How Sir Heerdegen received his death-wound.
According to the wisest old legends we are instructed, that mortals,
when bewitched in this manner, lie as if in feverish dreams, with
just so much of their senses left as to make them aware of their own
fearful bondage. The three knights now remained long on the floor of
this mysterious chamber; they moved indeed now and then, as if they
would arise and walk; but, with strange grins and inarticulate murmurs,
always fell back motionless as before. Only one among them retained his
recollection so well, that he was still aware of what passed around
him; and this was Sir Otto von Trautwangen; for, as he felt himself
sinking on the ground, he had time to mutter a short prayer, which
he had in early days learned from his cousin Bertha, when they were
both children. Even while he lay in that heavy trance he thought of
this prayer; and if he succeeded but in speaking aloud, or in thinking
clearly, his eyes were opened, and he saw what was now going forward.
At such intervals, he perceived that his half-brother, Ottur, now
stood beside the enchantress, Gerda, and that they spoke earnestly and
loudly together, so that he could oftentimes catch the meaning of their
dialogue.
“When they lie thus asleep and insensible,” said Ottur, “I dare not
attack them. Besides, thou seest, that he in the middle wears mine own
features; we have on a former day entered into a bond of friendship
with each other:--His sword is called Ottur, and mine Otto. Therefore
let me hear no more of your admonitions; for, if your golden apple of
victory is to be won only in this manner, know, that while they are
thus defenceless, I would not for all the world injure even one hair
of their heads.” Thereupon Gerda stamped on the floor, and made a
signal that the poor deluded knight should leave the room along with
her, while Sir Otto vainly strove to call out aloud, and remind him
once more of the friendly contract that had been made betwixt them.
His lips and tongue were now sealed up and bound, as if by the fetters
of a hideous dream; and when his vain efforts were past, confusion and
dulness of senses prevailed over him more powerfully than ever. Many
times, notwithstanding, he tried to rouse his companions, but they
lay beside him stiff and motionless, as if they were really dead, so
that the cold shuddering of horror crept through his frame. Truly, he
thought to himself, many times, that all three were dead, and laid in
a sepulchral vault; only, that he alone had been cursed with remaining
consciousness, and strove in vain with the fate that was decreed for
him. Yet, when with his half-opened eyes he gazed on Sir Heerdegen, a
feeling, as if of hope, and the warmth of spring-tide, stole over his
heart, for he perceived again the same resemblance to his cousin Bertha
of Lichtenried, which had perplexed him, on the blooming banks of the
Mayne, when he bore the wounded youth home to his hostelrie. On this
account only Sir Otto believed that his trance would not last for ever,
since he was yet able to watch over the brother of his beloved Bertha.
“If I could but fall a sacrifice to save him,” said he to himself,
“this would be the same as if I died for her sake, and how noble would
be such an end!” For that some one of their party must perish he had
no doubt; and, although the presence of all three was necessary for
the fulfilment of this adventure, yet, on the death of one depended
the rescue of the other two. Whence all these ideas had come to him he
knew not; sometimes, it seemed as if the voices of mountain spirits
had sounded them into his ears in their confused songs. Then he said
to himself, “The men in the fiery furnace, that we read of in the
holy book, were all saved; but we are not saints, and therefore one
of us must surely perish. Were but Bertha’s brother not the victim!”
Thereafter he continued, with all the strength and attention that were
left him, to keep watch over Sir Heerdegen, and gaze on his death-like
features.
At length the enchantress, Gerda, again came among them; but now it
was a different voice from that of Ottur that kept up the dialogue;
and, listening with great anxiety, Sir Otto perceived it was that of
the young knight Kolbein, who now said, “I pray you do not ask that I
should put to death my cousin the sea-monarch, nor could I willingly
strike the brave German champion. Yet if it be thy will, most beautiful
of damsels, I am ready to obey.” “Strike whom thou wilt among them,”
said Gerda; “it is enough for me if their number is broken; for if
one be killed, the other two are certainly mine. Thanks be to the
great Odin, that thou hast even now returned from thy campaign, for
Ottur becomes every day more wild and visionary.” “’Tis well,” said
Sir Kolbein; “thus I may hope to efface one day from your heart the
image of every other mortal, and to rule there even like a god, all
alone.” “Nay, be not thus presumptuous,” answered Gerda; “thou art not
the youth, who, in my dreams, and by the secret longings of my heart,
has been pointed out to me as the future king of the Hartz forest, by
whose arms Gerda shall be embraced, and who will raise himself up with
her even to god-like power and grandeur.” “Is it perchance Arinbiorn?”
muttered Sir Kolbein. “Then indeed my battle-axe shall not fail to
mark him for my victim, were he tenfold more nearly related to me,
and though, alas! he was once my beloved and respected leader on the
field of victory.”--“Nay, it is not Arinbiorn,” said Gerda, coldly.
“The folly with which my heart clung to him has now fully yielded
before the magnificent figure with the glittering mail, whom I beheld
in the mirror. But strike him if thou wilt. It is enough for me, if
the dangerous power of these three knights be overcome.” “Then rather
let the stranger be the victim,” said Kolbein; and with these words
raised his battle-axe high over the head of the unfortunate Heerdegen
of Lichtenried.
In undescribable terror, and having long foreseen that this would be
the result, Sir Otto had listened to the dialogue. Now the force of his
zeal, and the prayer which he had all the while been repeating in his
heart, was so powerful, that he made a visible effort to throw himself
on the body of Sir Heerdegen, and thus to receive the blow that was
intended for his friend. Ere he could accomplish his purpose, however,
Kolbein’s halbert descended with a hideous crash. The unfortunate youth
groaned horribly, and a stream of blood poured from his helmet. Still
hoping, however, to save his life, Sir Otto threw his shield over his
friend’s head, with uncertain motion waved his sword, to ward off the
coming blows, and yet pointed to his own breast as the mark at which
Kolbein should aim. The base coward failed not to inflict them thick
as hail, and laughed to scorn the feeble resistance by which he was
met, till at last Sir Otto’s corslet was broken asunder, and his blood
flowed in torrents, mingling with that of his beloved friend Heerdegen.