The Hangman's Daughter

The Landgrave made a few lame attempts to have the Stechlin woman tried for witchcraft after all. But as she had not confessed up to then, he would have had to apply to Munich for permission to continue the torture. The four burgomasters and the court clerk made it clear to him that he could not rely on their support.

The final touch was supplied by old Matthias Augustin, who described in lively detail before the whole council the horrors of the last great witchcraft trial of 1589. Even the Landgrave did not want to do anything to bring that about again.

And so at noon on May 4, 1659, the entourage of the Landgrave Count Wolf Dietrich von Sandizell set out again for his estate at Thierhaupten, from there to direct the destinies of Schongau at a distance. As the soldiers in their shining breast-plates rode through the town gates, the burghers waved a long farewell to their lord. Noisy children and barking dogs accompanied the carriage as far as Altenstadt. The burghers all agreed it had been nice to see such important people close up. It was even nicer to see them ride away.

The hangman went to the keep and had the door unlocked by the bailiffs. Martha Stechlin lay sleeping among damp straw and her own foul-smelling excrement. Her breathing was regular, and the swelling on her forehead had gone down. Jakob Kuisl bent down to her and patted her cheek. A smile came to his face. He remembered how this woman had stood by his side at the birth of his children—the blood, the screaming, and the tears. Strange, he thought. People fight with tooth and nail when they come into the world, and when they have to go they fight too.

Martha Stechlin opened her eyes. It took some time before she found her way out of her dreams back into the prison.

“What is it, Kuisl?” she asked, not yet fully conscious. “Will it go on? Have you come to hurt me again?”

The hangman smiled and shook his head.

“No, Martha. We’re going home.”

“Home?”

The midwife sat up. She blinked, as if she wanted to see if she wasn’t still dreaming. Jakob Kuisl nodded.

“Home. Magdalena has been tidying up a bit at your house, and young Schreevogl has contributed heaps of money. For a new bed, pots and pans, whatever you need. It’ll do for the beginning. Come, I’ll help you up.”

“But why?”

“Don’t ask now. Go home. I’ll tell you about it later.”

He grasped her under the arms and pulled her to her feet, which were still swollen. Martha Stechlin limped along at his side toward the open door. Sunlight flowed in from outside. It was the morning of May fifth, a warm day. The birds were twittering, and from the town they could hear the cries of the maids and housewives haggling in the marketplace. From the fields the scents of summer and flowers wafted over to them, and if you closed your eyes you could even hear the murmuring of the Lech. The midwife stood in the doorway and let the sun shine on her face.

“Home,” she whispered.

Jakob Kuisl wanted to support her by taking her under her arms, but she shook her head and pulled away. Alone she limped along the alley toward her little house. At the next bend in the road, she disappeared.

“The hangman, a friend of humanity—who would have thought it?”

The voice came from another direction. Jakob Kuisl looked around and saw the court clerk strolling toward him. He was wearing his dress coat, the brim of his hat was turned up jauntily, and in his right hand he held a walking stick. The hangman nodded a wordless greeting, then he turned to go on.

“Would you care to come for a little walk, Kuisl?” Johann Lechner asked. “The sun is smiling, and I think we should have a good talk. What’s your yearly salary, actually? Ten gulden? Twelve? I find you are underpaid.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve earned a lot this year,” the hangman growled without looking up. He filled his pipe calmly. The inside of the bowl seemed to him to be of more interest than the man standing in front of him. Johann Lechner remained standing and played with his stick. There was a long silence.

“You knew it, didn’t you?” Jakob Kuisl asked at last. “You knew it all the time “

“I always had to think of the interests of the town,” said Lechner. “Nothing else. That’s all that counts. It seemed to me to be simpler that way.”

“Simpler!”

The court clerk fiddled with his stick. It looked as if he was searching for notches in the handle.