Burning words: a history play.

Goats graze on bitter herbs and make sweet milk of it, and from the
selfsame flower do honey bees derive their sweet honey and spiders their
deadly poison.
--Johannes Reuchlin

Time: Action spans the first two decades of the 16th century, the twilight of the Middle Ages, dawn of the Modern Era.

Place: The scene shifts between Reuchlin's study in Stuttgart, the Dominican Priory in Cologne, the Frankfurt synagogue, the steps of the Cologne cathedral and the Emperor's court at Augsburg.

Staging: The decor as well as the stiff stance, the "staged" positioning and period costumes of the characters when on stage should evoke the mood of an Albrecht Durer woodcut. The shadow play of garments and make-up should add to the stylized effect. Each scene begins as a still tableau vivant held for several blinks of an eye before slipping into action. Thus, the entire play might well be construed as a "flip-book" of woodcuts come alive.

Characters:

Johannes Reuchlin, already a man in his middle forties as the play opens, which for the 16th-century amounts to late middle age. (By play's end, he is a decade older and shows it, a sad and broken old man with sunken cheeks and hollow eye sockets.) Tall and lean, his elongated face is framed by a high forehead, a pointed, beardless chin and an unruly mop of hair. His scholarly slouch and weary introverted gaze are tempered by the savvy of a seasoned judge and lawyer and the unmistakable stature of a statesman. These disparate tendencies, like Siamese twins wrestling for control, flare up at unexpected moments, making for an oddly disjointed intensity.

Johannes Pfefferkorn, a man in his early forties, baptized Jew and former butcher by trade, is coarse and boorish, with the fury of an injured animal. Of a single-minded determination, he is given to feverish outbursts against his opponents. Ever eager to please his protectors, he rises by mid-play to a certain demagogical eloquence. In all that he says and does, he is forever watching his back and seeking his advantage.

Old Jew, a somber fantasy figure.

Young Jewess, a lusty fantasy figure.

Scene One. The Scholar in His Study.

The year 1509 flashes on screen. It is shortly before dawn of a hot summer day. Bent over the books on his worktable, Reuchlin, bonnet askew, dressed in a simple gray robe, has been up all night. An oil lamp is flickering at his side. Albrecht Durer's 1492 woodcut of St. Jerome in his study with open Hebrew, Greek and Latin books and a lion at his feet, is projected on the wall above the table. The print is greatly enlarged so as to be clearly visible to the audience. The table is heaped with open books. To the left is a canopied bed that has not been slept in, to the right an open window with a dim view of the dark street below (visually echoing the bed and window in the woodcut). Angry voices, the gist of the dispute only half audible, emanate from the street below. A dog barks, horses whinny and cartwheels clatter on cobblestones.

Voice 1: Move your arse an' let yer betters pass, you Swabian son of a sow!

Voice 2: I'll move it alright ... if it please thee, noble Sir!

(The sound of breaking wind.)

Voice 1: Filthy swine!

Voice 2: The scent, Master carter, improves upon thine own!

(Coarse laughter is followed by the sound of a scuffle. Looking up from his book, annoyed at first at the disturbance, then amused, Reuchlin rubs his eyes and turns, respectively, from his book, to the window, to the image of St. Jerome. The sound of the scuffle is superseded by the clang of church bells and the flapping and cooing of a pigeon that lands on the window sill and peers in at the scholar.)

Reuchlin: (Reuchlin smiles, reciting aloud)

"And the dove came in to him ... and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf ..."

(To the bird)

Your beak is empty, you sad excuse for a biblical dove, but then again ... Lord knows, I'm no Noah. Still the world could do with a deluge every now and then to cleanse its pestilence!

(The dispute continues, though the words remain only half audible. It is interrupted by the sound of a bucket of water being dumped from a window.)

Woman's Voice: There's a drop of dew from my chamber pot to still your filthy tongues! Be gone, you foul-mouthed louts!

(Groans of disgust and protest from below. Reuchlin chuckles.)

Reuchlin: "Blessed are the undefiled."

(He turns to the woodcut of St. Jerome with a shrug.)

How now, Hieronymos, old friend, sainted brother in the word? Your spirit is more real to me, and far more dear, than all the raving fools in this foul-mouthed Bedlam.

(More grumbling and shouting from the street below. Reuchlin shakes his head.)

Another squabble brewing that I'll more than likely be called upon to settle in court sooner or later! You had your lion to stand guard against the world's never-ending intrusions, Hieronymos. My days are wasted listening to the plaints of peasants and peddlers who drag me through the pit of their petty disputes! Only my nights are free to spend with my books!

(Reuchlin swats a fly and wipes the sweat from his brow as the pigeon takes flight. He nods to the heavens.)

Farewell, my dove! It's a wonder how Our Lord God, the Great Juggler, keeps everything going all at once, while we ... poor bumbling mountebanks ...

(Inadvertently he elbows a book to the floor and reverentially bends to pick it up, kissing the binding.)

... make such a miserable mess of His Creation.

(Gazing out the window at the sky, softly illumined now by the first light of day, he pauses in awe, trembling slightly, before declaiming the Hebrew words with a thick German accent, greatly stirred.)

VAYOMER ELOHIM YEHI OHR VAYEHI OHR.... And God said: "Let there be light." And there was light.

(Softly, to himself)

Wondrous words!

(Touching his lips)

The Hebrew syllables burn like fire on my tongue!

(Solemnly)

Blessed be the People of the Book!

(Quick to qualify, glancing upwards, lest the Lord misunderstand)

Not that I envy their lot, Oh Lord ...

(With reverence)

... cursed keepers of Thy sacred spark ...

(With the hint of a smile)

... a flickering beacon ...

(Voice fading into sleep)

... lighting the way ... in this ... Age of ... Darkness ...

(The lamp flares up and goes out. With a smile and a yawn, he lets his head sink onto an open book.)

Scene Two. At the Gate of the Ghetto of Dreams.

The lighting should be dim and dreamlike. Reuchlin, dressed as before, bangs at the gate of an imaginary ghetto (possibly displayed on a large video screen, or by some other set design to clearly mark it as "elsewhere"). The gate appears to be aflame but does not burn down. An Old Jew looks down from a parapet upon the intruder.

Old Jew: What fool bids entry to the Ghetto of Dreams at this ungodly hour?

Reuchlin: A curious Christian.

(Reuchlin falls back as aflame shoots out.)

Old Jew: Curious indeed. "Draw not nigh hither: put the shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground."

Reuchlin: (Falling to his knees, hiding his face in fear, he mutters meekly, albeit with evident determination.)

Forgive me ... I ... did not know.

(The sound of laughter. A young Jewess strides brazenly out from behind the flaming gate, clasping a basket of fruit. Setting down the basket, she holds up a pear, teasing, enticing.)

Jewess: Fresh plucked from the Garden of Eden ... luscious and ripe!

(Taking up another pear, she dangles the two suggestively by their stems, first to her chest, then to the folds of her dress between her legs.)

Two for the price of one!

(At first turning his head away in shame and terror, Reuchlin cannot resist a surreptitious peak or two at the woman and the fruit.)

Reuchlin: Tempt me not, Jewess, with forbidden fruit!

(Laughing, the Jewess mocks him with her hands on her hips.)

Jewess: Timid, Christian?

Reuchlin: Not timid, God-fearing!

Jewess: He who thirsts for knowledge, must pay the price!

(Withholding the fruit, she rubs her thumb and forefinger together.)

Reuchlin: (Reaching for his purse, with sudden resolve)

Whatever you ask!

(The Jewess bursts into paroxysms of saucy laughter.)

Jewess: Keep your purse strings tied, Christian! Ours is a currency rarer than silver and gold.

Reuchlin: Name your price!

Jewess: I once stayed the night with an old beggar who claimed to be beyond lust. All he wanted, said he, was to gaze upon me, just to know that there was still beauty left in this world. I've had merchants, mariners, solicitors, lords and clerics aplenty, but none compared for passion and fervor to that penniless old beggar.

Reuchlin: (Muttering)

Our Lord was a beggar for love!

Jewess: Better beg then!

(Laughing heartily, the Jewess steps back behind the burning gate. Still on his knees, Reuchlin crawls after her pleading, pounding on the gate.)

Reuchlin: For the love of God, let me in! Let me in! Let me in!

(The sound of a fist pounding at the door.)

Scene Three. The Apostate Confiscates Hebrew Books in the Synagogue.

The year 1509 flashes on the screen. Standing on a raised platform, before the sacred ark, with its doors flung open, Pfefferkorn, flanked by a helmeted henchman armed with a bullwhip, fondles the silver bangles on the Torah scrolls within. A cart already half-filled with books grazes his knees. Removing the ornamental silver breastplate from one of two Torah scrolls, Pfefferkorn hangs it around his neck. He next removes the crown that adorns it and places it on his head. He takes the decorative silver adornments on the rods of the second scroll and flings them with a wink to the guard, pivoting with glee to face the implied congregation, reveling in his newfound authority.

Pfefferkorn: Cat got your tongue? The ark is open, my brothers, stand and pray!

(A muffled murmur of prayer, amid shudders of horror.)

Pay ... Pray, I said! On your feet! Louder!

(The sound of prayer gets louder.)

I can't hear you! Say your prayers like you made me say mine, over and over again! Louder, or believe me, they'll be your last!

(To the guard)

Constable, better flex your muscles! These pigheaded shirkers need a little--what's the word?--encouragement!

(The guard cracks the bullwhip, whereupon the sound of prayer grows louder still.)

That's better! Much better! Baruch Anochi! Blessed be me! The butcher's back! Don't you remember me? Not sharp enough up here ...

(Pfefferkorn slaps his forehead.)

... for a scholar, so you learned me how to sharpen my blade ...

(Mimes sharpening an invisible blade against his tongue, which he pulls out like a leather strap.)

... to be your ritual slaughterer!

(With a sly grin)

But every blade's double-edged, my brothers!

(He winces with the memory)

Can't sit still, a cuff on the ear, a clap on the knuckles to make the fool stop fidgeting! It's no use, the boy's a dunce, dumb as a brute animal! Let an animal tend animals!

(With mounting rage)

Couldn't tame me, so you trained me to kill! And I slit the throats of your chickens and salted 'em for your Sabbath table, slaughtered your lambs for the Passover meal. Made me stain my rough hands with blood, so you high-minded scholars wouldn't be tainted by it!

(With a lascivious grin)

Wouldn't shake hands with a butcher, so you sent your women folk to fetch your Sabbath meat, your unclean bitches that bleed like slaughtered sheep. Well, the laugh's on you, my brothers! This butcher, maybe he's got no brains, but he's got balls! You were busy brooding over your bibles--I drooled over your bitches! You worshiped the matriarchs, Sarah, Rachel, Rebecca--I ogled your wives, your sisters and your daughters! And the prize of them all, the rabbi's son's betrothed, rose of Sharon, I beat him to it, plucked her and picked her for my wife. A wolf in sheep's clothing, that's me!

(With a forced laughter)

Ha ... ha ...

(With firm resolve)

But that's all behind me now, my gentle brethren. I've ...

(Tapping the Torah crown on his head)

... come up in life. No butcher no more, baptized by holy water, I'm a new man, a merciful Christian! I'm here to help you Jewish pigs come clean! Let bygones be bygones! You scorned me, and in your heart of hearts, scorn me still, yet mark me, brothers, I bear you no grudge! I come to you today with a message of Christian love!

(Reaching into the cart, grabbing a tome and waving it in the air)

These books are to blame for your black-hearted ways! The fodder of bleating sheep ... Baa baa baa-ruch atah adonai! Heads up your arses, you dreamed of a golden Jerusalem and groveled in the black pit of the ghetto. The Lord's sunlight burns through the stained glass of the cathedral, but you bury your snouts in your books and tie on your phylacteries, yoke yourselves up to a lie! The woods and meadows are waiting, my brothers, ripe fruit an' wenches waiting to be picked, but you rock day and night in the darkness of the temple, bleating the same infernal ... Baa baa baa-ruch atah adonai ... over and over again, like a dumb herd of sheep. Hand over your books an' take back your balls! Be quick about it now!

(To the armed guard)

Constable, I think the timid herd need a little more prodding!

(The guard strides forward with menace. Pfefferkorn points.)

You there, you doddering old ram, step forward! Be quick about it!

(Enter Old Jew, clasping a book in his trembling hands.)

You remind me of Rabbi Jechiel ...

(With guttural disgust)

... repulsive old goat who butted me through my miserable childhood. All the times you drilled me on your sacred drivel, rapped my knuckles when memory failed me! Down on your knees now, old billy-goat! The butcher's back! Down, I said, and honor your betters, or I'll have my constable whip an eleventh commandment on your bare bum!

(The Old Jew hesitates.)

A slow learner, eh!

(Pfefferkorn motions to the guard. The guard cracks his whip above the Old Jew's head. The Old Jew sinks to his knees.)

That's better! Now then, Rabbi, do you have an offering for the Imperial collection box? Go ahead, set a good example for the flock! It's your role, isn't it!

(The Old Jew clasps the book all the more tightly.)

Pigheaded old skinflint! Guard!

(The guard grabs the book out of the Old Jew's hands and flings it into the cart. Pfefferkorn howls at the invisible congregation.)

Can't you see!? I'm trying to better your miserable lot! What did you do when the Savior was born in your midst, whelped among the asses-like me! Judases, the lot of you, sold Him to the Romans for a fistful of silver, and still you won't come clean! The hour o' reckoning is here!

Old Jew: (Meekly)

Please, Sir?

Pfefferkorn: What is it? Speak up, you old goat

Old Jew: May I have a receipt, Sir?!

Pfefferkorn: A what?!

Old Jew: A receipt, Sir, if it please.

(Grabbing a book from the cart, Pfefferkorn tears out a page, blows his nose and spits on it, crumples and tosses the page to the floor at the Old Jew's feet.)

Pfefferkorn: There you are, old goat, a receipt signed and sealed!

(The Old Jew regards the torn page in disbelief then picks it up, un-crumples, wipes and kisses it.)

Still not satisfied? I'll have the constable here hack off your hand! But don't you worry none, I'll give it back to you, salted and kosher! So your sweet Sarah can boil it up for Sabbath dinner!

(Pfefferkorn smacks his lips and laughs. Exit the Old Jew, to the muttered sound of prayer. Pfefferkorn grins, turning menacingly to the implied congregation.)

Who's next!? Step right up now, don't be shy! You won't be needin' no hymnals in Hell!

End Note

As the play proceeds, Reuchlin locks intellectual horns and wills with the Dominican Jakob von Hoogstraten and his dogged acolyte, Johannes Pfefferkorn, both dead-set on the destruction and burning of the Talmud and other sacred Jewish books. Pfefferkorn visits Reuchlin at home, naively presuming his cooperation. Reuchlin pretends compliance, but in a subsequent split-scene, pleads the innocence of the impugned sacred books, while Hoogstraten argues their defamation of fundamental tenets of Christian faith before an ecclesiastical court. Reuchlin and Josl von Rosheim, an emissary from the Jews of Alsace, plead their cause before the Emperor Maximilian I at court, where they cross paths with the Emperor's sister, the Prioress Kunigunde, an ardent ally of the Dominicans. Pfefferkorn declares war on Reuchlin from the steps of the Cathedral. A menacing mob gathers. Sir Franz von Sickingen, a former student of Reuchlin's, leads an assault on the Dominican priory, while the ghetto of Regensburg is sacked. Ultimately, the books are spared, but Reuchlin is condemned to silence by Pope Leo X and hounded by Pfefferkorn and the Dominicans till his dying day.

"Burning Words, a history play," by Peter Wortsman, will have its world premiere November 17, 2006, at the Northampton Center for the Arts, in Northampton, Mass, where it will run through November 19. The play will be produced by the Hampshire Shakespeare Company and directed by Lucinda Kidder.

Copyright [c] 2005 Peter Wortsman. All Rights Reserved.