NCE upon a time there was a steel sword, whose blade was forged and tempered in a most excellent manner. The handle was of precious wood, with beautiful inlaid work of mother-of-pearl and gold. From his very birth the Sword was in the service of a gallant knight; and a sturdy, faithful sword he was. He fought for the sake of truth and of every fair lady, and against all oppressors of the weak. All who, even by word or glance, injured a lady dreaded the steel weapon: there was no man, no arms in the world, whom the steel warrior feared. But the valiant knight was killed in a hard fight, and the Sword remained lying on the battle-field. There the wind blew sand upon him, and leaves, fallen during the autumn from the neighbouring bushes, covered him. And many long years he lay there buried and unseen, until a peasant proposed to clear the ground, and his plough ran by chance against the Sword. The first thing that the ploughman did was to utter an oath, for his coulter, in striking against the stout weapon, received a notch. Then the Sword was dug out, taken to town, and sold to an old curiosity shop. The shopman hung the Sword on a nail.
From his lofty resting-place the old warrior, in glancing about the shop, saw in the corner of the hall a white lady of astonishing beauty. She was clad only in a loose-fitting garment about her fair form. Her neck, arms, and feet were bare; her hair was all combed back, then caught up by a diadem, from which it hung down in a shower of curls. She stood erect, and did not move. On her fair lips played an enigmatic smile, while her beautiful arms hung loose beside her, and her whole form seemed to breathe with free, powerful peace. One thing alone appeared to the steel warrior somewhat strange: the fair one was all white; her cheeks, eyes, hair; her hands and feet; her garments and diadem,—all were like fresh snow. But this seemed only to give a new charm to her beauty. The longer the old Sword gazed at the white unknown woman, the brighter grew his blade, the more merrily danced all the rainbow tints in his mother-of-pearl inlaid work, and the stronger grew his wish to fight as of old for truth's and a lady's sake—nay, for this very lady.
The steel warrior longed to speak to the white beauty, but he did not venture. 'I am so old,' he thought; 'so notched; even somewhat rusty ... while she is so fair!... No, no, it would not do. Methinks she would not even mind me or look at me.'...
Now the old Sword glanced at the lady in the corner, and she gazed at him, smiling enigmatically....
'Oh,' thought the sturdy warrior, 'if only I could do something for her!' But there seemed no chance of being of use to the fair creature. The Sword could no longer bear such suspense. He summoned up all his courage, and uttered in a faltering clang: 'Queen of my soul! tell me what you desire. Only tell me, and I will do it; at least I will attempt anything for you!' But the White Beauty remained speechless, and only smiled enigmatically as before.
'Why does she keep silence?' This was the question that tormented the old Sword, and he looked at the fair lady with anguish. Oh how much she might say if she would but speak! What power breathes through her apparent calm! And her smile! what a rich soul it hides! Nay, if this heavenly creature does not speak it is certainly only in consequence of some spell laid upon her! And the old fighter looked around, pondering over the question, Who could be the malicious sorcerer? It could not be the gigantic snake, stuffed with tow, that stood in an opposite corner, for its eyes were but glass, and though they say snakes fascinate birds and little animals, they need living eyes for the purpose. Nor could it be yonder ivory-headed cane near the shelf; it had the shape of an old man's head in a nightcap, with saucy, black goggle eyes. The insolent creature smiled, it is true, very mockingly, and was capable, as it seemed, of any rude trick; but he was so placed as not to be able even to see the White Lady. Somewhat higher than the Sword, hung on the same wall a red-nosed man, with a mass of tangled hair upon his head. He had a wine-glass in his hand, and he looked straight at the beauty with winking, roguish eyes. But that fellow could not have bewitched the lady either; he was too commonplace and good-natured for such a thing. The old Sword had seen scores of such fellows in old times, when his knight was banqueting in some wayside inn, or carousing in some friar's cellar, after the conquest of a town. Revellers of those days were clad differently, but they were evidently birds of the same feather. The Sword even felt some special interest in the old toper—he seemed to be a clever fellow.
'Look here, old boy,' said the old warrior in a whisper to his neighbour, 'who do you think has bewitched the lady in the corner?'
'And why do you imagine the girl to be bewitched?' retorted the red-nosed one, in a hoarse, loud bass voice, making no scruples about the matter, though his companion evidently wished to speak in an undertone.
'H'm, h'm ... well, well!' said the old Sword; 'hold your peace! indeed you speak too loud.... One must be more discreet in delicate matters.... As to the spell, it is evident: have you not noticed the lady to be absolutely silent?'
'Well, what can she say if she has nothing to say? Ha! ha! ha!'
'What!' roared the Sword, and was about to teach the reveller politeness in his own way, but the latter checked his ardour with these words—
'Listen to what I am going to tell you, old fellow: if you do not intend to hear me quietly, why then do you ask my opinion?'
This remark seemed to the Sword to be reasonable, therefore he restrained himself and resumed his speech, though not without anger.
'You have drowned your reason in wine, that's all. How can it be that such a woman as this has nothing to say? Just look at her smile!'
'But perhaps she does not know anything but how to smile enigmatically.'
But such things the old warrior could no longer endure. Indeed, he would have made a cut at the toper's red nose had he not been taken down at that moment by the owner of the shop to show to some customer.
'Very good indeed,' said the latter; 'but it is not to my taste. I like this far better.' And the customer pointed to the White Beauty.
'Ha! ha! ha!... I should think you do,' laughed the shopman merrily. 'It is my luck she cannot speak, else she would have been married long ago, and I should have lost instead of gained by her.'
'Ah!' thought the old Sword, 'here is the sorcerer; I might have guessed it long ago. The owner of the shop is the mightiest here; he may do with us what he will. And that hideous man intends to sell that heavenly woman! But he shall smart for it.'
The old Sword broke loose from the nail, and, flashing dreadfully with his blade, struck the shopkeeper's shoulder. No doubt the man would have been wounded had the blade been sharp.
'Dear me,' cried the shopman, rubbing the injured spot, 'such a heavy old fool! How did those knights in old times fight with such cudgels?'
All of a sudden there arose a stir in the house. Along the passages and staircases people were heard running to and fro, shouting 'Fire! fire!' The owner of the old curiosity shop and his customer were rushing up and down about the hall, not knowing what to do. At last one of them seized a pot of withered geranium, and the other his rubbers, and both hurried out. The White Lady stood near one of the windows with her usual quiet smile, whilst on the window-sill there sat a pretty little naked bronze boy. For many long years he had carried on his back a basket, into which a candlestick was to be put. Though the boy, as I have said, was only a child, he knew very well what 'fire' meant: he knew it from the time when the bronze of which he was formed was melted in a blast furnace. A deadly fear overspread his lovely face, and in a tender, tinkling voice he addressed his pretty neighbour: 'Pray ... oh pray ... throw me down into the street.... The fall can do me no harm, I know ... but the fire will melt me.... Do, I beseech you; you have only to raise your arm.'
But the White Beauty remained silent and motionless. She continued to smile in a most winning and most promising manner, but made no gesture, uttered no sound.
The old Sword also knew what 'fire' meant. How many times had he witnessed in old times the conflagration of whole cities taken by assault! He saw how unhappy citizens and desperate artisans fled from their homes; how women sobbed and lamented when they saw the ruins, and when their little ones were slaughtered or burnt. All this the old Sword now remembered, and his steel blade ached at the thought: 'What will happen to the White Lady?'
The old curiosity shop was situated on the third floor, and the window, near which stood the beautiful woman who charmed the Sword, was only a few feet distant from the neighbouring roof. The old Sword collected all his strength, swung on his nail, and flung himself through the window, placing his handle on the sill and his point on the cornice of the neighbouring house.
'Queen of my soul, hasten! Pass along, treading upon me, and you will be safe,' so he rang out in a trembling voice. The beauty smiled in her enigmatic, winning manner, but did not utter a word or make a motion. 'Make haste, I beseech you!' rang once more the anxious Sword. 'As soon as the fire reaches our hall my handle will be burnt, I shall fall down, and your escape will be impossible.'
But these words made on the lady as little impression as his previous ones: she remained motionless and dumb, but smiling in a bewitching manner. Suddenly several firemen hurried in and began to seize everything that their eyes fell upon, and to fling it through the windows without any distinction. First went the sardonic, goggle-eyed old man on the cane, and, without injury, tumbled headlong down. Then came the red-nosed old toper, smiling as usual, his wine-glass still in his hand; he dashed against a broken stool, and the canvas on which he was painted was torn to pieces. Scores of solid and fragile things followed.... One of the firemen seized the Sword and threw him into the courtyard below. The jagged fighter made several somersaults in the air, and plunging into the earth stood upright. A few moments he shivered and made a dull sound. But one thought overpowered him now: 'What would be the fate of his lady?' All of a sudden he noticed something white falling from the window, and ... recognised his goddess: it was she! The old Sword uttered a groan.
'Oh, why did she not speak? Why did she not avail herself of his devotion? Why did she answer all his entreaties only by an enigmatic smile? O Heavens, why?' At this very moment the White Lady fell down upon the pavement and broke in two, just where men have a heart....
Many a time the old Sword had pierced men's hearts, and then their hot blood flowed along his blade. He therefore cast a shuddering and anxious look upon the fracture, expecting to see it bleed. He saw, however, nothing but stone; the whole beauty consisted of marble.... The marble was white as snow; it was irreproachably fair, but yet it was only marble, and nothing more.