That was why Dr. Kircher hesitated for an entire afternoon when a conversation with a strange boy aroused in him the suspicion that they had once again crossed paths with a warlock. I don’t have to report it, he thought, I can keep silent, I can forget it, it was not at all necessary for me to talk to the boy, after all, it was a chance encounter. But the voice of conscience returned: Talk to your master. There is no such thing as chance, there is only God’s will. And as expected Dr. Tesimond immediately decided that the miller had to be paid a visit, and as expected everything that followed took its usual course. Now they have spent weeks already in this godforsaken village, and Vienna is more distant than ever.
He realizes that everyone is looking at him, only the accused are looking down at the ground. It happened again: he was absent. He can only hope that it didn’t last too long. Hastily he looks around and finds his bearings: In front of him lies Hanna Krell’s confession. He recognizes the handwriting, it is his own, he wrote it himself, and now he has to read it out. With unsteady fingers he reaches for it, but at the very moment his fingers touch the paper, a wind stirs. Dr. Kircher grasps the paper, fortunately quickly enough. It is firmly in his hand. It doesn’t bear thinking about what would have happened if it had flown away from him. Satan is powerful, the air his realm. It would suit him perfectly if the tribunal made a mockery of itself.
As he reads Hanna’s confession aloud, he thinks back helplessly to the interrogation. To the dark room in the back of the priest’s house, once the broom closet, now the interrogation room in which Master Tilman and Dr. Tesimond worked day after day on luring the truth out of the old woman. Dr. Tesimond has a kind soul and would have preferred to stay away from the harsh interrogation, but the Procedure for the Judgment of Capital Crimes of Kaiser Charles obliges a judge to be present at every torture he orders. And it also prescribes a confession. No trial may end without a confession; no sentence may be imposed if the defendants have not admitted anything. The actual trial takes place in the locked closet, but on the day of the tribunal, when the confession is publicly confirmed and the verdict delivered, all are present.
While Dr. Kircher is reading, cries of horror come from the crowd. People gasp, people whisper, people shake their heads, people bare their teeth in fury and disgust. His voice trembles as he hears himself speaking of nocturnal flights and exposed flesh, of traveling on the wind, of the great Sabbath of the night, of blood in the cauldrons and naked bodies, lo, they are rolling, the huge billy goat with never-flagging lust, he takes you from in front and takes you from behind, to songs sung in the language of Orcus. Dr. Kircher turns the page and comes to the curses: cold and hail on the fields, spoiling the crop of the pious, and hunger visited on the heads of the God-fearing and death and disease on the weak and pestilence on the children. Several times his voice almost fails, but he thinks of his sacred ministry and admonishes himself, and thank God he is prepared. None of these horrible things is new to him. He knows every word, has written it not only once but again and again, outside the closet, while the interrogation took place inside and Master Tilman brought to light everything that must be confessed in a witchcraft triaclass="underline" And did you not fly too, Hanna? All witches fly. Do you mean to tell me that you of all people did not fly, will you deny it? And the Sabbath? Did you not kiss Satan, Hanna? If you speak, you will be forgiven, but if you keep silent, then look what Master Tilman has in his hand, he will use it.
“This has happened.” Dr. Kircher reads the last lines aloud. “In this way I, Hanna Krell, daughter of Leopoldina and Franz Krell, have renounced the Lord, betrayed the community of Christians, visited harm upon my fellow citizens and upon the holy church and my authorities too. In deep shame I confess and accept the just punishment, so help me God.”
He falls silent. A fly buzzes past his ear, flies in an arc, settles on his forehead. Should he drive it away or pretend he doesn’t notice it? What is more appropriate to the dignity of the tribunal, what is less ridiculous? He glances at his master inquisitively, but he doesn’t give him any sign.
Instead Dr. Tesimond leans forward, looks at Hanna Krell, and asks: “Is this your confession?”
She nods. Her chains rattle.
“You have to say it, Hanna!”
“That is my confession.”
“You have done all this?”
“I’ve done all that.”
“And who was the leader?”
She is silent.
“Hanna! Who was your leader? Who brought all of you to the Sabbath? Who taught you how to fly?”
She is silent.
“Hanna?”
She raises her hand and points to the miller.
“You have to say it, Hanna.”
“He did.”
“Louder!”
“It was he.”
Dr. Tesimond makes a hand movement. The guard pushes the miller forward. Now the main part of the trial begins. They came upon old Hanna only incidentally. A warlock almost always has followers. Nonetheless, it took a while before Ludwig Stelling’s wife admitted under threat of punishment that her rheumatism had been plaguing her only since she had quarreled with Hanna Krell, and again only after a week of interrogation did it also occur to Magda Steger and Maria Leserin that storms always came when Hanna was supposedly too ill to attend church. Hanna herself didn’t deny it long. As soon as Master Tilman showed her the instruments, she began to confess her crimes, and when he set to work in earnest, their full magnitude was very quickly revealed.
“Claus Ulenspiegel!” Dr. Tesimond holds three sheets of paper in the air. “Your confession!”
Dr. Kircher sees the sheets of paper in his master’s hand, and immediately his head hurts. He knows every sentence on them by heart. He rewrote it again and again, outside the locked door of the interrogation room through which you could hear everything.
“May I say something?” asks the miller.
Dr. Tesimond looks at him disapprovingly.
“Please,” says the miller. He rubs the red imprint of the leather band on his forehead. The chains rattle.
“What, then?” asks Dr. Tesimond.
This was how it went the whole time. Never before, Dr. Tesimond repeated often, had he encountered such a difficult case as this miller! And this is still so, despite all of Master Tilman’s efforts—despite blade and needle, despite salt and fire, despite leather loop, wet shoes, thumbscrew, and steel countess—all unclear. An executioner knows how to loosen tongues, but what does he do with someone who talks and talks and has absolutely no qualms about contradicting himself as if Aristotle had written nothing on logic? At first Dr. Tesimond took it for a perfidious ruse, but then he realized that the miller’s confusions always also contained fragments of truths—indeed, even astonishing insights.