Then, Ekkehard's soul also glowed and brightened. His thoughts flew away, over into the Hegau, and he fancied himself once more sitting with Dame Hadwig on the Hohenstoffeln, when they celebrated Cappan's wedding, and saw Audifax and Hadumoth, who appeared to him the very embodiment of earthly happiness, coming home from the Huns. There arose also from the dust and rubbish of the past, what the eloquent Conrad of Alzey, had once told him of Waltari and Hiltgunde. The joyous spirit of poetry entered his mind. He rose and jumped up into the air, in a way, which must have pleased the Santis. In the imagery of poetry, the poor heart could rejoice over that, which life could never give it;--the glory of knighthood, and the felicity of wedded love.

"I will sing the song of Waltari of Aquitania!" cried he to the setting sun, and it was as if he saw his friend Conrad of Alzey, standing between the Sigelsalp and Maarwiese, in robes of light, and nodding a smiling approval to this plan.

So, Ekkehard cheerfully set to work. "What is done here, must either be well done, or not at all, else the mountains will laugh at us," the herdsman had once said, to which remark, he had then nodded a hearty a.s.sent. The goat-boy was sent into the valley to fetch some eggs and honey; so, Ekkehard begged his master to give him a holiday, and entrusted him with a letter to his nephew. He wrote it in a cipher, well known at the monastery, so that no other persons could read it.

The contents of the letter were as follows:

"All hail and blessings to the cloister-pupil Burkhard!"

"Thou, who hast been an eye-witness of thy uncle's sorrow, wilt know how to be silent. Do not try to find out where he is now, but remember that G.o.d is everywhere. Thou hast read in Procopius how Gelimer, the king of the Vandals, when he was a prisoner in the Numidian hills, and when his misery was great, entreated his enemies to give him a harp, so that he might give voice to his grief. Thy mother's brother now begs thee, to give to the bearer of this, one of your small harps, as well as some sheets of parchment, colours and pens, for my heart in its loneliness, also feels inclined to sing a song. Burn this letter. G.o.d's blessing be with thee! Farewell!"

"Thou must be wary and cautious, as if thou wert going to take the young ones out of an eagle's nest," Ekkehard said to the goat-boy. "Ask for the cloister-pupil, who was with Romeias the watchman, when the Huns came. To him thou art to give the letter. n.o.body else need know about it."

The goat-boy, putting his forefinger to his lips, replied with a knowing look: "With us no tales are repeated. The mountain-air teaches one to keep a secret."

Two days afterwards he returned from his expedition, and unpacked the contents of his wicker-basket before Ekkehard's cavern. A small harp, with ten strings, three-cornered so as to imitate a Greek delta; colours and writing material, and a quant.i.ty of clean, soft parchment-leaves with ruled lines, lay all carefully hidden under a ma.s.s of green oak-leaves.

The goat-boy however looked sullen and gloomy.

"Thou hast done thy business well," said Ekkehard.

"Another time, I won't go down there," grumbled the boy, clenching his fist.

"Why not?"

"Because there is no room for such as I. In the hall, I enquired for the pupil, and gave him the letter. After that, I felt rather curious to see what nice young saints those might be, who went to school there, with their monks' habits. So I went to the garden where the young gentlemen were playing with dice, and drinking, as it was a recreation day. I looked on, at their throwing stones at a mark, and playing a game with sticks, and I could not help laughing, because it was all so weak and miserable. And when they asked me, what I was laughing at, I took up a stone, and threw it twenty paces further than the best of them, and cried out: what a set of green-beaks you are! Upon this, they tried to get at me with their sticks; but I seized the one next to me, and sent him flying through the air, so that he dropped into the gra.s.s like a lamed mountain-rook; and then they all cried out that I was a coa.r.s.e mountain-lout, and that their strength lay in science and intellect. Then I wanted to know what intellect was, and they said: drink some wine, and afterwards we will write it on thy back! And the cloister-wine being good, I drank a few jugs full, and they wrote something on my back. I do not remember how it was all done, for the next morning I had a very bad headache, and did not know any more about their intellect, than I had done before."

Throwing back his coa.r.s.e linen shirt, he showed his back to Ekkehard, on which with black cart-grease, in large capital letters the following inscription was written.

"Abbatiscellani, homines pagani, Vani et insani, turgidi villani."

It was a monastic joke. Ekkehard could not restrain a laugh. "Don't mind it," said he, "and remember that it is thy own fault as thou hast sat too long over thy wine."

The goat-boy, however, was not to be appeased so easily.

"My black goats are far dearer to me, than all those younkers together," said he, b.u.t.toning his shirt again. "But if ever I catch such a milksop on the Ebenalp, I will write something on his back with unburnt ashes, that he will not forget as long as he lives; and if he is not satisfied with that, he may fly down the precipice, like an avalanche in spring."

Still grumbling, the boy went away.

Ekkehard then took up the harp, and sitting down at the foot of the crucifix before his cavern, he played a joyous air. It was a long time since he had last touched the chords, and it was an unspeakable delight for him, in that vast solitude, to give vent in low tuneful melodies, to the thoughts and feelings, that were oppressing his heart. And the fair lady _Musica_ was _Poetry's_ powerful ally; and the epic song of Waltari, which at first had approached him only in misty outlines, condensed itself into clearly defined figures; which again grouped themselves into warm, life-glowing pictures. Ekkehard closed his eyes to see them still better, and then he beheld the Huns approaching; a race of nimble, merry hors.e.m.e.n, with less repulsive faces than those against whom he had himself fought but a few months ago; and they carried off the royal offspring from Franconia and Aquitania, as hostages; Waltari and the fair Hiltgunde, the joy of Burgundy. And as he struck the chords with greater force, he also beheld King Attila himself, who was of tolerable mien, and well inclined to gaiety and the joys of the cup. And the royal children grew up at the Hunnic court, and when they were grown up, a feeling of home-sickness came over them, and they remembered how they had been betrothed to each other, from the days of their childhood.

Then, there arose a sounding and tuning of instruments, for the Huns were holding a great banquet; King Attila quaffed the mighty drinking-cup, and the others followed his example until they all slept the heavy sleep of drunkenness. Now he saw how the youthful hero of Aquitania, saddled his warhorse in a moon-lit night, and Hildegunde came and brought the Hunnic treasure. Then he lifted her up into the saddle, and away they rode out of Hunnic thraldom.

In the background, in fainter outlines, there still floated pictures of danger, and flight, and dreadful battles with the grasping King Gunther.

In large bold outlines, the whole story which he intended to glorify in a simple, heroic poem, stood out before his inward eye.

That very same night, Ekkehard remained sitting up with his chip-candle, and began his work; and a sensation of intense pleasure, came over him, when the figures sprang into life, under his hand. It was a great and honest joy; for in the exercise of the poetic art, mortal man elevates himself to the deed of the Creator, who caused a world to spring forth out of nothing. The next day found him eagerly busying himself with the first adventures. He could scarcely account for the laws by which he regulated and interwove the threads of his poem, and in truth it is not always necessary to know the why and the wherefore of everything. "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit," says St.

John.

And if now and then a feeling of doubt and distrust of his own faculties came over him,--for he was timidly organised, and sometimes thought that it was scarcely possible to attain anything without the help of books, and learned models,--then, he would walk up and down the narrow path before his cavern, and riveting his looks on the gigantic walls of his mountains, he derived comfort and serenity from them; and finally said to himself, "In all that I write and conceive, I will merely ask the Santis and the Kamor, whether they are satisfied." And with these thoughts, he was on a good track; for the poetry of him, who receives his inspiration from old mother nature, will be genuine and truthful, although the linen-weavers, stonecutters, or the whole of that most respectable brotherhood of straw-splitters, in the depth below, may ten thousand times declare it to be, a mere fantastical chimera.

Some days were thus spent, in industrious work. In the Latin verse of Virgil, the figures of his legend were clothed, as the paths of the German mother-tongue struck him as being still too rough and uneven, for the fair measured pace of his epic. Thus his solitude became daily more peopled. At first, he thought he would continue his work night and day, without any interruption; but the physical part of our nature will claim its rights. Therefore he said: "He who works, must attune his daily labour to the course of the sun;" and when the shadows of evening fell on the neighbouring heights, he made a pause; seized his harp and with it ascended the Ebenalp. The spot, where the first idea of writing the epic had entered his mind, had become very dear to him.

Benedicta welcomed him joyfully, when he came for the first time with his harp.

"I understand you, mountain-brother," said she. "Because you are not allowed to have a sweetheart, you have taken to a harp to which you tell everything that's going on in your heart. But it shall not be in vain that you have become a musician."

Raising her hand to her mouth, she uttered a clear, melodious whistle, towards the low-thatched cottage on the Klusalp, which soon brought over the herdsman her sweetheart, with his Alpine horn. He was a strong and fine looking lad. In his right ear he wore a heavy silver ring, representing a serpent, suspended from which, on a tiny silver chain, hung the slender milkspoon, the herdsman's badge of honour. His waist was encircled by the broad belt; in front of which some monstrous animal, faintly resembling a cow, was to be seen. With shy curiosity depicted in his healthy face, he stood before Ekkehard; but Benedicta said:

"Please to strike up a dance now; for often enough we have regretted that we could not do it ourselves; but, when he blows his horn he cannot whirl me round at the same time, and when I play on the flute, I cannot spare an arm."

Ekkehard willingly struck up the desired tune, being much pleased at the innocent merriment of these children of the mountains; and so they danced on the soft Alpine gra.s.s, until the moon rose in golden beauty over the Maarwiese. Greeting her with many a shout of delight, they still continued their dance; singing at the same time, alternately some simple little couplets ...

"And the glaciers grew upwards Until nigh to the top, What a pity for the maiden If they'd frozen her up!"

sang Benedicta's lover, gaily whirling her round;

"And the storm blew so fiercely, And it blew night and day, What a pity for the cow-herd If it had blown him away!"

she replied in the same measure.

When at last, tired with dancing, they rested themselves beside the young poet, Benedicta said: "Some day you will also get your reward, you dear, kind music-maker! There is an old legend belonging to these mountains, that once in every hundred years, a wondrous blue flower blooms on the rocky slopes, and to him, who has got the flower, the mountains open, and he can go in and take as much of the treasures of the deep, as his heart desires; and fill his hat to the brim with glittering jewels. If ever I find the flower, I will bring it to you, and you'll become a very, very rich man;" for, added she, clasping the neck of her lover with both arms,--"I should not know what to do with it, as I have found my treasure already."

But Ekkehard replied, "neither should I know what to do with it!"

He was right. He, who has been initiated in art, has found the genuine blue flower. Where others see nothing but a ma.s.s of rocks and stones, the vast realm of the beautiful opens to him; and there he finds treasures which are not eaten up by rust, and he is richer than all the money-changers and dealers, and purse-proud men of the world, although in his pocket, the penny may sometimes hold a sad wedding-feast with the farthing.

"But what then are we to do with the blue flower?" asked Benedicta.

"Give it to the goats or to the big bull-calf," said her lover laughingly. "They also deserve a treat now and then."

And again they whirled each other around in their national dances, until Benedicta's father came up to them. The latter had nailed the bear's skull which had since been bleached by the sun, over the door of his cottage, after the day's labours were done. He had stuck a piece of stalact.i.te between the jaws, so that the goats and cows timidly ran away, scared by the new ornament.

"You make noise and uproar enough to make the Santis tremble and quake," cried the old master of the Alps. "What on earth are you doing up there?" Thus, good-naturedly scolding, he made them go into the cottage.

The Waltari-song meanwhile, proceeded steadily; for when the heart is brimful of ideas and sounds, the hand must hurry, to keep pace with the flight of thought.

One midday, Ekkehard had just begun taking his usual walk on the narrow path before his cavern, when a strange visitor met his view. It was the she-bear, which he had dug out of the snow. Slowly she climbed up the steep ascent, carrying something in her snout. He ran back to his cave to fetch his spear, but the bear did not come as an enemy. Pausing respectfully at the entrance of his domicile, she dropped a fat marmot, which she had caught basking in the sunny gra.s.s, on a projecting stone.

Was it meant as a present to thank him for having saved her life, or was it instigated by other feelings, who knows?--To be sure, Ekkehard had helped to consume the mortal remains of her spouse;--could some of the widow's affection thus be transferred to him?--we know too little about the law of affinities to decide this question.

The bear now sat down timidly before the cavern, stedfastly gazing in.

Then, Ekkehard was touched, and pushed a wooden plate with some honey towards her, though still keeping his spear in his hand. But she only shook her head mournfully. The look out of her small, lidless eyes was melancholy and beseeching. Ekkehard then took down his harp from the wall, and began to play the strain, which Benedicta had asked for. This evidently had a soothing effect on the deserted bear-widow's mind; for raising herself on her hind-legs, she walked up and down, with rhythmical grace; but when Ekkehard played faster and wilder, she bashfully cast down her eyes, as her thirty-years-old bear's conscience did not sanction her dancing. Then, she stretched herself out again before the cavern, as if she wanted to deserve the praise, which the author of the hymn in praise of St. Gallus, bestowed on the bears, when he called them, "animals possessing an admirable degree of modesty."