Oliver Pötzsch - The Werewolf of Bamberg

For a while, silence prevailed. The bishop’s chancellor was the first to raise his hand, followed by the young dandy with the goatee, and finally all the others. Only Samuel and Simon sat there motionless.

“I see there are only two objections,” the suffragan bishop finally concluded, taking out a silk handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his bald head. “Well, that’s more than enough, especially since one of the two objectors is not even from this town,” he added smugly. He turned to the chancellor. “I ask you to please inform His Excellency the Prince-Bishop of our decision. I’m certain he will approve.”

The chancellor nodded. “I believe you are right, Your Excellency.” He reached for his glass of wine and offered a toast to the others. “Here’s to our city!”

“To our city!” the others replied, raising their glasses as well.

While the councilors and scholars drank deeply from their wineglasses, Simon felt as if a rope was slowly tightening around his neck.

Though she was trudging ankle-deep through the garbage in the streets, Barbara felt like she was walking on a cloud. Together with Matheo she strolled through a narrow, muddy lane that ran from the Green Market to the Lange Gasse. There was an odor of hops and smoked meat in the air, freshly washed clothing hung from the windows, and in a doorway, children were playing with a top.

Since it was Sunday, Sir Malcolm had given his actors time off after the performance, and for an hour the two young people had been walking through Bamberg like a husband and wife on a Sunday-afternoon stroll. Matheo had stopped now and then at one of the many market stalls, bought a few little things, and, like a gallant gentleman from a good family, had given the delighted Barbara some tasty tidbits to eat.

As casually as possible, Barbara reached out for Matheo’s hand and let him help her jump over a large puddle in the street. The day was certainly the finest she’d ever had. Beside her walked the first boy she really loved-not one of those uncouth Schongau farm boys who thought it was a sign of affection to run after her reciting one of their obscene poems, nor the feebleminded knacker’s son from the neighboring town of Peiting, who had only three teeth left in his mouth, stank like a barrel of tannic acid, and actually hoped to marry soon. No, this boy was like something out of one of those wonderful storybooks that Magdalena had always read to her at bedtime. Matheo was muscular and tanned like a Turkish prince, with mysterious, sparkling eyes and a healthy set of white teeth that gleamed when he laughed. And he was smart and funny. Just then he took another playful bow, mimicking a dandy at the royal court.

“My dear lady, allow me to guide you safely through this dubious part of town,” he said in an artificially pompous tone, pointing to the left where the lane opened into a broader avenue.

“Dear lady?” Barbara grinned. “No doubt you have forgotten the family I come from. Or are we still playacting?”

“Isn’t all the world a stage?” he replied with a wink.

Their act that morning in the wedding house had been a great success. Actually, it was Matheo’s act-Barbara had only tossed some balls and hoops to him from time to time. But the performance was well received, the audience laughed, and at least for a short while they’d forgotten their fears. In her excitement, Barbara had hardly given a thought to the werewolf that was once again wandering the streets of Bamberg during the night. While the crowd was applauding at the end of the piece, Matheo had called her up onto the stage, and she’d bowed to the audience, whose applause washed over her like a pleasant summer rain.

Now Barbara started dreaming of becoming an artist someday, too. Even as a very small girl she’d enjoyed clowning around and getting dressed up. Was this perhaps the chance she’d yearned for to escape the dreary, predestined life of a hangman’s daughter? She would rumble through the country in a wagon and make people laugh or cry. Weren’t actors just as dishonorable as knackers and hangmen? So, in fact, she’d remain true to her class. But what she didn’t know was how to break this news to her family. She suspected that her father would not be excited about these plans.

“Another prune?”

Matheo handed her the small, shriveled fruit, interrupting her thoughts. They were just passing the barred windows of the city prison on the Hellergasse, and Barbara couldn’t help noting that her uncle occasionally whipped convicts here before dragging them off to the gallows or wherever they were to be beheaded. Matheo seemed to have noticed her worried look.

“Does your father ever have nightmares from all the executions?” he asked, lifting his crumpled hat back over his neck. He had a southern accent but spoke German extremely well. “I can imagine he also has to torture or hang people sometimes. He must feel sorry for some of them, doesn’t he?”

Barbara shrugged as she put the prune in her mouth and slowly chewed on it. For a while they were both silent.

Finally, she swallowed the fruit and said, “He doesn’t talk to us about his work, ever. Actually, none of us knows how he really feels. Maybe Mother did, but unfortunately she’s dead.” Her face turned grim. “My brother, Georg, will probably become the Schongau executioner after my father is gone, and he, too, is stubborn and doesn’t talk much. It’s in our blood, I guess, at least for the men. Uncle Bartl is the same way.” She sighed and wiped her mouth. “But let’s talk about nicer things. For example, how you became an actor.” She cast him a sideways glance as they turned onto a wide, paved street.

Matheo grinned. “There’s not much to tell. I was an urchin on the streets of Sicily, without a father and with a mother who was a drunk; she was happy I ran away. I joined a group of jugglers, and it seems I had talent. Sir Malcolm discovered me at a fair in Siena, and since then I travel the country with him.” He laughed. “Until now I’ve usually been the beautiful girl in his troupe, but recently my voice has become too deep and I’m starting to grow fuzz on my face. Here, feel it.”

He took Barbara’s hand and ran it across his scratchy chin. She got goose bumps on her arms.

“Yes. . yes, you are,” she said haltingly. “Then another fellow will soon have to play the girl.”

Matheo waved her off. “Recently women have been allowed to play the female parts, though the church doesn’t actually condone it. But what does it matter? I prefer playing the role of the lovesick young man, anyway.”

“That’s something I can well imagine.”

The last few minutes Barbara had been walking along as if in a trance, and when she looked up, she saw that they were close to the Lange Gasse, alongside a wild garden in the middle of the city. Beyond the garden was a larger building whose walls were in ruins and overgrown with blackberry vines. Between the piles of stone, Barbara saw some wild apple trees with a few shrunken apples still on their branches.

“Let’s go and get ourselves a few apples.” Matheo winked at her. “Perhaps we can rest a bit in the shade of the trees. The guards aren’t especially happy if people wander around back there, but don’t worry, they won’t catch us.”

Barbara couldn’t help thinking of her last encounter with the guards, when she’d been looking into the abandoned house, but the look in Matheo’s big brown eyes convinced her.

“Rest awhile?” she laughed. “Why not? I do feel a bit hot.” In the next instant it occurred to her that it was the end of October and, because of the cold, she was wearing a thin woolen coat over her blouse. “Ah, I mean I’m a bit tired after the performance. Perhaps we should really lie down for a minute.”