Rübezahl (translation) Part 1: How Rübezahl got his name.

 

Rübezahl

The Fairy Tale of RübezahlBy J. R. U. Musäus.Revised for young people.Illustrations by Wilhelm

Stumpf.

E. Rister Publishing House

Nuremberg

Text revised by Dr. Hans Heller. 

Printed by C. Rister in Nuremberg.

Nuremberg

Youth Books

How Rübezahl got his name.

The mountain spirit Rübezahl lives in the Giant Mountains. This prince of gnomes possesses only a small area on the surface of the earth, measuring a few miles in circumference and surrounded by a chain of mountains, and he shares this property with two powerful monarchs who do not even recognize his co-rule. But a few fathoms below the arable earth's crust, his reign begins and extends 860 miles deep, to the center of the Earth. At times, he enjoys traversing his vast provinces in the abyss, viewing the inexhaustible treasure troves of noble veins and seams, to inspect the miners' guild of gnomes and put them to work, partly to withstand the force of the streams of fire in the bowels of the earth with solid dams, partly to transform mineral vapors and dead rock into precious ore. At times, he abandons all his subterranean concerns of governance, rises to the border fortress of his domain for recreation, and spends his time in the Giant Mountains, playing games and mocking human children like a cheerful, boisterous fellow who tickles his neighbor to death just for a laugh. For Rübezahl, you must know, is a very moody fellow: impetuous, strange, crude, immodest, proud, vain, fickle, today the warmest friend, tomorrow strange and cold; at times good-natured, noble, and sensitive; but constantly at odds with himself; silly and wise, often hard and soft in two moments, like an egg falling into boiling water; mischievous and honest, stubborn and pliable; depending on the mood that his whims and inner urges take hold of him when he sees each thing. From time immemorial, before humans had ventured so far north that they could cultivate these regions, Rübezahl already roamed the wild mountains, inciting bears and aurochs to fight each other, or scaring shy game away with terrifying noises and plunging it from steep cliffs into the deep valley below. Tired of hunting, he once again made his way through the regions of the underworld and remained there for centuries until the air once again tempted him to lie down in the sun and enjoy the sight of the outer creation. How surprised he was when, upon returning from the snow-covered summit of the Giant Mountains, he looked around and found the area completely changed. The dark, impenetrable forests were cleared and transformed into fertile farmland where rich harvests ripened. Between the plantations of blossoming fruit trees, the thatched roofs of cozy villages stood out, peaceful smoke swirling from their chimneys into the air; here and there stood a solitary watchtower on the slope of a mountain to protect and shield the land; sheep and cattle grazed in the flower-filled meadows, and melodious shawms sounded from the light groves. The novelty of the matter and the pleasantness of the first sight delighted the astonished sovereign so much that he was not displeased with the unauthorized planters who were farming here without his permission, nor did he wish to interfere with their activities and way of life; Instead, he left them in peaceful possession of their usurped property, like a good-natured householder who allows the sociable swallow or even the troublesome sparrow to stay under his roof. He even felt inclined to get acquainted with humans, this hybrid species of spirit and animal, to explore their nature and character, and to cultivate relationships with them. He took on the appearance of a sturdy farmhand and hired himself out to the first farmer he came across. Everything he undertook prospered under his hand, and Rips, the farmhand, was known as the best worker in the village. But his master was a glutton and a feaster who squandered the loyal servant's earnings and showed little gratitude for his efforts and hard work. So Rübezahl left him and went to his neighbor, who put him in charge of his flock of sheep. He tended them diligently, driving them into the wilderness and up steep mountains where healthy herbs grew. The flock also thrived under his care and multiplied; no sheep fell from the cliff and broke its neck, and none were torn apart by wolves. But his master was a miserly man who did not reward his faithful servant as he should have done; for he stole the best ram from the flock and short-changed the shepherd's wages, so Rübezahl ran away from the miser and served the judge as a servant, became the scourge of thieves, and indulged in justice with strict zeal. But the judge was an unjust man, perverted justice, ruled according to favor, and mocked the laws. Because Rübezahl did not want to be an instrument of injustice, he resigned from his position with the judge and was thrown into prison, from which he easily escaped in the usual manner of ghosts, through the keyhole. This first attempt to study human nature could not possibly warm him to love for mankind; he returned to his rocky crag in disgust, looked out over the smiling fields that human labor had beautified, and marveled that Mother Nature had bestowed her gifts on such unworthy creatures. Nevertheless, he ventured once more into the countryside to study humanity, crept invisibly into the valley, and listened in the bushes and hedges. There stood before him the figure of a charming girl; she was just stepping into the bath. Around her, her playmates had settled down in the grass by a waterfall that poured its silvery stream into a simple pool, joking and laughing with their mistress in innocent merriment. This sight had such a wondrous effect on the listening mountain spirit that he almost forgot his spiritual nature and character, wished for the lot of mortality, and looked with pleasure upon the daughters of men. But the organs of spirits are so delicate that they cannot retain any solid and lasting impression; the gnome found that his body was unable to perceive the image of the bathing beauties through the darkened chamber of his eye and hold it in his mind. So he transformed himself into a black raven and flew up to a tall ash tree that overshadowed the bath to enjoy the graceful spectacle. But this plan was not the best idea: he saw everything with raven eyes and felt like a raven; a nest of forest mice was now more appealing to him than the girl: for the soul never acts in its thoughts and desires other than in accordance with the body that surrounds it. No sooner had he uttered these words than the mistake was corrected; the raven flew into the bushes and transformed itself into a handsome young man. That was the right way to do it. The beautiful girl was the daughter of the Prince of Silesia, who ruled the area around the Giant Mountains at that time; she often used to stroll with the maidens of her court in the groves and bushes of the mountains, gathering flowers and fragrant herbs, or picking a basket of wild cherries or strawberries for her father's table, and when the day was hot, refreshing herself at the rock spring by the waterfall and bathing in it. From that moment on, love, with its sweet magic, bound the mountain spirit to this place, which he never left, and every day he waited impatiently for the return of the charming bathing company. The princess hesitated for a long time, but at noon on a sultry summer day, she and her entourage returned to the cool shade of the waterfall. She was astonished to find the place completely transformed: the rough rocks were covered with marble and alabaster, and the water no longer cascaded down the steep mountain wall in a wild stream, but flowed gently, broken by many steps, into a wide marble basin, from the center of which a rapid jet of water rose and, transformed into a dense shower, tossed this way and that by a gentle breeze, splashed back into the water basin. Sweet violets, columbines, and romantic forget-me-nots bloomed at its edge, rose hedges mingled with wild jasmine and silver blossoms stretched out at a distance, forming the most pleasant pleasure garden. To the right and left of the waterfall, the double entrance to a magnificent grotto opened up, its walls and arched vaults resplendent with colorful decorations of colored ore, rock crystal, and rock glass; everything sparkled and shimmered, its reflection dazzling the eye. In various niches, the most delightful refreshments were laid out, inviting the eye to enjoy them. The princess stood there for a long time in silent amazement, not knowing whether to trust her eyes, enter this enchanted place, or flee. But she was the daughter of Mother Eve, and could not resist the desire to look at everything and taste the delicious fruits that seemed to have been laid out for her. After she and her entourage had thoroughly enjoyed themselves in this little paradise and diligently examined everything, she felt the urge to bathe in the pool. She ordered her playmates to keep watch and look around so that no prying eyes in the bushes would defile her virginal modesty. No sooner had the lovely girl slipped over the smooth edge of the marble basin than she sank into an endless depth, even though the deceptive silver gravel that shone from the shallow bottom gave no indication of danger. Faster than the hastening maidens could grasp the golden hair of their blonde mistress, the voracious flood had swallowed her up. The frightened group of girls let out loud cries of lamentation and woe as their mistress vanished before their very eyes; they wrung and twisted their snow-white hands, begged the naiads in vain for mercy, and ran fearfully back and forth along the marble shore, while the spring water deliberately doused them with one downpour after another. But none dared to jump in after the one who had escaped, except Brinhild, her dearest playmate, who did not hesitate to plunge into the bottomless whirlpool, expecting the same fate as her beloved mistress. But she floated on the water like a light cork and, despite all her efforts, was unable to submerge. There was no other choice but to inform the king of the sad event involving his daughter. The frightened girls met him with lamentations as he was just setting off for the forest with his hunters. The king tore his clothes in grief and horror, took the golden crown from his head, covered his face with his purple cloak, and wept and wailed loudly over the loss of beautiful Emma. After paying the first tribute of tears to his fatherly love, he gathered his courage and hurried to see the adventure at the waterfall for himself. But the pleasant enchantment had disappeared, and raw nature stood there again in its former wildness; there was no grotto, no marble bath, no rose garden, no jasmine arbor. Fortunately, the good king had no reason to fear that his daughter had been abducted by some errant knight, for abductions were not yet customary in the land at that time; so he did not extract a confession from the girls, either by threats or torture, about the princess's sudden disappearance that would have been more credible than the truth. Instead, he accepted their account in good faith and believed that Thor or Wodan, or some other god, had been involved in this miraculous event, and over time he came to terms with his loss. Meanwhile, the lovely Emma was not doing badly in Rübezahl's realm. Master Schwimmart had only hidden her from the eyes of her entourage with his sleight of hand and led her through an underground passage to a magnificent palace that was beyond comparison with her father's residence. When the princess had regained her spirits, she found herself reclining on a comfortable sofa, dressed in a rose-colored satin gown and a virginal belt of sky-blue silk. A young man lay at her feet and confessed his love to her with the warmest of feelings, which she accepted with a bashful blush. The delighted gnome then told her about his status and origins, about the underground states he ruled, showed her around the rooms and halls of the castle, and revealed all its splendor and wealth. A magnificent pleasure garden surrounded the castle on three sides, which, with its flower beds and lawns, on whose green surface a cool shade lay, seemed to please the young lady in particular. All the fruit trees bore crimson apples speckled with gold or half-gilded, the likes of which no horticultural art today can entice nature to produce. The bushes were filled with songbirds singing their hundred-voiced songs. The couple strolled through the intimate archways. Rübezahl's gaze was fixed on the princess's lips and his ears greedily drank in the soft sounds from her mouth, each word going down as smoothly as honeycomb; in an eon-long life, he had never enjoyed such blissful hours. The lovely Emma did not feel the same joy; a certain gloom hung over her forehead, and a gentle melancholy, which lends so much charm to the female form, revealed all too clearly that secret desires lay hidden in her heart that did not entirely coincide with his. He soon made this discovery and tried to dispel these clouds and cheer up the beauty with a thousand caresses, but in vain. “Man,” he thought to himself, “is a social animal like the bee and the ant: beautiful mortals lack entertainment.” He quickly went out into the field, pulled a dozen beets from a field, placed them in a delicately woven basket, and brought it to the beautiful Emma, who was melancholically and lonely plucking the petals from a rose in the shaded arbor. “Most beautiful of earthly daughters,” the gnome addressed her, "Banish all gloom from your soul and open your heart to convivial joy; you shall no longer be the lonely mourner in my dwelling. In this basket is everything you need to make your stay here pleasant. Take the small, colorfully peeled stick, and by touching it, give the plants in the basket the shapes that please you." He then left the princess, and she did not hesitate for a moment to follow his instructions with the magic wand after opening the lidded basket. “Brinhild,” she cried, “dear Brinhild, appear!” And Brinhild lay at her feet, embraced her mistress's knees, and wet her lap with tears of joy, caressing her affectionately, as she was wont to do. The deception was so perfect that Miss Emma herself did not know what to make of her creation; whether she had conjured up the real Brinhild or whether an illusion had deceived her eyes. Meanwhile, she gave herself over completely to the joy of having her dearest playmate around her, strolling hand in hand with her through the garden, letting her admire its magnificent grounds, and picking golden-speckled apples from the trees for her. She then led her friend through all the rooms in the palace to the dressing room, where the female mind found so much to feast on that they lingered there until sunset. All the veils, belts, and earrings were examined and tried on. Brinhild knew how to behave so well, showed so much taste in the choice and arrangement of feminine finery, that even if she was not a beet in nature and character, at least no one could deny her the glory of being the crown of her sex. The mountain spirit, who was watching the two unseen, was delighted with the insight he thought he had gained into the female heart, and rejoiced at his progress in the study of human nature. The beautiful Emma now seemed to him to be more beautiful, friendlier, and more cheerful than ever. She did not fail to enlivens her entire supply of turnips with her magic wand, giving them the form of the maidens who had previously served her, and because there were still two turnips left, she transformed one into a silky kitten and the other into a cute, bouncing puppy. She then reestablished her court, assigning each of the waiting girls a specific task, and never was a household better served! The servants anticipated her wishes, obeyed her every gesture, and carried out her orders without the slightest objection. For several weeks, she enjoyed the delights of social life undisturbed. Line dances, singing, and string music alternated in Rübezahl's palace from morning to night, but after a while, the young lady noticed that the fresh complexion of her companions was fading somewhat. The mirror in the marble hall first made her realize that she alone was blooming like a rose from a bud, while her beloved Brinhild and the other maidens resembled wilting flowers. Nevertheless, they all assured her that they were well, and the generous mountain spirit did not allow them to suffer any want at his table. Nevertheless, they visibly wasted away, their life and activity dwindling more and more from day to day, and all the fire of youth was extinguished. When the princess, refreshed by a good night's sleep, cheerfully entered the drawing room one bright morning, she shuddered as a group of shriveled matrons approached her, coughing and wheezing, unable to stand upright, leaning on sticks and crutches. The little dog had stretched out all four legs, and the affectionate kitten could hardly move for weakness. Dismayed, the princess hurried out of the room to escape the dreadful company, stepped out onto the porch of the portal, and called loudly for the mountain spirit, who immediately appeared in a humble position at her command. “Malicious spirit,” she said angrily, "why do you begrudge me the only joy in my miserable life, the shadow companionship of my former playmates? Is this wasteland not enough to torment me, that you want to turn it into a hospital? Immediately restore my girls' youth and beauty, or hatred and contempt shall avenge your sacrilege.“ ”Most beautiful of earthly daughters,“ replied Rübezahl, ”do not be angry beyond measure, everything in my power is in your hands; but do not demand the impossible from me. The forces of nature obey me, but I can do nothing against their immutable laws. As long as there was life in the turnips, the magic wand could transform their plant life according to your wishes; but now their juices have dried up, and their essence is inclined toward destruction, for the animating spirit has evaporated. However, this should not trouble you, for a freshly filled basket can easily replace the damage, and you will be able to conjure up all the figures you desire from it.Now give back to Mother Nature the gifts that have entertained you so pleasantly. You will find better company on the large lawn in the garden." With that, he walked away, and Miss Emma picked up her colorful stick, touched the wrinkled women with it, gathered up the shriveled beets, and did what children who are tired of a toy tend to do: she threw the junk in the trash and thought no more of it. Angrily, the enraged earth spirit clenched a few clouds together. (S. 23) Light-footed, she now hopped across green mats to receive the freshly filled basket, which she nevertheless could not find anywhere. She walked up and down the garden, looking around diligently, but no basket appeared. At the grapevine railing, the gnome approached her with such obvious embarrassment that she could sense his consternation from afar. “You have deceived me,” she said, “where is the basket? I have been searching for it in vain for an hour.” “Fair mistress of my heart,” replied the spirit, "will you forgive my carelessness? I promised more than I could give; I have traveled the land in search of beets, but they have long since been harvested and are now wilting in damp cellars. The fields are mourning, it is winter down in the valley, only your presence has bound spring to these rocks, and flowers sprout beneath your footsteps. Just wait patiently for three moon changes, then you will never lack an opportunity to play with your dolls." Before he had even finished speaking, his beloved turned her back on him in displeasure and went into her room without deigning to answer him. But he left for the nearest market town within his domain and, disguised as a farmer, bought a donkey, which he loaded with heavy sacks of seed, with which he sowed an entire acre of land. He ordered one of his servants to guard the field, instructing him to stoke an underground fire to warm the seeds from below with gentle heat, like pineapple plants in a greenhouse. The beet seeds sprouted merrily and promised a rich harvest in a short time; Miss Emma went out every day to her field, which she enjoyed looking at more than the golden apples that seemed to have been transplanted from the garden of the Hesperides to her own. But discontent clouded her cornflower-blue eyes; she preferred to linger in a gloomy, melancholic pine forest, at the edge of a spring stream that rushed its silvery waters into the valley, throwing flowers into it that floated down to the bottom of the Oder. Rübezahl saw that despite his most careful efforts to win the beautiful Emma's heart with a thousand little favors, he could not win her love. Nevertheless, his stubborn patience did not tire of overcoming her stubborn mind by fulfilling her wishes most punctually. But the novice in human nature had no idea of the true cause of his beloved's resistance; he assumed that her heart was as free and uninhibited as his own, but that was a great mistake. A young neighbor on the banks of the Oder River, Prince Ratibor, had already won the heart of the lovely Emma. The happy couple was already looking forward to their wedding day when the bride suddenly disappeared. This terrible news transformed the loving Ratibor into a raging Roland; he left his residence, wandered around lonely forests, shy of people, and lamented his misfortune to the rocks. Meanwhile, faithful Emma languished in her charming prison, but locked her heart's feelings so tightly within her bosom that even the prying Rübezahl could not unravel what emotions stirred within her. She had long been thinking about how she might outwit him and escape her tiresome captivity. After many sleepless nights, she finally devised a plan that seemed worth trying. Spring returned to the mountain valleys, Rübezahl extinguished the underground fire in his greenhouse, and the beets, whose growth had not been hindered by the influences of winter, flourished and ripened. Clever Emma pulled out a few of them every day and experimented with giving them all kinds of shapes, apparently to amuse herself, but her intention went further. One day, she turned a small turnip into a bee to send it off to gather information about her beloved: “Fly, dear little bee, towards the east,” she said, “to Ratibor, the prince of the land, and buzz gently in his ear that Emma still lives for him, but is a slave to the prince of the gnomes who dwells in the mountains; do not lose a word of this greeting and bring me a message of his love.” The bee immediately flew from its mistress's finger to where it had been sent; but no sooner had it begun its flight than a greedy swallow swooped down on it and, much to the young lady's dismay, devoured the messenger of love along with all its dispatches. Then, using her magical wand, she created a cricket, taught it the same spell and greeting: “Hop, little cricket, over the mountains to Ratibor, the prince of the land, and chirp in his ear that faithful Emma desires deliverance from her bonds by his strong arm.” The cricket flew and hopped as fast as she could to carry out her orders, but a long-legged stork was strutting along the path where the chirper was heading, caught her with his long beak, and buried her in the dungeon of his wide crop. These failed attempts did not deter the determined Emma from trying again; she gave the third turnip the shape of a magpie: “Fly away, eloquent bird,” she said, "from tree to tree, until you reach Ratibor, my fiancé. Tell him of my imprisonment and let him know that he should wait for me with horse and man on the third day from today at the border of the mountains in Maiental, ready to take in the fugitive who dares to break his chains and seeks protection from him. " The two-colored magpie obeyed, fluttering from one resting place to another, and the attentive Emma accompanied its flight as far as the eye could see. The sorrowful Ratibor still wandered melancholically through the woods; the return of spring and the revival of nature had only increased his grief. He sat down under a shady oak tree, thought of his princess, and sighed loudly, “Emma!” Immediately, the many-voiced echo flatteringly returned this beloved name to him; but at the same time, an unknown voice called out his name. He listened intently, saw no one, thought it was an illusion, and heard the same call repeated. Shortly thereafter, he saw a magpie flying back and forth among the branches and realized that the clever bird was calling his name. “Poor chatterbox,” he said, “who taught you to pronounce this name, which belongs to an unfortunate man who wishes to be wiped off the face of the earth, along with his memory?” Then, in a rage, he picked up a stone and was about to throw it at the bird when it called out the name Emma. This talisman weakened the prince's arm, joyful delight coursed through his limbs, and his soul trembled softly: “Emma!” But the speaker in the tree began the spell he had been taught with the eloquence characteristic of the magpie family. Prince Ratibor had not yet heard this joyful message when his soul was filled with light, the deadly grief that had clouded his senses and weakened his nerves disappeared, he regained his senses and his composure and eagerly questioned the harbinger of good fortune about the fate of his beloved Emma, but the talkative magpie could do nothing but mechanically repeat its lesson over and over again and then fluttered away. With swift feet, the prince hurried back to his court camp, hastily prepared the squadron of horsemen, mounted his horse, and rode with them to the promontory of his good hope to face the adventure. Meanwhile, Miss Emma had used her feminine cunning to prepare everything necessary to carry out her plan. She stopped tormenting the tolerant Rübezahl with her cold-hearted cruelty; her eyes spoke of hope, and her stubborn mind seemed to be softening. The following morning, shortly after sunrise, the beautiful Emma stepped out, adorned like a bride, laden with all the jewelry she had found in her jewelry box. Her blonde hair was gathered into a bun, which was shaded by a myrtle crown; the trim of her dress sparkled with jewels, and as the waiting Rübezahl approached her on the large terrace in the pleasure garden, she modestly covered her bashful face with the end of her veil. “Heavenly maiden,” he stammered as he approached her, “let me drink the bliss of love from your eyes, and do not deny me any longer the affirming glance that makes me the happiest being the red morning sun has ever shone upon!” Then he wanted to unveil her face to read his happiness in her eyes, for he did not dare to extort a verbal confession from her. But the maiden drew her veil even closer around herself and replied modestly: “Can a mortal resist you, master of my heart? Your steadfastness has prevailed. Take this confession from my lips; but let this veil cover my blushes and my tears.” “Why tears, O beloved?” interjected the troubled spirit, “each of your tears falls like a burning drop of naphtha on my heart. I seek love for love and do not want sacrifice.” “Ah!” replied Emma, “Why do you misinterpret my tears? My heart rewards your tenderness, but anxious forebodings tear my soul apart: you never age, but earthly beauty is a flower that soon withers. How can I know that as my husband you will remain as tender, loving, obliging, and tolerant as you have been until now?” He replied: “Demand proof of my loyalty or obedience in carrying out your orders, or test my patience and judge from that the strength of my unchanging love.” “So be it!” decided the cunning Emma. “I ask only for proof of your kindness. Go and count all the beets in the field; my wedding day shall not be without witnesses, I want to bring them to life so that they may serve as my bridesmaids; but beware of deceiving me and do not miscount even one, for that is the test by which I will prove your loyalty.” As reluctant as Rübezahl was to part from his lovely bride at that moment, he obeyed without delay, quickly got down to business, and hopped nimbly among the turnips. He soon finished his addition example with this busyness; but to be quite sure, he repeated the count again and, to his annoyance, found a discrepancy in the calculation, which forced him to start over a third time. But this time, too, the count turned out differently, and that was not surprising. The mischievous Emma had not lost sight of her earth spirit as soon as she made her escape. She held a juicy, well-fed turnip at the ready, which she quickly transformed into a brave horse with saddle and harness. She swiftly swung herself into the saddle, flew over the heaths and steppes of the mountains, and the swift Pegasus carried her without stumbling on his gentle back down into the Maiental valley, where she threw herself joyfully into the arms of her beloved Ratibor, who was anxiously awaiting her arrival. Meanwhile, the busy Rübezahl had become so engrossed in his calculations that he was unaware of what was happening around him. After much effort and mental exertion, he finally succeeded in finding the true number of all the turnips in the field, including both small and large ones. He now hurried back joyfully to conscientiously calculate them for his beloved and, by punctually fulfilling her commands, convince her that he would be the most obliging husband. With self-satisfaction, he stepped onto the lawn, but there he did not find what he was looking for. he ran through the covered arbors and corridors; there, too, was not what he desired; he entered the palace, searched every corner of it, called out the lovely name Emma, which echoed back to him from the lonely halls, longed for a sound from her beloved mouth; but there was neither voice nor speech. He noticed this, sensed trouble; quickly he shed his physical form, transformed himself into a spirit, soared high into the air, and saw his beloved fugitive in the distance, just as the swift horse crossed the border. Enraged, the furious earth spirit gathered together a few peaceful passing clouds and hurled a powerful bolt of lightning at the fugitives, which shattered a thousand-year-old border oak; but beyond it, his revenge was powerless, and the thundercloud dissolved into a gentle heath smoke. After desperately crisscrossing the upper regions of the air, lamenting his unhappy love to the four winds and giving vent to his stormy passion, he returned gloomily to the palace, crept through all the rooms and filled them with sighs and groans. Afterwards, he visited the pleasure garden once more; but this entire magical creation no longer held any appeal for him: a single footprint of his beloved unfaithful lover pressed into the sand, which he noticed, occupied his attention more than the golden apples on the trees and the colorful filling of the boxwood flourishes on the flower beds. The old longing reawakened in every place where she had once walked and stood, where she had picked or plucked flowers, where he had often listened to her unseen, often engaged in intimate conversation with her. All this choked and knotted him up, pressed and squeezed him so that he sank into a dull brooding under the weight of his feelings. Soon afterwards, his displeasure burst out in terrible curses, and he resolved to renounce human knowledge altogether and to take no further notice of this wicked and deceitful race. With this decision, he stamped three times on the ground, and the whole enchanted palace with all its splendor returned to its original nothingness. But the abyss opened its wide mouth, and Rübezahl descended into the depths to the opposite edge of his domain, to the center of the earth, taking his weariness and hatred of mankind with him. During this catastrophe in the mountains, Prince Ratibor was busy bringing the magnificent booty to safety. He triumphantly led the beautiful Emma back to her father's court, where he married her, shared the throne of his country with her, and built the city of Ratibor, which still bears his name to this day. The princess's strange adventure in the Giant Mountains, her daring escape and happy deliverance became the fairy tale of the land, passed down from generation to generation into the distant past. And the inhabitants of the surrounding areas, who did not know the neighboring mountain spirit by his ghostly name, gave him a mocking name, calling him Rübenzähler (Beet Counter) or Rübezahl for short.