Lays and Legends of Various Nations/Germany Part 3/Legends of Rubezahl/Rubezahl Changes Leaves into Ducats

by Johannes Praetorius, edited by Johann Gustav Gottlieb Büsching

RUBEZAHL CHANGES LEAVES INTO DUCATS. [H]

A poor woman, who got her living by herbalizing, once went, accompanied by her two little children, to the mountains, carrying with her a basket in which to gather medical herbs, which she was in the habit of disposing of to the apothecaries. Having chanced to discover a large tract of land covered with such plants as were most esteemed, she busied herself so in filling her basket, that she lost her way, and was troubled to find out how to get back to the path from which she had wandered, when a man, dressed like a peasant, suddenly appeared and asked, as if by accident, (for it was Rubezahl,) ‘Well, good woman, what is it you are looking so anxiously for, and where do you want to go to?’

To this she replied, ‘Alas, I am a poor woman, who have neither bit nor sup, for which reason I am obliged to wander to gather herbs, that I may buy a bit of bread for myself and my hungry children; and now I have lost my way and cannot find it again. So I pray you, good man, take pity on me, and lead me out of the thicket into the right path, that I may make the best of my way home?’

To this Rubezahl answered, ‘Well, my good woman, make yourself happy, I will show you the way. But what good are these roots to you—they will be of little benefit. Throw away this rubbish, and gather from this tree as many leaves as will fill your basket, you will find them answer your purpose much better.’

‘Alas, who would give a penny for them, they are but common leaves, and good for nothing.’

‘Be advised, my good woman,’ said Rubezahl, ‘throw away those you have got and follow me.’ But Rubezahl repeated his injunctions over and over again in vain, so often, that he at last was almost tired of doing, for the woman would by no means be persuaded; at last, he was fairly obliged to lay hands upon the basket, throw the herbs by main force out, and supply their place with leaves from the surrounding bushes. When he had done so, he told the woman to go home, and that she might do so, put her in the right way.

Upon this, the woman with her children and her basket, though certainly against her will, journeyed forth some distance, but they had not gone far before she saw some valuable herbs growing by the way-side; and no sooner did she perceive them, than she longed to gather them, and carry them with her, because she felt a hope that she should obtain something more for them, than for the good-for-nothing leaves with which her basket was crammed. Accordingly, she emptied it, threw away what she supposed mere rubbish, and filled it once more with roots, and journeyed homewards to her dwelling at Kirschdorf.

As soon as she arrived at home, she cleansed the roots she had gathered, from the earth which clung to them, tied them neatly together, and emptied every thing out of the basket; upon doing so, something glittering caught her eye, and induced her to take a more careful examination, to see what it was. What happened? Why, lo! and behold, there she found several ducats sticking to the wickers of the basket, and these were such of the leaves as remained of those which she had so thoughtlessly thrown away on the mountains; fortunately not entirely.

Now she was rejoiced at having preserved these much, and again she was sorely vexed, that she had not taken care of all that the mountain spirit had gathered for her. She hastened back in hopes of finding them, but in vain—they were all vanished.

Note.—With this legend, likewise from Prætorius, (s. 248—254,) ends the collection of tales relative to this well-known Spirit of the Hartz Mountains, which Busching has inserted in his curious volume.

The adventures of this Mountain Goblin have proved a faithful theme to the wonder-recording writers of Germany. Musæus has related his history in one of the volumes of his inimitable Deutsche Volksmarchen, and a translation of this tale, under the title of ‘Number Nip,’ is included in the work entitled ‘Tales from the German,’ which was published some years since in 2 vols. 12mo., and has been attributed to the author of ‘Vathek.’ Rubezahl figures in the 2nd volume of ‘Volksagen,’ Eisenach, 1795, and a volume especially devoted to the record of his right wondrous and merry adventures, was published in 1821, under the title of ‘Rubenzahl, oder Volksagen im Reisengebirge.’

We cannot bring this note to a conclusion, without calling the attention of our readers to the striking points of similarity which exists in their characters, between this frolicsome spirit of the hills, as pourtrayed in the little tales which they have just read, and Puck the mischievous and dainty spirit of ‘Midsummer’s Nights’ Dream,’ as pencilled and tinted with the rainbow spirit of England’s greatest bard,—‘that shrewd and knavish one, called Robin Goodfellow.’

Rubezahl’s tricks and vagaries have been too recently perused, to require more than a reference, but the congenial spirit who says:—

      ‘Thou speak’st aright,
I am that merry wanderer of the night,
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile.
Neighing in likeness of a silly foal,
And sometimes lurk I in a gossip’s bowl
In very likeness of a roasted crab;
And when she drinks, agains ther lips I bob,
And on her withered dew-lap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt telling the saddest tale
Sometime for three foot-stool mistaketh me.’

Puck, we say, seems to identify himself with the merry sprite who has chosen the Hartz mountain as the scene of his wanton revels, where he, having first clapped an ass’s head on Bottom’s shoulders, exclaims:—

‘I’ll follow you, I’ll lead you about, around,
Through bog, through bush, through brake, through brier,
Sometimes a horse I’ll be, sometimes a hound,
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn,
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.’

 

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