The Mythology & Folklore Database
In their need the inhabitants turned to the Bishop of Worms, hoping that through his prayers and blessings the plague might be overcome. The bishop advised them to form a procession through the fields while beseeching God to overcome the plague. This they did.
When the procession paused at a field altar near the lake a hermit joined their ranks, saying, "The Lord has sent me to you, and if you promise to do what I say then all the ants will immediately die. Every village struck by the plague must give me one hundred guilders with which I shall build a chapel to the Lord."
They all happily promised to do this, upon which the hermit took a little fife from his robe and blew on it. The ants all flew toward him, darkening the sky. They soon formed a black tower before the hermit, who with a final sound from his fife sunk them all into the lake.
When the hermit came to the local authorities asking for God's payment they shouted that he was a sorcerer and deserved to be burned. This happened in all ten villages, but that did not frighten him. He told them sharply that they soon would receive their punishment.
Approaching the last house in the last village he took his fife from his robe and began blowing on it. And behold, the hogs from the entire region broke loose from their pens and followed the hermit, who proceeded back through the ten villages. No one dared to say a word against him. Thus he led the herd of hogs to the lake where he disappeared with them.
The next year a rain of crickets devastated the entire region. The peasants now recognized how great their sin had been, and again they turned to the Bishop of Worms for advice, but he wanted nothing more to do with them. Once again they formed a procession through the fields trying through prayer to redeem themselves from heaven's anger. When they arrived at the lake a charcoal burner approached them from the mountains.
Bowing, he said to them all, "The punishment that has befallen you shall be removed if you will promise that every village shall pay to me five hundred guilders for the construction of a monastery."
The villagers happily agreed and promised faithfully. With that the charcoal burner took a small fife from his bag and blew into it. The crickets immediately rose up and followed him to Tannenberg Mountain, where a gigantic fire consumed them all.
When the charcoal burner came for God's payment he was not treated any better in the ten villages than had been the hermit. He did not receive a single red penny.
"If that's what you want," he said quietly, then raised his fife, and all the sheep and goats from the entire region stood as though entranced. No one dared say anything. Then he advanced to the lake, where he disappeared with the herd.
The following year came with a horde of mice, as though they had rained down from heaven. Plagued anew, the peasants penitently prayed once again and sorrowfully passed through their fields. When the procession reached the lake a little dwarf suddenly appeared in their midst.
He said, "I will take away this plague immediately, but in return each village must pay me one thousand guilders. If you won't give your money for the love of God, then at least do so for your own benefit. With this money I shall build for you a dike from the mountain road of Hendesheim (Handschuhsheim near Heidelberg) to Ramstadt so that the mountain floods will no longer damage your fields."
How quickly the peasants agreed to this!
Equally fast the yellow dwarf raised his fife, and mice by the millions followed its sound. They all advanced to Tannenberg Mountain, which opened up, and when it closed again, there was no trace of either the dwarf or the mice.
But thanklessness is the world's reward, and the dwarf did not fare any better than had the charcoal burner or the hermit. He too responded with punishment, and what a punishment it was!
When he once again played on his fife all the children followed him; even infants pulled themselves from their mothers' breasts and toddled along after him. When the procession reached Tannenberg Mountain a great opening appeared. The dwarf and the children went inside, and the cliff closed up again, leaving no trace of the children.
The bereaved peasants, not wanting to invite a new curse on themselves the following year, quickly raised the money and sent it to the Bishop of Worms. From that time onward they have experienced no more such plagues.