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little_details2025-04-06 01:56 pm
Protection from, and exorcism of, supernatural evil in Germany (medieval to 19th century)
Hello!
Writing a fanfiction taking place inside of a fairy-tale kingdom. In-universe, the fairy-tale is a literary fairy tale (aka has a singular author, not a true folk tale), written by a German author, some time in the 18th century at earliest and the 19th century at latest. The author character lived and died in a fictional town heavily based on the real world town of Nördlingen. I'm writing a scene where a character from the fairy-tale setting is feeling guilt about having been "weak" against a supernatural, corrupting force, and is scared that force is still possessing or influencing him.
Most of the information I can find on the topic of exorcism, prayers against demonic/bewitching/etc influence, repentance for having practiced witchcraft, renouncing demonic temptation, etc I can find on my own are specifically resources aimed at modern-day Catholics living in English-speaking countries. (That is, when they're even remotely in the ballpark of what I'm looking for... new-age and non-Christian solutions, while interesting, are not helpful for what I'm writing.) However, I know that a large percentage of Christians in Germany are some flavor of Protestant. Even when it comes to Catholic-majority regions like Bavaria, there might be things that have been done there in the past that would not be recorded on an English-language website for English-speaking Catholics - especially folk beliefs and traditions not officially condoned by religious authorities.
Region:
- Least specifically looking for stuff from German speaking countries in Europe
- Most specifically: looking for things from the Swabia region of Germany, within the state of Bavaria
Religion:
- Christianity mainly, maybe some Germanic pagan stuff if I branch out.
- Protestant or Catholic
- Not just solutions ideally condoned by local religious authorities, but folk beliefs and practices
Historical Placement:
- Ideally, not newer than the 19th century. If people didn't believe it prior to, idk, 1925 or something, it's not as useful to me.
- Must have been practiced at some point after the Christianization of the region, at absolute earliest.
- However! Customs and beliefs that are not strongly attested to in reality, but that appear in fictional and folkloric depictions of the past or present written (or transcribed from oral tradition) within the "target range" (such as "pre-christian times" as they'd be seen in Wagnerian operas, or "feudal society" as depicted in both the feudal period's own courtly literature and later literature), are also helpful, as the fic I'm writing is set within an author-created world that would be influenced by such pre-existing and contemporaneous fiction's distortions of reality.
I hope this isn't too specific. If you know something in this ballpark but don't think it's "good enough" for my nitpicky criteria, please share anyways so I can learn something new! ^_^;
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If you know what you’re looking for it’s not hard to find him. The alley behind the town hall, they say. A young scholar, his coat’s collar trimmed with fox fur.
Elsenreiter puts quill and paper in order on his tiny table and waits. Danube’s early morning fog is stubbornly clinging to the cobblestones; sighing, he blows into his fists. He should have brought some mulled wine along, alas, he’ll just send an errant boy for some soon.
There, a pair of heels approaches, their measured steps echoing coldly in an alley that is otherwise empty and silent. A shadow peels itself out of the dampness, as if put together of some slower shadows left by dawn. It’s a man, expensively clad; yet later, Elsenreiter wouldn’t be able to tell you what exactly he was wearing. But his eyes—
"I bid you good day, Christian," the man says, and the way he hisses the ’S’ is dipping a bucket of ice water over Elsenreiter’s head.
"Same to you," he hears himself answer, trying to fumble his coat closer around his neck. Squinting, he asks: "Excuse me, but do we know each other?"
"You would think so." The man smiles, his teeth glinting like silver. "Come on, write me one of your slips."
Sweat is beginning to pool at the small of Elsenreiter’s back, dripping down his brow, and stinking in his arm-pits. "Right, sir. What is it you desire?"
"Oh," the man drawls, leaning forward. "The usual, please. Obscene riches, highest renown." He pins down a scrap of paper with a way too long fingernail. "Protection from any imaginable injuries, afflicted by bullet, lance, or sword."
Elsenreiter swallows. "Do— do you have coin?" Considering the way the stranger is dressed, it’s a ridiculous thing to ask, but he has met many a smooth-talking man.
The other’s expression is unfazed and maybe even a bit bored. He upturns his hand lingering on the paper, and there, in his palm, are three pieces of silver, foreign-looking, but bright. Elsenreiter definitely won’t haggle with this one; he’ll make it quick, no discussion.
"Excellent," he says, dipping the quill into the ink. Quickly writing the usual sentence with his steady hand, just another minute or two until the script has dried. His throat feels dry.
The stranger is staring at him, at the slip of paper, and back at him. "You don’t think this actually works, do you?"
Elsenreiter huffs, "Did the bishop send you?" That old fart likes to threaten him with vague threats via lackeys, and until now he had been able to ignore them— but this man is something else.
An unhinged laugh rackets from of the stranger’s lungs. "You’re a funny one," he wheezes, wiping away a stray tear, and spewing a glob of snot to the side. He snatches the paper from the table, reading loudly, "Devil, help me. Body and soul I’m owing you." He snorts. "That’s a nice one, really. A catchy sentence, easy to keep in mind. You’re clearly a very literate scholar, what a blessing for this place!"
Then, lightning-quick, his hand, freezingly cold like a dead man’s, shoots up, snatching Elsenreiter’s jaw, drawing him up from his seat, without any effort at all, across the table, knocking over the inkwell and soiling the uneven stones. Floundering, Elsenreiter pants, but the man just drags him a few steps along, pushing him up against the nearest wall.
He procures the slip from out of nothing it seems, and shoves it deep into Elsenreiter’s mouth, making him gag, and his eyes water.
"You may continue doing so," the man bellows, close to his ear, a roaring whisper that’s crawling along Elsenreiter’s spine, seeping into his marrow. "Just don’t forget you’ll be paying the same bill eventually."
Elsenreiter coughs, finds that he has wet himself, and fumbles for some balance when the stranger loosens his vice-like grip, letting him curl up into a retching ball.
"No, swallow," the man orders him, the tip of his boots poking into his kidney.
And Elsenreiter swallows.
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