How Sir Otto met again with the Knight of Montfaucon.
Mounted on a fine silver-grey horse, in a magnificent hunter’s dress,
with a bugle-horn at his side, a young man of handsome features and
graceful demeanour made his appearance before them. At the same moment,
when Otto saw the bleeding falcon supported on the breast of the
stranger, the latter observed the cross-bow in the hands of Theobaldo,
and considering him as but a squire, he turned an angry glance on the
knight, saying,--“If it pleases you, sir, to allow your attendants
to hunt in my forests, you indeed impute to me no more hospitality
and civility towards strangers, that I am willing to shew. But,
nevertheless, I must earnestly request, that, for the future, you will
content yourself with humbler game, and spare so noble a bird as this
which your squire has now wounded.” Thereupon he tenderly stroked the
head and back of the poor stricken falcon, with many kind and caressing
words, and without attending to Sir Otto’s apologies, which, in truth,
were but confusedly delivered; for he was himself greatly irritated by
Theobaldo’s strange conduct. The latter, however, had now become more
obstinate than ever. He went up with a look of defiance to the stranger
sportsman, and said,--“It was I alone, without being commanded, or
receiving permission from any one, who took aim at your falcon; and I
only, therefore, am to be spoken with on that matter.” “Stand back,
Theobaldo,” said Sir Otto; “thou seem’st not aware of the guilt thou
hast brought on thine own shoulders, in thus having infringed the laws
of hunting and of knighthood, by taking aim at a prey so noble.” “Nay,
I know it all full well,” answered Theobaldo. “You princes and knights
have divided this world into special portions for your own private
advantage; and as to the rights freely bestowed by Providence on other
men, it is said, that they never must exercise them. Mark you, sirs, it
is _said_ so; but it follows not that the rules you have laid down will
always be observed. That independence which Milan has maintained as a
free town, every Milanese will also support in his own proper person,
in despite of king or emperor, count or duke. In proof of these words,
I shall now shoot a few more birds.” And, with these words, he again
stretched his cross-bow. “You have, in truth, chosen a strange-minded
squire for your attendant, Sir Knight,” observed the stranger. But
thereupon Sir Otto, vehemently incensed, and feeling the spirit
of knighthood insulted and outraged within him, suddenly tore the
cross-bow out of Theobaldo’s hands, broke it into pieces in a moment,
stampt on it with his feet, and then scattered the fragments about the
meadow. “This conduct translated into audible words,” said Theobaldo,
“means no doubt a last adieu!” And as the knight turned from him with
disdainful glances, he went gloomily to his Polish steed, and began to
adjust the saddle and bridle. Otto’s war-horse perceiving this, came
also trotting up, with kind and joyous looks; but Theobaldo repulsed
him peevishly, saying, “Ay, ay, thou would’st yet bear me company, but
thy master wills it not, and, therefore, thou too may go thine own
way.” Otto, hearing this new insult, called to his charger, drew the
saddle-girths closer, and mounted; after which he readily accepted the
stranger’s invitation, that he should accompany him to a neighbouring
castle, in order that, amid a numerous party of brother knights, he
might forget all vexation at the strange event which had brought about
their meeting. Theobaldo was also mounted, and rode slowly away, while
Sir Otto and the stranger took an opposite direction. The two horses
neighed aloud, and wished to rejoin each other; but their riders still
spurred them on, although they could not help turning round with looks
of regret and melancholy.
Sir Otto had proceeded a considerable distance, following the stranger,
when they heard the sound of a horse in rapid trot behind them, and on
looking back they saw that it was Theobaldo, who pulled up the reins
immediately, as soon as he was observed, and with a degree of humility
which was to him unwonted, said, in the German language, and in a low
tone, “Sir Knight, methinks I have here been in the wrong, and gladly
would I still atone for my error, if it please you that I should again
join you on your journey.” Sir Otto immediately stretched out his arms
towards him; whereupon Theobaldo galloped up, and as the two friends
shook hands together, the Polish steed and the light-brown war-horse
neighed merrily to each other, as if they fully understood what was now
going forward.
As they all three rode onwards, the noble falconer expressed great
joy at this reconciliation, insisting that knights should willingly
overlook many faults in squires who were so faithful and attached;
for on such fidelity the safety even of kingdoms and the relationship
between monarchs many times depended. Thereafter he began to tell many
marvellous stories of his wounded falcon, and of other such birds,--how
they had been known to live till they were more than an hundred years
old, having been found bearing golden collars round their necks, with
the names thereon of princes long since dead. Such falcons then flew
about over land and sea, till they had discovered a master equal in
generosity, rank, and valour, to him that was departed. Theobaldo
hereupon acknowledged, that all the opinions which he had before
uttered were rashly adopted, and expressed deep regret for his conduct
of that morning.
Ere this time, however, Sir Otto, notwithstanding the change of dress
and demeanour, had clearly perceived that the hunter of the French
forests was no other than the renowned Sir Folko de Montfaucon; while
the latter by no means recognised, in the proud haughty knight, in
his black and silver armour, the young inexperienced and talkative
squire whom he had formerly met on the banks of the Danube. That
armour indeed, with the formidable eagle’s visor, was not unknown to
him; but Otto’s young blooming countenance and light hair contrasted
so strangely with those accoutrements, that Sir Folko could not form
any distinct recollection. In his mind all was like a dream, which,
on awaking, we vainly strive to renew, and which in a short space is
wholly forgotten.