Legend of Silberhohl.
In the neighbourhood of Leesen lies a spot called Silberhohl. It is almost round, and several feet deeper than the ground around it, and quite overgrown with swamp-moss. People go by with a shudder, for there is something the matter with the place.
Centuries ago a stately castle stood on the spot, in which there was always much drinking, gambling and wild merriment.
The nobles of the castle acted as if they owned the whole world; and everything did belong to them that they could take by force, for they lived by robbing, and were guilty of much violence and cruelty.
One could say with truth, there was not a single good heart in the Burg except the young girl Jutta. Everybody loved her, and often, when the robbers had marched out to plunder, she would visit the poor and the sick, and even the robbed, giving them food and the money she had saved. The suffering and poor called her Saint Jutta.
Once the robbers had committed a monster crime. Covered with the blood of those they had robbed, they returned laden with booty to the castle.
Soon the goblets stood on the oaken tables, and the unholy, lawless revel began.
Suddenly the most terrible thunder rolled, a mighty flash of lightning swept the hall, the earth quaked and opened, the walls trembled, the tower shook and fell with an awful noise that was heard miles away. All sank in the gulf, which closed again, and nothing was left of the castle but a deep round spot where it had stood.
Many came to see the place so marked by a Divine vengeance, and every one said, "Poor Jutta!"
Not long after the destruction of the Burg, a poor woman in a neighbouring village fell ill. She wept sore, for her three little children cried for bread, and she could work no longer.
The mother folded her hands and prayed. Then she said to herself, "Oh! if the dear Jutta were only alive!"
Then the door was opened softly; a light form wrapped in a white veil, with a gleaming diadem in her hair, came forward to the bed.
"Jutta!" cried the poor mother.
The figure waved the hand, glanced kindly at the sleeping children, set down a peculiar shaped basket on a table, drew a cross over the mother, and vanished.
A deep sleep fell on the poor woman, and when she awoke the next morning she found the basket full of gold pieces.
Lautenthal.[[1]]
[[1]] The valley of the lute.
"Harmonieen hör' ich klingen,
Töne süsser Himmelsrüh."
"Harmonies I hear resounding,
Tones of sweet, heavenly music."
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."