compassionate us, and lend us the money we need, to be repaid with interest.”
The dejected wife assented to the proposal, because she knew of nothing better to be done. Whereupon Veit put a dry crust of bread into his pocket, and went his way. Worn and wearied by the heat of the day and the long journey, he reached, in the evening, the village, where the rich cousins dwelt, but none of them would acknowledge him; not one of them would receive him. With burning tears he related to them his misery; but the hard-hearted misers paid no heed to his words, and wounded the feelings of the poor man by reproaches and insulting proverbs. One said, “Young blood, spare your strength;” the second, “Pride comes before a fall;” the third, “Act well and you will fare well;” the fourth, “Every one forges his own fortune.” In this manner they scorned and mocked him; called him a spendthrift and a lazy fellow, and at last drove him out of the house, sending the house dog after him. Such a reception from the rich relations of his wife, the poor cousin had never contemplated; confounded and sad, he slunk away, and as he had nothing to pay for a lodging at the inn, he was obliged to pass the night in a field upon a hay-rick. Here he sleeplessly awaited the return of day, to begin his homeward journey.
As he again approached the mountains, grief and sorrow so overcame him that he was on the brink of despair. Two days’ wages lost, thought he to himself, languid and weakened by hunger and grief; without hope, without consolation! When you return home, and the six starving children stretch out their hands to you for bread, asking for food, when you have, instead, only a stone to offer; father-heart! father-heart! how wilt thou endure that? Break in two, poor heart, before thou feelest such anguish! Saying these words, he threw himself beneath a bush to indulge in his gloomy thoughts.
As the mind, however, at the moment of extremity, puts forth its most powerful energy, ransacking every corner of thought to find out some means of preservation, or to delay the coming evil; and as a sailor who sees his vessel fast sinking, quickly climbs the rope-ladder, seeking safety by the tall mast, or laying hold of plank or empty cask, in the hope of keeping himself afloat;—so it occurred to the unhappy Veit, in the midst of a thousand useless plans and projects, to turn for relief from his misery to the Spirit of the Mountain. He had heard many strange tales of him, how he had sometimes lured and tormented travellers, and done them much harm, yet, at the same time, how he had likewise shown kindness to others. It was well known to Veit that the spirit punished all those who called on him by his nickname; but he knew no other way of accosting him, so he therefore ventured at the risk of a cudgelling, and called out as loud as he could, “Rübezahl! Rübezahl!”
