How the Lady Bertha went with her brother in quest of the
Lady Minnatrost.
By degrees, as the knight spoke thus with his sister, and told her
more and more stories of that wonderful lady, his own feelings, both
of mind and body, became soothed and tranquil. He no longer raved in
feverish delirium, but asked calmly for his uncle; and when Sir Hugh
came into his apartment, spoke respectfully and kindly, entreating
forgiveness, if his words before had been wild and unbecoming. The
old knight, therefore, often sat by his couch, but this was not long
needful; for scarcely had the wounded youth begun to obtain a victory
over his illness, ere he went gaily forth into the fields and forests
to enjoy the sports of the chase, and sat with Sir Hugh at the mid-day
and evening banquet, over full mantling goblets of old Hungarian or
Johannisberg.
On the other hand, Bertha, whilst her brother thus recovered his
strength and spirits, became every day more and more pale and
melancholy. It was easy to perceive, that only her anxiety for Sir
Heerdegen’s life, and her wish to comfort the old knight, had before
prevented her from falling into this mood of sadness. Now, however, the
two warriors sat together over their full brimming wine-cups, enlivened
often by the old minstrel Walter, who came to entertain them with his
heroic ballads. Bertha meanwhile was left amid the woods and meadows,
like a poor lonely flower, wearing out her life with melancholy
dreams, mournful songs, and deep-drawn sighs, amid the solitude of
nature. Truly she would soon have faded quite away, even like the fair
Lisberta, or like the hermit of the Finland frontiers, only that her
brother also knew these stories, and told them to Bertha; so that she
knew there had been others in the world who had sufferings like her
own. Yet she clung to him always with most confidence when he spoke to
her of the Lady Minnatrost, and was in heart rejoiced to think that
this pious Druda had not been merely a phantom raised by the feverish
dreams of her brother, but that in East Friesland there really lived a
heroine of that name, who was also her near relation.
But, notwithstanding all this, she became always paler and more
absorbed in her own meditations, so that she scarcely ever spoke; and
when Sir Heerdegen questioned her, she used to answer, “Alas! dear
brother, it will never be my lot to see in this life the wonderful
lady, of whose love and charity you have said so much. But beyond the
grave are the realms and habitations of love, and it is time methinks,
that death, like a gentle sleep, should close up this world from my
senses, that I might awake in that sanctuary.”
These and other words of the same tenour were faithfully repeated to
Sir Hugh by the Knight of Lichtenried, who added hereto, that if Bertha
were not soon conducted to the castle of the Lady Minnatrost, she would
in a few months be departed to join her loving ancestors in heaven.
Sir Hugh then summoned up all his resolution, directed that his niece
should be brought before him, and in a solemn voice ordered that in a
few days she should be prepared to go with her brother to the distant
land of East Friesland, where was situated the castle of her aunt,
named the Lady Minnatrost. Bertha looked doubtfully and mournfully at
the old man, whose heart had already been so grieved by the departure
of his son. Thereupon Sir Hugh laughed aloud; “The foolish little bird
thinks, perhaps, that such an old ruined tower must fall to pieces if
she no longer flutters around it!” He laughed again, went into another
chamber, and shut the door; but when alone the old knight wept bitterly.
Afterwards, however, he ordered speedy preparations to be made
for their departure; so that, on the morning of the second day, a
palfrey, with a packhorse, the war-steed of Sir Heerdegen, and four
squires, were ready in the castle court. Sir Hugh came down the wide
staircase with the brother and sister, humming all the way an old
song, remembered from the days of his youth. He embraced them ere they
mounted, then forced them to ride away; and thereafter went with the
minstrel Walter to the rampart, seated himself silently on the grass,
and gazed at the travellers as they proceeded always farther and
farther along the plains, now bright with the dews and ruddy sun-gleams
of the morning. Thereupon the minstrel called to mind how he had before
sat there with Bertha in the same place, when the young Sir Otto was
spurring his light-brown charger across the meadow; and, without
reflection, led on by natural associations, he began once more the
first verses of the song which he had chaunted on that occasion. The
words were as follows:--
“A weak old man am I,
No longer dare I roam!”
Then the venerable knight, in great wrath, seized hold of him by the
arm, and shook him heartily. In a thundering voice too, like the
roaring of a lion, he called out,--“Would’st thou mock me, then? I
shall hurl thee down from the rampart into the valley beneath, unless
thou confessest that the old grey-haired warrior hath yet strength in
his limbs and courage in his heart!” The minstrel was with these words
dragged to the very edge of the rampart; but, without changing colour
or countenance, he looked the knight firmly in the face, saying,--“If
it be your pleasure to attack an old man, who is no warrior, but a
minstrel, and at the same time your guest, do so in God’s name. That
is your affair, not mine, and the whole adventure may soon be ended!”
Thereupon Sir Hugh trembled vehemently, and let him go. “For Heaven’s
sake forgive me!” said he; “you know that evil spirits have formerly
exercised their power over me in this life; and now, when my solitary
penance was begun, methought that a strange man had come hither to
sing ballads, mocking me in the impotence of mine old age. It was
the strange man that I wished to fling over the rampart.” “That was
forsooth a proper mode of proving your penitence,” said the minstrel.
Sir Hugh was for some moments silent and ashamed;--at length he
said,--“I know not, Master Walter, if I can invite you any more to join
me over a goblet of wine in the castle.” “Wherefore should you not?”
answered the old poet; “we minstrels were indeed unworthy of protection
and patronage, if we knew not how to bear with the varying humours of
irritable and yet noble minds.” Thereupon he followed his venerable
host into the fortress.