CHAPTER XV.

How the Lady Bertha fled from the Druda’s castle.

Bertha had spent several days of solitude in calmness and peace. From the great hall she was serenaded by delightful music; the mirror had displayed all her favourite landscapes; and, though she was without any companion, and had the sole charge of the castle, yet her duties were by invisible hands rendered so light, that they seemed like a mere game contrived for her entertainment. Thus, one afternoon she stepped into the bark, in order to enjoy for some time the cool fragrant air on the water. The day was so lovely, that even the light fleecy clouds in heaven appeared to dance for joy as they were driven along by the zephyrs; there were also numberless singing birds that came flying round the castle towers, playing and chasing each other among the white flowers that grew thereon. They seemed to her like ambassadors, bearing joyful tidings from the world which she had been forbid to look upon, and yet insensibly the wish grew upon her, that she might indulge in one fleeting glance from out these lonely walls. “What harm,” said she to herself, “could possibly come of this? It is doubtful even whether I have rightly understood the lady’s admonition. Merely to look for a moment on that world, of which I was born to be an inhabitant, cannot surely have evil consequences.” Almost as soon as the thought was formed had Bertha turned the bark again towards the shore, and re-entered the castle. Then, as her aunt’s instructions not to look out from the windows had been less strict than against walking on the ramparts, she thought that she proved her self-command and obedience, by passing quickly through the inviting garden of snow-white flowers, and entering a chamber, at the window of which she had often seen her aunt when she was speaking with her brother from the battlements. In this room there was nothing mysterious, and immediately Bertha drew open the lattice, with its painted glass, and began to gaze out over the wide landscape.

From hence she indeed beheld a beautiful prospect across rich-blooming meadows and valleys towards the sea, on which the sun now shone with full refulgence and glory. There too she saw a beautiful island, which lay with its verdant woods like a green emerald amid the blue waters. A strange mood of mind now came over the lonely damsel. She felt attracted towards that island with an irresistible longing, and could not help believing that Sir Otto von Trautwangen dwelt thereon, that he had built for himself a hermitage under the green shade of the trees, where he had completely forgot the attractions of the noble Gabrielle, and waited anxiously for the reappearance of his beloved Bertha. At first this was like a dream, but every moment its influence became more powerful, and had more of reality. She thought that she could distinguish blooming gardens, parterres, and winding-walks, which Sir Otto had cultivated around his hermitage; and soon afterwards she marked a boat approaching the shore, floating about on the sun-illumined waters, in which she could clearly distinguish her brother’s figure. These were his very gestures,--his form,--the colour and fashion of his garments! “Good Heaven!” said she, “if indeed he should have found Otto in that island, if he should have been reconciled to his former adversary, and wish to bring me across?” Thereafter it seemed as if Sir Heerdegen waved a white handkerchief, making her signs; but, when she had drawn off her veil to return the signal, she was withheld by an inward terror, and hastily closed the window. With deep melancholy she now thought on the good kind Lady Minnatrost; how sad and affectionate had been her behaviour on the night of her departure, and she wept bitterly, because she had been even once disobedient to her injunctions; yet, so weak are we, poor mortals, in resisting temptation, that she could not, even now, divert her thoughts from the island and the boat, and, by way of defence against herself, she said many times aloud, “Thank Heaven, I have not even the keys of the castle-gate!” Suddenly the recollection occurred to her, that she knew very well where they lay, and her anxiety increased every moment, for she knew not where to seek for help and consolation.

Anxious to find any object that might divert her attention, she ran to the chamber wherein was stationed the wonderful mirror. On the way she brushed, with her garments, a chair on which she had laid her lute, and immediately it sounded, as if her once favourite companion addressed to her words of admonition and reproach; for the Lady Minnatrost had commanded her to play on the lute, if she wished for aid, or had any desire to gratify. Bertha, however, was too much agitated to attend to sounds so light and gentle; she ran breathless into the chamber, and though the glass was covered with a red curtain, which hung over it in deep mysterious folds, yet, in a mood of wild forgetfulness, she drew it suddenly away.

Over the whole surface of the mirror there was then a dark waving and heaving, like that of a stormy sea, as if its creations, rashly looked upon, ere they were perfect, shunned the light, and, therefore, were contorted in frightful indeterminate shapes. Thereupon Bertha wished to draw the curtain over it; but as she was about to touch it with her trembling hand, the forms which it presented began to whirl in circles with such vehemence, that she was terrified, and remained motionless. At last there came forward the figure of a man, pale and agitated, and with the expression of wild anger on his features. Unwillingly Bertha recognised in this figure her brother Heerdegen. On his head was placed somewhat like golden vulture’s wings, and she knew not whether he wore a helmet in this fashion, or if it were indeed a vulture, whose attacks had thus made him pale and enraged. While she reflected on this, a female figure, wounded and bleeding, made its appearance, and looking on it but for a moment, Bertha screamed aloud, “Have mercy, Heaven!” for she recognised that the features were her own. Terrified by this phantom, and even by the sound of her own voice, she rushed out of the chamber into the hall, in which hung the golden rings. They were now silent and motionless, as if held by invisible bands, and at this time, above all others, Bertha would have rejoiced in the slightest sounds of their former music; for it seemed to her disordered fantasy, as if the fearful shapes in the mirror had started out into real life; that they were moving through the apartment which she had left with rustling garments and sounding steps. How glad would she have been, therefore, if the magic rings, the harps, and cymbals, had overpowered those fearful sounds, and the terror by which her heart was now oppressed! Then she, indeed, remembered the lady’s instructions, that by a few notes on her lute she was to obtain whatever she wished for in this enchanted castle. But, alas! her voice was rendered powerless by fear, and in order to obtain her lute, she must have passed again through the frightful apartment with the mirror. Horror deprived her of all self-possession; so that, as if supernaturally compelled, she touched one of the golden rings;--immediately they all began to move and to sound aloud; but, alas! not in harmonious music. Their tones were like an awful mixture of thunder and tempestuous winds, or hoarse roaring as of wild beasts,--then there was the clashing of swords as in battle, and at intervals arose lamentable moanings, as of the wounded and dying. At length the rings began to turn in furious haste; the noises were more and more hideous, accompanied too by yells of unearthly fiendish laughter; so that Bertha was attacked by fearful giddiness, and could scarcely support herself. There was then a loud knocking at the door, which communicated with the chamber of the mirror. Bertha thought she could not refrain from calling out, “Who is there?” And that she would then be answered by her own voice,--that she would behold her own form enter, pale, dishevelled, and bleeding,--that the horrid spectre would stretch out its arms to seize upon her! Half delirious, she rushed out of the hall, ran along the corridor down stairs, and through the court, till she found herself on the banks of the lake, which, instead of being serene and still as before, now heaved and raged with waves like those of a stormy sea! All was indeed changed around her; most of the white flowers had grown blood-red, and waved downwards like flames from the ramparts, as if threatening and angrily against her. How was her terror augmented, however, when, on gaining the opposite bank of the lake, she remembered that she had not brought the keys of the gate! Should she now return to that scene of horrors? Such attempt would have been vain, as she felt that utter madness would ensue. So she ran onward, calling aloud on her brother, though she might have well known, that within these walls he could not render her assistance. But the gates stood wide open, while their ponderous wings moved as if agitated by a hurricane, threatening to close and crush to death any one who would venture beyond the portal. However, the damsel took courage, and rushed forwards. Scarcely was she on the other side, when the gates closed with a horrible crash; so that, perceiving how narrowly she had escaped with life, she fled, swift as an arrow, down the hill, and when arrived in the plain beneath, sunk down on the ground, exhausted and motionless. She heard on all sides the murmuring of voices, and confused clashing of armour and weapons, and on half recovering her self-possession, perceived that she was carried in her brother’s arms, and that he said, as if communing with himself, “We must bring her into the boat, and cross over to the island, for the people here are mad with terror at the horrid sights on the castle ramparts.” Then Bertha, remembering the prospect which she had seen from the window, faintly whispered, “Oh yes! let us go to that beloved island!” But thereafter she again closed her eyes, wearied and insensible.