Title: The Two Captains
Author: La Motte-Fouqué, Friedrich Heinrich Karl, Freiherr de
Language: English
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THE TWO CAPTAINS.

By Friedrich Heinrich Karl, Freiherr de La Motte-Fouque



CHAPTER I.



A Mild summer evening was resting on the shores of Malaga, awakening the
guitar of many a merry singer among the ships in the harbor, and in
the city houses, and in many an ornamental garden villa. Emulating
the voices of the birds, the melodious tones greeted the refreshing
coolness, and floated like perfumed exhalations from meadow and water,
over the enchanting region. Some troops of infantry who were on the
shore, and who purposed to spend the night there, that they might be
ready for embarkation early on the following morning, forgot amid the
charms of the pleasant eventide that they ought to devote these last few
hours on European soil to ease and slumber; they began to sing military
songs, to drink to each other with their flasks filled to the brim with
the rich wine of Xeres, toasting to the long life of the mighty Emperor
Charles V., who was now besieging the pirate-nest Tunis, and to whose
assistance they were about to sail. The merry soldiers were not all
of one race. Only two companies consisted of Spaniards; the third
was formed of pure Germans, and now and then among the various
fellow-combatants the difference of manners and language had given
rise to much bantering. Now, however, the fellowship of the approaching
sea-voyage and of the glorious perils to be shared, as well as the
refreshing feeling which the soft southern evening poured over soul and
sense, united the band of comrades in perfect and undisturbed harmony.
The Germans tried to speak Castilian, and the Spaniards to speak German,
without its occurring to any one to make a fuss about the mistakes and
confusions that happened. They mutually helped each other, thinking of
nothing else but the good-will of their companions, each drawing near to
his fellow by means of his own language.

Somewhat apart from the merry tumult, a young German captain, Sir
Heimbert of Waldhausen, was reclining under a cork-tree, gazing
earnestly up at the stars, apparently in a very different mood to the
fresh, merry sociability which his comrades knew and loved in him.
Presently the Spanish captain, Don Fadrique Mendez, approached him;
he was a youth like the other, and was equally skilled in martial
exercises, but he was generally as austere and thoughtful as Heimbert
was cheerful and gentle. “Pardon, Senor,” began the solemn Spaniard, “if
I disturb you in your meditations. But as I have had the honor of often
seeing you as a courageous warrior and faithful brother in amrs in many
a hot encounter, I would gladly solicit you above all others to do me
a knightly service, if it does not interfere with your own plans and
projects for this night.” “Dear sir,” returned Heimbert courteously, “I
have certainly an affair of importance to attend to before sunrise,
but till midnight I am perfectly free, and ready to render you any
assistance as a brother in aims.” “Enough,” said Fadrique, “for at
midnight the tones must long have ceased with which I shall have taken
farewell of the dearest being I have ever known in this my native city.
But that you may be as fully acquainted with the whole affair as behoves
a noble companion, listen to me attentively for a few moments.

“Some time before I left Malaga to join the army of our great emperor
and to aid in spreading the glory of his arms through Italy, I was
devoted, after the fashion of young knights, to the service of a
beautiful girl in this city, named Lucila. She had at that time scarcely
reached the period which separates childhood from ripe maidenhood, and
as I--a boy only just capable of bearing arms--offered my homage with a
childlike, friendly feeling, it was also received by my young mistress
in a similar childlike manner. I marched at length to Italy, and as you
yourself know, for we have been companions since then, I was in many a
hot fight and in many an enchantingly alluring region in that luxurious
land. Amid all our changes, I held unalterably within me the image of my
gentle mistress, never pausing in the honorable service I had vowed to
her, although I cannot conceal from you that in so doing it was rather
to fulfil the word I had pledged at my departure than from any impelling
and immoderately ardent feeling in my heart. When we returned to my
native city from our foreign wanderings, a few weeks ago, I found my
mistress married to a rich and noble knight residing here. Fiercer
far than love had been was the jealousy--that almost almighty child of
heaven and hell--which now spurred me on to follow Lucila’s steps,
from her home to the church, from thence to the house of a friend, from
thence again to her home or to some noble circle of knights and ladies,
and all this as unweariedly and as closely as was possible. When I had
at length assured myself that no other young knight attended her, and
that she devoted herself entirely to the husband chosen for her by her
parents rather than desired by herself, I felt perfectly satisfied, and
I should not have troubled you at this moment had not Lucila approached
me the day before yesterday and whispered in my ear that I must not
provoke her husband, for he was very passionate and bold; that not the
slightest danger threatened her in the matter, because he loved and
honored her above everything, but that his wrath would vent itself
all the more furiously upon me. You can readily understand, my noble
comrade, that I could not help proving my contempt of all personal
danger by following Lucila more closely than ever, and singing nightly
serenades beneath her flower-decked windows till the morning star began
to be reflected in the sea. This very night Lucila’s husband sets out
at midnight for Madrid, and from that hour I will in every way avoid
the street in which they live; until then, however, as soon as it
is sufficiently dark to be suitable for a serenade, I will have
love-romances unceasingly sang before his house. It is true I have
information that not only he but Lucila’s brothers are really to enter
upon a quarrel with me, and it is for this reason, Senor, that I have
requested you to bear me company with your good sword in this short
expedition.”

Heimbert seized the Spaniard’s hand as a pledge of his readiness, saying
as he did so, “To show you, dear sir, how gladly I will do what you
desire of me, I will requite your confidence with confidence, and will
relate a little incident which occurred to me in this city, and will beg
you after midnight also to render me a small service. My story is short,
and will not detain us longer than we must wait before the twilight has
become deeper and more gloomy.

“On the day after we arrived here I amused myself with walking in the
beautiful gardens with which the place abounds. I have now been long
in these southern lands, but I cannot but believe that the dreams which
transport me nightly back to my German home are the cause for my feeling
everything here so strange and astonishing. At all events, every morning
when I wake I wonder anew, as if I were only just arrived. So I was
walking then, like one infatuated, among the aloe trees, which were
scattered among the laurels and oleanders. Suddenly a cry sounded near
me, and a slender girl, dressed in white, fled into my arms, fainting,
while her companions dispersed past us in every direction. A soldier
can always tolerably soon gather his senses together, and I speedily
perceived a furious bull was pursuing the beautiful maiden. I threw
her quickly over a thickly planted hedge, and followed her myself, upon
which the beast, blind with rage, passed us by, and I have heard no more
of it since, except that some young knights in an adjacent courtyard had
been making a trial with it previous to a bull-fight, and that it was on
this account that it had broken so furiously through the gardens.

“I was now standing quite alone, with the fainting lady in my arms, and
she was so wonderfully beautiful to look at that I have never in my life
felt happier than I then did, and also never sadder. At last I laid
her down on the turf, and sprinkled her angelic brow, with water from a
neighboring little fountain. And so she came to herself again, and when
she opened her bright and lovely eyes I thought I could imagine how the
glorified spirits must feel in heaven.

“She thanked me with graceful and courteous words, and called me her
knight; but in my state of enchantment I could not utter a syllable, and
she must have almost thought me dumb. At length my speech returned, and
the prayer at once was breathed forth from my heart, that the sweet lady
would often again allow me to see her in this garden; for that in a few
weeks the service of the emperor would drive me into the burning land
of Africa, and that until then she should vouchsafe me the happiness
of beholding her. She looked at me half smiling, half sadly, and said,
‘Yes.’ And she has kept her word and has appeared almost daily, without
our having yet spoken much to each other. For although she has been
sometimes quite alone, I could never begin any other topic but that of
the happiness of walking by her side. Often she has sung to me, and I
have sung to her also. When I told her yesterday that our departure was
so near, her heavenly eyes seemed to me suffused with tears. I must also
have looked sorrowful, for she said to me, in a consoling tone, ‘Oh,
pious, childlike warrior! one may trust you as one trusts an angel.’
After midnight, before the morning dawn breaks for your departure, I
give you leave to take farewell of me in this very spot. If you could,
however, find a true and discreet comrade to watch the entrance from the
street, it would be well, for many a soldier may be passing at that hour
through the city on his way from some farewell carouse. Providence has
now sent me such a comrade, and at one o’clock I shall go joyfully to
the lovely maiden.”

“I only wish the service on which you require me were more rich in
danger,” rejoined Fadrique, “so that I might better prove to you that
I am yours with life and limb. But come, noble brother, the hour for my
adventure is arrived.”

And wrapped in their mantles, the youths walked hastily toward the city,
Fadrique carrying his beautiful guitar under his arm.



CHAPTER II.



The night-smelling flowers in Lucila’s window were already beginning to
emit their refreshing perfume when Fadrique, leaning in the shadow of
the angle of an old church opposite, began to tune his guitar. Heimbert
had stationed himself not far from him, behind a pillar, his drawn sword
under his mantle, and his clear blue eyes, like two watching stars,
looking calmly and penetrating around. Fadrique sang:


                  “Upon a meadow green with spring,
                   A little flower was blossoming,
                   With petals red and snowy white;
                   To me, a youth, my soul’s delight
                        Within that blossom lay,
                   And I have loved my song to indite
                        And flattering homage pay.

                  “Since then a wanderer I have been,
                   And many a bloody strife have seen;
                        And now returned, I see
                   The little floweret stands no more
                   Upon the meadow as before;
                   Transplanted by a gardener’s care,
                   And hedged by golden trellis there,
                        It is denied to me.

                  “I grudge him not his trelllsed guard,
                   His bolts of iron, strongly barred;
                   Yet, wandering in the cool night-air,
                        I touch my zither’s string,
                   And as afore her beauties rare,
                   Her wondrous graces sing,
                   And e’en the gardener shall not dare
                        Refuse the praise I bring.”


“That depends, Senor,” said a man, stepping close, and as he thought
unobserved, before Fadrique; but the latter had already been informed
of his approach by a sign from his watchful friend, and he was therefore
ready to answer with the greater coolness, “If you wish, Senor, to
commence a suit with my guitar, she has, at all events, a tongue of
steel, which has already on many occasions done her excellent service.
With whom is it your pleasure to speak, with the guitar or the
advocate?”

While the stranger was silent from embarrassment, two mantled figures
had approached Heimbert and remained standing a few steps from him,
as if to cut off Fadrique’s flight in case he intended to escape. “I
believe, dear sirs,” said Heimbert in a courteous tone, “we are here on
the same errand--namely, to prevent any intrusion upon the conference of
yonder knights. At least, as far as I am concerned, you may rely upon it
that any one who attempts to interfere in their affair will receive my
dagger in his heart. Be of good cheer, therefore; I think we shall both
do our duty.” The two gentlemen bowed courteously and were silent.

The quiet self-possession with which the two soldiers carried on the
whole affair was most embarrassing to their three adversaries, and
they were at a loss to know how they should begin the dispute. At last
Fadrique again touched the strings of his guitar, and was preparing
to begin another song. This mark of contempt and apparent disregard of
danger and hazard so enraged Lucila’s husband (for it was he who had
taken his stand by Don Fadrique) that without further delay he drew his
sword from his sheath, and with a voice of suppressed rage called out,
“Draw, or I shall stab you!” “Very gladly, Senor,” replied Fadrique
quietly; “you need not threaten me; you might as well have said so
calmly.” And so saying he placed his guitar carefully in a niche in the
church wall, seized his sword, and, bowing gracefully to his opponent,
the fight, began.

At first the two figures by Heimbert’s side, who were Lucila’s brothers,
remained quite quiet; but when Fadrique began to get the better of their
brother-in-law they appeared as if they intended to take part in the
fight. Heimbert therefore made his mighty sword gleam in the moonlight,
and said, “Dear sirs, you will not surely oblige me to execute that of
which I previously assured you? I pray you not to compel me to do so;
but if it cannot be otherwise, I must honorably keep my word, you may
rely upon it.” The two young men remained from that time motionless,
surprised both at the decision and at the true-hearted friendliness that
lay in Heimbert’s words.

Meanwhile Don Fadrique, although pressing hard upon his adversary,
had generously avoided wounding him, and when at last by a dexterous
movement he wrested his sword from him. Lucila’s husband, surprised at
the unexpected advantage, and in alarm at being thus disarmed, retreated
a few steps. But Fadrique threw the weapon adroitly into the air, and
catching it again near the point of the blade, he said, as he gracefully
presented the hilt to his opponent, “Take it, Senor, and I hope
our affair of honor is now settled, as you will grant under these
circumstances that I am only here to show that I fear no sword-thrust in
the world. The bell of the old cathedral is now ringing twelve o’clock,
and I give you my word of honor as a knight and a soldier that neither
is Dona Lucila pleased with my attentions nor am I pleased with paying
them; from henceforth, and were I to remain a hundred years in Malaga,
I would not continue to serenade her in this spot. So proceed on your
journey, and God be with you.” He then once more greeted his conquered
adversary with serious and solemn courtesy, and withdrew. Heimbert
followed him, after having cordially shaken hands with the two youths,
saying, “No, dear young sirs, do not let it ever again enter your heads
to interfere in any honorable contest. Do you understand me?”

He soon overtook his companion, and walked on by his side so full of
ardent expectation, and with his heart beating so joyfully and yet so
painfully, that he could not utter a single word. Don Fadrique Mendez
was also silent; it was not till Heimbert paused before an ornamented
garden-gate, and pointed cheerfully to the pomegranate boughs richly
laden with fruits which overhung it, saying, “This is the place, dear
comrade,” that the Spaniard appeared as if about to ask a question,
but turning quickly round he merely said, “I am pledged to guard this
entrance for you till dawn. You have my word of honor for it.” So saying
he began walking to and fro before the gate, with drawn sword, like a
sentinel, and Heimbert, trembling with joy, glided within the gloomy and
aromatic shrubberies.



CHAPTER III



He was not long in seeking the bright star, which he indeed felt was
destined henceforth to guide the course of his whole life. The delicate
form approached him not far from the entrance; weeping softly, it seemed
to him, in the light of the full moon which was just rising, and yet
smiling with such infinite grace, that her tears were rather like a
pearly ornament than a veil of sorrow. In deep and infinite joy and
sorrow the two lovers wandered silently together through the flowery
groves; now and then a branch waving in the night-air would touch the
guitar on the lady’s arm, and it would breathe forth a slight murmur
which blended with the song of the nightingale, or the delicate fingers
of the girl would tremble over the strings and awaken a few scattered
chords, while the shooting stars seemed as if following the tones of the
instrument as they died away. Oh, truly happy was this night both to
the youth and the maiden, for no rash wish or impure desire passed even
fleetingly across their minds. They walked on side by side, happy that
Providence had allowed them this delight, and so little desiring any
other blessing that even the transitoriness of that they were now
enjoying floated away into the background of their thoughts.

In the middle of the beautiful garden there was a large open lawn,
ornamented with statues and surrounding a beautiful and splashing
fountain. The two lovers sat down on its brink, now gazing at the waters
sparkling in the moonlight, and now delighting in the contemplation
of each other’s beauty. The maiden touched her guitar, and Heimbert,
impelled by a feeling scarcely intelligible to himself, sang the
following words to it:


                  “There is a sweet life linked with mine,
                      But I cannot tell its name;
                   Oh, would it but to me consign
                   The secret of that life divine,
                   That so my lips in whispers sweet
                   And gentle songs might e’en repeat
                      All that my heart would fain proclaim!”


He suddenly paused, and blushed deeply, fearing he had been too bold.
The lady blushed also, touched her guitar-strings with a half-abstracted
air, and at last sang as if dreamily:


                  “By the spring where moonlight’s gleams
                      O’er the sparkling waters pass,
                   Who is sitting by the youth,
                      Singing on the soft green grass?
                   Shall the maiden tell her name,
                      When though all unknown it be,
                   Her heart is glowing with her shame,
                      And her cheeks burn anxiously,
                   First, let the youthful knight be named.
                     ‘Tis he that on that glorious day
                      Fought in Castilla’s proud array;

                     ‘Tis he the youth of sixteen years,
                   At Pavia, who his fortunes tried,
                   The Frenchman’s fear, the Spaniard’s pride.
                      Heimbert is the hero’s name,
                      Victorious in many a fight!
                      And beside the valiant knight,
                      Sitting in the soft green grass,
                   Though her name her lips shall pass,
                      Dona Clara feels no shame ”


“Oh!” said Heimbert, blushing from another cause than before, “oh,
Dona Clara, that affair at Pavia was nothing but a merry and victorious
tournament, and even if occasionally since then I have been engaged in
a tougher contest, how have I ever merited as a reward the overwhelming
bliss I am now enjoying! Now I know what your name is, and I may
in future address you by it, my angelic Dona Clara, my blessed and
beautiful Dona Clara! But tell me now, who has given you such a
favorable report of my achievements, that I may ever regard him with
grateful affection?”

“Does the noble Heimbert of Waldhausen suppose,” rejoined Clara, “that
the noble houses of Spain had none of their sons where he stood in the
battle? You must have surely seen them fighting by your side, and must I
not have heard of your glories through the lips of my own people?”

The silvery tones of a little bell sounded just then from a neighboring
palace, and Clara whispered, “It is time to part. Adieu, my hero!” And
she smiled on the youth through her gushing tears, and bent toward him,
and he almost fancied he felt a sweet kiss breathed from her lips. When
he fully recovered himself Clara had disappeared, the morning clouds
were beginning to wear the rosy hue of dawn, and Heimbert, with a heaven
of love’s proud happiness in his heart, returned to his watchful friend
at the garden gate.



CHAPTER IV.



“Halt!” exclaimed Fadrique, as Heimbert appeared from the garden,
holding his drawn sword toward him ready for attack. “Stop, you are
mistaken, my good comrade,” said the German, smiling, “it is I whom you
see before you.” “Do not imagine, Knight Heimbert of Waldhausen,” said
Fadrique, “that I mistake you. But my promise is discharged, my hour of
guard has been honorably kept, and now I beg you without further delay
to prepare yourself, and fight for your life until heart’s blood has
ceased to flow through these veins.” “Good heavens!” sighed Heimbert,
“I have often heard that in these southern lands there are witches, who
deprive people of their senses by magic arts and incantations. But
I have never experienced anything of the sort until to-day. Compose
yourself, my dear good comrade, and go with me back to the shore.”
 Fadrique laughed fiercely, and answered, “Set aside your silly delusion,
and if you must have everything explained to you, word by word, in order
to understand it, know then that the lady whom you came to meet in the
shrubbery of this my garden is Dona Clara Mendez, my only sister. Quick,
therefore, and without further preamble, draw!” “God forbid!” exclaimed
the German, not touching his weapon. “You shall be my brother-in-law,
Fadrique, and not my murderer, and still less will I be yours.” Fadrique
only shook his head indignantly, and advanced toward his comrade with
measured steps for an encounter. Heimbert, however, still remained
immovable, and said, “No, Fadrique, I cannot now or ever do you harm.
For besides the love I bear your sister, it must certainly have been you
who has spoken to her so honorably of my military expeditions in
Italy.” “When I did so,” replied Fadrique in a fury, “I was a fool. But,
dallying coward, out with your sword, or--”

Before Fadrique had finished speaking, Heimbert, burning with
indignation, exclaimed, “The devil himself could not bear that!” and
drawing his sword from the scabbard, the two young captains rushed
fiercely and resolutely to the attack.

Different indeed was this contest to that previously fought by Fadrique
with Lucila’s husband. The two young soldiers well understood their
weapons, and strove with each other with equal boldness, their swords
flashing like rays of light as now this one now that one hurled a
lightning thrust at his adversary, which was with similar speed and
dexterity turned aside. Firmly they pressed the left foot, as if rooted
in the ground, while the right advanced to the bold onset and then
again they quickly retired to the safer attitude of defence. From the
self-possession and the quiet unremitting anger with which both the
combatants fought, it was evident that one of the two would find his
grave under the overhanging branches of the orange-tree, which were now
tinged with the red glow of morning, and this would undoubtedly have
been the case had not the report of a cannon from the harbor sounded
through the silence of the twilight.

The combatants paused, as if at some word of command to be obeyed by
both, and listened, counting to themselves; then, as each uttered the
number thirty, a second gun was heard. “It is the signal for immediate
embarkation, Senor,” said Don Fadrique; “we are now in the emperor’s
service, and all dispute ceases which is not against the foes of Charles
the Fifth.” “Right,” replied Heimbert, “but when there is an end of
Tunis and the whole war. I shall demand satisfaction for that ‘dallying
coward.’” “And I for that in intercourse with my sister,” said Fadrique.
“Certainly,” rejoined the other; and, so saying, the two captains
hurried down to the strand and arranged the embarkation of their troops;
while the sun, rising over the sea, shone upon them both in the same
vessel.



CHAPTER V.



The voyagers had for some time to battle with contrary winds, and when
at length they came in sight of the coasts of Barbary the darkness of
evening had closed so deeply over the sea that no pilot in the little
squadron ventured to ride at anchor on the shallow shore. They cruised
about on the calm waters, waiting for the morning; and the soldiers,
full of laudable ambition for combat, stood impatiently in crowds on the
deck, straining their longing eyes to see the theatre of their future
deeds.

Meanwhile the heavy firing of besiegers and besieged thundered
unceasingly from the fortress of Goletta, and as the night darkened the
scene with massy clouds, the flames of burning fragments became more
visible, and the fiery course of the red bullets was perceptible as
they crossed each other in their path, while their effects in fire and
devastation were fearful to behold. It was evident that the Mussulmans
had been attempting a sally, for a sharp fire of musketry burst forth
suddenly amid the roaring of the cannon. The fight was approaching the
trenches of the Christians, and on board the vessels none were agreed
whether the besiegers were in danger or not. At length they saw that
the Turks were driven back into the fortress; the Christian army
pursued them, and a shout was heard from the Spanish camp as of one loud
Victory! and the cry, Goletta was taken!

How the troops on board the vessels--consisting of young and
courage-tried men--burned with ardor and their hearts beat at the
glorious spectacle, need not be detailed to those who carry a brave
heart within their own bosoms, and to all others any description would
be lost. Heimbert and Fadrique stood close to each other. “I do not
know,” said the latter, speaking to himself, “but I feel as if to-morrow
I must plant my standard upon yonder height which is now lighted up with
the red glow of the bullets and burning flames in Goletta.” “That is
just what I feel!” said Heimbert. The two angry captains then relapsed
into silence and turned indignantly away.

The longed-for morning at length dawned, the vessels approached the
shore, and the landing of the troops began, while an officer was at once
dispatched to the camp to announce the arrival of the reinforcements to
the mighty general Alba. The soldiers were hastily ranged on the beach,
they put themselves and their weapons in order, and were soon standing
in battle array, ready for their great leader. Clouds of dust rose in
the gray twilight, the returning officer announced the approach of the
general, and as Alba signifies “morning” in the Castilian tongue, the
Spaniards raised a shout of rejoicing at the coincidence, as at some
favorable omen, for as the knightly train approached the first beams of
the rising sun became visible.

The grave and haggard form of the general was seen mounted on a tall
Andalusian charger of the deepest black. Having galloped once up and
down the lines, he stopped his powerful horse in the middle, and looking
along the ranks with an air of grave satisfaction, he said, “You pass
muster well. That is well. I like it to be so. It is plain to see that
you are tried soldiers, in spite of your youth. We will first hold a
review, and then I will lead you to something more agreeable.”

So saying, he dismounted, and walking toward the right wing he began to
inspect one troop after another in the closest manner, with the captain
of each company at his side, that he might receive from him accurate
account upon the minutest particulars. Sometimes a cannon-ball from the
fortress would whizz over the heads of the men; then Alba would stand
still and cast a keen glance over the soldiers before him. But when he
saw that not an eyelash moved, a smile of satisfaction passed over his
severe pale face.

When he had inspected both divisions he again mounted his horse and once
more galloped into the middle. Then, stroking his long beard, he said,
“You are in good order, soldiers, and therefore you shall take your
part in this glorious day, which is just dawning for our whole Christian
armada. We will attack Barbarossa, soldiers. Do you not already hear the
drums and fifes in the camp? Do you see him advancing yonder to meet the
emperor? That side of his position is assigned to you!”

“Vivat Carolus Quintus!” resounded through the ranks. Alba beckoned
the captains to him, and assigned to each his duty. He usually mingled
German and Spanish troops together, in order to stimulate the courage of
the combatants still higher by emulation. So it happened even now that
Heimbert and Fadrique were commanded to storm the very same height,
which, now gleaming with the morning light, they at once recognized
as that which had shone out so fiercely and full of promise the night
before.



CHAPTER VI.



Thrice had Fadrique and Heimbert almost forced their way to a rampart
in the fortifications, and thrice had they been repulsed with their
men into the valley below by the fierce opposition of the Turks. The
Mussulmans shouted after the retreating foe, clashed their weapons with
the triumph of victory, and with a scornful laugh asked whether they
would not come up again to give heart and brain to the scimitar and
their limbs to the falling beams of wood. The two captains, gnashing
their teeth with fury, arranged their ranks anew; for after three vain
assaults they had to move closer together to fill the places of the
slain and the mortally wounded. Meanwhile a murmur ran through the
Christian army that a witch was fighting among their foes and helping
them to conquer.

Duke Alba rode to the point of attack, and looked scrutinizingly at the
breach they had made. “Not yet broken through the enemy here!” said
he, shaking his head, “I am surprised. From two such youths, and such
troops, I should have expected it.” “Do you hear that? Do you hear
that?” exclaimed the two captains, as they paced along their lines
repeating the general’s words. The soldiers shouted loudly, and demanded
to be once more led against the enemy; even those who were mortally
wounded shouted, with a last effort, “Forward, comrades!” The great Alba
at once sprang like an arrow from his horse, wrested a partisan from
the stiff hand of one of the slain, and standing in front of the two
companies he cried, “I will take part in your glory. In the name of God
and of the blessed Virgin, forward, my children!”

And joyfully they rushed up the hill, every heart beating with
confidence, while the war-cry was raised triumphantly; some even began
already to shout “Victory! victory!” and the Mussulmans paused and
wavered. Suddenly, like the vision of an avenging angel, a maiden,
dressed in purple garments embroidered with gold appeared in the Turkish
ranks, and those who were terrified before again shouted “Allah!”
 calling at the same time, “Zelinda, Zelinda!” The maiden, however, drew
a small box from under her arm, and opening it she breathed into it
and hurled it down among the Christian troops. And forth from the fatal
chest there burst a whole fire of rockets, grenades, and other fearful
messengers of death. The startled soldiers paused in their assault.
“Forward!” cried Alba. “Forward!” cried the two captains; but a flaming
arrow just then fastened on the duke’s plumed hat and hissed and
crackled round his head, so that the general fell fainting down the
height. Then the German and Spanish infantry fled uncontrollably from
the fearful ascent. Again the storm had been repulsed. The Mussulmans
shouted, and like a fatal star Zelinda’s beauty shone in the midst of
the flying troops.

When Alba opened his eyes, Heimbert was standing over him, with his
mantle, arm, and face scorched with the fire, which he had not only just
extinguished on his general’s head, but by throwing himself over him he
had saved him from a second body of flame rolled down the height in the
same direction. The duke was thanking his youthful deliverer when some
soldiers came up, looking for him, to apprise him that the Saracen power
was beginning an attack on the opposite wing of the army. Without losing
a word Alba threw himself on the first horse brought him and galloped
away to the spot where the most threatening danger summoned him.

Fadrique stood with his glowing eye fixed on the rampart, where the
brilliant form of Zelinda might be seen, with a two-edged spear, ready
to be hurled, uplifted by her snow-white arm, and raising her voice,
now in encouraging tones to the Mussulmans in Arabic, and again speaking
scornfully to the Christians in Spanish. At last Fadrique exclaimed,
“Oh, foolish being! she thinks to daunt me, and yet she places herself
before me, an alluring and irresistible war-prize!”

And as if magic wings had sprung from his shoulders, he began to fly up
the height with such rapidity that Alba’s violent descent seemed but
a lazy snail’s pace. Before any one was aware, he was already on the
height, and wresting spear and shield from the maiden, he had seized
her in his arms and was attempting to bear her away, while Zelinda in
anxious despair clung to the palisade with both her hands. Her cry for
help was unavailing, partly because the Turks imagined that the magic
power of the maiden was annihilated by the almost equally wondrous deed
of the youth, and partly also because the faithful Heimbert, quickly
perceiving his comrade’s daring feat, had led both troops to a renewed
attack, and now stood by his side on the height, fighting hand to hand
with the defenders. This time the fury of the Mussulmans, weakened as
they were by superstition and surprise, could avail nothing against
the heroic advance of the Christian soldiers. The Spaniards and Germans
speedily broke through the enemy, assisted by the watchful squadrons of
their army. The Mohammedans fled with frightful howling, the battle with
its stream of victory rolled ever on, and the banner of the holy German
empire and that of the royal house of Castile waved victorious over the
glorious battle-field before the walls of Tunis.



CHAPTER VII.



In the confusion of the conquering and the conquered, Zelinda had
wrested herself from Fadrique’s arms and had fled from him with such
swiftness that, however much love and desire might have given wings to
his pursuit, she was soon out of sight in a spot so well known to her.
All the more vehement was the fury of the excited Spaniard against the
infidel foe. Wherever a little host made a fresh stand to oppose
the Christians, he would hasten forward with the troops, who ranged
themselves round him, resistless as he was, as round a banner of
victory, while Heimbert ever remained at his side like a faithful
shield, guarding off many a danger to which the youth, intoxicated with
rage and success, exposed himself without consideration. The following
day they heard of Barbarossa’s flight from the city, and the victorious
troops advanced without resistance through the gates of Tunis.
Fadrique’s and Heimbert’s companies were always together.

Thick clouds of smoke began to curl through the streets; the soldiers
were obliged to shake off the glowing and dusty flakes from their
mantles and richly plumed helmets, where they often rested smouldering.
“I trust the enemy in his despair has not set fire to some magazine full
of powder!” exclaimed the thoughtful Heimbert; and Fadrique, allowing
by a sign that he agreed with his surmise, hastened on to the spot from
whence the smoke proceeded, the troops courageously pressing after him.

The sudden turn of a street brought them in view of a magnificent
palace, from the beautifully ornamented windows of which the flames
were emerging, looking like torches of death in their fitful glow,
and lighting up the splendid building in the hour of its ruin in the
grandest manner, now illuminating this and now that part of the gigantic
structure, and then again relapsing into a fearful darkness of smoke and
vapor.

And like some faultless statue, the ornament of the whole edifice, there
stood Zelinda upon a high and giddy projection, while the tongues of
flame wreathed around her from below, calling to her companions in the
faith to help her in saving the wisdom of centuries which was preserved
in this building. The projection on which she stood began to totter from
the fervent heat raging beneath it, and a few stones gave way; Fadrique
called with a voice full of anguish to the endangered lady, and scarcely
had she withdrawn her foot from the spot, when the stone on which she
had been standing broke away and came rattling down on the pavement.
Zelinda disappeared within the burning palace, and Fadrique rushed up
its marble staircase, Heimbert, his faithful companion, following him.

Their hasty steps carried them through lofty resounding halls; the
architecture over their heads was a maze of high arches, and one chamber
led into another almost like a labyrinth. The walls displayed on all
sides magnificent shelves, in which were to be seen stored rolls of
parchment, papyrus, and palm-leaf, partly inscribed with the characters
of long-vanished centuries, and which were now to perish themselves.
For the flames were already crackling among them and stretching their
serpent-like and fiery heads from one case of treasures to another;
while some Spanish soldiers, barbarous in their fury, and hoping for
plunder, and finding nothing but inscribed rolls within the gorgeous
building, passed from disappointment to rage, and aided the flames; the
more so as they regarded the inscriptions as the work of evil magicians.
Fadrique flew as in a dream through the strange half-consumed halls,
ever calling Zelinda! thinking and regarding nothing but her enchanting
beauty. Long did Heimbert remain at his side, until at length they
both reached a cedar staircase leading to an upper story; here Fadrique
paused to listen, and exclaiming, “She is speaking up there! she is
speaking loud! she needs my help!” he dashed up the already burning
steps. Heimbert hesitated a moment; he saw the staircase already
tottering, and he thought to give a warning cry to his companion; but
at the same moment the light ornamental ascent gave way and burst into
flames. He could just see Fadrique clinging above to a brass grating
and swinging himself up to it, but all means of following him were
destroyed. Quickly recollecting himself, Heimbert lost no time in idly
gazing, but hastened through the adjacent halls in search of another
flight of steps which would lead him to his vanished friend.

Meanwhile Fadrique, following the enchanting voice, had reached a
gallery in the midst of which, the floor having fallen in, there was
a fearful abyss of flames, though the pillars on each side were still
standing. Opposite to him the youth perceived the longed-for maiden,
clinging with one hand to a pillar, while with the other she was
threatening back some Spanish soldiers, who seemed ready at any moment
to seize her, and her delicate foot was already hovering over the edge
of the glowing ruins. For Fadrique to go to her was impossible; the
breadth of the opening rendered even a desperate leap unavailing.
Trembling lest his call might make the maiden precipitate herself into
the abyss, either in terror or despairing anger, he only softly raised
his voice and whispered as with a breath over the flaming gulf, “Oh,
Zelinda, Zelinda! do not give way to such frightful thoughts! Your
preserver is here!” The maiden turned her queenly head, and when
Fadrique saw her calm and composed demeanor, he cried to the soldiers on
the other side, with all the thunder of his warrior’s voice, “Back, ye
insolent plunderers! Whoever advances but one step to the lady shall
feel the vengeance of my arm!” They started and seemed on the point of
withdrawing, when one of their number said, “The knight cannot touch
us, the gulf between us is too broad for that. And as for the lady’s
throwing herself down--it almost looks as if the young knight were
her lover, and whoever has a lover is not likely to be so hasty about
throwing herself down.” All laughed at this and again advanced. Zelinda
tottered at the edge of the abyss. But with the courage of a lion
Fadrique had torn his target from his arm, and hurling it with his right
hand he flung it at the soldiers with such a sure aim that the rash
leader, struck on the head, fell senseless to the ground. The rest again
stood still. “Away with you!” cried Fadrique authoritatively, “or my
dagger shall strike the next as surely, and then I swear I will never
rest till I have found out your whole gang and appeased my rage.” The
dagger gleamed in the youth’s hand, but yet more fearfully gleamed the
fury in his eyes, and the soldiers fled. Then Zelinda bowed gratefully
to her preserver, took up a roll of palm-leaves which lay at her feet,
and which must have previously slipped from her hand, and then vanished
hastily through a side-door of the gallery. Henceforth Fadrique sought
her in vain in the burning palace.



CHAPTER VIII.



The great Alba held a council with his chief officers in an open place
in the middle of the conquered city, and, by means of interpreters, sent
question after question to the Turkish prisoners as to the fate of the
beautiful woman who had been seen animating them on the ramparts, and
who was certainly the most exquisite enchantress that had ever visited
the earth. Nothing very distinct was to be gained from the answers, for
although the interrogated all knew of the the beautiful Zelinda as a
noble lady versed in magic lore, and acknowledged by the whole people,
they were utterly unable to state from whence she had come to Tunis
and whither she had now fled. When at last they began to threaten the
prisoners as obstinate, an old Dervish, hitherto unnoticed, pressed
forward and said, with a gloomy smile, “Whoever has a desire to seek
the lady may set out when he chooses; I will conceal nothing from him of
what I know of her direction, and I know something. But I must first of
all receive the promise that I shall not be compelled to accompany as
guide. My lips otherwise will remain sealed forever, and you may do with
me as you will.”

He looked like one who intended to keep his word, and Alba, pleased with
the firmness of the man, which harmonized well with his own mind, gave
him the desired assurance, and the Dervish began his relation. He
was once, he said, wandering in the almost infinite desert of Sahara,
impelled perhaps by rash curiosity, perhaps by higher motives; he had
lost his way there, and had at last, wearied to death, reached one of
those fertile islands of that sea of sand which are called oases.
Then followed, sparkling with oriental vivacity, a description of the
wonderful things seen there, now filling the hearts of his hearers
with sweet longing, and then again making their hair stand on end with
horror, though from the strange pronunciation of the speaker and the
flowing rapidity of his words the half was scarcely understood. The end
of all this at length was that Zelinda dwelt on that oasis, in the midst
of the pathless sand-plains of the desert, surrounded by magic horrors;
and also, as the Dervish knew for certain, that she had left about half
an hour ago on her way thither. The almost contemptuous words with which
he concluded his narration plainly showed that he desired nothing more
earnestly than to seduce some Christians to undertake a journey which
must terminate inevitably in their destruction. At the same time he
added a solemn oath that everything was truly as he had stated it, and
he did this in a firm and grave manner, as a man who knows that he
is speaking the most indubitable truth. Surprised and thoughtful, the
circle of officers held their council round him.

Then Heimbert stepped forward with an air as if of request; he had
just received a summons to leave the burning palace, where he had been
seeking his friend, and had been appointed to the place of council
because it was necessary to arrange the troops here in readiness for
any possible rising in the conquered city. “What do you wish, my young
hero?” said Alba, recognizing him as he appeared. “I know your smiling,
blooming countenance well. You were but lately sheltering me like a
protecting angel. I am so sure that you make no request but what is
honorable and knightly that anything you may possibly desire is granted
beforehand.” “My great Duke,” replied Heimbert, with cheeks glowing
with pleasure, “if I may then venture to ask a favor, will you grant
me permission to follow the beautiful Zelinda at once in the direction
which this wonderful Dervish has pointed out?” The great general bowed
in assent, and added, “So noble an adventure could not be consigned to a
more noble knight!”

“I do not know that!” said an angry voice from the throng. “But well do
I know that to me above all others this adventure belongs, even were it
assigned as a reward for the capture of Tunis. For who was the first on
the height and within the city?” “That was Don Fadrique Mendez,” said
Heimbert, taking the speaker by the hand and leading him before the
general. “If I now for his sake must forfeit my promised reward, I must
patiently submit; for he has rendered better service than I have done to
the emperor and the army.”

“Neither of you shall forfeit his reward,” said the great Alba. “Each
has permission from this moment to seek the maiden in whatever way it
seems to him most advisable.”

And swift as lightning the two young captains quitted the circle of
officers in opposite directions.



CHAPTER IX.



A sea of sand, stretching out in the distant horizon, without one object
to mark its extensive surface, white and desolate in its vastness--such
is the scene which proclaims the fearful desert of Sahara to the eye of
the wanderer who has lost himself in these frightful regions. In this
also it resembles the sea, that it casts up waves, and often a misty
vapor bangs over its surface. But there is not the soft play of waves
which unite all the coasts of the earth; each wave as it rolls in
bringing a message from the remotest and fairest island kingdoms, and
again rolling back as it were with an answer, in a sort of love-flowing
dance. No; there is here only the melancholy sporting of the hot wind
with the faithless dust which ever falls back again into its joyless
basin, and never reaches the rest of the solid land with its happy human
dwellings. There is here none of the sweet cool sea-breeze in which
kindly fairies seem carrying on their graceful sport, forming blooming
gardens and pillared palaces--there is only a suffocating vapor,
rebelliously given back to the glowing sun from the unfruitful sands.

Hither the two youths arrived at the same time, and paused, gazing with
dismay at the pathless chaos before them. Zelinda’s track, which was not
easily hidden or lost, had hitherto obliged them almost always to remain
together, dissatisfied as Fadrique was at the circumstance, and angry as
were the glances he cast at his unwelcome companion. Each had hoped to
overtake Zelinda before she had reached the desert, feeling how almost
impossible it would be to find her once she had entered it. That hope
was now at an end; and although in answer to the inquiries they made in
the Barbary villages on the frontier, they heard that a wanderer going
southward in the desert and guiding his course by the stars would,
according to tradition, arrive at length at a wonderfully fertile oasis,
the abode of a divinely beautiful enchantress, yet everything appeared
highly uncertain and dispiriting, and was rendered still more so by the
avalanches of dust before the travellers’ view.

The youths looked sadly at the prospect before them, and their horses
snorted and started back at the horrible plain, as though it were some
insidious quicksand, and even the riders themselves were seized with
doubt and dismay. Suddenly they sprung from their saddles, as at some
word of command, unbridled their horses, loosened their girths, and
turned them loose on the desert, that they might find their way back
to some happier dwelling place. Then, taking some provision from their
saddle-bags, they placed it on their shoulders, and casting aside their
heavy riding boots they plunged like two courageous swimmers into the
trackless waste.



CHAPTER X.



With no other guide than the sun by day, and by night the host of stars,
the two captains soon lost sight of each other, and all the sooner, as
Fadrique avoided intentionally the object of his aversion. Heimbert, on
the other hand, had no thought but the attainment of his aim; and, full
of joyful confidence in God’s assistance, he pursued his course in a
southerly direction.

Many nights and many days had passed, when one evening, as the twilight
was coming on, Heimbert was standing alone in the endless desert, unable
to descry a single object all round on which his eye could rest. His
light flask was empty, and the evening brought with it, instead or
the hoped-for coolness, a suffocating whirlwind of sand, so that the
exhausted wanderer was obliged to press his burning face to the burning
soil in order to escape in some measure the fatal cloud. Now and then he
heard something passing him, or rustling over him as with the sound of
a sweeping mantle, and he would raise himself in anxious haste; but he
only saw what he had already too often seen in the daytime--the wild
beasts of the wilderness roaming at liberty through the desert
waste. Sometimes it was an ugly camel, then it was a long-necked and
disproportioned giraffe, and then again a long-legged ostrich hastening
away with its wings outspread. They all appeared to scorn him, and he
had already taken his resolve to open his eyes no more, and to give
himself up to his fate, without allowing these horrible and strange
creatures to disturb his mind in the hour of death.

Presently it seemed to him as if he heard the hoofs and neighing of a
horse, and suddenly something halted close beside him, and he thought he
caught the sound of a man’s voice. Half unwilling, he could not resist
raising himself wearily, and he saw before him a rider in an Arab’s
dress mounted on a slender Arabian horse. Overcome with joy at finding
himself within reach of human help, he exclaimed, “Welcome, oh, man,
in this fearful solitude! If thou canst, succor me, thy fellow-man, who
must otherwise perish with thirst!” Then remembering that the tones
of his dear German mother tongue were not intelligible in this joyless
region, he repeated the same words in the mixed dialect, generally
called the Lingua Romana, universally used by heathens, Mohammedans, and
Christians in those parts of the world where they have most intercourse
with each other.

The Arab still remained silent, and looked as if scornfully laughing at
his strange discovery. At length he replied, in the same dialect, “I was
also in Barbarossa’s fight; and if, Sir Knight, our overthrow bitterly
enraged me then, I find no small compensation for it in the fact of
seeing one of the conquerors lying so pitifully before me.” “Pitifully!”
 exclaimed Heimbert angrily, and his wounded sense of honor giving him
back for a moment all his strength, he seized his sword and stood ready
for an encounter. “Oho!” laughed the Arab, “does the Christian viper
still hiss so strongly? Then it only behooves me to put spurs to my
horse and leave thee to perish here, thou lost creeping worm!” “Ride
to the devil, thou dog of a heathen!” retorted Heimbert; “rather than
entreat a crumb of thee I will die here, unless the good God sends me
manna in the wilderness.”

And the Arab spurred forward his swift steed and galloped away a couple
of hundred paces, laughing with scorn. Then he paused, and looking round
to Heimbert he trotted back and said, “Thou seemest too good, methinks,
to perish here of hunger and thirst. Beware! my good sabre shall touch
thee.”

Heimbert, who had again stretched himself hopelessly on the burning
sand, was quickly roused to his feet by these words, and seized his
sword; and sudden as was the spring with which the Arab’s horse flew
toward him, the stout German warrior stood ready to parry the blow,
and the thrust which the Arab aimed at him in the Mohammedan manner he
warded off with certainty and skill.

Again and again the Arab sprung; similarly here and there, vainly hoping
to give his antagonist a death-blow. At last, overcome by impatience, he
approached so boldly that Heimbert, warding off the threatening
weapon, had time to seize the Arab by the girdle and drag him from the
fast-galloping horse. The violence of the movement threw Heimbert also
on the ground, but he lay above his opponent, and holding close before
his eyes a dagger, which he had dexterously drawn from his girdle, he
exclaimed, “Wilt thou have mercy or death?” The Arab, trembling, cast
down his eyes before the gleaming and murderous weapon, and said, “Show
mercy to me, mighty warrior; I surrender to thee.” Heimbert then ordered
him to throw away the sabre he still held in his right hand. He did so,
and both combatants rose, and again sunk down upon the sand, for the
victor was far more weary than the vanquished.

The Arab’s good horse meanwhile had trotted toward them, according to
the habit of those noble animals, who never forsake their fallen master.
It now stood behind the two men, stretching out its long slender neck
affectionately toward them. “Arab,” said Heimbert with exhausted voice,
“take from thy horse what provision thou hast with thee and place it
before me.” The vanquished man humbly did as he was commanded, now
just as much submitting to the will of the conqueror as he had before
exhibited his animosity in anger and revenge. After a few draughts
of palm-wine from the skin, Heimbert looked at the youth under a new
aspect; he then partook of some fruits, drank more of the palm-wine,
and at length said, “You are going to ride still farther to-night, young
man?” “Yes, indeed,” replied the Arab sadly; “on a distant oasis there
dwells my aged father and my blooming bride. Now--even if you set me at
full liberty--I must perish in the heat of this barren desert, for want
of sustenance, before I can reach my lovely home.”

“Is it, perhaps,” asked Heimbert, “the oasis on which the mighty
enchantress, Zelinda, dwells?”

“Allah protect me!” cried the Arab, clasping his hands. “Zelinda’s
wondrous isle offers no hospitable shelter to any but magicians. It lies
far away in the scorching south, while our friendly oasis is toward the
cooler west.”

“I only asked in case we might be travelling companions,” said
Heimbert courteously. “If that cannot be, we must certainly divide the
provisions; for I would not have so brave a warrior as you perish, with
hunger and thirst.”

So saying, the young captain began to arrange the provisions in two
portions, placing the larger on his left and the smaller at his
right; he then desired the Arab to take the former, and added, to his
astonished companion, “See, good sir, I have either not much farther
to travel or I shall perish in the desert; I feel that it will be so.
Besides, I cannot carry half so much on foot as you can on horse-back.”

“Knight! victorious knight!” cried the amazed Mussulman, “am I then to
keep my horse?”

“It were a sin and shame indeed,” said Heimbert, smiling, “to separate
such a faithful steed from such a skilful rider. Ride on, in God’s name,
and get safely to your people.”

He then helped him to mount, and the Arab was on the point of uttering a
few words of gratitude, when he suddenly exclaimed, “The magic maiden!”
 and, swift as the wind, he flew over the dusty plain. Heimbert, however,
turning round, saw close beside him in the now bright moonlight a
shining figure, which he at once perceived to be Zelinda.



CHAPTER XI.



The maiden looked fixedly at the young soldier, and seemed considering
with what words to address him, while he, after his long search and now
unexpected success, was equally at a loss. At last she said in Spanish,
“Thou wonderful enigma, I have been witness of all that has passed
between thee and the Arab; and these affairs confuse my head like a
whirlwind. Speak, therefore, plainly, that I may know whether thou art a
madman or an angel?”

“I am neither, dear lady,” replied Heimbert, with his wonted
friendliness. “I am only a poor wanderer, who has just been putting into
practice one of the commands of his Master, Jesus Christ.”

“Sit down,” said Zelinda, “and tell me of thy Master; he must be himself
unprecedented to have such a servant. The night is cool and still, and
at my side thou hast no cause to fear the dangers of the desert.”

“Lady,” replied Heimbert, smiling, “I am not of a fearful nature, and
when I am speaking of my dear Saviour my mind is perfectly free from all
alarm.”

Thus saying, they both sat down on the now cooled sand and began a
wondrous conversation, while the full moon shone upon them from the
deep-blue heavens above like a magic lamp.

Heimbert’s words, full of divine love, truth, and simplicity sank like
soft sunbeams, gently and surely, into Zelinda’s, heart, driving away
the mysterious magic power which dwelt there, and wrestling for the
dominion of the noble territory of her soul. When morning began to dawn
she said, “Thou wouldst not be called an angel last evening, but thou
art truly one. For what else are angels than messengers of the Most High
God?” “In that sense,” rejoined Heimbert, “I am well satisfied with the
name, for I certainly hope that I am the bearer of my Master’s message.
Yes, if he bestows on me further grace and strength, it may even be
that you also may become my companion in the pious work.” “It is not
impossible,” said Zelinda thoughtfully. “Thou must, however, come with
me to my island, and there thou shalt be regaled as is befitting such
an ambassador, far better than here on the desolate sand, with the
miserable palm-wine that thou hast so laboriously obtained.”

“Pardon me,” replied Heimbert; “it is difficult to me to refuse the
request of a lady, but on this occasion it cannot be otherwise. In
your island many glorious things have been conjured together by your
forbidden art, and many lovely forms which the good God has created have
been transformed. These might dazzle my senses, and at last delude them.
If you will, therefore, hear the best and purest things which I can
relate to you, you must rather come out to me on this desert sand. The
palm-wine and the dates of the Arab will suffice for me for many a day
to come.” “You would do better to come with me,” said Zelinda, shaking
her head with somewhat of a scornful smile. “You were certainly neither
born nor brought up to be a hermit, and there is nothing on my oasis so
destructive as you imagine. What is there more than shrubs and flowers
and beasts gathered together from different quarters of the world,
perhaps a little strangely interwoven; each, that is to say, partaking
of the nature of the other, in a similar manner to that which you must
have seen in our Arabian carving! A moving flower, a bird growing on a
branch, a fountain gleaming with fiery sparks, a singing twig--these are
truly no hateful things!” “He must avoid temptation who does not wish
to be overcome by it,” said Heimbert very gravely; “I am for the desert.
Will it please you to come out to visit me again?” Zelinda looked down
somewhat displeased. Then suddenly bending her head still lower she
replied, “Yes; toward evening I shall be here again.” And, turning away,
she at once disappeared in the rising whirlwind of the desert.



CHAPTER XII.



With the evening twilight the lovely lady returned and spent the night
in converse with the pious youth, leaving him in the morning with her
mind more humble, pure, and devout; and thus matters went on for many
days. “Thy palm-wine and thy dates must be coming to an end,” said
Zelinda one evening as she presented the youth with a flask of rich wine
and some costly fruits. He, however, gently put aside the gift and said,
“Noble lady, I would accept your gift gladly, but I fear some of your
magic arts may perhaps cleave to it. Or could you assure me to the
contrary by Him whom you are now beginning to know?” Zelinda cast
down her eyes in silent confusion and took her presents back. On the
following evening, however, she brought similar gifts, and, smiling
confidently, gave the desired assurance. Heimbert then partook of them
without hesitation, and from henceforth the disciple carefully provided
for the sustenance of her teacher in the wilderness.

And so, as the blessed knowledge of the truth sank more and more deeply
into Zelinda’s soul, so that she was often sitting till dawn before the
youth, with cheeks glowing and hair dishevelled, her eyes gleaming with
delight and her hands folded, unable to withdraw herself from his words,
he, on his part, endeavored to make her sensible at all times that it
was only Fadrique’s love for her which had urged him, his friend, into
this fatal desert, and that it was this same love that had thus become
the means for the attainment of her highest spiritual good. She still
well remembered the handsome and terrible captain who had stormed the
height that he might clasp her in his arms; and she related to her
friend how the same hero had afterward saved her in the burning library.
Heimbert too had many pleasant things to tell of Fadrique--of his high
knightly courage, of his grave and noble manners, and of his love to
Zelinda, which in the night after the battle of Tunis was no longer
concealed within his passionate breast, but was betrayed to the young
German in a thousand unconscious expressions between sleeping and
waking. Divine truth and the image of her loving hero both at once
sank deep within Zelinda’s heart, and struck root there with tender
but indestructible power. Heimbert’s presence and the almost adoring
admiration with which his pupil regarded him did not disturb these
feelings, for from the first moment his appearance had something in it
so pure and heavenly that no thoughts of earthly love intruded. When
Heimbert was alone he would often smile happily within himself, saying
in his own beloved German tongue, “It is indeed delightful that I am now
able consciously to do the same service for Fadrique as he did for me,
unconsciously, with his angelic sister.” And then he would sing some
German song of Clara’s grace and beauty, the sound of which rang with
strange sweetness through the desert, while it happily beguiled his
solitary hours.

Once when Zelinda came in the evening twilight, gracefully bearing on
her beautiful head a basket of provisions for Heimbert, he smiled at her
and shook his head, saying, “It is inconceivable to me, sweet maiden,
why you ever give yourself the trouble of coming to me out here in the
desert. You can indeed no longer find pleasure in magic arts, since the
spirit of truth and love dwells within you. If you would only transform
the oasis into the natural form in which the good God created it, I
would go there with you, and we should have far more time for holy
converse.” “Sir,” replied Zelinda, “you speak truly. I too have thought
for some days of doing so and the matter would have been already set on
foot, but a strange visitor fetters my power. The Dervish whom you saw
in Tunis is with me, and as in former times we have practised many magic
tricks with each other, he would like again to play the old game. He
perceives the change in me, and on that account urges me all the more
vehemently and dangerously.”

“He must either be driven away or converted,” said Heimbert, girding on
his shoulder-belt more firmly, and taking up his shield from the ground.
“Have the goodness, dear maiden,” he continued, “to lead me to your
enchanted isle.”

“You avoided it so before,” said the astonished Zelinda, “and it is
still unchanged in its fantastic form.”

“Formerly it would have been only inconsiderate curiosity to have
ventured there,” replied Heimbert. “You came too out here to me, and
that was better for us both. But now the old enemy might lay snares for
the ruin of all that the Lord has been working in you, and so it is a
knightly duty to go. In God’s name, then, to the work!”

And they hastened forward together, through the ever-increasing darkness
of the plain, on their way to the blooming island.



CHAPTER XIII.



A charming breeze began to cool the heated brows of the travellers, and
the twinkling starlight revealed in the distance a grove, waving to and
fro with the gentle motion of the air. Heimbert cast his eyes to the
ground and said, “Go before me, sweet maiden, and guide my path to
the spot where I shall find this threatening Dervish. I do not wish
unnecessarily to see anything of these ensnaring enchantments.”

Zelinda did as he desired, and the relation of the two was for a
moment changed; the maiden had become the guide, and Heimbert, full of
confidence, allowed himself to be led upon the unknown path. Branches
were even now touching his cheeks, half caressingly and playfully;
wonderful birds, growing out of bushes, sang joyful songs; over the
velvet turf, upon which Heimbert ever kept his eyes fixed, there glided
gleaming serpents of green and gold, with little golden crowns, and
brilliant stones glittered on the mossy carpet. When the serpents
touched the jewels, they gave forth a silvery sound. But Heimbert let
the serpents creep and the gems sparkle, without troubling himself about
them, intent alone on following the footsteps of his guide.

“We are there!” said she with suppressed voice; and looking up he saw a
shining grotto of shells, within which he perceived a man asleep clad in
golden scale-armor of the old Numidian fashion. “Is that also a phantom,
there yonder in the golden scales?” inquired Heimbert, smiling; but
Zelinda looked very grave and replied, “Oh, no! that is the Dervish
himself, and his having put on this coat-of-mail, which has been
rendered invulnerable by dragon’s blood, is a proof that by his magic
he has become aware of our intention.” “What does that signify?” said
Heimbert; “he would have to know it at last.” And he began at once to
call out, with a cheerful voice, “Wake up, old sir, wake up! Here is an
acquaintance of yours, who has matters upon which he must speak to you.”

And as the Dervish opened his large rolling eyes, everything in the
magic grove began to move, the water began to dance, and the branches to
intertwine in wild emulation, and at the same time the precious stones
and the shells and corals emitted strange and confusing melodies.

“Roll and turn, thunder and play as you like!” exclaimed Heimbert,
looking fixedly at the maze around him; “you shall not divert me from
my own good path, and Almighty God has given me a good far-sounding
soldier’s voice which can make itself heard above all this tumult.” Then
turning to the Dervish he said, “It appears, old man, that you already
know everything which has passed between Zelinda and me. In case,
however, that it is not so, I will tell you briefly that she is already
as good as a Christian, and that she is the betrothed of a noble Spanish
knight. Place nothing in the way of her good intention; I advise you
for your own sake. But still better for your own sake would it be if you
would become a Christian yourself. Discuss the matter with me, and first
bid all this mad devilish show to cease, for our religion, dear sir,
speaks of far too tender and divine things to be talked of with violence
or with the loud voice necessary on the field of war.”

But the Dervish, burning with hatred to the Christians, had not waited
to hear the knight’s last words when he rushed at him with his drawn
scimitar. Heimbert merely parried his thrust, saying, “Take care of
yourself, sir! I have heard something of your weapons being charmed, but
that will avail but little before my sword. It has been consecrated in
holy places.”

The Dervish sprang wildly back before the sword, but equally wildly did
he spring to the other side of his adversary, who only with difficulty
caught the terrible cuts of his weapon upon his shield. Like a
gold-scaled dragon the Mohammedan swung himself round his antagonist
with an agility which, with his long flowing white beard, was ghostly
and horrible to witness. Heimbert was prepared to meet him on all sides,
ever keeping a watchful eye for some opening in the scales made by the
violence of his movements. At last it happened as he desired; between
the arm and breast on the left side the dark garments of the Dervish
became visible, and quick as lightning the German made a deadly thrust.
The old man exclaimed aloud, “Allah! Allah!” and fell forward, fearful
even in his fall, a senseless corpse.

“I pity him!” sighed Heimbert, leaning on his sword and looking down on
his fallen foe. “He has fought nobly, and even in death he called
upon his Allah, whom he looked upon as the true God. He must not lack
honorable burial.” He then dug a grave with the broad scimitar of his
adversary, laid the corpse within it, covered it over with turf,
and knelt on the spot in silent heartfelt prayer for the soul of the
departed.



CHAPTER XIV.



Heimbert rose from his pious duty, and his first glance fell on Zelinda,
who stood smiling by his side, and his second upon the wholly changed
scene around. The rocky cavern and grotto had disappeared, the distorted
forms of trees and beasts, half terrible and half charming as they were,
had vanished also; a gentle grassy hill sloped down on every side of the
point where he stood, toward the sandy waste; springs gushed out
here and there in refreshing beauty; date-trees bent over the little
paths--everything, indeed, in the now opening day was full of sweet and
simple peace.

“Thank God!” said Heimbert, turning to his companion, “you can now
surely feel how infinitely more lovely, grand, and beautiful is
everything as our dear Father has created it than it can be when
transformed by the highest human art. The Heavenly Gardener has indeed
permitted us, his beloved children, in his abundant mercy, to help
forward his gracious works, that we may thus become happier and better;
but we must take care that we change nothing to suit our own rash wilful
fancies; else it is as if we were expelling ourselves a second time from
Paradise.” “It shall not happen again,” said Zelinda humbly. “But may
you in this solitary region, where we are not likely to meet with any
priest of our faith, may you not bestow on me, as one born anew, the
blessing of Holy Baptism?”

Heimbert, after some consideration, replied, “I hope I may do so. And if
I am wrong, God will pardon me. It is surely done in the desire to bring
to him so worthy a soul as soon as possible.”

So they walked together, silently praying and full of smiling happiness,
down to one of the pleasant springs of the oasis, and just as they
reached the edge and prepared themselves for the holy work the sun rose
before them as if to confirm and strengthen their purpose, and the
two beaming countenances looked at each other with joy and confidence.
Heimbert had not thought of the Christian name he should bestow on his
disciple, but as he scooped up the water, and the desert lay around him
so solemn in the rosy glow of morning, he remembered the pious hermit
Antony in his Egyptian solitude, and he baptized the lovely convert,
Antonia.

They spent the day in holy conversation, and Antonia showed her friend
a little cave, in which she had concealed all sorts of store for her
sustenance when she first dwelt on the oasis. “For,” said she, “the good
God is my witness that I came hither only that I might, in solitude,
become better acquainted with him and his created works, without knowing
at that time in the least of any magic expedients. Subsequently the
Dervish came, tempting me, and the horrors of the desert joined in a
fearful league with his terrible power, and then by degrees followed all
that alluring spirits showed me either in dreams or awake.”

Heimbert had no scruple to take with him for the journey any of the wine
and fruits that were still fit for use, and Antonia assured him that by
the direct way, well known to her, they would reach the fruitful shore
of this waterless ocean in a few days. So with the approach of evening
coolness they set out on their journey.



CHAPTER XV.



The travellers had almost traversed the pathless plain when one day they
saw a figure wandering in the distance, for in the desolate Sahara every
object is visible to the very horizon if the whirlwind of dust does
not conceal it from view. The wanderer seemed doubtful of his course,
sometimes taking this, sometimes that direction, and Antonia’s eastern
falcon eye could discern that it was no Arab, but a man in knightly
garb.

“Oh, dear sister,” exclaimed Heimbert, full of anxious joy, “then it
is our poor Fadrique, who is in search of thee. For pity’s sake, let
as hasten before he loses us, and perhaps at last his own life also,
in this immeasurable waste.” They strained every effort to reach the
distant object, but it was now midday and the sun shone burningly upon
them, Antonia could not long endure this rapid progress; added to which
the fearful whirlwind soon arose, and the figure that had been scarcely
visible before faded from their eyes, like some phantom of the mist in
autumn.

With the rising moon they began anew to hasten forward, calling loudly
upon the unfortunate wanderer, and fluttering white handkerchiefs tied
to their walking-staffs, as signal flags, but it was all in vain. The
object that had disappeared remained lost to view. Only a few giraffes
sprang shyly past them, and the ostriches quickened their speed.

At length, as morning dawned, Antonia paused and said, “Thou canst
not leave me, brother, in this solitude, and I cannot go a single step
farther. God will protect the noble Fadrique. How could a father forsake
such a model of knightly excellence?” “The disciple shames the teacher,”
 replied Heimbert, his sad face brightening into a smile. “We have done
our part, and we may confidently hope that God will come to the aid of
our failing powers and do what is necessary.” As he spoke he spread his
mantle on the sand, that Antonia might rest more comfortably. Suddenly
looking up, he exclaimed, “Oh, God! yonder lies a man, completely buried
in the sand. Oh, that he may not be already dead!”

He immediately began to sprinkle wine, from the flask he carried, on the
brow of the fainting traveller, and to chafe his temples with it. The
man at last slowly opened his eyes and said, “I had hoped the morning
dew would not again have fallen on me, but that unknown and unlamented I
might have perished here in the desert, as must be the case in the end.”
 So saying he closed his eyes again, like one intoxicated with sleep,
but Heimbert continued his restoratives unwearyingly, and at length the
refreshed wanderer half raised himself from the sand with an exclamation
of astonishment.

He looked from Heimbert to his companion, and from her again at
Heimbert, and suddenly exclaimed, gnashing his teeth, “Ha, was it to be
thus! I was not even to be allowed to die in the dull happiness of quiet
solitude! I was to be first doomed to see my rival’s success and my
sister’s shame!” At the same time he sprang to his feet with a violent
effort and rushed forward upon Heimbert with drawn sword. But Heimbert
moved neither sword nor arm, and merely said, in a gentle voice,
“Wearied out, as you now are, I cannot possibly fight with you; besides,
I must first place this lady in security.” Antonia, who had at first
gazed with much emotion at the angry knight, now stepped suddenly
between the two men and cried out, “Oh, Fadrique, neither misery nor
anger can utterly disfigure you. But what has my noble brother done to
you?” “Brother?” said Fadrique, with astonishment. “Or godfather, or
confessor,” interrupted Heimbert, “as you will. Only do not call her
Zelinda, for her name is now Antonia; she is a Christian, and waits
to be your bride.” Fadrique stood fixed with surprise, but Heimbert’s
true-hearted words and Antonia’s lovely blushes soon revealed the happy
enigma to him. He sank down before the longed-for form with a sense
of exquisite delight, and in the midst of the inhospitable desert
the flowers of love and gratitude and confidence sent their sweetness
heavenward.

The excitement of this happy surprise at last gave way to bodily
fatigue. Antonia, like some drooping blossom, stretched her fair form on
the again burning sand, and slumbered under the protection of her lover
and her chosen brother. “Sleep also,” said Heimbert softly to Fadrique;
“you must have wandered about wildly and wearily, for exhaustion is
pressing down your eyelids with leaden weight. I am quite fresh, and I
will watch meanwhile.” “Ah, Heimbert,” sighed the noble Castilian,
“my sister is thine, thou messenger from Heaven; that is an understood
thing. But now for our affair of honor!” “Certainly,” said Heimbert,
very gravely, “as soon as we are again in Spain, you must give me
satisfaction for that over-hasty expression. Till then, however, I beg
you not to mention it. An unfinished quarrel is no good subject for
conversation.”

Fadrique laid himself sadly down to rest, overcome by long-resisted
sleep, and Heimbert knelt down with a glad heart, thanking the good God
for having given him success, and for blessing, him with a future full
of joyful assurance.



CHAPTER XVI.



The next day the three travellers reached the edge of the desert, and
refreshed themselves for a week in an adjacent village, which, with
its shady trees and green pastures, seemed like a little paradise in
contrast to the joyless Sahara. Fadrique’s condition especially made
this rest necessary. He had never left the desert during the whole time,
gaining his subsistence by fighting with wandering Arabs, and often
almost exhausted by the utter want of all food and drink. At length he
had become so thoroughly confused that the stars could no longer guide
him, and he had been driven about, sadly and objectless, like the dust
clouds of the desert.

Even now, at times, when he would fall asleep after the midday meal, and
Antonia and Heimbert would watch his slumbers like two smiling angels,
he would suddenly start up and gaze round him with a terrified air,
and then it was not till he had refreshed himself by looking at the two
friendly faces that he would sink back again into quiet repose. When
questioned on the matter, after he was fully awake, he told them that in
his wanderings nothing had been more terrible to him than the deluding
dreams which had transported him, sometimes to his own home, sometimes
to the merry camp of his comrades, and sometimes into Zelinda’s
presence, and then leaving him doubly helpless and miserable in the
horrible solitude as the delusion vanished. It was on this account
that even now waking was fearful to him, and even in sleep a vague
consciousness of his past sufferings would often disturb him. “You
cannot imagine it,” he added. “To be suddenly transported from
well-known scenes into the boundless desert! And instead of the
longed-for enchanting face of my beloved, to see an ugly camel’s head
stretched over me inquisitively with its long neck, starting back as I
rose with still more ugly timidity!”

This, with all other painful consequences of his past miseries, soon
wholly vanished, from Fadrique’s mind, and they cheerfully set out on
their journey to Tunis. The consciousness, indeed, of his injustice to
Heimbert and its unavoidable results often lay like a cloud upon the
noble Spaniard’s brow, but it also softened the natural proud severity
of his nature, and Antonia could cling the more tenderly and closely to
him with her loving heart.

Tunis, which had been before so amazed at Zelinda’s magic power and
enthusiastic hostility against the Christians, now witnessed Antonia’s
solemn baptism in a newly-consecrated edifice, and soon after the three
companions took ship with a favorable wind for Malaga.



CHAPTER XVII.



Beside the fountain where she had parted from Heimbert, Dona Clara was
sitting one evening in deep thought. The guitar on her knees gave
forth a few solitary chords, dreamily drawn from it, as it were, by her
delicate hands, and at length forming themselves into a melody, while
the following words dropped softly from her partly opened lips:


                  “Far away, ‘fore Tunis ramparts,
                     Where the Christian army lies,
                   Paynim host are fiercely fighting
                     With Spanish troops and Spain’s allies.
                   Who from bloodstained lilies there,
                   And death’s roses pale and fair--
                     Who has borne the conquerer’s prize?

                  “Ask Duke Alba, ask Duke Alba,
                     Which two knights their fame have proved,
                   One was my own valiant brother,
                     The other was my heart’s beloved.
                     And I thought that I should crown them,
                   Doubly bright with glory’s prize,
                     And a widow’s veil is falling
                   Doubly o’er my weeping eyes,
                     For the brave knights ne’er again
                     Will be found mid living men.”


The music paused, and soft dew-drops fell from her heavenly eyes.
Heimbert, who was concealed under the neighboring orange-trees, felt
sympathetic tears rolling down his cheeks, and Fadrique, who had led
him and Antonia there, could no longer delay the joy of meeting, but
stepping forward with his two companions he presented himself before his
sister, like some angelic messenger.

Such moments of extreme and sudden delight, the heavenly blessings long
expected and rarely vouchsafed, are better imagined by each after his
own fashion, and it is doing but an ill service to recount all that
this one did and that one said. Picture it therefore to yourself, dear
reader, after your own fancy, as you are certainly far better able to
do, if the two loving pairs in my story have become dear to you and you
have grown intimate with them. If that, however, be not the case, what
is the use of wasting unnecessary words? For the benefit of those who
with heart-felt pleasure could have lingered over this meeting of the
sister with her brother and her lover, I will proceed with increased
confidence. Although Heimbert, casting a significant look at Fadrique,
was on the point of retiring as soon as Antonia had been placed under
Dona Clara’s protection, the noble Spaniard would not permit him. He
detained his companion-in-arms with courteous and brotherly requests
that he would remain till the evening repast, at which some relatives
of the Mendez family joined the party, and in their presence Fadrique
declared the brave Heimbert of Waldhausen to be Dona Clara’s fiance,
sealing the betrothal with the most solemn words, so that it might
remain indissoluble, whatever might afterward occur which should seem
inimical to their union. The witnesses were somewhat astonished at
these strange precautionary measures, but at Fadrique’s desire they
unhesitatingly gave their word that all should be carried out as he
wished, and they did this the more unhesitatingly as the Duke of Alba,
who had just been in Malaga on some trivial business, had filled the
whole city with the praises of the two young captains.

As the richest wine was now passing round the table in the tall crystal
goblets, Fadrique stepped behind Heimbert’s chair and whispered to
him, “If it please you, Senor--the moon is just risen and is shining as
bright as day--I am ready to give you satisfaction.” Heimbert nodded
in assent, and the two youths quitted the hall, followed by the sweet
salutations of the unsuspecting ladies.

As they passed through the beautiful garden, Fadrique said, with a
sigh, “We could have wandered here so happily together, but for my
over-rashness!” “Yes, indeed,” said Heimbert, “but so it is, and it
cannot be otherwise, if we would continue to look upon each other as a
soldier and a nobleman.” “True!” replied Fadrique, and they hastened to
reach a distant part of the garden, where the sound of their clashing
swords could not reach the gay hall of betrothal they had left.



CHAPTER XVIII.



Secret and inclosed, with blooming shrubs planted around, with not a
sound to be heard of the merry company, nor of the animated streets of
the city, with the full moon shining overhead and brightening the solemn
circle with its clear brilliancy--such was the spot. The two captains
unsheathed their gleaming swords and stood opposite each other, ready
for the encounter. But before they began the combat a nobler feeling
drew them to each other’s arms; they lowered their weapons and embraced
in the most fraternal manner. They then tore themselves away and the
fearful contest began.

They were now no longer brothers-in-arms, no longer friends, no longer
brothers-in-law, who directed their sharp steels against each other.
With the most resolute boldness, but with the coolest collectedness,
each fell upon his adversary, guarding his own breast at the same time.
After a few hot and dangerous passes the combatants were obliged to
rest, and during the pause they regarded each other with increased love,
each rejoicing to find his comrade so valiant and so honorable. And then
the fatal strife began anew.

With his left hand Heimbert dashed aside Fadrique’s sword, which had
been aimed at him with a thrust in tierce, sideward, but the keen edge
had penetrated his leathern glove, and the red blood gushed out. “Hold!”
 cried Fadrique, and they searched for the wound, but soon perceiving
that it was of no importance, and binding it up, they both began the
combat with undiminished vigor.

It was not long before Heimbert’s blade pierced Fadrique’s right
shoulder, and the German, feeling that he had wounded his opponent, now
on his side called out to halt. At first Fadrique would not acknowledge
to the injury, but soon the blood began to trickle down, and he was
obliged to accept his friend’s careful assistance. Still this wound also
appeared insignificant, the noble Spaniard still felt power to wield his
sword, and again the deadly contest was renewed with knightly ardor.

Presently the garden-gate clanked, and the sound of a horse’s step was
heard advancing through the shrubbery. Both combatants paused in their
stern work and turned toward the unwelcome disturber. The next moment
through the slender pines a horseman was visible whose dress and bearing
proclaimed him a warrior and Fadrique, as master of the house, at once
addressed him. “Senor,” said he, “why you come here, intruding into a
strange garden, we will inquire at another time. For the present I
will only request you to leave us free from further interruption by
immediately retiring, and to favor me with your name.” “Retire I will
not,” replied the stranger, “but my name I will gladly tell you. I
am the Duke of Alba.” And as he spoke, by a movement of his charger a
bright moonbeam fell upon his pale thin face, the dwelling-place of all
that was grand and worthy and terrible. The two captains bowed low and
dropped their weapons.

“I ought to know you,” continued Alba, looking at them with his
sparkling eyes. “Yes, truly, I know you well, you are the two young
heroes at the battle of Tunis. God be praised that two such brave
warriors, whom I had given up for lost, are still alive; but tell me,
what is this affair of honor that has turned your good swords against
each other? For I hope you will not hesitate to declare to me the cause
of your knightly contest.”

They complied with the great duke’s behest. Both the noble youths
related the whole circumstances, from the evening previous to their
embarkation up to the present moment, while Alba remained between them,
in silent thought, almost motionless, like some equestrian statue.



CHAPTER XIX.



The Captains had already long finished their story, and the duke still
remained silent and motionless, in deep reflection. At last he began to
speak, and addressed them as follows:

“May God and his holy word help me, my young knights, when I say that I
consider, after my best and most conscientious belief, that this affair
of yours is now honorably at an end. Twice have you met each other in
contest on account of those irritating words which escaped the lips of
Don Fadrique Mendez and if indeed the slight wounds you have hitherto
received are not sufficient compensation for the angry expression, there
is still your common fight before Tunis, and the rescue in the desert
afforded by Sir Heimbert of Waldhausen to Don Fadrique Mendez, after he
had gained his bride for him. From all this, I consider that the Knight
of Waldhausen is entitled to pardon any offence of an adversary to whom
he has shown himself so well inclined. Old Roman history tells us of two
captains of the great Julius Caesar who settled a dispute and cemented
a hearty friendship with each other when engaged in the same bold fight,
delivering each other in the midst of a Gallic army. I affirm, however,
that you two have done more for each other: and therefore I declare your
affair of honor to be settled, and at an end. Sheathe your swords, and
embrace each other in my presence.”

Obedient to the command of their general, the young knights for the
present sheathed their weapons; but anxious lest the slightest possible
shadow should fall on their honor they yet delayed the reconciling
embrace.

The great Alba looked at them with somewhat of an indignant air, and
said, “Do you then suppose, young knights, that I could wish to save
the lives of two heroes at the expense of their honor? I would rather at
once have struck you dead, both of you at once. But I see plainly that
with such obstinate minds one must have recourse to other measures.”

And, dismounting from his horse, he fastened it to a tree, and then
stepped forward between the two captains with a drawn sword in his
right hand, crying out, “Whoever will deny in any wise that the quarrel
between Sir Heimbert of Waldhausen and Don Fadrique Mendez is honorably
and gloriously settled must settle the matter at the peril of his life
with the Duke of Alba; and should the present knights have any objection
to raise to this, let them declare it. I stand here as champion for my
own conviction.”

The youths bowed submissively before the great umpire, and fell into
each other’s arms. The duke, however, embraced them both with hearty
affection, which appeared all the more charming and refreshing as it
rarely burst forth from this stern character. Then he led the reconciled
friends back to their betrothed, and when these, after the first joyful
surprise was over at the presence of the honored general, started back
at seeing drops of blood on the garments of the youths, the duke said,
smiling, “Oh, ye brides elect of soldiers, you must not shrink from such
jewels of honor. Your lovers could bring you no fairer wedding gift.”

The great Alba was not not be deprived of the pleasure of enacting the
office of father to the two happy brides, and the festival of their
union was fixed for the following day. From that time forth they lived
in undisturbed and joyful concord; and though the Knight Heimbert was
recalled soon afterward with his lovely consort to the bosom of his
German Fatherland, he and Fadrique kept up the link between them by
letters and messages; and even in after times the descendants of the
lord of Waldhausen boasted of their connection with the noble house of
Mendez, while the latter have ever sacredly preserved the tradition of
the brave and magnanimous Heimbert.





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