My thanks go out to two Lost Art Press readers for their help in transcribing and translating Johann Brotze’s 18th-century description of the Latvian bentwood chair. On the day of the original post, Peter-Christian Miest very quickly transcribed Brotze’s Cursive and the following day he provided an updated version. Over the weekend, Mattias Hallin translated the text to English.
Brotze’s Chair Description in English
A chair, such as the Latvian farmers make from wood, without gluing or nailing even the least part of it.
The chair A presented here is made in the following manner from several parts put together. The part abcd forms the back and the two rear legs. On the upper portion of the same, on the inner sides opposite one another by d and a, are two sets of kerfs, in order to clamp in place the board e. By b and c the wood is halfway cut out, in order to be able to bend it and clamp in place the lower piece of wood fghi, whose both ends f and i, have been cut in such a manner, as to fit into place and be held fast at b and c. In this lower piece of wood the part klmn with its ends k & n that make make up the front legs, is set and finally the whole together with the part opqr that forms the seat, assembled in such a way, that one part holds the other, and none of them yield. In the part opqr and also lm four kerfs are made towards the inside, which go in deep enough, to hold in place the seat s. And this assembly gives a firm, immutable and durable stool.
You can read, or reread, the original post here. Peter Follansbee provided a link concerning the knutkorg (“knot basket”), which certainly seems to be the precursor to the bentwood chair. You can find that here.
Once again, thank you Peter-Christian and Mattias!
Bank note for Braunschweiger Staatsbank, 1921, Falkenstein/Bildagentur Historical Collection.
Have you ever worked with someone who, despite being given detailed instructions, never gets the job done right? (Don’t answer that if you work by yourself.) The end of another workweek is a good time to meet, or be reintroduced to, Eulenspiegel. He has a five-hundred year history in European literature with his exploits translated into multiple languages. His first name is variously Dyl, Til or Thyll. His surname might be shown as Ulenspiegel and in English he is Owlglass or Howlglass. His stories have been studied by historians and humorists as they provide another level of detail about 16th-century life and society.
Cover of the 1515 Straßburg edition, woodcut attributed to Hans Baldung Gruen, student of Albrecht Dürer.
Eulenspiegel Who? Till Eulenspiegel was a fictional character in a series of tales were written in Low German and published in the first decade of the 16th century. His stories take place in the 14th century with his birth in 1300 and death in 1350. Although he travels elsewhere, much of his story takes place in Northern Germany. Eulenspiegel means owl mirror and he is depicted with both an owl and a mirror on the covers of his books. He is a wily rogue and through his antics he exposes hypocrisy, greed and foolishness in all he meets. He spares neither the aristocrat nor the common man.
The humor in Eulenspiegel’s exploits is how he carries out the exact commands given to him, no more, no less. Those who employ him make assumptions, react favorably to his assurances and later feel the consequences of their readiness to hire this unknown person. The owl and mirror, symbols of wisdom and reflection, are much lacking in those you are unfortunate enough to meet Eulenspiegel.
The tales of Eulenspiegel are bawdy and earthy (not to mention inordinate quantities of excrement) as was typical of 16th-century humor. If you have read editions published in the latter half of the 19th century and in the 20th century the indelicate bits have been taken out.Although some of you will be disappointed, there were no indelicate bits that needed to be excised to present the tale of Eulenspiegel and the Carpenter.
How Eulenspiegel Became a Carpenter in Dresden and Failed to Win Much Praise
Eulenspiegel came into Dresden, near the Bohemian forest, upon the Elbe River and declared himself a carpenter. It so happened, to his good fortune, that a master carpenter in the town heard of this, and lacking his own journeyman due to Blue Monday, hired Eulenspiegel to be his journeyman.
The master was to attend his cousin’s wedding that afternoon and was pressed for time to have a job completed. He told Eulenspiegel of the wedding and instructed his new journeyman to work diligently and glue four boards together for a table. Eulenspiegel asked to be shown the boards. The master took the four boards and stacked them together on the bench. Satisfied his new journeyman knew what was need, the master informed Eulenspiegel he would return late in the evening and departed for the wedding. Eulenspiegel got to work.
Woodcut from “Eulenspiegel Keimensweiß” by Johannes Schmidt, 1572. This was an edition written in rhyme.
He bored holes in each of the boards and stacked them together, one atop the other. The glue pot was put on the fire to heat and when it was ready he poured and brushed the glue to bind all the boards together. He then carried the boards to the roof so the glue would dry in the sunshine.
17th-century woodcuts of Eulenspiegel working as a carpenter, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford University.
When his work was done Eulenspiegel make it an early night and went to bed. The master and his wife returned late in the evening, both tipsy and a bit befuddled. He roused Eulenspiegel to ask about the day’s work and was assured that all was done exactly as requested. The master was pleased to have found a good worker and remarked to his wife that one does not find such a good fellow every day.
Early the next morning the master bade Eulenspiegel to show him the table top that had been glued together the previous day. When the master saw how Eulenspiegel had ruined the boards meant for a table, he was enraged and demanded to know where Eulenspiegel had learned the art of carpentry. Eulenspiegel was confused to be asked such a question and said as much. The master shouted that Eulenspiegel had spoiled costly wood. Moved by the master’s anger and shouting, Eulenspiegel responded he had only done that which was commanded and if the wood was ruined it was the master’s fault not his. Grabbing his iron square, the master shouted to Eulenspiegel to be gone his workshop, for of the work that was done he would have no profit. Thus, Eulenspiegel departed with very little praise for his work.
Eulenspiegel’s End
The last few tales of Eulenspiegel’s life relate his death and burial in 1350. His burial was a very appropriate ending for such a waggish character. As the story goes, a hollowed-out tree was used as his coffin (or perhaps a regular wooden coffin). Two ropes, one at each end, were used to lower the coffin. Unfortunately, the lower rope broke and the coffin was stuck standing upright. Those attending the funeral decided to let his coffin remain as it was as it seemed a fitting burial for Eulenspiegel. His tombstone was sculpted with an owl holding a mirror in its talons.
Eulenspiegel’s burial from a broadsheet illustrating Eulenspiegel’s life, 1729, British Museum.
There are many notable people from human history whose burial sites are unknown, but there is no doubt about where Eulenspiegel’s fictional remains are buried. As a measure of his beloved status there is tombstone that still stands (or pretends to stand) in Mölln, Germany.
If you are a newer reader of the LAP blog and puzzled by Blue Monday (or are an old hand and want to relive your youthful hangover days) you can read a post I wrote about Blue Mondays here.
Left: Joined chair from Vaive Parish in Cesis District, 19th c., drawing done in 1928 by Olgerts Erdmanis, collection of the Latvian National History Museum. Right: Bentwood chair drawn by Johann Christoph Brotze, late 18th c., collection of the University of Latvia Academic Library.
The Turned & Joined Chair
Production of the joined chair began as a cottage industry in the last quarter of the 18th century in Briezi and Striki (western Latvia). The start of chair making as a main source of income was likely due to the shortage of land suitable for farming. Chair making spread to other areas and it is estimated that each year a family could make 70-100 dozen (840-1200) chairs for sale in Kurzeme, Estonia and parts of Russia.
Left: Chairs for sale at a Limbazi market (northeast of Riga), 1920s, Limbazi Museum. Photo from “Folk Art 1840-1890” by Inese Sirica in “Art History of Latvia, vol. 3, Book 1, ed. Eduards Klavins. Right: Limbazi chair, dated 1773, collection of the Ethnographic Open-Air Museum of Latvia.
In the Home Industry section of “Woodworking in Estonia” Ants Viires wrote, “As regards chairs, the Latvian product sold at all the fairs was predominant in Estonia for many years.” He described the chair as “mostly of turned wood with a straw seat, later also a wooden seat.” The estimated annual output by Latvian craftsmen was 12,000 chairs.
As you can see, the biggest difference between the Latvian chair and many American examples are the thin back sticks instead of back slats. The seat of the chair was woven from reeds gathered from lakes near the chair making areas. The weaving was done in various patterns and usually by women. This chair is still made today both by hand and in factories.
Left: Birch chair, early 20th c., collection of the Ethnographic Open-Air Museum of Latvia. Right: More recent examples of the chair.
In 1980 the BDM (Ethnographic Open-Air Museum of Latvia) asked chairmaker Eduards Tanne (born 1897) to make one of the traditional turned and joined chairs. Tanne, age 82, gamely took up the request. The video was digitized and subtitled and you can watch this wonderful craftsman make a chair, from chopping down a tree to weaving the seat, here.
Eduards Tanne, Chairmaker.
The Bentwood Chair
This is an odd duck of a chair. The first documentation of the chair was by Johann Christoph Brotze late in the 18th century. Brotze (Johans Kristofs Broce in Latvian) was German and after completing his studies arrived in Riga in 1768 to teach at the Riga Imperial Lyceum. For the next 46 years, until his death in 1823, he traveled the country documenting, drawing and painting all that he saw. His trove of everyday life is in the University of Latvia Academic Library. One page dedicated to the bentwood chair.
Brotze’s (Broce’s) page describing the bentwood chair.
I can barely read Brotze’s handwriting and relied on the description of the chair in “Latvie Tautes Dzives Pieminekli” written by Saulvedis Cimermanis and published in 1969. According to Cimermanis, four pieces of ash or hazel, each no more than 5 centimeters in diameter, are used (the length of each piece is not provided). Each piece is notched where it will be bent. The ends must be carved to a conical shape so that after clamping into the appropriate notch (or bend) the end does not slip out. Brotze’s letter-sequenced diagram shows how the four bent pieces fit together. As for the bending process, we know that steam bending had long been used by coopers, wheelwrights and shipbuilders and to make sled runners. I imagine Brotze saw this bentwood chair as very unusual compared to the joined and staked chairs with which he would have been familiar. Fortunately, he not only wrote about it, he drew it.
When I first found the diagram of this chair I sent it to Chris Schwarz for his opinion. His answer was he would love to see a surviving example of a chair made in this manner. It turns out a bentwood chair from Rucava (far southwest corner of Latvia) marked with the year “1890” on the back was in the collection of the Ethnographic Open-Air Museum. This proved the chair was still being made late in the 19th century and had been made as shown in Brotze’s diagram. Chris’ response: “Oh wow. Just wow.” And, how.
We don’t know how far back this method of chair construction goes. Also, I don’t know if the chair in the photograph (Cimermanis’s book was published in 1969) is still intact. Cimermanis noted one other example of this type of chair construction and cited the work of Polish ethnographer Kazimierz Moszynski. In Volume 1 of ”Kultura Ludowa Slowian” Moszynski had a drawing of a bentwood stool that originated in west central Russia, approximately 800 miles east of Moscow.
OK, I have to add one more chair. There are thousands of brettstuhls in museums in Europe and North America. The backs often have intricate piercings and carvings and they have never appealed to me. However, I have taken a fancy to a 19th-century Latvian chicken-backed brettstuhl.
Photo taken late May 2022 in Annapolis, Maryland. You might spot the undercarriage of several sparrows in the branches.
Tulip Poplars Are Blooming
After the showy early spring blossoms have come and gone the tulip poplar, Liriodendrontulipifera, comes into its own with yellow and orange flowers. The flowers can be hard to see as they are higher in the canopy and well above head-height.
Left: photo by Nancy Magnusson, Maryland Biodiversity Project. Right: photo by Stan Cressler, Lady Bird John Wildflower Center.
The flowers have abundant nectar and attract bees and hummingbirds. In the autumn the leaves turn golden and the seeds are food for squirrels and songbirds. The leaves have four lobes and to some they resemble mittens.
The tulip poplar, also known as the American poplar, yellow poplar and bois-jaune, is found in the eastern portion of North America. It ranges north to Ontario, south to Florida and west to Missouri. The tree is fast growing and one of the largest of the native hardwoods often growing 90-120 feet (27-37 m) high. One gardening site warned homeowners with small yards not to plant this tree as it will get too big.
The Native American name for the tree is rakiock. The bark was used for medicinal purposes and the long straight logs were used for dugout canoes. The tulip poplar was described in the account of the 1585-1586 voyage to Virginia carried out in the name of Sir Walter Raleigh:
Early European settlers used the logs for cabins, furniture and household utensils. Today, the wood is still used for furniture and flooring.
The tulip poplar is not a true poplar, but is a member of the Magnolia family. The illustration below shows the relationship of L.tulipifera to other members of the family, many of which are also in bloom (except the Steel Magnolia).
Illustration by John Mijers, copyright Flora of North America Association.
Tree Ring Labs
Dendrochronology is much more than counting tree rings to determine a tree’s age. It is a dynamic field of study revealing much about our environment. Gordon Jacoby, co-founder of the Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory (LDOE) at Columbia University describes old-growth trees as ”…like ancient scribes long-lived trees can sensitively record the environmental history of a given place and time.”
With no old-growth forests remaining on the Eastern Seaboard where do LDOE dendrochronologists go to find their samples? The best source is urban areas that are undergoing conservation, renovation or are slated for demolition. An article from August 2021 describes the work the LDOE Tree Ring Labs does with timbers from old New York buildings. You can read the article here.
There are dendrochronology laboratories around the world and many of them post current research projects. The Dendro Hub maintains a directory of labs and you can find the list here.
Pando Problems
Pando in autumn. U.S. Forest Service.
Pando is a huge quaking aspen (Populistremuloides) clone in the Fishlake National Forest in Utah. The clone covers an area of 106 acres (43 ha), has over 40,000 individual trees (ramets) and is likely thousands of years old. It is the largest living organism that has been genetically analyzed, meaning there may be bigger clones elsewhere. While aspens can reproduce when a female and a male tree swap genetic material (so to speak) they can also reproduce asexually by sending up new shoots from the underground root mass. Clones are either male or female (Pando is male) with all trees in the clone genetically identical. Trees within a clone are synchronized as to when the leaves will turn color in the autumn, when flowers bloom in the spring and when leaves begin to regrow.
Quaking aspens are unique in that they have a bark layer that carries out photosynthesis. When other tree species overshadow a stand of aspens the bark photosynthesis can be disrupted and the tree is weakened. Aspens rely on disturbances such as fires to destroy over-story trees and prompt new aspen growth. Because of its resistance to fire aspen wood has been used for flooring, but is not a wood suitable for building.
Aspens are wide-spread throughout North America. In warmer climates they thrive in higher elevations. The European quaking aspen is Populustremula.
Pando is having problems regenerating. It is not currently known if this has to do with age, grazing animals, insects, fungus or a combination of factors. The U.S. Forest Service is monitoring Pando and you can watch a short video about their efforts here.
Shipyard sign or possibly from a shipwright’s guild, 1600-1699, Netherlands. Rijks Museum.
Although it is several days after the Equinox (sorry, I was busy), it’s still close enough to let you in on a dockside tradition. If you have spent any time around saltwater sailors you may be familiar with The Burning of the Socks. If not, the poem below will explain.
Eastport is a section of Annapolis, Maryland.
Here are a few more ship building tools to match to the tools on the sign board. It may seem the cupid in the upper left is holding a hurley, but that is highly unlikely.
Detail of a print by Mathias de Saltieth, 1779. Rijks Museum.
