Legends and tales of the Harz Mountains

by Toofie Lauder

Eva von Trotta.

A HISTORICAL TALE.

On one of the border mountains, on the western slopes of the Harz, in gloomy desolation, rise the grey ruins of the old Schloss Staufenburg, which still remind us of a most romantic though sad history.

Home-like, and at the same time sublime, silent, and solitary, must have been this now destroyed seat of kaisers and princes in the mysterious Middle Ages. Its position is fascinating, surrounded on three sides by high wooded mountains, with a wide view open to the south, which was then probably partially shut out by the primeval dense forests, now, however, extending over the little mining town of Gittelde and the picturesque mountain landscape to Osterode and the high-seated Schloss Herzberg.

The magic of this picture is greatly enhanced by the soft lights of sunset, and the dim, semi-transparent mists, which like a floating veil half hide its beauties, and fill the excited fancy with a mysterious presage of that poetic something we call the Past.

The mountain—on which are decaying bits of walls, where, until a few years ago, a strong square tower, eighty feet in height, with openings here and there, looked solemnly down on the vale—is cut off sharp on the east, west, and south sides from its wooded brethren that rise high above it, only on the north side sloping gradually to its base; and it is on this side one climbs to the spot where Kaiser Henry the Vogler, or Fowler, had a decoy for birds.

The halls trodden by royalty, the boudoirs where Beauty ruled eight hundred years ago, are fallen into green ruin; the death-owl hoots, and bats and lizards house among their overgrown stones.

Many of these ruins on the borders of the Harz mountains remind us of Henry the Fowler, who built them to defend the plains and homes of this part of Germany from the wild and lawless Huns. As Duke of Saxony he is said to have lived here with his Duchess, in this hunting-seat, when he was chosen Kaiser of the holy Roman Empire in 920; several other places, however, claim the honour.

Later the Staufenburg came to the Earls of Katlenburg, who had their seat near; and after the extinction of this house it fell into the hands of the mighty Duke Henry the Lion, of Saxony and Brunswick, before whose sword even the powerful Barbarossa trembled, and remained in the possession of his descendants, several of whom wore the imperial crown.

The Harz forests with their rich stores of game attracted not seldom the hunt-loving princes of Brunswick to their deep shades, and horn and hound and the wild ho ho! hio hi! of the hunter were heard over mountain and vale.

Then came a calmer period for the old Staufenburg, as the retired seat of princely widows, and here lived, in the fourteenth century, the Duchess Elizabeth, widow of William the Younger.

Oblivion at last sits green a couple of centuries in this solitude, till it is chosen as the hiding-place of a sinful love, and wild tales came to be told among the simple mountaineers of a White Lady who haunted the castle.

On the grey stone balcony stood, one summer day in 1537, two persons in close conversation.

The lady, arrayed in white, was of remarkable and striking beauty. A tall form of the most perfect symmetry, brilliant white complexion, cheeks of a delicate rose, very large clear blue eyes, dark brown hair falling in luxuriant natural curls, and a dainty hand and foot, made her the delight of every eye that looked upon her.

The grace of all her movements seemed akin to poetry and music, and the expression of her radiant countenance betokened a noble and amiable mind.

Her companion, Duke Henry the Younger, of Brunswick-Lüneburg-Wolfenbüttel, clasped one of her tiny hands, glittering with diamonds, in his own, stroked her magnificent hair, and gazed into her face with silent rapture.

It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, and the coffee table, according to German custom at this hour, stood in the garden below draped in white, a silver coffee service glittered on the table, fragrant mountain strawberries lent a rich bit of colouring, and by one cup lay a spray of white roses.

The broken fountain suggested a feeling of loneliness, and the high old grey stone walls enclosing the castle shut it out—or in—from the world beyond, and all the events now transpiring behind them were a profound secret. The white-robed figure was literally dead and buried to the world, which had "assisted" at her funeral.

"Oh, Henry!" exclaimed Eva von Trotta, for the youthful form belongs to no other than this Fair Rosamond of Germany, "you strive to comfort me, but in vain. All your words of kindness and passionate love, cannot crush the worm that is gnawing at the thread of my life—cannot silence the voice of conscience. I must open my heart to you to-day, for every visit you make me here I tremble to think may be the last. And yet it is all wrong—all wrong, Henry; every visit, every gift from your dear hand is a sin against the good and noble-minded Duchess, once my motherly friend, a sin against your lawful children."

"Dear Eva," said Henry, interrupting her, "our children are lawful. I gave you my left hand at the altar, the wedding-ring and its diamond keeper glitter on this little hand I hold in mine. The Church has consecrated our union."

"That is only a hollow pretension. I see it all now. Look at this beautiful Prayer Book in gold and precious stones, and the Bible[[1]] with my name in gold on its cover," she continued, pointing to a small table where they lay.

[[1]] Luther's Bible appeared two years before this scene. Eva was Protestant.

"They were among your gifts on our—our—our marriage day. I come and sit here when alone, where I can look out on the mountains, and read them and seek consolation, but find none. They are a silent reproach to me. You had no right to give them, nor I to take them. And in my Bible I opened yesterday to St. Paul's words: 'the husband of one wife.' They pierced like daggers to my heart. Henry, Henry, I ought to flee this spot, and never see you more; and yet I cannot. I should die if I did not see your dear face sometimes, and hear your voice."

"My darling Eva, put away these harrowing thoughts; they are shortening your precious life."

"Oh! why did we meet? or meeting, why was it not earlier, when our love had been no sin? When I recall the affection and confidence of the Duchess, and reflect on my base, false friendship, my face burns with pain and shame. The world would curse me; she would too, if she knew. The watch I wear, that you gave me that last morning in the antechamber, when I was on duty as lady in waiting, reminds me of the flight of time, and the unceasing approach of a coming judgment. I never look upon it without a throb of bitter anguish. 'Nothing that loveth or maketh a lie' shall enter heaven—and my life is a lie. Oh, Henry! I shall perish eternally, and my noble boy will grow up to curse my memory;" and leaning her head on Henry's breast, she wept bitterly.

Probably Henry's own reflections were not of the most agreeable and consoling character, as he was thus compelled to recall his injustice and sin in his neglect of the Duchess. He gave, however, no expression to his misgivings, but only said, pointing to the coffee-table: "Let us think of this no more; dry up these childish tears, and let us go down—come, dear."

"My tears are not childish, Henry, only useless. But the world will discover our dreadful secret, the Duchess and her powerful father will complain to Kaiser and Pope, your visits will be forbidden—and what will become of me and my boy?"

"Eva, I will do what I before proposed, before you came here. I will seek a divorce from the Duchess, and we will be married in the face of the empire, and your boy, my favourite son, shall be my heir to the ducal throne."

"God forbid!" cried Eva in feverish, wild excitement, clasping her hands and looking up to heaven, in which attitude she presented such an enchanting grace and beauty that Henry caught her in his arms and covered her face and hair with kisses, calling her by every endearing name he could think of.

"No, Henry; never, never will I be guilty of such a gigantic wrong. My son shall never be your heir, shall never supplant your first-born son and lawful heir. My noble Eitel[[2]] is noble in character as in name; he would never consent no more than I. But I live in constant terror of discovery."

[[2]] Eitel—noble.

"Do not fear that, my darling; every servant here is bound by a solemn oath; your faithful nurse Magda is the only one who is permitted to leave the castle, and she does so in the deepest disguise. The priest at Gandershein who united us at the convent altar is bound by his priestly vows, and the heavy bribe I gave him, to silence. The Abbess, too, who managed the details of your funeral, and the artistic priest who made your wax effigy and the plague-spots with ink on your white face and hands, are both bound by the most solemn oaths. None of these will ever betray us, and no one else knows our secret—we are safe."

Henry was right. Though this relation continued seven years, and ended only through Eva's death, no one discovered the secret; he himself revealed it in his partial love for her only son, whom he sought to make his heir. But the lovers little imagined that one person knew Eva was not lying in the damp vaults of the convent, and that they would be at the mercy of this discoverer.

Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the little Eitel Henry, a princely boy, who inherited his mother's striking beauty, his long brown curls, falling over his shoulders.

"Come, Mütterchen, coffee is ready, and I have put some white roses for you, and Babette has brought mountain strawberries: come—come, Papa," and the little fellow put up his mouth for a kiss. The mother stooped and covered his head and face with passionate kisses, and Henry, springing forward, enclosed them both in a tender embrace.

Behind came nurse Gretchen in snowy cap and apron, with a lovely babe in her arms, and both parents sprang forward as if each would be the first to seize the child.

To a stranger who had not been behind the scenes it was an innocent and pure family scene, betraying nothing of the wrong and bitterness these relations had caused. To explain further, we must go back in our history to Eva's childhood, and her introduction to the court of Henry the Younger, Duke of Brunswick and his Duchess Maria von Wurtemberg.

A lovely spring morning dawned joyously over the castle of the Marshal Adam von Trotta—or Troth—of Brandenburg, but sorrow housed within it, for the lady of the castle must die. The invalid reclined on a huge old-fashioned sofa, propped up with silken cushions, surrounded by her husband, her two sons, and her young and only daughter Eva. It was a large and richly-furnished chamber, hung with rare paintings, but the most charming pictures of all were the views its windows commanded.

The dying mother kissed and dismissed her children, knowing it was for the last time. The manly youths kissed the mother's emaciated hand and silently retired, but Eva flung herself sobbing on her breast, and refused to be comforted.

At last the Marshal led her from the room.

"We are alone for the last time," said the invalid, as the Marshal returned, putting her hand in his. "Move me nearer the window, that I may look once more on the park I love so well."

After a pause she exclaimed, "My poor motherless Eva!—as she will be before this morning's sun goes down. I can leave my sons with more resignation, for they are noble youths, and able to fight the world's battles; but Eva has the dangerous gift of an unusual beauty, and the world is full of snares and traps for such as she promises to be."

"She is your image when I brought you home a young wife.[[3]] She has your eyes, your brown curls, now touched with grey, and to me dearer than ever. In her I shall see your form and face every hour."

[[3]] In Germany one never says Braut—bride—after the marriage; but die junge Frau—young wife. Braut is employed during the engagement.

"Nurse Magda has promised me never to leave her, and her foster-sister Alice, who is strongly attached to her, will be of great assistance in watching over her as they both grow older. Keep Eva with you as long as you can, but in the event of a campaign send her to your brother."

The speaker exhausted, sank into a peaceful slumber, and when the setting sun illuminated the chamber, its golden beams fell upon the face of death.

They laid the mother in the old family vault; husband and children brought immortelles and roses for her coffin, and left her to her cold but safe repose.

The Marshal did as his dying wife had counselled, and kept Eva in the parental castle till her sixteenth summer. The bud had blossomed into a wonderful flower, the pride of the desolate father's heart.

But the time has arrived when the soldier must go forth to battle, and Eva is sent to her aunt and uncle for a visit of indefinite length. At this period, undecided as to Eva's home, and depressed with fears and anxieties regarding her future, business calls the Marshal to the Court of Brunswick,[[4]] then held in the ancient Castle of Wolfenbüttel,[[5]] and this visit is destined to decide the fate of the youthful Eva.

[[4]] Bruno's Wyck—Bruno's settlement, or town.

[[5]] Wolfenbüttel—wolf's cave.

The piety and amiability of the Duchess Maria made such a deep impression on the mind of the statesman and soldier, that he entreated her to become the guardian of his motherless daughter. Her Transparency consented, and Eva became first lady-in-waiting to the Duchess.

Little did the father imagine he was thrusting his child into the wolf's den, for a worse example of a false and neglectful husband than Henry the Younger of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel it were not easy to find.

The Duke and Duchess were in no wise congenial spirits. Henry was a handsome man of fiery temper and hot blood, loved both chase and feud, possessed more physical strength and beauty than mind or virtue, troubled himself little with the duties of government or the interests of his subjects, leaving affairs of State to his minister.

Henry had no sympathy for prayers and church-going, neglected his pale, youthful wife, seldom visiting the wing of the gloomy old castle she occupied except when etiquette demanded his presence.

In this deplorable state of things Eva von Trotta appeared at Court. She stood in the courtyard by her father's war-horse to take leave of him, promised to be good, which promise she fully intended to keep; the stern old soldier kissed her, sprang on his horse, brushed away a tear which defied all his iron firmness, stormed over the drawbridge, and never saw his fair child again.

Suddenly it began to be reported at Court that Henry had bridged over the cleft between himself and his high-born wife. He was seen every evening at her side in the stone balcony, whence they could look down into the courtyard and witness the sports of the courtiers and the drilling of steeds, and his conjugal attentions were most edifying to witness; while the new maid of honour Eva stood behind the seat of her ducal mistress, a picture of bewildering loveliness.

But the Court did not permit itself long to be deceived by the royal hypocrite. It was not the pale, pious Duchess who had so suddenly fascinated Henry, but the maid of honour, radiant in black Genoa velvet and silver spangles, into whose clear blue eyes Henry's brown ones looked so willingly.

It soon became perfectly well known to Henry when Eva was on duty in the antechamber of the Duchess, and half-hidden by the heavy hangings of the deep windows, he chatted with her by the hour, and no favourite maid dared tell her royal mistress who entertained the lady-in-waiting while she sat alone.

At last, one day, the Mistress of the Robes, who had more than once reproved Eva for frivolity, and whose curiosity had got the better of her dignity, listens and hears Henry ask Eva to meet him in the evening at ten o'clock in the linden allée for a walk to the arbour at the end of it, and the thoughtless girl consents. At the same time she sees Henry present her with a watch and his portrait.

Horrified, she at once informs the Duchess of this proposed rendezvous, and persuades her to accompany her in disguise to the arbour at the appointed hour, where, concealed behind the thick foliage, she might learn what was best to be done.

Later on this same day Eva sat alone in her boudoir gazing at the portrait, an exquisite enamel set in diamonds. It was a beautiful chamber, adorned with frescoes and paintings, mirror panellings, books, and flowers.

Opposite where Eva was sitting hung a life-size portrait of Duke Henry the Lion in tapestry. The old nurse Magda had just left her beloved young mistress, and Eva held the portrait in her hand, while a tumult of emotions shook her heart.

She was interrupted by a knock, and slipped the portrait hastily out of sight. It was her foster-sister Alice, who was her favourite maid.

"Why do you disturb me at this hour, Alice?" inquired her mistress, who struggled to conceal her emotion. "You know I am in the habit of spending this hour alone."

"Pardon, gracious lady, but I have something to tell you which admits of no delay," replied Alice, who had caught a glimpse of the portrait, and noticed the agitation of her mistress. "I wish to leave the Court. It is my wish to enter the convent of Gandersheim. I intend to become a nun."

"Become a nun! When did that insane idea enter your head?"

"I am weary of the Court. I am unhappy here. Let me go."

Alice did not tell her of the Court gossip she had overheard, and that grief and pain drove her to the convent.

"Magda will not leave me, Alice; why will you? Stay with me. You knew my dear mamma; you are nearly of my own age; I should miss you sadly."

"No, I have determined to take the veil; it is my calling. Let me go:"

Eva sighed, and replied, rising and laying her hand on Alice's shoulder, at the same time glancing nervously at the portrait of Henry the Lion, "I am not happy either, dear Alice. Oh! I wish I had never left my uncle's castle, and the protection of my brothers. Why was I doomed to lose my mother? You seem to me more like a friend than a servant, Alice; how can I do without you, my foster-sister?"

Again Eva paused and listened. Suddenly the portrait of Henry the Lion advanced into the room, and Duke Henry stood in the opening it had left in the wall. Eva flushed, turned pale, and stood in confusion, while Alice looked on in bewildered amazement. But Henry said carelessly, "The Duchess is coming, Fräulein von Trotta; I am only a minute in advance."

Alice saluted and retired, muttering to herself, "It is true, then, and worse than I thought. A secret door. And what does that portrait mean? I wonder if mother knows all this?"

The following day Alice departed for the convent.

The castle clock was ringing ten when two muffled figures stole through a postern gate of the garden wall behind it into the park, and, concealed by the darkness, hastened through by-paths to the lime-tree arbour. Here they waited some time, when at last steps and voices were heard approaching through the lime-tree avenue.

Eva was saying, "Do not ask me to stay at Court, Henry. I cannot, I must go at once. The courtiers are talking; Alice insists on leaving me; I know it is out of sorrow she condemns me who am so far innocent. Think of my youth—I am only sixteen. My mother is dead, my father absent. Oh, I cannot deceive the Duchess. She has been so kind to me, and she is so good. I shall return your presents, which I should never have accepted, and go back to my uncle's little castle."

"And forsake me, and leave me to loneliness and wretchedness? Oh Eva! pity me and remain."

"And bring disgrace and misery and ruin upon you and myself, and anguish to the Duchess? Maria's royal father is all-powerful with the Kaiser, who would betray you to the Pope, and you would be excommunicated. I do love you, Henry—but—it is too late. If we had met earlier, we might have belonged to each other. I would live shut out from the world for ever for you, and you alone, and, safe from disturbance and discovery, would be happy."

"How very noble and self-sacrificing we would be!" exclaimed the Duchess, coming forward from her concealment. "And such is my reward for my affection bestowed upon a motherless maiden! To such a shameful conversation must I listen between her and my husband. But I have the power to punish you both, and I will use it;" and the Duchess and her attendant speedily disappeared in the darkness.

The storm had broken upon them. The two figures stood in the arbour, motionless as marble, while Maria hastened to send messengers immediately to her father and other princes, acquainting them of Henry's perfidy.

But Eva at bay seems suddenly to have changed her character. She forgets her former scruples, and with a single move checkmates her rival, but at what a cost! She proposes perhaps the most extraordinary plan that ever entered a human brain, and all the more astounding as coming from a girl of sixteen.

"What is to become of me?" at last exclaimed Eva, starting from the stupor of terror the sudden appearance of the Duchess had caused. "There is not a place where I can go where disgrace and shame will not follow me."

"I will seek a divorce, declare the children of the Duchess illegitimate, and we will be married."

"Under the ban of Kaiser and Pope!" cried Eva, wringing her hands in despair.

After a pause, in which Eva remained buried in thought, she resumed, "I have a plan, Henry, but the world shall know nothing of our secret. You shall give me your left hand, but I must die—I mean seem to. I shall resign my office at Court and retire, ostensibly to return to my uncle's. On the journey I will be attacked with the plague in the convent of Gandersheim, and die in a few hours; and then there must be a public funeral; the world and the Court shall see me buried. I leave the carrying out of the details to you. Leave Wolfenbüttel on some plausible plea, and in your absence I will retire. Dead to the world, I will live only for you."

Henry, enraptured, caught her in his arms. "My darling Eva! will you indeed do that? Oh! then I am happy, and could defy the world. Here is the seal of our bond," and he placed a diamond ring on her finger.

They walked arm-in-arm under the silent lindens back to the castle. The moon had risen, and bathed the night in her mystic light; the stars looked mournfully down on the betrayed maiden. Was there no hand to save her from this ruinous step—no voice to warn the betrayer of his sin?

The following day, after a stormy scene between the Duke and Duchess, Henry left the castle to attend to business, as he said, and on his return found that the new maid of honour had resigned her office and left the Court.

The Capuchin convent of Gandersheim, situated in the Duchy of Brunswick, on the river Gande, enjoyed an equal rank with the abbeys of Drübeck and Quedlinburg. The Abbesses of these three mitred convents[[6]] had a seat and vote in the Reichstag, and during the earliest period of their existence the abbesses were of the blood-royal, and only princesses and daughters of the nobility were admitted into their sacred retirement.

[[6]] Mitred convents—those which had a right to a seat and vote in the Reichstag.

This imperial convent Gandersheim, once endowed with such wealth and power, was founded by Duke Ludolf of Saxony in the last half of the ninth century. It obtained its greatest power under the Ottos, and the imperial princesses were often sent here for their education, or for security in times of danger. To this ancient convent I must beg my readers to accompany me.

It is midnight. A fearful tempest sweeps over the mountains. The Wilde Jäger[[7]] is out with his ghostly train, and Tut-Ursel's[[8]] howlings ring through the darkness.

[[7]] Wild Hunter.

[[8]] Tut Ursel—Tooting Ursula—the nun who broke her vow.

The rain beats against the windows of the convent as if it would force an entrance, flashes of lightning illuminate the night, and the thunder shakes the old building in its fury, as if it would uproot its very foundations.

Before a convent altar stands a bridal pair. The bridegroom places the nuptial ring on the bride's hand; kneeling they receive the priest's blessing, the young wife rises Frau von Kirchberg, and after remaining some days in concealment in the convent, she escapes in the disguise of a monk to Schloss Staufenburg.

Meanwhile tidings reach the Court at Wolfenbüttel that the retired Court lady has been attacked with a virulent plague on her homeward journey, and has expired after a painful illness of only a few hours.

The Court is aghast at the news; Henry retires to his private apartments. Duchess Maria, softened to hear of the lady Eva's death, sends members of her Court to attend the funeral.

And now we have the second act of the drama in old Gandersheim.

The convent church is brilliant with a thousand tapers. High on a rich catafalque before the great altar stands Eva's coffin in a blaze of light. The face of the dead is of a wondrous beauty, the long brown curls fall over the breast, the small white hands, marked with plague-spots, are crossed above the still, cold heart.

The nuns, the Abbess at their head, chant the mournful dirge, and the organ weeps and wails as if it were the very soul of sorrow. The courtiers wear the deepest black, and are completely overwhelmed with the awful solemnity of the scene.

Through all the ceremony the novice Alice seems like one in a dream. The suddenness of the thing is to her incomprehensible. Only a few days ago she took leave of her foster-sister, and now she gazes on the dead! Finally the coffin is lowered; they are about to close it for ever, when Alice, before the Abbess or the two priests, who alone knew the truth, can prevent her, rushes forward with a cry of agony and kisses the cold hands in her sorrow. Suddenly she discovers they are only wax! Conscious of the danger to herself if she betrays her discovery, she weeps and sobs louder than ever, and must be almost forcibly removed. They bear the coffin to the convent vaults, the courtiers return to the Court to picture the marvellous beauty of the departed Eva to the Duke and Duchess.

In the meantime novice Alice is no novice. She ponders over the matter in secret.

"Eva is not dead," she reflects. "Where can she be? What can it all mean? I will find her if I walk every inch of the Harz mountains. I will disguise myself as an old woman, a seller of lace; thus I can gain admittance everywhere. But I must get away from here without exciting suspicion."

As the result of these soliloquies, Alice informs the Abbess she must relinquish her plan of becoming a nun, at least for the present, and go to her mother, who must be in great distress at the sudden loss of her nursling.

But on her arrival at the castle of Wolfenbüttel, Magda has disappeared, and no one knows what has become of her.

For a period of four years, Alice, disguised in a grey wig, with an artificial hump on her back, sought Eva, wandering from castle to castle, from town to town through the mountains; but without discovering the faintest trace of either Eva or nurse Magda.

The princes of the House of Brunswick were, as I said before, passionate lovers of the chase, and Henry the Younger was no exception to his race. But suddenly this penchant increased to such an extent that his time was almost entirely absorbed with this pastime.

He began to be absent weeks and even months in his favourite Harz.

At length these long absences excited the suspicions of the Court and the Duchess. Tales came to their ears of a lady in white, who had been seen at the deserted old Staufenburg. Spies were sent out several times to watch the castle, but no discovery was made. Eva remained dead for the world.

Alice, who heard these reports, knowing what others did not, that Eva was not in the vaults of the convent at Gandersheim, resolved to make a visit to the Staufenburg, thinking very likely the reports of the lady in white were not simply wild mountain tales, but having some truth in them. This she felt to be all the more probable, since in all her ramblings from town to castle no trace of the lost girl was to be found.

Accordingly Alice made her way to the Staufenburg, and after watching from the thick woods three whole days she saw her mother, Magda, issue from a small postern door in the outer walls, so hidden by trees and underbrush as to be unseen when shut.

Alice hastened to meet her, secure of her disguise, and told her she had a special message from the Master to the Lady Eva, and must speak with her alone.

Magda, terrified, exclaimed, "Who are you? Whom do you mean by the Lady Eva?"

"I am one who knows all the secret, and that the beautiful maid of honour, Eva von Trotta, does not lie in her coffin. Better if she did. But my message is pressing and admits of no delay. My orders are to deliver it to the lady alone. Admit me here, and leave the door unlocked that I may let myself out again."

Magda stared at the old hump-backed woman and her basket, and hesitated; but seeing she knew the secret, at last concluded all was right.

"Follow me," she said; and opening the postern door and pointing out to her an outer flight of stone steps leading down to a garden, continued, "mount those steps leading to the stone balcony. You will find the lady you seek in her boudoir, which you enter from that open door. She is alone. I will wait for you here, for I dare not leave the gate open. It might be discovered, for I have seen people prowling about here lately a good deal."

Alice did as directed. Arrived on the balcony she paused and gazed at the graceful but passive figure half reclining in a fauteuil in full view of the mountains.

Eva is now in her twenty-first year, and lovelier than ever. Her face and hands are so white as to seem almost transparent; her curls fall in rich masses over her white silken robe; her blue eyes have a strange far-away look in them that strikes Alice to the heart.

Suddenly Eva becomes aware of the presence of a stranger, starts out of her pensive reverie and exclaims, "Who are you? How did you get in the garden?"

"I met a servant at the postern gate in the wall," replied Alice in a constrained voice. "I told her I had a special message for you."

"From Henry? Then you know all! Quick! quick! What is it?"

Alice hesitated, for she was so moved at sight of her playmate and foster-sister, she could not command her voice to speak.

"Why are you so long? Speak. I will reward you richly if you bring me good news from Duke Henry."

"I do not bring you a message from Henry of Brunswick, but from God," said Alice, slowly and solemnly. "Leave this castle, forget Henry, return to the path of duty and virtue, and seek forgiveness."

"Who are you?" cried the terrified Eva, springing from her seat. "If the Duke did not send you, who did? Oh! I am betrayed! Magda! Magda! What have you done?"

"Do not fear, White Lady of the Staufenburg, I will not betray you. I have sought you four long years, because I love you, and would save you from a life-long wretchedness. I was at your imagined funeral, and discovered the farce, but no mortal save myself knows of my discovery.

"Who are you? Why do you come here? to threaten, to torment me? Do you want money?"

"Why do I come? You are in danger. The Duchess has spies; stories of a White Lady in the Staufenberg are come even to the Court. The Duke's long absences excite suspicion. He is watched. Think of the storm that will burst upon you both if you are discovered. Leave here before it is too late."

"Why do you interest yourself for a lonely creature like me, dead and buried?"

"You do not know me—how could you? My own mother did not recognise me," and Alice threw off hump and wig, and stood before Eva, a tall, well-formed girl, nearly her own age.

"Alice!" cried Eva, rushing to her, and seizing her in her arms. "I thought you were a nun in the convent of Gandersheim. You are come to stay with me. Oh! say you are come to stay."

"No, I will not stay here. I have sought you all this time as an old lace-seller, to warn and save you. If you will give up Henry and leave this den of sin, I will follow you wherever you go. Oh! what words can I use to induce you to leave here? Eva! Eva! it is your foster-sister, your truest friend, who entreats you. Henry is your worst enemy. He has trodden your honour and name in the dust, but you consented, and destroyed what you might have been for ever. But repentance is left, and there is all eternity to come.

"How can you stand before God? how can you dare pray? You desecrated the holiest; virtue and innocence you have made the tools of vice; you have stolen the monstrance from the altar; you swore a false oath before the altar of the Highest. Talk of a left-handed marriage. It is an insult to Heaven's laws. Eva! Eva! once my pure and dear playmate, the darling of your dead mother's heart, come away with me now—now. No one is here to betray our flight. We will go to some distant land, and I will stay with you so long as we both live. Follow your true friend. It is the voice of Heaven you hear. Forget the unworthy murderer of your youth and purity."

Eva trembled and turned pale. "What would become of my children?" she cried, wringing her hands in anguish.

"Children! have you children?"

"Yes, three. See, that is my noble Eitel with the long brown curls, playing in the garden."

"God will protect them. You can do nothing for them even if you remain. They are in the power of their father. Come, come; oh, listen to the voice of warning before it is too late," and Alice seized Eva's hand as if she would lead her away.

"I cannot! I cannot! I love Henry. Love his princely magnanimity, his bravery, his noble pride—even that which others hate in him I love. For him I have robbed the Duchess of her husband, deceived my brave father and my brothers, desecrated God's altar, sacrificed life, youth, honour, happiness; I live only for him. I cannot deceive him, cannot atone for one sin with another."

"I must save you, then, by telling your brothers where you are. They will punish the vile Henry before the whole German Empire." She released Eva's hand and turned to go.

With a scream Eva sprang forward, threw herself down before Alice, clasped her knees and cried, "Be merciful, Alice; have pity on my misery. God is merciful. Do not you be cruel. Do not betray me. I am crushed and bruised, the peace of my mind and heart destroyed. I could not be more wretched. What good would it do to betray me? and in betraying Henry, you destroy me, rob me of the only earthly protection I can ever hope to enjoy. Magda is a mother to my children as she was to me. She would not betray me."

"My mother was your nurse, hence has a mother's feelings for you. I will not stay here. If I should see Henry, I should forget all respect for his person as Duke, and give him a piece of my mind. I will keep your secret, but I warn you of a coming-danger. Then I can be of more service to you without than if I stayed here. God help you. I will not betray you." And hastily assuming her disguise, for footsteps were heard approaching, she hurried away.

Three years passed away after this interview, and Eva remained securely hidden; but Henry's absences from Court grew longer and more frequent, and at last one of the courtiers resolved to penetrate the mystery.

He followed Henry to the Staufenburg, watched four whole days in the thick woods, and the evening of the fourth day, to his utter amazement, recognised Eva von Trotta in the stone balcony by Henry's side. The secret was out! He hastened to the Duchess and told her what he had seen. Maria sent authorised messengers to the convent of Gandersheim, the coffin bearing Eva's name was broken open, and lo! a wooden figure with wax mask and hands!

The Duchess communicates this discovery to the King of Wurtemburg, her father, letters of reproof are sent to Henry from him and the Kaiser, and the Pope threatens him with excommunication.

Henry hastens to Eva with the dreadful news; but Alice has been before her, and Eva is prepared with another plan.

"Tell them to search the Staufenburg, and they will discover their mistake. Tell them I am dead—it is true. Magda shall conduct the children to Kirchberg, and with Alice's aid they and every trace of my having been here will vanish. I have a secure hiding-place."

"Where, Eva?"

"You shall know to-morrow on your return from Gandersheim, Henry."

She took an affectionate and reluctant leave of him, calling him back two or three times before she could let him go.

Then she sent for her children, wept over them, and gave her directions to Magda and Alice, and cut off Eitel's long curls that he might not be recognised, his resemblance to her with his long hair being so striking.

After she had dismissed them, Eva returned to her boudoir and wrote a note to Henry. Then she took a small flask from her writing-table, poured its contents in a glass of water, and reclining in her fauteuil, drank it.

Henry, on his return the following morning, hastened to Eva's boudoir.

Seeing Eva seated, and not springing up as usual to welcome him, he supposed she had fallen asleep—and so she had; but a sight of her face revealed the dreadful truth. She had taken poison. The empty flask lay on the writing-table beside her; near it a note addressed to himself. He tore it open. It only contained a few words.

"I told you, my beloved Henry, I had a secure hiding-place. I meant the grave. Tell them I am dead. They cannot follow where I am going. I would not bring ruin on you and your dominions. Oh, Henry! be good to my children, and never attempt to make Eitel your heir. My sin was loving you. Farewell.

"Yours in death, EVA."

Duke Henry had the broken-hearted girl—only twenty-three—buried in the garden of the Staufenburg, returned to Court and insisted on a search of the castle. They did search, of course discovering nothing, and the mystery was still impenetrable.

The Duchess Maria died a few months after her rival, and nothing was ever known of the well-guarded secret, until Henry himself betrayed it in his partiality for his favourite son Eitel Henry—Eva's only son and eldest child. The Duke besought the Pope to recognise him as the heir to the ducal throne, offering a heavy bribe. His Holiness consented, the more readily since the Duke's lawful heir, Henry Julius, had become a Protestant.

But Eitel proved himself, as his mother had said, noble in character as in name. He absolutely refused his consent to this injustice, and lived in retirement on the estate Kirchberg, which the Duke had given him, the name of which Eva's children bore. The Kirchbergs, however, soon became extinct.

The learned Duke Henry Julius, founder of a university, never forgot the refusal of his noble illegitimate brother to deprive him of his birthright, and ever remained his warm friend.

There were two castles in the Harz mountains, both of which bore the name of Staufenburg; that near Zorge, an hour and a half from the beautiful ruins of Convent Walkenried. It is said to have been occupied during the Thirty Years' War. When built or by whom destroyed are matters of conjecture. The Staufenburg of our tale is near Gittelde. Some derive the name from the idol Stuvo, or Stuffo, once set up on the mountain. The mountain was so steep that Staufen, or Stufen—steps—were used in climbing it, hence probably the name.