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Title: The magic ring, Vol. 3 (of 3)
Author: Freiherr de Friedrich Heinrich Karl La Motte-Fouqué
Release date: October 20, 2025 [eBook #77099]
Language: English
Original publication: Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1825
Credits: Tom Trussel, Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC RING, VOL. 3 (OF 3) ***
THE MAGIC RING.
OLIVER & BOYD, PRINTERS.
THE
MAGIC RING;
A ROMANCE,
FROM THE GERMAN OF
FREDERICK, BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUÉ
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
EDINBURGH;
PUBLISHED BY
OLIVER & BOYD, TWEEDDALE-COURT;
AND GEO. B. WHITTAKER, LONDON.
1825.
THE
MAGIC RING.
VOL. III.
CHAPTER I.
How the Moor Alhafiz came for the Lady Bertha.
It was late in the evening, at the castle of the Lady Gabrielle in
Gascony, when Bertha von Lichtenried sat, studiously, with a large book
open on a reading-desk before her. The book contained the history of
pious saints and canonized martyrs; and she could devote her attention
thereto the more uninterruptedly, as, with the exception of a few
servants, she was now left quite alone in the castle, having through
many days looked in vain for the return of Sir Folko and the two
damsels. It seemed as if departing summer had taken her last farewell;
and this farewell was uttered in fearful claps of thunder, while the
ocean mirrored on its vasty depths the frequent bursts of lightning.
A heavy shower also beat upon the garden-terrace, and meanwhile the
warder failed not to ring with great perseverance the consecrated
bell, whose notes were to protect the castle from all injury. He was
answered, too, by the church-bells of all the neighbouring towns and
villages, so that it seemed as if the reverberations from the clouds
had been met and changed on earth into pious and pleasant harmony.
Threefold, therefore, was the piety of the Lady Bertha strengthened
and increased; first, by the thunder’s mighty voice above; then by the
musical notes of the church-bells; lastly, by the pious legends which
she then read in her favourite volumes.
So it happened at this time that there came into her chamber an old
Moorish woman, a servant at the castle, with an uncouth and swarth
visage, for she was a native of Africa, though now converted to the
Christian faith, and accustomed to the manners of life in Europe. By
her dress and conduct one would have thought that she was an ordinary
Suabian peasant, had it not been, that her dark complexion and strange
features betrayed her eastern origin.
“What news bring’st thou, Zulma?” said the lady. To which the old
Moor answered, “Nothing, forsooth, but an earnest entreaty which I
must especially address to the Lady Bertha von Lichtenried. On the
plain here, not far from the castle, there is a strange man, a Moorish
soldier, who lies mortally wounded. I know not if he has been attacked
by banditti, or overthrown in single combat. He wishes to obtain a
blessing ere he dies, according to the forms of the Catholic church;
but this he will not receive from any one but you; for the Lady Bertha
of Lichtenried has been renowned and praised, far and near, ever since
that evening, when, by clinging to the cross, and waving her hand, she
was able to repulse and drive away a bold-hearted and wicked comrade of
the Prince Mutza. It is not far from that old cross that I found the
wounded Moor, as I returned home from the sheepfold.”
“Call the chaplain then, that he may go with me,” said Bertha, hastily
searching for her veil and mantle; “order some squires also to attend
on us, and to render assistance to the poor man.”
“The chaplain,” answered Zulma, “is already gone to bed, and the
squires are snoring in the stables. Before we could rouse them,
and they were ready to go with us, the unfortunate Moor would have
breathed his last. What if he should thus depart without consolation,
and without the blessings of our holy religion, after which he so
earnestly longs?--But you, noble lady, must know the consequences far
better than I can describe them.”
“How comes it, Zulma,” said the Lady of Lichtenried, “that you
know so well how to bestow just reproaches on my slowness and
over-caution?--Doubtless what you have said is just and true. When we
are called on to fulfil our duties to God, we must not tarry nor look
round for assistance and protection. Let us then go forth straightway
to the wounded man. Good Heaven!--how much have the monks and nuns
achieved, of whose lives I was just now reading the pleasant history!
and should I then doubt whether I might go forth alone to the cross on
the sea-shore?--Let us hasten, good Zulma; for the poor dying man must
long grievously for our coming.”
Having thrown about her a large mantle, as a defence against the rain,
she stepped hastily with the Moorish servant down stairs to a private
portal, and taking a lamp from the wall to guide them on their way,
they walked boldly forth amid the tempest.
Zulma knew the road towards the cross better than the Lady of
Lichtenried had expected from such a new convert. She stepped so
hastily through the darkness, that Bertha was scarcely able to keep
pace with her, admiring all the while the zeal that she displayed
for the soul’s weal of the unfortunate Moor. Over hills covered with
brush-wood, and through pathless valleys, they pursued their way; and
when Bertha inquired why they had come through such lonely places,
the answer was,--“Because that was the straightest road. And this you
may trust to a native African; for among our sandy deserts, where a
well-beaten track may in a moment be effaced by a gust of wind, we
learn to find our way by other means.”--So indeed it happened, that
as often as a gleam of lightning revealed a rocky cliff, a cottage,
or a large tree, Zulma seemed to move on with new confidence; but ere
long Bertha perceived that she had more certain means of guiding her
course through the darkness. She began at intervals to utter a hateful
shrilling sound, like the blending of a whistle and a scream, and she
was answered by a voice like her own, that seemed to determine her
progress. At this Bertha many times started; and Zulma, observing her
fears, said,--“Truly such notes are unpleasant; but, nevertheless, they
serve to guide us on our way to the suffering man. It is well that he
has learned this Moorish art of making signals, although he belongs not
to our tribe of black-visaged Africans, but is rather a comely young
Arabian.”
As she thus spoke, a sudden flash of lightning broke forth over the
cross, to which they were now drawing very near; and at the same moment
they could perceive a man in a Moorish dress, who was endeavouring to
raise himself from the ground, by leaning on its rocky pedestal. Bertha
immediately hastened up to him.--“Thank Heaven!” cried she, “that we
find you still alive. I am Bertha von Lichtenried, whom you have so
earnestly desired to see, and I come to offer you the consolations of
our holy church.”
But what was her surprise, when the man (who, as she believed, had
been mortally wounded), suddenly leaped up, clasped her wildly in his
arms, and, while the same shrilling signals which she had before heard
from a distance now vibrated in her ears, all the desolate thickets of
the forest seemed at once to start into life, and a troop of Moorish
warriors formed themselves into a circle round the cross. Meanwhile
Zulma laughed aloud.--“Have we caught thee at last,” cried she, “thou
rarest and shyest of birds?--Methinks thou wilt not again escape from
us!”--The Lady Bertha, however, with a vehemence and strength which
the Moor little expected, forced herself out of his embrace, and fled,
as she had before done (when Gabrielle and Blanchefleur were carried
away), to the cross, climbing up the high rocky pedestal on which it
was placed, and clinging to the pillar of this holy emblem. It was
indeed moving and wonderful, to behold how that innocent damsel stood
there on high, with the light of the lamp on her graceful form, and
contrasting in her beauty like a visitant from heaven with the crowd
of hateful figures that now moved around her. Zulma, meanwhile, had
folded her veil into the shape of a turban round her swarthy visage,
and said,--“Now I am again like myself. Did you indeed believe, lady,
that I was contented with the life that I have dragged on here among
the Christians?--You must now go with us to Carthagena, and will there
learn more of this world’s happiness, than in your whole simple life
till now you could even have dreamed.”
With contempt and disgust Bertha turned from her, and in a firm voice
addressed herself to the Moorish chief, calling on him to remember
his own honour as a knight and soldier, and not to debase himself by
joining with a mean and lying slave, in order to force from her home
a virtuous damsel of noble birth. The reckless libertine, however,
answered her with scornful laughter, and then said,--“For this time
your old stratagems, your saintly gestures, and severe looks, may not
avail; for now, lady, you have no sighing lover before you (like my
countryman, who was so easily repulsed), but the wise Alhafiz, who is
here to fulfil the commands of Nurreddin, the grand emir, and will
without fail bear you to his master’s arms in Carthagena.”
“Let no one approach me who values his own life!” exclaimed Bertha; “I
know not indeed whence I obtain this knowledge, but feel that I but
speak the truth, as it happened before, when I warned the companion
of Prince Mutza. Whoever dares to tear me from the cross, will for
that crime forfeit his own life; therefore beware!”--Alhafiz laughed,
and stepped boldly towards her; but, at that moment, behold! a broad
flash of lightning illuminated all the southern sky, and a clap of
thunder broke, as it seemed, right over his head. Hereupon the Moor
and his rabble route (the vile Zulma among the rest) were dazzled and
confounded, so that they all sank kneeling on the ground.--“The voice
of God has now spoken against you,” said Bertha; “and this warning
is indeed the last favour that you will receive from Heaven, should
you not give up your wicked designs. Be wise then, and return to your
ships.”--At these words it seemed as if the multitude of swarthy Moors
seemed inclined to disperse; even Alhafiz himself had become silent
and irresolute,--turning away from the disdainful glances which the
damsel threw upon him. Suddenly, however, the hateful Zulma started
up, and called aloud,--“Hast thou forgotten, Alhafiz, the promised
third of all Nurreddin’s treasures?--That must not be lost to thee, nor
shall I forfeit the eighth share, which by contract was to have been
mine!”--Then, with tiger-like swiftness and rage, she flew up to the
rocky pedestal, forced the light out of Bertha’s hand, and screamed
aloud,--“Thus, you will be dazzled no longer by the sight of this
deceitful enchantress. Take her, then, and bear her from hence!”--In
the same moment, Alhafiz had come up, and, without farther hesitation,
clasped the unfortunate damsel in his arms, and bore her rapidly
towards the bay, where his bark was in waiting, his attendants all the
while shouting and rejoicing as if for a great victory. Thereafter the
skies became wholly dark; no gleams of lightning broke forth on the
horizon; they arrived on the shore, and embarked amid this gloom, and,
under the same mournful influence, sailed out into the wide desolate
sea.
CHAPTER II.
How Blanchefleur and Gabrielle were rescued from their
captivity.
Before the adventure which we have now related had come to pass, many
strange occurrences had happened in Carthagena. On the evening of that
day when Sir Folko de Montfaucon had been carried as a dead man into
the royal cemetery, behold! there came some one late in the night,
disguised in such manner that the sentinels could not distinguish his
features; but they heard him strike three times as with an iron-glove,
or somewhat else that rung and rattled in his hand, against the iron
trellis-work by which the vault was secured. On hearing that sound,
they thought of rushing from their posts, and demanding of the stranger
what was his purpose there at such an hour; but in the same moment
weariness and sleep fell heavily upon them, so that, one by one, they
dropped down powerless, and as if fainting and insensible, on the
ground.
Meanwhile the disguised man continued to ring and rattle against
the iron-bars, till at length there was a strange noise of heaving
and struggling within the vault, as if the dead were starting into
life. This was indeed Sir Folko de Montfaucon, who now raised himself
from amid the bloody clothes in which he had been wrapt, and said
in a strange hoarse voice, “Good Heaven, how cold and dark is this
bed!” Then, after a pause of recollection, he began again, “Or if I
am really among the dead, how comes it that I yet feel such burning
and feverish pain? And wherefore am I not relieved from this earthly
prison, and floating through the wide realms of the blue sky?” “Sir
knight,” said the disguised man without, “you are indeed alive, only
you are not yet recovered from your fever and your wounds. Only be of
good courage, and beware of falling into dreams. I shall be with you
anon, and will make you sound and well.” Thereafter, as the strange man
continued to beat upon the iron-bars, the Chevalier de Montfaucon felt
his senses more and more bewildered, and saw the strangest phantoms
floating around him. He felt indeed as one who struggles with sleep
and frightful visions, and could have fallen once more into death-like
slumbers, had not the mysterious stranger ever and anon repeated in a
loud voice the same words,--“Beware of dreams, Knight of Montfaucon!
Beware of dreams!”
At last the iron-wickets no longer resisted; slowly and solemnly
they rolled asunder, and the disguised man stept into the house of
death. “My wounds are become cold,” said the chevalier, shivering with
fever, “and yet are very painful” “Ere long you shall be better,” said
the stranger, who thereupon drawing forth a light that he had in a
dark-lantern under his cloak, began to examine the wounds, and poured
into them a healing balsam from a vial that he had brought with him.
Moreover, he gently touched and rubbed them with a glittering gem in
the fashion of a ring; and while the Knight of Montfaucon felt his
pains appeased as by the resistless spells of enchantment, and new
strength poured through every limb, he recognised the ring to be the
long-contested property of Gabrielle; and in his kind physician beheld
the merchant, Theobaldo.
“Now, you perceive,” said the latter, “how much more fitting it was
that the ring should be in my hands than in those of the lady. You
looked on it as indifferently as if it were but a part of your apparel
as a knight, even like a brooch for your helmet-plume, or a bright
jewel on your sword-hilt; while Gabrielle only dallied therewith as
young damsels are wont to do with glittering toys. There was need of
a wise merchant like Theobaldo, to find out the hidden virtues of the
ring, in order that he might therewith assist both ladies and knights
in the hour of distress. Are you now then sufficiently awake and
refreshed? Then come with me to the palace of the grand emir. He has
taken under his protection the two beautiful damsels; but, forsooth,
he will not long have that trouble on his shoulders, for they shall
go hence with us. Don Hernandez is on the watch with his ships in the
harbour, and a boat is in waiting to take us on board.” Up started the
chevalier, shaking off the last remains of his weakness and weariness,
and seized boldly on his crooked Persian sword. Perceiving how it was
stained with blood, he sighed and said to the merchant, “Is Vinciguerra
then still alive?” “Ay,” said Theobaldo, “he also has been healed
through my assistance. He has fallen into such bad humour, however, at
his own evil fortune in that encounter, that he has already gone down
alone to the sea-shore, and will not, unless by compulsion, permit
himself to be looked upon by you, nor by the ladies.” Thereupon the
merchant laughed heartily, and holding up the lantern to his own
face, cut some hideous grimaces, in mockery of the proud Count de
Vinciguerra, thinking therewith to entertain the chevalier. “Remember,
thou strange man,” said Sir Folko, “that we stand here among the dead.
But for Mutza, that perjured and lying robber, has he too been called
to life again by your art?” “Heaven forbid,” said Theobaldo, “that I
should be guilty of such wickedness and folly. Besides, had it been my
wish to have done so, that would have been more than the ring would
have placed within my power. The blow of your battle-axe has struck
him too deeply and effectually. He also has been carried off in his
turn, and doubtless by assailants yet fiercer and blacker than his own
Moors.” “Nay, do not judge him, he is in the hands of God,” said Sir
Folko, stepping solemnly out of the vault; “and lead me quickly from
hence, that we may secure Gabrielle and Blanchefleur.” So Theobaldo
walked away with the chevalier, shaking his head after a strange
fashion, as if in disapprobation and scorn of what had been said, and
yet not venturing any more to clothe his thoughts in audible words.
In a dim and solitary valley, not far from the town, lay the palace of
the powerful emir Nurreddin. As they approached near the gates, they
heard within the court a growling and roaring of some wild beast, whose
thundering voice was such as in all their lives they had never known
before. “The voice,” said Theobaldo, “is that of a monstrous tiger
brought hither from Asia. The emir is pleased to lead about this wild
beast with him wherever he goes, and by night he is always chained as a
guard on the threshold.” Hearing these words, the Knight of Montfaucon
straightway drew his Persian sabre, swung it several times over his
head, so that it whistled in the wind, and then began to feel the edge
with his fingers, to prove whether it were yet sharp enough for the
encounter which he now meditated. “Nay,” said Theobaldo, “methinks you
will not use that weapon against the tiger. Keep it rather for some
other assailant, for chances may fall out against us of which we know
not yet; although methinks we need not doubt of success in the end.” At
the same time he drew from his girdle an arrow with a glittering metal
point, and began to beat thereon with the ring; whereupon there arose
gentle and melodious sounds, that gradually increased both in strength
and sweetness, till it seemed as if the whole air was filled with music
that floated far and wide, and then died away in remote echoes. After
Theobaldo had several times repeated the same notes, the growling of
the tiger became interrupted and less fierce, till at length he was
altogether silent. “The monster sleeps,” said Theobaldo; “however I
must continue the same music, both that he may not awake, and that I
may close the eyes of other watchers in the castle. Should it happen,
however, that you also should feel slumber stealing upon you, make but
the sign of the cross on your forehead, and the charm then will lose
its strength.” Sir Folko, who in truth had become drowsy, did as the
merchant commanded; and both went on towards the lofty castle.
The tiger had stretched himself out at its whole length across the
threshold of the outward portal; so that, when the door opened behind
him on being touched with the ring, the two warriors were obliged to
pass over him. Thereupon a gleam of the lamp which Theobaldo carried
fell on the wild grinning visage of the beast; he looked like some
frightful giant, whom they had slain, and who lay beneath their feet in
the battle-field. In all haste they fled from such a horrid sight.
Having passed through the gate, they advanced along a steep and paved
walk which led into the castle. On each side of this walk there were
thick hedges of blooming rose-trees, by which they were hemmed in,
and could not turn to the right or left; but, moreover, they had to
pass through several iron-wickets, which were all guarded by Moorish
sentinels. The Moors, however, immediately fell asleep when they heard
the first sounds of the musical ring; and when the iron-gates were
touched by it, they opened slowly, turning without noise on their
hinges. So the knight and the merchant arrived unobserved into the
very _keep_ of the fortress; but though there were here many gold and
silver-lamps burning on the stairs and windows, Theobaldo shook his
head, and was uncertain what he ought to do, in order, amid such a
labyrinth, to discover the room in which Blanchefleur and Gabrielle
were now gone to rest. Ere they came into the castle, however, the
merchant had pointed out the windows of the room which he believed had
been assigned to the Christian damsels; and Sir Folko now looked about
him with sharp eagle-eyes, even as he would have done in the field of
battle, till he was convinced what course he should pursue. At length
he said calmly and resolutely, “Come let us mount up that marble
staircase, Theobaldo; we shall infallibly come by that track to the
pole-stars of this landward voyage.” The merchant followed obediently
the command of De Montfaucon; and the latter passed without hesitation
through the corridor above, till he arrived at a door hung over with
a rich embroidered curtain, which they were of opinion must be that
of the ladies’ apartment. He tapped lightly on the silver lock of the
door; then, hearing no noise within, he spoke in a low whispering voice
through the keyhole,--“Blanchefleur, Blanchefleur, open the door; your
brother Folko is here in the gallery, and has come to rescue thee and
Gabrielle.” “Speak rather louder,” said Theobaldo; “for the music of
the ring has doubtless sealed up their eyes in deep sleep.” Sir Folko
repeated his words more audibly; whereupon a faint cry of terror, as
from the female voices, was heard within the room, and thereafter all
was again still. “What foolish pranks have we set on foot here,”
said Theobaldo in a tone of vexation; “we never once remembered that
they looked on you as dead; and so must believe the voice that they
have heard to be that of your ghost, come only to terrify them in the
dark night. What is to be done? We can open the door by means of the
ring; but, should they behold you actually in the room, they will
doubtless scream so loudly, that, in spite of all the charms in the
world, the whole emir’s castle will be roused. And suppose we found
them senseless, and in a swoon of fear, how could we carry them to the
shore, since we must hold ourselves prepared every moment against a
sudden attack?” While they thus stood considering, the key was gently
turned in the lock, the door was cautiously opened, and, lo! there
stood before them Blanchefleur and Gabrielle, with lights in their
hands, pale with terror, and in long white dresses, like two beautiful
apparitions from the world of spirits. “We know but too well, dearest
brother,” said Blanchefleur, “that you died yesterday of your fearful
wounds. Therefore, you would not have come again, only to tell us these
sad tidings; but your voice, methought, spoke of our being rescued.
Then, if violence and dishonour here await us, we are ready to follow
you, even into the grave.” Thereupon, their tender and lovely frames
trembled with fear, and their voices faltered; but not the less did a
spirit of unchangeable resolution prevail in their looks; and before
Sir Folko had time to answer, the Lady Gabrielle addressed him:--“Since
in the other world, oh, deeply honoured spirit! all may be better
known to thee than heretofore, I need not say now how truly I did love
thee, though, whilst thou wert among us here, no one ever heard that
confession from my lips. But command now your servant, oh, brave and
noble hero! for she is willing to follow thee, even to death.”
So Sir Folko kneeled humbly, and, blushing in his great joy before her,
said, “Still I am alive, divine Gabrielle; my soul inhabits yet its
mortal frame; but, nevertheless, your angelic words have placed me even
in this world among the number of the blessed.”
Blushing deeply, Gabrielle drew back, ashamed and terrified to think
of the confession that she had so rashly made, in the presence too of
Theobaldo, whom she now for the first time observed. Yet her heart
heaved high with delight to think that her favourite knight was thus
restored to her, and meanwhile Blanchefleur lay weeping with joy in her
brother’s arms.
“It is now high time,” said Theobaldo, breaking in like an unwelcome
watcher on this scene of happiness and affection; but thereupon Sir
Folko started, as if from a dream, and offered his right arm to
Gabrielle, and his left to Blanchefleur. They obeyed the signal without
a word, while Theobaldo stepped rapidly on before them. Fearing that
some unforeseen accident might awake the guards from their enchanted
sleep, the merchant was in great anxiety to get out of the palace;
but all remained quiet and motionless. Even the tiger at the gate was
stretched out, as before, in his deep slumbers; but the two damsels
were terrified, and would not be persuaded to step over. “Cut him
deeply with your sword across the neck,” said Theobaldo to the knight,
“otherwise these ladies will never accept of that liberty which we have
placed within their power.” De Montfaucon stood irresolute. “I know
not how it happens,” said he, “but I cannot take advantage of him when
he is thus asleep.” “Truly,” said Theobaldo with a scornful smile, “I
believe you will at last extend the laws of chivalry and honour even to
tigers and such like irrational brutes.” “Laugh as much as you will,”
answered Sir Folko, “you are at liberty to judge as you think fit of
my conduct; but something always comes in my way when I would lift
my sword against that snoring monster. Besides there is yet another
way.” With these words he took up Gabrielle in his arms, and bore her
lightly and gracefully across; then came back, and did the same for
Blanchefleur, while Theobaldo stepped on, shrugging his shoulders, and
shaking his head as he was wont to do when he would express impatience
or disdain. Scarcely, however, had Sir Folko set down his sister safely
on the ground, when the tiger started up with a hideous growl, and
instantly fixed his long teeth in the garments of the knight. “Ha!”
cried he, drawing his Persian sabre, “since thou art awake at last, and
willing for the combat, I shall not fail to meet thee. To the shore, to
the shore, Theobaldo! march on with the two ladies, for I shall soon
have done with this adventure.” Accordingly, the merchant had only
advanced but a few paces on his way, when the chevalier followed him
with his sabre still reeking with blood, and relieved him from his post
between the two damsels. Without being attacked or interrupted they
arrived at the sea-shore, where they found the boat that was to bring
them to the vessel of Don Hernandez, embarked safely, and ere long
sailed out of the harbour. Among the party there assembled, they found
the Count Alessandro de Vinciguerra; but so wrathful and discontented,
that he would scarcely allow himself to be looked on or spoken with;
whereupon, said the Knight of Montfaucon, “Truly I am grieved, my lord
count, that you should thus continue to reflect bitterly on a combat
which was fairly fought out betwixt us, and should now be forgotten.
But if in such case you cannot compose your own temper, this is indeed
a duty in which no one else can render you any assistance.” With the
more satisfaction, therefore, he turned his attention to the Spanish
knight, Hernandez, who welcomed the ladies on board of his vessel with
grave politeness and the most obsequious attention.
On the following morning, when the emir learned that the ladies had
escaped, and that his four-footed sentinel had been found lifeless, he
said, “Since the tiger has been thus put to death, I doubt not that
the brave Chevalier de Montfaucon has arisen from the tomb in which we
laid him, and that he himself has carried away these damsels. They will
indeed be well protected under the care of such a hero. Let no one then
attempt to pursue them, though, it is true, had such a gem as Bertha
von Lichtenried been of the party, my resolutions might have been
different from what they now are.”
CHAPTER III.
How the grand emir rewarded the cunning Alhafiz.
Thereafter it seemed as if the spirit of warfare and enterprise
possessed more than ever the mind of the grand emir Nurreddin. A
fleet of ships was got in readiness, troops were inlisted, arms and
provisions collected; though no one could even guess for what purpose
he made all these preparations. That some grand object was in view
the lookers-on could have no doubt; for it never had been known of
the emir, that a slight or unworthy cause had brought him into the
battle-field.
Late one evening, after a day spent in toil and tumult, Nurreddin was
seated on a richly-embroidered couch in his great hall, with a lute
on his arm, on which he awoke strange and fitful music, now touching
the strings with a light hand like some fond lover, anon almost tearing
them asunder, as if in wrathful vehemence. His slaves thought that he
was now reposing and diverting himself after the fatigues of the day;
but, whoever had marked his fiercely rolling eyes, quivering lips, and
the wild alternations of his music, must have perceived, that with this
seeming repose had begun indeed the sternest of his conflicts, for he
was now at war, not with others, but with himself; and it was at such
times only that Nurreddin had ever been known to tremble.
While he was thus engaged, lo! there came into the room a tall stately
warrior, with a long grizzly beard and gleaming eyes, who was named
Abdallah. While he solemnly and slowly delivered the message with
which he came, the emir kept his eyes fixed on him; but all the while
continued to tear at the strings, till at last some of them snapped
asunder, with a long mournful intonation. In a rage, Nurreddin dashed
the instrument against a marble pillar. “It is thine own fault,” cried
he, “thou senseless harp, because thou hast not understood me.” Then,
making a sign, that the attending slaves should withdraw, and that the
soldier should sit near him, he began to speak as follows:--
“Abdallah, my heart feels as if torn asunder, because I cannot find
occasion to express, after my own manner, what now labours therein,
and before a listener who can understand my words, reflecting in his
own heart that which directly came from mine. I do not forget that
such emotions make themselves best known by outward deeds; but these
require time ere they can come to light; and if one could now and then
interchange words, it might be possible to arrive at more glorious
achievements than any which, by mere silent thoughts, we should be able
to conceive.”
“The words of an eloquent man,” said Abdallah, “have been compared to
winged arrows penetrating the heart of the listener; and, methinks,
true eloquence is like a tree, which not only sends forth its fruits or
blossoms on high, but also throws them back again to the maternal soil;
that is, to the bosom which gave them birth.”
“Rightly spoken, Abdallah,” said the emir; “I believe that we shall
understand each other. In earlier years I have indeed earnestly sought,
amid the seductive pleasure-gardens and forests of this world, for a
noble tree that would offer to me such long-wished-for fruits, but
in vain!--Truly, if I but threw a random-spark on their branches,
they would crackle and hiss in the wind; but the true graft of a
fruit-bearing tree,--or, to speak more plainly, the true spirit that
makes a man that which he ought to be, and able to interchange thoughts
with a brave champion, was either not to be found, or yet unripe!--They
were all delighted for the most part to be noticed by the grand emir
Nurreddin, and to have it to say,--‘To-day I spoke with him for a
whole hour. Did’st thou mark how we were walking together?’--But for
the rest they troubled themselves little enough about the matter.”
“With submission,” answered Abdallah, “when your highness admitted such
men to your presence, it was your part then to teach them what they
should say and do, even as an old eagle instructs his young brood.”
“No, no!” cried the emir impatiently; “I would insist that the men with
whom I speak should feel with me that which cannot be taught; should
know themselves for what they are; that is to say, as consecrated
firebrands in the hands of their prince. Abdallah, should it not be so?”
The soldier spoke not, but looked at the emir silently, and shaking
his head, while with still greater vehemence and impatience Nurreddin
resumed,--
“Abdallah, thou hast lived, no doubt, twenty years longer in the world
than I have done. What I now learn, being a man past middle age, and
beginning to turn old, must have been to thee long since clear and
well understood. Dost thou not perceive, in the wars which every year
increase,--in the countless battles among Mussulmans, Heathens, and
Christians, that God and our holy prophet have decreed, that the whole
vault of heaven is to be converted into a fiery furnace, wherein the
nations of the earth are to be melted like ore in the hands of the
refiner?--Truly almost every nation has in itself life and spirit; but
should not we, who are the noblest among them, feel that we are chosen
to feed the flames; for, should the work advance so slowly as it now
seems to do, all will perish in smoke; nor will the great Alchemist
find at last aught but a mass of lifeless dross instead of pure metal
remaining.”
“Prince!” said Abdallah confounded, “methinks you would banish peace
from this whole earth, and with it all national laws and rights. What
then would be left to us?”
“Rights of man!--rights of chivalry!--rights of women!” cried the
emir with vehemence. “Each one should be held by his neighbour in due
respect, and the masses should be mixed and shaken together, till they
are fully melted, and thereafter assume of themselves finer forms than
before.”
“But, may it please your highness,” said Abdallah, “who has revealed to
you this mystery? or by whom have you been chosen for such a duty as
that which you would now take upon your shoulders?”
“Are not the flames that burn here,” said the emir, beating on his
breast, “enough to inform me, that I am chosen to assist like a
firebrand in this mighty work?”--Suddenly pausing, however, he fixed
a long, steadfast look on Abdallah, then added,--“Thou truly art no
firebrand; neither heat nor light will come from thy heart; so let us
talk no more of such matters, but get thee gone.”
Abdallah rose proudly from the sofa, and bowed in order to take
leave. Then Nurreddin held out his hand kindly to the old man,
and said,--“Well, though thou art not a flaming firebrand, yet art
thou not the less a brave soldier. I shall not deal with thee as I
have done with the broken lute that lies yonder; nor indeed had it
been so treated, had it been fit for any other service,--even, for
example, as a shield. But a mere lute must answer to our thoughts or
be destroyed. For the rest, old man, it is better that thou should’st
forget what I have said; or think, if thou wilt, that I have for once
broken the laws of our prophet, and confused my senses with wine. Good
night.”--Thereupon the soldier retreated, and the emir threw himself
back on the couch, grinning with wrath and vexation.
He had not long been left thus alone, when there arose a great noise of
music, clarionets, and cymbals, as if for some grand rejoicing, which
rang and echoed through the castle. The emir started up in a rage, and
called for his slaves.
“Who dares to begin that music,” cried he, “when your prince is alone
and thoughtful? Is this a time to fill the palace with your senseless
tumult and rejoicing?”--The slaves fell with their faces on the ground,
and said, “Let not the anger of our sovereign lord and prince fall
upon us; for, if a fault has been committed, the blame rests wholly on
Alhafiz. He has just now arrived with his galley in the harbour, and
has brought a veiled lady into the palace, telling every one that she
was the long-wished-for damsel, whom the grand emir valued more than
all the diamonds and pearls of the East. Hereupon we shouted for joy,
and the music played to welcome her arrival.”
“If this indeed be true,” said Nurreddin, “then for the future Alhafiz
shall be clad in cloth of gold and purple; nor shall he only possess
the third of my treasures which was promised him, but shall sit at my
left hand at the banquet-table, and ride next me in the battle-field.
Should he not, however, have brought that inestimable gem, but come
hither to disturb my repose by lying boasts, there shall be no want of
wild beasts to tear him limb from limb, and scatter his bones to the
four winds of heaven!”
Ere the prince ended his speech, lo! the cedar-wood door turned slowly
on its silver hinges, and there came into the hall a tall female figure
simply attired, with a long veil; on her left hand a frightful Moorish
woman, and on her right the grinning Alhafiz. “Here, great prince,”
said Alhafiz, “I have come to fulfil my promise; the damsel is yours,
and the black slave was my best assistant. I recommend her to your
favour, and hope also that you will now as faithfully remember your
engagements to me.” The emir made him a signal to be silent. “Thou hast
an untuneable voice, Alhafiz,” said he, “and thy unmannerly demands on
me prove the meanness of thine own spirit. Disturb me not then in these
moments, which are to me sacred and solemn: thou hast indeed fulfilled
more than I had believed to be possible, and more than I can yet well
understand. Know then that thou shalt not be the first man, to whom,
through his whole life, Nurreddin has remained a debtor.” Hereupon
Alhafiz and the black slave nodded triumphantly to each other, while
the prince rose from his couch, came respectfully towards the damsel,
and said, “I feel in mine inmost heart, noble lady, that Alhafiz has
not deceived me, and that you are that unequalled gem and paragon
of beauty after whom I have so long and ardently longed. Now then I
appeal to your benign goodness. Do not let me be withheld longer from
the sight of a countenance which doubtless is the most beautiful that
in this world has ever been beheld.” “Your flatteries,” answered the
damsel, “would never have lifted up the veil which I now wear; but
since Heaven has permitted that I should thus fall into your power,
and because it is not forbidden to a Christian maiden that she should
walk forth without a mask or veil before all the world, so I shall act
according to the prince’s commands.”
Hereupon her veil was rolled back. In the quiet majesty of her
loveliness, Bertha von Lichtenried looked on the astonished emir,
fixing on him her large blue eyes, shadowed by their dark frowning
brows. Her smooth brown hair was parted on the forehead; quiet and
collected she stood there, not indeed overpowering by her charms at
first sight, but every moment entwining round the heart, bonds of
chaste and respectful admiration.
For a long space they were both silent, the damsel, in the
consciousness of her own virtuous dignity, and the emir in
self-humiliation, because he now found that his usual pride and
dictatorial spirit were overcome. “Noblest of damsels,” said he at
length, “wherefore have you spoken of a prince or his commands, as if
violence and constraint would here be laid upon you? I trust indeed,
that no one has ever been so insolent as to force you to aught that
was contrary to your own wishes, at least not in my name. That Moor,
who now stands by the door, happened to overhear what I once said;
namely, that I would give the third part of my worldly fortune to
any one who would bring you hither, beautiful and innocent as you
had been left by the Prince Mutza. But, by Heaven, your honour and
dignity are dear to me, even more than my own; and I trust you have
been induced to cross the seas, not by violence, but by eloquent and
ingenious persuasions, or by the sweet spells that animate our Moorish
love-songs.”
“I know not,” said Bertha, “what thou meanest by persuasions or
love-songs; but your ambassador there, with his blackamoor band, forced
me away from the blessed image of the cross on the shore of Gascony, to
which I had clung for protection. The black slave who is here present
was my servant, and betrayed me into his power.”
“So then!”--answered the emir, while his brows contracted, and every
limb seemed quivering with rage, walking straightway towards a corner
of the hall, where all sorts of weapons were hung in readiness.
“Prince,” cried Alhafiz, his voice trembling with fear, “have I not
brought to you the damsel, safe and sound in her beauty and innocence,
as she was left by the Prince Mutza?”
“How darest thou say that she has been brought hither safe and sound?”
said the emir in a voice of thunder; “and could’st thou look upon
a form so angelic as this, and yet think of using violence? But be
silent, wretches, in her honoured presence, and ere long you shall be
silenced for ever.”
With these words he had drawn out two sharp javelins from among the
trophies on the wall, and in a moment he had hurled them severally at
Alhafiz and the black woman with such frightful certainty of aim, that,
ere the eye could trace the weapons in their flight, his two victims
were struck to the heart, and fell to the ground almost without even
one shriek of anguish.
“Away with them!” cried the emir; “a doctor learned in the law shall
come hither, and shall divide all my wealth fairly and equally into
three parts. When the written deeds are completed, then the next heir
of Alhafiz shall appear before me, that he may receive that portion
which belongs to him. Henceforward no one shall again dare to speak
of my promise, nor of the manner in which it has been fulfilled.”
Thereafter the slaves covered up the dead bodies, and bore them away.
Bertha meanwhile looked at them mournfully, and said, “Unfortunate
victims! I well knew that your crime would be fearfully punished
on your own heads; I warned you of this, and wherefore would you
not desist? May Heaven have mercy on your souls!” Turning then to
Nurreddin, she added, “What I should think of thee, I know not yet!
Wert thou indeed chosen here for a supreme and righteous judge?”
“Truly, methinks, I have been so chosen, noble lady,” answered the
emir; “but enough of this. For the present, may it please you to repose
yourself after your voyage? I would beg of you to lay aside all fear
so long as you are under my roof; for to you these apprehensions,
by which other young damsels might be assailed, are indeed unknown.
It seems rather as if angels always hovered around you with their
protecting wings, as if within the hallowed circle of your innocence
such thoughts dared not enter as those by which other minds are in this
world possessed. Do not think, however, that my character is like that
of Alhafiz, who called himself my ambassador; for, in truth, I did
not long to obtain you as a lover seeks after a young and beautiful
mistress, but rather as a guardian angel,--a heaven-inspired sister,
by whom I might for the future be chastised and counselled.” “Heaven’s
will be done!” answered Bertha; “if it has been ordained, that one so
humble as I am should point out the true path of religion and virtue
to a restless warrior such as thou art, then doubtless I shall succeed
in affording the counsels which thou desirest of me.” Meanwhile, on a
signal from the emir, female slaves had come into the hall, to whom he
gave in charge his beautiful guest, commanding that they should treat
her with the utmost respect and attention. Then, with a grave and
humble salutation, he took his leave.
CHAPTER IV.
How the Lady Bertha was entertained by Nurreddin.
On the following day a Moorish knight made his appearance in the
antechamber of the Lady of Lichtenried, and requested to know whether
it might be allowed to the emir to come into her presence. Bertha
granted the permission that was required of her; moreover, she was even
glad that she was to speak with Nurreddin again; partly because, from
his conduct of the preceding night, he had in some measure won her
regard, and partly because his features bore a certain resemblance to
some one whom she had before seen and now remembered with satisfaction,
though she could not fix on the precise time or place when this had
occurred.
On his entrance the emir again bowed with solemn respect; and when he
had taken his place, after the eastern manner, on a low couch opposite
to Bertha, she herself began to speak:--“Last night, methinks, you
proved yourself a stern and severe administrator of justice, not only
as the avenger of innocence, but also inasmuch as you maintained your
own word inviolate, and decreed to the next heir of Alhafiz that which,
by the other’s crime, became his due. How comes it then, that you do
not extend the same justice towards me?--If Alhafiz were a pirate and
violent robber, who deserved death, you also commit crimes like to his,
if you force me to remain here against my own will, knowing that I have
the right of freedom even as much as any bird that flies through the
forest.”--“You have indeed spoken but the truth, noble lady,” answered
the emir, “and it depends on your own choice towards what country you
will direct your flight, or what forest you will enliven with your
songs. Yet I cannot now go with you as your protector, for a duty
which God and our prophet have laid upon my shoulders holds me fast
bound to my station, even as iron is attracted by the north pole. Wait
only for a few days. Trust yourself with me on a short sea-voyage,
and you shall then turn your steps, with Nurreddin for your guard,
wheresoever your own heart inclines you. Perchance, however, your heart
may be now changed, and may desire only to remain evermore under his
protection.”--“Truly, Bertha of Lichtenried is of a very different
opinion,” answered the damsel; “and that you may be convinced of this,
I demand that you will immediately order a proper escort to attend me,
and that I may be carried back to Gascony from whence I came.”--“If
you insist on this,” answered the emir, “deeply as it grieves my
heart, doubtless your wishes shall be fulfilled; and yet----” He
paused, and fixed on her a long, ardent gaze; “should I forsake thee?”
cried he;--“should I permit such an angel as thou art to depart from
my palace, under the protection of strangers, on thy voyage into
a distant land?--What if they did not pay that respect which thou
deservest,--if they offended thee in word or deed, or even with the
rough sound of their churlish voices?--The very thought is enough to
render me mad with rage. Trust thyself then to me, and to me alone;
for thou could’st not rest more safely even in a father’s arms!”--The
prince’s ardour now indeed seemed more like that of an affectionate
parent or brother, than that of a selfish lover; so that Bertha could
no longer be afraid; and, except her brother, Sir Heerdegen, she could
not recollect any one over the wide world under whose protection she
would more gladly have placed herself. Therefore she no longer urged
her immediate departure, but relied on the emir’s promise, that she
should be sent whither she wished to go as soon as circumstances
rendered it possible for him to travel with her. The prince expressed
with great respect his thankfulness for the confidence that she
reposed in him; and the few days that must intervene, before she could
leave Carthagena, were to be spent in viewing the numberless beautiful
apartments,--the works of art,--and the magnificent gardens of his
palace.
The realms of Asia are indeed rich, and blest, above all quarters
of the earth, as if Nature evermore bestowed her especial care and
affections on that country wherein man first derived his birth; and
where, in after-years, far more than the gift of mortal life was
bestowed on him. Whatever treasures and luxuries this land affords,
whether of nature or art, all were in the possession of the rich and
powerful emir. He himself walked about in his dignity, like a proud
enchanter, through his palace and gardens, able to explain all the
mysteries and beauties by which he was surrounded, and willing to
become eloquent, if but a listener worthy of his notice could be found;
and to whom could he have addressed himself more gladly than to Bertha
of Lichtenried?--By whom could his glowing words have been so well
understood?--Therefore oftentimes they walked together through the long
vaulted galleries of the castle,--through the towering groves of the
shadowy garden,--or reposed, during the noonday heat, by its glassy
lakes or foaming waterfalls. With especial pleasure Bertha listened to
the wonderful legends and fairytales, which Nurreddin half-read from
beautiful manuscripts on palm-leaves, and half-sung to her from his own
recollection. To all these she listened with so much pleasure, that at
length she longed to become acquainted with the Arabian character and
language, in which they were originally written; and when she now tried
to imitate the foreign sounds, the emir thought he had never before
heard his own language spoken in its true beauty; for in softness and
melody of voice, Bertha indeed excelled all the damsels of the world.
One day it came to pass that she was walking with Nurreddin up and
down in a beautiful grove of laurel-trees, when he narrated to her the
following history.
CHAPTER V.
A strange story of a Lady and a Rose.
“Far remote, in the wide sea, named Archipelago, there lies an island
well known through all the world, blooming and golden with rich
harvests of corn, fruits, and wine. There, in old days of paganism, was
born the enchanter, whom the heathens afterwards looked upon as a god.
The island is called Crete, and the mighty enchanter’s name is Zeus.
“By his powerful spells it came to pass, that this island, whence he
derived his birth, was ever adorned with the choicest flowers; and it
is not very long since there was planted thereon a red rose of such
unequalled beauty, that it was praised and renowned far and near as
the richest and rarest of all nature’s blossoms. This flower came
from the town of Damascus, and it was watched and tended by a fair and
lovely damsel, who had been forced away from that city by wicked men,
and brought to the enchanter’s island. At Damascus she had been in her
flower-garden, and had the rose in her hand, when the wicked pirate
came to disturb her innocent pleasures. She hid the plant under her
mantle, and carried it with her into Crete. Here it had thriven well
beneath her tender care,--the Damascene rose blooming the fairest of
flowers, and she the fairest of damsels on the island.
“Oftentimes she had whispered in secret to the flower,--‘Here we are,
both strangers in the land; therefore we must be friends to each other,
and the bonds of affection may never be broken between us. If one
return home, the other too must go thither; and if the rose be cropped
from the stalk, the maiden will wither in her sadness.’--Then it seemed
almost as if the flower had understood her words, and nodded thereto
in silent sympathy.
“Not long thereafter the damsel was looking from her window on the
waves of the stormy sea, and, lo! she beheld, amid the raging waters,
a boat drawing near to the shore, and therein sat a graceful figure of
a knight, beating the dark billows with his oars, as an angry master
would chastise the slaves that rebelled against him. With eagle-eyes
he beheld from afar the beautiful maiden, as she stood on her lofty
veranda; he brought his bark to land, and made it fast by the golden
chain to a tree, then looked up to the window, and called aloud,--‘Who
art thou, most beautiful of ladies?’--The damsel answered,--‘I am a
king’s daughter, and by violent men have been brought hither from
Damascus.’--‘Then,’ said he, ‘thy life here is perchance sad and
lonely?’--‘Nay,’ answered the damsel, ‘I have with me the beautiful
rose that thou seest blooming in yonder garden; it has been my
friend and solace since we both left our native land.’--Then said
the knight,--‘Already have I won in battle a Damascene blade that is
better, I ween, than any sword that was ever wielded by mortal arm. A
maiden--a rose--and a sword from Damascus;--these are treasures above
all price; and the sword will soon free the maiden and the flower from
their bondage. Trust then to me; and if thou wilt but venture, thou
shalt soon be free as the nightingale in the forest.’--‘Who art thou,
mariner, that darest to speak thus boldly?’--‘Nay,’ said the knight,
‘I am a warrior, far and wide renowned, and wend my way where’er it is
my pleasure, by land or sea; and here in Crete I am named the brave
Hygies.’--‘Art thou indeed Hygies?’ said the damsel, ‘that wondrous
hero whose deeds are sung through all the world, and who has won such
victories among the Greeks, and in Persia, by land and by sea?--If
this be so, then truly I shall soon be brought back to my wished-for
home!’--‘Ay, fairest of damsels; and this night shall not pass till I
have come to take you from your prison.’--‘But hast thou a ship that
will bear us across the sea?’--‘Doubtless,’ answered the knight, ‘I
have even a fleet of ships, but they will not come hither till another
year has past away.’--‘For Heaven’s sake,’ cried the damsel, ‘tell
me how I may be concealed in Crete till they arrive?’--‘Fear not,’
answered the knight; ‘for all that Hygies has planned, he knows also
how to find the means of fulfilment.’--Thereupon she nodded kindly
her parting salutation, and the warrior retired; but when the evening
shades had settled on the island, he failed not to come again with a
long ladder of ropes, which he fixed to her window. She ventured to
descend, and was once more free.
“Deep in the recesses of the Cretan mountains there lies a cavern,
covered at the entrance with heath and copsewood, but large and lofty,
wherein no mortal dares enter, for terror of the supernatural powers
that might assail him; for in ancient times this was the birth-place
of Zeus, the far-famed enchanter. Here, in the secret depths of the
cave, Hygies concealed the blooming and beautiful damsel,--coming
oftentimes to caress her at the dead of night, and bringing with him
food and wine, with costly carpets, to defend her from the cold and
hard rocks. Meanwhile she often said to him with anxious sighs,--‘Thou
wert my deliverer, and art now become my dear husband; but beware, I
pray thee, beware lest my dearly-beloved rose should wither!--From
Damascus thou hast obtained a maiden and a sword, but do not forget
that there is, moreover, a Damascene rose under thy protection.’
“Far and wide, even for a whole year, the Cretans sought through the
land, but in vain; they knew not whither the beautiful captive had
retired; but the knight Hygies, he alone well knew where to find the
object of his affections; and because the cave, though wide, was no fit
habitation for his beloved, he used to cut and hew the rocks with his
invincible Damascene blade, till he had made a habitation under ground
such as any queen might have envied.
“But joy leads to sorrow, and pleasure to pain;--ere the year’s end
the princess bore a son,--a bold, handsome boy, thus cradled among
the rocks like the old enchanter Zeus, and the brave warrior Hygies
took him in his arms with all a father’s love. So the mother’s pain
was again changed to joy; and not long thereafter there was seen
on the horizon a heart-enlivening shew of white sails all swelling
in the breeze; and this was the fleet of the renowned Sir Hygies.
That evening the ships cast anchor in a bay of the Cretan shore, and
messengers came straightway to the noble owner, who rejoiced heartily
at their arrival, and went, in the silence of the night, for his
Damascene beauty,--brought her forth under the light of the moon and
stars, with the child sleeping on his mother’s breast. Then, as they
were proceeding on their way, the lady sighed deeply, and said,--‘Oh,
Heaven!--how that thought comes irresistibly in the midst of all my
joys!--Must I leave the dear rose-tree here on a foreign strand?--Have
we not known each other so long in our affliction, and promised both,
that if one of us should be set at liberty, the other should not be
left in bondage?--See, yonder blooms the rose! dear husband, go and
bring it to me!’--But the knight would not listen to her prayer, and
urged her forward in rapid flight. The damsel sighed again, and would
not go with him, but ran to the garden wherein she had planted her
beloved flower. There a sudden noise from the castle alarmed her, and
she would have fled, but the rose held her garments fast with its
thorny fingers, and in her terror she shrieked and fell to the ground.
The knight ran up to her, and took the child from her arms, while she
yet lay motionless, and fainting in her grief and affright. But now
every window and door was suddenly burst open;--the Cretan guards and
soldiers came forth armed, and with torches in their hands. At the
first glance they recognised the beautiful maid of Damascus, as she lay
there beside her blooming rose-tree, and determined not only to make a
captive of her, but also of the brave Sir Hygies. The knight, however,
proved game not so easily to be caught. With his Damascene blade he
dealt about him blows so rapid and so powerful, that whoever dared to
approach him was felled to the ground; so that they all stood still,
and their courage was broken. Thereafter they tried their javelins and
arrows, and Hygies protected himself and the beautiful damsel as long
as he could, till an arrow came whistling under his golden shield, and
struck her to the heart. She fell lifeless, and the red rose-leaves
mingled with the blood that streamed from her death-wound. The knight
then must leave the lady and the rose behind him on the island; but
the sword was still his own, and by its aid he rescued the child, and
bore it with him to his fleet, and sailed for Arabia. Thereafter the
child proved a valiant warrior,--an avenging sword, that was worth an
hundred thousand blades of the best Damascene steel.”
CHAPTER VI.
How the Lady Bertha sailed from Carthagena.
Now this fairy legend, that we have told in plain prose, was sung
by Nurreddin in pleasant, well-sounding verses; and Bertha listened
thereto with so much pleasure, that the emir repeated it to her
many times thereafter, and it seemed as if his own heart was always
strangely moved by the recital. Then it came to pass, that she begged
him to explain who was in reality the far-famed Hygies, and if he did
not know more of this warrior than the song had unfolded?--“Somewhat,”
answered the emir, “but not much;--all that I know is,--that he came
from foreign countries to Greece; that he was a youth everywhere beheld
with fear and wonder; but I could never prove whether his name were
properly Hygies, or if this were not a title bestowed on him in Crete,
for in the Hellenic tongue it imports, that he was lively, active, and
jocose.”--After such answers, it happened for the most part that he
would speak no more, and that a deep shade of discontent came over his
dark frowning brows.
One evening Bertha sat with the emir on a lofty balcony, whence she
commanded a beautiful prospect across the orange-groves towards the
sea, her mind filled with pleasant remembrances of home. A cooling
east wind played over the water, and rustled through the orange-trees,
bearing sometimes leaves from their branches, and wafting them up to
the damsel. “How,” said she, “if this wind, with its rustling leaves,
came from the enchanter’s island, or from Damascus, and could bring me
news what has become of the brave knight Hygies, and his infant son?”
“Nay,” answered the emir, “How comes it, that you have never inquired
of me what was the fate of the poor child?”
“I know not wherefore I was silent,” said Bertha, “my heart always
longed to hear more of him, and yet, when I was about to speak,
methought as if by invisible hands a seal was imprinted on my lips, and
I could not utter a word.”
“That is indeed strange,” said the emir, “for I have felt always
impelled to tell you more of that child and his fortunes, but the fear
withheld me, that you would look on him, who was thus born in the
enchanter’s cave and in the wild island, with aversion and terror.
Know, then, that I myself am the son of the brave Hygies.”
Bertha gazed at him with wonder, and at length said, “Why then should
I be afraid of you, because you are the son of that renowned hero and
the beautiful lady of Damascus? Rather should I expect to find in you
a star of honour and courtesy, in whom I could confidently trust.”
“A comet, rather you should have said,” answered Nurreddin, “or a
destructive thunderbolt, terrifying the nations, and destroying many
in its course; yet to future generations announcing happiness and
prosperity.”
“The nations must be very base,” said Bertha gravely, “if they look for
aid to a single champion, and not from their own strength.”
“Even to prevent them from becoming thus depraved,” said Nurreddin,
“have I been sent into the world. I must kindle the fire and fan the
flames; the fire of trial and purification, whereby many a peaceful
roof will be overthrown, and many a blooming land laid waste, in order
that, thereafter, all may be established better than heretofore.
Believe me, noble lady, the nations of the earth may well be compared
to the phœnix, and from time to time must be consumed by fire, that,
arising from their ashes, they may prove their immortality and
everlasting strength.”
“I believe you are now led astray by a fearful delusion,” said Bertha;
“but Heaven will, according to his divine wisdom, set you free from
this temptation; and as for the destructive fires with which you now
threaten the people, Providence will no doubt interfere for their
protection.”
“Ere long it shall be proved how that may be,” answered the emir;
“to-morrow we are to set out with my fleet of galleys towards Ostia.
There we shall cast anchor; and this is the voyage of which I have
before spoken, and on which you must go with me before I am at liberty
to attend you on your journey homewards. Rome is but feebly defended;
and if I should succeed in burying the triple-crowned priest under
the ruins of his own churches, the whole mouldering fabric of the
system, called Christianity, would at once be tumbled down, along with
its key-stone, to the ground. Especially, I have the better chance
to succeed in this undertaking, because the light and mirror of your
Christian knighthood, the brave King Richard, is now held in prison by
his own friends and comrades in the field, who should have protected
him, if need were, from all such insult.”
Thereafter a pleasant smile stole over Bertha’s features; nay, she
looked so contented and child-like in her happiness, that one might
have rather said that she laughed; whereupon the emir rose from his
place on the veranda, walked up and down, and said, “Fair and beautiful
as thou art, how can’st thou jest over what I have now said? My hopes
and courage, nay my very life, had been renewed in thy presence; for
I believed that every thought and feeling of my soul was by thee
sympathized with and understood; and, though according to the manner of
timid damsels, thou perchance might be afraid of my over vehemence and
zeal, yet thou could’st still admire the greatness of my undertakings,
and feel thereby inspired and enraptured. Now, however, when I have
uttered before thee those things of which I had never till now spoken
but in my secret prayers to God and our holy prophet, all the return I
meet with is but in childish laughter! not even hast thou trembled at
thoughts of the fearful and irresistible dangers which my voyage will
bring on thy cherished faith and all its adherents.”
“Could my faith then be sincere,” answered Bertha, with the same
unconcerned smile, “if I thought that our religion could be overcome by
thy endeavours? The true faith may never die; Heaven will soon supply
means for the defence of Rome; and I am heartily glad that you will
take me with you to Ostia, and that I may be a wondering spectator by
what agent Providence shall repulse your proud and warlike attacks. It
may be an avenging spirit with a flaming sword, or a seraph smiling on
you in peace and forgiveness; and, Heaven knows, it is my earnest hope
that the peace-angel may come to meet you.”
At these words, Nurreddin bowed lowly and respectfully, saying,
“Forgive me, if I misunderstood your smiles; for it is not my fault if
you are far better fitted to excite or display heroic energies than to
look for and admire them in others.”
Bertha stretched out her hand kindly to the emir, and answered, “Good
night, brave and adventurous son of the renowned Hygies. We must
meet early to-morrow, and be prepared for our journey.” “Ay, truly,”
answered Nurreddin; “but I pray you, do not call me as you now did,
the son of Hygies; for though I respect his memory who was ennobled by
such brave exploits, yet the reflection, that he neither brought me to
my mother’s parents, the king and queen at Damascus, nor to his own
home, which remains still unknown, but that I was left amid the wild
wandering Arabs to be educated as chance might direct;--these thoughts,
noble lady, are indeed bitter and painful to my heart; and I am tempted
to think, that though he might well merit his prize of the Damascus
sword, yet he was not deserving of the tender rose-tree, nor the
rose-like maiden.” With these words he bowed respectfully, and left
the veranda.
On the following morning the ships of Nurreddin, with their brazen
beaks and silken streamers, were gleaming in the sun, while the light
breezes gently played amid their snow-white sails. Through a shadowy
walk of the garden, Bertha now came with her extraordinary protector
from the palace towards the sea-shore. As they drew near the gate,
there was heard from the thickets the gentle sound of a harp; and
ere long, words too blended with its notes, and Bertha could not but
listen; for the words were French, and reminded her of past and happy
days. The voice and music were tremulous and mournful; and the minstrel
deplored that he could no longer praise the beauties of the ocean-waves
dancing in the sunshine, the blooming woods and fragrant breezes of the
morning; for now the fairest of flowers, the damsel that had adorned
these woods, was borne far away; and he could only weep, or faintly
sing to his harp, the lamentations of a lonely and despairing lover.
Then it seemed, after this beginning, as if his voice died away in his
grief and sadness, and only low broken notes of his harp were still
heard from amid the shadowy coverts.
Bertha had involuntarily stood still to listen; and the emir, anxious
to fulfil every wish of hers, stopped also, and made a signal that the
slaves who followed them should not move. When the song had thus died
away, and Bertha looked anxiously round for the minstrel, Nurreddin
stepped hastily on through the portal, and, with his eagle-eyes, soon
found out the disconsolate youth with his harp, made a sign that he
should come nearer; and thereafter brought him before the lady, who, to
her great joy, recognised at once the minstrel, Aleard.
Kindly and anxiously then she inquired what had led him to that foreign
land, and whether it might possibly be in her power to lessen that
grief by which he now seemed oppressed. The youth wished to answer;
but, with a mistrustful side-look at Nurreddin, he remained silent.
“Speak freely,” said Bertha; “whatever a noble-minded minstrel can have
to say may surely be uttered in the presence of this valiant hero.”
Thereafter Aleard related, without hesitation, how he had come hither
to rescue Blanchefleur; but that, after seeing the fate of her brother,
Sir Folko, his wrath against the Count Vinciguerra and the merchant,
Theobaldo, was so great, that he resolved no longer to hold any
intercourse with them, and past the night, after the seeming death of
the chevalier, in contriving how he might alone and by stratagem effect
her deliverance. Not till next morning did he hear of the knight’s
miraculous restoration, and the escape of both the ladies; “and now,”
said he, “I am here disconsolate and alone, wandering amid people who
move round me like apparitions in a mirror, or listening to sounds that
find no echo in my heart. My harp indeed is left to me, and is my
only companion. By that means, if I visit the houses of rich Moorish
knights, I am able to live, without submitting to ignoble or wearisome
toil, and by night, or early in the morning, can call back in sunny
dreams the pleasures of the past. I had indeed resolved to wear away
my life on this foreign shore; but when your beauty, which I had often
beheld in the presence of Blanchefleur, again dawned on my sight, the
ardent longing for home once more awoke painfully and anxiously in my
heart. Therefore it is true, that I now wished to draw your attention
to my sorrows; for I find that you are prepared for your voyage hence.
If it were possible that I might go with you again into a Christian
land, so the light of a new morning would gleam forth on the darkness
of my fate; if this may not be, yet the sight of you now departing is
at least like the last rays of the setting sun, and the night will all
the sooner come to shed her veil over my sorrows.” “Nay, if it be the
will of Heaven,” said Bertha, “I shall prove to you, like the early
morning red, the harbinger of light and joy. This valiant champion will
not, methinks, disapprove what I have proposed.” Hereupon the emir
kindly took the minstrel’s hand, and said, “Whatsoever the Lady Bertha
only wishes may be looked on as fulfilled, if it be in the power of
Nurreddin to render her assistance. Moreover your art is dear to me
for its own sake; for we Arabians are lovers of music and of song, and
the fairy legends of olden time.” So discoursing pleasantly with each
other, they all three came down upon the shore, now sweetly illuminated
by the red morning gleams. There they embarked, and directly the
mariners set sail, and the vessels moved proudly out of the harbour.
CHAPTER VII.
How the Lady and Nurreddin discoursed on their Voyage.
The shouts of admiration and parting greetings, which rent the air
when the emir left Carthagena, had long since died away; now even the
Spanish shore had vanished from their sight, and they were driven
rapidly onward by gentle and steady west winds along the wide blue
waters, under a serene cloudless sky.
On the deck of the flag-ship were seated Nurreddin and Bertha, under a
canopy of olive-green silk, and zealously conversing with each other,
sometimes in the Arabic, and sometimes in one or other of the European
languages. Meanwhile the timidity inspired by Nurreddin’s solemn
grandeur of demeanour kept all the listeners at a respectful distance;
even Master Aleard, the noble troubadour, was not invited to a share in
this high conference. Truly their dialogue might have begun playfully,
with music and song, for Bertha’s lute still rested on her left arm;
but the discourse of noble and elevated souls, who are ever striving
after the highest knowledge and virtue, may well be compared to the
eagle’s flight, which, though he may now and then descend as if in
sport to attack the wild deer or other game of the forest, still, as by
nature directed, renews his upright course, soaring always nearer and
nearer to the sun.
So these twain, the Moorish knight and the damsel, sat there, and
conversed in their pomp and dignity; but as to what they said, it may
not here be repeated word for word. Though Bertha’s thoughts were
indeed solemn and anxious, yet she did not venture to speak on the
truths of our holy faith too plainly, but discoursed rather in shadowy
images and mystic allegories. These lofty and sublime truths were the
subject of their dialogue, Nurreddin enforcing his arguments by all the
flowery eloquence of the East, while Bertha spoke with careless and
almost child-like simplicity; and meanwhile, from a vessel that sailed
near them, the tones of the troubadour’s harp sounded at intervals in
mournful melody. At length the shades of evening fell upon the waters;
and thereafter night came with her countless gleaming stars, when
Nurreddin gave the damsel in charge to his female slaves, while he
retired to his cabin. Bertha meanwhile continued to speak as cheerfully
as ever with her attendants; and when at last she fell asleep, a
pleasant smile settled on her beautiful features, betokening the quiet
and innocence that reigned in her heart.
Next day the combat between these two noble spirits was renewed, and
carried on with equal ardour. As for the emir, he had recourse to
several rolls of manuscript palm-leaves, which he brought from his
cabin, and out of them read aloud now and then well-sounding verses
and deeply-pondered sentences. Bertha meanwhile had no book to assist
her; though it is true she should have had in her possession one
volume, more estimable than all others, bound in black velvet, adorned
with silver-clasps and beautiful pictures; but this was left at the
fortress of Trautwangen, while the history of saints, that she had
been wont to read with so much pleasure, still remained at Gabrielle’s
castle in Gascony. Yet these books, more especially the lives of
saints, had been studied by the good pious Bertha with such care, that
she now never failed by memory to command their assistance. Many times
indeed she reflected long and silently; so that one might have thought
she was embarrassed and overpowered by the splendid and poetic language
of Nurreddin; yet, in answer to what he read from the Koran and other
Moorish records, she failed not at last to answer in the spirit of
faith, hope, and charity, moreover with a dove-like simplicity, whereby
the serpent’s cunning shewn in Mahomet’s doctrine was wholly overcome.
So their meetings continued for several weeks, and the sea-voyage
passed over after a fashion which the mariners and soldiers little
expected. Instead of banquets, music, and mirth, there prevailed over
them all a solemn meditative silence, whose influence seemed indeed
extended to the ocean and the sky. Only so much wind breathed on the
sails as was required to bring the voyagers onward in their course
towards Ostia; the wide sea lay around them almost like a mirror,
only varied by light rippling waves as the vessels ploughed their
adventurous way, furrowing the deep fathomless waters.
CHAPTER VIII.
How the Pope baptized the Emir Nurreddin, and many of
his Moors.
So it came to pass, that one morning on the shores of Ostia, there
arose a fearful tumult and confusion. Women, old men, and children,
were already flying along the high-road towards Rome, or had embarked
in boats to row up the Tiber, while others were anxiously collecting
and packing up their property, all the while calling out in their
terror, “Away, away, ere it be too late! Yonder are their flags already
on the horizon.” The men, however, and youths who were able to bear
arms, drew themselves up on the strand, prepared for defence, though
among them were to be seen many pale faces, and murmurs were heard
through the ranks,--“It is Nurreddin, the frightful Arab himself, who
is thus coming against us.” From Rome there came ere long troops, to
support the people at Ostia, but few in number, and in their looks no
tokens of confidence nor pleasure, more than in the countenances of
those whom they were sent to encourage, only here and there some one
continued to tranquillize his own mind, by saying, “This cannot be
the great emir, who is now coming hither. The fleet is nothing more
than African pirate ships.” Such voices, however, were opposed always
by twenty to one; for men had been sent out in boats to reconnoitre,
and to keep watch in the high-light towers. On their return, they all
declared, that it was the fleet of the dreaded emir that was near at
hand, and that his own flag-ship, distinguished from all the rest,
was in the middle. All this they knew by the glittering ornaments and
streamers, by the fashion of the sails, and shape of the vessels. The
chiefs of the Italian troops were so terrified at hearing this, that
they could scarcely utter an angry command, that these unwelcome
messengers should be silent. Then they whispered to one another, “It is
all but too certain! Nurreddin is drawing near, and our only hope is to
die nobly with sword in hand!”
Meanwhile the ships were advancing in beautiful array, with a favouring
breeze, and their white sails gleaming in the red light of the morning.
Judging by the number of vessels how powerful the enemy must prove, the
Italian chiefs did not venture to oppose them at their first landing,
but retired upwards from the shore, forming a kind of ambuscade, whence
they could watch the movements of the invaders, and take advantage
of a favourable opportunity for attack, hoping perchance to surprise
them when engaged in plundering the town; or, finally, if the enemy
came in battle-array against them here, at least, they would, if put
to flight, stand a better chance than on the shore below, of securing
their retreat to Rome. At the moment when the troops, who had just
then assembled, heard the command for wheeling round, and marching
back towards the capital, this order was obeyed with the greatest
alacrity and precision. When the captains, however, found, that the
proper station on a rising ground had been gained, and intended that
they should again turn round towards the sea, they saw that obedience
was no longer to be expected. To the people of Ostia, bearing arms
indeed, but wholly unpractised in warfare, the road to Rome, that lay
now before them, was a prospect far too attractive to be resisted. The
more vehemently that the chiefs thundered out the orders to “halt,” the
more rapidly did the troops now march forward; and when the commands
were changed into threats, and measures were taken to interrupt their
course, their march turned straightway into flight, and, as if the
enemy had been in full chace, they pursued their way, while the
captains found, that only a few old and practised soldiers were left
near them.
The men of this little band looked at each other with melancholy
pride. They could not but feel, that they might be well compared to
corn, and the dispersed multitude to worthless chaff. Their honour,
however, was to be purchased only by unavoidable death; for already
Nurreddin’s ships lay at anchor; already his troops had disembarked,
and in their glittering dresses had begun to arrange themselves on the
shore, while even the number of their waving banners exceeded that of
the warriors who were left here to oppose them. Not one of this band,
however, thought of following the example that had been set them by the
contemptible runaways; for, whoever remains steadfast in resolve till
a certain trying point has been passed over, henceforward is troubled
neither with doubts nor fears.
But while the warriors stood thus prepared for death, leaning sternly
on their swords, lances, and halberts, lo! there came before them, an
apparition so unexpected and brilliant, that they believed it could be
no other than a messenger from Heaven sent to comfort them, in this
the last and bitterest hour of their lives. The reality did in truth
somewhat accord with what they had imagined,--for now the consecrated
father of the church, the pope himself, in all the pomp and grandeur
of his holy office, walked up and down among the ranks. The soldiers
all fell on their knees before this venerable ruler of the Christian
world, whereupon he spoke as follows:--“My beloved children, if the
Saracens should obtain the victory in this place, those who saved
their own lives by flight would certainly not find themselves able to
defend Rome and the holy sanctuaries of the capital. Therefore I have
come forth to share your fate, whether it be victory or death; for God
forbid, that the pope should think of his own safety, if the holiest
temples of Europe are to be profaned, and perchance levelled with
the ground. According to the best reason and judgment of men, such
must be the consequence of this invasion, and we have only to shed our
last heart’s blood on these green meadows for his glory and our own
salvation; but if it should be the will of Heaven, all may turn out far
differently from what we now expect. Let us then wait with composure
and tranquillity for whatever fortune he may send to us, whether it be
joy or sorrow; and now receive, with hearts both courageous and humble,
his blessing.”
The pope then stretched out his arms, and implored the blessing of
Heaven on that band of warriors, who at his signal immediately rose
up, and looked forward confidently and with calm courage to the events
which were now before them, while he walked in the van of this little
squadron, invested with the symbols of his holy rank.
Meanwhile Nurreddin’s troops advanced in all that splendour which
he had long been preparing, with cheering music, trumpets, and
tambourines. Suddenly, however, the whole army stood still, the music
ceased, and, lo! there appeared two graceful figures,--an armed
champion and a beautiful damsel,--who came forward towards the pope
and his little band confidently and as friends, without sending any
herald or peace-messenger to demand a conference. It was a pleasure to
behold the warlike grandeur of the knight, and the humble yet dignified
demeanour of that beautiful lady, so that no one could have dared to
meet them as foes with javelin or sword;--moreover, the pope made a
signal to the Italian chiefs, that they should remain quiet, and moved
forwards alone to meet his extraordinary guests. The strangers both
kneeled before him, and the lady began to speak:--“Holy father,” said
she, “we recognised you from afar, not merely by your magnificent
attire, but by your looks and gestures; therefore we thought it
needless to send a herald to prepare the way for a request that we
have now to make. Lo! we kneel humbly before you. I have been educated
in the Christian faith; my home is in Swabia; and I am named Bertha von
Lichtenried. I have brought hither the noble and far-famed champion
Nurreddin, who begs earnestly to receive from your hands the blessed
sacrament of baptism.”
To this unexpected address there followed a long solemn silence; and
the pope clasped his hands, and looked up to Heaven in gratitude and
astonishment. After that pause Bertha continued,--“The soldiers who
are drawn up yonder on the plain are willing to follow the example of
their commander; and the few who wish to desert him, and abide by the
doctrines of Mahomet, will immediately re-embark in their vessels, and
will not venture even to injure one blade of grass on these shores,
which hereafter shall be under the warlike protection of the renowned
emir Nurreddin.”--“So may the God of the Christians and his Holy
Spirit assist or renounce me,” said the emir;--“both have I been taught
to know and to reverence by the seraph who has now spoken for me here.”
Then the pope kneeled down, and the Christian soldiers with him;--all
prayed silently, and with hearts deeply moved, to the Giver of all
good. At length the patriarch commanded them all to rise up, and to
follow him on his way back to Rome, where would immediately be held
the solemn festival of baptism. Nurreddin, however, still kneeling,
thus addressed him:--“Holy father, my soul thirsts after the waters
of eternal life; and, if it so pleased you, I would not longer be
debarred that blessing which the forerunner of the Christian Saviour
used to confer in the wild fields and woods, without circumstance or
pomp.”--“Let it be then as thou desirest, dear son,” answered the pope;
and, looking round, he perceived near him a rivulet of clear water,
to which he advanced, and, choosing Bertha and the Christian soldiers
who had remained faithful at their post for witnesses, he straightway
fulfilled the baptism of Nurreddin, giving to him the honoured name of
Christophorus, which had been borne many centuries before by a powerful
and gigantic warrior, whose sword was always wielded in defence of
the Christian church. Then he embraced the new-won votary of the true
faith, even as a father would embrace a beloved son, and turning to
Bertha, almost bent down his head respectfully before her:--“Noble
and virtuous lady,” said he, “thou art chosen by Heaven as a blessed
agent of his holy will, and before that influence which dwells in thy
spirit, even his consecrated servants feel themselves awed and humbled.
I beg, therefore, in the name of our far-famed city, that thou wilt
honour it with thy presence, and that thou wilt remain within its walls
through the winter which is now approaching, in order that we may
have time to thank her who, under Heaven, has been our deliverer and
protectress. This brave champion will also remain for your protection,
like the lion which would not leave the saint by whom he had been
tamed.”--Humbly, and blushing deeply, Bertha inclined her head in
token of assent; and the noble Arabian professed his determination of
obedience to whatever commands she was pleased to lay upon him.
Many people, both men and women, came, attracted by the wonderful news
that had arrived at Rome, bringing from the great city food and wine,
in order that a banquet might not be wanting at this grand festival.
Thereupon the holy patriarch assembled round him all the monks and
other priests, who had now made their appearance, and, walking through
the Moorish ranks, dealt out among them the blessed sacrament of
baptism; for they now followed the example of their chief in his
progress towards the gates of everlasting life, as they had before done
on the battle-field to victory or death.
Thereafter the banquet was arranged along the beautiful banks of the
Tiber, and when Bertha presented to the emir a cup of old Falernian
wine, the converted Mahometan, for the first time, drank the noble
juice of the grape, and felt through every vein the fire of earthly as
well as of divine inspiration.
CHAPTER IX.
How Sir Folko fought with an old woman, and broke her
stand of crockery-ware.
The voyage of Sir Folko de Montfaucon, and the two rescued damsels,
was, alas! far different from that of the emir and Bertha von
Lichtenried. No sooner had they lost sight of Carthagena, than the
ocean-waves rose wildly against them, so that it was not without
vehement struggles that they were able to reach the straits that divide
Africa from Spain;--nay, when they tried to tack right over from
Gibraltar’s high cliffs, in order that they might steer for Gascony,
there arose such a terrible whirlwind, that Hernandez lost all command
of his vessel. Fortunately, however, there were no rocks near enough to
split against; but they were driven far out into the desolate sea, and
there tost about so long, that, from the want of sufficient food and
water, they were threatened with starvation, till, for the sake of the
poor suffering damsels, they were glad at last to find a harbour, at
an island which seemed uninhabited, and for which not one of the whole
party knew even a name.
On this lonely strand, while Sir Folko, Don Hernandez, and the Count
Vinciguerra, were busily employed in building a cottage to shelter
the ladies, collecting rushes for the roof and soft moss for their
beds;--in short, all that knightly gallantry would at such a time have
achieved, the merchant Theobaldo amused himself all day long with the
Magic Ring, enticing, by its strange and varied music, all the beasts
of the forest, even the seals, sea-calves, and sea-horses, from the
ocean around him, and at times laughing aloud at their strange dances
and gambols. Sir Folko and Don Hernandez felt themselves roused to
the utmost disdain and anger, because, for the sake of these silly
diversions, Theobaldo should have neglected wholly the service of the
two ladies that were intrusted to their care; and, as he now frequently
brought the howling wild beasts and awkward sea-calves into the
presence of Blanchefleur and Gabrielle, who were thereby disturbed and
terrified, they resolved, whatever the consequences might be, to put
an end to such conduct. After an adventure of this kind, the Knight
of Montfaucon stepped forward, placed himself right before Theobaldo,
and looked at the merchant steadfastly, with gleaming, wrathful eyes.
The chevalier had now resumed his glittering armour, and looked so
formidable, that the merchant, though wishing to conceal his agitation,
could not help feeling embarrassed, and fixing his eyes on the ground.
At length he said,--“What means all this?--You wish, perchance, to play
the part of an old statue of Roland in the market-place, as you stand
there so stern and motionless?”--“That is not my design,” answered Sir
Folko; “but it shall be proved ere long how I shall deal with you, if
your behaviour should not be more circumspect and quiet for the future.”
“Ay, forsooth!” said Theobaldo, in his usual tone of calm defiance, “it
might be as well to inquire first how I shall deal with you and all
your party, if the question--‘Who is master?’--comes to be tried among
us.”
“Sir,” answered De Montfaucon, in a tone of indifference and
resolution, “you have indeed rescued my life, and have assisted much
towards the rescue of these noble ladies;--through the ring, too, you
are brought into possession of many powerful spells. For such reasons,
however, you must not suppose that you can make game at will of a
French baron and banneret, far less of the damsels who are now under
his protection. In short, if you dare to terrify them once more with
your abominable dances of wild beasts and fishes, then remember your
own life is at stake, or, peradventure, the question to be determined
is, Whether my sword or your witchcraft will obtain the victory?--The
trial shall be made, however; on that score you can have no doubt.”
“--Nay,” said Theobaldo, “I doubt not that your words would amply be
made good; and it is, methinks, far better for us both if we should not
bring it to the proof which of us is destined to bear the upper hand
in conflict. Be satisfied then, and forgive me; for that of which you
complain shall not happen again.”--Thereupon Sir Folko was appeased,
and shook hands with Theobaldo; nor were the ladies ever more terrified
by the dancing beasts and sea-monsters.
Not long after these events, the skies became once more free from
clouds, and Don Hernandez gave orders to heave anchor, that they might
pursue their voyage. At first the winds were favourable, and they
doubted not that they should happily arrive at the destined port; but
scarcely had they again reached the Straits of Gibraltar, when there
arose of new, a frightful tempest, forcing the vessel back into the
narrow seas, and driving it violently past Carthagena, towards Malaga;
nor did the storm abate till they found themselves opposite to the
coast of Genoa. The condition of the ship, now almost a wreck, and
the distress of the two ladies, left them no choice. They resolved to
cast anchor in the harbour of Genoa, and follow out the rest of their
journey by land.
Scarcely had the damsels been safely lodged in a pleasant mansion at
this town, and the requisite clothes, armour, and other necessaries
been brought from the vessel, when the Knight of Montfaucon made a
signal that Theobaldo should speak with him in a retired street of
that city.--“Now,” said the knight, “confess freely, that we have
been forced hither by your agency;--that you have all this while
played your pranks for your own diversion and our annoyance;--in
short, that, by means of your Magic Ring, you have raised the storm
that always opposed us when we drew near Gibraltar!”--“Why then did
you not address these questions to me when we were on board ship?”
said Theobaldo; “then, perhaps, there had been time to make up for
whatever faults I had committed.”--“I know not whether you now speak
in mockery or earnest,” answered Sir Folko; “and, in truth, with such
people one cannot expect to fare better. However, this is of little
consequence; but, for my own part, I answer you in right earnest. Mark
you!--whilst we were at sea, your sorcery and witchcraft might have
been carried much farther, and the ladies who were under our protection
might have perished thereby. Now, however, you have to deal with me
alone, and I speak with you even as one Christian knight with another.
Have you then, by your incantations, made game of us, and led us thus
astray?”--“Not as a knight, but as an honest merchant, I answer you,”
said Theobaldo, “that I did conjure up the storms by which our ship
was driven on the wild waves; not, however, because I wished to make
game of you for my own diversion, but because I had firmly resolved in
my own mind, that it was better to land at Genoa than on the shores
of France.”--“In Genoa, perchance, you may fare but hardly, sir
merchant,” answered De Montfaucon, glancing at his sword; “though the
first question may be, whether you have honour and courage enough to
defend your own actions?”--“As to what you are pleased to call honour,”
said Theobaldo, “I trouble myself little about the matter; but, as to
my courage, it has been proved already, and may be proved again on
occasions more important than any that are likely to occur at this
time.”--“A pitiful excuse!” said Sir Folko; “the veriest coward or
deserter has it in his power to speak as thou hast done. Without more
circumlocution, however, be condescending enough to come straightway
to the mark, and answer, whether thou art now willing to walk with me
into one of the gardens by which we are here surrounded, and wherein
we may quietly measure swords together, until one or other measures,
with his own lifeless body, the ground that is to serve him for a
grave?”--“Right willingly,” answered the merchant: “we shall soon find
a fitting place for this encounter;--only follow me.”
Hereupon the merchant walked rapidly away, and the knight followed him
with impatient strides. Ere long, however, it seemed to De Montfaucon
as if he heard the voice of Theobaldo calling to him from behind; and,
on looking round, he saw, to his utter confusion, that the merchant was
also there. Nay, at the same moment, there started into life an hundred
more shadows of the same figure, that grinned at him from windows
of the neighbouring houses, and threatened him, sword in hand, from
across the railing of the gardens; but though these might be shadows,
yet in no one circumstance could they be distinguished from the true
Theobaldo; so that, in his amazement, the knight wheeled round and
round, not knowing whom he was to attack, till at last some one laughed
aloud,--“Now, sir knight,” cried the voice, “you find that there are
too many of us even for the Chevalier de Montfaucon to encounter, and
your honour and courage may for this time go to sleep!”--Thereupon,
in overpowering rage, the knight struck with his heavy sword at the
phantom who had thus addressed him.--“Madman--madman! what wouldst
thou do?--Alas, for my beautiful jars and pots!” cried a shrill voice
beside him, and immediately all the Theobaldos had vanished away. The
chevalier found himself opposite to an old woman, having broken, with
one blow of his sword, her whole stand of crockery-ware. Indignant more
than ever at the insolent mockeries of the merchant, he threw at her
some gold coins, whereat the old woman’s lamentations were changed
into gratitude and joy; then proceeded on his way to the house which
had been provided for the two damsels.
CHAPTER X.
How the two damsels set out on their land voyage.
At the door of their house he was met by the Count Alessandro de
Vinciguerra, who greeted him respectfully, though with discontent, as
usual, in his countenance, saying, that he had just then taken leave of
the two ladies, and was about to depart. Sir Folko looked at him for a
time in silence, then offered him his hand, and said kindly, “My lord
count, we part however in peace and friendship?” “Doubtless,” answered
Vinciguerra, taking, with cold politeness, the hand thus offered; “I
cherish all due respect for your knightly prowess and courtesy, an
assurance, however, which may be needless; for had it not been so,
neither I, nor any one of my race, would have been wanting in courage
to say at once, whether he had any cause for displeasure.” “Without
doubt,” answered Sir Folko; “and it is to be understood also, that no
one of your house, or of any other, can or dare to think otherwise than
you now do, of De Montfaucon. But I had hoped that our parting would
have been on terms more friendly.” “Forgive me,” answered the Italian,
with a smile almost of scorn on his features; “doubtless I should be
honoured by such friendship; but, to say the truth, it seems to me as
if you bore a certain resemblance to the young German knight, who, at
your banquet-table, was pleased one day to preach me a moral discourse
on my story of Donatello, and the wife of old Dimetri. Methinks you
are both somewhat over-given to preaching and converting, of which you
failed not to afford some proofs when we were together on board ship.
In order that such lessons might not be renewed at this time, I have
thought fit to take leave after my own manner.” “Alas, for the unruly
heart!” said De Montfaucon, “wherein every rash word is thus nourished,
till it takes root, and grows like a spreading weed. Gladly would I
have plucked it forth by friendly persuasions.” “Even for this very
reason--,” said Vinciguerra, bowing as he retreated. “Heaven knows, my
lord count, I am truly sorry,” said De Montfaucon, in a tone of such
earnest sympathy and kindness, that the Italian, instead of being able
to keep up his dignity and indifference, as he intended, was visibly
confused. He blushed deeply, and walked hastily away towards the
harbour.
With the ladies Sir Folko now found Don Hernandez, who also, after
his grave and solemn manner, took leave; having found a larger ship
at Genoa, for which he had exchanged his own galley, and now thought
of sailing to Barcelona, in order that he might again join the ranks
of his brave countrymen in their war against the Moors. “This then
is the day of farewell and separation?” said De Montfaucon, sighing
half mournfully and half in anger. “Of separations truly,” said Don
Hernandez, “but not, as I hope, for ever. Full well do I know, that if
in Castile we should ever need foreign aid, no where could we look for
it with such confidence as from the brave and powerful Sir Folko, over
whose deeds the Moorish brides are yet lamenting;--but if we should
never meet again, at least we must often hear tidings of each other.
Both are called in different directions, each by his own duties, and
the star that rules his destiny; but the golden bands of love and
honour, by which all knighthood is intwined, cannot be broken, and,
even though absent, we are not disunited.”
The heroes embraced and parted. Thereafter Sir Folko was not displeased
to hear that the damsels were willing to leave Genoa, (where the
prospect, amid the commencing storms of autumn, was gloomy both by land
and sea,) and to proceed to the beautiful town of Milan. Not merely
obeying their wishes as a courteous knight ought to do, but rejoicing
in his heart to leave a place, which, by Theobaldo’s strange conduct
and the parting with Hernandez and Vinciguerra, had been rendered
disagreeable, he made preparations for the journey, and ere long he had
set out on horseback with his two beautiful companions, passing through
the Bocchetta into the luxuriant plains of Lombardy.
CHAPTER XI.
How Sir Folko spoke with a strange man in a churchyard.
This year the snow had begun earlier than usual to cover the mountains,
and made the road through them, if not impassable, at least dangerous;
so that Blanchefleur and Gabrielle found themselves obliged to spend
the winter in Milan, a necessity, however, to which they might indeed
submit without a murmur; for in that happy country the face of nature
is always clothed in smiles; and, besides, there was in a town so rich
and prosperous no want of entertainments worthy to be noticed even by
such high-born damsels.
It came to pass, however, that Gabrielle and Sir Folko had their days
of pleasure and jollity interchanged by others of melancholy and
apprehension. For though in that eventful night at the emir’s castle
Gabrielle had been surprised into a confession of her love, yet, during
her sea-voyage afterwards, her beautiful lips had been sealed up,
partly from shame at having spoken so rashly, partly because she feared
the mockery of Theobaldo and the Count Vinciguerra, who were then
always present. Thereby Sir Folko and Gabrielle had become in outward
demeanour as if estranged from each other; in their hearts, however,
they had all the while grown more and more indissolubly united; so
that the knight would have felt himself truly happy, had it not been,
that one terrible thought still lay upon his mind; he had betrayed the
confidence of his noble friend, Sir Otto von Trautwangen. Therefore,
in the chevalier’s heart, scarce even the buds of inward joy could
sprout forth, far less spread into full luxuriance; and oftentimes, as
they sat together in Milan, his eyes would wander from the beautiful
countenance of Gabrielle to the marble monuments of a neighbouring
churchyard. There he felt better and more tranquil in mind; for he
found that death reconciled all differences, and that even the injured
Sir Otto could not be angry with him, when all that remained was but
a skeleton mouldering in the earth, and above it a marble monument,
with the inscription, “=Cy git Messire le tres haut et tres puissant
Chevalier de Montfaucon=.”
Thus, when he was one day wandering amid the turf mounds of the
churchyard, he found sitting on one of them, which was overgrown with
weeds and rank grass, a man in the extremity of old age, whose very
eye-brows were snow-white, his eyes far sunk and dim, and with a long
hoary beard that reached down to his middle. Besides, the stranger
seemed thoughtful and stern of mood, so that he might even have
inspired fear and suspicion, had it not been for the deep shades of
melancholy and misfortune that also lay on his features.
Sir Folko stood gazing respectfully at the old man, when the latter
suddenly drew from his bosom somewhat that shone and sparkled, though
the knight could not distinguish properly what it was; and, thereupon,
raising his arm, began to describe strange figures in the dusky evening
air. As he continued thus as it were to write upon the fields of empty
space, Sir Folko reflected, shuddering, whether the old man had not
just then become the victim of madness, when, behold! there entered at
the north gate of the churchyard, a tall figure, magnificently attired
as a warlike knight. It seemed to the chevalier that this figure had
been already known to him, and he was about to draw nearer; but the
strange knight had a severe and woebegone countenance; moreover, he
seemed almost as old as the other who sat upon the grave, before whom
he walked up and down two or three times, and then vanished behind
some tall monuments that stood hard by. “’Tis well,” said the old man,
for the first time breaking silence; “now thou hast shewn thyself in
thy proper shape, and I shall not fail to know thee again.”--Then,
turning towards the grave, he added, “But as for thee,--sleep thou in
peace;--the sacrifice that is due to thy just revenge shall not be
wanting, even if I should pledge mine own soul’s weal on the venture.”
Hereupon it seemed almost as if a low sound of weeping and lamentation
was heard from the grave. “Then,” said the grey-haired man, “full well,
dearest mother, do I know what thou would’st have. Thou art indeed
too kind-hearted, and thou art grieved for the punishment that awaits
him;--but my just vengeance must be wreaked. Besides, wherefore else
should I be in possession of the ring?”
Watching all these occurrences, the Knight of Montfaucon felt an
irresistible chilness and horror steal upon his heart; but, as it often
happens to noble minds, instead of being thereby repulsed, he was
the more determined to inquire into this mystery. Therefore he went
up sternly to the old man and said, “What seek’st thou in this holy
ground, thou wicked enchanter, and wherefore would’st thou disturb the
peace of the grave?” “She who sleeps here,” said the old man, lifting
up his melancholy eyes, “has been laid too soon into her dark and
narrow bed. Those who are thus forced, ere they were weary of life,
into the house of rest, seldom find sleep therein; therefore it is not
my presence that can disturb her. But I pray you leave me in peace,
and let me deal with the dead according as I deem it fitting; for,
to say the truth, your visit here is unwelcome.” De Montfaucon stood
irresolute, not knowing whether he should obey that strange warning,
or whether it were not his duty to oppose here some vile schemes of
enchantment, such as those by which he had been tormented by Theobaldo.
“Was then the sleeper in this grave so well known to you?” said he to
the old man. “How should I not know her?” answered the stranger; “she
was to me a kind and affectionate mother.” “And for her sake you would
now wreak vengeance, old man?” said Sir Folko; “or perchance I had not
understood your words; for whoever has committed acts of injustice
against the parent of one so old as you are, must long since have been
numbered with the dead; and to wreak vengeance on children for the sins
of those from whom they derived their birth is an act of stern justice,
which it belongs only to the Almighty to fulfil, whose decrees are to
mankind unsearchable.” “That crime, however, is not so long past as you
suppose,” answered the stranger; “for the guilty man yet lives, and
will indeed continue to live until my arm has reached him. To me that
meeting cannot be less unwelcome than to him, but many a one creates
for himself his own punishment; and did not the noble Roman of old put
to death even his own father in the capitol? For thee, sir knight, thy
presence here to-day is both useless and troublesome, and should’st
thou not think fit to retire from my presence, I then shall retreat
from thine.”
Thereupon, with unexpected rapidity, he rose and strode away to the
gate of the churchyard, and it suddenly occurred to Sir Folko, that
this must be Theobaldo in one of his magical transformations; nay,
he thought that when the stranger waved his hand as he scornfully
retreated, there shone on his finger the wonder-working ring of
Gabrielle.
CHAPTER XII.
Of the Ghosts and wild Hunters in the Hartz forest.
About this time, lo! there came riding over the mountains of the
Hartz forest, a party of warriors heavily armed, that formed the escort
of a noble lady, who was also on horseback. The shades of night had now
descended around them; and the increasing gloom of the deep-blue sky
contrasted strangely with the white snow-covered hills and the faded
autumnal woods. The full moon indeed shone in heaven; but ever and anon
there came across her orb dark clouds like raven’s wings, through which
her light could scarcely penetrate. The travellers soon perceived that
they must have lost their way, and sent out now and then a horseman to
discover, if possible, the right track; whereupon, also, he blew his
war-horn for a signal, but was answered only by the wild echoes of that
solitude; and oftentimes his horse would start suddenly back from some
fearful precipice, or from the strange spectral shadows thrown by the
naked oak-trees on the snow. Only one of the horses, whose light-brown
colour distinguished him, even amid the pale moonlight, from all the
rest, was able to carry his rider safely up hill and down hill, through
the roughest ground; and by that means it came to pass, that a road
was found into a valley, wherein lay the beaten track, which they had
wished to discover. Here, too, the same knight in his dark mail, with
his light-brown steed, continued to lead the way; and the courteous
reader doubtless knows already that this was Sir Otto von Trautwangen,
who, with the Lady Hildiridur, Sir Heerdegen of Lichtenried, and the
sea-monarch, was thus far on his journey homeward from the north.
The beaten track through the valley now led them towards a cottage
that lay under a high precipitous cliff, and was overhung by pine-trees
bending under their load of snow. At the approach of the troop, light
suddenly broke forth from a window of the cottage, and this light being
reflected in the frozen waters of the valley frightened the horses,
so that the riders could scarcely keep their seats. Sir Otto alone,
trusting to his faithful charger, thought not of his own safety, but
carefully held by the reins the palfrey that bore the Lady Hildiridur.
“Welcome, thrice welcome, noble guests,” said a swarthy figure of a
charcoal-burner, who had now come to the door. “You will do well, for
want of better lodgings, to remain with me for this night; for the road
becomes ever more steep and more slippery as you advance; besides,
there are ghosts and spirits abroad; and, as I now perceive, you have a
noble lady under your protection.”
Willingly did the party accept the kind offer of this man. Sir Otto
straightway lifted Hildiridur from her palfrey, and carried her into
the cottage, while the rest provided as well as they could for their
wearied horses; for even the Knight of Trautwangen’s light-brown now
suffered himself to be attended by the sea-monarch, having become
well acquainted with him on their long journey, so that even with Sir
Arinbiorn’s dun charger he now lived in peace and friendship.
When the travellers had now assembled all together in the
charcoal-burner’s hut, the graceful knights, with their magnificent
coats-of-mail, contrasted indeed strangely with its narrow and
low-roofed chamber. Their weighty helmets threatened to break down a
table in one corner on which they had been deposited, while the tall
plumes reached almost to the ceiling. Opposite to these was placed,
like a trophy, in another corner, a collection of great battle-swords,
that glittered wondrously with their golden hilts and brass-bound
scabbards in the clear fire-light. Near this collection of weapons,
and beside the charcoal-man’s mother, was seated the Lady Hildiridur.
The old woman was blind, yet had regular features; and as she sat
there in her abstraction and solitude, it was a pleasure to behold
how she gradually became aware of the Druda’s presence, as if indeed
a gleam of the moon-like radiance of Hildiridur’s eyes had fallen on
the dark night in which her existence had hitherto been dreamed away.
A smile stole over her before fixed and pale visage; and meanwhile the
charcoal-burner moved to and fro, anxious to promote, as much as it was
in his power, the comfort of his guests. He had store of good wine,
wherewith he entertained the knights, and, on their invitation, drank
freely and merrily along with them. “Methinks,” said Sir Heerdegen to
his host, “thou should’st now relate to us for pastime some long and
frightful story. Charcoal-men and miners in the Hartz forest seldom
fail to have an abundant store of such legends.” “Alas!” said the
charcoal-man, “in this country there is indeed no reason why we should
task our own invention, or feel at a loss for such pastime; in our
wild woods we meet enough of such adventures, only this is no fitting
hour to speak of such things.” “Wherefore not?” said Sir Heerdegen;
“methinks such an hour were of all the most suitable. Hearest thou not
how the night-wind whistles at the window, and anon speaks to us almost
as with a human voice of lamentation? Then, too, the old pine-trees
are beating with their branches on the cottage, like giants with their
ponderous arms, and as if they would break through the roof and stare
in upon us with ghastly faces. Methinks there could never be found a
better time for such legends than the present.” “Ay, ay,” answered the
charcoal-man; “if one spoke only in jest, or told stories of what has
happened a thousand miles hence, I should be as well content with this
hour as with any other. But now the case is indeed very different; the
ghosts and demons of whom we should speak are far too near at hand, and
if we should provoke them, will attack and torment us even to death.”
“What sayest thou, son,” said the old woman; “are there any fearful
sights? Hast thou heard any growling without? Children, children, there
comes again a cold shuddering, that creeps over my heart!”--“Mark
you, sirs,” said the charcoal-man; offering his mother a cup of wine;
“even in her old age and blindness she feels the same terror of which
I have spoken. In her deafness, too, she hears not a word that has
been uttered, nor even the rolling of the loudest thunder; but if the
ghosts that haunt us are rustling through the wood, or even if I began
to speak of such beings, then immediately she marks that all is not as
it should be, and begins to tremble in every limb.” “On this account
there should be no difficulty,” answered Sir Heerdegen; “let the old
woman retire to rest, and then you may proceed quietly with the stories
which you have to tell. It is not merely for the sake of pastime that
we would listen to such narratives; but as brave knights, it is our
duty to try whether we could not relieve you from the distress that the
ghosts and demons here bring upon you.” In this notion he was supported
by the two other knights; and the charcoal-man accordingly did as Sir
Heerdegen had directed; and after his mother had retired to sleep, he
related what here follows:--
“On the summit of a mountain in our forest stands an old pagan altar,
a place of sacrifice, marked by many great blocks of granite stone.
Our wood-cutters would seldom or never go thither, on account of the
frightful stories they had heard of the human victims that were there
sacrificed. For my part, however, I have always thought, since the
accursed reign of paganism is now for ever past and gone, of what
consequence is that circle of old weather-beaten stones; therefore I
have climbed up both by day and by night to the very top of the hill,
and have there cut down the choicest oaks and beech-trees, for no one
came to share in my labour. Truly I knew well enough that the Wild
Army, marching through the fields of air, were heard more frequently in
this place than any where else; and I was terrified when I found human
bones mixed with charcoal on the altar; yet I resolved not to think
of these matters, which were no concern of mine, and always came home
content and happy. Some weeks ago, however, it so happened, that I had
climbed up the steep mountain, and, amid the strange light reflected
from the snow, methought there were tall white figures of men and
women, that looked out upon me from the rocky cliffs. However, I soon
gained courage, and looked steadily on every object that came in my
way, till at length I was able even to laugh at my own apprehensions.
Now, when I arrived at the hill top, lo! there was stationed on the
hearth of the pagan altar, a tall figure, which I believed to be a
great wreath of snow. I only thought to myself what strange pranks has
the whirlwind played here with the snow-drift; and straightway began
with my hatchet to cut down a tall oak-tree, which I had marked some
time before to be felled. But hark! there came on my ears a strange
voice from the altar, calling aloud, ‘Köhler, Köhler, let alone that
oak-tree, for it stands within the sacred circle of Freia. The great
goddess has again come amid your woods; beware of Freia’s malison!’
So, when I looked round, the figure that I had taken for a snow-wreath
rose up solemnly from the altar, stretching out a threatening arm
towards me; and I saw that it was a ghostly woman in a long white
veil. Without well knowing what I did, I took off my cap, laid down
my hatchet, and bowed respectfully. Meanwhile it seemed to me as if
the sides of the altar moved like folding doors asunder; and from an
abyss beneath there came forth two knights heavily armed, with their
iron-coats rattling and gleaming in the snow-light, and with their
visors closed, as if prepared for combat. They were loaded with great
store of javelins and arrows, which they laid down before the altar at
the feet of the veiled lady; and thereafter they stood silently, like
two iron statues, leaning on their tall halberts. ‘Brave hunters,’ said
she at length, ‘are you then ready for the chase?’ The knights bowed
their high-crested heads, and rattled with their iron-gloved hands
among the javelins and arrows. ‘There is a weak mortal here present,’
said she, again stretching out her arm towards me, ‘and he shall now
be made witness how I, the great Freia, who am again returned into the
world, have power over all this forest, nay over all the ghosts and
demons that lurk therein. Thus, when he goes from hence, he will relate
what he has seen among his neighbours, and thereafter they will not
fail to pay due homage and worship at my altar.’ Hereupon one of the
knights stepped forward, seized me with a resistless grasp, so that
the icy coldness of his iron-glove vibrated through every limb, forced
me onwards towards the altar, and commanded that I should stand there
before the veiled woman, nor dare to move, whatever I might behold,
either on the earth beneath, or in the skies above. For a while I
obeyed his commands, and stood still; but terror at last overpowered
me, and I fell trembling on the ground, the knights and the lady still
remaining motionless.
“Then there came across the mountains, as if sounding out of the clouds
in heaven, the most horrible and soul-distracting noise of the Wild
Army in full march. Accustomed to hide myself when this uproar was in
the air, I now lay down with my face shrouded among the long grass, but
one of the knights seized me again with his gigantic hand. ‘Look up,’
cried he, ‘thou shalt and must behold what now passes in the air, and
for this time thou art free from all danger!’ My terror of the knight
who thus held me was greater than that of the ghosts in the sky, and I
did as he had ordered. Then, lo! I beheld, as if vast thunder-clouds,
fringed with red light, and fashioned into a thousand unutterable
shapes; but among the rest there were horses, huntsmen, deer, and dogs.
‘Hakelnberg, Hakelnberg!’ cried the knights and the veiled woman, in a
tone as if of scorn and mockery from the altar. I well knew that this
was the true name of the Wild Hunter, and thought that he would descend
in fury with his fiery horses for our destruction. Instead of this,
however, the attack began from our side;--with arrows and javelins,
which now, to my amazement, flamed like lightning through the air, the
knights vied with each other in shooting at the ghostly procession
above, so that the dogs howled, the horses reared and plunged, and the
riders uttered hideous lamentations. Many lost their seats, and fell
from the clouds as if wounded, while the grass around us was wet with
a rain of blood. Towards morning the knights allowed me to go, for
the wild hunters had all vanished away; and as I proceeded alone to
my cottage, the mangled limbs of men and horses, that terrified me
on my road, convinced me that what I had beheld had been no dream. On
my dress, too, I found many hateful stains of blood; so that I rather
chose to burn my clothes than to touch them again. Since that time,
however, the ghosts and hobgoblins, through all our mountains, have
been far more restless than ever. The new goddess, Freia, rides often,
even by day, with her two knights through the forest, and endeavours to
turn away the hearts of good people from the Christian faith, and force
them to do her homage; so that every one trembles even at hearing her
name. Sometimes, either she herself, or one of her companions, appears
suddenly in the room of a poor cottager, and when he perchance expects
only to meet some well known friend, is so terrified by their hideous
grimaces, that from that day onwards he is raving mad. If some change
for the better should not take place, one must believe, that in many
parts of our wild forest the true faith will give way to the terror
that is inspired by those mysterious visitants.” ‘Heaven forbid!’ cried
the three knights, as if with one voice; ‘far rather would we venture
our lives and fortunes in the contest, even to the last remnant, and
even resign that also without shrinking--’
While they spoke thus earnestly, they were interrupted by a loud
confused knocking, as if by many hands all at once, on the cottage
windows. At the same time, the old blind woman in the next room began
to scream aloud, and the charcoal-man went to sooth her; but in his
absence the knocking became more vehement, and without, amid the
desolate night air, there was heard a fearful muttering, and gibbering
of voices, like the sounds that come in dreams on a sick man’s ears
when he lies oppressed by fever. Sir Heerdegen, however, was by no
means disconcerted; he rose, went to the door, and called out in a
stern thundering voice, “Who’s there?” Then after a short space,
returned to the party within, and said, “I have seen no one; but you
have an abominable swarm of bats in this forest.” In truth, it seemed
to his friends, as if one of these night-birds had entangled itself in
the dark curling locks of Sir Heerdegen; for a living creature with a
hideous visage grinned on them from over his forehead. Sir Otto and
the sea-monarch immediately started up, in order to seize this vile
intruder; but on their approach, it flew away, breaking a pane of glass
in the window, and disappeared, with a hoarse scream, amid the darkness
of the night. Some thought it must have been an owl; but as for Sir
Heerdegen, he knew nothing of the strange guest that had sat on his
head, and looked round him cheerful and unconcerned; while Hildiridur
sighed deeply, and seemed lost in melancholy apprehensions.
The charcoal-man now came back into the room, and said,--“The ghosts
have again broken out vehemently in the forest,--of this you have
yourselves been witnesses; and even the poor old woman, in the dark
night of her blindness, is aware of the enemies by whom we are beset.”
Suddenly, however, he paused, and, staring at Sir Otto von Trautwangen,
called out,--“Heaven protect us!--there stands one of the knights
from the altar of Freia!”--The sea-monarch and Sir Heerdegen were so
confounded by what they had now heard and seen, that they were almost
afraid to look at their own friend and tried comrade, for fear that
he had vanished, and some ghost stepped into his place. Hildiridur,
however, looked steadfastly and well-pleased on her beloved son; and
the knight stepped up kindly towards the charcoal-man, saying,--“How
far the terrors by which you are here assailed may have confused your
senses I know not; but that I am a true and faithful Christian knight
can easily be proved. Mark you! if I make the sign of the cross, or
call on the name of our blessed Redeemer, will my tongue falter, or
are my looks changed as I here stand before you?”--“No truly, it is
not so,” answered the charcoal-man; “and now I wonder at my own
folly, in having for a moment mistaken a handsome young knight, such
as you are, for a frightful and malicious spectre; but when I thought
of the old woman’s words, and heard these vile noises at the windows,
my sight too became confused and wandering. Now I have awoke from
my dream, and would gladly hope that you and your brave companions
have been sent hither for our protection and deliverance from these
persecutions.”--“If it please God, you shall not have been deceived,”
said Sir Otto; “I put my trust in Heaven; I am well able to wield arms,
and feel the impulse of a new and high calling in my heart; therefore
I shall go forth, even now, while these evil spirits are all awake;
and meanwhile you, my faithful comrades, will take the Lady Hildiridur
under your protection.”--“You think then, that we would suffer you
to ride out alone on such a campaign?” said Sir Heerdegen and the
sea-monarch, both speaking at the same moment, and girding on their
swords, and clasping their visors.--“Who then shall remain with my
mother?” said Sir Otto.--“Nay,” said Heerdegen, “it were best of all
that you staid with her alone.”--“Swerker too,” added Sir Arinbiorn,
“and the other squires, when they make their appearance, will follow
and support us.”--“Comrades!” said Sir Otto, his eyes gleaming with
anger, “what you have now proposed avails me not; and this you might
have well known ere you spoke as you have now done. For this adventure
I myself have been chosen, and no one, as long as I live, shall fulfil
the duties of Sir Otto von Trautwangen. As to Swerker’s coming in such
a night as this proves, it is more than uncertain; and on that chance a
son will not depend for the protection of a beloved parent. One of you
twain must at all events remain with her.”--Hereupon the knights looked
at each other in silence, each of them wishing that his friend would
speak first, and declare his consent to remain with the lady, till
at length Hildiridur spoke:--“Go hence, young heroes,” said she, “all
three, and in God’s name. Truly I am no longer a prophetess nor Druda;
for the hand of my brave son has deprived me of these fatal gifts; yet
the powers over whom I so long mildly ruled, come to me yet, as near
as the boundaries that separate our world from theirs will allow, and,
by dim apprehensions in my own soul, I am aware that this adventure
will be stern and fearful,--perchance that you may not all return
hither; but, nevertheless, all three must be present at that encounter.
Therefore go, and may the blessing of Heaven be with you. Look not so
anxiously, as if you were yet afraid for my safety, dearest Otto; for,
mark you, I have even here found a protector, who never deserted those
who placed in him their hopes and trust.”--With these words she lifted
her arm towards a cross which was formed with charcoal on the wall
above the fireplace, rudely indeed, but powerfully drawn; and having
made the same holy sign in the air above their heads, she pointed
towards the door. The warriors had no power to resist her solemn
commands, but went straightway forth amid the gloom of that spectral
night.
CHAPTER XIII.
How the Knights went down to the subterraneous castle of
Gerda.
The three knights had determined to leave their horses at the
charcoal-man’s hut, because he had described to them how slippery and
dangerous were the paths leading up to the pagan altar. Meanwhile De
Montfaucon’s falcon, which since that evening (of which we have already
told) never deserted the Knight of Trautwangen, flew gayly before them,
as if to marshal their way, now and then resting too on the plume of
his master’s helmet. Thereupon they were all of good courage; for the
noble bird hovered around them like a guardian spirit, and at his
approach all the ominous brood of bats and owls were dispersed, and
fled screaming to hide themselves in the forest.
Through luxuriant brush-wood, and rugged cliffs, the warriors pursued
their toilsome way, while, as they gained the higher ground, the storm
howled around them, and the voice of the moaning blast contended with
the loud roar of a cataract that rushed through a deep ravine. At
length they saw, through the naked branches of the beech-trees and the
snow-laden pines, an open glade, which at once they recognised for the
spot of which the charcoal-man had spoken; for, in the midst of this
level ground, almost like a pile of rocks, was reared the lofty altar
for pagan sacrifice; and the moon, just then breaking through a cloud,
threw her pale death-like lustre on black half-burnt brands and bones,
which lay mouldering on its broad hearth.
Still the knights stood doubtful and irresolute, whether they should
quietly wait for the supernatural apparitions that might come forth,
or try to force open those concealed gates of the altar, from which the
charcoal-man had before seen the two knights emerge. All at once they
perceived, not without some terror, that their number was increased to
four. A tall, gigantic, but shadowy figure of a man, was among them,
who now spoke with a hollow and murmuring voice,--“You mean well,”
said he, “but, as a friend, I would rather advise you to desist from
this encounter; for the inhabitants of that altar are strong as any
devil. If you are determined to proceed, however, you must go to the
north side, at which is the only entrance. You must knock three times
for admittance; for, trust me, it is always best, in such adventures,
to make the first attack. Through my whole life, when I have had wild
beasts to contend with, I always found it better to fall straightway
on them, than wait till they had made a spring at me.”--The knights
looked at him in silent astonishment; whereupon he added,--“I would
gladly play to you a bold hunting-piece on my bugle, in order that
your spirits may be the better roused for the conflict that awaits you.
However, my voice dare not for this time be raised here. May good luck
attend you, brave foresters!”--With these words the shadowy stranger
vanished away into the wood, and the knights resolved to follow his
counsel; especially because whatever he had said chimed well with their
notions of honour and bravery. Accordingly they knocked with their
sword-hilts on the north side of the altar, and Sir Heerdegen, in a
stern voice, demanded that the door should be opened.
Then the solid walls began to move, and roll asunder as if on hinges,
till at last an entrance was visible, and they looked down a steep
narrow descent, with broken steps, whereon gleams of uncertain
light played fitfully at intervals.--Gazing thereon, “Your mother’s
apprehensions,” said the sea-monarch to Sir Otto, “might now readily be
fulfilled; for some one among us might perchance here find a grave.
In truth, this looks altogether like a mansion of the dead.”--“Nay,”
said Sir Heerdegen, “the whole world would seem no better to one whose
thoughts were thus inclined; for all must one day come to an end. If
we but arrive at the goal by the paths of honour and virtue, what more
could we desire? and surely we come hither with intentions virtuous and
praiseworthy;--wherefore then such consultation and delay?”--“Who dares
affirm that I wish for delay or consultation?” said the sea-monarch
proudly, and thereupon marched straightway into the cavern. Sir Otto
followed him, casting one look backwards, ere he went into the vault,
on the moon’s beautiful broad shield, that then again emerged from a
cloud, and reminded him of Hildiridur. Last came Sir Heerdegen, humming
over to himself an old ballad telling of the swarthy spirits of the
mines and mountains; and meanwhile De Montfaucon’s noble falcon had
clung fearfully to Sir Otto’s breast, feeling that, in this narrow
vault, he had no longer space for his usual flights. Ere long, however,
the road became more spacious, so that three could walk abreast; and
the noble determination, not to be last in the path of danger, forced
Sir Otto and Sir Heerdegen forward, till they had come up with the
sea-monarch;--then they went on ranked together, and holding out their
long gleaming swords to guide them through the darkness.
They met not with any obstacles. On the contrary, the farther they
descended, the wider and loftier became the roof, and the steps less
uneven, till suddenly they found themselves once more on plain ground.
Here too the wind blew on them as if they were once more in the open
country; and on looking up, they could almost have believed that
they had left the cavern; for the roof was now lost in distance, and
glimmering lights were visible like stars above them. On this strange
appearance they were reflecting in silent wonder, when the falcon
started from Sir Otto’s breast, and, rejoicing to find himself once
more with the realms of space around him, he flew up, and disappeared
amid those twinkling lights. All of a sudden, however, he came back
terrified, and tumbling through the air; they saw well that he had
begun his flight after prey, and had been scared by hideous shapes,
which had now descended along with him, and floated right over their
own heads. So strange and shadowy were these shapes, that they knew
not whether they were gigantic birds of some unknown race, or vapours
bred by the noisome damps of the cavern, that assumed those living
forms: for now that their eyes had become more accustomed to the
uncertain light, they could no longer doubt that they were still in
a vast cavern, of which the roof was indeed so lofty, that it might
be compared to the firmament, and lamps were hung therein, that shone
downward on them like stars.
Moreover, a great lake now lay at their feet, reflecting gloomily the
black vault with its twinkling lights. The knights assayed to prove
its depth with their swords; and Sir Arinbiorn groped therein with his
long halbert. Even close to the shore, however, they could find no
ground; and though shuddering to think of this horrid and bottomless
abyss, they determined in all haste to go through with their adventure,
walking boldly round the banks of that subterraneous sea, while the
falcon now sat quietly on Sir Otto’s helmet.
They had walked thus for more than a mile along the shore, when, lo!
there arose before them a steep hill, crowned by a fortress with many
towers. When they had determined to proceed thither, they found to
their great disappointment, that the lake now changed into a wild
roaring stream, which came betwixt them and the mountain. The waters
foamed and raged in such manner, that to swim across was impossible;
the strongest giant would have been borne away by such a current.
They continued their landward course therefore, till they arrived at
a bridge built of iron and brass; the metal rung beneath their steps
almost like the notes of a frightful battle-march. Having come to the
other side, they saw before them a wide level field, and might at
first have named it a blooming meadow, for it seemed studded over with
bright flowers; but when they came nearer, these were changed into
yellow flames, that rose in many strange forms, and almost choked them
with sulphureous smoke as they trod upon them. Yet to their greater
amazement, there were living creatures, like horses, deer, and bulls,
in the field, that had their noses on the ground, and cropped these
fiery flowers as if they had from thence derived good refreshment; and
when the strangers approached, they lifted their heads and trotted away.
“Had we not better catch two or three of these native horses, and
so ride into the castle?” said Sir Otto, in a bold tone, hoping by
these words to banish the apprehensions of his comrades. But the
jest inspired by such horrid sights only increased the horror of
the listeners, and the three brave knights trembled, so that their
iron-coats rattled on their limbs. At this moment there came up to them
a hateful lame dwarf, hopping on one leg; “Nay,” said he, “it were
better that you did not meddle with these horses, for they are the
war-steeds of the great goddess, Freia. Therewith she is wont to ride
through the forest, and hunt down the wild hunter, Hakelnberg, and the
mortals who will not do her homage. Moreover, I am appointed here to
be their groom and watcher.” With these words, he began to blow into
an enormous horn that was hung by his side, of which the noise was so
loud and hideous, that the knights could scarce help recoiling. “Has
this alarmed you?” said the dwarf; “I play thus now and then a little
music on my shepherd’s pipe to beguile the tedious hours; but if it
so pleases you, I shall also treat you with a dance to the same tune:
my brother shepherds are not far distant.” Hereupon the knights made
him a signal that he should retreat, and went forward towards the
fortress-gates. While they proceeded on their way, the dwarf uttered
a long and loud sound of scornful laughter, and the demoniacal horses
leaped and plunged about on the fiery meadow.
On their route towards the castle, instead of finding a smooth road,
they had to clamber over rugged fragments of rock, overgrown with
thorns and brambles. Sir Heerdegen and the sea-monarch, who had both
travelled in the East, were of opinion that such caverns were to be
found there also, and that they had been formed by wonderful boiling
springs and volcanoes.
At last the knights had arrived at the portal; they found the
drawbridges down, as if awaiting their approach, and passed over them
quietly as they would have done in any ordinary fortress above ground.
In the court, it seemed to them as if some soldiers in complete armour
were keeping watch; and bowing at the approach of the strange guests,
these men lowered their arms in respectful salutation; though, for the
rest, one could not say whether these were not mere statues of iron or
stone, that bowed themselves for the moment, and then recovered their
position erect and motionless.
Thereafter their way led onwards through empty and silent corridors and
apartments, wherein even the echo of their own steps sounded horribly
in this desolate mansion. Here and there glimmering lamps hung upon
the walls, whose light only served to remind the knights of a funeral
procession. At last they came into a large inhabited chamber, of which
the adornments were ghostly spectral forms and death’s heads. In this
room there was seated a knight at a large round table, who had a
book open before him. On the leaves they could perceive, even with a
flitting glance, that there were inscribed many strange characters and
figures intermixed with old Runic letters; and Sir Otto recollected
that, at one time or another, all this had appeared to him in a dream.
While he reflected silently on what now passed before him, the knight
closed his book, and rose from his chair. “You would have acted more
wisely,” said he, “if you had never come hither; but since you are
indeed among us, I shall announce your arrival.” With these words he
departed, casting, however, a look of sympathy and compassion on Sir
Otto, who at the same moment began to recognise in the strange man his
mysterious half-brother, Ottur of Norway. Truly he could not suppose
that he had deceived himself, for both his companions were at the
same moment eager to remark the resemblance. “If thou wert not here
beside us, Knight of Trautwangen,” said they, “we should assuredly have
believed that thou had’st even now departed through the door which we
see yonder.”
Thus they were speaking with each other, when, lo! there came into the
room a beautiful and stately damsel, in whom all three immediately
recognised the wonderful enchantress of Norway, the mysterious and
far-famed Gerda. Hereupon they all bowed courteously, as it beseemed
high-born knights, yet remained silent and doubtful in what manner they
should now address her; while Gerda looked on them with a smile of
indifference and self-complacency. At last she said,--“How comes it,
noble warriors, that you seem thus confused? Perchance you have lost
your way in the night, and arrived by accident at my castle; but though
this were the cause of your appearance here, wherefore should you now
be thus embarrassed?” “Nay,” said Heerdegen, knitting his brows, “there
is one reason at least for our being thus confused. We are now, Heaven
knows, here many fathoms deep under ground.” “Then,” added Sir Otto,
“your meadow-fields, with their burning flowers, your wild horses that
devour the flames, and your dwarf hopping on one leg,--are not these
enough to distract the mind of any Christian knight?” “In the first
place,” said Sir Arinbiorn, “and before all other questions, answer
whether thou art the lady who in these mountains demands homage as the
goddess Freia?” “Methinks, Sir Knight of the Sea,” answered Gerda,
“you have here assumed to yourself the right of command; and you think
by your high-sounding words to gain an influence over me. But in this
hope you are deceived. I am no longer a follower in your train; and if
in former years I loved you more than you deserved, yet that is long
past. Since then my head and heart are both changed; and as for your
appearance, and that of your comrades here, I can only say, that you
are all mad. You will visit me in my pleasant fortress, bright with the
morning gleams, and yet speak of caverns under ground, horses eating
fire, and such like delirious visions. If possible, let the clear
sunlight restore your wandering senses and recollection.” Hereupon she
drew aside a dark-red curtain that hung across the farther end of the
room, and, behold, there was behind it a large bright window, through
which they looked out on a rich blooming country!
Just then the cloudless skies were brightened with the red glow of
the rising sun; and by that pleasant light the astonished champions
beheld a beautiful valley, with many castles and pleasure-gardens,
where the trees had just begun to assume the verdant colouring of
spring. Shepherds, too, in their red and blue jackets, with flutes and
horns in their hands, were driving out their flocks, and young damsels
were twining flower-garlands on the meadows. “Good Heaven!” said Sir
Heerdegen, “methinks this appears as if we were now in Italy.” “Who has
told you then,” said Gerda smiling, “that you are not really there? If
you believe that what you now behold is but illusion, why not think the
same of your former wanderings through the snow-covered Hartz forest?
Besides, how can you pretend to measure space and time, since you
rashly brought yourselves under my power, and have travelled perhaps
many hundred miles, when you thought to have walked only one?”
The knights hereupon knew not what to believe, and looked anxiously
through the large gleaming window, while the scene became always more
lively; and at length they beheld three figures come through the gates
of a noble mansion, to whom their attention was especially directed.
These were a knight and two ladies, who were now walking together, as
if engaged in friendly discourse; whereupon Sir Otto sighed deeply,
and said to Sir Heerdegen, “Alas, I behold there Folko de Montfaucon,
with Gabrielle and Blanchefleur; but where is your sister Bertha von
Lichtenried?” “We shall straightway ask them that question,” said
Sir Heerdegen, and he was rushing onwards in order to force open the
window, when Gerda, by a threatening gesture, prevented him. “Then,”
said the Knight of Trautwangen, “brother, brother! I now remember well
how we have been here deceived. That is indeed no window, but a magic
mirror, such as my mother once had in her Swedish watch-tower; and who
can tell how far distant Sir Folko, with the two damsels, may now be
from us? Of such illusions, however, I shall quickly make an end, as I
have done before in that mysterious castle of the north.”
The good sword, that he had named Ottur, already gleamed in his hand;
but ere his blows had time to fall on the mirror, Gerda had snatched up
an enchanter’s rod, made of the medlar-tree, waved it three times round
her head, all the while muttering strange words, till at last the three
knights fell at the same moment to the ground, powerless and motionless.
CHAPTER XIV.
How Sir Heerdegen received his death-wound.
According to the wisest old legends we are instructed, that mortals,
when bewitched in this manner, lie as if in feverish dreams, with
just so much of their senses left as to make them aware of their own
fearful bondage. The three knights now remained long on the floor of
this mysterious chamber; they moved indeed now and then, as if they
would arise and walk; but, with strange grins and inarticulate murmurs,
always fell back motionless as before. Only one among them retained his
recollection so well, that he was still aware of what passed around
him; and this was Sir Otto von Trautwangen; for, as he felt himself
sinking on the ground, he had time to mutter a short prayer, which
he had in early days learned from his cousin Bertha, when they were
both children. Even while he lay in that heavy trance he thought of
this prayer; and if he succeeded but in speaking aloud, or in thinking
clearly, his eyes were opened, and he saw what was now going forward.
At such intervals, he perceived that his half-brother, Ottur, now
stood beside the enchantress, Gerda, and that they spoke earnestly and
loudly together, so that he could oftentimes catch the meaning of their
dialogue.
“When they lie thus asleep and insensible,” said Ottur, “I dare not
attack them. Besides, thou seest, that he in the middle wears mine own
features; we have on a former day entered into a bond of friendship
with each other:--His sword is called Ottur, and mine Otto. Therefore
let me hear no more of your admonitions; for, if your golden apple of
victory is to be won only in this manner, know, that while they are
thus defenceless, I would not for all the world injure even one hair
of their heads.” Thereupon Gerda stamped on the floor, and made a
signal that the poor deluded knight should leave the room along with
her, while Sir Otto vainly strove to call out aloud, and remind him
once more of the friendly contract that had been made betwixt them.
His lips and tongue were now sealed up and bound, as if by the fetters
of a hideous dream; and when his vain efforts were past, confusion and
dulness of senses prevailed over him more powerfully than ever. Many
times, notwithstanding, he tried to rouse his companions, but they
lay beside him stiff and motionless, as if they were really dead, so
that the cold shuddering of horror crept through his frame. Truly, he
thought to himself, many times, that all three were dead, and laid in
a sepulchral vault; only, that he alone had been cursed with remaining
consciousness, and strove in vain with the fate that was decreed for
him. Yet, when with his half-opened eyes he gazed on Sir Heerdegen, a
feeling, as if of hope, and the warmth of spring-tide, stole over his
heart, for he perceived again the same resemblance to his cousin Bertha
of Lichtenried, which had perplexed him, on the blooming banks of the
Mayne, when he bore the wounded youth home to his hostelrie. On this
account only Sir Otto believed that his trance would not last for ever,
since he was yet able to watch over the brother of his beloved Bertha.
“If I could but fall a sacrifice to save him,” said he to himself,
“this would be the same as if I died for her sake, and how noble would
be such an end!” For that some one of their party must perish he had
no doubt; and, although the presence of all three was necessary for
the fulfilment of this adventure, yet, on the death of one depended
the rescue of the other two. Whence all these ideas had come to him he
knew not; sometimes, it seemed as if the voices of mountain spirits
had sounded them into his ears in their confused songs. Then he said
to himself, “The men in the fiery furnace, that we read of in the
holy book, were all saved; but we are not saints, and therefore one
of us must surely perish. Were but Bertha’s brother not the victim!”
Thereafter he continued, with all the strength and attention that were
left him, to keep watch over Sir Heerdegen, and gaze on his death-like
features.
At length the enchantress, Gerda, again came among them; but now it
was a different voice from that of Ottur that kept up the dialogue;
and, listening with great anxiety, Sir Otto perceived it was that of
the young knight Kolbein, who now said, “I pray you do not ask that I
should put to death my cousin the sea-monarch, nor could I willingly
strike the brave German champion. Yet if it be thy will, most beautiful
of damsels, I am ready to obey.” “Strike whom thou wilt among them,”
said Gerda; “it is enough for me if their number is broken; for if
one be killed, the other two are certainly mine. Thanks be to the
great Odin, that thou hast even now returned from thy campaign, for
Ottur becomes every day more wild and visionary.” “’Tis well,” said
Sir Kolbein; “thus I may hope to efface one day from your heart the
image of every other mortal, and to rule there even like a god, all
alone.” “Nay, be not thus presumptuous,” answered Gerda; “thou art not
the youth, who, in my dreams, and by the secret longings of my heart,
has been pointed out to me as the future king of the Hartz forest, by
whose arms Gerda shall be embraced, and who will raise himself up with
her even to god-like power and grandeur.” “Is it perchance Arinbiorn?”
muttered Sir Kolbein. “Then indeed my battle-axe shall not fail to
mark him for my victim, were he tenfold more nearly related to me,
and though, alas! he was once my beloved and respected leader on the
field of victory.”--“Nay, it is not Arinbiorn,” said Gerda, coldly.
“The folly with which my heart clung to him has now fully yielded
before the magnificent figure with the glittering mail, whom I beheld
in the mirror. But strike him if thou wilt. It is enough for me, if
the dangerous power of these three knights be overcome.” “Then rather
let the stranger be the victim,” said Kolbein; and with these words
raised his battle-axe high over the head of the unfortunate Heerdegen
of Lichtenried.
In undescribable terror, and having long foreseen that this would be
the result, Sir Otto had listened to the dialogue. Now the force of his
zeal, and the prayer which he had all the while been repeating in his
heart, was so powerful, that he made a visible effort to throw himself
on the body of Sir Heerdegen, and thus to receive the blow that was
intended for his friend. Ere he could accomplish his purpose, however,
Kolbein’s halbert descended with a hideous crash. The unfortunate youth
groaned horribly, and a stream of blood poured from his helmet. Still
hoping, however, to save his life, Sir Otto threw his shield over his
friend’s head, with uncertain motion waved his sword, to ward off the
coming blows, and yet pointed to his own breast as the mark at which
Kolbein should aim. The base coward failed not to inflict them thick
as hail, and laughed to scorn the feeble resistance by which he was
met, till at last Sir Otto’s corslet was broken asunder, and his blood
flowed in torrents, mingling with that of his beloved friend Heerdegen.
CHAPTER XV.
How the Knights were rescued by Count Archimbald von
Waldeck.
The door of the chamber now rung and rattled, at length it burst open,
and there appeared in the room a knight in bright-gleaming armour.
“Strike them well, kill them both!” cried the enchantress. “Heerdegen
perchance is already dead; but were it not so, the stranger who has
now appeared would make their number again three!” With his battle-axe
upraised, Sir Kolbein, however, came forward to attack the stranger,
who then entered, and the latter awaited his approach, with his shield
raised high in his left hand, and his sword in his right, prepared
to inflict a deadly wound, as soon as he found an opportunity to
strike with advantage. While they stood thus watching each other,
and both preparing for a decisive encounter, Gerda looked trembling
on the silver armour of her new guest, and with yet more agitation
on his features, which appeared calm and courageous from under his
open beaver, till, suddenly stepping between them, she called out
“Halt,” and Sir Kolbein, accustomed to implicit obedience, lowered
his battle-axe, and the stranger looked steadily on the enchantress.
Gerda then knelt down before him, and said,--“It is thou then who art
come hither, most powerful of heroes? Moreover thou art chosen to be
king of the Hartz forest; for if I am the goddess Freia, thou art no
less than the divine Thor, and if our dominion be not yet established,
it shall ere long be proclaimed over all the world.” “Lady,” said the
stranger, raising her courteously from the ground, “I know not well
what thou would’st have of me; but this much I entreat, that thou wilt
not bestow on me such heathenish names, inasmuch as I am a faithful
votary of the Christian church. Neither can I ever become king of the
Hartz mountains; for I acknowledge our good emperor for my king, and am
bound by solemn oaths to obey him. This has ever been the practice of
my brave ancestors; and so long as I bear the name of Archimbald von
Waldeck, I shall far rather hold by their noble example, than suffer
myself to be raised by the delusions of witchcraft and necromancy into
a king, or a heathenish idol.”
“Alas!” said Gerda, “this comes because thou knowest not yet the
true grandeur and pomp that here await thee. Lo! we should build
our throne upon the lofty summit of the Brocken, and there erect a
castle with such vaulted galleries,--such long echoing chambers,
proud watch-towers, and frowning portals, as have never been beheld
through the wide world before;--there we should look forth, from
our airy battlements, over the wide realms around us, and, far as
our eyes could reach, all should be under our control, and pay us
tribute, both by treasures and service on the battle-field. Whatever
the people possess that is richest and rarest they should bring to
our palace of the Hartz; their sons and daughters should be sent to
us for soldiers and handmaidens; or, if they refused to obey us, we
should come against them like whirlwinds and thunder-storms,--should
level their habitations with the ground,--and, mounted on our fiery
steeds, gallop over their ruins. Beneath, at the base of the mountain,
frightful wild beasts and giants should be our guards;--truly these
might be but shapes formed from the clouds, yet not the less deadly,
for they should lead into the bottomless abysses of the mountain every
one who ventured to approach without our permission. Whosoever, on
the contrary, we chose to admit into our palace should feast like the
gods and heroes on the lofty heights of Asgard. The delights of love
and war would then alternate in our happy realm;--the sun, the stars,
and clouds, must obey us, in order to solemnize our festivals; above
all, when every year in spring-tide the people should come up to us in
long solemn processions, bearing rich offerings,--and when the altar of
sacrifice flamed in the court of our palace, it would be at the same
time answered by fires on the tops of all the neighbouring mountains.”
“For Heaven’s sake, say no more!” cried Sir Archimbald; “how is it
possible for a woman to be so lovely, and yet to utter words which
are only worthy of a demon? Alas! I recognise by your own language,
that your desire is to overthrow the mild blessed religion of the
Christians, in order that you may receive homage as the pagan goddess
Freia. I am in heart grieved for your sake; for by this means you
will only continue to live as a wicked enchantress, and, according to
the laws of God and man, you will deserve to be burned alive for your
crimes!”
Hereupon Sir Kolbein, gnashing his teeth with rage, stepped again
forwards to attack the count, but Gerda interposed:--“Be quiet,” said
she, “I command you. Whatever this knight says, though his words be
wrathful and bitter, is yet more welcome to me than your fondest
caresses.”--So Kolbein stood mournfully abashed; and Archimbald, taking
but little heed of his discourse, or that of the enchantress, continued
to speak as follows:--
“I shall not conceal from you, that I came as an enemy into these
secret caverns, and that I have arrived here in order to put an end to
all your necromancy and enchantments; moreover to save, or, if this may
not be, to revenge the three knights who, some time since, disappeared
at your altar. In return, methinks, you ought to tell me, as freely as
I have now spoken, how you came to look on me as the appointed king of
the Hartz forest and the idol of its inhabitants, inasmuch as neither
I myself, nor any one among my ancestors, ever had aught to do with
witchcraft or pagan superstitions?”
“Who has assured thee of this, bold hero?” said the enchantress, with
a winning smile; “truly thine ancestors have also worshipped the great
Odin; and though their descendants have deserted their religion, yet
his favour has not wholly been withdrawn from thy house, and the golden
cup of promise may yet one day be poured on thy head. In that enchanted
mirror, which is not far distant, I demanded to see the noblest scion
from the heroic oak-tree of German knighthood; and when thou madest
thine appearance therein, attired as thou now art, in thy silver
armour, and I watched thy prowess in the tournament and battle-field,
my heart was wholly won;--and now, therefore, proud hero, thou mayest
command Gerda as thy handmaid.”
Hereupon Kolbein struck with his battle-axe vehemently on the ground,
crying,--“Great Odin! can any mortal listen to words like these, and
remain tranquil?”--but another stern look from the enchantress made him
again silent and submissive.--“So then,” answered Sir Archimbald, “all
is changed here from that which I had expected; and since you offer me
implicit obedience, I shall injure neither you nor your adherents; but
beware how you infringe the conditions of the promise now made.”
“Till now,” answered the enchantress, in a melancholy tone, “I have
been named the wild Gerda; but in your presence I have become timid as
a lamb. Alas! if thou would’st but accept from my hand the crown of the
Hartz forest!”
“As to this give yourself no trouble,” answered the count; “were you
not a sorceress, and a pagan, truly there might be other crowns of
which I would gladly speak with you; but now this also is hopeless;
and I have only to insist on the stern and severe laws of right and
wrong. Where are the three brave and noble knights who came lately into
your caverns?”--At the same moment, looking round the room, he observed
for the first time the three victims, that lay outstretched in their
coats-of-mail on the floor.--“Hast thou murdered them?” said he, with
a look of rage. “Right stern and fearful is the account that must be
rendered unto me by those who have committed this crime; above all, for
the sake of the knight in the black and silver armour, with the eagle’s
visor; for both the knight and his armour are well known to me, and are
very dear to my heart.”
“My lord and commander,” said Gerda trembling,--“the warrior of whom
thou speak’st yet lives, and might easily be cured of his wounds; but
over the knight who lies beneath him, death already has spread his dark
chilling wings.”
“Give life quickly to them who may yet live,” said Archimbald; and
Gerda obediently took the rod of medlar-tree again into her hand,
waved it over the knights as they lay, and muttered her unintelligible
words. Thereupon both Arinbiorn and Sir Otto opened their eyes;
immediately, too, the falcon began to move, which, till now, sharing in
their enchanted swoon, had lain, as if dead, near his master’s helmet.
In astonishment the sea-monarch looked around him, then grappled at his
halbert and sword, rose, and stamped on the floor, as if to try whether
he was now in possession of his wonted strength. Otto meanwhile seemed
to have regained his senses, only that he might feel in his inmost
heart agonizing grief for the death of Sir Heerdegen. Bending over
the pale visage of his friend, he wept bitterly, though in silence,
while the blood flowed unceasingly from the deep wound under his
broken corslet. When the red current, however, fell on Sir Heerdegen’s
features, he wiped the stains away with his sash, and said, in his
great sorrow,--“Oh, Bertha, thou spotless angel!--how much these now
silent sleeping features resemble thine!”--The sea-monarch and Sir
Archimbald, who had meanwhile spoken with each other, now drew near
to console their friend; and Sir Otto said to them,--“I know indeed
that it is not Bertha who has thus untimely died, and that I have not
been so unfortunate as the stern Hugur, who put to death his innocent
wife; on the contrary, I defended this youth with all the strength that
was left to me. But, behold! he is now gone,--he who was so brave and
true-hearted; and as he rests here in his endless sleep, every one who
looks on him must think of Bertha. Arinbiorn, is it not so?”--Thereupon
the sea-monarch could not refrain from tears: and Sir Otto wept the
more; but his grief was rendered milder by the sympathy of his brave
friends. Then they unclasped his corslet, and examined his wounds.
Gerda too would have drawn near with healing herbs in her hands, but
Sir Arinbiorn called out in a thundering voice,--“If thou would’st not
that I should here, beside the dead body of my friend, inflict just
vengeance on those who caused his untimely fate, keep away,--thou, and
all thy hellish brood by whom thou art aided!”--Then Gerda stepped
back humbly, and, at her signal, the dastardly Kolbein, who was still
present, left the room; while the two noble champions took off their
long sashes, and with them bound up Sir Otto’s wounds. When this was
done, they lifted up the dead body of Sir Heerdegen; and Sir Otto could
not be prevented from assisting in that mournful duty.--“I dare look
on thy pale visage now,” said he; “for we understand each other better
than at that first meeting on the banks of the Mayne.”
Obeying the stern command of Sir Archimbald, Gerda had kindled a large
torch of dried pine-tree, and now walked, with the light in her hand,
before the procession. So they left the castle, proceeded again across
the flaming meadows and the iron-bridge, then along the dark lake,
following the path by which they had come, and which they knew would
lead them to the upper world.
CHAPTER XVI.
How the dominion of Gerda was overthrown.
Now they came through the gate on the north side of the altar, and
the soft gleams of the moonlight fell cool and refreshingly on
their pale visages. At the same time, to their great astonishment,
the air that they here breathed was like that of spring-tide; and,
behold! green boughs, as in the month of May, were waving round the
altar.--“What means this?” said the sea-monarch; “when we entered
here last night, the ground lay under the cold crackling shroud of
snow and ice; now the moonlight plays on luxuriant grass and verdant
foliage.”--“Alas! my friends,” answered Sir Archimbald, “many weeks
have indeed passed away since you were first bound by the fetters of
enchantment in the witch’s cavern. Now the brightness and warmth of
spring are again restored to the Hartz forest.” Sir Otto, meanwhile,
was gazing on the moon’s beautiful crescent, and started as he thought
of Hildiridur.--“Good Heaven!” cried he, “and has she then been
left for such a length of time in the charcoal-man’s cottage, and
exposed to every attack from the hobgoblins and evil spirits of this
forest?”--“Now, mark you,” said the sea-monarch to Sir Archimbald, “he
speaks of his mother.”--“I know it well,” answered Sir Archimbald,
“and she is safe in my castle. It was my chance to find Hildiridur in
the charcoal-man’s hut, a few days after you had left her there, and I
prevailed on her to go with me, that she might be properly lodged and
attended under my roof. Good Heaven! she is indeed like a living image
of the Blessed Virgin, whose portrait every good Christian carries
deeply imprinted on his heart. Her silent tears and sighs were at last
so moving, that I was determined to set out on the adventure which
brought me to join you in the witch’s cavern. Swerker and the squires,
who joined us before we left the cottage of the charcoal-burner, have
remained, along with my own soldiers, to guard Hildiridur in the
castle; for, in truth, such a pearl or diamond of surpassing worth
cannot be too anxiously watched over and protected.” Hereupon Sir Otto
could not answer in words, but only seized and pressed his hand in
token of gratitude; for the feverish weariness that followed his severe
wounds now weighed so heavily upon him, that at last he fell fainting
to the ground, on the same mossy couch whereon they had laid the body
of Sir Heerdegen. Thereafter Archimbald blew his signal-horn, and some
squires hastened up, leading his war-steed. At once Sir Otto recognised
the same foaming charger, with the silver head-gear, which he had long
ago seen on the level meadows under the castle of Trautwangen; and it
seemed as if, in a fairy-dream, the apparitions of his early youth
were once more assembled around him. Meanwhile Sir Archimbald had
given orders to his squires, that they should cut down trees and green
branches, of which they were to make two biers,--one for the dead, and
another for the wounded knight, Otto von Trautwangen. At the same time
he sent out a messenger to the fortress of Waldeck, to make known their
speedy arrival, and announce to Hildiridur her son’s rescue.
During all these occurrences, Gerda had stood timidly retired among
the thickets, till at length she lifted up her voice, and said, in
a mournful tone, “Alas! might I not go with you?” “Wherefore not?”
said Sir Archimbald kindly, and as if moved by her grief; “thou shalt
indeed travel with us; only there are three conditions that I have in
the first place to propose, and these are of no little importance.”
“Tell me then what they are,” said Gerda; “for know that I am able to
do much for thy sake!” “Well,” said the count, “in the first place,
thou shalt make a solemn vow never more in our good realm of Saxony to
use enchantment or invocation of evil spirits.” “This promise or vow I
shall make right willingly,” said Gerda, at the same time laying her
beautiful white hand on the iron-glove of Sir Archimbald. “Alas!” said
the knight, “thy promises are indeed courteous and well-sounding; but
who can say if we dare trust to thy words?” Thereupon Gerda unbound her
long hair, so that her glossy yellow locks fell like a golden garment
around her, and Sir Otto had almost inquired of the sea-monarch,
whether this were not Sigurd’s daughter, the far-famed Aslauga; for as
the enchantress stood thus before him with her dishevelled ringlets,
the old legends that he had heard from Asmundur mingled strangely with
his feverish dreams. There was no time left for questions, however; for
the damsel began to wave her enchanting rod over her head: then she
uttered a long musical address to the world of spirits; in her song
she admonished them, that from henceforward they were free to wander
at will by sea or land, by fire or by flood; for she had abdicated her
throne, and renounced her dominion. With these words she broke her
sceptre of medlar-tree; the fragments flew asunder, as if borne by
all the four winds of heaven; and there was a wondrous rustling and
murmuring both on the earth and in the sky, as if great multitudes
were dispersing angrily and discontented. When this noise had past
away, Gerda said to Sir Archimbald, “Now, indeed, the interval would
be long ere I dared to think again of my wonted enchantments; for if I
sought to lay new bonds on the slaves whom I have thus dismissed, they
would not fail to turn round and rend me in pieces. So thou hast now
before thee a damsel even as weak and powerless as any one that could
be found in the world.” “In this action thou hast been too rash,” said
Sir Archimbald; “for now thou can’st never fulfil the second condition
that I had to propose. This was, that the altar of Freia should be
destroyed, and all the vaulted caverns, with the subterraneous fortress
and its iron-bridge, should be laid in ruins.” “As for that conclusion,
thou need’st not fear,” said Gerda; “without my commands their
destruction will soon follow; the altar is already tottering on its
foundation, and has been upheld so long but by my powerful spells. If
Kolbein has succeeded in finding an outlet, (for Ottur is on a distant
campaign,) then immediately the whole fabric, both above and below
ground, will fall to ruin. Mark you, the work already has begun!”
In truth there was at that moment heard beneath them a crashing sound,
like that of falling rocks and pillars, as if the very foundations
of the earth were giving way. The knights looked astonished at each
other; even Sir Otto was startled, and half raised himself up. “Fear
not,” said Gerda, “the ground on which we stand is firm and secure;
only my grand vaulted roof and my fortress are destroyed, and the
power of Gerda is established against mine: let no one go too near the
altar, however, for there he might indeed run some risk.” Not long
after, while the subterraneous thunder still continued, lo! the stones
of the altar began to move and roll asunder, as if they had now been
changed into living beings, and fled terrified from some danger that
awaited them. All at once, indeed, the bottomless abyss beneath them
opened its yawning jaws; with a hideous crash they fell into the chasm;
blue flames rose flickering over them, and after a space they too
disappeared. “These,” said Gerda, “were the souls of the unfortunate
victims who were of old times offered up in sacrifice at this altar;
not indeed of all the victims, but of those only who did not meet their
fate with courage and resignation.”
“Truly, however,” added she, with a sigh, “I am not to blame for
this; nor have I ever offered to the invisible powers such frightful
sacrifices; and many hundred years have passed away since their blood
was shed.” “Who could suppose that one so beautiful as thou art would
command such horrid deeds?” said Sir Archimbald. “Thou shalt indeed
go with us on our route homewards; only the third condition that I
had to impose is yet to be fulfilled.” With these words he drew his
battle-sword, and struck it into the ground.
“Lo!” said he, “there is the sacred symbol of the cross. Kneel down
before it, and pray to the Giver of all Good!”
Hereupon Gerda started back, shuddering with terror, and, without
uttering a word, vanished away into the thickets. “From mine inmost
heart I am grieved for that damsel,” said Sir Archimbald, as he
replaced his sword in the scabbard. Then perceiving that the squires
were ready with the biers, he gently placed the wounded Sir Otto on one
of them, and covered him carefully with a mantle. Thereafter a horse
was provided for the sea-monarch; and their march began slowly and
solemnly down towards the plains, where stood the proud castle of De
Waldeck.
CHAPTER XVII.
Of the Wild Hunter Hakelnberg and his courtesy.
Now, after they had come down a steep declivity, all of a sudden they
found themselves on a level glade, where four well-beaten roads met
together. “There, my friends,” said Sir Archimbald, “you perceive that
we have now come again into an inhabited country. It is but a short
mile from this place to a good house of entertainment, and there we
shall remain for one whole day, that the wounded man may have rest;
for it will require yet another day’s journey ere we can reach my
fortress of Waldeck.” As they drew near, however, to the spot where
the four roads crossed, lo! their horses started and reared, and by
the uncertain moonshine, (for the white mists had settled densely on
the lowland forests,) they perceived a troop of men and horses, that
seemed always increased in number by single riders that came forward
out of the woods. Moreover, they heard the voices of many dogs, that
howled sometimes with impatience, and sometimes in terror. “These must
be huntsmen,” observed Sir Archimbald; “we must ask them the usual
questions however,--‘Whence and whither?’ There are methinks too many
of them collected here to admit of our riding through without some
precaution.” So he commanded that the biers should halt in the spot
whereon they now stood, and, assembling his squires about him, placed
himself with Sir Arinbiorn in the van, then sent out a horseman with a
courteous message of inquiry to the strangers.
Hereupon, behold, the squire rode and rode; but it seemed as if the
glade always spread out longer and longer before him. Through the
mist and the moonlight they always saw him trotting on; but he never
appeared to come up with the parties with whom he had been sent to
speak. Still they saw the same hunting-squadron before them, and still
heard the howling of their dogs; even, moreover, a confused murmuring
of voices.
All of a sudden a gigantic figure of a man, mounted on a horse
proportionably monstrous with himself, came up, and halted between
Sir Archimbald and the sea-monarch. “Your squire cannot ride,” said
he in a strange hollow voice, that yet sounded amid the night-wind
almost like a scornful laugh:--“he would let the morning dawn on us,
before he had moved ten paces. Therefore I have rather come to you,
in order that I may thank you heartily for having banished Gerda and
her mischievous spirits from this forest. Take then, as a token of my
gratitude, the game that I shall send you to-morrow--the first prize
that I shall have won since these domains have again become mine.
Hakelnberg from thenceforward is your steady friend. Hark, hark!
Hilloick, hilloick, forward, forward!” With these words, with which
the very vault of heaven seemed to ring and echo, he flew straightway
up into the air, and it seemed to the knights as if they beheld above
whole herds of game, of which he thus went in pursuit. The band that
halted on the plain all rose at the same moment, like a cloud of
dust after their chief; the dogs bayed and howled, and the huntsmen
screamed and shouted; ere long, however, their voices sounded from the
unmeasured fields of space so far remote, that the noise was no longer
like articulate voices, but resembled rather the growling of a distant
thunder-storm. Meanwhile all the deer and other game in the forest were
so terrified, that oftentimes they started from the thickets, and came
rushing past, close to Sir Archimbald and his friends, who were all so
much astonished at this adventure, that they scarcely dared to speak,
but went silently along the narrow road that led again through the
woods, with the same fearful noises still thundering over their heads.
The morning had begun to dawn; and just as the last notes of the wild
hunters had died away, the travellers entered the village of which the
count had spoken, and where they were to find rest and shelter for the
wounded knight.
In the auberge, all the inhabitants were already awake, and Sir
Archimbald inquired of their host, who was anxiously running to and fro
to provide for the comfort of his guests, whether he had been terrified
by the wild hunters, since he had thus risen so early. “Sir,” said
the innkeeper, setting on the table a morning draught for his guests,
“Hakelnberg’s career through the clouds has no doubt called us earlier
than usual from our beds; but as to terror, that is indeed a different
question. I cannot say that we were afraid; but, on the contrary, we
returned thanks to God, both with pious hymns and with prayer, that
the old Hakelnberg, who has been so long known both to us and to our
ancestors, has now come with his dogs and horses and echoing horns
once more into the Hartz forest. Sir Knight, you may have already felt
far better than I can describe, that whatever has grown up with us,
and been known from infancy, even though it may be somewhat that in
itself is unwelcome and frightful, yet by the force of custom becomes
so dear to the heart, that it is indispensable, becoming so intwined
with our very life, that when it is removed, it is like snapping one
of the ties by which we cling to this world. Besides, on what occasion
has the good old Hakelnberg ever done injury to any one over the wide
earth? All that can be said is, that foolish people now and then have
been terrified when he made his appearance among the clouds; but the
hateful enchantress, with her two warlike knights,--when they galloped
about on their gigantic fiery horses, what evils would they not have
inflicted? and what threats did they not hold out over our heads?
At such times our old friend Hakelnberg was forced to keep silence,
and to dwell lonely and melancholy in his castle of the clouds; but,
Heaven be praised, he has again begun to ride through the forest, and
the enchantress Freia, with all her squadrons of hobgoblins, is put to
flight.” “They are put to flight, doubtless,” answered Sir Archimbald;
“on that score I can pledge my honour and word as a Christian knight.”
Hereupon the innkeeper in his great joy grasped the hand which the
knight kindly proffered him, and cried aloud, “Long live Count
Waldeck,” and “Long live old Hakelnberg!”
At that moment there arose a noise in the street, which attracted the
notice both of the host and his guests. All ran to the window, and
behold there came a noble stag, who had rushed from the neighbouring
forest; he ran wildly as if he had been pursued by dogs and horsemen,
though no one could perceive by whom he should have been thus alarmed.
The shepherds and bauers indeed were now on the alert, and tried to
confine him within a circle, but he broke violently through them, and
making directly towards the inn, he attempted to leap over a hedge,
by which the garden was bounded, but in the attempt struck himself a
mortal wound against the lance of Sir Archimbald, which the knight had
placed there, and soon after died.
“Who knows,” said Sir Arinbiorn, “but this is the game that Hakelnberg
promised to send us?” The count also was of the same opinion, and,
according to the use and wont of huntsmen, they immediately divided
the noble prey with their knives, and at midday refreshed themselves,
together with the host and all his household, making merry over their
banquet, and many times drinking to the health of the good Hakelnberg.
Sir Otto also partook of their entertainment, and it seemed that he had
been thereby strengthened by magic art; by the time that evening had
again drawn near, one could perceive by his gait, voice, and demeanour,
that his wounds were now of little importance, and it was more needful
to think of repairing his broken corslet, than to be concerned any
longer for the knight’s welfare.
The last red gleams of the sun were now shining into their apartment,
when Sir Otto started up from a couch whereon he had just before thrown
himself, and coming with a grave solemn demeanour to his friends, he
said,--“There is left for us one sacred duty to be fulfilled, and,
methinks, so long as the body of our beloved friend is suffered to
remain visible on this unquiet earth, we dare not sleep;--methinks,
too, this village, with its lime-trees and clear fountains, looks
like a pleasant resting-place for our departed comrade. One question
remains to be answered,--whether, in this remote hamlet, we can find
consecrated ground?”--Hereupon their host offered to shew them the
way to a small chapel, around which many pious Christians had already
been interred, and where the earth had been duly blessed by the good
monks;--so they directly set out on their way, having covered the
bier of Sir Heerdegen with an embroidered mantle, and his arms laid
cross-ways thereon. As they began at length to ascend the hill, on
which stood the chapel, it was a pleasure to see the never-dying gleams
of the lamp over the altar, shining through the green shades of the
trees, amid the now settled gloom of evening; and Sir Otto, who could
not refrain from joining in their procession, now wept unobserved and
silently. At the chapel they found, as they had been informed, an
enclosed burial-ground; and one might have said too, that there was
here a higher and more solemn chapel than could have been built by
mortal hands; inasmuch as a lofty grove of elm and beech rose, as it
were into the sky, with their branches intwined together, and forming
that natural archway which our noblest cathedrals but imitate. Through
the roof of this lofty aisle, as the wind played among the leaves, they
caught at intervals the light of the stars, which had now begun to
shine forth in heaven. Under this light the three champions joined in
digging Sir Heerdegen of Lichtenried’s grave;--they wrapt his mantle
round him, laid him deep in the earth, and made his outward monument
of green turf. Thereafter they remained for a space kneeling in silent
prayer,--Sir Otto at the head of his lamented friend, and his comrades
one on each side. At length they rose, and, lost in silent melancholy
thoughts, went back to the village.
On the following morning they all rose early; and Sir Otto was so far
recovered, that he could mount a horse, which was now provided for
him, and pursue his journey even as if he had never been wounded.
In the evening, when it was already late, and the sky gloomy, Sir
Archimbald said that they were not far from his castle of Waldeck,
and that ere long they would all be seated at the banquet-table, in
his ancestral hall, with the Lady Hildiridur. Suddenly, as he had
just spoken these words, there started out from the rustling thickets
a strange and unlooked-for figure, that reared itself like a giant
before them:--they knew not what this could be; but the figure came
straight forward to meet them. As they debated thereon, Sir Otto all
at once recognised, by the dim light, that this was no other than his
dearly-beloved brown horse, which had advanced, rearing himself on his
hinder-legs, so that they had mistaken him for a giant; but, as soon
as he drew near to his master, and Sir Otto had saluted him with the
well known words,--“Ruhig du Bursch!”--the faithful steed immediately
gave over his wild pranks, and came up, neighing aloud for joy, till he
stood close to the knight, and there bent his proud head humbly to the
ground. Sir Otto immediately alighted from his borrowed horse, kissed
his old faithful comrade, and mounted without waiting for saddle or
bridle, while the light-brown, with his cheering voice, announced, even
as loud as a herald’s trumpet, their approach to castle Waldeck. When
Swerker, who stood on the watch-tower, heard the sounds, he rushed
down to the stables, threw himself on horseback, and came out at full
speed to meet them. Then there were indeed right cordial greetings
and congratulations, full of brotherly confidence and affection; but
when the first tumult of their joy was over, and they rode on quietly
together, Sir Otto inquired wherefore his favourite steed had been
suffered thus to wander at large through the forest? “Sir Knight,”
answered Swerker, “your horse could by no means be tamed or kept in
peace since you left us. He would not come under any roof, nor has
taken food from any rack or manger; but while the Lady Hildiridur was
yet in the charcoal-man’s hut, and thereafter since her coming to this
castle, he failed not to gallop round and round her habitation, as if
it had been his duty to guard her from every danger.” More earnestly
than ever Sir Otto now caressed his steed, clapping him on the neck as
he rode, while the sagacious creature turned back his head, and looked
as if to thank him for his kind approval.
At length they rode into the fortress, where Hildiridur stood weeping
in the portal. Sir Otto flew to embrace her, and in his great joy at
their meeting, for a space forgot the affliction that he had before
felt for the untimely fate of Sir Heerdegen.
CHAPTER XVIII.
How the Sea-monarch reminded Sir Otto that Blanchefleur
should be given to him for his bride.
In the fortress of Count Archimbald von Waldeck some weeks were passed
away ere the party could resolve to set out on their journey into
Swabia. On that pilgrimage it was resolved that they should all proceed
together; and they rejoiced to think, that they would there become
guests of Sir Otto von Trautwangen, waiting only, for the present,
till his wounds were quite healed and his armour repaired. Meanwhile
their time was spent in listening to many strange stories, partly such
as Hildiridur could remember from the wonderful books that she had
read, and partly narratives afforded by the knights from their former
campaigns. Doubtless, therefore, there could be no want of a full and
clear detail of Gabrielle’s conflicts, or rather those of her brother,
for the ring; and the final tournament, fought by Sir Otto, was not
forgotten.
Hildiridur had listened attentively to these stories;--at last she
inquired of her son,--“What was the fashion of the ring?”--She
desired to know in what manner it was wrought, and what kind of
jewels were contained therein. Sir Otto gave her an exact description
of the mysterious gem. Then the Lady Hildiridur said, with a deep
sigh,--“There can no longer be any doubt;--the renowned Sir Huguenin
of Normandy was no other than the stern Hugur of the north, and,
moreover, thy father, Sir Hugh von Trautwangen. As to the Magic Ring,
my sister, the beautiful Astrid, had received it from her aunt, by whom
I was instructed in the arts of magic, amid the remote snow-covered
mountains of Iceland. In the same hour, when that powerful enchantress
made choice of me to be henceforth her partner, and at last to
inherit the wonderful treasures of her mysterious knowledge, she cast
a compassionate look on the beautiful Astrid, who stood there smiling
cheerfully in her child-like innocence--‘Thou art in truth so pretty
and engaging,’ said the Druda, ‘that one cannot think of bestowing an
inheritance, and leave thee neglected. Here, take what I can offer to
thee.’ With these words she put the enchanted ring into the hand of
Astrid, adding,--‘I intrust this gem to thy innocence and simplicity of
heart; but beware, for it is a talisman involving many wondrous powers;
and never shalt thou part with it, unless to the knight whom thou hast
resolved to take for thy husband.’--Soon after it came into the hands
of Sir Hugur, and Heaven grant that the ring may not now have fallen
into the possession of some one far less worthy; for I well know, that
by this means it is possible to work such wonders as, till now, have
never been known in the world.”
“Be not afraid, dearest mother,” said Sir Otto; “the ring is doubtless
in the possession either of Blanchefleur or Gabrielle, and both are far
too noble and virtuous to use it amiss; though,” added he, in a lower
tone, “Gabrielle indeed is too ready to plight faith and troth, and
somewhat too slow to remember what she has thus promised.”
“Nay, thou know’st not who is in possession of the ring,” said
Hildiridur; “when once given out of thy hands, it is as little within
thy power as the lark, which even now is soaring above the castle
ramparts. So it is with man, who in this world is at once so poor and
so rich. As long as only an inward voice speaks within him, urging him
to act, he may be said to have all within his own power; but no sooner
has the deed been fulfilled, than in the next moment all is lost, for
it may never be recalled.”
In the evening, when they separated and retired to their several
chambers, the sea-monarch came into that of Sir Otto. “Have you felt
then, happy youth,” cried he, as soon as they were alone together,
“have you felt in your heart your own immeasurable good fortune in
becoming thus the brother of Blanchefleur?” Otto nodded kindly in
token of assent to his brave comrade. “Well then,” said Arinbiorn,
“you will doubtless remember the promise once made to me among the
Swedish mountains, when we for the first time rode up to your mother’s
watch-tower?” “A true knight may never forget a promise,” answered
Sir Otto, taking the sea-monarch’s hand; “and, besides, I know not
any champion over the wide world to whom I would so willingly give
my sister in marriage as to you. One question, however, is yet to be
determined, whether she may not by this time have become the betrothed
bride of some one not inferior to us in rank?” “No doubt,” answered
Sir Arinbiorn, “I should then give up my claims; but, methinks, Heaven
cannot have resolved to inflict on me such cruel disappointment.”
Thereupon, with increasing friendship and confidence, the two warriors
shook hands, and wished each other good night.
CHAPTER XIX.
Of the monk Zelotes, and the enchantress Gerda.
The rich corn-fields were now waving in the balmy air, the
orchard-trees were in their full luxuriance of blossoms, or their
fruits already formed, the flocks were sporting in the meadows, the
deer sprang merrily through the forest-thickets, when our travellers
began their journey from castle Waldeck towards Trautwangen, on the
banks of the Danube. In every heart prevailed the pleasantest and
liveliest anticipations of what he would find there; but, on the
way, they conversed of nothing more frequently than of the state of
chivalry, and the different orders of knighthood through Europe, of
King Richard Cœur de Lion’s captivity, and how this bright star of
courtesy and honour had now vanished quite away from the horizon. “Ere
long,” the sea-monarch was wont to say, “Heaven will doubtless permit
that we should know where he is concealed. So, in our ice-covered
mountains of the north, the sun often vanishes away for many months,
but fails not to come again, and then our days are brighter and longer
than any where else in the world.” “If by the bold strokes of sword
and lance we could break the bands of this mystery!” said Sir Otto,
“I would, that in such a cause my whole armour might be so hacked and
hewed as my corslet looks even now.” For truly, as he had not obtained
the aid of a wise armourer, like Asmundur, but, on the contrary, had
employed a common blacksmith, the marks of Kolbein’s battle-axe were
still evident, and disfigured the fine coat-of-mail that had once been
worn by Sir Archimbald. During such discourse, Hildiridur was wont to
say,--“Whosoever God has chosen to break through this mystery will in
due time be summoned to the work; and shame to the coward who would
then lag behind! But he, on the contrary, who would rashly think to
resist the torrent of events in these tumultuous times, would foolishly
effect his own destruction, without even drawing near to the object
which he had in view.”
So, however, each cherishing his own pleasant hopes, and all of good
courage, soothed too by the wise counsels and mild tones of Hildiridur,
they came once more amid the blooming scenery and warm sunlight of
the south. Here it came to pass one day, that Sir Archimbald, cheered
by the bright weather and smiling landscape, happened to notice a
Benedictine monk sitting gloomily on the roadside, with his head sunk
in his wide black garments. “Why lookest thou so mournfully, holy
father?” said he in a gay tone; “perchance thy sandals are worn out
on thy pilgrimage, and the ways are rough? Mount then, and try for
once if thou can’st ride among armed knights. To-night we shall bring
thee to a right pleasant auberge.” “On horseback or on foot,” murmured
the Benedictine,--“on foot or on horseback,”--repeated he, “with iron
shoes or naked feet, we shall all arrive one time or another at our
place of rest! Knowest thou what is written over the gate? The sign of
our auberge is twofold; on one sign is written ‘endless joy,’ on the
other ‘endless grief.’” The knight who was before so jocund, shuddered
when he heard these words; his companions all halted involuntarily,
and gazed on the dark figure of the monk. He rose at length from the
stone on which he sat, with his features still covered, came towards
them, and said, “Methinks I should know you. The road which I follow,
you also know to be the best and safest; at least you have often
enough spoken to this purpose. Wherefore then do you wander about so
madly through the mazes and temptations of this world? Away with your
iron greaves and golden spurs; and replace them but with the ragged
sandals of the poor monks. Or, if you will not, then I understand not
to what purpose you travel. What I undertake must be done wholly or
not at all.” Thereupon he turned round, and went into a neighbouring
dark wood; above whose shades they saw rising the towers of a lonely
monastery. A chill shuddering stole over the hearts of all the
travellers, more especially, because, although the monk’s voice sounded
hollow and obscure under his large dark cowl, yet they could not help
believing that the accents were those of some one who had ere now been
well known to them.
Early on the following morning, when they came forth from an inn not
far from the forest in which they had parted with the monk, lo! there
was a squire nobly attired, and of wondrous grace in his figure and
demeanour, whom no one among them had seen before, and yet he came
to assist zealously in their preparations for departure. They did
not ask him any questions, believing that he might be a follower in
the train of some other travellers, and that he gave his aid to them
through knightly courtesy; they therefore only returned him thanks;
but, as Hildiridur and the knights rode away through the dew-besprent
field, amid the twilight and mist-wreaths of the morning, on looking
back, they still saw the strange squire busily engaged with the
sumpter-horses, arranging whatever they had not been able to put into
order for their early departure.
As he thus walked about amid the white fogs of the dull morning-air,
it seemed to them as if the silent stranger had somewhat ghostly
and solemn in his appearance, as if he were not like other men; and
so deeply were they impressed by these thoughts, that they remained
silent, and did not even interchange words with each other. Some
of them indeed went so far as to believe that he was a spirit from
the Hartz forest, who had followed them only in scorn and mockery,
but would ere long, to their dismay and consternation, regain his
true shape;--others thought that he was one of the good people,--a
benevolent fairy, who not only would assist them thus at the
commencement, but thereafter attend them like a guardian spirit on
their way. Such notions were at last spread in whispers, till they
reached the ears of Count Archimbald and his companions. Hereupon the
count commanded that every one should halt, and that the mysterious
youth should immediately appear before him. He came accordingly, and
stood within a circle that Hildiridur, the knights, and their assembled
attendants, soon formed around him.
Just then the first gleams of the rising sun fell on the squire’s head,
with its rich golden tresses, and in the same moment they discovered
their error. It was indeed no squire who had thus waited upon them; but
the beautiful features of Gerda, lovelier than ever, now that she was
thus humbled, shone out upon them.--“Look not on me thus amazed,” said
she; “only one of those who are here present has any right to blame
what I have done; but for all his bravery in the battle-field, he is
yet kind and forgiving as a child. Instead of being angry with Gerda,
he will compassionate her distress.--Sir Otto, is it not so?”--The
young Knight of Trautwangen bowed courteously, and said,--“Truly I
am grieved for your misfortunes. May God forgive you the death of my
brave friend, Heerdegen;--as for all that you have done in the north,
or in my native land, against me, the remembrance of your deeds shall
be dispersed like dust to the four winds of heaven, and never more
reckoned when we thus meet together.”--“Now then, Sir Archimbald,”
said the damsel, turning towards the count, “thou can’st not complain
against me; for if thou art determined never to be King of the Hartz
mountains, I shall not compel thee thereunto. I pray you then to let me
go with you, for, in truth, I have no evil intentions.”--“Verily, thou
art beautiful,” said Sir Archimbald, “and as well might I say that I
loved not the sunlight, the blossoms, or the nightingale’s sweet songs,
as that your presence is to my heart unwelcome or indifferent. But the
cross,--mark you,--the cross!--One condition was left unfulfilled, and
while it thus remains, thou can’st not go with us.”--“Archimbald,”
answered the damsel, “for the love I bear to thee, I would have tried
also to fulfil what thou now desirest; but it might not be;--and before
thou pronouncest the angry words which now hover on thy lips, hear, I
pray thee, the explanation which I can give of that which has drawn thy
wrath on Gerda.
“In the dark wood that lies yonder beneath us, there is a great
building, with strong thick walls, narrow windows, and a high tower,
in which there is hung a mournfully-sounding bell. People call this a
minster; and they have assured me, that within these walls is to be
learned the true faith, to which thou would’st have me bow in worship.
Therefore, dearest Archimbald, I have not been afraid to enter through
the long gloomy aisles and echoing vaults of that building. I went
thither all alone, in hopes that I might find the path leading to thy
God and the heaven of the Christians;--but the people that dwell there
understood me not; they questioned and threatened me at the gates. At
length they assembled together, and came towards me, all attired in
black garments, with pale, ghastly visages; and, moreover, they bore
in their hands vessels for sprinkling water, and many strange symbols
and banners; but, as I well knew that by such means mortals may be
bewitched and transformed, I fled from them in terror, and, having
again arrived outside of the gate, I began to weep bitterly, for I
knew not any means now by which I might fulfil the conditions which
thou had’st imposed on me. At last one of the men in black garments
had compassion, and called to me from the walls, that I should inquire
for Brother Zelotes; for this brother had not long since been a
pagan,--had forced himself, almost by violence, into their abode,
and, through the heroic strength of his resolution, in a short time
overpowered all obstacles, so that he had become a monk, and was now
sent forth on a journey, of which no one but he himself and the prior
knew the purpose. Brother Zelotes perchance could assist me, or, if
this might not be, I could have no hope. Immediately I arose, and like
one struck by a poisoned arrow, who runs wildly in search of a skilful
physician, I inquired eagerly of every one that I met, whether he could
afford me tidings of this man?--With much trouble I discovered the road
that he had gone,--met him at last;--but, alas! you have now to hear
the sad end of all my endeavours.
“It was in a narrow pass of the mountains, just as the full moon
had raised her dark-red shield over the rocky cliffs, where I met a
tall stern figure of a man, that seemed to me a gigantic warrior,
disguised in black monkish robes.--‘Art thou Zelotes?’ said I.--In a
hollow voice he answered, ‘Ay.’--‘Help me then to find the God of the
Christians.’--‘Right willingly,’ he answered.--‘Follow me!’--‘Whither,
then?’ said I doubtfully.--‘Such a question,’ said Zelotes, ‘becomes
not one who longs after the true faith. It is enough that we know the
object of our pilgrimage,--how we arrive thither,--by what paths, or
through what earthly scenes, should be to us indifferent.’--Terror
then seized on me;--I shuddered more than I had ever done when, within
the magic ring of the enchanter, I had beheld the spectral forms from
the grave, and nightly demons rise up around me. Besides, it seemed as
if the monk’s voice was already known to me. At length he said,--‘Ay,
truly, I am well aware who thou art, and in former years I have been a
renowned warrior; but even the horror of thy detested sorceries, and
thy vehement desire that I should murder one of the three sleeping and
defenceless knights, unveiled to my sight the eternal punishments that
are due to such crimes, and drove me to seek refuge in the Christian
sanctuary. When I left thy enchanted caverns in the Hartz forest, I
pretended that I went forth on a warlike campaign, but my journey led
straightway to a renowned monastery; and there, in a few months, I have
succeeded in obtaining the divine gifts of the Christian faith, even
with the same courage and resolution which enabled me to win crowns
of victory on the battle-field.’--With these words he threw back his
cowl, and though his features were now pale, and deep-worn by penance
and severe thought, I could no longer doubt that I now beheld in the
monk Zelotes the well known Norman warrior Ottur, kinsman or brother
of Otto von Trautwangen. Then I was obliged to narrate to him all that
had happened to myself and the three knights since his departure from
the Hartz mountains. He listened to me with melancholy earnestness and
attention, and shook his head, which he had again wrapt up in his
dark cowl.--‘Only follow me,’ said he at length; ‘thou knowest, that
when I lived as one of the careless worldlings, thou wert very dear
to my heart, and therefore thou should’st believe that I would also
gladly shew to thee the path that leads to heaven, if it were but in
my power.’--‘But whither wouldst thou lead me?’ I inquired once more,
shuddering as I spoke with inward doubt and apprehension.
“Thereupon Zelotes began a description, at which mine inmost heart
recoiled, and my hair almost stood on end. He said that he would
bring me into a convent of nuns, where I should undergo severe and
neverending penance;--how my flowing golden locks would be cut
away;--and how I should never more be allowed to see thee, Archimbald,
the dearest object of my affections. Hearing this, I started as if I
had just then retreated from the brink of the grave, that yawned to
receive its living victim;--he stretched out his arm as if to seize
me;--in his long black robes he now looked more than ever like a
supernatural spectre; and, as a deer pursued by the hunters, I fled up
among the rocky cliffs to escape from him. If, therefore, thou wilt
bear with me in thy presence, Archimbald, it must be without cross or
rosary; for to become a Christian is to me nothing less than if I were
doomed to death.”
Hildiridur was about to speak in her wonted mild tones, in order to
sooth the bewildered and agitated Gerda, but Archimbald, with a look
half-angry, half in terror, cried aloud,--“Begone from hence, thou
seductive and treacherous spirit, begone!--or if thou wilt remain among
us, let it be on condition that thou shalt kneel directly, and pray to
the God of the Christians before the cross.”--Hereupon Gerda’s wrath
flamed forth in all its former vehemence;--she uttered reproaches and
threats against Sir Archimbald and all his companions;--and at last,
as if borne in the air by her own luxuriant tresses, which were now
dishevelled and waving in the wind, she flew away into the neighbouring
wood, where she vanished amid a thick covert of pine-trees.
Thereafter they pursued their way, every one reflecting after his own
manner on this adventure; but of all the party, the most melancholy and
thoughtful was the Count Archimbald von Waldeck.
CHAPTER XX.
How Sir Otto thought that he had once more seen Bertha
von Lichtenried.
One day, it happened that they were resting beneath the shade of some
lofty elm-trees, at the base of a hill, on whose summit there was
situated a richly-endowed and magnificent chapel, which stood retired
on that solitary place, though it was the resort of devout pilgrims
from many villages. Only the quiet small mansion of a priest stood
hard by, in order that some one should always be present to open the
gates for pious believers, and to protect the building from neglect and
injury.
It was a pleasure to behold how the noble travellers sat under the
green elm-trees,--their horses and sumpter-mules feeding on the meadow
around them,--and their glittering shields and weapons hanging from
the branches. It was now the sultry hour of noon, and the golden cups,
filled with the cooling and refreshing wine of Rudisheimer and the
Mosel, were handed merrily round, while the squires began for pastime
to sing aloud many a pleasant old ballad, so that the notes echoed
far and near through the green wood. But Sir Otto, who was wont to be
so gay and cheerful of mood, remained at this time silent and lost
in deep thought. The severe life of his brother, Ottur of Norway, as
a Benedictine monk, perplexed him strangely; and he knew not whether
he should mourn, because such a brave youth was lost to the world, or
rejoice beyond all measure at his conversion to the Christian faith.
All the while that he thus meditated, lo! the church on the hilltop,
with its lofty vaulted roof and tall pillars, was before him, and
attracted him as if by some mysterious power; so that he could not
turn away his eyes from the building. Perceiving this, Hildiridur said
to him,--“Go thither in God’s name, and without more hesitation.
Methinks there is now a deep impulse in thy heart, and thou should’st
gladly wend thy way to yonder holy place, and pray to the Giver of
all good. Go then, and we shall wait here in this pleasant grove till
thou return’st to us.”--Sir Otto bowed thankfully and in silence, and
straightway went up the mountain.
The four gates of the chapel were open; and, as he entered and walked
through the solemn aisles, joy and deep veneration ruled in his heart;
all that had before perplexed him, and weighed so heavily on his
spirit, now seemed vanished away. For a long time he walked to and
fro amid the solemn statues and pictures, illuminated by the bright
summer-light that fell in varied gleams through the painted windows,
and all the while he persisted in earnest child-like prayer. Through
his whole life he had never been more happy than in these moments,
though this might be to himself mysterious, since he knew not any
outward event that had occurred to him over which he should thus
rejoice. On whatsoever he reflected, whether it were on the conversion
of Ottur, and his transformation into the monk Zelotes,--on the party
he had left, and their near approach to his home on the beloved banks
of the Danube,--it seemed as if a roseate light of joy prevailed in
every feeling.
At length it happened, that, among the pictures and monuments of the
church, his eyes rested on a wonderful shrine, such as he had never
before seen, made of golden bars and glass-work, as if some precious
relic were deposited therein. On coming nearer, he beheld through
the glass a female form, of divine and indescribable beauty. The
expression of her features indeed might be compared to the influence
of a day in early spring-tide. Joyful anticipations and confidence in
heaven, blended with child-like humility and deep earnest reflection.
She looked steadfastly on a large book that was open before her,
and on which her snow-white hands were folded. Her long fringed
eyelids, therefore, were half-closed, like the clouds that rest on
the summer-sky, without wholly veiling its deep-blue lustre. Bands
of pearls were interwoven in her light-brown hair,--a high lace ruff
was round her bosom,--her black velvet robe was adorned with gold
embroidery, diamonds, and emeralds. Gazing anxiously on this beautiful
apparition, and coming right opposite to the shrine, he perceived, for
the first time, that there stood behind her a tall figure of a man,
in a magnificent foreign dress, with sternly lowering brows and fiery
eyes, who was stationed there as her guardian and protector.--“He
represents, no doubt, the blessed St Joseph,” said Otto to himself;
and, without thinking more of the frowning man, or his strange attire,
he fixed all his attention again on the female figure--when, all at
once, the impression vibrated like lightning through his heart, that
the features he now saw were those of his dearly-beloved cousin,
Bertha von Lichtenried, though truly her countenance was hallowed and
glorified by a celestial light, such as till now he had never beheld
but in dreams. Hereupon he closed his dazzled eyes, and remained for a
space half unconscious of what passed around him. Again looking up, he
found the shrine void and deserted; neither the beautiful saint nor her
protector were to be seen; so that, mournful and discontented, he left
the now desolate church in a mood of mind the most opposite that could
be imagined to that under whose influence he had trod the same aisles
but a short space before. He could not help believing that Bertha had
died even at this hour, and had revealed herself to him for a moment in
that angelic attitude and form but to shadow forth her last farewell.
When he came back to his friends in the elm-grove beneath, he found
them all eagerly expecting his arrival, and lost in conjectures what
could have detained him so long. Hildiridur too looked anxiously
towards a carriage-road, from which, on the other side of the hill,
there arose a pleasant sound of music, that always drew nearer and
nearer. Soon afterwards there appeared a numerous band of horsemen
in strange eastern attire, with red turbans, adorned with plumes of
heron’s feathers, on their heads, and playing, as they rode, on all
sorts of instruments,--flutes, schallmeys, trumpets, and oboes. Some
beat time with golden cymbals; others with kettledrums of silver, hung
with red embroidered drapery;--their music was timed like that of a
march, and yet the sounds were soft and joyous rather than threatening
and martial. Besides the musicians, there appeared many warriors, who,
in their golden shirts of mail, that gleamed in the sun, with their
light javelins made of cane-tree, and their broad crooked sabres, were
almost like people of another world. But the eyes of the lookers-on
could not long wander through this multitude; for, lo! there appeared,
on a magnificent black charger, a knight rather advanced in years, of
such heroic dignity of aspect and demeanour, that, both in this respect
and by the splendour of his eastern attire, he cast all the other
warriors into shade. From them too he was distinguished by a large
golden cross, ornamented with diamonds and other precious gems, which
hung on his breast. By his side, on a snow-white palfrey, contrasting
strangely with the knight’s black charger, rode a beautiful damsel
attired in black velvet embroidered with pearls, on whom the three
knights gazed with astonishment and delight; but we need only say, that
Sir Otto now recognised in this damsel the saint that he had beheld in
the church; and, in the warrior who rode with her, the same stern and
frowning protector whom he had there looked upon as St Joseph.
The lady cast a significant glance on the silver armour of Sir
Archimbald; then her eyes turned suddenly with a gaze of wonder on Sir
Otto, in his dark mail with the eagle’s visor; and as she caught his
features, a fleeting blush, beautiful as the first red of the morning,
stole over her countenance. Suddenly she turned to her companion,
with whom she spoke earnestly for a few moments; then the whole party
proceeded on their route, and were soon lost to view in the deep
recesses of a wooded valley.
“We must follow them!” cried Sir Otto, as if just then awakening
from a prophetic dream; whereupon Sir Archimbald and the sea-monarch
shewed themselves willing, as usual, to join in every wish of their
beloved comrade. Besides, the strangers by whom their curiosity had
been thus attracted, seemed to have chosen the same road which they
had themselves intended to pursue towards the fortress of Trautwangen.
In order to be certain whether this were really so, Sir Archimbald
mounted on a great fragment of rock, which lay as if it had fallen
from the clouds, near the grove of elm-trees. Meanwhile Sir Otto,
the sea-monarch, and Swerker, began in great haste to urge forward
the saddling and bridling of their horses, and loading of the
sumpter-mules. In vain did Hildiridur warn them, that a beginning made
in such overhaste seldom leads to a good end; for they were all too
impatient to listen to her mild and gentle admonitions.
CHAPTER XXI.
How Sir Kolbein of Norway came by his death-wound.
While they were thus occupied, all of a sudden their attention was
attracted by a loud ringing of armour and clashing of arms from the
rocky cliff which Sir Archimbald had chosen for a watch-tower. Looking
up, they all beheld how the count had engaged in single combat with
a tall powerful warrior; nay, their eyes lighted on him just at the
moment when he was almost quite overcome;--when the stranger’s enormous
brazen shield was forced against his breast and forehead, till at last
he fell prostrate on the cliff, and his adversary wielded a ponderous
battle-axe ready to inflict a mortal blow. Scarcely could they feel
assured that all this was not a mere delusion of enchantment; nor did
Sir Otto or the sea-monarch perceive how it would be possible to reach
the summit of that steep rock with sufficient rapidity to save the
count. Swerker, however, had not allowed himself time to reflect;--with
the activity of a true Norman, he had in a moment flown to the fatal
spot, and now interposed his sword betwixt the fallen knight and his
adversary’s battle-axe, so that both weapons started asunder, and were
broken into fragments. Thereafter Swerker grappled with his enemy, and
seized him round the body with such vehemence, that ere the count had
time to raise himself up, they had both rolled down from the slippery
rock, and, still holding one another firmly embraced, came together
with a great crash on the ground. There, whether it were by superior
art, or by the mere chance of the fall, the stranger had the upper
hand, and, grinning like a wild beast over his prey, he held the Swede
with one hand, while with the other he drew a dagger from his bosom.
Swerker, however, failed not at the same moment to draw forth his
sharp hunting-knife; and now, each having but one arm at liberty, they
glared at one another, both watching an opportunity to inflict the
mortal wound. Suddenly the stranger uttered a deep groan; his arms fell
powerless; Swerker arose, and his opponent, after leaning on his hands,
and vainly trying to raise himself up, at length yielded to his fate,
and stretched himself motionless on the now blood-stained grass.
The knights all drew near to him, and unclasped his visor and corslet;
while Hildiridur, kneeling beside him, declared, with a sigh of
compassion, that his wounds were mortal, and neither healing herbs nor
enchanters’ spells could save him from approaching death.
“That indeed I can well believe,” said the wounded man, in a voice
scarcely audible, while a kind of despairing smile passed over his
convulsed features, that already wore the paleness of death; whereupon
Sir Otto and the sea-monarch recognised in this unfortunate victim the
once-blooming and prosperous Sir Kolbein.
Melancholy and regret now prevailed through the circle that had formed
round the fallen youth; and Sir Archimbald, with glistening eyes,
said,--“Truly my heart is grieved for thy fate, young warrior, who, for
my sake, hast come to this untimely end. But what injury had I offered
against thee that thou should’st thus attack me at unawares, even
like a blood-thirsty assassin?”--“Thou had’st taken from me what was
to me far dearer than life,” said the dying youth; “and in my revenge
I have aimed at thy life alone. Without Gerda I could not live.”--He
paused, and then turned to the sea-monarch:--“Can’st thou remember,
cousin, how, with your fiery arrows, you once destroyed my little
vessel in the wide sea?--Even so has Gerda’s beauty, like consuming
fire, brought ruin on my fortunes!”--Hereupon Sir Arinbiorn wept
bitterly, when he thought how this blooming branch from his ancient
oak-tree of the north, which might have deserved a better fate, had
been untimely withered away; and Hildiridur, still kneeling over him,
said, in a voice whose tones were like the sweetest music,--“Think on
God, my son;--think on the merciful Giver of all good, who will not
refuse to hear the prayer even of him who has been deluded and misled
from his way, although he arrives late before the throne of grace and
forgiveness!”--“This indeed I feel in my inmost heart,” answered Sir
Kolbein, with a smile of hope and contentment on his pale features.
“To him who has loved much, much will be forgiven; and God is the
gleaming sun of love, whose light will at length prevail even through
the darkest clouds of superstition and idolatry.”--“Alas! cousin,”
said Arinbiorn, “how could’st thou remain so blind in thy days of
strength and health, when the divine light now shines so brightly on
thy departing spirit?--Could’st thou not yet wrestle against death,
and remain for a space, with thy heart thus changed, amid thy loving
friends?”--“Nay, nay,” said the youth, “thou can’st remember;--did not
my little bark gleam more brightly than ever, just ere it sank into the
dark sea?”--With these words a fleeting radiance shone in his eyes, but
in the next moment they closed for ever, and he lay outstretched in his
last peaceful slumbers on the blooming turf.
As, for a while, they stood there in their grief, gazing on each other,
behold! there came among them a man in long white garments,--and this
was the chaplain of the church on the neighbouring mountain. They now
begged that he would vouchsafe to their departed friend the rites of
Christian burial, and described to him how tranquil, and even pious,
had been the knight’s last moments.--“I believe you right willingly,”
said the monk; “the expression of divine peace, and trust in the mercy
of God, that yet rest on these features, were enough to convince one
who has been oft-times beside the dying and the dead. Pursue then your
journey, in God’s name, and leave the rest to me. When you are again
amid the tumults of this world, your friend now departed will not be so
far distant as it may seem to you. Remember this; and now, farewell!”
Thereafter, making the sign of the cross over their heads, he gave them
his blessing, and they went silently towards their horses. Sir Otto,
however, could not refrain from turning back to speak once more with
the monk, and thus addressed him:--“Venerable father, I pray that you
will not judge harshly of me, if, in this solemn hour, I venture to
propose to you one question which might indeed seem the result of idle
curiosity, though my real motives are indeed very different; for, in
truth, my whole hopes of earthly happiness, and even my soul’s weal,
depend thereon;--say then, were the party, who but a little while ago
seemed to wind round the mountain into the valley, mere phantoms?
or were they indeed habitants belonging to this world?--Moreover, I
would ask, whether the beautiful damsel, who rode in that procession,
had before appeared in the church at prayer, with a book open before
her, in the shrine with glass-work and golden bars?”--Hereupon the
good old chaplain slowly shook his head, with its snow-white locks,
and answered,--“In truth it sounds strange and unwonted to one of
us, to hear such questions from an anxious-hearted worldling; and
yet I shall willingly answer you:--If the young birds, which come
forth in spring-tide, fly eagerly from tree to tree, as if wondering,
and in quest of knowledge, wherefore should not man, when he is yet
youthful and unweaned from this life, have the same desires?--Know
then, sir knight, that the devout lady, after whom you inquire, did
indeed come to prayers in our church; moreover, she appeared within
the most adorned and magnificent shrine which it affords; for this
place was chosen by the warrior who came with her. On yonder side of
the hill, under magnificent tents, they passed some time for rest and
refreshment after their long journey. Thou should’st not dream that
they were but a procession of ghosts; for it was a real prince of this
world, with his train, who passed here on the road before you.”--“But
who then is the devout lady?” said Sir Otto; “and who is her warlike
protector?”--“To these questions,” said the priest, “I cannot give
you an answer. We know, indeed, that they are profuse in their gifts
to all convents and shrines of the saints; moreover, to all those who
are in poverty and distress; so that the greatest emperors and princes
have not equalled, far less excelled them. Moreover, the hearts of all
who come into their presence are refreshed, and strengthened, by their
mild words and devout exhortations. Wheresoever they come the voice of
dissension is hushed, and peace smiles around them; but as to their
names and true rank I know nothing, nor could any one in this country
give you better intelligence. Many believe that they and their train
have come hither from India; that the leader is the grand priest
John, of whose wealth, power, and conversion to the Christian faith,
travellers have already told us. As to the beautiful damsel, they
believe that she is his daughter or niece; adding, that she is already
betrothed to one of the wealthiest and most powerful of our European
princes.”
The priest carried in his hand a small box, in which he collected alms
for the poor; and Sir Otto, in token of gratitude, placed a gold coin
therein. With shame and embarrassment, however, he perceived, when the
monk lifted up the lid, that the casket was already almost filled with
gold, pearls, and diamonds,--the gifts, no doubt, of the mysterious
lady and eastern warrior.
Now, when he had mounted his horse, Swerker came riding up, and said,
in a low faultering voice,--“Farewell,--perhaps for ever,--my noble
conqueror and teacher!--The Swedish eagle must straightway wing his
flight back to his own mountains of the north.”--Sir Otto looked
on him with astonishment, and the Swede continued,--“Mark you, Sir
Arinbiorn cannot bear to look on me since I have put to death his young
cousin, Sir Kolbein. Revenge, I well know, is a passion that should
never be cherished by a Christian against his fellow-mortal. In the
hearts of our northern heroes, however, this passion is deeply planted,
so that it becomes a destructive poison, destroying even our own lives
when we are denied the fulfilment of justice on him by whom we have
been injured. The sea-monarch, believe me, would die of vexation if I
were to be longer in his presence. Moreover, to what purpose should
we, Christian warriors, assemble in your castle?--Wherefore should we
meet there only to revel at your banquet-table, when perhaps there is
need that we should again unite together on the battle-field, and that,
by our endeavours, a gleam of the true light should be made to shine
forth on the dark regions of Finland. Farewell!--When I have once more
arrived in the north, I shall not fail to make known to the noble race
of Swerker how deeply I love and honour thee; moreover, how truly I
confide in the religion of the Christians.”
So it came to pass, that, after cordial embraces, and many kind words,
Swerker mounted his horse, and disappeared swiftly as an arrow among
the mountains. Ere Sir Otto had time to explain to Hildiridur and his
comrades wherefore the Swede had resolved to leave them, he was already
far remote, and separated from them for ever.
CHAPTER XXII.
How the Lady Hildiridur spoke kindly with the Enchantress
Gerda.
“Now,” said Hildiridur, as the knights spurred their horses, “can you
not remember my warning admonition?--Death and separation are barriers
already thrown in your way, yet you ride onwards with the same wild
resolution and impatience as before.”--Hereupon the knights checked
their horses, and for a space were lost in silent reflection, till Sir
Otto, blushing deeply, began,--“Mother, dearest mother,--if this lady
that we have all seen to-day were indeed Bertha!--Surely I cannot have
been deceived in that likeness,--only the strange damsel was in dress
and demeanour so grand and so solemn!”--“Can’st thou believe then,”
answered Hildiridur, “that my heart is not yet filled with ardent
love for my dear adopted daughter?--Who can tell, however, if she, who
has appeared here as a princess among us, be really Bertha?--Or, if it
were so, whether, when raised thus to pomp and grandeur, she is yet
willing to acknowledge thee as her cousin?”--“Her companion then is a
sorcerer or a base seducer,” said Otto, with melancholy and repressed
rage. “I shall in due time speak with him after such manner, that he
shall find as little reason even as I have, to rejoice over what he
has done.”--Hildiridur looked mournfully at her son, and said,--“Who
has conferred on thee the right of judging thus the conduct of
Bertha?--and wherefore should’st thou threaten so sternly that noble
warrior whom the poor forsaken damsel has, in her distress, chosen for
a protector?--Besides, young knight of Trautwangen, thou art now on
thy journey homewards, to take under thy care and console thy father’s
vassals, who are yet mourning the death of their beloved master. Till
this purpose be fulfilled, thou can’st not undertake any new adventure.”
A blush of shame and self-reproach followed that of anger on Sir Otto’s
features;--he bowed respectfully, and said,--“Let all be decided by
your better judgment, dearest mother;--I resign myself obediently to
your will. In truth it has become only too clear and certain, that if
it were Bertha herself who was here present among us, and if she were
willing to acknowledge our old friendship and affection, never would
the band of horsemen have passed us by without greeting or salutation.
Let it be so!--I bear the guilt and blame of my own folly, and
perchance am no longer worthy to lift up mine eyes to her, who seems
indeed like a messenger from Heaven!”
Hereupon Hildiridur tapped him kindly on the shoulder, and
said,--“Alas! how truly may the heart of a young hero be compared
to the stormy sea, with its waves now mounting up to the starry
heaven, and again sinking into the dark and deep abyss of sadness and
grief!--Dearest son, thou should’st not thus lay aside all that pride
which belongs to thy rank and achievements; moreover, thou should’st
remember, that on a form like thine, the noblest of high-born damsels
might indeed look with pleasure.”
During these discourses, as they rode through a dense thicket of
elder-trees, lo! they could not help watching a strange light that
shone amid the green branches, and which they had at first thought to
be an effect of the evening sky; but the light kept pace with them
wherever they went, and at last an opening in the woods revealed the
form of the enchantress Gerda, who, with long dishevelled hair, now
appeared in her wonted beauty, and in female attire. She now walked
hastily along a foot-path of the forest, which ere long joined with
the high-road; and Sir Archimbald rode forward to meet her, calling
aloud,--“Away! away with thee, thou temptress, or if thou wilt remain
with our party, kneel now forthwith, and pray before the holy cross.
This admonition I now give to thee in kindness of heart, and for the
last time!”--Gerda stood motionless, and, parting the long locks that,
in her swift march, had fallen over her forehead, she fixed her large
dark eyes on Sir Archimbald, and answered, in the tone of a child that
is half-angry, half inclined to weep,--“Surely I may be allowed to
walk onwards, wherever I can find a retired foot-path? By what right
can’st thou interrupt my journey, since even the high-roads are as
free to Gerda as they are to thee and thy chosen friends? If, however,
thy hatred against me is so great, that thou can’st not suffer me even
to live, then, in God’s name, inflict at once the blow that consigns
me to death. For, this I tell thee without disguise, so long as I
continue to live, I shall not fail to appear thus, now and then, in thy
presence.”--With these words she drew her long glossy ringlets again
over her features, and began to weep bitterly.
“Heaven knows,” said the Count von Waldeck, with a deep sigh, “what
will prove the end of all this!” He turned his horse round with a
gesture of vehement impatience, and drew down his vizor with a sounding
crash.
Meanwhile Hildiridur gently rode up on her palfrey towards the weeping
damsel, and stretching out her hand, once more parted the golden locks
from her forehead. At her gentle touch, the looks of the beautiful
enchantress cleared up, even like a bed of flowers when the sun
surprises them bathed in morning dew. “Weep not,” said the Druda, “weep
not thus vehemently, dearest daughter; for there are other paths by
which thou may’st arrive at the knowledge of the true God, besides that
which was pointed out to thee by the stern Zelotes. It is not indeed
required, that thou should’st pass through the sepulchral aisles by
that gloomy monastery, over the wreck of all thy worldly joys. Behold,
I am she who, on the Swedish frontiers, opposed thy power so suddenly
in the name of our blessed Redeemer, and rendered vain all thy spells
and enchantments. Rememberest thou, how, in thy concealed cavern of the
mountains, thou so long contended’st against the veiled lady of the
watch-tower?” The weeping damsel looked up confusedly, and yet with
a gleam of hope stealing over her beautiful features. “Know then,”
continued Hildiridur, “that though my faith as a Christian be sincere
and deeply implanted in my heart, yet methinks a path to salvation
and peace might be found for thee, far different from that of which
the stern warrior, Zelotes, has spoken. Wilt thou ride with us, then,
and submit to the instructions of Hildiridur?” “Oh Heaven!” cried the
enchantress, “how gladly would I obey thee; but the knight there in
the bright silver armour will not suffer me to be in his presence.”
On the contrary, however, the Count von Waldeck had hastened to find
out among the horses led by the squires a handsome palfrey, which he
brought to the now glad and smiling damsel; and begged for permission
to lift her into the saddle. This being done, he threw back his vizor,
then turned to the Lady Hildiridur; and respectfully kissing her
hand, “Thus indeed,” said he, “thou hast once more appeared like a
peace-angel sent from heaven to console and reconcile poor mortals.”
“Alas,” sighed Hildiridur, “without the help of another angel, who
is indeed pure and exalted, our happiness will have but an uncertain
foundation.”
At these words Otto thought once more of Bertha; for he believed that
it was of her that his mother had spoken. Whenever they came to a
town or village, therefore, he inquired whether any one had seen the
procession of the grand priest, John, with his Moorish warriors. For
some time he indeed obtained always the answers that he most wished
to hear; but at length he discovered that the lady, with her warlike
protector, had turned off from the road leading towards the fortress
of Trautwangen, and had gone on a pilgrimage to the shrine of a famed
saint, which lay at a far distance. After this news, he rode on his way
more thoughtful and melancholy than ever.
CHAPTER XXIII.
How Sir Folko de Montfaucon beheld, for the first time, the
fortress of Trautwangen.
Like the happy birds that return to their wonted nests in spring-tide,
Sir Folko, with Gabrielle and Blanchefleur, were now passing over the
Alps on their way back to Germany. After many wanderings through the
world, over lakes and seas, mountains and valleys, they had found
themselves irresistibly attracted by our native land; for we may truly
say, that whatever strangers have once come thither, look on our
vineyards and smiling landscapes as a garden of joy, and the chosen
abode of true and faithful hearts. Moreover, almost all European
nations must look on Germany as their father-land. Sir Folko and
Gabrielle might indeed look with regret on this end of their journey,
for a melancholy separation then awaited them, inasmuch as Sir Folko
had never forgotten the rights of his friend, Otto von Trautwangen;
and dared not attempt, by indissoluble bonds, to make Gabrielle his
own. The stream of their lives had indeed flowed together on their
long journey, that now seemed so short when they looked back on the
time past that could never return; and the mild silent Blanchefleur,
too well accustomed to resign all the dearest wishes of her own heart,
could in her sadness wish for no better pastime, than to have travelled
on, without ceasing, attended thus by her beloved brother and dearest
confidante.
At length it came to pass one day, that their eyes were met by the
bright gleaming of a river, winding through fertile fields and rich
meadows; when, on inquiring its name, they found that they had arrived
on the banks of the Danube. Glad that they were now in the far-famed
and prosperous land of Swabia, they encamped at midday under the
shade of some large elm-trees, not far from the river, unloaded their
sumpter-mules, and seated themselves on the fragrant turf, while the
squires handed round the brimming wine-cups.
All of a sudden, as they were thus occupied, a strange man, in a
gypsey’s dress, with a dark-brown complexion, came before them.
Hereupon Sir Folko threw at him some silver coins, and ordered him to
retire, fearing that by his strange looks the ladies might be alarmed.
Meanwhile, however, the Egyptian had taken from his shoulders a box,
which he now opened, and lo! there was therein such store of sparkling
gems, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, all set in the purest gold, that
the beautiful eyes of the two ladies were irresistibly attracted.
Thereupon Sir Folko began to speak with the stranger after a different
manner. On whatever gem the ladies seemed to cast a favouring glance,
he ordered that it should immediately be laid aside for them; and
then, when a large collection was formed, he inquired what was to be
the price of the jewels which he had thus chosen. The Egyptian demanded
a price, which was beyond measure extortionate; but the chevalier,
unused to the artifice of the merchant, and with his heart full of
knightly generosity, immediately commanded one of his squires to bring
the whole sum. Thereupon a broad grin came over the brown and yellow
visage of the strange man; he pretended that he had made a mistake in
his reckoning, looked over the jewels as if in deep reflection, and
then demanded double the price for which he had before stipulated. This
also the chevalier ordered to be paid to him; but, with unblushing
impudence, the gipsy then said, “Sir knight, to say the truth, these
goods are such as I cannot sell for any price; and no sum that you
could offer would induce me to part with such treasures.” “Whatever
their value may be, I am resolved to have them,” answered Sir Folko,
who was now roused to anger. “As for thee, base miscreant, who would’st
thus dare to insult two noble ladies, by withdrawing from sale the
wares which thou hast already offered, thy punishment would be less
than what is justly due, were I to take thy merchandize by violence out
of thy hands, and bestow the price which thou first demanded’st on some
neighbouring convent or hospital.” “Ay, ay,” said the merchant with a
significant grin, “there have ere now been many such knights who lived
by plunder; and who, if one might believe their own words, bestowed the
treasures which they had acquired on the poor. The only question now
is, whether thou art disposed to add one more to the number of this
worshipful fraternity?” With the deep blush of scorn and anger on his
visage, Sir Folko replied,--“Fellow, thou had’st best, in all haste,
retire from our presence, and take thy goods along with thee. Moreover,
if thou art a Christian, thou should’st thank God that, insolent and
dishonest as thou art, thou art fallen into the hands of a brave and
courteous knight, who is too kind-hearted to deal with thee as thou
hast deserved.” The gypsey man packed up his jewels, threw the box over
his shoulders, and retreated; after having gone a few paces, however,
he turned round, and said, pointing to a fortress on a high cliff
in the distance, “After a few hours, sir knight, you will perchance
have arrived at yonder castle; and I shall deal with you honestly for
whatever goods you are inclined to purchase; moreover, I shall treat
you with many wonderful sights and comedies, such as you have never in
your whole life beheld. It were well, however, if the two ladies were
also present; for as to my tricks of art, they concern all of you, and
I can fit them for every person, each after his own manner.” With these
words, he vanished suddenly into a neighbouring thicket.
In silence the three travellers looked towards the fortress on the
distant cliff, to which the stranger had pointed. Amid the green
foliage of oak-trees, that were perchance a thousand years old, the
venerable ramparts were visible, in their stern grandeur and strength;
the moss-grown pinnacles of the watch-towers rose proudly into the blue
firmament; and, on the highest summit of the keep, there was planted a
great golden cross, that now gleamed from afar in the sun.
“Thither we must now bend our way,” said Gabrielle in a low but
determined tone. “Whosoever that mysterious man may be, from whom we
have received this warning, a secret voice speaks within my heart, and
tells me, that our fate must there be decided.”
Thereupon Blanchefleur bowed her head in token of assent, and De
Montfaucon, with his mind filled with mysterious expectations,
commanded the squires immediately to break up the camp, and prepare for
setting forward on their journey.
Meanwhile a labourer happened to pass by, and the chevalier inquired
of him the name of yonder fortress.
“It is the renowned castle of Trautwangen,” said the bauer.
At these words Sir Folko and Gabrielle trembled as they looked at each
other; but, as if with one voice, both of them firmly repeated,--“We
must hasten thither, for there must the fate of all of us be decided.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
How Theobaldo came with the Magic Ring, and of his
fearful incantations.
In the solemn ancestral hall, the venerable Sir Hugh was once more
seated all alone, with the great silver wine-cup before him on the
round table. He looked anxiously for the arrival of his honoured friend
Walter the minstrel; and thought to himself,--“Truly, I can scarcely
dwell here without that old man and his wonderful songs; for my own
life, that has formerly been divided between Norway, France, Italy,
and Greece,--moreover, that wont to be so varied by warlike adventures
and achievements,--has now declined into melancholy old age. I have
withered, lonely and neglected, like the fallen leaves in autumn. No
grand adventures are now in store for me; no change either of joy
or sorrow. It were indeed better, then, if the heroic deeds of our
ancestors were evermore sounded in mine ears, that I might dream of
them still as the last sleep slowly steals upon me. Walter, Walter!
where tarriest thou so long!”
With a pale agitated visage, a squire now stept into the hall, and
said,--“Sir knight, your honoured son, Otto von Trautwangen, is even
now arrived at the castle.”
“And should’st thou then wear the hues of death on thine aspect,” said
the knight, “when thou pronouncest these words, that are to me like
renewed life? Bring hither to my presence that noble youth, that I may
welcome him as a new-risen star, shedding once more light and happiness
on mine old age.”--Hereupon the squire muttered some inarticulate
words, and opened the great folding doors; while Sir Hugh, in order
to meet his coming guest, had, with joy gleaming in his eyes, raised
himself up from his old armchair.
Then, hark! there was a rustling, as of long garments, on the
staircase. The doors were thrown open, and a man, wrapt in hideous
black robes, came with sounding steps across the threshold, holding up
his right arm as if threatening all who came in his way. The folding
doors again closed, and one could hear how the terrified squire ran
headlong, as if demons pursued him, down stairs.--“Where is my son?”
cried the old man, turning pale, and falling back into his chair.--“Thy
son now stands before thee,” said the spectral stranger; and, alas! Sir
Hugh saw but too well that it was Otto’s features that now glared upon
him.--“Hast thou become a monk?” said the old warrior,--“a black-robed
Benedictine monk?”--After these words it seemed as if his youthful
vigour had revived, and he added, in a deep and thundering voice,--“Who
then has given thee permission for what thou hast done? Right sternly
shall I yet call that convent to account, whose prior has dared to
transform the young Knight of Trautwangen into a cowled priest.”--“I
am not the young Knight of Trautwangen,” said the Benedictine in a
sharp tone; “in the world I was named Ottur. I am the son of the
beautiful Astrid and the brave Hugur; but now I am named brother
Zelotes.”
The old man sat motionless in his chair. That energy to which he had
been roused was indeed not lost; but, as if petrified by his surprise,
he gazed fixedly on the son who had so unexpectedly started up before
him.
“Thou art a dear and highly-honoured branch of a noble tree,” continued
the monk, “and if time is yet allowed us, thou shalt be saved from
the consuming fires of hell; and therefore our abbot has given me
permission to come hither for thy conversion, ere the last shadows of
old age and death have settled around thee!”
Thereafter he took his place right opposite to the knight, and began
a discourse on the mysteries of our holy faith, and on penitence,
whereat the listener shuddered, and the blood ran cold in every vein;
while, as the preacher’s zeal increased, and his voice thundered
through the vaulted hall, it seemed as if flames of consuming fire
flashed around him.
The monk continued his discourse, and his deep tones overpowered the
sounds of mirth and gladness which had now begun in the castle-court
and outer-halls. Sir Otto, who had already been informed of the old
Sir Hugh’s revival from his supposed death, having rode on before his
party, had now arrived at the castle, and ere the squires had time
to tell him of the ghastly apparition of the monkish double-goer, he
rushed up the staircase and entered the hall.
“Ottur, Ottur! what would’st thou here?” cried he. “Thou art indeed
my half-brother, and this brave old hero should be equally dear to
us both.”--Then he threw his arms round his father’s neck, in whose
heart new life and courage seemed revived, when he heard the clang of
Sir Otto’s armour, and felt the weight of his iron armlets; while,
as he caressed his beloved son, he cast a stern resentful look on the
monk.--“I have long since known what thou hast now told me,” said the
Benedictine, answering his brother; “I learned it in the convent, and
on the road hither, where also we met together. In dreams, too, I have
had warnings of the truth; but now I am no longer named Ottur. He is
as if dead and buried, and the mortal who stands here is known only as
the monk Zelotes.” Again he would have renewed, in the same thundering
voice, his penitential exhortations; but Sir Otto stretched out his
arm, and cried aloud,--“How darest thou, reckless man, address such
words of reproach to that noble and far-famed hero, now when thou
knowest that he is thy father?”--“Even for that very reason have I
thus spoken,” answered Zelotes. “So long as I have breath to speak, he
shall not become a prey to the demons, who are ever on the watch, and
would gladly drag him down to the regions of eternal torment.”--“Nay,
mark you,” said Sir Otto, “he will be enabled to protect himself from
these frightful foes even without thy violent admonitions. Be silent,
then, and disturb him not in the sanctity of his old age, nor break
the peace of this happy meeting. Moreover, I can this day bring him
such joyful news, as will doubtless lead him with more certainty to
heaven, than the threatening of all the monks that could be found in
the world.”--“Thou hast the right doubtless of judging according to
thine own conscience,” said Zelotes, still persisting in his discourse;
while Sir Otto, not heeding him any more, announced, in a loud voice
to the old man, the happy tidings, that his mother was yet alive, and
that, in the spirit of love and peace, she was now drawing near to the
castle of Trautwangen, which she had long desired to visit. So the old
man sat there like a grey ruin between two roaring streams, while the
young men, one on each side, both vehemently addressed him.
But, hark! a noise suddenly arose from the castle-court, which drowned
their contention. A voice called out aloud,--“Uguccione! Uguccione!
thou murderer! come down from thy fortress, for Lisberta’s champion
is come to inflict just vengeance on thy head!” Sir Hugh looked round
him with astonishment, and the two young men were silent. At length he
said, as if awakening from a dream,--“The world yet stands firm and
steadfast,--the day of judgment is not come for all,--but _mine_ is
doubtless arrived. Follow me, children, and aid me by your prayers!”
With these words he rose up slowly, and, resting on Otto’s shoulder,
moved towards the door. The youths did not venture to ask the venerable
old man what had now caused his disquietude; but he remarked their
inquiring looks, and said,--“I know not indeed by what frightful power
I am now called into the castle-court; but I am forced thither by
irresistible attraction. I hear names, at whose very sound alone I
feel that I am bound to shed my heart’s blood as an atonement for my
past crimes; yet, long as Sir Hugh von Trautwangen lives, it shall
never be said that he was deemed a coward. Forward then, children,
that I may encounter boldly the doom that now awaits me!” So, leaning
still on Sir Otto, he stepped down stairs, the monk following, and
singing to himself, all the way, a melancholy hymn, that sounded like a
dirge. While listening to his murmurs, one might have thought that the
old champion was now dead, and that the young men went to attend his
obsequies.
In the court below, they found assembled a multitude of people. Not
only all the squires and other retainers of the castle, but many
countrymen from the neighbouring villages, were here collected, gazing
at a man in the eastern dress, who had stationed himself in the middle
of the square, and continued unceasingly to call aloud in the same
frightful tones which had been heard so plainly in the hall above. At
the same time he constantly twisted round and round on a finger of
his right hand a glittering ring; and Sir Hugh, recognising the gem,
seated himself quietly on a stone, beneath a tall lime-tree that grew
in the court, and said, “The strange man, who stands yonder, hath
on his finger the powerful Magic Ring of the beautiful Astrid, and
therewith Heaven hath also bestowed on him the power to dispose of my
life. Moreover, he hath doubtless come hither in order to doom me to
death.” “Thine own conscience then condemns thee, hoary-headed sinner,”
cried the stranger; and at the same moment Otto recognised in him his
old squire and friend Theobaldo. “Diephold!” cried he, for by this
German name, instead of Theobaldo, he had been wont in former days to
address him; “Diephold, it is my father to whom thou now speakest.”
“Indeed?” said Theobaldo, turning pale and confused; “then we are
brothers, for I am the son of Uguccione and the unfortunate Lisberta.
Moreover, Uguccione and this grey-headed warrior are one and the same,
and, therefore, my father must fall by my hand; for I have sworn on
my mother’s grave, that I would avenge her wrongs by the death of her
seducer!” “Never, never!” cried Sir Otto, drawing his sword, and taking
his station before the old hero. “Here I shall maintain the combat to
the last, for victory or death.” His words were echoed in the next
moment by Zelotes, who embraced his father with his wide black robes,
and cried aloud, “Never shall he be injured, unless by one who shall
first cut through these consecrated garments. Sir Hugur shall yet live
to do penance for his crimes.” “Truly thou can’st wrap him in a monk’s
cowl if thou wilt,” said Theobaldo, with a scornful smile; “but there
is no veil so dense that my invisible agents may not find their way,
and force him to bitter repentance.” With these words he seated himself
on the ground, and with the ring began to describe strange figures on
the grass.
There were deep vaults beneath the castle-court; and, not long after
Theobaldo had begun his enchantments, hark! there was a strange
rustling under ground. A cold shuddering crept over the bystanders,
as if they had been seized and shaken by supernatural arms; nay, it
seemed to many a one, as if the spectral forms of those who had long
lain mouldering in the grave came forth and grinned ghastlily upon
them. Then the same rustling sound rose upwards, and spread through the
branches of the venerable elm and lime-trees. There was a sound too
of many voices, though no one knew what they uttered, and a beating
of invisible wings. All were terrified and silent; only the old Sir
Hugh von Trautwangen lifted up his voice, that sounded more fearfully,
shrouded as he still was by the black garments of the monk. He cried
aloud, that the beautiful Astrid stood before him with her deadly
wound, from which the last life-blood now ebbed away; that the poor
forsaken Lisberta came, and had with one look made his heart cold as
the grave wherein she was now laid. He spoke too of many other damsels
and ladies to whom he had plighted faith and troth, but whom he had
thereafter neglected:--all came around him now, as if to inflict
fearful judgment on their betrayer. Yet Sir Hugh von Trautwangen
addressed them in a deep heroic tone, like one who indeed suffers more
than words could pourtray, and is conscious of his own guilt, yet whose
courage nevertheless is unchanged and unconquerable.
At length Theobaldo sprang up from the ground, and cried to the
spectators, “Be it your duty then to inflict just punishment on the
guilty! You hear how, by the invincible pride of his tones, that he is
indeed calling down the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. I would
not willingly become a parricide, though his conduct towards Lisberta
and me has been so horrible; but if you value the safety of your towns
and villages, if you wish even that the very ground on which you stand
should be saved from destruction, then make an end of him at once, for
he is not fit to live in this world. Neither the skies nor the earth
can longer endure to look upon him. Listen then, and behold!” With
these last words, he threw the Magic Ring high in the air, and though
the skies were before clear, yet immediately a dark sulphureous cloud
appeared, and a sudden clap of thunder broke over their heads. At the
same moment the ground shook beneath them; blue flames arose, as if
demons and fiery serpents were stretching out their tongues from the
earth; and, in the delirium of terror, all the peasants and people who
were there present ran to inflict vengeance on the devoted victim.
Meanwhile, Sir Otto courageously kept his station to protect his
father; and Zelotes, as if once more changed into a bold warrior of the
north, called unceasingly, “Strike then well, brother, spare them not,
the pitiful cowards! If I had but my sword here, that bears thy name,
I would not fail to assist thee. But thy sword is named Ottur, and must
bear my part,--strike them well, and spare not!”
CHAPTER XXV.
How the tumult in the Castle-Court waxed wilder and
wilder.
Many of the dastardly assailants already bled under Sir Otto’s powerful
blows; others were terrified by the thundering and unearthly accents
of Zelotes; and the whole mob would soon have been dispersed, had it
not been that Theobaldo’s enchantments confused their senses; so that
when they wished to retreat they found still greater terrors await
them in the rear than in the van. The thunder continued to roll louder
and louder over their heads; the blue flames rose more fiercely from
the ground, and almost assumed the shapes of spectres and demons:
around the castle there was heard the rushing of a vehement rain and
hail-storm; but not a drop fell in the castle-court; it seemed as if
the mild dew of heaven could not fall on that accursed scene of flames
and contention. Even amid all the uproar of thunder, noise, and rushing
and confused voices, was heard ever and anon the thrilling laughter of
Theobaldo as he continued his incantations.
Meanwhile, Hildiridur, with all her attendants, had arrived at the
castle. Anxious, amid that fearful storm, for the safety of its
inhabitants, she came hastily into the court, and, protected by Sir
Archimbald and the sea-monarch, went up to the lime-tree, under which
the old hero was still seated, and where Sir Otto still fought, though
his strength was now almost exhausted. Hildiridur addressed herself to
Sir Hugh in mild accents, entreating his forgiveness; and Gerda, now
humble and obedient to her instruction, stood near her, anxious, if
possible, to afford her assistance; while in the meanwhile Arinbiorn
and Sir Archimbald, having at once perceived what was going forward,
had drawn their swords, and summoned their squires around them, in
order that they might at once beat the mob to the ground, and free the
castle from insurrection.
Then, too, Sir Folko (with the two ladies and their train) suddenly
made his appearance. He chanced to enter the court by a gate which
brought him directly to the lime-tree, where, roused at once by his
duty as protector of the two damsels, and his desire to assist the
knights, he also rushed forward, sword in hand, and commanded his
squires to do the same.
Then Sir Hugh, still haunted and overpowered by the frightful
apparitions that crowded on his mind’s eye, shouted aloud,--“Wo, wo!
now I behold also the lady-mother of the brave Sir Folko de Montfaucon!
She comes to reproach me because I deserted her and our child
Blanchefleur, and, truly, she also has justice on her side; for I was
the renowned Sir Huguenin of Normandy, and, by the honour and word of
a knight, I did not earn that name without valiant deeds!”
As soon as Blanchefleur heard these words, she came and kneeled down
before him. Her mild voice fell on his ears through the black robes
by which Zelotes still held him concealed.--“Lo!” said she, “I am thy
daughter, thou venerable old hero, though even now, as heretofore,
thou art concealed from my sight.” Then, turning to Sir Folko, she
added,--“Brother, dearest brother, wield thy sword, and spare not. This
day thou shalt win another wreath of victory; and remember, that thou
art fighting for the rescue of my father, the renowned Sir Huguenin of
Normandy.”
Her mandates were obeyed,--the noble Chevalier de Montfaucon fought
with undaunted perseverance and resolution, while Sir Arinbiorn and
the Count Archimbald von Waldeck also did their utmost. But the dark
sulphureous clouds descended lower, and gathered always denser and
denser around them; the thunder roared--the rain and hail beat around
the castle, while Theobaldo’s voice was yet heard laughing aloud, and
renewing his incantations; so that their senses were quite overpowered
and confused. As to the squires, they no longer knew each other; but,
in their madness, cut and thrust at their own masters, whom they wished
to defend. Even the knights themselves were not free from these fearful
delusions; for now and then, when the sea-monarch thought that he had
dealt forth a powerful blow against some hated assailant, he found, all
of a sudden, that he had struck the golden helmet of his noble cousin,
De Montfaucon; or Sir Folko, perchance, with a rapid movement of his
shield, forced the sea-monarch and the count far asunder, at the moment
when they were standing firmly wedged together in order to resist the
advances of the wild multitude. Thereupon Sir Archimbald would, in
great wrath, turn round and attack both Folko and the sea-knight, and
when they fell back under his heavy blows, for the first time all
three would discover their error. Then they would shake hands, and,
closely ranked together, once more advance on their foes,--perhaps
with no better result than that of attacking their friend Otto von
Trautwangen. It was indeed Sir Otto alone, amid the whole assemblage,
whose senses appeared yet clear and triumphant over Theobaldo’s
sorcery; inasmuch as he always repeated to himself, in a low tone,
the short prayer which he had learned from Bertha in early youth.
This prayer had already helped him in the cavern of the Hartz forest,
and he now stood, sword in hand, like a guardian angel, before the
helpless old hero. Yet such was the tumult around him, that he never
could have maintained his station, had it not been that his light-brown
steed, which had broken loose from the squires who held him at the
castle-gates, came neighing aloud in furious career through the mob,
and placed himself by his master’s side. There, as if all the powers of
magic and necromancy could not overcome the noble animal’s fidelity
and affection, he reared himself on his hinder-legs, inflicting the
most horrid wounds on the heads of his assailants, seized them with
his teeth by the breast and shoulders, lifted them up, and hurled them
again to the ground, so that they lay motionless and insensible.
Amid the confusion of this extraordinary conflict, lo! the grey-haired
minstrel, Walter, arrived, and courageously made his way through the
combatants to his old friend and hospitable patron. Even amid the
frightful phantoms that perturbed his brain, Sir Hugh von Trautwangen
was aware of the minstrel’s presence, and said,--“There are strange
encounters passing without; and yet, methinks, I have heard voices of
women and children, that might have soothed and gladdened mine ears,
if but the long troops of ghosts would keep away, that I am doomed to
behold even in darkness. Yet let me hope ever for the best; for what
says thy favourite rhyme, good old Walter?”--Hereupon the minstrel
touched his harp-strings, and lifted up his voice,--
“Dark night precedes the morn,
So grief may joyaunce bring;
And death leads through the wint’ry grave
To life’s eternal spring.”
“I cannot rightly hear thy song,” cried Sir Hugh, “the noises are so
loud and stunning through the court; and then the monk’s black garments
are so closely folded around me. Sing louder, old minstrel, sing
louder!” Thereupon Walter repeated the same stanza on a key far deeper
and more sonorous; but Sir Hugh still exclaimed,--“Louder, old man,
far louder!” till at last the minstrel, in obedience to his best and
dearest friend, struck the harp with such violence, that not only did
the strings break, but even the instrument itself burst asunder with a
long melancholy intonation.
Thereupon Sir Hugh cried aloud,--“Wo, wo! even the minstrel’s harp
has broken, in terror at the load of guilt that weighs on my head;
now indeed all is lost!”--With these words he fell half fainting
and insensible to the ground, and Zelotes prayed fervently over
him. Yet all of a sudden it seemed as if the old hero’s fervour and
wonted energy had been restored; for he started up, and, in tones
that were at once deep like thunder, and shrill as a trumpet, he
exclaimed,--“Who dares to read prayers over me as if I were no longer a
knight? Am I then cast out and renounced by the Order to which I once
belonged?”--With these words he fell back, motionless, into the arms
of Zelotes.--“Alas! dearest lady,” said Gerda anxiously to Hildiridur,
“wherefore have we renounced the powers of enchantment? Now we might
have granted protection, and rescued this old man from the fate that
awaits him. Shall we not make one effort?”--“Away with all such vain
thoughts!” answered Hildiridur; “dost thou not feel, even in thine
inmost heart, the fearful influence of the magician who is now among
us? Is it not far greater than we could have exerted even in the days
of our greatest power? From us there is no hope of rescue.”
Sir Otto meanwhile had heard his father’s outcry as he fell into the
arms of Zelotes; and at that fearful sound he felt his strength wholly
overcome. His comrades had fallen into greater disorder than ever;
Theobaldo screamed in triumphant laughter; the mob gained ground;
the horrid spells of the enchanter were victorious; and no one could
doubt that the castle-court would ere long be changed into a place of
judgment and execution.
CHAPTER XXVI.
How the Lady Bertha von Lichtenried came to break the
Spells of Theobaldo, and afterwards took from him the
Magic Ring.
But ere that stern judgment could be fulfilled, there was a new voice
that called aloud,--“Halt, halt!” and the tones even of that simple
mandate were supernaturally sweet, as if the voice had descended from
the blessed heights of Paradise. Suddenly, therefore, the tumult ceased
as if by some new and more resistless incantation; for the sounds, at
once sweet and powerful, had penetrated deeply into every heart, so
that all stood motionless, not only amazed, but almost reconciled. It
seemed as if the rage and wrath which formerly prevailed were at once
cooled and overcome; and, though some among the countrymen nearest to
Theobaldo began again to lift their clubs and swords, their advance
was checked by armed warriors mounted on beautiful white horses, who,
with their foreign dresses, gleaming sabres, and light javelins, struck
all the beholders with astonishment. Theobaldo now was silent, and held
his hand over his eyes, as if he had been dazzled by the glare of the
noonday sun.
The form that now appeared entering the court might well have been
compared to sun; but the beams of light that this beautiful apparition
spread abroad were dazzling only to the guilty beholders. To all others
they were refreshing and delightful. It was a damsel mounted on a
snow-white palfrey, with a heavenly smile on her features, reflecting
the inward peace and serenity of her mind. Of her aspect, indeed, one
could not say whether dignity or child-like innocence prevailed most
therein. It was her voice which had commanded the combatants to halt,
and her beauty that had confounded Theobaldo. The horsemen now ranged
themselves around her; and, moreover, she was accompanied by a grave
stately man, attired in flowing purple robes, and with a large golden
cross on his breast. The thunder-storm rolled away in dying murmurs
towards the west; the rushing too of the rain and hail-showers was
heard no more.
Then it seemed as if Theobaldo sought once more to rouse himself for a
new attack. Grinning in wrath, he waved the Magic Ring high over his
head; but the damsel again called out in the same silvery tones, “Halt!
against such an adversary as thou, the holy father of the church has
afforded me this means of protection!” With these words, she took out
a golden phial from her bosom, and, advancing towards Theobaldo, threw
part of its contents, which shone like rain in the sunlight, towards
him; whereupon the once so potent enchanter fell trembling on his
knees. “That is not enough,” said the maiden; and with these words,
a strange severity came over her beautiful features. “Deliver up the
ring!” and perceiving that Theobaldo still lingered, and grinned in
his disappointment and terror, she held out the phial, and continued,
“Or shall I once more prove the strength of this, which, as thou well
knowest, is more powerful than all the spells of which the ring has
made thee the possessor? In such case, however, I cannot answer for the
consequences which thou drawest on thine own head.” Hereupon Theobaldo
came up to her trembling, and placed the Magic Ring in her beautiful
snow-white hand, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.
Then she desired of her companion in the purple robes, that he would
lift her from the saddle; and as soon as she had dismounted, she went
straightway towards the lime-tree, where Sir Hugh still sat; but, as
if inspired with new life by the presence of her who thus approached
him, he threw aside the dark garments of Zelotes, and once more
looked up cheerfully on the clear sunlight and cloudless heaven. For
a moment, indeed, when he fixed a serious gaze on Sir Arinbiorn’s
helmet, a shudder of apprehension passed through his frame, and he
exclaimed, “Good Heaven! there is also the Avenger with his vulture’s
wings. But he must have come hither for reconciliation; for I see
near him an angelic form, whose divine features are well known to
me.” “Ay, indeed,” said the damsel, “he comes but for reconciliation;
and all must this day be reconciled.” Her words sounded like a
strain of celestial music. She then led up to the old knight her
strangely-attired companion, (who looked half Arab half Christian,)
and added, “As truly as thou wert once known on the distant island of
Crete as the brave Sir Hygies, so truly is this Moorish champion your
son; and his mother was the rose-like maiden of Damascus, who dwelt for
a time in the cavern of Zeus the sorcerer. Erewhile he hath acquired
renown far and wide as the grand emir Nurreddin; but now he bears the
Christian, and far more honoured name, Christophorus.”
The father and son looked long at each other, their eyes gleaming in
silent emotion. During their long lives it could scarcely have been
said that they had ever beheld each other; now the father sat with his
snow-white locks under the shade of that old ancestral lime-tree, and
before him stood Christophorus, already advanced in years. Suddenly the
latter felt oppressed by deep awe and veneration, and, forgetting his
former resentment, he was about to kneel in the humility of his filial
love; but Sir Hugh took him in his arms, and cried aloud, “Welcome,
welcome, thou noble Damascene blade, worthy and valiant offspring from
the beauteous Rose of Damascus!” So they stood locked in each other’s
embrace, and weeping in their great joy; while Blanchefleur, smiling
sweetly, looked up, and said, “Kind Heaven, how I thank thee for having
bestowed on me such an affectionate and venerable father!” Hearing
these words, the old man laid his hand on her beautiful head, with its
luxuriant glossy curls, and blessed her; at the same time De Montfaucon
came up, announcing to his former guardian and instructor, how he had
constantly watched over his beautiful half-sister, and that it was not
through his neglect, but only through the changeful fortunes of the
battle-field, that she had been deprived of the Magic Ring, which ought
now to have been on her finger. “However,” added he, “it would not have
so readily come to pass, that I should have been forced to give up her
rights in the lists, had not thy own noble son stepped forward into
the ring; then the strength and skill of the scholar yielded to him,
who carried by inheritance the powers of an invincible father in his
frame.”--Thereupon Sir Otto stretched his hand over Sir Hugh’s hoary
head, in friendly salutation, to the Knight of Montfaucon; while the
faithful falcon, leaving Sir Otto, perched on his master’s helmet,
and clapped his wings for joy to find that Folko was thus restored to
life. “Mark you,” said Otto, “the falcon erewhile brought to me this
love-embassy, although I know full well that it was but in error.”
Saying these words, he held in his hand the rose-coloured parchment,
on which, when at Carthagena, Gabrielle had written to the Chevalier
de Montfaucon the confession of her love. A deep blush overspread
the countenance of Sir Folko, and Gabrielle drew her veil over her
beautiful features. “By the result of that former tournament,” said
Sir Otto, gently taking her hand, “I have some right over the treasure
which I now hold. May I then exert my power?” With these words he
joined together the hands of De Montfaucon and Gabrielle, who, in their
gratitude, had almost dropped on their knees before their friend; but,
as he instantly withdrew, and was lost amid the crowd, they fell into
each other’s arms. Sir Archimbald then drew near to the goldenhaired
Gerda, and cast at the same time an inquiring glance on Hildiridur,
which the Druda well understood, and answered, “She has already proved
herself a willing votary of the Christian faith, and I can bear
witness to her ardour and sincerity.” Then the count inclined his head
over the damsel’s hand, and pronounced the solemn words whereby he
became her betrothed husband, while Gerda’s cheeks glowed with the deep
blush of joy and affection.
Meanwhile the wondrous damsel, who was now in possession of the ring,
though her accents were as mild and gentle as ever, yet, the sense of
her expressions conveyed bitter reproaches to Zelotes, inasmuch as
he had sought to terrify the old hero, and to force him into severe
penance. “Had he not been instructed,” she inquired, “that the Saviour
of mankind attracted his disciples in the spirit of kindness and love;
and if, for the full conversion of sinners, fiery trials and suffering
must be employed, our heavenly Father himself provides means for this
purpose, and often by assistants unwonted and unlooked-for?” Zelotes
now stood humbly, with his eyes fixed on the ground, before the damsel,
and acknowledged her supremacy by his silent respect. Meanwhile the
unfortunate Sir Otto fixed his eyes with melancholy anxiety on the
lady. He knew not indeed if she were Bertha or a stranger; but, in
either case, felt that it could only be the most manifest tokens of
kindness and condescension on her part, that could give him any right
to express to her, even in the humblest manner, his admiration and love.
At length a kind glance from her beautiful blue eyes was suffered to
fall on him.--“Knight of Trautwangen,” said she, “wherefore art thou
so disguised in that black armour? Methinks thou would’st do better
to d’on again thy silver harness, which is now worn by the Count
Archimbald von Waldeck. I know indeed that you are both bound by a
vow; but your vow, my lord count, is already redeemed; for in the
Hartz forest it was your fortune, without the use of arms, to bring
both armour and living knights out of that cavern, which, but for
your aid, would have been their grave. As for thee, Sir Otto, thou
should’st no longer look with terror on the stain of Heerdegen’s blood
on the silver cuirass; for that is already effaced by the deep wound
which thou did’st receive in his defence, when thou would’st willingly
have resigned thy life to save him. Zelotes, whom I chanced to meet
on the road hither, has informed me of all. Alas! for the faithful
and brave Heerdegen!”--At these words tears shone under the fringe
of her long shady eyelashes. Suddenly, however, she went towards
Otto, bent down her head, and kissed the scars that were left by Sir
Kolbein’s battle-axe on his corslet, and said,--“Thus a devout maiden
releases both of you from your vows. Go, and exchange once more your
coats-of-mail.”--The two knights bowed in silent obedience, and,
accompanied by their squires, retired into the castle.
Meanwhile the mysterious damsel commanded that a large fire should be
kindled on the hearth of the great hall; and ere long the blaze was
seen through the open door and windows, gleaming under the shade of
the green luxuriant lime-trees.
By this time the two warriors had returned with their armour changed;
Sir Archimbald again in his dark cuirass, with his terrific eagle’s
visor, and Sir Otto, with the reflection on his youthful blooming
features of that silver mail with which he had been adorned when he
first parted from his beloved cousin Bertha.
The majestic damsel now came towards the great chimney in the ancestral
hall, sprinkling the hearth with consecrated water from her golden
phial, then, clasping her beautiful hands, turned for a moment to the
lookers-on, and said,--“In this solemn hour beware of evil thoughts!”
But who indeed could, at such a time, have required this admonition,
when they beheld that beautiful form like a visitant from heaven, while
the bright fire-light revealed the divine expression of resolution,
blended with saint-like humility, that reigned on every feature? She
prayed for some time in silence, then threw the Ring into the centre of
the fire,--made the sign of the cross over the flames,--and, while she
renewed her prayers, the bystanders beheld how the melted gold ran over
the hearth, and heard how the diamonds and emeralds burst asunder in
the vehement consuming blaze.
The solemn rite was finished, and, with light step, the beautiful lady
came forward from the hearth; while, at this moment, Sir Otto could
not help feeling in his heart the conviction, that this was indeed his
dear cousin, Bertha von Lichtenried. Yet round the beautiful smiling
girl it seemed as if the dignified sanctity that she had assumed had
spread a mysterious though dazzling veil, as if woven of the glorious
morning-clouds; for when she came towards Sir Hugh to offer, as in
former times, her kindly salutations, the old man involuntarily bent
before her, in respectful homage, that hoary head which ere now had
been so often crowned with the laurel-wreaths of victory.
At length,--“Oh, may I be forgiven!” said she, “dearest uncle, that
I have not approached you with my wonted respectful obeisance, but
have appeared here as a strange lady of high degree, instead of your
own humble niece, Bertha von Lichtenried. But, indeed, until this
moment I was not Bertha, but the ambassadress of our holy patriarch,
the Pope in Rome. To him there appeared, in a nightly vision, all the
strange phantoms and wondrous adventures which hung over your house on
account of the Magic Ring. So I have hastened hither straightway with
Christophorus; only, having heard on the way of my dear brother Sir
Heerdegen’s death, I turned out of the road, in order that I might, at
the shrine of a renowned saint, pray with more energy for the repose
of his soul. Not, however, till the Magic Ring was destroyed (such
were the commands of the holy father) durst I make myself known, either
by word or token, to those whom I most loved in the world, in order
that earthly affections might not disturb my thoughts from the divine
mission on which I had been sent. For this reason it was that I passed
so silently from the chapel near which you had encamped,--I speak now
to you, dearest Lady Hildiridur.” Thereupon, falling into the arms of
her former kind friend and instructress, the benevolent Druda, she hid
her blushing cheeks under the long green veil; for with these last
words she had involuntarily turned her eyes towards her old playmate
Sir Otto. At that moment Christophorus came up, and proffered his hand
to the young Knight of Trautwangen, saying,--“Welcome, brother! by that
name it rejoiceth my heart that I can address a noble youth, whose
valiant deeds are already known from the north pole to the south, over
all the wide world. But, as through those years when I bore the name
of the grand emir Nurreddin, it was said of me, that I knew better how
to dispense my largesses and gifts than any other prince of Asia or
Europe, so shalt thou too, my brave German brother, learn, even at our
first meeting, that I have not forgotten what belongs to the character
that I had thus won. Know then, that the heart of this beautiful damsel
beats for thee alone, and thou art free to woo her for thy bride.” With
these words he led Sir Otto towards Bertha, who remained still with
her face hidden in Hildiridur’s long veil; and, with one knee on the
ground, the knight addressed himself to the Druda, and said, “Dearest
mother, speak for me! I am indeed unworthy of her forgiveness.”
Hildiridur then placed the unresisting hand of Bertha in that of her
first lover; and Bertha, kneeling beside him, said, “If thy father,
dearest Otto, will bestow on us his blessing!”--Hearing these words,
the old hero laid his hands on their heads in token of consent; but he
could not speak; for, as he looked on them in their youth and gladness,
his heart swelled in his bosom, and words could not then have expressed
his emotion.
CHAPTER XXVII.
How Theobaldo departed on a Pilgrimage into the
Holy Land.
Now it came to pass, that amid the banquet-hall, where all were
cheerful and joyous, there entered an unbidden guest, with looks dark
and discontented; and this was Theobaldo. Humbly he drew near to the
pious and beautiful Lady Bertha, and said, “For me, in sooth, all
the pleasures and hopes of this world are now at an end. My powers
of enchantment, to which I had devoted my whole life, are by thee
destroyed; and, as to that happiness which others may possess in the
arms of parents, brothers, and sisters, it is to me for ever lost, and
I have indeed wrought my own destruction. What then should I now seek
here? Truly I know not; but, at least, I would take leave, and then,
as is fitting, seek out some cavern in the earth wherein I may hide
myself from the eyes of all mankind. Should this not be found, some
friendly abyss of the mountains will doubtless lie in my way, where I
can at once make an end of all my regrets and sorrows.” “Methinks this
were not needful,” answered Bertha, with friendly earnestness of tone;
“and I can moreover assure thee, it is not the will of Heaven that thou
should’st thus despair. Penance, no doubt, is required of thee; and if
this duty be fulfilled, thou shalt yet be saved and comforted. It would
be well, methinks, wert thou to undertake a pilgrimage to Jerusalem,
and on thy solitary way contend stoutly with the evil thoughts that
beset thee,--confess thy sins at the holy sepulchre, and return home
consoled and absolved into our friendly circle. Courage then, sir
pilgrim; the great Shepherd yet calls with kind consoling voice for his
lost sheep.” At the same moment, all who were there present stretched
out their loving arms towards him, as if he were already returned
absolved and pure into his paternal castle. “Verily damsel,” said
Theobaldo, “thou hast not ceased to be the beneficent ambassadress of
Heaven, although thou art even now become a happy smiling bride. To
Jerusalem then! to Jerusalem! Long indeed have I felt within my heart
the impulse to journey thither, as if I had known by anticipation
the guilt that would one day cleave to my conscience. Yet, ere I go,
could’st thou but request for me the forgiveness of the venerable old
man, whom I am no longer worthy to name father? Obtain for me too the
mild grace of Hildiridur; and it were well if Otto, Christophorus, and
Blanchefleur, even the stern Zelotes himself, could look on me as a
brother, instead of only granting me forgiveness after the manner that
one in pity bestows golden fruit on a wretched convict as he is led to
the place of execution.” Smiling in her calm confidence and serenity,
Bertha replied, “There will be no need of assistance such as mine;
for Heaven has here already prepared your reconciliation.” With these
words, she gently drew the repentant youth towards his father, who
clasped him in his arms, while Hildiridur, and all the rest, drew near
to embrace and console him; and Otto, with melancholy regret in his
heart, exclaimed, “Alas! Theobaldo, no wonder then that, even at our
first meeting, thy presence was so unspeakably dear to my heart!”
Theobaldo at length, with gentle resolution, disengaged himself from
their embraces: “You have now,” said he, “afforded me refreshment
and strength; not only for the journey that lies before me, but for
my whole life to come. Farewell! I shall now depart in tranquillity,
gladness, and hope. Your love, like a guiding star, will still gleam
before me; and when, after an absence of a year or more, the pilgrim
comes hither with his scallop-shell hat and longstaff, you will not
refuse him admission, but rather there will be a feast of welcome
and rejoicing in the hall of his ancestors.” Thereafter he made his
parting salutations, and slowly retired. All remained for a space in
deep silence, and with their eyes glistening in tears; such are the
bitter drops which Joy almost ever mingles in the cup, in order to
remind us how short is her date, and how frail the tenure of our life
in this world.
At last the old Sir Hugh said, “My son will come again, and Heaven will
grant to me the blessing that I may once more embrace him ere I die.
It seemed as if a winged messenger now brought me from Heaven these
tidings; and if Lisberta has become a glorified angel, it may indeed
be she herself who thus hovers near me.” Hereupon the brothers and
sisters, husbands and brides, held each other’s hands, and embraced
with more cordial joy and affection when they heard these words from
their dignified ancestor; and in a deep full tone, as if his heart had
then for the first time been lightened from his perplexing emotions, he
added, “Bertha, thou art in the right; the spirit of peace and mutual
affection is among us. Come then, dear friends and children, let us go
together down to the blooming level banks of the Danube; for in your
presence, with Hildiridur by my side, methinks I can once more, as in
the happy days of youth, enjoy the sunlight and beauty of nature which
the beneficent Creator has here spread around us.”
So it came to pass, that, as if the Magic Ring had been converted
into a living circlet of blooming swains and damsels, the venerable
Sir Hugh, who had before been so lonely and desolate, now came forth
with wife, children, and friends, all smiling and joyous. Amid the
sweet evening-landscape, behold! there was stretched over the woods
a magnificent rainbow; and all that happy assemblage, clasping their
hands, greeted in silent prayer that far-gleaming token of Heaven’s
grace and forgiveness.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Of King Richard Cœur de Lion, and Blondel the Minstrel.
It was with slow dignified steps, the stately old man moving like a
banner in the midst of their procession, that they had descended the
steep road that led from the castle; the last bright rays of the sun
were slanting on the broad waters of the Danube, and it was not long
ere the full moon appeared in all the glory of her cold dewy light in
the cloudless southern sky. The old minstrel, Walter, had been busily
engaged in arranging a gay banquet-table on the meadow, at which they
now took their places; while the outermost circle was traced by tall
torches fixed in the turf, whose light shone reflected from the golden
beakers and wine-flasks, as they passed merrily round. When they were
thus seated, joy gleamed anew in the eyes of the venerable knight, and
he exclaimed, “Thanks, good Walter, for thy care and contrivance! How
much more pleasant and cheering is our banquet, seated as we are on the
fragrant moss, with the blue sky over our heads, than it would have
been yonder at the marble table of mine ancient hall, where, alas! I
have spent so many sad and lonely hours!” Hereupon Hildiridur presented
to him his magnificent silver goblet, now brimming with the richest
Johannisberg; tears filled his eyes, and dropt into the wine as he
drained the cup, but they were tears of heartfelt delight and gratitude
to Heaven. Bertha, meanwhile, and Otto, also Gabrielle and Sir Folko,
thought of the time, when, on this very meadow, they had long ago
been enclosed, as they now were, by a circle of torches, by whose
light a stern conflict for life and death was to be revealed; and that
remembrance added new sweetness to their present enjoyment. Yet on
the mind of the Count Archimbald of Waldeck there arose a slight shade
of discontent, as the torch-glare again shone on his strange black and
silver mail, which had been then so dishonoured; but Gerda, when she
marked the clouds gathering on his brow, stroked his cheeks playfully
with her snow-white hand, and, as he looked on her beauty and sparkling
eyes, he soon forgot all his moody reflections.
At length some one tapped lightly on Sir Otto’s shoulder, and, looking
round, he saw that it was the sea-monarch, who thus whispered in his
ear: “Rememberest thou yet our words as we wound up to Hildiridur’s
castle? Blanchefleur has acknowledged thee for her brother, and mark
how the flickering light now gleams yonder on her beauty. When I thus
behold the damsel, I at least may not forget thy promise.” Sir Otto,
in friendly confidence, pressed the hand of Sir Arinbiorn, and rose in
order to gain a place next to his sister, who, lost in deep thought,
sat apart like some lonely and neglected flower of the meadow.
Arinbiorn dared not go with him, but, with his heart heaving with doubt
and fear, stood watching them from some distance.
Now Sir Otto had come near enough to his newly-won sister, to ask her,
in a low voice, whether she had yet become the betrothed bride of a
knight, who in rank and station was worthy of her regard? “I shall
take it on me to speak for her,” answered Sir Folko, who sat on the
other side. “The damsel is not thus betrothed, and will answer ‘No.’”
He spoke as if half in anger; and, in humble obedience, a tremulous
‘No’ came like an echo from the beautiful lips of Blanchefleur. At that
moment were heard some sad and mournful sounds; the chords of a harp
were struck not far from where they sat. Blanchefleur looked round as
if in terror; but, as if this had been a warning for her to speak,
repeated in a louder and more agitated tone, “Heaven knows I am not
the betrothed bride of any one in this world!” Therefore Sir Otto,
making a sign to the sea-monarch that he should come nearer, began to
intercede for him with his sister. Sir Folko too begged her consent,
in order that their two houses might thus be more than ever united;
while Arinbiorn stood in silence, at once dignified and humble, waiting
to hear his doom pronounced by her who was dearer to him than life.
Like a pale slender flower, shaken by the evening wind, Blanchefleur
continued for a space agitated, and uncertain how to decide. At length,
in wordless resignation, she inclined her beautiful head in token of
assent to their proposal. Sir Otto then, leading her by one hand and
the sea-monarch by the other, brought them to Sir Hugh to receive his
blessing; and, as they kneeled before him, the old hero said,--“Thou
young and blooming image of the fearful old Avenger with vulture’s
wings, take then, in God’s name, this tender white flower, that so
long was the joy and ornament of mine ancient halls. All thoughts of
revenge are now past and forgotten.”--“All such thoughts are indeed
forgotten,” repeated the sea-monarch, bowing his head to the ground,
while Blanchefleur wept in silence.
But, alas! scarcely had they raised themselves from the grass, when
there were heard again the same mournful notes by which Blanchefleur
had been alarmed; and in the midst of the bright circle now appeared
the minstrel Aleard, in a light-blue mantle, with his harp in his arms;
and thereafter he began to sing a wild and melancholy lay.--He sang at
first of the flowery pride of summer,--of the sun, moon, and stars,
with all that is most cheering and lightsome;--then he changed the
scene, and fancied himself sailing in a solitary bark, through the wild
sea, round the Island of Love. On that island the poor youth described
himself as a shipwrecked mariner dashed against its rocks, who is yet
willing and ardent, with his last breath, to sing in praise of the
joys which he may never partake. Even as he is just sinking under the
waters, he beholds a happy bride and bridegroom standing hand in hand,
and salutes them with gratulations and prayers for their long life and
happiness.
Listening to these words, Blanchefleur held her hands over her eyes,
and it was only Arinbiorn who remarked how fast her tears flowed
beneath that alabaster covering. Sir Otto directly recognised in Aleard
the same minstrel who had sung with Blanchefleur the Ballad of Abelard
and Heloise at Gabrielle’s castle in Normandy, and learning from
Bertha that he now belonged to the train that had come with her and
Christophorus, hastened to salute him, and to return thanks that he had
come to honour their festival with his music. But Aleard had already
vanished among the crowd; and, on searching and inquiring for him, Sir
Otto was suddenly disturbed by an occurrence so extraordinary, that the
attention of all the party was immediately roused.
Beyond the circle of torches was heard the trampling of horses, with a
ringing of armour, as if they, as well as their riders, were clothed in
iron for the battle-field. Anon, when the eyes of every one were turned
in the direction from whence this noise proceeded, there appeared,
on a snow-white charger, a tall graceful warrior, in a purple mantle
bordered with ermine fur, with an enormous golden shield, on which the
torch-light gleamed like lightning, on his left arm, and in his right
hand a long lance, which, when they first looked upon him, he poised
upright as it rested on his saddle-bow. As he drew near to the ladies,
however, with a light and graceful movement, he inclined the ponderous
weapon to the ground; and, at the same time, bowed his head, with his
high gleaming helmet and waving plumes, in respectful salutation.
Moreover, as he came within the circle of the torches, some of the
spectators insisted, that around his martial casque there was visible a
crown of gold and diamonds; for it could only be gems of the highest
price that shone so brightly.
Ere they had time to debate this question, however, the warrior had
turned his horse, and, followed by a numerous train, passed away from
the wondering spectators. They could hear how he spurred his horse into
a full gallop, and how the rocky cliffs of Trautwangen echoed to the
neighing of war-steeds, and ringing of their armour as they trampled
along the meadow, till at length the sounds died away in distance. “Was
it not he?” said Gabrielle, gazing at Sir Folko, as if she had read
his thoughts, and needed not to say more. “Truly,” answered the brave
De Montfaucon, “I believe there is not any champion over the world who
could be compared with him; therefore we cannot be mistaken. It was
indeed the Lion, the peerless monarch of the knightly forest.”--All
eyes were now watchfully turned on Sir Folko; but, hark! from the
same quarter wherein the magnificent stranger had appeared, there now
arose a strain of minstrelsy,--the notes of harp and song so sweet
and ravishing, that all the ladies and knights sat as if spell-bound,
and scarcely daring to breathe in their admiration of the melody. As,
with the thirst of a weary traveller, they drank eagerly the refreshing
sounds, which always floated nearer, through the still air of that
summer-night, till at last they could distinguish articulate words; and
these words have since echoed through the wide world; for the lay now
sung, was that wherein the minstrel Blondel de Nesl described, how he
had found out his royal master Richard the Lion, and rescued him from
his before hopeless captivity.
Moreover the minstrel himself soon appeared, mounted on a small white
horse, which seemed like a younger brother of the battle-charger
rode by the monarch. A green velvet mantle was thrown around the
graceful form of the handsome youth, on whose countenance there lay an
indescribable charm, almost as one might have said, of woman’s beauty,
had it not been, that, notwithstanding the high lace ruff, like that
of a lady, that rose round his blooming features, small elegantly
turned mustachios adorned his upper lip. He had now reined in his
well-managed palfrey, and, as he looked smiling on the banquet-party,
still continued to touch the harp, which was suspended from his neck by
a golden chain.
Sir Otto immediately recognised the far-famed Master Blondel, with whom
he had before spoken in the blooming forests of France; and the last
words of his song had made known to all the party what a mirror and
model of songsters and squires was now before them.
“Oh, Master Blondel, most renowned and worthiest of minstrels,” cried
they, “so then the great King Richard is indeed rescued! And was it he
himself, that magnificent knight, who, but a little while ago, passed
through these meadows?”
Blondel kindly answered them, that in their conjectures they had been
in the right; and, after the manner of free-hearted minstrels, he did
not refuse their earnest request, that he would take his place among
them, and join in their festival, and relate to them more particularly
how he had, with his harp and song, tried the echoes in every fortress
and castle at which he chanced to arrive, till at last he had by this
means discovered his friend,--the noblest of Christian heroes,--an
adventure of which I need say no more, since to you, courteous reader,
it must already be well known through numberless legendary tales and
ballads.
The knights, who now sat around the festal board, all joined together
to exalt the praise of that noblest of minstrels, who had, by his
gentle art alone, achieved what so many brave heroes, with sword in
hand, had in vain attempted to carry through. Meanwhile the ladies had
been busily employed in twining meadow-flowers into garlands, which
they threw in showers on the head of the highly-honoured troubadour.
Now it came to pass, that Sir Arinbiorn, the sea-monarch, came before
Otto von Trautwangen, leading by one hand Blanchefleur, and by the
other the minstrel Aleard, whom, with his sharp eagle-eyes, he had at
length discovered among the multitude of squires and others who were
now in attendance.--“Dearest brother,” said Sir Arinbiorn, “this youth,
whom I now bring before you, is no other than he who, as I before told
you, appeared to me in the Magic Mirror, where he sat at Blanchefleur’s
feet, when I, for the first time, beheld that bright-gleaming star of
my future life and hopes, and named her Roselinde.”
At these words Sir Otto changed colour, casting fiery glances towards
the minstrel,--and Sir Folko, who now came up, was yet more incensed.
Meanwhile Sir Arinbiorn continued,--“Wherefore all this anger, ye brave
and noble knights? Have you not proved even now, that the minstrel in
his airy flights, though we, forsooth, in our heavy armour, cannot
meet him in his own proper lists, yet can sometimes far exceed whatever
the best of us, with our iron cuirasses, swords, and lances, are able
to accomplish. Master Aleard is descended from a noble house,--the
Franks, the Spaniards, English, and Germans, praise and admire his
songs. Otto, why should’st thou doubt? or should we now crush the
minstrel’s harp with our iron-shod heels, even in the same hour when
Blondel’s victory has given us proof of its powerful influence and
worth?”
Hereupon deep blushes came over the features of Sir Otto and De
Montfaucon. The former took the minstrel, and the latter the Lady
Blanchefleur on his arm, and thus they drew near to the old Sir Hugh,
while Sir Arinbiorn walked before them, like a herald, to announce
their purpose. The grey-headed hero willingly agreed to what the
sea-monarch now suggested; it seemed as if, by a gleam of inspiration
from another world, he had been made aware how far more fitly the
tender white lily, that had in early years been cherished in his
castle-garden, would be supported by the rose-tree of song, than by
the bloody spear of warfare. Or was it, perchance, that the divinely
tranquil eyes of Hildiridur at that moment rested on him with their
moonlight radiance, and admonished him what he was to do?
However this might be, he willingly bestowed his blessing on the
lovers, who now knelt before him, and on whose cheeks, at their
first embrace thereafter, a deeper blush was enkindled, as if the
morning-light of joy now advanced towards the bright lustre of day.
“But for thee, Arinbiorn, what shall now be said?” inquired Sir Otto,
mournfully taking his old comrade by the hand. “Nay, fear not for
my fate,” answered the sea-monarch; “Heaven has dealt kindly and
graciously with me; for if Blanchefleur, according to her own will and
pleasure, had promised her hand to another knight, I could scarcely
have borne with the grief and anger that would then have reigned
in my heart. Now, however, I have but given away those rights which
I had lately won, and freely to bestow valued gifts is a delight to
every noble and princely heart. Well, then! the wild ocean, with its
verdant realm of rolling waters, is yet left to me; amid the roaring
waves methinks I yet hear the voice of hope, that promises me renown at
least, if I may not be allowed the enjoyments of love; and Roselinde
shall yet evermore be my battle-cry by land or sea; with that name on
my lips I shall conquer or die!”--“All then is well at last,” said
Bertha, with the smile of contentment and serenity on her features;
“if there were yet agitation or regret in any heart that here beats
among us, ere long the spotless virgin’s calm looks and words would
sooth those tumults till the minds of all were tranquil as the seas by
moonlight in the still summer eve.”
Hereupon the old champion gazed on Christophorus and Zelotes,
saying, “Yet two descendants of this ancient house are left without
bridal-wreaths and lonely in this world!” “Be it mine rather to weave
them for others,” answered Zelotes. “All those which are now worn among
us I have given away with joy and contentment of heart; proud also
of mine office as a priest, inasmuch as I have borne my part in my
father’s house, which now possesses, as is fitting, a monk within its
own walls, thus maintaining its wonted independence.”
“For my share,” answered Christophorus, “the hopes are yet fresh
and vigorous in my heart, that by new wreaths of victory on the
battle-field, the conquest too of new sciences and arts, I shall yet
spread the grandeur of our house more and more through the world.
Perchance no damsel that lives, however beautiful and attractive, is
able to satisfy the longings of my heart. Rather let the wide earth be
my bride, with all her wealth of blooming fields and rolling seas,
her stern icebergs of the north, and blooming vineyards of the south!”
Then Sir Hugh took the hands of both his sons, and pressed them with a
firm heroic grasp, as he would have done in his early years of youth
and knightly prowess, at the same time casting delighted looks across
the festive circle, where on the opposite side Sir Otto stood in his
happiness, with his left arm proudly thrown round the tall angelic form
of Bertha von Lichtenried.
Thereafter, behold, Master Blondel (who had by this time learned from
Aleard all the wonders that had come to pass in the house of Sir Hugh
von Trautwangen) came humbly to Bertha, and drawing from under his
mantle a golden crown of beautiful workmanship, adorned with rubies
and emeralds, he said, “How would my heart be rejoiced if, for this
once, Beauty would not refuse to wear the poetic crown when offered
by the hand of a wandering minstrel! Such favour has been granted
ere now,--may I hope that it will not be denied to me!” Thereupon
the damsel blushed deeply, and bent down her head, while the crown
was directly placed amid her luxuriant glossy ringlets, marking her,
even for the eyes of the distant lookers-on, as the queen of this
assemblage, who had inspired the young knights to their noblest deeds;
and by whose influence at last the magic spells had been broken, and
every heart restored to tranquillity and joy.
While they were all gazing on her, Blondel had already mounted his
white horse; and thereafter, as he rode slowly away through the
moonlight, he saluted them once more in song. His lays were for the
most part addressed to the virgin queen, who stood there in her serene
beauty and innocence; but ere long they could distinguish only the
concluding words of every stanza, ‘Farewell!’ At length, as he entered
the dew-besprent forest, and was shrouded from their sight by the
wreaths of white vapour that now hung on the landscape, that sound
also declined away, even as this eventful story, courteous listener,
now dies on your ears. Good night, and farewell!
END OF THE MAGIC RING.
* * * * *
OLIVER & BOYD, PRINTERS.
* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
Punctuation errors and printing mistakes such as obviously missing
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p.107 Allessandro to Alessandro
p.113 unruy to unruly
p.119 wobegone to woebegone
p.150 Hackelnberg to Hakelnberg
p.187 Herda to Gerda
p.203 an dsilently to and silently
p.211 Asmunder to Asmundur
p.232 inearnest to in earnest
p.314 longs taff to longstaff
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