A 16thc Segen for the Mass, Pt 2

The Thalbach Segen for the Mass

The first half of this Segen – which I posted about last week – establishes its logic through enclosure, accumulation, and analogy: the devotee commends herself into sacred realities, borrows the authority of the Mass, and maps Christ’s body onto her own as a form of protection. Part 2 intensifies this same logic, shifting from verbal placement to embodied action. What was established through words is now reinforced through gesture, orientation, and repetition, as the sign of the cross is deployed to surround the body, bind danger, and authorize protection in motion. 

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PART TWO OF THE SEGEN, "HErr ich bevilch mich dir in alle die heillige wortt die alle Priieſter ſprech"  ÖNB Cod. 11750, fols. 21r-22v (Part 1 is transcribed and translated here). Division into segments reflects editorial assessments; bold is added to highlight structural repetition. Transcription and translation are CC-BY Cynthia Cyrus.

Beth ein vatter vnser vn̅ ein Aue mar[ia] 

           Pray an Our Father and a Hail Mary.

Das heïllig Gottes Creütz [REDCROSS] Jhesu christi seẏ heutt vor mir. [REDCROSS] Vnsers herrn creutz seẏ heutt hinder mir. Vnſers herrn creutz. [REDCROSS] ſei ob mir Vnſers herrn creutz [REDCROSS] sey heut zuͦ den ſeittenn neben mir. Ach Gott gesegne mich heut vnd Jmer bei dem heilligenn fron [REDCROSS] Creütz dagott die marter an leidt durch mich vund aller Chriſtenhait ·

The holy cross of God [REDCROSS] of Jesus Christ be before me today. [REDCROSS] Our Lord's cross be behind me today. Our Lord's cross [REDCROSS] be above me. Our Lord's cross [REDCROSS] be on my sides next to me today. Oh God, bless me today and forever by the holy [REDCROSS] cross, where God endured the suffering for me and all of Christendom.

Nur můs ich als wol geſegnet ſein als der Kelch unnd der wein den ein ieder Priester muß es das er die mass volbringen kan. [REDCROSS] Nur můs ich als war gesegnet sein, als des gutten hern Tobias ſun, do er in frembden landenn was [REDCROSS] Nur mus ich als war geſegnet sein, als dir heillige drei nagell / die Gott durch hend vnnd füess würden geſchlagen

I must be as well blessed as the chalice and the wine that every priest must have so that he can perform the Mass. I must be as truly blessed as the son of the good Lord Tobias, when he was in foreign lands. I must be as truly blessed as the three holy nails that God was struck with through his hands and feet.

Ich beüilch mich in die krafft vnd in die krafft wortt / da gott mensch inn ward. Ich beüilch mich in die fliessende bach vnd schwayss vnnd bluts, so vnnser lieber herr vergossenn hat. Ich beuil mich heut in die seligkeit ich armer sunder, vnd durch die krafft seines Lebendigen Sons gebe nedeiten tods. / Ich beuilch mich heutt in die seligkeit seines heilligen sacraments Ich fleuch heut vnder den schult vnnd vnder den frid, vnnd vnder dz heillig Creitz [22r] Das ſelber durch mich vnnd alle menſchen zuͦ einem Creutz gemacht hat Jch beuil mich heüt vnd allweg in die heillige Driualtigkeit vnſers herrnn Jeſu chriſti vnd in die heilige Senfftmuettigkeit Barmhertzigteit keuschheitt vnser lieben frawen Maria, vnd in die gemainſame aller heiligen.

I commend myself to the power and the word in which God became man. I commend myself to the flowing stream of sweat and blood that our dear Lord shed. I commend myself today to salvation, I poor sinner, and through the power of his living Son, grant me a blessed death. I commend myself today to the salvation of his holy sacrament. I flee today under the protection and under the peace, and under the holy cross which he himself has made into a cross for me and all people. I commend myself today and always to the Holy Trinity of our Lord Jesus Christ and to the holy gentleness, mercy, and chastity of our dear Lady Mary, and to the communion of all saints.

Dz creutz [REDCROSS] vnſers herrn Jeſu chriſti ſei heut mit mir Das [REDCROSS] Creutz vnsers lieben herrn verbind mir aller meiner feinden ſchwert. Das [REDCROSS] Creutz vnsers herrn eroffne mir alles güts Dz [REDCROSS] Creutz vnsers herrn neme von mir alles vbell vnd alle pein des ewigen tods. Nur [REDCROSS] geſegne mich der heillig ſegenn den gott vber sich ynnd alle menschen hatt gebem da gott ſelbs inn beſchaffenn wz.

The cross of our Lord Jesus Christ be with me today. The cross of our dear Lord bind the sword of all my enemies. The cross of our Lord open to me all good things. The cross of our Lord take from me all evil and all the pain of eternal death. May the holy blessing that God gave over himself and all people, in which God himself was created, bless me.

Ich beuil mich heut in die ſiben wort, die gott selbs ſprach an dem heilligen creütz. Ich beuil mich heut in den heilligen frid vnſers hern gesuchristi, der sei mir heut ein anfang vnd einausgang in allen meinen nötten, wo ich Jn der Welltt hinkör

I commend myself today to the seven words that God himself spoke on the holy cross. I commend myself today to the holy peace of our Lord Jesus Christ, may it be for me today a beginning and an end in all my needs, wherever I go in the world.

Nur gelegne mich heut der lieb herr Sannt Johannes in ſeiner keussigheitt. Nur geſegne mich der gut ſant Benedict vor Zauberei, diſe zwen haben gebet vnſern herrn Jeſum chriſtum, Welcher man oder fraw ſchmertzen hat, dz in ſeinem verdiennſt er geſundt werd. O Schmertz dich zerſtrew gott der Sun. O ſchmertz dich zerstrew gott der Heillig Gayſt. Jn dem Namenn gott des Vatters vnnd des Süns vnnd des heilligen Geists. Amen.

May the dear Lord Saint John bless me today in his chastity. May the good Saint Benedict bless me against sorcery; these two prayed to our Lord Jesus Christ, that whoever, man or woman, has pain, may be healed through his merit. O pain, may God the Son scatter you. O pain, may God the Holy Spirit scatter you. In the name of God the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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ASSESSMENT

Part 2 opens with formulaic prayer – an Our Father and a Hail Mary – and then immediately shifts register. The prayer stops asking and starts placing. What follows is no longer a petition addressed upward, but a sequence of directional statements that actively organize space around the speaker. Repeated invocations of “Das heilig Gottes Creutz … sey heut vor mir / hinder mir / ob mir / zu den seiten neben mir” (before me, behind me, above me, and to my sides) construct a six-directional enclosure, situating the devotee within a protective field defined by the cross.

This language is not metaphorical. It performs a spatial act. The cross is placed before and behind the body, above it, and on both sides; it creates a perimeter that surrounds rather than adorns. The red crosses marked in the manuscript are not ornamental flourishes, but operative cues. They prompt gesture, orientation, and repetition. They invite the speaker to action -- to trace the cross repeatedly in space, turning the prayer into enacted words that produce protection through kinetic movement.

In this sense, Part 2 takes up and extends the work already begun at the end of the first half of the prayer. There, the speaker mapped herself onto Christ’s body as a way of securing protection; here, that logic is expanded outward. Protection is no longer only anatomical or analogical but locational. The body is not simply aligned with Christ’s wounds or limbs, but physically enclosed within the sign of the cross itself, now rendered as a mobile defensive geometry.

This is characteristic Segen practice. Rather than cultivating inward reassurance, the prayer re-positions the body in sacred space. Safety is achieved not through reflection but through placement – through saying, marking, and standing within a configuration that has been declared protective. Like prayers before the image of Mary, the actions of the praying sister are integral to the prayer itself.

AUTHORIZATION THROUGH ANALOGY AND EQUIVALENCE

The prayer then pivots to a striking rhetorical strategy, signaled by the repeated formula “Nur muß ich als wol gesegnet sein als …” Rather than petitioning for blessing, the speaker asserts a claim to it through a series of carefully chosen comparisons. What follows is not metaphor but equivalence: the devotee aligns herself with persons and objects whose efficacy is already established.

Three such alignments structure this section. First, the speaker claims to be as well blessed as the chalice and the wine required for the priest to complete the Mass. Here, efficacy is functional and liturgical: these objects are blessed not because they are morally exemplary, but because without them the sacramental action cannot occur. Second, she likens herself to Tobias’ son, protected by the Angel Raphael while traveling in foreign lands. This comparison draws on narrative precedent, invoking a scriptural story in which divine protection accompanies movement, risk, and vulnerability. Third, she claims the blessing of the three holy nails of the Crucifixion, instruments rendered powerful through direct contact with Christ’s suffering body.

Taken together, these comparisons establish a logic of borrowed authority. The speaker does not present herself as worthy in her own right, nor does she wait for blessing to be conferred. Instead, she places herself on the same plane as liturgical vessels, biblical travelers, and relic-like instruments – things and figures already known to work. In doing so, the prayer authorizes lay access to protective power by grounding it in recognized sites of efficacy. Blessing here is not requested but claimed, secured through alignment with what has already proven capable of bearing and transmitting divine force.

SALVIC THINGS

The long middle section (Ich beüilch mich…) is a catalog of efficacious media:

• the wort of the Incarnation
• sweat, blood, and flowing fluids
• the sacrament
• peace
• the cross
• the Trinity
• Marian virtues
• the community of saints

This is not redundant piety. It is strategic stacking. Each item is something that:

• has already worked (historically or liturgically)
• can be entered or taken refuge under
• and can be carried by the speaker.

The repeated ich bevilch mich performs self-placement again and again. The speaker repeatedly moves themselves into zones of protection, as though tightening a net. Part one of the prayer set up her spiritual safety; her active remembrance of these holy things thus reinforces that zone.

The cross, of course, has a special status, and the next unit of the Segen re-activates it, showing its kinetic and temporal power through verb choice. It:

• binds enemies’ swords
• opens all good
• removes evil and eternal death

The cross operates metaphorically as weapon, key, and filter. This is apotropaic language in its strongest form: harm is actively restrained, not merely avoided.

COMPLETENESS IN TIME AND IN BINARIES

By invoking the seven last words spoken from the cross, peace as both Anfang and Ausgang (beginning and end), and movement “wherever I go in the world,” the prayer works deliberately to close all remaining gaps. Time is framed from beginning to end, speech is completed in silence, motion is paired with rest, pain with healing, and present vulnerability is extended forward to encompass future death. These paired terms are not incidental but systematic: the Segen seeks to leave no interval, condition, or threshold unguarded. What emerges is a prayer oriented toward completeness rather than intensity, one that aims not at a single moment of relief but at comprehensive coverage across the temporal and existential spectrum.

To this, she adds the saints as targeted intercessors. John, whose chastity aligns with bodily integrity; Benedict, who provides protection against sorcery, mark her world as one of pragmatic sanctity. Saints are invoked for what they do, not who they are. The direct address to pain (O Schmertz…) completes the transition from prayer to command. Pain is not asked to leave. It is told to disperse – twice, under Trinitarian authority.

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THE SEGEN AS PRAYER ACT

Taken together, the second half of this prayer is neither contemplative nor primarily petitionary. It is not oriented toward extended reflection or interior cultivation, but toward use. The prayer functions instead as a ritual technology of protection, assembled from spatial enclosure, authorized comparison, accumulated salvific matter, spoken command, and repeated acts of self-placement. What gives it force is not doctrinal exposition but correct enactment: familiar words spoken in the right order, gestures traced in space, and authoritative figures and objects invoked because they are already known to work.

Read in this way, the prayer aligns closely with recent scholarship that emphasizes the everyday, practice-oriented character of Segen. Ulrike Wagner-Rau, writing in Segen, characterizes blessings as rituals that are “unverbrüchlich angesehen” not because they offer explanation, but because they provide reliable ways of navigating ordinary life through repeated action. Christopher Spehr’s contribution to the same volume likewise underscores the diversity and adaptability of late medieval blessing practices, situating Segen firmly within lived religious routines rather than at the margins of official devotion. To make the point more directly: for our Thalbach sister to be enacting her Segen during and in the presence of the Mass is every bit as standard a sacred and parallel act as is the spoken delivery of requiem masses at a side altar underneath the Fronmass. Simultaneity has its own kind of sacred power.

Although he deals with an earlier 12^th to 14^th century repertoire of such Segen, Derek A. Rivard’s Blessing the World helps clarify what is at stake. His study shows that blessings were shaped by lay needs and aspirations and that their protective focus complemented the Mass’s role in sustaining communal order and integrity. I would argue that the Thalbach Segen operates in precisely this register. Drawing on familiar narratives, liturgical forms, and bodily practices, it translates shared Christian knowledge into ritual action calibrated for vulnerability – illness, danger, movement, and the prospect of death.

What emerges, then, is not an alternative to theology, but a way of living it. This Segen does not seek to explain suffering or risk; it offers a means of addressing them through repeated, embodied practice. Anchored in the Mass yet usable beyond it, the prayer extends ecclesial protection into the rhythms of everyday life. For the Thalbach sisters, and for others who prayed in similar ways, safety was not a matter of abstract belief but of learned habit: something done, enacted, and carried forward through words and gestures that had already proven their worth. At Thalbach, such habits were cultivated collectively – through shared prayerbooks, repeated attendance at the parish Mass, and the parallel rhythms of memoria and devotion – so that protection was not merely personal, but explicitly embedded in the sisters’ communal practice.

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WORKS CITED

Cynthia Cyrus, "Praying Before the Image of Mary: Nuns’ Prayerbooks and the Mapping of Sacred Space" Religions 16, no. 10 (2025): 1277. https://doi.org/10.3390/rel16101277, https://www.mdpi.com/3532324

Martin Leuenberger (ed.) Segen. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015.

See especially Ulrike Wagner-Rau and her discussion of everyday rituals, “Unverbrüchlich angesehen – Der Segen in praktisch-theologischer Perspektive,” 187-210, here p. 194.

In the same volume, Christopher Spehr addresses the diversity of blessings in late medieval practice, and their re-evaluation in the Reformation; “Sengespraxis und Segenstheologie in der Christentumsgeschickte,” 135-164.

Derek A. Rivard, Blessing the World: Ritual and Lay Piety in Medieval Religion (Washington DC: Catholic U of America Press, 2009)

Note: This post presents a working transcription, translation, and preliminary analysis in advance of a planned journal article.

A Sixteenth-Century Segen for the Mass, Pt 1

A “Segen” is a prayer genre that combines words, gestures, and formulas to bring about a positive end such as divine grace, desired happiness, or protection from harm. Commonly translated as “blessing,” it is more than just cheery words or good wishes. It exists as a multi-dimensional “act” that can create good. Each element – words said, gesture properly performed, and multiple iterations – contributes to its successful deployment. A Segen is effficacious through utterance when properly performed. I always think of them as “an active saying”: something that calls on a human agent to take on its power. It is a speech act with material consequences.

PRAYER TYPE

A Segen differs from a Collect, which belongs to the formal liturgy, and from prayers of petition (Gebet, Bitte), which structure ordinary devotional speech. It can be recognized by its formal stability – since the wording matters, variation is limited. It’s also inherently performative speech. It does something when spoken: it protects, heals, averts danger, prepares for death. If you’re traveling? There’s a Segen for that. Childbirth? Likewise. Is it time for a transition, say, to get out of bed, or go to sleep? There is a Segen that will suit your purpose. Danger, uncertainty, the evils of pestilence? The warding function of the Segen makes it a deployable ritual technology for navigating risk, transition, and moments of vulnerability. They fit into the rhythms of the everyday.

Because it is a prayer of “doing,” it is suitable for a variety of contexts, be they lay, domestic, or paraliturgical. Segen often occupy spaces later described as “folk,” since apotropaic functions and familiar protective formulas are common. Warding off evil and thereby doing good in the world: Segen were thought to do useful work. And, the prayer workers, importantly, did not need to be clerical. Lay folk could use them, and so could monastics. In memorial contexts, like the ones I’m working on, a Segen can function as a spoken intervention on behalf of souls, even when no mass is present.

One of the reasons I’m drawn to Segen as a category is that they have a devotional logic that prioritizes outcome over explanation. They show a world in which prayer is not only expressive but operative. In other words: a Segen is not just a blessing, but a technology of care and control, especially potent in contexts of illness, death, and remembrance.

THE SEGEN ITSELF

To take up a specific case, here is “A Protective Segen anchored in the Mass,” as its label tells us, this one a sixteenth century prayer from a Thalbach prayerbook, ÖNB Cod. 11750, fols. 20v-21r.

Line numbers are for ease of reference; bold is to highlight the formulaic elements of the prayer. This is the first half of a two-part prayer.

Ein schoner segenn bei der heilligen Mäß

1. HErr ich bevilch mich dir in alle die

2. heillige wortt die alle Priieſter ſprech

3. enn von dem da du in verwanndlet haſt vorrden

4. brott in fleiſch vnnd in blutt. Herr ich beuilch

5. mich heut vnd allweg in die heillige gottheitt

6. vnd in die heillige menſchhait vnnd in die heil

7. lige Drÿfalltigkeitt vnnd in dem heillige seel

8. deinem leib / Jn dein heillige gegenwertigkeit

9. in deinem heilligenn fronleichnam deinem

10. heilligen fleisch deinem heilligen blutt beuilch

11. ich mich mit flaiſch vnnd blut mit leib vnd ſeel

12. mit zeittlicher eher vnnd allen meinen gelider

13. in deinen heilligenn frid / dz du mich beſchur⸗

14. meſt vnd behuetest vor allem ybel vor waffen

15. vor gefenckhnüs vor gesigung [=Geißigung] vor werffenn

16. Schüessenn vor waſſer vor Zauberey ehren

17. abſchneidenn vor feur / vor allem dem dz du er⸗

18. inneſt in deiner weiſzheit dz mir ſchaden mag

19. an leibvnnd seel an allen zeittlichenn dingen

20. vnd ehren: Behuetest mich herr durch dein

21. grundlose barmhertzigkeit, durch dein manig

22. faltige erbernd Guettiger herr ich bürg mich

23. in die verborgne tugent, als sich die hoche gott,

24. heitt verbarg indte krancke menſchheut vnd

25. als du dich uerbirgeſt in des Pruësters hennd

26. indem ſchein des brotts warer gott vnnd mēſch

27. Herr ich bürg mich heüt vnnd Jmer in deine

28. heillige fünnff wunden / trennck mich mitt

29. deinem roſen farbenn blutt: dein heillige dri-

30. ualltigkeit ſei mir ein ſchüllt vnnd ſchürm,

31. vor allem meinenn feinden / deine heillige

32. hennd seÿenn heütt v̈ber mich/ deine heillige

33. füess seind heut vor mir dein heilliger mund

34. beſcharme mich heütt / fruſch vnnd geſünd

35. vnnd vor allem vnglückh. Amen.

This is a protective, performative Segen that anchors itself in the Mass in order to borrow its power. The Mass is the source of authority, but the Segen is the mechanism by which the devout sister will deploy it. Flesh, blood, body; body, blood, flesh: this is God made man to act as armor. He can protect her without being consumed.

A TRANSLATION

1 Lord I commend myself to you in all the 2 holy words that all priests speak 3 from that moment, when you transformed it, 4 the bread turned into flesh and blood. Lord, I commend 5 myself today and always in the holy Godhead 6 and in the holy humanity and in the holy 7 Trinity and in the holy soul 8 of your body / In your holy presence 9 in your holy body, your 10 holy flesh, your holy blood, I commend 11 myself with flesh and blood, with body and soul, 12 with temporal honor and all my limbs 13 in your holy peace, that you may protect 14 and guard me from all evil, from weapons, 15 from imprisonment, from defeat, from throwing [=missiles] 16 and shooting, from water, from sorcery, from 17 dishonor, from fire, from everything that you 18 know in your wisdom that may harm me 19 in body and soul, in all temporal things 20 and honors: Protect me, Lord, through your 21 boundless mercy, through the many and 22 manifold compassionate goodness, O gracious Lord, I entrust myself 23 to the hidden virtue, as the high God 24 hid himself in frail humanity and 25 as you hide yourself in the priest's hands 26 in the appearance of bread, true God and man. 27 Lord, I entrust myself today and forever to your 28 holy five wounds; refresh me with 29 your rose-colored blood: may your holy 30 Trinity be my shield and protection, 31 from all my enemies; may your holy 32 hands be over me today; may your holy 33 feet be before me today; may your holy mouth 34 protect me today, fresh and healthy, 35 and from all misfortune. Amen.

HOW THE SEGEN WORKS

The Thalbach speaker who reads this prayer starts here with an act of self-enclosure (ll. 1-13): as devotee, she uses the repeated formula “ich bevilch mich” (I commend myself) to place herself inside sacred realities. The words of consecration, the reality of Christ’s body and blood, the Trinity, the holy peace: these are the space of devout devotion that she is actively choosing to inhabit. Moreover, she treats the Eucharistic presence as protective substance, not through communion and consumption, but through observation and modeling. His embodiment (ll. 8-10) is a model for hers (ll. 11-13).

The Segen here has a broad apotropaic scope, from the abstract to the concrete (ll. 13-20). She is to be protected from evil, dishonor and defeat, and more tangibly from weapons, imprisonment, shooting. Water and fire, sorcery, and “everything that you know in your wisdom may harm me”: God’s protective shield is all-encompassing life protection: bodily, social, legal, and moral. A prayer that names Zauberey, magic, is almost never a neutral “Gebet”; it is operating in a world where spoken formulas are understood to counter spoken threats.

The Segen shifts from protection to hiddenness: the hidden virtue (die verborgne tugent), the hiddenness of Christ’s nature as frail human, and the hiding of the eucharistic wonder in the Priest’s hand. She entrusts herself to what is hidden; faith does not need to see to be lived. This is a sacramental theory of invisibility, and to my eye touches on what Maaike de Haardt terms the quotidian aspect of faith:

They [daily behaviors and spatial practices, aka the quotidian] reveal the how of belief, much more than the what of belief, the subject of the ministers of belief. Besides the ethical and political choice implicated in this approach, there is yet another important dimension, which I have called a sense of presence, or aesthetic presence, sacramental presence, or incarnational presence.

De Haardt describes the way in which sensorial abundance -- sensual knowledge of touching, tasting, smelling – become a way of being -- of inhabiting the everyday sacred. For the Thalbach sister, her presence in church, with incense and candles and ritual action observed intently, but not intimately, is sufficient to call to mind the divine.

The Segen ends by mapping Christ’s body to the speaker’s body. Hands above, feet before, mouth protecting, wounds enclosing. We have here somatic ritual geometry. The body is reoriented inside of Christ’s body, not so much improved as guarded. Through the Segen, she achieves safety.

SEGEN AS RITUAL OF PROTECTION

In articulating the segments of the prayer, the devotee generates her own ritual of protection from all ills, based on and parallel to that of the formal Mass on which it depends. By invoking the correct wording, by using the Segen in the correct ritual space (at Mass, in the presence of the host), and by invoking the correct theological anchors, she creates a sort of spiritual insurance policy that will protect her, body and soul. This shows that a Segen is not marginal or “folk-like” in opposition to theology. Rather, it is orthodox theology operationalized for protection and survival.

The first half of the Segen, then, carries the devotee on a multi-staged spiritual journey, where her act of commending herself results through transformation to her being mapped to Christ’s body, secure in the warded protection of Christ’s love:

Commend self >> Eucharist >> Protection >> Hiddenness >> Mapped to Christ’s body

As we will see in a future post, part 2 of this Segen provides a layered ritual deployment of these same themes -- protection, enclosure, and authorization remain central, but in part 2, the physicality of the prayer is reinforced through keyed moments of signing the cross.

WORK CITED:

Maaike de Haardt, “Incarnational presence: Sacramentality of everyday life and the body or: unsystematic skeptical musings on the use of a central metaphor,” in Envisioning the Cosmic Body of Christ, edited by Aurica Jax and Saskia Wendel (Routledge, 2019): 114-125.

Note: This post presents a working transcription, translation, and preliminary analysis in advance of a planned journal article.

Singing to St Martin of Tours

The feast of St Martin of Tours, on November 11^th, is a pivot-point in the year, the end of the harvest season and a time of preparation for the Advent season. It was an occasion for processions (often, at least in later periods, with lanterns!), for almsgiving, and for renewal of spirit and devotional practice.

It was also tax time; paying your Martins penny or Martinizins (Martin-tithe) was a financial obligation that appears in numerous documents and charters of the time. When I say numerous, I mean that just at the Kloster of Mehrerau, for instance, at least 59 separate charters detail the Martinizins; across Vorarlberg, more than 891 charters require payments of one sort or another on that special day. (Thank you, monasterium.net, for the ability to do multi-term searches!)

In the context of a tertiary house like Thalbach in Bregenz in the 16^th century, Martin’s feast was a time for public devotion and renewal of spiritual commitements. They no doubt liked the story of how he used his sword to divide his cloak in half and share it with a beggar. As a soldier, he had been riding warm and comfortable on his horse through the sleet and snow, when he came upon a fallen man. Concerned, he cut his cloak in two and gave one part to the supine man. That evening, a vision came to him of Christ clothed in the cloak remnant; the beggar he had comforted had been Christ himself.

17th c Stained Glass image of St Martin at Wettingen, cc by Badener

The sisters were not without need of charity themselves, since food supplies were notoriously tight during this period; endowments did not yet fully cover the sisters’ needs. Here, then, was a saintly hero whose generosity might inspire the broader civic community to similarly share provisions. And, of course, the feasting of end-of-harvest season was a special reason for rejoicing. Roast goose was often a special treat on the day, and was associated with the tale the a goose had revealed his location when he was hiding to avoid appointment as bishop. Plus, the fruit of the vineyards, the year’s new wine, was often uncorked on Martinmas. Roast goose (Martinigansl) and new wine (Heuriger) remain Austrian favorites today. Many reasons to rejoice, indeed!

Thus it was when the Sisters of Thalbach took on the task of learning the Roman Breviary in 1595, adopting the Tridentine forms then newly mandated, they chose their first (and therefore forever notable) performance to be the Vespers of St Martin. Here’s a lovely performance of the antiphon, “Dixerunt discipuli,” from the Vespers service for St Martin:

The disciples said to blessed Martin: Why do you abandon us, father? Or to whom do you leave us desolate? For ravenous wolves will invade your flock. (Ps:Dixit dominus)

Martin’s disciples, realizing he is near death, plead with him not to leave them. The “ravenous wolves” are a metaphor for corrupt or heretical leaders who might harm the spiritual community once Martin, their protector and spiritual guide, has passed. Martin here serves as the pastor bonus, the good shepherd who safeguards his flock through his vigilance. His disciples’ lament highlights the saint’s transition from earthly protector to heavenly intercessor. In medieval retellings and liturgical commemorations, this scene reinforces Martin’s enduring care for the faithful even after death. His memoria continues to protect against those “wolves” through prayer and example.

As new singers, then, this office was a good choice of where to begin. The music for Vespers emphasized antiphons and psalmody. “Dixerunt discipuli” is a typical antiphon in the seventh mode, centered melodically on the fifth above G, with a narrow range. This would have been eminently singable for new singers. Moreover, the gentle neumatic layout, with two to five notes per syllable would have helped with their memorization. Invoking Martin as protector in their first celebration in a new-to-them practice of Latin chant devotions was no doubt an auspicious beginning for what was to be a two-year learning journey. But that is a story for another day.

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REFERENCES

• For a general overview of Martin’s cult, see Yossi Maurey, Medieval Music, Legend, and the Cult of St Martin: The Local Foundations of a Universal Saint (Cambridge University Press, 2014)
• For a review of the growth of the St Martin liturgical tradition in Italy, see Alejandro Enrique Planchart, “The Geography of Martinmas,” In Western Plainchant in the First Millennium (Routledge, 2003).
• A short but approachable article on Martinmas customs can be found in Shawn Tribeon, “Customs of Martinmas,” Liturgical Arts Journal, October 26, 2018, https://www.liturgicalartsjournal.com/2018/10/customs-of-martinmas.html

An indulgence prayer for Mary of Swords

The Thalbach Prayerbook is not a tidy manuscript. It isn’t richly illuminated, and its pages don’t draw they eye with color and beauty the way we’ve come to expect from early modern devotional books. Instead, it is a deeply personal collection: copied mostly by a single female scribe in the late sixteenth century, filled with vernacular prayers and translated services, and clearly designed to sustain the “poor sinner” (sündarin) who gathered them together. Its very roughness makes it valuable, because it gives us a glimpse into the lived devotional practices of Bregenz during the Counter-Reformation.

One of the striking texts is the prayer to Mary as the "Schmertzensmutter"—the Mother of Sorrows (fols. 90–92). The opening strophe lingers on Simeon’s prophecy in Luke 2:25–35, where the aged prophet meets the infant Jesus in the temple. He declares that the child will be “a sign from God, but many will oppose him,” and warns Mary that “a sword will pierce your very soul.” The text imagines Mary’s dread at hearing this prediction,and repeatedly asks Mary to help the devotee share in the pain of various stages of her story of loss.

This prayer is, to my eye, particularly important in the context of the prayerbook as a whole because it echoes the woodcut chosen as paste-down at the very front of the volume: Mary’s heart being pierced by multiple swords, a visual shorthand for the Seven Sorrows. Its placement is also telling—it appears as a single but extended prayer between two Marian services, following the Advent offices and preceding the standard weekday prayers to the Virgin. In other words, we encounter it within a systematized framework of devotion. That element of ritual repetition is reinforced internally by its structure: every strophe ends with the Pater Noster and the Ave Maria.

From there, the prayer walks through key moments of Mary’s suffering: losing the child Jesus in the temple, seeing him bound and beaten, watching him hoisted on the cross, and cradling him in death. The language is tender and anguished, but it is also functional. The prayer-giver suggests in strophe 3, for instance, that just as Mary sorrowed over Jesus’s captivity as he was beaten, she can help “protect me from the wickedness and vice of the evil spirit” (behalt mich vor der boßhait und läster der bößen gaist). Because Mary’s sorrows mirror the devotee’s struggles, empathy itself becomes salvific – a way to transform suffering into protection against evil.

What’s especially interesting to me in this context is the prayer’s ending. The penultimate strophe focuses on the individual, asking Mary to intercede for my most earnest soul and to help in “all my pain”, but the final petitions widen out to the collective: “release us from all our afflictions.”

du behaltest mynaller ermeste sel / … yn alem mynen schmerzen... // ... von aller unser trübsäl erlöß uns

This shift from “me” to “us” happens frequently in the Thalbach collection—by my impression, in about a third of the prayers. It suggests to me a devotional rhythm where private petition blends into communal concern, aligning the voice of an individual sinner with her monastic responsibilities to the wider prayer community. She’s praying for herself, in other words, but that prayer also addresses the needs of her peersbe they fellow monastics, fellow residents of Bregenz, or, as sometimes specified, “all believing souls.”

This prayer reinforces that shift from the personal to the communal intervention, for it is capped by a Collect that places Mary firmly in her intercessory role. The collect appeals to her “eingebornen Sohn”—her only-begotten Son—for mercy. In this way, the swords that pierce Mary’s heart do double duty: they are emblems of her individual grief, but also reminders that suffering binds a community together. The Thalbach Prayerbook, however humble in appearance, is saturated with this kind of imagery. Mary of Sorrows emerges as both intimate companion in suffering and powerful advocate before Christ, her pierced heart a channel through which the afflictions of “me” and “us” alike might be transformed.

NOTE ON TRANSCRIPTION:

I follow the (highly) idiosyncratic spellings of the source, but supply punctuation in my translations.

RESOURCES:

• Indulgence Prayer ...von dem schwert des scharffen todes dines kind criste [INC: ge[g]rütz sÿestu ain müter Jesu crist EXPL: so befiechen mir uns verschmäch nit unser gebett yn unser nottürfigkait aber von aller unser trübsäll erlöß uns du gesegnet Junckfrow maria amen.], from the Thalbach Prayerbook, Bregenz, Vorarlberger Landesbibliothek Hs 17, fol. 90-92.
• For a review of another prayer from the Thalbach Prayerbook, see https://silencesandsounds.blogspot.com/2025/09/the-verbal-vocative-change-ringing.html

Among the many studies of the Seven Sorrows, see:

• Cynthia J. Cyrus, “Printed Images in a Thalbach Manuscript Prayer-book of the Sixteenth Century.” Journal of the Early Book Society 23 (2020): 173–82.

• Dagmar Eichberger, “Visualizing the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin: Early Woodcuts and Engravings in the Context of Netherlandish Confraternities,” in The Seven Sorrows Confraternity of Brussels: Drama, Ceremony, and Art Patronage (16th–17th Centuries), ed. Emily Thelen, Studies in European Urban History 37 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2015), 113–143.

• Christiane Möller, Jacob Cornelisz. van Oostsanen und Doen Pietersz: Studien zur Zusammenarbeit zwischen Holzschneider und Drucker im Amsterdam des frühen 16. Jahrhunderts, Niederlande-Studien 34 (New York: Waxmann Verlag, 2005).

• Carol M. Schuler, “The Seven Sorrows of the Virgin: Popular Culture and Cultic Imagery in Pre-Reformation Europe,” Simiolus: Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art 21 (1992):5–28.

• Carol M. Schuler, “The Sword of Compassion: Images of the Sorrowing Virgin in Late Medieval and Renaissance Art,” PhD diss, Columbia University, 1987.

The Verbal Vocative: Change-Ringing Patterns of Marian Address in Der Herr ist mit dir

Imagine a prayer that goes on and on (and on and on), praising Mary in every imaginable way – her virtues, her role in salvation, her intercessory power – layered up with both Latin and the vernacular. That’s exactly what a sister of the women’s convent of Thalbach in Bregenz copied into her Prayerbook during the Counter-Reformation. This prayer isn’t merely words on a page. It's designed to be a rhythmic, repetitive, almost musical meditation intended to draw the devotee into an intimate encounter with Mary. Short vocative lines pile up while the regular Latin refrains echo repeatedly, creating a devotional experience that teaches both prayer-giver and her audience by the shaping of affect – through rhythm, phrasing, and structural repetition. What follows is a closer look at how this multi-section Marian prayer works, how it structures attention, and how it combines reflection, rhythm, and affect to bring the devotee closer to the Virgin.

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In the last third of the Thalbach Prayerbook (Bregenz VLB Hs 17), there are ten folios devoted to a single multi-section prayer to the Virgin (fol. 237–247). It’s a rosary prayer, centered on eleven (!) recitations of ten statements each of the Ave Maria, plus another dozen at the very beginning, so by the end, the devotee will have spoken 122 of them.

In between, the compiler provides “meditations” in strophes of seven to ten lines, each offering anaphoristic variants of Mary’s virtues. Strophes 1–4 establish Mary’s status and role in salvation history (Queen, Virgin, New Covenant); strophes 5–9 emphasize her participatory suffering and intercessory power, and the collect at the end pivots to a direct intercessory “ask.” Thus, like many rosary prayers, the sequence of strophes adopted here creates a pedagogical rhythm. First the devotee experiences awe, then empathy, then personal petition, with the culmination in the Collect with its request for personal salvation.

To my ear, the framing of the prayer is much like a litany, in which the call-out to each of the saints ends each and every time with an “ora pro nobis,” pray for us. But here, instead of the “pray for us,” an ask, the prayerful punctuation at the end of each line serves as a reminder to Maria of her connected status with the divine. The phrase – adopted and repeated 84 times (plus another 122 times in the refrain) – comes from the Ave Maria itself, as Gabriel reveals to her that “the Lord is with thee” (der her[r] ist mit dir):

o kaiseryn und ain künigin aler künig der her ist mit dir

o du lob aler gelobiger sohn der her ist mit dir

o du aler übertreffenlichste künigin der himel der her ist mit dir

o aler tůgenden vol der her ist mit dir...

O empress and a queen of all rulers [kunig], the Lord is with you

O you tribute of the praiseworthy son, the Lord is with you

O you exquisite queen of heaven, the Lord is with you

O you who are full of all virtues, the Lord is with you...

In that first strophe, notice that the devotee repeatedly addresses Mary with the intimate “du” form; this is a Mary seen in deeply personal terms as an intimate of the prayer-giver. Moreover, the similar beginnings and endings of lines make for an almost meditative incantation. As we see further down, the prayer consists of slight variations on a set of common themes. One or perhaps two lines per stanza might vary the form, but once a stanza establishes a pattern, the other lines tend to reinforce it. (See Table 1, below)

The effect is like change-ringing in a bell tower, where a set of fixed patterns is subtly shifted with each repetition to create movement and variation within a strict structure. Each line both mirrors and modifies the last, so that the rhythm feels familiar yet never static, drawing the devotee’s attention deeper into the text. This interplay of repetition and variation turns the prayer into a dynamic, almost musical experience, in which the voice, the mind, and the imagination are guided through the nuances of Mary’s virtues and roles.

Table 1: Marian Attributes and Repetition Patterns in Der Herr ist mit dir (Thalbach Prayerbook, fol. 237ff)

As Table 1 shows, the various strophes work their way through elements of the Virgin’s importance. First, she is important and highly placed, serving as empress, queen, intermediary (Strophe 1). She became so as a Virgin (Strophe 2). Her presence was predicted by the prophets, and can be analogized to the good things that sustain human existence – house, city, garden, fountain, fruit (Strophe 3). She is the beginning of the new covenant, as witnessed by the announcement of the Angel Gabriel (Strophe 4).

Here, the devotee is asked to pause and meditate on what that announcement of Gabriel meant. To support that contemplative moment, the vernacular translation of the Ave Maria is provided.

bis gegrußet vol genad der her ist mit dir / du bist gesegnet ob aler frowen und gesegnet ist die frucht dines lieb Jhesus cristus.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. / Blessed art thou among women, / and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ

That becomes a moment of sectional pause as well, while the devotee recites two decades of Ave Marias, ten in Latin and another ten recapitulating the vernacular version.

Then the latter part of the prayer picks up Mary’s story with her role as mother (Strophe 5) and as co-sufferer or “Mitleiden” with Christ with implications for her salvific role (Strophe 6). She is that “Veritable Virgin” who witnessed the stages of Christ’s suffering, with his flogging, thorns, and crucifixion iterated each in a single line (Strophe 7). Plus, she is the mother who had to handle her own son’s body, who attended to its anointing and then was consoled through recognition of him as arisen again (Strophe 8), Thus, she is the veritable mother of the recognized Christ, positioned through events to intercede in his judgment (Strophe 9).

Having laid out the whys of Mary’s existence – her special status as Virgin, as new covenant with God, as enduring mother who walked the road of the Passion with her son – the devotee is now prepared for the Collect.

The collect, as expected, pivots to the intercessory ask: “ that you will shield me and protect me from the pain of eternal damnation and make me to be conveyed into the eternal joy of eternal bliss.” But before that, it amps up the rhythm of repetition with fifteen very short apostrophe lines:

o du gebenedieste / o du aler süsseste / o du aler tugenhaffigiste / o du aler erwirdigiste / o du aler senffmütigeste / o d[u] aler edleste / o du aler kostbariste… junckfrow maria

o you most blessed / o you all sweet / o you all-virtuous / o you all knowledgeable / o you all gentle / o you all noblest / o you all precious… Virgin Mary.

These short vocative lines, stacked one after another, build a kind of rhythmic crescendo, until at last Mary is called upon as “the giver of God now” and at the time of judgment, hence her capacity for intercession.

ASSESSMENT:

The use of vernacular alongside the familiar Latin refrain suggests a teaching and contemplative function for the Thalbach prayer. It seems designed to help the devotee internalize not only the words but also their meaning, a practice encouraged in late medieval lay devotion. Moreover, the prayer repeatedly reveals Mary as full of enumerated virtues, unfolding them in a rhythmic sequence that combines intimacy of address with theological weight. The prayer must also have been fun to write; one can imagine dreaming up lists of closely-related concepts about Mary and then sliding them around in the structure until they fit nicely.

Structurally, the prayer resonates with rosary practice while also standing apart from it in somewhat quirky ways. The eleven recitations of ten statements resemble the praying of multiple decades, though the Thalbach version is unusually elaborate, and yields 122 invocations in total. More striking still, the prayer suddenly shifts the devotee into the vernacular for part of her Hail Marys, only to return again to the standard Latin. This bilingual pivot is not typical of the rosary prayers I’ve seen, and it hints at a distinctive local or pedagogical aim.

Similarly, the alternation between Mary’s virtues and her life events recalls the early Dominican “Psalter of the Virgin,” in which repeated Hail Marys were paired with meditative reflection on her life (Winston-Allen). Yet the Thalbach prayer differs in its form: nearly every line concludes with “the Lord is with you,” creating a cumulative effect more akin to a litany than to a conventional rosary decade. The proliferation of epithets, brief apostrophe lines that acclaim Mary in superlative terms, further intensifies its litany-like quality. We hear nearly the same thing over and over and over again.

I see this prayer as a hybrid devotional tool. To my eye, the prayer functions both as rosary AND as vernacular meditation. Its repetition works on several levels. It reinforces memory, so that the words lodge themselves in the mind. It shapes affect, drawing the devotee into contemplative intimacy with the Virgin (du...du...du). And it creates an important verbal rhythm, guiding voice and body into patterned devotion, one which speeds up like an orchestral codetta at the end.

This prayer from the Thalbach Prayerbook thus reveals how rhythm, repetition, and affect interwove in late medieval piety. Prayer practice, as exemplified here, is more than a recitation of words. Instead, it employs rhythmic and formal structures to shape the voice, the mind, and the heart toward a more intimate knowledge of Mary and her intercessory power.

NOTE ON TRANSCRIPTION:

I follow the idiosyncratic spellings of the source, but supply punctuation in my translations.

RESOURCES:

Der Herr ist mit dir [INC: o kaiseryn und ain künigin aler künig der her ist mit dir EXPL: von dinem lieben sun Jhesu criste der da regirett mit got dem vatter und mit got dem hailigen gaist und du Junckfrow maria mit ym yn der ewigen glory amen.], from the Thalbach Prayerbook, Bregenz, Vorarlberger Landesbibliothek Hs 17, fol. 237–247.

Anne Winston-Allen, Stories of the Rose: The Making of the Rosary in the Middle Ages, Penn State UP, 1997.

Kin, Cash, and Convent: Providing for Nieces (and Nephews) in 1613 Bludenz

Excerpts of AT-VLA, BludenzStadtA, Charter 10255 of 1613

In Counter-reformation Bludenz in 1613, widow Catharina Zürcherin*, a citizen of the town, prepared her legacy with a special eye toward her female kin. Childless herself, and without the guidance of her late husband (Anton Marks of Braz), she gave all her funds to her siblings’ children.

The family was doing well. The male Zürcher siblings and cousins – Hans, Georg, Dietrich, Gabriel, Adam and Sebastian – had recently been elevated by Emperor Maximillian to the hereditary nobility just a few years before (1610 April 5, Innsbruck, AT-StaAB Urkunde 741). In the document, the emperor names the brothers and cousins alike for “in consideration of their services to the House of Austria.” But, of course, none of the females of the house were named. Such gendered recognition (and gendered absence) was common practice at the time.

So back to Catharina: As she makes her will, she chooses to recognize the children (of both genders) of her sister Anna Zürcherin by both husbands, and those of her brother Mathias Zürcher. As for the third sibling, Gabriel Zürcher, well, Catharina wrote in a special provision for his daughter, her niece, Elsbeth Zürcherin.

For Elsbeth, Catharina set aside 200 Rhenish guilders, and explicitly intended these funds to be used as a convent dowry. This would give Elsbeth access as a choir-sister to an elite Catholic institution of her choice. Given the location, Catharina probably had in mind Elsbeth’s joining St Peter’s in Bludenz, the Dominican women’s convent at the edge of town, though other nearby options included the Clares at Valduna in Rankweil, the Franciscan Tertiaries at Thalbach in Bregenz, or the recently founded Capuchin convent of St Anna’s, also in Bregenz.

Catharina has clearly thought about the situation, for while she is generous, that generosity is conditional. She stipulates that if Elsbeth decided not to enter a convent, the money would come to her only after Catharina’s own death.

If, however, Elsbeth were to predecease her such that the money might revert to her brother Gabriel, well, sorry, then that special legacy would be revoked, and the money be divided evenly.

In these provisions, Catharina is doing several things. She’s supporting the next generation of her natal family. She’s promoting the Catholic faith. She’s making possible a conventual lifestyle for a favored relative. And, given the conditions on her gifts, it seems she just might be thumbing her nose at her brother.

One wonders if niece Elsbeth felt a calling that went unsupported by her father. If so, Auntie Katharina may have been defying male expectations by stepping in here to be sure a favored niece was able to find her way into a religious life.

Either way, it’s clear that one determined woman could shape the lives – and privileges – of the next generation.

One afterwards to this story: while Elsbeth Zürcherin’s future is unknown to us, it seems likely that she was related to the Maria Magdalena Zürcherin of Bludenz, daughter of Adam  Zürcher and Elisabeth Leu – perhaps a cousin or a second cousin of our Elsbeth? – who took up the monastic calling at Thalbach in Bregenz about fifteen years later, in 1627, and took orders there under the name Maria Victoria (Fußenegger, 140). 

NOTES

I honor the early modern Austrian practice of naming women by their patronymics with the feminine “-in” ending. Women of the day did not typically adopt their husband’s surname.

* The name Catharina Zürcherin can also be rendered Katharina Zücherin. Spelling of the period is notoriously inconsistent, and the handwriting itself challenging to read. However, outside of the two documents cited here, the family surname spelled with the interior “R” – Zürcherin – is preferred (102 documents to 2, according to monasterium.net!), and I have adopted it here.

WORKS CITED

Documents, accessed through monasterium.net:

• Bregenz, Stadtarchiv, Urkunde 741 (5. Apr 1610, Innsbruck)

• Vorarlberger Landesarchiv - Bludenz, Stadtarchiv Charter 10255 (6. Nov 1613)

Secondary Literature:

• Fußenegger, Gerold. “Bregenz am Bodensee: Terziarinnenkloster Thalbach.” Alemannia Franciscana antiqua 9 (1963): 93-140.

Why illustrate a prayerbook?

Woodcuts from Vorarlberger Landesbibliothek Handschrift 17

So there she was, my scribe. She’d put all this effort into copying out all those individual prayers. In a manuscript of more than 300 folios, that’s a lot of writing time. And then, before binding the manuscript, she – or one of her sisters? Or the binder himself? -- ran through the visual images available and plopped in two woodcuts, one an image of Mary with child (derived, as it happens, from a plague image), and one a Mary as Mother of the Seven Swords.

I’ve written about both prayerbook images (Cyrus, 2020), but have been thinking more about their purpose, and found it helpful to put the Thalbach tradition of using devotional images into dialog with a non-Western practice of the same period.

To do so, I’ve read Jahnabi Barooah Chanchani’s “Text, Image and Devotion,” (2018), looking at a Sanskrit devotional fragment, “two illustrated folios from a dispersed late 15th-century manuscript of the Bālagopālastuti (BGS) in the collection of the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam.” I was drawn to the use of color in her fragments – so much more fun than mere woodcuts – but I was also drawn to her argument, which I put in dialog with my own material below.

In both cases, text and image work in tandem not to narrate a story literally, but to prompt affective and imaginative engagement. Each pulls its weight in its own way; and bundled together – literally! – word and illustration open up multiple pathways to the divine.

1) Chanchani tells us that in Sanskrit realms, looking at images “was a vital component of the devotional praxis…. The verses and paintings complement each other in helping a devotee envision” their target divine figure.

The same is true for the sisters at Thalbach – or for those at any of a host of women’s houses in late-medieval German lands. For Chanchani’s text, the reader cogitates on Kṛṣṇa,in the Thalbach prayerbook, it’s the suffering Mary of the Seven Swords. In both cases, the role of reader presumably toggles with that of viewer. Each act of engagement informs those that follow, so that meaning is additive across the multiple media being consumed.

2) Chanchani’s manuscript fragments are part of an illustrated “picture-book of songs,” drawing on familiar texts. Nevertheless, as she points out, the paintings don’t directly illustrate the verses. In the images of the first folio, for example, no flute appears, and the extra women of the songs are missing.

Likewise, in the Thalbach prayerbook, Mary’s suffering is represented as a totality; all seven swords piercing her at once, whereas other rendition of Mary’s sorrows become composites, with rondels to narrate the details of her individual sorrows, as Carol Schuler articulates. In the prayers that follow, we instead dwell on details of Mary’s losses. The images in both cases are weirdly both summative – here is a divine personage in the midst of activities – and reductive, in that we are faced with a reduced single-moment capture of that experience.

3) Chanchani explicates that darśan, the process of exchanging gazes with divinity, is at the heart of Hindu devotional practice. Seeing, as she articulates it, is a form of knowing.

For sisters in a monastic environment, the same could very often be true. Jeffrey Hamburger in particular has explored the ways in which images serve as vehicles of inspiration. “Images,” as he establishes, can “serve not as props, but as the principal protagonists” in ceremonies, for instance.(Hamburger, 429). Images could spark visions and other personalized experiences of the divine; many instances can be found among the Nonnenvitae in convent chronicles. Given their status as launching-points for individuated faith experiences, Hamburger argues, images called out for control, duly provided through regulation and admonitions over the later medieval period.

And yet, sisters continued to incorporate images into their worship practices, saying particular prayers at specific altars, gazing on their precious pages in the choir stalls. The two devotional pictures found during archaeological excavation at Wienhausen (Appuhn) are a case in point; worship and gaze are intertwined as practice.

4) Why? Why intermingle imagery and text? I think here Chanchani’s observations are apt. As she explains, reading and looking are (both) imaginative acts. They invite readers to hold multiple aspects of the God-reference in mind. For Chanchani’s text, it is Kṛṣṇa; for the Thalbach sisters it is Mary, apostrophized in multiple metaphors as a signal of the complexity inherent to the divine

Illustrating a prayerbook, then, is not a matter of ornament – instead, it’s about amplification. Just as Chanchani’s manuscript invites the devotee into a multisensory encounter with Kṛṣṇa, so too do the Thalbach images summon a similarly layered engagement with Mary -- not to explain the prayers, but to deepen the contemplative practice surrounding them. Read, look, think, intuit: the praxis of devotional reading is more, so much more, than just working through the words.

In other words, in both Hindu and Christian-monastic tradition image and text operate not merely in service to each another, but work instead through a process of dynamic tension, for each pushes the devotee toward a more expansive and imaginative apprehension of the divine.

WORKS CITED

Appuhn, Horst. Der Fund im Nonnenchor. Kloster Wienhausen, Bd 4. [Wienhausen]: Kloster Wienhausen, 1973.

Chanchani, Jahnabi Barooah. “Text, Image and Devotion in a 15th Century Western Indian Manuscript.” Aziatische Kunst 48/1 (2018): 42–53. Academia link.

Cyrus, Cynthia J. “Printed Images in a Thalbach Manuscript Prayer‑book of the Sixteenth Century.” Journal of the Early Book Society 23 (2020): 173–82.

Hamburger, Jeffrey. The Visual and the Visionary. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998.

Schuler, Carol M. “The Seven Sorrows of the Virgin: Popular Culture and Cultic Imagery in Pre-Reformation Europe.” Simiolus: Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art 21 (1992):5–28.

Arriving from Wealth: Rosina von Ems

Rosina von Embs (von Ems / von Hohenems) arrived at Thalbach in 1609 and was give holy orders a year later. As the honorific “von” shows, she comes from the Vorarlberg elite, and the chronicle names her parents as Count Johann Christoff von Hohenems and Christina Gutzkopfflerin von Guellenbach.

Her parents are presumably lesser-known relatives of more politically significant individuals known to us in history. While my answers to her lineage are only provisional – I haven’t (yet) found direct documentation – the timeline and circumstances provide the following "best guess" assessment of her background.

ROSINA’S FATHER, “GRAF” JOHANN CHRISTOFF VON HOHENEMS:

On her dad’s side, the “Graf” (“Count”) label and assignment to Hohenems suggests a relationship to Markus Sittikus von Hohenems (1538–1595, Bishop of Constance who later served at the Curia in Rome), and his brother Jakob Hannibal von Hohenems (1530-1587) who served general with the troops. In 1613 -- four years after Rosina’s entry to Thalbach – Jakob Hannibal’s oldest son Kaspar was to acquire the County of Vaduz and Lordship of Schellenberg from the Counts of Sulz, while his younger son, another “Markus Sittikus” became Archbishop of Salzburg. This was a family in ascendancy, as well as one firmly in a Catholic orbit (Niederstatter vol. 2, p. 48; Neumaier 2021, pp. 57-58).

And so it proves. Count Hans Christoph, as it happens, comes from the second branch of the Hohenems family, the children of Marquard V (d. 1533) and Veronika von Neideck. These include

Mark Sittich II, Vogt of Bludenz (d. 1565) m1. Eva von Dankertschwell, m2. Eva von Thun.

“From one of these marriages came Hans Christoph von Hohenems (d. 1603) who was married to Maria von Paumgarten zu Hohenschangau (d. 1633)” (Neumaier 2021, p. 58).

Sister Amalia von Hohenems m2. Hans Christoph von Ega (after death of m1. Sixt von Scheinen zu Gammerschang) (Neumaier 2021, p. 57)

progeny: Wolf Heinrich von Ega

Since Hans is the nickname for Johannes, the Hans Christoph (in yellow) is almost certainly the same as Johannes Christoph von Hohenems, Rosina’s father, and his death in 1603 aligns with what we know of Rosina’s financial timeline. If I am right, then Rosina’s dad is Hans Christoph (shown in yellow); her grandmother is Eva von Thun (shown in green); and her great grandsire is Marquard V of Hohenems. Quite a lineage!

von Hohenems (aka "von Ems"), a partial family tree

If things were easy, we wouldn’t recognize them, of course. Hans Christoph’s legacy is complicated, and here Helmut Neumaier’s research (2021) becomes invaluable; much of my discussion here follows his lead.

Count Hans Christoph names his powerful Hohenems cousin Kaspar in his will, but actually bequeaths the majority of his estate to his nephew Wolf Heinrich von Ega (Neumaier p. 59). This, politically, would not stick; the pressures to maintain Hohenems familial control over various properties and income-streams and the lesser political prowess of the lesser branch of the family meant that Wolf Heinrich was quick to pivot to a more politically feasible solution. Wolf Heinrich cashes out much of his claim jointly with Kaspar, and in part to resolve the many family debts, and with the remainder sets various income streams in place.

One of these income streams was negotiated in the 2 December 1603 meeting between Wolf Heinrich von Ega, Count Kaspar von Hoheneg, and the 2 imperial counselors, Johann Ludwig von Ulm and Johann Werner von Raitenau:

In fulfillment of Frau von Thun's will, Ega will insure and transfer to Rosina Embserin and Amalia Loring 3,000 florins belonging to the Bludenz estate, but in such a way that if Rosinle [“little Rosina”] dies first, the money will revert to him. (Neumaier 2021, p. 60)

In other words, as Neumaier explains, among these funds that Wolf Heinrich cedes to Count Kaspar is a deed of title from the Bludenz domain which amounted to 6,000 florins. These funds actually stemmed from Frau Eva von Thun’s will. As confirmed in a Kaspar’s legal summary of January 1, 1604, these funds were directed half to Cyprian von Thun (Hans Christoph von Hohenems’ uncle), and a quarter each to Rosina von Ems – our monastic sister – and to Amalia Loring. If I am right about Rosina’s place in the family tree, Eva was her grandmother, and is settling her legacy on her through her son, and with the assistance of Wolf Heinrich.

There was a further chapter in this unfolding drama: the division of funds was contested. The family of Hans Christoph’s chamberlain, Rudolf Embser, claimed nine years of back-salary to support him and his many children. Likewise, an unsuccessful petition came from Hans Christoph’s tutor, Johann Rem, for thirty years (!) of back salary, but in that instance the income of a mill had been in the tutor’s hands as imperial agents were well aware, and therefore no payout was made to the over-greedy former tutor. Still, it’s clear that Hans Christoph would not be characterized as the most financially well-grounded, and it seems that Rosina was lucky to get her (presumed) grandmother’s inheritance at all.

ROSINA’S MOTHER, CHRISTINA GUTZKOPFFLERIN VON GUELLENBACH

Why do we remain uncertain about Rosina’s father and her place in the family tree? That’s because Hans Christoph von Hohenems is certainly known to have married – but to Maria von Paumgarten zu Hohenschangau, who outlived him by thirty years. And that is definitively NOT the identity of Rosina’s mother, who’s known to us both through monastic chronicle and convent document as Christina Gutzkopfflerin von Guellenbach (or Quellenbach, depending on source chosen).

However, I posit that Christina was, in fact, likely to have been Hans Christoph’s wife – a first wife, I would guess, making Maria von Paumgarten his second wife. It would be unsurprising if Christina were to have died early; most of the family actually seem to have had at least two marriages, and death in childbirth was all to common at the time.

Moreover, given an overlap of surnames and timeframes, I also posit that Rosina’s mom Christina might well have been a sister of the Lieutenant Colonel Hans Geizkopfler von Gailbach who served and fell at the Ottoman siege of Raab, Hungary (Brafman, pp. 47-48). (If his is the preferred spelling, as I assume, then her mother is actually Christina Geizkopfler von Gailbach.)

Unfortunately, I have been unable to locate more details of Rosina’s immediate ancestors or document her own birth, though other volumes of family history (not yet consulted) may have more details.

WHY DO WE CARE?

The question of Rosina’s parentage is interesting as a curiosity in its own right. It tells us something important about Thalbach’s reputation as a monastery that Vorarlberg nobility saw it as a home for their daughters. The deep counter-reformation Catholicism which saw the primary branch of the Counts of Hohenems into positions of churchly authority may well have trickled over into the devotions of a daughter of the secondary branch of the house. That is, her call to the monastic life may have been shaped by family dynamics and faith practices.

Also notable, however, is the impact of this noble affiliation on the circumstances of Rosina’s own entry into the convent. As we circle in towards identifying Rosina’s origins, we note three things from her convent membership file (VLA Klosterarchiv Box 16, file 225 03, Rosina Emberin):

• First, this is a thick folder. She has inventories and Quittungen and documents and even an inventory of the cost for copying all these various documents. She is well attested, in other words. She comes with money, and with money’s many complications.

• Second, unlike other sisters at the time, she’s not just represented by immediate family, but there are other individuals involved in her convent provisioning. And, happily for our story here, one of those individuals involved in her case is… Wolff Hainrich von Ega.

• Third, while all these documents circle around Rosina, we have remarkably little information about her actual service at the convent. She doesn’t seem to have emerged as a convent leader, nor do we have a testament to any sort of outstanding characteristics within the community. We don’t learn about her singing, for instance; we don’t know about her busy hands with garden work; we simply see her as one of the convent sisters, listed out by age in various inventories of convent membership at the time.

In other words, Rosina doesn’t seem to be important so much for what she did as for who she was.

WHAT DID THE CONVENT SISTERS THINK ABOUT THEIR WEALTHY COMPANION?

Rosina’s entry to Thalbach is notable to our chroniclist for the luxuries that she brings with her. She brought an ornate and embroidered red cloak decorated with golden bows and cibori. It is unclear from the context whether this was literally a richly-made liturgical vestment – a cope – or whether it was used as a votive offering to adorn a statue in the monastery, perhaps even that of the well-known Schutz-Madonna. Either way, the symbolism of gifting a cloak is one of protection, suggesting on ongoing relationship of family and convent.

This ongoing pledge of commitment with cloak as symbol was reinforced by the gift of wine that came with Rosina’s entry: for “No wine was given to the convent beforehand,” says the chroniclist. Moreover, it was an important enough gift to the sisters that they continued to gossip about it a century later. The chroniclist makes the point that she heard about the wine “from our old sister.” It was evidently that proverbial “gift that keeps on giving,” in a pleasant and rewarding way! 

And yet, other than these markers of her origins, Rosina has remarkably little impact on the convent's story. We can deduce a life of devoted prayer, but we have very little knowledge of her convent life from the surviving record.

A memorable bit of handwork and a recurring gift of wine; Rosina is honored in the convent memory primarily for her status at entry and the benefits it provided her fellow sisters. Perhaps her status and the honor it brought to Thalbach also explain her position in the necrology, for the other thing we know about Rosina is that she is one of the first five sisters named in the Thalbach obit as recorded in Father Franz Ransperg’s Anthropologium of 1660.

In sum, Rosina von Ems stands out to us less for the deeds she performed within the convent than for the legacy she carried with her into it. Her entry into Thalbach brought material wealth, a noble lineage and reputation, and symbolic gifts that resonated well beyond her lifetime – echoes of which shaped the memory of her among the sisters, and secured her a lasting place in the convent’s record. Her story reminds us that monastic life was not isolated from social hierarchy, but rather deeply entwined with the currents of family, faith, and fortune.

WORKS CITED

Bregenz, Vorarlberger Landesarchiv, Kloster Thalbach Hs 9, Chronik des Klosters 1336-1629.

Bregenz, Vorarlberger Landesarchiv, Klosterarchiv Box 16, file 225.03, Convent membership files: Rosina Emberin.

Brafman, David. “The Hapsburgs’ Man in Istanbul: The (not-so-secret) life and times of Johann Joachim Prack von Asch, 16th-century imperial spy.” Getty Magazine (Spring 2021): 46-48 https://www.getty.edu/about/whatwedo/getty_magazine/gettymag_spring2021.pdf

Neumaier, Helmut. “Reichsritter Wolf Heinrich von Ega zu Ober- und Unterschüpf: Ungelöste Fragen zwischen Vorarlberg und Schüpfergrund.” Württembergisch Franken 100: (Oct 2021): 45-72. DOI: 10.53458/wfr.v100i.817. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/356744018

Niederstätter, Alois. Vorarlberg 1523 bis 1861: Auf dem Weg zum Land. Geschichte Vorarlbergs Bd 2. Innsbruck: Universitätsverlag Wagner, 2015.

Ransperg, Franz. Anthropologium seu specificatio numerica.[...] omnium Personarum, quae Parochiae Brigantinae sunt incorporatae, 1660 (Vorarlberger Landesarchiv Pharrarchiv Bregenz Handschrift 34, p. 177, item 04).