Legends and tales of the Harz Mountains

by Toofie Lauder

The White Stag.

Long centuries ago a peculiar appearance attracted the attention of the inhabitants of Dorf Treseburg.

Every morning stood, high on the summit of the Hagedornberg, which rises perpendicular to the banks of the Bode, a White Stag, and gazed fixedly below into the valley.

He stood hours at a time, and had done so over a hundred years, without any variation or the faintest sign of age. Wonderful as this was, it was still more remarkable that no one had ever been able to come near him, although various sportsmen had attempted it, not even when they waited in the early morning on the spot where he was wont to appear.

They waited in vain, and yet at the same time the villagers below had seen him as usual.

So it had come that for a whole generation no one had sought to come near the White Stag. Hence every one shook the head doubtfully when one day an herb-gatherer of the village, named Weidemann, declared that he had not only been near the Stag, but that the animal had come close to him, leaned against him, eaten of the plants he carried, and finally had followed him part way down the declivity of the mountain.

The herb-gatherer, however, was known to be a man of veracity, and they soon became convinced of the truth of his statement; for no sooner had he climbed the Hagedorn than the White Stag ran to him, and walked trustfully by his side, ate from his hand, and followed his steps.

This excited all the more surprise inasmuch as the stag avoided everybody else. Weidemann was surprised himself at this confidence, which grew every day; and it seemed to him, when the stag gazed at him with its clear eyes so winningly, as if it would speak, and only language failed.

At last, he said one day to his wife, "There is something the matter with the White Stag, and he longs to tell. If I only could know what it is!"

"That is not so difficult," replied his wife. "Just ask old Fischersche, who will be able to tell thee."

Fischersche was, according to some, a wise, good old woman, according to others a witch, who lived in a hut a little out of the village, never leaving it, alone and without friends, avoiding men and shunned by them in return—but only till they got into some trouble; when illness or some accident had befallen them, then they sought out old Fischersche, related their trouble, and found ever help and counsel, or herbs and healing draughts, before which every sickness fled.

To her the herb-gatherer applied, told her what had happened, and begged for an explanation of the matter.

Fischersche bent her ice-grey head and remained a while sunk in thought. At length she said: "It is a wonderful history of the White Stag; my aged grandmother told it me over a hundred years ago, but I cannot now remember it perfectly! I only know that it is an enchanted young noble, the son of an Earl, but how it all hangs together has escaped me. But we will soon learn. I will ask my ravens."

So saying, she opened the windows of the hut, one towards the north, the other to the south, and murmured a few unintelligible words, and uttered one piercing whistle.

Soon the beating of heavy wings was heard, and a hoarse croaking, and a pair of huge primeval ravens flew down, and sat, one on the north, one on the south window, and cried:

"Kra! Kra! Kra—h!
Wir sind da!"

And Fishersche addressed them in a loud voice: "Ye good ravens, ye are as old as the Harz and the primeval forests, and ye know all things; hence ye shall tell me the history of the White Stag."

Then one raven flapped his wings, nodded with his head, opened his bill and cried:

"Kra! kra! kra—h!
Ich weiss wie es geschah!"

"The son of an Earl had fallen in love with the daughter of the Ritter who dwelt ages ago in Schloss Treseburg, and came every day and stood on the summit of the Hagedorn, and gazed across to the Treseburg, to see if he could catch a glimpse of the maiden, or a greeting from her.

"It happened once that he met there a noble white stag, and being a passionate lover of the chase, he threw his spear, killing the animal on the spot.

"Just as he was about to detach the splendid antlers, to hang up in his castle—for a pair of antlers was his coat of arms—the Waldfrau, the powerful queen of the forest and all game, suddenly broke forth from the underbrush with indignation and wrath, for the dead stag had been her favourite, and cursed the youth in words of fury:

"'Thou bloodthirsty man, thou shalt henceforth no more hunt, but be hunted; thou shalt be thyself a stag in the place of the one thou hast killed, and shalt wander in these preserves centuries long.'

"And at these words the Earl's son was transformed into that of the stag, and that is the White Stag of the Hagedorn."

The raven nodded three times with his head in confirmation of his tale, and remained silent.

And Fischersche asked further: "'Say on, raven, who knowest all things, if and how the enchantment may be broken."

Immediately the other raven rose, flapped his wings and cried:

"Kra! Kra! Kra—h!
Ja! Ja! Ja!"

"It was a deed of blood! Blood can break the enchantment. If a hunter who has never shed blood gives him blood that belongs neither to man nor beast, and he both drinks and eats it at the same time, the enchantment of the White Stag is broken."

Fischersche would inquire further, but the ravens both remained silent, shook their heads, spread rustling their wings, and flew forth, one up the other down the roaring Bode, to their Hort[[1]] in the steep rocks of the Bodethal, which still bear the name of the Rabenstein.[[2]]

[[1]] Safe retreat in the rocks; usually applied to the eagle.

[[2]] Ravens' cliffs.

When the ravens had disappeared, Fischersche sank in deep thought, and seemed to forget the presence of Weidemann.

"That is a dark saying," she at length said, breaking the silence, and muttered thoughtfully to herself. "Just wait, just wait, I begin to see through the thing. How was it, then? Who can break the enchantment?"

"A hunter who has never shed blood," replied Weidemann.

"And where may we find such an one?"

"Probably nowhere."

Fischersche looked at him oddly, while a smile flitted over her wrinkled face.

"Tell me, then, hast thou ever shed blood?"

The man started at the question.

"God forbid!" cried he hastily. "How canst thou imagine anything so dreadful of me?"

"Well, well, I did not mean it so badly. I know now where I am, and listen well. Thou thyself canst break the enchantment. Thou art called Weidemann,[[3]] because thy ancestor was ranger to the knights of the Treseburg; and dost thou not say thou hast never shed blood? So a Weidemann is found, and it is clear why the White Stag has approached thee: he sees in thee his deliverer."

[[3]] Weidemann, or Waldemann, signifies sportsman—hunter—ranger.

The good Weidemann was speechless with astonishment, but doubted not the truth of Fischersche's words.

"But the blood," he said meditatively—"the blood that I must give him both to eat and drink; the blood that shall neither be of man nor beast—whence shall it come?"

"That is thy affair," said Fischersche, dryly. "That belongs to thy department; for if the blood must not belong to the animal, perhaps it might be found in the vegetable kingdom. Reflect upon it thyself."

And Weidemann leaned his head on his hand in deep thought.

Suddenly his face grew bright, he sprang up and almost fell on the neck of old Fischersche.

"I have it! I have it!" he exclaimed joyfully. "That is the Hypericon, or St. John's Wort. It drops blood on St. John's Eve and St. John's Day, and to-morrow will be St. John's Day, and the flower grows abundantly by my garden fence."

Accordingly the next morning he cut a bunch of the St. John's Wort, in which at this time all wonder-power lies, and carried it to the White Stag on the Hagedorn. The stag sprang impetuously forward to meet him, and hardly had he eaten the plants, when the stag took the form of a stately youth, in knightly gold-embroidered doublet, streaming plume in his barret, and baldrick worked in gold and antlers. With beaming countenance and sparkling eyes he embraced the astonished Weidemann, and cried: "Have thanks, thou honest man; thou hast released me, and shalt not go unrewarded. My father, when I return home, will bestow a rich reward on the deliverer of his son. But tell me. I see there only ruins, where once a strong castle raised its towers. Who has destroyed it, and where is the radiant daughter of the Treseburg?"

"Ah, Herr!" replied the herb-gatherer sadly, "so long as I can remember, and my parents and grandparents, no castle has stood there, and neither knight nor maiden has dwelt in its broken walls. Dost thou, then, not know that long centuries have passed since thy enchantment began?"

"Centuries?" cried the young noble in horror.

"Yes, centuries!" exclaimed a scorn-laughing voice, and the Waldfrau stood before them; "that is thy punishment for thy criminal deed. Now go and seek thy lordly family and thy beloved; thou wilt find them mouldering in the vault of the dead.

"Thou mayest find rest, now thy enchantment is broken. But thy punishment is not yet at an end. Every seven years, on this day, thou shalt take the form of my slain White Stag for a single day, and appear on this spot."

With these words the Waldfrau vanished.

The youth shuddered, and said, deeply sighing: "Is it so? Is my age so far in the past? Then truly I have nothing more to find in life. Neither can I find treasures at home to reward thee, honest man. Thou must be contented with my baldrick, all that I can give thee, with God's blessing."

And giving him the baldrick, he walked away and was seen no more.

And sometimes still, on St. John's Day, the White Stag is seen on the Hagedorn, gazing with fixed eyes into the peaceful vale.