~ i SBsi UML 030446833LIBRARY OF THE PRESENTED BY Mary Helen George-< cs ay Sar) rin ahr emTHE Princess of the Moor { DAS HAIDEPRINZESSCHEN. } BY E. MARLITT CHICAGO: THE HENNEBERRY COMPANY, 554 WABASH AVENUE.brearaggsitnisty sige res : Gineept prime teaersa re Stans eee! ay assTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. I. Tue tiny stream, as It flows through the silent moor, how like is it to a solitary traveler!—Its rippling waves know nothing of the fierce joy with which more stormy waters rush towards a valley, but dance gaily over the smooth stones and pebbles, which offer no resistance, between low banks of never ending alder trees and willows. On either side the boughs have met and intertwined, till even the sky above can scarcely penetrate and discover this little stream, which like a vein courses with exuberant life throughout this despised country. Even so, on a larger scale, has many a false tongue misrepresented in the world at large these extensive plains of Northern Germany. Friends, be persuaded, just for once, to pay a summer visit to the Haide.* It does not indeed rear its tall form towards the sky ; the glowing diadem of the Alps, or a crown of rhododen- drons, you will seek in vain; no crest of stone, as in the Niedergebirges, of broad, sparkling stream circling her bosom like a cold steel chain, will you find there ; but the heather blooms, and with its bell-shaped blossoms of lilac and red, casts a royal mantle of brilliant hues, studded with myriads of golden bees, over the soit undulations of the land. Far in the distance exten -*Moor. 3 ds the sandy plain, from which4. THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. the Haide vegetation draws the scanty nourishment 1 requires ; and the long dark line standing out against the horizon in which the plain suddenly terminates, is a forest, a dense majestic mass of foliage such as you will rarely see equaled. A traveler might pass whole hours wandering amid these stately columns which rear their heads to Heaven ; far above, in the blue ether, larks and thrushes tune their merry lay, while the timid deer gaze shyly from the neighboring thicket; and when the wanderer at last should reach the boundaries of the forest and emerge into the tamer groves of fir, his foot would linger, all reluctant to crush beneath it the wild berries, thickly strewn on every side, and adorning the sloping ground with rich hues of blue, black and scarlet; in the valley opposite, soft green meadows and golden cornfields would meet his view ; he would see the little village nestling in the midst, its old-fashioned dwellings clustered around the tiled church-tower ; and when he listened to the sounds of life and activity, and heard the lowing of the splendid cattle echoing through the air, the recollection of the ‘‘bleak, God forgotten waste of sand (desert)” described by the guide books would doubtless bring a smile to his lips. I do not indeed mean to deny that the little stream, with whose description my story commences, winds its quiet way for many a mile through barren desert soil, running parallel indeed with the forest boundary, but long before it takes a turn in its direction. Throughout its gentle course, however, it washes the soft banks away, and in one spot has succeeded in forming a miniature lake, wherein to rest, and in whose clear waters it is hard to tell where the sky and that which mirrors it begin and end, so transparent are its depths, so white the pebbles, and so motionless lie the foxtails yonder. The little circle has forced asunder the alders, and a birch struggling to the light has made a step forward, and stands like an innocent legendary child from whose locks the summer air keeps incessantly showering down silver coins. It was the latter end of June. In the very center of this basin stood two bare, brown feet, belonging to a maiden who was carefully holding up her black wollen petticoat with two brown hands to matchTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 3 the teet, while she stood bending forward with a look of eager curiosity. Small, a white kerchief covering her shoulders, and a young, sunburnt face—the reflection the water threw up. was minute and insignificant enough. Utterly indifferent, however, was it to the eyes gazing so earnestly downward as to whether the owner’s face belonged to the Grecian or Teutonic type. Here, in the loneliest quarter of the moor, no standard of female beauty existed, and no comparisons were instituted ; but the great charm of the water-mirror lay in the fact that on its pure surface all things, however common, underwent a metamor- phose, a fairy transformation. In the upper world the soft Haide wind was playing merrily amid the girl’s short locks, and blowing them about her neck and forehead ; but here below, in those cool depths, they assumed the aspect of raven’s wings, the little necklace of red beads looking like dark drops ot blood, while the coarse white handkerchief was transformed ‘nto a silken texture, and looked just like a snow-white waterlily floating on the tiny lake. It was all exactly like one of the loveliest of old- fashioned fairy-tales. The deep blue sky formed a canopy over the breach in the copse, giving a cold, steel-like hue to the water below, and a background to the girl’s reflection. Suddenly glowing shadows began to steal over the smooth lake, and extraordinary as it seemed, they certainly came from the hanging locks of the curly head; they chased each other hither and thither, their color ever deepening in intensity, tili it seemed as if the whole world were bathed in purple jight.: The deep shadows nestling amid the brushwood alone seemed to grow black as midnight, and the solitary twigs which projected from them looked like black stalac: tites reflected in a sea cf fire—another turn of the magican’s wand in our fairy tale. But this caused a terrible shock. The girl’s own shadow assumed as she bent forward the aspect of another, which from the depths beneath looked up with two large, awful eyes at her. 7 The brown feet belonged to no heroine, and with one wild scream she sprang UP the bank. What an absurd fright! The evening sky was one sheet of crimson and gold, a bright fleecy cloud floating over the lake was the6 HE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. cause of the ghostly aparition,—and the eyes?—was such 4 coward ever before seen, such a baby to be frightened at one’s own eyes? I was ashamed even of myself, but still more at the presence of my two best friends, who had been silent spectators. My pretty heifer was not much disconcerted, she was the least intelligent of the two—the bonniest black cow that had ever ranged the Haide plains ; there she stood brows- ing beneath the birch trees, and luxuriating in a little patch of juicy grass, whicn the moisture of the river banks had sweetened. She raised her small, pretty head, gazed at me for a moment in mute surprise, and then returned te her occupation with unmistakable relish. Spitz on the contrary, who had settled himself for a doze under the bushes, took the matter seriously. He gavea wild bound into the air, and attacking the unoffending water, barked furiously, as though some frightful enemy were at my heels. It was too ridiculous, and laughing heartily I jumped back into the water, and seconded his efforts by shivering the deceitful mirror to a thousand atoms. There was, however, a third witness to this affair, whom neither Spita nor I had remarked. ‘¢ What is my little Princess doing here?” he enquired in that kind of muffled, indistinct tone of voice indicative of in. separable companionship with a pipe in the speaker’s mouth. ‘Oh, it’s you, Heinz.” I am not ashamed of Am, because he is well known to be afraid of his own shadow, difficult as it is to credit the fact, when looking at his stalwart form. There he stood, Heinz the bee-keeper, shod in such gear that it seemed as if the earth might sink beneath his tread, his tall form towering towards the sky, while its breadth formed a barrier like a granite wall between me and the view across the Haide. Yet, at the first white object that meets him in the dusky twilight, this giant will take to his hells, and his cowardice supplies me with endless amusement. I tell him long stories of horrors till I grow quite frightened myself, and am afraid of every dark corner.THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 2 slam treading downa pair of eyes, Heinz,” I exclaimed, giving another stamp, so that the water splashed all over hic faded old coat. ‘Look, aml not rightr”™ ‘¢Not at all—not in daylight.” ‘‘Nonsense, what difference does it make to the water sprite whether it is day or night, if she is angry?” I watched the half nervous, half incredulous glance he cast. at the water with veritable delight. ‘‘ What, you don’t believe it, Heinz? I only wish she had given you such a look so dreadful.” This fairly conquered him. Taking the pipe from his mouth, and pointing it playfully at me, he said, with a smile of mingled triumph and disgust: ‘Didn't I always tell you so, eh? But I won't do it again, not a bit of me— heaps of the things may lie there, but I won’t touch one of them, not I—” So here I had raised a nice piece of business with my love of jesting. The little stream, the tiny traveler which wandered through the Haide, was richer far than many a proud river which flows past palaces, and ‘mid the busy haunts of men, Pearls lay hidden within its recesses, few indeed in quantity, and not brilliant enough for a King’s diadem, but Shat did | know of all thaty I liked the small, round, shining things which lay so bright and pretty in the palm of my hand. Many a time had I spent whole hours wading through the water seeking for oysters, and then | had always brought them to Heinz, who understood the art of opening them—a secret he would confide to no one else. Now he was going to renounce the service utterly and conclusively, because he was firmly convinced that the water sprite would take the law of us as thieves !— ‘sGet away, Heinz,” I said, in a melancholy tone ; ccit was only a stupid joke ; don’t believe such nonsense ;” and bending over the water, which had nearly settled again, I said, ‘ look here for yourself ; what is looking at ou? Nothing—nothing whatever but my own two dreadful eyes. Why are they so unnaturally large, Heinz? Neither Fraulein Streit’s eyes, nor yet Ilse’s, would have looked hali sa terrible.”THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. **No, Ilse’s eyes wouldn't either,” replied Heinz, ‘but her eyes are sharp, Prinzesschen, very sharp.” On his first joining me he had laid his huge hand upon my shoulder quite good-naturedly (for Heinz could not be angry), but after giving utterance to the above sage remark he ran it through his wisp of hair, which stood up like thin yellow stubble about his temples. It absolutely bristled in the warm evening sunshine. After that he blew forth a cloud of tobacco smoke, which speedily dispersed a swarm of midges playing round, At home Ilse ‘‘of the sharp eyes” always main- tained that tobacco was a disgusting weed. I alone endured it, and should I live to bea hundred, the evil- reputed smell will always send me back in memory to the warm nook in the chimney corner, where, curled up on the wooden bench by Heinz’s side, I enjoyed the delicious sense of his protecting care, while without the snow-storm raged over the plains, and hail came pelting like stones hurled against the window-panes. Just as Mieke came up to pluck the blades of grass which Heinz had trodden under foot, I sprang up the bank. “Fi,” said he laughing, ‘‘how grand she looks!” ‘‘Oh, no laughing at that, if you please,” I replied ina dignified manner. Mieke was indeed splendidly adorned. Between her horns hung a garland of birch leaves and marigolds, which became her as though she had been born with it ; a Chain, made of the thick, hollow stalks of the dandelion, hung round her neck, and to the very end of her tail was attached a bouquet of the Haide flowers, which looked so comical when Mieke lashed it about to brush off the gnats. ‘She has quite a festive air, hasn’t she?” said i but you don’t know the reason. Now, just think a moment, Heinz, and try to guess; Mieke is dressed up, and a cake is baking at the Dierkhof, so now, what is it all about?” But I had just hit on Heinz’s weak point ; guessing was not his forte, and he stood before me as helpless as a child two years old. “Ah, you cunning fellow,”’ I continued laughing, «§ youTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 9 only want to escape congratulating me; but that won't succeed! . . . Dear old Heinz, this is my birthday.” An expression of joy and emotion passed over the broad, kind face at this discovery, and stretching out his disen- gaged hand, in which I laid mine lovingly, he enquired : «¢And how old is my little Princess?” thus avoiding the expected congratulations. I laughed, and said: ‘You don’t know that either, well listen—-what comes after sixteen P”’ «t Sixteen—_what ?—Seventeen, it can’t be true—such a little thing! No, it can’t be true,” he protested, holding up his hands. This incredulity irritated me; but, after all, my old friend was not far astray; he, who had all his life long watched how the pines stretched upwards to Heaven, had seen me for the last three years get no higher than just to where I could hear his strong heart beat ; not one inch had I increased all that time. It was too true, I was, and must remain all my days, a mere child in appearance, and that, according to Heinz’s opinion, would prevent my ever growing older! For all that I gave him a good scolding, but this time he warded it off, in quite a politic manner changing the subject. Instead of giving me any answer, he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, and said : ‘¢ There’s an extra birthday celebration going on up there, Prinzesschen—they are digging up the old King.” At one bound I was on my feet. The crimson glow of the evening sky was so dazzlingly brilliant that I was forced to shade my eyes with my hand. Yonder, behind the line of the forest, the rays were, as it were, playing through thin mists and vapors, while nearer the ancient giants of the past formed a girdle round the wide stretching moor, their tall spear-like summits stand- ing out against the sky. The heath was not yet in blossom, and the ground presented one broad sheet of green-brown vegetation, flat as a table, save where in one peculiar spot it swelled sud- denly into five gigantic mounds—one enormous one and four. smaller. The popular tradition was that these mounds contained the remains of giants, who, in the days of their flesh, had made the earth quake beneath theirro THE PRINCESS OF THE OOR. tread, and played at marbles with huge blocks of sw. Juniper trees grew on the top of the highest hill, and on its side the golden broom blossomed ; whether some human hand had planted the solitary old fir tree, or a bird carried the seed thither, none could tell—at all events, there it stood sideways on the edge of the hill, thinly clad, tossed by the wild wind, and stunted in its growth by the weight of winter snows, yet standing erect, proud and defiant, the one solitary tree in the midst of the vast plain, battling for its existence against every storm that blew. Many atime I had said to Heinz as we sat on the hill together in my childhood: ‘* The old King must be buried here, for there is a tree on this hill, and yellow blossoms, and there are none on the others.” JI was convinced that where the old tree stood, there lay the King’s powerful head, with its golden band round the forehead, and the long, long white beard that fell over the purple mantle covering his limbs. This buried secret was hidden in the deepest solitude, but the birds that came from the adjacent wood to rest amid the brushwood, and flutter through the broom and heather; the blue butterflies and humming bees, these all shared it. Many a time did I lie with my hands under my head, scarcely daring to draw breath, watching the ants as they ran in and out of their holes—they, doubtless, were wiser than we are, and knew all about it ; they had perhaps run over the purple mantle. How I envied them, and longed to discover those hidden marvels. Up to this moment the great mound had been my garden, my wood, my own undisputed property. My home, the Dierkhof, stood quite alone upon the moor; an unfrequented road, which connected it with the outer world, lay through the wood, but far away from the fairy hillocks—never that I could remember had a stranger set foot within their kingdom—and now, all of a sudden, yonder stood a group of unknown people, digging up huge clods of earth from these self-same mounds. I watched the axe as it swung high in the air, and so often as it fel! with unerring aim did it seem to meas though it hewe } the living flesh from some beloved form. Without pausing to reflect I ran across the Herds.THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. t1 with sympathy and burning with curiosity to know what would come to light. Spitz ran nimbly beside me, and when I reached the spot, breathless with my exertions, | found Heinz had overtaken me with a few gigantic strides. Not until then did I begin to feel shy, and to experience that childish terror which the sight of a strange face always brings over me. I drew back and caught hold of _Heinz’s coat, which at least afforded me some sense of security and protection. if. THREE gentlemen were standing on the top of the hil *1a state of breathless expectation, while several work- men were employed digging and shoveling away. At the uproar Spitz made, the strangers turned round and looked at us for a moment; the youngest of the party lifted his stick and shook it at the animal on his attempting to advance nearer. Then coldly surveying Heinz and me for a moment, he turned his back onus. They were digging near the old pine; the broom which grew round it was torn up, and lay scattered here and there, while the gap which they had left exposed to view the great thick roots of my poor fir tree amid a mingled mass of yellow loam and sand; their white flesh was visible; the axe had hewed into them remorselessly. ‘‘They have come upon the stone,’ said one of the gentlemen, as the men’s axes sounded against something sharply ; and when the last shovelful of earth was finally cleared away, an enormous unhewn block of stone was disclosed to view. The gentlemen moved to one side while the workmen prepared to roll away the stone, but Heinz moved eagerly forward, evidently dissatisfied with the manner of carrying on the work. With one foot in advance, he began sway- ing his great hand to and fro, keeping time with the workers, and his pipe, the while, had no holiday of it. Very soon, indeed, | could only distinguish the strangers12 THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. through a blue cloud; if only Hse had been there to witness the effect!—The young gentlemen behind whom Heinz was standing looked around as if he had received a blow. He measured the unfortunate smoker with a long, contemptuous stare, then waved his silk pocket handker- chief with an air of disgust, as if to disperse the noisome vapor. : Heinz silently took the ‘‘ corpus delictz”” out of his mouth, and threw it aside. He was struck dumb, for his pipe had aever before produced suchanimpression. The stranger’s conduct had, however, frightened and intimidated me to the last degree; I was quite ashamed, and had already made one step towards retreating, when the stone all at once gave way and rolled a few steps forward with a rumbling sound. That chained me again to the spot. I was at first unable to see anything, because the gentlemen all pressed round the chasm, but suddenly I ceased to wish to do so, and covered my eyes with my hands, fancying some tremendous discovery was now about to take place. ‘* Potztausend—was that it?” cried Heinz, in a voice of undisguised astonishment. I took one glance, and fora moment the moor with its lights and shadows had disappeared, the shining butter- flies seemed to have folded their wings and sunk to rest, even the tall spears against the far off horizon—whither had they all vanished? The setting sun alone remained - and beneath the hill lay no gray-headed King with flowing beard and gigantic limbs concealed beneath the purple coverlet.... nothing but a deep, dark abyss yawned at my feet. To the strangers this seemed to be the natural result ; one of them, who wore spectacles, and had a large tin box slung across his shoulders, jumped into the hole, followed by the young man; while the third, a tall, thin individual, examined the inner surface of the block ‘of granite just dug up. ‘This stone has been cut,” he remarked, passing his hand lightly over the surface. ‘‘And so have the others,” called out a voice from the chasm ; ‘just look what a magnificent stone-roof we haveTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 33 over us, a really superb block!” Just then the young man reappeared at the opening; he had to stoop so low that his hat fell off. Up to that moment I had seen but few specimens of manhood ; with the exception of Heinz, the old clergyman of the nearest parish (some ten miles distant), and a few steady-going, coarse-looking farmers, — none, save an occasional dirty young broom-maker, had ever crossed my path. But a portrait of Charles the Great hung on the wall at the Dierkhof, and I could not help thinking of it as I looked at the uncovered head as it appeared at the mouth of the great dark cavern; the fore- head shone like a broad, white, spotless shield under the masses of auburn hair, which he threw back with an energetic toss of his head. The young man held a large earthen vessel in his hand ; it was of a grayish, yellowish color. “Take care, Herr Claudius,” said the gentleman in spectacles in a warning voice, himself carrying several strange utensils. ‘‘ These urns are very brittle at first, but quickly harden in the air.” It never reached that safety point, however, for just as it was set on the granite block it broke; a cloud of ashes rose, and human bones, nearly burnt to cinders, were strewn about. The wearer of the spectacles set up a loud lament. He seized one of the fragments, and, pushing up his specta- cles, began examining the lump of clay where it was freshly broken very eagerly. ‘¢ Bah!” exclaimed the young man, ‘the damage is not great, Professor. At least six similar pieces still remain, and they are allas like one another as two peas.”’ «¢ Yes, yes,’’ he replied sharply, ‘‘that sounds very well, . just like an amateur.” The other laughed a fascinating laugh; it had a light and mocking sound, yet did one good to hear—he seemed, however, to repent it, for he suddenly became grave. ‘©T am indeed but an amateur, he apologized, ‘‘if an enthusiastic one, and you must, therefore, substitute mercy for truth, when the novice, forgetting the strong curb of science, takes the bit in his mouth and sets off in a wrong direction ; to me the chief interest lay in discovering{4 THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. the interior structure of these sepulchres and. . . ah, how beautiful,” he exclaimed, suddenly interrupting him- self, and taking up one of the rare specimens which the Professor had ranged in the centre of the stone. The learned man to all appearance never heard the young gentleman’s apology; buried in deep, one might almost say painful thought, he was occupied in the examination of these objects, sometimes holding one up to the light, then again shading it with his hand. ‘‘Hum,” muttered he to himself, ‘¢a kind of silver filigree.” ! «‘Silver in a prehistoric German tomb, Professor?” enguired the young man in a somewhat mocking tone ; ‘look at this exquisite piece in bronze!’ It was a kind of knife or dagger, and he made several passes with it in the air at some imaginary foe, then balanced it playfully on the tips of his fingers. ‘‘Certes, no German hand ever used this elegant article,” he remarked, ‘‘it would have been shattered at the first grasp; and just as little did they ever produce that delicate silver ornament you have in your hand, Professor. In the end it will turn out that Br. von Sassen is right, when he maintains that these so-called Hun graves are the tombs of Phenician pioneers.” Dr. von Sassen! How the name went through me! I even thought the speaker pointed at meas he uttered it, and I expected all eyes would be turned on my poor, frightened, little person directly. How I longed for the earth to open and swallow me up! But ‘it was all nonsense, nobody gave me a thought, and FE began to breathe once more, when, oh misery, I had never once thought of him, of Heinz, and there he stood, the slyboots, looking knowingly at me, and whispering from behind his hand: -:Ah, Prinzesschen, the people are talking abou m ‘Be quiet, Heinz,” I desired, and actually stamped my foot at him for the first time in my life. For a moment he looked petrified, then shyly turned his face the Wher way. Meantime the attention of the others had been attracted, and for the first time they seemed to notice that the object behind them was neitherTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 15 a stick nor a stone, but a timid little maiden. They favored me with a fixed stare of curiosity, and I felt but too anxious to escape from the whole affair, and yet some irresistible attraction held me spellbound to the spot. At the time I fancied this proceeded solely from the desire to hear more of the owner of that name. The fact that Heinz’s remark had failed to reach the strangers’ ears also helped to reassure me. The words ‘‘ Phenician pioneers” had set the Professor’s soul on fire. An acknowledged opponent of this theory, he defended his own point of v/ew ina speech of passionate ardor, to which the young gentleman listened with dutiful attention. The individual in the brown hat seemed, on the other hand, to have little sympathy with the learned disputations; he kept pacing up and down quietly, gazed long and thoughtfully into the open tomb, and ended by climbing the hill to obtain a full view of the vast plain. Meantime the glowing sunset paled, and gradually disappeared in violet tints below the horizon ; nothing save a faint streak of red bordering the long line of clouds remained visible, and it seemed, as it were, to point like an outstretched arm towards the desecrated resting-place. The deceptive glare of the play was over, and once again the sky wore its dark-blue, solemn aspect. Dhe efeseent moon, whose tender light had been eclipsed till now by the universal glow, began to shine, and deepen gradually into gold. The gentleman on the hill drew out his watch: “ht as time to break up!” he called aloud ; ‘‘it will be a full hour before we can reach the carriage.” ‘© Yes, uncle,” replied the young man, ‘unfortunately a very long hour. I wish we had already left this dreary waste behind us,” and he glanced at his elegantly-shod feet. This was addressed to the Professor, who, after an emphatic ‘well, we shall see,” had brought his speech abruptly to a conclusion. ‘‘ Must we really return by the same wretched road?” continued the young man. «« | know of no other,” replied the Philosopher with a shrug. The young gentleman surveyed the landscape gloomily, and repeated with ironical pathos,THE PRINCESS GF THE MOOR. *¢ ‘How tranguil lies the moor Beneath the noonday’s burning rays.’ ‘¢] don’t understand how people can poetize about a moor; it would freeze the poetic thought within my brain, the glowing words upon my tongue. . . . Are you really serious about your predilection for this desert, Professor? If so, I entreat you, show me something besides moor—moor—everlasting moor, that intolerable brown plain. Is there even the note of a bird to be heard? And where has the busy hum of human life, which one expects to hear around, disappeared to—is it buried under- ground? I can’t help it, Professor; your favorite Haide wppears to me like a God-forgotten child, in a dingy, brown garb.” The Professor made no reply, he only led the young man towards the back of the hill, and taking him by the shuulder bid him look southward. There lay the Dierkhof; from every tile of its broad, strong roof grew the wild flowers of the moor, while the house itself stood embosomed in the midst of four splendid oa:s. Great clouds of smoke, reminding one of steaming pots and a cosy hearth, rose and vanished in the light summer breeze, far above the black and white Frau Storchin, who sat with her long legs concealed in the nest, her red bill resting on her breast. It was still light enough to discern the rich pasture of the green fields, and to catch a faint glimpse of the garden,—all looked like a reflection which the roseate glow of evening had left behind ; there was Ilse’s pets, the great orange marigolds, and at that identical moment up came Mieke, sati- ated and weary, seeking home of her own accord. She stood for a moment irresolutely before the open door, which stood invitingly ajar, and the noble animal completed the picture of rural prosperity. ‘‘Does that look as if weak-minded nincompoops dweit there?” asked the Professor smiling. ‘Just come anil visit the moor a month hence, when it is one sheet of bloom, and the purple gleams and glistens! It is just like fairyland ; and, later still, when it presents one mass of burnished gold, the gold of honey, what more can you desire? The ‘God-forgotten child’ then dons the robeTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 17 of a King’s daughter, and many of its little streams, such as you see yonder, contain pearls.” ‘‘Yes, millions of watery pearls flowing towards the ocean,” laughed the young man. The Professor shook his head impatiently, and despite his withered face, his jaw-breaking words and ugly, rattling box, my heart was drawn to him for his defence of my beloved moor; in a few concise words he had summed up the blessings and beauties which it breathed. I determined, however, to take down this young gentle- man’s insolence, whose scorn and ridicule made my blood boil. Tothis day I know not whence! summoned courage, but suddenly I found myself at his side, presenting my hand, in which lay five pearls. I felt as if I were standing on hot, burning coals, my lips were trembling with nervousness and shame, and my eyes were fixed on the ground. All around me grew dark, everyone crowded about me—the gentleman, who had meantime left the hill, the workmen, Heinz, with his gigantic boots, all were there. ‘‘Ha, ha, Mr. Claudius, see there, the child wants to give you a lesson!... Bravo, little maiden, bravo!” cried the Professor, at once surprised and delighted. The young man never uttered a syllable. erhaps he was struck dumb by the audacity of a Haide child daring to approach him in a coarse linen jacket and woolen petticoat. Slowly, and as it seemed to me reluctantly, he stretched out his hand to take them—and then, indeed, shame and fright thoroughly overcame me. My own sunburnt hands, beside those milk-white fingers and polished nails, looked as brown as coffee; I shrank back involuntarily, and would have flung away the pearls fora song. ‘J declare, they have wo/ been bored yet!” he exclaimed, rolling two of the tiny beads about in the palm of his hand. «Qh, I admit there is much to desire in the way of form and color,” said the Professor apologetically. ‘ They are grayish and irregular, and of but little real value, still it is interesting to meet with them.” , ‘¢T should like to keep them,” said the young man ina tone that sounded like a polite request.18 THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. ‘¢Take them then,” I replied curtly, without looking up. I fancied every word I uttered betrayed my beating heart. He took the remaining pearls carefully from my hand, and I then observed the gentleman in the brown hat take some glittering thing out of his pocket ; it made a chinking sound. ‘‘Here, my child,” said he, laying five large, round, shining pieces in my hand. I looked up at him and saw a broad-brimmed hat, which nearly hid his face, and in addition a pair of blue spectacles, which threw a ghastly light on the cheek. ‘‘What is that?” I enquired, fascinated in spite of myself by the size and glitter of the strange things. «‘ What is that!” repeated the gentleman in amazement. ‘¢Don’t you know what money is, little one? Have you never had any thalers before?” ‘©No, sir,” replied Heinz, stepping forward and answer- ing for me in a tone of fatherly authority. ‘‘The old lady never allows money in the house, and if she finds any, throws it at once into the river.” «What! ... And who is this extraordinary old womanP” enquired the three gentlemen in a breath. ‘‘ The Prinzesschen’s grandmother.” At this the young gentleman burst out laughing. <‘‘Zzhis Prinzesschen?” he enquired, pointing at me. I dropped the silver coins upon the ground and fled. . . wicked, wicked Heinz! . . . Why had lever told him that story about the lovely Princess at the Erbsen-Prufstein, and why had I allowed him ever since to call me ‘his little Princess,’’ because he fancied that earth contained nothing tinier or tenderer than the small, light-footed morsel of humanity which tripped over the wild moor by his side? I ran home as if pursued. The young man’s derisive laugh seemed to follow me, and I had some dim notion that once under the Dierkhof roof it would cease to torment me. Ilse was standing at the door, evidently on the lookout for me, for Mieke had returned alone. Even in the distance my gaze was riveted on that form which stoodTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 19 out in hard, sharp outline in the evening twilight against the long, dark passage behind her. . . . How dear that fair head yonder was to me! It was just as yellow as Heinz’s thin stubble, and strove along the parting to stand upright like a brush. Ilse had the same pointed nose as her brother, and the same fresh, pure blood, which gave her cheeks such a ruddy glow; but the eyes—those eyes which brather Heinz had such respect for—were altogether different, and as I drew near I did not like them. ‘Have you lost your senses, Lenore?” she began in her usual abrupt manner. She was angry, as angry as her ordinarily calm and equable temperament admitted of, for she called me by my name, and that never occurred except when her temper was ruffled. She then silently pointed at the spot I was standing on, and I then first perceived (what really was dreadful) that my feet were bare. «« Ah, Ilse,” I replied quite subdued, ‘‘my shoes and stockings are by the river’s brim.” «¢ Silly—fetch them immediately.” She turned away and moved towards the hearth, which, though arranged in the more economical style of modern days, still retained the old-fashioned position habitual in thoroughly North Saxon houses, viz., at the farthest end of the barn, or sometimes even the cattle-stalls. Ilse had bacon on the fire, which was crackling and smelled so good, and from the steaming pot of potatoes great bubbles were rising. Supper was evidently just ready, and if I wished to be in good time I must make haste, yet for the whole world I could not venture again outside that door ; if, however, I stole out by one of the back doors the Dierkhof itself would conceal me, and I could reach the river unseen by the people on the hill.THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR, iT. I toeK a few steps towards a side door, which, situated between the barn and the dwelling-rooms, led into the open air, inte the so-called orchard. But Ilse barred my way, and held up a warning finger at me. ‘¢VYou cannot go out there,” said she in a low voice; ‘your grandmother is there.”’ The door stood open, and I could see her working away at the pump-handle furiously—a not uncommon sight, for she did the same every day. My grandmother was tall and powerfully made. Her face, from the roots of her ha.r down to her neck, was one mass of bright red. This coloring, combined with her strongly marked features, her bu’y form, long strides and sudden, energetic ges:ures, gave her a wild and ferocious aspect. Even now, when I recall the moments in which I have come upon her unawares, the trembling and cracking of the boards under her feet, and the sudden rush of wind her passing made—despite her black eyes and thoroughly Oriental cast of features—I am reminded of those Amazonian Cimbrian women, who, with a skin bound rouad them, battle-ax in hand, cast themselves into the midst of men in battle. My grandmother was holding her head under the heavy stream of water; it was flowing over her face and het coarse gray hair, which was hanging down in the well. Such was her habitual custom even in the severest winter : this refreshment seemed as indispensable to her existence as the very air she breathed. Still, her face struck me to-day as being redder than ever; even under the stream of icy water it shone with a deep red hue, and as she raised herself up, and threw back her head with a long sigh of satisfaction, I noticed that her lips were quite blue. I looked at Ilse. She was standing gazing before her, apparently lost in thought, her cold blue eyes were softened by an expression of melancholy.THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR, «¢What ails grandmother?” I enquired anxiously. ‘‘ Nothing,” she replied curtly. ‘It is sultry to-day.” Evidently she was annoyed at her sadder mood being noticed. ‘‘Ts there no remedy, Ilse, against this fearful rush of blood to the head?” ‘‘She won’t take anything; you -know that. . Yesterday evening she threw out the foot-bath at my very feet. . . . Now go,-child, and fetch your things.” Thereupon she returned to the hearth, and I obediently left the house by another door. I sprang towards the river, which was about thirty paces from the Dierkhoi, and tried to make my way through the brushwood growing on its banks. This, however, was not so easy, for it had been allowed to grow at will, undisturbed by the hand oi man. Notwithstanding I persevered, for though the tough willows impeded my progress and hurt my bare feet, yet they acted as a complete protection from the strangers’ eyes, and by the time I had made some way, I had ample reason to bless the shelter they afforded me. Right across the moor what did I behold but the three gentlemen making for the river, with Heinz in advance. I still hoped to reach the little nook where I had left my shoes and stockings bef re they came up to it, but all my efforts were in vain, so I -rouched resignedly in the copse, tolerably near the desired goal. I could easily guess what had led them thither, for Heinz was pointing out the the smooth, grassy path which led through the copse by the river’s brim. Walking was indeed somewhat different there from on the rough wild heather. The path was smooth and soft as velvet, and seemed formed for dainty feet. The gentlemen passed quite close to me; I could hear the sound of their foot- steps, and feel the stirring of the branches which softly played against my arm. At the birch tree they made 2 pause. ‘Aha, the Haideprinzesschen has been making her toilette here,” exclaimed the young gentlemen. My heart was ™ my mouth; | bent eagerly forward and saw him pick up ene of the shoes. Instinct at that moment seemed to tell me how a lady’s delicate slipper ought to look. I had22 THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. read in fairy tales of little red shoes, of slippers embroid- ered in silver, etc., and the paper on which this enchanted lore was inscribed seemed far too coarse to serve even for the soles of these ethereal works of art in silk and velvet. The ill-shaped specimen which the stranger now held up to view with a laugh, wa made of the strongest calf-skin ; in Ilse’s eyes wood itself was not sufficiently stout or durable for my fidgety feet. This very morning the shoes had been left beside my bed, bran new, accompanied by a pair of strong stockings, which Ilse had spun and knitted herself out of the wool of the Haide sheep. It was her birthday gift to me, of which she was genuinely proud. I had been d lighted with them, and Ilse had given a nod of satisfaction at the extra row of shining nails the shoemaker had ornamented the soles with; now these same rows were shining out inimically at me. ‘¢ My—what a child! She has actually left her shoes behind her,” said Heinz shaking his head. ‘* Qute new shoes, too; I wonder what Ilse would say to that?” he added anxiously. ‘‘ Whose is the child we saw on the hill?” enquired the old gentleman with the brown hat and the soft voice. «¢ She lives at the Dierkhof, sir.” “Yes, . . . but what is her name?” Heinz cocked his hat on one side, and scratched his ear. I saw his answer would be cunning,—that he was thinking of the dreadful moment whenI had stamped at him—and oh, he knew how to get out of the difficulty. ‘‘ Well, sir, Ilse calle her ‘child,’ and I call her ‘« Prinzesschen,” suggested the young gentleman in the same tone of gravity as my sly friend. Just as he had thrown away the discoveries from the grave above, so in like manner did he fling that little horror of a shoe away now, only on this occasion he pretended that it cost him quite an effort. ‘* Ah, the ladies in the Haide like to leave an impression behind them,” he remarked to the gentleman in the brown hat. ‘Charlotte ought really to see this beautiful piece of fairy lightness, uncle. . I have a great mind to bring it with me.”THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 23 ‘ No nonsense, Dagobert,” interrupted the other sternly. But Heinz only said— ‘‘Oh, not at all, sir! ... But what would Ilse say? . . » Quite new shoes, too!” ‘¢ Brr—this Ilse seems to be the dragon that guards this barefooted princess!—voz/a/’’ and he flung the shoes away again with a laugh, rubbing his hands together to brush off the dust. They then saluted Heinz and proceeded on their way, leaving my old friend in the act of packing my unfortunate shoes into his capacious pocket, whither the stockings followed on his discovering them waving on a bush close by. This ended, he set off for the Dierkhof at a rapid pace. I stayed a little longer in my hiding-place, listening to the strangers’ footsteps as they gradually died away on the soft sod. I was greatly excited ; but in those days I could not analyze the feelings which seemed literally choking me; tears hitherto suppressed came to my relief, and I indulged in a passionate flood of them. Pique, a vindic- tive pique, was my ailment. ‘How silly,” I muttered between my teeth, thinking of Heinz’s diplomatic answer, — he could easily have said that Dr. von Sassen is my father; but no, he must needs answer like a Solomon; and I felt angry, oh, dow angry with him. I left the thicket. Clouds of smoke were no longer ascending from the Dierkhof. Ilse no doubt had dished the potatoes long ago, and laid aside a few of the finest on a plate, with a bowl of rich milk, for she spoiled even when she pretended to be angry with me. No doubt she was watching for me at the present moment, but home I could not go without first Isoking how the strangers had left my poor mangled hill. It looked better than I expected ; the block was replaced in its former position, the earth thrown up on it again, and the fragments of ¢e vessels were no longer visible. Nothing was out of ésder save the bushes which had been torn up; they lay strewn around, and ox the small patch of sand at the foot ef the hill lay a heap of human ashes, while half concealed Beneath a plant of broom lay a small, half-burnt bone, ferever separated now from the other24 THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. members, which had, no doubt, been replaced in the tomb. 3 I lifted it up carefully ; the young gentleman had been right—the mound had contained no giants. The fragile structure which I held in my hand was probably once a finger-bone, clothed in soft flesh, delicately formed, and boasting perhaps as smooth and white a skin as that which Uhad this day seen and admired. Perhaps it had been ioved, and decked with costly jewels; or, mayhap, on its slightest movement hung the weal or woe of many a human soul, I climbed up the hill, and buried it at the foot of the old pine. Thegoodold tree spread its branches protectingly over it, but who could say if it had not itself that day received its death blow? Embracing its trunk with my arm, I gazed where the little river yonder wound its way towards the wood. How rare was it to see mankind there!. . . Men’s footsteps on that still, solemn, monotonous waste, where the only sound ever heard was the cry of some bird of prey, wheel- ing his giddy flight so high amid the heavens that his shrill note was lost in space!—Now it seemed to me as if the echo of those retreating footsteps could never again die away. They were hastening back into the world ~ the mod! - ... 1, too, had been there already. To me indeed it had consisted only of a dark back room and a damp little gira n, surrounded on all sides by enormously high houses; ard out of that busy multitude, a/so called ‘«the world,” but a few individual faces had come within my immediate observation. In that self same back room, the three first years of my life had been spent. Around the one face most firmly fixed in my memory hung a Cloud of thin gray curls, and I could still have painted the glitter of the pale green eyes, the thick cocked nose, and gray, lifeless complexion. Such was Fraulein Streit, the lady from whom I received my first lessons. One other face floated now and then across the dim background of these, my earliest remembrances; I had seen it but too rarely, but in later days, when I heard the rustling of silk, a shadow with imperfect outlines seemed to pass before me, and a voice to Say in tones of annoy:THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 25 ance: ‘Child, you make me nervous.” Angry and nervous thereby became synonymous terms to me. This form in rustling silk, which never did more than pass through the back room, and once perhaps at most, laid a warm, soft hand upon my head, this lady was called by Fraulein Streit ‘‘gnadige Frau,” and by me ‘‘ Mamma.” There came a day, however, when I awoke no longer in the dismal back chamber, but in the arms of a great, tall man, with stiff yellow hair, who was carrying me. He looked at me kindly, and said: ‘‘ Ha, ha, have you slept +t out2” Beside him walked Fraulein Streit, dressed in black; heavy tears were coursing down her cheeks, and I noticed that she wrung her hands in silence. Right before us stood the house with the stork’s nest and four oaks, and just as I looked into the man’s heated face, and pre- pared myself to give a fine, loud scream of terror, he called out ‘‘come, Putchen,” and a whole flock of different colored fowl ran out of the house-door to meet him. Yonder also stood the lady with the red face; she offered Fraulein Streit her hand and kissed me, weeping, which greatly terrified me. This, however, was soon forgotten. A calf was playing about in the farm-yard, and it suddenly stood up on its hind legs before the man, and remained in that ridiculous position; the stork was clappering on the roof, and Ilse—lIlse of the black eyes— held a little animal before me, whose soft, velvet fur | patted fearlessly—it was a little, mewing kitten. The bright, golden sunshine played over the whole scene; the leaves on the trees were rustling in the Haide breeze. I screamed and cried with joy, while poor Fraulein Streit was sobbing her heart out on the threshold. It was thusI made my entry at the Dierkhof in Heinz’s arms, and from that moment //e began for me. (The previous night, while every one was weeping over me, I had suddeniy become a happy child). Huzzah! Every day I trotted after Heinz over the broad moor merrily. On the loneliest spot of it stood a mud cabin, with a low, thatched roof; great, tall Heinz had to double himself in two to enter; but within it was comfortable. Table and chairs were white as snow, and behind the doors of the two cupboards, which were formed out of recesses in the26 THE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. wall, lay huge feather beds, in clean covers of variegated hue. Heinz and Ilse had been broom-makers as children, and their old father had built this cabin with his own hands; the two children had been born in it, and Heinz had resolved that nowhere else would he die. In July he took charge of the bee-hives belonging to the farms around the moor, and was otherwise occupied several days in the week working at the Dierkhof. I was soon just as much at home in the mud cabin as in my grandmother’s house. I helped Heinz to eat his buck- wheat cake, and was always present when he cut and brought home hay for the Dierkhof. He used to lift me up to where the old worn-out beehives were hung in the lofts, where the poultry made their nests, and, amid shouts of joyous laughter, I handed Ilse, who stood near, the beau- ful white eggs. During all this time Fraulein Streit sat in the large sitting-room, working and crying the live-long day. The dear old room must have looked funny enough in those days, with nothing but the bare whitewashed walls, the antiquated brown wooden bench behind the stove, and the tables standing hither and thither in the most uncivilized manner ; my grandmother had indeed, in honor of Fraulein Streit, sent to the town for a finely upholstered sofa, and Ilse had hung up striped blueand whitecurtains. Fraulein Streit generally kept these curtains drawn, complaining that the boundless stretch of moor with its deadly still- ness frightened her ; and when the sun was bright or the moon shone it was allthe same, it still frightened her. In my fifth year she began to teach me; then Ilse used to bring in her work and listen; at fifteen she had entered my grandmother’s service, then in town. She had had her taught to read and write a little, but notwithstanding the dear old thing began again with me. Many a time, when worn out and weary with racing and running, I have laid my head of an evening on Ilse’s breast; then Heinz has joined us (of course with his co/d pipe), and Fraulein Streit used actually to become animated; her wan cheeks would flush, and the gray curls flutter around her face. Then she would relate whole histories of life as it was carried on in my parental home, and it seemed to growTHE PRINCESS OF THE MOOR. 2% quite clear tome. I learned that my father was a man of celebrity, my late mother a scholar and poetess. Many renown and distinguished people frequented our house, and when Fraulein Streit came to the description of her own white dress, and the rose-colored ribbons she wore in her hair, because it was the ‘‘gnadige Frau’s” reading evening, all kinds of dreary recollections seemed to float through my childish brain. Once again | heard the bustle passing to and fro by my door, my evening milk was brought me icy cold, and when I awoke from my first sleep, I was all alone in the ghostly room. Once again | seemed to realize that terror and scream aloud, and Miss Streit came gliding in like a ghost, scolded me, stopped my mouth with a bonbon, covered me up to my nose, ana glided out again. With these exceptions the ‘‘ heavenly remembrances”’ of my teacher affected me but little, and I generally slept through them till mercilessly aroused by the dragging at my hair. My long black locks were always forced to undergo the same process every. night as the thin gray ones; every night I was compelled to pray for that father whose face no effort on my part enabled me to recall. So passed year after year, Fraulein Streit growing more and more dissatisfied with each, and weeping more abundantly. Oftentimes she used to stand in the orchard and sing, in a faint, pathetic voice, ‘««Ejlende Wolken! Segler der Lufte! Wer mit euch wanderte, mit euch schiffte.”’ But one day something fell from her mouth and clattered on her plate at dinner; to my amazement it turned out to be a false tooth; but after that she made up her mind to leave at once, and so, wringing her hands, she packed up. ‘«