Mary Schweidler, the amber witch: The most interesting trial for witchcraft ever known, printed from an imperfect manuscript by her father, Abraham Schweidler, the pastor of Coserow in the island of Usedom / edited by W. Meinhold ; translated from the German by Lady Duff Gordon.Meinhold, Wilhelm
General
Mary Schweidler, the amber witch: The most interesting trial for witchcraft ever known, printed from an imperfect manuscript by her father, Abraham Schweidler, the pastor of Coserow in the island of Usedom / edited by W. Meinhold ; translated from the German by Lady Duff Gordon.
Meinhold, Wilhelm
Witchcraft -- Pomerania (Poland and Germany)
After I had with some trouble rid myself of this impudent fox, I tried to
eat a bit, but nothing would go down save the beer. I therefore soon sat
and thought again whether I would not lodge with Conrad Seep, so as to be
always near my child; _item_, whether I should not hand over my poor
misguided flock to M. Vigelius, the pastor of Benz, for such time as the
Lord still should prove me. In about an hour I saw through the window how
that an empty coach drove to the castle, and the Sheriff and _Dom. Consul_
straightway stepped thereinto with my child; _item_, the constable climbed
up behind. Hereupon I left everything on the table and ran to the coach,
asking humbly whither they were about to take my poor child; and when I
heard they were going to the Streckelberg to look after the amber, I
begged them to take me also, and to suffer me to sit by my child, for who
could tell how much longer I might yet sit by her! This was granted to me,
and on the way the Sheriff ordered me to take up my abode in the castle
and to dine at his table as often as I pleased, and that he would,
moreover, send my child her meat from his own table. For that he had a
Christian heart, and well knew that we were to forgive our enemies. But I
refused his kindness with humble thanks, as my child did also, seeing we
were not yet so poor that we could not maintain ourselves. As we passed by
the watermill the ungodly varlet there again thrust his head out of a hole
and pulled wry faces at my child; but, dear reader, he got something to
remember it by; for the Sheriff beckoned to the constable to fetch the
fellow out, and after he had reproached him with the tricks he had twice
played my child, the constable had to take the coachman his new whip and
to give him fifty lashes, which, God knows, were not laid on with a
feather. He bellowed like a bull, which, however, no one heard for the
noise of the mill-wheels, and when at last he did as though he could not
stir, we left him lying on the ground and went on our way.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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