The Last Witch of Langenburg: Murder in a German Village (review)

The Last Witch of Langenburg tells the tale of Anna Schmieg, a cantankerous miller’s wife charged with witchcraft in 1672 after the mysterious death of a neighbor. The neighbor, a village woman who had recently given birth, died in agony on Shrove Tuesday after eating a cake baked by Schmieg. Suspected of witchcraft and poisoning, Schmieg, a quarrelsome and disreputable old woman, became the center of a dogged investigation. Robisheaux ably tells the twisting story of Schmieg’s contest with the local authorities, her community, and even her own family, uncovering the close relationships between supernatural belief and scientific knowledge, between court elites and rural villagers, and between witchcraft prosecution and political and religious order in early modern Germany.

Robisheaux’s approach to the Schmieg case is microhistorical. This methodology, rooted in historical anthropology, focuses closely on small cases and individual experiences in order to gain new insights into larger historical questions.¹ In this work, microhistory also takes advantage of the competing narratives that surrounded the Schmieg case, including both judicial testimony and village gossip. Deftly weaving together the complex strains of these surviving sources into a gripping narrative, Robisheaux uses a close examination of the accused witch’s experience to shed new light on the most important features of the witch-hunts that were winding down during the late seventeenth century. Thus, he situates Schmieg’s case within the folklore traditions, religious climate, and political situation of the Langenburg region in the aftermath of the Thirty Years’ War and within the complicated web of village animosities, family relations, and gossip networks that defined the old woman’s life.

The book makes a valuable contribution to our burgeoning understanding of witchcraft prosecution in early modern Europe, challenging many of the assumptions about the witch-hunts still current in the historical literature and popular culture. Most importantly, Robisheaux dispels the notion that convictions during so-called “witch panics” were inevitable. Schmieg, maintaining her innocence until the bitter end, came close to beating the charges against her. Meanwhile, the magistrate in charge of prosecuting her pursued the case with careful attention to procedural guidelines and a zealous conviction to his god-given duty to judge her fairly. He was not the benighted, bloodthirsty witch-hunter often imagined.

Robisheaux also demonstrates the close links between the Langenburg court and humble villagers like Schmieg, revealing the permeable border between so-called “elite” and “popular” culture. The count of Langenburg and his officials proved intimately acquainted with village gossip and Schmieg’s bad reputation among her neighbors; meanwhile, the stories of witchcraft that the local villagers recited in their testimony were shaped, in part, by the expectations of magistrates and pastors at court. Furthermore, the Schmieg case was not contained within the tiny village that spawned it; it soon drew the attention of noted jurists and physicians at leading German universities. Consulting these erudite professors for advice, the magistrate in charge of Schmieg’s case engaged the emerging science of forensics, elucidating the close links between science, religion, and magic in a Europe on the threshold of modernity.

The Last Witch of Langenburg offers a fascinating look at witchcraft in early modern Europe, presented in a compelling, suspenseful manner that both engages and enlightens. Robisheaux’s spellbinding account of Schmieg’s story provides a wealth of fascinating insights about early modern witch-hunting that will profit specialists and students alike.