The Flower of the Lauenburg.
Broken walls of the grey, long-past centuries, on the wooded mountains, a dilapidated tower, moats overgrown with wild thorns, a few dark and gloomy vaults, and half-fallen windows and arches—those are the small remains of the most magnificent of the former castles of the Harz mountains, the ruins of the ancient seat of the Counts-palatine, the Lauenburg.
In former days the spot lay much more desolate than now; the old ways and the delicious wood-paths had not been opened up.
Heaps of rubbish and shapeless ruins lay scattered everywhere; scarcely could the wanderer break his way through the creepers of the common virgin's bower, and the prickles of the buckthorn over the moss-grown walls, to the broken tower.
But the young people of Dorf Steckelnberg, at the foot of the lower adjacent mountain, on which lie the ruins of Schloss Steckelnburg, found their way easier; it was just the wild and savage character of the place that attracted them, and it was very seldom that a troop of merry boys did not choose the lonely ruins as the scene of their games, and even timorous maidens ventured to approach the haunted walls in their search after berries and wild-flowers.
Once, more than a hundred years ago, on St. John's Day, a number of children from Steckelnberg were scattered in the thickets around the ruins gathering flowers and making wreaths and garlands, when suddenly one of the boys uttered a cry of astonishment.
The others ran to him, and lo! there stood on the edge of the tower walls, then rising only the height of a man from the débris, a wonderful flower, the like of which the children had never seen before.
It looked so strange, and still seemed to gaze so mildly and confidentially in the eyes of the children, that they all at once fancied something supernatural in the flower.
They had often heard their parents and grandparents relate how once, in the greyest times, a maiden had been carried off by the Ritter of the Lauenburg, and in the hour of her greatest danger had been rescued from his power by transformation into a flower, which bloomed every year a single day, and the maiden came and wandered a single night through the ruins.
"Might this be the flower?" they asked.
At last one of the boys began climbing up the tower walls to pluck it, when he heard a soft voice murmur so clearly that all heard it, "Do not pluck me."
The boy started back in affright; but, vexed at his fear, feeling sure a flower could not speak, he began again to mount the tower; but the same voice came from the flower, "Do not pluck me," and the children cried, "Give it up and come down!"
This excited him still more, and stretching out his hand to pick the flower, a hideous serpent raised its head hissing from under the leaves, when the boy fell back in deadly terror among thorns and fallen stones; and was carried home with broken limbs.
Again, on a St. John's Day, the children of Steckelnberg played among the ruins of the Lauenburg, when they saw again the wonderful flower, and heard the same soft voice, "Do not pluck me." In affright they fled down the mountain.
But a quiet little girl had remained behind, for it seemed to her the flower did not say, "Do not pluck me," but, "Pluck me." Hence she stood thoughtfully gazing in the flower's clear eye, when again she heard in soft tones, "Pluck me! pluck me!"
The maiden came nearer, the flower's glance grew more loving, but under her leaves she saw the serpent-head, which rose hissing and coiling.
Then she drew back her hand, and dared not touch the flower, and as she fled she heard still the voice, "Only pluck me!"
The next day she went back, determined to obey the voice, and pick the flower, but it and the serpent had vanished.
Years fled. The little girl had grown to womanhood and become the Braut of an honest but poor youth.
Then she recalled the wonder-flower and entreating voice, and thought to herself she had missed her good fortune through her disobedience.
This she related to her lover one day as they wandered through the wood around the ruins.
And he strove to comfort her, and thought they were enough in each other, and would be able to support themselves without aid from the world of enchantment; but in his mind he thought she might have gathered the flower, for tales were still told of great treasures guarded by the maiden of the Lauenburg, and he had himself already seen much of the wonder-world, and the influence of higher powers over human destiny.
Was he not a Sunday child?[[1]]
[[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.