Great Stories from the German Romantics. Ludwig Tieck

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      He wishes but to die.

      No one about the Castle knew whither Eckart had gone; for he had lost himself in the waste forests, and let no man see him. The Duke dreaded his intentions; and he now repented that he had let him go, and not laid hold of him. So, one morning, he set forth with a great train of hunters and attendants, to search the woods, and find out Eckart; for he thought, that till Eckart were destroyed, there could be no security. All were unwearied, and regardless of toil; but the sun set without their having found a trace of Eckart.

      A storm came on, and great clouds flew blustering over the forest; the thunder rolled, and lightning struck the tall oaks: all present were seized with an unquiet terror, and they gradually dispersed among the bushes, or the open spaces of the wood. The Duke’s horse plunged into the thicket; his squires could not follow him: the gallant horse rushed to the ground; and Burgundy in vain called through the tempest to his servants; for there was no one that could hear him.

      Like a wild man had Eckart roamed about the woods, unconscious of himself or his misfortunes; he had lost all thought, and in blank stupefaction satisfied his hunger with roots and herbs: the hero could not now be recognised by any one, so sore had the days of his despair defaced him. As the storm came on, he awoke from his stupefaction, and again felt his existence and his woes, and saw the misery that had befallen him. He raised a loud cry of lamentation for his children; he tore his white hair; and called out, in the bellowing of the storm: “Whither, whither are ye gone, ye parts of my heart? And how is all strength departed from me, that I could not even avenge your death? Why did I hold back my arm, and did not send to death him who had given my heart these deadly stabs? Ha, fool, thou deservest that the tyrant should mock thee, since thy powerless arm and thy silly heart withstood not the murderer. Now, O now were he with me! But it is in vain to wish for vengeance, when the moment is gone by.”

      Thus came on the night, and Eckart wandered to and fro in his sorrow. From a distance he heard as it were a voice calling for help. Directing his steps by the sound, he came up to a man in the darkness, who was leaning on the stem of a tree, and mournfully entreating to be guided to his road. Eckart started at the voice, for it seemed familiar to him; but he soon recovered, and perceived that the lost wayfarer was the Duke of Burgundy. Then he raised his hand to his sword, to cut down the man who had been the murderer of his children; his fury came on him with new force, and he was upon the point of finishing his bloody task, when all at once he stopped, for his oath and the word he had pledged came into his mind. He took his enemy’s hand, and led him to the quarter where he thought the road must be.

      The Duke foredone and weary

      Sank in the wilder’d breaks;

      Him in the tempest dreary

      He on his shoulders takes.

      Said Burgundy: “I’m giving

      Much toil to thee, I fear.”

      Eckart replied: “The living

      On Earth have much to bear.”

      “Yet,” said the Duke, “believe me,

      Were we out of the wood,

      Since now thou dost relieve me,

      Thy sorrows I’ll make good.”

      The hero at this promise

      Felt on his cheek the tear;

      Said he: “Indeed I nowise

      Do look for payment here.”

      “Harder our plight is growing,”

      The Duke cries, dreading scath,

      “Now whither are we going?

      Who art thou? Art thou Death?”

      “Not Death,” said he, still weeping,

      “Or any fiend am I;

      Thy life is in God’s keeping,

      Thy ways are in his eye.”

      “Ah,” said the Duke, repenting,

      “My breast is foul within;

      I tremble, while lamenting,

      Lest God requite my sin.

      My truest friend I’ve banish’d,

      His children have I slain,

      In wrath from me he vanish’d,

      As foe he comes again.

      To me he was devoted,

      Through good report and bad;

      My rights he still promoted,

      The truest man I had.

      Me he can never pardon,

      I kill’d his children dear;

      This night, to pay my guerdon,

      I’ th’ wood he lurks, I fear.

      This does my conscience teach me,

      A threat’ning voice within;

      If here to-night he reach me,

      I die a child of sin.”

      Said Eckart: “The beginning

      Of our woes is guilt;

      My grief is for thy sinning,

      And for the blood thou’st spilt.

      And that the man will meet thee

      Is likewise surely true;

      Yet fear not, I entreat thee,

      He’ll harm no hair of you.”

      Thus were they going forward talking, when another person in the forest met them; it was Wolfram, the Duke’s Squire, who had long been looking for his master. The dark night was still lying over them, and no star twinkled from between the wet black clouds. The Duke felt weaker, and longed to reach some lodging, where he might sleep till day; besides, he was afraid that he might meet with Eckart, who stood like a spectre before his soul. He imagined he should never see the morning; and shuddered anew when the wind again rustled through the high trees, and the storm came down from the hollows of the mountains, and went rushing over his head. “Wolfram,” cried the Duke, in his anguish, “climb one of these tall pines, and look about if thou canst spy no light, no house or cottage, whither we may turn.”

      The Squire, at the hazard of his life, clomb up a lofty pine, which the storm was waving from the one side to the other, and ever and anon bending down the top of it to the very ground; so that the Squire wavered to and fro upon it like a little squirrel. At last he reached the top, and cried: “Down there, in the valley, I see the glimmer of a candle; thither must we turn.” So he descended and showed the way; and in a while, they СКАЧАТЬ