CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER III.

Oft have the soldier's swordAnd jeering Croat horde,With usage rude and fierce,Threaten'd my heart to pierce.Yet I drew unhurt my breath,No mishap could bring me death.In water, 'gainst my will,Plunged deep, I far'd but ill;Closed in a wat'ry grave,God deign'd my life to save;Wond'rous 'tis I was not drown'd;Brought to land all safe and sound.Into my mouth once or more,As 'twere a tub, they did pourA mess of liquid dung;Four churls, cords round me strung;Yet I drew unhurt my breath,No mishap could bring me death.One of an exile band,There in Thuringia's landAt Notleben, I dwelt,Till I God's blessing felt,And to Heubach's parsonage pass'dWhere kind Heaven sent peace at last.God's servant, here have IThe church kept orderly,Have preach'd the word therein,The bad expell'd, of sinAbsolv'd the penitent heart,And labour'd truth to impart.From 'Four Christian Hymns of Martin Bötzinger.' (1663.)

Oft have the soldier's swordAnd jeering Croat horde,With usage rude and fierce,Threaten'd my heart to pierce.Yet I drew unhurt my breath,No mishap could bring me death.

In water, 'gainst my will,Plunged deep, I far'd but ill;Closed in a wat'ry grave,God deign'd my life to save;Wond'rous 'tis I was not drown'd;Brought to land all safe and sound.

Into my mouth once or more,As 'twere a tub, they did pourA mess of liquid dung;Four churls, cords round me strung;Yet I drew unhurt my breath,No mishap could bring me death.

One of an exile band,There in Thuringia's landAt Notleben, I dwelt,Till I God's blessing felt,And to Heubach's parsonage pass'dWhere kind Heaven sent peace at last.

God's servant, here have IThe church kept orderly,Have preach'd the word therein,The bad expell'd, of sinAbsolv'd the penitent heart,And labour'd truth to impart.

From 'Four Christian Hymns of Martin Bötzinger.' (1663.)

Whoever could portray the desolation of the German people, would be able to explain to us the striking peculiarities of the modern German character; the remarkable mixture of fresh youth and hoary wisdom, aspiring enthusiasm, and vacillating caution; but above all, why we, among all the nations of Europe, still strive in vain after much which our neighbours, not more noble by nature, not more strongly organized, not more highly gifted, have long secured to themselves.

The following documents will only furnish an unimportant contribution to such an explanation. Individual examples will render the ruin of the village and city communities comprehensible, and what counteracting power there was, together with the destroying power which supported the remaining vitality, and prevented the final annihilation of the nation.

From these we shall see thoroughly the condition of one particular province, which suffered severely from the miseries of war, but not more than most other parts of Germany, not indeed so much as the Margravate of Brandenburg and many territories of Lower Saxony and Suabia. It is the Thuringian and Franconian side of the "Waldgebirge," which formed, in the middle of Germany, the boundary between the north and south; more especially the present Dukedoms of Gotha and Meiningen. The following details are taken from the church documents and parish records, and many, from the voluminous church and school stories which were published by clerical collectors in the former century.

Germany was supposed to be a rich country in the year 1618. Even the peasants had acquired during the long peace a certain degree of opulence. The number of villages in Franconia and Thuringia was somewhat greater than now; they were not entirely without defences, and were often surrounded by broad ditches and palisades, or clay and stone walls; it was forbidden to form entrances in them, but at the end of the main streets were gates which were closed at night The churchyard was usually defended by particularly strong walls, and more than once it was used as the citadel and last refuge of the inhabitants. There were night and day patroles through the villages and fields. The houses were indeed ill formed and only of wood and clay, often crowded together in narrow village streets, but they were not deficient in comfort and household furniture. The villages were surrounded by orchards, and many fountains poured their clear waters into stone basins. Small poultry fluttered about the dung-heaps in the enclosed courtyards, immense troops of geese fed in the stubble fields, teams of horses stood in the stables, far more numerous than now, probably of a larger and stronger stamp; they were rustic descendants of the old knightly chargers, the pride and joy of their owners; and besides these were the "Kleppers," the small and ancient race of the country. The large parish herds of sheep and cattle grazed on the stony heights and on the rich grass marshes. The wool fetched a high price, and in many places much value was attached to a fine breed; the German cloths were famed, and these were the best articles of export. This national wool, the result of a thousand years of cultivation, was entirely lost to Germany during the war. The district round the village (where the old Franconian divisions of long strips were not maintained) was divided into three fields, which were much subdivided, and each division carefully stoned off. The fields were highly cultivated, and fine grained white wheat was sown in the winter fields. Woad was still zealously cultivated with great advantage in the north of the Rennstiegs. Although even before the war the foreign indigo competed with the indigenous dye, the yearly gain from the woad in Thuringia could be computed at three tons of gold; this was principally in the territory of Erfurt and the Dukedom of Gotha; besides this, anise and saffron produced much money; the cultivation of the teazel also was formerly indigenous, and the wild turnips, and (by the Rhine) the rape seed were sowed in the fellows. Flax was carefully prepared by steeping it in water, and the coloured flowers of the poppies, and the waving panicle of the millet, raised themselves in the corn-fields. But on the declivities of warmer situations in Thuringia and Franconia there were everywhere vineyards, and this old cultivation, which has now almost disappeared in those countries, must in favourable years have produced a very drinkable wine, as now on the lower range of the Waldgebirge; for the wine of particular years is noted in the chronicles as most excellent. Hops also were assiduously cultivated and made good beer. Everywhere they grew fodder, and spurry and horse-beans. The meadows, highly prized, and generally fenced in, were more carefully handled than two hundred years later; the mole-heaps were scattered, and the introduction and maintenance of drains and watercourses was general. Erfurt was already the centre of the great seed traffic, of garden cultivation, also of flowers and fine orchards. On the whole, when we compare one time with the other, the agriculture of 1618 was not inferior to that of 1818. It must be confessed in other respects also, our century has but restored what was lost in 1618.

The burdens which the peasants had to bear both in service and taxes, were not small, and greatest of all on the properties of the nobles; but there were many free villages in that country, and the government of the rulers was less strict than in Southern Franconia or in Hesse. Many ecclesiastical properties had been broken up; many domains, and not a few of the nobles' estates, were farmed by tenants; leases were a favourite method of raising the rent of the ground. All this was for the advantage of the peasant. The damage done by game indeed occasioned great suffering, and there still continued much of the old bond-service on the property of the impoverished nobles. But the greater part of the country people were pronounced by lawyers, newly educated in the Roman law, to be possessors of their property; it was the greatest blessing bestowed by Roman law on the Germans in the sixteenth century. It is an error to suppose that the bureaucratic rule is a production of modern days; it already prevailed in those times, and the villages had often to pay the small travelling expenses of the ducal messenger who brought them their letters. It was already decided by superintending officials how many fire buckets every one was to procure, and how many doves were to be kept; they saw to the clearing of the fruit trees from caterpillars, the cleansing of the ditches, and the annual planting of young trees. The parish accounts had for nearly a hundred years been kept in an orderly manner, and inspected by the government of the country, as also the district certificates and registers of birth. There was also a good deal of commercial intercourse. A large commercial road passed through Thuringia, in a line almost parallel with the mountains, from the Elbe to the Rhine and Maine; and from the descent of the mountains near to the Werra, lay the military road which united the north of Germany with the south. The traffic on these unconstructed roads demanded numerous relays of horses, and brought to the villages gain, and news from the distant world, and many opportunities of spending money.

After the Reformation there were schools, at least in all the villages where there was a church; the teachers were often divines, and sometimes there were schoolmistresses for the girls. Small sums were paid for the schooling, and a portion of the inhabitants of the village were initiated into the secrets of reading and writing. The difference between the countryman and the citizen was then still greater than now. The "stupid peasant" was the favourite object of ridicule in the rooms of the artisans, who attributed to him, as characteristic qualities, roughness, simplicity, disingenuous cunning, drunkenness, and love of fighting. But however retired his life then was, and poor in varied impressions, we should do him great injustice if we considered him essentially weaker or less worthy than he is now; on the contrary, his independence was not less, and was frequently better established. His ignorance of foreign states was undoubtedly greater, for there were as yet no regular gazettes or local papers for him, and he himself generally did not wander farther than to the nearest town, where he sold his products, or occasionally over the mountain when he had to drive cows; or if a Thuringian, to go to the woad market at Erfurt, if a Franconian, perhaps to Bamberg with his hops. Also in dress, language, and songs, he was not fashionable like the citizens; he preferred using old strong words, which they considered coarse; he swore and cursed after the ancient style, and his ceremonial of greeting was different from theirs, though not less precise. But his life was not on that account deficient in spirit, morals, or even in poetry. The German popular songs were still vigorous, and the countryman was the most zealous preserver of them; the peasant's feasts, his domestic life, his lawsuits, his purchases and sales, were rich in old picturesque customs and proverbs. The genuine German pleasure also in beautiful specimens of handicraft, in clean and artistic heir-looms, was then shared alike by the countryman and citizen. His household gear was superior to what it is now. Ornamental spinning-wheels, which still pass for a new invention, neatly carved tables, carved chairs and cupboards, have in some instances been preserved to our times, with the earthenware apostle jugs, and similar drinking-vessels, which may be bought by art collectors. Great were the treasures of the countrywomen in beds, linen, clothes, chains, medals, and other ornaments, and not less worthy of note were the numerous sausages and hams in the chimneys. A great deal of ready money lay concealed in the corners of chests, or carefully buried in pots or other vessels, for the collection of bright coins was an old pleasure to the peasantry; there had been peace as long as they could remember, and woad and hops brought a high price. The peasant had abundance, and was without many wants; he bought lace in the city for his clothes, and silver ornaments for his wife and daughters, spices for his sour wine, and whatever metal utensils and implements were necessary for his farm and kitchen. All the woollen and linen clothes were wove and made up by the women of the house, or the neighbour in the village.

Thus did the peasant live in middle Germany, even after the year 1618. He heard in the ale-houses on Sunday of the war alarms in Bohemia, about which he cared little; he bought indeed a flying-sheet of a crafty dealer, or a satirical song on the outcast King of Bohemia; he gave some of his bread and cheese to a fugitive from Prague or Budweis, who came begging to his door, and shook his head as he listened to his tale of horror. An official messenger brought into the village an order from the sovereign, from which he found it was expected of him to deliver into the city, money and provision for the newly raised soldiers; he was indignant, and hastened to bury his treasures still deeper. It soon, however, became clear that bad times were approaching him also, for the money which he received in the town was very red, and all goods were dear; thus he was involved in the wretched confusion which after 1620 was brought upon the country by the coinage of bad gold. He went no longer to the city, but kept his corn and meat at home: he had constant disputes however with the townsmen and his neighbours, because he wished to rid himself of the new gold in his own payments, whilst he would receive only the good old money: his heart was full of ominous forebodings. Thus it went on till the year 1623. He then saw evil coming in another quarter; theft and burglary increased, foreign vagabonds were often seen on the high-roads, trumpeters rushed into the towns with bad news, hired soldiers, insolent and bragging, drew up before his farm demanding entertainment, stole sausages, and carried off his poultry in their knapsacks.Defensioners, the newly raised country militia, galloped into the village, quartered themselves upon him, demanded provisions, and molested him more than the rogues whom they were to drive away from the cattle-sheds.

At last began--in Thuringia not till after 1623--the passage, of foreign troops through his country, and the great sufferings of the war fell upon him; foreign soldiers of strange appearance, reckless from blood and battle, marched into his village, occupied his house and bed, ill treated him and his, demanded provisions and other contributions besides gifts, and broke, destroyed, or plundered whatever came before their eyes. Thus it went on after 1626, worse and worse every year, troop followed upon troop, more than one army settled itself round him in winter quarters, the requisitions and vexations appeared endless. The yeoman saw with dismay that the foreign soldier had the power of tracing--which he ascribed to sorcery--the treasures which he had concealed deep in the earth; but if he had been too sly for them, his fate was still worse, for he himself was seized, and by torments which it would be painful to describe, compelled to make known the place where his treasure was concealed. On the fate of his wife and daughter we must remain silent; the most horrible was so common, that an exception, was extraordinary. Other sufferings also followed; his daughters, maid-servant, and his little children were not only maltreated, but were in imminent danger of being carried off by persuasion or force, for every army was followed by the coarse, worthless baggage-train of women and children. But the yeoman's homestead was devastated in still other ways; his farming-man had perhaps borne for some years the blows of the foreign soldiers, at last he himself was exposed to them; the team was dragged from the plough, the cattle were fetched from the meadow, and the tillage of the fields thus often rendered impossible. Yet pitiful and helpless as was his position in the beginning of the war, up to the death of Gustavus Adolphus, its horrors were comparatively bearable; for there was as yet a certain system even in plundering and destruction, some degree of discipline kept together the regular armies, and an occasional year passed without any great passage of troops. It is possible for us to discover at this time how many exactions were made on particular parishes, for there were already country authorities who sat in their offices, and after the passage of troops through a parish, demanded the usual liquidation of their loans, the amount of which was indeed seldom returned to them. Whoever will glance over the liquidations in the parish archives, will find the names of ill-famed commanders, whom he may know from history or Schiller's Wallenstein, in very near connection with the history of a Thuringian village.

The effect produced by such a life of insecurity and torment on the souls of the country people, was very sad. Fear, trembling, and dread pervaded and enervated all hearts: their minds had always been full of superstition, now everything was sought for, with impulsive credulity, which could be significant of the attacks of supernatural powers. The most horrible countenances were seen in the heavens, the signs of fearful wickedness were discovered in numerous abortions, ghosts appeared, mysterious sounds were heard on earth and in the heavens. In Ummerstadt for example, in the dukedom of Hildburghausen, white crosses illuminated the heavens when the enemy entered; when they forced their way into the court of chancery, a spirit clothed in white met them and motioned them back, and no one could advance; after their departure, a violent breathing and sighing was heard for eight days in the choir of the church which had been burnt. At Gumpershausen a maid-servant made a great sensation through the whole country; she rejoiced in the visits of a little angel, who appeared, sometimes in a blue, sometimes in a red shirt sitting on the bed or by the table, cried out "Woe," warned against cursing and blasphemy, and predicted horrible bloodshed if men would not give up their vices, their pride, and their stiff blue ruffs,--then a new fashion. When we look at the zealous protocols which were drawn up by the ecclesiastics concerning the half-witted maiden, we find that the only circumstance which was matter of surprise to them, was that the angel did not visit themselves instead of a simple maiden.

Not only terror, but a spirit of defiance and wild despair possessed all souls. A moral recklessness prevailed fearfully among the country people. Wives abandoned their husbands, children their parents; the customs, vices, and maladies of the passing armies left lasting traces, even when the pillagers had quitted the desolated and half-ruined villages. The brandy drinking, which had been introduced among the people since the Peasant war, became a general vice; respect for the property of others disappeared. In the beginning of the war the neighbouring villages were disposed to help one another; if the soldiers had driven away the cattle from one village, and disposed of them again at their next night-quarters, the buyers often returned their new purchase to the former proprietors at the purchase price. This was done in Franconia, by both Catholic and Protestant communities, out of pure kindness. Gradually, however, the country people began to rob and plunder like the soldiers; armed bands combined together, passed the frontiers into other villages, and carried off whatever they needed. They waylaid the stragglers of the regiments in dense woods or mountain passes, and often after a severe struggle took a bloody revenge on the vanquished; indeed, they far surpassed the skill of the soldiers in the contrivance of barbarities; and there were wooded hills, in whose shades the most horrible crimes were now committed by those who had formerly frequented them as peaceful wood-cutters and stone-breakers, singing their simple songs. There arose gradually a terrible hatred betwixt the soldiery and peasantry, which lasted till the end of the war, and caused more than anything else the ruin of the villages of Germany. There were feuds also between the provinces and individual towns; that which is related here was only a harmless one of that gloomy time.

A violent enmity subsisted for many years after the war between the citizens of Eisfeld and the monastery of Banz, on account of the two fine-toned bells of their parish church, the "Banzer" and the "Messe." A Swedish officer had carried off both bells from Banz and sold them to the town. Twice, when the Catholic army was stationed at Eisfeld, the monks had come with waggons and ropes to fetch back their bells, but the first time they fell into a quarrel with a certain Croat who was quartered there, because they wished to take away with them the steeple clock. The Croat rushed upon the pious men with his sword, and he and his comrades ran up the tower and vehemently pulled the bell, so that the monks of Banz could not fetch it down, and were only able to take away the clock with them. The second time they did not succeed better; at last, after the peace, another bell was offered to them as compensation. But when they discovered this sentence upon it: "Preserve us, Lord, by thy word," they returned to their house shaking their heads. At last the pious Duke Ernest arranged the affair; he took for himself as a thank-offering the small bell, and hung it on the Friedenstein in Gotha.

The villages did all in their power to defend themselves from the rapacity of the soldiers. As long as they had money, they endeavoured to buy off the officers who were sent forward to seek for quarters, and many rogues took advantage of their fears, and appearing under the disguise of quartermasters, levied heavy contributions on the deluded villagers. Watchmen were placed on the church towers and elevations of the plain, who gave signals if troops were visible in the distance. Then the countryman brought whatever he could save, and the women and children their movable chattels, hasting to some distant place of concealment. These hiding-places were selected with great sagacity; by a little additional labour they were made still more inaccessible, and for weeks, indeed months, the fugitives passed their anxious existence there. On the dark moor, midst ditches, rushes and elders, in the deep shade of woody glens, in old clay-pits, and amid the ruins of decaying walls, did they seek their last refuge. The countryman in many places still shows with emotion such spots. There is a large vault with an iron door in an old tower at Aspach, whither the Aspachers fled whenever small bands of soldiers approached the village; for a more distant refuge they had a field of many acres, overgrown with thick hornbeam, and there they planted thorns which from the fertility of the soil grew into large trees and became like a thick wall. Within this barricade, which could only be attained by creeping on the belly, the villagers often concealed themselves. After the war the thorns were rooted up, and the land changed into hop, and afterwards cabbage grounds. But a portion of this land is still called the "Schutzdorn," "thorn-defence." When the soldiers had withdrawn, the fugitives returned and repaired with their scanty means what had been laid waste. Often, indeed, they found only a smoking pile.

All however who fled did not return. The more wealthy sought a refuge for themselves and their property in the cities, where martial discipline was a little more rigorous, and the danger less. Many also fled into another country, and if they were threatened by enemies there, again into another; and most of them assuredly had not less misery to suffer there. Those who remained in the country did not all return to their own fields. The wild life in hiding-places and woods, the rough pleasure in deeds of violence and pillage, turned the boldest of them into robbers; provided with rusty weapons, which they had perhaps taken from some dead marauder, they carried on a lawless life under the mountain pines, as companions of wolves and crows, as poachers and highwaymen.

Thus did the population of the plains decrease with frightful rapidity. Even in the time of the King of Sweden many villages were entirely abandoned, the beasts of the woods roamed about among the blackened rafters, and perhaps the tattered figure of some old beldame or cripple might be seen. From that time ruin increased to such an extent, that nothing like it can be found in modern history. To the destructive demons of the sword were added others, not less fearful and still more voracious. The land was little cultivated and the harvest was bad. An unheard-of rise in prices ensued, famine followed, and in the years 1635 and 1636 a pestilence attacked the enfeebled population, more terrible than had raged for more than a century in Germany. It spread its pall slowly over the whole of Germany, over the soldier as well as over the peasant, armies were dissipated under its parching breath, many places lost half their inhabitants, and in some villages in Franconia and Thuringia there remained only a few individuals. The little strength which had remained in one corner of the land was now broken. The war raged on still twelve long years after this time of horror, but it had become weaker, the armies were smaller, the operations without plan or stability, from the want of provisions and animals, but where the fury of war still blazed, it devoured mercilessly what remained of life. The people reached the lowest depths of misfortune; a dull apathetic brooding became general. Of the country people of this last period there is little to be told; they vegetated, reckless and hopeless, but few accounts of them are to be found in village records, parish books, and small chronicles. They had forgotten in the villages the art of writing, nay even their crying grievances. Where an army had carried devastation and famine raged, men and dogs ate of the same corpse, and children were caught and slaughtered. A time had now come when those who had held out during twenty years of suffering, laid violent hands on themselves; we read this in the accounts of ambassadors, who for years worked in vain for peace.

It may be asked how, after such sufferings and utter ruin, the survivors could still form a German nation, who at the conclusion of peace could again cultivate the country, pay taxes, and after vegetating in poverty for a century, again engender energy, enthusiasm, and a new life in art and science. It is certainly probable that the country people would have entirely scattered themselves in roving bands, and that the cities would never have been in a condition to produce a new national life, if three powerful causes had not contributed to preserve the German countryman from being altogether lost,--his love of his paternal acres; the endeavours of the magistracy; and above all, the zeal of those who had the care of his soul, the village pastors. The love of the peasant for his own field, which works inimically against the most benevolent agrarian laws, is even now a strong feeling, but in the seventeenth century was still more powerful. For the peasant knew very little of the world beyond his own village, and it was difficult for him to pass the boundaries which separated him from other vocations, or from establishing himself on the property of other lords. He ever returned with tenacity from his hiding-place to his devastated farm, and endeavoured to collect together the trampled corn, or to sow the few seeds he had been able to preserve. When his last beast had been stolen, he harnessed himself to the plough. He took care not to give his house a habitable appearance; he accustomed himself to dwell amidst dirt and ruins, and concealed the flickering fire of his hearth from the gaze of marauders, who might perhaps be seeking in the night for some warm resting-place. He hid his scanty meal in a place which would disgust even a reckless enemy, in ditches and coffins, and under skulls. Thus he lived under the powerful pressure of habit, however little hope there might be that his labour would prove advantageous to him. If a landed proprietor stood valiantly by his village, even in times of comparative tranquillity, he accompanied his beasts to the fields, armed to the teeth, ready to fight against any robbers who might pounce down on him.

It was no less the interest of the landed proprietor and his officials, than of the peasant himself, to preserve the villages. The smaller the number of tax-payers became, the higher was the tax on the few who remained. The rulers, from the cities in which they resided occupied themselves during the whole war through their officials, bailiffs, and receivers, with the fate of the villages, nay even of individuals. The keeping of the parish records was only interrupted during the most troubled time, and was always recommenced. Certificates, reports, memorials, and rescripts passed hither and thither amidst all the misery.[29]Petitions for remission of rents and liquidation of costs were incessantly demanded, and many a poor schoolmaster obediently gave his service as parish writer whilst the snow floated into his schoolroom through the shattered windows, the parish chests lay broken in the streets, and the parishioners, whose accounts he was writing, went armed into the woods with dark illegal projects, which were never reported to the government. Useless as this system of writing in many cases was, it formed numerous links which bound individuals more closely to their states; and in the pauses of the war, and at the conclusion of it, was of the greatest importance, for it had preserved the mechanism of the administration.

It was however to the country clergy and their holy office that the maintenance of the German people is chiefly owing. Their influence was undoubtedly not less in the Catholic than in the Protestant provinces, though there remain few accounts of it; for the Catholic village pastors were then as averse to writing as the evangelical were fond of it. But the Protestant pastors had a far greater share in the mental cultivation of their time. The Reformers had made the German learned education essentially theological, and the village clergy were, in the estimation of the noble proprietors and peasantry, the representatives of this intelligence. They were generally well skilled in the ancient languages, and expert in writing Latin and elegiac verses. They were powerful disputants, and much experienced in dogmatic controversy, stubborn and positive, and full of zealous indignation against the followers of Schwenkfeld, Theophrast, Rosenkreuz, and Weigelia, and their teaching was more full of hatred to heretics than love towards their fellow-creatures. Their influence on the consciences of the laity had made them arrogant and imperious, and the most gifted among them were more occupied with politics than was good for their characters. If an order may be considered responsible for the imperfection of the mental cultivation of the period, which it has not formed, but only represents, the Lutheran ecclesiastics were deeply and fatally guilty of the devastation of mind, the unpractical weakness, and the dry wearisome formalism which frequently appeared in German life. The ecclesiastics, as an order, were neither accommodating nor especially estimable, and even their morality was narrow-minded and harsh. But all these errors they atoned for in times of poverty, calamity, and persecution, more especially the poor village pastors. They were exposed to the greatest dangers, hated in general by the Imperial soldiers, and obliged by their office to bring themselves under the observation of the enemy; and the rough usage which they, their wives, and daughters had to suffer, fatally injured their consideration in their own parish. They were maintained by the contributions of their parishioners, and were not accustomed, and ill fitted to obtain their daily food by bodily labour; they were the greatest sufferers from any decrease in the wealth, morality, or population of their villages. One must bear witness that a very great number of them endured all these dangers as true servants of Christ. Most of them adhered to their parishes almost to the very last man. Their churches were plundered and burnt, chalice and crucifix stolen, the altar desecrated with disgusting ordures, and the bells torn from the towers and carried away. Then they held divine service in a barn, or an open field, or in the cover of a green wood. When the parishioners had almost perished, so that the voice of the singer was heard no more, and the penitential hymns were no longer intoned by the chanter, they still called the remains of their congregation together at the hour of prayer. They were vigorous and zealous both in giving comfort and in exercising discipline; for the greater the misery of their parishioners, the more reason they had to be dissatisfied with them. Frequently they were the first to suffer from the demoralization of the villagers: theft and insolent wantonness were willingly practised against those whose indignant looks and solemn admonitions had heretofore overawed them. Hence their fate is particularly characteristic of that iron time, and we happily possess numerous records concerning them, frequently in church documents, in which they bemoaned their sufferings, when no one would listen to them. From such records of Thuringian and Franconian village pastors, only a few examples will here be given.

Magister Michael Ludwig was pastor at Sonnenfeld, about 1633; there he preached to his parishioners in the wood under the canopy of heaven; they were called together by the sound of the trumpet, instead of the bell, and it was necessary to place an armed watch whilst he preached; thus he continued for eight years, till his parishioners entirely disappeared. A Swedish officer then appointed him preacher to his regiment; he was afterwards made president of the army consistory at Torstenson, and superintendent at Wismar. Georg Faber preached at Gellershausen, read prayers daily to three or four hearers, always at the risk of his life: he rose every morning at three o'clock and learned his sermon entirely by heart; besides that, he wrote learned treatises upon the books of the Bible.

In the neighbouring towns of the interior, the clergy had as much to undergo. For example, the rector at Eisfeld, about 1635, was Johann Otto, a young man who had just married; he had in the worst times kept the whole school during eight years, with only one teacher, and provided the choir also gratis. The smallness of his income may be seen from the notes which the excellent man has written in his Euclid: "2 days thrashing in autumn, 1 day working in the wood in 1646. 2 days thrashing in January, 1647. 5 days thrashing in February, 1647. 4 marriage letters written. Item, 1/2 day binding oats, and one day reaping," and so on. He persevered, and administered his office honourably for forty-two years. His successor, the great Latin scholar, Johann Schmidt, teacher of the celebrated Cellarius, had become a soldier, and when on guard at the Royal Castle was reading a Greek poet; this was perceived by his officer with astonishment, and was mentioned by him to Ernest the Good, who made him a teacher.

The superintendent at the same place, Andreas Pochmann, was, when an orphan, carried off with two little brothers by the Croats. He escaped with his brothers in the night. Later, when a Latin scholar, he was again taken prisoner by the soldiers, was made an officer's servant, and then a musketeer. But he continued to study in the garrison, and found among his comrades students from Paris and London, with whom he kept up his Latin. Once, when a soldier, he was lying sick by the watch fire, under his sleeve was the powder pouch, with a pound and a half of powder, the flames reached the sleeve and burnt half of it; the powder pouch was unconsumed. When he awoke he found himself alone, the camp was abandoned, and he had not a penny of money. Then he found two thalers in the ashes. With this he struck across to Gotha; on the way, he turned off to Langensalza, to a lonely small house near the walls: an old woman received the wearied man, and laid him on a bed. It was the plague nurse, and the bed was a plague bed, for the malady was then raging in the city; he remained unhurt. His life, like that of most of his cotemporaries, was full of wonderful escapes, sudden changes, and unexpected succour, of deadly perils, penury, and frequent changes of place. These times must be accurately observed, in order to understand how, just at a period when millions were brought to ruin and destruction, there was fostered in the survivors a deep belief in that Divine Providence, which, in a wonderful way, encompassed the lives of men.

From almost every village church one can obtain reminiscences of the sufferings, self-devotion, and perseverance of their pastors. It must be said, that only the strongest minds came out unscathed in such times. The endless insecurity, the want of support, the lawless proceedings of the soldiers and of their own parishioners, made many of them petty in their ideas, cringing and beggarly. We will give one example among many. Johanne Elfflein, pastor at Simau after 1632, was so poor that he was obliged to work as a day labourer, to cut wood in the forest, to dig and to sow; twice he received either alms from the poor-box at Coburg, or what was placed there at the baptism of children. At last the consistory at Coburg sold one of the chalices of the church to procure bread for him. He considered it an especial piece of good fortune, when he had once to perform the funeral of a distinguished noble, for then he got a good old rix-dollar, and a quarter of corn. When shortly afterwards he confidentially complained to a neighbour of his want of food, and the latter replied with desperate resolution, he knew well what he should do in such a case, then, firm in faith, Magister Elfflein said, "My God will provide means that I shall not die of hunger; He will cause a rich nobleman to die, that I may obtain money, and a quarter of corn." He considered it was ordained by Providence, when soon after, this melancholy event actually occurred. His situation was so pitiable, that even the rapacious soldiers, when they sent their lads in the neighbourhood after booty, emphatically ordered them to leave the pastor at Simau unmolested, as the poor simpleton had nothing for himself. At last he got another parish.

At the source of the Itz, where the mountains decline in high terraces towards the Main, lies the old village of Stelzen, a holy place even in heathen times. Close to the church, from the corner of a spacious cavern, overshadowed by primeval beech and lime trees, springs up a miraculous well; near the well, before the Reformation, stood a chapel to the Holy Virgin, and many a time did hundreds of counts and noblemen, with numberless other people, flock together there as pilgrims. The village was entirely burnt down at Michaelmas, 1632, only the church, the school, and shepherd's hut remained standing. The pastor, Nicholas Schubert, wrote to the authorities in the winter as follows: "I have saved nothing but my eight poor, little, naked, hungry children. I continue to dwellex mandatoin the very old, and on account of the want of a chimney, a floor and so forth, dangerous school-house, where I can neither attend to my studies, nor do anything for my support. For I have neither food nor clothes,longe enim plura deficiunt. Given at my castle of misery, Stelzen, 1633. Your willing servant, and obedient poor burnt-out pastor, Nicholas Schubert." Shortly he was removed. His successor likewise was pillaged, and stabbed in the left hip with a rapier; he too was removed; a second successor also was unable to maintain himself there. After that, the parsonage house was uninhabited for fifteen years, but the neighbouring pastor, Götz of Sachsendorf, came every third Sunday, and performed service in the ruined village. For two years there came no pence to the church coffers. At last, in 1647, the church was entirely burned to the bare walls.

Gregory Ewald was pastor at Königsberg; in 1632, Tilly burnt down the city, and Ewald was taken prisoner in a vineyard by two Croats, and robbed; when they could not withdraw a gold ring from his finger they prepared to cut off the finger, but at last had so much consideration that they took only the skin with the ring, and demanded a thousand dollars ransom. Ewald released himself by this stratagem; he took the simple soldier, who was left with him to fetch the ransom, first to the door of a cellar in order to give him a drink of wine, and under the pretext of fetching the key he escaped. In his great necessity he took an appointment as Swedish army chaplain, and after the battle of Nördlingen, lived as an exile for a year in a foreign country, from thence he returned to his ruined parish, where for some years he and his family endured want and misery.

Among the most instructive of the biographical accounts of Protestant pastors, is that of the Franconian pastor, Martin Bötzinger. We see with horror, both the village life in the time of the war, and the demoralization of the inhabitants, distinctly portrayed in his narrative. Bötzinger was not a man of great character, and the lamentable lot he had to bear did not strengthen it; indeed, we can hardly deny him the predicate of a right miserable devil. Nevertheless he possessed two qualities which render him estimable to us, an indestructible energy with which there was not the slightest frivolity united; and that determined German contentment which takes the brightest view of the most desolate situations. He was a poet. His German verses are thoroughly pitiful, as may be seen by the specimen heading this chapter, but they served him as elegant begging letters by which, in the worst times, he endeavoured to procure sympathy. He celebrated all the officials and receivers of the parish of Heldburg in an epic poem, as also the melancholy condition of Coburg, where he tarried for a certain time as a fugitive.

Of the career which he noted down, the beginning and the last portion were already torn out when Krauss, in 1730, incorporated it in his history of the Hildburghaus church, school, and province. The following is faithfully transcribed from this fragment; only the series of events which are intermingled in his autobiography are here arranged according to years. Bötzinger was a collegian at Coburg and a student at Jena, during theKippertime;[30]and in 1626, he became pastor at Poppenhausen. In the spring of 1627, the young pastor entertained the idea of marrying the only daughter of Michael Böhme, burgher and counsellor at Heldburg, whose name was Ursula.

"In the year 1627, on the Tuesday after the Jubilate, all necessary preparations being made, on this very day, a body of eight thousand men, people from Saxe Lauenburg, together with the Prince himself, encamped before Heldburg; pitched their camp on the cropped ground, and in eight days ruined the city and land belonging to the corporation, so that neither calf nor lamb, beer nor wine, could any more be procured. Provisions were brought from all the neighbouring districts, and yet even the royal officers and officials could hardly be maintained. They were, on account of the cold, quartered some days in the city and villages. It was then, for the first time, I was plundered in the parsonage house at Poppenhausen, for not only had I not secured anything, but rather had I made preparation as if I had to lodge an honourable guest or officer; I lost my linen, bedding, shirts, and so forth, for I did not yet know that the soldiers were robbers, and took everything away with them. The prince of the country, Duke Casimir, was himself obliged to journey to Heldburg; he ordered for the Lauenburger a princely banquet; he presented him with fine horses and eight thousand thalers if he would only take himself away. After this misfortune, the blessing of God made itself miraculously visible everywhere. Owing to the thousands of huts, quarters and fires, which made the fields look like a wilderness, it was thought that the winter seed was lost in the ground. Nevertheless, there grew from these burnt huts and ditches so thick a crop, that in the same year, there was a superfluity of winter food. A miracle! Thus my wedding could take place on the Tuesday after theExaudi, and was celebrated at the Town Hall.

"For five years there was rest in the land till 1632, except that several Imperial corps, consisting of two, three, or more regiments, passed to and fro, who often took up their quarters in the township of Heldburg, and exhausted it. I wanted for nothing at Poppenhausen. I could wish that I was now as well off as I was before the war. As, however, the fury of war at last arrived, the neighbouring bishops began to reform vigorously; sent Jesuits and monks with diplomas into the country, and examined the ecclesiastical benefices and monasteries. The princes had their militia here and there, who now and then pilfered in the neighbouring Papal states, and stirred up the hornets there. Every intelligent person could discover that things would become worse. The noblemen also fled with their pastors, bailiffs, and all belonging to them, to our little towns and villages, hoping for greater security there than in their own places.

"In 1631, at Michaelmas, King Gustavus came from Sweden suddenly through the wood, just as if he had wings. He took Königshofen and many other places, and went on very flourishingly. Our nobles enlisted people for the king, who were as bad as the enemy in pilfering and robbing. They more especially took from the neighbouring Catholics their cows, horses, pigs, and sheep; then was there a great sale; a ducat for one cow, and a thaler for a pig. The Papists often came hither and saw how and who bought their cattle, and frequently redeemed them themselves. They were however so often taken, that they wearied of redeeming them, and it went ill with the poor neighbouring Papists. We all at Poppenhausen preserved for those in the neighbourhood, their bits of property in churches and houses, as far as we could. But when in the year 1632, the tables were turned, and the three Generals, the Friedlander, Tilly, and the Bavarian prince, took possession of Coburg and the country, the neighbouring Papists helped to rob and burn, and we found no faith or safety with them.

"When on the eve of Michaelmas, all the guns were heard from Coburg, as a signal that the enemy was approaching, and every one took care of himself, I went with all those whom I had lodged for some weeks, to Heldburg, where I had previously sent my wife and child. The town was on its guard, but did not imagine what evil would betide it; the burgomaster and some of the councillors ran away, my father-in-law of blessed memory, having the charge of the powder, lead, and linstocks, which he served out to the guard as need required, was obliged to remain in the town. I had a great desire to leave the town with my wife and children, but he would not let me go, and still less his daughter, and bade us remain at home; he had a tolerable purse of thalers with which he intended to make off in case of disaster. But before midday on the feast of St. Michael, fourteen horsemen presented themselves; they were supposed to be Duke Bernhard's people, but it was very far from the case. These they were obliged to admit without thanks for it. They were soon followed by some infantry, who from the beginning searched about everywhere, and knocked down and shot whoever resisted them. In the middle of the market, one of these fourteen struck my father-in-law with a pistol on the head, so that he fell down like an ox. The horseman dismounted, and searched his hosen, and our citizens who were at the Town Hall saw that the thief drew out from thence a large mass of money. When the stupefaction from the blow had passed away, my father-in-law stood up: he was made to go to the Star Inn, where they found somewhat to eat, but nothing to drink; then he said he would go home and bring some drink. Now as they thought he might escape them, they took the platters and food with them, and accompanied him to his house. It was not long before one of them demanded money; and when he excused himself, the scoundrel stabbed him with his own bread-knife in the presence of his wife and mine, so that he sank to the ground. 'God help us!' screamed out my wife and child. I, who was hid in the bath-house, in the straw over the stable, sprang down and ventured amongst them. The wonder was that they did not catch me in the parson's cap. I took my father-in-law, who was reeling about like a drunken man, into the bath-room, that he might be bandaged. I was obliged to look on whilst they took off from your mother[31]her shoes and clothes, and laid hold of you, my son Michael, in their arms; hereupon they quitted the house and the street. I went from the little court of the bath-house to my father-in-law's room; I carried over there pillows and mattresses, whereon we laid him. I had to venture still further. I went into the cellar, wherein his brother, Herr George Böhm, pastor at Lindenau, had placed in three large butts, two tons of good wine. I wished to fetch a refreshing drink for my father-in-law, but the vent peg was so carefully and firmly driven into the butt that although I pulled out the spigot nothing would flow. I was obliged to stay a long time, at great risk, before I could get a spoonful. I had hardly gone over there, before a scoundrel went into the bath-house, threw the invalid off the bed, and searched everywhere. I had crept under the sweating bench, where indeed I got a good sweating, for the day before had been the bath day.

"As there was now a great butchery and shooting down in the town, so that no one was secure, divers citizens came at intervals to have themselves bandaged. Then my father-in-law consented that I should seek for a hiding-place and leave the town, but would not let my wife and children accompany me. So I went to the castle garden, and ascended the height behind the castle, that I might look out towards Holzhausen and Gellershausen, to see if it was safe. Then the citizens and their wives came to me for comfort and to journey with me. Thus I crossed over the Hundshanger lake into the wood, and wished to go up to Strauchhahn. When we came to the common, eight horsemen, who were Croats, rode up the heights. As soon as they saw us they hastily galloped up to us. Two citizens, Kührlein and Brehme, escaped; I had most to endure. They took off my shoes, stockings, and hosen, and left me only my cap. With my hosen I had to give up my purse full of money, which I had hid there three hours before, and thus had preserved from the first pilferers. The danger was so urgent that I did not think of my purse till I saw it for the last time. They demanded first a thousand thalers, then five hundred, and lastly a hundred, for my life. I had to go with them to their quarters, and to run with them a whole hour barefoot. At last they perceived that I was apaporpfaff, which I also confessed; then they began to thrust at me with their sabres without discretion, and I held my hands and arms towards them, and through God's protection only got a few wounds on the wrist.

"Meanwhile they discovered a peasant who had hidden himself in some bushes. It was the rich Kaspar of Gellershausen, so they all rode off to him, and only one remained with me, who was by birth a Swede, and had been made prisoner. This one said to me, 'Priest, priest, run, run, otherwise you must die.' He was a good Swede: I placed confidence in his counsel, and begged of him to feign to ride after me, as if he would fetch me back. Thus it happened that I escaped the Croats. But the rich Kaspar met a miserable death at that place; for as he would not come forth from thence, they hewed off his legs, as I saw, at the knees. Therefore he was obliged to lie in that place, where after their withdrawal he was found. But I ran through a great oak wood for almost an hour, and could see no thick bushes wherein to conceal myself, and fell at last into a pool of water out of which an oak root had grown, and I was so tired of running that I could go no further, and my heart beat so that I knew not whether it was the horses' hoofs that I heard, or my heart.

"Thus I sat till it was night; then I rose up and continued in search of a thick cover, till I came out and could see Seidenstadt. I slipped into the village, and as I heard dogs bark, I hoped to find people at home, but there was no one; I therefore went into a shed, and was desirous of passing the night on the hay. But God granted that the neighbours, who had hid themselves in Strauchhahn, had come together behind this shed, and took counsel where they should reassemble, and where they should go to. This I could distinctly hear. I therefore descended and went to the house. The peasant had just come in, had struck a light, and was standing in the cellar taking the cream off the milk, which he intended to drink. I was standing above the opening, spoke to him and greeted him; he looked up and saw the under part of my body, namely, my shirt and naked legs, and it was dark above. He was much frightened; but when I told him that I was the pastor at Poppenhausen, who had been carried off by the soldiers, he brought the milk up, and I begged him to procure me some clothes of his neighbours, as I wished to accompany them wherever they were going. He went out, and meanwhile I regaled myself on his pot of milk, and entirely emptied it. In my whole life no milk had ever tasted so good. He came back with others, and one of them brought me a pair of old leather hosen, which smelt badly of cart-grease, another a pair of old latchet shoes, and another two woollen stockings, one green and one white. This livery was not suitable either for a traveller or for a pastor; yet I took it with thanks, but could not wear the shoes, for they were frozen too stiff. The soles of the stockings were torn, thus I went to Hildburghausen more barefooted than shod. When we looked around us we saw that many places in Itzgrund were in flames. At that time, Ummerstadt, Rodach, Eisfeld, and Heldburg were burnt to the ground.

"I was, on my arrival, such a spectacle as to create terror and fear at Hildburghausen; no one--though many thousand strangers had come there--felt secure, although the city had a strong guard. My only anxiety was to get a respectable dress, stockings, shoes, &c., before we departed from thence. I went, therefore, barefoot to the burgomaster, Paul Walz, and to the curate, and begged them to give me something to clothe me respectably. Herr Walz gave me an old hat which was almost an ell in height, which disfigured me more than anything else; nevertheless I put it on. Herr Schnetters Eidam, now curate at Römhild, gave me a pair of hosen, which came over my knees, these were still good, Herr Dressel a pair of black stockings, and the sexton a pair of shoes. Thus I was rigged out, so that I could appear without being ashamed before so many thousand strangers, who had sought security in the town; and could show myself amongst the citizens. But the hat disfigured me very much, therefore I sought an opportunity to obtain another. Now it came to pass that the whole ministry, the authorities of the high school and councillors, had agreed, without the knowledge of the citizens generally, that they would have the gates opened at nine o'clock at night, and go away with their wives and children: having learned this, I went to the lodging of the town-clerk, where the gentlemen were all assembled; but no one knew or noticed me. I placed myself alone by a table in the dark; there I discovered that a good respectable hat was hanging on a nail. I thought that if this should remain hanging on the breaking up of the assembly, it would suit me. What matter; all would be ruined after the flight. What I wished and thought came to pass: then there began a wailing and leave-taking on their departure, and I laid my head on the table as if I were asleep. Now when almost every one was gone, I hung the long stork on the wall, made the exchange, and went with the other gentlemen into the street.

"The arrangements for flight now became known to the people. Countless numbers therefore sat with their packages in the streets; horses were put also to many waggons and carts, all prepared to go out of the gate with those who were departing. When we came into the open country we saw that the good people were all dispersed about the streets. There were thousands of lighted torches to be seen, some had lanterns, some burning wisps of straw, others links. In short some thousands came mournfully out. I and my flock came about midnight to Themar, the townspeople there rose up and joined us, so that some hundreds more were added to us. The march proceeded to Schwarzig and Steinbach, and when towards morning we arrived at a village, the people were so terrified that they abandoned their houses and farms and accompanied us. When we had been about an hour at an inn, the news came that the Croats had fallen upon Themar this very morning, had cut up the escort and plundered the carrier's goods; had split the burgomaster's head, robbed the church, and carried the organ pipes off to the market; and it was high time for us to have evacuated it. Hildburghausen had afterwards to ransom itself by a large sum of money and its chalices, otherwise the town would like all the others have been reduced to ashes. During this wandering I got also a present of a pair of gloves, a knife, and a sheath.

"This lasted five or six days, then came the news announcing that the enemy had departed from Coburg. Now I could not remain any longer. I went speedily to Römhild, where lived my honoured godfather Cremer, the town clerk. I had to report to the worthy magistrate what had happened to me. This little town alone remained unplundered. The worthy magistrate had ordered the enemy to be fired upon, and by his foresight God preserved this little town. Meanwhile Römhild became full of refugees, who were partly known and partly unknown. But I did not then care for any society; so I set off for Heldburg, and passing many hundred men, arrived there first, just when the slain were being brought on carts to the burial-ground. When I perceived this I went to the burial-ground, and found seventeen persons lying in one grave, among them were three councillors, one my father-in-law, the precentor, some citizens, a tutor, the country beadle, and town constable. They were all horribly disfigured. After this I went to my mother-in-law's house; I found her so ill and so disfigured from being broken on the wheel, and pinched with pistol screws, that she could hardly speak to me; she made up her mind that she should die. So she desired me to seek my wife and children whom the enemy had carried away with them. The children were you, Michael, a year and a half, and your eldest sister, five years old. I would gladly have eaten something at Heldburg, but there was nothing either to eat or drink. I speeded therefore hungry and terrified to Poppenhausen, not only to refresh myself there, but to procure a messenger who would seek and recover my wife and children. But I learnt there that the Poppenhausen children had also been carried away, and that there were marching columns on many roads, so that the life of a messenger would be in deadly peril. Meanwhile my parishioners dressed a cow for me, which had escaped the soldiers; this I looked for with a hungry stomach. So we had meat enough to eat, but without salt and bread. After my repast I learned by post that my wife was come, and thus it had come to pass. She had been taken with her two children, by some musketeers, to Altenhausen, where, from fear of dishonour, she and her children had sprung over the bridge into the water. From thence she was drawn out by the soldiers, and brought into the village, where she was made to help in the kitchen to prepare the supper. Meanwhile there came another troop of soldiers who were higher in rank and more in number, and drove the others from their quarters. My wife took this opportunity to escape. She wended her way out, and left the two children with the soldiers. A poor beggar-woman led her through secret byways out of the village, and brought her to an old cave in a wood, where she passed that night and remained the next day till evening. On that day the people came forth from all quarters, and thus my wife set out and came safe and unharmed to me, so that we were all joyful and thankful to God.

"How murder and fire meanwhile had gone on at Heldburg, I will also relate. The town of Heldburg had militia and trained bands, and it was ordered that if the enemy came there, the city should be defended. For it was always hoped that Duke Bernhard's people were not far distant, and that the country would be relieved. When therefore the town was fired, my honoured father-in-law, with many citizens and other folks, hastened out of the town, and arrived in the night with my wife and two children to Poppenhausen, and my wife prepared him a good invalid bed. For my parsonage house had been filled with all kinds of furniture left by noblemen and magistrates in their flight; and although pilferers had been there, there was enough still left. The following day a whole troop of horsemen came to the parsonage, examined my belongings, but let them alone because there was one there who was wounded: they ordered supper and went out to plunder, and returned towards evening, bringing all kinds of booty; then it was necessary to boil and roast, and the neighbouring women helped thereto with good will. When the horsemen were about to depart, they advised my father-in-law not to be too confident, as this tumult would last yet eight days, and as the road led past there, he and his daughter might suffer violence, and as the neighbouring villages were Popish, he had better remove to a Protestant one. This my father-in-law did, and went at night in the fog for security to Gleichmuthrusen; but the ungodly neighbours screamed out that the horsemen wished to burn and slay the Lutherans, but they did it for their advantage, as the Papists had gone with the troopers into our villages and houses and stolen as much as others. Then my father-in-law did not like to remain there any longer, he went with his belongings to Einöder wood and remained there day and night. He occasionally went forth to examine the road between Heldburg and Einöder. When therefore one day he saw no one especial on the road, either travelling or riding, and heard the little bell which was wont to be sounded when children were baptized, he thought, such being the case, he might creep nearer the town, and see whether there was any hindrance along the road. As soon as he came to the town his steps were watched. Then a whole body of camp followers came and took him, my mother-in-law, and my wife to the house of Herr Göckel. Ah! there was banqueting and revelling! Being now urged to give money and making various excuses, they singed and smeared his eyes, beard, and mouth with tallow candles, and endeavoured shamelessly to maltreat my wife in the room before every one, but she screamed so that her mother sprang violently into the room and drew her out through the door, which indeed was fastened, but the under panel had been ingeniously covered with list, and was fractured. Then the cook had compassion upon her, and brought her out of the house; and when my wife gave him some ducats, which she had for a whole week concealed in the cuff of her sleeve, he brought to her my father-in-law, who however was horribly disfigured. Thus they left the town more dead than alive, and being too weak to go further, went into the hospital. Not only the poor sick folk were there, but many respectable citizens and women in hopes of finding it a safe asylum. But it was far from being the case. Although my father-in-law was lying on a bed nearly dying, and every one saw that he was bleeding and had been evil treated, yet he was dragged hither and thither, some wicked people having betrayed that he was a rich man. They broke him on the wheel; they brought my wife and children prisoners into the town, where they had to make shirts for the soldiers. As she was sitting in the churchyard, one of them brought her a piece of linen to cut out, he said to one of his comrades: 'Go and make sure that the peasant, meaning my father-in-law, is dead.' He went, and returned again soon, having in his arms my father-in-law's hosen and waistcoat, and said to my wife, 'Your father is done for.' What barbarity! When the pilferers had sufficiently pillaged the church of clothes and linen, they left the town, and would carry my wife with them whether she would or no.

"Not long after they received their reward at Leipzig and Lützen, as may be read in other places. After this every one returned home, and people found each other again; but the sheep and cattle were all gone. I did not preserve more than three calves out of eight, without counting my forty-eight sheep which, with the whole herd, had been lost.

"Duke Johann Casimir died in the year 1633, and was buried, on the same day on which the funeral sermon was preached for Gustavus King of Sweden, in that country. At that time great robbing and plundering went on, amongst others by Duke Bernhard's soldiers, nine regiments of which were stationed at Itzgrund, to enable the princely corpse to be buried in safety.

"In 1634 things became much worse, and one could well perceive that in a short time everything would be topsy-turvy. I therefore removed what I could to the parsonage at Steltzen, my beds, two cows, clothes, &c. But this being in the autumn, after Lamboy had quartered himself with every one and everywhere, my winter quarters cost me more than five hundred gulden in thirty-five weeks, which I had to settle with Captain Krebs. I had eleven persons in my house, not counting camp-followers and maid-servants. It is not to be described what I and my wife had to suffer and endure for a length of time. At last I could no longer feel secure on account of them; I ran away sick and came to Mitwitz and Mupperg, where I had as little rest as at Heldburg. My stepmother especially tormented me (she had been struck by lightning), she would not let me remain in my exile with my old father. I was obliged to go to Neistadt to the rector, M. Val. Hoffmann, now superintendent. But I was not only very poor; but became daily more ailing, therefore I only thought how I could return to Poppenhausen or Heldburg and die there, for I was weary of my life.

"It is miraculous how I passed along the roads and through the villages in the darkness of night, for it was still unsafe everywhere; at last I reached Poppenhausen. There my poor parishioners and schoolmaster were as joyful at sight of me, as if our Lord God had himself appeared among them. But we were all in such great weakness and want, that we looked more dead than alive. Many died of hunger; and we were frequently, each day, obliged to take to our heels and conceal ourselves. And although we hid our lentils, corn, and poor food in the ditches and old coffins, nay, under the skulls of the dead, yet all was taken away from us.

"Then were the survivors obliged to leave house and home, or die of hunger. At Poppenhausen most of the inhabitants were in their graves; there remained only eight or nine souls, who fled from it in the year 1636. The same circumstances occurred at Lindenau, the cure of which was committed to me vicariously in 1636, by the Royal Consistory. I could obtain no income; apples, pears, cabbage, turnips, &c., were my only pay. Thus I was pastor at Lindenau from 1636 to 1641. I had the parsonage arranged, but could not, on account of the insecurity and turmoil, dwell constantly there, and performed the duties from Heldburg. I have still the testimony of the Lindenauers, wherein they acknowledge that I did not in five years get ten gulden in money; but they have since honestly paid me the arrears in wood and apples.

"In the year 1640, between Easter and Whitsuntide, the Imperial and Swedish armies fought a battle at Saalfeld; and Franconia and Thuringia were devastated far and wide. At four o'clock in the morning of the Sunday before Whitsunday, strong bodies of Imperialists fell upon Heldburg, when most of the citizens were still resting in their beds. My whole street, in every direction, was full of the turmoil of horses and riders; just as if some one had taken pains to show them my house. I and my wife were taken prisoners five times in one hour; when I was released from one, I was taken by another. Then I took them into my room and cellar, that they might themselves seek what they required. At last they went off, leaving me alone in the house; yet my terror and anguish were so great that I never thought of my ready money, which I might have saved ten times over, if I had had sufficient confidence to take it with me. But all the houses and streets were full of horsemen; and if I had taken my Mammon with me, it might so have happened that I should have been caught. But in my dismay I thought not of money. Many men and women were convoyed out of the town by an escort of Hasisch horsemen, who had been quartered there. I then returned to my wife and children; we betook ourselves to the nearest wood towards Hellingen; there old and young, ecclesiastics and laymen, remained day and night. Our chief sustenance was black juniper berries. Now certain of the citizens ventured into the town, and brought back with them food and other things that they required. I thought, ah! if thou also couldst go to thy house and get hold of thy small cash in pence, and therewith support thyself and thy children! I ventured it, slipped in, and went through the Spittel Gate to the Mühl Gate, which was closed in with palisades. Within, there were some who caught me by surprise, as a cat does a mouse; they bound me with new cords so that I could neither help myself with hands or feet, and must either give money, or betray rich people to them. The thieves obliged me to toss the fodder for their horses at the Herrnhof, to lead them to drink, and other odd work. Then imagining myself more at liberty, I ran from thence, being unaware that a whole troop of soldiers were standing at the gate of the courtyard, so I ran into their arms. They beat me well with their swords and bandoliers, kept me still more strictly with cords, led me from house to house, that I might tell them to whom this or the other house belonged. Thus I was also led to my own house, there I saw the copper water-can lying on the floor, in which had been placed my ready money, three hundred thalers, and I thought, hadst thou known that the birds and the foxes were in the way, thou wouldst have remained outside. Now because I would not betray any one, they put upon my head my own cap, which was lying on the ground in my house, and gave me a blow on the head with a cutlass, so that the blood ran down to my ears, but no hole was made in the cap, for it was of felt. Still more; the same man wantonly drew the cutlass across my stomach, in order to try whether I was invulnerable; he pressed tolerably hard, yet God willed not that he should draw more blood from me. Twice in one hour, namely, in Schneiderinn, at the farm of the tailor's wife Wittich, on the dung-heap, and in the forest ranger's stable, they gave me the Swedish drink mixed with dung water, whereby my teeth became all loose. I defended myself as well as a prisoner could, when they forced a great stick into my mouth. At last they led me along with cords, and said they would hang me up: they brought me out to the Mühl Gate on the bridge; then one of them took the cord wherewith my feet were bound together, and another the cord on my left arm, and pitched me into the water, holding the cord so that they might draw me up and down. Now whilst I was groping around me in search of a support, I caught hold of a hay-rake, which however gave way with me, and I could find no help thereon; but by God's providence an opening was made for me, so that I slipped under the bridge. Whenever I tried to hold on, they battered me with these said hay-rakes, so that they snapped in two like a school cane. When they were not only weary of their labour, but thought they had done for me, as I should drown in the water, they let go both cords, when I dived under the bridge like a frog, and no one could touch me. Then I searched the pocket of my hosen and found a little knife, such as could be closed, which they had not chosen to take, though they had often searched me; I therefore cut the cord which bound my two feet, and sprang down to the floor of the mill, where lay the wheels. The water covered half my body; then the rogues threw sticks, brickbats, and cudgels at me, in order to put an end to me completely. I was anxious to work my way to the miller's back door, but could not, either because my clothes being saturated with water held me back, or more likely, because God would not permit me to die there. For as a drunken man reels to and fro, thus did I, and came up on the other side at the back of the brewery. When they perceived that I was about to get into the narrow lane, they all ran into the town, collected more companions, and watched at the tan-house to see whether I would come thither. But as I perceived this, and was now left to myself, I remained lying in the water, and placed my head under a thick willow bush, and rested in the water four or five hours, till it was night and the town quiet; then I crept out half dead, and could hardly breathe, on account of the blows I had had. I went down to the tan-house and found that there was as yet no safety, as there was one there cutting grass, and another picking hides out of the tan-pits, and I almost stumbled upon them, so I was obliged to hide there till late in the night; I went then over the conduit, always following the course of the stream, and climbed over a willow stem by which I reached the other side, towards Poppenhausen.

"When I came to the Poppenhausen or Einöder road, it was strewed here and there with linen, which the soldiers had thrown away or lost, but I could not stoop to pick anything up. I came at last to Poppenhausen, and found no one at home but Claus Hön, whose wife was lying-in; he was obliged to cut the clothes from off my body, for I was swollen, and he put aside the wet clothes to be dried. He also lent me a shirt, and then examined my head, which was of all colours from the blows I had received; afterwards my back and arms became quite black and blue. The following day my parishioner bade me go away, for he feared they might lie in wait for me, and that he should get into trouble on my account. So with his assistance I put on my wet clothes, and went quite slowly to Lindenau, always through the densest thicket, and kept on the other side in the Lindenau garden, from which I could see the village. At last I discovered some people going into a house; I went thither, but they would not admit me, for they were too much afraid, but finally, when they saw through the window that it was I, their pastor, who had come, they admitted me, and I remained with them some days; for there was quartered there one who was a Lindenauer, which helped a little. But I met with a new misfortune. When those who were quartered here went to the castle of Einöd with the Lindenauers, to fetch away what could yet be found of their goods, the magistrate, the smith, and I were keeping guard the while on the tower; as we were all three performing this duty, certain horsemen came into the village, they saw us on the tower, went straight up to it, and found us there together. As they ascended the stairs we discovered from their blustering and talking that they were troopers, so, in bad plight as I was, I endeavoured, alas! to climb. I clambered up into the belfry and curled myself like a cat behind the clock; but one of the thieves climbed up at the same time and found me. My parishioners said I was their schoolmaster, and entreated for me, as I had already been badly beaten by the soldiers. It was however of no avail. They insisted on this schoolmaster descending. The magistrate went first, after him a trooper, the smith followed, then another trooper, and lastly I followed, lingering. Now when they all came out through the door of the church, I remained within, bolted the little door, and ran out of the other, and crept into a turnip pit. God help me! How woeful it was for me to be obliged to stoop and lie on all-fours for a whole hour! Thus I was saved, but my dear fellow-watchers were taken to a mill and obliged to fill the flour sacks.

"On the Friday before Whitsuntide I came with many citizens to Coburg. A thief had carried off my shoes, and left me a pair of old bad ones instead; I had nothing else to wear for almost a week, and both soles had fallen out, and when it became necessary to take to one's heels, the shoes turned round hindforemost, so that often I could not help laughing outright. Thus I came to Coburg. The news of my torments had reached Coburg some days before, together with the report that I had been killed; when therefore I came myself, the citizens and my old acquaintance were much astonished. Dr. Kesler, general superintendent,item, consul Körner, invited me several times during the Whitsuntide festival, and for a whole month the Coburgers showed great kindness to me, my wife, and children, which I lauded in print on St. John's day.

"Ah, how great was the grief and misery to be seen and heard in all the surrounding small towns at that time! the inhabitants of Eisfeldt, Heldburg, and Neustadt, together with the villagers, had to make shift miserably in the town. Asking and begging was no shame. Yet I did not wish to burden too much my good host, Herr Hoffman the apothecary. I went out into the wide world with the pastor of Walburg, Eisentraut, for three weeks,victum quærendi gratia, to Culmbach, Bayreuth, Hirschheid, Altorf, and Nuremberg, and again back to Coburg. I then found that my wife had returned to Poppenhausen, accompanied again by the Hasische trooper, but there was nothing to eat or reap there. What God had provided me with on my journey, I was obliged to carry to the town hall and give to the soldiers, and the children were well-nigh dying of hunger. They had not been able to buy bran enough for bread. My superintendent, Herr Grams, died from the effects of the Swedish drink, at the castle four or five weeks after this turbulent time.

"Now as exactions and extortions still continued, I could get no stipend, and yet had to assist in the superintendence of the parish of Heldburg, as well as my own, I wentcum testimonio et consilioof Dr. Kesler, and also with letters of recommendation to Duke Albert, to Eisenach, and represented my poverty in divers ways to the Consistory. I got a presentment and other recommendations to their Princely Highnesses, the two brothers, that I might obtain advancement in their dominions. So I went from Eisenach to Gotha, just as our honoured prince and lord, Duke Ernest, fixed his residence at the Kaufhaus: for I was present when they paid him homage at Gotha. The royal Consistory soon offered to me the parish of Notleben; but as the Notlebers were at strife with their old pastor, and there was to be a month's delay to carry on their contest, Dr. Glass persuaded me in the interim to go with my recommendation to Weimar, and to collect somewhat for my poor family. My wanderings, however, lasted till the year 1641. I returned on Tuesday the 18th of January to Gotha, and found the cure of that parish still vacant for me, which I undertook with the greatest humility and thankfulness, and preached my first sermon on the parable of the vineyard, from the 20th of Matthew. But I not only lived in great insecurity at Notleben, as one had daily to think of flight, but had also many disputes with the peasantry, who in church and school affairs had always a hankering after Erfurt, and to whom all royal ordinances with respect to the catechism were odious. I, the pastor, had to bear this from the council and peasants, and as all the stipend was paid in kind, and I was neither a tutor, nor had any other means whereby I could get on well, I humbly sought for a change of cure. When, therefore, our honoured lord, after the division of property, obtained the parish of Erock and the village of Heubach, he offered to me to become pastor there, which I had expected more than a year before. Thus in 1647, I in all humility accepted this removal, and preached my trial sermon on Judica Sunday, in the presence of the parishioners and commissaries. I received the call on the following day, and thus under God's providence brought hither my wife and child. This was my fourth piece of church preferment, where for my own part I desire, God willing, to live and die; but my wife wishes herself away, in a better place in the plains, on account of the difficulty of getting servants. I leave it in the hands of God and my superiors."

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