Lombard Ancient Psychological Warfare

According to early Lombard tradition and ancient Roman scholarly observations, the Lombards were few in number compared to many of their neighbors in Germania. The Romans apparently attributed the survival of the vulnerable Lombards to sheer aggression. Tacitus (c. 56-117+) wrote that the Lombard population was “distinguished by the fewness of their numbers. Ringed round as they are by many mighty peoples, they find safety not in obsequiousness, but in battle and its perils” (Germania, section 40). When the Lombards began writing down their own history, they agreed with the Romans that their tribe had originally been small in manpower, but aggressive in foreign policy. The Lombard sources, however, also claimed that they had a talent that helped them survive in their early days—psychological warfare.

The Lombard people, according to their tradition, migrated from Scandinavia to the Elbe River sometime before Roman scholars took interest in Germania. When the Lombards entered their new homeland, powerful tribes in the region reportedly attempted to extort tribute from the newcomers. Aggression and war, as the Romans observed, was the usual Lombard response to such foreign threats. Yet, as the Lombards were at a disadvantage in numbers, they had to be smart in planning how they fought.

According to the Origo Gentis Langobardorum and Paul the Deacon’s History of the Lombards, the tribe resorted to trickery and illusion in their very first conflict with a more populous neighbor on the Elbe. In the mythology-infused tale, the Lombard army was saved from certain defeat when they heeded the advice of the Norse-Germanic goddess, Freyja, who insisted that Lombard women accompany their men into battle. The women reportedly arranged their hair around their chins to look like long beards, and their appearance in the army made the force look much more populous. In the tale, the god, Odin, was greatly shocked by these “Long-beards” (supposedly the origin of the Lombard name), and if the All-Father of the Norse-Germanic pantheon was amazed, there is no knowing how disheartened the foes of the Lombards became when the disguised women marched into battle. Whether from divine favor or through the psychological effect of the women joining the army, the Lombards were said to have emerged victorious in that battle.

Later, when the Lombards were roaming toward a different section of the Elbe, a tribe reportedly called the Assipitti was said to have mobilized its forces to stop the migrants. As in the earlier conflict, the Lombards were again outnumbered and would need to be clever in order to survive. They resorted once again to psychological warfare, this time focusing on spreading disinformation and causing fear. As before, one step of the plan was to make the enemy think that the Lombard forces were much more numerous than was actually true. To do this, the Lombards reportedly spread out their tents wider than usual and also kindled a great number of cooking fires in their camp. Next, information was fed to the Assipitti that the Lombards had monstrous dog-headed creatures fighting on their side. Paul the Deacon described this interesting scheme:

“They pretend that they have in their camps Cynocephali, that is, men with dogs’ heads. They spread the rumor among the enemy that these men wage war obstinately, drink human blood and quaff their own gore if they cannot reach the foe” (History of the Lombards, Book I, chapter 11).

As the story goes, the Assipitti hesitated after hearing rumors about the monstrous dog-men and seeing the Lombard camp with its many fires. In the end, the numerically-superior Assipitti reportedly decided to avoid the Lombard forces, and let them pass by unobstructed. This early Lombard talent of overcoming powerful foes through persistence and clever tricks no doubt helped them survive until they could strengthen themselves by growing their own numbers, making allies, and absorbing conquered tribes.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (14th-century image of Cynocephali from the Kievan Psalter, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Agricola and Germania by Tacitus and translated by Harold Mattingly and revised by J. B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2009.
• History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.  

The Hairy Origin Myth Of The Lombard Name

The Lombards were a northern Germanic people who, according to tradition, originated from Scandinavia and eventually migrated to the Elba River region. According to The History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), the tribe originally called themselves the Winnili, and when they reached the Elbe, they were confronted by other regional powers who gave the new arrivals an ultimatum of either paying tribute or facing war. The Winnili, despite being few in number compared to their neighbors, did not shy from war—a trait later recognized by the Romans. Instead of paying tribute, the early Winnili reportedly chose war.

As told in folklore and myth, the Lombard name originated in this period of war in the Elbe region. According to the Origo Gentis Langobardum and the aforementioned work of Paul the Deacon, the Winnili were soon confronted by a group called the Wandals. These foes are sometimes identified as the Vandals, and other times connected to the Wends—whatever the case the tale soon becomes swamped in myth, and the identity of the so-called Wandals makes little difference, at least for this story.

The Wandals, whomever they may have been, were reportedly devout followers of the Germanic god, Wotan (i.e. Odin). Wotan, according to myth, returned the affection and often answered their prayers. The goddess Frea (Freyja), on the other hand, favored the newly-arrived Winnili. Therefore, when the Winnili and Wandals went to war, so too did Wotan and Frea, entering into a Homer-esque battle of wits in the realm of the gods.

According to the tale, the Wandals called on Wotan’s support when they knew that a battle was imminent. Responding to their plea, Wotan promised victory to the first army he saw at sunrise. Although the god’s decree looks fairly unbiased at first glance, his favoritism was betrayed when it was only the Wandal army that was informed of the pledge. Furthermore, Wotan made sure to keep his head facing toward the Wandals before he went to sleep for the night.

Although Wotan went to his slumber expecting to give victory to the Wandals in the morning, Frea had another outcome in mind. While Wotan slept, Frea visited the Winnili camp and told them of the divine decree—or, at least, she advised them to mobilize their forces before sunrise. The Winnili, however, were still small in number, so to make the group more visible and eye-catching, Frea told the Winnili women to accompany their men into battle. The goddess further instructed the women to gather their lengthy hair around their chins in order to make their locks look like long beards. With this plan in place, Frea returned to Wotan. Yet, the goddess took one last step before dawn arrived. Silently and gently, Frea rotated Wotan’s bed to face the direction of the Winnili. To ensure that her favored people emerged victorious, Frea made sure to wake up Wotan just as the Winnili were amassing in the morning light. When the awakening god opened his eyes, the Winnili masses, with all their hair, were the first people that he saw. According to the Origo Gentis Langobardorum, the scene played out in the following way:

“And he, looking at them, saw the Winniles and their women having their hair let down around the face. And he says, ‘Who are these Long-beards?’ And Frea said to Godan [Wotan], ‘As you have given them a name, give them also the victory.’ And he gave them the victory, so that they should defend themselves according to his counsel and obtain the victory. From that time the Winniles were called Langobards.” (Origo Gentis Langobardorum, I, trans. William Foulke)

As the myth colorfully illustrates, the early medieval Lombards believed their name derived from facial hair. Other etymologies have been suggested, but the long-beard origin of the Lombards remains a fan-favorite. Whatever the case, the tribe had embraced their new name by the time the Romans began taking notes on Germania. Rome found the Lombards still in the Elbe region, calling them the Langobardi, and classified them as being part of a larger group called the Suebi. Despite their battle prowess and Frea’s support, the Lombards had, by then, become subject to the Marcomanni. Around 17 CE, they rebelled against Maroboduus of the Marcomanni and became a politically-influential force in the region. Around the 5th century, the Lombards migrated to the Danube, then to Pannonia. Finally, around 568, the Lombards invaded Italy to form the Kingdom of Lombardy, which survived until its destruction at the hands of Charlemagne in 774.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Depiction of King Alboin entering Pavia, illustrated by Charles F. Horne c. 1900, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
• The Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus, translated by Michael Grant. New York: Penguin Classics, 1996. 
• Agricola and Germania by Tacitus and translated by Harold Mattingly and revised by J. B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2009. 
• History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Lombard-people 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Lombards/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Suebi  

The Dancing Plague Of Strasbourg

Both before and after the Renaissance, cities and towns in Europe were reportedly hit by epidemics of dance. Before you envision the scenes as something like a charming Broadway musical, know that the people affected by these odd epidemics truly believed themselves to be unwillingly forced to dance either by a supernatural curse or by some other strange disease. Of the areas affected by the peculiar dancing plagues, the city of Strasbourg suffered one of the worst cases and, thankfully for us, the bizarre event was well-documented and discussed by the historians and scholars of the time.

In July, 1518, the dancing plague of Strasbourg began when a certain Frau Troffea took to the street and spent the whole day in dance. She rested for only a few hours of sleep before continuing her dancing for another long day. She reportedly kept up this relentless schedule until her feet bled and she collapsed from exhaustion—and even then, she picked herself up and continued her dancing. Before long, other citizens of Strasbourg felt irresistibly drawn to the dance and they joined Frau Troffea in her daily routine. By August, there were reportedly no less than 400 people engaged in an endless dance on the streets of the city.

With hundreds of people dancing well past their physical limits, the leaders of Strasbourg knew their city was facing a major problem. At first, they thought that the epidemic could be brought to a quick conclusion by encouraging and supporting the dancers, hoping those affected would simply dance whatever was ailing them out of their systems. With this in mind, the officials of Strasbourg had a stage built, hired dance instructors, and even recruited musicians, turning the dancing plague into something like a music festival. Yet, as September neared and no end to the dancing was in sight, the leaders of Strasbourg began interpreting the dance in new ways. Some, through the ancient medical idea of bodily humors, believed that too much hot blood was the cause of the hysterical dancing. Others, inspired by the witch-crazed atmosphere of the Colonial Age, believed the dancing was the work of the Devil. Both sides, however, apparently agreed that the best way for the dancers to cool off their blood or rid themselves of demons was for the affected people to be forcibly sent off to a mountain shrine in order for them to pray for healing.

Either through prayer, or simply from the government crackdown on the dancers, the epidemic ended around September and the city finally returned to normalcy. The dancing fever, however, had by then taken a heavy toll. No formal death count was apparently recorded, but while the dancing plague was in full swing, several of the dancers were said to have dropped dead on a daily basis from over-exhaustion, heart failure or strokes.

Now that the understanding of medicine and psychology has progressed, several theories have been proposed to explain the bizarre dancing plague of Strasbourg. One of the early hypotheses was ergot poisoning. Ergot fungus, which can grow on cereals such as rye, can cause hallucinations and spasms when ingested. Yet, as the dancers showed no signs of bodily sickness or poisoning, this theory has been disregarded by many. One of the newest interpretations of the event is that the dancing plague was a case of mass-hysteria, or a psychogenic disorder, caused by an unhealthy atmosphere of stress and fear. The psychological pressures of famine, disease, and possibly the legend of St. Vitus (a saint who was said to miraculously make people dance), might have combined to produce the Dancing Plague of 1518.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Danse de noce, painted by Pieter Breughel the Younger (1564–1638), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• https://www.history.com/news/what-was-the-dancing-plague-of-1518
• https://www.britannica.com/event/dancing-plague-of-1518 
• https://listverse.com/2016/11/07/10-twisted-facts-about-the-dancing-plagues/ 
• https://www.pastmedicalhistory.co.uk/the-dancing-plague-of-1518/ 
• http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20161028-the-town-the-nearly-danced-itself-to-death  

The History Behind The Pied Piper Story

In 1284, something occurred in the German region of Hamelin that gave birth to the famous story of the Pied Piper, popularized in the 19th century by the Brothers Grimm and Robert Browning. The problem is that centuries of embellishment and creative license separate us from the vague original incident. It all began with the simple documented statement that around 130 youths were led away from Hamelin by a piper. By the 15th century, the tale had taken on a supernatural, evil tone, and during the 16th century, the story was expanded with the ideas that the piper was a ratcatcher (and possibly the Devil) and that he could magically have children swallowed up by a mountain. The growing and refining of the tale through the centuries, however, has been heavily studied by scholars of both history and literature. In order not to tread on trampled ground, we will simply lay out the earliest (and tamest) sources that began the Pied Piper legend, as these are the pieces of evidence that are likely closest to the truth.

The four seemingly most important sources for what occurred in Hamelin in 1284 include a decorated window from the local Market Church and an inscribed wooden beam (both of which are dated to about 1300), as well the account of Heinrich von Herford (died 1370) and the entry for year 1384 in the Chronicle of Hamelin. In regards to the church window, which was reportedly lost around 1660, those who saw the artwork before its disappearance claimed the artwork showcased a scene of endangered children, which, on its own is not much help. The Chronicle of Hamelin (apparently also lost) was more direct, but incredibly brief, stating in its entry for year 1384 that “it is 100 years since our children left” (source 1), meaning that a notable mass exodus of youths had occurred in 1284. When it comes to detail, the inscribed beam (from the so-called Rattenfängerhaus “Ratcatcher’s House” of Hamelin) was much more wordy. The inscription, which reads like a commemorative plaque, stated “In the year 1284 on the day of John and Paul, the 26th of June, 130 children born in Hamelin were led away by a piper dressed in many-coloured clothes to Calvary close to the Koppen and were there lost” (source 2).  In agreement with the inscription, but more embellished and dramatic, was the account of Heinrich von Herford in the second half of the 14th century (which might have been edited by a 15th-century hand). The text stated:

“…in the town of Hamelin in the diocese of Minden, in the Year of Our Lord, 1284, on the Feast of Saints John and Paul. A certain young man thirty years of age, handsome and well-dressed, so that all who saw him admired him because of his appearance, crossed the bridges and entered the town by the West Gate. He then began to play all through the town a silver pipe of the most magnificent sort. All the children who heard his pipe, in the number of 130, followed him to the East Gate and out of the town to the so-called execution place or Calvary. There they proceeded to vanish, so that no trace of them could be found. The mothers of the children ran from town to town, but they found nothing. It is written: A voice was heard from on high, and a mother was bewailing her son. And as one counts the years according to the Year of Our Lord or according to the first, second or third year of an anniversary, so do the people in Hamelin reckon the years after the departure and disappearance of their children. This report I found in an old book. And the mother of the deacon Johann von Lude saw the children depart” (source 1).

From these earliest and least folkloric sources, the most that can be deduced is that some authoritative, well-dressed figure with an instrument entered Hamelin in 1284, and when he left, 130 youths accompanied him and never returned—to the distress of their loved ones. Unfortunately, there is not enough information to confidently determine what happened next; all we can do is theorize and hypothesize. Was the piper a military recruiter who marched Hamelin’s sons of fighting age off to die in a war? Were the 130 youths instead led off to settle some newly conquered land? Had the young people been swallowed up by a mountain rockslide? Good or bad, the mystery of the Pied Piper remains.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (The Pied Piper of Hamelin illustrated by Kate Greenaway (1846–1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• (1) http://www.medievalists.net/2014/12/pied-piper-hamelin-medieval-mass-abduction/
• (2)https://www.academia.edu/7062392/Documentary_Time_Line_of_Versions_of_the_Pied_Piper_Legend 
• https://www.lib.latrobe.edu.au/ojs/index.php/tlg/article/view/390/383 
• https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/hameln.html 
• https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/travel/1985/09/15/hamelin/a80b6286-6efb-4191-9de5-f3b5b78feab1/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.a4cd0598273a
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Hameln#ref250685   

The Remarkably Unlucky Mutiny Of The Usipi Cohort In Roman Britannia

In the year 82, during the governorship of Julius Agricola, an auxiliary cohort of German Usipi warriors launched an ill-fated mutiny against their Roman supervisors in Britannia. The harrowing event was documented by two historians, Tacitus (who happened to be the son-in-law of Agricola) and Cassius Dio. It was mentioned only in passing in Cassius Dio’s Roman History, but Tacitus described the horrors of the mutiny with gruesome detail in the pages of his Agricola.

In section twenty-eight of the Agricola, Tacitus claimed that an auxiliary cohort of Usipi warriors (approximately 500 men) rebelled against the Romans who oversaw the unit. Many Roman officers were reportedly murdered in the mutiny, including all the centurions assigned to the cohort (there were usually 6), a military tribune, and any other trainers, disciplinarians or average Roman legionaries who had the misfortune of being present at the time. Following the purge of the Romans in their ranks, the rogue Usipi cohort rushed to a nearby harbor and commandeered three Liburnian warships, which are small and quick vessels.

The captains of the commandeered ships were largely uncooperative, so the Usipi mutineers had to make do with their own knowledge of navigation. Perhaps in consequence of this, the progress of the rebels was tortuously slow and, whether or not they actually intended the feat, the mutineers were said to have circumnavigated the island. During their long journey, the rebels eventually ran out whatever supplies they had stockpiled onto their ships. The parched and starving warriors were forced to begin raiding coastal towns of the Britons for food and water. Yet, according to Tacitus’ sources, the Britons were able to fend off many of the attacks launched by the weakening Usipi crews. The little amount of supplies that the mutineers managed to steal from the Britons was apparently not enough to feed the whole group—they reportedly had to resort to cannibalism toward the end of their hellish experience.

After their circumnavigation of Britain, the fate of the mutineers became more vague. As a result of all their raiding, the mutinous Usipi crews apparently gained reputations as pirates, yet their seamanship was subpar. In an ambiguous statement, Tacitus claimed that the Usibi rebels eventually ran their ships aground or were shipwrecked, possibly back on the coast of the European mainland, somewhere around the Netherlands region. Although they had made it back to Germania, the mutineers were not met with a warm welcome by the local tribes, presumably because of reputation for piracy that the rebels had accrued during their journey. Tacitus wrote, “Having lost their ships through poor seamanship, they were taken for pirates and cut off first by the Suebi and then by the Frisii. Some of them were sold as slaves and passed from hand to hand till they reached our bank of the Rhine, where they gained notoriety from the tale of their great adventure” (Agricola, section 28).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Art from Trajan's Column (plate XCIX, scene CXXXIV), attributed to Apollodoro di Damasco (50–130), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Agricola and Germania by Tacitus and translated by Harold Mattingly and revised by J. B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2009.
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Cassius_Dio/66*.html  

Emperor Otto III Added A Golden Nose To The Body Of Charlemagne

Otto III, born in 980, was an ambitious, but short-lived, emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. He was deemed old enough to rule in 994, at the age of fourteen. His dream was the renewal of the ancient Roman Empire, a passion probably fanned by Otto’s mother, Theophano, an imperial princess from the remnants of the Eastern Roman Empire, centered in the Byzantine city of Constantinople.

Before the turn of the century, Otto III dramatically expanded his influence into Rome. In 996, Otto coerced the church to elect his cousin, Bruno of Carinthia, a man of only twenty-three years, as the next pope. Bruno took the name, Gregory V, and used his papal authority to confer on Otto III the lofty title of Holy Roman Emperor. Almost immediately after Otto left Rome, Pope Gregory was deposed, but the emperor returned to Italy in 997 and, by early 998, he deposed the new rival pope, reinstated Gregory V, and executed the instigator of the resistance. When Pope Gregory V died in 999, Emperor Otto III once again took it upon himself to choose who would be the next head of the church. This time Otto’s own tutor, Gerbert of Aurillac, became pope, taking the name Pope Sylvester II. Around this time, Otto III also made Rome his capital city, a move that unnerved both Germans and Italians.

In the year 1000, Otto III may have wanted some time to reflect. The twenty-year-old emperor took several pilgrimages that year. He went to Gniezno, Poland, to visit the tomb of archbishop Adelbert of Prague. More importantly, he entered the tomb of Charlemagne in Aachen and viewed the great king’s remains. By that point, Charlemagne had been dead for nearly two centuries, so what Otto saw laying in the tomb was quite decayed and shriveled, albeit still decently intact for such an old corpse. According to the tales about Otto’s visit to the tomb of Charlemagne, he trimmed the fingernails of the deceased king, which decomposition had made to seem as if they had grown long. In addition to this, although the body of Charlemagne was still mostly whole, much of the king’s nose had crumbled away. To remedy this, Otto had a golden nose cap fashioned and placed it on Charlemagne’s face. Despite fixing Charlemagne’s countenance, Otto also took with him one of Charlemagne’s teeth as a lucky keepsake. Nevertheless, the relic from the tomb of Charlemagne did not save Emperor Otto III. He died of illness two years later while his empire was faced with revolt.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

• Two Lives of Charlemagne, by Einhard and Notker the Stammer (Introduction), translated by David Ganz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Otto-III 
• https://www.historytoday.com/richard-cavendish/death-emperor-otto-iii

The Devil Has A Liking For Feathered Hats

Many people have a preconceived notion of the devil as a red beast with horns, or a hairy creature with a goat's head. Some may even believe the devil looks like Voldemort from Harry Potter. While these are all fitting description of the prince of darkness, no description of the devil is as stylish and hip as the devil sighted in Baroque Germany. These depictions of the devil wearing the finest clothes and sporting the sharpest hats were prevalent in the late 16th century and early 17th century.
   
The devil's appearance gained him the name “Federle” or “Federlin,” meaning “little feather,” as the lord of the fallen always wore a hat adorned with a feather. The following descriptions of the devil come from interrogations of accused witches documented in Lyndal Roper's book, Witch Craze. The devil was a smooth talker, promising marriage and loyalty to the women he targeted, then demanding diabolical obedience after they were seduced. Common motifs in the accounts of the devil from this period included impersonation of love interests, the appearance of goat's feet (after the devil revealed himself), having a cold 'member,' and last but not least, flatulence. Yet, the devil's choice of clothing was the most consistent recurrence among the accounts.
   
If clothing makes the man, the devil was a man of substance. In 1586, Ursula Bayer told of her encounter with the devil wearing “black clothes, with a black satin hat, black feather on it….” Barbara Weis confessed in 1590 that the devil “came in the form of a craftsman, dressed in black clothes, a feather on his hat, and with a cloven foot.” The 1602 account from Barbara Herpolt claims the devil looked “like a servant man, a red face and a red beret, smooth trousers and stockings, a hat with black and white feathers….” In 1617, the devil added more color to his clothing. Margaret Schreyer, in her 1617 testimony, claimed that the devil appeared to her “in red clothes and a black hat.” The Würzburg trials added green to the devil's wardrobe. The devil was described as “a beautiful young man with a black beard, red clothing, green stockings and black hat, with a red feather upon it.” Barbara Schluchter also claimed to have seen the devil in 1617, “he had a green tunic, a high hat and a feather.” Even men had to be wary of women in feathered hats. Conrad Schreyer, an accused male witch from Marchtal, claimed to have been seduced by the devil in the form of a black-clad woman wearing a hat with feathers. In total, the accounts from Lyndal Roper's Witch Craze that were perused for this article contained five instances of the devil wearing black clothing, four instances of a black hat, two depictions of green clothing, two accounts of red clothing, and a unique occurrence of a red hat. The feather was always present, though its color and quantity varied.
   
So, next time you encounter a devilishly good-looking person wearing fine tailored clothing and a hat with a feather, beware, it may be the devil. The colors black, red and green are to be especially suspected.  Beware the Lucifer in Ralph Lauren and the dark prince in Prada.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

This article was originally published on April 7, 2016, but has been edited since that date.

Picture Attribution: ("The Devil as the Witch's Lover," woodcut c. 1490, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Source:

• Lyndal Roper. Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004.

Torture Makes The Witch—The Story of Margaretha Minderlin

When your country is in the midst of a hysteric witch-hunt, most people would have the sense not to act overtly suspicious. Unfortunately, acting without thought often brings about dire consequences.  In the late 16th century, Margaret Minderlin and her husband made poor choices, and the result was lethal.

           

Margaretha’s tragic story began in Nordlingen, Germany, in the year 1598. The suspicious eye of society focused on the Minderlin household when Margaretha’s husband was imprisoned for grave robbing. Her husband committed suicide while imprisoned, and the newly-widowed Margaretha fled her home. Her attempt to escape the authorities was unsuccessful. She was hauled back to Nordlingen, where she was handed over to eager jailers and interrogators.

           

Once Margaretha was put under the charge of the interrogators, her unfortunate fate was sealed. She willingly confessed that she assisted her husband in a scheme where they plundered graves for the purpose of gathering clothing and linens to sell for a profit. The torturers, however, suspected she was a witch, and applied their trade on her to make her confess their suspicions. To stop the agony, Margaretha conformed to the preconceived notion of witchy behavior and ultimately concurred with the interrogator’s questions. The more torture Margaretha underwent, the more her testimony became fantastical and diabolical. The interrogators, through torture, molded a confessed grave robber into the perfect image of an evil witch.

           

Margaretha’s statements escalated quickly. She originally confessed, without coercion, to stealing garments and cloth from graves with an intent to sell them for profit. At the first application of torture, Margaretha falsely admitted to selling body parts of the cadavers, instead of clothing. After more torture, she abandoned the original grave-robbing story to confess to exhuming the bodies of dead children. When she faced her seventh torture session, Margaretha falsely confessed to feasting on the flesh of the dead children, in the company of previously executed witches.

           

By this point in her interrogation, Margaretha seemed to be willing to confess to just about anything. She confessed to being seduced by the devil. She claims to have attended another feast with witches, where they cannibalized another child. Finally, she admitted to cursing and harming, through magical means, people of all ages, sexes and sizes.

           

The interrogation of Margaretha turned a grave robber into a cannibalistic witch. She was the last witch to be executed in Nordlingen, and her account acts as a testament for all of the other women who were executed in her town before her. She even referred to other executed witches in her confessions. The interrogators had a clear image in their own minds of how a witch behaved, and they coerced their defendant to confess to behaving in a manner that mirrored earlier executed witches. The investigating council acted sensibly when it investigated three graves of children Margaretha claimed to have disturbed, but even when the bodies were found to be unmolested, they did not relent in their insistence that witchcraft was afoot. The investigators wanted a witch, and they used torture to create one out of Margaretha Minderlin.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

This article was originally published on March 28, 2016, but has been reformatted and edited since then.

Picture Attribution: (Image of witchcraft, painted by (c. 1565-1629), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Lyndal Roper. Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004.

Charles The Fat Gobbled Up The Lands Of His Relatives And Recreated Charlemagne’s Empire, All Without Much Effort

After the death of Emperor Louis I “the Pious” in 840, Charlemagne’s Carolingian Empire in Europe was divided among Louis’ sons. Although the empire of the Franks had fractured, a grandson of Louis the Pious would unexpectedly reunite most pieces of the Carolingian Empire under one administration. Adding to the impressive achievement, the reunification was done almost entirely without bloodshed.

The protagonist of the Carolingian Empire’s reestablishment was an unassuming man named Charles III (r. 876-887), also known by the unfortunate epithet of Charles the Fat. He lived in a time of great rulers, with contemporaries such as King Alfred the Great in England and King Harald Finehair in Norway. While Alfred and Harald were both sublime leaders who earned their prestigious places in history through military grit and administrative skill, Charles the Fat was a different kind of leader—his unification of the fractured Carolingian Empire happened seemingly by pure luck.

Charles the Fat began his rise to power in 876, upon the death of his father, Louis the German. Charles was one of three sons who inherited land after his father’s death. He became king of Alemania (later renamed Swabia), Alsace and Rhaetia, ruling a large swath of land in lower Germany and along the Rhine. Charles’ brother, Louis the Younger, took control of northern Germany, most notably Saxony. Similarly, the Carolingian holdings in Italy were granted to another brother named Carloman.

Charles the Fat’s first major territorial expansion occurred in 879, when he took over control of the Carolingian lands in Italy after his brother became fatally ill. The pope at the time, John VIII, must have approved of the new king, for he granted Charles the title of Holy Roman Emperor in 881. A year later, in 882, Louis the Younger also died. As a result of the death, Charles the Fat inherited his late brother’s northern German lands. In around 3 years, Charles had grown from a relatively average king into an emperor who ruled Germany and northern Italy.

Nevertheless, the emperor’s good fortune continued. In 884, Carloman II of France met an inglorious end while hunting boar. As there were no other legitimate descendants of Charlemagne’s line currently fit to rule, it was agreed by June 885 that the French lands would also be ruled by Charles the Fat. In only 9 years, a monarch in lower Germany spread his influence to encompass much of Germany, Italy and France—and he did this by simply waiting for his relatives to die.

For most of his reign, Charles the Fat had to deal with persistent armies of Vikings. The Scandinavian raiders who had been ravaging Britain decided to take a sabbatical from their wars with the Anglo-Saxons and arrived in force around 879 to try their luck against the Franks. Many of the raiders would not return to Britain until about 892. While Frankish regional leaders won several military victories against the Vikings, Charles the Fat personally responded poorly to the invaders. For the most part, his favorite tactic against the Vikings was bribery. Payment of tribute did, indeed, have a role in persuading the Vikings to break off their siege of Paris (c. November 885 - November 886), but the king’s appeasement did little to instill confidence in his subjects.

The downfall of Charles the Fat came in 887. During that year, the emperor’s nephew, named Arnulf, revolted against Charles’ rule, claiming Germany as his own kingdom. Charles, who was likely suffering from illness at the time, was formally deposed in November 887. He did not last long after his power was usurped and died in early 888. The empire that he had rebuilt quickly crumbled into individual kingdoms shortly after his death. In the power vacuum, Arnulf kept Germany for himself. Count Rudolph laid claim to most of Burgundy. Count Odo in Paris became the king of France. The count of Friuli, named Berengar, seized northern Italy and Guy, the duke of Spoleto, claimed the Italian south.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Portrait of Charles the Fat painted by Louis-Félix Amiel (1802–1864), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Annals 893-896), translated by Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge in their anthology, Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources. New York: Penguin Classics, 2004. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Charles-III-Holy-Roman-emperor 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Louis-I-Holy-Roman-emperor 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Louis-II-king-of-the-East-Franks