Daum's boys: Schools and the Republic of Letters in early modern Germany 9781784991708

Table of contents :
Front matter
Dedication
Epigraph
Contents
List of figures
List of maps
Acknowledgments
Note on currencies and translations
Introduction
‘A veritable gem’: urban culture, authority and education in early modern Zwickau
The finished scholar: convincing oneself and convincing others
The virtues of diversity: pedagogical innovation and contested curricula
The pupils: educational strategies and social mobility
Violent aspirations: pupils’ transgression and the spectre of university
Networks, patronage and exploitation: correspondence and the next generation of scholars
Conclusion: civic communities, humanist education and the ‘Age of Enlightenment’
Appendices
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Daum’s boys

Studies in Early Modern European History This series aims to publish challenging and innovative research in all areas of early modern Continental history. The editors are committed to encouraging work that engages with current historiographical debates, adopts an interdisciplinary approach or makes an original contribution to our understanding of the period. s e r i e s e d i to r s

Joseph Bergin, William G. Naphy, Penny Roberts, Paolo Rossi Also available in the series Jews on trial:The papal inquisition in Modena, 1598–1638  Katherine Aron-Beller Sodomy in early modern Europe  ed. Tom Betteridge Princely power in the Dutch Republic: Patronage andWilliam Frederick of Nassau (1613–64)  Geert H. Janssen, trans. J. C. Grayson Representing the King’s splendour: Communication and reception of symbolic forms of power in viceregal Naples  Gabriel Guarino The English Republican tradition and eighteenth-century France: Between the ancients and the moderns  Rachel Hammersley Power and reputation at the court of Louis XIII:The career of Charles d’Albert, duc de Luynes (1578–1621)  Sharon Kettering Absolute monarchy on the frontiers: Louis XIV’s military occupations of Lorraine and Savoy   Phil McCluskey Catholic communities in Protestant states: Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570–1720  ed. Bob Moore, Henk van Nierop, Benjamin Kaplan and Judith Pollman Orangism in the Dutch Republic in word and image, 1650–1675  Jill Stern The great favourite:The Duke of Lerma and the court and government of Philip III of Spain, 1598–1621  Patrick Williams Full details of the series are available at www.manchesteruniversitypress.com.

Daum’s boys Schools and the Republic of Letters in early modern Germany Alan S. Ross

Manchester University Press

Copyright © Alan S. Ross 2015 The right of Alan S. Ross to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Published by Manchester University Press Altrincham Street, Manchester M1 7JA www.manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data applied for ISBN 978 0 7190 9089 9 hardback First published 2015 The publisher has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for any external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Typeset by Out of House Publishing Printed in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd, Padstow

This book is dedicated to my parents, Shelley and Douglas, and my brother Huw

Even in the villages, one finds teachers of Greek and Latin. There is no small town that does not have a satisfactory library of its own, and almost everywhere one can name several men worthy of note for their talents and scholarship. Madame de Staël on Saxony, De l’Allemagne (London, 1813)

‘On trouve jusque dans les villages des professeurs de grec et de latin. Il n’y a pas de petite ville qui ne renferme une assez bonne bibliothèque, et presque partout on peut citer quelques hommes recommandables par leurs talents et par leurs connaissances.’

Contents

List of figures List of maps Acknowledgements Note on currencies and translations Introduction

page viii x xi xiv 1

1 ‘A veritable gem’: urban culture, authority and education in early modern Zwickau

25

2 The finished scholar: convincing oneself and convincing others

59

3 The virtues of diversity: pedagogical innovation and contested curricula

92

4 The pupils: educational strategies and social mobility

123

5 Violent aspirations: pupils’ transgression and the spectre of university

145

6 Networks, patronage and exploitation: correspondence and the next generation of scholars

160



Conclusion: civic communities, humanist education and the ‘Age of Enlightenment’

180

Appendices Bibliography Index

186 191 226

Figures

1

The Epicedia for Erasmus Richter. RSB Zwickau.

page 2

2 Daum’s official portrait. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

14

3

Plateanus’ ABC table. RSB Zwickau.

37

4

The Zwickau Latin school in the early nineteenth century. RSB Zwickau.

41

5

The Priesterhäuser. Photo taken by the author.

44

6

Graffiti, attic room, Priesterhäuser. Photo taken by the author.

45

7

Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 1: Stephan Roth, rector of the school 1517–20. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

49

Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 2: Peter Hornig, rector of the school 1608–17. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

50

Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 3: Georg Andreas Vinhold, rector of the school 1699–1739. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

51

8 9

10 Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 4: Christian Clodius, rector of the school 1740–88. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

52

11 Albrecht Dürer, St Jerome in His Study. Kupferstichkabinett Berlin.

60

12 Martin Luther, Der Kleine Catechimus. RSB Zwickau.

63

13 Study in the co-rector’s house. Photo taken by the author, 2005.

67

14 Rector Johannes Zechendorf in his coffin, 1662. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

68

15 Portrait of Daum on the frontispiece of his funeral sermon. RSB Zwickau.

69

16 Caspar von Barth. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

75

Figures

ix

17 Letters Daum received. Figure compiled by the author from information contained in Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium.

80

18 Daum’s preliminary sketch for his funeral sermon, window closed. RSB Zwickau.

83

19 Daum’s preliminary sketch for his funeral sermon, window open. RSB Zwickau.

84

20 Total number of pupils, 1616–1834. Rights held by the author.

126

21 Places from which pupils were drawn. Rights held by the author.

129

22 Three very different school careers. Rights held by the author.

132

23 Sizes of forms. Rights held by the author.

133

24 Professions of fathers of Firmani. Rights held by the author.

135

25 The challenge to a duel issued by three schoolboys to a fellow pupil. RSB Zwickau.

151

26 Joachim Feller. Kunstsammlungen Zwickau.

172

Table 1

Curriculum of the Zwickau Latin school, 1676

page 106–9

Maps

1 2

3

4

Albertine Saxony in the second half of the seventeenth century (Electorate of Saxony and dependent [secundogeniture] territories).

page 27

Locations of teacher-scholars among Daum’s correspondents. Figure compiled by the author from information contained in Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium.

30

Locations of teacher-scholars among Daum’s correspondents, Middle German area. Figure compiled by the author from information contained in Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium.

31

Zwickau in the seventeenth century.

39

Acknowledgements

Throughout the drawn-out process of writing and rewriting this volume, I have become increasingly aware of how important good-natured rivalries and friendship are in the twenty-first-century Republic of Letters. While I wish to thank anyone who ever took the trouble to think about my project, some stand out as having provided crucial help at important crossroads. Robert Frost first suggested that I might want to write about early modern childhood and youth. The late Lindsey Hughes and Conrad Russell provided encouragement at a crucial crossroads. Lyndal Roper has seen the project through from the beginning to its completion (no mean feat!), guiding me through my archival work, rigorously testing my arguments and providing constant professional help and advice. Robert Evans has been straight with me when I was going in the wrong direction, open enough to let me investigate untrodden paths. Howard Hotson showed me how vital the understanding of seventeenth-century pedagogical thought was for this project and offered on-going encouragement. Helen Watanabe O’Kelly and Joachim Whaley examined the thesis this book is based on and offered much-appreciated advice. I have learnt much from George Rousseau’s and Nick Stargardt’s expertise in the history of childhood and children, and Laurence Brockliss’ unrivalled familiarity with the early modern Republic of Letters. Robin Briggs and Judith Pollmann have all broadened my mind in different ways. Jan Hendrik Clausen, Marion Deschamp, Kat Hill, Jo Lawson, Daniel Morgan, William O’Reilly, Roland Pietsch and Helen Roche have provided invaluable comments on sections of this book, and I am extremely grateful to them for this. Stephen Forrest, Clemens Frotscher, Miriam Ronzoni, Christian Schemmel and Karin Tikkanen all offered help and advice. Walter Häuschen hosted me while I was writing up the project. Invaluable coffee/discussion time was spent with Daniel Laqua and Tomasz Gromelski. In Poland, Mariusz Markiewicz, Filip Wolan´ski and Jan Harasimowicz were unrivalled hosts and colleagues. In Göttingen, Rebekka Habermas took great

xii

Acknowledgements

interest in my project and offered much-appreciated advice, while in Geneva Philip Benedict first suggested using quantitative methods for my research. In Zwickau, the staff of the Ratsschulbibliothek made me feel welcome from the first minute. The unrivalled expertise on Christian Daum of its director, Dr Lutz Mahnke, has informed every chapter of this book. Upstairs, the staff of the Stadtarchiv tirelessly photocopied documents and sifted through catalogues. The staff of the Städtische Kunstsammlungen were of constant help in hunting down images. Special thanks are due to Christof Kühnel, who searched through the parish registers of St Mary’s and St Catherine’s in the archives of the Nicolaigemeinde on my behalf. Wilfried Stoye allowed me to take photographs in the Priesterhäuser Museum; Norbert Oelsner and Matthias Fleischhauer generously shared information on the archaeological excavations and the restoration process of these unique buildings. Several institutions and funding bodies have made this book possible. I would like to thank Hertford College, Oxford, for awarding me the Mary Starun Senior Scholarship; the Wingate Foundation; the trustees of the Scatcherd European and the Roy Foster Memorial Scholarships; the Arts and Humanities Research Council; the DAAD; the Europaeum; the Institute for Historical Research; the Royal Historical Society; the Klassikstiftung Weimar; and the Humboldt Foundation for their generous support. I would also like to thank Hertford, Mansfield and Somerville Colleges in Oxford; the Jagiellonian University, Cracow; Göttingen University; the Graduate Institute of International Studies and the Institut d’histoire de la Réformation, Geneva; Potsdam University; Fitzwilliam College and the Faculty of History at Cambridge University; and the Faculty of History at Humboldt University, Berlin (Peter Burschel), for hosting me during various stages of my research. Administrative and library staff at Hertford College, the Oxford University International Office, the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin and the Bibliothek für Bildungsgeschichtliche Forschung in Berlin have all gone way beyond the call of duty to help. Parts of chapters 4 and 5 have appeared as ‘Pupils’ choices and social mobility after the Thirty Years’ War: a quantitative study’, The Historical Journal 57.2 (2014), reprinted with permission, ‘Learning by wrong-doing: aspiration and transgression among German pupils after the Thirty Years’ War’, Social History 40.2 (2015). In putting up with me during the last few years, my friends and family have done more than I have to get this project finished. In Berlin and Potsdam, Thomas and Sabine and Kolya, Alexa and Achim, Lisa, Moritz, Matze, Clara, Katharina, Jan, Patrick and Florian have all been there for me when I needed them, and I won’t forget! Bauchmiel, Filip, Kasia, Kora, Maciek, Madzia (of course), Marcin, Omid, Piotrek, Rafał and Wojtek were great friends to me in

Acknowledgements

xiii

Cracow and Poznan, while Alicja, Ayelet, Cincio, Corrado, Giovanna, Grace, Jared, Jon, Kyoko and the Bluegrass folks have made life in the UK often really great. Marion Deschamp has offered endless support and has been my sounding board. My family have done so much to help in all kinds of ways, and I have no idea how I could ever repay them.

Note on currencies and translations

1 Reichsthaler (rt.) 1 Gulden (gl.)/Florin (fl.) = 240 Pfennige 1 Kreutzer (kr.) 1 Pfennig (dl.) 1 Gulden (gl.)

= 90 Kreuzer = 60 Kreuzer 1 Kopffstück = 20 Kreuzer = 4 Pfennige = 2 Heller = £0 3s 0d

Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own.

Introduction

On 12 September 1669, Gottfried Richter, a lawyer in the small Saxon town of Lichtenstein, sent a delicate request to Christian Daum, the rector of the Latin school of close-by Zwickau. Richter’s father had died the night before, and, as it befitted a judge, his passing needed to be commemorated in print in the form of a collection of Latin Epicedia, stylised death-poems written by those close to him. Richter had already arranged for 100 copies to be printed, but there was one problem: he did not think himself fit to write a Latin poem – could Daum, ‘whose skilful poetry is widely known’, write one in his name? And would he be so kind as to destroy his letter and to keep this little secret to himself?1 Daum obliged (but did not destroy the correspondence!), and shortly afterwards the poem was published (in Richter’s name, of course) as part of a collection of Epicedia at Samuel Ebel’s small printer’s workshop in Zwickau (Figure 1).2 Exchanges like these illustrate how much learned culture – that is, the appropriation of the languages and culture of the classical world in the humanist tradition – mattered in the life of the early modern German town, and the extent to which it permeated the fabric of civic communities.3 ‘Learning’ mattered to the burghers of seventeenth-century towns on a day-to-day basis, be it in the shape of their own humanist education or in that of contacts with men who possessed this precious commodity. In the last three decades, intellectual and cultural historians have followed the lead of constitutional historians who have challenged the longheld view that territorial fragmentation made the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation fundamentally flawed and ‘backward’ as a political entity in comparison to more centralised European regions such as England or France.4 On the contrary, the plethora of small centres of knowledge production made the Holy Roman Empire a cultural environment of great vitality and diversity.5 The wide distribution of cultural activity across the Empire’s territories was possible because the Holy Roman Empire was home to some of the

2

Daum’s boys

Figure 1  The Epicedia for Erasmus Richter, which contained the poem ghostwritten by Daum in the name of the deceased judge’s son, Gottfried. The citizenry’s constant demand for publications to mark weddings, funerals, baptisms and similar occasions brought Latin schoolteachers into regular contact with the urban elite. most densely urbanised regions in Europe. In the majority of German towns, access to learned culture was provided not through universities, academies or princely courts, but through Latin schools, the German equivalent to English grammar schools. If we want to understand the vibrancy of German scholarly culture in the decades after the Thirty Years War, we need to take a close look at these schools.6 For Latin schools were, essentially, responsible for two of the defining characteristics of scholarly culture in early modern Germany: first,

Introduction

3

the easy integration of boys from non-learned backgrounds into the Republic of Letters, and second, the unbroken emphasis on the study of ancient languages and culture well into the nineteenth century. It is not the school as a mere institution, though, that needs examining, but the school as a scholarly and cultural habitat. Schools mattered immensely in the early modern German town. They were the town’s past, in that they housed libraries and collections of artefacts. They were their future, in that the powerful and the not-so-powerful sent their children there. They were the theatre and concert hall, in that plays were written and staged here and schoolboy choirs sang in church on Sundays and on holidays. They connected the town to far-away intellectual centres through the teachers’ connections and the pupils who went on to university and, thereby, added considerably to the profoundly decentralised character German scholarship had in comparison to that of England or France. Latin schools assumed their scholarly and cultural role in German cities in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, when a large number of schools formerly run by monasteries and church chapters came under the control of town councils. Having in most Lutheran territories by and large withstood intrusions by territorial government and consistories during and after the Reformation, local decision-making processes were gradually eroded in the early nineteenth century during the administrative reforms that saw the introduction of obligatory schooling and the establishment of ministries of education across Germany. In effect, the role Lutheran Latin schools played in German scholarship and civic culture underwent remarkably little change over a 400-year period.7 This book investigates the multifaceted nature of the school, not through an institutional case study in the traditional sense, but through the personal papers of a teacher and scholar. When the above-mentioned Christian Daum died aged seventy-five in 1687, he left to his home-town what is now one of the largest extant private libraries and collections of personal papers of any seventeenth-century German scholar. As he specified in his will, he did so specifically so that ‘his memory might be preserved in eternity’.8 To no avail: his name has not become part of the canon of the history of scholarship, as this highly competent philologist evidently hoped.9 Yet, as a teacher and later rector at an important Latin school, Daum was not only a scholar, but also responsible for transmitting a scholar’s mores and skills to the next generation. Through his papers, we get to see an early modern school the way it was seen at the time: an institution and a building, for sure, but also the home and work-space of established scholars, the rearing ground for future ones and, in its totality, the centre of scholarly activity of most small and mid-sized German towns.

4

Daum’s boys

Especially for its small-town practitioners, scholarship was about building networks. Scholars needed to acquire and maintain specific, technical knowledge, but, just as importantly, becoming a scholar was about communication. The exceptional status that men of learning claimed for themselves needed to be expressed and defended both in relation to a scholar’s peers and to the communities and institutions that supported them. This study is, more than anything else, about how the lifelong conversation developed that connected an early modern scholar both to his peers and to the groups and institutions that provided for his upkeep. This book investigates two aspects of this conversation in detail: first, how within the decentralised structure of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, schools were the focal point of a whole world of scholarship outside universities and courts (Chapters 1 to 3); second, how pupils became immersed at school within a culture that had its own markers of distinction, allowing scholars both to recognise each other and distinguish them from non‘learned’ men (Chapters 4 to 6). Schools as ‘knowledge places’ There can be no doubt that, in the 300  years between the upheavals of the Protestant and Catholic Reformations and the widespread introduction of obligatory schooling during the so-called Age of Enlightenment, learning and education became directly relevant to more Europeans than during any previous period. Both literacy and training in the culture and languages of the ancients increased to such an extent that historians have spoken of an ‘educational revolution’ in the seventeenth century or have called the eighteenth the ‘pedagogical century’.10 Such change was, however, far from evenly distributed across the continent.11 In the Holy Roman Empire, a greater number of educational establishments existed than in any other European region, Catholic, Protestant and Calvinist institutions often operating in direct proximity to each other. Schooling became a fiercely contested battleground on which the confessions competed with each other over the attention of the ever-important next generation of the faithful.12 Historians have explored Catholic preparatory education  – the school curricula of which were geared to preparing pupils for university – to a greater extent than Lutheran and Calvinist schooling because of the on-going fascination with Jesuit education, both because its teaching plan (the Ratio Studiorum) was unique in being distributed across the world of Catholic renewal, and because of the threat Protestants perceived Jesuit academies and their seemingly centralised organisation to be. Jesuit academies certainly played an important role

Introduction

5

in European culture since, like the Lutheran schools this book concentrates on, they harboured established scholars.13 Yet in many ways, Jesuit academies were very different from other European preparatory schools. While not as aloof from their surroundings as Durkheim famously suggested,14 the centralised structure of Jesuit administration and a streamlined teaching programme did make them somewhat less responsive to local demands than the majority of European schools, which were locally funded and run by councils or local church chapters.15 The role the much more common civic schools played within the cultural and scholarly life of early modern Germany, particularly in relation to universities, still awaits a synthetic account. Before such an account can be written successfully, however, more studies of individual institutions are needed. To the Lutheran reformers, education was crucial in ensuring the survival of their ideas into the next generation. If they wanted to consolidate the Reformation, they had to reach the children. Rather than impeding the progress of humanism, as it has sometimes been claimed,16 the Lutheran Reformation witnessed an effort to further classical learning for the sake of what Johannes Sturm called ‘wise and eloquent piety’ (‘sapiens et eloquens pietas’). Pagan wisdom was regarded as ‘a harbinger of rather than a challenge to Christian morality’.17 Classical education flourished in the Lutheran territories of the Holy Roman Empire, even if the ambitious goals of the reformers at moral reform of the population through education were never met.18 The subject of this study is a civic school in a staunchly Lutheran town, a mid-level sort of school well capable of preparing pupils for university yet not nearly as well staffed or funded as a Jesuit academy or the increasing number of elite schools funded directly by territorial government. Evangelical ideas reached Zwickau, situated in the electorate of Saxony, almost as soon as they were formulated in Wittenberg, and were enthusiastically received at the school. In fact, the first Lutheran school ordinance was devised here.19 In an educational market defined by oversupply, Zwickauers would, however, not relinquish the right to determine their school’s particular educational profile, neither to the Elector nor to the far-away consistory. For schools did not exist in a social or political vacuum. Education was a highly contentious issue in this period, causing frequent tension among territorial government, consistories and local populations.Yet, after a brief flurry of trail-blazing studies in the 1960s and 1970s, the history of schools has not seen the kind of paradigm shifts that other areas of cultural and social history have in recent years. A top-down perspective still prevails, giving a voice to law-givers, consistories and pedagogical writers, not teachers, pupils, parents and local councils – thereby by and large portraying schools as vessels of educational policy rather than lively scholarly and cultural habitats. Universities, on the other

6

Daum’s boys

hand, have been the subject of far more consistent attention over the last forty years and have been integrated into the broader political, cultural and social context of their territories and cultural exchange among them. Significantly, the rituals that took place at universities have been subjected to intense scrutiny:20 matriculation ceremonies, processions and architecture have been tapped for their representational meaning,21 while the unofficial culture of students and professors has been integrated into the history of ranks and seniority within the culture of early modern estates.22 Rather than the knowledge produced at universities being separate from the efforts of communicating their special status and defending their privileged position, German universities, such as the particularly well-documented university of Helmstedt, have come to be treated as ‘knowledge places’ deeply entangled in the politics and social conditions of their surroundings.23 Schools have not received this kind of attention.24 As understandable as academic historians’ fascination with the development of their own habitat might be, this teleological concentration on the university skews our image of early modern scholarship. For the world of early modern learning was not limited to universities, academies or courts. Especially in the decentralised Holy Roman Empire, men in the most remote locations felt entitled to add their penny’s-worth to the scholarly discussions of the day. Pastors, schoolteachers, doctors and other men of learning from a diverse range of professions published and corresponded on a vast range of issues. More than mere amateur quackery, the participation of men from a broad range of backgrounds was an integral part of German learned culture.25 Within this context, universities provided important focal points, but in many territories, schools mattered more immediately to scholars. Confession could play a part as in Habsburg-ruled Silesia, where, in the absence of a university catering to its confession, the scholarly community of the Lutheran majority focused on the Latin schools of Breslau and Liegnitz.26 Schools likewise played an important cultural role in heavily urbanised territories like Württemberg or Saxony where civic self-reliance was to a large part defined by a town having its own Latin school. As evidenced by the central role of school-plays within the development of vernacular German drama, the pivotal role that schools played within the literary life of the period had an impact that could put their host towns on the map, as the playwright and schoolteacher Christian Weise did with the otherwise little-known Lusatian town of Zittau.27 The same was true for occasional poetry of which schoolteachers produced a significant portion, either under their own names or, as we have seen in the opening paragraph of this book, as ghostwriters for less proficient folk. The presence of a printing press in many towns with a school contributed to spreading the cultural reputation of a school beyond the town walls, with some presses being either

Introduction

7

directly attached to the school or employing teachers as editors and proofreaders. Schools could provide scholars with an attractive alternative to a university career, so it can be little wonder that figures as prominent as the playwrights Christian Funcke and Sebastian Mitternacht or the philosopher Bartholomäus Keckermann all spent at least part of their careers at schools.28 While the historiography of teaching as a profession – largely written by teachers with more than a hint of collective self-fashioning – has by and large painted a miserable picture of the status of teachers in early modern Germany, the reality was far more diverse.29 The lot of teachers at rural German schools was without doubt unenviable, but teachers at well-endowed civic Latin schools could live in quite considerable comfort and enjoy the company of their town’s leading citizenry.30 Councils would strive to appoint established scholars, especially to the position of rector, so that a well-endowed school could lure away prominent academics from universities, as happened for instance in the case of the mathematician Joachim Jungius, who famously left Helmstedt University to take up the rectorship of the Johanneum in Hamburg.31 The most influential paradigm concerning German education remains Gerald Strauss’ concept of an ‘indoctrination of the young’, in which he argued that reformers and rulers had been able to restructure (top to bottom) Lutheran schooling to suit their doctrinal purposes.32 Strauss concentrated on sixteenth-century visitation records and discovered that the university-trained visitors found much to complain about at the end of the century, yet this does not mean that things had not improved.33 Moreover, visitation records are much less informative on civic schools than on village schools, and far less informative on Latin schools than on German schools.34 The debate sparked by Strauss has not helped to explain why, as Katrin Keller has recently shown, even small Saxon communities tenaciously supported Latin schools instead of more commerce-oriented schooling until well into the eighteenth century.35 Local initiative made the educational landscape in Lutheran Germany far more diverse than the period’s increasing attempts at centralisation might suggest. Yet it is not this persistent diversity that has most interested German historians. With the exception of the studies by Töpfer and Neugebauer on the interaction of civic decision-making processes and territorial government in Electoral Saxony and Brandenburg-Prussia,36 historians of education have written the story of the increasing encroachment of territorial government into matters of education as part of the narrative of the emergence of institutions of the modern ‘State’ within the superstructure of the Holy Roman Empire.37 However, the relationship of the centre to the periphery, in both the administrative as well as the intellectual sense, is oversimplified from the vantage point of normative sources.38 While recent synthetic accounts of education in Germany have acknowledged the differences in the

8

Daum’s boys

way territories in the Empire administered their educational systems, they have failed to acknowledge that differences among schools could be substantial even within the same territory.39 By the late fifteenth century, many cities had gained wide-ranging de facto rights of self-determination in matters of education that they were not willing to relinquish, regardless of territorial school ordinances that, in the absence of regular school visitations, were mostly toothless anyway. In fact, the ‘drive for uniformity’ Strauss diagnosed to have occurred at Lutheran Latin schools was a very superficial one indeed.40 The development of early modern curricula depended on local demands and the scholarly climate of a particular institution as much as, if not more than, on demands from above. This link between the structures and institutions that supported education and the knowledge they produced and digested is essentially unexplored in current writing on the early modern German school.41 In this respect, Ian Green’s recent study of English pre-university education is suggestive in that, by examining pedagogical literature alongside school curricula and biographies of teaching staff, the author is able to come to wide-ranging conclusions concerning the interplay of humanism and Protestant ideology between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries. The investigation of the role of schools within early modern scholarship is especially prescient since between the second half of the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth century such significant innovations in the field of education supposedly took place that for many, these years witnessed the birth of modern pedagogy, primarily on the territory of the Holy Roman Empire. The concentration on the works of the last bishop of the Bohemian brethren, philosopher and pedagogical theorist Jan Amos Komenský (Comenius) has, however, obscured almost completely the work of other pedagogical writers, the German theorists Wolfgang Ratke (Ratichius) and Erhard Weigel receiving the occasional mention.42 This dearth of research on the pedagogy that was actually practised at schools makes it impossible to gauge the context in which the pedagogical reforms of the seventeenth century were conceived or the effect they in turn had on teaching.43 By contrast, Robert Black’s recent study of schools in Renaissance Florence can serve as an example of a case study that merges an in-depth analysis of curricula with an examination of the social context and thereby approaches a question (‘Why the Florentine Renaissance?’) far beyond the traditional confines of the history of education.44 Another aspect crucial in integrating schools into the history of early modern urban culture on the one hand and the history of scholarship on the other is the history of transgressive behaviour at schools. Recent work has identified codified behaviour as essential in distinguishing men of learning from their unlearned contemporaries. Within this context, students’ transgressive

Introduction

9

behaviour, such as ritualised drinking, sword-carrying and duelling, has come under scrutiny by historians both of academic culture and of urban masculinities. Increasingly, student violence has come to be seen not as an extension of a violent, hormone-fuelled youth culture, but as a ritualised underscoring of students’ special corporative status within a society of orders.45 That schools were similarly violent places had already been pointed out by Philippe Ariès in his classic Centuries of Childhood of 1960.46 Both Keith Thomas’ pioneering studies on England and Laurence Brockliss’ more recent work on France have interpreted violence committed by pupils through the prism of the history of childhood and children, as expressions of an independent culture of children and youth that defined itself in opposition to authority figures, mostly teachers.47 Yet such transgressive behaviour was also highly useful to future students because it trained boys for the frequently violent and hierarchical life at university where the spirit of competition and of engaging directly with an opponent transcended the theatre of sanctioned disputations. In other words, the culture of the agon was as much a part of violence outside the classroom as it was of humanist learning.48 While recent portrayals of seventeenth-century German scholarly culture as principally confrontational might need to be tempered by future studies, it is clear that patterns of adversarial behaviour were common knowledge among scholars even if they were not universally practised.49 Clearly, a scholar-to-be needed to acquire more than mere letters at an early modern Latin school. Scholars and community in the seventeenth century For a minority of boys, the Latin school served as the training ground for university and eventual immersion in the world of scholarship beyond.Yet, despite its name, the Zwickau Latin school also served as the main place of German teaching where, as was common in the Lutheran territories of the Empire, future artisans were taught to read and write alongside prospective students in the same forms long before Komenský justified the practice as pedagogically sound. As a result, the school had a profound effect on the collective self-image of the community as a whole, which in turn necessitated further measures on the part of future scholars if they wished to differentiate themselves from their semi-educated fellow townsmen. The majority of Zwickau’s boys spent at least some time at the Latin school. As will be discussed in detail in Chapter 4, only a small minority of pupils stayed the course, which is unsurprising since it could take up to sixteen years to advance through the curriculum’s six forms. The fact that the majority of male Zwickauers got a glimpse of Latin school education, even if it was only

10

Daum’s boys

of the first form where German vernacular teaching dominated, had profound implications for its civic culture. Beside learning, there was what one might call half-learning – selective or partial learning. For every bona fide, university-educated scholar with a firm grip on Aristotelian logic, Latin and Greek, there were scores of others who had a smattering of classical culture, or, to borrow Jonson’s famous aphorism on Shakespeare, ‘small Latine, lesse Greeke’.50 Passive knowledge of classical literature, the ability to recognise ‘learning’ when one saw it, and maybe the ability to read some Latin and to repeat the stock phrase or two was exactly what the Latin school dispensed to the majority of its pupils. It was because of this rudimentary acquaintance that future artisans and tradesmen made with the culture of the ancient world that the teachers’ and pupils’ contribution to the cultural calendar of the city, such as plays and lectures on classical themes, could find an audience among Zwickau’s population, and that there was considerable demand for Latin occasional poetry. It was also because of this opendoor policy to boys who had no intention of going on to university that artisan writers such as the author of Zwickau’s Reformation-period chronicle, Peter Schumann – a baker by trade – had learnt enough to strew into his writing the odd Latin sentence and allusion to classical lore.51 Half-learning was central to civic identity because it forged a sense of cultural superiority above the rural hinterland and the burghers of lesser towns that did not have a Latin school. However, the school also contributed to the cohesion of Zwickau’s civic community by allowing future pastors, lawyers and teachers to mingle with aspiring artisans and tradesmen. At the school, all-important connections were made across professions that were later indispensable to scholars in their quest for public and private employment. It was principally because of such rudimentary acquaintance many early modern Europeans had with classical learning that established scholars occupied themselves with keeping a closed shop almost to the point of obsession.52 Transcending the level of half-learning and building a reputation as a scholar was a drawn-out and not always successful process that, if it was to bear fruit, needed to begin while pupils were still at school. But what, exactly, did it mean to be a ‘scholar’?53 Defining a scholar in the early modern period is far from easy, principally because there was no agreement on the matter at the time. Strict categories such as being a published author, which applied in one region or among a particular group of people, did not apply or were of secondary importance elsewhere.54 Having a reputation for being learned was part of the equation, but this reputation could be contested just as what, exactly, meaningful scholarship consisted of was debated.55 Formal education, commonly encompassing at least some time spent at university, was part of the deal, though continued association to

Introduction

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educational institutions or learned societies was not.56 Most historians have followed Jacques Verger’s broad definition of a ‘man of learning’ to be someone who possessed knowledge of a particular and easily verifiable kind, and who had, just as crucially, gained the acceptance of a group of peers.57 By the seventeenth century, this second element had evolved into an elaborate process of gradual initiation into the informal community of learned men, the Republic of Letters/Respublica litteraria.58 This Republic had no fixed territory, no defined geographical expansion, and had neither government nor fixed institutions. Membership of this community occurred through the gradual consensus of a sizeable number of established members acknowledging – explicitly or not – that someone possessed the necessary attributes of a scholar: learning and the right manners. But how did one acquire the right manners? Historians have recently become increasingly interested in scholars’ behavioural knowledge, mainly interpreting scholars’ codified behaviour with the help of methodology borrowed from the social sciences.59 Among these, the concept of habitus, popularised by Pierre Bourdieu, has been particularly widely adapted.60 According to Bourdieu, habitus explains recognisable patterns of behaviour as an expression of an underlying disposition specific to particular fields in society.61 The psychological dimension of habitus is intriguing, but at the same time makes its adaptation to historical enquiry problematic. Usage of the term habitus has moved away from meaning underlying inclination to the description of behaviour habitual to a particular social group, and has thereby in effect drifted towards performativity and the history of gesture. Forgetfulness, lack of personal hygiene, hypochondria, an exaggerated need for peace and quiet, attitudes to food and particular marriage patterns have all been shown to have played a role in distinguishing learned men as a ‘state apart’.62 Yet on the question of social reproduction, the application of habitus to historical analysis disappoints. By focusing on the ways in which behaviour could be used to draw a line between the ‘learned’ and the ‘unlearned’, current historiographical adaptations of the concept of habitus obscure the ways in which behavioural knowledge was passed on and thereby served to integrate, not exclude, the next generation of scholars.63 The self-representation of Republicans of Letters cannot be ignored within the context of the early modern Latin school; on the contrary, it was here that pupils were made familiar with much of what came to distinguish them from their ‘unlearned’ contemporaries. Yet we must not treat this behavioural knowledge as fixed and inflexible. As divergent as the habitats and occupations were that future ‘men of learning’ would find themselves in later in life, equally multifarious were the ways in which a learned identity could be constructed out of the basic building blocks of the clichéd life of learning. European scholars may have subscribed to a set of shared values, but they certainly used and

12

Daum’s boys

interpreted these in many different ways to suit the particular political, social and professional contexts of their surroundings. The setting: Zwickau Nestled in the foothills of the Erzgebirge (‘Ore Mountains’), Zwickau today is a provincial, if moderately prosperous, industrial city, mainly known as the former home of the Trabant car and as the birthplace of the composer Robert Schumann.64 During the early years of the Reformation, however, Zwickau mattered. Conveniently positioned on a crossroads of the main trading routes between Leipzig and Prague and Dresden and Nuremberg, Zwickau took pride in its fine cloth. It was, however, the discovery of silver in the mines of the Schneeberg that really put Zwickau on the map. Profiting from the boom by selling supplies to the miners, Zwickau’s burghers provided the elector with the largest tax income of any city in his realm. To Frederick the Wise, the town was his ‘pearl’, or his ‘Venice’, so called because of its two large lakes and the bridges over the river Mulde.That such a city should become an early supporter of the Reformation, arguably the second city after Wittenberg to become formally evangelical, did much to further Luther’s cause. Zwickau’s ‘blossom-time’ (Blütezeit) was, alas, short-lived.65 Its preeminence within the Ernestine Electorate of Saxony had been caused in no small part by the fact that during the partition of the Wettin lands in 1485, the Albertine branch had been awarded the much larger city of Leipzig as well as the small but growing city of Dresden. When the seat in the imperial council (Kurwürde) was transferred from the Ernestine to the Albertine branch of the Wettin family in 1547, Zwickau and the surrounding former bishopric of Naumburg also changed hands, making Zwickau the fourth-largest urban centre in the new Albertine Electorate after Görlitz, Leipzig and Freiberg.66 During the late sixteenth century, Zwickau’s economic fortunes faded, its fine cloth ceasing to be in demand, and the silver ore in the Erzgebirge all but drying up. By the early seventeenth century, its population had dropped from its Reformation-era high point of 7,500 (possibly even 9,000) inhabitants to approximately 5,000. Unpromising as this situation was, it was the ThirtyYears War that finally sealed Zwickau’s descent into insignificance. The plague of 1632–33 halved the already diminished population to roughly 2,500 inhabitants, where it was to remain almost without change until the early nineteenth century. Seven further sieges destroyed its sizeable suburbs, while the occupation by Swedish forces between 1639 and 1641 depleted the council’s coffers almost completely. While 100  years earlier the council could afford to have the streets paved, the town hall refurbished and its main church, St Mary’s,

Introduction

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significantly restructured, it needed more than 20 years to raise the funds to replace the steeple of St Mary’s, destroyed by lightning in 1650.67 Though at first the dismal post-war economic situation as well as the drastic loss of population suggests that the history of Zwickau in the seventeenth century is best written as a story of decline, the vast amount of manuscript material produced by the council as well as the teachers of the school, and the significant output of its printing press, suggest that civic customs and institutions survived the war intact. In terms of population, Zwickau had become a small town even by early modern standards; in terms of administration and, quite evidently, also in terms of self-image, it had remained a city.68 Zwickau’s administration continued to function as if nothing had changed. A small elite continued to rule Zwickau in the grand fashion of an important Saxon trading city. Twelve councillors from a select number of patrician families manned the council, while six others (sometimes fewer) sat in the town court. Two mayors alternated with each other from one year to the next. The members of the council also alternated in most years, ‘inactive’ councillors taking over the positions in the town court. During the seventeenth century, the Pitzsch, Reyher, Stepner and Ferber families reigned supreme, the Reyher family occupying one of the mayoral positions without interruption from 1634 till 1682.69 Under their rule, Zwickau’s administration produced minutes, tax registers, court records and parish registers without any gaps, even through the Thirty Years War, making it possible to examine how a community in decline responded to the challenges of war, disease and economic downturn. Its economy lying in ruins, shorn of its suburbs and having lost two-thirds of its population in less than 100 years, one might have expected Zwickau to have had little use for its Latin school, and to have instead opted for schooling that was more commerceoriented. This, however, did not happen. Sources and approach The eclectic kind of learning and knowledge production we will encounter the closer we get to know Christian Daum was linked to the scholarly ideal of polyhistoria. Essentially a German phenomenon, polyhistoria had developed out of two pivotal strains in European humanism: encyclopedism and universalism. It cherished broad knowledge across all disciplines above narrow specialisation in one. The seventeenth-century Late Humanist polyhistor spawned some of the German Enlightenment’s most vicious satire, Goethe’s Faust summing up the dismissive attitude of Enlightenment scholars towards their predecessors: learned, overworked, yet frustrated and unable to answer those questions that really mattered. Subsequent scholarship has largely followed the same

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Figure 2  Daum’s official portrait painted by the painter Christian Rheder from Greiz, commissioned by the Zwickau council. In Daum’s opinion, it was ‘a very bad likeness’. The caption reads ‘Christianus Daumius, philologus et polyhistor rectorque scholae Cygneae celeberrimus’. approach, finding it much easier to ridicule the polyhistor than to truly understand him.70 A Zwickau native, and himself a graduate of the Latin school, polyhistor Christian Daum (Figure  2) made the most of the research-friendly conditions – ample pay, free housing and limited workload – that came with

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his position of third-teacher and later rector of the school. This is reflected in his publications, his many notebooks and prolific correspondence. More than 5,000 letters that he received from 490 authors have survived, as well as the as-yet uncounted, but likewise ample collection of notebooks containing drafts of the letters he wrote. In addition, the textbooks used at the school as well as a significant number of marked exams and school essays written by the pupils have survived. Crucially, Daum also compiled comprehensive matriculation records of his pupils. As civic administration never collapsed during the Thirty Years War, it is possible to follow up this information in sources produced by the council, the local parishes and the superintendent. In contrast to the information given in a traditional institutional case study, we can therefore find out not only what young Zwickauers were taught and who taught them: we know who they were, what family background they had, how they lived, what their daily regimes were, what educational strategies they and their families pursued, and the currents of scholarship to which they were exposed. This allows us to see the school’s curriculum within the context of urban society, and to understand how pupils and their parents from a wide range of professional backgrounds picked and chose from it to suit their own ends. The first chapter describes the Latin school within its urban context as one of a multitude of intellectual microclimates that, taken together, accounted for the decentralised nature of scholarly production in the Holy Roman Empire. For boys going to school in a manufacturing town like Zwickau, the schoolteachers were the prime role models for the learned way of life. The second chapter, therefore, tells the story of how Daum established himself as a scholar by focusing on how he convinced others that he was one: through his dress, the way he conducted his married life and the ideal of scholarship to which he ascribed. Chapter 3 concerns itself with the debate over pedagogical method that became a bitter contest between teachers and the council over the authority to determine what knowledge was essential for the next generation. Chapter 4 focuses on the school’s pupils by presenting the results of the reconstruction of the school-careers of 770 boys through the quantitative analysis of the matriculation records and information culled from parish records. Who were the pupils who studied at the school, and how did they make use of the curriculum? The fifth chapter examines transgressive behaviour at the school. Rather than being separate from the patterns of behaviour condoned by established scholars, transgressive behaviour was a staple part of scholarly culture, and likewise followed established patterns. The sixth chapter analyses how Daum used his expansive network of correspondents as a tool for patronage to further his own career and those of select pupils.

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With Daum’s papers, it is often hard to tell if one is dealing with his ‘personal’/‘scholarly’ papers or papers relating to his ‘professional’ identity as a teacher and rector at the Latin school, and any attempt to make such a distinction is largely nonsensical. While other recent studies on scholars’ collections of papers, such as Peter Miller’s study on Peiresc and Laurence Brockliss’ study on Calvet, have used them as prisms into the social and cultural history of the Republic of Letters and its participants, through Daum’s papers we can understand not only the daily life and worldview of a scholar, but also the workings of the institution to which he was attached.71 I wish to encourage the reader to reimagine the school from the bottom up as one of a large number of lively scholarly and cultural habitats that, in their totality, accounted for the fertility of scholarly culture in the Holy Roman Empire.72 It was only due to the zealous efforts of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century archivists that Daum’s records where divided into sections pertaining to himself, his research and the school.73 Daum himself evidently did not see any division among the three aspects of his writing. Nor should we. Schooling and scholarship were entangled more closely in early modern Germany than we in our highly specialised research culture are accustomed to. Teachers and their brand of learning underpinned the conservative tendencies of Late Humanism in Germany after the Thirty Years War. That schools were lively scholarly habitats accounted not only for the smooth transition that boys from varied social backgrounds could make into the Republic of Letters, but for much of the specific character of scholarly culture in the Holy Roman Empire. Notes

1 Ratsschulbibliothek (RSB) Zwickau, Br.324.1, G. Richter to C. Daum, Hartenstein, 12 September 1669. 2 G. Richter, Threnodia quä Discessum ex hac Vita placidum ac beatum VIRI Eruditione, Scientia Juris, Morumq gravitate Spectatissimi, nec non Prudentissimi DN. ERASMI RICHTERI, Not. Caes. Publ. & Publ. & Praetoris Hartensteinii meritissimi, ibidem die XII. Sept. circa I. Matut. Anno Christi M. DC. LXIX. denati, cùm Septuagenario Major in his terris laudabiliter utiliterque vixisset, Natus Anno M.D.XCVIII. KL. Augusti, lugebat Filius ejus moestissimus GOTHOFREDUS RICHTERUS, Not. Caes. Publ. & Generosiss.Viduae à Schönburg Glauchae Secretarius (Zwickau, 1669). Richter was evidently well satisfied with Daum’s services and asked him to contribute to two further collections of occasional poetry in 1671. 3 For a brief introduction to the key debates of the vast field of Renaissance humanism and further bibliographical information, see C. G. Nauert, Humanism and the Culture of Renaissance Europe, 2nd edn (Cambridge, 2006). For the post-Reformation history of humanism in the Holy Roman Empire and the concept of Late Humanism, see W. Kühlmann, Gelehrtenrepublik und Fürstenstaat: Entwicklung und Kritik des deutschen Späthumanismus in der Literatur des Barockzeitalters (Tübingen, 1982); E. Rummel, The Confessionalization of Humanism in Reformation Germany (Oxford, 2000). 4 R. J.W. Evans, ed., The Holy Roman Empire, 1495–1806:  A European Perspective (Leiden/Boston, 2012); K. O. von Aretin, Das Alte Reich: 1648–1806, Vol. 1: Föderalistische oder ­hierarchische Ordnung (1648–1684) (Stuttgart, 1993); J. Whaley, Germany and the Holy Roman Empire 1493– 1806, 2 vols (Oxford, 2012).

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5 For the case that territorial fragmentation made the Holy Roman Empire a hotbed of cultural and knowledge production, see P. C. Hartmann, Kulturgeschichte des Heiligen Römischen Reiches 1648 bis 1806: Verfassung, Religion und Kultur (Böhlau/Vienna, 2001); H. Hotson, ‘Philosophical pedagogy in reformed central Europe between Ramus and Comenius: A survey of the continental background of the “Three Foreigners”’, in Samuel Hartlib and Universal Reformation: Studies in Intellectual Communication, ed. M. Greengrass, M. Leslie and T. Raylor (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 29–50. Noteworthy among recent studies that have stressed the cultural vitality of the Holy Roman Empire are H. Hotson, Paradise Postponed: Johann Heinrich Alsted and the Birth of Calvinist Millenarianism (Dordrecht/Boston, MA, 2001); M. R. Antognazza, Leibniz: An Intellectual Biography (Cambridge, 2009); M. Mulsow, Prekäres Wissen: Eine andere Ideengeschichte der Frühen Neuzeit (Berlin, 2012). 6 Recent scholarship has highlighted the role women played in early modern scholarship, as authors and patrons, as well as collaborators of male scholars. Early modern Latin schools and universities were, however, exclusively male environments that depended on female labour, but did not allow them entry. ‘Scholars’ – in the sense of people who were publicly acknowledged as such – needed to attend preparatory schools as well as universities, and as a result were by definition male in the seventeenth century. D. Noble, A World without Women: The Clerical Culture of Western Science (New York, 1993); L. Schiebinger, ‘The philosopher’s beard: Women and gender in science’, in The Cambridge History of Science, Vol. 4: Eighteenth-Century Science, ed. R. Porter (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 184–210. 7 F. Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und Universitäten vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart: Mit besonderer Rücksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, 3rd edn, 2 vols,Vol. 2 (Leipzig, 1919), esp. pp. 416–17; E. Fabian, ‘Gymnasium zu Zwickau’, in Übersicht über die geschichtliche Entwicklung der Gymnasien (Leipzig, 1900), pp. 221–42 (p. 232); R. Schmidt, Geschichte des sächsischen Schulwesens von 1600 bis 1918 (Dresden, 2008), esp. pp. 80–119. 8 Stadtarchiv (St A) Zwickau, AG 4072, Testament Christian Daum, 1687. 9 For biographical information on Daum, see Chapter 2. A moderate number of largely antiquarian articles have gathered together the main facts of Christian Daum’s life, yet he has to date not been the subject of a detailed, scholarly study. This is peculiar, since the potential of the material preserved in the Zwickau Ratsschulbibliothek has been evident to those familiar with it for more than a century. The author of Daum’s entry in the Allgemeine deutsche Biographie, Vol. 4 (Leipzig, 1876), pp.  770–1 pointed out in 1876 that ‘though he merits it, a satisfying biography of this man has yet to be written’. R. Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild aus dem XVII. Jahrhundert’, Mitteilungen des Altertumsvereins für Zwickau und Umgebung 3 (1891), 1–31; L. Mahnke, Christian Daum: Ein Zwickauer Rektor (Zwickau, 2002); M. C.Woods, ‘A medieval rhetorical manual in the 17th century:The case of Christian Daum and the Poetria nova’, in Classica et beneventana: Essays Presented to Virginia Brown on the Occasion of Her 65th Birthday, ed. F. T. Coulson (Turnhout, 2008), pp. 201–12. 10 For an introduction to these concepts, see the classic L. Stone, ‘The educational revolution in England, 1560–1640’, Past & Present 28 (1964), 41–80; and U. Herrmann, Das pädagogische Jahrhundert: Volksaufklärung und Erziehung zur Armut im 18. Jahrhundert in Deutschland (Landsberg, 1981). 11 For an introduction to the comparative study of European literacy and vernacular education, see R. A. Houston, Literacy in Early Modern Europe: Culture and Education 1500–1800 (Harlow, 1988); L. Stone, ‘Literacy and education in England 1640–1900’, Past & Present 42 (1969), 69–139. For the continuing allure of classical learning in the early modern period, see A. Grafton, Defenders of the Text:The Traditions of Scholarship in an Age of Science, 1450–1800 (Cambridge, MA, 1991); A. Grafton, ed., The Transmission of Culture in Early Modern Europe (Philadelphia, 1990). 12 Nowhere was this proximity closer than in the Empire’s bi-confessional towns. See E. François, Die unsichtbare Grenze: Protestanten und Katholiken in Augsburg (Sigmaringen, 1991); B. Roeck, Eine Stadt in Krieg und Frieden: Studien zur Geschichte der Reichsstadt Augsburg zwischen

18

Daum’s boys Kalenderstreit und Parität (Göttingen, 1989); P. Warmbrunn, Zwei Konfessionen in einer Stadt: Das Zusammenleben von Katholiken und Protestanten in den paritätischen Reichsstädten Augsburg, Biberach, Ravensburg und Dinkelsbühl von 1548 bis 1648 (Wiesbaden, 1983). 13 See M. Feingold, ed., Jesuit Science and the Republic of Letters (Cambridge, MA/London, 2003), in particular the contributions by Feingold, Wallace and Baldwin. 14 E. Durkheim, L’Evolution pédagogique en France: Cours pour les candidats à l’agrégation prononcé en 1904–1905 (Paris, 1938), available online at http://classiques.uqac.ca/classiques/ Durkheim_emile/evolution_ped_france/evol_ped_france_2.pdf (downloaded May 2014). 15 K. Bobková-Valentová, Každodenní život ucˇitele a žáka jezuitského gymnazia (Prague, 2006); M.-M. Compère, ‘Der Unterricht der Jesuiten in Europa um 1700’, in Zwischen christlicher Tradition und Aufbruch in die Moderne: Das HallescheWaisenhaus im bildungsgeschichtlichen Kontext, ed. J. Jacobi (Halle, 2007), pp. 29–45; D. Julia, ‘Entre universel et local: Le collège jésuite à l’époque moderne’, Paedagogica historica 40 (2004), 15–33. 16 P. Grappin, ‘L’Humanisme en Allemagne après la Réforme Luthérienne’, in L’Humanisme allemand (1480–1540), ed. Grappin (Paris, 1970), pp. 593–605 (p.  593): ‘Selon la thèse communément admise, le succès de la Réforme a marqué la fin de l’humanisme. Luther a contribué à cette fin rapide, son succès a étoufflé la renaissance dans le pays allemand.’ For a similar statement see also B. G. Kohl, ‘Humanism and education’, in Renaissance Humanism, ed. A. Rabil (Philadelphia, 1988), pp. 5–22 (p. 19). 17 B. S. Tinsley, ‘Johann Sturm’s method for humanistic pedagogy’, Sixteenth Century Journal 20 (1989), 23–40 (p. 23). 18 C. R. Friedrichs, ‘Whose house of learning? Some thoughts on German schools in postReformation Germany’, History of Education Quarterly 22 (1982), 371–7; J. M. Kittelson, ‘Successes and failures in the German Reformation: The report from Strasbourg’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 53 (1982), 153–75; G. Strauss, ‘Success and failure in the German Reformation’, Past & Present 67 (1975), 30–63; G. Strauss, ‘The social function of schools in the Lutheran Reformation in Germany’, History of Education Quarterly 28.2 (1988), 191–206. 19 O. Clemen, ed., Die älteste Zwickauer Schulordnung 1523: Faksimiledruck der ‘Ordnung dess Nawen Studii und yetzt auffgerichten Collegii und Fürstlicher Stadt Zwickau’ (Zwickau, 1923). 20 For an introduction to recent approaches to the history of universities, see W. Rüegg, ed., A History of the University in Europe, 4 vols (Cambridge, 1992–2011), in particular the first and second volumes: Universities in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1992), ed. H. d. RidderSymoens, and Universities in Early Modern Europe (1500–1800), ed. H. d. Ridder-Symoens (Cambridge, 1996). Influential case studies have come first and foremost out of medieval and Renaissance studies: A. B. Cobban, The Medieval English Universities: Oxford and Cambridge to c. 1500 (Aldershot, 1988); W. J. Courtenay, Schools and Scholars in Fourteenth-Century England (Princeton, 1987); J. Fried, ed., Schulen und Studium im sozialen Wandel des hohen und späten Mittelalters (Sigmaringen, 1986); P. Moraw, Gesammelte Beiträge zur deutschen und europäischen Universitätsgeschichte: Strukturen, Personen, Entwicklungen (Leiden, 2008); R. C. Schwinges, Deutsche Universitätsbesucher im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert: Studien zur Sozialgeschichte des Alten Reiches (Stuttgart, 1986); R. C. Schwinges, Gelehrte im Reich: Zur Sozial- und Wirkungsgeschichte akademischer Eliten des 14. bis 16. Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 1996); R. C. Schwinges, ed., Examen, Titel, Promotionen: Akademisches und staatliches Qualifikationswesen vom 13. bis zum 21. Jahrhundert (Basel, 2007); R. Southern, Scholastic Humanism and the Unification of Europe, 2 vols (Oxford, 1995–2001). 21 W. Clark, ‘On the ironic specimen of the Doctor of Philosophy’, Science in Context 5 (1992), 97–137; H. Robinson-Hammerstein, ‘Commencement ceremonies and the public profile of a university: Trinity College Dublin, the first one hundred years’, in Università in Europa: Le instituzioni universitarie dal Medio Evo ai nostri giorni; Strutture, organizzazione, funzionamento. Atti del Convegno Internationale di Studi, Milazzo, 28 Septembre–2 Octobre 1993, ed. A. Romano (Soveria Mannelli, 1995), pp. 239–55. For recent studies on early modern Germany, see

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M. Füssel, ‘Die inszenierte Universität: Ritual und Zeremoniell als Gegenstand der frühneuzeitlichen Universitätsgeschichte’, Jahrbuch für Universitätsgeschichte 9 (2006), 19–34; R. Kirwan, Empowerment and Representation at the University in Early Modern Germany: Helmstedt and Würzburg, 1576–1634 (Wiesbaden, 2009). 22 M. Füssel, Gelehrtenkultur als symbolische Praxis: Rang, Ritual und Konflikt an der Universität der Frühen Neuzeit (Darmstadt, 2006); R. Kirwan, ed., Scholarly Self-Fashioning and Community in the Early Modern University (Farnham, 2013); R. C. Schwinges, ‘Mit Mückensenf und Hellschepoff: Fest und Freizeit in der Universität des Mittelalters (14. bis 16. Jahrhundert)’, Jahrbuch für Universitätsgeschichte 6 (2003), 11–27. 23 P. Gilli, J. Verger and D. L. Blévec, eds, Les Universités et la ville au Moyen Age: Cohabitation et tension (Leiden, 2007), especially the essays by Verger, Marin, Munby, Martin and Gramsch; C. Jacob, ed., Lieux de savoir, Vol. 1: Espaces et communautés (Paris, 2007). 24 Previous authors have bemoaned the lack of a modern general account of early modern German schooling, no equivalent to Jo Ann Hoeppner-Moran’s, Paul Grendler’s and George Huppert’s studies of England, Italy and France having appeared. Yet behind this lacuna lies the even more serious scarcity of methodologically up-to-date case studies of schools. In this respect, the historiography on German schools lags far behind that of some of its European neighbours. Most noteworthy is the work of historians attached to the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, who have provided the most comprehensive ‘map’ of a European country’s educational landscape and have produced several superb quantitative studies on the basis of school matriculation records. Within the historiography of German schooling a decidedly top-down paradigm has stood in the way of schools being studied in their own right, the institutional case studies conducted by Anton Schindling and his students being the exception. S. C. Karant-Nunn, ‘Alas, a lack: Trends in the historiography of preuniversity education in early modern Germany’, Renaissance Quarterly 43.4 (1990), 788–98. P. F. Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy: Literacy and Learning, 1300–1600 (Baltimore, 1991); G. Huppert, Public Schools in Renaissance France (Urbana/Chicago, 1984); and J. A. Hoeppner Moran, The Growth of English Schooling 1340–1548: Learning, Literacy and Laicization in Pre-ReformationYork Diocese (Princeton, 1985). M.-M. Compère, Les Collèges français 16e-18e siècles, 3 vols (Paris, 1984–2003);W. Frijhoff and D. Julia, École et société dans la France d’Ancien Régime (Paris, 1975); D. Julia, ‘Les Sources de l’histoire de l’éducation et leur exploitation’, Revue française de Pédagogie 27 (1974), 22–42; D. Julia and W. Frijhoff, ‘Le Recrutement d’une congrégation enseignante et ses mutations à l’époque moderne: L’oratoire de France’, HR/ RH 7 (1980), 443–58; D. Julia, J. Revel and R. Chartier, Les Universités européennes du XVIe au XVIIIe siècle: Histoire sociale des populations étudiantes (Paris, 1986); J. Bruning, Das pädagogische Jahrhundert in der Praxis: Schulwandel in Stadt und Land in den preussischen Westprovinzen Minden und Ravensberg 1648–1816 (Berlin, 1998);W. Mährle, Academia Norica:Wissenschaft und Bildung an der Nürnberger Hohen Schule in Altdorf (1575–1623) (Stuttgart, 2000);  A. Schindling, Humanistische Hochschule und freie Reichsstadt: Gymnasium und Akademie in Strassburg 1538–1621 (Wiesbaden, 1977). 25 For the idea and reality of broad participation in scholarly debate, see P. Burke, ‘Erasmus and the Republic of Letters’, European Review 7 (1999), 5–17; M. Fumaroli, ‘La République des Lettres’, Diogène 143 (1988), 131–50. For the Holy Roman Empire, this diversity is still best described in the classic article by E. Trunz, ‘Der deutsche Späthumanismus um 1600 als Standeskultur’, in Deutsche Literatur zwischen Späthumanismus und Barock: Acht Studien, ed. Trunz (Munich 1995 [1931]), pp. 7–82. 26 Silesia only got a university in 1702, the Leopoldina in Breslau.This Jesuit institution, however, appears not to have curbed the central role of Protestant schools in the cultural life of the region. C. Absmeier, Das schlesische Schulwesen im Jahrhundert der Reformation: Ständische Bildungsreformen im Geiste Philipp Melanchthons (Stuttgart, 2011); J. Bahlcke, Schlesien und die Schlesier (Munich, 2000), pp. 59–63; J. Reinkens, Die Universität zu Breslau vor derVereinigung der Frankfurter Viadrina mit der Leopoldina: Festschrift der katholisch-theologischen Fakultät (Breslau, 1861).

20

Daum’s boys

27 For an introduction to Weise and his plays, see M. Kaiser, Mitternacht  – Zeidler  – Weise: Das protestantische Schultheater nach 1648 im Kampf gegen höfische Kultur und absolutistisches Regiment (Göttingen, 1972). A large amount of information on the performance of such plays exists for the Latin school of Görlitz: K. Gajek, ‘Christian Funckes Prosafassung der Judith von Martin Opitz: Dokumentation einer Aufführung auf dem Görlitzer Schultheater im Jahre 1677’, Daphnis 18 (1989), 421–66; H. Hoffmann, Das Görlitzer barocke Schultheater (Königsberg, 1932). 28 H. Haxel, Studien zu den Lustspielen Christian Weises (1642–1708): Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des deutschen Schuldramas (Stettin, 1932); O. Kaemmel, Christian Weise: Ein sächsischer Gymnasialrektor aus der Reformzeit des 17. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1897); Kaiser, Mitternacht – Zeidler – Weise; C.-M. Ort, Medienwechsel und Selbstreferenz: Christian Weise und die literarische Epistemologie des späten 17. Jahrhunderts (Tübingen, 2003). For a brief English-language introduction to Keckermann and his work see H. Hotson, Johann Heinrich Alsted: Encyclopaedism, Millenarianism and the Second Reformation in Germany (Oxford, 1994), pp. I–IV. 29 E. Reicke, Lehrer und Unterrichtswesen in der deutschen Vergangenheit: Mit 130 Abbildungen und Beilagen nach Originalen aus dem fünfzehnten bis achtzehnten Jahrhundert (Leipzig, 1901); U. Walz, Eselsarbeit für Zeisigfutter: Die Geschichte des Lehrers (Frankfurt am Main, 1988). 30 This point is made forcefully in W. Neugebauer, Absolutistischer Staat und Schulwirklichkeit in Brandenburg-Preussen (Berlin, 1985), pp. 302–16. 31 For a brief biography of Jungius, see S. Clucas, ‘Sciencia and Inductio scientifica in the Logica hamburgensis of Joachim Jungius’, in Scientia in Early Modern Philosophy: Seventeenth-Century Thinkers on Demonstrative Knowledge from First Principles, ed. T. Sorell, G. Alan, J. Rogers and J. Kraye (Heidelberg/London/New York, 2010), pp. 53–70 (pp. 54–5). 32 G. Strauss, Luther’s House of Learning: Indoctrination of the Young in the German Reformation (Baltimore/London, 1978). 33 This point is made in Kittelson, ‘Successes and failures in the German Reformation’, p. 159. 34 G. Parker, ‘Success and failure during the first century of the Reformation’, Past & Present 136 (1992), 43–82 (p. 47). 35 K. Keller, ‘“… daß wir ieder zeith eine feine lateinische schul gehabt haben”: Beobachtungen zu Schule und Bildung in sächsischen Kleinstädten des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts’, in Kleine Städte im neuzeitlichen Europa, ed. H. T. Gräf (Berlin, 1997), pp. 137–68. 36 Neugebauer, Absolutistischer Staat und Schulwirklichkeit; T. Töpfer, Die ‘Freyheit’ der Kinder: Territoriale Politik, Schule und Bildungsvermittlung in der vormodernen Stadtgesellschaft; Das Kurfürstentum und Königreich Sachsen 1600–1815 (Stuttgart, 2012). For a comparison to other regions, see the articles by Wesoly and Andermann in B. Kirchgässner and H.-P. Brecht, eds, Stadt und Bildung (Sigmaringen, 1997). 37 For an introduction to recent work on German pre-university education, see S. Ehrenpreis and H. Schilling, eds, Erziehung und Schulwesen zwischen Konfessionalisierung und Säkularisierung: Forschungsperspektiven, europäische Fallbeispiele und Hilfsmittel (Münster, 2003); V. AlbrechtBirkner, Reformation des Lebens: Die Reformen Herzog Ernsts des Frommen von Sachsen-Gotha und ihre Auswirkungen auf Frömmigkeit, Schule und Alltag im ländlichen Raum (1640–1675) (Leipzig, 2002); S. Ehrenpreis, ‘Sozialdisziplinierung durch Schulzucht? Bildungsnachfrage, konkurrierende Bildungssysteme und der “deutsche Schulstaat” des siebzehnten Jahrhunderts’, in Institutionen, Instrumente und Akteure sozialer Kontrolle und Disziplinierung im frühneuzeitlichen Europa [= Institutions, Instruments and Agents of Social Control and Discipline in Early Modern Europe], ed. H. Schilling and L. Behrisch (Frankfurt am Main, 1999), pp. 167–85; J. L. Le Cam, Politique, contrôle, et réalité scolaire en Allemagne au sortir de la Guerre de Trente Ans, 3 vols (Wolfenbüttel, 1996). 38 This point is further explored in A. S. Ross, ‘“Da hingegen bei uns fast ein jedes Land und Ort sich ein besonderes machet”: Zentrum und Peripherie im bildungsgeschichtlichen Kontext am Beispiel der kursächsischen Stadt Zwickau im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert’, Historisches Jahrbuch 131 (2011), 269–89.

Introduction

21

39 S. Ehrenpreis,‘Erziehung und Schulwesen zwischen Konfessionalisierung und Säkularisierung: Forschungsprobleme und methodische Innovationen’, in Erziehung und Schulwesen zwischen Konfessionalisierung und Säkularisierung: Forschungsperspektiven, europäische Fallbeispiele und Hilfsmittel, ed. Ehrenpreis and H. Schilling (Münster, 2003), pp. 19–34; N. Hammerstein and A. Buck, eds, Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, Vol. 1: 15. bis 17. Jahrhundert:Von der Renaissance und der Reformation bis zum Ende der Glaubenskämpfe (Munich, 1996); T. Ballauff, G. Plamböck and K. Schaller, Pädagogik: Eine Geschichte der Bildung und Erziehung (Freiburg/ Munich, 1969). 40 Strauss, Luther’s House of Learning, p. 188. 41 By contrast, the leading fin de siècle historians of German education  – Julius Lattmann, Ernst Schwabe and Friedrich Paulsen – took as a given the necessity of having to grapple with the intricacies of the different German states with their administrative structures and the vastness of the school textbook literature in order to describe the reality of what was actually taught in early modern schools. J. Lattmann, Geschichte der Methodik des lateinischen Elementarunterrichts seit der Reformation: Eine specialistische Ergänzung zur Geschichte der Pädagogik (Göttingen, 1896); J. Lattmann, Ratichius und die Ratichianer: Helwig, Fürst Ludwig und Walther, Kromayer, Evenius und Herzog Ernst; Auch Rhenius. Zur Geschichte der Pädagogik (Göttingen, 1898); Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts; E. Schwabe, Das Gelehrtenschulwesen Kursachsens von seinen Anfängen bis zur Schulordnung von 1580: Kurze Übersicht über die Hauptzüge der Entwicklung (Leipzig/Berlin, 1914). 42 Ehrenpreis and Schilling, Erziehung und Schulwesen, p. 27. 43 For an introduction to recent trends in European scholarship see M.-M. Compère, L’Histoire de l’éducation en Europe: Essai comparatif sur la façon dont elle s’écrit (Paris/Bern, 1995), esp. Section 3. For an overview of German historiography, see A. Schindling, Bildung und Wissenschaft in der Frühen Neuzeit: 1650–1800 (Munich, 1994). 44 R. Black, Education and Society in Florentine Tuscany:Teachers, Pupils and Schools, c. 1250–1500, 2 vols, Vol. 1 (Leiden/Boston, MA, 2007), p. xii. 45 A. Shepard,‘Student masculinity in early modern Cambridge, 1560–1640’, in Frühneuzeitliche Universitätskulturen: Kulturhistorische Perspektiven auf die Hochschulen in Europa, ed. B. KrugRichter and R.-E. Mohrmann (Köln/Weimar/Wien, 2009), pp. 53–74; A. Shepard, ‘Student violence in early modern Cambridge’, in Childhood and Violence in the Western Wradition, ed. L. Brockliss and H. Montgomery (Oxford, 2010), pp. 233–8. M. Füssel, ‘Devianz als Norm? Studentische Gewalt und akademische Freiheit in Köln im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’, Westfälische Forschungen 54 (2004), 145–66; K. Siebenhüner, ‘Zechen, Zücken und Lärmen’: Studenten vor dem Freiburger Universitätsgericht 1561–1577 (Freiburg, 1999); A. Tlusty, The Martial Ethic in Early Modern Germany: Civic Duty and the Right of Arms (London, 2011), pp. 167–71. 46 P. Ariès, Centuries of Childhood (New York, 1962 [French edn Paris, 1960]), pp. 315–28. 47 L. Brockliss, ‘Bullying in English schools and universities’, in Childhood and Violence in the Western Tradition, ed. Brockliss and H. Montgomery (Oxford/Oakville, 2010), pp. 226–33; L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Pupil violence in the French classroom 1600–1850’, in Brockliss and Montgomery, Childhood and Violence in the Western Tradition, pp. 220–6; K. Thomas, Rule and Misrule in the Schools of Early Modern England (Reading, 1976); K. Thomas, ‘Children in Early Modern England’, in Children and Their Books: A Celebration of theWork of Iona and Peter Opie, ed. G. Avery and J. Briggs (Oxford, 1989), pp. 45–77. 48 Courtenay, Schools and Scholars in Fourteenth-Century England; J. Davies, Culture and Power: Tuscany and Its Universities 1537–1609 (Leiden/Boston, MA, 2009), p. 162; W. Ong, Fighting for Life: Contest, Sexuality, and Consciousness (Ithaca, NY, 1981), pp. 118–48. For a broader exploration of the tradition of the agon in early modern scholarly culture, see the research project Projet Agon; La dispute: Cas, querelles, controverses et création à l’époque moderne, www. agon.paris-sorbonne.fr (accessed May 2014).

22

Daum’s boys 49 M. Füssel,‘Zweikämpfe des Geistes: Die Disputation als Schlüsselpraxis gelehrter Streitkultur im konfessionellen Zeitalter’, in Streitkultur und Öffentlichkeit im konfessionellen Zeitalter, ed. H. Jürgens and T. Welle (Göttingen, 2013), pp. 159–78. 50 Baldwin suggested that Jonson’s aphorism was not meant to denigrate Shakespeare’s knowledge of classical culture, but rather to distinguish the bard’s work from that of strict grammarians. T. W. Baldwin, William Shakespeare’s Smalle Latin and Lesse Greeke (Urbana, IL, 1994 [1944]), pp. 1–18. 51 RSB Zwickau, LIXb, Peter Schumanns Annalen II, Bl. 78b (Stück 1), late sixteenth century, excerpts published in R. Falk, ‘Zwickauer Chroniken aus dem 16. Jahrhundert’, Alt-Zwickau (1923), 24, 31, 35; (1924), 2, 42–3. On Schumann, see H. Bräuer, ‘Zur frühen bürgerlichen Geschichtsschreibung in Zwickau im 16. Jahrhundert’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 20 (1972), 565–76. 52 This point is most lucidly made in Chapter 3 of A. Goldgar, Impolite Learning: Conduct and Community in the Republic of Letters, 1680–1750 (New Haven/London, 1995). 53 The sociological literature on intellectuals is vast. R. Eyerman, Between Culture and Politics: Intellectuals in Modern Society (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 1–32, provides a brief introduction to the key sociological debates on intellectuals. For a discussion of the applicability – or lack thereof – of modern concepts to the medieval and early modern periods, see J. Verger, Men of Learning in Europe at the End of the Middle Ages (Notre Dame, IN, 2000), p. 2. 54 The classic example of the respected scholar who published nothing is Nicolas-Claude Fabri de Peiresc. On his brand of antiquarian learning, see P. N. Miller, Peiresc’s Europe: Learning and Virtue in the Seventeenth Century (New Haven, 2000). 55 On the concept of contested and endangered knowledge, see the thought-provoking Mulsow, PrekäresWissen. 56 Most famous among the moneyed ‘freelance’ scholars of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries is, without doubt, Charles-Louis de Secondat, baron de Montesquieu. The phenomenon was, however, quite widespread. Caspar von Barth, Christian Daum’s patron in the literary circles of Leipzig, is another example. For an introduction to Montesquieu’s life, see the classic R. Shackleton, Montesquieu: A Critical Biography (Oxford, 1961). No decent biography of Barth exists. For an outline of his life, see J. Hoffmeister, Kaspar von Barths Leben,Werke und sein deutscher Phönix: Mit einem Manualneudruck des deutschen Phönix, Vol. 19 (Heidelberg, 1931); and A. Schroeter, ‘Caspar von Barth’, in Beiträge zur Geschichte der neulateinischen Poesie Deutschlands und Hollands, ed. A. Schroeter, E. Schmidt and P. Stachel (Berlin, 1909), pp. 267–325. 57 Verger, Men of Learning, p. 2. 58 H. Bost, Un ‘intellectuel’ avant la lettre: Le journaliste Pierre Bayle (1647–1706); L’actualité religieuse dans les ‘Nouvelles de la République des Lettres’ 1684–1687 (Amsterdam, 1994); H. Bots and F. Waquet, La République des Lettres (Paris, 1997); D. S. Lux and H. J. Cook, ‘Closed circles or open networks: Communicating at a distance during the Scientific Revolution’, History of Science 36 (1998), 179–211; F. Waquet, ‘Qui est-ce que la République des Lettres? Essai de sémantique historique’, Bibliothèque de l’Ecole des Chartes p. 147 (1989), 473–502. 59 As an introduction to various problems connected to the history of the ‘scientific persona’, see L. Daston, ‘Die wissenschaftliche Persona: Arbeit und Berufung’, in Zwischen Vorderbühne und Hinterbühne: Beiträge zum Wandel der Geschlechterbeziehungen in der Wissenschaft vom 17. Jahrhundert bis zur Gegenwart, ed. T. Wobbe (Bielefeld, 2003), pp. 109–36. 60 The concept of habitus has been long in the making; Loïc Wacquant has traced the notion as far back as Aristotle’s concept of hexis. Marcel Mauss used the actual term habitus in his Body Techniques in 1934, as did Norbert Elias in The Civilizing Process five years later. Nonetheless, no discussion nor application of habitus could get past the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, who thoroughly reworked and streamlined the concept in the 1960s and 1970s. Since historians have strayed from Bourdieu’s definition of the concept to wildly diverging degrees, it is difficult to speak of a uniform field of ‘habitus studies’. A useful discussion of the changes in the usage of habitus in recent years can be found in H. J. Stam, ‘Habitus, psychology, and

Introduction

23

ethnography: Introduction to the special section’, Theory and Psychology (2009), 707–11. See also N. Elias, The Civilizing Process, Vol. 1: The History of Manners (Oxford, 1969); M. Mauss, ‘Les Techniques du corps’, Journal de psychologie 32 (1934), 271–93; L. Wacquant, ‘Habitus’, in International Encyclopedia of Economic Sociology, ed. J. Beckert and M. Zafirovski (London, 2004), pp. 315–19. 61 P. Bourdieu, ‘Habitus, Herrschaft und Freiheit’, in Wie die Kultur zum Bauern kommt: Über Bildung, Schule und Politik, ed. Bourdieu (Hamburg, 2001), pp. 162–73 (p. 165); P. Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, Translated by Richard Nice (London/New York, 2010 [1984]), pp. 1–89, 165–222. 62 Among the plethora of recent adaptations of habitus by historians, see in particular G. Algazi, ‘Scholars in households: Refiguring the learned habitus, 1480–1550’, in Science in Context 16:1–2, Special Issue: Scientific Personae, ed. L. Daston and O. Sibum (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 9–42; M. Füssel, ‘Akademische Lebenswelt und gelehrter Habitus: Zur Alltagsgeschichte des deutschen Professors im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’, in Alltagswelt Universität, ed. W. Kaschuba (Stuttgart, 2007), pp.  35–53; W. S. Kissel, ‘Europäische Bildung und aristokratische Distinktion: Zum Habitus des aufgeklärten Russen im 18. Jahrhundert’, in Russische Aufklärungsrezeption im Kontext offizieller Bildungskonzepte (1700–1825), ed. G. Lehmann-Carli (Berlin, 2001), pp. 365–81; J.Wischmeyer, ‘Akademischer Habitus und Sozialprofil der protestantischen Universitätstheologen im Nachmärz (1850–1870)’, in Akademische Lebenswelten: Habitus und Sozialprofil von Gelehrten im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, ed. E. Demm, J. Suchoples and N. Chamba (Frankfurt am Main, 2011), pp. 33–68. 63 Bourdieu was of the opinion that education, especially the elitist mid-twentieth-century French system, tended to perpetuate social inequality. See P. Bourdieu and J.-C. Passeron, Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture (London, 1977). 64 For the long-term development of Zwickau’s population, see Chapter 4. 65 For the most reliable accounts of Zwickau’s ‘blossom-time’ see H. Bräuer, Zwickau und Martinus Luther: Die gesellschaftlichen Auseinandersetzungen um die städtische Kirchenpolitik in Zwickau (1527–1531) (Karl-Marx-Stadt, 1983); H. Bräuer, Thomas Müntzer und die Zwickauer: Zum Wirken Thomas Müntzers in Zwickau 1520–1521 (Karl-Marx-Stadt, 1989); H. Bräuer, Wider den Rat: Der Zwickauer Konflikt 1516/17 (Leipzig, 1999). 66 See the entry for 1547 in E. Herzog, Chronik der Kreisstadt Zwickau, 2 vols, Vol. 1 (Zwickau, 1839); as well as S. C. Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, 1500–1547: The Reformation as an Agent of Change (Columbus, 1987), pp. 9–10. See the 1550 figures for Zwickau, Görlitz, Freiberg and Leipzig in K. Blaschke, Bevölkerungsgeschichte von Sachsen bis zur industriellen Revolution (Weimar, 1967). 67 See the entries for 1650 and 1671 in Herzog, Chronik; and R. Beck,‘Der Brand des Zwickauer Marienkirchturms nach Berichten von Augenzeugen’, Mitteilungen des Altertumsvereins für Zwickau und Umgebung 3 (1891), 40–3. 68 K. Keller, Kleinstädte in Kursachsen: Wandlungen einer Städtelandschaft zwischen Dreißigjährigem Krieg und Industrialisierung (Cologne/Weimar/Vienna, 2001). 69 St A Zwickau, Ratsherrenbuch, 23 b., which also includes records on the staff of the town court. 70 Polyhistoria remains neglected in early modern intellectual history. For a brief introduction to what is, in fact, a vast field, see C. Daxelmüller, Barockdissertationen und Polyhistorismus: Die Curiositas der Ethnica und Magica im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (Würzburg, 1979); A. Grafton, ‘The world of the Polyhistors: Humanism and encyclopedism’, Central European History 18 (1985), 31–47; H. Jaumann, ‘Was ist ein Polyhistor? Gehversuche auf einem verlassenen Terrain’, Studia Leibnitiana 22 (1990), 76–89; J. C. Westerhoff, ‘A world of signs: Baroque pansemioticism, the polyhistor and the early modern Wunderkammer’, Journal of the History of Ideas 62 (2001), 633–50; C. Wiedemann, ‘Polyhistors Glück und Ende: Von Daniel Georg Morhof zum jungen Lessing’, in Festschrift GottfriedWeber zu seinem 70. Geburtstag überreicht von Frankfurter Kollegen und Schülern, ed. H. O. Burger and K. v. See (Berlin, 1967), pp. 215–35.

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71 L. W. B. Brockliss, Calvet’s Web: Enlightenment and the Republic of Letters in Eighteenth-Century France (Oxford, 2002); Miller, Peiresc’s Europe. For an introduction to the social and cultural history of the Republic of Letters see R. Darnton, The Business of Enlightenment: A Publishing History of the Encyclopédie (Cambridge, MA, 1979); Goldgar, Impolite Learning, esp. pp. 1–11; D. Roche, Les Républicains des lettres: Gens de culture et de Lumières aux XVIIIe siècle (Paris, 1988). 72 For the classic exploration of writing history ‘from the bottom up’ see M. Vovelle, De la cave au grenier: Un itinéraire en Provence au XVIIIe siècle; De l’histoire sociale à l’histoire des mentalités (Québec, 1980). 73 On attempts at ordering the holdings pertaining to Daum, see L. Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium: Katalog der Briefe an den Zwickauer Rektor Christian Daum (1612–1687) (Wiesbaden, 2003), pp. XIII–XV.

1 ‘A veritable gem’: urban culture, authority and education in early modern Zwickau

According to Luther, the Zwickau Latin school was one of the five most impressive in Saxony, ‘a veritable gem’ on the behalf of which he got personally involved in order to secure for it a new building from the elector.1 While often pre-dating the Reformation, Latin schools had been quick to adopt the reformers’ message, and had found a firm place within the various Lutheran education systems. This chapter describes the Zwickau Latin school in its territorial and administrative context as one of a multitude of intellectual microclimates that, taken together, accounted for much of the decentralised nature of scholarly production in the Holy Roman Empire and made for a highly competitive educational market. Zwickau was part of an educational landscape that offered consumers an astonishing amount of choice in the early modern period. Hundreds of pre-university educational establishments made up an institutional web that reflected the decentralised political nature, the confessional make-up, and the huge variance in population density and urbanisation within the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation.2 While the Jesuits dominated preparatory education in the Catholic regions of the empire, variation was far greater in the Lutheran and Calvinist regions.3 Lutheran pre-university education was divided into two basic strands: elementary instruction in reading, writing and the catechism on the one hand, and humanist education meant to prepare boys for university on the other. A wide range of institutions catered for different expectations and purse sizes. Tiny village schools, girls’ schools4 and semi-legal private schools provided rudimentary instruction in the vernacular while, at the other end of the spectrum, schools funded directly by the territorial government (Fürstenschulen/Landesschulen), noble academies (Ritterakademien), and, first and foremost, civic Latin schools of all shapes, sizes and quality were above all dedicated to the all-important Latin and, less so, Greek and logic.5 Already during the later Middle Ages, towns, regions and clerical orders had begun to invest

26

Daum’s boys

heavily in their schools and to compete with each other through education. The ability to educate boys locally to the extent that they could go on directly to university had become a matter of prestige, as well as a marker of urban and territorial development. Within the drawn-out process of Protestant and Catholic Reformation, the importance of educational institutions (schools as well as universities) as stages for confessional self-definition further enhanced their cultural and political position within early modern society. The context and the competition: pre-university education in seventeenth-century Saxony Zwickau was located within the electorate of Saxony, by far the largest and most powerful territory in the Middle German region of the Holy Roman Empire in the seventeenth century (see Map 1). After the split of the house of Wettin into the Ernestine and Albertine lines (Partition of Leipzig, 17 June 17 1485), the two branches eventually went to war (War of the Schmalkaldic League, 1546–47) over territory and influence, the victorious Albertine branch not only taking over some of their relations’ most sought-after territory (which included the university town of Wittenberg as well as Zwickau), but also the seat in the emperor’s electoral council, making Albertine Saxony an electorate.6 The Ernestine territories – which by now occupied a significant portion of the former landgraviate of Thuringia and became synonymous with the region – became increasingly fragmented, the most important principalities being the duchies of Saxe-Weimar, Saxe-Eisenach, Saxe-Jena, SaxeMeiningen, Saxe-Altenburg, Saxe-Coburg and Saxe-Gotha. The Albertine electorate of Saxony on the other hand consolidated and expanded its territories – notably into Upper and Lower Lusatia – during the comparatively long reigns of the seventeenth-century electors (Johann Georg I (1611–56), Johan Georg II (1656–80) and Johann Georg III (1680–91)). The Albertine electorate of Saxony was among Europe’s most urbanised regions, and hosted the highest percentage of urban dwellers (about 32 per cent in 1550 and 36 per cent in 1750) in the Holy Roman Empire. This was not primarily due to big urban centres, but to the ubiquity of small and mediumsized towns. Even Saxony’s largest cities (Leipzig (approximately 14,000 in 1648; 15,653 in 1699); Dresden (approximately 16,000 in 1648; 21,298 in 1699)) were mid-sized in comparison to the empire’s major urban centres such as Hamburg and Cologne, and were seriously provincial in comparison to Europe’s rapidly expanding metropolises of Paris and London.7 Saxony’s population was particularly urbanised in the mining territory of the Erzgebirge, the environs of Flöha and Plauen counting almost 50 per cent urban dwellers

CULTURE, AUTHORITY AND EDUCATION

N

Dukedom of Magdeburg

27 POLANDLITHUANIA

Electorate of Brandenburg

County of Barby Wittenberg Cottbus

Principality of Anhalt Prettin

Düben County of Stolberg

Halle

Torgau

Landsberg

Merseburg

County of Schwarzburg

Leipzig Grimma Naumberg Naumburg Erfurt

Rothenburg

Grossenhain

Wurzen

Kamenz

Mügeln Meissen

Görlitz Dresden

Löbau

Jena

Ernestine Principalities (’Thuringia’)

Gera

Freiberg

Zwickau County of Schwarzburg

Bishopric of Würzburg

Silesia

Elsterwerda Hoyerswerda

Mühlberg

Pirna

Zittau

Marienberg

Bohemia

Principality of Bayreuth

0

Electorate of Saxony

Secundogeniture Saxe-Zeitz

Secundogeniture Saxe-Merseburg and Lower Lusatia

Secundogeniture Saxe-Weissenfels

km

100

Area of main map

Map 1  Albertine Saxony in the second half of the seventeenth century (Electorate of Saxony and dependent [secundogeniture] territories). Adapted from Reiner Groß, Geschichte Sachsens (Leipzig, 2001), pp. 106–7. and those of Annaberg and Schwarzenberg 60 per cent.8 The electorate’s convenient location on a crossroads of important trade routes had laid the foundations to its considerable affluence and helped Leipzig’s trade fair become one of the largest in the empire. Its central location had, however, also contributed to the significant loss in population it suffered as a result of the Thirty Years War.9 Despite these losses, the overall number of inhabitants of the electorate of Saxony almost doubled in the 200 years after 1550, making it one of the most densely populated regions in the Holy Roman Empire with a population of more than a million in 1750.10 Saxons were not only more likely than other early modern Europeans to live in towns, but were also exceptionally likely to be able to read and write. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Madame de Staël marvelled at the extent to which Saxons of all social classes were avid readers.11 European-wide

28

Daum’s boys

alphabetisation research has since corroborated that, also in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, literacy levels in Saxony and the neighbouring Thuringian principalities were exceptionally high.12 This made an extraordinarily vibrant literal culture possible, evident in a busy printing industry at the centre of which stood Leipzig, which by the seventeenth century hosted Germany’s biggest book fair.13 Saxony’s smaller and mid-sized towns likewise contributed to the considerable literary output of the region: twenty-one smaller towns had their own bookbinding workshops in 1697, a figure that had risen to fiftythree by 1811. By the eighteenth century, not only the disproportionately large urban population was literate, but also a large proportion of rural dwellers, as the sections of announcements referring to matters concerning villages and small towns – village fairs, sales of agricultural equipment and the like – in the Leipziger Zeitung suggest.14 As has been noted elsewhere, the relationship between literacy and institutionalised education was a complicated one in early modern Europe, proof being hard to come by that those who could read learnt do so at school rather than at home.15 In Saxony and the Thuringian principalities, the connection between institutionalised education and literacy is, however, quite apparent, since the high literacy levels of the regions were matched to by an exceptional density of educational institutions. At the top end were the universities, of which Electoral Saxony and the Thuringian principalities possessed more than any other area in Germany, the universities of Leipzig (by far the largest university of the empire), Jena, Wittenberg and Erfurt being situated within a 100 km radius of each other. While the University of Erfurt’s academic affairs suffered greatly from its bi-confessional status and the reluctance of both Catholic or Protestant students to visit such a dubious institution, recent studies in the universities of Jena, Wittenberg and especially Leipzig have attested to their surprising vigour after the deluge of the Thirty Years War.16 Directly below the universities in the hierarchy of educational establishments were the so-called Fürstenschulen and Landesschulen. Established by the territorial Government explicitly for the purpose of preparing an elite of pupils for administrative service, their curricula extended well into subjects otherwise reserved for university.17 The vast majority of Saxon pupils were educated not in such elite establishments, but in local schools. In the countryside, basic instruction in reading and writing and in the catechism for boys as well as for girls was provided by village schoolmasters, pastors and private teachers. While the number of rural schools most likely increased during the seventeenth century, attendance levels varied greatly. Teaching standards were judged to be poor by the universityeducated members of the consistorial visitations, both in terms of religious and language instruction.18

CULTURE, AUTHORITY AND EDUCATION

29

As could be expected of a region with a tradition of civic schools that pre-dated the Reformation by several hundreds of years, teaching standards were far superior in the urban areas. Neither the reformers from Wittenberg nor the elector strove to create a completely new system of education for their urban population, but were rather engaged in continuous negotiation with the towns and cities – which, after all, funded these schools themselves – over the way in which curricula should be adapted to the elector’s and the reformers’ demands. Though in principal devoted to humanist education (hence the name Latin schools), civic schools took over as a matter of course the tuition of young boys in reading and writing in German as well as instruction in the catechism.19 Girls were taught basic reading and writing skills in separate council-sanctioned schools, mostly by female teachers.20 In addition to these ‘official’ schools, small private ‘corner schools’ (Winckelschulen) offered basic instruction at competitive prices. While they had to operate illegally within towns or establish themselves outside the town walls in the sixteenth century, councils had generally come round to allowing corner schools by the early seventeenth century. In electoral Saxony, 103 towns had their own Latin schools at the end of the sixteenth century. Of these, 39 employed one teacher, 32 two teachers, 14 three, 10 four, 3 (Chemnitz, Neustadt an der Orla and Sangerhausen) five teachers, 4 (Annaberg, Dresden, Freiberg and Zwickau) six teachers, and one school – the school of St Nicholas in Leipzig – seven teachers.21 While there are no figures on the overall number of Latin schools in the empire in the seventeenth century, in Saxony the majority of towns had one, even if the smallest had only a single teacher, and catered to no more than a handful of pupils, and some of them – especially those in smaller towns dependent primarily on agriculture – only operated in the winter. Pupils were, however, not restricted by territorial boundaries in their choice of schools. Zwickau competed not primarily with the schools that were geographically the closest or those located in the electorate of Saxony, but with those that hosted established scholars as teachers. Apart from the larger, wellendowed schools, which could employ several established scholars as teachers and thereby ensure the continuous attraction of their schools, the attractiveness of a school was very much dependent on who was employed there at a particular time, and could therefore be quite fleeting. A good impression of what schools hosted teachers who were – at least to some extent – active in the Republic of Letters is given by Daum’s correspondence, though this list of institutions is, of course, incomplete and biased towards men who were in one way or another connected to Daum’s scholarly interests. Of Daum’s 490 known correspondents, 90 were teacher-scholars (see Maps 2 and 3).22 This made them the second-largest group of Daum’s correspondents, trailing that of clerics (160) quite significantly, but well ahead of students/pupils (55), lawyers

30

Daum’s boys

Libau (Liepaja)

Baltic Sea

N o r t h S e a

Schieswig Schleswig Eckernförde Altona Bremen

Danzig (Gdansk)

Lüneburg Salzwedel

Cölln

Storkow Korbach

Glogau (Glogów) Steinau(Scinawa) Wolau (Wolów) Breslau (Wroclaw) Liegintz (Legnica)

Mainz

Speyer

Area of map 4 Nuremberg Leutschau (Löcse)

N 0

km

300

Correspondents per town 6 to 12 (6)

3 to 4 (3)

4 to 6 (2)

2 to 3 (12)

1 to 2 (45) + all others (2)

Holy Roman Empire after 1648

Map 2  Locations of teacher-scholars among Daum’s correspondents. Figure compiled by the author from information contained in Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium. (44), and book dealers (20).23 Contact with other teacher-scholars was a constant feature throughout Daum’s adult life, beginning with letters to his former teacher Zechendorf in the early 1630s.24 Daum’s network of correspondents in the teaching trade shows how dense the network of Latin schools that hosted active scholars was in the Middle German area. To our knowledge, Daum corresponded with teacher-scholars employed at seventy-six different institutions in seventy-four locations. These men were also his competitors. If one of his pupils left the Zwickau Latin school before graduation, it was these schools that he would enrol in.25 The largest contingents of contacts were from the network of civic Latin schools in Thuringia and Saxony, in particular the schools of St Nicholas in Leipzig, Altenburg, the Landesschule Gera, Halle, Naumburg

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Storkow

Wolfenbüttel Barby Wittenberg Quedlinburg

Nordhausen

Torgau

Halle Leipzig

Tettau

Wurzen

Roßleben Tennstedt Erfurt

Gotha

Schleusingen

N

Cottbus

Grimma Mügeln Weißenfels (St Augustin) Meißen (St Afra) Naumburg Meuselwitz (Schulpforta) Dresden Döbeln Treben Zeitz Jena Altenburg Freiberg Pirna Weimar Gera Waldenburg Remse Chemnitz Kahla Weida Glauchau Adorf Werdau Neustadt Lichtenstein Zwickau Annaberg Reichenbach Schneeberg Stangengrün Plauen 0

Bautzen Görlitz

Zittau

km

100

Hof

Coburg

Correspondents per town 6 to 12 (6)

2 to 3 (12)

4 to 6 (2)

1 to 2 (45)

3 to 4 (3)

+ all others (2)

Holy Roman Empire after 1648

Area of map 3

Map 3  Locations of teacher-scholars among Daum’s correspondents, Middle German area. Figure compiled by the author from information contained in Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium. and Reichenbach. The most famous schools of early modern Saxony and Thuringia, the Fürstenschulen and Landesschulen, are represented by St Afra/ Meissen, Schulpforta and the Landesschule Gera, yet the overall majority of teacher-scholars in contact with Daum continued to be employed in the services of civic, council-run schools. The range of schools available to the quality-conscious pupil were, in effect, confusingly large, all of these schools differing to some degree in the time it took to graduate there, the number of teachers employed, accessibility, tuition and lodging fees, and so on. A number of letters to Daum from parents and guardians enquiring about the state of the school and its curriculum attests to the fact that pupils and their parents did not take their choice of school lightly, and did ample research before deciding on one.26

32

Daum’s boys

Local education and central government The electorate of Saxony long served as the prime example for an expansion of centralised authority into matters of schooling by historians wishing to integrate the history of education into that of the emergence of the state (Verstaatlichung). The main arguments in favour of this were the publication in 1580 of a school and church ordinance for the whole of the electorate (the so-called Augustea), the foundation of the Fürstenschulen and the creation of a system of regular visitations to ensure the implementation of territorial educational policy. Recent research has, however, thoroughly discredited the picture of a progressive expansion of territorial power into matters of education. Even historians who have attempted to portray the early modern Saxon education system as a model of a ‘territorial education system’ (territorialstaatliches Schulsystem) have had to admit that the electors had very limited success in enforcing the homogeneity of teaching in their realm and increasing their influence.27 In fact, the opposite was the case: while the consistory and the elector had tried to increase their influence on matters of local schooling in the mid-sixteenth century, they interfered less and less by the end of the century. By the mid-seventeenth century, the factual autonomy towns had enjoyed in the running of their schools since the late Middle Ages was seldom interfered with. Church and school visitations took place far less frequently at the beginning of the seventeenth than during the mid-sixteenth century and their analysis by the consistory also began showing increasing tardiness: while visitations were carried out twice a year during the government of elector August (1577–85), seven years elapsed before the visitation process begun in 1617 was concluded.28 In Zwickau, the Augustea – a fairly close copy of the Württemberg ordinance of 1559 – had no tangible effect on the curriculum. The section that dealt with civic schools outlined a curriculum of five forms, while the Zwickau ordinance kept to its seven-form curriculum. While the Augustea prescribed philosophy to be limited to the dialectics of Melanchthon, the Zwickau ordinance featured logic prominently, taught in the seventeenth century on the basis of Keckermannian textbooks.29 This is not to say that the curriculum of the Zwickau Latin school was incompatible with that in the Augustea – both were after all designed to prepare pupils for the studium generale at the two Saxon universities of Leipzig and Wittenberg. The Zwickau curriculum, however, had come into being long before 1580 and was far more demanding than that of the Augustea, and no move was made to scale it down to the Augustea’s rather modest demands.30 Such deviation from the electoral school ordinance could seem surprising, as an administrative apparatus was in place to ensure that the territorial Government’s guidelines on education were consistently applied. Three consistories had been established in the first decades of the Reformation,

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in Wittenberg (1537), Meissen (1545) and Leipzig (1550).31 Zwickau became the seat of a fourth consistory in 1602, although it ceased to operate only three years later.32 In 1606, the Oberkonsistorium, a governing body meant to oversee the work of all Saxon consistories, was established in Dresden. Its authority did not extend to the territories of the former bishoprics of Naumburg-Zeitz – within which Zwickau was located – and Merseburg, nor to Upper and Lower Lusatia, leased from the Bohemian Crown in 1635. For these territories, powers of oversight were allocated instead to the Geheimer Rat in Dresden. This confusing legal situation, which was to remain in place until the administrative reforms of 1831, contributed to the fact that in reality the Oberkonsistorium as well as the Geheimer Rat limited their activity regarding civic schools to irregular visitations and acting as a court of appeal.33 In the office of the superintendent, the consistory also had a permanent representative in the locality. However, it is clear from the biographies of the Zwickau superintendents that they were deeply immersed in council politics, pursuing interests that were local and not necessarily identical to those of the distant consistory.34 While territorial government therefore did not increase its hold on decision-making processes of civic schools, the foundation of the Fürstenschulen in the 1540s undoubtedly changed the educational landscape of Middle Germany, that is, the Wettin territories of Saxony and Thuringia and the Protestant parts of Franconia.35 However, the Elector’s venture into the field of pre-university education by no means rendered the civic schools superfluous. These still dominated the field of Middle German schools, both by continuing to prepare a much larger number of pupils for university than the Fürstenschulen, and by continuing to employ a high proportion of ‘learned men’ in Middle Germany. It was little wonder, then, that towns were unwilling to forfeit control over these institutions, which not only worked, but had become a marker of civic identity and pride. The historical background: a great school for a great city By the seventeenth century, Zwickau had boasted a school for almost 400  years. First mention of a schoolmaster in Zwickau was made in 1291, when ‘Henricus, rector scholae’ acted as a witness to an agreement between the Benedictine friary at Eisenberg (which had patronage over the churches in Zwickau) and the Zwickau council, for morning mass to be held at the parish church of St Mary’s. There is no record of what was taught, or of the size of this earliest school. The town council eventually took direct control, though the school remained under the nominal patronage of Eisenberg until 1505. While

34

Daum’s boys

the bishop of Naumburg-Zeitz probably had the nominal right to approve the council’s appointments of staff, the earliest school ordinance, dating from the early fifteenth century, already determined that the council alone should decide on appointments. The council’s move to bring the school under its direct control coincided with the foundation of Leipzig University in 1409. While no curriculum has survived from this period, the fact that the fifteenth-century rectors, as well as the majority of assistant rectors, were university graduates strongly suggests that by this time the former parish school had been transformed into one capable of preparing its pupils for university. The 1470s were a time of great prosperity for Zwickau, and the school benefited greatly from it.The main beneficiary of the silver boom, entrepreneur and Amtshauptmann to the elector, Martin Römer, funded the construction of a new school building on the site of the older school, opposite St Mary’s.36 By the time of the Reformation, the basic mechanisms that determined the functioning of the school were in place, as was the role of the school as the town’s main hub for cultural and scholarly activity. It was only natural therefore for it to play a crucial role in the tumultuous events that secured Zwickau a permanent place in the history of the Reformation. Stephan Roth, rector of the school from 1517 to 1520, founded a lay fraternity that was meant to raise funds for the school among Zwickau’s burghers. It was also under Roth that first mention was made of the performance of school-plays.37 In 1519, Roth was instrumental in founding a Greek school, the first of its kind in Germany. Georgius Agricola (Bauer), who was later to become famous as the author of the metallurgical treatise De re metallica, was appointed as its rector. The Greek school was absorbed into the Latin school a year later and Agricola became the rector of the now greatly expanded institution until his departure in 1522.38 The most important school-related event of the Roth–Agricola period was the preparation of a school ordinance. Published by Agricola’s sucessor Nather in 1523, it was the first Protestant school ordinance to appear in print.39 The Zwickau ordinance is historically important because it linked the Sturmian and Melanchthonian attempts to forge a Protestant version of humanist preuniversity education. Far more detailed than the Melanchthonian school ordinances, its influence on other Saxon schools in the first half of the sixteenth century, particularly the Fürstenschulen, was substantial.40 Influential as it was, it is, however, unlikely that Roth’s school ordinance reflected the actual shape of the curriculum at the time. Roth increased the number of forms from four to nine, and included lessons on building, the art of war, jurisprudence and medicine. The school ordinances by the rectors Petrus Plateanus (1537), Esrom Rüdiger (1550) and Justus Ludwig Brüschmann (1566) – which were not meant for publication – testify to a lengthy process of experimentation during which the southern German/Sturmian tradition of humanism on the one hand and

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the Lutheran/Melanchthonian tradition on theological instruction on the other were adapted to the specific requirements of the Zwickau school.41 More realistic in scope than the one described in Roth’s ordinance, the school’s curriculum nonetheless made it one of the most ambitious of civic schools in sixteenthcentury Saxony and Thuringia. The Brabantine Plateanus (rector from 1535 till 1546) based his ordinance – which was sent to Wittenberg and personally approved by Melanchthon – on the curriculum of the school of the Brethren of the Common Life of his native Liège, thus introducing various innovations to the school that had previously been unknown in Saxony.The lay fraternity of the Brethren of the Common Life originated in the Netherlands in the fourteenth century and quickly became popular, particularly in the western and Baltic regions of the Holy Roman Empire.They were particularly well known for their extensive publishing activity and their Latin schools, some of which were popular among the nobility and aristocracy, such as Landgrave Philip of Hessen, who was educated at the fraternity-run Latin school of Marburg.42 It was during Plateanus’ directorship that the school assumed the nickname ‘the whetstone’ (Schleiffmühle) – an allusion to the cloth-makers’ guild’s knife- and scissor-sharpening workshops at the river Mulde – owing to its strict discipline and demanding syllabus.43 At Plateanus’ urging, a college for boarders was built (although if it ever came into use, it ceased to be used during the War of the Schmalkaldic League).44 It was also during Plateanus’ rectorship that the elector granted ownership of the former outhouse of the dissolved Cistercian monastery at Grünhain to the council for the use of the school. The Grünhainer Hof had been vital for the trading interests of the Cistercians, as its location between the main market and the corn market made it ideal for storing produce meant for sale. Located in the Lange Gasse, the Grünhainer Hof was a much larger property than the rather small school donated by Martin Römer, and after refurbishment could also house the school library.45 Plateanus’ curriculum was divided into eight forms, with Latin at its core, followed by Greek.46 Mentioned for the first time in a Saxon or Thuringian curriculum was the need for pupils to pass exams to progress to another class.47 Plateanus’ successor was the Franconian Rüdiger, whose position in Zwickau (1549–57) was only the beginning of a long and controversial career. He kept most of the changes Plateanus had introduced.48 His ordinance made explicit for the first time that the pupils of the lowest form should be taught in German, but mentioned that this had already been the case under Plateanus. He wrote that pupils should acquire cheap prints containing German reading exercises that could be hung up in the classroom or at home (a collection of these prints, possibly compiled by Plateanus himself, has survived in the Ratsschulbibliothek (see Figure 3)).49 Interestingly, Rüdiger was also first to make clear that the curriculum of the school was intended not only for the

36

Daum’s boys

pupils who wished to go on to university, but was open to all. This is likely to have been, at least in part, a response to the council having allowed the town’s German scribe to hold classes in German. It is, however, highly unlikely that this sixteenth-century ‘German school’, heralded by a nineteenth-century historian as the beginning of ‘national education’ (Volksschulwesen) in Zwickau, ever offered serious competition to the Latin school. The scribe was only allowed to teach in council property for a short period, presumably holding classes in his own home most of the time, and did not receive any payment from the council. This enterprise cannot have been very lucrative, as at one point he even applied for the post of gatekeeper in order to supplement his income.50 Justus Ludwig Brüschman (Brysomannus), rector from 1558 till 1574, further refined the curriculum by reducing the number of forms from eight to seven in 1562. He delegated the teaching of the lowest form (the Septima) to the Baccalaureus, a pupil of the highest form (the Prima), who in turn received a stipend from the council.51 By 1566, the school and its curriculum had attained the shape they were to keep until the nineteenth century. This is not to say that there would be no change at all in the intervening period; most significantly, perhaps, the school ceased to attract to its teaching staff promising scholars in the early stages of their careers from outside Zwickau, a pattern that had provided the main impetus for change at the school between the 1520s and the 1560s.52 After Rüdiger, rectors were recruited either from Zwickau or its immediate surroundings and, once appointed, would usually stay at the school for the rest of their careers, though exceptions were possible, as in the case of Daum, who was offered a professorship at the University of Kiel later in his career.53 Nonetheless, the location of the school, the basic structure of the curriculum, the system of advancement through exams, the scholarships available and the method of appointing teaching staff would not again be subject to change until the 1830s. The curriculum was divided into seven forms, though the first two forms, the Prima and the Secunda, were held together from the early seventeenth century onwards. The main focus of the syllabus was Latin, followed by Greek, while the pupils of the lowest forms were taught to read and write in the vernacular German. Hebrew, assigned a prominent place in the ordinance of 1523, was not mentioned in the ordinances of Plateanus and Rüdiger, but featured prominently again on Zechendorf’s curriculum from 1617 to 1662. Pupils were allowed to progress from one form to the next only after they had passed the spring exam. Three permanent staff (the rector, the co-rector and the third teacher (tertius)) were employed at the school, with the cantors of St Mary’s and St Catherine’s and the Baccalaureus (this position was made became a permanent, fully salaried position in 1689) taking on additional teaching duties. The

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Figure  3  A cheap print of the ABC published by the Zwickau Latin school’s Brabantine rector, Petrus Plateanus, in the 1540s, which the pupils of the lowest forms were expressly encouraged to buy. In contrast to Jesuit schools and schools funded directly by territorial government (Fürsten- und Landesschulen), basic instruction in reading and writing was also taught at civic institutions like the Zwickau Latin school, thereby making them attractive also for pupils who did not intend to go on to university.

38

Daum’s boys

teachers’ wages, as well as the upkeep of the school building and heating costs, were paid for from the council’s coffers, with the teachers being allowed to collect fees of quite low value (24 Groschen annually during Daum’s rectorship) directly from the pupils.54 Sport did not feature on the curriculum. It had been mentioned in Esrom Rüdiger’s curriculum, but only in the form of a textbook on the subject by Camerarius, not as an actual part of the syllabus, and it was only at the Gymnasium, which succeeded the Latin school, that a sports teacher was employed in 1846. By the late sixteenth century, therefore, the school had developed its basic institutional features and outlook, which remained remarkably intact over a period of almost 300 years. The urban environment Unlike at many Jesuit colleges – or at the Fürstenschulen, for that matter – pupils did not board at the Zwickau Latin school. For much of the day, the Zwickau pupils had contact only with other boys or men, like boarding school pupils, but, unlike them, in the evenings they returned to their family homes or the households where they were lodging. Durkheim may have exaggerated the social isolation of Jesuit colleges, but it is undeniable that in applying the rigour of monastic life to the education of boys these institutions quite intentionally set themselves apart from the surrounding civic communities.55 By definition, a civic school functioned differently. The responsibilities of housing the pupils and ensuring they behaved in a disciplined way were shared with the urban community. More than outside factors such as the guidelines of the territorial government, the school was defined by its civic environment. The urban space that teachers and pupils shared with the rest of the community was very limited. Zwickau could be traversed on foot in ten minutes in any direction (Map 4).While its demography underwent significant changes as a result of the Thirty Years War, the spaces within which city life took place – the houses, squares, churches – were hardly affected by it. After the last of the major medieval fires within Zwickau’s town walls in 1458, there had followed a period of frenetic building activity.56 The late fifteenth century was a time of rapid economic expansion for the town, and so the most attractive locations within the town walls – around the main market square and the corn market and along the streets that connected the two – became a space for those who had grown rich by trading Zwickau’s fine cloth and the silver from the nearby mines of the Schneeberg to display their wealth.57 It was during this period that Zwickau assumed the dimensions, structure and appearance (at least within the town walls) that it was to keep until the second major resource of the Erzgebirge,

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Lower gate

N

t Castle

en

ga

ss

e

St Mary’s Lange

Riv

Market place

Gas

Town Hall Drapers Hall

se Latin School

Amts gass e

au

Unterer

Korngass e

gate Lady

Fr

Katherine’s St Ca

er

oa

Steinweg

M

Corn Market

Mo

Mul

Klo s pla ter tz

de

Girls’ School

at

Upper gate 0

metres

200

Map 4  Zwickau in the seventeenth century. Based on a map held at the Stadtarchiv Zwickau. Reprinted with permission. its coal, brought about the rapid transformation of the former market town into ‘Russzwigge’ (‘sooty Zwickau’), the heavily polluted industrial city of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The town wall and the surrounding moat described a circle that measured approximately 46 ha (0.75 km2). The greatest distance from north to south – from the Niedertor to the Obertor – measured 485 m, and from east to west – from the Frauentor to the Tränktor – 395 m. Even by early modern standards, conditions were crowded. Nikolaus Hausmann, Luther’s associate and first Protestant minister in Zwickau, had

40

Daum’s boys

complained bitterly to the council in 1529 about the living conditions in Zwickau.58 Though conditions improved in the seventeenth century as a result of demographic decline, space within the city walls remained at a premium. Most of the inhabitants Zwickau had lost had lived in the suburbs, and the ­centre therefore remained crowded even after the Thirty Years War.59 Seven alleyways ran roughly from north to south. Size, value and desirability of property differed significantly according to the location of houses, and was testament to the great differences in wealth among those who owned houses. In a document of 1531, the value of the houses of the members of the council was given as totalling 13,337 Gulden – an average of 606 fl. per house. By contrast, many owners of houses outside the fortifications declared the value of their home to be between 10 and 20 Gulden.60 The further a house was from the main square, the smaller it was likely to be. Expenditure on public buildings and spaces also reached a peak during the late fifteenth/early sixteenth century. By the early sixteenth century, the main square, the corn market, the Lange Gasse and the Obere Steingasse had already been paved and were soon followed by the Hundsgasse, Schergasse, Badergasse, Frauengasse, Jüdengasse and Tränkgasse. The restructuring of St Mary’s in the late Gothic style was likewise completed during this period, as was the renovation of the town hall and the cloth hall, which together dominated the main square. The late-sixteenth-century refurbishment of Zwickau’s castle – the residence of the elector’s representative – in the north of the old town would be the last major building project in Zwickau for the next 200 years.61 Going to school The school was therefore embedded in a cramped urban environment that both accommodated and ensured the easy supervision of local and foreign pupils. The Latin school occupied one of the most prominent and desirable locations of the town, only a few steps away from St Mary’s. A sketch from the early nineteenth century (Figure  4) shows the existence of windows in the attic, which suggests that it was used as a living space, most likely for the rector’s schoolboy lodgers (Kostgänger). The space of the former chapel was used to house the school library, and the rest of the building was divided into two ground-floor spaces – one to the left of the entrance gate and one to the right – and two first-floor spaces. The rector was housed apart from the other employees of the council in the school itself, though there is no way of telling where the rector’s apartment was situated – whether it was located within the main building, or in an outhouse in the yard, which bordered on the town wall and incorporated the rector’s private garden.

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Figure 4  The Zwickau Latin school in the early nineteenth century.Windows in the attic allowed for the accommodation of lodgers. Teaching conditions were cramped. Even during Daum’s time, with the number of pupils having fallen to two-thirds of pre-Thirty Years War levels, approximately 130 pupils could be enrolled in the Septima, and about half that number in the Sexta. Since it is hard to imagine a full-size Septima functioning in the space available, it is highly likely that the divisions of the Septima along levels of proficiency that we find in the matriculation records from 1669 onwards also designated separate tuition, if not in a different room, then at least by pupils being given separate assignments.62 In the highest forms, the relatively small size of forms made it practical on the other hand to teach several forms together. According to a curriculum for the year 1676, the Prima/Secunda was not once taught on its own, but always together with the Tertia (Table 1). Arithmetic was even taught at once to all forms except the Sexta and Septima.63 Despite the acute shortage of funds in the council’s coffers, all three fully salaried teaching positions at the Latin school remained occupied virtually without interruption during the whole of the seventeenth century. Only two vacancies at the school were not immediately filled, both of these being for the role of the tertius, and both during times of plague. As the number of pupils declined drastically during outbreaks of the plague, two fully funded positions were

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Daum’s boys

probably sufficient to bridge the respective gaps of two years and less than one year before the appointment of another tertius. The positions of cantor, both at St Mary’s and at St Catherine’s, the holders of which had teaching responsibilities at the school, were filled without any gaps during the seventeenth century. The council did not pay its newly appointed rector, Daum, anything close to the wages received by its previous rector, Zechendorf, and, as countless complaints in Daum’s correspondence attest, was often behind its payments (see Chapter 2). Nonetheless, the positions it offered to its prospective staff were comparatively good, since the council was always in a position to attract teaching staff to the school who then stayed in Zwickau till the end of their careers.64 The small size of Zwickau made it possible for the school’s daily teaching regimen to be almost identical to that of boarding establishments like the Fürstenschulen, even though only the rector’s lodgers lived on the premises and all others had to walk to school.65 According to the curriculum from 1676, teaching began at 6 o’clock in the summer and 7 o’clock in winter, the pupils of the Septima only having to arrive at school an hour later. Teaching continued until 9 o’clock, followed by a three-hour break, and continued from 12 until 3 o’clock. No classes were held on Wednesday afternoon. Teaching was more lax on Saturday, as all that the pupils of the Sexta were expected to do during the last lesson of the week was to ‘sit idly [!] or to practise writing, but without being overseen’.66 On Saturday classes were concerned almost exclusively with theology and ended at 9 o’clock. This was presumably the case because preparation time was needed for mass at St Mary’s the following day, especially for the boys who were involved in the church choir. The curriculum did not prescribe what pupils were to do after formal tuition had finished in the afternoon, but in fact pupils, of the higher forms at least, spent the rest of day much the same way as boarding school pupils did: in private study. Again, while at the Fürstenschulen it was part of the teachers’ responsibility to supervise private study, pupils in Zwickau relied on the town’s resources. The correspondence between the council and Daum at the time of his appointment (discussed in detail in Chapter 3) made it very clear that most pupils of the higher forms took private lessons in the afternoon, and that it was almost impossible for them to progress through the demanding curriculum without them.67 Living in the town: teachers and lodgers The small physical area of early modern Zwickau ensured that the pupils of the school were under constant surveillance by the teaching staff, who in turn were watched closely by the burghers. Karant-Nunn’s impression of Reformationperiod Zwickau  – ‘Personal acquaintances made possible a degree of social

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control without laws and court procedures that is not practicable in a very much larger town. In Zwickau no one could remain anonymous’ – applied even more to the shrunken urban community of the mid-seventeenth century.68 The school was such an integral part of the urban fabric that neither changes in the curriculum nor lapses in discipline on the part of the pupils could go unnoticed. Pupils who came to study from outside the town lodged as Kostgänger/Inwohner in the houses of burghers. Christian Daum frequently received requests from parents for lodging to be arranged for their sons. Especially for the council employees, who were allotted housing free of charge, taking lodgers was a staple part of their income. The idea expressed in the school ordinance of 1523 that lodging in one of the teachers’ homes was an honour reserved only for the best pupils seems like an attempt to make a virtue of necessity.69 Daum depended on the extra income generated by lodgers, while lodgers in turn could find it exceedingly difficult to find housing in Zwickau. Living together with pupils, while at times considered a nuisance, could, however, also have its positive sides. In 1647, Daum wrote to an undisclosed recipient who appears to have been preparing a visit to Zwickau that ‘as far as the wine is concerned I have a lodger whose father is a wine dealer in Reichenbach, who deals with Franconia, who is always here with us, and who can upon my request supply me with good Franconian wine, as much as I please, costing six-and-a-half or five Groschen’.70 The recently restored Priesterhäuser – four houses left of what used to be an ensemble of at least eleven buildings that face St Mary’s to the west – give an impression of the living conditions of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century employees of the town and their lodgers (Figure 5). Built originally to house the clergy of St Mary’s, each house, with the exception of the considerably larger Domhof 6, housed one family. Following the occupation of those men who gained a right to live in these houses, Domhof 5 is nowadays referred to as the ‘organist’s house’, Domhof 6 as the ‘bell-ringer’s house’, Domhof 7 as the ‘corector’s house’ and Domhof 8 as ‘third teacher’s house’ (‘Tertiat-Haus’). Daum, who lived in the Tertiathaus from 1642 till 1662, described his living space thus: ‘I have very little living space and few rooms available, and I do not have a separate room [for myself], as there are only two: the living room [Wohnstube], within which there are three tables and a shelf; the upper room is so full of books that there is not a single table empty.’71 Daum complained about only having two Stuben at his disposal, which might indeed sound modest. He was, however, not counting the spacious kitchen on the ground floor, nor the sleeping chamber on the first floor. Nor had he included the large attic. It was here that Daum appears to have stored most of his library, as he noted that rain came in through the roof and almost ruined most of his books during bad weather on 15 June 1661.72 Situated in the attic was also at least one box-shaped room, as surveys of the supporting beams have shown. As these rooms were inhabited, the walls

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Figure 5  The Priesterhäuser, 2005. From left to right: Domhof 5 (‘organist’s house’), Domhof 6 (‘bell-ringer’s house’), Domhof 7 (‘co-rector’s house’), Domhof 8 (‘third teacher’s house’ (Tertiat-Haus)). Daum lived in the TertiatHaus from 1642 till 1662, when he moved to the rector’s apartments in the school. The house lost a metre of its original width during the extension of the adjacent alleyway in the nineteenth century. In comparison to the majority of dwellings in early modern Zwickau, these were houses of considerable comfort, located in the most desirable neighbourhood opposite the main parish church of St Mary’s, between the main market and the corn market. were drawn to enclose the chimney. The presence of sixteenth- and early­seventeenth-century graffiti on the walls of the attic box room in the ‘bell­ringer’s house’ suggests very strongly that it was in these attic rooms that school-boy lodgers were housed (Figure 6). The attic room of the Tertiat-Haus has a floor space of approximately 19 m2, although the sloped roof halves the amount of usable floor space. In wintertime, the rooms were barely habitable, as the roof itself was not insulated and was heated only by the enclosed ­chimney.73 Daum mentioned in 1660 that he had two Kostgänger, and it is hard to imagine more than three pupils sharing the box-room space. However, in 1647, Daum had expressed the hope that a third and possibly a fourth lodger might move into his home, thereby increasing his income considerably. Lodgers

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Figure 6  Early modern graffiti in the attic room of the ‘bell-ringer’s house’, Priesterhäuser. The largest scroll reads ‘Schlaffen gan ist wol gethan’ (‘It is wise to go to bed early’), suggesting it was written by a patron as a not-too-subtle message to his school-boy lodgers. featured frequently in his correspondence, Daum complaining frequently that he received too little payment from them. In a response to one such complaint, his friend Johannes Sextus (also a teacher) replied that: if you do not receive proper weekly payment, do not agree [to taking lodgers] … everything is expensive now, and I had been supposed to take in an East Frisian student on Dilherr’s request eight days ago (who had agreed to give me 2 Reichstaler), but as I cannot spare a room of the three that I have, he has been referred to my book-binder, where he pays 12 Kreuzer extra for clean bedding and for the beautiful study [Museum].74 The current lodger gives us 4 Kopffstück, and I have had to buy three calves in the last few weeks [to feed the lodgers?].75

Sextus’ reply should not be taken as a mere complaint. Daum and Sextus were informing each other in detail about the current levels of payment expected from lodgers. The letter also suggests that at least the East Frisian student demanded a somewhat higher standard than that which a lodger in Zwickau could expect: i.e. in this case a room of his own, clean bedding and work space – the Museum – either referring to use of a separate room, or the fact that

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the room in which the lodger slept was itself suitable for study. In the cramped conditions of seventeenth-century Zwickau, pupils could not expect such luxuries. Enquiries about the curriculum and the possibility of sending a child to learn in Zwickau were always accompanied by questions about the availability and cost of lodging, Daum frequently finding it necessary to turn down requests from parents who wished to send their boys to school in Zwickau on account of a lack of accommodation.76 The school and urban culture If music echoed through the streets of early modern Lutheran towns, it was almost certainly choral music.77 In Zwickau, the pupils of the Latin school were exclusively responsible for formal choral performances, for the school had not one, but two choirs that, taken together, performed or at least practised on a daily basis. The older one of the two, the Currente, was a charity ‘singing school’ established already in the fifteenth century – thus predating the Lutheran drive for choral music performed by the laity in church – and was intended to raise money for the school and its poorer pupils by having them sing in the streets. As a result, the boys’ financial need was the criterion for their selection to the Currente, and, though they were supervised by the rector and later the cantor, by the mid-sixteenth century their performances had been deemed unfit to accompany church services.78 For this, a more professional choir was recruited from schoolboys selected for their musical talent, who rehearsed formally and sang in church on Sundays, and took part in the processions on church holidays. At other civic Latin schools, so-called St Gregory processions took pride of place in the musical calendar. In these festivities (named after the patron saint of schools, Pope St Gregory), the new cohort of first-year pupils would be welcomed to the school either before Easter or on 12 March each year, accompanied by special sermons in the churches, the distribution of sweets and pretzels, and performances by school choirs.79 Since no such tradition existed in Zwickau, the musical highlight of the year was the choir’s NewYear procession, during which the boys marched at night from the school to the market place carrying torches, and ceremoniously celebrated the end of the year through a recital (Absingen).80 While the choir was presumably staffed with boys whose voices had not yet broken, the older boys in the higher forms contributed to Zwickau’s cultural life through the public performances of plays. These took place sometimes in the market place, sometimes in the town hall, but never at the school, where no room was big enough to accommodate the large audiences these plays attracted. Plays appear to have been performed publicly by the pupils since the

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early fifteenth century, but it was only in the first decades of the sixteenth century that annual performances, especially at the raucous carnival celebrations, are attested to. The repertoire of plays changed from year to year, and included biblical plays for church holidays as well as more frivolous subject matter for carnival. As in Zittau, where Daum’s correspondent and well-known dramatist Christian Weise made effective use of the annual school theatricals to premiere the plays he had written, Paul Rebhuhn, co-rector in the 1530s, and Christian Clodius, rector from 1740 to 1778, had plays performed by the pupils that they had penned themselves.81 Plays were performed in German, Latin and (rarely) Greek, though the majority of documented performances were in German and therefore accessible by a large audience. In 1518, Terence’s comedy Eunuchus, which presumably allowed for much cross-dressing by the pupils, was performed while the future elector Johann stayed in Zwickau during carnival. In 1521, Aristophanes’ Plutus was performed both in Latin and, more unusually, in Greek, presumably to showcase the success of the recently introduced Greek lessons at the school. In 1548 and 1549, the pupils again performed the perennial crowd-pleaser Eunuchus, as well as a more sombre dramatisation of the parable of the prodigal son.82 In 1565, Terence’s comedy Heauton timorumenos (The Self-Tormentor) was performed for the first Sunday in Lent, while, again for carnival, a German comedy of unknown contents was staged. In 1572, a dramatisation was performed of the Rape of the Princes, the fifteenth-century hostage-taking of the elector Frederick II’s sons, which, only too fittingly, came to an end near Grünhain monastery, the outhouse of which the school now occupied.83 The performances were interrupted in 1625 by the increasing impact of the Thirty Years War in Saxony, and were only reintroduced on 26 April 1671, when one of the cantors directed the performance of a Latin play at the town hall. Rectors were also expected to make public performances in the form of the inaugural speeches they gave at the beginning of each school year. Their moralistic or philological content suggests that the primary audience were the learned reading public for whom these speeches were frequently made available in print.84 A more significant contribution to the cultural and scholarly life of the town was the school’s library, the oversight of which was also the rector’s responsibility.85 It constantly received visitors, as suggested by the fact that there was a weekly stipend available for pupils to show visitors around the library. Its collections expanded continuously during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, leading to its formal re-inauguration during the rectorship of Brüschmann on 16 September 1560. The library was reopened in the former chapel of the Grünhainer Hof, now furnished with fireproof doors and window-shutters, reading desks, and chains to secure the books on permanent display. Brüschmann also wrote for it a set of regulations that mainly dealt with

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its administration, but also expressly allowed outsiders of good repute – local notaries, clergy and doctors, as well as persons deemed worthy of entry by the rector – to have access to its holdings.86 For these cultural gifts, the rich and powerful in Zwickau reciprocated not only through generosity from the council’s coffers, but likewise from their own pockets. The library quickly became a stage for the representation of the Zwickau patriciate, in that it became the focus of charity and large-scale donations. Interestingly, monetary donations for the library at times also came from artisans, yet the library’s holdings increased principally through donations of books from members of the council and the teaching staff.87 Especially for the mayors, it became customary to leave to the library a substantial amount of funds in their wills, as well as any books, maps, prints or manuscripts they might have possessed. Somewhat less elite in character than donations to the library were ones made directly for the benefit of the school’s pupils.Two types of endowments were available to pupils: funds to furnish as many pupils as possible with items necessary to attend school, such as shoes, books, paper and basic foodstuffs on the one hand, and full bursaries to enable selected pupils to attend university on the other. Donations to the first kind of fund came forward from members of a relatively wide range of prosperous professions: cloth-makers, printers and book-binders, as well as civic officials. The majority of endowments meant to support former Zwickau pupils at university, on the other hand, had been donated by wealthy burghers during the period of the silver boom in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. A large proportion of the scholarships were limited to the offspring of particular families and there were no funds available to finance the stay at the Latin school itself, making the system less than meritocratic.88 The close attention the patriciate paid to the school meant that the council also got involved in the representation of its institutional identity. The school quite naturally followed the same pattern as Zwickau’s other major civic institutions: the council and the two parish churches. Historians have drawn increasing attention to the ways in which, after the Lutheran Reformation, the legitimacy of institutions and, by extension, of the governing principles they supported, was underlined through the creation of a visual tradition of communal memory. Directly based on the canon of the Cranachian images that made Luther, Melanchthon and other ‘heroes’ of the Lutheran Reformation recognisable across Europe, portraits of dignitaries of the local church (primarily superintendents and ministers) reminded locals and visitors alike of the venerable tradition of Lutheran service in the town. In town halls, the depiction of past incumbents similarly reinforced the present regime and placed current dignitaries, whose portraits were customarily painted and mounted on the walls during their lifetimes, in a long line of esteemed predecessors.89

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Figure  7  Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 1: Stephan Roth, the Reformation-period rector of the school. Like the other portraits of the school’s rectors, it was exhibited prominently in the school library and thus forged a personalised institutional history of the school. Roth’s fame as a close associate of Martin Luther’s afforded his portrait pride of place above the entrance. At the school, not only the portraits of the current rectors were hung up, but occasionally also those of past rectors (Figures 7 to 10). In 1603, a portrait was painted of the Reformation-era rector Stephan Roth (Figure  7), whose memory the council had a particular interest in preserving because of Roth’s close relationship to Luther, his portrait therefore serving as a reminder of the prominent role Zwickau had played in the early stages of the Reformation.90

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Figure 8  Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 2: Peter Hornig, rector of the Latin school from 1608 to 1617. The erudition of the sitter is underlined by the celestial orb. Portraits were usually painted from life during the rectors’ lifetimes at the behest of the council, the sittings taking place at the mayor’s residence. Of portraits painted during the rector’s lifetime, the earliest one to survive is a fine painting of Peter Hornig (rector 1608–17), presumably from the first decade of the seventeenth century, depicted with the book obligatory for a teacherscholar, but also, somewhat more unusually, with a celestial orb (Figure  8). The next formal portrait to survive (if one discounts the epitaph portrait of Johannes Zechendorf about which more will be said in Chapter 2) is that of

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Figure 9  Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 3: Georg Andreas Vinhold, rector of the Latin school from 1699 to 1739. Christian Daum. Painted in 1684, Daum noted of it that he had ‘been painted from life [abgemahlt] by the painter Christian Rheder from Graiz, at [Mayor] H. D. Ferber’s [residence]’.91 Despite this, Daum thought that the finished result was ‘a very bad likeness’ (see Figure 2).92 Though there are no seventeenthcentury accounts of where these portraits were displayed, it is more than likely that they were hung in the school library, as they were in the first decades of the nineteenth century.93 This made sense not only because the school possessed no great hall or other representative room, but also because collections of portraits, artefacts and libraries had come to be conceived and decorated as units by the seventeenth century. The portraits would be hung alongside the coins,

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Figure 10  Gallery of rectors, Zwickau Latin school, 4: Christian Clodius, ­rector of the school from 1740 to 1788. Notice the changes in the accoutrements of scholarship that furnish this portrait. The beard, long hair and strict clerical garb have been exchanged for a long overcoat and a wig. Since Clodius was a passionate collector of exotic shells, they feature prominently alongside the inevitable books, and tell of this provincial scholar’s interest in natural ­history and maritime exploration. precious rocks, curiosities and specimens of natural history the portrayed persons had collected, thereby reciprocally underlining the industry of the collector and the scholarly value of the collection.

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Conclusion It was because of the effort that councils and townspeople put into supporting their local Latin schools that small and medium-sized towns like Zwickau hummed with scholarly and cultural activity. Generously funded by the council, the school’s central role in the cultural life of the town meant that in Zwickau, as elsewhere, what went on at the school was closely observed by the citizenry who, through housing, feeding and supervising the pupils, shared with the teaching staff the burden of accommodating a large number of pupils in the town. Situated within one of the most literate regions of early modern Europe and within easy travelling distance of more than 100 preparatory institutions, the Zwickau Latin school needed to develop its own educational offer beyond the basic requirements laid down by territorial school ordinances. In order to ensure the continuous attractiveness of the school to future pupils, as well as make sure the school continued to play its extensive role in the cultural life of the town, the council needed to appoint established scholars as teachers. Notes

1 G. Bebermeyer and O. Clemen, eds, D. Martin Luthers Werke (Weimarer Ausgabe), Briefwechsel (Weimar, 1883–2009), Vol. 9, p. 570 (1 January 1542). See also E. Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums: Eine Gedenkschrift zur Einweihungsfeier des neuen Gymnasialgebäudes (Zwickau, 1869), p. 18. 2 Despite its teleological argument, Paulsen’s work remains essential as an overview of the wide variety of educational institutions that existed in the Holy Roman Empire; Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts. Recently, Kießling’s idea of ‘school landscapes’ has been influential as a model for describing the decentralised nature of education in the empire; R. Kießling, ‘“Schullandschaften”: ein Forschungsansatz für das Spätmittelalter und die Frühe Neuzeit; Entwickelt anhand süddeutscher Beispiele’, in Erziehung und Schulwesen zwischen Konfessionalisierung und Säkularisierung: Forschungsperspektiven, europäische Fallbeispiele und Hilfsmittel, ed. H. Schilling and S. Ehrenpreis (Münster/New York/Munich/Berlin, 2003), pp. 35–54. For a brief introduction to the historiography of early modern German schools, and for bibliographical references, see the first volume of Le Cam, Politique, contrôle, et réalité scolaire, pp. 11–15. Compère’s detailed, three-volume description of French collèges offers an invaluable opportunity for comparison: Compère, Les Collèges français 16e–18e siècles. 3 On the competition among the educational institutions of the various confessions, see the insightful Ehrenpreis, ‘Sozialdisziplinierung’. Literature on the educational system of the Society of Jesus is ample. For an introduction to recent debates, see Compère, ‘Der Unterricht der Jesuiten in Europa um 1700’; Julia, ‘Entre universel et local’; H. Kalthoff, ‘Die Herstellung von Erzogenheit: Die edukative Praxis der Jesuitenkollegs in der Programmatik und Praxis ihrer “Ratio studiorum” von 1599’, Jahrbuch für historische Bildungsforschung 4 (1998), 65–89. On Calvinist education, see H. Schilling and S. Ehrenpreis, eds, Frühneuzeitliche Bildungsgeschichte der Reformierten in konfessionsvergleichender Perspektive: Schulwesen, Lesekultur und Wissenschaft (Berlin, 2007). 4 For an overview, see A. Conrad, ‘“Jungfraw Schule” und Christenlehre: Lutherische und katholische Elementarbildung für Mädchen’, in Geschichte der Mädchen- und Frauenbildung, Vol. 1:Vom Mittelalter bis zur Aufklärung, ed. C. Opitz and E. Kleinau (Frankfurt am Main/ New York, 1996), pp. 175–88.

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Daum’s boys 5 S. Ehrenpreis, ‘Fürstenschulen für das Bürgertum: Das Ansbacher Modell frühneuzeitlicher Landesschulen’, in Die sächsischen Fürsten- und Landesschulen: Interaktion von lutherisch-humanistischem Erziehungsideal und Eliten-Bildung, ed. J. Flöter and G. Wartenberg (Leipzig, 2004), pp. 185–94. 6 For an introduction to the political history of the electorate of Saxony and its neighbouring territories in the early modern period, see K. Keller, Landesgeschichte Sachsen (Stuttgart, 2002), pp. 14–164; A. Schindling and W. Ziegler, eds, Die Territorien des Reichs im Zeitalter der Reformation und Konfessionalisierung: Land und Konfession 1500–1650, Vol. 2: Der Nordosten (Münster, 1990). 7 For figures on the population of Saxon towns, see Blaschke, Bevölkerungsgeschichte von Sachsen, pp. 130–42. See also K. Blaschke, ‘Grundzüge der sächsischen Stadtgeschichte im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’, in Die Städte Mitteleuropas im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert, ed. W. Rausch (Linz an der Donau, 1981), pp. 173–80. 8 On Saxony’s demographic and urban history in the seventeenth century, see K. Keller, ‘Kursachsen am Ende des 17. Jahrhunderts: Beobachtungen zur regionalen und wirtschaftlichen Struktur der sächsischen Städtelandschaft’, in Sachsen im 17. Jahrhundert: Krise, Krieg und Neubeginn, ed. U. Schirmer (Beucha, 1998), pp. 131–60. 9 On the political history of Saxony during the early stages of the Thirty Years War, see D. Phelps, ‘Saxony and the Thirty Years War, 1629–1635’ (unpublished Ph.D. thesis, King’s College London, 2004). 10 1550: 556,652, 1750: 1,019,997. Blaschke, Bevölkerungsgeschichte von Sachsen, pp. 78–97. 11 A. L. G. de Staël, De l’Allemagne (London, 1813), pp. 82–3: ‘On peut juger par la quantité d’ouvrages qui se vendent à Leipsick combien les livres allemands ont de lecteurs: les ouvriers de toutes les classes, les tailleurs de pierre même, se reposent de leurs travaux un livre à la main. On ne saurait s’imaginer en France à quel point les lumières sont répandues en Allemagne. J’ai vu des aubergistes, des commis de barrières, qui connaissent la littérature française.’ 12 E. François, ‘Géographie du livre et réseau urbain dans l’Allemagne moderne’, in La Ville et l’innovation en Europe, 14e–19e siècles, ed. B. Lepetit and J. Hook (Paris, 1987), pp. 59–74; E. François, ‘Alphabetisierung und Lesefähigkeit in Frankreich und Deutschland um 1800’, in Deutschland und Frankreich im Zeitalter der Französischen Revolution, ed. H. Berding and E. François (Frankfurt am Main, 1989), pp. 407–25. 13 For a brief introduction to the history of Saxon trade (including the book trade and the Leipzig fair) and further bibliographical references, see Keller, Landesgeschichte Sachsen, pp. 188–201. 14 Keller, ‘… daß wir ieder zeith eine feine lateinische schul gehabt haben’, p. 141. 15 Houston, Literacy in Early Modern Europe, pp. 91–6. 16 For recent research into the effect of the Thirty Years War on Saxon and Thuringian universities, see the essays by Kossert, Zirr and Richter in T. Kossert, M. Asche and M. Füssel, eds, Universitäten im Dreißigjährigen Krieg (Potsdam, 2011). 17 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, p. 299: at the school in Pforta, 100 boys were to be taught by 5 teachers, at St Afra in Meissen 60 pupils by 4 teachers, and at Grimma 70 pupils by 4 teachers. On the Fürstenschulen in general, see Flöter and Wartenberg, eds, Die sächsischen Fürsten- und Landesschulen; and Schwabe, Das Gelehrtenschulwesen Kursachsens, pp. 67–90. 18 A.-K. Kupke, Die Kirchen- und Schulvisitationen im 17. Jahrhundert auf dem Gebiet der evangelischlutherischen Landeskirche Sachsen (Leipzig, 2010), pp. 300–16. 19 Saxon Latin schools were not unusual in satisfying demand both at a basic and more advanced level. As Le Cam has shown, civic Latin schools also took on the responsibilities of vernacular teaching and instruction in the catechism in the duchy of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel; J. L. Le Cam, ‘Schulpflicht, Schulbesuch und Schulnetz im Herzogtum Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel im 17. Jahrhundert’, in Alphabetisierung und Literalisierung in Deutschland in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. H. E. Bödeker and E. Hinrichs (Tübingen, 1999), pp. 203–24 (p. 210).

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20 On Zwickau’s girls’ school, see S. C. Karant-Nunn, ‘Continuity and change: some effects of the Reformation on the women of Zwickau’, Sixteenth Century Journal 13.2 (1982), 17–42 (pp.  18–21); and G. Rochlitzer, ‘Das Zwickauer Franziskanerkloster’, Cygnea 3 (2005), 13–17. 21 G. Müller, ‘Das kursächsische Schulwesen beim Erlaß der Schulordnung von 1580’, Programm des Wettiner Gymnasiums zu Dresden (1888), 1–32 (pp.  13–14); see also Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, pp. 303–4. On the Zwickau curriculum, see Chapter 3. 22 The maps were compiled on the basis of the professions and locations of Daum’s correspondents given in Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium; while Mahnke gives the figure of ninety-two for Pädagogen, I have counted only ninety. 23 Ibid., p. X. 24 RSB Zwickau, Br.469.1–469.21, J. Zechendorf to C. Daum, Zwickau, 12 June 1633–8 May 1636. 25 See Chapter 4. 26 See for instance the enquiry forwarded to Daum by Johannes Sextus: RSB Zwickau, Br.385.79, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 17 November 1666. 27 A. Seifert, ‘Das höhere Schulwesen: Universitäten und Gymnasien’, in Handbuch der deutschen Bildungsgeschichte, Vol. 1: 15. bis 17. Jahrhundert:Von der Renaissance und der Reformation bis zum Ende der Glaubenskämpfe, ed. N. Hammerstein and A. Bück (Munich, 1996), pp. 197–368. 28 A.-K. Kupke, ‘Die kursächsischen Kirchen- und Schulvisitationen von 1600 bis 1618 und das landesherrliche Kirchenregiment’, in Die sächsischen Kurfürsten während des Religionsfriedens von 1555 bis 1618, ed. H. Junghans (Stuttgart, 2007), pp. 311–22. See also T. Töpfer, ‘Das niedere Schulwesen zwischen vormodernen Bildungsstrukturen und aufgeklärten Reformmaßnahmen im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert’, in Erleuchtung der Welt: Sachsen und der Beginn der modernen Wissenschaften, Vol. 1: Essayband, ed. D. Döring, C. Hollberg and T. U. Müller (Dresden, 2009), pp. 86–93. 29 See Chapter 3. 30 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, p.  303; Schwabe, Das Gelehrtenschulwesen Kursachsens, pp. 123–49. 31 O. Kaemmel, ‘Die Oberbehörden’, in Übersicht über die geschichtliche Entwicklung der Gymnasien (Leipzig, 1900), pp. 1–5 (pp. 1–2). 32 Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 29. 33 Kaemmel, ‘Oberbehörden’, p. 2; Töpfer, Die ‘Freyheit’ der Kinder, pp. 25–74. 34 H. Klotz, D. Veit Wolfrum, Superintendent zu Zwickau 1593–1626: Eine Studie zur sächsischen Kirchengeschichte (Zwickau, 1892). 35 See in particular Bräuer, Zwickau und Martinus Luther; Bräuer, Thomas Müntzer und die Zwickauer; Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, which also includes a useful bibliography of older literature; and Karant-Nunn, ‘Continuity and change’. Metzler’s recent edition of the collected letters of Stephan Roth is also highly valuable: R. Metzler, Stephan Roth 1492–1546: Stadtschreiber in Zwickau und Bildungsbürger der Reformationszeit (Leipzig/Stuttgart, 2008). The term ‘Middle Germany’ is used throughout this book to describe the Wettin territories as well as the Protestant parts of Franconia. This was not done without thorough deliberation, as Mitteldeutschland is a problematic term in German. It is used by revisionists who wish to make a point of the former eastern territories of Germany now belonging to Poland. After 1990, Mitteldeutschland has also been used to draw a separating line between the more affluent southern federal states Thuringia, Saxony and Saxony-Anhalt, and the economically struggling Brandenburg and Mecklenburg-Vorpommern. My use of the term does not reference these usages. It is rather seen to make sense in linguistic terms, as the East Middle German and Eastern Franconian dialects are spoken throughout the region, as well as in religious terms on account of their close connection to the Lutheran Reformation. The main reason for using it was, however, the fact that its usage in Dehio’s Handbuch der deutschen Kunstdenkmäler overlapped exactly with the area in which Daum had the great majority of his contacts, and where the educational institutions with which the Zwickau Latin school was

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Daum’s boys in direct competition were located. See J. John, ed., ‘Mitteldeutschland’: Begriff – Geschichte – Konstrukt (Rudolstadt, 2001), in particular the articles by Blaschke and Straube; and G. G. Dehio, C. Escher and J. Kohte, Handbuch der deutschen Kunstdenkmäler, 2nd edn, 5 vols, Vol. 1 (Berlin, 1914). 36 On the pre-Reformation history of the school, see H. Ermisch, ‘Die Zwickauer Stadtbücher und eine Zwickauer Schulordnung des 15. Jahrhunderts’, Neues Archiv für sächsische Geschichte und Altertumskunde 20 (1899), pp. 33–45; Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, pp. 1–10; Müller, ‘Das kursächsische Schulwesen’, pp. 1–40, 243–71 and esp. p. 232. 37 E. Fabian, ‘Die Zwickauer Schulbrüderschaft’, Mitteilungen des Altertumsvereins für Zwickau und Umgebung 3 (1891), 50–81. 38 On Agricola in Zwickau see O. Hannaway, ‘Georgius Agricola as Humanist’, Journal of the History of Ideas 53.4 (1992), 553–60; Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, pp.  193–5; K. Steinmüller, ‘Agricola in Zwickau’, Freiberger Forschungshefte D18 (1957), 20–44. 39 O. Clemen, ‘Die älteste Schulordnung des Zwickauer Gymnasiums von 1523’, Alt-Zwickau: Mitteilungen des Zwickauer Altertumsvereins 2 (1935), 1–2; Clemen, ed., Die älteste Zwickauer Schulordnung 1523; E. Fabian, ‘Gymnasium zu Zwickau’, p. 226. 40 Kaemmel, ‘Oberbehörden’, pp.  225–6; E. Schwabe, ‘Die Zwickauer Schulordnung des Rektors Esrom Rüdinger vom Jahre 1550’, Neue Jahrbücher für Pädagogik 18 (1915), 293– 317, esp. pp. 293–4. 41 On the continuing importance of southern German humanism on Saxon schools, particularly through the influence of Sturm on Camerarius, see Wildenhahn, ‘Die Schulen der Brüder vom gemeinsamen Leben mit einem Hinblick auf unsre Realschulen’, Bericht über die Progymnasial- und Realschulanstalt zu Annaberg 24 (1867), 3–38; for Zwickau, see Schwabe, ‘Die Zwickauer Schulordnung’, pp. 294–5. 42 E. Fabian, M. Petrus Plateanus, Rector der Zwickauer Schule von 1535 bis 1546 (Zwickau, 1878). On the Brethren of the Common Life in the Holy Roman Empire, see W. Leesch, E. Persoons and A. G. Weiler, eds, Monasticon Fratrum Vitae Communis, Vol. 2: Deutschland (Brussels, 1979). 43 See Herzog, Chronik, Vol. 2, pp. 220, 223. 44 E. Fabian,‘DieWiederaufrichtung der Zwickauer Schule nach dem Schmalkaldischen Kriege: Mit archivalischen Beiträgen’, Mitteilungen des Altertumsvereins für Zwickau und Umgebung 2 (1888), 1–28; E. Fabian, ‘Die Errichtung eines Alumnats an der Zwickauer Schule (1544)’, Neue Jahrbücher für das klassische Altertum, Geschichte und deutsche Literatur und für Pädagogik 2 (1899), 25–34, 65–75. 45 On the history of the Ratsschulbibliothek, see Fabian, M. Petrus Plateanus, p. 19; J. Walmsley, ‘The library of the Council School (Ratsschulbibliothek) in Zwickau, Saxony’, Paradigm 22 (1997), 38–40; Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 22. 46 Hebrew is mentioned neither in Plateanus’ nor in Rüdiger’s ordinance; Fabian, M. Petrus Plateanus, p. 15. 47 Schwabe, ‘Die Zwickauer Schulordnung’, p. 313. 48 Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, pp.  77–8, which, however, does not contain information on his career in Wittenberg; see also R. J. W. Evans, The Making of the Habsburg Monarchy, 1550–1700: An Interpretation (Oxford/New York, 1979), p. 13, which puts Rüdiger’s later affiliation to the Community of Brethren in the context of the Central European Reformed movement. 49 O. Clemen, ‘Wie die Zwickauer Gymnasiasten Mitte des 16. Jahrhunderts lesen lernten’, Alt-Zwickau 4 (1925), 1–2 (p. 2). 50 E. Fabian, ‘Die Anfänge des Zwickauer Volksschulwesens’, in Festschrift für die 10. Generalversammlung des Allgemeinen Sächsischen Lehrervereins 1894 zu Zwickau (Zwickau, 1894), pp. 81–108 (pp. 96–7). 51 Kaemmel, ‘Oberbehörden’, pp.  229–30; for a biography of Brüschmann see Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 78. 52 Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, pp. 193–4.

CULTURE, AUTHORITY AND EDUCATION

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53 See Chapter 2. 54 Daum collected these 24 Groschen annually from the pupils he taught himself, and it is possible that the co-rector and the tertius also did so, yet even so, the fees did not prohibit pupils of quite varied backgrounds from enrolling at the school. RSB Zwickau, Schulgelds=Register, 1662, 1662–87 [no shelfmark]. 55 For an analysis of Durkheim’s interpretation of Jesuit schooling see Compère,‘Der Unterricht der Jesuiten in Europa um 1700’, p. 32. 56 W. Stoye, Priesterhäuser Zwickau: Die Ausstellung (Zwickau, 2003), p. 40. 57 On the discovery of silver in the 1470s and the ensuing economic boom of the Erzgebirge – leading to the foundation of the mining towns of Schneeberg, Annaberg, Buchholz and Marienberg – see A. Laube, Studien über den erzgebirgischen Silberbergbau von 1470 bis 1546 (Berlin, 1974), pp. 22–47. 58 ‘[I]ederman klagt, die stat sey gantz voll, der Jugend vber aws vill, der frembden Lewte von tage tzu tage vnd armer hausgenossen vil sich heimlich rein lesen, sticken in den kleinen hewsern, leyt vbereinander wie das krotengerick’; in R. Groß,‘Eine Denkschrift des Pfarrers Nikolaus Hausmann an den Rat zu Zwickau von Ende 1529’, Regionalgeschichtliche Beiträge aus dem Bezirk Karl-Marx-Stadt 4 (1982), 58–67 (p. 60). 59 R. Köhler, Der Einfluss des Dreissigjährigen Krieges auf die Bevölkerungszahl deutscher Städte, insbesondere auf die Zwickaus (Leipzig, 1984 [1920]). 60 These figures from the Türkensteuerregister of 1531 are quoted in Bräuer, Thomas Müntzer und die Zwickauer, p. 9. 61 Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, pp. 9–19. 62 See Chapter  4 for the division of forms in the matriculation records according to proficiency. 63 R. Beck, ‘Ein Stundenplan für die Zwickauer Gelehrtenschule von 1676’, Mitteilungen der Gesellschaft für deutsche Erziehungs- und Schulgeschichte 1 (1891), 238–42 (pp. 240–1). 64 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to Barth, Zwickau, 1660 [no shelfmark]; for Daum’s income and his appointment to the post of rector, see Chapters 2 and 3. 65 See Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, pp. 300–1. 66 For the curriculum of 1676, see Table 1. 67 St A Zwickau, III Z, 4 S, 15, b, Rechnungen der Schulbibliothek 1594–1614, 20 June 1662. 68 Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, p. 19. 69 Clemen, Die älteste Zwickauer Schulordnung 1523. 70 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to undisclosed recipient, Zwickau, 1660 [no shelfmark]. 71 Daum to Barth’s widow, 8 August 1660, quoted in Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, p.  13: ‘Losament und Kammer ist bey mir gering und kann ich keine sonderliche stube haben, denn deren nur zwo sind: Die wohnstub, darinnen 3 tisch und ein cavaedium daran; das oberstüblein ist mit büchern erfüllet, dass kein tisch leer.’ 72 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Sextus, Zwickau, 15 June 1661 [no shelfmark]. 73 Information on the process of the restoration of the Priesterhäuser was generously given by M. Fleischhauer, the architect of the restoration project, and N. Oelsner, Landesamt für Denkmalpflege Sachsen. Although the attic space was changed a number of times following an expansion of the alley leading from the Lange Gasse to St Mary’s, and a consequent shortening of the building in the nineteenth century, it is likely that the reconstructed attic room was very similar in both size and shape to the one that stood in its place in Daum’s time. 74 Johann Michael Dilherr (1604–69), theologian and philologist closely associated with the Pegnesischer Blumenorden. R. Jürgensen: ‘Johann Michael Dilherr und der Pegnesische Blumenorden’, in Europäische Sozietätsbewegung und demokratische Tradition, ed. K. Garber and H. Wismann (Tübingen, 1996), pp. 1320–60. 75 RSB Zwickau, Br.385.74, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 17 March 1666: ‘Wenn der Herr von seinen Kostgehern wöchentlich nicht ein Ehrliches kriegt, lasse er sich nicht ein:

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Daum’s boys Denn, der inspection zu geschweigen, ietzt alles theuer, und ich, auff Herrn Dilherrns Bitten, vor 8. Tagen einen Ostfrießländischen Studiosum (der mir 2. R geben wollen) annemen sollen, er aber weil ich ihn von meinen 3. Stuben keine einreumen können, zu meinem Buchbinder gewiesen worden, u. wegen deß schönen Musei u. saubern Bettes 12 x. darüber zahlt. Jetziger Kostgeher gibt uns 4. Kopffstück, u. habe in wenig Wochen 3. Kälber kauffen müssen.’ 76 Mahnke, Christian Daum, p. 12. 77 P. Veit, Das Kirchenlied in der Reformation Martin Luthers: Eine thematische und semantische Untersuchung (Stuttgart, 1986); P. Veit, ‘Piété, chant et lecture: Les pratiques religieuses dans l’Allemagne protestante à l’époque moderne’, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine 37 (1990), 624–41. 78 Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 5. 79 A. Richter, ‘Ein Fest für Schule und Stadt: Das Freiberger Gregoriusfest bis zu seiner Aufhebung 1835’, Volkskunde in Sachsen 17 (2005), 31–55, esp. the bibliography, 51–5. In Stadtilm/Thuringia, the tradition continues to the present day. 80 The school choir was established under the rectorship either of Plateanus or Rüdiger; Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, pp. 26–7. 81 On Rebhuhn, see Karant-Nunn, ‘Continuity and change’, pp. 29–30; J. G. Weller, Altes aus allen Theilen der Geschichte, oder alte Urkunden, alte Briefe, und Nachrichten von alten Büchern, mit Anmerkungen, 4 vols (Chemnitz, 1762–66), Vol. 2, p. 740. On Clodius, see Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, pp. 38–40. 82 Eunuchus was also performed to celebrate the official move of the school to the Grünhainer Hof in 1549. See the entries for 1548 and 1549 in Herzog, Chronik. 83 J. Rogge, DieWettiner: Aufstieg einer Dynastie im Mittelalter (Ostfildern, 2009), p. 167. 84 See for instance Daum’s inauguration speech of 1662; C. Daum, De rectoris officio scholastico (Zwickau, 1869 [1662]). 85 Kaemmel, ‘Oberbehörden’, p. 231. 86 The initial stock of books consisted of a small donation by Plateanus and volumes left behind by monks after the dissolving of the Franciscan and Cistercian friaries. Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, pp. 22–3. 87 In 1575, 100 meissnische Gulden were donated to the library by the potter Hans Elsässer. 88 On the regulations concerning the scholarships that the council administered, see St A Zwickau, A*A III 3, Nr 20, Ordnung über die Verleihung und Ausstellung von Stipendien des Zwickauer Rates, 4 May 1584. For the endowments made to the Zwickau Latin school and its library, see the entries for 1479, 1484, 1490, 1504, 1515, 1520, 1542, 1533, 1534, 1545, 1553, 1572, 1574,1580, 1598, 1604, 1607, 1611, 1618, 1621, 1622, 1627, 1633, 1643 and 1711 in Herzog, Chronik. 89 D. Roberts, ‘Protestantische Kunst im Zeitalter der Konfessionalisierung: Die Bildnisse der Superintendenten im Chorraum der Thomaskirche zu Leipzig’, in Konfessionen im Kirchenraum: Dimensionen des Sakralraums in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. S. Wegmann and G. Wimböck (Korb, 2007), pp. 325–44; R. Slenczka, ‘Lebensgroß und unverwechselbar: Lutherbildnisse in Kirchen 1546–1617’, Luther: Zeitschrift der Luther-Gesellschaft 82 (2011), 99–116. 90 G. Ludwig, M. G. Ludovici Historia Rectorum, Gymnasiorum, Scholarumque celebriorum, s. SchulHistorie, Parts 1–4 (Leipzig, 1708–14), p. 184. Unlike those of living rectors, this portrait was not painted at the council’s cost, but donated to the school by a descendant of Roth’s, Christoph Böhm, minister of Niebra. 91 RSB Zwickau, Schreibkalender Christian Daum, 1684 [no shelfmark]. 92 Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 82. The tradition of painting the rectors was continued at least till the rectorship of Gottlieb Claus (1788–1800). 93 Ibid., p. 22. How exactly the paintings were arranged is not known, though Roth’s portrait apparently hung above the entrance.

2 The finished scholar: convincing oneself and convincing others

May I remind [the reader] that it is still customary for every man before he dies to procure and erect his own tombstone, likewise his effigy, his portraits and medals, and that some men are not even only concerned with carrying them around with them and thus admiring their own reflection, but that they even distribute little booklets to accompany their image … and that already during their lifetime they seek to have their image included in their own books and those of others. André Thevet, Vrais pourtraits et vies des hommes illustres grecz, latins et payens1

Some of the most iconic images of scholarship in European art depict St Jerome, who had chosen the tranquillity of the Syrian desert over the commotion of Rome and Antioch, in his study. Adapted by many of the greatest artists of the medieval and early modern periods – among them da Messina, Ghirlandaio, Cranach the Elder and van Eyck – by far the most famous German depiction was Dürer’s etching of 1517 (Figure 11).2 Here, scholarship is depicted as a lonely, but tranquil activity: accompanied only by his lion (a medieval addition to St Jerome’s iconography) and a dog, Jerome sits by the light of the window, self-absorbed, a piece of writing in front of him. A pair of slippers and several cushions underline the comfortable domesticity of the scene even further. Dürer chose not to portray the saint in the traditional desert setting of his self-chosen exile, but in a contemporary scholar’s study. As an image, the etching has as much to say about sixteenth-century ideas of scholarship as it does about the fifth-century saint. The study is clad in carved wood and furnished with the items that early modern men and women recognised as attributes of the scholar. The items indispensable to Jerome’s iconography – the skull, the cardinal’s hat, the Bible – are all present, to be sure, but have been mixed in with the items Dürer would have seen in the studies of his learned associates in Nuremberg: leather-bound books, a writing pad, scissors and, dominating the whole room, a large desk. The skull sits by the light of the window like just another study object. Far from merely adding to the decorative detail of

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Figure 11  Albrecht Dürer’s 1514 engraving of St Jerome in his study depicts the fifth-century theologian in the stereotypical surroundings of a sixteenth­century scholar: reliant on natural light, St Jerome is seated at a desk by the large window in a wood-cladded Museum (study). Zwickau teachers were expected to be active scholars and could expect an almost identical study to be part of their accommodation.

The finished scholar: convincing oneself & others 61

the etching, the fact that Dürer chose to transpose the scene of Jerome’s exile to one his contemporaries recognised produces tension central to the etching’s effect: scholarship is not unlike exile. One could take one’s cat into the study, but no human being. Solitude and learning are inseparably intertwined, a notion that Petrarch had also expressed some 150 years earlier in his eloquent Vita solitaria.3 An early modern scholar’s retreat into his study – as Melanchthon called it, his ‘paradise’  – had witnesses, however.4 As employees of town councils, physicians, university lecturers or clergymen, scholars lived very public lives, fulfilling functions within their localities – be they towns, princely courts or universities – from which they could not absent themselves unnoticed. In addition to this, Protestant scholars typically had wives, too. Retreating into the solitude of his study meant that the scholar retreated from public and domestic obligations which demanded his presence. At the same time, though, research activity – no matter how obscure and remote from the needs of his immediate environment – was one of the things expected of him.5 ‘Scholarly’ behaviour was crucial to communicating his identity as a man of letters to his contemporaries. Being a scholar in the early modern town was thus an intricate piece of social performance. The study itself was not, in fact, a lonely place, either. Scholars often wrote tens of thousands of letters to other scholars, submitting to an intricate social etiquette that bound them into the virtual community of the Republic of Letters. In other words: the performance continued within the home and within the study.6 This chapter tells the story of how Christian Daum established himself as a scholar by focusing on how he convinced others that he was one. This story helps us uncover not only a mutual understanding of mannerisms and gestures among small-town men and women, but also what both parties expected of each other: the town and by extension the council needed to provide the necessary facilities for scholarship; the scholar had to act the part. Apart from his work as a teacher, there were three principal ways Daum did this: by dressing a certain way, through his domestic life and by prescribing to a particular ideal of scholarship that placed him in the mainstream of the German culture of letters of the seventeenth century. As a teacher, Daum was not part of the legal corporation of the university and, therefore, excluded from much of the symbolic competition over status that came with university life, yet Daum and his contemporaries knew certain events to be part of the qualification process, both of being admitted to the Republic of Letters, and of becoming a member of the select circle of a town’s scholars. Daum’s appointment to the position of tertius on 16 March 1642 confirmed his role in both realms, and it is, therefore, the changes in his life that took place as a result of this transition that we need to concern ourselves

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with in detail. It was from this moment onwards that Daum became a part of his pupils’ everyday life, one of the handful of scholars they came in contact with during their school careers in a manufacturing town like Zwickau and, therefore, one of the prime role models for the learned way of life. Daum’s education and early career Yet before we examine the established scholar we must turn to his life and career prior to his first civic appointment. Christian Daum was born in Zwickau, on Sunday 29 March 1612, and he was to die there, on 15 December 1687. He spent seventy-three of his seventy-five years in his home-town, situated in the heartland of the Lutheran Reformation, and it is fitting that the earliest piece of written evidence we possess of Daum is his signature on the frontispiece of a 1550 Leipzig edition of Luther’s catechism, signed as ‘Christianus Daum Cygneus. 1626’, Cygnea being Zwickau’s latinised name [Figure 12].7 Even in the short itinerant phase of his life, he remained within Thuringia and Saxony. His father’s family is said to have immigrated to Zwickau from Regensburg, though his great-great-grandfather Johann (d. 1508)  is already on record as being a barber-surgeon in Zwickau, a profession his great-grandfather Johann, his grandfather Martin (1526–96) and his father David (d. 1633) were all to follow.8 The family was well off, as David Daum, a burgher of Zwickau, is recorded as the owner of two houses, one in the Korngasse, one in the Obere Steinweg, both in the affluent environs of the main market and the corn market. He was also the owner of several plots of land in surrounding villages.9 Christian Daum was the youngest of three sons from David Daum’s marriage to Katharina née Streit, born in Nuremberg.The eldest, Johannes, became a secretary at the chancellery in Dresden, and continued to be Daum’s closest confidant until his death in 1670. Of Daum’s second brother, August, very little is known, apart from the fact that he appears in the Sexta (second-lowest form) in the Latin school’s matriculation records in 1616, and left Zwickau in 1625. After the death of Katharina Daum, David Daum married again. Both Christian and his brother August were apparently somewhat dissatisfied with their father’s second marriage, Christian later claiming that it was the reason August left Zwickau, never to return.10 Johannes, Christian and August all went to the Zwickau Latin school, Christian beginning his formal education, after some initial teaching at home, at the age of eight in 1620. By all accounts, he was a model pupil. He appears to have attracted the attention of his teachers at a young age because of his particular talent for languages. According to his funeral sermon, he was able to

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Figure 12  Der Kleine Catechimus. The inauspicious beginnings to a lifelong passion for book collecting: the earliest extant book Daum owned, a copy of Luther’s small catechism, signed by the fourteen-year-old Latin school pupil. ‘read not only Latin and Greek, but even the Hebrew letters’ when eight years old – that is, in the first year of his stay at the Zwickau Latin school.11 At school, Daum made some of the key acquaintances of his later professional life. He met Johannes Sextus, the son of Bohemian exiles, who was later to move to Franconia and broker Daum’s contacts to the Pegnesischer Blumenorden, the Endter printing shop in Nuremberg and the academic circle at Altdorf. More immediately important for the direction his scholarly career

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was to take was the association with the school’s rector, Johannes Zechendorf, which was to last until Zechendorf’s death in 1662. Zechendorf started Daum’s interest for languages in general, and Hebrew and Arabic in particular. That the two were seen to be closely associated becomes clear from a large number of letters to Daum in which he was asked either to forward Zechendorf’s writings or to transmit greetings or messages.12 According to David Wagner’s funeral sermon for Daum, he grasped the basics of Arabic in eight days (!) while still at school.13 Although reports of precocity were a standard component of seventeenth-century scholars’ childhood accounts, it is clear that Daum was a promising pupil, as he rose through all six forms of the curriculum in what at Zwickau was the unusually fast time of twelve years.14 From here, Daum’s academic career could have progressed smoothly: furnished with letters of recommendation and with the good will of a respected scholar, by the time Daum prepared himself for leaving Zwickau for Leipzig he was set up well for joining the ranks of the Respublica litteraria. On 23 April, 1632, Christian Daum enrolled at the University of Leipzig, during the rectorship of Johann Höpner.15 While in Leipzig, he stayed at Kleines Fürstenkolleg, one of the university’s main lodging houses. Daum had planned also to spend some time at the University of Wittenberg, but his time at university was cut short by the doubly catastrophic coming of the plague and imperial troops to Saxony.16 Daum described the effects of the war on himself and his family in a letter to a relative in 1635. His stepmother had already died in 1630, a year after one of her two sons. In the summer of 1633, his father had taken refuge in a close-by village when troops under Field Marshal Holcke raided Zwickau for the second time in a period of twelve months.17 When he decided it was safe to return to Zwickau, the plague had taken hold in the town, and killed him as well as his three small children in a matter of weeks. Christian Daum had fled to Jena, where his mother’s family had arranged quarters for him. From here, he moved to Gera, where the news reached him that his father’s maid had also died, leaving the house without supervision – soldiers and civilians robbing and ransacking the house ‘so that neither windows, stairs, hearths nor floors’ were left. Despite the severe damage to the house, Daum did not return to Zwickau to put matters in order as soon as the plague had passed, but rather remained in Leipzig until Christmas 1634. He only returned to his home-town when he received the offer to become private teacher to the children of his nephew, the notary Nicolaus Götze.18 Daum evidently returned to Zwickau very reluctantly. Because his time at university was so short, he was prevented from taking full advantage of the teaching that was on offer at Leipzig.19 In fact, later in life, Daum was to say that he had had ‘no teachers [praeceptores] in my youth, and had to slave away on my own; had I not had books, how could I have learnt anything at all!’.20 By not

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having had praeceptores, Daum presumably meant more than that he was not able to attend as many collegia privata or collegia publica as he would have wished. He was also probably insinuating that he regretted not having had the opportunity to become closely acquainted with his superiors, since, under normal circumstances, a talented student could hope for close contact with the established scholars at Leipzig. Being passed on from the services of one established scholar to the next was a staple component of a student’s advancement, be it by copying letters, teaching their children or, in the best of cases, becoming a famulus (a student lodger who could double as assistant to a professor and as private teacher to his children). Though Daum was certainly not able to make such widespread contacts with future benefactors and colleagues while still at university, he exaggerated when claiming to be self-taught. He did make the acquaintance of the philologist and physician Thomas Reinesius at Leipzig, whose correspondence with Daum was important enough for it to be judged worthy of publication shortly after Reinesius had died. A civic physician and later mayor in Altenburg, Reinesius was the author of a large number of largely philological works. His main focus was the study of ancient, particularly Latin, inscriptions, while he was also known for his compendium of personal names of antiquity, the Eponymologicum. Leibniz evidently thought highly of him, writing in 1715 that ‘Il y a plus de realités dans une page de Reinesius, que dans une dixaine de pages de quelques Critiques modernes.’21 Daum also met the man who can with certainty be called the most important person in his life  – a man who was anything but a friend of Reinesius’: Caspar von Barth. Twenty years his senior, Barth took notice of Daum’s exceptional linguistic talent, yet Daum remained in the somewhat subservient position to him as his loyal pupil and editor till Barth’s death in 1658.22 The relationship between Daum and Barth was defined from the outset as much by the similarity of their interests as by the dissimilarity of social standing and occupation. Barth, a squire by birth, did not need to work for his living, and could devote all his waking hours to studying and writing. Daum, on the other hand, constantly complained about needing to work at his ‘day-job’ of teaching, which all too often infringed upon his precious research time. Nor had Barth’s term at university been cut short. Barth was able to travel extensively after leaving Jena (his second place of study after having previously been enrolled in Wittenberg) in 1609, staying in Mainz and Cologne in 1610; Marburg in 1611; Heidelberg in 1612; Strasbourg in 1613; Padua and Genoa in 1614; Leiden in 1615; Antwerp, Amsterdam and Paris in 1616 and 1617; and Vicenza and Rome in 1618.23 Needless to say, travelling also opened up to Barth opportunities to study under eminent scholars – such as Meursius in Leiden  – an advantage unavailable to the sedentary Daum.

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We learn nothing about possible jealousy on the part of Daum of his benefactor’s decidedly more favourable circumstances. Daum, however, at times resented his treatment by Barth, which he considered to have been ungrateful in view of his faithful, long-standing services.24 The irascible Barth, whose temper alienated most of his friends, considered Daum to be his closest and only long-time friend. There were frequent displays of affection in letters to the younger man: ‘Besides Marquart Freher, Friedrich Taubmann and Tertius, there is no-one other than you among all our learned scholars and colleagues whose qualities I have ever held in higher esteem’, and, more intimately, ‘If you desert me, then I will be truly alone.’25 Lop-sided though his friendship to Barth may have been, Daum had certainly done well to have established such strong and long-lasting ties to a scholar of such standing during his own alltoo-brief time at university.26 Looking and acting the scholar: dress and the representation of knowledge In 1635, having broken off his studies at Leipzig University, Daum found work in Zwickau as a private teacher to the sons of the notary Nicolaus Götze. As the property records of the council show, the family lived very comfortably just off the main square in the Amtsgasse.27 By 1640, Daum was also teaching at the Latin school, apparently only part-time, though he was addressed as tertius in a letter by one of his pupils long before his official appointment in 1642.28 At this time, after almost eight years of service, Daum was becoming increasingly unhappy at Götze’s. Once he accepted the position at the school, he had begun feeling unwelcome, telling his brother that ‘because I now cannot [sic!] do not want to toil as much at home as previously, I am becoming aware of the fact that one would like to get rid of me here, but without paying me the outstanding wages.’ He had thought about various options open to him in this situation, as other circumstances were also not to his satisfaction: he could not get his clothes washed at Götze’s any more, he did not like the cooking, and he was finding it exhausting having to walk the ‘long way’ (less than 500 m!) several times a day between the Götzes’ house and the school. But he did not wish to accept another post as a private tutor again, as it was hard to find such a position, and he did not wish to move in with ‘curmudgeons and ill-tempered misers’ (‘knickern u. unflätigen geizhälßen’). The best solution, he decided, was to take the offer of a full-time position as tertius at the Latin school.29 The material rewards of being an institutionally employed scholar were considerable. Employees of the council were lodged in the Priesterhäuser, a complex of buildings that offered far superior conditions

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Figure 13  Museum (study) in the co-rector’s house, refurbished during the restoration of the Priesterhäuser complex, 1996–2003. to the houses in the artisan quarters (see Chapter  1). It is revealing of the standing that a teacher enjoyed within the urban community of Zwickau that even the third teacher was waged and housed comfortably enough to engage in scholarly activity alongside his teaching. As teachers were also expected to be published authors, their houses contained large, comfortable studies (Figure 13). Apart from free housing, Daum received 85 RT. 4 gl., and sufficient fuel for heating.30 By becoming a full-time teacher, Daum became a direct employee of the town council, and therefore subject to intense scrutiny as far as his dress was concerned.31 Unlike academic scholars, Protestant teachers did not engage in the kind of competition over status through dress common at universities – especially not with the hereditary nobility.32 They typically wore austere black, reflecting specifically their close involvement with the confessional education of young boys. Clothing was, according to Luther, one of the ‘a-diaphora’: nonfaith-related items. For himself, Luther had chosen clothing that was reminiscent of academic dress and thereby underlined his status as an established scholar, yet avoided flamboyance or items worn by Catholic priests.33 He eventually abandoned his brown Augustinian habit for a long black cloak and gown

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Figure 14  Rector Johannes Zechendorf, Daum’s orientalist predecessor, in his coffin, c. 1662. worn over a white shirt.34 In theory, ministers were free to dress as they wished, and costume research has shown that the dress of Lutheran clergy varied considerably from region to region and often from one church to another in the sixteenth century. Yet a great number of official regulations, issued both by town councils and territorial governments, urged clerical and teaching staff to wear clothing in subdued colours and to avoid fashionable items such as puffed trousers and slashed sleeves.35 As it happened, black as a colour for men’s clothing had become fashionable in the sixteenth century, not just at the Spanish court, but across Europe. It was practical, and, since the black dye of the South American Campeche (logwood) tree had become widely available, had become far more colour-fast.36 What was useful for theologians could work for scholars of other disciplines, too. As teachers were subject to the authority of the consistory and were closely involved with the religious education of young boys, the clerical authority of black dress also applied to them. From what we know of Zwickau, teaching staff appear to have followed quite closely Luther’s example of simple and quasi-academic clothing. In a painting showing Daum’s predecessor, Johann Zechendorf, in his coffin, we can see this clerical connection quite clearly (Figure 14). Zechendorf is wearing a long black embroidered cloak; a

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Figure 15  Portrait of Christian Daum on the frontispiece of his funeral sermon; Johann Christoph Böckhlin, 1691. black cap; and a wide, soft double collar. Underneath the coat he is dressed in a large, loose white shirt with large voluminous sleeves and black ribbons. There is, in fact, nothing in this depiction that would tell you that he was a specialist in oriental languages and not a Protestant minister. Judging by his whereabouts, we can safely assume the book he is holding to be a Bible. Of Christian Daum, we have several portraits showing him when he was alive. In the etching made by Johann Christian Böcklin on the frontispiece of his funeral sermon, the clear depiction of an extreme squint of his eyes may indicate the problems Daum had had with his eyesight for most of his life

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(Figure 15). In comparison to Zechendorf, not much had changed as far as his dress was concerned. Daum was presumably dressed in his everyday attire, which would explain why it is somewhat simpler than what Zechendorf was shown wearing in his coffin, but the basic items are the same: a black robe, a black cloak and a white collar, presumably worn over a white shirt. Overall, while the information on teachers’ dress in the Lutheran territories of the empire is somewhat sketchy, extant information from other cities does suggest that teachers’ clothes tended to be as plain as the ones Daum wore on the frontispiece of his funeral sermon. In Nuremberg, teachers where given an allowance for their clothes, a surviving account from 1547 stating: ‘M[agister] Nicolas was given [money] for 6½ ells of black cloth for a cloak, for 1¼ ells of grey cloth for a pair of trousers, for 1 ell of yellow cloth for lining, 5 ells of red cloth for a vest and 5 ells of white woollen cloth for the lining, and for a shirt.’37 This dress code also underlined a crucial aspect of the self-perception of Lutheran scholarship. While, for Luther, the black robe had been part of a novel conception of spiritual authority not at odds with his rotund physicality and outspoken worldliness,38 the public image of the typical scholar had remained close to the gaunt studiousness of Melanchthon.39 The black that the provincial schoolteacher wore underlined the ‘state apart’ cultivated by early modern Protestant scholars, who went to great lengths, as Gadi Algazi has recently shown, to stress a different concept of masculinity common for other men at the time.40 Not just among themselves, but also in relation to their contemporaries, did they stylise themselves into men who were part of a ‘higher level’, a closed-off world in which mundane matters like eating or sleeping mattered less and could be easily forgotten. The austere black of their dress, therefore, also became a symbol of the scholar’s preoccupation with things intellectual, and scorn for worldly luxury. This differentiation from their contemporaries was possibly even more important to small-town scholars such as Daum or Zechendorf than to their counterparts in university towns or at princely courts, since, in a trading and manufacturing town such as Zwickau, only a handful of other men understood what exactly he did in his second career as a scholar.41 Despite living in Zwickau, Daum was well informed on matters of scholarly fashion across Europe, and the connotations of particular items of clothing and their overall impression were certainly not lost on him. His collection of funeral sermons, pamphlets and other published material contained more than 1,000 portraits – mostly frontispieces – of famous men and women. Since Daum predominantly collected scholarly writing, portraits of learned men were especially prominent in this collection.42 The appearance of provincial teacher-scholars like Daum was not just part of their immediate urban context, but formed part of a European visual canon that was communicated

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mostly through images.43 While not identical to academic costume, the way Daum dressed was similar enough to make him instantly recognisable as a man of letters. Daum marries The clothes Daum and his fellow scholars wore underlined a male identity that was defined both in relation to these men’s learned peers and other men in the locality, not in relation to the female sex. In fact, social contact with women was quite limited for a Latin schoolteacher, who taught boys and otherwise spent his spare time alone in his study, from where he corresponded virtually exclusively with other men. In many ways, the monastic character of the daily routine at a Lutheran Latin school survived the Reformation astonishingly intact, despite the fact that the school was located in the centre of a town, and depended on its infrastructure and the co-operation of its inhabitants. It is also in this context that we need to think about scholars’ marriages. The daily regime of teaching and research could not be kept up without the help of other people. In 1642, Daum wrote to his brother to announce that he had decided to move into the third teacher’s house. Setting up his own household could not be done as a single man: ‘The winter is drawing near, and moving into my house on my own will not be so comfortable; finding servants to my liking [leute nach meinen kopf] will be impossible; and who will look after me, and if I fall ill, who will care for me?’44 Daum had determined on a solution: marriage. As he wrote to his brother, the bride he had chosen, Martha Fickenwirth, a servant at Götze’s house, was no beauty, and already forty-four years old when she married Daum, fourteen years his senior. Daum was possibly apprehensive that his brother might find his choice of a much older partner bewildering – the theme of the unequal lovers was, after all, an especially popular theme in early modern German art –and went to great lengths to explain why he had decided on Martha.45 He wanted a reliable housekeeper: With her, I cannot find money, beauty, noble ancestry, youth or the like which other men mainly look for [in a woman]; these things count for nothing for me, as I treasure above all equable manners, an obedient, honest, decent, faithful and sincere disposition, [and] an industrious and sedulous hand, all of which I find here.46

Daum evidently did not expect or wish to have children with her, nor was he looking for an attractive sexual partner or for social advancement through marriage. He made up his mind to take her as a wife and not a ‘young, lusty, capricious and inexperienced woman, the likes of which might have had hopes

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of me’ because Martha had looked after him when he had returned seriously ill from Leipzig in 1634. Though Daum was only thirty at the time, he was already plagued by a series of ailments. He had become blind in one eye in his mid twenties, his eyesight further deteriorating to the point of almost total blindness by the time he reached his sixties. He also suffered from severe pains in the groin, bladder stones and constant headaches.47 Living without someone to look after him was therefore out of the question. He closed his account of this upcoming change of his circumstances with a note of regret that he could not remain single for longer, but had to marry out of necessity.48 As an upcoming scholar, Daum was in no way original in deciding to marry his housekeeper. Such a logical choice was this that Wolfgang Capito had warned the Basel professor and Protestant reformer Johannes Oecolampadius against doing so as soon as he heard of his friend’s interest in marriage. Capito might have already known what Oecolampadius told him in response to this warning – that he in fact thoroughly disliked his housekeeper.49 Though, in this case, the most obvious choice for Oecolampadius’ future wife was rejected by both men, they agreed that a scholar first and foremost needed a woman who took proper care of him. It was for the same reason, according to Erasmus, that his friend Thomas More had decided to marry Alice Middleton, a woman ‘neither beautiful nor in her first youth’.50 Scholars’ preference for lower-class, often older women was closely connected to a general change in the scholarly household with the onset of the Reformation. As the example of Thomas More shows, the household form that Daum chose – marriage to a woman who effectively ran his household while he devoted himself to his studies – was not an invention of Protestant scholars, yet it was only after the Reformation that it became the most common choice for European men of learning. As a substitute for the dominant habitat of the medieval scholar – the monastery – Protestant scholars developed marriage patterns that made use of female labour, but minimised the distraction of family life. Women and children were generally considered a hindrance to intellectual performance, and it was, therefore, little wonder that many of the most famous scholars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries – Erasmus and Leibniz among them – remained single.Yet for the majority of scholars, keeping a full household of servants was well beyond what they could ever afford. Marriage was the only viable option.51 One of the reasons that Christian Daum told his brother Johannes in such detail about his reasons for marrying a poor, uneducated older woman was most probably that, a few years earlier, Johannes had asked Christian for advice on who to marry after his wife had died, leaving him with a small child to take care of. Despite the urgency of the situation, Johannes had taken his time, enquiring repeatedly whether one of the candidates was physically attractive, not ‘pockmarked or completely black in the face’.52 Even though

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he had worried extensively about the looks of his future wife, Johannes approved of his brother’s choice of Martha in his response to the letter quoted above, as ‘one cannot let oneself be tempted by money and property alone; an honest, upright and trustworthy disposition is better’.53 By asking each other for advice as to which women they should choose and which criteria should guide their courtship, Christian and Johannes not only expressed personal taste, but divulged what their prerogatives in life were. Johannes told his brother that he was looking for a suitable ‘mate’, a physically attractive woman, someone who could run his household and look after his infant child.54 By stating that he cared little for the qualities ‘other men’ looked for in a woman, Christian, on the other hand, expressed very different priorities: lifelong learning and scholarly prestige above wealth, companionship or sexual satisfaction. He knew full well that, as a scholar, this was the kind of marriage that made practical sense and, at the same time, sent out the right message about himself. Specialisation and polyhistoria: Daum builds a research profile The way Daum dressed and the way he conducted his domestic life told his fellow Zwickauers that he was a scholar. Though his neighbours were not necessarily aware of this, Daum, however, embodied only one type of scholar among many. The production of knowledge was a far more decentralised affair than it is in today’s institutionalised world of science, with clergymen, physicians and teachers researching and publishing on a wide range of topics alongside scholars employed at universities and princely courts.55 Men like Daum gained acceptance among other ‘men of letters’ not primarily because of their workplaces, but because of other, less easily defined qualities. A humanist education was essential, as were ‘scholarly’ habits of conduct, particularly in letter-­writing. Across the Republic of Letters, cohesion among its members was reached first and foremost by their acknowledgement that a certain code of conduct distinguished men of letters from their unlearned contemporaries. We would nonetheless be making a mistake if we assumed that Daum did not take his research seriously. Teacher-scholars like Daum expressed a sense of mission towards the cause of humanist education and scholarship that we should not take lightly.56 This understanding of obligation must not be confused with nineteenth- and twentieth-century notions of a teacher’s responsibility to the next generation or to the nation state.57 Rather, it was connected to the polyhistorical ideal of scholarship, which meant that an expert in any one field of scholarship was expected to possess at least a cursory knowledge of all of them. Scholarship was, therefore, understood to be a unit. Bad scholarship

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affected the whole community of learned men and could quickly become notorious across the entire community of scholars, not just specialists of the particular field. Form mattered immensely, but so did content. Considering how conducive to study Daum’s teaching regimen at the school and his new living quarters were, it is no coincidence that Daum’s first book, the De causis ammissarum quarundam Linguae Latinae Radicum, appeared in print the same year he was appointed tertius. Though in private study Daum had devoted much effort and time to the study of oriental languages, as a published author he would concentrate mainly on the classical languages and their etymology. In his first book, Daum attempted to determine the lost roots of about 300 Latin words and the reasons for their having become extinct  – a work he was to receive considerable praise for in later years, and which was reprinted at least twice in the eighteenth century.58 With this book, Daum had embarked on research in  a highly fashionable field. He most probably conceived this work specifically in order to attract attention from members of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden in Nuremberg, one of the first associations of writers and poets in Germany.59    These associations, of which the Fruchtbringende Gesellschaft (‘Fruitbearing Society’) with its mainly noble membership was the most prominent, had as their template the Italian academies of Rome and Florence.60 Though they championed vernacular literature in particular, they acted as a forum of exchange for scholars with diverse interests.61 The first director of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden, Georg Philipp Harsdörffer, had published several tracts on etymology, and Daum worked hard to make the acquaintance of several of its members.62 At the time of its first publication, however, his De causis ammissarum quarundam Linguae Latinae Radicum seems to have passed relatively unnoticed, as its first and only edition to be published in his lifetime was relatively small. Some years later, when Daum had become better known, interest in his first work was such that he was often approached personally for copies. In 1650, an associate of Daum’s and Sextus’ at Altdorf University, Johannes Graevius, contacted Daum with the request to borrow a copy of the work, while as late as 1663 the second director of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden, Sigmund von Birken, thanked Daum through Sextus for having sent him a copy.63 Though    it failed to be noticed in Nuremberg at the time of its initial publication, Daum had, therefore, already displayed a shrewd ability to judge academic fashion. He had apparently also planned to publish a dictionary of the roots of German words (Stammwörter), a work that would have been in line with the interests of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden to an even greater extent, but that he never realised.64 The fact that he started publishing profusely from this point onwards – as a single author, he wrote and edited at least nineteen major scholarly works as well as scores of writings composed to commemorate specific occasions – was

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Figure 16  Daum’s main benefactor in Leipzig, Caspar von Barth. the main factor that earned Daum respect as a man of learning from his fellow scholars.65 Within the scholarly culture of the Holy Roman Empire, there was no equivalent to the antiquarian Nicolas-Claude Fabri Peiresc, who became one of France’s most celebrated scholars without having ever published anything. Especially German Protestant scholars were revered by their contemporaries and dismissed by modern historians for the sheer bulk of their published output. Though largely forgotten now, Caspar von Barth was held in almost universal awe among seventeenth-century men of letters for the breadth of his learning and the immense number of scholarly works he published (Figure 16).66 It is precisely these features that have made modern-day historians reluctant to honour him with more than cursory treatment, A. E. Housman writing of

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Barth’s Adversaria that ‘to read 3,000 tall columns of close print by a third-rate scholar is no proper occupation for mortals’.67 However, we know that other seventeenth-century men of letters of whom subsequent opinion was much higher – such as the Silesian poet and champion of German as a literary language, Martin Opitz – relied heavily on Barth’s work.68 Scholars such as Barth have had to endure a great amount of lampooning by subsequent generations, especially by writers of the early Enlightenment, who produced some of their best satire on the topic of the polyhistor, most famously Lessing’s The Young Scholar. What was being ridiculed was not the humanist ideal as such, but the vast proportions polyhistoria had assumed by the end of the seventeenth century. This ambition was mainly defined by the striving towards encyclopedism and universalism. According to Westerhoff, encyclopedism is best described ‘as the desire to include every discipline, science as well as arts, in the scope of polyhistoric knowledge’, and universalism ‘as the desire to penetrate every science which is in the scope of the polyhistor down to the most minute details’. To the modern-day reader, used to a scientific ideal that places great value on specialised knowledge, it is hard to understand how such an ambition, to us obviously unattainable, could ever have been taken seriously. What can be said about an academic community that claimed that its most noted members, such as Julius Caesar Bottifanga, ‘knew all the arts and sciences, played – and built – all the musical instruments, and embroidered more deftly than any woman’? Yet, from the point of view of the polyhistor, specialist research that concentrated on one field of enquiry alone was superficial, as it neglected the connections between all things in the physical as well as the spiritual world.69 Attributing to vanity the wide range of topics a polyhistor felt he needed to have at least a cursory knowledge of, as his eighteenth-century detractors habitually did, does not take into account the serious intentions that informed polyhistoria as a scholarly ideal. Like Barth, Daum also displayed a wide range of scholarly interests, keeping a large collection of coins, minerals and maps, as was quite typical for scholars of the time.70 He was also without doubt an extremely hard-working scholar, one of his colleagues characterising him in his funeral sermon with the words ‘and if I had a foot in the grave, I would still be studying and trying to learn something new’.71 In terms of public image, Daum was certainly a polyhistor, his contemporaries honouring him with the title already quite early on in his career.72 However, none of Daum’s published writings display the vast range of topics for which eighteenth-century scholars ridiculed their predecessors. Rather, he never strayed far from strict philology. The Vertumnus poeticus might have been Daum’s most well-known work, but it was rather atypical, and is best seen as a conscious effort to attract attention after his first book had gone largely unnoticed. As a work of poetry, the Vertumnus was a piece of diligent

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craftsmanship, its attraction lying not in the beauty of its verse, but the sheer quantity of variations on a simple theme and, most importantly, the impressive Latin vocabulary Daum had at his disposal. The volume consisted of 3,000 different variations on the saying ‘Fiat justitia, aut pereat mundus’, with both metre and meaning of the original verse remaining intact. It was of no scholarly substance apart from displaying Daum’s masterful command of Latin and broad vocabulary, but more than fulfilled its purpose of getting Daum noticed, earning him praise from the above-mentioned Georg Philipp Harsdörffer.73 Though technically different, this practice of playful variation on a basic Latin verse was closely related to the genre of Proteus poetry, in which verses were devised  – on the basis of ambiguous and usually monosyllabic words  – that tolerated almost limitless syntactic reshuffling. Eventually, it caused the young Leibniz, who had devoted a section of his Dissertatio arithmetica de complexionibus to Proteus poetry, to seek contact with him.74 Daum was to become highly respected – rather than particularly famous – within the Republic of Letters for his meticulous work as an editor. Most importantly, he prepared Barth’s notes on Statius for publication. Daum also followed Barth, who had pioneered the study of medieval Latin writers, by editing works by Bernhard von der Geist.75 That Daum was seen as an authority on philological matters becomes evident also from the fact that several of his works reappeared in eighteenth-century editions, and that two further editions of letters were published posthumously under the editorship of Johann Gleich.76 Daum was by all appearances a polyhistor, yet he produced work that weathered the Enlightenment attack on polyhistoria rather well, precisely because as an author he did not stray beyond his field of philology. The way in which Daum balanced polyhistorical interests with a relatively narrow focus on philological research is reflected in his private library, of which he compiled three catalogues during his lifetime.77 By early modern standards, it was a very large collection of books and, for a provincial scholar of moderate means, exceptionally so. For instance, Daum’s correspondent Thomas Reinesius, like Daum a philologist, left behind only 720 volumes in his will.78 Comprising approximately 10,000 volumes at the time of his death in 1687, it was nominally five times the size of the Rostock University library in 1709, and a quarter of the size of Cardinal Mazarin’s famous library, which encompassed about 40,000 volumes in the mid-seventeenth century.79 Daum’s was doubtless an impressively large private library, though it does need to be kept in mind that such superficial comparisons do not reflect the relative value of the particular collections. Daum needed to economise in his collecting. His library was a working scholar’s reference collection and, while some precious collectors’ items were included, he possessed relatively few folio volumes and far more items in the more affordable quarto, octavo

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and duodecimo formats. By far the largest number of books were in quarto format, taking up three of the six notebooks into which Daum entered his last catalogue. Since Daum struggled to accommodate his books, which were for many years precariously stored under the leaking roof in his attic, representative folio volumes made little sense anyway. In his quest for books, Daum bought both in detail and in bulk. Buying up whole batches of books that came up at auction after a collector’s death could yield great bargains, yet was also a hit-and-miss affair, which meant that Daum ended up owning several copies of the same book and did not always get what he wanted. Still, having spent considerable effort on finding out beforehand what particular libraries sold at auction comprised, Daum appears to have been satisfied with the content of his own. By 1645, Daum had acquired the library of the deceased civic physician Petrus Poach, and already possessed about 1,800 volumes in total. Among these books, he wrote, ‘theological works dominate; many works of the Church Fathers can be found in particular and philological and poetic works, but I also possess many philosophical, jurisprudential and medical things … as well as nine sermons in Luther’s own hand [and manuscripts] by Hans Sachs of Nuremberg’.80 If a particular volume was sought, Daum would launch a targeted search, preferably setting his former pupils on the time-consuming and onerous task of trawling through bookshops and interrogating booksellers.81 Daum frequently complained about the cost of having to acquire specific books for his work as an editor. In 1659, for instance, he wrote to Caspar von Barth’s widow that it had been necessary for him to acquire 200 Gulden worth of books for editing her deceased husband’s edition of Statius.82 Cheaper ways of acquiring books were at hand, however. Daum had managed to convince several printers and proofreaders not to discard the handwritten proofs that authors had submitted to ensure the accurate rendition of their work, but rather to render them to him, doubtless without the consent of the author. In a similarly illicit fashion, Daum acquired books through his friend Johannes Sextus in Nuremberg, who was closely enough acquainted with the printers of the Endter workshop for extra, unaccounted prints to be run off the press especially for Daum, thereby assuring him a steady flow of free copies from one of Germany’s most important scholarly presses.83 Daum also skimped on binding his books and had as many titles bound together as possible in thick volumes, at times almost as thick as they were high, with the included titles often having precious little in common as far as content was concerned. Having had his books bound together according to their format and girth, Daum sought to establish a semblance of order in his collection by dividing his handwritten book catalogue into sections common in seventeenth-century library catalogues.84 Since only the subject matter of

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a volume’s first title decided on the classification of the volume into a particular field, Daum’s attempt at creating order in his collection was, however, rather haphazard. First, his books were ordered according to their size (folio, quarto, octavo and duodecimo), then according to discipline. While, in France, a five-volume system of categorisation (theology, jurisprudence, the sciences and arts, belles-lettres, history and antiquities) became established at about the time Daum assembled his library, Daum was guided by a four-category order of theology, jurisprudence, medicine and philosophy, with which he affiliated a considerable number of more specialist subcategories.85 Following the same approach as the one used, for instance, in the catalogue of Charles le Tellier’s library of 1693, Daum grouped physics, arithmetic, astronomy and music together, since these subjects were commonly considered to be part of the mathematical sciences.86 As was relatively inevitable in a collection assembled from very divergent sources, Daum found it necessary to introduce extra categories, such as ones for manuscripts, maps and ‘miscellaneous items’. The number of categories and subcategories diverged from one book format to the next, reflecting the fact that, for instance, maps would be printed in folio while grammatical textbooks were printed in quarto or octavo. Daum’s expertise in philology determined the collection’s clear emphasis on literary work that he needed for reference, particularly in Latin and Greek. Yet, as he had pointed out in his above-quoted letter from 1645, Daum also owned a substantial collection of theological work of various kinds with a clear emphasis on the canonical texts of the Lutheran Reformation. In the way he collected books, as well as in his acquisition of manuscripts by Luther and Melanchthon, Daum shared the growing interest in the early history of his confession and a fascination with the ‘great men’ of the Reformation. Already in its bulk, this was an impressive collection. Of works by Luther, Daum owned 316 titles in quarto, 18 in folio and 50 in octavo, while of Melanchthon’s work he possessed 21 titles in quarto, 73 in octavo and 94 in duodecimo.87 Another noteworthy large-scale collection that lay outside Daum’s own specialisation on philological matters was the considerable number of medical books he owned. Unsurprising for the descendant of a long line of physicians, Daum took an active interest in medical matters all his life, possibly one of the reasons why he had sought to acquire Poach’s collection.88 Smaller collections centred too on history and geography. As a whole, Daum’s collection reflected therefore his concentration as a published author on philological work, while also allowing for at least a cursory glance over the other scholarly disciplines of his day. Though not immune to changes in scholarly fashions, Daum’s publishing activity remained firmly within the confines of the humanist training he was employed to pass on to his pupils. There was one distinctive practical problem, however, in Daum’s choice of field: as an editor and philologist, and particularly

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No. of letters

80 60 40 20

16 2 16 2 2 16 5 2 16 8 3 16 1 3 16 4 3 16 7 4 16 0 4 16 3 4 16 6 4 16 9 5 16 2 5 16 5 5 16 8 6 16 1 6 16 4 6 16 7 7 16 0 7 16 3 7 16 6 7 16 9 8 16 2 85

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Figure 17  Letters Daum received. Figure compiled by the author from information contained in Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium. as a compiler of etymological dictionaries, he constantly needed books that were not available in Zwickau. This basic dilemma – teaching at a provincial school providing the necessary financial conditions and a conducive environment for philological research, but keeping him away from public and university libraries – contributed significantly to Daum’s writing as many letters as he did. At the same time as he was beginning to make a name for himself as a scholar, he also expanded his circle of correspondents (Figure 17). From what was quite a small group, comprising acquaintances and book dealers from Leipzig, Daum steadily added new correspondents to his network.89 Until 1642, judging by the extant correspondence, the number of letters he received every year was relatively constant, totalling c. thirty items. From then onwards both the number of letters he received as well as the number of places where he had acquaintances expanded rapidly. This was no doubt occasioned by his burgeoning publishing activity, but resulted also from his active attempts to enlarge his network (see also Chapter 6). By 1662, Daum was receiving more than 160 letters a year.90 Building a legacy After Zechendorf’s death in 1662, Daum had by no means been first choice for the position of rector.91 After long and protracted negotiations, the council finally decided to appoint him, despite voicing concerns about his ‘weakness of body’, influenced in no small part by his promise to allow the council first

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option to purchase his library and collection of books.92 The most significant change Daum’s appointment brought him was the move into the rector’s apartments at the school.While he continued to publish on a regular basis – crucially, the publication of Barth’s notes on Statius fall into this time – his physical life remained as parochial as it had been before.93 We can take his complaint of having had to walk the ‘long way’ from the Amtsgasse to the Lange Gasse in the abovequoted letter to his brother as an indication of how small his physical world was. Though he frequently received invitations to attend weddings or the like in Leipzig and elsewhere, he never went.94 Nor did he take up a professorial chair at university when he was finally offered one at the University of Kiel in 1675.95 While the ‘virtual’ world of his contacts within the Respublica litteraria constantly expanded, his own experience of the world did not. Daum had arrived – he had gained respect from his peers, and had been appointed to the most prestigious and generously paid post a scholar in his home-town could hold. Though Daum continued his active correspondence – the addition of a number of Silesian scholars to his contacts in the late 1670s and early 1680s is notable  – and published sporadically, his weakening eyesight and general ill health were taking their toll on his literary output. Letters of a personal nature are sparse in his later years, primarily because of the death of his closest friends and associates. In 1670, his brother Johannes, whom he had not seen for thirty years but with whom he had remained in frequent and intimate correspondence, died in Dresden. In 1674, his second most intimate correspondent, Johannes Sextus, died: a loss he – quite revealingly – apparently regretted first and foremost because it deprived him of a direct source of new publications at the Endter workshop in Nuremberg.96 On 6 March 1673 Martha died, having reached her mid-seventies. She had been married to Daum for thirty-one years. According to him, Martha advised him on her deathbed to marry their maid, Anna Margaretha Auerbach, a distant cousin of his.97 The marriage was delayed until Daum had received permission from the Elector to marry a relative.98 By marrying his maid on 25 January 1674, ten months after Martha had died, Daum repeated what he had done when he first married. Again, the age difference between the partners was considerable, though this time the roles were reversed. Although we do not know exactly how old Anna Margaretha was when they married, she was most probably in her late twenties, as she had been in the Daum household for twelve years and was still of childbearing age. Johann Christian was born later in 1674, and two years later a daughter, Anna Rosina, followed. It must have been quite a shock to those who knew Daum – who appears previously to have been content not to have children – to hear that he had became a father for the first time aged sixty-two. Daum did not mention his children often in his correspondence, and it is hard to gauge how his life changed as a result of

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becoming a father at such an advanced age, and whether he established a close relationship to his children. He did not tell stories of an active and caring family life, as his friend Johannes Sextus did in his letters. For all intents and purposes, it seems that Daum carried on as he had before. Like the previous rectors of the school, he worked right up until his death, despite his failing eyesight, and continued to write letters, though in an increasingly illegible hand. The plague of 1682 dealt Daum a further blow. For the first time since the 1630s, the school closed its doors, and when it reopened several months later, the matriculation records show that the ageing rector found it impossible to attract similar numbers of pupils to Zwickau as in the pre-plague years. On 10 July 1686, Anna Margaretha died. No information has surfaced on how Daum, almost completely blind by this point, arranged for the care of his two adolescent children during this time. Just a year later, Daum died himself, at ‘eight o’clock in the evening, after having reached the age of seventy-five years, eight months, two weeks, two days and ten hours’.99 He was buried in the crypt of St Mary’s. A curious drawing that has survived in the Ratsschulbibliothek suggests that, during his later years, Daum had become increasingly concerned with his legacy. For early modern scholars, it was common practice to commission epitaph prints of themselves during their lifetime, as Conrad Celtis had famously done when he felt the waning of his powers. Daum appears to have similarly wanted to have control over the portrait that was to accompany his funeral sermon.100 The drawing depicting Daum, modelled on frontispieces of published funeral sermons, is both meticulous in its depiction of detail and inept in its draughtsmanship, suggesting that is was drawn either by Daum himself or by another artistically untalented person under Daum’s close supervision (Figures 18 and 19). Particular care was taken in representing the coat of arms that a pupil of Daum’s had designed after his brother Johannes had succeeded in acquiring a noble title on their behalf in 1658.101 In allusion to the brothers’ surname, two gauntleted forearms with their thumbs (Daumen) pointing upward are depicted. While the portrait by Christian Rheder that hung in the library served as the direct model for the etching by the Leipzig engraver, Johann Christoph Böckhlin, that eventually appeared in print (Böckhlin had requested that the council send the original portrait to him in Leipzig),102 the coat of arms that is depicted beneath it is an exact copy of the one in the drawing.103 In drawing up his will, Daum had also been concerned with his legacy. Just three hours before he died, he was visited by several members of the council, who found him ‘sitting in the lower living room [unteren Wohnstube] by the middle window and the small hanging table, very weak of body, but with a fully capable and complete presence of mind’.104 Apart from making financial provisions for his children, the will mainly dealt with what was to happen to his massive collection of manuscripts, books and artefacts. As he had promised before

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Figure 18  A preliminary sketch by Daum to ensure all elements of the portrait for his funeral sermon were rendered correctly? With the paper ‘window’ closed … his accession to the post of rector of the school, he ceded the right of first buyer to the council. When a deal was reached with the guardians of Daum’s children in 1691, the council paid 1,700 Meissnische Gulden, a price well below Daum’s lifelong expenditure in obtaining the collection.105 In his will, Daum expressedly asked for the collection to be ‘kept together for the school and the town to preserve his good reputation in eternity’.106 He thereby strove to continue the effort he had made during his lifetime, constantly reminding his correspondents to return letters that he had forwarded to them, and clandestinely preserving letters he had been asked to destroy.107

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Figure 19  … and open.The comment ‘Monstrum Pictoris’ was added by a later hand, possibly the Latin school’s eighteenth-century rector, Christian Clodius. In styling himself on the image of the polyhistor both in his own urban environment and the ‘virtual’ stage of the seventeenth-century Republic of Letters, Daum had succeeded in convincing his surroundings and his educated peers that he was a scholar. It had been a lifelong performance that he wanted to be remembered.108 Notes

1 ‘Dois-ie oublier, que la coustume est encores de présent, que chascun devant son decés procure & fait dresser son tombeau, son effigie, ses pourtraits & medalles, voire qu’aucuns ne sont pas seulement soucieux de les retenir & se mirer en icelles, ains exprés feront divulguer

The finished scholar: convincing oneself & others 85 quelque livret afin qu’il accompaigne leur image, & non l’image le livre, & mesmes vivans les veulent insinuer aux livres et labeurs d’autruy’; A. Thevet, Les vrais pourtraits et vies des hommes illustres grecz, latins et payens (Paris, 1584). I wish to thank Marion Deschamp for this reference. 2 The etching has often been discussed together with two others, Knight, Death and the Devil (1513), and Melencolia I (1514). Erwin Panofsky’s famous treatment remains controversial: E. Panofsky, Albrecht Dürer, Vol. 1 (London/Princeton, 1943), pp. 151–71. On the various items in the study see the interesting interpretation in P. W. Parshall, ‘Albrecht Dürer’s Saint Jerome in His Study: A Philological Reference’, The Art Bulletin 53 (1971), 303–5. 3 For the general history of the iconography of St Jerome, see E. F. Rice, Saint Jerome in the Renaissance (Baltimore, 1985), esp. p. 336. On the German tradition of the iconography of St Jerome, see C. Schneider, ‘Besuch bei Hieronymus: Der humanistische Gelehrte und sein Wissensraum’, in Gewusst wo! Wissen schafft Räume: Die Verortung des Denkens im Spiegel der Druckgraphik, ed. K. Bahlmann (Berlin, 2008), pp. 51–74; C. Schneider, ‘Gedruckte Wissensräume: “Hieronymus im Gehäuse” und die humanistische Buchillustration’, Biblos 58 (2009), 5–21. 4 F. Petrarca, ‘Vita solitaria lib. I, 4, 6’, in Prose, ed. G. Martellotti et al. (Milan, 1955), pp. 286–591. On the study (museum) as a scholar’s retreat see Algazi, ‘Scholars in Households’, pp. 25–6. Algazi convincingly linked the growing significance of the study as a separate room within a scholar’s residence to the supersession of the homosocial and celibate habitat of the monastery by the family home of the married scholar as the typical place of residence for post-Reformation scholars, where the concerns of family life threatened to distract conscientious study. 5 Highly influential within this context were the famous accounts of Philipp Melanchthon’s attempts to carve out within his household a niche where he could devote himself to study, mentally as well as spatially removed from the demands of married and public life; G. Algazi, ‘“Geistesabwesenheit”: Gelehrte zuhause um 1500’, in Gelehrtenleben:Wissenschaftspraxis in der Neuzeit, ed. A. Lüdtke and R. Prass (Köln/Weimar/Wien, 2008), pp.  214–34 (pp.  225– 28); I. Mager, ‘Es ist nicht gut, dass der Mensch allein sei: Zum Familienleben Philipp Melanchtons’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 81 (1990), 120–37. 6 The idea of performance in this context is discussed within the concept of scholars trying to present an image of themselves as scholars in Algazi, ‘Gelehrte Zerstreutheit und gelernte Vergeßlichkeit. Bemerkungen zu ihrer Rolle in der Herausbildung des Gelehrtenhabitus’, in Der Fehltritt:Vergehen und Vergessen in der Vormoderne, ed. P. v. Moos and K. Schreiner (Köln, 2001), esp. n. 15. 7 M. Luther, Enchiridion. Der kleine Catechismus (Leipzig, 1550), p. 1, held at RSB Zwickau. 8 L. Mahnke, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Zwickauer “in ganz Europa berühmt”’, in Literarisches Leben in Zwickau im Mittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit:Vorträge eines Symposiums anläßlich des 500jährigen Jubiläums der Ratsschulbibliothek Zwickau am 17. und 18. Februar 1998, ed. M. Hubrath and R. Krohn (Göppingen, 2001), pp. 195–213 (p. 195). 9 Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, pp. 3, 8. 10 Mahnke, Christian Daum, p. 5. 11 Ibid. 12 RSB Zwickau, Br.270.1, J. S. Mitternacht to C. Daum, Gera, 3 August 1648; RSB Zwickau, Br.385.3, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 27 January 1648. 13 Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, p. 4. 14 On pupils’ careers at the school, see Chapter 4. 15 ‘Anno a nato Salvatore mundi MDCXXXII, almae Universitatis Lipsiensis rectore Johanne Höpnero SS. Th. Doctore et Professore publico, Eccl. ad D. Nic. Pastore post usitatem depositionis ritum in numerum et album Studiosorum dictae Academiae receptus est Christianus Daum Cygneus. Id quod hisce literis et usitato Academiae signeto publice confirmatur. Actum die 23. Mensis Aprilis’; quoted in R. Beck, ‘M. Christian Daums Beziehungen zur Leipziger gelehrten Welt während der sechziger Jahre des XVII. Jahrhunderts’, Programm des Gymnasiums Zwickau 1893/ 94 546 (1893), 1–6; 549 (1894), 1–39 (Vol. 546, p. 2).

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Daum’s boys 16 Erhard Deggius, a minister from Plohn, had sent Daum a letter of reference on 7 May 1633, addressed to Augustus Buchner, professor of rhetoric at Wittenberg. Beck, ‘M. Christian Daums Beziehungen zur Leipziger gelehrten Welt’, p. 2. 17 See entry for 1633 in Herzog, Chronik. 18 Written in 1635, quoted in Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, pp. 5–6. 19 Beck, ‘M. Christian Daums Beziehungen zur Leipziger gelehrten Welt’, pp. 15–16. 20 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Daum, Zwickau, 14 December 1661 [no shelfmark]. 21 On Reinesius (b. Gotha 13 December 1587, d. Leipzig 16 February 1667), see E. Hase, ‘Dr. Thomas Reinesius, Stadtphysikus und Bürgermeister zu Altenburg: Ein Lebensbild aus dem 17. Jahrhundert’, Mitteilungen der Geschichts- und Altertumsforschenden Gesellschaft des Osterlandes 4 (1858), 309–48 (pp. 312, 324). For Daum’s and Reinesius’ published correspondence, see T. Reinesius, C. Daum, J. A. Bose, G. Schultze, J. Janssonius van Waesberge and J. Nisius, Thomae Reinesi i medici ac polyhistoris excellentissimi, epistolae, ad Cl.V. Christianum Daumium: In quibus de variis scriptoribus disseritur, loca obscura multa illustrantur, corrupta emendantur, multaque alia ad historiam, philologiam & rem grammaticam pertinentia eruuntur ac discutiuntur. Accedunt alia ejusdem, & ipsius Daumii epistolae ad Reinesium … Omnia nunc primum prodeunt e museo Joannis Andreae Bosii (Hamburg, 1670). A further edition appeared in Jena the same year. 22 For the tensions between Reinesius and Barth, and the problems this caused for Daum, see Hoffmeister, Kaspar von Barths Leben, p. 21. 23 Hoffmeister, Kaspar von Barths Leben, p. 5; Schroeter, ‘Caspar von Barth’, p. 268. 24 Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, p. 20: Barth had bequeathed the manuscript of his Adversaria to a certain Matthäus Lage. Daum was furious, and appears to have eventually taken Lage to court over the matter. 25 Hoffmeister, Kaspar von Barths Leben, pp. 19–20: ‘Tu mihi ultimus datus es quem amarem ut neminem umquam alium ex doctis omnibus solis exceptis, Marquardo Frehero, Friderico Taubmanno et Tertio qui nunc hic etiam superest’; ‘Wenn ihr mich lasset, so bleibe ich wohl verlassen.’ 26 For a discussion of ‘lop-sided friendships’ see Chapter 6. 27 St A Zwickau, Lehnbuch III A, 1631. 28 RSB Zwickau, Br.23.1, F. Blumberg to C. Daum, Schneeberg, 4 October 1640. The address page reads: ‘Clarissimo, Praestantissimo atq Doctissimo Dn: Christiano Daumio; Scholae Cygnearum Collegae tertio; Praeceptori meo aetatem omni honoris et observantiae cultu afficiando, ad manus’. I am grateful to Dr Lutz Mahnke for making me aware of this. 29 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Daum, Zwickau, early 1642  [no shelfmark]. 30 Daum was paid 80 RT. 4 gl. in wages, and 5 Reichsthaler in Tranksteuer. Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, p. 11. 31 Though research into costume has attracted considerable interest in recent years, scholars’ attire in the early modern period is well documented only as far as academic dress – both for official occasions as well as in the home (for example, the famous dressing gown that became fashionable across Europe among students and academic teachers) – is concerned. See in particular A. v. Hülsen-Esch, Gelehrte im Bild: Repräsentation, Darstellung undWarhnehmung einer sozialen Gruppe im Mittelalter (Göttingen, 2006). For an introduction to the main themes of recent developments in the field of costume-study, see U. Rublack, Dressing Up: Cultural Identity in Renaissance Europe (Oxford, 2010), pp. 1–32. 32 For a brief discussion of disputes between scholars and noblemen concerning dress, see Füssel, Gelehrtenkultur, p. 260. 33 According to those who knew him, Luther differentiated shrewdly between official and private, clerical and festive dress. The Polish scholar Jan Dantiscus claimed that Luther’s clothes were no different from those a nobleman would have worn when he knew himself to be among friends. In public, Luther wore far more subdued clothing, though he liked

The finished scholar: convincing oneself & others 87 fashionable accessories such as a coat with a fur collar, as often worn by university scholars. J. Köstlin, Martin Luther: Sein Leben und seine Schriften (Elberfeld, 1875), p. 561. 34 See the doctoral dissertation of C. Burde, ‘Bedeutung und Wirkung der schwarzen Bekleidungsfarbe in Deutschland zur Zeit des 16. Jahrhunderts’ (Ph.D. thesis, Bremen University, 2005), p. 88. 35 For Saxon ordinances on clothing, see L. Bartsch, Sächsische Kleiderordnungen aus der Zeit von 1450–1750, 2 vols (Annaberg, 1882). For a comparison to other regions, see the recent doctoral thesis by A.-K. Reich, ‘Kleidung als Spiegelbild sozialer Differenzierung: Städtische Kleiderordnungen vom 14. bis zum 17. Jahrhundert am Beispiel der Altstadt Hannover’ (Ph.D. thesis, Hanover University, 2005); and V. Baur, Kleiderordnungen in Bayern vom 14. bis zum 19. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1975). 36 I have not been able to determine whether Campeche wood was used for Zechendorf’s and Daum’s clothing, or the traditional dye made of gall nuts. On black dress within the German context, see Burde, ‘Bedeutung’; and M. Bringemeier, Priester- und Gelehrtenkleidung: Ein Beitrag zur geistesgeschichtlichen Kostümforschung (Bonn, 1974). 37 J. Zander-Seidel, Textiler Hausrat: Kleidung und Haustextilien in Nürnberg von 1500–1650 (Munich, 1990), p. 398. In Zwickau, teachers do not appear to have received allowances for clothing. 38 L. Roper, ‘Martin Luther’s body: The “stout doctor” and his biographers’, American Historical Review 115 (2010), 351–84, esp. pp. 354–7. 39 In contrast, Anthony David Nuttall, in his admittedly thought-provoking and entertaining book, Dead from theWaist Down: Scholars and Scholarship in Literature and the Popular Imagination (New Haven, 2003), paints an image of early modern scholarly masculinity that is highly misleading. I would argue that few scholars enjoyed anything like the image of ‘Faustian magicians, dangerous and sexy’ that Nuttall evokes in the liner notes to his book. Rather, the sexless studiousness of the introverted scholar whose estate had found it difficult to adapt to married life appears to have been a far more common image for the early modern Protestant scholar. See, for instance, Julius Wilhelm Zincgref’s seventeenth-century bestseller collections of anecdotes in which scholars’ supposed detachedness and exaltedness are lampooned at length: J. W. Zincgref, Facetiae Pennalium, Das ist/ Allerley Lustige SchulBossen: Mit sampt etlichen angehengten underschiedlichen Characterissimis oder Beschreibungen des Pennalissimi, Pedantissmi, und Stupiditatis oder der Stockheiligkeit ([n.p.], 1622). 40 Algazi, ‘Gelehrte Zerstreutheit’. 41 Marc Fumaroli has been most succinct in his description of the seventeenth-century Respublica litteraria as a closed-off estate: ‘Ainsi affleure, mais sans être nommée ni conceptualisée, l’institution singulière, en porte à faux avec toutes les autres, qui abrite au XVIIe siècle “sçavans” ou “lettrés”, recrutés par une severe et subtile cooptation, et protégés contre les intrus par un discret mais efficace système d’initiation’; Fumaroli, ‘La République des Lettres’, p. 133. This article is also the best introduction to the substantial body of French and German secondary literature on the topic. 42 Christian Clodius, rector of the Latin school from 1740 till 1778, made an effort to gather all the portraits he could find in the school’s library between 1753 and 1756. Some portraits came out of published collections (for instance the collection by Friedrich Roth-Scholz, printed in Nuremberg in 1723), but the bulk of the images were cut from books left to the library by Daum. The images were arranged in thirteen quarto volumes: (1) cardinals; (2) members of the legal profession; (3) doctors; (4) poets, painters, printers, owners of hammer mills, tradesmen; (5) women; (6) emperors, kings, princes; (7) theologians; (8) ministers, court officials; (9) theologians; (10) military men; (11) Protestant clergy; (12) professors; (13) scholars. For more details on this collection, see E. Költzsch, Verzeichnis der Porträtsammlung: Holzschnitte, Kupfer und Stahlstiche (Zwickau, 1967). 43 Hülsen-Esch’s work provides an invaluable introduction to the uses of imagery as a way of communicating the self-image of the learned estate: Hülsen-Esch, Gelehrte im Bild. See also M. Füssel, ‘Die Macht der Talare: Akademische Kleidung in Bildmedien der frühen Neuzeit’, in Kleidung im

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Daum’s boys Bild: Zur Ikonologie dargestellter Gewandung, ed. P. Zitzlsperger (Berlin, 2010), pp. 121–36, on the depiction of early modern academic clothing in different kinds of visual media. 44 ‘Der winter nahet nun herzu, ins mein hauß allein zu ziehen, wird mir auch nicht so bequem seyn, leute nach meinen kopf darin zu bekommen, wil auch nicht seyn, und wer gibt acht uf mich, u. so mir eine unbäßlichtkeit entstehen solte, wer wartet mich’; RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Daum, Zwickau, 1642 [no shelfmark]. 45 See A. G. Stewart, Unequal Lovers: A Study of Unequal Couples in Northern Art (NewYork, 1977), p. 11. 46 ‘Bey ihr darf ich nicht suchen geld, schönheit, vornehm geschlecht, junge Jahr, u. noch dergleichen mehr von anderen vornemlich geschawet, welch stück ich auch nicht achte, weil gleichförmige sitten, ein verständig, ehrlich, züchtig, treu und aufrichtig gemüth, ein arbeitsamer und unverdroßener handt bey mir den vorzug haben, welches alles ich allhier finde’; RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Daum, Zwickau, 1642  [no shelfmark]. 47 Mahnke, Christian Daum, p. 8. 48 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Daum, Zwickau, 1642 [no shelfmark]: ‘Wiewol ich lieber mein lebe tag were ledig geblieben, wenn ich damals die böse Zeit vermuthet hette u. gewußt, ds unser schulden, auf welche ich mich verlaßen, so gar hetten stärker sollen bleiben’. 49 This letter is reproduced in E. Staehelin, Briefe und Akten zum Leben Oekolampads (New York/ London, 1971 [Leipzig, 1927–34]), Vol. 2, pp. 5–6 (no. 456). 50 Algazi briefly discusses this section in ‘Scholars in Households’, pp. 22–3. 51 For a succinct interpretation of the immersion in university culture as a rite of passage for the educated elite, and also for a guide to further reading, see Shepard, ‘Student masculinity’. 52 The woman concerned was the eighteen-year-old daughter of Christoph Glaßmann, the parish minister of Mosel, a village a few miles south of Zwickau. According to Johannes, two of the Daum brothers’ acquaintances  – the minister of Neumark, Simon Erlemann, and Johannes Decker, Christian Daum’s long-standing rival at the Zwickau Latin school – had also courted the young woman. J. Daum to C. Daum, 4 August 1638, quoted from G. Buchwald, ‘Dresdner Briefe 1625–1670: Ein Bild aus dem Dresdner Leben im 17. Jahrhundert’, Mitteilungen desVereins für Geschichte Dresdens 10 (1892), 1–106 (p. 15). 53 Ibid., p. 21 (18 September 1642). 54 Johannes cited financial considerations as the main reason why he could not carry on running a household with only servants and child-minders. However, he also missed married life, and, judging by the affectionate stories about his first wife that he inserted into his letters to Christian – in one of them, Johannes remembers that she used to be mad about goats’ cheese from Zwickau – felt genuine bereavement. Ibid., pp. 12–13 (5 December 1637), 13–14 (16 July 1648). 55 Goldgar, Impolite Learning, pp. 115–73 offers a highly insightful English-language introduction to the issues of community and social differentiation among scholars in early modern Europe. For an in-depth study on competition over rank within the Republic, see also Füssel, Gelehrtenkultur, though it needs to be kept in mind that Füssel concerned himself exclusively with scholars employed at universities. 56 Daum expressed this sense of obligation quite clearly in his lecture of inauguration as rector in 1662, in C. Daum, De rectoris officio scholastico [inaugural speech held 21 July 1662], reprinted in F. T. H. Ilberg, Novarum aedium Gymnasii Zwiccaviensis inaugurationem … (Zwickau, 1869), pp. 15–45. 57 These notions have found a firm place within the self-image of the teaching profession, and have been projected back to the early modern period. See especially the wrong-headed interpretation in Walz, Eselsarbeit für Zeisigfutter, pp. 11–16. 58 Both editions appeared in Utrecht, 1702 and 1716. 59 On the general history of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden and its directors, Georg Philipp Harsdörffer and Sigmund von Birken, see I. Andrian-Werburg, 350 Jahre Pegnesischer Blumenorden, 1644–1994: Begleitheft zur Ausstellung, Germanisches Nationalmuseum 19.August–18.

The finished scholar: convincing oneself & others 89 November 1994 (Nuremberg, 1994); old, but still useful: J. Reber, J. A. Comenius und seine Beziehungen zu den Sprachgesellschaften: Denkschrift zur Feier des vierteltausendjährigen Bestandes des Pegnesischen Blumenordens zu Nürnberg (Leipzig, 1895). 60 For an introduction to the influential Italian academies, see S. de Beer,‘The Roman “Academy” of Pomponio Leto: From an informal humanist network to the institution of a literary society’, in The Reach of the Republic of Letters: Literary and Learned Societies in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. A. van Dixhoorn and S. S. Sutch (Leiden, 2008), pp. 181–218. 61 For a brief introduction to the history of the Sprachgesellschaften, see Otto, K. F., Die Sprachgesellschaften des 17. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart, 1972). For their European context, see Van Dixhoorn and Sutch, The Reach of the Republic of Letters. 62 See for instance Johannes Sextus’ letter to Daum, in which he mentions that he followed up on Daum’s request to distribute several of his books among members of the Blumenorden; RSB Zwickau, Br.385.2, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 30 April 1647. 63 RSB Zwickau, Br.385.54, J. Sextus to C. Daum, 2 July 1663. 64 Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, p. 18. 65 See Appendix: ‘Christian Daum’s authored volumes and editions of classical and medieval texts’. Ludwig, Historia Rectorum, pp. 110–25. This list is incomplete, as it for instance does not include Daum’s co-operation on the thorough, etymological G. M. König, Gazophylacium Latinitatis sive Lexicon Novum Latino-Germanicum … (Nuremberg, 1668).The register of seventeenth-century German printed works, VD 17, also lists more than 100 Gelegenheitsschriften to which Daum contributed. 66 Fabricius, for instance, lauded Barth for the extremely broad range of his interests displayed in his Adversaria. See Fabricius’ introduction to D. G. Morhof, J. A. Fabricius, J. o. U. Frick, J. o. F. Meller and J. J. Schwabe, D. G. Morhofi Polyhistor, literarius, philosophicus et practicus, cum accessionibus virorum clarissimorum Ioannis Frickii et Ioannis Molleri, Flensburgensis. Editio Quarta … (Lübeck, 1747): ‘vehementer varium illum & late patentem ambitum eruditionis, illa memoriae omnis amoena latifundia, illus recessus sacrae et externae antiquitatis, illum orbem scientiarum’. 67 Quoted in Grafton, ‘World of the Polyhistors’, p. 32. 68 Hoffmeister, Kaspar von Barths Leben, pp. 13–18; Schroeter, ‘Caspar von Barth’, p. 324. 69 Little has been written on polyhistoria in English. See Westerhoff, ‘World of signs’, quote from p. 641; W. Ashworth, ‘Natural history and the emblematic world view’, in Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolutions, ed. D. Lindberg and R. Westman (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 303–32 (p. 312). 70 L. Mahnke, ‘Der handschrifltiche Nachlaß von Christian Daum in der Ratsschulbibliothek Zwickau’, Wolfenbütteler Barock-Nachrichten 23 (1996), 28–32 (p. 30); see also RSB Zwickau, Br.23.1, F. Blumberg to C. Daum, in which reference is made to the sample of a mineral sent to Daum by his pupil. 71 D.Wagner, Christianus Nobilitatus, oder eines rechtschaffenen Christen Adel und Hoheit … (Zwickau, 1689), p. 103. 72 J. F. Heckel, Als der Aedle/ Wohl-Ehrenveste/ Groß-Achtbare und Hoch-Gelahrte Hr. Christian Daum/ fast Welt-beruffener Philologus, Polyhistor und Criticus, und des Wohl-löblichen Gymnasii zu Zwikkau … Rektor Seinen Namens-Tag/ war der 3. April des izt lauffenden/ 1667. Jahres … erlebet hatte … (Altenburg, 1667). 73 Ludwig, Historia Rectorum, p. 112. 74 R. Beck, ‘Leibnizens Beziehungen zu Christian Daum, Rektor zu Zwickau’, Mitteilungen des Altertumsvereins für Zwickau und Umgebung 2 (1888), 52–6 (p. 52). On Daum’s relations to Leibniz, see also Chapter 6. 75 C. Daum, ed., Palponista Bernardi Geystensis … (Zwickau, 1660); Hoffmeister, Kaspar von Barths Leben, p. 21. 76 C. Daum and J. A. Gleich, Christiani Daumii … Epistolae philologico-criticae, in lucem publicam emissae a J. A. Gleich (Chemnitz, 1709); C. Daum, J. F. Heckel, J. A. Gleich, B. Hopffer, J. J. Winckler, and J. Z. Hempl, B.C.D Christiani Daumii philologi et polyhistoris celeberrimi, Epistolae latinae: ad Jo. Fridric. Hekelium polyhist. Cl. scriptae … (Torgau, 1697).

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Daum’s boys 77 L. Mahnke, ‘Der Nachlaß Christian Daums (1612–1687): Möglichkeiten seiner Edierung’, in Editionsdesiderate zur Frühen Neuzeit, ed. Hans-Gert Roloff, Chloe: Beihefte zum Daphnis 24 (Amsterdam/Atlanta, GA, 1997), pp. 341–8 (p. 348). 78 Hase, ‘Dr. Thomas Reinesius, p. 347. 79 A. Franklin, Histoire de la bibliothèque Mazarine et du Palais de l’Institut, Paris (Paris, 1901); P. Hoffmann, ed., Nie war Raum genug …: Ein illustrierter Streifzug durch die Entwicklungs- und Baugeschichte der Universitätsbibliothek Rostock (Rostock, 2006). 80 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to [?], Zwickau, [?] May 1645 [no shelfmark]. On further acquisitions in bulk, see Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, pp.  15–17. On Daum’s collections of manuscripts by Hans Sachs, see M. Beare, ‘Hans Sachs MSS: An account of their discovery and present locations’, The Modern Language Review 52 (1957), 50–64. 81 See Chapter 6. 82 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to Barth, Zwickau, 23 November 1659 [no shelfmark]. 83 Autographs also reached Daum through other sources. His correspondence shows that an autograph by the Silesian poet Paul Fleming was sent to him through Fleming’s – previously unknown! – brother: L. Mahnke, ‘Die Casualdrucke der Ratsschulbibliothek Zwickau: Erste Ergebnisse einer systematischen Erfassung’, Wolfenbütteler Barock-Nachrichten 24 (1997), 205–15 (p. 213). 84 RSB Zwickau, 2002/8°/49, Vols 1–3, Bibliothekskatalog Christian Daum, ‘ca. 1675’– 1687, Bücher in Folio und Octav. und Duodec.; RSB Zwickau, 2002/8°/50, Vols 1–3, Bibliothekskatalog Christian Daum, ‘ca. 1675’–1687, Bücher in Quarto. 85 M. Marion, Collections et collectionneurs des livres au XVIIIe siècle (Paris, 1999), pp. 73–5; A. Taylor, Book Catalogues: Their Varieties and Uses (Chicago, 1957), pp. 157–8. For comparison, see L. W. B. Brockliss, Calvet’sWeb: Enlightenment and the Republic of Letters in Eighteenth-Century France (Oxford, 2002), pp. 281–300. 86 Taylor, Book Catalogues, p. 154. 87 I have Dr Lutz Mahnke to thank for counting the number of works by Luther and Melanchthon in Daum’s collection. 88 For a brief introduction to the medical works in Daum’s collection, see F. Ficker, ‘Christian Daum und die Medizin seiner Zeit’, Zwickauer Heimatjournal 5 (1997), 25–9. 89 Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium, p. XII. 90 For a discussion of Daum’s network of correspondents, see Chapter 6; and Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium, pp. 111–31. 91 Mahnke, Christian Daum, p. 7. 92 Ibid. 93 P. P. Statius, Publii Papinii Statii, ed. C. v. Barth and C. Daum (Zwickau, 1664). 94 Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, pp. 26–31. 95 R. Beck, ‘M. Christian Daum, Rektor zu Zwickau und seine Leipziger gelehrten Freunde’, Schriften desVereins für die Geschichte Leipzigs 5 (1896), 1–30 (p. 20). 96 ‘Aus beygelegtem Carmine siehet der Herr, wie mein sehr guter Freund J. Sextus nunmehr auch todes verblichen, ist also nunmehr mein commercium – auss. Mit Endern mag ich mich noch nicht bekannt machen und text oder bücher von ihm begehren. Denn mir an Geld es sehr mangelt und mein Hochzeit noch nicht verdauet. So sind die leut, wo man nicht viel oder was grosses nimmt, nicht sehr officios. Mit Herrn Sexto selig war es eine ander Sach, der kunnte die Diener zu seinen gefallen disponieren, wiewol es auch letzlich nicht mehr so angehen wollte.’ RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to Harzer, Zwickau, 28 June 1674 [no shelfmark]. 97 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Sextus, Zwickau, 16 December 1673 [no shelfmark]: ‘Meine Selige hat sie mir auf ihrem Todbette und auch zuvor beschieden u. hat 12 Jahr bey mir Haus gehalten.’ 98 Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, p. 28.

The finished scholar: convincing oneself & others 91 99 St A Zwickau, AG 4072, Testament Christian Daum, 1687. 100 For Conrad Celtis’ efforts to have an epitaph image of himself printed while he was still alive, see K. Löcher, ‘Humanistenbildnisse  – Reformatorenbildnisse: Unterschiede und Gemeinsamkeiten’ in Literatur, Musik und Kunst im Übergang vom Mittelalter zur Neuzeit, ed. H. Boockmann, L. Grenzmann, B. Moeller and M. Staehlin (Göttingen, 1995), pp. 352–90 (p. 355). For the related practice of compiling biographical data to be included in one’s own future funeral sermon, see G. Mortimer, ‘Models of writing in eyewitness personal accounts of the Thirty Years’ War’, Daphnis 29 (2000), 609–47. 101 Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 80.The coat of arms was designed by Johann Adam von Zöphel. Mahnke, Christian Daum, p. 5. 102 This information is taken from the bills sent by the printers and the etcher to the council. The etchings and the funeral sermons were not printed at the same workshops, and had different-sized print-runs (300 funeral sermons, 400 portraits), yet the format of the etchings suggests very strongly that they were inserted as loose sheets into the funeral sermons as frontispieces, as was common practice at the time. RSB Zwickau, Christian Daumij, Rectoris zu Zwickau nachgelassener Kinder, Johan Christians, und Annen Rosinen, Vormundschafft betr., 1691 [no shelfmark]. 103 A copy of Johann Adam Zöphel’s etching of the coat of arms on its own also included verbatim the motto accompanying the drawing. Both prints were pasted onto the same page of the collection of portraits assembled by Clodius: RSB Zwickau, Christian Clodius, Porträtsammlung [no shelf-mark]. 104 St A Zwickau, AG 4072, Testament Christian Daum, 1687. 105 The sale of Daum’s library to the town of Zwickau did not go as smoothly as had been envisaged. Protracted haggling between the guardians of Daum’s children and the council ensued over the price to be paid for his inheritance. An annexe had to be built to store the c. 10,000 bound volumes, a comparable number of letters and hundreds of notebooks. The items therefore remained in the rector’s apartment until 1697, when the new building was inaugurated. Mahnke, Christian Daum, p. 9. 106 ‘Seine Bibliothecam betreffend, würde solche wohl in 10,000 Stücken gebundene bücher bestehen, und wollte er, daß solche, wenn sie verkaufft werden solte, E. E,Wohlwol. Rathe, damit solche bey der Stadt und hiesiger Schule, zu seinen stetswehrenden guten Andencken behalten werden möchte, Primario angebothen und überlassen würde’; St A Zwickau, AG 4072, Testament Christian Daum. 107 A letter from Johannes Sextus, for instance, contains a note addressed to Christian Daum, asking his brother to return this note to him, which his brother evidently did (RSB Zwickau, Br.385.78, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 2 October 1666). Christian, however, did not do as he was asked when Johannes wanted the above-mentioned letter destroyed, which contained the potentially embarrassing request for Christian to enquire about potential brides. J. Daum to C. Daum, 4 August 1638, published in Buchwald, ‘Dresdner Briefe 1625–1670’, p. 15. 108 Daum had made a very shrewd move: the only similarly complete letter collection of a seventeenth-century German scholar is that of Sigmund von Birken, who had likewise arranged for his estate to be kept in one piece after his death. See H. Laufhütte and R. Schuster, eds, Der Briefwechsel zwischen Sigmund von Birken und Georg Philipp Harsdörffer, Johann Rist, Justus Georg Schottelius, JohannWilhelm von Stubenberg und Gottlieb vonWindischgrätz, 2 vols (Tübingen, 2007).

3 The virtues of diversity: pedagogical innovation and contested curricula

What other reason can there be for the Jesuits having such easy and happy advancement, than their staying with one particular method and one kind of book? In our case, almost every territory and every town follows their own rules; many a town thinks that it would the greatest shame if its school rector did not find it necessary to compose his own Grammatic and Elementale, a Vocabularium, a Logicam or the like. Anonymous pamphleteer, Augsburg 16931

In the seventeenth century, the Lutheran territories of the Holy Roman Empire saw a flood of publications on pedagogical method and matters of education in general. The result was, in fact, the opposite to what the above-cited author from bi-confessional Augsburg complained about at the end of the century. Rather than diversity in method having stifled classical education in the Lutheran territories of the empire, the atmosphere of variety and pedagogical experimentation that prevailed led to Lutheran teaching method being continuously fine-tuned, making Lutheran schools in Germany more than healthy rivals for those of the Jesuits.2 As the anonymous pamphleteer pointed out, pedagogical method did not trickle down to schools: it emanated from them. In seventeenth-century Zwickau, the curriculum of the Latin school was a matter of fierce debate and underwent constant, if mostly subtle, change in the seventeenth century. Employing established scholars in a civic, tradeoriented environment where their level of expertise was rarely matched or even comprehended by their fellow townsmen was not unproblematic. Though technically subordinate in all their decisions to the council and, further down the line, to the far-away consistory, the rectors could not be kept from shaping the curriculum according to their own expertise and preferences. In contrast to Gerald Strauss’ depiction of Latin school curricula being indistinguishable from each other because of the general ‘obedience’ of teachers and town councils to territorial school ordinances and to the consistorial directives, curricula and teaching methods at Protestant Latin schools were in fact the result of long

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and protracted negotiations at the local level. Latin school curricula of course appear to have been relatively similar to each other at first glance, the range of subjects taught appearing rather limited in comparison to that of an earlytwenty-first-century grammar-school or comprehensive-school curriculum.3 Natural philosophy, courses on vernacular literature, history and sports were not taught at all, with arithmetic only making the odd appearance. Since the official function of schools was to prepare pupils for university, where Latin remained the exclusive language of instruction in all subjects until well into the eighteenth century, the predominance of Latin and Aristotelian logic on Latin school curricula was undisputed. No agreement existed, however, on how children were best taught these key skills, a ferocious debate on pedagogical method flaring up in the Holy Roman Empire in the first decades of the seventeenth century. As a result, the actual teaching programme could diverge significantly from one school to the next, since different textbooks not only aligned teaching with particular currents in the scholarly debates of the day, but could be used to ‘slip in’ topics not officially sanctioned by the council or consistory. In the case of Zwickau, Arabic and other oriental languages were introduced to the curriculum in the 1620s, wholly contravening the Saxon territorial school ordinance of 1580. This considerable degree of variation even within a single territory only becomes apparent when sources at the local level are examined, since documents submitted to the consistory and during the increasingly rare church and school visitations would generally claim allegiance to the centrally contrived regulations. Also, as has already been noted in Chapter 1, the consistory was mostly concerned with making sure that no aberrations occurred in religious teaching and in making sure that teaching programmes did not fall short of Melanchthon’s three-form curricula. Staunchly Lutheran institutions with far more demanding curricula, such as the Zwickau Latin school, therefore found themselves subjected to little direct control. This extent of local variation calls into question not only paradigms of centralised control over pre-university education, but also the predominant representations of seventeenth-century pedagogy. In particular, it is necessary to look beyond the work of the ‘father of modern pedagogy’, Jan Amos Komenský (Comenius).4 The hegemony of his ideas over the teaching programmes of whole territories cannot simply be assumed, especially since the revolutionary philosophical and theoretical background to his teaching method was poorly understood by his contemporaries. Instead, the books actually used at individual institutions need to be examined, since Komenský appeared on curricula as one author among many whose textbooks were adapted to the specific requirements of schools and the tastes of their teachers.5 This chapter examines the changes that the Zwickau curriculum underwent in the seventeenth century and links these closely to the scholarly interests

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of Johannes Zechendorf and Christian Daum, whose terms of rectorship, taken together, spanned almost the entire seventeenth century. In the first part of this chapter, the innovations that rectors introduced to the curriculum are discussed: first the introduction of oriental languages, then the adaptation of new teaching methods, in particular that of Wolfgang Ratke, Jan Amos Komenský and Johannes Rhenius. How much did teachers in Zwickau know of the pedagogical innovations of their day, and how did they decide which textbooks they should employ, and in what way? The second part of the chapter examines the negotiations between the teachers and the council during which both parties revealed what knowledge they thought should be passed on to the next generation of Zwickauers. Zwickau and the Qur’an In the first decades of the seventeenth century, Zwickau became one of the Holy Roman Empire’s main centres for the study of Arabic and other oriental languages. Veit Wolfrum, who very much set the tone in scholarly matters among the small circle of university-educated men in Zwickau during his stint as superintendent from 1593 till 1626, had become interested in learning oriental languages out of a sense of ‘scholarly one-upmanship’ with another Saxon scholar. In a letter to Vincenz Schmuck, Wolfrum recounted how Schmuck had visited him on his way to take the waters in Carlsbad, and had found a codex in Arabic on his host’s bookshelf.6 Most probably, Wolfrum had acquired these books in 1612, when he had baptised a Turk in the employ of the Saxon Amtshauptmann von Metzsch.7 The     fact that Schmuck could read from the book, and could also identify several other books in Wolfrum’s library as being in the Turkish language, spurred Wolfrum on to learn Arabic.8 By the time Schmuck returned from Carlsbad, Wolfrum, who had borrowed an Arabic grammar from another friend, was apparently already able to impress his friend with what he had learnt.9 Staunchly Lutheran, he had previously written several anti-Calvinist pamphlets, and determined that Arabic would be of great use to a theologian like himself. Wolfrum was apparently eager to pass on this passion for Arabic and oriental languages in general to the newly appointed rector of the school, the Lößnitz native Johannes Zechendorf (rector at the school from 1617 till 1662), who, as an outsider most probably brought to Zwickau on Wolfrum’s initiative, was heavily influenced by his benefactor in the first years of his rectorship. A medical doctor and theologian by training, Zechendorf came to the field of the philology of oriental languages rather late. Though he may have received some tuition in these languages while still at school in Schneeberg under the rector Johannes Förster, it is clear that the acquaintance with Wolfrum and the

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superintendent’s sudden interest in Arabic were what tempted Zechendorf to reinvent himself as an orientalist.10 Zechendorf concerned himself to equal degrees with linguistic research into the grammar and vocabulary of the Arabic language, mostly from a comparative perspective, and with the publication of selected passages from the Qur’an.11 Had Zechendorf expanded his study of the Qur’an and actually published a complete edition, it would have been the first to appear in the Holy Roman Empire, preceding the publication of Johann Lange’s Hamburg edition by several decades.12 As it was, Zechendorf published only small volumes of excerpts from the Qur’an  – Suras 61 (al-saff), 78 (al-naba), 101 (al-qa¯riaa) and 103 (al-asr)  – which he accompanied with Latin translations and summarily refuted with reference to the relevant passages from the Old and New Testaments. In 1626, Zechendorf first published a slim volume promising the key to learning Syrian, Arabic, Hebrew and Chaldaean ‘with little effort and in the briefest of time’, followed a year later by a volume of ‘Muhammadan fables and tales from the Alkoran’.13 Zechendorf continued publishing a steady trickle of such volumes throughout the 1620s, 1630s and 1640s, several of which were intended not only, as he wrote, ‘for my muchesteemed fellow scholars’, but as teaching tools for the classroom ‘for the benefit of the youth’.14 Such teaching tools were much needed in Zwickau since, at some stage between Zechendorf’s appointment in 1617 and 1623, the decision was made to introduce Arabic, Chaldaean, Syrian and Hebrew to the curriculum of the Latin school. Wolfrum, who voluntarily taught at the school himself for several hours a week, had learnt Chaldaean, Syrian and Hebrew before he had developed a passion for Arabic, and had been teaching these languages at the school before Arabic was introduced.15 This decision appears to have met with opposition or at least to have raised the odd eyebrow, as Wolfrum felt compelled to justify this move in a public speech given at the school that was published two years later as Nox Cygnea, Exhibens Dissertationem in laudem linguae Arabicae (the title being a nod to the Roman grammarian Aulus Gellius’ Noctes Atticae and, as such, a reference to his also having spent long nights writing the book).16 In what is now our principal source on the teaching of Arabic language at the school, Wolfrum extolled the advantages of learning the language. Other languages could be learnt for business, as tradesmen did with Italian, French, Spanish, English, Bohemian and Polish. The ‘disciples of the muses’, however, were to engage with those languages that enabled them to defend the glory of God.17 Wolfrum sought to convince his listeners of the importance of Arabic both by giving practical examples of its utility to students of various disciplines (philosophy, medicine, astronomy, arithmetic, theology), and by giving examples of illustrious scholars who at some point in their careers had been involved in the

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study of oriental languages, such as Isaac Casaubon and Joseph Scaliger. Wolfrum also suggested that it would, in fact, make perfect sense to learn Arabic, Chaldaean and Syrian in conjunction with Hebrew, since he, like most philologists at the time, considered Hebrew to be the mother of all languages and, therefore, to be the logical starting point for learning foreign languages. Wolfrum claimed that, at Lutheran institutions such as the Zwickau Latin school, it made far more confessional sense also to teach oriental languages than to teach Greek on its own, which Stephan Roth and Georgius Agricola had introduced 100  years earlier, and for which the school had become well known. In a few years time, Wolfrum fantasised, the school would become as renowned for its young Arabists as for the young Graecists who went on to university and greater things beyond.18 Zechendorf and Wolfrum faced the challenge of integrating the teaching of oriental languages into the curriculum in a way that would leave intact the emphasis on Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek, and would convince both the council and prospective pupils that no disruption of the core curriculum had occurred. Yet they also faced another problem: the market of German education in Zwickau had recently become significantly more competitive after the council had, against Wolfrum’s fierce opposition, officially sanctioned a German Winckelschule (‘corner school’) to open its doors within the town walls in 1619.19 German reading and writing skills had been taught in the lower forms since at least Plateanus’ stint as rector in the 1540s. Maintaining the Latin school’s standing as the main place of vernacular training in the town was crucial for its finances and for its role in the education of future tradesmen and artisans – that is, the majority of its pupils. Luckily for the two men, pedagogical method in the Holy Roman Empire had undergone major change in the two preceding decades, scores of new ‘methods’ now promising that the transition from one language to the next could be made quickly and effortlessly, thereby allowing pupils to learn several languages in the duration they had previously required to learn just one. The main tool of their approach was the bilingual textbook. To Zechendorf, the discovery of the bilingual textbook as a teaching tool was a godsend since it promised to kill two birds with one stone: it continued the pupils’ exposure to the vernacular well into the higher forms, whilst promising to make the teaching of foreign languages so easy that picking up several oriental languages in addition to Latin and Greek would not be a problem. Dissatisfaction with Melanchthon: Ratke and the pedagogical reform movement With the exception of Hutter’s Compendium, the Saxon head-consistory (Oberkonsistorium) allowed civic Latin schools to choose their own textbooks, a

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laissez-faire attitude that contrasted very much with the approach spelt out in Jesuit normative literature, which was very specific throughout in prescribing exactly which textbooks to use.20 Though the architect of the 1580 territorial school ordinance, Jakob Andreae, had campaigned for consistorial control over ‘uniformity in method, books and all else’ in Saxony, such ambitious ideas never got beyond the planning stage simply because the territorial government had no effective ways of enforcing such plans.21 By the first decade of the seventeenth century, dissatisfaction with the Melanchthonian method of language tuition had become so acute that it spawned a vociferous debate and a great number of publications,22 a disparate phenomenon the German historian of pedagogy Klaus Schaller called the ‘Pedagogical Reform Movement of the seventeenth century’.23 Criticism of Melanchthonian method focused above all on the question of how the transition from a pupil’s comprehension of the written vernacular to Latin was to take place.24 While Melanchthonian method had stressed the importance of learning off by heart, the pedagogical reformers criticised this as putting too much strain on children’s minds and for thereby hindering the easy apprehension of languages, something that was argued to be of greater utility to society as a whole.25 Their answer to the question of how the gap between the understanding of the vernacular and foreign languages should be bridged was to employ the vernacular more in teaching grammar. The historiography of seventeenth-century pedagogy has largely concentrated on the works of Jan Amos Komenský (Comenius) and, to a much lesser degree, on Wolfgang Ratke (Ratichius) and Erhard Weigel.26 What made Komenský, Ratke and Weigel similar to each other is that they were all concerned with so-called Realia, i.e. the broadening of the humanist curriculum to accommodate subjects that dealt with the physical world, rather than being narrowly focused on language tuition. Ratke and Komenský also developed their textbooks as part of elaborate programmes of wider societal change. The theoretical aspect of their work stood in the tradition of philosophical pedagogy and integrated practical suggestions of how to facilitate the teaching of languages into a theory of learning and an order of the sciences as the continuation of the ideas of thinkers such as Francis Bacon and Johann Heinrich Alsted.27 Yet such theoretical underpinnings to pedagogical method were of little interest to most teachers and textbook writers in the seventeenth century. Demand was high for practical suggestions that, similarly to the way Ramism had promised for the teaching of logic, could cut the time and effort it took to learn the all-important Latin.28 Though Komenský’s work was certainly unusually sophisticated in combining theory with practice, and as such represents a major change in pedagogical writing, in terms of the practical methods he put forward he was largely in agreement with other authors of the pedagogical reform movement. Komenský certainly sold a far larger number of language textbooks, his Janua linguarum reserata being one of the great European

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bestsellers of the seventeenth century, and was the only Central European pedagogical writer to become well known across Europe.29 Yet      he was in many ways a latecomer to the idea of pedagogical reform. By the time Komenský came to prominence in the 1630s, the need felt by many thirty years earlier for structural reform of curricula had, in fact, already been satisfied in the Lutheran territories of the Holy Roman Empire.30 Much of the demand for a new kind of school textbook was, quite naturally, met by scholars who were also teachers, often in small print-runs that suggest that these books were produced primarily to be used at their home institutions. Among the authors of bilingual textbooks for language tuition we find some of the best-known teacher-scholars of the Holy Roman Empire, such as the philologist and theologian Christian Gueinz or the dramatist Georg Rollenhagen, author of a famous parable on violence and conflict in the wake of the Reformation, the Froschmeuseler.31 One of Daum’s correspondents, the playwright and rector of the Gera school, Johann Sebastian Mitternacht, justfied this critical attitude to other authors’ methods in a school programme of 1653. The foremost responsibility of the teacher had to be the examination of who had developed the method. Men of limited talent or those who had never, or only for a very limited period, been put through the gruelling routine of teaching at a public institution, who had at the most given private teaching, could not devise a satisfying and workable method. This demanded experience, and experience dictated the need to adjust the method to the particular requirements of the school. Just as there could not be one shoe to fit all feet, there could therefore be no universal method that suited all demands on teaching at public institutions. Mitternacht had therefore decided not to be swept away by new method, but to adhere to his own method.32 Just as Mitternacht had done, textbook authors often claimed to have ‘invented’ the method their book was based on rather than becoming cardcarrying followers of other scholars. Johannes Zechendorf’s textbooks are good examples of this. His Gymnasium discendi Lingvam Latinam Breviter, leviter, feliciter, published at Johann Meuschken’s Altenburg workshop in 1622, bears several tell-tale signs of the influence of the pedagogical reform movement: the section on grammar, true to the principle of basing all teaching on the vernacular  – ‘from the mother-tongue onwards into other languages’  – is bilingual throughout.33 Fourteen years later, Zechendorf expressed his pedagogical intentions much more clearly in a further textbook on Latin grammar. References to other authors were missing apart from a lengthy quote from Alsted’s Encyclopaedia, stressing the general importance of schooling.34 The reader was told that the book was laid out according to the Didactica Zechendorfiana, the principles of which were explained in detail.35 His new work, meant to replace the Reformation-period work used at the school, was

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to be useful for the different age groups in various ways: the oldest children were to use it as a guide to vocabulary, as a means of discerning which terms were antiquated (‘old heavy, hated and unusual words which these days are ridiculed by many people’) and which were therefore to be avoided in everyday use and the writing of letters. For the students learning to translate Latin into German and vice versa, examples extracted from Donatus (the standard introductory work on grammar used across Europe in many editions and variations) were to help in the understanding of the basic principles of verb structure, such as the difference between active and passive constructions.36 Zechendorf also stressed the benefit of his teaching method to the youngest pupils: The book is made first of all for the children learning to read, that is the lowest in the school. So that, besides the Latin, they can also learn German. I have also strewn in the Greek letters, so that they become slowly aware of them. Thereby, while learning Latin, they will learn these things without noticing.37

Zechendorf’s reference to the pupils in the lowest forms is highly significant. As will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 4, most pupils only ever attended the German reading and writing lessons of the lowest form, the Septima. Zechendorf proposed in this passage that it was no contradiction for a Latin school to teach both the vernacular as well as classical languages. The key to being able to do this was a good, bilingual method. Zechendorf might have called what he was proposing the Didactica Zechendorfiana, but what he was suggesting was hardly original. His method clearly picked up ideas that had common currency at the time. Noteworthy in particular is Zechendorf’s use of the term Didactica, introduced only a few years earlier by Wolfgang Ratke, the most famous advocate of the use of bilingual textbooks in the first two decades of the seventeenth century. After Ratke had tried to persuade several town councils in Germany to let him restructure the curricula of their schools according to his method, Prince Ludwig von Anhalt finally put him in charge of what was probably Europe’s most lavishly supported educational experiment of the seventeenth century, granting Ratke oversight of a school, funding the employment of several co-workers and putting at Ratke’s disposal a printing press for the publication of textbooks.38 Ratke gained notoriety for his outlandish claim that a pupil taught according to his method could become proficient in up to five languages in the same time he had previously needed to acquire Latin. His basic idea pertained to two principles: first, that all language instruction should begin with the vernacular; second, the progression from one language to the next was based on the assumption that all languages had Hebrew as their common ancestor, and that languages should be acquired in the order of their ‘utility’ to biblical scholars.

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Ratke’s ideas certainly left an impact in Zwickau, since Wolfrum had added an excerpt of Helwig’s and Jung’s Kurtzer Bericht on Ratke (the bestknown description of Ratke’s method apart from the Memorial submitted to the Frankfurt town council in 1612) in his Nox Cygnea to bolster his claim that Arabic would, in fact, be easy enough to learn that it would not disrupt the Zwickau curriculum.39 In this tract, the claim was put forward that it would be easy for pupils to learn oriental languages if only a ‘natural’ progression from one language to the next were observed: first, Hebrew (the ‘mother of languages’), then Chaldaean, Syrian, Arabic and Greek, and then Latin.40 Zechendorf’s teaching tools for oriental languages illustrate that he shared Ratke’s approach in guiding pupils first from Hebrew, Chaldaean, Syrian and finally to Arabic on the basis of bilingual textbooks.41 Similarities between Zechendorf’s and Ratke’s ideas went further, however: following what was considered to be the ‘natural’ learning pattern of the child (‘short, light, and happy’/‘lightest of effort and shortest of study-time’); teaching based on the vernacular; and putting the responsibility for the success of learning on the teacher, with rote-learning being frowned upon.42 But despite all these similarities to Ratkean method, Zechendorf’s pedagogical programme was in no way a carbon copy. Most significantly, Zechendorf kept on board the Melanchthonian principle of confronting even the youngest pupils with Latin, which was still to be taught in the lowest forms, but in strict conjunction with the teaching of German. Zechendorf condemned making children learn rules and vocabulary off by heart without grasping the meaning (‘They learn and remember how to conjugate and decline if one goes over to using these skills in practice rather than forcing them to learn off by heart, and regurgitating [herlallen] without using their minds’).43 The point of the utility of what was learnt was made again in connection to the learning of extinct and antiquated words. In his discussion of utility, Zechendorf however did not dwell on the question of whether a child needed to be introduced to the Realia in the process of learning a language, as Jan Amos Komenský famously did.44 For him, the sense of ‘utility’ was more direct, in that the ability to write in Latin as well as in German was useful in itself. Zechendorf pointed out that his grammar was tailored to the demands of a civic community where most pupils would eventually become artisans and tradesmen, and that his method was not aimed only at the pupil who chose to continue his education to university level. He claimed that, because of the way in which both German and Latin grammar and orthography could easily be grasped by means of his method, it would also be of use to the pupil who ‘might not go on to study … but becomes a clerk, or something else; he will nonetheless have a solid foundation … to write according to what is generally called orthography’.45 Despite these apparent similarities in their pedagogical approach, Zechendorf’s and Wolfrum’s knowledge of Ratke’s work was paltry. The only

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work concerning Ratke himself that we find direct reference to is Helwig and Jung’s Kurtzer Bericht von der Didactica Ratichji (Short Introduction to Ratichius’ Teaching Method). It was also most probably this work that had informed Wolfrum of Ratke’s endorsement of Arabic as a subject that should be taught at school.46 Daum and Komenský: a ‘misunderstanding’ In contrast to Zechendorf’s and Wolfrum’s limited knowledge of Ratke, Daum was as well informed regarding Komenský as anyone in seventeenth-century Saxony. Daum accumulated what is without doubt one of the most impressive private collections of Komenský’s works, one of the few extant first editions of the Orbis pictus being among the comeniological treasures now held at the Ratsschulbibliothek.47 Most works in the collection are early German editions (Nuremberg, Leipzig, Hamburg,Tübingen), the Amsterdam editions of the Janua linguarum researata and the Lexicon januale (1650) being the only exceptions.48 The one-sidedness of the collection is noteworthy. Daum possessed a good cross-section of Komenský’s linguistic studies as well as a comprehensive collection of his didactic works. To use Komenský’s own terminology, Daum was well equipped with his books of instruction for pupils (Informationsbücher für die Lernenden). He owned an edition of De sermonis latini studio, but the other works meant to guide the teacher in the effort of teaching his pupils – the Realbücher für die Lehrenden, such as the Didactica magna, or the Informatorium der Mutterschul – are missing. However, Daum’s library was well stocked with Komenský’s more general works on language, those that could be used in teaching but were also of use as reference works (e.g. Stammuster der deutschen Sprach).49 Daum’s connection to the learned circles of Nuremberg and Altdorf through Johannes Sextus played a decisive part in Daum’s discovery of Komenský. The Nuremberg printing presses and the early support he received from the learned society Pegnitzer Blumenorden in the 1640s were vital for the dissemination of Komenský’s writings and the establishment of his reputation in the Holy Roman Empire.50 Daum shared a particular interest in etymology with the Blumenorden and maintained frequent personal contact with its members through Sextus, himself a member under the name of Alcidor. Sextus also worked as a proofreader at the Endter printer’s workshop alongside his employment as a Latin schoolteacher in Nuremberg and close-by Hersbruck. He was thus able to forward to Daum offprints of two editions of the Orbis pictus and an edition of the Janua linguarum reserata. Daum reciprocated by informing Sextus about an open letter (Sendbrief    ) to Komenský that a certain Petrus Colbovius had tried to get published, and that Daum had been asked to assess for publication at the workshop of the Zwickau printer, Melchior Göpner.51

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The exchange between Daum and Sextus makes quite clear that the two teacher-scholars were primarily interested in Komenský’s work for its philological value. As we shall see, Komenský’s Janua linguarum reserata was used in the Zwickau Latin school shortly afterwards. This, however, by no means constituted the reception of Komenský’s elaborate ideas about school reform, but simply attested to the fact that his textbooks were easily integrated into all manner of teaching programmes. Daum expressed respect for the high quality of Komenský’s Latin, and an interest in acquiring a greater number of his works. But Komenský’s name ceased to appear frequently in Daum’s correspondence later than 1652, after which Daum seemed to have known all he thought he needed to know about Komenský. Daum’s catalogue of books shows that he continued to acquire works by Komenský (his Nuremberg Vestibulum of 1678 is listed): all of these works, however, concerned philology, not philosophical issues. A book list of 1652 The best impression of the shape of the Zwickau curriculum in the mid­seventeenth century is given by a list of book grants from 1652  – a unique source, since no similar document has surfaced at any other seventeenth­century German school.52 After every Easter exam, the council made a present of books to the pupils who had passed the exam. Apparently, students could choose from a list of books already acquired by the school, as an appendix listing the ‘books that have not found takers’ (‘Bücher so noch übrig bleiben’) suggests. On this list, Johannes Rhenius, name-checked by Zechendorf in his textbooks, is by far the most prominent author, in terms of both individual titles and the total number of books distributed.53 As might be expected, most pupils were given books that corresponded to the levels of their form. The impression given of the literature used by students of the school at different levels is therefore fairly comprehensive. In the Septima, twenty-five of the thirty-one books distributed were in German (catechisms, ABC Bücher, New Testaments, books of psalms and choir books), while the remaining six were copies of Johannes Rhenius’ Donatus Latino-Germanicus. In the Sexta, twenty-two of the twenty-four books distributed were elementary-level bilingual works in Latin and German, while two students received works in Greek and German. In the Quinta, this changed again, with seven of the eight pupils receiving bilingual works in Latin and Greek, and one student the Latin Phrases edited by Ulnerus. In the Quarta, five of the nine students received books on Latin style. In the Tertia, we see the number of bilingual books in relation to those in Latin dropping again, books in Latin comprising nine of the sixteen books distributed. Seven books are bilingual books on

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grammar, including the only work in the list on a foreign language other than Latin or Greek, namely Buxtorf’s Lexicon Hebraicum et Chaldaicum. The books distributed to the students of the Secunda are far more varied, both in subject matter and in the difficulty of their content. Though a narrow majority of students were once again given books most useful for improving Latin written style, bilingual works in Latin and German feature prominently, one student even being given a bible in German. One thing that might be able to explain this seeming inconsistency is the fact that the pupils in the highest form – since no Prima existed in 1652, the students of the Secunda were the most senior in the school – might have felt free to select books missing from their collections, rather than works relevant to the curriculum of the form they were studying in, as was no doubt advisable for students in lower forms. The books represent a patchwork of work by pedagogical authors. Komenský’s Janua aurelia and Vestibulum Latinae linguae feature, but the role Komenský’s books occupied in the curriculum does not seem to have been essential. Unlike Rhenius’ Donatus Latino-Germanicus, they do not appear at the crucial point that bridged the teaching of German and the teaching of Latin grammar. Notable for their absence are the pedagogical works by Johannes Zechendorf. The place of Plateanus’ Formas is taken by Rhenius’ introductory textbook, Donatus Latino-Germanicus. A tri-partite system of teaching languages is evident. The Septima was taught a full year of German (with the odd boy venturing further towards elementary Latin). In year two, Latin grammar was introduced on the basis of bilingual books of instruction (again, a few children already began learning Greek), the same process being adopted a year later for the teaching of Greek. In the fourth and fifth years, the classical authors were studied intensively. Pupils improved their style of written Latin by concentrating on selections of phrases and Cicero’s letters, and more formal works on rhetoric were also used. Rhenius: the ‘practical pedagogue’ The predominance of Johannes Rhenius’ books is noteworthy since the content of the curriculum suggested by the books on the list and the way they are distributed across the forms is entirely in line with the tri-partite organisation of curricula that Rhenius had propagated in the first two decades of the seventeenth century. Though now largely forgotten, Rhenius’ work was better known and more influential in Saxony than Ratke’s or Komenský’s during the seventeenth century. Johannes Rhenius was the author of the compendium Methodus institutionis nova quadruplex of 1617, held in first edition at the Ratsschulbibliothek, and it appears that the excerpt on Ratke’s method that Wolfrum published in his Nox Cygnea was

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lifted directly from this edition. This work juxtaposed Ratke’s high-flying plans with Rhenius’ far more easily applied method. A long-held misconception in the history of Ratkean pedagogy has placed Rhenius in the line of Ratke’s unequivocal supporters,54 even though Rhenius and Ratke appear to have been in personal contact only for a very limited period and to have fallen out over Rhenius’ failure to deliver an edition of Terence for publication at Köthen.55 Rhenius is best known for his involvement in what he himself called the ‘grammatical war’ of the 1620s, the polemical dispute between him and Erasmus Schmid on how the canonical Latin grammar by Melanchthon/Micyllus should be reworked.56 Yet his school textbooks written in the first two decades of the seventeenth century proved to have a more profound impact on Lutheran Latin school curricula.57 In these textbooks, Rhenius put forward his tri-partite method according to the proficiency of the pupils, an approach later appropriated by Komenský, who also acknowledged Rhenius as an important influence on his own method.58 In his methodological books directed at teachers, the Tirocinum latinae linguae, the Methodus quadruplex and his Paedagogia, Rhenius explained how his books were to be used in the classroom and in private study, and which principles had guided him in compiling them. The greatest difference from Ratkean method was that Rhenius did not merely devise a concept of elementary teaching of foreign languages as Ratke had done. Rhenius also provided guidance in how changes in the teaching of the lowest forms could correspond to and prepare for the acquisition of knowledge at a more advanced level in higher forms. The division of grammatical material into three parts for beginners, intermediate and advanced pupils was in itself also nothing new, as Melanchthon had himself suggested such a division: the Enchiridion with its Nomenclator forming the basis of instruction, to be followed by the Donatus and finally the Grammatica, which he had initially intended to be a far simpler work than it finally turned out to be.59 Rhenius, however, needs to be credited for being first in providing a methodology of practical use for the teaching at school that integrated the ideas about bilingual elementary tuition of languages into a reworked, tri-partite system.60 To what extent the progression of teaching at the school continued to follow the structure set out by Rhenius can be seen from the two (virtually identical) curricula compiled by Christian Daum in 1662 and 1676 (Table 1).61 Its basic structure was very much the same as the one suggested by the list of book grants of 1652: the pupils of the Septima were taught to read and write German almost exclusively in the twenty-six lessons they were to attend each week (other pupils, from the Sexta onwards, would have four more hours of classes each week). The most able of the children (‘derer Duces oder Superiores’) were already to be introduced to rules of Latin declination and conjugation on the basis of Plateanus’ Formas.62 The Sextani would then begin to learn Latin grammar on the basis of Schmid’s grammar, Komenský’s’ Vestibulum

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and Rhenius’ Donatus. The Donatus was also used for the teaching of vocabulary. The Quintani would begin reading classical authors, most prominently Terence, whom Ratke, but also Rhenius, had suggested as the best author for beginners to practise their reading.63 Arithmetic, which would be taught twice a week to the four highest forms, was also introduced at this stage. Greek would be introduced a year later, the Quartani otherwise learning Greek grammar and reading Latin authors, among them Virgil. In the Tertia, logic was introduced, a topic that Daum chose to teach personally. The Tertiani otherwise read Cicero and Horace, and would study the New Testament and Hutter’s Compendium in detail. Writing in Latin would be studied intensively. The Prima/Secunda were taught together with the Tertia. Once a week, the four highest forms would also musiciren, and on another day they would sing under the supervision of the cantors of St Mary’s and St Catherine’s. As Zechendorf had done, Daum not only selected textbooks, but as the edition of Helwig’s Colloquia mentioned in the curriculum suggests, appears to have published books himself if he felt they were needed for teaching. Helwig had been an early supporter of Ratke’s and had followed him to Köthen. His Colloquia consist of hundreds of phrases in the form of dialogues ordered by topic, and describe practical situations, not unlike those that a pupil would have encountered in everyday life (‘when one rises in the morning’; ‘clothing’; ‘when one goes to school’; ‘writing’; ‘how to talk in the home’). Significantly, the original edition, and all reprints, of the Colloquia, had been in Latin. No bilingual edition existed. However, in 1662 (the year of Daum’s appointment as rector), a Latin–German edition was published in Zwickau – the only one of its kind. Though he is not mentioned as one of the authors, it is hard to believe that Daum was not instrumental in the publication of this work. This is especially so as both the printer and the publisher, Melchior Göpner and Johann Scheibe, were his close associates.64 Daum’s appointment: the council asserts itself As the textbooks used in 1652 suggest, the last years of Zechendorf’s rectorship already saw the de facto elimination of Arabic and oriental languages from the curriculum. This was possibly the case because the other teachers were either unwilling or unable to take over the teaching of these languages during Zechendorf’s long and protracted illness. How little control Zechendorf had over the running of the school in the decade preceding his death in 1662 is shown by the fact that the council had already appointed an assistant for Zechendorf to counteract the detrimental effect that the rector’s frailty was having on the school. Moreover, in 1654, Johannes Sextus even informed Daum that a rumour

Table 1  Curriculum of the Zwickau Latin school, 1676 Morning Monday 6–7 Service at St Mary’s

Tuesday

II and III. Logic – rector IV. Virgil’s fables (Camerarius edn) – co-rector VI. Latin grammar – cantor superior VII. — 7–8 II and III. II–IV. Camerarius’ Logic – rector Praecepta IV and V. morum – tertius Aesop’s fables V. Latin grammar (Camerarius edn), and exercises – or Virgil’s bucolic baccalaureus poetry – co-rector VI. Reading VI. Latin grammar – and learning – cantor superior baccalaureus VII. Reading, VII. Reading and writing – cantor writing – cantor inferiora inferior

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

II and III. Horace – rector IV and V. Prosody – tertius VI. Catechism, reciting – cantor inferior VII. — II and III. Latin emendations – rector (‘the rest should work on something that is not strenuous’) IV and V. Emendations – co-rector and tertius VI. Latin translation VII. Learning the catechism – cantor inferior

Conciob

II and III. Latin syntax – co-rector IV and V. Latin syntax – co-rector, Tertius VI. Latin grammar – cantor superiorc VII. — II–IV. Greek – rector V and VI. Argument – baccalaureus VII. Reading and writing – cantor inferior

II and III. Evang. Possellii IV and V. Gospel in Latin – rector VI. Catechism in Latin and German – cantor superior VII. — II and III. Style exercises – rector IV. Writing in Greek V. Gospel in Greek – tertius VI. Gospel in Latin VII. Gospel in German

II and III. Latin grammar – rector IV and V. Emendations – tertius VI. Latin grammar – cantor superior VII. Reading, writing – cantor inferior

8–9 II and III. Cicero’s letters – co-rector. IV and V. Latin grammar – tertius. VI. Latin grammar – cantor superior VII. Reading, writing – cantor inferior, baccalaureus

II and III. Cicero’s letters – co-rector IV and V. Latin grammar – Tertius. VI. Latin grammar VII. Reading and writing – cantor inferior, baccalaureus

II and III. Latin emendations – rector IV and V. Latin emendations – tertius VI. Latin emendations – cantor superior VII. German catechism – cantor inferior

II and III. Hutter’s Compendium – rector IV and V. Latin syntax – tertius VI. Latin syntax – cantor superior VII. Reading, writing – cantor inferior, baccalaureus

II and III. Rhetoric (Dieterici) – rector IV and V. Latin style exercises – tertius VI. Comenius’ Vestibulum – cantor superior VII. Reading, writing – cantor inferior, baccalaureus

II and III. Hutter’s Compendium – rector IV and V. Hutter’s Compendium – co-rector VI. ‘sit idly or … practise writing, but without being overseen’ VII. Evang. – cantor inf.

Table 1  (cont.) Afternoon Monday 12–1 II–V. Arithmetic – co-rector VI. Singing VII. Latin, reading and reciting – cantor inferior

Tuesday

II–V. Music – cantor superior or inferior VI. Writing – baccalaureus VII. Versus dominicalis – cantor inferior 1–2 II and III. Greek II and III. New grammar – co-rector Testament (in IV. Greek Latin?) – co-rector grammar – tertius IV. Greek V and VI. Disticha grammar – tertius Catonis – cantor V and VI. Disticha superior Catonis – cantor VII. Reading – superior baccalaureus VII. Reading and memorising – baccalaureus

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

II–V. Arithmetic – co-rector VI. Singing – cantor superior VII. Reading – cantor inferior

II–III. Music – cantor superior VI. Writing – baccalaureus VII. Versus dominicalis praelegitur – cantor inferior II and III. Nonnus – co-rector IV. Greek grammar – tertius V and VI. Cantor superior (no subject given) VII. Psalms and declination – baccalaureus

II and III. Greek syntax – co-rector IV. Greek grammar – tertius V and VI. Disticha Catonis – cantor superior VII. Psalms and reading – baccalaureus

Saturday

2–3 II and III. Virgil – rector IV and V. Terence – tertius VI. Latin grammar. and reciting – cantor inferior VII. Catechism – cantor inferior

II and III. Virgil – rector IV and V. Terence – tertius VI. Latin grammar – cantor inferior VII. Catechism – cantor inferior

II and III. Cicero’s De officiis – rector IV and V. Helwig’s Colloquia – tertius VI. Donatus – cantor inferior VII. Catechism – cantor inferior (and baccalaureus?)

Cantor inferior: the cantor of the ‘Low Church’, i.e. St Catherine’s in the artisan quarter. Assembly. c Cantor superior: the cantor of the ‘High Church’, i.e. the main municipal church, St Mary’s. a b

II and III. Cicero’s De officiis – rector IV and V. Terence – tertius VI. Donatus VII. Versus dominicalis

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had reached Nuremberg that Zechendorf had in fact already died.65 On 17 February 1662, Johannes Zechendorf died at the age of eighty-one as the result of a catarrhal fever with which he had been lying ill for twelve days. His funeral sermon stated that, with increasing age, ‘his powers and health had diminished by the year; the weakness and illness in him had on the other hand become stronger every year, to the point that severe headache, rustling and murmuring in the ears, dizziness, and the like, had ruined him to such an extent that his hearing failed him, and while by God’s good will he was still able to see till the end, he nonetheless, on account of [his] disability, had not been able to leave the house, nor perform his duties, as he had done previously’.66 The extensive and graphic account of his declining health, and his inability to exercise effective control over the running of the school underline that, despite the obligatory praise, Zwickauers had become increasingly dissatisfied with Zechendorf. The appointment of a new rector was taken as an opportunity to reshuffle the cards and to attempt to establish the authority of the council over the curriculum. After a long and protracted search for a successor, the council finally announced that it had chosen Christian Daum as Johannes Zechendorf’s successor on 20 June 1662. As part of Daum’s official appointment, the council issued various documents listing their grievances concerning the current wrongs they wanted Daum to correct at the school. Since these instructions reveal comprehensive knowledge of the curriculum, it seems highly likely that this document was written by the superintendent, Gottfried Sigismund Peisker.67 Amazingly, these sources have been overlooked by previous historians of the Zwickau Latin school, most probably because they had been filed along with late-sixteenth-/early-seventeenth-century account books of the school library. In what is by far the most valuable, candid and comprehensive collection of statements relating to the school issued by the council that we possess, the council let Daum know in no uncertain terms what it expected him to do – and not to do – in his new position as rector. Of twenty-four points in total, fourteen were concerned with disciplinary and administrative matters. The council, however, also had serious grievances concerning the curriculum. The complaints commence with a damning judgement of the last years of Zechendorf’s rectorship: ‘And as it cannot be denied, because of the late rector’s age of eighty-five [sic] years, long illness and incapacity, the school has until now in effect been … without a head and rector [… and] many idiosyncratic practices have become customary.’ Given Zechendorf’s achievements before his years of illness, Daum should conduct a careful survey rather than heavy-handedly doing away with all that had been previously taught: The newly employed and appointed rector should enquire minutely of every single Praeceptor [i.e. teacher] of the Latin School, beginning with the co-rector

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and ending with the lowest, what lessons and authors they have treated [tractiret] publicly and privately with the dear youth, how they have divided these up across certain days and hours, what method they used.68

After devising a detailed plan of how these lessons, both those in the school and in private, could be changed, the council expected Daum to submit an account of this, and then to await further instructions from the council. Private lessons were a particularly thorny issue. It was practically impossible to control what was taught outside the classroom, and the council was especially concerned that the content of private lessons often differed significantly. Henceforth, private lessons were therefore only to serve the function of repeating the material treated in the public lessons (i.e. at the school itself).The teachers were accused of having neglected their duties of ensuring the adequacy of the public lessons on purpose, in order to attract as many pupils as possible to their private lessons. The victim of this, it was claimed, was the less well-off pupil, who, not being fortunate enough to have parents who could pay for the private lessons, ‘would therefore lag behind completely and become desperate, and no matter how much enthusiasm he had for his studies, would eventually be forced to resign from these’. In what was the only section of the document in which an authority apart from that of the council and the inspectors was mentioned, the council threatened to inform the consistory of the teachers’ misbehaviour. The council also claimed that it would stall wages or suspend a teacher from office if he did not take his classroom teaching seriously.69 The general tenor of the council’s grievances was one of displeasure concerning the introduction to the school’s curriculum of teaching method and subjects without its permission. Interestingly, Zechendorf was not mentioned as the main culprit in the introduction of material and method that had not been officially sanctioned. It was rather the subordinate teaching staff who were blamed. Correspondingly, it was they over whom Daum was told to exact tight control, being given the explicit authority to ‘root out current abuses among the staff’ (‘die bisher bey den Collegen eingerißene Mißbräuche, abzuschaffen, macht habe’): [Subordinate teachers] should inform the rector of [new ideas] in private so as to hear his thoughts on the latter, and if they have agreed, the ratification by the patrons and inspectors may be sought … but under no circumstances may material untried in practice be introduced prematurely, nor without prior approbation, so as not to diminish [the authority] of the colleagues.70

Noteworthy here is the mentioning of ‘material untried in practice’. A major grievance was the teaching of material that had not been proven to work in the classroom or, even worse, had shown itself to be impractical. Though no titles of books used for teaching pupils at the elementary level are given, the criticisms made suggest that it was the method that Zechendorf had described

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in his Latinae lingvae addiscende praecognita vera – specifically that pupils should learn even antiquated vocabulary – that provoked the council’s displeasure.71 Students of the lowest and second-lowest grade were rather to be encouraged to learn basic vocabulary from collections compiled specifically for this purpose (‘bequemer Vocabul bücher’) and Colloquia, of which it was noted that, after all, there were various versions available in print. A further complaint relating to impractical teaching that made it difficult for pupils to follow and benefit was related to what were regarded as inconsistent teaching methods. Teaching in the school and in private (‘publice und privatim’) should be made to supplement each other, rather than diverge. ‘Untested inventions’ (‘unapprobirte erfindungen’) were to be purged both from private and public lessons, and pupils were to be given a certain number of authors to learn from, but not too many: Otherwise and through inundation with authors neither the proper treatment [of the authors] nor the perfecting of the pupils can be accomplished, but only will the ingenia be confused, pressured without need [ohne noth beschweret] and led astray, and left in doubt to such an extent that they do not know which author they should rely on or whom to dismiss.72

The introduction of new method, so negatively described by the term ‘untested inventions’, was, therefore, linked to ‘confusion’. What becomes apparent is that, despite the fact that new pedagogical methods were received and introduced to the Zwickau school, this did not mean that previous authors were purged from the curriculum completely. The new and the old co-existed. This made it easy for those who were trying to counteract the uncontrolled introduction of new method to criticise the innovators for ‘flooding’ the curriculum and thereby confusing the pupils. In the next section, the argument of ‘confusion’ was used again, this time specifically to criticise the method of teaching logic at the school. The target here was Ramism, which was treated as an intruder to a curriculum that ought to focus more or less exclusively on the teaching of Aristotelian logic: What is to be completely purged [caßiren] is that until now in Logicis two different authors were being treated at once, [books by] the Ramists and the Aristotelici. As the [book by] Loßius, which has traditionally [vor alters] been used, has been deemed insufficient, we wish that another [author] be used in his stead.

This new author would, however, need to ‘adhere to the principia Aristotelica’. Lossius’ textbook, which, in principle, had adhered to the correct principles, but had become ‘insufficient’, was based on Keckermann’s adaptation of Ramist techniques for the teaching of Aristotelian logic.73 Again, after having decided upon an author, Daum was to report back to the council and the inspectors. The new textbook was then to be introduced ‘after judgement and a consensus’

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on the part of the council. Above all, Daum was to ‘abstain completely from any innovations that might contravene these instructions’.74 Finally, the new rector was reminded not to forget the official function of the school: The Latin and the Greek languages are to be practised principally in our school, depending, however, on the capability [capacität] of the youth, and the Discipuli are to be made to practise themselves in them continually; except for the highest form and except for those who wish to devote themselves to the study of theology, who, before they leave for a university, are to submit a notitiam. They are, however, to be spared [the learning of] oriental languages.75

Hebrew was not mentioned, but it is most likely that, since they were to be taught only to students who wished to study theology at university, ‘oriental languages’ first and foremost meant Hebrew. However, the ambiguity of the term ‘oriental languages’ suggests that the council reserved for itself the option of also allowing other languages to be taught, should they be requested. Daum’s response On 3 February 1663, Daum dutifully submitted an essay to the council in Latin, accompanied by the request to hold exams at the school. Curiously, the council minutes suggest that, even though they had requested it, the members of the council were not able to read Daum’s document.76 In his five-page essay, Daum replied directly and robustly to the grievances voiced in the contract of his employment. He was not prepared to bow to the pressure the council was putting on him to make all his decisions concerning the curriculum dependent on its approval. After all, until the moment of his promotion, he himself had been a member of the subordinate teaching staff accused of trying to introduce changes at the school on their own account. Though he did agree on some points, for example the insufficiency of Lossius for teaching logic, he firmly disagreed on others.77 To him, it was incomprehensible that the council should have objected to the way in which basic vocabulary was taught. After all, he argued, Rhenius’ large Donatus contained a comprehensive compendium of vocabulary far more suitable for teaching the pupils in a more ‘careful and diligent way’ (‘modò sedulò et diligenter’) than any other available textbook. Daum also defended the teaching of arithmetic at the school. Though arithmetic was not mentioned in Daum’s contract of employment, it appears that in one form or another it was suggested that the topic be purged from the curriculum. To Daum, this was unacceptable, ‘as its utility for the whole of human life is so amply proven: ignorance [of it] also obstructs the learning of many other disciplines that are hard to hone’.To the studious pupils, arithmetic

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would come easily with the necessary effort. Even those pupils who were not enthusiastic about the topic could benefit from learning it.78 As the curricula of 1662 and 1676 suggest, Daum was, overall, successful in standing his ground against the intrusion of the council. As territorial government, the consistory, the council and rectors all claimed authority over what knowledge should be imparted to the next generation, rectors had the best chances of success. The teaching of Arabic at the school is a case in point, since it does not seem to have been stopped by the intervention on the part of the council or the consistory, but by Zechendorf’s eventually being too feeble to continue teaching it and Daum’s not showing any interest in championing its cause. Conclusion The fact that civic Latin schools employed scholars meant that their relationship to the guidelines of the territorial school ordinance was never going to be passive. On the question of what textbooks to use, the school ordinances (both local and territorial) were of little use anyway, since they would have needed to be constantly updated to keep up with the rapid pedagogical developments of the early seventeenth century. In a way, it was a self-perpetuating cycle. Schools needed scholars as rectors so that they could navigate the ever-expanding body of pedagogical literature. Once appointed, these men would often in turn publish their own ‘method’.Though their work was often unoriginal and borrowed heavily from other pedagogical writers, such as Wolfgang Ratke and Johannes Rhenius, these borrowed concepts were without fail adapted to the particular requirements of the school. To some extent, councils welcomed initiative on the part of the rectors since it gave schools individual profiles that could make them stand out in a competitive educational market. In an environment where there was fierce competition among schools, rectors were published scholars and interference from the territorial Government was marginal, it is small wonder that the Lutheran territories of the Holy Roman Empire saw such lively methodological diversity and experimentation. For pupils, the result was an educational market that offered its consumers not only considerable choice as far as the size, location, prestige and expense of schools were concerned, but also in matters of methodology and subject matter. Notes

1 Anon., ‘Wohlgemeyntes/ zumahlen wohl überlegt= und Gründliches Bedenken/ Von verschiedenen/ theils offenbahren/ theils nicht allerdings bekandten Mißbräuchen …’, in Sammlung selten gewordener pädagogischer Schriften des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts, ed. A. Israel (Leipzig, 1973 [Zschopau, 1879]), pp. 1–48.

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2 While no comparative study has in recent years dealt specifically with competition between Lutheran and Jesuit authors and educational institutions, confessional competition does play a role in a number of studies. See for instance T. Kaufmann, Konfession und Kultur: Lutherischer Protestantismus in der zweiten Hälfte des Reformationsjahrhunderts (Tübingen, 2006); F. Krafft, ‘Jesuiten als Lehrer an Gymnasium und Universität Mainz und ihre Lehrfächer: Eine chronologisch-synoptische Übersicht’, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Universität Mainz 11 (1977), 259–350. 3 See Strauss, Luther’s House of Learning, p. 188: ‘Obedient to this general principle of educational policy, rectors and schoolmasters in nearly every German city and territory submitted to the ecclesiastical or political authorities their Schulordnungen, lesson plans, timetables, and reading lists. The archives hold a stupendous mass of these documents. Owing to the drive for uniformity, they are very much alike, which makes it easy to summarize the contents of Latin education in the sixteenth century.’ 4 Komenský is now recognised as one of the leading European thinkers of the seventeenth century. His rediscovery towards the end of the nineteenth century was largely due to the efforts of the Slovak historian Jan Kvacˇala. The discovery of how wide-reaching Komenský’s philosophy was provided further fodder for the stylisation of Komenský as a national hero for both the Czechs and the Slovaks. For the classic account, see J. Kvacˇala, Die pädagogische Reform des Comenius in Deutschland bis zum Ausgange des XVII Jahrhunderts, 2 vols (Berlin, 1903–04). For recent trends in Comeniology, the best point of departure is the journal Acta Comeniana. 5 Most recent research on seventeenth-century pedagogy has focused on the philosophical dimension of Komenský’s work. Ehrenpreis has pointed out that the focus on Komenský has obscured the work of other pedagogical writers who similarly wished to introduce Realia to school curricula. In my opinion, the greater problem is, however, that a wide range of textbooks remained dominant in the seventeenth-century German classroom that did not dwell on the question of the importance of the Realia. Research on the textbooks actually used in the classrooms of the Lutheran territories of the Holy Roman Empire is mostly old. For the best introduction, see Lattmann, Geschichte der Methodik; and Ehrenpreis, ‘Erziehung und Schulwesen’, p. 27. See also Ross, ‘Da hingegen bei uns fast ein jedes Land und Ort’, pp. 269–89, in particular pp. 271–8; and, for the most measured attempt at contextualising Komenský’s pedagogical writing, K. Schaller, Die Pädagogik des Johann Amos Comenius und die Anfänge des pädagogischen Realismus im 17. Jahrhundert (Heidelberg, 1962). For an example of the continued stress on the exceptionality of Komenský as a pedagogical writer, see the introduction to S. Chocholová, M. Pánková and M. Steiner, eds, Johannes Amos Comenius: The Legacy to the Culture of Education (Prague, 2009). 6 Klotz, D.VeitWolfrum. Wolfrum’s letter to Schmuck is attached as an appendix to V. Wolfrum, Nox Cygnea Exhibens Dissertationem in laudem linguae Arabicae àVitoWolfrum, D. & Superintendente. Recitabatur 2. Decemb. Anni Christi 1623. in Schola Zwickaviensi, Praesentibus non tantum OMNIBUS SCHOLAE PRAECEPTORIBUS ET DISCIPULIS adulitoribus, verum etiam multis ex Ordine Senatorio & Fraternitate in oppido & agro Cygneo. Addita est sub finem Epistola Autoris ad Amicum, quaratio redditur suscepti hujus studij Arabici: Una cum Appendice Judiciorum, aliorum praestantium virorum. Lipsiae, Imprimebat GREGOR. Ritzsch/ ANNO M. DC. XXV. (Leipzig, 1625). 7 On Vincenz Schmuck (1565–1628), professor of theology at Leipzig University, archdeacon at the Church of St Nicholas, and the author of several hymns and published sermons, see his entry in the Allgemeine deutsche Biographie, Vol. 32 (Leipzig, 1891), pp. 62–3. 8 See Herzog, Chronik, p. 385. 9 Klotz, D.VeitWolfrum, pp. 76–7. 10 P. Stötzner, ‘Zechendorf, Johann Z.’, in Allgemeine deutsche Biographie, Vol. 44 (Leipzig, 1898), pp. 740–1. For Zechendorf’s career prior to his appointment to the rectorship in Zwickau, see E. Heydenreich, ‘Aus der Geschichte des Schneeberger Lyceums’, Neues Archiv für sächsische Geschichte 16 (1895), 229–68 (pp. 247–8). 11 J. Zechendorf, Circuli coniugationum ad linguas Hebraeam, Chaldaecam, Syricam et Arabicam facillimo labore et brevissimo studio cognoscendas ([n.p.], 1626); J. Zechendorf, Fabulae Muhammedicae sive … Alcorani (Altenburg, 1627–28); J. Zechendorf, Suratae unius, at que alterius textum,

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Daum’s boys ejusâq; explicationem ex commentario quodam Arabe dogmata Alcorani … (Zwickau, 1635); J. Zechendorf, … Orationis Dominicae in Lingua Arabica: Analysis Grammatica … ([n.p.], 1637); J. Zechendorf, Specimen suratarum, id est, Capitum aliquot ex Alcorani systemate J. Zechendorffi (Zwickau, 1638). 12 J. Lange, ‘Vollständiges Türckisches Gesetz-Buch, Oder des Ertz-betriegers Mohamets Alkoran. Welcher vorhin nimmer volkomen heraus gegeben, noch im Druck ausgefertiget worden. Aus der Arabischen in die Frantzösische Sprach übergesetzt Durch Herrn Du Ryer. Auss dieser aber in die Niederländische Durch J. H. Glasemacker. Und jetzo zum allerersten mahl in die Hoch teutsche Sprache versetzet Durch Johan Lange, Medicinae Candidatum’, in Thesaurus Exoticorum. Oder eine mit Ausländische Raritäten und Geschichten Wohlversehene Schatz-Kammer Fürstellend die Türcken Beschreibung: Der Türcken Ankunfft … Wie auch ihre Propheten Mohamets Lebens-Beschreibung, und sein verfluchtes Gesetz-Buch oder Alkoran …, ed. E. W. Happel (Hamburg, 1688). On the French edition of the Qur’an on which Glasemacker’s and then Lange’s editions were based, see F. Richard, André du Ryer and Oriental Studies in Seventeenth-Century France (London/Oxford, 2004). On the general history of the study of oriental languages in the seventeenth century, see the introduction to A. Hamilton, M. H. van den Boogert and B. Westerweel, eds, The Republic of Letters and the Levant (Leiden/ Boston, MA, 2005); and the contribution to the same volume by A. Hamilton, ‘A Lutheran translator for the Quran: A late seventeenth-century quest’, pp. 197–221. See also G. A. Russell, The ‘Arabick’ Interest of the Natural Philosophers in Seventeenth-Century England (Leiden, 1993); and, more generally, H. Bobzin, ‘Von Venedig nach Kairo: Zur Geschichte arabischer Korandrucke (16. bis frühes 20. Jahrhundert)’, in Sprachen des Nahen Ostens und die Druckrevolution: Eine interkulturelle Begegnung, ed. E. Hanebutt-Benz, D. Glass and G. Roper (Westhofen, 2002), pp. 151–76. 13 Zechendorf, Circuli coniugationum ad linguas Hebraeam, Chaldaecam, Syricam et Arabicam (1626); Zechendorf, Fabulae Muhammedicae. 14 Zechendorf, Suratae unius, at que alterius textum; Zechendorf, Specimen suratarum; J. Zechendorf, Circuli coniugationum ad linguas Hebraeam, Chaldaeam Syriacam Persicam Arabicam Turcicam (Zwickau, 1645). Zechendorf also published occasional poetry in oriental languages, for instance J. Zechendorf, Epithalamium Persice ad Joh. Sextem cum versione Latina (Zwickau [?], 1647). 15 Klotz, D.VeitWolfrum, p. 76. 16 On Aulus Gellius and the Noctes Atticae, see L. Holford-Strevens, Aulus Gellius: An Antonine Scholar and His Achievement (Oxford, 2003); L. Holford-Strevens and A. Vardi, eds, TheWorlds of Aulus Gellius (Oxford, 2004). 17 ‘Factum inde est, ut cum alijs nationibus negociaturi, etiam ipsorum linguas discere oporteat, si absq; interpretibus commercia sua fructuore exercere velint. Sed discant Italicè, Gallicè, Hispanicè, Anglicè, Bohemicè, Polonicè loqui, quorum interest. Nos sumus Musarum alumni, & ex Actora 1. Cor. 12. didicimus, singulare D E I donum esse nunc linguas, ut ille solet pro sua sapientia & paterna in nos propensione poenas in nostrum commodum convertere. Propterea ad illas animum applicamus, quae ad D E I honorem nostramq; salutem faciant, & discimus Chald. & Syr. quibus Theologia in gravissimis istis certaminum conflictibus nullo modo carere potest. Et hae utilissimae linguae Orientales suo tempore etiam suum encomium habebunt. Jam in laudem Arabicae, illius eruditae, quae non tantùm à Turcica, verum etiam vulgari illa Arabica differt, aliquid à me dicetur, pro exigua illa facultate quae in me est, in scholae gratiam, cujus supra triginta annos indignus sum Inspector, & ad animandos adolescentes hujus linguae adeò cupidos; et dicetur, quod felix & faustum esse DEUS jubeat, ut primò objectiones aliquot, ut remoras sustulero, secundò de Arabicae linguae immensa utilitate in vita communi, historia & chronographia, Philosophia item, praecipue verò Arithmetica, Physica, Astronomia, Medicina & Theologia. Posteà brevibus adhuc pauca de ejus necessitate, facilitate & suavitate … adijcientur.’ In Wolfrum, Nox Cygnea, no page numbers. 18 Ibid. 19 The council promised Wolfrum that the schoolmaster of this German school, a certain Vögler, would only be allowed to take ‘the very youngest boys’, a regulation that Vögler

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appears to have continued to ignore if Wolfrum’s subsequent complaints are to be believed. St A Zwickau, III X 93, Ratsakten, Mauritii 1617–19, 19 April 1619, p. 115. 20 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, pp. 424–5. 21 Töpfer, Die ‘Freyheit’ der Kinder, pp. 33–4. 22 Lattmann, Geschichte der Methodik. 23 Paulsen acknowledged that Ratke and Komenský were not alone in their attempts to reform teaching method, but did assign a dominant role to them in his tellingly titled chapter, ‘Beginnendes Erwachen des modernen Geistes: Reaktion gegen den humanistischen Schulbetrieb im Übergangszeitalter (1600–1648)’. Lattmann, who devoted more attention to the lesser names among seventeenth-century educationalists, used the term ‘Unterrichtsmethode der Wirklichkeit’, making a point of excluding Ratke and Komenský from the examination of this reform movement. Klaus Schaller has to be given credit for giving ample scope to other authors despite his own specialisation on Komenský in his treatment of seventeenth-century pedagogy. Lattmann, Geschichte der Methodik, pp. 88–153; Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, pp. 465–91; Schaller, Pädagogik des Johann Amos Comenius, pp. 356–60. 24 Methodological debate during the period was of course not limited to the teaching of languages. A very lively debate concentrated on the teaching of philosophy, opinions being divided particularly on the issue of whether Ramist textbooks should be used or not. As we shall see later on in this chapter, this debate extended to the Zwickau Latin school. Philosophy was, however, only taught in the highest forms, while the way in which language tuition changed affected all pupils. For a detailed treatment of Ramism in Germany, see H. Hotson, Commonplace Learning: Ramism and Its German Ramifications, 1543–1630 (Oxford, 2007). 25 On the general currency of the argument of the ‘utility’ of learning languages for the whole of society, see U. Kordes, Wolfgang Ratke (Ratichius, 1571–1635): Gesellschaft, Religiosität und Gelehrsamkeit im frühen 17. Jahrhundert (Heidelberg, 1999), p. 55. 26 Ehrenpreis and Schilling, Erziehung und Schulwesen, p. 27. 27 Hotson, ‘Philosophical pedagogy’. 28 Klaus Schaller, assumed that Komenský’s importance in the history of philosophy and pedagogical theory was matched by the importance of his works in schools of the period. This assumption is partly based on statements by Komenský’s associates, but takes its quantitative data from an outdated and methodologically faulty article by Richard Aron. In this article, and subsequently in Schaller’s study, the fact that Comenian textbooks were used at the Zwickau Latin school, as well as at a large number of other Latin schools, was used to support the claim that Comenian method was widely applied during the seventeenth century. Yet the fact that these textbooks were used does not prove that Komenský’s pedagogical methodology was widely applied. Schaller, Pädagogik des Johann Amos Comenius, p. 379; R. Aron, ‘Comenius als Pädagoge im Urteil seiner Zeitgenossen’, Monatshefte der ComeniusGesellschaft 4 (1895), 217–41. 29 For a widely distributed early edition, see J. A. Komenský, Der Gueldenen auffgeschlossenen Thuer J. A. Comenii Oder des Pflantz-Garten aller Sprachen/ Wissenschaften/ vnd Kuensten … (Hamburg, 1633). 30 For an introduction to early-seventeenth-century pedagogy that not only takes account of ‘theorists’ such as Ratke and Komenský but also surveys the large amount of textbook literature, fin-de-siècle German literature on the history of education remains indispensable. Lattmann, Geschichte der Methodik; Lattmann, Ratichius und die Ratichianer; Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts. 31 See for instance Gueinz’s work as a collaborator of Wolfgang Ratke’s at Köthen, C. Gueinz, Griechischer Sprach Ubung: Ins Deutsche gebracht (Köthen, 1620); and G. Rollenhagen, Georgi Rollenhagi Gymnasi Magdeburgensis olim Rectoris Paedia … (Magdeburg, 1619). See also E. Bodinus, Bericht von der Natur und vernünfftmessigen Didactica oder LehrKunst: Nebenst hellen und Sonnenklaren Beweiß/ wie heutiges Tages der studirenden Jugend die rechten fundamenta verruckt und entzogen werden ([n.p.], 1621). For a brief biography of Gueinz, see the article on him in the Allgemeine deutsche Biographie,Vol. 10 (1879), pp. 89–91. On Rollenhagen, see D. Peil, ‘Georg

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Daum’s boys Rollenhagen’, in S. Füssel, ed., Deutsche Dichter der Frühen Neuzeit (1450–1600): Ihr Leben und Werk (Berlin, 1993), pp. 561–74. 32 R. Büttner, ‘Rektor Joh. Seb. Mitternacht und seine Wirksamkeit am Geraer Gymnasium 1646–1667’, Wissenschaftliche Beilage zum Jahresbericht über das Fürstliche Gymnasium zu Gera (1888), 1–24 (p. 13). 33 J. Zechendorf, GYMNASIUM discendi Lingvuam Latinam Breviter, leviter, feliciter. Inventum & AEqvisimo Lectori aeqvisimè dijudicandum positum à M. J. Z. L. Altenbvrgi, Excusum per Johannem Meuschken, Impensis David Rotters/ Bibliopegi Cygnei, Anno VIVae LVDI  – LIterarIae MIserIeI (Altenburg, 1622). 34 ‘Qvidam insignis hujus seculi Philosophus, & Theologius, D. Johan: Alstedius in Encyclop. Columna 2777. & alibi: ruinam, atq. interitum Scholarum intuens, hunc in modum Christianè, & condolenter suspirat: Me si qvis interroget, qvot sint columnae status Ecclesiastici, & Politici, respondebo tres. Primam dixero Scholas: secundam Scholas: tertiam itidem Scholas.’ In J. Zechendorf, LATINAE LINGVAE addiscende PRAECOGNITA vera, concinna, solida sub GRAMMATICALIBUS INITIAMENTIS justis, debitis, sciendis: EX CABALLAH,Voce aliqvam multis odiosa, & prodigiosa at non onerosa, sed studiis fructuosa, Sive DIDACTICA Zechendorferiana, Ab ANNO XII. usq; in hunc diem, ex divina gratia docendo, atq; discendo benè exercita; Levi, brevi, felici Praeceptione et perceptione in Antecessum data. Cygneae,Typis Melchioris Göpneri, ANNO M.DC. XXXVI. (Zwickau, 1636), p. 1. 35 Zechendorf stated that he decided to draw up this work of grammar because the book previously used at the Zwickau school – a book by the former rector, Plateanus – existed only in a few copies and was no longer available in the numbers needed for teaching at the school. 36 For an introduction to the continuous influence of Donatus in the early modern period, see Grendler, Schooling in Renaissance Italy, pp. 162–202. 37 See section ‘Vom Gebrauch dieses Büchleins’, in the ‘Vorrede’, Zechendorf, LATINAE LINGVAE addiscende PRAECOGNITA vera (no page numbers): ‘Erstlich ist es denen Lesenten/ als denen Vntersten/ in Schulen zum besten gemacht: Denn sie neben den Latein auch Teutsch lernen können. Wie dann auch das Griechische Alphabet mit eingemengt/ damit sie auch derselben Buchstabe allgemachsam angewehnet werden/ vnd sie gleichsam unvormerckter Sach mitlernen/ welches den fleissigen Praeceptoribus obliegen will.’ 38 On the term Didactica as used by Ratke, see Kordes, Wolfgang Ratke, pp. 217–23; and, for a brief biography of Ratke, pp. 28–151. 39 Wolfrum, Nox Cygnea, pp. 71–2. 40 On Ratke’s hierarchy of languages and the progression he prescribed from one to the next, see Lattmann, Ratichius und die Ratichianer, p. 10. 41 Zechendorf, Circuli coniugationum ad linguas Hebraeam, Chaldaecam, Syricam et Arabicam (1626). 42 ‘[L]evi, brevi, felici’ and ‘facillimo labore et brevissimo studio’; see the title-pages of ibid.; and Zechendorf, LATINAE LINGVAE addiscende PRAECOGNITA vera. 43 See section ‘Vom Gebrauch dieses Büchleins’, in the ‘Vorrede’, Zechendorf, LATINAE LINGVAE addiscende PRAECOGNITA vera (no page numbers): ‘Denn eine jegliche Sprach/ wie auch die andern Artes durch Praecognita; Regulas; und Gymnasium kan und muß gelernet werden/ so es fein leicht/ vnd bald geschehen sol’; ‘Sie viel eher lernen conjugiren und decliniren, auch solches eher ihnen einbilden/ und behalten/ als mit den Zwang des außwendig lernen/ und herlallens/ ohne Verstand/ sondern man gehe alsbald ad praxin.’ 44 On Realia see Schaller, Pädagogik des Johann Amos Comenius, pp. 356–89. 45 See section ‘Vom Gebrauch dieses Büchleins’, in the ‘Vorrede’, Zechendorf, LATINAE LINGVAE addiscende PRAECOGNITA vera (no page numbers): ‘schon nicht beym Studiren verbleibt … sondern zur Schreiberey/ oder andern Sachen sich begiebet/ daß er doch aus solchen gelerneten Fundament/ wird recht/ was ihme vorkömpt/ oder wie man es allenthalben nennet Orthographie schreiben können’. 46 It has been suggested that Zechendorf had mostly probably been in direct contact with Ratke, but this claim is tenuous since it was based on no more than the fact that Strasbourg

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and Frankfurt were among the places where Zechendorf had correspondents: S. Georgi, ‘Das Bemühen von Johann Zechendorf um neue Formen der Fremdsprachenausbildung’, in Fremdsprachenausbildung in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. K. Hengst (Zwickau, 1986), pp. 60–71 (p. 66). 47 If one browses through the entries under ‘Comenius, J. A.’ in the card catalogue of old books in the Ratsschulbibliothek Zwickau, one is reminded by a small handwritten note in pencil of the significance of the collection accumulated by Daum: ‘Orbis Pictus, Nürnberg 1658, einziges Exemplar in der DDR!’. The exclamation mark is indeed warranted, as this volume, the first edition of Komenský’s most famous work, was already rare enough in the nineteenth century for a detailed description of it to have been included in the first issue of the Mitteilungen der Comenius Gesellschaft: E. Pappenheim, ‘Die erste Ausgabe des Orbis Pictus, Nürnberg, Michael Endter 1658’, Mitteilungen der Comenius-Gesellschaft 1 (1892), 57–63. 48 The Philologia section of Daum’s catalogue of his private collection of books included twentyone works by Komenský in octavo. Noteworthy are three copies of works printed in Leszno: the Lexicon januale (1650) and a Grammatica, a work that does not appear in J. Müller’s bibliography of works published during Komenský’s lifetime. The catalogue also contains a volume the title of which is given as Joh.Amos Comeny Didactica Dissertatio de Sermonis Latini Studio:Vratisl. 1638. This work, actually entitled De sermonis latini studio, per vestibulum, januam, palatium et thesauros Latinitatis, is declared on the title-page to have been completed in Breslau in 1637, but was in fact printed in Leszno in 1638. Only one Leszno edition of one of Komenský’s works exists in the Berlin Staatsbibliothek (Spiegel Gutter Obrigkeit (1636)), and not a single one in the whole of the United Kingdom. Daum also owned a copy of the first edition of the Janua linguarum reseratae Vestibulum, published in Leipzig in 1635 – this was the book’s first edition, signed as having been completed in 1633 in Lissa/Leszno and appearing under that year and location in Daum’s catalogue. RSB Zwickau, 2002/8°/49, Vols 1–3 and 2002/8°/50, Vols 1–3, Bibliothekskatalog Christian Daum, ‘ca. 1675’–1687, 17 December 17. 49 For Comenius’ system of books see Schaller, Pädagogik des Johann Amos Comenius, pp. 295–336. 50 Reber, J. A. Comenius und seine Beziehungen. 51 RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Sextus, Zwickau, end of Janunary/ beginning of February 1652 [no shelfmark]. Daum’s correspondence with Petrus Colbovius, beginning in the autumn of 1651, is of special interest to the history of pedagogy, as it concerned the prime document on which Kvacˇala based his attempt to prove early enthusiasm for Comenian pedagogy in Middle Germany. Colbovius’ Sendbrief, which has survived in manuscript among the papers of Wolfgang Ratke in Gotha – to which, apart from its pedagogical content, the work has no direct connection  – constitutes a detailed appraisal of Comenian pedagogy, albeit based only on the the Janua linguarum reserata, the Vestibulum, the Didactica dissertatio and the Methodus linguarum novissima. One letter written by Colbovius directly to Daum, as well as the lengthy message sent to him through Bertram, survive. Colbovius appears first to have written to Daum around November 1651, as a letter concept of Daum’s to Colbovius, dated 29 November 1651, is extant. Kvacˇala had assumed the Sendbrief to have been published at Colbovius’ expense in an unknown location. Hofmann disputed this, assuming rather that the Anweisungen an den Drucker that precede the Gotha manuscript of the Sendbrief were added as part of an attempt on Colbovius’ part to find a printer outside Leipzig – an attempt that appears, however, to have been in vain. In the light of Daum’s correspondence, it seems that Hofmann was correct. Colbovius tried to have the Sendbrief published outside Leipzig, at least at Melchior Göpner’s workshop, for which Daum was acting as a proofreader, and possibly also elsewhere. A. S. Ross, ‘The Colbovius Sendbrief and the reception of Comenian pedagogy in Saxony’, in Chocholová, Pánková and Steiner, Johannes Amos Comenius, pp. 134–41. 52 For the general dearth of primary sources documenting what books pupils read and how they were taught see M. Doerfel, ‘Lateinarbeiten der Kulmbacher Lateinschule: Ein seltener Fund’, Mitteilungen und Materialien 37 (1994), 120–7.

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53 St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 340, Denominatio. Derer bey der Stadtschulen zu Zwickaw in Oster Examin: Ao. 1652 befundtenen Schülern, vndt was sie auff bevorstehendter Promotion, darzu Gott gnadte, glück vndt Seegen geben vor bücher bitten, vndt bekommen, 1652. 54 This erroneous assumption still appears in the recent, and otherwise very useful, G. Michel, M. W. Fischer, M. Strasser and G. Hartung, ‘Die Utopie einer christlichen Gesellschaft’, in Die Philosophie des 17. Jahrhunderts, Vol. 4: Das Heilige Römische Reich deutscher Nation, Nordund Ostmitteleuropa, ed. H. Holzhey, W. Schmidt-Biggemann and V. Mudroch (Basel, 2001), pp. 147–234 (p. 156). 55 E. Schwabe, ‘Der Methodiker Johannes Rhenius (1574–1639): Ein Beitrag zur Entwicklungsgeschichte von Melanchthons lateinischer Grammatik’, Zeitschrift für Geschichte der Erziehung und des Unterrichts 6 (1916), 1–42 (p. 20); a few years later, Rhenius continued his work on Terence, this time however without any co-operation with Ratke. 56 Ibid., pp. 20–1. Alterations to the original text appeared in scores of volumes of annotations. These Compendia, the first of which appeared during Melanchthon’s lifetime with his personal stamp of approval, further added to the grammar’s bulkiness and impracticality. 57 Ibid., p. 24. What began as a genuine attempt at reform of the accessibility and utility of the grammar for teaching purposes was soon caught up in partisan disputes concerning vested interests of the expanding Saxon market for school textbooks and, closely tied to this, the academic credibility of the competing factions. In this context, Rhenius’ attempts at providing a workable alternative to the Melanchthonian grammar failed, the finished product being no less convoluted, and neither structurally different nor more accessible. 58 On the Rhenian tri-partite system as an influence on Comenius’ method in the division of instructional material, see Schaller, Pädagogik des Johann Amos Comenius, pp. 233–4. As Schwabe has shown, Rhenius’ earlier work was pillaged ruthlessly by none other than his opponent in the ‘grammatical war’, Erasmus Schmid, for his own reworking of Melanchthon’s grammar, which first appeared in 1621. Divided into sections designated *, + and ∆, the material of Melanchthon’s grammar had in this edition finally been reorganised into divisions for ‘Incipientes’, ‘Medii’ and ‘Provectiores’.With hindsight, the tediousness of Rhenius’ attempt to find linguistic mistakes was not what the work had needed to be turned into something that could be useful to teachers and students at all levels. Rather, what made Schmid’s reworking a run-away success was the reorganisation of the existing material – which, admittedly, remained riddled with linguistic misconceptions – along the lines of Rhenius’ works from the 1610s. 59 Schwabe, ‘Der Methodiker Johannes Rhenius’, p. 23. 60 Ibid., p. 15. 61 Beck, ‘Stundenplan’; St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 15, b, Rechnungen der Schulbibliothek 1594–1614. 62 The presence of Plateanus’ book is peculiar, as Zechendorf had noted thirty years earlier in the introduction to his LATINAE LINGVAE addiscende PRAECOGNITA vera that the Formas were out of print. They were so hard to obtain that their scarcity warranted the publication of an alternative textbook. 63 Kordes, Wolfgang Ratke. 64 Both a Latin and the only bilingual edition are held at the Ratsschulbibliothek: C. Helwig, Familiaria Colloquia, autoritate Superiorum selecta & adornata à Christophoro Helvico Doctore & Professore. Pro Scholis Patriis. Jam verò consensu Autoris Germanicè reddita à Nonnullis Praeceptoribus Classicis. Editio secunda correctior. (Giessen, 1621); C. Helwig, Familiaria Colloquia, autoritate Superiorum selecta & adornata à Christophoro Helvico Doctore & Professore. Pro Scholis Patriis. Jam verò consensu Autoris Germanicè reddita à Nonnullis Praeceptoribus Classicis. Editio Nova post Septimam longè aprioribus omnibus etiam in Germanica Versione correctior. Cum Privilegio Elector. Saxon. ad Duodecennium. (Zwickau, 1662). 65 RSB Zwickau, Br.385.14, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Hersbruck, 8 November 1654: ‘Daß er gedencket, Herr Zechendorff seye im Carlsbad gewesen, hat mich von Hertzen erfreuet: Denn, 5. Tag nach meinem nähren und hoffentlich gekrigten Brief, ein Greßlitzer Kind,

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Namens Georg Sporn, (so seinem Vorgeben nach, anitzo Rector zur Weiden, unter dem Fürsten von Sultzbach, seyn soll, und sonst bey mir, seiner geringen erudition halber, ein Schlechter gilt) in Gegenwart meines einen Collegä, Cantoris, vor gewiß gesagt, er war vor 5. oder fast mehr Monaten (da er in Zwickau zu verrichten gehabt) mit seiner Leich gangen, und ich ihm (ob mir schon vom herzen nach nichts zu wissen gethan worden) diß Falls Glauben würde.’ 66 G. S. Peisker, Dreyfache Ehren-Seule, Welche Dem ... Herrn Johann Zechendorffen, Weitberühmten Philologo, und der Stadt-Schulen allhier zu Zwickau ins 45tzigste Jahr mit Ruhm und Ehren gewesenen Rectori ... (Zwickau, 1662): ‘in dem bey herbey kommenden Alter die Kräffte und die Gesundheit ie länger ie mehr ab/ die Schwachheit aber und Krankheit ie länger ie mehr zugenommen/ so gar/ daß sonderlich groß Hauptweh/ sausen und brausen vor den Ohren/ Schwindel/ und dergleichen/ ihn also verderbet/ daß ihm das Gehör abgeleget/ und ob er sich schon durch Gottes Gnade seines Gesichts/ bis an sein Ende/ wohl gebrauchen können/ hat er dennoch umb itzt ermeldter und anderer Unvermögenheit willen/ nicht ausgehen, noch sein Ampt/ wie zuvor/ verrichten können/ bis er endlich jüngst verwichenen 5. Februarii mit einem Febre catarrhali oder Fluß-Fieber behafftet/ und davon gantz Lagerhafftig worden/ weil ihm die Flüsse vom Haupt starck auff die Brust gefallen/ und ihme/ wegen verletzung der Lufftröhre und Halses/ kurtzen Athem und grosse Hertzens-Beschwerung verursachet/ daß er auch von Speisen und Artzney/ ob gleich solche von seinem Schwager/ dem Herrn Stadt=Physico, Herrn D. Zacharia-Nicolao Götsio, treulich verordnet/ nichts zu sich nehmen und brauchen können/ daß man allen Ansehen nach vermercket/ er auch bey sich selbsten wohl befunden/ daß sein Ende vorhanden/ in deme die Kranckheit dergestalt überhand genommen/ daß er den 17. Febr. Abends nach 7. Uhr/ in wahrem Glauben an seinen Erlöser Jesum Christum/ sanfft und selig/ ohne einiges zucken und Ungeberde/ eingeschlaffen.’ 67 On Zwickau superintendents in the seventeenth century, see R. Grünberg, ed., Die Parochien und Pfarrer der Evang.-Luth. Landeskirche Sachsens. (1539–1939), 2 vols (Freiberg, 1939–40). 68 St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 15, b, Rechnungen der Schulbibliothek 1594–1614: ‘Und weil nicht zu leugnen, daß umb des seel. verstorbenen Rectoris, Hn M. Johann Zechendörffers 85. Iährigen alters, langwäriger unbäßlichkeit und abnahm der Kräffte willen, die Schule biß anhero ineffectu gleichsam sine capite und directore gestanden, und dennnoch des seel. Hn Rectoris vorigter meriten halber, bey seinem Leben, enderung zutreffen, sich nicht wohl gebühret, allerhand eigensinnige informationes eingerißen, So soll unßer bestalter und beruffener Rector von allen und ieden Praeceptoribus der lateinischen Schulen, von dem ConRectore an, biß zum untersten genaue erforschung und erkundigung einziehen, was vor Lectiones und Authores Sie publice und privatim biß anhero mit der lieben Jugend tractiret, wie sie solche den gewißen tagen und stunden nach, eingetheilet, was sie darbey vor einen methodum geführet, nachmahls der enderung und beßerung halber, sein wohlvernünfftiges gut achten, wie es künfftig gehalten werden könte, eröffnen, und weiterer anordnung oder approbation seiner judicy erwartten.’ 69 Ibid.: ‘/13. Hat sich zugetragen, daß eine zeithero die publica institutio fast vor nichts zuachten gewesen,Welcherwegen doch, und do mit auch dem armuth, außer absonderlicher ferneren belohnung zur erudition gelangen können, die publica salaria angeordnet, Sondern nun ein ieder dahin gesehen, Wie Er durch solche nachläßige und laulichte information, desto mehr privat Schüler, derer Eltern es etwan absonderlich zubelohnen, Vermögen, an sich bringen können, und also der gar arme zurück bleiben, gleichsamb desperat werden, und wie gute Lust Er auch sonsten zum studiren getragen, demselben valediciren müßen, Derowegen wollen wir, daß dieser publica imformatio mit beßern ernst und fleiß als biß anhero geschehen, fortgestellet und solches bey suspendirung ab officio oder gänzlicher einziehung des salary auf vorgehendes erkäntnüs des Consistory, biß zur Zeit der Verbeßerung, nicht anders gehalten werden solle.’ 70 Ibid.: ‘/8. Dargegen ist denen Schul Collegis, welche dem Herren Rectori alle zueiander ehre und folge zu leisten schuldig unverbothen, do sie Viel oder weniges, so zu erbauung der

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lieben Jugend aufnahmb der Schulen dienlich, durch Gottes gnade, auszusinnen Vermöchten, selbige mit dem Herren Rectore privatim zu communiciren seine gedancken darüber einzuhohlen, und so Er mit ihm einig, kann der Herren Patronen und Inspectorum ratification, oder endlicher Schluß eingehohlet werden, Nur daß man sich hüte, vor der Zeit und ohne vorhergehende approbation sich einem selbst ausgenommen, noch nicht ad praxin gebrachten werck hervor zuthun und die MittCollegen dadurch zu verkleinern.’ 71 Ibid.: ‘/12. Insonderheit ist unß mißfällig gewesen, und noch, das wieder Unßeren willen, die bey den untersten classen gewöhnliche vocabula, oder wie es ezliche nennen, radices eingeführet werden wollen, Do dann begeben, daß die arme jugend, vermittelst gebrauchung eines hierzu absonderlich praescribirten methodi, oder gewißer Regul, allererst aus den obsoletis usitata vocabula sich selbsten machen, und nachmahhls ad usum bringen sollen, dahin sich ihrer zarte ingenia doch nicht einmahl erstrecket, sie die zeit verderbet, do sie doch immittelst sich ohne groses, nach sinnen eine gute copiam usitatorum vocabulorum compariren können, dahero dieser Mißbrauch gänzlichen zu caßiren, und andere, einer und der anderen Claß, bequemer Vocabul bücher, und respective iezo unterschiedlich in druck verfertigte Colloquia einzuführen.’ 72 Ibid.: ‘/14. Publice und privatim sonderlich in der 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. Claß, sollen einerley Authores tractiret, was etwan Publice wegen kurze der Zeit ermangelt, privatim suppliret, durch exempla ad usum gebracht, die selbs eigene unapprobirte erfindungen aber abgeschafft werden, andergestalt und durch überhäuffung der Authoren weder der tractation an und vor sich selbsten, noch in perfectionirung der Discipuln, eine gnüge geschehen können, Sondern nur die ingenia confundiret, ohne noth beschweret, und dermaßen irre gemachet, und in einen solchen Zweiffel gelaßen werden, daß sie nicht wißen, welchen Authorem Sie imitiren oder verlaßen sollen, Dannenhero Die vielleicht, zumalen ungleicher authoren, biß zu einem stattsamen judicio krafft welches Sie so dann nechst Gott sich selbsten helffen können, zu versparen.’ 73 Hotson, ‘Philosophical pedagogy’, pp. 44–5. 74 St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 15, b, Rechnungen der Schulbibliothek 1594–1614: ‘/15. Wie dann auf solche maß ganz hinfället und zu caßiren stehet, daß biß anhero publice und privatim in Logicis zweyerley Authores auf einmahl, als Ramisten und Aristotelici gebraucht worden, Wollen demnach, daß, do in der Vor alters gebrauchte Loßiq ieziger Zeit nicht sufficient befunden würde, Daß ein ander an deßen statt, so die principia Aristotelica allerdings beobachtet, unß, und den Inspectorn vorgschlagen, und nach befindung ertheilten Consens eingeführet, im übrigen sich aller hiernwieder lauffenden neuerungen, gänzlichen enthalten werde.’ 75 Ibid.: ‘/16. Die lateinische und griechische Sprach, iedoch nach capacität der iugend, soll in unßerer Stadt Schulen principaliter getrieben, die Discipuli continuierlich darinnen geübet, die orientalischen aber, biß in die oberste Class und vor die ienigen, so sich dem studio Theologia zuergeben gedencken, |: solchen ehe Sie auf eine Academi sich wenden, eine notitiam bey zubringen:| verspart werden.’ 76 St A Zwickau, III X 120, Ratsakten, Mauritii 1662, 3 February1663. 77 St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 15, b, Rechnungen der Schulbibliothek 1594–1614: ‘Dialecticam et Rhetoricam Lossy ob insufficientiam missam fecimus: Contra placitam multis Logicam Scharffy sive Manuale, ceu vocant, et Rhetoricam cum Oratoria Dieterici pueris, quod maximam partem jam comparatas possederint, hisce succedere jussimus ad exemplum non unius in Viciniä scholä.’ 78 Ibid.: ‘Arithmeticam amoveris nescio an è re sit, cujus utilitas per totam vitam humanam latissimè patet: ignorantia autem multis disciplinis, ne facile capessentur, obstaculo est. Felices nostros discipulos, si sua bona norint, qui fideli et perspicuo ad eam addiscendam manuductore utuntur. Contra nos olim infelices, quibus nolentibus – volentibus tanto fuit carendum commodo.’

4 The pupils: educational strategies and social mobility

Pupils in the Holy Roman Empire’s Lutheran regions were spoilt for choice: at the more ambitious end of the spectrum, teacher-scholars vied with each other to attract pupils and promised esoteric topics and teaching methods not available elsewhere, while lesser schools competed by charging less and by promising a faster and less gruelling transition through their more modest curricula. Yet how did pupils negotiate these options, and to what uses did they put their education? We still know very little about the pupils of early modern Europe. This is surprising for two reasons. First, the quantitative analysis of serial sources, especially the reconstruction of individual educational careers on the basis of matriculation records, makes it possible to find out more about this group of European children and youth than about just any other.1 Second, the exploitation of matriculation records is already well established among historians of universities, the last forty years having seen a concentrated effort to reconstruct students’ geographical mobility, their matriculation behaviour, their social background and their future careers on the basis of university matriculation records.2 Pupils have, on the other hand, received nothing like the attention that early modern students have.3 Pupils and their parents have not been examined as active agents within the process of change that German education underwent between the Reformation and the widespread introduction of obligatory schooling in the late eighteenth and nineteenth century.Yet the prevalent focus on law-givers relegates education to a marginal role within early modern society, belying the fact that it was tugged at and fiercely contested by all parties that played a role within it: councils, consistories, pedagogical writers, teachers and, last but not least, its consumers.4 Education mattered to communities for a wide range of reasons, but mostly because it provided an avenue into the learned professions. ‘Social mobility’ is a loaded term, as it has been one of the main concerns of the social sciences since Pitirim Sorokin published his famous study of the same name in 1927. Since then, the theoretical

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apparatus defining various forms of social mobility has become immense. In this chapter, the understanding of social mobility is rather basic, meaning vertical, transgenerational professional mobility – that is, changes of profession from father to son.5 Anthony La Vopa’s seminal study on poor students and clerical careers in eighteenth-century Germany raised important questions on social mobility through education, the author finding that the influx of sons from a wide range of backgrounds into faculties of theology and law was in fact substantial. La Vopa also suggested that the hurdles boys encountered at German schools on their way into the learned professions were more substantial than at university (with the exception of Württemberg, where a centralised examination restricted access to the territory’s universities), schools therefore playing a more important role than universities in selecting boys for the learned professions.Yet La Vopa based his assumptions on university matriculation and stipendiary records, dealing thereby with the result of selection at school, not the process itself. As a result, he gave prominence above all to charity and institutionalised methods of helping poor pupils and students rather than the more informal educational strategies that pupils and their parents employed.6 In this chapter, I wish to make two interrelated points. First, the reconstruction of pupils’ careers reveals that a wide range of options was available to pupils who wished to assemble their own educational profiles and cut both the length and cost of their preparatory education. Second, the increasing overall percentage of pupils at preparatory schools in the wake of the Thirty Years War and the marked presence of sons from non-educated backgrounds among Zwickau pupils add extra credit to Volker Press’ description of the period as one of increased social mobility and professional opportunity.7 This chapter suggests that the history of schooling cannot be written without taking the educational strategies that pupils and their parents employed into account. On the basis of the Zwickau Latin school’s exceptionally detailed matriculation records, this chapter first addresses general trends of pupil numbers in the seventeenth century. It then goes on to discuss the local origin of pupils and whether the peregrinatio academica was matched by a peregrinatio scholastica. Finally, by examining the educational strategies that pupils and their parents employed alongside evidence gleaned from parish registers, education as an avenue for social mobility is discussed. Records and methodology Pupils in early modern Germany were under no formal obligation to stay at one school and follow a particular programme of study through from beginning to end, and we should not be surprised that pupils picked and chose from

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the offer of early modern schools. It is, however, entirely a different matter to reconstruct how they planned their education and how they assembled their personal educational profile. Historians of education have relied on matriculation records for over 100 years, yet only since the 1970s have their methods progressed from mere counting of pupil numbers to sophisticated quantitative analysis, thanks primarily to the ready availability of computers.8 The most thorough exploitation to date of matriculation records as a source on pupils’ educational strategies was carried out by historians associated with the Ecole des hautes études en sciences sociales (EHESS) in the 1970s and 1980s. Heavily influenced by sociological studies of twentieth-century French schooling, the studies carried out at the EHESS were above all concerned with the tracing of the institutionalisation of social inequality described most famously by Pierre Bourdieu.9 Yet     the method of reconstructing a significant number of individual pupils’ careers is useful not only within the teleological preoccupation with the longue durée of the formation of social elites that has been so central to French historiography of education. The serial evidence of matriculation records allows us to assess who the pupils of early modern German schools were, how they took advantage of the curriculum and what benefit they derived from education. In other words, matriculation records, if exploited the right way, can serve to reintroduce the element of choice into the story of early modern schooling.10 The survival in series of the detailed matriculation records of the Latin school’s pupils that Christian Daum compiled for the years 1662–87 is especially fortunate for this purpose. For Daum, the matriculation records were as useful, if not more so, for his networking within the Republic of Letters as for the effective running of the school.11 University matriculation lists of the period can by no means be taken as comprehensive records of all students who attended lectures at a given institution through the course of the year, since students entered their names themselves. Daum’s notes, on the other hand, are far more comprehensive, since they did not require the initiative of the student to appear at a matriculation ceremony and were kept continuously through the year.12 For the purposes of this chapter, a total of 770 careers of pupils were reconstructed for the years 1662 till 1682.13 General trends of pupil numbers: decline and a new beginning Peter Schumann, Zwickau’s main chronicler of the Reformation period, had claimed that by the end of the fifteenth century some 900 boys attended the school.The Zwickau council also reported a similar figure to the elector Johann

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Number of pupils

250 200 Total number 150 100 50 0 1616 1636 1656 1676 1696 1716 1736 1756 1776 1796 1816 Year

Figure 20  Total number of pupils, 1616–1834. Friedrich in 1546. These figures were, however, most probably considerably inflated.14 In 1578, the visitation protocols for electoral Saxony recorded a total of ‘about 400 pupils’ at the Zwickau Latin school, making it the school with the largest recorded number of pupils in the territory. It needs to be remembered that no reliable data exists on how many pupils went to school in Germany in the early modern period and, therefore, comparisons necessarily contain a fair amount of guesswork. Whether Zwickau in actual fact catered for more pupils than any other school in Saxony, including the school of St Nicholas in Leipzig (which employed more teachers), cannot be said. What is certain is that the Zwickau Latin school was among a handful of large and prestigious civic schools that overshadowed the scores of schools in smaller towns generally having fewer than 100 and often no more than a handful of pupils. Compared to schools in the rest of Europe, the Zwickau Latin school was certainly a large institution: Shrewsbury School, for example – probably the largest school in England at the time – counted 360 pupils in 1581.15 The fragmentary matriculation records that exist prior to Daum’s rectorship suggest that almost 300 pupils attended the school before the Thirty Years War, and that numbers dropped drastically as a result of the plague in 1632/33 and then slowly rose again to an average of 150 pupils during the 1650s, all the while being subject to considerable fluctuation from one year to the next (Figure 20).16 While continuing to fluctuate during Daum’s rectorship, numbers rose to an average 165 per annum including the drastic drop in numbers during the plague years of 1681/82. The intake of 242 pupils in 1665 was only

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to be reached again in 1866 by the Gymnasium, which succeeded the Latin school as Zwickau’s preparatory institution at a time when Zwickau’s population was ten times larger than in the 1660s.17 Indeed, the years after the Thirty Years War witnessed the highest ratio of pupils in relation to the total of inhabitants in the school’s history. Since Zwickau lost two-thirds of its population during the war and did not reach pre-war levels again until the early nineteenth century, the rapid increase of pupil numbers meant that we get a ratio of 1:13 for the centre and 1:15 for the whole town (182 pupils to approximately 2,700 inhabitants in 1650). By comparison, at the height of pre-modern population levels during the first half of the sixteenth century, the ratio of pupils of the school to the total population of Zwickau most probably was approximately 1:18 (about 400 pupils to 7,300 inhabitants).18 The changing relationship between the numbers of pupils and total population in Zwickau after the ThirtyYears War mirrors the development of student numbers at the universities of the empire.While approximately 4,600 students matriculated each year before the war, this number declined drastically, and then rose again to an average of 4,200 during the 1650s. In other words, student numbers recovered very quickly despite the overall demographic decline of the population. The matriculation records in Zwickau show that even in a town that had been among the worst hit in terms of demographic decline, the recovery of the number of pupils could be as swift as for the universities.19 The peregrinatio scholastica Mobility was one of the defining features of medieval and early modern education. Many factors  – financial, confessional and curriculum-related  – had an influence on pupils’ choices of where to go to school.20 The willingness to travel and the ability to pay for it were basic requirements for any boy or young man who wished to get an education. The need to travel was even greater for students, who often came from regions without any universities, or ones dominated by another confession. Mobility was, however, also facilitated by the relative compatibility of curricula and the fact that Latin was the lingua franca at all European universities, both factors supporting an academic internationalism that encouraged students to study abroad and to change universities relatively effortlessly. When ideals of a well-rounded noble education came to include university study in the early sixteenth century, the ‘academic pilgrimage’ (peregrinatio academica) also became a staple component of well-heeled noblemen’s education. Later on, when provisions for noble education improved across Europe, stays at foreign universities became integrated into the Grand Tours of the late seventeenth and eighteenth century, and became minor features

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among the largely aesthetic agenda of visiting European courts and collections of artefacts. At the other end of the spectrum, ragged beggar-students populated medieval and early modern folk-songs and popular stories. The image of the semi-criminal, travelling student on the margins of society has, however, recently been contested by historians, and has been supplanted with that of a small number of privileged students who tended to travel late in their university careers, letters of recommendation in hand and travel money in their pockets, in order to acquire particular knowledge not available at their Alma Mater. Most students in the medieval and early modern period did not change universities frequently, but stayed at the closest university that catered to their confession.21 Though the extent to which early modern pupils travelled for pre-university education is not as well documented by contemporary accounts and has received less attention from historians than the peregrinatio academica, it is quite clear that pupils were frequently mobile. In the Middle Ages, they often followed their itinerant teachers from one monastery or school to the next, well before the establishment of universities in the later Middle Ages added students to the group of ‘intellectual vagrants’.22 English grammar schools, schools funded directly by the Government of Protestant territories, as well as many Jesuit schools, were boarding establishments, a necessary feature of elite schools meant to cater for whole territories. Boarding houses were also an inheritance of the monastic tradition of these schools, which often occupied former nunneries and priories, and within which teachers and pupils adhered to a communal and celibate lifestyle.23 Apart from a few schools in commercial centres, most civic schools in Germany did not have formal provisions for foreign pupils but certainly attracted a large number of outsiders. As we have seen, large institutions such as the Zwickau Latin school attracted enough ‘foreigners’ for the provision of lodging to become a reliable source of income for teachers and local home-owners.24 While pupils often went to school away from their home-towns, as long as there are no comparative studies of school’s matriculation records it is impossible to say how frequently pupils changed schools in early modern Germany. Such a study is still sorely needed  – especially so that differences between Catholic and Protestant regions can become apparent – yet the Zwickau records do contain enough information to suggest that pupils’ mobility followed certain patterns. Of the 495 pupils for whom we have a place of origin, 325 came from Zwickau (Figure 21). If the pupils for whom no place of origin is given are assumed to have been from Zwickau, the disparity between local and foreign pupils is even higher, with 600 out of a total of 770 being locals. Except in a

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Places from which pupils were drawn, including pupils from unnamed localities assumed to be from Zwickau

5.3%

0.4% 1.5% 2.8%

5%

Zwickau distance from Zwickau < 20 km distance from Zwickau > 20 km < 50 km distance from Zwickau > 50 km < 100 km distance from Zwickau > 100 km unidentified foreign locality

84.9%

Figure 21  Places from which pupils were drawn. handful of cases, even the ‘foreigners’ were from Saxony or close-by Thuringia. The absolute majority of ‘foreign’ pupils came from the immediate surroundings of Zwickau. Of the 101 ‘foreign’ pupils from a total of 63 localities, 36 were from a radius of up to 20 km from Zwickau, 38 from a radius of between 20 and 50 km, 20 from a radius of 50 to 100 km, and 7 from further afield (over 100 km). Of these 101 boys, 49 came from the mining communities of the Erzgebirge immediately south of Zwickau. Only a handful of pupils from outside Zwickau appeared in the lowest forms; most were in the higher forms, despite their much smaller overall size. In the higher forms, there were as many from outside Zwickau as from within. Indeed, in the Tertia and the Prima/ Secunda, those from outside Zwickau were actually in the majority. As a general rule, pupils enrolled in the lowest forms were therefore almost without exception Zwickauers. Also, the higher a form a foreign pupil was in, the more likely he was to come from further away. As we have seen, a total of seven pupils came from places more than 100 km distant from Zwickau. Some came from other regions of Saxony, as did, for instance, Andreas Grempler (from Wittenberg). Two pupils came from Brandenburg, while another pupil, Philipp Schwenck, came from Frankfurt am Main. By far the most distant place of origin was that of Johannes Hanckel, who was listed as ‘Transsilvanus’.25 The fact that Zwickau was part of Albertine Saxony did not dissuade pupils from other Protestant territories from attending the school. The actual distance to Zwickau was the

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most decisive factor in attracting pupils, as the largest group from other territories came from the Thuringian principalities close by. When choosing a school, pupils in the highest forms were, therefore, frequently mobile, and were prepared to cross territorial boundaries if they wanted to study at a particular school, but were relatively unlikely to travel further than 100 km from home.26 But why did pupils go to school in another town? As we have seen, ‘foreign’ pupils came to Zwickau later in their school careers. Already the stark difference in size between the lowest two and the higher forms suggests that a dichotomy existed between the pupils of these forms. In order to find out more about these two groups and how they engaged with the school’s educational offer, we need to examine their careers at the school in detail in conjunction with the school’s curriculum. Enrolment behaviour and educational choices The reconstruction of individual pupils’ careers shows that, rather than progressing through the carefully devised curriculum, pupils made use of only parts of it in a highly selective manner. Only a small minority of pupils went through all of the forms at the school; most boys left the school long beforehand. In fact, the absolute majority of pupils only ever had experience of one or two forms at the school. The higher the form a pupil was in, the more likely it was that he came from outside Zwickau, and that he had studied at another school before coming there. It was unusual for a pupil to have had a continuous career at the school, and repeating a form was the rule rather than the exception. In fact, so common was it to change schools that, out of the sample of 770 pupils, only seven who had begun their school education in Zwickau also finished there!27 Where did these pupils go when they disappeared off the Zwickau records? In the matriculation records, Daum frequently referred to pupils either having arrived from other schools or having left Zwickau to attend school elsewhere. In thirty-four cases, he recorded the locality of pupils who left his school prematurely, pupils tending to move to schools that were within a 100 km radius, only one pupil venturing as far as Brunswick.28 Naumburg and Altenburg were the favourites, Annaberg, Freiberg, Gera and Schneeberg following close behind. With the exception of the Landesschule Gera (where only two pupils enrolled), these schools were all civic institutions.29 Zwickau does not seem to have competed directly with the Saxon and Thuringian territorial schools (Fürsten- und Landesschulen), competition over pupils rather taking place among the Middle German civic Latin schools. There is also no evidence whatsoever

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that pupils crossed into Catholic territories to continue their education. Pupils had such a large number of institutions to choose from in Saxony and neighbouring Thuringia that there was evidently no good reason to stray outside the Lutheran education system. The considerable cost of keeping a boy housed, clothed and fed in another town was also a factor that contributed to the fact that boys seldom stayed at one institution for the whole length of their school education. Narrative sources from other regions in Germany show that parents could often only afford to support their son in another town a couple of years at a time. In his memoir, the Hessian Johannes Grunelius devoted a whole section to complaining about the cost of keeping his son at school during the 1640s and 1650s, and relayed how he was only able to do so because his stepson was prepared to house and feed him. When his stepson moved from Frankfurt to Augsburg, his son needed to change schools, too.30 Another reason that in all probability persuaded pupils to leave was the exceedingly long time it took to finish school in Zwickau, and the abundant choice of other schools in the Middle German area. Many pupils enrolled at university when they were only twelve, thirteen or fourteen years old, though some actually enrolled before they had left school. As we will see later on, by the time a pupil went on to university from Zwickau he was in his early twenties, and therefore considerably older than the average German student of the time. This was partly the case because other schools had fewer forms, and partly because challenging end-of-year exams stood in the way of pupils progressing swiftly through the six forms.31 Educational profiles Just how different pupils’ approaches to exploiting the curriculum were is easiest to understand if the careers of three are examined alongside each other (Figure 22). David Thym’s career at the school, with its uninterrupted progression from the Septima to the Prima/Secunda, gives us a clear indication why most pupils chose to change schools at one time or another: it simply took too long to progress through all the forms in Zwickau. Thym spent two years each in the Septima, the Sexta, the Quinta and the Quarta, and then four years in the Tertia and three in the Prima/Secunda. Altogether, it took him fifteen years to get through the six-year curriculum, even though his stays in the individual forms were not of above average length. Gregorius Brüschman’s career was two years shorter, helped by shrewd changes from one school to the next and back again. He was first enrolled in the Septima for a year in 1662, then reappeared two years later in the Sexta, where

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76

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3 4 5

David Schmid

6 7

Figure 22  Three very different school careers. he stayed for three years. In 1667, he rose to the Quinta, but then disappeared off the records again, only to appear again in 1669, this time as a ‘novice’ in the Quarta, and within a year progressed to the Tertia, where he stayed for another three years. His stint in the Prima/Secunda lasted for two years until he left for Wittenberg. His thirteen-year school education, while by no means short by early modern standards, could presumably have been shortened further had he not returned to Zwickau for the highest forms, through which even the fast pupils progressed more slowly than the lower ones. At the other end of the spectrum was someone like David Schmid, who did not progress beyond the second form (the Sexta), but nonetheless appears on the records of every year from 1662 to 1669. Enrolled in the Septima in

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140

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80

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60

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40

20

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Figure 23  Sizes of forms. 1662 and 1663, he then advanced to the Sexta in 1664, staying there for one further year until reverting to the Septima again, where he was still enrolled in 1669. Though rather unusual in the duration Schmid spent in the lowest two forms, he belonged to the majority of pupils who dropped out of the school at this stage and did not progress to the higher forms. If the pupils’ matriculation behaviour is considered alongside the curriculum, the sudden drop in numbers after the Sexta becomes understandable (Chapter 3, Table 1). The Septima was almost completely devoted to German reading and writing, the Sexta still maintaining several lessons in German. Those pupils who attended only the first two forms therefore appear to have been interested in learning to read and write in German, but not interested in staying on for the classical studies part of the curriculum (Figure 23). In other words, the student body was divided the way it was because the curriculum itself was divided. One segment was meant to teach basic reading and writing skills, and the other was designed to prepare pupils for university. Jan Amos Komenský is commonly credited with being the first to put into writing the pedagogical advantages of teaching in one form both those boys who wished to learn no more than reading and writing in the vernacular, and those who would go on to learn Latin. In fact, in Zwickau as in other Protestant Latin schools, teaching vernacular reading and writing

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skills in the lowest forms before moving on to Latin reading and writing was common practice from at least the mid-sixteenth century onwards. For a civic Latin school, this was a way of killing two birds with one stone: while the progression from reading in the children’s mother tongue to reading in Latin had widely been found to work well in practice, it also allowed teachers to broaden the appeal of their school and to attract pupils who wished only to learn rudimentary reading and writing skills. By so doing, Latin schools could compete directly with local German schools in the large market of entry-level education.32 The age and social background of the pupils Civic Latin schools have traditionally been described as elite institutions geared to preparing the sons of patricians for university.33 The extent to which social mobility was possible through education in early modern Germany is still a question of debate. While some studies emphasise the fact that top positions in the clergy and in the regional administrations rarely went to anyone from humble backgrounds, others point to slower, less dramatic changes in social status that could, over several generations, gradually improve a family’s social standing.34 But were Latin school curricula only useful to a small percentage of boys from elite backgrounds? Who were these pupils? How old were they? Were they similar to each other in both age and background, or were there divergences? These are questions that the matriculation records do not answer, apart from the fact that the background of the pupils was civic, and that the nobility did not send their sons to school in Zwickau. Though the Bose family funded the construction of a boarding house, fit to house ten noble pupils and their servants, in 1710–12, and there was talk of refashioning the school into a noble academy (Ritterakademie), nothing ever came of it.35 For the purpose of determining pupils’ age and social background it was necessary to consult parish registers in addition to the matriculation records.36 From 1669 onwards, Daum split the pupils of the Septima into three groups according to proficiency: the Abcdary, the Firmani, and the Duces. The sample used in this study for reconstructing the background of pupils in the Septima consists of the fifty-nine Firmani of 1669, since their enrolment behaviour was most typical of pupils enrolled in the lowest forms. They are likely to have already spent a year or two at the school, but would not necessarily have stayed for more than a further two years, or have progressed further than the Sexta.37 Of the sample of fifty-nine names of Firmani, it was possible to recover fortyeight in the baptism records (Figure 24).

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Professons of fathers of Firmani, 1669 2% 2% 20%

17%

4% 4%

15%

2% 11% 2%

21%

cloth production metal-working trades other artisan trade (bakers, wheelers ...) cloth dealers town/church employees printers publicans labourers unknown farmers ‘Hans Heinrich, a Swede, in sin with Sabina Bößwetter’

Figure 24  Professions of fathers of Firmani. The age difference among pupils of the Septima was considerable. The majority of pupils (thirty-eight out of forty-eight) entered the school between the ages of six and nine. While this does suggest that there was a general consensus in Zwickau on the age at which boys should start their education, nothing stopped pupils from entering education much later, as the presence of one sixteen-year-old and three fourteen-year-olds among the Firmani shows. Just under half of the Firmani had previously spent at least a year at the school.38 The remaining pupils had, therefore, progressed beyond the level of the Abcdary in less than a year, though it cannot be said if this was possible without previous education. According to the council minutes, pupils of the lowest forms frequently moved between the German corner schools and the Latin school, and it is also highly likely that some of them received basic teaching at home.39 The baptism records of forty-seven Firmani also included a statement on the profession of the father, according to which the great majority of pupils were from an artisan background. The occupations of the pupils’ fathers actually reflected the distribution of trades among the urban populace fairly accurately.40 Cloth production dominated as the largest single trade, with 20 per cent of the fathers working as artisans in the trade, and a single father working as a cloth-dealer. The proximity to the Erzgebirge is evident, in that 15 per cent of fathers worked as artisans in the metal-working trades in one way or another.41 Men employed in cloth-production and metallurgy accounted for almost half of the overall number of artisan fathers, the rest of the artisans working in various trades, for instance as carpenters, bakers and wheelwrights.

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The next group was that of civic employees, with two scribes, the postman, the town-crier and the cantor of St Catherine’s. Two sons of publicans also feature among the Firmani: Carol Christian Volstädt and Fridrich Heg. Only Johann Seiffart had a farmer for a father (‘Andreas, Weitzenbauer’); Johann’s appearance among the Firmani was the only time he was enrolled at the school. The record of Johann Heinrich Eichhorn’s baptism, which took place at St Mary’s on 10 December 1659, is the most unusual of all. He is recorded as ‘the son of Hans Heinrich, a Swede, in sin with Sabina Bößwetter (father: Urban B., butcher)’.42 As in the lower forms, boys whose fathers worked in the trades were in the majority in the Prima/Secunda.43 Cloth-makers were again the largest group, followed by furriers and bakers, metal-workers and carpenters. One boy’s father was a soap-boiler, and one a roper. A larger percentage of the boys’ fathers were educated in comparison to the lower forms. Of these, the only member of the patriciate was the lawyer Wolfgang Reyher, whose son Wolfgang Andreas would eventually become mayor in Zwickau.44 The rest were lesser civic employees: four scribes, three clerics and two teachers. The son of the messenger from nearby Grünhain, Paul Schilling, also attended the Prima/ Secunda for several years, as did the sons of three labourers (two brewery labourers and one porter (Abläder)). Only one father, the leaseholder Georg Fritzsch, was involved in agriculture. Trajectories and careers What careers did pupils eventually enter? When reconstructing the future careers of early modern students, historians have, quite naturally, focused on careers for which a particular education was a formal or semi-formal requirement, such as the legal profession or Protestant ministry.45 Since the Zwickau Latin school also offered vernacular education, career paths were broader than for students. Judging by the fragmentary information that can be gleaned from burgher registers on the future careers of the pupils, boys who did not progress beyond the Sexta were very likely to enter the trade of their fathers. As we have seen, the predominant trades were related to cloth manufacture and metallurgy.46 Boys often came from families in which several generations had worked within the same trade, and a disproportionate number of artisan fathers whose sons attended the Latin school occupied positions of prominence within their trade. Enrolling their sons at school presumably made sense to higher-echelon artisans, as solid reading and writing skills were of benefit to their sons if they were to take charge of the family business and assume positions of responsibility within their respective guilds.47

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It is hardly surprising that the boys who went to the trouble of progressing to the highest forms are easily located in university matriculation records. The Zwickau pupils limited themselves to the three main Saxon and Thuringian universities: Leipzig, Wittenberg and Jena.48 Leipzig, Germany’s largest university, was the most popular choice since it was also conveniently close to Zwickau. About half as many pupils went to Jena, and fewer still to Wittenberg. None of the pupils appears to have enrolled in Erfurt, which, though also close by, was presumably a dubious choice because of its bi-­confessionality and the abysmal state of its academic affairs by the mid-1600s.49 Interestingly, it was common for pupils to have already been enrolled at university while still pupils in Zwickau. Some boys matriculated at university as many as ten years before they finished school and actually started studying.50 Early matriculation might have made sense for Zwickau pupils because of the legal privileges students enjoyed and because they avoided the hated initiation ritual of academic deposition in which the resident students would subject new arrivals to a wide range of humiliating and often violent rites of passage.51 Since Daum’s matriculation records first and foremost contained information that could be of use to the development of his web of predominantly scholarly contacts, they only contain information on the future careers of pupils who had gone to university. Beyond university, the records contain information on the future careers of a select number of pupils.52 In almost all cases, the boys Daum mentioned had become colleagues of his, which was probably why he made a note of it: ‘now teaches in Zwickau’, or ‘May 1675: has become co-rector in Wittenberg’. It is very likely that Daum knew some of the boys’ fathers, as the note on Johann Philipp Steinbach, who had ‘succeeded his father as Ludimoderator [teacher of the lowest forms] in Stangengrün’ suggests. In other cases, parish registers yield information on their fathers’ professions. Pupils whose fathers were employed in ‘learned’ professions such as scribes, pastors or teachers tended to take up similar lines of work, sons of teachers commonly becoming teachers or pastors. Yet just as common among future teachers or pastors were sons of artisans, such as deacon-to-be Georg Nörner, the son of a soap-boiler, or David Winter, the son of a baker, who became schoolmaster in Wittenberg. While these examples seen in isolation are not sufficient to say for certain whether education was a factor in social mobility in seventeenth-century Saxony, they fit in well with demographic data suggesting that, for future members of ‘learned’ professions at least, it certainly was. The next generation of men in ‘learned’ professions in Saxony often rose into the urban patriciate, most commonly through marriage. Even if employment in the administration of the church or a town did not pay very well, it did afford the bearer significant prestige, and could act as a springboard for the social advancement of the

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next generation. For the investment in education to be viable, however, there needed to be a market for graduates in post-Thirty Years War Germany. This seems to have indeed been the case. The war-time depletion of competent staff was without doubt a factor in this, but the educated professions had always recruited outside their ranks. In Saxony as a whole, only 20 per cent of scribes, ministers and other educated civic and church employees were the sons of men in educated professions between the late sixteenth and early nineteenth century. Of all social groups, this was by far the lowest rate of regeneration from within its own ranks.53 Social mobility into educated professions was, therefore, far more common in early modern Saxony than in France, where Julia and Frijhoff found only rare cases of social mobility that could be linked directly to education.54 Conclusion Examining early modern pupils’ choices in conjunction with school curricula shows first to what extent they picked and chose from the educational offer of schools. Though school curricula were designed to provide a sensible progression from one stage of learning to the next, in practice pupils evidently compared the educational offer of a large number of institutions and approached curricula from the point of view of ‘modules’ rather than as holistic programmes that had to be followed from start to finish. This in turn suggests that the growing number of territorial regulations and ordinances meant to streamline pre-university education could achieve only very limited success.The great majority of schools continued to be funded by local communities, not territorial government, and were dependent on satisfying customer demand in an educational market that was very much defined by oversupply. In the absence of obligatory schooling, only a strong incentive can explain why early modern pupils from diverse social backgrounds went to school and why they and their parents employed a wide range of strategies to make their education affordable. Particularly after the deluge of the Thirty Years War, but also before, the possibility of social mobility into the learned professions provided this incentive. Studies critical of the capacity for education to facilitate social advancement in early modern Germany have focused primarily on the careers and the social background of higher-level state bureaucracy. The social mobility that education made possible was a more subtle kind that in no way compared to the rare meteoric rises some men made in the clergy and the military in the seventeenth century.55 It was a mobility of small steps, which turned cloth-makers’ sons first into students then into village parsons, or metal-­workers’ sons into schoolteachers.

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1 See N. Stargardt, ‘German childhoods: The making of a historiography’, German History 16 (1998), 1–15, esp. 12–14 for an introduction to the sources available to historians of childhood and youth. For studies that have similarly exploited serial evidence produced by civic institutions as a source on children and youth, see the recent historiography on orphanages: J. F. Harrington, The Unwanted Child: The Fate of Foundlings, Orphans, and Juvenile Criminals in Early Modern Germany (Chicago, 2009); T. M. Safley, Charity and Economy in the Orphanages of Early Modern Augsburg (Atlantic Highlands, NJ, 1997);T. M. Safley, Children of the Laboring Poor: Expectation and Experience among the Orphans of Early Modern Augsburg (Leiden, 2005). 2 For a summary of recent findings of quantitative research into student populations, see M. R. Di Simone, ‘Admission’, in Ridder-Symoens, Universities in Early Modern Europe, pp. 285–325; H. d. Ridder-Symoens, ‘Mobility’, in Ridder-Symoens, Universities in the Middle Ages. Heavily influential in this field have been W. Frijhoff, La Société Néerlandaise et ses gradués, 1575–1814: Une recherche sérielle sur le statut des intellectuels (Amsterdam, 1981); and R. L. Kagan, Students and Society in Early Modern Spain (Baltimore/London, 1974). 3 For an introduction to the social and cultural history of the early modern student experience, see DiSimone, ‘Admission’; F. Rexroth, ‘Ritual and the creation of social knowledge: The opening celebrations of medieval German universities’, in Universities and Schooling in Medieval Society, ed. W. Courtenay and J. Miethke (Leiden/Boston, MA/Cologne, 2000), pp. 65–80. 4 Neugebauer, Töpfer and Keller are noteworthy in having addressed local responses to territorial educational policy, though pupils’ educational strategies have not been examined by these studies either. Keller, ‘… daß wir ieder zeith eine feine lateinische schul gehabt haben’; Neugebauer, Absolutistischer Staat und Schulwirklichkeit; Töpfer, Die ‘Freyheit’ der Kinder. 5 P. A. Sorokin, Social and Cultural Mobility (New York, 1959). For a summary of recent research on social mobility in early modern Germany, see D. Heimes, Sozialstruktur und soziale Mobilität der Koblenzer Bürgerschaft im 17. Jahrhundert (Trier, 2007), pp. 34–9. See also K. M. Bolte and H. Recker, ‘Vertikale Mobilität’, in Handbuch der empirischen Sozialforschung: Soziale Schichtung und soziale Mobilität, Vol. 5, ed. R. König (Stuttgart, 1976), pp. 40–103; R. Boudon, L’Inégalité des chances: La mobilité sociale dans les sociétés industrielles (Paris, 1973); W. Schulze, Ständische Gesellschaft und soziale Mobilität (Munich, 1988). 6 A. J. La Vopa, Grace, Talent and Merit: Poor Students, Clerical Careers, and Professional Ideology in Eighteenth-Century Germany (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 28, 38. At Halle and Frankfurt, where no centralised entrance exam existed as in Württemberg, a far larger number of sons of artisans, shopkeepers and merchants, as well as a large number (10 per cent in general) of ‘others’ (peasants, workers, domestic servants), featured. In Halle (1768–71, 1785–87): 18.4 per cent artisans in theology, 6.1 per cent in law; 7.9 per cent merchants/industrialists/shopkeepers in theology, 9.6 per cent in law; 9.5 per cent ‘other’ in theology, 12.4 per cent in law. At Frankfurt an der Oder (1771–75, 1781–85, 1791–95 in theology; 1771–72, 1781–82, 1791–92 in law): 20.3 per cent artisans in theology, 5.7 per cent in law; 8.8 per cent shopkeepers etc. in theology, 11.9 per cent in law; 7.6 per cent ‘others’ in theology, 18.9 per cent in law. 7 For the now classic appraisal of the second half of the seventeenth century as a period of opportunity for the young, see V. Press, Kriege und Krisen, Deutschland 1600–1715 (Munich, 1991), pp. 239–68 (p. 269). 8 The classic quantitative studies of education written in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s can basically be divided into two strands: those connected to the French Annales school (for instance Frijhoff and Julia, Ecole et société; Julia, ‘Les Sources’, pp. 22–4; Julia, Revel and Chartier, Les Universités europeennes) and those discussing the so-called seventeenth-century ‘educational revolution’ (J. Simon, ‘The social origins of Cambridge students’, Past & Present 26 (1963), 58–67; Stone, ‘The educational revolution in England’; Stone, ‘Literacy and education in England’).

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9 While primary education played a role in much of Bourdieu’s work from the 1960s onwards, the two books that had the most direct impact on historical studies of schooling in France were P. Bourdieu and J.-C. Passeron, Les Héritiers (Paris, 1964); P. Bourdieu and J.-C. Passeron, La Reproduction (Paris, 1970). See also A. Girard, ed., ‘Population’ et l’enseignement (Paris, 1970). 10 For Julia’s and Frijhoff’s methodology see Julia, ‘Les sources’. In some rare cases, a further problem existed when an individual possessed both a popular Christian name and a popular surname. In order to avoid accidentally merging together the records of different individuals, merging was undertaken along the lines of the following principles: (1) an exact match or a match of close variants (‘Hanß = Johann’, ‘Kroba = Croba’) had to exist in both first name and surname; (2) one further field recording personal information (e.g. origin, accession date, further career, father’s occupation etc.) had to produce an exact match; (3) if a record fell out of the pattern of attendance in an extreme fashion, it was assumed that the records were referring to two distinct individuals.What this meant in practice was that it was generally believed to be unlikely that, for instance, someone studying in the Prima/Secunda in 1662 would reappear in the Septima in 1668. 11 In many ways, Daum’s record of pupils during his years as rector is as much a personal record as it is a preparatory notebook for an official one. Daum not only noted the names and the forms of the pupils who attended, but added information that caught his interest, sometimes many years after a pupil had left his institution. There are three separate versions of the matriculation records during the period of Daum’s rectorship. The most comprehensive one is a set of notebooks in his handwriting, bound together in one volume: St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 341, Matrikel von der Hand Christian Daums 1662/ 75. The other two versions are copies of Daum’s records, presumably made by his successors: St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S 339, Matrikel des Gymnasiums zu Zwickau 1662–[1738]; Vorn auch Leges Ac., St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 343, Cat. Discipul. (Gymn. Cygn.) 1662–99. 12 A comprehensive treatment of the problems involved in the prosopographical study of university matriculation records is given in M. Heyd, Between Orthodoxy and the Enlightenment: Jean-Robert Chouet and the Introduction of Cartesian Science in the Academy of Geneva (The Hague/ Boston, MA/London, 1982), pp. 245–9. Daum began keeping the matriculation register in 1662, the year he became rector of the school, and continued it until he died, after which his successors carried on keeping these records, albeit with considerably less care and attention to detail. Loose sheets of previous matriculation records have survived, but not in a continuous form, so that it is impossible to reconstruct the careers of individual students at the school prior to Daum’s rectorship; St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 340, Matrikelmaterial, z. T. spätere Abschriften, lose Blätter, 1616ff. 13 The dataset assembled on the basis of Daum’s handwritten records reconstructs the careers of all pupils in the years 1662–69, and those of the higher four forms for the years 1670–82. 14 See Fabian, M. Petrus Plateanus, p. 14. The council may well have had reason for exaggerating the size of the student body to the Elector in 1546, as it had just been granted the Grünhainer Hof for the school’s use in 1542 and was still in the process of moving the school from its earlier building opposite St Mary’s. 15 J. H. Brown, Elizabethan Schooldays: An Account of the English Grammar Schools in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century (Oxford, 1933), pp. 99–100. 16 Though single sheets of matriculation material exist for the years 1617, 1622, 1630, 1639 and 1642, the information given in them is incomplete. In 1616, 294 pupils attended the school (the Secunda was missing this year); in 1649, 145 (possibly 167); in 1650, 182; in 1653, 157. 17 For the long-term development of the total number of pupils of the school post-1687 I have made use of Herzog’s figures. Köhler calculated population figures for the seventeenth century on the basis of the Zwickau Geschossbücher. He determined his figures by multiplying the number of householders by five. Comparison to the data of seventeenth-century Saxony’s

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only extant complete census (1699) has suggested that the figures produced this way are very close to being accurate. Köhler, Der Einfluss des Dreissigjährigen Krieges, pp. 66, 68–72. 18 Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, p. 182. Karant-Nunn expressed surprise at the high ratio of pupils at the school in relation to the approximate number of 7,000 inhabitants during the Reformation. However, she was working on the assumption that the figure of approximately 900 pupils given by Schumann and the council was correct. 19 This development was famously described by F. Eulenburg, Die Frequenz der deutschen Universitäten von ihrer Gründung bis zur Gegenwart (Leipzig, 1904). The findings pertinent to the effect of the Thirty Years War on student numbers are summarised in R. J. W. Evans, ‘German universities after the Thirty Years’ War’, History of Universities 1 (1981), 169–90 (170). Eulenburg’s figures have been subjected to much criticism. Most importantly, Willem Frijhoff pointed out that Eulenburg had not taken into account the widespread phenomenon of students matriculating at multiple universities. Frijhoff’s drastic adjustments of Eulenburg’s figures nonetheless left intact the conclusion that the number of students matriculating at German universities recovered almost immediately after the war, and that the ratio of students in comparison to the overall population was higher at this time than at any other time during the early modern period. W. Frijhoff, ‘Surplus ou déficit? Hypothèses sur le nombre réel des étudiants en Allemagne à l’époque moderne (1576–1815)’, Francia 7 (1979), 173–218. For the purposes of this chapter, I have followed Frijhoff’s figures. 20 These issues are referred to in some detail in Frijhoff and Julia, Ecole et société, pp. 11–44, though Julia and Frijhoff were more concerned with pupils’ social background, less with where they came from. 21 Literature on the peregrinatio academica is vast. A brief introduction can be found in RidderSymoens, Universities in Early Modern Europe, pp. 416–48; see also M. Asche, ‘“Peregrinatio academica” in Europa im Konfessionellen Zeitalter: Bestandsaufnahme eines unübersichtlichen Forschungsfeldes und der Versuch einer Interpretation unter migrationsgeschichtlichen Aspekten’, Jahrbuch für europäische Geschichte 6 (2005), 3–33; S. Irrgang, ‘Scholar vagus, goliardus, ioculator: Zur Rezeption des “fahrenden Scholaren” im Mittelalter’, Jahrbuch für Universitätsgeschichte 6 (2003), 51–68. For case studies that mainly concentrate on the nobility, see S. Giese, Studenten aus Mitternacht: Bildungsideal und peregrinatio academica des schwedischen Adels im Zeichen von Humanismus und Konfessionalisierung (Tübingen, 2009); Z. Pietrzyk, ‘Die Ausstrahlung Straßburgs im Zeitalter des Humanismus: Peregrinatio academica aus der polnisch-litauischen Republik und die Hohe Schule Johannes Sturms im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert’, Zeitschrift für die Geschichte des Oberrheins 158 (2010), 193–240; D. Zoła˛dzStrzelczyk, Peregrinatio academica: Studia młodziezy polskiej z Korony i Litwy na akademiach i uniwersytetach niemieckich w XVI i 1 poł. XVII wieku (Poznan´, 1996). 22 The term ‘intellectual vagrants’ is borrowed from J. Le Goff, Die Intellektuellen im Mittelalter (Munich, 1994), p. 31. 23 For the medieval tradition of English grammar schools, see H. M. Jewell, Education in Early Modern England (Basingstoke, 1998), pp. 92–130, esp. pp. 103–6; N. Orme, English Schools in the Middle Ages (London, 1973); M. V. J. Seaborne, The English School: Its Architecture and Organization 1370–1870 (Toronto, 1971). 24 See Chapter  1. On the provision of accommodation in Zwickau, see Daum’s letter to a pupil’s parent: RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to [?], Zwickau, 20 November 1660 [no shelfmark]. 25 Hanckel’s presence at the school is puzzling. Unlike the other pupils whose home was far from Zwickau, he was enrolled in the lowest forms. Did he travel alone all the way from Transylvania to Zwickau? Or had he moved with his family? 26 Johann Andreas Buchard (Volckenroda), Michael Cramer (Gleina), Christoph Biederman (Möckerlingen), Christoph Glaser (Lucka) and Johann Christoph Bisserer (unidentified locality, Thuringus) were all pupils of the Prima/Secunda. Caspar Keilhauer (Gera), on the other hand, was enrolled in the Septima in 1665, which is, however, not as exceptional as it

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might seem, as Gera is considerably closer to Zwickau (41 km) than the other Thuringian localities on record. 27 Wolfgang-Andreas Reyher (baptised St Catherine’s, 27 April 1652)  finished school in the same year (1677) as Siegfried Opel, baptised on 4 May 1660. Reyher first appeared in the Septima in 1665, only to disappear for four years and then reappear among the Duces of the same form. Opel’s education was far more swift: he was enrolled in the Septima in 1669, then made an unusual jump to the Quarta after either one or two years, and remained in this form until 1672, when he left the school, only to reappear in the Secunda/Prima in 1677. 28 Christoph Falck, a native of Bockau/Erzgebirge. 29 Jobst Weinman and Johann Christian Günther, both from Zwickau. 30 Grunelius described the personal and financial troubles of a parent funding his son’s stay at school in a separate section of his memoir (‘My son Johannes at school’); J. Grunelius, ‘Das Hausbuch des Johannes Grunelius’, in Die Chroniken von Friedberg in derWetterau, ed. C. Waas, Vol. 1 (Friedberg, 1937), pp. 261–83. 31 Eulenburg, Frequenz, p. 24. 32 Schaller, Pädagogik des Johann Amos Comenius, p. 284. On the school of Elbing, where both German and Latin were taught in the lowest form, see M. Pawlak, ‘Die Geschichte des Elbinger Gymnasiums in den Jahren 1535–1772’, in Kulturgeschichte Preußens königlich polnischen Anteils in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. S. Beckmann (Tübingen, 2005), pp. 371–94; H. Porozynski and S. Rudnik, ‘Lutheran secondary schools in the 16th and 17th centuries Pomerania (Thorn, Elbing)’, in Luther and Melanchthon in the Educational Thought of Central and Eastern Europe, ed. R. Golz (Münster, 1998), pp. 139–45. 33 In reference to the Zwickau Latin school, Karant-Nunn argued that both a different outlook as to what children needed to learn and high tuition fees kept artisans’ sons from the school during the Reformation period, and thus effectively made it an institution reserved for the town’s patriciate and wealthy foreigners. Karant-Nunn, Zwickau in Transition, pp. 189–92. 34 Even though Press had described the period after the Thirty Years War as a time of opportunity for the young, he suggested that the importance of education in facilitating social mobility declined thereafter; V. Press, ‘Soziale Folgen des Dreißigjährigen Krieges’, in Ständische Gesellschaft und soziale Mobilität, ed. W. Schulze and H. Gabel (München, 1987), pp. 239–68 (p.  267). Press, however, concentrated almost exclusively on the higher echelons of the various German territorial administrations. In a relatively little-known but insightful study, Weiss suggested that, while education might not help an individual rise very far up the social ladder, it could help a family gradually to improve its standing over several generations; V. Weiss, Bevölkerung und soziale Mobilität: Sachsen 1550–1800 (Berlin, 1993), p. 148. 35 Kaemmel, ‘Oberbehörden’, p. 230. 36 For the period under consideration, locating Zwickau residents in the parish records is actually easier than in the years before the Thirty Years War. The members of the suburban parish of St Maurice were ‘adopted’ by the parish of St Catherine’s in the years between the destruction of St Maurice’s in 1632 and its reconstruction in a new, likewise suburban location in 1680. For these years, all Zwickau baptisms and funerals therefore appear in the records of the inner-city parishes St Mary’s and St Catherine’s, which have survived in series. In order to answer the question asked at the beginning of this section, two samples were taken from the 770 individuals examined on the basis of the matriculation records. The first sample focuses on the pupils in the lowest form, the Septima, while the second sample examines the pupils of the Prima/Secunda. The records of St Mary’s survive in manuscript, while the records of St Catherine’s were destroyed during the Second World War; a microfilm exists, however, the data of which the archivist of the Nicolaigemeinde, Christof Kühnel, has recently entered into a database. I am greatly indebted to Herr Kühnel for the examination of these records on my behalf, and for generously sharing with me his knowledge of the history of the Zwickau parishes.

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37 It cannot be said whether the form was also divided along similar lines before 1669, though it does seem very likely that it was, considering the high numbers of pupils in the Septima in the previous years. 38 Twenty-eight of fifty-nine Firmani in 1669. 39 St A Zwickau, III X 93, Ratsakten, Mauritii 1617–19. 40 Many early modern registers only gave an indication of which broad trade the father belonged to. What precisely he did, and at what particular place in the internal hierarchy of the trade he stood, was not stated. The records in Zwickau do allow such distinctions, making it for instance easy to distinguish between the position of a cloth-dealer and a ‘cloth-preparer’ (Tuchbereiter), both distinct from the profession of a cloth-maker (Tuchmacher) or a maker of trimmings (Bordenweber). The fact that it is possible to distinguish not just among broad trades, but a person’s actual position within the trade is crucial if one wishes to generalise about the social standing of the pupils’ families. For one pupil, the commonness of his name (Hans Müller) made it impossible to tell whether he was the son of the locksmith Jeremias Müller (baptised St Mary’s, 8 October 1656) or the Kleinnagler (maker of small nails) Nicol Müller (baptised St Mary’s, 17 January 1661). For a further pupil, Georg Rodeck, the profession of the father could not be retrieved from the parish records, but was mentioned by Daum in the matriculation records as town-crier (Stundenschreyer). 41 There was a considerable degree of specialisation among the smiths: one father worked as a Rinckenschmied (a maker of strong chains used by wagoners), one as a Peilschmied (i.e. Beilschmied, a hatchet-maker), one as a Sägenschmied (maker of saws) and another as a Spohrer (maker of spurs). 42 Both Seiffart and Eichhorn appear only once in the matriculation records. 43 Of the 115 pupils enrolled in the Prima/Secunda between 1662 and 1682, Daum noted that 47 were from Zwickau, of whom 39 can be traced in the parish records. For 32 of these boys, the profession of the father is given. 44 The Reyher family was one of the most influential in the Zwickau patriciate. Wolfgang Andreas Reyher’s father David had likewise been mayor for many years during the 1650s and 1660s. Ratsherrenbuch, 23 b. 45 J. Miethke, ‘Karrierechancen eines Theologiestudiums im späteren Mittelalter’, in Gelehrte im Reich. Zur Sozial- und Wirkungsgeschichte akademischer Eliten des 14. bis 16. Jahrhunderts, ed. R. C. Schwinges (Berlin, 1996), pp. 181–209; P. Moraw, ‘Der Lebensweg der Studenten’, in Ridder-Symoens, Universities in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 225–54; H. d. Ridder-Symoens, ‘Possibilités de carrière et de mobilité sociale des intellectuels-universitaires au moyen âge’, in Medieval Lives and the Historian: Studies in Medieval Prosography, ed. N. Bulst and J.-P. Genet (Kalamazoo/Michigan, 1986), pp. 343–57. 46 Pupils who did not go on to university are harder to trace. About a third of the Firmani of 1669 can be found in the register into which men who had been granted the rights of burghers of Zwickau were entered. St A Zwickau, III Y 1a–6 b, Bürgerbücher (8 vols), 1498–1854. 47 About a quarter of the 1669 Firmani who could be traced in the burgher register were sons of master artisans. 48 Daum mentioned the future location of eighty-eight pupils. Of those who went to university towns, twenty-three are recorded as going to Leipzig, one as going to Leipzig and Wittenberg, seven to Wittenberg, twelve to Jena, one to Jena and Halle. In the university matriculation records, a further thirty-eight former pupils of the Prima/Secunda could be located in Leipzig, six in Jena, and one more in Wittenberg. All the pupils whom Daum recorded as going to Leipzig, Jena and Wittenberg can be found in the university matriculation records. Cf. G. Erler, ed., Die iüngere Matrikel der Universität Leipzig 1559–1809 als Personen- und Ortsregister bearbeitet und durch Nachträge aus den Promotionslisten ergänzt: im Auftrage der Königlich Sächsischen Staatsregierung, Vol. 2: Die Immatrikulationen vomWintersemester 1634 bis zum Sommersemester 1709 (Leipzig, 1909); F. Juntke, ed., Album academiaeVitebergensis:

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Jüngere Reihe Teil 2 (1660–1710) (Halle, 1952); G. Mentz and R. Jauering, eds, Die Matrikel der Universität Jena, Vol. 1 (Jena, 1944). 49 A. Märker, Geschichte der Universität Erfurt 1392–1816 (Weimar, 1993) provides a brief overview of the state of academic affairs at the University of Erfurt during the seventeenth century. 50 The records show twenty-four examples of double matriculation by Zwickau pupils, all of them at Leipzig University. 51 For the phenomenon of early and multiple matriculation, see Juntke, Album academiae Vitebergensis, p. XIII. On the history of the ritual of academic deposition, see M. Füssel, ‘Riten der Gewalt: Zur Geschichte der akademischen Deposition und des Pennalismus in der Frühen Neuzeit’, Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 32 (2005), 605–47. 52 For the 770 pupils under consideration, Daum included in the matriculation records information on the future employment of 15: Gottlieb Theophil Cramer (cantor), Christian Dörnel (cantor), Andreas Ebhard (‘now teaches in Zwickau’), Leonhard Ferber (‘obtained his Magister, is now pastor in Crossen’), Johannes Graf (co-rector in Freiberg), Ludwig Günter Martin (‘doctor of law, practises in Annaberg’), Georg Nörner (deacon in Rochlitz), Georg Friedrich Pezolt (archdeacon), Andreas Richtsteiger (baccalaureus at the Lichtenstein Latin school), August Satorius (pastor), Georg Schmid (teacher of the lower forms and cantor), Johann Philipp Steinbach (succeeded his father as teacher of the lower forms in Stangengrün), Gottfried Thym (pastor), Cornelius Vogel (pastor), David Winter (co-rector at Wittenberg). 53 For these figures, see Weiss, Bevölkerung und soziale Mobilität, pp. 124–63, esp. p. 148. 54 Frijhoff and Julia, Ecole et société, pp. 84–9. 55 See R. Endres, ‘Adel und Patriziat in Oberdeutschland’, in Schulze, Ständische Gesellschaft und soziale Mobilität, pp. 221–38 (p. 221).

5 Violent aspirations: pupils’ transgression and the spectre of university

This book has so far been concerned with the function of the school within the early modern town and, as an intellectual habitat, within the Respublica litteraria. Pupils have featured as conscientious, if choosy, clients of their region’s educational offer, their behaviour being in line with professional ambitions either within the context of the early modern town or of the wider employment market for educated men of the Holy Roman Empire’s Protestant regions. At first glance, careful career planning sits uneasily with the transgressive behaviour boys exhibited outside the classroom. Yet violent and other forms of transgressive and disobedient behaviour were as much part of the Zwickau Latin school’s culture as they were of virtually every larger educational establishment in Europe. Historians have struggled to contextualise violence and other forms of transgressive behaviour committed by pupils. Historians of childhood, aware of the presence of violence in schools within virtually all cultural and temporal contexts, have emphasised that longue durée children’s culture underscored conflicts between pupils and authority figures.1 This stands in stark contrast to the traditional historiography of German schools, which has tended to portray pupils’ transgressive behaviour as an expression of the general culture at large, any transgressive behaviour in seventeenth-century German schools being seen to reflect the decline of morals in the wake of the Thirty Years War.2 Yet neither the concept of a timeless culture of children nor the attempt to squeeze pupils’ behaviour into broad macro-historical narratives is ultimately satisfactory. The literature on early modern criminality has made effective use of sociological concepts of deviance and has emphasised the way in which ideas of what was considered to be transgressive behaviour changed over time. This, in turn, affected the behaviour of groups or individuals singled out for supervision or control. In effect, the historiography of deviance describes a process of constant negotiation. Emphasis has moved away from attempts to define particular periods or localities as prone to ‘criminal behaviour’ towards analysing

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the relationship between those who felt they were enforcing a particular norm and those subjected to these attempts.3 A number of studies have taken up this approach in relation to the history of conflict at German universities, reinterpreting students’ transgressive behaviour as expressions of conflict within the corporation of the university. Student transgression was in this respect not a timeless feature of intergenerational conflict, but rather underscored points of conflict specific to a university at a particular point in time. By accentuating the pre-eminent importance of long-standing corporate and ‘town-and-gown’ conflict, these studies have also served to contradict the long-held view that the Thirty Years War caused a collapse in mores at German universities.4 This focus on the particular legal and social situation of an institution within its civic and territorial context is as useful for investigating transgression at schools as it is for universities. Negotiation through transgression: the importance of context That transgressive behaviour reflected the immediate context of the school’s political and social environment, and took different forms at different kinds of institutions, is immediately evident when transgression at the Zwickau school is compared to that which occurred at the pre-eminent schools in Saxony, the territorial schools (Fürstenschulen und Landesschulen) St Afra/Meissen, Pforta and Grimma. These institutions left ample material relating to pupils’ transgressive behaviour in the form of ‘trial records’ at so-called school synods, but also in the form of reports written by visitors from the local consistories who were frequently called in to investigate contentious cases.5 The highly regulated and formalised nature of these investigations into pupils’ misdemeanours was due to the prominent position of these schools as elite establishments that hosted a large number of noble pupils and were meant to train high-ranking officials of the territorial administration.6 At these boarding establishments, teachers could control virtually every aspect of the pupils’ daily routine, something that in Zwickau only applied to their lodgers. As a result, pupils at the territorial schools primarily voiced grievances over issues that were not connected to teaching but to their living conditions. Transgressive behaviour at the territorial schools reflected the special legal position of the school, prompting teachers and territorial visitors in turn to adapt what they considered to be punishable behaviour. In the face of formalised methods of punishment exercised by a large body of teachers, pupils expressed their discontent in an organised way through group action, especially in order to undermine punitive measures imposed by the teachers. A pronounced esprit

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de corps encouraged pupils to act as a group when school synods ruled against transgressive actions by individuals.7 Cases brought against individual pupils for drinking, getting involved in fights in nearby towns and being away without leave therefore frequently blew up into conflicts during which the pupils would act as a body against that of the teachers. When pupils decided to act, their actions were well co-ordinated, prompting the teachers and the consistorial visitors to pressure the pupils to hand over their ringleaders. Another common feature of pupil culture at territorial schools was the often violent mistreatment of younger pupils who were made to perform menial tasks for their elders, similar to those that young ‘fags’ endured at English public schools.8 The situation in Zwickau was very different. Pupils do not appear to have challenged the authority of their teachers directly in an organised way. Group conflict between pupils and their teachers at boarding establishments by and large concerned living conditions, food or the regulation of pupils’ time outside the classroom, all of which at civic schools the pupils’ patrons or parents were responsible for, not the teachers. The absence of a shared boarding experience at civic schools undoubtedly also stood in the way of pupils developing the kind of strong communal identity that was handed down as tradition at German territorial schools and English public schools, which might also explain why ritualised maltreatment of young pupils, though not completely absent, was limited to one-off initiation rites at the beginning of the school year.9 These kinds of rituals evidently grew out of and suited the environment of the secluded, selfcontained boarding school more than they did that of a civic school embedded in the social, economic and cultural life of the city. The potential for friction between pupils and teachers was, therefore, relatively low in Zwickau, teachers only becoming involved in the formal disciplining of pupils if they had committed an offence that was judged to warrant expulsion. Given the forty-five years that Daum taught full-time at the Zwickau Latin school, three documented cases of misbehaviour (of which only one involved actual violence) in his papers are not many. Both the formal and informal mechanisms intended to regulate the way that the school’s pupils lived together with the rest of the population appear to have worked relatively well, both during and after the Thirty Years War.10 Zwickau pupils were in general remarkably non-violent in comparison to other seventeenth-century Europeans males, such as the French nobility or, indeed, German students.11 Two of the cases fall into the period when Daum was tertius (1643, 1653), and one into his rectorship (1668). Only the 1643 case is related by Daum himself. These three cases are fascinating precisely because testimony is given by teachers, parents and, most unusually, the pupils themselves. Both local particularities and cultural influences from further afield infused what were essentially the three defining features of transgressive behaviour at the Zwickau

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Latin school: night-time revelry, the marriage of written culture with violence, and pupils’ fascination with swords and the formalised duel. Sawfferrey u. Jungfrawn gelack: night-time revelry and its consequences Though the superintendent Veit Wolfrum had given his book on the usefulness of learning the Arabic language the suggestive title Nox Cygnea to denote the hard night-time work he had put into it, Zwickau at night was by no means devoid of entertainment.12 Pupils could do more than study. In fact, studying at night was near-impossible, since pupils did not have access to desks or, presumably, sufficient lighting in their cramped lodgings. Councils across Europe had in common the desire to keep their cities quiet and peaceful at night-time. In doing so, they mostly found themselves prosecuting young men, to whom the frequentation of public spaces at night offered the rare opportunity of being unsupervised.13 Among the most frequent disturbers of the night were students, who committed a good deal of the crimes that brought them to university courts at night. Most often, these nocturnal misdemeanours related to disturbances of the peace (singing, chanting or otherwise being noisy or provocative), brawls and sexual misdemeanours.14 Like students, pupils similarly had a liking for the night, territorial school synods often prosecuting pupils who had scaled the walls to revel in the nearest inn.15 Unlike the pupils of the territorial schools, however, the Zwickau pupils only needed to leave their houses. Zwickau’s council-owned brothel had been closed in 1526, yet prostitution, though no longer officially tolerated, continued in clandestine ‘houses of ill repute’.16 Opportunity to consume alcohol was ubiquitous, several inns and a large number of private homes brewing and selling beer and, less commonly, wine. In fact, regulations on brewing rights in Zwickau drawn up in the early sixteenth century allowed approximately a third of all households within the city walls to brew their own beer.17 Night-time temptation therefore lurked in the immediate vicinity of the school. When Daum related one such nocturnal escapade in a letter to the guardian of the pupil involved in 1643, events were unpleasantly close to home. Christian Meusel was one of his lodgers at his new home in the third teacher’s house. Living under one roof with Meusel did not go well for long. Meusel appears in the Secunda/Tertia of the 1642 matriculation records, which suggests that he was at the time in his mid-teens, if not older.18 In his letter, Daum approached the topic of discipline by reminding Meusel’s guardian that they had agreed Daum should write to him immediately ‘if your foster son Christian Meusel should abscond just for a single night’. Meusel had

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apparently stayed out at night on 20 January and had done so again a few nights later. He returned only in the small hours of the morning, ‘putting himself to bed and staying in it till one o’clock’. Apparently, the very next day Meusel’s companions invited him to a ‘party with drink and young women’ (sawfferrey u. Jungfrawn gelack) by sending him a written note, which Daum intercepted. Daum reprimanded him severely, and Meusel promised never to attend these parties again. A few days later, however, on 28 January, Meusel went drinking again with the rector Zechendorf’s lodger. Meusel was ridiculed by other revellers, and had to be restrained from attacking them. Walking through the streets at around 10.40 p.m., he was met by two members of the occupying Swedish forces. They chased the lad and, seeing that he was carrying a bare rapier under his coat, tried to take it away from him. Daum claimed that Meusel replied ‘in a cool manner’ and suggested that he knew of a place where they could obtain brandy at this time of night. He apparently demanded and received advance payment for the brandy and arranged to meet them later. The schoolboy, however, did not keep his promise to meet the soldiers, who complained to an officer the next day. The matter was referred to Zwickau’s superintendent, who summoned Daum on 30 January, and advised Daum to get rid of his lodger, as the duped soldiers might break into his house to seize Meusel. Daum drew a damning portrait of Meusel’s character, writing that he had made ‘enemies to me out of my colleagues, many upright people, even soldiers, or shamed me in their eyes’. The account finished with the exclamation ‘May God preserve me in future from this kind of person, who will otherwise shorten my life and will be the peril of me, I am sick of him!! [sic]’ Indirectly, we learn a fair amount about Meusel – in particular that he had a way with words and a talent for convincing ‘those who did not know him’ of his good character with ‘cool’ or ‘flattering words’. Later exchanges between Daum and a former pupil in which a certain Meusel was mentioned, seem to suggest – if this was the same Meusel – that he went on to study at Leipzig University.19 There is very little in this letter that hints at the fact that the episode took place during a time of war. No violence was actually committed. The affair passed through official channels: first through the Swedish officer, then Zwickau’s superintendent. Rather, staple features of intergenerational friction in the early modern town are evident: the strong desire by authority figures to control the night-time behaviour and the ‘orderly’ sleeping patterns of young men, Daum clearly considering the fact that Meusel stayed in bed till the early afternoon while staying at his home to have been a challenge to his authority. Daum had similar distaste, clearly expressed by his disdainful language, for Meusel drinking in the company of young women, possibly prostitutes.

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Significantly, Meusel’s companions (‘Schießgesellen’) were also literate, as they corresponded with him through written notes, and were therefore almost certainly pupils. Writing to each other was hardly more practical in Zwickau than walking a few metres and arranging a future meeting in person. It was also dangerously easy for such written notes to be intercepted, as Daum and other teachers in fact did on more than one occasion. The method of transmitting a message was rather an integral part of it, just as the written invitations to massbrawls that students pinned on the doors of rival colleges and boarding houses made these events distinct from other urban brawls. Sending a written invitation to a party defined the event as a meeting of would-be men of letters.20 Writing and duelling: learning the elite culture of violence How closely transgressive behaviour was linked to the written word at the Zwickau Latin school can be gleaned from a letter written to Daum in 1653 by a certain Johannes Graf, probably a private teacher, who complained that his pupil, the son of Wilhelm Klaubart, had been ‘sullied and harmed beyond all measure’ by three of Daum’s pupils, Peter Pflock, Hanß Huttgen and Johann Lorentz. According to Klaubart junior, these accusations made against him were completely unfounded, though Graf suggested that a ‘public hearing’ would be needed to clarify this. Klaubart, as well as the other three boys, appears in the matriculation records of 1653.21 Graf was incensed at the pupils’ actions, warning that ‘when, however, through insolent and audacious youth all manner of harm was committed … bitterness among the worried parents could arise from this, as well as irreversible disadvantage.’22 Graf then asked Daum to reprimand his pupils sternly in order to discourage other pupils from following their example. In Daum’s letter describing the Meusel case, he had remarked that he had succeeded in intercepting a note to Meusel. This piece of evidence does not appear to have survived, but a note attached to Graf’s letter, which Graf claimed was written by one of the pupils, has recently surfaced in the Ratsschulbibliothek (Figure 25). The high quality of the handwriting and the fact that there are no corrections suggest that it may be a fair copy, possibly by Graf, despite his assurance that it was written by the pupils ‘in their own hand’. Exceptional as a document authored by an early modern adolescent, the letter constitutes a formal challenge to a duel, including the signatures of Klaubart’s challengers: Klaubart, you rogue among rogues thief among thieves you highway-robber you pickpocket you gallows-bird, you are hereby denounced by undersigned Peter

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Figure 25  The challenge to a duel issued to the schoolboy Klaubart by his fellow pupils, Peter Pflock, Hanß Huttgen and Johann Lorentz, and intercepted by Johannes Graf, most probably a private teacher. Like the violence of students, the transgressive behaviour of pupils was linked to the written word, thereby differentiating it from the violence of townsmen and apprentices. Pflock and Hanß Lorenz as a rogue among rogues and asked by the undersigned whether you wish to stay a rogue or whether you will stand up to us three with your fists, a Dusecke [a short crooked sword],23 a rapier or stick. You should not fear that we will fall upon you all at once, but each one will meet you on his own, as it would be dishonourable for us to fall upon you all at once; if you do

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not want to meet us in this way you can leave it, and then you will be held in dishonour for all times, as you have committed so many ill deeds to many people [?], which you will need to live with for eternity because, should your theft (NB. 142.[?]) become too widely known, one could not find a comparable highwayrobbery [Plägeley]24 in the whole Roman Empire, therefore inform us briefly how [armed?] and where and at what time you will appear, if you do not want to remain a rogue in all eternity. And the Hutthanß [Hanß Huttgen, one of the boys mentioned by Graf] will yet expose all your stinking [lies? deeds?].25

The boys were evidently aware of different images of male behaviour that, in this example, became intertwined: on the one hand, the were putting their elite humanist training to use; on the other hand they were attracted to the violent culture of the duel. Regardless of the crude language, the letter shows the training in writing formal letters the boys had received at the school. The formalised format of the document, including signatures by those present, suggests strongly that the pupils were aware of similar types of document that often accompanied challenges among the nobility and, in some parts of Europe, were legalised by notaries.26 The accused was given the choice of weapons (‘your fists, a Dusecke, a rapier or stick’), and was assured that he would not be attacked by all three boys at once as this would bring dishonour upon the three. By constantly alluding to the concept of honour, Lorentz and Pflock were referring to a code of behaviour that was far from licentious as Johann Graf suggested it is in his letter to Daum, but one that was severely regulated. Rather, the three boys had considered Klaubart’s behaviour to have been transgressive of a code of behaviour that Lorentz and Pflock claimed was universally shared. Klaubart’s name would be shamed ‘in the whole of the Roman Empire’ if his deeds became more widely known. To put it another way, we are witness to an attempt at disciplining someone along the lines of what at least the three boys considered to be well-established rules. In their eyes, they were not transgressing rules, they were enforcing them.27 The way the boys did so was in line with the code of honour relating to duels common among the German nobility and townsmen alike: the challenged party needed to be given sufficient warning and not be taken by surprise; both parties were to be armed to the same extent to ensure a fair chance for both combatants; seconds needed to be present; what weapons were to be used was to be agreed on in advance; and fighting was to be one-on-one, with bystanders not interfering.28 In contrast to most challenges to a duel among German townsmen, which were mostly delivered orally, often in heat, and were put down in writing only after the damage had been done, the fact that the boys put their challenge down in paper not only allowed the teachers to intervene before the situation escalated; by putting their challenge in writing, the boys aligned their violent intent with the violence of the educated noble and urban elite. Such written challenges were common among students as a

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clear differentiation of their duelling from the spontaneous duels of townsmen, which often escalated from a spoken challenge to manslaughter within moments.29 Swords and playfighting The presence of swords among the pupils at the Zwickau Latin school was in no way exceptional, since swords were common at other schools as well, for instance at the territorial school of St Afra, where a pupil killed another boy with a stiletto in 1608.30 The fact that the carrying of rapiers was officially outlawed at the Zwickau Latin school in the early eighteenth century suggests that wearing them was habitual among at least the pupils of the higher forms.31 Carrying swords was, as other writers have pointed out, a fiercely contested issue in seventeenth-century urban society, both in Germany and in other parts of Europe. Swords were fashion accessories that, being potentially deadly, told the beholder that the bearer was prepared and able to defend his honour. A plethora of commonly understood signals relating to the sword, such as the touching of the hilt, ramming the sword into a door and so on, formed part of the language that could deflect or escalate conflict among men. The symbolism and the practice of carrying swords in early modern Germany had diverse roots, but, by the seventeenth century, had become pervaded by the culture of the formalised duel, the roots of which originated with the Italian nobility in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Though the carrying of a sword was seen by the nobility to be their privilege, this prerogative was contested by other high-ranking groups, especially members of universities.32 How pervasive the culture of sword-carrying and that of the formalised duel had become among Zwickau pupils is underlined by an exchange initiated by the minister of Etzdorf, Michael Vogel, who wrote to Christian Daum on 1 June 1668. Vogel attempted to defend his son, Christian Andreas, who had apparently injured another pupil, Christoph Biedermann, in a sword-fight. Biedermann’s hand had been injured and had required the attention of a barber-surgeon, and Vogel senior was prepared to cover the cost. The general tone was one of indignation that Biedermann, who in Vogel’s view had initiated the fight and was therefore himself responsible for the injuries he received, should be seen as the victim, and his son as the guilty party. Christian Andreas had apparently wished to travel home together with another pupil, Hanß Christoph Täutzer. Christoph Biedermann had agreed to accompany them, and had for this purpose taken a rapier from the wall of a burgher’s house in front of the town gates. He had then ‘fought around [with the sword] in front of my son, and challenged him to fight, and thus was hurt on his hand; this now was called a luticrum [i.e. a game] and is not supposed to have been anything aggressive’.33

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Vogel went on to say that his son was not the type to be involved in fights, and that surely Daum would agree on his peaceful disposition. Another sign of his good character was the fact that, even though he had only come to the Zwickau school a year ago, he had ‘never been a Vagans, one who constantly changes schools’. The unfortunate events that led up to Biedermann being injured therefore ‘affected my son out of the blue as a supposed joke; that he scraped his fellow pupil’s hand … shows that he has never held a rapier in his hand’. Vogel finished his version of events with a statement that he regretted he would need to take Christian Andreas out of the school as the result of his fight with Biedermann, and that he hoped Daum would still be prepared to write his son a good reference.34 Vogel mentioned only one sword, and suggested that none of the boys involved in the event were in the habit of carrying rapiers, as Biedermann had taken the rapier he used from a wall at a burgher’s house, presumably where he lodged. As the boys were engaged in a fight, it seems reasonable to assume, however, that the boys were in the possession of at least one other sword, presumably carried either by Täutzer or Vogel. The influence of student culture Though historians have recently drawn attention to the ‘martial ethic’, which made swords a ubiquitous feature of early modern urban society, the way in which the Zwickau pupils’ transgressive behaviour was interlaced with traces of their humanist training suggests that it was not the urban culture of male honour that provided the primary blueprint for these transgressions. Johann Sebastian Mitternacht, rector at the nearby school in Gera who lamented that ‘even among the very youngest of boys, the greatest desire is to own a sword’, suggested that the universities were the source of the problem.35 Boys wished to carry rapiers because they wanted to behave like students.36 Mitternacht in effect suggested that student culture percolated down to schools. Historians of student culture have tended to do the reverse, stressing similarities between transgressive acts committed by students and those common within the culture of other urban youth.37 More recent studies have, however, dismissed the idea that youth culture ‘spilt over’ into student culture, and have stressed ways in which student transgression reflected conflict over rank, seniority and privilege that was particular to the university.38 As important as it is to underline the peculiarities of student transgression, it is, nonetheless, somewhat short-sighted to treat it in isolation. As pupils’ fascination with swords and their awareness of formalised duel practices strongly suggest, the cultures of pupils and students were indeed closely connected. Rather than youth culture ‘spilling over’ into that of students, however, the

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reverse was true: the culture of transgression percolated down from students to pupils. Student culture could seep into the culture of pupils through various channels. Academic culture and student culture in particular featured large in the early modern imagination. Bestselling collections of anecdotes described the antics that members of the university got up to, several of which were in Daum’s possession.39 Yet pupils’ contact with student culture could be more direct than this. It needs to be remembered that a considerable proportion of pupils in the higher forms were already enrolled at university before they became pupils in Zwickau, though it is impossible to tell how much actual firsthand experience of university these pupils had. The fact that pupils changed schools frequently, some of them enrolling at schools in university towns such as St Nicholas in Leipzig, also ensured that a significant number of them will have experienced student culture first hand. Within this context, it is worth noting findings by sociologists of consumption, who, in what is called ‘reference group theory’, have concluded that youth culture is fundamentally aspirational. Fashions tend to descend from one age group downwards, and seldom ascend upwards.40 Interpreting the culture of pupils as likewise aspirational is highly suggestive, since the desire of pupils to act like students may have involved the aspiration not only to act like another age group, but also like a group of higher social standing, a group that had access to privileges normally limited to the nobility. Cross-fertilisation between universities and the pupil culture of civic Latin schools is, therefore, best interpreted to have been founded upon pupils’ desire to experiment with their future role as students. Swords were more than fashion items in this instance, but were rather necessary accessories in experimenting with a particular type of student identity. By the eighteenth century, German universities became associated with different types of students: studious types, brawlers, drunkards and gallant types. In the immediate vicinity of Zwickau, gallant students were apparently to be found in Leipzig, studious types in Halle, brawlers in Jena and drunkards in Wittenberg.41 Incidentally, these general types of German student were very similar to those with which the students of different Inns of Court in London became associated by the eighteenth century.42 Brawling, drinking and engaging in mock duels at school enabled pupils to experiment with these types, test their suitability and liking for them and tentatively move towards one or another (or, of course, a hybrid) well before they arrived at university. Violent behaviour was commented on more readily by figures of authority and is therefore more easily traceable than the experimentation with other, more peaceful forms of student behaviour, though the fact that students wore swords habitually suggests that there was a sartorial aspiration involved. At territorial

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schools, experimentation with the ‘gallant’ type – for which a sword would also have been a necessary accessory – was certainly part and parcel of pupil culture, teachers frequently complaining about their pupils copying the excess of students’ clothing. Most likely, the presence of a considerable number of moneyed and noble pupils magnified this phenomenon at these schools.43 Classroom teaching and the company of the teachers prepared pupils for scholarly disputations and other types of scrutiny by their academic superiors, encouraging pupils to adhere to the ‘studious type’, which later became associated with the university of Halle. In preparing pupils for the equally adversarial culture of students, the official curriculum of civic schools like Zwickau, however, fell short. Unlike at noble academies (the Ritterakademien), lessons in sword-fighting were not part of the curriculum of the Zwickau Latin school, which, as already noted, featured no sport at all. If pupils wished to hone social skills that would allow them easily to become assimilated among their fellow students, they needed to do so among themselves. Such preparation was not only most useful, but a necessary condition for success in quickly establishing the right kind of reputation among peers. Conclusion Universities were hierarchichal places, as the ostensibly egalitarian Republic of Letters was as a whole, where one was preceded by one’s reputation. Such reputations needed to be established gradually over a long period and could be ruined through seemingly inconsequential slights. Disputes in the Republic of Letters were carried out aggressively, most famously in the formalised one-onone confrontation of the academic disputation. This culture of squaring up to a rival was mirrored by the readiness with which students adapted as their own the culture of the formalised duel. There is no evidence of relations between pupils and the rest of the population of Zwickau worsening when the percentage of pupils increased significantly as a result of the war. Rather, the rare instances of transgressive behaviour show a clear connection to student culture, and are best seen as aspirational experimentation with the privileges pupils would enjoy once they were students, as well as preparation for the hierarchical life at universities. The extent to which pupils were prepared at Zwickau for the culture at university (both inside as well as outside the classroom) explains at least partially how the Republic of Letters was able to absorb as many young men from non-learned backgrounds into its ranks as it did in seventeenth-century Germany. Recent research on universities has reminded us that identity within what we might nowadays call the ‘intellectual field’ was not monolithic and that

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it was widely associated with a variety of general types. The fact that pupils’ transgressive behaviour had much in common with some of these types suggests that early modern Latin schools were in fact highly effective in traditioning patterns of behaviour other than that of the ‘studious type’. Transgressive behaviour at schools was, however, not a carbon copy of student transgression but reflected relations among the pupils, their teachers, their physical and legal environment. It therefore took different forms at different schools, pupils’ transgressive behaviour allowing us further to sharpen the contours of the Zwickau Latin school’s particular profile within the educational landscape of seventeenth-century Saxony. Notes

1 Brockliss, ‘Pupil violence in the French classroom’; Thomas, Rule and Misrule; Thomas, ‘Children in Early Modern England’. 2 For the classic account of the detrimental effect of the Thirty Years War on culture (in a broad understanding of the term) in Germany, see Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, pp. 324–37. For statements on the decline of morals among pupils, see for instance T. Flathe, Sanct Afra: Geschichte der königlich sächsischen Fürstenschule zu Meißen seit ihrer Gründung im Jahre 1543 bis zu ihrem Neubau in den Jahren 1877–1879 (Leipzig, 1879), pp. 180–203. 3 G. Schwerhoff, Köln im Kreuzverhör: Kriminalität, Herrschaft un Gesellschaft in einer frühneuzeitlichen Stadt (Bonn/Berlin, 1991), p. 26; G. Schwerhoff, Aktenkundig und gerichtsnotorisch: Einführung in die historische Kriminalitätsforschung (Tübingen, 1999), pp. 12, 77. 4 M. Füssel, ‘Akademischer Sittenverfall? Studentenkultur vor, in und nach der Zeit des Dreißigjährigen Krieges’, in Universitäten im Dreißigjährigen Krieg, ed. T. Kossert, M. Asche and M. Füssel (Potsdam, 2011), pp. 124–46; B. Krug-Richter, ‘Von Messern, Mänteln und Männlichkeit: Aspekte studentischer Konfliktkultur im frühneuzeitlichen Freiburg im Breisgau’, Wiener Zeitschrift zur Geschichte der Neuzeit 4 (2004), 26–52; Siebenhüner, ‘Zechen, Zücken und Lärmen’. A pioneering study of academic jurisdiction in Germany that, though it does not apply the concept of deviance, is essential reading, is S. Brüdermann, Göttinger Studenten und akademische Gerichtsbarkeit im 18. Jahrhundert (Göttingen, 1990). For comparison, see S. Cassagnes-Brouquet, ‘La Violence des étudiants à Toulouse à la fin du XVe et au XVIe siècle (1460–1610)’, Annales du Midi 94 (1982), 245–62; Shepard, ‘Student violence’. 5 P. Dorfmüller, ‘Schüleralltag in der Landesschule Pforta im 18. Jahrhundert’, in Alltagswelten im 18. Jahrhundert: Lebendige Überlieferung in Museen und Archiven in Sachsen-Anhalt, ed. S. Bliemeister and K. Dziekan (Halle/Saale, 2010), pp. 169–83 (p. 177). 6 H. Lück, ‘Aus der Strafrechtspraxis der kursächsischen Fürstenschule Pforta in der zweiten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts’, Recht und Macht (2008), 249–70 (p. 251). 7 Flathe, Sanct Afra, p. 197: in 1636, pupils at St Afra refused to give up one of their own during a disciplinary investigation, claiming that ‘it is not the custom at our school to tell on one another, and we shall stand together’. 8 See for instance K. Böttcher, ‘Beiträge zur Geschichte der Landesschule Pforta 1630–1672’, Jahresbericht der königlichen Landesschule Pforta/Schulnachrichten 336 (1909), 1–34 (p. 4). On ‘fagging’, see Thomas, Rule and Misrule, p. 13. 9 On the first day of school, newly admitted pupils of the higher forms were made to lie down in class and were subjected to ceremonious beating with a wooden club, a procedure called Plätzer. The rector Vinhold (in office 1699–1739) banned this custom, apparently successfully. Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 37. 10 In this point, I disagree completely with the nineteenth-century historian Richard Beck, who overstated the frequency of transgressive behaviour at the school in order to prove

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a breakdown of morals among pupils as a result of the Thirty Years War. Beck, ‘Christian Daum: Ein Lebensbild’, pp. 23–4: ‘In den schrecklichen Kriegsjahren war die Disciplin gänzlich gelockert worden, und unter dem kranken Zechendorf war von deren Besserung nicht die Rede gewesen. Die Schüler zechten mit der Soldateska, der Böse verführte den Guten, und wem es nicht mehr gefiel, der verliess auf eigene Faust die Schule und das Lehrerhaus, in dem er als Kostgänger sich aufhielt. Gar häufig klagt Daum in seinen Briefen über die Sittenlosigkeit seiner Gymnasiasten.’ 11 S. Carroll, Blood and Violence in Early Modern France (Oxford/New York, 2006), pp. 257–84; U. Frevert, ‘The taming of the noble ruffian: Male violence and dueling in early modern and modern Germany’, in Men andViolence: Gender, Honor, and Rituals in Modern Europe and America, ed. P. Spierenburg (Columbus, OH, 1998), pp. 37–63 (p. 42). 12 Wolfrum, Nox Cygnea. 13 For the classic interpretation of conflict over night-time disturbances in early modern Europe, see N. Schindler, ‘Nocturnal disturbances: On the social history of the night in the early modern period’, in Rebellion, Community and Custom in Early Modern Germany, ed. N. Schindler (Cambridge, 2001), pp. 193–235. 14 Siebenhüner, ‘Zechen, Zücken und Lärmen’. 15 Böttcher, ‘Beiträge zur Geschichte der Landesschule Pforta’, p. 4. 16 Karant-Nunn, ‘Continuity and change’, pp. 23–6. That the council regularly expelled prostitutes from the town throughout the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, on one occasion nine at a time, attests to the fact that prostitution was a constant feature of urban life in Zwickau. See for instance the entries for 1619 and 1627 in Herzog, Chronik. 17 In the sixteenth century, the council had given 223 householders the right to brew their own beer: Stadt A Zwickau, II M 4.1, Tranksteuerregister der Stadt Zwickau 1515/16. 18 St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 340, Matrikelmaterial, z. T. spätere Abschriften, lose Blätter, 1616ff. 19 RSB Zwickau, Br.23.15, F. Blumberg to C. Daum, Leipzig, 22 March 1647. 20 J. Kuckhoff, Die Geschichte des Gymnasium Tricoronatum (Cologne, 1931), p. 426. On the significance of committing challenges to paper and the ramifications of written testimony for the process of escalation, see Carroll, Blood andViolence, pp. 88–9, 94. 21 It is very unlikely that this Johannes Graf was the same as the pupil of the Prima/Secunda who appears in the matriculation records of 1662 and 1663. Rather, the Johannes Graf in question may well have been the one who married in Zwickau in 1661, according to a Gelegenheitsschrift held at the Ratsschulbibliothek. His profession was given as notarius publicus, making it at least possible that he gave private lessons on the side in the early 1650s; St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S 340, Matrikelmaterial, z. T. spätere Abschriften, lose Blätter, 1616ff; St A Zwickau, III Z 4 S 341, Matrikel von der Hand Christian Daums 1662/ 75; J.-P. Romanus, D. Ferber, B. Schmid, C. Eschenbach and C. Ehrenfroh, Taedae jugales, Florentissimo Conjugum PariViro … Johanni Grafio, Not. Publ. Caesar. h. t. Judicii Pölnicensis in districtu Mönch-Bernsdorfiano Praefecto dignissimo, Sponso … (Zwickau, 1661). 22 RSB Zwickau, Br.149.1, J. Graf to C. Daum, Zwickau, 21 December 1653. 23 I have located two references to these weapons – one, including an illustration, thanks to the suggestion of Dr Lutz Mahnke, in the chapter on sword-fighting in Comenius’ Orbis pictus, reproduced in J. A. Comenius, Dílo Jana Amose Komenského, Vol. 17 (Olomouc, 1970), p. 237. The other can be found in the song ‘Die Schmiede’, in L. A. Arnim and C. Brentano, Des KnabenWunderhorn: Alte deutsche Lieder, 1st edn, 3 vols (Berlin, 1966), p. 75: Fritz Knolle sprach da wohl mit Lachen zur Sachen: Mein Schmid fang nur tapfer an Hosen zu machen, … Papierene Krägen für Wind und für Regen, Acht krumme Dusecken nach Art der Poläken. 24 See J. Grimm and W. Grimm, Deutsches Wörterbuch (Leipzig, 1854–1962), Vol. 13, s.v. ‘PLACKEN’: ‘(4) absolut, auf straszenraub ausgehen, ihn ausüben, s. placker (1) 3 und plackerei (1) 3: md. were aber, das ymande in unsern landen ader uf der straszen rouben ader plagken werde.’

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25 RSB Zwickau, J. Lorentz to Klaubart, Zwickau, 20 December 1653, inserted into RSB Zwickau, Br.149.1, J. Graf to C. Daum, Zwickau, 21 December 1653. 26 E. Muir, Mad Blood Stirring:Vendetta and Factions in Friuli during the Renaissance (Baltimore, 1998), p. 258. 27 A very similar point is made in relation to ritualised action by youth groups in N. Schindler, ‘Die Hüter der Unordnung: Rituale der Jugendkultur in der frühen Neuzeit’, in Geschichte der Jugend, Vol. 1: Von der Antike bis zum Absolutismus, ed. G. Levi and J.-C. Schmitt (Frankfurt am Main, 1996), pp. 319–82; and N. Z. Davis, ‘The reasons of misrule: Youth groups and charivaris in sixteenth-century France’, Past & Present 50 (1971), 41–75. 28 U. Frevert, Ehrenmänner: Das Duell in der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft (Munich, 1991); Frevert, ‘The taming of the noble ruffian’; U. Frevert, ‘Duell’, in Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit, ed. Kulturwissenschaftliches Institut (Stuttgart, 2005), pp. 1165–8; J. Kelly, ‘That damn’d thing called honour’: Duelling in Ireland 1570–1860 (Cork, 1995); M. Peltonen, The Duel in Early Modern England: Civility, Politeness and Honour (Cambridge, 2003); Tlusty, The Martial Ethic in Early Modern Germany. 29 Brüdermann, Göttinger Studenten, pp. 189–90. 30 Flathe, Sanct Afra, p. 182. 31 Herzog, Geschichte des Zwickauer Gymnasiums, p. 37. 32 F. Hielscher, ‘Zweikampf und Mensur’, Einst und Jetzt 11 (1966), 171–99. 33 Ludicrum = sport, game; cf. Chapter 24 in C. Tacitus, Germania, with an Introduction,Translation and Commentary by HerbertW. Bernario (Warminster, 1999): ‘Nudi iuvenes, quibus id ludicrum est, inter gladios se atque infestas frameas saltu iaciunt.’ 34 RSB Zwickau, Br.440.2, M. Vogel to C. Daum, Etzdorf, 1 June 1668. 35 R. Büttner, ‘Rektor Joh. Seb. Mitternacht’, p. 9: ‘Solus a latere suspensus gladiolus, cuius ardentissimo desiderio pueros etiam tenellos tangi frequenter vidimus.’ 36 Ibid., pp. 9–10. 37 Brüdermann, Göttinger Studenten, pp.  525, 529; Siebenhüner, ‘Zechen, Zücken und Lärmen’, p. 15 – Brüdermann stressing students’ ‘überschüssige Kräfte’ and ‘Übermut’ as the underlying reasons for their misdemeanours. 38 Füssel, ‘Devianz als Norm?’, p. 166. 39 Zincgref, Facetiae Pennalium; J. W. Zincgref, Newlich vermehrte Pennal- vnd Schul-Possen oder Geschichte … ([n.p.], 1647). 40 This point was made by J. Reynolds, ‘Retail marketing, technology, and the consumption of children’, conference paper, History of Childhood Seminar Series, Oxford, Magdalen College, Oxford, 2006. For an introduction to marketing research on reference groups and aspirational age groups, see W. D. Hoyer, D. MacInnis and R. Pieters, Consumer Behavior (Mason, 2013), p. 393. See also T. L. Childers and A. R. Rao, ‘The influence of familial and peer-based reference groups on consumer decisions’, Journal of Consumer Research 19 (1992), 198–211; B. S. Nichols and D. W. Schumann, ‘Consumer preferences for assimilative versus aspirational models in marketing communications:The role of product class, individual difference, and mood state’, Journal of Marketing Theory and Practice 20 (2012), 359–75; M. Zhao and J. Xie, ‘Effects of social and temporal distance on consumers’ responses to peer recommendations’, Journal of Marketing Research 48 (2011), 486–96. 41 M. Füssel, ‘Studentenkultur als Ort hegemonialer Männlichkeit?: Überlegungen zum Wandel akademischer Habitusformen vom Ancien Régime zur Moderne’, in Männer – Macht – Körper: Hegemoniale Männlichkeiten vom Mittelalter bis heute, ed. M. Dinges (Frankfurt am Main, 2005), pp. 85–100 (pp. 88–90). 42 R. Campbell, The London Tradesman (London, 1747), p. 74: ‘There goes a common saying, which expresses the Notion the Town has of these inns … It is this, The Temple for Beaus, Lincoln’s Inn for Lawyers, and Gray’s Inn for Whores.’ I wish to thank Professor Wilfrid Prest (Adelaide) for suggesting this reference. 43 Flathe, Sanct Afra, pp. 194–5.

6 Networks, patronage and exploitation: correspondence and the next generation of scholars Artemon, the editor of Aristotle’s letters, called them ‘conversations cut in half’, and indeed few other kinds of sources can give the modern-day reader a similar feeling of intimacy with historical subjects.1 Much has been said about the symbolic value of interactions within the Republic of Letters, at times to the detriment of the exploration of their practical uses. When pupils left the Zwickau Latin school for university, they were better prepared in the technical skills of early modern scholarship than most other first-year students. Yet this was not enough if they wished to excel at university and eventually become respected scholars. Establishing oneself within the Respublica litteraria necessitated forging and maintaining contacts with other members. Apart from formal education, it was these connections that tied a scholar into the Republic. For junior members, the most direct way of expanding their web of connections was to become integrated into existing networks. Budding scholars needed to find influential, well-connected patrons. In cultivating their relationship with their teachers, this is exactly what pupils in Zwickau did. In fact, current and former pupils were the third-largest group among Daum’s correspondents. To the hopeful scholar-to-be, it was crucial not just to acquire the entry ticket into the Republic, but to understand how it worked as quickly as possible if he wished to rise through its ranks and not become forever entangled in its lower registers, beholden to self-styled benefactors and stuck with dogsbody work. We must do likewise. This chapter first examines Daum’s network of correspondents as an instrument for maintaining and expanding his position within the Respublica litteraria. Second, I will discuss how Daum recruited pupils into this network and what benefits he and the pupils derived from these relationships of patronage.

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Why write letters? Correspondence and the Respublica litteraria Through adding his letters to the ocean of correspondence that connected the isolated islands of scholarship in the Holy Roman Empire, Daum contributed to making scholars what physically they were not: a community.2 There were actual meeting places for the members of this community: universities, printers’ workshops, libraries and eventually the increasing number of scientific academies. For many Republicans, however, lack of money or demanding ‘day-jobs’ made it impossible to travel regularly and thus to take part in these social get-togethers. The sense of community needed to be forged by proxy: gossip transmitted by those who could travel, collaborative publications, the exchange of gifts and, most importantly, letters. Not a day in his working life seems to have passed when Daum did not either write or receive a letter or parcel. The Zwickau postman became the most maligned person in Daum’s correspondence, though it is hard to tell whether his frequent complaints about the tabellarius’ unreliability were not just as often handy excuses for a favour not having been rendered in time or a parcel not having been sent.3 If possible, Daum did without the services of the postman, and constantly nagged neighbours and tradesmen in the town to take along a barrel (Daum’s preferred vessel for sending books) or a letter on their travels and deliver it to a friend.4 Letters travelled across Saxony swiftly, one from Leipzig to Zwickau normally taking between one and four days, while a letter from Franconia would take between eight days and three weeks. Daum needed to wait considerably longer for a letter to arrive from outside the empire: usually between ten days and a month for a letter sent from the Netherlands, and regularly six months for a letter sent from northern Italy.5 This    exchange of letters and parcels was not only impressive in numbers, but also in sheer bulk. Of the approximately 10,000 books he owned, a large proportion reached him as part of his correspondence.6 Someone who exchanged letters with such a large number of ‘friends’ is at once baffling and incredibly enviable to us – something of an athlete of intimacy.7 Yet   in order to understand why Daum wrote and received as many letters as he did we must shed the romantic connotations of privacy that letters as a form of communication have for us.8 Though scholars were exceptional in expecting to have rooms in which they could be undisturbed, they by no means expected the same degree of privacy as far as their letters were concerned. Daum and his associates knew their letters would customarily be handed around, and did so themselves all the time.9 Correspondence had many of the functions that learned journals began to fulfil by the end of the seventeenth century: to disseminate information on

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new publications and scholarly trends and to provide a forum for debate.10  T  he possible audience was potentially even larger: as was customary among scholars, Daum had some of the correspondence to the most prestigious of fellow Republicans published, and planned to publish several others.11 In addition to this, Daum appears to have decided relatively early in his career to sell his collection of papers to the Zwickau council, thereby making it public property. However, it was not only different expectations as to who might read a letter that make it difficult to sort Daum’s letters into distinct categories. such as ‘private’, ‘scholarly’ or ‘business letters’. Different issues also interlocked seamlessly in his correspondence. This was evidently intentional. Within the economy of favours that fuelled exchange in the Republic of Letters, repayment could be demanded in all spheres of life, whether it meant helping a former pupil find a job, helping a relative find a suitable wife, or copying and forwarding sections from scholarly books.12 In other words, the totality to which a scholar’s preoccupations pervaded everything he did extended quite naturally into his correspondence. The letters Daum received were almost indistinguishable in shape: a sheet of paper folded into four sections, with the sides tucked in. Three of the sides would be written on, while the fourth side contained the address. A second sheet would fit into this parcel, and possibly a couple of further snippets of paper, but that was it. The great majority of letters show traces of training in letter-writing. Learned men could expect their correspondents to have a firm grounding in the Ciceronian style, as the consul’s Family Letters were standard literature at all German preparatory schools, Protestant as well as Jesuit. In addition to this, a wide range of literature existed on how to draft letters for various occasions and to different kinds of recipients.13 Just as letters from antiquity rarely adhered slavishly to the common style templates, the letters Daum received similarly followed the Ciceronian style and letterwriting guides only loosely. With correspondents becoming better acquainted with each other, the formality of the letters often decreased further.While new acquaintances went to great pains to address their new friend with all of his official titles, compliment him on his noble qualities and adhere to a particular order of sections, later letters often dropped such niceties and concentrated on the information meant to be imparted.14 The majority of letters Daum received were composed in Latin. In theory, this facilitated scholarly exchange across linguistic borders, but in Daum’s case, only Antonio Magliabecchi, the librarian at the court of Cosimo III in Florence, and a handful of Daum’s Dutch contacts were not native speakers of German (two of his contacts in the Netherlands, Graevius and Gronovius, were in fact native Germans). Magliabecchi, somewhat bizarrely, chose to write in his vernacular Italian, causing Daum, as he admitted himself, considerable problems in understanding his acquaintance’s letters.15 Latin, therefore, hardly facilitated

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the exchange of thoughts in Daum’s intellectual milieu, but rather acted as another marker of erudition. A greater degree of intimacy could move both parties to revert to the vernacular German, but Daum does not seem to have let his guard down easily, and was ever eager to impress with the odd linguistic flourish, with a Greek phrase here or an Arabic poem there.16 While some scholars were mocked by their fellow Republicans for their dubious Latin, Daum’s command of it and that of most of his associates was of a high standard, and shows intimate knowledge of classical as well as medieval literature.17 Daum started writing and receiving letters while still a pupil at the Zwickau Latin school, and did not stop until a few days before his death. The first extant letter was sent to him by his cousin, Johannes Jacob Daum, in 1629 when he was seventeen years old, and he acknowledged the receipt of a letter by Friedrich Benedict Carpzov on 14 December 1687, a day before he died at the age of seventy-five.18 Between these two letters, his correspondence resembles a coming-of-age story, beginning with a few letters exchanged with relatives before he left for university, where he corresponded mainly with the teachers and pupils he had met in Zwickau. Though, as we have seen, Daum complained about his studies at university having been prematurely cut off and not having had any ‘teachers’, he certainly made contacts of a small but select group of men whom he continued to correspond with for decades. If we look at how many letters he received from a particular location, it quickly becomes obvious that, apart from a handful of remote correspondents, Daum’s network was essentially parochial in character. Of the 5,177 extant letters, he received 1,934 from Leipzig, 478 from Dresden, 224 from Zwickau, 241 from Gera, 213 from Altenburg, 198 from Nuremberg, 139 from Wittenberg, 130 from Reichenbach, 118 from Glauchau, 98 from Jena, 97 from Halle, and many others from medium-sized Saxon and Thuringian towns. Not only were the majority of letters Daum received in his lifetime sent from within a 100 km radius around Zwickau, they were also written by quite a small number of authors. Of the 490 known authors of letters to Daum, 10 were responsible for 2,424 of the 5,177 extant letters.19 These individuals with whom large numbers of letters were exchanged fall into three categories: the first was made up of scholars of the Leipzig circle whom Daum had met during his studies in 1632–34, or to whom contact was later brokered through Barth (Friedrich Benedikt Carpzov, Johann Fiedler); the second comprised men whom Daum knew from Zwickau; and the third current or former pupils of his school. Networks of clusters: collecting people Once Daum knew one scholar in a particular location, it usually did not take him very long to become acquainted with several others. Rather than being spread

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out thinly across Protestant Germany, Daum’s contacts usually occurred in clusters. Of these concentrations of contacts, Leipzig outshone all others in terms of the number of correspondents and letters written to Daum. Smaller clusters existed at the Saxon and Thuringian university towns of Jena and Wittenberg, in Silesia (Breslau and Liegnitz), Franconia (Nuremberg and Altdorf), Schleswig and the Netherlands. An apparent exception to this pattern are the letters from pastors and teacher-scholars, written from often remote parishes and small towns. These contacts were, however, only geographically distinct from the clusters of contacts Daum corresponded with in larger centres of learning. Like Daum, these men similarly used letters to overcome their relative isolation, and were, in fact, closely connected to clusters in bigger towns, typically in locations where they had attended either Latin school or university.20 It is mainly this concentration on the Protestant milieu of Saxon, Thuringian and Franconian universities and Latin schools that explains why both women and Catholic scholars were almost completely absent among Daum’s correspondents. Scholars who were in closer contact with princely courts, like Leibniz or Birken, often corresponded with female benefactors, but within the milieu Daum moved in, institutional rather than individual employers and sponsors were the norm.21 The few women we find among Daum’s contacts were either his relatives, or the wives or widows of his long-term correspondents. Out of the 490 correspondents we know of, he received letters from only thirteen women, five of whom were related to him.22 The people Daum mixed with in his correspondence were, therefore, in many respects similar to the people he met in his daily life in Zwickau: male, Protestant and from Middle Germany. Nonetheless, having contacts in faraway places was a matter of prestige. In an early biography of Daum, Christian Clarmund stated that ‘there is no noble town in Germany within which Daum did not have a large number of good friends among the most important of scholars, with whom he exchanged a large number of letters’.23 After he began publishing, Daum began continuously expanding the geographical reach of his network of correspondents.The most significant increase in the number of letters he received annually occurred after he was appointed to the position of rector at the Latin school (Figure 17). It is also during this later period, the 1660s till the 1680s, that the geographical expansion of his network of correspondents grew most significantly and began tentatively to expand beyond the confines of the Holy Roman Empire. Daum exchanged a small number of letters with scholars in the Netherlands: Nicolaas Heinsius in The Hague, as well as the above-mentioned German-born scholars, Johannes Georg Graevius in Amsterdam and Johannes Friedrich Gronovius in Deventer. Two letters survive from one of Daum’s rare Catholic contacts, the Jesuit Daniel Papenbroek in Antwerp. A somewhat more intense relationship developed between Daum and the Catholic Antonio Magliabecchi, who, some

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twenty years later, also became one of Leibniz’s correspondents.24 Among the Silesian teacher-scholars with whom Daum developed relations in the last twenty years of his life were some of the region’s most distinguished men of letters.25 With most of his correspondents, Daum appears to have exchanged only a small number of letters. These exchanges usually consisted of a short letter – sometimes taking up not more than a few lines of the available space – that involved the exchange of presents, books to testify to the scholarly rigour of the initiating party, and plenty of name-dropping.26 The initiating party would often send gifts for which the recipient needed to show his gratitude by reciprocating, etiquette therefore demanding that each party write a minimum of two letters. Why initiate this kind of contact? And why did Daum guard jealously the completeness of the whole collection and keep even non-descript letters? One explanation for this kind of behaviour was that among the members of the Respublica litteraria, friendship was seen to be valuable in itself. A cult of friendship certainly existed within the Respublica, to which a large corpus of theoretical literature extolling the virtue of friendship testifies, as does adviceliterature on how to treat and make friends.27 Learned men also produced a large quantity of writings meant to cement and document their existing friendships. These took the shape of poems to celebrate joyous occasions and mourn sad ones, as well as volumes that recorded meetings of scholars and autograph albums (alba amicorum or Stammbücher), in which a scholar would ask his learned acquaintances to jot down a verse or two.28 All of these were also useful as a means of showing a new acquaintance how well connected and, therefore, well established one was. Daum certainly took part in these activities. While no Stammbuch has surfaced – since Daum hardly travelled and therefore seldom met other scholars in person it is quite possible that he did not have one – we know of more than 100 occasional writings (Gelegenheitsschriften) that he wrote or contributed to.29 It was not even necessary to know the person these poems were about, so clichéd and repetitive were they. For example, when Daum’s first wife Martha died in 1673, Johannes Sextus was confident that he would be able to elicit a suitable response from other Literati in her honour: ‘I offer my heartfelt condolences, and wish you patience in your domestic troubles, and hope that I will be able to conduce several men of letters to write Epicedia, and to be able to include them in the next parcel.’30 The collection of Epicedia for Martha Daum, published with a foreword by the Zwickau superintendent Gottfried Sigismund Peisker, indeed contained poems by a large number of well-known German scholars of the day. By far the largest number of condolences came from Leipzig, from Joachim Feller, Jacob Thomasius and Samuel Carpzov, among others. The second-largest group came from Literati in Nuremberg/Altdorf, and featured close associates of Sextus’ such as Birken

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and König. Apart from Johannes Sextus and Joachim Feller, none of these men appears to have ever met Daum, let alone his wife Martha.31 It is easy to see the constant expansion of one’s network of correspondence as part of the cult of friendship, and, to some extent, it makes sense to do so. The letters initiating the correspondents between two scholars, especially, are often representations of the Respublica litteraria at its ritualised best, as they contain features that have become instantly recognisable to historians of early modern court and university culture: the laborious stress on social status, the exchange of gifts, the celebration of holidays as communal events and so on. Much of the exchange of gifts and the name-dropping was, however, connected to current research projects that Daum was involved in, and was in some way or the other connected to the expertise of the correspondent in question. By forwarding a recent publication, displaying his skill in Latin prose by writing a cultured letter and mentioning his connections to other learned men, Daum was giving his correspondents the opportunity to test his qualifications, just as he was testing theirs. His brief exchange of letters with the most famous of his correspondents, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, is a good example of such epistolary courtship. Four letters between Daum and Leibniz are documented, written between March and May 1666.32 The two men had found that they shared an interest in Proteus poetry – Leibniz for its mathematical potential, Daum because the form offered him an opportunity to display his philological skill and command of rare vocabulary.33 After they had apparently been aware of each other’s work for several months, Leibniz appears to have taken the first step by contacting Daum. Both lauded the other’s effort and advertised their own, Leibniz claiming that the method he had used in his De arte combinatoria ‘contained the key to all knowledge’, while Daum, somewhat more modestly, informed Leibniz that, since publishing his Vertumnus poeticus, he had compiled 1,000 further variations of the phrase ‘Fiat justitia, aut pereat mundus’. Leibniz apparently asked Daum to send him a copy of the Vertumnus, which Daum was more than happy to do. After Leibniz replied and thanked the Zwickauer for his troubles and congratulated him on his work, the correspondence between the men seems to have ceased.34 The fact that most contacts did not become fully fledged, close friendships did not render them useless, however.35 Once forged, dormant ‘friendships’ could easily be reanimated when this became opportune, as indeed Daum regularly did.36 Daum did not merely collect letters  – he collected people. This collecting of people – that is, information about their careers, whereabouts, publications, marriages, tastes and friendships – went further than his correspondence. He also collected Gelegenheitsschriften of the kind discussed above, as well as other people’s letters, both in printed and manuscript form.37 The fact that Daum kept the Latin school’s matriculation records in

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such a detailed way as he did was also part of this, as he recorded in them information that was not necessary for the smooth running of the school. At times, several decades after a pupil had graduated from the school, Daum would record details of his university career, his employment, marriages and death.38 All of these sources of information about fellow scholars allowed Daum to be better informed about his contacts, allowed him to single out well-connected scholars who might be able to act as brokers to learned circles he had not yet been introduced to, and also made him valuable to other scholars as a source of information. Contacts and personal information were particularly important for selfpromotion. For Daum was not the type to wait until he or his work were discovered. That, for instance, his Vertumnus should have attracted the attention of the most illustrious linguists in the Nuremberg/Altdorf circle was in no way accidental. Daum had actively promoted the Vertumnus even before publication. He made a point of requesting Sextus’ judgement of his work each time he sent another part of it. However, it was not only Sextus’ opinion that interested him: ‘Hereby you receive the rest [of the Vertumnus].You would render me a great service, if you could forward your friends’ opinions [of it] to me.’39 Daum seems to have been a welcome addition to the wide circle of literary acquaintances of the academic circles of Nuremberg and Altdorf, of which the names of those men who sent greetings to Daum through Sextus read like a ‘who’s who’: Dilherr, Klaj, Ursinus, Birken, Arnold, König, Styrtzel, Helwig, among many others. Sextus also let Daum partake in the private lives of the members of the Blumenorden. For example, he kept him up to date on the progressing stages of the poet Klaj’s increasing alcoholism, which all agreed affected his work detrimentally and finally caused his fellow member of the Blumenorden, the theologian and philologist Dilherr, to take him into his home.40 References were also frequently made to the delicate state of health of Sigmund von Birken, who was reported for instance to have ‘spat two measures of blood during the course of a single afternoon’.41 Gathering information about scholars’ lives – both professional and what we would now consider to be private matters – was directly useful to Daum, since it allowed him to target the most useful members of a circle and select an opportune time for doing so. In other words, Daum collected contacts and information about them that he and his associates knew to be of considerable worth. In this respect, Daum was no different from a merchant such as Hans Fugger, whose network of correspondents was invaluable as a source of information, making him in turn a valuable informant to Duke Ferdinand, and conferring on him a particular type of prestige. Both Daum’s and Fugger’s correspondences contain their share of formalities and performative elements, but to neglect the direct

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usefulness of contacts to the business of research would be the same as neglecting the uses to which merchants put their networks.42 While Daum’s network of correspondents first and foremost served the purpose of bridging the distance between Zwickau and larger centres of scholarship, and thereby of furthering his career as a scholar, it also had implications for his second professional identity of schoolteacher. First, Daum automatically became acquainted with the newest pedagogical trends and publications through his correspondence with other teacher-scholars, as we have seen in Chapters  1 and 3. Second, and most importantly, the school’s pupils were themselves a resource of considerable value. For them, an association with Daum had obvious benefits, but this was not a relationship of equals. Rather, it was one of patron to client. Recruitment and exploitation: the next generation A large number of pupils (letters from fifty-five former pupils survive) became Daum’s correspondents.43 Some of these exchanges, mostly written in formal Latin, began while the pupils where still at the school. During the early stages of their relations with Daum, boys’ parents were typically involved in forging ties with their sons’ teacher, and it is highly likely that some of these letters were either written by the pupils’ guardians or under their supervision. Letters from pupils to their teacher typically read something like what the eleven-yearold Friedrich Blumberg wrote to Daum in one of his first extant letters: With Peace from God! [in Arabic!] There is no reason that You should thank me for the Hamatita, nor for the sending of the little [treatise on] small birds, Praestantissime atqe Doctissime Daumi, Praeceptor aetatem colende, since this is what is required from all students in paying their respects to their Praeceptores, Fautores and Patrones fideles. For I have been well adorned with many and great acts of kindness (and You persist in doing so), which well merits such a token of gratitude … Soon You shall have from me the Letters of Petrarch, with the addition of the Westonia, on this condition, that You,      God be willing, return to me the Westonia on the next day of Mars.44 It was displeasing to my ears that the Works of Mantuanus are not to be found in Jena, as You had heard; if not in Halle, it is impossible [to get them].45 In a letter recently sent to me, my cousin Thönnikerus asks about the Glossary on the Ars Poetica by Horatius; could   You please let me know whether it is completed and brought to its end. My father writes these words on the letter from Lutherus: ‘The letter by Lutherus I [will] send to the Clarissimus Dn. Praeceptor in a month’s time or so, as soon as they be done [copied?] anew, since I do not wish, [and] certainly do not hope, that the sending of them should be for me ungrateful and harmful …’

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And with this I end. Farewell and send the warmest greetings in my name, and [in the name] of [my] father … to Your most virtuous wife, and Farewell again and Good bye. Schneeberg October 5th …46

By absorbing certain pupils into his network of correspondents, Daum also extended his links to their families. Daum and Blumberg’s father evidently knew each other, and kept in contact through young Friedrich, who, by writing stylised letters in Latin (or by having them written for him) to Daum, consolidated his links to his teacher. Blumberg’s father’s input in this particular letter was considerable, as it concerned among other things the return of one of the letters by Martin Luther owned by Daum, which Blumberg senior had apparently borrowed.Young Friedrich was, however, involved in the writing of this letter at least to some extent, since the opening greeting was used to show off the Arabic skills he had acquired at the Latin school. Also mentioned is ‘my cousin’, Johannes Thönnicker, another pupil at the Zwickau Latin school, who, like Blumberg, corresponded with Daum for several decades after having left the school.47 Grateful for ‘numerous and significant acts of kindness’ that he had received at the hands of ‘most eminent Daum, [my] most learned and in eternity revered teacher’, Blumberg immediately reciprocated: along with his letter, he sent samples of rocks (Hamatita), destined no doubt for Daum’s collection of minerals, and presumably more easily procured in the mining town of Schneeberg than in Zwickau. Blumberg also forwarded a treatise on small birds to Daum, apart from having endeavoured to find other books, presumably enquiring in which towns they could be found either from his father or from the slightly older Johannes Thönnicker. In their letters, Daum and his pupils used language very similar to that we find in the correspondence of patrons and their clients at early modern courts, constantly expressing their gratitude for services rendered, referring to feelings of obligation and making distinctions of rank and seniority. These exchanges display both the language and the ethos of reciprocity that recent historiography of early modern patronage as well as of the practice of giftgiving48 have made us expect in what Pitt-Rivers famously called ‘lop-sided friendships’.49 Historians’ analysis of patronage, from its inception heavily influenced by anthropology,50 has in recent years shifted its focus from highlevel politics to other, less obvious areas.51 The examination of patronage of the arts has become a vibrant field,52 as well as the analysis of merchants’ networks.53 On-going research has confirmed that patronage networks at all levels were a constant feature of early modern society and, far from being superseded by government bureaucracy, became intrinsically entwined with it.54 More recently, scholars’ autobiographies and correspondence have been scrutinised for evidence of patron–client networks within the Respublica litteraria.55

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As other authors have noted, language alone is an untrustworthy guide to the relations of power among scholars.56 By flattering a correspondent as ‘benefactor’ or ‘teacher’ while at the same time calling him ‘friend’, both the degree of mutual affection as well as the seniority of one man to the other were constantly renegotiated. The patron–client relationship between two scholars was often less clearly defined than, say, that of an aristocratic patron to his client, since a scholar could quickly overtake his former benefactor in seniority. The patron–client character was, however, quite clearly more than linguistic flirtation in the relationship of a teacher to his pupil. Celebrated and ritualised, it was the most common, and by definition unequal, relationship of junior to senior members within the Republic of Letters.57 The economy of exchange was basically the same as in other relations between powerful patrons and their clients: protection was traded for allegiance, benefices for favours. But how did this economy of exchange work within the context of the early modern school, and what, exactly, did Daum on the one hand and pupils on the other hand expect to get out of their unequal friendship? What Daum got out of it Pupils were different from other correspondents in that their future was highly uncertain: they could become well-connected stars of the Republic of Letters or peripheral figures with little influence. Yet to a patron like Daum, relations to minor members of the Republic of Letters could be just as useful as connections to successful and well-connected clients. If a former pupil proved a success, like Joachim Feller, about whom more will be said later on, he could keep him meticulously informed on all matters of academic life: new publications, legal changes, ordinances, student unrest  – one of Feller’s letters includes a detailed description of a fight among students and a group of soldiers – and the constant disputes among scholars in Leipzig.58 Moreover, Feller and Marcus Tauscher – a highly promising former pupil who died in his early twenties – acted as brokers for Daum in Leipzig. For instance, it was they who delivered the letters and most likely initiated the first contact between Daum and Leibniz.59 Yet it could in many ways be more useful to cultivate less promising former pupils than to maintain contact with upcoming academic stars. These were not contacts that could be boasted of, nor did they produce exchanges or include information would would have lent itself to publication. Daum specifically pursued and fostered acquaintances with minor members of the Respublica litteraria because they were more likely to be useful to him in a practical sense than more prominent members. In the fifty-eight letters that survive

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from Thönnicker and the thirty from Blumberg, it becomes obvious how useful, and indeed essential, it was for someone like Daum, who constantly wished to enlarge his library, to have acquaintances in Leipzig and Jena who were prepared to undertake menial favours such as asking for certain books among local booksellers. What is most striking about the exchange of letters between Daum and his former pupils is the sheer number of favours asked and returned. Procuring a particular book for Daum could require months of enquiries and, once the book had been located, a hard bargain needed to be driven for the book-devouring Zwickau rector. The copy of Mantuanus’ works mentioned above in Blumberg’s letter is a good case in point: once Daum had established that a library in Jena held one copy, he put pressure on Johannes Thönnicker, who was studying there at the time, to make a copy of it for him. Access to the library was restricted, however, so that Thönnicker needed to ask a certain Cundisius, apparently more established than Thönnicker, to accompany him and thereby allow him access. Since the book was very large, Thönnicker needed to ask the apparently reluctant Cundisius for assistance several times in order to copy at least a few sections for Daum, which in turn led to considerable delays. After consistent nagging from Daum, Thönnicker succeeded in getting hold of excerpts of Mantuanus’ works in pamphlet form that he duly copied, though again, the complete edition Daum desired could not be acquired this way, resulting in further frustrated requests from Zwickau.60 What pupils got out of it Tedious though the favours he asked of his pupils were, the absorption into Daum’s network held the promise of swift progress towards full acceptance among the community of scholars. Joachim Feller’s case is worth exploring in detail, since of all former pupils of Daum’s, he exploited his early association with Daum to the greatest effect (Figure  26). Rather than being born into a family of scholars, Feller climbed each step on the ladder one after the other, and is therefore a good example of what stages full integration into the Republic encompassed. His success was not based merely on his universally applauded linguistic skills and a flair for university administration, but also his networking skills. Born the son of a Zwickau cloth-maker, Feller prided himself on being distantly related through the maternal line to Adam Siber, the first rector of the Landesschule Grimma, yet the connections that paved his way to academic success in Leipzig where not established through family ties. Instead, Daum took him under his wing early on. When Feller left for university, Daum furnished him with an errand to Caspar von Barth, thereby introducing his pupil to his former benefactor. On the strength of Daum’s

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Figure 26  Joachim Feller, Daum’s star pupil at Leipzig University. recommendation, Feller also immediately found a place as a famulus in Leipzig. His host, a scholar by the name of Wach, had apparently been quickest at offering Feller a place, since Daum had also referred Feller to Jakob Thomasius, father to the more famous Christian. During the 1650s and 1660s, Feller could hardly have wished for a more influential benefactor than the well-connected Thomasius the Elder, who had taken over the chair in moral philosophy from Friedrich Leibniz (Gottfried Wilhelm’s father), and was later to become rector of the Latin school of St Nicholas in Leipzig.61 Though Feller missed his first chance at becoming closely connected to Thomasius, he did eventually become a member of the Thomasius household in the 1660s, when, temporarily out of

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institutional work after graduation, Thomasius employed him as teacher to his son Christian.62 After Feller’s first wife had died in 1673, he married Thomasius’ daughter. In contrast to Daum, who for both of his marriages chose his former housekeeper, Feller chose daughters of esteemed academics both in his first and his second marriage. The families of professors typically married their children among each other in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Germany, making it especially pertinent to an outsider like Feller to establish ties through marriage. Crowned Poet Laureate on the day of his graduation from Leipzig University in 1660, Feller became tertius at the school of St Nicholas in 1667, only to exchange this position three years later for a professorship in poetry at the university. In 1674, he was elected dean of the faculty of philosophy. Two years later, he became university librarian and, in 1680, he was elected rector of the university for the first time, a post that he was to hold a total of three times. In 1682, he co-founded with Friedrich Benedikt Carpzov and Otto Menke the Acta eruditorum, Germany’s first learned journal, modelled on the Journal des sçavans. For Feller and other ‘early career-scholars’, the bridges they needed to cross on their way to full integration into the Respublica litteraria were, therefore, defined both by personal relationships and by the successful rise through institutions, which, in turn, depended heavily on patronage by established members of the Republic. The power of senior members of the Respublica litteraria manifested itself in the ability to distribute stipends, jobs or contacts to men who could do one or the other. Hopeful scholars-to-be, therefore, ignored their seniors’ influence at their peril. Conclusion Letters served to diminish the physical distance of Zwickau from other centres of scholarship. Daum could remain an active satellite member of the Leipzig circle of scholars and contribute to the symbolic and ritualistic customs of the Republic of Letters, many of which, in the non-metropolitan Holy Roman Empire, had been adapted to take place by proxy, through letters, celebratory publications, and news and gossip disseminated by those who could travel. The fact that former pupils could be leaned on to act as agents at university further reduced the distance between a teacher-scholar’s provincial place of employment and the bookshops, printers and meeting places of academic scholars found in university towns. For the pupils, becoming a part of their teachers’ networks could ease their transition to university and help them get a foot in the door in academic circles. Yet Daum was busy stocking his larder with fresh recruits about whom information (in the form of matriculation records,

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letters, notes and published material) would be stored away until, some day, Daum felt the need to activate such a relationship. If they wanted to stay in the loop and avoid being replaced, Daum’s contacts needed to stay useful to him. Notes

1 Demetrius quoted Artemon in his De elocutione: ‘τòν ἕτερον μέρος τοῦ διαλοῦ’. See Demetrius, ‘De elocutione’, in Grundzüge griechisch–römischer Brieftopik, ed. K. Thraede (Munich, 1970), pp. 223–35 (p. 223). On Hellenic and Roman traditions of letter-writing as a part of rhetoric, see C. Poster, ‘A conversation halved: Epistolary theory in Greco-Roman antiquity’, in Letter-Writing Manuals and Instruction from Antiquity to the Present: Historical and Bibliographic Studies, ed. C. Poster and L. C. Mitchell (Columbia, SC, 2007), pp. 21–51. 2 Much has been published on the social customs of the Respublica litteraria in recent years. For a good introduction, see Fumaroli, ‘La République des Lettres’; F. Mauelshagen, ‘Netzwerke des Vertrauens: Gelehrtenkorrespondenzen und wissenschaftlicher Austausch in der Frühen Neuzeit’, in Vertrauen: Historische Annäherungen, ed. U. Frevert (Göttingen, 2003), pp. 119– 51. See also P. Dibon, ‘Communication in the Respublica literaria of the 17th Century’, Res publica litterarum: Studies in the Classical Tradition 1 (1978), 43–50; F. Waquet, Le modèle français et l’Italie savante: Conscience de soi et perception de l’autre dans la République des lettres (1660–1750) (Rome, 1989). 3 Goethe- und Schiller-Archiv, Weimar, 96/3446, C. Daum to O. Praetorius, Zwickau, 13 June 1667. Daum’s correspondents also frequently complained about the questionable reliability of the postmen, though again, judging by the dates letters were marked as sent and received, the service between Zwickau and the major Saxon and Thuringian towns was quite swift. E.g. RSB Zwickau, Br.418.3, J. Thönniker to C. Daum, Jena, [18 May] 1645. 4 E.g. RSB Zwickau, Br.385.138, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 8 April 1672. 5 As senders routinely recorded the date they wrote a letter, and Daum the date he received it, it is easy to reconstruct how long it took for letters to arrive from their various locations. 6 Daum’s will mentioned the estimate of ‘about 10,000 books’. At present, the Ratsschulbibliothek contains approximately 7,700 books formerly owned by Daum: St A, AG 4072, Testament Christian Daum; Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium, p. VIII. On Daum’s library, see also Chapter 2. 7 Various aspects of letter-writing have become the domain of different humanities subjects, and no modern, scholarly study has satisfactorily filled the void of a synthetic study, despite the increasing interest in the topic in recent years. C. Wand-Wittkowski, Briefe im Mittelalter: Der deutschsprachige Brief als weltliche und religiöse Literatur (Herne, 2000) has made an attempt at limited synthesis for an earlier period. Still useful as an overview, though its conclusions need to be treated with caution: G. Steinhausen, Geschichte des deutschen Briefes: Zur Kulturgeschichte des deutschen Volkes, Vol. 2 (Berlin, 1889). On the uses of letter-writing to different social groups, see A. Gilroy and W. M. Verhoeven, eds, Epistolary Histories: Letters, Fiction, Culture (Charlottesville, 2000); C. Hämmerle and E. Saurer, Briefkulturen und ihr Geschlecht: Zur Geschichte der privaten Korrespondenz vom 16. Jahrhundert bis heute (Vienna/Cologne/Weimar, 2003); R. M. G. Nickisch, Brief (Stuttgart, 1991). Invaluable on the history of postal delivery services in the Holy Roman Empire: W. Behringer, Im Zeichen des Merkur: Reichspost und Kommunikationsrevolution in der Frühen Neuzeit (Göttingen, 2003). 8 Steinhausen triggered the debate on whether letters are primarily ‘private’ sources that betray an author’s ‘subjectivity’, a view that, though popular through most of the twentieth century, has recently come under increasing attack. For a summary of the debate, see F. Mauelshagen, ‘Netzwerke des Nachrichtenaustauschs: Für einen Paradigmenwechsel in der Erforschung der “neuen Zeitungen”’, in Kommunikation und Medien in der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. J. Burckhardt and C. Werkstetter (Munich, 2005), pp. 409–25. 9 In 1667, Matthias König, for instance, wrote to Johannes Sextus and suggested he should read a letter he had received from Daum. An interesting twist to this anecdote is the fact

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that König’s letter to Sextus has survived as a copy that Daum made. Not only did König, therefore, forward Daum’s letters to Sextus, but Sextus forwarded König’s letters to Daum; Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium, p. X. In another instance, Friedrich Benedikt Carpzov informed Daum that he had ‘heard with great sadness of your increasing blindness, and have sent as proof [of the ailment] your letter, written in mangled letters, on to Graevius in Utrecht, who will no doubt share my concern for your illness’; RSB Zwickau, Br.55.232, F. B. Carpzov to C. Daum, Leipzig, 19 February 1687. 10 Christian Weise, also a correspondent of Daum’s, commented explicitly on the importance of correspondence for disseminating information about scholars in a pamphlet on letterwriting: ‘It is well known what sundry mass of information-letters [Erzehlungs=Schreiben] men of learning let fly out into the world, be they concerning Colloquiis, Disputationibus, Collegiis or particular disputes, authors or sermons … sometimes at the behest of [their] patrons, sometimes to please [their] friends.’C.Weise and M. D. Marschalck von Bieberstein, De fatis eruditorum in aula (Leipzig, 1695), p. 125. 11 T. Reinesius, J. A. Bosius and C. Daum, Thomæ Reinesi[i] Medici ac Polyhistoris excellentissimi, Epistolæ, ad CL.V. Christianvm Davmivm … (Jena, 1670). 12 For an excellent exploration of this economy of favours, see Brockliss, Calvet’s Web, pp. 100–4. 13 Much has been written on early modern advice-literature for letter-writing. See especially C. Furger, Briefsteller: Das Medium ‘Brief’ im 17. und frühen 18. Jahrhundert (Basel, 2010); R. M. G. Nickisch, Die Stilprinzipien in den deutschen Briefstellern des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts: Mit einer Bibliographie zur Briefschreiblehre (1474–1800) (Göttingen, 1969); A. Roseno, Die Entwicklung der Brieftheorie von 1655–1709: Dargestellt anhand der Briefsteller von Georg Philipp Harsdörfer, Kaspar Stieler, ChristianWeise und Benjamin Neukirch (Cologne, 1933). 14 The correspondence between Daum and Johannes Sextus shows the tendency of increasing informality quite clearly. For a painstaking analysis of the relationship between antique models and early modern letters, see Metzler’s study on the basis of Stephan Roth’s letters, also held at the Ratsschulbibliothek in Zwickau: R. Metzler, ‘Zur Textsorte Privatbrief in der ersten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts’, in Untersuchungen zur Pragmatik und Semantik von Texten aus der ersten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts, ed. R. Grosse (Berlin, 1987), pp. 1–74. 15 R. Beck, ‘Die Beziehungen des Florentiners Antonio Magliabechi zu Christian Daum, Rektor zu Zwickau’, Zentralblatt für Bibliothekswesen 15 (1898), 98–112, 146–76 (here p. 103). 16 For an example of an exchange of letters that changed from Latin to German, see RSB Zwickau, Br.179.1–215, J. F. Heckel to C. Daum, Altenburg/Leipzig/Glauchau/Chemnitz/ Dresden/Zwickau/Reichenbach/Rudolstadt, 1667–86. Heckel had been writing to Daum in Latin for approximately four years when he began writing alternately in German and Latin (RSB Zwickau, Br.179.15, J. F. Heckel to C. Daum, Glauchau, 2 December 1671). From 1676, he wrote to Daum almost exclusively in German. 17 See for instance Feller’s complaint about Möbius’ dubious command of Latin while conducting a funeral sermon: RSB Zwickau, Br.102.218, J. Feller to C. Daum, Leipzig, 3 June 1671. 18 RSB Zwickau, Br.79.1, J. J. Daum to C. Daum, Prinzersdorf, Austria, 26 July 1629; RSB Zwickau, Br.55.243, F. B. Carpzov to C. Daum, Leipzig, 10 December 1687 (arrived 14 December 1687). 19 Joachim Feller: 449 letters; Caspar von Barth: 445; Johannes Daum: 293; Friedrich Benedikt Carpzov: 240; Johann Friedrich Heckel: 215; Johann Friedrich Köber: 198; Hieronymus Gottfried Peisker: 179; Johannes Sextus: 167; Johann Fiedler: 161; Johann Scheibe: 77. Between 30 and 60 letters survive from a number of other correspondents, including Daum’s former pupils, Johannes Thönnicker and Friedrich Blumberg. 20 The correspondence Leibniz maintained while working in relative isolation at the court in Hanover demonstrates how well contacts with scholarly circles could be maintained from afar. On this point in particular, see G. Utermöhlen,‘Der Briefwechsel des Gottfried Wilhelm Leibnitz: Die umfangreichste Korrespondenz des 17. Jahrhunderts und der “république des

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lettres”’, in Probleme der Briefedition: Kolloquium der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft Schloß Tutzing am Starnberger See 8.–11. September 1975, ed. W. Frühwald, H.-J. Mähl and W. MüllerSeidel (Boppard, 1977), pp. 87–103. 21 For an example of an extended exchange between a scholar and a female patron, see H. Laufhütte, ed., Der Briefwechsel zwischen Sigmund von Birken und Catharina Regina von Greiffenberg, 2 vols (Tübingen, 2005). 22 Daum often corresponded with the female relatives of his deceased male correspondents, for instance the daughters of Johannes Sextus: RSB Zwickau, Br.383.1, H. S. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 21 April 1674; RSB Zwickau, Br.383.2, H. S. Sextus to C. Daum, [Nuremberg], n.d. (arrived 24 May 1674); RSB Zwickau, Br.388.1, S. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 21August 1674. For a letter from a female relative, see that from his cousin, Catharina Seidel: RSB Zwickau, Br.378.1, C. Seidel to C. Daum, Dresden, 24 September 1683. 23 A. Clarmund, Vitae Clarissimorum in re literariaVirorum … (Wittenberg, 1710), p. 196. 24 The correspondence between Daum and Magliabecchi was published in G. T. Tozzetti, ed., Clarorvm Venetorvm ad Ant. Magliabechivm nonnvllosqve alios epistolae ex autographis in Biblioth. magliabechiana, quae nunc publica Florentinorum est, adservatis descriptae (Florence, 1745); G. T. Tozzetti, ed., Clarorum Germanorum Ad Ant. Magliabechium Nonnullosque Alios Epistolae: Ex Autographis in Biblioth. Magliabechiana, quae nunc Publica Florentinorum est, adservatis descriptae, Vol. 1 (Florence, 1746). N. Gädeke, G. v. d. Heuvel, M.-L. Babin and R. Finster, eds, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz: Allgemeiner und historischer Briefwechsel, Vol. 17 (Hanover, 2001), pp. 133, 386. 25 From the early 1670s, Daum corresponded with the future rector of the Elisabeth Gymnasium, Martin Hanke – who is best known as a historian of Silesia and for his attempt to prove Breslau’s Germanic origins – and with the school’s professor of Greek, Christian Gryphius, the son of the poet Andreas Gryphius. RSB Zwickau, Br.385.10, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Hersbruck, 12 June 1652 (date of arrival in Zwickau registered as 6 June 1652!); RSB Zwickau, Br.385.12, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Hersbruck, 17 April 1653; Br.385.14, J. Sextus to C. Daum; RSB Zwickau, Br.385.90, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 19 July 1667. 26 See L. Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium: Katalog der Briefe an den Zwickauer Rektor Christian Daum (1612–1687) (Wiesbaden, 2003). 27 Historians of the German school of Culturgeschichte published several studies on the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century cult of friendship, some of which are still valuable for the broad range of material they cover. W. Rasch, Freundschaftskult und Freundschaftsdichtung im deutschen Schrittum des 18. Jahrhunderts:Vom Ausgang des Barock bis zu Klopstock (Halle/Saale, 1936), pp. 1–35; as well as Trunz, ‘Deutsche Späthumanismus’. For a recent treatment of ‘friendship’ within the context of building correspondence networks (heavily tinged by the sociological theory of Bourdieu), see Mauelshagen, ‘Netzwerke des Vertrauens’, p. 119. 28 Much has been written on Stammbücher as celebrations of learned friendship. For an introduction, see T. Itoh, ‘The concept and origin of the Stammbuch: Current theories’, Kirisutokyo  to bunka [= Christianity and Culture] 26 (1994), 31–47. See also J.-U. Fechner, ed., Stammbücher als kulturhistorische Quellen (Munich, 1981); A. E. Nickson, Early Autograph Albums in the British Museum (London, 1970); W. W. Schnabel, Das Stammbuch (Tübingen, 2003); C. Schwarz, Studien zur Stammbuchpraxis der Frühen Neuzeit (Frankfurt am Main, 2002). 29 L. Mahnke, ‘Die Casualdrucke’. 30 ‘Mit demselben trag ich eine herzliche Condolenz, und wünsche ihm in seinem von Gott ihm zugeschickten Hauscreutz Gedult, hoffend, bey einem und anderm vornemen Literato Epicedia zuwegzubringen, und künftige Fuhr, geliebts Gott, hineinzusenden’; RSB Zwickau, Br.385.155, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg[?], 2 April 1673. 31 G. S. Peisker, ed., Rechtschaffenen gläubigen Christen/ Bey Volckreicher Leichen-Bestattung der das Einige und beste Theil allerthin/ Des … Philologi, Herrn Christiani Daumii, Der Schulen zu Zwickaw wohlverordneten Rectoris Liebgewesenen Ehe-Weibes … (Zwickau, 1673). 32 Leibniz noted in the first letter of the exchange that he was replying to notitia sent to him by Daum.

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33 See Chapter 2 on Daum’s Vertumnus poeticus. 34 Beck, ‘Leibnizens Beziehungen zu Christian Daum’; as well as Antognazza, Leibniz. 35 On the challenges of maintaining a large number of contacts, see Brockliss, Calvet’s Web, pp.118–25; and, for a theoretical perspective, the literature on ‘Dunbar’s number’, a brief introduction to which can be found in J. de Ruiter, G. Weston and S. M. Lyon, ‘Dunbar’s number: Group size and brain physiology in humans reexamined’, American Anthropologist 113 (2013), 557–68. 36 The correspondence with Johannes Sextus is a good example of this, as Daum does not appear to have corresponded with Sextus until his former schoolfriend reappeared among the circle of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden in Franconia: RSB Zwickau, Br.385.1–167, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg/Hersbruck, 2 March 1647–29 December 1673. 37 Daum’s bequest of papers is in fact a treasure-trove of seventeenth-century autographs; Mahnke, ‘Die Casualdrucke’. For Daum’s acquisition of autographs, see Chapter 2. 38 St A, Zwickau, III Z 4 S, 341, Matrikel von der Hand Christian Daums 1662/ 75; and the entry on the death of Andreas Ebhardt in his diary, 1684. 39 ‘Allhier hat es der Rest deßselben. Geschehe mir ein großer Dienst, so er seiner guten Freunde Censuren mir coiciret.’ RSB Zwickau, Konzeptbücher Daum, C. Daum to J. Sextus, Zwickau, 26 May 1646 [no shelfmark]. Sextus received drafts of the work in three parts – the work itself appeared in three parts, one volume per thousand verses – the first of which was sent off on 26 May 1646, the second immediately afterwards on 27 May and the third on 6 July. 40 RSB Zwickau, Br.385.2, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 30 April 1647: ‘Herr Clajus (welcher noch immerdar in allen seinen Sachen, wegen deß ihme garzu gerne beliebenden Trunckes, zimlich faul ist und ietzt allererst den zu Michaelis gehaltenen Engel= und Drachenstreit, von 6. und 8. Bögen, uns zu drucken liefern wird)’; RSB Zwickau, Br.385.5, J. Sextus to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 31 October 1648: ‘Herrn Claji Epithalamia (in welchen der Schäfer ihre meisten ersten grösten Buchstaben nicht allein mir Vexation, sondern auch einen Stich, wegen seines bisher geführten Lebens, das er zwar zimlich bey einem halben Jahr ohngeändert u. verhoffentlich, weil er allernechst an Herrn Dilherrn wohnet, nun mehro anderst anstellen wird, in sich begriffen, wie auch Herrn Dilherrns Lateinisches) das Geheimhalten des bewußten Clavis ist (weil mein Herr Gevatter u. ich sehr damit zu kurtz kommen könten) nur allerbesten Meinung nach begehrt worden, u. wird das Buch mehrntheils umb 45.x verkaufft u. mir umb 40 gelassen.’ For full biographical information on the members of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden, the best points of departure are still the articles in the Allgemeine deutsche Biographie. 41 RSB Zwickau, Br.385.61, J. Sextus to C. Daum, 27 July 1664: ‘Herr Schwager von Bircken ist vergangene Woche fast unglaublich darnidergelegen, u. hat ersten Tag bey 4., andern aber 2. Maß Blut durch den Mund heraußgeworffen.’ 42 Most recent analysis of network-building and the question of mutual trust has been heavily inspired by the concept of ‘social capital’, popularised by Bourdieu. A good introduction to these studies can be found in R. Dauser, Informationskultur und Beziehungswissen: Das Korrespondenznetz Hans Fuggers (1531–1598) (Tübingen, 2008), pp. 304–15. 43 In his catalogue of Daum’s correspondents, Mahnke noted who among them can be traced in the matriculation records; Mahnke, Epistolae ad Daumium: see correspondent’s name. 44 Eizabeth Jane Weston (1581–1612), neo-Latin poet, born in Chipping Norton, based in Prague; stepdaughter to the alchemist of Rudolf II, Edward Kelley. For a modern edition of her writings, see D. Cheney, B. Hosington and D. K. Money, eds, Elizabeth Jane Weston: CollectedWritings (Toronto, 2000). 45 Baptista Spagnuoli, known as Mantuanus (1447–1516), Carmelite author of Spanish descent active in Mantua. For a recent study on the reception of his works, see L. Piepho, Holofernes’ Mantuan: Italian Humanism in Early Modern England (NewYork/Bern, 2001).The above-quoted section could also be read to suggest that Blumberg had asked Daum to search for Mantuanus’ works. However, Daum’s extended exchange with Johannes Thönnicker on book-hunting in

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Jena makes quite clear that it was Daum who craved an edition of Mantuanus’ works published in Antwerp. RSB Zwickau, Br.418.1 (J. Thönnicker to C. Daum, Jena, 23 December 1644)–RSB Zwickau, Br.418.12 (J. Thönnicker to C. Daum, Jena, 25 November1645). 46 RSB Zwickau, Br.23.2, F. Blumberg to C. Daum, Zwickau, [n.d.], 1641, translated by Karin Tikkanen. Blumberg (b. 1629 in Schneeberg) wrote (or had written for him) this and two other letters from his home-town a year before matriculating at university in Leipzig. No letters are extant between 1641 and 1645, by which time he had matriculated in Jena. After graduation Blumberg became minister in Ophausen, and later deacon and archdeacon in his home-town of Schneeberg, where he died in 1699. From the period between 1640 and 1684, thirty letters to Daum have survived, spread evenly over the forty-plus years of their correspondence. 47 Johannes Thönnicker (b. Geringswalde 1627, d. Zschopau 1697), pupil at the Zwickau Latin school till 1644, matriculated in Jena in 1645 and in Leipzig in 1647. He became deacon in Jessen in 1652. 48 On the culture of reciprocity in early modern Europe, see N. Z. Davis, ‘Beyond the market: Books as gifts in sixteenth century France’, Transactions of the Royal Society 33 (1983), 69–88; G. Algazi, V. Groebner and B. Jussen, eds, Negotiating the Gift: Pre-Modern Figurations of Exchange (Göttingen, 2003). 49 J. A. Pitt-Rivers, The People of the Sierra (New York, 1954), p. 140. 50 For a brief introduction to the key anthropological concepts concerning patronage, see A. Weingrod, ‘Patrons, patronage, and political parties’, Comparative Studies in Society and History 10 (1968), 377–400. 51 On recent trends in historical patronage studies, see H. Droste, ‘Patronage in der Frühen Neuzeit: Institution und Kulturform’, Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 30 (2003), 555– 90. For an introduction to studies of patronage among political elites, see A. Ma˛czak, ed., Klientelsysteme im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit (Munich, 1988), particularly the essays by Press, Moraw, Morgan, von Aretin and Koenigsberger. Also: C. Garnier, Amicus amicis – inimicus inimicis: Politische Freundschaft und fürstliche Netzwerke im 13. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 2000); Y. Hasselberg, ‘Letters, social networks and the embedded economy in Sweden: Some remarks on the Swedish Bourgeoisie,1800–1850’, in Epistolary Selves: Letters and LetterWriters,1600–1945, ed. R. Earle (Aldershot, 1999), pp. 99–107; T. Johnson, ‘Patronage, “Herrschaft”, and confession: The Upper-Palatinate nobility and the Counter Reformation’, in Reformations Old and New: Essays on the Socio-Economic Impact of Religious Change, c. 1470– 1630, ed. B. A. Kümin (Aldershot, 1996), pp. 147–68; R. Mousnier,‘Les concepts d’“ordres”, d’“états”, de “fidélité” et de “monarchie absolue” en France de la fin du XVe siècle à la fin du XVIIIe’, Revue historique 502 (1972), 289–312; R. Mousnier, ‘Les fidélités et les clientèles en France aux XVIe, XVIIe, et XVIIIe siècles’, Histoire sociale 15 (1982), 35–46; W. Reinhard, Freunde und Kreaturen: ‘Verflechtung’ als Konzept zur Erforschung historischer Führungsgruppen; Römische Oligarchie um 1600 (Munich, 1979); K. Sieh-Burens, Oligarchie, Konfession und Politik im 16. Jahrhundert: Zur sozialenVerflechtung der Augsburger Bürgermeister und der Stadtpfleger 1518– 1618 (Munich, 1986); P. Steuer, Die Außenverflechtung der Augsburger Oligarchie von 1500–1620: Studien zur sozialenVerflechtung der politischen Führungsschicht der Reichsstadt Augsburg (Augsburg, 1988); S. Teuscher, Bekannte  – Klienten  – Verwandte: Soziabilität und Politik in der Stadt Bern um 1500 (Cologne/Weimar/Vienna, 1998); R. Weissman, ‘Taking patronage seriously: Mediterranean values and Renaissance society’, in Patronage, Art and Society in Renaissance Italy, ed. F. W. Kent, P. Simons and J. C. Eade (Oxford, 1987), pp. 25–45. 52 See, for instance, J. Arndt, Das Heilige Römische Reich und die Niederlande 1566 bis 1648: Politisch-konfessionelle Verflechtung und Publizistik im Achtzigjährigen Krieg (Cologne/Weimar/ Vienna, 1998); M. Baldwin, ‘Pious ambition: Natural philosophy and the Jesuit quest for the patronage of printed books in the seventeenth century’, in Jesuit Science and the Republic of Letters, ed. M. Feingold (Cambridge, MA/London, 2003), pp. 285–329; S. Mareel, ‘Urban literary patronage in the early modern low countries: Public festive culture and individual authorship’, Renaissance Quarterly 64 (2011), 50–78; M. Philipp, ‘Politica und Patronage: Zur

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Funktion von Widmungsadressen bei politischen Dissertationen des 17. Jahrhunderts’, in Disputatio 1200–1800: Form, Funktion und Wirkung eines Leitmediums universitärer Wissenskultur, ed. M. Gindhart (Berlin/New York, 2010), pp. 231–68; M. Schuchard, ‘The road to authorship and publications: Projects, patronage and the Elzeviers’, in Bernhard Varenius (1622– 1650), ed. Schuchard (Leiden, 2007), pp. 91–7. 53 G. Dahl, Trade, Trust, and Networks: Commercial Culture in Late Medieval Italy (Lund, 1998); M. A. Denzel, ‘“Wissensmanagement” und “Wissensnetzwerke” der Kaufleute: Aspekte kaufmännischer Kommunikation im späten Mittelalter’, Das Mittelalter 6 (2001), 73–90; M. Häberlein, Brüder, Freunde und Betrüger: Soziale Beziehungen, Normen und Konflikte in der Augsburger Kaufmannschaft um die Mitte des 16. Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 1998). 54 For a summary of recent research on the impact of ‘modernisation’ on patronage networks, see G. Jancke, ‘Early modern scholars’ patronage networks and their representation by autobiographical writers (16th century)’, Kakanien Revisited 20 (2004), 1–9. 55 G. Jancke, Autobiographie als soziale Praxis: Beziehungskonzepte in Selbstzeugnissen des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts im deutschsprachigen Raum (Cologne/Weimar/Vienna, 2002), pp. 75–165; G. Jancke, ‘Patronage, Freundschaft, Verwandtschaft: Gelehrtenkultur in der Frühen Neuzeit’, in Freundschaft undVerwandtschaft: ZurVerflechtung zweier Beziehungssysteme, ed. F. Rexroth and J. F. K. Schmidt (Konstanz, 2007), pp. 181–200. 56 Jancke, ‘Patronage, Freundschaft, Verwandtschaft’, p. 183. 57 Jancke, Autobiographie als soziale Praxis, pp. 94–5. 58 R. Beck, ‘Aus dem Leben Joachim Fellers: Nach handschriftlichen Quellen der Zwickauer Ratsschulbibliothek’, Mitteilungen des Altertumsvereins für Zwickau und Umgegend 1 (1887), 24– 77 (p. 65). 59 Beck, ‘M. Christian Daums Beziehungen zur Leipziger gelehrten Welt’, p. 3. 60 RSB Zwickau, Br.418.1, J. Thönniker to C. Daum, Jena, 23 December 1644; RSB Zwickau, Br.418.12, J. Thönnicker to C. Daum, Jena, 25 November 1645. 61 See the account Feller gave of his first meeting with Thomasius, which took place on 21 July 1656 and during which Feller, apparently successfully, sought to impress the Leipzig professor by reciting a Latin poem as an introduction that he had composed especially for the occasion. RSB Zwickau, Br.102.1, J. Feller to C. Daum, Leipzig, 9 August 1656. 62 Beck, ‘Aus dem Leben Joachim Fellers’, pp. 28–9.

Conclusion: civic communities, humanist education and the ‘Age of Enlightenment’

Crisis and education: Zwickauers and their school after the Thirty Years War Rather than encouraging the council to invest in schooling that could have contributed directly to the rebuilding of the town’s ailing economy, the Thirty Years War had a conservative effect on schooling in Zwickau. The Latin school and its humanist curriculum were treated as an institutional reminder of the town’s late medieval ‘blossom-time’, and therefore received special attention. Apart from during the plague years of 1632 and 1681/ 82, all full-time teaching positions were occupied without interruption in the seventeenth century, despite acute shortages in the council’s coffers and drastic demographic decline. Not only the council made an effort to revert to the pre-war way of educating young Zwickauers. The school had always relied on the population of the town to house, feed and supervise the pupils. The customs that governed the co-­existence between Zwickau’s inhabitants and the large number of schoolchildren in Zwickau continued to function well, because both parties – the population as well as the pupils – had an interest in keeping the relationship going. The regeneration of the Latin school and its humanist curriculum took place in an environment of increased demand for education. At no previous time had such a large percentage of the population been enrolled at the Zwickau Latin school. The humanist curriculum continued to be accepted by Zwickau’s population largely because the school’s rectors had intentionally designed it to be useful also to the majority of pupils who did not wish to go to university at all. Pupils pursued a wide range of educational strategies, something of which, in an environment where both local German schools and Latin schools in other towns provided fierce competition, the school’s rectors were acutely aware. Though in retrospect we know that Zwickau’s economy did not recover until the demand for the Erzgebirge’s coal brought factories to the region in the nineteenth century, it does not seem to have occurred to anyone

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at the time that the Latin school’s humanist curriculum stood in the way of economic development. The long process of experimentation in the mid-sixteenth century had established a curriculum that allowed the school to become two things at once: a vernacular school for future artisans and tradesmen, and a preparatory school for the small elite of boys who wished to go to university. As a result, future students mingled with future artisans and tradesmen, allowing for crucial connections to be made early on between scholars and the nonlearned members of their home-towns. For boys who did not intend to go on to university, their stay in the lower forms of the Latin school acquainted them in a rudimentary sense with classical culture, providing further foundation for the acceptance of Latin school education in a community dominated by artisan production and commerce. The considerable extent of social mobility among Zwickau pupils suggests that the school more than fulfilled its function as a preparatory institution. Among those pupils who continued on to university, pupils from artisan backgrounds featured as well as ones from professional backgrounds. The reason this investment in education was worth it also for artisan families was the extraordinary extent to which learned professions recruited outside their ranks, only a fifth of Saxon scribes, teachers and pastors having fathers from similar backgrounds. Though not comparable to the breath-taking careers the Catholic Church or the military could make possible in the early modern period, the mobility made possible by education could move whole families upwards over several generations, a notch at a time. It was because of this considerable degree of social mobility into learned professions that the school needed to prepare pupils for university and the competitive life of a scholar in more ways than through classroom tuition. Acceptance by other scholars and, thereby, entry to the elusive Republic of Letters depended on manners as much as on scholarly ability and a publication record. Hopefuls were tested for attributes that only few men possessed. Since only the lucky few were socialised with the right kind of manners in the family home, most boys had to work hard at acquiring these behavioural skills. The rectors were the principal role models for the learned way of life in the way they dressed and conducted their domestic life, and in the specialisations they chose in their careers as published authors. However, just as important as early contact with the mores of studious scholars was the appropriation of behaviour that would allow a prospective student easy immersion among his peers. Violent and transgressive behaviour at school served to accustom pupils to the competitive and hierarchical culture of the university, pupils similarly carrying swords, inviting each other to duels through written invitations and taking advantage of all the entertainment night-time Zwickau had to offer.

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For a select group of pupils, help in getting started at university went even further, since Daum strove to integrate a subset of pupils into his network of correspondents. In a decidedly lop-sided relationship, Daum in effect traded his sponsorship for years  – sometimes decades  – of favours: mostly time-consuming book-hunting. With a network of at least 500 correspondents, and many more with whom contact was kept through middlemen, Daum could keep abreast of the latest publications and gossip circulating among learned men, and thereby remain a member of several circles of scholars despite being marooned in a trading town, far away from university. Through Daum’s network of correspondents, the Zwickau Latin school kept a steady connection going to university and learned circles, which, through its pupils going on to study, was constantly rejuvenated. These connections not only allowed teachers to stay up to date as far as their research interests were concerned, but also benefited the school’s curriculum. In an educational market as competitive as that of Saxony and Thuringia, the teaching method used needed to be constantly updated, especially since dissatisfaction with Melanchthonian method had spawned something of a craze for pedagogical innovation in the 1610s and 1620s. For the Zwickau Latin school, the resulting proliferation of bilingual literature was a blessing, as it occurred just as the council had allowed for a private German school to be situated within the town walls. Bilingual textbooks made it possible to offer pupils of the lower forms continuous exposure to the vernacular and at the same time provide a seamless transition to Latin. There were, however, no guidelines available to the rector on how to navigate the steadily growing body of pedagogical literature, and how to choose the textbooks most suitable for meeting the particular requirements of his school. Territorial regulations fell short of what a good civic school offered as a matter of course, and gave little consideration to the question of what textbooks to use. In any case, these regulations would have needed to be constantly updated to keep up with the rapid changes that took place in the field of pedagogy in the first half of the seventeenth century. Though Lutheran school curricula were superficially similar to each other, slight differences mattered immensely in two ways. First, they were expressions of the assumed right of a civic community to determine the shape of the curriculum within the broadly defined guidelines laid out by the Electoral school ordinance. Second, different methods could make it possible to teach different things clandestinely. In the case of Zwickau, the introduction of new method made it possible to teach oriental languages while it also allowed for the teaching of the vernacular to be brought to the fore through the use of bilingual textbooks. Established scholars employed as rectors were not inclined simply to follow another scholar’s method. The seventeenth-century re-evaluation of teaching

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method was driven by schools, not pedagogical theoreticians. Pedagogy and the practice of education were not separate, they were considered to be two aspects of one and the same thing. Variation, not rebellion: Lutheran Latin schools and German culture This dependence on rectors’ being established scholars marks maybe the most important difference between Lutheran schooling and that of the Catholic Reformation. Teachers of Jesuit schools and academies were of course also often eminent scholars. In contrast to their Lutheran counterparts, it was, however, not essential for them to be scholars for the smooth running of their schools. Since Jesuit normative literature was so much more explicit on which textbooks to use and which method to apply, Jesuit teachers were not under the obligation to keep up to date with the newest pedagogical developments. The fact that Latin schools hosted scholarly microclimates of their own was crucial in the specific development scholarship was to undergo in the Lutheran territories of the empire in the two centuries after the Thirty Years War. Rather than Lutheran territories being different to each other, but homogeneous internally, Daum’s network of correspondence suggests that it is better to understand the Lutheran German intellectual world as a web of similar interconnected microclimates. Territorial government certainly had an influence on the conditions in which scholars and schools found themselves, but equally important were the civic traditions of their localities and the specific social and economic conditions of these towns and their populations. Schools in different territories often had more in common with each other than with ones in the same territory, a fact that is also illustrated by the ease with which pupils crossed territorial borders in order to attend other schools. Howard Hotson has recently pointed out that territorial fragmentation eased Ramism’s path into German schools and had much to do with more editions of Ramus’ works being published in the Holy Roman Empire than anywhere else.1 Part of the explanation why so many pedagogical books were published in Germany must also be concerned with the strong sense of institutional independence these schools harboured. Schools not only hosted men capable of writing their own textbooks, or at least editing someone else’s  – the teaching staff were very much expected to write and publish. In order to allow them to do so, councils furnished their teachers with wages comfortable enough to acquire extensive libraries, and provided housing complete with those much-coveted places of refuge of the early modern scholar, separate studies. The publication of excerpts from the Qur’an and the introduction of Arabic to the curriculum

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in the 1620s by Daum’s predecessor, Johannes Zechendorf, illustrates just how much freedom rectors enjoyed in conducting their own research and shaping the school’s teaching programme. We are therefore looking at an educational and cultural climate that was very different from its southern German Catholic neighbours, where the Jesuits had made swift progress. The model of interconnected microclimates is likewise not applicable to a metropolitan society, such as France’s or England’s. If anything, it bears most similarity to the decentralised culture of the Italian Renaissance. However, in contrast to the Italian city states, rather than encouraging iconoclastic scholarly innovation, these German microclimates spawned countless variations on a given theme. Seventeenth-century teacher-scholars rarely contributed to the gradual shift in scholarly paradigms associated with the so-called ‘scientific revolution’, philology being the field in which schoolteachers could command the greatest degree of respect among fellow scholars. Constantly in contact with the texts of the ancients, German teacher-scholars were likely to be conservative in their intellectual activity and to be drawn to the scientific ideal of the polyhistor. Continued support for humanist school curricula was driven by local communities, not the territorial Government. Even far smaller Saxon communities than Zwickau considered the fact that they possessed a Latin school – not a mere German school – to be an integral part of their urban identity. In the case of Zwickau, its school represented an institutional link to former periods of civic greatness. More importantly, however, the school worked. The old way of doing things had actually succeeded in satisfying both the artisans’ demand for vernacular teaching and the demand for education that prepared a minority of boys for university. It was practical arrangements of this kind, rather than territorial education policy, that gave humanism a firm base at civic Latin schools. Schools therefore made sure that the German Age of Enlightenment had a solid humanist foundation. In any case, the term ‘Age of Enlightenment’ is something of a misnomer for Germany, since the Holy Roman Empire’s decentralised structure made it impossible for new scholarly ideals to sweep away their predecessors. Several scholarly ideals and currents co-existed.2 Schools were in no small part responsible for the longue durée of the continuous importance of the study of the classical world in German scholarship. As innovative as great figures of the early Enlightenment such as Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Christian Thomasius and Christian Wolff may have been, their work remained imbued with their thorough humanist training and attached to the polyhistorical preference for wide-ranging knowledge over narrow specialisation.3 The great reinvigoration of classical studies during the nineteenth-century golden age of neo-classicism, which produced such towering figures as Wilhelm von

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Humboldt and Theodor Mommsen, would have been unthinkable without uninterrupted continuity from seventeenth-century Late Humanism.4 The multifaceted scholarly habitat of Lutheran Latin schools, like the one described in this book, ensured such continuity.5 Notes

1 Hotson, Commonplace Learning, pp. 25–37. 2 This ‘simultaneousness of divergent phenomena’ is described succinctly in Schindling, Bildung undWissenschaft, pp. 99–101. 3 The continuity of a humanist outlook well into the late eighteenth and, in parts, into the nineteenth century is discussed in detail in Kühlmann, Gelehrtenrepublik; U. Muhlack, Geschichtswissenschaft im Humanismus und in der Aufklärung: Die Vorgeschichte des Historismus (Munich, 1991); and R. Toellner, ed., Aufklärung und Humanismus (Heidelberg, 1980). 4 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, pp. 564–98. 5 At the Zwickau Latin school, the eighteenth-century rectors Georg Andreas Vinhold and Christian Clodius were both published neo-Latin poets and scholars, if not of Daum’s stature. See especially C. Clodius, Commentatio de instituto Societatis Philo-Teutonico Poeticae (Leipzig, 1722); C. Clodius, Venationem regiam in Sudetibus celebrata (Annaberg, 1734).

Appendices

Dates of the Zwickau school 1231 1291 1372 1383 1406 1415/ 20 1430 1479 1517–20 1519 1520 1520–22 1522–29 1523 1526 1529–35 1535–46 1537 1542 1548 1548–49

Franciscan friary founded, including a school first documented mention of a rector of the school (‘Heinricus, rector scholae’) ‘rector scholarium’ mentioned location of school is mentioned as being next to St Mary’s Nikolaus Dithmar mentioned as director of school first Zwickau school ordinance Caspar Schilbach mentioned as rector of school Zwickau’s wealthiest burgher, Martin Römer, erects a new school building opposite St Mary’s rectorship of Stephan Roth, a close associate of Luther’s council founds a separate Greek school under the rectorship of Georgius Agricola, the famous mineralogist Greek school is merged with Latin school to ‘Schul der Stadtkynder’, or ‘Ratsschule’ rectorship of Georgius Agricola rectorship of Leonhard Nather Nather publishes Germany’s first evangelical school ordinance Nicolaus Hausmann campaigns successfully for a girls’ school, which opens this year rectorship of Johann Neander rectorship of Petrus Plateanus Plateanus writes a new school ordinance in collaboration with Melanchthon, Bugenhagen, Jonas and Cruciger council obtains the Grünhainer Hof, an outhouse of the secularised property of the Cistercian friary in Grünhain, from the Elector school moves into Grünhainer Hof rectorship of Georg Thym

Appendices

1549–57 1558–74 1575–89 1590–1602 1602–08 1608–17 1617–62 1662–87 1688–90 1690–99 1699–1739 1710–12 1740–78 1757–59 1778–1800 1800–17 1817–23 1823–34 1834

rectorship of Esrom Rüdiger, the future professor of philosophy and physics at Wittenberg who refused to sign the Articles of Torgau in 1574 rectorship of Justus Ludwig Brüschmann rectorship of Paul Obermeyer rectorship of Abraham Beuther rectorship of Kilian Wallendorf rectorship of Peter Hornig rectorship of Johannes Zechendorf, longest ever rectorship at Zwickau Latin school rectorship of Christian Daum rectorship of Daniel Müller rectorship of David Winter rectorship of Georg Andreas Vinhold Alumneum is built for planned Ritterakademie rectorship of Christian Clodius Prussian troops billeted at school rectorship of Johann Gottlieb Claus rectorship of Johann August Görenz rectorship of Friedrich Gotthelf Klopfer rectorship of Friedrich Gottfried Wilhelm Hertel; remains in the governing body of the Gymnasium till 1839 as a part of the general administrative reforms in Saxony, the Latin school is dissolved and reorganised as the Gymnasium Zwickau

Staff of the Zwickau Latin school in the seventeenth century Rectors 1590–1602 1602–08 1608–17 1617–62 1662–87 1688–90 1690–99 1699–1739

Abraham Beuther Kilian Wallendorf Peter Hornig Johannes Zechendorf Christian Daum Daniel Müller David Winter Georg Andreas Vinhold

Co-rectors 1602–08 1608–33 1633–42

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Peter Hornig Abraham Winter Tobias Schmidt

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1642–71 1671–76 1676–1713

Johann Decker Georg Gerhard Cristoph Friedrich Leißner

Tertii 1595–1602 1602–08 1608–12 1612–13 1613–24 1624–33 (d.) 1635–42 1642–62 1662–82 (d.) 1683–1714

Peter Hornig Abraham Winter Johann Georgi David List Johann Böhm Peter Schütz Johann Decker Christian Daum Heinrich Dittmann Paul Freund

Christian Daum, 1612–87 29 March 1612 born in Zwickau 1620–31 pupil at Zwickau Latin school under rectorship of Johannes Zechendorf 1632–34 studies at Leipzig University, meets Caspar von Barth 1634–42 private teacher at the house of Dr Nicolaus Götze 10 May 1642 appointed tertius at Zwickau school; moves to apartment in the Priesterhäuser 3 October 1642 marries Martha Fickenwirth (d. 1673), the daughter of a blacksmith from Gera 1658 Daum’s brother Johannes secures a noble title for the family 1662 appointed rector of the school; moves to the rector’s apartment at the school 1674 marriage to Anna Margarethe Auerbach, his cousin twice removed, for which he needs to obtain permission from the Elector; birth of Johann Christian Daum 1675 offered chair of University of Kiel, but declines 1676 birth of Anna Rosina Daum 15 December dies in Zwickau 1687

Christian Daum’s authored volumes and editions of classical and medieval texts De causis amissarum quarundam Linguae Latinae Radicum … (Zwickau, 1642).

Appendices

189

Strenae s.Vota metrica vario Carminum genere palindroma (1646). Vertumni Poetici tres Millenarii ad Scitumillud Imperatorium, Fiat iustitia, aut pereat mundus (Zwickau, 1646). Versiculus ex Anthologia Graeca, L. I. c. 8. Epigr 6., Multos thyrsigeros, paticos est cernere Bachos, Latinis Hexametris plus trecenties redditus (Zwickau, 1652). Xeniorum schedia M. Zechendorfio oblate (Zwickau, 1653). Epistolarum Ciceronis a Ioh. Sturmio selectarum Libri III. cum breuibus Argumentis & notis (Zwickau, 1657). Bernardi Geystensis Palponista & VValonis Britanni Satyra cum notis Daumii (Zwickau, 1660). Dionysii Catonis Disticha de Moribus ad filium, Graece a Maximo Planude. Iosephe Scaligero, Matthaeo Zubero & Ioh. Mylio, Germanice ex mente Ios. Scaligero & Casp. Barthii a Mart. Opitio expressa, cum notis eiusdem, interpolates a Christiano Daumio (Zwickau, 1662). Diuorum Patrum Homiliae in Festum Natiuitatis Christis (Zwickau, 1670). Hieronymi Graeci Libellus de Trinitate, & Gennadii, Patriarchae Constantinopolitani, Opuscula, it. Hieronymi de Baptismo, cum notis & Praefatione (Zwickau, 1677). Fabulae Camerarii, cum Indice ab aliis Carmine redditarum & alibi reperiendarum & notis (Leipzig, 1679). Henrici Septimellensis s. Pauperis Elegia, siue Dialogus de diuersitare fortunae & Philosophiae Consolatione (Leipzig, 1680). Hieronymi Disputatio ad Institutionem Christianorum vtilissima (Zwickau, 1680). Benedicti Paullini Petrocorii de vita B. Martini Libros sex, Carmen ad Nepotulum, & Epigramma Basilicae Martini apud Turones inscriptum, cum Francisci Iureti, Casp. Barthii, Ioh. Frid. Gronouii & suis notis, recensuit Christianus Daumius, addito etiam Tertulliani Carmine de Iona & Niniue & Paullini Pellaei, Ausonii Nepotis, Eucharistico (Leipzig, 1681). Libellus de recta et ordinate vocum compositione ([n.p.], [n.d.]). Notae in P. Optatiani Porphyrii Epistolam ad Constantinum Imperatorem & huius ad Porphyrium Epistolam, nec non Porphyrii Panegyricum, Constantino Augusto consecratum ([n.p.], [n.d.]). Onomasteria, D. Balduini, D. Bar. Stepneri, L. Godofr. Sigism. Peiskeri, D. Casp. Loescheri, Ephororum Cygnensium ([n.p.], [n.d.]). Ps CIII. hyporchemate, & varia Carmina, diuerso metro ([n.p.], [n.d.]). VVunstii precationes Auenarii accurante Daumio editae sunt, cum Dedicatione adTh Steinmezium, quae tamen a pluribus abest Exemplaribus ([n.p.], [n.d.]).

Works by Caspar von Barth, edited by Daum Barthii Soliloquiorum rerum diuinarum Libri 2.Tomis (Zwickau, 1655). Claudiani Ecdicii Mamerti de statu Animae Libri III. vt & Hermae Pastor, itemque Paciani paraeneticus ad poenitentiam, cum Barthii animaduersionibus (Zwickau, 1655). Guil. Britonis Aremorici Libri XII. Philippidos, siue Poema Heroicum de rebus Philippi, Francoru Regis, ad Ludouicum, eius Filium, post Pithoei & Duchesnii editions, vna cum copiosis Casparis Barthii annotationibus, lucem aspexere (Zwickau, 1657).

190

Appendices

Statii Papiniani Opera, cum animaduersionibus Barthii & Indicibus Daumianis I. II. III. Tomi (Zwickau, 1664). Petri Aretini Pornoboscodidasculus, s. Colloquium muliebre de astu & dolis meretricum (Zwickau, 1670). Geronticon Libri II. (Zwickau, 1673).

Collections of letters and posthumous publications Christiani Daumii & Thomae Reinesii Literae amoebaeae & aliae, editae a Andrea Bosio (Jena, 1670). Rauisianae & quaedam Campani Epistolae (Zwickau, 1692). Christiani Daumii Epistolae Latinae ad Ioh. Fridericum Hekelium, editae a Ioh. Andrea Gleich (Dresden, 1697). Christ. Daumii Epistolae Philologico-Criticae ad Cl Viros, Ioh. Andr. Bosium, Ioh. Gebhardum & Mart. Hankium scriptae, & tribus partibus absolutae. Quibus accredit Pars VI., seu Appendix ad diuersos, nimirum C. Pomarium, E. Stockmannum, Ioh. Fidlerum, I. V. Merbitzium, Ge. Seidelium aliosque exaratae, ex ipsis aitographis erutae et emissae a Ioh. Andrea Gleich, SER. REG. & ELECT. SAX.Theologo & Ecclesiaste Aulae Seniore (Chemnitz, 1709). Christ. Daumii felix Poetarum subsidium (Poetischer Flickfleck) certissimum, & ad quoduis Versuum genus, etiam ad Chronodisticha ipsa conscribenda, exercitatis, ast occupatis Poetis, promtum vsum,Tyronibus in hac arte adminiculum afferens, cum Oratione Eiusdem Rectorali & Palindromis aliisque Carminibus (Leipzig, 1710). Daumii Catalogus Scriptorum, quorum opera addi potuissent in Lugdunensi Patrum Bibliotheca ([n.p.], [n.d.]).

This list of Daum’s work is taken from Ludwig, Historia Rectorum. To it need to be added the large number of occasional publications to which Daum contributed, his posthumously published correspondence with Magliabecchi, as well as the collaborative projects he was involved in, particularly the large-scale undertaking of the etymological dictionary edited by König, Gazophylacium Latinitatis. It is also highly likely that Daum was the editor of the 1662 bilingual edition of Helwig, Familiaria Colloquia. See the bibliography for further details.

Bibliography

Unpublished primary material Ratsschulbibliothek (RSB) Zwickau Nachlass Daum Letter collections of individual authors

Br.6.1–42, Arnold, C. to C. Daum, Nürnberg, 16 September 1668–17 April 1684. Br.13.1–444, Barth, C. v. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 23 February 1635–15 March 1658. Br.19.1–24, Bertram, V. to C. Daum, Leipzig, [22] November 1651–09 November 1660. Br.23.1–30, Blumberg, F. to C. Daum, Schneeberg, 4 October 1640–5 March 1684. Br.55.1–243, Carpzov, F. B. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 13 October 1676–10 December 1687. Br.60.1, Colbovius, P. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 6 December 1651. Br.78.1–293, Daum, J. to C. Daum, Dresden, 5 June 1633–26 October 1669. Br.79.1, Daum, J. J. to C. Daum, Prinzersdorf, Austria, 26 July 1629. Br.91.1, Ebhardt, A. to C. Daum, [n.p., n.d.]. Br.93.1–5, Ebhardt, P. to C. Daum, Zwickau/Jena, [unknown month] 1667–2 June 1669. Br.102.1–449, Feller, J. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 9 August 1656–10 December 1687. Br.113.1–161, Fiedler, J. to C. Daum, Zwickau/Plon/Mügeln/Reichenbach, 15 June 1634–26 November 1670. Br.121.1–15, Francke, D. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Weida, 24 November 1666–17 October 1669. Br.126.1–2, Fritzsche, J. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 5 October 1677–27 May 1684 (date letter arrived). Br.135.1, Geyer, C. to C. Daum, Zwickau, 23 November 1669. Br.149.1–4, Graf, J. to C. Daum, Zwickau/Leipzig/Wittenberg, 21 December 1653–8 April 1670. Br.157.1–3, Gryphius, C. to C. Daum, Breslau, [06 October] 1684–[13 August] 1685. Br.159.1–6, Gueinz, C. to C. Daum, Halle, [15 December] 1645–30 August 1646. Br.163.1–6, Güntzel, E. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Zwickau, 17 October 1663–3 April 1673. Br.167.1–2, Hahn, J. to C. Daum, Dresden, 13 October 1682–15 February 1683.

192

Bibliography

Br.170.1–12, Hanke, M. to C. Daum, Breslau, 27 November 1671–11 April 1686. Br.179.1–215, Heckel, J. F. to C. Daum, Altenburg/Leipzig/Glauchau/Chemnitz/ Dresden/ Zwickau/Reichenbach/Rudolstadt, 23 February 1667–24 March 1686. Br.181.1–6, Heermann, E. to C. Daum, Liegnitz, 29 May 1685–21 May 1686. Br.185.1–Br.185.4, Heinsius, N. to C. Daum, The Hague, [7 October] 1671– [1 December] 1677. Br.203.1–203.5, Jacobi, J. to C. Daum, Wittenberg/Blankenheim, 16 April 1675–13 March 1677. Br.208.1–17, Kettner, F. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Stollberg, 1 September 1662–4 February 1676. Br.220.1–198, Köber, J. F. to C. Daum, Gera, [1 December] 1668–20 May 1687. Br.223.1–58, König, G. M. to C. Daum, Altdorf, 15 March 1667–16 March 1687. Br.235.1, Leibniz, G. W. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 26 March 1666. Br.240.1–3, List, J. to C. Daum, Zwickau, [31 May] 1633–[23 July] 1633. Br.250.1–Br.250.38, Magliabecchi, A. to C. Daum, Florence, 10 February 1677 (arrived 26 February 1678!)–26 July 1687 (exact date of arrival uncertain). Br.252.1–7, Malmo, G. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 18 June 1652–[21 March] 1657. Br.255.1–7, Martini, L. G. to C. Daum, Zwickau/Altdorf/Leipzig, 22 June 1671–19 March 1673. Br.259.1, Mauersberger, M. to C. Daum, [n.p., n.d.]. Br.266.1–9, Meywald, G. to C. Daum, Liegnitz, 17 March 1684–27 November 1685. Br.268.1, Mirus, J. to C. Daum, Wittenberg, 10 October 1668. Br.270.1–3, Mitternacht, J. S. to C. Daum, Gera, [3 August] 1648–19 March 1653. Br.284.1–4, Nörner, G. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Dresden/Rochlitz, 25 November 1666–2 April 1679. Br.290.1, Olischer, D. J. to C. Daum, Zwickau, [n.p., 1661]. Br.292.1–3, Opel, A. S. to C. Daum, Wittenberg, 15 January 1679–11 August 1679. Br.297.1–179, Peisker, H. G. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Zwickau/Frankfurt O./ Zscheppin/ Halle/Neuschönfels, 26 July 1667–27 January 1683. Br.310.1–14, Rabener, J. G. to C. Daum, Grimma/Freiberg, 25 April 1680–3 October 1687. Br.311.1–12, Raethelius, J. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Schwarzenbach, 7 February 1650– 10 December 1680 (date letter arrived). Br.312.1–10, Rappolt, F. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 6 November 1658–10 November 1666. Br.315.1–60, Reinesius, T. to C. Daum, Altenburg, [7 October] 1649–18 May 1661. Br.324.1, Richter, G. to C. Daum, Hartenstein, 12 September 1669. Br.329.1–85, Rivinus, A. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 27 January 1646–23 February 1656. Br.332.1–2, Römer, J. C. v. to C. Daum, Baruth/Schneeberg, 12 September 1670–22 March 1677. Br.335.1, Rosmann, G. to C. Daum, Zwickau, [n.d.]. Br.336.1, Roth, J. C. to C. Daum, Leubnitz, 13 December 1665.

Bibliography

193

Br.345.1–Br.345.77, Scheibe, J. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Altenburg, 14 July 1655–29 May 1669. Br.352.1–5, Schilling, D. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 22 February 1673–24 January 1673. Br.354.1, Schincke, J. to C. Daum, Werdau, 15 February 1684. Br.357.1–4, Schmidt, B. to C. Daum, Zwickau/Dresden, 2 October 1665–1 April 1680. Br.358.1, Schmied, J. to C. Daum, [Zwickau], 30 April 1673. Br.365.1, Schüßler, C. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 16 June 1683. Br.370.1–6, Schurzfleisch, K. S. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Wittenberg, 29 June 1667–7 June 1676. Br.376.1–16, Seebisch, J. to C. Daum, Zwickau/Dresden, 11 May 1667–12 September 1677. Br.378.1, Seidel, C. to C. Daum, Dresden, 24 September 1683. Br.379.1–6, Seidel, G. to C. Daum, Planitz/Zwickau, 23 August 1682–8 December 1682. Br.380.1–380.40, Seidel, G. to C. Daum,Wittenberg/Auerbach/Dresden/ Zwickau, 9 September 1668–15 April 1684. Br.382.1–15, Seiffart, D. to C. Daum, Wittenberg/Meuselwitz, 8 June 1680–26 April 1685. Br.383.1, Sextus, H. S. to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 21 April 1674. Br.385.1–167, Sextus, J. to C. Daum, Nuremberg/Hersbruck, 2 March 1647–29 December 1673. Br.387.1, Sextus, N. to C. Daum, Weißenborn, 5 November 1682. Br.388.1, Sextus, S. to C. Daum, Nuremberg, 21 August 1674. Br.396.1–11, Stecher, M. to C. Daum, Wittenberg/Schöneck, 21 July 1644–20 June 1648. Br.400.1, Steinmetz, E. to C. Daum, [n.p.], 13 March 1673. Br.401.1–6, Stempel, C. E. to C. Daum, Wittenberg/Annaberg, 21 December 1660– 19 October 1668. Br.404.1–11, Stepner, B. to C. Daum, Wittenberg/Leipzig/Zwickau/Dresden, 14 March 1636–12 May 1653. Br.412.1–412.30, Tauscher, M. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 9 August 1666–8 October 1669. Br.413.1, Thalbitzer, Z. to D. Christian, Eibenstock, 1 July 1644. Br.415.1, Thiel, D. E. to C. Daum, Zwickau, 25 November 1682. Br.418.1–58, Thönniker, J. to C. Daum, Jena/Geringswalde/Zwickau/Leipzig/ Jessen/ Korpitzsch/Zschopau, 23 December 1644–9 November 1685. Br.419.1–75, Thomasius, J. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 8 October 1651–21 January 1678 [date letter was received]. Br.425.1–3, Tittmann, D. to C. Daum, Dresden, 26 June 1685–31 July 1685. Br.429.1–9, Tüchel, F. W. to C. Daum, Leipzig, 26 August 1671–2 July 1683. Br.438.1, Vogel, C. A. to C. Daum, Etzdorf, 1 June 1668. Br.439.1–18, Vogel, C. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Zürchau, 13 March 1669–24 October 1673.

194

Bibliography

Br.440.1–2, Vogel, M. to C. Daum, Etzdorf, 17 April 1667–1 June 1668. Br.441.1–2, Vogel, S. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Endorf, 28 May 1670–2 November 1677. Br.443.1–16, Vogelhaupt, J. to C. Daum, Annaberg/Zeitz, 15 March 1664–6 October 1676. Br.446.1–13, Vollrath, G. to C. Daum, Wittenberg, 30 July 1646–29 November 1649. Br.447.1, Vollrath, G. to C. Daum, Wittenberg, 18 February 1646. Br.449.1, Wächter, J. C. to C. Daum, Werdau, [?] January 1645. Br.452.1–2, Weber, J. F. to C. Daum, Bockwa, 13 January 1685–25 January 1685. Br.454.1–4, Weise, C. to C. Daum, Weißenfels/Zittau, 29 June 1676–24 December 1683. Br.460.1–6, Winter, D. to C. Daum, Wittenberg, 29 January 1679–5 October 1687. Br.468.1–2, Zahmseil, D. t. Y. to C. Daum, Zwickau, 6 September 1675–12 April 1685. Br.469.1–469.21, Zechendorf, J. to C. Daum, Zwickau, 12 June 1633–8 May 1636. Br.471.1, Zeidler, C. S. to C. Daum, Wittenberg, 12 May 1684. Br.476.1–11, Zießler, P. O. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Kirchberg/Langenhessen/Eilenburg, 14 June 1680–18 February 1687. Br.477.1–9, Zimmermann, M. to C. Daum, Meißen, 15 August 1670–8 June 1682. Br.479.1–14, Zöphel, J.A. v. to C. Daum, Leipzig/Schöneck/Auerbach/Braunschweig, 17 June 1657–24 September 1666. Br.488.1, Peisker, Z. S. to C. Daum, Zwickau, 27 April 1672. For a complete list of the letters Daum received held at the Ratsschulbibliothek Zwickau, see the catalogue: Mahnke, L., Epistolae ad Daumium: Katalog der Briefe an den Zwickauer Rektor Christian Daum (1612–1687) (Wiesbaden, 2003).

Other items relating to Daum

2002/8°/49, Vols 1–3, Bibliothekskatalog Christian Daum, ‘ca. 1675’–1687. 2002/8°/50, Vols 1–3, Bibliothekskatalog Christian Daum, ‘ca. 1675’–1687. Akten die Lateinschule betreffend [mostly containing Daum’s notes, no shelfmark]. Christian Daumij, Rectoris zu Zwickau nachgelassener Kinder, Johan Christians, und Annen Rosinen, Vormundschafft betr., 1691 [no shelfmark]. Handschriftliches das Gymnasium zu Zwickau betreffend, Zwickau, [n.d., no shelfmark]. Konzeptbücher Daum, Daum, C. to various authors, Zwickau, 1633–1687 [several boxes of notebooks, no shelfmark]. Lebensdokumente Daum, 1662–c. 1674 [no shelfmark]. Ratsherrenbuch [no shelfmark]. Schreibkalender Christian Daum, 1662–87 [no shelfmark]. Schulgelds=Register, 1662, 1662–87 [no shelfmark]. Verschiedene Briefe [some documents relating to Daum, no shelfmark].

Nachlass Zechendorf Epistolae ad Zechendorffium [ordered and bound together in the eighteenth century, no shelfmark].

Bibliography

195

Letters to Zechenforf [bound together and reverse sides used by Zechendorf for Arabic exercises, no shelfmark].

Miscellaneous LIXb, Peter Schumanns Annalen II, Bl. 78b (Stück 1), late sixteenth century. Christian Clodius, Porträtsammlung [no shelfmark].

Stadtarchiv (St A) Zwickau II M 4.1, Tranksteuerregister der Stadt Zwickau 1515/16. III X 93, Ratsakten, Mauritii 1617–19. III X 120, Ratsakten, Mauritii 1662–63. III Y 1a–6 b, Bürgerbücher (8 vols), 1498–1854. III Z 4 K, 81, Kirchen Visitation Anno 1674 betr. III Z 4 S, 15, b, Rechnungen der Schulbibliothek 1594–1614, 20 June 1662. III Z 4 S 339, Matrikel des Gymnasiums zu Zwickau 1662–[1738]. Vorn auch Leges Ac. III Z 4 S, 340, Denominatio. Derer bey der Stadtschulen zu Zwickaw in Oster Examin: Ao. 1652 befundtenen Schülern, vndt was sie auff bevorstehendter Promotion, darzu Gott gnadte, glück vndt Seegen geben vor bücher bitten, vndt bekommen, 1652. III Z 4 S, 340, Matrikelmaterial, z. T. spätere Abschriften, lose Blätter, 1616ff. III Z 4 S, 341, Matrikel von der Hand Christian Daums 1662/ 75. III Z 4 S, 343, Cat. Discipul. (Gymn. Cygn.) 1662–99. III A, Lehnbuch, 1631. A*A III 3, Nr 20, Ordnung über die Verleihung und Ausstellung von Stipendien des Zwickauer Rates, 4 May 1584. AG 4072, Testament Christian Daum, 1687.

Archiv der Nicolaigemeinde Zwickau St. Katharinen, Kirchenbücher [no shelfmark]. St. Marien, Kirchenbücher [no shelfmark].

Direct access to the parish registers is not possible. Enquiries need to be directed to the archivist, Christof Kühnel. Ephoralarchiv Zwickau D d XI, 1–5; Loc. 215, Angelegenheiten der Kirchen- und Schuldiener, 1556–1789. D d XVII, 1; Loc. 218, Neue Constitutiones des Ärarii für Priester in der Superinten­ denz Zwickau, Wittwen und Waisen, 1588. D d XVII, 1–3, 7; Loc. 219, Rechnungen, u.a. Geistliche- und Witwenkasse, 1580–1859. D d XVII, 2; Loc. 218, Fundation und Ordnung eines gemeinen Kastens und Brüderschaft der Priester in der Superintendenz Zwickau, 1601–48.

196

Bibliography

D d XVIII, 3–4; Loc. 218, Statuten des Priesterwitwenfiskus und Abänderungen dessen, 1601–1804. D f VIII, 1–10; Loc. 240–1, Kollektensachen, 1577–1809. D f XXVIII, 1–8; Loc. 232, Ehezeugnisse, 16.–18. Jh. D 9 III, 1–2; Loc. 246, Schulordnungsangelegenheiten der Fürstenschulen und der Inspektion Zwickau.

Hauptstaatsarchiv Dresden Markgrafschaft Meißen, Albertinisches Herzogtum und Kurfürstentum/Königreich Sachsen bis 1831. 10024, Geheimer Rat (Geheimes Archiv), Mitte 15. Jh.–Anfang 19. Jh. 10088, Oberkonsistorium, Mitte 16. Jh.–1833.

Goethe- und Schiller-Archiv,Weimar 96/3446, Daum, C. to O. Praetorius, Zwickau, 13 June 1667.

Archeological information The plan of the restoration project for the Priesterhäuser in Zwickau [‘Domhof 5–8, Darstellung: Grundriss 1. Bodengeschoss’] was graciously supplied by the architect of the project, Matthias Fleischhauer, Johannisstraße 12, 08056 Zwickau. Published primary material Anon., ‘Wohlgemeyntes/ zumahlen wohl überlegt= und Gründliches Bedenken/ Von verschiedenen/ theils offenbahren/ theils nicht allerdings bekandten Mißbräuchen/ so geraume Zeit hero in die Schulen eingerissen/ und überhand genommen: auch wie die Sach eigentlicher und mit besserer Manier möchte eingerichtet werden. Zu mehrerem Nachdenken/ kurtz und einfältig entworffen von einem/ der schon lang/ und nun je länger je mehr sich/ Ampts und Gewissens halber/ umb den Schaden Josephs bekümmert (Augsburg, 1693)’, in A. Israel, ed., Sammlung selten gewordener pädagogischer Schriften des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1973 [Zschopau, 1879]), pp. 1–48. Arnim, L. A. and Brentano, C., Des Knaben Wunderhorn: Alte deutsche Lieder, 1st edn, 3 vols (Berlin, 1966). Bartsch, L., Sächsische Kleiderordnungen aus der Zeit von 1450–1750, 2 vols (Annaberg, 1882). Bebermeyer, G. and O. Clemen, eds, D. Martin Luthers Werke (Weimarer Ausgabe), Briefwechsel (Weimar, 1883–2009). Bodinus, E., Bericht von der Natur und vernünfftmessigen Didactica oder LehrKunst: Nebenst hellen und Sonnenklaren Beweiß/ wie heutiges Tages der studirenden Jugend die rechten fundamenta verruckt und entzogen werden (n.p., 1621).

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Index

Page numbers that appear in italic refer to figures. ABC (prints) 37, 103 aspiration 155–6, 159 n. 159 accommodation see living conditions astronomy 79, 95 Acta eruditorum (journal) 173 Augsburg 92, 131 agon 9, 21 fn. 48 see also Fugger, Hans Agricola, Georgius 34, 96 alba amicorum see Stammbücher Baccalaureus 38 Albertine territories see Saxony, Bacon, Francis 97 Electorate of barber-surgeon 62, 153 alcohol 43, 148, 158 n. 17 see also medicine; physician alcoholism 167 beer see alcohol; brewing rights; inns Algazi, Gadi 23 n. 62, 70, 85 nn. 4 and 6, bereavement 88 n. 54 87 n. 40 bi-confessionality 17 n. 12, 28, 92, 137 Alsted, Johann Heinrich 97, 98 Biedermann, Christoph 153–4 Altdorf 101 bilingual textbooks 96, 98–100, 103, 105, Altenburg 30, 65, 98, 130, 163 120 n. 64, 182, 190 amicitia (cult of friendship) 165 Black, Robert 22 Amsterdam 65, 101, 164 bladder stones 72 Amtshauptmann 34, 94 blindness 72, 82, 175 n. 9 Andreae, Jakob 97 Blumberg, Friedrich 149, 168–9, Annaberg 27, 29, 57 n. 57, 130, 144 n. 52 171, 175 n. 19, 177 n. 45, 178 n. 46 Antwerp 65, 164 boarding see living conditions (pupils) Arabic 64, 93–6, 100–1, 105, 114, 148, boarding houses, 128, 134 163, 168–9, 183–4, 194 Böckhlin, Johann Christoph, engraver Ariès, Philippe 9 69, 82 Aristophanes 47 books Aristotle 10, 22 n. 60, 93, 112, 160 auctions 78 arithmetic 41, 79, 93, 95, 105, 108, 113, catalogues 77 116 n. 17, 122 n. 78 chaining of 47 Arnold, Christoph 167 collecting 63, 73, 78–9 see also Daum, Artemon 160 Christian (library)

Index

gifts 165 storage 43, 78 transport 161 see also booksellers, libraries, proofreading booksellers 78, 171, 173 Bößwetter, Sabina (mother of pupil) 135 Bottifanga, Julius Caesar 76 Bourdieu, Pierre 11, 22 n. 60, 23 n. 63, 125, 140 n. 9, 176 n. 27, 177 n. 42 Brandenburg-Prussia 7 brawling 155 Breslau 6, 119 n. 48, 164, 176 n. 25 Breslau University 19 n. 26 Brethren of the Common Life 35 brewing rights, 148 see also alcohol; inns Brockliss, Laurence 9, 16 brokers (correspondence) 63, 163, 167, 170 Brunswick 54 n. 19, 130 Brüschmann, Gregorius (pupil) 132 Bugenhagen, Johannes 186 Buxtorf, Johannes 103 Calvet, Esprit 16 Calvinism 4, 25, 53 n. 3, 94 Camerarius, Joachim 38, 56 n. 41, 106 Campeche wood (dye) 68 cantors (St Mary’s/ St Catherine’s) 36, 42, 46, 47, 105–9, 120 n. 64, 136, 144 n. 52 career reconstruction (quantitative) 123–5, 130–3 see also EHESS Carlsbad 94 Carpzov, Friedrich Benedict 163, 173, 175 n. 9 Carpzov, Samuel 165 Casaubon, Isaac 96 cataloguing books 77–9 letters 16 catechism 25, 28–9, 54 n. 19, 62–3, 102, 106–9

227

Celtis, Conrad 82 Chaldaean 95–6, 100, 103, 116 n. 17 Chemnitz 29 choral music 3, 42, 46, 58 n. 80, 103 church and school visitations 7–8, 28, 32–3, 93, 126 see also consistories, school ordinances (territorial) Cicero 103, 105, 107–9, 162 Cistercians 35, 58 n. 86, 186 Clarmund, Christian 164 clergy 43, 48, 61, 68, 73, 87 n. 42, 134, 138 cloth-production 12, 35, 38, 48, 135–6, 139, 143 n. 40, 171 clothing 66–71, 86 n.33, 87 nn. 35–7 and 43, 105, 131, 156 clusters (correspondence) 163–4 co-rector 38, 44, 47, 57 n. 54, 67, 106–9, 110, 137, 144 n. 52 Colbovius, Petrus 101, 119 n. 51 collaborative publications 161, 190 collecting autographs 90 n. 83 maps 48, 76, 79 minerals 52, 76, 169 natural curiosities 52 portraits see portraits see also books; libraries collegia privata and collegia publica 65 Comenius see Komenský competition among pupils 9, 155–6 among scholars 61, 67, 88 n. 55 among schools 114, 115 n. 2, 130, 180 see also aspiration consistories 3, 5, 28, 32–3, 68, 92–3, 96–7, 111, 114, 121 n. 69, 123, 146–7 correspondence 1, 15, 29–31, 42, 45, 47, 65, 77, 80–3, 98, 102, 118 n. 46, 119 n. 51, 160–77 Cosimo III of Florence 162

228

Index

council 3, 5, 7, 12–15, 26, 29, 31, 33–6, 38, 40–3, 48–50, 53, 61, 66–8, 80, 82–3, 91 nn. 102 and 105, 92–4, 96, 99, 100, 102, 105–14, 116 n. 19, 123, 125, 135, 140 n. 14, 141 n. 18, 148, 158 nn. 16 and 17, 162, 180, 182–3 Cranach, Lucas, the Elder 48, 59 Cruciger, Caspar 186 Cundisius, Gottfried 171 Currente (charity choir) see choral music da Messina, Antonello 59 daily regimen at school 15, 42–3, 71, 106–9, 146 Dantiscus, Jan 86 n. 33 Daum, Anna Margaretha née Auerbach 81–2 Daum, Anna Rosina 81, 188 Daum, August 62 Daum, Christian author 74–7, 79, 166–7 education and early career 61–6 library 3, 43, 77–81, 91 n. 105, 101, 171 and lodgers see living conditions noble title 82, 188 portraits 14, 69–70, 82–3, 91 nn. 102 and 103 rector (appointment) 80–1 self-promotion 167 tertius (appointment) 66, 74 will 3, 82−3, 174 n. 6 see also books; correspondence, clothing; clusters; collecting, curriculum; living conditions (teachers); teachers’ wages; unequal lovers Daum, David 62 Daum, Johann 62 Daum, Johann Christian 81, 188 Daum, Johannes 62, 72–4, 81 Daum, Johannes Jacob 163 Daum, Katharina née Streit 62 Daum, Martha née Fickenwirth 71–3, 81, 165–6, 188 Daum, Martin 62

De arte combinatoria see Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm de Staël, Anne Louise Germaine VI, 27, 54 n. 11 deposition 85 n. 15, 137 desks 47, 59–60, 148 Deventer 164 deviance 145–7, 157 n. 4 Didactica 98–9, 101 see also Zechendorf, Johannes and Ratke, Wolfgang Dilherr, Johann Michael 45, 57 n. 74 and 75, 167, 177 n. 40 disputation, academic 9, 156, 175 n. 10 Donatus (textbook) 99 Dresden 12, 26, 29, 33, 62, 81, 163 duels 9, 148–56, 181 Dunbar’s number 177 n. 35 Dürer, Albrecht 59–60, 85 n. 2 Durkheim, Émile 5, 38 Ebel, Samuel (printer in Zwickau) 1 ‘educational revolution’ 4 egalitarianism (Republic of Letters) 156 see also lopsided relationships EHESS (École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales) 8, 125 Eichhorn, Johann Heinrich (pupil) 136 Elias, Norbert 22 n. 60 Endter press 63, 78, 81, 101 Enlightenment 76–7, 184–5 Epicedia (death-poems) 1–2, 165 see also occasional poetry Erfurt University 28, 137 Ernestine branch of Wettin family 12 Ernestine principalities (‘Thuringia’) 26, 28, 31, 33, 35, 55 n. 69, 58 n. 79, 62, 129–31, 137, 142 n. 26, 163–4, 182 Erzgebirge 12, 26, 38, 129, 135, 180 esprit de corps, pupils 146–7 Etzdorf 153 Eunuchus see Terence exams 15, 35–6, 102, 113, 124, 131, 139 n. 6

Index

‘fags’ 147 famulus 65, 172 fashion see clothing favours, economy of 161–2, 170–1, 175 n.12, 182 Feller, Joachim 165–6, 170–3, 175 n. 17 Ferber, patrician family 13, 51, 144 n. 52 Ferdinand, Duke of Austria 167 Fickenwirth, Martha see Daum, Martha Flöha 27 Florence 8, 74, 162 food 11, 48, 54, 66, 147 forms number of 9, 32, 34–6 size of 132–4 speed and manner of progression through 64, 131–4 Förster, Johannes 94 Franconia 33, 35, 43, 55 n. 35, 63, 161, 164, 177 n. 36 see also Nuremberg Frankfurt/Main 100, 119 n. 46, 129, 131, 139 n. 6 Frederick II of Saxony see Rape of the Princes Frederick the Wise, elector of Saxony 12 Freher, Marquart 66 Freiberg 12, 23 n. 66, 29, 130, 144 n. 52 Frijhoff, Willem 138, 139 n. 8, 140 n. 10, 141 nn. 19 and 20 Fritzsch, Georg (father of pupil) 136 Froschmeuseler see Rollenhagen Fruchtbringende Gesellschaft 74 Fugger, Hans 167 Funcke, Christian 7 Fürstenschulen/Landesschulen see Territorial schools ‘gallant type’ see clothing Geheimer Rat 33 Gelegenheitsschriften (occasional writings) 1, 165–6 Gellius, Aulus 95

229

Georg Philip Harsdörffer 74, 77 Gera 31, 38, 64, 130, 142 n. 26, 154, 163 German schools see Winkelschulen German teaching see vernacular teaching Ghirlandaio, Domenico 59 ghostwriting 1 gifts 161, 165–6, 169 girls’ schools 25, 29, 186 Gleich, Johann 77 Göpner, Melchior (printer) 101, 105, 119 n. 51 Görlitz 12 gossip 105, 110, 161, 173, 182 Götze, Nicolaus 64, 66, 71 Graevius, Johann Georg 162, 164, 175 n. 9 Graevius, Johannes 74 graffiti see Priesterhäuser Greek vi, 10, 25, 35–6, 47, 63, 79, 96, 99–100, 102–3, 105, 106–8, 113, 163, 176 n. 25 Greek school 34, 186 Green, Ian 8 Greiz 14 Grempler, Andreas (pupil) 129 Grendler, Paul 19 n. 24 Gronovius, Johannes Friedrich 162, 164 Grunelius, Johannes 131 Grünhainer Hof 35, 47, 136, 140 n. 14, 186 Gueinz, Christian 98, 117 n. 31 Gymnasium (successor-institution of Zwickau Latin school) 38, 127 habitus 11–12, 22 n. 60 half-learning 10 Halle 30 Hamburg 7, 101 Hanckel, Johannes (pupil) 129, 141 n. 25 Hanover 175 n. 20 Harsdörffer, Georg Philipp 74, 77 Hausmann, Nikolaus 39–40 headaches 72, 110

230

Index

Hebrew 36, 56 n. 46, 63–4, 95–6, 99–100, 113 Heg, Fridrich (pupil) 136 Heinsius, Nikolaas 164 Helmstedt University 6–7 Helwig, Christoph 100–1, 105, 109 hexis 22 n. 60 history ‘from the bottom up’ 24 n. 72 Hoeppner-Moran, Jo Ann 19 n. 24 honour 152–4 Hotson, Howard 183 Housman, A. E. 75–6 humanism 5, 8, 9, 13, 16 n. 3, 25, 29, 34–5, 73, 76, 79, 97, 152, 154, 180–1, 184–5 Humboldt, Wilhelm von 184–5 Huppert, George 19 n. 24 Hutter, Leonhard 96 Huttgen, Hanß (pupil) 150–3 hypochondria 11 ‘indoctrination of the young’ see Strauss, Gerald initiation rites at school 147 see also ‘fags’ at university see deposition inns 148 see also alcohol, brewing rights Inns of Court, London 155 Inwohnen see Lodgers Italian 95, 162 Italy 74, 153, 161–2, 184 Jena 64–5, 163–4, 168, 171 Jena University 137, 143 n. 48, 155, 178 nn. 46 and 47 Jesuits 4–5, 19 n.26, 25, 38, 92, 97, 115 n. 2, 128, 155, 162, 164, 183–4 Johann Georg I 26 Johann Georg II 26, 86 Johann Georg III 26 Jonas, Justus 186 Jonson, Ben 10

Journal des sçavans 173 Julia, Dominique 138, 139 n. 8, 141 n. 20 Jungius, Joachim 7 Keckermann, Bartholomäus 7, 32 Kelley, Edward 177 n. 44 Kiel University 36, 81, 188 Kießling, Rolf 53 n. 2 Klaj, Johann 167, 177 n. 40 Klaubart (pupil) 150–3 Kleines Fürstenkolleg 64 knowledge places 4–7 König, Georg Matthias 166–7, 174 n. 9, 190 Kostgänger see living conditions (pupils) La Vopa, Anthony 124 Latin language of exchange 162–3 marker of erudtion 10 poetry 1–2 see also correspondence; teaching method Latin school buildings 25, 34, 40 charity 48, 124 see also Currente; Latin schools (fraternity) definition 29 and the Enlightenment 4, 184–5 fees 38, 57 n. 54, 142 n. 33 fraternity 34 geographical distribution 29–31 libraries see libraries plays 3, 6−7, 10, 20 n. 27, 34, 46−8, 98 teaching staff (number of) 29, 36 teaching staff (organisation) 38 and the Reformation 4–5, 10, 25, 26, 29, 34–7, 42–3, 48–9, 71, 98, 125, 142 n. 33, 183 and urban culture 3, 48–52 see also competition (among schools); humanism; pupils; teachers; teaching method; textbooks

Index

Lattmann, Julius 21 n. 41, 117 nn. 23 and 30 le Tellier, Charles 79 learned journals see Acta Eruditorum Leibniz, Friedrich 172 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm 65, 72, 77, 164–6, 170, 175 n. 20, 176 n. 32, 184 Leipzig 12, 22 n. 56, 26–8, 80–2, 161, 163–5, 199 n. 51 Leipzig book fair 28 Leipzig University 30, 34, 64–6, 137, 143 n. 48, 144 n. 50, 149, 155, 161, 163–5, 170–3 Leipziger Zeitung 28 letter-writing style templates and advice literature 162 see also clusters; correspondence; networks (scholarly); pupils (letters) libraries other private libraries 94, 161–2, 171, 183 Ratsschulbibliothek (school library) 35, 40, 47–9, 51, 58 n. 87, 82, 91 n. 105, 110 university 173 see also collecting (books); Daum, Christian (library) Lichtenstein 1, 144 n. 52 Liège 35 Liegnitz 6, 164 literacy 4, 28 living conditions pupils 40, 42–5, 57 n. 73 teachers 42–5, 66–7 lodgers see living conditions (pupils) logic 10, 25, 32, 92–3, 97, 105–6, 112–13, 122 nn. 74 and 77 London 26, 155 lop-sided relationships 66, 169, 182 Lorentz, Johann (pupil) 150–2 Lößnitz 94

231

Ludwig, Prince of Anhalt 99 Lusatia 6, 26, 33 Luther, Martin 18 n. 16, 25, 39, 48–50, 62–3, 67–8, 70–1, 78–9, 86 n. 33, 168–9, 186 Magliabecchi, Antonio 162, 164–5 Mantuanus, Baptista 168, 171, 177 n. 45 maps see collecting Marburg 35 Marburg University 65 marriage patterns (scholars) 71–3, 81, 173 masculinity 70, 87 n. 39 matriculation records 15, 19 n. 24, 41, 62, 82, 123–44, 148, 150, 158, 166, 173, 177 n. 43 Mauss, Marcel 22 n. 60 Mazarin, Jules 77 medicine 34, 78–9, 94, 95 see also barber-surgeon; physician Melanchton, Philip 32, 34–5, 48, 61, 70, 79, 85 n. 5, 93, 96–7, 100, 104, 120 nn. 56 and 57, 120 n. 58, 182, 186 Menke, Otto 173 metallurgy 34, 135–6, 138 see also mining Meuschken, Johann (printer) 98 Meusel, Christian (pupil) 148–50 Micyllus, Jakob 104 Middle Germany (definition) 55 n. 35 military 87, 138, 181 see also Swedish occupation; Thirty Years War Miller, Peter 16 mining 26, 57 n. 57, 129, 169 Mitternacht, Sebastian 7, 98, 154 Mommsen, Theodor 184 Montesquieu (Charles-Louis de Secondat) 22 n. 56 More, Thomas 72 Morhof, Daniel Georg 89 n. 66 museum (study) 45–6, 60, 85 n. 4

232

Index

Nather, Leonhard 34, 186 natural philosophy 93 Naumburg 130 Naumburg-Zeitz (bishopric of) 12, 31, 33–4 Netherlands 35, 161–2, 164 networks (scholarly) 30, 80, 125, 160–74, 182 see also clusters Neugebauer, Wolfgang 7, 139 n. 4 Neustadt an der Orla 29 New Year recital (Absingen) 46 night-time 46, 95, 148–50, 181 nobility 35, 67, 74, 86 n. 32, 127, 134, 146–7, 152–3, 155–6 noble academies (Ritterakademien) 25, 134, 156 Nörner, Georg (pupil) 137 Nox Cygnea 95, 100, 103, 148 see also Arabic, Wolfrum Nuremberg 12, 59, 62–3, 70, 74, 78, 81, 101–2, 110, 164–5, 167 Oberkonsistorium 33, 96 obligatory schooling 3–4, 123, 138 Oecolampadius, Johannes 72 Opitz, Martin 76 Papenbroek, Daniel 164 parents 5, 15, 31, 43, 46, 111, 123–4, 131, 138, 147, 150, 168 Paris 26, 65 partition of Leipzig 26 patronage 160–74 Paulsen, Friedrich 21 n. 41, 53 n. 2 ‘pedagogical century’ 4 ‘Pedagogical Reform Movement’ 97–8, 116 n. 23 Pegnesischer Blumenorden 57 n. 74, 63, 74, 177 n. 36 see also Altdorf; Klaj; Nuremberg, Harsdörffer; Sextus; von Bircken Peiresc, Nicolas-Claude Fabri 16, 22 n. 54, 75

Peisker, Gottfried Sigismund (superintendent) 110, 121 n. 66, 165 Petrarch, Francesco 61, 168 Pflock, Peter (pupil) 150 Philip of Hessen 35 philosophy 7, 8, 32, 78–9, 93, 95, 97, 115 nn. 4 and 5, 117 nn. 24 and 28, 172–3, 187 physician 61, 65, 73, 78–9 Pitt-Rivers, Julian Alfred Lane Fox see lop-sided relationships Pitzsch, patrician family 13 plague 12, 41, 64, 82, 126, 180 Plateanus, Petrus 35–7, 56 n. 46, 58 nn. 80 and 86, 96, 103, 104, 118 n. 35, 120 n. 62, 186 Plauen 27 Poach, Petrus 78–9 polyhistoria 13–14, 23 n.70, 73–7, 84, 184 population (size) 13, 25–7, 127, 140 n. 17 portraits Clodius collection 70, 83, 84, 87 n. 42, 91 n. 103 gallery of rectors 48–52, 58 nn. 90 and 93 promotional tools 59 postman 136, 161 Prague 12, 177 n. 44 precocity 64 preparatory education 4 (definition), 5, 17 n. 6, 25, 34, 53, 124, 127, 162, 181 Press, Volker 124, 142 n. 34 Priesterhäuser 43–5, 66–7, 73 n.57, 188 printing presses privacy letters 161–2, 167, 174 n. 8 physical space see museum private lessons 42, 64–6, 98, 111–12, 121 nn. 68, 69 and 70, 122 nn. 72 and 74, 150–1, 158 n. 21 private study 42, 104 proficiency (levels of in lowest form)

Index

Abcdary 134–5 Duces 105, 134–5 Firmani 134–6 proofreading 7, 78, 101, 119 n. 51 prostitution 148, 149, 158 n. 16 pupils age 134–6 discipline 35, 38, 43, 110, 145–60 geographical background 128–9 letters to Daum see Blumberg letters to other pupils see Klaubart, Pflock, Lorentz mobility127–30 ratio to urban population 127 social background, higher forms 136 social background, lower forms 134–6 transgression 8–9, 145–60, 181 see also choral music; curriculum; daily regimen; duels; living conditions (pupils); parents; social mobility; Thönnicker Qur’an 94–5, 116 n.12, 183 Ramée, Pierre de la see Ramus, Petrus Ramus, Petrus 97, 112, 117 n. 24, 122 n. 74, 183 rapiers see swords Ratke, Wolfgang 8, 94, 97, 99, 100–1, 103–5, 114, 117 nn. 23, 30 and 31, 118 nn. 38 and 46, 119 n. 51, 120 n. 55 Ratio Studiorum 4, 53 n. 3 Rebhuhn, Paul 47 rector’s apartment 40, 44, 81, 91 n. 105, 188 rector’s garden 41 reference group theory 155, 159 n. 40 Regensburg 62 Reichenbach 31, 43, 163 Reinesius, Thomas 65, 77, 86 n. 22 Republic of Letters (definition) 11 reputation scholarly 10, 83, 156

233

school 6 Respublica Litteraria see Republic of Letters Reyher, patrician family 13, 136, 142 n. 27, 143 n. 44 Rheder, Christian 14, 51, 82 Rhenius, Johannes 94, 102–5, 113–14, 120 nn. 55, 57 and 58 Richter, Erasmus 1 Richter, Gottfried 1 Ritterakademien see noble academies Rollenhagen, Georg 98 Römer, Martin 34 Rostock 77 Roth, Stephan 34–5, 49, 55 n.35, 58 nn. 90 and 93, 96, 175 n. 14, 186 Rüdiger, Esrom 35–6, 38, 187 Rudolf II 177 n. 44 Sachs, Hans 78 Sangerhausen 29 sartorial see clothing Saxony, Electorate of evangelical ideas in 5 political history of 26–7 role in Holy Roman Empire 26 urbanisation in 26–7 see also consistories; Dresden; Leipzig; literacy; mining; Oberkonsistorium; school ordinances (territorial); ‘state’; Wittenberg Scaliger, Joseph 96 Schaller, Klaus 97, 117 n. 23 Schilling, Paul (father of pupil) 136 Schindling, Anton 19 n. 24 Schmalkaldic League, War of the 26, 35 Schmid, David (pupil) 132–3 Schmid, Erasmus 104, 120 n. 58 Schmuck, Vincenz 94, 115 n. 7 Schneeberg 12, 38, 57, 94, 130, 169, 178 n. 46 scholar (definition) 11 school choir see choral music

234

Index

school courts / synods (Territorial schools) 146 ‘school landscapes’ (Schullandschaften) see Kießling, Rolf school ordinances territorial 8, 32–3, 53, 92–3, 97, 114, 138, 182 Zwickau Latin school 34–6 Schulpforta see territorial schools Schumann, Peter 10, 12, 125, 141 n. 18 Schwabe, Ernst 21 n. 41, 120 n. 58 Schwarzenberg 27 Schwenck, Philipp (pupil) 129 ‘scientific persona’ 22 n. 59 Seiffart, Johann (pupil) 136, 143 n. 42 Sendbrief see Colbovius Sextus, Johannes 45, 63, 74, 78, 81–2, 90 nn. 96 and 97, 91 n. 107, 101–2, 105, 165–7, 174 n. 9, 175 n. 14, 176 n. 22, 177 n. 36, 39, 40 and 41 sexuality 71, 73, 148 see also marriage; prostitution Shakespeare, William 10 Shrewsbury (school) 126 Siber, Adam 171 Silesia 6, 19 n. 26, 76, 81, 90 n. 83, 164–5, 176 n. 25 silver see mining sleeping patterns, orderly 149 social capital see Bourdieu, Pierre social mobility 123–38 society of estates 6 Sorokin, Pitirim 123 see also social mobility sport 38, 156, 159 n. 33 St Catherine’s, church of XII, 36, 42, 105, 109, 136, 142 nn. 27 and 36 St Gregory patron saint of schools 46 processions 46 St Jerome 59–61, 85 n. 3 St Mary’s, church of XII, 13, 33–4, 36, 40, 42–4, 57 n. 73, 82, 105–9, 136, 140 n. 14, 142 n. 36, 143 n. 40, 186

St Nicholas Leipzig (Latin school) 29, 30, 126, 155, 172 Stammbücher (alba amicorum) 165 see also amicitia Stangengrün 137, 144 n. 52 ‘state’, emergence of modern 7, 32, 73 Statius, Publius Papinius 77–8, 81 Steinbach, Johann Philipp (pupil) 137, 144 n. 52 Stepner, patrician family 13 Strauss, Gerald 7–8, 92 Sturm, Johannes 5, 34, 56 n. 41 Swedish occupation (Zwickau) 12, 136, 149 swords 9, 148–9, 151–6, 158 n. 23, 181 Syrian 95, 96, 100 Taubmann, Friedrich 66 Tauscher, Marcus 170 Täutzer, Hanß Christoph (pupil) 153 teaching method 15, 92–122, 123, 182–3 teaching profession as alternative to university career 7 historiography of 7, 88 n. 57 Terence 47, 104, 109, 120 n. 55 territorial fragmentation 1, 183 territorial schools 25, 28, 31, 37, 130, 146, 171 tertius (third teacher) 36 see also Daum, Christian  The Hague 164 theatre see Latin schools (plays) theology 42, 78–9, 87 n. 42, 94, 95, 98, 113, 115 n. 7, 116 n. 17, 122 n. 75, 124, 139 n. 6, 167 Thévet, André 59 ThirtyYears War 2, 12–13, 15–16, 27–8, 38, 40–2, 47, 124–7, 138, 141 n. 19, 142 n. 36, 145–7, 157 n. 10, 180–3 Thomasius, Christian 172–3, 184 Thomasius, Jacob 165, 172–3, 179 n. 61 Thönniker, Johannes 169, 171, 175 n. 19, 177 n. 45, 178 n. 47

Index

‘Thuringia’ see Ernestine principalities Thym, David (pupil) 131–2 Töpfer, Thomas 7, 139 n. 4 Torgau, Articles of see Rüdiger Transsylvania 141 n. 25 tri-partite method of instruction 103–4, 120 n. 58 Tübingen 101 Türkensteuerregister 57 n. 60 Ulnerus, Hermann 102 unequal lovers 71 Ursinus, Johann Heinrich 167 Vagans (pupils changing school frequently) 154 van Eyck, Jan 59 Verger, Jacques 11 vernacular teaching 10, 25, 36, 54 n. 19, 93, 96–7, 98–100, 133, 136, 181–2, 184 Vertumnus poeticus 76, 166–7 village schools 7, 25, 28 violence 9, 98, 137, 145, 147–8, 150–5, 181 Vogel, Christian Andreas (pupil) 153–4 Vogel, Michael (father of pupil) 153–4 Volstädt, Carol Christian (pupil) 136 von der Geist, Bernhard 77 von Birken, Sigmund 74, 91 n. 108, 164–5, 167 see also Pegnesischer Blumenorden von Bose, noble family 134 von Holcke, Heinrich (field marshal in Imperial army) 64 von Metzsch (Amtshauptmann) 94

235

Wacquant, Loïc 22 n. 60 wages (teachers) 38, 42, 66, 67, 86 n. 30, 100, 183 Wagner, David 64 Weigel, Erhard 8, 97 Weise, Christian 6, 47, 175 n. 10 Westerhoff, Jan C. 76 Weston, Elisabeth Jane 168, 177 n. 44 Wettin family 12, 26, 33, 55 n. 35 Winckelschulen 25, 29, 96 wine see alcohol Winter, David (pupil) 137, 144 n. 52 Wittenberg 5, 12, 26, 28–9, 32–3, 35, 64–5, 129, 132, 137, 143 n. 48, 144 n. 52, 155, 163–4, 187 Wolff, Christian 184 Wolfrum, Veit 94–6, 100–1, 103, 116 n. 19, 148 women as correspondents 164 portraits of 87 n. 42 and scholarship 17 n. 6, 71 as teachers 29 as wives see marriage see also girls’ school Württemberg 32, 124, 139 n. 6 Zechendorf, Johannes 30, 36, 42, 50, 64, 68, 70, 80, 94–6, 99–103, 105, 110–12, 114, 116 n. 14, 118 nn. 35 and 46, 120 nn. 62 and 65, 121 n. 66, 149, 158 n. 10, 184, 187–8 Zincgref, Julius Wilhelm 87 n. 39 Zittau 6, 47 Zwickau castle (Schloss Osterstein) 40 Zwickau consistory 33