The Grave under the Lindens near Blankenburg.
"Sie ruhen bei einander kühl,
Waldvöglein sangen droben,
Grün Laub herunter fiel."
Many hundred years ago there lived a rich Earl in the Unterharz, who was once seized with a severe illness; he made a vow that if he should recover, he would consecrate his daughter to a convent life.
He recovered, and the young Countess, in the first bloom of her youth, entered the convent north of and near Blankenburg, where now two large lindens stand close by the bleaching-place.
The maiden obeyed her father's command with a heavy heart, for a young knight contested with heaven his claim on the bride; and however much the novice knelt before the altar in burning tears and hand-wringing, and besought heavenly aid in renouncing all she had hitherto held dear, still her thoughts would wander beyond the dark convent walls and lonely cell to her lover. Nobis pacem only awakened a more bitter pain, and the Ave, the Laudamus, the Gloria, and all the Penitential Psalms only called up his image before her soul.
Lindor was not less unhappy; in vain he sought to approach his Braut, wandered round and round the convent walls, climbed the trees, and watched to catch a glimpse of her, all in vain. The Abbess knew of the love of the young novice, and watched her with Argus eyes, not out of holy zeal, for the convent had long been ill-renowned for the impure life of its inmates, but out of hatred to the maiden whose father she had loved, but with an unrequited affection. She rejoiced in the deep sorrow of the daughter of the now hated Earl, whose pure, pious, unsoiled character enraged her still more, in striking contrast to her own depravity and corruption. One day the sorrowing novice, unhappily, by accident discovered how unworthily the Abbess filled her sacred office, and how great the immorality of the nuns had become, and the Abbess, to render Lina powerless to injure her, resolved to destroy her.
She called together those nuns who were in her full confidence, represented to them how they had to fear betrayal from the novice Lina, and to defend themselves they must destroy her.
This would be most easily accomplished by permitting a meeting with her lover after she had assumed the veil, surprise her, accuse her of breaking her vow, and then wall her up alive.
The reprobates approved of this diabolical plan, and as soon as Lina's novitiate was ended, and she had taken the final vows, they embraced the first opportunity, when Lindor was seen in the convent grounds, by giving Lina permission to walk in the garden.
It was a sultry Saturday evening, the sun had set, and had left, instead of a golden twilight, only a grey, cloudy veil, which, increased by the mountain mists, spread gradually over the entire heavens, proclaiming a coming thunder-storm.
Lina, although she had long languished for fresh air, found no relief. She glanced toward heaven, but both moon and stars were hidden behind the dark clouds; the flowers hung sadly their drooping heads, as if in sympathy with the maiden doomed to a convent life. She sat down much shaken on a seat of turf shaded by two lindens, and the tears streamed from her eyes. Suddenly she felt herself embraced. A cry of delighted surprise escaped her, for it was Lindor, her beloved. All sorrow and pain were forgotten in the bliss of the meeting, and Lindor kissed the tears from her burning cheeks.
A blissful moment the lovers embraced each other; then came a feeling of duty, of assumed vows before the soul of the bride of heaven like a fiend of darkness. She tore herself from his arms.
"Lindor! Lindor!" she moaned, "I am lost to thee; our embrace is sin! O God! God of Love! have mercy on the sinner! Lindor! Lindor! have thou also pity! Leave me."
"Leave thee! Nevermore!" cried passionately the youth; "now thou art mine for ever. Thou shalt flee with me, and no power on earth shall tear thee from me. Thou art mine, mine till death!"
"And my oath," cried Lina—"the oath I have taken?"
Lindor turned pale. "So thou hast already taken the vows, art no longer novice? Art irrevocably chained to the convent?" he cried in horror, for even love started back from the gulf that such an oath had made between them, opposing their union. "Then I am lost, my life-happiness is annihilated!"
"And mine too!" sobbed Lina in his arms.
"Or wilt thou flee with me? We will hide ourselves far from our native land, where no searcher can find us, and undisturbed we will be happy."
But Lina refused, "My oath, my oath, would it leave us peace? Would I not draw down thy soul to perdition? See, my anguish will soon be over, and I will wait for thee above. Give me up for this life, that God may grant us a blessed future, Lindor."
He gazed on the ground and was silent. At last he gave her the hand. "Let it be so," he said, struggling for firmness. "Thou art still mine; if not here, there above."
Meanwhile the storm-clouds had blackened, and a loud clap of thunder rolled over the heads of the parting lovers. Both looked up, but did not see the Abbess, who was watching them for their destruction.
"Now let us part for this life," said Lina, who felt her soul elevated and strengthened.
"Must it be so? Must I lose thee, when I have just found thee?"
As they gave each other a parting embrace, Lina could not tear herself from her lover's arms, and cried, "O Father in heaven! give me strength in this parting hour, and forgive me if my love is sin; but if it is not sin, bless our union."
"Bless our union!" repeated Lindor. At this moment the Abbess with her nuns came forward, when lo, a flash of lightning lit up the darkness; the lovers stood in a sea of dazzling light; it seemed to them they saw heaven open. Arm-in-arm, struck by the stroke, they sank lifeless to the ground. Almost unhurt in appearance, they found them under the lindens, heavenly joy painted on their faces, and there they made their grave.
The terrified Abbess had scarcely sprung back into the convent when a stream of fire, after a terrific thunder-clap, dashed the building to ruins, out of which arose a pillar of dust and flame.
Only a few of the nuns were rescued. The Abbess and her plotting nuns were found awfully disfigured; and now, it is said, the Abbess appears in form of a serpent every seven years near the grave under the lindens.