Christmastime, Mistletoe and Whine!

Ah, Christmas! A time for reflection! A time for consideration! A time to weigh up the relative merits of the past twelve months! A time, having done all of those things, to invite Fate to take those twelve months and shove them right up his fundament.

The various Christmas traditions of the states of  Mittelheim have already been commented upon in previous editions of this modest publication. Suffice it to say that the citizens of these countries look forward to their Yule-tide celebrations with all the sense of happiness and fulfillment that one might expect from a region blighted by war, pestilence, poor governance, and an unusual sensitivity to double entendre. 

'Nothing says "Happy Christmas" like making
  the last coach out of Mittelheim'

Speaking of "unusual sensitivity", it is a cruel irony that events take us once again to the hunting lodge of Schloss Tanvaund, and into the presence of Rupprecht, Prince Palatine of Saukopf-Bachscuttel. The prince is surveying the festive decorations in his audience chamber.

'Have I told you how much I hate mistletoe?', asks Rupprecht, as his chamberlain Leopold von Fecklenburg finishes the decorations.

'Only twice, my lord' says the chamberlain.  Fecklenburg, in deference to the spirit of Christmas, thinks it inexpedient to add that each of the two incidences lasted for over five years.

'Well, I do' whines Rupprecht. 'It is my least favourite element of Christmas - because where there is mistletoe, there is kissing; and where there is kissing there are always awkward lawsuits against me'. 

'Perhaps, lord, if you kept your britches on?'

'But Fecklenburg, can you guess what my most favourite aspect of Christmas is?'

Fecklenburg considers this question, though not for very long. 'Pigs, sire. Pigs and/or some kind of pork related items or activities Or preferably, I should guess, aspects of the latter that involve elements of the former?'

Rupprecht nods jovially. 'Well yes, Fecklenburg, spot on. In particular, like everyone, I like pigs in blankets'.

'Yes, lord. Although, unlike everyone else, who eat sausages wrapped in bacon, or for the poor, watch someone else eat sausages wrapped in bacon, you my lord like actually sharing blankets with pigs'.

'They are sensitive creatures, Fecklenburg: sensitive, and very, very intelligent'.

Fecklenburg, in order to maintain the positive festive atmosphere, avoids asking the obvious question: that, if pigs were so very, very clever, why then would they get into bed with Prince Rupprecht? Certainly one reasonable measure of any creature's intelligence would the effort that they placed into putting the maximum possible distance between themselves and Rupprecht's bed. By this measure, of course, Rupprecht's wife, the Princess Caroline, must be accounted a genius. 

Fecklenburg actually has some important matters of state to discuss with the prince, not least the developing plans for the Bishopric of Schrote. But suddenly, at that moment, on Christmas eve as it is, he demurs. He decides that perhaps it is best not to sully this quiet and contemplative Christmas hour with machinations, skulduggery, nefarious combinations, secret throttlings, and murder. Boxing Day seems more appropriate for that. Indeed, looking at Rupprecht in the glow of the Christmas candles, the chamberlain feels almost well-disposed towards the prince - possibly because, in the faint light, he looks more like his brother, the previous prince.

'Happy Christmas, my lord. It's a been a hard year'.

'It has, it has', nods Rupprecht. 'Let's hope that next year is better for everyone, Fecklenburg'.

And so, dear readers, we can only echo Rupprecht and Fecklenburg's sentiments. Merry Christmas! May you and your families stay safe! Here's to a happier New Year! And may Fate, who has placed upon us the travails of the past year, be tracked down; beaten viciously about his tender parts; and then have each of the last twelve months shoved even further up his jacksy. And I mean all the way. Right up it.

Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition!

Three figures dressed in scarlet leap into the cathedral. The leader strikes an emphatic pose (below). 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!' declares the leader of the crimson-robed interlopers. 'Our chief weapon is surprise! Surprise and fear! Fear and surprise! Uh ... our two weapons are fear and surprise! And ruthless efficiency! Uh ... our three weapons, are fear and surprise and ruthless ...'

'Look, I'm a busy man. I don't have time for the whole sketch' says Baldwin in annoyance. 'What do you want? Why are you here?' He pauses. 'Is this your work?' he jabs his finger in the direction of the letter of complaint that Friar Knowledge has in his hand. The three inquisitors stride purposfully forwards, confronting the bishop. The leader gestures menacingly - it seems a fair bet that he isn't here to give Baldwin a bonus. 

(Below) Behind the leader, the two henchman hench menacingly. One seems to be carrying a scroll upon which, the bishop notices, there seems to be a list: as this is the inquisition, it probably isn't shopping. The other minion holds a pair of cushions - why he is doing so isn't immediately clear to the bishop: but, all in all, it is unlikely to be a good sign.

'I am Brother Michael!' declares the leader. 'And these are Brother Terrence!'

'They're both Brother Terrence?' asks Friar Conviction.

'It helps with the stationary budget', replies Michael.

'I know what you mean', replies Baldwin. 'But explain yourself! What possible reason could you have for being here and pointing your investigative efforts in our direction?' 

'You've been a naughty boy, Bishop Baldwin, 'and complaints have been made!'

'I have done nothing but my bishoply duty!' cries Baldwin. 'In the treatment of my flock, I have been nothing but fair ...'

'Well ...' says Friar Knowledge.

'Firm but fair', says Friar Conviction approvingly.

(Above) Brother Michael waggles an admonishing finger. 'Religious genocide, bishop - it's not a victimless crime'.

'Genocide - it's such a judgemental label' replies Baldwin. 'I see my recent activities more as an expression of religious boisterousness, or exhuberance. I really don't have time for something as expansive as religious genocide. I have so much else to do'.
'You sawed the feet off your Protestant parishioners. What label would you think was appropriate, Bishop Baldwin?' says Michael, playfully. 'And there have been complaints surrounding your Greek Orthodox population'.

'What, both of them?' says the Bishop. 'Why are they complaining? Everything will turn out fine for them - "For the Greek shall inherit the earth"'.

Michael frowns. 'Meek'.

'No, they're insufferable!' Friar Conviction waves his hammer. 'Removing their beards was the least that they deserved'.

'That would have been less problematic', says Michael. 'if you hadn't removed their beards through the expedient of removing their heads'.

'Now that wasn't my fault', replies Friar Conviction, swinging his hammer. 'It took a while for me to really get to grips with this beast!'

(Below) 'You've got nothing on me!' says Baldwin. 'Nothing but a few mobility-impaired Protestants and a couple of Greeks that have had a religiously sanctioned shortening.'

'Hmmm', says Michael. 'Brother Terrence, show him the picture'.

The Terrence in possession of the scroll unwinds its contents, revealing an intricate painting.

'What's this?' says Baldwin, peering at the scroll.
Michael points at a portion of the picture. 'I think you might recognise this ...'.
'No - is it an obscenely swollen turnip?'
'Oh, hang on' Michael takes the scroll and turns it the other way up. 'There you go, bishop ...'
'Oh. Oh, that'.
'Yes. Now, you might recognise this fellow ...'
'Bishop, isn't that you ...' pipes up Friar Knowledge.
Brother Michael nods. 'Yes, the milkmaids as it turned out had some quite detailed recollections of their night with you at ...'
Baldwin blanches. 'Indeed, yes but ...'
'I mean', continues Michael, pointing at one part of the picture, 'as a good christian I'm all for "turning the other cheek", but this puts rather a different spin on it ...'
The bishop gurgles hopelessly. 'Is that a...'
'Yes ...'
'With a ...'
'Alas for my eyesight, yes'.

Baldwin groans. 'I think I understand where this is going. I'm guessing that, somewhat ironically, the Holy See hasn't actually seen any of this, and that the source of this investigation lies with individuals rather closer to home. Individuals who, no doubt, are willing to look after your interests very well for doing this ...'
Brother Michael shrugs. 'What is good for us is good for the church; and what is good for the church of course is good for all. Now, as it turns out there is a way that you can avoid any official church scrutiny of your actions and also, at the same time, earn yourself a sizeable ... donation ... to a ... charitable actress of your choice. With no risk at all to you'.
'Just because I'm a bishop, why does everyone assume that I routinely talk to actresses?'says the bishop morosely. Baldwin ruminates for a while; then he sighs. 'Very well; like a deaf bat, I'm all ears ...'

Friar and Movement!

The three figures are deep in conversation. They are dressed in the red vestments of Catholic clergy, and so we can assume, dear reader, that these three fellows probably are the bishop and two of his trusted subordinates (below). A conversation is taking place.
'Is it possible, Your Holiness, that we might be enforcing adherence to Catholic doctrine a little too diligently?' says one.
'No', replies the bishop, 'not at all. This is not possible. Do you know the skills required to make a truly fine pair of britches?'
'Ah ... no, Your Holiness' replies the henchmen, slowly, as if, metaphorically, giving himself more time to spot a potential ambush. 'Britches were not a major part of my training or education for this post', he says. 'Except', he adds quickly, in case this is the ambush, 'that I did obviously wear them. All the time - but especially in the presence of women and children'.
The bishop nods. 'Making a good pair of trousers is exactly like caring for the souls of one's spritual flock. It requires diligence, a careful eye, an artist's understanding, but also - and this is important - some very sharp needles'.

The bishop is named Baldwin. In this, he has the same name as every other bishop of Schrote back to the 16th century. Like the Pope, the bishops of Schrote take on an official name upon assumption of their new position. Unlike the pope, in Schrote, it is always the same name, which helpfully makes the bishop's name easier to remember for some of his aged parishioners, and also helps economise on the stationary budget. 

The current Baldwin, whose name actually is Elias, is Baldwin CCXXIII - a title that gives some idea of the relative unpopularity of the position of bishop in Schrote. There has been a disappointing tendency on the part of previous incumbents to use the position to extract maximum pecuniary and political advantage, before quitting and moving to Paris; a move often made, ironically given that they are bishops, in the company of actresses. Tenures can thus be quite low, the record being twenty minutes - the time, not coincidentally, being the same as that required to pack and call up a coach.   

Minister Werner of Fenwick's choice of Elias as bishop was guided by his belief that it would help to have someone in this position whom Emperor George could relate to; a circumstance in this case not unrelated to the fact that Elias is indeed related to George. Elias previously had been owner of a modest tailor's shop in Brandenburg. The fact that he didn't live in Mittelheim actually meant that he was viewed as one of the most successful members of Emperor George's family. As a distant cousin of George, twice or possibly 43 times removed, he was regarded as being politically more reliable then other potential candidates. Elias (below) has quite enjoyed his few months as a bishop, although he has only recently been able to wear the robes - since these were previously in the ownership of Prince Rupprecht, they naturally required quite a lengthy period of cleaning.

(Below) Conversing with the bishop is Johann, whose role is record keeper and librarian for the bishopric, and so who is known officially as Friar Knowledge. As this is Mittelheim, the record book is large, but also seems to be quite spartan in relation to some of the things usually important to books linked to the keeping of records - like an index, or words.

The second of Bishop Baldwin's underlings is Hermann (below), whose job is the enforcement of offical doctrine, and who is therefore known in his official capacity by the name of Friar Conviction. The hammer is notionally symbolic, but Hermann actually has been getting more use out of it than is probably intended. The list of those requiring a religiously sanctioned smiting has increased quite a lot under the leadership of the new Baldwin. Baldwin has applied to his new job the same sorts of qualities that made him a successful tailor, including his propensity for the application of hot irons.

Friar knowledge is now waving a letter. 'I ask, Your Holiness, because this list of accusations laid against you seems  quite serious'. 

'It's ridiculous', says the bishop in disgust. I mean, look at these questions: "Have I knowingly participated in, or do I know directly of anyone who has knowingly participated in, acts of heresy, witchcraft, full demonic possession, part-time demonic time-sharing, or Protestant-motivated questioning of official doctrine"'.

'We have been questioning doctrine', says Friar Knowledge ruefully.

'We had a quiz night!' says the bishop. ' How could that possibly be heresy?'

'The science questions were God-awful', says Friar Conviction.
The bishop pulls a face. 'Look, I may have applied some of the rules quite, ah, enthusiastically, but I wasn’t expecting the Spanish Inquisition!'

A door flies open. There is a gust of air, and sudden movement at the back of the cathedral. As the the bishop and the two friars turn in alarm, a thin voice cries out: 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!'

The Bishopric of Schrote!

Schrote is a tiny political entity, nestled uncomfortably between Bachscuttel, Rotenburg, and Gelderland. Since these, therefore, are the only possible destinations upon leaving Schrote, this alone would be sufficient to make the bishopric a very disappointing place to live. Sadly, however, there are so many other reasons why one might wish to avoid a visit there that listing them would be dull, pointless, and self-defeating - not unlike a night out in the bishopric itself. The most notable thing about the bishopric is that it is, rather surprisingly, the sight of the most significant cathedral in Mittelheim.

Schrote had been a bishop's seat since the 6th century; although, as seats go, it was rather an uncomfortable one. The bishop's dwelling in Schrote was at the time a quite modest manor house, with the village of Schrote, a dismal collection of damp dwellings, clustered, or perhaps festered, around it. That this manor was replaced by a somewhat incongruous cathedral can be explained by Bishop Baldwin the XII  and his submission in 1599 for funds to expand his home into a dwelling 'more suitable to his standing'. As it turned out, he must have been standing quite high, because, having received agreement for the provision of inital funding for a roof that didn't leak and an indoor privy, the subsequent alterations to his house were really rather more extensive. Arguing that he needed to be closer to God - about 200 feet closer, as it turned out - Baldwin turned his living quarters into a spire. The expansion of his kitchen into a nave, and his outside watercloset into a transept he explained away in terms of the need to keep the new building  'in keeping with the character of the surrounding village', a process that seemed to involve demolishing the surrounding village and building more cathedral.

The bishop's hope that the cathedral would lead to a significant, and indeed lucrative, expansion of Schrote itself came to nothing. Anyone actively searching for a dwelling in an area as wretched as Schrote, whose main selling point was that it wasn't actually on fire, already had a vast range of choices in every other area of Mittelheim. The only really significant developments in Schrote at this time resulted from the bishop's attempts to sponsor a variety of seats of learning. The fruits of this were two universities: a small two-room cottage in the hamlet of Uxfurt devoted to the study of philosophy; and a rival institution set up just opposite and across a stream, in the hamlet of Kambritz, devoted to the study of piles. The latter, of course, was by far the most popular.

Schrote was for most of its history actually part of the Kingdom of Gelderland. This state of affairs continued until 1678, when its tranformation into a nominally independent bishopric was decreed by King Oskar IV. Oskar, known by his quite judgemental subjects as Oskar the Not Really Tall Enough, was tired of being lectured every Sunday by the bishop. To solve this problem, Oskar gave the bishop his own temporal state. This had at least two advantages. First, the bishop’s ability to get back into Gelderland and lecture the king was impeded by the activities of a Gelderland customs post that suddenly sprang up on the new border. The bishop then had to spend quite large amounts of time filling in forms in triplicate, and being frisked down to his hessian undergarments. Second, the bishop, who in private had often thought how fun it might be to be ruler of his very own kingdom, suddenly found that temporal power carried with it a range of tedious and time-consuming commitments - dealing with complaints about drains, for example, and pot holes; and also having to mitigate the consequences of events such as plagues, famines, and apocalyptic fires; events which he had previously been able to wash his hands of by claiming that they were simply the ineffable will of God, the solution to which was just to pray a lot harder.

 We turn our attention now, dear reader, to the inside of the cathedral. Here we can see three priestly figures deep in conversation ...