CHAPTER V.

How Sir Otto watched his Armour through the night.

Aloft in the chapel-roof there shone, from afar, a single lamp, illuminating in such manner the fine Gothic arches, with their richly-carved branches and foliage, that one might have deemed himself under the shade of a long leafy avenue in a wood, and have looked up through the trees for the clear blue light of heaven. Meanwhile the ground of the chapel (like the earth itself to the weak eyes of mortals) remained, with all its forms and imagery, dim and doubtful. At first the young knight’s thoughts were wholly devout and religious. He knelt down with his hands folded over his sword-hilt, and holding up the cross, with which it was surmounted, like a crucifix before him, lifted up his eyes to the richly-fretted and illumined church-roof, reflecting by some natural associations on an event which had left deep impressions on his youthful mind. He remembered that his now sainted mother had died on a journey, without any other shelter than that of the forest trees. She was no longer able to speak with him, but, with sweet smiles and eyes still intelligent, had pointed to the brightblue vernal sky that was then visible above them. With his mother’s death other associations were soon united, till by degrees his attention came back again to his situation at the present moment. It occurred to him, with a feeling of self-reproach, how little he had hitherto thought of the chapel in which he was thus left alone at midnight, and, with a mixed emotion of curiosity and awe, he started up from his place at the altar.

Of the various forms that were visible along the walls, some projected so far, that, in the play of light and shadow, they almost moved and started into life. Others were only painted on the stone,--shadows themselves among the grotesque shades, which, by the lamp-light, were cast from other figures upon them. It seemed as if all this imagery must in some way or another be connected with his father’s past life; of which his knowledge was only like that which he had just now acquired of the chapel walls. There were certain scenes and events clear and intelligible, others only faintly guessed at or imagined, and the plan or connexion of the whole lost in dim twilight. So much was here plainly visible,--that there were divers sepulchral monuments, with their sombre adornments,--divers trophies formed of ponderous weapons and gigantic armour; for Sir Hugh had been a great conqueror,--had travelled not only in the holy oriental lands, and in the blooming west of Europe, but into the wild regions of the north, where there is far more winter than summer, and where the sun remains for many weeks under the horizon. It might be supposed, that from all these distant climes certain spoils or tokens had been brought hither, in order to collect, within the narrow space, proofs how wide and venturous had been the achievements of that ancient knight, whose career was now fast verging to its final close, when he would be confined within far narrower limits than even those of the chapel.

Great banners and Mohommetan horse-tails waved here and there in the night wind; crooked sabres, with their richly-adorned hilts, shone beside them, mingled with old rusty swords and halberts. There were whole coats of mail ranged as if in battle-array; and between them appeared sometimes the hard features of old men carved in stone on the walls, and sometimes mild female visages, on which the lamp-light shone like pale moonshine. Among these there was one by which the knight was earnestly and irresistibly attracted. He could scarcely view it properly, on account of the grim statues and armorial trophies by which it was environed, and yet he was convinced that it could only be the monument of his revered mother. It seemed as if the figure, with its right hand outstretched, made signs to him that he should approach nearer. He would have gone thither immediately, but knew not whether it was permitted him by the laws of knighthood to move so far from his armour, for the monument was at the further end of the chapel. A strange conflict then arose in his mind, which he could by no means tranquillize. His mother seemed constantly repeating her signals, till at last he even thought that he heard her voice, the same sweet tones recollected from his childhood, which had often soothed him in his dreams. “Dearest Otto,” said she, “come hither, though it were but for one moment! I have been so long among the dead, and so far removed from thee! Come then, and heed not thine armour, for it is under the protection of Heaven!” The youth was indeed aware that these sounds could not all come to him from without, but were mostly the work of his own imagination; however, his heart was in such degree moved by them, that at last he kneeled down before the altar, devoutly begging forgiveness, if he now infringed the rules of the sacred order to which he belonged, and thereafter went courageously towards the monument.

It was indeed the image of his mother, who was represented in the midst of a forest, with both hands uplifted to heaven, of which one only being visible to him from a distance, it had, therefore, seemed that she had made him signals. Now lie perceived that she directed them only towards the Giver of all Good, for her eyes were fixed on a golden triangle, which was represented among the deep-blue clouds. Whatever the figure and its adornments wanted in freshness and fidelity of resemblance, the youth’s imagination (though his eyes were now dim with tears) failed not to supply. It appeared as if he once more beheld actually the same azure and vernal sky, to which she had pointed at the hour of her death, and the green living forest, which then waved so pleasantly around him. Even this alone,--that the colours with which the countenance had once been painted were now faded away,--moved him unspeakably; for he remembered that his father, and others who were present, would not allow him to look on his mother’s pale and lifeless remains. “And yet,” said he, “I behold her now as she then was!” He considered seriously, whether this were not only the monument, but also the grave of the departed; but he could not recollect that any coffin had been deposited in the chapel, or that he had witnessed any funeral-procession.

Just then a great gust of wind swept through the aisle. The gates of the church and castle all groaned and rattled; an old banner right over his head began to wave and rustle; so that he started suddenly from his meditations, and looked anxiously round to his armour. Thereupon a gigantic figure came forward betwixt him and the altar, stretching out a long black arm towards the treasure over which he should have stood sentinel! Incensed, he directly rushed up to the dark apparition, and seized on it so violently, that the helmet which it wore fell rattling, along with various weapons, to the ground, while, through the cloud of dust that rose from the old rusty fragments, a fleshless skeleton’s head grinned out, as if scornfully, upon him. With horror he struck at it with his sword; whereupon the death’s-head, with the coat of mail and all its appurtenances, fell to the ground with a tremendous crash. Then, for the first time, he perceived plainly that no ghost nor supernatural visitant had come against him, but that it was only with one of the lifeless monuments projecting from the wall with which he had contended. A new duty thus devolved on him; he had to collect the whole together again; to make the old rusty coat of mail stand erect; especially to place the skull on the shoulders, and surmount it once more with the ponderous helmet. In the course of this labour, when he took up the death’s-head, it appeared that he had inflicted on it a deep scar with his sword, and could almost believe that it now grinned on him, not in scorn, but with pain and torment. This notion confused him strangely; and when he had set all to rights, he took off the helmet once more, in order to be convinced whether his imagination had misled him. Hereupon he perceived, that without doubt there were several wounds on the head, and that one of them (for he had struck but once) must have been inflicted by his sword; so that he hastened to cover up the frightful object. Returning then to the altar, he knelt down, and prayed to Heaven for forgiveness of the error which he had committed, in leaving the armour, which it was his duty to guard; in consequence of which the confusion of that spectral combat had been inflicted upon him. It seemed here as if the sacred image of our Redeemer over the sanctuary looked down kindly and encouragingly on him; and he was again tranquillized and cheerful. Sometimes, if the thought came with a chill shuddering over him, that his first combat, since he had been made a knight, had been with a ghastly defenceless skeleton; then his mother’s mild voice once more rose on his ears, softly chaunting four verses which he had often heard in a ballad composed by Walter the minstrel:--

“Dark night precedes the morn, So grief may joyaunce bring; And death leads through the wintry grave To life’s eternal spring.”

Thus, boldly and rejoicingly, he continued to walk up and down before the altar; and when the distant pale image once more seemed to repeat her signals, he only bowed his head, made a graceful salutation with his sword, and pointed to his armour, indicating that he durst not leave his duty. At length the light and fragrance of the morning came to him through the lofty windows; he heard the key turn in the massive door-lock, and Sir Hugh stepped into the chapel.