Legends of Rubezahl, and Other Tales/Legends of Rubezahl/The First Legend

by Johann Karl August Musäus

For other English-language translations of this work, see Legenden von Rübezahl: Die Erste.

 

Legends of Rubezahl.

 

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The First Legend.

 

HE famous Mountain Spirit Rubezahl, who alone has conferred upon the land of the Sudetes more celebrity than have all its poets put together, dwells, in peaceful harmony with Apollo and his nine Muses, on the often though but feebly sung Riesengeberg, that Parnassus of the Silesians. This Prince of the Gnomes, indeed, possesses on the surface of the earth but a very limited territory, and this he only holds in common with two mighty Potentates, who take no notice whatever of his co-sovereignty. But then, at a few fathoms underground, he exercises a monarchy which there is no one to dispute, control, or trench upon; and which, extending far and wide, descends eight hundred and sixty miles, right down to the very centre of the earth. Sometimes the subterranean Starost takes it into his head to make a progress through this vast domain to view those exhaustless treasure-chambers of his, the veins and beds of rich ore that lay, one above another, in all directions; and to inspect the operations of his subject gnomes, as they stop or regulate, with strong dykes or embankments, the fierce fire-torrents that ever and anon burst forth in the bowels of the earth, and rush tumultuous through its cavernous recesses; or, with precious metal-fraught vapours, fecundate the previously sterile rocks, and convert them into glowing piles of ore. At other times, relaxing from regal cares, he ascends to our nether world, and strolling about the Riesengeberg, attired in some mundane guise, disports himself with mankind, playing them all sorts of tricks, more or less mischievous, according to the humour he is in; occasionally doing somebody a good turn, but much oftener teazing poor folks to death, while he all the while is laughing ready to split his sides at their discomfiture.

For his Lordship’s temper, you must know, is as variable as the wind: now well, now ill humoured; gentle, boisterous; bearish, polite; haughty, unassuming; generous and refined, mean and doltish; wise as Solomon, stupid as an ass; soft as an egg before boiling, and then, in the twinkling of an eye, harder than the egg boiled to its hardest; obstinate as an oak, pliant as a willow; to-day your best friend, to-morrow he won’t know you; ever in contradiction with himself, he gives way to the impulse of the moment, and you have no more hold upon him than upon a shadow.

A long, long time ago, ere the race of Japhet had extended itself so far northwards, so that these regions were as yet uninhabited by man, Rubezahl used to divert himself in their wild solitudes with setting the bears and the aurochs together by the ears, exciting them to fight it out to the death; or else with frightening, by his hideous shouts and uproar, the more timid animals, driving them up and down, here and there, until at last the poor things blindly threw themselves over some precipice, and got dashed to pieces. After a time, tired of this sport, he withdrew to his underground domain, where he remained quiet for ever so many centuries, until, by and by, it came into his head that he should like to go up and bask in the sun once more, and see what was going on in the world above. How great was his surprise, on stepping out upon the snow-capped summit of the Riesengeberg, to find the whole surrounding region utterly changed from what it was when he last saw it. The vast forests which then stretched out miles and miles on every side, dark, gloomy, impenetrable by man, were now well nigh all cleared away, and a large portion of their site converted into rich corn fields, glowing with golden crops. Amid flourishing orchards, whose trees were laden with noble fruit, gleamed forth the thatched roofs of pretty cottages, the friendly smoke from whose chimnies rose curling into the clear air. At intervals on the mountain slopes, frowned turreted fortresses, at once dominating and defending the vallies beneath. In the blooming meadows which varied the scene, pastured herds of sheep and of cattle; the while, amid pleasant groves, re-echoed the soothing notes of shepherds’ pipes.

The novelty of the thing, and the agreeable aspect of the new region, so astonished and delighted the subterranean sovereign, that he never once thought of being angry with those who had, without his permission, taken possession of his territory, or of disturbing them in their operations. Like the good-natured farmer who suffers the sociable swallow, or even the troublesome sparrow, to retain unmolested the nest it has built beneath his eaves, Rubezahl benevolently resolved that the busy mortals should receive no interruption from him. On the contrary, he conceived a fancy to make acquaintance with these creatures, intermediate between spirits and animals, and see what they were made of. ’Twould serve to amuse him awhile. Forthwith, he assumed the form of a lusty hind, and offering his services to the first farmer he met with, was accepted. All that he undertook throve in the hands of Rips, for so he called himself, who soon became noted as the best ploughman in the village. But his master was a glutton and guzzler, who squandered away all that his faithful, hardworking servant earned, and gave him, moreover, small thanks for his pains and labour. So Rips left him, and went to a neighbour, who entrusted to him the charge of a large flock of sheep. These he tended with the most scrupulous care, conducting them now into the plains, now to the mountain side, wherever the freshest and sweetest grass was to be found. His woolly charge throve amazingly; their number increased and increased, and never was one of them known to break its neck down a precipice, or to be torn in pieces by the marauding wolf, so unremitting was the zeal of excellent Rips. But his new master was a wretched hunks, who, so far from rewarding him as he deserved, himself stole the best ram of the flock, and made Rips pay for it out of his wages. Rips, therefore, left the miser’s service, and entered that of the District Judge, as whose officer he became the scourge of all the thieves for miles and miles around. But the Judge was an unrighteous man, who perverted justice, giving judgment according to favour, and making a mockery of law. When Rips refused to be the instrument of his iniquity, and intimated an intention to leave his service, he threw the honest fellow into prison, whence, of course, Mr Rips Rubezahl forthwith made his exit, slipping quietly through the keyhole as the gaoler drew out the key, after the accustomed manner of sprites.

These first essays at the study of mankind were obviously not calculated to excite any especial feeling of philanthropy in the mind of our gnome, who returned full of indignation to his mountain peak, where he stopped awhile to survey once more the smiling landscape which human industry had created, and marvelled greatly that Dame Nature should have lavished her blessings upon such a cross-grained brood as he had come across. Meditating hereupon, it occurred to him that perhaps he had not sufficiently investigated the matter, and he accordingly resolved to make one more experiment. Retracing his steps, the invisible monarch descended into the valley, and taking a new direction, was strolling through a delicious grove, when, behold, he saw through the trees at a short distance before him, a girl, lovely and fine-formed as Venus, preparing for the bath, surrounded by her companions, with whom, as they reclined on the grassy margin of a cascade, whose silver flood fell gently into a basin constructed by the all-providing hand of Nature, she was prattling in the innocent freedom and gaiety of youth. This vision had such an effect upon his gnomic Majesty, that he well nigh forgot his spiritual nature and attributes, or, rather, would willingly have accepted the lot of humanity, could he have shared it with the fair mortal before him. But the organs of sprites are so fine, so ethereal, that they can retain, while in their own form, no clear or lasting impression of objects, and Rubezahl well knew that it was necessary for him to assume some bodily shape ere he could so realize that of the fair image he gazed upon, by passing it through the chamber of the eyes, as to fix it in his imagination. He therefore took the shape of a great raven, and flying towards the lovely group, perched on a tall ash that overshadowed the waterfall. But, alas! this expedient by no means answered the purpose, for he now saw everything with the eyes of a raven; so that a nest of wood-mice would have been far more interesting to him than all the handsome women in the world,—the thoughts and desires of the soul taking their form and pressure entirely from the body in which it is placed.

This psychological reflection no sooner occurred to the gnome than he hastened to remedy the blunder he had committed. The raven flew away into the wood, and there became a handsome young man, by which means alone, the spirit knew, could he attain a perfect idea of female beauty. In a moment there sprung up in his bosom sensations he had never before experienced; all his thoughts took a new flight; a pleasing commotion agitated the region of the heart, and aspirations found a place there of which he knew not even the name. An irresistible impulse drew him towards the waterfall; and yet, when he came near it, a still more powerful feeling of bashfulness stayed his steps, and he remained just within the wood, his gaze fixed with rapture on the beauteous vision before him.

The object of his admiration was no less a person than the daughter of the Silesian monarch, whose sceptre at that period swayed the Riesengeberg, among the groves of which beautiful district it was her wont often to take a stroll, attended by the maidens of her court, for the purpose of gathering sweet-smelling herbs or flowers, or, after the homely fashion of those days, of collecting wild cherries or strawberries for her father’s private table. At times, when the weather was warmer than usual, she would repair to the waterfall and refresh herself with a bath; and on one of these occasions it was that the gnome king fell in love with her.

Well, there he stood, fixed by a resistless charm, until at last the all-unconscious Princess departed with her attendants, making the wood resound with their merry voices. The enamoured spirit did not venture to follow, but instinctively persuaded that ere long she would return to the same spot, he took up his position there, day after day, impatiently awaiting her benign presence. At the expiration of a week, amid the noontide heat of a glowing summer’s day, the Princess and her suite again sought the pleasant shade of the waterfall. ’Twere vain to aim at any description of the utter amazement which overcame her, when she saw the entire change that had taken place there since her last visit. The once rude and straggling rocks were now reduced to form, and clothed in carved marble and alabaster; the stream no longer fell wildly and noisily over a rugged precipice, but murmured in gentle gradations over a smooth descent into a noble basin of polished marble, in the centre of which stood a fountain, through whose thousand jets the sparkling waters rose high into the clear air, and then returning with a graceful sweep, scattered abroad, as it seemed in the sun’s rays, myriads of brilliants, and rubies, and emeralds, and topazes, and other stones of price, of varied form and colour, ere it regained its marble home beneath. Around the basin, up to its very edge, lay a soft carpet of the brightest verdure, sprinkled thick with daisies and the other modest flowers which add beauty to the fresh and beautiful grass. A hedge of jasmine and sweetbriar, and roses and honeysuckles, bordered this charming spot, at once affording shade and sweet odours and security from intrusion. Right and left of the cascade stood gates, giving double entrance to a magnificent grotto, whose walls and arched ceiling were composed of a mosaic of the richest crystals and spars, the many-coloured effulgence of which dazzled the sight. In niches around was arranged a collation, the mere sight of which was enough to create an appetite in the least hungry.

The Princess stood for a while in mute amazement, hardly trusting her eyes at first, and then uncertain whether to advance into the charmed circle or to fly. But she was a true daughter of Eve, and could not long withstand the eager curiosity that seized her to examine more closely the wonders of the place, and to taste the exquisite fruits and confections she caught sight of through the open portals, and which she instinctively felt were destined for her. She accordingly ventured in, followed by the no less astonished maidens; and, after they had all thoroughly satisfied the senses of sight and taste, the Princess fancied she should like to try the new bath that had been prepared for her. She accordingly proceeded to undress for that purpose, having first stationed two of her attendants at the trelliced entrance, to take care that no prying eye of passing huntsman, or cotter or courtier, should intrude upon her privacy.

Scarcely, however, had the beauteous nymph passed over the polished brink of the bath ere she felt herself sinking down, down to a depthless deep, though just before, the silver sand which shone through the placid waves seemed to lay but some two or three feet beneath their surface, giving no indication whatsoever of danger. Before any one of the attendants, who rushed up on hearing her cries, could catch hold of her flowing golden hair, the greedy waters had swallowed up their beauteous mistress. Loud and lamentable were the exclamations of the whole frightened troop. “Woe! woe! Alas! alas!” screamed they, as wringing with anguish their snow-white hands they ran desperately round and round the fatal pool, calling upon the Naiads to take pity and restore to them their lovely lady; but all in vain. No Naiad commiserated their pitiable condition; but, on the contrary, the Nymph of the Fountain, mocking their despair, directed the streams of water so energetically upon them as to wet them every one through and through. Of all the Princess’s attendants, grief-laden as they seemed, not one manifested any readiness to share her fate, except her favourite, Brinhilda, who, when all hope was fled, boldly leaped into the devouring waters; but they were not devouring waters for her. No: despite all her efforts to get beneath their surface, she floated about as light as a cork, and was at last wafted by some unseen agency on to the grassy bank.

There was now nothing else to be done but to make the King acquainted, as soon as possible, with the terrible misadventure that had befallen his daughter. It chanced that his Majesty was at this very moment on his way to hunt in the forest, and the terror-stricken maidens had accordingly proceeded only a short distance when they met him at the head of his pack. On learning the news, the King rent his garments, and taking the golden crown from his head, covered his face with his purple mantle, weeping and wailing lustily for the loss of his dear Emma.

When he had thus paid the first tribute of fatherly love, he came to himself again, and putting on his golden crown, hastened to the scene of the adventure. When he got there, lo and behold! the enchantment was at an end; there was no mosaic work grotto, no polished marble basin, no alabaster columns, no odoriferous hedge; everything of the sort had utterly disappeared, and nature had resumed all her original wildness. Nevertheless, the Princess’s attendants, though more frightened than ever, stuck to their story, as well they might, since it was the literal truth, and neither threats nor promises could make them deviate from it in one single particular. His Majesty was perfectly at a loss what to think; there were no wandering knights in those days to carry off king’s daughters, or any body else’s daughters; what could it all mean? At last, in default of any other solution of the mystery, he made up his mind that Thor or Wodin, or some other of the gods, had taken a fancy to the charming Emma, and consoled by this flattering impression, he ordered the weeping ladies to dry up their tears and go home, while he himself proceeded on his excursion.

Meantime the charming Emma, for her part, found herself by no means so badly off. When Master Gnome, by that shameful trick of his, had got her away from her screaming attendants, he bore her insensible form swiftly along the recesses of his subterrene domain, and then up to a magnificent palace he had just prepared for her reception, in comparison with which her father’s castle was a barn. When she recovered consciousness, she was reclining on a delightful sofa, attired in the most perfect style of art of that period, in a rich pink satin robe, encircled and compressed by a zone of Heaven’s own blue, that seemed the very cestus of Venus. At her feet knelt a young man, splendidly dressed, of a fine form and most prepossessing countenance, who, in language breathing love’s own eloquence, was offering up his vows of eternal devotion, vows which the fair one received in modest silence, and with downcast looks. The enamoured spirit then, having, however, first explained who he was, what his illustrious origin, and how great the extent of his subterrene monarchy, conducted his mistress through the principal apartments of the palace, each of which seemed still more magnificent than the one preceding it, and then into the noble garden which surrounded the mansion, and which, laid out as it was with exquisite taste, and abounding with magnificent flowers and plants, unknown to the outer world, delighted the Princess more than anything she had seen. At one extremity of the grounds she visited an orchard filled with trees, whose golden fruit surpassed the highest efforts of mortal culture. Each grove, each tree, was crowded with song-birds, whose melodious throats sent forth, in every direction, the most ravishing strains. The gnome, encircling the fair one’s waist with one arm, trod the arched walks in perfect ecstacy; his eyes fixed unceasingly on hers, and his ear drinking with intoxication each word that fell, in gentle tones, from her honey mouth. In all his long, long, long life, never had he experienced aught resembling the rapture of this, his first love!

But Emma was far from being equally happy; pensiveness clouded her brow; she was oppressed with that soft, that undefined melancholy, which oftentimes renders beauty doubly interesting, by exciting sympathy as well as passion. This state of mind did not escape Rubezahl, who endeavoured to dispel it by his caresses; but in vain.

“Ah!” said he within himself, after a brief meditation, “the human race, like the bees and ants, are of a social disposition; my charming mistress needs other company than mine; and, after all, perhaps the society of a husband only may not always be sufficient for a wife. For to whom is she to communicate things she may not deem it expedient to talk about to her lord? With whom can she hold council on the choice of her dresses? Was Eve able long to endure an unvaried tête-à-tête, though with the first and only man in the world? No; rather than be without a confidential friend, she took to a serpent.”

Rubezahl having made these judicious reflections, forthwith hastened into the fields, tore up a dozen fresh turnips, arranged them in a very pretty covered basket, and brought them to Emma, whom he found musing in a solitary bower, unconsciously tearing a rose to pieces, and giving its leaves to the breeze.

“Fairest of Earth’s fair daughters,” he murmured, “let ennui and chagrin be banished from thy soul; let thy heart expand to the pleasure of social converse: thy palace and thy gardens shall no longer be a solitude to thee; this basket contains all that is necessary to make thy abode agreeable. Take this wand, touch these turnips with it, and at thy word each shall assume whatever form thou namest.”

This said he withdrew. Emma immediately opened the basket, and taking out the first turnip that came to hand, struck it with her wand, and exclaimed: “Brinhilda, dear Brinhilda, appear!” And instantly Brinhilda, her eyes overflowing with tears of joy, knelt at her mistress’s feet, embracing her knees with transport.

So perfect was the illusion, that Emma herself hardly knew whether her wand had restored to her the true Brinhilda, or whether her eyes were deceived by the apparition of a vain phantom. None the less, however, did she surrender herself to the most heartfelt delight, and immediately commenced promenading the gardens with this beloved companion, pointing out to her admiration all their beauties in detail, and gathering some of the finest of the golden apples for her. She then led her through all the apartments of the palace, large and small, until they came to the dressing room, where they found so much to amuse them that they remained in it till sun-set. Robes, veils, girdles, jewels, were passed over and over again in review by this feminine committee, tried on, and criticised. The fictitious Brinhilda played her part to admiration, and showed so much taste, so much tact, so profound an erudition in costume and trinkets, that though, in truth, she was nothing but a turnip, everybody must have deemed her the very pink and pearl of handmaidens.

The gnome, who stood by invisible, intently watching the pair, was excessively delighted and vain-glorious at the success of his scheme; although a mere tyro in the study of human nature, he already began to deem himself very far advanced in the knowledge of the fair sex. Never had Emma appeared to him so lovely, so gracious, so tender, so every way fascinating, as at that moment. She, meantime, lost no time, in animating, by the aid of her magic wand, the whole stock of turnips contained in the basket, giving them the forms of the young girls, her wonted attendants in the castle of her father. And as, after completing her court, two turnips still remained, she gave to one the figure of a cat, as soft, as flowing-haired, as caressing as ever came from far Angora, and fashioned the other into the prettiest little lap-dog, the most frisking, amusing little pet, that lady could desire. And now in possession of all she needed, she arranged her court, and appointed to her attendants their respective posts; and never was princess better served than she. All her wishes were anticipated, her slightest gesture or look was instantly understood. Several weeks passed on in undisturbed enjoyment. Dancing, singing, music, an ever varying round of entertainments succeeded each other in the harem of the Gnome. But after some time the Princess began to observe that the complexion of her attendants was gradually losing its brilliancy. The great mirror of the marble saloon first led her to observe that she alone continued as fresh and bright as a new-blown rose, while her beloved Brinhilda, and her other women, were more like faded flowers, nearly expiring from drought; yet they all assured her they were in perfect health. Assuredly it was not from want of living well that they looked thus pale and exhausted, for the table of the Gnome was set out with equal profusion and refinement. But not the less did the damsels daily pine away, until by degrees all the fire of youth was extinguished in their eyes.

At last the poor Princess was perfectly horrified, when one morning, after having enjoyed a long and tranquil night’s rest, on entering her saloon, she beheld a set of wretched, shrivelled, blear-eyed old women, supporting themselves with difficulty on sticks and crutches, and half suffocated by a dry cough, totter forward to meet her. The dear little dog, erewhile so full of life and vivacity, lay on his side with his tongue hanging out, at his last gasp, utterly worn out; while the sweet, gentle Mimi, once so playful and caressing, paralysed in all her limbs, could with difficulty drag herself on a short space to receive her mistress.

Struck with horror, the Princess rushed out of the room to escape the frightful spectacle, and flying to the balcony, loudly called the Gnome, who, in most humble guise, at once presented himself. “Villainous spirit!” cried the angry beauty; “what! dost thou seek to deprive me of the only solace of my now wretched life? Dost thou grudge me even the semblance of my old companions? Is it not enough that thy malice compels my abode in this desert? Would’st thou, moreover, convert it into a hospital? Instantly restore to my maidens their youth and beauty, or expect naught from me but hatred and scorn.”

“Fairest of mortals,” replied the Gnome, submissively, “be not unjust in thy anger; I have no will but thine, I do all in my power to please thee, but ask not impossibilities. I command the powers of nature, but I cannot change her inflexible laws. So long as the turnips preserved any vegetative vigour, the magic wand was capable of metamorphosing them at thy pleasure; but now that their juices are dried up, they inevitably verge towards dissolution, the elementary spirit by which they were vivified having now evaporated. But grieve not for this, my beloved; a second basket of turnips will easily restore all thou hast lost, and give thee back thy companions. Return to Mother Nature those gifts which have served to amuse thee for the past few weeks; thou wilt find more agreeable company on the great grass plot in the garden.”

Having thus spoken, the Gnome withdrew. Emma touched the old women with her wand, and they became a set of shrunken and withered turnips, which she forthwith treated as a child does a plaything he is tired of; threw the rubbish out of the window, and thought no more about it.

Then she ran off to the great grass plot, in hope of there finding another basket of turnips; but found it not. In vain did she search through every part of the garden, up and down: no basket was to be seen. Near the grape espaliers she met the Gnome, whose face was so wofully long that even at a considerable distance his embarrassment was plainly visible. “Thou hast deceived me,” cried she; “where is the basket? I have been seeking it an hour without success.”

“Dear mistress of my heart,” replied the Gnome, in faltering accents, “Canst thou forgive my want of foresight? I have promised what it is not possible for me to perform. Through the whole country have I been in search of turnips, but they have all long been gathered, and lie withering or rotting in the cellars. The fields are mourning, the valleys filled with snow; it is only in the scenes blessed by thy presence that spring is perennial; it is only under thy feet that flowers are ever springing up. Have patience but for three months, and thy companions shall be restored to thee.” But ere the Gnome had done speaking, Emma had already turned her back on him, and had run to shut herself up in her boudoir. He immediately proceeded to the next market town in the guise of a farmer, bought an ass, which he loaded with sacks of turnip seed, enough for a whole acre; which having carefully sowed, he gave the field in charge to one of his ministering spirits, with orders to keep up a good subterranean fire beneath its whole surface, so as to bring forward these turnips with the rapidity of pineapples in a hot-house.

The seed shot vigorously out, and gave promise of an early and abundant produce. Emma went every day to visit the field, more interesting to her than the garden of the Hesperides and its golden fruit. But soon even this resource failed, and ennui began to dim the brightness of her beautiful eyes. She forsook the growing turnips for a gloomy grove of firs, sauntering listlessly along the banks of a clear streamlet, into whose silver current she scattered flowers, that were quickly borne away into the gulfs of the Odergrund. Now whoever has any experience in matters of love, well knows that to have constant recourse to so melancholy an amusement, denotes some secret sorrow of the heart.

The Gnome could not fail to observe, that in spite of all the tenderness he manifested for Emma, in spite of his never-ceasing earnest attentions, he had hitherto made no progress in her heart. But far from being discouraged, he redoubled his efforts to please, doing his best to anticipate her every wish. Why should he despair of the conquest of the fair one? Inexperienced as he was in love affairs, he deemed that all the difficulties which he had to encounter were no more than the usual results of terrestrial custom in such matters; and gifted with that delicacy and refinement which is the birth-right of spirits, he felt that the resistance opposed to him was not without its charm, and would render his delayed triumph only the more glorious and delightful. But he, poor novice, with all his fancied progress in knowledge of the sex, never suspected the real cause of the cross and crabbed humours of her whom he adored. He imagined the heart of Emma as free as his own had been until he saw her; and, in his simplicity, he deemed her love his due, as a matter of course, as ’twere a piece of unoccupied land, which he, as first claimant, was entitled to of right.

The Gnome was altogether out in his reckoning; for it so happened that Ratibor, a young prince whose states, on the banks of the Oder, were contiguous to those of the sovereign of Silesia, had already inspired Emma with that first love which, as people say, is as durable as brass. Already the happy pair were awaiting with impatience the day on which they were to renew their vows at the altar, when the betrothed suddenly disappeared. The terrible news turned Ratibor Inamorato into Orlando Furioso. He quitted his capital, wandered all by himself through the forest, over the mountains, making the rocks re-echo with his cries and groans. Meantime his faithful Emma sighed her secret grief in her splendid prison, taking care to conceal her real feelings from the Gnome, that she might the more readily secure the means of deceiving his vigilance and of recovering her libery. After many a sleepless night she thought of a scheme which appeared to her at all events worth trying.

Spring had now restored their verdure to hill and dale; the Gnome had permitted the subterranean fire under his turnip field to go out, and the turnips themselves, which, despite the winter, had been going on, now began to come forth. Every day did Emma pull up a few of these turnips, and as if in sport, give them such forms as the caprice of the moment seemed to suggest; but this apparent sport had in reality a very serious object. One day she turned a little turnip into a bee, which she forthwith sent to bring her some account of her lover. “Fly, dear little bee,” said she, “to Prince Ratibor, and buz gently into his ear that Emma still lives for him, but in captivity with the Gnome Prince, whose dwelling is in the mountains. Forget not one word of this greeting, and bring back tidings of my lover.” The bee at once flew from the finger of its mistress on its mission; but scarcely was it on the wing, ere a hungry swallow pounced upon it, and in an instant swallowed up, to the great vexation of the lady, the messenger of love and all its despatches. Forthwith, by virtue of her wondrous wand, Emma created a grasshopper, whom she charged with a similar message. “Little grasshopper,” said she, “hop over the mountains to Prince Ratibor, and chirp in his ear that his faithful Emma waits with impatience for his strong arm to free her from her bonds.” The grasshopper hopped away as fast as it could to fulfil its orders; but a great long-legged stork, that was stalking along the very road the grasshopper took, seized the poor little thing in its bill, and threw it down into its capacious craw. The failure of these two experiments did not discourage the resolute Emma from trying a third. This time she transformed her turnip into a magpie. “Fly, prattling bird,” she said; “flutter on from tree to tree, till thou shalt find my affianced Ratibor; tell him of my captivity; tell him in three days from this to await me with horse and man on the borders of the mountain, in the Maienthal, in readiness to carry off the fugitive, who hopes by that time to have broken her chains.” The mottled messenger departed, fluttering from one resting place to another, Emma anxiously watching its flight till out of sight.

Ratibor, a prey to grief, still wandered amid the solitary woods; the return of spring, the revivification of nature, had naught alleviated his woe. Seated in the shade of a tufted oak, he thought of his lost Princess, and softly breathed her name; the beloved accents were repeated by many-tongued Echo. At the same moment, an unknown voice called out, “Ratibor!” The Prince, amazed, looked round, listened, and seeing no one, hearing nothing, concluded he had been mistaken; when the same strange voice repeated, “Ratibor! Ratibor!” Hereupon the mournful youth, looking up, perceived a magpie hopping from branch to branch, to and fro, calling incessantly, “Ratibor! Ratibor!” “Wretched babbler,” cried he, “who can have taught thee to pronounce the name of an unfortunate who desires to be blotted for ever from the recollection of mankind?” This said, he snatched up a stone, and was aiming it at the magpie, when the bird cried, “Emma!” This magic name disarmed the Prince; its gentle influence at once pervaded his whole being; and, rising from the soul, the beloved accents were breathed from his own lips,—“Emma!” Having thus secured the Prince’s attention, the magpie, from its leafy perch, communicated to him the message with which it had been entrusted, with all the volubility of its kind. No sooner had Ratibor received the glad tidings, than hope once more dawned in his breast, and the death-like grief which had alike borne down all the faculties of mind and body, vanished; and awaking, as it were, out of a hideous dream, he eagerly put to the comfort-bringing bird all sorts of inquiries touching his beloved Emma; but the magpie could add nothing to the message it had already communicated, which having once more gabbled over like a magpie, it flew off. As for Ratibor, recalled from his misanthropy, he hastened to his castle, gave instant orders to boot and saddle; and, followed by a strong party of horse, set out, full of hope, to the appointed place, to await the adventure.

Emma meantime, with all the subtlety of her sex, had been doing all that she deemed necessary to secure the success of her project. She had ceased to torment the all-enduring Gnome with deadly coldness; her eye spoke hope; her deportment relaxed somewhat of its haughty reserve. How transporting so favourable a change, to a suitor hitherto repulsed with scorn! Rubezahl, spirit as he was, fell into the snare. Discouragement had long closed his lips; he now once more became eloquent, nay, even pressing. Emma seemed to yield; she requested but one day’s delay; which the Gnome, intoxicated with love and joy, willingly consented to, and then retired, deeming his triumph perfectly secure.

Next morning, shortly after sunrise, Emma came forth from her toilet, dressed like a bride, and ornamented with all her jewels. Her fair hair was gracefully arranged in a knot, which a myrtle wreath encircled; the edges of her robe glittered with precious stones. On seeing the Gnome, who was impatiently expecting her upon the great terrace, she modestly covered her face with her veil. “Celestial maid,” said Rubezahl, in faltering accents, “deny me not the joy of drinking deep draughts of love from thine eyes; let nothing intercept those tender, yielding glances, which are about to render me the happiest being the ruddy morning sun e’er shone upon.” So saying, he would have removed the veil which concealed the lovely features he so desired to gaze upon; but Emma only drew it still closer around her, and replied in a scarcely audible tone of voice: “O master of my heart! ’tis not in mortal to resist thee! Thy constancy hath triumphed. Receive from my lips the confession of my tenderness; but suffer this veil still to hide my blushes and my tears.”—“Why tears?” said Rubezahl, in faltering accents; “every tear of thine falls like a drop of burning oil on my heart. I ask love for love, but no sacrifice.”—“Ah!” replied Emma, “why will’st thou misinterpret my tears? My heart responds to thy tenderness, but anxious misgivings harass me. The wife does not retain the charms of the mistress. Thou art not assailable by old age; but the beauty of mortals is a flower which soon fades. How can I be assured that thou wilt prove as tender and constant a husband, as thou hast been a passionate and devoted lover?”—“Demand what proof thou wilt of my fidelity,” replied Rubezahl, “and it shall be given. Only put my constancy to the proof, and thou shalt find how unalterable is my deep love.”—“Be it so,” said Emma; “I ask but one evidence of thy complaisance. Go, count all the turnips in the field. ’Tis my wish that our nuptials should not be unattended. When thou hast ascertained the number of turnips, so that I may form my arrangements, I will convert them into a magnificent train; but take care how you miscount, even by one. This is the proof I demand of thy devotion.”

However unwilling the Gnome might be to quit his beautiful betrothed at such a moment, he delayed not to obey her; and running to the field, set to work with more haste than good speed, hurrying along the rows of turnips as fast as the doctors do along the rows of patients’ beds in a hospital. So zealous was he in his exertions, that the account was quickly summed up; but to “make assurance doubly sure,” he deemed it safest to go over the computation again, when, to his great annoyance, he discovered an error which necessitated a third scrutiny; and this, again, only served to manifest a new defect of addition. Nor can we be surprised at these mistakes; the idea of a pretty girl is quite enough to confuse the brain of the very best of arithmeticians; the most infallible among them have been known to blunder when the figure of a fair lady has happened to get mixed up with the other figures to which they were applying themselves.

No sooner had the crafty Emma lost sight of her lover than she took measures for flight. She had kept in reserve a large juicy turnip, which, at a stroke of her wand, became a powerful horse, ready saddled and bridled. Instantly vaulting upon its back, she was borne with the rapidity of the wind over moor and mountain, to the lovely valley Maienthal, where, once more restored to happiness, she threw herself into the arms of her beloved Ratibor, who had been there for some hours, full of the most solicitous suspense.

The busy Gnome, meantime, was so totally absorbed in his enumeration, that he neither saw nor heard anything that was going on. After infinite trouble and vexation, he had at length arrived at the precise number of turnips, large and small, which the field contained; and full of exultation, he flew to rejoin the lady of his love to render his account, in the hope of now fully convincing her that he should prove the most complaisant and obedient husband that ever fantastic and capricious daughter of Eve led by the nose. He presented himself on the great grass plot, with an air of very considerable self-satisfaction. Not finding there her whom he sought, he examined all the arbours and paths in the garden with equal want of success; he then rushed into the house, and looked into every corner of it, calling aloud the dear name of “Emma!” But the vaulted ceilings of the lone apartments alone repeated the beloved name; no Emma was there. All at once the truth flashed on his mind. Relieving himself instantly from the cumbrous coil of mortal mould, and resuming his spirit shape, he shot up high in the air, like an arrow from a bow, and descried the fair fugitive in the far distance, just at the moment when her courser was about to pass the limits of his dominions. Furious, the Gnome seized on a couple of clouds that were peaceably sailing past him, and dashing them against each other, sent after the perfidious fair one a terrible flash of lightning, which splintered to atoms an oak that had marked the barrier for a thousand years. That barrier, however, Emma had already passed; and, as beyond it Rubezahl was powerless, the cloud dispersed in a light mist.

After having desperately dashed to and fro, here and there, in the upper air, venting to the four winds his rage, Rubezahl, o’erladen with grief, returned to the castle, and wandered through its vast and lone apartments, which re-echoed to his groans and cries. Then he sought once more the garden, whose beauties had no longer any charm for him; one single trace of his faithless mistress’s footsteps, which he discovered in the soft gravel, was of deeper interest to him than all the splendid flowers and fruits around. There was not a spot which did not remind him of happiness, now fled; here, there, everywhere, as she conversed with Brinhilda, as she played with her lapdog, as she plucked and arranged her tasteful bouquets, had he watched her with rapture; at times invisible, at other times, when in mortal guise, he breathed his vows of love, and occupied the hours in pleasing converse. Slowly paced he up and down, plunged in the most gloomy reverie; then, roused to fury, he poured forth curses loud and deep against the whole human race, whom—so bad, so treacherous did he now deem them—he determined to hold thenceforth in utter scorn and hatred. In an excess of rage he thrice stamped with his foot, and instantly the magic palace and all its appurtenances disappeared, and into the fathomless gulf which opened in its place the Gnome precipitated himself, nor paused in his career till he reached the centre of the earth, carrying with him a sense of the bitterest mortification and disappointment, and fierce hatred to all mankind.

Meantime Prince Ratibor, who had lost no time in providing for the security of his lovely prize, bore her in triumph to her father’s court, where their espousals were celebrated; and thence he proceeded with his bride to his dominions, ascended the throne of his forefathers, and built the town which bears his name to this day. The wondrous adventure of the Princess in the Riesengeberg, her daring flight, and fortune-favoured escape, became a tradition in all men’s mouths, handed down from generation to generation. The inhabitants of the surrounding districts, who knew not the spirit’s spirit-name, thence derived a soubriquet for their Gnome neighbour, and have ever since designated him Rubenzahl, or more briefly, Rubezahl (the Turnip-counter).