Reinhilde of the Königsburg.
The Königsburg stood on the right bank of the Bode, on a mountain not far from Bodfeld. Originally it belonged to the Saxon Kaisers. The Sausenburg was on the left bank of the Bode, about an hour's walk from Elbingerode. Of the latter nothing is now left save the hewings in the stone masses which formed its foundations. From the battlements of its tower the hunting castles Bodfeld and Königsburg could be seen.
In this romantic neighbourhood, in the thick fir forest, stand the crumbling tower and scraps of broken walls of the Königsburg, overshadowed by the green veil of the wood, moss, ivy, and wild-flowers, and the mystic fascination of a time more than a thousand years ago.
Desolate stand the ruins of the once imperial hunting seat, the moat so thickly overgrown with the buck-thorn that no human foot would willingly attempt to tread it.
A light sighing stirs in the foliage like a ghostly breath from the primeval days.
Dost thou remember the time when we listened to the rustling and moaning of the fir-trees, like echoes of the voices of olden times? In our dreams we saw the ancient Königsburg in splendour, heard the forest ring with the noise of the hunt, saw the troop of huntsmen ride back to the castle, among them many a knight, earl, and prince, and foremost rode the Kaiser with his blushing daughter Reinhilde.
How radiant was the royal maiden, her green veil floating on the breeze, her clear eyes gazing fearlessly around her, her sweet face smiling like a bright morning in spring.
The Kaiser bends to her and whispers in her ear.
Why do her blushing cheeks turn pale? What has caused the smile to vanish so suddenly from her face, and the tears to rush to her eyes?
She turns in fear and looks upon her following train. Why does a noble knightly countenance there also turn pale?
The Kaiser glances in surprise at his shrinking daughter.
"Dear little Reinhilde, have I grieved thee? Hast thou understood me? Two princes beg the honour of thy hand."
Reinhilde raises her eyes with firmness to his and replies: "Dear father, forgive, but I do not seek for crowns. Thou thyself hast not hidden from me how heavy is the crown. Thou hast often told me that only love makes happy; and I have found a love deep and pure, and could shout for joy; a heart, a knightly heart is mine. Oh! do not tear this true and noble heart from mine."
The Kaiser frowns and the anger-vein swells on his brow as he replies: "Dost thou dare to speak thus to me, thou shameless girl? Who is the low knave, the insolent coxcomb, who has dared to raise his eyes to the Kaiser's daughter? My rage shall crush him; ruin on his head who has robbed me of the joy of my old age—the heart of my daughter."
All stand aghast at the Kaiser's wrath, all save one noble knight, who steps fearlessly forth from the circle, with head proudly raised, a youth of manly beauty, the blond locks falling on his shoulders, the blue eyes blazing in just indignation, approaches the Kaiser, and cries, "Herr Kaiser, it was not a 'knave.' At the breach on the bloody field thou hast said, 'Brave Werner, thou art my bravest hero!' And thou hast chosen me as companion for thy kingly son. Oft hast thou said to me, 'For Werner's faithfulness where shall I find a worthy reward?' Herr Kaiser, now thou hast the reward; take back the word of scorn; listen to the voice of love; make two hearts happy."
Gently Reinhilde clasps the father's hands; but the anger-vein swells higher on the imperial brow.
"Throw the traitor in the deepest dungeon in chains!" he cries; "and thou, whom I disown as daughter, get out of my sight; let me never see thee again!"
The Kaiser sets spurs to his steed and rides to the Schloss, the attendants bring the unhappy knight to the dungeon, Reinhilde faints and sinks from her steed in the grass, and soon no sound is heard save the sighing in the firs.
With heavy head resting on his arm, the Kaiser sits alone in the great hall of the Königsburg.
Suddenly he starts wildly to his feet; was that a moan that fell upon his ear? No, 'tis only the rattle of the hoarse weathercock. Hark! surely that is a cry of anguish. He listens in agony.
"No, no," the watcher cries from the tower. He hears the moaning of the tempest, and rain and hailstones beat against the windows.
In heartrending tones the Kaiser cries, "Reinhilde! It was too hard and cruel; a loving word had been better."
Quickly he calls his old servant. "Alter,[[1]] bring me my little daughter."
[[1]] Old man.
The servant trembles in terror, and tears burst forth.
"What ails thee, Alter?" cries the Kaiser.
"Herr Kaiser, thou knowest thy little daughter is not here! Thou hast disowned her."
The Kaiser stares at him in horror, "Reinhilde not here? Since when?"
"Herr Kaiser, since yesterday. She has not returned to the Schloss; her steed came back without its rider. We sent out messengers, but none have found her."
The Kaiser turns pale.
"And thou hast not told me till now! Reinhilde, Reinhilde not here? Merciful God! Reinhilde, my child! Lost in the forest in storm and tempest! Up; ring the alarm! To horse! to horse! Let loose the hounds in the forest; let the horns resound that my child may know the father calls. Bring me my steed, I will myself ride forth into the storm."
And a thousand torches light up the forest, and the echo of a thousand voices rings far and wide. And the Kaiser's voice combats with the storm as he cries, "Reinhilde! Reinhilde! my little daughter!"
At length despair seizes the father's heart, he throws himself to the earth in wild agony, beats his brow and tears his hair, while a troop of attendants stand weeping around him.
With a sudden light in his face, he springs to his feet and exclaims, "Back to the Schloss! There is one who will find Reinhilde, but that one pines in the dungeon. He has loved her like me. I know his love is true; the God of love will be with him; he will find my little daughter." And the Kaiser commands, "Let Werner be set free! And when he finds Reinhilde, she herself shall be his reward; let her be his wife, and he my son!"
In the dark mountain cave, on the hard, cold ground, kneels the silver-haired hermit Volkmar, and without before the entrance, by the image of the Virgin, Reinhilde, pale and trembling, is kneeling, in prayer. She vows to become the bride of heaven if the Kaiser does not relent.
The good old man, when she came yesterday telling him all her sorrow, received her lovingly, and gave her a secure refuge in his peaceful retreat. "Stay here, my daughter," he said; "hope and trust in God."
Hark! The horns are heard, and Volkmar rises hastily from his knees and cries, "Quick, in the cave, Reinhilde, that no one see thee; the way leads close by the Virgin's shrine."
The searchers come, and cry, "God greet thee Volkmar! Hast thou not seen the Kaiser's daughter?"
And Volkmar replies, "I have only seen a bride of heaven, who is resting in the cave."
They ride on, and Volkmar asks the trembling Reinhilde, "Hast thou heard? They are seeking thee."
"My father has disowned me. I stand alone. Only in the Kloster can I find a home."
And now a single man approaches, stops by the entrance, throws himself on his knees before the shrine of the Virgin, and as Reinhilde hears the voice she trembles and turns pale, for the Kaiser it is who prays.
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.