The Diary of Caspar Kruse III, Executioner: Goslar, September 16, 1633 – Baptism in the Sankt Stephanikirche

 This morning I went to the church with Anna, resting upon a stretcher, and our eldest son Hans Caspar. Our neighbors, insofar as they tolerate us, stood still at the Rosentor and watched us with that mixture of curiosity and fear we know so well. The executioner remains, for many, a man of ill omen, even when he brings his child to baptism.

The Sankt Stephanikirche was cool and still. The candles burned. Pastor Friedrich was already waiting for us, his hands washed, his robe immaculate. He looked long at little Wilhelm in my arms, yet spoke nothing but blessing. I stood there before the altar, the child in my hands and the mother behind me, and I felt something gentle, something vast pass through my chest — as though God Himself, for a moment, spoke in the breath of my son.

“Wilhelm,” Friedrich spoke loudly and clearly, as he let the cold baptismal water glide over my son’s forehead, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” And Wilhelm, thank God, cried. Not a scream of fear, but a cry of life, as if telling the city: I am here, and I shall live.

Afterwards we gave the pastor six Groschen, as is proper, and Trina received half a Taler for her skill and devotion. Anna now rests in bed, the child against her breast. I have slaughtered a rooster for broth, and the kitchen smells of bay leaf and parsley. All is peaceful, as though for a moment judgment has been taken from my hands.

Tonight I shall pray. Not for forgiveness, as is my custom, but for thanks. For today — and yesterday — I was no executioner. I was a father. And that is a sword that bears as much weight as the one I wield at the gallows.




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