ANNA BELFRAGE

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Archive for the tag “reformation”

The Silent Man who Founded a Nation

William the silent Philip_II_of_Spain_berating_William_the_Silent_Prince_of_Orange_by_Cornelis_Kruseman

Today’s protagonist, William, to the right. Philip II to the left

It is an obvious challenge for someone as vocal as myself to approach the historical gentleman known as William the Silent. Given the times he lived in, holding his tongue was probably a wise move – not that it ultimately helped. Still, let us not get to the end before we’ve even touched upon the beginning, which is why I hereby grab you, my dear reader, by the scruff of your neck and pull you straight back to 1533.

Now, by 1533, Europe was no longer the harmonious continent it used to be (kidding: Europe has seldom been harmonious). In fact, since 1517, Europe was being rent apart for religious reasons, some countries clinging to the Old Faith, a.k.a. the Holy Roman Church, others embracing Protestantism in one of its many forms. After all, Protestants was an umbrella term encompassing various new versions of the Christian faith, from Calvinists to Lutherans and onwards.

People who convert to (or adopt) a new faith are generally very intense about their beliefs. So, as a consequence of the Reformation sparked by Luther on the last day of October 1517, religious fervour swept the European nations. Those who chose to remain Catholic experienced a resurge of devoutness as they took a stand against the heretics, and thing in general became very tense.

William the silent father Willemderijke

William Sr

William, Count of Nassau, and his wife Juliana were among those very devout, very intense Lutherans. In 1533, Juliana gave birth to the first of their twelve children, a boy named William after his father.

Our young William grew up in a big family who took their Lutheran religion very seriously. But in 1544, little William’s cousin, Rene of Chalon, Prince of Orange died. He had named William as his heir with the condition that he be raised a Catholic. Now, one would have thought that for such devout people as William Sr and his wife, the thought of having one of their children raised a papist was anathema. Not so. Taking a leaf out of Henri IV’s book (except, of course, that Henri IV had yet to appear on the French stage) William Sr obviously concluded that a principality was worth a mass or two. And it was a LOT of land, both in France and present-day Germany as well as in the Netherlands. In one fell swoop, the Nassau family became truly important, adding a hyphen and Orange to their family name. Today, the Orange-Nassau line still sits on the Dutch throne, and William remains a preferred family name.

William the silent Mary_(1505–1558),_Queen_of_Hungary

Mary of Hapsburg, Queen of Hungary

What William himself thought of all this is unknown, but being an obedient lad he did as his father wished, bid his large family farewell, and went first to Breda, then to Brussels, to be properly educated in his new faith under the supervision of Mary of Hapsburg, one of those rather impressive female relatives of Emperor Charles V (in this case she was Charles’ sister) whom he liked to place in positions of great power. In fact, Charles V can be viewed as something of a trailblazer when it comes to gender equality, but that is probably the subject for another post.

Now as William was a minor, all his new vast lands were managed by Charles V who also ensured William was properly educated. Clearly, there was a strong bond between William and Charles—I guess William saw in the Emperor a second father.

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Anna, wife nr 1

By the time William turned eighteen, he had become an exemplary Catholic and a much-admired up-and-coming young man. Four years later, he was made commander of one of the Emperor’s armies, which, I presume, indicates William was quite good at the martial stuff. By then, William was a married man and father, having married his first wife, Anna van Egmond in 1551. It was a happy marriage, but unfortunately Anna died already in 1558. A difficult year for William, who not only lost his wife but his mentor, Charles V.

Philip II of Spain trusted William as implicitly as his father had done, and by the end of 1559, William was not only in control of his own various lands, but also the Stadtholder of Holland, Zeeland and Utrecht. Obviously, Philip expected William to be adequately grateful and toe the imperial line when it came to policies and religion, but William was having second thoughts about his Catholicism—even more so when Philip unleashed the Inquisition in Spanish Netherlands.

Even worse, in 1559 William discovered a secret. While in France as a hostage, William was invited to ride out with Henri II on a hunt. Now Henri was all chatty, sharing with William the not-so-appetizing fact that he and Philip II had a secret alliance.
“Mmm,” William said. (This is supposedly the incident which gave him his nickname, hence the monosyllabic response)
“Well, you already know, don’t you?” Henri continued.
“Mmm,” came the enigmatic reply. Henri went on to describe that the purpose of his and Philip’s collaboration was to exterminate all Protestants. Violently. That did not sit well with William—after all, most of his family were Lutherans, as were many of the people living in his domains.

According to Apology, a text William published in 1581, this was when he realised he could no longer side with the Spanish king. Soon enough, he had become the leader of the Dutch rebels, thereby instigating a period of conflicts that would last for eighty years (which is probably why it is called..ta-daa…the Eighty Years’ War).

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Anna, wife nr 2

One indication of his new loyalties was his choice of a second wife. Anna of Saxony was impeccably Lutheran (and very rich) She was also not the easiest of women, prone to tantrums, depressions and an over-consumption of alcohol. But the marriage gave William valuable connections in Germany—connections he needed to take on the might of the Spanish Empire.

By 1567, William was persona non grata in the Hapsburg domains – sort of comes with the territory if you lead a rebellion. Even worse, his eldest son, Philip, had been seized by the Spanish and sent to Spain as a hostage. William would never see him again. Furthermore, his Dutch estates were confiscated which meant he depended on his wife’s wealth to tide him over. She had just given birth to their third child, having recuperated after an attempted suicide after the death of their first son. She was worried about their financial status and this resulted in quarrels and discord.

William escaped from all this by throwing himself into the religious wars, spending months away from home. In retaliation, his wife contracted a lawyer, a certain Jan Reubens, to help her claim her jointure from what little remained of William’s estates.

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William himself. A rather handsome man, IMO

Anna and Jan hit it off, so when William came home for a visit he was surprised to find his wife pregnant. Major scandal, although I suspect that in secret William punched the air and said “Yes!” Finally he had the means with which to push through a divorce from his difficult wife. Said and done, and as Anna’s family were utterly disgusted by her adultery poor Anna spent her last years locked up in a room reinforced with bars at the window and the door. She died in 1577, and was, sadly, not much missed.

By then, William had married for the third time. He had also had some success against the Spanish, plus he’d eschewed his Catholic faith and instead declared himself a Calvinist which could be considered opportunistic but probably reflected his true religious preferences. This didn’t exactly endear him to the Spanish, and the somewhat extreme views of the Calvinists regarding Catholics in general led to a partition of the Spanish Netherlands, where the southern provinces (more or less present-day Belgium) remained Spanish, while the northern provinces signed the Union of Utrecht, thereby laying the grounds for present-day Netherlands. William was not happy with this partition. He felt all the provinces should be ruled as one entity, but he didn’t have the resources with which to oust the Spanish, and years and years of warfare had worn him down.

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Charlotte wife nr 3

If he was less than satisfied with what was happening with the Spanish Netherlands, he was extremely happy with his new wife. Charlotte de Bourbon-Montpensier had been raised by a mother who leaned towards the Reformed religion but was forcibly made a nun at the age of thirteen. Instead of accepting her fate this spirited lady escaped from the convent, declared herself a Calvinist and fled to the Electorate of the Palatinate. She and William hit it off from day one, and over the course of six years she gave him as many daughters, the eldest of whom would go on to become the ancestress of the House of Hanover.

In 1580, Philip formally outlawed William. The Spanish king was sick to death of the stubborn Dutch and especially of William. What do you do when you just need someone to disappear? Well, you put out a contract on him, which is just what Philip II did, offering a minor fortune to whoever assassinated that foul outlaw, William the Silent.

In 1581, the Northern Provinces declared that they no longer recognised Philip II as their king. Instead, the fledgling state pronounced William their stadtholder. A very determined Spanish bounty hunter ambushed William in Antwerp. His injuries were life-threatening, and for some time, his life hung in the balance. The dedicated efforts of his wife and sister kept him alive, but unfortunately this dedication came at a cost, and an exhausted Charlotte died in May of 1582. William was devastated—but had no choice but to soldier on, for the sake of his subjects and family.

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Louise, wife nr 4

I think that when Charlotte died, life lost some of its vibrancy for William. But he still had a duty to fulfil, and albeit that he had a full nursery, he only had one son at home, his eldest being held in Spain. One son was not enough—anything could happen to an adolescent boy—so in 1583 William decided to marry again. This bride was also French, a Huguenot named Louise de Coligny who’d lost her first husband and her father in the St Bartholomew massacre. Nine months after the wedding, a son was born.

Unfortunately, William was not destined to enjoy life with his new wife and son for long. A certain Balthasar Gerard had made it his mission in life to rid the world of William. Gerard was a Catholic and a most loyal subject of Philip II. According to Gerard, William was a disgusting traitor, a man best erased from the surface of the earth. His plan was simple: earn William’s trust and then kill him. So in 1584 he presented himself at William’s court, pretending to be a French noble. He also offered to travel to France on William’s behalf and deliver messages to various of William’s allies.

Some months later, Gerard reappeared in Delft and requested a meeting with William. When William entered the room, Gerard produced two wheel-lock pistols and shot William at close range. William thereby became the first head of state in history to be assassinated with a handgun, a distinction I suspect he would have preferred not to have.

There is another version of how William was murdered, whereby Gerard simply loitered in the vicinity of the Prince’s residence, armed with two wheel-lock pistols he had bought off one of William’s soldiers. When William paused to talk to one of his Welsh soldiers, Gerard took the opportunity to shoot him and then fled, pursued by the Welshman. Both versions agree on William being shot.

Gerard fled but was apprehended before he made it out of Delft. So instead of living the good life in Costa de Sol at the Spanish king’s expense, Gerard suffered through horrific torture and one of the most extended and brutal executions in history. First, he had his right hand burned off with a red-hot iron. Then he had huge pincers ripping flesh off his body in six different places after which he was quartered while still alive, disembowelled, had his heart cut out and thrown in his face before he was beheaded. The beheading was probably unnecessary—I don’t think anyone survives being quartered.

William the silent Willem.zwijger.grablege.delft

17th c depiction of William’s grave

As to William, he was buried in Nieuwe Kerk, Delft. Since then, most of his descendants have joined him there, generation after generation of Orange-Nassau men and women, including all Dutch monarchs. His original grave was a modest affair, but in the early 17th century our William was already considered some sort of Founding Father, and accordingly it was decided he needed an impressive monument. Like really impressive.

Other than liberty and all his descendants, William has bequeathed the Dutch not only an obvious connection to the colour orange but also their flag and their national anthem, the Wilhelmus, which began its days as a little ditty sung back in William’s day. This makes the Dutch national anthem the oldest in the world (with the possible exception of the Japanese anthem). It is also an anthem I know how to sing, thanks to lovely Dutch friends. But that, dear peeps, is neither here nor there.

Foreswearing your faith – the smart thing to do for a 17th century English Catholic

MLWhen Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to that church door in Wittenberg, he had no idea what he was unleashing on the world. Or maybe he had, hoping that his actions would cause an incendiary debate and reform in all things religious. Well, he succeeded in creating debate, all right, and when he died close to thirty years later, he was still under excommunication by the pope. By then, Martin Luther no longer recognised the pope’s authority – and neither did a growing number of people throughout Europe.

At a distance of five hundred years, we can’t comprehend just how cataclysmic the Reformation was. Over a couple of decades, God-given truths were turned upside down, one of the more controversial aspects being that the true believer had no need of priests in his communication with God. It sufficed to study the Bible and meditate on God’s truth as expressed in the Holy Book.

LutherbibelWhere before the Bible was printed in Latin, now it was being translated into vernacular, making God’s word available to anyone who could read. Literacy exploded in Protestant regions, and these newly literate soon discovered other reading matter than the Bible, thereby starting an educational process that would culminate in our present day democratic society.

The Holy Roman Church responded forcefully to this new threat to its hegemony (and finances). Not only was there an impressive out-pouring of art and literature defending the true faith plus an increase in efforts to bring the lost sheep back to the fold – such as the installation of the Society of Jesus under Loyola, an order whose main purpose was to defend and bolster the faith- the Counter Reformation also applied other methods: heretics were persecuted, arrested, tortured and burnt at the stake – nothing new, really.

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The Last Judgement

As the Protestant factions grew stronger, they resorted to their own persecution, torture and execution – but of Catholics. A sort of tit for tat, one could say. In general, the assumption was that all Catholics were loyal to the pope, not to their king or queen. That, I would think, was in general a correct assumption. For people who still believed in the afterlife and for whom heaven and hell were realities rather than metaphors, protecting their eternal souls came first. But from there to assume all Catholics were nefarious traitors – well, it’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it?

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James I

In England, the authorities were taking no chances. James I introduced legislation aimed at Catholics who aspired to public office whereby any higher official should regularly receive communion as per the Church of England rites – anathema to a Catholic – but initially no one seems to have bothered with upholding it. In fact, James had several capable Catholic men in positions of trust. Things became somewhat trickier as per the reinforced Corporation Act of 1661, making it mandatory to partake of the sacraments as per the Church of England. However, not all Catholics were subject to the law – Catholic peers were generally exempt.

In 1673, Parliament in its wisdom passed the Test Act. It no longer sufficed to receive the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper as per Anglican rites, now anyone aspiring to serve as officers of the court, parliament or the military, also had to reject the concept of transubstantiation (a central tenet in the Catholic faith). Further to this, any person aspiring to public office had to take an Oath of Supremacy and Allegiance, in effect placing their loyalty to the king of England before that to, for example, the pope.

Clearly all these measures were not enough. In 1678, Titus Oates revealed the so called Popish Plot to the shocked authorities, describing detailed plans to rid England of its present monarch. There was no Popish Plot – Titus was a narrow-minded worm of a man who saw his chance to fame and grabbed it, titillating his audience with one invented detail after the other. His ridiculous construction of lies could (and should) have been exposed immediately by the members of Parliament, but certain members were utterly thrilled by this development as it gave them an opportunity to further tighten up the Anti-Catholic legislation.

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Duke of York

The reinforced Test Act required all peers and members of Parliament to declare against transubstantiation, the existence of saints and the sacraments of Mass, thereby effectively ousting all Catholics from Parliament. The Catholic lords fought back as well as they could and succeeded in delaying the act plus managed to weaken it substantially by sneaking in an exception for the Duke of York – that most Catholic heir to the English throne.

A consequence of all this legislation and badmouthing was to make life very difficult for Catholics in general. When Edmund Godfrey, a Protestant magistrate, was found dead, the anti-papists went wild. London seethed with anger, Catholics were beaten and hounded, and people were warned to be on their guard: there were evil Jesuits everywhere, there were nasty recusants hiding throughout the country, horrible Catholic people that wanted to overthrow the Anglican Church and reinstate the hegemony of the Pope in England. What can I say? A crowd gone wild is a hotbed of fevered imaginations – even more so when people in authority foment the flames of lunacy.

England’s anti-Catholic legislation was to remain in place until 1829, when it was repealed by George IV. By then, the Test Act had long since played out its role, but for a number of decades in the 17th century, Catholics did best in keeping a very low profile. Very low. Especially if you were a Catholic priest.

R&R webstamp smallReligion plays an important part in my series The Graham Saga. In Revenge and Retribution, the sixth instalment of the series, Matthew and Alex welcome an injured Catholic priest into their home. Well; Alex welcomes. For Matthew, this is not an entirely easy thing to do, seeing as he is more than aware of the spiritual deficiency that characterises a papist. Alex doesn’t agree: to her the differences between a Catholic and a Protestant are very minor – probably reflecting the fact that she is a modern day woman. In the excerpt below, the Graham household has been augmented with yet another person, a Presbyterian minister, making things rather interesting.

Conversation became somewhat livelier with two men of God in the house – maybe a bit too lively, Alex sighed, when Father Muñoz and Minister Allerton settled down for yet another intense religious debate, the minister seconded by Daniel, the priest fighting his corner alone.

Father Muñoz sat up straighter and looked at Minister Allerton.

“No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not. God allows our actions to speak for us.”

“Of course,” Minister Allerton said, “if we belong to the chosen few.” He gave the young priest a challenging look.

“Hmph!” Father Muñoz drank deeply from his mug of beer. “God is not that fickle. We live on this earth a short while, and it’s in many ways a testing ground for eternal life that comes later. God is merciful and forgives us our trespasses on behalf of His Son. He sees us labour and strive to be good, and He is pleased. He sees us fall into a life of evil, and He decides if the stay in purgatory will be long and painful or if we go to hell directly. But it’s the quality of our sins and the genuineness of our repentance that ultimately decide our eternal fate.”

Too right, Alex agreed, even if she sincerely hoped God was somewhat selective when it came to deathbed repentance. If not, heaven would be chock-full of some rather nasty types.

“Purgatory!” Minister Allerton waved dismissively. “Nowhere in the scriptures is that mentioned. It’s nothing but a figment of imagination that allows the dying sinners to hope they may still be saved.”

“Not to me,” Father Muñoz said, looking quite mulish. “To me, God is more prone to forgive than damn, and as such He has created one last opportunity for the lost soul to gain entry to heaven.”

The argument went on and on, the churchmen plunging deeper and deeper into the scriptures and the history of the Christian Church.

“Why be good?” Father Muñoz argued. “Why should we strive to lead exemplary lives if God has already preordained who goes to Heaven?”

“Why be good?” Minister Allerton replied mockingly. “Why strive to lead exemplary lives if all you have to do is beg forgiveness for your sins before you die?”

Most of the adults around the table nodded in agreement.

“Lewd and sinful,” Mrs Parson muttered to Alex. “All papists are, more or less. And then, on their deathbed, they recant. Not that it helps the misguided souls, bound for hell as they are. Pity on the wee priest who seems a good enough man – just like his father.”

“Hmm,” Alex said as neutrally as she could, and then brought the whole discussion to a halt by plonking down the pudding dish in the middle of the table.

Behind every successful man…

17202303-Martin-Luther-nails-up-his-95-theses-on-the-cathedral-door-the-act-that-started-the-Reformation-Orig-Stock-Photo-illus-Martin-Luther-by-G-FreytagWe’ve all heard of Martin Luther, right? And no, I am not talking about that inspiring leader and awesome demagogue who spoke that immortal line “I have a dream” – I am rather referring to the man for whom he was named, a German priest born in 1483. That Martin Luther was one of the pivotal people in the religious movement that swept through Europe as a firestorm during the 16th century, namely the Reformation. And once the continent emerged from that crucible, the hitherto united Christian faith had divided into two blocks – Catholics and Protestants.

Now Martin Luther and his contemporary religious hotheads did not spring out of nowhere. Religious debate has been around as long as the Church, and through the centuries wise and learned men (and women – one example can be found here) have raised their voices to question various aspects of faith as imposed by the church. Many of these were found guilty of heresy. Many of them died at the stake, such as Jan Hus and George Wishart. Many had even been exhumed and burned after they were dead – like John Wycliffe . And yet, despite the very obvious risk of taking on the mighty Church, people continued to do so.

When Martin Luther was born, all Christian people were effectively Catholics. Martin himself was baptised into the Holy Church, would go on to study law and philosophy, generally frustrated by how much trust people put in reason when addressing the central issue of God and faith. After a near death experience during a thunderstorm (or maybe Martin was just scared of lightning) he promised God he would become a monk if his life was spared, and being a man of his word, the 23-year-old Martin entered the Augustinian order.

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An unhappy monk?

It does not seem to have been a joyous decision, and as to Martin’s father, he was royally pissed off. He’d invested a lot of good money on his son to ensure he’d be a member of the educated commercial class, and instead Martin decided to set off in search of God. Pah! God was all around – why bother looking for him?

Martin would have replied that yes, God might be all around, but the teachings of the Holy Church – and specifically certain practices, such as the sale of indulgences – were leading the believers astray, away from God. Martin’s solution was simple: people needed to read the word of God themselves, and they needed to understand that faith is based on just that: faith. It is about subjecting your will to that of God, of not expecting to be able to understand or explain, but to simply believe. A difficult concept to embrace for crass modern mankind…

For people to read the word of God – the Scriptures – they needed to be translated into the vernacular. Martin did some serious translation of his own, and other likeminded men did the same in other countries, producing a Bible in German, English, French – well, in most European languages. All this translating coincided with the introduction of the printing press in Europe – thank you Gutenberg (related post, see here) – and so the vernacular versions of the Bible were easily made available to common man. Ahem: well, not so easily, as the powers that were did not approve of all this translating and did their best to destroy the translations, causing a trade in contraband Bibles (!).

Martin started his little crusade against the established Church on October 31, 1517, when he banged up his 95 theses on the door to the Wittenberg Cathedral. At the time, his writing had as its purpose to create debate rather than antagonise, but sometimes there’s a fine line between dialogue and provocation, and clearly Martin rubbed a number of people up the wrong way. Seriously, the man was also requesting the church to stop selling indulgences, thereby depriving the coffers of sizeable income!

In 1521, Martin Luther was excommunicated, and would so remain for the rest of his life. Seeing as he was by then already busy with creating his new, revamped version of the Christian faith, I don’t think he was unduly worried – but at the same time I suspect that a man who had spent so much time within the Catholic Church must have woken up at night and wondered what in God’s name he was doing, taking on this behemoth, this self-proclaimed representative of God on Earth. (Before we go any further, it might be important to point out that I have no intention – or interest – in belittling the Catholic Church, spiritual home to so many millions of people)

Back to Martin and his restless nights – and I am sure they were many, endless hours when the teachings of his youth made him twist in fear as to what he was risking on behalf of his eternal soul… One of the things Martin opposed, was the Holy Church’s insistence that priests be celibate. As per Martin, there is no support for this in the Bible, and it may be worth remembering that until the Second Lateran Council in 1139, Catholic priests quite often lived as married men, with no stigma attached. (As an aside, can you imagine the heartbreak when these men were told they had to put aside their wife if they wanted to continue working as priests?)

Now Martin opposed the concept of celibacy in principle. He himself had no intention to marry, seeing as he lived under the constant threat of being apprehended and carried off to martyrdom, not, in Martin’s opinion, something he wanted to subject a wife to having to witness. Plus points to Martin, I believe…Besides, he was far too busy to consider the complication of a wife. Life, however, has a tendency to happen, which is how Martin came to meet Katarina.

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Lukas Cranach – but it looks so modern!

We don’t know all that much about Katarina’s earliest days, but we know that as a child of six or so, she was sent to a nunnery for schooling. Some years later, she was transferred to a Cistercian convent, where she was to remain for most of her youth.

Despite a life behind walls, Katarina and several of her sisters kept well abreast of what was happening in the outside world. When Luther nailed his theses to the door, Katarina was an impressionable eighteen-year-old, and clearly what this man said resonated within. She began to feel trapped. So did a number of her sisters.

In 1523, these ladies managed to get word to Luther. They needed help to escape the convent. At the time, to steal away a nun was a terrible crime – nuns were the brides of Christ and should under no circumstances be taken from their convents, not even when the nuns in question had been forcibly veiled (and yes, that did happen). Martin had very little left to lose: he was already excommunicated, and I think it appealed to his virility to cast himself as the saviour of these poor damsels – err, nuns – in distress. Said and done, Luther devised a plan.

stilleben_mit_hering_und_bartmannskrugOne day, a herring merchant drove his cart into the convent. Herring was a staple of the times, so there was nothing unusual about that. In all the bustle of unloading full barrels, loading empty ones, twelve nuns managed to hide in the cart. In the barrels, one presumes. Off they went, the herring merchant sweating profusely as he drove under the beady eye of the gate keeper, but fortunately his illegal cargo went undiscovered, and some hours later twelve giddy young women were deposited in Wittenberg.

Word went out. The ladies needed husbands, seeing as their families refused to take them back, what with all this escaping their convent being a heinous sin. One by one, the nuns were married off, until at last only one remained: Katarina von Bora herself. Whether this was due to looks or temperament, we do not know. The lady herself is said to have expressed that either she married Luther or she didn’t marry anyone. Well, even men bent on religious revolution can be flattered, right? Besides, Katarina was young and worshiped the ground Martin trod on – she called him Herr Doctor, would always call him Herr Doctor.

Martin_Luther_by_Cranach-restoration.tif (1)So in 1525, Martin Luther married Katarina. He was 41, she was 26: a former monk married to a former nun – that must have caused a number of ribald jokes. In actual fact, they were well suited, both of them of religious temperament, both of them intellectually agile and devoted to the cause. Plus, of course, by marrying, Martin was setting a precedent for all future Protestant priests.

The marriage seems to have been very happy, with Katarina assuming responsibility for all worldy tasks so that Martin could concentrate on theology and his teaching. Six children in eight years indicate they enjoyed each other’s company in bed as well, and Martin is known to have turned quite often to Katarina for advice. But it wasn’t an easy life. Katarina struggled to make ends meet, she ran a brewery, raised and sold cattle, ran an hospital, raised their children, ensured meals at set times, supported her husband whenever he needed it – in brief, our Katarina rarely had time for a nice cuppa and a slice of sponge cake. Still, I believe she was as content in him as he was in her, as expressed by him saying, “My Katie is in all things so obliging and pleasing to me, that I would never exchange my poverty with her for all the riches of Croesus.”

In 1546, Luther died. Apart from struggling with her grief, now that her beloved Herr Doctor was dead, Katarina was plunged into economic difficulties without his earnings as a professor. When war broke out she was forced to leave the life she had built up in Wittenberg and flee. With several underage children, she struggled to make ends meet, and was very dependent on the generous support of men such as the Elector of Saxony. She returned to Wittenberg for a while, but an outbreak of plague had her leaving again in a haste. There was a road accident, the cart Katarina was on upended causing her grievous injury. She never recovered, dying some months later, in December of 1552 in Torgau, where she was buried, very far from her beloved husband.

Was Katarina instrumental in Martin’s success as a reformer? No, probably not. But I do believe that Martin on more than one occasion raised his eyes towards the heavens and thanked the good Lord for this excellent helpmeet, this woman who loved him so well. And if he didn’t, well then shame on him!

… and then there were three.

A year ago, I had published zero books. Today, I have published 3. Gulp, gulp, gulp. By now I should be relaxed about all this, but instead I go around in a somewhat feverish state, peek at amazon to ensure my book is there (it is), stroke the cover a couple of times and soothe myself with yet another cup of tea.

This my third book holds a very special place in my heart. While it’s the third installment in the Graham Saga, it is also the book that depicts the story that first drew me to the seventeenth century, namely that of the religious conflicts that dominated the times. One could argue that religion still causes a lot of conflict – sadly – but for Europe the 17th century is something of a deluge when it comes to religious conflicts, one war after the other staining the European map red with blood.

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Ultimately, wars are rarely fought for religious convictions alone. Other interests coincide, and this was the case in Europe back then, how else to explain that catholic France bankrolled protestant Sweden’s war efforts? But for the people embroiled in the conflicts, for the peasants that had to flee the invading armies, who kneeled in the mud and prayed to God for deliverance from the terrible Swedes, it was far more personal that this. Not only was it a matter of losing wives, children, men and possessions to the war, it was also about the right to hold to religious traditions and beliefs.

martin-luther

At the centre of the conflict lay the Reformation – or rather the outcome of the Reformation. I don’t think Martin Luther really understood what future havoc he would cause the day he nailed his theses to the Wittenberg church door, but a hundred years down the line Europe was divided, with the northern parts leaning towards Protestantism and the southern holding to their ancient catholic beliefs. Not that things were that simple; Protestantism encompassed a lot of diverse opinions, ranging from the rather traditional Church of England to the somewhat more radical ideas that dominated the budding Quaker societies. (Many Quakers would, I believe, not consider themselves protestants. I use the term in its broadest sense.)

477px-Gustav_II_Adolf_by_MerianWhatever the case, in the north the young Swedish king, Gustavus Adolphus flexed his muscles and saw his chance. In the name of religion he set out on a massive war of plunder and conquest, and to this day the Swedes are remembered for their brutality in various parts of Germany and Poland. Gustavus Adolphus’ real aim was to create a Swedish national state, complete with state institutions, and the wars were an adequate way of financing his substantially more peaceful efforts at home. He also wanted to put his insignificant kingdom (and himself) on the map, which he succeeded with, although perhaps not in the positive terms he had hoped for. “The Swedes are coming, the Swedes are coming! God spare us from them, God save our children!” is not the best PR slogan, is it?

In The Prodigal Son we are not on continental Europe, and we’re definitely very far from Sweden! No, Matthew Graham and his time travelling wife, Alex, experience their share of religious persecution in Scotland – to be more precise in Ayrshire and the area around Cumnock.  A hotbed of Presbyterian fervour, Ayrshire (or rather its people) did not take kindly to the laws enacted by His Restored Majesty, Charles II. Suddenly it became mandatory to accept the king as the head of the church (anathema to the more hard core members of the Scottish Kirk) and all able bodied men were called to swear an Oath of Abjuration, whereby they reneged on their previous commitments to the Solemn league and Covenant (a rather dreary document that more or less imposed Presbyterian beliefs in the Commonwealth of England & Scotland – probably as disliked by the devout Anglicans & Catholics as the oath above was by the Presbyterians, but there you are; tit for tat.)

alexander pedenSome men, of course, chose to stick with their beliefs, paying nothing but lip-service to the Oath. One such man was – duh! – Matthew Graham, because no way did he intend to have a man with hair down to his arse dictate what he should believe in or not. Matthew had fought in the Civil War, was raised a devout member of the Kirk, and when his dear minister, Sandy Peden, called for his help, Matthew gladly complied – even if it meant putting himself and his family at serious risk.
“Not that serious,” Matthew protests, “I go right canny.”
Serious. Very serious. Consequences could range from being fined to being hanged – or deported.
“They’ll not catch me,” Matthew insists. “Not me or Sandy.”
Ha. Well, ultimately Sandy ended up on Bass Rock and…
“Not me,” Matthew interrupts.
“You don’t know that, do you?” I retort, waving my quill at him (He doesn’t understand computers). “I might decide to —”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Alex hisses.
Well excuse me, but who’s the author here, huh? And if Matthew Graham is stubborn enough to cling to his beliefs, then he must be prepared to pay the price – because there is a price, there always is. Alex pales when I say this, and I feel rather sorry for her, but there you are, actions lead to consequences.

In many ways, the bloody religious conflicts of the 17th century laid the foundation for the modern European societies. The Reformation brought in its wake an upsurge in literacy, as it became important for men (and women) to read the Bible themselves. Once people can read, they can start amassing information, with information comes opinions, and with opinions come convictions – convictions that ultimately would result in the Bill of Rights, a document that for the first time stipulated that all men (not so sure about the women – they were mainly considered appendages to their men) had certain undeniable rights. Not that Matthew Graham aspired to something as lofty as that; all he wanted was to be allowed to follow his conscience in matter of faith. Still, it was men like Matthew – just as much as the formidable men like Martin Luther – who ultimately  contributed to one of the more important building blocks of democracy – the right to believe and think for yourself.

In The Prodigal Son, Matthew Graham has to choose: his family or his faith, his beloved wife or his dear minister. Not the easiest of choices – and as I said, all choices come with a price.

(Oh, BTW: At present all three books in The Graham Saga are at a special promotional price of £12:99 for all three! Visit Troubador for more info)

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