The Holy Blood

The clouds lying low on the eastern horizon were tinged with a burnt orange hue on this spring dawn in the year 1483. The journeyman crossing the old Romanesque stone bridge into Wurzburg paused to gaze at the magnificent horizon and then, looking over the low wall of the bridge, at its reflection in the relatively still waters of the Main River. Mirrored there too was his own image. The chirping of the birds nested in the trees along the river was dispelled suddenly by the peeling of the bells of the churches of Wurzburg announcing the morning’s Angelus. The tolling, coupled with a gust of wind from the west, rippled further the images in the water, and called Tilman Riemenschneider away from his fluttering reflection.

The hatless, brown-eyed, dark-haired, young sculptor

-- clad in simple black hose and a dark tunic and coat and carrying a knapsack on his back -- picked up his leather bag of craftsman tools and began walking across the bridge toward the city gate. Behind him on the northern side of the river stood several half-timbered houses and beyond them, rows of grape vines tied to poles rising symmetrically up the hill to abut the walls of the ramparts of the gray stoned Schloss Marienberg. Behind those walls stood the fortress, recently renovated in the new Renaissance style of southern Europe, with its four round towers rising at the corners of the building. From that height the Prince Bishop of Wurzburg held dominion over the religious, and a good deal of the secular, lives of the citizens of the town and of its surrounding countryside.

Passing through the gate to the city, Tilman walked directly up the central cobblestoned Dom Strasse towards the Gothic Cathedral of St. Kilian, the Irish monk who was beheaded by the fearful inhabitants of the town of a darker age for his attempt to convert them. The craftsman passed a barefoot boy driving two cows heading in the opposite direction on their way for a day in the pasture along the river. Tilman, stopping momentarily to glance at the architectural trim of the Rathaus to his left, continued toward the cathedral until, almost upon it, he turned left and walked down a narrow passage shadowed by the half timbered buildings to either side.

He emerged at the other end of the alley into the market place. His attention was immediately drawn to the recently completed church of the Marienkapelle. The front portal stood off to his left facing the river; its single spire was adjacent to the front of the church on the side opposite Tilman, who now stood in the middle of the market place. Seven narrow buttresses and another portal faced the square itself. To the left and right of both portals facing both the river and the market square were small swallow shops; the shutters of their windows were still closed.

Tilman directed his attention to the baldachins and brackets of the market place entrance of the church and to the buttresses, all of which did not yet contain the sculptures of the Biblical figures destined to adorn this side of the church. They would be carved and set there to remind the citizens attending mass or shopping in the market of the moral lessons explicit or implicit in the scriptural stories of which the sculptured saints were the key figures. Concentrating now upon the empty places between the baldachins and brackets, where the perpendicular jambs curved into the arch, Riemenschneider began to imagine the outlines of a carved Adam and Eve in those spaces.

He was awakened from his reverie by the opening of the shutters of the swallow shops at the base of the church, one louver drawn upward to provide shade for the customer and protection for the merchandise, and the other drawn downward to provide counter space, upon which the chapel wares were to be exhibited. Around him, several vendors were moving their own merchandise from carts to stalls in preparation for the townspeople who would soon enter the square for their morning’s shopping. After a while, Tilman approached a baker setting his still slightly steaming loaves upon the counter of his stall.

“Guten morgen.”

Seeing an early, new prospective buyer, the baker answered cheerfully.

“Good morning!”

“Can you direct me to the home of Oskar Riemenschneider, the harness maker?”

Facing now a total stranger, the baker hesitated before answering.

“I’m his nephew. My name is Tilman Riemenschneider.”

The baker pointed toward the alley, from which Tilman had emerged upon entering the square. The sculptor looked that way and listened to the baker’s directions, nodding his head from time to time as the latter gestured Tilman’s way to his uncle’s home. The nephew of Oskar Riemenschneider followed the baker’s directions and headed out of the market place, pausing for a moment before entering the alley connecting the square with the Dom Strasse to turn and look back at the spaces between the baldachins and brackets of the market side portal.

A few minutes later, Tilman stood before the harness maker’s house, put down his tools, took off his knapsack, and set it before his kit. He brushed his clothes free of what dust he could, took up the iron knocker, which was in the form of a harness, and rapped it on the portal. After a few seconds, a middle-aged woman, her hair streaked grey, opened the door and stared at him, silently inquiring, “What do you want?”

“Excuse me, but is this the home of Oskar Riemenschneider?”

She nodded.

He pulled from under his tunic a rolled piece of paper.

“For Herr Riemenschneider, please.”

Still staring at the stranger, she took the note and closed the door. While the woman was gone, Tilman looked around at the other houses on the street, several of which resembled his uncle’s home with windows to either side of the front door and shuttered like those of the swallow shops of Mariankapelle. Just opposite his uncle’s house, about twenty feet up the street, above the front door of another home was a brightly painted wooden statue of the Virgin Mary with a halo of stars about her head. He studied this interpretation of the Madonna before his attention was called back to his uncle’s house.

The door was opened, and turning, Tilman recognized his red-cheeked, opulent, beginning-to-bald Uncle Oskar standing there.

“Tilman, little Tilman!”

The young man extended his right hand to greet his uncle, but Oskar Riemenschneider would have none of such formality. He brushed his nephew’s hand aside, embraced him in a huge bear hug, and kissed him on both cheeks. He then gently pushed his nephew at arms length, held him by the shoulders, and measured him.

“Not so little any more,” his uncle said, “but still a bit thin. Come, we are about to break our fast: some warm bread, fresh milk, and maybe a little cheese, yes? Come.”

Tilman started to reach for his bags.

“No, no. You come. Mathilde will take care of those.”

Tilman entered the house; the middle-aged harness maker followed. The woman with the grey streaks in her brown hair came out, took up the bags, went in, and closed the door.

Tilman sat on one of the two chairs by the wooden table in the solar, the communal dining room, lit by the rays of the sun entering through two small windows. His uncle sat on the other. The pine bench along the wall was empty. Across from them was a fireplace, which also served the kitchen on the other side of the wall. A cabinet, set against a third wall, held pewter. The fourth side of the room was distinguished by the entrance from the steps leading up from the workshop below and a crucifix featuring a grotesquely carved Christ hanging above the portal into the room. A momentary silence was broken by the sound of men moving about in the workshop below. Tilman responded to the interruption by turning his head towards the steps.

“My journeyman and his son have come to open the shop,” explained Uncle Oskar. “Johannes has been with me several years. I used to employ three men and keep an apprentice, but it’s not necessary anymore. We have all the work we need to keep both of us provided with food, shelter, and clothing.

“Since I was not blessed with children, he will inherit the house and workshop when I die. That will be a sad day, not so much because it will be the day of my death, but because there will no longer be a harness maker named Riemenschneider in this town. You know, your grandfather and both his father and grandfather were all harness makers.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Your father could have been one as well; being the oldest son, he was entitled to the house and shop, but he chose to marry a miller’s daughter and become the owner of a mill in Heiligenstadt.”

“That did not last very long, Uncle.”

“No, unfortunately, it did not. He was not a very good manager of property, was he?”

“No, he even had difficulty maintaining his position as master of the mint in Osterode, where we moved after he lost the mill.”

“Well, Tilman you must forgive him and pray he rests in peace.”

“I have forgiven him and regularly pray both my father and my mother rest in peace.”

“Perhaps your father did not like the smell of leather.”

The red-cheeked Riemenschneider paused to nurse some long held regret.

“I don’t know. Even your Uncle Nikolas could have become the master here, but he chose to go into the church. Ah, Tilman, who would have thought my brother Nikolas would become a clerical advisor to the Prince Bishop of Wurzburg?”

Uncle Oskar paused again to consider the benefits that befell him because of his older brother’s choice.

“But his decision was a windfall for me. I inherited the workshop, and Nikolas sent me many wealthy customers from both the churches and the patricians of the district.”

The older man paused to reflect again upon his older brother’s decision.

“I believe you were also the beneficiary of Nikolas’s munificence, yes Tilman?”

The younger Riemenschneider blushed and bowed his head before answering.

“Yes, I was. When I decided to enter the priesthood, he secured me a benefice at Erfurt. But it didn’t last long, Uncle. I discovered, only after one year, I had not been called to Erfurt for a vocation, but instead had only sought sanctuary there.”

“Sought sanctuary, Tilman?”

“Yes.”

The uncle sensed a narrative behind his nephew’s terse answer, but decided not to seek to unravel it.

“It is good you stayed only a year! Despite the success of your uncle, the priesthood is not the place for a young man.”

At that moment, Mathilde came in from the kitchen to remove the remainder of their meal. Tilman noticed she moved with a grace and elegance which belied her apparent position as servant in the household. Uncle Oskar nodded in her direction as she left the room.

“She has been with me ever since your aunt died.

“She is grateful for her place here in my house,” he said leaning over to whisper to his nephew, “and, on occasion, in my bed.

“I’m grateful for her experience in my kitchen,” he added, leaning and whispering again, “and in my bed.

“Take my advice, Tilman. Virgins are not worth the fuss.”

This last statement struck a discordant note for the young sculptor, registered with a tremor of his lower lip. His uncle did not notice and continued.

“No, Tilman; find yourself a well-endowed widow and marry. She will make you, your home, and your bed very comfortable.”

“I will keep that in mind, but it will be some time before my thoughts turn to marriage.”

The harnass maker took a last draught of wine and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his left arm.

“What do your thoughts turn to? I can tell you there are plenty of opportunities in Wurzburg for a sculptor of talent. The city’s craftsmen cannot keep up with the demand for images and have to look elsewhere many times. Do you have any definite plans?”

Tilman smiled, paused, and then answered.

“I stopped in the market place before finding my way here. I saw the new chapel.”

“It is beautiful, no.”

“Yes, it has a relatively graceful line appropriate for a Lady Chapel, I think.”

“That is at it should be -- appropriate not only in honoring its patroness but also in keeping with its purpose.”

“What purpose, Uncle?”

“That of atonement!”

“Atonement?”

“Yes, atonement. The Marienkapelle is set upon the remains of a synagogue from the past century. I have been told by one of my Jewish friends that deep in the recesses of the church are the remains of the Jewish mitvah, the spring in which the Jews performed their rites of purification. Their community was all but completely wiped out by the infamous plague of the last century.”

“I understand the Black Plague caused many deaths not only in Wurzburg but also throughout the empire.”

“Oh, it was not so much the plague that killed the Jews in Wurzburg as it was what resulted from the pestilence.”

“Oh?”

“No, according to another friend of mine –- do you have many friends, Tilman? Friends are one of life’s great comforts. I would imagine moving about so much as you have, you probably have not been in one place long enough to nurture much friendship.”

The young sculptor, somewhat embarrassed by the truth of his uncle’s observation, hesitated before answering.

“Oh, I have my friends; they are loyal and always faithful.”

“And what are their names?”

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Peter, John are some of their names.”

Recognizing that his nephew was listing the names of the subjects of some of his carvings, the uncle responded kindly.

“That is good, very good. Well, another of my more immediate friends told me that the Jews were accused of poisoning the water which brought about the deadly plague and consequently were attacked by the poor ignorant burgers of the town. Many of them, reluctant to die at the hands of the gentile, locked themselves in their homes and suffered a more purifying means of death by setting those homes afire. So, my friend, the historian, tells me. And it is for those deaths that the Marienkapelle was built: as an act of atonement for the death of so many Jews.”

“Perhaps, it would have been more fitting for the burgers to have built another synagogue rather than another church.”

“Perhaps, it would, Tilman, but the Jews themselves rebuilt their synagogue a long time ago. Meanwhile, you have not yet answered my question: do you have any definite plans?”

“I do now. I wish to carve alabaster statues of Adam and Eve for the market place portal of the new Marienkapelle.”

“An Adam and Eve?”

“Yes.”

“For the Marienkapelle?”

“Yes.”

“To begin your stay in Wurzgurg?”

“Yes, will that be possible?”

“For a master sculptor, it would be. Maybe even for a seasoned journeyman. So all you have to do is find a position with a master in the city, hope he receives a commission to create such pieces, and pray he will find your work so satisfactory at the start, he will trust the creation of the work to you.”

Oskar Riemenshneider paused for a while to let his observation register in the mind of the young journeyman.

“I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you. You have been traveling about as a journeyman how long, now, two years?”

“Yes. I know how it is.”

“Good! So, then, it’s first things first. You must secure a place in Wurzburg’s Guild of St. Luke for sculptors, painters, and glaziers. There are two master sculptors of worth in the city, Ulrich Hagenfurter and Michael Weiss.

“I suggest you take a place with one of them. You begin there; you will probably have to live with either since part of your wages will be room and board.

“I also suggest you carve or paint or glaze or do whatever it is journeymen in your trade do in order for you to become eventually your own master and to sculpt your Adam or Eve. Agreed?”

“Agreed!”

Six months later, journeyman Tilman Riemenschneider stood in the workshop of Ulrich Hagenfurter painting the blue gown of the wooden Virgin carved by the master. Elsewhere in the workshop, illuminated by the April light streaming through the windows and the completely open large double doors to the shop on the side street, journeymen were chipping away at large blocks of sandstone from which the heads of saints were beginning to emerge. Tilman was just finishing up when the master came by, attended by an apprentice, to inspect the Virgin.

“Good work, Tilman. Good work. Clean your brush and stand by. The mistress will be calling us to lunch in a short while.”

In the doorway appeared the goldsmith, Ewalt Schmidt, his wife, Anna, and their infant son. The master, a corpulent man several years older than his wife, was carrying a rolled parchment; his wife, their youngest child. Seeing them in the doorway, Master Hagenfurter directed the apprentice to sweep the shop and went over to greet his guests.

“Ewalt, Anna! Good day.”

“Good day,” answered the master for both Schmidts.

“I see you have brought the sketch.”

“Yes.”

“Come, let’s have a look at it.”

Hagenfurter directed Schmidt to a table nearby, and the goldsmith opened his sketch and laid it on the table. Both men bent over to examine the drawing.

It was a sketch by Ewalt Scmidt of the stone destined to mark his grave. In the charcoal drawing, a winged angel, who seemed to resemble the goldsmith’s young wife, bent her head forward in prayer.

Meanwhile, in the doorway, Anna Schmidt shifted the infant from her right arm, with which she had held the child against her bosom, to her left, with which she now held him on her left hip. She also shifted her weight to rest mostly upon her right leg.

Tilman found himself entranced by the S-shaped, silhouetted image of mother and child standing in the open doorway between him and the sun still lying relatively low in the sky. Finished with the cleaning of his brushes and awaiting the call to lunch, he sat down and took up a piece of charcoal and a sheet of parchment from the table. He placed the latter on a board resting upon his lap and began to sketch the mother and child.

Anna Schmidt alternated between glancing at her husband in conversation with the master sculptor and at the young journeyman apparently sketching her as he periodically turned his attention from Anna to his parchment. After a short while, she ceased looking at her husband and concentrated on the young man, whose brown eyes, which, brightened by the direct sunlight, were intensely focused upon his drawing.

Their business concluded, the two masters shook hands, and the goldsmith returned to his wife; and the couple left the shop. A servant appeared at the foot of the stairs and nodded to Hagenfurther, and the latter ordered the men upstairs for lunch. Tilman rose from his chair, set the sketch on the table, and followed the others out of the room.

Chapter 2:1485

The nephew sat in the same place in his uncle’s dining hall where he had sat a year earlier. This time the room was lit by candles set upon the fireplace and table. Also on the table was the uniquely oval shaped bottle of Franconian white wine. Uncle Oskar poured two glasses, handed one to his nephew, raised his own, and made a toast.

“Prosit!”

“Prosit!”

They drank.Uncle Oskar put his glass down on the table, bent his head a little, and in that position looked up and questioned his nephew.

“How long has it been now since you entered Hagenfurter’s workshop?”

“About ten months.”

“Your work goes well?”

“As well as I have come to expect.”

“What does that mean, ‘as you have come to expect’?”

“The master and the other journeymen, who have been with him much longer than I, carve all the meaningful, singular pieces of stone and wood.

“From time to time I get to carve those small wooden statutes of saints and magi we sell in the Wurzburg market or at the fairs of other towns, but most of the time I paint what others have carved.”

“You would prefer to undertake the carving of an important, large icon for a church? Is that it?”

Tilman bowed his head and reflected for a long time.His uncle could see some serious matter was on his nephew’s mind, and so he sought to unburden the young man.

“What is it, Tilman?What is troubling you?”

“I will tell you something I have never told anyone else, Uncle.”

“Go on.”

“You know how we all tend to see some images in other images. For example, I’m sure you have looked at the clouds above and seen there an image of some other, natural, entity.”

“Of course, who has not?”

“Yes, we see in a cloud, a resemblance of a bush; in a stone, a human face; in a piece of wood, an animal.

“But ever since I was a boy I could see in stone or wood something to which the stone or wood had no seeming physical resemblance whatsoever.

“For instance, one time in my youth, when I was out playing with some other boys, I found a piece of driftwood along the Suse near my home in Osterode. My mates saw nothing but a possible sling shot. I saw a crucifix. I’m certain it did not look like one to the other boys, but I saw it. All I had to do was carve away the chaff to reveal the rood.

“I brought home what I had shaped and gave it to my mother. She expressed such a smile I had never seen before. And she said, ‘Tilman, God has given you a rare gift. You must use it in his service.’ I promised her I would.”

His uncle smiled beneficiently upon his nephew.

“That is a noble calling to have in life, Tilman.”

“You really think so?”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“But it’s taking so long for me to repay the Lord.”

His uncle smiled again because he now saw an opening to bring up the subject he had invited his nephew to his home to discuss.

“Well, that is what I wanted to talk to you about this evening, about speeding up the path of sculpting that Adam and Eve for the Marienkapelle.”

Tilman’s eyes brightened.

“You remember, Master and Madam Schmidt?”

In his mind’s eye, Tilman recalled a sepia image of the silhouette of the woman standing with her child upon her left hip in the doorway between him and the sun, an image he had been compelled to commit to parchment.

“Yes, I heard Herr Schmidt suddenly passed away.”

“It was not so sudden, Tilman.He had been ill for some time.In any case, he left behind a widow, two sons -- the third died in infancy -- his home, which is called the Wolfman’s Ewe for some reason or other, God knows, and on the ground floor of that large house, a workshop.”

Oskar Riemenschneider paused a moment, hoping he would see a sign that his nephew recognized where the conversation was heading; but Tilman Riemenschneider, having no clue to where it was leading, waited for his uncle to continue.

“The widow came to the shop the other day to order a harness. It was a strange visit.”

“Oh?”

“Well, ordinarily, the Schmidts would have sent a servant on such an errand.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And I had provided them with several new harnesses less than a year ago, and mine usually last a life time.”

“That is strange, Uncle.”

The elder Riemenschneider paused a while before continuing.

“She also confided to me that she was ready to enter into marriage again and would look favorably upon a proposal of marriage from the right man.”

Another pause ensued as the uncle looked for recognition, and the nephew, for direction.

“Whoever should offer such a proposal, such a contract, if he were already, let us say, a journeyman craftsman from outside the city, would automatically become, according to the laws of the city, a citizen of Wurzburg and thereby a master craftsman himself.

“So you see, Tilman, such a man could become a master sculptor . . . if he were already a journeyman sculptor.”

Tilman Riemenschneider, better oriented now, began to see the course of his uncle’s conversation.

“Oh.”

His uncle allowed the recognition to sink in for a moment before continuing.

“She added she thought I might know of such a man, might even be related to one.”

Tilman’s weighed the ultimate destination of the direction of his uncle’s information.

“I don’t know, Uncle, two children?”

“Tilman! A widow! A comely widow! A grateful widow! A comfortable home! A comfortable bed! Master Sculptor!

“The Wolfman’s Ewe is large enough to contain a workshop not only for a goldsmith, but also for a sculptor and to house the journeymen and apprentices of such a shop.

“Think of it, Tilman. Your own shop! You will be able to create your own icons.”

Tilman rose from the table and paced back and forth, in and out of the darkness that surrounded the two circles of light.

“But I don’t know her.”

“You have never talked with her?”

“No.”

“Well, you must have made quite an impression, my son.”

Once more the sepia image of Anna Schmidt holding her infant child on her hip came to the imagining mind of Tilman Riemenschneider.

“I don’t even know what she looks like.”

Even Uncle Oskar was silenced by the circumstance of his nephew and the widow Schmidt’s slight acquaintance. Seated at the table and standing half in the light of the candle and half in the darkness of the night, both men considered the situation until the elder raised his head.

“Does that really matter?”

Tilman Riemenschneider stared straight ahead.

The moon shone brightly, lighting the Wolfman’s Ewe -- a four-story, half-timbered house with entrances on both Wolfhart Strasse and Bambergertrasse. The Wolfhart facade, like most of the others on the street, had a front door with shuttered windows off to both sides, which, like the swallow shops of the Mariankapelle, opened into both an awning for customer and merchandise protection and a counter for ware display. The Bambergertrasse side of the building also featured windows on both sides of a rather large door, through which supplies were delivered to the workshop, and, when opened, like the Hagenfurter workshop, let in a great deal of sunlight.

The latter entrance also opened into a workshop, which now showed in the moonlight passing through the windows a fine coat of dust on all the tables, benches, and stools. On one bench disturbing that dust lay a bag full of the new, young master’s tools, which Tilman had deposited there the day before. Off the workshop, which covered most of the first floor, was a small hall with led to the front entrance on the right and on the left, the staircase to the first floor and the solar and kitchen.

The dining room was not unlike Uncle Oskar’s save it was double in size and furnishings. It included two tables, one for the family and one for journeymen and apprentices, with two chairs and two benches set about the family table and four benches around the craftsmen’s. On the wall shared in common with the kitchen was a large walk-in fireplace. On another wall was a cabinet filled with pewter, silver, and ceramic, some of the latter of which the former master had gilded with gold. On the fourth wall, the space of which was narrowed by the entrance from the steps, was a crucifix of immense proportion and almost grotesque depiction.

In the hallway of the third floor were three doors behind which were the bedroom of the Schmidt children now deeply asleep, the small sitting room of the former Frau Schmidt, containing an elaborate desk with cabinets and a chest filled with her embroideries, and the large bedroom of the new master of the house and his bride. On the fourth floor were three more bedrooms for servants, journeymen, and apprentices, two of which were now empty due to Master Schmidt’s passing.

Directly opposite the door to the master bedroom was the master’s bed, at the end of which stood a large low chest trimmed in gold gild. To the left was a small window, through which, this night, the full moon was bright enough to illumine the dark redness of the drapes enclosing the bed. Off to the right was a large wardrobe, which contained the clothes of the late Master Schmidt and the present Frau Riemenschneider. On the wall, just to the left of the entrance, hung another Gothic crucifix, before which was a kneeling rail for prayer.

Behind the drapes surrounding the bed, Tilman and Anna Riemenschneider lay beneath a single woolen blanket. They were both awake, but one was more restless than the other. The young groom could not keep back a significant measure of tension and guilt. In his haste to please, he had spent himself too early. Despite his relative innocence, even he knew ejaculation immediately after penetration was premature.

In their first meeting after his uncle broached the subject of marriage to his nephew, a dinner hosted by the latter’s future wife, Anna had taken Tilman for a walk through the garden, in which the leaves were in full autumnal, rust-colored foliage. He had already learned of her dowry: the property and an annual income of 100 guilders.He also had been informed of Ewalt Schmidt’s having bequeathed upon his death the remainder of his money to his sons, part of it to pay for the elder’s apprenticeship in a goldsmith shop in Mainz and the younger’s tuition in the seminary at Erfurt and the rest to be received upon their eighteenth birthdays.He also had confirmed what his uncle had promised: he would soon be proclaimed a citizen of Wurzburg and a master sculptor of the city. As they took a seat beneath a trellis adorned with rose leaves, Tilman asked the question which had been plaguing him ever since the match was proposed.

“Why me, Anna?”

Anna Ewalt paused for a moment, bowed her head, looked up, and smiled.

“Tilman, you sit here and wait,” she answered. “I will be right back.”

Anna left him beneath the arbor while she quickly walked into the house. While awaiting her return, Tilman pondered the question he had just posed. He had relationships with women before; indeed, in his youth, he had evened contemplated marriage to one of them.But ever since his having left the monastery in Erfurt to become a sculptor, he had been not only a journeyman sculptor but also a journeyman lover, always in pursuit of physical pleasure and always moving on after his brief and fleeting engagements.Never unitil now had a woman pursued him.

Anna was gone but a short while before she returned holding a parchment in her right hand, which she handed to Tilman. He unrolled it and instantly recognized the drawing he made of her in Hagenfurter’s workshop.

“How did you get this?”

“After I returned home the day you drew it, I sent my servant back to the workshop to see if it were for sale.Only Herr Hagenfurt was there, and the master gave it to my servant to give to me with his compliments.”

“You chose me because I drew you?”

“I was married to my husband for several years and bore him three sons. I am not ashamed to tell you I never felt he really knew me.

“When I saw the drawing, I had the feeling you saw something in me I wished my husband had seen. And it seemed to me if someone could know me so well upon such a brief encounter, he no doubt could come to know me much more deeply in the course of time.

“That is why I chose you.”

Because he had received much more than he had bargained for, because Anna Schmidt was much younger than he expected a mother of three to be, because she was more beautiful than he had any right to expect, and because her endowment included not only a shop and a house, but a mind and sensitivity as munificent as her property, in his haste to reciprocate, he fell quite short.

“I’m sorry, Anna.”

“There’s no need for sorrow.”

Despite Anna’s attempt to relieve him of his guilt, Tilman continued to lie there silent and melancholy.

“Tilman you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then lie still.”

“Still?”

“Yes.”

“I will be still.”

Anna sat up and reached for the drapes and drew them partly back to let in the moonlight. As she did, the blanket fell off her shoulders, and Tilman reached to draw it up and put it back around it.

“Don’t you like to look at me naked?”

“I thought you might be cold.”

Looking at her long blonde hair falling down upon her shoulders in the shadows, Tilman saw Anna primarily in chiaroscruric silhouette against the moonlight and recalled once more his first glimpse of her. He momentarily thought of rendering that vision in wood.

“I love to look at your naked body, especially in the moonlight.”

“Then be still.”

With the blankets covering them now from the waist down, Anna straddled Tilman and bent over and began to kiss him.First his lips and then his ears and neck. Tilman started to stroke her nape in response, but Anna brushed his hand aside and whispered in his ear.

“Be still, my Tilman.”

Tilman turned his thought back to his imagined wood carving of Anna and her child and was able to be still. After running her right hand through his hair and continuing to kiss him, Anna slowly raised herself and then settled back down upon the aroused Tilman, who tried once more to stroke her body.

“Be still,” she whispered again.

Anna renewed her kisses as she began very slowly to rock back and forth. Tilman struggled to imagine wooden Annas in the new workshop of the Wolfman’s Ewe. But as Anna continued to rock back and forth and began to breathe

more deeply, to moan slightly, he could no longer distract himself with imagination.

Before long he was moving in rhythm with Anna. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he reached behind and grabbed her by the buttocks. Completely absorbed in the dance, there was no utterance from Anna, no wish for Tilman to be still, no imagined sepia drawings of mother and child by Tilman, but instead the two of them continued their rhythmic, deep, breathing together until they completed their passage.

Chapter 3:1487

In the workshop of the Wolfman’s Ewe, a journeyman was polishing a sandstone statue of Saints Christopher, Eustace, and Erasmus. It was not unexpected that a demand for such a piece should emerge in Franconia. In 1446, a shepherd named Hermann Leicht, from the Cistercian monastery of Langheim in upper Franconia, reported seeing a vision of the helper saints asking to have a chapel built in their honor on the very spot that they had appeared to the shepherd. It was but one of a few visions recorded that year in that part of the empire, and Tilman was happy to receive the commission not only because it gave him the opportunity to repay the Lord the debt he owed, but also because it gave him the chance to invoke the aid of those helper saints in his new vocation as a master sculptor.

On the left of the statue, the Christopher figure was portrayed with one foot in water and the other on land, his left hand grasping a gnarled staff, and his head turned away from his companion saints in the piece, looking back at the Christ child upon his shoulders with a sense both of strain and mystification. In the middle, the figure of Eustace, a Roman soldier, who converted to Christianity under Trajan and who, together with his family, had to suffer the fate of being imprisoned in a bronze bull and roasted to death, stood the tallest of the three saints, gazing directly ahead in the attire of a contemporary aristocratic knight. The third figure, Erasmus, Tilman had carved in his Bishop’s robes with mitre, gloves, and rings. Looking away from the others to his left, he held in his left hand his staff and in his right hand the spindle which was used to disembowel him.

The young journeyman, Paul Romig, had joined the workshop a year earlier and had since distinguished himself in stonework.For this piece, Tilman had made two drawings, one, a detailed design of what stood in the workshop now, another, an abstract piece “blocking” the work.Paul had taken the latter of the drawings and had cut away the dross from the sandstone; Tilman had carved it to its present condition; and now Paul was putting the finishing touches to it by eliminating any rough edges.

Tilman himself was engaged in completing a linden wood statue of St. John the Baptist. His apprentice, Kurt, stood by, watching and learning from the young master. The wooden St. John, thick curly haired and bearded and wearing a hair shirt under his mantle, was depicted holding a lamb with his left arm, which was covered partly by his garment, not daring direct contact with the sacred animal.With his bent right arm displaying salient muscles, veins, and tendons, he dramatically pointed towards the lamb, which looked back at him. The Baptist’s lean face, his wide-opened eyes, and his slightly parted lips all evoked the mood behind the words the former seminarian had heard so many times in his catechism: “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”

Having completed the removal of the last chip of linden wood, the master stepped back to examine his work. As he did, outside a cumulous cloud passed before the sun, and the change of light upon the wood dramatically altered the appearance of the Baptist from one of joy to one of awe. Tilman turned to his apprentice.

“Kurt, did you see that?”

“What, master?”

Tilman looked again at his St. John. The cumulous cloud completed its passage past the sun, and the Baptist returned to its earlier degree of splendor.

“Never mind! Is it finished, Kurt?”

The apprentice took a turn around the statue.

“You have not completed the back, sir.”

“Where is the statue to go?”

“To the church at Hassfurt?”

“Do you recall where it is to set in that church?”

“On the wall?”

“Where on the wall?”

“High on the wall.”

“Will anyone be able to see behind the statue?”

“No, sir.”

“So?”

“But why is the back roughly hollowed out, then?”

“The linden wood tends in time to crack if it is kept in its natural state.We hollow it out because it will not be seen by the viewer and because that will prevent cracking.Is it done, Kurt?”

“It must be painted?”

Tilman paused before responding.

“Yes, it must be painted,” said Tilman somewhat disconsolately, having in mind the guild’s latest regulation barring the painting of statues in the workshop where they were carved and thereby making it necessary for the sculpture to leave the workshop of origin in order to be completed in a master painter’s shop.

“Paul!”

The journeyman stopped his sanding and came over to his master.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, Paul.You will take it to Wagenknecht’s later this afternoon.”

“Yes, master.”

The men were interrupted in their appreciation of Tilman’s new work by the appearance in the opened large doorway of Uncle Oskar in the company of two other men. Measured by their apparel, the latter must have been men of standing in some other community because they were strangers to the artisans in the Wolfman’s Ewe. One was dressed in the garb of the nobility. He wore brown leather shoes, black hose, a green tunic with gold lace pattern over a white shirt, a dark cloak with fur trimming over his shoulders, and a red barbette. The other was a clergyman; he wore a black gown to his ankles, but over it, to his waist, a blue surcoat with silver laced edge.The latter held in his hand a rolled parchment.Oskar Riemenschneider nodded to the two men at the door, left them there, and walked directly to his nephew.

“Uncle Oskar, what do you think?” asked his nephew pointing to the St. John.

The uncle paused in his purpose to study the work.

“I think it’s beautiful, Tilman, serenely beautiful.”

“Serenely beautiful?”

“Yes, serenely beautiful.”

“All it needs is paint.”

After a little more inspection of the statue and a little reflection, Uncle Oskar responded.

“Too bad! Tilman, come, I want you to meet members of the city council of Muennerstadt.”

The elder Riemenschnedier began to return to his guests, but Tilman, distracted by his uncle’s last comment, remained behind looking at his statue. Realizing his nephew was not following, Uncle Oskar stopped, turned, and addressed the new master.

“Tilman, did you hear what I said?”

“I’m sorry, Uncle; I was thinking of what you just said.”

“Come, I want you to meet these gentlemen,” he answered, pointing to the two men in the doorway.

Tilman Riemenschneider reluctantly left his almost completed carving of St. John to accompany his uncle.

“Tilman, this gentleman is Nikolas von Ebern, commandant of the Teutonic Knights in Muennerstadt, and this other gentleman, Johan von Arnstein, is a priest of the Church of Mary Magdalen there. Gentlemen, meet my nephew, Tilman Riemenschneider.”

“Good day, Sir Ebern, Father Arnstein.”

“Good day, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“Tilman, they have ridden a long way this morning; perhaps something to eat and drink might be in order?”

“Yes, of course.Kurt, come here. Gentlemen, please be seated.”

Tilman cleared a few things off a table with benches before and behind it.The apprentice now stood by his side.

“Go tell your mistress we want some wine, cheese, and bread.”

Kurt left to deliver the master’s message; the latter turned back to his guests and pointed to the benches and the table.

“You have come a long way; a little something to eat and drink?”

“Thank you; that would be most welcomed,” answered the priest.

The two guests started toward the table and sat down.

“Tilman, Herr von Ebern and Father von Arnstein wish to see your latest work.”

“Yes, of course.”

Tilman pointed toward the St. John.

“There it is; I completed it this very morning.”

Uncle Oskar waited only a few seconds for the men to look at the newly finished, still unpainted, wooden sculpture, before speaking.

“Well, gentlemen?”

The priest gestured a waiting sign and both men rose and approached the work to examine it more closely. They walked around it, abruptly stopped, and turned inquisitively toward the sculptor.

“It is to be placed high against a wall in the church of Hassfurt,” explained Tilman.

They took another turn around the St. John and then walked off a little to the side of both the work and its maker. Tilman and his uncle exchanged glances.After some discussion, the one guest nodded, and the other nodded in agreement. Johan von Arnstein turned in the direction of Uncle Oskar.

“Yes!”

Uncle Oskar smiled broadly.

“Tilman, it seems I have brought you a new commission.”

“A commission?”

The priest continued to represent the city council and the church of Mary Magdalene in Muennerstadt.

“Master Riemenschneider, we would like you to create for our church a wooden altarpiece. The subject of the retable will be the resurrection of Mary Magdalene. The dimensions of and subjects for both the predella and the wings are stipulated in this contract, which we have brought with us.”

The priest presented Tilman the parchment he had been holding. At the same time, Anna and Kurt arrived with the refreshment. She carried a tray with cheese, fresh apples, and bread; he, one with a bottle of wine and four glasses.

“Anna, please serve our guests while I look over this contract for a new work.”

Tilman went over to one of the windows of the large workshop, unrolled the parchment, and began to read. The craftsmen continued at their work with only an occasional glimpse at the proceedings in the workshop.The two guests returned to their seats at the cleared table.Anna began to slice the bread and cheese; Uncle Oskar, to pour the wine. The latter then handed glasses to the guests, took up two more for himself and his nephew, and turned toward the latter.

“Shall we drink to the new commission?”

Tilman stopped reading, looked for a few seconds at the St. John, and then began to walk back to join the others at the table.

“First, I have a couple of questions.”

Uncle Oskar, surprised and made somewhat anxious by Tilman’s need to interrogate his patrons and therefore by the delay in confirming the contract, set down the two glasses and intercepted Tilman before he reached the party.

“Questions? What questions?” Uncle Oskar whispered.

Tilman ignored his uncle and approached the table; his uncle following closely.

“The contract calls for appropriate colors to be painted upon all the figures?”

“Yes, of course,” answered the knight.

“Are there windows around the choir where the altarpiece will be set?”

“Yes,” answered the priest.

“Stained?”

“Partially stained, yes. Why?”

“I would like very much to accept your commission, but on one condition, that the linden wood of your altarpiece, like that of my St. John, will be stained only with a pigmented glaze to protect the natural lines and marks of the wood and to unify the shadings of what no doubt will be different woods.

“The light from the windows during the day and candles at night will do more for the altarpiece you wish me to carve than will any paint, as it will for my St. John.”

The two men set their glasses down, rose again, and returned to the newly-finished statue. At that very moment, another cumulous cloud passed before the sun, and the passing had its effect in changing the light and mood of the Baptist. Anna looked on. Uncle Oskar and Tilman moved farther away from both the table and the men.

“Are you crazy? They told me the contract calls for a remuneration of 150 guilders.”

“I might be crazy, but if I am, it’s but a family trait. Was it not you who a short time ago responded ‘too bad’ when I said all my Baptist needed was to be painted?”

“Yes, but --.”

“And the money I will save by not having to pay a painter to finish my work will partially make up for the meager 150 guilders for such a complex work.”

By this time, the cloud had passed, and the aspect and mood of the St. John had altered once more. The two men were visibly affected by the changes wrought by the cloud passing before the sun.They returned to stand by the table, and Tilman and his uncle joined them.

“Agreed!”

Uncle Oskar immediately fetched the glasses on the table, handed them around, and raised his glass.

“A toast to celebrate the new commission! May the helper saints there,” he implored, pointing to Christopher, Eustace, and Erasmus, “intercede with the Lord as they no doubt have interceded with him today on the completion of St. John the Baptist.”

“Prosit!”

“Prosit!”

Anna added her own particular way of celebrating the new commission.

“Come, gentlemen, try our cheese and freshly baked bread.”

While the guests began to partake of the refreshment, his uncle put his arm around Tilman’s shoulders and led him a little to the side of the company.

“And everything else in the Wolfman’s Ewe; it goes well, I hope? You are comfortable in your new home?”

“Yes.”

“And in your new bed?”

Tilman looked over at Anna, who had finished serving her guests and was now looking at him. Tilman could not immediately respond to his uncle’s latest query for the answer would have had to be much too complex.His completion of St. John and his receipt of the commission to carve the Magdalene altarpiece were for him signs of his maturity as an craftsman; his growing relationship with his Anna were a sign of his maturity as a man.Smiling, he raised his glass to Anna. Anna smiled. Uncle Oskar’s last question had been answered.

Tilman and his uncle were alone in the solar of the Wolfman’s Ewe. The elder Reimenschneider sat at one end of the table with a glass of wine before him. The younger paced back and forth, in and out of the shadows beyond the light of the candles. The journeyman and the apprentice were in their bedroom on the fourth floor restless and unable to sleep. The children were asleep in their bedroom on the third floor, and in the master bedroom the servant Hannah and the midwife were in their twelfth hour of tending Anna.

“How long has it been?”

“It began just after the noon hour.”

“I thought the length of the delivery grew shorter with each new child?”

“Yes.

“Come, Tilman, a glass.”

“No, not now, not until after.”

“You will not need one after; you need one now.”

Tilman resignedly sat and took the glass of wine his uncle had poured. From upstairs shortly thereafter came a painful cry. Tilman stood, knocked over his drink, and the wine spilled onto to the table and the glass rolled off it, dropped to floor, and broke into pieces.He started to move towards the stairs to the bedroom. His uncle grabbed him and held him tight.

“You can do nothing up there. Come, let us pray.”

Tilman hesitated, looked toward the steps leading upstairs, and then conceded.

“Yes.”

Using his own empty glass, Uncle Oskar scooped up the broken pieces and deposited the tumbler full of glass upon the table before joining his nephew.They knelt before a crucifix set upon the wall to the side of the window. It was different from the one which had stood there on the night of Tilman’s marriage. The young craftsman had carved it shortly after he finished his St. John the Baptist, and consequently it was without paint and much more subtle in its rendering of the man of sorrows than was its predecessor. The two men began to pray silently before another scream pierced the night and was followed seconds later by the wail of a baby.

Both men stood and looked expectantly towards the door.

After a short while, the midwife entered holding an infant swaddled in her right arm. She walked to Tilman, held out the baby in both hands, and presented it to the father.

“Your daughter, Herr Riemenschneider.”

Tilman uncovered the swaddling a little to get a better view of his child. He smiled, recovered the newborn, took his daughter from the midwife, and brought her to present to his uncle.

The uncle extended his gnarled hand to uncover the infant enough to have a better view.

“She is beautiful, Tilman.There will be time for sons later.”

Tilman impatiently smiled at his uncle and turned to address the midwife.

“How is my wife? How is Anna?”

“She is resting.”

“But she is alright?”

“She will be alright, but the long delivery took its toll on her frail body.”

Tilman moved toward the midwife to return the infant and to go upstairs to see his wife. Before he could act on his intention, the midwife suggested otherwise.

“I think it best you remain here for a while. I’ll take the babe and call you when it’s time for you to see Frau Riemenschneider.”

He hesitated only a second.

“If you think it’s best?”

“It’s best.”

She took the master’s daughter and began to leave the room but was interrupted by the appearance of the two Schmidt boys at the foot of the steps. Having heard the screams and having been turned away from their mother’s door, they came down to find out what was happening. The midwife walked over to them and presented the child.

“Your baby sister.”

They looked at the infant and smiled and then with a more serious glance turned toward Tilman. The midwife answered their silent inquiry.

“Your mother’s fine. She is resting now. You will be able to see her tomorrow morning. You should return to bed now.”

They looked again at Tilman.

“Do what the good woman says, boys. It’s best. And we will all visit with your mother in the morning.”

The midwife, carrying the infant, and the boys left the room to climb the steps and return to their respective rooms. Tilman and his uncle exchanged looks of concern.

Chapter 4:1489

Paul, Gunther, a second journeyman who had recently joined the Wolfman’s Ewe, and the new apprentice, Klaus, were all at work on portions of the Muennerstadt altarpiece. Paul was carving a relief for the wings; Gunther was putting the finishing touches to an angel; Klaus, happy he had been given some actual carving to do, was whittling away at tracery, and the master was sculpting the central figure of the Magdalene.

According to the specifications of the contract, the central shrine of the altarpiece was to contain the patron saint of the city, Mary Magdalene, wearing a hair shirt and being borne to heaven by seven angels.Joining the central figure of the altarpiece was the patron saint of the diocese, Kilian, carrying the sword of his martyrdom, and Elizabeth of Hungary, the patron saint of the Teutonic Knights, offering a loaf of bread and a jug of wine to a cripple. The superstructure would reveal god the Father holding a crucifix and a dove, and this depiction of the Trinity would be flanked by the Virgin and John the Evangelist. At the very top would stand John the Baptist looking down and directing the viewer’s attention to the central shrine. The predella would contain busts of the four evangelists with their traditional symbols, and the wings would hold four reliefs dramatizing Magdalene’s last communion, her burial, her washing the feet of Christ in the house of Simon, and her encounter with the risen Christ.

The men were interrupted in their work by the unexpected, but gladly welcomed, appearance of the still fragile Anna in the workshop. She was being supported by the newest member of the household, young Margred, the comely daughter of one of the painters with whom Tilman worked.Despite Tilman’s growing preference for monochromatic sculptures, the general public who attended the annual Christmas market in Wurzburg preferred their saints painted in rich colors.Young Margred had been taken into the household to help Anna and the servant, Hannah, manage the three children. Tilman quickly walked over to welcome them into the shop.

“Anna, how good it is to have you downstairs once more.”

“How good it is to be able to come down.”

“And Margred here, how is she working out with the chores upstairs?”

The young girl blushed and bowed her head.

“She has been a blessing. She is as much an elder sister as she is a nurse with the children.”

“That is good; very good.”

“Now, Margred, you had better get back up there and make certain the boys are reading and Gertrud is sleeping.”

“Yes, mistress.”

The comely, dark-haired, and vibrant Margred returned upstairs.

“I wanted very much to try those stairs, Tilman, but I also wanted very much to see how the Magdalene was progressing.”

“Yes, of course; come along and see. I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

“Oh, no, I am here only to look and nourish my soul, not to pass judgement.”

“You need not say a word; I will know what you think.”

Anna smiled in recognition of what she thought was a truthful insight about the artistic relationship between the master and mistress of the Wolfman’s Ewe.Tilman led her to the completed relief of the Noli me Tangere. Next to the sculpture on the bench was an engraving, another artist’s version of the same dramatic moment when the Christ appears to Magdalene for the first time after his interment.

“Did you base your sculpture on this engraving, Tilman?”

“Yes, that is more or less. I have always admired the work of Schongaurer and thought I should prepare for my carved version of the significant scriptural moment by examining his drawing of it.”

Anna studied the two works. Although the thickness of her husband’s carving was a mere three or four inches, it seemed to have more depth than was possible with such a limited ply. Part of the effect had been achieved by Tilman’s transforming the static postures of the key figures in the drawing by having an imagined wind, the spiritus, lift both the garments of Magdalen and Christ and the banner which the latter carried.Another part was achieved by her husband’s having transformed the wicket fence of the engraving into a wooden, picket one receding up a hill and resembling that at the rear of the Wolfman’s Ewe. He had also added behind that fence, off to the left, sitting before what legend suggests was the cave in which he fled to escape his guilt, a figure of Peter, who along with Magdalene had borne witness to the resurrection. Tilman had also allowed the same fantastic wind to blow the garment of Christ far off one side of his body, revealing some of the wounds of his crucifixion and thereby authenticating a physical resurrection.

Anna turned to Tilman, smiled, and simply said, “Yes!”

He then drew her attention to the relief of Christ in the House of Simon, in which Magdalene knelt in the foreground before a table, at which sat Christ to the left, Simon to the right, and behind them, a servant pouring wine for one man, who was observing Christ, and another, who was looking towards the servant.

“What is your impression of what the figure sitting on the right, Simon, is doing by lifting the table cloth and looking towards the Magdalene kneeling bent over on the floor before the table?”

“It seems he does not want the cloth to come in contact with Magdalene.”

“Thank you! You know what that uncle of mine said?”

“I can imagine.”

“He said Simon is trying to get a better view of the rump of the Magdalene.”

“And that surprised you?”

“No.”

Anna reflected for a moment before commenting further on the different views of what Simon’s intention was in lifting the table cloth.

“You know, Tilman, I suspect all of us project a bit of ourselves into what we see in such sculpture. Who knows, maybe even sculptors do as well?”

Tilman took a long look at his wife and once more counted his blessing for receiving so much more than he had bargained for.

“Come, there is one piece in particular I am anxious for you to see.”

In a moment they were looking at the trinity piece destined for the superstructure. God the father, wearing a crown and sporting a long, thick beard, was bearing, within the folds of the robe draped down between his legs to the pedestal, not the crucifix called for by the contract, but the crucified Christ himself, whose head fell to the father’s right shoulder and whose legs bent at the knee toward and under the dangling, right arm.

“God the Father was supposed to hold a crucifix and a dove, not the crucified Christ.”

Anna paused before she responded.

“It’s bold!”

“Why is that?”

“Only you could think to substitute God the Father for the Virgin Mary in an evocation of the Pieta. I like it, Tilman.”

“Thank you; I like it too.”

“And now I wish to see the piece you are currently working on.”

Tilman hesitated before speaking.

“It’s not quite finished.”

“I still wish to see it.”

Tilman was not as anxious for Anna to view the Magdalene as he was for her to see the other parts of the altarpiece.Something was not quite right with the former, but he did not know what.They walked over to where he had been working.In the sculpture, Mary Magdalene stood with her weight upon her right foot and with the left side of her hips slightly extended in the very least suggestion of a vertical s-like figure which had informed his drawing of Anna and her son.Her hands were closed before her bosom in an attitude of prayer, and her hair hung down along her sides to almost her knees.She was wearing a hair shirt, the only visible part of which was in the shape of the letter vee formed by the edges of the long gown draped over much of the hairshirt, her shoulders, and the rest of her body.She looked not unlike several Holy Mothers he had already carved.Anna looked at it for a long time before responding.

“She is supposed to be ascending to heaven?”

A question!He knew such a response held within it a critique, and he was disappointed not with Anna’s having reservations about the statue, but with her reservations having confirmed his own.

“Yes. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is.Do you?”

“I’m not sure, Tilman.When I look at the statue from the waist up, with the hair shirt and the attitude of prayer in her arms and hands, I see one Magdalene.When I look at it from the waist down and notice only the many dramatic folds of her gown, I see another, a more familiar Mary.”

Tilman’s eyes concentrated first upon Anna as he took in her observation and then upon the Magdalene.He felt a little closer to discovering the flaw in his work, but still he did not have it.

“Come, Tilman.You must help me upstairs now.I’m very impressed with what you and the others have accomplished so far, and I look forward to its completion.But I’m tired now and wish to lie down.”

Tilman helped Anna to and up the steps.When they were gone, the two journeymen momentarily stopped what they were doing.Looking towards the steps, Paul addressed Gunther.

“What do you think of our mistress?”

“I think she is still very ill.”

“Yes, upstairs, at lunch and dinner, in her familiar surroundings with her servants, it does not seem so.But here, in the workshop, the change in her since little Gertrud was born is more pronounced.”

“It will take some more time for her to heal.”

“Let us hope so.”

Later that night, Tilman, still bothered by Anna’s question and observation about the Magdalene and by his own misgivings, lay restless in bed.He sat up, pulled on a gown which had been hanging behind him on one of the posts of the bed, lit a candle, and stood up.He left the room very quietly, hoping not to waken Anna, and descended the steps to the workshop.He stood before the Magdalene, raising the candle and studying the wood.Impatient and frustrated, he picked up a chisel, threw it at the statue, and impaled it where her navel could be imagined to be, causing a chip of linden wood to fall to the floor.He studied the work a little longer, especially the break in the gown caused by the chisel impaled there, before lighting two more candles to further illuminate the statue.He then set down the candle he was holding, picked up a hammer, and withdrew the chisel from the wood.He proceeded to chip away at the wood about her bosom very deliberately and very delicately.

The next morning the two journeymen and the apprentice stood before a much different Mary Magdalene than the one they had left in the workshop the afternoon before.There was no longer any gown; instead, what had been a hair shirt to her waist was now one that tightly fitted her entire body exposing only bare hands, feet, head, knees, and breasts.Because the coarse hairs of the redemptive cloth were carved rather thickly, it was as though tiny flames engulfed the whole body of the woman.It was an astonishing transformation, and the craftsmen of the Riemenschneider shop stood in rapt attention before Gunter broke the silence.

“Saint or sinner?”

“Sinner and saint!”

“Yes!”

They moved away to resume labors on the work left unfinished the day before.

Around noon the master, who had begun deliberately but worked feverishly through the night to redress the Magdalene, entered the workshop and directed the men to go upstairs to their lunch.He went to look at the patron saint of the town of Munnenstadt, and, although he felt there was much touching up to be done to the newly carved saint, was pleased with what he had created.As he stood there, Uncle Oskar entered through the opened large door to the outside, walked up behind him, and broke his reverie.

“What have you done to her, Tilman?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I find myself at a loss for words.The only one I can come up with, and I’m not certain this does it justice, is ‘brilliant.’”

Tilman Riemenschneider could not have been more pleased.In the early morning, after working at the Magdalene feverishly through the night, he had taken a few steps back in the early light coming through the two windows, and had said aloud, “brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

“You have captured in this one woman, in this one instant, hell, purgatory, and paradise, all three together.Congratulations, my son.”

“Thank you, Uncle.But what brings you to the workshop during the lunch hour?This is very unusual for you not to be supping on one of Mathilde’s combinations of sausages and kraut.”

“I have news.But first, how is Anna?”

“I am happy to report that she took her first turn yesterday to come down and have a look at the work in the workshop.But, her recovery goes very slow, very slow.”

“I’m sorry to hear it goes slow, but delighted to hear that she is improved.Be patient.Let nature and time take their course, and all will be well.”

“I pray it will.Now tell me, what is your news?”

“Something which will cheer up both you and Anna.”

“Good news then?”

“After the Magdalene is complete, do you have any plans, any ‘definite plans’?”

Recognizing the allusion immediately, Tilman resisted breaking into a smile, but one pierced the armor of his ordinary stoic attitude.

“Nothing definite.We have a few orders, but nothing special.”

“You do now.”

“No?”

“Yes!The Marienkapelle council met last night and decided to offer you the contract for an alabaster Adam and Eve for the market portal of the church.”

“No!”

“And 250 guilders to boot.”

“250 guilders!To be paid that much to fulfill a dream.”

“An innocent boy and girl – you will need special models.”

Tilman hesitated only a few seconds.

“I have special models.”

“Where?”

Tilman pointed to his brow.

“Here.”

Chapter 5: 1476

Young Tilman carried a blanket; and Maria, younger in years, but older in development, a food basket.Though his hair and eyes were brown and hers blonde and blue, the young couple bore a slight resemblance to one another as they walked along the banks of the Suse River outside Osterode.The afternoon sunlight reflected brightly and shimmeringly off the river.From time to time, they would smile at one another, but for the most part they walked along in silence listening to the wrens chirping in the willows lining the river.After a while, keeping her eyes upon the woods off to their right as though looking for some familiar site, Maria stopped, grabbed Tilman’s hand, and drew him into the wood. Finding the clearing nearby, she paused and looked back along the path they had just taken from the river, which was still in sight.

“Here, Tilman, it is private, and we can still see and hear the river.”

He looked through the dappled, spare underbrush of the wood toward the river, which continued to reflect the bright sunlight.

“Yes, it’s the perfect spot.”

He spread the blanket over the mossy surface, and Maria knelt on it, set the basket down, and took from it the bratwurst, bread, apples, cider, two wooden mugs, and knife.She cut slices of the red meat and dark bread and prepared sandwiches.Tilman poured the cider.She handed Tilman his open sandwich; he, her mug of cider. Sitting down next to each other and facing the river, they began to partake of their picnic lunch.

A half hour later, Maria untied a ribbon in her hair, and her tresses spread out, down, and around her shoulders.She pushed the basket off the blanket and lay down on her right side, rested her head on the hand of her right arm, bent at the elbow, and looked up at Tilman.He stared at her for a moment and then bent toward and gently kissed her.She embraced him with both arms and brought him down upon her and gave him a full kiss. The flowing Suse still reflected the sunlight.

Although they lay in the shade of the trees, their exchange of kisses made them feel even warmer on this hot summer afternoon.Beads of perspiration appeared on Tilman’s brow.Maria gently dabbed them with the sleeve of her blouse.

“It’s very hot.Shall we go for a swim and cool off?”

“I don’t know Maria; someone might see us.”

“All the way out here; who will see us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m going in.You can follow or not.”

She pushed him aside, got up, and retreated behind a large pine to undress.The bole was not wide enough to cover her entirely, and so Tilman could see her limbs and parts of her torso appear to either side of the circumference of the trunk as she undressed.He took off his tunic and was bare to the waist when Maria emerged from behind the pine.

He found her more slender around the shoulders than he had imagined her to be beneath her chemise.She was long in the waist and full in the thighs.He could not help but stare. For a moment she was arrested and flattered, but then embarrassed.She ran from the cover of the wood toward the shimmer and the promised cool of the river.

“Come, Tilman, come.”

He watched her pause at the bank and then dive headlong into the Suse.Still dressed in his black hose, he started to follow, stopped at the edge of the wood, looked both ways along the sides of the banks, saw no one, and came out to the edge of the water. He watched Maria take a few strokes straight out into the river, draw herself up, and dive back in, making only the slightest splash.She emerged as she had dived in, barely disturbing the water, turned, and swam back towards him.

“Come in, Tilman,” she said, treading the water, “the water will cool you.”

“I would much rather watch you.”

She smiled and turned to swim halfway across the river.She sliced through the sun-reflecting waters, lifted herself up again, dove into the river, and disappeared into the river for a long enough time for a worried Tilman to move closer to the edge of the bank looking for her form beneath the surface.She reemerged hardly splashing the water again, and continued to swim for several more yards.After repeating this movement away from and back toward the nearer bank, she treaded water once again a few feet before Tilman and called out.

“Would you get the blanket for me, Tilman?”

Tilman walked quickly back to the clearing, put everything upon the blanket back into the basket, pulled up the wool, and strode back to the bank.He held the blanket up, extending his arms as wide apart as he could.Maria walked gracefully up the slight incline of the bank into the blanket, and Tilman wrapped it around her body.Holding the blanket and Maria with his left arm, he reached with his right hand to clear a wet ringlet of hair away from her eyes.He bent his head and gently kissed her on the brow, on her closed eye lids, and on her lips.She returned his kisses to his brow, eyelids, and lips; and they walked back through the wood to the clearing.

They stood where the blanket had been spread out, and they kissed again.Maria brought her arm from under the wool to embrace Tilman around the neck, and part of the blanket fell from her right shoulder.Tilman kissed her shoulder and neck.She returned his kisses.The blanket fell to the ground, and Tilman felt her still wet breasts against his bare chest.

They knelt, spread the blanket, and lay down.Resting his torso on one elbow, Tilman reached over and again kissed the brow, lids, lips, ears, and neck of Maria.Again, she responded, but her kisses lasted much longer than his.Before long, Tilman was lying completely upon Maria.She drew up her left leg alongside his waist and bent it to enclose him.

Their kisses were now accompanied with heavy breathing and sighs.Tilman caressed Maria’s thigh and Maria held Tilman’s head in both her hands.

“Take me, Tilman.”

Tilman pulled back, not certain of what he had just heard.

”What?”

“Take me.”

Two worlds converged within the mind and soul of young Tilman Riemenschneider.Years of acculturation had led him to believe virginity was to be revered.You could admire it, kiss it, caress it, even arouse it, but never violate it.Nature and Maria cried out for something more.Unable to handle the convergence, young Tilman Riemenschneider struck out against it.He slapped Maria.For a brief moment both of them stood still in shock and shame.

He stood up and took two steps in the direction of the river.The sky had become overcast with clouds and the river darker.He knew he should not have slapped Maria; he wondered why he had, and he searched his mind for an answer.Behind him, Maria sat up still stunned, gently rubbing her cheek as though to feel for certain that she had been struck.

“Not now, Maria.Not until we are married.”

Maria bowed her head for a few seconds, then stood with one hand covering her breasts and the other her pubic hair.She walked back behind the tree to dress.

Several weeks later, Tilman stood at the door of a half-timbered house and used the knocker.A servant girl opened the door.She recognized the young man who had come several weeks ago, blanket in hand, to take Maria off on a picnic.

“Yes?”

“I have come to see Maria.”

“Maria’s not at home.”

He did not believe her.

“Please tell her it’s Tilman.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but she’s not here.”

“When will she be back?”

“She won’t be back, sir.”

“What do you mean, she won’t be back?”

“I mean she won’t return here for good.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you know, sir? She’s been married.She’s gone to live with her husband and his family in Leipzig.”

The body of young Tilman Riemenschneider slumped as though it suddenly bore a terrible weight. He stood there motionless for several minutes after the servant girl reluctantly closed the door.He then walked away from the house in Osterode brooding over what he had foolishly and clumsily thrown away.A few weeks later he entered the seminary at Erfurt.

“Uncle Oskar, Adam is usually depicted with a beard.”

“Well, that makes sense.I doubt he had a razor in the Garden of Eden.”

“Will the council in the Marienkapelle expect a beard?”

“If it is part of the tradition, it will.”

“But my Adam must be without a beard.”

“Why must he be?”

“Well, for one reason, because a beard in my way of thinking suggests experience, not innocence.”

“And, if I know you, you no doubt have other reasons, which you are not going to share with your uncle?”

“Yes, there are other reasons.”

“Well, then, you must petition the council to waive the need for Adam to have a beard.”

“I will do that straight away.”

“Good.And now I will go upstairs and say hello to Anna.”

Uncle Oskar ascended the stairs.Tilman Riemenschneider stood leaning against a bench lost once more in his reverie.

Chapter 6:1495

Anna sat in her small room on the third floor next to the window which allowed the sun to shine in throughout the day and in which she did all her reading and weaving.To her right and behind her were bookshelves containing for the most part illuminated manuscripts, on the spines of which her former husband had gilded in gold the Latin titles.In addition there were stacked several books from the relatively new printing presses of Gutenburg in Mainz and Bamberg.But this morning Anna was not reading but rather sewing a piece of richly colored embroidery.

In the middle of the scene emerging in the fabric before her in the wooden frame, a band of hunters cornered a boar below the thick green foliage of a forest and the star-dappled, deep blue of the sky.Off to the right, in a clearing below a dogwood bearing autumnal red berries, a young virgin held the single horned head in her lap of a unicorn lying by her side.Anna paused for a moment to look up at Tilman, who stood before her dressed more handsomely than he was accustomed to.They exchanged smiles, and she returned to her weaving.Although she had gained strength through the year, Anna had never fully recovered from the birth of Gertrud.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to come, Anna?”

“I think it best I do not, Tilman.I’m feeling a little weak this morning.

“What is more, if I come, you will be so concerned watching over me, you will not be able to fully enjoy the the unveiling of your Adam and Eve.Today is your day; you do not want an ailing wife by your side.

“You go with your uncle and then come back here and tell me all about it.And make sure Uncle Oskar returns with you because I know he will add whatever you leave out.”

“If you are certain?”

“I’m certain.”

“I will see you later, then.”

He went over to her, bent down, kissed her gently on the lips, and departed.She paused in her handwork, touched her hand to her brow, rubbed it gently, and then resumed her needlework.

In the square outside the market portal of the Marienkapelle, the muted Gregorian chant coming from inside the church intoned the ending of the Mass.Above, purple drapes hung over the spaces between the baldachins and brackets to each side of the entrance.Four musicians -- a viol, a tabor, a lute, and a pipe -- and the journeymen from the workshop of Riemenschneider stood by.Although most people in the market continued their promenade around the square, some were drawn to the church entrance by the drapes and the musicians.The chant and the mass having been concluded, a procession of dignitaries, including Tilman and his uncle, exited the church.

As they did, the musicians began to play the sprightly Herz im freuden sich erquicket.The members of the Marienkapelle council began to form a semi-circle around the church entrance, the musicians, the sculptor, and his uncle.The music drew more people from the square to the market portal.Seeing Tilman Riemenschneider dressed in robes significantly more colorful than his usual browns and blacks -- hose of a purple hue, a tunic red with a gold laced down the front, and a deep blue coat trimmed in fur –- many observers wrongly inferred that the success of the man who had become the most celebrated sculptor in Wurzburg had finally expressed that renown in his attire.Uncle Oskar knew better; the clothes were those of the late Ewalt Schmidt, which had formed a part of the widow Schmidt’s dowry and which now, with the additional weight put on by Tilman from regular diet and hours, fit the new master.The uncle leaned over to talk to his nephew.

“It is too bad Anna could not be here.”

“She did not feel up to it this morning.”

An important looking member of the inner semi-circle around the market entrance to the church signaled the musicians to stop playing.He then walked to the left side of the entrance, where the journeymen Gunter handed him a cord connected to both draperies above.The president of the Marienkapelle council pulled the cord, and the purple fabric fell away to reveal the statues of Adam and Eve, which were remarkedly naked but for the fig leaves covering and yet reflecting their genitalia.Their visages resembled those of the young Tilman and Maria of the sculptor’s reverie.A mixture of oohs, aahs, gasps, and applause greeted the unveiling of the innocent couple a little more naked than the citizens of Franconia were accustomed to seeing their statues.Uncle Oskar now knew one of the other reasons why his nephew’s Adam could not be bearded.

“He looks familiar, my boy.”

“They are both familiar.”

“And a little alike?”

“You think so?”

“Yes.It’s an inspired work, Tilman.”

“Then perhaps my expiation has been accepted.”

“Your expiation?Come, come, Tilman, what possible sin could you have committed requiring such expiation?”

“Some times, Uncle Oskar, sin is the result of failing to act.”

The elder Riemenschneider paused a moment to consider the implications of his nephew’s enigmatic confession before continuing their conversation.

“Well, then, I look forward to celebrating in the Ratskeller, not only the unveiling of your Adam and Eve, but also the atonement of your sin of omission.”

More people in the marketplace had crowded around the portal, drawn there by the unveiling of a naked Adam and Eve and by the music, which had started up again in anticipation of the parade down the Dom Strasse to the Ratskeller, where a dinner was planned for the council of the Marienkapelle and the craftsman who had created the Adam and Eve.Above the sound of the music and beyond the confines of the crowd, the shouts of a young woman could be heard issuing from the alley connecting the square and Dom Strasse.All those on the periphery of the crowd immediately turned their attention in that direction.

Margred came running into the marketplace toward the church and soon was pushing her way through the crowd.The stirring moved Tilman and his uncle to look toward the disturbance.Initially shoving people to either side of her and then moving more freely as the folk began to make room for her, Margred made her way through and stood almost breathlessly before Tilman.

“Master,” she gasped, “you must come at once.”

Tilman, looking at his Adam and Eve, at the band still playing through the interruption, and the prominent figures of the church counsel now staring at him, hesitated.

“At once, Master.”

Margred pulled at his sleeve, and Tilman followed her through the gathering with Uncle Oskar not too far behind.

The master bedroom of the Wolfman’s Ewe was lit by candlelight.A priest knelt before the crucifix in the room praying.The dark-clad physician stood off to the side next to a table on which set a bowl containing some of the dark red blood of his patient.He already had exhausted all other possible remedy, and now the bloodletting had failed to provide any relief.

Uncle Oskar stood by his nephew.Across the room were Margred and Hannah, and next to them Anna’s children.Tilman knelt beside the bed, in which Anna Riemenschneider lay dying.He held her hands in both of his.

“I’m sorry, Tilman.”

“Sorry for what, Anna?”

“For calling you away from your big day.”

“My big day was the day I married you.”

She smiled weakly.

“Thank you, but now it’s time to dissolve that contract”

“Don’t say that, Anna.”

“Whether I say it or not, it’s time.”

She paused to gather her breath and her thoughts.

“It was not a bad marriage, was it?”

“It’s a good marriage, a very good marriage.”

“We were good partners?”

“Yes, we are.”

“And good friends.”

Tilman could no longer continue the pretence of conversing in the present about a future.

“What will I do without you?”“You did without me before I came.You will do without me when I’m gone.”

“Oh, Anna.”

“I have little breath left, but I have something to say before I leave, Tilman.So, you listen.”

“Yes.”

“Life is for the living. You hear, for the living?”

“I hear.”

“One more thing.”

“Yes.”

Anna smiled her last smile.

“Be still, Tilman. Be still and let life come to you.”

Tilman smiled, broke into tears, and, holding Anna’s hand with his right hand, reached his left around to embrace her.He buried his head into the bed near her breast.

Anna’s eyes closed.

Chapter 7: 1497

A year later, Tilman Riemenschneider stood once more in his uncle’s dining room on a Sunday afternoon, but this time he was pacing back and forth impatiently.

“You heard what happened in Muennerstadt?”

“I heard.”

“That goddamned Veit Stoss, thief and fraud, had the gall to accept a commission to paint my Magdalen.”

“Tilman, I have never heard you so angry before.”

“I have never been so angry before.He even got paid more guilders to paint the piece than I did to carve it.”

“From what I hear about this Veit Stoss, he gets himself in all kinds of trouble.Maybe, he needed the money.”

“He needed the attention; that’s what he needed.”

“Tilman, you know how it is with us craftsmen.When I sell a harness to a man, it is no longer mine; it is his.I cannot help it if he uses it on his horse or on his wife.It’s his; not mine.

“And so the Muennerstadt Magdalene belongs to the Muennerstadt church; it can do what it wishes with it.It is the same with all craft; once the craftsman sells it, it is no longer his.”

“I know, but this is not only an insult to me, it’s an insult to the craft.”

Uncle Oskar did not respond immediately.He paused to allow Tilman to let off more steam and to search for the right words to console his nephew.

“You once told me you carved for the glory of God, right?”

“Yes, I did; I still do.”

“Maybe God likes color.Maybe it is the will of God your Magdalene be painted.”

“If God preferred color, he would not have left the linden wood or the marble or the alabaster with the faint hues and lines he did.God does not gild the lily.”

The conversation came to a halt as his uncle waited for Tilman to take one or two more turns back and forth across the room, in and out of the shadows.Finally, feeling his nephew had rid himself of the excess bile which Stoss’s perceived treachery had stirred up, Uncle Oskar invited Tilman to sit.

“Come, have a little wine.”

Tilman sat down, drew a deep sigh as though to rid himself finally of any traces of the excessive humor, and seemed to relax.

“I think if Anna were still here you would not have reacted so, yes?”

Tilman took a sip of the wine before him.

“Oh, Uncle, I do miss her.”

“I know.Perhaps if things were a little bit more in order at home, your humors would be a little bit more in balance, yes?”

“As far as order goes, there is enough of that in the house.Klaus is off learning his trade as a goldsmith in Ulm, and Tomas has entered Erfurt to begin his studies for the priesthood.And Margred, god bless her, although she is more of a big sister than a mother, is bringing little Gertrud along nicely.”

“So your home is comfortable?”

“Comfortable enough.”

“And your bed?”

Tilman paused for a moment, took in the full implications of the word, and then smiled.

“Not again, uncle.”

“Be still and listen.”

Tilman winced slightly at the familiar words of his uncle’s command.The latter continued.

“I may not be around very long to offer you help; let me do so while I can.”

“You are indestructible.”

“Time, not you, will determine how indestructible I am.Now listen, I know a woman --.”

“Do I know her?”

“No.”

“Who is she?”

“How do you like the wine?”

Tilman looked at the glass now half empty.

“It’s very good, like every wine I’ve had here, very good.”

“It’s from the House of Rappolt.Their vineyards and winery are across the river.I use only Herr Hans Rappolt’s wine.”

“You use only Rappolt’s wine?That’s fine.But who is the woman?”

“She is the sister of Herr Rappolt.”

“And she is a widow?”

“In a manner of speaking, she is.She is the unmarried sister of an unmarried wine maker. She manages his house and winery while he oversees his vineyards.”

“And she would look favorably upon an offer of marriage from a widower?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“The subject has not come up.”

“Then what makes you think she would be interested in marriage at all, let alone marriage to me.And what makes you think I would be interested in marriage at all, let alone marriage to your Fraulein Rappolt?”

“Let me tell you a little about Anna.”

The conversation came to a brief pause at the mention of the name of the woman in question.

“Her name is Anna?”

“Yes.She is in her early twenties, and she is, though she tries to hide it, a very attractive woman.”

“Hide it?Why does she try to hide it?”

“That is what I’m getting to.A few years ago she was engaged to the young son of a wine merchant from Ansbach.The banns had been published, and, as most young couples do, they had consummated their marriage soon after the first announcement of their betrothal in the church.”

Tilman made as though he were to interrupt with a question.

“Don’t ask me how I know; I know.

“A week before the wedding, after her brother Hans had gone to great lengths to arrange the celebration of the marriage at their home and Anna had brought special clothes all the way from France for the nuptial, the young man, I believe in a state of panic at the thought of committing himself to one woman for the rest of his life, left Anna, left Ansbach, left the empire.”

“Oh, no; poor woman.”

“Yes, poor Anna, but also poor Hans!From that moment on, she drew her hair back tight, pulling the flesh of her face with it to give her the look of rigidity, and committed her life to serving her brother by keeping his house and managing his accounts.And she does a damn good job of both.”

“It appears to me, she has sworn off men altogether, and, I would imagine, marriage too.”

“You are right.That is exactly what has happened.”

“Then what makes you think she would be interested in marrying me?”

“I have been to their house many times, and they have been here to dinner.I have had the chance to observe her closely, and I am convinced that deep inside the woman her vow of chastity and her very nature are in conflict.

“Also, I believe it is necessary for her to break that vow not only for her own good, but also for the well-being of my friend, Hans.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not good, Tilman.She has turned completely to her brother, to looking after him and his property, and because of that devotion, he has turned completely to her.Some of his other friends say Hans is no longer interested in women, but I do not say that.

“I say Hans is afraid to be interested in women for he feels compelled to honor Anna’s devotion to him with his to her.It is not good.And I think that each secretly wishes to break that unholy devotion.

“So you see, Tilman, Anna’s marrying anyone would be a good thing for the Rappolts; her marrying you would be a good thing for you as well.”

“And how would it be good for me.”

“As I told you, the woman is, or at least can once again be, beautiful.And as I also told you, she has experience managing a household and a business.And, in a moment of letting down his guard, Hans has confided to me her dowry would be a handsome one, including many hectares of vineyards, should she ever agree again to wed.”

Tilman paused a moment to consider his uncle’s argument.

“You make a good case, Uncle Oskar.”

“Ah, but I have saved the best benefits for last.She will make your bed comfortable once more, and, if I judge nature and a woman’s body correctly, she will give you many sons.”

It seemed to Tilman, for just a brief second, a reflection of his uncle’s disappointment in Anna Schmidt for having given birth to a daughter instead of a son.But although his uncle may have indeed been disappointed in Anna, he knew full well that the old harnessmaker had loved her completely.And he had also exercised some very good discernment in proposing a union between her and his nephew.He wondered if he could once more count on the old man’s wisdom.

“Do you think I could at least meet the woman?”

“Of course.I expect the Rappolts at any moment.They are joining us for the midday meal.”

The sound of the knocker rapping against the door resounded throughout the house.

“I believe they have arrived.”

Tilman Riemenschneider merely smiled, shook his head, and resigned himself to an uncomfortable, but probably most interesting, afternoon.

Mathilde had served their meal, and, as usual, retired to the kitchen to eat hers.After the dessert, the Riemenschneiders and the Rappolts sat around the table with Oskar and Hans Rappolt doing most of the talking by sharing stories of their youthful pasts.Uncle Oskar had been accurate in his description of Anna Rappolt.Her hair was drawn tightly back and tied with a plain ribbon into a bun at the back of her head.The flesh of her face did indeed look as though it had been pulled tightly back in a perpetual state of tension, but to the sculptor’s eye it seemed that, if one were to untie the ribbon, the hair would fall in waves about her softened features.And neither ribbon nor bun or the muted color of her dress could hide the depth of her hazel eyes.

“You give a tithing of the profits from selling your wine to St. Jakob’s church, Hans?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“It’s an act of contrition.”

“An act of contrition?”

“Yes.”

“How is it an act of contrition?”

“When I was a young man, Oskar, I wanted very much to be a vintner, but my family did not have enough money to pay what little was needed for my apprenticeship.

“And so my uncle, who worked for a church and knew of these things, suggested to my father I enter a monastery as a novitiate, a monastery which made wine, one where I could learn the trade, and after learning, could ‘conveniently’ discover I no longer had the vocation for the priesthood.

“My father thought it was good advice, and I, a good son eager to learn my trade, accepted my father’s direction and entered the monastery at Kloster Eberbach near Mainz.”

“You, a novice, in the church?”

“Yes, Oskar, as difficult as that might be to comprehend, I was a novice for a year.”

“What was it like?”

“Well, with only one exception, it was a good experience.I learned my trade well, and I also learned much about life inside the walls of the monastery.”

“What was the exception?”

“All the novices and all the priests served the monastery in one of two capacities.You either worked in the vineyards and the winery or you concentrated upon learning the theology and practicing the rites.I was fortunate enough to be chosen to do the former.

“But no matter what vocation we followed during the day, we were all housed in the same room at night.It was a long room running the entire length of the main building.We were assigned beds alternating one old priest and one young novice and one old priest and one young novice and so forth along two rows running clear across the long room.”

“Was that to separate the old priests and the young novices from each other or to apportion one novice to one old priest?”

“We were never quite sure.But, strangely enough and contrary to the suspicions of most observers of the monastic life, there was not much in the way of unnatural goings on except for Brother Bernard.”

“Brother Bernard?”

“During the winter it could get very cold up there; we were on the top landing and there was not much in the way of heat.And Brother Bernard had a habit of winding up in one of the novice’s beds in the middle of the night.

“We were never certain if he did because he was too cold, was not quite right in the head, or was not so secretly coveting the body of one of us.

“Eventually, we got tired of his nocturnal visits and so we novices got together and lured him to the great vat in the cellar, one capable of holding over 100,000 liters of wine.

“We told him the juice of the grape had just turned to wine, but, before it was bottled, it needed to be blessed.He agreed to bless it.

“We found a ladder, placed it against the vat, and asked him to climb to the top to oversee the wine and give it his blessing.

“As he climbed, the novice designated to execute the unofficial baptism –- “

“You?”

“Yes, me!I followed him up under the pretense of supporting him during his climb.When he was in the middle of his blessing, I pushed him into the vat.”

“My God, Hans, you killed a priest?”

“He did not kill any priest, but he could have,” interrupted Anna.

Her brother resumed his narrative.

“No, one of the other novices, the best swimmer in the monastery, as planned, leaped in and rescued him.But the ritual proved effective for Brother Bernard never visited the bed of one of the novices again.”

“So that is what you expiate in your contribution to St. Jakob’s?”

“Partly, it is act of contrition for having pushed the old priest into the vat, but more so for having used the church to promote my own success.But despite all the compensation, I still feel guilty for what I did.”

“I think my brother is unfortunately plagued with excessive guilt.”

Until this point in the evening, Anna Rappolt and Tilman had remained pretty much the audience to the narratives between her brother and his uncle.Both had exchanged glances through the evening; both had enjoyed the repartee of their older kinsmen; but neither had addressed the other.Tilman realized that her unfortunate experience and her “vow,” as his uncle had expressed her decision to turn inward to herself and her brother, precluded her initiating any talk between them, and so he took this opportunity to demonstrate to her they had something in common.

“I can well understand the guilt your brother carries with him, Fraulein Rappolt.”

“Oh, why is that, Herr Riemenschneider?”

“Well, I have suffered pretty much a similar fate.When I was a young man and thought my calling in life was to become a sculptor, I suffered a loss which caused me to rethink my vocation.

“I was very much in love with a young woman.Much to my regret and as a result of my own naivety and thoughtlessness, she left me.I swore off all women and all joys of the flesh and entered the church.”

Fraulein Rappolt reacted to this confession with greater interest in what Herr Riemenschneider now had to say.

“With the help of my Uncle Nikolas, I secured a benefice to the monastery in Erfurt.And I too learned my trade there watching the monks paint their illuminated manuscripts and carve many of their statues.

“I also discovered what I think I always knew deep down: my flight to the monastery was to seek sanctuary, not to follow a calling.And so I left and became a sculptor.”

“And he compensates for his transgression by carving for the greater glory of the Lord and the church,” interposed Uncle Oskar, who had remained silent for an unusually long time.

“You should see his workshop.All kinds of saints and angels and prophets!Have you ever been inside the workshop of a master sculptor, Anna?”

“No, I have not had the pleasure.”

“And I know you have not, right, Hans?”

“No, neither have I.”

“Would you like to visit one?Would it be alright with you, Tilman, if we made that visit right now?You are not keeping under wraps a new work you want no one to see, are you?”

“No, I would be happy to show the Rappolts around the workshop.”

“Well, what do you say, Hans?”

Hans looked at Anna, who nodded, and then answered his friend.

“Sounds like a very good way to spend the rest of a Sunday afternoon.”

In the workshop the two visitors had followed their host and his uncle along the tables and benches observing the complete, the nearly finished, and the barely begun sculptures.They also found fascinating the small wooden models and the few drawings lying about of works now in varying stages of development.Eventually, Uncle Oskar and Hans Rappolt managed to distance themselves from the other two when Anna Rappolt had taken longer than they to observe, almost study, the completed figure of a Virgin Mary wearing a crown, standing on the crescent moon, and holding the Christ child, who was depicted holding a pear in his right hand over her left shoulder and pulling at her head veil with his left hand.The sculpture, by its typical S-like form, the tilt of Mary’s head looking down on the infant Jesus, and the pull of the veil from the Virgin’s left toward the child on her right, seem intended to be viewed as the Rappolts had approached it today, moving from left to right.

“It’s inspired by the Apocalypse, where the Virgin is described as ’a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars,” Tilman pointed out.

“Why is the Virgin so somber, almost sad, when the Christ seems so playful?”

Tilman was a little disappointed; his Anna would not have had to ask such a question.She would have known.

“Maybe the Holy Mother, who has lived longer and experienced more, sees something else besides the innocence she holds in her hands.”

“Yes.I think I understand now.Perhaps the pear in the infant’s hand suggests the forbidden fruit for which the Christ will eventually have to sacrifice his life in order to redeem mankind?”

Tilman smiled.

“Perhaps.”

“What church is this beautiful statue destined for, Herr Riemenschneider?”

“No church at all, Fraulein Rappolt.I was fortunate enough to have Prince Hohenlohe of Schloss Weikersheim visit the church in Hassfurt.There, he saw my statue of St. John the Baptist, was sufficiently impressed, and commissioned me to undertake this Virgin for the chapel of his castle.”

“So only the people of the castle and their guests will get to see it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“That is too bad.”

The brightening of Tilman’s eyes reflected the idea that had just occurred to him.

“Have you ever been to Schloss Weikersheim?”

“I have never been inside a castle.”

“Would you like to visit one, to see Weikersheim?”

“Is that possible?”

“We go next Saturday morning to deliver and install the statue.You could come along and at least see the great hall and the chapel which is just off the hall.And maybe our host will allow us to explore a little farther beyond those two rooms.”

“Just a moment.”

Anna Rappolt left Tilman’s side to walk over to her brother, to interrupt what was no doubt another tale of one of the adventures of two men’s pasts, to question her brother, to have him shake his head to her first inquiry and then nod to her next.She returned to Tilman.

“I would like that very much.”

“Good.You ride, Fraulein Rappolt?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I will bring along a horse for you then.”

“No need, I have my own, and I am very comfortable with her.”

“Then, I will call for you at the eighth hour next Saturday morning.”

“I look forward to it.”

Holding young Gertrud by the hand, Margred entered the workshop in her usual ebullient manner and was delighted to discover Uncle Oskar there but somewhat disappointed to discover her master in conversation with a strange woman.

“Master, I am sorry to interrupt, but Gertrud is about to go to bed and wanted to say goodnight to her father and give him a kiss.”

“Of course.Come here, Gertrud.”

Gertrud ran into her father’s arms, and he picked her up and turned towards Anna, Uncle Oskar, and Hans Rappolt, who, drawn by the appearance of the child and her nurse, had rejoined the couple.

“Gertrud, this is Herr Rappolt, a good friend of Uncle Oskar, and his sister, Fraulein Anna.Can you say hello?”

“Hello.”

“Hello, Gertrud.”

“Hello.”

“And now it’s time for you to go to bed.”

He gave her a kiss and handed her over to Uncle Oskar, who gave her a kiss and returned her to Margred, who with her charge, left the room.Immediately after, Tilman left to accompany his uncle and the Rappolts back to the harnessmaker’s home on Wolfhart Strasse and to await his meeting with Anna the following Saturday.

The return trip from Schloss Weikersheim was not nearly as eventful as the ride to and the stay at the castle.Going, there was much enthusiasm on the part of Tilman and Paul, who was driving the wagon carrying the statue; an excitement caused by the anticipation of placing another Virgin Mary in, what was for them, an entirely new environment: a castle chapel.Anna Rappolt was also eager accompanying the craftsmen, visiting a castle, and perhaps, as far as Tilman could judge, meeting the nobility for the first time in her life.Their arrival was greeted with a stir as two servants met them at the front entrance and helped the journeyman carry the linden wood into the castle.

In order to enter the chapel, they had to pass through the long Knights’ Hall with its painted ceiling featuring many scenes from the hunt, including one in which a peasant servant was depicted mooning the observer standing below with his head stretched backward in order to admire the mural above.Tilman drew Anna’s attention to that detail of the ceiling, but he was disappointed that the glimpse of the bare-arsed peasant on the ceiling did not elicit a smile from his companion.They turned their attention to the walls beneath which were adorned with a variety of antlers, the remnants of many a successful hunt.

The party soon passed into the chapel, a relatively miniature church, complete with stained glass, a painted, wooden altarpiece, and a baldachin on the wall to the left of the entrance, upon which the Riemenschneider Virgin was to set.The servants of the castle helped the journeyman unpack, lift, and set the carving in place while Tilman supervised and Anna watched.When all was complete and the statue of the Madonna and child stood in place, one of the servants bade the Riemenschneider party stand by while he went to summon his master.

Shortly thereafter, a lavishly attired Prince Hohenlohe of Weikersheim entered followed by his steward.The prince, ignoring everyone in the room, walked immediately to the statue.He very slowly stepped from left to right viewing the Virgin from a few paces.What was a frontal view of the Christ child and a profile view of the Virgin from the left became a frontal image of the Virgin and a profile one of the Savior from the front.From the right, all he could see of the work was the left hand of the Virgin supporting the Christ child in silhouette from the light coming from behind her.He felt he had received three statues instead of one.

He then returned to the front of the carving, moved in a couple of paces, asked one of his servants to fetch a ladder, which was immediately brought, and ascended to take a closer look at the delicate stitching carved on the neckline of the chemise of the Virgin.He descended, turned, looked at Tilman Riemenschneider, and smiled.He summoned his steward, whispered something in his ear, and directed him to act with dispatch.The steward hurriedly left the chapel.

Prince Hohenlohe of Schloss Weikersheim then strode to Tilman Riemenschneider, grabbed him by the shoulders, and hugged him for a several seconds.The sculptor, helpless to withdraw from the embrace of the appreciative Prince, looked towards Anna and smiled in embarrassment.Anna returned his smile with one of her own.It was the first time she had smiled since they had met, and the effect of it, despite the drawn back hair, was to stir something within the master sculptor that had not been moved in over a year.

“What can I say, Master Riemenschneider?It is beautiful, very beautiful, and I am quite pleased.”

“Thank you, Sir Hohenlohe.”

The steward returned bearing in his hands two bags of coins.The prince took one of the bags and handed it to Tilman.

“These guilders complete the payment we originally agreed upon.”

“Thank you.”

He then took the other bag of coins from the steward and handed them to the master.

“Since I got much more than I bargained for, it is only fitting you get more than you negotiated.So, please accept this bonus with my appreciation.”

Tilman took the second bag and bowed in appreciation.

“Thank you very much.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you this morning?”

“Well, actually there is if it is not an intrusion.”

He extended his hand towards Anna, who took it and stepped forward toward the two men.

“This is Fraulein Anna Rappolt of Wurzburg, a good friend of mine.”

Anna smiled in response to the “good” in Tilman’s identification of her.

“She has never been inside a castle.We were wondering if we could have a look around, if it is not much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all.My steward will take you on a brief tour; I myself have other matters to attend.Enjoy yourselves.”

The prince left the party and returned to his other matters; Tilman and Anna followed the steward through the Knight’s Hall once more, several other rooms, and the gardens, and Paul returned to Wurzburg with the wagon.Upon the completion of their visit, they started back towards Wurzburg, stopping along the Tauber River to have lunch, for which Tilman had had his servants prepare a meal.

Tilman had set the blanket in a clearing in the wood within view of the river.As they sat and ate their lunch of roasted chicken and potato salad and sipped the fine red wine from the Rappolt vineyards, Tilman was reminded of a picnic of many years ago.He took note of Anna’s hair pulled back tight and the resulting tautness of her face and felt comfortable that there would be no swimming and no kissing this afternoon and consequently no failure of his to act.

“You look very deep in thought Herr Riemenschneider.”

“I’m sorry.For a moment, there, I was reflecting on the past.”

“Good memories I hope?”

“Well good and not so good.”

“Why not so good?”

“Well, I was thinking on how the memory of time past can intrude on the enjoyment of time present.”

Anna Rappolt did not immediately respond, but instead bowed her head and seemed to lose herself in a reflection of some time past in her own life and perhaps on how it cast a shadow on the present.

Later that afternoon, as they neared Anna’s home and his time with his companion was growing short, Tilman forced himself to broach a matter which he had put off throughout their picnic.

“Fraulein Rapport, may I presume you know why my uncle invited me to join you and your brother for dinner last week?”

She took a few seconds to measure her response.

“You may, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“May I ask how you feel about my uncle’s intentions?”

“That, you may not ask.”

“I see.Well, I would like you to know I am very happy my uncle invited me to join you, and your brother, of course.”

“Then, I am glad also.”

What Tilman had only inferred during dinner the week before was now quite apparent -- Fraulein Rappolt, having put her hand in the fire of a prospective marriage before and having been severely burned, was not about to initiate such hand warming ever again.It would be up to him and not his uncle and certainly not Anna Rappolt to move their relationship forward.

“Fraulein Rappolt, in a week or two I will come to your home with two questions.One will be addressed to you.If your answer to my question is no, I will part, I hope, a friend of you and your brother.

“If the answer is, as I hope it will be, yes, then I will have a question to ask your brother.Will this be agreeable to you?”

Her response came after a few more seconds of reflection.

“It will, Herr Riemenschneider, and in the meantime I will give the matter of your questions a great deal of thought.”

They continued along the tree-lined path for the short distance that remained to Wurzburg in complete silence, and, when they arrived at the Rappolt estate, they were greeted by Hans, who had been inside the house looking out the window in anticipation of their return.He helped his sister down from her horse.

“Did you enjoy your visit to Schloss Weikersheim, Anna?”

“Yes, very much.”

“And you, Herr Riemenschneider?”

“Yes, Herr Rappolt, very much, indeed.”

“Will you come in for some refreshment?”

“I’m afraid I have been away from home too long already today and must get back and see how things go in the workshop and how my daughter fares. Perhaps, another time?”

“What about a week from tomorrow.You come for dinner.We will ask your Uncle Oskar to join us as well?What do you say?”

Tilman looked at Anna.

“Yes, Herr Riemeschneider, do come for dinner.”

“Could we make it two weeks from tomorrow?”

Rappolt looked to his sister.Anna looked at Tilman, smiled, and nodded to her brother.

“Yes, let us make it two weeks from tomorrow,” Rappolt agreed.

“Thank you, I will.”

During the two-week interval, Tilman Riemenschneider busied himself with the running of his workshop by sharing drawings with his journeymen of stone sculptures they were to begin, instructing his young apprentices in the correct use of the chisel and hammer, discussing with perpective patrons the advantages of clear over painted wood of the works they sought to commission, and wondering if he had done the right thing by telling Anna Rappolt that at the end of those two weeks he would be asking her a very important question.

He hardly knew Anna, but at least he had shared dinner and a whole day in her company, which was more than he had with Anna Schmidt before he agreed to marry her.He also knew that, although Hannah and Magred were raising his daughter as well as could be expected, neither of their ministrations was the equal of that of a mother.More than anything else, however, he could still feel the warm sensation within in response to her smile in the castle at Weikersheim. Between the distractions of his calling and the memory of that smile, he finally convinced himself that he was ready to pose his question.

The evening had gone well.Herr Rappolt had made it a point to stress the fact that Anna herself had prepared the meal of roast pork, dumplings, sauerkraut, and honey-sweetened pears.Anna was quick to point out that she had been assisted by the servant who usually cooked their meals when she was busy overseeing the management of the house and winery.Uncle Oskar added in his usual exuberant manner that dinner had been very delicious indeed and worthy of any kitchen.Shortly after the sweetened pears, Hans Rappolt and Oskar Riemenschneider once more got around to sharing tales from their youth, and Anna led Tilman outside the house for a walk about the garden. At the end of their stroll down a lane bordered with herbs, they sat on a bench beneath a trellis bearing some of Herr Rappolt’s finest grape.

“Fraulein Rappolt, I know it has been only two weeks since I met you, but I don’t need any more time to consider the matter.So, I hope you will excuse what might seem to you to be haste in posing my first question.”

“I excuse you,” Herr Riemenschneider.

The widower knelt before the avowed spinster.

“Will you do me the honor of consenting to be my wife?”

Anna Rappolt’s reflection was only momentary.

“Herr Riemenschneider, as I promised, I have given a great deal of thought to what I have presumed to be the question you wished to ask me.One decision I reached, in anticipation of hearing your question, was that we must be honest with each other.Do you agree?”

Another question!Tilman had long since come to regard questions as bad omens, but he nevertheless answered.

“Yes, I do.”

She took a deep breath of resolution and continued.

“Herr Riemenschneider, I do not love you.It is not you, and it is not because we have known each other only two weeks.It’s me!I’m just not sure I’m capable of loving anyone anymore.”

“But that –- “

“No, please let me finish.”She paused before continuing.“But I do like you.I also like the idea of being wed to a man who makes such beautiful things and is respected for doing so.I was very proud to be in your company when the prince seemed almost to fawn over you.”

“He did get carried away did he not?”

“Yes.And I liked being there with you when he did.”

She hesitated.

“I also want to have children, and I would not mind having them with you.

“There, I have said what I thought needed to be said.Do you still wish to ask me your question now?”

Tilman was surprised that, after the immediate reaction of disappointment to her pronouncement that she did not love him, he did not feel more disheartened than he did.He also knew why such had been the case; he was not certain he loved her.How could he be; they barely knew each other.But he also knew from past experience that love was not a prerequisite for a good marriage.

“I once married without love, Fraulein Rappolt, but soon learned to love my wife.I know it’s possible, and I feel strongly we both can learn to love each other.

“Therefore, I ask once more, Anna Rappolt, will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

“Yes, Tilman Riemenschneider, I will.”

Tilman hesitated not certain he should confirm the contract with a kiss and embrace.He finally decided that now was not the time.

“Thank you.Now, you will excuse me while I go ask your brother my other question.”

Chapter 8: 1498

The priest and his attendants stood on the steps to the front portal of the Cathedral of St. Kilian on the Dom Strasse in the sunlight coming from the east.On the cobbled stones before them, Tilman Riemenschneider, dressed in attire purchased just for the occasion, and his uncle both looked toward the Main River for the expected bride to appear.Around them crowded a few street urchins, who were in attendance primarily in anticipation of one particular step in the nuptial rites. Also in attendance were Uncle Oskar, Mathilde, who was dressed quite elegantly for the occasion, Gertrud, holding the hand of Magred, the Schmidt brothers, and some guests of the Rappolts and the Riemenschneiders, who were there to witness the marriage and celebrate it afterwards.Also standing by were the curious who enjoyed the occasional sacramental rite performed on the Cathedral steps.

From the vicinity of the Mainbrucke marched young Gertrud, carrying a basket of rose petals and distributing a handful about the street as she was directed by Margred, who walked beside her.Behind them, in one of the newly painted white wagons of the Rappolt Winery, now outfitted with a canopy set upon four poles and adorned with pink, red, and violet flowers, rode Anna Rappolt and her brother.And behind them walked more witnesses to the nuptials and guests to its celebration, many of whom were rival vintners in and around Wurzburg.When they reached the cathedral, her brother exited from his side of the wagon, walked around it, and helped the bride descend.

Anna Rappolt was dressed in the garments she had purchased in France: a fine linen beige chemise, over which were a tan tunic trimmed with gold embroidery and a white mantle edged with gold lace.She wore brown leather slippers worked with gold, and on her head, a narrow gold band held in place a white veil, behind which her hair was, as usual, pulled tightly back and held in place by a yellow ribbon.Tilman was disappointed to see her hair pulled back in that way.

Hans Rappolt escorted his sister to the steps of the cathedral, took her right hand, placed it in the left hand of her intended husband, and stood back.The couple advanced up one of the steps and stood before the priest.Hans Rappolt was off to the left; Uncle Oskar, to the right; and Mathilde, Margred, and Gertrud to his right.Holding a book and a ring, the priest took a step forward and addressed the couple.

“Anna Rappolt and Tilman Riemenschneider, are you both of the age of consent?”

Even the strangers in the semi-circle around the front of the church could not hold back a smile at this inquiry.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Do you both swear you are not within the forbidden degree of consanguinity?”

“We do.”

“We do.”

“Do your parents consent to this union?”

Both Herr Rappolt and Uncle Oskar stepped forward and nodded to the priest.

“Have the banns been published in the church?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Do you Anna Rappolt consent to this holy union?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you Tilman Riemenschneider consent to this holy union?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you, Tilman Riemenschneider promise you will take this woman to wife if the Holy Church consents?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Anna Rappolt, promise you will take this man to husband if the Holy Church consents?

“I do.”

The priest blessed the ring and handed it to Tilman, who, placing it respectively on each of three fingers of Anna’s left hand, said in turn, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”He then placed the ring on her third finger, and said, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Hans handed Anna a bag of coins, and Uncle Oskar handed Tilman one.The newly-wed couple tossed the coins towards the children who had moved forward for their part in the rite and who now only slightly nudged each other in their scramble for the coins.The priest then gave Tilman the kiss of peace, and Tilman turned to transmit it to Anna.He lifted her veil, but before he could bend his head to kiss her, she stopped him by holding up her right arm.Tilman was slightly chagrined, but Anna then reached behind, pulled the yellow ribbon, and shook her head.Her hair came falling down in waves across her shoulders and half way to her waist.She smiled and the flesh in her face softened in anticipation of his kiss.Tilman glowed with satisfaction.They kissed for the first time.

The musicians, having been waiting off to the side, came forward with their instruments -- a viol, a lute, a harp, a bagpipe, and a tabor.The couple fell in behind them.The musicians started playing Tandernaken, a sprightly march, and began to lead the assembly of invited guests down the Dom Strasse toward the Main.When they came to the Rathaus, the musicians turned to the right and, still playing, led all the guests but the newly wed couple and Tilman’s children, to and down the steps of the Ratskeller into the large, main dining room.

Long tables were set in a u-shaped formation, and waiters stood by.The musicians took up their position on a platform at the empty end of the tables and continued to play until all the guests were in their place at the long tables.The latter remained standing and awaiting the family members, the bride, and the groom.

Gertrud and her step-brothers entered and took up positions behind the chairs set behind a table on the end opposite the musicians.They were followed by the bride and groom who sat between the children on one side and on the other, Herr Rappolt, Uncle Oskar, and Mathilde, whom both Tilman and Anna had insisted Uncle Oskar bring with him.

The waiters poured the wine, and the music ended.Herr Rappolt raised his glass signaling all to raise their glasses.

“I give you Herr and Frau Tilman Riemenschneider.Prosit!”

A round of “prosits” followed, and all took a long sip of the sparkling white wine.Then Uncle Oskar took his turn.

“To Tilman and Anna.May their home be in order; their bed, comfortable; their posterity, last forever.Prosit!”

Another round of sips and “prosits” followed, and then Uncle Oskar led Tilman and Anna around the tables to the space in the middle.Leaving the couple in the center of the floor, he returned to grab the hands of Mathilde and Herr Rappolt and escorted them to the dance floor.He placed Mathilde’s hand in Hans Rappolt’s hand and then nodded to the musicians, who resumed their playing with Der Gestreifft Dantz.The two couples began a simple basse dance, and were soon joined by other guests.The waiters began to bring the food to the tables.Uncle Oskar, his work done, returned to his seat, pulled the leg from a capon on one of the dishes before him, and began to eat.

Those guests who had not joined the dancers also began to partake of the meal which would, before it was completed, include legs of beef, mutton, veal, and venison, dishes of ducklings, chickens and rabbit, oranges, apples, a variety of cheeses, and sweet wafers.Upon seeing all the dishes laid out, the dancers joined those sitting at the tables; and, with the bride and the groom taking their first helpings of the opulent repast, the meal officially began.

One of the waiters came behind the table and whispered something to Herr Rappolt, who shook his head and said something to the waiter.The latter was about to leave before Uncle Oskar, having noticed the exchange, called the waiter over to where he was sitting.

“Is there a problem?”

“Some of the guests asked if they could have beer instead of wine.”

“Did you just mention this request to Herr Rappolt?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said they had his best wine to drink; they didn’t need beer.”

By this time Herr Rappolt was paying attention to the conversation of the waiter and Uncle Oskar, who made certain he spoke loud enough for his friend and new kinsman to hear.

“You serve them the best beer you have.And you charge it to me.”

The waiter started to carry out Uncle Oskar’s order, but, before he could get away from the table, he was summoned back by Herr Rappolt, who issued a counter command.The waiter was happy to carry it out; now everyone could have whatever they wished to drink, compliments of the brother of the bride.Herr Rappolt leaned across Mathilde to his old friend.

“Many thanks, Oskar; you have prevented me from spoiling my sister’s wedding.”

“Many thanks to you Hans, my old friend, for such a resplendent feast.”

After a short spell of dining and dancing, the lute player descended from the elevated platform, where the musicians had sat, and walked along the open space between the tables and came to stand before the bride seated on the other side.After a prelude on his lute, he serenaded the bride.

In the linden wood

My lady dwells

She waits for me

With silver bells.

In the linden wood

My lady’s song

Wafts on the wind

The whole night long.

In the linden wood

My lady yearns;

For her, my heart

In sorrow burns.

In the linden wood

My lady lies

I’ll wait for her

Until I die.

I’ll wait for her

Until I die.

The company applauded the song and ringing their knives to their steins clanged for the groom to kiss the bride.

After many more songs and dances and kisses and much more food and with the approach of evening, the priest arrived at the celebration to lead the bride and groom and the closest family members to the Wolfman’s Ewe.There, the priest blessed the bed, and Uncle Oskar and Mathilde inspected it to see that there were no objects to cause distracting noise and discomfort in the forthcoming rite.Having extracted the few acorns and wood chips the servants had made certain were there to be discovered and removed, Margred took Gertrud and the boys and followed Uncle Oskar and Mathilde back to his home, where the former were to spend the evening.Herr Rappolt returned to his home, and the journeymen and apprentices to their night’s lodgings in a nearby inn.Tilman and his bride were left alone in the Wolfman’s Ewe to begin to learn to love one another.

Chapter 9:1500

A drizzle fell softly over the rust-colored slate roofs of the houses of the circular walled town of Rothenburg ob au Tauber only a few miles from Wurzburg.Along the wall, a soldier, his shoulders hunched a little to bring his collar farther up upon his neck, paced looking out about the town.The lonely sentinel was a grim reminder to a time when such guards were a necessity rather than a symbol of a much more dangerous existence. Beyond the sentinel, on Klostergasse Strasse, the two spires of the church of St. Jacob were almost silhouettes in the dark sky over the village.Inside, an important meeting was taking place among Herr Riemenschneider, Master Joiner Erhard Harschner of the village, and the elders of the church.

Harschner and members of St. Jacob’s Church Council of Rothenburg stood in the choir of the church in front of Harschner’s wooden encasement built to house a new altarpiece.In contrast to the high altarpiece set at the other end of the nave with its twelve disciples and mostly gold-gilded followers of Christ in the predella and brightly painted saints in the wings, the linden wood encasement built to house the second altarpiece of the modest church, stood plain, unpainted, and simple in the dim light.Harschner’s framework was surrounded by the tall windows –- clear at the bottom and stained at the top -- of the eastern end of the nave of the church.

At the base of Harschner’s predella were three archways, above it stood the retable, which was a square structure with a smaller square extended from the center at the top. To both sides were the wings, and rising above the retable were a series of spires and in the middle, a crucifix to contain the holy relic now held in St. Jacob’s for centuries: a drop of blood from the crucified Christ on Calvary.Both the predella below and the retable above had plain pinewood backing.

The joiner and the councilmen were waiting upon master sculptor Tilman Riemenschneider, who for the first time was circling and inspecting the framework for the altarpiece.

“And the drop of Christ’s Holy Blood will go where?”

Harschner pointed towards the space over the triptych of the retable.

“Directly above the raised portion of the retable.”

“And set between two angels?”

“Yes.”

Tilman paused a moment to reconsider all.

“I like it!”

Everyone was relieved and pleased.

“But I have two reservations, or let us say, two requests.”

They stopped smiling.

“Yes, Master Riemenschneider?” asked one of the members of the church council.

“The Last Supper scene I have in mind for the retable requires full light.We need to replace the back panels of the retable with a glass that will allow more light to illuminate the scene of the Last Supper in the Corpus.The glass should be similar in design to that surrounding the choir of the church.Herr Harschner’s shop or mine can make the change.Either would satisfy me.”

“Master Harschner?”

It was the joiner’s turn to walk around the framework to consider the sculptor’s proposal.It did not take him long.

“I like Herr Reimenschneider’s idea; I will be happy to make the change he desires.”

“And the other request, Herr Riemenschneider?”

“You may have heard what happened to my Magdalene in Muennerstadt.Can you give me assurance that none of my linden wood will be painted after it is installed?”

“We have anticipated your request and granted you that assurance in the contract.We have an agreement?”

“We have an agreement.”

Three months later, in one corner of the workshop in the Wolfman’s Ewe, Gunter was beginning to chip away at a three-inch thick panel of linden wood, which in time would depict the agony in the garden panel destined for the Holy Blood altarpiece.In another, Paul was at work on a sandstone saint slated to adorn the portal of a church in Bamberg.Each of the journeymen had a new apprentice at his side learning the craft.There were now a dozen young men working in various parts of the workshop on the saints and nativity scenes that would be sold during the Christmas festival in the market place.Tilman himself stood before a large block of linden wood which was to become the figure of Judas Iscariot in the Rothenburg altarpiece. He took up his chisel and began to chip away the chaff to reveal the betrayer when he and the others were suddenly interrupted.

Margred came running into the shop, and in her typical animated fashion made her old appeal.

“Master, you must come at once.”

Tilman quickly dropped his tools and with a look of anxious expectation followed Margred out of the shop and up the steps.

The midwife and Hannah stood by the bed. The latter was attending Anna and the former was holding an infant in her arms.Margred joined the servant in looking after her mistress.

“A son!A healthy son!” cried the midwife.

Tilman pulled away the swaddling, looked, and smiled.He passed the women tending Anna and smiled at Anna, who lay relatively comfortably in bed.

“How do you feel?”

“I am tired, but fine.And you?”

“Grateful and proud.”

“Your uncle said you would be.”

“Uncle Oskar is an insightful old man, who will be even more proud than I, if such is possible.”

Tilman knelt and gently put his arm around Anna.

“What shall we call our son?”

“We will name him Joerg.”

Tilman was somewhat surprised.

“Now, Uncle Oskar will really be proud.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“When I became pregnant, he confided to me what I’m sure he had to you years ago, that, when your aunt became pregnant early in their marriage, he had already chosen the name for the boy he expected.But then of course your aunt miscarried and never became pregnant again.”

“You are very thoughtful, Anna, and I thank you, and I am certain Uncle Oskar will shower you with thanks and gifts as well.”

“Now you and Margred must summon your uncle and my brother and take our son to the church to be baptized.”

“He looks quite healthy to me.We can wait until you are able to join us.”

“No, it is necessary he be baptized right away.We will not tempt providence, Tilman.”

“It will be as you say.”

Chapter 10:1505

Tilman Riemenschneider and his two journeymen were installing the last figure of the altarpiece, the Ecco Homo statue, atop Herr Harschner’s superstructure in St. Jacob’s Church in Rothenburg.Paul and Gunter held the scaffold secure while Tilman himself set in place the final piece, which like its predecessors had been stained with an amber glaze of oil, egg white, ocher, gypsum, white lead, and carbon and which had the features of the central figures highlighted with the application of a little red, black, and gray paint to the lips, nostrils, and eyes.

Below, the retable was a virtual three-act drama in wood.The first act or prologue was the left wing featuring Christ entering Jerusalem astride a donkey and extending his right hand to confer a blessing.Before him was a barely clad peasant holding a carpet upon which the donkey strode.Behind Christ were eleven apostles closely grouped, talking among themselves, and led by St. John. Off to his left, in the archway of a medieval gate to the city, a gathering of men and one child awaited the passing of Christ through the gate.In the background was an angelic boy standing upon the trunk of an olive tree, holding onto a branch, and watching the procession.

The third act or epilogue, the right wing, depicted in the foreground three of the apostles sitting upon the ground, one of them lost in his reverie, and the other two asleep.Above them, in the upper left side of the panel, Christ knelt with his head tilted back looking at the sky and his hands pressed together in prayer.Up in the right hand corner, under a gate leading into the garden of Gethsamene, Judas was carved leading the Roman soldiers, dressed in contemporary military garb, through the gate and over the fence toward the Christ.

The second act and heart of the wooden drama was the Corpus of the retable, where Riemenschneider’s Last Supper was distinguished by his placement of Judas in the very center of the gathering.He was depicted holding a bag containing the thirty-three pieces of silver in his left hand, lifting the hem of his robe with his right, and making an appeal to the Christ.To the left of Judas sat four of the disciples, one of whom pointed downward in the direction of the altar, where the consecrated body and blood would set during the mass, and another of whom rested his head upon his arm upon the table in seeming sorrow for what was to come.Standing to the left were three more apostles and Christ, who was distinguished from all the other figures in the tableaux by virtue of his greater height.To the right of Judas, three apostles stood and two sat upon a bench; all were distracted from the encounter taking place to their right.Only one of the twelve apostles wore a hat and seven were bearded, thereby having given the master ample opportunity to carve his signature thick curly hair.They all had elongated faces dominated by pronounced noses.

The sunlight coming through the lancet windows of the ribbed vaulting of the church windows and through those that had replaced the pine backing of the predella and retable conspired with the darkening amber of the varnish to give a dramatic effect to the linden wood.Earlier in the day the diffused light of the morning sun from the southeast had highlighted the heads, hands, and patterns of cloth of Judas and the four seated apostles.As the light moved southward, it fell more completely upon Judas and made him clearly the center of the encounter depicted in the Corpus.It also shone upon the two wings and brought them more actively into view, making the figures of St. John and Christ of The Entry into Jerusalem dominant for a time and falling directly upon Christ and the rocks in the agony in the garden wing.

Later in the day, when the light from the southeast began to fade, the sculpture changed minute to minute until it fell upon Christ’s hand extended forward in a blessing upon his entrance into Jerusalem.The figure of Judas in the center of the Corpus and the hand of the apostle pointing to the Host upon the altar were quickened by the same light. The effect of the light in time tended to suggest the limitlessness of Christ’s power to forgive and to extend grace.

After a relatively dead period in the middle of the day when there was relatively no light upon the last supper scene, the moment of betrayal took on a more dramatic effect as the light began to emerge from the windows of both the choir and the encasement.Then, the statues of the apostles standing to both sides of the Christ and the Savior figure itself came into play as strong, dark silhouette forms.The difference between Judas and all the others was emphasized by Judas’s being the only one now facing the light.

After the men had finished applying the glaze, the master sent them back to Wurzburg.Alone towards the close of afternoon, Tilman walked counterclockwise around the altarpiece and stared intently at the scene of the Last Supper in the Corpus.By the time he had circled the altarpiece and returned to the front of it, clouds began to pass overhead outside, causing further changes in the fading light upon the figures and in the darkening mood created by those changes.From the abbey nearby the sounds of monks intoning a Gregorian chant intensified the moment and the emotions Tilman felt.

He stepped back, smiled, and breathed a sigh of contentment for his expectations for the effect of the light upon the wood had been realized.He caught himself quickly, assumed his natural, serious visage, knelt to the left side of the altar, blessed himself, and bowed his head to pray.His prayer was short lived, however, for it was interrupted by the sound of the opening of the large oak doors at the front of the nave.He quickly brought his prayer to a halt by blessing himself, standing erect, stepping back two paces into the shadow, and looking up in the direction of the sound of the footsteps.

A monk in the black habit of the Augustinian order walked down the nave, stopped before the altar, put back the hood of his robe, paused momentarily to look at the new altarpiece, knelt, blessed himself, and whispered a short prayer.Tilman continued to watch him intently.The brother rose and walked slowly around the shrine of the Holy Blood retracing the sculptor’s steps and carefully taking in the newly completed altarpiece before his eyes were drawn to Tilman standing in the shadows.The Augustinian stopped, approached Tilman, and addressed him.

“What do you think?”

“It will do.”

“You think it does homage to God or to the craftsmen?”

“To God first and maybe to the craftsmen who created it.”

“Yes, as it should be.”

Tilman was more interested in what the Augustinian monk thought of the work than he was in what the sculptor thought of it.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?Well, I’m staying at the abbey for the night on my way to Nuremburg.There, I was informed about this new altarpiece in St. Jacob’s and told I should have a look.

“I was prepared not to like it. I tend to abhor graven images of the divine, especially when they are used to celebrate a drop of the crucified Christ’s blood.

“My God, if Jesus had all the blood throughout the world said to come from his body at the Crucifixion, he would have been a man very much dominated by that humor.Yes, he would have been altogether a sanguine person and not the man of sorrows we worship today.

“I’m sorry; I tend to get carried away when it comes to so-called relics.Anyway, coming here, I was expecting one of those brightly-painted pieces which engage the eye more than the soul, one more like that at the other altar across the church,” he said as he pointed towards the brightly colored altarpiece there. “But this is strangely, no, mysteriously, yes, that is the word, mysteriously, unique.The play of light and shadow upon the natural wood moves my soul, as though another light informed the wood.

“I’m sorry; I have a habit of telling people fully what I think when they ask me, and so I tend to ramble on.”

“Oh, no!Please continue; I’m very interested in what you have to say.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.

”Well, it seems to me the sculptor has caught several nuances of the Last Supper.Notice how four of the apostles to the right are distracted by something other than the betrayal, foreshadowing a similar distraction and betrayal of the apostles at Gethsemane, which is dramatized in the right wing towards which they look.

“And I especially like the way the apostle seated to the left of Judas points towards the altar, where the true blood of the sacrament will set, ready to redeem mankind.”

The Augustinian brother paused for a moment to reflect before wrinkling his brow and continuing.

“But I do wonder why the sculptor has set Judas and not Christ at the very center of the piece, as our Lord is placed in most depictions of the Last Supper.”

“Perhaps he thought Judas was the central actor in the drama and felt most would, or should, identify with him because all men at one time or another, in one way or another, betray Christ.”

“Yes, that’s it.Of course!Yes, I like it.”

“Thank you.”

“Why should you thank me?”

“I am Master Riemenschneider of Wurzburg.The work is from my workshop.I put Judas in the center.”

“Ah!Well, keep up the good work, Master Riemenschneider.But next time, try to do without the relic.”

The monk knelt, blessed himself, stood, smiled at Tilman, and began to walk down the nave.Tilman stopped him with a question.

“And whom do I have to thank?”

“Brother Martin.”

Brother Martin continued out of St. Jacob’s Church of Rothenburg.Tilman watched him depart.

Chapter 11:1506

On a cold, heavy, cloud-darkened February morning, the Riemenschneiders were at the main table of the solar of the Wolfman’s Ewe, ready to break their fast.Tilman sat on the great chair, which Ewalt Schmidt had made built in the likeness of a throne, and on a smaller chair sat Anna. The five children sat on two benches. Joerg, who resembled very much his father in both looks and attitude, and Maria, who had been born a year and a half after Joerg and named in honor of the virgin.At least, that is what Tilman had answered when Anna had asked him why he wanted so much to name her Maria.She sat on the freestanding bench facing the wall.On the one built onto the wall sat Hans, four years old and resembling his Uncle Hans more than anyone else, and Bartholomaus, three years old, red-headed, and resembling no one on either side of the family and thereby causing a rumor to circulate among the neighbors.

Hannah was serving heaping helpings of a hot porridge in the wooden bowls set before the children when she was stopped in mid ladling by the entrance of the impetuous Margred holding a fearful looking peasant boy by the collar in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other.

“What is it, Margred?”

“Master, I caught this young scamp taking this loaf from the bench beside the front door, where the baker’s man regularly leaves it.”

Tilman stood up, strode over to, and looked down upon the thief.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Viktor!” the lad answered defiantly.

“Why did you steal from me?”

“Because you stole from us.”

“I stole from you?”

“Yes.”

“How did I do that?”

“My father labors in your vineyards; he works very hard, and yet we don’t have enough to eat.”

“Who is your father?”

Viktor was silent.

“Come, boy.If he works for me as you say, I will have no trouble finding out who your father is, and I can assure you it would be much better for you, and for him, if you tell me.”

“Stefen.”

Tilman looked to Anna, and she nodded.

“Come, I want to see what your father has to say about this.Anna, perhaps you should come along too?”

“Yes, of course.Margred you stay here and make sure the children finish their meal.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Herr and Frau Riemenschneider left with Viktor, and the children, who had never encountered a child like this before and who had been enrapt by the scene before them, turned back to their porridge.

Outside, the vineyards were bare, starkly black, their gnarled forms twisted and standing out against the grey sky and the landscape whitened by a recent snowfall.Tilman, holding Viktor by the arm, passed them on his left as he strode toward a hovel in the distance.Anna followed closely behind.As they approached the house of Stefen, a sinister-looking old woman in a black-hooded coat, which almost hid her face completely, exited and walked towards them and the town gate.When they passed each other, Anna stared intently at the crone.The hag stared back.

The communal room of the hovel was slightly aglow with the embers of a dying fire in the middle of the room and the very dim light from the one window.A simple wooden crucifix, recognized by Tilman as one of his own, hung upon the wall opposite the door behind a small table and two benches.Off to the left was a plain cabinet and to the right, a crib.

The father, tall, lean, and gaunt with sunken cheeks set deeply in a slightly elongated face, stood beside the closed door.His wife, wan and pale, sat on the bench with her head bowed.In the crib, an infant slept.On the table was a small vial.Tilman, Anna, and Viktor stood before the closed door.

“Viktor, you told me you worked for the loaves you brought home?” the father asked.

“There was no work, and I was hungry.”

“Do we not pay you enough for food and clothing?” asked Tilman.

“Yes, enough,” answered Stefen, “if we were not tithed nor taxed, enough if we could still hunt and fish in lands which once were ours in common, enough if we were free to cut our own wood to warm our fires.”

Anna looked at the wife sitting on the bench, then at the vial on the table, and then at the door, through which the crone had passed.She stepped quickly to the table and grabbed the vial before the woman, who stood up and stretched her arm, could reach it.The woman sat down and began to cry.Anna returned to Tilman’s side and whispered into his ear.Tilman stared accusingly at Stefen, who shamefully bowed his head.

“We cannot feed four now.”

Tilman looked around the room; there was not much in it, but what was there was clean and ordered.He whispered something to Anna, who reached into a pocket of her coat, retrieved a purse, took from it a few groschen, and handed them to Tilman, who set them upon the table.

“Take this and buy food.”

It was apparent a conflict was taking place in the mind behind the brow which furrowed at the offer.Stefen looked at the coins and was obviously tempted to grab them, but he restrained himself before speaking.

“No charity.I will take it only if you have work for me.”

Tilman had been studying the face and body of Stefen ever since he entered the house.

“Do you know where my house is?Never mind, your son knows.Be at my shop in Wolfman’s Ewe tomorrow morning after breakfast.You can work off the money on the table.Bring your son with you, and he can work off this.”

Tilman set the loaf of bread upon the table, and he and Anna left.

The next morning Tilman sat on a bench in his workshop drawing in charcoal.His subject lay on the floor before him in the light from one of the two windows.Stefen, with only a towel around his waist beneath the ribcage of his spare body, lay with his right elbow resting on a pillow, his slightly bent legs stretched out before him, and his head turned downward toward the elbow on which he leant.Tilman’s drawing was of the dead Christ in the arms of the already sketched Holy Mother.The face and lean body of Christ resembled those of Stefen.

After helping Margred put the children to bed, Anna returned to the solar to join Tilman, who was sitting at a place at the table nearest the fire and putting the finishing touches to his sketch of Stefen’s Christ. Before sitting down next to him, Anna glanced at the drawing for a few seconds.

“I didn’t know you had a commission to do a work of the dying Christ.”

“I don’t, but I am confident one will come along in the future, and I will be ready.”

“You are a good man, Tilman.”

“Sometimes I’m a good man; sometimes, not.”

“Yes, I know.”

They smiled in agreement.

“Anna, how much did we profit from the vineyards last year?”

“Do you wish an exact amount, in which case I will need to consult the books in my study, or will an approximation do?”

“An estimate will do.”

“About 300 guilders.”

“That is good, no?”

“Very good.”

“How would you feel if we took a little less profit and distributed the difference among those who work in our vineyards?”

“How much less?”

“A sum you think would not hurt us much, but would help our peasants a great deal?”

“One hundred guilders?”

“Let us do it, Anna.”

“It will be done.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Having completed his sketch, Tilman laid it aside and turned to another subject.

“Uncle Oskar came to see me in the workshop today.”

“Yes, I know; I saw him from my window.What did he want?”

“He said twenty-five years was too long a time for the city council not to have a Riemenschneider on it.That is how long it has been since my Uncle Nikolas served. He asked if I would be interested in a seat on the council.

“According to him, certain men of reputable position in the city, impressed not so much by my craft, but by my ability to put it to such rewarding use, have come to him to inquire if he thought I might be inclined to serve.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I would let him know tomorrow.What I should have said was I would have to talk it over with Anna.

“What do you think?”

“Would it take up too much time that you ordinarily spend in the workshop?”

“I would not allow it to take too much time away

from God’s work, and that would mean it probably would take more time away from my being with my family.”

Anna took her own good time before she responded to this probability.

“Do you want to do it?”

“I’m tempted.”

“Why do you say ‘tempted’?Would it be a sin to be a councilman?”

“There are many who think so.My uncle obviously is not one of them.”

“What do you think?”

“I worry if becoming a council member would violate my vow to serve God through my gift.”

“Could you not also serve the Creator through service to his creatures?”

“Does not my work help them by preparing them for the next world?”

“Could you not also serve God by helping his creatures get along in this one?God knows, we all need such help.Perhaps that is another gift he has given you.”

Tilman mulled over what Anna said for a few seconds.

“I will tell my uncle yes.”

Anna took Tilman’s hand in her hands.

“I’m both glad and proud.”

Chapter 12:1507

The chamber of the City Council in the Rathaus of Wurzburg was an impressive work of carpentry.The long room consisted of a central bench at one end, behind which sat the Burgermeister and to both sides of which, running the length of the room, were two rows of linked wooden seats, the back row raised slightly above the front row, facing each other.The oak chairs had arm rests, at the end of which were carved various icons of government and law: the town emblem, the scales of justice, the Ten Commandments, and other images.In many ways, it seemed to Tilman a secular version of some of the choirs of the churches in Franconia.

As he entered the chamber for the first time, Tilman was grateful for his uncle’s gift of a new, felt, brimmed hat, which Uncle Oskar had said befitted a new member of the city council, for everyone in the chamber wore a hat of one kind or another.Tilman was greeted by one of the clergy of St. Kilian’s, who represented the Prince Bishop on the council and who had worked with Tilman on the commission for a stone saint for the cathedral.The priest introduced him to several members of the civic body, a couple of whom he knew, some of whom he had heard, but knew not, and still others, of whom he had no knowledge or experience.

One of those of whom he had heard but had never met was Hans Bermeter, whose reputation as a gadfly who loved to provoke disputes with others or simply between others -- it did not seem to matter to him which -- had preceded him in entering the chamber.Tilman, like most of citizens of Wurzburg, could not prevent himself from momentarily staring at the disfigurement in the man’s appearance:a strawberry birthmark which completely encircled his right eye and which he tried to hide as much as possible by wearing a soft chaperone hat, the long scarf of which fell down the right side of his head, partially covering or shadowing the birthmark.The newest member of the council wondered if Bermeter’s habit of acting as the political provocateur were inspired by a desire to retaliate against an order of things that had left him such a marked man.

“Herr Riemenschneider, I’m not a man to beat around the bush, so let me ask you directly.”

“Please do.”

“Since much of your work is paid for by priests and princes, am I to infer, as a council member, you will feel compelled to serve your patrons?”

“In my work as a sculptor, I serve the Creator, to whom my work is dedicated, not the patrons, who pay me to serve.

“In my work as a member of the council, I intend to serve the creatures of God, all his Wurzburg creatures, whom I represent.

“Does that answer your question, satisfactorily, Herr Bermeter?”

“Most satisfactorily, Herr Riemenschneider.”

One of the councilors, whom he was meeting for the first time and of whom he had not heard before, was Klaus von Kappel, a patrician who wore an acorn hat and who, Tilman was to learn, had inherited a great deal of property in, and especially around, Wurzburg.As von Kappel explained to Riemenschneider shortly after their introduction, he was not one to stand around and live off his inheritance.

“No sir, it was clear to me what many of the holders of property less in size than mine had done to increase their estates.And so I followed suit and turned hundreds of my hectares into vineyards, and the grape from those vines into one of the most marketed wines in all of Franconia.

“And from that transformation, I doubled my wealth and was elected to the council to help the city double its.”

Another councilor new to Tilman was Frederick Bayer, a merchant who specialized in the acquisition, dyeing, and marketing of wool and the investment of the guilders he reaped from that trade into one of the largest banks in Wurzburg.His round hat differed from Tilman’s in that the latter’s was brimmed all around save for the front, where it came to a point.The banker adjusted his hat before speaking to the newest member of chamber.

“Yes, you can find representatives of the House of Bayer not only throughout Franconia and Thuringia, but also throughout the rest of the Empire and Europe.

“I don’t know if you have any thoughts about this issue, Riemenschneider, but I can assure you one of the most important matters the council has before it is attaining the stature of a free and independent city in the empire.”

“Yes,” responded Tilman, “as a bit of a merchant myself, I am familiar with the benefits the city would garner for itself if we could achieve such independence.”

“Good, then I hope I can count upon your vote in a matter I intend to bring before the council today?”

“Herr Bayer, I think I need to hear the proposal and the arguments that follow it before I can give you such assurance.”

He was called away from his conversation with Bayer before the latter could respond when the meeting was brought to order.After Tilman and the few other new members were introduced to the rest of the council by the Burgermeister, the latter called upon Herr Bayer to address the council.

“As you know, all of us wish to achieve status as an independent city.What we do not agree upon is the course which will best lead us to accomplish that.

“Some feel,” he said glancing toward Bermeter, “confrontation is the best path to independence.They feel that, if we stir up enough trouble, the powerful of the city and the empire will grant us independence simply to rid themselves of such a headache.

“Others feel the acquisition of wealth by the city is the best way to earn that independence, to become so financially self-supporting and independent of the princes, they will be forced to recognize what is a reality, that the empire needs Wurzburg more than the city needs the empire.

“And some, who do not feel conflict will work or are convinced we can never become sufficiently wealthy to declare our freedom, feel independence will only be granted us as the result of a quid pro quo: we treat the princes so well they will reward us with the freedom we seek.

“I am of the latter position.The princes of the church and the empire have requested that this council extend the tax exemption, which they now enjoy for part of their holdings, to all their properties.I think we should grant them that extension in order to curry their favor, and so I move to approve their proposal.”

“I second,” answered Sir Klaus von Kappel immediately.

And with that, a din of objections and counter arguments initiated by Bermeter reverberated throughout the chamber and most of the morning.Those who hated and distrusted the princes and the church, like Herr Bermeter, animatedly protested against the proposal, not so much listing their objections, but rather betraying their biases.Those in favor of the proposal echoed Bayer’s argument, which was little more than a hope rather than a case, and in so doing betrayed their prejudice.Tilman watched the civil agon as he might have witnessed a wrestling match until it occurred to him the meeting could go on forever and with it the waste of a whole day of carving.

For him a rather obvious argument against the proposal had been overlooked, and, having exhausted his patience waiting for one of the senior councilors to make it, he raised his hand and unexpectedly was recognized by the Burgermeister.The latter was so surprised one of the new members should wish to become involved in an argument this early in his tenure, he was all too curious to find out what the young man had to offer.

“First, I apologize to all for what I am about to say for I suspect, because it seems to me to be so self-evident, it must be something that has no doubt been said before in this council.So please forgive me if I go over old ground.

“What strikes this new councilor, but old peddler of carvings, is this: if you grant the princes an extension, they will save a great deal of money.

“What will they do with these new riches?

“Well, if I were the recipient of a windfall coming from the elimination of taxes on the property I owned, I would take that money and invest it in more of the same kind of property.

“And I no doubt would purchase it from those who were paying taxes on it for no one who owned it and paid no taxes would want to sell it.

“The consequence of such transactions, it seems to me, should be obvious: with more and more property being sold to the church and thereby becoming tax exempt, the city would receive less tax money and would be much further away from the financial independence it wishes in order to earn its independence.”

With that, Tilman sat down and for a few seconds there was total silence in the chamber.It was broken by Herr Bermeter, who had instantly become a friend of Herr Riemenschneider.

“I call for a vote on the proposal.”

“I second.”

“I second.”

The burgermeister had to call the vote when he discovered he had more seconds than were necessary for approval of the motion.The vote was taken; the motion defeated; and Tilman Riemenschneider was later in his career as a councilman appointed tax assessor.

PYXCEZF XTWXKHC RNCKHI KZ CNIXHTYHIV EH ENC CZRHKEXT KT CEZD EXR

Tilman knew from a glance the note was from Prince Bishop Lorenz von Bibra, a man who had in the years he was in Wurzburg become his patron and friend.Von Bibra had endeared himself to the master sculptor by maintaining many of the reforms his predecessor, Rudolf von Scherenberg, had set in place to help bring more wealth to Wurzburg and to help redistribute some of it among all the people.The spiritual and secular leader of the diocese had also commissioned Tilman to sculpt in alabaster the funerary monument for that predecessor, which Tilman was in the process of completing in the workshop, as well as a few other pieces for St. Kilian’s Cathedral.He also amused Tilman with his infatuation with one of the achievements of one of the abbots the Prince Bishop recently had appointed to St. Jakob Church in Wurzburg, Johannes von Trithemius.

Since his appointment, Trithemius, writing mostly in Latin, had composed several tracts on the literature, history, and language of the Franconian region.One particular form his interest in local language took was in both the shorthand and crypto-grammatical uses of it, the latter of which he explained in his books, Stenographia and Polygraphia . Prince Bishop von Bibra was so fascinated by his abbot’s discoveries in cryptography, that he had Trithemius devise for him a relatively simple code involving the seven divine offices of the day, a code he shared with his closest associates and friends.

The device involved three phrases collectively using each letter of the alphabet to re-organize that alphabet; “nymphs vex,” “bawds jog,” and “quartz flicks.”Capable of being arranged in at least twelve different ways, six forward and six backward, the Prince Bishop had chosen seven of those ways to match the seven offices of the church day.The particular arrangement of the seven to be used in any particular message was determined by one of the seven canonical hours.If a message were to be encoded by the Prime variation, then the order of the phrases and corresponding alphabet was the following:

N-Y-M-P-H-S-V-E-X-Q-U-A-R-T-Z-F-L-I-C-K-S-B-A-W-D-S-J-O-G

A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T---U---V-W---X-Y-Z

Each message would have as the first letter of the first word the appropriate letter of a particular office.Thus, if the first letter, as in the note he received this morning, was P, then the code to be used was the Prime.

Tilman would receive one of these coded messages about once a month, and, not having the time to decode them and knowing they all had something to do with sculpture or taxes, he shared the code with Anna, who, not always having the time herself to decode the messages, shared it with Margred not only to save time, but also to give the latter another opportunity to practice what her mistress was teaching her in the use of language.

Having responded to the invitation with curiosity about what it was the Bishop wished to show him, Tilman Riemenschneider stood before his Prince in the latter’s study of Schloss Marienberg.

“Tilman, having business at St. Kilian’s yesterday morning, I took the opportunity to stop in your workshop.”

“I regret I was not there to welcome you.”

“Of course not, you had on your councilor’s hat.But my visit was not without success.I saw the memorial for my predecessor.I like it; I like it very much.Von Scherenberg would have been pleased.”

“Thank you, Prince Bishop.”

“And now I have another commission for you. Will you accept it?”

“Yes.”

“Without knowing what it is?”

“Yes.”

“Nor the amount of guilders I am willing to pay?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Tilman.But first I want to show you something.Come.”

The master sculptor followed his Prince Bishop out the study, down the stone steps, through the huge banquet hall and then the smaller one to the massive front door, out the main building of the fortress, across the cobbled stone courtyard, to one of the wooden storage buildings.En route, von Bibra directed two of his servants to follow them with torches lest the late afternoon light be insufficient to illuminate what it was the bishop wished his sculptor to see.

They entered an elaborate shed, and Tilman saw in the middle of the room, resting on two saw horses, a long object about two by four by twelve feet covered by a canvas.What sunlight there was lit up part of the space, and the servants’ torches, the rest of the interior of the shed.Von Bibra pulled away the canvas and uncovered a slab of light purple marble partially and faintly streaked with white and gray veins.

“It’s from Salzburg.I discovered it on my last visit and purchased it immediately; it arrived two days ago.What do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“Good, I wish you to carve from it my funerary piece.”

Tilman was taken aback by the Prince’s proposal.

“Is it not a bit premature for that?”

“Perhaps! But I thought I would get the commission out of the way.One never knows when the Lord will call us home.

“It’s a bit of vanity on my part, I know, but I have already prayed to God to forgive the indulgence.”

“I do not think it vain to want to be remembered.”

“Of course not, Tilman; look how much of yourself you leave behind to be remembered: three sons, two daughters, two stepsons, and God knows how many works of art honoring the Lord.”

“Yes, but even I have found it necessary to leave behind my image.”

“You mean the Creglingen altarpiece?”

Tilman was a little chagrined by Von Bibra’s question.The Herrgottskirche in Creglingen was built on a site where a peasant plowing a field came across an intact Eucharist wafer and where the event was read as a miracle.The church subsequently commissioned Riemenschneider to undertake his third major altarpiece, this one depicting the Assumption of the Virgin Mary accompanied by angels and watched with adoration by the apostles.

The piece now stood on the original altar of the church, which, once more, was over the very site where the miraculous discovery of the eucharist had taken place.It was without question Riemenschneider’s most ornate work.Each of the three panels in the predella, the four reliefs in the wings, and the Corpus itself was laced above with an intricate tracery.The Corpus included the Virgin rising to heaven accompanied by seven angels and witnessed by the apostles and was flanked to the left with panels depicting the Visitation and Annunciation and to the right, the Nativity and Presentation at the Temple.The predella contained the Adoration of the Magi and Christ among the Doctors to either side of a niche with angels holding a piece of cloth.The Coronation of the Virgin was depicted in a chapel-like structure above more tracery, and the Christ crowned the superstructure.

In working out the sketches for the work, Tilman could not resist the temptation to memorialize his Uncle Oskar by using him as the model for the apostle Philip, beardless, balding, and thereby quite distinctive among the other, thick-haired, and bearded disciples.Pleased with his incorporation of one family member into the work, he went ahead and depicted himself wearing his council hat as one of the learned doctors being instructed by the Lord in the predella panel dramatizing the Christ child among the doctors.One had to take a long and close look at the entire work before one singled out the image of the master in a corner of a panel in the lowest part of the altarpiece.It was to this carving that von Bibra had alluded.

“I did not think anyone in Creglingen would notice.”

“That may be true of anyone in Creglingen, but anyone from Wurzburg who knows you and has viewed the altarpiece closely, as I have, will surely see the resemblance.

“But that is alright my son.All those works of sculpture, and only this one reflection -- I am correct, no – this is the only reflection of yourself in your work?”

Tilman embarrassingly nodded.

“Well, surely God will forgive you, if such self-expression even requires forgiveness.”

Tilman Riemenschneider hesitated but a few seconds before he answered his friend.

“You see what I mean, Prince Bishop?”

Von Bibra, acknowledging he had rhetorically forgiven himself for his own bout of narcissism, laughed wholeheartedly before responding.

“Tilman, my son, you should have been a Thomist.”

Sitting later before the Prince Bishop’s desk in the study, a rather ornate piece featuring the procession of animals towards Noah’s ark, a work which had given Riemenschneider the opportunity to demonstrate his skills in evoking the natural as well as the supernatural, Tilman asked about the new commission.

“Are there any instructions for your memorial?”

“I must confess I would like the figure to resemble me.I leave all else to you.”

“It will be as you wish when the time comes.”

“Indeed, when the time comes.”

One of his clerical servants entered the room, walked over to the Prince Bishop, and whispered something in his ear.Von Bibra looked up with concern at the messenger and then at Tilman.

“Tilman, one of your servants is here.He says you must come home at once.”

Tilman shuddered at the familiar phrase.

“At once?”

Von Bibra looked to his servant to confirm the message, and the servant nodded.

“Excuse me, Prince Bishop, but I must go.”

“Go with our prayers, my son.”

Tilman followed the servant out of the room.

Anna had been found in her room, where she had been going over accounts from the vineyards, which had grown from the twenty morgens she brought with her as part of her dowry to thirty-five through the acquisition of an adjacent property when the owner moved away from Wurzburg to try his fortune in Nuremburg.Margred had found her mistress between her chair and desk.The doctor had been summoned by Margred as Heinrik had ridden to the fortress to call Tilman home.

Anna remained alive for three days, but never regained consciousness.Her stool and urine were examined, her blood let; but the examination could tell the doctor nothing and the bloodletting had no effect.The doctor had to own up whatever ailed Anna was beyond his powers and to suggest the only recourse was to trust to Providence and prayer.Tilman directed his servants to three of the closest churches to light candles and to ask the priests to pray for the recovery of his wife.On the morning of the fourth day following her collapse, the town crier of Wurzburg was announcing throughout the city the death of Anna Rappolt Riemenschneider.

The winter morning was bleak and cold.The front doors and the window of the master bedroom of the Wolfman’s Ewe were draped in black cloth.In the workshop, the journeymen had completed the construction of the wooden coffin, whose plainness was broken only by the linden wood image of Lazarus rising from the dead, which had been attached to the lid.

An hour later, Prince Bishop Lorenz von Bibra and his priestly attendants followed the casket being carried out of St. Kilian’s Cathedral on two poles by the journeymen and apprentices of the House of Riemenschneider.The skies were overcast, and the path lined with the dark-edged remainder of a recent snowfall.The cortege stopped at the chancel gate, and, after one of the priests removed the chasuble, von Bibra censed the body, sprinkled it with holy water, said the Lord’s Prayer, for which he was joined by the mourners.

The procession to the cemetery was led by black clad monks from Wurzburg’s St. Jakob’s Church, who carried crosses, books, or thuribles.They were followed by the coffin, the Prince Bishop, his attendants, and the mourners, each of whom carried a burning candle.At the grave site, Tilman and his children stood to one side.His uncle, Mathilde, Hans Rappolt, Margred, Hannah, Heinrik, his journeymen and apprentices, and several prominent men of the town stood on the other.Von Bibra, at the head of the grave, offered the prayers for the dead.

“Requiem aeternam dona ei. Domine.

“Et lux perpetua luceat ei.

“Requiescat in pace.”

“Amen.”

“Anima ejus, et animae ominium fidelium defunctorum, per misericoriam Dei requiescant in pace.”

“Amen.”

Von Bibra made a sign of the cross, walked over to Tilman, took both of his hands in his, and drew them to his heart.After a moment, he released them, and began to walk away from the grave and out of the cemetery with his attendants.The non-family members followed.

Hans Rappolt took the hand of Maria; Mathilde, of Bartolomaus, and with Margred shepherding Gertrud and the older boys, the rest of the family and the servants left the cemetery.Only Uncle Oskar stayed behind with Tilman.

“She never once said ‘I love you,’” lamented the latter.

“But you were loved, Tilman,” answered Uncle Oskar.

“Yes, Uncle; I did feel loved.”

Chapter 13:1508

It was the autumn of 1508, and the workshop was quite busy: Gunter was working on a linden wood Virgin and Child; and Paul, on a sandstone saint.The six apprentices were carving small virgins and saints for the upcoming Wurzburg Christmas Market.In the center of the room was a half-finished statue of St. Lawrence with his book and gridiron.The face of St. Lawrence resembled that of one of the apprentices.

Although many linden wood chips were scattered at the base of the statue, suggesting Tilman had been working on the piece that morning, the hammer and chisel of the sculptor lay on a bench to the side, and the master himself stood several feet away from his current work listening to his fellow council member, Hans Bermeter.

“Tilman, you must take the position.”

“Bermeter, I’m a widower, who is already a member of the council, the master of a workshop, which, as you can see, is quite busy, and the head of a household that includes five children, three servants, two journeymen, and six apprentices.Where would I find the time?”

“But you are the only one the other members of the council can agree upon as the next Keeper of the Marienkapelle.And, as I am sure you have heard, as many secular matters of a mercantile nature are carried on in the council as are liturgical matters.”

Tilman looked at his statue of St. Lawrence and then at the accumulation of linden wood chips below.More as a desire to return to his work than as a wish to take on another responsibility, he resignedly acceded to Hans Bermeter’s request.

“Yes!”

“You will accept?”

“I will accept!”

“You will not regret it.”

“I already regret it.Now you must leave, and I must get back to my work.”

He escorted Bermeter out the door, returned to his place before the St. Lawrence, retrieved his hammer and chisel, and stood back to recollect and re-orient himself.

Bursting through the doorway, a laughing Bartolomaus came running away from his pursuer.Dashing through the doorway after him was his older brother, Hans.The younger, looking back to see how close to him the elder was, ran into Tilman and fell back on his behind.His older brother stopped in his tracks.Margred came running excitedly into the workshop in search of the boys.Tilman turned around.Margred stopped short.The journeymen and apprentices ceased what they were doing and turned their attention to the rare scene of disorder in the workshop.

Bartolomaus looked up frightened to see his father standing over him with a hammer and chisel in his hands.Tilman stared down at him, then at Hans, and then at Margred.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Take them into the house.”

She gathered the boys, and, holding their hands, walked out the workshop and up the stairs.Tilman looked around the room.All returned to their duties.Tilman turned to his St. Lawrence, gazed at it for a moment, sighed, and stepped forward to resume carving.

The next day Tilman Riemenschneider, member of the city council, keeper of the Marienkapelle, and master sculptor was interrupted once more in his work on St. Lawrence.This time Heinrik had come to inform him a young man was at the door asking to speak to Master Riemenschneider about a personal matter.Tilman, intent on observing his vow to keep his mornings free to keep to his vocation, instructed the servant to tell the young man to return after the midday meal.Later that afternoon, Tilman met the young man and led him behind the house to the herb and vegetable garden to hear what he had to say.

“Good afternoon, Herr Riemenschneider.My name is Fritz Leindecker; I’m an apprentice to the baker Wechsler.”

Tilman took a moment to measure the young man.He was impressed with his forthrightness, but had no idea what the young man could want with the master sculptor of Wurzburg.

“Good afternoon, Fritz.What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

“I’m a friend of Margred. When she comes to the shop in the market square and we both have time to spare, I take two sweet rolls, and we walk down to the river to eat them and have a little visit.”

“Yes?”

“I have grown very fond of Margred.”

“Yes?”

“I wish to marry her.”

Tilman could not keep from his visage the look of astonishment at the reason for young Fritz’s visit.It had never occurred to him that Margred was either at the age of marriage -- she seemed to him the same lively young girl who had come to live with them when Gertrud was born –- or that, as far as he knew, she had any acquaintances who might propose such a union.Recovering from his surprise, Tilman responded.

“Go on.”

“I have been to see Margred’s mother, and she has agreed to my request to begin a courtship.But she said I must also consult with you to get your permission.”

“Me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does Margred know of your visit to her widowed mother or, for that matter, to me today?”

“No.I’m very fond of Margred, and I hope to have my own bakery some day and take good care of her.”

“I see. Well, Fritz, your request and Frau Leindecker’s instruction that you seek my permission have taken me a little by surprise.I need time to think over your proposal.Could you return here tomorrow at the same time, and I will give you my answer then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

The young man backed up a few steps and started to turn to leave before he remembered his manners and turned back to Tilman.

“Good day, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“Good day, Fritz.”

After dinner that night, Tilman asked Margred to return to the dining room after she saw the children to bed.When Margred came back, he suggested they take a walk around the garden.After they left the house and had gone a short distance in the dusk of evening, Margred began the discussion.

“Master, I’m very sorry for what happened in the workshop yesterday.It will never happen again.”

She was obviously distressed over the matter; she thought this talk was to discharge her from the Wolfman’s Ewe.Riemenschneider quickly disabused her of that notion.

“That is not what I wanted to talk to you about, Margred.”

“It’s not?”

“No, I don’t mind having children with a little spirit in them; I think I would be disappointed if they did not show some mettle from time to time, did not enjoy their youth while they can.No, no, you can forget all about that little encounter so long as it does not become the routine in the workshop of the Wolfman’s Ewe.”

“Oh, thank you, master.It will not happen again.But then what is it the master wishes to speak to me about?”

“Do you know a Fritz Leindecker?”

“Fritz?” She searched in her mind the short list of friends she had in the city.“Oh, Fritz, the baker’s apprentice?”

“Yes, that is the young man.”

“I know him to talk to.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, why?”

“Young Fritz has been to ask your mother for permission to court you.She gave it, but said he must ask mine as well.Yesterday, he asked.”

“To court me?”

“Yes!He wishes to marry you.”

“Marry me?”

“Yes, you!”

“But I hardly know him.”

“He said you two have enjoyed conversations down by the river, sharing many a sweet roll.And he said he is very fond of you.”

“I have enjoyed talking to a few of the young men in the market place.And I’m fond of them, and they of me, I think, but I have no intention of marrying any of them.”

“So, it would not disappoint you if you never saw him or talked with him again.”

“I would be disappointed in losing a friend, but I would rather lose a friend than begin a courtship which is doomed from the beginning.”

“Then, I shall not give my permission for him to come courting.”

“Thank you, master.”

Believing the matter had been concluded, Margred was about to return to the house when Tilman stopped her.

“Don’t go just yet, Margred.Let us walk a little more.”

They continued to stroll through the garden.The confession of Fritz Leindecker of his love for Magred had forced Tilman Riemenschneider to acknowledge what he had seemingly overlooked in the years since Magred’s first appearance at the Wolfman’s Ewe.The young girl then had become a young woman now.After a short while, the master this time broke the silence in the garden.

“Margred, have you given any thought to marriage, to having your own home, to giving birth to and raising your own children?”

Margred paused a moment to reflect upon the master’s question before responding.

“No, master, I haven’t.I consider the Wolfman’s Ewe my home, and I’m content to help raise the master’s and my Anna’s children.”

“Are you sure, Margred?The young girl who came to the Wolfman’s Ewe a few years ago is now a young woman.And a young woman ought to consider her prospects very carefully.”

“I have master, and I’m very content here.”

“And I’m very content to have you here helping me raise the children.You can go now.”

“Thank you, master.”

The next day Tilman was pleased to let young Fritz down as gently as he could.

Several weeks later the nephew was back in his Uncle Oskar’s home, having been invited to come after supper that evening.Uncle Oskar, with a more portly body and much less hair, but with the same élan, sat across the table from a woman at the beginning of her middle years. The uncle stood to greet his nephew.

“Thank you for coming, Tilman.”

“Your message sounded urgent.”

“I did not mean it to sound so, but I am glad you came so soon.I have another commission for you.”

“Oh?”

“Tilman, I want you to meet Frau Margarete Wurzbach, the widow of the blacksmith Wurzbach.”

Keeping his back momentarily to the widow, Tilman looked suspiciously at his uncle, who shook his head and raised both his upturned hands so as to gesture “Not guilty.”

Tilman turned to his uncle’s guest.

“Frau Wurzbach, I was sorry to hear of the death of your husband.”

“Thank you, Herr Riemenschneider.I too am sorry for your loss.”

“Frau Wurzbach wishes to have a memorial stone carved for her husband’s grave.”

Tilman was relieved.

“Oh, a headstone!Yes, the workshop can certainly do that.”

“She was hoping you would carve it.”

“I don’t ordinarily do private memorials.I can design it, but my journeyman, Paul, does excellent stone work.”

“Please, Master.My husband was an admirer of your work, as am I. He asked me, on his death bed, to implore you to undertake the work.It need not be a large piece, and I’m willing to pay a Master’s fee.”

“Let me add my plea to Frau Wurzbach’s, Tilman.Master Wurzbach was a very good friend of mine, as is Frau Wurzbach.”

Tilman smiled in acquiescence.

“I will be happy to undertake the commission.”

“Thank you.That gives me great comfort.”

With the last word of Frau Wurzbach echoing in his ear, Tilman looked toward his uncle and tolerantly smiled.

“Well, let us celebrate the contract.I will fetch the wine.”

The widow Wurzbach broke the brief silence which had ensued after her host left the room.

“Again, I thank you.It’s reassuring for a widow to carry out her late husband’s death bed request.”

“I know how difficult it is.”

“But you at least have your children to work for, to keep you going.”

“You have no children?”

“The Lord did not bless us, Master Riemenschneider.”

“And the blacksmith workshop, does that not give you something to keep you going?”

“Without a Master, there is no workshop.The journeymen and apprentices are all gone. All that is left is the house.And it is empty and cold . . . and so very still.”

The repetition of another word from his personal past caused Tilman to pause and reflect before responding to the widow Wurzbach.

“With my children and servants running to and fro,

my home seems to be in a perpetual state of chaos.”

“I would welcome such chaos if only to bring order to it.That would be a challenge and another comfort.”

Tilman bowed his head, shook it, and smiled.Uncle Oskar returned with a grayer and heavier, but moving with the same graceful bearing, Mathilde following him.He held a bottle of wine; she, a tray with sweets.After they both placed the wine and tray on the table, Mathilde left, and Uncle Oskar saw her out.Tilman followed a couple of steps behind, intercepted his uncle on his return, and whispered to him.

“Uncle Oskar, I’m but a widow a short time.”

“You call two years a short time?”

Tilman paused a moment to reflect upon what came to him as a revelation.

“Has it been that long?”

“It has.”

Tilman paused again.

“She seems well rehearsed.”

“She comes well-endowed as you yourself can plainly see.She also has a substantial home and workshop.You will add property to your estate, which you can leave to your heirs since she has none.And she will put your house in order, make your bed comfortable once more, and free you to concentrate again on your work, which I am sorry to say has been a little neglected of late.”

Tilman sighed and considered the possibility that one of his servants might be moonlighting as a spy for his uncle.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Incorrigible?Last time I waited only a few months.This time it has taken two years.I call that corrigible.”

“I stand corrected.”

They returned to the table and the neglected Frau Wurzbach.The uncle poured the glasses of wine and handed one each to the widow Wurzburg and his nephew.Uncle Oskar smiled at Frau Wurzbach.

“We have a contract.”

Wurzbach returned Uncle Oskar’s smile.

Tilman Riemenschneider, in view of the exchange of smiles before him, wondered what sort of contract he had committed himself to.

“To the contract.Prosit.”

“Prosit!”

“Prosit!”

The contract turned out to be not only the memorial for the departed Master Wurzbach but also Tilman’s third marriage, which like his first, was performed at St. Jakob’s Church in Wurzburg, but unlike the former, with only his Uncle Oskar and Mathilde in attendance.Their courtship had lasted longer than his prior two for, lacking the inducement of a younger and more attractive fiancé, it had taken Tilman longer to realize and accept the benefits proffered by the widow Wurzbach.Like the two Annas before her, she would bring more order to his home; she would enlarge the legacy he would leave his children; she would often know better than he what was good for him and his growing family.In addition, she would not enlarge that family and, perhaps unlike the other wives of the Wolfman’s Ewe, would appreciate, perhaps more than the master himself, the comfort of his bed.

But the home to which Tilman Riemenschneider brought Margarete Wurzbach was unlike the one to which he had come or the one to which he had introduced Anna Rappolt.It was more populated and therefore more complicated and consequently required more adjustment and management on the part of the new mistress, for which, fortunately for all concerned, the former widow Wursbach was well suited.

It was apparent from the very first day on their arrival from St. Jakob’s that neither the children nor the servants were altogether happy with their new mistress.They loved Anna Rappolt so well and were jealous of their father and master’s love so much, they would not have been happy with any new mistress.This resistance to the new order primarily took the form of a certain distance and coolness from the inhabitants of the Wolfman’s Ewe toward Margarete.It continued so until a catastophe in the household set things right.

Tilman had been sitting up in bed late one night troubled by the continuous chill in the Ewe when he heard sounds coming from the former mistress’s study, which had been converted to a bedroom for Margred in order that she could be closer to the two girls, who now slept alone in the children’s bedroom.The boys had been moved upstairs to a room next to the one in which the apprentices slept.The two journeymen had long since married and moved into their own homes.The mysterious sounds were the kind which should have emanated only in the master bedroom.Tilman pulled from the peg on the wall behind his bed a tunic, threw it over himself, quietly walked to the door, and opened it a few inches.

The door to the old study opened, and the younger of the two new apprentices, the one who had been chosen as a model for the master’s St. Lawrence because of his obvious good looks, stepped out naked from the waist up, carrying his tunic and shoes in his hands.He slowly made his way to the stairs to his room on the top floor.Tilman returned to his bed to spend half the night awake, very much disappointed with Margred, fretting over this new complication in his house, and trying to determine what to do about it.Margarete still lay asleep, Tilman thought, but she had merely closed her eyes again after listening to the same sounds and watching her husband investigate what they were.

The next morning, after the apprentices and the children had had their breakfast and the still relatively newly married couple was alone in the solar, Tilman confided to Margarete the source of his morning depression.

“I saw the new apprentice leave Margred’s room half naked last night.”

“Wilhelm?”

“Yes.How did you know it was he?”

Clearly hiding something, Margarete responded.

“Of the two, he seems most likely to be involved in something clandestine.“

“Yes, and I must say I am much disappointed in Margred.”

“And Wilhelm?”

“Wilhelm will be out of this house before the noon day meal and on his way back to Cologne.But I don’t know what to do about Margred.”

“Why not leave Margred to me?”

“Are you sure?This is not really your responsibility.”

“But perhaps it is a matter best left to the women of the Wolfman’s Ewe to sort out, yes?”

Tilman thought that, given the cool reception Margarete had had to endure from his children and servants, he owed her the granting of her request.Maybe, just maybe, if she could successfully manage a resolution, the air in the house might warm.

“I will leave it to you, then, Margarete.”

Margarete thought it was better she take care of the situation rather than Tilman because she knew some things about women in general and about one young woman in particular her husband did not know.So it was with much more understanding of the complications of the human relationships in the Wolfman’s Ewe that Margarete Riemenschneider met Margred in the latter’s bedroom, but it was with the same kind of trepidation about what she felt was her imminent dismissal that Margred stood before her new mistress.

“Wilhelm has been dismissed and will not be back again.”

“I know.”

“Do you know why he was dismissed?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Are you sorry you will never see him again?”

“No, mistress.”

“Margred, I know why you did what you did last night.”

The young woman’s head had been bowed the whole time.Now she raised it and looked directly at her mistress.

“I don’t understand.”

“Margred, I have eyes.And what I have witnessed over the last two months tells me young Wilhelm was not on his way to meet you last night.”

“I don’t know what my mistress means.”

“I mean it is no coincidence you should rendezvous with an apprentice on the very night Gertrud is away from home and Maria is alone in her room.

“It is very difficult for me to believe that, after mooning over my step-daughter for the past several months, handing her flowers and slipping her notes when he thought no one was watching, and after these past two weeks, when she has been seen stealing kisses when she thought no one about, that Wilhelm intended to violate this house by sleeping with one of the servants last night.”

Margred bowed her head again.

“What you did last night was a very selfless act, but a foolish one.Let us hope you are not pregnant.”

“I’ve been praying I’m not.”

“What are we going to do about this?”

“Whatever you do, mistress, please don’t tell the master about Maria.”

“I’m not going to tell the master about Maria.”

“Thank you, mistress.”

Margarete waited a few seconds to let Margred fully appreciate her mistress’s gentle response to her and Maria’s transgressions.

“Margred, do you think we, mistress and servant, can be friends?”

Margred hesitated for a moment, but she was not an ungrateful young woman.

“I think now we can.”

“I think so too.And so, because I want to be friends with you, you may consider the matter closed.But I want to know as soon as you have your next period or miss it.”

“You mean I’m not dismissed?”

“You are not dismissed.”

“But, what about the master?What does he have to say?”

“The master is a wise man, whom we both love and serve, and, being such a wise man, he has decided to leave the matter entirely in the hands of us women?Come, give me a hug.”

They embraced, and the temperature warmed significantly in the Wolfman’s Ewe in the next few weeks, and it stayed warm a long time.

Chapter 14:1510

“Tilman, I need to speak to you about a very important matter.”

The mid-day meal had just been completed; the children had retired upstairs to their reading, the servants, to the kitchen, and the apprentices and the journeymen to the workshop to resume their work.Tilman, himself, was about to return to his.

“What is the matter?”

“The summer is coming.”

“Yes, the summer is coming.”

“And with it, St. Kilian’s Feast on the eighth of July.”

“Yes, it occurs every year on the same day.”

“And like every St. Kilian’s day, there will be a competition of plays based on Holy Scripture in front of the steps of the Dom.”

“So?”

“So, the children wish to enter a play in the competition this summer.”

“A play?Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“But a play based on scripture, Tilman.”

The master sculptor of the Wolfman’s Ewe hesitated, confronted as he was with an art form beyond his expertise.

“What do you think?”

“I think any activity that involves all the children working together is good for the children, and what is good for them is good for us.”

“You are right.I approve!”

And he started to stand to return to work.

“There’s more.”

He sat back down.

“What more?”

“As you know, each play must have a sponsor.”

Tilman had to reflect only a brief moment for there was only one option.

“They want the workshop of Tilman Riemenschneider to sponsor their play?”

“Yes.”

“Good!It will.Can I go back to work now?”

“They want very much to do this, but they are a little shy about acting before the town.”

“That seems a contradiction; they wish to put on a play, but they are a little shy?”

“I know.”

“So?”

“They wish to put on a puppet play; they wish to hide behind the puppets.They want to know if you will help them make hand puppets.”

The shop was very busy; the council was in session almost every week.He could not spare the time.This would be the first critical instance in which his having agreed to allow his name to be put up for council and then for keeper of the Marienkapelle would collide with his duty to his craft and to his family.But he also thought his children’s notion of a puppet scriptural play an innovative idea, for which he was partially responsible.Had he not taken the family to Nurenburg for the great Christmas Fair, and had they not all enjoyed the puppet shows performed in the market place before the great cathedral?

“The boys will have to carve and paint the puppets themselves.I will supply them with wood, tools, and advice.”

“That is what I told them.”

“That is what you told them?I don’t know why you bother to ask me.And now, Margarete, I must return to work.”

“Thank you, Tilman.”

He started to leave the room, but, when he reached the staircase, he hesitated, turned, and asked the questions which had only now occurred to him.

“Who is to write this play?”

“Gertrud.”

His eldest child had always been the most independent thinking of his children, and he felt a little trepidation leading to his next question.

“What is it to be about?

“The Fall of Sodom.”

He bowed his head and pondered the prospects of a play written by his eldest daughter, who had some particular views about the city of Wurzburg and its citizens, and based on the plight of Sodom and the fate of Lot’s wife.He resigned himself to his own lot and descended to his workshop.

Margarete had been pressed by her stepchildren to agree to act as the manager of the production because, as they had come to discover, their petitions to their father of any nature seemed to go more smoothly and receive a more favorable response when Margarete interceded on their behalf than when they presented their proposals directly.

Six weeks later in the solar, after the children, servants, and apprentices had left, Margarete placed on the table before Tilman a list of characters, a description of the set and props, and several pages of illustrations.

Characters: Prologue, Lot, Lot’s Wife, Daughter One, Daughter Two, Angel One, Angel Two, Burger One, Burger Two, Burger Three.

Set: Upon a workshop wagon will be constructed a raised stage with the following set, below which the actors will stand behind a curtain to manipulate hand puppets: to the left, the home of Lot, in the center rear and to the right, the city of Sodom.

Props: A pillar of salt, a door, a window, and a gate.

Tilman was impressed with how much had been accomplished thus far.

“And what am I to do with this?”

“Supply them with a wagon and enough wood and tools to build and carve what they need.”

“The pillar of salt, is that to be Lot’s wife?”

“Yes.”

“To be carved of wood?”

“Well, that is what the children have in mind.”

“But you have something else in mind?”

“I thought, would it not be special if the puppet of Lot’s Wife, who is turned into a pillar of salt, could actually be carved from a block of salt?”

“A block of salt?You know how much that would cost and how difficult it would be to carve something from salt that would stay in one piece?”

“But we could always use what is chipped away, and, then, after the fair, break up the carving, save the pieces, and use the rest later.”

“And who would carve this pillar of salt?”

“I thought, would it not be a nice gesture if the master could offer to carve it as his contribution to the production of the House of Riemenschneider?”

Tilman considered this possibility as well for only a few seconds before the challenge of carving in salt for the first time in his life stirred him.

“The master not only could, but also would, offer to carve it.”

“Good, Tilman, very good.”

“Is that all?”

“The children welcome any suggestions you have about the design of the set and costumes.”

“Then I must read the play.”

“They don’t want you to read the play; they want you to see it for the first time when the rest of the town sees it.They want to surprise you.”

“That is what I fear most: that they will indeed surprise me, perhaps too much.Have you read it?”

“No.”

“Is it written?”

“Of course, how could the boys come up with the designs if they had no idea of the play?”

“And how can I offer suggestions about their designs if I have no idea of the play?”

“Trust them, Tilman.”

Tilman reached out and drew the papers on the table closer.He started to re-read and review.

“I will need something to draw with, Margarete.”

In her capacity as manager of the House of Riemenschneider’s presentation of the play of “The Fall of Sodom,” Margarete gladly rose, went to the cabinet, and returned with feathered pen and ink.

Tilman gave the drawings very little in the way of emendation for he felt the relatively primitive and crude, unpolished manner of his sons’ designs were in keeping with the subject of the play.If anything, his few changes served to make them even more like the work of the craftsmen who had preceded those of his generation.Judging from the scope and complication of the production, however, he knew he would be called upon again for more advice and more help.He looked forward to it ambivalently: happy to work with his children, but a bit apprehensive about the consequences in Wurzburg of a play written by his socially-conscious daughter about a city, which in the drawings happened to resemble Wurzburg and which in scripture at least is punished by God for its wickedness.

By mid-May, the boys, working primarily in the stable and, when it was free on Sunday afternoons, in the workshop, and with the occasional help of Paul or Gunter, had completed the renovation of the wagon, the construction of the set, and the carving of the heads of all the characters.The girls, sewing primarily in their bedroom and guided by Margarete, had finished the costumes.All but the pillar of salt, which Tilman was putting off not only until he got more important projects out of the way, but also to have his own little surprise for his children, was brought into the stable and placed upon a table set aside for it.Tilman was then invited to inspect what his children had created.

As he expected, the finished craft left just a little something to be desired, and for a moment he was left indecisive, not certain whether he should pronounce everything well done and ready for production, thereby acceding to Margaret’s direction to trust his children, or should point out how, with a little chip here and a little paint there, the set and costumes could be improved and his children prevented perhaps from embarrassing themselves or the House of Riemenschneider.The playwright came to his rescue.Gertrud too had a great deal resting on the quality of the sets and costumes.

“Father, we welcome any suggestions you might have.We don’t wish to embarrass you or ourselves.So, please feel free to help in whatever way you can.”

“Yes, Father,” said Joerg.

Remembering his first Anna’s method of making suggestions, he put a question to them.

“Well, now, look here at Lot’s wife’s head, Joerg.”

His son pointed to the right side of the puppet’s head.

“Here?”

“Yes. Do you think with just a little . . . ”

And so it went, and within two weeks’ time the wagon, sets, and characters were ready for the inspiriting addition of the words, which the children had been memorizing for weeks.Throughout June, the craftsmen and staff of the Wolfman’s Ewe, together with the master and mistress, could hear declamations coming from the stable, but could not quite grasp particular words or meanings.From time to time, the sound of enacted dialogue was interrupted by the din of real conflict as the performers reacted to or resisted the demands of their director, who also happened to be not only female, but their eldest sibling.By the beginning of July all differences of opinion had been resolved, and they were ready for a full rehearsal and therefore requested their father to please deliver his contribution, which was received most surprisingly and most gratefully.They rolled the wagon out in front of the stable and invited both the workshop and household staffs to be an audience for a mid-Sunday afternoon rehearsal.Herr and Frau Riemenschneider were not invited; indeed, on that very afternoon, they were the guests of their great Uncle Oskar.

When Tilman and Margarete Riemenschneider returned later that day, they could not keep from making inquiries of the audience and were somewhat puzzled by their reactions.

“It was wonderful,” said Margred, “I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“It was good,” said Hannah, “it will teach the citizens of Wurzburg a lesson.”

“It was a useful rehearsal;” said Gunter, “they still have time to polish some of the dialogue.”

“It will stand up well next to any of the plays they stage on St. Kilian’s day,” said Paul.

“Could we do one next year?” asked the newest apprentice, Peter.

On St. Kilian’s Day, Heinrik drove the wagon carrying all the props and the children to the center of town to an assembly point just off the Dom Strasse.From there, all the carts staging the plays for the competition could be easily driven the short distance to the steps of the Dom, where the mystery plays were to be presented beginning at mid-afternoon.The journeymen, with the promise of an extra day’s wages, were manning the Riemenschneider craft stall in the market square.The servants, given a holiday, were already at the fair, taking in their own particular interests, but had promised to rendezvous before the Dom in time for the Riemenschneider performance, which was to go on just after the church bells pealed Nones.

Tilman and Margarete, having stopped by the Riemenschneider stall to see all was in order and having had a glance at the stalls of the other two sculpture shops in town to see what their competitors were offering this year, were now walking about trying to enjoy the rest of the fair but failing somewhat because of their anxiety over the forthcoming “Fall of Sodom.”They spent some time entertained by tumblers, sword swallowers, and Tarot readers.They also lingered a while listening to a trio of musicians play and sing ballads, and they were momentarily distracted by the Chinaman whose vocation was touring fairs and festivals throughout Europe demonstrating and selling his picturesque calligraphic interpretations of European family names.Margarete paused at the stall with the English wools, and Tilman, at the one with the Italian ceramics.At this time of the day, there was no trace of the vendors whose wares appealed to the more prurient of Wurzburg’s burgers.They would make their entrance as the sun began to make its exit.

Tilman and Margarete met Uncle Oskar and Mathilde near the steps of the Dom Strasse in a section reserved for the patrons of the particular play about to be presented.As representatives of the Lawyers Guild were leaving this site after the presentation of a play based on the story of Susanna and the Elders, the Riemenschneiders entered.

“Are you excited, Tilman?”

“Oskar, he is tenser than he has ever been since I met him that night in your house.”

“Relax, nephew, it will go smoothly.They are Riemenschneiders.”

Heinrik drove the wagon before the steps.He unhitched the horses, placed blocks before the front and behind the rear wheels, knocked on the cart in three deliberate and distinctive raps, and walked off with the horses.After an interval of a minute, the red curtain, made from an old dress of one of the former mistresses of the Wolfman’s Ewe, was drawn open upon a stage, the background of which was a mosaic-like outline of what was supposed to be Sodom, but which was in fact Bartolomaus’s adaptation of a woodcut of the town of Wurzburg created by Hatmann Schedel, an engraving to be found in any of several shops throughout the city.The puppet of the Prologue, whose painted wooden head and cloak looked like one of Tilman’s earlier prophets, popped up.It was clear Joerg and Hans had spent a great deal of time in the workshop watching their father and his staff carve many a prophet for church and chapel.The members of the House of Riemenschneider in the audience all recognized the voice of Joerg.

Prologue

Our scene is set in Sodom town

Where lust and greed and pride abound

Where Lot, his wife and daughters fair

Reside and speak to God in prayer.

A puppet suddenly popped up from the right corner of the stage with his back to the audience as though it were one of its members.When it quickly turned to face the audience, it appeared as a burger of Wurzburg, puffed and red-cheeked and looking decidedly like an uncle of Master Sculptor Tilman Riemenschneider.

Heckler

Daughters fair?Don’t make me laugh!

Only a dowry of epic size

And magic from the make-up craft

Could make them fair to a suitor’s eyes.

The audience roared with laughter.Tilman recalled no heckler in the list of characters presented to him, but thought his inclusion a delightful surprise.He wondered if there were to be more surprises and if they would be as welcomed as this one.The Prologue took umbrage at the interruption of the Heckler before continuing.

Prologue

And there will come two angels down

To see if there be ten good men

To save this town the Lord’s just wrath

And keep it from the brimstone path.

Heckler

My God, I fear we’re in for it!

Ten good men, said he?Oh, shit!

More laughter followed as the Prologue, doing a double take toward the Heckler, exited stage right and Lot, also resembling one of Riemenschneider’s prophets, and Lot’s Wife, resembling his Magdalene and lagging behind looking around her, entered stage left.

Lot

O come, my dear, let’s not pause

In shadows where we have cause

To fear the threat of wolf and thief

Who seek to plague us with much grief.

Lot’s Wife

But only here can we retrieve

What we need for bed and board,

For only here do merchants sell

What gives hard life its rich reprieve.

Heckler

You see Lot’s wife?That’s grief enough

For one life time in Sodom town,

The good Lord knows Lot needs no more.

So why has he so much in store?

The Lot character gestured his displeasure with the Heckler before continuing.

Lot

And only here must good men fear

What too much wine and too much beer

Can do to let the devil in,

Let loose the seven deadly sins.

Heckler

We should count our blessed fate.

When mother Eve, the apple ate,

It had but seven seeds to sow.

This town, much more, could surely grow.

Before his wife and Lot could leave and before the audience could draw a breath from another round of laughter, two angels in the guise of fair burgers, entered.They bore a likeness to Tilman’s two current young apprentices; indeed, in his attempt to help his sons and gratify his apprentices, Tilman had made certain the resemblance was more alike than his sons could achieve.

Angel One

Excuse me sir, we’re strangers here

We wish to pray but cannot find

A temple where we can kneel to God

And mind his staff and reck his rod.

Lot

Sodom is not the town you want;

Of honest priest this town is spare;

But come you to my humble house

Our God in residence dwells there.

Angel Two

We thank you for your kindness, sir,

But we have much this night to do;

We must search for nine more men

As righteous and as true as you.

Heckler

My God, I fear we’re in for it

Nine more men, said he?Oh, shit!

Pausing to let the laughter last and then realizing he had more to do to convince the angels to accompany him home, the Lot puppet turned to the Wife puppet.

Lot

Go on my dear, return you home

While I prevail upon these men

To come with us and drink our wine

And eat our kosher venison.

Heckler

Kosher venison, said he?

What in hell is that, say we?

A deer which tends the synagogue?

Or meat sautéed in beer and grog?

This last observation of the heckler brought the loudest laugh thus far.Lot’s wife, casting an evil eye at the heckler, exited stage left

Lot

Oh, sirs, you’ll search the whole night long

But you will only find what’s wrong:

Harlots and pimps, and rakes and rogues,

Concubines and courtesans.

The market square’s the place they seek,

Those whose work exploits the weak:

Men who deal in usury

Or trade in faithless simony.

Or if your taste be villainy,

Then try the courts, the convents too,

There, they who pledge to spread the word,

Are wed to lies and steeped in sties.

Come share my board, come go with me

For I know who you really be.

Heckler

If there be any here who know not

Where such wares are sold in town

See me at eight beneath the bridge . . .

Oh, oh, I see my rivals come.

The Heckler quickly turned away from the audience and ducked out of sight as three Burgers -- one dressed in priestly robe, another in noble attire, and the third in peasant drab -- entered from stage right.These burgers of Sodom were like nothing to be found in the Riemenschneider workshop, but rather, they recalled the gargoyles upon the older churches of Wurzburg or the sinners consigned to infernal flames in the illuminated manuscripts of church and school.All were red-eyed and carved with grotesque, distorted features; one exposed his tongue every time he spoke, another sniffed between his words, and the third scratched at his crotch intermittently, all effecting a great deal of laughter throughout the crowd.Having sent his wife off stage, Lot drew nearer the angels as the Burgers spoke.

Burger One

Ah, look what’s come to Sodom town

Adorned in gay and lacy gown,

They fill my flesh with fiendish fire

And fan the flames of mal-desire.

Burger Two

Them, we’ll seduce, and then we’ll go

To where the river currents flow

Where we, who crave what god forbade,

Will sate our lust with boy or maid.

Burger Three

They are angels, comely, fair,

A pure white fleece to earth flown down,

No thing could thrill me more than this:

In spoiling them, to find much bliss.

The Lot figure threw himself between the Angels and the Burgers.

Lot

Come, away with me, let’s go,

Where my sweet girls shall care for you

Where roses and white lilies grow

And grace comes with the morning dew.

Heckler

Roses, lilies, and morning dew?

No doubt a garden of the mind

An old man’s fancy, a young man’s dream

I would there were such place to find.

The audience’s response to this last speech of the Heckler puppet was significantly more muted than the previous outbursts.The puppet Lot pushed the Angels off stage left, while the three Burgers, one with tongue wagging, one with nose sniffing, and the other with hand scratching, pursued them.Then, from stage right appeared Lot’s wife and her two daughters, whom Hans and Joerg, in imitation of their father’s work and with the aid of his enhancement, had formed in the likeness of their sisters.

Daughter One

Oh, mother dear, I cannot wait

For marriage and the wedding night.

The banns are post; the date is set

I long to lie in love’s sweet net.

Daughter Two

Oh, mother dear, my fiance

In finest fabric’s richly robed

The banns are post; the date is set;

I long to lie in love’s sweet net.

Lot’s Wife

Oh, daughters dear, I pray each eve

That you will know in God’s quick time

The taste of pleasures love can bring,

The joys we find in every thing.

Heckler

Daughters fair?Don’t make me laugh!

And what a wife, what female craft?

I’ll bet she keeps our poor Lot poor

Lusting after more and more.

Tilman was not certain whether it was the quality of the Heckler’s humor or the seriousness of the subject, but the waves of laughter seemed to recede even more.The proud sponsor of the “Fall of Sodom” was also at a loss to tell the source of the voices behind the three female characters.Surely, Gertrud was the speaker of Lot’s wife, but who indeed were the sources of the voices of her daughters.Had his own daughter managed to alter her own voice in three distinctive ways or was it Maria and one of his sons who had managed to alter his.

Lot and the Angels re-entered from stage left and moved to the center as Lot’s wife and Daughters huddled at the edge of stage right.The Burgers, holding a window frame, a door, and a gate, entered from, and took up positions, stage right.They proceeded to accompany their dialogue by rapping on the door, banging on the window, and clanging at the gate.

Burger One

Self-righteous Lot, we know you’ve guests.

We’ll stay ’til we with them have lain.

Be each, young man, or each, young maid

Until we’ve known them, we’ll not rest.

Burger Two

Self-righteous Lot, you know us well

You know we’ll never give it up

We’ll hound your home; we’ll tax your kin

Til we have come and filled the cup.

Burger Three

A curse we’ll cry upon this house,

A prayer will offer to our gods,

To burn it up or tear it down

And leave a breach in Sodom town.

Lot

If I were you, I would think twice

About whose guests you seek to harm.

I’ll keep from them your fatal vice;

I’ll keep from them your lurid charm.

At this threat, the Burgers threw down the door, window, and the gate and took a step forward.Lot again stepped between the Angels and the intruders, and his Wife and Daughters crouched closer together.The Burgers stared lasciviously and maliciously at the angels.

Lot

Oh evil men with mal-intent;

If you on lust must yet be bent

My daughters take; though chaste they be,

And sate you on virginity.

The Daughter and Lot’s Wife puppets looked up quivering and sighing most loudly.

Burgers

You offer milk; but we crave wine

The drink of dark androgyny,

You offer lamb, but we’ll have kine,

The meat of black misanthropy.

The angels heard and turned toward Lot’s Wife and Daughters still huddled and crouched, and then back towards Lot.They circled around him and put themselves between Lot and the Burgers, all of whom had moved a step forward.

Angel One

We now see, Lot, how right you were.

We may search this town all the night --

Its every nook, its every niche,

Under castle and under bridge,

The market place and every stall,

The Temple site, along the wall,

We doubt we’ll find one other man

Who keeps the Father’s just command.

This time the Heckler’s interruption was tinged more with sadness than with sarcasm.

Heckler

My God, I fear we’re in for it

One more man, said he?Oh, shit!

One of the Angels then turned to comfort Lot.

Angel Two

From royal blood you must descend,

You’d sacrifice your daughters pure.

So know full well, good son of God,

In us you have a faithful friend.

Angels

Oh, come away at once Herr Lot;

This city’s doomed to fall today.

Come you, your kin, and go with us

Before this city’s turned to dust.

Daughter One

Oh, mother, dear, I will not leave

My beloved, here doth dwell;

With him I’ll lie, with him I’ll love,

’Though my poor soul redound to hell.

Daughter Two

Oh, mother, dear, I will not leave;

The nuptial night is ever nigh

And I must know desire’s end

’Though I drown in blood and fire.

Lot’s Wife

Oh, daughters dear, like you, I’m loathe

To leave behind my sons in law

Endowed with land and richly clothed

And full of grace without a flaw.

Oh, daughters dear, with you I cling

To every want, to every thing,

Why must I leave what most I love

For dream of manna from above?

Heckler

I ask you knight; I ask you knave,

What more in hell does woman crave?

The audience responded for the last time with laughter.The Angels stared at the audience and then motioned Lot to move.Having watched and listened to his Wife and Daughters, Lot hesitated.With two arms outstretched and two clenched together, the Angels began to push Lot toward his family and then, concluding their lines, all of them off stage.

Angel One

Oh Lot, do not resist our care

There’s but little time to spare

You now must go beyond the bound

Before our God condemn this town.

Angel Two

And this demand, make sure you heed:

Turn not around, nor backward look.

Angels

And this demand, make sure you heed:

Turn not around, nor backward look.

The angels managed to push Lot and his family off stage right.The Burgers in pursuit advanced only to the center of the stage.There, the mosaic-like, background mural, a picture of Sodom in the likeness of Wurzburg, and the side set of a home looking very Franconian, both of which were drawings not upon canvas, but rather upon assembled blocks of wood, fell upon the burgers.As they did, a mist of smoke rose from the front of the stage and gradually covered everything from the view of the audience.

When the smoke cleared, the figure of Lot’s Wife stood in the middle of the stage facing the audience.She started to turn slowly around toward the back of the stage, which now had a very grotesque-looking, painted depiction of a destroyed city under a dark sky and below a hill, upon which still stood a structure resembling the Schloss Marienberg.

As the puppet Wife completed her turn and stood with her back to the audience and her right arm extended, as though she were reaching for something she had left behind, flecks of white paper began to fall and stick to the puppet, which had been treated so the flecks would adhere.When Lot’s wife was almost completely covered in white, another smoke screen arose from the floor of the stage.

When it cleared, set in the middle of the stage was Tilman’s surprise, a white, salt carving of Lot’s Wife with a few drops of black highlighting the features of her face and standing against the black background.The pillar of salt was three times the size of the puppet version of Lot’s Wife.Its right hand was extended opened and upward as though she were trying to repel what she had looked upon and what had brought to her face the horror expressed there.The curtain closed.

The audience stood mesmerized by the scene.After some seconds, a few hands clapping broke the silence, and then those few grew into a widespread, general applause.The Riemenschneider children appeared from around the back of the wagon to stand before the cart.Greater applause greeted them, and they responded with bows.Among those applauding the loudest were Frau Riemenschneider, Uncle Oskar, and Mathilde.

The tribute abated, and the children were immediately and closely surrounded and congratulated by their peers, who had stood nearest the stage.Heinrick came to hitch the horses to drive the cart off.Tilman and Margarate turned to each other.

“Were you surprised?”

“Very much.”

“Why were you surprised,” inquired Uncle Oskar, “it was a Riemenschneider production.It was destined to be a success.”

“Oh, Oskar, I meant was he surprised by the content.”

“Oh, well, knowing the Scripture as little as I do and Wurzburg as well, I was not surprised,” answered Uncle Oskar.

“Were you shocked?” asked Margarete.

“Not yet,” answered Tilman, looking about for those who might have been.

“Are you proud?”

“Very!”

“You ought to be,” uttered a voice from behind.

Tilman turned to see who had admonished him.Prince Bishop Lorenz von Bibra stood before him.Muted for a time by his astonishment, Tilman finally responded to the appearance of his Prince Bishop and his friend.

“Good day, Prince Bishop.”

“Good day, Tilman.”

“Prince Bishop, this is my wife, Margarete.Margarete, Prince Bishop Lorenz von Bibra.”

“Good day, Prince Bishop.”

“Good day, Margarete.”

“And my Uncle Oskar and his . . . his friend, Mathilde.”

“Good day, Prince Bishop.”

“Good day, Prince Bishop.”

“Good day.”

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Why should you be, Tilman?If it were not for the late Prince Bishop, there would be no St. Kilian’s Day Fair.”

“Yes, I know.But, still, I’m surprised to see you in front of the Dom at this time of day.”

“You are right of course.Ordinarily, I would have come down to preside at the early mass and then would have returned to Marienberg.

“But I received a personal, coded I might add, invitation from the playwright herself to attend, and I felt honored and duty bound to come.”

Tilman embarrassed by the divulgence of his communal use of the Prince Bishop’s code and by his having been overlooked in the extension of the invitation, glanced at Margarete, who answered apologetically.

“They asked me to send it, this time, without consulting you.”

“And you liked it, Prince Bishop?”

“Tilman Riemenschneider, you, who seek to teach the laity the way to God through stone and wood, have taught your children to do the same not only through wood and paint but also with words, and, I think, salt?”

“Yes, it was salt.”

“It is one of your more grotesque pieces, no?”

“Yes.”

“It was a pleasant play with a good moral.You must convey my congratulations to the children for I must be getting back to the Schloss.

“Aufwiedersehen, all you Riemenschneiders, and, of course, Mathilde.”

“Aufwiedersehen, Prince Bishop,” answered all.

In a few moments the family was joined by the children, all of whom addressed their father simultaneously in one way or another, but all of whom meant simply, “Did you like it?”

“Yes, very much.We all did.And the Prince Bishop told me to tell you he enjoyed it as well.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Oskar, “you have captured not only what was wrong with Sodom but much of what is wrong with Wurzburg.”

Taking his cue from Margarete, who had made a subtle jerk of her head towards him and then towards Mathilde, Joerg posed a question to the latter.

“Mathilde, what did you think?”

“I think the family in the Wolfman’s Ewe has more than one craftsman.”

There were smiles all round.

“Now we celebrate,” said Tilman.“I know you will all want some sausages, rolls, and sauerkraut, and some seasoned apple cider.And then, what afterwards?”

“Fried pastry filled with almond paste!”

“Apples cooked in almond milk!”

“Doughnuts filled with fruit!”

“Apple turnovers!”

“No, apple fritters!”

“Well, we will go first to the stall with the sausages and kraut and rolls and cider.Then each of you will go get whatever it is you desire for dessert, and then we will meet at the end of the Dom Strasse, where the last stall before the Mainbrucke is selling lush red strawberries in thick, rich, heavy cream.We will take a healthy portion and eat it along the river bank.What do you say to that?”

“I say let’s go,” Uncle Oskar interceded before any of the children could get in a word.

And off they went to celebrate.

Later, back in the Wolfman’s Ewe, the actors of “The Fall of Sodom” stayed up beyond the usual hour and so were still in the solar to enjoy the congratulations of the servants and the apprentices when they returned from the fair.The Riemenschneider children were growing up, and it would not be long before the boys would leave home to begin their apprenticeships and the girls to live with their husbands.

Chapter 15:1513

It was summer again, and the large doors to the workshop in the Wolfman’s Ewe were open.Standing in the doorway was Sir Klaus von Kapelle, patrician, vintner, merchant, and councilor.Tilman Riemenschneider was at work upon a massive triangular block of linden wood from whose summit was emerging the outline of a man’s head. He noted a shadow from someone in the doorway fall across his linden wood, looked up, and saw that it was Sir Klaus Kapelle who had cast that shadow.Holding onto his tools, he walked over to greet and warn him.

“Good morning, Sir Klaus.”

“Good morning, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t take up council matters in the morning.I devote my mornings to my carving.”

“I’m not here on a council matter.”

“Oh?”

“I have a commission for you, which I hope you will accept.”

“Of course; what is it?”

“I have lately had the opportunity to view your statue of St. George and the Dragon.I admire it very much.I wish you to undertake such a sculpture for me.”

“For your chapel, then?”

“No; what I have in mind will stand in the front of my manor and will be surrounded by a small garden.”

“A statue of St. George, in a garden?”

“No, I don’t wish a statue of St. George for my garden.Instead, I wish a sculpture of myself astride my horse, Thor, resting on his hind legs with his forward ones raised up in the air like those of your St. George’s steed.

“On his bard will be the new coat of arms of the House of Kapelle: a purple chapel set in the midst of a green vineyard.Will you accept the commission?”

“I’m sorry, Sir Kapelle, but I devote my craft to serving the Lord; consequently, I don’t carve secular subjects.”

“But you have been known to carve images of those who have not been canonized nor have served the church, have you not?”

“But they have all been memorials of those passing or having passed from this world to the next.If you would like me to do a stone piece to be used as a memorial, I would be happy do that.”

“But I don’t want a stone work to celebrate my passage to the next world; I wish a wooden one, like your St. George, to celebrate my passage through this world.”

“I don’t know about that, Sir Klaus.”

“I will pay you a handsome sum, perhaps as much as 200 guilders, and you can keep the money or donate it to the church or some other charitable institution and thereby have your labors serve the Lord in that way.”

“I will need time to think it over.”

“Yes, of course, but while you’re thinking it over consider this.My vocation takes me to many towns and villages throughout Franconia, and I have been to the Herrgottskirche in Creglingen.

“I have seen the altarpiece there, and I have recognized one of the doctors in the right wing of that piece.The sculpture looks quite familiar, and I believe the subject is neither clergyman nor dead, and I think even you will agree with me that he is most certainly not a saint.”

Tilman Riemenschneider had to pause to consider his recourse to having been taken in by a most adroit fellow council member.

“200 guilders, you say?”

“200 guilders!”

“I will accept the commission on one condition.”

“What condition?”

“There will be no purple chapel and no green vineyard.You will have to make do with a varnished bard like the one on the steed of my St. George.”

Von Kapelle had anticipated this possibility and was prepared.

“I accept the condition.”

He extended his right hand offering what he had held there the whole time, a bag of guilders.Sir Klaus von Kapelle had become a seasoned merchant of wine and knew both the power of a selling point and the weakness of a reluctant customer.

“Here are the fifty guilders I believe customary for you to secure the linden wood from the lumber market on the Buettnergasse, where I am told a huge shipment has just arrived from forests north of Bamberg.

“I will pay you the rest upon receiving the finished work.Shall I, dressed in the attire I wish to be seen wearing, come here with Thor, or would you rather come to my home?”

“I will come to your home; seeing you in your own environment, one other than the council meeting hall, will help me design the piece.”

“Very well!Good day, then, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“Good day, Sir von Kapelle.”

That evening, when he confided to Margarete what he felt was the latest breach of the vow he had made to his mother so many years ago, Margarete comforted him in her usual manner.

“I don’t see the problem.It’s not as though you were carving for the devil, is it?”

“There are some on the council who might not agree with you.Oh, I know von Kapelle is not an evil man.He merely wants what most men want, to leave something behind that says ‘I was here.’”

“And as he suggests, you can always give the money to the church, although I’m not certain such an act would necessarily be serving God.”

“You have been talking, or rather should I say listening, to Uncle Oskar too much.”

“Perhaps, I have been.In any case, it’s not a bad thing to have Sir Klaus von Kapelle in your debt, is it?”

“No.”

“So you see, you’ve nothing to lose.”

Chapter 16:1518

MDNRTHU XR XJFXTHP TO PXJH THE YXREOG NJH OTEHUR TODOUUOL NT FZJPOLJ YSXJV THE RAHTME GWHNRH XS XT SR SXJSREHP.

The summons had come three days earlier and now Tilman Riemenschneider stood once more in the study of Marienberg Fortress before Prince Bishop Lorenz von Bibra, who was carefully studying a sketch of his own monument to be placed in St. Kilian’s Cathedral upon his death.

“I am well pleased, Tilman.Thank you.”

He rolled the parchment back up, set it on his desk, and turned to something else on his mind beside his own memorial.

“Now, to another matter. I know you are not happy about the law that continues to exempt the clergy and the church from taxation by the town on most of its properties.”

“Prince Bishop, you know —- “

“Tilman, let me finish.”

He opened a draw of the ornately carved desk, took out a purse filled with coins, and set it upon the desktop.

“I understand the town is helping one of the wineries build a new hospital for the people.We also wish to contribute toward that endeavor.Take this for the hospital, but please only tell the council that a donor, who wishes to remain anonymous, supports the town in this undertaking.”

Tilman went over to the desk, picked up the purse, opened it, looked in to check the kind of coin it held, and moved his hand up and down to take its measure.

“I believe it weighs almost as much as we reckoned the Prince Bishop would have been taxed if the Prince Bishop were subject to taxation.”

“You think so?”

“I think Prince Bishop Von Bibra a wise and generous man.”

“Thank you.Come now, let us sup.As I mentioned in my invitation, we have guests, whom I very much would like you to meet.”

The men left the study, descended one flight of steps, and entered the smaller of the dining rooms of the main building of the fortress.Standing before the fireplace side by side and gazing into it, as though there were a blaze there, were two men.One was dressed in what was for Tilman the familiar robes of the Augustinian order; the other in the finer attire of the nobility.With his thick blonde hair and sharply cut facial features, the latter looked quite the imposing figure.

Von Bibra and Tilman walked to the fireplace; and the men looked up as they neared.Tilman instantly recognized Brother Martin, who had understood and admired his Holy Blood; and Brother Martin, remembering Tilman, smiled.Von Bibra noted the mutual recognition and, somewhat astonished, addressed both men.

“You know each other?”

“Yes.”

“We met in Rothenburg in the church of St. Jacob.”

“Tilman Riemenschneider, you never cease to amaze me,” the Bishop responded, and then turned toward his other guest.“This is Sir Florian Geyer from nearby Giebelstadt.Sir Florian, this is Tilman Riemenschneider, Wurzburg’s most distinguished master sculptor.”

“Sir Geyer.”

“Master Riemenschneider.”

“Gentlemen, let us sit and dine.”

Bishop von Bibra nodded to a servant who had been standing by and who now left the room momentarily.As the four men took their seats at the table, the servant quickly returned with two others, one of whom who was bearing two bottles of wine and the other, a tray with a large bowl of mixed greens and a basket of brown bread.The former asked each of the men which they preferred, red or white wine, and proceeded to fill their glasses.Having set the basket of bread on the table and, holding the bowl of mixed greens in one hand, the latter placed a portion on the gold trimmed plates before each man.Von Bibra bowed his head; the others followed.

“Dear God, we thank you for the food and drink we are about to receive and for the good company, and we beg your indulgence –-“

The bishop stopped abruptly as though he had blasphemed; Brother Martin looked up; Geyer smiled; Tilman was perplexed; von Bibra continued.

“We beg your patience with us who try to serve you in our well-intentioned and various ways.

“Martin, you must forgive me; it was a slip of the tongue.”

“My God, what have we come to when we have to be so careful about how we use words with which we were once at ease?”

“Wherever we may be, you will have to take credit, or blame, for having brought us there, Brother Martin Luther,” said Geyer.

Tilman looked up astonished.

“Brother Martin Luther?”

Lorenz von Bibra was startled by the revelation.

“Ah!Tilman, did the good brother introduce himself in Rothenburg merely as Brother Martin?The natural humility of the Augustinian monk, you see.

“Yes, Tilman, our Brother Martin is the famous Luther.”

“You mean, infamous, do you not?” corrected Brother Martin.

“The great reformer!” added Geyer.

“All the reform I wish is to make two changes in Church doctrine. One avers that man is saved by faith alone, and the other, that his faith must be in the Christ revealed in scripture.As I have grown fond of saying, “the Bible is the cradle in which Christ is laid.”

“That is all?” asked von Bibra.

“That is really all.Well, actually our talk puts me in mind of a third.”

“What is that?” queried Geyer,

“Have you heard the phrase, Sir Geyer, ’As

soon as the coin in coffer rings,/The soul from Purgatory springs’”?

“Ah!Tetzel.” interposed von Bibra.“Yes, Sir Florian, Sir Johan Tetzel, a German Dominican priest, who has returned from Rome with the power to sell indulgences.”

“This envoy from Rome has created a chart,” said Martin Luther, “a menu you might say, of various indulgences, their prices, and the sins they can expiate.He goes so far as to suggest he has one indulgence, which of course costs the most, which could save a sinner even guilty of violating the Virgin Mary.

“He works in league with the bank of Jakob Fugger.”

“The richest man in all of the empire?” asked Geyer.

“In all the world!Together they collect the fees for these indulgences and half the money goes to the Church to refurbish St. Peter’s in Rome and half remains in the central bank of the Fugger family in Leipzig.

“I would banish from the church the likes of Johan Tetzel and Jakob Fugger and the sale of all indulgences.That is the third change I wish to bring about in the church.”

“That seems quite enough for one humble Augustinian monk, Martin,” responded von Bibra.

“And those three simple changes have already led the people to wanting even more change,” added Geyer.

“What more?”

“You wish to reform the church by virtue of the Word of the bible?”

“Yes.”

“There are those who wish to reform the state by virtue of the same Word.”

“Then, they should go about their reformation if they believe Holy Scripture calls for such change.”

“Then, you support such change?”

“If Holy Scripture supports it, yes, I do.”

“Even if such change should require an uprising, Martin?”

“Why should there have to be an uprising, Bishop?”

“Not everyone will be inspired to make such change and not all, as you well know, will interpret scripture as you do.Some will resist this reformation you talk of, whether it will be of the church or of the state.And others, I am afraid to say, may go further in their reading of the Bible than even you dare.”

“Like our Brother Muntzer?” asked Luther.

“Yes, like Brother Muntzer.”

“I hear, Brother Martin, this Muntzer’s preaching has many peasants in his parish fired up,” added Geyer.

“Can you be certain, Martin, now that the Bible is available for all to read that all will read it as you?”

“Oh, Bishop, I pray all men will read the Bible for themselves.”

“And if all do not read it as you?If some find in Holy Scripture cause for more change than you require and others find justification for resisting change altogether, I’m afraid it will lead to violence.”

“Nothing good ever comes of violence.”

“But you believe good will come of your reading of scripture?” asked Geyer.

“And no violence?” queried von Bibra.

“I wish no violence to come from my reading of scripture.”

“Nor do the peasants of theirs, my son.”

“But you may be sure it will come,” added Geyer.

There was a break in the conversation as all looked at Brother Martin, who had just chewed a rather ample helping of the roast pork which had been subsequently served and who was now completing his ingestion.

“Sometimes a physic is necessary to purge the bowels of corruption.”

“And it is the bowels of the empire that are so corrupted.Just take one example.”

Geyer interrupted himself to take a long look at Von Bibra.

“Present company excepted of course, but look at what the princes and priests are doing right now.They are already exempt from taxes upon most of their property.And, as insatiable as they are, they seek further exemptions on the rest of their properties.”

“Herr Riemenschneider here can attest to that,” said the patient bishop.

Tilman smiled in agreement.

“He and the council of Wurzburg have been successful so far in preventing the passage of such a law.”

“You are to be commended, Herr Riemenschneider.I only hope you can continue to avoid such a law.But it is not just taxes.

“My God, when a peasant wishes to marry, he must ask his Lord’s permission, and when he dies, that lord is entitled to his best cattle, his best garment, if he have any, and his best tools.”

“Martin, I’m afraid Sir Geyer is right; such are the very conditions that have brought about Muntzer’s cry of ’omnia sunt communia.’”

“Ah, yes, ‘all is in common.’”

“We cannot continue to squeeze the peasant as we have done and expect to have peace.”

Geyer was interrupted by the arrival of a servant and another serving.

“I hope it may never come, but if the reformation of the empire should come down to a confrontation between those who seek a redistribution of wealth among the people and those who wish to continue the distribution flowing upward from the poor peasant to the rich princes and clergy, where will you stand, Brother Martin?”

“I believe the Pope should sell the basilica in Rome to feed the poor.Does that answer your question, Sir Geyer?”

“Yes, it does, I am delighted to say.”

Von Bibra, recognizing his third guest had been largely omitted from the discussion, sought to correct that oversight.

“Tilman, you have been quiet.Have you any thoughts about reforming the church or the empire?”

Seeking to redirect the conversation away from the connection between the Word and the affairs of the empire to the connection between the Word and the affairs of the craftsman, the Augustinian Brother interposed.

“I can answer that for you, Bishop.He is already a reformer, at least in his craft, even more so than my good friend Durer.

“Albrecht has no pleasure in pictures painted with too many colors, as I have none in sermons preached with too many words.

“Riemenschneider here has gone one step further.He carves with no color at all.He has the light inform his wood.”

“I have never thought of myself as a reformer, but I’m pleased to hear one such as you, Brother Martin Luther, should find himself spiritually moved by my carvings.

“But tell me, if my good work helps bring people to God, will it not also contribute to my salvation as well as to theirs?”

“What you call your good work is nothing more than the visible expression of your faith, and it is your faith which will merit you salvation, your faith alone.”

“So, I could have lived my whole life without carving one icon, and my belief itself would have merited me the same salvation?”

“Yes.”

“Even had I done evil works instead?”

“Yes.”

“Brother Martin!”

“Yes, Sir Geyer.”

“You said earlier no good ever came of violence.So it would follow any act of violence cannot be a good work and therefore cannot be the act of a man of true faith.Is that not right?”

“Yes.”

“So, when Christ violently threw the money lenders out of the Temple, he acted in bad faith?”

“Even the devil can quote scripture, Sir Knight.”

“I would be careful if I were you, Martin; you have been known to quote much scripture in your day,” added von Bibra jokingly.“But let us hear more from Tilman.”

Being on relatively different ground than the familiar territory of his workshop and the city’s council house, the master sculptor hesitated before answering his friend’s invitation.

“I’m afraid two articles of my own faith prevent me from accepting all of Brother Martin’s principles.”

“And those are?” Brother Martin questioned defensively.

“When I was a novice —- “

“You studied to be a priest?”

“Yes, for a time, at Erfurt.”

“I was at Erfurt.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And you left Erfurt to become a sculptor?”

“Yes.”

“Go on, Tilman,” said von Bibra, trying to muzzle Martin Luther.

“When I was a novice, I was taught two very different paths for man to approach the Lord: the via negativa and the via positiva.The mystics, like Master Eckhart, took the former negative way, renouncing all things in hopes of purging themselves to make them ready to receive the Christ who is like no thing in this world.

“I could not take that path because for me the

world of many colored things was, as you yourself suggest, Brother Martin, the expression of the white light of the Lord.

“It became apparent to me the best way I could honor and get closer to the Creator was to be creative, to express his spirit in wood and sandstone.And so I left.”

“So you believe in the presence of Christ in the world of things, Tilman?” inquired von Bibra.

“I believe in the continuing incarnation of Christ.”

“And your second article of faith that prevents you from accepting what you call my teaching, Herr Riemenschneider?”

“I believe in a just God.So, I cannot believe in one who would damn for eternity a good man who does good works but who cannot believe.”

“Well said, Riemenschneider,” exclaimed Geyer, “you are a man after my own heart.”

“But I say a good man who does good works is a man of faith,” countered Luther.

“But his faith may be in his fellow man and not in Christ, Brother Martin,” added Geyer.

“Even the learned Erasmus would find such faith a belief in the Christ.”

“But if men who do good works are men of faith, it must follow, must it not, that all men who do good works will be saved?”

“Yes, of course, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“Then why insist that salvation comes about by faith alone?”

Geyer could not resist returning the theological dispute to a secular footing.

“To save those who do no good.You see, Brother Martin, you are no better than, what is his name, the man with indulgences for sale?”

“Tetzel,” Brother Martin said and then paused to weigh Geyer’s last comment.“I must admit it is possible not all men who do good works are necessarily men of faith.”

“And you would admit that men of faith may commit sin and be short on good works?”

“I am such a man.”

“Then, a good man who does good work, who does not sin, but who does not believe in Christ, could be damned and a man who believes in God but who sins repeatedly to the harm of his fellow man will be saved?”

“If he believes in Jesus Christ prior to or at the moment of his death, yes.”

The discussion was momentarily interrupted when servants came to remove the dishes from the table and to pour the after dinner drink.They were followed into the room by three musicians holding a lute, a harp, and a viol.

“And you, Prince Bishop, you have asked for my thoughts; allow this humble carver to ask what you think?”

“I think I’m a Paulist.I believe the greatest of all the virtues is charity.

“I am also reminded of your love of music, Brother Martin, and so have asked some musicians to entertain us.”

“Why, thank you, Bishop.Music is the art of prophets to calm the soul.”

“Then let us listen and be calm.”

Von Bibra nodded to the musicians, all of whom began to play and one of whom, after a brief prologue of instrumental music, began to sing.

Joseph was an old man

An old man was he,

When he wedded Virgin Mary,

The queen of Galilee,

When he wedded Virgin Mary,

The queen of Galilee.

Joseph and Mary walked

Through an orchard green;

There were cherries and berries

As thick as might be seen;

There were cherries and berries

As thick as might be seen.

Joseph and Mary walked

Through an orchard good;

There were cherries and berries As red as the blood;

There were cherries and berries As red as the blood.

Then up spoke Virgin Mary,

So meek and so mild,

“Joseph, pluck me a red cherry

For I am with a child;

Joseph, pluck me a red cherry

For I am with a child.”

O, then up spoke Joseph

With words most unkind,

“Let him pluck thee a cherry

That brought thee with a child;

Let him pluck thee a cherry

That brought thee with a child.”

Then up spoke baby Jesus,

Within Mary’s womb:

“Bend down the tallest branch

That my mother might have some,

Bend down the tallest branch

That my mother might have some.”

Then bent down the highest tree

Unto young Mary’s hand.

Then cried she, “See thou, Joseph

I have cherries by command;”

Then cried she, “See thou, Joseph

I have cherries by command.”

Then Joseph took Mary

All on his right knee,

“What have I done, Lord?

Have mercy on me.

What have I done, Lord?

Have mercy on me.

Then Joseph took Mary

Upon his left knee,

“Oh, tell me, little baby,

When thy birthday will be.

Oh, tell me, little baby,

When thy birthday will be.

“The sixth of January

My birthday will be,

The stars in the elements

Will tremble with glee.

The stars in the elements

Will tremble with glee.

The three diners responded with polite applause, and Brother Martin Luther questioned the singer.

“I have never heard that lovely ballad before.Is it German?”

“No, Brother.It is English.We heard it at the Leipzig Fair last year and have been singing our version of it ever since.”

“Well, sing it as much as you can.If that cannot bring prince, priest, and peasant together in compromise, nothing can.”

“Shall we hear another?”

“You will have to excuse me, Prince Bishop, but I should be getting back to the Wolfman’s Ewe.”

“The Wolfman’s Ewe?”

“It is the home and workshop of Herr Riemenschneider, Florian.Have you ever been to a sculptor’s workshop?Indeed, have you ever seen any of Tilman’s works?”

“I have certainly never been in a workshop.I have always left matters of that nature to my steward.And, as far as I know, I have not seen any of Herr Riemenschneider’s work.”

“Well, you ought to take a moment tomorrow, before you leave, to stop in and have a glimpse, but just a glimpse, because Tilman confines his mornings to his vocation as carver and not his advocation as councilor.”

“I think I might just do that, with your permission, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You too, Martin.Why do you not join Sir Knight?”

“I have already seen and been appreciative of Master Riemenschneider’s work and I must be moving on to Zwickau.I have a meeting with Brother Thomas Muntzer.”

“Ah, maybe I should accompany you instead, Brother?”

Before Brother Martin could even countenance his disapproval, Sir Florian Geyer relieved him.

“Just joking, Brother, just joking.”

Sir Florian Geyer was still joking the following morning as he stood in the workshop and noticed on one of the benches the invitation to dinner Tilman had received from the Prince Bishop two days ago.The other craftsmen and the apprentices were busy, and the Master and his guest were standing near the door as the knight prepared to leave.

“The Prince Bishop is a bit of a child, is he not, Riemenschneider?”

“What do you mean?”

“I see you received one of his cryptic invitations.”

“You too?”

“Oh, yes.We must both be intimates for only such are privy to the code.”

“But he is no child.”

“Oh, no, do not misunderstand me.I adore the man.He was a very good friend of my family, and he was of great solace when my father and brothers died.

“But he does love his games, and these cryptic notes are one of his favorites.But who knows, with the crisis this empire faces maybe some day his code will come in handy.”

”For the sake of my family, I hope that day never comes about.”

“Although I have no family, so do I.”

“No family?”

“No, I discovered long ago the domestic life is not one for a lesser knight like me, who prefers to serve by fighting a war or negotiating a peace.

“No, I am only passing through Wurzburg, just come from commanding the Landsknecht for the Swabian League in the service of the Markgraf Casimir of Ansbach, and now I go to serve his brother, the Hochmeister of the Teutonic Order, Albert, against the Pole.”

After a moment of reflection, Tilman risked turning the conversation to matters more intimate.

“Do you mind, Sir Geyer, if I ask you a personal question?”

“Ask.”

“Your father and your brothers being dead, you must have inherited a great deal of property and, I would imagine, a great deal of money.

“You could live your life in relative luxury, enjoying your lands and maybe even marrying and having children.Why do you choose to endanger your life as a soldier?”

“You serve your god by your devotion to your craft, and I would imagine, you do it with some measure of sacrifice.It is your calling.Not having the kind of sensitivity men like you and the Prince Bishop have for creative matters, I don’t fully understand that devotion.

“I serve my country by my dedication to my craft.It is what I have been trained to do.It is what I have been called to do, and it too has its measure of sacrifice.And my calling is not always combative; sometimes, in fact, it requires diplomacy.”

“I think I understand.”

“Well, I must be on my way.I have a rendezvous with the Pole.”

“May God go with you and may you always be on the right side in both your combative and diplomatic missions.And please, when you return to Wurzburg, feel free to call at the Woflman’s Ewe.”

“I will.Aufwiedersehen.”

“Aufwiedersehen.”

Chapter 17:1520

Most members of the family were assembled in the Wolfman’s Ewe.Tilman, Margarete, Uncle Oskar, and Mathilde sat at one table; Gertrud, Maria, Margred, Hannah, and Heinrik at the other.Tilman had received letters from his three sons in the course of the past week, and, like all the other correspondence from the boys since they had left the house to undertake their apprenticeships in Ulm, Nuremburg, and Regensburg, he shared the epistles with the rest of the family.Three in one week called for a special dinner, to which Uncle Oskar and Mathilde were invited.

“Come, Tilman, let us hear what the boys have to say.I have not much time left, you know.”

“Yes, Uncle Oskar, I know you have not much time left, and I also know how many years you have been telling me that you have not much time left.Well, shall we begin with Jeorg’s then?”

“Begin somewhere, anywhere, but begin.”

Mathilde registered her impatience with Uncle Oskar with a stare; it was part of the alteration in their relationship.Everyone noticed, but since Mathilde chided him as she did almost everything, with a certain quiet dignity, all, including Uncle Oskar, tolerated the new order.

Tilman rose, stepped to the cabinet, and took from the counter the three letters.He returned to his chair, set two epistles on the table, and opened the third.

“First, Joerg’s.

“’Dearest Father,

“’I write to share two bits of good news with you and the family.Master Erhart has allowed me to carve part of a panel for an altarpiece to be part of a new church under construction in the city.The subject was the same as your desk for the Prince Bishop, Noah and the Ark, and the design Herr Erhart made for it included not only the ark but also several pairs of animals.When I was finished with the wolves assigned to me, he was quite pleased, and said, “Joerg, you came here with very good preparation as was to be expected of a son of Tilman Riemenschneider, and you have readily absorbed everything I could teach you.I think it is time for you to begin work as a journeyman.When you write your father next, be sure to tell him what I said.”’”

“Of course he was pleased; Jeorg is a Riemenschneider, is he not,” interrupted Uncle Oskar proudly, and this time there was no stare, but a smile from Mathilde and everyone else at the two tables.Tilman continued.

“’What do you think about that?I am ready to begin as a journeyman.Since your journeyman work, Father, seems to have prepared you well to become a Master Sculptor, I would like to retrace your steps, perhaps beginning in Strausburg.

“’I must tell you though, as eager as I am to begin that journey, I shall be reluctant to leave Ulm.And the reason for my hesitation is the second bit of news I have for you and the family.I have met a young woman here in Ulm, of whom I have grown very fond.’”

“Well done, Joerg,” interrupted Uncle Oskar.Again the rest of the party smiled in agreement.

“’You will never guess what her name is: Margred!And she reminds me very much of our Margred.She is fair looking; she is vibrant; she lights up a room when she enters it.”

Tilman broke off for a moment to look across the room at Margred, who was blushing in response to Joerg’s words and to the master’s, as well as to everyone else’s, gaze.

“’I like her very much.I think she likes me as well.I want you and the family to meet her, and, if she meets with your approval, then I shall have two questions I will ask: one to her, and, if her answer is the one I hope for, one for her father.’”

Tilman stopped reading for a moment.Although he had read the letter before and paused at this point to hold back a tear welling up in his eyes at the reference to what Anna Rappolt Riemenschneider had shared with all her children when Maria asked her how their father had approached her with the idea of matrimony, he had to fight back a tear once more.Uncle Oskar, like everyone else, could see the struggle reflected in Tilman’s eyes, and so sought to bridge the gap in the reading.

“A chip off the old block, I would say.Did you get that, Gertrud and Maria, rather appropriate for two wood sculptors, no?”

“Very appropriate, indeed.”

“Yes, Uncle Oskar.”

Tilman cleared his throat and continued.

“’So, when you write back to me, could you include a letter to the family Weber inviting my Margred to visit us in Wurzburg when you think it would be a good time?It means a great deal to me.

“’Please give my love to Margarete, Uncle Oskar, Mathilde, my brothers and sisters, and all the servants, and especially to our Margred, who has prepared the way for my Margred.

“’Your loving son,

“’Joerg.’”

“Well, Tilman dear, when you sent him off to Master Erhart in Ulm did you think Joerg would acquire more than an education in the carver’s craft?”

“No, Margarete, I did not.But I’m pleased.And I look forward to meeting another Margred, and I will leave it to you and the girls to set a time for this visit.”

“I think it should be soon,” said Maria.

“I agree,” added Gertrud.

“We will talk it over tomorrow,” responded Margarete, “but now I’m sure we all wish to hear what the other boys have to say, no?”

“Yes,” responded Uncle Oskar.

“I thought you all would be pleased with Joerg’s news,” Tilman said as he put down his eldest son’s letter and took up and opened Hans’, “as I am certain you will be startled to hear what Hans has to say.

“’Dearest Father,

“’I have the most astonishing news to share with you and the family.

“’We had a visit in our workshop last week by none other than Herr Veit Stoss.’”

“The Veit Stoss that violated your Mary Magdalene with paint, Tilman?” inquired Uncle Oskar.

“One and the same,” answered Tilman before continuing to read Hans’s letter.

“’He is a most mercurial man.He stormed into the workshop, leaped lavish praise upon the master, upon his work, and then roared aloud, “I hear you have a Hans Riemenschneider in apprenticeship here.Is this true, yes?”

“’My master nodded in agreement, and Voss then shouted out, “Where is the young man?”

“’Master Vischer glanced at me to ask with his eyes if I wished to be acknowledged, and, when I nodded, he pointed in my direction.

“’Voss walked over to me, bowed his head a little, and exclaimed aloud so all could hear, “I owe your father an apology.I am Veit Stoss; I am the one who painted his Magdalene.I knew immediately when I had finished, although my painting was done very well, that the Magdalene was not as mystical with color as it had been without.For this transgression, I am sorry.I wish you to convey my apology to your father.I wish you also to tell him I myself have now turned to carving linden wood without paint, a change for which I am grateful to him.And finally I want you to add I am in his debt and, if ever I can do anything to repay him for the violation of his Magdalene, to please feel free to call upon me.Will you do that, young Riemenschneider?”

“’I told him I would.He thanked me, thanked the master, and strode triumphantly out of the workshop.It was quite the performance; I have never seen anyone apologize with such flair.’”

“You must feel great vindication, nephew?”

“I must admit to a certain degree of satisfaction with the apology and with the fact that Herr Stoss apparently feels himself in my debt.”

“Will you call forth that debt?” asked Margarete.

“Well, I have been giving a little thought to asking him to remove all the paint, but that would require asking permission of the people of Muennerstadt, and that I will not do.”

“Go on, father, let’s hear the rest of Hans’ news.”

“Yes, Gertrud.

“’The city of Nuremburg is now abuzz over Herr Albrecht Durer’s latest engraving, which has become the focus not only of the other painters and craftsmen in the city, but also of the students and the doctors of Nuremburg.

“’He calls it Melancolia, and I have taken the liberty of drawing a likeness of it to practice my own skills and to give you an idea of what it contains.’”

Tilman took from under the sheet from which he was reading, another one and unfolded it and raised it for all to see.Those at the other table came forward to join the Riemenschneiders at the master’s table for a closer look.Tilman continued reading Hans’ letter.

“’Notice what I presume to be is a female figure of Melancholia herself.She seems to suffer from a headache or great fatigue which I attribute to the tight garland of laurel around her head and the enormous and seemingly ponderous dress she (and I would imagine most of the women in our world) wear.’”

Margarete, Mathilde, Gertrud, Maria, and Margred all nodded in silent acknowledgement of the truth.

“’I joke of course.But the big debate among the image makers and the students is over what the engraving suggests is the cause of Melancholia’s sadness and over why Durer placed her and the cherub genius so close to one another.

“’There are those who point out that the inclusion of all the tools of alchemy in the drawing suggest the cause of her despair is the desperation which comes from trying to transform other metals into gold.

“’Then, there are those who focus upon the compass, the geometrical solid, the magic numerical square, and the scale and claim it is the woe that comes from trying to master mathematics.I, as you probably have already guessed, am very sympathetic to this view.’”

With each new argument, the listeners moved and strained and pointed at the illustration Hans had provided to ground what they were hearing to what they could see.

“’There are a few who focus on the magic square of numbers and claim that the square as well as the entire painting is a code expressing the cabalistic beliefs of certain secret societies.

“’Some hold the entire engraving is an indictment of all learning which only brings more suffering, and they quote Ecclesiastes, “He who increases his knowledge increases his sorrow.”’”

“That’s it, no question about it, that’s what the engraving means.”

Another stare from Mathilde could not restrain the impetuous Uncle Oskar.

“Old Durer must have learned what happened here in Wurzburg many years ago.Yes, that’s it.”

“What happened in Wurzburg, Uncle Oskar,” Gertrud asked.

“They tried to establish a university here, right here in Wurzburg.It failed!And why did it fail, because we are a people who like to work with both our minds and our hands.

“In the university they worked only with their minds.Such a vocation causes an imbalance of the humors.Don’t ask me how, but it does.And the result was, as the engraving suggests, too many headaches.

“The only people who profited from the existence of a university in our midst were the doctors, who had to treat the headaches, and the idlers, who had a justification for their idleness.

“It is simple; the engraving is a lament for the pain caused by learning for people who don’t use their learning to create with their hands.”

“Someone in this room, I think, has an imbalance in his humors, a very high proportion of black bile.”

Everyone in the room was astonished!It was one thing for Mathilde to stare down Uncle Oskar, but quite another for her to verbally berate him.And still the old man himself seemed to take it graciously with a consescending smile.Tilman resumed.

“Well, we have heard from the older generation as to the meaning of Herr Durer’s Melancholia, shall we return to the younger generation’s interpretation?

“’I have no doubt that Uncle Oskar will concur with this last interpretation.’”

Everyone laughed, including, Uncle Oskar.

“’There are still others who note the purse, the keys, and especially the hourglass running out of sand, who suggest the cause of melancholy is the intimation of death.’”

The older generation around the table in the solar of the Wolfman’s Ewe seemed more struck by this possibility than did the younger generation sitting and standing around the engraving.Tilman himself meditated a few seconds before continuing.

“’But I take note of the rainbow in the sky and of the ladder standing against the building and wonder if there is not an element of hope behind the depression.And putting it all together, I am left with the tentative conclusion that the engraving is but an image of Herr Durer’s own mind and his weighing the possible ebbing of his own gift against what still remains to be done.

“’What do you think father?’

Tilman looked up from his son’s letter to address his question.

“I think our Hans is not only growing up, but growing wise.”

He then resumed reading the conclusion to Han’s epistle.

“’Please give my love to everyone, and tell them I am looking forward to the next holy day when I can sit down with all of you and enjoy one of Margarete and Hannah’s festive meals.

“’Your loving son,

“’Hans.’”

Margarete, Uncle Oskar, Hannah, and Tilman were lost in their thoughts.The younger folks were lost in their contemplation of their elders being lost in theirs.Tilman, having had time to ponder Han’s question earlier, recognized the mood which had settled upon the room and quickly moved to alter it.

“Shall I read Bartolomaus’s letter now?I think you will find it quite pleasant.”

“Yes, Tilman,” replied Uncle Oskar on behalf of the entire company.

The master sculptor set down Hans’s letter and drawing and took up Bartolomaus’s epistle.

“’Dearest Father,

“’Thank you very much for allowing me to accompany Master Altdorfer on his annual trip to Italia to study the paintings and painters of that country, this time to the city of Venice.And thank you for advancing me the guilders from my inheritance to pay for the journey.It was an odyssey of a lifetime.

“’Entering Venice was like stepping into the pages of an illumninated manuscript.

“’There are no streets.It is all canals, one canal after another, and you have to take what they call gondolas to get from one place to another.

“’One of my favorite places was the Square of Saint Mark and the great Byzantine basilica there.And two of my favorite sculptures adorning the basilica were the four bronze horses over the front entrance below the central onion-like dome and the four tetrarchs set on an external corner to the right of the entrance of the church.

“’The bronze horses, which are an amazing replica of real horses, are said to have been part of the loot brought back from Constantinople by the Crusaders.And the four rulers are carved from porphyry, which is a striking, bright purple stone.I think you should acquire a slab of this stone and carve something from it.

“’But what I enjoyed most about Venice was that it is a city of reflections.Everywhere you go, down the plainest of canals with the plainest of buildings -- though, given all the colors of the buildings in the city there are not too many plain ones -- anyway, everywhere you go, the canals reflect the city in a myriad of ways.

“’In the early morning or late evening, when the waters are quite still and the rising or setting sun shines directly upon the buildings and flowers adorning those buildings, there is almost a glass-like reflection in the still waters of the canals.

“’In the middle of the day, when the waters are rippling from the tides or the passage of gondolas, there is a wavy reflection.Often, it is difficult to decide which of the three images is the most beautiful: the original Venice itself, the glass-like reflection of it, or the slightly distorted, wavy one.

“’In a way, that is true of what we do, is it not?Which is the more beautiful and which is the more truthful: that which nature has made, that which man has made, or that which the painter or the sculptor reflects?’”

Tilman looked up from the letter.

“All my sons are growing up and in many ways.”

Uncle Oskar nodded in agreement.

Tilman returned to the letter.

“’I have made a decision, and I hope you approve.When I complete my apprenticeship with Master Altdorfer, I will go to Italia to begin my journeyman’s work.I like what they are doing there, and I love the light within which they do it.

“’I have been told, as bright as the light in Venice is and as accomplished as the paintings resulting from it there are, one must go on to Florence to experience the full force of Italian light and painting.That will be my first journey after I establish myself in Italia.

“’But right now I look forward to my return to the Woflfan’s Ewe for the next holy day.The Venetians think their food the best in the world.It is good, but I look forward to one of Margarete’s and Hannah’s festive meals.

“’Give my love to all.

“’Your faithful son,

“’Bartolomaus.’”

“Venice sounds like a fairy land,” said Gertrud.

“I will make certain, when I marry, my husband will take me there,” added Maria.

Though she said nothing, the expression on Mathilde’s face suggested she was still meandering along the reflecting canals in the Venice of Bartolomaus’s letter.

Chapter 18:1521

In the master bedroom of the Wolfman’s Ewe, the new Burgermeister of Wurzburg stood examining his attire before the glass.It was the first day of his appointment, and an important meeting was to take place in the Rathaus.Margarete stood by him, holding the silver chain with the gold seal of the city.

“You look handsome, Tilman.”

“And you look refreshed.You must have slept well?”

“It was not the sleeping that refreshed me.”

Tilman smiled before responding.

“And what was so special about last night?”

“It was my first time making love to a Burgermeister.”

“You are something.”

“Come, let me put on the chain of command.”

Tilman took a step forward, bowed his head, and Margarete slipped the golden chain and seal over his head.She took a step backward and took him in fully.

“I’m proud of you.It is well deserved.”

“Thank you.”

“See what a little wooden piece can do for you?”

“Von Kapelle is not the only reason I was chosen.”

“But he did not hurt your chances.”

“No, he did not hurt.”

“What is the important matter on this, your first day in office.”

“What has been the priority ever since I joined the council:how can we win our independence as a free city?I suspect that question will eventually come down to another:what are we to do about this Muntzer in our midst?”

“Do you have the answer?”

“No one has the answer.”

“You will find one.”

“We will see.I must go now.”

“Go with God, and with Dame Fortune.”

“You love to cover all possibilities, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“I will see you later.”

During the first part of the meeting, the Council passed a law enacting a modest raise in the rate of tolls for goods passing over the Mainbrucke and rejected a law increasing the fines for women found guilty of prostitution within the city limits.For the duration of the morning, the subject turned, as Tilman expected it would, to the question of how best to bring about the city’s independence and consequently to the matter of the priest, Thomas Muntzer, whose homilies had now begun to stir up peasants far beyond the priest’s parish of Zwickau, a disruption which had the potential to affect economic matters in Wurzburg.Councilman Hans Bermeter initiated the discussion of what to do about Muntzer.

“I believe the city of Wurzburg should do nothing about the preaching of this young priest.The more he stirs up dissatisfaction among his flock about their lot the more the flock will protest against their clerical shepherds who keep them pent in and bent down by lining their own pockets.And the more they protest, the looser will become their chains and the looser they become, the nearer cities, especially our own Wurzburg, will be to earning our independence.”

The response to the urgings of Bermeter for benign neglect of the Muntzer in their midst was ambivalent: those who supported the Bermeter formula for an independent Wurzburg reacted with the nodding of their heads, the stamping of their feet, and the exclaiming of “Here! Here!”Those who did not support that position reacted with furrowed brow and silence.

Councilman Frederick Bayer, one of the latter, raised his hand.Tilman recognized him.

“I believe Councilman Bayer wishes to speak.”

Bayer rose and stepped forward from behind his seat to address the assembly.

“I ask Herr Bermeter what if the princes and the bishops should choose to tighten rather than loosen the chains which you suggest bind the peasants?Do you think that will further our cause for independence or set it back?”

Again the response was ambivalence with the supporters of the Bermeter position now furrowing their brows and silencing their tongues and those of Bayer imitating the former by nodding, stamping, and exclaiming.After a short while there was a general silence in the chamber, and the Burgermeister sought to bridge what seemed an impasse by raising a question.

“It seems to me we have all heard a great deal about this priest Munster for the past few years, but I wonder if any of us has actually heard him.Has anyone in this chamber had occasion to hear Father Munster speak?”

The question was met with total silence.

“Then perhaps before we address the question of what to do about the young man, we should first hear what it is he actually has to say.Perhaps, it would be in good order for this council to send a delegation to Zwickau to hear the priest preach, to get an impression of how his words affect the people, and to report back to the council before it acts on the question of what to do about him.”

Without waiting to be recognized, Sir Klaus von Kapelle rose and spoke.

“I move we appoint a delegation headed by the Burgermeister to go to Zwickau to hear Thomas Munster preach.With the Council’s approval, I volunteer to be part of the group and to have my agent arrange for overnight lodgings -- to be paid for by the city -- on a Saturday. The delegation would then be able to hear Muntzer preach at early Sunday Mass and still be free to return by Sunday night, thereby precluding any having to forego trade or vocation the following Monday.”

The motion was easily seconded and passed.Bermeter immediately turned to one of his party and nodded, and the latter was quick to raise his hand and nominate Bermeter to be part of the delegation.With the signaling of a similar nod, a supporter of Bayer responded just as quickly by nominating the banker.Burgermeister Riemenschneider sought to complete and balance the delegation by making the final nomination.

“I would like to add to the delegation the representative of the Prince Biship, Father Paul, in order to give it what will at least appear to be political balance.Will all those in favor of the five nominees say yea.”

A complete, but rather muted, “yea” was heard in the chamber.

“All those oppose?”

Silence ensued and Tilman shortly thereafter adjourned the meeting.

When the four other members of the delegation dispatched to Zwickau approached the home of von Kapelle, whose small castle-like house was set on the route to Zwickau, Tilman could not contain a feeling of satisfaction upon seeing his linden wood of the mounted patrician set in the middle of a floral arrangement before the entrance to the manor.With its amber finish and with a circle of a variety of yellow flowers and green shrubbery encircling it, it was delightful to look upon.Although it bore a physical likeness to the patron astride his Thor depicted as it was with its right forward leg raised and reared back, its weight upon the other three legs, it was the soul of the knight Tilman had met at Schloss Marienberg which inspired the figure mounted on the steed.Klaus von Kapelle had been very pleased with the work and the self it evoked.

Kapelle himself emerged from the manor and was assisted upon Thor by a servant, and the party trotted off toward Zwickau.Their ride through the countryside of Franconia and a portion of Thuringia, pass fields of grape and hops which would make their way into the wines and beers of both districts, was pleasant, if uneventful.In these days, with the troubles brewing throughout the empire, uneventful was pleasant.

More and more peasants, like young Viktor, seemed no longer willing to abide the order of things as they once were or make do with the amount of bread apportioned to them.Stirred and led by men like Muntzer, they were now beginning to assemble, to find strength in their numbers, to air their grievances in complaints, which in due time would take the form of the twelve articles, inspired by Brother Martin Luther, but fired by such as Brother Muntzer.

Those articles would be framed by the first one, which stated the peasants’ desire to have priests preach the gospel simply, straight-forwardly, without human amendment and to give a municipality the right to dismiss those clergy who did not.The last article to bookend the other ten renounced any of the previous articles that did not conform to scripture.But within that religious framework would be articulated a new economics, one removing certain tithes and taxes, restoring meadows, woods, and streams to the common property they had once been, lowering the lease on properties which could not support the initial terms of a contract, returning fines to former levels, abolishing the inheritance tax to relieve widows and orphans, and finally following the mandate of the Bible, which says all men shall be free, by liberating the peasant from serfdom.

But today the delegation from Wurzburg was in Zwickau only to hear what one of the voices had to say, perhaps the strongest impelling the peasants toward the institution of those twelve articles.That evening at the inn the representative of von Kapelle had arranged for the party, Bermeter managed to find himself a quarrel with a couple of local citizens who disagreed about the “teachings” or “ravings” of both Brother Martin Luther and Father Thomas Muntzer.Kapelle was pleased to find his agent had found them lodgings at an inn serving wine from his own grapes, but unfortunately with a dinner that left something to be desired.

The next morning, in the Kathrinenkirche, Bayer, observing the parishioners enter the church, quickly concluded the burgers and peasants of Zwickau could benefit from some of his finer wools. Riemenachneider felt the church would do well to consider monochrome wood to break up the busy splash of color upon the stone and wood statues already there.Father Paul thought the Gregorian chant of the mass very pleasing to the ear despite the relative few numbers of priests.But it was the figure of Thomas Muntzer that impressed all members of the delegation the most.

The morning was overcast and the church dimly lit by what little natural light passed through the stained glass windows.The priests had to supplement the candles lit for mass with additional ones.Two of those were set upon the pulpit, which Thomas Muntzer now ascended to preach to the congregation.The glow from the candles created a rather eerie prospect of the priest, whose hair was cropped short and whose sharp features and deeply set eyes were made, by the mixture of glow and shadow, to look like those of a carnival mask.

“I speak from I Corinthians: 12, 8-12.

“‘To one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom, to another the word of knowledge, to another faith, to another the gift of healing, to another the working of miracles; to another prophecy, to another discerning of spirits, to another divers kinds of tongues, to another the gift of the interpretation of tongues.’”

Munster paused for a moment to allow his congregation to consider the text he had just quoted. Tilman Riemenschneider wondered why the gifts of the Holy Ghost, according to this epistle to the Corinthians, did not include the gift of artistic expression.Or, he later asked himself, was the talent of the craftsman just one of the gifts of tongues or the interpretation of tongues?

Munster continued.

“Now, how does God communicate to man? He speaks to him through the divers tongues of which the prophet speaks -- through the legible writing of scripture, through the cryptic writing of angels, through the dreams of prophets and rulers.”

Well, apparently Father Munster did not consider the creation of the artisan one of those diver tongues, thought Tilman.

“One man who was blessed with the gift of the interpretation of tongues was Daniel, who rose to power because he could read the dreams of Nebuchadnezzar and the mysterious writing of the angels upon the wall of Belshazzar’s profane feast.

“There is a tendency in the land today, however, to believe such gifts passed away with the generations of the Bible, but I say no.Do not many of us still have the gift of faith?Do some not have the gift of wisdom?Do not a few still heal?Do not a few have visions?”

Ah, thought Tilman, there is where the gift of the craftsman resides, in the visions which the artist is able to see in his mind’s eye and to express in wood or stone or canvas.

“Then, why should not some possess the essential gift of the interpretation of tongues?I know this gift still exists, and it exists right here in Thuringia.”

Clearly most of the congregation, including the delegation from Wurzburg, expected Muntzer to refer to himself, indirectly, if not directly, as one of those blessed with such a gift.The young priest, however, had someone else in mind.

“Only a few years ago, during a peaceful night outside the village of Niklashausen, a shepherd by the name of Hans Boehm, who often entertained the burgers of his village by playing his drum in the marketplace, had a vision of the Virgin Mary.She spoke to him in a mysterious language, but Hans was able to interpret not only what she said, but also what she meant.What she said was that Hans should take the thing he valued most in his life and renounce it for the greater glory of God.

“And so Hans took his drum, which he had dearly loved to play to entertain the people in the village square, and once more played that drum to draw the people to the square.Then, in full view of the people, he set fire to it in a glorious blaze of renunciation.He repudiated the thing he cherished most in this world and the vanity which possesses those who cherish things.

“More importantly, the Virgin also told him to preach the virtues of life. And so Hans Boehm set about to teach us what the Virgin had taught him, that the woods and waters and fields of the earth were a gift of the Creator to be held in common for the use of all the people and not for just the rich.Through Hans Boehm, the Virgin also called for the abolition of forced labor and of the tolls and levies peasants were forced to pay the church and empire.

“And the people heard Hans Boehm, not only in his own village, but by virtue of the spreading of his words to other villages and towns, and soon they came from all over the empire to converge on Niklashausen to hear the ‘Drummer Boy’ speak, for the people recognized the word of God as interpreted by this young Daniel.

“And the authorities heard him too, but they could not or would not understand him.They could not see what the people had seen, that Hans’s words were those of God and his renunciation of things, the path of resurrection.So what did they do?”

“They crucified him,” cried a voice from the congregation.

All the members of the delegation from Wurzburg felt an ominous shuddering in response to that passionate cry.

“Yes, they crucified him,” Muntzer shouted, “they executed him because they could not understand, because they did not want to understand, because they did not want to purge themselves of their things in a bonfire of vanity as young Hans Boehm had done.

“The day of the gift of the interpretations of tongues is not concluded.It has not ceased with the passing of the generations of the Scriptures or the execution of Hans Boehm.Other voices have arisen; others possessing the gift of the interpretation of tongues, others who have read and interpreted scripture, who exhort us to realize and act upon the simple virtue taught us by our Creator: the

creation is not for the benefit of the few, but for the commonweal of all men.

“And it behooves us to hear and to accept such an interpretation, such a reading not only of Scripture, but also of visions.And we must understand that the interpretation of the word of God is a call not only to revise our liturgy and our faith, but also to change the social order so all may be free to enjoy the fruits of the creation bestowed upon his creatures by the Creator.

“And if those with most of the things in this world do not hear, do not understand, do not burn their precious drums, then we must burn them for them in order to save them from themselves, from the conflagrations of hell, and to free ourselves from the bondage of penury.”

The young priest paused for a moment and directed his gaze among his parishoneers, all of whom sat mesmerized by his homily.

“May the peace of God be with you.”

As the members of the Wurzburg delegation started to leave the Kathrinenkirche, they felt all eyes riveted upon them.As a consequence, their exit was direct and swift.

The ride back to Wurzburg was even more uneventful on the surface than it had been on the ride to Zwickau.But within, each of the delegates was deep in thought over what had transpired in the Kathrinenkirche that morning, and each in his own way tried to weigh the consequence of Muntzer’s words in terms of the future of Wurzburg.But none of the men was as transfixed as Sir Klaus von Kapelle.He had a glazed look that suggested God -- through Muntzer and Boehm -- had revealed himself to the merchant of Wurzburg.It would not be until the following evening that the burgers of Wurzburg would bear witness to the fruit of that revelation.

Tilman and Margarete were in the solar, the former sketching; the latter, knitting, when Gunter, who, despite having grown gray in the House of Riemenschneider, had still retained many of the habits of his youth, rushed into the house.He had gone into town to have a beer on the terrace of an inn facing the Main River and now came running to the Wolfman’s Ewe with a cry of alarm.

“Master, you must come to the market square quickly. You must see what’s happening.”

“What is it, Gunter?”

“It’s Sir Klaus von Kapelle, the one you carved the statue for.He and his servants have driven two carts filled with beautiful things right into the middle of the town.They have made a huge pile of them right there in the square.And they have set it afire.Your linden wood of von Kapelle astride his horse Thor is on the top of the pile.”

Tilman Riemenschneider rose and followed Gunter out of the house.Margarete and all but one of the servants, whom the mistress sent back to mind the house, followed him.When they entered the square, the pyre of von Kapelle’s precious things was ablaze against the backdrop of the Marienkapelle.Many of the town’s citizens looked on in a kind of rapture.

The statue of Klaus von Kapelle astride Thor was already a deep black silhouette within the consuming red, yellow, and orange flames.Tilman looked and saw not von Kapelle, the vain patrician who before had commissioned the work as a testimony to himself and who now sought to purify himself of that vanity, but rather the true knight who had inspired the carving, Sir Florian Geyer, engulfed by the flames of the dragon.For a fleeting moment he imagined returning to polychrome and carving the dark knight tragically caught within the fiery colored flames.The brief moment of aesthetic contemplation passed.He now wondered how one possessed of the gift of the Holy Spirit would interpret these tongues of flame reaching into the black night and consuming his vision.

The next late afternoon a faint light from the setting sun shone on Tilman sitting alone in his workshop sketching.On the bench before him was the old drawing of Stefen.The subject of his sketch was the lamentation for the crucified Christ, a sandstone altarpiece he was to carve for the parish church of Maidbronn.The body and face of Jesus resembled those of the sketch he had made of Stefen many years ago.He paused to look at the drawing which seemed complete.After a few moments of meditation, however, he began to sketch something just below the central cross and behind the Christ.What emerged was the figure of Joseph of Arimathaea, holding a jar of ointment and looking very much like Tilman Riemenschneider in his council hat.

The sculptor was interrupted by a knock on the front door.He put down the sketch, rose, walked out of the workshop, and opened the front door.Standing there was Uncle Oskar’s journeyman, Johannes.Tilman immediately sensed the moment he had been dreading for the past few months had come.

“The master wishes to see you, Herr Riemenschneider.”

“How is he, Johannes?”

The journeyman bowed his head and paused before responding.

“He is failing, sir.”

Tilman summoned Margarete; they closed the door behind them, and followed Johannes down Wolfhart Strasse to the dark brown door with the iron harness knocker.Inside the master bedroom, he recognized the same doctor who had tended both his Annas.The latter turned to him and merely shook his head.In the corner in a shadow, a priest was silently praying the rosary.Standing by the bed was Mathilde.She yielded her place when she saw Tilman approach and came to the doorway to greet Margarete.The two women comforted each other by holding hands and by Mathilde’s resting her head on the shoulder of Margarete. Tilman walked up to bed, knelt down, and spoke just above a whisper.

“Uncle Oskar.”

The old man strained to raise his eyelids.Those deep blue eyes, which had once sparkled, now looked tired.

“Oh, Tilman, you have come.”

“You called; I came.What else is new?”

“Good, I need to talk to you.”

“Maybe you should try to rest?”

“I have little time; I’m not going to spend it resting.”

“Of course not.

“What is it you wish to speak to me about?”

“Death!”

Tilman Riemenschneider had prepared himself for a farewell; not for a talk about death.His face could not hide the discomfort of broaching such a subject at such a time.His uncle continued.

“When I was a very, very young man, I spent one entire week contemplating my own mortality.At the end of the week, I concluded it was a waste of time because, thinking about death, I had become dead, dead in life. I had stopped living.I have not thought about my own death since.

“But now death is upon me, and it’s time to think about it once more.And so I have a question for you, Tilman.You have spent some time in the church and therefore must have studied death.”

“I will try to answer.”

“What happens to us when we die?”

It was the kind of question a child would ask, but then again, his uncle was and had always been a kind of child.And just as it had not been easy for Tilman to answer that question for his own children, it was now difficult to answer it for his uncle.His response, when it came, was the familiar one he had given his progeny when they could not fall asleep because of such questions.

“We return to God, from whom we came.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so.”

As had often been the case in his relation with his uncle, Tilman was once more to discover that his uncle’s desire to have an answer to one of his questions would only result in Tilman’s receiving from Uncle Oskar the latter’s own answer to his question.

“What do you think?”

“I think we return to the earth, to nature, from which we came.”

Tilman hesitated, searching for a response that would not only acknowledge the truth of his uncle’s observation, but also console him at this moment of his impending death. He then continued.

“Of course, you are right, and that is as it should be.”

“Why should it be?”

“From the moment of our conception, we are still completely a part of nature.Buried in the womb, then immediately after our birth, and even sucking at our mother’s breast, we are one with nature.

“But from the moment of our first conception in the mind, we, unlike all the other beasts, which have no discourse, have never been completely at one with nature.Our consciousness of what is inside, the me, and what is outside, the not me, has separated us from nature.

“I think it part of God’s plan that in our return to him, we pass for just a moment, as we did on our journey here, through a stage of complete submergence in or oneness with nature.”

Uncle Oskar closed his eyes and thought for a moment, and then he opened them again to respond to Tilman.

“So we have to become completely natural once more before we can attain the supernatural?”

“Yes, that is a good way to put it.”

“That is a beautiful thing, Tilman.”

“Serenely beautiful?”

Uncle Oskar managed a weak smile and closed his eyes for the last time.The doctor checked the body to make certain Oskar Riemenschneider was dead and then left the room.Mathilde came to the bed, bent over, kissed the brow of the man she had served for many years and departed the room. The priest came next and blessed the body with holy water in the sign of the cross. Tilman, who had said his own prayer for the repose of the soul of his uncle, stood and, followed by Margarete, descended the stairs to the solar, where Mathild sat on the bench opposite the chair in which Uncle Oskar had always sat keeping court over his small, but faithful realm.

“I’m sorry, Mathilde.”

“Thank you, Tilman.But don’t be too sorry.He had a full, rich life, and I was content to be a part of it.”

“You know, you have a place with us at the Wolfman’s Ewe.”

“Yes, Mathilde,” added Margarete.

Mathilde stood and walked over to the fireplace.Tilman watched her and was still impressed with her gait, with the way the woman seemed to glide across the room.She had a regal presence that betrayed her disguise as a servant in the house of Oskar Riemenschneider, the harness maker.She thought for a moment before responding to his invitation.

“Thank you, Tilman, Margarete.I also have a place here too, you know.Your uncle made it a stipulation of his settling the house and workshop upon Johannes that I be given a room of my own and be a maid here for the rest of my life.

“But Johannes has his own family, and it is not good for me to intrude upon him and his family.Nor is it good for me to intrude upon you and yours.”

Tilman had never heard Mathilde utter more than a brief sentence in his presence before.He was struck by the softness of her voice; it had a soothing effect.He wondered how much comfort it had brought his uncle in their quiet meals together or in the intimacy of the master’s bedroom.

“Are you certain you will not reconsider coming to live with Margarete and me?”

“No, I thank you, but no.Besides, I have other plans.”

Tilman and Margarete looked at one another a little astonished for it was difficult for either to think of Mathilde of ever having had any other plan but to serve Tilman’s uncle.

“What plans, Mathilde?”

“Do you remember one early, spring evening when you invited Oskar and me to come to dinner to hear you read three letters from your sons?”

“There were so many evenings and so many letters.”

“It was the time Bartolomaus went to Italia with the master with whom he was serving an apprenticeship.”

“Oh yes, of course, Master Aldorfer.”

“Yes, that is the one.Well, your Uncle, besides providing a room for me here, has also left me a great deal of money.And I still have the inheritance I received from my first marriage, and so I am well provided.I will take that money and use it to go see the “city of reflections.”

Tilman had to think only for a few seconds for Bartolamaus’s account of his stay in Venice had made as much an impression on him as it had apparently on Mathilde.

“You are going to Venice?”

“Yes, I wish to ‘step into the pages of an illuminated manuscript’; I want to feel the warmth of the light Bartolomaus spoke so glowingly about.

“And when I have had my fill of that light and those reflections, I will continue on to Florence and see and bask in its light and, after that, I will continue on to and complete my pilgrimage in Rome.And I will die in Rome in the shadows of the residence of the Pope.”

Tilman had always known Mathilde was majestic in her gait and presence, and he had used both to inform some of the female saints of his linden wood.Tonight he had discovered she possessed both a rich voice and an intelligent imagination.And now he understood fully why his uncle could wax so eloquently on the comforts of a well-endowed widow.

Tilman Riemenschneider’s confrontation with death was to continue through the year.Within a month he was guiding his journeymen in their transport of the massive block of marble from the cart sent down from Schloss Marienberg into the workshop and onto two sturdy saw horses in the middle of the room.Prince Bishop Lorenz von Bibra had passed away in his sleep at the age of sixty, and it was time for Tilman to put the sandstone lamentation of Christ on the shelf and turn to the memorial for his departed friend.His work on that momument proceeded in sadness not only because he and the people of Wurzburg had lost a good shepherd who had led a good life, but also because the kindly man was succeeded by Prince Bishop Konrad von Thungen, who was, according to many people of Wurzburg, most definitely not good for the city nor its people.

The new Prince Bishop stood behind the oak desk with the scenes from the Old Testament, which Tilman had carved for the former’s predecessor.Konrad von Thungen’s features were not soft and rounded as had been those of his predecessor; they were chiseled and pointed in a canine manner that reminded Tilman of a wolf.

“Herr Riemenschneider, I have summoned you here not in your capacity as a master sculptor, although I have been told you carved this handsome desk for my predecessor, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You or your shop?”

“I carved it.”

“I see.Well, it’s no matter.No, I have called you here in your capacity as the Burgermeister of Wurzburg.”

“I shall try, Prince Bishop, to be of service.”

“I understand the council has in the past rejected what other cities have adapted, an extension of the tax exemption laws to all the properties of the church?May I ask why?”

“We have drawn a line between those properties which the church uses in service of both God and the people and those which the church uses, in our judgment, primarily to fill its treasure.”

“But all the money the church raises is used for God and for the people.”

“It has struck a majority of the council that such is not always the case.”

“Lorenz von Bibra seemed resigned to your view and to your action; indeed, from what I gather, seemed almost to welcome it.I do not welcome it, nor am I resigned to it.

“Therefore, I have instructed my representative on the council to bring before the council once again a proposal requesting the extension of the tax exemption law to cover all the church properties.I hope I can count on you to support this measure.”

“Your grace must realize, as Burgermeister, I can do but two things to help you.I can see to it the measure is brought before the council without delay.If there is a tie in the vote on the measure, my vote can break that tie.”

“How will you vote?”

“I cannot answer that question until I have heard the arguments on both sides of the issue and only if there is a tie.”

“I see.But I can count on your acting on the measure without delay.”

“Yes.”

“Good.Now, there is one other matter I would like to discuss with you.”

“What is that, your grace?”

“Do you know of this Muntzer, Thomas Muntzer?”

“I have had occasion once to hear him speak in the pulpit at Zwickau.”

“What do you think of him?What do you think of his and Luther’s stirring up the peasants?”

“I think Luther unintentionally stirs the peasants in his desire to reform the church.I think Muntzer intentionally provokes the peasants in his desire to free them from what he regards as the oppression of the princes and the priests.”

“The difference you note is but minimal; in my judgment both are stirring up a hornet’s nest that may in time lead to an attack upon the church.And people have been known to die from a hornet’s sting.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“If this stirring among the peasants should come to a confrontation between the peasants on the one hand and the princes and the church on the other, where, in your judgment, will the council stand?”

“In my judgment, the council will always act on behalf of the city of Wurzburg.”

“I suppose that is how council ought to act.”

Tilman bowed his head a second before raising it and sharing with the new Prince Bishop what he felt compelled to disclose.

“But I must tell you this.Based on past arguments over the issue, I believe the council will conclude that extending the tax exemption to all the properties of the church will not be in the best interests of the city.”

“I appreciate your honesty Herr Riemenschneider.I understand you and my predecessor were not only associates but also friends.I hope we can have the same kind of relationship.”

“I hope so too, your grace.”

When he returned home, Margarete was in her room at work on her embroidery.He entered and fell to his knees before her; shespread her legs slightly so that he could move in closer between her knees and thighs, rest his head on the small, soft mound of her belly, and put his arms around her waist.She set down her needlework, unbuttoned the top of his tunic, slid her hands under, and began to massage his neck.

“How did your visit with the new Prince Bishop go?”

“He is no Lorenz von Bibra.”

“That is too bad.”

“Yes.But I think we came to an understanding.He wants what is best for the Prince Bishop and the church; I want what is best for the city and the people.When what is best for both parties is the same, we can work together; when it is not, we will be in conflict.

“But in any case, I don’t believe any commissions will be forthcoming from Marienberg Fortress or from St. Kilian’s Cathedral.”

“You have much to do in your workshop; you don’t need the Prince Bishop. You yourself have the memorial for von Bibra and the Lamentation, which is only just begun; and the others have to prepare all the work for the Christmas Fair.”

“You are right; there is much to do in the workshop.”

“You see.”

“Let us hope I shall never need the Prince Bishop –- for anything.”

“Let us hope so.”