseltzames GlückRad/” or the “Wonderfully Strange Roman Catholic Wheel of Fortune.” The term Glückrad implies the instability of a religion dependent on human actions rather than God’s eternal grace.36 With its spinning movement, the print functions 36

Paas, p-535–536. At least one sheet without moving parts used this imagery in the following year, to attack the elevation of Friedrich van der Pfaltz as the King of Bohemia. Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg, Illustrierte Flugblätter aus der Jahrhunderten der Reformation und der Glaubenskämpfe, Wolfgang Harms, ed. (1983), no. 79, 164–165.

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much like the dials in the lottery books from the 1540s by Vogtherr and his Strasbourg compatriots. Yet, their angels and Christ child lose limbs to overuse rather than to seekers of vengeance or souvenirs. By using the word Wunderseltzam, the title also touches on the miracles of Catholic bodily relics. The print counts among the most dramatic antitheses of this tradition, for it is the composite child of Elßgred and the misbirths Protestants used to further their own faith. The sequentially discarded clerical heads in the volvelle could thus be considered as either the bloody relics of martyrs or the deformed proof of the devil’s presence in the Catholic Church. Of course, this wheel has already been fixed by the Protestants. Try as he may, a viewer spinning the dial at random cannot find a favorable outcome. If the death figure were positioned last, one might instead interpret the dial’s movement as an eternal dance leveling all ranks and professions. Yet as in Dürer’s engraving, the devil brings up the rear of the procession. A temporal aspect is still implied, for time is running out before the end of time. In expanding the group to eight figures, and ending with the devil, Manuel reiterates that the Catholic Church could bring on the end of all creation. If the sum of the volvelle’s parts—the heads of the pope and all his minions— remain unchecked, they could combine to spawn an even more powerful child of the devil, the Antichrist. Not only does Manuel’s volvelle reveal this, but its viewer gains the opportunity to probe the horrors of the Catholic ecclesiastical body, and amputate its rotting members. Otherwise, it might be too late. At the end of the cycle, the devil, or more correctly, the Antichrist, reappears. Unlike the Christian knight of Dürer’s engraving, the viewer must realize that the collective threat of the fools preceding the Antichrist cannot be ignored. Singly, these adversaries are unworthy of fear. By taking the woodcut into his own hands, and its message to heart, the viewer helped assure the continued fortune of the Reformation movement.

The Pope is the Devil (and the Antichrist) Though Manuel and Flacius used artistic masterpieces as a precedent to implicate large groups of people as the Antichrist, the Beast had been well-known as a single person from his starring roles in sermons and Carnival theatrics since the early Middle Ages.37 Several block books from the 1470s illustrated

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Wim Hüske and Konrad Schoell, “Introduction,” Farce and Farcical Elements: In Conjunction with Leif Sondergaard, Ludus 6 (2002), 22.

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figure 6.9 German, Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst), after 1555. Hand-colored woodcut with gold and letterpress: 10.5×17cm ( flap); 18.5 × 17 cm (woodcut); 10.5 × 17 cm ( flap); 34.5×17cm (sheet). bsb (Einbl. vii,23 a).

the story of this counterpart to Christ, using xylographic text sparingly. Their titles, Der Enndchrist, reinforce the Antichrist’s inevitable connection with the Apocalypse at the end of time; a copy in Frankfurt was even bound with a similar work on the Last Judgment. Born in Babylon to an impure maiden impregnated by her father, (who was either impersonated or possessed by the devil), the Antichrist goes to Jerusalem, is circumcised, manufactures gold, performs staged miracles, and battles prophets. He pretends to die at the same age as Christ, thirty three, only to return in a fake resurrection, and is eventually

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defeated. These block books, though produced later in the fifteenth century than Jan Hus’s Anatomia Antichristi, do not link the Antichrist to any particular person or religious office. By the 1530s, the relationship of the pope and the devil would be made explicit in another format popular in Germany—the medal. These half-dollar sized roundels merge the pope with the fiend in an unending circle on one side, while joining a cardinal with a fool on the other. Some of the earliest examples of other anti-papal medal designs are attributed to the woodcut and relief artist Peter Flötner, whose ribald designs and antic polemical works fit remarkably well with the satirical tone of the pope-devil medals.38 The texts vary, but their flavor can be seen on a sixteenth-century example in the Wartburg in Eisenach: Ecclesia Perversa Tenet Faciem Diaboli; the perverted church has the face of the devil. The cross atop the pope’s tiara neatly intersects the middle of the word “Perversa.” Though meant to be rotated in the hand, they were often worn as hanging pendants, a genre encompassing both propaganda and jewelry; other examples at Eisenach retain the chain links from which they were suspended, and perhaps hidden from view beneath loose clothing. The Saxon Electors donned another sign of their Protestantism on their bodies during this period, the acronym vdmie, (Verbum Dei Manet in Aeternum), which they literally wore embroidered on their sleeves. The humorous, but deadly serious antipapal medals similarly proclaimed the excesses of the clergy from a distance, and at every angle. Two unique, but non-interactive woodcuts also survive on the theme, one in Munich showing only the Cardinal and the Fool in a rectangular border, another in Bremen with the Pope and the Devil with a coinlike border.39 These intermingled designs became common throughout Europe by mid century, for Theodor de Bry used them as centerpieces in a series of engravings of four dish designs dated 1588. While a Soldier-Fool on one plate contrasts with the dastardly Anti-Protestant Duke of Alba, the classical figure of Caritas offsets the Pope-Devil. Although the tiny exterior and middle texts are in Flemish and French, the large letters of the central caption plays to its target audience in German. “babst gebot ist wider got,” or, the Pope’s Law is against God. A Protestant who like Bos was forced to leave the Southern Netherlands for his beliefs, de Bry evidently encountered criticism for this series, 38 39

Georg Habich, Die deutschen schaumünzen des xvi. Jahrhunderts (München: F. Bruckmann, 1929–1935), nos. 1829, 1833. Carsten-Peter Warncke, Die ornamentale Groteske in Deutschland 1500–1650 (Berlin: Verlag Volker Spiess, 1979), no. 695, “Antipapstiche Holzschnitt 200mm diameter” (Bremen; Munich Graphische Sammlung).

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altering the first state of the Pope-Devil plate into a less objectionable FoolDevil. De Bry didn’t bother changing the outer titles accusing the Pope of the milder sin of hypocrisy or pride; the cross from his triple crown can still be seen outside the “Orgeuille et Follie” caption. Although no Italian medallions are known lambasting the popes, by the late sixteenth century an anonymous engraver was clearly aware of Netherlandish and German imports when he designed a version substituting one of Mahomet and his wife for the Pope and Cardinal. Their inverted Devil and Fool images are otherwise quite similarly depicted.40 One papally-sanctioned medal was struck by Julius iii during his 1550–1555 reign, showing his portrait opposite a militant motto. The coin was soon reinterpreted with a more dramatic portrait on an interactive broadsheet.41 There is no stylistic evidence that the original design for any of the popedevil medals came from the Cranach workshop in Wittenberg, so Luther probably had nothing to do with designing them. Yet he might well have approved of their conjoined puzzle aspect, and their direct implications.42 In likening Melanchthon (as well as the rest of Luther’s seeming betrayers) to the Antichrist in his Chorrock broadsheet, Flacius had uncharacteristically reinterpreted one of Luther’s most consistent messages. His mentor had insisted for over two decades that the once, current, and future Pope was the Antichrist. Luther was hardly the first to make this proclamation. His Passional Christi und Antichristi of 1521 was, however, one of the first to say it in print. Luther no doubt knew earlier manuscripts of Jan Hus’s early fifteenth-century Anatomia Antichristi, which was first printed in a collection of Hus’s works in Strasbourg in 1525. The editor, Otto Brunfels, dedicated the compilation to Luther, and one of the Reformer’s letters was reprinted in the second volume. While in the Passional, Christ and the Pope visually and textually embody each others’

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Douglas Lewis, emeritus curator of the nga, mentioned medals of Pietro Aretino, in which his face consisted solely of phalluses, and another of Attila the Hun with a similar treatment. Dr. Eleanora Luciano added that there were definitively no coins of Pope Alexander vi with satiric versos: “The Aretino and Attila examples … are an anomaly in the medal genre, which is overwhelmingly celebratory during the Renaissance.” Both personal correspondence, November 3, 2003. Also see Raymond B. Waddington, Aretino’s Satyr: Sexuality, Satire and Self-Projection in Sixteenth-Century Literature and Art (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2004), Figs. 41–42. The most complete impression is in Wolfenbüttel, jh 12. (Fig. 6.10) Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, 285, notes that Luther and Katharina von Bora loved acrostics and once came up with a rebus for asini, the Latin word for asses, which could be read forty different ways.

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opposite, Hus’s Anatomy of the Antichrist devotes a great deal of text to making him a recognizable figure. There are no illustrations of the Antichrist in the book, a lack partially filled by the graphic enumeration of his body parts. The table of contents, or Epitome, of the volume exhaustively summarizes them as well. Every part of the Antichrist is as described in the Bible, but the cumulative description gains an almost fairy-tale feeling. Like Little Red Ridinghood trying to overcome the cognitive dissonance of seeing the wolf in her grandmother’s clothing, Hus describes the Antichrist as one unnatural body part after another. “Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!”—“the better to see you with, my dear!” The Grimms’s and other nineteenth-century versions of the story vary, but the list of eyes, ears, arms, and legs always end in the mouth—“the better to eat you with, my dear!” Hus’s Antichrist is a creature with over thirty-five human attributes to discover. Still, like the ravening wolf, only the finale reveals the Beast’s “true nature.” Hus describes each aspect of this apocalyptic anatomy in turn: The front of the Antichrist and the back; the face; the eyes; the ears; the nose; the mouth; the tongue; the saliva; the teeth; the lips and their voice; the mind; the beard; the neck; the arms; the right and left hands; the chest; the heart; the lungs; the spleen; the stomach and its nourishment; the viscera; the gall bladder, the belly; the outer sides; the back; the loins; thighs; the blood and marrow; the knees; the legs; the feet; and the veins. Only then do his furry hide and tail emerge. Although there was no standard image of the Antichrist, the idea of understanding him through a sequential listing struck a chord that would be reflected in several anonymous broadsheets.43 Luther even reflected this approach in his conclusion to the 1526 Babstum in which all the sects of the Catholic clergy were combined as one apocalyptic threat. (Fig. 5.3) Hus interprets the menace as a single body, using language that is alternately realistically invasive and superficial, describing the external appearance and significance of bodily fluids as well as many of the internal organs. Not all parts are represented, despite the exhaustiveness of the list. That the liver and kidneys in particular—vital parts shown in every anatomy sheet at the end of the next decade—are missing suggests the unnaturalness of the whole beast. The functions of the components it does possess are not strictly anatomical, but often relate to the Book of Revelation instead. Agricola’s 1561 speech about the pope and his political supporters cast them as the brain, heart, and liver, and thus suggests a belated response to Hus and the sheets his antichristian anatomy inspired. In addition to this bodily

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On images of the Antichrist, see Bernard McGinn, Antichrist: Two Thousand Years of the Human Fascination with Evil (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000).

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figure 6.10

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French, Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Du Pape Alexandre Sixiesme), after 1566. Woodcut and letterpress: 15×12.1cm ( Julius iii); 30.1 × 18.4 cm (Pope Alexander vi and Devil woodcut); 57.5×34.7cm (sheet with flap closed); 57.5 × 35.8 cm (sheet with flap open). hab (jh 12).

approach, the papal lineage and shared nomenclature also became a identifier of the dangerous traits they shared. Two broadsheets Hus influenced are similarly composite creatures representing the intersecting final phase of two modes of presenting the Antichrist: the Warrior Pope and the Pope is the Devil. These polemic sheets have French letterpress with similar white-line initials, and may stem from south-western Switzerland, possibly Geneva. (Figs. 6.10) A Warrior Pope sheet at the Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg has no moving parts, but may be related to the second, a flap print that monumentally combines the anatomy print with the pope-devil theme at the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (hab). Both adopt the medals’ placement of the tiara—dramatically intersecting the upper margin, though the letterpress text is added in several different locations around it. The tiara from the first interactive version of the Warrior Pope also

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intersects its title. This etching would be repeatedly printed in Amsterdam in 1615 by Nicolaes van Geylekerck with broadsheets in three different languages, and a liftable skirt that revealed the misdeeds of the bloodthirsty pontiff.44 The immovable Veste Coburg sheet, titled the Description of the Infernal Papal Tyranny in this Monstrous Image, etc., shows the Antichrist as a naked warrior partially shielded with a papal tiara and cloak. He wields a sword and a flaming indulgence, while standing with cloven hooves on an open and a closed book labeled “Canon Law” and “Bible” respectively in the broadsheet. This was a very popular image during the 1550s and 1560s, and it may have initially appeared in a woodcut attributed to Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder by Frank Muller.45 That illustration was published at least four times in 1546, initially in Latin and German versions of a tract by one of Zwingli’s adherents, Rudolph Gwalther. The booklet was printed by Christoph Froschauer in Zürich, where Vogtherr moved after he left Strasbourg in 1540. The cut was printed at least twice more that year at the same house for different editions of Lelio Capilupi’s satirical poem against monastic life, De vita Monachorum. A drawing after the Vogtherr illustration at the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg (gnm) must date later than 1550, suggesting the conceit remained popular; a Latin text below the image mentions Pope Julius iii, whose reign began that year. The Veste Coburg Warrior Pope sheet is unfortunately undated, and does not refer to any specific popes, though the pope-devil topos implicates Alexander vi and Julius iii. The larger size and broader execution suggest the Warrior Pope may simply be an enlargement of the Vogtherr image. Its text returns to the Hus mold in selecting several attributes for the reader. “l’ interpretation des principales parties de ce monstre” includes the usurped tiara, the horns marking him as a liar, the worthless indulgence in his hand, the trodden books, and the sword signifying the pope’s frequent homicides. The image relates to another illustration from Luther’s 1545 Depiction of the Papacy, of the supposedly warlike thirteenth-century Pope Clement iv, whose most recent namesake, Clement vii, ruled 1523–1534. A military campaign against the Hohenstaufen line was in progress before Clement iv was elected to the papacy. Still, Clement was censured by Dante and others for allowing the beheading of the Hohenstaufen leader, Conradin, by Charles of Anjou. On Luther’s sheet, however, it is the pope himself who wields the sword. Although

44 45

Twelve impressions in German, Dutch and French survive. See Online Appendices, Catalogue a. Muller, 336–337.

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the pope sprouts no horns or tail in that image, and wears robes rather than armor, his expression exudes the evil of his militancy, and a grinning beast tops his tiara, displacing the cross usually found there. Soon afterwards, Julius iii offered a sixteenth-century target for Northern propaganda, possibly due to his unpopular decision to reconfirm the Jesuits on his election in 1550. In point of fact, Julius was sometimes referred to as the “pope from hell” by Protestants in connection with his attacks on heresy.46 Erasmus had commented bitterly on the “incongruity of a warrior-pope” during the reign of the previous Julius, the ii (who ruled 1503–1513), and pictures of Christ and a pope jousting from the 1520s suggested the imagery of an armed and armored pontiff.47 Another broadsheet—now a unicum at the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin manuscript department—dates from around Julius iii’s reign. The sheet adopts its warlike theme from a piece of propaganda he himself commissioned: a medal. The coin showed his portrait, with a quotation from Isaiah (60:12) on the verso. “gens et regnum quod non servieret tibi peribit;” the people and realms that will not serve you shall perish. The sheet directly mentions that the medal was silver, and that Pope Julius iii recently had it struck, implying that the work may even have been produced during his lifetime. The kneeling figure of Conradin is missing, but this woodcut effectively recreates the pope’s swing-ready stance and firm grip on the sword from the Clement iv sheet. The artist added a second sword at the belt, armor, boots with the papal crosses in gold braid, and an array of beasts masquerading as knee and elbow guards to increase the implication of violence. The text further explains the connection with the Antichrist, stating that “It is better to die a thousand times than to turn from Christ to the Antichrist, for God alone is king of kings and lord of lords.”48 Vogtherr’s Warrior Pope also wields the sword, but with one hand. His other holds the flaming indulgence. The Julius iii sheet, however, reappears once again in a reverse copy on the underside of the flap on an hab Pope is the Devil broadsheet. The flap consists of the external skin of Pope Alexander vi, whose Faustian bargain—a literal pact to serve the devil—briefly won him the papal seat. (Fig. 6.10) When the viewer lifts the flap, Alexander’s true face is revealed, that of the devil saying “Ego Sum Papa,” or, “I am the Pope.” Julius then appears upright at the top of the sheet with a shortened version of the Berlin broadsheet text on the right, and a list on the left detailing how the 46 47 48

John Grand-Carteret, L’ histoire—la vie—les moeurs et la curiosité par l’image, le pamphlet et le document (1450–1900) (Paris: Librairie de la curiosité et des beaux-arts, 1927–), 121. Scribner, Simple Folk, 158. Scribner, Simple Folk, 159.

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Antichrist was engendered out of man’s worst traits and sins. A little-known unconstructed sheet, or proof, from the Berlin Kupferstichkabinett demonstrates the way this worked.49 It includes the texts and the full block of the underlying devil, with the inverted half block of the pope printed above. Two editions of the Pope-Devil flap broadsheet can be dated to 1566 or later, because one of the texts they contain comes from the Tischreden, which was not published by Johannes Aurifaber until that year. The hab impression and the Berlin proof both contain this quote, though they represent slightly different settings of the text. A total of five different editions survive, in three distinct woodcut and letterpress versions, at least one of which was likely printed in the mid 1550s.50 The Bern Staatsbibliothek impression of the Pope is the Devil is still in situ, pasted into the front cover of a 1551 Bible translation by Sebastian Castalio published by Oporinus in Basel. At the least, this book offers a terminus post quem, for it was owned and heavily used by the Hospinian family, also of Basel.51 Like the Veste Coburg Warrior Pope, the hab Pope Devil may be an enlarged and improved version of the brightly colored southern German broadsheets now in Bern and Munich. In this case, the only pope shown is Alexander. (Fig. 6.10) The text mentions the incestuous and power-hungry ascent of the Borgias. The coloring, or rather, illumination, of the Munich impression is somewhat startling for a polemical work. On close inspection, the Pope’s attributes of tiara, staff, and even the edges of his robe and sleeve have been carefully gilded. The slightly matte preservation of the gold means that this detail has been overlooked in past discussions of the print. It is an important counterpoint to the black and white impressions of the later sheet on this topic. Using a costly material such as gold, even in a low percentage, in addition to rich colors such as red, blue, and purple, would have made this print significantly more valuable, and ostensibly appear

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Berlin kk, Flügblatter. Unfortunately, this impression has proven impossible to see in person despite several attempts in Berlin to locate it. Reproduced in Carsten-Peter Warncke. Die ornamentale Groteske in Deutschland 1500–1650. Berlin: Verlag Volker Spiess, 1979, ill. no. 693. 1550s German text with Alexander vi: bsb; Bern with different type layout; bl (missing); probably before 1566, French text: Geneva Museum of the Reformation, showing Julius iii. After 1566 French text with Alexander vi and Julius iii: hab French; Berlin kk, different type layout, in pre-constructed state. Dr. Hans Bloesch, “Unbekannte Einblattholzschnitte des 16. Jahrhunderts in der Berner Stadtbibliothek,”Berner Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Heimatkunde (1940), 151ff. The entire Hospinian library would be given to Bern in 1586.

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to venerate the papacy rather than demean it. The coloring does not appear to have been particularly carefully applied, with some stenciling particularly evident in the blocky green outline surrounding the grass tufts beneath the figure. As such, the materials used require a re-thinking of its audience. The Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (bsb) impression was not the only hand colored example, but it may be the only one with such a lavish treatment; certainly it could even have been applied by an individual owner. Or, like the riotous gush of colorful innards in the most painted anatomy flap prints, perhaps the contrast was calculated to heighten the shock of glimpsing the demon within. Everywhere there was gold turns to red flames, from the tiara to the beast’s flayed arm skin as it flaps in the breeze of its over-dramatic gestures. This entire text reappears in translation on the lower half of some of the French broadsheets. The Julius iii and German Pope Devil sheets are of comparable size, although the movable type used could not be compared properly from the available reproduction of the Julius. While the Coburg woodcut of the Devil is much larger and more fluid, the German one may refer to the Julius iii by equipping the Devil with a monster with a broad, lion-like nose as a cuirass. In the Julius, the lion’s mouth merely steadies the rope holding his auxiliary sword; for Alexander, the beast appears to be swallowing the lower half of the body. This is an inversion of the mouth of Hell shown in Luther’s second Depiction, where the pope is enthroned in the flames issuing from that mouth. The consistent use of the gold-braid crosses on the papal shoes also suggests a link. Although these decorations were officially part of the papal vestments, they appear infrequently in broadsheets otherwise. Cranach’s Passional actively avoided showing the pope’s feet, except for one scene in which his supporters kiss his feet—in contrast to Christ’s washing and kissing of his disciples’ feet, and his humble lack of shoes. The German text was reset at least once, making the Bern and bsb impression different editions, and suggesting ongoing demand. It is quite possible that the German Julius and Alexander sheets were sold as a pair, perhaps around 1555, considering the frequency of their later appearances together. These earlier German sheets included the headings alex.vi. pont. max and ego sum papa xylographically in the woodblock, while the Swiss versions, ca. 1560, use letterpress. Switching to movable type allowed its printers greater flexibility, whether they wanted to continue with an Alexander Devil, or update their sheets to Julius. One impression, now in the museum of the history of the Reformation in Geneva, places the reversed Julius iii image and a new text on the front, and centers the Devil on the back, retitling it “qicy le pourtraict du pape d’ enfer.” Letters sent between Paris and Lyon mentioned a “drôlerie pleine de meschanceté”—visant le pape—“apportée par un fidèle venu du

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dehors.” This could refer to the work’s popularity: “a malicious entertainment” showing the pope, “carried away by a believer come from out of town.”52 Returning to the hab sheet, the parts must be reconsidered. (Fig. 6.10) The obverse of the flap shows the torso of the Pope Alexander vi in a deceptive blessing pose; beneath lurks the devil who possesses him. Julius iii appears on the verso of the pope’s torso. Again, there is an anatomical approach to the demonic threat. The litany of abstract causes that brought forth the Antichrist shown to the left of Julius understandably centers around the Babylonian captivity, conveniently named after the city where the Antichrist was supposed to be born. The sequence argues that domination, pomp, and ambition led to simony, which bore the pope and his cardinals.53 Only the work of the spirit can engender disputation, the way to truth, and thus the only means of revealing the Antichrist. Indeed, the introductory notes to the reader advertise the broadsheet as a history, not only of the detestable families that defamed the papal seat, but of the ways in which the Antichrist can be recognized in them. Therefore, the text runs from 607ad with the accession of Boniface iii, along the left margin until the base of the woodcut, and then down the other side; the second sheet of text pasted below is completely devoted to the misdeeds of the Borgias. When the flap is lifted, an entirely new text appears in the upper half—with Bible passages on the left, and a damning history of the Antichrist on the right. Still, the most effective language of the sheet appears at its center: the woodcut. While the introduction clearly states its intention to reveal the truth about the papacy, there are more connotations at work than Luther’s masks and false appearances. Instead, the uncovered Devil appears to have been skinned. His muscular arms give way to ragged flaps of flesh that sway like flames in the wind; the interior of his cloak gains sharp ridges that mimic an extended rib cage. Even the armor appears to be made out of the figure’s own, distorted body, with the nipples forming the centers of the eyes, and the navel the location of the bridge of the nose. Again, that leathery cuirass functions as an inverted, hellish throne, the pitchfork becomes an unholy papal staff, reinforcing the similarity of the figure to those in Manuel’s volvelle. In fact, in both the German and the French-language sheets, the monster’s form is yet another adaptation of Dürer’s Devil. (Fig. 6.7) Though the porcine snout has split into two beaks, and the tiara camouflages the tall horn, the curved 52

53

John Grand-Carteret. L’ histoire, la vie, les moeurs et la curiosité par l’image, le pamphlet et le document (1450–1900). Paris: Librarie de la curiosité et des beaux-arts, 1927, ii, figs. 101–102, 120. Luther’s Depiction ix shows the pope being born to devils.

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horns, thick oversized claws, beady eyes, and cloak of his own skin all come from Dürer. But the noose is new. It suggests the figure is actually an executed criminal. Indeed, it insinuates that the pope’s actual body has been opened with all the scientific care of Vesalius and his écorché. More revealing than simple nudity, the very sinews can be seen beneath the devil’s dissembling outer flesh. The Borgia text leads up to the moment when the Devil himself takes over the papal throne from Alexander vi, proclaiming to all who see him that he himself is the pope. At that very moment, the viewer grasps the flap and slices away the pope’s skin as if he were a common criminal reduced to fodder for dissection.

Anatomizing Luther The first throes of the French wars of religion inspired other creative anticlerical works in Geneva, such as the 1566–1567 Mappe-Monde Nouvelle Papistique, a sixteen-sheet woodcut map of the evils of the papacy, which Dror Wahrman attributes to the artist Pierre Eskrich.54 Like Hus’s Anatomia Antichristi and the Swiss flap print’s Histoire, the map isolates an “anatomy” of the Catholic rites in one of its provinces, surrounding the whole with the yawning jaws of Hell. If a market existed for propaganda on this extreme scale, the Pope is the Devil prints must have seemed moderate in both their scale and shock value. Yet there was still a demand for them. The initial appearance in 1566 of Luther’s Tischreden furnishes the earliest possible date for the publication of the final Swiss Pope is the Devil sheet and its French text. Nonetheless, both the book and the flap print—likely printed shortly thereafter—led to a controversial response. The Catholic reply took the form of a broadsheet that “anatomized” Luther himself. (Fig. 6.11) The initial Latin version from 1567 by Vitus Jacobaeus in Ingolstadt titled it Anatomia M. Lutheri.55 Johann Nass’s more extensive German title accompanied a new text of his own interpretation the following year and in subsequent reprintings: “See how the noble body of Luther is martyred,

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Dror Wahrman, “From Imaginary Drama to Dramatized Imagery: The Mappe-Monde Nouvelle Papistique, 1566–67,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 54 (1991): 186–205. More recently the subject was treated in Giovan Battista Trento, Mappe-Monde nouvelle papistique … in Travaux d’humanism et Renaissance, no. 463 (Genève: Droz, 2009). Strauss, 1550–1600, Alexander and Samuel Weissenhorn, nos. 3–4, 1184–1185.

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figure 6.11

Vitus Jacobaeus (German, d. 1568), Anti-Lutheran Broadsheet: Anatomy of Martin Luther (Anatomia M. Lutheri), 1567. Woodcut and letterpress: 39 × 27.6 cm (sheet). waldburg-wolfegg (Album 276).

anatomized, hacked, cut, soaked, baked, and finally entirely devoured by his own supporters.”56 Nass closely associates martyrdom with the partitioning and dissection of Luther’s body, though he clearly stops short of beatifying it.

56

“Sihe wie das elend Lutherthumb/ durch feine eigne Verfechter/ gemartert/ anatomiert/

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The woodcut used in both versions showed Luther’s hanged and deceased body being dissected by Melanchthon, Flacius and others before being consumed. The scene is both reminiscent of a Pamphilius Gengenbach Eaters of the Dead play illustration mocking the Eucharist (ca. 1522) by showing the Catholic clergy as cannibals, and a title page of a 1568 edition of the Tischreden, which placed Luther and his (now better behaved) followers at a Last Supper-like table. By nearly transubstantiating Luther, both images reconfirm his power over his flocks—even in the Catholic parody of the disorder within the Protestant faith after his death. This imagery suggests partial retaliation for views of the pope as if hanged—number five of Luther’s Depiction—or depicted as the Bad Thief during the Crucifixion.57 Though many dissected cadavers were drawn in a crucified position to help acquaint artists with the anatomy, Luther’s satirists chose to distinguish his death with the mark of a true criminal. Again, most dissection subjects had been killed by hanging (and thus retained all of their limbs). The choice of hanging as Luther’s first punishment relates visually to the anatomy flap print, which could appear dead and shameful if improperly constructed or roughly handled. Many examples from Carlino’s catalogue have such disordered flaps that the organs slip out in all directions even when the skin flaps are down. A similarly uncanny sense of dolllike brokenness persists in Lucas Cranach the Younger’s strange 1540 image of a group of convicts burnt that year in Wittenberg for the crime of witchcraft.58 They sit on beams with their legs sprawled wide; two of them point to their stomachs, as their entrails spill out grotesquely. Despite the biblical overtones of the Adam and Eves, an unevenly aligned intestinal flap in an anatomy print offers a similar shock value, as well as a close approximation of the squatting position of Cranach’s convicts. In the Catholic sheet, Luther has been moved from his execution to a butcher block rather than a supper table, but he still wears the noose around his neck. Like the flap prints with which viewers could exchange dissembling clerical heads for their true faces ad nauseam (especially in the case of the spinning lottery wheel), here the artists do not decapitate their captive. Indeed, their intention to castigate Luther and his followers only shames the new faith for as long as his corpse remains identifiable. Nass, the author of the German text, was once a supporter of Luther, but later a Franciscan monk and polemicist. He lambasts each of the Reformer’s followers in turn. Koerner

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gemetzget/ zerhackt/ zerfchnitten/ gefotten/ gebraten/ und letzlich gar auffgefreffen wirdt.” Strauss, 1550–1600, Master i w, no. 1. Geisberg/Strauss, g.675; Hollstein German 22.

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figure 6.12

German (Wittenberg), Luther Triumphant (Lutherus Triumphans), 1568. Woodcut with letterpress broadsheet (lacking main text): 23×35cm (sheet). Pitts Theology Library, Atlanta (1568 ehrw).

suggests that Matthias Flacius Illyricus, the figure the text describes as “tasting” Luther’s thigh, is meant to be licking (or kissing) his ass duplicitously, making him into a new Judas. It is also a fitting act of toadyism for a man obsessed with excrement.59 Overall, the sheet complements the fragmentation of the Reformer’s body with the suggestion that his followers are similarly isolated from each other and lost without their roles within a cohesive religious body. Luther Anatomized inspired two separate Protestant sheets from Wittenberg in the next two years, both of which, like the anatomy sheet, were frequently reprinted. Although Luther Anatomized was probably not specifically commissioned by the Jesuits, there was a very active Catholic community in Ingolstadt, where it was printed. Luther might have been deceased, but considering the dialogue these sheets inspired, he was still capable of triumphing over the Jesuit threat. The 1569 and 1570 sheets were thus titled The Arrival of the Followers, (“Suiten”), who call themselves Jesuits, and Luther Triumphant. (Figs. 6.12) The former attacked the Jesuits in Lutheran terms and images for wrongly 59

Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, 397–398. Luther once described his awareness of his oncoming death to his wife in these terms—“I am like a ripe stool, and the world is like a gigantic anus, and so we’re about to let go of each other.” (Tabletalk Winter 1542/3, no. 5537, wa tr 5.222)

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figure 6.13

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Wolfgang Meyerpeck (German, 1545–1600), Anti-Papal Caricature, 1569. Etching and letterpress broadsheet: 28.8 × 39.8 cm (sheet). Bibliothèque nationale de France (reserve fol-qb-201 (7)).

claiming to carry out Jesus’s will. Thus the title removes the undeservedly Jesuslike “Je” prefix from their name. The images portray the true source and etymology of their name as the unholy union of sows and dogs, much in the idiom of Luther’s Depiction. While their new missionaries disrupt the entire Church on the left, the Jesuit forms of teaching also become suspect. The schoolhouse showcases the Jesuit leader Peter Canisius as a dog (a pun on his name, which is Latin for dog) and the Ingolstadt professor Martin Eisengrein (as a pig) at opposing lecterns.60 Eisengrein’s newfound porcine nature is similarly a play on the Latin word for pig or sow (sus, suis) and the [Je]Suiten he follows. The artist Wolfgang Meyerpeck also offered another response in the form of both a regular broadsheet and a Faltblatt.61 (Figs. 6.13–14) He entitled his 60

61

Frederick Stopp, “Der religiös-polemische Einblattdruck “Ecclesia militans” (1569) des Johannes Nas und seine Vorgänger,” Deutsche Vierteljahresschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte 39, 1965, 612; Coburg Illustrierte Flugblätter, no. 18, 36. The broadsheet is Hollstein German 10; the folding sheet is unrecorded, but Nadine Orenstein of the Metropolitan Museum of Art identified it by the artist’s monogram under Canisius’s feet on the innermost sheet.

figure 6.14a–f

Wolfgang Meyerpeck (German, 1545–1600), Anti-Jesuit Transformation Etching: Canisius and Eisengrein, ca. 1569. Hand-colored etching with four folding flaps: 29.5×10.2cm ( full sheet). mma (59.508.92). (a–d clockwise at left, e–f on right.)

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anti-papal broadsheet “Refutation and Answer to the falsely intentioned and indefensible Image and Poem by [Brother] Johan. Nass of the Minorites, etc.” Little is known about the artist, outside of his activity in Leipzig, Augsburg, Vienna and Prague, where he died in 1595.62 In the broadsheet, Meyerpeck draws on the most potent polemical imagery of the first half of the century, and relates it to the current crisis. The demon plaguing the despairing pope with a surfeit of wind from his buttocks and a set of anamorphic bagpipes— labeled as “Brudder Naß”—originated in an early Erhard Schön woodcut. The swarm of flies around the papal tiara-cum-donkey-eared foolscap makes the unsavory situation as palpably clear as the turd replacing the papal slipper’s golden cross. Although the Jesuits are not explicitly mentioned, the caps of the clergy seen at right deploring the fall of Babylon resemble those worn by that sect. Meyerpeck thought the viewer might find these tidings “useful to know” in those letzten Zeiten—last times. Indeed, Luther’s death and the rise of the Jesuits both presage the Apocalypse. The letterpress goes on to state that the church has been using the name of Christ as a “Schanddeckel,” a shameful covering for its true nature. Again, the Jesuits are implied. Though the 1569 sheet included no movable parts, Meyerpeck produced at least one transformation print around the same time with flaps that would allow the viewer to lift the Schanddeckel for himself. (Fig. 6.14) A circa 1568 engraving (possibly by Marcus Gheeraerts the Elder) with very similar imagery and function was a likely inspiration.63 The Meyerpeck impression at the Metropolitan Museum of Art may be likewise unique, though its stencil coloring suggests a large initial output. It is blotchier and more heavily applied than the papal reds of the Pope is the Devil woodcut seen earlier, though Meyerpeck’s work omits the golden sheen at least in this impression. (Fig. 6.9) The abbreviated text references twelve biblical passages on hypocrisy, with an occasional emphasis on the Jesuits’s identities as “heretics and liars.” The main title seems almost an afterthought: “Jesuitae.” The first two letters of the word at first appear to have been partially effaced, and the words “falsche Prophete,” false prophets, etched in on top. This erasure actually represents

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One of his broadsheets was published in Prague in the 1580s by Michael Peterle, who copied or reprinted Hans Guldenmund’s flap anatomy prints in the 1560s. mma Inv. no. 59.508.92. On the Gheeraerts precursor in the Berlin Kupferstichkabinett, see: “De iconografie van de reformatie in de Nederlanden, een begripsbepaling,” review by R.P. Zijp, Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum, Jaarg. 35, no. 3 (1987), pp. 176–192; Knipping, John B. Iconography of the counter reformation in the Netherlands: heaven on earth, Nieuwkoop: De Graff, 1974, figs. 2.19–20. Many thanks to Malcolm Jones for bringing this source to my attention.

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neither a mistake nor a later state of the etching, but again, a pun on the name of an order undeserving to be associated with Jesus. On one side, a dog with an erect penis appears next to a Jesuit; when both flaps are switched, the man retains his identifying cap, but becomes a Jesuit sow. (Figs. 6.14a–b) At the same time, his canine companion turns into yet another Jesuit. These changing figures must again represent the popular Eck and Lemp pairing—updated to Canisius and Eisengrein for the late 1560s. They had appeared everywhere, including embossed book bindings, through the 1540s.64 Beneath the dog and pig, another sow wearing a papal tiara plays a flute and copulates with the dog on the ground as they both burst into flame. If a tiara-wearing ass in Luther’s Depiction played the bagpipes, why not a pig with a flute? (Fig. 6.14b) The first lower half shows a wolf feeding her young, while overhead, a sheep bleeds to death despite the protection of an indulgence. On the back of the print, a pope in majesty gracefully trades places with the Whore of Babylon and her seven-headed beast. (Fig. 6.14c–d) The order of folding in the print is quite unusual. The entire contraption is printed from a single sheet of paper. (Fig. 6.14e–f) Unlike the Beham work however, not all of the figures share all of their limbs. The verso interchangeably suspends the pope and the Whore of Babylon above admirers or a money chest, while on the front, the Jesuit-clad pig and dog are arranged diagonally. One of them is depicted as an animal, the other remains clothed. The third and fourth combinations show the figures with mixed bodies, half man, half beast. Although this strange imposition confuses the visual impact of the piece, the figures take on an even more gratingly composite quality. Not content to remain one or the other, they flit between both states, and retain the worst of both. Hence, Meyerpeck insists that the Schandeckel cannot cover the Jesuit threat.

Luther Triumphant While the 1569 Wittenberg “Suiten” and roughly contemporary Meyerpeck Suitae emphasized the hypocrisy of the Jesuits, a sheet published the previ-

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Dorothy Miner, Walters Art Gallery, The History of Bookbinding, 525–1950a.d. (Baltimore, md: 1957), cat. 358, 151, notes a Beinecke Library volume with a portrait roll showing the same line of animal-masked papists (Leo x, Murner, Eck etc.) as the 1520s woodcut. The roll was dated 1540, but remained in use at least until this book was bound in 1552. Beinecke Gfa 84+ t540; The binding contains J. Lefevre d’Etaples, Totius naturalis philosophiae Aristotelis paraphrases (Freiburg im Breisgau: J. Faber, 1540).

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ous year offered a weapon to combat it.65 The Luther Triumphans was one of the few sheets to pit Luther himself directly against the Papacy, for he generally appeared in broadsheets as an intermediary rather than a surrogate of Christ.66 The anti-Lutheran Anatomy sheet changed the boldness of his posthumous imagery when it attacked his increasingly sanctified reputation. The answer to the Anatomy only increased this hagiographic treatment. In point of fact a similar sheet from 1618 would show a flying Luther attacking the pope! In several versions of the Luther Triumphans woodcut he stands on a literal higher ground, wielding a book of scripture as he anachronistically opposes a crowd of Jesuits. (Fig. 6.12) These are led by Pope Leo x, who died in 1521 after excommunicating Luther the previous year. Luther defended himself at the Imperial Diet of Worms, but the pope was not present. Similarly, the Jesuit Order was first approved by Paul iii in 1540. Already by 1569, their missionaries had established centers all over Europe, and were building a presence in the Orient as well. An unpublished, anonymous drawing in the Dresden Kupferstichkabinett takes Luther’s triumph to a new level.67 (Fig. 6.15) Extracted from the city archives around 2006, the sheet likely originated in Dresden. It probably dates to the early 1570s or late 1580s, when new editions of the Wittenberg and Ingolstadt broadsheets were produced, but certainly dates after Luther’s death. The Dresden drawing contains two double-sided flaps, and comprises an entirely original creation that opposes Luther directly with the pope. The artist may well have seen the Luther Triumphans sheet, for even in death, Luther takes on Christ’s own responsibilities to oppose the papacy. The two sides of Dresden’s ink and watercolor sheet are divided into the spheres of Ecclesia and Politia, though only the pope invades both. With the Ecclesia flap down, Luther kneels in front of a window showing the heavenly Jerusalem; with the flap up, the pope appears outside Rome, holding an indulgence as a sycophant prays the rosary at his feet. The papal crest, once so villainously treated by Luther’s Landsknechte, is merely transformed into a harp, turning the Reformer into a member of the heavenly host, and also another David soothing a savage Saul. The top two lines of the book change as well, from a prayer to the pope, “Papa Libster Vater Erhör Unser Gebet,” to one more piously directed to God: “Abba Lieber.” 65 66

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Strauss, 1550–1600, Appendix a, 1316–1317. See Lucas Cranach the Younger’s Evangelical Communion and Fall of the Papacy, as well as his Comparison of the Catholic and Lutheran Faiths, Geisberg/Strauss 653–655; also, Strauss 1550–1600, as Kempf no. 9, 508–509. Dresden Kupferstichkabinett (Inv. no. Ca 91 Bl. 1).

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German, Luther Versus the Pope, after 1546, possibly 1570s or 1580s. Pen and watercolor with a double-sided flap: approx. 4.8×23cm ( flap); 18.2 × 23 cm (sheet). Kupferstich-Kabinett, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden (Ca 91 Bl.1).

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With the Politia flap down on the right side, Luther is joined by two soldiers representing constance and faith in late sixteenth-century dress. They trample three violent allegories while holding the empty papal tiara aloft under a banner repeating the acronym, vdmi(a)e. Again, “Verbum Domini Manet in (A)Eternum,” the Word of God remains eternally. As already noted, this popular saying among the Protestant dukes and electors was omnipresent, to the extent of sometimes even being embroidered on their clothing. With the flap back up, the pope retakes the higher throne; here his chamber exposes persecution, and he holds a coffer of his ill-gotten funds. His head just reaches the top of the flap, where it seamlessly rejoins with the tiara held by the newly hidden soldiers. Although Luther generally appeared in peaceful poses, the Dresden and Luther Triumphans sheets are related to another response from Nass, his Ecclesia Militans, from ca. 1569, which again shows the Protestant faith as at a loss without its leader. There, Luther is absent, and his closest representation is the Monk Calf, who appears in a long line of deformed creatures.68 Nass insinuates this is the best force the leftover Reformers can muster, a suggestion belied by the Dresden sheet’s equally propagandic, but still resplendent defenders. Several prodigies gather under a banner wielded by a dog, again with the acronym v.d.m.i.e. As he notes in the text, Nass uses it here to mean “ ‘Verräterisch, Dückerish, Meineydisch, Jüdisch, Ehebrecherisch’ (treacherous, malicious, perjurious, Jewish, adulterous),” all in all, a sure sign of the Antichrist.69 The unsubtle nb, (nota bene), and dclxvi (666 in Roman numerals) glosses only emphasize the importance of this statement. Given the heated dialogue that surrounded Nass’s sheets, and the Dresden drawing’s possible awareness of the Luther Triumphans, the author of the drawing probably also knew the Ecclesia Militans and its inverted version of vdmie. On the Dresden sheet, the extensive German text is difficult to read in its entirety. The rightmost first line, “Darnach offenbahr der Antichristo,” nonetheless marks the pope as the Antichrist, and the print as a means of revealing him as such. Like the Heaven-Hell contrast of Luther’s harp to the

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Ecclesia Militans broadsheet, 1569 (bm, 1880,0710.340); Monk Calf, in Philipp Melanchthon and Martin Luther, Deuttung der zwo grewlichen Figuren Bapstesels zu Rom und Munchkalbs zu freyberg jn Meyssen funden (Wittenberg, 1523) (Universitätsbibliothek Basel, an vii 10:13). Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, 285; The term also appears in his reprint of the sheet, and his 1581 Examen chartaceae Lutheranorum concordiae (Ingolstadt, 1581), 35; Frederick Stopp, “Verbum Domini Manet In Aeternum, The Dissemination of a Renaissance Slogan,” Lutheran Quarterly 1 (1987): 54–61.

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pope’s ever-targeted escutcheon, and the easily revised prayer book, the vdmie also offers a double meaning. Indeed, the flap intentionally leaves that acronym uncovered to reiterate one message: it is the pope who is the Antichrist, while Luther’s followers remain the chosen protectors of the Word. This drawing was probably never intended to be reproduced for a wider audience. Yet it reflects upon the entire corpus of sixteenth-century polemical and anatomical flap prints, demonstrating the thematic flexibility and continuing relevance of the medium for the interactive viewer. Just as the renowned anatomist Vesalius’s visage graced the male flap anatomy accompanying Philipp Melanchthon’s De Anima commentaries after the 1570s, Luther’s appearance in the Dresden flap drawing cements his connection to the interactive propaganda broadsheet. (Fig. 6.15) Luther may not have lived to see Flacius staunchly defend his teacher’s position on adiaphora—by the novel means of a flapped woodcut devil in a choir robe—but he would have been aware of the boundless possibilities of the interactive print medium. Luther’s fascination with portents suggest a likely encounter with Elßgred’s birth announcement, while Beham’s lascivious Faltblatt might have amused him. Counting on their sheer numbers alone, Luther would have been the most aware of the anatomy sheets that cut so cleanly to the heart of his Scheine, or false appearances. Luther’s fear of the concealing Deckel long preceded its popularity in printed form. And yet he is implicated in its genesis at least once. The flap on the Dresden drawing lifts upward from below the praying Luther’s feet, rather than turning up at his midsection. It is the lower, baser, more animalian part of his anatomy that turns into his enemy pontiff. Thus, Luther’s countenance becomes the true face of Christianity—the pope lurking below is merely the discarded mask.

part 3 Instrumentle auff Papir: Georg Hartmann of Nuremberg and the Printed Scientific Instrument Trade

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Georg Hartmann as Interactive Printmaker The first part of this book discussed the religious basis of interactive prints in relics and ritual devices used in the celebrations of the Catholic Church. Like the altarpieces and liturgical aids they copied, triptych prints gained sculptural form when folded to stand upright, their laterally opening wings recalling the strangely public wombs of carved Schreinmadonnas. The Munich St. Bridget triptych particularly demonstrated that double or tripartite prints were sometimes pasted onto blocks of wood, and hinged together to form more permanent objects of veneration that reinforced the participatory nature of the Catholic faith. Interactive devotional prints and book illustrations served a wider public than paintings or sculptures. The second part dealt with the yet broader transmission and application of interactive printing techniques via broadsheets. The popular flap anatomy sheets invented by Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder, and a similarly interactive body of anonymous Protestant propaganda employed multiple layers to demystify their subject matter through dissection and fantastical montage. In so doing they reinforced the viewer’s connection to the bodies on show, both normal and deformed by religion. These sheets dissected images of Adam and popes alike, with the viewer as catalyst—breaking them down into disparate levels of flesh and hypocrisy. This part of the book examines the physical manufacture and growing importance of a class of interactive prints that reverses the trend of the revealing folding and flap prints discussed thus far. Eschewing the breakdown of the human form, these particular prints instead enable the viewer to erect three-dimensional sundials, astrolabes, globes, and other functional scientific instruments.1 Like the Munich triptych, they functioned best when pasted onto wooden supports. Some sundials assumed the familiar folding function of the religious diptych, or even appeared in the form of a cross. When their owners added compasses and pointers, these devices could harness the power of the sun, and be used for portable calculation instead of prayer. Their inven1 Epact: Scientific Instruments of Medieval and Renaissance Europe, http://www.mhs.ox.ac .uk/epact/, defines an astrolabe: “The planispheric astrolabe is a two-dimensional model of the celestial sphere in relation to the earth, based on the assumption that the earth is in the centre of the universe. It is a multifunctional instrument and can be used to tell the time, to determine the length of day and night, to simulate the movements of the heavenly bodies, for surveying and for astrological purposes.”

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_009

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tors clearly proclaimed how to construct these objects and the possibilities for their use in accompanying pamphlets, or in texts conveniently located on the images themselves. At a moment when noble makers turned their own ivory objects and began to found Kunst- and Wunderkammern full of sundials and other devices made of more permanent materials, the printed instrument offered absorbing, if sometimes puzzling learning experiences that resulted in functional objects, themselves requiring specialist knowledge for their use. Bret Rothstein’s idea of “visual difficulty” is in play here, but with a concrete end rather than intellectual frustration as the goal. Less durable than wood or metal puzzles until they were mounted on those materials, these objects could also be seen as reverse puzzles for the viewer to construct and use for subsequent calculations, rather than to imagine how to take apart.2 The completed instruments measure time, space, and astrological fate using interactive technology similar to the increasingly secular volvelle calendars. Scientific instruments that calculated planetary movements had long served to cast horoscopes as well, and both uses constituted a religious reading of the physical world. The decoration and function of numerous printed instruments from the sixteenth century reflects this complicated relationship. The initial spate of these prints bridged the first years of the Reformation, but some personalized designs suited owners on either side of the religious divide. The 1529 crucifix sundial woodcut by the instrument maker Georg Hartmann of Nuremberg, for instance, furnished the model for his ivory sundials owned by staunch Protestants and Catholics alike.3 (Figs. 7.1–2) The reformers Philipp Melanchthon, and Duke Albrecht of Prussia—as well as the Emperor Ferdinand i’s wife, the very Catholic Anna of Bohemia and Hungary, are all documented recipients of variations on this woodcut in carved ivory and other materials. In contrast, one Hartmann diptych sundial engraving for the Turkish market bore Arabic lettering and a crescent moon.4 (Fig. 7.3) Like the unique instruments inscribed to their patrons, nobles also ordered reproducible sundials dedicated to themselves or to others. Even unpedigreed paper instruments appeared in Kunstkammer collections as famous as that of Duke Albrecht v of Bavaria (r. 1550–1579). Indeed, a 1598 inventory specifically lists “Fünff Appianische Quadranten auf holz gezogen,” five quadrants by [Peter] Apian pasted 2 Rothstein, “Visual Difficulty.” Also, on collectors of these items, see Karr Schmidt, “Making Time and Space: Collecting Early Modern Printed Instruments,” Prints in Translation 1450– 1750: Image, Materiality, Space. Suzanne Karr Schmidt and Edward Wouk, eds., Routledge/Ashgate Publishing, 2016. 3 gnm h665. 4 bsb Rar. 434: 55, 58, 63, 86.

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figure 7.1 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564) and Sebald Beham? (German, 1500–1550), Cruciform Sundial for All Latitudes, 1529. Woodcut: 44.1×17.6cm (sheet). © gnm (h665)

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figure 7.2 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Crucifix Sundial, 1544. Engraved and carved ivory: 9.7 × 3.9 × 1.6 cm. © gnm (wi133)

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figure 7.3 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Turkish Sundial, 1529. Engraving: 16.4 × 6.2 cm (inside border); 18.1 × 9.1 (outer plate). bsb (Rar. 434: 58).

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onto wood, several variants of which objects the author demonstrated in use on the title page of his 1533 Instrumentbuch.5 (Fig. 7.4) The commingling of these do-it-yourself quadrants with costlier versions in metal suggests the widening influence of such devices since the early sixteenth century.6 The explicit reference to their maker, the Ingolstadt scholar Peter Apian, further supports this influence. Apian’s mounted quadrants initially appeared as single-sheet woodcuts appended to his 1532 handbook on the subject, Quadrans Apiani astronomicus. Separated from the volume in the ducal library, much of which survives in the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, they probably perished in the Residenz palace fire of 1674. Indeed, very few constructed printed instruments have survived from the sixteenth century: astrolabes by Georg Hartmann from 1542 (now on cardboard at Oxford) (Figs. 7.5–6); by Pierre Danfrie from 1578, 1584 and 1624 (Private collection, the Adler Planetarium, National Museum of American History, and Museum of the History of Science (mhs oxford)); and by Johannes Krabbe from 1583 (mhs oxford). Other instruments included a 1585 cosmometer by Jacques Chauvet in the Bargello and a 1597 quadrant on wood at Frankfurt am Main, by Hartmann’s self-taught follower Franz Ritter.7 Despite their rarity today, the wide availability of these cheap alternatives to metal instruments remains unquestionable.8 The Italian doctor to Charles ix and Henri iii of France probably owned

5 Lorenz Seelig, “Die Münchner Kunstkammer,” Jahrbuch für bayerische Denkmalpflege 40 (1986): 101–138; “Johann Baptist Fickler, Das Inventar der Münchner herzoglichen Kunstkammer von 1598,” Editionsband: Transkription der Inventarhandschrift cgm 2133, Peter Diemer, Elke Bujok and Dorothea Diemer, eds. (München: C.H. Beck, 2004). 6 Epact: Scientific Instruments of Medieval and Renaissance Europe, http://www.mhs.ox.ac .uk/epact/, defines a quadrant: “A quadrant is a mathematical or an astronomical instrument featuring a graduated arc encompassing a quarter of a full circle or 90°. Astronomical quadrants were used mainly for determining the altitude of a celestial body above the horizon. Meridian altitudes of the sun or a bright star could be employed for determining the geographical latitude of an observer; or, at a known latitude, the observer could obtain the time from an altitude measured not too close to the meridian direction.” 7 For a more in-depth discussion of these collecting practices, see Karr Schmidt, “Making Time and Space.” 8 Instrument scholars A.J. Turner and D.J. Bryden reiterate that Hartmann and others popularized printed instruments in the sixteenth century, suggesting that more be done on the topic. D.J. Bryden, “The Instrument-Maker and the Printer: Paper Instruments Made in Seventeenth Century London,”Bulletin of the Scientific Instrument Society 55 (1997), 3–15; A.J. Turner, “Paper, Print, and Mathematics: Philippe Danfrie and the Making of Mathematical Instruments in Late 16th Century Paris,” Studies in the History of Scientific Instruments (London: Rogers Turner Books Ltd, 1989): 22–42; “Mathematical Instrument-Making in Early Modern

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the mhs oxford Hartmann astrolabe around the time that French paper instruments appeared.9 The 1584 second edition of Pierre Danfrie’s astrolabe engraving set remained popular, going into two more versions after the turn of the century. D.J. Bryden’s 1997 compilation of surviving paper instruments from early modern London also suggests a thriving trade there beginning in 1585. In addition, several printed sundials survive from the seventeenth century, including at least two painted sundials pasted onto wood at the Herzog August Bibliothek in Wolfenbüttel commissioned by August himself, among many other timepieces in various materials.10 Instrument printing continued unabated into the nineteenth century, with a half dozen constructed examples preserved in Dresden and Frankfurt am Main alone. Despite the dearth of Renaissance prototypes, a printed instrument explosion occurred in the sixteenth century, and it originated in the workshop of one enterprising Nuremberg mathematician and instrument maker—Georg Hartmann. This part of the book therefore focuses on an experimental group of working scientific instrument prints the prolific Hartmann invented from about 1526 to 1562, within the context of contemporary scientific printmaking throughout Germany. Hartmann established the first market for build-it-yourself instruments through his circle of nobles, humanists, and craftsmen. The imperial free city of Nuremberg became the ideal printed instrument hub, as it had already acted as the reigning capital of trade in real instruments for centuries. Hartmann and his workshop also produced sundials, astrolabes, and quadrants in more permanent materials, about thirty of which survive—compared to more than six times that many impressions of his paper instruments.11 Despite the

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Paris,” Luxury Trades and Consumerism in Ancien Régime Paris, Anthony Turner and Robert Fox, eds. (Brookfield, usa: Ashgate, 1998), 63–96. Another discussion of paper instruments in the seventeenth century (albeit reverse copies printed from actual instruments) appears in Catherine Eagleton and Boris Jardine’s article, “Collections and projections: Henry Sutton’s paper instruments,” Journal of the History of Collections 17:1 (2005): 1–13. R.T. Gunther, The Astrolabes of the World: Based upon the Series of Instruments in the Lewis Evans Collection in the old Ashmolean Museum at Oxford (Oxford University Press, 1932) 2, 438–439. Paul Raabe, Sammler, Fürst, Gelehrter: Herzog August zu Braunschweig und Lüneburg 1579– 1666: niedersächsische Landesausstellung in Wolfenbüttel (Herzog August Bibliothek, 1979), 78, 171. The standard list of all of Hartmann’s instruments is by the scientific instruments scholar Ernst Zinner, in his Deutsche und Niederländische Astronomische Instrumente des 11.–18. Jahrhunderts (München: C.H. Beck, 1956), 362–368.

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figure 7.4 Peter Apian (German, 1495–1552) and Hans Brosamer (German, ca. 1500–1552), Title Page, from Instrument Buch, 1533. Woodcut and letterpress printed in red and black: 30.3 × 20.7 cm (sheet). Owen Gingerich, Cambridge, ma.

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conception commonly held by historians of science, the proof is in the paper— the seventy-five designs and nearly 200 surviving impressions of Hartmann’s prints. These could not have been meant solely as illustrations for a book (that was certainly never published), nor simply as models to be copied, although they sometimes assumed this function. Hartmann’s prints were meant to be used as the sundials, astrolabes, and globes they represented. No other mathematician or artist of the era printed such a quantity and range of interactive designs, scientific or otherwise, and none enjoyed such far-reaching consequences. This section first introduces Hartmann’s surviving works and his humanist Nuremberg context. A brief pre-history of printed instruments follows, then the text returns to Hartmann’s working methods, and his artistic, and intellectual collaborations. Georg Hartmann (Eggolsheim 1489–1564 Nuremberg) remains relatively unknown to the art-historical world, even though he single-handedly designed, engraved, and printed over seventy sets of instruments, comprised of over a hundred different plates. He produced these functional sundials, astrolabes, globe gores, and other devices on his own intaglio press over a period of thirtyfive years. He also designed four sets of woodcuts with the help of local artists. Hartmann was a self-professed creator of prints he considered valuable for scientific reasons, but they were also richly decorated creations. The designs display his awareness of important Nuremberg printmaking, especially works by Albrecht Dürer. Conversely, Hartmann may have acted as the artist’s scientific adviser for the sundial section of Dürer’s 1525 book for artists on measurement, Unterweysung der Messung, in which Dürer published the first schematic illustration of a block sundial. This is a simpler version of one appearing in a slightly later Hartmann manuscript. Two diagrams in Dürer’s Nachlass also bear gh monograms.12 Hartmann merited an entry as a printmaker in the Thieme-Becker in 1923, but he is better known in scientific circles for the worldwide export of his ivory, copper, or brass devices. Indeed, he has been described as the most famous Nuremberg instrument-maker of the sixteenth-century.13 In his own time, his prints must have been better known and more widely used than we realize, for like Dürer’s recognized and plagiarized monogram, Hartmann clearly advertised his own authorship. His engraving editions are harder to estimate, as the designs survive from unique prints up to nine impressions 12 13

Albrecht Dürer, Schriftlicher Nachlass, Hans Rüpprich, ed., 3 (Berlin: Deutscher Verein für Kunstwissenschaft, 1956–), 326, plate 64. Hans Gunther Klemm, Georg Hartmann aus Eggolsheim (1489–1564): Leben und Werk eines fränkischen Mathematikers und Ingenieurs (Forchheim: Gürtler-Druck, 1990), 62.

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each. In contrast, Hartmann’s four sets of professionally printed woodcuts were likely available in several hundred copies each to recoup the cost of cutting the blocks. Although Hartmann never performed the blockcutting himself, his approach to printing was exceedingly sculptural, and required planning in both two and three dimensions. Almost every one of the approximate hundred and ninety six surviving impressions of Hartmann’s engravings and woodcuts can be cut out, folded or rolled, and pasted onto wooden supports of various shapes to serve as permanent tools.14 Comparisons of Hartmann’s metal and ivory instruments with his paper ones will clarify the ways he dramatically increased the sculptural possibilities of printmaking. Indeed, much of Hartmann’s oeuvre capably replicates the dimensions, detailing, and functionality of his more expensive and laboriously produced objects, with the added bonuses of portability and easy replacement. Although some sundial makers in Nuremberg employed creative iconographic details, the increasingly powerful guild enforced the predominant manufacture of one standard format—the rectangular diptych sundial calibrated for their home town. Hartmann made at least twenty-five sundials for Nuremberg, and about the same number for other latitudes. His shapes were varied and sometimes whimsical, and once (in 1561) he even eliminated the need for an intermediary support by printing a pure paper instrument—a set of concave and convex column sundials on either side of a sheet of thick paper, now in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum.15 The other sundials required a wooden support, but this experimental object was complete in itself. Hartmann initially received income from the Catholic Church, in which he began an ecclesiastical career in 1518, as well as from his standard instrument production. Thus, the ability to replicate his paper instruments suggests a desire for a larger audience that went beyond the accompanying monetary rewards. He was demonstrably proud of his authorship of his dozens of prints. Almost every one is signed with his name or initials and dated, some more than once. His own words on the subject of his prints also survive. On March 30, 1544, Hartmann sent a missive informing his patron Duke Albrecht of Prussia that he was preparing a large box of printed sundials and other instruments for him, which he had personally engraved and printed: “mit meynen henden gestochen und auch selbs abgedruckt.” Hartmann referred again to the cache of prints on April 2, “After which I have collected all sorts of artworks of various unique

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gnm 25490-1/1206, is an illusionistic image of a cup sundial that may be intended only as a model. gnm 2716/1206 and wi 188. Further discussed in Karr Schmidt, “Making Time and Space”.

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[selzamen] timepieces together in a wooden box, all of which together I have drawn [gerissen] and engraved [gestochen] with my own hand, and all of it printed by myself alone under my own press.”16 The letter that accompanied the cache for its journey and presentation to the duke must be missing. On June 8, 1544, he inquired about whether his box of paper instruments had arrived: “instrumentle auff papir, welche ich selbs gedruckt und in kupfer gestochen hab.” In fact, his concern about the safe arrival of his prints takes precedence over all other news or requests for payment—it constitutes the initial concern of the missive after the requisite florid address to its noble recipient. The response from the Duke does not survive. The reconstructed contents of the Duke’s cache will figure instead in determining the contemporary status of Hartmann’s prints, and in establishing his status as one of most important figures in the history of interactive and sculptural printmaking. This reconsideration will combine surviving documentary sources with close visual and technical analysis of the prints themselves to disclose the breadth of Hartmann’s printing experiments, his extensive scholarly connections—and his legacy.

Hartmann’s Collections Three main repositories of Hartmann’s prints demonstrate the range of use for the objects as collectors’ artworks, working models, and experiments. Three volumes of the prints were bound by the seventeenth century, two of which include contemporary materials that complement Hartmann’s work.17 A third collection includes only loose sheets, while other single sheets and entire sets are scattered between other collections. The Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (bsb) album Rar. 434, which contains about a hundred and ten impressions of Hartmann’s prints, appears to have been based on his collection of other paper instruments as well as in-

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“Noch dem ßo hab ich allerley kunststückle von mancherley selzamen horologien zu sam in eyn hultze puchßen gemacht, welche alle sambt ich mit meyner handt gerissen und gestochen hab und under meyner pressen selbs alles alleyn gedruckt.” Fifteen letters survive from Hartmann to Duke Albrecht, Geheimes Staatsarchiv, Berlin: Signatur xx.ha.hba a4, Kasten 208–212, chronological by date. The hab 15 Astron. 2° volume is bound in a fifteenth-century music manuscript on parchment (Agnus Dei), the Ne 284 also has manuscript text on the outside and includes printed biblical commentary text as a reinforcement (including quotes from Matthew and Maccabees). The bsb volume is bound in a Latin vulgate transcription of the Prophesy of Ezekiel 41, 25–42, 11 (with his vision of the Temple).

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progress impressions of his own material. A later owner supplemented these with additional scientific prints dating to the late 1570s. The consummate scientific instrument scholar Ernst Zinner catalogued Hartmann’s contributions to this volume quite thoroughly in his 1956 Deutsche und Niederländische Instrumente, although he deals more sporadically with the drawings and works by other artists it includes. Integrating Hartmann’s prints with the list of his metal and ivory instruments, Zinner classifies them by functional type, and only discusses the graphic elements of the prints when the completed instruments form unusual shapes or display coats of arms and dedications to particular nobles. Zinner also includes the twenty-eight engraved sheets at the Graphische Sammlung of the Germanisches Nationalmuseum (gnm) in Nuremberg in his tally. Of these, the fifteen prints formerly in the Wissenschaftliche Instrumente (Scientific Instrument) department are the best known to the literature. Zinner also refers to a long mysterious album, gnm 2° 2983, which contained one Hartmann sundial engraving, two drawings for (or perhaps after) other of his sundials, and several drawings and an engraving of instruments by Franz Ritter and a Giovanni Paolo Cimerlino, respectively. After repeated search attempts, that album has been located in the museum library, and proved to be exactly as Zinner described, a much-dilapidated working album of scientific prints and drawings assembled in the early-to-mid seventeenth century. Zinner however missed the large woodcut sundial (gnm) dedicated to the Nuremberg Council in 1551, and the only known impression of the spectacular 1529 woodcut precursor to Hartmann’s ivory crucifix sundials.18 (Figs. 7.14; 7.1) In consequence, the latter has remained all but unnoticed in the woodcut section of the gnm Graphische Sammlung.19 A few other single impressions have survived unknown to Zinner—the constructed impression of the engraved astrolabe at the Museum of the History of Science, University of Oxford and a nearly complete bound set of these engravings in the Wheeler Gift at the New York Public Library (Fig. 7.5). These closely resemble the Adler Planetarium brass astrolabe by Hartmann, among others. (7.6) Pairs of his woodcut astrolabe sheets survive at the British Library and the bsb (Fig. 7.7); three sets of globe gores and two engraved astrolabe parts at the Stuttgart Landesbibliothek; and sundials at 18 19

Nuremberg Council Sundial: gnm hb 6996a; bsb Rar. 434: 135, Berlin kk, Albertina. One exception was an article by a society of German model-building enthusiasts, describing it as the first “Aussschnittbogen,” or cut-out sheet to survive. Ludwig Engelhardt, Constanze Lindner Haigis und Dieter Nievergelt, “Ein Sonnenuhr-Kruzifix von Georg Hartmann (1489–1564) aus Nürnberg,” Zur Geschichte der Kartonmodellbaus: Arbeitskreis Geschichte des Kartonmodellbaus 4, 2006, 11–16.

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figure 7.5a

Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Paper Astrolabe, 1542, engravings glued to pasteboard and wood, with brass fittings: 16.8×13.3×3.4cm. mhs oxford (Inv. 49296).

figure 7.5b

Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Astrolabe Kit, 1535–1542. Engravings bound within album, 23.5 × 17 cm (album sheets); 16.7×13.5cm; (plates). nypl.

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figure 7.6 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Astrolabe, 1540. Brass: 19.7×14×1.9cm. Adler Planetarium & Astronomy Museum, Chicago (m-22).

the Houghton Library, the Berlin Kupferstichkabinett, and the Albertina— the latter two the 1551 council dial disguised under the name of a possible collaborator, Erhard Schön.20 The third major collection of Hartmann prints has rarely been viewed during the twentieth century, and its exceptional contents complete several gaps in Hartmann’s oeuvre.21 Due to its somewhat isolated location, however, the Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (hab) albums of Hartmann material have been overlooked by most instrument scholars, including Zinner. One of the library’s two little-known albums holds twenty Hartmann prints, including the unicum of his first engraving (1526), and the only complete copy of his first woodcut (1529).22 (Figs. 7.8–9) The library’s scientifically curious founder,

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Woodcut Astrolabe: bsb Rar. 434: 70, 74 (145), 115, 127, 35, 44, 75, 92, 93, 94, 104 (2 parts); British Library, 1811.a.1.(34.); Kunsthistorisches Museum (ar 1336). Globe Gores: bsb Rar. 434: 16–24, Stuttgart; hab Aug. 18–19, bsb Rar. 434: 116–124, Stuttgart; Engraved Sundial: Houghton *gb5h2557 535p. The hab has required each viewer to sign lists kept in its books since at least wwii. Ad Stijnman from Oudewater and a J. Pott from Frankfurt am Main were the only other readers of these two volumes, both in the 1990s, previous to Stijnman’s inclusion of the 59 sheets of engravings in the ongoing Virtuelles Kupferstichkabinett digitization project. These can be viewed in full under “Georg Hartmann”: http://www.virtuelles-kupferstichkabinett.de/. hab Aug. 20–21; hab Aug. 17; bsb Rar. 434: 48 (undated instructions triangle).

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figure 7.7 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Astrolabe Kit, 1551. Woodcut: approx. 19 × 16 cm (block); 28.8 × 35 cm (sheet). bsb (Rar. 434: 70; 127).

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figure 7.8 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Octagonal Sundial, 1526. Engraving on two sheets: 28.2 × 19.7 cm (left plate); 30.4 × 20.4cm (left sheet); 28.5×19.7cm (right plate); 30.4 × 20.4 cm (right sheet). hab (Inv.-Nr. 15 Astron. 2° (1r–v)).

Duke August ii of Braunschweig and Lüneburg, must have acquired the volume during the early seventeenth century, as it bears one of his call numbers, “Astro[nomica] 15.”23 The other volume includes thirty-nine of Hartmann’s engravings, and it bears the initials f.a.d./ b. et l. on the first engraving. These belonged to August’s youngest son, Ferdinand Albrecht i (1636–1687), who donated numerous books and manuscripts to the library. A world traveler with a penchant for rare publications, he turned his entire residence in Bevern into a Kunstkammer, making him heir to his father’s encyclopedic interests. Ferdinand routinely signed all of his books, the initials varying slightly according to their language or the place he purchased them. Here, the “et” of “b. et l.” could refer either to France or to Hartmann’s predominantly

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Duke August’s collection is very rich in broadsheets with movable parts, as is his collection of scientific books. He even used Theodor de Bry’s Emblemata Nobilitatis as a Stammbuch during his travels as a young man, no doubt enjoying the flap image of a woman and her lover in a barrel so much that it wore off. Glue residue remains.

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Latin labels.24 The content of the album, to be discussed in more detail later on, suggests these might be a similar set of prints to those belonging to Duke Albrecht of Prussia.25 Hartmann only published one full-length book during his lifetime, a much updated version of the thirteenth-century scholar John Peckham’s Perspectiva Communis, which Hartmann edited in 1542. This popular text on optics by the Oxford theologian, later the Archbishop of Canterbury, became a standard reference work through the seventeenth century, and offered a model for the study of experimental science within the Church. The cursory woodcut diagrams in Hartmann’s edition may be cut after his own design, but they are small and unfit for use as separate instruments. In addition, his follower Franz Ritter’s 1613 text on De Usu Astrolabii refers to Hartmann’s 1554 pamphlet, Directiorum Medicorum, which described the use of his set of medical-astrological dial engravings of the same year.26 One plainly drawn disc shows a double-headed eagle in a circle within which is inscribed a triangle, square, and hexagon; the names of the four humors appear in an outer circle. The equally sparely decorated verso repeats this geometric arrangement, with the title of the work appearing at the base of the triangle, under the faces of a sun and moon. A much more ornate engraving from 1538 with the same name, and the same geometric inscribed center, appears in the hab 15 Astron. 2° album.27 Capped with three rosettes to hold a ring, like the mode of suspension for an astrolabe, and supplemented with three bars which could be attached as revolving rules, this engraving implies that the two surviving 1554 sets are probably missing a third plate of similar fixtures. The evidence of the 1538 print also suggests that Hartmann worked much more slowly on his separately published texts than on his instruments. The nine tiny engraved lines of instructions below the instrument end with an ambiguous comma, and occupy only half of the remaining

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Dr. Jill Bepler of the hab, communication 2/24/05, reconfirmed the provenance of these initials; In contrast, F.A.D.B.u.L. would be a book bought in Germany, or written in German. There is no direct line of inheritance, as the families were quite distant relations. Duke Albrecht’s second wife was Princess Anna of Braunschweig-Calenberg; their son Albrecht Friedrich Hohenzollern was the next and final duke of Prussia. Most remnants of the ducal library would have entered the library of the Königsberg Collegium Albertinum, founded by Duke Albrecht. Unfortunately, most of these have been missing since wwii. See www .libfl.ru/restitution/conf/lavrinovitch_e.html for a 2000 conference talk on the problem of restitution in the city (now Kaliningrad, Russia). bsb Rar. 434: 71 and 102 (sun and moon); gnm hb 2713 (suns) and hb 25492 (humors). hab Aug. 2.

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space on the plate. No pamphlets survive to accompany this 1538 version, which could mean he continued to work on the same project for another sixteen years before its publication. Hartmann also planned an extensive handbook on his manufacturing techniques for several types of sundials and astrolabes, but this text does not survive. Two early works, which may have related to the planned book, remained in manuscript form—one written from 1518 to 1527, now at the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, and the more finished manuscript on vellum ca. 1528, now at the Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, Weimar.28 In 2002, independent instrument scholar John Lamprey reworked these manuscripts into a single English translation, which he titled Hartmann’s Practika: A Manual for Making Sundials and Astrolabes with the Compass and Rule.29 As reworked by Lamprey, Hartmann’s text never explicitly mentions his printed instruments, although he acknowledges that paper designs are easy to use as a lining for concave dials, such as goblet, or scaphe, sundials.30 Several of Hartmann’s engravings from 1528 loosely correspond to the types of sundials he discussed in these Weimar and Vienna volumes.31 This does not guarantee that Hartmann produced those early engravings simply as diagrams, however. These initial prints often served as showpieces which he included in his correspondence with humanists, among other purposes. According to Lamprey, half of the Vienna diagrams remained unillustrated, while the Weimar volume seemed to relate to a third, still missing text. Indeed, the Weimar diagrams reproduce several innovative designs which Hartmann may have meant to publish separately from the less inventive Vienna manuscript. By the mid 1530s, however, both Peter Apian in Ingolstadt, and the cosmographer Sebastian Münster in Basel had brought out their own texts on the sundial. Münster included a diagram of the block sundial, which Hartmann

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Collectanea mathematica praeprimis gnomonicam spectania, ms 12768, Österreichisches Nationalbibliothek, Vienna; Composiciones horologiorum et aliorum instrumentorum que sole auct arcturo gubernantur, Folio Max 29, Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, Weimar. Georg Hartmann, Hartmann’s Practika: A manual for making sundials and astrolabes with the compass and rule, John Lamprey, ed. (Bellvue, co, 2002). Hartmann, Practika, 201. The Moondial is mentioned but unillustrated in the Vienna mss. Hartmann actually printed one, now in hab (ne 284, 14). In his introduction to Hartmann’s Practika (19), Lamprey points out that this device was thought not to have been invented until much later. The “Bauernring” shaped sundial appears in the bsb, hab, and Weimar albums. Another Weimar illustration of a universal instrument Hartmann attributes to Ptolemy has a working volvelle, but does not reappear as a print until 1539.

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may have helped Dürer illustrate in 1528, while Apian expounded on the technique of using the human hand as a sundial, a practice theoretically useful to people from all levels of society. Hartmann’s drawings of both subjects appear in the Weimar manuscript, completed several years earlier. Hartmann’s Practika refers to works by Regiomontanus, Johannes Stöffler, Johannes Werner, and Albrecht Dürer.32 This solitary glimpse into his library and reading habits suggest he was likely aware of all competing sundial texts. Yet that was not the reason Hartmann didn’t publish. Apian and Münster’s works may have appeared faster, but Hartmann likely waited because he was intending to expand his manuscripts into an even larger book. In 1730, his earliest biographer, the map and globe maker Johannes Gabriel Doppelmayr cites references to plans for the text from the introduction to Hartmann’s 1542 edition of the Perspectiva, although another work on sundials from 1572, by Bartholomäus Scultetus of Görlitz, exhaustively lists the publications of other scholars but mentions nothing from Hartmann. Nonetheless, Doppelmayr suggested that some of his woodcuts and engravings were done as sketches for the unfinished text. Hartmann only produced three known woodcut sundials. As noted earlier, he explicitly dedicated one to the Nuremberg council in 1551, making it an unlikely candidate for a textbook. Most book dedications were prefatory letters, not functional images. A pyramidal and a cross-shaped sundial had also appeared in 1529. (Figs. 7.9; 7.1) Being two of the most fanciful shapes of sundial conceivable, they hardly form the basis for a major book on the subject. On the other hand, if Hartmann intended to use his numerous engravings as the illustrations, it might explain why the project never came to fruition. His text would have been one of the first works combining large numbers of engravings with letterpress. It would have been quite expensive to produce, as each illustrated folio sheet would have to be printed in as many as four steps in two different presses to add engravings on both sides containing text.33 Many of Hartmann’s prints were large—engravings and woodcuts alike—which made construction and use easier, but also proved another prohibitive factor, considering the high price of paper. Production of the book would have been faster, and would have avoided the problem of overlapping plate lines from images impressed on both sides of the page. Yet it would require even more paper if

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Hartmann, Practika, 8–9. Franz Ritter’s De Usu Astrolabii (Nürnberg: Christoff Gerhard, 1613) includes 21 numbered engravings in a small octavo volume with 136 pages; the second part, 64 pages, only includes woodcut ornaments.

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figure 7.9 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Pyramid Sundial, 1529. Woodcut with letterpress: 10.2 × 38.1 cm (plate); 20.1 × 39.9 cm (sheet). hab (Inv.-Nr. 15 Astron. 2° (1p)).

Hartmann intended to have all of his engravings printed with a blank verso and then tipped into the volume. If he considered the works as both illustrations and instruments in their own right—the way he described them to the Duke Albrecht—he might have planned to have them all printed in his own workshop. Many of his copper plates were still present in his workshop until his death, a fact demonstrated by many instances in which they were reprinted on paper which may date to his final years. Did Hartmann consider his prints pure instruments, illustrations, or experiments? Several instrument scholars have argued that the mass distribution of his designs for use as real sundials was not Hartmann’s primary purpose.34 Why, then did he make so many? Even less than a decade after his death, Bartholomäus Scultetus described the paper instruments as meant for Hartmann’s one-time experimental use, “sich besonder erzeigt in fabrictiae mancerey Solariien, als seine edirten schemata testiren.”35 If true, this suggestion may build the strongest case for Hartmann’s oeuvre as artwork with a life of its own. Unlike Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder, who was forced to close his private press shortly after inventing the two most popular flap prints of the period, thus reaping few of its financial benefits, Hartmann began to see the influ-

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Peter Plassmeyer, discussion in Dresden, 10/7/04; Reinhard Glasemann, communication 9/16/04, but in subsequent discussion in light of the full number of surviving impressions changed Glasemann’s mind in 2006. Bartholomäus Scultetus, Gnomonice de Solariis (Görlitz: 1572), iv.

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ence of his invention.36 Indeed, as the historian of science A.J. Turner put it, “Hartmann was a pioneer of production in quantity.” The mass production of paper sundial faces was also Hartmann’s most innovative and influential form of publication. The globe printer Johannes Schöner’s son, Andreas, mentions Hartmann among the most famous mathematicians in the dedication of his 1562 Gnomice to Emperor Maximilian ii, detailing some of Hartmann’s discoveries of new types of sundials.37 More importantly, Andreas Schöner also tips two Hartmann-style sheets of build-it yourself woodcut sundials and an astrolabe-like volvelle into the book, one sundial bearing an unprecedented twenty-five working faces. Hartmann would have appreciated both the tribute and the sheer complexity of Andreas Schöner’s sundial, which for all its many sides remained functional.

Hartmann and Nuremberg’s Culture of Sundials Hartmann trod the line between Church and laity, craftsman and intellectual, and acted more than once as the adviser and informant of absent nobles. The imperial city of Nuremberg was an ideal location for all of these endeavors. The Nuremberg literati were as interested in paper instruments as they were in brass or ivory ones—some were even involved in the production and distribution of Johannes Schöner’s globe gores. In 1517, Lorenz Beheim wrote to Willibald Pirckheimer mentioning an upcoming delivery from Johannes Schöner of “ten or twelve globes. Some of them are for you if you wish to have them, and also for Albrecht.” Dürer’s Unterweysung also demonstrates his knowledge of interactive printmaking, though he never produced globe gores of his own. As well educated as any of this circle, Hartmann was not born in Nuremberg, but in Eggolsheim, in Franken. He matriculated at Ingolstadt in 1503, mastered the trivium and the quadrivium at the University of Cologne around 1510, and finished his specialist studies on sundial theory during a trip to Italy ending in 1518, likely made to balance the lack of hands-on experience in the the-

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Heinrich Vogtherr also published the first version of a popular book on sundials at his Strasbourg press in 1539, which appeared subsequently in many editions at other publishers, including Jacob Frölich in 1544. It does not include a buildable kit, although the images of quadrants could be copied or otherwise adapted as such. Andreas Schöner, Gnomonice A. Schoneri Noribergensis, (Noribergae: J. Montanum, 1562), xlviii.

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figure 7.10

Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Roman Sundial (Delineatio Horologii Columne Cancave ex Vetustiss, Marmore Rome Reperto Sumpta), 1527. Engraving: 8.5 × 22.7 cm (plate). bsb (Rar. 434: 32).

oretical German curriculum.38 He shared his love of Italy with Pirckheimer and Dürer. They may have appreciated his 1527 cylindrical sundial engraving after an Italian marble model, “ex vetustiss, marmore rome reperto sumpta, nunc in domo de le valle depositum,” even though Hartmann’s somewhat unconvincing modeling of the female form gives one of the figures a drooping shoulder, above an overlarge naked breast with seemingly inflated stiffness.39 (Fig. 7.10) Hartmann likely copied neither the figures nor the sundial design from his Roman source. He redecorated the dial for Nuremberg, outfitting the allegories with imperial eagle and horizontally-striped flags, and recalibrated it to the approximate latitude of Nuremberg. Immediately upon his return to Germany in 1518, Hartmann entered the Catholic Church as a vicar at St. Sebald in Nuremberg and was awarded a prebend at the neighboring Walpurgis chapel in 1522. He may have become acquainted with Dürer through this appointment, as the artist was one of St. Sebald’s many parishioners, and had been married there before Hartmann’s time. Once he entered Dürer’s intellectual circle, Hartmann’s name appeared often in the correspondence between Pirckheimer, Beheim and Schöner. Schöner mentions him in three different letters to Pirckheimer between Jan-

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Christoph Schöner, 290 for little-known records of Hartmann at Ingolstadt. bsb Rar. 434: 15, 32, 91; hab Aug. 6.

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uary and May 1524. Hartmann also established patronage ties in 1526 or earlier with the patrician Geuder family, several of whom were Pirckheimer’s nephews, and remained friendly with them until his death.40 The Geuders installed his epitaph when he was buried in the St. Sebald parish Johannisfriedhof, near Pirckheimer and Dürer. While Schöner had started his career as a mathematician and a priest in Bamberg, definitively leaving the Church to marry, letters and other documents continue to refer to Hartmann until at least 1544 with the title of vicar, a Protestant as well as a Catholic position. It remains unclear whether he rejoined the laity during the final decade of his life.41 In any case, after Nuremberg’s churches accepted Protestantism in 1525, Hartmann’s duties at St. Sebald appear to have impeded his instrument construction less and less. Yet his spiritual and scientific interests coincided at least once, in 1530, when he designed a sundial for the southern tower of the church, and possibly for its eastern and western sundials shortly thereafter.42 He usually signed his prints as “Georg Hartmann Norimbergae,” choosing to identify his place of citizenship rather than his ecclesiastical role. Even though the text of his epitaph does not mention his title, its sculptured frame fittingly counters the relief on the top showing a communion chalice and wafer, with the relief of a globe at the bottom.43 Although Hartmann’s grave bears a globe, his most famous inventions were his portable, printed sundials. While many churches and other buildings in Nuremberg were outfitted with an outdoor sundial, the majority of those produced could fit in their owner’s pocket. The inclusion of a compass in portable sundials made correct orientation to the sun easier. Thus, the sundial maker’s

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Hartmann made a copy of one of his Vienna manuscripts for a Chaplain Geuder on the 14th of June, 1526. Zinner, Instrumente, 359. Hartmann signs himself as a vicar of St Sebald in his letters in October 1527 to Veit Bild of Augsburg, and to the Duke Albrecht of Prussia in 1544, while a Council record of 1551 may refer to him as “Jorg Hartmann, priester.” Zinner, Instrumente, 363. Hartmann received 2 gulders for the Southern sundial. Johann Gabriel Doppelmayr, Historische Nachricht von den Nürnbergischen Mathematicis und Künstlern (Nürnberg: Peter Conrad Monaths, 1730), 56, suggests it might have been in 1555. Hartmann’s epitaph in the Nuremberg cemetery, grave number 666, reads: h.l.s.f. [Hoc Loco Sepultum Est] Corp[us] Reverendi V[iri] D[omini] Georgii Hartmanni Ekelsamensis: Qui multis annis Norimbergae honeste laudabiliterque versatus est et praeclaris ac luculentis operibus Astronomicis compluribus elaboratis atque editis. Cum vixisset Anno lxxvi. placide m.o. [Mortem Obiit] vi. Idibus Aprilis Anno Christi Iesu mdlxiiii. Cui mortuo memoriae gratia, familia Geuderiana, quam vivus benevolam et sui amantem habuerat, ex ipsius testamento h.m.p.c. [Hoc Monumentem Poni Curavit].

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guild was commonly referred to as the Compastmacher guild. As Penelope Gouk’s 1987 Ivory Sundials of Nuremberg: 1500–1700 exhibition catalogue celebrates, the most famous type of sundial from Nuremberg was the ivory diptych dial, a small rectangular hinged object which opened to show two faces at ninety degrees from another, the lower one with the compass (oriented northward), the upper with the dial face. (Fig. 7.11; 9.2) A short metal wire, or gnomon, inserted in the top, or a thread held taut between the two halves—and set at the 49° 27’ latitude for Nuremberg—would cast the shadow. As the reigning capital of the scientific instruments trade since the fifteenth century, the city popularized these portable, pocket sundials almost to the modern-day familiarity of wristwatches or cell phones. Actual pocket-sized watches were first available in the 1530s, but they were costly and unfamiliar. Created to help ease the gradual transition, watch and sundial combinations survive into the seventeenth century: more reliable, the sundial served to help correct the watch’s time. Nuremberg bred a veritable culture of sundials. According to Ernst Zinner’s 1964 survey, there were at least thirty outdoor dials in Nuremberg by the time Hartmann died, including the one he designed for the southern tower of St. Sebald. While portable dials came in multiple shapes, religious wall sundials throughout Europe frequently lacked creativity. One St. Sebastian with an arrow gnomon comprises a notable exception.44 The sculptor and printmaker Peter Flötner had a sundial on the house he built around 1543, which was possibly meant as a joke, for he’d married a widow with the last name Sonnenscheinin on November 25, 1532. No evidence suggests the sundial on Flötner’s house bore any resemblance to the “Human Sundial” of his infamous 1530s broadsheet.45 (Fig. 7.12) Yet he might well have designed the print as a humorous wedding gift. Flötner’s scurrilous Human Sundial broadsheet indulges in a discussion of the merits of real sundials. It does so by constructing a sundial on the undercarriage of a sleeping or passed-out peasant with his legs unceremoniously spread wide facing the viewer in a shocking manner similar to the uncovered

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Ernst Zinner, Alte Sonnenuhren an europäischen Gebäuden (Wiesbaden, F. Steiner, 1964), 131 and plate xix. The sundial was installed on a Benedictine monastery in Millstadt, but was heavily repaired in the Baroque and later. Geisberg/Strauss, g.829, Hollstein German 40. Ursula Timann, Untersuchungen zu Nürnberger Holzschnitt und Briefmalerei in der ersten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts, mit besonderer Berücksichtigung von Hans Guldenmund und Niclas Meldeman, Kunstgeschichte 18 (1995), 116. Also see Karr Schmidt, in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe, 292.

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Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Nuremberg Sundial Dedicated ‘for the use of the Compastmacher,’ (pro utilitate Horologistarum, vulgariter Compastmacher), 1535. Engraving, from a set of eleven diptych sundial engravings for different latitudes: 18.2 × 9.5 cm (plate). bsb (Rar. 434: 58).

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Peter Flötner (German, 1485–1546), Human Sundial, ca. 1540. Woodcut and letterpress broadsheet: 19.5×26.6cm (block); 26.9×31.4cm (sheet). haum (PFloetner wb 3.11).

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scholar and the theologian in Beham’s anti-clerical Faltblatt. With this unflattering angle, under the harsh light of the mid-day sun, Flötner further sets the stage with the curious accompaniments of hourglass, diptych sundial, and a pillow bearing a pile of turds pierced by his signature awl. An equally detailed poem is appended to the woodcut. This rarely-discussed text suggests as a moral the inherent blamelessness of timekeeping devices in contrast to their users. Given the preponderance of such instruments in Nuremberg, the message was acute. Even though its citizens possess numerous ways of calculating the time, they can do no more than that. The hours playfully inscribed along the supine man’s bare legs are devoid of subtlety, boldly insinuating that man can control neither himself, nor time’s passage. The print’s ribald manner reinforces the fact that time itself is above reproach, but not so those who heedlessly consume it. Among other virtues, the text extols the human sundial for being consistent, and correct in many types of weather—with or without light. Given that many attempts to produce a dial that could work accurately with the light of the moon had failed, this comment is rather tongue in cheek. The woodcut further tempers this praise with visual irony—only the man’s bodily functions run regularly. The reliquary-like hourglass of excrement depicted under the man’s left foot shows no sign of running out. The useless timepiece remains a cherished possession regardless. Another steaming pile on a pillow has an awl piercing it for a gnomon, becoming a misguidedly makeshift column sundial. The text refers directly to the traveling sundial (reissent urlein) on the right. With its evident compass and gnomon strong, that object may have told accurate time, but its supporting role—along with the hourglass as a rest for the human sundial’s feet—betrays its clownishly exaggerated size. Whether the human sundial is asleep, unconscious, or pinned down by the oversized gnomon crammed in his maw, he reflects a surfeit of the reprehensible activities mentioned in the poem. Nearly all of the verses involve eating and drinking, sleeping, or playing cards. The protagonist attends church at seven, but returns to bed directly thereafter, neglecting to perform any sort of labor to pay for his gaming or gorging. A likely consumer of Hartmann’s printed or ivory sundials, he wastes time by sleeping or resting, only seeming to awaken on the hour to check the time. Then he can devour his breakfast Semmel-Wurst, order the goose roasted for dinner, choose the card game to be played, or eat his fill once again. While the text censures the man’s activities through Rabelaisian enumeration, in the image, the force of time thrusts him to the ground, and slashes his trousers unapologetically open to reveal the hours on his wide-flung legs. Unlike the straight, slender pointers of indebted seventeenth-century prints, this sundial’s substantial, hooked gnomon violates

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both the man’s mouth and anus. Undaunted, Flötner’s Everyman squeezes out another magnificent turd. As befits this finale, the sun overhead, the shadows, and his bulging belly all indicate a time slightly past the excesses of noon. In marked contrast to its treatment of human sloth, the poem on Flötner’s broadsheet opens with a salvo of praise to the wondrous image (wunderlich figur) of the sundial. That image is the woodcut itself. The text implies that the human sundial was “artistically” constructed with the circle and square, and erected on the man pictured by using the same techniques promulgated by Dürer, among others, for wall sundials. More importantly, the text suggests that the woodcut can itself function as sundial by being pasted on the wall inside a kitchen nook with a window, or outside a door (on being provided with a gnomon). Flötner produced numerous ornamental designs meant to decorate small boxes, but the Human Sundial is his only truly interactive print. By both mocking and mirroring its subject matter, the woodcut is a marvelous precursor to Hartmann’s sundial dedicated to the Nuremberg Rat. (Fig. 7.14) Perhaps that decorous dial was his response to Flötner. Understandably, Hartmann’s view of man’s allotted time on earth revolved less around eating, defecating, and sleeping than on observation of less self-indulgent natural cycles. He also believed in the sundial as a useful tool, rather than an excuse for procrastination. Flötner’s broadside captures a natural state in which crude bodily functions persist, despite the introduction of fancy instruments. While Hartmann and Apian both worked on interactive prints and systems using the human hand as a sundial, it is unclear if Flötner was lampooning either one of them. By evoking every popular time-telling device—from stationary wall dials and traveling diptych sundials to hourglasses, and even makeshift dials based on the human body—Flötner took the Nuremberg time-telling fad to truly scatological depths. Flötner’s concept long remained amusing, with a sixteenth-century reversed copy at the British Museum without the text. A little-known French copy in the Waldburg-Wolfegg collection ca. 1620 cleans up the image to deal more with astrology than fecal sundials. (Fig. 7.13) This interpretation of the Human Sundial was copied directly from the original woodcut without reversing it, and further reinforces its popularity.46 Considering its source, this French engraving is surprisingly devoid of feces. The hourglass fills with sand, the cushion holds

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Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg, album 128 no. 327. The print is signed “Matheus excudit” by its publisher and possible artist Jean Matheus (fl. ca. 1619– 1620), and claims a royal privilege.

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Jean Matheus (French, active 1614–1625) after Peter Flötner (German, 1485–1546), Audacious Astrologers (astrologues audacieux), 1614/1625. Engraving: 19.5 × 25.9 cm (plate). waldburg-wolfegg (album 128, no. 327).

a compass and rule instead of the turd, and the man no longer chokes on the sundial’s gnomon. Even his bare buttocks remain unsullied by excrement, although their doughy globes have attracted a large striped fly or honeybee. The copyist supplies a new motto to the sheet, adapting its message not just to the sundial-carrying inhabitants of Nuremberg, but to all those desirous of unnecessary knowledge from above: “Audacious Astrologers, who seek the secrets of the skies, and who make a thousand arguments for the moments and minutes, in this timepiece if you please, you’ll find out what time it is.” Once sundials had determined the current time, converting it into planetary hours could effectively tell the user’s horoscope. In the seventeenth century an anonymous etched broadsheet shows a similarly “artistic” civic sundial with a squatting, shitting fool firmly attached to the end of its gnomon. An “Alamodo” anti-fashion engraving also survives from 1629 with a foppishly dressed couple flanking a heraldic shield built as a flap— when the print is held up to the light, the pair appear to be suddenly bereft of their lower garments. Beneath the shield-flap, the man takes center stage on a

figure 7.14

Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Compass or Sundial (Compast oder Sonnen Ur) for Nuremberg City Council (Rat), 1551. Woodcut and letterpress: 32×40.4cm (block). bsb (Rar. 434: 135).

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sundial, squatting and defecating like the fool, with the gnomon again inserted into his resplendent posterior.47 Although Hartmann engraved sundials of every shape and size, he never went to Flötnerian extremes in their shape or decoration. He did however produce about twenty-five printed versions of the Nuremberg specialty—the folding diptych dial. (Fig. 7.11) These prints likely sold for a fraction of the price of ivory or wooden originals, and could be pasted down onto hinged blocks of wood with relatively little skill. Although the prints were certainly collected by scholars, the general public could not always tell the difference between finely worked sundials and their paper substitutes. Thus, inquiries into the abuses of this technique may have begun in 1565, a year after the respected mathematician’s death.48 The 1608 ordinances of the Nuremberg sundial guild outlawed painted paper sundials outright, establishing a fine of ten new pounds for transgressors. The fact that they became such a threat reflects the lengthy reach of Hartmann’s pursuits. Why did the guild wait to protest? The delay may have been due to Hartmann’s ties to the Nuremberg Rat. He had dedicated a large sundial woodcut to that body in 1551, although it was not diptych-shaped. (Fig. 7.14) Additionally, as Hartmann was probably never a member, the guild would have had difficulty penalizing him. He even started printing sundials eight years before the Rat effectively recognized the sundial guild as an organization in 1535. Although no complaints have been documented among the other instrument makers—possibly due to lack of guild structure—one other industry protested the pasted print at almost the same time. In Augsburg, Lorenz Stoer and other artists printed intarsia-like designs meant to be pasted down onto furniture, much like Hartmann’s sundials. By 1568, the cabinet makers complained to their Rat, fearing that an influx would ruin their business. These “forged” intarsias could not replace the real article, “for objects are inlaid so sharply that no painter could rival it in colors, since colors do not render it as purely as wood.”49 In Nuremberg, the forgery was considered more one of material quality than of design, since the text refers to it as a fraud, or Plezwerk:

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British Museum Print Room, Foreign History Folders, 1629; Hamburg ub (Scrin c/22, 218). Also Zürich Zentralbibliothek (Einblatt 16, Modespiegel ia, i), slightly different letterpress. p-1221. Penelope Gouk, The Ivory Sundials of Nuremberg 1500–1700 (Cambridge: Whipple Museum of the History of Science, 1988), 68–69, 79. Christopher S. Wood, “The Perspective Treatise in Ruins: Lorenz Stoer, Geometria et perspectiva, 1567,” Studies in the History of Art 59 (Washington d.c.: nga Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts, 2003): 249.

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Thirteenth. Compasses should be drawn and divided freehand, but until now compasses have been covered with painted paper which does not endure [and was produced in an evil occupation] and is a mere deception through which the buyer is cheated. Such work gains ground and gives the craft a bad reputation, and therefore shall from now on such deceit and badly done work be completely stopped, and attract a fine of ten new pounds. And every master shall draw, divide and decorate the compasses freehand, according to the masterpiece and in the manner of the craft, on good boxwood without any paper fraud.50 The Gouk transcription of the ordinances omits an extra clause from the original, here in brackets. It reiterates the term “böse,” bad or evil, to describe the perpetration of such “papiere Plezwerk.”51 The ten-pound fine established in 1608 seems to have been the standard punishment for any type of forgery, as when a sundial maker signed another’s work with their own stamp. Although ivory and metal diptych sundials survive with Hartmann’s name, as already noted, his biography shows no signs of a guild apprenticeship, which would have lasted three years. Instead, some scholars speculate that Hartmann enlisted guild members to make those dials to his specifications.52 This may have been a fair exchange of intellectual and mechanical expertise. Tellingly, Hartmann produced over half of his diptych sundial prints in the same year as the institution of the guild, including one engraving explicitly dedicated to the use of the sundial makers: “Georgius Hartman Norenberge faciebat Anno 1535. Dies Hora 15m35, pro utilitate horologistarum vulgo Compastmacher.”53 (Fig. 7.11) This translates roughly as, “for the use of ‘clockmakers,’ commonly known as ‘compassmakers.’” Interestingly enough, the much-discussed sundial

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Gouk, The Ivory Sundials of Nuremberg, trans., 79, except for the bracketed portion. “Zum Dreizehenden. Demnach auch von diesem die Compasten mit gemahltem Papier bekleidt worden, die doch von freier Hand gerißen und außgeteilet werden sollen, welches aber keinen Bestandt hat, sondern ein lauteres Plezwerk ist, damit der Kauffer betrogen, die Arbeit in das Handwerk verstümpelt wirdt, [und in einer böse Beruf gebracht wird,] so soll hinfüro solcher Betrueg und böese gemachte Arbeit bei Straff zehen Pfund novi gar abgestellet sein und ein jeder Meister von freier Hand die Compasten nach Laut der Meisterstuck und Art der Kunst uf gueten Puchß, reißen, abteilen und zieren ohne alles papierenes Plezwerk.” Stadtarchiv Nürnberg, b12 472, 1608, 4–5. A. Jegel, Alt-Nürnberger Handwerksreht und seine Beziehungen zu ander (Neustadt an der Aisch, 1965), 325–327; 1608 guild ordinance, Stadtarchiv Nürnberg, b12 472, 1608, 4–5. Gouk, The Ivory Sundials of Nuremberg, 92–93. hab Ne 28,16–26 (complete set).

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dedicated to the guild is the final engraving in a series of eleven similar, plainly designed diptych sundials for the latitudes 30 to 60. If Hartmann had meant to dedicate a single print in the series to the guild on its inception, using 49° for Nuremberg—which was the required latitude for the masterpiece— it would have made more sense than 60°, the latitude for Uppsala and other Scandinavian points. Nuremberg is not even part of the set, which varies in increments of three degrees. Indeed, Hartmann probably made the entire group of prints available to the Compastmacher to help them retool their own designs to different latitudes. It is also possible that these illustrations were made for Hartmann’s lost text on sundials. Presumably he had also dedicated that book to the sundial guild, given the inscription on the 1535 series. There is no sign that any guild member used Hartmann’s Nuremberg prints for his masterpiece. The sundial guild required journeymen to make original punches for imprinting the dial faces with lettering and other graphics in three sizes. These punches produced copies that were identical in part, and not a far step from using Hartmann’s prints as templates.54 That is where the similarity ended. Every face had to be calibrated to 49° 27’ for Nuremberg. As befit their title of Compastmacher, journeymen also had to make their own compasses to fit these examination pieces.55 The 1608 ordinance also mentioned that every subsequent dial the master sold was supposed to be drawn freehand after his masterpiece. Though there was some room for variation, masters did not need to produce additional sundial designs of their own, and generally reused their initial versions. Hartmann’s status outside the guild hierarchy allowed him much more freedom to experiment with instruments calibrated for locations throughout Europe. Thus, in the sense that Hartmann designed each and every sundial as an original, every one of his prints could be interpreted as its own masterpiece. Sundial manufacture had been regarded as a free craft ( freie Kunst), much like the status of painting and printing, until its masters started to exercise control, making it closer to a closed craft (Geschworne Handwerk) with a guild structure in 1535.56 In fact, well-wrought scientific instruments were as highly esteemed—and certainly more expensive—than the painted and sculpted 54

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Hartmann’s prints also offered iconographic inspiration, as in a brass polyhedral dial from the British Museum, ca. 1555 (mla 1922, 7–5.22), which borrows the shape and some graphic elements of a 1549 engraving (hab Ne 284, 27). Zinner, Instrumente, 603. Requests had been made to the council for a guild since at least 1510. Gouk nuances Zinner’s interpretation of the 1535 ordinance, suggesting that it gave master craftsmen more power, effectively establishing a guild. Gouk, The Ivory Sundials of Nuremberg, 62–63.

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objects now more generally considered as art. The greater demand for sundials may have precluded the need for fine-instrument guilds, as well as the increasing competition from other cities such as Louvain. One overlooked measuring device was the astrolabe, a necessity for casting horoscopes. Hartmann ran a workshop specializing in astrolabes, sundials, and other mechanisms as well as his prints. It operated from 1532 at the latest, as two almost identical brass astrolabes survive from that year, with four from 1537. (Fig. 7.6) About the same number of printed astrolabes survive—with woodcuts in Munich, London and Vienna, and engraved sets in Wolfenbüttel, Munich, Oxford and New York. Hartmann placed numbers on separate parts of his metal instruments, which aided assembly, and suggests that an annual batch comprised at least a dozen astrolabes.57 This would have been an unheard of number of identical instruments, produced at a relatively rapid pace, thus requiring more than his own set of hands. Hartmann used identical engraved brass parts, including the retes (star maps), dorsal plates, and several interchangeable discs with the coordinates for different latitudes.58 All of Hartmann’s astrolabes, brass or printed, bear the Nuremberg arms on their dorsal plate—the imperial double-headed eagle, a harpy, and a divided flag bearing an eagle and diagonal stripes. The astrolabes also share consistent lettering, a process facilitated by an extensive collection of letter punches in eight different sets, which could be used simultaneously.59 The 1532 batch may offer another clue as to an important use for Hartmann’s prints, especially considering that Hartmann’s astrolabe engraving set was first dated 1535 before its visible-retouching to 1542. (Fig. 7.5) The Herzog August Bibliothek rete impression shows enough detail for the print to function as a cartoon for pouncing. John Lamprey describes the signs of Hartmann’s mechanical transferral process: Pinpricks every 5° are clearly visible on the back of the 1532 retes. These construction marks were possibly made by laying a paper template upon the back of the retes and transferring the divisions. Afterwards, a scribe

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John Lamprey, “An Examination of Two Groups of Georg Hartmann Sixteenth-century Astrolabes and the Tables Used in their Manufacture,” Annals of Science 54 (1997): 117–142. The surviving 1537 astrolabes are numbered from 2 to 12. Epact: Scientific Instruments of Medieval and Renaissance Europe, http://www.mhs.ox .ac.uk/epact/, defines a rete: “a skeletal star map representing the rotation of the heavens on an astrolabe. The rete normally features a projection of the ecliptic and pointers for prominent stars, and can be rotated over a chosen latitude plate.” Lamprey, Examination, 136–138.

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would be used to make small lines as far as the ecliptic circle. It is possible that a template was used on the front of the rete to lay out the star tip pointers, leaving no trace once the pointers were filed smooth.60 Lamprey argues that Hartmann was capable of producing instruments built from fully interchangeable parts, but that he never quite carried out the idea in his metal instruments. Conversely, one might see his prints as just such an endeavor. If Hartmann could offer his 1535 set of diptych sundials as templates to the Compastmacher guild, surely he could produce enough paper astrolabe parts on his own press to lay in the general outline. None of the brass astrolabes exactly follow the design of the 1531/1542 engravings, or even the 1551 woodcut version (Fig. 7.7), but both are functional when constructed, and could have simplified his overall production. Hartmann’s innovations in these areas are more impressive in context. Regulations on the production of separate parts required to make sundials such as needles for compasses, gnomons, and metal clasps were quite strictly controlled by the Nuremberg brass-worker’s guild. Hartmann himself produced at least three engraved compass roses for portable sundials, but he probably never made his own compasses. His interest in them was more theoretical; the topic of magnetism enthralled his occasional student, the future Emperor Ferdinand, as well. Hartmann even devoted an entire letter in March 1544, to the Duke Albrecht on the working of the magnet (known as the Magnetismusbrief since its rediscovery in 1831). Hartmann must have acquired quite a number of magnets, because Zinner mentions a scholar who made discoveries with a group of fifty magnets in 1679, many of them from Hartmann’s personal collection.61 These early forms of mass-production, some elements of which Hartmann shared with the sundial makers, do not exclude the possibility that he experimented with some of his earlier brass astrolabes from the 1520s. If he learned how to engrave the plates himself, he would then have been equipped to carry out his copper engravings. Indeed, Hartmann built these techniques into his printmaking, a medium which would eventually allow him greater creative freedom than more permanent materials. All of his printed engravings employed stamped characters, (presumably an additional set cast in reverse), especially for zodiac symbols and for numbers on the dials, but occasionally 60 61

Lamprey, Examination, 132. Zinner, Instrumente, 301. The scholar’s name was Georg Christoph Eimmart, and he was the director of the Nuremberg painting academy in the 1670s. Hartmann also investigated uses for magnets, and spent several occasions explaining the concepts to Duke Albrecht in letter form, and to the Emperor Ferdinand, in person.

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also included smaller lines of hand-inscribed text. Even the line quality of his prints suggests the use of a blunt point as well as a more delicate burin, though it remains unclear if he ever used an acid bath for inscribing any of his printed plates and metal instruments. Hartmann further streamlined the process of adding text to prints in his crucifix and pyramid woodcuts from 1529, by having his cutter allow for printing movable type within the woodblock image. (Figs. 7.1; 7.9) Peter Apian would also use this technique in his 1530s manuals, reusing the same quadrant framework for different languages. For instance, Apian substituted German for the original Latin when he translated the texts for his 1533 Instrumentbuch anthology. Hartmann would alter the coordinates more work-intensively in the series of eleven sundial engravings from 1535 (bound in order in hab Ne 284), by engraving a separate plate for each latitude. Members of the sundial guild, restricted by the price of ivory and the time required to produce each dial, could not experiment so freely beyond their masterpiece.

chapter 8

Instrument Printmaking before Hartmann As discussed above, volvelles had been present in manuscripts since the Middle Ages. Matthew Paris’s Christian lottery wheel and calendar dial from the 1250s were the earliest examples, while Ramon Llull’s Great Art of the late thirteenth century was the most influential early survivor, purporting to offer its triplelayered dial as a weapon to convert the heathen to Christianity. Llull’s work remained unpublished until 1514, but survives in many manuscript copies.1 (Fig. 1.5) The angel volvelle from 1466 discussed earlier calculated the date of Easter in a similar manner to these thirteenth-century calendars. (Fig. 1.1) Hartmann’s prolific instrument production would break new ground, but he was in part inspired by the earliest printed scientific instruments. Most remarked on in bibliographical literature, the first woodcut double-disc lunar dial was an integral part of a book, and marked the true path of the moon.2 (Fig. 8.1a) The book’s author and printer, Johannes Müller, was called “Regiomontanus” after his native Königsburg. This famous mathematician was definitely aware of Llull when he produced his Calendarium on his private press in Nuremberg in 1474. Regiomontanus owned manuscript copies of Llull’s two works which

1 For more information on the effect of Llull’s work on books with volvelles, see Suzanne Karr, “Constructing the Sacred and Profane.” Matthew Paris’s 1250 Chronica Majora, cccc ms 26, now at Corpus Christi College Cambridge, retains its complete dial on folio 5r; his lottery volvelle, in Ashmole 304 at Oxford is missing its dial. The Rutland Psalter at the British Library also contained a mid thirteenth-century calendar dial on folio 7. 2 Margaret Stillwell’s census of scientific publications lists Regiomontanus as the earliest printed volvelle. Margaret Stillwell, Incunabula in American libraries; a third census of fifteenth-century books recorded in North American collections, compiled and edited by Frederick R. Goff (New York: Bibliographical Society of America, 1964). In Hans Koegler’s Einzelne holz- und metallschnitte des fünfzehnten jahrhunderts aus der Universitätsbibliothek in Basel (Strassburg: j.h.e., 1909), however, the author suggested that the 1466 xylographic angel calendar may have been published together with the table flanked by Adam and Eve, as part of a more extensive calendar for that year. No copies of any additional pages of text have survived. It is however possible that the two sheets constituted their own set. This would still leave Regiomontanus’s text as the first volvelle in a book. Peter Parshall 1/6/05, also noted that the pinprick in the upper left corner of the Rosenwald Collection nga impression of the angel dial may mean it was bound into a book. No evidence of the manuscript or text to which it may have belonged has survived.

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figure 8.1 Regiomontanus (German, 1436–1476), Universal Sundial with an Articulated Brass Arm and Lunar Volvelle Dial and Quadrant from Calendarium, Erhard Ratdolt: Venice, 1476. Book with woodcut and letterpress in black and red, hand colored with brush and watercolor, pen and ink, with dial and metal (and modern string elements): 28.6 × 20.5 cm (sheet). aic (1948.343).

described the use of volvelles.3 And so, the three paper instruments Regiomontanus added to his Calendarium were even more innovative than the lunar volvelle. These are all capable of telling time with the addition of an index string, or plumb line. Many later copies of the book would adopt these physical attributes, as in the 1476 Erhard Ratdolt edition now at the Art Institute of Chicago. (Fig. 8.1) A quadrant and an instrument for unequal hours (not shown) require these strings to be attached at the top by the owner or bookbinder. The other, a rectangular universal dial, (later named the Regiomontanus dial after its inventor), was fitted at publication with an articulated brass arm, to which another plumb line attached. When the user set the device’s sights to the current angle of the sun, a bead or knot in the thread set at the correct latitude would indicate the local time of day. Cleanly designed and devoid of ornamentation, (except for the incongruous sun-shape on the lunar volvelle of the 1474 edition; this was replaced with a rosette in 1476), these are functional woodcuts. Regiomontanus printed the instruments on single sides of a thick paper approaching the density of cardboard, a technique scrupulously maintained 3 Ernst Zinner, Regiomontanus, his life and work, Ezra Brown, trans. (New York: Elsevier Science Pub. Co., 1990), 227, note 92. The inventory of his library undertaken by Willibald Pirkheimer in 1512 lists copies of both his Ars generalis, and Ars brevis, both of which describe the way to use the volvelle, and were later published with working dials.

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by Ratdolt and others. Though strong enough for heavy use within the book, the instruments were probably not intended to be removed.4 The bolts holding the articulated arm bind the quadrant and the Regiomontanus dial sheets for extra reinforcement, making them even more difficult to remove and use individually. In the Art Institute Ratdolt copy, the quadrant and parts of the Regiomontanus dial have been colored deep yellow, likely to mimic brass or other metals from which these devices would have normally been constructed. Regiomontanus died in Rome in 1476 at age forty, while attempting to reform the Gregorian calendar (which eventually took place in 1585). He was far from his goal of printing dozens of classic mathematical and cosmographical texts and maps on his Nuremberg press, which required constant supervision. Convinced that no other house was capable of reproducing such delicate publications, he insisted on overseeing all the block cutting and typesetting himself. As a result of these standards and his premature death, Regiomontanus finished only nine of the twenty-nine original works and translations he advertised to universities on a Tradelist broadsheet he issued in 1474. Some time before the publication of this list, the doctor Hermann Schedel attempted to talk his way into the mathematician’s confidence. Unsatisfied with the results of an evening-long discussion on Latin and Greek terminology, Schedel even considered infiltrating Regiomontanus’s workshop in his absence: They said he has printed an edition of 1000 copies of the new calendar with the true paths of the sun and moon. There isn’t anybody who has seen it, except for the type-setters. The commentary will be appended, all in good time … Until now neither I nor anyone else has been able to enter his house; however, one of these days I’ll gain entrance at the request [ad volutatem] of his employee, and inspect his work; I will let you know if I find out anything …5 No follow-up survives to this undated letter to his nephew Hartmann Schedel, (later author of the Nuremberg Chronicle). Hermann Schedel had determined the initial press run of Regiomontanus’s calendar from other sources, even if he never managed to visit the workshop. The thousand copies probably refer to the combined total of Latin and German versions (Calendarium and Kalender),

4 The nypl copy of the 1483 Ratdolt printing lacks the two dials of the volvelle, but retains several wax stains which secured the bottom dial at a particular year while the upper dial moved to the specific date. 5 Zinner, Regiomontanus, 108.

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although the latter was technically published second, for it included corrections that had been tipped separately into the Latin edition.6 The diagrams were likely printed simultaneously, as both editions retain the Latin labels, while, as Hermann’s letter indicates, the text portions followed. As Zinner suggests, even a printing this large could barely cope with the demand for these calendars. As a result, several copies of varying accuracy had already appeared by 1476. Although he resided in Nuremberg for only five years before his death in 1476, and closely guarded his technical secrets, Regiomontanus’s works achieved an extraordinary posthumous popularity in connection with the city. Erhard Ratdolt’s Latin editions of the calendar at Venice in 1476 and 1483 may have contributed to his appeal by prefacing the work with a laudatory poem which hinted that the scholar met his untimely demise through foul play, rather than the more plausible plague.7 When Hartmann Schedel’s Nuremberg Chronicle appeared in 1493, Regiomontanus merited his own portrait and description as a most famous Nuremberg astronomer and mathematician. In the early 1510s the scholar’s remaining instruments and manuscripts had been sought out by the Emperor Maximilian, as well as the Elector of Saxony, but were mostly acquired by Willibald Pirckheimer. Dürer later bought a number of Regiomontanus’s books on geometry and architecture from Pirckheimer, including his second copy of Euclid, which would prove influential in Dürer’s Unterweysung.8 Completing the circle, Georg Hartmann probably knew Regiomontanus’s Calendarium as well as the lunar volvelle and instrument sheets—he may refer to them in his Practika.9 He also indirectly acquired a Ringsonnenuhr (ringshaped sundial) and a manuscript from the scholar’s estate. Hartmann’s friend Johannes Schöner had the latter published, among many of Regiomontanus’s other surviving manuscripts. Schöner’s original works also included his Aequatorium Astronomicum of 1521, which will be discussed in more detail later. The first volume to harness the capabilities of large-scale volvelles, it is the indisputable graphic and interactive forerunner of Peter Apian’s 1540 Astronomicum Caesareum.

6 Zinner, Regiomontanus, 126–127. 7 “Ha scelus infandum secuit sua fila sororum./ Una trium celeri vipera seua manu.” 1483. 8 Zinner, Regiomontanus, 168–169. Dürer’s first copy survives at the hab, with an annotation that he bought it in Venice in 1507 for a ducat (22.5 Geom. 2º). 9 Lamprey, Examination, 115.

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Horoscopes and Calendars Regiomontanus had attempted to emphasize observation-based astronomy over astrology, and entirely excluded the latter from his calendars. Yet he had produced a horoscope manuscript for the future Emperor Maximilian and his mother during his years as a student in Vienna. Having horoscopes made to foretell each child’s fate was a widespread custom. Dürer’s father duly purchased them for Albrecht and his siblings; one of Hans Holbein the Younger’s designs for Sebastian Münster’s 1534 Sonneninstrument (equipped with its own astrological volvelles) also demonstrates the importance of this measure. A mother-to-be clearly in labor appears surrounded by midwives, with an Astrologer behind her, his blank charts at the ready.10 Importantly, Maximilian’s mathematician Johannes Stabius would commission several oversized timetelling “horoscope” prints in Nuremberg in 1512.11 (Figs. 8.2–3) One large folio woodcut explicitly designed for the Emperor does not have printed text attached, but a dedication manuscript now in Vienna explains how the amalgam of ellipses and concentric circles functions to interpret the astrological meaning of time at the emperor’s current location, or at those parts of his empire he wished to visit. The index string threaded through the center, “ex horiscopii umbilico,” allows the user to make horoscopic calculations of his own.12 (Fig. 8.2a) Indeed, Stabius describes eight different astrology problems that can be solved with the chart and pointer thread—an extremely interactive pursuit for the Emperor. The intricate web of lines would have been hand colored to help distinguish its components in the dedication copy. The woodcut decoration concentrates in the four corners, where griffins grasp the emperor’s signature pomegranates and robust winged women wave Burgundian and Austrian flags. These figures are steeped in Dürer’s influence. Although Dürer is held to have designed the two well-known constellation maps for the scholar, it is generally assumed that Hans Springinklee designed this block in his master’s

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Sun and Moon Instrument, Kupferstichkabinet, Kunstmuseum Basel (Inv. 1923.165–166) and Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (31.1226). See Karr Schmidt, in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge, 306–309. Albertina; gnm hb 25805 and 25428. Edmund Weiss, “Albrecht Dürer’s Geographische, Astronomische und Astrologische Tafeln,” Jahrbuch der Kunsthistorischen Sammlungen des allerhöchsten Kaiserhauses 7 (1888): 215. The dedication manuscript to Maximilian was ms 5280 in the manuscript collection of the kaiserlichen Hofbibliothek during the nineteenth century.

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figure 8.2a

Horoscope for Emperor Maximilian i (Horoscopion universal pro multiplici diversarum genium ritu), May 31, 1512. Hand-colored woodcut with hole for index string, and letterpress: 35.8 × 35.8 cm (block); 46.8×46.3cm (sheet). albertina (dg 1950/219).

stead.13 Springinklee probably also produced a four-folio sheet, banner-shaped horoscope for Maximilian’s ecclesiastic advisor, the Cardinal Matthias Gurk, which includes an extensive legend in letterpress below, much in the same vein as the “problems” Stabius extended to the Emperor. But the excessive size of this “Horoscopion omni generaliter congruens climati” limited its effectiveness and it was probably intended to be used or hung vertically.14 13

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Alexander Marr’s upcoming Art Bulletin article, “Epistemic Aesthetics: Dürer and Stabius’s Instrument Prints” on the group of Stabius prints toys with the idea of reattributing a related woodcut dedicated to Bannisius to Dürer. The blocks for this print are in Vienna; most surviving impressions are seventeenth or eighteenth-century impressions, including the gnm hb 25428.

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figure 8.2b

Horoscope for Jacob Bannisius (Horoscopion omni generaliter Congruens climati), August 8, 1512. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress: 33 × 20.2 cm (block); 39 × 24.6 cm (sheet). © gnm (hb 25805)

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The third “horoscope” produced by Stabius and Springinklee in 1512 is the most handily proportioned printed instrument of the group, as its size and complexity do not rule out everyday use. (Fig. 8.2b–c) It consisted of two parts—one of text and the other an active dial based on Regiomontanus’s universal dial, again offset by angelic, patriotic beings. The lines in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum impression of the woodcut portion have been carefully hand colored for easier differentiation, much like the presentation copy of the Emperor’s horoscope. Dedicated to Maximilian’s secretary, Jacob Bannisius, on its text panel (surviving only in an impression at the British Museum), rather than to the emperor himself, this device does not simply describe its recipient’s fate, but allows a variety of calculations at many latitudes. Here “… the word horoscope doesn’t have the usual astrological meaning, in which the hour of birth marks the ascendant, but rather its etymologically similar construction, which can be used to determine the length and division of the day, among other things.”15 Like the instruments Regiomontanus appended to his calendars, the “horoscope” format should be considered a bonafide printed instrument, rather than a static diagram. This function is not immediately apparent to those unfamiliar with such instruments. The two blank rectangles above the border line of this third Stabius “horoscope” rely on the viewer to interpret them as the location for metal sights, an integral component of the device. These shapes suggest silhouettes of the three-dimensional sights depicted on other paper instruments, such as a 1519 horoscope by Apian from Hartmann’s bsb album.16 (Fig. 8.4) Determining the time requires that the entire instrument be held at the current angle of the sun, as noted through those sights. As with the Regiomontanus devices, the resulting position of the knotted index string (attached to the instrument by a jointed, repositionable brass arm) then gives the reading, as demonstrated by the constructed model from the Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe exhibition. (Fig. 8.3) Such experimental publishing required close collaboration between the designer, draftsman, and printer. Stabius’s final products would be oversized, brilliantly hand colored, and so graphically complex that they required extensive user instructions. In two of the prints letterpress and xylographic text coexisted with large woodblocks that Stabius continued to correct even after the 15

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Weiss, 214. Walter L. Strauss attributes this work to Erhard Schön in the Illustrated Bartsch. This seems unlikely, as Hartmann had copied the Springinklee work in his 1527 cylindrical sundial; he probably worked with Schön later on in 1529, 1533 and commissioned designs for two works appearing after Schön’s death in 1551. bsb Rar. 434: 2. As Apian: Zinner, Instrumente, 234.

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figure 8.2c

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Horoscope for Jacob Bannisius (Horoscopion omni generaliter Congruens climati), published Hieronymus Höltzel, Nuremberg, August 8, 1512. Unique impression of uncolored woodcut with two columns of letterpress instructions: 34.2 × 20.5 cm (block); 40.8 × 52.1 cm (sheet). bm (1909,0612.31–33). © the trustees of the british museum

initial carving had been completed. (Fig. 8.2b–c) In fact, a unique early state of the horoscope for Maximilian’s secretary Jacob Bannisius now in the Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum in Braunschweig shows the editing of the image in process.17 Perpendicular vertical and horizontal lines extending beyond the instrument that were cosmetically reduced for the final version, are still present. A narrow block the length of the entire composition is also missing from the left side. It would be added in a masterful join that remained camouflaged until the eighteenth-century impressions, and contains two columns of numbers used for calculating the local time that had been entirely omitted from the proof, effectively rendering the instrument useless, just as it would have been without the sights indicated at the top.

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Inv. no. ADürer B.App.AB 3.16.

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figure 8.3 Constructed facsimile of Springinklee Horoscopion, August 8, 1512. Reproduction on cardstock with metal sights, metal arm, and string with bead: 36.5 × 21.2 × 2.2 cm (with sights). Based on gnm impression, and used as a hands-on didactic in 2012 Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe exhibition at Harvard Art Museums.

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figure 8.4 Peter Apian (German, 1495–1552), Horoscopion, 1519. Woodcut: 24.2 × 15.5 cm (block, including illusionistic sights); 34.5×19.2cm (sheet). bsb (Rar. 434: 2).

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Several of Hartmann’s instruments include even more three-dimensional views of these metal elements—two universal tables from 1535 (Fig. 8.5), and a Horarium Bilibatum from 1541, all of which function in the same manner as the horoscope.18 Apian produced an entire manual on the subject of the Horoscopion in 1533 with a Regiomontanus-inspired arm tipped in as a woodcut to indicate the location for the index string. Johannes Schöner also printed a large version of the device in 1535 in a two-page set similar to the Springinklee.19 Although there are no impressions in Hartmann’s Bayerische Staatsbibliothek album, the Springinklee and Stabius horoscope woodcuts proved more influential for him than other interactive prints, especially in terms of their decoration. Half a dozen of Hartmann’s sundials and other timepieces include allegorical women posed similarly to those on the Emperor Maximilian and Bannisius horoscopes. Indeed, Hartmann usually shows pairs of women, only portraying a single woman once on a polyhedral dial from 1549, with a man depicted on the opposite wing.20 He also draws on Springinklee’s balance between the size of the dial and its heraldic and mythological attendants. While the functional part of the instrument always takes center stage, the women lean in from both sides, occupying up to a quarter of the print. Hartmann’s 1533 cylindrical sundial etching and his 1551 woodcut for the city council boast similarly large women of this description.21 (Figs. 9.1; 7.14) His two engraved variations on universal tables from 1535 also bear pairs of such closeness to the Stabius models that it seems improbable that Hartmann could have envisioned them without having seen the 1512 works, especially the Bannisius horoscope. (Fig. 8.2b–c) The pairs are not identical however, as Hartmann’s treatment of drapery is more fluid, evoking transparency. Whether Hartmann actually met or corresponded with Stabius remains unclear, for any personal contact would have to have been early. Hartmann wrote to one of Stabius’s students, the Augsburg priest Veit Bild, after the teacher’s death in

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Universal dials: bsb Rar. 434: 60, 89, 95; hab Aug. 4; bsb Rar. 434: 112, hab Ne 13. Horarium Bilibatum bsb Rar. 434: 129, 1, 130; hab Ne, 28. Horoscopium generale, omni regioni accomodum, folio in 2 sheets. Ernst Zinner, Geschichte und Bibliographie der Astronomischen Literatur in Deutschland zur Zeit der Renaissance 2. ed. (Stuttgart: Anton Hiersemann, 1964), no. 1610; Karl Schottenloher, “Johann Schöner und seine Hausdruckerei,” Zentralblatt für Bibliothekswesen xxiv:4 (April 1907): 154. A partial impression has been pasted into the Ludwig-Maximilians Universität, Munich copy of his Aequatorium. hab Ne 27. bsb Rar. 434: 38, 50, 77–78, 80; hab Aug. 3.

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figure 8.5 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Universal Horoscope (Quadratum Horarium Generale), 1535. Engraving: 22.8 × 10.4 cm (plate). bsb (Rar. 434: 95).

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1522 to ask about Stabius’s sundial designs. Although Bild was unable to help, Hartmann still attributes two diagrams in his 1528 Weimar manuscript to Stabius: an octagonal block dial, and a horned sundial. While artists in the circle of Dürer produced these time-telling devices, there were much more common printed sheets available for telling time in a broader sense. While Stabius’s inventions were destined for an emperor’s hourly use, Regiomontanus’s oft-reprinted calendar permanently linked the broader early modern fascination with the hours to the longer cycles of days, months, and years. Not only did he include planetary changes and include several horary instruments, but he also described the ways to build one’s own outdoor sundial. Such calendars were considered invaluable, leading printers to new formats which combined as many timekeeping elements as they could. Ernst Zinner records several large-scale combination almanac and wall-calendar sheets in the later fifteenth century; a steady stream of them appear by the early 1530s, including artists and publishers such as Christoph Froschauer in 1531, Erhard Etzlaub in 1531 and 1532, and Sebastian Münster in 1533.22 This format would become extremely popular in the second half of the sixteenth century, with numerous versions designed by Jost Amman, among other artists. Like Regiomontanus’s work, these were extensions of calendars in books of hours. Up to 46 centimeters long, these stand-alone works emphasized information over graphic design, and included dense blocks of red and black letterpress ranging from good days to wean one’s children or to chop down trees, to generally unlucky days. The down-to-earth occupations mentioned correspond with the status of their owners. Miriam Usher Chrisman’s Lay Culture, Learned Culture discusses five Strasbourg inventories of working class families who owned examples of calendar-tafeln dating from 1584, 1589 and 1600, including a “Dr. Andreas Waldner, the administrator of the orphanage, and Anna Madner, the widow of a mine foreman,” both of whom, Chrisman argues, would have used the calendars in their everyday work.23 These are her only cases where these items were specifically mentioned—but many more likely remained undescribed in other household inventories.24 Since Chrisman’s study finds calen-

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The Yale University Art Gallery owns a woodcut Calendar of Johann von Gemünd, valid ca. 1470–1475 (1980.43.133). Miriam Usher Chrisman, Lay Culture, Learned Culture: books and social change in Strasbourg, 1480–1599 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982). Cf. Kalender der Strassburger Domherren, Gestelt durch D. Lucam Bathodium Medicum und Astronomiae studiosum zu Pfalzburg. Strassburg, Nicolaus Waldt, 1584, ams, vi 464, 3a. Johann Etlin, an administrator, and Barbara Wüchterin, a shoemaker’s widow, both had one in Jan 26, 1589 and April 14 1600 inventories, respectively (Both ams Not. 775), 72;

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dars beginning to be mentioned in the late sixteenth century, her data supports the fact that they were published in even larger quantities in its latter half. An earlier woodcut precursor to these versatile sheets that Hartmann might have known was Lucas Cranach the Elder’s woodcut calendar, with a functional sundial and planetary dial. (Fig. 8.6) He produced it around 1513 for the Wittenberg mathematics professor, Master Bonifatius of Zörbig (Czorbegk).25 Bonifatius probably commissioned this “Perpetually Useful Planetary Device” with its prominent Saxon arms to curry favor with the University’s patron Friedrich der Weise. Documentary evidence proves that the Elector would order a large number of sundial designs from an Augsburg specialist in 1518.26 This large horizontally shaped, but vertically-read instrument is unusually illusionistic. A screen bearing the central sundial stands erect, flush with the lower printing border, though its scooped upper edge and curved dial—standard elements of a sundial diagram—suggest an incongruous concavity. This portion of the image is architecturally insubstantial, broken into seven vertical sections depicting the planets and activities befalling men under their influence. Many of these vignettes recall the Master of the Housebook, though particular similarities exist between the bodies under Mars and those in Cranach’s roughly contemporary Werewolf woodcut.27 Cranach’s signs of the zodiac appear around a wheel, and as names in the Corinthian columns at the sides. These columns tilt slightly outward, with only flat compartments naming the seasons between the capitals. Unusually, armored soldiers recessed into the landscape behind stand guard between the columns and the dial itself, changing the scale of the pictured instrument to over life size. The soldiers disappear behind the edges of the columns and the central dial, while the columns themselves appear truncated by the woodcut borders, which again imply actual space and regression into the distance. In contrast, the scenes depicted around the missing central dial are discontinu-

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Heinrich Seüpell, a member of the Magistrat, left a “new calendar-tafel” on February 11 1600. (ams h 4701). Albertina. Geisberg assigned this work to Cranach, an attribution which has been generally accepted. g. 649; Hollstein German 122. The correspondence (or perhaps haggling) survives as a series of letters between the St. Ulrich and St. Afra Priest Veit Bild of Augsburg. See Dr. Alfred Schröder, “Der Humanist Veit Bild, Mönch bei St. Ulrich: Sein Leben und sein Briefwechsel,” Zeitschrift des Historischen Vereins für Schwaben und Neuburg 20 (1893) 173–227; Bild saved copies of all his letters, as well as some of the responses. Johannes Jahn, Lukas Cranach als Grafiker (Leipzig, E.A. Seemann [1955]), goes into more detail on the borrowings. The Werewolf is generally dated around 1512. (Geisberg xi, 4)

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figure 8.6 Lucas Cranach the Elder (German, 1472–1553), A perpetually useful planetary device by Bonifatius von Zörbig (Ein ewig nutzbarlich Planetisch werck von magistro Bonifacio von Zorbegk), ca. 1513. Woodcut and letterpress printed in black and red: 28.4 × 36.7 cm (block); 31.9 × 38.8cm (sheet). albertina (dg1929/190).

ous, although the parade of deities almost occupies the same body of clouds, while the right-hand rear mountain landscape nearly feeds into the hills over the children of Saturn. Further confusing the functional foreground with the figural background, a number of cherubs on clouds hide behind the ornate columns on their perches, and two others wave Saxon flags. The excess of explanatory text on the outer margin, highlighted in red— perhaps the first instance of color printing for single-sheet paper instruments—reinforces the fact that Cranach didn’t make many of these objects. His patron probably designed the layout in advance, and instructed him on where to put the compass. Cranach’s central use of solid black is also unusual, suggesting this section may be unfinished or lacking an additional element, though his central depiction of the sun and the numbered bars to catch the gnomon’s shadow are fairly customary. The Albertina unicum has unfortunately been pasted down, making signs of use more difficult to decipher, although the print

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figure 8.7 Photograph of Lucas Cranach the Elder (German, 1472–1553), Astrolabe for Students (Charta ad Usum Studiosorum), 1529. Photograph taken by Ernst Zinner before wwii of hand-colored woodcut volvelle: dimensions unknown. Formerly ub Jena.

has clearly been repaired in several places. It is possible that a gnomon was placed in the center of the sun at one time, as that area shows some tearing, and the dial with a blank spot was meant to hold a rotating volvelle dial and an index string.28 A similar dial (here with a lunar face) may appear in a second astronomicalastrological device by Cranach, which is now known only in reproductions. (Fig. 8.7) It was authored by another Wittenberg court mathematician,

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A similar print from 1516 by Georg Erlinger survives in the Museum zu Allerheiligen, Schaffhausen, Switzerland; it is discussed further by the current author in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe (exh. cat. no. 65, 288).

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Matthias Böhme, in 1529, and dedicated to the prince John Frederick, Elector Frederick’s nephew and eventual successor.29 Befitting the complicated nature of the object, not only is the author mentioned, but the names of the artist (Cranach), the block cutter (Ludwig Schöffer), and even the publisher (Peter Jordan) all appear in a shield at the bottom right.30 Several laudatory poems in the pamphlet introduce the resulting astrological object, including one by a Johann Sauromann, which draws parallels with both Apelles and Dürer. While rote praise, the latter makes an apt comparison considering that the cut-out network of constellations in the dial appears to be partially based on Dürer’s Celestial Hemispheres of 1515. A constructed impression of this multi-layered woodcut astrolabe was lost in wwii from the Jena Universitätsbibliothek, but photographs and its accompanying pamphlet suggest it was hand colored and even partially gilded to emphasize the differences between sizes of stars and the moving routes of planets, making this lost woodcut instrument truly lavish enough for a prince. Although most calendars eschewed such large woodcut illustrations in favor of the tiny hatchets and planetary signs indicating the fluctuating influence of the zodiac, room remained for a narrative sequence of pictures on the outer margins. A calendar designed by Amman and issued in 1614, for instance, segregates the ages of Man and Woman in a sequential framing not unlike film strips, and quite similar to the exterior phases of the moon on the more scientific variations on the calendar, several of which Sebastian Münster published in grand scale in Basel around 1530. Although these double folio woodcuts include volvelles and require an index string to make sense of their many-tiered dials, their size limited their everyday use, and thus they are more appropriate for the discussion in the section on ostentatious interactive prints.

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Ernst Zinner photographed the work in the University Library at Jena before the Second World War. It has not been seen since. The accompanying manual is almost as rare: Matthias Bohemus. Canones Astrolabii ad illustrissimum Principem ac Dominum D. Joannem Saxonie Ducem, etc. De Circulis, Arcubus ac Lineis Astrolabii, Liber unus. De Utilitatibus eius et erigenda Figura Coeli pro qualibet Questione, Liber unus. Juditiorum Liber unus. (Wittenberg, 1529). The Mainz-based printer Peter Jordan published numerous astrological treatises by Johannes Stöffler among others, including some with instrument components that could be constructed.

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Maps Printed maps are another clear witness to a market for large functional woodcuts, especially those which required a viewer to build, or directly interact with them. Regular maps formed the basis for the three-dimensional globes made of gores—literally elongated strips of a regular map, which will be discussed in the next section. The geographical map was the most common and ambitious example of wall print, appearing in many sheets since Jacopo de’ Barbari’s enormous, council-protected woodcut of Venice in 1500. Catalogues of the famous Frankfurt Buchermesse only survive after 1561, but from then on they often include a section for prints, and especially, maps for sale. During the 1573 fall fair, the publisher Georg Willers recorded a variety of religious prints, sixty-five Venetian maps, and then seventeen other maps, painted and mounted on cloth.31 Similarly, a twelve-block nautical map from 1525 came fully equipped: “The Carta Marina sold for five gulden, and was accompanied by a guidebook that provided instructions and a diagram on how to cut and paste the sheets onto canvas in their proper sequence and overlap.”32 Even though a buyer might receive the print in separate sheets, rather than buying it already on canvas, mounting the work alone did not make the print interactive. A few extreme variations on mapmaking however, do come under the rubric, though there is no sign that they were known in Nuremberg. The earliest to survive, though likely not the first ever printed, is the burger Conrad Morant Maler’s 1548 four-sheet woodcut map of Strasbourg.33 Known only in the colored copy pasted on canvas at the Germanisches Nationalmuseum (gnm), it includes a flap of the cathedral that stands up perpendicular to the sheet. This ability emphasizes the height and importance of the building over the rest of the city by giving it a sculptural presence, and a shadow, which the other buildings lack. The four cardinal directions appear labeled on the map as if it were a sundial with the cathedral’s cross-topped tower as a gnomon—Aufgang, Mittag, Niedergang, Mitternacht—the text reconfirms Christ, by means of this famous tower, as the center of city, and its center, Christian worship. The German text reads: “This Christian saying is incised in a circle around the pinnacle 31

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Georg Willer, Die Messkataloge Georg Willers: Faksimiledrucke (Hildesheim, New York: Olms Verlag, 1972–), c4v–c6r. (Some of the Italian maps were published by the Bertelli family, an important part of the history of interactive printing in the final chapter.) Landau and Parshall, 243. The Rhenish gulden was one of the more stable European currencies. Dürer paid his colporteur one gulden for two weeks of work, plus expenses. Landau and Parshall, 347; 356. gnm sp 3224 1548.

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figure 8.8 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Nuremberg-Jerusalem Sundial, 1552. Engraving: 9.7 × 21.5 cm (plate). bsb (Rar. 434: 90).

of this tower: at dawn, Christ is the light, Christ shares his gifts with everyman; at midnight, Christ is crowned, Christ overcomes; at dusk, Christ the king triumphs. Christ is king for ever and ever. At noon, Christ is the intercessor, Christ renews us.” The tower did have this saying physically inscribed on its stone, but the extension of the words to the perimeter of the map, and all the territory it encompasses greatly reinforces their significance. The idea of a literally Christian timepiece is not entirely unusual. The gnm also holds a seventeenth-century engraving with that title without interactive components.34 Georg Hartmann may not have seen a copy of the Strasbourg map, but he did invent an unusual diptych of sorts with a similar theme. The twopanel sundial from 1552 indicates both Nuremberg hours and helps calculate the corresponding time in Jerusalem. Unsatisfied with a mere conversion table, Hartmann goes so far as to describe Christ’s activities at his Passion by the hour. This implies that users in his home town could participate as if in real time in Christ’s final hours: at three, they cry “Crucify Him,” at nine he dies, and at eleven, he is taken down from the cross. Several impressions survive, all in Munich.35 (Fig. 8.8)

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gnm hb 24882; “Von der Geistlichen Uhr/ Unsers Christlichen Glaubens,” dated 1610. bsb Rar. 434: 90, 97, 112/159.

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In contrast, the Strasbourg map is a unicum, so some questions arise as to whether the flap truly belongs to it. Though the flap does not have the vivid brick-red coloring apparent in much of the rest of the map, as befits the striking redness of the entire cathedral, it does have highlights in deep red, a light wash overall, and many added with gold leaf. The body of the cathedral appears underneath the affixed tower. The map is dated 1548 on both the flap and one of the corner laudatory text panels. The flap also appeared as a separate print with another Latin text extolling Strasbourg and the cathedral as one of the wonders of the world. Again, it refers to the Christ-based cycle of hours, while emphasizing the grandeur of the tower itself, mentions again the text incised into the top of the tower. As the flap was much too narrow to reproduce this text at its tip, the mapmaker has literally expanded its circle of influence to the entire town. Other than this unusual work, the truly interactive and sculptural map does not occur in the sixteenth century. By the Thirty-Years War however, before and after sequences showing the destruction of a town became quite popular in small broadsheets. One example, with an engraving of the 1618 avalanche killing 1,500 in the Swiss town of Plurs was printed by at least two different houses in the same year.36 Although the before-and-after flap device proved more important to the seventeenth-century examples, as noted in the Strasbourg example, geographical sheets which required hands-on interaction do survive. The most widely used category of interactive map however, moved into three dimensions, and originated in Nuremberg.

Globe Gores Georg Hartmann was not the only mathematician in his circle to produce his own prints. Like the self-publishing Peter Apian, Hartmann’s friend Johannes Schöner owned a series of book presses, where he published many of Regiomontanus’s manuscripts to his own exacting specifications. Schöner occasionally supplemented his original works with large-scale volvelles, as in the 1521 Equitorium Astronomicum mentioned earlier. His 1551 Opera Mathematica appeared posthumously at a different house, with the result that that its volvelles were instead supplied as illustrations for the buyer or bookbinder to

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Jacob van de Heyden and H.P. Walch. The Walch impression in the Augsburg Staatsbibliothek works particularly well, as the overlay flap of the avalanche has been pasted on somewhat low, and appears to be encroaching on the broadsheet text below.

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figure 8.9 Johannes Schöner (German, 1477–1547), Terrestrial Globe, 1515. Twelve woodcut gores mounted on a sphere, with a wooden base: approx. 39.25 × 6.54 cm (gores); 26.8 cm diameter (constructed), 39 cm (globe and stand). Historisches Museum Frankfurt (hmf x14610).

construct. Schöner also published several single-sheet instruments—a cylindrical sundial in 1515, a horoscope in 1535, and globe gores from 1515–1517, 1520, 1523 and 1533–1534.37 (Fig. 8.9)

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Schöner’s 1515 terrestrial globe is in the Frankfurt Historical Museum; Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg had the 1515 celestial gores (now at the Library of Congress); gnm has a hand painted 1520 terrestrial globe (Inv wi i). Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, Weimar has a set of constructed globes ca. 1534. The 1515 sundial survives only as a reprinted pamphlet in the 1551 Opera mathematica. For a concise summary of the history of the 1515 globe, see Frank Berger, ed., Der Erdglobus des Johannes Schöner von 1515. Kunststücke des historischen museums frankfurt, vol. 3. Heinrich Editionen, 2013.

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The globe gore technique may have emerged for convenience, as printed or drawn sheets of paper were easier for merchants to transport than the fitted globes. Indeed, Hartmann’s sundial engravings may have functioned similarly within the trade. The first printed explanation of projecting the globe onto gores would appear in Basel in 1527, penned by Emperor Maximilian’s onetime poet laureate, Heinricus Glareanus, though drawn examples on parchment survive from 1492, and the first set was printed in 1507. Formulas for cutting the appropriately sized support for purchased globe gores were published in Nuremberg as late as 1651, and Diderot’s Encyclopédie in 1758 described the process in great detail.38 Due to the exacting labor involved, the gore is an interactive format with less of a hands-on appeal than other printed instruments. Unmounted gores were certainly sold to scholars and resold to manufacturers, but most globes were likely purchased by their final owners as constructed objects, or simply remained in sheet form. Several clear records of the scholarly demand for Schöner’s work survive. Dürer’s likely contact with Schöner’s globes is established by a letter (already mentioned above), in December 1517, from Lorenz Beheim in Bamberg to Willibald Pirckheimer: “Schöner will come to you next week with ten or twelve globes. Some of them are for you if you wish to have them, and also for Albrecht. Give him my regards.” Beheim had related in October that he had already purchased a celestial globe and its twenty-two page “canon,” or pamphlet, for himself.39 Bamberg church archives also note that Schöner sold “ein Mappa und auch ein Puchlein” to the Bishop Wiegand von Redwitz in December 1523.40 These could refer to the lost terrestrial gores of 1523 and their dedication letter. The combined price in both Beheim and Wiegand’s case was two and a half gulders, about the cost of an unbound, uncolored copy of the Nuremberg Chronicle, five times as much as Dürer’s engraved Passion, and ten times as much as any of his Large Books.41 Whether he indulged in an impression or not, Dürer took the capabilities of the gore system to heart when he wrote a

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Daniel Schwenter, and Georg Philipp Harsdörffer, Deliciae mathematicae et physicae: der mathematischen und philosophichen Erquickstunden zweyter Theil. (Nürnberg: Jeremia Dümlern, 1651), 115–117. Beheim to Pirckheimer, November 11, 1517: “Schoner veniet ad te hebdomada proximaet offeret tibi globum ymaginum celestium. Exillo poteris dirigere. Heri mihi unum attulit, et placet. Emi florens ii ½ cum canonibus.” In Dieter Wuttke, ed: Willibald Pirckheimers Briefwechsel, vol. 3 (Helga Scheible, Munich 1989), 196, no. 476. The 1517 text (and presumably, globe) was published on the sixteenth of August, in Nuremberg. Schottenloher, 150. Landau and Parshall, 352.

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section of his Unterweysung on the formation of Platonic solids—built around spheres contained within each shape. Schöner also attracted noble attention. He dedicated two of the explanatory texts accompanying his globes to the Saxon Elector Johann Friedrich, (brother of Friedrich der Weise), and constructed and colored two specimens for him around 1534 (now in Weimar). The Elector recognized these efforts with the gift of a hundred gulders, also the sum of the scholar’s yearly appointment as a professor of mathematics in Nuremberg.42 Schöner wasn’t always so willing to give away his prints. Another humanist-priest from Augsburg, Veit Bild, sent him four letters and a copy of his own book between September 1518 and March 1524. Only after the final missive and a great deal of begging did Schöner finally send him one of his globes in December of 1526.43 The PirckheimerBeheim correspondence depicted Schöner as a difficult personality, but putting off sending Bild any of his succession of gores for nine years seems rather delinquent. The delay suggests that as Schöner’s woodcuts required a great deal of effort to produce and update, he begrudged a neighboring humanist a free copy. The book Bild attempted to use as a bargaining tool was not scientific, but a study of the lives of Augsburg’s patron saints. Schöner’s interest in hagiography must have been waning, as he married in 1524 and eventually left the church on his move to Nuremberg. Schöner was reputed to be deeply involved in the printing process, even to the point of sometimes carving the woodblocks for his gores by himself. Like Regiomontanus, he was certainly aware of the difficulties involved in employing craftsmen. One of his letters to Willibald Pirckheimer from 1524 describes the way he drew the universal map he was working on for the Formschneider (block cutter), indicating the appropriate texture for each area by coloring the mountains green and the seas and lakes blue: “und dz er nit berge für wasser 42

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The globe pair is now at the Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek in Weimar. For Schöner’s ties with Saxony, see Sven Hauschke, “Globen und Wissenschaftliche Instrumente: Die europäische Höfe als Kunden Nürnberger Mathematiker.” Hermann Maué, Thomas Eser eds., Quasi Centrum Europae: Europa kauft in Nürnberg: 1400–1800 (Nürnberg, Verlag des Germanischen Nationalmuseums, 2002), 365. Hauschke quotes the records, from the Thüringisches Hauptstaatsarchiv Weimar, Ernestinisches Gesamtarchiv, Reg. Bb 4382 Bl. 31r: “100 gulden hansen schoner mathematico zu Nurmberg von wegen zweier speren, domit er m(einem) gnedigen herrn undertheniglich verehrtet, und sein churf(ürstlich) gn(aden) I(h)n wider bedank lassen solch gelt hat Rudiger uf den Bergh ime zuzustellen entpfangen.” Schröder, letters in September 1518, February 1519, October 1522, March 1523, December 1526. Schlottenloher, 148, thinks the globe was celestial, and that he did not receive it until 1528!

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schneyde,” so that he wouldn’t confuse the designs for mountains and water.44 Pirckheimer shared this reluctance to delegate—when he attempted to bring out a new edition of Ptolemy the next year, his Strasbourg publisher added decorations to the map that Pirckheimer considered extraneous and confused the woodcut order.45 Schöner’s working methods for constructible globes were probably as exacting as those for his map. The globe gore is known in its earliest printed rendering in a woodcut printed by Martin Waldseemüller in Saint Dié in 1507, with impressions at the James Ford Bell Library of the University of Minnesota, at bsb, a public library in Offenbach, and on the art market.46 Like volvelles, the technique once again emerged from a manuscript forerunner, and the accompanying manual may include a printed instrument.47 The earliest surviving Nuremberg globe, by Martin Behaim from 1492 also consists of ovoid strips of parchment drawn upon and painted after being glued to a wooden core. Schöner was the first to produce paired sets of celestial and terrestrial globes, around 1515. He was probably also aware of Waldseemüller’s 1507 gores at the time. In fact, the single extant copy of the twelve-sheet “America” map—also produced by Waldseemüller in 1507—survived together with two incomplete sets of Schöner’s celestial gores. The album, formerly of the Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg, also contained Schöner’s bookplate.48 Although the terres44

45 46

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Hans Gunther Klemm, Die fränkische Mathematicus Johann Schöner (1477–1547): und seine Kirchehrenbacher Briefe an den Nürnberger Patrizier Willibald Pirckheimer (Forchheim: Ehrenbürg-Gymnasium, 1992), 27, referring to letter of May 19, 1524, transcribed, 55. Landau and Parshall, 241–242. Christie’s London, King’s St. sold a newly-found impression from a German private collection with its gores trimmed in June 8, 2005 for over a million dollars to a London antique-clock dealer. S. Missinne, “America’s Birth Certificate: The Oldest Globular World Map: c. 1507” Advances in Historical Studies, 4 (2015): 261–267. http://dx.doi.org/10.4236/ahs.2015.43019 Owen Gingerich attested to Schöner’s bookplate from examination of the volume in 1983 in a message on the ExLibris listserv, 2001. The Waldburg-Wolfegg family owned the volume and sold the 12-sheet map to the Library of Congress in 2001 for ten million dollars. Elizabeth Harris, “The Waldseemüller Map: A Typographic Appraisal,” Imago Mundi 37 (1985): 30–53, suggests that this particular impression actually dates later, around 1525. Some recent work on this topic is from the Library of Congress itself, where a twoday symposium was held in March 2009 to commemorate the acquisition. John Hessler, The Naming of America: Martin Waldseemüller’s 1507 World Map and the Cosmographiae Introductio. Library of Congress, 2008. For Schöner’s gores, see Elly Dekker and Kristen Lippincott, “The Scientific Instruments in Holbein’s Ambassadors: A Re-Examination,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, vol. 62 (1999): 99–100.

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trial, so-called “Ambassador’s Globe” from Holbein’s 1533 painting can no longer be attributed to Schöner (or even Hartmann, for that matter), a lost celestial globe of Schöner’s from around 1525 is probably the second one reproduced in that double portrait.49 Although Holbein’s painting normally attracts attention for its novel anamorphic image of a skull, it accurately shows these two sets of constructed woodcut gore globes, and may also contain the first representation of a constructed printed quadrant. This detail was overlooked in the reinterpretation of the instruments in this work by Elly Dekker and Kristen Lippincott, who noted that the sights on the instrument are shown on the wrong side.50 In their view, this could suggest a double-sided instrument, possibly with an unseen set of sights on the flat side which is face-down. However, the object may also have been improperly constructed; the contrast between the white paper veneer (it covers too large an expanse to be ivory) and the clearly wooden sights and base beneath could allude to a botched composite construction. Paper quadrants were much simpler objects to construct than globes. They only required a flat surface cut into the proper shape, rather than a weighted sphere of one precise diameter. Schöner sold his terrestrial and celestial gores with extended cosmography texts and with abbreviated pamphlets on the lines of Vogtherr’s anatomy booklet, but they generally discuss how to benefit from the completed globe, rather than the unmounted gores. For instance, the 1523 terrestrial gores accompanied a printed five-page letter-dedication to a Bamberg cleric. Schöner suggests that the recipient need only hold the globe in his hands, as he does, “versa in manibus globus,” to retrace the path of Magellan and other explorers of the New World. Indeed, he implies that his creation allows the globe’s owner to travel literally around the globe, “qui universi orbis rotundiatem coplectitur,” without incurring the dangers faced by the Magellan fleet’s survivors, who returned in 1522 after three years, with one ship and only eighteen men.51 None of Schöner’s texts deals explicitly with ways to build the woodcuts into actual globes, which left scholars the option of preserving them as pristine sheets, or paying the premium for construction.

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Dekker and Lippincott, 103. Yale and several other institutions own constructed globes from a nineteenth-century facsimile of the unique nypl gores (*kb+++1530); C.H. Coote, Johann Schöner, professor of mathematics at Nuremberg, a reproduction of his globe of 1523, long lost … (Chiswick Press, 1888). Dekker and Lippincott, 98. Johannes Schöner, De Nuper Sub Castiliae ac Portugaliae … (Timiripae (Kirchenehrenbach), 1523), 3, 5: “… adeo ut universsum orbis gyru triennio ambiret.”

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Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Celestial Globe Gores, 1538. Engravings printed as separate gores; nine (of twelve) mounted out of latitude order in album: each approx. 33.2 × 5.9 cm (plate). bsb (Rar. 434: 16–24).

Hartmann followed suit around 1538, then 1547 when he produced two sizes of engraved celestial globe gores. (Fig. 8.10) Both survive in incomplete sets in the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (mounted out of order) with the full twelve of the latter, smaller version in the Herzog August Bibliothek. The Nicolai collection of the Württemberg Landesbibliothek in Stuttgart also contains complete copies of both celestial globes, and the unique set of Hartmann’s signed, but undated earth gores matching the smaller 1547 set.52 The terrestrial gores show a “characteristic coastline of North America, and its separation from Asia,” and thus seem to be related to Gerard Mercator’s 1538 cordiform map, and even more likely, his 1541 gores.53 Though Hartmann ignores Mercator’s novel navigational grid, other details, such as several of the sea creatures and the placement of the continent’s name coincide. Mercator was not the only source— Schöner’s updated gores from the 1530s may also have remained influential. He

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1538, bsb Rar. 434: 16–24; 1547 celestial, hab Aug. 18–19; bsb Rar. 434: 116–124; all three including 1547 terrestrial gores are in Stuttgart (Nicolai’sche Sammlungen 78: 41, 48–49). The 1538 celestial gores measure approx. 33.2 × 5.9 cm each (engraved and printed separately), while the 1547 celestial gores (also engraved and printed gore by gore), would be approximately the same size as the Stuttgart terrestial gores: 14.8×3.8cm (plate); 27×13cm (sheet) if they had been printed together. The Stuttgart terrestrial gores were printed in a single sheet, an exception for Hartmann. Rodney W. Shirley, The Mapping of the World: Early Printed World Maps 1472–1700 (London: New Holland, 1993), 79, no. 63. Peter C.J. Krogt, “The globe-gores in the Nicolai-Collection in Stuttgart,” Globusfreund xxxiii/xxxiv, 1985, 99–116. Harvard College Library Map Collection (Gerhard Mercator, 1541 Terrestrial Globe; 1551 Celestial Globe).

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Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471–1528), Northern Celestial Hemisphere (Imagines coeli Septentrionalis cum duodecim imaginibus zodiaci.), 1515. Woodcut: 43.2 × 43 cm (block). mma (51.537.1).

also appears to have used a François Demongenet map ca. 1560 as a source, or perhaps a common source for both of them exists. Even a small globe such as this one allows Hartmann’s flair for the fantastic and the self-referential to emerge. He includes his name in an elaborate framework without dedicating the map to anyone else, and sprinkles the planet earth all the way to terra incognita with sea creatures and ships. Schöner included a few rudimentary mermaids, dragons, and imaginative New-World inhabitants, but Hartmann refused to let any of the seas go unpopulated. Thus, the teeming terrestrial map forms a visually complementary set with Hartmann’s churning 1547 celestial gores. These he designed as a reduced copy

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Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471–1528), Southern Celestial Hemisphere (Imagines coeli Meridionales.), 1515. Woodcut: 43.1 × 43.2cm (block). mma (51.537.2).

of the 1538 version. As was common in this era, both depend heavily on Dürer’s famous 1515 celestial hemispheres for Johannes Stabius.54 (Figs. 8.11–12) A few details have changed, including an additional mermaid or a newly bearded constellation, but the overall format and most of the lettering remains the same. De Mongenet was active in Italy, and his version of Hartmann’s terrestrial gores was later engraved in the 1560s, possibly by Enea Vico, and it appeared in

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Christopher S. Wood, “Print Technology and the Brixen Globes,”Kunsthistoriker: Mitteilungen des österreichischen Kunsthistorikerverbandes 15/16 (1999/2000), 15–20.

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another four editions thereafter. Even if Hartmann’s name was detached from his already composite maps, they were unquestionably influential throughout Europe. Both Hartmann’s epitaph and an anonymous engraved portrait in the Germanisches Nationalmuseum (gnm) include globes, suggesting his original output was once better known, perhaps even as well known as Schöner’s. The poem accompanying the engraving was written by the Nuremberg doctor Johann Prünsterer prior to the doctor’s death in 1554: “Aurea saepe globo depingit sidera parvo/ nautis pontivagis monstrat et arte viam.” Roughly, “He often paints the golden stars on the little globe, and by art he shows the wandering ship the way.” Aurea in this case may refer not to the entire globe, but rather to coloring applied to a mounted paper one. If Holbein’s Ambassadors depicts variants of Schöner’s better-known work, rather than any by Hartmann, this portrait engraving may be the first representation of one of Hartmann’s paper instruments. The verse unquestionably recognizes his prowess in that arena. Hartmann’s miniature celestial globes from 1547 are significantly more diminutive than the 1538 version and build spheres about the size of a small apple. At more than twice the length of the 1547 gores, the earlier celestial set results in a more substantial desk globe, though it remains small enough to qualify as the likely subject of the poem. Schöner’s 1533 woodcuts more than doubled the size of both Hartmann’s 1547 and Waldseemüller’s 1507 gores at up to 28cm in diameter instead of about 11 cm. These scholars’ very general observations on the face of the earth and heavens both reflect current knowledge, and suggest they did not expect anyone to make accurate calculations from objects this size. Even by engraving his 1547 celestial work on malleable copper, Hartmann could only show two different magnitudes of stars out of the six possible, usually a restriction for maps produced in wood. Although engraved on a reduced scale, like Cranach’s lost 1529 astrolabe, Hartmann’s two celestial globes are indeed indebted to Albrecht Dürer’s Celestial Hemisphere woodcuts.55 Dürer produced these for Johannes Stabius in 1515, after leaving the horoscope projects to his apprentice. A map designed by Stabius and showing both sides of the earth at once is also generally attributed to Dürer. The celestial hemisphere woodcuts are unquestionably the most famous and copied scientific prints of all time, though few borrowing artists, Hartmann included, acknowledge their debt to Dürer. The gnm possesses two woodcut copies from 1558 with expanded frames, as well as a direct pen copy of

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Geisberg/Strauss, g.723–724.

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the Southern Hemisphere.56 Though the woodcuts represent both hemispheres, neither Dürer nor Stabius intended them to be cut out and used as celestial globe gores. However, the designs were aptly suited to this purpose. Hartmann reproduces the constellation figures from the northern hemisphere on the upper halves of the gores, with the southern figures below. The figure of Orion, perched on the rabbit Lepus, his (now) badly foreshortened head hovering close to the outer edge of the southern hemisphere, appears in Hartmann’s gore as slightly below center, at the line of the earth’s equator, intersecting with the signs of the zodiac from the northern hemisphere. Hartmann’s dense portrayals of the constellations border on illegible, especially in his smaller gores; in comparison with Dürer’s version, however, all of the participants turn out to be properly aligned and surprisingly recognizable. In 1540 and 1576, like Hartmann and Cranach the Elder, Peter Apian and the doctor and aspiring alchemist Leonhard Thurneisser zum Thurn adapted Dürer’s designs to volvelles. This imagery even reappears on a Venetian cordiform map in Arabic from 1566, but first published in the eighteenth century.57

Nuremberg Polyhedra The German Renaissance fascination with Platonic solids did not end with globemaking. Perhaps the most famous testament to this theoretical pursuit was Dürer’s Melencolia i from 1514, with its mysterious, partially submerged cube (or truncated rhomboid solid). This was not the artist’s first brush with the subject because, as mentioned above, Dürer bought a Latin Euclid in Venice in 1507 for a ducat, may have discussed the theory there with Luca Pacioli, and subsequently purchased Regiomontanus’s copy of Euclid from Pirckheimer in 1523. Dürer’s 1525 Unterweysung der Messung also attests to his continuing interest in the study, as it begins with Euclid’s points and lines, and works up to introducing the Platonic solids to a new audience of artists and artisans. Even its title, “Manual of Measurement,” can be seen both as a reflection of the early modern tendency to try to find one’s spiritual and historical place in the world by quantifying its wonders, and as a reference to new methods of doing so. The book centers on applied geometry—Geometria being an apt Latin translation for Messung—and as such goes far to explain the contemporary appeal

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gnm, hb 27108 for the drawing, and hb 24465 and hb 27492 for Isibrand Middochius Frisius’s woodcuts. Published by Pinelli: Venice, 1795. Newberry Library, Chicago (Novacco 8f 11 (PrCt)).

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of creatively shaped sundials and purely decorative solids. Dürer used some German sources, but his illustrations far outstrip them in specificity and number, and certainly, creativity.58 Some even more ornate signs of the polyhedra craze—which subsequently tended toward the Baroque turned-ivories of the seventeenth century—included Lorenz Stoer’s intarsia designs around 1567, and the Jost Amman and Wenzel Jamnitzer 1568 Polyhedra. An English translation of Euclid produced in 1570 even included another type of build-your own solids, which was made out of small flaps still anchored to the page.59 True to the alternative scientific potential of the subject matter, the preface was written by John Dee. Though Dürer never printed the constructible objects he describes in his section on polyhedra, he did employ two fold-out flaps in the Unterweysung, which demonstrate the proper angle to approach a perspective problem. These problems involve shapes a great deal simpler than the Platonic solids he chose to illustrate. Many other solids can be constructed which touch a hollow sphere with all their corners but have irregular surfaces. Some of these I shall draw below, opened up, so that anyone can fold them together by using two layers of paper, glued together, and then cut to the depth of one with a sharp knife. It is then easy to fold it along the edges. Use this method for the following figures. They can be utilized in many ways.60 Building upon the idea of globe gores, Dürer describes these polyhedra by opening them into “nets,” as Erwin Panofsky put it.61 These are diagrams of three dimensional shapes laid out flat on all of their adjoining polygon faces; in 1525, they were the earliest example published. Hartmann’s complex 1526 octagon sundial works on a similar principle, in a layout which Dürer does not illustrate. (Fig. 7.8) This innovation helped the discerning artist, or instrumentmaker, visualize the object in its dismantled state. Dürer discusses the process of making “many fine solids” from these diagrams and folded paper, beginning with the sphere. This shape proves to be a relatively simple undertaking, especially in contrast to the artist’s culminating invention of a polyhedron with six 58 59 60 61

Albrecht Dürer, The Painter’s Manual: a Manual of Measurement of Lines, Areas, and Solids …, trans., ed., Walter L. Strauss (New York: Abaris Books, 1977), 15–16. Euclides, Elements of Geometrie, H. Billingsley, English trans., preface by M.I. Dee (London: J. Daye, 1570). Dürer, 329. Erwin Panofsky, Life and Art of Albrecht Dürer (Princeton, n.j.: Princeton University Press. 1971), 259.

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dodecagons and thirty-two triangles. Supplying an image of the built sphere as well as its net, he jumps from the two-dimensional polygonal form to the three-dimensional polyhedron in the space of two woodcuts. The other nets allow readers to imagine the built form on their own. According to the diagram for the sphere, these should be cut with a sharp knife into sixteen slivers, rather than the customary twelve gores in Schöner’s globes. Dürer does not mention mapmaking as one of the options for such paper cutouts, nor does he specifically recommend printing devices of any kind with these shapes. For the purposes of the book, he appears more interested in the pure forms in their unraveled state than in their decorative or functional potential. Nonetheless, it is worth noting that as he closes the section, he emphasizes to his artist audience their ease of manufacture and utility. No printed sundials have been attempted for shapes as complex as the icosahedron Dürer illustrates, with its twenty equilateral triangle faces, although the Andreas Schöner Gnomice book mentioned earlier manages twenty-five irregular faces and a base. Hartmann printed sundials shaped as octahedrons, tetrahedrons, conical pyramids, and octagonal prisms, as well as the globes and diptych dials. His most complicated design, however, was his woodcut cruciform sundial, a style possibly adapted from a fifteenth-century horned dial, a type of sundial popular even outside of Hartmann’s own ivory and paper output.62 Metal sundials had also appeared in irregular polyhedral shapes—either recognizable forms such as stars, or in large polyhedra with many more faces. The largest were produced primarily as curiosities rather than useful instruments, though every face of the dial could in theory tell time when set properly. Hartmann’s close connections with Nuremberg artists, humanists, and publishers opened his worldview to the spatial and sculptural possibilities of polyhedra as he adapted his instruments to complicated shapes beyond the sphere. Experimenting with mapping as well as numerous forms of functional sundials inspired by Regiomontanus, Stabius, and the late medieval past, Hartmann applied his mathematical and instrument background to printmaking in new ways. 62

The Herzogin Anna Amalia Hartmann manuscript dates to around 1527 (ms Fol max 29). Fol. 147 includes a drawing of one of these horned objects—labeled as a design Hartmann learned from Johannes Stabius: “archetypus horarii cornicularis figure,/ absq. indice, a preceptore, meo d. stabio/ inventum. expliciunt composiciones horologioru/ et aliorum instrumentorum que/ sole aut arcturo gubernanantur/ pro hora diei aut noctis elicienda.”

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figure 9.1 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Concave Sundial with Angels (Horologium in Concavam Columnam), 1533. Etching: 15.6×23.4cm (plate); approx. 15.6×15.8cm (constructed). Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (Rar. 434: 50).

Georg Hartmann reacted both to Dürer’s iconography and to his choice of printmaking media to multiply his output. Although he mainly produced engravings, Hartmann may have collaborated with another artist on an iron etching in 1533. (Fig. 9.1) This cylinder dial looks much like a finely-cut woodcut, except for its plate line and two obvious nail holes. Hartmann probably drew the dial and punched his familiar lettering in a final step after his co-artist etched his drawing with acid. The two Springinklee-like allegorical women are delineated in the thick, even strokes of a point through the acid-resistant coating—with an expansive fluidity Hartmann’s concentrated and sometimes crabbed draftsmanship lacked. These corporeal figures are too substantially drawn for Hartmann, and owe a debt to Dürer and his school. The androgynous angelic beings kneel heavily on revelatory clouds resembling those in the 1551 council woodcut. Although Heinrich Röttinger somewhat implausibly suggested Hartmann employed Erhard Schön for the Rat sundial (after the artist’s death), this could be a rare etching completed earlier by Schön.1 The

1 Geisberg/Strauss, g.1306, attributes the woodcut to Schön, following Röttinger. In addition, g.1304–1305 may be an etching by Schön, rather than a woodcut (or a copy after an etching).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_011

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most active etchers in Nuremberg around this time were the Beham brothers and Georg Pencz, but they tended to work on smaller plates.2 Several areas of slightly overbitten cross-hatched shadows show inexperience with the medium in Hartmann’s plate. Strauss interestingly attributes a series of smallscale etched vignettes for a 1531 calendar to Schön, lending some credence to the suggestion that he may have been responsible for this work two years later. Whatever Hartmann’s source, the print proved one of his most pervasive creations. Unlike his woodcut collaborations, Hartmann kept and frequently reprinted this plate; six impressions survive on papers dating from the late 1530s and the 1560s.3 If Hartmann had only intended to produce printed designs as a by-product of his astrolabe trade, or as an aid to the sundial guild, he would never have bothered to have his designs printed as woodcuts. Woodblock carving was a complicated and slow technique he could not have assumed as easily as engraving copper instead of brass. Hartmann would certainly have hired a Formschneider to do this work for him. He produced a total of four woodcut instruments, the first two in 1529 and the last two in 1551, twenty-two years apart. All four of these prints bear some variation of the Nuremberg coat of arms. As a self-declared product of this center of instrument trade, the prints could have advertised their origins as well as their maker to markets beyond the city itself. The 1551 wall sundial localizes its manufacture even further with its dedication to the Nuremberg council. (Fig. 7.14) Such dedications were not unprecedented; Johannes Schöner had dedicated a book to the magistrates of the city in 1522 during his successful campaign for his job as a professor of mathematics.4 Hartmann was not looking for employment, though he may have wanted to curry favor with the council members, many of whom had come from his patron family, the Geuders, over the years. Hartmann might have been particularly well acquainted with Sebald and Georg, favorite nephews of Willibald Pirckheimer, or even their equally Italian-educated sons, who would later join the Rat. Perhaps a member of the family even commissioned

2 All three so-called “Godless Painters” worked in town intermittently, having been banished for their religious views in 1528; Sebald Beham was banished for the second time around 1530 for possibly plagiarizing a Dürer manuscript. See Herbert Zschelletzschky, Die “Drei gottlosen Maler” von Nürnberg: Sebald Beham, Barthel Beham u. Georg Pencz: histor. Grundlagen u. ikonolog. Probleme ihrer Graphik zu Reformations- u. Bauernkriegszeit (Leipzig: Seemann, veb, 1975). 3 Two impressions are on paper with Piccard’s 915 Bear watermark, datable to Nuremberg use in 1538; two are on the tower paper; three more have no markings. 4 Johannes Schöner, Equitorii astronomici … canones (Nürnberg: per Fœdericu peypus, 1522).

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the work. An entry in the council’s ledger on January 29, 1552 mentions that Hartmann had been working on an important architectural project for the Geuder “Seelenhaus” with the help of a goldsmith.5 Hartmann probably designed the woodcuts of the 1529 triangular pyramidal sundial and the two-sheet astrolabe set from 1551 himself, while seeking another artist’s help for the figures in the crucifix and Rat sundials. Both share similar motifs with engravings throughout his career. As mentioned above, the tiny winds and fountains (or goblets) framing the compass in the pyramid dial recur in his first Directorum Medicorum of 1538, and in his polyhedral dial of 1549. The unfurling scroll announcing the title and Nuremberg latitude casts incongruous shadows in both directions, though the strokes do suggest threedimensionality. The effect of shadows in the astrolabe kit is much improved thirty-five years later, thanks to Hartmann’s more subtly rounded engraving of the same subject. His 1551 astrolabe kit somewhat simplifies his standard brass astrolabe design, and his 1535/1542 engraving after them. (Figs. 7.5–7) There is no reason why he couldn’t have designed the two-sheet set himself. The accompanying gears and crown appear just as florid and three-dimensional in the engraving as they do in the woodcut. Two dolphin heads under the crown constitute the only decorative flourish added—creatures which would also be seen on the 1547 Stuttgart terrestrial globe. The two cherubs flanking the Nuremberg arms in the engraving have also been excised for easier cutting. The coordinate plates are not identical to the engravings either, and they have a more mechanical look to them which an outside artist might have diminished. In contrast, the striking difference between the mechanical and decorative elements of the other 1551 woodcut, the Rat sundial, suggests Hartmann delegated its embellishment to another artist. (Fig. 7.14) The equal emphasis on the allegorical women and their underlying sundial particularly suggest collaboration. Hartmann’s likely intention to sell more copies of his woodcuts than of his engravings may have factored into this choice. Given that the main city council was made up of forty-two members, but its full numbers approached four hundred, the edition could presumably not have numbered less than fifty copies, and probably consisted of several hundred. Estimates of European broadsheet runs in the sixteenth century suggest that at least a thousand copies may have been lost for each surviving woodcut impression, and woodblocks could often support three or four thousand copies.6 There is no evidence however, that

5 Theodor Hampe, Nürnberger Ratsverlässe über Kunst und Künstler im Zeitalter der Spätgotik und Renaissance (1449) 1474–1618 (Wien: K. Graeser & Kie, 1904), 469, no. 3366 [1551, xi, 36b]. 6 “It has been claimed that the popular broadsheet appeared in editions of only 350, but in

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Hartmann’s blocks went into even a second edition, as his designs were far too specific to be reused as illustrations. Five impressions of the Rat sundial survive—in Munich, Vienna, Nuremberg, Amsterdam and Berlin—but its inscription to that civic body could mean either a very private, or a very large edition. If Hartmann had entrusted the woodcuts entirely to a printer, including their sales, there may well have been a thousand such sundials issued. If the same arrangement held true for the 1551 astrolabe kit, the lack of constructed copies is surprising. The closest surviving example is a brass astrolabe by Hartmann in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, which has a replacement dial in woodcut.7 The mhs oxford engraved astrolabe on cardboard is one of the three complete (or nearly complete) astrolabe engraving kits, and one separate plate that survive, compared with the four complete (and one partial), but unconstructed 1551 woodcut sets. The fine lines on copper plates wore down more quickly than woodblocks, allowing fewer impressions to be made, but engravings were probably more expensive and better conserved for their rarity. A thousand to two thousand copies in good condition might still have been produced from each plate.8 Hartmann never wore down the surface of his woodblocks or other plates perceptibly, and so it is unlikely that he personally, or members of his workshop, printed more than a hundred of each of his engravings. Due in part to its relatively high survival rate in print rooms, the 1551 woodcut sundial is the only one of Hartmann’s works to have entered the canon of art history. For instance, the Berlin Kupferstichkabinett impression appears under Erhard Schön in both the Illustrated Bartsch, and in Geisberg’s German SingleLeaf Woodcut. Walter L. Strauss also attributes the influential SpringinkleeStabius horoscopion to Schön. However, Hartmann was already copying that work awkwardly in his 1527 “marble sundial” engraving, rather than collaborating directly with its artist. (Fig. 7.10) Heinrich Röttinger first drew attention to the 1551 woodcut Rat sundial when he attributed the design to Schön in his 1925

1522 the authorities in Leipzig seized 1500 copies of a broadsheet attacking Jerome Emser. Moreover the woodcut block was capable of yielding perhaps three or four thousand copies before it began to deteriorate, and woodcut illustrations were often passed from printer to printer.” Robert Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk, 5; Keith Moxey, Peasants, Warriors and Wives, 22. 7 Zinner, Instrumente, 365. Zinner mentions that Hartmann’s 1541 metal astrolabe at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (ar 1336), includes a front dial supplied in the box as a woodcut; this may be a later addition from the 1551 astrolabe sheet. 8 Arthur M. Hind. A History of Engraving and Etching: From the 15th-Century to the Year 1914 (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1963), 15.

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monograph on the artist. Röttinger included the caveat that Schön must have produced the drawing for Hartmann some years earlier, for the woodcut designer had already died by 1542.9 The author of the New Hollstein on Schön, however, rejected this possibility without offering an alternative. A cutter required an exorbitant amount of time to carve a woodblock, and if Hartmann made the mistake of employing a single Formschneider for the three large blocks required for the sundial and the two sheets of the astrolabe he issued in 1551, it would have taken months longer. Still, it seems unlikely that Hartmann would have left a finished design go unpublished from 1542 to 1551 without a reason. He may have begun to work on his woodcut astrolabe set at the same time that he reissued and redated his engraved set in 1542. Perhaps Hartmann’s publisher was reluctant to print in small quantities, a problem Veit Bild may have shared. Coupled with Hartmann’s need to rethink the nine separate engravings as two woodcut sheets, the printer’s hope for profit could explain why the woodcuts appeared in groups of two in both 1529 and 1551. The crucifix dial bore a dedication mentioning the recent siege of Vienna, while the Council dedication—perhaps even the publisher’s suggestion—was similarly topical, though seemingly unrelated to a specific political event. Given the similarity in figural types and the use of the pulled-back clouds discussed above, it is more likely that Schön collaborated with Hartmann on the 1533 etching than on the Council dial. Hartmann’s habit of engraving the functional portion of the sundial first suggests that he would have been able to supply the artist—perhaps another figure related to the Dürer workshop— with the sundial shape and locations for the label and compass. The eightpointed star setting for the gnomon, and the line indicating its required length above it converge too closely with the slightly raised cloud bank for the two designs to have been produced separately. The standard Nuremberg arms on the sundial offer no help in identifying the historical occasion for issuing the dial, or its commissioner. Unusually though, the angels hold a blank shield between them. This one unused part of an otherwise functional image reflects the white balance of a more scatological work sometimes (but no longer) attributed to Schön, the Shield of Cockaigne.10 In it, two peasants tentatively grasp the sides of a fantastical coat of arms ringed with sausages, which is feathered and capped with a steaming pile of excrement. Within the shield at the heart of the broadsheet lies a mirror, imply9

10

Heinrich Röttinger, Erhard Schön und Niklas Stör, der pseudo-Schön; zwei untersuchungen zur geschichte des alten Nürnberger holzschnittes, in Studien zur deutschen Kunstgeschichte, 229 (Strassburg: J.H.E. Heitz, 1925). Geisberg/Strauss, g.1192.

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ing the viewer’s participation in these and other sensuous acts. Hartmann’s sundial pairs the empty central shield with the unfilled compass circle for a different purpose. The shield could be meant to be completed with the arms of the Nuremberg council member to whom it belonged, just as a compass and a gnomon must be inset into an underlying panel for the dial to perform its function. That these two angels do not merely gesture towards the shield, but actually support it, further reinforces the interactive tactility of the blank space. While this woodcut would have been reinforced with a flat board, Schön’s etched angels of the 1533 cylinder make even greater claims on threedimensionality. When that dial stands erect in a concave semicircle, as it must to tell time, the angels’ wings stretch around to envelope the viewer, and their arms lightly graze the sundial itself as it extends into real space.

Hartmann’s Anno Obsidionis: Timekeeping in the Service of Religion While most of Hartmann’s prints are specifically dated, few demonstrate the effects of contemporary events on his output, not even the Rat sundial. As a clergyman in newly Protestant Nuremberg, his work had to show the influence of some of these pressures. Hartmann duly produced two of his most inventive interactive prints at the end of 1529, during the very real Ottoman threat to Vienna. The city lay under siege to the Turks for three weeks from September 25 to October 14. Numerous broadsheets circulated in Nuremberg showing Turkish atrocities and putting the saga to music. Fears of a total invasion ran rampant. Meanwhile, Hartmann capitalized on this anxiety through his workshop. He produced a woodcut sundial in the shape of a crucifix for the Christian market, and a unique diptych sundial engraving for the Turks. (Figs. 7.1 and 9.4; 7.3 and 9.2) The latter invention suggests he may have been aware of the reigning Emperor Suleiman i’s fondness for unusual timepieces. Hartmann signed his name and inscribed the coordinates of the Turkish sundial entirely in Arabic, outfitting it with the latitude 41° for Constantinople.11 Finally, he nestled an anthropomorphic crescent moon within the upper dial as a variant of the well-known and feared Turkish symbol. The only other printing on the sheet is in Latin: “Georgius Hartmann Noremberge faciebat Anno Obsidionis,” or, Georg 11

Jennifer Nelson discusses this print and its keen awareness of wayfinding in the Arab world, in “Hartmann’s Sundials: Modular Design in the Year of the Siege,” a chapter from her upcoming book with Penn State University Press, Disharmony of the Spheres: The Europe of Holbein’s Ambassadors.

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Hartmann of Nuremberg designed this in the Year of the Siege. This phrase may refer to the chilling fact that the Turks overran Charles v’s brother Ferdinand’s Hungarian territories and had reached the walls of Vienna for the first time. He may even have been sincerely convinced that a Turkish victory was inevitable, for the signature on the base of his crucifix sundial also substitutes these pessimistic words for a date, and couples them with a desperate prayer to the cross above. Hartmann could have designed the small diptych engraving as early as the first week in October, with the expectation that the siege would last several months, whatever its outcome. (Fig. 9.2) Nuremberg was probably alerted by the end of September. Council records survive regarding competing maps Erhard Schön and Sebald Beham designed of the conflict in early 1530.12 (Fig. 9.3) Beham’s occasional publisher Niclaus Meldeman had applied to the Rat for a privilege and a loan for the project a mere two days after the siege ended.13 While the woodcut cross probably did not appear until at least 1530, Hartmann could work quickly on his engravings if he chose. Once he dated a concave column dial September 6, 1541, implying that he could design and possibly even engrave an entire functional device in a single day. That mainly linear work also involves several phrases of punched text, and graphic, albeit stock depictions of the zodiac. The principal time constraint for the Turkish dial probably lay in convincing a local Arabic expert to translate Hartmann’s text. Conveniently, Johannes Schöner edited an eleventh-century Arabic text on astronomy in 1525, and reissued it a decade later. The book claims he made some necessary corrections to the translator’s manuscript. Thus, even if Schöner couldn’t read the text fluently, he could probably have distinguished the alphabet for Hartmann.14 The inclusion of the second bounding box and Latinate signature on the plate reiterates his need for recognizable authorship. The design is unornamented, excepting the minimally shadowed face of the moon. Hartmann depicted a similar crescent in a 1527 lunar dial, though the 1529 moon appears flatter and more hurriedly engraved. This Turkish star and crescent moon were recognizable symbols of the enemy that reappear on flags throughout Beham’s Vienna siege map. (Fig. 9.3) They also decorate the flags wielded by nonbelievers in his 1534 Old Testament Bible illustrations, such as 12 13 14

Geisberg/Strauss, g.1246–1247 for Schön; g.283–288 for Beham. Landau and Parshall, 226–228. Ibn Zarkil of Cordoba (eleventh century), Saphaeae recentiores doctrinae, patris abrusahk azarchelis, summi Astronomi, a J. Schonero Carolostadio Germano, innumeris in locis emendatae (Norimberge: Johann Schöner, 1534).

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figure 9.2 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564), Turkish Sundial, 1529. Engraving: 16.4 × 6.2 cm (inside border); 18.1 × 9.1 (outer plate); approx. 8×6.2cm (constructed). bsb (Rar. 434: 58).

the Egyptians pursuing Moses.15 Hartmann’s engraving does not cast the symbol in a similarly adversarial role, but adopts it as a sort of pun on both the limitations of the sundial itself to daylight hours, and the market for which it was destined. It is unclear if Hartmann actually meant to expand his trade eastward, or merely wished to commemorate the eventual Christian victory. Given the dial’s limitation to the coordinates for Constantinople, the device may have proved a profitable curiosity in Europe, but could certainly have been circulated simul-

15

The blocks were integrated in the Mainz 1534 Peter Jordan edition of the entire German Bible, as well as in the republication of Beham’s illustrations with minimal text in 1536 and 1551, in Frankfurt by Christianus Egenolphus.

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figure 9.3 Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), The Siege of Vienna, 1530. Woodcut from six blocks and letterpress: 81.9 × 91.2 cm (sheet). kk berlin (Inv. 848–100).

taneously as a serious instrument for Turkish use. At the very least, the plates were not confiscated and kept out of circulation, as happened with the 1566 Venetian map in Arabic. From the evidence of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (bsb) album, Hartmann kept the plate and reprinted the engraving as needed; the surviving impressions bear late watermarks, and they all appear in the bsb album. The Turkish diptych only required pasting onto two plates with hinges. In contrast, the crucifix sundial Hartmann produced to comfort the time- and invasion-obsessed public must be cut along a complicated silhouette, and folded in thirty-eight different places. (Fig. 9.4) A compass must be also inserted in the bottom of the device, but no gnomon is necessary. With the object properly aligned toward the north and held at the correct angle for the latitude, the shadow from the top beam of the cross hits the appropriate hour marking on its side. While this ability makes the sides entirely functional, the front,

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figure 9.4 Georg Hartmann (German 1489–1564) and Sebald Beham? (German, 1500–1550), Cruciform Sundial for All Latitudes, 1529. Woodcut: 44.1×17.6cm (sheet); approx. 17 × 12 × 4 cm (constructed). © gnm (h665)

back and underside of the cross afford blank spaces which the woodcut fully exploits. The printed scenes represent a common juxtaposition, with the Crucifixion on the front, and the Brazen Serpent on the back. Christ’s outline was so deeply gouged into the woodblock that he appears in relief in the print; the mischievous snake on the verso grins wickedly, equally embossed. All four of the Evangelists appear—with John on the top of the cross, and Mark lying at Jesus’s feet, while Matthew and Luke appear on tabs folded down on either side as the ends of the crossbar. While John the Evangelist appears above Christ’s head, Moses looks down on the Brazen Serpent. As a final sculptural touch

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sadly excluded from the subsequent ivory versions, the print designates a pair of mannish angels holding large goblets to catch the blood of Christ. His blood trickles down the front of the cross, veering a sharp ninety degrees to the nearly invisible angels waiting beneath. (Fig. 9.4a) Though the cross lacks a specific dedication, Hartmann’s crowning touch assures a market for it in his adopted home: the Nuremberg arms constitute the upper flap that completes the entire cross. Although Hartmann designed the framework for the crucifix sundial and probably chose the motifs it contained, the drawing of these figures far surpass his efforts in their sculpturality. While Hartmann may have worked with Erhard Schön later on, this woodcut does not reflect Schön’s style as much as it does that of Sebald Beham. Although Beham left Nuremberg after his second banishment, the evidence of the Vienna map may suggest he was still active there around 1530. A careful perusal of Beham’s treatment of Moses in his 1534 Bible illustrations offers many parallels, including a version of the Brazen Serpent with the same recumbent man at the foot of the cross, in reverse. (Fig. 9.5a) This design proved persistent, as Virgil Solis and others copy it later. Further similarities include the costuming and facial types of Moses, the Evangelists, and Christ. Though the cross suspends a smaller figure than the Christ of Beham’s Veronica woodcut, his body and countenance exhibit a similar pathos.16 Finally, the smirking faces of the snakes are reminiscent of Beham’s poultry, as are the angels’ hair and wings of the more hirsute male figures in his 1552 Kunstbuchlein. (Fig. 9.5b) If Hartmann’s woodcut was not produced by Beham himself, the artist was another close member of the Dürer workshop, and certainly drew on Beham and Dürer’s previous works. This crucifix woodcut supplied the general model for carved ivory sundials Hartmann produced for several noble recipients, including two for Duke Albrecht in 1541 and 1544 (Germanisches Nationalmuseum (gnm), British Museum (bm)), and one around 1542 for Queen Anna of Hungary and Bohemia (location unknown). (Fig. 7.2) The ivory versions function visually and mechanically almost exactly the same as the woodcut. The main difference is the addition of a swiveling middle leg to access the compass, which had previously been inserted into the bottom of the instrument. The angle of the supporting leg also controls that of the sundial itself. In the British Museum version, extending the leg simultaneously turns a metal dial denoting its latitude, automating the sundial for use as a universal instrument.

16

Geisberg/Strauss, g.722; B.app.26 (Dürer).

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figure 9.5a

Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), Moses and Brazen Serpent, from Biblia Veteris Testamenti & Historie, Christian Egenolff: Frankfurt, 1551, Num. 21. Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 5 × 7.2 cm (block); 15 × 9 cm (sheet). nypl (*kb 1551).

figure 9.5b

Sebald Beham (German, 1500–1550), Peasant and Peasant Woman with Goose, from Kunst und Lere Büchlin, Christian Egenolff: Frankfurt, 1552, d. Woodcuts and letterpress: approx. 10.2 × 12.5 cm (block); 20 × 15.5cm (sheet). nypl (Spencer Coll. Ger. 1552).

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The dense narrative of the print does not transfer well to ivory, however, especially at less than half the size of the constructed woodcut. The entire woodcut design corresponds only to the upper half of the ivory cross. Although both the ivory and paper versions contrast the Brazen Serpent with the Crucifixion, the similarities end there. The back of the ivory legs of the Duke’s sundials show supplementary scenes of the Deposition (bm), and Christ Rising from his Tomb (gnm), while their fronts display the Brandenburg arms. (Fig. 7.2) When the instruments lie closed with their verso showing, the contrast between the Old and New Testaments becomes even stronger, as the Deposition and the Resurrection occur directly underneath the Brazen Serpent. In the bm ivory, two larger, pointing figures flank the Deposition—the High Priest and Moses, who direct the viewer’s eye back up to the miraculous healing. Neither of the main ivory scenes exactly replicates the woodcut version, but both display awareness of it, from the numbering of the hours to the Beham-like prone figure under the serpent cross. These significant variations suggest that Hartmann used his print to visualize the first version of the sundial, which he may have designed for none other than Philipp Melanchthon. A letter from Melanchthon written by the late 1530s praises the horologio “et crux addita” he had received from the mathematician. Although Duke Albrecht was a staunch supporter of Protestantism by 1541, the Brazen Serpent verso scene would have meant even more to Melanchthon, for he used it as his personal insignia. (Fig. 9.6) Among other texts, the 1552 edition of his Liber de Anima shows that coat of arms on its title page, as if referring to the errant Israelites’s afflictions as both spiritual and bodily.17 Melanchthon may have been especially pleased by the imagery on Hartmann’s cross, but he waxes eloquent about the technology behind it: “and the timepiece [horologio] with the cross will remind me, that this misery will finally have an end, and that this, our magnet, will draw our souls back to the eternal home in Heaven.”18 Although

17 18

Philipp Melanchthon, Liber de Anima Recognitus (Wittenberg: Clemens Schleich, 1552). Also see Strauss 1550–1600, Lucas Cranach the Younger, no. 7, 150. “et crux addita horologio monebit harum miseriarum finem aliquando fore, et hunc nostrum magnetem, hoc est, animas nostras in illam suam Patriam coelestem redituras esse.” Dated August 8, [1539?] First published in a book of Melanchthon’s letters in 1646. Corpus Reformatorum: Philippi Melanthonis opera quae supersunt omnia, eds. Karl Bretschneider and Heinrich Bindseil 4 (Halle: A Schwetschke & Sons, 1834–1860), 853–854. The letter was not written in 1527 or in 1530, according to Heinz Scheible, Melanchthon’s Briefwechsel, ii (Stuttgart: Frommann-Holzboog, 1978), 194–195, no. 1595.

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figure 9.6 Lucas Cranach the Younger (German, 1515–1586), Philipp Melanchthon, 1562. Woodcut with letterpress: 26.5×15cm (sheet). aic (1935.114).

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some argue this device refers to an actual watch, it was equally likely to have been a sundial, given Melanchthon’s climactic and pious description of its magnetic compass.19 It is possible that Hartmann sent Melanchthon a constructed and even colored impression of his woodcut sundial, rather than an ivory one. The impact of the Serpent motif increases with the instrument’s size, as does the ability of the cross to bear additional messages. While the ivory dials allowed the date and other small texts to be inscribed, the base of the woodcut bears a full Bible verse in Latin inserted in letterpress. This passage, from Paul’s Letter to the Galatians 6:14, is an exaltation addressed directly to the cross itself. In the King James translation, it reads: “But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world.” It is in the spirit of such exultation that Melanchthon could compare the workings of the compass magnet to those of the divine. As with the other Christian sundials from the Cathedral on the Strasbourg map, and in Hartmann’s Nuremberg-Jerusalem diptych, this epic crucifix sundial connected its devoted user with all historical and ecclesiastical time. And yet Hartmann produced this work during the “Anno Obsidionis,” a moment in which the beliefs and scientific advances of his religious and humanistic society were already being roiled by new discoveries and the Reformation. The additional threat of a Turkish invasion made his cruciform sundial woodcut an even more potent statement of Hartmann’s enduring faith in art and science. Whether acting in service of the Church, purveying his instruments, or instructing a noble patron, Georg Hartmann astronomically furthered the personal use of printed instruments for the middle as well as upper classes. Through myriad mass-production techniques, Hartmann brought his dials into the reach of the common, increasingly better-educated man. With imagery knowingly drawing all the tensions of the day into the service of timekeeping, Hartmann retooled the keys to the natural and religious in constructible form. He never intended the quality of invention of these instruments to decline,

19

The Walters Museum in Baltimore owns a spherical watch likely made in Nuremberg for Melanchthon around 1530, leading some scholars to erroneously suggest that the letter to Hartmann refers to another watch. As mentioned above, the nomenclature for all timepieces was various and vague at the time. See Maia Wellington Gahtan and George Thomas, “Gott Allein Die Ehre, engraved on Philip Melanchthon’s Watch of 1530,”Lutheran Quarterly 3 (2001): 249–272.

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merely their price and their rarity. Unwilling to be stifled by the construction costs and other limitations imposed on the Nuremberg sundial guild, Hartmann embraced an artform he practically invented in order to liberate the printed instrument.

part 4 Consumption and Exploitation: The International Expansion of the Interactive Book

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Conspicuous Consumption and Private Presses Revelatory Playthings explored the ludic role of the interactive print in popular devotion, while Reformation of Anatomy and Instrumentle auff Papir showed the applications of the single-sheet flap print and sculptural print for propaganda and proto-scientific inquiry. The final part of this book will focus on the evolution of the secular interactive book as a playfully collaborative artwork containing new permutations of volvelles and flap diagrams, especially by considering the ways the ever-expanding German and Italian markets contributed to this development of the genre. Such ongoing collaboration took place between the authors, publishers, bookbinders, and buyers of these texts, as they designed, constructed or used the interactive components. Consumption and Exploitation will highlight interactive images published in books. These include flaps, volvelles, and fully sculptural cut-out sheets similar to those discussed earlier as part of single-sheet prints. Here the emphasis shifts to the roles of both the publisher and the user in the production and personalization of these works. Just as with broadsides, book illustrations with flaps were generally assembled before being sold, and excluding cancels, (sheets tipped in to correct mistakes), they appear significantly less frequently in earlymodern texts than volvelles.1 The dual purpose of the flap to conceal and reveal may have contributed to this practice of pre-assembly, especially for broadsheets in which unconstructed parts could easily give away the punch line. In contrast, books with volvelles involved several different levels of interactivity and authorship. When an author printed on his own press, he could oversee the construction of the sheets and reduce the possibility of user error. In 1575, the adventurous printer-philosopher-alchemist Leonhard Thurneisser zum Thurn would write a foreword explicitly demanding that a qualified bookbinder perform this service for a series of eight astrological volvelles accompanying his Archidoxa.2 (Figs. 10.7–8) Thurneisser’s elaboration of the procedure strongly 1 Although there are some instances where the flaps were never attached, there is little evidence that extra sheets were issued with the flaps for owners to affix. The Berlin Kupferstichkabinett anti-papal flap broadsheet was not available for examination, but it is likely the sheet was a proof or an unconstructed impression, rather than a salable print. 2 Relatively few books explicitly suggest that this type of construction should be done by a bookbinder. Another example from the seventeenth century was Georg Philipp Harsdörffer’s Deliciae physico-mathematicae (Nürnberg: Jeremia Du’mlein, 1651), which inserted an extra

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_012

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suggests he considered buyers incapable of assembling the work themselves. If properly assembled, the book would be his masterpiece. This publishing attitude would change with the expansion of the interactive book throughout Europe. These components appeared in more volumes, but few approached this level of functional complexity or Thurneisser’s many demands on the assembler. Demand for these devices gradually increased, as was reflected in the more modest types of interactive illustrations used. Some plagiarists constructed the interactive prints they sold, as has been seen in several broadsheets with flaps from Reformation of Anatomy.3 More often, publishers included pages of movable parts with the text, allowing the reader the choice of constructing the diagrams or having them tipped in at the end of the bound volume. Andreas Vesalius unusually supplied the flaps in a separate sheet for his 1543 Epitome, but specified that student purchasers could either put the diagram together themselves or have it constructed for them.4 Other publishers may even have interpreted the interactive dial as a greater asset to book sales than the more labor-intensive flap images. Although they rarely supplied them on a separate sheet due to the need to glue the flaps in place, they often left it to the owner to delegate the sewing-in of the volvelles. By fastidiously reprinting each interactive part, even plagiarists reinforced the importance and international fame of the books they copied, though they often produced these books on a more modest scale than the originals. Thus the illustrations no longer required a king’s ransom or an astronomer’s acumen to construct—just a sharp blade, and a needle and thread. The growing popularity of small-scale flap engravings and etchsheet between 516 and 517; the engraved dials on it appear with instructions; the entire sheet is cut away when the dials are made. The practice certainly began earlier, however, in texts such as a Reiterbuch from 1580—with illustrations attributed to Jost Amman—in which several diagrams explain the colors that the various horses should be painted by the ‘Illuminist.’ Clues suggesting the involvement of more than one craftsman were more apparent in the manuscript tradition. For instance, blanks for still unfinished historiated initials often bear a tiny version of the letter another workshop member was supposed to place there. The margins near larger miniatures sometimes include quick sketches of the scenes as a general guideline. This practice also extended to painting in the sixteenth century, when artists used letters to specify the colors for parts of the background they were leaving to assistants. 3 Eighteen different editions and direct copies after Heinrich Vogtherr’s anatomy flap broadsheets were made from 1539 to 1605. These worked in exactly the same manner as the original, even down to the way the male figure’s head was printed as part of a flap, which was glued over the female body. 4 Vesalius, 220.

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ings in the late sixteenth century allowed viewers to enjoy these increasingly detailed, multifaceted images more intimately than the most opulent folios. These tensions between audience and sources had always been part of the interactive printed book trade. While construction in the workshop had been guaranteed during the manuscript era, the printed book’s accelerated rate of production and dispersal offered a new, more cost-effective model. Regiomontanus, Johannes Schöner and Peter Apian exercised strict control over the accuracy of their interactive works by publishing and constructing them by themselves. (10.1; 10.3–5) Schöner and Apian’s most lavish works were intended mainly for the connoisseur or a specific noble patron. Yet these scholars also sold paper instruments—globes, horoscopes, quadrants, and other devices they expected even their middle-class readers to build and use. (Figs. 8.4; 8.9) Although these printers safeguarded their own creations, borrowed imagery and techniques remained inherent to the creative process. Just as Regiomontanus’s volvelle related to manuscript dials, Schöner borrowed visual elements from Regiomontanus’s publications, as Apian did from Schöner. The resulting books also provided models for subsequent works on astronomy as printing became harder to control later in the century, despite an increasing number of imperial or civic privileges. Apian’s Astronomicum Caesareum from 1540 required the precedents of Regiomontanus—one of the first books with a printed dial—and Johannes Schöner’s Aequatorium Astronomicum, already volvelle-rich by 1521.5 (Figs. 10.1; 10.3–5) While Regiomontanus and Schöner drew their own diagrams, Apian enlisted at least two artists. He also appropriated Albrecht Dürer’s celestial hemisphere woodcuts of 1515, flattening them on a single planisphere dial.6 (Figs. 8.11–12) Thurneisser used reversed copies of the 1515 woodcuts as separate dials for his series of densely layered and cut-out volvelles accompanying the 1575 Archidoxa, while Jacques Bassantin borrowed the planispheric image directly from Apian. Bassantin dedicated his Astronomique discours of 1557 to Queen Catherine de Medici instead of Charles v, and in yet another nod to Apian, sold his work fully constructed. Copying did not always entail exact graphic reproduction. Johannes Schöner’s son Andreas reproduced Apian’s allegorical astrolabe frameworks 5 Another claim to an earlier dating is the 1457 almanac block book at the Herzog August Bibliothek, which includes a zodiac dial that is unfortunately missing its volvelle disc. (Cod. Guelf. 1189 Helmst. fol. 180–189). 6 Michael Ostendorfer and Hans Brosamer are generally agreed to have contributed the volvelle designs, and the initials, respectively. Among other sources, Apian’s reuse of Dürer has been noted by Hans Wolff, “Das Münchner Globenpaar,” Philipp Apian und die Kartographie der Renaissance (Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, München: Anton H. Konrad Verlag, 1989), 160.

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for his Gnomonice of 1562 without relying on one of his diagrams in particular. While Andreas only added one volvelle to his own text, his posthumous version of his father’s complete works included over a dozen, and both books required the viewer to cut out all the panels in the delicate rete-shaped openwork dial and assemble the entire device. The Opera Mathematica and Gnomonice were still large folios, though far less massive than the Astronomicum. The Neapolitan polymath Giambattista della Porta published five modest versions of his cryptography manual as quartos between 1563 and 1606, and a sixth in an expanded folio size in 1602. The success of della Porta’s encryption dials and outlandish code words led the English printer John Wolfe to reprint the manual fraudulently in 1591, even back-dating one version to 1563. (Figs. 10.9–10) The three volvelle dials appeared on a separate sheet or sheets in all seven editions, an inclusion suggesting such a potentially removable device may itself have contributed to the books’ success outside Italy. Wolfe employed a more facile artist than della Porta, thereby imbuing these illustrations with more liveliness than their sources. This chapter examines the workshop practices of several authors who produced the most lavish interactive scientific books of the sixteenth century on their private presses. The collaborative nature of these works is key to understanding their construction and intended use.7 Like Georg Hartmann’s Instrumentle auff Papir, these books epitomized both the science and fashion of modern astronomy. Each tour de force was too complex for the consumer to construct and so, unlike Hartmann’s engravings, they were preassembled in the workshop. Understandably, most books contained simpler dials than these. Della Porta’s cryptography book in its many editions provides the counterpoint of one popular do-it-yourself handbook and the beginnings of the volvelle’s expansion into Italy. The second chapter continues to discuss the use and reuse of interactive motifs through the popular German genre of Loßbücher, or lottery books, seen earlier with religious associations. These fortune-telling book/games were equally beloved for group recreation in Italy, although German variants differed in their inclusion of a volvelle as a randomizing device instead of dice. This genre proved to be the most controversial—and subsequently, one of the most successful among interactive books—no doubt in part due to its close relationship to gambling, cards, and board games. Many of the astrological

7 See Landau and Parshall, 219–259, for a treatment of the same phenomenon of the “so-called corner press,” with an emphasis on single-sheet prints, including maps, as well as scientific books.

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Johannes Schöner (German, 1477–1547), Lunar Volvelle, from Aequitorium Astronomicum, 1521. Hand-colored woodcuts, letterpress, and volvelles: approx. 49 × 33.1 cm (sheet). ub Ludwig Maximilians-Universität, Munich (w 2 Math. 336#1).

texts discussed in the first section also could have been used by the learned for casting horoscopes. The book/game provided a graphically stimulating and entertaining interactive shortcut, just as the volvelles had eliminated the need for many slow calculations using mathematical tables. In contrast to single-sheet prints published independently, the third chapter addresses the ways interactive prints were also used in series or as book illustrations. The contrasting techniques from earlier Protestant propaganda and anatomy flap prints was now used to educate readers about the secret pleasures of foreign cultures, or reminded them of more universal truths. These flaps took the risqué form of liftable skirts or other folding devices, but delivered— instead of unmitigated erotica—masculine underwear and a skeletal warning of retributions to come. (Figs. 12.1; 12.15–16) Sensual Venetian courtesan and grim Northern memento mori flap prints particularly reinforced both the Germans’s tantalizing conception of Italy and their own fascination with death. Increasingly commonplace in emblematic literature around the turn of the century, these topics increasingly characterized viewer-image interaction as transgressive.

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Though the reader did not always construct volvelles himself, he still left conscious and unconscious usage signs that converted paper instruments into personal statements. While Regiomontanus printed the first book with a volvelle, the Calendarium, in Nuremberg in 1474, Johannes Schöner’s 1521 Aequatorium Astronomicum was one of the first books to emphasize volvelles over numerical tables through their size, design, and coloring. Schöner published the work in Bamberg before moving to Nuremberg, but he was already aware of the Calendarium. The Aequatorium contains twelve folios with nine different volvelles to help calculate the “average movements of the planets for a given year,” also including the sun, and the moon.8 Squarely bordered in ornamental woodcut bars, his dials nest in up to three layers. In most surviving copies, the volvelles and borders are colored in green, ochre, rose, and peach washes. A little-known copy of Schöner’s Aequatorium at the LudwigMaximilian Universität in Munich includes two unusual additional elements. An owner tipped in a possibly unique impression of Sebastian Münster’s 1529 Instrument des Mondslauff—a large woodcut charting the phases of the moon, which retains the red knot from a user’s pointer string in its center. (Fig. 10.2) This unique impression is dedicated to “all lovers of the art of mathematics.” Two blank escutcheons ready for inscribing flank its ornately framed German title. Yet the owner did not explicitly personalize this sheet. He, or perhaps another owner, instead chose to use another rare print as a frontispiece, a handcolored and personalized impression of Schöner’s rare two-sheet Horoscopion woodcut from 1535.9 The portion of the letterpress sheet which contained the title, the work’s initial dedication to Georg Volkamer of Nuremberg, as well as Schöner’s name, has been entirely cut off, as have the once-present Nuremberg arms. The Volkamer arms remains at the top, while Schöner left the lower lefthand shield intentionally blank.10 There a user added his own device in brown ink: a drafting compass with a hammer standing upright on a hill beneath, suggesting the owner may have been a geographer like Sebastian Münster, yet another publisher of books with volvelles.

8 9

10

Sten G. Lindberg, “Mobiles in Books: Volvelles, inserts, pyramids, divinations, and children’s games,” The Private Library Series 3:2, no. 2 (1979): 61. Significant damage to the two sheets makes it difficult to tell if the instrument was trimmed during a modern restoration of the binding, as they are now glued in fragments on separate pages. The only other surviving impression of the Horoscopion known to the author is in the Nuremberg Stadtsbibliothek. Karl Schottenloher, “Johann Schöner und seine Hausdruckerei,”Zentralblatt für Bibliothekswesen, xxiv, 4 (April 1907): 152–153, describes the Nuremberg Stadtsbibliothek copy of the instrument as having four shields; the Nuremberg arms are missing in this impression.

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figure 10.2

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Hans Holbein the Younger, Instrument on the Course of the Moon (Instrument uber de[n] Mondslauff), Sebastian Münster, [Worms]: [Schöffer], 1529. Woodcut with central hole for index string: 61.5×44.5cm (sheet). ub Ludwig Maximilians-Universität, Munich (w 2 Math. 336#2).

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Schöner published the Horoscopion at his new private press in Nuremberg, where he also produced his globe gores. This impression of the Horoscopion uses similar colors to those in the Aequatorium, which are also akin to the muted tones of his Frankfurt globe. From the examples of the book in Munich, the Bamberg Staatsbibliothek, and a third in private hands, it appears that Schöner used a stencil to color his book, including the borders. Although the intensity and color choice varies, the same parts of each diagram are consistently colored in the same pattern throughout. Other details, such as the carefully excised holes in several of the uppermost discs would have proved difficult for the consumer to simulate, but a drill or punch could easily have been used in a workshop. While most impressions of Apian’s Astronomicum retain their original silk strands, the threads on Schöner’s Munich volvelles are thick replacements, and thus preclude a useful comparison with the delicate ones in Bamberg. Schöner edited at least two manuscripts by Regiomontanus, but never ones with dials.11 While he would self-publish many globes and some of the pamphlets to accompany them, and though the market was more conducive to this type of publication in Nuremberg than in Bamberg, Johannes Schöner would not live to produce a second book of volvelles on the same scale as his Aequatorium. In 1534 he reissued the remaining copies of his 1521 book with a new, pasted-on colophon and an extra diagram on the final page.12 This was not his last book with volvelles; as noted earlier, Schöner’s son Andreas published the Opera Mathematica for him posthumously in 1551 and again in 1561. The 1521 Aequatorium consisted of twelve folios with a full-size volvelle on most rectos. The Mathematica contained over a hundred folios, but they consisted predominantly of text. These volvelles were conceived on a smaller scale and without the elder Schöner’s guidance, and thus they were decidedly not preconstructed. In most surviving examples the ten pages of dial parts remain tipped in at the back, or are now missing. While Schöner’s Aequatorium dials commanded the bulk of the sheet, the Mathematica designs instead showed the influence of Apian’s references to the ornate metal framework of more permanent astronomical instruments. The private-press authors of interactive works left many signs that they were reading each others’ books. Even the first, Regiomontanus, never trusted anyone else’s proofreading or production skills. Regardless of Hermann Schedel’s 11

12

These were on triangles, and a refutation of Nicolas of Cusa’s “quadrature of the circle.” Georg Hartmann gave him the manuscripts; Schöner edited the works and published them at other Nuremberg presses. Schottenloher, 152–153.

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determination to learn about his printing process, (as Schedel’s letter mentioned above suggests), Regiomontanus remained unwilling to share his secrets until his books were published. Indeed, the scholar’s death shortly after the Calendarium appeared unleashed the impressive number of copies Regiomontanus had feared. The most accurately printed were those by Erhard Ratdolt in Venice, but most illicit versions carefully followed, or at worst, poorly updated Regiomontanus’s innovative interactive devices. Like Schöner’s basic, yet functional design, even the copies were unquestionably used. The New York Public Library Calendarium Ratdolt printed in 1483 and Schöner’s Aequatorium in Bamberg both show traces of large dots of colored wax that an owner applied to hold specific dials steady at the correct position for a set of exacting calculations. (Fig. 10.3a) The need to secure certain layers of the dials implies that these devices rotated more freely than their metal equivalents when they were first constructed. Both the German and Latin versions of Regiomontanus’s Calendarium from around 1474 likely had their metal pivoting arm attached to the sundial in his workshop. The two dials of its single volvelle were probably sewn on in-house as well, with the crossbars printed on the base serving as a guide. The variety of the coloring and even illumination of the lunar volvelle in surviving impressions, however, suggests that he never intended to color those parts of the work. Despite his famous yellow and black printing to demonstrate the phases of the moon, all of his interactive diagrams remained black and white. Even Ratdolt used red and black ink as a contrast for the moon charts in his 1483 version, but he too printed the instruments themselves without color. Ratdolt’s choice of a substantial card stock for the diagrams—making them suitable for repeat handling—also shows how precisely he followed Regiomontanus’s example. Peter Apian went further than Regiomontanus or Schöner in overseeing his 1540 Astronomicum Caesareum, even verifying that the pages were fully colored and correctly assembled in each copy. It was a work on a different scale than the small Cosmographicus handbook with its three tiny volvelles that Apian penned in Landshut in 1524. This handbook and his several other modest texts with volvelles were reprinted at least 40 times by 1609 in editions variously including between one and five volvelles.13 Like Georg Hartmann, Apian cultivated noble contacts and occasionally built actual instruments before he became a professor of mathematics in Ingolstadt in 1527. The fresco sundial he designed for the third floor of the Landshut castle courtyard is still in place, 13

Fernand von Ortroy, Bibliographie de l’ œuvre de Pierre Apian (Amsterdam: Meridian Publishing Co., 1963). Ortroy was Apian’s most scrupulous bibliographer, and carefully noted even missing volvelles.

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figure 10.3a Regiomontanus (German, 1436–1476), Lunar Volvelle and Quadrant from Calendarium (Erhard Ratdolt: Venice, 1476). Book with woodcut and letterpress in black and red, hand colored with brush and watercolor, pen and ink, with dial: 28.6 × 20.5 cm (sheet). aic (1948.343).

albeit no longer functional.14 His handbooks from the late 1520s and early 1530s did not include volvelles. Rather, they included single-sheet prints with instructions for turning them into working quadrants and other timekeeping devices like the constructed ones that Duke Albrecht v collected. Concerned

14

The Burg Trausnitz, in Landshut, is now home to a Kunstkammer exhibition as an outpost, or, Zweigmuseum, of the bnm. The sundial is visible from the courtyard, although a later change in the roof structure sadly keeps it shadowed from the sun.

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figure 10.3b Detail of woodcut base layer of Lunar Volvelle and Quadrant, from Calendarium (Erhard Ratdolt: Venice, 1483), i.27b. Woodcut and letterpress volvelle (dial missing), showing wax remnants: approx. 22×16cm (sheet). nypl (*kb 1483).

with reaching a broader market, Apian issued many of these manuals in German, and would later provide a pamphlet translation of his Astronomicum. Despite a more pragmatic than theoretical approach, these textbooks were dedicated to a series of nobles, including Charles v, who would receive the Astronomicum Caesareum dedication as well. This was a distinctly imperial folio, especially in contrast to Apian’s Cosmographicus liber. The Astronomicum contained twenty-one full-page volvelles with dials, and another twelve outfitted with silk threads whose tiny pearls doubled as sliding counters. The workshop Apian ran with his brothers not only assembled, but also colored every surviving impression, excepting one set of proofs, known as Rar. 818, now at the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich (bsb). Owen Gingerich’s census of the approximately 111 surviving copies mentions coloring on the back of some of the volvelles. This suggests that the coloring was certainly done in-house, and that the workshop was reusing badly printed sheets which had already been colored.15 Gingerich also noted that the process of assembling the book was so

15

Owen Gingerich, “A Survey of Apian’s Astronomicum Caesareum,” 113–122.

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complicated that few copies were ever taken apart after their initial construction, leaving most in functional shape. When a full-scale facsimile was made in 1967 of one of the relatively few disarrayed volumes, chaos ensued: “Ironically, the Leipzig facsimile makers even reproduced Apianus’s private guides for pasting the pieces together, which are normally completely hidden in an assembled copy, but they ignored these instructions.”16 Slight deviations from the standard decoration also contributed to the work’s status as a collector’s item even from its first publication. Apian employed three different colophons that reflect the book’s role in gaining him his knighthood, while he printed several copies on deluxe paper and had a few truly illuminated.17 In contrast to the rarely colored Cosmographicus liber, the fact that the Astronomicum only survives in black and white at the bsb, suggests Apian may have considered it to be incomplete without color. (Figs. 10.4–5) The entire bsb Rar. 818 volume is a working proof rather than a final draft of the Astronomicum Caesareum; several of the dials are in unfinished states, although the frames on the underlying pages, (probably designed by Michael Ostendorfer), are already printed crisply. As these were reused for several volvelles—including the planisphere and the right-hand side of the doublespread—the woodblocks for them were likely prepared first. The planisphere combining Dürer’s 1515 Celestial Hemispheres into one integrated dial is a particularly telling variation, as the proof version in Munich bears little resemblance to the final image. (Figs. 8.11–12; 10.4) While the final dial emphasizes the mythological patterns of the constellations over their coordinates, this intermediary version mimics the turning openwork rete, or star map of an astrolabe.18 Apian’s coordinates around the rim of the second dial duly supplement this function, effectively turning the chart into a working astrolabe. Pointer fingers appear in abundance, while the minute figures of the zodiac remain

16 17

18

Gingerich, “Apianus’ Astronomicum Caesareum and its Leipzig Facsimile,” Journal for the History of Astronomy 2 (1971): 168. Gingerich notes in his survey, 114, “With respect to the final colophon leaf, Petrus Apianus’s Astronomicum Caesareum comes in three different states. One has the arms with a singleheaded eagle and only the words Insignia Petri Apiani. The second state show Apian’s new arms with a double-headed eagle and the words insignia petri apiani sacri palatii Cois. The third state, reserved for the deluxe copies, has a small round insignia and the words insignia petri apiani Mathemat. Ingolstadieñ.” Epact: Scientific Instruments of Medieval and Renaissance Europe, http://www.mhs.ox .ac.uk/epact/, defines a rete: “a skeletal star map representing the rotation of the heavens on an astrolabe. The rete normally features a projection of the ecliptic and pointers for prominent stars, and can be rotated over a chosen latitude plate.”

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confined to the compartments of their narrow arc, unlike the full-bodied, intermingling beasts from Dürer used in the final version of this volvelle. Capital letters on the curved rete near each clinging figure identify them in Latin as Pegasus, Ursus, and others. While Georg Hartmann’s signature astrolabe design (whether in paper or brass) included a decorative trio of rosettes on the throne just under the suspension ring, the woodcut hand lifting the entire Astronomicum astrolabe from above emerges fancifully from a cloud. Yet Ostendorfer’s solid draftsmanship of the device in its grasp makes the outer mater framework seem more substantial than the superficial surface of the lightly-printed volvelle. As a result, the dial appears to nestle slightly within the hollow base, emphasizing the threedimensionality of the whole. Even though the disc has not been cut out along its outlines like Andreas Schöner’s lacy Gnomonice volvelle, or Thurneisser’s eight-layered Astrolabium (Dess Menschen Circkel und Lauff ) diagrams accompanying his Archidoxa book, this dial still seems to achieve an unusual transparency more befitting of a functional object than an illustration. The temporary dial is a poorly printed woodcut, but one can still make out the initials “ga” and the date, mdxxiii (a very early 1523), at the bottom of the dial (seen here rotated to the top). Despite Apian’s early experimentation with paper instruments—a section from one of which (from 1521), is pasted into the back cover of the bsb 818 volume, he often used various combinations of his name and initials in prominent locations. (Fig. 8.4) The ga monogram thus makes it unlikely that he was this preliminary dial’s author. While Apian had already combined Dürer’s maps into a single planispheric dial that he issued as a single-sheet print in 1536, Imagines syderum coelestium, he may have collected the “ga” image for use as a starting point, and annotated it himself. Owen Gingerich suggests a reason for the change of design based on printing remnants from another page of the Library of Congress Rosenwald Astronomicum: There also must have been other revisions in the design. For example, the moving parts on folio [g5] conceal an entirely irrelevant base of an astrolabe, the fossil of a plan that was undoubtedly abandoned when Apianus realized how hard it would be to cut out all the lacelike paper structure required for its movable star chart.19 Judging from the contents of Georg Hartmann’s bsb album, a paper astrolabe of such great size by another author would have been rare in the early 1520s. Thus, 19

LoC Rosenwald 678; Gingerich’s comments appear with his permission on http://www .atlascoelestis.com.

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figure 10.4

Peter Apian (German, 1495–1552) and Michael Ostendorfer (German, ca. 1490– 1559), Northern and Southern Celestial Hemispheres Volvelle, from Astronomicum Caesareum, 1540, b3r. Black and white proof; hand-colored woodcut volvelle with letterpress: 48 × 34 cm (sheet). Houghton Library, Harvard University (Typ 520.40.150 pf); bsb (Rar. 818).

the “ga” dial could have affected Apian’s intentions for the entire volume. The bsb proofs themselves likely remained in the family for another generation, as Apian’s son Philipp assumed his father’s mathematics professorship at Ingolstadt, producing maps, globes, and at least two woodcut instruments for telling time. These may both be posthumous variants on his father’s work, and one of them appears in Hartmann’s bsb album. While Apian focused on his teaching and publications, Leonhard Thurneisser zum Thurn’s careers included everything from printer, philosopher, scientist, and possible charlatan to attempted alchemist.20 Like the slightly more subtle self-promoter, Vogtherr, Thurneisser may have been a practicing doctor, and had founded his own press “im Grauen Kloster, Berlin” by 1574. He even had type cast to his own specifications, which required flourishing initials and

20

Gabriele Spitzer, … und die Spree führt Gold: Leonhard Thurneysser zum Thurn, Astrologe— Alchemist—Arzt und Drucker im Berlin des 16. Jahrhunderts, 3 (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin: Preußischer Kulturbesitz, 1996), 7.

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figure 10.5

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Dragon and Lunar Volvelles, from Apian, Astronomicum Caesareum, 1540, g3v– g4r. Black and white proof; hand-colored woodcut volvelles with letterpress and silk index string: 48 × 34 cm (sheet). Houghton Library, Harvard University (Typ 520.40.150 pf); bsb (Rar. 818).

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different accents depending on the languages of the text.21 Although his titles generally begin in learned tongues such as Latin or Greek, he published predominantly in German. Thurneisser’s most technically complicated publication demonstrates the movement of the planets in eight different interactive prints. This project began as the Archidoxa dorin der recht war Motus, Lauff und Gang, auch heymlikait, wirkung und krafft, der Planeten …, which was initially issued in Münster in 1569 with eight movable engravings designed by the German artist Hermann tom Ring and engraved by the Flemish mapmaker Remigius Hogenberg.22 (Fig. 10.6) The word Archidoxa referred to Paracelsus’s alchemical text of the same name, while the rest of the extended title describes its many subjects, from the movement of the planets to all the elements, medical remedies, and other arts: “in summation, many hidden mysteries of medicine, alchemy, and other free arts, altogether conveyed by the Astrolabium and all its characters and signs of the circles.”23 Jost Amman and the Formschneider Peter Hille have been discussed as the artists of the new edition of the plates. These were executed as woodcuts, and separately titled Astrolabium, in 1575. (Fig. 10.7) Indeed, they may have been instrumental in achieving Thurneisser’s demands for greater monumentality.24 As a result, the woodcuts were much too large to bind with their folio-sized text. The volvelles appear on a backdrop of the horoscope diagram, with two female alchemical allegories flanking Thurneisser’s crest at the bottom. The eight enormous woodcut volvelles for the known planets and for man include six to nine layers of dials printed from the same woodblocks, but each with slightly different letterpress. The letterpress heading (pasted on as a separate cancel slip) and two woodcut plugs on either side of the dial also change to fit the subject. The text sheets pasted on the versos of

21 22 23

24

Spitzer, Thurneysser, 32–33. Paul H. Boerlin, Leonhard Thurneysser als Auftraggeber (Basel und Stuttgart: Birkhäuser Verlag, 1976), 134. The pair also worked on Thurneisser’s Quinta Essentia from 1570. Archidoxa, Dorin derr recht war Motus Lauff und Gang/ auch heimligkeit/Wirckung und Krafft/ der Planeten/ Gstirns/ und ganzen Firmaments Mutierung/ und ausziechung aller Subtiliteten/ und das Funffte wesen /aufs den Metallen/ Mineralien/ Keytren/ Wrzen/ Seften/ Steine/ und aller andren wesenlichen dingen/ Heimlikait des Buchs aller Naturlichen Elementischen und Menslichen sachen Hantierung/ Konst/ Gwerb/ Arten/ Eigenschaften/ und in summa / viel verborgner Mysterien der Medicin, Alchimey/ und anderr freyen Kunsten sampt dem auszug/ und Verstandt des Astrolabui/ und aller Zirklen Caracter und Zeichen. An interactive online tool based on the Getty Research Institute exemplar of the book can be seen in great detail here, although its “exploded” view of the dials does not reflect the contemporary usage of the volume: https://www.wdl.org/en/item/15131/.

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Hermann tom Ring (German, 1521–1596) and Remigius Hogenberg (Flemish, 1536–1587), True Movement of the Sun (Verus Motus der Sonnen) or Sun Circle (Sonnencirckel), from Leonard Thurneisser zum Thurn (German, ca. 1530–1596), Archidoxa …, 1569. Eight etching and letterpress sheets, each with a two-dial volvelle: 17.2 × 13.7 cm ( folded); 30.9 × 24.6 cm (sheet). beinecke (Rs5 t42 569).

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Sonnencirckel, from Leonard Thurneisser zum Thurn (German, ca. 1530–1596), Astrolabium, accompanying Archidoxa, 1575. Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with eight volvelles with six to nine dials each: approx. 58×41cm (sheet). Private collection.

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the Astrolabium sheets claim they give accurate readings from the year of publication, 1575, through 1580, and in some cases to 1583, making the instrument of limited value considering the nearly two-decade useful life of the angel calendar dial from over a century earlier. In fact, Thurneisser’s astrology was already almost a full century behind the times; a manuscript had made the same observations in 1488.25 Thurneisser chose a dragon for the second-uppermost dial of the Astrolabium, reflecting the ancient astrological-astronomical view that the nodes of moon (and other planets) were actually a dragon’s head and tail, the caput and cauda draconis. (Fig. 10.8c) During eclipses, the beast would greedily swallow the sun, and then expel it back out along its tail. The dragon also became a powerful motif in Sebastian Münster’s solar and lunar instruments, (Fig. 10.2), but here Thurneisser borrows from Apian’s frontispiece and the double-spread volvelle in the Astronomicum. (Fig. 10.5) Even on the stationary title page, the way the secondary dragons support the limbs of their massive leader and fill the entire circle gives the image the rush of movement. Unfortunately, the roundels showing the planetary influence on top of Thurneisser’s dragon are just sizable enough to camouflage one of Amman’s more elegant new details—the dragon has curled itself once around the thick, thread spindle holding the object together. (Fig. 10.8) With its most active section covered, the beast appears more a limp worm than a creature powerful enough to affect the phases of the planets. The vibrant coloring of most impressions of the Astrolabium relates to Apian’s example as well, and Thurneisser too may have controlled coloring at the time of publication. Despite exacting instructions on how the bookbinder should construct the dials, his text does not demand an illuminator. As consistencies in color choice and the possible use of stencils show, Thurneisser certainly had several of the surviving copies colored to his specifications. His all-important, centralized shield remains striking in yellow and black throughout at least two impressions—those formerly in a private New York collection and in the Berlin Staatsbibliothek. The dragon dial and spiral of leaves (studded with text mentioning the best herbs for fortune-telling) are regularly colored a sensible green, and the alchemical fires sport yellow and reddish tongues of flame. Yet the remaining opaque reds, blues, yellows, browns, and blacks are not applied in any particular pattern. These additions rarely clarify the legibility of the dials, especially as all the negative space has been excised from each layer, leaving the turbulent whole almost impossible to read. There are at least four

25

Lindberg, 68.

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figure 10.8a Sonnencirckel tree volvelle dial, from Astrolabium, 1575. Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 28 × 24 cm (block); 28.4×25cm (uncut sheet). Georg Hartmann album, bsb (Rar. 434: 107).

black and white copies of Thurneisser’s Astrolabium—the pristine Houghton exemplar was constructed in flawless order in black and white as was the one in the Waldburg-Wolfegg collection, while the sets in Munich and the Getty may never have had their parts attached. The usually unseen bottom sheet shows outlines of the twelve astrological houses, which is effectively an enlargement of the blank horoscope seen in Hans Holbein the Younger’s 1534 sun and moon instrument for Sebastian Münster. The sheer complexity of the act of layering the up to nine layers of the Astrolabium woodcuts makes each completed dial an impressive feat. Like Vesalius

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figure 10.8b Detail of Sonnencirkel volvelle. Private collection.

and his insistence on reinforcing the Epitome flap anatomies with vellum, Thurneisser seems concerned about the longevity and appreciation of his work, rather than necessarily focusing on making it easier to use. Considering the difficulty of manipulating the final apparatus, building the volvelles would have been extremely tedious for a purchaser without help. Thurneisser freely admits this problem in his extensive note “An den Buchbinder” on the verso of the Archidoxa title page. He advocated cutting out the blank fields in their entirety, “hinweg allsam,” so that the viewer could see through them, “domit ein jeder sechen kan.” If the pages were not glued together securely enough, they would threaten to slip apart.26 Still, it was worth the effort, for those “that turn [the dial] would witness wondrous things within.” The note also describes the order of the plates by size. As the Astrolabium sets usually have similar arrangements, like Apian’s, their construction may also be original.

26

“Leimswol/ das fich nit verructen mag./ Werfs umbtreibt/ der wirt sechen drinnen/ figuren/ wunderlicher sinnen.”

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figure 10.8c Snake pointer and Venus dial cap. Woodcut: 26.5 × 3 cm (snake); 4.6 cm (dial diameter). waldburg-wolfegg.

The Österreichische Nationalbibliothek plates may have been constructed under Thurneisser’s supervision, so closely do they follow his directions. Each successive dial is reinforced with waste paper and carefully cut along the outlines for the maximum exposure.27 The fact that the text used for this backing is from Thurneisser’s separately-published ninth book, a further explanation of the Archidoxa, strongly suggests it was assembled in his workshop. Although they would have been of little scientific use on their own, the woodcuts also appear to have circulated separately. For instance, an impression of the leaf dial—with texts in letterpress demonstrating that it belonged to the Sonnencirckel (the dial showing the sun’s influence)—was added posthumously to Hart-

27

The stabi berlin Astrolabium has paper reinforcements covered with handwriting behind its dials, but it was not available for study for long enough to determine their source.

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mann’s bsb album. The Graphische Sammlung in Munich (gsm) also holds a small sheet imprinted with one of the roundels of the sun meant as a final touch to cover the central volvelle thread. Both prints remain uncut and uncolored.28 (Fig. 10.8a) The plates for the Archidoxa were not Thurneisser’s only interactive works. Bebaiosis agonismu. Das ist Confirmatio Concertationis—his holistic text on urine and distillation from the next year, 1576, included flaps as well as one volvelle. Unlike the Archidoxa, there are no clear directions suggesting the owner would have to assemble the parts. On one double-page spread a large furnace reveals the steps in practicing urine distillation, while a rotating cogwheel volvelle on the right demonstrates the scale of the contraption at left, specifically that the six evenly-spaced holes in the crank-turned dial be made the size of hazelnuts. This dial controlled the amount of heat issuing from the furnace below toward the tube of urine at the top. Two anatomy figures appear to have been pre-pasted onto sheets that were not part of the regular text, and their outermost flap almost comically lifts the trunk, while leaving a gap in the arms. Like Vogtherr, Thurneisser’s capital and luck eventually ran out, and he fled from Berlin in 1584, about a decade after he founded his press.

Artists versus Authors The interconnections between these scholars, printers, and entrepreneurs suggest that noble patrons did not constitute the entire market for interactive books. Thurneisser sent the second edition of his Archidoxa to the Frankfurt Messe for at least two years in a row, showing that he hoped to expand his readership. The Peter Schmidt book fair catalogue also notes the volvelles as a separate item for the Herbstmesse of 1576.29 Not only does each one of the eight plates have its own matching book, but as noted earlier, the word Astrolabium appears on some versions of the title page. Thus it seems highly likely that they were always intended to be sold together, even though the main texts were never as large as the volvelle sheets. The scale of these diagrams outstripped even Apian’s dramatic imperial folios. Indeed, Thurneisser’s pages 28 29

gsm (Inv. nr. 118612). The Frankfurt Herbstmesse 1576 catalogue entry notes an: “Astrolabium, welches in sich begreifft …” for the previous Fastenmesse, the catalogue reprints Thurneisser’s Archidoxa title exactly, except that it substitutes the explanatory ninth book for the Astrolabium: “Sampt erklärung der Archidoxen.” See Georg Willer, Bernhard Fabian, ed., Die Meßkataloge des sechzehnten Jahrhunderts: Faksimiledrucke (New York: G. Olms, 1972–).

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reach nearly sixty centimeters in height over Apian’s forty seven. Thurneisser’s woodcut dials are also a full ten centimeters wider in diameter than Apian’s, and at fifty-five centimeters tall, the rectangular woodcut surrounding the dials occupies the bulk of the sheet.30 In contrast, Apian’s volvelles and their astrolabe-like fixtures leave much of the page blank. The base for Thurneisser’s plates was printed in two large blocks on medium sheets that were then pasted onto an entire, unfolded folio sheet. The verso text is attached on a separately printed sheet that further reinforces the eight or nine layers of dials sewn together through the sheet’s center. Schöner’s volvelles are smaller than those in either of these books, as he used a smaller paper size than Apian. And yet Schöner’s dials are printed facing their equivalent equatorial tables. The dials and tables stand together as a complete text with no need for Thurneisser’s eight volumes and their supplementary explanation, or Apian’s German translation. While Thurneisser’s aspirations for the Archidoxa and Astrolabium were clearly intended to rival Apian’s achievement, several factors limited the functional success and the public recognition of his enlarged edition. Despite the graphic effectiveness of the layering and the extreme size, the quality of the Astrolabium artwork is nowhere near that of the large-scale designs in Apian’s text by Michael Ostendorfer. In his Hollstein catalogs of Jost Amman, Gero Seelig rejected the Astrolabium sheets, but the woodcutter Peter Hille corresponded with Thurneisser about working for him in 1571, so he seems a likely candidate for the cutting, especially if the multi-talented author was also the designer.31 The reversed copies of Dürer’s Celestial Hemispheres might have been a clue that this was the case. Indeed, the contribution of the artist to the more luxurious interactive science books has been rightly treated as secondary to that of the author. Bassantin’s French copies after Apian only betray the demand for similar, albeit slightly cheaper versions of the Astronomicum. There is no question of whether the illustrations make a different artistic statement—they simply recall Apian’s. Andreas Schöner’s take on Apian was perhaps more nostalgic toward his own father’s part in enlarging the inter-

30

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The paper size of the Houghton Archidoxa (58 cm tall × 41cm wide) suggests that Thurneisser used full sheets of royal folio paper (approx. 58×40–41cm) that provided a surface larger than the folded half of Apian’s imperial folio (47×32cm) in the Houghton Astronomicum (Typ 520.40.150 pf). An Astrolabium in private hands has a contemporary binding with tipped-in plates, again suggesting the paper used is a full, unfolded sheet. Spitzer, 33, 42. “Peter Hille, der vorher für Eichorn gearbeitet hatte, schrieb am 23. September 1571 an Thurneysser, daß er erfreut sei, ‘das derselbige mich zum formschneiden angenommen …’ ”

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active scientific book trade. While the 1551 Mathematica may also have been considered by some as a substitute for Apian, it allowed new authors to tackle the problems of construction.32 The question of status looms large in each of these volumes, especially as the choice of dedicatee varied. Charles v knighted Apian and his three brothers for their work, suggesting the Emperor was well aware of their hand in the book’s difficult production over the past half-decade. Thus, the dedication of the Astronomicum to the Holy Roman Emperor Charles v and his brother Ferdinand was hardly a surprise, considering their prominent mention in the title, Caesareum, of the Caesars. Ornamenting the dedication page with their crests, Apian even used the years of their birth and Charles’s coronation as concrete examples of the eclipses and other celestial events his volvelles could calculate. Charles’s patronage of the author had included many imperial privileges over the years, and Charles in turn had received almost as many dedications.33 In addition, Apian gained 3,000 gold coins, the rights to legitimize natural children and confer advanced degrees, and the opportunity to enlarge his own coat of arms. A sheet tipped into some later impressions of the Astronomicum literally contrasted his priora and postera (before and after) states by granting his eagle a duly imperial second head.34 While Thurneisser dedicated some of his works to others, he clearly valued his own intellect the most highly. He made it obvious by placing his likeness on many of his frontispieces, his coat of arms everywhere else, and even printing complimentary testimonials. The customary laudatory note from a Brandenburg consul opening the 1576 Confirmatio exclaimed, ‘Thurneyser ist ein wunderman,’ and continued in that adoring vein for three pages of slightly suspect verse in Thurneisser’s accustomed idiom. More subtle is the replacement of his massive volvelle with his own portrait on the third page of the Archidoxa. The alchemical women have migrated to the upper corners, but Thurneisser’s crest remains below, ensconced by columns wrapped in his mottos. In retro-

32

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Lindberg, 62, suggests that Johannes Sibe, “goldsmith, geographer and mechanic to Christian iii and Frederick ii of Denmark” may have constructed and used several volvelles in this work himself (now in the Royal Library of Sweden), as annotations on the dials are in the same ink as his signature. Sibe also owned Johannes Stöffler’s Elucidatio Fabricae Ususque Astrolabii, another interactive text, on astrolabes. The Quadrans Apiani of 1532 and other 1533 works have imperial privileges, while the Horoscopion Apiani from 1533 is explicitly dedicated to Charles v. The Folium Populi book and instrument from October 1533 are dedicated to a Johannis Gulielmus from Lovenberg, as is the compilation Instrumentbuch, also from 1533. Gingerich, “Leipzig Facsimile,” 168.

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spect, one of the reasons the viewer was not more involved in the production of these lavish works must be that their creators could not allow these books to fall short of their potential as scientific instruments—and more especially, as monuments to their designers.

Southern Dialing Secrets The history of the volvelle in the South began much later, and often relied on Northern models for inspiration. As noted previously, engraved versions of the angel Easter calendar circulated in Italy during the late 1460s, and Ratdolt introduced several editions of Regiomontanus’s Calendarium to Venice in the 1480s. Among the Italians, Leon Battista Alberti experimented with a metal volvelle during the same period, first for surveying purposes and later for ciphers, supposedly to simplify the encryption duties of his pontifical secretary friend, Leonardo Dati: I make two circles out of copper plates. One, the larger, is called stationary, the smaller is called movable … I divide the circumference of each circle into 24 equal parts. These parts are called cells. In the various cells of the larger circle I write the capital letters, one at a time in red, in the usual order of the letters … omitting h and k [and y] because they are not necessary … [In each of the 24 cells of the movable circle he inscribed] a small letter in black, and not in regular order like the stationary characters, but scattered at random.35 David Kahn explains that two users (with identical sets of discs) would have to decide on an index letter for the movable disc, for instance, “k.” The encrypted message would start with the letter on the outer ring with which the “k” must align to decode the word. After a few words, this letter could change, and the “k” move accordingly. Alberti appears never to have developed a working paper device for the manuscript of his essay on the topic from around 1467. Despite these early investigations, no real Italian trade in printed dials developed until 1563, when the author of Natural Magic, Giambattista della Porta, composed a book cen-

35

David Kahn, The Codebreakers: the Story of Secret Writing (The Macmillan Company: New York, 1967), 126–130. The Alberti manuscript was only published in 1568, five years after della Porta first published his cryptography text.

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Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Cryptographic Volvelle from De occultis literarum notis, 1593, g 4. Woodcut volvelle, constructed, and letterpress: approx. 4.7 cm (volvelle diameter); 16 × 10.5 cm (sheet). beinecke (1993 107).

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tered around scientific applications for volvelles. (Fig. 10.9) Della Porta published this handbook on cryptography, De furtivis literarum notis in many editions, which he often retitled as De occultis literarum notis after 1593. These successive editions became increasingly interactive showcases for della Porta’s three movable dials, which were effectively “secret decoder rings.” The woodcuts unveil a deus ex machina issuing forth from the clouds: literal index fingers proffer cryptic symbols instead of Alberti’s letters. This imagery mainly serves to standardize the place for the eager scholar to start—by using the image of a black cross to which the finger ceaselessly points. This helps to concoct one’s own messages, and more importantly, to decipher the codes scattered throughout the book. As David Kahn notes, della Porta “spiced his book with some eyebrow-raising sample plaintexts. Perhaps the most startling is ‘I deflowered the object of my affections today,’ used for six encipherments in a row.”36 Despite della Porta’s scandalous code words and his titular use of the terms secret and occult, Catholic authorities did not attack De furtivis literarum (1563), or De occultis literarum (1593), as directly as they had his controversial Natural Magic of 1558. Perhaps they simply did not read these texts on furtive and secret words carefully enough—at least this time, there were no objectionable recipes for witches’ salves in plain view. Nonetheless della Porta’s renown must have helped make his cryptography book internationally popular. Its seven editions were published in Italy, France and England by 1606, and it also circulated at the German book fairs.37 As noted above, two of these were contraband facsimiles of the first edition published almost thirty years later in London. John Wolfe—an adventurous British re-printer of scandalous Italian texts—found della Porta’s notoriety appealing and salable. (Fig. 10.10) Judging from his persuasive masquerading of the 1591 De furtivis literarum as the first Italian edition, Wolfe expected della Porta to become as lucrative as had his versions of Machiavelli, Aretino, and other staples from the Index of Prohibited Books. Johannes Schöner’s works would eventually appear on the Index as well, but they did not inspire such blatant copies.38

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Kahn, The Codebreakers, 139–140. The 1563 and 1602 editions of De furtivis literarum were printed in Naples. Two versions from 1591 were printed in London, but sent to the Frankfurt Book Fair. All three versions of De occultis literarum were printed in France: 1593 in Montbéliard, and at Zetzner in Strasbourg, both 1603 and 1606. http://galileo.rice.edu/Catalog/NewFiles/schoener.html, biographical entry by Richard S. Westfall of Indiana University.

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Giambattista della Porta (Italian, ca. 1535–1615), Unconstructed Cryptographic Volvelle, from De furtivis literarum notis, (Naples: Johannes Maria Scotus, 1563 [but actually London: John Wolfe, 1591]), 72–73. Uncut woodcut volvelle dials, base, and letterpress: 4.2, 4.6, 4.8 cm (volvelle diameter); 15.3×9.7cm (base block); 19.4 × 14.4 cm (sheet). beinecke (z44 2m).

To bolster his readers’ resolve—as well as their loyalty to the legitimate editions—della Porta’s cryptography book became more interactive with each succeeding edition. The first De furtivis literarum (quarto) included four books, coarse illustrations, and confusing instructions; the version from 1602 (folio) reprinted the volvelle frames from the original blocks, while adding numerous new illustrations and a fifth book. The New York Public Library copy of the latter includes sheets tipped in before the title page. Each bears the same woodcut of two dials—the fourth offering a replacement should any of the first three go missing. Later versions of the De occultis literarum became more reader-friendly with their redesigned woodcuts and extra instructions. While the illustration style changed between the titles, the number and function of the movable parts remained constant. Scholars could assemble, annotate, or ignore the same cryptographic diagrams in every edition, including Wolfe’s. Della Porta explicitly discussed the sequence the user (and not the bookbinder or printer) should take to make the volume fully functional. The extensive directives and the consistent emphasis on the capabilities of the diagrams even suggest that the construction and use of a volvelle was another of della Porta’s prized “magic” arts. Although using a paper dial seems a less dangerous

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endeavor than his scheme in Magia Naturalis to send notes to prisoners— by writing through the shells of hard-boiled eggs—della Porta gave similarly involved orders for ensuring secrecy through his volvelles.39 With many more methods of encryption than della Porta’s five ways of annotating an egg, these devices clearly merited scholarly attention. His in-depth directions recurred in the book’s index in a number of separate categories. These specified the placement of every volvelle in the text, the location of the instructions for constructing the volvelles, and finally the text explaining how to interpret each of their results. The three woodcut bases for the movable diagrams in every edition of De furtivis literarum consisted of full-page frames ornate enough to be seen as baroque reliquaries for the hand-of-God volvelle. Sheets printed with the three dials were tipped into the bound volume, ready for cutting out and sewing into the frames. The center circles remained blank to accommodate the volvelles, in which the quasi-severed divine hand rested on a cushion of clouds. As the pointer finger becomes somewhat macabre, the grotesquely positioned decorative figures and nudes on the exterior casing likely referred to the glorious pagan antiquity from whence the study of Roman inscriptions, hieroglyphs, and all types of mysterious letters originated. De occultis literarum further stressed the enigmatic nature of the historical rebus, as it appended three emblems to his volume—including one that showed dismembered eyes, weapons, and utensils superimposed upon a sarcophagus. Wolfe’s two spurious versions of De furtivis literarum copied della Porta’s 1563 text verbatim, but improved upon the crude original woodcut frames for the volvelles. (Fig. 10.10) Several of the numbers were reversed in the copying, but the crosshatched shading added a more three-dimensional feel to the framework while the nudes and grotesques became more lively, with swags overflowing instead of limply falling. Quite possibly in response to Wolfe’s more refined woodcuts, della Porta’s next edition also looked different. De occultis literarum appeared in France in 1593—only two years after Wolfe’s version—replete with new illustrations for the movable diagrams. The empty volvelle frames contained utilitarian double rings of letters and numbers, and in contrast to their predecessors, entirely lacked creative ornamentation. An angular tiered base and one smaller ring at the top replaced the playful urns and grotesques. These frames resembled many astronomical volvelles of the period, though on a smaller and more sober scale than the Astronomicum Caesareum. Rather

39

Della Porta, Natural Magick, Book 16, Chapter iv: “Because when prisons are shut, Eggs are not stopped by the Papal Inquisition, and no fraud is suspected to be in them, I will show you how letters may be writ on the upper shell and white of an Egg also.”

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than holding the contraption upright, as in many of Apian’s images, the hands are solely part of the volvelle. Once sewn into this simplified casing, the handof-God dial enlivened and dramatized it, with more elegantly defined sleeves, and a cloud bed that seemed to float out beyond the symbols on the dial’s outer ring. Here, the divine hand gained a greater sense of purpose within the scientific investigation, for unlike Wolfe’s more abbreviated hand-dials (with their locations hand-written on the uncut sheet), each of the new volvelles had the number of the corresponding diagram printed upon it directly below the divine hand. The same numeral appeared in the centers of the empty frames, eliminating any doubt over the placement of the dial. The visually reworked De occultis literarum (1593) extended the interactive role of the index fingers beyond the divine pointers. (Fig. 10.9) Small pointing hands also cropped up in several positions, seemingly sketched in, (albeit printed), on the side of a dozen of the book’s pages. These marginal hands reflected the countless indicator fingers drawn in manuscripts to emphasize significant passages of text. In this context, they also drew attention to the hands-on act of reading itself. Della Porta had dabbled in palmistry, and included an entire section in De furtivis literarum on “mute” signs, which he considered the “common language of all men.” He defined the gesture the fingers adopted on the dials and margins as an indication either generally affirming a concept (pointing up), or reproving a specific mistake (pointing down as if jabbing the paper).40 The hands of God freely rotated three hundred and sixty degrees to form their codes, but even the marginal hands rotated after a fashion—when the blocks were reprinted upside-down—to point with a different emphasis in the opposite direction. These hands contrasted so strongly in size and mobility with that of God on the volvelles, that they could have been interpreted as mortal and scholarly. The images of the tiny studious hands endorsed taking the completion of the volvelles even further. While constructing any version of the book, the reader could have inscribed code letters of his own devising onto spaces left empty on the frame for the second disc. The Beinecke Library’s De occultis literarum documents a notably close reading of the text and moving parts, for nearly the entire chapter on interpreting the third volvelle has been underlined. That reader’s attention to the minutiae in the text is evident as he isolated several words and phrases with stronger strokes. He did not go so far as to invent and transcribe his own code for the blank sections, but such reluctance to reveal one’s own secret code was not uncommon. Readers did not construct or annotate every

40

De furtivis literarum, 1563, 24.

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copy of della Porta’s handbook—whether from apathy, miscomprehension, or possibly even fear of discovery. Under the threat of disapproval of the Holy Roman Emperor or the Inquisition, della Porta evaded responsibility for his readers’ own texts, preemptively blaming user error. In the new age of experimental science, every man had to safeguard his reputation and livelihood. The aspiring Natural Magician could not expect Alchemy to make him rich, whether relying on della Porta’s expertise, or on the alchemical treatise attributed to Ramon Llull during the Renaissance. It was the delicacy with which the reader used della Porta’s books that determined his success or failure: And if the effect of thy work be not answerable to my description, thou must know that thy self hast failed in some one point or another; for I have set down these things briefly, as being made for witty and skillful workmen, and not for rude and young beginners.41 41

Giambattista della Porta, Natural Magick, first English trans. (London: Thomas Young and Samuel Speed, 1658), 4.

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Lotteries, Gaming, and the Public Reaction While della Porta’s dials helped conceal important secrets, they could also reveal them. Yet using a dial for truth telling was by no means a new concept. Della Porta would have been well aware of the popularity of the poet Lorenzo Spirito’s Libro dela ventura, which was first published in 1482. This copiously illustrated book/game, to use Lina Bolzoni’s term, led groups of viewers through even more torturous steps than della Porta’s plaintexts and cipher discs, simply to discover what fate had in store for them.1 This chapter discusses the closelyconnected publication in Italy and Germany of these interactive volumes. It examines their licit and illicit components in relationship to the religious and devotional play seen earlier, as well as offering further context for the Reformation-era applications of the format to the “Wonderfully Strange Roman Catholic Wheel of Fortune” by Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch. The 1537 Italian version of the Book of Fortune, which was published in Venice, would have been accessible to German audiences. It opens typically with a woodcut of a stationary wheel of fortune, ridden by men in various stages of good and bad fortune. Twenty questions surrounding the image ask directly “Will I be happy,” and “Should I wage a vendetta,” to “How will I die?” (Figs. 11.1–2) Each separate banderole lists the name of a King, pictured in the next few pages. The Kings lead to a mythological figure or planet—such as the sun, a dragon, or a basilisk, who oversee the rolling of three dice. The woodcut die faces surrounding these figures show all 156 possible distinct outcomes; their text leads on to figures of the zodiac inside a sphere lined with the names of mythic rivers. These rivers give the names of one of the twenty prophets who will at long last surrender the fortune, and the number corresponding to Spirito’s three fateful, concluding lines of poetry. Though entertaining to the single reader, these books were best enjoyed by couples or in entire companies eager to compare their respective futures. From the annotations in the New York Public Library exemplar, telling one’s fortune was most assuredly a gamble. Dissatisfied users readily warned against the worst dice combinations by blacking out the woodcuts of those die faces with ink—as if rolling the dice a second time could improve one’s destiny.

1 Lina Bolzoni, The gallery of memory: literary and iconographic models in the age of the printing press, Jeremy Parzen, trans. (University of Toronto Press, 2001), 110–117.

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Italian, Wheel of Fortune, frontispiece from Lorenzo Spirito (active late fifteenth century), Libro dela ve[n]tura, (Venice: Giovanni Padovano, 1537). Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 21 × 15 cm (sheet). nypl (*kb 1537).

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figure 11.2

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Dice and Wheels, stages of mythological fortune-telling, from Libro dela ve[n]tura, 1537, a13; a19. Woodcut and letterpress: approx. 21×15cm (sheet). nypl (*kb 1537).

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Spirito was hardly the inventor of the book form of the wheel of fortune. The first surviving lottery book with a volvelle of this type was made by the English monk Matthew Paris around 1250, and as in his Chronica Majora, the Book of Fate depended on the influential astrolabe as well as Arabic divination texts. The Bodleian library manuscript (ms Ashmole 304) has since lost its dial, but it is present in later copies. A fourteenth-century hand in the original helpfully notes that one must “first take your nomber in the Cirkell, sodenly thynkyng on the question.”2 This precursor to Spirito established the process of finding the way through several tables and the spheres with their ancient rivers before discovering one’s fortune. The clue and hunt format remained roughly unchanged until the sixteenth century, and still each user set out on a slightly different journey. While Paris’s monastery allowed his Book of Fate to be copied during the thirteenth century, complaints about similar books were raised in Germany almost as soon as the genre became known. Near the end of the fourteenth century, the preacher Martin von Amberg included the exact term, lozpucher, in his Mirror of Conscience in a list of superstitions he considered sins against the first Commandment: “die do gelawben an czawbrer und czawbrerynn, an warsager und an waragerynn … an lozpucher”; “those that so believe in magicians and magic, in fortune-tellers and fortune-telling, in lottery books.”3 Some early Loßbücher required dice, such as the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (bsb) manuscript by Konrad Bollstatter from around 1450–1475, whose Sortilogium introduction demands two of them.4 Still other German manuscripts contemporary with Spirito returned to Paris’s approach, and like the 1466 angel calendar, they required a volvelle rather than dice. These inspired the most distinctively Northern type. Several handwritten Loßbücher survive from the late fifteenth century with a metal dial inserted in the hollowed-out front boards of the binding.5 (Fig. 11.3) Their popularity is attested by the fact that one basic text was used for at least three

2 Nigel Morgan, Early Gothic Manuscripts i (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982): no. 89, 140; Connolly, 612. The Bodleian Ms Digby 46 (a later copy) includes a wooden wheel inset into the front cover. 3 Karin Schneider, hrsg., Ein Losbuch Konrad Bollstatters (Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag, 1978), 12; citing “Hersg. v. St. N. Werbow, Texte des späten Mittelalters 7, Berlin 1958, 41.” 4 “Hie hebt Sich an aber gar ain Seltz-/ sams loßpüch das du nach dem such./ Weliches Stuck du under den nach geschriben artickeln haben wilt/ So würff auff zwayen wurffeln was/ du willt on zwolff und aylffe die gelten/ nicht …” Schneider, 91. The manuscript is in bsb Cgm 312. 5 gnm Bibliothek hs 7032; bsb Cgm 472; Heidelberg ub cpg 552.

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figure 11.3 Angel Volvelle in Losbuch, Grünsfeld, 1492. Paint on metal volvelle set inside front manuscript cover: 5.6 cm (volvelle diameter); 23 × 16.8 cm (binding). ub Heidelberg (Cod. Pal. germ. 552).

copies of the book that were likely made by the same scribe. Two, now in the bsb and the library of the Germanisches Nationalmuseum, have lost their volvelles, though the holes cut into their front boards remain as evidence of their presence. The Heidelberg Universitätsbibliothek copy still contains its metal dial, and its faded painting of an angel in a posture resembling both the Easter calendar and Vogtherr’s Christlichen Loßbuchs dial. (Figs. 1.1; 11.4) The angel spins inside a ring labeled with the names of twelve patriarchs, and points one out for the viewer—only later do they determine the question. Although Lorenzo Spirito’s lottery book was first published in Perugia in 1482, the first printed example with a movable dial (a type common throughout the German-speaking countries) appeared in Switzerland. Martin Flach’s 1485 Tierloßbuch uses a sea monster-shaped volvelle to help the viewer choose

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figure 11.4 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Angel Volvelles, from Christlichen Loßbuchs, 1539, title page verso; Loßbuch, 1546, 3. Woodcut: 6.4cm and 4.8cm (dial diameter). sub göttingen (4 p germ ii, 2409 and 4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara).

randomly between the names of fifty-two different animals, small woodcuts of which occupy the rest of the book. (Fig. 11.5) Each beast has a single fortune to convey. The use of animals as soothsayers was one of the more striking visual elements of Matthew Paris’s thirteenth-century Book of Fate, especially as in that text the beasts’ unusual names suggested the book’s Arabic lineage. The single surviving impression of Flach’s version, now in Berlin, shows extensive traces of use, signs cosmetically removed from the nineteenth-century facsimile known in the Illustrated Bartsch. Suggesting a early forerunner of Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch’s Cosmographia images for Münster, as well as the rotating heads of his GlückRad, this Sea Monster volvelle is an exercise in simplicity. A hint of sea foam animates the ruff-like curves on the right, and his outstretched tongue becomes the moving pointer. The dial saw much use, as the surface around the edges has been rubbed and the end of the tongue has been worn away. The monster has been strongly reinforced with a vellum circle overlay (to keep it attached to its spindle), possibly been varnished, and supplied with a cheat sheet of sorts. One of the early readers penned in 51 numbers clockwise from the lower left of the dial to correspond with each of the randomly dispersed animal names. Intriguingly, there would have been 52 if the reader had not skipped over the Lintwurm, a type of small dragon listed between numbers 30 and 31. (Fig. 11.5b) This may be intentional, given the Lintwurm’s conclusion that life without honor will land them “destitute, deep in Hell, with Lucifer and his companions.” Unfortunately for that particular reader, the answer and wheel order do not correspond, and the annotator gave up without inscribing the beasts with their dial numbers.

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figure 11.5 Swiss, Book opening with Sea Monster Volvelle (a), and page with Lindtwurm (b), from Tierloßbuch (Martin Flach: Basel, 1485), [n.p.]. Woodcuts, letterpress, and vellum-reinforced volvelle, with ink annotations: approx. 7cm (dial diameter); 13.4 × 12.8 cm (woodcut); 21 cm × 15 cm (sheet). stabi berlin (8° Inc 424.5).

Yet the answer portion has been written over in several early hands, as if its players were engaging it in a dialogue. Some of these responses summarized the text, as when the Elephant reminds the user to “keep God’s love in all things.” Others editorialized, as another user did, dissatisfied with the fortune that the Sow rendered him. And no wonder, given his fate: I have evil tidings for you. You will never repent of your appetite. You have a bottomless gut like a hungry hound. And whoever moved the Rhine and let it run into your throat, even so would he not be able to give you enough to drink. It is a shame that you must live on this earth. The reader seems to have taken a cue from this last line, drawing a large pile of dung on the ground underneath the Sow’s outstretched nose. (Fig. 11.5b) The various additions to Flach’s Tierloßbuch suggest a succession of owners, as does the fact that the middle three pages are free of written annotations, but have colorful embellishments, including an impromptu worm in the beak of the Crane and red spots for the Lynx. The author never refers explicitly to the Sea Monster, or labels him as much of a threat compared to the concluding Lintwurm. Flach evidently intended to keep his dial in the realm of fantasy. He adamantly points out that viewers must make the most of their fortunes, and not believe them too seriously, for “es ist alle fabel und ist erlogen,” it is all tall tales and lies. This is one of the first in a long line of disclaimers, ending with an

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resounding “Amen,” as if only divine intervention could keep the public from taking the game’s predictions too much in earnest. This warning would take on a new meaning when Loßbücher began to act as surrogates for actual gambling. A close copy after Flach printed in Mainz around 1506–1520 may be the first Kartenloßbuch. Substituting the characters and prefix from a deck of cards, (Karten-), for Flach’s animals, (Tier-), the volume repeats many of the same fortunes, including updating the sow as the six of acorns, and locating the author nearer to Nuremberg.6 This figure vows that “upending the Pegnitz (instead of the Rhine) would not give you enough to drink.” Though lacking a volvelle in the copy now at the Warburg Institute, the book’s colophon explicitly says to turn the hand around, and the finger, (as depicted on the volvelle), will select both the suit and the card’s value.7 Much like della Porta’s dials, this finger-based interface mirrored the actions of the user. To boot, by avoiding actual cards, the book cleverly deflected criticism even as it benefitted by association. Many more hybrid book/games would be published in the next few decades, reinforcing the demand for games of chance without the stigma of gambling. Occasionally this tactic proved too effective, as with Thomas Murner’s two book/card games from the early 1500s, which could be used as a text, or cut out as flash cards. The unorthodox teaching method fostered great success—and, as in della Porta’s case some sixty years later, the suspicion of his contemporaries. Murner’s preface to one game reflects this judgment: “people say a demon has inspired me to do all these completely new things and assisted me continuously during the writing of it.”8 Murner’s numerous reprintings, especially in Strasbourg, inspired a Matthias Ringmann to publish a Latin tutorial in 1509 with over eighty miniature cards placed in the lower corner of larger illustrations. As with Murner, these images had text and sometimes other pictures on their versos, so it is unclear if they were meant to be excised. Much later, in 1588, Jost Amman printed the best-known card game book, Charta Lusoria, Game of Cards: Artful and Well-Cut Figures in a new Card Game.9 6 Joseph Bening, Mainzer Almanach: Beiträge aus Vergangenheit und Gegenwart (1961), 118–119. 7 A second impression is present in the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, but neither could be consulted in person. The presence of the customary grid on the base sheet all but guarantees that a dial is lacking. A facsimile edition of the London print was issued in Rostock in 1890. 8 Manuel Stoffers and Pieter Thijs, “A Question of Mentality: The Changed Appreciation of Thomas Murner’s Logical Card Game (c. 1500),” Memory and Oblivion: Proceedings of the xxixth International Congress of the History of Art, Wessel Reinink, Jeroen Stumpel, eds., (Kluwer Academic Publishers: Dordrecht, 1999), 285 fn 8. 9 Charta Lusoria: Kunstliche und wolgerissenen Figuren, in ein new Kartenspiel (Nü rnberg: Leonhardt Heussler, 1588).

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Scholars have denied that these cards were meant to be removed from the book, citing the moral verses accompanying them. Yet their blank versos strongly suggest the volume’s potential collaborative use as a Stammbuch, a genre Amman popularized in print around 1574.10 The Dresden Kupferstichkabinett has a set of the cards illuminated and backed with marbled paper, proving that particular impression was eagerly cut out. Though Amman was by no means the first to design satirical cards, his decision to use books as one of the card suits suggests a playful attitude towards the game’s hybrid format. Aside from cards and the fifteenth-century apes with the rotating midsection seen earlier (Fig. 0.1), not many early printed toys survive. Hollstein attributes a printed Morris game to Peter Flötner—an early and slightly more complicated version of tic-tac-toe. A woodcut backgammon (or trictrac) board in Berlin has also been attributed to the artist, perhaps due to his extensive production of ornamental designs.11 If this is true, Flötner also professed a sensitivity to the evils of the game when he depicted a group of nuns in his antiCatholic procession carrying hinged backgammon boards instead of hymnals, a trope also adopted in Interim satires.12 Obviously, the printed backgammon board would have replaced a more permanent and often more resplendent object. The Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna possesses a hinged backgammon board from 1537 that belonged to Ferdinand I. Dagmar Eichberger has argued that the moralizing subject matter of the intricately-carved tokens and board decorations also made it suitable for use by his wife Anna, whom, as will be seen shortly, had a connection to innovative printed entertainments as well as to Georg Hartmann’s cruciform sundials.13 Other games were printed more extensively at the turn of the seventeenth century. One of the earliest racing games with a spiral-shaped course may have been in use for 5000 years, for pharaohs have been found buried with

10

11 12 13

Detlef Hoffmann, Altdeutsche Spielkarten, 1500–1650: Katalog der Holzschnittkarten mit deutschen Farben aus dem Deutschen Spielkarten-Museum Leinfelden-Echterdingen und dem Germanischen Nationalmuseum Nürnberg (Nürnberg: Das Museum, 1993), no. 72, 214. Geisberg/Strauss, g.833-1; Hollstein German 87 (Morris); g.833-2; Hollstein German 88 (Backgammon). Geisberg/Strauss, g.825–826. A Master bp Interim satire (gnm) also makes this point quite clearly, as one monk sings from a gameboard. Dagmar Eichberger, “Playing Games: Men, Women and Beasts on the Backgammon Board for King Ferdinand i and Queen Anna of Bohemia and Hungary,” in Women at the Burgundian Court: Presence and Influence, ed. Dagmar Eichberger, Anne-Marie Legaré & Wim Hüsken (Turnhout, Belgium, Brepols, 2010), 123–139.

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them.14 However, there are few early printed versions extant. Francesco de Medici, Grand Duke of Florence in Italy from 1574 to 1587, is said to have sent a copy of the “Game of the Goose” to King Philip ii of Spain, and others are known in the Netherlands and England.15 From there this racing game spread rapidly to other parts of Europe, with its heyday in France in the 1700s. It was still being published in the nineteenth century, and forms the basis for other games today, such as Milton Bradley’s Game of Life. The initial version sent to Spain may have been either printed or painted, but it was surely being mass-produced in England by 1597, when John Wolfe entered “the newe and most pleasant game of the Goose” in the Stationers’s Register on June 16.16 Presumably Wolfe considered it even more of an opportunity than della Porta’s volvelles, for single sheets were cheaper to produce and easier to sell. Lottery books would not have been inexpensive, but their quality and cost still varied widely. Although Spirito’s books were probably burned in Savonarola’s Bonfire of the Vanities in 1497, the author had died the previous year, and his works subsequently attracted little censure; his dice-driven poem would inspire about fifteen Italian reprintings by 1525 alone. Sigismondo Fanti and Francesco Marcolini published notably more artistic variations in 1526 and 1540 with the respective choices of dice, the time of day, or a deck of cards as their randomizing devices. The Germans took their gaming more seriously. The second most concentrated outpouring of the genre was in Strasbourg from 1539 to 1546. Heinrich Vogtherr’s 1539 Christlichen Loßbuchs was straightforwardly religious in intent despite describing itself as an entertainment, or Kurtzweil. The popular writer Jörg Wickram simultaneously authored a satirical volume with a title insisting it would cheer up its users and make them laugh. Wickram steers clear of the term Loßbuch, instead calling his guilty pleasure Ein Schöne Unnd fast fchimpfliche kurtzweil (An attractive and almost disreputable entertainment). Unlike the single printing of Vogtherr’s drier devotional work, Wickram’s editions began to rival Spirito’s with fifteen printings during the sixteenth century, and as many as eight more in the seventeenth and eighteenth.17 14 15 16 17

Petra Feuerstein, Hans-Christian Winters, Spielerische Seiten: Spiele und Spielebücher in der Herzog August Bibliothek (Wolfenbütteler Zeitung: 1992), 10–11. Malcolm Jones, The Print in Early Modern England: An Historical Oversight. (London: Yale University Press, 2010), 378–380, figs. 376–377. H.J.R. Murray, A History of Board Games other than Chess (Oxford University Press, 1952), 142. (Arber, iii, 21) Manfred Zollinger, Bibliographie der Spielbücher des 15. bis 18. Jahrhunderts: Erste Band:

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One explanation for the Loßbuch’s popularity in Strasbourg may be found in the city ordinances.18 In 1510, the Rat decreed many types of gaming illegal and placed a city-wide ban, Burgban, on a game called Listlinspiel that supposedly promoted cheating, drinking, and swearing. Just as dangerously, this unchristian game was played with cards or dice. Munich had already decried the game in the 1440s, but it had attained greater staying power in Strasbourg. By 1516, the town printed its banning order so no one could claim ignorance of the thirtypfenning fine. Residents could neither play in any of the usual spots—private rooms and guildhalls, inns, taverns, even alleyways—nor could anyone collect money for organizing the game. In 1526 and 1529, the Rat printed two more statements with the same prohibition, suggesting that the initiative had failed. The fine remained the same, but there were more caveats. Listlinspiel was still forbidden. Although one could lose up to two pfennig at any other game, no games at all were to be played before church. If the players would not repent or could not pay the fine, they would still pay off their debt—during fifteen days in the tower, at a rate of two pfennigs a day—with a generous diet of bread and water. Considering these punitive stakes, replacing dice or cards with volvelles ostensibly avoided the most obvious forms of gaming, allowing readers to gamble with their fate instead. That the books were still considered objectionable was ironic considering the frequency with which German nobles and towns sponsored games of chance. Tournaments, shooting contests, and even actual lotteries were popular. All had prizes attached and often took place on the same festive occasions. As long as the authorities retained control of the proceedings, gambling and the somewhat less-threatening Loßbücher were kept out of individual hands. Although documents show that Nuremberg held actual lotteries as early as 1487, a woodcut from 1501 Cologne may be the first to show the jurors taking tickets out of the customary Northern Glückshäfen.19 (Fig. 11.6) These were two large buckets, one containing the slips of paper with the names or numbers of the players; the other containing the slips denot-

18 19

1473–1700 (Stuttgart: Anton Hiersemann, Verlag, 1996), 197–267, counts forty-nine editions of Spirito total, of which nine were issued internationally in the decade before Wickram’s 1539 work, and seventeen during the remainder of the sixteenth century. Both remained popular in the seventeenth century, with another six for Spirito and Wickram. Also see Hans-Gert Roloff, ed., Georg Wickram: Sämtliche Werke: Neunter Band Losbuch (New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2003), 183–268. Strasbourg archives, 1500–1529, r3, fol. 53, fol. 164; fol. 232 (1526). Theodor Hampe, “Über den Grossen Nürnberger Glückshäfen vom Jahre 1579,” Anzeiger des Germanischen Nationalmuseums (1901): 30–31.

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figure 11.6

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Cologne, Germany, Broadside: An Invitation to an Arms Competition, in or after 1501. Hand-colored woodcut with letterpress on two joined sheets of paper: 61.5 × 46.6 cm. nga (1951.16.4).

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ing the prizes. Both an advertisement for the 1518 Rostock lottery (traditionally attributed to Erhard Altdorfer), and the exuberantly descriptive illumination in a Stammbuch owned by an Onophrius Berbinger (ca. 1577) make it clear that the occasion continued to involve the entire town, including women and children, fools, musicians, and armed guards.20 (Fig. 11.7) While Berbinger’s illustrations celebrated an exciting public event in an album that was meant to be shared only with close friends, the woodcut was meant to attract greater attendance at the event itself. The similarity between Altdorfer’s advertisement of these prizes and relic showings should not go unnoticed. Neither should the similarity between the elevated booth used to display the prizes and the lotdrawing of the Heiltumstuhl in Nuremberg be ignored. Like the winner of the Twelfth-Night lottery, here one could finally put one’s hands on the prize, be it a paper crown or a monstrance-like golden goblet. The Glückshäfen themselves may have influenced the Strasbourg lottery dial. As noted previously, Vogtherr invented a double-sided Christ and Angel dial for his Christlichen Loßbuchs in 1539 that allowed the viewer to rotate the recto dial without seeing the mysterious verso. (Fig. 11.4) In that context, the dial referred to the Communion wafer and the richly-designed paten upon which it rested— an object much like the silver basins and gilded cups on view at the lottery. Many of these items may well have been destined for donation to the Church, but the double Glückshäfen existed to select the winner randomly from the townspeople. As in the Nuremberg and Berbinger images, the man drawing the lots averts his eyes, as if looking to divine providence for guidance. Turning the Christlisches Loßbuch dial blindly might have had a similar effect. The Tier- and Kartenloßbücher offered little of the suspense of Berbinger’s drummers and dancing fool. Although card-themed dials with spinning metal pointers were also used for lower-stake games—they most likely hung in German taverns— choosing one’s fate sight-unseen was simply more dramatic.21

20

21

gnm Bibliothek (hs 461). A series of illustrations showing archery and a multi-person joust preceding the Glückshäfen is dated 1577 on a signed entry with a coat of arms. That entry also mentions Miesbach, a Bavarian town. However, the barrels themselves may give away the location of the festival, for they bear a blurry image quite similar to the Münchner Kindl, the tiny monk who was the symbol of Munich. The Erhard Altdorfer image is Geisberg/Strauss 45–2; g.928; h.92. The gnm has two impressions of such a printed dial dating to the mid-sixteenth century, and the Bayerisches Nationalmuseum has a similar painted wooden one from around 1582. bnm Inv no. i 14104. Also, see Leonie von Wilckins, Spiel, Spiele, Kinderspiel (Nürnberg: Germanisches Nationalmuseum, 1986), 48, no. 61.

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Attributed to Erhard Altdorfer, Lottery of Eler Lange, “Der Glückshafen zu Rostock,” Rostock, Ludwig Dietz, 1518. Woodcut and letterpress: 29.5 × 36.3 cm (woodcut); 54.9 ×36.8cm (woodcut and letterpress). ub Rostock (mk-12058).

lotteries, gaming, and the public reaction

figure 11.8

339

Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder, (German, 1490–1556), Unicorn Volvelle from Kartenloßbuch, Jakob Cammerlander: Strasbourg, 1543, fol. 4. Book with woodcuts and letterpress and double-sided volvelle: 8.5 × 5.8 cm (volvelle recto dimensions includes horn; similar rosette dial on verso not shown); 19.5 × 13.8 cm (sheet). beinecke (1976 335).

Interactive printer Vogtherr may in fact have been responsible for designing all of the volvelles used in Strasbourg during this period, as a reuse of one of his secular woodcuts demonstrates. Frank Muller, a specialist on the artist, has attributed another dial to Vogtherr, this one of a unicorn used for a 1543 Kartenloßbuch.22 (Fig. 11.8) The dial is superimposed on the disc with the suits

22

Frank Muller, Heinrich Vogtherr l’ ancien: un artiste entre Renaissance et Réforme (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1997), no. 251bis, 319.

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and values, a choice reminiscent of both Flach’s fantasy animals and simple pointer. The publisher Jacob Cammerlander happened to be printing the second edition of Wickram’s popular Kurtzweil, and could have simply borrowed the woodblock for the Kartenloßbuch. It is in Wickram’s second edition, and the more stately folio first edition from 1539, that Vogtherr’s blindfolding mechanism was properly installed.23 The foreword explicitly states that using the book will not take long to learn—you must simply take hold of the roses, and turn them around. The dial in question is ornamented with flowers, and is supposed to appear on the blank recto. Just as the Christlisches Loßbuch’s Angel does, the Unicorn on the verso rotates to point to letters of the alphabet. These guide the reader to a short summary of their fate, and then its longer anecdotal treatment. Neither pose questions, but rather give advice—on being more devout in Vogtherr’s case—and on how to be wiser in Wickram’s. The illustrations of the longer answers are even more lively than Sebastian Brandt in their lighthearted censuring of all those foolish enough to play this game. Even the frontispiece suggests its lessons may be pearls before swine, as two comely sows turn away from their own steaming pile of dung to listen to the wiser, laurelcrowned pig on the pulpit. Like Vogtherr, Wickram dedicates the book to his readers, but they are specified by age and gender, rather than by their devotion. Correspondingly, the unicorn dial from 1539 acts as a pointer in four stages. The background behind the disc is divided into four concentric circles for the different genders and ages of man—men and women, boys, and girls. Here, the horn, the muzzle, and the right and left forelegs each correspond to a particular ring of letters, a subtlety lost in Cammerlander’s Kartenloßbuch, where the maul, or maw, is the only active indicator. (Fig. 11.8) Some later editions of Wickram’s Kurtzweil would substitute a grinning fool covering his eyes for the rose dial, as an added warning and comment on the undeterred user’s intelligence. Given its horn’s mythical powers, the original unicorn dial reinforces the purity of its own predictions. In all likelihood, that reference also upholds Wickram’s blameless attempt to distract his readers from seedier pursuits.

23

Jörg Wickram, Ein schöne unnd fast schimpfliche Kurtzweil … (Strasbourg, 1539). Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library (Zg16 w63 +539).

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Reconciling the Book/Game Vogtherr’s fateful volvelles were reused for a fourth time. His Christ-Child woodblock and a new angel he designed open a predominantly faithful version of Lorenzo Spirito’s Book of Fortune, which was translated by a mysterious Paulus Pambst, and published by Balthasar Beck in Strasbourg in 1546.24 (Figs. 11.9–10; 11.13) Although the work halfheartedly attempts to replace the customary references to antiquity with biblical messages, this choice entirely wrests the image out of its original context. Although the question-bearing banderoles radiate out from the Christ-Child dial like spokes on a wheel, and its subjects cling fiercely to its rim, this literally turning wheel of fortune is not really an improvement over Spirito’s immovable one. (Figs. 11.1–2) Additionally, though the Canon implies that the Angel should be installed on the verso, this subtle hint was ignored in many copies, suggesting that assemblers and users could not tell the difference in terms of game play.25 These instructions never mention the Child at all, instead telling the viewer to select a number from one of those twenty-one questions. These digits reappear surrounding the pointing Angel on the back, with additional texts noting the correct Patriarch to consult for each query. Vogtherr contributed a number of other woodcuts to Pambst’s project, but he apparently could not salvage the frontispiece. Using the volvelle to align 24

25

Pambst is known only from this book. His name and profession are listed in the colophon, while the woodcut in the Prologue may represent him dedicating the text to Queen Anna of Bohemia. Johann Fischart commented in his 1581 edition of Jean Bodin’s Daemonomania that the book was highly derivative of Spirito “… so too has a German (so that the Italian should not be alone in his foolishness) who calls himself Paul Pambst Praemonstratens profess …” had this work printed. Noting that he “calls himself” a member of the Catholic Premonstratensian brotherhood, Fischart focused on the author’s ambiguous title in the colophon. “Praemonstratens profess” could also humorously commemorate the author’s divining abilities by splicing the Latin participle praemonstrans, or prophesying, and professio, by profession, into the German. The prefatory woodcut does not clarify matters, as it shows the author, if it is indeed Pambst, in secular garb. The Yale, Göttingen, and ex-C. Fairfax Murray collection dials are reversed; the Library of Congress Rosenwald, gnm, bsb, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Biblioteca Palatina, and both copies at hab are correctly installed; Strasbourg lacks its entire dial; the British Library (bl) Child is glued correctly onto the recto, but missing the Angel. The new Newberry Library copy is missing the dial, with an alchemical engraved roundel substituted on the verso. The Budapest, Schweinfurt, Stuttgart, Rastatt, Kungl. Biblioteket Sweden, Würzburg, and Paris Arsenal copies could not be consulted. All of the Christlichen Loßbuchs copies consulted had correctly-installed dials, except for the one missing at the bl. (This book is also at Strasbourg, bsb, hab, Göttingen.)

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figure 11.9 Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Wheel of Fortune, from Paulus Pambst, Loßbuch zu ehren der Römischen, Ungarischen und Böhmischen Künigin, Balthasar Beck, Strasbourg, 1546, 3–4. Woodcut and letterpress, inset with a double-sided volvelle: Volvelle (diameter): 4.8–5.2cm (Angel, depending on completeness of pointing arm); 4.9 cm (Christ Child); Recto: 12.5×10cm (woodcut); Verso: 17 × 17.2 cm (woodcut); 26 × 20 cm (sheet). sub göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara).

the questions on the front with the answers on the back simply proved too difficult.26 The final piece of advice in the Canon offers an approach for the indecisive or frustrated user. By spinning the Angel on the verso, they could choose a question on the front of the page sight unseen, only flipping back to

26

The double dial worked in the Christlisches Loßbuch because the Angel did not have to correspond to a specific question, but only a random letter of the alphabet. The Wickram Unicorn used an even more ornamental dial on the front that required no correlation at all. To function properly, the user of the Pambst dial would have had to understand that the hands of the Child and the Angel pointed in the same direction on their woodcuts, but moved in the opposite direction to each other when placed back to back. Thus, if the diagram on the verso had reversed the order of the numbers, the dial could have worked, providing the dials were pointing in the same direction when they were glued onto a thick cardboard washer (keeping them from falling out of the the hole in the page).

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figure 11.10

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Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder? (German, 1490–1556), Dice and Mythological River Charts, from Pambst, Loßbuch, 1546, 43, 64. Woodcut and letterpress: 26×20cm (sheet). sub göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara).

the Christ Child to determine its number. One could also covertly follow the number the Angel indicated on the back in order to keep other players from guessing what was asked. However, despite the many ways the initial volvelle could be misused or ignored, the book still required dice to arrive at the answer, making it a strange throwback to Spirito regardless of its Germanic disguise. (Fig. 11.10) This flaw did not go long unnoticed. Pambst’s Prologue opens with his own disclaimer, addressing the work to: “Every Christian who knows truly/ that he shouldn’t trust the lottery.” Johann Fischart, an outspoken Strasbourg satirist, agreed. He added a tirade against the evils of superstition to his 1581 edition of Jean Bodin’s Daemonomania, especially those games which pretended to uphold God’s words, but mocked them instead. The division of Pambst’s work into ersatz New and Old Testaments probably contributed to this complaint. Fischart also objected to the images of the Planets and the separate woodcuts of the astrally-powerful dragon caput and cauda at the end. These would have been standard astrological fare (despite the scenes of mayhem behind them), and seemingly reference a crea-

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ture similar to Münster’s Instrument des Mondslauff dragon. Well aware of this popular practice, Fischart had already employed a pseudonym to pen his own anti-astrological Kurtzweil with a Rabelaisian bent, but no moving parts.27 In his critique, Fischart worked Pambst’s most objectionable themes into a single sentence touching on the iconography of the volvelle, the false dragon, and most especially, the dice: “And [the book] has given no grace and authority to the dice and dragon-tail with its luck-showing Christ Child and Angel.” Fischart knew of Wickram, and likely Vogtherr and Cammerlander’s variations on this Loßbuch as well, and framed his final disagreement in comparative terms. Because Pambst illustrated his folio more profusely with woodcuts by a number of artists, including Vogtherr, Fischart alleged that the enterprise was grossly over budgeted. Indeed, “… der gröft theil Exemplaren zu Maculaturen, Papp und Wurzbifen worden,” meaning that most of the copies were destroyed, reduced to cardboard and paper pulp. This treatment could explain the rarity of Pambst’s book and the lack of information about him. Then again, it might imply that the work’s great popularity led people to destroy it during overenthusiastic play. All the examples extant show wear in the gesturing Angel, whose hand has often been reduced to an unrecognizable stump. In contrast to Pambst, Fischart seems to have almost been amused by Wickram, calling his work “so laughable and clearly derisive, and even free of slights on the holy word, that he must be making fun of the other books.” Wickram’s Kurtzweil had preceded Pambst’s Loßbuch by five years, but frequent new Kurtzweil editions would have made this difficult for Fischart to judge. Although it may only have further incensed the satirist’s ire, specially bound copies of this lottery text survive, which take these ludic aspects to extremes: as noted earlier, their bindings conceal a compartment for the dice, turning the book into an all-inclusive book/game. A Göttingen mathematician writing about the book in the eighteenth century first noted this attribute in the Göt-

27

Fischart’s translation of Rabelais work in 1575 had mentioned two of Thomas Murner’s card book/games. Together with his printer brother-in-law Bernhard Jobin and the artist Tobias Stimmer, Fischart also produced single sheets supporting Matthias Flacius Illyricus and defaming the Jesuits. Johann Fischart, pseud., alcofribas wuestblutus. Aller Practick Grossmutter. Die dickgeprockte Pantagruelinische Btrug dicke Prockdick, oder Pruchnastickatz, Lasstafel, Bauernregel unnd Wetterbüchlin, auff alle jar und Land gerechnet und gericht: Durch den Vollbeschiten Mäusstörer Windhold Alcofribas Wüstblutus von Aristephans Nebelstatt: des Herrn Pantagruel zu Landagrewel Obersten Löffelreformierer, Erb und Ertztrenck, und Mundphisicus … Ein frischräss, kurtzweilig geläss, als wann man Haberstro äss … (Strasbourg: no printer, 1572).

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figure 11.11 Pambst, Loßbuch, 1546, with hidden compartment bindings. Exterior binding; interior binding; hidden dice compartment. Top row: Binding, likely late 1560s–1570s in stamped pigskin. sub göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara). Bottom row: Binding dated 1568 in stamped leather (possibly calfskin). hab (22 Poet. 2°).

tingen Universitätsbibliothek example, and reported that one section still contained “three tiny dice, white with black eyes, in the other a piece of chalk.”28 Only the chalk is still present. (Fig. 11.11) During the author’s research at Wolfen-

28

Especially Göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara) and hab 1568 (22 Poet. 2°). Abra-

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büttel, a second copy with this feature came to light. These two books sport radically different exterior bindings, though both bear the same stamped title. The first is a standard, light-colored pigskin stamped with a roll-design of the Risen Christ, King David, Paul and John the Baptist popular from the 1540s through the early 1570s.29 The Wolfenbüttel volume is bound in a finer dark leather stamped with floral and arabesque ornaments, the date and location of manufacture—1568, Zlam (Austria). Yet they contain nearly identical sets of two interior compartments, suggesting these trick bindings were once more prevalent for the Loßbuch and others of the same genre. The fact that their relatively short texts were singly bound is noteworthy, for at the time, most books were grouped into compound Sammelband volumes for thematic or cost-saving reasons. A second example of the book at Wolfenbüttel in fact make up part of such compound volumes. Given this binding preference, the secrecy of the two dice compartments is remarkable. The Göttingen ub volume’s relatively slender binding and boards in particular do not seem thick enough to contain a hidden section. Likewise, the first copy in Wolfenbüttel appears to have nothing special about it—the volvelle is inserted correctly, and there are no obvious annotations, even in the hundred blank pages inserted after the text. Yet the rear pastedown appeared to have a slight depression in it of the same size and shape of the one in Göttingen, prompting further investigation. If only one of these bindings had survived, it might be considered a total exception, but together they suggest a common thread in the way Germanspeaking consumers thought about interactive books. Whether two different bookbinders produced the same type of hidden chamber, or a single craftsman made several of them, these hybrid objects once enjoyed wider appeal. The Vogtherr and Wickram Loßbücher did not require such additions because they were already self-sufficient without dice. Although the text depends on Spirito, these Pambst volumes employ their extra compartments to camouflage their objectionable use of both the dice and the symbolic volvelle. As part of a complete lottery-game kit, the dice compartment provides an extra secret complementing the mysterious fortunes predicted by the text. And yet it is so unobtrusive that the compartment does not keep the book from its original purpose—entertainment.

29

ham Gotthelf Kästner, Geschichte der Mathematik: seit der Wiederherstellung der Wissenschaften bis an das Ende des achtzehnten Jahrhunderts. Erster Band. (Göttingen, Johann Georg Rosenbach, 1796), 34. The Berlin Staatsbibliothek Einbindung database includes seventeen different bindings dated (or including books dating) mainly from the 1550s to the early 1570s; one roll is actually dated 1547, but used on a book dated 1562. http://www.hist-einband.de/

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figure 11.12

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Virgil Solis (German, 1514–1562), Booklike Box for Playing Cards, ca. 1544. 49 (of 52) engravings printed on cardboard, in a false book binding. With gold-stamped image of the Christ Child and vdmie (Verbum Domini Manet in Eternum), and faux edges of the book block in colored paper suggesting pages: 13×9.8cm (engravings); 15.3 × 13 × 6 cm (binding). veste coburg (KpB.0011.Nr.).

Other books from the next few decades ventured further—into the realm of the unique, but less functional oddity. There may have been many bookshaped box for playing cards, like the stamped binding deceptively concealing Virgil Solis’s engraved deck that is now filed under the artist in the Veste Coburg’s excellent book collection.30 (Fig. 11.12) The Christ Child holds the cross and an orb in the large central vignette on the front cover, a detail that is not only luxuriously stamped in gold, but could be an allusion to the faux book’s playful contents. The letters vdmie below also testify to the binding commissioner’s Protestantism. Similarly, there were at least two versions of a most complicated Vexierbuch, or puzzle book, from Schloß Ambras, now in the

30

Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg Library, no. 11, Inv. t 144. 144–242.

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Vienna Kunsthistorisches Museum Kunstkammer. Jost Amman’s 1582 Jagdbuch and a song book served as bases for a compound volume that included seven sets of bindings and clasps arranged accordion-style.31 These parted to reveal a deck of cards, dice, and even a backgammon board in the center. Such visual tricks were best suited to objets d’art whose collectors rarely opened them, and thus could never be considered intemperate gamers. As a result of their many layers, the books’ hinges have become extremely weak and brittle, begging the question of whether they were ever used. These were the real curiosities, and they are as correspondingly fragile and difficult to manipulate as the everobjectionable Loßbücher remain usable.

Gifts for Women Not every impression of Pambst’s work was bound for noble hands, but its author suggested its claim to such an audience through an unusual dedication—to a woman, Queen Anna of Hungary and Bohemia. (Fig. 11.13) The dedication is one of many elements making it clear that Pambst penned his entertaining verses for both genders. Indeed, Fischart’s harsh criticism of the Loßbuch may have reflected protest toward that intended audience as well as toward its contents. It was unusual in the North to see a book so explicitly dedicated to a member of the fairer sex. Bassantin’s nod to Catherine de Medici is another exception a decade later, while Queen Elizabeth i would receive homage in the second edition of Thomas Geminus’s 1559 copy of Vesalius’s Fabrica. This was Geminus’s first edition to include a tipped-in woodcut flap anatomy of a man and a woman, but the engraved title page bears comparison with Pambst’s. A massive coat of arms on the Loßbuch title page and the attached permission proclaim that Anna of Bohemia, wife of Ferdinand i (the younger brother of Charles v, and future Holy Roman Emperor) was the recipient. The text also suggests she was the Pambst’s sponsor: “Mit Röm. Kunigklicher Maiestat freyheit. m. d. xlvi.” Regrettably, Anna’s purported patronage of Pambst was short-lived, if factual, since she died in January 1547 in Prague. An anonymous illuminated manuscript containing the same text as Pambst’s work and owned by a Countess Kloz in Trient during the nineteenth century has unfortunately vanished. If relocated, it might prove or disprove this 31

Wilfried Seipel hrsg., Spielwelten der Kunst: Kunstkammerspiele (Wien: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1998), no. 70, 142–144; See also, Walter Hart Blumenthal, Bookman’s Bedlam: An Olio of Literary Oddities (New Brunswick, nj: Rutgers University Press, 1955), 126–128; illustration of Saxon sextuple-bound example.

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Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder (German, 1490–1556), Dedication to Queen Anna of Hungary and Bohemia, from Pambst, Loßbuch, 1546, 1. Woodcut and letterpress: 7 × 7 cm (woodcut). sub göttingen (4 p Germ ii, 2708 Einband-Rara).

relationship.32 The volume could even have been the dedication copy alluded to in a woodcut introducing the Prologue. A kneeling figure, presumably the author, bends lower and lower as he approaches the canopied dais shading the Queen. Her outstretched hand is ready to receive the robustly bound volume, and the gift has piqued the interest of four of her female attendants.33 Yet the only source describing the manuscript version omits any mention of such a title page, or of Pambst’s ambiguous colophon, although it does mention the correct year, 1546. She and her husband owned other games such as the backgammon set mentioned above. Yet Anna’s approval of such a superstitious work remains an open question, considering Ferdinand’s strong Catholicism and penchant for real science over astrology. Perhaps the Hartmann crucifix sundial Anna

32 33

Ignaz Zingerle, Barbara Pacherlin; Ein altes Loosbuch (Innsbruck, 1858), 57. The image shows that the binding includes five bosses (raised metal supports that served to protect books when stacked), presumably ready for placement in the larger library that the image implies that the queen owns.

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possessed would have been treasured for both its innovative technology and its devotional iconography. Pambst’s Prologue—which appeared in full in the manuscript version, but does not mention her in its printed form either—adds to this uncertainty. Though Pambst’s book was largely copied from Spirito— with the exception of the movable dial—the composite nature of the dedication does not necessarily suggest a deception. Women had long enjoyed lottery books in many of the most elite, though not necessarily elite Italian circles. Two famously artistic Italian lottery books were sold at the same time as Spirito’s.34 Sigismondo Fanti illustrated two wheels of fortune similar to Spirito’s on each page of his 1526 Triompho di Fortuna, with the choice of either dice or the time of day as the means of selecting one’s fate. Although his allegorical title page has contributed more fodder for discussion than the book’s interior, the imagery relates only obliquely to actual game play. Instead, the enormous die and the sundial have little chance to distract the fateful demons and angels from spinning the topsy-turvy globe.35 The well-known frontispiece from Francesco Marcolini’s 1540 Sorti does refer to the game explicitly and interestingly showcases another group of regal women.36 Well before Anna had the opportunity to peruse Pambst’s text, this trio taught their languid philosopher-companions to play from an open book. The deck of cards on the ground helped them navigate their way. Even though women were included in the questions, given their company, the Marcolini women may represent the fates or other allegories. In contrast, the frontispiece to the 1557 Venetian edition of Spirito shows actual women and men using the book. This mixed company gives one pause. On closer inspection, these well-bred women are segregated to the left side of the table. One girl tosses the dice, as the matron at the center of the group turns a page—showing the mythological beasts who keep the dice and the spheres. Such games required less restraint outside polite society.

34

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Sigismondo Fanti’s frontispiece was copied by Christofano Bertelli for a large single-sheet engraving (Metropolitan Museum of Art), during the second half of the sixteenth century. Thus, it was well-known at the time. Sigismondo Fanti, Triompho di Fortuna (Venice: Agostino da Portese, 1527); Robert Eisler, “The Frontispiece to Sigismondo Fanti’s Triompho di Fortuna,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 10 (1947): 155–159; Geraldine A. Johnson, “Michelangelo, FortuneTelling & the Formation of Artistic Canons in Fanti’s Triompho di Fortuna,” in Coming About … A Festschrift for John Shearman, Lars R. Jones and Louisa C. Matthew, eds., (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Art Museums, 2001), 199–205. The image is a reverse copy of the Marco Dente engraving, An Assembly of Scholars, after Francesco Salviati, Bartsch (479; 356).

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As Patricia Fortini Brown notes, the Renaissance writer Andrea Calmo once bought three books as a gift for a lady friend: a volume of Petrarch, because of her love of the poet’s Laura; Boccaccio’s One hundred novelle as “a recipe book for all lovers”; and a “pleasant Book of Fortune to play a game with the family or with a company of ladies and gentlemen, [for] throwing those three dice one sees through the longest fables, the greatest bagatelles, the greatest falsehoods in the world.”37 This passage raises the possibility that courtesans entertained with lottery books. Though Brown doesn’t state it explicitly, the “Signora Fulgentia” to whom the gifts were extended could indeed be a courtesan. Outside of a small but cultured Italian elite, few other women were literate enough to fully appreciate these treasures.38 Whether or not he thought Queen Anna of Bohemia would damage her reputation in accepting the gift of such a text, as “Signora Fulgentia” may have, Johann Fischart believed Pambst’s dedication was a ruse, and that the royal permission was counterfeit.39 His irritated tone suggested he was hardly amused by Pambst’s effort to make the book appear to be condoned by the queen. Inserting the work into Bodin’s chapter on “Of unseemly and improper means of helping yourself arrive at a particular goal,” Fischart eclipsed any hope of the text having moral, literary or educational value, focusing instead on the book’s grounding in gambling and pagan ritual. Pambst had already publicized the dangers of his work to his potentially female audience, whether out of moral compunction or salesmanship. No one should trust such books, he said, “particularly [those] of the female sex, also young folk, hear me rightly.” Unlike Fischart, Pambst arguably considered his work a sanctified version of the lottery that would enhance their prayer, keep them from being idle and ward off evil thoughts. If the Devil proffered false fortunes, the repurposed Christ and his Angel dial could produce the truth. As always, the questions revolved around matters of life, death, and marriage, countering the inquiry, “Will someone make a good wife?” with, “Will someone make a good husband?” Though the phrasing, “Will a pregnant woman bear a son?” assured the continuation of the family name, the sixty-two responses are

37

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Patricia Fortini Brown, Private Lives: Art, Architecture, and the Family in Renaissance Venice (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), fn. 30, 136: Andrea Calmo, Lettere, ed. Vittorio Rossi (Turin: Ermanno Loescher, 1888): iv: 22, 301, in a letter to a Signora Fulgentia. For Calmo, see Alberto M. Ghisalberti, ed., Dizionario biografico degli Italiani (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1973), 16: 775–781. Virginia Cox, Women Writing in Italy, 1400–1650 (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2008). Fischart 1581 commentary on Bodin’s Daemonomania, 182.

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almost evenly split between boys, girls, and one set of twins. The Italian Spirito had more generously asked if it would be a son or a daughter, rather than trying to wish away a problem female. Moses’s thirty-ninth answer from the original Spirito even claims the woman will bear “a girl who’s so full of life that she’ll wear out numerous husbands.” While the Fanti and Marcolini texts updated their questions to include women, the Spirito text had not. The final interaction that proves Pambst revised Spirito in order to let women participate fully in the lottery was the question, “Which planet was one born under?” and its gender-specific answers. Pambst’s version duly instructs women to use two dice rather than the standard three, as “two will be enough for them.” The woodcut dice allow for this by adding extra rows for the double dice combinations, and segregate the women’s answers to an extra, interior immovable ring. (Figs. 11.2; 11.10) The first fortune, one of the grand total of 1197, must have been meant for the queen, or anyone reading all of the prophesies. These lines carry the remnants of Spirito’s perfect femininity, borrowed as much from antiquity as the modern cult of love in Venice: Oh child of Venus, you noble fruit, reared from a beautiful breed, now your virtue exceeds the charms of your birth. Your body, countenance, gait, and speech, and golden hair make you a prize among maidens, something one yearns to see.40 While they were themselves rarely the primary audience for publications, images of women likely boosted sales of books and prints, especially interactive ones. The multifaceted nature of femininity on display in the frontispieces of later Italian lottery books, and the implied female user base of books by Wickram and Pambst would soon take another form in a new genre of interactive flap print in which the viewer manipulated layers of costumes, rather than anatomically correct organs and skin. 40

One owner may have been aware of the Pambst text’s connection to Italy, and possibly even believed its dedication to Queen Anna. The second exemplar of Pambst at hab, 148.3 quotlibet, is the fourth part of a Sammelband. The first item is an unrelated treatise on trade, but the second and third are a German translation of Donato Giamnnotti’s history of Venice, and a handwritten account of the election and coronation of Charles v.

chapter 12

Liftable Skirts and Deadly Secrets Flap prints extolling the Venetian courtesan would later adopt Spirito’s romantic ideal, for this was a genre as delightfully artificial as its subjects’ sunbleached hair, chopine-impaired stride and clever way with cosmetics.1 Far beyond resisting décolletage or coyly exposed ankles, the private viewer could now lift the curtain obscuring the object of his desire.2 (Fig. 12.1) Yet these paper temptresses had a purpose beyond titillation. Venetian women were usually limited to three career choices: virgin, wife or whore. Outward appearances did not always differentiate them for visitors, or worse, even for inhabitants, despite rigid hierarchies of dress and decorum. Even Venetian citizens had difficulty distinguishing the “bone dalle triste,” or “good from the wicked,” a problem the Senate acknowledged as early as 1543.3 As the Cologne printer Abraham de Bruyn’s 1577 Omnium pene … gentium habitus suggests, an unlabeled view of his Amica Veneta (Venetian Courtesan) might not have sufficed to stain her honor. De Bruyn’s Amica’s dress is nearly identical to a nearby bride who scowls as the Amica appears to remove the veil normally worn by virgins. (Fig. 12.2) Foreign visitors were even more dangerously unable to recognize courtesans. Cesare Vecellio’s 1590 costume book famously warned the unwary against procuresses who offered access to noblewomen, but delivered common prostitutes instead. In his 1589 costume book, the Diversaru[m] Nationum Habitus, the publisher and engraver Pietro Bertelli, (active in Venice and Padua), solved the problem by unequivocally identifying his interactive courtesan’s profession. (Fig. 12.3) Save for a blindfolded cupid, her more elegant precursor appears unlabeled in his imaginative, larger-scale series of flap engravings from the pre-

1 A staple of Stammbücher and costume books, the image of a Venetian woman using a wide straw hat and lemon juice to bleach her hair was well known. Enea Vico’s emblem of Vanity may have increased its popularity, while della Porta offered recipes for this process in his 1558 Magia Naturalis in the chapter “On Beautifying Women.” 2 Especially see the nypl series, tipped into a volume with Donato Bertelli, Le vere imagini et descritioni delle piu nobilli citta del mondo. Imprint Venetijs, Apud Donatum Bertellu, 1578; (mem b537v). Recent literature on this print includes: Linda Wolk-Simon, in Andrea Bayer, ed., Art and Love in Renaissance Italy (Metropolitan Museum of Art: New York, 2008), 208– 211. 3 Rosenthal, 59.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_014

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Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621) and family, Courtesan and Blind Cupid, by 1588. Engraving with skirt flap: approx. 8.6×7cm ( flap); 14.3×19.8 (plate); 17.8 × 25 cm (sheet). nypl (mem b537v).

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Venetian Matron and Virgin, (Matrona Veneta and Virgo Veneta), from Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Diversaru[m] nationum habitus, 1589, vol. 1, plates 1 and 3. Engraving: approx. 12 × 8.6 (plate); 17×10.7cm (sheet). beinecke (2001 765).

vious year. (Figs. 12.4–7) Elements of pastiche from the prints published by members of his family and other evidence reinforce the likelihood that Bertelli designed that series as well.4 Both women wear fashionable chopines—stiltlike clogs—to appear taller, with masculine undergarments that cast doubt on their gender, yet would have immediately clarified their social status to the print’s viewer. Venetian fashions and civic traditions inform these images as they show women transported between social statuses, whether by gondola or the male viewer’s probing hands. It is in this tactile manner that Pietro Bertelli’s obliging ladies reveal surprises that nuance or outstrip their sex appeal—and partially remedy the social ambiguities of couture. Such prints with liftable skirts, or surprises hidden behind curtains, became extremely popular during the late sixteenth century. A closer contextual examination of these understudied, though hardly underutilized objects will help uncover the close interplay between the prints and their voracious consumers.

4 Scholarly consensus has not been reached on this question, with several suggestions for authorship and dating including: Ferrando (Ferdinando) Bertelli (Italian, active Venice, 1561–

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While German flap-print precursors for the Northern market emphasized the theme of morality and the contrast between life and death, the Italians included flap prints in less politicized collections of local customs and costumes that were intended for export. Italian printmakers had learned from the propaganda blitz of the Reformation. Unlike lottery books, these prints were enjoyed in a more exclusive company. Two printmaking centers—Venice and Catholic Cologne—provide a framework for analyzing the new demand for these objects, and their place within the other popular genres of pedagogical, geographical, and costume works. Many flap-based images dwell on the before and after juxtaposition of the memento mori, or the latest scandals of the courtesan class. Yet on a certain level, they all address the topic of pride: pride in the social, geographical, and even religious boundaries that interactive printing helped broach now more than ever before.

Pietro Bertelli’s Flap Erotica The Bertelli family formed a prolific book and print publishing enterprise in Venice, Padua, Rome, and Modena from the second half of the sixteenth century into the seventeenth.5 Some of the most active plagiarists known to man, the Bertelli even reused their own material. Thus when Pietro Bertelli invented the first courtesan with a liftable skirt, fame soon followed. She appeared around 1588, within Pietro’s series of nine narrative engravings of Venice including seven with courtesans flaunting ingenious flaps. This work is now known in its entirety only in a Sammelband at the New York Public Library (nypl). (Figs. 12.4–7) Pietro copied details from several of these sheets in the following year for smaller-scale illustrations in his costume book, Diversaru[m]

1571), with a much earlier printing date of 1563, likely proposed as a variant on his 1563 costume plates is included in the volume (mma, www.metmuseum.org, accessed 5/19/2017); Donato Bertelli (Italian, active 1568–1574), dated 1578, based on the binding of Donato’s 1578 Le vere imagini et descritioni delle piu nobilli citta del mondo with the nypl series (Love in Venice, nypl exhibition 2017); and in mma Art and Love in Renaissance Italy as well as the present text, Pietro Bertelli (Italian, 1571–1621), with an end date of 1588 based on the publication of his Diversaru[m] in 1589. 5 The Bertelli produced maps, costume and other books, as well as single sheets of secular and devotional subjects from the 1560s to the 1640s. Their exact lineage remains unclear. Pietro’s son Francesco (ii) succeeded him as a publisher in Padua and Venice, and Donato’s will notes that Pietro was his father, but Andrea, Christofano, Ferrando (Ferdinando), Francesco (i), Giovanni, Luca, Orazio and Pietro were either brothers, cousins or parents.

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Venetian Courtesan (Cortigiana Veneta), from Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Diversaru[m], 1589, vol. 1, plate 7. Engraving with skirt flap: approx. 6.7 × 5.1 ( flap); 11.6 × 8.1 cm (plate); 17 × 11 cm (sheet). beinecke (2001 765).

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Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621) and family, Venetian Courtesan series, by 1588. Nine engravings with seven flaps present: Tomb of Antenor (no flap, not illustrated); Carnival Maskers/ Courtesan in Interior (12.4); Courtesan and Blind Cupid/ Gondola (12.5); Courtesan Riding Donkey/ Courtesans in Carriage in the Veneto (12.6); Gondola Card Game/ Senatorial Barge (12.7): approx. 14.3 × 19.8 (plate); 25 ×17.8cm (sheet). Bound with Donato Bertelli, Le vere imagini et descritioni delle piu nobilli citta del mondo, 1578. nypl (mem b537v).

figure 12.5

Courtesan and Blind Cupid/ Gondola

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Courtesan Riding Donkey/ Courtesans in Carriage in the Veneto

figure 12.7

Gondola Card Game/ Senatorial Barge 12.7a (upper right): Giacomo Franco (Italian, 1550–1620), Sponsa Veneta in Cymbia, from Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Diversaru[m], 1592, variant edition published 1638. Engraving: approx. 8.6× 12cm (plate). hab (a: 584.7 Hist. (1), plate 5).

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Nationum Habitus, the three volumes of which appeared in 1589, 1592–1594 and 1596. The most famous view of the courtesan appeared in the first volume. Yet the Diversaru[m] included four more interactive images, two of which touch on the status of married and unmarried women, especially in ceremonial modes of transportation. (Figs. 12.7a–8) While actual courtesans lured tourists from other lands, a lively commerce also existed to provide access to other women. Pietro’s brides appear under curtains in gondolas, wealthy Neapolitan wives ride in closed litters, and even a Turkish bride travels on horseback under the cover of a tent. (Fig. 12.8a–b) Unlike the ribald courtesan series at the nypl, only one of Pietro’s Diversaru[m] views show a man in an enclosed space with a woman, although this too may represent a marriage, in Etruria, for it is entitled Ritus Hetrurig (not shown). The wedding couple still remains separated into two baskets on the back of a donkey, although non-gondoliere are banished entirely from the gondola bearing a bride. Like the nypl courtesan series, these smaller images required the viewer to help uncover the women by reaching into the picture. Pietro’s flap prints and their interactive progeny demonstrate the breadth of this type of printmaking, regardless of the artistic quality of the original image. Exacting copies of his costume book appeared even more swiftly than Bassantin’s pirated version of Apian. In fact, another resident printer of Padua, Alessandro Fabri, published an etched copy in reverse beginning in 1593, being careful to include the five separate flap images.6 Costume books like the Diversaru[m] had been fashionable since the 1560s, and copying them ran in the family. Pietro’s older relative Ferrando Bertelli was the most exhaustive copyist of the set of Enea Vico engravings that pioneered the genre. Vico received a ten-year Venetian copyright for “Li Libri della diversite degli habiti de diverse nationi del mondo” in 1557, and published a group of engravings with a Latinized title page reading Diversarum gentium nostrae aetatis habitus in Venice the following year.7 In the enlarged 1568 edition of his 6 The Fabri copy in the Vatican Cicognara collection, which is available on microfilm, may be the only one with its gondola flap intact. The Buffalo and nypl Spencer Collection copies lack this element, as well as any residue of its presence. The Vatican copy is also one of the few examples of the costume genre that was entirely colored. 7 Wendy Thompson, formerly of the mma, has located photographs of 33 pages of engravings from Vico’s book, including its title page, Diversarum gentium nostrae aetatis habitus, venetiis. m.d.lviii. The Cum privilegio at the bottom may be an annotation or cursive type, but according to Bronwen Wilson, it reflects numerous privileges, from “the Pope, Charles v, Phillip ii, the Count of Flanders, Duke of Milan and of Florence.” Bronwen Wilson, “ ‘The Eye of Italy’: The Image of Venice and Venetians in SixteenthCentury Prints” (PhD diss., Northwestern, 1999), 536.

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Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621), Neapolitan Noblewoman in Sedan Chair (Nobilis Neapolitana) and Turkish Bride (Sponsa Turca Constantinopolitana.), from Diversaru[m], 1589, vol. 1, plates 31, 80. Engravings with flaps: approx. 11.4 × 8.4 (plate); 17 × 13 cm (sheet). beinecke (2001 765).

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Vite, Giorgio Vasari described these engravings, noting their innovation, the variety of nationalities and social statuses they displayed, and more importantly that they were fifty in number. As Bronwen Wilson suggests, he likely saw the book or another bound form. Otherwise, Vasari would not have encountered all these sheets of “ingenuity, beauty and whimsy.”8 Some of these images are only known through other copies. Artists immediately reused a few of Vico’s motifs from the sheets issued singly, as in Franz Brun’s 1559 image of a group of Turks. The two women reappeared as separate plates in Ferrando Bertelli’s Omnium Fere Gentium Nostrae Aetatis Habitus of 1563 and 1569. Unfortunately, the original engravings lacked an order or even a definite total. Ferrando numbered his version, but Vico’s ambiguity left the viewer with no way of knowing if he possessed the complete set in the correct order. Unlike the first volume of Pietro Bertelli’s Diversaru[m] with its 104 engravings, Vico’s title page does not quantify its contents. Most engravings included a signpost by each figure with text succinctly demonstrating their identities. Although Vico left some blank, others were occasionally retitled. Another example of confusing clothing ensues in his three views of French women in similar dresses and poses; one faces away from the viewer in a second view. All three are labeled “Galla mulier.” Without their differing headdresses, it would be impossible to tell them apart, and copies after them are often bound in different order. Vico’s Diversarum plates covered another type of demographic that Vasari had neglected to mention by contrasting wives, widows, whores, and brides in every culture. Seen together, the prints demonstrated concern with social divisions through regional categories. A subsequent copy of Ferrando’s Omnium from the 1570s makes the third generation of Vico’s costume book to be pirated in its entirety; it is also one of the texts bound with Pietro’s courtesan flap series at the nypl.9 The compiler

8 Wilson, The World in Venice: Print, the City & Early Modern Identity (University of Toronto Press, 2004), fn 3, 292; She cites this passage, from Giorgio Vasari, Le opere di Giorgio Vasari v (Facs. Repr. of the 1906 ed., Le vite de’ piu eccellenti pittore …), 429. 9 The much-cited 1977 Dress article by Jo Anne Olian incorrectly suggested that the costumes (either the courtesan prints or the costume book proper that follows) are an integrated part of the nypl city-view text. The contents of the volume are as follows: Duke of Alva portrait engraving after 1567 (front pastedown); Donato Bertelli, Vere Imagini di Piu Citta di Mondo, second edition with title page redated 1578 (from 1569); woodcut map of Moscow from Sigismund van Feuerstein, Moscovia der Hauptstat in Reissen, 1557; copy after Ferdinando (Ferrando) Bertelli’s Omnium with other costume engravings by the same hand and several costume etchings by other artists. It lacks a title page, but a copy after a Turkish noblewoman in the 1577 Lyons and 1580 Venice editions in

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of the volume was likely Italian, or at least a staunch Catholic, for the portraitengravings of the Duke of Alba and one of his sons pasted inside its covers would have been unthinkable in the North after the Duke’s vicious sweep through the Protestant Netherlands in 1567. The same owner may have used the courtesan flap series to supplement Ferrando and Vico’s representation of costumes specific to his city, as the original sixty plates included only one woman from Venice, variably described as a woman and as a bride. The latter’s hairstyle has also been updated to the horns popular later in the century. Though no longer numbered, the bride still appears in her proper place in the first spread of the costume book—as does the map of Venice from the book of city views preceding it. That text was published in 1578 by yet another Bertelli family member, Pietro’s son Donato. Other changes suggest that adding the courtesans was a meaningful personalization. Donato’s selection of maps excluded Moscow, and so a woodcut from a German history of the city has been tipped in; to balance this addition, three Moscovian costumes unknown to Ferrando augment the costume section.10 Given the fragility of the flap prints, and the fact that the only complete set is in this volume, it seems likely that they were purchased shortly after their publication, and bound soon thereafter. Thus, their owner was probably a Venetian, who as he lived nearby, became a frequent buyer from the Bertelli. The resulting combination of geography and social observation is encyclopedic—as well as a substantial overview of the Bertelli’s production over several decades. The clues to the ways men used and displayed these prints depend on how the flap prints survived. The most convincing date for the Pietro Bertelli courtesan series comes from autograph albums owned by German students that copied his courtesan and gondola images. These place the series in circulation in Italy by 1588 at the latest.11 Pietro’s simplified copy of the courtesan

10 11

Italian of Nicolas de Nicolay’s Le naviationi et viaggi nell Turchia suggests the nypl version postdates it, or at least the unexamined 1568 edition; son of Duke of Alva portrait engraving, after 1567 (rear pastedown). The fact that the courtesans date about twenty years later than the other texts is not unusual, especially if the owner bought up several items of the Bertelli’s old stock at once. The map comes from Sigismund van Feuerstein’s Moscouia der Hauptstat in Reissen, durch Herrn Sigmunden Freyherrn zu Herberstein … zusamen getragen from 1557. Walters Keppel album (both gondola and courtesan), w.477 ca. 1588; British Library, Egerton 1208 (gondola), ca. 1588; Philipp Hainhofer, hab Cod. Guelf. 210 Extrav., fol. 148 (courtesan), ca. 1597; Getty Research Library, merchant Johann Heinrich Gruber’s Liber Amicorum (870108), fol. 2v, dated 1602 in dedicated entry opposite (merry compay in gondola with lutist under curtain flap); Jörn Gunther, Antiquariat, ca. 2006 early seventeenth

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became equally famous by appearing in four editions of the first volume of his Diversaru[m] between 1589 and 1594. (Fig. 12.3) Even though it competed with four other images bearing flaps, the courtesan sheet was the one most often removed and enjoyed separately, as in a separately-preserved Germanisches Nationalmuseum (gnm) impression. That courtesan has lost her paper skirt entirely, although traces of the glue and upper part of the flap remain, while the Berlin Lipperheide impression remains in its book, but was still the victim of so many handlings that the ink has worn down to the paper on the left side of the skirt. Considering such rough and constant treatment, Bertelli’s Courtesan and Blind Cupid engraving has survived unusually well in its five separate impressions.12 The single-sheet print was a much more ephemeral format than an illustration in a bound volume. The fact that every impression of this Courtesan still retains its flap suggests that the others produced, perhaps in the hundreds, may simply have been thrown away once they needed repair.13 The increasing wear on the plate also suggests the image remained in use for some time. As the single sheets have been closely trimmed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the gnm, one must look elsewhere for clues to the ways these were enjoyed, played with, and collected. The bound nypl set was reimagined in an entirely different arrangement in a composite printed object now at the Kupferstichkabinett of the Veste Coburg.14 (Fig. 12.9) With her direct gaze and oversized scale, the Coburg Courtesan and Blind Cupid reign supreme over the three other flap prints arranged below her and to her left. These include a gondola, a couple in a sedan chair (now missing its flap) and male officials in a barge. While the grouping was at one time folded and preserved in a book, its canvas backing suggests a different form of display. As a wall hanging, the prints would have been perfect for a humanist’s private studiolo, with familiar themes unthinkable in uncovered paintings. Indeed, the brown stains studding the panel suggest

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century Venetian costume album, fol. 7 (Courtesan and widow; the courtesan’s flap reveals chopines and nudity). nypl (in Donato Bertelli, mem b537v); Veste Coburg (xiii, 321, 178); mma (Acc. no. 55.503.30, Elisha Whittelsey Fund 1955, in Ornament xvi ca. Italian.); gnm (hb 25037); Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg, album 225, no. 312. In the Swiss publisher Georg Straub’s 1600 Trachten oder Stammbuch, the courtesan has been depicted as if her skirt flap had been entirely removed, showing her underwear and chopines, while the scenes of figures in a gondola and on a donkey’s back imply that their curtains have been recently pushed away. Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg (xiii, 321, 178).

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figure 12.9 Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active 1571–1621) and others, Venetian Courtesan Wall Hanging, ca. 1588. Four engravings pasted on canvas, three with flaps: 27.1×38.2cm (combined plates); 30.2 × 40.8 cm (sheet). veste coburg (xiii,321,178).

constant exhibition rather than neglect; the work may even have been rolled up and transported by a fond peripatetic owner. He appears to have quite been aware of the variety of interactive imagery available; the flap prints in the lower register are otherwise unknown today. As usual, Pietro Bertelli was either aware of them, or responsible for them, copying many details from the barge scene for a flap-less image in his third volume. A British Library Stammbuch entry from the late 1580s quotes the Veste Coburg image as well, and inserts its own version of Pietro’s gondola with a flap, thus suggesting it was contemporary with the courtesans.15 It is of course possible that Pietro was again the inventor, but the style and wear on the plates is different from the more delicate courtesans above. Perhaps he relied on a less-talented artist’s drawings for a separate series of flap prints. Though ostensibly showing more wholesome protagonists than the courtesan prints, the curious nude man in the central darkened window may suggest a sinister undertone.

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bl Egerton 1208, fol. 19 for the gondola, fol. 63 for the barge.

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In the nypl courtesan series, the Courtesan and Blind Cupid reappears opposite the gondola scene from the Veste Coburg collage. (Fig. 12.5) Judging from the plate tone joining them, these sheets have in fact been printed from the same plate. The unique nypl courtesan series comprises eight single and one double-page views, seven of which have flaps. As noted earlier, the complete set was bound in the late sixteenth century in this album between two books of maps and costumes that related once again to the Bertelli publishing family. (Figs. 12.4–7) The flap prints are tipped into the middle and include, in bound order, a view of the tomb of Antenor—thankfully without a flap revealing the corpse of the supposed Trojan hero, the founder of Venice and Padua— then seven interactive images: masked Carnival revelers opposite a courtesan admiring herself in her quarters; the Courtesan and Blind Cupid and gondola; a courtesan in the Veneto riding a donkey and spinning thread—which doubles as a type of Phyllis and Aristotle—opposite other courtesans in a carriage; and a final gondola holding an illicit, literally floating card game opposite a stately senatorial barge before San Marco. The latter may once have had a flap, given the similar construction of the barge at the Veste Coburg. From Antenor to San Marco, the flap print series would have made as affable a souvenir of the highlights of Venice as Pietro’s Diversaru[m], but with additional glimpses of its carnal delights.16 The Bertelli also printed other single-sheet prints, from religious reproductions to humorous moral satires. Such didactic prints proliferated in the North by the time of the Reformation, and as Sara Matthews Grieco has shown, also in Post-Tridentine Italy, particularly from the 1560s.17 These compendium sheets, generally purchased by men, demonstrated in cartoon-like blocks the ways their women should behave—or in the popular world upside-down topos, how they should not. (Fig. 12.10) Pietro Bertelli’s nypl flap prints combine both of these models, with relatively blameless pursuits of Venetian private life hiding the racier truth underneath their flaps. This happens quite literally in the sheet showcasing the Veneto countryside, in which Pietro combined the Phyllis and Aristotle trope with their neighboring donkey from Nicolò Nelli’s Proverbi (Proverbs) of 1564. (Fig: 12.6; 12.11) Tellingly, that edition was published by another family member, Ferrando Bertelli. Pietro’s courtesan appears to be 16 17

Though actual catalogues of Venetian courtesans circulated with a price list, Bertelli makes no links to specific ones here. Sara F. Matthews Grieco, “Pedagogical Prints: Moralizing Broadsheets and Wayward Women in Counter Reformation Italy,” Picturing Women in Renaissance and Baroque Italy, Geraldine A. Johnson and Sara F. Matthews Grieco, eds. (Cambridge University Press, 1997), 61–87.

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Nicolò Nelli (Italian, active Venice, ca. 1552–1579), Proverbi, printed by Ferrando Bertelli, 1564. Engraving with some etching: 38.9×51.7cm. mma (56.581.9).

spinning thread industriously astride her donkey, while beneath the flap, her elderly lover humorously struggles to keep the distaff (and presumably his manhood) upright. A German woodcut from the mid 1520s tipped into a handwritten album of folk songs offers an interesting parallel to Phyllis’s phallic, decoy spindle, if not a graphic precursor.18 (Fig. 12.12) This Memento Mori Spinner also wears tall clogs and incongruous, possibly illegal, pearls. Under the woman’s skirt—a more modern replacement—one glimpses a flash of bare skin above rosy stockings. That flesh is infested with bright green and yellow snakes that weave in and out of the Spinner’s unresisting thighs. The lower reptile coils excitedly, and the tip of its nose can be seen beyond the skirt. Although the accompanying text sees the woodcut as Frau Welt (Lady World), an allegory on the deceptiveness of appearances and the inevitability of death, the snake’s intimate location and

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Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Handschriftenabteilung (Ms. Germ. Quart. 718, 65).

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figure 12.11a–b Details of Phyllis from Nelli Proverbi, and Courtesan Riding Donkey from Bertelli, Venetian Courtesan series. mma (56.581.9); nypl (mem b537v).

erect posture surpasses the most sexualized Death and the Maiden. This motif returns with a biblical twist in the late sixteenth-century Cologne engravings. (Figs. 12.15–16) While memento-mori prints linked sensuality with fear and death, the male collector would have experienced other emotions as the Venetian courtesan’s

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German, Memento Mori Spinner, ca. 1525. Hand-colored woodcut with (later) lace-paper flap: approx. 8.3 × 6 cm ( flap); 14.1 ×10.6cm (block/sheet). stabi berlin (Ms. Germ. Quart. 718, 65).

probable viewer. Graspable skirts teasingly guarantee the sexual licentiousness and easy availability of each courtesan. These flaps boldly emphasize the viewer’s transgression—for one must breach the normal boundaries of the printed image to view them fully. In a Netherlandish engraving of a brothel from the same period, fingers are again the active under-shift participants.19 The attention to the slits in these prostitutes’ skirts and their customers’ unbuttoned trousers also underlines the sensuality of Bertelli’s prints. These become even more audaciously dependent on touch through the requisite audience participation. Far from being influenced by the contortions of the Modi, or the nearly contemporary Lascivie, the Italian flap courtesans involve little nudity or mythic violence. Instead they transfer that physicality to the voyeur’s own fingers as he gropes the sheet to find the elusive edge, and then probes beneath the skirt. The tall chopine clogs and men’s trousers often found there are not so much a deterrent as a frisson of gender confusion somewhat akin to the remembrance of death. Expiring too soon to partake of the delights of Bertelli’s courtesans, Pietro Aretino himself still congratulated a courtesan for her transvestite tactics in a 1547 letter:

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Staatliche Galerie Moritzburg Halle (Inv. f 270).

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Certain it is that nature has so compounded you of both sexes that in one moment you show yourself a male and in the next a female. Indeed, Duke Alessandro [de Medici] did not wish to sleep with you for any other reason than to find out if you were a hermaphrodite in reality or merely in jest. For look you, you talk like a fair lady and act like a pageboy. Anybody who did [not] know you would think that you were now the rider and now the steed …20 These power dynamics may have made the substitution of pants for petticoats more erotic than nudity. As Bertelli’s print suggests, Phyllis plays the rider, bridling Aristotle with her wiles, not her thread. In the North, the equivalent “who wears the pants” topos degenerated from these hints of sodomy into the decidedly less sexy battles of shrews and henpecked husbands—a war only occasionally spiced up by a nude Phyllis. An eighteenth-century German flap watercolor in the filmmaker Werner Nekes’s private collection is another ostensible fashion plate. It may represent the first example in which the lustful viewer’s expectations are gratified by healthy flesh.21 The combination of frontal and rear views suggest that Aretino’s delicious ambiguity still endured.

Venetian Myths of Antiquity From Romulus’s Rome to Antenor’s Venice, Italy treasured its past. While inviting participation in the current joys of Venice, interactive printmaking also helped revisit some traces of Italy’s former glory. In 1569, the painter Girolamo Muziano applied for a papal privilege to issue a complete etched reproduction of the relief on Trajan’s Column in 130 plates. As Michael Bury describes, “At that moment he intended to issue the prints either in the form of a book or, alternatively, attached to a wooden model of the column.”22 A booklet explaining the prints and the history of the column was published in 1576, when the plates were finally completed. Several of Muziano’s artists and partners died or otherwise withdrew from the project along the way. Copies of the book were issued again in 1616, but its plates were bound as single sheets. Yet at least one impression of the group may have been treated like a columnar relief. An 20 21 22

Lawner, citing Pietro Aretino, Lettre, vi, 249 (trans. Thomas Chubb), 23. Bodo von Dewitz, and Werner Nekes, eds. Ich Sehe Was, Was Du Nicht Siehst!: Sehmaschinen und Bilderwelten. Köln, Museum Ludwig: Steidl Verlag, 2002, 256. Michael Bury, The Print in Italy, 63–65.

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inventory of one of Muziano’s partners’ effects revealed: Item una colonna stampata rotolata, Item, one printed rolled column.23 Despite the Renaissance love of the antique, there is no other indication that Muziano’s ambitious miniature column was ever actually constructed. Pietro Bertelli’s image of Antenor’s tomb, however, lived on in numerous copies, the first of which accompanied his interactive nypl courtesans. Like the omnipresent gondolas carrying courtesans and brides wearing nearly identical outfits, Venice could not exist without its legendary contrast of overprotected virgins and available women. The city was said to have been founded by the Trojan hero Antenor on the day of the Annunciation, and its continuing resistance to invasion reinforced its purity.24 Venice was born of the sea, like Venus Andronyme, regardless of whether she was founded by a Trojan warrior-sailor or not. Many poets, including the famous courtesan Veronica Franco, commented on the ambivalence, suggesting, like the early seventeenth-century historian Giovanni Nicolò Doglioni, that “whoever failed to love Venice was incapable of loving Venus.” And vice versa. The blindfolded cupid accompanying Bertelli’s courtesan suggests new layers of meaning in this context, turning her into a verifiable shape and sex-changing goddess. Indeed, courtesans were almost as vital to tourism and the Venetian economy as the sea. Covered gondolas could aid seduction, just as they furnished the city’s main mode of transportation. Gondolas participated in the changing social roles of its women in other ways. The second volume of Pietro Bertelli’s costume book included a flap-equipped view of brides being escorted to their weddings. 23

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Although multi-sheet prints were sometimes stored in this fashion for convenience, there is no way to determine whether these horizontally-oriented prints were rolled end to end in numeric order, or perhaps the roll evenly allocated five etchings to each of twenty-six levels. The latter course might have approximated the spiralling narrative of the column itself, and made the prints easier to transfer to a more permanent wooden support. Bury, 65: asr, Collegio dei Notai Capitolini, no. 1770, fol. 487r. Three views of Antenor’s tomb in nearby Padua survive from this era; the first is the only double-page spread in Bertelli’s nypl series. Despite the destruction of the church behind, it remains surprisingly accurate today. Pietro copied his image for the 1596 volume of Diversaru[m], while the third image appears in Alessandro Fabri’s copy. This attention to detail suggests the monument remained contentious. Venetians routinely claimed Antenor had founded their city before reaching Padua. To retaliate, when the Paduans unearthed a giant skeleton in the thirteenth century, they instantly claimed it as their hero, building him the memorial that still stands. The Vatican impression of Fabri places Antenor’s tomb first, suggesting that this book was probably bound in Padua rather than Venice.

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(Fig. 12.7a) Signed by Giacomo Franco, this is one of the few definitely authored engravings in the collection. In Bertelli’s larger-scale gondola from the nypl, however, it is not the curtain which lifts, but the entire scene. The viewer thus bypasses the steadfast duenna and her flirtatious charge—to reveal a courtesan indecorously embracing her latest swain, rather than anticipating her impending nuptials. Franco would later revisit this topic and its social tensions for a book of his own engravings. In that case, the images gain a second title, noting that the brides are “going to visit their relatives in nunneries, accompanied by a great many gondolas.” Brides and wives, especially wealthy ones, have pride of place. In the 1570s, Jost Amman would devote a fourteen-block print to the doge’s procession in the Piazza San Marco.25 It also celebrated the symbolic marriage of the city with the sea; Amman’s print presents its five gondolas with such animation and visibility through the wicker-framed canopies that it may have served as a partial model for the Bertelli. In contrast, when Franco repeated this theme in his two books of engravings early in the seventeenth century, he followed the earlier anonymous images in always pulling his tapestries firmly down over the gondolas. In this position, they protect their occupants, rather than flaunting courtesans’ charms. Yet open spaces at the front and back could be covered by figures kneeling on the pillows, thus transforming the internal cavity into a “mobile paradise of Venus”: In 1578 the council of Ten heard a complaint that courtesans and prostitutes dressed in men’s clothing and went on tour in gondolas through the canals. The cabins, closed front and back, became mobile paradises of Venus where impressionable youths were incited to engage in sodomy and other illicit activities.26 Another illustration of the many functions of gondolas can be found in a Stammbuch watercolor from the Walters Art Gallery. That miniature depended on Bertelli’s courtesan series, but slightly altered the conceit of the first gondola scene.27 Beneath an opaque black curtain flap, the duenna-turned-procuress and courtesan from the exterior crowd together with the brazen lovers. The accompanying text coyly describes the event: “There are about 8000 gondolas

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Impressions of this oversized work are at instituions including the Albertina and the National Gallery of Art, Washington. Brown, 185. Walters Keppel album, w.477, 13.

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partly owned by private gentlemen, partly by the city of Venice; it is truly a pastime of the most pleasurable kind.” Another album image, at the British Library, interpreted this sentiment more whimsically than carnally, and added a musician. Perhaps taking a cue from the Bertelli Courtesans in the Veneto sheet, an image from the Folger Shakespeare Library around the reign of James i packs as many people as possible into one small carriage with two liftable flaps. Bertelli goes further to reveal an embracing couple under his flap. Another from the Folger set replicates Pietro’s voyeuristic sedan chair. The latter could be inspired by many sources, possibly even the anonymous engraving at the Veste Coburg.

Bitter Love As the many images of tête à tête travel suggest, the confined spaces of a litter or a small coach could prove both erotic and dangerous. In the satirical poem, Il trentuno dal Zaffetta, written by Lorenzo Venier, (a protégé of Pietro Aretino), the attraction of gondolas nearly proved disastrous for one courtesan’s reputation.28 Pretending to invite Zaffetta on a lavish tour of several islands, the irate poet-lover instead punished her for her pride. Her attempt to act the legitimate bride, come sponsa, by sitting high up in the gondola for the entire ride particularly vexed him. After the banquet he had promised her turned into a choreographed mass rape, or trente uno—not by the customary thirty-one men, but by a so-called royal eighty-one—she floated home in disgrace on a barge full of melons. The lover had intended to infect the courtesan with syphilis and thus curtail her livelihood. The poem ends instead with the poet’s dismay—Zaffetta returned to her regular work with the same arrogance only a few days later. The poet’s screed appears to be based on one of the most famous courtesans of the era, Angela del Moro, whose talents Pietro Aretino described as deceitful in a way reminiscent of the flap prints. In a December 15, 1537 letter, “he praises her only ironically by claiming that she alone transcends the vulgar, commonplace courtesan by virtue of having ‘put a mask of decency on the face of lust.’ ”29 While Bertelli’s nypl courtesan series did not explicitly censure its female protagonists in this way, or suggest they carried disease, similarly interactive prints in their circle presented more obvious objections to frivolous, or sim-

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Lorenzo Venier Il trentuno della Zaffetta, 1531. Margaret F. Rosenthal, The Honest Courtesan: Veronica Franco, Citizen and Writer in Sixteenth-Century Venice, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992, 37.

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ply profane lovemaking. A unique impression of a colored folding engraving on this theme is now in the “Dutch Drolls” album of the Cassiano del Pozzo collection at Windsor.30 Its unusual format recalls the earlier German Faltblätter, though its rectangular flaps fold horizontally and vertically. The front resembles Lorenzo Lotto’s allegorical portrait covers, but splits its naïve lovers onto two different wings. On the inside, the tone changes to misfortune and punishment raining down on the now aging, crippled pair; and internal wings showing Diana and Actaeon and other scenes reflect their hubris. The central flaps lift vertically, reinforcing both the print’s moralizing thrust and its eroticism by replicating Venus chastising Cupid. This recognizable image came from Agostino Carracci’s so-called Lascivie, a thematic group of prints which Agostino may have produced during a 1589 trip to Venice, or a few years thereafter, and the Bertelli may have reprinted.31 The Windsor work also cites the Bertelli—two folding sections from Luca’s 1588 Stato di Lussuriosi, or State of Lechers.32 For the inside upper flap, Luca perversely reverses the trope Sine Cerere et Baccho friget Venus. Instead of succoring the lovers, the trio tears them limb from limb for their lecherous appetites, completing the downward progression of Love from an allegorical paradise into a literal insane asylum cribbed from Luca’s sheet.

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Dutch Drolls Folio 88 and 88v, Windsor, Royal Collection. David Kunzle, The Early Comic Strip: Narrative Strips and Picture Stories in the European Broadsheet from c.1450 to 1825 (Berkeley, Calif., University of California Press, 1973), is the last to comment on the print, 273, fig. 9–16. Diana DeGrazie Bohlin, Prints and related drawings by the Carracci family: a catalogue raisonné (Washington: National Gallery of Art, 1979), dates the series between 1590 and 1595: 289–290; no. 182. See also Michael Bury, The Print in Italy, 75, for Agostino’s activity with the Bertelli. Luca Bertelli published at least three works by Agostino in 1582, while Orazio Bertelli, who may have been Agostino’s promoter in the city, published others. Although the single state of his Venus chastising Cupid bears no publication information, it is possible that one of the other members of the family were responsible for an unreversed copy that added a large rodent in the tree. The folding engraving repeats this detail in reverse, and like the donkey borrowed from a Bertelli copy of Nelli’s Proverbi, its components may represent another pastiche carried out by the lesser talents in the family workshop. Venus chastising Cupid was an extremely popular work. It was later copied by Peter Overadt, a printer from Cologne who produced his own interactive prints on the dangers of love in the late 1590s. Bartsch 135 (109); in Parma (33879): “At lower right above the margin: Pet. Ouer. ex.; in the lower margin: Quae lagras vitio, puerum cur. inipia lagro Proscindi.s pharetra, viribus, orbus erit.” Popular Imagery Collection, no. 61, Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas at Austin.

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A more elegant folding engraving attributed to Theodor Galle is in the Werner Nekes collection.33 Here, the blame rests squarely on the woman, especially one with power. A decorative roundel of Daniel in the lion’s den cites Ecclesiastes 25: 23, declaring: “It will be more agreeable to abide with a lion and a dragon, than to dwell with a wicked woman.” The stately woman mentioned has breasts bared in the style of the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth, and as a sign of her bounteous generosity she dispenses milk into the mouth of an admirer.34 Another grasps the seeming goddess’ antique-sandaled foot and attempts to kiss her very toes. The exposure of her muscular knee joins the Latin and French text in exhorting the viewer to beware love’s bitter sting: “Oeillade ceste carte: ô qu’amour est amer!” The flaps part once to reveal her true, apish face, the snakes nesting in her belly, and writhing promises of eternal damnation for those who touch any of her sex. Memento-mori flap prints from Cologne inspired this finely-dressed figure, and its transformation may have likewise inspired an interactive drawing concerning Queen Elizabeth i.35 (Fig. 12.13) On the opening flap, its anonymous poet compares the device to the golden apple Paris awarded the fairest goddess. This exhorts the viewer to assume Paris’s role—and so pass favorable judgment on the Queen herself: As Paris had a goulden Ball/ for to present the Queene withall// So I present unto youre veiw/ this small conceite invented new// Yf you be pleased then I am blest/ lifte up this leafe and veiw the rest./ This “conceit” was an allegorical tribute to the long and turbulent reign of Queen Elizabeth—which would end with her death sixteen days later. Elizabeth’s beauty trumps the trio of goddesses from the first stanza; although they share the same stately body, their heads appear on three separate, horizontally-

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von Dewitz, Nekes, 256. Jonathan Sawday, The Body Emblazoned: Dissection and the Human Body in Renaissance Culture (New York: Routledge, 1995), 197–198. “As Louis Adrian Montrose observes, the queen presided over a court in which she was ‘the source of her subjects’ social sustenance, the fount of all preferments … part Madonna, part Ephesian Diana.’ … Bare-breasted, as were all her ladies at court prior to marriage (an event for which her permission was required), the queen circulated among all her subjects. In 1597, a visiting French ambassador (Montrose records) described [Elizabeth] as wearing: black taffeta, bound with gold lace … a petticoat of white damask, girdled, and open in front as was also her chemise, in such a manner that she often opened this dress, and one could see all her belly, and even to her navel …” Folger Shakespeare Library, V.b.319.

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Elizabethan Conceit [manuscript], March 8, 1602/3 [Shrove Tuesday]. Black, brown, gray, orange, purple, and red ink, and paint on parchment, partially cut, and folded into fifteen rectangles: 11.5 × 21 cm ( folded); 53.5×42.3cm (sheet). Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington, d.c. (V.b.319).

opening flaps. The next two verses suggest the queen’s violent heroism— victorious David, Judith and Joshua interchangeably grasp one decapitated head, while Pyramus, Thisbe and Dido sacrifice their lives and love on the same bloody sword. Finally, the Archangel Michael and the Madonna of the Apocalypse unfold to reveal the sinless Virgin Queen herself, complete with a trill of triumphal musical notes. Thus this unique interactive drawing engages additional senses, with touch, sight, and finally, hearing required for its fullest appreciation.

Memento Mori Even toward the end of the sixteenth century, the fear of death was never as eloquently portrayed in Italy as it was in the North, with a few notable exceptions. The chiaroscuro woodcut artist Andrea Andreani published a most effective interactive memento mori in 1588. (Fig. 12.14) This work expanded Hans

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Andrea Andreani (Italian, 1559–1629), Allegory of Death, 1588. Chiaroscuro woodcut: 50.2 × 33.7 cm (sheet). Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum (g7519).

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Rudolph Manuel Deutsch’s lottery wheel of the Catholic Church into an architectural folly supported by skeletons. (Fig. 6.4) The trio of spinning crones— the Fates—huddled near the top lack Hans Baldung Grien’s witches’ rage, but an unmistakably Northern reference crowns the work. Death’s skeletally animated Coat of Arms from Hans Holbein the Younger’s Dance of Death readies a boulder to lob at anyone who would deny that their hourglass is empty. The volvelle at the center offers a dismal choice of eight grinning skulls with ecclesiastical headgear still in place. The inner dial of the Harvard Art Museum impression has been printed in a separate yellow tone on top of the black line block. This contrast highlights both its function and the crescent-moon shaped scythe behind its crouching pointer-skeleton. Three letters on the dial complete the fortunes uttered by the skulls, but the viewer has already gained that fatal knowledge. With their arms stretched out to each other above the fateful volvelle, Adam and Eve despondently share humanity’s forbidden fruit. In contrast to Andreani’s rich treatment of the subject, and his subsequent images of a trompe l’oeil Skull and a Woman Contemplating a Skull in the 1590s, the hereafter receives short shrift in Pietro Bertelli’s nypl flap series. While Antenor’s remains are enshrined and duly revered, the courtesan with a mirror is the only living figure reflecting on her own conduct and mortality. The dress of the woman entertaining maskers on the opposite page may reveal actual underskirts, rather than trousers, but the introspective courtesan on the right conceals a different surprise. (Fig. 12.4) She points to an emphatic warning overhead, “errige oculos et vide quid eris,” “Open your eyes, and see what you will become,” which resembles the classic text above Adam’s skeleton in Masaccio’s Trinity, “I was what you are, and am what you yet shall be.” As this is the only text explicitly addressed to the viewer in the entire nypl set, the viewer anticipates that something new will appear under the flap. But this text is not the reason the skeleton legs beneath her skirt lack the drama and foreshadowing of the snake circlet from the German Spinner. (Fig. 12.12) Clumsily designed and executed, the insubstantial draftsmanship of the bony webbed feet and legs all but eliminates the fearfully darker tone established by Andreani. The memento-mori sheets published in Cologne by Johannes Bussemacher and Peter Overadt soon after 1596 much improved upon Pietro Bertelli’s less than shocking scene. These related to the costume books published in their city as well as their interactive German and Italian precursors.36 As with Pietro’s

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Johannes Bussemacher published a Stam und Wapenbuchlin in 1600 with numerous costume engravings by Heinrich Wirings and Johann Hogenberg. These were designed after

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courtesan sheets, the memento mori engravings survive in several versions, each known in two to four impressions. (Figs. 12.15–16) The engraver of the first flap memento mori published in Cologne, Matthäus Greuter, was active in Lyon. He briefly stopped in Germany to reprint or sell his plates before moving to Italy, where he produced an extravagant book of globe gores, among other prints. The best-known impression of his memento mori is in the manuscript department of the Berlin Staatsbibliothek, while a recently located impression at WalburgWolfegg likewise represents the second state.37 (Fig. 12.15) The credit line at the bottom, “Math. Greuter ft Lugduni 1596,” is countered with an even smaller line of script at the top edge of the frame’s lower rim, “Iohan bufsemacher imprimit Coloniae.” Bussemacher, evidently taken with the conceit, published another figure of a woman with a liftable skirt shortly thereafter on the same model. Greuter carried out his engraving with significantly more skill than the Bertelli images, an undertaking that required innovative craftsmanship. The grape-arbor frame with its cherubs and Adam and Eve figures surrounding the arched plate with the Pride was printed from a separate plate. As with the Bertelli courtesan, Greuter’s figure of Pride points upward with her left hand to a warning: “omnis caro foenum, et gloria eius sicut flos agri,” (Isaiah 40:6–8). Like the Job quote from Cornelis Bos’s flap-anatomies of Eve with a flower, each Bible verse cited in the Cologne genre expands fourfold, and permeates other aspects of the interactive image: The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field: The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever. The woman’s voluminous skirt occupies most of the central plate, where she stands on a hill with flowers on either side punctuating the message of decay.

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Jean Jacques Boissard’s 1581 Habitus Variarum Orbis Gentium, and its engravings by Julius Goltzius, another relative of Hendrick and Conrad. That work depended on the Cologne printer Abraham de Bruyn’s Omnium pene Europae, Asiae, Aphricae atque Americae gentium habitus (1577 Cologne, and 1581 Antwerp). All of these were beholden to Hans Weigel and Jost Amman’s 1577 Habitus praecipuorum populorum woodcuts, which in turn depended on Nicolas de Nicolay’s Turkish (from 1568) and Enea Vico’s Spanish figures (ca. 1558). Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Handschriftenabteilung, Ya 2840. The Wolfegg impression appears on fol. 173 of album 243, containing “Caricatures and Capriccios”.

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figure 12.15

Matthäus Greuter (German, 1564–1638), Pride, 1596. Engraving with skirt flap: approx. 29 × 20 cm (plate). stabi berlin (Ya 2840).

The Adam and Eve with their fig leaves in the border are slightly larger than half her size, while the putti blowing bubbles, toying with a whirligig, turning an hourglass, and playing with the tempting snake symphonically allude to a secondary meaning, should the viewer overlook the central skull escutcheon with its crossbone-entwined snake. The sheet nonetheless remains subtler than Greuter’s other great monument to mortality.38 (Fig. 12.17) This image of the skull with the title memento mori was reprinted in Cologne by Peter Overadt, who also published a flapprint Pride by Conrad Goltzius. In the Coburg impression, an early viewer inscribed the skull itself with a meditation on the meaning of death, cen-

38

New Hollstein German 222 Coburg (i,356,6b); Munich gs (62.326). gnm (hb 25117) has an impression of the skull without Overadt’s name, which Greuter may have published himself. For more on this skull and other memento mori prints, see Karr Schmidt, “Memento Mori: The Deadly Art of Interaction,” 262–294. The Overadt Pride bears his name on the exterior, but Conrad Goltzius only appears as a tiny “cg” above the figure of Eve under the flap. This detail has been overlooked, but is visible in Staatliche Galerie Moritzburg Halle, Inv. f756.

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figure 12.16a–b Conrad Goltzius (Dutch, active 1587–1597), Pride, 1596. Engraving with skirt flap: 27.2 × 19.5 cm (plate). nga (1964.8.1048).

tered on the personal gift of Christ’s sacrifice, “dass ich leben soll,” “so that I might live.” Another impression, now at the Staatliche Graphische Sammlung in Munich, also inspired an interaction with the image, although this viewer did not inscribe the skull’s bleached pate, but rather scrawled “Mortis” in large letters at the bottom. Greuter’s flap is perhaps the easiest to discern of the Cologne memento mori prints as it uncovers Pride’s secrets in the straightforward way of the Venetian courtesans. (Fig. 12.15) Glue has stained the top of the skirt at Berlin, making it slightly shiny as well. Still, had the image been kept in an album, it might have produced quite a startling reaction from perusers expecting a titillating fashion show. Beneath the flap appear two skeletal legs delicately poised in front of a laureled skull-topped coffin. In the archival folder housing it today, the slight suction produced by lifting the upper cover too swiftly pulls the skirt eerily upward, as if of the print’s own volition, while the lower left edge of the flap on the Waldburg-Wolfegg impression has been pasted down, so only three-quarters of its undercarriage can be seen. True to the print’s Lyon origins, the cloth covering the casket is labeled with a French approximation of the Latin motto: “Toute la chair comme est foin, et sa gloire/ comme la fleur au champ.” The steep angle of the coffin makes it project too far back for any skirt to contain, unless the corpse was a child.

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figure 12.16c Detail of peacock from Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam impression (rp-p-1939–303).

Unlike the predominantly female Bertelli prints, two dilapidated copies after Greuter make up a male and female pair, now in the Staatliche Galerie Moritzburg Halle.39 The funereal cloths over their coffins sport a blank white cross. The mottos above the figures have changed as well, to “Love is Blind,” for the woman—which might be better suited to the Courtesan and Blind Cupid by Bertelli—and “Virgin’s Mirror” for the man. These unique impressions lack their original flaps; in the man’s case, it has been torn away, and with it everything below his doublet that was not made of bone. An unconvincing use of space and decreased attention to shadow lead to the particularly odd suggestion that the coffin is levitating, with its leftmost corner poking up under the man’s cloak next to his sword, which is itself hanging in midair, as the trousers to which it would have been fastened have entirely vanished. The details of the woman’s headdress, the positioning of her hands and the coffin between her legs are so similar to the Greuter model that they strongly suggest Greuter’s set included a male pendant as well. If the Halle copies are accurate, the scene beneath his flap would probably have been the same as the Berlin Pride.40 The next generation of these figures would duly expand the prints’ narrative undertones.

39 40

Halle (f691 and f755). Ulrike Griese (Halle) has suggested that Peter Overadt was the publisher, as he printed at least one pair of flap prints by Conrad Goltzius, and a skull memento mori by Greuter. Ulrike Griese, Frau Hoeffart & Monsieur Alamode: Modecritik auf illustrierten Flugblättern des 16. und 17. Jahrunderts. Ausstellung von 21 Juni bis 19 Juli 1998. (Staatliche Galerie Moritzburg Halle, 1998), 31.

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figure 12.17

Matthäus Greuter (German, 1564–1638), Memento Mori, ca. 1596. Engraving: 24.2 × 17.1 cm (within plate). veste coburg (i,356,6b).

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Another pair of Cologne memento mori prints survive, sharing the same border plate. Conrad Goltzius (or Goltz), a relative of the famous Hendrick, produced at least three Pride images, including the one male known. He also published with Bussemacher and Overadt, who, as Bernadette Schöller’s Kölner Druckgraphik der Gegenreformation demonstrates, were two of the city’s major publishers at the time.41 Both of Goltzius’s female Prides are at the Rijksmuseum, suggesting a contemporary trade with strong roots reaching back into the Netherlands, especially considering the artist’s family ties.42 Also dating from around 1600, the Theodor Galle folding engraving discussed earlier intensifies the Cologne Prides’s harsh judgment of women. While Galle’s figure stands supreme over her men, Goltzius offered a male counterpoint. Although the female Pride Goltzius designed for Peter Overadt shares her Seven Deadly Sins-themed border with her mate, she remains eternally responsible for the Fall, as it is literally reenacted between her legs. Three impressions of the man survive, with complete examples at the British Museum (and since 2010), at the Rijksmuseum, and one lacking its flap at Waldburg-Wolfegg. His skeleton bones may frame the Expulsion, but his well-heeled nonchalance before the flap is raised betrays no more sense of wrongdoing than Adam. The bm impression lines up the flap with its background admirably; only the plate line on the right side, and the slight overlap onto Overadt’s name give the game away. Goltzius also used this coy embellishment for his single Pride—in the correctly assembled impression at the National Gallery of Art, the skirt hangs teasingly just over the lower border. (Fig. 12.16a) By pairing male and female allegories of pride, Goltzius cycles from the end of the sixteenth century back to the thirteenth, when Frau Welt and her equally oblivious Fürst der Welt (Prince of the World) appeared as sculptural reminders

41

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Bernadette Schöller, Kölner Druckgraphik der Gegenreformation: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte religiöser Bildpropaganda zur Zeit der Glaubenskämpfe mit einem Katalog der Einblattdrucke des Verlages Johann Bussemacher (Köln: Kölnisches Stadtmuseum, 1992), especially the appendix on Bussemacher prints. Gillis van Breen, a Netherlandish artist, produced at least one view of a woman with similar skeletal legs under a flap skirt (now missing in the Rijksmuseum impression). The nypl possesses two prints of amorous figures in interiors by Breen that were published by Conrad Goltzius, suggesting Breen copied the Cologne model, and thus keeping the Pride flap-print inspiration tightly related to a single circle. A third print at the nypl may even have been designed by Goltzius and engraved by Breen. This allegory of youth and death shows a young man with his perishable flower standing before a tomb inscribed with the words seen above Masaccio’s Adam, “Quod Es Fui, Quod Sum Eris.” Clifford Ackley made this attribution as a note on the nypl folder.

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of the consequences of sinful living. From the front, their bodies and souls seemed unblemished, while putrefaction set in from the rear.43 (Fig. 12.18) Statues of these figures were positioned on pillars outside of churches as a physical reminder to the congregation that salvation was not a foregone conclusion unless one’s good deeds outweighed the bad. Obviously this motto, once universally popular in the North appealed more to Catholic territories after the Reformation emphasized faith alone. These sculptures vividly manifested the sin of hypocrisy: faces serene and unflappable, blithely unaware that their backsides—and thus their insides—were infested with rodents, vipers, and toads as insistent as those courting the woodcut Spinner. Luxury sculptures made of ivory or boxwood expressed the same thought throughout the sixteenth century. (Fig. 12.19) These were produced for the affluent who wished for something between the temporary paper object and the double-decker transi tomb, or formal painted portrait panels with skeletons hiding on the verso.44 Although the most realistic of the sculptures lacked removable parts, some creative carvings made of fine wood did require interaction. The British Museum and the Cloisters both possess boxwood coffins small enough to hold in one’s hand.45 These open to reveal the damnation of Dives for refusing to succor a poor man, and thus the horrors of one’s personal Last Judgment. Memento mori inspired the carved-ivory pendant bead of Queen Anna of Bohemia’s rosary (Vienna Schatzkammer), and later polychrome sculptures— including at least one half beauteous woman, half skeleton—used for the mundane task of holding towels.46 As the memento mori’s resurgence near the new century—even within the Venetian courtesan genre—shows, this eschatological message had not been exhausted, and continued to instill fear in men and women. Goltzius’s Prides also contrast dramatically with the more plainly delineated Venetian courtesans. His purer engravings are sinuous delights that exude sex from every undulating line even before the skirts have been lifted. At the same time, they remain inextricably linked to the sins of vanity and

43 44

45 46

The standard text on these figures is W. Stammler, Frau Welt, eine Mittlealtische Allegorie (Universitätsverlag, Freiburg 1959), 63. One example has been split into two panels, the anonymous German painting from Ulm ca. 1470, with the lifelike portrait pair side now in the Cleveland Museum of Art and the skeletons on the verso, in Musee del’Oeuvre Notre Dame, Strasbourg. Cloisters, no. 1985.136; British Museum, wb 240. Anna’s rosary is Inv. no. d5 in the Vienna Schatzkammer. For an illustration of the towelholding memento mori, see Peter Jezler, Himmel, Hölle Fegefeuer: Das Jenseits im Mittelalter (Gesellschaft für das Schweizerische Landesmuseum: Verlag Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 1994), no. 13, 183.

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Prince of the World (Fürst der Welt), 1320–1330. Sandstone sculpture: Just under life-sized, about 122 cm tall. St. Sebalduskirche, Nuremberg.

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figure 12.19

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Western Switzerland, Memento Mori, ca. 1520. Ivory and ebony: 12.5×42cm. Museum Schnütgen, Cologne (Inv. No. b 160).

promiscuity which Bertelli glossed over in his Venetian idiom. Despite Goltzius’s finesse with the burin, his Prides’s covert visions of death are as stark as the rough-cut Spinner’s, while Bertelli’s awkward reference to mortality suggests more of a carnival disguise than a true menace. Although the Unicorns, Christ Childs and Angels of the Loßbücher dials do not reappear in the Counter-Reformation memento mori, these later prints manage a subtle illusionism missing from the courtesan prints and some of the moralizing sculptures. In Goltzius’s Prides in particular, haughty peacocks transform into serpents writhing artfully around the women’s skeleton legs. While the snakes surrounding the earlier woodcut Spinner stop outside her

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flesh, these wriggle through Pride’s pelvis in the Overadt engraving—to the chagrin of a later owner, who ripped out the offending biblical nudes in the impression in Halle. As the interior scenes gain more resonance than the courtesans’ undergarments, even the placement of the exterior flap dramatically affects each Pride’s appearance. The equally-coiffed Courtesans lack this important visual connection between their bodies and skirts. Although Greuter’s flap only lifts a small panel of fabric, the more complicated Goltzius Pride—which Bussemacher published, bare breasts and all— whisks away the background peacock too. (Fig. 12.16b) The flap extends past a v-shaped dip into the skirt, and cuts straight across the middle of the sleeves. From the outside, Pride grasps a stalk of lilies and a dainty handkerchief much like those held by Bertelli’s women. Yet with a seamless transformation worthy of Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch’s lottery dial, the stalk becomes a bone, the cloth an hourglass. (Fig. 6.4) These effects depended in part on how the sheets were constructed. For instance, in the National Gallery of Art (nga) and Berlin Lipperheide impressions, the neck of the peacock remains long and elegant. A third impression from the Rijksmuseum has been pasted too high, ending the bird’s neck with a stubby ring. (Fig. 12.16c) To worsen the insult, the edges of the peacock’s feathers have been less neatly excised, leaving them rounded and without the mystery of the nga’s contoured finish, a fault also seen in the Waldburg-Wolfegg impression. Her overhead moralizing text, “exterius picta, sumque interius maledicta/ magnifice ficta sum foeda superbia dicta,” makes an extraordinary commentary on the duality of the image that could as easily apply to Vogtherr’s female anatomy flaps: “I am painted on the outside, and evil within.” This literal dichotomy between lowered and lifted flaps continues with its moral, decrying the seductive face of the cardinal sin at the same time as it complements the object itself: “I am a magnificent fiction, called foul Pride.” The text below counters Pride’s effortless visual transitions with an account of how she will meet her penniless, pitiful end. That end was foretold by the fruits of knowledge that filled the swags above her head, grew on the snake-infested tree behind her pelvis, and filled the barge on which Lorenzo Venier sent the proud courtesan Zaffetta home in disgrace. Northern private printers had long dominated the market for the interactive book, zealously managing every minute detail of their volvelle- and flap-laden masterpieces to avoid user- and construction-error. The limitations of this caution were reflected in distinct international variations on the genre. Bertelli’s courtesans were enjoyed as guiltlessly throughout Italy as Spirito’s dial-less Libro dela ventura. Meanwhile, the moralizing group therapy of German lottery books banked on disclaimers that absolved their own authors of all blame.

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Northern Memento mori engravings similarly epitomized the punishment for those who desired to know and touch too much. The Cologne printers thus issued a deeply seated and universal moral warning against the sin of Pride, a sentiment predating the Reformation. Pietro Bertelli’s courtesans instead draw on the positive themes of civic pride, identity, and most especially, satisfaction in their city’s origins and accomplishments. Even the choice of the book preceding the flap engravings in their nypl album is telling, for as noted earlier, Donato Bertelli’s True Image of the Most Noble Cities of the World opens in Venice. Yet it was the flap prints’ increasing fame that would also immortalize Pietro’s interactive Venice. Although the Italian sheets drew upon a classical if apocryphal past in Antenor and the Venus-Virgin, and in Phyllis and Aristotle—it is the Northern command of the memento mori that continues to shock. Greuter’s distinctive coffins reappeared in a Petrarchan Triumph series he dedicated to Henri de Savoie the same year as his Pride. Like the courtesan’s blind Cupid, Venice conquered many hearts, but in Time, Chastity and sterile Death outweighed Love. Beyond the perils of everyday living, syphilis remained a real threat throughout Europe. Death unquestionably lurked behind every skirt printed in Cologne, but it was up to the user to lift the flap and come to terms with his or her own mortality. Judging from the drastically censored Halle impression of a Goltzius Pride, this was a topic as sensual as it was severe. For the courtesan culture of Venice in particular, syphilis became a threat no manner of complicated posturing or topsy-turvy printmaking could eradicate. And yet the playful subject matter of Pietro Bertelli’s prints could also be seen as subversively moralistic, rather than purely didactic or pornographic. By insisting on physical user interaction, these engravings directly implicate the viewer in his own disorderly and potentially hazardous sexual misconduct. The illicit Loßbuch games of chance played themselves out once again, but this time they took place beneath printed women’s skirts. Unlike the deadly foregone conclusion of the Prides, the Courtesans still retained an air of mystery. Pietro Bertelli’s prints allowed, even forced their users to transgress—and come back for more. With the power to surprise in each new printed, pirated or copied edition, interactive books guaranteed themselves ever expanding, captive audiences on an international scale.

afterword

A User’s Guide to Art? Interactive and sculptural prints and books continued to saturate German humanist and noble society at nearly the same moment in the early seventeenth century as did the cabinet of curiosities. They initially coexisted, both offering ways that their owners could personally explore and possess the natural, artistic and intellectual aspects of the world. Just as the Kunstkammer aspired to an encyclopedic scope, interactive prints belong to four of the five categories espoused by Duke Albrecht v of Bavaria’s adviser, Samuel Quiccheberg. Naturalia excluded, his genres embraced the artificial hybridity and varied iconographies of these prints: religious art, history and contemporary events; sculpture and numismatics; scientific and mechanical instruments; paintings and graphic works.1 As argued above, interactive prints came into being as religious surrogates, but their innovative blend of graphic art and three-dimensional design made them applicable to all aspects of art and history. Again, Apian and Hartmann’s “Instrumentle auff Papier” have been documented in early Kunstkammern and libraries.2 Though composed of paper, they retained elements of both sculpture and two-dimensional graphics. Thus Hartmann’s paper crucifix sundial fit any of the four categories. (Fig. 7.1) It could have been considered a devotional object due to its religious theme and reference to alarming current events; it demonstrated an undeniable sculptural form; and it actually functioned as a timepiece. Finally, it remained a work of art as a black and white—or even painted woodcut. Yet by the end of the seventeenth century, interactive prints became overexposed and repetitive in theme, offering few surprises for the curious and even fewer for the learned. The gradual decline of humanism correspondingly began to reduce the market for the most complex interactive books, while entrepreneurs reprinted interactive broadsheets without updates. Perhaps the lessons of self-motivated visual discovery they promoted had become 1 Samuel Quiccheberg, Inscriptiones vel tituli theatri: amplissimi, complectentis rerum vniuersitatis singulas materias et imagines eximias, ut idem recte quoq. dici possit … (Munich, 1565). 2 As already noted in Part Three, Hartmann’s two hab albums were owned by Duke August ii and his son during the seventeenth century, while a constructed quadrant from the Quadrans Apiani was probably in Duke Albrecht v’s mid-sixteenth century collection (inventoried in 1598).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2018 | doi: 10.1163/9789004354135_015

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ingrained in society, and only the young could benefit from them. Meanwhile, adults had discovered the charms of newer scientific marvels and media. While the globe gore trade continued in the Netherlands throughout the seventeenth century, navigational books were also published with volvelles— many copying earlier models, particularly those of Peter Apian.3 The format of devotional prints remained constant, and so triptych-shaped paper shrines and letters were still being produced into the nineteenth century, eventually inspiring German advent calendars with flaps counting down the days until Christmas. The speed of manufacture improved during the Biedermeyer era, leading to increasingly sentimental friendship and greeting cards with lovers instead of saints emerging from flowers. These cards became aggressively interactive, as the scores exhibited in the 2004–2005 Käufliches Gefühle exhibition at the Germanisches Nationalmuseum showed by including a large-scale heart collaged with dozens of valentines and other cards.4 Printed board games remain popular today, and anatomical illustrations are still occasionally produced with transparent overlays. However, despite the ingenuity of Robert Sabuda and other contemporary paper engineering artists, flaps and volvelles are no longer considered ingenious tools for interpreting the universe. They became toys for children rather than curiosities for the ages. Yet they still require the sensory perception of the human eye and the human hand for interpretation; a conceit born of the Renaissance. The reformulation of interactive and sculptural prints as didactic playthings for children—such as the Faltblätter-like folding Harlequinades from around the early 1700s—was perhaps the clearest sign of a break from their former status. (Fig. 13.1) The transition was not entirely unpredictable, for many previous works were already childlike, despite their grown-up audience. The handwritten, drawn, and colored “Elizabethan Conceit” related visually and textually to the Harlequinade while presenting a complex ode to Queen Elizabeth.5 (Fig. 12.13) Dated only sixteen days before her death in 1603, the Folger Library’s parchment sheet unfolds fourteen flaps to transform a host of gods and goddesses, heroes and heroines—all with interchangeable heads—into a monument celebrating the many identities of the Virgin Queen herself. Despite its simple rhymes and deceptively naïve drawings, the playfulness of the folding

3 Theunis Jacobsz, Niew en groote Lotos mans zeespiegel … (Amsterdam: J.&C. Loots-Man, 1687), copies a volvelle design initially printed in Apian’s 1524 Cosmographicus liber. 4 Yasmin Doosry, Käufliche Gefühle: Freundschafts- und Glückwunschbillets des Biedermeier. (Verlag des Germanischen Nationalmuseums: Nürnberg, 2004). 5 Folger Shakespeare Library, V.b.319.

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figure 13.1 British, Harlequin’s Invasion: a New Pantomine (London: R. Sayer [1770]). Folding sheet of four hand-colored engravings with eight flaps (pasted on at top and bottom): 18.3 × 7.8 cm (each engraving, closed); 36×7.8 (each engraving, flaps open); 18.3 × 31.6 cm ( full sheet). Newberry Library, Chicago (Wing zp 745 .s274).

device and its theatrical juxtaposition of characters also reflect another meaning. The work’s date, March 8, was Shrove Tuesday, the feast day just before Lent. Thus this “conceit” was likely meant as a carnival gift,6 and as such was certainly not intended for a child. Only an adult audience would have appreciated its origins in continental Protestant propaganda, as well as in interactive Catholic prints and carnival crowns. (Fig. 1.3) As a handmade, drawn, and inscribed object, the “conceit’s” complexity and originality would have distanced it from similar printed devices sold at the time. Although some devotional traditions persisted, several reasons for the decline of the interactive and sculptural print had already appeared by the end 6 Erin Blake, “Elizabethan conceit,” The Pen’s Excellencie: treasures from the manuscript collection of the Folger Shakespeare Library, Heather Wolfe, ed. (Washington d.c.: Folger Shakespeare Library, 2002), 115. Blake notes the work’s likely role in the carnival season, and rightly emphasizes the relationship of the interactive format to poetry as well as dance.

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of the sixteenth century. Like the countless rare acquisitions required for a Kunstkammer, the Stammbuch, or album amicorum, served to collect signatures, images, and classical and religious mottos. These books grew in popularity from mid-century as a means of recording travel, notes from friends, relatives or professors, and even the occasional newsworthy curiosity.7 Such composite volumes offered a location for interactive prints, whether they were tipped or copied into the manuscript.8 Jost Amman published the first printed Stammbuch in 1579, Stam und WapenBuch: Darinnen allerley lere Schillt und Helm.9 By leaving numerous heraldic shields and banderoles blank for the arms and titles of acquaintances, he turned the entire book into an interactive print which buyers could annotate themselves, or other artists could use as models. (Fig. 13.2) The expatriate Netherlandish artist Theodor de Bry and his son Johann Theodor would produce the first engraved Stammbuch in 1592, with an innovative flap print of an amorous couple in a barrel being discovered by hunters, as well as a significant amount of imagery based on Amman.10 (Fig. 13.3) While Amman printed his woodcuts on both sides of the page, the books by the de Bry family offered the luxury of blank versos for easier insertion of miniatures. As surviving annotated copies at the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Herzog August Bibliothek, and Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek in Weimar show, these de Bry books were sometimes interleaved with extra paper nonetheless by their well-connected owners.11 Books of all varieties were also used for this purpose, and even Jost Amman’s 1582 Jagdbuch remained popular as the basis for the Egerton 1208 Stammbuch in the British Library and the Vexierbuch with its deck of cards and backgammon board from Schloß Ambras.12 7

8

9 10 11 12

Hainhofer’s Stammbuch (hab Cod. Guelf. 210 Extrav.) includes a miniature from 1619 of a famous man who was born without arms but could still write and play board games, all with his feet, fol. 454. At least three Stammbuch miniatures after the Bertelli interactive prints include the flaps: Hainhofer, Walters (w. 477: fol. 13, gondola and fol. 15, courtesan); Hainhofer (hab Cod. Guelf. 210 Extrav.: fol. 148, courtesan); British Library (Egerton 1208, fol. 19, gondola). Jost Amman, Stam und Wapenbuch hochs und niders Standts: Darinnen allerley lere Schillt und Helm gantz kuenstlich gerissen sind (Frankfurt am Main: Sigmund Feyerabend, 1579). Theodor de Bry, Emblemata nobilitate et vulgo scitu digna … Stam und Wapenbuch (Frankfurt am Main, 1592). Johann Theodor de Bry published a similar emblem book in 1611: Io. Theodorum de Bry, Emblemata Saecularia … Stamm und Wapenbüchlein (Oppenheim, 1611). The imagery of this hunting book also formed the basis for a set of frescoes in the Kratochvíle summerhouse near Netolice, and was probably painted by the Rožmberk painter, George Widmann, after the house was completed in 1589.

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Jost Amman (Swiss, 1539–1591), Emblem of Hope with Blank Heraldic Shield, from Anthologia Gnomonica, 1579, 156. Woodcut and letterpress: 7.8 × 11 cm (image); 10 × 15.5 cm (sheet). aic (1938.88.52).

Two voracious collectors in the early Baroque period demonstrate how the interactive print’s popularity reached its peak in relation to the Stammbuch and the cabinet of curiosity. Even in their youth, Duke August ii of Braunschweig and Lüneburg (1579–1666), and Philipp Hainhofer of Augsburg (1578–1647) would be constantly exposed to interactive images as part of the rites of passage of education and travel. Hainhofer was nineteen in 1597 when an acquaintance in Cologne gave him a painted miniature after Pietro Bertelli’s Courtesan and Blind Cupid for his Stammbuch. (Fig. 13.4) The comely lass appears slightly younger than her Venetian source, and modestly pulls her ostrich-feather fan to her breast rather than waving it for attention. A Latin motto above (from Plutarch via Erasmus’s Adagia), “Sublata lucerna, nihil interest inter muliera,”

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figure 13.3

Theodor de Bry (Flemish, 1528–1598), Unequal Lovers Outside in a Barrel, in Emblemata Nobilitate, 1592, emblem 11. Engraving with barrel-lid flap: 2.5 × 1.4 cm ( flap); 16.4 × 7.7 (plate). Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (2903–720).

figure 13.4

Italian (Venice), Venetian Courtesan, in Philipp Hainhofer Stammbuch, entry dated 1597. Gouache miniature with skirt flap: 4.7×3cm ( flap); 14.7×9.1cm (miniature); 20.5 × 14 cm (sheet). hab (Cod. Guelf. 210 Extrav., fol. 148).

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once the light’s out, women are all the same, concisely indicates her willingness to reveal her quotidian charms. Her skirt thus contains a liftable panel hidden in its golden brocade. This conceals the same tall chopines and a pair of shocking-pink ribboned stockings, as well as a bright blue undergarment of a more feminine nature than the breeches worn by many of Pietro’s ladies.13 Even so, the image is a warning to maintain one’s guard against loose women. As the Italian motto has it, “Poco senno basta, à chi fortuna è buona,” Not much sense is necessary for those with good fortune. Duke August received the first edition of Theodor de Bry’s Stammbuch, the Emblemata Nobilitate in 1594, from his uncle, Duke Bogislaus xiii von Pommern and his wife Clara. As a dedication page they chose the one with the flap—and its unusual barrel erotica subject. Duke Bogislaus added his comment above this rural peepshow—“Nusquam tuta fides,” Nowhere is there total Fidelity. Clara inscribed the gift with a more lighthearted sentiment on the blank page opposite, a.z.s.z.: Alles zu Seiner Zeit, or “Everything in its Time,” possibly a comment either on August’s youth, or on the unseemly sexual appetite of the old man in the engraving. Perhaps to occupy the wait until his maturity, Duke Bogislaus has “given this little Stammbuch” to his nephew, “Duke August of Braunschweig and Lüneburg, to fill out and enjoy thereafter.”14 At age seventeen, Duke August certainly seems to have enjoyed the book, though perhaps too enthusiastically. The barrel flap has gone missing, with only a slight glue residue remaining. He may even have purchased the now unique impression of a related single-sheet flap broadsheet of lovers in a wine cellar barrel about to be discovered by the woman’s husband. De Bry may have copied this sheet for his second Stammbuch, the Emblemata Saecularia of 1596, again with a movable flap barrel lid. A second version with French text at Walburg-Wolfegg testifies to its popularity. (Fig. 13.5) That adulterous scene makes another addition to the classical tales of lusty lovers from the Golden Ass and the Decameron.15

13 14

15

The Walters (w. 477, fol. 15) courtesan has pants and a dagger concealed beneath the skirt; thus, that image is clearly aware of the gender issue raised in the Italian version. Wolfgang Harms and Maria von Katte, eds., Herzog August D.J. zu Braunschweig und Lüneburg: Stammbuch 1594–1604: Theodor de Bry Stam Und Wapenbuch, Francf. a. M. 1592 (Stuttgart: Verlag Muller und Schindler, 1979), 13. Giovanni Boccaccio (Italian, 1313–1375), reused the thirty-eighth chapter of Apuleius’s (ca. 123/5–180a.d.) Golden Ass in his Decameron. On the seventh day Filostrato tells the second story, concerning a woman named Peronella, her husband and her lover Gianello. Although she initially hides her lover in the barrel rather than joining him there, as in the de Bry, her clever ruse—of selling him the barrel and making her husband get entirely

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figure 13.5

399

Theodor de Bry (Flemish, 1528–1598), Adulterous Lovers in a Wine Barrel, ca. 1598. Engraving with flap (here missing) and letterpress in French: 17.2 × 22.6 cm (sheet). waldburg-wolfegg (album 128, no. 381).

While unusual, the 1592 Stammbuch outdoor barrel scene is not unique. It also is strikingly subtler than the larger-scale engraving only known at Waldburg-Wolfegg that likely inspired it. (Fig. 13.6) Both show older men chastised for their dalliances with younger women. In the larger, more explicit work, the woman is not only labeled as a whore (hure) in the dialogue, but when the flap is lifted, she appears fully naked, wiping away the sweat from lovemaking. The

inside to clean it—allows Gianello to finish taking his pleasure as she leans over to cover the opening. The lovers were nameless in The Golden Ass, but the adultery was more explicit. Their barrel was a large tub, which the husband turned upside down and crawled underneath to clean. Then the lovers coupled at their leisure on top of the tub, directly above the husband’s head. De Bry seems to be unique in suggesting intercourse inside the barrel. By 1602, Shakespeare would have the Merry Wives of Windsor humiliatingly hide Falstaff in a basket of dirty laundry, which proves an effective means of escape (into the freezing Thames), but not seduction. (Act 3: Scene 3)

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figure 13.6 German, Prostitute and Old Man in a Barrel, with Soldiers, before 1592. Engraving with flap: 17.4 × 22.8 cm (sheet). waldburg-wolfegg (album 128, no. 380).

Latin word “fornice” in the motto below the 1592 emblem already referred to prostitution, and so all three related prints appear to be playing on the idea of a barrel (or perhaps barrel vault) as a shorthand for a brothel (especially one in a cellar).16 Although the al fresco location seems slightly incongruous, the restraint of the Emblemata Nobilitate version can be seen especially in the coy placement of one hunting dog’s tail behind the closed barrel lid. (Fig. 13.3) The second dog’s tail disappears behind the first dog, so one never suspects the existence of the flap without looking closely at the print. Despite the telling comparisons of hunting and courting, de Bry’s son would instead copy the cellar scene, flap intact, for his version of the Stammbuch in 1618, and (possibly without the flap), in 1627.17 Perhaps the wine-tinged scenario of duping gullible husbands proved more irresistible than that of ejecting old men from portable brothels. Duke August would later retain Philipp Hainhofer as his diplomat and art merchant, overseeing the creation of a literal cabinet of curiosities, or Kunst16

17

The letterpress epigram on a separate page further explicating the 1592 emblem image and motto, “Quis Malus Imfami Latet Hoc in Fornice Daemon,” substitutes the title “Senecio in Lupanari,” i.e. “Old Man in a Brothel.” Roman brothels, also known as lupanari or fornice, were frequently located in cellars, and the word fornice can also be translated as barrel. Johann Theodor de Bry, Emblemata Saecularia (Frankfurt am Main, 1618); Johann Theodor de Bry, Proscenium vitae humanae, siue emblematum secularium (Frankfurt am Main, 1627).

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figure 13.7 Anton Mozart (1573–1625), Dedication of the Pommerschen Kunstschrank, 1614– 1615. Oil on wood: 39.5 × 45.4 cm. Kunstgewerbemuseum der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Ident. Nr. p 183 a).

schrank, for the duke, as well as one for August’s Pommern-Stettin relatives.18 Indeed, August was likely pictured standing behind Hainhofer in a painting commemorating the ceremonial handing over of the Pommerschen Kunstschrank in 1617. (Fig. 13.7, nos. 4–5) Though the multi-tiered cabinet burned during wwii, its contents have survived. These included numerous metal scientific instruments, finely worked games of cards etched in gold on silver plates, and a chessboard with mother of pearl inlaid into ebony with the game of the goose on the back. Hainhofer’s diary from that year notes that he played the Gänsenspiel with the Pommerns at least twice on a similar board. Yet he was most familiar with the game from his early travels in Italy, particularly

18

Duke August’s cabinet is at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam (bk-nm-7325); the Pommerschen Kunstschrank burned in Berlin during wwii. The components of the latter are still in the Berlin Kunsgewerbemuseum.

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an engraved version “in Kupfer gestochen” which Italian students commonly played after dinner before studying or going to bed.19 This interactive print would have been pasted on a board, supplying a convenient surrogate for those semi-impecunious who desired to lose their remaining money on the game. With the proceeds from organizing the opulent Kunstschränke, Hainhofer contributed to the world of interactive prints. Also in a Wolfenbüttel volume owned by Hainhofer is a different drawing with movable components—a model of the Stipo Tedesco, a Kunstschrank now in the Palazzo Pitti in Florence that he designed between 1619 and 1625. The drawing includes two sets of flap-doors opening to display statues of Christ and the Apostles in niches at the center, and the hidden organ’s pipes and its keyboard at the top of the main body.20 (Fig. 13.8) This manuscript includes materials from as early as 1613, the year Hainhofer helped sponsor Johannes Remmelin’s Catoptrum microcosmicum—the most complexly layered anatomy flap engravings of the period—themselves a literal microcosm of life and death. (Figs. 4.5–7) The Augsburg publisher Stefan Michelspacher thanked Hainhofer warmly in the preface of the 1615 pamphlet accompanying the three plates that were initially issued separately. Michelspacher also placed Hainhofer’s coat of arms on the top of the title page of the first edition with a folio-sized text.21 Although the original engravings were completed by 1613, Hainhofer also commissioned the artist, Lucas Kilian, to illustrate Duke August’s 1616 book on chess.22 August later purchased a 1632 Catoptrum, one of many editions published by other printers into the eighteenth century. While Hainhofer had supported Michelspacher himself, he may have located the Georg Hartmann album for his own patron, Duke August, whom he also supplied with numerous rare books, scientific instruments, and art objects. With Hainhofer’s help, August stocked his library with interactive classics such

19 20

21

22

Leonie von Wilckens, Kinderspiel: Spiel Spiele Kinderspiel (Nürnberg, Germanisches Nationalmuseum, 1985), 18, 21. hab Wolfenbüttel, Cod. Guelf. 6.6. August. 2°, fol. 352, a manuscript owned by Hainhofer (ca. 1613–1628), described the drawing on the previous page as an “Aussfuhrliche Beschreibung Aines Coftlichen und gar kunstlicher Schreibtiches.” Helmut Gier, “Augsburger Buchwesen und Kunst der Druckgraphik im zweiten Jahrzehnt des 17. Jahrhunderts: Der Verlag von Stephan Michelspacher, sein Gönner Philipp Hainhofer und der Kupferstecher Lucas Kilian,” Augsburg, die Bilderfabrik Europas: Essays zur Augsburger Druckgraphik der Frühen Neuzeit, John Roger Paas, hrsg. (Augsburg: Wißner, 2001), 64. Gier also speculates that Michelspacher stopped publishing in 1619 after Hainhofer’s patronage from the Pommern-Stettin ended with the 1618 death of the duke. Gier, “Augsburger Buchwesen,” fns. 25–26.

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figure 13.8

403

Possibly Johann Matthias Kager (German, 1575–1634), to the specifications of Philipp Hainhofer (German, 1578–1647), Presentation Drawing of Kunstschrank, called Stipo Tedesco (now in Palazzo Pitti, Florence), ca. 1625. Pen and ink and gouache with four flaps: 58 × 27.7 cm (sheet folded into album). hab (Cod. Guelf. 6.6. August. 2o, fol. 352).

as Apian’s Instrumentbuch, Quadrans Apiani, Folium populi, and various editions of the Cosmographicus liber. Numerous works by Münster and Thurneisser zum Thurn followed, as well as at least three posthumous editions of Regiomontanus’s Calendarium. Duke August also corresponded with the Tübingen professor of mathematics, Johannes Valentin Andreae, an exchange which suggests the duke actually used his interactive books and paper instruments. Andreae sent August examples drawn on paper, many of which survive in their letters at the Niedersächsiche Landesarchiv in Wolfenbüttel.23 Together, the pursuits of Hainhofer and Duke August prove that some interactive and sculp23

Dr. Jill Bepler, hab, kindly referred the author to this exchange.

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tural prints remained on the cutting edge of science and vital to understanding the workings of the world well into the 1600s. But how, finally, did interactive and sculptural printmaking affect the reception of art? In its earlier form as a doctoral thesis, this book was entitled Art: A User’s Guide—Interactive and Sculptural Printmaking in the Renaissance. The comparisons to paintings and sculptures on different scales throughout the text suggested clear influences on the prints themselves. But was the influence only one way? Could these prints and illustrations have furnished a guide to interpreting images that was applicable to viewing and using other media? In an era still unfamiliar with the idea of the Artist, these prints were not considered art in the modern sense. Though many served as inexpensive surrogates for highstatus items, even those were not always seen as exhibiting fine craftsmanship. Yet by insisting that the user actively interpret and reconstruct the printed page, interactive and sculptural prints contributed to the active viewership of other types of images. Thus Philipp Hainhofer’s reading of a monumental movable altarpiece he encountered suggests that interactive prints in fact helped bridge the gap between interactive print culture and other art objects.24 (Fig. 13.9) When Hainhofer attended a Stuttgart prince’s baptism in 1616, he described his experience of that unusual polyptych in the ducal Kunstkammer as a highlight of the event: A great altar with six doors, three above one another, which open as if they were leaves of a book, and its interior and exterior are beautifully and fluidly painted with the life and deeds of Christ, representing almost the entire New Testament. It was brought from Montbéliard to Stuttgart, and is a most worthy object to view.25 24

25

This painting, the so-called Gothaer Tafelaltar (Schloßmuseum Gotha, Inv. no. sg 5), is now attributed to Heinrich Füllmaurer. Made for the rulers of the newly Protestant Württemberg principality in the 1540s or 1550s, this polyptych contains over a hundred and sixty Gospel quotations in cartouches above the scenes they illustrate. The structure is comprised of twelve separately movable upper and lower wings, each displaying six scenes on the front, and six more on the back, with two taller, narrower wings flanking the central Crucifixion scene. Hainhofer, to his patron, Duke Philipp ii von Pommern-Stettin (Cod. Pal. Germ 842, fols. 428–457, ub Heidelberg): “einem großen Altar mit sechs thüren, alzeit drei obeneinander; gehen auf bläderweis wie ein buech und sein innen und aussen etc. schönist und fleissigst übermalt vom leben und den thaten Christi, representierend fast das ganze neue testament. Ist von Mumpelgart nacher Stuttgart gebracht worden, sehr würdig anzusehen.” Quoted in Herbert von Hintzenstern, Die Bilderpredigt des Gothaer Tafelaltars (Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1965), 18.

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figure 13.9

405

Heinrich Füllmaurer, workshop, front and side views of Gotha Altar, ca. 1539– 1541. Mixed media on fir panel: 96 × 48 cm (inner wings); ca. 98×105cm (outer wings); 201 × 210 cm (center). Foundation Schloss Friedenstein Gotha (sg 5).

Hainhofer’s remarks underscore several aspects of his experience of the painting: its size, unusual mobility, and hybrid construction of image and text. His mercantile instincts acknowledge the work as a rarity from the ducal Kunstkammer, yet through his recognition of the polyptych as an Altar, (altarpiece), the devotional roots of interactive printmaking return to the fore.

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Though the folding altarpiece and its ritualistic use had come to be considered antiquated during the Reformation, Hainhofer demonstrates that the Stuttgart polyptych reinvented the format. His description of the moving panels as “doors” instead of wings relates both to the exclusive Kunstschränke which made his fortune, and also to the format of the reliquary altarpieces and cabinets that preceded them.26 The dozen wings and enormous breadth of the painting protect their contents, while precluding static display. Like the many interactive prints with a significance greater than the sum of their movable parts, it is impossible to understand the meaning of the polyptych without shifting its wings. This was quite unusual at the time. Lucas Cranach the Elder’s roughly contemporary Wittenberg triptych was a stationary object, stubbornly negating the previously-unseen act of opening and closing on Catholic feast days.27 Accessibility was key for the Protestant liturgy, and so Cranach’s viewers progressed around the painting for better access to it and to the Eucharist.28 Although little is known about the actual use of the Stuttgart painting, a solution in keeping with this Protestant ethic would have been to allow the parishioners (or ducal owners) to move the wings themselves, or at the very least, to witness the changes. Conceivably, preachers could even have leafed through the painting to complement their sermons—as if the polyptych were a massive canon table crib sheet.29 It seems likely that Hainhofer himself glimpsed the painting in motion. He referred to the interior and exterior of the painting, suggesting that it became more functional and accessible to its viewers through both the fluidity of its movement and its paintings. In the absence of Catholic ritual, its panels become pages that open “bläderweis wie ein buech,” like leaves of a book. Although he did not count the polyptych’s hundred and sixty scenes, or the

26

27 28 29

Hainhofer’s native Augsburg was home to a major relic cult at the church of Saint Ulrich and Afra, and he was probably aware of variations on the massive, triptych-shaped woodcut broadsheet that advertised the collection in the late fifteenth century (Schreiber, no. 1936). Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, 72. The Cranach triptych was completed in 1547. Koerner, The Reformation of the Image, 331; 334–335. By using the term Altar, Hainhofer implies the painting served as a functional altarpiece; indeed its scale makes the polyptych best-suited for semi-public use. The work may have been designed for the Stuttgart Castle church, a space fully lined with biblical scenes that complemented those already on the polyptych. Koerner, 204–206. As a similar altarpiece was produced for Duke Ulrich i’s half-brother Georg in Montbéliard (khm, Vienna), it is possible that the Stuttgart work was also made in that workshop, and was still installed in Ulrich’s Castle church when Hainhofer saw it.

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three hundred supplementary inscriptions, Hainhofer aptly discerned that they contained “almost the entire New Testament.” He therefore interpreted the work not only as a book, but specifically, as a picture Bible, or Bilderbibel, of massive scale. While Cranach’s Wittenberg triptych no longer moved—forcing the entire congregation to parade around it—Hainhofer knew the Stuttgart altarpiece would only be understandable when it was itself set in motion. Instead of a paper surrogate or model for an altarpiece, he saw this work as its inverse: a painted surrogate for the living, page-turning Bible. Hainhofer’s “most worthy object to view,” must be experienced in its interactive entirety— by reading page after page of images, and touching the Word. Thus, by training the hand and eye of its readers to expect new forms of visual and textual access, the interactive and sculptural print guided its users to interpret other artistic media, even those it could not replicate.

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Index of Names Albrecht v, Duke of Bavaria 48, 206–210, 302, 392 Albrecht, Duke of Prussia 206, 214–215, 220– 221 Altdorfer, Erhard 337–338 Amman, Jost 3, 151, 254, 258, 272, 292n2 Andreani, Andrea 378–380 Anna, Queen of Bohemia and Hungary 13, 206, 284, 333, 340n24, 348–349, 387 Apian, Peter 13, 222, 293–306 Manuals 303, 392 Cosmographicus Liber 29n1, 303–304 Astronomicum Caesareum 3–4, 127, 244, 295–296, 300–301, 304, 307, 311, 316–317, 322–323 August ii, Duke of Braunschweig-Lüneburg 220, 396–403

Cock, Hieronymus 79–81 Coornhert, Dirck Volkertsz. 79–81 Cranach the Elder, Lucas 3, 63–64, 117, 147, 150, 154, 162, 183, 189, 255–258, 270, 406– 407 Cranach the Younger, Lucas 193, 162n11, 286– 287

Baldung Grien, Hans 68–69, 73, 95–96, 380 Bannisius, Jacob 246n13, 247–252 Bartisch, Georg 169–170 Beham, Sebald 3, 77–78, 81, 172, 280 Anti-Clergy Transformation Woodcut 148–157, 162, 202, 231 Cruciform Sundial 284–286 Beheim, Lorenz 225–226, 263–264 Bellini, Gentile 58–59 Bertelli Family 151, 356n5, 395n8 Bertelli, Donato 356n5, 365, 391 Bertelli, Ferrando (Ferdinando) 355n4, 356n5, 364–365 Bertelli, Luca 356n5, 376 Bertelli, Pietro 3–4, 155n36, 353–374, 380–391, 396 Bessarion, Cardinal 58–60 Bild, Veit 252, 254–256 Bora, Katharina van 140, 148, 151, 153–156, 183n42 Bos, Cornelis 134–135, 139, 156, 178, 182 Brosamer, Hans 179, 212, 295n6 Bry, Theodor de 182–183, 395–400 Burgkmair, Hans 64–64n13 Bussemacher, Johannes 380–381, 386, 390

Elizabeth i, Queen of England 348, 377, 393 Erasmus, Desiderius 126, 166, 187, 396

Cammerlander, Jakob 339–340 Charles v, Emperor 114, 158, 160, 295, 303

Dukes of Burgundy 27, 46 Dürer, Albrecht 3, 107, 138, 145n14, 147n20, 165–166, 176–178, 180, 190, 232, 245, 263, 268–274, 278, 284 Celestial Hemispheres 258, 270–271, 295, 304–305, 326 Unterweysung der Messung 213, 225–226, 263–264, 271–273 and Euclid, Regiomontanus 244

Ferdinand i, Emperor 114, 127, 130, 280, 206, 317, 333 Fischart, Johann 341n24, 343–344, 348, 351 Flach, Martin 329–332, 340 Flacius Ilyricus, Matthias 77n34, 159–167, 178, 180, 183, 193–194, 202 Flötner, Peter 3, 182, 227–235, 333 Frau Welt 369, 386 Fridolin, Stefan 32–36 Frederich der Weise, Elector of Saxony 43– 44, 63, 100, 255 Füllmaurer, Heinrich 405 Fürst der Welt 386, 388 Gheeraerts the Elder, Marcus 38–40, 92, 197 Goltzius, Conrad 3, 382–384, 386–391 Greuter, Matthäus 3, 381–385, 390–391 Hainhofer, Philipp 28, 365n11, 395n8, 396– 407 Harsdörffer, Georg Philipp 263n38, 292n2 Hartmann, Georg 5, 8, 11–13, 205–289, 296– 297, 305–306, 314, 333, 349, 392, 402 bsb, gnm, hab albums 215–221

433

index of names diptych sundials 206, 214, 228–231, 232, 236–237, 239, 260, 273, 279–282, 288 cruciform sundial 273, 282–289 Nuremberg workshop 238 private press (intaglio) 213, 215, 223– 224, 239 proto mass production 223–225, 239–241, 288 Heemskerck, Maerten van 79–81 Holbein the Younger, Hans 245, 266, 298– 299, 312, 380 Hondius the Elder, Hendrik 28 Jacobaeus, Vitus 191–193 Johann Friedrich, Elector of Saxony 162n11, 264

160,

Kempf, Pancratius 162, 164–165 Kilian, Lucas 9, 118–120, 138, 402 Lotter, Melchior 76–77 Llull, Raymon 30, 241, 324 Luther, Martin and anatomy 191–194, 123–125, 136, 143 and bodily functions 139–140, 156–157, 194 and Communion 51, 104, 107–108, 125 and literacy 77, 104, 135 and masks 32, 123, 107–109, 145, 157, 190, 202 and portentous misbirths 116, 143–148, 201 and relics 62–64, 116 and the Antichrist 107, 110, 125, 145n13, 157–158, 166 and the Devil 107–108, 138–139, 145, 163– 167, 183–184 and the Pope 139–140, 143–144, 150, 183– 184 anti-Lutheran prints 151–156, 178–179, 191–194, 199 pro-Lutheran prints and drawings 194, 198–202 Manuel Deutsch, Hans Rudolph 3, 167–180, 190, 325, 330, 380, 390 Manuel Deutsch, Niklaus 139, 167 Master bp 162, 333 Matheus, Jean 232–233

Maximilian i, Emperor 62n10, 71, 247, 244– 246, 252 Melanchthon, Philipp 13, 117, 126, 136–137, 143–145, 158–167, 187, 193, 201–202, 206, 286–289 Meyerpeck, Wolfgang 149, 195–198 Moroni, Fra Lino 40–41 Muller, Harmen Jansz. 28–29 Münster, Sebastian 176, 222, 254, 258, 298– 299, 312, 330, 403 Negker, de Jost 114, 116n14, 120n22, 127 Nelli, Nicolò 368–370, 376n31 Ostendorfer, Michael 3, 295n6, 304–306, 316 Overadt, Peter 376n31, 380, 382, 384n30, 386, 390 Pambst, Paulus 341–346 Paris, Matthew 36–37, 96–97, 328, 330 Pirckheimer, Willibald 154, 225–227, 244, 263–265, 271, 275 Pope Alexander vi 4, 16, 18–19, 143, 151, 181, 183n40, 185–191 Pope Julius iii 4, 185–190 Porta, Giambattista della 17–19, 296, 318– 325, 353n1 Quiccheberg, Samuel

392

Ratdolt, Erhard 82n2, 85, 242–244, 301, 318 Regiomontanus (Johannes Müller of Königsberg) 13, 85, 223, 248, 252, 254, 261, 264, 271–272, 273 Calendarium and Kalender 85n8, 241– 245, 298, 301–303, 318, 403 Nuremberg private press (book) 241– 243 Remmelin, Johannes 9, 119, 121n23, 169, 402 Ring, Hermann tom 308–309 Schön, Erhard 218, 274–275, 277, 280, 284 Schöner, Andreas 274, 295–296, 300, 305, 316 Schöner, Johannes Aequatorium Astronomicum 244, 292n8, 295–298, 301 and globes, gores 225, 267, 273, 300 Nuremberg private press 261, 300

434 Solis, Virgil 284, 347 Spirito, Lorenzo 13, 325–329, 334, 341, 343, 346, 350, 352, 390 Springinklee, Hans 3, 86, 245–252, 274, 277 Stabius, Johannes 13, 245, 248–254, 269–271, 273, 277 Thurneisser zum Thurn, Leonhard 271, 293– 295, 305–317, 403 Archidoxa 293–294, 315 Astrolabium (Dess Menschen Circkel und Lauff ) 308–316 Berlin private press (book) 293, 306, 315

index of names and constructing mannikins 112, 127–130, 294, 312–313 Epitome 12, 112, 122, 127–130, 294, 313 Fabrica 12, 112, 122, 127–130 Vogtherr the Elder, Heinrich 3, 186 Anatomical Flap Prints 4, 12, 108, 112–116, 119, 152, 205 Außlegung … der Anatomi 112, 122–124, 133 Christlichen Loßbuch 12, 31–33, 95–104, 134, 329–330, 334, 337, 341n25 Kartenloßbuch 332, 369, 386 Loßbuch 98, 241–246, 335–337 Strasbourg book press 32, 112, 135, 224, 225n36

Vecellio, Cesare 353 Vesalius, Andreas 12, 110, 112, 117, 120, 126, 138, Waldseemüller, Martin 265–266, 270 191 Weigel, Hans 131–132, 380n36 and dissection 122–126, 140, 142 Wolfe, John 296, 320, 334

Index of Modern Scholars Carlino, Andrea 7, 110n8, 112n10, 116n14, 131, 134n46, 135n51, 152n31, 193

Parshall, Peter 10, 24n4, 84n3–4, 133n45, 141n4, 153, 241n2, 296n7

Dackerman, Susan 2n2, 11 Dodgson, Campbell 68, 77

Rudy, Kathryn M.

Gingerich, Owen 303–305 Huizinga, Johan 104

4n9, 7n15, 212, 265n48,

11, 91, 125n32, 154n35

Schmidt, Peter 10, 11n23, 24n3, 25n8, 56n1, 69n24, 74–75 Scribner, Robert 2n5, 8, 107, 151, 178 Stijnman, Ad 84n5, 218n21

23–24, 47–48, 50n46, 54, 98,

Koerner, Joseph 39, 51, 108, 183, 193–194, 406n27–29

Zinner, Ernst 8, 87, 211, 216–218, 227–228, 237n33, 239, 244, 254, 257–258, 277

Index of Subjects adultery, adulterers 201, 395–400 see barrels album 14, 28–29, 215–221, 365–366, 369, 376, 395–403 alphabet, alphabetizing 32, 96, 98–99, 104, 127, 132–133, 141, 342n26 altarpiece 205, 404–407 diptych 15, 48, 56, 205 as reliquary 58 polyptych 65, 92, 404–407 triptych 56, 65, 406–407 as reliquary 56–57, 60–61 printed 25–26, 57–81 Andechs 60–65, 70, 92–93 relics 93 Antichrist 110–111, 125, 145n13, 157–158, 166, 179–191, 201–202 anti-clergy prints 167–180, 184–185 anti-monks 167–172, 178–179, 333n12 Monk Calf (Luther) 145–147, 201 anti-monks and nuns 39, 145, 148–156 anti-nuns 333, 374 apes, monkeys 6–7, 82, 155, 333 astrology 73, 84, 206, 221, 232–233, 245–250, 257–258, 296–297, 311, 343 astronomy 244–245, 257–258, 280, 295–296, 300, 311, 322 barber surgeon 2, 114, 116, 122–123 barrel 220n23, 337n20, 395–400 bookbinder 97, 242–243, 261, 293, 311–313, 321, 346 book fairs 259, 315, 320 booklike 341–348, 406 boxwood 34, 46–51, 387 Breverl 54, 149 brides 28n16, 153, 353, 362–365, 373–375 canon table 25–26, 69–78, 81, 152, 406 carnival 27, 87, 121, 139, 165, 180, 358, 368, 389, 394 Cologne 25, 56, 74–76, 78, 225, 335, 353, 356, 376n31, 377, 380–391, 396 Communion 23, 125 annual frequency 70–72, 82, 104 restrictions on 23, 39–40, 42

Constantinople 279, 281 copying 35, 42, 61n9, 117, 131, 133–135, 140– 141, 150, 147, 174, 186–187, 190, 232–233, 268–271, 270, 277, 284, 295–296, 321– 322, 332, 349–350, 362, 364–367, 373n24, 376n31, 393, 400 cosmography 222, 243, 266, 301–304, 330, 403 courtesans 351–391, 395–398 cryptography 4, 296, 318–324 Cupid 352, 376, 384, 391, 396 disclaimer 98, 324, 331, 343, 390 dissection 9, 12–13, 109, 112–114, 117, 120–124, 147, 167–169, 191–193 anatomy theaters 121–122, 140–142, 169 Easter

6, 23, 32, 36, 40, 44, 82–88, 97, 241, 318, 329 emblems 1, 14, 76, 102–104, 297, 322, 353n1, 395n10–11, 398–400 erotica 12–13, 157, 297, 320, 368, 370, 372, 375–376, 391, 398 Eucharist see Communion, Host female audience

348–352

gambling 325–352 cards 231, 296, 332–335, 347–348, 350, 361, 368, 395, 401 dice 87–88, 96–97, 296, 325, 328, 334– 335, 343–346, 348, 350–352 games 6–7, 148 board games 333–334 Game of Life 334 Game of the Goose 334, 401–402 geography 52, 97, 108, 134, 210n6, 259, 261, 356, 365 gifts and dedications prints and books 127, 206, 214–215, 228, 245–249, 255, 264, 303, 317, 349–351, 394, 398 alba amicorum 395–396 globes 259, 262, 266 globe gores 259, 261–273, 381

437

index of subjects construction and use 263, 266, 270 gold, gilding 25n5, 42, 46, 57, 60, 64–65, 78, 130, 181, 187–189, 197, 258, 261, 270, 276, 317, 337, 347, 352, 377, 398–399, 401 all that glitters … 66, 145, 151 golden number 82–87 gondola 355, 362n6, 365–368, 374–375, 395n8 hand coloring 2, 6–7, 28, 52, 65, 72, 75–76, 78, 104, 108, 127, 130–131, 150–152, 162, 188–189, 243–248, 258, 261, 264, 270, 288, 298, 300–304, 308, 310–315, 331, 347, 359–370 stencils 2, 28, 131, 152, 164n18, 189, 197, 300, 311 hands, hands-on 3, 10n23, 12, 14–15, 25, 30– 36, 102–104, 111–112, 121–122, 126, 155, 180, 225, 250, 261, 263, 323, 355 miss-handling, overuse 146, 155, 330, 344, 366 hidden compartments 2, 97–98, 304, 344– 347 Host 160 as a relic-substitute 34, 42, 88, 92, 108 miraculous or false 71, 88, 94–96, 116–117, 122 Hostieneisen (Host Iron) 89–92, 95, 102 interactive prints 1, 3n7, 23 as new media 5–6 blank coat of arms 278–279, 298, 395 interactive components 19–20, 67, 81, 137, 139, 223–224, 248, 256–257, 293–294, 312–313, 322–323 verso 93n22, 333, 395–396, 398 construction and use dial 55, 83–88, 103, 121, 180, 242n3, 243n4, 293–298, 300, 311–316, 322, 341–343 do-it-yourself kit 28, 217–219, 225n36, 276–277, 282, 346 Faltblatt (transformation) 148–156, 195–198, 202, 231, 376–378, 393 flap 26, 74, 112, 121, 127–130, 146, 155, 193, 293–294, 312–313, 390 origins 1, 23, 35

ivory

206, 208, 213–214, 216, 225, 228, 236, 240, 266, 272, 284–286, 288, 387, 389

Jesuits

39, 102–103, 111, 136, 149, 172–174, 187, 194–199, 344n27

king’s letters/crowns 27–30, 337 Kunstkammer 48, 206–210, 220, 302n14, 346–347, 392, 395 literacy religious 77, 104, 135–136 lotteries 27–29, 96–97, 335–336 lottery books 12–13, 23, 32, 95–98, 180, 296, 325–352, 356, 390 manuscripts 96–97, 241n1, 328–329 lovers 220n23, 351, 374, 376, 393, 398– 399 maps

36–37, 55, 135, 243, 259–261, 280, 304– 306, 365, 368 masks, hypocrisy 32, 51, 107–109, 121, 123, 147, 151, 157, 163, 176, 190, 202, 368, 375, 380 memento mori 116, 120, 140–142, 172, 266, 297, 325, 337, 387 monks 56, 193, 328, 337n20 nuns 56, 66–68, 71–74 Nuremberg 5, 12–13, 24–25, 35, 57–58, 62–63, 74, 78, 86, 97, 112, 119n20, 131, 134, 150– 154, 172n30, 186, 206, 211, 216, 223–245, 259–265, 270–289, 300, 332, 335, 337, 388 coat of arms 226, 238, 275, 278, 284, 298 latitude (49° 27’) 213–214, 226, 228, 237, 276 polemical 1–2, 9–10, 12, 39, 110, 135, 140, 148, 156–158, 162, 166–167, 169, 182, 185, 188, 193, 197, 202 see propaganda printing intaglio engraving 2–5, 121n23, 223–224, 239– 240, 278, 280, 362, 372 etching 3n6, 77–78, 240, 252, 274–275, 362 press 80–81, 213, 215, 223, 239

438 relief broadside or broadsheet 2–4, 8, 12, 16, 18–19, 29, 38 (missing letterpress), 61, 69, 107–205, (especially broadsides on 109, 111, 115, 118–119, 132, 136, 140–141, 144–145, 161, 173–175, 181, 185, 192, 195 (missing letterpress)), 230–232, 299, 336, 338, 366, 399, 406n26 letterpress 25, 68, 72–74, 76–77, 79–81, 99, 109, 133, 152n31, 162, 166n23, 167, 185, 188–189, 197, 223, 235, 246, 248, 275, 288, 298, 308, 314, 400n16 red and black 70, 77–78, 211, 254, 256, 301 type, punches 237–238, 270, 280, 306 press (book) 6, 32, 80–81, 112, 135, 160– 162, 215, 223–224, 225n36, 241, 293, 296, 300, 306, 315 woodcut 26, 62, 68, 121n23, 223–224, 240, 258, 264–265, 275–278, 280, 304–308, 378 print edition size, prices 2–3, 213–214, 223– 224, 243, 263, 274–278, 381 prints on canvas 25, 116, 259, 366–367 propaganda 30 Protestant 12–13, 30–32, 111, 124–125, 194– 195, 297 Catholic 148–156, 160, 178–179 prostitutes, prostitution 154, 353, 371, 374, 400 see adulterers, lovers, whores reading book 1, 34, 36, 62, 79, 125–126, 133, 138, 178–179, 223, 323–324, 404–407 book of the body 122, 125–126, 133, 138 instruments 4, 14, 248, 311 relics 23, 27, 34, 39–40, 56–65, 88, 91–93, 116– 117, 120, 180, 406 Heiltumsbücher 42, 62–64, 100 relic showings 23, 57, 60, 63, 337 rood screen 23, 39, 40–41, 43–44, 51, 51n49 Rome 36, 163, 199, 226, 243, 322, 356, 372, 400 rosary 35, 39, 46–48, 52–56, 153, 155, 170, 199, 387

index of subjects Schatzkammer 48, 57 Schreinmadonna 44–46, 52, 57, 66–67, 205 scientific instruments printed, construction and use 206, 213– 215, 223–224, 239–240, 282, 304 astrolabe 2–3, 11, 15, 205, 210–211, 213, 216–219, 221–222, 225, 238– 239, 258, 270, 275–278, 295, 304–316, 328 quadrant 206, 210–211, 225n36, 240, 242–243, 266, 295, 302–303, 392n2 Regiomontanus dial 242–243, 247– 249, 252, 301 sundial 2–3, 11, 15, 205–289, 301–302, 333, 350, 392 compass (magnetic) 205, 227–228, 231, 237–239, 256, 276, 279, 282, 284, 288 guild, Nuremberg 214, 235–238, 240, 275, 289 paper, inferior 235–237 wall sundial 227–228, 302n14 sculpture 13, 34, 141, 214, 283–288, 301, 392 movable 43–44, 47–50, 55, 117, 387, 392 senses 36, 38–40 hearing 39, 53, 164, 279, 375–378 sight 39, 133, 139, 164, 371, 377–378 smell 39, 53–54, 124, 139 taste 39, 52–53, 193 touch, tactility 1, 5n13, 10–12, 14–15, 32, 34–35, 39–40, 51–55, 58, 64, 102, 108, 155, 279, 355, 371, 377–378, 391, 407 Strasbourg 32, 95, 97, 100, 112, 114n13, 116n14, 127, 131, 133–134, 137, 140–141, 180, 183, 186, 225n36, 254, 259–261, 265, 288, 320n37, 332, 334–335, 337, 339, 341– 346 Turkish 147, 165, 183, 206, 279–282, 288, 362– 364, 381n36 unequal lovers 368–369, 405 unicorn 4, 339–340, 342n26, 389 uroscopy 114, 153, 315 Venice 85n8, 99, 114, 122, 242–243, 244n8, 259, 271, 301–303, 325, 352–353, 356, 362, 365, 368, 372–376, 391 Venus 155, 314, 352, 373–374, 376, 391

index of subjects vernacular 62, 77, 104, 109, 127, 132–133, 186, 240, 303 Vienna 57, 63, 114, 135, 152n31, 197, 222, 238, 245–246, 277–280, 284, 333, 348, 387 virgin 353–355, 373, 377–378, 384, 391, 393

439 Wittenberg 44, 63, 66, 110, 117, 137, 150, 154, 160, 162, 183, 193–194, 198–199, 255, 257 Wittenberg triptych 66, 154, 406–407 Wheel of Fortune 167–180, 325–328, 330, 341–342 whore 198, 353, 364, 399 Wunder- 143–145, 179–180, 206, 232, 313n26, 317

Catalogue A: European Single-Sheet Interactive Prints 1450-1700 Accompanying Interactive and Sculptural Printmaking in the Renaissance Suzanne Karr Schmidt Brill © 2018 Major Library Collections AIC Art Institute of Chicago ALBERTINA Albertina, Vienna BL British Library, London BM British Museum, London BSB Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich GNM Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg HAB Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel HAUM Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Brunswick KK BERLIN Kupferstichkabinett der Staatliche Museen zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz MHS OXFORD Museum of the History of Science, University of Oxford MMA Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City NGA National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. NYPL New York Public Library SUSB AUGSBURG Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg VESTE COBURG Kunstsammlungen der Veste Coburg WALDBURG-WOLFEGG Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg

Games with Movement 1. 1440-50 South German. Apes Performing on Horseback. Hand-colored woodcut with oval volvelle: 4.6 × 1.7 cm (volvelle, vertical); 26.6 × 18.8 cm (image); 28.6 × 20.5 cm (sheet). The rotating central tab switches the apes’ midriffs and makes them appear to move between the horse’s back and a hanging bar. Although they use the same turning mechanism and the same composition, the body and facial types of the apes and the horse are different enough to suggest they were both copies of another print. Both prints include one ape with a mirror. The second ape plays a set of bagpipes in the Nuremberg example, there is a single arch and the floor is bare, while the Zürich example substitutes a flute and a decoratively tiled floor, with a later addition of a third column in the background. A: GNM, H 5690, Kapsel 8: 26.5 × 18.6 cm. (Fig. 0.1) (Watermarks similar to Briquet 4231, also Piccard ca. 1447-1450. Found in the disbanding of a small

1

church in Ulm; Hauptman Geiger, Neu-Ulm; L. Rosenthal, Munich; auction H.G. Gutekunst, Stuttgart; acquired 1896. B: Zentralbibliothek Zürich, 26.8 × 18.6 cm. Found pasted into a prayer manuscript. Literature: Nuremberg: Schreiber 1985m; Weigel 1872; Hagelstange 1898, 125-131 (provenance, and a detailed description); Major in Einblattdrucke 6; Stengel, in Heitz, Einblattdrucke 37, 1913, (uncolored facsimile no. 1, with detached moving part); Cohn 1933, 1-4 (on putative Venetian origins); Höhn 1938, fig. 8, 30 (suggests an unknown Italian origin for both prints); Halm 1957, no. 419; Huber 1959, 14; Fraser 1972, 60, no. 69 (as a toy windmill); Eser 1998, 86-7, no. 11 (with a misleading photograph); Rainer Schoch, Origins 2004, exh. cat. no. 63, 220-1. Zürich: Schreiber 1985n; Heitz, Primitive Holzschnitte, fig. 57; Heitz, Einblattdrucke 50, 1918, fig. 6; Brückner, 24, no. 17; Lindberg, 79. Dr. Peters Kunstabreiß-Kalender für 1864 der deutschen Bank (GNM ZR 6235/1964, Kapsel 1447); Major, (Heitz Einblattdrucke 6), fig. 6. 2. ca. 1598 Theodor de Bry, Adulterous Lovers in a Wine Barrel. Two versions are known of this engraved broadsheet, both oriented in the same direction, with texts translated into German and French. The conceit was clearly popular. A: Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg (WALDBURG-WOLFEGG), vol. 128, no. 381. 17.2 × 22.6 cm. Engraving with flap and letterpress in French. Unicum. Missing flap, but glue residue remains. (Fig. 13.5) B: HAB IE 121, Unicum. 17.7 × 22.9 cm. The flap has been missing since 1984. Duke August II of Braunschweig and Lüneburg also used Theodor de Bry’s Nobilitatae Emblemata of 1592 as a Stammbuch. This text included a similar flap-equipped scene of a couple being discovered in a barrel. His son Johann Theodor de Bry reused the imagery from this broadsheet in the 1611 Emblemata Saecularia, with a flap, and in the 1627 Proscenium vitae humanae, no impressions of which are known to have been supplied with a flap. Literature: Harms, HAB I: 100; Harms and von Katte, 13. 3. German, before 1592 Prostitute and Old Man in a Barrel, with Soldiers. Engraving with flap: 17.4 × 22.8 cm (sheet). WALDBURG-WOLFEGG, album 128, no. 380. (Fig. 13.6) Repeated by de Bry for scene in Nobilitatae Emblemata with soldiers finding a couple in a barrel in the woods. This version is set in a similar basement to the Adulterous Couple sheet in Wolfenbüttel, and is much larger and obviously sexual in nature than the book illustration, as the flap reveals a naked, sweating prostitute (which the text below also comments upon). Elderly lover’s position and countenance is similar to G. Congiet’s design for Aristotle and Phyllis (also at Wolfegg). 4.

ca. 1600, Italy

Treacheries of Love. Transformation engraving.

2

Dutch Drolls Folio 88 and 88v, Windsor, Royal Collection. Literature: Kunzle, 273, fig. 9-16; on the albums in general, Griffiths. Related to Cassiano dal Pozzo collection. Possibly by one of the Bertelli. Another suggestion penciled in on the album page is Paolo Farinati (Verona 1524-1605). When the print was inlaid into the album it was slightly cropped, which covered a half centimeter on each side of the face pasted down. (Kunzle’s photos are even more cropped than actual object.) 5. ca. 1600 Theodor Galle. Folding engraving showing the wiles of women and the dangers of Lust. Antwerp. 9.6 × 9.5 cm / 27.3 × 19 cm, possibly unique. Werner Nekes Coll. (Attribution by Cologne Museum of Modern Art; verso unseen.) Literature: Nekes, 256. 6. March 8, 1602/3 (Shrove Tuesday), Elizabethan Conceit [manuscript], multi-flap portrait of Queen Elizabeth. 50.4 × 42 cm. Black, brown, gray, orange, purple and red ink and paint on parchment, partially cut, and folded into fifteen rectangles: 11.5 × 21 cm (folded); 53.5 × 42.3 cm (sheet). Dated sixteen days before the Queen’s death. Folger Shakespeare Library, V.b.319. (Fig. 12.13) Literature: Heather Wolfe, The Pen’s Excellencie, exh. cat. Folger Shakespeare Library, 2002, 115.

Board Games 7. 1530s. Peter Flötner. Morris Board. Woodcut. No sixteenth-century impressions known. Woodblock from Dershau Collection, Berlin KK. G.833-831; H.87 8.

1530s. Peter Flötner. Backgammon Board. Woodcut. No sixteenth-century impressions known. Woodblock from Dershau Collection, Berlin KK.

9.

mid sixteenth-century German. Offen Kartenspiel. Engraving. GNM HB 25169 (Kapsel 1258) and HB 21484 (Kapsel 1258), damaged. Literature: Kinderspiel, no. 61, 48. The text below the image explains how to play the game using a spinning pointer, or, Zeiger, much like the one installed in the painted version of this image, ca. 1582 at the BNM, inv. no. I 14 104. Tiny tears around the center of the better preserved example may be the remnants of a pointer’s one-time installation. Marburger Index. 10.

1588-97 John Wolfe. Game of the Goose; Fox and Geese. London. Printed game boards. The printed game of the goose is first mentioned by the printer John Wolfe 1597 as "The newe and most

3

pleasant game of the goose" in the London Stationers' Register. He had also licensed several game-sheets with them in 1588, described as "The Gynnye game Cheste [chess] game and fox and geese". Around 1615, Philipp Hainhofer refers to an engraved version popular with Italian students, but it quickly became international, adopted by Giuseppe Maria Mitelli and others into the eighteenth century. Dice were required to play. Many other editions survive in addition to the following examples. Literature: Jones, 378. 11. 1589. Board Game. Pela il Chiù, Ambrogio Brambilla (active 1575-90). Engraving and etching, 40.4 × 52.3 cm. BM 1869,0410.2460.+. Upper margin: .IL PIACEVOLE. E. NVOVO. GIVOCO. NOVAMENTE. TROVATO. DETTO. PELA. IL. CHIV. In the corners a description, with instructions about how to play the owl game, beginning: ‘Questo foglio il bel gioco s’appresenta/ Di pela il Chiu venuto in luce adesso/ Col qual se fugir l’otio si talenta/ ti potrai trattener tal hor con esso ...’ In the centre: TIRA HONORANZA TVTTI, Brambilla’s monogram and the address: Romae Baptiste Parmensis formis 1589. Literature: Bury, 154-5, no. 103. 12.

1598. Il nuovo et piacevole gioco dell ocha. Italy, printed by Lucchino Gardano. Engraving. BM 1869,0410.2465.+. Literature: Jones, 378-80; he also discusses an impression of the game in French ca. 1600 [fig. 376], and an English one ca. 1665 [fig. 377], among other seventeenth-century examples. 13.

ca. 1640, Carlo Coriolani, Venice. Il dilettoevole Gioca di Loca. Woodcut. 49.3 × 37.2 cm. GNM HB 24594 (Kapsel 1258) Literature: Kinderspiel, no. 67, 51.

14. mid seventeenth c. Martin Fritz, Cologne. Gänsespiel. Engraving. 32.2 × 36 cm (engraving); 32.8 × 38.2 cm (sheet). GNM HB 16877 (Kapsel 1258) Literature: Kinderspiel, no. 68, 51. Marburger Index. 15. mid seventeenth c. Das new vnd kurtz weillige Eullen Spiegel Spiel. Engraving. Paulus Fürst (ca. 1605-66) excudit. Nuremberg. 39.4 × 31 cm (trimmed to image). GNM HB 25357 (Kapsel 1258). Marburger Index. Literature: Kinderspiel, no. 65, 49-50. The game required dice, but its format is related to the Offene

4

Kartenspiel. 16.

ca. 1640. Het Niew Tytkortighe Uylen-Spel. Engraving. GNM HB 17865 (Kapsel 1258) Literature: Kinderspiel, no. 66, 50.

Amsterdam, Claes Jans Vischer

Cut-Out Sheet Games 17.

1577 King's Letter. (Sheet to Cut out for Lottery Game or Dreikönigs Spiel). (Fig. 1.4) Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress broadsheet of Epiphany lottery slips to cut out: 37.6×28.7cm (sheet). “Eenen nieuwen wereltlicken Heeren Coninck Brief” Amsterdam, November/December 1577. Text in two columns, 32 four and five-syllable netherlandish couplets. The sheet is a very early and rare example of the so-called “Dreikönigsspiels,” which was played on the festival of the Three Kings (January 6). HAB 39.7 Aug. 2°, fol. 821. Literature: Spielebücher in der Herzog August Bibliothek. 1992, (inner of title page.); van der Waals, Prenten in de Gouden Eeuw: van kunst tot kastpapier, Rotterdam, 2006 (Cat. 48). 18.

to late seventeenth century Twelve King’s Letter Lottery Sheets WALDBURG-WOLFEGG album, vol. 78, no. 426 ff. Five different engraved or woodcut letters, only two of which van Wagenberg locates elsewhere; she notes another nine in total. A Jan Jeghers sheet is complete here, unlike the Rijkspretenkabinet impression. Literature: van Wagenberg-Ter Hoeven. Article illustrates another nine sheets from the sixteentheighteenth centuries, some restrikes, again reinforcing the rarity of their survival. 19. ca. 1570-1590 Netherlandish. Epiphany Crown. Woodcut crown, stencil colored in red and orange, depicting Mary with Jesus, the three Kings and Joseph. (Fig. 1.3) HAB 39.7 Cod. Guelf. 39.7 Aug. 2°, fol. 822. Meant to crown the winner of the Dreikönigspiel, or possibly his chosen queen. (Volume owned by Philipp Hainhofer and later Duke August II—thus certainly datable before his death in 1666.) On the next page of the same album as number 2, a slightly different lottery game for the same occasion. Crowns like these are seen in Pieter Breughel’s Peasant Weddings. Literature: Sigrid Metken, Geschnittenes Papier: eine Geschichte des Ausschneidens in Europa von 1500 bis heute. Munich: Callwey, 1978; Kish, which purports to have the only surviving seventeenth century impression; the design and impression quality suggests it is more recent than the HAB example. It appeared in the Art to Shelf Paper exhibit.

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20.

Seventeenth century Epiphany Crown. Woodcut. Kish discusses the crown as the only surviving seventeenth century example; damage to the block suggests the design and block are more recent than HAB example above. The same crown was exhibited in the Boijmans Van Beuningen Museum exhibition, Prints in the Golden Age: Art to Shelf Paper . Heirs of L.H. Van der Weel Collection, Amsterdam. Literature: Kish, with reproduction; van der Waals, Prenten in de Gouden Eeuw: van kunst tot kastpapier 2006. (Cat. 47) 21.

ca. 1670 Johann Georg Haym Ausschnittbogen “cut-out sheet“ of Augsburg. 36 × 37.5 cm. Nuremberg. HB 26472 (Kapsel 1212); Reprint edition by Albrecht Schmidt. (Formerly Augsburg, Sheler Collection). Literature: Drugulin, 2723; W. 1866:243. Strauss and Alexander, 414, vol. 4. Marburger Index; Geschnittenes Papier, 34. 22.

ca. 1675 Paper Dolls Ausschnittbogen. Colored woodcut. Nuremberg or Augsburg GNM HB 15578 (Kapsel 1244). Literature: Kinderspiel, no. 99, 68. Geschnittenes Papier. Marburger Index. 23-43. ca. 1694-ca. 1750 Albrecht Schmid (Schmidt) Ausschnittbogen. Schmid continued the cutout trade with the reprint of Haym’s Augsburg cuts mentioned above, and at least 7 more sheets he and his firm published: Adam and Eve, (GNM) Jacob’s Dream (Augsburg Wolfgang Seitz Coll.), Joseph and his brothers (Kunstbibliothek Berlin); Marriage at Cana (GNM) by his son Francis Xavier. Schmid also produced a set of 13 sheets of artisans, actors, jugglers, houses, inns, school, soldiers, kitchen, laundry, household utensils, carts, shepherd, carnival, animals, and games (no impression known). Literature: Strauss and Alexander (469-470); Thieme Becker 30:133. 44.

1700 Three Epiphany Crowns. Woodcut. 1860 reprint in Museum voor Volkskunde, Ghent. Literature: Geschnittenes Papier, 33.

Religious 45. 1465/1466 German, Easter Calendar (rota pascalis) for 1466-1494 with an Angel in four states. Hand-colored woodcut with xylographic text and Italian engravings, all with a volvelle. The calendars span the period from 1466 to 1494. An angel on the central dial points out the date for Easter with his hands and feet,

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with the legend “do . pede . preteritum . diguto . noto pafce . futurum . qu . numerum . aureum +” The two impressions of the volvelle extant, A, in Washington, and B in Basel may have been pulled from the same block. The central angels appear to be nearly identical in each case, although the Basel impression is more heavily worn and painted. This imagery becomes standard for pointer dials in lottery books from the fifteenth century on—a particularly similar angel with an embedded cross, and the Christ Child appear on opposite sides of a volvelle in such a book from 1539 by the printer Henrich Vogtherr. (Cat. B 187) A. National Gallery of Art, Washington, Rosenwald Collection, 1944. 2. 1, 18.8 × 13.7 cm. Handcolored yellow, red, green and light brown. Sun and moon to the right and left above, flowers below. Dated 1466 in lower right circle. (Cover; Fig. 1.1) A1 Munich, LMU, in Ratdolt 4° Inc. 317. Second impression, or perhaps slightly later copy, lacking wheel; pasted onto binding. (Handcolored). (Donati, pp 352, 363-5). B. Basel Universitätsbibliothek, 19.1 × 13.6 cm, ca. 1477 Taken from a late fifteenth-century manuscript in another Carthusian cloister, this one located in Basel. The book contained texts from Boethius, Datus, schoolbooks and some astronomical-mathematical content (F. VI 59). (Handcolored.) The Adam and Eve woodcut was pasted into the book on the left and the Angel calendar on the right of the same opening. Evangelist spandrels; different flowers and hand of God between lower circles. The sheet has the exact same dimensions as the Adam and Eve Table pasted with it. See E2. As this print includes a separate motif of hands, one of which points to the golden number for 1477, it seems possible that this may be its print date, as otherwise, its user would have had to derive the number mathematically. C Berlin Kupferstichkabinett, Woodcut variant of A, B and possibly D—has sun and moon, but flower sprays and hands of God similar to Italian fountain. (Handcolored.) Lacking wheel; dated 1468 in lower right circle. Donati, p 354, argues that this is actually a copy, possibly printed as late as 1484. The lower wheels still work. In 1779, Franz Krismer, librarian of the Buxheim Carthusian monastery, noted a since-lost impression of this version of the woodcut in a quarto-sized manuscript from 1461, along with a second sheet showing a vertical table flanked by Adam and Eve, E1, below. Krismer locates the sun and the moon on the right and left respectively, in opposition to the five sheets which show the planets. He also describes the golden number circle as positioned on the lower left, not right. These could be simple mistakes, or perhaps indicate another version entirely. The fact that the Angel sheet was signed with the artist’s monogram, seen exactly where Krismer mentioned it on E1, suggests this may not be in error. The Berlin sheet might therefore be a reverse copy of the Buxheim woodcut, and a pendant to the Tübingen Adam and Eve. The monogram also reappears on an Ars Memorandi illustration (Schreiber, Manuel Bd V, p 136) produced by an artist ca. 1470-75. If nothing else, this could be a terminus post quem for the Berlin sheet. It is unclear whether the Tübingen Adam and Eve was the first connected with the angel dial. If

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Schreiber is correct in calling it a copy, Krismer did not specify any other details about the manuscript, or how the sheets related to each other within it. His description has generally been accepted as proof that the woodcuts belong together, especially given the two similar sheets in Basel, see B. (Christoph Gottlieb von Murr published Krismer’s discovery in 1787 in his Journal zur Kunstgeschichte, IV, 126-7.) D1 Vatican Library, After 1477 (As in B, C, the hand points to this date.) In incunable IV 654, Confessionale by Antonino Vescovo di Firenze, 15 April 1472. Second impression, uncolored, lacking wheel, though it has the printed crossbars used in every version to center the disc (the damaged center suggests it was once attached). D2 Arbe, Convent of Francescano di Campora (Dalmatia). Supplementum Summae Pisanellae, by Nicolao da Osimo, published in Venice 30 November 1473. Handcolored yellow, red and green, lacking wheel. Text is written in Roman Capitals rather than Gothic. E1 Adam and Eve Table, Schreiber 1904m. 19.3 × 14.2 cm, 1470s. Handcolored with light green, yellow and flesh tones. Removed from an unknown printed text. Tübingen University Library (Ke XVIII 4a.2-Nr.12). (Fig. 3.1A) Handcolored facsimile in Schreiber, Holzschnitte und Schrotblätter aus der Kgl. Universitätsbibliothek in Tübingen. Strassburg, Heitz, 1906, no. 12. Also described in Schreiber’s Manuel, vol. IV, no. 1904a, 136. This sheet is the closest extant to the Krismer woodcut, but Schreiber still believes it to be a copy as it contains textual mistakes. More likely, it is both another impression of Krismer’s woodcut, and a close copy of the original version. If so, it may have been copied after a pendant to the original NGA print. E2. Sheet showing Adam and Eve with a table of numbers, again copying either E1 or an earlier lost impression. 19.1 × 13.6 cm. Schreiber 1904n, Basel Unversitatsbibliothek, in same ms as B. Adam’s Text Banner “Impart[end?]et fupra (He gives above); Eve’s Sed par tendit ad infra. (She gives above.) The banner under the table: “A nati fefto/ Tabula ifta/ Tenet adefto/ Et Cetera., or This table posesses the current birth feast and others.” E3. A third (or fourth) woodcut version of the Adam and Eve sheet, replacing them with clothed courtiers. Dated 1478. Examples with German explanation at Gotha, and Latin at the Bibliotheque Nationale. Schreiber speculates that the Nuremberg Briefmahler Hans Spoerer printed this work, possibly following on the popularity of his 1476 pirated blockbook of Regiomontanus’ Kalendar. (Schreiber, Tübingen, 15.) Literature: A: Sherman, no. 41; Parshall, Peter and Linda, Woodcut Show, NGA, 2005. A1 Rosenthal. B: Koegler, no. 9; Schreiber 1904o. C: Krismer, p 126, describes a woodcut with the hands and the moon as pasted into a ms from 1461 with sheet E, in Buxheim Kloster. D: described by Heller, Joseph. Geschichte der Holzschneidekunst, Bamberg, Kunz 1823, 43-44; Schreiber

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1904m. Hind, Early Italian Engravings, EIII, Add 84. A-D: L’art ancien: S. A. Zurich Catalogue 22, 1938 Exact Science – from Hero Alexandrinus to Pierre Curie, p. 11 no. 18 Scientific Woodcut of 1466; Donati 1946 E: Krismer, 126; in ms from 1461. 46. ca. 1490/1500 German (Basel), A Canon Table with a Lamentation, Lienhart Ysenhut. (Fig. 2.8) The woodcut copies an engraving by Master E.S. from 1460. The two panels of printed text include the Gloria and the Apostle’s Creed. The traveling altarpiece was stored in a tapestry case depicting the Crucifixion. The work was printed onto single sheets folded into three equal panels. The wings do not function as regular altar wings, because the outer panels are too large to cover separate halves of the central panel. The panels fold underneath each other instead, suggesting a more book-style usage than an upright altarpiece. Opening the upper flap of the vellum altar reveals a panel of text, while the lower covers the image, guaranteeing a close reading. Hand-colored woodcut on vellum with manuscript additions: 12.7 × 12.8 cm (woodcut); 15.8 × 13.4 cm (folded); 15.6 × 39.7 cm (full sheet). Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C. (1959.16.15). Literature: Schilling, 147-150; Field, no 78, image of woodcut lamentation only; Hamburger, 309, 311; 2000, 222-223; Dülberg, plate 270, nos 712-4; Scheler 1945, 244-245; Donati 1952/1953, 322-225; VE 15, K-9. Another addition to this category may be a 1490s Annunciation Triptych by Ysenhurt. 47. 1485/1488 German (Nuremberg; text Cologne). Canon Table with a Calvary. Hand-colored woodcut on vellum with letterpress, folded: 14.6 × 10.3cm (image); 16.3 × 35.6cm (sheet). GNM H 82/Kapsel 2. (Fig. 1.2) Literature: Spiegel der Seligkeit, no. 164, p 342; Essenwein, August von. Die Holzschnitte des 14. und 15. Jahrhunderts im Germanischen Museum. Nuremberg, 1874: 8, no. 132; Schreiber, vol. 1, 155, no. 483. 48. ca. 1450-1508 Canon Table. (Designed ca. 1450, printed ca. 1508). 15 × 35 cm. Woodcut of the Last Supper in center panel, with xylographic text panels and hand coloring throughout. BSB Xylogr. 85. Literature: Wagner. The article argues that this recently-acquired print (2006) is indeed genuine and not a nineteenth-century confection. 49. 1480-1500 Saint Bridget Giving Her Rule to the Nuns and Monks of Her Order. Hand colored woodcut printed from one block.

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First State: Munich Graphische Sammlung (GSM); Berlin, Schloss Harburg (Collection of OettingenWallerstein). Second State: BM (1934.6.9.2/4). 26.5 × 9.7 cm (left); 26.5 × 19 cm (center); 26.5 × 9.5 cm (right); 27 × 39.3 cm (overall). (Fig. 2.5) And GSM. The impressions of the second state in GSM and BM have been separated into three parts, with one impression (GSM, first state) bearing signs of having been pasted onto wood or another form of support. Many variants on this triptych survive—Schreiber nrs 1283, 1283-1-3, 1292, 1293-1 and 1294 (same as 1293). Literature: Schreiber 1283ii, Dodgson, 230a; Parshall, Origins, no. 105. 50. ca. 1500-1515 Melchior Lotter, Canon Table, showing the Sacraments of the Last Supper. Woodcut in two states. (Fig. 2.9) Produced in Leipzig, by Melchior Lotter (German, 1470-1549). Possibly connected to their printing of Balthasar, de Porta. Expositio Cano[n]is Sacratissime Misse. [Leipzig]: Impressa est per Melchiar Lotter, anno Domini 1501 and 1515. The single, central panel of text, which begins—“Qui pudie qf pateretur accepit pane in fanctas ac venerabiletes ...,”—is the only part of the altarpiece which explicitly discusses Christ’s offering of his body and blood at the Last Supper, but in the images flanking it, he offers them both through the scourging and crown of thorns, and through his death. The two woodcut panels each include a roundel depicting various scenes in the Life of Christ. The left roundel shows the Mass of Saint Gregory in half of the roundel, while Christ appears as the Man of Sorrows on the other side of the central scourging column, amid other symbols of his blood-letting. The roundel on the right-hand panel includes three tiers in ascending order: the Adoration of the Magi, then Mary crowned with the Christ Child, the Lamentation and possibly Saint Anne with Mary and the Christ Child, and on top, the Trinity. The four evangelists do not appear around a single roundel, but their symbols, labeled with their names, spread horizontally across the altar—Matthew and John on top of the left panel, and Luke and Mark on the right. The Church fathers Augustus, Gregory, Ambrosius and Hieronymous occupy the lower level. Handcolored woodcut with letterpress, in two states: 13.8 × 35.6 cm folded, and 15.4 × 41 cm with hinges. Foundation Schloss Friedenstein Gotha (Schreiber 1841) Literature: Heitz, Einzelblätter 64, no. 5, 7; Schreiber 1841. 51. late 1520s Sebald Beham. Canon Table. Woodcut with letterpress in black and red: 19 × 43 cm (sheet). Hamburg; Vienna (without central floral border); Houghton Library, Harvard University (pga_typ_520_20_200). (Fig. 2.10) Text includes the offertory prayer, in Latin; the images show the Crucifixion in the center, with Last Supper and Mount of Olives details in the initials.

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52. ca. 1554 Dirck Volkertsz. Coornhert, after Maerten van Heemskerck. Christ on the Cross Between Two Thieves. Engraving and letterpress: 38.2 × 12.9 cm (each wing); 31.2 × 26.2 cm (central engraving); 42.2 × 50 cm (complete print). Albertina, Vienna (HB 532, fol. 30, 31). (Fig. 2.11) This is in Vienna only in its first state (including letterpress wings, dated 1559), but the center is also in Amsterdam, Brussels and Cambridge. Hollstein 384. Literature: Sellink, fig. 56. 53. 1615 Breverl and Klappblume. Prints of Saints housed in flowers, and letters. Saint Roche dated 1615 and St. Regina, 1650s who appears in a pomegranate Her flaps open horizontally. Both in the Robert Hess, Basel collection; St. Regina ca. 8.9 × 5 cm. (Fig. 1.16) In the eighteenth century, Ostereierklappblätter, or Easter-egg flap prints: Münchener Graphischen Sammlung (Histor. und Kulturhist. Blätter VI), large example from 1762 (Possible Kriegsverlust); two examples with colored eggs: GNM HB 21724 (Kapsel 1314a), ca. 1759, etching with pink eggshell flap and battle scene beneath; GNM HB 19529 (Kapsel 1314a), ca. 1759, etching with green eggshell flap with Frederick the Great of Prussia underneath. By Johannes Esaias Nilson. Literature: Klappblume: Spamer, 166, note 4. Ostereierkläppblatter: Spamer, 324, 325 no. CLXXVII,3, CLXXXV, 2, CXC, 2. The flaps reveal the risen Christ, the Christ child standing on the tomb, and Death and the Devil. Spamer, 166 note 5. “In Andachtsbild des ganzen 17. Jahrhunderts ist das Klappbild beliebt, besonders in Form einer Klappblume, die ein Heligenbild verdeckt, aber auch als Türe, Altarflügel, Sargdeckel usw.” His eighteenth-century examples include: a coffin with removable lid (the lid is lost), Saint Ida, and an image with a basket with liftable lid. 54-60. seventeenth-c. Printed Pilgrim Banners An unusually rich cache of mid seventeenth-c. engraved, etched and woodcut pilgrim banners is at WALDBURG-WOLFEGG; two woodcuts (242; 254) are signed I or IC Jegher, ie Jan Christoffel Jegher (1618-1667); an engraving is signed Boel f. …1659. Four others are dated 1630, 1636 and 1650. Another seventeenth-c. pennant was at Martayan Lan ca. 2005, now in a private collection. WALDBURG-WOLFEGG album, vol. 220, nrs. 236-54.

Reformation Satire and History 61. ca. 1526 Sebald Beham? Anti-Clergy Transformation Woodcut: Doctor, Theologian (Luther?), Monk, Nun. Nuremberg. (Fig. 5.2A-D)

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Double-sided, hand-colored woodcut fashioned with two folded flaps on each side of a double-sided printed strip. The flaps lift and drop to exchange the head or the lower body of the four figures depicted. The first set shows a quack doctor clothed, then exposing himself, or being exposed by the viewer’s lowering the bottom flap. A scholar’s torso (probably Luther), appears under the top flap and his nether regions are controlled by the same bottom flap. On the back of the card, a priest and a nun appear in the same manner. Faltblatt. GNM Nuremberg HB 25914/1292. Approximately “post-card size”: 12.7 × 10.1 cm. Literature: Andersson, 52-57 locates it to Nuremberg; Scribner, 234 discusses its insufficiently biting satire as a rare Catholic attempt to be polemical. Precursor to the Harlequinade (or Transformation) format. 62. ca. 1548 Pancratius Kempf, and Matthias Flacius Illyricus, Anti-Interim Broadsheet: The Innocent Choir Robe (Der unschuldigen Adiaphoriten Chorrock) (Fig. 6.1) Hand-colored woodcut with choir robe (alb) shaped flap. The alb, or vestment, was part of the non-essential clergical elements which Protestants accepted in the Great Interim. The flap of clerical robe hides devil and devilish text. Pancratz Kempf, text by Matthias Flacius Illyricus. The text literally takes the shape of a demon behind the alb. There are four texts including a title, two placards on the walls and a large sandwich-board style sign beneath the demonic vestment. Title: “Der unschuldigen Adiaphoristen Chorrock/ darubersich die unrugige und Storrische Stoici mit ihnen zancten.” Albertina, Vienna (DG1984_168). 29.5 × 36 cm (woodcut); 30.1 × 38.1 cm (sheet). Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg. (2º Einblätt. nach 1500, 257). Stencil-colored, flap has been torn off. With slightly different text beneath image: (centered) MATTHIAS FLACIVS ILLYRICVS. At right: Gedruckt bey Chriftian Roedinger. [Magdeburg, ca. 1550]. 30.1 × 38.1 cm (Woodcut 27.8 × 36 cm). Originally folded once and tipped into the folio volume Rara 78, Von der Erschrocklichen Zurstörung unnd Niederlag des gantzen Bapstumbs ... Although the book does not include any publisher’s information, it was produced by Martin Schrott III, illustrations by David de Negker and published in Augsburg by Gegler ca. 1558. (About 7 copies survive.) Literature: Strauss 1550-1600, Kempf no 10, 507. Scribner, Simple Folk, 178. Koerner, 315-6. 63. ca. 1550 Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch, Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Monk; The Wolf; and The Greedy Monk. (Fig. 6.2A-C) Woodcut with two flaps and letterpress: View 1 Monk plundering Widow; 2 Wolf in Monk’s Clothing Devouring a Lamb; 3 Monk Devouring Widow’s House. Four separate texts. At head of the page: “Wee euch geschrifftgleerten un pharifeer/ ir glychfzuter/ Die ir der wittwen heufer fraeffen/ und wendend für lange gebaett/ Matthei am 23.” From Matthew 23, 14 (Luther’s version, 1545) “Wehe euch, Schriftgelehrte und Pharisaer, ihr Heuchler, die ihr der Witwen Hauser fresset und wendet lange Gebete vor! Darum werdet ihr desto mehr Verdammnis

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empfalen.” “Suffer you, learned and Pharisees, you hypocrites who devour the homes of widows, and can still say your prayers at length.” Text two: in border to left of image. (Widow’s speech bubble) Ach min herz ich bric uch Oh, my heart is breaking, Bittend euch Gott für mich. Pray to God for me. Text three in two paragraphs: under image, to left and right O glychsnery du gmeiner gaft Biß einer dir in danen thüt Was groffer fromkeit in dir haft Mit einem mittel/ das Gott gefalt Danck hab der deckel der ift güt Dan ficht man wol din frome gftalt. Oh hypocrisy, ignoble guest Until one of your purses does swell With greater devotion, you have been blessed. With ample funds which God do please I thank the mask who’s good, (dines well) Thence one may view your pieties. Braunschweig, HAUM (H.R.M. Deutsch AB 3.1); Bern, Universitätsbibliothek, Aretius 2A*. 20.9 × 16.6 cm (sheet). Bern copy was found pasted onto the front inside cover of a 1550 edition of Gregory of Nazianzus (ca. 4th century, AD) theology treatise, printed at a Basel press by Johan Herwagen, a project financed by Wolfgang Musculus and bound by Mathias Apiarius in Bern, also in 1550, who added a foreword with local paper. The typeface may be the same used in the print. Literature: Andersson, 52; Scribner, 42; Bloesch, 151 ff. Illustrated as comparative material in Paas, PA288. 64. 1556 Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch. Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Changing Face of the Catholic Church. . Woodcut volvelle dial consisting of two circles, one notched, cut out from broadsheet. Dial rotates to show eight different satirical heads: 16.5 cm (diameter). Albertina, Vienna (DG 2002/209). (Fig. 6.4) Andersson describes the faces as working as a pinwheel, but it more likely that was cut out of a broadsheet. Their numbering all but confirms this possibility, as the 1620 broadsheet has corresponding texts. Dated on hillside. This work relates closely to the previous print, and to Manuel Deutsch. This example has the clergymen ranked by numbers printed above their respective heads: The Fool; a Cleric eating a house; a Goose or a Snake with a rosary in its mouth; a Wolf in Bishop’s Clothing; a an Owlheaded Cardinal; and the Pope with his own head; then Death, and finally, the Devil, the latter two from Dürer’s 1513 Knight, Death and the Devil. This work was copied by a 1620 print (see below), which offers a distinct clue to the origins of the form.

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Both were built after Glückrad, or wheel of fortune dials which would simulate dice. Albertina, Vienna (DG 2002/209). Diameter 16.5 cm. Literature: Strauss 1550-1600, Appendix D, 1399; Hofmann, 163; Andersson, 51-4; Scribner, Simple Folk, 100-4, 232-3. 65. 1620 German, after Hans Rudolph Manuel Deutsch. Wondrously Strange Roman Catholic Wheel of Fortune (Römisch Cathol.Wunderseltzames GlückRad/auch wahre Abcontrafactur des Antichristischen Bapsthumbs.). Engraving and letterpress broadsheet (here lacking volvelle dial and letterpress at top and bottom with title and date): 34.5 × 20.5 cm (sheet, trimmed). GNM (HB19894) (Fig. 6.6) This rotating disc retains only the simple figure without a landscape, and it also has eight heads to reveal. It is set into a broadsheet which may copy the text missing from the 1556 version. The new title explains the function of the critique: Romisch Cathol Wunderseltzames GlückRad/ auch wahre Abcontrafactur des Antichriftifchen Bapfthumbs or, The Roman Catholic Wondrously Strange Wheel of Fortune, also true Undoing of the Antichristian Papacy. The lower text describes their failings categorically, complete with marginal Bible-reading notes for each of the offenders. They are: The Pope, The Cardinal, The Bishop, The Jesuit, The Capuchin, A Common Priest, A Carthusian, and The Fool. Unlike the Changing Face, this version replaces the Fool with the Pope at the top. Six separate texts printed on the broadsheet around the moving disc start from the top and read clockwise: Der Bapft und fein Cardinal/ Sind Wolffs art: Dife lauffen fchnd/ Voll ungluct Rats unnd Affn Geschlecht/ nafn art: Ihr tragt den Kolben recht. Nuremberg HB 19894/1336 (dial missing); Staatsbibliothek, Berlin (formerly Marburg), Ya 5229; Possibly, Ulm Staatsbibliothek. Broadsheet size 22.5 × 38.5 cm. Paas P-535. Berlin KK (Flugblätter 898-143), Paas P-536. HAUM (FB 3 XVI) Literature: Coupe I 213, II, pl 141, no. 291(Berlin StaBi pictured). Briefly mentioned in Hofmann, ed., Luther und die Folgen für die Kunst, 163; The Ulm Stadtbibliothek impression was illustrated and its text transcribed by J. Scheible around 1850, no. 56, 215-17. 66. ca. 1568/69 Wolfgang Meyerpeck. Anti-Jesuit Transformation Etching: Canisius and Eisengrein, ca. 1569. Hand-colored etching with four folding flaps: 29.5 × 10.2 cm (full sheet). MMA (59.508.92) (Fig. 2: 22)

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67.

ca. 1568 Anonymous Netherlandish (Possibly Marcus Gheeraerts) Berlin Kupferstichkabinett. Literature: „De iconografie van de reformatie in de Nederlanden, een begripsbepaling,“ review by R. P. Zijp, Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum, Jaarg. 35, no. 3 (1987), 176-192; Knipping, John B. Iconography of the counter reformation in the Netherlands: heaven on earth, Nieuwkoop: De Graff, 1974, figs. 2.19-20. 68. 1550s and 60s The Pope is the Devil. Flapped portrait of Alexander VI (Pope 1492-1503) where his upper body lifts to show his true devilish nature. Two or three woodcut blocks. The story which is always included in the text records the interchange between Alexander VI and the Devil in which Alexander asks how long he will be pope, should he take the Devil’s bargain. The answer is misleading, and Alexander only rules for eight of the promised eighteen years. The “Ego Sum Papa” inscription on the inner image was actually uttered by the Devil when a frightened steward found him sitting on the papal throne. The longer versions include details about the depravity of Alexander’s family, especially his daughter, although it is repetitive in attributing the same sins to all of the Popes. German versions: A. Bern, Universität und Stadtsbibliothek (Magazin (U5). Sign.: Hospinian 44). Handcolored woodcut: 30 × 19 cm (sheet), found in the Emanuel Hospianian collection given to the library in 1583—pasted into the front of a Sebastian Castalio’s Latin Bible translation, printed by Oporin in 1551 in Basel. Literature: Bloesch, 152, III; Kunze, 274 (only illustration). A1 after 1555 German, Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Diser Bapst Alexander der Sechst). Hand-colored woodcut with gold and letterpress: 10.5 × 17 cm (flap); 18.5 × 17 cm (woodcut); 10.5 × 17 cm (flap); 34.5 × 17 cm (sheet). BSB (Einbl. VII,23 a) (Figs. 0.2, 0.4A, 6.9) A2. London, formerly BM. No dimensions given. Wright, 232, includes a line drawing, but the location of the work is not currently known. Image captions: On outer flap: ALEX. VI. PONT. MAX. Inner flap: EGO SUM. PAPA B. after 1566 French, Anti-Catholic Broadsheet: The Pope is the Devil (Du Pape Alexandre Sixiesme). Woodcut and letterpress: 15 × 12.1 cm (Julius III); 30.1 × 18.4 cm (Pope Alexander VI and Devil woodcut); 57.5 × 34.7 cm (sheet with flap closed); 57.5 × 35.8 cm (sheet with flap open). Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (JH 12). (Fig. 6.10) The loosely translated and greatly expanded text runs over broadsheet-wide flap. A reversed version of the Berlin Julius III print and a new text is printed beneath the flap. The added text in this version provide a date for the entire genre. The columns of text on opposite sides of the Pope’s head quote Luther from a Tischreden published in 1566. B1 Berlin Kupferstichkabinett Reproduced in Warncke, 1979, ill no. 693.

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Slightly different textual edition. Entire sheet 49 × 34.5 cm, woodcut 46.3 × 22 cm. From the illustration, it appears the print may not be functional as is, but has the flap printed above the rest of the sheet. It could also represent the original printing orientation and packaging. C. Geneva, Historisches Museum No surviving flap, though the lack of a full top border suggests there may have been one. The heading “VOICY LE POVRTRAICT DV PAPE D’ENFER” covers a Julius III with a different text. The Devil-half of the print is centered on the back without text. No dimensions given. Literature: Grand-Carteret, II, Figs. 101-2, 120. Literature: Wolfenbüttel: Harms, HAB, vol. II, no. 13 (working model), 26; Munich: Scribner Simple Folk, 135, 159; Ways of Seeing,113, ill 5:13; Ecker, no. 180, 307.; MAI, 02419, C, 05-6 (no interpretation.) General background: Suchs, and Rosenow, vol. I, 61; vol. 2, 633, both illustrate the French woodcut version. The introduction to the Bibliotheca Augustana’s Anonymous, Das Volksbuch von Dr. Faust, 1580, paraphrases the main text in the Bern sheet. The text referring to the Pope Alexander VI reappears in Latin in Johann Wolf’s Lectionum Memorablium et Reconditarum Centenari, ca. 1600. 69. German, Luther Versus the Pope, after 1546, possibly 1570s or 1580s. Pen and watercolor with a doublesided flap: approx. 4.8 × 23 cm (flap); 18.2 × 23 cm (sheet). Kupferstich-Kabinett, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden (Ca 91 Bl.1).. (Fig. 6.15) From the Dresden City Archives. Anonymous folding sheet in pen and ink and blue wash, with two flaps comparing Luther’s true preaching and devotion—to the Pope’s excessive cult and ineffectiveness. Verbum domini manet in aeternum - Gottes Wort bleibt in Ewigkeit, ie God’s Word Remains Eternally. 70.

1615 Oorloghs voor spel. Etching by Niclaes van Geylekerck. Flapped robe of pope within larger scene reveals his murderous tyranny. Dutch inscriptions in the image, German text in lower half of broadsheet, title: “Kurtze abbiltung und verthonung von dem wunderbahrhchen freigh der vey difer zeitten im lant zu Gulich / Cleff/ etc. gevbet wort.” At the end of the text there is a legend for parts of the picture. The letters still correspond with the lower text to identify Spinola, Mars, etc. “E” on the Pope’s lower-half flapped robe also shows up underneath, and the text reads: “Ist das Fundament und des recht fuhrnehmmen dass fen has und difer ender mit morden und braten etc. Zu vertigen und aus zu rotten.” (This is the basis and the right for seizure of this bringer of murder and burning, extermination and the mobs.) The “E” shows up on the pope’s sash, and on the wooden platform upon which a woman is kneeling in front of a large fire, possibly waiting her turn after the current three figures are burned. There are another four people hanged on the gallows, one woman being sliced in half while holding a child, and several being beheaded. German text version from Wäscher, illustrated impression from Staatlichen Galerie Moritzburg Halle. See HAB dimensions. Total of 12 impressions from five versions. Braunschweig copy with the flap has one edge rubbed off, and is imperfectly aligned.

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Dutch 1 (with Niclaes van Geylekerck name at lr): HAB Wolfenbüttel: IH 41; Rotterdam SvS. Dutch 2: Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum (FM 1300) German 1 (Large title and initials): HAB Wolfenbüttel, IH 41.1; Braunschweig two copies, one missing flap (Flugblätter, both FB3XVI); Halle (F 163); Stadtisches Museum Haus Koekkoek Kleve, Angerhausen coll (A20 in cat.)—text pasted, no right margin. German 2 (Small title and initials): Berlin (YA 4429m); Darmstadt (Gü 8045/22); VESTE COBURG. (XIII, 321, 260). French: The Hague, KB (Knuttel 2168) Literature: Harms (IH 41); Coupe I 213; Wäscher, 16-17, images 96/7; van Stolk, no. 1302, 69. 71. 1619 Afbeeldinghe van den ouden ende nieuwentydt... Etching. 51.8 × 27.5 cm (image and text); 18.4 × 27.5 cm (etching). “A broadside satirising Johan van Oldenbarneveld by comparing him to the Duke of Alva; with an etching with an attached flap showing Oldenbarneveld and four others sitting and standing around a table, in the R background a market place with three men, when the flap is lifted, the etching reveals the Duke of Alva in place of Oldenbarneveld, and two bishops, two Jesuits, and a cardinal around the table, and in the R background a crowded market place with two raised execution platforms; with letterpress title and text in two columns, and three vertical segments of type ornaments. (n.p.: 1619)” BM 1864,0611.429 72.

1619 Afbeelding der executie geschiet den XIII May 1619. Aan Jan van Oldenbarnevelt. Broadsheet with two flaps revealing victim and opponent, Oldenbarnevelt and Prince Maurits. BM 1877,1208.389. Amsterdam Historisch Museum and Atlas van Gijn in Dordrecht. Reproduced (with one flap open) in Weegschaal & Zwaard by M.A. Moelands en J.TH. de Smidt. 73. 1632 German. Anti-Jesuit Broadsheet: Wolves in Jesuit Clothing (Der Jesuitter/sampt ihrer Gesellschafft/Trew und Redligkeit)= Engraving and letterpress with two flaps: approx. 4 × 4.8 cm ( flaps); 37.5 × 27.2 cm (sheet). (Fig. 6.5) Version with date in roman numerals, decorative fillets: Hamburg, UB (Scrin . C/22, 91); British Library 1750b 29/93; Nuremberg 544/1337 (left flap), Staatsbibliothek der Stiftung Preußicher Kulturbesitz, Berlin (formerly Marburg), Ya 6825 (both missing). BSB Munich. Einbl. V,8 a-71.; HAB Wolfenbüttel (IH 123); Gotha, SM (G 50, 15); Goslar, SA: (817); Dresden, LB: Hist. Germ. C 16, 28). (9 impressions.) Version with date in Arabic numerals. Darmstadt (Gü 8045, 55a); Staatsbibliothek, Ulm (Einblatt 868); Paris BN, (Tf pet. fol., p 18 (left figure and biblical verses only.) (3 impressions.) Lamb-gnawing image related to the 1620 Gluckrad; text to the Manuel Monk. Literature: Coupe, I, 213, II no. 87; Harms. HAB, Bd. 2, 295; Paas, P-1793; Spamer, 166 note 2. “Beim

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Aufklappen zweier Köpfe kommen en Schweins- und ein Fuchskopf zum Vorschein (nach dem Serapeum Jg. 24, 1863, S 230 ein Hunde and ein Wolfskopf.)” Spamer may be misremembering the image, which was correctly described in the Serapeum article. A separate print run with different heads was possible, although replacing the flaps with the clerics’ heads would have been easier. Tschopp, B31; Weller, vol. 1, 399. 74. 1648 De Vertoningen, Ghedaen binnen Amsterdam, op de Eeuwige Vrede, en Vryheyt. Engraving by Peter Nolpe, 41.4 cm × 53.7 cm (printed area); 28.8 cm × 53.7 cm (engraving). “A broadside on the celebrations in Amsterdam of the Peace of Westphalia on 5 June 1648; with an three engravings showing three architectural arches, each with an attached flap, the flaps depicting allegorical scenes, the central one depicting the idea of Concordia, with Amphion, King of Thebes on the top flap, and William II (?), Prince of Orange, underneath the flap; the images on the left arch dedicated to Maurice, Prince of Orange, on the R arch to Frederik Hendrick, Prince of Orange; with engraved inscriptions and numbering 1-6, and with letterpress title and text, including legend, by Samuel Coster in three columns. (Amsterdam, Nolpe: 1648)” BM 1862,1108.192 (broadsheet) and 1871,1209.4808-4810 (no letterpress)

Anatomy 75. 1512 German (Augsburg). Broadsheet on the Conjoined Twins of Ertingen (Im iar da man zalt tausent fünff hundert und zwolfften ist geborn ain solichs kind … un[d] sein nam ist Elβgred). Double-sided woodcut inserted in letterpress broadsheet: 11.4 × 8.7 cm (woodcut); 27.7 × 15 cm (sheet). BM 1876-5-10-619 (Fig. 5.1) The text describes the Siamese Twins, Elizabeth and Margaret as “Elzgred.” BSB impression originally had its missing image, as a slit in the middle shows, as well as the impression of the edge that was pasted down, behind the text on the left, as in BM example. BM 1876-5-10-619, 11.4 × 8.7 cm, inserted in sheet 27.7 × 15 cm. BSB Einbl. I, 41 (missing woodcut). Literature: Dodgson Catalogue, II, 203; Andersson, Polemical, 43, Dülberg, pl 261, nos 683-4, 166; Bartrum, cat. no. 124; Littger. Munich sheet literature: Ecker, no. 53, 273. 76-131. ca. 1538-1658 Anatomical Flap Sheets in 55 editions by and related to Heinrich Vogtherr the Elder. About 45 pairs are from the sixteenth century. See book chapters four through six. 132-134. 1613 Lucas Kilian. Anatomy Broadsheets: First Vision (Visio Prima); Second Vision (Visio Secunda); and Third Vision (Visio Tertia), from Johannes Remmelin (German, 1583–1632), Catoptrum Microcosmicum (Augsburg, 1613). Three broadsheets with engravings containing numerous flaps, cut, with etching and

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letterpress: all approx. 35.9 × 26.5 cm (engraved sheet); 51 × 34 cm (letterpress-printed secondary support). The plates were first published separately, and revised in 1619 with a pamphlet and then a larger book. (Fig. 4.5-7) Two slightly different settings of letterpress and edits to plates in 1613 and 1619 editions: GNM (HB 23865a-c); Cushing/Whitney Medical Historical Library, Yale University (Yale MHL); Philadelphia College of Physicians. The GNM impressions demonstrates the fact that the engravings were pasted down onto the letterpress sheet, as the margin around Adam and Eve’s heads has been trimmed to their silhouette, as if they were coming out of the box in the same way that their flaps do. This touch is reminiscent of Vogtherr’s production method, in which the male’s head is pasted on as part of the body flap. In contrast, the Philadelphia and Yale impressions leave most of the double bounding box in place. Literature: Karr Schmidt, Altered and Adorned on 1613 and eighteenth-century restrike states; Carlino 47-8; Gier includes a bibliography of the Michelspacher publications. 135-136. 1663 Moneta, Antonio. Il vero dissegno delli interiori del corpo humano... Milano per Antonio Malatesta, 1663. Single-sheet engraving, 43 × 55 cm, with multiple flaps. Yale MHL. The impression was found in a nineteenth-century anatomy book. Copied in a 1690 book by Minniti, a work also printed by Malatesta. (Cat B 22) Literature: Carlino nrs. 54-55; this sheet should be added as Carlino 55a. Carlino also lists other related versions as numbers 54-56. 137.

1680-90 German or Flemish. Four Seasons of Humanity. Durham, NC, Duke University Medical Center. four multi-flap and dial plates. www.mc.duke.edu/mclibrary/respub/hmc/fourseasons.htm Literature: Carlino 57. 138. 18th c. German anatomy models, painted on cardboard, GNM HB 25456.1-3, Kapsel 1197. Partially after Remellin, so it certainly postdates 1613. Copied after William Law ed., Works of J. Böhmen, 1764-81. Three sheets, each approx. 20.7 × 16.2 cm, with multiple flaps. Literature: Imagery also similar to Johann Georg Gichtel, Eine kurtze Eröffnung ... der dreyen Principien und Welten im Menschen (Leiden 1723).

Memento Mori 139. ca. 1525 German, Memento Mori Spinner, ca. 1525. Hand-colored woodcut with (later) lace-paper flap: approx. 8.3 × 6 cm (flap); 14.1 × 10.6 cm (block/sheet). Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Ms. Germ. Quart. 718, 65) (Fig. 12.12).

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Shows a woman spinning thread, with a snake underneath her skirt. Baselstab watermark (staff with a cross in the center), which was often printed in Basel, and used from ca. 1524 Augsburg,but the paper could have been used elsewhere. The undated text on the opposite page reads: (Roughly) Die Auslegung der Figur The explanation (exegesis) of the Image Die Welt ist frolich zu sechen an The world is joyous to behold Das soltu bey mir in der figur verstan. This you should understand from my appearance. Er sey schon, edel, jung oder alt, Whether it be lovely, noble, young or old In ainer kurtz wirt er also gestalt, In a short while it will be formed Als du mich sichst under dem schurtz mein.As you see me under my apron. Gedenck offt an das lest urtheyl dein! Think often about your last judgment! Pasted into an anonymous folksong album of the late fifteenth century which includes a total of eleven pasted-in and hand-colored woodcuts. Berlin Staatsbibliothek (Manuscripts Department). Ms. Germ. 4o 731 has a summary of the textual contents. Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori; Schöller, 94. Pieske, 126-30; Degering, no. 718, and Ms. Germ 4 731, an index to the manuscript by Meusebach: “folgt eine weibl. Figur mit blauer Schuerze, gegenueber die Auslegung der Figur in sechs Reimzeilen, unbedeutend.” 140.

1520s Hans Kurcz. Memento Mori. Flap Woodcut. Woman with skeleton head covered by a flap (surviving only in Munich impression), with her attractive visage from the closed flap reflected in the mirror. The artist has no other known activity, but signs the folds of the woman’s gown. In contrast, the British Museum print appears to be an assemblage of several pre-made borders, and the uppermost, “EIN GVTE NEV JAR BVSCH ICH EVCH,” survives by itself in another copy. The Neujahrwunsch prints were similar to New Years greeting cards and often showed the benevolent Christ Child in a blessing posture. The use of a memento mori flap in this context suggests that it was a conventional topic, and though the flap may have been a clever addition, it was not infrequent. There are several poems and texts around the picture which also contrast the woman’s state before and after: Graphische Sammlung, Munich, impression complete with flap. BM (flap missing); illustrated in Schreiber’s Manuel de l’Amateur. Literature: Spamer, 165, “Auch der bei Schreiber, Manuel VI pl. XV abgebildete grosse Holzschnitt des Neujahrsblattes von Hans Kurcz, der das gleiche Thema behandelt, war u. E. urspruenglich so ein Klappbild,” Pieske, 125, 128-30, W.L. Schreiber, Manuel, VII, pl XV.; Heitz illustrates the Neujahrwunsch in Einzelblatte, vol. I. 141. 1576 Funeral Bier of Landgraf Philipp der Großmütige. Engraving with a liftable cloth over the coffin in a larger series. Only known in twentieth-century copy, but were produced over a nine-year period by the

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court painter Michael Muller. Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori; Landgraf Philipp der Großmütige 1504-1567: Hessen im Zentrum der Reformation: Begleitband zu einer Ausstellung des Landes Hessen/ hers. von Ursula BrasschSchwersmann... in Zusammenarbeit mit der Historischen Kommission für Hessen-Neustadt an der aisch: Ph. Schmidt, 2004. Entry by Jill Bepler of the HAB. 142.

1588 Andrea Andreani. Allegory of Death. Chiaroscuro woodcut with volvelle: 50.2 × 33.7 cm (sheet). BM; MMA; Boston MFA (two); Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum G7519 (Fig. 12.14). Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori.

143. 1596 Matthäus Greuter. Pride, 1596. Engraving with skirt flap: approx. 29 × 20 cm (plate). Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin–Preußischer Kulturbesitz (Ya 2840). Inscriptions under print of woman, in frame below “Iohan bufsmecher imprimit Coloniae” Math. Greuter. Lugduni (Lyon) 1596. “Omnis Caro Foenum, Et Gloria Eius Sicut Flos Agri.” French text on cloth over coffin under skirt translates the text: “toute la chair est foin, et sa gloire/ come la fleur au champ,” as well as the tufts of flowers in background and the laurel on the skull on the coffin. The frame includes niches with Adam and Eve, and a skull. Schöller establishes this print as the predecessor of the Goltzius prints. Bussemacher reprinted it after Matthew Greuter’s version from Lyon between 1594-1602. No copy located of the original Greuter print, which liked lacked the Bussemacher name. Berlin Staatsbibliothek, Ya 2840 (Fig. 12.15); WALDBURG-WOLFEGG album, vol. 243, no. 173 (flap partially pasted down at lower left). Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori; Spamer, 165-6, also note 3, origins of the modishly dressed memento-mori pairs; Schöller, pp 90-91, 94-5; Pieske, p 136, 141, discusses the later seventeenth-century simplifying copy and male pendant. Coupe, I 213. “As a moral theme the device appears in a sheet of 1596 from the press of Johann Bussemacher who used it as a commentary on the vanity of earthly life: the skirt of the pretty woman in the engraving may be turned back to reveal the legs of a skeleton underneath.” 144.

After 1596 Memento Mori. Pendant Flap engravings copying Greuter. Images are now missing their flaps and are damaged, as well as closely cropped. Text for the woman: “Ammora du bift Blindt.” And for the man: “Der Jungfrauen Schaufspigel Werdt Ich Genanndt Allen Jungfrawen Woll Bekanndt.” This text refers to several tracts circulating in the late sixteenth century which were widely read. Staatliche Galerie Moritzburg Halle. Inv. F 755, 17.6 × 11.7 cm, (man); Inv. F 691, 17.7 × 11.9 cm (woman). Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori; Pieske, 136, 141, dates them to 1610 with the caveat that the loss of the flaps makes it hard to reconstruct the costumes for dating. Schöller, 95, believes this date is

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unreliable since the prints are later copies of the Greuter Pride and an unknown male pendant. Hermann Wäscher (Halle), suggested Abraham Aubry of Frankfurt as the artist on the catalogue cards. In the essay for a 1998 exhibition on clothing censure at Halle, Ulrike Griese suggested Peter Overadt as the printer, and possibly the artist. 145. ca. 1596 Conrad Goltzius. Pride. Flap engraving. Engraving with skirt flap: 7.2 × 19.5 cm (plate). Rosenwald Collection, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C. (1964.8.1048) Shows skeletal legs and Adam and Eve, also printed by Bussemacher. The skirt also hides Adam and Eve and Snake, with Tree of Knowledge bearing fruit behind the pelvis. Tondos on the frame include: the Fall of Lucifer, Adam and Eve, Nebuchadnezzar, Herod. Inscription above Pride’s head: “Exterius Picta, Sumque Interius Maledicta Magnifice Ficta, Sum Foeda Superbia Dicta.” Pride has uncovered breasts, a “Queen Elizabeth” ruff, slit sleeves, and a peacock behind. Two busts appear on the sides, male on left, female on right. Both have a garland on column below. The arm on the left turns into a skeletal arm, holding a long bone instead of flower-bouquet stem under the skirt. The right hand is also skeletal, with an hourglass instead of a handkerchief. The edges of the skirt show up behind the Adam and Eve temptation scene between the woman’s skeletal legs. The peacock’s body lifts with the skirt flap, but its head joins with a snake body which is twined around the skeletal leg on the right. Adam sits on a cloth-covered coffin, with his genitalia visible and erect, reaching for an apple from Eve and the second snake. National Gallery of Art, 1964.8.1048 (Fig. 12.16A-B); Rijksmuseum Kupferstichkabinett (censored) (Fig. 12.16C); Köstumbibliothek, Berlin; WALDBURG-WOLFEGG album, vol. 219, sheet 199. About 28 × 22 cm (sheet). Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori; Hollstein VIII, p 143 no 9 and J.J. Merlos and Ed. FirmenichRichartz, Kolnische Kunstler in alter und neuer Zeit, Dusseldorf, 1895, p 299. Also, Drugulin, 98, no 2502 “Die Hoffahrt. Ein Klappenbild; unter dem Rocke ein Gerippe und der Sündenfall. Mit Versen. C. Goltzius sc. J. Bussemächer exc. Fol. 3 10”, Pieske; Schöller, 87-99. Schöller’s Religiose Drucke Aus Kölner Producktion, 1995, also pictures two static Almodo figures with skeletons under clothing, 16-17. 1626-30, Gerhard Altzenbach, printer. 146. ca. 1600 Conrad Goltizius, Pride. Flap engraving, with frame; central image appears in two states, before and after the linear background. The framing is similar to other Prides with lifting skirts from this era, with the figure surrounded by decorative elements in the frame. The work is usually considered unsigned, but still given to Conrad Goltzius, as he worked with the printer, Peter Overadt, who also published in Cologne. One small detail clinches the attribution however, a small C and G in the black background between the heads of the post-lapsarian pair and the snake-dragon above. This attribution is strengthened by the distinctive recycling of the peacock head into

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one of the snakes in the Adam and Eve scene underneath the print. The difference between the two is evident in the way the flaps are cut out differently. While the first peacock’s feathers lift entirely with the skirt, in this example, the bird’s body stays in place while the head turns into one of the devilish snakes weaving through the skeleton’s pelvis. Male pendant has a scene of Adam and Eve being chased out of Paradise, under skeleton legs. Same frame; a little bit of a landscape; the flap is again large and curves around his left leg; he’s in mid-stride. The costume is very seventeenth-century, with huge doublet. the bottom section “v” of this is cut out and glued down, leaving an opening in the flap itself similiar to the other figures in this ‘series’. This would definitely suggest that they were all constructed in the same workshop. The female impression from BM has a little bit of white border showing around the flap; same v-shaped opening. In very good condition. Male pendant at BM and WALDBURG-WOLFEGG album, vol. 219, sheet 198 (no flap); The female Pride is also in the Rijksmuseum Kupferstichkabinett, Staatliche Galerie Moritzburg, Halle, (central image, first state, no frame, Adam and Eve portion dramatically censored); BM and WALDBURGWOLFEGG, vol. 219, sheet 200 (final state, no frame) and Wolfegg, vol. 243, sheet 172 (first state, no frame). 19.5 × 14 cm (center image only) Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori; Luitjen, 154-6; Pieske, Scholler, 92-3, 96-7, Hollstein. Drugulin, no. 2503, 98, refers to the pair; Pieske rightly quotes this entry as a proof that male versions were produced, but declines to make any artistic interpretations or link it to this female Pride, which she attributes to another artist, 141. 147. Between 1597-1602 Gillis van Breen. Superbia. Flap engraving. Missing flap (though it has a residue of one), but includes new narrative elements in background instead of a frame. Two vases in front (allegorical), woman holds mirror, and in the background a man lifts her skirt while she admires herself, only to find chicken legs of the Devil. See The Innocent Choir Robe, (Cat. A 62), for the frontal view of this leg type. The woman in front has a narrow opening in her skirt which shows skeletal legs with cloven hooves and a coffin with a skull, but no Adam and Eve. “Gbreen fecit.” is the only text. The main figure is definitely copied from the Greuter version, although a mirror has been substituted for the fan, as woman has no narrative inner content, just the skeletal legs, and points to her skirt with her right hand. Conrad Golzius and Breen worked and or published together, as several prints in the New York Public Library (NYPL), Prints collection suggest. Rijksmuseum Kupfterstichkabinett. Approx. 22 × 20 cm (nearly square). Literature: Pieske, 9-11. 148. Early seventeenth century. Double Memento Mori. Engraving with flaps: 16.5 × 19.7 cm (plate); 25.7 × 36.8 cm (sheet) Copy after Goltzius pair; changes include a colonnade with brick openwork ‘portholes,’ behind which

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the couple appears, man on the left. He holds a flower, she a chalice. There are only bones underneath the flaps, no Adam and Eve or allegory. His flap also includes a copy of the tile floor pattern; hers cuts just inside the tighter-placed columns. The text above the man reads: “Dis bildt alzeit vor augen hab, Der mensch ist gleich ein bdeckten grab.” Above the woman: “Auswendig ist geziret sein, Inwendig ligts vol dotenbein.” HAB Wolfenbüttel (Graph. C: 453a). No other copies known; otherwise only anatomy flap prints have paired flaps. 149. ca. 1650 Memento Mori Bust of a Young Woman and Her Skeleton. (Possibly part of pair of small-scale memento mori). French. 2 prints on 1 leaf : etching and engraving; sheet 20.2 × 10.2 cm, folded to 13.7 × 10.2 cm Text reads: “CE VISAGE MENT”; face on flap lifts to show skull and additional text: “FACIE HAC-“ Woman has prominent cleavage, dove on necklace and blonde (or powdered), and dressed hair. Original with ornamental frame and more detail shows tufts of hair clinging to the skull. Impression with red heightening at Folger Library (RT 266- 627 (size XS)). Crude copy, WALDBURG-WOLFEGG album, vol. 219, no. 204. 150.

1698 Giuseppe Maria Mitelli, Memento Mori. Etching, with the text “Se conoscer mi voi mi scoprirai.” Beautiful woman in mask playing guitar; her head lifts as a flap to reveal a skull. BM 1852,0612.588

Clothing Censure and Almodo 151-157. by 1588 Pietro Bertelli and family, Venetian Courtesan series, ca. 1588. Nine engravings with seven flaps present: Tomb of Antenor (no flap); Carnival Maskers/ Courtesan in Interior (Fig. 12.4); Courtesan and Blind Cupid/ Gondola (Fig. 12.5); Courtesan Riding Donkey/Courtesans in Carriage in the Veneto (Fig. 12.6); Gondola Card Game/ Senatorial Barge (Fig. 12.7): approx. 14.3 × 19.8 (plate); 25 × 17.8 cm (sheet). Bound with Donato Bertelli (Italian, active 1564–1574), Le vere imagini et descritioni delle piu nobilli citta del mondo (Venice: Donato Bertelli, 1578). Print Collection, Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs, the New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations (MEM B537V) Eight single and one double engraving, seven of which have flapped images. These include a nonmovable two-sheet depiction of the Tomb of Antenor, the legendary founder of Padua (the prints were likely produced there by the Bertellis, like Pietro Bertelli’s Diversaru[m] (Cat. B 222)); two male masquers with a masked prostitute with a liftable skirt and a woman in an interior whose skirt reveals skeleton legs, a motto on

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the wall, “Errige Oculos et Vide Quid Eris” refers to the inevitability of death, and literally connects it with the underpinnings of the print; the Venetian prostitute sheet with her liftable skirt is then followed by a print of one with a duenna and prostitute in a gondola with a flap revealing the prostitute embracing a man; the next shows a landscape with a woman with a spinning staff on a donkey and women in a carriage on the other side. Both lift, showing that the former is actually being carried on the back of a man—in a Phyllis and Aristotle-like pose—and the other shows a couple embracing. Only one of the last two prints is movable, and it shows another gondola, although its hidden occupants are playing cards this time. A view of a galleon, before the Piazzo San Marco in Venice, is on the other side. NYPL Prints Dept, in Donato Bertelli (MEM B537v). (Cover; Figs. 12.4-7) VESTE COBURG (XIII, 321, 178) See below for canvas-backed collage comprised of the rearranged sheet of the Courtesan and one of the gondola scenes, and two unrelated flap landscape scenes with a carried chair and a barge. (Fig. 12.9) MMA, Courtesan and Blind Cupid. (55.503.30) (Fig. 12.1) GNM, Courtesan and Blind Cupid. (HB 25037, Kapsel 1277) Literature: Karr Schmidt Memento Mori; New York: Lawner, 21; Bertelli; Volk-Simon. WALDBURG-WOLFEGG, Courtesan and Blind Cupid; Courtesan and Duenna in Gondola; and the Gondola Card Game, vol. 225, nrs. 310-312. Quite worn printing quality for these impressions. 158-59. by 1588 Pietro Bertelli? Landscapes, in Venetian Courtesan Wall Hanging. Four engravings pasted on canvas, three with flaps: 27.1 × 38.2 cm (combined plates); 30.2 × 40.8 cm (sheet). VESTE COBURG (XIII,321,178). (Fig. 12.9) One with a couple in a carried chair and a barge with dignitaries. VESTE COBURG (XIII, 321, 178) Bertelli Courtesan and Blind Cupid, and Gondola with two new landscapes with flaps at Coburg, cited by Harms, with an incorrect digit.: (I 100, S 218, Fußnote B3) "Das Kupferstichkabinett der Veste Coburg besitzt ein Blatt, auf das ein Sammler vier galante Klappbilder geklebt hat” (VESTE COBURG: XIII, 321, 178). (Harms has it as XIII 331,178) (Also Kp B 1190 F. II. 1) 160. ca. 1597 Italian (Venice), Venetian Courtesan, in Philipp Hainhofer Stammbuch, entry dated 1597. Gouache miniature with skirt flap: 4.7 × 3 cm (flap); 14.7 × 9.1 cm (miniature); 20.5 × 14 cm (sheet). HAB (Cod. Guelf. 210 Extrav., fol. 148). (Fig. 13.4) Literature: Spamer, 165-6; Philipp Hainhofer, Stammbuch. fol. 48. Based on the single-sheet print of a Courtesan with Blind Cupid. Folio 315 has picture of woman in carriage, much like the one in the Bertelli, but no flap. Colored nicely; she has the horns from Venice, and the image is dated 1595. On 123, another Bertelli reference—the man and woman in a carriage, without flap, but still very similar.

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161-162. ca. 1588-1600 Nicolas Keppel, Costume book manuscript. Copies (or perhaps improves upon) the Bertelli 1589 for many miniatures. The artist depends on the courtesan-gondola pairing from the sheet series for its two flap prints. Walters Art Gallery Manuscript Dept. W 477, 13 (gondola), 15 (courtesan). 163.

1588-1612 Stammbuch, British Library Egerton Ms 1208, folio 19. Amorous couple in a gondola under a curtain, with a musician added to Bertelli. Literature: Egerton MS catalogue. Nickson, M.A.E., Early Autograph Albums in the British Museum. The Trustees of the British Museum: London, 1970, p 16. W. Klose "London, British Library; Stammbucher Des 16 Jahrhunderts" from Corpus Alborum Amicorum: beschreibendes Verzeichnis der Stammbücher des 16. Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart, 1988; for many of the following, see June Schlueter, “The Album Amicorum & the London of Shakespeare’s Time” (BM Press, London 2012), 20, 23. 164. ca. 1602 Liber Amicorum of the merchant Johann Heinrich Gruber, f. 2v, dated 1602 in dedicated entry opposite. Illuminated drawing with a courtesan in a gondola with a liftable curtain. The visible courtesan and suitor (with his arm around her) on the right are serenaded by a lute player from underneath the plain black curtain flap. The album entry on the opposite page is dated 1602 and signed by a “Jeronimo.” Getty Research Institute Library (870108). 165.

ca. 1600 Courtesan with a skirt flap, in anonymous costume-book. Bayerisches Nationalmuseum Munich, Hs. 3659, fol. 50.

166. ca. 1606-1613 Group Scene with male figure with liftable trouser flap revealing naked genitalia. Gouache illustration in the album amicorum of Joachim Weverman. The illustration shows a candle-lit, obscure medical or perhaps initiation ritual with the man in question held down on the ground and surrounded by onlookers, some of whom may be doctors. British Library Manuscript Egerton 1236, fol. 4. 167.

1608-54 Gondola with flap, in album amicorum of Conrad Ernst von Berlepsch. Dresden, Sächsisches Landesbibliothek, Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, App. 2547, fol.215.

168.

1615-47 Gondola with flap, in album amicorum of Anton Erich Rentsch. Copenhagen, Den Kongelige Bibliotek, Thott 432, 8°, fol.109

169.

1616-67 Gondola with flap, in album amicorum of Olof Lilliesparre (Swede).

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Stockholm Kungliga Biblioteket Y fol.123v. 170.

1623-25 Gondola with flap, in album amicorum of Oelhafen von Schöllenbach. London, British Library, Egerton MS 1269, fol.13.

171. first quarter seventeenth century Venetian costume album, fol. 7: “Cortesiana & Vedoa Feraresa.” Flap drawing of courtesan and widow; courtesan flap reveals chopines and unusually, nudity. Jörn Gunther, Antiquariat, ca. 2006, describes the album as unpublished: “Although the artist obviously pays special attention to exact rendering of details of fashion his depictions do not lack a certain sense of irony. This is evident above all on fol. 7 juxtaposing a courtesan and a widow. The colourful dress of the former and her extroverted, playful pose forms an obviously intended contrast to the black garments of the latter covering her head and adds an overtly erotic dimension by attaching a flap of paper to the skirt of the young woman. If opened it reveals her nakedness except for stockings with fancy ribbons and shoes with breathtakingly high soles to disguise the shortness of her legs.” This juxtaposition of the courtesan with a more demure figure was likely suggested by Pietro Bertelli’s costume book, which places her after several brides and matrons, opposite a male scholar. 172. 1628 German Almodo series. Wie such ein All’modo Monsieur in Winter kleiden solle. One example has a foppish woman’s skirt, which lifts up to reveal pants. Quite similar to the Venetian idea, except that the woman’s shoes are already visible, and they are not stilts. She coyly reveals only the leg on the left, with the rest of her skirt still falling over the right. Prints in this period often censured the fashionable fool. (Harms. HAB I 128, as 1630) 173. 1628 Wie such ein All’modo Monsieur in Winter kleiden solle. Flap broadsheet including woman with a liftable skirt revealing pants. BM Foreign History Folders, 1628 (1872-1-13-586). (38.2 × 29; 12.3 × 29.5 cm) Other versions include: Staatliche Bibliothek, Bamburg VI G142 (damaged); Stadtbibliothek Ulm, (X6 3473, i.e. Einblatt 713) (damaged); HAB Wolfenbüttel, (IE 163). Paas, P-1224. Different letterpress used in Hamburg, Universitaatsbibliothek. (Scrin C/22, 226). Paas, P-1223. Same dimensions. Literature: Coupe, I 110, 213, 270-1. 174.

1629 Coat of Arms. Engraved broadsheet with a flap. Almodo and his mistress appear on opposite sides of a large coat of arms, dressed to the nines. The shield lifts up, uncovering a seeming mirror. This reveals an image of Almodo defecating when held up to light.

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That image is in fact a third engraving with mirror-text and the revealing views of the couple. It is pasted beneath the first two engravings. This print relates to the framed mirrors with decorative, sliding covers beginning in sixteenth-century Italy, as well as the bodily humor relating to Peter Flötner’s Human Sundial broadsheet. (Cat. A 299) BM Foreign History Folders, 1629. (1880-7-10-920); Hamburg UB (Scrin C/22, 218). Dimensions: (35.2 × 25.4 cm; 16.7 × 18.8 cm [top flap], 16 × 24.9 cm [middle engraving], and 16.2 × 24.3 cm [bottom engraving.] P1220. Zürich Zentralbibliothek (Einblatt 16, Modespiegel Ia, I), Dimensions (350 × 255; t 167x t251). P-1221 (slightly different letterpress). Literature: Dülberg, nos 706-9, plate 269; Coupe I 130-131, 213 no 63; Paas 1220-1. 175. 1629 Die Newe umbgekehrte Welt. Ala Modo Monsiers. Text by Caspar Uttenhovius. As usual, a line-up of well-dressed fools. The woman on the right holding Alamodo’s sword looks rather similar to the one on the preceding print. The mischievous creature that is squatting and farting (or defecating) under her skirt potentially cinches the similarity to the reverse-pasted print. Two impressions at HAB: IE 150 has the flap pasted down, while IE 150a is missing the flap entirely. It may never have been attached. The imp below her pants is grasping his penis with his right hand (he bends over sharply to do this, and grasps his right butt cheek with the left.) “Guck recht.” There is visible wind emitted. The imp looks as if it may have a beard, but is the size of a small child. One at HAUM and BM has different text than HAB, BM (flap missing), and one with other text and redone engraving at GNM 24508/1277 flap missing (but remnants survive). Coupe, vol. I 101, 202. (D. 1754) No 10 Pl. 129 (BM) Paas, 357-358. (HAUM and GNM versions illustrated.) Rijksmuseum recently acquired a pristine copy of the first version, donated by C.G. Boerner, Dusseldorf. inv. no. RP-P-2004-311. Bulletin von het Rijksmuseum, no. 52, 2004, 3-4. HAB Wolfenbüttel (IE 150; IE 150a); Hamburg UB (Scrin. C/22, 225); Braunschweig Flugblätter; London, BM, Foreign History Folders, 1629 (1880-7-10-930). P-1226. P-1227. GNM HB 24508/1277. New engraving; there was once a flap attached; the letterpress sheet is pasted onto the one with the engraving. 6 impressions. 176. 1629/30 Attributed to Jacob van der Heyden (1573-1645). Laconice. Sat sapienti Gnueg mann kent di’. “A Word to the Wise.” Flap print with censure of fashion and loose morals. Four women in foreground, one of whose aprons lifts to show a tattered underskirt. The same four women appear again in various stages of parting with their various lovers in the background. Two versions with different aphorisms underneath. “Frech ist mein Muth, gleichwie der Hut—Das hab ich im Alter erlebt.” Drugulin No 1761, has a different text: “Nun ist die Zeit dass man muss stutzen – Man darff ihr Tracht erleiden.

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J. van der Heyden fec. Fol.” See Panorama of Magdeburg with flap, below, by another or possibly the same J. van der Heyden. Köstumbibliothek/ Lippeheide, (Kunstbibliothek) Berlin 1001, 45. The picture and the decorative border around the verses underneath are slightly cropped on the left; KK Berlin 121911; Halle, Moritzburg; formerly in Antiquariat Drugulin, Leipzig (And a second with different text.); WALDBURG-WOLFEGG, vol. 128, no. 447. (Image only.) Literature: Drugulin, 158, nrs 1761, 2; Pieske, p 143., Harms vol. I, no. 142, ie 108, Wäscher, 71; Köstumbibliothek version was in a show at Halle in 1998, Frau Hoeffart und Monsieur Alamode, and will be in a caricature show at the Kupferstichkabinett “Projekt Modecarikatur” nd. Wäscher (Halle) example has a full border around it (much like HAB impression) From Kostumbibliothek records, the scene is ‚Laconia’ in the area of Sparta; “Sat sapienti” relates to Terence, Phormio, verse 541: “dictum sapienti sat est.’; translated in frame as ‘Gnueg mann kennt di.’ 177-80. Before 1630 Esaias Van der Velde. Couples Dancing. Four etchings of couples dancing (three noble, one peasant) with two separate scenes each, printed from several plates probably attached on top of each other to allow different combinations by folding back sections. Total sizes around 9.5 × 7 cm (sheet). A copy of the complete series is in Bremen. Literature: Hollstein, Esaias van der Velde, nos 7-14. 181. 1685-1700 Stage set design with exotically dressed dancers in the foreground and Mercury floating in the clouds above, with alternate view flap. Etched with labeling in pen. Labeled LXVI and 16 at the upper right, suggesting it may have been part of a series. GNM Nuremberg HB 24856/ 1367. 37 × 25.1 cm; HAUM.

Maps and Globe Gores This category necessarily only includes the gores created by artists mentioned in this book and others which have been personally seen by the author. There may be as many as a hundred more extant from the early modern period, especially considering the number of globes made from the gores (with no single-sheet impressions surviving), and numerous atlases of globe gores. 182. 1507 Martin Waldseemüller Earliest surviving Woodcut Gores. Accompanied by a pamphlet, Cosmographiae Introdv- / ctio/ Cvm Qvibvs / dam Geome / triae / Ac / Astrono / miae Principiis Ad / Eam Rem Necessariis. / Insuper quatuor Americi Ve- / spucij nauigationes. Saint Dié, 1507. (Cat. B 94).

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183. 1514 Astrologivm Phisicvm, and Motus none Spere et trepvdacionis octave Spere 1514, printed instrument engraving sheets by Ludovici Boulegier Allebie. Found in 2012 with the Ludwig Maximilian University Library, Munich impression of the 1507 Waldseemüller woodcut globe gores. The relationship of these instruments to the globe is still being researched. Literature: Stefaan Missinne, “America’s Birth Certificate: The Oldest Globular World Map: c. 1507”Advances in Historical Studies, 4 (2015): 261–267. http://dx.doi.org/10.4236/ahs.2015.43019 184-189.

1515-1534 Johannes Schöner. Globe Pairs. 1515 Terrestrial Globe (Earth), with 1515 Lucentissimus (Cosmography) Twelve woodcut gores mounted on a sphere, with wooden base: approx. 39.25 × 6.54 cm (gores); 26.8 cm diameter (constructed), 39 cm (globe and stand). Historisches museum Frankfurt (hmf X14610). (Fig. 8.9) Literature: Berger, Frank. and Dresden, Wolfram Dolz, Erd- und Himmelsgloben. Sammlungskatalog Mathematisch-Physikalischer Salon Dresden. Dresden 1994, 10-13. 1517 sky, with Solidi ac Sphaerici. Appendix in 1518. This differs from Dürer’s 1515 sky map in several details, esp. Perseus’ lack of a sword. 1520 Handpainted earth globe. GNM WI I, in Focus Behaim-Globus, Ausst. Kat Germanisches Nationalmuseum. Nuremberg, 1992, 673f. 1523 (terrestrial) De Nuper Repertis. (4pp) (Cat. B 89) 1533/34 Globi Stelliferi ... Nuremberg 1533. (Cat. B 90) Both are dedicated to Elector Johann Friedrich of Saxony (both globes and book) Globes only recently attributed; records show he gave Schöner 100 gulden as thanks. Literature: Hauschke; Holst, 71-76.; Focus Behaim-Globus, II, 524-5, no I. 22.a. 190.

1517 Globe gore engraving on one sheet. Louis Boulangier, printed in Lyon. NYPL, Rare Books in Boulangier’s new edition of Waldseemuller’s Cosmographia.

191.

ca. 1518 Ingolstadt Gores. Anonymous, one sheet woodcut Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris; Helsinki, Finland; John Carter Brown Library, Providence, Harvard College Library. Literature: Shirley, 43.

R.I.;

192. 1536 Caspar Vopel. Celestial Gores; copy by an unknown artist in Stuttgart, Württemberg Landesbibliothek. Robert W. Karrow Jr., Mapmakers of the Sixteenth Century and their Maps: Bio-Bibliographies of the Cartographers of Abraham Ortelius, 1570, Chicago, 1993, 79/4: 558.

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193.

1540s Caspar Vopel “Paper Astrolabe,” with terrestrial globe. Partial copy in Fürstlich Oettingen-Wallerstein’sche Bibliothek, Harburg über Donauwörth. Karrow: 560-61, (map illustrated, p. 688.)

194.

ca. 1525-30 “Ambassadors Globe Gores.” Attributed to Schöner, Hartmann or Apian. NYPL, Rare Books. The name comes from a globe shown in Hans Holbein the Younger’s 1533 double portrait of two French noblemen (Jean de Dinteville and Georges de National Gallery, London. Literature: Catalogue no. 65, in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe. 195.

1541

Selve),

Gerhard Mercator, terrestrial globe, paired with 1551 celestial globe (158). Harvard College Library Map Collection.

196.

1548 Conrad Morant Maler, designer. Map of Straßburg with standup church. Nuremberg with an eight-year imperial privilege. There was also a black and white reproduction in th the 19 century without standing flap. Pasted on canvas. Nuremberg. SP 3224 1548; Kapsel 113e. Copy is SP3222 Kap 1131 Literature: Braunfels, W. “Anton Wonsams Kölnprospekt von 1531 in der geschichte des Sehens,” Wallraf-Richartz Jahrbuch. Westdeutsches Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte, xxII, 1960, 115-136. Discusses some contemporary city models. 197.

1551

Gerhard Mercator. Celestial Globe. Harvard College Map Collection.

198.

1552 François de Mongenet. Globe Gores. Engravings. Second edition engraved by Enea Vico with a copy in BL; about the same size as Hartmann’s smaller gores. Celestial is: 32.2 cm wide × 40.2 cm tall; gores are stacked horizontally. 28.7 cm at widest (exterior borders of woodcut) 27.5 cm at edges of actual gore. 14.4 high to woodcut edge; 13.6 gore edge. Terrestrial a little wider: 28.8 cm woodcut; 27.2 gore; 14.2, 13.6 cm. NYPL, Rare Books; GNM La 211 (Kapsel 1186) 199. 1605-1619 Georg Brentel of Launingen. At least 20 printed instruments with pamphlets, several of which copy Georg Hartmann instruments. Several of his works appear in the GNM 2° 2983 working album with Hartmann and Franz Ritter’s works. Literature: Catalogue nrs. 69 (comp. ill.), 71, in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern

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Europe. 200. 1619 Warhaffte Abbildung dess Fleckens Plurs. (Single-line title) Hans Philip Walch, printer. Before and After views of the 1618 Catastrophe at Graubünden. Engraving with printed text, produced in Nuremberg. Different text and shorter title than no. 171. GNM Nuremberg HB 862/1370 18.9 × 29.4 cm (image) and 38.6 × 29.7 cm (sheet); HB 24678/1370. 37 × 20.8 cm (sheet.) 201. 1619 Warhaffte abbildung deß fläckens PLVRS. (Two-line title) Hans Philipp Walch, printer. Flap Engraving. Shows the avalanche of Plurs. (The before and after flap was used for natural disasters; Henry Repton also accentuated its positive aspects for proposed renovations in the eighteenth century in his Red Books.) BSB Munich (Einbl. V,8); HAB Wolfenbüttel (IP 19, 2 copies); Staats- und Stadtbibliothek, Augsburg (Einbl. nach 1500, no. 153); copy previously in Drugulin II 1345; formerly Auktionshaus Zisska und Kistner, München; possibly Darmstadt. Also Zurich collection, see Gutenberg Jahrbuch. WALDBURG-WOLFEGG album, vol. 257, no. 67. 40.4 × 31 cm (sheet). Literature: Augsburg: Spamer, 166, note 3, Seltene Einblattdrucke, Stadtansichten, Landkarten. Auktionskatalog 1 von Zisska und Kister, München 1983, no. 1397 (ill).,Gutenberg Jahrbuch 2009; For HAB examples, Harms (I 212). 202.

1619 Jacob van der Heyden in Strasbourg. Inundation of Plurs, probably same as no. 1619 in Drugulin II, 1344.

203. 1631 Panorama with “Before and After” flap. “Magdeburg, (20. Mai) view of the city, then another after a battle and a fire: Situationsplan mit der Erstürmung. Über der stadt ein Klappbild mit dem Grundriss ihres Zustandes nach dem Brande. U. 3sp. Bescri.: Eigentlicher Bericht–welcher gestalt die – Hänse Statt Magdeburg –erobert worden. J.v.d. Heyden fec. Gr. Fol. (nr 1878), Rc 2 2/3.” Drugulin II, p 157. The mechanism employed is similar to the changing view of fortifications in the Italian edition of Vitruvius from 1559. British Library. Copy 1 shelfmark 30000 (6), Copy 2 title variant crach. 1 Tab 4 c1 (13); Nuremberg has three variants. HB 469/ 1343 23.8 × 33.7 cm (image); 54.8 × 37.6 cm (sheet); HB 24995/1343, 25.2 × 30.7 cm (image), 56.7 × 37.2 cm (sheet); and HB 472/ 1343, 27.7 × 35.3 cm (image without appended text) HAB also has two variants. Literature: Drugulin. Historischem Bilderatlas II, no. 1878, p 168. Spamer, 166, note 3.

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Sundials and Other Scientific Objects to Cut Out and Build 204-207. 1512, 1515 Hans Springinklee (Figs. 8.2A-C) Four horoscopes by Johannes Stabius for Emperor Maximilian and his entourage. May 31, 1512 Horoscope for Emperor Maximilian I (Horoscopion universal pro multiplici diversarum genium ritu). Hand-colored woodcut with hole for index string, and letterpress: 35.8 × 35.8 cm (block); 46.8 × 46.3 cm (sheet). Albertina, Vienna (DG 1950/219). The 1512 Albertina unicum of Maximilian’s circular horoscope print has no surviving text, but the KK Hofbibliothek ms no. 5280 preserves the dedication text to the Emperor: “Horoscopion universale pro multiplici diversarum gentium ritu diei noctisque horas et momenta distinguens.” Weiss mentions that an index string and coloring would have been used to clarify the network of lines. July 30, 1512 Double Horoscope for Bishop Matthäus Gurk (Horoscopion omni generaliter congruens climati). Composed of two Regiomontanus dials back to back. Woodcut from two blocks on two sheets, with handcoloring and letterpress: 23.4 x 100.7 cm (blocks); 36.8 x 105 cm (sheet). Early impressions at the Albertina and in Berlin, Inv. 16-1999. August 8, 1512 Horoscope for Jacob Bannisius (Horoscopion omni generaliter Congruens climati). Based on Regiomontanus’ universal sundial. BM London (1909,0612.31–33) Unique impression of uncolored woodcut with two columns of letterpress instructions: 34.2 × 20.5 cm (block); 40.8 × 52.1 cm (sheet). GNM (HB 25805, Kapsel 1206); Albertina; HAB (early proof). July 25, 1515 Imperial Astrolabe for Jacob Bannisius, Astrolabium imperatorium totius habitabilis orbis nobilioribus partibus inserviens. (Also known as Culminatorium Fixarum in Adam von Bartsch’s restrikes). Portable hour-conversion chart dedicated again to Jacob Bannissis for keeping the emperor informed. Woodcut with hand-coloring and letterpress: 45 x 45 cm (block); 61 x 45 cm (sheet). Lavishly handcolored in the early impressions at the Albertina and BSB, Einbl. VIII, 12. Multi-sheet reprints were made in the eighteenth century by Adam van Bartsch from the Vienna blocks: GNM HB 25428, Kapsel 1206 and Harvard, Houghton Library (Cardinal Gurk); private collection (Maximilian); BM (Maximilian and the Cardinal); BSB (entire group). All four of the instruments were also reprinted in a book of ‘drawings’ after Dürer by Bartsch, now known in three copies (Paris, London (BL) and the Royal Library of Denmark). Literature: Pilz, 163-6; Weiss; Adam von Bartsch, Sammlung verschiedener alter Holzschnitte grösstentheils nach Albrecht Dürer's Zeichnungen, wovon sich die Original-platten auf der K. K. Hofbibliothek

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befinden. Wien, 1781. Catalogue no. 64, in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe. 208. 1513 Lucas Cranach the Elder. A perpetually useful planetary device by Bonifatius von Zörbig (Ein ewig nutzbarlich Planetisch werck von magistro Bonifacio von Zorbegk). Woodcut and letterpress printed in black and red: 28.4 × 36.7 cm (block); 31.9 × 38.8 cm (sheet). (Fig. 8.6) Albertina, Vienna (DG1929/190). A lunar vovelle is lacking from the dark circle. Compare to Erlinger, (Cat. A 211), and Cranach’s lost 1529 planisphere volvelle (Fig. 8.7; Cat. A 294). Literature: Geisburg XXVII, 19; Catalogue no. 65, in Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge in Early Modern Europe. 209.

ca. 1510s Horizon and Meridian Circles (for a terrestrial globe). Woodcut. BSB Rara 434, 88.

210. 1515 Cylinder Sundial. Woodcut, issued with "Horarii Cylindri Canones" pamphlet. Although no 1515 impression has been traced, Schöner's cylinder may have been the earliest treatise on the pillar dial. Johannes Dryander’s pamphlets in 1537 and 1543 included a woodcut sundial; it is possible that Schöner did too. The text may be exactly reprinted in the 1551 Opera Mathematica posthumously published by his son. Zinner 1038 (lists Doppelmayr, 46 as a reference, but without finding a copy.) Doppelmayr refers to the publication thusly: “In eben diesem 1515ten Jahr publicierte auch Schonerus noch ein anders kleines Scriptum betitult Horarii cylindri Canones, (kk) in welchem er verschidene r Regeln, wie die cylindrische Uhren richtig zu bescreiben, dargestellt.” Doppelmayr also notes that this work was dedicated to Schoner’s former Praeceptor, Daniel Schmidten, Deacon of the Nuremberg Marienkirche. The 1551 edition follows this format. Willibald Pirckheimer’s ca. 1515 letter (Briefwechsel 368) to an unnamed scholar in Emperor Maximilian’s retinue refers to a recently printed cylinder “Chilindrum noviter impressum” and asks to send his regards to Johannes Stabius. 211. 1516 Georg Erlinger. Instrumentum Planeticum, for determining the path of the moon and planetary influence. Printed in Augsburg with an instructions booklet. Schaffhausen Municipal Museum. Literature: Christoph Schöner, 290; Zinner Geschichte, 1049-50. 212. 1519 Peter Apian. Horoscopion. Woodcut. Signed “15 PAL 19.” (His earliest map is dated with “A Petro Apiano Leysnico 1520”; thus the PAL.) 24.2 × 15.5 cm (block, including illusionistic sights); 34.5 × 19.2 cm (sheet). (Fig. 8.4) BSB Rar. 434, 2. Zinner, Instrumente attribution, 234.

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213.

1520s Peter Apian. Quadrant. Woodcut in two parts. Signed “P. Apianus.” BSB Rara 434, 3. Literature: Zinner, Instrumente, 234. Zinner suggests a link with Apian’s 1532 Quadrans Apiani Astronomicus book, but the entirely xylographic woodcut’s style is quite different and closer to his archaic early designs than the 1530s examples which employed letterpress. 214. 1521 Peter Apian. Double-Sided Nocturnal. Woodcut. “Horae Noctis et Quartalia—Anno Domini Millesimo Quingentesimo 21.” Sale catalogue copy: “Consisting of three discs, 13cm and 12cm diameter respectively, capable of being rotated on a perforated axis. Moving on the same axis is also an index rule (“Horarum Index”). The largest disc has the inscription given above and besides: Signa et Gradus Zodiaci, and a circle with the hours. The second disc, which is atached to a handle, shows the months of the year and the planets. The third disc, also with a handle, forms the back of the instrument and shows some sundials, and below, the globe with the Hebrew word for the Almighty (misprinted). £32.” Literature: Goldschmidt, vol. 29, nd. (around 1930), no. 157, 57, illustrations II, III. Copies: One complete, constructed copy sold by Goldschmidt; the verso dial with the sundial appears in the BSB Rar. 818 work in progress copy of Apian’s Astronomicum, pasted into the rear binding. (The 30-yearswar (dates included ca. 1614-1626) handwritten text runs over it, and it has been pasted on top of a proof from one of Apian’s diagrams from a 1530s book, so it’s not unlikely that he put it there.) 215. 1588 Philipp Apian. Cylinder Sundial. In De cylindri utilitate, Tübingen, possibly a posthumous publication of a work by his father Peter. The German Kurtzer Bericht vom gebrauch deß Cylinders followed in 1624. Copied (or reprinted) as a woodcut in 1610, and as an engraving by Georg Brentel in 1619. BSB Rar. 434, 61. 216-290. ca. 1526-1562 75 instrument prints and sets of prints by Georg Hartmann, (Egolsheim 1495Nuremberg 1564). Priest, Scholar, and Instrument and Printmaker. The Munich BSB Rara 434 album, drawn from Hartmann’s own collection of working prints, contains numerous impressions of the bulk of Hartmann’s surviving designs. A number of duplicates and unica survive in two volumes in the Herzog August Bibliothek Wolfenbuettel , and as separate prints in the GNM. Seventy instrument engravings including three globe gores, four woodcut sundial and astrolabe kits, and one sundial etching. Possible collaborations with Sebald Beham, Erhard Schön, and Johannes Schöner. 291.

ca. 1526 Polyptych Sundial. Woodcut. Anonymous Sundial Master First state in BSB Hartmann Rariorum 434, 132. Sheet 30.2 × 27.5 cm. Nuremberg HB13104, Kapsel 1197a.

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Literature: Nuremberg version, p 287-8, no. 12.8, in Geburt der Zeit: Eine Geschichte der Bilder und Begriffe. Museum Fridericianum, Kassel 2000. 292.

after 1526 Anonymous Sundial Master. Octahedral Sundial. Woodblock. BNM Clock division. Case 27, Inv. no. 72/130. Literature: 286-8, no. 12.7, in Geburt der Zeit: Eine Geschichte der Bilder und Begriffe. Museum Fridericianum, Kassel 2000. Mechanik aus der Wunderkammer, Deutsches Museum, Bonn, 1996. 293. 1520s (before 1529) Veit Bild, designer. Octahedral Prism Sundial. Master FSW, woodcutter. Augsburg, or possibly Thierhaupten, Benedictine Abbey of St. Peter and Paul (see BSB 1587 exlibris, http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/bsb00056594/image_59). Two states of an octahedral-prism-shaped polyhedral sundials each with three sheets. Also includes a lunar volvelle. First state without the monogram is also in: BSB Rar 434 31-4 (same sheet); Main differences: monogram in the cart pulled by a horse at the top left, as well as in the right octagon, at top right. Six rectangles and a pointer and the two dials in the other sheet. Master FSW mentioned in Brulliot 1833: no. 877, Nagler 2: no 2507, Thieme Becker 37: 394. 294. 1529 Lucas Cranach the Elder. Astrolabe for Students (Charta ad Usum Studiosorum). Lost woodcut astrolabe mounted on cardboard and handcolored, showing seven planets in motion. The sheet is dedicated to Cranach’s patron, Prince John Frederick the Benevolent, who would succeed his father as Elector in 1532: “Clariss. Principi ac Domino. D. Ioanni Ro. Impe. Ilect. Saxoniae Dvci. Marchioni Mysnae. Praesidi Provinciae Thyringiae, Heroi Stvdiosorvm Benignissimo Dicatvm.” Woodblock cut by Ludovicus Schöffer and published by Peter Jordan: “Charta ad vsvm stvdiosorvm a Mathia Bohemo de Nova Domo aedita. Vittenbergae Anno MDXXIX Mense Ianva. Lvcas de Cronach imaginibvs circomscripsit. Lvdovic. Schofer scvlpsit. Petrvs Iordan excvdebat.” Like Cranach’s 1513 sundial for Bonifatius, this work appears to have been commissioned by a littleknown mathematician, Matthias Bohemus, who authored a (better-survived) pamphlet to accompany the print. The constellations rely on Dürer’s Celestial Hemispheres of 1515. Formerly Jena Universitätsbibliothek. (Fig. 8.7) Inquiries at the library and even at the library of the university observatory to locate it have failed. Ernst Zinner refers to the woodcut and published a photo that is also in his Nachlass in Frankfurt, unfortunately with no further details. Deborah Warner of the National Museum of American History also attempted to locate it in Jena, without success. Literature: Matthias Bohemus, Canones Astrolabii ad illustrissimum Principem ac Dominum D. Joannem Saxonie Ducem, etc. De Circulis, Arcubus ac Lineis Astrolabii, Liber unus. De Utilitatibus eius et erigenda Figura

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Coeli pro qualibet Questione, Liber unus. Juditiorum Liber unus. Wittenberg 1529; Zinner, Encyclopedia of the World Art vol. II, 1960: 60, Pl. 28; Deborah Warner, The Sky Explored: Celestial Cartography, 1500-1800, New York: Alan R. Liss; 1979: 59. 294-296. Sebastian Münster, publisher. 1528 Sonnenlauff. Woodcut broadsheet with a map and sundial components. 1529 Hans Holbein the Younger, Instrument on the Course of the Moon (Instrument uber de[n] Mondslauff), Sebastian Münster, [Worms]: [Schöffer], 1529. Woodcut with central hole for index string: 61.5 × 44.5 cm (sheet). UB Ludwig Maximilians-Universität, Munich (w 2 Math. 336#2). Tipped in Johannes Schöner’s 1521 Aequitorium Astronomicum, and still has the knot of an index thread in the center. (Fig. 10.2) 1534 Beide Lichter Sonn und Mond. Hans Holbein the Younger. Time-and-horoscope-telling device with two volvelles at lower left and right; index string. Basel; BM. New edition in 1554. 297. by 1530 Johannes Stöffler (1452-1531) Instrumentum aftrologicum uerarum diftantiarum coniunctionum & opposfitionum a mediis. Io(hannis.) S(töffler). Iu(stingensis). The instructions and fact that the movable rule for the semicircular device is labeled with both the terms sun and moon suggest many uses for determining the time among other data. Unique impression at the Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, S. 30 (2) (Mazz.2676-77); pasted into cover of a volume holding both Peter Apian’s Astronomicum Caesarum 1540, and Johannes Schöner’s Aequatorium Astronomicum (likely second edition, 1535). The instrument sheet is inscribed by the book’s owner, the astronomer Achilles Pirmin Gasser, with his monogram and the date 1530. Part of Bibliotheca Palatina, a collection previously owned by the Palatinate of Heidelberg. Available only as low-quality microfiche from that group of printed books. 298.

1535 Johannes Schöner. Horoscopion Nuremberg Stadtsbibliothek; about three-quarters of an impression is in the Ludwigmaximilian copy of Schöner’s 1521 Astronomicum (probably the 1534 reissue.) See Schottenloher, 154-5 for a description of the full device; this one is partially colored and missing two of four shields (one has a compass drawn in). 299. ca. 1540 Peter Flötner Human Sundial. Woodcut satirical broadside for use as a sundial. Woodcut and letterpress broadsheet: 19.5 × 26.6 cm (block); 26.9 × 31.4 cm (sheet). Braunschweig (Herzog August Anton Museum) (PFloetner WB 3.11) (Fig. 7.12) Reversed anonymous copy, BM E,8.168. Literature: Geisberg/Strauss, G.829, H.40; Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge, no. 67.

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300.

1538 Horizontal sundial colored woodcut BSB Rara 434, 159, with eagle coat of arms on top.

301.

1555 Quadrant (one side) woodcut Anonymous BSB 434, 84.

Anonymous.

302. 1559 Valentin Engelhard “Quadra Planispherae’ sheet from his 1559 book (presumably also issued separately), to be used on a wall or as a portable instrument. BSB Rar. 434, 108 and 166. 303. mid sixteenth century Large octagonal woodcut, probably the back of an astrolabe, with the “shadow square” (used for surveying). 32.5 × 35 cm (top is cropped). BSB Rara 434, 30. 304. 1568-1591 Jost Amman and Monogrammist LF (possibly Ludwig Fryg). Table of Hour-Systems. Woodcut, with components cut and constructed: 22.4 x 33 cm (sheet). Nuremberg. HB 2698 /1197a; Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Nr: NN 1988. Literature: Geisberg/Strauss 59, 28. (Cut by Master L F (Ludwig Frig) 23 × 32 cm) Formerly Vienna, Wünsch Collection. A.82; Diederichs 1908: no. 569. Mechanik aus der Wunderkammer, Deutsches Museum, Bonn. 1996, as ‘Vergleichstabelle für Stundenzählungen,’ 34; Prints and the Pursuit of Knowledge, no. 75. 305. second half of sixteenth century World Time Calculator. Woodcut with index thread and letterpress, Nuremberg. GNM Nuremberg HB 14749 (Kapsel 1197a) Sheet 38 × 33.2 cm, image 31.7 × 32.5 cm. 306.

1561 Double-sided quadrant, Munich; signed AC and Albertvs Cimerlin, dated 1561. BSB Rar. 434 pp 39, 143 (1565 Hortatia Bilibaldis/Horary quadrant) Text in shield above his name says: D. CATHE/ RINO/ ZENO/ CL. NIC/ filio. 307. 1565 Cimerlino, Giovanni Paolo. Three-part print of Nocturnal/regiomontanus altitude dial with IPc monogram. BM; Harvard; BSB Rar. 434, 136, 142; University of Bologna, D-f-fondo-2. Literature: Bury (BM); Guye and Michel (for metal instrument copied after engraving.) 308.

1565

Octagonal instrument, AC monogram (Albertus cimerlino), BSB Rar. 434, 144.

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309. 1566 [Gnomon pro lat.gr. 45] Alberto Cimerlino. 2 separate ill., fol. University of Bologna (D-f-fondo-2). 310.

1567 GNM 2° 2983.

Giovanni Paolo Cimerlino signed print from 1567 of an ‘astrolabe with a quadrans nauticus’ in Literature: Zinner.

311. 1567 The Abbot Bartholomeus Madauer of Aldersbach knew Hartmann’s work, and produced at least one gilt cup dial. He is likely the maker of this set of prints rather than Peter Apian’s son Philipp, even though the latter’s initials are ostensibly AB (Apian-Bennovitz. (Berlin; BSB Munich. NM 1: 139; Thieme Becker 2:28. BSB Rar. 434 13, 162: 1567 volvelle for calculating planetary positions (with handwritten note on back of 162.) 312.

1567 Horologium woodcut (column sundial). Bartholomaeus Madauer BSB Rara 434, 51, 79.

313.

1574 (7 June) Melchior Hyems. “Per me Melchiore Hyeme” Horizontal sundial etching for Latitudes 45-47. (Milan, Odessa, Zurich) Nuremberg and Italian hours. BSB Rara 434, 105. Literature: Zinner, Instrumente, 394.

314

1575 Etching with volvelle. Melchiore Hyems (MH monogram) BSB Rara 434, 99. Literature: Zinner, Instrumente, 394: “Kupferstich darstellend ein great mit Kalender, Sonnenort, Aufund Untergang der Sonne, tag-und Nachtdauer, Mondalter und -wechsel, mit beweglicher Scheibe mit Nase und darüber Scheibe der Mondstellungen.” 315. 1575 Sonnencirckel, from Leonard Thurneisser zum Thurn, Astrolabium, accompanying Archidoxa (Berlin). Hand-colored woodcut and letterpress with eight full-page volvelles: approx. 58 × 41 cm (sheet). (Fig. 10.7, 10.8A-C) Eight plates, with slightly different texts and planetary alliances. Deattributed from Jost Amman by Gero Seelig, in New Hollstein, but considered as cut by Peter Hille. Getty, Harvard, Collection of Robert Gordon, Berlin, Munich, Vienna ONB, HAB. Also: BSB Rar. 434, 107. Uncolored impression of the second to bottom sheet from the Sonnencirkel volvelle sheet of Leonhard Thurneisser’s Archidoxa, Cat B 64. It displays a web of branches and leaves with fortunes

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written in letterpress on them. The Munich GS also owns the top illustration for the Sonnencirkel sheet, formerly among the ‘Unbekannte’: a small round woodcut of Apollo, which was the top layer of the volvelle, covering the knot of the thread holding the instrument together. “An den Buchbinder Frind ob du welft / diss Buchlein klein/ zufamen zieh/ und binden ein. So merck das der Figuren Acht/ Dorzu findt gordnet / grift und gmact. Do jeem Planet/ eine zu hort/ Gilt gleich/ wo fey hin Bunden wert. Doch fouer/ das fey im Buch ftet Am ort/ als weit der felb Planet. Sein regiment hat fierst und treybt/ Obs anfants / im mittel/ oder end beleibt. Ift als doran gelegen nicht/ Den goften zirckel/ Erftlich Richt/ Mit A verzeichnet / dornochs Radt Oder Zirckel / der B zum zeichen hadt. Zu left den Aft / zaichnet mit C/ Leims auff Papir / das es vmbghe. Darzwifchen beide halbe Sphaer/ Und die Planeten gang umher. Schneidt zwifchen Blettern/ und dem ftam/ Die feldung durch/ hinweg allfam/ Domit ein jeder fechen kan/ Wo / wie und in wass Gradus ftan. Alle Planeten/ auff jeden tag/ Leims wol/ das fich nict verructen mag. Wefs umbtreibt / der wirt fechen drinnen/ figuren/ wunderlicher finnen. 316-317 1578, 1584 Philippe Danfrie. Astrolabe. Engraving, and updated version using the Gregorian Calendar. Constructed copies in Adler Planetarium, Chicago; Museum of the History of Science (MHS) Oxford; Private Collection.

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Literature: Turner. 318. 1583 Dietmar Helmer Klaut of Waldeck, Planetarium. 35.5 × 26.2. Berlin KK (D-108-1937). The title reads: “Instrument/ darzu vil guter Kunste/ die im Canon oder underricht nicht alles angezaigt/ begriffen/ als Landt oder Feldrneffenn/ Geschutze/ ... sehr nutzlich zugebrachen.” The sun is shown in the center of the dial, with pendentive foliage and white on black strapwork in the outer border. Literature: Geisberg/Strauss, Appendix B, 1349. 319.

1583

Johann Krabbe, engraved astrolabe on wooden support. 21 cm diameter. MHS Oxford. Inv. no. 44745. Made for Henricus Julius, the duke of Braunschweig and Lüneburg. Krabbe was his geometer, and the device bears Julius’ coat of arms next to the date. Krabbe’s book, Newes Astrolabium, with instructions for the item’s construction appeared later in several editions from 1608-9, 1625 and 1630. A 1583 version may have been printed, but seems not to have survived. The HAB owns several different editions of the pamphlet that accompanied the sheets, two of which retain a complete set of the engravings. Literature: Gunther, vol. 2, 438-9. (Lewis Evans collection.) Karr Schmidt, “Johannes Krabbes Papierastrolabium,” Die Sterne Lugen Nicht, pp. 117-121. 320.

1585 Jacques Chauvet. Cosmometer. Engraved colored copy at the Florence Bargello. Probably related to his Instrvction Et Vsage Dv Cosmometre of 1585. (Cat. B 107)

321. 1597 Franz Ritter. Quadrant. Engraving, probably issued as a single sheet with Ritter’s 1597 pamphlet, Instructio instrumentalis quadrantis novi. (Cat. B 109) Constructed impression at Frankfurt am Main; prints at Stuttgart, Nicolai’sche Sammlung, vol. 79. 322. ca. 1600 Horizontal Sundial. Engraving, printed in Cologne by Johannes Bussemacher (signed “Joha. Boßem.” at lower right in ornament). With extensive use directions in margins. A: Stuttgart, Wurttemberg Landesbibliothek, Nicolai’sche Sammlung, vol. 79. B: ca. 1670, second edition, published by Paulus Fürst, Nuremberg. Signed “Paulus Fürst exc” in lower right margin. Not located. 323. 1613 Franz Ritter. Astrolabe. Engraving, printed by Balthasar Caymox. Probably issued with Ritter’s 1613 text, Astrolabium, or its second part of the same year (Cat. B 112-113). GNM HB 2135, Kapsel 1206 (verso only).

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324. 1624 Planetarium. Designed by Jacob Bartsch, and engraved by Jacob van der Heyden, Strasbourg. Seven discs set in 33 cm square box, with largest disc 30.5 cm. £24 (E.P. Goldschmidt vol. 29; no. 24). Second edition in 1661 with an explanatory text: Jacob Bartsch: Usus astronomicus Indicis Aspectuum veterum et praecip. novorum. Nuremberg, P. Fürst, 1661. 27 pages and two plates. Literature: Goldschmidt, 29, no. 24; Kaestner: Gesch. d. Mathematik IV. (1800), 407ff. Constructed impression in E.P. Goldschmidt sale; Yale MHL (1661 text with plates); NYPL, SIBL (1624 ed.) 325. 1625 Pierre Danfrie. Astrolabe. New edition, revised by Jean Moreau and republished with an explanatory text, L’Vsage de l’un et l’autre astrolabe particulaire et universel. (Cat. B 117) Adler Planetarium; National Museum of American History (Smithsonian) Literature: Turner. 326. ca. 1650 Paulus Fürst. Ewigkalender. Engraving on broadside, Nuremberg. 32.2 × 23.8 cm (engraving); 49.3 × 23.8 (printed image) A broadside with a perpetual calendar; with an engraving showing four dials surrounded by drapery and allegorical figures; with engraved inscriptions and numbering and lettering, and with letterpress explanations, including legends, the letterpress framed at three sides with a border of type ornaments, wanting the calendar's volvelles. Proof impression BM 1880,0710.849.

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Catalogue B: Interactive Books, 1474-ca. 1750 Accompanying Interactive and Sculptural Printmaking in the Renaissance Suzanne Karr Schmidt Brill © 2018 Major Library Collections BEINECKE Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven BL British Library, London BSB Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich HAB Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel LoC Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. MHL Harvey Cushing/John Hay Whitney Medical Historical Library, Yale University, New Haven MHS OXFORD Museum of the History of Science, University of Oxford NEWBERRY Newberry Library, Chicago NYPL New York Public Library SUB GÖTTINGEN Niedersächsiche Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Göttingen WALDBURG-WOLFEGG Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu Waldburg-Wolfegg

Scientific Perspective, Geometry and Architecture 1. Dürer, Albrecht. Vnderweysung der Messung. Gedruckt zu Nüremberg: [s.n.], 1525; 1538, with perspective flap. Also Institutionum geometricarum. (Latin of Unterweissung) Latetiae: Christianum Wechelum, 1535. Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University (1525, 1535, 1538); NEWBERRY Library (1525). 2. Vitruvius, Pollio. De Architectura. Daniele da Barbaro, ed. Venice: Francesco Marcolini, 1556. Several flaps-architectural completions, volvelle and before and after (6 extensions, 3 volvelles and 2 cancels). BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (1567). 3. Euclides. Elements of Geometrie. English translation by H. Billingsley. Preface by M. I. Dee. London: J. Daye, 1570, flaps constructing geometric forms. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (flaps detached). 4. Stevin, Simon. Beghinseln der Weeghconst. Leiden: Christoffel Plantijn, 1586. Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (HAB). 5. Stevin, Simon. Wisconstige Gedachtnissen. 4 vols in 2. Leyden: Bouwensz, 1605-1608, flap. Bibliotheca Palatina; Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana.

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6. Caus, Salomon de. La perspective, avec la raison des ombres et miroirs, par Salomon de Cavs. Londres: Chez Jan Norton imprimeur du Roy de la Grande Bretaigne. 1612, with perspective flap and perspective peephole. 1612. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 7. Stevin, Simon. Les Oeuvres mathematiques. Revue, corrigé, et augenté par Albert Girard. Leyden: Elsevier, 1634, flap. BEINECKE. 8. Viéte, François. Francisci Victae Opera mathematica. 1646, parts for 3 movable diagrams. BEINECKE. 9. Megalinus, Joannes. Novum memoriale mathematicum nobliorum problematum. English manuscript ca. mid 17th century, volvelle. Cushing/Whitney Medical Historical Library, Yale University (MHL). 10. Bosse, Abraham. Traité des pratiques geometrales et perspectives. Paris: Chez l’Auteur, 1665, flap, plate 50. BEINECKE. 11. Moxon, Joseph. Practical perspective, or, Perspective made easie: teaching, by the opticks, how to delineate all bodies, buildings, or landskips, &c. London: Printed by Joseph Moxon, and sold at his shop in Russel Street, 1670. Includes mica-pane, 7, and plate LVII have movable slips. British Art Center; Huntington Library, San Marino, CA .

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Medical and Natural Science 12. Medical and astrological manuscripts: British Library: Egerton MS 848, (thirteenth-century volvelle on final folio) Egerton MS 2572, Barber’s guild register with fifteenth-century medical volvelle; Egerton 2724, probably fifteenth-century folding calendar. English manuscript; Manuscript 26, ca. 1553, written in red and black ink on vellum, includes a movable astrolabe attached to leaf 36r. Yale MHL. 13. Chrysogonus, Federicus. De modo collegiati: pronosticandi &curandi febres, Venice, 1528, “figura supradictorum with movable parts.” Yale MHL. 14. Vesalius, Andreas. De humani corporis Fabrica librorum septem. Basileae: I. Oporini, 1543, sheets with flaps can be cut out. Copies at the British Library, Cambridge, U.K, and Herzog August Bibliothek (Fig. 4.10), and University of Liège (destroyed), were constructed. NEWBERRY copy is unconstructed. 15. Vesalius, Andreas. Epitome (De humani corporis fabrica librorum Epitome). Latin and German versions, both Basel: Oporinus, 1543. Cambridge, UK, New York Academy of Medicine, Malloch Rare Book Room, and Stockholm Royal Library hold constructed Latin copies; Huntington has a constructed German copy. 16. Cardano, Girolamo. De Rerum Varietate libri XVII. Basle, Heinrich Petri, 1557, folio, with woodcut portrait of author on title, volvelle plate for leaf O1. HAB; NEWBERRY. 17. Thurneisser von Thurn, Leonhard *Confirmatio concertationis: oder ein Bestettigung desz jenigen so strittig, haderig, oder zenckisch ist ... titled sometimes “Bebaiosis agonismou.” Berlin, 1576. On urine. Three anatomy flap prints, with two tipped in as whole separate sheets, others as a permanent component; also flap of distillation furnace and a volvelle cogwheel. Yale MHL. 18. Bartisch, Georg. Ophthalmouleia; das ist, Augendienst. Dresden: 1583, with two flap diagrams of head and eyes. (Also Frankfurt, 1584.) New York Academy of Medicine, Malloch Rare Book Room. (Fig. 6.3) 19. Schenk, Johann Georg. Monstrorvm Historia Memorabilis. Frankfurt am. Main: Theodor de Bry (and sons), 1609, with flap covering head of monstrosity, 2. New York Academy of Medicine, Malloch Rare Book Room. 20. Quattrocchi, Alberto. Disputatio Alberti Quatrocchi medici Veneti, de officinae pharmaceuticae veris, Venetiis: Apud Antonium Pinellum, 1617, volvelle, 14. National Library of Medicine, Bethesda MD, National Institute of Health (NIH). 21. Gunter, Edmund. Vvorks of Edmvnd Gunter: conteining the description and use of the sector, corss-staff, and other instruments. London: Eglesfield, 1653, volvelle. Yale MHL. 22. Descartes, René. De Hominé, Figuris, et Latinaitate donatus a Florentino. Leiden: Hacxkiana, 1664, anatomical flaps (over viscera). BEINECKE (deficient); Yale MHL has two complete copies.

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23. Hooke, Robert. Philiosophical Collections. [London: 1679-1682.], “Rundle” with instructions to cut it out. Yale MHL. 24. Minniti, Francesco. Armonia astro-medico-anotomica; o’sia, Colleganza degl’astri con il microscosmo, e di questo con I vegetabili, con un’appedice della nautica, ed in calce un raccolto di arcani esperimentati. Venice, 1690, anatomical flaps. Yale MHL. Identical with Riccio, Daniel. Ristretto anotomico; o sia, Aleanza de gl'astri, con l'huomo, e vegetabili. Yale MHL. There was a single-sheet flap anatomy print from 1663 published by Antonio Moneta that this work copies, one impression in Yale MHL.

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Memory, Rhetoric and the Great Art 25.

Earliest Memory and Fate manuscripts with original volvelles: Paris, Matthew. Book of Fate. Manuscript, 1250s. CCCC, MS 26, fol. 4, Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. 26. 1300s copy of Paris' ca. 1250 Book of Fate, Oxford (Digby ms 46), with volvelle in front cover. 27. Llull, Raymond. Ars Generalis, manuscript, 1306. British Library, Walker, 3, citing Blumenthal. The work could not be located in London. 28. Anonymous German. Kalendar, ca. 1457, Blockbook with hand coloring and a (lost) volvelle dial in the page opposite the month of December. The static rings that remain are a type of astrological calendar with the names of the Zodiac, bordered outside with four griffins or other dragon-like beasts. The calendar also includes charts on Golden Numbers and on the “Sunday letters.” HAB Cod. Guelf. 1189 Helmst, f. 188r. Fully digitized at: http://diglib.hab.de/inkunabeln/1189-helmst2/start.htm Literature: Ad Stijnman, “Ein unbekanntes Blockbuch in Cod. Guelf. 1189 Helmst. Der Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel,” Gutenberg Jahrbuch, 2009, pp. 79-94. 29. Publicius, Jacopo. [Ars memorativa] Cologne: Johann Guldenschaff, 1483? Movable alphabet version of Publicius with woodcut copies after his illustrations many of which are sewn in as volvelles. NYPL Rare Books copy has half of dials. A BL copy fills in those missing. 30. Publicius, Jacopo. Artes orandi, epistolandi, memorandi. Venice: Erhard Ratdolt, 1485. Snake-shaped volvelle pointer present in Library of Congress (LoC), and Oxford examples. 1485. BEINECKE'S three copies are all deficient. Oxford and Huntington have complete copy of 1490; Huntington also has a 1482 edition with the volvelle. NEWBERRY (1482, 1490, both lacking dial). 31. Llull. Raymond. Ars Breuis. Lugduni: per magistrum Stephanus, 1514, volvelle. BEINECKE. (Fig. 1.5) 32. Llull, Raymond. Illuminati sacre pagine p[ro]fessoris amplissimi magistri Raymundi Lull. Ars magna generalis et vltima. Lyons, 1517, volvelle. BEINECKE. 33. Llull, Raymond. Ars brevis and Artivli fidei sacrosancae ac alvtiferae legis Christianae. Parisiis: Aegidium Gorbinum, 1578, volvelle. BEINECKE. 34. Llull, Raymond. Opusculum Raymundinum de auditu kabbalistico sive ad omnes scientias introductorium. Paris: Gilles Gourbin 1578. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 35. Llull, Raymond. Raymundi Lulli Opera ea quae ad adinventam ab ipso artem universalem, scientiarum artiumque omnium breui compendio. Argentinae: Zetzneri, 1598. NEWBERRY. 36. Llull, Raymond. Beati Raymundi Lulli doctoris illuminati et martyris tertii ordinis S. Francisci Ars brevis: Strasbourg: Palma, 1614; 1669; 1744. NEWBERRY (1744). 37. Llull, Raymond. Opera ea quae ad inventam ab ipso artem universalem. Strasbourg: Heirs of Lazaruz

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Zetzner, 1651. (3 folding tables, 1 folding table with 6 volvelles. Martyan Lan; NEWBERRY. 38. Llull, Raymond. Clavis Artis Lullianae, et Verae Logices , ed. by Alstead, Johann Henricus. Strasbourg: Zetzner, 1652, with uncut volvelles. BEINECKE. 39. Kircher, Athanasius. Mundus subterraneus. 1665, volvelle. BEINECKE. 40. Kircher, Athanasius. Ars magna sciendi: in XII libros digesta, qua nova & universali methodo per artificiosum combinationum contextum ... Amstelodami: Apud Joannem Janssonium a Waesbefe & Viduam Elizei Aeyerstraet, 1669, with a double volvelle on 13. NEWBERRY.

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Cryptography and Spelling 41. Trithemius, Johannes. Polygraphiae libri sex. Oppenheim, 1518. 42. Trithemius, Johannes. Polygraphie et vniverxselle escriture cabalistique de m. I. Tritheme abbé. Paris: I. Keruer, 1561. Multiple multi-layer cryptographic volvelles. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (1564). 43. Della Porta, Giambattista. De fvrtivis literarvm notis vvlgo, De ziferis libri IIII. Neapoli. Apud Ioa. Mariam Scotum, 1563. Three cryptographic volvelles, often uncut in original sheet; also in Naples in 1602. LoC (1563); NYPL Rare Books (1602). 44. De fvrtivis literarvm notis vvlgo. London: John Wolfe pub., 1591 (as 1563); and an edition correctly dated 1591. BEINECKE copy remains erroneously catalogued as Naples 1563, as does the unconstructed NEWBERRY copy. (Fig. 10.10) 45. De occultis literarvum notis. Naples: Jacobum Foillet, 1593, with three cryptographic volvelles; also Zetzner Strasbourg: 1603 and 1606. BEINECKE (1593, Fig. 10.9) and HAB; NEWBERRY (1593, dials unconstructed). 46. Harsdörffer, Georg Philipp. Deliciae physico-mathematicae. Nuremberg: Jeremia Du’’mlein, 1651. 3 vols in 1. [Also Nuremberg: Wolfgang Moritz Endter and Johann Andrae Endter, 1677.], volvelle calendar of religious and other history. BEINECKE. 47. Harsdörffer, Georg Philipp. Poetischer Trichter ... Nuremberg: Wolfgang Endter, 1648-53, with volvelle for constructing German words. BEINECKE.

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Astronomy, Calendars and Timetelling: Books with Built-in Volvelles and Instruments 48. Regiomontanus (Johannes Müller). Calendarium and afterwards, Kalendar. Nuremberg: Johannes Müller, 1474, lunar volvelle and three instruments. BEINECKE. Earliest printed volvelle according to Margaret Stillwell; NEWBERRY. 49. Regiomontanus ( Johannes Müller). Calendarium. Venice: Erhard Ratdolt, 1476, lunar volvelle and three instruments. Art Institute of Chicago (Cover; Figs. 8.1; 10.3); BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 50. Regiomontanus (Johannes Müller). Calendarium. Venice: Erhard Ratdolt, 1483-5 (Latin, German, Italian), lunar volvelle and three instruments. BEINECKE; NYPL Rare Books; NEWBERRY. 51. Pseudo-Phalaris. Francisci Arretini in Phalaridis tyranni A, 1493. Ms volvelle/calendar tipped in. BEINECKE. 52. Regiomontanus (Johannes Müller). Kalendarius cum vero motu solis [et] duplici modo inueniendi verum motum lune, vulgari. Zwolle: P. van Os, 1502, volvelle, 21. LoC. 53. Regiomontanus (Johannes Müller). Kalendarius Tëutsch. [Augsburg: 1512.] Also unlocated 1514 edition. Yale MHL. 54. Stoeffler, Johann. Elucidatio Fabricae Vsvsque Astrolabii ... Oppenjeym: Jacob Köbel, 1513, fold-out flap. BEINECKE (two copies). 55. Stoeffler, Johann. Calendarivm Romanvm magnvm. Oppenheym: J. Köbel, 1518, movable part. Yale MHL; NEWBERRY. 56. Schöner, Johann. Aequatorium Astronomicum. Bamberg: Schöner, 1521, with volvelles. Bamberg UB; Ludwig-Maximilian UB, Munich (Fig. 10.1); Private Collection. 57. Apian, Peter. Ein kunstlich Instrument oder sonnen vr. Landshut: Johann Wyssenburger, 1524, volvelle 4, 6, 24. BEINECKE. 58. Münster, Sebastian. Organica Planetarvm. Basel: Henricvs Petrvs, 1536, volvelles. Bibliotheca Palatina. 59. Münster, Sebastian. Organum Uranicum. Basel: H. Petrvm, 1536, volvelle. LoC. 60. Stoeffler, Johann. Cosmographicae Aliquot Descriptiones. Marburg: Eucharius Cervicornus, 1537, with a cut-out/volvelle. BEINECKE. 61. Apian, Peter. Astronomicum Caesareum. Ingoldstadt: Author’s Private Press, 1540, numerous volvelles. BEINECKE; BSB (Figs. 10.4-5); Houghton Library, Harvard (Figs. 10.4-5); Yale MHL. See Gingerich (Röttel) for 111 more surviving copies. 62. Focard, Jaques. Paraphrase de l'astrolabe contenant: les principes de géométrie, la sphère, l'astrolabe, ou, declaration des choses celestes, le miroir du monde, ou, exposition des parties de la terre. Lyon, par Jean de Tournes, 1546, moving part, fig. 17. Yale MHL.

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63. Koebel, Jacob. Astrolabii declaratio, eivsdemqv usus mire iucundus, non modo astrologis, medicis ... Parisiis, apud Gulielmum Cauellat, 1550, plate contains volvelles meant to be cut out. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 64. Bassantin, Jacques. Astronomique Discours. Lyon, 1557; reprint in 1613. Smithsonian. 65. Münster, Sebastian. Rvdimenta Mathematica. Basileae: [1551], cut-outs/volvelle. BEINECKE. 66. Peucer, Kaspar. Elementa doctrinae de circulis coelestibus. Volvelles. 1551, volvelles, F6r, I2r and two others; reprint from 1563. BEINECKE. 67. Peurbach, Georg von. Theoricae nouae planetarum Georgij Purbach. Wittenberg, Ioannes Luft 1553. BEINECKE. 68. Theodoricus, Sebastianus. Novae Qvaestiones Sphaerae. Vitebergae: [Iohannes Crato], 1567. (Also Vitebergae: 1564, 1570, 1578, 1583 and 1591), volvelle. BEINECKE. 69. Thurneisser zum Thurn, Leonhard. Archidoxa. Muenster: Johan Ossenberg, 1569, with eight folding engraved volvelles. BEINECKE. (Fig. 10.6) 70. Thurneisser zum Thurn, Leonhard. Archidoxa text reissued with woodcut Planeten Tafeln: Archidoxa. Dorin der recht war Motus, Lauff und Gang / auch heimligkeit / Wirkung und Krafft/ der Planeten / Stirns / und ganzen Firmamets Mutie. Berlin: Im Grawen Closter, anno 1575. Berlin Staatsbibliothek (Berlin); Bibliotheca Palatina; BSB; Getty Research Institute; HAB; Houghton, Harvard; Kunstsammlungen der Fürsten zu WALDBURGWOLFEGG (Fig. 10.8C); Österreichische Nationalbibliothek (ONB); Private Collection (Fig. 10.7; 10.8B). See Cat. A 315 for text to the bookbinder. 71. Nale, Nicolo. Dialogo sopra la sfera del mondo. Venetia, Appresso Francesco Ziletti, 1579, page 136 includes at the foot a woodcut half circle with attached pointer, accompanied by directions for mounting it as a volvelle on the figure of the earth. Getty. 72. Carrarino, Antonio. Opera astrologica perpetua ridotta secondo la’nuova riforma dell’anno. [Rome], 1581, volvelles. BEINECKE. 73. Zamorano, Rodrigo. Compendio de la arte de navegar. Seville, 1582, plate with movable parts. BEINECKE. 74. Besson, Jacques. Theatrum instrumentorum et machinarum. Ludgduni: Barth. Vincent, 1582, volvelle. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 75. Dariot, Claude. Dariotus redivivus: or a briefe introduction conducing to the iudgement of the stars. London, Andrew Kemp, 1653, volvelles on leaves F3r, G1r, L1r, V1v, and Z3r; also London: Thomas Purfoot, 1583 and 1598, (volvelles on F3r, G1r). BEINECKE. 76. Gallucci, Giovanni Paolo. Theatrum Mundi, et Temporis ... Venice: Ioannem Baptistam Somascum, 1588, with volvelles. (Also 1589) BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 77. Myriti, Giovanni. Opusculum Geographicum Rarum Totius eius negotii rationem. Ingolstadt: Wolfgang Eber, 1590, with five volvelles, (some after Apian's Cosmography), LoC. 78. Gallucci, Giovanni Paolo. Della fabrica, & vso del nouo horologio vniuersale ad ogni latitudine: nouo

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trattato diuiso in due parti. Venice, 1590, with five volvelles, supplied on two sheets. BEINECKE; Yale MHL; NYPL Rare Books. 79 . Gallucci, Giovanni Paolo. Coelestrivm Corporvm et Rervm. Venice: Damaiano Zenaro, 1593, volvelle. BEINECKE. 80. Gallucci, Giovanni Paolo. Speculum Uranicum. Venice: Damiano Zenaro, 1593, with volvelles on rectos of 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 (verso), 19 (verso) opposite 20 [missnumbered 19] (recto). Distinctive printed “boss” slips cover the knot on most versos. BEINECKE, SUB GÖTTINGEN. 81. Blundeville, Thomas. M. Blundeuile His exercises, containing... London: J Windet, 1594; 1597 (index string on 147; volvelle on 151); 1606; also London: W. Stansby, 1613; 1622. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (1597; 1636). 82. Gallucci, Giovanni Paolo. Della Fabrica et Vso di Diversi Stromenti de Astronomica, et Cosmografia . . . Venice: Ruberto Meietti, 1598, with volvelle, cut-out, BEINECKE. 83. Habermann, Johann. Christliches Gebät-Buchlein, Strassburg 1613, calendar volvelle. (First ed. 1572; second 1591). BEINECKE. 84. Pisani Ottavio. Octavii Pisani Astrologia sev Motvs ... (1613), with multiple large volvelles. BEINECKE. 85. Ridley, Mark. A short treatise of magneticall bodies and motions. London: Printed by Nicholas Okes, 1613, volvelle, 137. BEINECKE. 86. Biancini, Giuseppe. Sphaera mundi, seu cosmographia. Bononiae: Typis Sebastiani Bonomij, 1620. volvelle, 227, Getty. 87. Manenti da Este, Francesco. De Liberatione Astronomiche Perpetve (Mantua: Aurelio Osanna, 1643), engraved volvelles with cut-outs. Private Collection. 88. Hevelius, Johannes. Selenographia: sive, Lunae descriptio ... Gedani: Typis Hünefeldianis, 1647, volvelle on plate 21. BEINECKE; Huntington. 89. Wing, Vincent. Urania practica: or, Practical astronomie. London: R Leybourn, 1649, volvelle, 125. Huntington; 1652 edition, Huntington has volvelle on S3r in facsimile; also 1649 edition. 90. Yves de Paris. Astrologiae nova methodvs, 1658. Retains some of the volvelles from earlier censored version. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 91. Wood, Robert. The times mended: or, A rectified account of time, by a new luni-solar year; the true way to number our days. London, Unnumbered plate with volvelle attached, 1681. Huntington. 92. Cantone, Girolamo. Modo di fare horologi portatili sole, luna, e stelle sopra colonelle, croci, medaglie, e scatolini: da servirsene senza l'Ago Calamitato per diverse elevationi di polo / opera del padre Girolamo Cantone. 1682, volvelle with three parts. Houghton. 93. Gougeon, Louis. Cosmographie, ou, Traité de la sphere du mond universel: Contenant une éxacte description de la région Etherée & Elémentaire, avec un Traité de l'Horlogeographie. 1693, volvelle, 14. Adler Planetarium.

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Pamphlets with Anatomies and Instruments on Separate Sheets There was never a guarantee that these printed instruments would be bound with the rest of the book; many were used before that stage. 94. Waldseemüller, Martin. Cosmographiae Introdv- / ctio/ Cvm Qvibvs / dam Geome / triae / Ac / Astrono / miae Principiis Ad / Eam Rem Necessariis. / Insuper quatuor Americi Ve- / spucij nauigationes, St. Dié, 1507. NEWBERRY. 95-102. Schöner, Johann. Lucentissimus and Solidi ac Sphaerici. Nuremberg: Johann Stuchs, 1515/17-8. NEWBERRY (Lucentissimus); De Nuper Repertis. 1523; Globi Stelliferi, Sivi Sphaerare Stellarum and Opusculu geographicum ex diversorum libris ac cartis, and Opvsculvm Geographicvm. Nuremberg: 1533. 103. Münster, Sebastian. Erklerung des newen Instrument der Sunnen. Oppenheim: Münster, 1528, some copies may have five string instruments. It accompanied an interactive map. BSB. 104. Münster, Sebastian. Erklerung des newen Instruments durch Seb. Mönster, über den Mon. Worms: Münster, 1529, accompanied a sheet at LMU, Munich, (Fig. 10.2). BSB. 105. Bohemus, Matthias. Canones Astrolabii ad illustrissimum Principem ac Dominum D. Joannem Saxonie Ducem, etc. Wittenberg: Peter Jordan, 1529. Accompanied lost Lucas Cranach astrolabe study chart. (Cat. A 294; Fig. 8.7). MHS Oxford. 106. Münster, Sebastian. Canones super novum instrumentum luminarium: docentes quo pacto per illud inveniantur Solis et lunae medii et veri motus. Basel, 1534. Reprinted in 1554. The pamphlet, accompanied the large woodcut sheet at Basel and BM; BSB (pamphlet). 107. Vogtherr, Heinrich. Auslegung unnd bescreibung der Anathomi. Strasbourg, 1539, accompanied Vogtherr's anatomy flap prints. BSB; Yale MHL. 108. Vogtherr, Heinrich. Auβlegung und bescreybung der Anatomi. Nuremberg: Hans Guldenmundt, MDXXXIX. BSB; and again ca. 1540, 1541, 1547. Copy of Vogtherr; issued with anatomy flap prints of Guldenmundt's devising. BSB (1541); Wellcome, London (1539). (Fig. 4.3) 109. Apian, Peter. Quadrans Apiani astronomicus et iam recens inuentus et nunc primum editus. Ingolstadt: In officina Apiani, VI. Iulii 1532. NYPL Rare Books (lacking instrument sheets); Yale MHL; NEWBERRY (lacking instrument sheets). 110. Apian, Peter. Horoscopion. Ingolstadt, 1533, with constructible instruments. Yale MHL; NEWBERRY (lacking instrument sheets). 111. Apian, Peter. Folium Populi. Ingolstadt, 1533, with constructible instruments. Yale MHL. 112. Apian, Peter. Instrumentbuch. Ingolstadt, 1533, with constructible instruments. Yale MHL; Owen Gingerich, Cambridge, MA. (Fig. 7.4) 113. Frölich, Jacob. Auslegung unnd bescreibung der Anathomi. Strasbourg, 1544. Index Aurelianis. Issued from Vogtherr's original blocks, with reprints of his original anatomy flap woodcuts.

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114. Hartmann, Georg. Directorum Medicorum. Nuremberg: 1554, accompanied his medico-astronomical dials of the same year. No copy located; cited in Franz Ritter, De Usu Astrolabium. 115. Weygel, Hans. Auβlegung un bescreybung der Anatomi. Nuremberg: 1556. HAB; also 1570. HAB. Direct copy after Vogtherr and Guldenmund, issued with copies of Vogtherr's anatomy figures. 116. Geminus, English translation of Vesalius. 1559, third edition (dedicated to Queen Elizabeth) was supplied with a woodcut by monogrammist (or possibly cut by) RS, still in most copies. Cambridge; Huntington; New York Academy of Medicine, Malloch Rare Book Room. Also at Art Institute of Chicago and British Museum as separate sheets. 117. Vimercato, Giovanni-Battista. Della Descrittione Teorica et Pratica de Gi Horologi Solari, (Ferrara: Valente Panizza, 1565), fold-out horizontal sundial sheet woodcut. Private Collection. 118. Melanchthon, Philipp. Posthumous De Anima commentary accompanying Anatomical Fugitive Sheets, Wittenberg, 1573. Presumed to exist. 119. Krabbe, Johann. Paper Astrolabe. Published at Munden, 1583. (See Zinner, Instrumente, 418.) Newes Astrolabium pamphlet may have been published with the device in 1583 and it was certainly reprinted in 1608 (HAB Wolfenbüttel, I A v Soehne), 1609 (Frankfurt, M. Becker), 1625 and 1630 (Wolfenbüttel, El. Hohwein). Constructed example of 1583 astrolabe in MHS Oxford. 120. Chauvet, Jacques. Instrvction Et Vsage Dv Cosmometre. Ov Instrvment Vniversel pour les dimen[s]ions, tant Geometriques que Optiques, A[s]tronomiques & Geographiques: De l'inuention de Iacques Chauuet. Imprint A Paris, Les exemplaires [s]e vendent au mont S. Hilaire, à l'en[s]eigne du Chaudron, 1585. Although the NYPL Rare Books copy does not have any cut-out instruments. His book presumably was sold with the prints. The Florence Bargello has a made-up copy with metal components added on top of the prints. 121. Blagrave, John. The mathematical iewel, shewing the making, and most excellent vse of a singuler instrument so called. London, 1585. BEINECKE copy has the two plates and the double table bound between the prelim. l. and the text. Cut-out astrolabe. 122. Ritter, Franz. Quadrant pamphlet. Instructio instrumentalis quadrantis novi, d. i. Beschreibung und Unterricht eines newen Quadranten. 6-8 pages and a folding plate, published in 1597 (Nuremberg), 1599 and 1609 (Nuremberg, Chr. Lochner); constructed example at Frankfurt am Main. HAB. 123. Fabri, Ottavio. L'uso della squadra mobile. In Venetia; Appresso Francesco Varilleti, 1598. Engraved instrument. NEWBERRY. 124. Ritter, Franz. Speculum Solis, (Mirror of the Sun), Nuremberg: Paulus Fürst, 1609 (part I), 1611 (part II); also 1660 edition supported by Harsdörffer. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (book and separate sheets). 125. Remmelin, Johann. Catoptrum microcosmici. Ulm: 1613. (Also Augustae, 1619, Ulm, 1639, Frankfurt, 1660, flaps. Art Institute of Chicago, (1613); Yale MHL (1613). Also Kleiner Welt Spiegel. Augsburg: J.U. Schönigt for J. Remmelin, 1632. (Augsburg: J.L Remmelin, 1661, Ulm: J.C. Pëurlein, 1720, and Ulm: J.C. Bäurlein, 1720), flaps. Yale MHL. A Survey of the Microcosme; or, the Anatomy of the Bodies of Man and Woman. Corrected by

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Clopton Havers. 3rd ed. London: Printed for D. Midwinter, 1738, flaps. Yale MHL. 126. Ritter, Franz. Astrolabium, d.i. gründliche Beschreibung und unterricht, wie solches herrliche ... astronom. Instrument auff allerley Polus höch ... verfertiget werden soll. Nuremberg, Chr. Lochner, Verlag B. Caymox, 1613, with 21 engravings. Possibly issued with separate engraving, Germanisches Nationalmuseum HB (GNM) 2135, Kapsel 1206; HAB. 127. Ritter, Franz. De Usu astrolabii, posterior pars. 28 pages, Nuremberg: C. Lochner, 1613—with 15 folding engravings by B. Caymox. BSB copy lacks the engravings. 128. Ritter, Franz. De Usu Astrolabii. Nuremberg: Paulus Fürst/ Christoff Gerhard, 1613. Different edition, with (the same) 21 engraved, numbered plates. Contains both parts of the book issued by Caymox. NYPL Science, Industry and Business Library (SIBL). 129. Bartsch, Jacob. Vsvs astronomicvs planisphaerii stellat. Strasbourg: Jacob van der Heyden printer, 1615. Instruction pamphlet with constructible astrolabe/instrument. NYPL SIBL. 130. Moreau, Jean. L'usage de l'astrolabe. Paris, 1625. Accompanied reissue of Pierre Danfrie's 1584 engraved astrolabe. Also includes pertinent section on the use of paper instruments. Literature: Turner. 131. Palmer, John. The catholique planisphaer which Mr. Blagrave calleth the mathematical jewel: briefly and plainly discribed in five books: the first shewing the making of the instrument, the rest shewing the manifold vse of it. London, 1658, printed instrument. BEINECKE. 132. Joseph Moxon. Catalogue, after 1668. Appended to Mechanick dyalling of 1668 and thereafter, describing plates for instruments also sold at his shop. Not located. Literature: Bryden.

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Navigation and Cosmography 133. 134. copy.

Apian, Peter. Cosmographicus liber ... Landshut, 1524, volvelles. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. Sarzosa, Francisco. In aequatorem planetarum, libro duo, 1526, volvelle. Possibly missing in BEINECKE

135. Apian, Peter. Cosmographia, per Gemmam Frisium ... Antwerp: Rolandi Bollaert, 1529, with volvelles. (NEWBERRY); Antwerp, 1533 (NEWBERRY); Antwerp, 1539 (BEINECKE); Antwerp, 1540 (BEINECKE; NEWBERRY); Antwerp, 1545 (BEINECKE); Antwerp, 1550 (BEINECKE); Paris, 1550 and 1551 (NEWBERRY); Paris, 1553 (NEWBERRY); Antwerp, 1564 (BEINECKE), and Antwerp, 1574 (BEINECKE; NEWBERRY). 136. Apian, Peter. Cosmographicus liber… Gemma Frisius edition, Antwerp, 1540 WALDBURG-WOLFEGG (also included original strings and lead weights); Paris, 1550 and 1551. NEWBERRY(both with original strings and lead weights on sundial volvelle). 137. Sacro Bosco, Joannes de. Sphaera Ioannis de Sacro Bosco, emendata. 1546 (imperfect), 1558, 1561, 1568 of Johannis de sacro Bvsto Libellvs de sphaera, volvelle to be cut out. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 138. Apian, Peter. Libro del Cosmographia. Enveres: Gregorio Bontio, 1548. (1st ed. In Spanish.), volvelle. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (two copies). 139. Sá, Diogo de. De navigatione libri tres ... Parisis, 1549, one leaf to be cut out bound at end. BEINECKE. 140. Sacro Bosco, Joannes de. Libellus de Sphaera. Viteberg: V. Creuzes, 1549, volvelle. BEINECKE. 141. Schöner, Johannis. Opera mathematica. Impressa Norinbergae, in officina Ioannis Montani & Vlrici Neuberi, anno Domini 1551, multiple pages of uninserted volvelle parts. BEINECKE. 142. Cortes, Martin. Breve compendio de la sphera y de la arte de navegar. Seville: Anton Allvarez, 1551, volvelle. BEINECKE; John Carter Brown; NEWBERRY. 143. Apian, Peter. Cosmographia Petri Apiani,/ per Gemmam Frisium apud Louanienses medicum & mathematicum isigne. Parisiis: Viuantium Gaultherot. 1553. BEINECKE (volvelles defective); NEWBERRY (volvelles intact). 144. Cortes, Martin. Arte of Navigation ... exemplified by manye Demonstrations. Translated from the Spanish by Richard Eden. London: Richard Iugge, 1561, volvelle. BEINECKE (also 1572, 1579, 1589, 1596 and 1615, for John Tapp.) 145. Schöner, Andreas. Gnomice. Nuremberg: Joa. Montanum, 1562, has a similar volvelle to his father's 1551 work, with the dial and a 25-sided sundial supplied as separate sheets. Bamberg; Cambridge; NYPL Rare Books. NYPL doesn’t have the tipped-in sheets, Bamberg and Cambridge do. Also Adler Planetarium; Edinburgh University Library; Houghton; Oxford; Victoria and Albert Museum. 146. Cesario, Agostino. L’Arte del Navigare con il Regimento della Tramontanae. Italy: 1569, volvelle. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana.

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147. Coignet, Michel. Instruction novelles des points ... naviguer. Anvers: 1581, movable parts on 30, 34, 64, 89. BEINECKE. 148. Apian, Peter. Cosmographia, sive descriptio universi orbis ... G. Frisio. Antwerp: Arnoldi Coninx, 1584; Antuerpiæ: Apud Ioan. Bellerum. [Typis Joan. Withagii], Anno 1584, movable part. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (both editions). 149. Waghenaer, Lucas Janszoon. Teerste dell ande Spieghel der zeevaretdt, vande navigatie der Westersche. Christoff Plantin, 1584, diagram on 21 with moving parts. BEINECKE. 150. Waghenaer, Lucas Janszoon. Teerste [-het teweede] deel vande Spiehel der zeevaerdt ... Plantin, 1585, movable parts, 17. BEINECKE. 151. Waghenaer, Lucas Janszoon. Pars Prima [-Altera] Speculum nauticum super nauigatione maris Occidentalis confectum. Lvgdvni Batavorvm: Plantinianis Franciscus Raphelengius, pro Luca Ioannis Aurigario, 1586 (volvelle part II, 17). BEINECKE. 152. Waghenaer, Lucas Janszoon. Mariner’s mirrovr. London: J. Charleswood, 1588, diagram on B3r. BEINECKE. 153. Waghenaer, Lucas Janszoon. Pars Prima [-het tweede . . vanden] Espeio de la mar sobre la nauigacion. Cornelis Claesz, Schrijfboeck, 1589 movable diagram on p. 17. 154. Waghenaer, Lucas Janszoon. Pars prima [-deuxieme] dv Miroir de la Navigation. Anvers: Iean Bellere, 1590, diagram, 17. BEINECKE. 155. Severt, Jacques. De orbis catoptrici seu mapparum mundi principis, descriptionae ac usu. Paris A. Drouart, 1598. [Also Paris: Baltasar Morel, 1590] BEINECKE (two copies) volvelle. 156. Crescentio Romano, Bartolomeo. Proteo militare di Bartolomeo Romano. 1595, folding image. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 157. Crescentio Romano, Bartolomeo. Navtica mediterranea di Bartolomeo Crescentio Romano ... Nella quale si mostra la fabrica delle galee.’ Rome: B. Bonfadino, 1602; 1607, volvelles, 414. BEINECKE; Houghton; NEWBERRY; MHS Oxford. 158. Nautonies, Guillamede. Mecometrie de l’Eymant. Venice: Chez l’Auteur. 1603-4, cut-out, volvelles. BEINECKE. 159. Waghenaer, Lucas Janszoon. Mariner’s mirror. Amsterdam: Jodocus Hondius, 1605. diagram, 17. BEINECKE. 160. Medina, Pedro. Art de navigver de M. Pierre de Medine ... Contenant toutes les reigles .. necessaires a la bonne nauigation. Nicolas de Nicolai. Rouen, 1607, volvelle. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (1545; 1554; 1609; 1628). 161. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. Het licht der zee-vaert: daerinne claerli. Amsterdam: Willem Janszoon 1608, 1620, volvelles. BEINECKE; also 1623-25 and in English, 1622; NEWBERRY (1625). 162. Apian, Peter. Cosmographie. Ofte beschrijvinge der gheheelder werelt, ... gehschreven in Latijin door Petrus Apianus. Gecorrigeert ende vermeerdert door M. Gamma Frisius. Amstelredam: C. Claes, 1609. NEWBERRY.

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163. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. The light of navigation. Amsterdam, 1612; 1622 Yale University, Sterling Memorial Library Map Room. 164. Hues, Robert. Tractatus de globis, coelesti et terrestri eorumque usu. Amsterdam: Hendrik Hondius, 1617; 1624, volvelle on 83. Yale MHL (1624); NEWBERRY (1627). 165. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. Flambeau de la navigation, monstrant la description & delineation de toutes les costes & havres ... 1620, title is a cancel slip over Dutch title page from 1620; volvelle. BEINECKE. 166. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. Ardente ou flamboyante. Amsterdam, 1633. BEINECKE. 167. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. Nouveau phalot de la Mer. Amsterdam, 1635, volvelle. BEINECKE. 168. Norwood, Richard. The sea-mans practice: contayning a fundamentall probleme in navigation, experimentally verified, namely touching the compasse of the earth and sea. London: Printed for George Hurlock, 1637, volvelles. BEINECKE (four copies); John Carter Brown (1694). 169. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. Zeespiegel. Amsterdam, 1639, volvelle. BEINECKE. 170. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. Sea mirror. Amsterdam, 1640, volvelle. BEINECKE. 171. Dudley, Sir Robert. Arcano del Mara. Florence: Giuseppi Cocchini, 1646-47 and 1661. 2 vols, vol. 1, over 64 volvelles. BEINECKE (1661); NEWBERRY (1646). 172. Colon (m), Jacob Aertsy. Neuv fierie sea colomne. Amsterdam, 1649. BEINECKE. 173. Tapp, John. The sea-man’s kalender, or, An ephemerides. London, 1663, 1664, 1674, made-up and unconstructed volvelles. BEINECKE (four copies). 174. Blaeu, Willem Janszoon. Institutio astronomica de usu globorum & spærarum cælestium ac terrestrium. Oxoniæ: W. Hall, 1665; also Amsterdam, 1640 and 1655. NEWBERRY (1669). 175. Denys, Guaillaume. L’art de naviguer perfectioné, 1666. BEINECKE. (1681 version has 3 volvelles). 176. Sturmy, Samuel. The mariner’s magazine, or Sturmy’s mathematical and practical arts: containing the description and use of the scale of scales. London: E. Cotes for G. Hurlock, 1669, cut-out instrument. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY. 177. Blackborrow, Peter. The longitude not found. London, 1678, diagram with a volvelle. BEINECKE. 178. Seller, John. A pocket book: containing severall choice collections in arithmetick, astronmy, geometry, surveying, dialling, navigation, astrology, geography, measuring, gageing. London, 1680. BEINECKE (four copies). 179. Seller, John. Epitome of the art of navigation, London, 1681, revolving disc, 15. BEINECKE. 180. 181.

Seller, John. A New System of Geography. London, 1685. BEINECKE (Four copies) Jacobsz, Theunis, called Loots Man. The lightning columne or Sea mirror ... Amsterdam, 1680, volvelle. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY (1668). 182. Jacobsz, Theunis, called Loots Man. Niew en groote Lotos mans zeespiegel. . . Amsterdam: J.&C. LootsMan, 1687, volvelle. Yale University, Sterling Memorial Library Map Collection; NYPL Rare Books. 183. Coronelli, Vincenzo. Atlante veneto, nel quale si contiene la d. 1690. Perspective book with a volvelle

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and gores. BEINECKE (two copies); NEWBERRY. 184. Vooght, Clae Janszoon. De Zeemans wegh-wysen. 1694, with moving part on diagram. BEINECKE.

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Non-Scientific Book/Games and Lotteries 185. Flach, Martin. Tierlosbuch. Basel, 1485, with a sea-monster-shaped volvelle. Berlin, unique. 186. Anonymous. Kartenlosbuch (1506-20 by Zollinger). 1890 facsimile. ONB (85.364-B); London Warburg Inst. (FMH 3160 09/546). 187. Vogtherr, Heinrich. Eyn schöne Und Gotselige Kurzweil/eines Christlichen Loßbuchs ... Strasbourg: Vogtherr, Aug 6 1539. BL; BSB; HAB; Strasbourg Bibliothèque nationale et universitaire; SUB GÖTTINGEN (Fig. 1.6) 188. Wickram, Jörg. Schöne unnd fast schimpfliche kurtzweil or Lossbuch. (At least twenty-three editions.) Straßburg, no publisher, 1539, double-sided volvelle. BEINECKE (Zg16 W63+539) is the only copy complete with Unicorn dial (but no verso dial); Basel; Copenhagen Kongelige Bibliothek (18.166 Fol); Oslo UB (LIB.rar.q/281) [Berlin, Wernigerode copies Kriegsverlust]. 189. 1543 Strasbourg, Cammerlander, Kurtzweil, ONB (5-827 B), with the unicorn and verso dial present; HAB (P4° 469), dial damaged; quarto. 190. 1545 Straßburg, Cammerlander, Kurtzweil, [Bolte lists Bremen copy, as Kriegsverlust], quarto. 191. 1550 Straßburg, Wendel Rihel, Kurtzweil, BSB (4° P.o. Germ. 18M/1), dial page mostly missing); quarto. 192. 1559 Straßburg, Josiam Rihel, Kurtzweil, [Bolte lists BSB and Berlin copies, Kriegsverlust]; octavo. 193. 1560 Mülhausen, Peter Schmidt, Das Weltlich Loszbüch, HAB, (Lo. 7963.2), missing front matter, [Bolte described a defective copy in Berlin, Kriegsverlust]; quarto. 194. 1564 Mülhausen, Peter Schmidt, Das Weltlich Loszbüch, SUB GÖTTINGEN (Poet Germ. II, 2869) Aij and Aiij missing; quarto. 195. 1560-86 Straßburg Thiebolt Berger (active dates) Das Glückradt oder Weltlich Laszbuoch [Berlin, Kriegsverlust; had dials to cut out]; octavo. 196. 1586 Frankfurt, Niclaß Bassee, Das Weltlich Loßbuch, [Bolte found it mentioned in Frankfurt Meßkatalog 1586 (Catalogus novus nundianarum vernalium, f. F. 4 v; also in the Fall 1587 fair catalogue by N.Bassee: Mitt.d.v.f.gesch. in Frankfurt a.M. 6, 106, 1881.] no known copies. 197. 1589 Frankfurt, Das Glücksrath oder Weltlich Loßbuch (copy after Berger?); in Weller’s Annalen 2,378. No copies known. 198. 1592 Frankfurt, Nicolaum Bassaeum, [no titlepage], (Copy after Bassaeus 1586?), ONB (BE.11V44*), Fool recto, Unicorn verso dial. 199. 1593, Straßburg, Anton Bertram, Glückradt oder weltich Loßbuch, (Bolte saw one from Clessius, Elenchus 1602, 2, 276), no copy known; octavo. 200. 1594 Straßburg, Anton Bertram, Das Glücksrad oder Weltlich Loßbuch, (Bolte wrongly suggests HAB); no copy known; octavo. 201. 1595 Frankfort, Nicol Bass, Weltlich Loßbuch, (Bolte—Meßekatalog 1595 (Catalogus

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nundinarum vernalium, fol. D4v; not listed with an author), no copy known. 202. 1611 Magdeburg, Johann Franck, Das Weltlich Loßbuch, (Bolte: Weller, Annalen, 2,378) No copy known. 203. 1618 Straßburg, Marx von der Heyden, Das Glücksradt oder Weltlich Laßbuch, Jena UB in good condition (8 Bud. Var.20 (2)); octavo. 204. 1626 printer, location and title unknown, (Bolte’s reference to Leipzig 1626 also unclear), no copy known; octavo. 205. 1671 no printer/location, Ein Kurtzweiliges Loß oder Drehbuechlein, Berlin Staatsbibliothek (Na 4258 R); octavo. [Notes from inspection of Berlin copy: In the middle of the text, (after “du bift ein Narr”), comes a large break. In this copy, a slip of paper is pasted on with a very poor quality woodcut print of a unicorn dial and a circle with a coat of arms for the back. This could be the way copies left the printer’s. This is probably the edition (or close) to the one in the British Library, as it has a black circle at the bottom of the series of concentric ones, no frame around it, and no background behind the winds.] 206. 1676 no printer/location, Ein Kurtzweiliges Loß oder Drehbuechlein, Kunstbibliothek Berlin (Gris.538 kl.); Straßburg BNU (R 100 399); octavo 207. 1702 no printer/location, Das weltliche Loßbuch, Basel UB (Wack. 1674), very defective, has sheet to cut out showing the Unicorn and the Drehknopf; Unicorn is printed in reverse (to the left)); octavo. 208. 1st half 18th c., no printer/location, Ein kurtzweiliges Los- oder Drehbuechlein, Berlin (Na 4262); octavo. 209. 1st half 18th no printer/year, Kurtzweiliges Loos- oder Dreh- Buechlei, Berlin (Na 4265); octavo. [Unicorn and square with angels present, but worm-eaten (almost the entire interior of the wheel is gone).] Gert-Roloff incorrectly states that this work is Kriegsverlust. 210. 1st half 18th century, Kurtzweiliges Loos- oder Dreh- Buechlein, Berlin (Na 4266 R); octavo. 211. Karte”nlossbuch: Darinnen auss H. Schrifft vil Laster gestrafft, vnd heylsamer Leeren angezeygt werden ... Zu Strassburg, Bein M. Jacob Kammerlander, 1543. Fourth plate has double-sided unicorn volvelle reprinted from Wickram 1543. BEINECKE (FIG. 11.8); HAB; ONB. Literature: Muller, Zollinger, Bolte. 212. Pambst, Paulus. Loβbuch zu ehren der Römischen, Ungarischen und Böhmischen Künigin. Strasbourg: Balthasar Beck, 1546. BEINECKE; BSB (two copies); Budapest; GNM Nuremberg; SUB GÖTTINGEN; HAB (two copies); LoC (Rosenwald); NEWBERRY; Paris Arsenal; Rastatt, Kungl. Biblioteket Sweden; Schweinfurt Bibliothek Otto Schäfer; Stuttgart; Würtzburg. Strasbourg, Yale and Göttingen's dials are reversed; Strasbourg's is missing; while the BL, BSB, BUDAPEST, both copies at HAB, AND the LoC Rosenwald copies are all correctly constructed with the Christ Child on the recto and Angel on the verso. The GNM, Stuttgart, Schweinfurt, Paris, Rastatt , Swedish and Würtzburg copies could not be consulted. There was also a copy in the C. Fairfax Murray collection. See 1913 auction cat., no. 320 (volvelle inserted incorrectly.) (VD P 174) The NEWBERRY copy, acquired in 2017, lacks the volvelle, but has a supplied alchemical engraving patch on the verso. SUB GÖTTINGEN (Figs. 11.9-11; 13)

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213. David, Johannes. Veridicus Christianus. Antwerp, 1606. Fortune-telling engraved volvelle with cut-out windows. Illustrations generally attributed to Theodor Galle. BEINECKE; Getty Research Institute (1601; Fig. 3.8); NEWBERRY. 214. Spirito, Lorenzo, Dutch. T boec van der auōturenende van tijt cortīge, van versinnen. Antuuerpen: By J. van Ghele, 1608. NEWBERRY (Landsknecht volvelle). 215. Wither, George. A Collection of Emblemes. London: By AM for Robert Allot, 1635, two woodcut volvelle lottery dials. BEINECKE; Lewis Walpole; NEWBERRY. 216. B. R. (Crouch, Nathaniel) Delights for the Ingenious: in above fifty select and choice emblems, divine and moral, ancient and modern. London: 1684. (A “Lottery Wheel.) Wheel, pointer lacking on 207. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY.

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Cut-Out Books 217. Murner, Thomas. Chartiludium Institute Summarie doctore Thoma Muner memorante et ludente. Johannes Knobloch, 1518 reprint of 1502 book, which was possibly meant to be cut out and used as a deck of cards. GNM. 218. Murner, Thomas. Logica memoratiua. Chartiludium logice, siue totius dialectice memoria; & nouus Petri Hyspani textus emendatus: cum iucundo pictasmatis exercitio. Strasbourg: Johann Grüninger, 1508, possibly meant to be cut out and used as a deck of cards. GNM; NEWBERRY (1508; 1629). 219. Ringmann, Matthias. Grammatica / Figvrata. / Octo Partes Orationis/ Secvn- / dum Donati editionem & regulam Remigij / ita imaginibus expre[ss]æ vt pueri iucu- / do Chartarum ludo faciliora Grãma- / ticæ præludia di[s]cere & exer- / cere queant. / Tetra[s]tichon. [Saint Dié: Gymnase vosgien, 1509]. Possibly meant to be cut out and used as a deck of cards. NYPL Rare Books. 220. Amman, Jost. Kartenbuch. Charta lusoria. Nuremberg: durch Leonhardt Heussler, anno 1588. The cards may also be meant to be cut out. BEINECKE.

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Costume, Emblem and Stammbücher, Festival Books 221. Zarlino, Gioseffo. Clodiensis sereniss. reip. venetiarvm in aede d. Marci mvsicorvm magistri, de vera anni forma, siue de recta eius emendatione. Venetijs: Officina Varisciana, 1580. Movable diagrams. BEINECKE. 222. Bertelli, Pietro. Diversaru[m] nationum habitus. Venice, 1589. Editions of three volume set published in 1589 (first volume only), 1591 (first and second), 1592-4 (first and second) and 1596 (third volume). The first volume contains three flapped images: plate 7: Cortegiana Veneta; plate 31 Nobilis Neapolitana; plate 80 Sponsa Turca Constantinopolitania. The second volume contains two more: plate 16, Ritus Hetruwig; plate 63, Novizze in Gondola. BEINECKE (1589; Figs. 12.2; 12.8); Trinity College and Oberlin (1592-4; 1596); American Academy in Rome (1594); BL (1594, 1596); BSB (1591); Glasgow (1589-1596); ONB (15891, 594-1596); Royal Library, Sweden (1596). 223-24. Bry, Theodor de. Nobilitatae Emblemata. Frankfurt am Main, 1592 (octavo); 1593 (quarto, with borders.) Both have a barrel erotica flap (of the lid) showing a countryside scene, with soldiers parting the presumably adulterous pair. 1592 edition with flap: Folger Shakespeare Library; LoC; As Stammbücher: HAAB Weimar, and HAB; Getty Research Institute (with flap; Fig. 13.3); NEWBERRY. 1593 without the flap. SUB GÖTTINGEN; HAB. 225. Fabri, Alexandre. Diversarvm Nationvm Ornatvs. Three volumes from 1593 and after 1596, copied from Bertelli, and including the five flaps. Copies at NYPL Spencer Collection; Amsterdam Rijksprentenkabinett; Biblioteca Marciana, Venice; Buffalo NY, Grosvenor Rare Book Room; Cicognara; Getty Research Institute. 226. Bry, Johann Theodor de. Emblemata Saecularoa. Possibly Frankfurt am Main, 1596 and 1611. Barrel-lid flap shows a soldier and his lover being discovered in a wine barrel by the woman's husband. Copy after Cat. A 2, possibly also by Theodor de Bry, ca. 1596. BSB; Veste Coburg (copies with and without flap); NEWBERRY. 227. Bolton, Edmund. The elements of armories. At London: Printed by George Eld, 1610, volvelle demonstrating the proper way to design a coat of arms. BEINECKE; Getty Research Institute (partial); LoC; NEWBERRY; NYPL Rare Books (missing movable parts). 228. Fra Lino Moroni. Descrizione del sacro monte della Vernia. Florence: 1612. Multiple overlays of landscape and architecture, including a rood screen. NYPL Spencer Collection; NEWBERRY (Fig. 1.10). Literature: Bury, 50, cat. 41; Reed, entries on Raffaello Schiaminossi. 229. Praetorius, Michael. Syntagma musicum. [No publisher or location], ca. 1614-20, flap on plate 2 of 1620 supplement, which shows the rear-choir mechanism. BEINECKE, BL, Selch collection, NYC (missing flap); NEWBERRY. 230. Hulsen, Esaias. Aigentliche wahrhaffle Delineati ... Würtenberg. 1618, festival book; plates 5-10 with movable engravings showing performers and nobles under parade floats. BEINECKE; NEWBERRY; NYPL Performing Arts; HAB (online: http://diglib.hab.de/drucke/36-17-4-geom-2f-1/start.htm). 231. Bry, Johann Theodor de. Proscenium vitae humanae, siue EMBLEMATVM SECVLARIVM, (Frankfurt am

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Main, 1627), new edition of Emblemata Saecularia, including wine-cellar scene. No copies found with flap or residue. NEWBERRY; NYPL Rare Books; Cicognara. 232. Hexham, Henry. The first [third] part of the principles of the art military, practiced in the warres of the United Netherland, vnder the commaund of His Highnesse the Prince of Orange our captaine general ... Second ed. (first 1637) part three printed by James Moxon, 1642-3. Revolving full-page illustrations of military formations, 46-7. BEINECKE; Newbery (1642). 233. Harsdörffer, Georg Philipp. Frauenzimmer Gesprechspiels. vol. 4, XI, Nurnberg: Wolfgang Endtern, 1644. Flapped portrait of the author beneath a curtain. BEINECKE. 234. Certani, Giacomo. Maria Vergine Coronata Descrizione ... Reggio: Prospero Vedratti, 1675. One or two lift-the-flap plates in festival procession. BEINECKE; British Library; Getty; NEWBERRY.

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