[1] In the Harz it is said all children born on Sunday are always
fortunate.
He was present as the owner of the estate Winatahusen in Thale, had
removed the wonder-stone, on which the good fortune of the estate
hangs, and had seen how sixteen horses and hundreds of men had only
with difficulty moved it; while the heavens had grown dark, and the
storm threatened to destroy the buildings, and only misfortune
followed misfortune, till the stone was restored to the ancient
convent estate.
He had also learned the power of enchantment possessed by the
dwellers of the caves in the Bodethal.
A dwarf of one cave had often brought him a bundle of healing herbs
for his sick mother, and he knew that he always laid healing plants
ready for those who had entreated his help.
But the angry cobold, who in the form of a green bottle-fly dwelt in
another cave, had once nearly thrown him headlong from the rocks as
he gathered plants, and he only saved himself by making the sign of
the cross three times.
He had also seen the blue flame in the garden of the Kloster estate
in Thale, which marked the spot where treasures were hidden.
While indulging in these reminiscences a low exclamation from his
companion aroused him from his reverie.
She grasped him by the arm, and pointed to the ruins. There, above
the tower, rose amid the slender grass, in wonderful beauty, white as
a lily and as graceful, the Flower of the Lauenburg, which had just
been the subject of their conversation and their dreams.
She seemed to bend her white corolla in greeting, and like a low
melody to call down to them, "Pluck me! pluck me!"
The lovers gazed a moment, surprised, at each other; and, as if the
glance had filled him with enthusiasm, the youth then hastened
forward, and raised his arm to gather the flower.
At this moment the serpent head raised itself, terrible to behold;
the scales of the coiled body seemed to bristle, and resembled a coat
of mail; the vicious eyes burned in rage, and the sharp tongue
pointed at them like a poisoned arrow.
Terrified at the sight, he lost his courage, forgot to cross himself,
and, seizing the hand of the maiden turned to flee.
But she held him back; she stood lost in thought a moment; then
pressing his hand warmly and glancing toward heaven, she approached
fearlessly the tower, and stretched forth her hand firmly to pluck
the flower.
And see! the serpent, though hissing more furiously, drew slowly back
its head, and as she plucked the flower fled, and at the same moment
the whole scene changed.
Where the flower grew, now stood, sweetly smiling, in swan-white
garments, a graceful maiden, who looked kindly on the lovers, and,
pointing to a vault at the base of the tower, in which glittered gold
and silver vessels of all sorts, stooped and handed one piece after
another to the astonished lovers, who took the costly gifts as in a
dream.
When they had all they could carry, she waved the hand in farewell,
as bidding them to depart, and vanished.
The White Stag.
Long centuries ago a peculiar appearance attracted the attention of
the inhabitants of Dorf Treseburg.
Every morning stood, high on the summit of the Hagedornberg, which
rises perpendicular to the banks of the Bode, a White Stag, and gazed
fixedly below into the valley.
He stood hours at a time, and had done so over a hundred years,
without any variation or the faintest sign of age. Wonderful as this
was, it was still more remarkable that no one had ever been able to
come near him, although various sportsmen had attempted it, not even
when they waited in the early morning on the spot where he was wont
to appear.
They waited in vain, and yet at the same time the villagers below had
seen him as usual.
So it had come that for a whole generation no one had sought to come
near the White Stag. Hence every one shook the head doubtfully when
one day an herb-gatherer of the village, named Weidemann, declared
that he had not only been near the Stag, but that the animal had come
close to him, leaned against him, eaten of the plants he carried, and
finally had followed him part way down the declivity of the mountain.
The herb-gatherer, however, was known to be a man of veracity, and
they soon became convinced of the truth of his statement; for no
sooner had he climbed the Hagedorn than the White Stag ran to him,
and walked trustfully by his side, ate from his hand, and followed
his steps.
This excited all the more surprise inasmuch as the stag avoided
everybody else. Weidemann was surprised himself at this confidence,
which grew every day; and it seemed to him, when the stag gazed at
him with its clear eyes so winningly, as if it would speak, and only
language failed.
At last, he said one day to his wife, "There is something the matter
with the White Stag, and he longs to tell. If I only could know what
it is!"
"That is not so difficult," replied his wife. "Just ask old
Fischersche, who will be able to tell thee."
Fischersche was, according to some, a wise, good old woman, according
to others a witch, who lived in a hut a little out of the village,
never leaving it, alone and without friends, avoiding men and shunned
by them in return--but only till they got into some trouble; when
illness or some accident had befallen them, then they sought out old
Fischersche, related their trouble, and found ever help and counsel,
or herbs and healing draughts, before which every sickness fled.
To her the herb-gatherer applied, told her what had happened, and
begged for an explanation of the matter.
Fischersche bent her ice-grey head and remained a while sunk in
thought. At length she said: "It is a wonderful history of the White
Stag; my aged grandmother told it me over a hundred years ago, but I
cannot now remember it perfectly! I only know that it is an
enchanted young noble, the son of an Earl, but how it all hangs
together has escaped me. But we will soon learn. I will ask my
ravens."
So saying, she opened the windows of the hut, one towards the north,
the other to the south, and murmured a few unintelligible words, and
uttered one piercing whistle.
Soon the beating of heavy wings was heard, and a hoarse croaking, and
a pair of huge primeval ravens flew down, and sat, one on the north,
one on the south window, and cried:
"Kra! Kra! Kra--h!
Wir sind da!"
And Fishersche addressed them in a loud voice: "Ye good ravens, ye
are as old as the Harz and the primeval forests, and ye know all
things; hence ye shall tell me the history of the White Stag."
Then one raven flapped his wings, nodded with his head, opened his
bill and cried:
"Kra! kra! kra--h!
Ich weiss wie es geschah!"
"The son of an Earl had fallen in love with the daughter of the
Ritter who dwelt ages ago in Schloss Treseburg, and came every day
and stood on the summit of the Hagedorn, and gazed across to the
Treseburg, to see if he could catch a glimpse of the maiden, or a
greeting from her.
"It happened once that he met there a noble white stag, and being a
passionate lover of the chase, he threw his spear, killing the animal
on the spot.
"Just as he was about to detach the splendid antlers, to hang up in
his castle--for a pair of antlers was his coat of arms--the Waldfrau,
the powerful queen of the forest and all game, suddenly broke forth
from the underbrush with indignation and wrath, for the dead stag had
been her favourite, and cursed the youth in words of fury:
"'Thou bloodthirsty man, thou shalt henceforth no more hunt, but be
hunted; thou shalt be thyself a stag in the place of the one thou
hast killed, and shalt wander in these preserves centuries long.'
"And at these words the Earl's son was transformed into that of the
stag, and that is the White Stag of the Hagedorn."
The raven nodded three times with his head in confirmation of his
tale, and remained silent.
And Fischersche asked further: "'Say on, raven, who knowest all
things, if and how the enchantment may be broken."
Immediately the other raven rose, flapped his wings and cried:
"Kra! Kra! Kra--h!
Ja! Ja! Ja!"
"It was a deed of blood! Blood can break the enchantment. If a
hunter who has never shed blood gives him blood that belongs neither
to man nor beast, and he both drinks and eats it at the same time,
the enchantment of the White Stag is broken."
Fischersche would inquire further, but the ravens both remained
silent, shook their heads, spread rustling their wings, and flew
forth, one up the other down the roaring Bode, to their Hort[1] in
the steep rocks of the Bodethal, which still bear the name of the
Rabenstein.[2]
[1] Safe retreat in the rocks; usually applied to the eagle.
[2] Ravens' cliffs.
When the ravens had disappeared, Fischersche sank in deep thought,
and seemed to forget the presence of Weidemann.
"That is a dark saying," she at length said, breaking the silence,
and muttered thoughtfully to herself. "Just wait, just wait, I begin
to see through the thing. How was it, then? Who can break the
enchantment?"
"A hunter who has never shed blood," replied Weidemann.
"And where may we find such an one?"
"Probably nowhere."
Fischersche looked at him oddly, while a smile flitted over her
wrinkled face.
"Tell me, then, hast thou ever shed blood?"
The man started at the question.
"God forbid!" cried he hastily. "How canst thou imagine anything so
dreadful of me?"
"Well, well, I did not mean it so badly. I know now where I am, and
listen well. Thou thyself canst break the enchantment. Thou art
called Weidemann,[3] because thy ancestor was ranger to the knights
of the Treseburg; and dost thou not say thou hast never shed blood?
So a Weidemann is found, and it is clear why the White Stag has
approached thee: he sees in thee his deliverer."
[3] _Weidemann_, or _Waldemann_, signifies sportsman--hunter--ranger.
The good Weidemann was speechless with astonishment, but doubted not
the truth of Fischersche's words.
"But the blood," he said meditatively--"the blood that I must give
him both to eat and drink; the blood that shall neither be of man nor
beast--whence shall it come?"
"That is thy affair," said Fischersche, dryly. "That belongs to thy
department; for if the blood must not belong to the animal, perhaps
it might be found in the vegetable kingdom. Reflect upon it thyself."
And Weidemann leaned his head on his hand in deep thought.
Suddenly his face grew bright, he sprang up and almost fell on the
neck of old Fischersche.
"I have it! I have it!" he exclaimed joyfully. "That is the
Hypericon, or St. John's Wort. It drops blood on St. John's Eve and
St. John's Day, and to-morrow will be St. John's Day, and the flower
grows abundantly by my garden fence."
Accordingly the next morning he cut a bunch of the St. John's Wort,
in which at this time all wonder-power lies, and carried it to the
White Stag on the Hagedorn. The stag sprang impetuously forward to
meet him, and hardly had he eaten the plants, when the stag took the
form of a stately youth, in knightly gold-embroidered doublet,
streaming plume in his barret, and baldrick worked in gold and
antlers. With beaming countenance and sparkling eyes he embraced the
astonished Weidemann, and cried: "Have thanks, thou honest man; thou
hast released me, and shalt not go unrewarded. My father, when I
return home, will bestow a rich reward on the deliverer of his son.
But tell me. I see there only ruins, where once a strong castle
raised its towers. Who has destroyed it, and where is the radiant
daughter of the Treseburg?"
"Ah, Herr!" replied the herb-gatherer sadly, "so long as I can
remember, and my parents and grandparents, no castle has stood there,
and neither knight nor maiden has dwelt in its broken walls. Dost
thou, then, not know that long centuries have passed since thy
enchantment began?"
"Centuries?" cried the young noble in horror.
"Yes, centuries!" exclaimed a scorn-laughing voice, and the Waldfrau
stood before them; "that is thy punishment for thy criminal deed.
Now go and seek thy lordly family and thy beloved; thou wilt find
them mouldering in the vault of the dead.
"Thou mayest find rest, now thy enchantment is broken. But thy
punishment is not yet at an end. Every seven years, on this day,
thou shalt take the form of my slain White Stag for a single day, and
appear on this spot."
With these words the Waldfrau vanished.
The youth shuddered, and said, deeply sighing: "Is it so? Is my age
so far in the past? Then truly I have nothing more to find in life.
Neither can I find treasures at home to reward thee, honest man.
Thou must be contented with my baldrick, all that I can give thee,
with God's blessing."
And giving him the baldrick, he walked away and was seen no more.
And sometimes still, on St. John's Day, the White Stag is seen on the
Hagedorn, gazing with fixed eyes into the peaceful vale.
The Fisherman of Treseburg.
From the windings of the Bode, a huge greenstone rock rises steep and
rugged, partially overgrown with the _Planta genista_, or wild broom,
and creeping plants, nearly its entire base being washed by the waves
of the clear mountain stream.
On its summit, half hidden by moss and wild thorns, are grey ruins of
a castle, of which no trace of its history is left to us save its
name--the Treseburg.
At the foot of this massive rock, on the opposite bank of the Bode,
stood, nearly two hundred years ago, a small cottage, in which dwelt
a poor but good fisherman, who earned but a scanty subsistence from
the fruits of his toil.
At that time thousands of strangers did not, as now, visit the
sublime rocky valley, to enjoy its wild and savage grandeur, and its
trout and merlins, and the poor man, though naturally of a contented
mind, often murmured at his poverty.
Also the romantic situation of his cottage satisfied him no longer,
and when he looked across the Bode to the mighty rock, and the ruins
on its top, all sorts of foolish and ambitious thoughts crowded his
mind.
These reflections were all the more bitter since there was a
tradition in the village that he himself was a descendant of the
ancient Ritter who once ruled in the Treseburg.
And in fancy he pictured the old Schloss in its former state, throned
on the proud rock, with giant round tower, and arched entrance gates,
and Gothic windows, the battlements covered with soldiers in steel
harness, with sword and lance.
Thus he frequently sat hours at a time by his nets, lost in dreams,
ever glancing again across to the wild ruins, and wishing the
long-vanished centuries back again.
Once--it was a St. John's day--he saw a Graumännchen[1] on the other
side of the stream, who evidently wished to cross, but did not
venture to wade through, since the waters had risen in the late
thunderstorm, and there was at that time no bridge.
[1] Little grey man.
Graumännchen seemed in great embarrassment; this awakened the pity of
the fisherman, and he called across that he would come and carry him
over the water.
He waded over and did as he had said.
Graumännchen was much pleased at this kindness, thanked the fisherman
in the warmest terms, and said, "Thou art a good, obliging man, and
since thou hast fulfiled my wish, I could wish that thou also hadst a
wish or two that I might grant."
"Ah!" said the fisherman, "every one has wishes. I have just one,
but it cannot be realized."
"Only one?" said Graumännchen. "I would grant thee willingly two or
three. But what might be thy wish?"
"My greatest wish," replied the fisherman, "is to be set back five
hundred years, in order that, instead of that heap of ruins across
there, the Treseburg might raise its proud battlements and tower."
"Well," said Graumännchen, "that can easily happen," and bade him
close his eyes for a minute. He did so, and on opening them again
gazed around him in wonder, for there opposite on the dark rock stood
the Treseburg, that he had so often seen in ruins. Really and truly
there it stood, with white walls, colossal round tower at the
entrance, battlements shimmering in the sunlight, and squires
glittering in steel, with sword and lance.
The fisherman almost devoured the singular picture with his eyes, and
in his admiration could not turn away his gaze, till Graumännchen put
an end to his puzzlement with the question, "Thy wish is granted; art
thou satisfied?"
The fisherman hesitated, for it seemed to him at the moment as if he
might add another wish. At the same time the immediate fulfilment of
his wish appeared to have its shady sides, for the soldiers who stood
on the walls of the castle grew noisy, and called down to him with
abusive and threatening words, and commanded him at once to bring up
all the fish and other articles of provision which he had, or his
last hour was come.
Some even, as if in joke, bent their cross-bows toward him, and one
pointed iron bolt lodged in the trunk of a rotten tree close by him.
Finally the fisherman replied, "Yes, the fulfilment of my wish is
delightful, and the Treseburg is a right stately Schloss; but I
should like, as my ancestors once ruled there, to be transplanted
into the position of my ancestor who lived there five hundred years
ago, in exactly the same circumstances."
"Very well," said Graumännchen; "also this wish can be granted," and
bade him again to shut his eyes.
When he opened them he found himself in a spacious hall, its stone
walls adorned with armour and arms, and on a massive oak table lay
also arms, partly broken, partly covered with fresh blood.
From without, a wild deafening noise penetrated to the hall, mingled
with loud shouting, sometimes a piercing cry of pain, and the
clashing of arms.
He lay himself, in steel armour, on a bench, but one arm was free
from armour, and he felt a burning pain in it, and to his terror he
observed a gaping wound, as from the blow of a sword, stretching from
the shoulder to the elbow, and the warm blood trickled down.
Just then a door opened, and an old squire entered and said, "I left
you a moment to prepare an ointment for your wound, in order that you
may yourself appear on the walls and defend the Schloss. The danger
is great, Herr! Listen! They are storming again already, and our
men are so weak from hunger and thirst, they can scarcely stand.
"I have obeyed your command, gestrenger Herr--your Lordship--and in
case of the worst have buried the treasures in the small vault, three
times seven paces from the tower westward, and three times seven
paces from the entrance gates to the south. But hark! The gates are
burst in! We are lost!"
And the old man hastened away. The transformed fisherman grew dizzy,
and felt extremely uncomfortable.
But he had little time for reflection, for the tumult grew louder and
came nearer. The door of the hall was broken in with heavy blows,
and with loud shouts a troop of men, dripping with blood, rushed in
and threw themselves in rage upon him, crying: "We have thee at last,
thou foul knave! thou who hast robbed and murdered so many. At last
the hour of retribution has come."
And the leader cried: "Fasten a rope to the arch of the gates, give
him an hour to say his prayers, but in the deepest dungeon, and then
hang him for a punishment and a warning."
And strong arms seized him and threw him in the dungeon on damp straw.
There he lay, and could not for some time collect his thoughts; but
when he came to his full senses a deep sorrow seized him to see what
he had brought upon himself through his foolish wish. Now he must
die as a criminal, separated from wife and children, who would never
know what had become of him.
"Ah!" cried he in anguish. "Graumännchen! Graumännchen! why hast
thou done this? If thou hast granted me, fool that I was, two
wishes, so grant me the third--the only one I have--to return home,"
and hot tears rolled down his face.
But when he had dried his eyes, and opened them again, he drew a long
breath, for he lay on the banks of the Bode beside his nets, which
had filled with fish; and of Schloss and Ritter was nothing to be
seen--only the ruins as ever.
Graumännchen stood by him, pressed his hand, and said with friendly
smile: "Willst thou be henceforth contented, or hast thou still
another wish?"
"_Nein! Nein!_" cried the fisherman decidedly, "I have not a wish
but to remain what I am my life long."
Graumännchen took his departure with a smile, and the fisherman's
dreams of castle and knight with him.
For many years he related only to his wife what had happened, but as
he grew old he told the history to his sons, that they might learn
therefrom the same lesson as himself.
They laughed to themselves, and held the whole story for a dream,
save one brother, who found something very remarkable in it, and when
he had a leisure hour he climbed the rock where the Treseburg had
stood, observed the direction of the walls and the moat, and removed
the moss, underbrush, and thorns. At last he seemed to have found
what he sought. One clear moonlight night he mounted with hook and
shovel to the ruins; there, where once the tower had stood, he
measured three times seven paces to the west from the tower, and the
same distance from the gate southward. Then he began to dig and soon
came to a vault.
The following day the villagers who had gone to gather sticks found a
vault broken in, and a half-rotten chest open, but empty, and on the
ground around lay scattered gold and silver coins with an unknown
stamp.