Peasant Fires: The Drummer of Niklashausen by Richard Wunderli Book Review

Tied at the stake for burning, the Drummer sang for all to hear. He cried out for the intervention of the Virgin Mary, the same figure who supposedly shimmered before him on a cold spring night several months ago. Hundreds of pilgrims watched with false hope. They expected a holy light to descend from the heavens, shielding the Drummer and unleashing divine fury on those who orchestrated his demise. That moment never came. Instead, flames slowly consumed the Drummer and his songs. No miracles. No fiery wrath. Just ashes.

What do we know about the Drummer, Hans Behem? Most recently, we know him for his attempt to sow chaos in the streets of Niklashausen. Before that, there isn’t much to know. Hans was a peasant, a herdsman of pigs, and a carnival musician. For the most part, he lived a simple life. Quiet. Plain. He spent much of his time alone, roaming the fields and meadows, composing music, and fantasizing. Little distinguished Hans from other peasants. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; at least, nothing signaled he was set on a path towards conviction of heresy. So how did Hans find himself sentenced to death at the stake? It begins with that fateful spring night.

On a wintery Lenten evening in early April, the Mother of God appeared before Hans, or so his story goes. Allegedly, she warned him of God’s displeasure with mankind—especially with the priests and the rest of the clergy for their avarice. Immediately after, Hans stripped himself of his vanities by casting his material possessions into a fire. He urged others to do the same if they wished to gain salvation. Inspired by his “encounter,” Hans proclaimed to the world a series of God’s demands. He preached in the streets about the downfall of the clergy and about a new social order of sharing all resources in common. He called for revolution, for bloodshed.

A religious fervor seized Germany. Tens of thousands of pilgrims flocked to Niklashausen for Hans’ sermons. They sang his dangerous words throughout the valley: “O God in Heaven, on you we call; help us seize our priests and kill them all.” When authorities in Würzburg caught wind of the Drummer and his alarming message, they acted to end the crusade. Only months after his movement began, he was tried in court, convicted of heresy, and sentenced to death. In July, authorities executed Hans Behem. Just as easily as the gathering in Niklashausen began, it ended.

Many know what Hans did, but the question “Why?” is only guessed at. Some suppose he’d gone mad. Others, objecting to the idea that a “half-witted shepherd” organized such a movement, suggest that a rogue clergyman manipulated him. Then there are the masses of pilgrims who believe in Hans. 

But should they? 

Maybe Hans was just crazy or just a puppet or just an honest, God-fearing man preaching about his divine visitation. Whatever the case, it seems that Hans played on his experience with the Virgin, contrived or not, for personal gain. Why else preach for an end to class structure if not to better his own position? In claiming authority through the Virgin and challenging the authority of the emperor and the clergy, he attempted to deconstruct social barriers for the lower class. In doing so, did he not abuse his newfound religious influence for his own benefit? Was Hans being selfish?

The Drummer could be classified as a spiritual opportunist. The term refers to a religious leader who exploits spirituality—or in this case, the spirituality of his followers—for personal gain. Hans’ platform centered on two main ideas: God’s anger with the clergy and the peasant fantasy of egalitarianism. The first is already of popular concern. In fact, Bishop Rudolph of Würzburg already makes the case for reformation in his attempts to curb the clergy’s unlawful accumulation of excessive wealth. Not to give Hans the benefit of the doubt, but maybe his second point of dividing all resources equally without regard to status is an argument to be made. Before choosing a side, ask yourself, do these two ideas belong together under the guise of “God’s plan”? Instead, it is far more likely that Hans preached about both claims at once out of sheer spiritual opportunism. He promoted his secular beliefs about society through the lens of religion to persuade those who listened. In a sense, Hans tricked the pilgrims.

So then, the ultimate question becomes, was he right to do it?  Should Hans have preached about revolution, about killing the priests, about living in a perfectly egalitarian world? Should he have rallied with the crowds in Niklashausen, inciting a violent mob? Should he have shared his story in the first place? Authorities viewed Hans as both a foolish shepherd and a dangerous revolutionary preaching “false rewards.” They saw his movement as the beginnings of social ruin. For the pilgrims who traveled to Niklashausen with great reverence for Hans and his message, the narrative takes a different tone. Hans became their voice and their salvation. And can we blame them for believing this way? After all, those who trekked to Niklashausen did so because they had little to leave behind. They came because Hans promised a better life for those at the bottom of the food chain. They came in search of salvation. They came with hope.

However, if Hans’ movement boils down to just another case of spiritual opportunism, perspective becomes irrelevant. It doesn’t matter if you saw him as a menace to society or as a champion of the vulnerable. If it’s true that some personal element motivated his narrative, he lied. Revolutionary or not, Hans Behem, the Drummer of Niklashausen, lied to tens of thousands of people.

And he was wrong to do so. Hans was wrong to give hope so freely. He was wrong to inspire those who needed inspiration most. Because there is only one certainty in the story of the Drummer: tied at the stake for burning, singing for all to hear, Hans went down without the fight he promised. No miracles. No divine intervention. As quickly as he’d given hope, he stole it right back. It died with him, sputtering away in ash.

What came out of all this? Little good, if any. Dozens of casualties. Hundreds more injured or imprisoned. A brief pause in the sober normalcy of social structure. Most prominently, a dead prophet of the peasants, martyred in the minds of some but forgotten in the minds of many. After that, all we’re left with is questions. Could the Drummer be a legitimate prophet of the Queen of Heaven? If so, why didn’t she save the day for Hans and the pilgrims? Why would she allow the group she tends to dearly lose the hope she inspired? The answers to such questions will forever remain a mystery if we foolishly stand by the Drummer and his actions. If instead we consider the case of spiritual opportunism, if we understand that selfish motives hid behind his words, the answer becomes clear: Hans misled the masses. The Blessed Mother was never coming to save him from his fate on that post.