Legends from River & Mountain

by Carmen Sylva; Alma Strettell

Among those mountains of Saxony known as the Obererzgebirge, once famous for their silver-mines, there lived, nearly three hundred years ago, a man named Ran, who was overseer of the mines of Schneeberg. Now many among his workmen tried to win the favour of overseer Ran, not only because he was master of the works, but because of his only child, his beautiful daughter Gretchen. Her loveliness and her sweetness were the talk of the country, and every young man in Schneeberg fancied himself ready to jump down the shaft of the mine for her sake, if it were required of him. This, however, was not what Master Ran needed. He was a grasping man, and the constant handling of precious metal seemed to have increased his thirst for riches. So he was determined that lovely Gretchen should be a mine of wealth to him, all the more, perhaps, that the other mine with which he had to do was no longer as prosperous as it had been. There were general complaints over the quantity of “blind ore,” as the people called it, that had lately been found—worthless stuff, that did not repay smelting. This misfortune was said to be due to the “silver-thief,” or “Kobold,” a wicked little dwarf that was supposed to haunt the mountain, and draw the silver down out of the quartz as the workmen approached. At any rate, the failure of the mine, whoever was to blame for it, was like to bring poverty among the folk of Schneeberg, and Ran was all the more anxious to secure riches for himself and his child against that evil day. So he let it be known that the man who could produce the largest bag of gold in all the district, should have the beautiful Gretchen to wife.

“Let those who would get her seek,” said he, “for it is well known there is plenty of gold in these mountains for any who have wit to find it, and courage to risk something in the winning of it.”

Now here was a gauntlet thrown down. Every one knew that the overseer must be speaking of the mysterious treasures hidden under trees and in caverns by the dwarfs, and other mountain-spirits; and at the ale-house of an evening, when the men were gathered together, every one had some tale to tell of people who had tried to “lift” these wonderful treasure-pots, or who had been befriended by the dwarfs.

One told of the dwarf-king who lived in a cave under the neighbouring mountain, and was mightily fond of teasing people, but would also do them great kindnesses now and then. Thus a poor maiden was once picking up wood in the forest, at the mouth of the cave, on a cold winter’s day, when she met a tiny man with a crown upon his head, and he said to her: “Kind maiden, I pray thee, pick me up and put me in thy basket; it snows, and I am so cold and tired, and have no shelter. Have pity on me, and take me to thy cottage.” The maid had never seen the dwarf-king before; but as he begged so earnestly, she picked him up, put him in her basket, covered him over with her apron to keep the snow off, and turned homewards. But on the way the little man grew so heavy that she could hardly stagger along under the weight, and had much ado to get her basket home. She put it down by the fire, and whipped off the apron, crying: “Let us see what thou art made of, little man, to weigh so much!” But what were her surprise and joy to find the little man gone, and in his place a great lump of solid silver!

“That is an easy way enough to get rich,” said another miner, taking the pipe from his mouth. He was a native of the Hartz Mountains, and was looked upon with suspicion for having left his own province to seek for work so far away. “But every one does not come off so well as that. There is plenty of treasure hidden in our mountains too; and there is one spot I mind, near to where I was working, not so long ago, that I can tell a strange tale of. ’Twas hard by a copper-mine, and the owners of the works were very rich. But one night the works, the owners, their house and all, disappeared; all that was left was a great heap of slack. People said their money was buried beneath it; and not long after, we began to notice that a blue flame would flicker up from the slack every night between eleven and twelve. And there was a tall, black man’s figure, too,” he continued, lowering his voice, “that would stand over the flame, and try to keep it in till twelve o’clock. That should have been enough to keep folk from meddling with the place; but there was a man from Sonan, who declared he had lifted many a treasure, and was going to have a try for this. And he talked over my brother and some other men, poor fools, into giving him a helping hand. It was settled they were to meet at sunset—for that was the right time—by the slack-heap. ‘Only be sure,’ said the leader, ‘not to speak a single word while we are at the job, whatever chances, or all is lost.’ At the appointed hour the work began, and sure enough, after a short time, they came upon a great pot, brimming over with golden ducats. Now it had to be lifted. The levers were soon at hand, and up, up, it came. It was almost on a level with the ground, when a wild shouting and yelping of dogs were heard; and the workmen turned, resting for a moment upon their poles, to see what it was. Then behold! from the shadow of the woods, the Wild Huntsman and his train swept forth, flying through the air, and followed by their baying hounds. Every one has heard of the Wild Huntsman, but it is given to few to see him. He went by so fast, my brother said, that it was as the passing of a shadow across the sun; yet they could see he wore the dress of a forester, and his mantle fluttering in the breeze looked like the beating of a huge wing. Not one of the men spoke as he passed—’tis bad luck to do that; and besides, they remembered their leader’s words; but they swore he looked back at them as if angered at getting no answer to his loud hunting-cry: ‘Hoi-hoi!’ that he shouts as he goes. But no sooner had he passed than another sight was seen—a queer little man humped together in a common kneading-trough, who came sliding and pushing along in the track of the wild train, shouting as he went: ‘If I could but catch them up! if I could but catch them up!’ Now at this laughable sight the men forgot both fear and prudence; they shouted with merriment, and one cried: ‘He will have a hard job to do that!’ And there! as he spoke, the pot of gold was gone, and all their efforts to find it were in vain! The men went home with long faces, and well they might, for their hair presently turned grey with fretting over the lost treasure, and every one of them died not long after.”

“Well,” began one of the Schneeberg men after a short silence, “’tis true enough that the gift of holding his tongue is needful to him who has dealings with the mountain-spirits. See the case of poor Hans of Donat. He was always bemoaning his poverty, and on the look-out for treasure; and the mountain-dwarf gave him riches, too, but only on condition that he should hold his tongue about the business, and bring him a penny loaf and a penny dip, every time he went on duty in the mine; for Hans was a miner. All went well for a bit, and Hans had plenty of money and to spare; but one day, at the ale-house, drink unloosed his tongue, and he let the great secret out. And not many days after, when his comrades were waiting at the mouth of the shaft for him to give the signal to haul the bucket up, he kept them there a long time, and then there was a mighty pull on the rope, and a bright light flashed up the shaft. They hauled as fast as they might, but when the bucket got to the top, there lay poor Hans in it, dead, and all round the edge of the bucket penny dips were burning, and the last loaf he had taken to the dwarf lay untouched on his breast So it was easy to see who had given him his death-stroke. Poor Hans—to think he bought his own funeral tapers, too!”