Rübezahl (translation) Part 3: Paid in gratitude.

 

Paid in gratitude.

Rübezahl was not always in the mood to give those whom he had harmed and disadvantaged with his teasing such a generous reward; often he was simply a mischievous spirit who took malicious pleasure in causing harm and cared little whether he was teasing a villain or an honest man. He often joined a lonely wanderer as a companion, unnoticed led the stranger astray, left him standing at the edge of a mountain precipice or in a swamp, and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Sometimes he frightened the timid market women with adventurous creatures, strange and fabulous animals. He often paralyzed the traveler's horse so that it could not move, broke a wheel or axle on the cart, or let a piece of rock roll down into a ravine before their eyes, which they had to clear away with great difficulty in order to make their way. Often an invisible force would hold up an unhitched wagon so that six swift horses could not pull it away, and if the driver showed that he suspected Rübezahl of teasing him, or if he burst out in anger with abusive words against the mountain spirit, he had to expect an army of hornets that enraged the horses, a hail of stones, or a rich beating from an invisible hand. He had become acquainted with an old shepherd, who was an honest, sincere man, and had even formed a kind of close friendship with him. He allowed him to drive his flock right up to the hedges of his gardens, which no one else would have dared to do. The spirit listened with pleasure to the gray-haired man as he recounted his uneventful life story. Nevertheless, the old man made a mistake once. One day, as he drove his flock into the gnome's enclosure as usual, some of the sheep broke through the hedges and grazed on the lawns of the garden; This enraged his friend Rübezahl so much that he immediately sent a wave of panic through the flock, causing them to rush down the mountain in wild turmoil, most of them perishing in the process. The old shepherd's livelihood declined so much that he grieved himself to death. A doctor from Schmiedeberg, who used to botanize in the Giant Mountains, also enjoyed the honor of entertaining the gnome, who was unknown to him, with his boastful talkativeness. The gnome, who sometimes appeared as a woodcutter and sometimes as a traveler, enjoyed listening to the Schmiedeberg doctor's miracle cures. He was sometimes so obliging as to carry the heavy bundle of herbs a good distance and to inform him of some of their unknown healing powers. The doctor, who considered himself wiser in herbal medicine than a woodcutter, once took offense at this instruction and said with displeasure: "The cobbler should stick to his last, and the woodcutter should not teach the doctor. But since you are knowledgeable about herbs and plants, from the hyssop that grows on the wall to the cedar in Lebanon, tell me, wise Solomon, which came first, the acorn or the oak tree?" The spirit replied, “Surely the tree, for the fruit comes from the tree.” “Fool,” said the doctor, “where did the first tree come from, if not from the seed enclosed in the fruit?” The woodcutter replied, "I see that this is a master question, which is far too difficult for me to answer. But I will ask you a question: who owns this land on which we stand, the King of Bohemia or the Lord of the Mountain?" (This is what the neighbors called the mountain spirit after they had been warned that the name Rübezahl was forbidden in the mountains and would only bring blows and bruises.) The doctor did not hesitate for long: “I believe that this land belongs to my lord, the King of Bohemia, for Rübezahl is only a figment of the imagination, a fantasy or bogeyman used to frighten children.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than the woodcutter transformed into a hideous giant with fiery eyes and angry gestures, snarled grimly at the doctor, and said in a rough voice: “Here is Rübezahl, who will scare you so much that your ribs will crack;” He grabbed him by the collar, ran him into the trees and rock walls, tore and threw him back and forth, as the devil did to Doctor Faust in the comedy, finally knocked out one of his eyes and left him lying on the ground for dead, so that the doctor afterward vowed never to go botanizing in the mountains again. It was that easy to lose Rübezahl's friendship, but it was just as easy to win it back. A farmer in the Reichenberg district had been robbed of all his possessions by a malicious neighbor, and after the courts had seized his last cow, he was left with nothing but a haggard wife and half a dozen children. He still had a pair of strong, healthy arms, but they were not enough to feed himself and his family. It broke his heart when the children cried for bread and he had nothing to satisfy their agonizing hunger. “With a hundred talers,” he said to his grief-stricken wife, "we could rebuild our ruined household and acquire new property far away from our quarrelsome neighbor. You have rich cousins beyond the mountains, I will go and tell them of our plight; perhaps one of them will take pity on us and, out of the goodness of his heart, lend us as much as we need from his abundance." The downtrodden woman agreed to this proposal with little hope of success, because she could think of no better alternative. Early in the morning, the man girded his loins and, leaving his wife and children, comforted them, saying, "Do not weep! My heart tells me that I will find a benefactor who will be more helpful to us than the fourteen saints to whom I have so often made pilgrimages in vain." Then he put a hard crust of bread in his pocket for sustenance and went on his way. Tired and weary from the heat of the day and the long journey, he arrived in the evening at the village where his rich cousins lived; but none of them wanted to know him, none of them wanted to give him shelter. With hot tears he lamented his misery to them, but the hard-hearted scoundrels paid no attention, hurting the poor man with reproaches and insulting proverbs. One said, “Young blood, save your wealth,” another, “Pride comes before a fall,” a third, “As you sow, so shall you reap,” and a fourth, “Everyone is the architect of his own fortune.” So they mocked and ridiculed him, calling him a glutton and a lazybones, and finally they even pushed him out the door. The poor cousin had not expected such a reception from his wife's wealthy relatives; silent and sad, he crept out of the village, and because he had nothing to pay for a night's lodging at the inn, he had to spend the night on a haystack in the field. Here he waited sleeplessly for the hesitant dawn to set off on his journey home. Now that he was back in the mountains, grief and sorrow overwhelmed him so much that he was close to despair. “Two days' wages lost,” he thought to himself, weary and exhausted from grief and hunger, without comfort or hope! “Two days' wages lost,” he thought to himself, weary and weakened by grief and hunger, without comfort, without hope! "When you return home and the six poor worms gaze at you longingly, raising their hands to beg for sustenance, and you must offer them a stone for a morsel of bread, father's heart! Father's heart! How can you bear it! Break in two, poor heart, before you feel this misery!" Then he threw himself under a blackthorn bush to continue dwelling on his melancholy thoughts. But just as, on the brink of destruction, the soul strains its last reserves of strength to seek a means of rescue, every fiber of the brain scours every corner of the imagination, seeking protection or respite from the impending doom; just as a boatswain who sees his ship sinking quickly runs up the rope ladder to take refuge in the crow's nest, or if he is below deck, jumps out of the hatch in the hope of catching a plank or a spare barrel to keep himself afloat: so, after a thousand futile attempts and ideas, the desolate Veit on the bench decided to turn to the spirit of the mountains with his request. He had heard many adventurous stories about him, how he sometimes drilled and bullied travelers, causing them much trouble and distress, but also occasionally did them good. He was well aware that he would not get away with calling him by his nickname; nevertheless, he knew of no other way to get to him, so he risked a fight and shouted as loud as he could: “Rübezahl! Rübezahl!”

Good old Veit was not feeling well. (S. 49.) At this call, a figure appeared, resembling a sooty charcoal burner with a fox-red beard that reached down to his belt, fiery, bull-like eyes, and armed with a poker, like a weaver's beam, which he raised with fury to slay the insolent mocker. “With your permission, Lord Rübezahl,” said Veit fearlessly, “forgive me if I do not address you correctly, just hear me out, then do as you please.” This bold speech and the man's sorrowful expression, which indicated neither malice nor impertinence, somewhat appeased the spirit's anger: “Earthworm,” he said, “what drives you to disturb me? Do you know that you must pay for your offense with your neck and skin?” “Sir,” replied Veit, “necessity drives me to you. I have a request that you can easily grant me. You should lend me a hundred talers, and I will pay you back with interest at the usual rate in three years, as sure as I am honest!” “Fool,” said the ghost, "am I a usurer or a Jew who lends money at interest? Go to your fellow men and borrow as much as you need, but leave me alone.“ ”Alas,“ replied Veit, ”brotherhood among men is dead! There is no brotherhood between you and me." He then told him his whole story and described his oppressive misery so movingly that the gnome could not refuse his request; and even if the poor wretch deserved less pity, the spirit found the idea of lending him money so new and strange that he was inclined to grant the man's request for the sake of good faith. “Come, follow me,” he said, and led him into the forest to a remote valley, to a rugged rock whose base was covered with dense bushes. After Veit and his companion had struggled through the undergrowth, they reached the entrance to a dark cave. Good old Veit felt uneasy, having to grope his way in the dark; cold shivers ran down his spine and his hair stood on end. Rübezahl has already deceived many, he thought, who knows what kind of abyss lies before my feet, into which I will fall with my next step; at that moment, he heard a terrible roar like that of wild waters pouring into the deep shaft. The further he progressed, the more fear and horror constricted his heart. But soon, to his relief, he saw a blue flame flickering in the distance. The mountain vault widened into a spacious hall, and the flame burned brightly, suspended like a chandelier in the middle of the rock hall. On the pavement of the hall, he noticed a copper brewing pan filled to the brim with hard talers. When Veit saw the treasure, all his fear vanished and his heart leapt with joy. “Take what you need,” said the spirit, “whether it be little or much, just write me a promissory note, if you know how to write.” The debtor agreed and conscientiously counted out the hundred talers, not one more and not one less. The spirit did not seem to pay any attention to the payment, turned away, and meanwhile searched for his writing materials. Veit wrote the promissory note as concisely as he could; the gnome locked it in an iron treasure chest and said goodbye: "Go, my friend, and use your money with a hard-working hand. Do not forget that you are my debtor, and remember the entrance to the valley and this rock crevice exactly. As soon as the third year has passed, you will pay me back the capital and interest; I am a strict creditor, and if you do not comply, I will demand it with vehemence." Honest Veit promised to pay on the appointed day, promising with his honest hand, but without an oath; he did not pledge his soul and salvation, as loose payers tend to do, and departed with a grateful heart from his creditor in the rock cave, from which he easily found the exit. The hundred talers had such a powerful effect on his soul and body that when he saw the light of day again, he felt as if he had absorbed the balm of life in the rocky crevice. Joyful and strengthened in all his limbs, he now strode toward his dwelling and entered the miserable hut as the day began to draw to a close. As soon as the emaciated children saw him, they cried out in unison: “Bread, father! A bite of bread! You have let us starve for so long.” The haggard woman sat in a corner and wept, fearing the worst in the manner of the faint-hearted and suspecting that the newcomer would strike up a sad litany. But he offered her his hand in a friendly manner and told her to light a fire on the stove, for he was carrying groats and millet from Reichenberg in his knapsack, from which the housekeeper had to cook a stiff porridge that a spoon could stand upright in. Afterwards, he told her about the success of his business. “Your cousins,” he said, “are very fair-minded people; they did not hold my poverty against me, did not misunderstand me or shamefully turn me away at the door, but kindly took me in, opened their hearts and hands to me, and counted out a hundred talers in cash on the table as an advance.” Then a heavy stone fell from the good woman's heart, which had been weighing her down for a long time. “If we had gone to the right smith earlier,” she said, “we could have spared ourselves a lot of grief.” She then praised her friendship, which she had previously thought so little of, and was quite proud of her rich cousins. After so many trials and tribulations, the man gladly allowed her the joy that was so flattering to her vanity. But since she did not stop fawning over her rich cousins and continued to do so for many days, Veit grew tired of the miser's praise and said to his wife: “When I was at the blacksmith's, do you know what wise advice the master blacksmith gave me?” She said, “What?” “Everyone,” he said, "is the architect of his own fortune, and you have to strike while the iron is hot. So let us now get to work and diligently pursue our profession, so that we can make progress, pay off the advance plus interest in three years, and be free of all debt." Then he bought a field and a haystack, then another and another, then a whole acre; it was a blessing in Rübezahl's money, as if there were a hectare underneath it. Veit sowed and reaped, was already considered a wealthy man in the village, and his purse still held a small capital for expanding his property. In the third summer, he had already leased a manor to his farm, which brought him rich interest; in short, he was a man to whom everything he did prospered with good fortune. The payment date was approaching, and Veit had saved up enough to pay off his debt without complaint; he laid out the money and on the appointed day he rose early, woke his wife and all his children, told them to wash and comb their hair and put on their Sunday clothes, including the new shoes and the scarlet bodices and breastcloths they had never worn before. He himself fetched his Sunday coat and called out of the window: “Hans, harness up!” “Man, what are you up to?” asked his wife, “today is neither a holiday nor a church fair, what makes you so cheerful that you have prepared us such a good life, and where do you intend to take us?” He replied, “I want to visit our rich cousins beyond the mountains and pay back the creditor who helped me out with his advance, because today is payday.” The woman was pleased with this; she dressed herself and the children up nicely, and so that the cousins would have a good opinion of their prosperity and not be ashamed of them, she tied a string of curved ducats around her neck. Veit shook the heavy money bag, took it with him, and when everything was ready, he sat down with his wife and child. Hanz whipped the four stallions and they trotted boldly across the Blachfeld toward the Giant Mountains. Veit stopped the cart in front of a steep ravine, got out, and told the others to do the same, then commanded the servant: “Hans, drive slowly up the hill, wait for us at the top by the three lime trees, and even if I am forgiven, don't let it bother you, let the horses snort and graze for a while, I know a footpath here, it's a bit roundabout, but fun to walk on!” Then, accompanied by his wife and children, he struck out into the forest through dense undergrowth and looked back and forth, so that his wife thought her husband had lost his way and urged him to turn back and follow the country road. But Veit suddenly stopped, gathered his six children around him, and said: "You think, dear wife, that we are going to your relatives; that is not my intention now. Your rich cousins are misers and scoundrels who, when I sought comfort and refuge with them in my poverty, mocked me, ridiculed me, and pushed me away with arrogance. — This is where the rich cousin lives, to whom we owe our prosperity, who lent me the money on my word, which has grown so well in my hands. He has summoned me here today to repay him the interest and capital. Do you now know who our creditor is? The lord of the mountain, called Rübezahl!" The woman was greatly horrified by these words, crossed herself, and the children trembled and behaved fearfully, afraid that their father wanted to take them to Rübezahl. They had heard much about him in the spinning rooms, that he was a hideous giant and a man-eater. Veit told them his whole adventure, how the spirit had appeared to him in the form of a charcoal burner when he called out to him, and what he had negotiated with him in the cave. He praised his kindness with a grateful heart and such deep emotion that warm tears trickled down his friendly reddish-brown cheeks. “Wait here,” he continued, "now I will go into the cave to do my business. Fear not, I will not be long, and if I can obtain it from the lord of the mountains, I will bring him to you. Do not be afraid to shake your benefactor's hand sincerely, even if it is black and sooty; he will not harm you and will certainly be pleased with his good deed and our gratitude! Be brave, he will give you golden apples and gingerbread cookies." Although the anxious woman had many objections to the pilgrimage to the rock cave, and the children whined and cried, clinging to their father and, when he pushed them aside, pulling at his coat to keep him from leaving, he nevertheless forced his way through the dense undergrowth and reached the familiar rock. He found all the landmarks of the area that he had memorized well; the old, half-dead oak tree, at whose roots the crevice opened, still stood as it had three years ago, but there was no trace of a cave. Veit tried everything he could to open the entrance to the mountain. He took a stone and knocked on the rock, thinking it should open. He pulled out the heavy money bag, jingled the hard talers, and shouted as loud as he could: “Spirit of the mountain, take what is yours!” But the spirit neither heard nor saw him. So the honest debtor had to decide to turn back with his purse. As soon as his wife and children saw him, they rushed joyfully toward him; he was disgruntled and very distressed that he could not deliver his payment, sat down with his family on a grassy bank, and considered what to do next. Then he remembered his old daring deed: “I will,” he said, “call the ghost by his mocking name, even if it angers him. He can beat and tear at me as he pleases, but at least he will heed this call.” With all his might, he shouted: "Rübezahl! Rübezahl!“ His frightened wife begged him to be quiet and tried to cover his mouth, but he would not be deterred and shouted even louder. Suddenly, the youngest boy pressed himself against his mother and cried fearfully, ”Oh, the black man!“ Veit asked confidently, ”Where?" “He's listening behind that tree,” and all the children huddled together, trembling with fear and crying pitifully. The father looked and saw nothing; it was an illusion, just an empty shadow. In short, Rübezahl did not appear, and all the shouting was in vain. The family now began their journey home, and Father Veit walked along the wide country road, feeling very sad and melancholy. Then a gentle rustling arose from the trees in the forest, the slender birches bent their tops, the moving leaves of the aspens trembled, the roar grew closer, and the wind shook the outstretched branches of the holm oaks, driving dry leaves and blades of grass before it, and curled up small clouds of dust in the path. The children, who were no longer thinking of Rübezahl, were amused by this charming spectacle and grabbed at the leaves that the whirlwind was playing with. A piece of paper was also blown across the path under the dry foliage, which the youngest son chased after; but when he reached for it, the wind picked it up and carried it away so that he could not get it. So he threw his hat after it, which finally covered it; because it was a beautiful white sheet of paper and the thrifty father used to make use of every little thing in his household, the boy brought him his find to earn a little praise. When he unfolded the rolled-up paper to see what it was, he found that it was the promissory note he had issued to the mountain spirit, torn at the top and with the words “Paid in gratitude” written at the bottom. When Veit realized this, it touched him deeply in his soul and he cried out with joyful delight! "Rejoice, dear wife and all you children, rejoice; he has seen us, heard our thanks, our benefactor, who hovered invisibly around us, knows that Veit is an honest man. I am free of my promise, now let us return home with joyful hearts." Parents and children wept many tears of joy and gratitude until they reached their cart again, and because the woman had a great desire to visit her relatives to shame her stingy cousins with her prosperity — because the man's report had stirred up her anger against them — So they rode briskly down the mountain, arrived at the village in the evening, and stopped at the same farm from which Veit had been expelled three years earlier. This time he knocked heartily and asked for the landlord. An unknown man appeared, who was not a relative at all, and from him Veit learned that his cousins had been driven away. One had died, another had gone astray, and the third had left, and their place could no longer be found in the community. Veit spent the night with his wagon company at the hospitable innkeeper's, who told him and his wife all about it in more detail. The next day, he returned to his home and his business, grew rich and prosperous, and remained a righteous, well-protected man for the rest of his life.