The Beggar King: A Hangman's Daughter Tale

by Oliver Pötzsch

  Moving along, we come to Neupfarrplatz (Neupfarr Church Square), where the remains of the Jewish Quarter can be found. In 1519 Jews were driven out of Regensburg, their homes razed. A church was built in this place, and the cellars of the old houses, which were often interconnected, were not rediscovered until 1995, during construction work on the church.

  The entrance to the Document Neupfarrplatz, the subterranean museum, is rather inconspicuous. Because a tour there is possible only with a guide, you’ll need to inquire at the tourist office. But it’s worth seeing! The catacombs offer a vertical cross section of almost two thousand years of Regensburg history. Over Roman ruins the basements of Jewish homes were built, and above them a Catholic pilgrimage site and then a Protestant church. In the Second World War bunkers were built there, and after that, a public restroom. At the end of the twentieth century, when the cellars were partially excavated, a hoard of old gold coins was found there. The catacombs serve as the beggars’ hideout in my novel. I had been seeking such a historically documented setting for a while, and the first time I found myself down below amid the rubble, I knew I’d found it. I also liked the idea that the beggar king, Nathan, was living in catacombs built by his ancestors. Incidentally, Nathan is my favorite character in the novel, and that’s why I featured him in the title.

  From Neupfarrplatz we turn into Residenzstraße and then right onto the Domplatz (the cathedral square). Here stands Regensburg’s landmark cathedral. Much has changed inside since Jakob Kuisl’s time. If you want to see the statuette of Saint Sebastian where Paulus Mämminger inserted his message for the kaiser’s agent, you’ll have to visit the cathedral museum next door. The statuette’s long arrow is in fact a tube from which the faithful used to sip consecrated wine during the festival of Saint Sebastian. History is indeed often stranger than fiction.

  Nowadays you can doze in the sun or take a short nap on the steps of the cathedral without being assailed by a mob like Magdalena. Take a little break here, but if you’d like to see something really grandiose after lunch, walk over to the Haus Heuport (Heuport House).

  The former patrician’s house stands directly across from the cathedral. In my novel it’s the home of the Venetian ambassador, Silvio Contarini, but today it’s a restaurant. Even if you’re not hungry, go and have a look around! Nowhere else can you get a better sense of how a patrician or an ambassador must have lived—with a secluded interior courtyard, magnificent halls, and large windows overlooking the Domplatz. On the stairway you’ll see the statue of the handsome young man with rats, toads, and snakes lodged in his back: an early clue to Silvio’s true character.

  To the left of the cathedral stands the Bischofshof (bishop’s palace), where the hangman sought asylum. At that time an independent jurisdiction began just behind the west side of the great portal. The bishop’s brewery has since moved to another location, but the beer is nonetheless still highly recommended. I myself took refuge in the restaurant there during a long rain shower, and my appreciation for the brew grew with each glassful.

  If you walk around the bishop’s courtyard, you’ll come to the adjoining Porta Praetoria, Regensburg’s oldest cultural monument. The Roman gateway, dating back to 179 AD, is one of the last remains of the castle Castra Regina, which gave Regensburg its name. In 1649 the gateway was part of the bishop’s brewery and wasn’t rediscovered until about two hundred years later. The walled-up passageway from the bishop’s residence into the street Unter den Schwibbögen (Under the Arches) is my invention, although the arches really existed as covered passageways. They led across the street from the bishop’s courtyard to some houses that belonged to the bishop’s residence.

  A bit farther from the center of the city but on the same street was the tavern Zum Walfisch (the Whale), where Magdalena and Simon stayed. All that is left of this disreputable establishment is the sign in front showing Jonah and the whale. (The current establishment has nothing at all in common with the legendary Whale.) One of the most enigmatic figures in Regensburg history frequented this place in the late seventeenth century: the English ambassador Sir George Etherege, a dandy par excellence. The quirky nobleman and author of comedies surrounded himself with whores, gamblers, and magicians; held wild parties; and longed for his former profligate life in his native London. To escape boredom in Regensburg, he patronized the most infamous dives and danced half naked with prostitutes in the street. Do you recognize him now? I’ve tried to breathe new life into this strange figure in the character of the Venetian ambassador, Silvio Contarini. But surely Sir George was a lot more likable than the sleazy Venetian scoundrel.

  Another character in my novel is based on a historical figure: the madam Dorothea. In the eighteenth century a certain Dorothea Maria Bächlein ran a house of prostitution at Peterstor (St. Peter’s Gate) on the south side of the city. Unfortunately nothing remains of the gate or the bordello, and the Henkershaus (Hangman’s House) at the present-day 2 Königsstraße is no longer standing, either.

  My search for the Regensburger Brunnenstube (Regensburg well chamber), where my final showdown takes place, turned out to be a difficult one. Once located near the Galgenberg (gallows hill) south of the city, it lies under the busy Universitätsstraße today. When I expressed my wish to visit the well chamber, the city informed me regretfully that such a visit would require setting up a detour for all local traffic. I had to rely on a few photos, and you’ll have to rely on the description in the book.

  The Rathausplatz (city hall square), the end of our present tour, is easy to reach by heading west along Unter den Schwibbögen. The little House of Fools, where Simon meets the drunken Father Hubertus and spends a few unpleasant hours, was once attached to the magnificent city hall. Right next to it was the entrance to the dungeon where Magdalena sneaks past the guards to visit her father.

  The tourist information center is located in city hall itself. By all means book a tour through the Reichstagsmuseum and the Fragstatt (Reichstag Museum and the torture chamber). The Reichstag is an absolute must-see in Regensburg! Nowhere else in Germany can you get such a good feel for the politics of the period as in the assembly hall where representatives from all parts of the German Empire met and debated for 150 years (though they debated more than they actually made any real decisions). Anyone trying to understand the European Union or the German parliamentary system need only come to Regensburg, where it all began. If you’re a German speaker, you’ll learn the origins of some German phrases, such as auf die lange Bank schieben (to procrastinate, or literally, “to push onto the long bench”) and am grünen Tisch (to negotiate, literally, “at the green table”).

  Just as interesting is the gloomy torture chamber next door, in whose dungeons major portions of this novel take place. I hope you get a sense of what Jakob Kuisl might have felt when he saw the rack, the Schlimme Liesl (Bad Lizzie), and the Spanische Reiter (Spanish Rider). The Regensburg torture chamber is the only one in all of Germany still preserved in its original condition. All the instruments of torture actually come from here. And the niche for the inquisitors behind the latticework, as well as the little bench with half a backrest, is historical.

  After so many grisly scenes, treat yourself to a mocha in the Café Prinzess (Princess Café) on the city hall square, the oldest coffeehouse in Germany, according to its owners. Admittedly the café didn’t open for business until 1686, but I simply opened it a few years early for Simon and Magdalena. I beg your pardon for this; perhaps I can humor you a bit with the exquisite pralines the café offers.

  If you plan to stay a second day, that would be a good time to board a boat and take a trip down the Danube. Just like our two executioners, you’ll float along at a leisurely pace until you reach the town of Donaustauf and the Walhalla, a reproduction of the Parthenon commissioned by Ludwig I. While this national monument didn’t exist at the time, a visit is nevertheless worthwhile. From here, a path leads up to the ruins of the nearby Donaustauf Castle, which was destroyed by the Swedes in the Thirty Year
s’ War. But please don’t go looking for the ruins of Weidenfeld there! You’ll just get lost in the woods and starve to death—though not without first cursing my overactive imagination.

  With this tour you’ve seen only a fraction of Regensburg, of course. You’ll have to find a reason to come back—perhaps with a new book of mine? There are countless stories yet to be told about this grandiose city.

  Wishing you much pleasure in reading, strolling about, and poking around,

  —OLIVER PÖTZSCH

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many people have helped me in the writing of this book. My special thanks to the late local historian Karl Bauer. His book, Regensburg, is a treasure trove of true stories, upon which many of the ideas for this novel are based. Without such tireless and energetic historians, books like mine wouldn’t be possible.

  Special thanks also to Matthias Freitag of Regensburg, the team of STADTMAUS, and Dr. Heinrich Wanderwitz, curator of the city archives, whom I pestered with endless questions. Any errors that may have slipped in are, of course, my responsibility.

  Thanks also to Rainer Wieshammer, who taught me how to make green oil; the Wagner family, who guided me through the Weltenburg Enge (Weltenburg Narrows); the incomparable colleague and writer Günther Thömmes, who, over ten mugs of wheat beer, introduced me to the secrets of brewing beer; Dr. Peter Büttner of the Bavarian Agricultural Department for his information about ergot; Till and Christian for the Italian translations; Ingo for the idea of the hanged hangmen; my agent, Gerd Rumler, for wine and truffle ravioli; my editor, Uta Rupprecht, who’s taught me what a confoundedly difficult language German is; and above all, to my brother, Marian, and my wife, Katrin: first readers who once again did a first-rate job.

  TURN THE PAGE FOR A PREVIEW OF

  THE WARLOCK:

  A HANGMAN’S DAUGHTER TALE

  LIGHTNING FLASHED FROM the sky like the finger of an angry god.

  Simon Fronwieser saw it directly over Lake Ammer: for a fraction of a second, it lit up the foaming waves in a sickly green. It was followed by a peal of thunder and a steady downpour—a black, soaking wall of rain that drenched the two dozen or so pilgrims from Schongau in seconds. Though it was only seven in the evening, night had fallen suddenly. The medicus gripped the hand of his wife, Magdalena, tighter and, along with the others, prepared to climb the steep hill to the Andechs monastery.

  “We were lucky!” shouted Magdalena over the thundering downpour. “An hour earlier and the storm would have caught us out on the lake!”

  Simon nodded silently. It wouldn’t be the first time a ship of pilgrims had gone down with all hands in Lake Ammer. Now, barely twenty years after the end of the Great War, the crowds of pilgrims streaming to the famous Bavarian monastery were larger than anyone could remember. In a time of hunger, storms, ravenous wolves, and marauders, people were eager to find protection in the arms of the church more than ever. This longing was fed by reports of miracles, and the Andechs monastery in particular, a full thirty miles southwest of Munich, was renowned for its ancient relics that possessed magic powers—as well as for its beer, which helped people to forget their worries.

  When the medicus turned around again, he could just make out through the rain clouds the wind-whipped lake that they had just managed to escape. Two days before, he had left Schongau with Magdalena and a group from their hometown. The pilgrimage led them over the Hohenpeißenberg to Dießen on Lake Ammer, where a rickety rowboat took them to the other shore. Now they were proceeding through the forest along a steep, muddy path toward the monastery, which towered far above them in the dark clouds.

  Burgomaster Karl Semer led the procession on horseback, followed on foot by his grown son and the Schongau priest, who struggled to keep a huge painted wooden cross upright in the wind. Behind him came carpenters, masons, and cabinetmakers and, finally, the young patrician Jakob Schreevogl, the only city councilman along with Semer to heed the call for the pilgrimage.

  Simon assumed that both Schreevogl and the burgomaster had come less in search of spiritual salvation than for business reasons. A place like Andechs, with its thousands of hungry and thirsty pilgrims, was a gold mine. The medicus wondered what the dear Lord would have to say about this. Hadn’t Jesus chased all the merchants and moneylenders from the temple? Well, at least Simon’s conscience was clear. He and Magdalena had come to Andechs not to make money but only to thank God for saving their two children.

  Simon couldn’t help smiling when he thought of three-year-old Peter at home and his brother, Paul, who had just turned two. He wondered if the children were giving their grandfather, the Schongau hangman, a hard time.

  When another bolt of lightning hit a nearby beech, the pilgrims screamed and threw themselves to the ground. There was a snapping and crackling as sparks jumped to other trees. In no time, the entire forest seemed to be on fire.

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God!”

  In the twilight Simon could see Karl Semer fall to his knees a few paces away and cross himself several times. Alongside him, his petrified son stared open-mouthed at the burning beeches while, all around him, the other Schongauers fled into a nearby ravine. Simon’s ears were ringing from the bone-jarring thunderclap that accompanied the flash of lightning, so he heard his wife’s voice as if through a wall of water.

  “Let’s get out of here! We’ll be safer down there by the brook.”

  Simon hesitated, but his wife seized him and pulled him away just as flames shot up from two beeches and a number of small firs at the edge of the narrow path. Simon stumbled over a rotten branch, then slid down the smooth slope covered with dead leaves. Arriving at the bottom of the ravine, he stood up, groaning, and wiped a few twigs from his hair while scanning the apocalyptic scene all around.

  The lightning had split the huge beech straight down the middle. Burning boughs and branches were strewn down the slope. The flames cast a flickering light on the Schongauers, who moaned, prayed, and rubbed their bruised arms and legs. Fortunately, none of them appeared injured; even the burgomaster and his son seemed to have survived the disaster unscathed. In the gathering dusk, old Semer was busy searching for his horse, which had galloped away with his baggage.

  Simon felt a slight satisfaction as he watched the animal run through the forest, bellowing loudly.

  I hope the mare took off with his big moneybags, he thought. If that fat old goat shouts one more hallelujah from up there on his horse, I’m going to commit a mortal sin.

  Simon quickly dismissed this thought as unworthy of a pilgrim and quietly cursed himself for not having brought along a warmer coat. The new green woolen cape he’d bought at the Augsburg cloth market was dapper, but after the rain it hung on him like a limp rag.

  “One might think God had some objection to our visiting the monastery today.”

  Simon turned to Magdalena, who had directed her eyes at the sky as rain ran down her mud-spattered cheeks.

  “Thundershowers are rather common this time of year,” Simon replied, trying to sound matter-of-fact and somewhat composed again. “I don’t think that—”

  “It’s a sign!” cried a trembling voice off to one side. Sebastian Semer, son of the burgomaster, held out the fingers of his right hand in a gesture meant to ward off evil spirits. “I told you right away we should leave the woman at home.” He pointed at Magdalena and Simon. “Anyone who takes a hangman’s daughter and a filthy bathhouse owner along on a pilgrimage to the Holy Mountain might as well invite Beelzebub, too. The lightning is a sign from God warning us to do penance and—”

  “Shut your fresh mouth, Semer boy,” Magdalena scolded, narrowing her eyes. “What do you know about penance, hmm? Wipe your britches off before everyone notices you’re so scared you’ve peed in your pants again.”

  Ashamed, Sebastian Semer stared at the dark spot on the front of his wide-cut reddish purple petticoat breeches. Then he turned away silently, but not without casting one last angry look at Magdalena.

  “Don’t mind
him. The little rascal is the spoiled offspring of his father.”

  Jakob Schreevogl now emerged from the darkness of the forest, wearing a tight-fitting jerkin, high leather boots, and a white lace collar framing an unusual face with a Vandyke beard and a hooked nose. A fine rain trickled down his ornamented sword.

  “In general I agree with you, Fronwieser.” Schreevogl turned to Simon and pointed at the sky. “Such violent storms aren’t unusual in June, but when the lightning strikes right beside you, it’s like you’re feeling God’s anger.”

  “Or the anger of your fellow citizens,” Simon added gloomily.

  Almost four summers had passed since his marriage to Magdalena, and since then a number of Schongau citizens had let Simon know just how they felt about this marriage. As the daughter of the hangman, Jakob Kuisl, Magdalena was an outcast, someone to be avoided if possible.

  Simon reached for his belt to check that a little bag of healing herbs and medical instruments was still attached there. It was quite possible he’d need some of his medicines during this pilgrimage. The Schongauers had often sought his help in recent years. Memories of the Great War still haunted some of the older people, and plagues and other diseases had swept over Schongau again and again. Last winter, Simon and Magdalena’s sons had also fallen ill, but God had been merciful and spared them. In the following days, Magdalena prayed many rosaries and finally convinced Simon to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Mountain with her after Pentecost, along with nearly two dozen other citizens of Schongau and Altenstadt—citizens who wanted to show their gratitude to the Lord at the famous Festival of the Three Hosts. Simon and Magdalena had left the two children in the care of their grandparents—a wise decision, in view of the last hour’s events, the medicus again admitted to himself.