beggar at the church, of Kuttenberg
“I sit by the church doors and wait for my Magdalena to return from Prague. My soul starves for her.”
Things Gummy Hermann had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the Tuesday after St Mark, at None
Gaunt Markvart has had my grandfather's wooden flute for weeks. He said he only needed to play it at the market for a short while to buy us some bread, but now I hear he is busking by the pillory every day. I miss the feel of the carved wood in my hands.
the eve of St George, at Prime
Flea-bitten Richard still has my only tin plate. I lent it to him at Easter when he said his wooden bowl had split. Now I have to cup my hands for the monks' midday pottage or beg scraps from Filthy William. Richard makes a new excuse every single day.
Just one more meal, Hermann, I beg of you. I have not had the time to whittle a new bowl yet.
He pawned it to me for ale, you weeping fool.
Nota scribaeDictated before the broth was brought out. The man sighed heavily.
the third day of Easter week, at Vespers
Another cold day watching the Prague road. Every merchant's wagon that passes makes my heart leap, but she is never in it. I am wearing my loyalty to her like a badge of honour, even if the others groan when I speak her name.
Forget the bathhouse girl, boy! She had nothing but the rags on her back and she is never coming back.
It is your fault she left, father! If you had held your tongue we would be married now!
the Friday after St Gregory, at Sext
The stone step that looks north is biting cold today. I am chewing the inside of my cheek to keep from weeping. Peckish Fritz says I should move to the sunny side, but then I would not see the wagons. Poor Oswald froze to death last winter, and sometimes I wonder if the grave is warmer.
Suit yourself, Hermann, but do not cry to me when your arse freezes to the stone.
Nota scribaeHe spoke this with a slow, drawn-out voice, staring blankly at my inkwell.
the Monday after Candlemas, at Terce
My cruel fate is sealed. My father Lorenz and uncle Leonard drove my sweet Magdalena away. They called her family thieves until she climbed into a trader's cart bound for Prague. I will sit on these steps and wait for her until the end of my days.
Good riddance to her. Now perhaps you will actually ask for alms instead of sighing at the wind.
Nota scribaeThe father tried to interrupt the dictation three times.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
The crowds are generous, Hermann. Just let me play for a few more days and I will bring you a whole loaf, I swear it.