Journal Jamboree: Multiple Perspectives of a 1628 Witch Trial in Bamberg

[In 1628, under the ever-threatening loom of the Thirty Years’ War, the bishopric of Bamberg is panicked. Inflation runs rampant across the empire, and the debt of the bishopric has climbed to astronomical heights. Simultaneously, Bamberg encounters a significant loss of its crops. The Bishop of Bamberg, Friedrich Förner, writes down another overbearing reason to explain Bamberg’s current crisis. The ongoing presence of witches in the bishopric.]

 

June 27th, 1628, Friedrich Förner

The situation in Bamberg is dire. We are making consistent improvements, but the underlying rot remains. Witches have become bolder in their devastation of the city and the countryside. In the last few years, the territory has grown more perilous and more devilish servants indeed wait in shadowed corners. Under the Prince-Bishop Johan Georg’s guidance, we have done well to root out followers of the Devil in Bamberg, but the wave of evil crashes down ever harder. Prince Bishop Johan Georg has approved this most recent hunt. He has been clear that The bishopric must resolve this witch problem. The presence of these sacrilegious minions is undermining our state, and it cannot continue any longer. Bamberg is at risk, and the revitalization of the true faith is in peril. On the one hand, the bishopric has progressed further than other areas when dealing with the Protestant heresy.

On the other hand, we have the servants of the Devil eating away at the minds, bodies, and souls of many citizens. The witches destroyed crops by controlling the weather. A bitter frost wreaked havoc in the dawn of summer. They poison the innocent, assault resulting in injury, use the occult to injure, and harm several valuable animals. As ordained by God, our mission is to eradicate all witches. It is the most grievous of all sins to be enticed by the Devil and become a witch. They pose the greatest danger to the commonwealth, so it is our jobs as the authorities to act upon them without a sliver of pity or restraint. Exodus 22:18 Though shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Among other horrific displays of maleficia, their evil deeds mock Christ’s sacrifice, and they rehearse unholy baptisms. Witches are undermining the very foundation of our society. How will Bamberg’s people survive if the witches keep freezing the grain and wine crops? They are lost to us, and we are desperate for resources already. The war has battered us incredibly. The witches even attempt to falsely implicate members of the most pious affinity, including myself and the Prince-Bishop. The wounds they inflict on the citizenry gape afresh, and any explanation I give can do no justice to it. In the bishopric, people of high and low, of every single rank, clerics, and both sexes are so strongly accused that they may be arrested at any hour. Perhaps Bamberg’s success in ridding the Ultimate heresy from its borders has attracted the witches in mass. The Devil can only gain true apostates from the true faith. The presence of witches is an infallible sign that the true and saving faith is found in Bamberg. Despite our piety, the Devil perfumes a scarlet rot that ensnares many, including members of the upper echelon of Bamberg.

Those I thought listened to my sermons in earnest instead connived and lied right to my face. I spoke of good and evil, but little did I know that evil sat listening to my sermons. The Prince-Bishop’s chancellor Dr. Georg Haan has confessed, and soon, I believe the burgomaster of Bamberg, Johannes Junius, will confess. He has been relieved of his duties and has been arrested. They keep him on the word of Haan and others who witnessed him as an attendee to their sabbath ritual in the city council chamber. He was also implicated in other circumstances, so I believe that the interrogators will come to a fair and concise decision. His confession will come in due time. Hundreds of witches have been executed under the watchful eyes of justice, so I have no reason to assume they will escape punishment this time around.

 

[Across the way, another quill dashed across the page that day. For it was the offspring of a conjurer who lamented that he was arrested. Being the daughter of a pair of witches is a fate most unfortunate. Veronica Junius decided to write in her journal, expressing her doubts and relating her sadness.]

 

June 27th, 1628, Veronica Junius Entry #1

I am writing this day because my father was taken away from us. He has been cut off from the rest of society, and I do not doubt that he is being treated in a manner unbefitting of his status. The Hexenhaus is cut off from the rest of the surrounding buildings by a low wall, so I have no means of speaking with my father or giving him something to eat. Despite everything that has occurred, I cannot remove myself from the initial shock. The paranoia across the city looms overhead like a thick miasma, and it has broken into our home again. My father has always been a pious man, and he has been devoted to his position of authority. The people around town act like an accusation of witchcraft is the same as getting the plague, and I suppose it is not much different. The bishop has told us repeatedly that witches abused all seven sacraments and that they are consistently attempting to erode our society as we know it. However, I find myself in a state of lingering doubt. The authorities have our best interests at heart, and witches are an evil force for the Devil to undermine God, but I still have immense trouble placing my father as one of those evil minions.

Aside from his piety and ranking in the community, he does not resemble any witch I recognize. Some folks in the market speak of how Carinthian witches are vagrants who threaten people with magic. Others speak of how in Holstein, the witches are herdsmen who magically heal their animals and can change the weather as it suits them. He is not aggressive, perverted, nocturnal, nor does he possess any other characteristic of a witch. An impasse has smacked me right at my core. I cannot see my father as a witch, but I cannot rule out that he might have lied to all of us and worked with the Devil in secret. My father is an older man, so I can only wonder what seductions the Devil might have used to entice him.

Now he seems to be along the path to sharing the same fate as my mother. It was only several nights ago that she was burned at the stake, and my mind has not entirely accepted the reality of the situation. My sadness has not withered, and now a massive heap of anxiety and additional sadness has overtaken me. I suppose that out of the many witches that lurk within communities across the empire, there was bound to be one connected to my family somehow, but having my parents share the same sentence is a cruel circumstance. I hope this is just a grave misunderstanding that the authorities will resolve so my father can get back to his duties as burgomaster but remain wholly confused and worried.

 

[After a sweat and tear-filled night, the trial of the burgomaster began. His daughter was franticly waiting, and the bishop was pacing incessantly. They both awaited what came next, the confirmation or denial of Johannes Junius’ witchcraft. Veronica could see that her father would likely not survive the ordeal, but she nevertheless persisted in her hope.]

 

June 28th, 1628, Johannes Junius Entry #1

Today I have decided to write my thoughts and feelings concerning the debacle I find myself in. It was the first day that anyone so much as gave me a word since I had been residing within my cell. The cells looked so different now that I was the one destined to be placed in them. No one came to visit me, and apart from Veronica, no one seemed to care I was in this cell. I could feel the isolation and coldness already creeping into my body. Earlier this morning, I was subjected to confrontations. Dr. Georg Hann and Hopffens Elsse saw to it to accuse me of things wholeheartedly untrue. They had a particular look in their eye that stumped me. These two people, both of whom know me familiarly, looked upon me with a glaring eye that would only befit a creature undeserving of their recognition as an individual.

My cries of innocence did not affect them or the foreign doctors presiding over the confrontation. I told them repeatedly that I was no witch, and the interrogators had not appropriately vetted these witnesses they brought against me. Again, they refused to listen. I was frustrated beyond belief. To think that an innocent man with remarkably flawed evidence against him would be subject to these injustices. It was utterly ridiculous. The foreign doctors waited until the room became silent. They asserted that I would confess voluntarily or be subject to the executioner’s will to find out the truth. I thought I would answer them in the language that they are accustomed to from presiding over numerous trials of witches. I told them with a forceful tone that I have never renounced God, and I never plan to do so. As a result, I was sent back to my cell at the request of the interrogators. They allowed me some time for thought.

I have been using this time to remember how long these witch hunts have gone on in Bamberg. I remember the first trials happening when I was a boy, but more could have happened before I came from Niederwaysich. I could not remember who was first executed as a witch; they are just another faceless body among the many others who wander in my mind. At the least, more than a hundred people have been in the same place I am now. I remember some of them, but only the recent ones—my wife’s trial was the most horrible. I remember every detail, and it replays in my mind. I sat in my field that day, only coming into my home every so often to check on Veronica. It was not even that long ago… I cannot help but ponder that almost everyone is a suspect in these witch investigations. Even those who help place others at the stake will find themselves suspects in the future, if not at the same time. Innocents seem to be condemned for crimes they have never committed. I fear that my constant state of anxiety will only worsen as the days grow longer in this tiny cell. For now, I will quiet my mind of these things and hope to get a good night’s rest.

 

[The next day, Junius was subjected to a bout of torture that would have tested any man. For days on end, he struggled to hold the weight of his limbs. Dried sweat, blood, and tears covered the former burgomaster’s body. Finally, after many hours of unadulterated agony, he regains the strength to write another entry in his journal.] 

July 20th, 1628, Johannes Junius Entry #2

I am tired today, but I must record what happened more than a fortnight ago. The foreign doctors again began to extort me to confess my sinful nature and confirm what the witnesses told them. I responded that I would rather endure what I had to. The executioner came in and put the thumbscrews on me. My hands were bound together so hard that my sanguine essence began pouring out from every crack, crevice, and shadow within my fingers. It is for this reason that my entries have been delayed until now. My hope to write regularly was dashed, I could not use my hands for a few weeks following the events that day, and it was not the end of my torture. With my chest on high, I shouted out that I never have denied God or been baptized by malicious means.

I tried my hardest to hide my pain from the executioner, but I now think this was to my disadvantage. I had forgotten that witches are protected from pain by the Devil, so my efforts to preserve my status as a pious man were all for naught. The executioner brought me into the leg-screws. I felt like a thousand pins and needles were stabbing into my shins. I have never felt more tremendous pain in my legs, and I had honestly thought that I would be lame following the implementation of this torture. I endured once again to prove that I would confess absolutely nothing and knew nothing about the ordeal. I thought they might introduce me to their following instrument of agony, but they took a turn that I did not expect. They ripped all the little rags off my body and proceeded to examine me naked. Apart from the sores and blood found on my legs and fingers, they seemed to have found something on my right side. My worn-out and battered limbs prevent me from looking for it myself right now.

The executioner then proceeded to the worst bout of torture. I was not familiar with this contraption as I was with the others. He bound my hands behind me and drew me up in the device. I thought that my life was at an end. I honestly thought that heaven and earth came crashing down. They hoisted me into the air and dropped me. Again, and again, and again. I know that it was eight times that they subjected me to that torture on that day. I cannot remove it from my mind even to this day. Surprisingly, I still had the slightest modicum of strength to muster a few choice words to the executioner and the foreign doctors watching over my naked torture. I asked that God forgive them for attacking an innocent man in this fashion. One of them told me that I was a rascal, and I responded accordingly. I repeated what I had been stating this entire time; I am an honest man just as they are; however, so long as things proceed in this fashion, no honest man in all of Bamberg will be safe, them no more than I or anyone else.

The rascal was not me; instead, it was the ones who bore false witness against me in my time of need. My fifty-five-year-old body could not bear to dress itself following my rounds of torture, and I was thus taken back to jail in my natural form. On the long walk back to my cell, the executioner, who had been mainly silent to this point in the day, spoke to me and gave me advice. He begged me profusely to confess something, for God’s sake and my own. Whether it was true or not, I needed to invent something. He assured me that I would not be able to bear the future torture, and in the small event that I did, the foreign doctors would not let me escape. Once we arrived back at my cell, he told me in earnest that not even if I was a count would I escape the shared fate of all witches. Before he left, I weakly asked him if he could assist me somehow, to help me. He did not reply but gave me a look that suggested he would think about it. The day ended, and I slowly found a way to put myself to sleep despite the immense pains across my body. My hands are becoming unbearable again, so I will continue writing again tomorrow.

 

[Why would the executioner show him any kindness? His actions would have likely been beyond the pale if he were caught. Torturing an older man senseless while he cries of innocence cannot be done without some hesitation, but the executioner was out for himself. His hint of kindness was likely fashioned so that a battered man would not be killed by his hand. Junius sleeps another painful night and awakes with conviction to write another entry of the past.]

 

July 21st, 1628, Johannes Junius Entry #3

In the days leading up to my confession, I had severe doubts. How was I to know what to say or what might satisfy these ruthless hunters who hoisted me to the heavens and back down again eight times? Since I showed some interest in confessing, my interrogators gave me more of a break than usual and left it to the executioner to extract my willingness to confess. Right away, I asked him what I had to do. He did not say much. He muttered his suggestion, which stayed within my mind until the day of my confession came. He said to answer their questions; the questions would guide me along the way. It appeared he had made up his mind regarding my request. He had helped me, even if it was in a relatively minor way. I still appreciated it. However, it was slightly odd. The man who had brutally subjected my body to cold steel and rope pains had helped me. I thought that this kind of man would have no fellow human feeling for an accused witch.

In my head, I tried my hardest to think of stories of witches that I had heard around the city. What enticed these witches? I concluded that of the few trials I recalled, many stated that the witches were seduced in some way. I knew what I had been accused of, and I only had to confirm these falsehoods. I had to repeat what Hopffens Elsse and Dr. Georg Haan said, and I could avoid torment. I told the executioner he should inform the interrogators immediately of my willingness to confess. The executioner replied. He told me to get some rest, it was late, and I needed my strength to confess to them tomorrow. Once again, I had time to contemplate. This was fantastic for my aching body but disastrous for my mental state. The silence of the night led me to think of things I would have never otherwise placed into my mind.

I thought of the witch trials that I remembered and that many others would surely recognize. Alas, I could not think of one example in earnest. I could only remember the countless days when smoke and burnt flesh’s stink wafted through the air. One day after another, and I could only think that this was natural at the time. Other worries of Bamberg’s debt, the massive inflation in the bishopric, and the war were so firmly seated in my mind that I paid little attention to the activities of witches. I wish now that I might have looked at the issue closer so that the realization that innocent people were taking the place of real witches would have struck me sooner. It seems wishful thinking to assume I could have done something, perhaps this problem is spread across the empire, and everyone does not give it a second glance.

This line of thinking brought back painful memories. I feared for my daughter’s safety. If she does not leave Bamberg soon, the foreign doctors will undoubtedly cast their stone eyes upon her. First, my wife, and now me. How did it all end up like this? The people in the countryside and city got frightened, and the Bishop only enflamed their fears to an extreme. I still have no doubts that witches exist on God’s earth, but I now have looming doubts that the authorities seek them through the correct methods. Then again, the Devil must be persistent in his pursuit to undermine God. My hands are aching again, so I will leave more for tomorrow. Hopefully, I can get some rest tonight.

 

 [Junius turns in his sleep once again. The jotting down of his fear for his daughter awakened old nightmares. The nightmares of what had happened to his wife and how the scenario might be re-enacted with his daughter filled his mind. He lay awake for many minutes this night, which allowed his mind to run further and further with all the horrible possibilities. Eventually, his weakened body weighed him down enough to the point where he could enter a deep, dreamless slumber. He is awakened only a few hours later and takes the rest of the day to recount his confession.]

 

July 22nd, 1628, Johannes Junius Entry #4

Today, my entry is the hardest to write, and I have struggled to find the right words to say. The next day, I presented my fiction to the foreign doctors. I made this statement only to escape the worst and most brutal tortures; I could not endure any more than I was already put through. The following summarizes my fiction. In 1624 or 1625, I had a commission from Rottweil. I had to give Lukas Schlee zu Rottweil 600 gulden for the commission, and I had to address many honest people who had been of assistance to me. This litigation was expensive, and I soon found myself in a depressed state. Ironically, this truth is what fuels my story. In my field near Friedrichsbrunnen, a wild young girl came up to me and asked why I looked so sad. When I took the opportunity to answer, she suddenly grabbed me by my throat. The spirit threatened to kill me unless I did what it asked.  I complied; I denied God and the heavenly host. I was then baptized in the name of the evil spirit. I called her Vixen.

I thought that I was done, but the interrogators sat in silence, their eyes invisible from my views on low. I could only see a black shadow covering the top of their visage. They sent the executioner towards me. One of them said in the most chilling of tones, “Where had you gone dancing?” I was instantly filled with anxiety; no thoughts came immediately to my head.

Nevertheless, I persisted. I remembered that chancellor Haan and Hopffens Elsse named the council chambers and Hauptsmoor forest; thus, so did I. The foreign doctors then questioned me about who else was there. I said that I had not recognized them. I did not want to name any other to set them in the same hell I was in, but that all changed when one of the foreign doctors threatened to set the executioner on me again. I had never felt a feeling like I had at that moment. All the images of what happened before re-entered my mind, and my body reacted accordingly.

A cold sweat adorned my spine while my hands continued shaking violently, but the pain in my head was the worst. I felt lightning coursing through my mind, and needles were being poked into my skull. I answered their questions. First was the chancellor, and then I said I recognized no one else. One suggested that I walk into the market and find some people to name there, and then the interrogators walked me throughout Bamberg. From the market to the Lange Gasse, to the Upper Bridge, out of George Gate on both sides, and then they made me look at the castle. By the end, I had named close to ten people. All forced out of my mouth by these rotten men.

They asked me to name the evil things I had done, but I would not do it. An innocent man would never harm anyone, let alone go against God; however, I just refused to say anything. They threatened to hoist me up again, so I sprang up immediately to say I had killed a horse. This interjection did not help. In desperation, I said that I took a host and buried it. They left me in peace after that. My initial admission had not been enough, and they were never satisfied until they got the answers they were seeking. Now that this happened to me, I understand my accusers. I could not blame them; I had done the same thing. They had admitted to me earlier in the month they had been forced to confess against me. If only I might have resisted and put an end to this cycle of torture and death. At a particular moment during that day’s event, I thought that if I told these men what they wanted, they might let me go. The reality sunk in shortly after. I have lived as an innocent man, and I was going to die an innocent man.

 

[Finally, Junius’ entries caught up to the current day. He was not well. His body never fully recovered from the torture. Again, his mind drifted to worry about his daughter. In the middle of one of his sleepless episodes, he decided that he might try to warn his daughter. He quickly jotted down ideas on the following leaflet of his journal before retiring back to his makeshift bed.]

 

July 24th, 1628, Johannes Junius Entry #5

Hire someone to deliver a message

Write a letter and smuggle it out to her

Ask the interrogators to allow me to see her

My hands are already tired today. I have written a letter for my daughter Veronica so that she understands I am innocent. She must know that I will die a martyr and not as an evil servant of the Devil. I also need her to leave. I have prodded her in the letter to go so that the authorities may not destroy our kin entirely. I told her of what has unfolded in my time here, and I think that will convince her to leave; if not, she is intelligent enough to understand what will happen to her if she stays. Thus, in the musky warmth of a summer’s afternoon, I sit here again, in a perfect position to contemplate by myself. It has become comforting at this point; any reprieve is pleasant. My injuries have not healed adequately, and I fear my body will never be the same, not that it will matter for much longer.

How many witches are there? If innocence is thrown to the side considering terrible evidence, I suppose every person could be a witch. To say that every corner of the empire is the same as Bamberg might be foolish. Perhaps if I was tried in Holstein, I might have stood a chance; the only man-witches in Holstein are herdsmen. Ah, but it is all trivial at this point; soon, I will make my final walk. For me, the sands of time run low.

 

[For the first time in months, Junius slept through the night. Not once was he interrupted. For the coming days, this would be the new normal. Every other night or so, he would have a bad dream and lie awake for a while, but he always returned to sleep. His days were monotonous. He was no longer subject to anyone’s attention. So, he sat, listening to the wind, and counting the straw in his cell. The reoccurring thoughts of horror popped into his head now and again, and he would struggle immensely. However, he had learned to calm himself down, so his remaining hours might be ones of peaceful monotony.]

 

August 6th, 1628, Johannes Junius Final Entry

Later this morning, the executioner will take me before the foreign doctors and the greater court to confirm my falsehoods. My trembling hands grow weaker still, and I do not think I will be able to write again. The letter I sent through one of the guards must have reached Veronica by this point, and I hope she takes it to heart, but that is all I have, hope. Now that I sense my encroaching doom, I feel more guilty each passing hour. Condemning the innocent goes against everything I have learned, and it pains me in my soul. Confirming my fiction will seal my fate and the others I named.

The day I die, it will be a festival; there will be a large feast of eating and drinking just to see an old man burned. Maybe they will give me an honourable death before they burn me. I guess I will not know until the violent surprise reveals itself. I am somewhat relieved at this point. I am thirsty and hungry, and the pains from my torture grow ever more painful with each passing minute. Perhaps I am selfish for welcoming death’s cold embrace, but my mind only wanders to think of God’s warm embrace at the golden gate. I am a martyr, and thus I will die in readiness for judgement.

 

[There remained no other leaflets adorned with Junius’ handwriting. This was to be his final entry. However, he was given the last chance to speak with a priest before meeting his end, and the priest, Friedrich Spee, recorded their interaction.] 

 

August 7th, 1628, Friedrich Spee

I have heard many confessions in my time here in Bamberg, and the one I heard today was no different. A man named Johannes spoke to me this morning to confess his sins. He was relatively silent in the beginning. He mumbled his confessions to me, and I often had to ask him to repeat them. I could not hear a word he said. Over time, he became more comfortable and began to speak with me. He told me his confession. A paramour had seduced him and subsequently threatened his life. Johannes’ neck would have been broken had he been uncompliant with the transformed grass-maid. His utterance of God’s name made the spirit vanish, but it returned in force. Junius was berated repeatedly to renounce God and all the heavenly hosts. He obliged and recognized the Devil as his God.

After this renunciation, he was persuaded to be otherwise baptized in the evil spirit’s name. His unholy baptism made Johannes become Krix and his unholiness was celebrated by all those present. Johannes knew several people who attended the baptism, and he named them all in sequence. Christiana Morhauptin, the young Geiserlin, and Paul Glaser. He was returned to his home. However, he continued to go to the witch-sabbath on the back of a black dog. He had seen the Devil himself at one of these gatherings. The paramour who had seduced him ordered him to kill his child, but he refused; instead, he opted to kill a brown horse. At one point, this paramour had convinced Johannes to take the holy wafer out of his mouth and give it to her. Johannes stopped speaking. He broke down into tears. Given my experience, this was not uncommon, but Johannes began speaking anew. He asked me whether condemning innocent people was a worse sin than colluding with Beelzebub.

I did not answer. I knew he would continue speaking. Johannes could not stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. He cried out to ask God for forgiveness. Johannes prayed that his daughter would remain unharmed and asked God to protect her. He asked God to forgive him for putting innocent in the horrible position he knew all too well. Following this display, Johannes asked me not to tell anyone of his outburst so that he may maintain some amount of dignity. As he covered his face and went silent, I could see the bruising and dried blood that littered his skin and instantly understood. Many others have been put through the same situation, Johannes’ innocence would never be known. Innocence has been tossed aside in the empire in favour of jettisoning an evil. A great injustice in a place where justice should reign supreme. Should innocence not be held up as much as possible, especially when someone is accused of such serious crimes? It is utterly confusing and infuriating.

 

[The convicted witch, Johannes Junius, now had no more words. His confessor had coaxed out the last remaining meaning behind his thoughts. The executioner would lead another witch to the flame for the bishopric, and not many people gave it another thought. However, Veronica was devastated. Tears ran down her face as she paced around in her home.]

 

August 7th, 1628, Veronica Junius Final Entry

I heard rumours of my father’s guilty verdict, and I am beyond saddened. I have no more connection to this horrible place. My mother and father, both of whom were upstanding citizens, were killed like they were common thieves. I had hoped that a man of his status might withstand the trial, but he was no more innocent in the eyes of the court than any other witch that has come before them. I have tried to gather my belongings so that I may leave posthaste. Every trial ends the same way; whoever is related to the one tied to the stake goes to the stake themselves. My mother was tried, then my father, and now I should become the next accused of witchcraft. Anyone related to a witch seems to share a downward spiral to the same savage fate, and I am sure that more will come after my father. I genuinely believe that no one is safe anymore. My father was an important man, and they threw him in a cell. I have resolved my previous confusion, and I now wholeheartedly believe that my mother and father must have been innocent. I have always known him to be an upstanding man and have an infallible character, so I cannot help but think he is innocent. I cannot even consider that my parents were truly evil. That would almost hurt even more.

I will not suffer the same fate as the others; I will leave in time to continue with my life. The thought of my father’s innocence pains me greatly, and I found his confession confusing. The only way my father would have admitted to these kinds of sacrilegious acts is if he had been forced, which I will continue to believe, for his sake. The same goes for my mother. I only wish that I might have seen them one last time or heard their voices. I want to ask my father about the weather or hear one of my mother’s childhood stories, but that will never happen again. Why was it our family? Now I must sever my connection with these people I hold in high regard so I might live my life in peace. I am now separated from any mentions of a witch.

 

[A day later, Veronica’s father would meet his end. In the eyes of many, he was just another burned witch. The last semblance of family was now gone to her; her mother and father reunited in flames.]

 

 

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