Бродил по свету один портной-подмастерье, своим ремеслом занимался; и вот пришло время, что не мог он найти себе никакой работы, и так уж он обеднел, что даже на харчи и гроша денег у него не было. На ту пору встретился ему по дороге еврей; и подумал подмастерье, что денег у того при себе много, и, забыв бога, подступил он к еврею и говорит:
- Отдай мне свои деньги, а не то я тебя убью.
И ответил ему еврей:
- Смилуйся ты надо мной, не лишай меня жизни, денег у меня нету, есть всего лишь каких-нибудь восемь геллеров.
Но портной сказал:
- Нет, деньги у тебя есть, доставай-ка поживей, - и набросился на него и бил его так долго, что тот был уже еле живой.
Вот собрался еврей помирать, и молвил он свое предсмертное слово: "Солнце ясное всю правду откроет", - с этим и помер.
Портной-подмастерье кинулся рыться у него в карманах, деньги искать, и нашел всего-то не больше восьми геллеров, как еврей ему и говорил. Тогда взял его подмастерье и отнес в кусты, а сам отправился дальше, по своему ремеслу работы искать. Долго он странствовал и пришел, наконец, в город, и поступил на работу к мастеру, а у того мастера была красивая дочь; влюбился он в нее, женился и зажил с нею в добром и счастливом браке.
Много времени прошло с той поры; двое детей уж у них было, помер тесть, померла и теща, и вели молодые хозяйство уже сами. Раз, поутру, сидел муж на своем портняжном столе у окошка; принесла жена ему кофе, налил он его в блюдце и собрался уже было пить, а тут солнце засияло на блюдце, и его отраженье блеснуло на стене и забегало по ней солнечными зайчиками. Посмотрел портной и говорит:
- Вот бы и хотелось солнцу ясному всю правду открыть, да не может оно.
А жена ему и говорит:
- Муженек, что ты хочешь этим сказать?
И ответил портной:
- Нет, об этом сказать тебе я не смею.
Но стала она его просить:
- Если ты меня любишь, то должен мне сказать. - И дала она ему обещание, что никто о том не узнает, и не давала ему покоя.
И рассказал он ей, что много лет тому назад странствовал он, оборванный да без денег, и убил одного еврея, а еврей тот в смертный свой час сказал ему такие слова: "Солнце ясное всю правду откроет". И хотело бы солнце всю правду открыть, вот и на стене заблестело и зайчиков солнечных пустило, а все же сделать оно ничего не смогло. Затем стал он просить ее и упрашивать, чтоб никому она о том не говорила, а то погибать ему придется; и она ему обещала. Но когда сел он за работу, пошла она к своей куме и все ей рассказала, взяв с нее слово никому о том не сказывать. Но не прошло и трех дней, как знал уж об этом весь город, и потребовали портного на суд и присудили его казнить.
Так солнце ясное всю правду открыло.
A tailor's apprentice was travelling about the world in search of work, and at one time he could find none, and his poverty was so great that he had not a farthing to live on. Presently he met a Jew on the road, and as he thought he would have a great deal of money about him, the tailor thrust God out of his heart, fell on the Jew, and said, "Give me thy money, or I will strike thee dead." Then said the Jew, "Grant me my life, I have no money but eight farthings." But the tailor said, "Money thou hast; and it shall be produced," and used violence and beat him until he was near death. And when the Jew was dying, the last words he said were, "The bright sun will bring it to light," and thereupon he died. The tailor's apprentice felt in his pockets and sought for money, but he found nothing but eight farthings, as the Jew had said. Then he took him up and carried him behind a clump of trees, and went onwards to seek work. After he had traveled about a long while, he got work in a town with a master who had a pretty daughter, with whom he fell in love, and he married her, and lived in good and happy wedlock.
After a long time when he and his wife had two children, the wife's father and mother died, and the young people kept house alone. One morning, when the husband was sitting on the table before the window, his wife brought him his coffee, and when he had poured it out into the saucer, and was just going to drink, the sun shone on it and the reflection gleamed hither and thither on the wall above, and made circles on it. Then the tailor looked up and said, "Yes, it would like very much to bring it to light, and cannot!" The woman said, "Oh, dear husband, and what is that, then?" What dost thou mean by that?" He answered, "I must not tell thee." But she said, "If thou lovest me, thou must tell me," and used her most affectionate words, and said that no one should ever know it, and left him no rest. Then he told her how years ago, when he was travelling about seeking work and quite worn out and penniless, he had killed a Jew, and that in the last agonies of death, the Jew had spoken the words, "The bright sun will bring it to light." And now, the sun had just wanted to bring it to light, and had gleamed and made circles on the wall, but had not been able to do it. After this, he again charged her particularly never to tell this, or he would lose his life, and she did promise. When however, he had sat down to work again, she went to her great friend and confided the story to her, but she was never to repeat it to any human being, but before two days were over, the whole town knew it, and the tailor was brought to trial, and condemned. And thus, after all, the bright sun did bring it to light.
After a long time when he and his wife had two children, the wife's father and mother died, and the young people kept house alone. One morning, when the husband was sitting on the table before the window, his wife brought him his coffee, and when he had poured it out into the saucer, and was just going to drink, the sun shone on it and the reflection gleamed hither and thither on the wall above, and made circles on it. Then the tailor looked up and said, "Yes, it would like very much to bring it to light, and cannot!" The woman said, "Oh, dear husband, and what is that, then?" What dost thou mean by that?" He answered, "I must not tell thee." But she said, "If thou lovest me, thou must tell me," and used her most affectionate words, and said that no one should ever know it, and left him no rest. Then he told her how years ago, when he was travelling about seeking work and quite worn out and penniless, he had killed a Jew, and that in the last agonies of death, the Jew had spoken the words, "The bright sun will bring it to light." And now, the sun had just wanted to bring it to light, and had gleamed and made circles on the wall, but had not been able to do it. After this, he again charged her particularly never to tell this, or he would lose his life, and she did promise. When however, he had sat down to work again, she went to her great friend and confided the story to her, but she was never to repeat it to any human being, but before two days were over, the whole town knew it, and the tailor was brought to trial, and condemned. And thus, after all, the bright sun did bring it to light.