CHAPTER III.

THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR.--THE VILLAGES AND THEIR PASTORS.

Oft have the soldier's sword

And 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 pour

A 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 land

At Notleben, I dwelt,

Till I God's blessing felt,

And to Heubach's parsonage pass'd

Where kind Heaven sent peace at last.

God's servant, here have I

The church kept orderly,

Have preach'd the word therein,

The bad expell'd, of sin

Absolv'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 dwell _ex mandato_ in 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 the _Kipper_ time;[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

the _Exaudi_, 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 a _pap_ or _pfaff_, 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 went _cum testimonio et consilio_ of 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."

Thus far extends what is preserved of Bötzinger's biography. He finally

found rest at Heubach, and administered his office there for

six-and-twenty years. He died in 1673, at the age of seventy-four, after

having led for forty-seven years a life which cannot be designated as

peaceful. Heubach was a new parish which had been formed at Gotha by

Duke Ernest the Good, and Bötzinger was the first pastor. He was obliged

to dwell in the royal shooting lodge, which had been built by Duke

Casimir in the forest, for grouse shooting. In the neighbouring

forester's house lived an insolent forester; the country was in a wild

state, little inhabited, and the people, corrupted by the war, led a

lawless forest life. It appears that the new pastor was not particularly

welcome to these denizens of the woods, the forester especially was his

vehement opponent, and the pastor secretly complained, in Latin

distiches which he inscribed in the church records, to his successor, of

the bitter sufferings which this servant of the woods occasioned him. He

in a brotherly way warned his successor against the wickedness of the

man and his bad wife. But in spite of this contention, it may be

concluded that this long-tormented sufferer was not altogether unhappy,

and a harmless self-contemplation is to be perceived in his Latin

verses. When at last he died, laudatory poems by some of his noted

clerical brothers were written, as was then the custom; some of them are

extant both in Latin and German. Even Herr Andreas Bachmann, the court

preacher at Gotha, a distinguished man, yielded a tribute of respect to

his "Dear old, now deceased clerical brother;" it begins with the

following verses, which will conclude this chapter:--

Martin Bötzinger, God's servant, faithful and true,

Upright as Job--was long time pastor I ween;

A much tormented man with crosses not a few,

As will, in the record of his life, be seen.