The Two Captains

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.