CHAPTER VI.

How Sir Otto departed from his father’s castle.

The old and the young knight greeted each other with a grave and melancholy demeanour. Sir Hugh then went to the high altar, lifted up the armour, and began to assist his son in bracing it on. The youth could hardly bring himself to receive service from hands so deeply honoured; but he knew the rules of knighthood, and therefore said not a word, whilst his father adjusted the cuirass, the corslet, the cuisses, finally set the helmet on his head, and even knelt down in order to buckle on his golden spurs. Both of them expressed wonder on finding that the sword-scabbard, which the old man had brought with him, now fitted exactly, so that the weapon could be drawn out and replaced without trouble, though heretofore this had been impossible. “It seems almost,” said Sir Hugh, “as if this old friend had seen service during the night. There must be a notch more or less on the blade!” At these words Otto thought with horror on his encounter with the skeleton; and as they passed by the gigantic coat of mail by which it was covered, he could not help turning a shy and involuntary glance on the figure. Sir Hugh observed this, and said,--“Has _he_ then disturbed you in the night? At this I should not wonder. Such at least would have been his conduct when living.” Otto made no answer, but gazed wistfully on the strange fashion of the armour, which in the morning light appeared more than ever remarkable. His attention was especially attracted by two vulture’s wings rising and protruding from the helmet, which, during the night, he had mistaken for great horns. At present the figure was indeed more frightful than it had been even in the night; and he called to mind certain marvellous stories, which his father had long ago told him, of a horrible man who wore vulture’s wings on his helmet.

But thereafter they came opposite to the pale, saintly, and benevolent features of his mother, and how soon were all impressions of the death’s-head, the black armour, and vulture’s wings forgotten! “Is then my mother’s grave in this chapel?” said Otto, in a tone of anxious inquiry. Sir Hugh looked mournfully, and shook his head in silence. “I beg then,” said the youth, “that some one may direct me to the spot, wherever it lies, that I may say my prayers there, as is fitting, before I go forth into the world. Only through ignorance has that duty been so long neglected.” “This is no proper hour to speak of graves, nor of the dead,” answered Sir Hugh, taking his son’s arm, and leading him rapidly from the chapel. Thereafter they came out upon the ramparts of the castle, amid the fresh fragrant breezes, while beneath them the landscape unfolded all its varied splendours; the noble Danube, with its meadows, forests, and distant mountains, brightened by the long slanting radiance and dazzling dewdrops of the morning. “Thou should’st not allow the rein to such womanish fantasies, young Knight of Trautwangen,” said the old man, giving his son a hearty shake; “it will be time enough for tears, and longings after graves, monuments, and such like, when thou art as old as I am now. But even then, such thoughts must be concealed within thine own breast. Wait here for the present, and enjoy the freshness of this May morning. When all is ready for thy departure thou shalt be sent for.”

The old hero then strode away from the rampart down to the castle, leaving the youth cheered and revived in spirit by the reprimand which he had just received, while his sanguine hopes of the future always gained more strength as the landscape grew brighter around him, and the air was filled with the music of skylarks, and joyous carolling of shepherds driving out their flocks on the meadows. While he was thus boldly stepping up and down, rejoicing in the martial clang of his weapons and silver armour, which to his ears harmonized so well with the gladness that reigned around him, he happened during his walk to strike on something concealed among the tall grass, which also sounded, but with a sad and mournful tone, as if complaining of unprovoked injury. Looking down, he perceived that it was Bertha’s lute, whose mistress must indeed have been lost in deep reverie, else she never would have left her beloved companion so carelessly among the damp moss and unfriendly dews. So he took up the poor neglected instrument, pulled off his iron glove, and seating himself in the grass, prepared, as well as he could, to console his forsaken cousin with a farewell melody. He began with praises of the spring and the beautiful scenes that were around him; but, alas! he sang no words that were fitted for Bertha’s ears. His fancy was soon kindled by dreams of the knightly career that awaited him, and the favour that he would gain by his exploits from the beautiful Gabrielle. Thus his melody was indeed jocund, and sounded so powerfully, that Bertha was attracted by the notes, and came unobserved to his side, with looks how changed from those which she had worn the preceding day! Her eyes were indeed still bright, but it was her tears only that glittered in the sun. “And this is then in truth your farewell song?” said she. Otto remained for a space silent and meditative, then answered,--“Dearest Bertha, that song has indeed expressed more than I intended; more indeed than I was well conscious of ere it was begun. Like the flowers, and the brightness of the new year, my own newly-awakened hopes and prospects dawned on my mind, and carried me quite away. For listen, dearest Bertha! We cannot longer disguise it from each other, that whatever this music has accidentally betrayed is but the truth. The strange lady, with her beauty and distress, has got complete possession of my heart, which is for the first time inspired with a chivalrous and knightly passion. Take courage then and be merry! Ere long there will doubtless appear some wandering knight-errant, who will arrive here as unexpectedly as Gabrielle has done, and for whose sake you will soon forget the fond foolish Otto.”

“Such a knight will never come hither,” said Bertha, mournfully; “and as for the distress of that lady, perhaps I too--” Here she blushed deeply, and was silent. “Nay,” said Otto vehemently, and starting up, “if you indeed should ever be in distress, then would I think of no other. My life and all my endeavours should be devoted to you alone.” “I shall not, however, choose you for my champion, Knight of Trautwangen,” said Bertha, proudly and coldly. “Believe me, if our pagan foes, as we read in the old histories, had bound me to the stake, with the devouring flames kindling around me, and you came up on horseback, arrayed in your bright armour as you are now, to offer your assistance, I would only say,--‘Thanks! I have no need of such a defender!’ and would cry out, ‘Pile on more flaming brands;’ and then I would extinguish them even with my tears; and yet methinks no! that might not be, for they are already too scorching!” With these words, weeping bitterly, she sank down upon the grass, and Otto, in the conflict of his feelings, accidentally drew his hand across the harp, so that one of the strings broke, with a long mournful intonation. Bertha raised herself up at the sound. “Mark,” said she, “how you treat all that belongs to me! Why have you first pulled off your iron gloves? With them you might have sooner broke my unfortunate harp into pieces. Give it to me, Sir Knight! This poor remembrance at least remains mine.” So she took the instrument vehemently out of his hands, and ran away. He called after her, but she only rocked the lute in her arms, as if it had been a child that had received some injury, drawing from it all the while mild and heart-moving tones, till, without once looking round, she vanished from his sight behind the chapel.

The stern deep voice of the old knight was now heard from the court, calling out repeatedly, “All is ready, all is ready! Sir Otto, come hither and mount your horse!” The youth then hastened down from the rampart, and found a number of cavalry squires in attendance; three of whom were holding by golden reins a light-brown charger, which he had often seen before, but had never dared to mount. On his appearance among them, “Young knight,” said Sir Hugh, with a forced smile, “parting and delay are both painful,--is it not so? Well, think then no more of the matter, but mount directly, and try how this noble steed will bear his new rider.” The young Sir Otto immediately sprang into the saddle, and rode his horse up and down with such extraordinary strength and agility, that all the by-standers expressed their admiration, insisting that this animal, whose disposition had been before wild and untameable, had at last found out and acknowledged his proper master. The venerable old knight was delighted, and stretched out his arms towards Sir Otto. “Dismount once more, dearest son,” cried he, “that ere you finally depart I may embrace and bless you.” Whereupon the youth threw himself from his horse with a great clang and rattle of his armour, and rushed into his father’s arms. The horse meanwhile snorted and plunged, till he had pulled the bridle from the hands of the squires, then trotted after his young master, stood quietly beside him, and even laid his head caressingly on his shoulder.

“Now, my son, depart in God’s name,” said Sir Hugh; “your attendants are already mounted and in waiting.” “There is yet one request which I had to prefer,” answered the youth, “and this perhaps my honoured father will not refuse to grant. It may be the last which I shall ever make here; for I must travel into far-distant lands, and have many a hard battle to encounter.” “My son,” said Sir Hugh, “one must avoid all words that sound like a foreboding of evil. Misfortune is ready enough to seize hold of every mortal, and the obstacles which often stand insurmountable betwixt us and our desires, form an easy and convenient ladder for our adversary to mount into our chambers. Therefore do not speak to me of last requests and so forth; but tell me at once what are your wishes, and they shall be fulfilled.” “Sir Knight,” answered Otto, “so far as I have yet heard or read of heroes and their exploits, they have always on their first adventures rode out alone. Such was the conduct of the great Seyfried, and of every one else that is most renowned. You have spoken, however, of a train to attend me; and I see a great number of armed horsemen in waiting; but I entreat that you will not thus send me forth like a spoiled child, who needs guidance and protection, but as a stout and wise champion, who, by his own independent strength, can both defend himself and afford assistance to others.” Hereupon Sir Hugh immediately ordered all the horsemen to dismount; “for,” said he, “my son has in such manner justified his request, that whatever my own wishes might be, it were a sin if I refused it to him. And now, young knight,” added he, “do not any longer delay your departure, for otherwise your old father’s heart will at last be too much moved. One injunction, however, I must yet offer you. Behave as courteously towards the Knight of Mountfaucon as the circumstances of your vow will permit; for, in his detention of the ring, he is not guilty of such injustice as you believe.”

Upon these words, Sir Otto flew, swift almost as a bird, into the saddle, and rode directly out of the court, while his old father returned, weeping bitterly, to his now lonely chambers. In his affliction, however, he appeared so dignified and worthy of respect, that no one of the household had courage then to meet his looks, or even go into his presence.

Just as Otto von Trautwangen came along at a hard trot across the meadow below the castle, Bertha and the old minstrel Walter were seated on the rampart, and looked mournfully down on his progress; for Bertha had confided all her sufferings and sorrow to the old man, who happened at this time to have made one of his accustomed visits to the castle. She was about to break out afresh into an agony of tears, when Master Walter said,--“Nay, nay, let us sing a farewell address to the young knight on his departure.” He then took his harp, and sung one stanza, to which Bertha responded; but as the minstrel began again, she made him a signal to be silent, for she could bear it no longer. Her voice faltered, and she wrapt herself closely in her veil. Meanwhile the soft notes of their music were borne down by the morning breezes to Sir Otto, who spurred his horse, and drew down his visor as if resolved to hear no more. It was the first time that he had ever worn a close helmet; and as he looked through its bars on the vernal landscape, his heart heaved within him, and was filled with new and strange sensations. The whole world appeared new and mysterious; but the bright roseate hues of the eastern sky prevailed in his mind, and over the scenery. He shouted aloud, encouraged his noble horse, and, like a new-fledged bird or butterfly of spring, pursued his way over fields, woods, and meadows, forgetting all sorrow in his bright prospects of the future.