The Jew was forced to spring up and begin to dance.
When he had got well among the thorns, a spirit of mischief seized the Servant, and he began to play his fiddle with all his might. The Jew was forced to spring up and begin to dance, and the more the Servant played, the faster he had to dance. The thorns tore his shabby coat, combed his goat’s beard, and scratched him all over.
‘Merciful Heavens!’ cried the Jew. ‘Leave off that fiddling! I don’t want to dance, my good fellow.’
But the Servant paid no attention to him, but thought: ‘You have fleeced plenty of people in your time, my man, and the thorns shan’t spare you now!’ And he played on and on, so that the Jew had to jump higher and higher, till his coat hung in ribbons about him.
‘I cry “enough!”’ screamed the Jew. ‘I will give you anything you like if you will only stop. Take the purse, it is full of gold.’
‘Oh, well, if you are so open-handed,’ said the Servant, ‘I am quite ready to stop my music, but I must say in praise of your dancing, that it has quite a style of its own.’ Then he took the purse and went on his way.
The Jew stood still looking after him till he was a good way off, then he screamed with all his might: ‘You miserable fiddler! Just you wait till I find you alone! I will chase you till the soles of your shoes drop off—you rascal!’ And he went on pouring out a stream of abuse. Having relieved himself by so doing, he hurried off to the Judge in the nearest town.
‘Just look here, your worship,’ he said, ‘look how I have been attacked, and ill-treated, and robbed on the high road by a wretch. My condition might melt the heart of a stone; my clothes and my body torn and scratched, and my purse with all my poor little savings taken away from me. All my beautiful ducats, each one prettier than the other. Oh dear! Oh dear! For heaven’s sake, put the wretch in prison.’
The Judge said: ‘Was it a soldier who punished you so with his sword?’