How Sir Otto challenged the Knight of Montfaucon.
Many opinions were immediately offered on this story of the old warrior
and young lover. Some praised the prudence and reserve of Donatello;
others extolled the quick-sightedness of Signora Portia, for having
understood the wishes and motives of such a silent lover; while it was
agreed on all sides that the persons in the drama were to be looked on
as equally fortunate, Signor Dimetri not excepted, since he, like the
rest, had obtained at last the object which he had so long wished for.
During this discourse, the kind and hospitable Sir Folko de Montfaucon
was looking eagerly round the table, watching whether his guests were
well supplied with wine and satisfied with their entertainment. It
now seemed to him as if Sir Otto von Trautwangen sat lost in thoughts,
which, from the expression of his features, could not be either
cheerful or agreeable. Wishing to rouse him from this trance, Sir Folko
observed, “My noble guest from Germany has heard all the remarks which
have been made on the Count’s narrative, but has not himself uttered
one word. May it please you, sir, to say which of these characters
seems to you the most praiseworthy and enviable? Whether do you like
best the young lady or the knight?”
With his eyes darkly gleaming, and in a deep severe tone, which
contrasted strangely with the mirthful levity of the party, Sir Otto
replied, “I am indeed unable to perceive how the most ingenious
listener could find aught to approve in the character or conduct of
such a knight or lady. If you had inquired of me which of the two was
the more base, abominable, devilish, and depraved, I might indeed have
more readily provided myself with an answer, although even then the
choice would have been difficult. Fy on it! That renowned warrior had
raised up a vain coquette to a situation such as she never deserved,
had shared with her his house and fortune, placed his honour and
happiness in her hands, hoping that the late evening of his life might
still be cheered by gleams of confidence, fidelity, and love! Then,
lo! the wretched creature forfeits all the reward and praise which she
might have obtained for virtue and dignified demeanour, by encouraging
a libertine paramour! Shame, shame! That idle and despicable young
fellow, who, for himself, would never have won any wreath of fame, had
succeeded in gaining the friendly notice and society of a renowned
hero, at which any generous and honest heart would have been proud and
rejoiced; and this friendship he only uses for his own base purposes,
in order to lay his snares with more effect. Then he hires, forsooth,
bravoes and assassins; wherefore should he not as well have tried
poison? At last the brave old man performs that exploit in earnest, of
which he had made a base and cowardly pretence; uses, perhaps for the
last time, his already honoured and victorious sword in the service of
that deceitful poltron, who, instead of sinking into the earth with
shame----but forgive me, noble sir, I have not temper nor patience to
speak farther, and have already dwelt too long on a subject so hateful!”
Every one in the banquet-hall was now silent, and on every cheek glowed
a deep blush of self-reproach, from which even the count Alessandro de
Vinciguerra was not exempted. He said, however,--“This noble stranger
has judged the characters of my story rather too severely. In the light
in which he has placed them, they may indeed deserve all the censure
which he has so freely bestowed; but in our glowing climate beyond the
Alps, the inhabitants, both men and women, are, by nature, differently
framed and disposed from the quiet people of his cold native land;
and, methinks, the same moderation and virtue cannot be demanded of
us.” “This were to affirm then,” said Sir Otto, “that right and wrong
depended on the nearness or distance of the sun; but I well know, that
the inhabitants beyond the Alps would as unwillingly incur the risk of
eternal malediction as those of any other country; and that the road
which your story instructs us to travel leads but to the realms of the
devil there cannot be any doubt.”
The simple and child-like energy, the tranquil consciousness of right,
which were visible on Sir Otto’s countenance when he spoke these
words, reminded one of the angels’ heads carved in marble by the old
devout artists of Germany or Italy. An involuntary emotion of awe, an
influence, breathed as it were from the regions of eternal life, was
felt through all the party there assembled; so that even the proud
and gay Count de Vinciguerra could not lift his eyes from the ground.
Don Hernandez meanwhile had risen from his chair, and gone round,
unperceived, behind Sir Otto. He touched him on the shoulder, and,
looking back, the youth saw the kindly countenance and dark eyes of the
Castilian gleaming on him with an expression of triumph and approbation.
After a long silence, the Chevalier de Montfaucon also rose, and
addressed himself to the German youth: “Sir Knight,” said he, “you have
indeed made us all heartily ashamed, and therefore merit our gratitude
and praise; for the very tones of your voice sounded on our ears like
the silvery music of a chapel-bell, warning us to self-reproval, to
humility, and devotion. Accept, therefore, my sincerest thanks, and
believe me, that I rejoice in possessing, even for a short space, such
a jewel and mirror of knighthood within my castle.” Thereupon he made
to Sir Otto a low and solemn obeisance. All the knights and other
guests rose at the same time, and followed his example.
Sir Otto was confused, and blushed deeply. “Noble sirs,” said he, “I
believe that you pay this homage to Heaven only, to whose mandates I
have chanced to direct your attention. Were it otherwise, a humble
and inexperienced youth, such as I am, would indeed ill deserve such
honour.”
“Valiant stranger,” answered the Knight of Montfaucon, “we are
unwilling to allow that you should speak of yourself so unjustly. May
we beg to know your name, and, if it so please you, to hear the story
of your past life?”
“Should I ever have a story worth relating,” answered Sir Otto, “and
what the story may be, will depend on your renowned and victorious arm,
Sir Knight of Montfaucon. Can you still remember the young squire on
the banks of the Danube, who was present during that eventful evening,
when you so gloriously overcame the powerful Count Archimbald of
Waldeck? I wear now the golden spurs; nor have the three strokes of a
knightly sword on my shoulders, nor a moonlight watch, been forgotten.”
“’Tis well, Sir Knight,” answered the Chevalier; “and you are now
perchance in quest of Gabrielle’s ring?” With a courteous bow, Sir
Otto replied in the affirmative. “I am then at your command,” answered
Sir Folko; and, turning to the company, he added, “This brave young
knight has indeed not related any adventure for your entertainment;
but, to compensate for his silence, you may be eye-witnesses of one
to-morrow, if you will do me the honour to accompany me to another of
my castles in Normandy, where he will engage with me in the lists,
and whither I shall invite also the beautiful Gabrielle de Portamour
to behold our encounter.” Thereafter he explained to them how he had
before now met with Sir Otto near the fortress of Trautwangen, and
contended there with the Count Archimbald von Waldeck for the ring.
Also, how the castle to which he would invite the Lady Gabrielle was
the principal mansion on those territories of which the ring gave the
exclusive right of possession; so that she would doubtless not fail
to honour them with her company. All the guests now present accepted
the invitation; and Sir Otto, with downcast eyes, thanked them for
their great courtesy, in as much as they would condescend to behold
how a youth, hitherto so humble and unpractised in arms, was to be
admitted to the honour of a combat with the renowned Sir Folko de
Montfaucon. Every heart was prepossessed in his favour; and even the
Count Alessandro de Vinciguerra embraced him cordially, saying, “Truly,
since the fates were resolved, that, for the chastisement of my sinful
levity, I should be visited by a severe moralist and stern preacher,
there could not have been found one in all the world to whom I should
have listened so willingly as to him who is now among us.”