beggar on the church steps, of Kuttenberg
“I sit on the southern steps with my bowl and freeze while sinners walk past.”
Things Poxy Joerg had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Prime
Sleepy Joerg is whining about that washerwoman Clemence again. I told him a beggar with a wife is just a beggar who starves twice as fast. Christ almighty, the lad has less sense than a headless chicken. Save your breath and beg for a crust.
the second day of Easter week, at None
You'd think the Lord rising from the dead would open the purses of these fat Kuttenbergers, but they are stingier than ever. Barely a heller all morning on the south steps. And my bones ache like I've been beaten with a flail.
Stop your whining, boy. You wouldn't ache so much if you didn't sleep right on the grate.
I sleep on the grate because you and John take the corners away from the draughts!
Nota scribaeDictated loudly outside the church doors. I asked him to lower his voice.
the Friday before Palm Sunday, at Vespers
Musty Fritz is parading around the yard again like a guild master just because he swept up for the baker's wife. Thinks he's better than us for a warm crust. A rat in a bakery is still a rat, Fritz.
At least my belly is full, you miserable whoreson. Magdalena knows an honest worker when she sees one.
St Matthias's Day, at Terce
Frost last night. Brought back memories of the march to Kolin. Snotty Lorenz sat shivering near me this morning. I told him he should have kept that thick wool blanket he had when Lambert was freezing in the ditch near Grunta. He had it, and he wouldn't share it.
Shut your mouth, Joerg. It was freezing and I had to look to my own life. You were there too, doing nothing.
Let the dead rest, Joerg. It does no good to chew on it.
Nota scribaeHe spoke this very fast, looking over his shoulder.
the morning of Candlemas, at Prime
Two years since the bailiff marched us half to death. I still see poor Lambert sleeping off the wine in that ditch. Musty Fritz swore he would stay back and wake the boy once the wine wore off. He walked away to find a fire instead. I know the truth of it.
He was too drunk to stand! I went to fetch help and lost my way in the snow. Why didn't you wake him, Joerg?
Nota scribaeDictated in a foul temper. The word he used for Fritz was not written down.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
She's a good woman, Joerg. You're just bitter because the only thing that touches you is the east wind.