CHAPTER XX.

How the Pagan banner was brought to Sir Hugh von Trautwangen.

While Sir Otto’s time was thus spent amid the Finland mountains, the same winter had past cheerfully and tranquilly over the head of the good Sir Hugh von Trautwangen;--for the old minstrel, Walter, often lived many days together in the castle; and if,--unable to give up his wandering habits,--he sometimes went away, yet it was never very long ere he returned again to the hospitable board of the brave knight, to rejoice him with his marvellous legends and songs. But of all consolations with which Providence now blessed the old champion, one might say that the greatest were the delightful dreams which, in these winter months, always came to him in sleep, not only during the night-hours, but oftentimes, too, when by day-light he slumbered in his great arm-chair at the banquet-table. Thus it happened, that, instead of being angry with himself as heretofore, when he felt weariness and sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids, he was glad at their approach, in order that he might again be soothed by these visions;--then, for the most part, the scenery and feelings of his youth returned to him with a freshness and lustre, that one might well compare to the sight of a flourishing garden in spring-tide, where the weeds of melancholy and regret dare not grow, and only roses and other bright flowers spread forth their treasures in the sunlight. Among the flower-beds, too, was visible the young and blooming form of Sir Otto, who sportively played among them, and culled from thence garlands of the richest colouring.

So it came to pass, that one evening the old hero had fallen asleep, having, yet ere his eyes were closed, rejoiced himself in thoughts of the many pleasant and heart-enlivening sights which he might ere long behold; but it fell out very differently from his expectations. Ere long he imagined that he heard a stranger coming stamping up stairs, with footsteps so heavy, and with armour rattling in such manner, that the very panes of glass in the windows rung in answer to the sounds. Thereafter he thought that three vehement knocks fell at measured intervals on the oak-door of the hall, as if given by the iron-gloved hand of a knight fully accoutred. The dreaming man wished to call aloud that the stranger should enter, but could not at first utter one word. At length he believed that he had spoken, and thereupon he heard the door open, grating harshly on its hinges; and, lo! there appeared in the room, with bloody and frightfully-distorted visage, that renowned forerunner of evil,--the Avenger,--with his tall vulture’s wings on his head, who stretched out his clenched hand, dropping with gore, in threatening and spectral dignity!--Shuddering with horror, the old knight started up, and scarcely had he begun to comfort himself with the reflection, that he had but dreamed,--when he heard, with all his senses fully awakened, the heavy steps on the staircase; whereat the windows indeed rattled; and thereafter came the three knocks at the hall-door, till at length the brave old man, unable to contend with this supernatural visitation, lost all recollection, and fell back in a deep swoon.

The squires and horsemen, who were still retained by Sir Hugh at his castle, happened at this time all to be absent. Some had gone forth to the chase; others had been sent in quest of the old minstrel, Walter; and the rest into the nearest town for provisions to entertain the wished-for guest. At such times, when his messengers reminded him that he ought not to be left thus alone in the fortress, Sir Hugh was wont to answer,--“The old warrior indeed sits here alone, but around him is good store of arms and armour; and, in case of need, it would not be long ere, in his own defence, he had snatched from the wall some well-proved sword, that his ancestors have wielded in the bloody field.”--This time, however, the first squire who entered the hall on his return from the town, perceived that an enemy must have been at the castle very different from any one that Sir Hugh had expected; for, as the old man sat so pale and motionless in his arm-chair, it appeared as if death had been the foe who had now assailed him. Thereupon the squire began to lament aloud, and assembled round him all his comrades who had now returned to the castle. Just then a trampling was heard across the drawbridge, as the minstrel, Walter, came hastily and on horseback into the fortress; and hearing these lamentations, he said, with a deep sigh,--“Alas! thou brave old hero, has it then been the will of Providence, that thou shouldst not live to see thy son return, crowned with laurels, from his long campaigns?”--When he had entered the hall, however, and looked at the tall ghastly form that sat there, it seemed to him as if his old friend could not yet be wholly dead. Nature is, in truth, kind to the poets and minstrels, and if they cannot arrive at the knowledge of her mysteries by the laborious paths of learning, like wise physicians, yet oftentimes she casts on them a gleam of her own light, or throws to them, as if in sport, a wreath of flowers, wherewith they can work wonders to the astonishment of all who are not so gifted. So it happened, that the minstrel, Walter, was in possession of a most precious and fragrant balsam distilled from many rare plants. Soon after the old knight had breathed its odours, he opened his eyes, and said,--“I have seen in my dreams a frightful apparition; but now that I am awake, where is he that came to turn my dreams into reality?--Where is the soldier who stepped up stairs, while his heavy armour rung and rattled; and who knocked three times at the door with his iron glove?”--To all this no one there present could return any answer. At length the old man said,--“That some one has been here is very sure and unquestionable; and that not as a mere spirit, but as a corporeal being; for do you not see that strange trophy that is now right opposite?”--Looking in the direction to which he pointed, they indeed saw an extraordinary banner, which was placed leaning in a corner of the hall. The standard was fashioned into the likeness of a horrible dragon; and around the shaft were inscribed some verses, which the wise minstrel, Walter, well knew how to interpret. They set forth, how this dragon had been won from the pagan Finlanders by the powerful arm of Sir Otto von Trautwangen; therefore the Swedes would for evermore praise him in their war-songs, and cherish towards him lasting gratitude. Hearing this, all the squires and attendants shouted aloud for joy, and congratulated their old master; while Sir Hugh took off his green velvet cap, and at last said,--“If the devil indeed brings us such trophies of victory, one must take in good part whatever evil dreams he is pleased to send along with them.”