Eschen Mafalda, the Juggler's Daughter

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-3-347-87514-2
Verlag: tredition
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 212 Seiten

Reihe: tredition GmbH

During a visit to her birthplace, Mafalda, the third daughter of the juggler Orontius, finds an ancient coin in the ruins of a chapel where Saint Catherine was celebrated in 1551. The coin shows the profile of a head that resembles hers in every detail. Full of curiosity as to who this woman from the distant past was, she and a childhood friend set off for Egypt and St Catherine's Monastery. This is the beginning of an exciting journey full of historical events, love and Mafalda's spiritual insights as she searches for her identity.

Bea Eschen ist gebürtige Deutsche und lebt seit 1984 im Ausland. Momentan ist sie in Sydney, Australien, zuhause. Ihr bisheriges Leben auf den verschiedenen Kontinenten Südafrika, Neuseeland und Australien brachte ihr viele Erfahrungen, die sie zum Schreiben anregen. ......................................................................................................................................................................

Autoren/Hrsg.

Eschen, Bea

Leseproben

Chapter

One

THE YOUTHFUL FACES of the three sisters glowed in the light of the flickering flames. Maren, Dorothea, and Mafalda prepared for the evening meal and sat down by the crackling fire. Their mother Hildegard handed them a platter of fried fish, eggs, beans, and grain porridge, from which they each took a portion. Mafalda, the youngest of the family, helped herself generously to the honey-sweetened porridge. Her eldest sister, Maren, took the spoon from her hand. "My dear, don't overdo it. We all like it."

"Why don't you eat your fill of the main meal? Then I can have your porridge on top of mine," Mafalda replied cheekily.

Maren shook her dark curls. She loved her lively little sister, but she shouldn't always get what she wanted.

The other sister, the sturdy Dorothea with the sparkling eyes, spoke up. "You can have my share."

"Thank you," Mafalda laughed, reaching for a generous portion. She had won.

Maren paused. Dorothea always did the opposite of what she wanted. As so often before, Maren was annoyed by Dorothea's stubbornness.

"The fish is delicious, Father," Dorothea praised as she pulled the bones from her mouth pretending not to notice Maren's reaction.

"In big waters you catch big fish, in small waters you catch good ones!" her father replied.

In the afternoon Orontius had indulged in his favourite pastime. The forest pond near which he had set up camp with his wife and three daughters contained carp and pike bred by the local monastery. When he asked if he could fish in the pond for his meals, the monastery's pond keeper told him to take only the biggest pike. The pond had been standing for a long time and the pike had grown too big. The bigger they got, the more they ate the carp that were needed to grow new pike.

Orontius did not need to be told twice. Fishing was rewarding and fun. The pike were of considerable size and easily baited with frogs on his home-made line. With a chuckle he remembered how his rod had twitched time and again. Often, however, all he had pulled out of the water was a small carp, which he threw back into the pond.

Satisfied, Orontius enjoyed the warming fire and his family. The girls and his wife were happy and had enough to eat. "We're going to stay here for a few weeks," he announced. "I made arrangements with the abbot. He has compassion for people like us and appreciates the wisdom we bring from the world."

"Yes, people like us," Mafalda said, suddenly looking sad. "It wasn't long ago that a gentleman in the market called us the devil's rabble!" She looked over at Dorothea, who nodded in agreement. "We were wearing our feather dresses and doing the bird dance," Dorothea explained, "what's wrong with that? The audience clapped enthusiastically and laughed at us. Maybe we wiggled our hips too much and that made him angry?" The daughters looked at their father expectantly.

"You know, women are quickly condemned as witches if they behave a little differently. That's why we should be careful of people like him. Besides…" Orontius paused, "do not forget that we are the travelling people, the lawless and homeless, lacking everything that gives security and honour. The lives of other people are surrounded by the signs of borders and the rights of a homeland. They think they are better than us."

"Why do we need the abbot's mercy?" Maren asked. "Even if they think they are better than us, we are no less worthy than the sedentary people!"

Orontius thought for a moment. "Well, the vagabonds have always been despised by the noble societies. That makes us vulnerable, and people like that nobleman at the market take advantage of that."

"What would he gain by calling my sisters a bunch of devils?" Maren asked.

"He uses it to demonstrate his power over others," Orontius replied. "It brings out the worst in people when it comes to their standing in society."

Dorothea rolled her eyes in disgust. "Although, as keepers of our cheerful artistry, we are very welcome to clergy and laity, and bring joy to the nobles during their court and church festivals with our performances!"

"Exactly," Orontius agreed. "This is why I do not understand why we are looked down upon. The terrible thing is that we are also known as the devil's children and hated by the Church. It is a shame that the travelling race is denied the right to partake of the sacraments of Christianity."

There was a pause for the family to reflect.

"Did they also despise you in the monastery when you were a monk?" Mafalda asked.

Orontius thought. "No, but I was an outsider because I liked to do tricks. That way I could communicate with God. The others just prayed - day in, day out."

• • •

Much had changed since Orontius left the Franciscan monastery and he and Hildegard set out with their troupe. In those days, all they needed was the cart they called the Ark, which they took over from the old juggler Eberlein.

In the meantime, the family was accommodated in two horse-drawn carriages, as there was not enough room in the Ark for the parents and their three growing daughters to sleep. The second carriage, which the daughters called their Nest, was set up as a place for them to sleep and rest, while the Ark also served as a place for cooking and shelter on rainy days.

On the other side of the pond, the other members of the troupe set up camp, including the poet William and his family of six, various minstrels, and former nuns and monks who had gradually joined Orontius' troupe. The flames of the scattered campfires they had lit around the edge of the small pond reflected on the smooth surface of the water. As if from a magical world, the soft sounds of the lute, accompanied by the rhythmic beats of the tambourine, filtered through the natural surroundings.

The troupe had a law that everyone followed: no one should feel alone, but each member gave the others enough space to enjoy a respectable distance. At the same time, their collective spirit gave them the strength to overcome the challenges of their colourful lives and to support each other in providing the necessities of life.

There was one significant difference between Orontius' daughters and the other, particularly female, members of the vagabond community. Maren, Dorothea, and Mafalda could read and write. Their father was well versed in all matters of Christianity and worldly affairs and was able to teach his daughters anything that could be put into words. Over time, each of the girls developed her own handwriting, learned to read, and acquired a knowledge that their peers could only dream of. But with this knowledge came danger. Young women were usually uneducated and had no choice but to marry and have children. Moreover, educated women were quickly accused of witchcraft because of their different mindsets. Orontius knew this too, and he warned his daughters to be careful in their daily activities, not to be arrogant towards others, and to hide their knowledge as best they could, using it only for their own safety.

Mafalda's thirst for knowledge was insatiable. It was difficult for her to pretend to be different from who she really was. "Father, may I look at the religious icon again today?" she asked as she stuffed the sweet porridge into her mouth.

"Of course. Go ahead, my dear, take it. And then it's time for bed. I wish you a blessed night."

The three sisters cleared their plates and disappeared into their carriage. The candle at Mafalda's bedside was not to be extinguished for a long time, for, as she had done so many times before, she studied the religious scene depicted in the small box-tree icon. Her father had explained its meaning in detail. This tiny piece, so small that she could roll it back and forth in the palm of her hand, played a significant role in her father's life. Its sentimental value was deeply ingrained in him, and this precious icon would be his support in his old age. For Mafalda, looking at the small artefact triggered something quite different: a burning interest in all things old and venerable.

One day in 1551, something happened that was to be a turning point in Mafalda's life. The family decided to make a detour via Siegen, while the rest of the troupe continued south-east towards Koblenz. The town of Siegen and its wooded surroundings had a special significance for Orontius' family. His late mother had been a native of Siegen, and Orontius had spent over two decades at the Siegen Franciscan monastery. Years later, in August 1534, Mafalda was born in Flecken, a small village not far from Siegen, later called Freudenberg. Six years later, the town and its castle were destroyed by a devastating fire. The Count of Nassau rebuilt the centre of the village in parallel rows of houses made of clay and wood.

Mafalda was eager to see her birthplace, and as the family felt at home in the area, no one objected.

They trundled into the village on muddy roads and settled into a small inn, where they celebrated their arrival with a hearty meal of venison, beans, and bread. It was something special to be served a meal without having to work for it. Later, as they sat back in their carriages with full bellies in search of a place to spend the night, their spirits were high. A tree-shaded campsite on the banks of a small river called the Weibe, near the centre of the village, provided plenty of firewood. Soon the family had a crackling campfire.

Mafalda watched the loose sparks rising from the blaze. Her eyes were shining. "Father, have you seen the old castle tower?" she asked.

"Yes, you can't miss it. I think the tower is the only thing left of the old...