Chapter III: Part 3

She exclaims in anguish, "It is my father, but I do not answer, for he has disowned me his child. I stand in the world alone. Only in the Kloster can I find a home."

The Kaiser rides forth with his train, and a knight comes on foot and alone, kneels before the shrine and prays, and at the sound of his voice Reinhilde's eye grows bright.

His prayer ended his voice rings mightily through the forest as he cries in love and longing, "Reinhilde! Reinhilde!"

And a silvery voice answers, "Who calls Reinhilde?"

The Kaiser, who is yet near, turns in joyful surprise in the direction of the voice. "Merciful Heaven!" he cries, "hast thou heard our earnest petitions?"

See! From the dark cave issues a light form, and a cry of joy resounds through the whole forest. And in a blissful embrace kneel before the Kaiser Werner and Reinhilde.

The Twelve Knights in the Schöneburg.

About a Stunde[1] from Treseburg, up the Bode, lies the picturesque foundry village Attenbrack, the spot where in the old days Schloss Schöneburg looked down from its high, steep mountain seat into the vale below.

[1] _Stunde_, speaking of distance in Germany, signifies the distance a man can walk in an hour. It is about a German mile, which is equal to four and seven-tenths of an English mile.

On three sides the mountain rises steep from the Bode, being scarcely approachable save from the south side; and in wild confusion lie scattered over the mountain sides shapeless heaps of fallen stones, the sole ruins of the once stately castle; of walls and vaulted chambers no trace remains.

From the south side the height is connected by a narrow tongue of land with the vast forests that cover the high table-lands of the Harz.

Seldom is the spot trodden by the foot of man, except by some benighted traveller, some inquisitive student of history, and the passionate lover of wood and mountain solitude.

More frequently resounds the tread of the hunter in this lonely spot, and of the herdsman, who pastures his cows in the beech forest.

Once a herdsman stood, on St. John's Day, on the narrow path leading to the then not entirely fallen walls, and dreamed of the days of the past, of the Burg and its knights, dames, and maidens, and the treasures that were said to lie concealed under the ruins.

The forest rustled mysteriously, mingled with the dreamy tinkling of the cow-bells.

Suddenly it seemed to him he heard a tumbling noise and loud, merry laughter. This was wonderful, but what he saw was still more astounding. For, stealing forward and looking over the broken walls, he saw twelve knights in antique costume, who amused themselves with the game of skittles.

The herdsman was not sure whether he was awake or dreaming. He rubbed his eyes, and looked bewildered around him, but it could be no illusion, for there stood the oaks and beeches, every tree of which he knew, there grazed his herd to the music of their jingling bells, the dogs cowering watchfully near, and from the valley could be heard the rattle of the foundry.

He saw it all clearly, for it was mid-day, and there within the mouldering walls the twelve knights played on, and he heard the rolling and bouncing of the balls.

But he had not much time for observation, for the knights caught sight of him, and beckoned him to approach.

He did so with trembling.

They treated him gruffly and severely, and commanded him to set up the fallen pins, and he was obliged to yield.

Perhaps an hour had passed in this employment, when lo! no ball more rolled, and looking up to see the cause of the delay, the knights had vanished!

It was not a dream, for all the pins lay there before him; but knowing that his neighbours in Attenbrack would hold him for a dreamer without proof, he decided to take the pins home with him.

But they were so large and heavy, he could not carry them all, so he took only the king.

All listened incredulously to his tale of the knights and old dress, and feared he was not quite right in his head.

Then he drew forth from his pocket the pin, as proof; but it was so heavy he could not hold it, and it fell to the ground with a clear ring; when, lifting it up, it was found to be pure gold.

No one doubted longer, but all hastened to the ruins to get the other eight pins; but they were all only of wood--of light Taxus wood.

The Gegensteine.

In the midst of the bright landscape opposite Schloss Ballenstedt rise the two huge boulders called the Gegensteine, which mark the eastern termination of the Devil's Wall.

The taste and passion for the wonderful and mysterious are too strong in the human mind to permit of these majestic rocks being without their Sage.

In the time long ago, when all this district was covered with dense forests, swamps, and morasses, where now ripen the golden corn, fruits, and every blessing that crowns the husbandman's toil, and wild beasts preyed on the around-lying mountains, evil spirits practised their devices in the Gegensteine.

In the distance one could see during the night, especially at midnight, now fiery balls, now flames of fire rising in the air, and could hear death cries, or the most delightful tones, which the evil spirits employed to decoy unwary mortals to destruction.

Many who ridiculed the idea of danger, paying no heed to friendly warnings, forced their way through thorns and thickets to behold the mystery, and returned no more.

They were carried by demons through the air, and one heard their moanings of despair without the power to save them.

Only he who was consecrated to God could approach the Gegensteine unharmed.

One morning a farmer rode before sunrise from Ballenstedt to Quedlinburg, to offer prayers and obtain absolution in the convent church, only just founded by the Kaiserin Matilda--for in Ballenstedt there was neither church nor pater.

Lost in devotional thoughts, hence without fear, he rode quietly along; an irresistible languor seized him and he fell asleep.

The nag, feeling no longer the hand guiding the reins, turned aside to seek for himself a fresh breakfast, stood still, and began to graze.

The farmer awoke. He rubbed his eyes in amazement, for he found himself in an unknown spot, in a dark thicket, without road or path; all around him towered mighty rocks that almost shut him in. He heard the roaring of water outside, beneath him a raging din, and before him yawned an awful chasm.

The farmer had never heard of such a wild and savage scene so near his place of residence, and fancied he had been transplanted through enchantment to some distant land. Anxiously he gazed around him, convinced himself he was not dreaming, for the sun was shining upon the savage rocks, and his nag grazed unconcerned.

The thought occurred to him he might be in the domains of wicked spirits, and a cold shudder ran over him; but he lacked the courage to turn back, fearing some monster might follow him. He was indeed in a painful position, for it was out of the question that he should remain where he was.

Meanwhile the terrible din and roar had ceased, all grew peaceful, the birds sang joyfully in the sunlight, and all notion of danger vanished from his mind.

He gained confidence as he looked around him to mark the place, resolving the next day to bring his wife and children to see it, and convince them that all the tales about the terrors of the Gegensteine were untrue.

"But what may there be in the cave yonder?" he thought.

He would like to know, and now arose a struggle between curiosity and fear.

"I will venture it!" he cried, dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and went with light steps, as if afraid some one might hear him, over the fallen rocks, and stretched his neck to look into the cave.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" he cried, clapping his hands together above his head; "what do my eyes see?" And what did they?

In the middle of the pit, or cavern, a large brewer's copper, full of gold pieces, every one as large as the palm of the hand.

Upon it rested a silver tray with a border of fiery carbuncles, and letters and figures in the centre formed of garnets.

Beside the copper lay a new driving-whip, and on the other side lay a savage black bull-dog.

The farmer stood with crossed arms for at least ten minutes, gazing at the immense treasures, thinking what was to be done to secure them without falling into the power of the savage guard--the dog.

At last he exclaimed, "I will attempt it. I will not take much, but I must have the whip!"

Encouraged, he walked into the cave, his eye always fixed on the dog, till at last he reached the copper; the dog did not move; he plunged both hands into the gold coins, filled his pockets, and with two leaps reached his horse, where he sank down overcome with terror and joy.

Recovered, he emptied his pockets, counted the glittering coins, and dreamed thereby of a happy future.

His horse neighed and pawed the ground impatiently.

"Patience, old nag!" he cried; "I must have that beautiful whip." And again he descended emboldened into the cave, seized the whip, and turned to go, when his eye fell again upon the tempting gold; he could not resist the allurement, and plunged both hands, twice into the copper.

At the second handful the dog rose and ground his teeth in rage; but Jacob had lost all fear, and cried, "Growl away; but one must have all good things three times, and I shall take another handful."

But as he did so the eyes of the dog shot fire, an awful groaning and noise, a raging storm, thunder, lightning, with cracking of the rocks, broke forth in fury. The earth trembled, the rocks fell upon each other, trees were rent into splinters, torrents burst from the rocks, and the heavens enveloped themselves in night and flames.

The unlucky farmer never knew how he got out of the cave; only, as he came to himself, he remembered having seen the _Gott-sei-bei-uns_[1] in the midst of a terrible confusion and fire-rain in giant form, surrounded by a thousand imps, rise out of the pit, holding in one claw the copper with the gold, in the other the tray.

[1] _Gott-sei-bei-uns_--"God be with us." A name given to the devil; since when he appeared in disguise to deceive people, he is said to have used this hypocritical expression.

Was he or had he been dreaming? No, for had he not the whip in his hand?

But the tremendous weight in his pockets weighed him down. Rejoiced to think of his treasure, he dived into his pockets for the gold--and what did he find?

For every piece of gold a pebble, as large again, and not one piece of gold!

He stared at the stones, crying and trembling with pain and distress.

Still weeping, he mounted his horse, reached home, sank exhausted, laid himself down in his bed, from which he never rose; and in a fortnight he lay in his grave.

Since then the foul fiend has guarded his treasures in the Gegensteine, and in only one way can the enchantment be broken and the treasure won.

When a maiden, born on the ocean, pure as the dawn, comes here alone at the midnight hour of Halloween, kneels, and with raised hand calls her own name aloud three times, and then entreats the Most High to break the enchantment, and annihilate the monster in the rocks, they shall sink at her prayer, the treasures of gold and gems shall rise to the surface, become the maiden's possession, and the hobgoblin shall vanish for ever.

The Three Crystal Goblets and Three Golden
Balls of Schloss Falkenstein.

The Lady von Falkenstein was once summoned by the _Berggeist_[1] to attend the Queen of the Gnomes in her extremity. He conducted her through long dark subterranean passages to her fairy Majesty; and, after the birth of a son, the Queen presented her with three golden balls and three crystal goblets, with the warning to preserve them well, for the fate of the Asseburgs was closely connected with them.

[1] Berggeist--spirit of the mountains.

The three golden balls have been unhappily lost, and only two goblets remain.

Two sons of the family, when visiting their widowed mother at Wallhausen, besought her to permit them to drink out of these mysterious goblets, which she imprudently allowed; and as they struck their glasses together with a merry prosit, one was shattered.

Deep melancholy seized the youths, and during their drive home the wild horses plunged with the carriage into a deep abyss, where the youths were found broken in pieces.

Since then the two remaining ghostly gifts have been sacredly preserved--one, of green-yellow glass, in Hinneburg; the other, of mountain crystal, in Falkenstein.

Tidian's Höhle, or Cave

Below Schloss Falkenstein, in the valley where the gentle Selke winds through her flower-strewn paths, the shepherd of the Graf von Falkenstein grazed his sheep on the dew-gathering meadows.

It was the morning of St. John's Day, and every Härzer knows that St. John's Eve and St. John's Day are rich in miracles in these mountains, and unfold many a mysterious flower.

Not only at this time is the St. John's wort gathered, which is said to bear a red dewdrop at midnight--hence called St. John's blood--and to be a sure remedy against every disease; but also the _Spring-wursel_, or caper-spurge, which bursts open gates, and even opens the earth and the rocks; the magic wand--_Wünschelruthe_--Aaron's rod--which points out the spot where buried treasures or the precious metals lie hidden; and the _Wunderblume_--marvel of Peru--which opens the eyes of him who is so fortunate as to find this wonder-flower, so that he sees sunken or enchanted castles, and discovers untold riches in gold, diamonds, and rubies.

Tidian found a tiny blue flower, attracted to it by its perfume and its beauty, which must have been one of these miracle-working plants, for no sooner had he stuck it in his hatband than a never-before-seen cave in the side of the mountain opened its splendours to his dazzled eyes.

He entered it, his mind full of tales of buried treasures, filled his pockets with the glittering sand and stones, with the intention of offering them for sale to a jeweller in Aschersleben.

They proved to be more valuable than he had hoped, and the jeweller begged him to sell to no one but himself.

The fame of this gold speedily spread, and it happened the Graf von Falkenstein himself visited the goldsmith, when by chance this gold was spoken of.

"Yes," said the jeweller, "it is indisputable that Tidian's gold is as good again as any other."

"Tidian's gold!" cried the Earl, surprised. "Why do you give it that name?"

"The man from whom I buy it is Tidian."

Instantly it occurred to the Earl that his shepherd Tidian had lately grown rich, and he might be the seller. His avarice awoke; he hastened home, and demanded to know the cause of Tidian's wealth.

True of heart, the shepherd told him everything, showed him the concealed way to the cave, and in company they carried away much of the costly treasure; till at last avarice awaked the fear in the mind of the Earl that Tidian might at some future time reveal the secret to some one else.

This thought left him no peace. At length, to make himself secure of the entire wealth of the cave, he put out Tidian's eyes and shut him up in the castle dungeon.

Then the Earl hurried alone to the cave; he did not know that the flower which Tidian wore in his hat caused the cave to remain open.

The unhappy shepherd tore the flower in pieces, stamped upon and cursed it and the cave, and wished it to close and never again to open until, among the descendants of the Earl, a lame, a dumb, and a blind Falkenstein had ruled.

Immediately the cave shut with a thundering noise, and the greedy Earl wanders there yet, for the enchantment is not yet broken.

The Mägdesprung[1] and Mägdetrappe.[2]

[1] _Mägdesprung_--maiden's leap.

[2] _Mägdetrappe_--maiden's footprint.

In the valley of the Selke, that fair Undina of the Harz, near Alexisbad, rises the majestic rock Mägdesprung; and opposite, on the other bank of the river, the Mägdetrappe, both of which are so famed in fable.

In the latter rock one sees the impressions of giant feet, and Romance attempts to account for them. She is at least as competent to do so as anybody else, A giant virgin of the grey primeval times saw from the Mägdesprung her lover on a mountain on the opposite bank.

Her ardent love draws her to him, but she cannot climb the steep rocks, nor swim the Selke, then a torrent.

So she dares--for what will not love dare?--to leap over the wide space that divides the two rocks, leaving the impress of her feet in the rock, since called the Mägdetrappe.

Another _Sage_ has a totally different motive.

A maiden of the Huns, a disciple of Diana, roaming fearlessly through the vale, hears from the Mägdesprung a cry of distress. She recognizes the voice that cries for aid, and her eagle eye perceives her friend being dragged away by two mountain robbers.

Her blood boils, and in the anguish of her soul the brave Hun maiden leaps the abyss, falls like an avenging angel upon the villainous mountaineers, with two blows of her spear pierces them both to the heart, and conducts her friend and favourite--for she is said to have been a Hun Queen--home to her parents.

Sage of Schloss Questenberg.[1]

[1] _Questen_--wreaths or garlands of flowers.

The Ritter Knaught had a lovely little daughter, whose chief pleasure was to gather wild-flowers; for this purpose she went often with her nurse into the forest. But one day her nurse lost sight of her, and not being able to find her, hastened in great terror to the castle to give the alarm.

The Ritter summons all his retainers with the horn, and they storm through the forest whole nights and days, but of the lost child no trace.

At last one day, as the father gazes from the battlements of the castle, he sees people approaching bearing the Maien,[2] hears their shouts of joy, and in their midst beholds his lost Rosamund, decked as Queen of the May!

[2] _Maien_--green branches of the birch used to deck the May-pole, and in Thuringia and other parts of Germany the churches at Pentecost.

A coaler had met the child wandering through the wood, took her at first for an angel, and in his hut the retainers had found her.

The happy father bestowed gifts lavishly, and instituted an annual _Volksfest_, and called his castle Questenberg.

To this day a popular festival is held here, but whether connected with this tradition is uncertain.

The youths of Agnesdorf have the right, by an ancient statute, of digging up a young oak on the Questenberg;[3] the tree must be _carried_, and after it is planted is decorated with wreaths of flowers.

[3] The custom of digging up the young oak is now limited to once every fifteen years.

They then go in procession to the parsonage, conduct the pastor to the church, when Divine service is held; after which all return in procession to the newly-planted oak, and after all have partaken of refreshments they dance around it, and the youths shoot at the target.

Barbarossa and the Kyffhäuser.

On this mountain that overlooks the Golden Plain, amid the beech and oak woods that clothe it, stand the ruins of a square tower built of red sandstone, broken walls, and arches of the ancient gateway, gables, and the remains of the chapel of the fortress, where the first Electors and Emperors of Germany held their court.

Tradition and romance linger with an irresistible fascination around these lonely ruins.

Tradition tells us that Barbarossa never died, but remains enchanted in the heart of the Kyffhäuser.

He sits in an ivory chair by a marble table, his head resting upon his arm, and his long red beard has overgrown the whole table like moss. He wears the imperial mantle, and the knightly forms of his old courtiers, like spectres, come forth from their rocky chambers and place upon his aged uncovered head the oldest crown of Germany glittering with diamonds. His innocent daughter is his only attendant, or, according to other legends, a dwarf.

The Kaiser's eyes are closed, but at times he seems to awake from his enchanted slumber, and new life seems to animate the stiffened limbs. But he cannot awake, nor rise from his seat, nor leave the enchanted chamber until Germany's enemies are fallen and she is free. He seemed about to throw off the enchanted fetters in the days of Maximilian, again in Luther's time.

At the time of the Rhine Treaty, and when the first Napoleon won the brilliant victories of Ulm, Austerlitz, and Jena, the eyes of the old Redbeard sparkled with anger and grief, and at his cry of rage, lightnings flashed through the dark chambers of the Kyffhäuser, thunders rolled through its rocky caverns, and Barbarossa slumbered again till the great victory of the Allies in the "Battle of the Nations"[1] awaked him, and at the death of Napoleon on St. Helena he broke the enchantment, and Napoleon sits in his place.

[1] _Völkerschlacht_--battle of Leipzig.

There are many versions of this legend.

One holy day, a miner rambling to the Kyffhäuser, to rest under the trees and indulge in devotional reflections, saw, as he reached the ruined tower, a monk with a long grey beard, who addressed him, saying, "Come! I have long expected thee; thou shalt see the enchanted Kaiser. Graumannel has brought me the _Springwurzel_,[2] and I must have a mortal to accompany me; no evil shall befall thee."

[2] See Tidian's Cave.

The monk leads him to a green spot surrounded with walls, forms with the staff which he carries a circle around him and his companion, takes from his pocket a gold-coloured velvet book, and begins to murmur and read, no word of which the miner understands.

Suddenly there is a terrible clap of thunder. The mountain cracks, the circle on which they stand becomes loose, and sinks slowly into the mountain; the miner, in terror, clings to the cowl of the monk. At last they reach firm ground.

Now they go through a long dark passage to great brass gates. The monk touches them with the _Springwurzel_, and immediately they open. They enter an aisle, lighted by a brilliant lamp, and again stand before a door.

The monk cries, "Hephata!" and the door opens.

They enter a large, brilliantly lighted, magnificent chapel; the walls are of marble; the altar is of beaten gold, and its eternal lamp bathes all in a wondrous light.

The miner cannot gaze enough at the marvellous sight, crosses and recrosses himself; the monk kneels at the golden altar and says an Ave Maria. Then he rises, commands his companion to remain standing in the middle of the chapel, and approaches the door opposite the one by which they had entered.

At his mighty word this door opens also.

The imperial chamber, or throne-room, is brilliantly lighted; on the glittering golden throne, in imperial robes, sits Barbarossa, sad and silent.

The monk approaches the enchanted sovereign and bows reverently.

The Kaiser returns the greeting graciously, and the monk lifts with great solemnity some object from the ground, again bows low before the monarch, and retires slowly to the door, seizes the hand of the astonished miner, who has gazed as in a dream at the splendour of the enchanted chamber, leads him to the green circle, which begins at once to rise, and soon reaches the summit of the mountain.

The miner draws a long breath, receives two small metal rods from the monk, who exclaims, "_Gelobt sei Jesus Christ!_" and before the bewildered man can respond, "_In Ewigkeit!_" the mysterious monk has vanished.

The Burgfräulein[1] of Osterode.

[1] Burgfräulein--castle fairy.

One Sunday morning early, a poor linen weaver was walking to Osterode.

Aurora showed her gaily laughing and blushing face above the green mountains, a balsamic freshness floated over the valleys and streams, the peaks of the woody heights swam in the blue ether, and the dew-bathed mountain flowers sparkled in the sun's golden splendour. The songs of the birds rang out of the thickets, and soft chimes rose from the villages summoning to worship and praise---a mild, blissful peace hovered over the entire scene.

It was long before the wanderer noticed these surrounding beauties of the morning, for a heavy sorrow lay at his heart. A beloved wife lay at home ill, six hungry children waited with her anxiously for his return, and he must return with empty hands.

His rich cousin, from whom he had hoped for assistance, had repulsed him with cruel words, and now his future lay dark and hopeless before him.

But as the sun rose higher, as all Nature bloomed and sent forth her frankincense of praise, and the streams murmured of peace, he grew more composed.

"How glorious! how wonderful!" he thought, as he stood still and gazed around him; "and what a mystery it is that only man is so often shut out from the universal enjoyment of creation. Why should he be crushed to the earth, and provide in sorrow and pain for his bodily sustenance, while the birds sing and the flowers bloom free from care? Doth He not clothe the lilies, and give the rose and violet their perfume and exquisite hues? Can the Eternal Father care less for an immortal soul? No, no, never!"

He began again to move forward, singing that noblest hymn in the German language, which has been so perfectly translated by John Wesley, beginning--

"_Befiehl Du Deine Wege._"[2]

[2] "Commit thou all thy ways."

When he came to the lines--

"_Auf! auf! Gib Deinem Schmerze
Und Sorgen gute Nacht.
Lass fahren, was das Herze
Betrübt und traurig macht!_"--

he quickened his pace with a firmer tread and lighter heart.

Perhaps he would have sung on to the end of the hymn, had not a voice, clear as a silver bell, greeted him with "Guten Morgen!"

The singer looked in the direction of the voice, and stood like one transfixed at the sight of the vision before him.

On the banks of the brook which flowed past his path sat a lovely maiden clad in white, and bathed her marble-white feet in the crystal water.

Before he could recover from his astonishment, the figure rose and approached him, saying in a voice of the most delicious melody--

"Thou sangst just now a beautiful song, that was made for the troubled. May help be as near every one who sings it as to thee; for know, thou art come at a most happy hour. It is only permitted me once a year to be at this spot; and whoever meets me here and deserves it as thou, him I make happy--if wealth can make him happy. Listen, then: when the bells ring midnight, leave thy cottage, and climb the mountain in silence to the ruins of Burg Osterode. Between the sunken walls thou wilt find a flower; pluck it, and instantly all the treasures of the heart of the mountain will be revealed to thine eye, from which thou mayst take as much as thou wilt. Go now thy way, and carry comfort and hope to thy wife. My time is expired."

The slender form, the pale, loving face, transparent as moonlight, the long golden hair, were in a twinkling vanished.

Wonderfully cheered, the weaver hastened home and related his vision to his suffering wife and little children, and they waited with impatience for the appointed hour. At last the leaden-footed hours had passed--it was midnight.

The weaver kissed his wife and hastened forth. It was a glorious night. The full moon shone, the quail sang her nightly song. The picturesque ruin contrasted wonderfully in its dark grey masses with the cloudless blue of the heavens and the silver moonlight.

A peculiar light shone out of an arched chamber; he followed it, and there sat the pale maiden, adorned with a wreath of white roses in her hair. She raised her jasper-blue eyes, looked kindly on him, and beckoned him to approach and gather the shining flower.

The weaver obeyed and tremblingly plucked the lily.

Hardly had he the flower in his hand when a fearful, rumbling sound arose in the heart of the mountain, the ground close to his feet sank crashing into the depths, and a huge cauldron rose in flame, filled to the brim with glittering gold pieces. The maiden bade him take what he would, for he was so overcome with astonishment and terror that he could not move.

At her friendly voice he recovered from his fear, filled pockets and hat with the coins, bowed low and reverently, left the magic chamber, and hurried back to his cottage--and the sun rose on two happy people. Every anniversary of the day they went to the ruins to thank the fairy, who, however, ever afterward remained invisible.

The Key Fairy of the Gütersburg

At midnight, when the moonlight rests on the rustling oaks, or the winter snow glitters and winds howl, there rises a white form from the ruins of this robber Schloss, a wreath of flowers around the head, and in the girdle a bunch of keys.

Centuries ago a convent stood near, and a monk belonging to it, longing to possess some of the treasures of the underworld, was once bold enough, as the bells rang midnight, to climb to the spot where the fairy dwelt.

He used the formula employed to open the gates of the spirit-world, and instantly, white as a swan, rose the virgin beautiful to behold.

"What dost thou desire?" she asked.

The monk approached her too boldly, begging for the jewels of the depths, and she gave him such a blow with her keys that he fled in terror, and never dared to visit the place again.

Soon after, as a shepherd was feeding his sheep on a meadow near, a blooming, quiet maiden came and gathered flowers, which she bound in a garland; approaching him, and looking kindly at him, she let a flower fall. He picked it up and put it in his hat-band.

The maiden departed smiling, but beckoned him to follow her.

Soon they reached the summit of the Güntersburg.

They entered a subterranean passage, a door opened, and the youth beheld the wonders of the fairy-world. Gold and precious stones glittered in the soft starlight that illuminated the vaulted chambers.

"Take what thou wilt," said the fairy; "but choose wisely."

He filled his pockets with gold and costly jewels, but in his rapid movements the flower fell from his hat. He looked around seeking the door and rushed out, hearing only the words, "Forget not the most beautiful treasure," and never stopped till he had reached the meadow and his sheep. He emptied his pockets of the precious treasures, when lo! they were worthless stones.

Legend of the Devil's Mill.

The summit of the Ramberg, or Victor's Höhe, is strewed with gigantic ruins of the primeval rocks, and is called the Brocken of the Unterharz.

Two huge granite boulders, lying as if they had been placed there by hands, are the remains of the Teufelsmühle.

At the base of the mountain, in the ages long ago, a miller possessed a windmill.

But the mill, an inheritance from his great-great-grandfather, was in a tumble-down condition, and when the wind blew from the north or west the sweeps stood motionless, for mountain and forest intercepted the "breath of God."

Often the miller had sat on the summit of the mountain, and thought how nice it would be if the mill only stood there in the free, full breeze, with a strong tower, built from the materials that lay scattered around in superfluous abundance.

Once, as he thus sat and mused in the twilight, the bats and owls just beginning their nocturnal rounds, a huge, swarthy labourer suddenly appeared before him, greeted him with a _Gott-sei-bei-uns!_ and told him he would build him a mill, so soon as the miller signed a promise with blood to be his in thirty years.

Want, avarice, and vanity won the day with their unholy counsel, and the bond was signed.

Suddenly scores of little black figures issued forth from the darkness of the night, and began to work among the rocks; trees were cut down with a stroke, chisel and hammer rang on the granite, and the work went forward with a rapidity of enchantment.

The fear of the miller rose to despair, and as he saw the roof and the huge sweeps set up and finished, and the last millstone rolled to its place, he seized it with the power of a deadly terror, threw it from the rollers with such force, that it rolled down the mountain.

Then the black wings of the arch-fiend unfolded and spread themselves, he soared high in the air, let fall the millstone on the miller, who was buried beneath it and the ruins of the mill, broken to atoms.

The Origin of the Rammelsberg Mine, near Goslar.

The rich treasures of the Rammelsberg were discovered in 970, according to tradition, by accident.

Otto the Great hunted in the forest. His squire Ramm dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and went after some game that had been shot. The impatient animal pawed and stamped, and his rider returning, found a glittering piece of silver ore laid bare.

Another story is, that the discovery was made by a servant girl in the mill at the base of the mountain.

She rose one morning before daybreak, and went out to gather wood, when she saw a fire burning on the mountain. She hurried to the spot, and found several men with white beards sitting around it.

Approaching them, she asked permission to take some of the burning coals to kindle her fire.

They gave no answer, but sat motionless and gazed upon the ground.

At last she took some coals, saying to herself, "No answer means yes," carried them home and laid them on the hearth, but they would not burn. This she repeated several times, but the coals, once thrown on the hearth refused to burn.

At last it became broad day, and a great heap of gold lay on the hearth, and on the spot where she had seen the fire, lay only pebbles. Search was made, and the wealth of the mountain discovered.

A similar tradition, with slight variations, is told of the _Burgmühle_, or castle mill, near Aschersleben, on the Wolfsberg.

The tradition is quite as probable that Askanas, grandson of Noah, died on the Wolfsberg in 1964 after the Creation, having left the East a few centuries previously to escape idolatry.

Legend of the Hoppelberg

Many and mighty tribes, as the Wenden, Katten, and Sassen, once dwelt in the Harz. Bloody battles have been fought for the possession of this district, whose dense forests and impassable valleys afforded not only defence, but the pleasures of the chase.

We find proofs of their existence here in huge mounds filled with human skulls and bones, and in the names of some of her villages, as, for example, Dorf Kattenstedt.

These primeval mountaineers were most disturbed by a wild and powerful monastic tribe of giant size and strength, who frequently broke into the mountains, plundered their huts, murdered children, women, and old men, and led away the strong men into slavery.

Sometimes they only came in small numbers, but the terror of their name went before them, and caused the inhabitants, despite their peculiar bravery, without opposition, to flee into the ravines and caves, while the enemy took possession of all they could lay hands on.

One called these giant people the Huns. No other race possessed such immense size and terrible strength. They were held to be unconquerable, and mighty magicians. Nevertheless, it happened that once when a body of these giants broke into these mountains, the bravest of the inhabitants united in defence against them; clad in steel, with shield and spear, they marched to meet the advancing foe.

The Huns, surprised at opposition, and the sight of the huge weapons of the mountaineers, hesitated to begin the attack.

Then the king of the Huns came forward and cried in scorn, "Do you fear these dwarf figures? Tarry here; I alone will fight their whole army, which extends itself beyond our view. As the storm-wind breaks in pieces the trees of the mountains, so shall these fall before my strong arm."

He seized his lance and battle-axe, hurled his javelin into the thickest ranks of the enemy, his arrow to that point where their leader stood, and stormed after them down the hill like a rock suddenly broken from the mountain's side, crushing and destroying all on his way, defending himself against the cloud of arrows that met his advance with his huge shield.

His followers remained on the summit of the hill, and followed with flashing eyes their hero king, that they might be ready to hasten to his aid if in danger.

The crashing of his sword, as it rent helmet of oak and coat of mail resounded above the wild cry of the combatants and the clashing of shields.

Unceasing was his way through the ranks, and dying and maimed marked his path. At last he reached the spot where the commander stood surrounded by his braves, and here his progress was arrested.

Stubborn is the conflict, surrounded and shut in, his position seems terrible, and the onlooking Huns cry out, "Shall we hasten to his aid?"

And others answer, "No, no, he would be enraged if we deprived him of the glory of being the sole conqueror. But see! see! the enemy grows weak; now he totters, our king wields more quickly more mightily his arm! They sink! They fly! Victory! Victory! Great is the glory of our tribe, and of our mighty champion."

They raise the song of triumph and march to meet the royal conqueror, who leans upon his spear, and looks upon his advancing army without going forward to receive it.

He gives them a sign; they raise his helmet and loosen the coat of mail; and the hero sinks lifeless on his bloody shield.

Strong and deep is the sorrow of his people, and loud are the lamentations of woe.

At length one of the elders of the tribe exclaims, "Why do we lament the fallen? Is not death the destiny of all, and is there a more glorious death than that of the conqueror in the hour of victory? Let us make a grave for our king on the field of his victory, a grave that shall not only receive his ashes, but proclaim his victory to the most distant centuries."

And they did so. They made a funeral pile, and laid the victor, borne upon his shield, upon it, and the Huns formed a circle around the burning wood and sang the death-song, led by the bards.

"The people shall see their king no more. And the halls of his palace must remain for ever desolate. Never again shall the people hear his voice, but in their hearts he shall dwell for ever."

The flames grow less, the death-song ceases. In silence they gather the ashes in the sacred urn, lay the shield on the ground, the urn upon it, and his armour above it.

Many lay upon the sacred heap what is held most dear, hunting spear or battle-axe. And now the whole tribe sets hand to the work.

"We will build," they said, "a grave which neither man can destroy nor storms and tempests wash away."

And they heaped rock on rock, and levelled whole hills to the plain to pile up the giant grave to a giant king, and called it the Hero's Grave.

And that is the _Sargberg_, or Coffin mountain.

The White Lady.

The Blankenburg family ghost is called the White Lady. A portrait bearing this name hangs in the castle, said to be a likeness of a Countess of Orlamünde. The legend is as follows:

The Earl Otto von Orlamünde died in 1340--several dates are given--and left a young and beautiful widow, Agnes by name, a duchess by birth, and the mother of two little children, a son of three, and a daughter of two years.

The widow lived alone in the Plassenburg, and thought often it were better to marry again.

One day a remark of the Earl, Albert the Handsome von Nurnberg was repeated to her: "I would willingly espouse the fair Countess Agnes, but for the four eyes."

The Countess fancied he meant her two children. Seeing they stood in the way of her marriage, she resolved to free herself of them, and engaged a man named Hager, with promises of rich gifts, to murder them.

The murderer is said to have confessed his crime on the rack. According to another tale, the Countess murdered them herself by sticking pins in their skulls.

Her guilty spirit cannot rest, but wanders in Orlamunde and Blankenburg. Her appearance always betokens death in the family.

Frau Berta is also called the White Lady. She haunts the imperial royal palaces, and also Darmstadt and Carlsruhe.

As family ghost she harms no one, greets every one she meets, never speaks, and always wears a white veil and carries a bunch of keys in her girdle.

The Chapel of Roses.

It was a stormy, dismal winter night, when a teamster drove with a heavy load of wine along the almost impassable road near the little mountain church of Elend, at the foot of the Brocken.

The disc of the moon blinked only seldom through the dark clouds, which, restless, and ever succeeded by new ones, chased each other across the heavens.

A sharp north wind shook the bare branches of the trees that grew thick on both sides of the way, blew the snow in the ravines, and heaped it to huge snow-drifts, which threatened the traveller unacquainted with the locality with danger.

The wind grew every moment more sharp and cutting, the snow deeper, and the difficulty greater for the tired horses to draw their weary load.

Often the teamster stood and listened, and gazed into the darkness in search of some shelter, and called for help, and heard the echoes of his own voice ring deep in the snowy wood, but all remained desolate, dumb, and awful.

No bark of a dog that so rejoices the nightly wanderer, no lowing or neighing of friendly stall.

The silence of death reigned; only now and then the dark wings of some nocturnal bird of prey fluttered over his head, and a ghostly rustling was heard among the dry underbrush; the stars seemed like silent, cold eyes looking down on the weary man and horses, the clouds scudded silently past, and the snow, too, was silent as a spirit.

The lonely traveller grew more terrified, and urging on his horses, the waggon suddenly sank in a deep place, and no efforts of the tired animals could move it from the spot. Loud cried the deserted man for help. No one heard. In despair he wrung his hands and besought the Virgin to aid him in his distress.

Suddenly he heard a rustling in the thicket, and a female form, like the silver moon when she appears above the peaks of the mountains, glided out of the darkness into view, slender as the fir-tree of the Harz, rosy as the early dawn, fresh as meadow-dew, beautiful as eternal youth.

A lustre like a sunset in spring, or an Alpine glow on the eternal snow, floated around the heavenly form, and breathed on the rigid snow masses a soft glimmer like a fairy light.

Terrified, the teamster gazed at the radiant Virgin, who with an enchanting, heavenly smile approached the sunken waggon, and with a single touch drew waggon and horses out of the deep place.

Surprised by the mysterious vision, and cheered by the unexpected aid, the teamster endeavoured to thank his helper and deliverer, and expressed his regret that he had neither cup nor goblet in which to offer her a draught of wine.

At these words the strange apparition touched a shrub that stretched forth its dried, thorny branches, when instantly leaves and buds burst forth, and soon the whole shrub was loaded with most beautiful roses, that breathed forth a wondrous and unwonted perfume.

The Virgin Mary, for it was she herself, broke off clusters of the roses and formed a drinking-cup, and as the teamster would return it filled with wine, the vision had vanished.

Meanwhile the horses had gone on with the waggon, which they now drew with perfect ease, but stood still before the chapel of Elend, and could not be brought from the spot.

The teamster entered with reverence the oratorium, to thank the Almighty for his deliverance, when lo! he recognized in the figure of the Virgin his deliverer, and placed the rose drinking-cup as a costly relic before her shrine.

With amazing rapidity the fame of the miracle of the Church of Roses spread over Germany, and it became one of the most frequented and sacred shrines.

The original of the rose-cup was sent to Rome; but first an exact copy of it was made in clay and preserved in Elend.

The most wonderful miracles continued to be performed; the devotees swarmed to the mountain church, so that it was enlarged, and seven doors were cut in its walls.

Princess Ilse

The beautiful Princess Ilse, daughter of King Ilsing of Schloss Ilsenburg, having ridden to the chase with her royal father, and her lover the Ritter Ralf, lost her way on the wild mountains, and came at nightfall to the gates of the fairy world, over which the Fairy Queen of the mountains rules. The Queen met her with kindness, and invited her to enter her gorgeous crystal palace.

Hesitating and with fear she followed the powerful sovereign; gnomes and cobolds attended everywhere with homage.

Beautiful Ilse tarried a whole year in the richly adorned subterranean world, witnessed the mysterious government, policy, and life of the fairies, the creations and destructions by the king of the giants, the hostile relations of the Fairy Queen to the Giant King, the unhappy loves of her children Rumar and Romar, and what she could not understand the amiable Queen explained to her, and introduced her fully to the fairy world.

But all the splendour and glory of this fairy realm could not still Ilse's longing for her beloved Ralf, and the light of the upper world.

She demanded her return, which her fairy Majesty granted, but threatened her with destruction, should she ever reveal to mortal what she had seen.

Princess Ilse returned to the friendly light of day and rejoiced in the fidelity of her lover.

But he threatened her with the loss of his love if she did not tell him where she had been so long a time, and what she had seen.

The two lovers seated themselves on the soft moss. Ilse laid her lovely head upon Ralf's breast, and gazed up into his face with her wonderful and faithful eyes; Ralf laid his hand upon her shoulder, and beautiful Ilse began her tale.

With caresses she betrayed the secrets entrusted to her, and described the magnificence of the Fairy Queen.

The new moon rose and the stars appeared one after another in the dark-blue heavens; fair Ilse chatted on, related the legends of the Harz--of the giants and dwarfs.

Ralf listened at first in silent astonishment, and hung enraptured on the tales from her beautiful lips, then he began to dream and fancy, and at last fell asleep.

In the grey of the morning, as he awoke, he heard still the murmuring tones of the Princess, and as he turned to salute the princely maiden, he saw, instead of Ilse, a crystal-clear bubbling spring illuminated with the dawn.

The water sprang gaily out of the soft moss, and murmured ever in a thousand leaps and tiny waterfalls over the moss-grown rocks adown the vale.

Deepest despair seized Ralf's spirit; he knew now what he had done, and what had become of Ilse through her betrayed secret, a clear pure stream doomed for ever to ripple and murmur through the mountains.

Ralf built a cottage near the spring, and when the new moon rose Ilse awaited him by the mossy bank, leaned her head caressingly on his breast, and he heard her sweet prattle till the blushing dawn spread her radiance over the silver ripplets, and then the fairy virgin vanished in the blue air.

Princess Ilse and the Deluge

Princess Ilse, says another legend, in order to escape the general deluge, fled with her lover to the Brocken. But before they had reached that witch-haunted mountain, and just when standing on the rocky wall connecting the Ilsenstein with the Westerberg, the rock on which they stood was rent asunder in order to separate the lovers, whereupon they both leaped together into the floods.

The Ilsenstein

This lordly cliff and the Westerberg were once connected, it is said, by a granite wall, which was rent asunder by flood and storm from the Brocken; and according to one legend, Princess Ilse issues from the rock at dawn, when the weather is mild, robed in white satin, her long golden hair floating around her like a veil, a diadem of mountain crystal adorning her regal brow, lays aside her costly array, bathes in the crystal stream, and combs her golden hair.

Whoever is so happy as to meet her at the right moment, she calls with friendly voice, takes him by the hand and leads him before the Ilsenstein, which at her command opens, when she conducts him to her palace in the heart of the mighty rock.

There the most unheard-of splendour rivets his astonished gaze; the floors, walls, and ceilings glitter with gold, silver, and precious stones; the lofty arches are supported by columns of mountain crystal; while carbuncles illuminate the vast chambers with a soft light.

In the most magnificent of these chambers will the happy mortal find the most delightful entertainment; and when a youth, pure, and free from all guilt, bathes in the Ilse at the same time as the Princess, she will be free from the enchantment.

Whoever approaches her with impure heart, she sprinkles with water, and instantly he turns into a fir tree.

"_Es stehen der Tannen gar viele
In ihres Bades Näh,
Es hat sie alle verzaubert
Die keusche Wasserfee!_"

"And many a fir tree's deepest shade
Falls o'er the crystal stream;
Enchanted by the pure mermaid,
Their fate to moan they seem."

A Dream under Princes Ilse's Firs.

It was during the heat of August, when my friend Josephine and I sat long chatting on a moss-grown stone under Princess Ilse's dark evergreens.

Finally she went to gather some ferns and wild-flowers, and I fell asleep.

Then I heard a deep voice above me say, "I am Castiglione the magician. I approached the Princess Ilse with the guilt of falsehood on my soul, and she transformed me into the fir against which you are leaning. If she would only break the enchantment, and set me free, I would lead an honest, truthful life. Plead with her to release me."

"How can I do that?" I asked. "I never expect to see the Princess."

"Oh yes, you will. You will see her to-day."

Another voice joined in--"I am Booth, of Lincoln renown. People never knew what became of me. I came here to the Harz mountains, hoping to find favour with the noble Ilse after my heroic deed in freeing my country from a tyrant; but the Princess called my act murder, and I have been a sighing fir tree ever since."

"And you deserve it," cried Castiglione.

"Pull the beam out of your own eye, please," replied the infuriated Booth. "You dare to reproach me, you, who did not hesitate to add the last drop of an infant's blood to make your elixir of life? What insolence!"

I felt sure they would come to blows right over my head. Happily a melodious voice struck in, and interrupted the quarrel.

"I am Don Carlos, the unhappy son of Philip of Spain, and the victim of priestly bigotry. The Inquisitors gained my royal father's permission to make away with me, a son who loved him truly.

"I escaped, and History does not tell what became of me, simply because she does not know. I fled here to Princess Ilse for refuge, but I approached her at an unfavourable moment, and she transformed me into this spruce. If I could only be set free I would carry out my ideas of freedom."