The Teufelsmühle
In the parts of the Harz mountain range close to Bernburg there is a tall mountain called the “Ramberg” and which is located three hours distant from Ballenstedt. On its worn-down surface there are vast granite rocks piled on top of each other in strange formations, and large and small pieces of granite are scattered in a radius of a thousand steps downhill. It is likely that they once formed a large rock pyramid which collapsed during a quake or other strong movement of the ground, and which caused its components to scatter into innumerable smaller pieces. This rock formation is called the Teufelsmühle (“Devil’s Mill”), and the locals have the following tale for its origin:
A miller once owned a windmill at the foot of the Ramberg. It had existed for a long time and had been owned by his family for centuries, always passed on from father to son, always was profitable enough to feed its owner, and always had humble and frugal inhabitants. But when our miller became the owner, he immediately spotted all sorts of flaws and problems with the mill. Above all, he complained about the weak winds the mill’s location received, and thus had the idea to build a new mill on the top of the Ramberg mountain. But how should this be accomplished? How could the mill be secured against the heavy windstorms common at this elevation? And from where could a master builder be recruited for this undertaking?
These obstacles and their inevitable conclusion that he would never be able to implement his idea made him very frustrated. He impatiently tossed and turned back and forth in his bed during the nights, did all work with dissatisfaction, and was foolish enough not to realize that even if he accomplished his wishes he would not be more content than before.
The Horned Black One paid far more attention in those days to these small affairs of humans (while he leaves this ungrateful business to the humans themselves in the current age), and soon sensed the wishes of the miller. Thus, he appeared to the miller one night and offered him his most obedient services.
While the miller appreciated the opportunity, he did not like the price demanded by the Evil One — namely to promise him his soul in return. As much as he would have liked to have seen his wish fulfilled, he could not bring himself to agree to these terms immediately, and asked for a few days to think it over.
If the miller had little peace of mind before, he had even less now. Lost in thought, he paced around his home for this grace period, examining every part so that he could decide whether to leave everything as it was. He was about to conclude that he should refuse this temptation when a two-day lull in the winds occurred which made him unable to mill any grain. This circumstance reaffirmed his commitment to task the Devil with the construction of a new mill, and sell himself to him with body and soul in return. The Evil One returned at the agreed time. The miller promised himself as property to the Devil with his blood, and received the assurance that he would still be able to live for thirty years and receive a flawless mill with six sets of millstones that would be placed on the top of the Ramberg the very next night, before the first crowing of the roosters.
As soon as the shadows descended, the infernal architect started his work. He stacked rock upon rock, which his assistants threw to him from the Brocken mountain, and behold — the mill was standing in scant hours. He went to the miller to lead him up the mountain, show his work, and tasked him to examine it for any flaws. Shaking and filled with fear, the miller followed him. It was a dark summer night, and the winds roared through the tips of the tall oaks and fir trees, the sky was covered with dark rain clouds, lightning illuminated the dark masses of water, two times and three times thunder rolled in the deep valleys, the earth shook — and so did the heart of our miller. He would have loved to turn back and be content with his father’s inheritance, but his regret was too late. His sole remaining hope was to find a flaw in the building. But he froze when he beheld a perfectly furnished windmill in front of him, whose blades were slowly turning in the air.
With self-satisfied mocking laughter, the Devil asked him: “Do you find any fault with it?”
“Nothing, nothing at all!” the shaking miller stuttered and was about to accept the work under the promised conditions when he suddenly shouted: “Stop!” and made his builder aware of a missing stone that was essential for the construction.
While the Tailed One long denied the necessity of this stone, the miller insisted on its inclusion vehemently, and thus the Devil finally agreed to add it.
He was already floating in the air with the missing stone when — behold! — the roosters crowed at the old mill.
“Stop!” the miller shouted again, “we are even!” and ran away to his old home.
Enraged at his failure, the Devil grabbed the building, ripped apart the blades, millstones, and gears, threw them into the air, and scattered the rocks that had been piled up into the clouds in all directions so that they covered the entire Ramberg. Only a small part of the foundations were left as an eternal memorial. But this was not the only revenge he took, for as soon as the greatly-relieved miller had reached his old home, the blackguard threw a rock at the brittle building and squashed it with all its inhabitants.
 Sunken Castles, Evil Poodles: Commentaries on German folklore. Get the book for further context and explanatory commentary! |
