"_Harmonieen hör' ich klingen,
Töne süsser Himmelsrüh._"
"Harmonies I hear resounding,
Tones of sweet, heavenly music."
[1] The valley of the lute.
Why dost thou sit so lonely on the declivity of the mountain,
innocent daughter of the Felsenburg? Why does the cloud of care rest
on thy countenance? Why dost thou gaze with such sad longing into
the vale below?
The light of thy eyes is dimmed by a tear; heavy and anxious rests
thy curly head on thy snowy arm; as the heavenly glory crowns the
head of a martyred saint, so the splendour of sunset bathes thy form.
Deep and great must be the anguish that fills thy breast, and yet
thou dost endure speechless and silent. Not a sigh breaks from thy
swelling heart, not a lament from thy lips, not a sad note from the
strings of the lute that lies hushed before thee.
Weep no longer, child of grief; brighten thy saddened countenance.
He for whom thou art waiting, the beloved of thy soul, will come; he
will come with the quick step of love, and his glance will chase away
grief and care from thy soul.
Hark! Already it rustles in the wood, already his tread resounds on
the rocks; he climbs the mountain.
With the bliss of the purest love he clasps the sorrowing maiden in
his strong arms--and yet thou remainest in mourning and tears?
Fairest of the blue-eyed daughters of the Harz, is thy heart cold in
presence of the flame of love, as the ice of the Brocken is proof
against the sun of the spring-time?
Ah! not cold and hard was her heart; pure and tender, as the dewdrops
in the lily, it lay in her innocent breast, and adorned the morning
of her life, till the sunny fire of love smiled down upon her. Then
a never-before-imagined bliss trembled through the pure flower, her
heart was filled with joy, the clear dewdrop dissolved in love. The
dewdrop belongs to the sunbeams, and the heart of the maiden to the
youth she loves.
But fate was not favourable to the lovers--fate, the destroyer of so
many blissful bonds.
Jutta was the daughter of a noble whose Schloss lay near Leesen, and
Ernst the son of an old warrior, who, after having fought many a
battle in his youth and won many honours, now poor, weak from wounds,
and forgotten by the world, had retired into solitude, to spend the
remainder of his days in memories of his active life, and in the
education of his only son. Under his guidance Ernst grew up strong
and free, a true son of the Harz, lofty of stature and of an exalted
mind, with a noble heart and countenance, with a fearless glance and
bold design.
Where the Innerste, which springs from the Barenbruche, approaches
her issue from the Harz, she quickens her course, flowing among
steep, well-wooded mountains in youthful mirth, or silently over
sands, playing with the water-violets, which from the damp moss bend
their blue heads in the crystal ripples. Beautiful rises on either
bank the forest. Here grow mighty firs, whose roots spring from the
metal-rich graywacke; there, slender beeches in the clay-slate;
yonder, maples with their lovely leaves. Wild lettuce, yellow and
red, grows next the round shave-grass, and the water-lily and mallow
rock themselves on the fragrant banks; on the rocky mountain wall
shimmers the white-browed swallow-wort, the saxifrage, and the yellow
wall-pepper; from the mossy ground of the forest spring the flaming
purple toad-stool, the agaric, and the pale goat's-beard.
The classic wood-singers fill the air with wondrous melodies.
From the topmost branches of the firs, where he has built his nest,
the tiny greenfinch sings his little song. Beneath, on the
river-banks, sounds the soft flute-like voice of the white-breasted
plover, the whistling of the thistle-finch; and the blackbird and
linnet, the cross-bill and thrush make the green halls merry with
their ringing voices.
In this valley, on the rushing, roaring Innerste, stood the cottage
of unhewn trees and stones, covered with moss, in which father and
son led a contented life. A small garden surrounded it, in which
Ernst loved to work; there he listened to the tales of his father, or
hunted in the mountain forests.
One day, as he had gone in the direction of Goslar, a singular
howling fell upon his ear. He listened, recognised the howl of a
wolf, mingled with the piercing neighing of a horse in deadly terror,
and at the same time saw a rider tearing in fear over the mountains,
without giving any heed to his calls.
He hurried in the direction of the neighing and howling, where he
heard at the same time a female voice crying for help.
A large wolf hung on the neck of the almost prostrate horse, on whose
back sat a charming maiden.
To see this, and with practised hand to throw the javelin in the body
of the beast of prey, that he sank at the feet of the horse, was the
work of an instant. Quickly the youth thrust his hunting-knife in
the beast, and the bowlings ceased.
The maiden was saved, and looked gratefully upon her deliverer--and
what a look! An unspeakable bliss penetrated his breast, he stood
speechless before the pure rescued maiden, and his whole soul hung on
her eye.
It was not the rosy cheek, not the crimson lips, that wounded his
heart so deliciously, but her eye.
The horse was not able to carry her home, her servant had fled, and
Ernst undertook to conduct her to her father's Burg. Arrived there,
not all the entreaties of the rescued maiden could induce him to
enter, but already it was difficult to tear himself away.
The impression she had made did not escape her notice, and as she
gave him her hand at parting, carried away by the depth of her own
emotions, she yielded to his entreaties to meet him sometimes, and
promised with tears in her eyes.
Ernst hunted no more on the mountains, but stood dreaming on a high
spot whence he could see her father's castle. And when he espied
Jutta with her lute descend into the castle garden, and wander into
the wood, he rushed to meet her, and lived a blissful hour in
listening to her voice and lute, and she at last confessed she loved
him with all her heart.
But now a rich earl sought Jutta's hand, and the lord of the
Felsenburg promised this suitor his daughter, because his debts were
so great that only a wealthy son-in-law could save his estates.
In vain Jutta threw herself at her father's feet and declared she
loved a handsome, good, and noble youth of ancient race.
"Is he rich?" was the father's sole question.
"No!" Alas, "no!" Ernst was in despair, and Jutta wept hours at a
time, which only spoiled her pretty eyes without doing her the least
good.
Jutta at last resolved to give up Ernst for her father's benefit, but
she would see him once more, and assure him that her filial love
could not lessen her affection for the choice of her heart.
That was what caused her sadness as we first saw her, and Ernst, as
he rushed towards her, must have had some presentiment of the coming
trouble in her resolve. But she could not tell him her purpose, and,
as they parted, whispered, "to-morrow we will see each other again."
The following day was nearly gone, and evening had sent on her shadow
before her. Jutta strengthened herself for her sad walk with a
prayer, took her lute, and went through the garden into the forest,
to the spot where she usually met her lover.
Ernst was not yet there. She walked some distance in the direction
of his cottage to a projection of the mountain, whence she could look
down into the vale, and waited there for him.
Lost in her sad thoughts, her fingers swept lightly the strings of
the lute, calling forth soft melodious notes. Finding comfort in the
tones, the harmonies grew louder and louder, and she listened with
joy to the tones, now fancying them the voice of the nightingale or
the thrush.
At last her hands swept wildly over the strings in the strength of
her sorrow.
Meanwhile Ernst had approached. He listened amazed to the tones,
which floated to meet him, sounding entirely different from anything
he had ever heard from Jutta's lute before.
It was as if a clear harmonious voice called back every note that
flew from the strings.
Slowly and in indescribable purity the harmonies echoed through the
mountains, and just where Ernst stood the sweet tones trembled in the
air, as if the whole vale were one great harp.
"Can there be a cave here," thought Ernst, "which has such a
wonderful echo?" and turned over a moss-grown stone with his foot.
Who shall describe his astonishment as he saw a white shimmering
stone before him, which extended so deep as he removed the moss?
His exclamation brought Jutta to his side, who at the sight threw
herself into his arms with tears of joy.
"We are saved! It is silver!" they both exclaimed in the same breath.
Of course the earl received a _Korb_.[2] Ernst and Jutta were
married. Ernst became the director of the mine, loaded with honours
for his discovery, and ever since the valley has been called the
Valley of the Lute.
[2] _Korb_--basket. _Er hat einen Korb bekomnen_, is the German or
"He has been rejected;" "he has got the mitten;" that is, "he has got
the basket."
Eva von Trotta.