How Sir Otto went all alone, and despairing, into the
forest.
It might be about noon on the following day, when Sir Otto again shewed
some signs of reason and recollection; but he could not yet open his
eyes, nor move his limbs. At first it seemed to him that he lay there
dead, only that his soul was not yet disengaged from its earthly
prison; and, as he thought of what had passed on the preceding day,
he believed that the sea-monarch, Arinbiorn, had killed him with his
enormous halbert. Yet ere long he knew that he must be still alive;
that he was laid on a soft couch, and carefully tended; also that his
wound would not prove deadly; for oftentimes he felt the touch of a
soft hand on his head; and at such times a delightful coldness came
over his brow, and he was almost free from pain. Yet he remained
motionless, nor could lift up his eyes to know who were beside him.
At length he heard a voice, which he recognised to be that of
Gabrielle. “Will he then yet live?” said she; and thereafter she was
answered by one of the wise minstrels who had been at the banquet of
the former day. “I can pledge my life, noble lady,” said he, “that all
needful duties have here been fulfilled, so that he no longer requires
our care. It is not by his wound that he is now held insensible; for
the blow was broken partly by his own sword, and partly by the thick
barret-cap on his head. It is but the fatigue after that frightful
conflict, when he was possessed by the devil, and wholly given up
to his infernal power, which thus weighs upon him.” With each of
these last words it seemed as if a sharp dagger had been thrust into
Sir Otto’s heart. The horrors of the preceding day were all renewed
in his mind; and, from the weakness of his body, became the more
insupportable. Yet sometimes a low suppressed voice of lamentation
was heard near him, and he could distinguish the words, “Alas! poor
Otto, poor lost deluded youth!” These accents were like balm to his
wounded heart; but it seemed to him that they were but an echo from the
far-distant and happy years of his childhood; that it was his mother
who thus lamented; while, in the living world, there was no one that
knew or loved him. Again he heard the voice of Gabrielle: “I have given
back the ring,” said she, “to the Lady Blanchefleur de Montfaucon,
who will keep it until another combat restores it to my possession.
By means of this frightful slave of Satan, who now lies here, it were
impossible to believe that I could be reinstated in my rights; and
I must thank Heaven that the mask fell from his visage before I was
united at the holy altar to such a wicked sorcerer.” “Ay, ay,” said
a male voice; “we perceived that his victory was unfairly won; for
otherwise, how would it have been possible for such a youth to have
overcome the stern and hitherto invincible Sir Folko de Montfaucon?”
“Alas! it is yet to be heavily deplored,” answered Gabrielle; “for he
was so beautiful!--when one looked into his bright blue eyes, what
damsel would not have intrusted herself and all the world to his
disposal?” “Beware then lest you should still be in his power,” said
a female voice; and at the same moment the door opened, and several
squires came into the room, announcing that the horses were ready for
departure. With a heavy sigh, the lady Gabrielle forced herself away,
and withdrew, followed by all the rest. Otto still could not open his
eyes, nor move a limb; but he heard plainly how all his happiness in
love, and reputation as a knight, were thus taken from him. So he was
left alone, melancholy and neglected.
Yet, no! He was not quite alone; for ever and anon he heard the same
voice of lamentation, and he felt the same soft hand and cooling leaves
applied to his burning wound. Many times, too, it seemed as if the
same light hand coursed timidly over his cheeks.
Then suddenly the stern angry voice of Sir Heerdegen broke upon his
ears; “Sister,” cried the knight, “wherefore should’st thou stay longer
beside that servant of Satan? What if he should awake, and once more
attack thee? Come then; the horses are waiting; all the other guests
are long since departed, even Sir Folko de Montfaucon and the Lady
Blanchefleur; so that the old fortress is now lonely and desolate.”
Then, as Bertha began softly to utter complaints and entreaties for
delay, he added, “Drive me not mad, I pray you! How many noble knights
would gladly encounter death, if thy heart and hand were at stake! But
this wretch, who lies here, could wound thy heart and hand too without
remorse. I beg that you will not provoke me, or I might act in a manner
unbecoming a true knight, and even wreak my vengeance on him who is
now insensible.” Thereafter Sir Otto felt that his burning brows were
again touched and cooled for the last time, and was aware that his
cousin, Bertha, sobbing with irresistible grief, left the room with her
brother. In a short time he heard the trampling of their horses at the
gate as they left the castle.
Now, indeed, he was alone; and once more, as if in mercy, his senses
were taken from him; so that he knew not where he was; and during many
hours remained thus lost in delirium and forgetfulness.
Late in the evening he awoke for the second time. His limbs had now
recovered their power; and, not without groaning heavily, he raised
himself in bed, and beheld the last gleams of the setting sun falling
through the painted window, and revealing his armour, which, in many
pieces, lay strewed about the room. Painfully, and depressed in
spirits, he turned from these remembrances of his short-lived good
fortune, rose from his bed, and tottered towards the window. Thence he
gazed over the rampart into the deep valley, and when, to enjoy the
cool evening air, he opened the lattice, voices rose from the forest
beneath; for a troop of warriors were just then passing on horseback,
and they were singing the self-same ballads which he had before heard
from Master Blondell, the royal minstrel. The same stanzas were
chaunted in praise of the crusaders, and the knight could not refrain
from exclaiming, “Good Heaven! if these men were but the soldiers of
King Richard, and I could ride with them into the Holy Land!” Scarcely
had he pronounced these words, when the warlike minstrels came into
view from the forest. They were mounted on fine tall horses, and
their armour was exactly like that worn formerly by the train of the
royal favourite, Blondell. Otto wished to call to them, that they
should wait, and he would ride with them on their pilgrimage; but they
halted of their own accord, and began to speak with some squires and
cavalrymen, who, as Sir Otto now perceived, were stationed along the
ramparts of the castle. The travellers related how they belonged to
the army of King Richard Cœur de Lion, and were of his train, though
he himself had now ridden on far before them. Then they inquired,
wherefore all was so silent and desolate around that fine and stately
castle. “Yesterday morning,” said an old sentinel, “you would have
found no cause to ask such a question; but now, indeed, there is no
one above but a possessed knight, who has sold himself to the devil.
Would to Heaven that we were free from such company!” Then he gave a
frightful account of all that had past on the preceding day, which the
rest who were present confirmed, speaking always louder than usual at
the times which they bestowed most blame on the unfortunate Knight
of Trautwangen. When at last they came to describe how the beautiful
damsel, Bertha, was wounded, the English soldiers crossed themselves
devoutly, saying, “God defend us from the sight of such a monster!”
And in a little while they turned their horses’ heads, and, as if in
terror, rode at a sharp trot away. “My doom is sealed, and my judgment
spoken!” said Sir Otto, with the calm voice of settled despair; “I must
only hasten to withdraw myself from the sight of all mortals. There may
perchance be some cavern of the mountains to which I may retreat, where
I may bury my armour, and for ever more remain in oblivion.”
Thereafter he began to collect his accoutrements, which lay scattered
about the room, and among them found his good sword, which, by
the stroke of the sea-monarch, Arinbiorn’s battle-axe, had been
broken in twain. “My father little thought,” said he, “that his old
companion would come to such an end!” Carefully, however, he took up
the glittering pieces, and tied them into a bundle with his armour;
loaded with which, he set out on his way. In the antechamber, he
happened to pass by the same mirror, in which he had beheld his own
image at the departure of Theobaldo on the preceding morning. “Now,
indeed, there is a change,” said he, as he saw the spectral figure,
pale and blood-stained, which the glass presented to him, arrayed
too in the mockery of festal attire, all torn and disordered. In the
stable, however, his light-brown steed was cheerful as before, and
neighed aloud at the approach of his master. Sir Otto shook his head
mournfully, and bade him be silent; for it was no longer a fitting
time for mirthful greetings. Then he bound his armour fast to the
saddle, and led his horse by the reins to the gate. No one offered to
assist him; for every squire and sentinel looked on him with terror. He
mounted, and in a short space was lost in the deep recesses of the wood.
In the hour of gladness and rejoicing, when all our wishes are
fulfilled, and the sunbeams are brightest around us, then Heaven grant
that we may not, like Sir Otto von Trautwangen, prove over confident or
over merry!