That noble duke, the great
Of Burgundy's proud land,
Felt all his foemen's hate,
And, vanquish'd, bit the sand.
He spoke: "I'm struck! I bleed!
Where is my valour fled?
Friends fail me at my need,
My knights are flown or dead;
I cannot hold the field--
I faint! My strength, my pride,
Has left me here to yield--
True Eckart's from my side.
It was not thus of old,
When war raged fierce and strong--
The last to have it told,
He loved his home too long.
Now, see they trooping come--
Not long my sword is mine:
Flight's made for the base groom--
I'll die as died my line."
With that he raised his sword,
And would have smote his breast;
When, truer than his word,
Good Eckart forward prest.
Back spurn'd the vaunting foe,
And dashed into the throng;
Nor was his bold son slow
To bring his knights along.
The bold duke saw the sign,
And cried, "Now, God be praised!
Now tremble, foemen mine,
My drooping hopes be raised!"
Again he charged and cheer'd,
True Eckart wins the fight;
"But where's his boy?" he heard;
"No more he sees the light."
When now the foe was fled,
Out spoke the duke aloud;
"Well hath it with me sped,
Yet Eckart's head is bow'd.
Though many thou hast slain,
For country and for life;
Thy son lies on the plain,
No more to join the strife."
Then Eckart's tears flow'd fast,
Low stoop'd the warrior down;
Embraced and kiss'd his last,
And sadly made his moan.
"Sweet Heins, how died'st so young,
Ere yet thou wert a man?
What boots it that I'm strong,
And thou so still and wan?
Yet thou hast saved thy prince
From his dread foeman's scorn!
Thou art his--accept him, since
He never will return!"
Bold Burgundy then mourn'd
To see a father's grief;
His heart within him burn'd,
But could not bring relief.
He mingles tears with tears;
He clasps him to his breast;
The hero he reveres,
And speaks his deep distress:--
"Most faithful hast thou been,
When fail'd me all beside;
Henceforth we will be seen
Like brothers, side by side.
Throughout all Burgundy,
Be lord of me and mine;
And could more honour be,
I'd freely make it thine."
He journey'd through the land,
Each liege-man hail'd him home;
To each he gave command,
True Eckart to welcome.
* * * * *
It was the voice of an old mountaineer that sung this song, resounding
far among the rocks, where the faithful Eckart was sitting upon a
declivity, weeping aloud. His youngest boy stood near his father, and
said, "Why do you cry so bitterly, my dear father? Why are you so much
better and stronger than other men, if you are afraid--can you be
afraid of them?"
Meanwhile the duke, at the head of a hunting-party, was leisurely
proceeding homewards; Burgundy himself was mounted upon a stately,
richly caparisoned steed. His princely gold and silver trappings
sparkled in the evening sun; insomuch that the young Conrad could not
sufficiently admire the fine procession as it passed. Faithful Eckart
raised his eyes, and looked darkly and sorrowfully towards the place;
while his tender Conrad began to sing, as he lost sight of the
princely cavalcade in the distance:--
"If you'd wield
Sword and shield,
And have good steed
With spear at need
And harquebuss,--what must you do?
You must feel
Your nerves like steel,
Strong in heart and spirit;--
Manhood good
In your blood
To bear you stoutly through with merit."
The old warrior pressed his son to his heart, and looked earnestly at
his large clear blue eyes. He then said, "Did you hear the song of
the good mountaineer, my boy?"
"Did I?" repeated the boy: "surely he sang loud enough. And are you,
then, still that faithful Eckart whom I was glad to hear so praised?"
"That same duke is now my enemy: he holds my second son in
durance,--yea, hath already laid him low, if I must believe all that
the people of the country say."
"Then take your great sword, father, and bear it no longer," exclaimed
his brave boy: "they will tremble when they see you; the good people
will uphold you all the country round, for they say you are their
greatest hero."
"No, I must not do that, my boy; for then I should prove my enemies'
worst words true. I must not be unfaithful to my native prince. I will
not break my fealty and the peace of the country, to keep which I have
sworn."
"But what does he want to do with us?" inquired Conrad, impatiently.
Eckart had risen, but he again seated himself, and said, "Dear boy,
the whole of that history would sound too harsh and strange in thy
young ears. Enough to know that great people always bear their worst
enemy in their own heart, and live in fear night and day. The duke now
thinks he has trusted me too much, and been all along only cherishing
a viper in his bosom. Yet in the country they call me the prince's
sword--the strong sword that restored him life and land;--all the
people call me Faithful Eckart, and the wretched and oppressed cry
unto me for help in the hearing of the court. This the duke cannot
bear. His envy hath turned to rage, and they who might help, set him
against me, and have turned his heart from love to hatred."
The aged hero then related how the duke had spoken evil words, and
banished him from before his face for ever; and how they now became
quite strange, like enemies, because envious men had said that he was
going to deprive the duke of his dominions. More sadly did he proceed
to tell, as he passed his hand across his eyes, how the duke had
seized upon himself and his son, and accused them of wanting to take
his land and life; "Yea, 'tis said he hath even doomed my son to die."
Young Conrad spoke not to his father, seeing he wept. At length he
said, "Father, let me go to the court, and I will talk to the duke,
that he may be brought to understand you, and treat you better. Should
he have hurt a hair of my brother's head, he is so bad a man that you
shall punish him; yet it can scarce be that he hath so soon forgotten
all your services."
"Alas! don't you remember the old proverb, poor boy?--
'When the mighty want your hand,
They'll promise you both gifts and land;
When the evil day hath pass'd,
Their friendship flieth too as fast.'
Yes, and all my long and painful life has gone for nothing. Wherefore
did he raise me high above my peers, only to plunge me into the lowest
ignominy? The love of princes is like a fatal poison, which they ought
to reserve only for their enemies, and which finally often proves the
ruin of its heedless possessor: so it hath ever been."
"I will hasten to him," said Conrad; "I will plainly remind him of all
you have done and suffered for him; and then he will treat you as well
as he did before."
"You forget," replied Eckart, "that they have pronounced us traitors:
we had better seek refuge together quickly in some foreign land, where
we shall, perhaps, be more fortunate than here."
"What, father, in your old age!--and will you turn your back upon our
sweet home? Let us rather try any way but this," said Conrad. "I will
see the Duke of Burgundy; I will appease and make him friendly to us;
for what harm can he do _me_, though he does hate and fear you?"
"I do not like to let you go," replied Eckart; "for my mind misgives
me sadly; yet I should like to be reconciled to him, for he was once
my kind friend, and for the sake of your poor brother, who is
lingering in prison, or perhaps dead."
The sun was now casting its last wild beams upon the green earth; and
Eckart sat down, absorbed in deep thought, leaning against the root of
a tree. He looked at Conrad earnestly a long while, and at length
said, "If you will go, my son, then go now, before the night gathers
in: the lights are already up, you see, in the windows of the duke's
castle. I can hear the trumpets sounding at a distance for the
festival;--perhaps his son's bride is arrived, and he may feel more
friendly disposed towards us."
His son was instantly on his way; yet he parted with him unwillingly,
for he no longer put any faith in his own good fortune or the duke's
gratitude. Young Conrad was bold and hopeful; doubting nothing but
that he should touch the duke's heart, who had heretofore caressed him
on his knees.
"Art thou sure thou wilt come back to me, my sweetest child?" cried
the old man; "for were I to lose thee, I have seen thee for the last
time--the last of thy race." His young son then kissed and comforted
him, promising that he would be with him very soon; and they
separated.
Conrad knocked at the castle-gate, and was admitted. The aged Eckart
remained seated where he was, exposed to the night-winds, all alone.
"And I have lost him too; I am sure I have lost him." He cried
bitterly in his solitude, "These eyes will never rest upon his dear
face again." While thus lamenting, he saw an old wayfaring man leaning
upon his crutch, and trying, at great hazard, to make his way down the
mountain. A precipice yawned beneath him; and Eckart, aware of his
danger, went and took him by the hand. "Whither are you going?" he
inquired, as he assisted him down to the place where he had himself
sat.
The old man sat down, and wept till the tears ran over his furrowed
cheeks. Eckart sought to comfort him with gentle advice; but the other
seemed too much afflicted to pay attention to him.
"What terrible calamity can it be that thus overpowers you?" inquired
Eckart. "Only try to speak."
"Alas, my children!" exclaimed the aged man.
Then Eckart again thought of Conrad, of Heins, and Dietrich, and
became himself inconsolable.
"I say nothing," he added, "if your children are all dead; for then
your grief is, indeed, great."
"Oh, worse than dead!" exclaimed the other. "No, they are not dead,"
he repeated in a still more bitter voice; "but they are lost to me for
ever! Yea, would to Heaven that they were only dead!"
The good old hero almost shrieked at hearing these words, and besought
the unhappy father to explain so horrible a mystery: to which the
latter replied, "We live in a wonderful world; and these are strange
times. Surely the last dreaded day cannot be far from hand; for
alarming signs and omens are daily abroad, threatening the world more
and more. All evil things seem to have broken loose beyond their
ancient boundaries, and rage and destroy on every side. The fear of
God restrains us not--there is no foundation for any thing good; evil
spirits walk in the broad day, and boldly scare the good away from us,
or celebrate their nightly orgies in their unholy retreats. O my dear
sir, we are grown grey in the world, but not old enough for such
prodigious things. Doubtless you have seen the great comet--Heaven's
portentous lightning in the sky, which glares so prophetically down
upon us. Every one forebodes disasters; but none think of reforming
their lives in order to escape the threatened evil. As if this, too,
were not enough, the ancient earth discovers her trouble, and casts up
her mysterious secrets from the deep, while that portentous light
serves to reveal them from above. And, hark! have you never heard of
the strange mountain which the people round call Venus-berg?"
"No, never," said Eckart, "though I have travelled far and wide here
around the hills."
"At that I wonder much," replied the old man; "for the dreadful thing
is now become as well known as it is true: for that, good sir, is the
very mountain whither the devils fled for refuge in the centre of the
earth, when the holy Christian faith began to wax strong, and pressed
hard upon the heathen idols. There, they now say, that fatal goddess
Venus holds her unblest orgies; whither the infernal powers of worldly
lust and ambition, and all forbidden wishes, come trooping in myriads
for their prey; so that the whole mountain hath become forsaken and
accursed from time immemorial."
"On what side lies the mountain?" inquired Eckart.
"There is the mystery; it is a secret," whispered the old man, "which
those who know dare not tell, and none know but those who are in the
power of our great adversary; and indeed none but wicked persons will
ever venture the discovery. Once only a wandering musician by miracle
appeared again; but he came commissioned by the powers of darkness to
traverse the world; and he plays strange notes upon a pipe--sounds
which are heard to echo first in the distance, then more loud and
sweet. Those who approach too close within his sphere are seized with
a strange unaccountable delirium; and away they run in search of the
mountain, heedless of every obstacle, and never weary--never satisfied
until they gain the fatal summit, which opens for them, and whence
there is no return. Their supernatural strength forsakes them only in
the infernal abode; when they continue wandering round its unhallowed
precincts like unblest pilgrims, without the least hope of salvation.
I lost all hope of comfort in my two sons long ago: they grew wilful
and abandoned; they despised their parents, and our holy faith itself.
Then they began to hear the strange music; and they are now fled far
into the hills--the inhabited world is too narrow for them; and they
will never stop until they reach the boundless regions below." And the
old man wrung his hands.
"And what do you think of doing in this matter?"
"What should I do?--with this crutch, my only support, I have set out
in pursuit of them, being determined either to find them or to die."
At these words he rose with a resolute effort, and hastened forward as
fast as his feeble steps could bear him, as if fearful of losing a
moment; while Eckart gazed after him with a look of pity, lamenting
his useless anxiety and sorrows yet to come.
"To all his other evils," cried Eckart, "even madness itself does not
seem to have brought any relief."
Night came, and passed away;--the morning broke, yet no signs of young
Conrad. The old warrior wandered among the hills, and cast his eyes
wistfully towards the castle; still no one appeared. Then he heard a
tumult, as if proceeding from the place; and, unable to restrain his
anxiety, he at last mounted his steed that was grazing near, and rode
hastily towards the castle. He no longer disguised himself, but
spurred boldly among the troops and pages surrounding the
castle-gates, not one of whom ventured to stop or lay a hand upon him.
All opened to him a path.
"Where is my son Conrad?" inquired the old hero, as he advanced.
"Inquire nothing," said one of the pages, casting down his eyes: "it
would only grieve you;--better turn back."
"And Dietrich," added the old man,--"where is he?"
"Mention his name no more," said an aged knight, "the duke's rage was
kindled, and he thought to punish you through him."
Hot scorn flushed the face of the old hero when he heard these words;
grief and fury took possession of him, and he rode through the
castle-gates with speed. All opened a way for him with fear and
reverence; and he soon threw himself from his horse at the
palace-doors. With trembling step he mounted into the marble halls.
"Am I here," he cried, "in the dwelling of the man who was once my
friend?" He tried to collect his thoughts; but dreadful visions seemed
to rise before him: and he staggered wildly into the duke's presence.
Not aware of his arrival, Burgundy uttered a cry of alarm, as he found
himself confronted with the old man. "Art thou the Duke of Burgundy?"
asked the old hero.