CHAPTER XIX.

Of the monk Zelotes, and the enchantress Gerda.

The rich corn-fields were now waving in the balmy air, the orchard-trees were in their full luxuriance of blossoms, or their fruits already formed, the flocks were sporting in the meadows, the deer sprang merrily through the forest-thickets, when our travellers began their journey from castle Waldeck towards Trautwangen, on the banks of the Danube. In every heart prevailed the pleasantest and liveliest anticipations of what he would find there; but, on the way, they conversed of nothing more frequently than of the state of chivalry, and the different orders of knighthood through Europe, of King Richard Cœur de Lion’s captivity, and how this bright star of courtesy and honour had now vanished quite away from the horizon. “Ere long,” the sea-monarch was wont to say, “Heaven will doubtless permit that we should know where he is concealed. So, in our ice-covered mountains of the north, the sun often vanishes away for many months, but fails not to come again, and then our days are brighter and longer than any where else in the world.” “If by the bold strokes of sword and lance we could break the bands of this mystery!” said Sir Otto, “I would, that in such a cause my whole armour might be so hacked and hewed as my corslet looks even now.” For truly, as he had not obtained the aid of a wise armourer, like Asmundur, but, on the contrary, had employed a common blacksmith, the marks of Kolbein’s battle-axe were still evident, and disfigured the fine coat-of-mail that had once been worn by Sir Archimbald. During such discourse, Hildiridur was wont to say,--“Whosoever God has chosen to break through this mystery will in due time be summoned to the work; and shame to the coward who would then lag behind! But he, on the contrary, who would rashly think to resist the torrent of events in these tumultuous times, would foolishly effect his own destruction, without even drawing near to the object which he had in view.”

So, however, each cherishing his own pleasant hopes, and all of good courage, soothed too by the wise counsels and mild tones of Hildiridur, they came once more amid the blooming scenery and warm sunlight of the south. Here it came to pass one day, that Sir Archimbald, cheered by the bright weather and smiling landscape, happened to notice a Benedictine monk sitting gloomily on the roadside, with his head sunk in his wide black garments. “Why lookest thou so mournfully, holy father?” said he in a gay tone; “perchance thy sandals are worn out on thy pilgrimage, and the ways are rough? Mount then, and try for once if thou can’st ride among armed knights. To-night we shall bring thee to a right pleasant auberge.” “On horseback or on foot,” murmured the Benedictine,--“on foot or on horseback,”--repeated he, “with iron shoes or naked feet, we shall all arrive one time or another at our place of rest! Knowest thou what is written over the gate? The sign of our auberge is twofold; on one sign is written ‘endless joy,’ on the other ‘endless grief.’” The knight who was before so jocund, shuddered when he heard these words; his companions all halted involuntarily, and gazed on the dark figure of the monk. He rose at length from the stone on which he sat, with his features still covered, came towards them, and said, “Methinks I should know you. The road which I follow, you also know to be the best and safest; at least you have often enough spoken to this purpose. Wherefore then do you wander about so madly through the mazes and temptations of this world? Away with your iron greaves and golden spurs; and replace them but with the ragged sandals of the poor monks. Or, if you will not, then I understand not to what purpose you travel. What I undertake must be done wholly or not at all.” Thereupon he turned round, and went into a neighbouring dark wood; above whose shades they saw rising the towers of a lonely monastery. A chill shuddering stole over the hearts of all the travellers, more especially, because, although the monk’s voice sounded hollow and obscure under his large dark cowl, yet they could not help believing that the accents were those of some one who had ere now been well known to them.

Early on the following morning, when they came forth from an inn not far from the forest in which they had parted with the monk, lo! there was a squire nobly attired, and of wondrous grace in his figure and demeanour, whom no one among them had seen before, and yet he came to assist zealously in their preparations for departure. They did not ask him any questions, believing that he might be a follower in the train of some other travellers, and that he gave his aid to them through knightly courtesy; they therefore only returned him thanks; but, as Hildiridur and the knights rode away through the dew-besprent field, amid the twilight and mist-wreaths of the morning, on looking back, they still saw the strange squire busily engaged with the sumpter-horses, arranging whatever they had not been able to put into order for their early departure.

As he thus walked about amid the white fogs of the dull morning-air, it seemed to them as if the silent stranger had somewhat ghostly and solemn in his appearance, as if he were not like other men; and so deeply were they impressed by these thoughts, that they remained silent, and did not even interchange words with each other. Some of them indeed went so far as to believe that he was a spirit from the Hartz forest, who had followed them only in scorn and mockery, but would ere long, to their dismay and consternation, regain his true shape;--others thought that he was one of the good people,--a benevolent fairy, who not only would assist them thus at the commencement, but thereafter attend them like a guardian spirit on their way. Such notions were at last spread in whispers, till they reached the ears of Count Archimbald and his companions. Hereupon the count commanded that every one should halt, and that the mysterious youth should immediately appear before him. He came accordingly, and stood within a circle that Hildiridur, the knights, and their assembled attendants, soon formed around him.

Just then the first gleams of the rising sun fell on the squire’s head, with its rich golden tresses, and in the same moment they discovered their error. It was indeed no squire who had thus waited upon them; but the beautiful features of Gerda, lovelier than ever, now that she was thus humbled, shone out upon them.--“Look not on me thus amazed,” said she; “only one of those who are here present has any right to blame what I have done; but for all his bravery in the battle-field, he is yet kind and forgiving as a child. Instead of being angry with Gerda, he will compassionate her distress.--Sir Otto, is it not so?”--The young Knight of Trautwangen bowed courteously, and said,--“Truly I am grieved for your misfortunes. May God forgive you the death of my brave friend, Heerdegen;--as for all that you have done in the north, or in my native land, against me, the remembrance of your deeds shall be dispersed like dust to the four winds of heaven, and never more reckoned when we thus meet together.”--“Now then, Sir Archimbald,” said the damsel, turning towards the count, “thou can’st not complain against me; for if thou art determined never to be King of the Hartz mountains, I shall not compel thee thereunto. I pray you then to let me go with you, for, in truth, I have no evil intentions.”--“Verily, thou art beautiful,” said Sir Archimbald, “and as well might I say that I loved not the sunlight, the blossoms, or the nightingale’s sweet songs, as that your presence is to my heart unwelcome or indifferent. But the cross,--mark you,--the cross!--One condition was left unfulfilled, and while it thus remains, thou can’st not go with us.”--“Archimbald,” answered the damsel, “for the love I bear to thee, I would have tried also to fulfil what thou now desirest; but it might not be;--and before thou pronouncest the angry words which now hover on thy lips, hear, I pray thee, the explanation which I can give of that which has drawn thy wrath on Gerda.

“In the dark wood that lies yonder beneath us, there is a great building, with strong thick walls, narrow windows, and a high tower, in which there is hung a mournfully-sounding bell. People call this a minster; and they have assured me, that within these walls is to be learned the true faith, to which thou would’st have me bow in worship. Therefore, dearest Archimbald, I have not been afraid to enter through the long gloomy aisles and echoing vaults of that building. I went thither all alone, in hopes that I might find the path leading to thy God and the heaven of the Christians;--but the people that dwell there understood me not; they questioned and threatened me at the gates. At length they assembled together, and came towards me, all attired in black garments, with pale, ghastly visages; and, moreover, they bore in their hands vessels for sprinkling water, and many strange symbols and banners; but, as I well knew that by such means mortals may be bewitched and transformed, I fled from them in terror, and, having again arrived outside of the gate, I began to weep bitterly, for I knew not any means now by which I might fulfil the conditions which thou had’st imposed on me. At last one of the men in black garments had compassion, and called to me from the walls, that I should inquire for Brother Zelotes; for this brother had not long since been a pagan,--had forced himself, almost by violence, into their abode, and, through the heroic strength of his resolution, in a short time overpowered all obstacles, so that he had become a monk, and was now sent forth on a journey, of which no one but he himself and the prior knew the purpose. Brother Zelotes perchance could assist me, or, if this might not be, I could have no hope. Immediately I arose, and like one struck by a poisoned arrow, who runs wildly in search of a skilful physician, I inquired eagerly of every one that I met, whether he could afford me tidings of this man?--With much trouble I discovered the road that he had gone,--met him at last;--but, alas! you have now to hear the sad end of all my endeavours.

“It was in a narrow pass of the mountains, just as the full moon had raised her dark-red shield over the rocky cliffs, where I met a tall stern figure of a man, that seemed to me a gigantic warrior, disguised in black monkish robes.--‘Art thou Zelotes?’ said I.--In a hollow voice he answered, ‘Ay.’--‘Help me then to find the God of the Christians.’--‘Right willingly,’ he answered.--‘Follow me!’--‘Whither, then?’ said I doubtfully.--‘Such a question,’ said Zelotes, ‘becomes not one who longs after the true faith. It is enough that we know the object of our pilgrimage,--how we arrive thither,--by what paths, or through what earthly scenes, should be to us indifferent.’--Terror then seized on me;--I shuddered more than I had ever done when, within the magic ring of the enchanter, I had beheld the spectral forms from the grave, and nightly demons rise up around me. Besides, it seemed as if the monk’s voice was already known to me. At length he said,--‘Ay, truly, I am well aware who thou art, and in former years I have been a renowned warrior; but even the horror of thy detested sorceries, and thy vehement desire that I should murder one of the three sleeping and defenceless knights, unveiled to my sight the eternal punishments that are due to such crimes, and drove me to seek refuge in the Christian sanctuary. When I left thy enchanted caverns in the Hartz forest, I pretended that I went forth on a warlike campaign, but my journey led straightway to a renowned monastery; and there, in a few months, I have succeeded in obtaining the divine gifts of the Christian faith, even with the same courage and resolution which enabled me to win crowns of victory on the battle-field.’--With these words he threw back his cowl, and though his features were now pale, and deep-worn by penance and severe thought, I could no longer doubt that I now beheld in the monk Zelotes the well known Norman warrior Ottur, kinsman or brother of Otto von Trautwangen. Then I was obliged to narrate to him all that had happened to myself and the three knights since his departure from the Hartz mountains. He listened to me with melancholy earnestness and attention, and shook his head, which he had again wrapt up in his dark cowl.--‘Only follow me,’ said he at length; ‘thou knowest, that when I lived as one of the careless worldlings, thou wert very dear to my heart, and therefore thou should’st believe that I would also gladly shew to thee the path that leads to heaven, if it were but in my power.’--‘But whither wouldst thou lead me?’ I inquired once more, shuddering as I spoke with inward doubt and apprehension.

“Thereupon Zelotes began a description, at which mine inmost heart recoiled, and my hair almost stood on end. He said that he would bring me into a convent of nuns, where I should undergo severe and neverending penance;--how my flowing golden locks would be cut away;--and how I should never more be allowed to see thee, Archimbald, the dearest object of my affections. Hearing this, I started as if I had just then retreated from the brink of the grave, that yawned to receive its living victim;--he stretched out his arm as if to seize me;--in his long black robes he now looked more than ever like a supernatural spectre; and, as a deer pursued by the hunters, I fled up among the rocky cliffs to escape from him. If, therefore, thou wilt bear with me in thy presence, Archimbald, it must be without cross or rosary; for to become a Christian is to me nothing less than if I were doomed to death.”

Hildiridur was about to speak in her wonted mild tones, in order to sooth the bewildered and agitated Gerda, but Archimbald, with a look half-angry, half in terror, cried aloud,--“Begone from hence, thou seductive and treacherous spirit, begone!--or if thou wilt remain among us, let it be on condition that thou shalt kneel directly, and pray to the God of the Christians before the cross.”--Hereupon Gerda’s wrath flamed forth in all its former vehemence;--she uttered reproaches and threats against Sir Archimbald and all his companions;--and at last, as if borne in the air by her own luxuriant tresses, which were now dishevelled and waving in the wind, she flew away into the neighbouring wood, where she vanished amid a thick covert of pine-trees.

Thereafter they pursued their way, every one reflecting after his own manner on this adventure; but of all the party, the most melancholy and thoughtful was the Count Archimbald von Waldeck.