CHAPTER VIII.

"Tell me, thou pretty birdie,Tell me, from whence thou comest,And whence the balmy fragranceWhich from thy snowy pinionsDrips down upon the meadow;Who art thou? and what wilt thou?"

Ekkehard started up with surprise from the codex, in which he was reading, and threw an almost frightened look on the young girl. If his eye had been more accustomed to see natural grace and beauty, it would probably have rested somewhat longer on the Greek maid. The dove had hopped upon her hand, and she lifted it up with a bended arm. Anacreon's old countryman, who out of a block of Parian marble, created the Venus of Knidos, would have fixed the picture in his memory, if he had witnessed it.

"What are you singing," asked Ekkehard, "it sounds like a foreign language."

"Why should it not be foreign?"

"Greek?"--

"And why should I not sing Greek," pertly rejoined Praxedis.

"By the lyre of Homer," exclaimed Ekkehard, full of surprise, "where in the name of wonder did you learn that; the highest aim of our scholars?"

"At home," quietly replied Praxedis.

Ekkehard cast another look, full of shy respect and admiration at her. While reading Aristotle and Plato he had hardly remembered, that any living persons still spoke the Greek tongue. The idea now dawned upon him, that something was here embodied before him, that in spite of all his spiritual and wordly wisdom, was beyond his reach and understanding.

"I thought I had come as a teacher to the Hohentwiel," said he almost humbly, "and I find my master here. Would you not now and then deign to bestow a grain of your mother-tongue on me?"

"On condition that you will not drive away the doves," replied Praxedis. "You can easily have a grating put up before the niche, so that they do not fly about your head."

"For the sake of pure Greek"--Ekkehard was beginning to say, when the door opened, and the sharp voice of Dame Hadwig was heard.

"What are you talking here about doves and pure Greek? Does it take so much time to look at four walls?--Well, Master Ekkehard, does the den suit your taste?"

He bowed in the affirmative.

"Then it shall be cleaned and put in order," continued Dame Hadwig. "Be quick, Praxedis, and see about it,--and to begin with, let us drive away these doves!"

Ekkehard ventured to put in a word on their behalf.

"Indeed!" said the Duchess, "you desire to be alone, and yet wish to keep doves! Shall we perhaps hang a lute on the wall, and strew rose-leaves into your wine? Well, they shall not be driven out; but they shall appear roasted on our supper-table, this evening."

Praxedis appeared, as if she heard nothing of all this.

"And what was that about the pure Greek?" enquired the Duchess. And Ekkehard simply told her the favour, he had asked of Praxedis. Upon this, the frown returned to Dame Hadwig's forehead. "If you are so very anxious to learn," said she, "you can ask me; for I also speak that language." Ekkehard made no objection, for in her speech there was a certain sharpness, which cut off all replies. The Duchess was strict and punctual in everything. A day or two, after Ekkehard's arrival, she worked out a plan, for learning the Latin language, and so it was settled that they should devote one hour each day to the grammar, and another to the reading of Virgil. This latter was looked forward to with great pleasure by Ekkehard. He intended to apply the whole of his faculties to the new study and to summon up all his erudition and knowledge, in order to make the task easy to the Duchess.

"It is certainly no useless work which the old poets have left behind," he said. "How difficult it would be to learn a language, if it were bequeathed to us, merely through a dictionary, like corn in a sack, which we should first have to grind into flour, and then to make into bread. Now the poet puts everything in its right place, and the whole is clothed in harmonious forms; so that what otherwise would prove a hard and tough matter for our teeth, we can now drink in like honey-dew."

To mitigate the bitterness of the grammar, Ekkehard could find no means. Every day he wrote a task for the Duchess on parchment, and she proved a very eager and industrious pupil; for each morning when the sun rose over the Bodensee, and cast its early rays on the Hohentwiel, she stood already at her window, learning her task; silently or loud as might be. Once her montonous reciting ofamo,amas,amat,amamusetc. reached even Ekkehard's ear in his chamber.

Poor Praxedis was heavily afflicted, as the Duchess to heighten her own zeal, ordered her to learn always the same task with her, which she considered a great nuisance. Dame Hadwig, only a beginner herself, delighted in correcting her handmaiden, and was never so pleased, as when Praxedis took a substantive for an adjective, or conjugated an irregular verb as a regular one.

In the evening the Duchess came over to Ekkehard's room, where everything had to be ready for the reading of Virgil. Praxedis accompanied her, and as no dictionary was found amongst the books which Master Vincentius had left behind, Praxedis who was well-versed in the art of writing, was ordered to begin to make one, as Dame Hadwig did not know so much of that. "What would be the use of priests and monks," said she, "if everybody knew the art belonging to their profession? Let the blacksmiths wield the hammer, the soldiers the sword, and the scriveners the pen, and everyone stick to his own business." She had however well practised writing her name, in capital letters, artistically entwined; so that she could affix it, to all documents to which she put her seal, as sovereign of the land.

Praxedis cut up a big roll of parchment, into small leaves; drawing two lines on each, to make three divisions. After each lesson she wrote down the Latin words they had learned in one, the German in the next, and the Greek equivalent in the third column. This last was done by the Duchess's desire, in order to prove to Ekkehard, that they had acquired some knowledge, already before he came. Thus the lessons had fairly begun.

The door of Ekkehard's room, leading into the passage, was left wide open by Praxedis. He rose and was about to shut it, when the Duchess prevented him, by saying: "Do you not yet know the world?"

Ekkehard could not understand the meaning of this. He now began to read and translate the first book of Virgil's great epic poem. Æneas the Trojan rose before their eyes; how he had wandered about for seven years on the Tyrian sea, and what unspeakable pains it had cost him to become the founder of the Roman people. Then came the recital of Juno's anger, when she went to entreat Aeolus to do her bidding; promising the fairest of her nymphs to the God of the winds, if he would destroy the Trojan ships.--Thunder-storms, tempests, and dire ship-wrecks;--the turbulent waves scattering weapons and armour, beams and rafters, of what had once been the stately fleet of the Trojans. And the roar of the excited waves, reach the ears of Neptune himself, who rising from his watery depths, beholds the dire confusion. The winds of Aeolus are ignominiously sent home; the rebellious waves settle down; and the remaining ships, anchor on the Lybian shores ...

So far Ekkehard had read and translated. His voice was full and sonorous, and vibrating with emotion; for he perfectly understood what he had read. It was getting late; the lamp was flickering in its socket, and Dame Hadwig rose from her seat to go.

"How does my gracious mistress like the tale of the heathen poet?" asked Ekkehard.

"I will tell you to-morrow," was the reply.

To be sure, she might have said it there and then; for the impression of what she had heard, was already fixed in her mind; but she refrained from doing so, not liking to hurt his feelings.

"May you have pleasant dreams," she called out as he was departing.

Ekkehard went up to Vincentius's room in the tower, which had been restored to perfect order; all traces of the doves having been removed. He wanted to pray and meditate, as he was wont to do in the monastery, but his head began to burn and before his soul stood the lofty figure of the Duchess; and when he looked straight at her, then Praxedis's black eyes, also peeped at him from over her mistress's shoulders.--What was to become of all this?--He went to the window where the fresh autumn air cooled his forehead, and looked out at the dark vast sky, stretching out over the silent earth. The stars twinkled brightly, some nearer, some farther off, more or less brilliant. He had never before enjoyed such an extensive view of the starry firmament; for on the top of the mountains, the appearance and size of things change much. For a long time he stood thus, until he began to shiver; and he felt as if the stars were attracting him upwards, and that he must rise towards them as on wings ... He closed the window, crossed himself, and went to seek his resting place.

On the next day, Dame Hadwig came with Praxedis to take her grammar lesson. She had learnt many words and declensions, and knew her task well; but she was absent withal.

"Did you dream anything?" she asked her teacher when the lesson was over.

"No."

"Nor yesterday?"

"Neither."

"Tis a pity, for it is said, that, what we dream the first night in a new domicile comes true. Now confess, are you not a very awkward young man?" she continued after a short pause.

"I?" asked Ekkehard greatly surprised.

"As you hold constant intercourse with the poets, why did you not invent some graceful dream, and tell it me? Poetry and dreams,--'tis all the same, and it would have given me pleasure."

"If such is your command," said Ekkehard, "I will do so the next time you ask me; even if I have dreamt nothing."

Such conversations were entirely new and mystical for Ekkehard. "You still owe me your opinion of Virgil," said he.

"Well," returned Dame Hadwig, "if I had been a queen in Roman lands, I do not know whether I should not have burnt the poem, and imposed eternal silence on the man ..."

Ekkehard stared at her, full of amazement.

"I am perfectly serious about it," continued she, "and do you wish to know why?--because he reviles the Gods of his country. I paid great attention, when you recited the speeches of Juno yesterday. That she, the wife of the chief of all the Gods, feels a rankling in her mind, because a Trojan shepherd boy, does not declare her to be the most beautiful,--and being powerless to call up a tempest at her will, to destroy a few miserable ships, must first bribe Aeolus by the offer of a nymph! And then Neptune, who calls himself the king of the seas, and allows strange winds to cause a tempest in his realms; and only notices this transgression, when it is well nigh over!--What is the upshot of all that?--I can tell you, that in a country whose Gods are thus abased and defamed, I should not like to wield the sceptre!"

Ekkehard could not very readily find an answer. All the manuscripts of the ancients, were for him stable and immovable as the mountains; and he was content to read and admire, what lay before him and now such doubts!

"Pardon me, gracious lady," he said, "we have not read very far as yet, and it is to be hoped, that the human beings of the Æneid will find greater favour in your eyes. Please to remember, that at the time when the Emperor Augustus, had his subjects counted, the light of the world began to dawn at Bethlehem. The legend says, that a ray of that light had also fallen on Virgil, which explains why the old Gods could not appear so great in his eyes."

Dame Hadwig had spoken according to her first impression, but she did not intend to argue with her teacher.

"Praxedis," said she in a jesting tone, "what may thy opinion be?"

"My powers of thought are not so great," said the Greek maid. "Everything appeared to me to be so very natural; and that made me like it. And what has pleased me most, was that Mistress Juno gave Aeolus to one of her nymphs for a husband; for though he was somewhat elderly, he was after all, king of the winds, and she must certainly have been well provided for."

"Certainly,"--said Dame Hadwig, making a sign to her to be silent. "'Tis well that we have learnt in what way waiting-women can appreciate Virgil."

Ekkehard was only provoked into 'greater zeal, by the Duchess's contradiction. With enthusiasm he read, on the following evening, how the pious Æneas goes out to seek the Lybian land; and how he meets his mother Venus, dressed in the habit and armour of a Spartan maid; the light bow hanging over her shoulder, and her fair heaving bosom, scarcely hidden by the looped-up garment; and how she directs her son's steps, towards the Lybian princess. Further he read, how Æneas recognized his Divine mother but too late,--calling after her in vain; but how she wrapped him up in a mist, so that he could reach the new town unseen, where the Tyrian queen is building a splendid temple in honour of Juno. There he stands transfixed with admiration, gazing at the representation of the battles before Troy; painted by the hand of the artist; and his soul is refreshed by the recollections of past battles.

And now Dido, the mistress of the land, herself approaches, urging on the workmen, and performing her sovereign's duties.

"And at the gate of the temple, in Juno's honour erected, There on her throne sat the queen, surrounded by arms-bearing warriors, Dealing out justice to all, and dividing the labours amongst them, With an impartial hand, allotting his share to each one ..."

"Read that over again," said the Duchess. Ekkehard complied with her wish.

"Is it written thus in the book?" asked she. "I should not have objected if you had put in these lines yourself; for I almost fancied I heard a description of my own government. Yes, with the human beings of your poet, I am well satisfied."

"It was no doubt easier to describe them, than the Gods," said Ekkehard. "There are so many men in this world ..."

She made him a sign to continue. So he read on, how the companions of Æneas came, to implore her protection, and how they sung their leader's praise; who, hidden by a cloud, stood close by. And Dido opens her town to the helpless ones; and the wish arises in her, that Æneas their king, might also be thrown by the raging waves on her shores; so that the hero feels a great longing to break through the cloud that is veiling him.

But when Ekkehard began with:

"Scarce had she uttered this wish, when the veiling cloud, floated backwards ..."

a heavy tread was heard, and the next moment, in came Master Spazzo the chamberlain; wanting to have a look at the Duchess, taking her lesson. Most likely he had been sitting with the wine-jug before him, for his eyes were staring vacantly, and the salutation-speech died on his lips. It was not his fault though; for quite early in the morning, he had felt his nose burn and itch dreadfully, and that is an unmistakeable sign, of a tipsy evening to come.

"Stop there," cried the Duchess, "and you Ekkehard continue!"

He read on with his clear expressive voice.

"Showing Æneas himself, in all the bloom of his beauty, High and lofty withal; godlike, for the heavenly mother, Having with soft flowing locks, and glorious features endowed him, Breathing, into his eyes, sereneness and radiance for ever. Like, as the ivory may, by dexterous hands be embellished, Or as the Parian stone, encircled by red, golden fillets. Then he, addressing the queen, to the wonder of all the surrounders, Suddenly turnéd, and said: Behold then, him you were seeking, Me, the Trojan Æneas, escaped from the Lybian breakers."

Master Spazzo stood there, in utter confusion; whilst an arch smile played around the lips of Praxedis.

"When you honour us next with your presence," called out the Duchess, "please to choose a more suitable moment for your entrance; so that we are not tempted to imagine you to be, 'Æneas the Trojan escaped from the Lybian breakers!'"

Master Spazzo quickly withdrew, muttering: "Æneas the Trojan? has another Rhinelandish adventurer forged some mythical pedigree for himself? Troy?!--and clouds floating backwards?... Wait Æneas the Trojan; when we two meet, we shall break a lance together! Death and damnation!"

In those times, there also lived on the Hohentwiel a boy, whose name was Audifax. He was the child of a bondsman, and had lost both his parents early in life. He had grown up like a wild mountain-ash, and the people did not care much about him. He belonged to the castle, as the house-leek did that grew on the roof; or the ivy which had fastened its tendrils to the walls. As he grew older he was entrusted with the care of the goats; and this office he fulfilled faithfully enough; driving them out and home again, every day. He was a shy and silent boy, with a pale face, and short-cut fair hair, for only the free-born were allowed to wear long waving locks.

In the spring, when trees and bushes put forth their new shoots, Audifax loved to sit in the open air; making himself pipes out of the young wood, and blowing thereon. It was a doleful, melancholy music, and Dame Hadwig had once stood on her balcony, listening to it for hours. Probably the plaintive notes of the pipe had suited her fancy that day; for when Audifax came home with his goats on the evening, she told him to ask a favour for himself; and he begged for a little bell for one of his favourite goats, called blackfoot. Blackfoot got the little bell, and from that time nothing particular had broken the monotonous routine of Audifax's life. But with increasing years he became shyer, and since the last spring he had even given up blowing on his pipe. It was now late in the autumn, but the sun was shining brightly still, and he was driving his goats as usual down the rocky mountain slope; and sitting on a rock, looked out into the distance. Through the dark fir-trees he could see the glittering surface of the Bodensee. All around, the trees were already wearing their autumnal colours, and the winds were playing merrily with the rustling red and yellow leaves on the ground. Heaving a deep sigh, Audifax after a while began to cry bitterly.

At that time, a little girl, whose name was Hadumoth, was minding the geese and ducks belonging to the castle poultry-yard. She was the daughter of an old maid-servant, and had never seen her father. This Hadumoth was a very good little girl, with bright red cheeks and blue eyes; and she wore her hair in two tresses falling down on her shoulders. The geese were kept in excellent order and training, and though they would stick out their long necks sometimes, and cackle like foolish women,--not one of them dared to disobey its mistress; and when she waved her hazel-wand, they all went quietly and decently along; refraining from useless noise. Often they picked their herbs in company with the goats of Audifax; for Hadumoth rather liked the short-haired goat-herd, and often sat beside him; and the two looked up together at the blue sky; and the animals soon found out the friendly feelings between their guardians, and consequently were friendly also.

At that moment Hadumoth was likewise coming down the hill with her geese, and on hearing the tinkling of the goat-bells, she looked about for the driver. Then she beheld him sitting on the stone, in his distress; and going up to him, sat down by his side and said: "Audifax, what makes thee cry?"

But the boy gave no answer. Then Hadumoth put her arm round his shoulders, drew his little smooth head towards her and said sorrowfully: "Audifax, if thou criest, I must cry also."

Then Audifax tried to dry his tears, saying: "Thou needest not cry, but I must. There is something within me, that makes me cry."

"What is in thee, tell me?" she urged him.

Then he took one of the stones, such as were lying about plentifully, and threw it on the other stones. The stone was thin and produced a ringing sound.

"Didst thou hear it?"

"Yes," replied Hadumoth, "it sounded just as usual."

"Hast thou also understood the sound?"

"No."

"Ah, but I understand it, and therefore I must cry," said Audifax. "It is now many weeks ago, that I sat in yonder valley on a rock. There it first came to me. I cannot tell thee how, but it must have come from the depths below; and since then, I feel as if my eyes and ears were quite changed, and in my hands I sometimes see glittering sparks. Whenever I walk over the fields, I hear it murmuring under my feet, as if there were some hidden spring; and when I stand by the rocks, I see the veins running through them; and down below, I hear a hammering and digging, and that must come from the dwarfs, of which my grandfather has told me many a time. And sometimes I even see a red glowing light, shining through the earth.... Hadumoth, I must find some great treasure, and because I cannot find it, therefore I cry."

Hadumoth made the sign of the cross, and then said: "Thou must have been bewitched somehow, Audifax. Perhaps thou hast slept after sunset on the ground, in the open air; and thus one of the goblins below, has got power over thee. Wait, I know something better than crying."

She ran up the hill, speedily returning with a small cup full of water, and a bit of soap, which Praxedis had once given her; as well as some straws. Then she made a good lather, and giving one of the straws to Audifax she said: "There, let us make soap-bubbles, as we used to do. Dost thou remember, when we made them last time, how they always grew bigger and more beautifully coloured; and how they flew down the valley, glittering like the rain-bow? And how we almost cried when they burst?"

Audifax had taken the straw without saying a word, and had blown a fine bubble, which fresh like a dew-drop was hanging at the end of the straw; and he held it up into the air to let the sun shine on it.

"Dost thou recollect, Audifax," continued the girl, "what thou saidst to me once, when we had used up all our soap-water, and it became night, with the stars all coming out?--'These are also soap-bubbles,' thou saidst, 'and the good God is sitting on a high mountain, blowing them, and he can do it better than we can.'" ...

"No, I do not remember that," said Audifax.

He hung down his head again, and began to cry afresh. "What must I do, to find the treasure?" sobbed he.

"Be sensible," said Hadumoth, "what wilt thou do with the treasure, if thou couldst find it?"

"I should buy my liberty, and thine also; and all the land from the Duchess; mountain and all; and I should have made for thee a golden crown, and for every goat a golden bell, and for myself a flute made of ebony and pure gold." ...

"Of pure gold," laughed Hadumoth. "Dost thou know, what gold looks like?"

Audifax pointed with his fingers to his lips. "Canst thou keep a secret?" She nodded in the affirmative. "Then promise me with your hand." She gave him her hand.

"Now I will show you, how pure gold looks," said the boy, diving into his breast-pocket, and pulling out a piece like a good-sized coin, but shaped like a cup. On it were engraven mystic, half-effaced characters. It glistened and shone brightly in the sun, and was really gold. Hadumoth balanced it on her forefinger.

"That I found in yonder field; far over there, after the thunderstorm," said Audifax. "Whenever the many-coloured rain-bow descends to us, there come two angels, who hold out a golden cup, so that its ends should not touch the rough and rain-drenched ground; and when it vanishes again, they leave their cups on the fields, as they cannot use them twice; for fear of offending the rain-bow."

Hadumoth began to believe that her companion was really destined to obtain some great treasure. "Audifax," said she, giving him back his rain-bow cup, "this will not help thee. He who wants to find a treasure, must know the spell. Down in the depth below, they keep a good watch over their treasures, and don't give up anything, unless they are forced to do it."

"Oh, yes, the spell!" said Audifax with tearful eyes. "If I only knew that!"

"Hast thou seen the holy man already?" asked Hadumoth.

"No."

"For some days a holy man has been in the castle, who is sure to know all spells. He has brought a great book with him, out of which he reads to the Duchess; in it is written everything; how one conquers all the spirits in air, earth, water and fire. The tall Friderun told the men-servants; and that the Duchess had made him come, to strengthen her power; and to make her remain for ever young and beautiful, and live to eternity."

"I will go to the holy man then," said Audifax

"They will beat you perhaps," warned Hadumoth.

"They will not beat me," replied he. "I know something which I will give him, if he tells me the spell."

Meanwhile the evening had set in. The two children arose from their stony seat; goats and geese were collected; and then, in well organized troops, like soldiers, were driven up the hill, and into their respective sheds. That same evening, Ekkehard read out to the Duchess, the end of the first book of the Æneid, which had been interrupted by Master Spazzo's untimely entrance.--How Dido greatly surprised by the hero's unexpected appearance, invites him as well as his companions into her hospitable halls;--and Dame Hadwig gave an approving nod, at the following words of Dido:

"I, by a similar fate, with many a sorrow acquainted, Wearily erring about, till I found a home in this country, Grief is no stranger to me, and has taught me to help the afflicted."

Then Æneas sends back Achates to the ships, that he might bring the good news to Ascanius; for on him was centred all the care and affection of his father. But Dame Venus, whose head is rife with new cunning, wishes to enflame Dido's heart with love for Æneas. So she removed Ascanius to the distant Idalian groves and gave his form to the God of love; who divesting himself of his wings, and imitating the carriage and gait of Ascanius, followed the Trojans sent to fetch him, and thus appeared before the queen in her palace at Carthago.

"Often she thus could be found, with her soul in her eyes, gazing at him, Then too, many a time, she presses him close to her bosom, Little knowing, poor queen, to what God she is giving a shelter. Bent on his mother's designs, in her heart he effaces the image Of Sichæus her spouse; then tries to rekindle her passions, Calling up feelings within her, which long had slumber'd forgotten."

"Stop a moment," said Dame Hadwig. "This part, I think, is again very poor, and weakly conceived."

"Poor, and weakly conceived?" asked Ekkehard.

"What need is there of Amor," she said. "Could it not happen without using cunning and deceit, and without his interference that the memory of her first husband could be effaced in the heart of a widow?"

"If a God himself made the mischief," said Ekkehard, "then queen Dido's behaviour is excused, or even justified;--that I believe is the intention of the poet." Ekkehard probably thought this a very clever remark, but the Duchess now rose, and pointedly said: "Oh that of course alters the matter! So she needed an excuse!--really that idea did not strike me! Good night."

Proudly she stepped through the chamber; her long flowing garments rustling reproachfully.

"'Tis strange," thought Ekkehard, "but to read Virgil with women, has certainly its difficulties." Further his reflections did not go ...

The following day he was going over the courtyard, when Audifax the goat-herd came to him; kissed the hem of his garment, and then looked up at him, with beseeching eyes.

"What dost thou want?" asked Ekkehard.

"I should like to know the spell," replied Audifax timidly.

"What spell?"

"To lift the treasure, out of the deeps."

"That spell I should like to know also," said Ekkehard laughing.

"Oh, you have got it, holy man," said the boy eagerly. "Have you not got the great book, out of which you read to the Duchess, in the evening?"

Ekkehard looked at him sharply. He became suspicious; remembering the way, in which he had come to the Hohentwiel. "Has anybody prompted thee,--thus to interrogate me?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

Then Audifax began to cry, and sobbed out, "Hadumoth."

Ekkehard did not understand him. "And who is Hadumoth?"

"The goose-girl," faltered the boy.

"Thou art a foolish boy, who ought to mind his business."

But Audifax did not go.

"You are not to give it me for nothing," said he. "I will show you something very pretty. There must be many treasures in the mountain. I know one, but it is not the right one; and I should so like to find the right one!"

Ekkehard's attention was roused. "Show me what thou knowest." Audifax pointed downwards; and Ekkehard going out of the court-yard followed him down the hill. On the back of the mountain, where one beholds the fir-clad Hohenstoffeln and Hohenhöwen, Audifax quitted the path, and went into the bushes, towards a high wall of grey rocks.

Audifax pushed aside the opposing branches, and tearing away the moss, showed him a yellow vein, as broad as a finger, running through the grey stone. The boy then managed to break off a bit of the yellow substance, which stuck in the chinks of the rock, like petrified drops. In the bright gold-coloured mass, small opal crystals, in reddish white globules, were scattered.

Closely examining it, Ekkehard looked at the detached piece, which was unknown to him. It was no precious stone; the learned men in later years, gave it the name of Natrolith.

"Do you see now, that I know something?" said Audifax.

"But what shall I do with it?" enquired Ekkehard.

"That you must know better than I. You can have them polished, and adorn your great books with them. Will you now give me the spell?"

Ekkehard could not help laughing at the boy. "Thou oughtest to become a miner," he said, turning to go.

But Audifax held him fast by his garment.

"No, you must first teach me something out of your book."

"What shall I teach you?"

"The most powerful charm."

An inclination to allow himself an innocent joke, now came into Ekkehard's serious mind. "Come along with me then, and thou shalt have the most powerful charm."

Joyfully Audifax went with him. Then Ekkehard laughingly told him the following words out of Virgil:

"Auri sacra fames, quid non mortalia cogis pectora?"

With stubborn patience, Audifax repeated the foreign words, over and over again, until he had fixed them in his memory.

"Please to write it down, that I may wear it on me," he now entreated.

Ekkehard wishing to complete the joke, wrote the words on a thin strip of parchment, and gave it to the boy; who gleefully hiding it in his breast-pocket, again kissed his garment, and then darted off; with innumerable mad gambols, outrivalling the merriest of his goats.

"This child holds Virgil in greater honour, than the Duchess," thought Ekkehard to himself.

At noon-tide Audifax was again sitting on his rock; but this time there were no tears glistening in his timid eyes. For the first time, after a long while, his pipe was taken out, and the wind carried its notes into the valley, where they reached his friend Hadumoth; who came over at once, and gaily asked him: "Shall we make soap-bubbles again?"

"I will make no more soap-bubbles," said Audifax, and resumed his pipe-blowing; but after a while, he looked about carefully, and then drawing Hadumoth quite close to him, he whispered in her ear, his eyes glistening strangely: "I have been to see the holy man. This night we will seek the treasure. Thou must go with me." Hadumoth readily promised.

In the servants' hall, the supper was finished; and now they all rose from their benches at the same time, and arranged themselves in a long file. At the bottom stood Audifax and Hadumoth, and it was the latter who used to say the prayers, before these rough, but well-meaning folks. Her voice was rather trembling this time.

Before the table had been cleared, two shadows glided out, by the yet unlocked gate. They belonged to Hadumoth and Audifax; the latter going on before. "The night will be cold," he said to his companion, throwing a long-haired goat's skin over her.

On the southern side where the mountain wall is steepest, there was an old rampart. Here Audifax stopped, as it afforded them a shelter against the keen night-wind of autumn. He stretched out his arm and said: "I think this must be the place. We have yet to wait a long time, till midnight."

Hadumoth said nothing. The two children sat down side by side. The moon had risen, and sent her trembling light, through airy, scattered cloudlets. In the castle some windows were lighted up; they were again reading out of their Virgil. Everything was quiet and motionless around; only at rare intervals, the hoarse shriek of an owl was heard. After a long while, Hadumoth timidly said: "How will it be, Audifax?"

"I don't know," was the answer. "Somebody will come and bring it; or the earth will open, and we must descend; or ..."

"Be quiet, I am frightened."

After another long interval, during which Hadumoth had slumbered peacefully, her head resting on Audifax's bosom,--the latter, rubbing his eyes hard, to drive away sleepiness, now awakened his companion.

"Hadumoth," said he, "the night is long, wilt thou not tell me something?"

"Something evil has come into my mind," replied she. "There was once a man, who went out in the early morning, at sunrise, to plough his field; and there he found the gold-dwarf, standing in a furrow and grinning at him, who spoke thus: 'take me with you. He who does not seek us, shall have us; but he who seeketh us, we strangle him ...' Audifax, I am so frightened."

"Give me thy hand," said Audifax, "and have courage."

The lights on the castle had all died out. The hollow bugle-notes of the watchman on the tower, announced midnight. Then Audifax knelt down, and Hadumoth, beside him. The former had taken off his wooden shoe from his right foot, so that the naked sole touched the dark earth. The parchment strip he held in his hand, and with a clear firm voice he pronounced the words, the meaning of which he did not understand,

"Auri sacra fames, quid non mortalia cogis pectora."

He remembered them well. And on their knees the two remained, waiting for that which was to come. But there came neither dwarf nor giant, and the ground did not open either. The stars over their heads, glittered coldly, and the chill night-air blew into their faces ... Yet a faith so strong and deep, as that of the two children, ought not to be laughed at, even if it cannot remove mountains, or bring up treasures from the deep.

Now a strange light was seen on the firmament. A shooting star, marking its way by a trailing line of light, fell down; followed by many others. "It is coming from above," whispered Audifax, convulsively pressing the little maiden to his side. "Auri sacra fames..." he called out once more into the night. Then the golden lines crossed each other; and soon one meteor after another became extinguished, and everything in the sky, was again quiet as before.

Audifax looked with anxious eyes around; then he rose sorrowfully, and said in faltering tones: "'Tis nothing; they have fallen into the lake. They grudge us everything. We shall remain poor."

"Hast thou said the words, which the holy man gave thee, quite right?"

"Exactly so as he taught me."

"Then he has not told thee the right spell. Probably he wants to find the treasure for himself. Perhaps he has put a net in the place where the stars fell down ..."

"No, I don't believe that," said Audifax. "His face is mild and good, and his lips are not deceitful."

Hadumoth was thoughtful.

"Perhaps he does not know the right words?"

"Why not?"

"Because he has not got the right God. He prays to the new God. The old Gods were great and strong also."

Audifax pressed his fingers on the lips of his companion. "Be silent."

"I am no longer afraid," said Hadumoth. "I know someone else, who knows all about spells and charms."

"Who is it?"

Hadumoth pointed to a steep dark mountain, opposite. "The woman of the wood," replied she.

"The woman of the wood?" repeated Audifax aghast. "She, who made the great thunder-storm, when the hailstones fell as big as pigeon's eggs, into the fields; and who has eaten up the count of Hilzingen, who never returned home?"

"Just on account of that. We will ask her. The castle will still be closed for some hours, and the night is cold."

The little goose-girl had become bold and adventurous; for her sympathy with Audifax was great, and she wanted so much to help him to the fulfilment of his wishes. "Come," said she eagerly, "if thou art frightened in the dark wood, thou canst blow on thy pipe; and the birds will answer thee, for it will soon be dawn."

Audifax did not raise any further objection. So they walked on northwards, through the dark fir-wood. They both knew the path well. Not a human creature was stirring about; only an old fox, lying in ambush, for some rabbit or partridge, caught sight of them and was as little satisfied with their appearance, as they had been with the shooting stars.

Foxes also, have to bear their disappointments in life; therefore it drew in its tail, and hid itself in the bushes.

The two children had gone on for about an hour, when they reached the top of the Hohenkrähen. Hidden amongst trees, there stood a small stone hut, before which they stopped. "The dog is sure to bark," said Hadumoth. But no dog was heard. They approached nearer and saw that the door stood wide open.

"The woman of the wood is gone," they said. But on the high rock on the Hohenkrähen, a small fire was still faintly burning; and dark shadows could be seen gliding about it. Then the children crept along the steep path leading up to the rock.

The first gleam of the coming dawn, was already visible over the Bodensee. The path was very narrow, and a projecting piece of rock, over which a mighty oak-tree spread out its branches hid the fire from their view. There, Audifax and Hadumoth cowered down, and peeped round the corner. Then they saw, that some big animal had been killed. A head, apparently that of a horse, was nailed to the stem of the oak; and weapons as well as a quantity of bones, lay scattered about; while a vase filled with blood, stood beside the fire.

Around a roughly hewn piece of rock, serving as table, a number of men were sitting. On it, stood a big kettle of beer, out of which they filled and refilled their stone jugs.

At the foot of the oak, sat a woman, who was certainly not so lovely, as the Allemannic virgin Bissula; who inflamed the heart of the Roman statesman Ausonius, in spite of his age, to such a degree that he went about in his prefecture, spouting poetry in her praise: "her eyes are blue as the colour of the Heavens, and like gold is her wavy hair. Superior to all the dolls of Latium, is she, a child of the barbarians; and he who wants to paint her, must blend the rose with the lily."[8]The woman on the Hohenkrähen was old and haggard.

The men were looking at her; whilst the dawn was evidently spreading in the east. The mists hanging over the Bodensee, began to move, and now the sun was casting his first ray on the hills, burnishing their tops with gold. The fiery ball itself had just risen on the horizon, when the woman jumped up; the men following her example. She swung a bunch of mistletoe and fir-tree branches over her head, and then dipping it into the vase, three times sprinkled the bloody drops towards the sun; three times also over the men, and then poured out the contents of the vase, at the foot of the tree.

The men all seized their jugs, and rubbing them in a monotonous way, three times on the smooth surface of the rock, to produce a strange humming noise, lifted them together towards the sun, and then drained them at one draught. The putting them down again, sounded like one single blow, so simultaneous, was the movement. After this everyone put on his mantle, and then they all went silently down hill.

It was the first night of November.

When all had become quiet again, the children stepped out of their hiding-place, and confronted the old woman. Audifax had taken out the slip of parchment,--but the hag snatching up a brand out of the fire, approached them with a threatening look; so that the children hastily turned round, and fled down the hill, as fast as their feet could carry them.

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