CHAPTER XVII.

How Sir Otto von Trautwangen and the merchant Theobaldo fared in France.

Some time after these events happened on the shores of the north sea, Sir Otto von Trautwangen and his friend Theobaldo were one day seated together on the turf beneath the luxuriant shade of a forest in France; the sun was high in the cloudless heaven, and his rays, without scorching, made a fine play of light and shade as they descended through the leafy covert. Their horses meanwhile grazed tranquilly in a neighbouring glade; for, notwithstanding the fiery temper of Sir Otto’s charger, they had made acquaintance during their long journey; so that the chestnut-coloured Pole led as quiet a life with his companion as he could desire. Sir Otto seemed lost in thought. He leaned backwards against the trunk of a tree, gazing up to the cloudless azure of heaven; so, while he was thus abstracted, Theobaldo took up a mandoline, which he always carried with him on his journey, and sang to its notes a few stanzas in praise of travelling and constant change of scene. “Hold, hold!” said Sir Otto, awakening from his reverie; “I cannot join in that ballad.” “Who desired that you should do so?” said Theobaldo, smiling. “Sing another. Few people can bear to repeat the same notes over and over, far less to hear them repeated; on which account there are so many poets and musicians.”

“Nay, I have no wish to sing,” said Otto. “My heart is oppressed with a longing which music cannot gratify. Tell me, Theobaldo, is it not wholly inexplicable, that two such distinguished characters as Sir Folko de Montfaucon and his sister Gabrielle, with whose names all France rings, should thus evade all our endeavours to discover them?”

“They are indeed like figures reflected from many mirrors,--like sounds repeated by manifold echoes,” answered Theobaldo. “The very rumours that we have heard of them render our senses confused, and defeat all our attempts. They are, in truth, become like phantoms from the ancient world of wonders and chivalry, of which every one relates whatever seems most incredible, and thinks that, under the auspices of such names, he has a right to demand belief for that which is the work of his own invention. They are idolized during their lifetime; and for this very reason, are, like other idols, no more in reality to be discovered.”

“You wish that I should laugh,” said Sir Otto; “but give me the mandoline. Rather than this I shall sing.”

“Mark you now,” said Theobaldo; “this is indeed what I desired. Sing, I pray you; for music may, in truth, be impersonized as the purest and kindest angel, who is permitted by Providence to visit and console unhappy mortals.”

Otto then touched the lute, and sung to its accompaniment an address to a little bird that was just then fluttering above him:--

“Sweet bird, that thus on rapid wing Ascend’st to realms above, Oh! could’st thou point to me the path That leads unto my love! But, ah! thy course is wandering too; So thou perchance art crost By fruitless longing, even as I, And thy true love hast lost!”

“It is strange,” said Theobaldo, “when, in this foreign land, you speak your native tongue, vehemently indeed, and with passion, it seems as if the very woods, flowers, and fountains, were amazed at such harsh and unwonted sounds. But when you begin to sing, all is again tranquil, happy, and harmonious; for music is indeed a universal language. Mark, I pray you, what grand adventure is announced as your reward by the stranger who just now makes his appearance from the thickets!”

Lifting up his eyes, Otto indeed saw that a young man, handsomely attired, and mounted on a white horse, just then came riding out of the wood. He wore a plaited green dress, like that of a minstrel, and over it a magnificent gold chain, by which his harp was suspended from his neck. All the while he continued to play thereupon; for his horse was so quiet and sensible, that of his own accord he turned away from the down-hanging branches, so that his rider might not be interrupted by them in his employment. Coming up near to Sir Otto and the merchant Theobaldo, he halted, and said,--“Was it then your voices which I just now heard sound so harmoniously through the forest?” When Otto courteously answered in the affirmative, the stranger dismounted, saying,--“Permit me then to have the pleasure of joining for a while in your amusements.” Thereupon he took the bridle from his horse, and allowed him to graze at liberty in the glades of the forest. At the same moment, Otto’s war-steed came up snorting and neighing, prepared for a combat with his new neighbour; from which the latter shrunk back affrighted, and, as if seeking protection, trotted away to his master. Then Sir Otto spoke aloud some words of severe admonition to his charger; whereupon he betook himself quietly to the society of the chesnut Pole; and the minstrel’s horse regaining courage, went curvetting and caprioling back to the pasture.

“We are, perhaps, all three going the same road,” said the minstrel, “and I trust it may be so. Wherever I now see a knight cased in armour, I cannot but suppose that he is travelling, or means to travel, into the Holy Land,” “Alas! it is not so with me,” answered Sir Otto blushing; “earnestly as I would wish to go thither. A solemn vow which I have made drives me onwards evermore towards the west, notwithstanding the ardent longings of my soul towards the warm suns of the oriental climes.” “It grieves me heartily to hear this,” said the minstrel; “it would have been so pleasant to travel in your society. But as the matter now stands, you are in the right. A vow made is a sacred pledge which must be redeemed; and that knight would indeed be unworthy of his rank, who could forget this duty even for the sake of journeying into Palestine. For the present, however, will you not sing again?” “I know not,” answered Sir Otto; “but, in truth, were I to sing, both words and notes would be mournful; for what you have just now said of the Holy Land has made too deep an impression on my heart;--much rather would I hear music from you.” “Nay,” said the stranger, “I know not aught of which I can chaunt but those eastern climes, of which the very name has already made you sad. However, if you are willing to listen, I am prepared.”

Thereupon he commenced a long and beautiful ballad, of which every stanza was fashioned in praise of the crusaders, and, above all, of King Richard Cœur de Lion. Otto’s cheeks glowed, and he would have gladly left every other pursuit in this world, in order to go with the wonderful minstrel after the banners of King Richard to the east. He was just about to inquire whether the stranger knew if Sir Folko de Montfaucon were also among the crusaders; for if every separate contest between the champions of this age might be deferred, and they could all join together in this enterprise against the Saracens, it would assuredly prove the most glorious and successful war that had ever been known in the world. But ere he had time to propose that question, there came a troop of armed men from the thickets, who spoke very respectfully with the minstrel; whereupon he ordered them again to put the bridle on his white horse, and immediately afterwards, with a courteous salutation, rode away. One of his attendants lingered, however, and Sir Otto had time to ask him what was the name and rank of his master. “He is,” said the squire, “the renowned Master Blondel, the best minstrel in all England, and the bosom-friend of King Richard; on which account he is to accompany our army to Palestine. We are ordered by the king to attend him, that he may not be attacked and suffer injury, when, as now, he leaves the straight road, in order to make excursions hither and thither, as minstrels and poets are wont to do.” Thereupon he mounted his horse, and rode gaily on to overtake his comrades, whose voices were heard from afar, joining the minstrel in a choral song, which resounded merrily through the forest. “Seems it not,” said Sir Otto, “as if all the best enjoyments and noblest duties of this life were destined always to come under our notice, only to mock and torment us, because they are now wholly out of our own reach? Or, as your looks now seem to indicate your dissent from what I have said, it will be better that I speak for myself alone. Is not this adventure of to-day like the contrivance of some wicked magician, who specially wishes that I should feel, as it were within my grasp, all that appears to me most estimable and desirable, only to be reminded more painfully of the chains by which I am bound, and which I dare not strive to break asunder?”

“In truth,” said Theobaldo, “I might have more reason than you to complain of this matter; for, if you have bound yourself by rash vows, I know not of any such which I have ever sworn. Yet I remain here, though Heaven knows how gladly I would have followed this noble minstrel on his way to Palestine!” “Leave me then for ever, Theobaldo,” said Sir Otto. “I have already undergone so many painful separations, that I may well feel accustomed thereto.”

Theobaldo gazed on him kindly, and said in a faltering voice,--“No, God forbid that I should forsake you. But desist from such lamentations, and once more lift up your eyes. Mark, I pray you, how the light fleecy clouds, the verdant branches of the forest, and the soaring larks, play betwixt us and the bright expanse of heaven. Methinks from a sky so beauteous and smiling must descend balm and refreshment for all the sorrows of this world.” Otto looked up and said,--“Thou art in the right; and, in truth, nothing can better serve to counteract useless grief and repining, than to look on that glorious vault, with its moving clouds and boundless depths of azure, which is now so bright above us!”

For some time the two youths lay outstretched on the turf, with their eyes fixed on the sky, when, lo! there came sailing through the air, right above them, a most beautiful falcon, at such a height that he seemed to them to be even above the sun, for the rays of golden light came under his wings and body. Rejoiced at this sight, Otto started up, and called and whistled like a true-bred falconer to the bird, which, however, would not come down to him. It was indeed easy to perceive that the hawk understood his signals, lowering its flight, for a certain space, and wheeling in circles round the knight. Thereafter, on a signal audibly made to him from another quarter of the forest, he clapped his wings, and resolutely made his way thither, swift as an arrow, over the trees. It was plain that he had now heard the voice of his proper master. “I am glad that he is gone,” said Theobaldo; “there is nothing which is to me more intolerable than a bird of this kind, thief and rogue as he is, with his crooked hook-bill, his glaring eyes, and long robberlike claws! What pleasure could you find in making him signals?” “After your manner,” said Sir Otto, “every animal or bird might be described as a monster; but I love all such creatures, and more especially the falcon, who is so wise and so faithful.” “Wise!” answered Theobaldo; “the devil himself has also wisdom; and if you call it fidelity to seize on every victim that falls within his power with his crooked talons, the devil too might boast of that virtue.” “You have never then rode out on a hawking excursion?” said Sir Otto. “It is among the prejudices of knightly rank,” answered Theobaldo, “to look on such things as a source of enjoyment.” “Nay, say not so,” replied Sir Otto; “such pastime is, on the contrary, like a twofold life. Above us are the winged hunters of the air; while beneath we have fleet horses, whirling us around the plains and meadows, while the free winds of heaven are whistling through our dishevelled hair, and we are cheered by the jocund shouts of the sportsmen. At length the falcon, like a magician, wheels in circles round his devoted prey, hovering and gleaming over him, till at last he comes down, and--and”----

At this moment Theobaldo’s bow sounded with a loud reverberation; and Otto, confused and disturbed in his discourse, looked round, till he saw the noble bird descending rapidly, vainly fluttering to support himself, with an arrow through one of his wings, over that side of the wood to which he had directed his flight when he left them. “Who commanded thee to injure the bird which I loved so dearly?” said the young knight, with his eyes darkly flashing. “I knew not surely that it was your falcon,” said Theobaldo; “and if, according to your own words, you love all such creatures, you should rejoice that the arrow which I have now shot has rescued some poor timid songster, which had concealed itself in the thickets of the forest.” “Thou art not appointed to be a judge in the wide realms of the eagle,” said Otto, discontentedly. “It may be so,” said Theobaldo; “nor, methinks, art thou more than any other mortal privileged to be a hunter therein.”

In this dispute, however, the young men were soon disturbed by the presence of a third party.