priest, of Kuttenberg
“I am charged with the spiritual care of a rather unruly flock here in Kuttenberg. It is taxing.”
Things Father Vincent had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of Whitsun, at Vespers
I merely asked John to carry word to Budweis to tell my ailing father Bartholomew that I am well. The man refused a priest's blessing as payment. Such worldly greed in a hired hand is a profound sorrow to behold.
Nota scribaeDictated in the street. The priest spoke very loudly when the hired hand walked past.
the third day of Easter week, at None
The roads to Kolin are treacherous, yet I must travel there to offer spiritual comfort to the widow Juliana. Pastoral care demands great sacrifice, even if some in my own house question my righteous errands.
Pastoral care that smells of rosewater and costs good silver. The roof here still leaks.
the Thursday before Palm Sunday, at Terce
A pious gift to the Lord is a settled matter. To ask for the coin back is practically a mortal sin, especially when the church has sheltered the giver for five winters out of pure Christian charity.
It was a loan for two draught horses, not a gift. Two hundred and thirty groschen, Father.
I will pray for your troubled soul, Constance. Greed clouds the mind terribly.
Nota scribaeThe serving woman washing the floor loudly dropped her bucket during the dictation.
the feast of Saint Gregory, at Prime
I sat with Father Dominic and Father Adam this evening, mourning the tight-fisted nature of the faithful. The tithes would barely feed a mouse. We must all bear our crosses, but mine feels particularly heavy.
Amen to that, Brother Vincent. They expect salvation but bring only copper pennies to the plate.
Candlemas, at Sext
I dreamed again of the year fourteen hundred when foragers stole our two draught horses in the night. The Lord provided a way to buy new beasts, praise be, though the memory of that ruin still haunts my sleep.
Aye, the war takes what it wants. We lost our best cow to soldiers that same bitter winter.
Nota scribaeDictated after the midday meal. He wiped a tear from his eye.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
A blessing does not buy bread on the road, Father. Give me groschen or walk there yourself.