How the young Squire Otto received the honours of
Knighthood.
While all these events had been passing on the banks of the river, Sir
Hugh von Trautwangen was sitting in his proud ancestral hall, with its
vaulted roof, where were deposited his own coats of mail and weapons,
along with those of his warlike predecessors. In this apartment he
spent most of his time, since he had now become too old and infirm
for the sports of the chase or tournament; and was still less able to
pursue the warlike career to which he had been accustomed in youth.
During this night he was sitting at a great round table, whereon, in
massy silver candlesticks, there were two wax-lights now almost burned
down, while his son and his niece, contrary to all custom, kept him
waiting, and vainly expecting their arrival. As often as he heard steps
on the long-winding staircase, the old man thought that must surely
be the two young people, and looked kindly and anxiously towards the
door; but when it was opened, no one had appeared but a serving squire,
who wished to know whether the knight still had light enough, or if
the wine in his richly-embossed and carved silver goblet were drank
out. So then Sir Hugh’s countenance changed; he pretended to be quite
unconcerned, and if the squire expressed some anxiety, answered briefly
and peevishly, “Well! well! young people must have their pastime. What
business is that of ours? They will be here soon enough.”
But the castle clock struck nine; then at length ten o’clock; the night
was fearfully dark, and Sir Hugh had no tidings of his son nor of his
niece. So the old man took his green velvet cap from his head, held it
in his clasped hands, and prayed fervently to Heaven that the manifold
sins of his youth might not be reckoned against these poor children,
but that Providence, in his infinite mercy, would bring them back safe
to their home in the castle.
He was still engaged in prayer, when a heavy oak-pannelled door, right
opposite to him, was opened, and the fresh blooming faces of the
longed-for absentees made their appearance in the hall. This time he
had not heard the slightest sound on the staircase; and the fulfilment
of his most anxious wishes came on him unexpectedly, as usually
happens, when one’s wishes have been pure and good, and especially
when one has prayed, in a right spirit, to the Fountain of all Mercy.
The young people, however, were much distressed; they were moved to
compassion and repentance, when they saw the tall venerable form of
their guardian sitting in his arm-chair opposite to them, with clasped
hands and a pale anxious countenance, blanched already by the cares of
many past years, and now rendered paler than ever by the dim ghastly
light of the declining candles. They felt immediately for whom he had
prayed, and lifted up their clasped hands in the same manner, in order
to express their gratitude, and beg his forgiveness. Sir Hugh, however,
regained his usual composure, replaced his velvet cap on his head,
and with a grave, though kindly manner, made signs that they should
come nearer, and desired to know what had detained them so long? Then
replied Otto von Trautwangen,--“Sir Knight, and my honoured father,
if we had remained absent but a little longer, it would, according to
my humble thoughts, have been better for us all, and especially for
the beautiful lady with the ring; for the prize would have again been
contended for, and the victory, as I hope, would have been ours. Now,
Heaven knows how long I shall have to travel through the world, in
order to fulfil my vows to the lady; and all this comes, because it
has not been my fortune ere now to obtain the rank of knighthood.” On
hearing these words, Sir Hugh looked at his son with astonishment, not
so much on account of the expressions which he had used, but for the
tone and manner, the complete change that within a few hours seemed
to have taken place in the youth’s disposition and character. Bertha,
meanwhile, began to weep bitterly, and without any attempt to conceal
her tears; her affliction was indeed much greater than that of the
beautiful Gabrielle for the loss of her ring. Hereupon Otto looked
round with surprise, and, observing from his fair cousin’s eyes, that
this was not the commencement of her distress, (for they were now
swollen and clouded,) he said, in a faltering voice, “Dearest Bertha,
then you have indeed wept all the way home. Wherefore did you answer
‘no,’ when I questioned you? And, above all, what is the cause of your
affliction?” Bertha did not utter a word, but answered him only by a
constrained and melancholy smile: then she begged of the old knight
that she might be allowed to retire for this evening, and, hiding her
face, directly left the chamber. Otto wished to detain her; but Sir
Hugo, with a severe look, held him fast bound to his place at the
table. Then, when Bertha had departed, “Boy,” said the old man, “thou
hast either dreamed and talked wildly, in which case thy delusions will
not last till to-morrow; or thou art in earnest about vows in a lady’s
service, and the desire of being a knight. If thou art serious, then
thy cousin Bertha’s childish tears are not of such consequence as they
might have been heretofore. Bring your chair then directly opposite,
and relate accurately, and with reflection, what happened to you this
evening, so that we may better understand one another.”
Otto then began his story, and as he advanced, and described his own
feelings on every incident, Sir Hugh became also more and more serious
and interested; till at length, when the narrative drew towards a
close, he could not turn away his eyes from a great sword, which hung
at no great distance from them on the wall, and which was half drawn
out of the scabbard.
When Otto had concluded his adventure of the tournament, Sir Hugh kept
his eyes still fixed on the sword. “Many a time,” said he, “have I
endeavoured to bring that old companion, who has been tried in many
a fray, into the sheath, but nothing will induce him to move into
concealment. It seems as if he had special objections to rest in
obscurity; and now methinks he has reason on his side. Come out then
once more, old Truepenny! Otto, fetch him down hither directly.”
It was not without a certain feeling of awe and perplexity, that
the youth turned towards the object of which his father spoke so
strangely. It seemed almost as if, on his moving thither, some visitant
from another world would start up against him. Nothing, however, was
visible to his eyes, but the well-known old weapon;--only that, in the
glimmering light, it appeared to shine with mysterious and unusual
brightness. So he laid hold of it by the golden basket-hilt, and taking
no heed of the scabbard, which fell rattling on the stone floor of the
hall, brought the drawn sword to his father. “What a noble blade!”
cried he. “The sword worn by the Knight of Montfaucon did not glitter
more delightfully in the torch-light than this gleams now!” “Much, no
doubt, might be said about the Knight of Montfaucon and his sword,”
said the old man, weighing the heavy weapon in his right hand, “much
too about rash vows and other matters; but of these at a future time,
or perhaps better not at all; for vows once sworn must be fulfilled,
and thy duty to Gabrielle must not be neglected. Only, if one day, in
the course of thy travels, thou shouldst meet with a jeweller who had
one precious gem, which was the delight of his heart, by which his eyes
would have been refreshed and strengthened till his dying day, and from
whom this jewel was taken against his will by some tyrannical empress,
though he had fondly hoped never to part with it; or, moreover, if
thou findest a gardener, who had, in the most sheltered and beautiful
parterre, some one favourite flower which he rejoiced to tend and to
cherish, till at length he beheld a wicked bird come sweeping down from
the clouds, tear it up, root and branch, and fly away with it over the
seas; if one day such things should come to pass in thy presence, then
couldst thou guess nearly what the old knight Hugh von Trautwangen felt
at this moment.”--Thereupon the tears rushed into his eyes, that from
age were now deep and hollow, and Otto was about to express the painful
emotion with which his father’s words had inspired him. The knight,
however, stepped firmly and proudly into the midst of the hall. “Young
man,” said he, “this hour is far too important and solemn to admit of
indulging faint-hearted regret over events which cannot be recalled.
Kneel down then, Herr von Trautwangen, that thou mayst receive the
dignity of knighthood.”
Otto sank on his knees, and devoutly folded his hands; thus resembling
one of those youthful figures, which we find on ancient marble
monuments, of warriors untimely slain, with looks of pious simplicity
and faith, waiting the hour of their resurrection. Sir Hugh, meanwhile,
touched his son’s shoulders three times with the heavy blade, saying,
“Suffer these blows now from my hand, but never from that of another
man!” Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he said with solemn
dignity, “Herr von Trautwangen; I have now, in right of my station
as knight and banneret, conferred on you the full rank of the sacred
order to which I belong. Fulfil your duties henceforth with honour
and integrity, for the protection of distressed damsels, widows, and
orphans; above all, for the service of our Redeemer and the glory of
our holy religion. For the present, rise up, and let us embrace, like
friendly comrades and brethren in arms.”
Between Sir Hugh and his noble-minded son there had indeed always
subsisted the utmost friendship and confidence; yet never had Otto’s
heart heaved with so much filial affection as now, when he had acquired
this proud rank of equality. Thereafter the old knight stepped,
with sword in hand, towards a great massive shield, that shone like
burnished gold, and hung right over his arm-chair. He struck on it
three times, and at measured intervals, so that the high-vaulted hall
reverberated, in deep tones like thunder, to the blows; immediately
after which the apartment was filled with armed squires and domestics.
Then, holding his son by the hand, he addressed them. “This,” said he,
“is the brave young knight, Sir Otto von Trautwangen, and to-night
he is to keep watch over his armour in the chapel. Bring to him,
therefore, the bright coat of mail inlaid with silver, for that shall
henceforth be his apparel. Carry it down to the chapel, and whoever
wishes well to the old oak-tree of Trautwangen, and this our youngest
scion, let him keep awake and joyous to-night; but forget not his
fervent prayers to Heaven, that these solemn hours of preparation may
bring forth prosperous and noble fruits, both for time and eternity.
Amen.”
Hereupon they all bent their way down the long-winding stairs, and
afterwards to the chapel, which, as if for the protection of the
castle, stood at one corner of the outer wall near the eastern gateway.
There the squires laid down the bright-gleaming armour before the
altar. Sir Hugh placed the great sword in his son’s hand, and gave him
his blessing, then quitted the chapel with all his attendants.
The young man was thus left alone, and, with his drawn sword and
graceful demeanour, seemed almost like a supernatural guardian of the
sanctuary.