The Raven of Clausthal.
A gentleman in Clausthal had a raven and a maid-servant.
The raven carried off all the silver spoons, and suspicion fell on the poor girl. She was tried, and under torture confessed she had stolen them.
She was executed, but before her death declared her innocence.
Soon after new eave-troughs were put on the gentleman's house, and the spoons were all found where the raven had hidden them.
The Bergmönch[[1]] and Wilder Mann.[[2]]
[[1]] Bergmönch—mountain monk.
[[2]] Wilder Mann—wild man.
There are numerous traditions of the Bergmönch in the mining districts.
He is always seen in the dress of a master-miner, with a silver mine-lamp in his hand.
It is said he was a master-miner, and begged to be permitted to inspect the mines until the Judgment Day. The Monk's valley—Mönchsthal—near Clausthal, was his favourite retreat.
In St. Andreasberg the tradition is, he was a monk who sought to open the mines there, but failed.
According to this tradition, he completed nearly the entire canal at the base of the Rehberg,[[3]] called the Rehberger Graben, which conveys all the water to St. Andreasberg for the working of the Samson mine, but became bankrupt through the undertaking.
[[3]] Rehberg—stag mountain.
Many wild tales are told of his bringing aid to the miners, and to the poor and distressed, and of his severity toward the wrong-doer.
In the mining town Wildemann there is a tradition of a wild man who gave the place its name.
Once a robber from the Thuringian Forest lived here in a cave with a wild woman; they were clothed with moss and the branches of fir-trees.
The knight Claus, founder of Clausthal, once saw this wild man on the Wildmann's Cliffs, with a fir-tree, torn up by the roots, in his hand, and a bear on his. back.
The Nimrod of the Rehbergerklippe.[[1]]
[[1]] Rehbergerklippe—cliff of the stag mountain.
A legend of this gloomy wild mountain, at the base of which one drives from Clausthal to St. Andreasburg, lingers still with a poetic charm on and around its rocky walls, and is in harmony with its decorations.
In the grey primeval days dwelt in this savage wilderness a mighty hunter, hard and rough as the rocks on which his house stood.
Hunting was his pleasure and passion, and daily he ranged, with his men, the wood, which resounded with the barking of dogs and the notes of the horn, which filled the clefts and caves of the rocks and mountains with a thousand-voiced echo.
Not even the peace of the Sabbath could check the delight of the huntsman in the chase, or restrain him from his continued persecution of the animals of the woods.
A pious hermit admonished him frequently, and entreated him not to disturb God's peace of the holy day with his tumult and noise; but the sportsman closed his ears to the warnings of the old man, and the hermit returned to his hermitage accompanied by the scornful derision of the ungodly hunter.
The evening of an October Sunday fell softly over the mountains; the tops of the fir-trees, rocks, and mountains were bathed in the golden splendour of sunset; on the whole scene lay deep silence, only the waves of the Oder murmured in the distance their eternal song; only the timid game left its secure hiding-place, stole cautiously with light, slow steps out of the thickets, and sought the spicy plants or the cooling spring.
Then resounded suddenly the noise of the hunt in the distance; the game so peacefully refreshing itself fled in terror, and the tumult increased every instant.
A snow-white stag flew with the rapidity of the wind over the mountains, pursued by the hunters on foot and on horseback, and surrounded by the barking pack of hounds.
The ground thundered beneath the horse-hoofs, and the mountains rang with the wild "hallohs!" of the riders, the cracking of whips, and the clashing of weapons.
The hunted stag groaned, and escaped his pursuers with his last strength.
The noble animal stood breathless on the brink of the abyss which is called after him the Stag Cliff, and started back in fear and trembling from the black gulf.
And louder and nearer thundered the wild call of the hunters, the hunting horns came fearfully near, and as the hounds would seize their prey, the stag, in deathly terror, made the leap into the frightful deeps.
And there arose a singular light, a dazzling splendour shone around the hunted animal, and unseen hands bore it softly below into the secure valley.
But the hunters, with horse and hound, were driven by magical power to follow the stag.
From the rocky cliff the whole company leaped into the depths, and huge blocks of granite and high pines sank after them and buried their mangled bodies in eternal night.
From that time it has been a haunted spot, full of untold horrors, and the wanderer hastens by in fear when darkness is closing in on the mountains.
And at midnight, when the death-owl hoots and soars over the vale on heavy wing, and the fantastic moonlight transforms the dry trunks of the trees into grey spirits of the night, the giant forms of hunters brush past, and the firs whisper, then roar, and a smothered crash rushes on like the swelling waves of the sea.
The Tanzteich[[1]] bei Zorge.
[[1]] Tanzteich—dance pond.
On the spot now covered by the Tanzteich once stood a stately Schloss with lofty walls and battlements.
A rich knight, whose name has been drowned in the stream of time, dwelt in it in luxury and splendour.
Every dawn brought a new festival, and even night was turned into day; but neither discipline nor virtue ruled in the brilliant assemblages of his numerous guests.
Once the lord of the castle gave a brilliant entertainment. The merriment of the guests rang out into the night; in the wildest dance mingled men and women, youths and maidens, and loud music smothered the rolling thunder which could be heard in the distance.
And the night grew darker, and the waves of the Zorge murmured with a hollow moan, and the flowers grew wet with dew.
The heavens gathered blackness, the water of the river seemed to sing a death-song, and the flowers on its banks to weep.
Then the lightnings covered the mountains with flames, making the darkness still more terrible.
An old man stole softly and slowly up to the castle. His garments betrayed the greatest poverty, but his countenance was noble, and his thin locks were dripping with the rain.
He entered, but the servants paid no attention to him, but sat drinking.
He mounted the stone stairway, and reached the ball-room, where knights and ladies whirled in the dance regardless of the storm.
He did not venture to enter, but stood timidly near the door, hoping that some one might take pity on his condition. He did not stand long unobserved.
The master himself perceived him, but his heart was not touched with pity.
With a countenance red with anger, he pounced upon the trembling man, thrust him out of his humble posture, and cried in a voice of thunder, "Insolent beggar! how couldst thou dare to enter my castle? Thou shalt pay dearly for thy impudence, and go down more quickly than thou camest up!"
And he seized him, dragged him to a window, and threw him, amid the laughter of the guests, into the depths below the castle.
But the beggar stood suddenly in the midst of a wonderful light, and cried in an awful voice, before which all merriment died, and the hot blood turned to ice: "Cursed are ye who despise the poor, and give him over to death; cursed be this spot with all your pleasure and luxury; ye shall sink this very hour in night and darkness!"
And lo! scarcely were the words uttered, when a hissing flash of lightning, like a fiery serpent, pierced the castle, a fearful clap of thunder followed, the earth opened, the castle sank in the hidden deeps, and was seen no more.
Only the lonely wanderer hears in the stillness of the night a gloomy noise like distant merriment and shouting, mingled with smothered groans and a horrible dirge.