Discovering the Magic of Alsace and Lorraine

Imagine an Alsatian village in the 19th century. A cow is wasting away, the milk spoils, and the farmer’s wife suspects a spell. Rather than relying solely on the doctor, they call on the local braucheur—the healer who recites prayers and knows the gestures used to ward off evil. By candlelight, he recites an incantation in a Germanic dialect while tracing the sign of the cross over the animal. Not far away, in the room of the son who has left for military service, someone has slipped a curious parchment covered in writing into his bag: a Letter from Heaven, meant to protect him from bullets and danger. These scenes illustrate the spirit of the magico-religious practices that endured in Alsace and the German-speaking regions of Lorraine. Between Braucherei (blessing and healing rituals) and Hexerei (malevolent witchcraft), an entire world of folk rites took shape, rooted in the local Christian faith. Discover a very local country magic.

A tradition rooted in faith and daily life

At the heart of these practices lies a worldview in which the sacred and the profane intertwine. Alsace and German-speaking Lorraine, regions of deep religious devotion, saw the flourishing of a Christian folk magic inherited from the Middle Ages and renewed by the occult currents of the Reformation. In these rural communities, all of creation—family, livestock, fields, and home—was perceived as connected to a Christian cosmic order. Religion was not confined to the church on Sundays: it permeated every gesture of daily life. People prayed for their children’s health, the protection of the farm, and fertile harvests. They blessed the home on major feast days and placed wooden crosses at the village boundaries to protect it. In short, spirituality was lived through every act of domestic and agricultural life, through a multitude of brauches (rites) that gave meaning to life’s joys and trials.

This traditional magic draws on Christian faith while retaining older roots. Many rituals were in fact ancient pagan formulas adapted into saints’ prayers, passed down orally from generation to generation. Over time, the original words became altered: some incantations became almost unintelligible, a sacred jargon that can no longer be understood word for word—without diminishing their prestige or perceived effectiveness. What matters lies elsewhere: it is the intention and deep faith of the healer and the client that activate the power of the rite. In the local worldview, God and invisible forces form a whole; using a special prayer or ritual gesture for healing is not seen as superstition opposed to religion, but rather as a natural extension of Providence. The integration of the sacred into everyday life was so complete that even religious transformations—the Protestant Reformation, the rise of science, and so on—did not eradicate these practices, which survived by adapting to the new context. Saints who were once officially prayed to continue to be invoked at home for specific needs (healing, protection of livestock, ...), including by Protestants who officially no longer honor them. In other words, the people kept their secret “little ritual,” alongside Sunday services.

Another striking feature of this tradition is its mode of esoteric transmission. The knowledge of the Braucher (a practitioner of Braucherei) is generally passed on informally within the family or the close-knit community. Intriguingly, the rule of alternation is frequently observed: a man may learn these secrets only from a woman, and a woman from a man. Thus, a grandmother will teach her grandson, and a grandfather his granddaughter. This cross-gender transmission rule ensures balance and, in practice, gives women and men an equal place in the role of traditional healer. Anyone, regardless of gender, can possess the “secret”—provided they receive it seriously and with a sincere intention to help others. For Braucherei is not learned for glory or intellectual curiosity; it is learned “for real,” with the aim of using it humbly in service to the community. The gift is considered sacred, and its misuse morally dangerous. As a result, the knowledge is jealously guarded: many practitioners have preferred to take certain secrets to the grave rather than disclose them to someone unworthy or merely curious. This discretion allowed the tradition to survive for a long time beneath the radar of religious or medical authorities. And when the line of transmission is broken for lack of a suitable disciple, an outsider or an apprentice from another village may sometimes need to come and inherit the legacy so that it is not lost.

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Finally, it is important to understand that these Alsatian and Lorraine magical practices are fundamentally Christian in their symbolism. They pray to the triune God and invoke Christ, the Virgin Mary, the archangels, and the saints. They use blessed objects (Palm Sunday branches, holy water, religious medals) and sacred texts (Bible verses, the Pater Noster, the Ave Maria). Although the institutional Church has sometimes condemned these “superstitions,” in the village mindset one is not serving the Devil by acting this way; on the contrary, one is channeling divine power to defend oneself against Evil. This is why people readily spoke of “good magic” in reference to Braucherei, as opposed to the “bad magic” of Satan attributed to witches (Hexen). Thus, one speaks of the benevolent Braucherei of the healer and, on the other hand, the malevolent Hexerei of the sorcerer, without forgetting a key element of this magical heritage: the Himmelsbrief, the famous protective celestial letter.

Braucherei, or How to Heal and Protect Through the Sacred

The dialect term Braucherei refers to the body of healing and blessing rituals traditionally practiced in these regions. In Pennsylvania, where many Alsatians and Lorrainers emigrated in the 18th century, Braucherei was translated as powwow, a term now commonly used for this system of Christian medicine. But long before its export across the Atlantic, Braucherei flourished in our countryside under various names: in French, people spoke of guérisseurs, faiseurs de secrets, désenvoûteurs, or, more poetically, leveurs de sorts. The role of the Bra ucher (the practitioner of Braucherei) was multifaceted: to heal ailments of the body and soul, protect people, animals, and crops, and attract luck and success in daily activities. This was a white healer-sorcerer (understood through his benevolent intention), doing good through occult but sanctified means.

Braucherei methods always combine spiritual and material elements. Prayer is at the heart of the ritual: a particular oration, transmitted by memory, that invokes God or a particular saint for the affliction in question. But this prayer is accompanied by gestures and aids—for all of creation can serve as a channel for the divine. A common example is the sign of the cross traced three times above the afflicted area, sometimes accompanied by a breath or a light spit (a symbol of expelling evil). Objects are also used: a piece of blessed bread, Candlemas oil to anoint a wound, or a Virgin’s belt worn by a woman in labor to facilitate childbirth. Medicinal plants also hold an important place, since many brauchers knew herbalism and combined natural remedies with prayers. This alliance of herbal medicine and spirituality is typical: the affliction is treated on every level at once, both physical and invisible.

What stands out about Braucherei is its attention to “signatures” and correspondences. Each ailment has its appropriate remedy, determined by analogy or sacred tradition. To treat a burn, one might invoke Saint Lawrence (martyred on a blazing grill) or the Virgin Mary under the title of Our Lady of Fire, and recite a “cooling” prayer while passing a damp cloth over it—the fiery affliction thus being symbolically transferred into the water. Likewise, against Saint Anthony’s fire (ergotism or shingles), one could recite the Gospel of Saint Anthony or apply oil consecrated on his feast day. Braucherei prayers are distinctive in being very beautiful and steeped in poetry: they address the elements and conjure the illness as an entity ordered to depart. One such blessing prayer begins: “Today I rise and set out in the name of God the Father †, God the Son †, God the Holy Spirit †… May Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the Three Holy Kings accompany me on the road and protect my home and my loved ones…”. As we can see, the language of these rituals is steeped in Christian references (the Trinity, the Saints, the Magi) while taking place outside the official liturgical framework. It is an unofficial liturgy of everyday life, passed down by the grandmother rather than the priest.

Sator Square, protective talisman. Source

Braucher act empirically and humbly. They do not proclaim themselves miracle workers with great powers, but rather instruments of God. The success of their interventions rests on faith: the healer’s faith and the patient’s faith. It is said that certain formulas only “work” if the person seeking help firmly believes in God—a sine qua non condition sometimes stated in the charm’s text itself. An Alsatian formula for stopping hemorrhages begins with “Stop, blood, as Jesus Christ stopped in the Garden of Olives”, clearly alluding to the Passion of Christ to give it its efficacy. Thus, Braucherei presents itself as an extension of prayer, a more embodied prayer using words and gestures to call upon immediate divine assistance.

Braucherei practices cover a wide range, from healthcare to preventive blessings:

• Transferring the illness into a tree: to cure a chronic ailment (persistent fever, “poverty” of the blood, exhaustion), a healer could perform a transfer ritual to a tree. The process was precise: first, the healer collected a symbolic part of the patient’s illness (for example, nail clippings or a few drops of blood), which was placed in a hollow object—a small goose feather trimmed into a tube. Then, on a Friday before dawn, during the waning moon, the healer would drill a hole in a wild tree (an oak or a barren pear tree) on the side facing the rising sun, insert the feather containing the illness, and seal the opening with a wooden peg, striking it three times. The symbolism is powerful: Friday (the day of Christ’s Passion) and the waning moon were supposed to draw the illness “downward and inward”—in this case, into the tree that would serve as its receptacle. Freed in this way, the patient regained their strength while the tree was supposedly left to wither or dry out little by little, carrying the illness away with it. This practice of “plugging” (sealing the tree after enclosing the illness inside it) was still documented into the 19th century in the Rhineland and in the United States among the descendants of these immigrants.

• Witchcraft diagnosis: of course, the Braucher was consulted to determine whether a mysterious ailment had a natural or occult cause. One method of magical diagnosis involved examining how the sick person’s urine reacted on glowing embers. A 17th-century healer from Lorraine explained: “I would heat the urine on a red-hot poker: if it reddened and evaporated, it was a natural ailment; but if it turned white and did not burn away, there was a spell”. If the test revealed a spell, the healer knew that additional spiritual remedies were needed—deliverance prayers, fumigations with blessed sulfur, or a counterspell—alongside conventional medical remedies. 

• Protection of the home and livestock: Braucherei included a whole range of preventive measures to shield the house and farm from evil. For example, a sacred symbol—such as the C✝M✝B monogram (the initials of the Three Magi, Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar), accompanied by a blessing—was placed on the stable door to prevent witches from “stealing” the cows’ milk. Likewise, a horseshoe was sometimes nailed above the threshold (a symbol of good luck and an apotropaic object), or a cross was drawn on each door with blessed chalk at Epiphany. Some of these customs survive today, transformed into religious tradition: for example, the inscription of C✝M✝B on doors after Epiphany is still practiced in Catholic Alsatian villages, but originated in these household-protection rites. The Braucher could also prepare small talismanic pouches containing consecrated herbs (verbena, St. John’s wort), medals, and a written prayer, which people carried on their person or buried in the foundations of the barn. The aim was, in a sense, to “armor” the living space against harmful influences—whether they came from a jealous neighbor, an evil spirit, or the Devil himself.

In all these benevolent practices of Braucherei, the guiding idea is the pursuit of harmony and health through the sacred. The Braucher sees himself as an intermediary, somewhat like an unofficial priest of the community, reconciling people with the forces beyond their control. He makes divine graces accessible for practical needs: healing a burn, bringing the bees back to the hive, or calming a family dispute. This is why people treated him with respect and gratitude. However, this beneficial magic existed only because its malevolent opposite was feared: Hexerei, the evil witchcraft that casts spells. If the healer was indispensable, it was also because fear of the Hexen (witches) remained very much alive.

Hexerei, or the fear of spells and counter-witchcraft

In Alsace as in Lorraine, the German term Hexerei refers to malicious witchcraft, intended to cause harm in secret. It typically means the black magic attributed to the Hexe (evil witches or sorcerers). In the village mentality of old, many inexplicable misfortunes were blamed on these occult works: sudden livestock illnesses, devastating storms, a child wasting away for no apparent reason, butter that would no longer form when churned. People lived in dread of this invisible evil known as the curse, the spell. Thus, an entire lore surrounding Hexerei developed, with its characters (the jealous old witch, the bonesetter who sells his soul) and its tales of bewitchment.

Accusations of witchcraft wreaked havoc throughout the region’s history. In the late Middle Ages and especially during the early modern period (the 16th and 17th centuries), Alsace and Lorraine became the scene of an intense witch hunt fueled by fear of the Devil. Hundreds of people—mostly women—were tried and executed for witchcraft, based on mere suspicions or reported curses. This fierce repression, carried out by civil or religious courts, left a lasting mark on collective memory. Even after the great trials ended, the figure of the witch remained a bogeyman in the countryside. People avoided the company of some old woman reputed to “have the evil eye,” or feared that some folk healer possessed a diabolical grimoire for making a pact with Lucifer.

The powers attributed to witches were terrifying. They were believed to be capable of harming property and people in many ways. In Lorraine, it was said that witches could, on Walpurgis Night or at other favorable times, steal a field’s fertility by collecting the dew with a sheet, or divert cows’ milk by placing a broom handle in the cowshed and “milking” it like an imaginary cow. They could cast a spell on wheat to prevent it from sprouting, put worms in the mill’s flour, or prevent a newlywed from consummating her marriage by hiding beneath her bed a needle that had been used to sew a shroud. The stories abound: one man found a black toad in his pigs’ trough one morning—a sure sign that a witch had cast a spell on the animals; another saw his cows fall ill one after another, presumably because a witch had buried beneath the cowshed a cursed pouch containing toad bones and sabbath herbs. Even natural phenomena such as a sudden invasion of caterpillars could be attributed to witchcraft.

Hexerei arriving at the sabbath. Source

Faced with this omnipresent fear of bewitchment, rural society developed means of defense and counter-witchcraft—this is where Braucherei intersects with the fight against Hexerei. The Braucher was the person people turned to when a spell was suspected. His role was not only to heal, but also to undo the evil caused by a sorcerer. For example, he might be called upon to “lift” a spell weighing on a sick person: he would then use prayers of exorcism or deliverance, sometimes in Latin (such as the famous Exorcism against Satan and the Rebellious Angels, or special prayers against harmful spirits). He could also advise the victim to perform apotropaic acts: placing blessed salt in the four corners of the house, carrying a “prayer against sorcerers” written in Latin on parchment, or nailing a hawthorn branch (a protective plant) above the door.

In many cases, simply having the healer declare the spell “broken” restored the bewitched person’s confidence—and that confidence contributed to the healing. The effectiveness of counter-witchcraft was as much psychological as sacred: once the victim was no longer afraid, the witch’s power vanished. Moreover, the Braucher could attempt to identify the sorcerer responsible by using traditional methods. One method involved melting lead or wax in a basin of water while reciting an incantation, then observing the solidified shapes: the initial or silhouette of the evil person might appear in them. At other times, three candles were lit in the name of the Trinity, and the following words were spoken: “May the sorcerer who caused this harm come to this house”—and if someone suspicious arrived soon afterward, they were considered the culprit.

It is interesting to note that the boundary between Braucher and Hexer was sometimes blurred. Officially, the Braucher denied using Hexerei: he saw himself as the witch’s antidote, not their accomplice. He healed where the other had sought to cause harm. In the Pennsylvania language that developed from our dialects, people do indeed say “Braucherei” for beneficial magic and “Hexerei” for harmful magic, and the two are theoretically opposed. The braucher (also called a Powwow doctor in English) is called upon to remove a spell cast by a hexer. Nevertheless, in the eyes of some, they all manipulated occult forces, and the boundary could be tenuous: a reputed healer could easily be accused of witchcraft if they aroused envy or fear. The difference often lay in the morality attributed to the person. As long as they worked for good and gave thanks to God, they were an acceptable good witch; if they began uttering curses or charging too much for their services, they were suspected of making a pact with the Devil. This ambiguity has followed the figure of the healer-witch into the contemporary era: we admire their knowledge, but we still remain somewhat wary of them.

The Himmelsbrief, the Protective Letter from Heaven

Among all the region’s magical and religious practices, the Himmelsbrief holds a unique place. This German term literally means “letter from Heaven”. It refers to a written document presented as being of divine origin—it is said to have been written by God himself, Christ, or an angel—and which promises protection and blessings to whoever possesses it. The concept of the Himmelsbrief is ancient and is not limited to Alsace-Lorraine: it can be traced back to the Middle Ages, with the legend of a letter from Jesus that fell from the sky to exhort people to piety and protect them from calamities. In the 13th century, the chronicler Joinville reported that a certain Jacob, leader of the Shepherds’ Crusade (1251), brandished a letter supposedly given by the Virgin Mary to galvanize the crowds. This motif of the celestial letter reappears periodically throughout European history, in Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant settings alike: each time, it is a sacred message that has descended miraculously, carrying promises of salvation but also strict conditions (often, an order to copy the letter and distribute it, on pain of divine punishment).

Himmelsbriefs. Source

In Alsace and Lorraine, the Himmelsbrief became widespread mainly in the modern and contemporary periods, in connection with popular printing and domestic devotion. These letters from God appeared as broadsides (printed posters) or manuscripts that were reverently kept at home. They were sometimes hung on the wall, in the main room or in the stable, as a kind of spiritual talisman protecting the household and livestock. Others carried them on their person, folded inside a small leather pouch, especially when they had to leave home to travel or go to war. The typical content of a Himmelsbrief combines biblical verses, prayers (such as the Lord’s Prayer and excerpts from the Psalms), and formulas assuring divine protection. The letter proclaims that “everyone carrying this message will be protected from sudden death, bullets, lightning, the plague,…”, listing earthly dangers from which one will be protected. Conversely, it warns that anyone who despises it or fails to reproduce it faithfully will bring misfortune upon themselves—for there is a price to pay for divine protection. Most of these letters end with an injunction: “Copy this letter and share it with your fellow human beings”—which turned them into genuine spiritual chain letters passed down through the generations.

The Himmelsbrief enjoyed particular success during troubled periods, when divine protection was ardently sought. This was especially true during the First World War (1914–18), when many German soldiers—including Alsace-Moselle men forcibly conscripted into the Kaiser’s army—carried letters of protection with them to the front. Mothers or wives would hand-copy a Himmelsbrief formula for their son or husband departing for war, so that the talisman would render him invulnerable to bullets. One documented case is that of Marie Geffers, a farmer from Lower Saxony, who in August 1914 wrote a magical letter in her finest handwriting for her son-in-law Richard, who was leaving for combat. On a field-post form (Feldpostbrief), she set down biblical passages, invocations to the Trinity, and various assurances of protection against weapons—texts she had probably copied from models circulating among her neighbors. This trench Himmelsbrief, like so many others, would protect the soldier from danger, provided he kept it devoutly on his person and remained in a state of grace. The practice was so widespread that the military authorities sometimes grew concerned, viewing it as a superstition that could verge on insubordination (a soldier who believed himself invincible might take reckless risks). But for these men facing death every day, keeping a handwritten letter from their mother in their pocket, combining prayer and magic, must have brought genuine psychological comfort—and, of course, tangible protection in the eyes of faith.

The content of the Himmelsbriefe varies, but certain elements recur. In addition to prayers and blessings, they contain sacred symbols drawn or calligraphed by hand: the name of Jesus in ornamental lettering, crosses, the IHS monogram, and the three nails of the Crucifixion. Sometimes, the letter takes the form of a celestial dialogue, with Jesus dictating the letter to an angel. Others include very precise moral instructions: assisting the poor, observing Sunday, and so on, making the text both a reminder of the duties of a good Christian and a fetish. This dual nature is intriguing: the Himmelsbrief offers “automatic” protection simply by being present, but it also urges its owner to lead a virtuous life, an implicit condition of divine assistance. In this sense, it could be described as an alliance: God protects the individual through the letter, and in return the individual commits to faith and righteousness.

In our Alsatian and Lorraine regions, people obtained a Himmelsbrief either by having one written by a respected practitioner (a renowned Hexenmeister or Braucher), or by buying a printed version during a pilgrimage or at a religious fair. Indeed, as early as the 18th century, peddlers sold inexpensive printed blessings and heavenly letters. However, many people preferred the handwritten version, considered more authentic and powerful, especially if it came from the hand of a healer known for his faith. Some Hexenmeister thus monetized their mystical writing skills, composing personalized Himmelsbriefe in exchange for a sometimes substantial sum. Others, by contrast, believed that this knowledge should not be sold: according to them, a true Himmelsbrief had to be given freely or in exchange for a symbolic donation; otherwise, it would lose its virtue. In any case, these magical letters circulated widely. Even at the beginning of the 20th century, they could be found hanging in peasant homes in Moselle or Alsace, alongside crucifixes and devotional images, bearing witness to the enduring popularity of these religious talismans.

The Himmelsbrief reflects the culmination of this fusion of magic and faith that characterizes Alsatian-Lorraine witchcraft. It is nothing less than a sacramental born of the people: a paper object bearing the Word of God and serving as a quasi-sacramental form of protection. Neither fully approved by the Church—which often sought to suppress these “superstitious writings”—nor entirely foreign to Christian piety—since it is saturated with biblical texts and prayers—the Himmelsbrief navigates between orthodoxy and magic. It embodies the human desire to have a tangible contract with Heaven: a few written lines and the hope that God will sign at the bottom of the page to fulfill His promise to keep His children from danger.

Persistence and heritage

Alsatian and German-Lorraine magical practices constitute a rich cultural heritage. Of course, the context has changed radically: the traditional rural world has largely disappeared, taking with it some of these active beliefs. In the age of scientific medicine and technology, few people consult a spell lifter to heal livestock or slip a celestial letter under their pillow to ward off lightning.

In the countryside of Alsace and Lorraine (as well as in other regions of France), there are still people known as healers or keepers of the secret. These heirs of Braucherei continue to treat burns, shingles, warts, or “wildfire” exactly as their ancestors did. These practices benefit from social tolerance—including from some doctors who pragmatically observe improvements in patients who combine both approaches. This is a far cry from the persecutions of the past: today’s healer is no longer hunted down as a witch. But beyond that, there is a lesson to be learned: without diplomas or technology, our forebears had developed a knowledge of the soul and the heart to ease suffering and tame fear.

Sources:

• Kriebel, David W. Powwowing Among the Pennsylvania Dutch: A Traditional Medical Practice in the Modern World. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2007.

• Donmoyer, Patrick J. Powwowing in Pennsylvania: Braucherei & the Ritual of Everyday Life. Kutztown, PA: Pennsylvania German Cultural Heritage Center, 2017 (exhibition catalog and study with primary sources).

• Yoder, Don. “Hohman and Romanus: Origins and Diffusion of the Pennsylvania German Powwow Manual,” in American Folk Medicine: A Symposium, University of California Press, 1976, pp. 235–248.

• Hohman, John George. The Long Lost Friend [1820] (1850 English edition, digitized text). Major primary source on Braucherei.

• Bächtold-Stäubli, Hanns & Hoffmann-Krayer, Eduard (eds.). Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens (HDA). Berlin–New York: de Gruyter, 1927–1942 (reprinted 1987). See the entries “Himmelsbrief” (R. Stübe) and “C.M.B.” on the Epiphany blessing.

• Stübe, Rudolf. “Himmelsbriefe and Chain Prayers,” Wissenschaftliches Jahrbuch des Tiroler Landesmuseums, 6 (2013), pp. 245–255 (historical-comparative overview).

• Briggs, Robin. The Witches of Lorraine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007, and accompanying documentary database (approximately 400 trial dossiers).

• Follain, Antoine & Simon, Maryse (eds.). Witchcraft and the City. Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de Strasbourg, 2018 (particularly A. Follain’s chapter on urban and rural Lorraine).

• Simon, Maryse. Witchcraft Cases in the Val de Lièpvre (Sixteenth–Seventeenth Centuries). Strasbourg: Publications de la Société Savante d’Alsace, 2006 (review in Revue d’Alsace, 2007).

• Diedler, Jean-Claude. “A Witchcraft Trial in Southern Lorraine at the Beginning of the Seventeenth Century,” Histoire & Sociétés Rurales, no. 7, 1997, pp. 133–172 (critical edition of judicial sources).

• Rémy, Nicolas. Daemonolatreiae libri tres, 1595 (English translation, Demonolatry, 1929). Lorraine demonological treatise based on an extensive corpus of trials.

• Roehrig, Jacques. Witchcraft Trials in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries in the Eastern Lands: Alsace, Franche-Comté, Lorraine. 2016 (BNU Strasbourg record).

• Archives of the City and Eurometropolis of Strasbourg. “Witchcraft Trials in Ban de la Roche” (presentation of archival documents, Alsatian context).

• Wikisource (DE). “Himmelsbrief von 1864” (example of a nineteenth-century celestial letter, primary source).

• Glencairn Museum. “Powwowing in Pennsylvania: Healing Rituals of the Dutch Country,” Newsletter, March 9, 2017 (transcription of manuscripts on transferring an illness into a tree).

• Strasbourg Museums – Alsatian Museum. Press dossier (2024) and resources on devotional imagery and Alsatian domestic objects (relevant to Haussegen and household protections).