Chapter 17
Münster
September 1635
Frederik contemplated the imminent departure of his aunt, along with her accompanying train of Lutheran ladies, with considerable relief. It would also be a relief to have another competent regent for the Erzstift installed at Bremervörde. She probably would not regret refusing the offer of Thedinghausen. He hoped. It would be regrettable if she changed her mind. Bremervörde also had a comfortable modern residence, the Renaissance-style Schloß, and, of course, the gardens.
Let her deal with Gerdruth von Campe and Himmelpforten, the woman’s growing aspirations to turn it from a small regional Damenstift serving the local Niederadel into a major Damenstift of national reputation with an associated school and women’s college on the model of Quedlinburg. Let her also cope with the remainder of the Frauenstifte plus the Männerstifte in Westphalia. May she swab up the aftermath of the CoC’s intervention at Kloster Loccum. If that didn’t keep her busy enough to forget matchmaking, nothing would.
But she did have a level of efficiency that might, possibly, let her do all those things and still cast about among the nobility of northern Germany to find him a wife.
He should put her administrative abilities to maximum use.
Draft a memo for Rist to put into proper form.
The regent at Bremervörde shall:
First dot.
Gather information on all the aftermath effects of the Edict of Restitution time period that are still having adverse effects on the Lutheran religious institutions of the Erzstift.
Hmm. Why not? Subordinate dot. Of the entire archdiocese, for that matter.
He spared a passing thought in regard to his hearty dislike of Jesuits—specifically, at the moment, those who had ever dared to interfere with Himmelpforten, thereby turning a contented rural prioress into a mighty force of nature, a storm that bade well to drive everything before it, fueled by righteous indignation and pugnacious wrath. If somebody, somewhere, did not manage to locate the items taken from the abbey church . . . he would end up having to find the money to buy equivalent replacements. Which would not come cheap.
Second dot.
Find out what happened to the Jews formerly resident in Stade.
How? Subordinate dot. There were Jews in Altona. There were Jews in Minden; the latter settlement should be grateful to the administration after what von Bargen did for them. Let the regent check with the Jews in Minden to find out where the ones from Stade had gone and tell them to come back. Well, perhaps it would be more diplomatic to ask them to come back. Request that they resume their business endeavors in Stade to the overall economic benefit of the Province of Westphalia.
Third dot.
Re-organize the customs station near Stade and furnish it with a reliable staff—consult Bente Luft’s relatives, please; her father knows everybody who is anybody in customs and tolls, and he’s still in Hamburg.
If an up-timer had been present, he would quickly have identified Frederik’s smile as “grinch-like.” The customs station was actually located in Brunshausen at the mouth of the Schwinge. It had played a special role in trading on the River Elbe for a long time. Not the Weser: the Elbe. The Elbe upon which that thorn in his flesh, the imperial city of Hamburg was located. If Hamburg was willing to effectively block the Ochsenweg, the old route that ran from Viborg through Flensburg, from Schleswig through Holstein, the Viehstraße that brought cattle to market . . . to stifle the access of Westphalian farmers on the east side of the Elbe to the cattle market . . . two could play that game. Gustav Adolf wouldn’t allow him to stifle trade along the Elbe much. But he could ensure that there were annoyances, one of them being a functioning toll station on the western bank, downstream from the city.
Fourth dot. The grinchy smile got a little larger. Establish an enlarged cattle market and a cattle ferry over the Elbe somewhere near Altona. Wedel, a little place in Grafschaft Pinneberg, should be usable; it already has a small one. It may take some dredging to erect a decent set of loading docks, but that should pay for itself in almost no time. If Hamburg makes trouble . . . see me for further instructions.
He saw Aunt Hedwig and her entourage off in spectacular style. She and her senior ladies-in-waiting in carriages, flanked by riders flying banners, followed by wagons full of servants and even more wagons full of luggage, boxes, crates, and kegs. She had accomplished quite a bit of shopping during her stay in the new capital of the Province of Westphalia. Only absolute necessities, of course.
All prudently preceded, at an interval of two days, by a road repair crew. The expedition should make it to its destination easily before the weather got bad.
“Does that maneuver count as cowardice in the face of the enemy?” Christian Ulrik asked slyly at dinner that evening.
“I’m not running away; shipping her off isn’t quite the same, even if the principle of the thing is. She’d have had a matrimonial noose firmly around my neck within six months. I have no shame for having ducked.”
“Nils had a book in Mainz,” Kerstin Brahe said. “A collection of pithy up-time sayings. There was one by a poet named Goldsmith, about ‘he who fights and runs away.’ That he is merely conserving his resources. Are you conserving yours, or is your aunt conserving hers? She may return to the field. ‘Live to fight another day’ as the verse says.”
“That’s not up-time,” Rist protested. “Demosthenes said something similar in a speech.”
Which turned the conversation in another direction. Chaplain Lütkemann referenced a parallel in Tacitus. Christian Ulrik protested that marriage was not all bad—it could be very good. He was delighted to be married to Bente. He decided that he wanted to marry her the first time he saw her.
“You and our father!” Frederik said rather sourly. “One look at a pretty girl and you’re sunk.”
“I’ve only gone under once.”
“When the time comes, I will make a sensible, well-planned, marriage. I merely don’t want Aunt Hedwig trying to push me into it before the proper time has come.” That was all he was going to say on the matter.
Lütkemann commented that women should not interfere in matters of state, referencing the passage 1 Peter 3:7 that described the sex as “the weaker vessel.” Then he modified this slightly, recalling the role of Deborah in ancient Israel. Nonetheless . . . in principle . . .
For which he earned a slight stink-eye from Kerstin Brahe, who pointed out that in practice it was the women of royal and noble families who made most of the marriage arrangements—and that she had, for all practical purposes, arranged her own. So if the honorable Pastor Lütkemann was trying to say . . .
Rist managed to turn the conversation again.
As Frederik prepared for bed, he contemplated the Lutheran ladies he had encountered thus far since his appointment as governor and admitted to himself that he had certain doubts about the wisdom—or practicality—of reading that particular passage of the Bible literally. One should take the Word of God at its plain meaning, according to the sola scriptura doctrine, but he hadn’t seen much sign of weakness in them. Obstreperousness, yes; recalcitrance, yes; pig-headedness, yes. Weakness? Not so much. Any resemblance borne by the ladies themselves to the delicate, fine porcelain that was now being manufactured for the decoration of their parlors and tables was, at best, minimal.
Other than that both were expensive to obtain and maintain.
Aunt Hedwig had left him with an invoice for her proposed refurbishing and refurnishing of the nice little Renaissance-style Schloß at Bremervörde. And she would almost surely want to modernize the interior of the church after she saw it.
He recited Martin Luther’s evening prayer from memory and went to sleep.