weaver of coarse wool, of Kuttenberg
“I am a humble weaver, suffering the coarse thread of this town. The Lord tests my patience daily.”
Things Jezhek Weaver had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday after Philip and James, at Terce
Young Nicholas Fuller walked straight past me this morning when I only wished to ask if his travels might take him near Caslav. My brother Matthew's gout is surely worse by now, and a single letter is no heavy burden for a Christian to carry.
Nota scribaeHe sighed no less than four times while speaking this.
the third day of Easter week, at None
I have presented the fine brass lamp to our parish priest as my Easter tithe, exactly as I promised. The Lord provides, and it is our duty to pass His blessings to the Church. Let no worldly man claim I am ungenerous.
You thieving old rat. That was my lamp, lent to you so you would not walk into a ditch.
Your charity on Saint Blaise's Day was a holy vow, Heinz. Do not let the devil poison your generous heart now.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Vespers
Vashek Cook is too full of wrath over a pair of shears. I told him scripture says a man may take what he needs when his belly is empty, and poor Bartel Bauer has suffered much since his Pavlena died. We must have pity on the wretched.
Pity does not shear my cloth, Jezhek. Let Bartel sell his own boots before he steals my tools.
You only defend him because you steal with a prayer instead of empty hands.
Nota scribaeThe dictator wept from one eye.
the Wednesday after Saint Valentine, at Sext
My eyes ache fiercely today. The thread they spin here in Kuttenberg is fit only for binding pigs, not for a Christian loom. In Caslav we wove cloth that a bishop might wear. I pray daily my brother Matthew might send me decent wool, if only someone would fetch it.
Then go back to Caslav and let us weave our pig bindings in peace.
Nota scribaeHe wiped his eyes with a cloth that looked perfectly fine to me.
the morning after Saint Blaise, at Prime
Praise be to Saint Blaise and the holy winds! When my candles blew out in the procession, the Lord moved Heinz Wolff to place his beautiful brass lamp into my hands. Such spontaneous charity is a miracle. I have sworn to keep this blessed vessel safe until Easter.
I gave it to you so you would not set my cloak on fire. Give it back to me before Vespers.
A gift given before the saints cannot be taken back, Heinz. Your soul is richer for your sacrifice.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
I told you yesterday, I do not travel that way. Leave me be.
Bless you, Nicholas. I shall pray the Lord guides your feet toward Caslav tomorrow.