The saddest chapter from Leipzig's relations between humans and animals would have to be as written above: the Leipzig Skylarks. The immoral delicacy found not only appreciators, but also an impetuous and audible critic. Friedericke Kempner was successfully taking steps in Prussia on behalf of the rights of the apparently dying skylarks, and against their consumption by the Leipzigians she fought with this angry rhyme:
The peaceful singers of the fields,
Naked, made ready to consume -
Surely you will not eat the skylarks?
Oh my God, how you presume!
Skylark, true poet,
Toward heaven so easily flies.
Over its nest on earth
The shepherd calmly strides.
Only the field hand
Has a natural heart.
He wields his scythe with care,
Not causing the bird to smart.
But in Leipzig they cut
The throat of the singer
Woeful, stripped, poetic bird,
To death they bring her!
As to how this unconscionable food was prepared, you can read with a contemporary of the poetess, in the "Practical cookbook for ordinary and the finest cuisine" (1st edition 1844) by Henrike David:
These, in the same way as Grey Thrushes, you do not eviscerate and leave at eating only the beak and stomach. But if you do not want to prepare the skylark with juniper berries, then in that case you can slowly fry them covered golden-brown in enough butter, and afterwards fry grated and sifted breadcrumbs browned in butter, and put the skylarks in a hot bowl and cover them with the breadcrumbs and butter.
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Grey Thrushes are carefully plucked, then the headskins are torn off, the eyes picked out, the feet cut off at the first joint, then they are broiled, after which you shove the little feet crosswise through the eye-holes.
A storm had the destiny, to put an end to this sacrilegious palate-tickler, and that happened in this way:
The 27th of August, 1860, was a beautiful, very warm summer day. I had been bathing in the swimming pool in the afternoon and afterwards went to my garden in the big Fireburg, but since I encountered none of my relatives there and the thunder and lightning, which had been threatening for hours, drew closer and closer and showed frightening yellowish clouds, I hurried with big strides to my parents' house. Scarcely reaching the dwelling, I heard in the western rooms a tinkling of glass and a horrible noise. At the same time we heard a window breaking and a crashing, thumping sound in the stairway and when we hurried there, we saw hailstones the size of hen eggs, which were beating through the windows, and bouncing down the steps. In our westwardly situated rooms not a single window remained undamaged and the bits of icy stuff were so stacked up that afterwards we had to carry them away in buckets. Both the thunder and the lightning were such that one was afraid the end of the world drew near. The hail lasted only about ten minutes - but that was apparent only afterwards. The egg-sized hailstones weighed up to 170 grams, and one can certainly imagine, what great damage they had caused. Not a single slate and tile roof in the entire city remained intact and in all houses at least the windows on the weather side were destroyed, even chimneys were overthrown. The gardens were chaos.
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When in the evening I made the rounds about the promenade, I could only with effort make my way through the stricken branches, lying up to the height of half a meter, and among them lay a huge number of dead sparrows, blackbirds and other birds. The trees, without their leafy ornament, sadly extended their branches to the sky. Also outside, outside the city in the rose valley and on the fields southwards and eastwards of the city was similar chaos, and particularly the songbirds had suffered in the storm. Thus the 27th of August, 1860, was the day of death for the Leipzig skylark; I afterwards never again saw them sold fixed on skewers, as also from that day no longer was found on the menus of the restaurants the once so highly regarded dish: "Leipzig Skylark with sour cabbage"
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The capture was limited not only to the region of Leipzig, but in the months of September, October and November, when the skylark was about to fly to the south, it occured also in the lowlands around Halle, Cjorbigo, in the Anhalt-Dessau, the Koethen and Bernburg regions. The fattest and biggest skylarks came to Leipzig, where the need is always very keen. The prey was so considerable, that besides the insignificant quantities which were eaten in the small cities and villages, still, in each of these three months 500,000 skylarks, in sum then 1,200,000 up to 1,500,000, were sent to Leipzig, from where they went into the whole world. But bit by bit this came to an end after the year of hail and the whole skylark industry, which had caused great destruction among these songbirds, useful for their consumption of insects, in the second half of the 1860s probably reached its complete cessation. Although from that time the skylark was no longer persecuted by net and rod, recipes for "Leipzig Skylarks" even today are published. But that's a matter of purely vegetarian good taste, as a look in a "Bake Book" from 1967 quickly proves. In this way are they prepared today:
Shortcake according to a basic recipe, strawberry or raspberry preserve, 80 g of margarine, 125 g of sugar, salt, 2 eggs, 100 g of flour, 125 g of chopped sweet almonds, nuts or coconut, 5 grated bitter almonds, about 4 soupspoons of milk, 3 soupspoons of rum or brandy. Cover lightly greased molds with thinly rolled shortcake and add to each a spot of preserve. Mix the frothily whipped margarine with all the ingredients (retain 1 egg yolk). Put the mix in the molds, on which put crosswise two thin, rollsliced strips of dough and brush with the yolk. Bake at medium temperature about 25 minutes.
Initiates know that this confection in its appearance and with the cross on it symbolizes the tomb of the Leipzig Skylarks.
Wolfram Diestel, Leipzig, Germany
diestel@rzaix340.rz.uni-leipzig.de
English translation by:
Marvin Entz, Vancouver, Canada