🧚 A Historical Tale., part 1

On one of the border mountains, on the western slopes of the Harz, in gloomy desolation, rise the grey ruins of the old Schloss Staufenburg, which still remind us of a most romantic though sad history.1

Home-like, and at the same time sublime, silent, and solitary, must have been this now destroyed seat of kaisers and princes in the mysterious Middle Ages.2 Its position is fascinating, surrounded on three sides by high wooded mountains, with a wide view open to the south, which was then probably partially shut out by the primeval dense forests, now, however, extending over the little mining town of Gittelde and the picturesque mountain landscape to Osterode and the high-seated Schloss Herzberg.3

The magic of this picture is greatly enhanced by the soft lights of sunset, and the dim, semi-transparent mists, which like a floating veil half hide its beauties, and fill the excited fancy with a mysterious presage of that poetic something we call the Past.4

The mountain--on which are decaying bits of walls, where, until a few years ago, a strong square tower, eighty feet in height, with openings here and there, looked solemnly down on the vale--is cut off sharp on the east, west, and south sides from its wooded brethren that rise high above it, only on the north side sloping gradually to its base; and it is on this side one climbs to the spot where Kaiser Henry the Vogler, or Fowler, had a decoy for birds.5

The halls trodden by royalty, the boudoirs where Beauty ruled eight hundred years ago, are fallen into green ruin; the death-owl hoots, and bats and lizards house among their overgrown stones.6

Many of these ruins on the borders of the Harz mountains remind us of Henry the Fowler, who built them to defend the plains and homes of this part of Germany from the wild and lawless Huns.7 As Duke of Saxony he is said to have lived here with his Duchess, in this hunting-seat, when he was chosen Kaiser of the holy Roman Empire in 920; several other places, however, claim the honour.8

Later the Staufenburg came to the Earls of Katlenburg, who had their seat near; and after the extinction of this house it fell into the hands of the mighty Duke Henry the Lion, of Saxony and Brunswick, before whose sword even the powerful Barbarossa trembled, and remained in the possession of his descendants, several of whom wore the imperial crown.9

The Harz forests with their rich stores of game attracted not seldom the hunt-loving princes of Brunswick to their deep shades, and horn and hound and the wild ho ho! hio hi! of the hunter were heard over mountain and vale.10

Then came a calmer period for the old Staufenburg, as the retired seat of princely widows, and here lived, in the fourteenth century, the Duchess Elizabeth, widow of William the Younger.11

Oblivion at last sits green a couple of centuries in this solitude, till it is chosen as the hiding-place of a sinful love, and wild tales came to be told among the simple mountaineers of a White Lady who haunted the castle.12

On the grey stone balcony stood, one summer day in 1537, two persons in close conversation.13

The lady, arrayed in white, was of remarkable and striking beauty.14 A tall form of the most perfect symmetry, brilliant white complexion, cheeks of a delicate rose, very large clear blue eyes, dark brown hair falling in luxuriant natural curls, and a dainty hand and foot, made her the delight of every eye that looked upon her.15

The grace of all her movements seemed akin to poetry and music, and the expression of her radiant countenance betokened a noble and amiable mind.16

Her companion, Duke Henry the Younger, of Brunswick-Lüneburg-Wolfenbüttel, clasped one of her tiny hands, glittering with diamonds, in his own, stroked her magnificent hair, and gazed into her face with silent rapture.17

It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, and the coffee table, according to German custom at this hour, stood in the garden below draped in white, a silver coffee service glittered on the table, fragrant mountain strawberries lent a rich bit of colouring, and by one cup lay a spray of white roses.18

The broken fountain suggested a feeling of loneliness, and the high old grey stone walls enclosing the castle shut it out--or in--from the world beyond, and all the events now transpiring behind them were a profound secret.19 The white-robed figure was literally dead and buried to the world, which had "assisted" at her funeral.20

"Oh, Henry!" exclaimed Eva von Trotta, for the youthful form belongs to no other than this Fair Rosamond of Germany, "you strive to comfort me, but in vain.21 All your words of kindness and passionate love, cannot crush the worm that is gnawing at the thread of my life--cannot silence the voice of conscience.22 I must open my heart to you to-day, for every visit you make me here I tremble to think may be the last.23 And yet it is all wrong--all wrong, Henry; every visit, every gift from your dear hand is a sin against the good and noble-minded Duchess, once my motherly friend, a sin against your lawful children."24

"Dear Eva," said Henry, interrupting her, "our children are lawful.25 I gave you my left hand at the altar, the wedding-ring and its diamond keeper glitter on this little hand I hold in mine.26 The Church has consecrated our union."27

"That is only a hollow pretension.28 I see it all now.29 Look at this beautiful Prayer Book in gold and precious stones, and the Bible[1] with my name in gold on its cover," she continued, pointing to a small table where they lay.30

[1] Luther's Bible appeared two years before this scene.31 Eva was Protestant.32

"They were among your gifts on our--our--our marriage day.33 I come and sit here when alone, where I can look out on the mountains, and read them and seek consolation, but find none.34 They are a silent reproach to me.35 You had no right to give them, nor I to take them.36 And in my Bible I opened yesterday to St. Paul's words: '_the husband of one wife_.'37 They pierced like daggers to my heart.38 Henry, Henry, I ought to flee this spot, and never see you more; and yet I cannot.39 I should die if I did not see your dear face sometimes, and hear your voice."40

"My darling Eva, put away these harrowing thoughts; they are shortening your precious life."41

"Oh! why did we meet? or meeting, why was it not earlier, when our love had been no sin?42 When I recall the affection and confidence of the Duchess, and reflect on my base, false friendship, my face burns with pain and shame.43 The world would curse me; she would too, if she knew.44 The watch I wear, that you gave me that last morning in the antechamber, when I was on duty as lady in waiting, reminds me of the flight of time, and the unceasing approach of a coming judgment.45 I never look upon it without a throb of bitter anguish. '46 Nothing that loveth or maketh a lie' shall enter heaven--_and my life is a lie_.47 Oh, Henry!48 I shall perish eternally, and my noble boy will grow up to curse my memory;" and leaning her head on Henry's breast, she wept bitterly.49

Probably Henry's own reflections were not of the most agreeable and consoling character, as he was thus compelled to recall his injustice and sin in his neglect of the Duchess.50 He gave, however, no expression to his misgivings, but only said, pointing to the coffee-table: "Let us think of this no more; dry up these childish tears, and let us go down--come, dear."51