Rübezahl (translation) Part 2: Rübezahl is hanged in Hirschberg.

 

Rübezahl is hanged in Hirschberg.

    The disgruntled gnome left the upper world grumbling, determined never to see daylight again; but the passage of time gradually blurred the impressions of his grief, although it took 999 years for the old wound to heal. Finally, as boredom weighed heavily on him and he was once again in a very bad mood, his favorite and court jester in the underworld, a droll goblin, suggested a pleasure trip to the Giant Mountains, which his majesty did not hesitate to agree to. It took no more than a minute for the long journey to be completed, and he found himself in the middle of the large lawn of his former pleasure garden, which he restored to its former shape along with the rest of the accessories; but everything remained hidden from human eyes: the hikers who crossed the mountains saw nothing but a terrible wilderness. The sight of all these things, which he had seen shimmering in a rose-colored light when the princess was staying here, renewed all his memories of his long-lost love, and it seemed to him that the story with the beautiful Emma had happened only the day before yesterday; her image still floated before him as clearly as if she were standing next to him.

    But the memory of how she had outwitted and betrayed him rekindled his resentment toward all of humanity. “Unhappy brood of heirs,” he exclaimed, looking up and seeing the towers of churches in towns and villages from the high mountains, "I see that you are still up to your old tricks down in the valley. You have mocked me with treachery and intrigue, now you shall pay; I will hunt you down and torment you, so that you shall fear the spirit's deeds in the mountains!"

No sooner had he uttered these words than he heard human voices in the distance. Three young journeymen were hiking through the mountains, and the boldest among them kept shouting: "Rübezahl, come down here! Rübezahl, girl thief!" Since time immemorial, generation after generation had faithfully preserved the love story of the mountain spirit in oral tradition, embellishing it as usual with false additions, and every traveler who entered the Giant Mountains entertained his companions with tales of his adventures. People told countless ghost stories that had never happened, frightening timid travelers and strong-minded people, jokers, and philosophers, who in broad daylight and in large company did not believe in ghosts and made fun of them, often used to invoke the spirit out of exuberance or to prove their heartiness, calling him by his mocking name and cursing him. No one had ever heard that such insults had been rebuked by the peaceful mountain spirit, for in the depths of the abyss he knew nothing of this wanton mockery. He was all the more affected when he heard his entire chronicle of blasphemy proclaimed so succinctly. He raced through the gloomy spruce forest like a storm wind and was about to strangle the poor wretch who had unintentionally mocked him when he realized that such a terrible revenge would cause a great outcry in the land, banish all travelers from the mountains, and rob him of the opportunity to play his games with humans. So he let him and his companions go on their way, reserving the right to punish him for his mischief.

At the next crossroads, the mocking speaker parted ways with his two companions and this time arrived safely in Hirschberg, his home town. But the invisible escort had followed him to the inn, so as to find him there at the appropriate time. Now he began his return journey to the mountains and pondered ways to take revenge. By chance, he met a rich Israelite on the country road who was on his way to Hirschberg, and it occurred to him to use him as an instrument of his revenge. So he joined him in the guise of the loose fellow who had teased him, and chatted amiably with him, leading him unnoticed away from the road, and when they reached the bushes, he fell upon the Jew murderously, ruffled his beard thoroughly, threw him to the ground, gagged him, and robbed him of his purse, in which he carried much money and jewelry. After treating him very badly with punches and kicks as a farewell, he walked away and left the poor plundered Jew half dead in the bushes.

When the Israelite had recovered from his fright and life returned to him, he began to whimper and cry loudly for help, for he feared he would perish in the dreadful wilderness. Then a fine, honorable man approached him, apparently a citizen from one of the surrounding towns. He asked why he was lamenting and, finding him gagged, untied his hands and feet and did for him all that the Good Samaritan in the Gospel did for the man who had fallen among thieves. Afterwards, he refreshed him with a delicious sip of a refreshing drink he had brought with him, led him back to the highway, and accompanied him kindly, like the angel Raphael accompanied the young Tobias, until he brought him to the door of the inn at Hirschberg; there he gave him a penny for his expenses and took his leave of him. How astonished the Jew was when, upon entering the tavern, he saw his robber sitting at the drinking table, as free and uninhibited as a person who is unaware of any wrongdoing can be. He sat behind a jug of local wine, joking and telling funny stories with other merry drinking companions, and next to him was the very same leather bag in which he had hidden the stolen purse. The distraught Jew did not know whether to believe his eyes, so he crept into a corner and consulted with himself as to how he might regain his property. It seemed utterly impossible to him that he could have mistaken the person, so he slipped out the door unnoticed, hurried to the judge, and delivered his thief's greeting.*

*This was formerly the legal term for reporting a theft.

At that time, the Hirschberg judiciary had a reputation for being quick and active in administering law and justice when there was something to be gained from doing so; but when it had to fulfill its duties ex officio, it moved at a snail's pace, as elsewhere. The experienced Israelite was already familiar with the usual course of events and pointed out the compelling evidence to the indecisive judge, who hesitated for a long time before writing down the complaint, and this golden hope did not fail to result in an arrest warrant. The pursuers armed themselves with spears and poles, surrounded the tavern, seized the innocent criminal, and brought him before the council chamber, where the wise fathers had gathered. “Who are you?” asked the city judge when the accused entered, “and where do you come from?” He replied frankly and fearlessly: “I am an honest tailor by trade, named Benedix, I come from Liebenau and am working here for my master.”

“Didn't you murderously attack this Jew in the forest, beat him badly, tie him up, and rob him of his purse?”

“I have never seen this Jew with my own eyes, nor have I beaten him, bound him, or robbed him of his purse. I am an honest guild member and not a highway robber.”

“How can you prove your honesty?”

“With my customers and the testimony of my good conscience.”

“Show me your customers.”

Benedix confidently opened the leather bag, knowing full well that it contained nothing but his rightfully acquired property. But as he emptied it out, lo and behold! Among the junk that spilled out, there was the clink of money. The pursuers quickly seized the goods, sorted through them, and pulled out the heavy bag, which the delighted Jew immediately recognized as his property. The little man stood there as if struck by lightning, wanted to sink down in terror, turned pale around the nose, his lips trembled, his knees wobbled, he fell silent and said not a word. The judge's brow darkened, and a threatening gesture foreshadowed a harsh decision.

“Well, villain!” thundered the town bailiff, “do you still dare to deny the robbery?”

“Have mercy, stern judge!” whimpered the defendant on his knees with his hands raised high. “I call upon all the saints in heaven as witnesses that I am innocent of the robbery; I do not know how the Jew's purse came into my fur bag, God knows.”

“You are committed,” continued the judge, “the evidence is sufficient to convict you of the crime. Do honor to God and the authorities and confess voluntarily before the torturer comes to extract a confession of the truth from you.”

The frightened Benedix could do nothing but protest his innocence, but he was preaching to deaf ears: he was considered a stubborn thief who was only trying to talk his way out of the noose. Master Hämmerling*), the formidable investigator of truth, was summoned to use the steel evidence of his eloquence to persuade him to honor God and the authorities by confessing his guilt. Now the poor wretch lost the steadfast joy of his good conscience, and he trembled at the torments that awaited him. As the torturer was about to apply the thumb screws, he realized that this operation would render him incapable of ever again wielding the needle with honor, and rather than remain a ruined man for the rest of his life, it seemed better to him to escape the torture at once and confess to the prank, of which his heart knew nothing. The criminal trial was then dismissed without further ado, and the defendant was sentenced to death by the judge and jury. In order to ensure swift justice and save on food costs, the sentence was to be carried out early the following morning.

*) The executioner.

All those who had been drawn to the highly embarrassing trial found the wise magistrate's verdict fair and just; but no one applauded the judges more loudly than the Good Samaritan, who had sneaked into the courtroom and could not stop praising the love of justice shown by the gentlemen of Hirschberg; and indeed, no one had a closer connection to the matter than this philanthropist, who had hidden the Jew's purse in the tailor's fur bag with an invisible hand and was none other than Rübezahl himself. Early in the morning, he lay in wait at the high court in the form of a raven for the funeral procession that was to accompany the victim of his revenge, and immediately his ravenous appetite stirred within him to peck out the eyes of the new arrival; but this time he waited in vain. A pious monk who had spent the last night with the condemned man to prepare him for death found Benedix to be such a crude, wild blockhead that it seemed impossible to him to turn him into a pious man in such a short time; he therefore asked the criminal court for a three-day postponement, which he finally obtained from the pious magistrate with great difficulty and under threat of excommunication. When Rübezahl heard about this, he flew to the mountains to await the execution date there.

In this intervening space, he roamed the woods as usual and, on this foray, saw a pretty maiden reclining under a shady tree. Her head drooped melancholically, her clothes were not precious, but clean and of a modest cut. From time to time, she wiped a tear rolling down her cheek with her hand, and moaning sighs escaped from her chest.

The gnome had already experienced the powerful impressions of virgin tear in the past; and now he was so moved by it that he made the first exception to the law he had imposed on himself to torment and torture all children of Adam who passed through the mountains. He even recognized the feeling of compassion as a pleasant sensation and felt a desire to comfort the beautiful girl. He transformed himself back into an honorable citizen, approached the maiden kindly, and said, “Maiden, why do you mourn here so lonely in the desert? Do not hide your sorrow from me, that I may see how I can help you.”

The girl, who had been completely lost in melancholy, startled when she heard this voice and raised her head, which had been bowed toward the ground. Ah, what a pair of languishing blue eyes looked out from there, whose gently refracted light was capable of melting a heart of steel! Two bright tears glistened like carbuncles, and the lovely virginal face was covered with an expression of anxious pain, which only served to enhance the charms of the lovely face. Seeing the honorable man standing before her, she opened her purple mouth and said: "What does my pain matter to you, good man, since I cannot be helped. I am an unfortunate woman, a murderer, I have killed the man of my heart and I will atone for my guilt with lamentation and tears until death breaks my heart."

The honorable man was astonished. “You, a murderer?” he exclaimed. "With such a heavenly face, you carry hell in your heart? - Impossible! I know that humans are capable of all kinds of wickedness, but this is a mystery to me."

“I will tell you,” replied the sad maiden, “if you wish to know.” He said, “Speak!”

"I had a playmate from my youth, the son of a virtuous widow, my neighbor, who chose me as his sweetheart when he grew up. He was so kind and good, so loyal and honest, loved so steadfastly and dearly, that he stole my heart and I pledged him eternal fidelity. - Oh, I poisoned the heart of that dear boy, made him forget the virtues taught by his pious mother, and led him into a misdeed for which he forfeited his life!”

The gnome exclaimed in surprise, “You?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, “I am his murderer. I provoked him to commit highway robbery and plunder a mischievous Jew. Then the lords of Hirschberg seized him, held a trial by ordeal, and, oh, what heartache! Tomorrow he will be put to death.”

“And you are to blame for that?” asked Rübezahl, astonished.

“Yes, sir! I have it on my conscience, the young blood!”

“How so?”

He set off on his travels across the mountains, and as he hung around my neck when we parted, he said: My dear, stay faithful to me. When the apple tree blooms for the third time and the swallow builds its nest, I will return from my travels to take you home as my young wife. And I promised him that I would be his with a solemn oath. Now the apple tree blossomed for the third time, and the swallows nested, and Benedix returned, reminding me of my promise and wanting to take me to be married. But I teased and mocked him, as girls often do to suitors, and said, “I cannot become your wife, you have neither hearth nor shelter. First get yourself some shiny coins, then ask me again.” The poor boy was very saddened by this speech. “Oh, Klärchen!” he sighed deeply, with a tear in his eye, "if you desire money and possessions, then you are no longer the honest girl you once were! Did you not clasp this hand when you swore your loyalty to me? And what did I have more than this hand to feed you with? Where does your pride and stubbornness come from? Ah, Klärchen, I understand you: a rich suitor has stolen your heart. Is this how you repay me, you unfaithful one? For three years I have lived sadly, longing and waiting, counting every hour until this day when I came to take you home. How light and quick my feet were with hope and joy as I walked over the mountains, and now you spurn me!" He begged and pleaded, but I remained firm in my resolve: “My heart does not spurn you, O Benedix!” I replied, “only my hand I refuse you for now; go forth, acquire wealth and money, and when you have that, come back, and I will gladly become your wife.” “Very well,” he said with displeasure, "if that is what you want, I will go out into the world, I will walk, I will run, I will beg, I will steal, I will save, I will worry, and you shall not see me again until I have obtained the despicable prize for which I must acquire you. Farewell, I'm leaving, goodbye!“ ”So I beguiled him, poor Benedix; he left in anger, and his guardian angel abandoned him, so that he did what was wrong and what his heart certainly abhorred."

The honorable man shook his head at this speech, and after a pause, with a thoughtful expression, exclaimed: “Wonderful, most wonderful!” Then he turned to the beautiful woman: “Why,” he asked, “do you fill this empty forest with your lamentations, which can do neither you nor your beloved any good or serve any purpose?”

“Dear sir,” she said to him, “I was on my way to Hirschberg when sorrow weighed heavily on my heart, so I paused beneath this tree.”

“And what do you intend to do in Hirschberg?”

"I want to fall at the feet of the judge, fill the city with my

cries of lamentation, and the daughters of the city shall help me mourn, in the hope that the lords may take pity and spare the innocent blood; and if I do not succeed in snatching my beloved from death, I will gladly die with him."

The spirit was so moved by these words that he

immediately forgot his revenge and decided to return the beloved to the disconsolate woman. “Dry your tears,” he said with a sympathetic gesture, "and let your sorrow fade away. Before the sun sets, your Benedix shall be free. Tomorrow, at the first crow of the cock, be awake and attentive, and when a finger knocks on the window, open the door to your little chamber, for it is your Benedix who stands before it. Be careful not to anger him again

with your aloofness. — You should also know that he did not commit the mischief of which you accuse him, and you are equally blameless, for your stubbornness did not provoke him to do anything wrong."

The maiden, astonished by these words, stared at him rigidly and stiffly, and because the wrinkle of deceit did not reveal itself in them, she gained confidence, her cloudy brow cleared, and she spoke with joyful doubt: "Dear sir, if you are not mocking me, and if it is as you say, then you must be a seer or the good angel of my beloved, that you know all this."

“His guardian angel?” replied Rübezahl, taken aback. "No, I am certainly not that, but I can become one, and you shall see! I am a citizen of Hirschberg and was present when the poor sinner was sentenced, but his innocence has been revealed, so fear not for his life. I will go and free him from his bonds, for I have much power in the city. Be of good cheer and return home in peace." The maiden immediately set out and obeyed, although fear and hope fought within her soul.

The venerable Father had spent the three days of postponement seething with rage, determined to give poor Benedix a good thrashing in order to rescue his poor soul from hell, to which, in his opinion, it had been condemned since his youth. For our tailor was an ignorant layman who knew far more about needles and scissors than he did about the rosary. He always mixed up the Hail Mary and the Our Father, and he didn't know a syllable of the Creed; the zealous monk had a hard time teaching him the latter, and spent two full days on this task. For even when he recited the formula and the poor sinner's memory did not falter, he was often interrupted by a thought of earthly things and a half-voiced sigh: “Oh, Klärchen!” interrupted the whole lesson, which is why the pious brother found it beneficial to make hell hot for the lost sheep, and he succeeded in such a way that the frightened Benedix broke out in a cold sweat and, to the sanctified joy of his convert, completely forgot about his Klärchen.

Delighted with this success, the venerable priest left the dungeon

after wishing the desolate Benedix good night for the last time, when Rübezahl invisibly met him at the entrance, still undecided as to how he could carry out his plan to set the poor tailor free in such a way that the lords of Hirschberg would not be deprived of the pleasure of exercising their outdated jurisdiction, for the magistrate had earned his good will by administering justice swiftly. At that moment, he had an idea that was quite to his liking. He sneaked into the monastery after the monk, stole a monk's robe from the clothing store, went inside and, in the guise of Brother Graurock, made his way to the prison, which the jailer respectfully opened for him. “The salvation of your soul,” he said to the prisoner, “has brought me here once again, for I can hardly bear to leave you. Tell me, my son, what is still on your heart and conscience, so that I may comfort you.” “Reverend Father,” replied Benedix, “My conscience does not trouble me, but your purgatory frightens and distresses me and squeezes my heart as if it were between two thumbs.” Father Rübezahl had very incomplete and confused ideas about church doctrine, so his cross-question, “What do you mean?” was forgivable. “Oh,” replied Benedix, “I can't stand wading knee-deep in the fiery pool, sir!” “Fool,” replied Rübezahl, “then stay out of it if the bath is too hot for you.” Benedix was confused by this remark and stared so intently at the monk's face that the latter realized he had said something inappropriate, so he relented: “We'll talk about that another time. Do you still think of Klärchen? Do you still love her as your bride? And if you have something to say to her before you leave, confide it to me.” Benedix was even more astonished at this name. The thought of her, which he had tried so conscientiously to stifle in his soul, was suddenly so violently stirred up, especially since there was talk of farewells, that he began to cry and sob loudly and was unable to utter a word. This heartbreaking behavior so moved the compassionate monk that he decided to put an end to the game. “Poor Benedix,” he said, "be content and take heart, you shall not die. I have learned that you are innocent of the robbery and have not stained your hands with any vice, so I have come to rescue you from the dungeon and free you from your bonds.“ He took a key from his pocket. ”Let's see,“ he continued, ”if it fits." The attempt was successful, and the freed man stood there free and unshackled. Then the good-natured priest exchanged clothes with him and said: "Walk slowly like a pious monk through the crowd of guards in front of the prison door and through the streets until you have left the city limits behind you, then hurry and stride briskly so that you reach the mountains, and do not rest until you stand at Klärchen's door in Liebenau. Knock softly, for your sweetheart awaits you with anxious longing."

The weary Benedix thought it was all just a dream, rubbed his eyes, pinched his arms and calves to see if he was awake or asleep, and when he realized that it was all real, he fell at his liberator's feet and embraced his knees, wanting to stammer out a thank you but lying there in silent joy, for words failed him. The kind monk finally drove him away and gave him a loaf of bread and a sausage to eat on the way. With trembling knees, the freed man crossed the threshold of the sad dungeon, always fearing that he would be recognized. But his venerable robe gave him an aura of piety and virtue, so that the guards did not suspect that a murderer was beneath it.

Meanwhile, Klärchen sat anxiously alone in her little room, listening to every rustle of the wind and peering out for every footstep of passers-by. Often she thought she heard something moving at the window shutters or the doorbell ringing; she started with her heart pounding, looked through the hatch, and it was a mistake. Already the roosters in the neighborhood were shaking their wings and announcing the coming day with their crowing; the little bell in the monastery rang for early mass, which sounded to her like a death knell and the sound of the grave; the watchman blew his horn for the last time and woke the snoring baker's maids to their early day's work. Klärchen's lamp began to burn dimly because it was running out of oil, her anxiety increased with every passing moment and prevented her from noticing the beautiful rose of good omen burning on the smoldering wick. She sat on her bed, weeping bitterly and sighing: "Benedix! Benedix! What a fearful day is dawning for you and me!" She ran to the window, oh! The sky was blood red toward Hirchberg, and black clouds of fog floated like mourning ribbons and shrouds here and there on the horizon. Her soul trembled at this ominous sight, she sank into dull brooding, and deathly silence surrounded her.

There was a soft knock on her window three times, as if announcing itself. A happy shiver ran through her limbs, she jumped up and let out a loud cry, for a voice whispered through the hatch: “My dear, are you awake?”— She was at the door in a flash. — “Oh, Benedix, is it you or is it your ghost?” But when she saw Brother Graurock, she sank back and fainted in horror. Then his faithful arm gently embraced her, and the kiss of love soon brought her back to life.

After the silent scene of astonishment and the outpourings of the first joyful feelings of the heart were over, Benedix told her of his miraculous rescue from the painful dungeon; but his tongue stuck to his palate from great thirst and exhaustion. Klärchen went to fetch him a drink of fresh water, and after he had refreshed himself, he felt hungry, but she had nothing to eat but salt and bread. Then Benedix remembered his sausage, took it out of his pocket, and was surprised to find that it was heavier than a horseshoe. He broke it in two, and lo and behold! Pure gold coins fell out, which greatly alarmed Klärchen. She thought the gold was a shameful reminder of the robbery of the Jew, and that Benedix was not as innocent as the honorable man who had appeared to her in the mountains had made him out to be. But the carefree journeyman insisted that the pious monk had probably given him this hidden treasure as a wedding gift, and she believed his words. Then, with grateful hearts, they both blessed their noble benefactor, left their hometown, and moved to Prague, where Master Benedix lived with Klärchen, his wife, for many years as a well-to-do man in a peaceful marriage blessed with many children. His fear of the gallows was so deeply rooted in him that he never embezzled anything from his customers and, contrary to the nature and custom of his fellow craftsmen, did not throw even the smallest piece into hell.

*) Tailors were once said to frequently dispose of their customers' fabric scraps through a round opening in their tailor's table - called hell - made disappear.

    In the early hours of the morning, as Klärchen noted her Benedix's finger on the window with shuddering joy, a finger also knocked on the prison door in Hirschberg.

It was Brother Graurock, who, awakened by pious zeal, could hardly wait for the dawn to complete the conversion of the poor sinner and hand him over to the violent arm of the executioner as a half-saint. Rübezahl had once taken on the role of prisoner and was determined to play it out purely for the honor of justice. He seemed well prepared to die, and the pious monk rejoiced at this and immediately recognized his steadfastness as the blessed fruit of his work on the soul of the poor sinner. Therefore, he did not fail to sustain him in this state of mind with his spiritual encouragement and concluded his speech with the comforting blessing: “As many people as you will see accompanying you to the place of execution, behold, so many angels are already standing ready to receive your soul and lead it into the beautiful paradise.” He then had him untie his bonds, wanting to hear his confession and then absolve him; but it occurred to him to repeat yesterday's lesson first, so that the poor sinner might recite his creed freely and without offense under the gallows in a closed circle for the edification of the spectators. But how shocked the monk was when he realized that the uneducated tailor had completely forgotten his creed overnight! The pious monk believed that Satan was at work here and wanted to snatch the soul he had won from heaven, so he began to exorcise him vigorously; but the devil did not want to be driven out and would not allow the creed to be forced into the sinner's head.

    Time had run out, and the embarrassing court decided that it was now time to kill him. Without allowing any further delay in the execution, the staff was broken, and although Rübezahl was portrayed as a stubborn sinner, he willingly submitted to all the remaining formalities of the execution. As he was pushed off the ladder, he wriggled on the rope to his heart's content and carried on so badly that the executioner felt sick, for there was a sudden uproar among the people and some shouted that the hangman should be stoned for torturing the poor sinner beyond measure. So, to prevent misfortune, Rübezahl stretched out and pretended to be dead. But since the crowd had dispersed and some people were wandering around the area of the high court, they approached out of curiosity and wanted to look at the corpse. The joker on the gallows began his game anew and frightened the onlookers with terrible grimaces. Therefore, toward evening, a rumor spread throughout the city that the hanged man could not die and was still dancing at the high court, which prompted the Senate to have the matter investigated thoroughly early in the morning by several deputies. When they arrived, they found nothing but a little straw on the gallows covered with old rags, as is customary to put in the peas to scare away the greedy sparrows. The gentlemen of Hirschberg were very surprised by this, quietly had the straw man removed, and spread the rumor that the strong wind had blown the light tailor from the gallows across the border during the night.