Rübezahl (translation) Part 5: The Headless Ghost.

 

The Headless Ghost.

    Ever since Mother Ilse had been so wonderfully rewarded by the gnome, he had not been heard from again for a long time. The people did tell all kinds of miraculous stories, which the housewives spun out as long and finely as the thread on their spinning wheels during cozy winter evenings; but these were mere fables, invented for entertainment. The last authenticated adventure was reserved for Countess Cäcilie with the gnome before he embarked on his latest descent into the underworld.

    This lady made the journey to Karlsbad with her two healthy, blossoming daughters. The mother longed so much for the spa treatment and the young ladies for the spa society, the balls, serenades, and other amusements of the spa that they traveled day and night without rest. It so happened that they reached the mountains just as the sun was setting. It was a beautiful, warm summer evening, with not a breath of wind. The night sky was studded with twinkling stars, the golden crescent moon, whose milky light softened the black shadows of the tall spruce trees, and the moving sparks of countless glowing insects playing in the bushes provided the lighting for one of the most beautiful scenes in nature, although the travelers noticed little of it. for Mama, as the carriage climbed slowly uphill, had been lulled into a gentle slumber by its rocking motion, and the daughters and the maid had huddled together in a corner and were also asleep. Only the vigilant Johann, perched high up on the coachman's seat, could not sleep; all the stories about Rübezahl that he had listened to so eagerly in the past now came back to him in this playground of adventure, and he wished he had never heard any of them. Oh, how he longed to be back in safe Breslau, where no ghost would dare to venture. He looked timidly around in all directions, his eyes often scanning all thirty-two points of the compass in less than a minute, and when he saw something that seemed suspicious, a cold shiver ran down his spine and the hairs on his neck stood on end. At times he let his concerns show to his brother-in-law, the postilion, and he diligently inquired of him whether it was safe in the mountains. Although the latter assured him with a strong driver's oath that he had nothing to fear for his life, his heart still trembled incessantly. 

    After a long pause in the conversation, the coachman stopped the horses, muttered something under his breath, drove on, stopped again, and repeated this several times. Johann, who had his eyes tightly closed, sensed that something was wrong with the coachman's maneuvers, looked up timidly, and saw with horror a pitch-black figure walking toward the carriage a stone's throw away, of superhuman size, wearing a white Spanish collar, and the most alarming thing about it was that the black cloak had no head. When the carriage stopped, the wanderer stood still, and when Wipprecht urged the horses on, he also moved forward. “Brother-in-law, do you see anything?” cried the timid fellow from the high coach box, his hair standing on end. “Of course I see something,” he replied meekly, “but keep quiet so we don't jinx it.” Johann armed himself with all the prayers he knew, including the morning and evening prayers, sweating cold sweat from fear. And like a frightened rabbit, when there is lightning in the night and thunder still rolling in the distance, already stirring the whole house into action to protect itself from the dreaded danger through conviviality, the despondent servant sought comfort and protection from his slumbering masters out of the same instinct and knocked hastily on the windowpane. 

    The countess awoke, displeased at being disturbed from her peaceful slumber, and asked, “What is it?” “Your Grace, look outside,” cried Johann in a timid voice, “there's a man walking around without a head!” “You fool,” replied the countess, “what grotesque images your vulgar imagination conjures up! And even if that were the case,” she continued jokingly, “a man without a head is no rarity; there are plenty of them in Breslau and beyond.” The young ladies, however, did not appreciate their gracious mother's joke. Their hearts were filled with terror, and they clung timidly to their mother, trembling and wailing, “Oh, it's Rübezahl, the mountain monk!” But the lady, who had a completely different view of the spirit world than her daughters and believed in no spirits other than beautiful spirits and strong spirits, punished the young ladies for their bourgeois prejudices, proved that all ghosts and haunted stories were the figments of a morbid imagination, and explained with superior wisdom that ghostly apparitions were all due to natural causes.

    She was in the middle of her speech when the black cloak, which had disappeared from the ghost scout's view for a few moments, emerged from the bush and stepped onto the path again. It was now clear that Johann had been mistaken; the wanderer did indeed have a head, only he was not carrying it between his shoulders as usual, but in his arms like a lap dog. This terrifying sight, three paces away, caused great consternation both inside and outside the carriage. The lovely young ladies and the maid, who was not accustomed to speaking when her young mistress was talking, cried out in unison; they let the silk curtain roll down so as not to see anything, and hid their faces like an ostrich when it can no longer escape the hunter. Mama clasped her hands together in silent horror, and her helpless behavior suggested that she was secretly recanting her confident assertions against ghosts. Johann, whom the terrible black cloak seemed to have singled out, raised the usual battle cry with which ghosts are usually greeted, in the fear of his heart: “All good spirits...” But before he had finished speaking, the monster hurled the severed head at his forehead, causing him to fall headlong from the top of the cushion over the ring nail. at the same moment, the coachman was also struck down by a powerful blow from a club, and the ghost gasped out the words in a hollow chest in a dull tone: "Take this from Rübezahl, the border guard of the mountains, because you drove into his enclosure! Your ship, equipment, and cargo are now mine." With that, the ghost swung himself onto the saddle, spurred the horses on, and rode downhill, uphill, over sticks and stones, so that the rattling of the wheels and the snorting of the horses drowned out the ladies' cries of fear. Suddenly, the company grew by one person; a horseman trotted quite casually past the coachman and did not seem to notice that he was missing his head; he rode in front of the carriage as if he had been hired to do so. The man in black did not seem to like this company, so he turned in another direction, and the horseman did the same, but no matter how often he turned away, he could not get rid of the annoying escort, who seemed to be spellbound to the wagon. This greatly surprised the coachman, especially since he clearly noticed that the rider's white horse had one foot too few, although the three-legged Rosinante trotted quite properly. The black conductor on the saddle horse began to feel uneasy and feared that his role as Rübezahl would soon be over, as the real Rübezahl seemed to be getting involved. After some time had passed, the rider turned so that he was close to the coachman and asked him in a friendly manner: “My fellow countryman without a head, where are you going?” “Where are we going?” replied the coachman's ghost defiantly, “as you can see, wherever our noses take us.” “Well!” said the rider, “let's see, fellow, where your nose is.” Then he grabbed the reins of the horses, seized the black cloak by the body, and threw him forcefully to the ground, so that all his limbs rang, for the ghost had flesh and bones, as they usually do. The headless man was quickly unmasked, revealing a real curly-haired man who looked like an ordinary human being. Now that the prankster had been discovered and feared the heavy hand of his opponent, he had no doubt that the horseman was the incarnate Rübezahl, whom he had dared to imitate, so he surrendered himself to mercy and begged for his life. “Strict lord of the mountains,” he said, “have mercy on an unfortunate man who has experienced the blows of fate since his youth, who was never allowed to be what he wanted to be, who was always forcibly pushed out of the role he had worked so hard to learn, and who, now that his existence among humans has been destroyed, is not even allowed to be a ghost.” 

    This greeting was a word spoken in his time. The gnome was extremely angry with his rival and, in accordance with the often-praised Hirschberg justice system, would have proceeded immediately with the execution of the imp and strangled him, had it not been for his curiosity to hear the adventurer's fate. “Sit down, my friend,” he said, “and do as you are told.” Then he first pulled the fourth foot out from between the ribs of the gray horse, stepped up to the door, opened it, and wanted to greet the traveling party in a friendly manner.

        But inside it was as quiet as a tomb; the excessive fright had so violently shaken the ladies' nerves that everything that had life and breath within the carriage, from the gracious lady to the maid, lay in a faint. Rübezahl, however, soon knew what to do; he filled his hat with water from the stream flowing from a fresh mountain spring, sprinkled it on the ladies' faces, held the smelling glass in front of them, rubbed their temples with the volatile essence, and brought them back to life. One after the other, they opened their eyes and saw a well-built man of unimpeachable appearance, who soon gained their trust through his zeal for service. “I am sorry, ladies,” he said to them, "that you have been insulted in my jurisdiction by an unmasked villain who undoubtedly intended to rob you; but you are safe, I am the colonel of Riesental. Allow me to escort you to my apartment, which is not far away." This invitation was very welcome to the countess, and she accepted it with pleasure; the curly-haired man was ordered to continue on his way and obeyed with hesitant willingness. To give the ladies time to recover from their fright, the cavalier rejoined the coachman, instructing him to turn now right, now left, and the latter noticed quite clearly that the knight occasionally summoned one of the bats flitting about and gave it secret orders, which increased his horror even more.  

    Within an hour, a small light flashed in the distance, then two, and finally four; four hunters came running up with burning lanterns, who, as they said, had been anxiously searching for their master and seemed delighted to find him. The countess was now completely calm again, and seeing that she was out of danger, she thought of honest Johann and was concerned about his fate. She shared her concern with her patron saint, who immediately sent two of the hunters to find the two unfortunate companions and give them the help they needed. Soon after, the carriage rolled through the gloomy castle gate into a spacious courtyard and stopped in front of a magnificent palace that was lit up from top to bottom. The gentleman offered the countess his arm and led her into the magnificent rooms of his house, where a large company had gathered. The young ladies were not a little embarrassed to enter such a splendid and select circle in their traveling clothes without having first changed.  

    After the initial pleasantries, the company regrouped into various small circles, some sitting down to play games, others engaging in conversation. The adventure was much discussed and, as is usually the case with tales of past dangers, it was turned into a little heroic story in which Mama would have gladly assigned herself the role of heroine, had she been able to talk the helpful knight out of his smelling bottle. Soon after, the attentive innkeeper introduced a man who arrived just at the right moment; he was a doctor who inquired about the health of the countess and her daughters, checked their pulses, and, with a serious expression, noted various alarming symptoms. Although the lady felt as well as ever, given the circumstances, she was nevertheless anxious about the threat to her life; for despite all her physical ailments, her frail body was still as dear to her as a long-worn dress that one does not like to part with, even if it is worn out. On the doctor's orders, she swallowed strong doses of depressing powders and drops, and her healthy daughters had to follow their concerned mother's example against their will and thanks. No sooner had this operation been completed than everyone proceeded to the dining room, where a royal feast had been laid out. The tables were adorned with silverware, golden and gilded goblets and huge welcome cups, along with the accompanying chased serving bowls. Wonderful music sounded from the adjoining rooms, adding to the enjoyment of the delicious feast and fine wines. After the dishes had been cleared away, the master of ceremonies arranged the dessert, which consisted of mountains and rocks of colored sugar. 

    The confectioner's joke, which always satisfies the palate and the eye more easily than the mind, depicted the countess's entire adventure in cute wax figures, such as those often paraded on the tables of the great. The countess did not fail to quietly admire and take note of all this. She turned to her neighbor, who, according to his introduction, was a Bohemian count, and asked curiously what kind of celebration was taking place here. She received the answer that nothing extraordinary was happening, that it was just a friendly gathering of good acquaintances who happened to meet here by chance. She was surprised that she had never heard a word about the wealthy and hospitable Colonel von Riesental, either in or outside Breslau, and as diligently as she searched through the genealogical tables, of which her memory held a rich store, she could not find this name among them. She intended to ask the innkeeper himself for information and clarification, but he was so adept at evading her questions that she never got to the point. He deliberately steered the conversation into the ethereal regions of the spirit world, and in a company attuned to the tone of playful amusement and spirit-seeing, it is rare for the evening to end early.

A well-fed canon knew many wondrous stories about Rübezahl; people argued for and against their veracity; the countess, who was in her element when she could strike a didactic tone and fight against prejudice, placed herself at the head of the enlightened party and, with her strong-mindedness, cornered a paralyzed financial advisor, who had nothing flexible except his tongue and who had set himself up as Rübezahl's legal advocate. “My own story,” she added at the end, "is clear proof that everything that is said about the legendary mountain spirit is nothing but empty dreams. If he were here in the mountains and possessed the noble qualities attributed to him by fabulists and idle minds, he would not have allowed a scoundrel to play such tricks on us at his expense. But the poor, absurd spirit could not save his honor, and without the noble assistance of Lord Riesental, the cheeky boy could have carried on his game with us as long as he pleased!"

    The master of the house had taken little part in these lively arguments until now, but now he joined in the conversation and spoke up: "You have completely depopulated the spirit world, madam; the entire creation of the imagination has vanished like a light mist before our eyes through your teaching. You have also sufficiently proven the non-existence of the old inhabitant of these regions with good reasons, and his legal counsel, our financial advisor, has fallen silent. Nevertheless, it seems to me that there are still some objections to be made against your latest evidence. What if the fabulous mountain spirit had nevertheless been involved in her liberation from the hands of the disguised robber? What if our friend Rübezahl had chosen to take on my form in order to bring you to safety under this unsuspicious mask? What if I told you that, as the host of this house, I did not move an inch from this company; that you were led into my apartment by a stranger who is no longer present? Then it would be possible that the neighboring mountain spirit had saved his honor, and it would follow that he was not quite the absurdity you take him to be!"  

    The master of the house had taken little part in these lively arguments until now, but now he joined in the conversation and spoke up: "You have completely depopulated the spirit world, madam; the entire creation of the imagination has vanished like a light mist before our eyes through your teaching. You have also sufficiently proven the non-existence of the old inhabitant of these regions with good reasons, and his legal counsel, our financial advisor, has fallen silent. Nevertheless, it seems to me that there are still some objections to be made against your latest evidence. What if the fabulous mountain spirit had nevertheless been involved in her liberation from the hands of the disguised robber? What if our friend Rübezahl had chosen to take on my form in order to bring you to safety under this unsuspicious mask? What if I told you that, as the host of this house, I did not move an inch from this company; that you were led into my apartment by a stranger who is no longer present? Then it would be possible that the neighboring mountain spirit had saved his honor, and it would follow that he was not quite the absurdity you take him to be!"

    After the table had been cleared, the company dispersed, as dawn was already breaking. The ladies found a deliciously prepared bed for the night in magnificent silk beds, where sleep surprised them so quickly that their imagination did not have time to conjure up the terrifying images of the ghost story again and spin fearful dreams through its usual shadow play. It was late in the day when Mama awoke, rang for the maid, and woke the young ladies, who would have liked to try again to sleep on the other ear in the soft down. The countess alone was so eager to try out the healing powers of the baths as soon as possible that she could not be persuaded by any invitation from the hospitable host to stay a day longer, even though the young ladies would have loved to attend the ball he promised to give for them. As soon as breakfast was over, the ladies prepared to leave. Touched by the friendly welcome they had received at the castle of Lord von Riesental, who escorted them to the borders of his domain in the most courteous manner, they took their leave with the promise to return on their journey home.  (done)

    No sooner had the gnome arrived at his castle than the curly-haired man was taken in for questioning. He had spent the night in an underground dungeon, fearful and anxious about what was to come. “Miserable earthworm,” the ghost addressed him, “what is stopping me from crushing you for the mockery and scorn you have inflicted on my property? You shall pay for this insolence with your life.” “Most gracious ruler of the Giant Mountains,” the clever man interjected, “however justified your rights to this land may be, which I do not dispute, first tell me where your laws are posted that I have broken, and then condemn me.” This brazen evasion, which the prisoner made to his stern judge, did not suggest an ordinary human being; therefore, the spirit moderated his displeasure somewhat and said: "Nature has written my laws in your heart; but so that you would oppose them, they suggested a strange oddball and not an ordinary human being; therefore, the spirit moderated his displeasure somewhat and said: “Nature has written my laws in your heart; but so that you cannot say that I have condemned you without hearing your case, speak freely and confess to me: who are you and what drove you to roam here in the mountains like a ghost?” The prisoner was glad to hear that he was to speak, for he hoped that by faithfully recounting his fate, he could talk his way out of the spirit's vengeance, or at least lessen his punishment.  

    “Once upon a time,” he began, "I was called poor Kunz and lived in the town of Lauban as an honest purse maker, earning a meager living from the work of my hands; for there is no trade that feeds more poorly than honesty. Although my purses sold well because word got around that money kept safe in them, since I was my father's seventh son and had a lucky hand, this belief was disproved by myself: my own purse always remained empty and bare, like a conscientious stomach on a fast day. But the fact that my customers' money was so well preserved in the pouches I made was, in my opinion, neither due to the master's lucky hand nor to the quality of the work, but to the material of my pouches: they were made of leather. You should know, sir, that a leather purse always holds money more securely than a net-like, perforated silk one. Those who are satisfied with a leather purse are not easily wasteful, but rather men who, as the saying goes, keep a tight grip on their purse; but the transparent ones made of silk and gold thread are in the hands of distinguished spendthrifts, and it is no wonder that they leak everywhere like a barrel full of holes and, no matter how much you pour into them, they always remain empty and destitute. My father diligently instilled the golden rule in his seven sons: Children, whatever you do, do it with earnestness. That is why I pursued my trade undaunted, even though it did not improve my financial situation. Inflation, war, and bad money came to the country, and my fellow masters thought, “Easy money, easy goods!” But I thought, “Honesty is the best policy!” I gave good goods for bad money, worked myself into poverty, was thrown into debtors' prison, expelled from the guild, and, when my creditors no longer wanted to support me, honestly expelled from the country.On this journey into misery, I encountered one of my old customers; He rode proudly on a stately horse, called out to me, and mocked me: “You bungler, you scoundrel, I can see that you are not a master of your craft, you understand it poorly, you know how to inflate the intestines but not how to fill them, you make the pot but cannot cook in it, you have leather but no last, you make such wonderful bags but have no money!” “Listen, fellow,” I replied to the mocker, "you are a miserable archer, you cannot hit the target with your arrows. There are more things in the world that belong together and cannot be found together; some have a stable and no horse to put in it, or a barn and no sheaves to thresh, a bread cupboard and no bread, or a cellar and no wine, and so the proverb says: One has the bag, the other the money." “It's better to have both together,” he replied; “If you are willing to apprentice yourself to me, I will make you a perfect master, and because you are so skilled at making bags, I will also teach you how to fill them; for I am a money maker by trade; since both professions work with the hands, it is only fair that those who share the same craft should join forces.” “Well,” I said, “if you are a skilled master in some minting town, so be it; but if you mint on your own account, it is breakneck work that is rewarded with the gallows, so I will pass.” “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said, “and he who sits at the table and does not eat may starve. In the end, it all comes down to whether you suffocate or starve to death; once you have to die anyway.” “The only difference,” I interjected, “is whether one dies an honest man or a wrongdoer.” “Prejudice,” he exclaimed, "what kind of wrongdoing can it be when someone rounds a piece of metal? The Jew Ephraim *) has enough of the same grain and corn as ours; what is right for one is fair for the other." 

    In short, the man had a gift for persuasion that made me accept his proposal. I soon found myself in this dishonest trade, mindful of my father's teaching to take my business seriously, and learned that the art of making money was a better and more leisurely livelihood than the profession of a beggar. But just as our factory was doing well, jealousy among the craftsmen woke up; the Jew Ephraim stirred up serious persecution against his fellow craftsmen; the traitor didn't sleep, we were found out, and the small fact that we weren't as skilled as Master Ephraim landed us in prison, sentenced to life.  

    Here I lived for several years according to the rule of the penitent brothers, until a good angel, who was traveling around the country at that time to free all prisoners who were strong and healthy, opened the door of the prison for me. He was a recruiting officer who, instead of carting me off to fight for the king, gave me the nobler profession of fighting for him and enlisted me among the volunteers. I was quite satisfied with this exchange; I now resolved to be a soldier through and through, distinguished myself at every opportunity, was always the first to attack, and when we retreated, I was so agile that the enemy could never catch up with me. Fortune smiled on me, and I soon found myself leading a troop of horsemen and hoping to rise even higher. Then I was sent out on a foraging mission and carried out my orders so strictly and punctually that I not only emptied granaries and barns, but also boxes and chests in houses and churches. 

*) During the Seven Years' War, Frederick the Great had the Jew Ephraim mint inferior silver coins because the state treasury was exhausted. 

    Unfortunately, it was in a friendly country; this caused a great deal of commotion, and spiteful people called this expedition a plunder. I was tried as a marauder, demoted, forced to walk through a line of five hundred men, and hastily expelled from the honorable profession in which I had hoped to make my fortune. 

    Now I knew of no other recourse than to return to my former profession; but I lacked the cash to buy leather and the desire to work. Since I believed that the excessively cheap sale gave me an indisputable right to my former merchandise, I conceived the plan of reacquiring it in a gentlemanly manner. So I began to search other people's pockets, and considered every purse I sniffed out to be the fruit of my labor, hunted it down, and immediately condemned all those I could get my hands on as good prizes. On this occasion, I had the pleasure of recovering a good portion of my own coin, for although it was discredited, it was still in circulation in trade and commerce. This trade went well for a while; I visited fairs and markets in various guises, sometimes as a gentleman, sometimes as a merchant or a Jew. I had studied my craft so well, my hand was so skilled and nimble that it never made a mistake and provided me with ample sustenance. This way of life suited me so well that I decided to stick with it; but the stubbornness of my fate never allowed me to be what I wanted to be. I went to the annual fair in Liegnitz and had my eye on the purse of a rich tenant farmer who was bursting with money. Due to the awkwardness of the heavy bag, my hand slipped, I was caught in the act and brought before the court on the malicious charge of being a purse-cutter, even though I did not deserve this name in a dishonest sense. I had indeed cut enough bags in the past, but I had never cut off anyone's purse, as I was accused of doing. Rather, all those I had captured had fallen into my hands voluntarily, as if they wanted to return to their original owners. These excuses were of no avail; I was put in stocks, and my ill fortune dictated that I should once again be expelled from my livelihood by judgment and law. I preempted this tiresome formality, saw my opportunity, and quietly slipped out of prison.   

    I was undecided as to what I should do to avoid starvation; even my attempt to become a beggar failed. The police in Großglogau took me into custody, wanted to feed me against my will and without my thanks, and force me into a profession that I resisted. With great difficulty, I escaped this strict jurisdiction; I therefore avoided the cities and wandered around the countryside. It so happened that the countess was traveling through the village where I was staying; something on her carriage had broken and needed to be repaired, and among several idle people who were driven by curiosity to gawk at the foreign nobility, I also joined the crowd and made the acquaintance of the servant, who, stupid as a sheep, confided in me in the simplicity of his heart that he was terribly afraid of you, Mr. Rübezahl, because the delay meant that the journey would now take place through the mountains at night. This gave me the idea of taking advantage of the timidity of the traveling party and trying out my talents in the spirit world. I sneaked into the apartment of my patron and guardian, the village sexton, who was absent at the time, and took possession of his official clothing, a black coat; at the same time, I noticed a pumpkin that served as decoration on the wardrobe. Equipped with this gear and a sturdy club, I went into the forest and prepared my mask. You know well enough what use I made of it, and there is no doubt that without your intervention I would have successfully carried out my masterstroke; my game was already won. After getting rid of the two cowards, my intention was to drive the carriage deep into the forest and, without harming the ladies in the slightest, to open a small flea market and exchange the black cloak, which was of no small value in view of the services it had rendered me, for their cash and jewelry, wish them a happy journey, and take my leave. 

    Honestly, sir, you were the last people I feared would ruin my market. The world is so unbelieving that you cannot even frighten children with you, and if it weren't for the odd drop here and there, like the countess's servant, or a woman behind the skirt you sometimes mention, the world would have forgotten you long ago. I thought that anyone who wanted to be Rübezahl could be; now I have learned otherwise and find myself in your power, have surrendered myself to mercy and disfavor, and hope that my frank account will soften your displeasure. It would be a small thing for you to make an honest fellow of me if you released me from your brewing kettle with a good penny, or if you picked a bunch of sloes from your fence for me, like you did for that hungry passenger who broke a tooth on your fruit but then found the sloes transformed into golden buttons; Or if, of the eight golden pins you have left, you would honor me with one, since you gave the ninth to a Prague student who played skittles with you; or the milk jug whose curdled milk turned into gold cheese; or if I am guilty, punish me like that wandering cobbler with the golden rod and then give it to me as a souvenir, as the craftsmen know how to tell of you at their feasts and inns, then my happiness would be complete. Truly, sir! If you felt the needs of the people, you would realize that it is difficult to be a good man when one suffers from want; for when one feels hunger, for example, and has not a penny in one's purse, it is a heroic virtue not to steal a roll from the bread supply that a rich Croesus has displayed in his shop. As the saying goes, “Necessity knows no law.”

    “Go, scoundrel,” said the gnome, after the curly-haired man had finished speaking, “as far as your feet will carry you, and climb to the summit of your happiness on the gallows!” He then dismissed his prisoner with a vigorous kick, and the latter was glad to have escaped with such a mild punishment and praised his quick wit, which, in his opinion, had saved him from a very critical situation this time. He hurried diligently to get out of the sight of the stern mountain lord and, in his haste, left his black cloak behind. But no matter how fast he ran, it seemed as if he was not getting anywhere; he always saw the same areas and mountains in front of him, even though he had lost sight of the castle where he had been a prisoner. 

    Exhausted by this endless cycle, he stretched out under a tree in the shade to rest a little and wait for a passerby who could serve as a guide. He fell into a deep sleep and when he awoke, he was surrounded by thick darkness; he knew very well that he had fallen asleep under a tree, yet he heard no whisper of the wind in the branches, saw no stars shining through the leaves, nor the slightest glow of night. In his initial fright, he wanted to jump up, but an unknown force held him back, and the movement he made made a loud echoing noise like the clanking of chains; now he realized that he was in chains and thought he was back in Rübezahl's custody, many hundreds of fathoms underground, which filled him with great fear and horror.   

    After a few hours, it began to get light around him, but only a faint glow filtered through the bars of a window between the walls. Without knowing where he actually was, the dungeon did not seem entirely unfamiliar to him; he hoped for the prison guard, albeit in vain. One long hour after another passed, hunger and thirst tormented the prisoner, he began to make noise, rattling his chains, banging on the wall, calling fearfully for help, and hearing human voices nearby; but no one would open the prison door. Finally, the jailer armed himself with a ghost blessing, opened the door, made a large cross in front of him, and began to conjure up the devil, who, in his imagination, was raging in the empty dungeon. But when he looked more closely at the haunting, he recognized his escaped prisoner, the pickpocket, and the pickpocket recognized the jailer in Liegnitz. Now he realized that Rübezahl had sent him back to the hole. “Look here, curly-haired one!” the court bailiff addressed him, “have you jumped back into your cage? Where are you from?” “Always in through the gate,” Kunz replied, “I am tired of running around, as you can see, I have settled down and returned to my old quarters, if you are willing to take me in.” Although no one could understand how the prisoner had returned to the tower and who had put the shackles on him, Kunz, who did not want his adventure to become known, he nevertheless boldly claimed that he had returned of his own accord, that he had been given the gift of passing through locked doors at will, of putting on his shackles and, if he wished, of removing them again, for no lock was too strong for him. Moved by this apparent obedience, the judges spared him the punishment he deserved and only ordered him to cart for the king until he removed the shackles at will. However, there is no record of him ever having made use of this concession.

    Meanwhile, Countess Cäcilie and her entourage had arrived safely and happily in Karlsbad. The first thing she did was to summon the spa doctor and, as usual, ask him about her state of health and the spa facilities. Enter the once highly renowned Doctor Springsfeld from Merseburg, who would not have traded the golden spring of Karlsbad for the paradisiacal river Pison. “Welcome, dear Doctor,” Mama and the lovely young ladies greeted him warmly and friendly. “You have beaten us to it,” the former added, “we thought you were still with Mr. von Riesental; but, loose man, why did you not tell us there that you are the spa doctor?” The doctor paused, thought long and hard, and could not remember seeing the ladies anywhere. “Your Graces are undoubtedly confusing me with someone else,” he said, ”I have not had the honor of meeting you personally before; The Lord of Riesental is also not among my acquaintances, and during the spa season I never leave here." The countess could think of no other reason for this strict incognito, which the doctor so earnestly insisted on, than that he did not want to be rewarded for his services, contrary to the thinking of his colleagues. She replied with a smile: "I understand you, dear doctor; but your sensitivity goes too far; it shall not prevent me from acknowledging my debt to you and being grateful for your good assistance." She then forced a golden box upon him, which the doctor accepted only as payment in advance and, in order not to displease the lady as a good customer, did not contradict her further. Incidentally, he easily explained the mystery by the medical assumption that the entire count's family was afflicted with a kind of melancholy, in which strange and incomprehensible effects of the imagination are not unusual, and prescribed soothing medicines. 

    Dr. Springsfeld was not one of those clumsy doctors who, apart from praising their pills and remedies, have no other way of making themselves loved and liked by their patients; he knew how to entertain his customers with pleasant stories, city news, and little anecdotes, thereby cheering them up. As he made his rounds after visiting the countess, he recounted the strange conversation with his new client in every visiting room, letting the matter grow unnoticed with frequent repetition and announcing the lady sometimes as a sick woman, sometimes as a clairvoyant. People were eager to make such an extraordinary acquaintance, and Countess Cäcilie became the talk of the town in Karlsbad. Everyone crowded around her as she appeared in society for the first time with her beautiful daughters. It was a most surprising sight for her and the young ladies to encounter the entire assembly here, into which they had been introduced a few days earlier at the castle of Lord von Riesental. The ribboned count, the fat canon, and the paralyzed finance councilor immediately caught their eye. They were above the stiff ceremony of curtsying to strangers; there was not a single unfamiliar face in the hall for them. With frank impartiality, the talkative lady soon turned to the then to another member of the company, calling each by name and character, speaking much of the Lord of Riesental, referring to the conversations they had had with this hospitable man, and unable to explain the strange and cold behavior of all the gentlemen and ladies who had recently shown them so much friendship and familiarity. 

    All these speeches proved, in the opinion of the bathing society, such an exaggerated imagination that they all pitied the countess, who, in the judgment of all present, seemed a very sensible woman and revealed nothing extravagant in her speeches and the course of her thoughts, unless her imagination took the path over the Giant Mountains. For her part, the countess guessed from the meaningful facial expressions, gestures, and glances of those gathered around her that they were judging her harshly and that they believed her illness had spread from her limbs to her brain. She believed that the best refutation of this hurtful prejudice would be a sincere account of her adventure on the Silesian border, but her words were listened to with the attention one gives to a fairy tale that provides a few moments of pleasant entertainment but is not believed for a moment. She had the fate of the seer Cassandra, to whom Apollo had given the gift of prophecy, but had deprived the pronouncements of his aloof priestess of credibility. “Wonderful!” exclaimed all the listeners in unison, looking meaningfully at Dr. Springsfeld, who shrugged his shoulders furtively and vowed not to release the patient from his care until the mineral water had washed away the adventurous Giant Mountains from her imagination. Meanwhile, the spa did everything the doctor and the patient had hoped it would. Seeing that the people of Karlsbad had little faith in her story and even questioned her sanity, the countess stopped talking about it, and Dr. Springsfeld did not fail to attribute this silence to the healing powers of the spa. After the spa treatment was over, the beautiful young ladies had had their fill of admiration and had rolled around until they were full and tired, mother and daughters returned to Breslau. They deliberately took the route through the Giant Mountains again in order to keep their promise to the hospitable colonel to visit him on their return journey; for the countess hoped that he would solve the mystery that was incomprehensible to her, namely how she had come to know the spa society, which behaved so strangely towards her. But no one knew the way to the castle of the Lord of Riesental, nor was it possible to find out the name of the owner, who was unknown on either side of the mountains. This finally convinced the astonished lady that the stranger who had taken her under his protection and given her shelter was none other than Rübezahl, the mountain spirit. She admitted that he had shown her noble hospitality, forgave him for his pranks with the bathing party, and now believed wholeheartedly in the existence of spirits, even though she had reservations about revealing her belief to the world for fear of being ridiculed. Since this incident, Rübezahl has not been heard from again.