“His guardian angel!” said Rübezahl, somewhat confused, “truly I am not; but I may become so, and thou shalt hear how. I am a citizen of Hirschberg, and was one of the council when the poor fellow was convicted; but his innocence has been brought to light, and fear not for his life. I shall go and free him from his bonds, for I have much influence in the town. Be comforted, and return home in peace.”
The maiden did as she was bidden, though fear and hope still struggled in her heart.
The pious Monk was just leaving the dungeon, and for the last time had wished the inconsolable criminal good night, when Rübezahl met him at the entrance, invisible of course, and still quite undecided how he should restore the poor tailor to liberty, without depriving the great ones of Hirschberg of the pleasure of exercising their ancient prerogatives of crhninal jurisdiction; for the magistrates had won from Rübezahl golden opinions, by their prompt administration of justice. Suddenly, he hit upon a plan which was quite to his mind. He quietly followed the monk to his cloister, took a robe, and appeared again with a grey cassock at the door of the prison, which the jailer most respectfully opened to him.
“My anxiety for thy welfare,” he began, “brings me once more here, though I had but scarcely left thee. Say on, my son, does there yet remain any thing burthening thy breast, for which I maybe able to comfort thee? Dost thou still think of Clara? dost thou still love her as thy bride? If thou hast any message to send her before thy death, confide it to me.”
Benedix was still more astonished when he heard that name. The memory of his love, which he had most conscientiously laboured to suppress, now rushed so impetuously into his heart, that he wept and sobbed aloud, and was utterly incapable of pronouncing a single word. This heart-rending sight excited the compassion of our kind monk to such a degree, that he was resolved to bring the matter at once to an end.
“Poor Benedix,” he said, “be calm and undismayed; thou shalt not die. I have been informed that thou art guiltless of the robbery, and that thy hand is unsoiled by crime; I am, therefore, come to deliver thee from prison, and to free thee from thy chains.” He then took a key from his pocket. “Let us see whether it can unlock these doors.” The attempt was successful; the prisoner was unchained; the fetters had fallen from his hands and feet. The good-natured seeming Monk then exchanged dresses with him, and said, “Go, and walk through the crowd of jailers and turnkeys, and along the streets, demurely as a monk; then, when thou hast left the town and its jurisdiction behind thee, hasten towards the mountains, and do not rest until thou readiest Liebenau, and Clara’s door: knock softly,—there thy bride anxiously awaits thy coming.”
