"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 mass 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 stalactite 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 Säntis 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.