tailor at the horse market, of Kuttenberg
“I sit in the mud patching carters' filthy wagon covers for pennies, and I'd leave Kuttenberg tomorrow if I had the coin.”
Things Fritz Schmidt had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Thursday before Whitsun, at Terce
Lene wants five groschen from me because she dropped her ale cups in the mud. Mein Gott, I bumped her, but she's the clumsy one. I have not got five groschen, and even if I did, I would not give them to a careless maidservant.
Nota scribaeThe dictation was interrupted twice by the man spitting on my boots.
the second day of Easter week, at None
The bakers in this town are thieving bastards. Half a groschen for a loaf that breaks my teeth, while I sit in the wet patching grain sacks for ungrateful carters. If my needle snaps again on this foul canvas, I am throwing it in the river.
Aye, the bread is mostly sawdust since the King was taken. Hold onto your needle, lad.
the feast of St Tiburtius, at Vespers
A certain friend of mine is sitting on good leather that could feed us both, but he acts like a frightened boy. We should take it to a merchant in Sedletz and be done with it, before the bailiff starts sniffing around sheds.
Shut your mouth, Fritz! Do you want us both caned? My stepmother is already asking questions.
Nota scribaeHe muttered this into his chest so quietly I had to ask him three times to speak up.
the Wednesday after St Gregory, at Prime
Old Lorenz is still running his mouth about that rainy night last Martinmas. Mathes the carter owed coin all over Kuttenberg and walked off to Prague to save his own skin. It is not my fault the whoreson slipped away, and I am tired of taking the blame.
the eve of Candlemas, at Compline
These Hungarian soldiers have driven the price of everything to the heavens. A man works his fingers raw pushing a needle through wet wool, just to stand by a brazier at dusk and shiver. Praise be, at least they have not burned the dyer's shed yet.
Nota scribaeHe smelled strongly of cheap ale.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
You drunken whoreson! You laughed in my face and now the ale-wife has docked my pay. Katherine will throw me out!
Go beg from the carters, you clumsy cow. I am freezing in a dyer's loft with nothing.