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UNDINE, 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF THE 
 
 BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUaT]£, 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. THOMAS TRACY 
 
UNDINE, 
 
 OB, 
 
 ALSO, 
 
 S I N T R A M 
 
 airs »is eoisB^Kl oils. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OP 
 
 FRIEDRICH DE LA MOTTE FOUQUfi. 
 
 WILLIS P. HAZARD, 190 CHESTNUT ST., 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 1856. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE. 
 
 The peculiar genius of FouacE is so fully developed in the two 
 stories of Undine and Sintram, and that genius is bc strictly in- 
 dividual, the reflection of the personal sympathy and culture of the 
 man, that the author's life might be almost said to be written in 
 those tales. Critics complain of the want of comprehensiveness 
 in Fouque's writings. He had an eye, they say, simply for one 
 thing, a pure Christian Chivalry, and of this he was a dreamer. 
 Surely, without detracting from the laws of Art, there is room for 
 one such dreamer in the world, in this low thinking age. The 
 young, the fair, the good, will be ever content to dream with him. 
 Fouque practised the chivalry which he taught. He was twice in 
 arms in defence of his country in early youth, and again, " with 
 the Lyre and the Sword," in the war against Napoleon. He was 
 wounded at Culm, and present at Leipzig. His grandfather was 
 the intimate of the great Frederic, attained the rank of General, 
 and fought in the Seven Years' War. The grandson, as may be 
 seen in the Preface to Sintram, delighted to go ftirther back into 
 antiquity for the honour of the family name. 
 
 Friedrich Baron de la Motte Fouque was born on the 12th Feb- 
 ruary, 1777, and died 23d October, 1842. Before bis death he 
 published a corrected edition of his Select Works, in 12 volumes. 
 They include his great dramatic poem, The Hero of the North, a 
 version of the old Nibelungen-Lied ; The Magic Ring and Sin- 
 tram, kindred tales of Chivalry ; " the faultless completeness of 
 Undine Aslauga's Knight, and various dramatic and poetical 
 productions. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Vision of beauty, dear Undine, 
 
 Since led by storied light, 
 
 I found you, mystic sprite, 
 How soothing to my heart your voice has Mda i 
 
 You press beside me, angel miid, 
 
 Soft breathing all your woes, 
 
 And winning brief repose, — 
 A wayward, tender, timid child. 
 
 Still my guitar has caught the tone, 
 
 And from its gate of gold 
 
 Your whispered sorrows rolled. 
 Till thro' the world their sound is flown. 
 
 And many hearts your sweetness love, 
 
 Though strange your freaks and state, 
 
 And while I sing your fate, 
 The wild and wond'rous tale approve. 
 
 Now would they warmly, one and all, 
 
 Your fortunes trace anew : 
 
 Then, sweet, your way pursue, 
 And, fearless, enter bower and hall. 
 
 Greet noble knights with homage due; 
 But greet, all trusting there, 
 The lovely German fair ; 
 Welcome," they cry, " the maiden true !* 
 
 And if toward me one dart a glance, 
 
 Say, "i/e's a loyal knight. 
 
 Who serves you, ladies bright, — 
 Guitar and sword, — at tourney, feast, and dance." 
 
 FOUQU^ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 Paoi, 
 
 Biographical Notices vii 
 
 Preface xi 
 
 Dedication xv 
 
 Chap. I. How a Knight came to a Fisherman's Cottage • 2 
 
 II. In what manner Undine came to thb Fisherman . . 8 
 
 III. How they found Undine again .... 15 
 
 IV. Of what had happened to the Knight in the forest 20 
 V. How the Knight lived on the point of ulud, now en- 
 circled BY the lake 27 
 
 VI. A Wedding .32 
 
 VII. What further happened on the evening of the wedding 39 
 
 VIII. The day after the wedd/ng 43 
 
 IX. How THE Knight took his young wife with him . 49 
 
 X. How they lived in the city . . ... 54 
 
 XI. Festival of Bertalda's name-day . . . • 58 
 
 XII. How THEY departed FROM THE CITY . • 65 
 
 XIII. How THEY LIVED AT CaSTLE RiNGSTETTEN . • • 70 
 
 XIV. How Bertalda returned with the Knight ... 78 
 XV. Passage down the Danube to Vienna . . 85 
 
 XVI. What further happened to Huldbrand . 92 
 
 XVII. The Knight's dream 97 
 
 XVIII. How the Knight Huldbrand solemnized his marriage . 100 
 XIX. How THE Knight Huldbrand was buriei? . . • 105 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The following translation of Undine, one of the minor romances of Fre- 
 deric, Baron de la Motte Fouque, is from the fourth impression of the 
 original, that of Berlin, 1826. It was made in the winter of 1835, and has 
 since received such revision and improvement, as the kindness of literary 
 friends, in connection with my own wish to do as little injustice to the genius 
 of the author as I could, has enabled me to give it. 
 
 This is no place for discussing the characteristics of Fouque, but he has 
 one excellence of composition so rich and rare, that I may be permitted to 
 allude to it here : — I mean his harmonious union of fiction and fact, his ex- 
 quisite blending of the natural and supernatural. So perfect do we find this 
 union to be, such a melting indeed of both into one, that we hardly know in 
 which of the two we feel ourselves most at home. We have the true feeling 
 of real hfe, embellished by the magic of imagination, — just as the frost-work, 
 which at times we see almost spiritualizing our groves and shrubberies in 
 winter, constitutes so much of their peculieir charm ; — and this double excel- 
 lence it was, that led me to select and translate a few specimens of this 
 writer's Natural and Supernatural. 
 
 Unbine is a beautifully imaginative tale, a master-piece in this depart- 
 ment o*' German literature. With a simplicity of the antique cast it 
 combines the most picturesque wildness, unbroken interest, excellent 
 principles, a peculiar vein of pleasantry, and even what we seldom look 
 for in works of this kind, touches of genuine pathos. We are esteemed, 
 and I presume justly, a less imaginative race than the people of Ger- 
 many. Our traditions, local superstitions, early influences, education, 
 aabits of thought, and other circumstances of life, are of a more com- 
 mon-place order than theirs. We are not, it may be, less fond of legen- 
 dary lore, since love of the marvellous seems to be a universal impulse 
 in our nature ; but we seek its enjoyment with the mere calm approval of 
 fancy, while they welcome it with much of the warmth of good faith. 
 Still, if " THE World of Reality, not the Fairyland of Romance," be 
 
Kii 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 our maxim, the spirit of truth and tenderness is nowhere wholly extinct : 
 long as it may lie slumbering in the soul, it is too inseparable a part of our 
 being ever to die. Is not imagination a germ of immortality? 
 
 I am gratified to perceive that many writers allude to this fiction in terms 
 of warm commendation. Menzel, in his development of German Litera- 
 ture, of which we have lately been favored with an able translation, speaks 
 of this and the " Vial-Genie," or " Mandrake," another miniature romance 
 by the same author, in these words : " Fouque's ' Undine ' will always con- 
 tinue one of the most delightful creations of German poetry. Also the little 
 story of the " Mandrake " belongs to the best elaborations of the old national 
 sagas," or tales of the supernatural, derived from the voice of traditioned 
 superstition. But the most accurate appreciation that I have seen of Undine, 
 I find among those golden fragments of the richest of minds, the Speci- 
 mens of the Table Talk of S. T. Coleridge. This is the passage to which 
 I refer : <* Undine is a most exquisite work. It shows the general want of 
 any sense for the fine and the subtle in the public taste, that this romance 
 made no deep iiiipression. Undine's character, before she receives a soul, is 
 marvellously beautiful." 
 
 The author, to whom we are so much indebted for these Specimens and 
 other Literary Remains, and to whom we had hoped, alas ! to be more and 
 more indebted, as well for these labours of love as for those of his own clas- 
 sical genius, observes in a note : *' Mr. Coleridge's admiration of this 
 little romance was unbounded. He said there was something in Undine 
 even beyond Scott, — that Scott's best characters and conceptions were 
 compesed ; by which I understood him to mean, that Baillie Nicol Jarvie, 
 for example, was made up of old particulars, and received its individ- 
 uality from the author's power of fusion, being in the result an admirable 
 product, as Corinthian brass was said to be the conflux of the spoils of a 
 city. But Undine, he said, was one and single in projection, and had 
 presented to his imagination, what Scott had never done, an absolutely 
 new idea." 
 
 This character being formed according to the principles of the Rosicru- 
 cian philosophy, it has been suggested to me, that to enable the reader to 
 understand and appreciate her story, I ought to prefix a -sketch of that sys- 
 tem to my translation, and I once thought of profiting by the suggestion. 
 On reflection, however, I cannot but view the work as complete in itself. 
 Whatever seems requisite, even for readers least conversant with such lore, 
 Fouqus has contrived to incorporate, and I think very happily too, with the 
 texture of his fable. See the developments of the eighth chapter. Every- 
 body enjoys the delightful marvels of the Arabian Nights, marvels tliat have 
 almost become numbered among the common-places of our experience ; even 
 children understand the machinery of genii, magicians, talismans, rings, 
 lamps, and enchanted horses. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ziii 
 
 The reader will allow mc to observe, in closing these brief notices, that, 
 supported as well by my own feeling as by the judgment of Menzel, Cole- 
 ridge, and, I may add, by the general voice of criticism, I view Undine not 
 only as a work of art, but as something far superior, an exquisite creation of 
 genius. If I have failed to do justice to her peculiar traits, in thus intro- 
 ducing her to him in the costume of our \inguage, it is not owing to want 
 of admiration, or of studiously endeavoring to be faithful to my trust ; and, 
 aware of the difficulty of presenting her the " vision of beauty" that 
 Fouque " found" her, he will forgive the fond impulse of my ambition. 
 What welcome she may receive among us, it remains for the noble knights 
 and lovely ladies of our country to show. She does not come as a 
 stranger, — she has already been more than once greeted with favour ; still, 
 wide as may be her fame in the world of letters, she seems, as yet, to be 
 more talked of in the world of common readers, than, if I may so speak, 
 Known in person. To all lovers of the imaginative, therefore, — to every 
 ♦* simple, affectionate, and wonder-loving heart," — her fortunes are again 
 committed. 
 
 This translation of Undine was first published in 1839, as the third 
 volume of the New York " Library of Romance," of which " Phantas- 
 mion" formed the first and second. It was republished also, the same year, 
 in the London " Standard Library." Encouraged by its favourable recep- 
 tion, and feeling that every thing of value, in a picture so closely allied to 
 poetry as this, depends on skilfully disposing the colours of thought, the 
 lights and shades of expression, I have since that edition again and again 
 compared it with the German, and spared no pains to render it less un- 
 worthy of the welcome with which it has been honoured. 
 
 What I proposed to myself, as a general if not an invariable rule in 
 translating and revising, was this, to adhere to the verbal import of the ori- 
 ginal, whenever a freer rendering did not give promise of more clearness, 
 beauty, or force of expression, in English. Freedom and fidelity, indeed, 
 have been my continual aim ; but, notwithstanding the imperfections which 
 I have from time to time detected and removed, when I perceive how 
 faint a shadow my version is of the vivid original, I am able to make no 
 higher boast than of having tried to copy the author's fineness and subtlety 
 of conception, as well as the ease and simplicity of his execution. Still, 
 however inadequate the translation may be, and however perfect a copy 
 sojne more expert translator may produce, few or none will ever submit to a 
 like process of revision and irflpToveincnt to make it such ; and though 
 " a I'ibour of love," as one of my reviewers has been pieaaed to call my 
 
xiv 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 work, — a striving after accuracy of thought and expression, as if it were 
 a case of conscience, — it is a labour that I would fain hope I shall seldona 
 find it necessary to repeat. 
 
 The preceding remarks formed the " Advertisement" to the " Miniature 
 Romances from the German," published in Boston, 1841. Since that time, 
 the translation of Undine has passed through more editions in London, than 
 it is necessary or I am able to mention. In all of them, omissions have 
 been made, and other unauthorized liberties have been taken ; but that of 
 Mr. James Bums, in his recent volumes of Fouque, I consider by far the 
 best I have seen. I themk the editor for the labor he has bestowed upon 
 my version. I should have been more pleased, indeed, if he had not re- 
 moved the author's headings from the chapters, if he had not chosen to 
 unite two chapters in one, and if he had not injured several passages by the 
 changes he has made : still he has revised my work with so much care and 
 good taste, that, in preparing it for Messrs. Wiley & Putnam's publication, 
 I have derived many verbal improvements from his copy. While I am glad 
 to welcome this English fellow-worker to the same delightful field, I cannot 
 but cherish the assurance, that his translations of German romance, both 
 original and selected, will be as warmly welcomed by all lovers of the 
 Natural and Supernatural as by mysel£ 
 
 T. Tract. 
 
 February 22, 1845. 
 
UNDINE. 
 
 CHAPTER 1. 
 
 How a Knight came to a Fisherman's Cottage. 
 
 Once on a beautiful evening, it may now be mar y hundred 
 years ago, there was a worthy old fisherman who sat before hia 
 door mending his nets. 
 
 Now the corner of the world where he dwelt, was exceedingly 
 picturesque. The green turf on which he had built his cottage, 
 ran far out into a great lake ; and this slip of verdure appeared 
 to stretch into it as much through love of its clear waters, blue 
 and bright, as the lake, moved by a like impulse, sti'ove to fold 
 the meadow, with its waving grass and flowers, and the cooling 
 shade of the trees, in its fond embrace. Such were the fresh- 
 ness and beauty of both, that they seemed to be drawn toward 
 each other, and the one to be visiting the other as a guest. 
 
 With respect to human beings, indeed, in this pleasant spot, 
 excepting the fisherman and his family, there were few or rather 
 none to be met with. For in the back-ground of the scene, to- 
 ward the west and north-west, lay a forest of extraordinary 
 wildness, which, owing to its gloom and its being almost impass- 
 able, as well as to fear of the strange creatures and visionary 
 forms to be encountered there, most people avoided entering, 
 unless in cases of extreme necessity. The pious old fisher- 
 man, however, many times passed through it without harm, 
 when he carried the fine fish, which he caught by his beautiful 
 fftrip of land, to a great city lying only a short distance beyond 
 the extensive forest. 
 
 2 
 
9 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap, l 
 
 Now the reason he was able to go through this wood with so 
 much ease, may have been chiefly this, because he entertained 
 scarcely any thoughts but such as were of a religious nature ; 
 and besides, every time he crossed the evil-reported shades, he 
 used to sing some holy song with a clear voice and from a sin- 
 cere heart. 
 
 Well, while he sat by his nets this evening, neither fearing 
 nor devising evil, a sudden terror seized him, as he heard a 
 rushing in the darkness of the wood, that resembled the tram- 
 pling of a mounted steed, and the noise continued every instant 
 drawing nearer and nearer to his little territory. 
 
 What he had dreamed in his reveries, when abroad in many 
 a stormy night, respecting the mysteries of the forest, now 
 flashed through his mind in a moment ; especially the figure of 
 a man of gigantic stature and snow-white appearance, who 
 kept nodding his head in a portentous manner. Yet, when he 
 raised his eyes toward the wood, the form came before him in 
 perfect distinctness, as he saw the nodding man burst forth 
 from the mazy web-work of leaves and branches. But he im- 
 mediately felt emboldened, when he reflected that nothing to 
 give him alarm had ever befallen him even in the forest ; and 
 moreover, that on this open neck of land the evil spirit, it was 
 likely, would be still less daring in the exercise of its power. 
 At the same time, he prayed aloud with the most earnest sin- 
 cerity of devotion, repeating a passage of the Bible. This 
 inspired him with fresh courage ; and soon perceiving the illu- 
 sion ^ the strange mistake into which his imagination had betrayed 
 him, he could with difliculty refrain from laughing. The white, 
 nodding figure he had seen, became transformed in the twink- 
 ling of an eye, to what in reality it was, a small brook, long 
 and familiarly known to him, which ran foaming from the 
 forest, and discharged itself into the lake. 
 
 But what had caused the startling sound, was a knight, array 
 ed in sumptuous apparel, who beneath the shadows of the tree? 
 came riding toward the cottage. His doublet was of dark violet, 
 embroidered with gold, and his scarlet cloak hung graceful iy 
 
ciur. I.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 3 
 
 over it ; on his cap of burnished gold waved red and violet 
 plumes, and in his golden shoulder-belt flashed a sword, 
 richly ornamented and extremely beautiful. The white barb 
 that bore the knight, was more slenderly built than war-horses 
 usually are ; and he touched the turf with a step so light and 
 ejastic, that the green and flower-woven carpet seemed hardly 
 to receive the slightest break from his tread. The old fisher- 
 man, notwithstanding, did not feel perfectly secure in his mind, 
 although he was forced to believe, that no evil could be feared 
 from an appearance so prepossessing; and therefore, as good 
 manners dictated, he took off his hat on the knight's coming 
 near, and quietly remained by the side of his nets. 
 
 "When the stranger stopped, and asked whether he with his 
 horse could have shelter and entertainment there for the night, 
 *the fisherman returned answer : " As to your horse, fair Sir, I 
 have no better stable for him than this shady meadow, and no 
 better provender than the grass that is growing here. But with 
 ••espect to yourself, you shall be welcome to our humble cot- 
 tage, and to the best supper and lodging we are able to give 
 you." 
 
 The knight was well contented with this reception ; and 
 alighting from his horse, which his host assisted him to relieve 
 firom saddle and bridle, he let him hasten away to the fresh 
 pasture, and thus spoke : " Even had I found you less hospita- 
 ble and kindly disposed, my worthy old friend, you would still, 
 I suspect, hardly have got rid of me to-day ; for here, I per- 
 ceive, a broad lake lies before us, and as to riding back into 
 that wood of wonders, with the shades of evening deepening 
 around me, may Heaven in its grace preserve me from the 
 thought !" 
 
 " Pray, not a word of the wood, or of returning into it !" said 
 the fisherman, and took his guest into the cottage. 
 
 There, beside the hearth, from which a frugal fire was dif- 
 fusing its light through the clean dusky room, sat the fisher- 
 man's aged wife in a great chair. At the entrance of their 
 noble guest, she rose and gave him a courteous welcome, but 
 
4 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [CUAP. I 
 
 fe-at down again m her seat of honour, not making the slightest 
 offer of it to the stranger. Upon this the fisherman said with a 
 smile : 
 
 You must not be offended with her, young gentleman, he- 
 cause she has not given up to you the best chair in the house : 
 it is a custom among poor people to look upon this as the pri- 
 vilege of the aged." 
 
 "Why, husband!" cried the old lady with a quiet smile, 
 " where can your wits be wandering ? Our guest, to say the 
 least of him, must belong to a Christian country, and how is it 
 possible then, that so well-bred a young man, as he appears to 
 be, could dream of driving old people from their chairs ? Take 
 a seat, my young master," continued she, turning to the knight : 
 " there is still quite a snug little chair across the room there, 
 only be careful not to shove it about too roug'hly, for one of its 
 legs, I fear, is none of the firmest." 
 
 The knight brought up the seat as carefully as she could de- 
 sire, and good-humouredly sat down upon it ; while it seemed 
 to him for a moment, that he must be somehow related to this 
 little household, and have just returned home from abroad. 
 
 These three worthy people now began to converse in the 
 most friendly and familiar manner. In relation to the forest, 
 indeed, concerning which the knight occasionally made some 
 inquiries, the old man chose to know but little ; at any rate he 
 was of opinion, that slightly touching upon it, at this hour of 
 twilight, was most suitable and safe ; but of the cares and com- 
 forts of their home and their business abroad^ the aged couple 
 spoke more freely, and listened also with eager curiosity, as the 
 knight recounted to them his travels, and how he had a castle 
 near one of the sources of the Danube, and that his name was 
 Sir Huldbrand of Ringstetten, 
 
 Already had the stranger, while they were in the midst of 
 their talk, been aware at times of a splash against the little low 
 window, as if some one were dashing water against it. The 
 old man, every time he heard the noise, knit his brows with 
 vexation ; but at last, when the whole SAveep of a shower came 
 
CHAP. I.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 5 
 
 pouring like a torrent against the panes, and bubbling through 
 the decayed frame into the room, he started up indignant, rush- 
 ed to the window, and cried with a threatening voice : 
 
 " Undine ! will you never leave off these fooleries ? not 
 even to-day, when we have a stranger-knight with us in the 
 cottage ?" 
 
 All without now became still, only a low titter was just per- 
 ceptible, and the fisherman said, as he came back to his seat : 
 " You will have the goodness, my honored guest, to pardon 
 this freak, and it may be a multitude more, but she has no 
 thought of evil or any thing improper. This mischievous Un- 
 dine, to confess the truth, is our adopted daughter, and she 
 stoutly refuses to give over this frolicksome childishness of hers, 
 although she has already entered her eighteenth year. But in 
 spite of this, as 1 said before, she is at heart one of the very 
 best children in the world." 
 
 " You may say so," broke in the old lady, shaking her head, 
 — " you can give a better account of her than I can. When 
 you return home from fishing, or from selling your fish in the 
 city, you may think her frolics very delightful. But to have 
 her figuring about you the whole day long, and never, from 
 morning to night, to hear her speak one word of sense ; and 
 then, as she grows older, instead of having any help from her 
 in the family, tc find her a continual cause of anxiety, lest her 
 wild humours should completely ruin us, — that is quite a dif- 
 ferent affair, and enough at last to weary out the patience even 
 of a saint." 
 
 " Well, well," replied the master of the house, with a smile, 
 " you have your trials with Undine, and I have mine with the 
 lake. The lake often beats down my dams, and breaks the 
 meshes of my nets, but for all that I have a strong affection for 
 it ; and so have you, in spite of your mighty crosses and vexa» 
 tions, for our nice pretty little child. Is it not true ?" 
 
 " One cannot be very angry with her," answered the old 
 lady, as she gave her husband an approving smile. 
 
 That instant the door flew open, and a girl of slender form, 
 
6 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. I. 
 
 almost a very miniature of woman, her hair flaxen and her 
 complexion fair, in one word, a blonde-like miracle of beauty, 
 slipped laughing in, and said : " You have only been making 
 a mock of me, father ; for where now is the guest you men- 
 tioned ?" 
 
 The same moment, however, she perceived the knight also, 
 and continued standing before the comely young man in fixed 
 astonishment. Huldbrand was charmed with her graceful 
 figure, and viewed her lovely features with the more intense 
 interest, as he imagined it was only her surprise that permitted 
 him to have the opportunity, and that she would soon turn away 
 fi:om his gaze with increased bashfulness. But the event was 
 the very reverse of what he expected. For after now regard- 
 ing him quite a long while, she felt more confidence, moved 
 nearer, knelt down before him, and, while she played with a 
 gold medal, which he wore attached to a rich chain on his 
 breast, exclaimed : 
 
 " Why, you beautiful, you friendly guest ! how have you 
 reached our poor cottage at last ? Have you been obliged, for 
 years and years, to wander about the world, before you could 
 catch one glimpe of our nook ? Do you come out of that wild 
 forest, my lovely friend ?" 
 
 The old woman was so prompt in her reproof, as to allow 
 him no time to answer. She commanded the maiden to rise, 
 show better manners, and go to her work. But Undine, with- 
 out making any reply, drew a little footstool near Huldbrand's 
 chair, sat down upon it with her netting, and said in a gentle 
 tone : " I will work here." 
 
 The old man did as parents are apt to do with children, to 
 whom they have been over-indulgent. He affected to observe 
 nothing of Undine's strange behaviour, and was beginning to talk 
 about something else. But this was what the little girl would 
 not suffer him to do. She broke in upon him : " I have asked 
 our kind guest, from whence he has come among us, and he 
 has not yet answered me." 
 
CHAP. I ] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 7 
 
 " I come out of the forest, you lovely little vision," Huld- 
 brand returned, and she spoke again: 
 
 " You must also tell me how you came to enter that forest, 
 so feared and shunned, and the marvellous adventures you mel~ 
 with there; for there is no escaping, I guess, without some- 
 thing of this kind." 
 
 Huldbrand felt a slight shudder, on remembering what he 
 had witnessed, and looked involuntarily toward the window ; 
 for it seemed to him, that one of the strange shapes, which had 
 come upon him in the forest, must be there grinning in through 
 the glass ; but he discerned nothing except the deep darkness 
 of night, which had now enveloped the whole prospect. Upon 
 this, he became more collected, and was just on the point of 
 beginning his account, when the old man thus interrupted him : 
 
 " Not so. Sir knight ; this is by no means a fit hour for such 
 relations." 
 
 But Undine, in a state of high excitement, sprang up from 
 lier little cricket, braced her beautiful arms against her sides, 
 and cried, placing herself directly before the fisherman : " He 
 shall not tell his story, father ? he shall not ? But it is my 
 will : — he shall ! — he shall, stop him who may !" 
 
 Thus speaking, she stamped her neat little foot vehemently 
 ^n the floor, but all with an air of such comic and good-hu- 
 moured simplicity, that Huldbrand now found it quite as hard 
 to withdraw his gaze from her wild emotion, as he had before 
 from her gentleness and beauty. The old man, on the contrary, 
 burst out in unrestrained displeasure. He severely reproved 
 Undine for her disobedience and her unbecomino- carriao-e 
 toward the stranger, and his good old wife joined him in harp- 
 ing on the same string. 
 
 By these rebukes Undine was only excited the more. " If 
 you want to quarrel with me," she cried, " and will not let me 
 hear what I so much desire, then sleep alone in your smoky 
 old hut !" — And swift as an arrow she shot from the door, and 
 vanished amid the darkness of the ni^ht. 
 
8 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap, u 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 In what manner Undine had come to the Fisherman. 
 
 HuLDBRAND and the fisherman sprang from their seats, and were 
 rushing to stop the angry girl ; but before they could reach the 
 cottage door, she had disappeared in the cloud-like obscurity 
 without, and no sound, not so much even as that of her light 
 foot-step, betrayed the course she had taken, Huldbrand threw 
 a glance of inquiry toward his host : it almost seemed to him, as 
 if , his whole interview with a sweet apparition, which had so 
 suddenly plunged again amid the night, were no other than a 
 continuation of the wonderful forms, that had just played their 
 mad pranks with him in the forest ; but the old man muttered 
 between his teeth : 
 
 " This is not the first time she has treated us in this manner. 
 Now must our hearts be filled with anxiety, and our eyes find 
 no sleep, the livelong night ; for who can assure us, in spite of 
 her past escapes, that she will not some time or other come 
 to harm, if she thus continue out in the dark and alone until 
 daylight ?" 
 
 " Then pray, for God's sake, father, let us follow her," cried 
 Huldbrand anxiously. 
 
 " Wherefore should we ?" replied the old man ; " it would be 
 a sin, were I to suffer you, all alone, to search after the foolish 
 girl amid the lonesomeness of night ; and my old limbs would 
 ffiil to carry me to this wild rover, even if I knew to what 
 place she has hurried offl" 
 
 " Still we ought at least to call after her, and beg her to re- 
 turn," said Huldbrand ; and he began to call in tones of earnest 
 entreaty : " Undine ! Undine ! come back, pray come back !" 
 
 The old man shook his head, and said : " All your shoutings 
 
CHAP. II.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 9 
 
 however loud and long, will be of no avail ; you know not as 
 yet, Sir knight, what a self-willed thing the little wilding is." 
 But still, even hoping against hope, he could not himself cease 
 calling out every minute, amid the gloom of night : " Undine ! 
 ah, dear Undine ! I beseech you, pray come back, — only this 
 once." 
 
 It turned out, however, exactly as the fisherman had said. 
 No Undine could they hear or see ; and as the old man would ^ 
 on no account consent that Huldbrand should go in quest of the 
 furtive, they were both obliged at last to return into the cot- 
 tage. There they found the fire on the hearth almost gone 
 out, and the mistress of the house, who took Undine's flight and 
 danger far less to heart than her husband, had already gone to 
 rest. The old man blew up the coals, put on dry wood, and 
 by means of the renewed flame hunted for a jug of wine, which 
 he brought and set between himself and his guest. 
 
 " You, Sir knight, as well as I," said he, " are anxious on 
 the silly girl's account, and it would be better, I think, to spend 
 part of the night in chatting and drinking, than keep turning 
 and turning on our rush-mats, and trying in vain to sleep. 
 What is your opinion ?" 
 
 Huldbrand was well pleased with the plan ; the fisherman 
 pressed him to take the vacant seat of honor, its worthy occu- 
 pant having now left it for her couch ; and they relished their 
 beverage and enjoyed their chat, as two such good men and 
 true ever ought to do. To be sure, whenever the slightest 
 thing moved before the windows, or at times when just nothing 
 at all was moving, one of them would look up and exclaim, 
 " There she comes !" — Then would they continue silent a few 
 moments, and afterward, when nothing appeared, would shake 
 their heads, brea he out a sigh, and go on with their talk. 
 
 But as they could neither of them think of any thing except 
 Undine, the best plan they could devise was, that the old fisher- 
 man should relate, and the knight should hear, in what mannei 
 Undine had come to the cottage. So the fisherman began aa 
 follows : 
 
10 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [CIIAP. II 
 
 " It is now about fifteen years, since I one day crossed the wild 
 forest with fish for the city market. My wife had remained at 
 home, as she was wont to do ; and at this time for a reason of 
 more than common interest ; for although we were beginning 
 to feel the advances of age, God had bestov^ed upon us an infant 
 of wonderful beauty. It was a little girl, and we already be- 
 gan to ask ourselves the question, whether we ought not, for 
 the advantage of the new-comer, to quit our solitude, and, the 
 better to bring up this precious gift of Heavsn, to remove to 
 some more inhabited place. Poor people, to be sure, cannot in 
 these cases do all you may think they ought. Sir knight ; but 
 still, gracious God ! we must all do as much for our children 
 as we possibly can. 
 
 " Well, I went on my way, and this affair would keep running 
 in my head. This tongue of land was most dear to me, and I 
 shrunk from the thought of leaving it, when, amidst the bustle 
 and brawls of the city, I was obliged to reflect in this manner 
 by myself : ' In a scene of tumult like this, or at least in one 
 not much more quiet, I too must soon take up my abode.' But 
 in spite of these feelings, I was far from murmuring against the 
 kind providence of God ; on the contrary, when I received this 
 new blessing, my heart breathed a prayer of thankfulness too 
 deep for words to express. I should also speak an untruth, 
 were I to say, that any thing befell me, either on my passage 
 through the forest to the city, or on my returning homeward, 
 that gave me more alarm than usual, as at that time I had never 
 seen any appearance there, which could terrify or annoy me. 
 The Lord was ever with me in those awful shades." 
 
 Thus speaking, he took his cap reverently from his bald 
 head, and continued to sit, for a considerable time, in devout 
 thought. He then covered himself again, and went on with his 
 relation : 
 
 " On this side the forest, alas ! it was on this side, that woe 
 burst upon me. My wife came wildly to meet me, clad in 
 mourning apparel, and her eyes slicaming with tears, ' Gra- 
 cious God !' I cried with a ^roan ; 'where's our child? Speak 1* 
 
CHAP. U.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 11 
 
 " ' With the Being on whom you have called, dear husband,' 
 she answered ; and we now entered the cottage together, 
 weeping in silence. I looked for the little corse, almost fearing 
 to find what I was seeking ; and then it was I first learnt how 
 all had happened. 
 
 " My wife had taken the little one in her arms, and walked 
 out to the shore of the lake. She there sat down by . ts very 
 brink ; and Avhile she was playing with the infant, as free from 
 all fear as she was full of delight, it bent forward on a sudden, 
 as if seeing something very beautiful in the water. My wife 
 saw her laugh, the dear angel, and try to catch the image in 
 her little hands ; but in a moment, — with a motion swifter than 
 sight, — she sprung from her mother's arms, and sunk in the 
 lake, the watery glass into which she had been gazing. I 
 searched for our lost darling again and again ; but it was all 
 in vain ; I could nowhere find the least trace of her. 
 
 " Well, we were again childless parents, and were now, on 
 the same evening, sitting together by our cottage hearth. We 
 had no desire to talk, even if our tears would have permitted 
 us. As we thus sat in mournful stillness, gazing into the fire, 
 all at once we heard something without, — a slight rustling at 
 the door. The door flew open, and we saw a little girl, three 
 or four years old, and more beautiful than I am able to tell 
 you, standing on the threshold, richly dressed and smiling upon 
 us. We were struck dumb with astonishment, and I knew not 
 for a time, whether the tiny form were a real human being, or 
 a mere mockery of enchantment. But I soon perceived water 
 dripping from her golden hair and rich garments, and that the 
 pretty child had been lying in the water, and stood in imme- 
 diate need of our help. 
 
 " ' Wife,' said I, ' no one has been able to save our child for 
 us ; still we doubtless ought to do for others, what would make 
 ourselves the happiest parents on earth, could any one do us 
 the same kindness.' 
 
 " We undressed the little thing, put her to bed, and gave her 
 something warming to drink : at all this she spoke not a word, 
 
13 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [cHAi*. n. 
 
 but only turned her eyes upon us, — eyes blue and bright as sea 
 or sky, — and continued looking at us Avith a smile. 
 
 " Next morning, we had no reason to fear, that she had re- 
 ceived any other harm than her wetting, and I now asked her 
 about her parents, and how she could have come to us. But 
 the account she gave, was both confused and incredible. She 
 must surely have been born far from here, not only because 1 
 have been unable, for these fifteen years, to learn any thing of 
 her birth, but because she then said, and at times continues to 
 say, many things of so very singular a nature, that we neither 
 of us know, after all, whether she may not have dropped among 
 us from the moon. Then her talk runs upon golden castles, 
 crystal domes, and Heaven knows what extravagances beside. 
 What of her story, however, she related with most distinctness, 
 was this, that while she was once taking a sail with her mo- 
 ther on the great lake, she fell out of the boat into the water ; 
 and that when she first recovered her senses, she was here un- 
 der our trees, where the gay scenes of the shore filled her with 
 delight. 
 
 " We now had another care weighing upon our minds, and 
 one that caused us no small perplexity and uneasiness. We 
 of course very soon determined to keep and bring up the child 
 we had found, in place of our own darling that had been 
 drowned ; but who could tell us whether she had been baptized 
 or not ? She herself could give us no light on the subject. 
 When we asked her the question, she commonly made answer, 
 that she well knew she was created for God's praise and glory , 
 and that as to what might promote the praise and glory of God, 
 she was willing to let us determine. 
 
 " My wife and I reasoned in this way : ' If she has not been 
 baptized, there can be no use in putting oflf the ceremony ; and 
 if she has been, it is more dangerous to have too little of a good 
 thing than too much.' 
 
 " Taking this view of our difficulty, we now endeavwed to 
 hit upon a good name for the child, since while she remained 
 without one, we were often at a loss, in our familiar talk, to 
 
CHAP. II.J 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 13 
 
 know what to call her. We at length decided, that Dorothea 
 would be most suitable for her, as I had somewhere heard it 
 said, that this name signified a Gift of God ; and surely she 
 had been sent to us by Providence as a gift, to comfort us in 
 our misery. She, on the contrary, would not so much as htar 
 Dorothea mentioned : she insisted, that as she had been named 
 Undine by her parents, Undine she ought still to be called. 
 
 It now occurred to me, that this was a heathenish name, to 
 be found in no calendar, and I resolved to ask the advice of a 
 priest in the city. He too would hear nothing of the name, 
 Undine ; and yielding to my urgent request, he came with me 
 through the enchanted forest, in order to perform the rite of 
 baptism here in my cottage. 
 
 " The little maid stood before us so smart in her finery, and 
 with so winning an air of gracefulness, that the heart of the 
 priest softened at once in her presence ; and she had a way of 
 coaxing him so adroitly, and even of braving him at times with 
 so merry a queerness, that he at last remembered nothing of his 
 many objections to the name of Undine. 
 
 " Thus then was she baptized Undine ; and during the holy 
 ceremony, she behaved with great propriety and gentleness, 
 wild and wayward as at other times she invariably was. For 
 in this my wife was quite right, when she mentioned what care 
 and anxiety the child has occasioned us. If 1 should relate to 
 you" 
 
 At this moment the knight interrupted the fisherman, with a 
 view to direct his attention to a deep sound, as of a rushing 
 flood, which had caught his ear, within a few minutes, between 
 the words of the old man. And now the waters came pouring 
 on with redoubled fury before the cottage windows. Both 
 sprang to the door. There they saw, by the light of the now 
 risen moon, the brook which issued from the wood, rushing wildly 
 over its banks, and whirling onward with it both stones and 
 branches of trees in its rapid course. The storm, as if awak- 
 ened by the uproar, burst forth from the clouds, whose im.mense 
 masses of vapour coursed over the moon with the swiftness of 
 
14 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 thought ; the lake roared beneath the wind, that swept the foam 
 from its waves ; while the trees of this narrow peninsula 
 groaned from root to top-most branch, as they bowed and 
 swung above the torrent. 
 
 " Undine ! in God's name, Undine !" cried the two men in 
 an agony. No answer was returned ; and now, regardless of 
 every thing else, they hurried from the cottage, one in this di- 
 rection, the other in that, searching and calling. 
 
OHAP. III.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 How they found Undine Again. 
 
 The longer Huldbrand sought Undine beneath the shades of 
 night, and failed to find her, the more anxious and confused he 
 became. The impression that she was a mere phantom of the 
 forest, gLjned a new ascendency over him; indeed, amid the 
 howling of the waves and the tempest, the crashing of the trees, 
 and so entire a change of the scene, that it bore no resemblance 
 to its former calm beauty, he was tempted to view the whole 
 peninsula, together with the cottage and its inhabitants, as little 
 more than some mockery of his senses ; but still he heard, afar 
 off, the fisherman's anxious and incessant shouting, " Undine ! 
 Undine !" and also his aged wife, who, with a loud voice and 
 a strong feeling of awe, was praying and chanting hymns amid 
 the commotion. 
 
 At length, when he drew near to the brook which had over- 
 flowed its banks, he perceived by the moonlight, that it had 
 taken its wild course directly in front of the haunted forest, so 
 as to change the peninsula into an island. 
 
 " Merciful God 1" he breathed to himself, " if Undine has 
 ventured one step within that fearful wood, what will become 
 of her ? Perhaps it was all owing to her sportive and way- 
 ward spirit, because I could give her no account of my adven- 
 tures there. And now the stream is rolling between us, she 
 may be weeping alone on the other side in the midst of spectral 
 horrors !" 
 
 A shuddering groan escaped him, and clambering over some 
 f?tones and trunks of overthrown pines, in order to step into the 
 impetuous current, he resolved, either by wading or swimming, 
 to seek the wanderer on the further shore. He felt, it is true, 
 
16 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. Ill 
 
 all the dread and shrinking awe creeping over him, which he 
 had already suffered by daylight among the now tossing and 
 roaring branches of the forest. More than all. a tall man in 
 white, whom he knew but too well, met his view, as he stood 
 grinning and nodding on the grass beyond the water ; but even 
 monstrous forms, like this, only impelled him to cross over 
 toward them, when the thought rushed upon him, that Undine 
 might be there alone, and in the agony of dea.h. 
 
 He had alreatly grasped a stout branch of a pine, and stood 
 supporting himself upon it in the whirling current, against 
 which he could with difficulty keep himself erect ; but he ad- 
 vanced deeper in, with a courageous spirit. That instant, a 
 gentle voice of warning cried near him : " Do not venture, do 
 not venture ! — that old man, the stream, is too full of tricks to 
 be ti'usted !" — He knew the soft tones of the voice ; and while 
 he stood as it were entranced, beneath the shadows which now 
 duskily veiled the moon, his head swum with the swell and roll- 
 ing of the waves, as he every moment saw them foaming and 
 dashing above his knee. Still he disdained the thought of 
 giving up his purpose. 
 
 " If you are not really there, if you are merely gambolling 
 round me like a mist, may I too bid farewell to life, and become 
 a shadow like you, dear, dear Undine !"* Thus calling aloud, 
 he again moved deeper into the stream. " Look round you, — 
 ah pray look round you, beautiful young stranger ! why rush 
 on death so madly !" cried the voice a second time close by 
 him ; and looking on one side, as the moon by glimpses un- 
 
 * This intensive form of expression is almost as familiar in English as in 
 Geniian, and I have not scrupled occasionally to employ it. The following 
 example from Thalaba, is one of the most impressive in the language : 
 No sound but the wild, wild wind, 
 And the snow crunching under his feet." 
 These lines from the Ancient Mariner afford another example, and one 
 stiW more remarkable : 
 
 " Alone, alone, all, all alone. 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea." 
 
CHAP. HI.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 17 
 
 veiled its light, he perceived a little island formed by the flood, 
 and, reclined upon its flowery turf beneath the high branches of 
 embowering trees, he saw the smiling and lovely Undine. 
 
 O with what a thrill of delight, compared with the suspense 
 and pause of a moment before, the young man now plied his 
 sturdy staff! A few steps freed him from the flood, that was 
 rushing between himself and the maiden, and he stood near her 
 on the little spot of green-sward, in secret security, covered by 
 the primeval trees that rustled above them. Undine had par- 
 tially risen, within her tent of verdure, and she now threw her 
 arms around his neck, so that she gently drew him down upon 
 the soft seat by her side. 
 
 " Here you shall tell me your story, my handsome friend," 
 she breathed in a low whisper ; " here the cross old people can- 
 not disturb us. And, besides, our roof of leaves here will make 
 quite as good a shelter, it may be, as their poor cottage." 
 
 " It is heaven itself," cried Huldbrand ; and folding her in 
 his arms, he kissed the lovely and affectionate girl with fer- 
 vour. 
 
 The old flsherman, meantime, had come to the margin of the 
 stream, and he shouted across to the young lovers : " Why 
 how is this. Sir knight! I received you with the welcome 
 which one true-hearted man gives to another, and now you 
 sit there caressing my foster-child in secret, while you suffer 
 me in my anxiety to go roaming through the night in quest 
 of her." 
 
 " Not till this moment did I find her myself, old father," cried 
 the knight across the water. 
 
 " So much the better," said the fisherman ; " but now make 
 haste, and bring her over to me upon firm ground." 
 
 To this, however, Undine would by no means consent. She 
 declared, that she would rather enter the wild forest itself with 
 the beautiful stranger, than return to the cottage, where she 
 was so thwarted in her wishes, and from which the handsome 
 knight would soon or late go away. Then closely embracing 
 3 
 
i8 UNDINE. [chap. hi. 
 
 HuHbrand, she sung the following verse with the warbling 
 sweetness of a bird : 
 
 " A Rill v/ould leave its misty vale, 
 And fortunes wild explore ; 
 Weary at length it reached the main, 
 And sought its vale no more." 
 
 The old fisherman wept bitterly at her song, but his emotion 
 seemed to awaken little or no sympathy in her. She kissed and 
 caressed her new friend, whom she called her darling, and who 
 at last said to her : " Undine, if the distress of the old man 
 does not touch your heart, it cannot but move mine. We ought 
 to return to him." 
 
 She opened her large blue eyes upon him in perfect amaze- 
 ment, and spoke at last with a slow and lingering accent : " If 
 you think so, — it is well ; all is right to me, which you think 
 right. But the old man over there must first give me his 
 promise, that he will allow you, without objection, to relate 
 what you saw in the wood, and well, other things will set- 
 tle themselves."* 
 
 " Come, do only come !" cried the fisherman to her, unable 
 to utter another word. At the same time, he stretched his 
 arms wide over the current toward her, and, to give her assu- 
 rance that he would do what she required, nodded his head ; 
 this motion caused his white hair to fall strangely over his face, 
 and Huldbrand could not but remember the nodding white man 
 of the forest. Without allowing anything, how^ever, to pro- 
 duce in liim the least confusion, the young knight took the 
 beautiful girl in his arms, and bore her across the narrow chan- 
 nel, which the stream had torn away between her little island 
 and the solid shore. The old man fell upon Undine's neck, 
 and found it impossible either to express his joy, or to kiss her 
 enough ; even the ancient dame came up, and embraced the 
 
 * " Undine evidently meant to have added another condition, but then 
 thinking it superfluous, only remarks, — ' well, other things will settle them- 
 Bclves.'" C F. 
 
CHAP. IM.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 19 
 
 recovered girl most cordially. Every word of censure was 
 carefully avoided ; the more so indeed, as even Undine, forget- 
 ting her waywardness, almost overwhelmed her foster-parents 
 with caresses and the prattle of tenderness. 
 
 When at length the excess of their joy at recovering their 
 child had subsided, and they seemed to have come to them- 
 selves, morning had already dawned, opening to view and 
 brightening the waters of the lake. The tempest had become 
 hushed, and small birds sung merrily on the moist branches. 
 
 As Undine now insisted upon hearing the recital of the 
 knight's promised adventures, the aged couple, smiling with 
 good-humour, yielded to her wish. Breakfast was brought 
 out beneath the trees, which stood behind the cottage toward 
 the lake on the north, and they sat down to it with delighted 
 hearts, — Undine lower than the rest (since she would by no 
 means allow it to be otherwise) at the knight's feet on the grass. 
 These arrangements being made, Huldbrand began his story 
 in the following manner. 
 
so UNDINE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Of what had happened to the Knight in the forest. 
 
 " It is now about eight days since I rode into the free imperial 
 city, which lies yonder on the further side of the forest. Soon 
 after my arrival, a splendid tournament and running at the ring 
 took place there, and I spared neither my horse nor my lance 
 in the encounters. 
 
 " Once, while I was pausing at the lists, to rest from the 
 brisk exercise, and was handing back my helmet to one of my 
 attendants, a female figure of extraordinary beauty caught my 
 attention, as, most magnificently attired, she stood looking on at 
 one of the balconies. I learnt, on making inquiry of a person 
 near me, that the name of the gay young lady was Bertalda, 
 and that she was a foster-daughter of one of the powerful dukes 
 of this country. She too, I observed, was gazing at me, and 
 the consequences were such, as we young knights are wont to 
 experience : whatever success in riding I might have had before, 
 I was now favoured with still better fortune. That evening I 
 was Bertalda's partner in the dance, and I enjoyed the same 
 distinction during the remainder of the festival." 
 
 A sharp pain in his left hand, as it hung carelessly beside 
 him, here interrupted Huldbrand's relation, and drew his eye to 
 the part affected. Undine had fastened her pearly teeth, 
 and not without some keenness too, upon one of his fingers, 
 ap])earing at the same time very gloomy and displeased. On 
 a sudden, however, she looked up in his eyes with an expres- 
 sion of tender melancholy, and whispered almost inaudibly : 
 " You blame me, but it was all your own fault."* 
 
 * " That is, you act or speak in such a manner, as to make me treat you 
 rudely. Why do you say such provoking things ? — It is a kind of tendel 
 reproof, in se'^-defence." C. ,F. 
 
CHAP. IV.' 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 21 
 
 She then covered her face, and the knight, .-strangely embar- 
 rassed and thoughtful, went on with his story : 
 
 " This lady Bertalda of whom I spoke, is of a proud and 
 wayward spirit. The second day I saw her she pleased m^ by 
 no means so much as she had the first, and the third day still 
 less. But I continued about her, because she showed me more 
 favour than she did any other knight ; and it so happened, that 
 I playfully asked her to give me one of her gloves. 
 
 " ' When you have entered the haunted forest all alone,' said 
 she ; ' when you have explored its wonders, and brought me a 
 full account of them, the glove is yours.' 
 
 " As to getting her glove, it was of no importar ce to me 
 whatever, but the word had been spoken, and no honourable 
 knight would permit himself to be urged to such a proof of val- 
 our a second time." 
 
 " I thought," said Undine, interrupting him, " that she loved 
 you." 
 
 " It did appear so," replied Huldbrand. 
 
 " Well !" exclaimed the maiden laughing, " this is beyond 
 belief ; she must be very stupid and heartless. To drive from 
 her one who was dear to her ! And, worse than all, into that 
 ill-omened wood ! The wood and its mysteries, for all I should 
 have cared, might have waited a long while." 
 
 " Yesterday morning, then," pursued the knight, smiling 
 brightly upon Undine, " I set out from the city, my enterprise 
 before me. The early light lay rich upon the verdant turf It 
 shone so rosy on the slender boles of the trees, and there was so 
 merry a whispering among the leaves, that in my heart I cou]d 
 
 '*not but laugh at people, who feared meeting any thing to ter- 
 rify them in a spot so delicious. * I shall soon trot through the 
 forest, and as speedily return,' I said to myself in the overflow of 
 
 ' joyous feeling ; and ere I was well aware, I had entered deep 
 among the green shades, while of the plain that lay behind me, 
 I was no more able to catch a glimpse. 
 
 " Then the conviction for the first time impressed me, that 
 in a forest of so great extent I might very easily become bewil- 
 
23 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. it. 
 
 dered, and that this perhaps might be the only danger, which 
 was Hkely to threaten those who explored its recesses. So I 
 made a halt, and turned myself in the direction of the sun, 
 which had meantime risen somewhat higher ; and while I was 
 looking up to observe it, I saw something black among the 
 boughs of a lofty oak. My first thought was, — ' It is a bear !' 
 and I grasped my weapon of defence ; the object then accosted 
 me from above in a human voice, but n a tone most narsh and 
 hideous : ' If I overhead here do not gnaw off these dry branches, 
 Sir Wiseacre, what shall we have to roast you with, when mid- 
 night comes?' And with that it grinned, and made such a rat- 
 thng with the branches, that my courser became mad with af- 
 fright, and rushed furiously forward with me, before I had time 
 to see distinctly what sort of a devil's beast it was." 
 
 " You must not name it," said the old fisherman, crossing 
 himself ; his wife did the same without speaking a word ; and 
 Undine, while her eye sparkled with glee, looked at her beloved 
 knight and said : " The best of the story is, however, that as 
 yet they have not actually roasted you. But pray make haste, 
 my handsome young friend. I long to hear more." 
 
 The knight then went on with his adventures : " My horse 
 was so wild, that he well-nigh rushed with me against limbs 
 and trunks of trees. He was dripping with sweat, through 
 terror, heat, and the violent straining of his muscles. Still he 
 refused to slacken his career. At last, altogether beyond my 
 control, he took his course directly up a stony steep ; when 
 suddenly a tall white man flashed before me, and threw him- 
 self athwart the way my mad steed was taking. At this appa- 
 rition he shuddered with new affright, and stopt, trembling. I 
 took this chance of recovering my command of him, and now 
 for the first time perceived, that my deliverer, so far from being 
 a white man, was only a brook of silver brightness, foaming 
 near me in its descent from the hill, while it crossed and arrested 
 my horse's course with its rush of waters." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, dear Brook," cried Undine, clapping her 
 
CHAP IV.j 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 23 
 
 little hands. But the old man shook his head, and, deeply- 
 musing-, looked vacantly down before him. 
 
 " Hardly had I well settled myself in my saddle, and got the 
 reins in my grasp again," Huldbrand pursued, " when a wizard- 
 like dwarf of a man was already standing at my side, diminu- 
 tive and ugly beyond conception, his complexion of a brownish 
 yellow, and his nose scarcely of less magnitude than all the 
 rest of him. The fellow's mouth was slit almost from ear to 
 ear, and he showed his teeth with a simpering smile of .jdiot 
 courtesy, while he overwhelmed me with bows and scrapes in- 
 numerable. The farce now becoming excessively irksome, I 
 thanked him in the fewest words I could well use, turned about 
 my still trembling charger, and purposed either to seek another 
 adventure, or, should I meet with none, to pick my way back 
 to the city ; for the sun, during my wild chase, had passed the 
 meridian, and was now hastening toward the west. But this 
 villain of a manikin sprung at the same instant, and, with a turn 
 as rapid as lightning, stood before my horse again. ' Clear the 
 way there !' I fiercely shouted ; ' the beast is wild, and will 
 make nothing of running over you.' 
 
 " 'He wdll, will he !' cried the imp with a snarl, and snorting 
 out a laugh still more frightfully idiotic ; ' pay me, first pay 
 what you owe me, — I stopt your fine little nag for you ; without 
 my help, both you and he would be now sprawling below 
 there in that stony ravine. Hu ! from what a horrible plunge 
 I've saved you.' 
 
 " ' Well, pray don't stretch your mouth any wider,' said I, 
 ' but take your drink-money and be off, though every word you 
 say is false. See, it was the kind brook there, you miserable 
 thing, and not you, that saved me.' And at the same time I 
 dropt a piece of gold into his wizard cap, which he had taken 
 from his head while he was begging before me. 
 
 " I then trotted off and left him ; but, to make bad worse, he 
 screamed after me, and on a sudden, with inconceivable quick- 
 ues^^, he was close by my side. 1 started my horse into a gal- 
 
94 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 CHAP, rv 
 
 lop ; he galloped on with me, impossible for him as it appeared ; 
 and with this strange movement, half ludicrous and half horri- 
 ble, forcing at the same time every limb and feature into distor- 
 tion, he kept raising the gold piece as high as he could stretch 
 his arm, and screaming at every leap : ' Counterfeit ! false ! 
 false coin ! counterfeit !' and such were the croaking sounds that 
 issued from his hollow breast, you would have supposed, that, 
 every time he made them, he must have tumbled upon the 
 ground dead. All this while, his disgusting red tongue hung 
 lolling far out of his mouth. 
 
 " Discomposed at the sight, I stopped and asked him : ' What 
 do 3^ou mean by your screaming ? Take another piece of gold, 
 take two more, — but leave me.' 
 
 " He then began to make his hideous salutations of courtesy 
 again, and snarled out as before : ' Not gold, it shall not be 
 gold, my smart young gentleman ; I have too much of that 
 trash already, as I will show you in no-time.' 
 
 " At that moment, and thought itself could not have been 
 more instantaneous, I seemed to have acquired new powers of 
 sight. I could see through the solid green plain, as if it were 
 green glass, and the smooth surface of the earth were round as 
 a globe ; and within it I saw crowds of goblins, who were pur- 
 suing their pastime, and making themselves merry with silver 
 and gold. They were tumbling and rolling about, heads up 
 and heads down : they pelted one another in sport with the 
 precious metals, and with irritating malice blew gold dust in 
 one another's eyes. My odious companion stood half within 
 and half without ; he ordered the others to reach him up a vast 
 quantity of gold ; this he showed to me with a laugh, and then 
 flung it again ringing and chinking do^vn the measureles? 
 abyss. 
 
 " After this contemptuous disregard of gold, he held up the 
 piece I had given him, showing it to his brother gnomes below, 
 and they laughed themselves half dead at a bit so worthless, 
 and hissed me. At last, raising their fingers all smutched with 
 ore, they pointed them at me in scorn, and wilder and wilder, 
 
CHAP. IV.J 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 25 
 
 and thicker and thicker, and madder and madder, the crowd 
 were clambering up to where I sat gazing at these wonders. 
 Then terror seized me, as it had before seized my horse. I 
 drove my spurs into his sides ; and how far he rushed headlong 
 with me through the forest, during this second of my wild heats, 
 it is impossible to say. 
 
 " At ..ast, when I had now come to a dead halt again, the 
 cool of evening was around me. I caught the gleam of a white 
 foot-path through the branches of the trees ; and presuming it 
 would lead me out of the forest toward the city, I was desirous 
 of working my way into it ; but a face perfectly white and in- 
 distinct, with features forever changing, kept thrusting itself out 
 and peering at me between the leaves. I tried to avoid it; 
 but wherever I went, there too appeared the unearthly face. 
 I was maddened with rage at this interruption, and drove my 
 steed at the appearance fall-tilt ; when such a cloud of white 
 foam came rushing upon me and my horse, that we were al- 
 most blinded and glad to turn about and escape. Thus from 
 step to step it forced us on, and ever aside from the foot-path, 
 leaving us, for the most part, only one direction open. But 
 when we advanced in this, although it kept following close 
 behind us, it did not occasion the smallest harm or inconve- 
 r^ience. 
 
 " At times, when I looked about me at the form, I perceived 
 that the white face, which had splashed upon us its shower of 
 foam, was resting on a body equally white and of more than 
 gigantic size. Many a time, too, I received the impression, 
 that the whole appearance was nothing more than a wandering 
 stream or torrent, but respecting this I could never attain to 
 any certaint}^ We both of us, horse and rider, became weary, 
 as we shaped our course according to the movements of the 
 white man, who continued nodding his head at us, as if he 
 would say, ' Perfectly right ! perfectly right !' — And thus, at 
 length, we came out here at the edge of the wood, where I saw 
 the fresh turf, the waters of the lake, and your little cottage, 
 and where the tall white man disappeared." 
 
26 UNDINE. [chap. iv. 
 
 " Well, Heaven be praised that he is gone !" cried the old 
 fisherman ; and he now fell to considering how his guest could 
 most conveniently return to his friends in the city. Upon ihis, 
 Undine began tittering to herself, but so very low that the 
 Bound was hardly perceivable. Huldbrand, observing it, said : 
 " I had hoped you would see me remain here with pleasure ; 
 why then do you now appear so happy, when our talk turns 
 upon my going away ?" 
 
 " Because you cannot go away," answered Undine. " Pray 
 make a single attempt ; try with a wherr}^, with your horse 
 or alone, as you please, to cross that forest-stream which has 
 burst its bounds. Or rather, make no trial at all, for you 
 would be dashed to pieces by the stones and trunks of trees, 
 which you see driven on with such violence. And as to the 
 lake, I am well acquainted with that ; even my father dares 
 not venture out with his wherry far enough to help you." 
 
 Huldbrand rose, smiling, in order to look about, and observe 
 whether the state of things were such, as Undine had repre- 
 sented it to be ; the old man accompanied him, and the maiden, 
 in mockery, went gamboling and playing her antics beside 
 them. They found all, in fact, just as Undine had said, and that 
 the knight, whether walling or not willing, must submit to re- 
 main on the island, so lately a peninsula, until the flood should 
 subside. 
 
 When the three were now returning to the cottage, after 
 their ramble, the knight whispered in the ear of the little girl : 
 " Well, dear Undine, how is it with you ? Are you angry on 
 account of my remaining ?" 
 
 " Ah," she pettishly made answer, " not a word of that. If 
 I had not bitten you, who knows what line things you would 
 have put into your story about Bctalda !" 
 
CHAP. V.J 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 27 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 How the Knight Hired on the point of land, now encircled by the lake. 
 
 At some period of your life, my dear reader, after being much 
 driven to and fro in the world, you may have reached a situa- 
 tion where all was well with you ; that love for the calm secu- 
 rity of our own fireside, which we all feel as an affection born 
 with us, again rose within you ; you imagined that your home 
 would again bloom forth, as from a cherished grave, with all 
 the flowers of childhood, the purest and most impassioned love ; 
 and that, in such a spot, it must be delightful to take up your 
 abode, and build your tabernacle for life. Whether you were 
 mistaken in this, and afterward made a severe expiation for your 
 error, it suits not my purpose to inquire, and you would be un- 
 willing yourself, it may be, to be saddened by a recollection so 
 ungrateful. But again awake within you that foretaste of bliss, 
 so inexpressibly sweet, that angelic salutation of peace, and you 
 will be able, perchance, to understand something of the knight 
 Huldbrand's happiness, while he remained on the point of land, 
 now surrounded by the lake. 
 
 He frequently observed, and no doubt with heartfelt satis- 
 faction, that the forest-stream continued every day to swell and 
 loll on with a more impetuous sweep ; that, by tearing away 
 the earth, it scooped out a broader and broader channel ; and 
 that the time of his seclusion on the island became, in conse- 
 quence, more and more extended. Part of the day he wan- 
 dered about with an old cross-bow, which he found in a corner 
 of the cottage, and had repaired, in order to shoot the water- 
 fowl that flew over ; and all that he was lucky enough to hit, 
 he brought home for a good roast in the kitchen. When he 
 came in with his booty, Undine seldom failed to greet him Avith 
 
1 
 
 28 UNDINE. [chap. t. 
 
 a scolding, because he had cruelly deprived her dear merry 
 friends of life, as they were sporting above in the blue ocean 
 of the air; nay more, she often wept bitterly, when she viewed 
 the water-fowl dead in his hand. But at other times, when he 
 returned without having shot any, she gave him a scolding 
 equally serious, since, owing to his indolent strolling and awk- 
 ward handling of the bow, they must now put up with a dinner 
 of pickerel and crawfish. Her playful taunts ever touched his 
 heart with delight ; the more so, as she afterwards strove to 
 make up for her pretended ill-humour with the most endearing 
 of caresses. 
 
 In this familiarity of the young people, their aged friends 
 saw a resemblance to the feelings of their own youth : they ap- 
 peared to look upon them as betrothed, or even as a young 
 married pair, that lived with them in their agepto afford them 
 assistance -on their island, now torn off from the mainland. 
 The loneliness of his situation strongly impressed also young 
 Huldbrand with the feeling, that he was already Undine's 
 bridegroom. It seemed to him, as if, beyond those encompass- 
 ing floods, there were no other world in existence, or at any 
 rate as if he could never cross them, and again associate with 
 the world of other men ; and when at times his grazing steed 
 raised his head and neighed to him, seemingly inquiring after 
 his nightly achievements and reminding him of them, or when 
 his coat of arms sternly shone upon him from the embroidery * 
 of his saddle, and the caparisons of his horse, or when his 
 sword happened to fall from the nail on which it was hanging 
 in the cottage, and flashed on his eye as it slipped from the 
 scabbard in its fall, — he quieted the doubts of his mind by say- 
 ing to himself: " Undine cannot be a fisherman's daughter ; she 
 is, in all probability, a native of some remote region, and a 
 member of some illustrious family." 
 
 There was one thing, indeed, to which he had a strong aver- ' 
 sion : this was to hear the old dame reproving Undine. The 
 wild girl, it is true, commonly laughed at the reproof, making 
 no attempt to conceal the extravagance of her mirth ; but it ap- 
 
CHAP, v.] 
 
 * UNDINE. 
 
 89 
 
 peared to him like touching his own honour ; and still he found 
 it impossible to blame the aged wife of the fisherman, since Un- 
 dine always deserved at leasi ten times as many reproofs as she 
 received : so he continued to feel in his heart an affectionate 
 tenderness for them all, even for the ancient mistress of the 
 house, and his whole life flowed on in the calm stream of con- 
 tentment. 
 
 There came, however, an interruption at last. The fisher- 
 man and the knight had been accustomed at dinner, and also in 
 the evening, when the wind roared without, as it rarely failed 
 to do toward night, to enjoy together a flask of wine. But now 
 their whole stock, which the fisherman had from time to time 
 brought with him from the city, was at last exhausted, and 
 they were both quite out of humour at the circumstance. That 
 day Undine laughed at them excessively, but they were not 
 disposed to join in her jests with the same gaiety as usual To- 
 ward evening she went out of the cottage, to escape, as she said, 
 the sight of two such long and tiresome faces. 
 
 While it was yet twilight, some appearances of a tempest 
 seemed to be agam nmsiering in the sky, and the waves al- 
 ready rushed and roared around them : the knight and the 
 fisherman sprung to the door in terror, to bring home the 
 maiden, remembering the anguish of that night, when Huld- 
 brand had first entered the cottage. But Undine met them at 
 the same moment, clapping her little hands in high glee. 
 
 " What will you give me," she cried, " to provide you with 
 wine ? or rather, you need not give me any thing," she contin- 
 ued ; " for I am already satisfied, if you look more cheerful, 
 and are in better spirits, than throughout this last most weari- 
 some day. Do only come with me one minute ; the forest- 
 stream has driven ashore a cask ; and I will be condemned to 
 sleep a whole week, if it is not a wine-cask." 
 
 The men followed her, and actually found, in f» bushy cove 
 of the shore, a cask, which inspired them with as much joy, acs 
 if they were sure it contained the generous old wine, for which 
 they were thirsting. They first of all, and with as much ex- 
 
30 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap V 
 
 pedition as possible rolled it toward the cottage ; for heavy 
 clouds were again rising in the west, and they could discern the 
 waves of the lake, in the fading light, lifting their white foam- 
 ing heads, as if looking out for the rain, which threatened every 
 instant to pour upon them. Undine helped the men, as much 
 as she was able ; and as the shower, with a roar of wind, came 
 suddenly sweeping on in rapid pursuit, she raised her finger 
 with a merry menace toward the dark mass of clouds, and 
 cried : " You cloud, you cloud, have a care ! — beware how you 
 wet us ; we are some way from shelter yet." 
 
 The old man reproved her for this sally, as a sinful presump- 
 tion ; but she laughed to herself with a low tittering, and no 
 mischief came from her wild behaviour. Nay more, what was 
 beyond their expectation, they all three reached their comfort- 
 able hearth unwet, with their prize secured ; but the moment 
 the cask had been broached, and proved to contain wine of a 
 remarkably fine flavour, then the rain first poured unrestrained 
 from the black cloud, the tempest raved through the tops of the 
 trees, and swept far over the billows of the deep. 
 
 Having immediately filled several bottles from the large cask, 
 which promised them a supply for a long time, they drew round 
 the flowing hearth ; and comfortably secured from the violence 
 of the storm, they sat tasting the flavour of their wine, and ban- 
 dying their quips and pleasantries. 
 
 As reflection returned upon him, the old fisherman all at once 
 became very grave, and said : " Ah, great God ! here we sit, 
 rejoicing over this rich gift, while he to whom it first belonged, 
 and I'rom whom it was wrested by the fury of the stream, must 
 there also, it is more than probable, have lost his life." 
 
 " His fate, I trust, was not quite so melancholy as that," said 
 Undine, while, smilino^, she filled the knight's cup to the brim. 
 
 *But he exclaimed : " By my unsullied honour, old father, if 
 I knew where to find and rescue him, no fear of exposure to 
 the night, nor any peril, should deter me from making the at- 
 tempt. But I give you all the assurance I am able to give, that 
 if 1 ever reach an inhabited country again, I will find out tha 
 
CHAP. V ] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 31 
 
 owner of this wine or his heirs, and make double and triple re- 
 imbursement." 
 
 The old man was gratified with this assurance ; he gave the 
 knight a nod of approbation, and now drained his cup with an 
 easier conscience and more relish. 
 
 Undine, however, said to Huldbrand : " As to the repayment 
 and your gold, you may do whatever you like. But what you 
 said about your venturing out, and searchinij-, and exposing 
 yourself to danger, appears to me far from wise. I should cry 
 my very eyes out, should you perish there on such a wild jaunt ; 
 and is it not true, that you would prefer staying here with me 
 and the good wine ?" 
 
 " Most assuredly," answered Huldbrand, smiling. 
 
 " Well, then," replied Undine, " you see you spoke unwise- 
 ly. For charity begins at home ; our neighbour ought not to 
 be our first thought ; and whatever is a calamity to him, would 
 be one in our own case also." 
 
 The mistress of the house turned away from her, sighing and 
 shaking her head, while the fisherman forgot his wonted indul- 
 gence toward the graceful little girl, and thus reproved her : 
 
 " That sounds exactly as if you had been brought up by 
 heathens and Turks;" and he finished his reproof by adding : 
 " May God forgive both me and you, — unfeeling child !" 
 
 " Well, say what you will, this is what / think and feel," re- 
 plied Undine, " whoever brought me up, — and how can a thou- 
 sand of your words help it ?" 
 
 " Silence !" exclaimed the fisherman in a voice of stern re- 
 buke ; and she, who with all her wild spirit was at the same 
 time extremely alive to fear, shrunk from him, moved close up 
 to Huldbrand, trembling, and said very softly : 
 
 " Are you also angry, dear friend ?" ' 
 
 The knight pressed her soft hand, and tenderly stroked her 
 locks. He was unable to utter a word ; for his vexation, aris- 
 ing from the old man's severity toward Undine, closed his lips ; 
 and thus the two couple sat opposite to pach other at once 
 heated with anger and in embarrassed silence. 
 
32 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 LCHAP. VL 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A Wedding. 
 
 In the midst of this painful stillness, a low knockii g was heard 
 at the door, which struck all in the cottage with dismay ; for 
 there are times when a slight circumstance, coming unexpect- 
 edly upon us, startles us like something supernatural. But 
 here it was a further source of alarm, that the enchanted forest 
 lay so near them, and that their place of ahode seemed at pre- 
 sent inaccessible to the visit of any human being. While they 
 were looking upon one another in doubt, the knocking was 
 again heard, accompanied with a deep groan. The knight 
 sprang to seize his sword. But the old man said in a low 
 whisper : 
 
 " If it be what I fear it is, no weapon of yours can protect 
 us." 
 
 Undine, in the mean while, went to the door, and cried with 
 the firm voice of fearless displeasure : " Spirits of the earth ! 
 if mischief be your aim, Kuhleborn shall teach you better 
 manners." 
 
 The terror of the rest was increased by this wild speech ; 
 they looked fearfully upon the girl, and Huldbrand was just 
 recovering presence of mind enough to ask what she meant, 
 when a voice reached them from without : 
 
 " I am no spirit of the earth, though a spirit still in its 
 earthly body. You that are within the eottage there, if you 
 fear God and would afford me assistance, open your door to 
 me." 
 
 By the time these words were spoken. Undine had already 
 opened it ; and the lamp throwing a strong light upon the stormy 
 night, they perceived an aged priest without, who stepped back 
 
OWAP. VI ] 
 
 UNDIJNE. 
 
 33 
 
 in terror, when his eye fell on the unexpected sight of a little 
 damsel of such exquisite beauty. Well might he think there 
 must be magic in the wind, and witchcraft at work, where a 
 form of such surpassing loveliness appeared at the door of so 
 humble a dwelling. So he lifted up his voice in prayer : 
 
 " Let all good spirits praise the Lord God !" 
 
 " I am no spectre," said Undine with a smile. " Do you 
 think, indeed, I look so very frightful? And more, — you cannot 
 but bear me witness yourself, that I am far from shrinking ter- 
 rified at your holy words. I too have knowledge of God, and 
 understand the duty of praising him ; every one, to be sure, has 
 his own way of doing this, and this privilege he meant we 
 should enjoy, when he gave us being. Walk in, father ; you 
 will find none but worthy people here." 
 
 The holy man came bowing in, and cast round a glance of 
 scrutiny, wearing at the same time a very placid and venerable 
 air. But water was dropping from every fold of his dark gar- 
 ments, from his long white beard, and the w^hite locks of his 
 hair. The fisherman and the knight took him to another apart- 
 ment, and furnished him with a change of raiment, while they 
 handed his own clothes into the room they had left, for the fe- 
 males to dry. The aged stranger thanked them in a manner 
 the most humble and courteous, but on the knight's offering him 
 his splendid cloak to wrap round him, he could not be persuaded 
 to take it, but chose instead an old gray overcoat that belonged 
 to the fisherman. 
 
 They then returned to the common apartment. The mis- 
 tress of the house immediately offered her great chair to the 
 priest, and continued urging it upon him, till she saw him fairly 
 in possession of it. " You are old and exhausted," said she, 
 " and are moreover a man of God." 
 
 Undine shoved under the stranger's feet her little cricket, cri 
 which at other times she used to sit near to Huldbrand, and 
 showed herself, in thus promoting the comfort of the worthy old 
 man, in the highest degree gentle and amiable. On her paying 
 4 
 
34 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. VI. 
 
 nim these little attentions, Huldbrand whispered some raillery 
 in her ear, but she replied gravely : 
 
 " He is a minister of that Being, who created us all, and 
 holy things are not to be treated with lightness." 
 
 The knight and the fisherman now refreshed the priest with 
 food and wine ; and when he had somewhat recovered his 
 strength and spirits, he began to relate how he had the day be- 
 fore set out from his cloister, which was situated afar off beyond 
 the great lake, in order to visit the bishop, and acquaint him 
 with, the distress, into which the cloister and its tributary vil- 
 lages had fallen, owing to the extraordinary floods. After a 
 long and wearisome wandering, on account of the same rise 
 of the waters, he had been this day compelled toward evening 
 to procure the aid of a couple of stout boatmen, and cross over 
 an arm of the lake which had burst its usual boundary. 
 
 " But hardly," continued he, " had our small ferry-boat 
 touched the waves, when that furious tempest burst forth, which 
 is still rag-inof over our heads. It seemed as if the billows had 
 been waiting our approach, only to rush upon us with a mad- 
 ness the more wild. The oars were wrested from the grasp of 
 my men in an instant ; and shivered by the resistless force, 
 they drove further and further out before us upon the waves. 
 Unable to direct our course, w^e yielded to the blind power of 
 nature, and seemed to fly over the surges toward your remote 
 shore, which we already saw looming through the mist and 
 foam of the deep. Then it was at last, that our boat turned 
 short from its course, and rocked with a motion that became 
 more and more wild and dizzy : I know not whether it was 
 overset, or the violence of the motion threw me overboard. 
 In my agony and struggle at the thought of a near and terri- 
 ble death, the waves bore me onward, till one of them cast me 
 ashore here beneath the trees of your island." 
 
 " Yes, an island !" cried the fisherman. " A short time ago 
 it was only a point of land. But now, since the forest-stream 
 and lake have become all but mad, it appears to be entirely 
 changed." 
 
CHAi". VI.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 " I observed something of it," replied the priest, " as I stole 
 along the shore in the obscurity ; and hearing nothing around 
 me but a sort of wild uproar, I perceived at last, that the noise 
 came from a point, exactly where a beaten foot-path disap- 
 peared. I now caught the light in your cottage, and ventured 
 hither, where I cannot sufficiently thank my Father in heaven, 
 ' ' that, after preserving me from the waters, he has also con- 
 ducted me to such pious people as you are ; and the more so, 
 as it is difficult to say, Avhether I shall ever behold any other 
 persons in this world except you four." 
 
 " What mean you by those words ?" asked the fisherman. 
 
 " Can you tell me, then, how long this commotion of the ele- 
 ments will last ?" returned the holy man. " And the years of 
 my pilgrimage are many. The stream of my life may easily 
 sink into the ground and vanish, before the overflowing of 
 that forest-stream shall subside. Indeed, taking a general view 
 of things, it is not impossible, that more and more of the foam- 
 ing waters may rush in between you and yonder forest, until 
 you are so far removed from the rest of the world, that your 
 small fishing-canoe may be incapable of passing over, and the 
 inhabitants of the continent entirely forget you in your old age 
 amid the dissipation and diversions of life." 
 
 At this melancholy foreboding, the old lady shrunk back 
 with a feeling of alarm, crossed herself, and cried : " May Grod 
 forbid !" 
 
 But the fisherman looked upon her with a smile, and said : 
 "What a strange being is man! Suppose the worst to happen: 
 our state would not be different, at any rate your own would 
 not, dear wife, from what it is at present. For have you, 
 these many years, been further from home than the border of 
 the forest ? And have you seen a single human being besides 
 Undine and myself? — It is now only a short time since the 
 coming of the knight and the priest. They will remain with 
 us, even if we do become a forgotten island ; so after all you 
 will derive the best advantage from the disaster." 
 
 ^' I know not," replied the ancient dame, " it is a disma' 
 
3€ UNDINE. [chap. vi. 
 
 thought, when brought fairly home to the mind, that we are 
 forever separated from mankind, even though, in fact, we never 
 do know nor see them." 
 
 " Then t/ou will remain with us, then you will remain with 
 us !" whispered Undine in a voice scarcely audible and half sing- 
 ing, while with the intense fervour of the heart she nestled 
 more and more closely to Huldbrand's side. But he was ab- 
 sorbed in the deep and strange musings of his own mind. The 
 region, on the other side of the forest-river, seemed, since the 
 last words of the priest, to have been withdrawing further and 
 iurther, in dim perspective, from his view ; and the blooming 
 island on which he lived, grew green and smiled more freshly 
 before the eye of his mind. His bride glowed like the fairest 
 rose, — not of this obscure nook only, but even of the whole wide 
 world, and the priest was now present. 
 
 Beside these hopes and reveries of love, another circumstance 
 influenced him : the mistress of the family was directing an 
 angry glance at the fair girl, because, even in the presence of 
 the priest, she was leaning so fondly on her darling knight; 
 and it seemed as if she was on the point of breaking out in harsh 
 reproof Then was the resolution of Huldbrand taken; his 
 heart and mouth were opened ; and turning toward the priest, 
 he said, " Father, you here see before you an affianced pair, and 
 if this maiden and therse worthy people of the island have no 
 objection, you shall unite us this very evening." 
 
 The aged couple were both exceedingly surprised. They 
 had often, it is true, thought of this, but as yet they had never 
 mentioned it ; and now when the knight made the attachment 
 known, it came upon them like something wholly new and un- 
 expected. Undine became suddenly grave, and cast her eyes 
 upon the floor in a deep reverie, while the priest made inqui- 
 ries respecting the circums'tances of their acquaintance, and 
 a^lved the old people whether they gave their consent to the 
 union. After a great number of questions and answers, the 
 ailair was arranged to the satisfaction of all ; and the mistress 
 of the house went to prepare the bridal apartment for the young 
 
CHAP VI.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 37 
 
 couple, and also, with a view to grace the nuptial solemnity 
 to seek for two consecrated tapers, which she had for a long 
 time kept hy her for this occasion. 
 
 7.'he knight in the mean while busied himself ahout his gold 
 chain, for the purpose of disengaging two of its- links, that he 
 might make an exchange of rings with his bride. But when 
 she saw his object, she started from her trance of musing, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Not so ! my parents were far from sending me into the 
 world so perfectly destitute ; on the contrary, they must have 
 foreseen, even at so early a period, that such a night as this 
 would come." 
 
 Thus speaking, she was out of the room m a mom.ent, and a 
 moment after returned with two costly rings, of which she 
 gave one to her bridegroom, and kept the other for herself 
 The old fisherman was beyond measure astonished at this ; and 
 fiis wife, who was just re-entering the room, was even more 
 surprised than he, that neither of them had ever seen these jew- 
 els in the child's possession. 
 
 " My parents," said Undine, " made me sew these trinkets 
 to that beautiful raiment, which I wore the very day I came to 
 you. They also charged me on no account whatever, to men- 
 tion them to any one before the evening I should be married. 
 At the time of my coming, therefore, I took them off in secret, 
 and have kept them concealed to the present hour." 
 
 The priest now cut short all further questioning and wonder- 
 ing, while he lighted the consecrated tapers, placed them on 
 a table, and ordered the bridal pair to stand directly before him. 
 He then pronounced the few solemn words of the ceremony, 
 and made them one ; the elder couple gave the j^ounger their 
 blessing ; and the bride, slightly trembling and thoughtful, 
 leaned upon the knight. 
 
 The priest then spoke plainly and at once : " You are 
 strange people after all ; for why did you tell me you were the 
 only inhabitants of the island ? So far is this from being true, 
 I have seen, the whole time T have been performing the cere- 
 
38 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. VI 
 
 mony, a tall, stately man, in a white mantle, stand opposito to 
 me, looking in at the window. He must he still waiting he- 
 fore the door, if peradventure you would invite him to come 
 in." 
 
 " God forhid !" cried the old lady, shrinking hack ; the fish- 
 erman shook his head without opening his lips, and Huldhrand 
 sprang to the window. It appeared to him^ that he could still 
 discern some vestige of a form, white and indistinct as a va- 
 pour, hut it soon wholly disappeared in the gloom. He con- 
 vinced the priest that he must have heen quite mistaken in his 
 impression ; and now, inspired with the freedom and fa.aiiliari- 
 ty of perfect confidence, they all sat down together round a 
 bright and comfortable hearth. 
 
CHAP. VII.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 39 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 What further happened on the evening of the wedding. 
 
 Before the nuptial ceremony, and during its performance, 
 Undine had shown a modest gentleness and maidenly reserve ; 
 but it now seemed as if all the wayward freaks that effervesced 
 within her, were foaming and bursting forth with an extrava- 
 gance only the more bold and unrestrained. She teased her 
 bridegroom, her foster-parents, and even the priest, whom she 
 had just now revered so highly, with all sorts of childish tricks 
 and vagaries; and w^hen the ancient dame was about to re- 
 prove her too frolicksome spirit, the knight, by a few serious 
 and expressive words, imposed silence upon her by calling Un- 
 dine his wife. 
 
 The knight was himself, indeed, just as little pleased with 
 Undine's childish behaviour as the rest ; but still, all his wink- 
 ing, hemming, and expressions of censure were to no purpose. 
 It is true, whenever the bride observed the dissatisfaction of her 
 husband, — and this occasionally happened, — she became more 
 quiet, placed herself beside him, stroked his face with caressing 
 fondness, whispered something smilingly in his ear, and in this 
 manner smoothed the WTinkles that were gathering on his brow. 
 But the moment after, some wild whim would make her resume 
 her antic movement^, and all went worse than before. 
 
 The priest then spoke in a kind, although serious tone : "My 
 ])leasant young friend, surely no one can witness your playful 
 spirit without being diverted ; but remember betimes so to at- 
 tune your soul, that it may produce a harmony ever in accor- 
 dance with the soul of your wedded bridegroom." 
 
 " Soul !" cried Undine, with a laugh, nearly allied to one of 
 derision ; " what you say has a remarkably pretty sound, and 
 
40 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. vn. 
 
 for most people, too, it may be a very instructive rule and profit- 
 able caution. But when a person has no soul at all, how, I pray 
 you, can such attuning be possible ? And this in truth is just 
 my condition." 
 
 The priest was much hurt, but continued silent in holy dis- 
 pleasure, and turned away his face from the maiden in sorrow. 
 She, however, went up to him with the most winring sweet- 
 ness, and said : 
 
 " Nay, I entreat you, first listen to some particulars, before 
 you frown upon me in anger ; for your frown of anger is pain- 
 ful to me, and you ought not to give pain to a creature, that has 
 itself done nothing injurious to you. Only have patience with 
 me, and I will explain to you every word of what I meant." 
 
 She had come to the resolution, it was evident, to give a full 
 account of herself, when she suddenly faltered, as if seized with 
 an inward shuddering, and burst into a passion of tears. They 
 were none of them able to understand the intenseness of her 
 feelings, and with mingled emotions of fear and anxiety, they 
 gazed on her in silence. Then wiping away her tears, and look- 
 ing earnestly at the priest, she at last said : 
 
 " There must be something lovely, but at the same time 
 something most awful, about a soul. In the name of God, 
 holy man, were it not better that we never shared a gift so mys- 
 terious ?" 
 
 Again she paused and restrained her tears, as if waiting for 
 an answer. All in the cottage had risen from their seats, and 
 stept back from her with horror. She, however, seemed to have 
 eyes for no one but the holy man ; a fearful curiosity was paint- 
 ed on her features, and this made her emotion appear terrible to 
 the others. 
 
 " Heavily must the soul weigh down its possessor," she pur- 
 sued, when no one returned her any answer, " very heavily ! 
 for already its approaching image overshadows me with an- 
 guish and mourning. And, alas ! I have till now been so mer- 
 ry and light-hearted !" — And she burst into another flood of 
 tears, and covered her face with her veil. 
 
CHAP. VII.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 41 
 
 The priest, going up to her with a solemn look, now addressed 
 himself to her, and conjured her in the name of God most holy, 
 if any evil or spirit of evil possessed her, to remove the light 
 covering from her face. But she sunk before him on her knees, 
 and repeated after him every sacred expression he uttered, 
 giving praise to God, and protesting that she wished well to the 
 whole world. 
 
 The priest then spoke to the knight : " Sir bridegroom, I leave 
 you alone with her, whom I have united to you in marriage. 
 So far as I can discover, there is nothing of evil in her, but 
 of a truth much that is wonderful. What I recommend to you 
 in domestic life, is prudence, love, and fidelity." 
 
 Thus speaking, he left the apartment, and the fisherman with 
 his wife followed him, crossing themselves. 
 
 Undine had sunk upon her knees ; she uncovered her face 
 and exclaimed, while she looked fearfully round upon Huld- 
 brand : " Alas, you will now refuse to look upon me as your 
 own ; and still I have done nothing evil, poor unhappy child 
 that I am !" She spoke these words with a look so infinitely 
 sweet and touching, that her bridegroom forgot both the con- 
 fession that had shocked, and the mystery that had perplexed 
 him ; and hastening to her, he raised her in his arms. She 
 smiled through her tears, and that smile was like the rosy morn- 
 ing-light playing upon a small stream. "You cannot desert 
 me !" she whispered with a confiding assurance, and stroked 
 the knight's cheeks with her little soft hands. He was thus in 
 some degree withdrawn from those terrible apprehensions, that 
 still lay lurking in the recesses of his soul, and were persuading 
 him that he had been married to a fairy, or some spiteful and 
 mischievous being of the spirit-world ; but, after all, only this 
 single question, and that almost unawares, escaped from his 
 lips : 
 
 " Dearest Undine, pray tell me this one thing ; what was it 
 you meant by ' spirits of the earth' and ' Kiihleborn,' when the 
 priest stood knocking at the door ?" 
 
 " Mere fictions ! mere tales of children !" answered Undine, 
 
43 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. VII. 
 
 laughing, now quite restored to her Avonted gaiety. " .( first 
 awoke your anxiety with them, and you finally awoke mine. 
 This is the end of the story and of our nuptial evening." 
 
 " Nay, not exactly that," replied the enamoured knight, ex- 
 tinguishing the tapers, and a thousand times kissing his beauti- 
 ful and beloved bride, while, lighted by the moon that shone 
 brightly through the windows, he bore her into their bridal 
 apartment. 
 
CHAP. VIll.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The Day after the Wedding. » 
 
 The fresh light of morning awoke the young married pair. 
 Undine bashfully hid her face beneath their covering, and 
 Huldbrand lay lost in silent reflection. Whenever during the 
 night he had fallen asleep, strange and horrible dreams of 
 spectres had disturbed him ; and these shapes, grinning at him 
 by stealth, strove to disguise themselves as beautiful females ; 
 and from beautiful females they all at once assumed the ap- 
 pearance of dragons. And when he started up, aroused by the 
 intrusion of these hideous forms, the moonlight shone pale and 
 cold before the windows without ; he looked affrighted at Un- 
 dine, in whose arms he had fallen asleep, and she was reposing 
 m unaltered beauty and sweetness beside him. Then pressing 
 her rosy lips with a light kiss, he again fell into a slumber, only 
 to be awakened by new terrors. 
 
 When he had now perfectly awoke, and well considered all 
 the circumstances of this connection, he reproached himself for 
 any doubt, that could lead him into error in regard to his 
 lovely wife. He also earnestly begged her to pardon the in- 
 justice he had done her, but she only gave him her fair hand, 
 heaved a sigh from the depth of her heart, and remained silent. 
 Yet a glance of fervent tenderness, an expression of the soul 
 beaming in her eyes, such as he had never witnessed there 
 before, left him in undoubting assurance, that Undine was in- 
 nocent of any evil against him whatever. 
 
 He then rose with a serene mind, and leaving her, went to 
 the common apartment, where the inmates of the house had 
 already met. The three were sitting round the hearth with an 
 air of anxiety about them, as if they feared trusting themselves 
 to raise their voice above a low apprehensive undertone. The 
 
44 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. viri. 
 
 priest appeared to be praying in his inmost spirit, with a view- 
 to avert some fatal calamity. But when they observed the 
 young husband come forth so cheerful, a brighter hope rose 
 within them, and dispelled the cloudy traces that remained upon 
 their brows ; yes, the old fisherman began to be facetious with 
 the knight, but in a manner so perfectly becoming, that his aged 
 wife herself could not help smiling with great good humour. 
 
 Undine had in the mean time got ready, and now entered the 
 door, when they were all on the point of rushing to meet her, 
 and yet all remamed fixed in perfect admiration, so changed 
 and at the same time so familiar was the young woman's ap- 
 pearance. The priest, with paternal affection beaming from 
 his countenance, first went up to her, and as he raised his hand 
 to pronounce a blessing, the beautiful bride, trembling with re- 
 ligious awe, sunk on her knees before him ; she begged his 
 pardon, in terms both respectful and submissive, for any foolish 
 things she might have uttered the evening before, and entreated 
 him, in a very pathetic tone, to pray for the welfare of her soul. 
 She then rose, kissed her foster-parents, and, after thanking them 
 for all the kindness they had shown her, said : " O, I now feel 
 in my inmost heart, how great, how infinitely great, is what you 
 have done for me, you dear, dear friends of my childhood !" 
 
 At first she was wholly unable to tear herself away from their 
 affectionate caresses ; but the moment she saw the good old 
 mother busy in getting breakfast, she went to the hearth, applied 
 herself to cooking the food and putting it on the table, and 
 would not suffer her to take the least share in the work. 
 
 She continued in this frame of spirit the whole day ; calm, 
 kind, attentive ; — at the same time a little mistress of a family, 
 and a tender, modest young woman. The three, who had been 
 longest acquainted with her, expected every instant to see her 
 capricious spirit break out in some whimsical change or sportive 
 vagary. But their fears were quite unnecessary. Undine 
 continued as mild and gentle as an angel. The priest found it 
 all but impossible to remove his eyes from her, and he often said 
 to the bridegroom : 
 
 < 
 
CHAP. VlIl.J 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 4t> 
 
 " The bounty of Heaven, Sir, through me its unworthy in- 
 strument, entrustea to you last evening an invaluable treasure ; 
 regard and cherish it as you ought to do, and it will promote 
 your temporal and eternal welfare." 
 
 Toward evening, Undine was hanging upon the knight's arm 
 with lowly tenderness, while she drew him gently out before 
 the dooE, where the setting sun shone richly over the fresh grass, 
 and upon the high, slender boles of the trees. Her emotion was 
 visible : the dew oi" sadness and love swam in her eyes, while a 
 tender and fearful secret seemed to hover upon her lips; but 
 sighs, and those scarcely perceptible, were all that made known 
 the wish of her heart. She led her husband further and further 
 onward without speaking. When he asked her questions she 
 replied only with looks, in which, it is true, there appeared to 
 be no immediate answer to his inquiries, but yet a whole heaven 
 of love and timid attachment. Thus they reached the margin 
 of the swollen forest-stream, and the knight was astonished to see 
 it gliding away with so gentle a murmuring of its waves, that no 
 vestige of its former swell and wildness was now discernible. 
 
 " By morning it will be wholly drained off," said the beauti- 
 ful woman, almost weeping, " and you will then be able to travel, 
 without any thing to hinder you, whithersoever you will." 
 
 " Not without you, dear Undine," replied the knight, laugh- 
 ing ; " for pray remember, even were I disposed to leave you, 
 both the church and the spiritual powers, the emperor and the 
 laws of the realm, would require the fugitive to be seized and 
 restored to you " 
 
 " AM. this depends on you, — all depends on you ;" whispered 
 his little companion, half weeping and half smiling. " But I 
 still feel sure, that you will not leave me ; I love you too deeply 
 to fear that misery. Now bear me over to that little islan ^, 
 \ 'hich lies before us. There shall the decision be made. I 
 could easily, indeed, glide through that mere rippling of the 
 water without your aid, but it is so grateful to rest in your 
 arms ; and should you determine to put me away, I shall have 
 svycetly rested in them once more, . . . for the hst time." 
 
46 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. VIII. 
 
 Huldbrand was so full of strange anxiety and emotion, that 
 he knew not what answer to make her. He took her in his 
 arms and carried her over, now first realizing the fact, that this 
 was the same little island, from which he had borne her back 
 to the old fisherman, the first night of his arrival. On the 
 further side, he placed her upon the soft grass, and was throw- 
 ing himself lovingly near his beautiful burden ; but she said to 
 him, " Not here, but there, opposite to me. I shaU read my 
 doom in your eyes, even before your lips pronounce it ; now 
 listen very attentively to what I shall relate to you." And 
 she began : 
 
 " You must know, my own love, that there are beings in the 
 elements, which bear the strongest resemblance to the human 
 race, and which, at the same time, but seldom become visible 
 to you. The wonderful salamanders sparkle and sport amid 
 the flames ; deep in the earth the meagre and malicious gnomes 
 pursue their revels ; the forest-spirits belong to the au', and 
 wander in the woods ; while in the seas, rivers, and streams 
 live the wide-spread race of water-spirits. These last, beneath 
 resounding domes of crystal, through which the sky appears 
 with sun and stars, inhabit a region of light and beauty ; lofty 
 coral trees glow with blue and crimson fruits in their gardens ; 
 they walk over the pure sand of the sea, among infinitely vari- 
 egated shells, and amid whatever of beauty the old world pos- 
 sessed, such as the present is no more worthy to enjoy ; — crea- 
 tions, which the floods covered with their secret veils of silver : 
 and now these noble monuments glimmer below* stately and 
 solemn, and bedewed by the water wh:\jh loves them, and calls 
 
 * No reader of English poetry need be reminded of Southey's admirable 
 description of the submarine City of Baly in his Curse of Kehama : 
 " In sunlight and sea-green, 
 The thousand palaces were seen 
 Of that proud city, whose superb abodes 
 Seemed reared by giants for the immortal gods. 
 How silent and how beautiful they stand, 
 Like tlimgs of ndtuie." 
 
CHAP. Vlil J 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 47 
 
 forth from their crevices exquisite moss-fiowers and enwreath- 
 ing txifts of sedge. 
 
 " Now the nation that dAvell there, are very fair and lovely 
 to behold, for the most part mor-e beautiful than human beings. 
 Many a fisherman has been so fortunate, as to catch a view of 
 a delicate maiden of the waters, while she was floating and 
 singing upon the deep. He then spread to remotest shores the 
 fame of her beauty ; and to such wonderful females men are 
 wont to give the name of Undines. But what need pf saying 
 more ? You, my dear husband, now actually behold an Un- 
 dine before you." 
 
 The knight would have persuaded himself, that his lovely 
 wife was under the influence of one of her odd whims, and 
 that she was only amusing herself and him with her extrava- 
 gant inventions. He wished it might be so. But with what- 
 ever power of words he said this to himself, he still could not 
 credit the hope for a moment ; a strange shivering shot through 
 his soul ; unable to utter a word, he gazed upon the sweet 
 speaker with a fixed eye. She shook her head in distress, 
 heaved a sigh from her full heart, and then proceeded in the 
 following manner : 
 
 " In respect to the circumstances of our life, we should be far 
 superior to yourselves, who are another race of the human 
 family, — for we also call ourselves human beings, as we re- 
 semble them in form and features, — had we not one great evil 
 peculiar to ourselves. Both we, and the beings I have men- 
 tioned as inhabiting the other elements, vanish into air at death, 
 and go out of existence, spirit and body, so that no vestige of 
 us remains ; and when you hereafter awake to a purer state of 
 being, we shall remain where sand, and sparks, and wind, and 
 waves remain. We of course have no souls ; the element moves 
 us, and, again, is obedient to our will, while we live, though it 
 scatters us like dust, when we die ; and as we have nothing to 
 trouble us, we are as merry as nightingales, httle goldfishes, and 
 other pretty children of nature. 
 
 " But all beings aspire to rise in the scale of existence higher 
 
48 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. Vlll 
 
 than they are. It was therefore the wish of my father, who is 
 a powerful water-prince in the Mediterranean Sea, that his only 
 daughter should become possessed of a soul, although she 
 should have to endure many of the sufferings of those who 
 share that gift. 
 
 " Now the race to which I belong, have no other means of 
 obtaining a soul, than by forming with an individual of your 
 own the most intimate union of love. I am now possessed of 
 a soul, and I, the very soul itself, thank you, dear Huldbrand, 
 with <x warmth of heart beyond expression, and never shall I 
 cease to thank you, unless you render my whole future life 
 miserable. For what will become of me, if you avoid and 
 reject me ? Still I would not keep you as my own by artifice. 
 And should you decide to cast me off, then do it now, . . . leave 
 me here, and return to the shore alone. I will plunge into this 
 brook, where my uncle will receive me ; my uncle, who here 
 in the forest, far removed from his other friends, passes his 
 strange and solitary' existence. But he is powerful, as well as 
 revered and beloved by many great rivers ; and as he brought 
 me hither to our friends of the lake, a light-hearted and laugh- 
 ing child, he will also restore me to the home of my parents, a 
 woman, gifted with a soul, full of affection, and heir to suffer- 
 ing." 
 
 She was about to add something more, when Huldbrand, 
 with the most heartfelt tenderness and love, clasped her in his 
 arms, and again bore her back to the shore. There, amid tears 
 and kisses, he first swore never to forsake his affectionate wife, 
 and esteemed himself even more happy than the Grecian sculp- 
 tor, Pygmalion, for whom Venus gave life to his beautiful statue, 
 and thus changed it into a beloved wife. Supported by his 
 arm, and in the sweet confidence of affection. Undine returned 
 to the cottage ; and now she first realized with her whole hearl^ 
 how little cause she had for regretting what she had left, th« 
 crystal palaces of her mysterious father. 
 
cn\p ix.j 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 49 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 How the Knight took his young wife with him. 
 
 Next morning, when Huldbrand awoke from slumber, and per- 
 ceived that his beautiful wife was not by his side, he began to 
 give way again to his wild imaginations : these represented to 
 him his marriage, and even the charming Undine herself, as 
 cnly a shadow without substance, a mere illusion of enchant- 
 ment. But she entered the door at the same moment, kissed 
 him, seated herself on the bed by his side, and said : 
 
 " I h^ve been out somewhat early this morning, to see 
 whether my uncle keeps his word. He has already restored 
 the waters of the flood to his own calm channel, and he now 
 flows through the forest, a rivulet as before, in a lonely and 
 dreamlike current. His friends too, both of the water and the 
 air, have resumed their usual peaceful tenor ; all in this region 
 will again proceed with order and tranquillity ; and you can 
 travel homeward without fear of the flood, whenever you 
 choose." 
 
 It seemed to the mind of Huldbrand, that he must be wrapt 
 in some reverie or waking dream, so little was he able to un- 
 derstand the nature of his wife's strange relative. Notwith- 
 standing this, he made no remark upon what she had told him, 
 and the infinite charm of her beauty, gentleness, and affection 
 soon lulled every misgiving to rest. 
 
 Some time afterward, while he was standing with her before 
 the door, and surveying the verdant point of land with its boun- 
 dary of bright waters, such a feeling of bliss came over him in 
 this cradle of his love, that he exclaimed : 
 
 ^ Shall we then, so early as to-day, begin our journey 1 
 5 
 
UNDINE. 
 
 TCHAP. W. 
 
 Why should we ? It is probable, that abroad in the world \ve 
 shall find no days more delightful, than those we have spent in 
 this little green isle, so secret and so secure. Let us remain 
 here, and see the sun go down two or three times more." 
 
 " Ju^t as my lord shall command," replied Undine meekly. 
 "Only we must remember, that our aged friends ^Yil\, at all 
 events, see me depart with pain ; and should they now, for the 
 first time, discover the true soul in me, and how fervently I can 
 now love and honour them, their feeble eyes would surely be- 
 come blind with weeping. As yet, they consider my present 
 calm and exemplary conduct as of no better promise than my 
 former occasional quietness, — merely t-he calm of the lake — 
 just while the air remains tranquil, — and they will soon learn 
 to cherish a little tree or flower, as they have cherished me. 
 Let me not,then,make known to them this newly bestowed, this 
 love-inspired heart, at the very moment they must lose it for this 
 world ; and how could I conceal what I have gained, if we 
 continued longer together ?" 
 
 Huldbrand yielded to her representation, and went to the 
 aged couple to confer with them respecting his journey, on 
 which he proposed to set out that very hour. The priest of- 
 fered himself as a companion of the young married pair ; and, 
 after their taking a short farewell, he held the bridle, while the 
 knight lifted his beautiful wife upon his horse ; and with rapid 
 step they crossed the dry channel with her toward the forest. 
 Undine wept in silent but intense emotion ; the old people, as 
 she moved away, were more clamorous in the expression of 
 their grief They appeared to feel, at the moment of separa- 
 tion, all that they were losing in their affectionate foster- 
 daughter. 
 
 The three travellers reached the thickest shades of the forest 
 without interchanging a word. It must have been a pic- 
 turesque sight, in that hall of leafy verdure, to see this lovely 
 woman's form sitting on the noble and richly ornamented steed, 
 cji her ri£-bt hand the venerable priest in the white garb of his 
 order, on her left the blooming young knight, clad in splendid 
 
CHAP. IX.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 51 
 
 raiment of scarlet, gold, and violet, girt with a sword that 
 flashed in the sun, and attentively walking beside her. HuLi- 
 brand had no eyes but for his fair wife ; Undine, who had dried 
 her tears of tenderness, had no eyes but for him ; and they 
 soon entered into the still and voiceless converse of looks and 
 gestures, from which after some time they were awakened by 
 the low discourse, which the priest was holding with a fourth 
 traveller, who had meanwhile joined them unobserved. 
 
 He wore a white gown, resembling in form the dress of the 
 priest's order, except that his hood hung very low over his face, 
 and that the whole drapery floated in such wide folds around 
 him, as obliged him every moment to gather it up and throw it 
 over his arm, or by some management of this sort to get it out 
 of his way, and still it did not seem in the least to impede his 
 movement. When the young couple became aware of his 
 presence, he was saying : 
 
 " And so, venerable Sir, many as have been the years I 
 have dwelt here in this forest, I have never received the name 
 of hermit in your sense of the word. For, as I said before, I 
 know nothing of penance, and I think too, that I have no parti- 
 cular need of it. Do you ask me why I am so attached to the 
 forest? It is because its scenery is so peculiarly picturesque, 
 and affords me so much pastime, when, in my floating white 
 garments, I pass through its world of leaves and dusky sha* 
 dows ; — and then a sweet sunbeam glances down upon me, at 
 times, before I think of it." 
 
 " You are a very singular man," replied the priest, " and J 
 should like to have a more intimate acquaintance with you." 
 
 " And who then may you be yourself, to pass from one thing 
 to another ?" inquired the stranger. 
 
 " I am called father Heilmann," answered the holy man, 
 " and I am from the cloister of our Lady of the Salutation, be- 
 yond the lake." 
 
 " Well, well," replied the stranger, " my name is Kuhleboin^ 
 and were I a stickler for the nice distinctions of rank, I might 
 with equal propriety require you to give me the title of noble 
 
53 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. IX 
 
 lord of Kiihleborn, or free lord of Kiihleborn ;* for I am as free 
 as a bird in the forest, and, it may be, a trifle more so. For ex- 
 ample, I now have something to tell that young lady there." 
 And before they were aware of his purpose, he was on the 
 other side of the priest, close to Undine, and stretching himself 
 high into the air, in order to whisper something in her ear. 
 But she shrunk from him in terror, and exclaimed : 
 " I have nothing more to do with you." 
 
 " Ho, ho," cried the stranger, with a laugh, " you have made 
 a grand marriage indeed, since you no longer know your own 
 relations! Have you no recollection of your uncle Kiihle- 
 born, who so faithfully bore you on his back to this region ?" 
 
 " However that may be," replied Undine, " I entreat you 
 never to appear in my presence again. I am now afraid of 
 you ; and will not my husband fear and forsake me, if he sees 
 me associate with such strange company and kindred ?" 
 
 " You must not forget, my little niece," said Kiihleborn, 
 " that I am with you here as a guide ; otherwise those madcap 
 spirits of the earth, the gnomes that haunt this forest, would 
 play you some of their mischievous pranks. Let me therefore 
 still accompany you in peace ; even the old priest there had a 
 better recollection of me, than you appear to have ; for he just 
 now assured me, that I seemed to be very familiar to him, and 
 that I must have been with him in the ferry-boat, out of which 
 he tumbled into the waves. He certainly did see me there, for 
 I was no other than the water-spout that tore him out of it, and 
 kept him from sinking, while I safely wafted him ashore to 
 your wedding." 
 
 Undine and the knight turned their eyes upon father Heil- 
 mann ; but he appeared to be moving forward, just as if he 
 were dreaming or walking in his sleep, and no longer to be 
 conscious of a word that was spoken. Undine then said to 
 Kiihleborn : " I already see yonder the end of the forest. We 
 
 * '* Freiherr," baron. There is something peculiarly whimsical in ih\a 
 quiet humour of ' lord or baron Kiihleborn.' 
 
CHAP. IX.J UNDINE. ft3 
 
 have no further need of your assistance, and nothing now gives 
 us alarm but yourself I therefore beseech you by our mu- 
 tual love and good will, to vanish and allow us to proceed in 
 peace." 
 
 Kiihleborn seemed to be transported with fury at this : he 
 darted a frightful look at Undine, and grinned fiercely upon 
 her. She shrieked aloud, and called her husband to protect 
 her. The knight sprung round the horse as quick as lightning, 
 and, brandishing his sword, struck at Kiihleborn's head. But, 
 instead of severing it from his body, the sword merely flashed 
 through a torrent, which rushed foam.ing near them from a 
 lofty cliff ; and with a splash, which much resembled in sound 
 a burst of laughter, the stream all at once poured upon them, 
 and gave them a thorough wetting. The priest, as if suddenly 
 awaking from a trance, coolly observed : " This is what I 
 have been some time expecting, because the brook has descended 
 from the steep so close beside us, — though at first sight, indeed, 
 it appeared to look just like a man, and to possess the power of 
 speech." 
 
 As the waterfall came rushing from its crag, it distinctly ut- 
 tered these words in Huldbrand's ear : " Rash knight ! valiant 
 knight ! I am not angry with you ; I have no quarrel with you ; 
 only continue to defend your charming little wife with the same 
 spirit, you bold knight ! you rash blade !" 
 
 After advancing a few steps further, the travellers came out 
 upon open ground. The imperial city lay bright before them ; 
 and the evening sun, which gilded its towers with gold, kindly 
 dried their garments that had been so completely Jrenched. 
 
54 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 fCHAP. X. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 How they lived in the city. 
 
 The sudden disappearance of the young knight, Huldbrand 
 of Ringstetten, had occasioned much remark in the imperial 
 city, and no small concern among those of the people, who, as 
 well on account of his expertness in tourney and dance as of 
 his mild and amiable manners, had become greatly attached to 
 him. His attendants were unwilling to quit the place without 
 their master, although not a soul of them had been courageous 
 enough to follow him into the fearful recesses of the forest. 
 They remained therefore at their public house, idly hoping, as 
 men are wont to do, and, by the expression of their fears, keep- 
 ing the fate of their lost lord fresh in remembrance. 
 
 Now when the violent storms and floods had been observed, 
 immediately after his departure, the destruction of the hand- 
 some stranger became all but certain : even Bertalda had quite 
 openly discovered her sorrow, and detested herself for having 
 induced him to take that fatal excursion into the forest. Her 
 foster-parents, the duke and dutchess, had meanwhile come to 
 take her away, but Bertalda persuaded them to remain with 
 her until some certain news of Huldbrand should be obtained, 
 whether he were living or dead. She endeavored also to pre- 
 vail upon several young knights, who were assiduous in courting 
 her favour, to go in quest of the noble adventurer in the forest. 
 But she refused to pledge her hand as the reward of the enter 
 prise, because she still cherished, it might be, a hope of being 
 claimed by the returning knight; and no one would consent, 
 for a glove, a ribband, or even a kiss, to expose his life to bring 
 back so very dangerous a rival. 
 
 When Huldbrand now made his sudden and unexpected ap- 
 
CHAP. X.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 55 
 
 pearance, his attendants, the inhabitants of the city, and almosi 
 every one rejoiced : we must acknowledge, indeed, that this 
 was not the case with Bertalda ; for although it might be quite 
 a welcome event to others, that he brought with him a wife of 
 such exquisite loveliness, and father Heilmann as a witness of 
 their marriage, Bertalda could not but view the affair with 
 grief and vexation. She had in truth become attached to the 
 young knight with her whole soul, and then her mourning for his 
 absence, or supposed death, had shown this more than she could 
 now have wished. 
 
 But notwithstanding all this, she conducted herself like a 
 prudent woman in circumstances of such delicacy, and lived 
 on the most friendly terms with Undine, whom the whole city 
 looked upon as a princess, that Huldbrand had rescued in the 
 forest from some evil enchantment. Whenever any one ques- 
 tioned either herself or her husband relative to surmises of this 
 nature, they had wisdom enough to remain silent, or wit 
 enough to evade the inquiries. The lips of father Heilmann 
 had been sealed in regard to idle gossip of every kind ; and 
 besides, on Huldbrand's arrival, he had immediately returned 
 to his cloister : so that people were obliged to rest contented 
 with their own wild conjectures, and even Bertalda herself as- 
 certained nothing more of the truth than others. 
 
 For the rest, Undine daily regarded this fair girl with in- 
 creasing fondness. " We must have been heretofore acquainted 
 with each other," she often used to say to her, " or else there 
 must be some mysterious connection between us ; for it is 
 mcredible that any one so perfectly without cause, — I mean 
 without some deep and secret cause, — should be so fondly at- 
 tached to another, as I have been to you from the first moment 
 of our meeting." 
 
 Even Bertalda could not deny, that she felt a confiding im- 
 pulse, an attraction of tenderness, toward Undine, much as she 
 deemed this fortunate rival the cause of her bitterest disap- 
 pointment. Under the influence of this mutual regard, they 
 found means to persuade, the one her foster-parents, and the 
 
5G 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. X. 
 
 other her husband, to defer the day of separation to a period 
 more and more remote ; nay more, they had already begun to 
 talk of a plan for Bertalda's sometime accompanying- Undine 
 to Castle Ringstetten, near one of the sources of the Danube. 
 
 Once on a fine evening, while they were promenading the 
 city by starlight, they happened to be talking over their scheme 
 just as they passed the high trees, that bordered the public 
 walk. The young married pair, though it was somewhat late, 
 had called upon Bertalda to invite her to share their enjoy- 
 ment ; and all three now proceeded familiarly up and down be- 
 neath the dark-blue heaven, not seldom interrupted in their con- 
 verse by the admiration, which they could not but bestow upon 
 the magnificent fountain in the middle of the square, and upon 
 the wonderful rush and shooting upward of its water. All was 
 sweet and soothing to their minds ; among the shadows of the 
 trees stole in glimmerings of light from the adjacent houses ; 
 a low murmur as of children at play, and of other persons who 
 were enjoying their walk, floated around them ; they were so 
 alone, and yet sharing so much of social happiness in the bright 
 and stirring world, that whatever had appeared diflicult by day, 
 now became smooth and easy of its own accord, and the three 
 friends could no longer see the slightest cause for hesitation in 
 regard to Bertalda's taking the journey. 
 
 At that instant, just as they were fixing the day of their de- 
 parture, a tall man approached them from the middle of the 
 square, bowed respectfully to the company, and spoke some- 
 thing in the young bride's ear. Though displeased with the 
 interruption and its cause, she walked aside a few steps with 
 the stranger, and both began to whisper, as it seemed, in a 
 foreign tongue. Huldbrand thought he recognized the strange 
 man of the forest ; and he gazed upon him so fixedly, that he 
 neither heard nor answered the astonished inquiries of Bertal- 
 da. All at once Undine clapped her hands with delight, and 
 turned back from the stranger, laughing : he, frequently shak- 
 ing his head, retired with a hasty step and discontented air, 
 £.nd descended into the fountain. Huldbrand now felt perfectly 
 
CHAP. X.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 57 
 
 certain, that his conjecture was correct. But Bertalda asked : 
 " And what, my dear Undine, did the master of the fountain 
 wish to say to you ?" 
 
 The young wife laughed within herself, and made answer : 
 " The day after to-morrow, my dear child, when the anniver- 
 sary of your name-day* returns, you shall be informed." And 
 this was all she could be prevailed upon to disclose. She 
 merely asked Bertalda to dinner on the appointed day, and re- 
 quested her to invite her foster-parents; and soon afterward 
 they separated. 
 
 " Kiihleborn said Huldbrand to his lovely wife with an 
 inward shudder, when they had taken leave of Bertalda, and 
 were now going home through the darkening streets. 
 
 " Yes, it was he," answered Undine, " and he would have 
 wearied me with foolish warnings without end. But in the 
 midst of them, quite contrary to his intention, he delighted me 
 with a most welcome piece of news. If you, my dear lord and 
 husband, wish me to acquaint you with it now, you need only 
 command me, and I will freely, and from my heart, tell you all 
 without reserve. But would you confer upon your Undine a 
 very, very great pleasure, only wait till the day after to-mor- 
 row, and then you too shall have your share of the surprise." 
 
 The knight was quite willing to gratify his wife, in regard 
 to what she had asked with so beautiful a spirit ; and this spirit 
 she discovered yet more, for while she was that night falling 
 asleep, she murmured to herself with a smile : ^' How she will 
 rejoice and be astonished at what her master of the fountain 
 has told me, — the dear, happy Bertalda !" 
 
 * Or saint's day. A literary friend, from whose kindness I have derived 
 :he best aid in revising and correcting my version, informs me, that this 
 term " refers to a German custom of celebrating, not only the birth-day, but 
 also the name-day, that is, the day which in the almanac bears the person's 
 Christian name. The old almanacs contained a name for each day in the 
 year, being either the name of a saint, or some other remarkable personage 
 in history." 
 
58 
 
 Ui^DINE. 
 
 [CIIAP. XI 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Festival of Bertalda's name-day. 
 
 The company were sitting at dinner ; Bertalda, adorned with 
 jewels and flowers without number, the presents of her foster- 
 parents, and friends, and looking like some goddess of Spring, 
 sat beside Undine and Huldbrand at the head of the table. 
 When the sumptuous repast was ended, and the dessert was 
 placed before them, permission was given that the doors should 
 be left open : this was in accordance with the good old custom 
 in Germany, that the common people might see and rejoice in 
 the festivity of their superiors. Among these spectators the 
 servants carried round cake and wine. 
 
 Huldbrand and Bertalda waited with secret impatience for 
 the promised explanation, and never, except when they could 
 not well help it, moved their eyes from Undine. But she still con- 
 tinued silent, and merely smiled to herself with secret and heart- 
 felt satisfaction. All who were made acquainted with the pro- 
 mise she had given, could perceive that she was every moment 
 on the point of revealing a happy secret ; and yet, as children 
 sometimes delay tasting their choicest dainties, she still with- 
 lield the communication, with a denial that made it the more 
 desired. Bertalda and Huldbrand shared the same delightful 
 feeling, while in anxious hope they were expecting the un- 
 known disclosure, which they were to receive from the lips of 
 their friend. 
 
 At this moment, several of the company pressed Undine to 
 give them a song. This appeared to her to be quite a well- 
 timed request, and, immediately ordering her lute to be brought, 
 she sung the following words : 
 
UNDINE. 
 
 *' Morning so bright,* 
 Wild-flowers so gay, 
 Where high grass so dewy 
 Crowns the wavy lake's border. 
 
 "On the meadow's verdant bosom, 
 What glimmers there so wliite? 
 Have wreaths of snowy blossoms, 
 Soft-floating, fallen from heaven? 
 
 " Ah, see ! a tender infant ! — 
 It plays with flowers, unwitting ; 
 It strives to grasp morn's golden beams. — 
 O where, sweet stranger, where's your home / 
 Afar from unknown shores, 
 The waves have wafted hither 
 This helpless little one. 
 
 *< Nay, clasp not, tender darling, 
 With tiny hand the flowers ; 
 No hand returns the pressure. 
 The flowers are strange and mute. 
 They clothe themselves in beauty, 
 They breathe a rich perfume, 
 
 « In reading some of the verses of Fouque, wc cannot but remember the 
 question of Hamlet to the player, — ' Is this a prologue, or the posy of a 
 ring V As one example, among many, we may take the original of nis 
 miniature picture here : 
 
 " Morgen so hell, 
 Blumen so bunt, 
 Graser so duftig und hoch 
 An wallenden See's Gestadc." 
 These four liitie lines, descriptive of the scene of Undine's song, simple as 
 they are, cost me more trouble in trying to mould them into a fit English 
 fonn, than I well like to acknowledge. I made several attempts, without 
 much success, to translate them to my mind. Among these versions, the 
 following had the merit of not being the worst : 
 
 * The morning beams in glory. 
 Where wild-flowers gaily bloom 
 Where dewy grass is waving 
 The lake's fresh marge along ;* 
 but after all, the more verbal rendering, as it now stands, seemed to be pre- 
 ferable. 
 
fiO UNDINK , [chap. XI 
 
 But cannot fold around you 
 A mother's loving arras ; — 
 Far, fax away that mother's fond embrace. 
 
 *' Life's early dawn just opening faint, 
 Your eye yet beaming Heaven's own smile. 
 So soon your first, best guardians gone ; — 
 Severe, poor child, your fate, — 
 All, all to you unknown. 
 
 ** A noble duke has cross'd the mead. 
 And near you check'd his steed's career ; 
 Wonder and pity touch his heart ; 
 With knowledge high and manners pure 
 He rears you, — makes his castle home youi" own. 
 
 " How great, how infinite, your gain ! 
 Of all the land you bloom the loveliest, 
 Yet, ah ! that first, best blessing. 
 The bliss of parents' fondness, 
 You left on strands unknown." 
 
 Undine let fall her lute and paused with a melancholy smile ; 
 the eyes of Bertalda's noble foster-parents were filled with tears. 
 
 " Ah yes, it was so, — such was the morning on which I found 
 yoUj poor orphan." cried the duke with deep emotion; "the 
 beautiful singer is certainly right ; still 
 
 ' That first, best blessing. 
 The bliss of parents' fondness,' 
 
 it was beyond our power to give you.'' — 
 
 " But we must hear also, what happened to the poor parents/' 
 said Undine, as she struck the chords, and sung : 
 
 " Through her chambers roams the mother, 
 Searching, searching everywhere ; 
 Seeks, and knows not what, with yearning, 
 Childless home still finding there. 
 
 " Childless home ! — O sound of anguish 
 She alone the anguish knows. 
 There by day who led her dear one, 
 There who rock'd its night repose. 
 
OHAP. XI.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 «1 
 
 " Bccchen buds again are swelling.* 
 Sunshine warms again the shore, 
 Ah, fond mother, cease your searching, 
 Comes the loved and lost no more. 
 
 " Then when airs of eve are fresh'ning, 
 Home the father wends his way. 
 While with smiles his woe he's veiling, 
 Gushing tears his heart betray. 
 
 " Well he knows, within his dwelling, 
 Still as death he'll find the gloom. 
 Only hear the mother moaning, — 
 No sweet babe to smile him h9me." 
 
 " O tell me, in the name of Heaven tell me, Undine, where 
 are my parents ?" cried the weeping Bertalda, " You cer- 
 tainly know ; you must have discovered them, all wonderhil as 
 you are, for otherwise you would never have thus torn my 
 heart. Can they he already here ? May I helieve it possible ?" 
 Her eye glanced rapidly over the brilliant company, and rested 
 upon a lady of high rank, who was sitting next to her foster- 
 father. 
 
 Then, inclining her head, Undme beckoned toward the door, 
 while her eyes overflowed with the swestest emotion. " Where 
 are the poor parents waiting ?" she asked ; and the old fisher- 
 man, diffident and hesitating, advanced with his wife from the 
 crowd of spectators. Swift as the rush of hope within them, 
 they threw a look of inquiry, now at Undine, and now at the 
 beautiftsil lady, who was said to be their daughter. 
 
 " It is she ! it is she there, before you 1" exclaimed the re- 
 storer of their child, her voice half choked with rapture ; and 
 both the aged parents embraced their recovered daughter, weep- 
 ing aloud and praising God. 
 
 But, shocked and indignant, Bertalda tore herself from their 
 arms. Such a discovery was too much for her proud spirit to 
 
 * For the epithet ' swelling,' I should prefer to read ' greening,' as 
 *gninen' is the more picturesque expression of the original, had I found 
 any authority to justify me in its use. 
 
63 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. 
 
 bear, — especially at the moment when she had doubtless expect- 
 ed to see her former splendour increased, and when hope was 
 picturing to her nothing less brilliant than a royal canopy and a 
 crown. It seemed to her as if her rival had contrived all this, 
 ind with the special view to humble her before Huldbrand and 
 Che whole world. She reproached Undine ; she reviled the old 
 people ; and even such offensive words as " deceiver, bribed and 
 perjured imposters," burst from her lips. 
 
 The aged wife of the fisherman then said to herself, but in 
 a very low voice : " Ah, my God ! what a wicked vixen of a 
 woman she has grown i and yet I feel in my heart, that she is 
 my child." 
 
 The old fisherman, however, had meanwhile folded his 
 hands, and offered up a silent prayer, that she might not be his 
 daughter. 
 
 Undine, faint and pale as death, turned from the parents to 
 Bertalda, from Bertalda to the parents ; she was suddenly cast 
 down from all that heaven of happiness, of which she had been 
 dreaming, and plunged into an agony of terror and disappoint- 
 ment, which she had never known even in dreams. 
 
 " Have you a soul ? Can you really have a soul, Bertalda ?" 
 she cried again and again to her angry friend, as if with vehe- 
 ment effort she would rouse her from a sudden delirium or some 
 distracting dream, and restore her to recollection. 
 
 But when Bertalda became every moment only more and 
 more eiuraged, as the disappointed parents began to weep aloud, 
 and the company with much warmth of dispute, were espous- 
 ing opposite sides, she begged with such earnestness and dignity, 
 for the liberty of speaking in this her husband's dining-hall, 
 that all around her were in an instant hushed to silence. She 
 then advanced to the upper end of the table, where, both hum- 
 bled and haughty, Bertalda had seated herself, and, while every 
 eye was fastened upon her, spoke in the following manner : 
 
 " My friends, you appear dissatisfied and disturbed ; and you 
 are interrupting with your strife a festivity, that I had hoped 
 would bring joy both to you and myself. Ah, my God ! f 
 
CHAP. XI.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 63 
 
 knew nothing of these your heartless maxims, these your un- 
 natura' ways of thinking, and never so long as I livSj I fear, 
 shall I become reconciled to them. The disclosure J have 
 made, it seems, is unwelcome to you ; but I am not to bkme 
 lor such a result. Believe me, little as you may imagine thia 
 to be the case, it is wholly owing to yourselves. One word 
 more, therefore, is all I have to add, but this is one that must 
 be spoken : — 1 have uttered nothing but truth. Of the certainty 
 of the fact I give you the strongest assurance ; no other proof 
 can I or will I produce ; but this I will affirm in the presence 
 of God. The person who gave me this information, was the 
 very same who decoyed the infant Bertalda into the water, and 
 who, after thus taking her from her parents, placed her on the 
 green grass of the meadow, where he knew the duke was to 
 pass." 
 
 " She is an enchantress," cried Bertalda, " a witch, that has 
 intercourse with evil spirits. This she acknowledges herself." 
 
 " Never ! I deny it," replied Undine, while a whole heaven 
 of innocence and truth beamed from her eyes. " I am no 
 witch ; look upon me, and say if I am." 
 
 " Then she utters both falsehood and folly," cried Bertalda, 
 " and she is unable to prove that I am the child of these low 
 people. My noble parents, I entreat you to take me from this 
 company, and out of this city, w^here they do nothing but ex- 
 pose me to shame." 
 
 But the aged duke, a man of honourable feeling, remained 
 unmoved, and his lady remarked : " We must thoroughly ex- 
 amine into this matter. God forbid, that we should move a step 
 from this hall, before we do so." 
 
 Encouraged by this kind w^ord, the aged wife of the fisher- 
 man drew near, made a low obeisance to the dutchess, and said : 
 " Exalted and pious lady, you have opened my heart. Permit 
 rne to tell you, that if this evil-disposed maiden is my daughter, 
 she has a mark, like a violet, between her shoulders, and another 
 of the same kind on the instep of her left foot. If she w^ill only 
 consent to go out of the hall with me " 
 
64 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XI 
 
 " I will not consent to uncover myself before the peasant 
 woman," interrupted Bertalda, haughtily turning her back upon 
 her. 
 
 " But before me you certainly willj" replied the dutchess, 
 gravely. " You \\dll follow me into that room, young v/oman, 
 and the worthy old lady shall go with us," 
 
 The three disappeared, and the rest continued where they 
 were, in the hush of breathless expectation. In a few minutes 
 the females returned, Bertalda pale as death, and the dutchess 
 said : " Justice must be done ; I therefore declare, that our lady 
 hostess has spoken the exact truth. Bertalda is the fisherman's 
 daughter ; no further proof is required ; and this is all, of which 
 on the present occasion you need to^e informed." 
 
 The princely pair went out with their adopted daughter ; the 
 fisherman, at a sign from the duke, followed them with his wife. 
 The other guests retired in silence, or but half suppressing their 
 murmurs, while Undine, weeping as if her heart would break, 
 8unk into the. arms of Huldbrand. 
 
CHAP, iii.l UNDINE. 6S 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 How they departed from the city. 
 
 The lord of Ringstetten would certainly have been more grati- 
 fied, had the events of this day been different ; but even such 
 as they now were, he could by no means look upon them as 
 unwelcome, since his fair wife had discovered so much natural 
 feeling, kindness of spirit, and cordial affection. 
 
 " If I have given her a soul," he could not help saying to 
 himself, " I have assuredly given her a better one than my 
 own ;" and now what chiefly occupied his mind, was to soothe 
 and comfort his weeping wife, and even so early as the morrow 
 to remove her from a place, which, after this cross accident, 
 could not fail to be distasteful to her. Yet it is certain, that 
 the opinion of the public concerning her was not changed. As 
 something extraordinary had long before been expected of her, 
 the mysterious discovery of Bertalda's parentage had occasioned 
 little or no surprise ; and every one who became acquainted 
 with Bertalda's story, and with the violence of her behaviour 
 on that occasion, was only disgusted and set against her. Of 
 this state of things, however, the knight and his lady were as 
 yet ignorant ; besides, whether the public condemned Bertalda 
 or herself, the one view of the affair would have been as dis- 
 tressing to Undine as the other ; and thus they came to the 
 conclusion, that the wisest course they could take, was to 
 leave behind them the walls of the old city with all the speed 
 in their power. 
 
 With the earliest beams of morning, a brilliant carriage, 
 for Undine, drove up to the door of the inn ; the horses»of 
 Huldbrandand his attendants stood near stamping the pave- 
 ment, impatient to proceed. The knight was leading hia 
 6 
 
UNDINE. 
 
 (CHAF. Xii. 
 
 beautiful wife from the door, when a fisher-girl came up and 
 met them in the way. 
 
 " We have no occasion for your fish," said Huldbrand, ac- 
 costing her, " we are this moment setting out on a journey." 
 
 Upon this the fisher-girl began to weep bitterly, and then it 
 was that the young couple first knew her to be Bertalda. They 
 immediately returned with her to their apartment, where she 
 informed them, that, owing to her unfeeling and violent conduct 
 of the preceding day, the duke and dutchess had been so dis- 
 pleased with her, as entirely to withdraw from her their protec- 
 tion, though not before giving her a generous portion. The 
 fisherman, too, had received a handsome gift, and had, the 
 evening before, set out with his wife for theu' peninsula. 
 
 " I would have gone with them," she pursued, " but the old 
 fisherman, who is said to be my father," 
 
 " He certainly is your father, Bertalda," said Undine, inter- 
 rupting her. " Pray consider what I tell you : the stranger, 
 whom you took for the master of the water- works, gave me all 
 the particulars. He wished to dissuade me from taking you 
 with me to Castle Ringstetten, and therefore disclosed to me the 
 whole mystery." 
 
 " Well then," continued Bertalda, " my father, — if it must 
 needs be so, — my father said : ' I will not take you with me, 
 until you are changed. If you will leave your home here in 
 the city, and venture to come to us alone through the ill-omened 
 forest, that shall be a proof of your having some regard for us. 
 But come not to me as a lady ; come merely as a fisher-girl.' 
 • — I -will do, therefore, just what he commanded me ; for since 
 I am abandoned by all the word, I will live and die in solitude, 
 a poor fi^her-girl with parents equally poor. The forest, in- 
 deed, appears very terrible to me. Horrible spectres make it 
 thei'r haunt, and I am so timorous. But how can I help it ? — 
 I have only come here at this early hour, to beg the noble lady 
 of Ringstetten to pardon my unbecoming behaviour of yes- 
 terday. Dear madam, I have the fullest persuasion, that you 
 meant to do me a kindness, but you were not aware, how 
 
CHAP. XII. 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 67 
 
 severely you would wound and injure me ; and this was 
 the reason, that, in my agony and surprise, so many rash and 
 frantic expressions burst from my lips. — Forgive me, ah for- 
 give me ! I am in truth so unhappy already. Do but con- 
 sider what I was only yesterday morning, what I was even at 
 the beginning of your yesterday's festival, and what I am at 
 the present moment !" — 
 
 Her words now became inarticulate, lost in a passionate flow 
 of tears, while Undine, bitterly weeping with her, fell upon her 
 neck. So powerful was her emotion, that it was a long time 
 before she could utter a word. But at length she said : 
 
 " You shall still go with us to Ringstetten ; all shall remain 
 just as we lately arranged it ; only, in speaking to me, pray 
 continue to use the familiar and affectionate terms,* that we 
 have been wont to use, and do not pain me with the sound of 
 * madam' and ' noble lady,' any more. Consider, we were 
 changed for each other, when we were children ; even then we 
 were united by a like fate, and we will strengthen this union 
 with such close affection, as no human powder shall dissolve. 
 Only first of all you must go with us to Ringstetten. In what 
 manner we shall share our sisterly enjoyments there, we will 
 leave to be talked over after we arrive." 
 
 Bertalda looked up to Huldbrand with timid inquiry. He 
 pitied the fair girl in her affliction, took her hand, and begged 
 her, tenderly, to entrust herself to him and his wife. 
 
 " We will send a message to your parents," continued he, 
 " giving them the reason why you have not come ; — and he 
 would have added much more about his worthy friends of the 
 peninsula, when, perceiving that Bertalda shrunk in distress at 
 
 * The words of the original are, " nur nenne mich wieder Du," " only do 
 call me thou again." The use of the personal pronouns, thou and thee, so 
 familiar and endearing in the German idiom, gives an entirely different im- 
 pression in English. In the conversations of this tale, examples of this 
 peculiarity occur on almost every page. The translator has of course 
 avoided a mode of expression, which most of his readers would feel to bo 
 BtifF, strange, and unsuitable. 
 
68 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XII. 
 
 the mention of them, he refrained. Then taking her under the 
 arm, as they left the room, he lifted her first into the carriage, 
 after her Undine, and was soon riding blithely beside them ; so 
 persevering was he, too, in urging forward their driver, that in 
 a short time they had left behind them the limits of the city, 
 and Avith these a crowd of painful recollections; and now 
 the ladies experienced a satisfaction, more and more exquisite, 
 as their carriage rolled on through the picturesque scenes, 
 which their progress was continually presenting. 
 
 After a journey of some days, they arrived, on a fine even- 
 ing, at Castle Ringstetten. The young knight being much en- 
 gaged with the overseers and menials of his establishment, Un- 
 dine and Bertalda were left alone. Eager for novelty, they 
 took a walk upon the high rampart of the fortress, and were 
 charmed with the delightful landscape, which fertile Suabia 
 spread around them. While they were viewing the scene, a 
 tall man drew near, who greeted them with respectful civility, 
 and who seemed to Bertalda much to resemble the director of 
 the city fountain. Still less was the resemblance to be mis- 
 taken, when Undine, indignant at his intrusion, waved him off 
 with an air of menace; while he, shaking his head, retreated 
 with rapid strides, as he had formerly done, then glided among 
 the trees of a neighbouring grove, and disappeared. 
 
 " Do not be terrified, dear Bertalda," said Undine ; " the 
 hateful master of the fountain shall do you no harm this time." 
 And then she related to her the particulars of her history, and 
 who she was herself, — how Bertalda had been taken away from 
 the people of the peninsula, and Undine left in her place. This 
 relation, at first, filled the young maiden with amazement and 
 alarm ; she imagined her friend must be seized with a sudden 
 madness. But, from the consistency of her story, she became 
 more and more convinced that all was true, it so well agreed 
 with former occurrences, and still more convinced from that 
 inward feeling, with which truth never fails to make itself 
 known to us. She could not but view it as an extraordinary 
 circumstance, that she was herself now livixiig, as it were, in 
 
CH.4P. XII.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 69 
 
 the midst of one of those wild fictions of romance, which she 
 had formerly heard related for mere amusement. She gazed 
 upon Undine with awe, but could not avoid feeling a shudder, 
 which seemed to separate her from her friend ; and she could 
 not but wonder when the knight, at their evening repast, show- 
 ed himself so kind and full of love toward a being, who ap- 
 peared, after the discoveries just made, more like a phantom of 
 the spirit-world than one of the human race. 
 
70 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [CUAP. XIII. 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 How they lived at Castle Ringstectcn. 
 
 The writer of this history, because it moves his own heart, and 
 he wishes it may equally move the hearts of others, begs you, 
 dear reader, to grant him a single favour. Excuse him, if he 
 now passes over a considerable period of time, and gives you 
 only a general account of its events. He is well aware, that, 
 perfectly conforming to the rules of art and step by step, he might 
 delineate the process by which Huldbrand's warmth of at- 
 tachment for Undine began to decline, and to be transferred to 
 Bertalda ; how Bertalda gradually became more and more at- 
 tached, and met the young man's glance with the glow of love ; 
 how they both seemed rather to fear the poor wife, as a being 
 of another species, than to sympathize with her ; how Undine 
 wept, and her tears produced remorse in the knight's heart, yet 
 without awakening his former tenderness, so that his treatment 
 of her would discover occasional impulses of kindness, but a 
 cold shuddering would soon drive him from her side, and he 
 would hasten to the society of Bertalda, as a more congenial 
 being of his own race ; — all this, the writer is aware, he could 
 describe with the minute touches of truth, and perhaps this is 
 the course that he ought to pursue. But his heart would feel 
 the task to be too melancholy ; for, having suffered calamities 
 of this nature, he is impressed with terror even at the remem- 
 brance of their shadows. 
 
 You have probably experienced a similar feeling yourself, 
 my dear reader, for such is the inevitable allotment of mortal 
 man. Happy are you, if you have rather endured than in- 
 flicted this misery, since, in matters of this kind, more blessed 
 IS he that receives than he that gives. For when yon have 
 
CHAP. XIII.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 71 
 
 been the suffering party, and such remembrances come over 
 the mind, only a soft pcnsiveness steals into the soul, and per- 
 haps a tender tear trickles down your cheek, while you regret 
 the fading of the flowers, in which you once took a delight 
 so exquisite. But of this no more ; we would not linger over 
 the evil, and pierce our hearts with pangs a thousand-fold re- 
 peated, but just briefly hint the course of events, as I said 
 before. 
 
 Poor Undine was extremely distressed, and the other two 
 were far from being happy ; Bertalda in particular, whenever 
 she was in the slightest degree opposed in her wishes, attributed 
 the cause to the jealousy and oppression of the injured wife. 
 In consequence of this suspicious temper, she was daily in the 
 habit of discovering a haughty and imperious demeanour, to 
 which Undine submitted in sad and painful self-denial ; and, 
 such was the blind delusion of Huldbrand, he usually supported 
 the impropriety in the most decisive terms. 
 
 What disturbed the inmates of the castle still more, was the 
 endless variety of wonderful apparitions, which assailed Huld- 
 brand and Bertalda in the vaulted passages of the building, and 
 of which nothing had ever been heard before within the me- 
 mory of man. The tall white man, in whom Huldbrand but 
 too well recognized Undine's uncle Kiihleborn, and Bertalda 
 the spectral master of the water-works, often passed before them 
 with threatening aspect and gestures ; more especially, how- 
 ever, before Bertalda, so that she had already several times 
 fainted or fallen ill through terror, and had in consequence fre- 
 quently thought of quitting the castle. But partly owing to 
 her excessive fondness for Huldbrand, as well as to a reliance 
 on what she termed her innocence, since no declaration of mu- 
 tual attachment had ever been distinctly made, and partly also 
 because she knew not whither to direct her steps, she lingered 
 where she was. 
 
 The old fisherman, on receiving the message from the lord 
 of Ringstetten, that Bertalda was his guest, returned answer in 
 some lines almost too illegible to be deciphered, but still the 
 
72 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XllL 
 
 best his advanced life and long disuse of writing permitted him 
 to form. 
 
 " I have now become," he wrote, " a poor old widower, for 
 my beloved and faithful wife is dead. But lonely as I now sit 
 in my cottage, I prefer Bertalda's remaining where she is, to 
 her living with me. Only let her do nothing to hurt my dear 
 Undine, — otherwise she will have my curse." 
 
 The last words of this letter Bertalda flung to the winds ; 
 but the permission to remain from home, which her father had 
 granted her, she remembered and clung to, just as we are all 
 of us wont to do in like circumstances. 
 
 One day, a few moments after Huldbrand had ridden out, 
 Undine called together the domestics of the family, and ordered 
 them to bring a large stone, and carefully to cover with it a 
 magnificent fountain, that was situated in the middle of the 
 castle court. The servants ventured to hint as an objection, 
 that it would oblige them to bring their water from the valley 
 below, which was at an inconvenient distance. Undine smiled 
 with an expression of melancholy. 
 
 " I am sorry, dear children," replied she, " to increase your 
 labour; I would rather bring up the water-vessels myself; 
 but this fountain must indeed be closed. Believe me when I 
 say, that it must be done, and that only by doing it can we 
 avoid a greater evil." 
 
 The domestics were all rejoiced to gratify their gentle mis- 
 tress ; and making no further inquiry, they seized the enor- 
 mous stone. While they were raising it in their hands, and 
 were now on the point of adjusting it over the fountain, Bertal- 
 da came running to the place, and cried with an air of com- 
 mand, that they must stop ; that the water she used, so im- 
 proving to her complexion, she was wont to have brought 
 from this fountain, and that she would by no means allow it to 
 be closed. 
 
 This time, however, while Undine showed her usual gentle- 
 ness, she showed more than her usual resolution, and remain- 
 ed firm to her purpose : she said it belonged to her, as mistress 
 
CHAP. XIIl ] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 73 
 
 of the castle^ to direct the regulations of the household accord- 
 ing to her own best judgment, and that she was accountable in 
 this to no one but her lord and husband. 
 
 "See, O pray, see!" exclaimed the dissatisfied and indignant 
 Bertalda, "how the beautiful water is curling and curving, 
 v/inding and waving there, as if disturbed at being shut out 
 from the bright sunshine, and from the cheerful view of the 
 human countenance, for whose mirror it was created." 
 
 In truth, the water ( f the fountain was agitated, ar^d foaming, 
 and nissing in a surprising manner ; it seemed as if there were 
 something within, possessing life and will, that was struggling 
 to free itself from confinement. But Undine only the more 
 earnestly urged on the accomplishment of her commands. This 
 earnestness was scarcely required. The servants of the castle 
 were as happy in obeying their sweet-tempered lady, as in op- 
 posing the haughty spirit of Bertalda ; and with whatever rude- 
 ness the latter might scold and threaten, still the stone was in a 
 few minutes lying firm over the opening of the fountain, Un 
 dine leaned thoughtfully over it, and wrote with her beautiful 
 fingers on the flat surface. She must, however, have had some- 
 thing very acrid and corrosive in her hand ; for when she 
 retired, and the domestics went up to examine the stone, they 
 discovered various strange characters upon it, which none of 
 them had seen there before. 
 
 When the knight returned home toward evening, Bertalda 
 received him with tears and complaints of Undine's conduct. 
 He threw a severe look at his poor wife, and she cast down her 
 eyes in distress. Still she spoke with great firmness : " My lord 
 and husband, you never reprove even a bond-slave, before you 
 hear his defence, — how much less then your wedded wife !" 
 
 " Speak, what moved you to this singular conduct ?" said the 
 knight, with a gloomy countenance. 
 
 " I could wish to tell you, when we are entirely alone," said 
 Undine, with a sigh. 
 
 " You can tell me equally well in the presence of Bertalda," 
 he replied. 
 
74 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap, xih 
 
 " Yes, if you command me," said Undine, " but do not com- 
 mand me. Pray, pray, do not !" 
 
 She looked so humble, affectionate, and obedient, that the 
 heart of the knight was touched and softened, as if he felt the 
 influence of a ray from better times. He kindly took her arm 
 within his, and led her to his apartment, where she spoke as 
 follows : 
 
 " You already know something, my beloved krd, of Kiihle- 
 born, my evil-disposed uncle, and have often felt displeasure at 
 meeting him in the passages of this castle. Several times has 
 he terrified Bertalda even to swooning. He does this, because 
 he possesses no soul, being a mere elementary mirror of the 
 outward world, while of the world within he can give no reflec- 
 tion. Then, too, he sometimes observes, that you are displensed 
 with me, that in my childish weakness 1 weep at this, and that 
 Bertalda, it may be, is laughing at the same moment. Hence 
 it is, that he conceives every sort of wrong and unkindness to 
 exist, and in various ways mixes with our circle unbidden. 
 What do I gain by reproving him ? by showing displeasure, 
 and sending him away ? He does not believe a word I say. 
 His poor imperfect nature affords him no conception, that the 
 pains and pleasures of love have so mysterious a resemblance 
 and are so intimately connected, that no power on earth is able 
 to separate them. Even in the midst of tears, a smile is dawn- 
 ing on the cheek, and smiles call forth tears from their secret 
 recesses." 
 
 She looked up at Huldbrand, smiling and weeping; and he 
 again felt within his heart all the magic of his former love. 
 rShe perceived it, and pressed him more tenderly to her, while 
 with tears of joy she went on thus : 
 
 "When the disturber of our peace would not be dismissed 
 with words, I was obliged to shut the door upon him ; and the 
 only entrance by which he has access to us, is that fountain. 
 His connexion with the other water-spirits, here in this region, is 
 cut off by the valleys that border upon us, and his kingdom first 
 commences further off on the Danube, in whose tributary streams 
 
CHAP. XIII.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 some of his good friends have their abode. For this reason i 
 caused the stone to be placed over the opening- of the fountain, 
 and inscribed characters upon it, which baffle all the efforts 
 of my suspicious and passionate uncle, so that he now has 
 no power of intruding either upon you, or me, or Bertalda. 
 Human beings, it is true, notwithstanding the characters I have 
 inscribed there, are able to raise the stone without any extra- 
 ordinary trouble ; there is nothing to prevent them. If you 
 choose, therefore, remove it according to Bertalda's desire, but 
 she assuredly knows not what she asks. The rude Kiihleborn 
 looks with peculiar ill-will upon her ; and should much come 
 to pass that he has imperfectly predicted to me, an\w^hich may 
 well happen without your meaning any evil, — I fear, I fear, 
 my dear husband, that you yourself would be exposed to peril." 
 
 Huldbrand felt the generosity of his amiable wife in the depth 
 of his heart, since she had been so active in confining her for- 
 midable defender, and even at the very moment she was re- 
 proached for it by Bertalda. Influenced by this feeling, he 
 pressed her in his arms with the tenderest affection, and said 
 with emotion: " The stone shall remain unmoved; all remains 
 and ever skull remain, just as you choose to have it, my dear, 
 very dear Undine !" 
 
 At these long withheld expressions of tenderness, she returned 
 hi? caresses with lowly delight, and at length said : " My dearest 
 husband, since you are so very kind and indulgent to-day, may I 
 venture to ask a favour of you ? Pray observe, it is with you as 
 with Summer. Even amid its highest splendour. Summer puts 
 on the flaming and thundering crown of glorious tempests, in 
 which it strongly resembles a king and god on earth. You too 
 are sometimes temble in your rebukes ; your eyes flash light- 
 ning, while thunder resounds in your voice ; and although this 
 may be quite becoming to you, I in my folly cannot but some- 
 times weep at it. But never, I entreat you, behave thus toward 
 me on a river, or even when we are near a piece of water. For 
 if you should, pray consider what the consequences will be : 
 my relations would acquire a right to exercise authoiity over 
 
76 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [CHAl*. XIP 
 
 me. They would tear me from you in their fury with inexoi- 
 
 able force, because they would conceive that one of their race 
 was injured; and I should be compelled, as long as I lived, to 
 dwell below in the crystal palaces, and never dare ascend to 
 you again ; or should they send me up to you, — God ! that 
 would be infinitely more deplorable still. No, no, my beloved 
 husband, let it not come to that, if your poor Undine is dear to 
 you." 
 
 He solemnly promised to do as she desired, and, inexpressibly 
 happy and full of affection, the married pair returned from the 
 apartment. At this very moment, Bertalda came with some 
 work-people, whom she had meanwhile ordered to attend her, 
 and said with a fretful air, which she had assumed of late : — 
 
 " Well, now the secret consultation is at an end, it is to be 
 hoped the stone may come down. Go out, workmen, and exe- 
 cute your business." 
 
 The knight, however, highly resenting her impertinence, said 
 in brief and very decisive terms : " The stone remains where 
 it is." He reproved Bertalda also for the vehemence that she 
 had shown toward his wife. Whereupon the workmen, smiling 
 with secret satisfaction, withdrew ; while Bertalda, pale with 
 rage, hurried away to her room. 
 
 When the hour of supper came, Bertalda was waited for in 
 vain. They sent for her ; but the domestic found her apart- 
 ments empty, and brought back with him only a sealed billet, 
 addressed to the knight. Trembling with alarm, he tore it 
 open, and read : 
 
 " I feel with shame, that I am only the daughter of a poor 
 fisherman. That I for one moment forgot this, I wnW make 
 expiation in the miserable hut of my parents. Farewell to you 
 and your beautiful wife !" 
 
 Undine was troubled at heart. Most earnestly she entreated 
 Huldbrand to hasten after their friend, who had flown, and 
 bring her back with him. Alas ! she had no occasion to urge 
 him. His passion for Bertalda again burst forth with vehe- 
 mence. He hurried round the castle, inquiring whether anv 
 
CHAP. XIII.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 77 
 
 one had seen which way the fair fugitive had gone. He could 
 gain no information, and was already in the court on his horse, 
 determining to take at a venture the road by which he had 
 conducted Bertalda to the castle ; when there appeared a shield- 
 boy, who assured him, that he had met the lady on the path to 
 the Black Valley. Swift as an arrow, the knight sprung through 
 the gate in the direction pointed out, without hearing Undine's 
 voice of agony, as she cried after him from the window : 
 
 " To the Black Valley ? O not there ! Huldbrand, not there ! 
 or if you will go, for Heaven's sake take me with you !" 
 
 But when she perceived that all her calling was of no avail, 
 she ordered her white palfrey to be instantly saddled, and fol- 
 lowed the knight without permitting a single servant to ac- 
 company her. 
 
78 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XIV. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 How Bertalda returned with the Knight. 
 
 The Black Valley lies secluded far among the mountains. 
 What its present name may be, I am unable to say. At the 
 time of which I am speaking, the country-people gave it this 
 appellation from the deep obscurity produced by the shadows 
 of lofty trees, more especially by a crowded gi'owth of firs, that 
 covered this region of moor-land. Even the brook, which gushed 
 out among the crags, and wound its way down a ravine into the 
 valley, assumed there the same dark hue, and showed nothing 
 of that cheerful aspect which streams are wont to wear, that 
 have the blue sky immediately over them. 
 
 It was now the dusk of evening, and the view between the 
 heights had becom.e extremely wild and gloomy. The knight, 
 in great anxiety, skirted the border of the brook ; he was at 
 one time fearful, that by delay he should allow the fugitive to 
 advance too far before him ; and then again, in his too eager 
 rapidity, he was afraid he might somewhere overlook and pass 
 by her, should she be desirous of concealing herself from his 
 search. He had in the mean time penetrated pretty far into 
 the valley, and might hope soon to overtake the maiden, pro- 
 vided he were pursuing the right track. The fear, indeed, 
 that he might not as yet have gained this track, made his heart 
 beat with more and more of anxiety. In the stormy night, which 
 was now impending, and which always hovered more fearfully 
 over this valley, where would the delicate Bertalda shelter her- 
 self, should he fail to find her ? At last, while these thoughts 
 were darting across his mind, he saw something white glimmer 
 through the branches on the ascent of the mountain. He felt 
 quite certain, that the object he discerned was Bertalda's robe, 
 
cnA?. XIV.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 79 
 
 and he directed his course toward it. But his horse refused to go 
 ibrward ; he reared with a fury so uncontrollable, and his mastei 
 ivas so unwilling to lose a moment, that (especially as he saw 
 the thickets were altogether impassable on horseback) he dis- 
 mounted, and, having fastened his snorting steed to in elm, 
 worked his way with caution through the matted underwood. 
 The branches, moistened by the cold drops of the evening dew, 
 keenly smote his forehead and cheeks ; thunder mutte: ed re- 
 motely from the further side of the mountains ; &>id every 
 thing put on so strange and mystic an appearance, that he be- 
 gan to feel a dread of the white figure, which now lay only a 
 short distance from him upon the ground. Still he could see 
 with perfect clearness, that it was a female, either asleep or in 
 a swoon, and dressed in long white garments, such as Bertalda 
 had worn the past day. Approaching quite near to her, he 
 made a rustling with the branches and a ringing with his sword, 
 — but she did not move. 
 
 " Bertalda !" he cried ; at first low, then louder and louder ; 
 still she heard him not. At last, when he uttered the dear name 
 with an energy yet more powerful, a hollow echo, from the 
 mountain-summits around the valley, returned the deadened 
 sound, " Bertalda !" Still the sleeper continued insensible. 
 He stooped low, with a view to examine her countenance, but 
 the duskiness of the valley and the obscurity of twilight would 
 not allow him to distinguish her features. While with painful 
 uncertainty he was bending over her, a flash of lightning sud- 
 denly shot across the valley. By this stream of light, he saw a 
 frightfully distorted visage close to his own, and a hoarse voice 
 struck him with startling abruptness : " You enamoured shep- 
 herd, give me a kiss !" 
 
 Huldbrand sprang upon his feet with a cry of horror, and the 
 hideous figure rose with him. 
 
 " Home !" it cried with a deep murmur ; " the fiends are 
 abroad. Home ! or I have you !" And it stret^.hed toward 
 him its long white arms. 
 
 " ]V?a!icious Kiihleborn," exclaimed the knight witn restored 
 
80 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XIV. 
 
 energy, " if Kuhleborn you are, what business have you here ! 
 — what's your will, you goblin! — There, take your kiss!" — 
 And in fury he flashed his sword at the form. But the form 
 vanished like vapour ; and a rush of water, giving the knight 
 'as good a drenching as wetting him to the skin could make it, 
 left him in no doubt with what foe he had been engaged. 
 
 *• He wishes to frighten me back from my pursuit of Bertal- 
 da," said he to himself; "he imagines, that I shall be terrified 
 at his senseless enchantments, and resign the poor distressed 
 girl to his power, so that he can Avreak his vengeance upon her 
 at will. But, impotent spirit of the flood ! he shall find himself 
 mistaken. What the heart of man can do, when it exerts the 
 full force of its will, the strong energy of its noblest powers, of 
 this the feeble enchanter has no comprehension." 
 
 He felt the truth of his words, and that, in thus giving ut- 
 terance to his thoughts, he had inspired his heart with fresh 
 courage. Fortune too appeared to favour him ; for, before 
 reaching his fastened steed, he distinctly heard the voice of 
 Bertalda, where she was now weeping and now moaning not 
 far before him, amid the roar of the thunder and the tempest, 
 which every moment increased. He flew swiftly toward the 
 sound, and found the trembling maiden, just as she was at- 
 tempting to climb the steep, and striving, to the extent of her 
 power, to escape from the dreadful darkness of this valley. 
 He stepped before her, while he spoke in tones of the most 
 soothing tenderness ; and bold and proud as her resolution had 
 so lately been, she now felt nothing but the liveliest joy, that 
 the man, whom she so passionately loved, would rescue her, from 
 this frightful solitude, and extending to her his arms of welcome^ 
 would still cast a brightness over her existence in their re- 
 union at the castle. She followed almost unresisting, but so 
 spent with fatigue, that the knight w^as glad to support her to 
 his horse, which he now hastily unfastened from the elm : his 
 intention was to lift the fair wanderer upon him, and then to 
 lead him carefully by the reins through the uncertain shades 
 of this lowland tract. 
 
CHAP. XIV.] UNDINE. 81 
 
 But, owing to the mad appearance of Kiihleborn, the horse 
 had become altogether unmanageable. Rearing and wildly 
 snorting as he was, the knight must have used uncommon effort 
 to mount the beast himself; to place the trembling Bertalda 
 upon him was impossible. They were compelled, therefore, to 
 return home on foot. While with one hand the knight drew 
 the steed after him by the bridle, he supported the tottering Ber- 
 talda with the other. She exerted all the strength she had re- 
 maining, in order to escape from this vale of terrors as speed- 
 ily as possible; but weariness weighed her down like lead, and 
 a universal trembling seized her limbs, partly in consequence 
 of what she had suffered from the extreme harassment with 
 which Kiihleborn had pursued her, and in part from her con- 
 tinual fear, arising from the roar of the tempest and thunder 
 amid the mountain forest. 
 
 At last she slid from the arm of her conductor ; and, sinking 
 upon the moss, she said : " I can no more ; let me lie here, my 
 noble lord. I suffer the punishment due to my folly, and nothing 
 can save me now ; I must perish here through faintness and 
 dismay." 
 
 " Never, my sweet friend, will I leave you," cried Huld- 
 brand, vainly trying to restrain the furious animal he was lead- 
 ing ; for the horse was all in a foam, and began to. chafe more 
 ungovernably than before, till the knight was glad merely to 
 keep him at such a distance from the exhausted maiden, as 
 would secure her from still greater fear and alarm. But hardly 
 had he withdrawn five steps with the frantic steed, when she 
 began to call after him in the most sorrow^ful accents, fearful 
 that he would actually leave her in this horrible wilderness. 
 He was wholly at a loss what course to take. Gladly would 
 he have given the •enraged beast his liberty, — he would have 
 let him rush away amid the night, and exhaust his fury, — ^had 
 he not shuddered at the thought, that in this narrow defile his 
 iron-shod hoofs might come trampling and thundering over the 
 very spot where Bertalda lay. 
 
 While he was in this extreme peril and enibarrassment, a feel' 
 7 
 
62 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [OIUP. XTV 
 
 ing of delight, not to be expressed, shot through him, when he 
 heard the rumbling wheels of a wagon, as it came slowly do 
 scending the stony slope behind them. He called out for help: 
 answer was returned in the deep voice of a man, bidding them 
 have patience, but promising assistance; and two horses cf 
 grayish white soon after shone through the bushes, and near 
 them their driver in the white frock of a carter ; and next ap- 
 peared a great sheet of white linen, with w^hich the goods he 
 Beemed to be conveying, were covered. The whitish grays, 
 in obedience to a shout from their master, stood still. He came 
 up to the knight, and aided him in checking the fury of the 
 foaming charger. 
 
 " I know well enough," said he, " what is the matter with 
 the brute. The first time I travelled this way, my horses were 
 just as wilful and headstrong as yours. The reason is, there 
 is a water-spirit haunts this valley, and a wicked wight they 
 say he is, who takes delight in mischief and witcheries of this 
 sort. But I have learned a charm ; and if you will let me 
 whisper it in your horse's ear, he will stand just as quiet as my 
 silver grays there." 
 
 " Try your luck, then, and help us as quick as possible !" 
 said the impatient knight. 
 
 Upon this the wagoner drew down the head of the rearing 
 courser close to his own, and spoke some half-dozen words in 
 his ear. The animal instantly stood still and subdued ; only 
 his quick panting and smoking sweat showed his recent vio- 
 lence. 
 
 Huldbrand had little time to inquire, by what means this 
 had been effected. He agreed with the man, that he should 
 take Bertalda in his wagon, where, as he said, a quantity of soft 
 cotton was stowed, and he might in this » way convey her to 
 Castle Ringstetten ; the knight could accompany them on 
 horseback. But the horse appeared to be too much exhausted 
 to carry his master so far. Seeing this, the man ad\dsed him 
 to mount the wagon with Bertald''. The horse could be tied to 
 it btliiud. 
 
CHAP. XIV.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 83 
 
 " It is down hill," said he, " and the load for my grays will 
 therefore be light." 
 
 The knight accepted his offer, and entered the wagon with 
 Btrtalda ; the horse followed quietly after, while the wagoner, 
 sturdy and attentive, walked beside them. 
 
 Amid the silence and deepening obscurity of the night, the 
 tempest became more and more remote and hushed ; in the com- 
 fortable feeling of their security and their commodious passage, a 
 confidential conversation arose between Huldbrand and Bertal- 
 da. He reproved her in the most gentle and affectionate terms 
 for her resentful flight ; she excused herself with humility and 
 feeling ; and from every tone of her voice it was evident, — just 
 as a lamp guides a lover amid the secrecy of night to his wait- 
 ing mistress, — that she still cherished her former affection for 
 him. The knight felt the se?ise of what she said far more than 
 the words themselves, and he answered simply to this sense, — 
 to the feeling and not the confession of. love. 
 
 In the midst of this interchange of murmured feelings, the 
 wagoner suddenly shouted with a startling voice : " Up, my 
 grays, up with your feet ! Hey, my hearts, now together, show 
 your spirit ! Do it handsomely ! remember who you are !" 
 
 The knight bent over the side of the wagon, and saw that the 
 horses had dashed into the midst of a foaming stream, and v/ere, 
 indeed, almost swimming, while the wheels of the wagon were 
 rushing round and flashing like mill-wheels, and the teamster 
 had got on before to avoid the swell of the flood. 
 
 " What sort of a road is this ? It leads into the middle of the 
 stream !" cried Huldbrand to his guide. 
 
 " Not at all. Sir," returned he with a laugh, " it is just the 
 contrary. The stream is running in the middle of our road. 
 Only look about you, and see how all is overflowed." 
 
 The whole valley, in fact, was covered and in comirotion, as 
 the waters, suddenly raised and visibly rising, swopt over it. 
 
 " It is Kiihleborn, that devil of a water-spirit, who wishes to 
 drown us !" exclaimed the knight. " Have you nc charm of 
 [irotection against him, companion ?" 
 
B4 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. xit. 
 
 " Charm ! to be sure I have one," ansrwered the wagonei^ 
 ^ but I cannot and must not make use of it, before you know 
 who I am." 
 
 " Is this a time for riddles ?" cried the knight. " The flood 
 is every moment rising higher and higher, and what does it 
 concern Ttie to know who ijoib are ?" 
 
 But mayhap it does concern you though," said the guide, 
 
 " for I AM KUHLEBORN." 
 
 Thus speaking, he thrust his face into the wagon, and laughed 
 with every feature distorted ; but the wagon remained a wagon 
 no longer, the grayish w^hite horses were horses no longer ; all 
 was transformed to foam, — all sunk into the waves that rushed 
 and hissed around them, — while the wagoner himself, rising in 
 the form of a gigantic surge, dragged the vainly struggling 
 courser under the waters, then rose again huge as a liquid 
 tower, burst over the heads of the floating pair, and was on the 
 point of burying them iiTecoverably beneath it. 
 
 At that instant, the soft voice of Undine was heard through 
 the uproar ; the moon emerged through the clouds, and by its 
 light Undine became visible on the heights above the valley. 
 She rebuked, she threatened the flood below her : the menacing 
 and tower-like billow vanished muttering and murmuring ; the 
 waters gently flowed away under the beams of the moon ; while 
 Undine, lilce a hovering white dove, came sweeping do^^ii from 
 the hill, raised the knight and Bertalda, and supported them to 
 a green spot of turf, where, by her earnest efibrts, she soon re 
 stored them, and dispelled their terrors. She then assisted 
 Bertalda to mount the white palfrey, on which she had herself 
 been borne to the valley, and thus all three returned homeward 
 to Castle Ringstetten. 
 
CHAP. XV.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 85 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Passage down the Danube to Vienna. 
 
 After this last adventure, they lived at the castle undisturbed 
 and in peaceful enjoyment. The knight was more and more 
 impressed with the heavenly goodness of his wife, which she 
 had so nobly shown by her instant pursuit, and by the rescue 
 she had effected in the Black Valley, where the power of 
 Kiihleborn again commenced. Undine herself felt that peace 
 and security which the mind never fails to experience, so long 
 as it has the consciousness of being in the path of rectitude ; 
 and she had this additional comfort, that, in the newly awaken- 
 ed love and regard of her husband, Hope and Joy were rising 
 upon her with their myriad beams of promise. 
 
 Bertalda, on the other hand, showed herself grateful, humble, 
 and timid, without taking to herself any merit for so doing. 
 Whenever Hulbrand or Undine began to explain to her their 
 reason for covering the fountain, or their adventures in the 
 Black Valley, she would earnestly entreat them to spare her 
 the recital, since the fountain had occasioned her too much 
 shame, and the Black Valley too much terror, to be made 
 topics of conversation. With respect to these, therefore, she 
 learnt nothing further from either of them; and why was it 
 necessary that she should be informed? Peace and Happi- 
 ness had visibly taken up their abode at Castle Ringstetten. 
 They enjoyed their present blessings in perfect security ; and 
 in relation to the future, they now imagined it impossible, that 
 life could produce any thing but pleasant flowers and fruits. 
 
 In this grateful union of friendship and affection, winter came 
 and passed away ; and spring, with its foliage of tender green 
 and its heaven of softest blue^ succeeded to gladden the hearts 
 
8b* 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. x» 
 
 of the inmates of the castle. The season was in harmony with 
 their minds, and their minds imparted their own hue and tone 
 to tlie season. What wonder, then, that its storks and swal- 
 lows inspired them also with a disposition to t.tivel ! On a 
 bright morning, while they were taking a walk down to one of 
 the sources of the Danube, Huldbrand spoke of the magnifi- 
 cence of this noble stream, how it continued swelling as it flow - 
 ed through countries enriched by its Avaters, with what splen- 
 dour Vienna rose and sparkled on its banks, and how it grew 
 lovelier and more imposing almost the whole of its progress. 
 
 " It must be glorious to trace its course down to Vienna !" 
 Bertalda exclaimed with warmth ; but, immediately resuming 
 the humble and modest demeanour she had recently shown, she 
 paused and blushed in silence. 
 
 This slight circumstance was extremely touching to Undine; 
 and with the liveliest wish to gratify her friend, she said : " And 
 who or what shall prevent our taking this little voyage ?" 
 
 Bertalda leapt up with delight, and the two females the same 
 moment began painting this enchanting trip on the Danube in 
 the most brilliant colours. Huldbrand, too, agreed to the pro- 
 ject with pleasure ; only he once whispered with something of 
 alarm in Undine's ear : " But, at that distance, Kiihleborn be- 
 comes possessed of his power again ?" 
 
 " Let him come, let him come," she answered with a laugh ; 
 " I shall be there, and he dares do none of his mischief in my 
 presence." 
 
 Thus was the last impediment removed ; they prepared for 
 the expedition, and soon set out upon it with lively spirits and 
 the brightest hopes. 
 
 But be not surprised, O man, if events almost always happen 
 very differently from what you expect. That malign power, 
 tvhich lies in ambush for our destruction, delights to lull its 
 chosen victim asleep with sweet songs and golden delusions ; 
 while, on the other hand, the messenger of Heaven, sent to 
 rescue us from peril, o^ten thunders at our doo^ with the vio- 
 lence of alarm and terror. 
 
CHAP. XV.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 87 
 
 During the first days of their passage down the Danube, they 
 were unusually gratified. The further they advanced upon the 
 waters of this proud river, the views became more and more 
 picturesque and attractive. But here, amid scenes otherwise 
 most delicious, and from which they had promised themselves 
 the purest delight, here again the stubborn Kiihleborn, drop- 
 ping all disguise, began to show his power of annoying them. 
 He had no other means of doing this, indeed, than mere tricks 
 and illusions, for Undine often rebuked the swelling w aves or 
 the contrary winds, and then the insolence of the enemy was 
 instantly humbled and subdued ; but his attacks were renewed, 
 and Undine's reproofs again became necessary; so that the 
 pleasure of this little water-party was completely destroyed. 
 The boatmen, too, were continually whispering to one another 
 in dismay, and eyeing their three superiors with distrust ; while 
 even the servants began more and more to form dismal sur- 
 mises, and to watch their master and mistress with looks of sus- 
 picion. 
 
 Huldbrand often said to himself, in the silence of his soul : 
 " This comes to pass, when like marries not like, — when a man 
 forms an unnatural union with a female of the sea." Still, ex- 
 cusing himself, as we are most of us so fond of doing, he fre- 
 quently pursued a train of thought like this : " I did not in ftict 
 know that she was a maid of the sea. It is my misfortune, 
 that all my steps are haunted and disturbed by the wild hu- 
 mours of her kindred, but it is not my crime." 
 
 Making reflections like these, he felt himself in some measure 
 strengthened ; but, on the other hand, he only the more enter- 
 tained a feeling of ill-humour against Undine, almost amount- 
 ing to malevolence. He cast upon her glances of fretfulness 
 and ill-nature, and the unhappy wife but too well understood 
 their meaning. 
 
 One day, grieved by this unkindness, as well as exhausted 
 by her continual exertions to foil the artifices of Kiihleborn, 
 while rocked and soothed by the gen.le motion of the bark, she 
 toward evening fell into a deep slumber. But hardly had she 
 
88 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XV 
 
 closed her eyes, when every person in the boat, in whatever 
 direction he might look upon the water, saw the head of a man, 
 beyond imagination frightful : each head rose out of the waves, 
 not like that of a person swimming, but quite perpendicular, as 
 if firmly fastened to the watery mirror, and yet moving on 
 with the bark. Every one wished to show to his companion 
 what terrified himself, and each perceived the same expression 
 of horror on the face of the other, only his hand and eye were 
 directed to a different quarter, as if to a point where the 
 monster, half laughing and half threatening, rose opposite to 
 himself 
 
 When, however, they wished to make one another understand 
 the sight, and all cried out, " Look there !" " No, there !" the 
 frightful heads all became visible to each, and the whole river 
 around the boat swarmed with the most horrible faces. All raised 
 a scream of terror at the sight, and Undine started from sleep. 
 The moment she opened her eyes upon the mad group, the de- 
 formed visages disappeared. But Huldbrand was made furious 
 by so many hideous visions. He would have burst out in wild 
 imprecations, had not Undine, with the most submissive air, and 
 in the gentlest tone of supplication, thus entreated him : 
 
 " For God's sake, my husband, do not express displeasure 
 against me here, — we are on the water." 
 
 The knight was silent and sat down, absorbed in deep thought. 
 Undine whispered in his ear : " Would it not be better, my 
 love, to give up this foolish voyage, and return to Castle Ring- 
 stetten in peace ?" 
 
 But Huldbrand murmured wrathfully: " So I must become 
 a prisoner in my own castle ? and not be allowed to breathe a 
 moment but while the fountain is covered ? Would to Heaven 
 that your cursed kindred" 
 
 At these fatal words, Undine pressed her fliir hand on hia 
 lips with the most touching tenderness. He said no more, but, 
 assuming an air of composure, pondered on all that Undine had 
 lately warned him to avoid. 
 
 Bertalda, meanwhile, had given herself up to a crowd of wild 
 
CHAP. XV 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 89 
 
 and wandering thoughts. Of Undine's origin she knew a good 
 deal, but not the whole ; and the terrible Kiihleborn especially 
 remained to her an awful, an impenetrable mystery; never, 
 indeedj had she once heard his name. Musing upon this series 
 of wo iders, she unclasped, without being fully conscious of 
 what she was doing, a gold necklace, which Huldbrand, on one 
 of the preceding days of their passage, had bought for her of a 
 travelling trader ; and she was now letting it swing in sport 
 just over the surface of the stream, while, in her dreamy mood, 
 she enjoyed the bright reflection it threw on the water, so clear 
 beneath the glow of evening. That instant, a huge hand 
 flashed suddenly up from the Danube, seized the necklace ir 
 its grasp, and vanished with it beneath the flood. Bertaldi 
 shrieked aloud, and a laugh of mockery and contempt came 
 pealing up from the depth of the river.* 
 
 The knight could now restrain his wrath no longer. He 
 started up, gazed fiercely upon the deep, poured forth a torrent 
 of reproaches, heaped curses upon all who interfered with his 
 
 * This fine passage of Fouque bears a strong resemblance to a finer one 
 in Southey's Thalaba, Book V. : 
 
 " And he drew off Abdaldar's ring, 
 And cast it in the gulf. 
 A skinny hand came up, 
 And caught it as it fell, 
 And peals of devilish laughter shook the cave." 
 The reader, if he take any interest in the coincidences of genius, may like 
 to compare with these passages, the followiui) verse from king Arthur's 
 death in Percy's Reliques : 
 
 " A hande and an arme did meet the s vorde^ 
 And flourish'd three times in the air ; 
 Then sunke benethe the renninge strerae. 
 And of the duke was scene noe mair." 
 See also this same incident of the Hand very strongly pictured in Ten- 
 nyson's MoRTE D' Arthur. The whole poem, indeed, is so full of power, 
 beauty, and tenderness, that we hope the author will take a hint from it, 
 as a suggestion of his good genius, relative to his talent in this style of com- 
 position. 
 
90 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XV 
 
 friends or troubled his life, and dared them all, water-spirits or 
 mermaids, to come within the sweep of his sword. 
 
 Bertalda, meantime, wept for the loss of the ornament so very- 
 dear to her heart, and her tears were to Huld brand as oil pour-ed 
 upon the flame of his fury ; while Undine held her hand over 
 the side of the boat, dipping it in the waves, softly murmuring 
 to herself, and only at times interrupting her strange mysteriou? 
 whisper, when she addressed her husband in a voice of entreaty ; 
 " Do not reprove me here, beloved ; blame all others, as you 
 will, but here, do not reprove me here. Surely you know the 
 reason !" And, in truth, though he was trembling with excess 
 of passion, he with strong effort kept himself from uttering a 
 single word against her. 
 
 She then brought up in her wet hand, which she had been 
 holding under the waves, a coral necklace of such exquisite 
 beauty, such sparkling brilliancy, as dazzled the eyes of all who 
 beheld it. " Take this," said she, holding it out kindly to Ber- 
 talda ; " I have ordered it to be brought, to make some amends 
 for your loss, and do not, dear heart, be troubled any more." 
 
 But the knight rushed between them, and, snatching the beau- 
 tiful ornament out of Undine's hand, hurled it back into the 
 flood, and in a flame of rage exclaimed : " So then, you have a 
 connexion with them forever ? In the name of all witches and 
 enchanters, go and remain among them with your presents, 
 you sorceress, and leave us human beings in peace !" 
 
 But poor Undine, with a look of mute amazement and eyes 
 streaming with tears, gazed on him, her hand still stretched out, 
 just as it was when she had so lovingly offered her brilliant gift 
 to Bertalda. She then began to weep more and more, as if her 
 heart would break, like a tender, innocent child, very bitterly 
 grieved. At last, all wearied out, she said : 
 
 " Alas, dearest, all is over now, — farewell ! They shall do 
 you no harm ; only remain true, lhat I may have power to keep 
 them from you. But I, alas, must go away, I must go away, 
 even in this early dawn of youth and bliss. O woe, woe, what 
 have you done ! O woe, woe !" 
 
CMAP. XV. 1 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 91 
 
 And she vanished over the side of the boat. — Whether she 
 plunged into the stream, or whether, like water melting into 
 water, she flowed away with it, they knew not, her disappear- 
 ance so much resembled both united, and neither by itself. But 
 she was gone, gliding on with the Danube, instantly and com- 
 pletely ; only little waves were yet whispering and sobbing 
 around the boat,* and they seemed almost distinctly to say . " O 
 woe, woe ! Ah, remain true ! O woe !" 
 
 Bat Huldbrand, in a passion of burning tears, threw himself 
 upon the deck of the bark, and a deep swoon soon wrapped the 
 wretched man in a blessed forgetfulness of misery. 
 
 * The original of this clause is, " nur flusterten noch kleine Wellchen 
 schluchzend um den Kahn." If the translator may be allowed to express 
 his admiration, without being considered intrusive, he would say that nothing 
 could liave been more exquisitely conceived than this circumstance. 
 
92 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [CITAP. XVL 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 What further happened to Huldbrand. 
 
 The brief period of our mourning, — ought we to ziew it as a 
 misfortune, or as a blessing ? I mean that deep mourning of 
 the heart, which gushes up from the very well-springs of our 
 being ; that mourning, which becomes so perfectly one with the 
 lost object of our affection, that this even ceases to be a lost 
 thing to the sorromng heart ; and which desires to make the 
 whole life a holy office dedicated to the image of the depart- 
 ed, until we too pass that bourne which separates it from our 
 view. 
 
 Some men there are, indeed, who have this profound tender- 
 ness of spirit, and who thus consecrate their affections to the 
 memory of the departed ; but still their mourning softens into 
 an emotion of gentle melancholy, having none of the intense- 
 ness of the first agony of separation. Other and foreign images 
 intervene, and impress themselves upon the mind ; we learn at 
 last the transitory nature of every thing earthly, even from that 
 of our affliction ; and I cannot therefore but view it as a mis- 
 fortune, that the period of our mourning is so brief 
 
 The lord of Ringstetten learnt the truth of this by experience ; 
 but whether he derived any advantage from the knowledge, we 
 shall discover in the sequel of this history. At first he could do 
 nothing but weep, weep as bitterly as the poor amiable Undine 
 had wept, when he snatched out of her hand that brilliant or- 
 nament, Avith which she so beautifully wished to make amends 
 for Bertalda's loss. And then he stretched his hand out as she 
 had done, and wept again like her with renewed violence. 
 He 'cherished a secret hope, that even the springs of life would 
 at last become exhausted by weeping ; and when we have been 
 
CIIAP. XVI.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 93 
 
 severely afflicted, has not a similar thought passed through the 
 minds of many of us with a painful pleasure ? Bertalda wept 
 with him ; and they lived together a long while at Castle Ring- 
 stetten in undisturbed quiet, honouring the memory of Undine, 
 and having almost wholly forgotten their former attachment. 
 
 Owing to this tender remembrance of Huldbrand, and to en- 
 courage him in conduct so exemplary, the good Undine, about 
 this time, often visited his dreams ; she soothed him with soft 
 and aflTectionate caresses, and then went away again, weeping 
 in silence ; so that when he awoke, he sometimes knew not how 
 his cheeks came to be so wet, — whether it was caused by her 
 tears, or only by his own. 
 
 But as time advanced, these visions became less frequent, 
 and the severity of the knight's sorrow was softened ; still he 
 might never while he lived, it may be, have entertained any 
 other wish than thus to think of Undine in silence, and to speak 
 of her in conversation, had not the old fisherman arrived unex- 
 pectedly at the castle, and earnestly insisted on Bertalda's re- 
 turning with him, as his child. He had received information 
 of Undine's disappearance, and he was not willing to allow 
 Bertalda to continue longer at the castle with the now unmar- 
 ried knight. " For," said he, " whether my daughter loves me 
 or not, is at present what I care not to know ; but her good 
 name is at stake, and where tJiat commands or forbids, not a 
 word more need be said." 
 
 This resolution of the old fisherman, and the fearful solitude, 
 that, on Bertalda's departure, thieatened to oppress the knight 
 in every hall and passage of the deserted castle, brought a cir- 
 cumstance into distinct consciousness, which, owing to his sor- 
 row for Undine, had of late been slumbering and completely 
 forgotten, — I mean his attachment to the fair Bertalda ; and this 
 he made known to her father. 
 
 The fisherman had many objections to make to the proposed 
 marriage. The old man had loved Undine with exceeding 
 tenderness, and it was doubtful to his mind, whether the mere 
 disappearance of his beloved child could be properly viewed as 
 
UNDINE; 
 
 [chap. XVI. 
 
 her death. But were it even granted, that her corse were ly- 
 ing stiff and cold at the bottom of the Danube, or swept away 
 by the current to the ocean, still Bertalda would not be guilt- 
 . ess in her death ; and it was unfitting for her to step into the 
 place of the poor banished wife. The fisherman, however, had 
 felt a strong regard also for the knight : this, and the entrea- 
 ties of his daughter, who had become much more gentle and 
 respectful, as well as her tears for Undine, all exerted their in- 
 fluence ; and he must at last have been forced to give up his 
 opposition, for he remained at the castle without objection, and a 
 courier was sent off express to father Heilmann, who in former 
 and happier days had united Undine and Huldbrand, request- 
 ing him to come and perform the ceremony at the knight's 
 second marriage. 
 
 But hardly had the holy man read through the letter from 
 the lord of Ringstetten, ere he set out upon the journey, and 
 made much greater dispatch on his way to the castle, than the 
 messenger from there had made in reaching him. Whenever 
 his breath failed him in his rapid progress, or his old limbs 
 ached with fatigue, he would say to himself : " Perhaps I may 
 still be in season to prevent a sin ; then sink not, weak and 
 withered body, before I arrive at the end of my journey !" 
 And with renewed vigour he pressed forward, hurrying on 
 without rest or repose, until, late one evening, he entered the 
 embowered court-yard of Castle Ringstetten. - 
 
 The betrothed pair were sitting arm-in-arm under the trees, 
 and the aged fisherman in a thoughtful mood sat near them. 
 The moment they saw father Heilmann, they rose with a spring 
 of joy, and pressed round him with eager welcome. But he, 
 in few words, urged the bridegroom* to accompany him into the 
 casde ; and when Huldbrand stood mute with surprise, and de- 
 layed complying with his earnest request, the pious priest said 
 to him: 
 
 * The betrothed, are called bride and bridegroom in Grermany. 
 
CHAP. XVI.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 95 
 
 " Why do I then defer speaking, my lord of Ringstctlcii. 
 until I can address you in private ? There is no occasion for 
 the delay of a moment. What I have to say, as much concernf? 
 Bertalda and the fisherman as yourself ; and what we cannot 
 avoid hearing at some time, it is best to hear as soon as pos- 
 sible. Are you then so very certain^ knight Huldbrand, that 
 your first wife is actually dead ? It hardly appears so to me. 
 I will say nothing, indeed, of the mysterious state in which she 
 may be now existing ; in truth, I know nothing of it with c&c- 
 tainty. But that she was a most devoted and faithful wifc^ so 
 much is beyond all dispute. And for fourteen nights past, she 
 has appeared to me in a dream, standing at my bed-side, wring- 
 ing her tender hands in anguish, and imploring me with deep 
 sighs : ' Ah, prevent him, dear father ! I am still living ! Ah 
 save his life ! ah ! save his soul !' 
 
 " What this vision of the night could mean, I was at first un- 
 able to divine ; then came your messenger, and I have now 
 hastened hither, not to unite, but, as I hope, to separate, what 
 ought not to be joined together. Leave her, Huldbrand ! Leave 
 him, Bertalda ! He still belongs to another ; and do you not 
 see on his pale cheek the traces of that grief, which the disap- 
 pearance of his wife has produced there ? That is not the 
 look of a bridegroom, and the spirit breathes the presage on 
 my soul : ' If you do not leave him, you will never, never be 
 happy.' " 
 
 The three felt in their inmost hearts, that father Heilmann 
 spoke the truth ; but still they affected not to believe him, or 
 they strove rather to resist their conviction. Even the old 
 fisherman had become so infatuated, that he conceived the mar- 
 riage to be now indispensable, as they had so often, during 
 the time he had been with them, mutually agreed to the ar- 
 rangement. They all, therefore, with a determined and gloomy 
 eagerness, struggled against the representations and warnings 
 of the holy man, until, shaking his head and oppressed with 
 sorrow, he finally quitted the castle, not choosing to accep* 
 
96 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XVI, 
 
 their offered shelter even for a single night, or indeed so much 
 as to taste a morsel of the refreshment they brought him. Huld- 
 brand persuaded himself, however, that the priest was a mere 
 visionary, and sent at day-break to a monk of the nearest mo- 
 nastery, who, without scruple, promised to perform the ceremo- 
 ny in a lew days. 
 
CHAP XVIl ] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 97 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 The Knight's Dream. 
 
 It was at the earliest moment of dawn, when night begins faint- 
 ly to brighten into morning twilight, that Huldbrand was lying 
 on his couch, half waking and half sleeping. Whenever he 
 attempted to compose himself to sleep, he was seized with an 
 undefined terror, that made him shrink back from the enjoy- 
 ment, as if his slumber were crowded with spectres. But 
 whenever he made an effort to rouse himself, the wings of a 
 swan seemed to be waving around him, and soothing him with 
 the music of their motion, and thus in a soft delusion of the 
 senses he sunk back into his state of imperfect repose. 
 
 At last, however, he must have fallen perfectly asleep ; for, 
 while the sound of the swan-wings was murmuring around him, 
 he seemed to be lifted by their regular strokes, and to be waft- 
 ed far away over land and sea, and still their music swelled on 
 his ear most sweetly. " The music of the swan ! the song of 
 the swan !" he could not but repeat to himself every moment ; 
 " is it not a sure foreboding of death Probably, however, it 
 had yet another meaning. All at once he seemed to be hover- 
 ing over the Mediterranean Sea. A swan with her loud melody 
 sung in his ear, that this was the Mediterranean Sea ; and while 
 he was lookmg down upon the waves, they became transparent 
 as crystal, so that he could see through them to the very bottom. 
 
 At this a thrill of delight shot through him, for he could see 
 Undine, where she was sitting beneath the clear domes of crys- 
 tal. It is true, she was weeping very bitterly, and such was 
 the excess of her grief, that she bore only a faint resemblance 
 to the bright and joyous being she had been, during those hap- 
 py days they had lived together at Castle Ringstetten, both on 
 8 
 
98 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XVIt 
 
 their arrival there and afterward, a short time before they set 
 out upon their fatal passage down the Danube. The knight 
 could not avoid dwelling upon all this with deep emotion, but it 
 did noc appear that Undine was aware of his presence. 
 
 Kiihleborn had meanwhile approached her, and was about (o 
 reprove her for weeping, when she assumed the boldness of supe- 
 riority, and looked upon him with an air so majestic and com- 
 manding, that he was well-nigh terrified and confounded by it. 
 
 " Although I too now dwell here beneath the waters," said 
 she, " yet I have brought my soul with me ; and therefore I 
 may well be allowed to weep, little as you may conceive the 
 meaning of such tears. They are even a blessed privilege, as 
 every thing is such a privilege, to one gifted with the true soul." 
 
 He shook his head with disbelief of what she said, and, after 
 musing a moment or two, replied : " And yet, niece, you are 
 subject to our laws of the element, as a being of the same na- 
 ture with ourselves ; and, should he prove unfaithful to you 
 and marry again, you are obliged to take away his life." 
 
 " He remains a widower to this very hour," replied Undine, 
 " and he still loves me with the passion of a sorrovdul heart." 
 
 "He is, however, a bridegroom withal," said Kiihleborn, 
 with a chuckle of scorn ; " and let only a few days wear away, 
 and anon comes the priest with his nuptial blessing, and then 
 you must go up and execute your share of the business, the 
 death of the husband with two wives." 
 
 "I have not the power," returned Undine, with a smile. 
 " Do you not remember ? I have sealed up the fountain se- 
 curely, not only against myself but all of the same race." 
 
 " Still, should he leave his castle," said Kiihleborn, " or 
 should he once allow the fountain to be uncovered, what then ? 
 for doubtless he thinks there is no great murder in such trifles."* 
 
 " For that very reason," said Undine, still smiling amid hex 
 
 * " Dcnn er denkt gewiss blutwenig an alle diese Dlnge." ' For he surely 
 thinks very little of all these things.' The temptation tQ render this odd 
 idiom, blutwenig, by some equivalent phrase in English, was a whim too 
 fctrong to be resisted. 
 
CHAP. XVII.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 99 
 
 tears, " for that very reason he is this moment hovering in spirit 
 here over the Mediterranean Sea, and dreaming of this voice of 
 warning which our conversation affords him. With a view to 
 give him this warning, I have studiously disposed the whole 
 vision." 
 
 That instant Kiihleborn, inflamed with rage, looked up at the 
 knight, ^vrathfully threatened him, stamped upon the ground, 
 and then, swift as the passion that possessed him, sprang up 
 from beneath the waves. He seemed to swell in his fury to :he 
 size of a whale. Again the swans began to sing, to wave their 
 wings, to fly; the knight seemed to be soaring away over 
 mountains and streams, and at last to alight at Castle Ringstet- 
 ten, where he awoke upon his couch. 
 
 Upon his couch he actually did awake, and his attendant, 
 entering at the same moment, informed him, that father Heil- 
 mann was still lingering in the neighbourhood ; that he had, 
 the evening before, met with him in the forest, where he was 
 sheltering himself under a booth, which he had formed by in- 
 terweaving the branches of trees, and covering them with moss 
 and fine brush-wood ; and that to the question, ' What he was 
 doing there, since he had so firmly refused to perform the nup- 
 tial ceremony V his answer was : 
 
 " There are yet other ceremonies to perform, beside those at 
 the altar of marriage ; and though I did not come to officiate 
 at the wedding, I can still officiate at a very difl^erent solemnity. 
 All things have their season, and we must be ready for them 
 all. Besides, marrying and mourning are by no means very 
 far from each fjther, as every one, not wilfully blinded, must 
 know full well." 
 
 In consequence of these words and of his dream, the knight 
 made a variety of reflections, some wild and some not utimix- 
 ed with alarm. But a man is apt to consider it very disagree' 
 able to give over an affair, which he has once settled in his 
 mind as certain, and therefore all went on just according to the 
 old arrangement. 
 
100 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XVUl 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 How the Knight Huldbrand solemnized his marriage. 
 
 Should I relate to you the events of the marriage festival at 
 Castle Riiigstettcrij it would seem as if you were viewing a 
 crowded assemblage of bright and joyous things, but all over- 
 spread with a black mourning crape, through whose darkening 
 vejl the whole splendour appeared less to resemble pleasure, 
 than a mockery of the nothingness of all earthly joys. 
 
 It was not that any spectral visitation disturbed the scene of 
 festivity; for the castle, as we well know, had been secured 
 against the mischief and menaces of water-spirits. But the 
 knight, the fisherman, and all the guests, were unable to banish 
 the feeling, that the chief personage of the feast was still want- 
 ing, and that this chief personage could be no other than the 
 amiable Undine, so dear to them all. 
 
 Whenever a door was heard to open, all eyes were involun- 
 tarily turned in that direction ; and if it was nothing but the 
 steward with new dishes, or the cup-bearer with a supply of 
 wine of higher flavour than the last, they again looked down 
 in sadness and disappointment ; while the flashes of wit and 
 merriment that had been passing at times from one to another, 
 ceased, and were succeeded by tears of mournful remem- 
 brance. 
 
 The bride was the least thoughtful of the company, and 
 therefore the most happy ; but even she, occasionally, found it 
 difiicult to realize the fact, that she was sitting at the head of 
 the table, wearing a green garland and gold-embroidered gar- 
 ments, while Undine was lying a corse, stiff* and cold, ai the 
 bottom of the Danube, or carried out by the current into the 
 ocean. For, ever since her father had suggested something of 
 
CHAP. XVIII.] 
 
 ITNDINE. 
 
 101 
 
 this sort, his words were continually sounding in her ear ; and 
 this day, in particular, they would neither fade from her me- 
 mory nor yield to other thoughts. 
 
 Evening had scarcely arrived, when the company returned 
 to their homes ; not dismissed by the impatience of the bride- 
 groom, as wedding parties are sometimes broken up, but con- 
 strained solely by painful associations, joyless melancholy, and 
 forebodings of evil. Bertalda retired with her maidens, and the 
 knight with his attendants, to undress ; but these young bride- 
 maids and bridemen, such was the gloomy tenor of this festival, 
 made no attempt to amuse bride or bridegroom with the usual 
 pleasantry and frolicksome good-humour of the occasion. 
 
 Bertalda wished to awake a livelier spirit ; she ordered them to 
 spread before her a brilliant set of jewels, a present from Huld- 
 brand, together with rich apparel and veils, that she might 
 select from among them the brightest and most beautiful for her 
 dress in the morning. The attendants rejoiced at this oppor- 
 tunity of pouring forth good wishes and promises of happiness 
 to their young mistress, and failed not to extol the beauty of the 
 bride with their liveliest eloquence. They became more and 
 more absorbed in this admiration and flattery, until Bertalda at 
 last, looking in a mirror, said with a sigh : 
 
 " Ah, but do you not see plainly how freckled I am growing ? 
 Look here on the side of my neck." 
 
 They looked at the place, and found the freckles, indeed, as 
 their fair mistress had said ; but they called them mere beauty- 
 spots, the faintest touches of the sun, such as would only heighten 
 the \^'hiteness of her delicate complexion. Bertalda shook her 
 he.'id, and still viewed them as a blemish. 
 
 And I could remove them," she said at last, sighing. " But 
 ihe castle-fountain is covered, from which I formerly used to 
 have that precious water, so purifying to the skin. O, had I 
 this evening only a single flagon of it !" 
 
 Is that all ?" cried an alert waiting-maid, laughing, as she 
 glided out of the apartment. 
 
 " She will not b.e so frantic," said Bertalda, in a voice of in- 
 
102 
 
 UNDIT^E. 
 
 [criAP. xviii. 
 
 quiry and agreeably surprisedj " as to cause the stone cover of 
 ihe fountain to be taken off this very evening ?" 
 
 That instant they heard the tread of men already passing 
 along the court-yard, and could see from the window where the 
 officious girl was leading them directly up to the fountain, and 
 that they carried levers and other instruments on their shoulders. 
 
 " L is certainly my will," said Bertalda with a smile, " if it 
 does not take them too long." And, pleased with the thought, 
 tliat the merest hint from her was now sufficient to accomplish 
 what had formerly been refused with a painful reproof, she 
 looked down upon their operations in the bright moonlight of the 
 castle court. 
 
 The men seized the enormous stone, as if they must exert all 
 their strength in raising it ; some one of their number indeed 
 would occasionally sigh, when he recollected they were destroy- 
 ing the work of their former beloved mistress. Their labour, 
 however, was much lighter than they had expected. It seemed 
 as if some power, from within the fountain itself, aided them in 
 raising the stone. 
 
 " It certainly appears," said the workmen to one another in 
 astonishment, " as if the confined water were become a jet or 
 spouting fountain." And the stone rose more and more, and, 
 almost without the assistance of the work-people, rolled slowly 
 away upon the pavement with a hollow sound. But an appear-, 
 ance, from the opening of the fountain, filled them with awe, as 
 it rose like a white column of water : at first they imagined it 
 to be a spouting fountain in good earnest, until they perceived 
 the rising form to be a pale female, veiled in white. She wept 
 bitterly, raised her hands above her head, and wrung them with 
 anguish, as with slow and solemn step she moved toward the 
 castle. The servants shrunk back, and fled from the fountain ; 
 while the bride, pale and motionless with horror, stood with her 
 maidens at the window from which she had been viewing what 
 passed without. When the figure had now come close beneath 
 their room, it looked up to them and uttered the low moaning of 
 misery, and Bertalda thought she recognized through the veil 
 
CHAP. XVIII.] 
 
 UNDINK 
 
 103 
 
 the pale features of Undinr But the mourn' .. g form passed on 
 as sad, reluctant, and lingering, as if going t<.^ the place of exe- 
 cution. Bertalda screamecJ to her maids to call the knight ; 
 not one of them dared to stir from her place ; and even the bride 
 herself became again mute, as if trembling at the sound of her 
 own voice. 
 
 While they continued standing at the window, o\ erpowered 
 with terror and motionless as statues, the mysterious wanderer 
 entered the castle, ascended the well-known stairs, and tra- 
 versed the well-known halls, her tears ever flowing in silent 
 woe. Alas, with what different emotions had she once passed 
 through these rooms ! 
 
 The knight had in the mean time dismissed his attendants. 
 Half undressed and in deep dejection^ he was standing before 
 a large mirror ; a wax taper burned dimly beside him. At 
 this moment he heard a low tapping at his door, the least per- 
 ceptible touch of a finger. Undine had formerly tapped in 
 this way, when she wished to amuse him with her endearing 
 sportiveness. 
 
 " It is all illusion! a mere freak of fancy!" said he to him- 
 self " I must to my nuptial bed." 
 
 " You must, indeed, but to a cold one !" he heard a voice, 
 choked with sobs, repeat from without ; and then he saw in the 
 mirror, that the door of his room was slowly, slowly opened, and 
 the white wanderer entered, and gently secured it behind her. 
 
 " They have opened the fountain," said she in a low tone, 
 " and now I am here and you must die." 
 
 He felt in the shock and death-pause of his heart, that this 
 must indeed be his doom ,: but, covering his eyes with his 
 hands, he cried: " Do not, in my death-hour, do not drive me 
 to distraction with terror. If you have a visage of horror be- 
 hind that veil, do not lift it ! Take my life, but let me not see 
 you." 
 
 " Alas !" replied the wanderer, " will you not then look upon 
 me once mo^e ? I am as beautiful now as when you wooed 
 mo on the peninsula !" 
 
104 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap, xviir 
 
 " O would to God it were so !" sighed Huldbrand, " and 
 that I might die by a kiss from you !" 
 
 " Most wiKingly do I grant your wish, my dearest love," saia 
 she. And as she threw back her veil, her dear face met his 
 view, smiling with celestial beauty. Trembling with love and 
 the awe of approaching death, the knight stooped to give and 
 receive the embrace. She kissed him with the holy kiss of 
 Heaven ; bu.t she relaxed not her hold, pressing him more pas- 
 sionately in her arms, and weeping as if she would weep away 
 her soul. Tears rush^.d into the knight's eyes, while a thrill 
 both of bliss and agony* shot through his heart, until he at last 
 expired, sinking softly Da:k from her fair arms, and resting upon 
 the pillow of his couch, a corse. 
 
 " I have wept him to death !" said she to some domestics, 
 who met her in the anti-chamber ; and passing through the ter- 
 rified group, she went slowly out and disappeared in the 
 fountain. 
 
 * The expression of the original is, " lieblichen Wehe," ' a blissful agony,* 
 or 'pang.'' This union of opposite qualities, however bold the conception 
 producing it, and however suited to express the death-pang under such cir- 
 cumstances, forms a curious felicity, rather too violent to be often admitted 
 ill English. Plirases of tliis kind are more familiar in German. 
 
CHAP. XIX.] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 How the Knight Huldbrand was buried. 
 
 Father Heilmann had returned to the castle, as soon as the 
 death of the lord of Ringstetten was made known in the neigh- 
 bourhood ; and he arrived at the very hour when the monk, 
 who had married the unfortunate couple, was hurrying from 
 the door, overcome with dismay and horror. 
 
 When father Heilmann was informed of this, he replied : 
 
 It is all well ; and now come the duties of my office, in which 
 I have no need of an assistant." 
 
 He then began to console the bride, now become a widow, 
 small as was the advantage her worldly and light-minded spirit 
 derived from his kindness. 
 
 The old fisherman, on the other hand, though severely afflict- 
 ed, was far more resigned in regard to the fate of his son-in-law 
 and the calamity of his daughter; and while Bertalda could 
 not refrain from accusing Undine as a murderess and sorceress, 
 the old man calmly said : " The event, after all, could not have 
 happened otherwise. I see nothing in it but the judgment of 
 God ; and no one, I am sure, could have his heart more pierced 
 by the death of Huldbrand, than she who was obliged to ac- 
 complish his doom, the poor forsaken Undine !" 
 
 He then assisted in arranging the funeral solemnities, as 
 suited the rank of the deceased. The knight was to be interred 
 in a village church-yard, in whose consecrated ground were 
 the graves of his ancestors : a place which they, as well as 
 himself, had endowed with rich privileges and gifts. His shield 
 and helmet lay upon his coffin, ready to be lowered with it into 
 the grave, for lord Huldbrand of Ringstetten had died the last 
 of his race ; the mourners began their sorrowful march, lift- 
 
106 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 [chap. XIX 
 
 ing the melancholy wail of their dirges amid the calm uncloud- 
 ed heaven ; father Heilmann preceded the procession, bearing- a 
 loftj crucifix, while Bertalda followed in her misery, supported 
 by her aged father. 
 
 While proceeding in this manner, they suddenly saw, in the 
 midst of the dark-habited mourning females in ths widow's 
 train, a snow-white figure, closely veiled, and wringing its 
 hands in the wild vehemence of sorrow. Those next to whorr. 
 it moved, seized with a secret dread, started back or on one 
 side ; and owing to their movements, the others, next to whom 
 the white stranger now came, were terrified still more, so as to 
 produce almost a complete disarrangement of the funeral train. 
 Some of the military escort ventured to address the figure, and 
 attempt to remove it from the procession, but it seemed to 
 vanish from under their hands, and yet was immediately seen 
 advancing again, with slow and solemn step, among the follow- 
 ers of the body. At last, in consequence of the shrinking away 
 of the attendants, it came close behind Bertalda. It now 
 moved so slowly, that the widow was not aware of its presence^ 
 and it walked meekly on behind, neither suffering nor creating 
 disturbance. 
 
 This continued until they came to the church-yard, where 
 the procession formed a circle round the open grave. Then it 
 was that Bertalda perceived her unbidden companion, and 
 prompted half by anger and half by terror, she commanded her 
 to depart from the knight's place of final rest. But the veiled 
 female, shaking her head with a gentle refusal, raised her hands 
 toward Bsrtalda, in lowly supplication, by which she was great- 
 ly moved, and could not but remember with tears, how Undine 
 had shown such sweetness of spirit on the Danube, when she 
 held out to her the coral necklace. 
 
 Father Heilmann now motioned with his hand, and gave 
 order for all to observe perfect stillness, that over the body, 
 whose mound was well-nigh formed, they might breathe a prayer 
 of silent devotion. Bertalda knelt without speaking ; and all 
 knelt, even the grave diggers who had now finished their work 
 
CHAP. XIX ] 
 
 UNDINE. 
 
 107 
 
 But when they rose from this breathing of the heart, the white 
 stranger had disappeared. On the spot where she had kneeled, 
 a little spring, of silver brightness, was gushing out from the 
 green turf, and it kept swelling and flowing onward with a low 
 murmur, till it almost encircled the mound of the knight's 
 grave ; it then continued its course, and emptied itself into a 
 calm lake, which lay by the side of the consecrated ground. 
 Even to this day, the inhabitants of the village point out the 
 spring ; — ^and they cannot but cherish the belief, that it is the 
 poor deserted Undine, who in this manner still fondly encircles 
 her beloved in her arms. 
 
 SnU OF UNDINB. 
 
SINTMM AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 A NORTHERN TALE. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF THE 
 
 BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUaUE. 
 
 [Republished fiv^m Burns' London Edition. \ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SINTRAM, AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Notice ok Sintuam . . . . . . , . .111 
 
 CiiAP. 1 113 
 
 II . . 117 
 
 HI. . . , . . 123 
 
 IV. . , . . m 
 
 v. . 13i 
 
 VI. . . . . 135 
 
 VII ... . V . . . . . 141 
 
 VIII. . 146 
 
 IX. . .152 
 
 X , ... 157 
 
 XI 162 
 
 XII. . . . .166 
 
 XIII. ... ... 170 
 
 XIV. . , o . 174 
 
 XV ... 178 
 
 XVI 180 
 
 XVII 184 
 
 XVIII 190 
 
 XIX 193 
 
 XX. 196 
 
 XXI 201 
 
 XXII • 204 
 
 XXIIL . • 206 
 
 XXIV 214 
 
 XXV 217 
 
 XXVI 223 
 
 XXVII , 226 
 
 XXVIII ... 231 
 
 XXIX .235 
 
 XXX U31 
 
NOTICE OF SINTRAM. 
 
 FROM THE author's PREFACE TO IHS SELECTED WOP.KS. 
 
 " FoLKO of Montfaufon was and is peculiarly endeared to my heart 
 as a true type of that old French chivalric glory which now on'y 
 emerges in individual appearances, for instance, beautifully, in tlie 
 Vendean wars, which, though failing in victory, were rich in honors. 
 With these feelings, the poet could not forbear from arraying hirri 
 in the colours of his own escutcheon, and assigning to him the 
 emblems of the same, and even in some measure denoting him by 
 his own ancestral name; for Foulque we were called in old times, 
 which was probably derived, according to our Norman descent, 
 from the Northlandish name Folko, or Fulko ; and a castle ' Mont- 
 faufon' was among our ancient possessions. But here that only 
 properly concerns the nobie pair, Folko and Gabrielle, as interwo- 
 ven in the tale of ' Sintram.' The tale itself is the offspring 
 of my own fantasy, immediately suggested by Albrecht Durer's 
 admirable wood cut of 'The Knight, Deaili and Satan,' the birth- 
 day gift of a former friend, with the happy proposal that I should 
 frame from it a romance or a ballad. It became more than this ; 
 and the present tale shows it to be so, being supported by divers 
 traditions, in part derived to me orally, of the Germanic northern 
 customs in war and festivity, and in many other relationships 
 beside. The legend indicated at the conclusion of the informa- 
 tion respecting Sintram, of the terrific stories of the north, trans- 
 formed into southern splendour and mirthful dreams, would real- 
 ly then have been executed, and arose more clearly from the fan- 
 tastic tones of a congenial harpsichord-player, who accidental- 
 ly met the poet. Partly, however, other avocations, partly inter- 
 rupiions from without, have hitherto driven tlie project into the 
 back ground. But it still lives within me; and now again, from the 
 powerful, and yet child-like harmonies of the Northman Ole Bull, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 seems to stir more vigorously and brightly than before. Who knows 
 what yet may happen ? Meanwhile here gushes from me a song 
 of salutation to one who, honoured by me as master, is not less 
 dear to me as a man : — 
 
 Profoundly dreamt a youth on Norland waste ; 
 But no — it is not waste where fairy rings 
 Reflect the past as well as future things, 
 When love and woe in boding tones are drest. 
 
 They greeted him, they kissed him, and retreated ; 
 They left for him an instrument of sound, 
 Whose forceful strings with highest deeds could bound, 
 And yet with childish frolics be entreated. 
 
 He wakes — the gift he seizes, comprehending 
 Its sweet mysterious pleasure how to prove, 
 And pours it forth in pure harmonious blending. 
 
 O raay'st thou, ever victor, joyful move, 
 
 Thou Northland sailor, on life's voyage wending, 
 
 Conscious of God within thee and above." 
 
 FoCdUB. 
 
SINTEAM AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the Castle of Drontheim there were many knights assembled 
 to hold council on the affairs of the kingdom ; and after their 
 debate, they remained till past midnight carousing together 
 around the huge stone table in the vaulted hall. A rising storm 
 drove the snow wildly against the rattling windows, all the 
 thick oak doors groaned, the massive locks shook, the castle 
 clock slowly and heavily struck the hour of one. 
 
 At that instant a boy, pale as death, with disordered hair and 
 closed eyes, rushed into the hall, uttering a wild scream of ter- 
 ror. He stopped behind the richly-carved seat of the mighty 
 Biorn, clung to the knight with both his hands, and shrieked in 
 a piercing voice, " My knightly father ! Death and another are 
 closely pursuing me." 
 
 An awful stillness reigned suddenly in the whole assembly, 
 broken only by the agonized shrieks of the boy. But one of 
 Biorn's numerous retainers, an old esquire, known by the name 
 of Rolf the Good, advanced towards the terrified child, took him 
 in his arms, and half chanted this prayer : " Oh, Father ! help 
 Thy servant ! I believe, and yet I cannot believe." The boy, 
 as if in a dream, at once loosened his hold of the knight ; and 
 the good Rolf bore him from the hall unresisting, yet still shed- 
 ding hot tears, and murmuring confused sounds. 
 
 The lords and knights looked at one anothd* in mute amaze- 
 ment, until the mighty Biorn said, in a fierce but scornfully- 
 deriding tone, " Do not suffer yourselves to be disturbed by 
 9 
 
114 
 
 SIXTRAM, 
 
 [chap. I. 
 
 the appearance of that strange being. He is my only son • 
 and has been in this state since he was'- five years old : he 
 is now twelve. I am, therefore, accustomed to see him so, 
 though, at the first, I too was disquieted by it. The attack 
 comes upon him only once in the year, and always at this same 
 time. But forgive me for having spent so many words on my 
 poor Sintram, and let us pass on to some worthier subject for 
 our discourse." 
 
 Again there wlis silence during some minutes. Then a scli- 
 tary voice began here and there to attempt renewing their for- 
 mer (ionversation, but without success. Two of the youngest and 
 most joyous spirits began a drinking song ; but the storm howled 
 and raged so wildly without, that their mirth was soon checked. 
 And now they all sat silent and motionless in the lofty hall ; 
 the lamp flickered under the vaulted roof; the whole party of 
 knights looked like pale, lifeless images, dressed up in gigan- 
 tic armour. 
 
 Then arose the chaplain of the castle of Drontheim, the only 
 priest among the knightly throng, and said, " Sir Biorn, our 
 eyes and thoughts have all been directed to you and your son 
 in a wonderful manner ; but so it has been ordered by the pro- 
 vidence of God. You perceive that we cannot withdraw them, 
 and you would do well to tell us exactly what you know con- 
 cerning the fearful state in which we have seen your boy. Per- 
 chance, such a solemn narration, as I look forward to, might be 
 of much use to our disturbed minds." , 
 
 Biorn cast a look of displeasure on the priest, and answered, 
 " You are more concerned in the history, than either you or I 
 could desire. Excuse me, if I am unwilling to trouble these 
 light-hearted warriors with such a nieful tale." 
 
 But the chaplain approached nearer to the knight, and said, 
 in a firm yet very mild tone, " Sir knight, up to this moment 
 it rested with you to relate, or not to relate it : but now that 
 you have so strangely hinted at the share which I have had in 
 your son's calamity, I must positively request that you will re- 
 peat word for word now every thing came to pass. My 
 
CHAP. J.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 11a 
 
 honour demands such an explanation, and that will weigh with 
 you as much as with me." 
 
 In stern compliance, Biorn bowed his haughty head, and be- 
 gan the following narration : — " This time seven years, I was 
 keeping- the Christmas-feast with my assembled followers. We 
 have many venerable old customs which have descended to us 
 by inheritance from our forefathers; as, for instance, that of 
 placing- a gilded boar's head on the table, and making thereon 
 knightly vows of daring and wondrous deeds. Our chaplain 
 there, who in those days used frequently to visit me, was never 
 a friend to keeping up such traditions of the ancient heathen 
 world. Men of his sort were not much in favour in those olden 
 times." 
 
 " My excellent predecessors," interrupted the chaplain, " were 
 infinitely more concerned in obtaining the favour of God, than 
 that of the world, and they were not unsuccessful in their aim. 
 By that means they converted your ancestors ; and if I can in 
 like manner be of service to you, even your jeering will not 
 vex me." 
 
 With looks yet darker, and an involuntary shudder, the 
 knight resumed : " Yes, yes ; I know all your promises and 
 threats concerning an invisible Power ; and how they are meant 
 to persuade us to part more readily with whatever of this world's 
 goods we may possess. There was a time when such belonged 
 to me ! Occasionally a strange fancy seizes me, and I feel as 
 if ages had passed over since then, and as if I were alone the 
 survivor, so fearfully is every thing changed. But now I recall 
 to my mind, that the greater part of this noble company knew 
 me in my days of happiness, and have seen my wife, my lovely- 
 Verena." 
 
 He pressed his hands on his eyes, and many thought that he 
 wept. The tempest was now lulled ; the soft light of the moon 
 shone through the windows, and her beams played on his wi-d 
 features. Suddenly he started up, so that his heavy armour 
 rattled with a fearful sound, and he cried out in a thundering 
 voice, "Shall I turn monk, because she has become a n n? 
 
116 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. I. 
 
 No, crafty priest ; your webs are too thin to catch flies of my 
 sort." 
 
 " I have nothing to do with webs," said the chaplain. "In all 
 openness and sincerity have I put heaven and hell before you 
 during the space of six years; and you gave full consent to 
 the step which the holy Verena took. But what all that has to 
 do with your son's sufferings, I have yet to learn ; and I wait 
 for your further narration." 
 
 " You may wait long enough for that," said Biorn, with a 
 sneer, " Sooner shall " 
 
 " Swear not !" said the chaplain in a loud commanding tone ; 
 and his eyes flashed almost fearfully. 
 
 " Hurra !" cried Biorn in wild affright ; " Hurra ! Death and 
 his companion are let loose !" and he dashed madly out of the 
 chamber, and down the steps. The loud wild notes of his horn 
 were heard summoning his retainers, and presently afterwards 
 the clatter of horses' feet on the frozen court-yard gave token 
 of their departure. 
 
 The knights retired, silent and shuddering ; while the chap- 
 lain remained alone at the huge stone table, engaged in earnest 
 wayer. 
 
.CHAP. 1. J AND HIS COMPANIONS. 117 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 After some time had elapsed, the good Rolf returned with slow 
 and soft steps, and started with surprise at finiing the hall de- 
 serted. The chamber where he had been occupied in quieting* 
 and soothing the unhappy child, was in so distant a pnrt of the 
 castle Jiat he had heard nothing of the knight's hasty departure. 
 The chaplain related to him all that had passed, and then said : 
 " But my good Rolf, I much wish to ask you concerning those 
 strange words, with which you seemed to lull poor Sintram to 
 rest. They sounded like sacred words, and no doubt they are, 
 but I could not understand them. * I believe, and yet I cannot 
 believe.' " 
 
 " Reverend Sir," answered Rolf, " I remember that from my 
 earliest years no history in the Gospels has taken such hold of 
 me, as that of the child possessed with a devil, which the disciples 
 were not able to cast out ; but when our Saviour came down 
 from the mountain where he had been transfigured. He broke 
 the bonds wherewith the evil spirit had held the miserable child 
 bound. I always felt as if I must have known and loved that 
 boy, and been his playfellow in his happy days : and when I 
 grew older, then the distress of the father on account of his 
 lunatic son laid heavy at my heart. It must surely have all 
 been a foreboding of the wretched state of our young lord, whom 
 I love as if he were my own child ; and now the words of the ^ 
 weeping father in the Gospel often come into my mind, ' I be- 
 lieve, Lord, help Thou mine unbelief ;' and something of the 
 sort I may very likely have repeated to-day, as a chant or a 
 prayer. Reverend Father, when I reflect how one dreadful 
 imprecation of the father has kept its withering hold on the son, 
 nil seems dark before me ; but, God be praised ! faith and hope 
 again bring light into my mind." 
 
118 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 " Good Rolf," said the priest, " I cannot clearly understand 
 what you say about the unhappy Sintram ; for I do not know 
 when and how this affliction came upon him. If nc oath or 
 solemn promise binds you to secresy, will you make known to 
 me all that is connected with it." 
 
 " Most willingly," replied Rolf. "I have long desired to 
 have an opportunity of so doing ; but you have been almost 
 always separated from us. I dare not now leave the sleeping 
 boy any longer alone, and to-morrow, at the earliest dawn, I 
 must take him to his father. Will you come with me to our 
 poor Sintram's room ?" 
 
 The chaplain at once took up the small lamp which Rolf 
 had brought with him, and they set off together along the 
 vaulted passage. When they reached the distant chamber, 
 they found the suffering child fast asleep. As the light of the 
 lamp fell on his countenance, it showed his ashy paleness. 
 The chaplain stood gazing at him for some time, and at length 
 said 
 
 Certainly from his birth his features were always sharp and 
 strongly-marked, but now they are almost fearfully so for such 
 a child. And yet, in spite of the strange expression they give, 
 I cannot help having a kindly feeling towards him, whether I 
 will or not." 
 
 " Most true, dear SIb," answered Rolf And it was evident 
 how his whole heart rejoiced at any words which betokened af- 
 fection or compassion for his beloved young lord. He pro- 
 ceeded to place the lamp where its light could not disturb the 
 sleeping child, and seating himself close by the priest, he began 
 to speak in the following terms : 
 
 During that Christmas-feast of which my lord was talking 
 to you, he and his followers discoursed much concerning the 
 German merchants, and the Idlest means of keeping down the 
 increasing pride and power of the larger trading-towns. At 
 length Biorn laid his impious hand on the golden boar's head, 
 and swore to put to death without mercy every German trader 
 whom late, in what way soever, might bring alive into bis 
 
CHAP. II.J 
 
 AND Ills COMPANIONS. 
 
 119 
 
 power. The gentle Verena turned pale, and would have inter- 
 posed — but it was too late, the fearful word was uttered. And 
 immediately afterwards, as though the great Enemy of souls 
 were determined at once to secure with fresh bonds the wretched 
 being who was thus devoted to him, a warder came into the 
 hall to announce that two citizens of a trading-town in Ger- 
 many, an old man and his son, had been shipwrecked on this 
 coast, and were now without the gates, asking hospitality of the 
 ^ord of the castle. The knight could not refrain from shudder- 
 ing ; but he thought himself bound by his rash vow, and by 
 that accursed remnant of heathenism. We, his retainers, were 
 commanded to assemble in the castle-yard^ armed with sharp 
 spears, which were to be hurled at the defenceless strangers at 
 the first signal made to us. For the first, and I trust the 
 last time in my life, I refused to obey the commands of my 
 lord ; my refusal was uttered in a loud voice, and with the 
 firmest determination. The Almighty, who alone knows whom 
 He will accept, and whom He will reject, gave me at that mo- 
 ment the strength and resolution I needed. And Biorn might 
 perceive whence the refusal of his faithful old servant arose, and 
 that it was worthy of respect. . He said to me, half in anger 
 and half in scorn : * Go up to my wife's apartments : her at- 
 tendants are running to and fro, perhaps she is ill. Go up, 
 Rolf the Good, and remain with the women, who seem the fittest 
 company for you.' I thought to myself, ' Jest on ;' but I went 
 silently the way that he had pointed out to me. On the stairs 
 I was met by two strange and very awful-looking beings, whom 
 I had never seen before ; and I am still at a loss to think how 
 they got into the castle. One of them was a great, tall man, 
 frightfully pallid and thin ; the other was a dwarf-like man, 
 with a most hideous countenance and features. Indeed, when 
 I collected my thoughts and looked carefully at him, it appeared 
 to me " 
 
 Low meanings, and convulsive movements of the boy, here 
 interrupted the narrative. Rolf and the chaplain hastened to 
 his bed-side, and perceived that his countenance wore an ex- 
 
120 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 ""chap, II. 
 
 pression of fearful agony, and that he was struggling in vain to 
 open his eyes. The priest made the sign of the Cross over him, 
 and immediately peace seemed to be restored, and his sleep 
 again became calm and quiet : they both returned softly to their 
 seats. 
 
 " You see," said Rolf, " that it will not do to attempt a more 
 precise description of those two awful beings. Suffice it to say, 
 that they went doAvn into the court-yard, and that I proceeded 
 to my lady's apartments. I found the gentle Verena almost 
 fainting with terror and overwhelming anxiety, and I hastened 
 to restore her with some of those remedies which the knowledge 
 God has given me of the healing virtues of many herbs and 
 minerals enabled me to apply. But scarcely had she recovered 
 her senses, when, with that air of calm resolve which you know 
 belongs to her, she desired me to conduct her down to the court- 
 yard, saying that she must either put a stop to the fearful doings 
 of this night, or herself fall a sacrifice. Our way took us by 
 the little bed of the sleeping Sintram. Alas ! I cannot keep 
 from tears when I think how evenly his gentle breath then 
 came and went, and how sweetly he smiled in his peaceful 
 slumbers." 
 
 The old man put his hands to his eyes, and wept bitterly ; 
 but soon he resumed his sad story. " As we approached the 
 lowest window of the staircase, we could hear distinctly, the 
 voice of the elder merchant, and on looking out, the light of the 
 torches shewed me his noble features, as well as the bright 
 youthful countenance of hi^ son. " I take Almighty God to 
 witness,' cried he, ' that > had no evil thought against this 
 house! But surely I musi have fallen unawares amongst 
 heathens ; it cannot be that I am in a Christian knight's castle : 
 and if you are indeed heathens, then kill us at once. And you, 
 my beloved son, be patient and of good courage ; in heaven we 
 shall learn why it was ordained that we should meet our fate 
 here without one chance of escape.' I thought I could sec 
 those two fearful ones amidst the throng of armed retainers 
 The pale one had a huge curved sword in his hand, the little 
 
CHAP. 
 
 AND HIS COMPA.NTONS. 
 
 121 
 
 one held a spear notched in a strange fashion. Verena tore 
 open the window, and the silvery tones of her voice were heard 
 above the storm of that wild night, as she cried out — ' My dear- 
 est lord and husband, for the sake of your only child, have pity 
 on those harmless men ! Save them from a bloody death, and 
 resist the temptation of the -Evil Spirit.' The knight answered 
 in his fierce wrath — but I cannot repeat his words. He staked 
 his child on the desperate cast ; he called death and the devil 
 to see that he kept his word : — but, hush ! the boy is again 
 moaning. Let me bring the dark tale quickly to a close. Biorn 
 conmianded his followers to strike, casting on them those fierce 
 looks which have gained him the title of Biorn of the Fiery 
 Eyes ; while at the same time the two frightful strangers seemed 
 to bestir themselves in the crowd with more activity than before. 
 Then Verena called out, in the extremity of her anguish, ' Help, 
 O God, my Saviour !' Those two dreadful figures disappeared, 
 and the knight and his re'tainers, as if seized with blindness, 
 rushed wildly one against ^^e other, but without doing injury 
 to themselves, or y.el succeeding in striking the merchants, Avho 
 had so nearly fallen victims to Biorn's savage cruelty. They 
 bowed reverently towards Verena, and with calm thanksgivings 
 departed through the castle gates, which at that moment had 
 been burst open by a violent gust of wind, and now gave a free 
 passage to any who would go forth. The lady and I were yet 
 standing bewildered on the stairs, when I fancied I saw the two 
 fearful forms glide close by me, but there was such a cloudy, 
 unreal look about them, that I doubted, till Verena called to 
 me : ' Rolf, did you see a tall pale man, and a little hideous 
 one w4th him, pass just now up the staircase V I flew after 
 them ; but, alas ! when I reached the poor boy's room, I found 
 him already in the same state in which you saw him a few 
 hours ago. Ever since, the attack has come on him regularly 
 at this time, and he is in all respects fearfully changed. The 
 lady of the castle did not fail to discern the avenging hand of 
 Heaven in this calamity ; and as the knight, her husband, in- 
 stead of shewing signs of repentance, added each day to the 
 
122 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. n. 
 
 number of his -vrlolent deeds, she resolved to take refuge in a 
 cloister ; and there, by unremitting prayer, to obtain mercy in 
 time and eternity for herself and her unhappy child." 
 
 Rolf was silent ; and the chaplain said, after some moments' 
 reflection : " I now understand why, six years ago, Biorn con- 
 fessed his guilt to me in general terms, and consented that his 
 wife should take the veil. Some faint compunction must then 
 have stirred within him, and perhaps the traces of it may yet 
 exist. Anyhow it was impossible that so tender a flower as 
 Verena could remain longer in such rough keeping. But who 
 is there now to watch over and protect our poor Sintram ?" 
 
 " The prayers of his mother are his safeguard," answered 
 Rolf. " Reverend Sir, when the- first dawn of day appears, as it 
 does now, and when the morning breeze plays lightly around, 
 they always bring to my mind the soft-beaming eyes of my 
 lady, and I again seem to hear the sweet tones of her voice. 
 The holy Verena is, next to God, our chief aid." 
 
 " And let us add our devout supplications to the Lord," said 
 the chaplain : and he and Rolf knelt in silent and earnest pray- 
 er by the bed of the pale sufferer, who soon began to smile aa 
 he lay still dreaming. 
 
CHAP nr. 
 
 AND IIIS COMPANIONS. 123 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The rays of the sun shining brightly into the room, awoke Sin- 
 tram, and raising himself up, he looked angrily at the chap- 
 lain, and said : " So there is a priest in the castle ! And yet 
 that accursed dream. continues to torment me even in his very 
 presence ! A pretty sort of Priest he must be !" 
 
 " My child," answered the chaplain in the mildest tone, " I 
 have prayed for you most fervently, and I shall never cease 
 doing so — but God alone is Almighty." 
 
 " You speak very impertinently to the son of the great 
 knight, Biorn," cried Sintram. " ' My child !' indeed ! If those 
 horrible dreams had not been again haunting me, you would 
 make me laugh heartily." 
 
 " My young lord," said the chaplain, " I am by no means 
 surprised that you should not recognize me, for i<i truth 
 neither should I know you again." And his eyes filled with 
 tears as he spoke. 
 
 The good Rolf looked sorrowfully in the boy's face, saying, 
 " Ah ! my dear young master, you are so much better than you 
 would make people believe. Why did you speak in that way 1 
 Your memory is so good, that you must surely recollect your 
 kind old friend the chaplain, who used formerly to be constant- 
 ly at the castle, and to bring you so many presents — bright co- 
 loured pictures of saints, and beautiful songs ?" 
 
 " I know all that very well," replied Sintram thoughtfully, 
 " My blessed mother was alive in those days." 
 
 " Our gracious lady is still living, God be praised !" said 
 the good Rolf 
 
 " But she does not live for us, poor sick creatures that we 
 are !•' cried Sintram. " And why will you not call her bless- 
 ed? Surely she knows nothing about my dreams?" 
 
124 
 
 SINTRAM 
 
 [chap, hi 
 
 " Yes, she does know of them," said the chaplain, " and she 
 prays to God on your behalf. But take heed, and restrain that 
 wild, haughty temper of your's. It might, indeed, come to pass 
 that she no longer knew anything about your dreams, and that 
 would be if you were to die ; and then the holy angels would 
 also cease to know any thing of you." 
 
 Sintram fell back on his bed as if thunderstruck : and Rolf 
 said with a gentle sigh, " You should not speak so severely to 
 my poor sick child. Reverend Sir." 
 
 The boy again sat up, and with streaming eyes he turned to- 
 wards the chaplain, saying in a kind and gentle tone : " Let 
 him do as he pleases, you good tender-hearted Rolf; he knows 
 very well what he is about. Would you reprove him if I were 
 slipping down a rocky precipice, and he were to catch me 
 roughly by the hair of my head in order to save me ?" 
 
 The priest looked at him with emotion, and was about to 
 give utterance to some kind expression, when Sintram suddenly 
 sprang off the bed and asked after his father. As soon as he 
 heard of the knight's departure, he would not remain another 
 hour in the castle ; and when both the chaplain and the old 
 esquire expressed their fears lest a rapid journey should be 
 hurtful to him before he had shaken off the effects of his late at- 
 tack, he said to them : " Believe me. Reverend Sir, and good 
 old Rolf, if I were not subject to these hideous di'eams, there 
 would not be a bolder youth in the whole world ; and even as 
 it is, I am not so far behind the very best. Besides, till an- 
 other year has passed, there is no fear of my dreams again 
 troubling me," 
 
 Rolf obeyed a somewhat imperious sign from his young mas- 
 ter, and went to prepare the horses. No sooner were they 
 brought out, than the boy threw himself unto his saddle, and 
 taking a courteous leave of the chaplain, he dashed along the 
 frozen valley that lay between the snow-clad mountains. He 
 had not ridden far, in company with his old attendant, when ho 
 heard a strange indistinct sound proceeding from a neighbour 
 ing cleft in the ro:k • it was partly like the clapper of a smal 
 
o.iAP. iii.J AND HIS COMPANIONS. 1J5 
 
 miM, but mingled with that were hollow groans, and other 
 tones of distress. They directed their horses towards the place 
 whence the sounds came, and a wonderful sight presented itself 
 before them. 
 
 A tall man, deadly pale, in a pilgrim's garb, was striving 
 with violent though unsuccessful efforts, to work his way out of 
 the snow, and to get up the mountain ; and at each exertion 
 which he made, a quantity of bones, which were hanging 
 loosely all about his garments, rattled one against the other, 
 and caused the mysterious sound already mentioned. Rolf, 
 much terrified, crossed himself, while the bold Sintram called 
 out to the stranger, " What art thou doing there ? Give an 
 account of thy solitary labours." 
 
 " I live in death," replied that other one vdth a fearful grin. 
 
 " Whose are those bones which hang about thee ?" 
 
 " They are relics, young Sir." 
 
 " Art thou a pilgrim ?" 
 
 " I have no rest, no quiet ; I go up and down the land." 
 " Thou must not perish here in the snow before my eyes." 
 « That I will not." 
 
 " Thou must come up and sit on my horse." 
 « That I will do." 
 
 And all at once he started up out of the snow with surprising 
 strength and agility, and sprang on the horse behind Sintram, 
 clasping him tight in his long arms. The animal, startled by 
 the rattling of the bones, and as if seized with madness, rushed 
 away through the most trackless passes. The boy soon found 
 himself alone with his strange companion ; for Rolf, breathless 
 with fear, spurred on his horse in vain, and remained far be- 
 hind them. After slipping down the steep mountain side, which 
 was entirely covered with snow, into a narrow defile, the horse 
 seemed somewhat to slacken his pace, but yet continued to 
 snort and foam as before, and could not be controlled. Still, 
 his headlong course being now changed into a rough irregular 
 trot, Sintram was able to breathe more freely, and to begin the 
 following discourse with his unknown companion. 
 
126 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [cHaP. 111. 
 
 " Draw thy garment closer round thee, thou pale man : the 
 bones will then rattle less, and I shall be able to curb my 
 horse." 
 
 " It would be of no avail, boy ; it would be of no avail. The 
 bones must rattle." 
 
 D : not clasp me so tight with thy long arms, they are so 
 cold." 
 
 " It cannot be helped, boy ; it cannot be helped. Be con- 
 tent. For my long cold arms are not pressing yet on thy 
 heart." 
 
 " Do not breathe on me so with thy icy breath. All my 
 strength is departing." 
 
 " I must breathe, boy ; I must breathe. But do not com- 
 plain. I am not blowing thee away." 
 
 The strange dialogue here came to an end ; for to Sintram's 
 surprise, he found himself on an open plain, over which the sun 
 was shining brightly, and at no great distance before him he 
 descried his father's castle. While he was doubting as to 
 whether he might invite the unearthly pilgrim to rest there, this 
 one put an end to his hesitation by throwing himself suddenly 
 off the horse, whose wild course was checked by the shock. 
 Raising his fore-finger, he said to the boy : 
 
 " I know old Biorn of the Fiery Eyes well : perhaps but too 
 well. Commend me to him. It will not need to tell him my 
 n-amo ; he will recognize me by the description you can give of 
 me." So saying, the ghastly stranger turned aside into a thick 
 firwood, and disappeared amongst the tangled branches. 
 
 Slowly and thoughtfully Sintram rode on towards his father's 
 castle, his horse being now again quiet and almost exhausted. 
 He scarcely knew how much he ought to relate of his wonder- 
 ful adventure, and he also felt oppressed with anxiety for the 
 good Rolf, who had remained so far behind. He found himself 
 at the castle-gate sooner than he had expected ; the drawbridge 
 was lowered, the doors were thrown open ; an attendant led the 
 youth into the great hall, where Biorn was sitting all alone at 
 a huge table, with many flagons and glasses before him, and 
 
CHAP. III.] AND HIS COMPANIONS. la? 
 
 suits of armour ranged on either side of him. It was his daily 
 custom, by way of company, to have the armour of his ances- 
 tors, with closed vizors, placed all round the table at which ho 
 sat. The father and son began conversing as follows : 
 " Where is Rolf?" 
 
 " I do not know, father : I lost sight of him in the mo un 
 tains." 
 
 " I will have Rolf shot, if he cannot take better care than that 
 of my only child." 
 
 " Then, father, you will have your only child shot at the 
 same time, for without Rolf I cannot live ; and if even one sin- 
 gle dart is aimed at him, I will be there to receive it, and to 
 shield his true and faithful heart." 
 
 " Is it so ? — Then Rolf shall not be shot, but he shall be 
 driven from the castle." 
 
 " In that case, father, you will see me go away also ; and 
 I will give myself up to serve him in forests, in mountains, in 
 caves." 
 
 " Is it so ? — Well, then, Rolf must remain here." 
 " That is just what I think, father." 
 " Were you riding quite alone ?" 
 
 " No, father ; but with a strange pilgrim : he said that he 
 knew you very well — perhaps, too well." And thereupon Sin- 
 tram began to relate and to describe all that had passed with 
 the pale man. 
 
 " I know him also very weli," said Biorn. " He is half 
 crazed and half-wise, as we sometimes are astonished at seeing 
 that people can be. But do you, my boy, go to rest after your 
 wild journey. I give you my word that Rolf shall be kindly 
 received if he arrives here ; and that if he does not come soon 
 he shall be sought for in the mountains." 
 
 " I trust to your word, father." said Sintram, with a mijcture 
 of pride and humility in his tone ; and he proceeded to obey 
 the command of the grim lord of the castle. 
 
128 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was getting towards evening when Sintram awoke. He saw 
 the good Rolf sitting at his bedside, and looked up in the old 
 man's kind face with a smile of unusual innocent brightness. 
 But soon again his dark brows were knii^ and he asked : " Hoav 
 did my father receive you, Rolf? Did he say a harsh word to 
 you 
 
 " No, my dear young lord, he did not — indeed, he did not 
 speak to me at all. At first he looked very wrathful ; but he 
 controlled himself, and ordered a servant to bring me food and 
 wine to refresh me, and afterwards to take me to your room.'' 
 
 " He might have kept his word better. But he is my father, 
 and I must not judge him too severely. I wiD now go down to 
 the evening meal." So saying, he sprang up and threw on 
 his furred mantle. But Rolf stopped him, and said in a tone 
 of entreaty : " My dear young master, you would do better to 
 take your meal to-day alone here in your own apartment. For 
 there is a guest with your father, in whose company I should 
 be very sorry to see you. If you will remain here I will en^ 
 tertain you with pleasant tales and songs." 
 
 " There is nothing in th.e world which I should like better, 
 dear Rolf,'.' answered Sintram, " but it does not befit m.e to 
 shun the company of any man. Tell me, whom should I find 
 with my father ?" 
 
 " Alas !" said the old man, " you have already found him in 
 the mountain. Formerly, when I used to ride about the coun- 
 try with Biorn, we often met with him, but I was forbidden to 
 tell you any thing about him ; and this is the first time that he 
 has ever come to the castle." 
 
 " Oh ! the crazy pilgrim !" replied Sintram ; and he stood 
 some moments buried in thought, and apparently weighing the 
 
CHAP. IV.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 129 
 
 whole matter in his mind. At last rousing himself he said : 
 " Dear old friend, I would most willingly stay here with you 
 this evening and listen to your stories and songs, and all the 
 pilgrims in the world should not make me leave this quiet room. 
 But one thing must be considered. I feel a kind of dread of 
 that pale, tall man, and by such fears no true knight's son car 
 ever suffer himself to be overcome. So do not be angry, dear 
 Rolf, if I determine to go and look that strange Palmer in the 
 face." And he shut the door of the chamber behind him, and 
 with firm and echoing steps proceeded to the hall. 
 
 The pilgrim and the knight w^ere sitting opposite to each 
 other at the great table, on which many lights were burning ; 
 and it was fearful, amongst all the lifeless armour, to see those 
 two tall grim men move, and eat, and drink. As the pilgrim 
 looked up on the boy's entrance, Biorn said : " You know him 
 already: he is my only child, and your fellow-traveller this 
 morning." The Palmer fixed an earnest look on Sintram, and 
 answered, shaking his head : " I do not know what you mean," 
 Then the boy burst forth impatiently : " It must be confessed 
 that you deal very unfairly by us ! You say that you know my 
 father but too well, and now it appears that you do not know 
 me at all. Who allowed you to ride on his horse, and in return 
 had his good steed driven almost wild? Answer if you can!" 
 
 Biorn put on a somewhat displeased look, but was in truth 
 delighted at any such outbreak of his son's unruly temper; 
 while the pilgrim shuddered as if terrified and overcome by 
 some secret irresistible power. At length with a trembling 
 voice he said these words : " Yes, yes, my dear young lord, 
 you are surely quite right ; you are perfectly right in every 
 thing which you may please to assert." 
 
 Then the lord of the castle laughed aloud, and said: " Why, 
 you strange pilgrim, what is become of all your wonderfully 
 fine speeches and warnings now? Has the boy all at once 
 struck you dumb and powerless ? Beware, you prophet mes' 
 senger, beware !" But the Palmer cast a fearful look on Biorn, 
 which seemed to quench the light of his fiery eyes, and said in 
 10 
 
130 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. IV. 
 
 thundering accents : " Between me and thee, old man, the case 
 stands quite otherwise. We have nothing to reproach each 
 other with. And now suffer me to sing a song to you on the 
 lute." He stretched out his hand, and took down from the 
 wall an old worn out lute which was hanging there, and hav- 
 ing with surprising skill and rapidity put it in a state fk to he 
 used, he struck some chords, and the low melancholy tones of the 
 instrument seemed well adapted to the words he hegan to sing • 
 
 « The flow'ret was mine own, mine own, 
 But I have lost its fragrance rare. 
 And knightly name and freedom fair, 
 Thro' sin, thro' sin alone. 
 
 The flow'ret was thine own, thine own, 
 Why cast away what thou didst win ? 
 Thou knight no more, but slave of sin, 
 Thou'rt fearfully alone !" 
 
 " Have a care !" shouted he at the close in a pealing voice, 
 as he pulled the strings with such tremendous force that they 
 all broke, and a cloud of dust rose from the instrument, which 
 spread round him like a mist. Sintram had been watching 
 him narrowly whilst he was singing, and more and more did he 
 feel convinced that it was impossible that this man and his fel- 
 low-traveller of the morning could be one and the same person. 
 Every doubt was removed when the stranger again looked 
 round at him with the same timid, anxious air, and with many 
 excuses and low reverences replaced the lute in its former posi- 
 tion, and then ran out of the hall as if bewildered with terror; 
 his manner forming a strange contrast with the proud and stately 
 deportment which he had assumed towards Biorn. 
 
 The eyes of the boy were now directed to his father, and he 
 perceived that he had sunk back senseless in his seat, as though 
 he had been struck by a sudden blow. Sintram's cries sum- 
 moned Rolf and other attendants, but it was only by their united 
 exertions that they succeeded in restoring their lord to anima- 
 tion ; his looks were still wild and disordered, but he suffered 
 himself to be taken to i«st without making any opposition. 
 
cjiAf. v] AND lUti COM PAN ION 131 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A LONG \ilness followed this sudden attack, and during the 
 course of it, the stout old knight, in the midst of his delirious 
 ravings, did not cease to affirm confidently that he must and 
 should recover at last. He would laugh proudly when his 
 fever fits came on, and rebuke them for daring to attack him so 
 needlessly. Then he would murmur to himself: " That was 
 not the right one yet ; there must still be another one out in the 
 cold mountains." 
 
 At such expressions Sintram involuntarily shuddered ; they 
 seemed to confirm his idea that the being who had ridden with 
 him, and he who had sat at table in the castle, were two quite 
 distinct persons : and he knew not why, but this thought was 
 an inexpressibly awful one to him. 
 
 Biorn recovered, and appeared to have entirely forgotten his 
 adventure with the Palmer. He hunted in the mountains, he 
 carried on his usual wild warfare with his neighbours, and 
 Sintram became his almost constant companion ; whereby each 
 year the youth acquired a fearful increase of strength of body, 
 with an equal fierceness of spirit. Every one trembled at the 
 sight of his sharp pallid features, his dark rolling eyes, his tall, 
 muscular, and somewhat lean form, — and yet no one hated him, 
 not even those whom he distressed or injured to gratify his 
 wildest humours. This might arise in part out of regard to old 
 Rolf, who seldom left him for long, and who always held a 
 softening influence over him ; but also many of those who had 
 known the Lady Verena before she retired from the world, 
 affirmed that a faint reflection of the heavenly expression which 
 had lighted up her features, could often be ti'aced in those of 
 her son, however unKke they might be in form, — and that by 
 this their hearts were won, 
 
132 SINTRAM, 
 
 Once, just at the beginning of spring, Biorn and his son were 
 hunting in the neighbourhood of the sea coast, over a tract 
 of country which did not belong to them ; drawn thither less by 
 the love of sport than by the wish of bidding defiance to a chief- 
 tain whom they detested, and thus exciting a feud. At that 
 season of the year, when his winter dreams had just passed off, 
 Sintram was always unusually fierce, and disposed for warlike 
 adventures, — and this day he was enraged at the chieftain for 
 not coming forth from his castle to attack the intruders with 
 armed force, and he cursed the cowardly patience and love of 
 peace whieL kept his enemy thus quiet. Just then one of his 
 wild companions rushed towards him, shouting joyfully : " Be 
 content, my dear young lord ! I will wager that all is coming 
 about as we and you wish ; for as I was pursuing a wounded 
 deer down to the sea-shore, I perceived a sail in sight, and a 
 vessel filkd with armed men making for the shore. Doubtless 
 your enemy is intending to take you by surprise by coming in 
 this way." 
 
 Sintram, full of joy at the news, called his followers together 
 as secretly as possible, being resolved this time to take on him- 
 self alone the whole direction of the engagement which was 
 likely to follow ; and then to rejoin his father, and astonish him 
 with the sight of captured foes, and other tokens of victory. 
 
 The hunters, thoroughly acquainted with every cliff and rock, 
 concealed themselves near the landing-place, and soon the strange 
 vessel was seen approaching nearer and nearer, till at length it 
 came to anchor, and its crew began to disembark in unsuspicious 
 security. At the head of them appeared a knight of high de- 
 gree, in polished steel armour richly inlaid with gold. His head 
 was bare, for he carried his golden helmet in his left hand, and 
 as he looked around him with the air of one accustomed to com- 
 mand, none could fail to admire his noble countenance shaded 
 by dark brown locks, and animated by the bright smile which 
 played around his well-shaped mouth. 
 
 A feeling came across Sintram that he must have seen this 
 knight somewhere in by-gone times, and he stood motionless for 
 
CHAP, v.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 133 
 
 a few moments. But suddenly he raised his hand, to make the 
 preconcerted signal of attack. In vain did the good Rolf, who 
 had just succeeded in getting up to him, whisper in his ear that 
 these could not be the foes whom he had taken them for, but 
 that they were entire strangers, and evidently of no mean race. 
 " Let them be who they may," replied the wild youth, " they 
 have been the cause of my coming here, and they shall pay 
 dearly for having so deceived me. Say not another word, if 
 you value your life." And immediately he gave the signal ; 
 a thick shower of javelins followed, and the Norwegian war- 
 riors rushed forth with flashing swords. They soon found that 
 they had to do with adversaries as brave, or braver, than they 
 could have desired. More fell on the side of those who made 
 than of those who received the assault, and the strangers ap- 
 peared to have a surprising knowledge of the mode of fighting 
 which belonged to those northern regions. The knight clad in 
 steel armour had not had time to put on his helmet, but it seemed 
 as if he in no-wise needed such protection, for his good sword 
 afforded him sufficient defence even against the spears and 
 darts which were incessantly hurled at him, as with rapid skill 
 he received them on the shining blade, and dashed them far 
 away shivered into fragments. 
 
 Sintram could not at the fii'st onset penetrate to where this 
 valiant chief was standing, as all his followers, eager after 
 such a noble prey, thronged closely round him ; but now the 
 way was cleared enough for him to spring towards the brave 
 stranger, shouting a war cry, and brandishing his sword above 
 his head. " Gabrielle !" cried the knight, as he dexterously 
 parried the heavy blow which was descending, and with one 
 powerful sword-thrust he laid his youthful antagonist prostrate 
 on the ground, then placing his knee on Sintram's breast, he 
 drew forth a dagger and held it at his throat. The men-at-arms 
 ranged themselves around — Sintram felt that no hope remained 
 for him. He determined to die as it became a bold warrior, 
 and without giving one sign of emotion, he looked on the fatal 
 weapon with a steady gaze. 
 
134 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. v. 
 
 As he lay with his eyes cast upwards, he fancied that he saw 
 an apparition of a lovely female form in a bright attire of blue 
 and gold. " Our ancestors told truly of the Valkyrias," mur- 
 mured he. " Strike then, thou unknown conqueror." 
 
 But with this the knight did not comply, neither was it a 
 Valkyria who had so suddenly appeared, but the beautiful wife 
 of the stranger, who having advanced to the edge of the vessel, 
 had thus met the upraised look of Sintram. " Folko," cried 
 she, in the softest tone, " thou knight without reproach ! I 
 know that thou wilt spare a vanquished foe." The knight 
 sprang up, and with courtly grace assisted the youth to rise, 
 saying, " You owe your life and liberty to the noble lady of 
 Montfau^on. But if you are so far lost to all sense of honour 
 as to wish to resume the combat, here am I — let it be yours to 
 begin." 
 
 Sintram sank on his knees overwhelmed with shame and 
 remorse ; for he had often heard speak of the high renown of 
 the French knight, Folko of Montfaucon, who was distantly 
 allied to his father's house, and of the grace and beauty of his 
 gentle lady, Gabrielle. 
 
CHAP. VI.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 135 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 The lord of Montfaugon looked with astonishment at his strange 
 adversary ; and as he gazed on him, tecollections arose in his 
 mind of that northern race from whom he was descended, and 
 with whom he had always maintained friendly relations. His 
 eye fell on a golden bear's claw, with which Sintram's cloak 
 was fastened, and the sight of that made all clear to him. 
 
 " Have you not," said he, " a valiant and far-famed kinsman 
 called the Sea-king Arinbiorn, whose helmet is adorned with 
 golden vulture wings? And is not your father the knight 
 Biorn ? For surely the bear's claw on your mantle must be 
 the cognizance of your house." Sintram gave a sign of assent, 
 but his deep sense of shame and humiliation did not allow him 
 to speak. 
 
 The knight of Montfau9on raised him from the ground, and 
 said gravely, yet gently : " We are then of kin the one to the 
 other ; but I could never have believed that any one of your 
 noble house would attack a peaceful man without provocation, 
 nay, even lie in wait to surprise him." 
 
 " Slay me at once," answered Sintram, " if indeed I am wor- 
 thy to die by the hand of so renowned a knight — I can no 
 longer endure the light of day." " Because you have been 
 overcome?" asked Montfaucon. Sintram shook his head. "Or 
 is it rather because you have committed an unknightly action ?" 
 
 The glow of shame that overspread the youth's countenanje 
 answered this question. " But you should not on that account 
 wish to die " resumed Montfaucon, " You should rather wish 
 to live that you may prove your repentance, and make your 
 name illustrious by many noble deeds. For you are endowed 
 with a bold spirit and with strength of limb, and also with the 
 ^uick eye of one fitted to command. I should have made you 
 
136 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. VI. 
 
 a knight this very hour, if you had borne yourself as bravely in 
 a good cause, as you have just now done in a most unworthy 
 one. See to it, that there may not be much delay in your re- 
 ceiving that high honour. I trust to your fulfilling the pro- 
 mise of good which is discernible in you." 
 
 A joyous sound of music interrupted his discourse. The 
 Lady Gabrielle, bright as the morning, had now come down 
 from the ship, surrounded by her maidens, and having been in- 
 formed by Folko in a few words who his late adversary was, 
 she spoke of the combat as if it had only been a fair and hon- 
 ourable passage of arms, saying, " You must not be cast down, 
 noble youth, because my w^edded lord has w^on the prize, for be 
 it known to you that in the whole world there is but one knight 
 who can boast of not having been overcome by the baron of 
 Montfau9on. And who can say," continued she sportively, 
 whether even that would have happened, had he not set him- 
 self to win back the magic ring from me, from me his lady- 
 love, destined to him, as well by the choice of my own heart, 
 as by the will of Heaven." 
 
 Folko bent his head smiling over the snow-white hand of his 
 lady, and then desired the youth to conduct them to his father's 
 castle. Rolf undertook to superintend the disembarking of the 
 horses and valuables of the strangers, filled with joy at the 
 thought that an angel in woman's form had appeared to exer- 
 cise a softening influence over his beloved young master, and 
 perhaps even to free him from that curse under which he had 
 so long suffered. 
 
 Sintram sent messengers all around to seek for his father, 
 and to announce to him the arrival of his noble guests. They 
 therefore found the old knight in his castle, with every thing 
 prepared for their reception. Gabrielle could not enter the 
 vast, dark-looking building without a slight shudder, which was 
 increased when she saw the rolling fiery eyes of its lord ; even 
 the pale dark-haired Sintram seemed to her to assume a more 
 fearful appearance, and she sighed to herself: "Oh! what an 
 awful abode have you brought me to visit, my own true knight 1 
 
CHAP. VI.] 
 
 AND ins COMPANIONS. 
 
 137 
 
 Oh that we were once again in my sunny Gascony, or in your 
 knightly Normandy !" 
 
 But the grave yet courteous reception they met with, the 
 deep respect paid to her grace and beauty, and to the high fame 
 of Folko, helped to re-assure her ; and ere long her buoyant 
 spirit took pleasure in observing all the strange novelties by 
 which she was surrounded. And besides, it could only be for 
 a passing moment that any womanly fears found a place in her 
 breast when her lord was near at hand — for well did she know 
 v/hat effectual protection that brave baron was ever ready to 
 afford to all those who were near to him, or anyway committed 
 to his charge. 
 
 Soon afterwards Rolf passed through the great hall in which 
 Biorn and his guests were seated, conducting their attendants, 
 who had charge of the baggage, to the apartments allotted to 
 strangers — ^and Gabrielle, catching sight of her favourite lute, 
 desired it might be brought to her, in order that she might see 
 if the precious instrument had suffered any damage. As she 
 bent over it with earnest attention, and her taper 'fingers ran up 
 and down the strings, a smile, bright as the summer's dawn, 
 lighted up the countenances of Biorn and his son, and both said 
 with an involuntary sigh : " Ah ! if you would but play on that 
 lute, and sing to it ! It would be too enchanting !" The lady 
 looked up at them well pleased, and smiling hei assent, she 
 began this song : — 
 
 " Songs and flowers are returning 
 
 And radiant skies of May, 
 Earth her choicest gifts is yielding, 
 
 But one is past away. 
 
 The spring that clothes with tend'rest green, 
 
 Each grove and sunny plain, 
 Shines not for my forsaken heart, 
 
 Brings not my joys again. 
 
 Warble not so, thou nightingale. 
 
 Upon thy blooming spray, 
 Tiiy sweetness now will burst my heart, 
 
 I cannot bear thy lay. ^ 
 
SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. VI. 
 
 For flowers and birds are come again, 
 
 And breezes mild of May, 
 But treasured hopes and golden hours 
 
 Are lost to me for aye I" 
 
 The two Norwegians sat plunged in melancholy thought ; 
 but gradually Sintram's eyes began to brighten with a milder 
 expression, his cheeks glowed, every feature relaxed, till those 
 who looked at him could have fancied they saw a glorified spirit. 
 The good Rolf who had stood listening to the song, rejoiced from 
 his heart as he gazed at him, and devoutly raised his hands in 
 pious gratitude to heaven. But Gabrielle's astonishment did 
 not suffer her to take her eyes off Sintram. At last she said to 
 him: "I should much like to know what it is that has so 
 struck you in that little song. It is merely a simple lay of the 
 spring, full of the images which that sweet season never fails 
 to call up in the minds of my countrymen." 
 
 " But is your home really so lovely, so wondrously full 
 of poetry and its delights'?" cried the enraptured Sintram. 
 " Then I am no longer surprised at your heavenly beauty, at 
 the empire you have already gained over my hard, wayward 
 heart ! For from such a paradise angelic messengers would 
 surely be sent to comfort and enlighten the dark desolate world 
 without." And so saying he fell on his knees before the lady 
 in an attitude of deep humility. Folko looked on all the while 
 with an approving smile, whilst Gabrielle, in much embarrass- 
 ment, seemed hardly to know how she should treat the half- 
 wild, yet courteous young stranger. After a little hesitation, 
 however, she extended her fair hand to him, and said as she 
 gently raised him : " Any one who listens with such delight 
 to music, must surely know how to awaken its strains himself. 
 Take my lute, and let us hear one of your spirit-stirring 
 songs." 
 
 Eat Sintram drew back, and would not take the instrument, 
 and he said : " Heaven forbid that my rough untutored hand 
 should touch those delicate strings ! For even were I to begin 
 with some soft strains, yet before long the wild spirit w^hich 
 
CHAP. VI.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 139 
 
 dwells in me would break out, and the beautiful instrument 
 would assuredly be injured or destroyed. No, no, suffer me 
 rather to fetch my own huge harp, strung with bears' sinews 
 set in brass, for in truth I do feel myself inspired to play and 
 sing." 
 
 Gabrielle murmured a half-frightened assent, and Sintran\ 
 having brought his harp, began to strike it loudly, and to sing 
 these words with a voice no less powerful : 
 
 " Sir Knight, Sir Knight, oh ! whither away 
 With thy snow-white sail on the foaming spray ?" 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for the land of flowers ! 
 
 " Too long have I trod upon ice and snow, 
 I seek the bowers where roses blow." 
 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for the land of flowers 
 
 He steered on his course by night and dav 
 Till he cast his anchor in Naples Bay. 
 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 
 
 There wandered a Lady upon the strand. 
 Her fair hair bound with a golden band. 
 
 Sing heigh^ sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 
 
 " Hail to thee ! hail to thee ! Lady bright, 
 Mine own shalt thou be ere morning light." 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 
 
 " Not so, Sir Knight," the Lady replied, 
 " For you speak to the Margrave's chosen bride.'* 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 
 
 " Your lover may come with his shield and spear. 
 And the victor shall win thee, Lady dear !" 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 
 
 " Nay, seek for another bride, I pray, 
 Most fair are the maidens of Naples Bay." 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 
 
 *' No, Lady, for thee my heart doth burn, 
 And the world cannot now rny purpose turn." 
 Sing heigh sing ho, for th-^t land of flowers! 
 
140 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. VI. 
 
 Then came the young Margrave, bold and brave, 
 But low was he laid in a grassy grave. 
 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers I 
 
 And then the fierce Northman joyous cried, 
 " Now shall I possess lands, castle and Bride !" 
 Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers ! 
 
 Smtram's song was ended, but his eyes glared wildly, and 
 the vibrations of the harp-strings still resounded in a marvel- 
 lous manner. Biorn's attitude was again erect, he stroked his 
 long beard and rattled his sword as if in great delight at what 
 he ha^^'just heard. The wild song and the strange aspect of 
 the father and son made Gabrielle tremble more than ever, but 
 a glance towards the Lord of Montfauqon again quieted her 
 fears, for there he sat with a calm smile on his lips, as com- 
 posed in the midst of all the noise as though it had only been 
 caused by a passing autumnal storm. 
 
CHAP. VII.J 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 141 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Some weeks had passed since this, when one ds.y, as the shadows 
 of evening were beginning to fall, Sintram entered the garden 
 of the castle in a very disturbed state of mind. Although the 
 presence of Gabrielle never failed to sooth and calm him, yet 
 if she left the apartment for even a few instants, the fearful 
 wildness of his spirit seemed to return with renewed strx^ngth. 
 On this occasion, after having in the kindest manner read 
 legends of the olden times to his father Biorn during great part 
 of the day, she had retired to her own chamber. The sweet 
 tones of her lute could be distinctly heard in the garden below, 
 but the sounds only drove the agitated youth farther and farther 
 into the deep shades of the ancient trees which surrounded the 
 garden. Stooping suddenly to avoid some over-hanging branch- 
 es, he started at finding himself close to something which he 
 had not perceived before, and which at first sight he took for a 
 small bear standing on its hind legs, with a wonderfully long 
 and crooked horn on its head. He drew back in surprise and 
 fear, a shrill voice addressed these words to him : " Well, my 
 brave young knight, whence do you come ? whither are you 
 going ? and wherefore are you so terrified ?" And then he be- 
 came aware that what he saw was a little old man so -wrapped 
 up in a rough garment of fur, that scarcely one of his features 
 was visible, and wearing in his cap a strange looking long 
 feather. " But whence do you come ? and whither are you 
 going ?" returned the angry Sintram. " For you are the per- 
 son to whom such questions should be addressed. What busi- 
 ness have you in our-domiains, you hideous little being?" 
 
 " Well, well," sneered the other one, " I am thinking that I 
 am quite big enough as I am. And as to the rest, why should 
 you object to my being here hunting for snails ? Snnils cannot 
 
142 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [OIAP. VII. 
 
 surely be included in the game which your high mightinesses 
 consider that you alone have a right to pursue ? Now it hap- 
 ^pens that I know how to prepare from them an excellent high- 
 flavoured beverage ; and I have taken a sufficient number foi 
 to-day: marvellous fat little animals, with wise faces like a 
 man's, and long twisted horns on their heads. Would you like 
 to see them ? Look here !" 
 
 And then he began to unfasten and fumble about his fur-gar- 
 ment, till Sintram, filled with disgust and horror, said . Psha ! 
 I detest such animals ! Be quiet, and tell me at once, who, and 
 what you yourself are." " Are you so bent upon knowing my 
 name ?" replied the little man. " Let it content you to hear 
 that I am Master of all secret knowledge, and well-versed in 
 the most intricate depths of ancient history. Ah ! my young 
 Sir, if you would only hear some of the things I have to tell ! 
 But you are too much afraid !" 
 
 " Afraid of you !" cried Sintram, with a wild laugh. 
 
 " Many a better man than you has been so before now," mut- 
 tered the Little Master, "but they did not like being told of it 
 any more than you do." 
 
 " To prove that you are mistaken," said Sintram, " I will 
 remain here with you till the moon has risen high in the 
 heavens. But you must relate to me one of your stories the 
 while." 
 
 The little man nodded his head with a look of much satisfac- 
 tion, and as they paced together up and down a retired walk 
 shaded by lofty elm-trees, he began discoursing as follows : — 
 
 " Many hundred years ago a young knight called Paris of 
 Troy lived in that sunny land of the south where are found 
 the sweetest songs, the brightest flowers, and the most beautiful 
 ladies. You know a song that tells of that fair land, do* you 
 not, young Sir ? ' Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers.' " 
 Sintram gave a sign of assent, and sighed deeply, " Now," 
 resumed the little Master, " it happened that Paris led that kind 
 of life which is not uncommon in those countries, and of which 
 their poets often sing — he would pass whole months together in 
 
cn.\p. VII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 143 
 
 tlie grab of a peasant, making the woods and mountains resound 
 to the tones of his lute, and watching the flocks which he led to 
 pasture. Here one day three beautiful goddesses appeared to 
 him, who were disputing about a golden apple — and they ap- 
 pealed to him to decide which of them was the most beautiful, 
 as to her the golden prize was to be adjudged. The first had 
 power to give thrones and sceptres and crowns to whom she 
 would — ^the second could give wisdom and knowledge — and the 
 third knew how to prepare love-charms which couii not fail uf 
 securing the affections of the fairest of women. Each one in 
 turn proffered her choicest gifts to the young shepherd, in order 
 that, tempted by them, he might give the prize to her. But as 
 beauty charmed him more than anything else in the world, he 
 decided that the third goddess should win the golden apple — 
 hex name was Venus. The two others departed in great dis- 
 pleasure, but Venus bid him put on his knightly armour, and 
 his helmet adorned with waving feathers, and then she con- 
 ducted him to a famous city called Sparta, where ruled the 
 noble King Menelaus. His young wife Helen was the loveliest 
 woman on earth, and the goddess offered her to Paris in return 
 for the golden apple. He was most ready to have her, and 
 wished for nothing better ; but he asked how he was to gain 
 possession of her." 
 
 " Paris can have been but a sorry knight," interrupted Sin- 
 tram. " Such things are easily settled. The husband is chal- 
 lenged to a single combat, and he that is victorious, carries off 
 the wife." 
 
 " But King Menelaus was exercising hospitality towards the 
 young knight," said the narrator. 
 
 " Listen to me. Little Master," cried Sintram, " he might 
 have asked the goddess for some other beautiful woman, and 
 then have mounted his horse, or weighed anchor, and departed 
 in search of her." 
 
 " Yes, yes, it is very easy to say so," replied the old man. 
 *' But if you only knew how bewitchingly lovely this Q,ueen 
 Helen was. After seeing her, no admiration was left for any 
 
144 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. Vll, 
 
 one else," And then he hegan a glowing description of the 
 charms of this wondrously beautiful princess, giving to her 
 every one of Gabrielle's features with such exactness, that Sin- 
 tram, overcome with emotion, was obliged to lean against a 
 tree to support himself. The Little Master stood opposite to 
 him, grinning, and he asked, " Well now, could you have ad- 
 vised that poor knight Paris to fly from her ?" 
 
 " Tell me at once what happened next," stam.mered Sin- 
 tram. 
 
 " The goddess acted honourably towards Paris," continued 
 the old man. " She declared to him that if he would carry 
 away the lovely princess to his own city Troy, he might do so, 
 and thus cause the ruin of his whole house and of his country ; 
 but that during ten years he would be able to defend Troy 
 against his enemies and live happy in the love of his fair 
 lady." 
 
 " And he took her on those terms, unless he was a fool !" 
 cried the youth. 
 
 " To be sure he accepted them," whispered the Little Master. 
 " I would have done so in his place ! And do you know, 
 young Sir, it once fell out that the appearance of things was 
 exactly like what we now see. The newly risen moon, partly 
 veiled by clouds, was shining dimly through the thick branches 
 of the trees in the silence of the evening. Leaning against a 
 tree, as you are now doing, there stood the young enamoured 
 knio-ht Paris, and at his side the enchantress Venus, but so dis* 
 ofuised and transformed, that she did not look much more at- 
 tractive than I do. And by the silvery light of the moon, the 
 form of the beautiful beloved one was seen sweeping by amidst 
 the whispering boughs." He was silent, and, as if to realize 
 his deluding words, Gabrielle just then appeared, musing as she 
 walked alone down the alley of elms. " Awful being, by what 
 name shall I call you ? What is it that you would drive me 
 to ?" muttered the trembling Sintram. 
 
 " Do not you remember your father's strong fortress on the 
 Rocks of the Moon?" replied '.he old man. " The castellan and the 
 
CHAP. VII ] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 145 
 
 garrison are entirely devoted to you. It could well stand a ten 
 years' siege, and the postern gate which leads to it is open, as 
 was that of the royal citadel of Sparta for the happy Paris." 
 The youth looked, and perceived in fact that a gate in the gar- 
 den-wall, which was usually closed, had now been left open, 
 and that the distant mountains lighted up by the moon might 
 be clearly seen through it. " And if he did not accept, he was 
 a fool," said the Little Master, with a grin, echoing Sintram's 
 former words. At that moment, Gabrielle drew near to him. 
 She was within reach of his grasp, had he made the least 
 movement ; and the moon as it shone on her heavenly counte- 
 nance, gave new charms to it. The youth had already bent 
 forwards. 
 
 «' My Lord and God, I pray 
 Turn from his heart away 
 
 This world's turmoil. 
 And call him to Thy light, 
 Be it through sorrow's night. 
 
 Through pain or toil." 
 
 These words were sung by old Rolf at that very time, as he 
 lingered on the banks of the lake by the castle, seeking a re- 
 lief to his anxious thoughts concerning Sintram in the fervent 
 supplications he addressed to the Almighty. The sounds reach- 
 ed Sintram's ear; he stood as if spell-bound, and made the sign 
 of the Cross. Immediately the Little Master fled away, jump- 
 ing uncouthly on one leg through the gates and shutting them 
 after him with a loud noise. 
 
 Sintram approached the terrified Gabrielle, and said as he 
 offered his arm to support her : " Suffer me to lead you back 
 to the castle. The nights in these northern regions are often 
 wild and fearful." 
 
 11 
 
146 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 They found the two knights within sitting together, after their 
 evening repast. Folko was relating stories in his usual mild 
 and cheerful manner, and Biorn was listening with a moody air, 
 hut yet as if against his will the dark cloud might pass way 
 under the influence of his companion's bright and gentle cour- 
 tesy. Gabrielle saluted the baron with a smile, and signed to 
 him to continue his discourse, as she took her place next to 
 Biorn, with the watchful kindness which ever marked her bear- 
 ing towards him. Sintram the while stood by the hearth, ab- 
 stracted and melancholy, and the embers, as he stirred them, 
 cast an unnatural gleam over his pallid features. 
 
 " And of all the German trading towns," continued Mont- 
 fau^on, " the largest and richest is Hamburgh. In Normandy 
 the merchants of this city are always received with a hearty 
 welcome, and those excellent people never fail to prove them- 
 selves our friends when we seek their advice and assistance. 
 When I first visited Hamburgh, every honour and respect was 
 paid me. I found its inhabitants engaged in a war with a 
 neighbouring prince, and immediately I devoted my sword to 
 their service, and that not without success." 
 
 " Your sword ! your knightly sword !" interrupted Biorn, 
 and more than the wonted fire flashed from his eyes. " You 
 turned it against a knight, and on behalf of shopkeepers !" 
 
 " Sir knight," replied Folko calmly, " the barons of Mont- 
 faufon have ever been used to take the side which they es- 
 teemed the right one in combats, without consulting indifferent 
 bystanders, and as I have received this good custom from my 
 forefathers, so do I wish to hand it on to my remotest descend- 
 ants. If you do not esteem this a wise practice, you are at 
 
CHAP. VIII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 147 
 
 liberty to speak your opinion freely. But I cannot suffer you 
 to say anything against the people of Hamburgh after I have 
 declared them to be my friends and allies." 
 
 Biorn cast down his fierce eyes to the ground, and their wild 
 expression seemed to fade away. He said in a subdued tone : 
 " Proceed, noble baron. You are right, and I am wrong." Then 
 Folko stretched out his hand to him across the table, and re- 
 sumed his narration : " Amongst all my' beloved Hamburghers 
 the dearest to me are two very remarkable men — a father and 
 son. What have they not seen and done in the remotest cor- 
 ners of the earth ! and how has every talent been devoted to 
 the good of their native town ! My life has by the blessing of 
 God been not unfruitful in deeds of renown, but in comparison 
 with the wise Gotthard Lenz and his stout-hearted son Rudlieb, 
 I look upon myself as nothing but an esquire who has perhaps 
 some few times attended knights to tourneys, and besides that 
 has never gone out of his own forests. They have carried the 
 light of religion, and with it happiness and peace, to savage na- 
 tions whose very names are unknown to me, and the wealth 
 which they have brought back from those distant climes has all 
 been given to promote the common welfare as unhesitatingly as 
 if no other use could possibly be devised for it. On their re- 
 turn from their long and perilous sea voyages, they hasten to 
 an hospital which has been founded by them and of which they 
 undertake the entire charge. Then they proceed to select the 
 most fitting spots whereon to erect new towers and fortresses 
 for the defence of their beloved country. Next they repair to 
 the houses where strangers and travellers receive hospitality at 
 their cost — and then they return to their own abode, where 
 guests are entertained with a splendour worthy of a king's pa- 
 lace, and yet with the unassuming simplicity of manners which 
 is thought only to belong to the shepherd's cot. Many a tale 
 of their wondrous adventures serves to enliven these sumptuous 
 feasts. Amongst others, I remember to have heard my friends 
 relate one at the thought of which I still shudder. Possibly I 
 
148 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. Vltl. 
 
 may gain some more complete information on the subject from 
 you. It appears that several years ago, just about the time of 
 the Christmas festival, Gotthard and Rudlieb were shipwrecked 
 on the coast of Norway, during a violent winter's tempest ; 
 they could never exactly ascertain the situation of the rocks 
 on which their vessel stranded ; but so much is certain, that 
 very near the sea-shore stood a huge castle to which the father 
 and son betook themselves, seeking for that assistance and shel- 
 ter which Christian people are ever willing to afford each 
 other in case of need. They went alone, leaving their follow 
 ers to watch the ship. The castle gates were thrown open, and 
 th-»y thought all was well. But on a sudden the court-yard 
 was filled with armed men, who with one accord aimed their 
 sharp iron-pointed spears at the defenceless strangers, whose 
 dignified remonstrances and mild entreaties were only heard 
 in sullen silence or with scornful jeerings. After a while a 
 knight came down the stairs, his eyes, so to speak, flashing fire, 
 they hardly knew whether to think they saw some fearful ap- 
 parition, or a wild heathen — ^he gave a signal, and the fatal 
 spears closed around them. At that instant the soft tones of a 
 woman's voice fell on their ear ; she was calling on the Saviour's 
 holy name for aid ; at the sound, the wild figures in the court- 
 yard rushed madly one against the other, the gates burst open, 
 and Gotthard and Rudlieb fled away, catching a glimpse as 
 they went of an angelic face which appeared at one of the win- 
 dows of the castle. They made every exertion to get their 
 ship again afloat, preferring to trust themselves to the treache- 
 rous sea, rather than to remain on that barbarous coast, and at 
 last they landed in Denmark after encountering many perils 
 and dangers. They have always said that it must have been 
 a Heathen's castle in which they were so cruelly treated, but 
 I am rather disposed to think it was some ruined fortress, long 
 deserted by men, in which evil spirits were wont to hold their 
 nightly assemblies, for is it possible to imagine that even a 
 Heathen could be found with so much of a demon's temper as 
 
CIIAP. VIII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 149 
 
 to meet strangers, asking for hospitality, with deadly weapons, 
 
 instead of the refreshment and shelter they needed 
 
 Biorn gazed fixedly on the ground, as though he were turned 
 into stone — but Sintram came towards the table, and said : 
 " Father, let us seek out this wicked abode, and let us level it 
 to the ground. I cannot tell how, but I feel quite sure that the 
 accursed deed we have just heard of is alone the cause of my 
 frightful dreams." Enraged at his son's words, Biorn rose up, 
 and would perhaps again have uttered some dreadful impreca- 
 tion, but Heaven decreed otherwise, for just at that moment the 
 pealing notes of a trumpet were heard, which drowned the an- 
 gry tones of his voice ; the great doors opened slowly, and a 
 herald entered the hall. He bowed reverently, and then said : 
 " I am sent by Jarl Eric the aged. He returned two days ago 
 from his expedition to the Grecian seas. His wish had been to 
 take vengeance on the island which is called Chios, where fifty 
 years ago his father was slain by the soldiers of the Emperor. 
 But your kinsman, the sea-king Arinbiorn, who was lying there 
 at anchor, tried to pacify him and to turn him from his purpose 
 — to this Jarl Eric would not listen — so the sea-king said next 
 that he would never suflfer Chios to be laid waste, because it 
 was an island where the lays of an old Greek bard, called 
 Homer, were excellently sung, and where moreover a very 
 choice wine was made. Words proving of no avail, a combat 
 ensued, in which Arinbiorn had so much the advantage that 
 Jarl Eric lost two of his ships, and only with difficulty escaped 
 in one which had already sustained great damage. Eric the 
 aged has now resolved to take revenge on some of the sea- 
 king's race, since Arinbiorn himself is rarely to be found. Will 
 you, Biorn of the Fiery Eyes, at once pay as large a penalty 
 in cattle and goods of whatever description, as it may please the 
 Jarl to demand ? Or will you prepare to meet him with an 
 armed force at Niflung's Heath seven days hence ?" 
 
 Biorn bowed his head quietly, and replied in a mild tone ; 
 " Seven days hence at Niflung's Heath." He then ofl^ered to 
 
150 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. VIIl, 
 
 the herald a golden goblet full of rich wine, and added : " Drink 
 that, and then carry off with thee the cup which thou hast 
 emptied." 
 
 " The Baron of Montfaucon likewise sends greeting to thy 
 chieftain Jarl Eric," interposed Folko, " and engages to be also 
 at Niflung's Heath, as the hereditary friend of the sea-king's 
 house, and also as being the kinsman and guest of Biorn of the 
 Fiery Eyes." 
 
 The herald was seen to tremble at the name of Montfaucon, 
 he bowed very low, cast an anxious, reverential look at the 
 baron, and left the hall. Gabrielle looked on her knight with 
 a smile that spoke of entire trust in his valour, when she heard 
 him pledge himself to appear in the field, and she only asked, 
 " Where shall I remain whilst you go forth to battle, Folko ?" 
 " I had hoped," answered Biorn, " that you would be well con- 
 tented to stay in this castle, lovely lady ; I leave my son to 
 guard you and attend on you." Gabrielle hesitated an instant, 
 and Sintram, who had resumed his position near the fire, mut- 
 tered to himself as he fixed his eyes on the bright flames which 
 were flashing up : " Yes, yes, so it will probably happen. I 
 can fancy that king Menelaus had just left Sparta on some 
 warlike expedition when the young knight Paris met the lovely 
 Helen that evening in the garden." But Gabrielle, shudder- 
 ing, although she knew not why, said quickly : "Remain here 
 without you, Folko ? And how could I bear to forego the joy 
 of seeing you win fresh laurels ? or the honour of tending you, 
 should you chance to receive a wound ?" Folko bent his head 
 in acknowledgment of his lady's anxious tenderness, and re- 
 plied : " Come with your own true knight, since such is your 
 pleasure, and be to him a bright guiding star. It is a good old 
 northern custom that ladies should be present at knightly com- 
 bats, and no true warrior of the north will fail to respect the 
 place whence beams the light of their eyes. Unless indeed," 
 continued he, with an inquiring look at Biorn, " unless Jarl 
 Eric has degenerated from his valiant forefathers ?" 
 
CHAP. VIIT.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 151 
 
 " His honour may be relied on," said Biorn, confidently. 
 
 " Then array yourself, my fairest love," said the delighted 
 Folko, " array yourself, and come forth with us to the battle- 
 field, to behold and judge our knightly deeds." 
 
 " Come forth with us to the battle-field," echoed Sintram, in 
 a sudden transport of joy. 
 
 And they all dispersed ; Sintram betaking himself again 'jn 
 the wood, while the others retired to rest 
 
152 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. DC 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was a wild, dreary tract of country that which bore the 
 name of Niflung's Heath. According to tradition, the young 
 Niflung, son of Hogni, the last of his race, had there ended in 
 sadness and obscurity a life which no warlike deeds had ren- 
 dered illustrious. Many ancient monuments of the dead were 
 still standing round about, and in the few oak-trees scattered 
 here and there over the plain, huge eagles had built their 
 nests — the beating of their heavy wings as they fought together, 
 and their wild screams, were heard far off in regions more 
 thickly peopled by man, and at the sound children would trem- 
 ble in their cradles, and old men quake with fear as they sat 
 over the blazing hearth. 
 
 As the seventh night, the last before the day of combat, was 
 just beginning, two large armies were seen descending from the 
 hills in opposite directions : that which came from the west was 
 commanded by Eric the aged, that from the east by Biorn of 
 the Fiery Eyes. They appeared thus early in compliance with 
 the custom which required that adversaries should always pre- 
 sent themselves at the appointed field of battle before the time 
 named, in order to prove that they rather sought than dreaded 
 the hour of trial. Folko immediately chose out the most con- 
 venient spot for the tent of blue and gold to be pitched, which 
 was to shelter his gentle lady ; whilst Sintram, in the charac- 
 ter of herald, rode over to Jarl Eric to announce to him that 
 the beauteous Gabrielle of Montfau^on was there guarded by 
 his father's warriors, and would the next morning be present as 
 a judge of the combat. 
 
 Jarl Eric bowed low on receiving this intelligence, and or- 
 dered his bards to strike up a lay, the v/ords of which ran as 
 follows : — 
 
CHAP. IX. 1 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 X53 
 
 " W&rriors bold of Eric's band, 
 Gird your glittering armour on, 
 Stand beneath to-morrow's sun. 
 
 In your might. 
 
 Fairest dame that ever gladdened 
 Our wild shores with beauty's vision, 
 May thy bright eyes o'er our combat, 
 Judge the right. 
 
 Tidings of yon noble stranger 
 Long ago have reached our ears, 
 Wafted upon southern breezes, 
 
 O'er the wave. 
 
 Now midst yonder hostile ranks, 
 In his warlike pride he meets us, 
 Folko comes ! Fight, men of Eric, 
 
 True and brave !" 
 
 These wondrous tones floated over the plain, and reached the 
 tent of Gabrielle. It was no new thing to hear her knight's 
 fame celebrated on all sides, but now that she listened to his 
 praises bursting forth in the stillness of night from the mouth of 
 his enemies, she could scarcely refrain from kneeling at the feet 
 of the mighty chieftain. But he with courteous tenderness pre- 
 vented her from sinking into that lowly posture, and pressing 
 his lips fervently on her snow-white hand, he said : " My deeds, 
 oh lovely lady, belong to thee, and not to me !" 
 
 No sooner had the darkness of night passed away, and the 
 red streaks in the east announced the arrival of the appointed 
 morning, than the whole plain seemed alive with preparations 
 for the combat : knights put on their rattling armour, war- 
 horses began to neigh impatiently, the morning-draught went 
 round in gold and silver goblets, while war-songs and the harps 
 of the bards resounded far and near. A joyous march was 
 heard in Biorn's camp, as Montfau^on, with his troops and re- 
 tainers, all clad in bright steel armour, conducted their lady 
 up to a neighbouring hill, where she would be safe from the 
 spears which would soon be flying in all directions, and whence 
 she could command a complete view of the battle-field. The 
 
154 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap, is 
 
 morning sun lighted up her lovely features, adding radiance to 
 her surpassing beauty, and as she came in view of the camp of 
 Tail Eric, his soldiers lowered their weapons, whilst the chief- 
 tains bent their proud heads which were covered with huge hel- 
 mets. Two of Montfaufon's pages remained in attendance on 
 the lady Gabrielle, well content to exchange their hopes of 
 gaining renown in the battle-field for the far greater honour of 
 being chosen to fulfil this office. Both armies passed in front 
 of her, saluting her as they went ; they then placed themselves 
 in array, and the fight began. 
 
 The spears flew from the hands of the stout northern war- 
 riors, rattling against the broad shields under which they shel- 
 tered themselves, or sometimes clattering as they met in the 
 air ; at intervals, on one side or the other, a man was struck, 
 and fell bathed in his blood. After a &hort pause, the knight 
 of Montfaufon advanced with his troop of Norman horsemen — 
 even as he dashed past, he did not fail to lower his shining sword 
 to salute Gabrielle, and then, with a loud exulting war-cry, 
 which burst from the lips of all, they charged the left wing of 
 the enemy. Eric's foot-soldiers, kneeling firmly in close ranks, 
 received them with fixed javelins — many a noble horse fell 
 wounded to death, and in fallinof broug-ht his rider with him to 
 the ground — others again crushed their foes under them as they 
 writhed in mortal agonies. In the midst of the confusion and 
 bloodshed, Folko and his war-steed escaped unhurt, and follow- 
 ed by a small band of chosen men, he dashed through the hos- 
 tile ranks. Already were they falling into disorder, already 
 were Biorn's warriors giving shouts of victory, when a troop of 
 horse, headed by Jarl Eric himself, advanced against the vali- 
 ant Baron of Montfaufon ; and whilst his Normans, hastily as- 
 sembling round their leader, assisted him in repelling this un- 
 expected attack, the enemy's infantry were gradually forming 
 themselves into a thick impenetrable mass, which rolled on in 
 formidable strength. All these movements seemed to be di- 
 rected by a warrior in the centre, whose loud piercing shout 
 
CHAP, ix.j 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 155 
 
 was heard at every instant. And scarcely were the troops 
 formed into this close array, when suddenly they spread them- 
 selves out on all sides, carrying every thing before them with 
 the irresistible force of the burning torrent from a volcano. 
 
 Biorn's soldiers, who had thought themselves on the point of 
 enclojjing their enemies, lost courage and gave way at once be- 
 fore this wondrous onset. The knight himself in vain attempt- 
 ed to stem the tide of fugitives, and with difficulty escaped be- 
 ing carried away by it. 
 
 Sintram stood looking on this scene of confusion with mute 
 indignation ; friends and foes passed by him, all equally avoid- 
 ing him, and dreading to come in contact with one whose as- 
 pect was so fearful, nay almost unearthly, in his motionless 
 rage. He aimed no blow either to right or left, his powerful 
 battle-axe hung idly at his side. But his eye flashed fire, and 
 seemed to be piercing the enemy's ranks through and through, 
 in the endeavor to find out who it was that had conjured up 
 this sudden warlike spirit. At length he discovered the object 
 of his search. A small man clothed in strange-looking armour, 
 with large golden horns in his helmet, and a long visor, ad- 
 vancing in front of it, was leaning on a tv/o-edged curved spear, 
 and seemed to be looking with derision at the hasty flight of 
 Biorn's troops as they were pursued by their victorious foes. 
 " That is he," cried Sintram, " he who would bring me to dis- 
 grace before the eyes of Gabrielle !" And with the swiftness of 
 an arrow he flew towards him, uttering a wild shout of defiance. 
 The combat was fierce, but not of long duration. To the won- 
 drous dexterity of his adversary, Sintram opposed his far supe- 
 rior strength and height, and he dealt such a tremendous blow 
 on the horned helmet that a stream of blood rushed forth, the 
 small man fell as if stunned, and, after some frightful convulsive 
 movements, his limbs appeared to stiffen in death. 
 
 His overthrow gave the signal for that of all Eric's army. 
 Even those who had not seen him fall, suddenly lost their 
 courage, and again retreated in confusion, or ran in wild af- 
 
156 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. IX 
 
 fright on the very spears of their enemies. At the same time 
 Montfau^on was dispersing Jarl Eric's cavalry, after a desperate 
 conflict, and had taken their chief prisoner with his own hand. 
 Biorn of the Fiery Eyes stood victorious in the middle of the 
 field of battle. The day was won. 
 
CHAP. X.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 157 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In full view of both armies, with glowing- cheeks and looks of 
 modest humility, Sintram was conducted by the brave baron 
 of Montfau^on up the hill where Gabrielle stood in all the lustre 
 of her beauty. Both warriors bent the knee before her, and 
 Folko said with much solemnity : " Lady, this valiant youth of 
 a noble race has borne away the palm of victory to-day. I pray 
 you to let him receive from your fair hand the reward to which 
 he is so justly entitled." 
 
 Gabrielle bowed courteously, took off her scarf of blue and 
 gold, and fastened to it a bright sword which a page brought to 
 her on a cushion of cloth of silver. She then with a smils 
 presented her precious gift to Sintram, who was bending for 
 ward to receive it, when suddenly Gabrielle drew back, and 
 turning to Folko, she said : " Noble baron, should not he, on 
 whom I bestow a scarf and sword, be first admitted into the 
 order of knighthood Folko sprang up, and bowing low be- 
 fore his lady, gave the youth the accolade with solemn earnest- 
 ness. Then Gabrielle buckled on his sword, saying : " Take 
 this for the honour of God and the service of noble ladies, 
 young knight. I saw you fight, I saw you conquer, and my 
 fervent prayers were offered up for you. Fight and conquer 
 often again as you have done this day, that the fame of your 
 deeds may be wafted even to my far distant country." And at 
 a sign from Folko, she offered her cheek for the new knight to 
 kiss. Thrilling all over, and full of a holj?- joy, Sintram arose 
 in deep silence, and tears streamed down his cheeks, whilst the 
 shout of the assembled troops greeted the enraptured youth 
 with stunning applause. Old Rolf stood silently on one side, 
 and as he saw the mild beaming expression in his beloved 
 pupil's countenance, he calmly and piously returned thanks. 
 
158 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. X 
 
 The strife is now at an end — rich blessings are showered 
 down — the evil foe is slain." 
 
 Biorn and Jarl Eric had the while been talking together with 
 eagerness, but not with animosity. The conqueror now led his 
 vanquished enemy up the hill, and presented him to the taroa 
 and Gabrielle, saying: "Instead of two enemies, you now see 
 two sworn allies, and I request you, my beloved guests and 
 kinsfolk, to receive him graciously as one who, from hence- 
 forward, belongs to us." " He was ever one with you in 
 heart," added Eric, smiling ; " I have indeed sought for re- 
 venge of former wrongs, but I have now had enough of defeats 
 both by sea and land. Yet I thank Heaven, that neither in the 
 Grecian seas, nor on Niflung's Heath, have I shown myself 
 wanting in valour." The lord of Montfaufon assented cor- 
 dially, and the terms of peace were agreed on with entire good 
 will. Jarl Eric then addressed Gabrielle in so courtly a man- 
 ner that she could not refrain from looking on the gigantic old 
 warrior with a smile of astonishment, and she gave him her 
 hand to kiss. 
 
 Meanwhile Sintram was standing apart, speaking earnestly 
 to his good Rolf, and at length he was heard to say: " But be- 
 fore all, be sure that you bury that wonderfully brave knight 
 whom my battle-axe laid low. Choose out the greenest hill for 
 his resting-place, and the loftiest oak to shade his grave. Also 
 I wish you to open his visor and to examine his countenance 
 carefully, lest the blow should only have deprived him of mo- 
 tion, not of life ; and moreover, that you may be able to give 
 me an exact description of him to whom I owe the noblest, 
 most precious prize ever adjudged to man." 
 
 Rolf departed to execute his orders. " Our young knight 
 is speaking there of one amongst the slain, of whom I should 
 like to hear more," said Folko, turning to Jarl Eric. " Who 
 was that wonderful chieftain who rallied your troops in so mas 
 terly a manner, and who at last fell un<^er Smtram's powerfu] 
 weapon ?" 
 
 " You ask me more than I know how to answer," replied 
 
t5HAP. X.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 159 
 
 Jarl Eric. "About three nights ago, this stranger made his 
 appearance amongst us. I was sitting with my chieftains and 
 warriors round the hearth, forging our armour, and singing the 
 while. Suddenly, above the din of our hammering and our 
 singing, we heard so loud a noise that it silenced us in a mo- 
 ment, and we sat motionless as if we had been turned into 
 stone. The sound continued equally stunning, and at last we 
 made out that it must be caused by some person blowing a huge 
 horn outside the castle, in order to obtain admittance. I went 
 down myself to the gate, and as I passed through the court- 
 yard I perceived that all my dogs were so terrified by the ex- 
 traordinary noise as to be howling and crouching in their ken- 
 nels, instead of barking at the intruders. I scolded them, and 
 called to them, but even the fiercest would not follow me. ^ Then,' 
 thought I to myself, ^ I must shew you the way to set to work 
 so I grasped my sword firmly, I set my torch on the ground 
 close beside me, and I let the gates fly open without further de- 
 lay. For I well knew that it would be no easy matter for any 
 one to effect an entrance against my will. A loud laugh greet- 
 ed me, and I heard these words : ' Well, well, what mighty 
 preparations are these before one small man is allowed to find 
 the shelter he seeks !' And in truth I did feel myself redden 
 with shame when I saw the small stranger standing opposite to 
 me, quite alone. I called to him to come in at once, and offer- 
 ed my hand to him ; but he still showed some displeasure, and 
 would not give me his in return. As he went up, however, he 
 became more friendly, he showed me the golden horn on which 
 he sounded that blast, and which he carried screwed on his hel- 
 met, as well as another exactly like it. When he was sitting 
 with us in the hall, he behaved in a very strange manner — 
 sometimes he v/as merry, sometimes cross, by turns courteous 
 and rude in his demeanour, without any one being able to see 
 a motive for such constant chang-es. I long-ed to know where 
 ht came from, but how could I ask my guest such a question ? 
 He told us as much as this, that he was starved with cold in our 
 country, and that his own was much warmer. Also he appear 
 
160 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. X 
 
 ed well acquainted with the city of Constantinople, and related 
 fearful stories of how brothers, uncles and nephews, nay even 
 fathers and sons, had been known there to drive each other from 
 the throne, and to exercise such cruelties as putting out eyes, 
 and cutting out tongues, when they stopped short of murdering 
 their opponents. At length he said his ow^n name ; it sounded 
 harmonious, like a Greek name, but none of us could remember 
 it. Before long, he displayed his skill as an armourer. He 
 understood marvellously well how tc handle the rjd-hot iron, 
 and how to form it into weapons of a more murderous nature 
 than any I had ever before seen. I would not suffer him to go 
 on making them, for I was resolved to meet you in the field 
 with such arms only as you would yourselves bear, and as w^e 
 are all used to in our northern countries. Then he laughed, 
 and said he thought it w^ould be quite possible to be victorious 
 without their aid, provided address and dexterity were not want- 
 ing, and so forth ; if only I would entrust the command of my 
 infantry to him, I might depend upon success. It occurred to 
 me that he who was so skilled in forging arms must also wield 
 them well — yet I required some proof of his powers. Sir knight, 
 he came off victorious in trials of strength, more surprising than 
 any you could imagine — and although the fame of young Sin- 
 tram as a bold and brave warrior is spread far and wide, yet I 
 can scarce believe that he really succeeded in slaying such an 
 one as my Greek ally showed himself to be." 
 
 He would have continued speaking, but the good Rolf here 
 made his appearance hastening towards them, followed by a 
 few attendants, the whole party looking so ghastly pale that all 
 eyes were involuntarily fixed on them, and every one waited 
 anxiously to hear what tidings they brought. Rolf stood still, 
 silent and trembling. 
 
 " Take courage, my old friend !" cried Sintram. " What- 
 ever you may have to tell will come forth clear and true from 
 your honest lips." " My dear master," began the old man, " be 
 not angry, but as to burying that strange warrior whom you 
 slew, it is a thing impossible. Would that we had never opened 
 
<?1IAP. X.\ 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 that wide, hideous visor ! For so horrible a countenance grinned 
 at us from underneath it, so distorted by death, and with such 
 a fiendish expression, that we hardly kept our senses. We 
 could not by any possibility have touched him. I would rather 
 be sent to kill wolves and bears in the desert, and look on whilst 
 fierce birds of prey feast on their carcasses." 
 
 All present shuddered, and were silent — till Sintram nerved 
 himself to say : " Dear good old man, why use such wild words 
 as I never till now heard you utter? But tell me, Jarl Eric, 
 did your ally present such an awful appearance while he was 
 yet alive ?" 
 
 " I do not call it to mind," answered Jarl Eric, looking in- 
 quiringly at his companions who were standing around. They 
 said the same thing as their lord ; but on further questioning, 
 it appeared that neither the chieftain, nor the knights, nor the 
 soldiers, could say exactly what the stranger was like. 
 
 "We must then find it out for ourselves, and bury the 
 corpse," said Sintram ; and he signed to the assembled party to 
 flUow him. All did so, except the lord of Montfau9on, whom 
 the whispered entreaty of Gabrielle kept at her side. He lost 
 nothing by remaining behind : for though Niflung's Heath was 
 searched from one end to the other many times, yet the body of 
 the unknown warrior was never again discovered. 
 
 .2 
 
SINTRAM, 
 
 [OIUP. XI. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The joy and serenity which came over Sintram's soul on thia 
 day appeared to he much more than a passing gleam. If still 
 an occasional thought of the knight Paris and the fair Helen 
 would for a moment make his heart beat wildly, it needed but 
 one look at his scarf and sword to restore calmness within. 
 " What can any man wish for more than has been already be- 
 stowed on me ?" would he say to himself at such times, in deep 
 emotion. And thus it went on for a long while. 
 
 The autumn, so beautiful in those northern climes, had al- 
 ready begun to redden the leaves of the old oaks and elms round 
 the castle, when one day it chanced that Sintram found himself 
 seated in company with Folko and Gabrielle, in almost the very 
 same spot in the garden where he had before met that myste- 
 rious being whom, without knowing why, he had named the 
 Little Master. But on this day in what a different light did 
 every thing appear! The sun was sinking slowly over the 
 sea, — the mist of an autumnal evening- was rising" from the 
 fields, and wreathing itself round the hill on which stood the 
 huge castle. Gabrielle, placing her lute in Sintram's hands, 
 said to him : " Dear youth, I no longer fear entrusting my deli- 
 cate favourite to you, now that you are become so mild and 
 gentle. Let me again hear you sing that lay of the land of 
 flowers, for I am sure that it will now sound much sweeter 
 ' than when you accompanied it with the vibrations of your 
 fearful harp." 
 
 The young knight bowed as he prepared to obey the lady's 
 commands. With a grace and softness hitherto strangers to 
 him, the wild strains flowed from his lips, and appeared to lose 
 their former character, and to change into harmony to which 
 angels might have listened. Tears stood in Gabrielle's eyes ; 
 
CHAP. XI.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 163 
 
 and Sintram, as he gazed on the bright pearly drops, poured 
 forth tones of yet richer sweetness. When the last notes were 
 sounded, Gabrielle's angelic voice was heard to echo them, and 
 as she repeated 
 
 " Sing heigh, sing ho, for that land of flowers," 
 
 Sintram put down the lute, and raised his thankful eyen to- 
 wards the stars, which were now stealing out and studdingf the 
 whole face of the sky. Then Gabrielle, turning towards her 
 lord, murmured these words : " Oh, how long have we been 
 wandering far away from our own sunny hills and bright gar- 
 dens ! Oh ! for that land of the sweetest flowers !" 
 
 Sintram could scarce believe that he heard aright, so sud- 
 denly did he feel himself as if shut out from paradise. But his 
 faint hopes of being mistaken were crushed by the assurance of 
 Folko, that he would endeavour to fulfil his lady's wishes with 
 all possible speed, and that their ship was lying off the shore 
 ready to put to sea. She thanked him with a kiss imprinted 
 softly on his forehead ; and leaning on his arm she bent her 
 steps towards the castle. 
 
 The wi'etched Sintram, neglected and forgotten, remained 
 behind, motionless as if he had been turned to stone. At length, 
 when the darkness of night had spread itself over the whole 
 sky, he started up wildly, ran up and down the garden as if all 
 his former madness had taken possession of him, and then 
 rushed out, and wandered upon the hills in the pale moonlight. 
 There he dashed his sword against the trees and bushes, so 
 that all around was heard a sound of crashino- and falling- the 
 birds of nis^ht flew about him screeching^ in wild alarm, and the 
 deer, startled by the noise, sprung away to take refuge in the 
 thickest coverts. 
 
 On a sudden old Rolf appeared, returning home from a visit 
 to the chaplain of Drontheim, to whom he had been relating with 
 tears of joy, how Sintram was subdued by Gabrielle's mild in- 
 fluence, and how they might venture to hope that his evil 
 dreams would never again disturb his mind. And now the 
 
164 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [CIIAP. XI, 
 
 sword of the furious youth had well-nigh wounded the old man 
 in some of its fearful thrusts to right and left. He stopped 
 short, and, clasping his hands, he said with a deep sigh : " Alas, 
 my beloved Sintram, my foster-child ! what madness has seized 
 you. and made you thus wild and frantic ?" 
 
 The youth stood awhile as if spell-bound, he looked in his 
 old friend's face with a fixed and melancholy gaze, and his eyes 
 became dim, like expiring watch-fires seen through a thick 
 cloud of .mist. At length he sighed forth these words, almost 
 inaudibly : " Good Rolf, good Rolf, depart from me ! I have 
 been cast out of your garden of delight ; and if sometimes a 
 light breeze blows open its golden gates so that I can look in and 
 see the sunny spot where heavenly inhabitants wander to and 
 fro, then immediately a cruel cutting wind arises, which shuts 
 to the gates, and I remain without, to pass a never-ending 
 winter in cheerless desolation." 
 
 " Beloved young knight, oh ! listen to me ; — listen to the 
 voice of the good Spirit within you ! Do you not bear in your 
 hand that very sword which the bright lady you serve girded 
 you with ? Does not her scarf wave over your wildly beating 
 heart? Do you not recollect how you used to say, that no 
 mortal could wish for more than had been bestowed on your- 
 self?" 
 
 " Yes, Rolf, I have said that," replied Sintram, sinking on 
 the mossy turf, drowned in bitter tears. The old man wept 
 also. Before long the youth stood again erect, his tears ceased to 
 flow, his countenance assumed a cold terrible expression, and 
 he said : " You see, Rolf, I have passed such blessed peaceful 
 days, and I thought within myself that the powers of evil would 
 never again have dominion over me. So, perchance, it might 
 have been, just as much as daylight would always last were 
 the sun never to go below the horizon. But ask the poor be- 
 nighted earth, wherefore she looks so dull and dark ! Bid her 
 again smile as she was wont to do ! Old man, she cannot 
 smile ; — and now that the gentle compassionate moon has dis- 
 appeared behind the clouds with her sadly-soothing funeral veil, 
 
CHAP. XI.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 165 
 
 she cannot even weep. And in this hour of darkness, all that is 
 wild and awful wakes up into life ! So do not stop me, I tell 
 thee, do not stop me ! Hurrah ! I am rushing behind the pale 
 moon !" His voice changed to a hoarse murmur at these last 
 words. He tore away from the trembling old man, and rush- 
 ed through the forest. Rolf knelt down, and prayed and wept 
 silently. 
 
166 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 ci;ap. xii. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Where the sea-beach was wildest, and the ..lifTs most steep and 
 rugged, and close by the remains of three shattered oaks, which 
 probably marked a place where, in darker times, human vic- 
 tims had been sacrificed, now stood Sintram, leaning, as if ex- 
 hausted, on his drawn sword, and gazing intently on the danc- 
 ing waves. The moon had again shone forth, and as her pale 
 beams fell on his motionless figure through the quivering 
 branches of the trees, he might have been taken for some fear- 
 ful idol image. Suddenly some one, hitherto unnoticed by him, 
 half-raised himself out of the withered grass, uttered a faint 
 groan, and again lay down. This marvellous conversation then 
 arose between the two : 
 
 " Thou that movest thyself so strangely amid the grass, dost 
 thou belong to the living or to the dead ?" 
 
 " That is as you may choose to take it. I am dead to heaven 
 and joy — I live for hell and anguish." 
 
 " I could fancy that I had already heard thee speak." 
 
 " Oh, yes, thou surely hast." 
 
 " Art thou a troubled spirit ? and was thy life-blood poured 
 out here in ancient times ?" 
 
 " I am a troubled spirit ; — but no man ever has, or ever can 
 shed my blood. I have been cast down — oh ! into a frightful 
 abyss !" 
 
 « And wert thou killed by the fall ?" 
 
 " I am living now, — and I shall live longer than thou." 
 
 " I could almost fancy that thou wert the crazy pilgrim with 
 the dead men's bones hanging about him." 
 
 " 1 am not he, although we often consort together, — and, in- 
 deed, in the most friendly manner. But to let you into a se- 
 cret, he considers me to be mad. If I sometimes urge him, 
 
CHAP. XII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 167 
 
 and say to him, ' Take !' — then he hesitates, and points up- 
 wards towards the stars. And, again, if I say, ' Take not !' — 
 then, to a certainty, he seizes on it in some awkward manner, 
 and so he spoils my best joys and pleasures. But, in spite of 
 all this, we remain as before, bound by a close alliance, and 
 even by a degree of relationship." 
 
 " Give me thy hand, and let me help thee up." 
 
 " Ho, ho ! my active young sir, that might bring you no good. 
 Yet, in fact, you have already helped to raise m^. Give heed 
 to what is going on around." 
 
 The movements of Sintram's unknown companion seemed to 
 become stranger each minute ; thick clouds swept wildly over 
 the moon and the stars, and Sintram's thoughts grew no less 
 wild and stormy, while far and near an awful howling could 
 be heard amidst the trees and the grass. At length the mys- 
 terious being arose from the ground. As if to gratify a fear- 
 ful curiosity, the moon looked out from behind a cloud, and the 
 sudden gleam of light showed the horror-stricken Sintram that 
 his companion was none other than the Little Master. 
 
 " Avaunt," cried he, " I will listen no more to your evil sto- 
 ries about the knight Paris. They would end by driving me 
 quite mad." 
 
 " My stories about Paris are not needed for that !" grinned 
 the Little Master. " It is enough that the Helen of your af- 
 fections should be journeying towards Montfau9on. Believe 
 me, madness has already taken possession of every part of you. 
 But what should you say were she to remain ? For that, how- 
 ever, you must show me more courtesy than you have of late." 
 Therewith he raised his voice towards the sea, as if fiercely re- 
 buking it, so that Sintram could not keep from shuddering and 
 trembling before the hideous dwarf But he checked himself, 
 and grasping his sword-hilt with both hands, he said contemptu- 
 ously : " You and Gabrielle ! what acquaintance do you pre- 
 tend to have with Gabrielle ?" 
 
 " Not much," was the reply. And the Little Master might 
 be seen to quake with fear and rage, hs he continued : " I can-' 
 
168 SINTRAM, [ CIUP. XII. 
 
 • not well bear to hear the name of your Helen : do not din it in 
 my ears ten times in a breath. But if the tempest should in- 
 crease ? If the foaming waves should swell, and roll on till 
 they form an impenetrable barrier round the whole coast of 
 Norway? The voyage to Montfau^on must in that case be 
 altogether given up, and your Helen would remain here at least 
 through the long, long, dark winter !" 
 
 " If ! if !" replied Sintram, with scorn. " Is the sea your 
 bond-slave ? Are tempests obedient to you ?" 
 
 " They are rebels, accursed rebels," muttered the Little Mas- 
 ter. " You must lend me your aid, Sir Knight, if I am to 
 subdue them ; but you have not the heart for such a service." 
 
 " Boaster, evil boaster !" answered the youth. " What is 
 that you require of me ?" 
 
 " It is not much. Sir Knight, nothing at all for one who has 
 strength and ardour of soul. You need only look at the sea 
 steadily for one half-hour, without ever ceasing to wish in- 
 tensely that it should foam and rage and swell, and never again 
 become quiet until winter has laid its icy hold upon your 
 mountains. Then king Menelaus will be effectually prevented 
 from undertaking a voyage to Montfaufon. And now give me 
 a lock of your black hair, which is blowing so wildly about 
 your head, looking like ravens' or vultures' wings." 
 
 The youth drew his sharp dagger, madly cut off a lock of his 
 hair, threw it to the strange being, and according to his direc- 
 tions began gazing on the sea, and wishing ardently that a 
 storm should arise. And soon the water began to be slightly 
 agitated with a motion almost as imperceptible as the murmur- 
 ing of one disturbed by uneasy dreams, who would gladly be 
 at rest and yet cannot. Sintram was on the point of giving 
 up, when the moonbeams fell on the white sails of a ship which 
 was going rapidly in a southerly direction. A pang shot 
 through his heart, as he was thus forcibly reminded of Gabri- 
 elle's departure ; he wished again with all his power, and fixed 
 his eyes intently on the watery expanse. " Sintram," a voice 
 might have said to him, " ah ! Sintram, can you be indeed the 
 
cftAP. xii ] AND HIS COMPANIONS. 169 
 
 very same who but so lately was gazing in deep emotion on the 
 tearful eyes of Gabrielle ?" 
 
 And now the waves were seen to heave and swell, and the 
 howling tempest sv*rept over the ocean ; the breakers, white 
 with foam, became visible in the moonlight. Then the Little 
 Master threw the lock of Sintram's hair up towards the clouds, 
 and as it was blown to and fro by the blast of wind, the storm 
 burst in all its fury, so that sea and sky were co\ ered with one 
 thick cloud, and far off might be heard the cries of distress from 
 many a sinking vessel. 
 
 Just then the crazy pilgrim with the dead-men's bones rose up 
 in the midst of the waves, close to the shore ; his height ap- 
 peared gigantic as he rocked to and fro in a fearful manner ; 
 the boat in which he was standing was entirely hid from sight 
 by the raging waves which rose all around it. 
 
 " You must save him. Little Master, you must anyhow save 
 him," cried Sintram, his voice rising in a tone of angry en- 
 treaty above the roaring of the winds and waves — ^but the dwarf 
 replied with a laugh : " Be quite at ease on his account, he will 
 be able to save himself The waves can do him no harm. Do 
 you see ? They are only begging of him, and therefore they 
 jump up so boldly round him. And he gives them bountiful 
 alms ; very bountiful, that I can assure you." 
 
 Accordingly the pilgrim was seen to throw some bones in the 
 sea, and to pass on his way without suffering damage. Sin- 
 tram felt his blood run cold with horror, and he rushed Vvildly 
 towards the castle. His companion had either fled or vanished 
 away. 
 
170 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 CHAP. X.U. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BiORN and Gabrielle and Folko of Montfau^on were sitting 
 round the great stone table, from which, since the arrival of his 
 noble guests, the lord of the castle had cajise I those suits of 
 armour to be removed that formerly had been his companions — 
 they were placed all together in a heap in one of the adjoining 
 apartments. At this time, while the storm was beating so furi- 
 ously against doors and windows, it seemed as if the ancient 
 armour were also stirring in the next room, and Gabrielle seve- 
 ral times half rose from her seat in great alarm, fixing her eyes 
 on the small iron door, as though she expected to see an armed 
 spectre issue therefrom, bending down his plumed helmet as he 
 passed underneath the low vaulted door-way. The knight 
 Biorn smiled grimly, and said, as if reading her thoughts : 
 " Oh ! he will never again come out thence, I have put an end 
 to that for ever." His guests looked at him inquiringly, as if 
 anxious to understand his meaning ; and with a strange air of 
 unconcern, as though the storm had awakened all the fierce- 
 ness of his soul, he began the following history : 
 
 " I was once a happy man myself; I could smile, as you do— 
 and I could rejoice in the clear morning air, as you do ; that 
 was before the hypocritical chaplain had so worked on the 
 pious scruples of my lovely wife, as to induce her to shut her- 
 self up in a cloister, and leave me alone with my ungovernable 
 child. That was not fair usage on the part of the fair Verena. 
 Well, so it was, that in the first days of her dawning beauty, 
 before I knew her, many knights sought her hand, amongst 
 whom was Sir Weigand the Slender ; and towards him the 
 gentle maiden showed herself the most favourably inclined. 
 Her parents were well aware that Weigand's rank and station 
 were little below their own, and that his firae as a warrior 
 without reproach promised to stand high , so that before long if 
 
CHAP. XIII.I 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 171 
 
 was generally known that Verena and he were betrothed to 
 each other. It happened one day that they were walking to- 
 gether in the garden of her father's castle, at the time when a 
 shepherd was driving his flock up the mountain beyond. The 
 maiden took a fancy to a little snow-white lamb which she saw 
 frolicking about, and wished to have it. Weigand flew out of 
 the garden, overtook the shepherd, and offered him two pieces 
 of gold for the lamb. But the shepherd would not part with it, 
 and scarcely listened to the knight, going quietly the while up the 
 mountain side. Weigand persevered, but failing in his attempts, 
 he lost patience, and at last uttered some threat. The shep- 
 herd, who was not wanting in the pride and stubbornness of all 
 our northern peasants, threatened in return. Suddenly Wei- 
 gand's sword glittered above his head — the stroke should have 
 fallen lightly — ^but who can control a fiery horse, or an angry 
 warrior's arm ? The shepherd's head seemed cleft asunder by 
 the blow, he rolled bathed in blood down to the very bottom of 
 the precipice — his terrified flock dispersed on the mountains. 
 The little lamb alone took refuge in the garden, and, all sprin- 
 kled with its master's blood, it laid itself down at Verena's 
 feet, as if asking for protection. She took it up in her arms, 
 and from that moment never suffered Weigand to appear again 
 in her presence. She continued to cherish the little lamb, and 
 seemed to take pleasure in nothing else in the world, while she 
 became each day more and more pale, like the lilies, and her 
 every thought was devoted to Heaven. She would soon have 
 taken the veil, but just then I came to aid her father in a war 
 in which he was engaged, and saved him from his too powerful 
 enemies. As a reward of my services, he prevailed on his 
 daughter to give me her fair hand. The overwhelming weight 
 of his affliction would not suffer the unhappy Weigand to re- 
 main in his own country — he went as a pilgrim to Asia, 
 whence our forefathers came, and there he performed won- 
 drous deeds of valour, not omitting acts of humiliation and 
 penitence. I could not hear him spoken of in those days 
 without rny heart being strangely moved with compassion. 
 Years rolled by, and he returned, meaning to erect a church 
 
172 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. XIII. 
 
 or monastery on that mountain, towards the west, whence the 
 walls of my castle are distinctly seen. It was said that he 
 wished to become a priest there, but it fell out otherwise. For 
 Some pirates having sailed from the southern seas towards our 
 coasts, and having heard mention made of this monastery 
 which wa.s in progress, their chief hoped to find much gold in 
 the possession of those who were building it, or to get a large 
 ransom for them, if he should succeed in surprising them, and 
 carrying them off He could not have known much about the 
 valour of northern warriors ! However, he soon arrived, and 
 having landed in the creek under the black rocks, he led his 
 men through a by-path up to the building, surrounded it, and 
 thought in himself that the game was now in his hands. 
 Ha ! then out rushed Weigand and his builders, and fell upon 
 them with swords, and hatchets, and hammers. The heathens 
 fled away to their ships, closely pursued by Weigand. In 
 passing by our castle, he caught a sight of Verena on the 
 terrace, and, for the first time during so many years, she be- 
 stowed a courteous and kind salutation on the victorious war- 
 rior. At that moment a dagger, hurled by one of the pirates 
 in the midst of his hasty flight, struck Weigand's uncovered 
 head, and he fell to the ground bleeding and insensible. We 
 completed the rout of the heathens : then I directed the wounded 
 knight to be brought into the castle ; and my Verena's pale 
 cheeks glowed as lilies do in the light of the morning sun, and 
 Weigand opened his eyes with a smile when he was brought 
 naar her. He refused to be taken into any room but the small 
 one close to this, where the armour is now placed ; for he said 
 that he felt as if it were a cell like that which he hoped soon 
 to inhabit in. the quiet cloister he was erecting. All was done 
 conformably to his desire ; my sweet Verena nursed him, and 
 he appeared at first to be advancing favourably towards re- 
 covery, but his head continued weak, and liable to be confused 
 by the slightest emotion — his steps were faltering, and his cheeks 
 colourless. We would not suffer him to depart. When we 
 were sitting here together in the evening, he used always to 
 fome tottering into the hall through ftie low doorway; and my 
 
CHAP. XIII.J 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 173 
 
 heart was sad, and wrathful too, when the soft eyes of Verena 
 beamed so sweetly on him, and a glow like that of the evening 
 sky lighted up her pale countenance. But I bore it, and 1 
 could have borne it to the end of our lives, — when, alas ! Verena 
 shut herself up in a cloister !" 
 
 His head fell so heavily on his folded hands, that the stone 
 table groaned under it, and he remained a long while motion- 
 less as a corpse. When he again raised himself up, his eyes 
 glared as he looked round the hall, and he said to Folko: 
 " Your beloved Hamburghers, Gotthard Lentz, and Rudlieb his 
 son, they have much to answer for ! Who bid them come and 
 be shipwrecked so close to my castle 
 
 Folko cast a piercing look on him, and a fearful inquiry was 
 on the point of escaping his lips, but another look at the trem- 
 bling Gabrielle caused him to refrain, at least for the present 
 moment, and the knight Biorn continued his narrative : 
 
 " Verena was with her nuns, I was left alone, and my des- 
 pair had driven me to the mountains and the forest during the 
 whole day. Towards evening I returned to my deserted cas- 
 tle, and scarcely was I in the hall, when the little door creaked 
 on its hinges, and Weigand, who had slept through all, crept 
 towards me and asked : ^ Where can Verena be V Then I 
 became like one out of his senses, and I shouted, ' She is gone 
 mad, and so am I, and you also, and now we are all mad !' 
 Merciful Heaven, the wound on his head burst open, and a 
 dark .red stream flowed over his face — alas ! how different from 
 the redness which overspread it when Verena met him at the 
 castle gate, — and he rushed forth, raving mad, into the wilder- 
 ness without, and ever since has wandered all around, as a 
 cvazy pilgrim." 
 
 He was silent, and so were Folko and Gabrielle, — all three 
 pale and cold, like images of the dead. At length the fearfuJ 
 narrator added in a low voice, and as if he were quite exhaust- 
 ed : • " He has visited me since that time, but he will never again 
 come through the low door-way. Have I not established peace 
 and order in mv castle ?" 
 
174 
 
 SIN TRAM, 
 
 [chap. XIV. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Sin TRAM had not returned home, when the inhabit; jits of the 
 castle betook themselves to rest in great disturbance of mind. 
 No one thought of him, for every heart was filled with strange 
 forebodings of evil, and with undefined anxiety. Even the 
 firm heroic spirit of the knight of Montfau^on did not escape 
 t">e general agitation. 
 
 Old Rolf still remained without, weeping in the forest, heed- 
 less of the storm which beat on his unprotected head, while he 
 waited for his young master. But he had gone a very different 
 way; and when the morning dawned, he entered the castle 
 from the opposite side. 
 
 Gabrielle's slumbers had been but too sweet during the whole 
 night. It had seemed to her that angels with golden wings had 
 blown away the wild histories she had listened to the evening 
 before, and had wafted to her the bright flowers, the sparkling 
 sea, and the green hills of her own home. She smiled, and 
 drew her breath calmly and softly, whilst the supernatural tem- 
 pest raged and howled through the forests, and kept up a fear-^ 
 ful conflict with the troubled sea. But, in truth, when she awoke 
 in the morning, and heard the crashing of the storm still con- 
 tinuing, and saw the clouds still hiding the face of the heavens, 
 she could have wept for anxiety and sadness, especially when 
 she heard from her maidens that Folko had already left their 
 apartment clad in full armour as if prepared for a combat. At 
 the same time she could distinguish the sound of the heavy 
 tread of armed men in the echoing halls, and, on inquiring, 
 found that the knight of Montfau9on h.id assembled all his re- 
 tainers to be in readiness to protect their lady. 
 
 Wrapped in a cloak of ermine, she stood trembling like a 
 tender flower which has just sprung up out of the snow, and is 
 
CHAP. XIV.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 175 
 
 exposed to the rude blasts of a winter's storm. At that mo- 
 ment Sir Folko entered the room, arrayed in his brilliant ar- 
 mourj and in peaceful guise carrying his golden helmet, with 
 the long shadowy plumes in his hand. He saluted Gabrielle 
 with an air of cheerful serenity, and, at a sign from him, hia 
 attendants retired — the men-at-arms without were heard quietly 
 dispersing. 
 
 " Lady," said he, as he took his seat beside her m a couch 
 to which he led her, already re-assured by his presence ; 
 " Lady, will you forgive your knight for having left yoa to en- 
 dure some moments of anxiety, whilst he was obeying the call 
 of honour and the stern voice of duty. Now all is set in order, 
 quietly and peacefully ; dismiss your fears and every thought 
 that has troubled you, as things that have no longer any ex- 
 istence." 
 
 " But you and Biorn ?" asked Gabrielle. 
 
 " On the word of a knight," replied he, " all is as it should 
 be." And thereupon he began to talk over indifferent subjects 
 with his usual ease and vivacity ; but Gabrielle, bending to- 
 wards him, said, with deep emotion : 
 
 " Oh Folko, my knight, the guiding star of my life, my pro- 
 tector, and my dearest hope on earth, tell me all, if you may. 
 If you are bound by a promise to keep any thing secret, I ask 
 no more. You know that I am of the race of Portamour, and 
 I would ask nothing from my knight which could cast even a 
 breath of suspicion on his spotless shield." 
 
 Folko thought gravely for one instant, then looking at her 
 with a bright smile, he said : " It is not that, Gabrielle, but can 
 you bear what 1 have to disclose ? Will you not sink down at 
 the tidings, as a slender fir gives way under a mass of snow?" 
 
 She raised herself with a somewhat proud air, and said : " I 
 have already reminded you of the name of my father's house. 
 Let m.e now add that I am the w^edded wife of the Baron of 
 Montfaugon." 
 
 " Then so let it be," replied Folko solemnly ; " and if that 
 must come forth opcnl}" wliicli should ever hrive remained hid* 
 
176 SINTRAM, ^iap. xiw 
 
 den in the darkne§3 which belongs to such deeds of wickedness, 
 at least the horror of longer expectation shall not be added to 
 it. Know then, Gabrielle, that the wicked knight who attempted 
 the destruction of my friends Gotthard and Rudlieb, is none 
 other than our kinsman and host, Biorn of the Fiery Eyes." 
 
 Gabrielle shuddered and covered her eyes with her fair 
 hands ; but at the end of a moment she looked up with a be- 
 wildered air, and said : " I have heard wrong surely, although 
 i is true that yesterday evening such a thought flashed across 
 my mind. For did not you say awhile ago that all was settled 
 and at peace between you and Biorn? Between the brave 
 baron and such a man after such a crime ?" 
 
 " You heard aright," answ^ered Folko, looking with fond de- 
 light on the delicate, yet noble spirited being beside him. 
 " This morning with the earliest dawn I went to him and chal- 
 lenged him to a mortal combat in the neighbouring valley, if he 
 were the man to whose cruelty Gotthard and Rudlieb had so 
 well nigh fallen victims. He was already completely armed, 
 and merely saying, ^ I am he,' he led the way towards the 
 forest. But when we stood alone at the place of combat, he 
 flung away his shield down a giddy precipice, then his sword 
 was hurled after it, and next with gigantic strength he tore ofl' 
 his coat of mail, and said : ' Now fall on, thou minister of ven- 
 geance, for I am a man laden with guilt, and I dare not fight 
 with thee.' How could I then attack him ? A strange kind 
 of truce was agreed on between us, — he is to be my vassal to 
 a certain extent, and yet I solemnly forgave him in my own 
 name and in that of my friends. He was contrite, and yet no 
 tear was in his eye, no word of penitence on his lips. He is only 
 kept under by the power with which I am endued by having 
 right on my side, and it is on that tenure that Biorn is my vas- 
 sal. I know not, lady, whether you can bear to see us together 
 on these terms ; if not, I will ask for hospitality in some other 
 castle — there are none in Norway which would not receive us 
 joyfully and honourably, and this wild autumnal storm may 
 put off our voyage for man}" i day. Only I feel persuaded of 
 
CHAP. XIV.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 177 
 
 this, that if we depart directly and in such a manner, the heart 
 of this savage man will break." 
 
 " Where my noble lord remains, there am I content to re- 
 main also ander his protection," replied Gabrielle, and again 
 her heart glowed with rapture at the greatness of her knight 
 
 19 
 
178 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [CHKT. S.ff 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The noble kdy had just unbuckled her knight's armour wnh 
 her own fair hands, — for it was only on the field of battle that 
 pages or esquires were permitted to perform that office for 
 Montfau9on, — and now she was throwing over his shoulders his 
 mantle of blue velvet embroidered with gold, when the door 
 opened gently, and Sintram, entering the room, saluted them 
 with an air of deep humility. Gabrielle received him kindly 
 as she was wont, but, suddenly turning pale, she looked away 
 and said : " Oh ! Sintram, what has happened to you ? Ami 
 how can one single night have so fearfully altered you ?" 
 
 Sintram stood still, thunderstruck, and feeling as if he him- 
 self did not know what had befallen him. Then Folko took 
 him by the hand, led him towards a bright polished shield, and 
 said very earnestly: "Look here at yourseK young knight!" 
 
 No sooner had Sintram cast a glance » he mirror than he 
 drew back with horror. He fancied that he saw the Little 
 Master before him with that single upright feather sticking out 
 of his cap ; but he at length perceived that the mirror was only 
 showing him his own image and none other, and that it was 
 owing to the lock of hair cut off by his own dagger that his 
 whole appearance had become so strange, nay, even unearthly, 
 as he was obliged to confess himself 
 
 " Who has done that to you," asked Folko in a tone yet 
 more grave and solemn. " And why does your disordered 
 hair stand on end ?" 
 
 Sintram knew not what to answer. He felt as if he were 
 standing to be judged, and as if his sentence could be none 
 other than a shameful degradation from his knightly rank. 
 Suddenly Folko drew him away from the shield, and taking 
 him towards the window against which the storm was beating, 
 he asked : " Whence comes this tempest ?" 
 
CHAP. 'V. 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 179 
 
 Still Sintram kept silence. His limbs began to tremble un- 
 Lei him, and Gabrielle, pale and terrified, whispered : " Oh 
 Folko, my knight, what has happened ? Oh tell me ; are we 
 come into an evil enchanted castle ?" 
 
 " The land of our Northern ancestors," replied Folko with 
 solemnity, " is full of mysterious knowledge. But we may not, 
 for all that, call its people enchanters ; still this youth has good 
 cause to watch himself narrowly; he whom the Evil One has 
 touched by so much as one hair of his head " 
 
 Sintram heard no more ; with a deep groan he staggered out 
 of the room. As he left it, he met old Rolf, still almost be- 
 numbed by his exposure to the cold and storms of the night. 
 Now in his joy at again seeing his young master, he did not 
 remark his altered appearance ; but as he accompanied him to 
 his sleeping room, he said : " Witches and spirits of the tempest 
 must have taken up their abode on the sea-shore. I am certain 
 that such wild storms never arise without some magical arts." 
 
 Sintram fell into a fainting-fit, {torn which Rolf could with 
 difficulty recover him sufficiently to appear in the great hall at 
 the mid-day repast. But before he went down, he caused a 
 mirror to be brought, and having again surveyed himself there- 
 in with grief and horror, he cut close rouiJd ail the rest of his 
 long black hair, so that he made himself look almost like a 
 monk, and thus he joined the party already assembled round 
 the table. They all looked at him with surprise, but old Biorn 
 rose up and said fiercely : " Are you going to betake yourself to 
 a cloister as well as the fair lady, your mother ?" 
 
 A commanding look from the Baron of Montfaufon checked 
 any farther outbreak, and, as if in apology, Biorn added with a 
 forced smile : " I was only thinking if any accident had befal- 
 len him, like Absalom's, and if he had been obliged to save him- 
 self from being strangled by parting with all his hair." 
 
 " You should not jest on sacred subjects," answered the Baron 
 severely, and all were silent. No sooner was the repast ended 
 than Folko and Gabrielle, with grave and courteous salutation, 
 retired to their own apartments. 
 
180 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. XVI 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 After this time a great change took place in tho mode of living" 
 jf the inhabitants of the castle. Those two bright beings, Folko 
 and Gabrielle, spent most part of the day in their apartments, 
 and when they appeared below, their intercourse with Biorn and 
 Sintram was marked b}'- a grave dignified reserve on their part 
 and by humility mixed with fear on that of their hosts Never- 
 theless, Biorn could not endure the thought of his guests seek- 
 ing shelter in any other knight's abode. Once that Folko said a 
 word on the subject, something like a tear stood in the wild man's 
 eye — his head sank, and he said in a scarcely audible voice : 
 It must be as you please : but I feel that if you go, I shall fly 
 to the caves and rocks in despair." 
 
 And thus they all remained together ; for the storm continued 
 to rage with such increasing fury over the sea, that no thought 
 of embarking could be entertained, and the oldest man in Nor- 
 way could not call to mind having witnessed such an autumn. 
 The priests examined all the Runic books, the bards looked 
 through their store of lays and tales, and yet they could find 
 no record of the like. Biorn and Sintram braved the tempest; 
 but during the few hours in which Folko and Gabrielle show- 
 ed themselves, the father and son were always in the castle, in 
 respectful attendance upon them ; the rest of the day — nay, 
 even frequently, the whole night long, they rushed through the 
 forests and over the rocks in pursuit of bears. Folko, the 
 while, summoned to his aid all the brightness of his fancy, all 
 the courtly grace he was endowed with, in ord'^r to make Ga- 
 brielle forget that she was living in this wild castlfi, and that the 
 long hard northern winter was setting in, which would keep her 
 there an ice-bound prisoner for many a month. Som^^t^mes he 
 would relate t'les of deep interest ; then he would play the 
 
cii\r. XVI. ] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 181 
 
 liveliest airs to induce Gabrielle to tread a measure with her 
 attendants ; then, again, handing his lute to one of the women, 
 he would himself take a part in the dance, never failing to ex- 
 press by his gestures his homage end devotion to his lady. 
 Another time he would have the spacious halls of the castle 
 prepared for his armed retainers to go through their warlike 
 exercises and trials of strength, and Gabrielle always adjudged 
 the reward to the conqueror. Folko often joined the circle of 
 combatants ; but always took care to deprive no one of the prize, 
 by confining his efforts merely to parrying the blows aimed at 
 him. The Norwegians, who stood around as spectators, used to 
 compare him to the demi-god Baldur, one of the heroes of, their 
 old traditions, who was wont to let the darts of. his companions 
 be all hurled against him, conscious that he was invulnerable, 
 and trusting in his own inherent strength. 
 
 At the close of one of these martial exercises, old Rolf ad- 
 vanced towards Folko, and beckoning him with an humble look, 
 he said softly : " They call you Baldur the brave, the good — 
 and they are right. But even the good and brave Baldur did 
 not escape death. Take heed to yourself" Folko looked at 
 him with surprise. " Not that I know of any treacherous 
 design against you," continued the old man ; " or that I can 
 even foresee the likelihood of any being formed. God forbid 
 that a Norwegian should feel such a fear. But when you 
 stand before me in all the brightness of your glory, the fleeting- 
 ness of everything earthly is brought strongly to my mind, and 
 I cannot refrain from saying, ' Take heed, noble baron ! oh, 
 take heed ! There is nothing, however great, which does not 
 come to an end.' " 
 
 " Those are wise and pious thoughts," replied Folko, calmly, 
 "and I will treasure them in my inmost heart." 
 
 The good Rolf spen: frequently some time with Folko and 
 Gabrielle, and seemed to form a connecting link between the 
 two widely-differing parties in the castle. For how could he 
 have ever forsaken his own Sintram ! It was only in their wild 
 hunting expeditions, when they had no regard to the storms and 
 
182 
 
 SINIRAM, 
 
 [chap. XVI. 
 
 tempests which were raging, that he no longer was able to fol- 
 low his young lord. 
 
 At length the icy reign of winter began in all its glory. 
 The season was sufficient of itself to prevent a return to Noi- 
 mandy being thought of, and therefore the storm which had 
 been raised by magical art, was lulled. The hills and valleys 
 shone brilliantly in their white attire of snow, and Folko used 
 sometimes, with skates on his feet, to draw his lady in a .tight 
 sledge over the glittering frozen lakes and streams. On the 
 other hand, the bear-hunts of the lord of the castle and his son 
 assumed a still more desperate and to them enjoyable asi.(ect. 
 
 About this time, — when Christmas was drawing near, and 
 Sintram was seeking to overpower his apprehensions of the 
 fearful dreams which were wont to trouble him then, by the 
 most daring expedition?, — about this time, Folko and Gabrielle 
 chanced to be standing together on one of the terraces of the 
 castle. The evening was mild ; the snow-clad fields were glow- 
 ing in the red light of the setting sun ; from below there were 
 heard men's voices sinsfino- song-s of ancient heroic times, while 
 they worked in the armourer's forge. At last the songs died 
 away, the beating of hammers ceased, and without the speakers 
 being visible, or there being any possibility of distinguishing 
 them by their voices, the following discourse was distinctly 
 heard : — 
 
 " Who is the bravest amongst all those whose race derives its 
 origin from our renowned land ?" 
 " It is Folko of Montfau?on." 
 
 " Rightly said ; but, tell me, is there any danger from which 
 i en this bold baron draws back ?" 
 
 " In truth there is one thing, — and we who have never Lft 
 Ncrway, face it quite willingly and joyfully." 
 
 « And that is ?" 
 
 " A bear-hunt in winter, over trackless plains of snow, down 
 frightful ice-covered precipices." 
 
 " Truly thou answerest aright, my comrade. He who knows 
 not how to flisten our skates on his feet, how to turn in them to 
 
CHAP. XVI.'' 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 163 
 
 the right or left at a moment's warning, he may he a valiant 
 knight in other respects, hut he had better keep away from our 
 hunting parties, and remain with his timid wife in her apart- 
 ments." At which the speakers were heard to laugh as if 
 well pleased, and then to betake themselves again to their ar- 
 mourers' work. 
 
 Folko stood long buried in thought. A glow beyond that of 
 the evening sky reddened his cheek. Gabrielle also remained 
 silent, revolving in her mind that for which she was unable to 
 find words. At last she took courage, and embracing her be- 
 loved, she said : " To-morrow you will go forth to hunt the 
 bear, will you not ? and you will bring the spoils of the chase 
 to your lady 
 
 The knight gave a joyful sign of assent ; and the rest of the 
 evening was spent in dances and music. 
 
184 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 ^CHAP. XVIl 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 " See, my noble lord," said Sintram the next nnrning, when 
 Folko had expressed his wish of going out w^ith him, " these 
 skates of ours give such wings to our course that we go down 
 the mountain-side more swiftly than the wind, and even in go- 
 ing up again we are too quick for any one to be able to pursue 
 us, and on the plains no horse can keep up w^ith us, and yet they 
 can only be worn with safety by those who are well practised. 
 It seems as though some strange spirit dwelt in them, which is 
 fearfully dangerous to any that have not learnt the manage- 
 ment of them in their childhood." 
 
 Folko answered somewhat proudly : " Do you suppose that 
 this is the first time that I have been amongst your mountains ? 
 Years ago I have joined in this sport, and, thank Heaven ! there 
 is no knightly exercise which does not speedily become familiar 
 to me." 
 
 Sintram did not venture to make any further objections, and 
 stijl less did old Biorn. They both felt relieved when they saw 
 with what skill and ease Folko buckled the skates on his feet, 
 without suffering any one to assist him. This day they hunted 
 up the mountain, in pursuit of a fierce bear which had often 
 before escaped from them. Before long it was necessary that 
 they should separate into different parties, and Sintram offered 
 himself as companion to Folko, who, touched by the humble 
 manner of the youth, and his devotion to him, forgot all that 
 had disturbed him latterly in the pale, altered being before him, 
 and agreed heartily to his proposal. As now they continued to 
 climb higher and higher up the mountain, and saw from many 
 a giddy height the rocks and crags below them looking like a 
 vast expanse of sea suddenly turned into ice whilst tossed by a 
 violent tempest the noble Montfau^on drew his breath more 
 
Cli\P. XVII.] 
 
 AND lilo COMPANIONS. 
 
 185 
 
 freely. He poured forth war-songs and love-songs in the clear 
 mountain air, and the startled echoes repeated from rock to 
 rock the lays of his southern home. He sprang lightly from 
 one precipice to another, making use skilfully of the staff with 
 which he was furnished for support, and turning now to the 
 right, now to the left, as the fancy seized him, so that Sintram 
 was fain to exchange his former anxiety for a wondering ad- 
 ipiiration, and the hunters, whose eyes had never been taken off 
 the baron, burst forth with loud applause, proclaiming far and 
 wide this fresh proof of his prowess. 
 
 The good fortune which usually accompanied Folko's deeds 
 of arms, seemed still unwilling to leave him. After a short 
 search, he and Sintram found distinct traces of the savage ani- 
 mal they were pursuing, and with beating hearts they followed 
 the track so swiftly, that even a winged enemy would have been 
 unable to escape from them. But the creature whom they 
 sought did not attempt a flight — he lay sulkily ensconced in u 
 cavern near the top of a steep precipitous rock, infuriated by 
 the shouts of the hunters, and only waiting in his lazy fury 
 for some one to be bold enough to climb up to his retreat, that 
 he might tear him to pieces. Folko and Sintram had now 
 reached the foot of this rock, the rest of the hunters being 
 dispersed over the far-extending plain. The track led the 
 two companions up the rock, and they set about climbing on 
 the opposite sides of it, that they might be the more sure of not 
 missing their prey. Folko reached the lonely topmost point 
 first, and cast his eyes around. A wide, boundless tract of 
 country, covered with untrodden snow, was spread before 
 him, melting in the distance into the lowering clouds of the 
 gloomy evening sky. He almost thought that he must have 
 missed the traces of the fearful animal ; when close beside 
 him from a cleft in the rock, issued a long- g-rowl. and a huo-e 
 black bear appeared on the snow, standing on its hind legs, and 
 with glaring eyes it advanced towards the baron. Sintram the 
 while was struggling in vain to make his way up the rock 
 
186 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [CHAP. XXli. 
 
 against the masses of snow which were continually slipping 
 down upon him. 
 
 Rejoicing in an adventure such as he had not encountered 
 for yearSj and which now appeared new to him, Folko of Mont- 
 fau^on levelled his hunting spear, and awaited the attack of the 
 wild beast. He suffered it to approach so near that its fearful 
 claws were almost upon him ; then he made a thrust, and the 
 spear was buried deep in the bear's breast. But the furious 
 beast still pressed on with a fierce growl, kept up on its hind 
 legs by the cross iron of the spear, and the knight was forced 
 to use all his strength not to lose his footing and to resist the 
 SAvage assault ; and the whole time there was the grim face of 
 the bear all covered with blood, close before him, and sounding 
 in his ear was its deep savage growl, which told of its thirst for 
 blood, even in the midst of its death-struggles. At length the 
 bear's resistance grew weaker, and the dark blood streamed 
 upon the snow; one powerful thrust hurled him backwards 
 over the edge of the precipice. At the same instant, Sintram 
 stood by the baron of Montfau9on. Folko said, drawing a deep 
 breath : " But I have not yet the prize in my hands, and have 
 it I must, since fortune has given me a claim to it. Look, one 
 of my skates seems to be out of order. Do you think, Sintram, 
 that it is in such a state as not to hinder me in sliding down 
 to the foot of the precipice ?" 
 
 " Let me go instead," said Sintram. " I will bring you the 
 head and the claws of the bear." 
 
 " A true knight," replied Folko with some displeasure, " never 
 leaves his work to be finished by another. What I ask is, 
 whether my skate is still fit for use ?" 
 
 As Sintram bent down to look, and was on the point of say- 
 ing " No !" he suddenly heard a voice close to him, saying : 
 " Why, yes ! to be sure ; there is no doubt about it," 
 
 Folko thought that Sintram had spoken, and darted off with 
 the swiftness of an arrow, whilst his companion looked up in 
 great surprise. The abhorred features of the Little Master 
 met his eyes. As he was going to address him with angry 
 
CHAP. XVM.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 187 
 
 words, he heard the sound of the baron's fearful fall down the 
 precipice, and he stood still in silent horror. There was a 
 breathless silence also in the abyss below. 
 
 " Now, why do you delay ?" said the Little Master, after a 
 pause. " He is dashed to pieces. Go back to the castle, and 
 take the fair Helen to yourself" 
 
 Sintram shuddered. Then his detestable companion began 
 to extol Gabrielle's charms in such glowing, deceiving words, 
 that the heart of the youth swelled with a torrent of emotions 
 he had never before known. He only thought of him who was 
 now lying at the foot of the rock as of an obstacle removed from 
 his way to Paradise ; he turned towards the castle. 
 
 But a cry was heard below : " Help ! help ! my comrade ! I 
 am yet alive, but I am sorely wounded." 
 
 Sintram's will was changed, and he called to the baron : " I 
 am coming." 
 
 But the Little Master said : " Nothing can be done to help 
 king Menelaus ; and the fair Helen knows it already. She 
 is only waiting for knight Paris to comfort her." And with 
 detestable craft he wove in that tale with what was actually 
 happening, bringing in the most highly wrought praises of the 
 lovely Gabrielle ; and alas ! the blinded youth barkened to him, 
 and fled away ! Again he heard far off the baron's voice call- 
 ing to him : " Knight Sintram, knight Sintram, you on whom I 
 bestowed that noble order, haste to me and help me ! The 
 she-bear and her whelps will be upon me, and I cannot use my 
 right arm! knight Sintram, knight Sintram, haste to help 
 me!" 
 
 His cries were overpowered by the furious speed with which 
 the two were carried along on their skates, and by the evil 
 words of the Little Master, who was mocking at the late proud 
 bearing of king Menelaus towards the miserable Sintram. At 
 last he shouted : " Good luck to you, she-bear ! good luck to 
 your whelps ! There is a glorious meal for you ! Now you 
 will destroy the fear of Heathendom, him at whose name the 
 Moorish women weep, the mighty Baron of Montfau9on. Nevei 
 
188 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. x\n. 
 
 again, oh ! dainty knight, will you shout at the head of your 
 troops, ' Mountjoy St. Denys !' " But scarce had this holj 
 name passed the lips of the Little Master, than he set up a 
 howl of anguish, writhing himself with horrible contortions, and 
 wringing his hands, and he ended by disappearing in a storm 
 of snow which then arose. 
 
 Sintram planted his staff firmly in the ground, and stopped. 
 How strangely did the wide expanse of snow, the distant moun- 
 tains rising above it. and the dark green fir woods, — how 
 strangely did they all look at him in cold reproachful si- 
 lence ! He felt as if he must sink under the weight of his 
 sorrow and his guilt. The bell of a distant hermitage came 
 floating sadly over the plain. With a burst of tears he ex- 
 claimed, as the darkness grew thicker around him: "My mo- 
 ther ! my mother ! I had once a beloved tender mother, and 
 she said I was a good child !" A ray of comfort came to him 
 as if brought on an angel's wing ; perhaps Montfaufon was not 
 yet dead ! and he flew like lightning along the path which led 
 back to the steep rock. When he got to the fearful place, he 
 stooped and looked anxiously down the precipice. The moon 
 which had just risen in full majesty helped him with her light. 
 The knight of Montfaufon, pale and covered with blood, was 
 supporting himself on one knee, and leaning against the rock — 
 his right arm, which had been crushed in his fall, hung power- 
 less at his side ; it was plain that he had not been able to draw 
 his good sword out of the scabbard. But, nevertheless, he was 
 keeping the bear and her young ones at bay by his bold threat- 
 ening looks, so that they only crept round him, growling angri- 
 ly ; every moment ready for a fierce attack, but as often driven 
 back affrighted at the majestic air by which he conquered even 
 when defenceless. 
 
 " Oh ! what a knight would here have perished !" groaned 
 Sintram, "and through whose guilt?" At that instant his spear 
 flew with so true an aim that the bear fell weltering in her 
 blood ; the young ones ran away howling. 
 
 The baron looked up with surprise. His countenance beam 
 
CHAP. XVII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 189 
 
 ed as the light of the moon fell upon it, with a grave and stern, 
 yet mild expression, like some angelic vision. He made a sign 
 to Sintram to come to him, and the youth slid down the side of 
 the precipice, full of anxious haste. He was going to attend to 
 the wounded knight, but Folko said : " First cut off the head 
 and claws of the bear which I slew. I promised to bring the 
 spoils of the chase to my lovely Gabrielle, Then come to me, 
 and bind up my wounds. My right arm is broken." Sintraia 
 obeyed the baron's commands. When the tokens of victory had 
 been secured, and the broken arm bound up, Folko desired the 
 youth to help him back to the castle. 
 
 "Oh Heavens!" said Sintram in a low voice, "if I dared to 
 look in your face ! or only knew how to come near you !" 
 
 You were indeed going on in an evil course," said Mont- 
 faufon, gravely ; " but how could we, any of us, stand before 
 God, did we not bring repentance with us ! Anyhow you have 
 now saved my life, and let that thought cheer your heart." 
 
 The youth with tenderness and strength supported "-.he baron'a 
 left arm, and they both went their way silently in the moon- 
 light 
 
190 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap, sviu 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Sounds of wailing were heard from the castle as they ap 
 proached, the chapel was solemnly lighted up , within it 
 knelt Gabrielle, lamenting for the death of the knight of Mont- 
 fau^on. 
 
 But ho w quickly was the scene changed, when the noble 
 baron, pale indeed, and wounded, yet having escaped the 
 dangers that beset his life, stood smiling at the entrance of the 
 holy building, and said in a low, gentle voice : " Look up, 
 Gabrielle, and be not affrighted ; for by the honour of my race, 
 your knight still lives." Oh! with what joy did Gabrielle's 
 eyes sparkle, as she turned to her knight and then raised them 
 again to heaven ; the tears which still streamed from them 
 having now their source in the deep joy of thankfulness ! With 
 the help of two pages, Folko knelt down beside her, and they 
 both offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for their present 
 happiness. 
 
 When they all left the chapel, the wounded knight being 
 tenderly supported by his lady, Sintram was standing without 
 in the darkness, himself as gloomy as the night, and like a bird 
 of the night shunning the sight of man. Yet he came trembling 
 forward into the torch-light, laid the bear's head and claws at 
 the feet of Gabrielle, and said : " The noble Folko of Pvlont- 
 fau9on presents the spoils of to-day's chase to his lady." 
 
 The Norwegians burst forth with shouts of joyful surprise 
 at the stranger knight, who in the very first hunting expedition 
 had slain the most fearful and dangerous beast of their moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Then Folko looked around with a smile as he said : " And 
 now none of you must jeer at me, if I stay at home for a short 
 time with my timid wife." 
 
CHAP. XVIII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 191 
 
 Those who the day before had talked together in the armour- 
 er's forge, came out from the crowd, and bowing low, they re- 
 plied : " Noble baron, who could have thought that there was 
 no knightly exercise in the whole world, in which you would 
 not show yourself far above all other men ?" 
 
 " The pupil of old Sir Hugh may be somewhat trusted," an- 
 swered Folko kindly. " But now, you bold northern warriors, 
 bestow some praises also on my deliverer, who saved me from 
 the claws of the she-bear, when I was lying under the rock 
 wounded by my fall." 
 
 He pointed to Sintram, and the general shout was again 
 raised, and old Rolf, his eyes dim with tears of joy, bent his 
 head over his foster-son's hand. But Sintram drew back shud- 
 dering. 
 
 " Did you but know," he said, " whom you see before you, 
 all your spears would be aimed at my heart ; and perhaps that 
 would be the best thing that could befal me. But I spare the 
 honour of my father and of his race, and for this time I will 
 not make a confession. Only this much must you hear, noble 
 warriors." 
 
 " Young man," interrupted Folko, with a reproving look, 
 " already again so wild and fierce? I desire that you will hold 
 your peace about your dreaming fancies." 
 
 Sintram was silenced for a moment, but hardly had Folko 
 begun to move towards the steps of the castle, than he cried 
 out : " Oh no, no, noble wounded knight, stay yet awhile ; I 
 will serve you in everything that your heart can desire ; but 
 this once I cannot obey you. Brave warriors, you must and 
 shall know so much as this : I am no longer worthy to live un- 
 der the same roof with the noble baron of Montfau^on and his 
 angelic lady Gabrielle. And you, my aged father, farewell : 
 take no further heed of me. I intend to live in the stone for- 
 tress on the rocks of the Moon, until a change of some kind 
 comes over me." 
 
 There was that in his way of speaking against which no one 
 dared to urge any opposition, not even Folko himself. 
 
192 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. XVIII. 
 
 The wild Biorn bowed his head humbly, and said : " Do ac- 
 cording to your pleasure, my poor son ; for I much fear that 
 you are right." 
 
 Then Sin tram walked solemnly and silently through the cas- 
 tle gate, followed by the good Rolf Gabrieile led her ex- 
 hausted lord up to their apartments. 
 
CHAP. XIX.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 193 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 That was a mournful journey on which the youth and his aged 
 foster-father went towards the Rocks of the Moon, through the 
 wild tangled paths of the snow-covered vallies. Rolf from time 
 to time sang some verses of hymns, in which comfort and peace 
 were promised to the penitent sinner, and Sintram thanked him 
 for them with looks of grateful sadness. Otherwise neither of 
 them spoke a word. 
 
 At length, when the dawn of day was approaching, Sintram 
 broke silence by saying : " Who are those two, sitting yonder 
 by the frozen stream ? A tall man, and a little one. Their 
 own wild hearts must have driven them also forth into the wil- 
 derness. Rolf, do you know them ? The sight of them makes 
 me shudder." 
 
 Sir," answered the old man, "your disturbed mind deceives 
 you. Where you are looking, there stands a lofty fir-tree, and 
 the old weather-beaten stump of an oak, half-covered with snow, 
 which gives them a somewhat strange appearance. There are 
 no men sitting yonder." 
 
 " But, Rolf, look there ! Look again carefully ! Now they 
 move, they whisper together." 
 
 " Sir, the morning breeze moves the branches, and whistles 
 in the sharp pine-leaves, and in the yellow oak-leaves, and rus- 
 tles the crisp snow." 
 
 " Rolf, now they are both coming towards us. Now they 
 are standing before us ; they are quite close." 
 
 " Sir, it is we who get nearer to them as we walk on, and 
 the setting moon throws such long gaint-like shadows over the 
 plain." 
 
 " Good evening I" said a hollow voice, and Sintram knew it 
 14 
 
194 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 I^CHAP. XIX. 
 
 was the crazy pilgrim, near to whom stood the malignant dwarf, 
 looking more hideous than ever. 
 
 " You are right, Sir knight^" whispered Rolf, as he drew back 
 behind Sintram, and made the sign of the Cross on his breast 
 and forehead. 
 
 The bewildered youth, however, advanced towards the two 
 figures, and said : " You have always taken wonderful pleasure 
 in being my companions. What do you expect will come of it? 
 And do you choose to go now with me to the stone fortress? 
 There 1 will tend you, poor pale pilgrim ; and as to you, fright- 
 ful Master, most evil dwarf, I will make you shorter by th»'. 
 head, to reward you for your deeds yesterday." 
 
 " That would be a fine thing," sneered the Little Master ; 
 " and perhaps you imagine that you would be doing a great 
 service to the whole world? And indeed, who knows? Some- 
 thing might be gained by it ! Only, poor wretch, you cannot 
 do it." 
 
 The pilgrim meantime was waving his pale head to and fro 
 thoughtfully, saying : " I believe truly, that you would willing- 
 ly have me, and I would go to you willingly, but I may not 
 yet. Have patience awhile ; you will yet surely see me come, 
 but at a distant time, and, first, we must again visit your father 
 together, and then also you will learn to call me by my right 
 name, my poor friend." 
 
 " Beware of disappointing me again !" said Little Master to 
 the pilgrim in a threatening voice ; but he, pointing with his 
 long, shrivelled hand towards the sun, which was just now 
 rising, said : " Stop either that sun or me, if you can !" 
 
 Then the first rays fell on the snow, and Little Master ran 
 down a precipice, scolding as he went, but the pilgrim w^alked 
 on in the bright beams, calmly and with great solemnity, to- 
 wards a neighboring castle on the mountain. It was not long 
 before its chapel bell was heard tolling for the dead. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake," whispered the good Rolf to his knight, 
 " for Heaven's sake, Sir Sintram, what kind of companions 
 have you here ? One of them cannot bear the light of God's 
 
CHAP. XIX.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 195 
 
 blessed sun, and the other has no sooner set a foot in a dwelling, 
 than the passing-bell is heard from thence. Could he have been 
 a murderer?" 
 
 " I do not think that," said Sintram. " He seemed to me the 
 best of the two. But it is a strange wilfulness of his not to 
 come with me. Did I not invite him kindly? I believe that 
 he can sing well, and he should have sung to me some gentle 
 lullaby. Since my mother has lived in a cloister, no one sings 
 lullabies to me any more." 
 
 At this tender recollection his eyes were bedewed with tears. 
 But he did not himself know what he had said besides, for there 
 was wildness and confusion in his spirit. They arrived at the 
 Rocks of the Moon, they mounted up to the stone fortress. The 
 castellan, an old, gloomy man, who was all the more devoted 
 to the j^oung knight from his dark melancholy and wild deeds, 
 hastened lo lower the drawbridge. Greetings were exchanged 
 in silence, and in silence did Sintram enter, and those joyless 
 gates closed with a crash behind the future recluse. 
 
196 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. XX. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 YeSj truly, a recluse, or at least something like it, did poor 
 Sintram now become! For towards the time of the appi cach- 
 ing Christmas Festival his fearful dreams came over him, and 
 seized him so fiercely, that all the esquires and servants fled 
 with shrieks out of the castle, and would never venture back 
 again. No one remained with him except Rolf and the old cas- 
 tellan. After a while, indeed, Sintram became calm, but he 
 went about looking so pallid and subdued, that he might have 
 been taken for a wandering corpse. No comforting of the 
 good Rolf, no devout soothing lays, were of any avail ; and 
 the castellan, with his fierce, scarred features, his head almost 
 entirely bald from a huge sword-cut, his stubborn silence, 
 seemed like a yet darker shadow of the miserable knight. Rolf 
 often thought of going to summon the holy chaplain of Dron- 
 theim, but how could he have left his lord alone with the 
 gloomy castellan, a man who at all times raised in him a secret 
 horror. Biorn had long had this wild strange warrior in his 
 service, and honoured him on account of his unshaken fidelity 
 and his fearless courage, without the knight or any one else 
 knowing whence the castellan came, or indeed exactly who he 
 was. Very few people knew by what name to call him, but 
 that was the more needless since he never entered into discourse 
 with any one. He was the castellan of the stone fortress on the 
 Rocks of the Moon, and nothing more. 
 
 Rolf committed his deep heartfelt cares to the merciful God, 
 trusting that He would soon come to his aid, and the merciful 
 God did not fail him. For on Christmas eve the bell at the 
 drawbridge sounded, and Rolf, looking over the battlements, saw 
 the chaplain of Drontheim standing there, with a companion 
 indeed that surprised him, — for close beside him appeared the 
 
CHAP. XX.] AND HIS COMPANIONS. 197 
 
 crazy pilgrim, and the dead men's bones on his dark mantle 
 shone very strangely in the glimmering star-light ; but the sight 
 of the chaplain filled the good Rolf too full of joy to leave 
 room for any doubt in his mind — for, thought he, whoever 
 comes with him^ cannot but be welcome ! And so he let them 
 both in with respectful haste, and ushered them up to the hall 
 where Sintram, pale and with a fixed look, w^as sitting under 
 the light of one flickering lamp, Rolf was obliged to support 
 and assist the crazy pilgrim up the stairs, for he was quite be- 
 numbed with cold. 
 
 " I bring you a greeting from your mother," said the chap- 
 lain, as he came in, and immediately a sweet smile passed over 
 the young knight's countenance, and its deadly pallidness gave 
 nlace to a bright, soft glow. 
 
 " Oh Heaven !" murmured he, " does then my mother yet 
 live, and does she care to know anything about me ?" 
 
 " She is endowed with wonderful presentiment of the future," 
 1 eplied the chaplain, " and all that you ought either to do or 
 to leave undone is pictured in various ways in her mind, dur- 
 ing a half-waking trance, but with most faithful exactness. 
 Now she knows of your deep sorrow, and she sends me, the 
 Father Confessor of her convent, to comfort you, but at the 
 same time to warn you, for, as she affirms, and as I am also 
 inclined to think, many strange and heavy trials lie before 
 you." 
 
 Sintram bowed himself towards the chaplain with his arms 
 crossed over his breast, and said with a gentle smile : " Much 
 have I been favoured, more, a thousand times more, than 1 
 could have dared to hope in my best hours, by this greeting 
 from my mother, and your visit, reverend sir ; and all after fall- 
 ing more fearfully low than I had ever fallen before. The mercy 
 of the Lord is great, and how heavy soever may be the weight 
 and punishment which he may send, I trust with his grace to 
 be able to bear it." 
 
 Just then the door opened, and the castellan came in with a 
 torch in his hand, the red glare of which made his face look 
 
198 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 :he colour of blood. He cast a terrified glance at the crazy 
 pilgrim, who had just sunk back in a swoon, and was supported 
 on his seat and tended by Rolf; then he stared with astonish- 
 ment at the chaplain, and at last murmured : " A strange meet- 
 ing ! I believe that the hour for confession and reconciliation is 
 now arrived." 
 
 " I believe so, too," replied the priest, who had heard his low 
 whisper ; " this seems to be truly a day rich in grace and peace. 
 That poor man yonder, whom I found half frozen by the way, 
 would make a full confession to me at once, before he followed 
 me to a place of shelter. Do as he has done, my dark-browed 
 warrior, and delay not your good purpose for one instant." 
 
 Thereupon he left the room with the castellan, who gave a 
 sign of compliance, but he turned back to say : " Sir knight, 
 and your esquire ! take good care the while of my sick 
 charge." 
 
 Sintram and Rolf did according to the chaplain's desire, and 
 when at length their cordials made the pilgrim open his eyes 
 once again, the young knight said to him with a friendly smile 
 " Do you see ? you are come to visit me after all. Why did 
 you refuse me when a few nights ago I asked you so earnestly 
 to come ? Perhaps I may have spoken wildly and hastily. Did 
 that scare you away ?" 
 
 A sudden expression of fear came over the pilgrim's counter 
 nance, but soon he again looked up at Sintram with an air of 
 gentle humility, saying : " Oh my dear lord, I am most entirely 
 devoted to you — only never speak to me of former passages be- 
 tween you and me. I am terrified whenever you do it. For, 
 my lord, either I am mad and have forgotten all that is past, or 
 that being has met you in the wood, whom I look upon as my 
 all-powerful twin-brother." 
 
 Sintram laid his hand gently on the pilgrim's mouth, as he 
 answered : " Say nothing more about that matter. I most will- 
 ingly promise to be silent." 
 
 Neither he nor old Rolf could understand what appeared to 
 them so awful in the whole matter ; but both shuddered. 
 
CHAP. XX.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 199 
 
 After a short pause, the pilgrim said : " I would rather sing 
 you a songj a soft, comforting song. Have you not a lute 
 here ?" 
 
 Rolf fetched one, and the pilgrim, half-raising himself on the 
 eouch, sang the following words : — 
 
 When death is coming near, 
 When thy heart shrinks in feeir, 
 
 And thy Umbs fail, 
 Then raise thy hands and pray 
 To Him who smooths thy way 
 
 Through the dark vale. 
 
 Seest thou the eastern dawn, 
 Hcar'st thou in the red morn 
 
 The angel's song ? 
 O lift thy drooping head 
 Thou who in gloom and dread 
 
 Hast lain so long. 
 
 Death comes to set thee free, 
 O meet him cheerily 
 
 As thy true friend. 
 And all thy fears shall cease. 
 And in eternal peace 
 
 Thy penance end. 
 
 " Amen," said Sintram and Rolf, folding their hands ; and 
 whilst the last chords of the lute still resounded, the chaplain 
 and the castellan came slowly and gently into the room. " I 
 bring a precious Christmas gift,"' said the priest. " After many 
 sad years, hope of reconciliation and peace of conscience are 
 returning to a noble, but long dis-turbed mind. This concerns 
 you. beloved pilgrim ; and do you, my Sintram, with a joyful 
 tiust in God, take encouragement and example from it." 
 
 "More than twenty years ago," began the castellan at a sign 
 from the chaplain, " more than twenty years ago I was a stout 
 and active herdsman, and I drove my flock up the mountains. 
 A young knight followed me, whom they called Weigand the 
 Slender. He wanted to buy of me my fiivourite little lamb 
 for his fair bride, and offered me much red gold for it I 
 
soo 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap, xx 
 
 sturdily refused. The over-boldness of youth carried us both 
 away. A stroke of his sword hurled me senseless down the 
 precipice." 
 
 " Not killed ?" asked the pilgrim in a scarce audible voice. 
 
 " I am no ghost," replied the castellan somewhat morosely ; 
 and then after an earnest look from the priest he continued 
 more humbly : " I recovered slowly and in solitude, with the 
 help of remedies which were easily found by me, a herdsman, 
 in our productive vallies. When I came back into the world, 
 no man knew me with my scarred face, and my head which 
 had become bald. I heard a report going through the country, 
 that, on account of this deed of his. Sir Weigand the Slender 
 had been rejected by his fair betrothed Verena, and how he 
 had pined away, and she had wished to retire into a convent, 
 but her father had persuaded her to marry the great knight 
 Biorn. Then there came a fearful thirst for vengeance into 
 my heart, and I disowned my name and my kindred and my 
 home, and entered the service of the mighty Biorn as a 
 strange wild man, in order that Weigand the Slender should 
 always be deemed a murderer, and that I might feed on his 
 anguish. So have I fed upon it for all these long years. I 
 have revelled frightfully in his self-imposed banishment, in 
 his cheerless return home, in his madness. But to-day" — and 
 hot tears gushed from his eyes — "but to-day God has broken 
 the hardness of my heart ; and dear Sir Weigand, look upon 
 yourself no more as a murderer, and say that you will forgive 
 me, and pray for him who has done you so fearful an injury, 
 
 and" Sobs choked his words. He fell at the feet of the 
 
 pilgrim, who with tears of joy pressed him to his heart, in 
 token of Iv^rgiveness. 
 
CHAP XXI ] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The joy of this hour passed from its first overpowering bright- 
 ness, to the calm, thoughtful aspect of daily life, and Weiganil, 
 now restored to health, laid aside the mantle with dead men's 
 bones, saying: "I had chosen for my penance to carry these 
 fearful remains about with me, in the idea that perhaps some 
 of them might have belonged to him whom I have murdered. 
 Therefore I used to search for them round about in the deep beds 
 of the mountain torrents, and in the high nests of the eagles 
 and vultures. And while I was searching I sometimes — could 
 it have been only an illusion ? — I seemed to meet a being who 
 was very like myself, but far, far more powerful, and yet still 
 paler and more haggard." — An imploring look from Sintram 
 stopped the flow of his words. With a gentle smile, Weigand 
 bowed towards him, and said : " You know now all the deep, 
 unutterably deep sorrow which preyed upon me. My fear of 
 you, and my yearning love for you, are no longer without ex- 
 planation to your kind heart. For, dear youth, though you 
 may be like your fearful father, you have also the kind gentle 
 heart of your mother, and its reflection brightens your pallid, 
 stern features, like the glow of a morning sky which lights up 
 ice-covered mountains and valleys. But alas ! how long have 
 you lived alone even amidst your fellow-creatures ! And how 
 long is it since you have seen your mother, my dearly-loved 
 Sintram ?" 
 
 " I feel, too, as though a spring were gushing up in the barren 
 wilderness of my heart," replied the youth ; "and I should per- 
 chance be altogether restored, could 1 but keep you long with 
 me, and weep with you, dear friend. But I have that within 
 me which sa3:'s that you will very soon be taken from me." 
 
 "I believe, indeed," said the pilgrim, "that my song the 
 
202 SINTRAM, 
 
 Other day was very nearly my last, and that it contained a pre- 
 diction full soon to he accomplished in me.* But, as ♦he soul of 
 man is always like the thirsty ground, the more blessings God 
 has bestowed on us, the more earnestly do we look out for new 
 ^ ones, so would I crave for one more ere my life closes, as I would 
 fain hope, in happiness. Yet indeed it cannot be granted me," 
 added he with a faltering voice, " for I feel myself too utterly 
 unworthy of such high grace." 
 
 " But it will be granted !" said the chaplain joyfully. He 
 that humbleth himself shall be exalted, and I fear not to take 
 him who is now cleared from the stain of murder, to receive a 
 farewell from the holy and forgiving countenance of Verena." 
 
 The pilgrim stretched both his hands up towards Heaven, and 
 an unspoken thanksgiving seemed to pour from his beaming 
 eyes, and to brighten the smile that played on his lips. 
 
 Sintram looked sorrowfully on the ground, and sighed gently 
 to himself : " Alas ! happy he who dared go also !" 
 
 " My poor, good Sintram," said the chaplain in a tone of the 
 softest kindness, " I understand you well, but the time is not yet 
 come. The powers of Evil will again raise up their wrathful 
 heads within you, and Verena must check both her own and 
 your longing desires, until all is pure in your spirit as in her's. 
 Comfort yourself with the thought that God looks mercifully 
 upon you, and that the joy so earnestly sought for, will not fail 
 to come — if not here, most assuredly beyond the grave." 
 
 But the pilgrim, as though awaking out of a trance, rose with 
 energy from his seat, and said : " Do you please to come forth 
 with me, reverend chaplain ? Before the sun appears in the 
 heavens, we could reach the c-onvent-gates, and I should not be 
 far from Heaven." 
 
 In vain did the chaplain and Rolf remind him of his w^eak- 
 iiess : he smiled, and said that there could be no question about 
 it, and he girded himself, and tuned the lute which he had 
 asked leave to take with him. His decided manner overcame 
 all opposition, almost without words: and the chaplain had 
 already prepared himself for the journey, when the pilgrim 
 looked with much emotion at Sintram, who, oppressed with a 
 
CUaP. XXI.J 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 203 
 
 strange weariness, had sunk half asleep on a couch, and he 
 said : " Wait a moment. I know that he wants mc to give him 
 a soft lullaby." The pleased smile of the youth seemed to say 
 yes, and the pilgrim, touching the strings with a light hand, 
 sang these words : — 
 
 " Sleep peacefully, dear boy, 
 Thy mother sends the song 
 That whispers round thy couch, 
 
 To lull thee all night long. 
 In silence and afar, 
 
 For thee she ever prays, 
 And longs once more in fondness 
 Upon thy face to gaze. 
 
 And when thy waking cometh, 
 
 Then in thy every deed. 
 In all that may betide thee, 
 
 Unto her words give heed. 
 O listen for her voice. 
 
 If it be yea or nay, 
 And though temptation meet thee, 
 
 Thou shalt not miss the way. 
 
 If thou canst listen rightly, 
 
 And nobly onward go. 
 Then pure and gentle breezes 
 
 Around thy cheeks shall bbw. 
 Then on thy peaceful journey 
 
 Her blessing thou shalt feel, 
 And though from thee divided, 
 
 Her presence o'er thee steal 
 
 O safest, sweetest, comfort ! 
 
 O blest and living light ! 
 That strong in Heaven's power 
 
 All terrors put to flight I 
 Rest quietly, sweet child. 
 
 And may the gentle numbers 
 Thy mother sends to thee, 
 
 Waft peace unto thy slumbers." 
 
 Smtram fell into a deep sleep, smiling and breathing softly. 
 Rolf and the castellan remained by his bed, whilst the two 
 travellers pursued their way in the quiet starlight. 
 
SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. xxu. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The dawn had almost appeared, when Rolf, who had been 
 asleep, was awoke by low singing, and as he looked round, he 
 perceived with surprise that the sounds came from the lips of 
 the castellan, who said, as if in explanation : " So does Sir 
 Weigand sing at the convent-gates, and they are kindly opened 
 to him." Upon which old Rolf fell asleep again, uncertain 
 whether what had passed had been a dream or a reality. Af- 
 ter awhile the bright sunshine awoke him again, and when he 
 rose up, he saw the countenance of the castellan wonderfully 
 illuminated by the red light of the morning sun, and altogethei 
 those features, once so fearful, were shining with a soft, nay, 
 almost child-like mildness of expression. The mysterious man 
 seemed to be the while listening to the motionless air, as if he 
 were hearing a most pleasant discourse, and as Rolf was about 
 to speak, he made him a sign of entreaty to remain quiet, and 
 he continued in his eager, listening attitude. 
 
 At length he sank slowly and contentedly back in his seat, 
 whispering : " God be praised ! She has granted his last pray- 
 er ; he will be laid in the burial-ground of the convent, and now 
 he has forgiven me from the bottom of his heart. I can assure 
 you, that he is having a peaceful end." 
 
 Rolf did not dare ask a question, or awake his lord ; he felt 
 
 s if one already departed had spoken to him. 
 ■^he castellan remained still for a long space of time, always 
 J. a bright smile on his face. At last he raised himself up a 
 
 .ale, again listened, and said : " It is over. The sound of the 
 bells is very sweet. We have overcome. Oh! how soft and 
 easy does the good God make it to us !" And so it came to 
 pass. He stretched himself back as if weary, and his soul was 
 freed from his care-worn body. 
 
CHAP. XXII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 205 
 
 Rolf now gently awoke his young knight, and pointed to the 
 smiling face of the dead. And Sintram smiled too ; he and his 
 good esquire fell on their knees and prayed to God for the de- 
 parted spirit. Then they rose up, and bore the cold body to 
 the vaulted hall, and watched by it with holy candles until the 
 return of the chaplain. That the pilgrim would not come back 
 again, they very well knew. 
 
 Towards mid-day, accordingly, the chaplain returned alone. 
 He could scarcely do more than confirm what was already 
 known to them. He only added a comforting and hopeful 
 greeting from Sintram's mother to her son, and told that the 
 blissful Weigand had fallen asleep like a tired child, whilst 
 Verena with calm tenderness held a crucifix before him. 
 
 " And in eternal peace our penance end !" 
 
 sang Sintram gently to himself, and they prepared a last rest- 
 mg-place for the now so peaceful castellan, and laid him there- 
 in with all the due solemn rites. 
 
 The chaplain was obliged soon afterwards to depart, but 
 when bidding Sintram farewell, he again said kindly to him: 
 " Your dear mother knows assuredly, how gentle, and calm, 
 and good, you are now become !" 
 
S06 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 fcHAP. XXIU 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 In the castle of Sir Biorn of the Fieiy Eyes, Christmas eve had 
 not passed so brightly and happily, but yet there too all had 
 gone visibly according to God's will 
 
 Folko, at the entreaty of the lord of the castle, had allowed 
 Gabrielle to support him into the hall, and the three now sat at 
 the round stone-table whereon a sumptuous meal was laid. On 
 either side, there were long tables, at which sat the retainers of 
 both knights, in full armour, according to the custom of the 
 north. Torches and lamps lighted the lofty hall with an almost 
 dazzling brightness. 
 
 The deepest shades of night had now gathered around, and 
 Gabrielle softly reminded her wounded knight to withdraw. 
 Bi^n heard her and said : " You are right, fair lady, our knight 
 needs rest. Only let us first keep up one more old honourable 
 custom." 
 
 And at his sign four attendants brought in with pomp a great 
 boar's head, which looked as if cut out of solid gold, and placed 
 it in the middle of the stone-table. Biorn's retainers rose with 
 reverence, and took off their helmets ; Biorn himself did the 
 same. 
 
 " What means this ?" asked Folko very gravely. 
 
 " What your forefathers and mine have done on e'^ery Yule 
 Feast," answered Biorn. " We are going, to make vows on 
 the boar's head, and then pass the goblet round to their fulfil- 
 ment." 
 
 " We no longer keep what our ancestors called the Yule 
 Feast," said Folko ; " we are good Christians, and we keep holy 
 Christmas-tide." 
 
 " We may observe the one without leaving ofT the other," 
 answered Biorn. " I hold my ancestors too dear to forget their 
 
CHAP. XXIII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 207 
 
 knightly customs. Those who think otherwise may act ac- 
 cording to their wisdom, but that shall not hinder me. I swear 
 
 by the golden boards-head" And he stretched out his hand 
 
 towards it. 
 
 But Folko called out, " In the Name jf our Holy Saviour, 
 forbear. Where I am, and still have breath and will, none ce- 
 h-brate the rites of the wild heathens." 
 
 Biorn of the Fiery Eyes glared angrily at him. The men 
 of the two barons separated from each other, with a hollow 
 sound of rattling armour, and ranged themselves in two bodies 
 on either side of the hall, each behind its leader. Already here 
 and there helmets were fastened and visors closed. 
 
 " Bethink thee yet what hou art doing," said Biorn. " I was 
 about to vow an eternal union with the house of Montfaufon, 
 nay, even to bind myself to do it grateful homage, but if thou 
 disturbest me in the customs which have come to me from my 
 forefathers, look to thy safety, and the safety of all that is dear 
 to thee. My wrath no longer knows any bounds." 
 
 Folko made a sign to the pale Gabrielle to retire behind his 
 followers, saying to her : " Be of good cheer, my noble wife, 
 weaker Christians have borne, for the sake of God and of His 
 holy Church, greater dangers than now seem to threaten us* 
 Believe me, the lord of Montfau^on is not so easily overcome." 
 
 Gabrielle obeyed, something comforted by Folko's fearless 
 smile, but this smile inflamed yet more the fury of Biorn. He 
 again stretched out his hand towards the boar's head, as if 
 about to make some dreadful vow, when Folko snatched a 
 gauntlet of Biorn's off the table, with which he, with his un- 
 wound ed left arm, struck such a powerful blow on the gilt idol 
 that it fell crashing to the ground, shivered to pieces. Biorn 
 and his followers stood as if turned to stone. But soon swords 
 were grasped by armed hands, shields were taken down from 
 the walls, and an angry threatening murmur sounded through 
 the haL. 
 
 At a sign from Folko, one of his faithful retainers brought 
 him a battle-axe ; he swung it high in the aii with his power- 
 
208 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap, xxiu 
 
 ful left hand, and he stood looking- like an avenging angel aa 
 he spoke these words through the tumult with awful calmness: 
 " What seek ye. O ye deluded Northmen ? What would st 
 thou, sinful lord? You are indeed become heathens, and [ 
 hope to show you that it is not in my right arm alone that 
 God has put strength for victory. But if you can yet hear, 
 listen to my words. Biorn, on this same accursed, and now, 
 hy God's help, shivered boar's head, thou didst lay th} hand 
 when thou didst swear to sacrifice any mhabitants c! the 
 German towns that should fall into thy power. . And Gotthard 
 Lenz came, and Rudlieb came, driven on these shores by 
 the storm. What didst thou then do, savage Biorn ? What 
 did you do at his bidding, you who were keeping the Yule- 
 feast with him ? Try your fortune on me. The Lord will be 
 with me as he was with those holy men. To arms ! and — " 
 (he turned to his w^arriors,) — " let our battle-cry be Gotthard 
 and Rudlieb !" 
 
 Then Biorn let drop his drawn sword; then his followers 
 paused, and none among the Norwegians dared lift his eyes 
 from the ground. By degrees they one by one began to disap- 
 pear from the hall ; and at last Biorn stood quite alone opposite 
 to the baron and his followers. He seemed hardly aware that 
 he had been deserted, but he fell on his knees, stretched out 
 his shining sword, pointed to the broken boar's head, and said . 
 " Do with me as you have done w^ith that ; I deserve no better. 
 I ask but one favour, only one ; do not disgrace me, noble 
 baron, by seeking shelter in another castle while you remain in 
 Norway." 
 
 " I do not fear you," answered Folko, after some thought^ 
 " and as far as may be, I freely forgive you." Then he drew 
 the sign of the Cross over the wild form of Biorn, and left the 
 hall with Gabrielle. The retainers of the house of Montfaufon 
 followed him proudly and silently. 
 
 The high spirit of the fierce lord of the castle was now 
 quite broken, and he watched with increased humility every 
 look of Folko and Gabrielle. But they withdrew more and 
 
OUAP. XXIII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 209 
 
 more into the happy solitude of their own apartments, where 
 they enjoyed in the midst of the sharp winter a bright spring- 
 tide of love and happiness. The wounded condition of Folko 
 did not hinder the evening delights of songs and music and 
 poetry — but rather a new charm was added to them when the 
 tall, handsome knight leant on the arm of his delicate lady, 
 and they thus, changing as it were their deportment and du- 
 ties, walked slowly through the torch-lit halls, scattering their 
 kindly greetings like flowers among the crowds of men and 
 women. 
 
 All this time little or nothing was heard of poor Sintram. 
 The last wild outbreak of his father had increased the terror 
 with which Gabrielle remembered the self-accusations of the 
 youth ; and the more resolutely Folko kept silence, the more 
 did she fear that some dreadful mystery lay beneath. Indeed 
 a secret shudder came over the knight when he thought on 
 the pale, dark-haired youth. Sintram's repentance had bor- 
 dered on settled despair ; no one knew even what he was 
 doing in the fortress of Evil-Report on the Rocks of the Moon. 
 Strange rumours were brought by the retainers who had fled 
 from it, that the Evil Spirit had obtained complete power 
 over Sintram, that no man could stay with him, and that the 
 fidelity of the dark and mysterious castellan had cost him 
 his life. 
 
 Folko could hardly drive away the fearful imagination that 
 the lonely young knight was become a wicked magician. 
 
 And perhaps indeed evil spirits did flit about the banished Sin- 
 tram, but it was without his calling them up. In his dreams he 
 often saw the wicked enchantress Venus, in her golden chariot 
 drawn by winged cats, pass over the battlements of the stone 
 fortress, and heard her say, mocking him : " Foolish Sintram, 
 foolish Sintram, hadst thou but listened to the Little Master's 
 words ! Thou wouldst now be in Helen's arms, and the Rocks 
 of the Moon would be called the Rocks of Love, and the stone 
 fortress would be the garden of roses. Thou wouldst have 
 15 
 
210 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap, xxiri. 
 
 lost thy pale face and black tangled hair, — for thou art only 
 enchanted, dear youth, — and thine eyes would have beamed 
 more softly, and thy cheeks bloomed more freshly, and thy hair 
 would have been more golden than was that of prince Paris, 
 when men wondered at his beauty. Oh ! how Helen would 
 have loved thee !" Then she showed him, in a mirror, his own 
 figure kneeling before Gabrielle, who sank into his arm^s blush- 
 ing as the morning. When he awoke from such dreams, he 
 would seize in eager haste the sword and scarf which his lady 
 had given him, as a shipwrecked man seizes the plank which is 
 to save him, and while the hot tears fell upon it, he would mur- 
 jrnuT to himself: "There was indeed one hour in. my sad life 
 when I was happy, and deserved it." 
 
 Once he sprang up at midnight after one of these dreams, 
 only this time with a more thrilling horror than usual ; for it 
 had seemed to him that the features of the enchantress Venus 
 had changed towards the end of her speech, as she looked 
 down upon him with marvellous scorn, and she appeared to 
 him almost to assume those of the hideous Little Master. The 
 youth had no better means of calming his distracted mind than 
 to throw the sword and scarf of Gabrielle over his shoulders, 
 and to hasten forth under the solemn starry canopy of the win- 
 try sky. He walked in deep thought backwards and forwards 
 under the leafless oaks, and the snow-laden firs, which grew on 
 the high ramparts. 
 
 Then he heard a sorrowful cry of distress sound from the 
 moat ; it was as if some one were attempting to sing, but was 
 stopped by excess of grief Sintram exclaimed, " Who's 
 there ?" and all was still. When he was silent and again be- 
 gan his walk, the frightful groanings and moanings were heard 
 afresh, as if they came from a dying person. Sintram over- 
 came the horror which seemed to hold him back, and began in 
 o'ilence to climb down into the deep dry moat, which was cut 
 in the rock He was soon so low down that he could no longer 
 see the stars shining ; he saw a shrouded form move beneath 
 him, — and sliding rapidly down the remainder of the steep de* 
 
CHAP. XXIII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANTONS. 
 
 211 
 
 scent, he stood near the groaning figure ; it ceased its lamenta- 
 tions, and began to laugh like a maniac from beneath its long 
 folded female garments. 
 
 " Oh, ho, my comrade ! Oh, ho, my comrade! You are now 
 going a little too fast : well, well, it is all right : and see now, 
 you stand no higher than I, my pious valiant youth ! Take it 
 patiently, — take it patiently !" 
 
 " What do you want with me ? Why do you laugh ? why 
 do you weep ?" asked Sintram impatiently. 
 
 "I might ask you the same question," answered the dark 
 figure, " and you would be less able to answer me, than I to 
 answer you. Why do you laugh ? why do you weep ? — Poor 
 creature ! But I will show you a remarkable thing in your 
 fortress, of which you know nothing. Give heed !" 
 
 And the shrouded figure began to scratch and scrape at the 
 stones till a little iron door opened, and showed a long passage 
 which led into the deep darkness. 
 
 " Will you come with me ?" whispered the strange being : 
 •'it is the shortest way to your father's castle. Iq half an hour 
 we shall come out of this passage, and we shall be in your 
 beauteous lady's apartme^it. King Menelaus shall lie in a ma- 
 gic sleep, — leave that to me, — and then you will take the slight 
 delicate form in your arms, and you will bring' her to the Rocks 
 of the Moon ; so you will recover all that seemed lost by your 
 former wavering." 
 
 Then Sintram might have been seen to stagger. He was 
 shaken to and fro by the fever of passion and the stings of con- 
 science ; but at last, pressing the sword and scarf to his heart, 
 he cried out : "Oh! that fairest, most glorious hour of my life ! 
 [f I lose all other joys, I will hold fast that brightest hour !" 
 
 " A bright, glorious hour !" said the figure from under its veil, 
 lilve an evil echo. "Do you know whom you then conquered ? 
 A good old friend, who only showed himself so sturdy in order 
 to give you the glory of overcoming him. Will you convince 
 yourself ? Will you look ?" 
 
 The dark garments of the little figure flew open, and Sin* 
 
212 SINTRAM, [chap, xxui 
 
 tram saw the dwarf warrior in strange armour with the gold 
 horn on his helmet, and the curved spear in his hand ; the very- 
 same whom Sin tram thought he had slain on Niflung's Heath, 
 now stood before him, and grinned as he said : " You see, my 
 friend, every thing in the wide world is made up of dreams and 
 froth ; wherefore hold fast the dream which delights you, and 
 sip up the froth which refreshes you ! Hasten to that under- 
 ground passage, it leads up to your angel Helen. Or would 
 you first know your friend yet better ?" 
 
 His visor opened, and the hateful face of the Little Master 
 glared upon the knight. Sintram asked, as if in a dream : "Art 
 th ou also that wicked enchantress Venus ?" 
 
 " Something like her," answered the Little Master, laughing, 
 " or rather she is something like me. And if you will only get 
 disenchanted, and recover the beauty of prince Paris, — then, O 
 prince Paris," and his voice changed to an alluring song, " then, 
 
 prince Paris, I shall be fair like you !" 
 
 At this moment the good Rolf appeared above on the ram- 
 part ; a consecrated taper in his lantern shone down into the 
 moat, as he sought for the young knight. " In God's name. Sir 
 Sintram," he called out, " what have you to do there with the 
 spectre of him whom you slew on Niflung's Heath, and whom 
 
 1 never could bury ?" 
 
 " Do you see ? do you hear ?" whispered the Little Master, 
 and drew back into the darkness of the underground passage. 
 " The wise man up there knows me well. You see your heroic 
 feat came to nothing. Come, take the joys of life while you 
 may!" 
 
 But Sintram sprang back with a strong effort into the circle 
 of light made by the shining of the taper from above, and cried 
 out : " Depart from me, unquiet spirit ! I know well that I 
 bear a name on me, in which thou canst have no part." 
 
 Little Master rushed, in fear and rage, into the passage, and, 
 yelling, shut the iron door behind him. It seemed as if ho 
 could be still heard groaning and roaring. 
 
 Sintram climbed up the wall of the moat, and made a sign to 
 
CHAP. XXIII.J 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 213 
 
 his foster-father not to speak to him — he only said . One of 
 my best joys, yes, the very best, has been taken from me — but 
 by God's help, I am not yet wholly lost." 
 
 In the earliest light of the following morning, he and Rolf 
 stopped up the entrance to the perilous passage with huge 
 blocks of stone. 
 
814 SINTRAM, [chap. xxiv. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The long northern winter was at last ended ; the fresh, green 
 leaves rustled merrily in the woods, patches of soft moss ap 
 peared amongst the rocks, the valleys were clothed with grass, 
 the brooks sparkled, the snow melted from all but the highest 
 mountain-tops, and the bark which was ready to carry away 
 Folko and Gabriclle danced on the sunny waves. The baron, 
 who was now quite recovered, and strong and fresh as though 
 his health had sustained no injury, stood one morning on the 
 shore with his fair lady, and, full of glee at the prospect of re 
 turning to their home, the noble pair looked on with satisfaction 
 at their attendants, who were busied in the ship with prepara- 
 tions for the voyage. 
 
 Then said one of them, in the midst of a confused sound of 
 talking : " But what has appeared to me the most fearful and 
 the most strange thing in this northern land, is the stone fortress 
 on the Rocks of the Moon : I have never indeed been inside it, 
 but when I used to see it in our huntings, towering above the 
 tall fir-trees, there came a tightness over my breast, as if some 
 unearthly beings were dwelling in it. And a few weeks ago, 
 when the snow was yet lying hard in the valleys, I came una- 
 wares quite close upon the strange building. The young knight 
 Sintram was walking alone on the ramparts as the shades of 
 twilight stole on, like the spirit of a d-eparted knight, and he 
 drew from the lute which he carried such soft melancholy tones, 
 and he sighed so deeply and sorrowfully . . ." 
 
 The voice of the speaker was drowned in the noise of the 
 crowd, and as he also just then reached the ship with his pack- 
 age, which had been hastily fastened up, Folko and Gabrielle 
 could not hear the rest of his speech. But the fair lady looked 
 on her knight with eyes dim with tears, and sighed : " Is i not 
 
CHAP. XXIV.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 215 
 
 behind those mountains that the Rocks of the Moon lie ? The 
 unhappy Sintram makes me sad at heart." 
 
 " I understand you, sweet gracious lady, and the pure com- 
 passion which fills your heart," replied Folko, and instantly 
 ordered his swift-footed steed to be brought. He placed his 
 noble lady under the charge of his retainers, and leaping into 
 the saddle, he pursued his way, followed by the grateful smiles 
 of Gabrielle, along the valley which led towards the stontj fortress. 
 
 Sintram was seated near the drawbridge, touching the strings 
 of the lute, and shedding some tears on the golden chords, 
 almost exactly as Montfau^on's esquires had described him. 
 Suddenly a cloudy shadow passed over him, and he looked up, 
 expecting to see a flight of cranes in the air ; but the sky was 
 clear and blue. While the young knight was still wondering, 
 a long bright spear fell at his feet from a battlement of the 
 armoury turret. " Take it up, — make good use of it ! your 
 foe is near at hand ! Near also is the downfal of your cherish- 
 ed hopes of happiness !" Thus he heard it distinctly whis- 
 pered in his ear ; and it seemed to him that he saw the shadow 
 of the Little Master glide close by him to a neighbouring cleft in 
 the rock. But at the same time, also, a tall, gigantic, haggard 
 figure passed along the valley, in some measure like the departed 
 pilgrim, only much, very much larger, and he raised his long 
 bony arm with an awfully threatening air, then disappeared in 
 an ancient tomb. 
 
 At the very same instant Sir Folko of Montfauton came swift- 
 ly as the wind up the Rocks of the Moon, and he must have seen 
 something of those strange apparitions, for, as he stopped close 
 behind Sintram, he looked rather pale, and he asked low and 
 earnestly : " Sir knight, who are those two with whom you were 
 just now holding converse here ?" 
 
 " The good God knows," answered Sintram. " I know them 
 not." 
 
 " If the good God does but know !" cried Montfau9on. " But 
 I fear me that he knows you not, nor your deeds." 
 
 " You speak strangely harsh words," said Sintram. " Yet 
 ever since that evening of misery, — alas ! and even long before 
 
S16 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap XXIV 
 
 — I have no right to complain of anything you may say or do. 
 Dear sir, you may believe me, I know not those fearful com- 
 panions ; I call them not ; and I know not what terrible curse it is 
 which binds them to my footsteps. The merciful God, as I would 
 hope, is mindful of me the while, as a faithful shepherd does not 
 forget even the worst and most widely-strayed of his flock, but 
 calls after it with an anxious voice in the gloomy wilderness." 
 
 Then the anger of the baron was quite melted. Two tears 
 stood in his eyes, and he said : " No, assuredly, God has not for- 
 gotten you ; only do you not forget your gracious God. I did not 
 come to rebuke you — I came to bless you in Gabrielle's name 
 and in my own. The Lord preserve you, the Lord guide you, 
 the Lord lift you up. And Sintrarn, on the far-ofT shores of 
 Normandy I shall bear you in mind, and I shall hear how you 
 struggle against the curse which darkens your unhappy life, 
 and if you ever obtain the victory over it, and overcome in the 
 evil day, then you shall receive from me a token of love ard 
 reward, more precious than either you or I can understand at 
 this moment." 
 
 The words flowed prophetically from the baron's lips ; he 
 himself was only half-conscious of what he said. With a kind 
 salutation he turned his noble steed, and again flew down the 
 valley towards the sea-shore. 
 
 " Fool, fool, thrice a fool !" whispered the angry voice of 
 the Little Master in Sintram's ear, but old Rolf was singing his 
 morning hymn in clear tones within the castle, and the last lines 
 were these 
 
 *' Whom worldlings scorn, 
 Who lives forlorn, 
 
 On God's own word doth rest ; 
 With heavenly light, 
 His path is bright. 
 
 His lot among the blest." 
 
 Then a holy joy took possession of Sintram's heart ; and he 
 looked around him yet more gladly than in the hour when Oa- 
 brielle gave him the scarf and sword, and Folko dubbed hi:A: 
 knight. 
 
CHAP XXV.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The baron and his lovely lady were sailing across the broad sea 
 with favouring gales of spring, nay the coast of Normandy had 
 already appeared above the waves, but still was Biorn of the 
 Fiery Eyes sitting gloomy and speechless in his castle. He 
 had taken no leave of his guests. There was more of proud 
 fear of Montfau9on, than of reverential love for him in his soul, 
 especially since the adventure with the boar's head, and the 
 thought was bitter to his haughty spirit, that the great baron, 
 the flower and glory of their whole race, should have come in 
 peace to visit him, and should now be departing in disj^leasure, 
 in stern reproachful displeasure. He had constantly before his 
 mind, and it never failed to bring fresh pangs, the remembrance 
 of how all had come to pass, and how all might have gone 
 otherwise ; and he was always fancying he could hear the songs 
 in which after-generations would recount this voyage of the 
 great Folko, and the worthlessness of the savage Biorn. At 
 length, full of fierce anger, he cast away the fetters of his 
 troubled spirit, he burst out of the castle with all his horsemen, 
 and began to carry on a warfare more fearful and more lawless 
 than any in which he had yet been engaged. 
 
 Sintram heard the sound of his father's war-horn, and com- 
 mitting the stone fortress to old Rolf, he sprang forth ready 
 armed for the combat. But the flames of the cottages and 
 farms on the mountains rose up before him, and showed him, 
 written as if in t.naracters of fire, what kind of war his father 
 was waging. Yet he went on towards the f?pot where the army 
 was mustered, but only to ofler his mediation, affirming that he 
 would not lay his hand on his good sword in so abhorred a 
 service, even though the stone fortress, and his father's castle 
 besides, should fall be%e the vengeance of their enemies. 
 
218 
 
 SINTRAM, [chap. xxv. 
 
 Biorn hurled the spear which he held in his hand against his 
 son with mad fury. The deadly weapon whizzed past him. 
 Sintram remained standing with his visor raised, he did not 
 move one limb in his defence, when be said : " Father! do what 
 you will ; but I join not in your godless warfare." 
 
 Biorn of the Fiery Eyes laughed scornfully : " It seems that 
 [ am always to have a spy over me here ; my son succeeds tr 
 the dainty French knight 1" But nevertheless he came to him- 
 self, he accepted Sintian/s mediation, made amends for the in- 
 juries he had done, ard returned gloomily to his castle. Sintram 
 went back to the Rocks of the Moon. 
 
 Such occurrences were frequent after that time. It went so 
 far that Sintram came to be looked upon as the protector of all 
 those whom his father pursued with relentless fury ; but never- 
 theless, sometimes his own wildness would carry the young 
 knight away to accompany his fierce father in his fearful deeds. 
 Then Biorn used to laugh with horrible pleasure, and to say : 
 " See there, my son, how the flames we have lighted blaze up 
 from the villages, as the blood spouts up from the wounds our 
 swords have made ! It is plain to me, however much you may 
 pretend to the contrary, that you are, and that you will ever re- 
 main, my true and beloved heir !" 
 
 After such terrible wanderings, Sintram could find no comfort 
 but in hastening to the chaplain of Drontheim, and confessing 
 to him his misery and his sins. The chaplain would freely 
 absolve him after due penance had been performed, and agaiG 
 raise up the broken-hearted and repenting youth ; but he would 
 often say : " Oh ! how nearly had you reached your last trial 
 and gained the victory, and looked on Verena's countenance, 
 and atoned for all ! Now you have thrown yourself back for 
 years. Think, my son, on the shortness of man's life ; if you 
 a:3 always falling back anew, how will you ever reach the sum- 
 mit on this side the grave ?" 
 
 Years came and went, and Biorn's hair was white as snow, 
 and the youth Sintram had reached the middle age ; old Rolf 
 was now scarcely able to ' "^'^ve the stone fortress ; and some- 
 
CHAP. XXV ] AND HIS COMPANIONS. 219 
 
 times he said : " I feel it a burden that my life should yet be 
 prolonged, but also there is much comfort in it, for I shall think 
 that the good God has in store for me here below some great 
 happiness ; and it must be something in which you are con* 
 cerned, my beloved Sir Sintram, for what else in the whole 
 world could rejoice my heart ?" 
 
 But, nevertheless, every thing remained as it was, only Sin- 
 tram's fearful dreams at Christmas-time each year rather in- 
 creased than diminished in horror. Again, the holy season 
 was drawing near, and the mind of the sorely afflicted knight 
 was more troubled than ever before. Sometimes, if he had 
 been reckoning up the nights which were yet to elapse before 
 it, a cold sweat would stand on his forehead, while he said : 
 " Mark my words, dear old foster-father, this time something 
 most awfully decisive lies before me." 
 
 One evening he felt an overwhelming anxiety about his fa- 
 ther. It seemed to him that the Prince of Darkness was going 
 up to Biorn's castle ; and in vain did Rolf remind him that the 
 snow was lying deep in the valleys, in vain did he suggest that 
 the knight might be overtaken by his frightful dreams in the 
 lonely mountains during the night-time. " Nothing can be 
 worse to me than remaining here would be," replied Sin- 
 tram. 
 
 He took his horse from the stable and rode forth in the ga- 
 thering darkness. The noble steed slipped and stumbled and 
 fell in the trackless ways, but his rider always raised him up 
 and urged him only more sv/iftly and eagerly towards the ob- 
 ject which he longed and yet dreaded io reach. Nevertheless, 
 he might never have arrived at it, had not his faithful hound 
 Skovmark kept with him. The dog sought out the lost track 
 for his beloved master, and invited him into it with joyous 
 barkings, and warned him by his howls against hidden preci- 
 pices and treacherous ice under the snow. Thus they arrived 
 about midnight at Biorn's castle. The windows of the hail 
 shone opposite to them with a brilliant light, as though sor le 
 great feast were being kept there, — and confused sounds, »f 
 
220 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. XXV. 
 
 singing, met their ears, Sintram gave his horse hastily to some 
 retainers in the court-yard, and ran up the steps, whilst Skovmark 
 staid by the well-known horse. 
 
 A good esquire came towards Smtram within the castle, and 
 said : " God be praised, my dear master, that you are come, — 
 for surely nothing good is going on above. But take heed to 
 yourself, also, and be not deluded. Your father has a guest 
 with him, — and, as I think, a very evil one," 
 
 Sintram shuddered as he threw open the doors. A little man 
 in the dress of a miner was sitting with his back towards him ; 
 the armour had been for some time past again ranged round 
 the stone table, so that only two places were ever left empty. 
 The seat opposite the door had been taken by Biorn of the Fiery 
 Eyes ; and the dazzling light of the torches fell upon his fea- 
 tures with such a red glare, that he most fully established his 
 right to that fearful surname. 
 
 " Father, whom have you here with you ?" cried Sintram ; 
 and his suspicions rose to certainty as the miner turned round, 
 and the detestable face of the Little Master grinned from under 
 the dark hood he ^vore. 
 
 " Yes, just see, my fair son," said the wild Biorn ; " you 
 have not been here for a long while, — and so to-night this joi'v 
 cornrade has paid me a visit, and your place has been taken. 
 But throw one of the suits of armour out of the way, and put 
 a seat for yourself instead of it, — and come and drink with us, 
 and be merry." 
 
 " Yes, do so, Sir Sintram," said the Little Master, with a 
 laugh. " Nothing worse could come of it than that the broken 
 pieces of armour might clatter somewhat strangely one against 
 the other ; or, at most, that the disturbed spirit of him to whom 
 the suit belonged, might look over your shoulder : but he would 
 not drink up any of our wine — ghosts have nothing to do with 
 that. So now fall to !" 
 
 Biorn joined in the laughter of the hideous stranger with 
 wild mirth ; and while Sintram was mustering up his whole 
 strength not to lose his senses at such terrible words, and was 
 
CHAP. XXV.] 
 
 AISD HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 221 
 
 fixing a calm steady look on the Little Master's face, — the old 
 man cried out : 
 
 " Why do you look at him so ? Is it that you fancy there 
 is a mirror before you ? Now that you are together, I do not 
 see it so much ; but awhile ago I thought that you were like 
 enough to each other to be mistaken." 
 
 " God forbid !" said Sintram : and he walked up close to 
 the fearful apparition, saying : " I command you, detestable 
 stranger, to depart from this castle, in right of my authority as 
 my father's heir, — as a consecrated knight, and as a Christian 
 man !" 
 
 B]orn seemed as if he wished to oppose himself to this com- 
 mand with all his savage might. The Little Master mut- 
 tered tc nimself : " You are not by any means the master in 
 this house, pious knight ; you have never lighted a fire on this 
 hearth." 
 
 Then Sintram drew the sword which Gabrielle had given 
 him, — held the cross formed by the hilt before the eyes of 
 his evil guest, — and said calmly, but with a powerful voice : 
 " Worship, or fly !" 
 
 And he fled ! the frightful stranger, — he fled with such light- 
 ning speed, that it could scarcely be seen whether he had 
 sprung through the window or the door. But in going he over- 
 threw some of the armour, — the tapers went out, — and it seemed 
 that the pale blue flame which lighted up the hall in a marvel- 
 lous manner, gave a fulfilment to the Little Master's formter 
 words ; and that the spirits of those to whom the armour had 
 belonged, were leaning over the table grinning fearfully. 
 
 Both the father and the son were filled with horror, — but 
 each chose an opposite way to save themselves. Biorn wished 
 to have his hateful guest back igain ; and the power of his 
 will was seen when the Little Master's step resounded anew 
 on the stairs, and his hard brown hand shook the lock of the 
 door. On the other hand, Sintram ceased not to say within 
 himself : " We are lost, if he comes back ! We are lost to 
 aU eternity, if he comes back !" And he fell on his knees. 
 
222 
 
 SIN TRAM, 
 
 [chap. XXT 
 
 and prayed fervently from the depth of his troubled heart to 
 Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then the Little Master left the 
 door ; and again Biorn willed him to return ; and again Sin- 
 tram's prayers drove him away. So went on this strife of wills 
 throughout the long night; and fierce whirlwinds raged the 
 while around the castle, till all the household thought the end 
 of the world was come. At length the dawn of morning ap- 
 peared through the windows of the hall, — the fury of the storm 
 was lulled, — Biorn sank back powerless in slumber on his seat ; 
 — peace and hope were restored to the inmates of the castle, — 
 and Sintram, pale and exhausted, went out to breathe the dewy 
 air of the mild winter's morning before the castle-gates. 
 
CHAP. XXVI ] 
 
 AND UrS COMPANIONS. 
 
 sens 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 The faithful Skovmark followed his master, caressing him ; and 
 when Sintram fell asleep on a stone seat in the wall, he lay at 
 his feet, keeping watchful guard. Suddenly he pricked up his 
 ears, looked round with delight, and hounded joyfully down the 
 mountain. Just afterwards the chaplain of Drontheim appeared 
 amongst the rocks, and the good beast went up to him as if to 
 greet him, and then again ran back to the knight to announce a 
 welcome visitor. 
 
 Sintram opened his eyes, to feel the pleasure of a child whose 
 Christmas-gifts have been placed at his bed-side to surprise him. 
 For the chaplain smiled at him as he had never yet seen him 
 smile. There was in it a token of victory and blessing, or at 
 least of the near approach of both. " You have accomplished 
 much yesterday, very much," said the holy priest, and his hands 
 were joined and his eyes full of bright tears. " I thank God 
 on your behalf, my noble knight. Verena knows all, and she 
 too blesses God. I do indeed now dare hope that the time will 
 soon come when you may appear before her. But Sintram, Sir 
 Sintram, there is need of haste — for the old man above requires 
 speedy aid, and you have still a heavy — as I hope the last — yet 
 a most heavy trial to undergo for his sake. Arm yourself, my 
 knight, arm yourself even with temporal weapons. In truth, 
 this time only spiritual armour is needed, but it always befits a 
 knight as well as a monk, to wear, in the decisive moments of 
 his life, the entire solemn garb of his station. If it so please 
 you, we will go directly to Drontheim together. You must 
 return thence to-night. Such is the tenor of the hidden decree, 
 vv'hich has been dimly unfolded to Verena's foresigb/. Here 
 there is yet much that is wild and distracting, and you have 
 great need to-day of calm preparation." 
 
224 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [cn.vp. xxn 
 
 With humble joy Sintram bowed his assent, and called for 
 his horse and for a suit of armour. " Only," added he, let 
 not any of that armour be brought, which was last night over- 
 thrown in the hall." 
 
 His orders were quickly obeyed. The arms which were 
 fetched, adorned with fine engraved work, the simple helmet, 
 formed rather like that of an esquire than a knight, the lance 
 of almost gigantic size, which belonged to the suit, — on all these 
 the chaplain gazed in deep thought, and with melancholy emo- 
 tion. At last, when Sintram with the help of his esquires was 
 well-nigh equipped, the holy priest spoke : " Wonderful are the 
 ways of God's providence ! See, dear Sintram, this armour 
 and this spear were formerly those of Sir Weigand the Slender, 
 and with them he did many mighty deeds. When he was 
 tended by your mother in the castle, and when even your father 
 still shoAved himself kind and courteous, he asked, as a favour, 
 that his armour and his lance should be allowed to hang in 
 Biorn's armoury, — Weigand himself, as you well know, in- 
 tended to build a cloister and to live there as a monk, — and he 
 put his old esquire's helmet with it, instead of another, because 
 he was yet wearing that one when he first saw the fair Verena's 
 angelic face. How wondrously does it now come to pass, that 
 these very arms which have so long been laid aside, should 
 have been brought to you for the decisive hour of your life ! 
 To me, as far as my short-sighted human wisdom can tell, to 
 me it seems truly a very solemn token, but one that is full of 
 high ami glorious promise." 
 
 Sintram stood now in complete array, composed and stately, 
 and from his tall, slender figure might have been supposed still 
 in early youth, had not the deep lines of care which furrowed 
 his countenance shown hini to be advanced in years. 
 
 " Who has placed boughs on the head of my war-horse ?" 
 asked Sintram of the esquires with displeasure. " I am not a 
 conqueror, nor a wedding-guest. And besides, there are no 
 boughs now, but these red and yellow crackling leaves of the 
 oak, dull and dead like the season itself" 
 
ciiAr yxvt ] AND HIS COMPANIONS. 225 
 
 " Sir knight, I know not, myself," answered an esquire, " but 
 it seemed to me that I could not do otherwise." 
 
 " Let it be," said the chaplain. " I feel that this is also sent 
 as a token full of meaning from the right source." 
 
 Then the knight threw himself into his saddle ; the priest 
 went beside him ; and they both rode slowly and silently to- 
 wards Drontheim. The faithful dog followed his master. 
 When the lofty castle of Drontheim appeared in sight, a gentle 
 smile spread itself over Sintram's countenance, like a gleam of 
 sunshine on a wintry valley. " God has done great things for 
 me," said he. " I once rushed from here, a fearfully wild boy ; 
 I now come back, a penitent man. I trust that good is yet in 
 gtore for my poor troubled life." 
 
 The chaplain assented kindly, and soon afterwards the travel- 
 lers passed under the echoing vaulted gateway into the castle- 
 yard. At a sign from the priest, the retainers approached with 
 respectful haste, and took charge of the horses ; then he and 
 Sintram went through long winding passages, and up many 
 steps, to the remote chamber which the chaplain had chosen for 
 his own : far away from the noise of men, and near to the clouds 
 and the stars. There the two passed a quiet day in devout 
 prayer, and earnest reading of Holy Scripture. 
 
 When the evening began to close in, the chaplain arose and 
 said : " And now, my knight, get ready your horse, and mount 
 and ride back again to your father's castle. A toilsome way 
 lies before you, and I dare not go with you. But I can, and I 
 will call upon the Lord for you, all through the long, fearful 
 night. Oh, beloved instrument of the Most High, you will yet 
 not be lost !" 
 
 Thrilling with strange forebodings, but nevertheless strong 
 and vigorous in spirit, Sintram did according to the holy man's 
 desire. The sun set as the knight approached a long valley, 
 strangely shut in by rocks, through which lay the road to his 
 fntJier's castle. 
 
 16 
 
236 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap, xxra 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Before entering the rocky pass, the knight, with a prayer 
 and thanksgiving, looked back once more at the castle of Dron- 
 theim. There it was, so vast and quiet and peaceful, the bright 
 windows of the chaplain's high chamber yet lighted up by the 
 last gleam of the sun, which had already disappeared. In front 
 of Sintram was the gloomy valley, looking as if prepared to be 
 his grave. 
 
 Then there came towards him some one riding on a small 
 horse, and Skovmark, who had gone up to the stranger as if to 
 find out who he was, now ran back with his tail between his 
 legs and his ears put back, howling and whining, and he crept 
 terrified under his master's war-horse. But even the noble steed 
 appeared to have forgotten his once so fearless and warlike ar- 
 dour. He trembled violently, and when the knight would have 
 turned him towards the stranger, he reared and snorted and 
 plunged, and began to throw himself backwards. It was only 
 with difficulty that Sintram's strength and horsemanship got the 
 better of him, and he was all white with foam when Sintram 
 came up to the unknown traveller. 
 
 " You have cowardly animals with you," said the latter, in a 
 low smothered voice. 
 
 Sintram v/as unable, in the ever-increasing darkness, rightly 
 to distinguish what kind of being he saw before him ; only a 
 very pallid face, which at first he had thought was covered 
 with freshly fallen snow, met his eyes from amidst the long 
 hanging garments in which the figure was clothed. It seemed 
 that the stranger carried a small box, wrapped up ; his little 
 horse, as if wearied out, bent his head down towards the ground, 
 whereby a bell, which hung from the wretched torn bridle un- 
 der his neck, was made to give a strange sound. After a short 
 
CUAP. XXVIl.J 
 
 AND m6 COMPANIONS. 
 
 2V7 
 
 silence, Sintram replied : " Noble steeds avoid those of a worse 
 race, because they are ashamed of them ; and the boldest dogs 
 arQ attacked by a secret terror at sight of forms to which 
 they are not accustomed. I have no cowardly animals with 
 ma." 
 
 Good, Sir knight, then ride with me through the valley." 
 " I am going through the valley, but I want no compan- 
 ions." 
 
 " But, perhaps, I want one. Do you not see that I am un- 
 armed ? And at this season, at this hour, theie are frightful, 
 unearthly beasts about." 
 
 Just then, as if to confirm the awful words of the stranger, 
 a thing swung itself down from one of the nearest trees covered 
 with hoar frost, — no one could say if it were a snake, or a 
 lizard, — it curled and twisted itself, and appeared to be going 
 to slide down upon the knight or his companion. Sintram 
 levelled his spear, and pierced the creature through. But witl 
 the most hideous contortions it fixed itself firmly on the spear 
 head, and in vain did the knight endeavour to rub it oflf against 
 the rocks or the trees. Then he let his spear rest upon his 
 right shoulder, with the point behind him, so that the horrible 
 beast no longer met his sight, and he said with good courage to 
 the stranger : " It does seem indeed that I could help you, and 
 I am not forbidden to have an unknown stranger in my compa- 
 ny ; so let us push on bravely into the valley !" 
 
 " Help !" so resounded the solemn answer. " Not help, I, 
 perhaps, may help thee. But God have meicy upon thee, if the 
 time should ever come when I could no longer help thee. Then 
 thou wouldst be lost, and I should become very frightful to thee. 
 But we will go through the valley, I have thy knightly word 
 for it. Come !" 
 
 They rode forward. Sintram's horse still showing signs of 
 fear, the faithful dog still whining, but both obedient to their 
 master's will. The knight was calm and steadflist. The snow 
 had slipped down from the smooth rocks, and by the light of the 
 rising mom could be seen various strange twisted shapes on 
 
328 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap JSXVil 
 
 their sides, some looking like snakes, and some like human 
 faces ; but they were only formed by the veins in the rock, and 
 the half bare roots of trees which had planted themselves in 
 that desert place with capricious firmness. High above, and 
 at a great distance, the castle of Drontheim, as if to take leave, 
 appeared again through an opening in the rocks. The knight 
 then looked keenly at his companion, and he almost felt as if 
 Weigand the Slender were riding beside him. " In God's 
 name," cried he, " art thou not the shade of that departed 
 knight who suffered and died for Verena?" 
 
 " I have not suffered, I have not died, but ye suffer and ye 
 die, poor mortals !" murmured the stranger. " I am not Wei- 
 gand. I am that other one, who was so like him, and whom 
 thou hast also met before now in the wood." 
 
 Sintram strove to free himself from the terror which came 
 over him at these words. He looked at his horse ; it appeared 
 to him entirely altered. The dry, many coloured oak-leaves 
 on its head were waving like the flames around a sacrifice, in 
 the uncertain moon-light. He looked down again to see after 
 his faithful Skovmark. Fear had likewise most wondrously 
 changed him. On the ground in the middle of the road were 
 lying dead men's bones, and hideous lizards were crawling 
 about, and, in defiance of the wintry season, poisonous mush- 
 rooms were growing up all around. 
 
 " Can this be still my horse on which I am riding," said the 
 knight to himself in a low voice ; " and can that trembling beast 
 which runs at my side, be my own dog ?" 
 
 Then some one called after him in a yelling voice : " Stop I 
 Stop ! Take me also with you !" 
 
 Looking round, Sintram perceived a small frightful figure, 
 \vith horns, and a face partly like a wild boar and partly like a 
 bear, walking along on its hind legs, which were those of a 
 horse, and in its hand was a strange hideous weapon shaped 
 like a hook or a sickle. It was the being who had been wont 
 to trouble him in his dreams, and alas! it was also the wretched 
 
CHAP. XXVII.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 229 
 
 Little Master himself, who, laughing w'Idly, stretched out a long 
 claw towards the knight. 
 
 The bewildered Sintram murmured : " I must have fallen 
 asleep ! and now my dreams are coming over me !" 
 
 " You are awake," replied the rider of the little horse, " but 
 you know me also in your dreams. For behold ! I am Death." 
 And his garments fell from him, and there appeared a mould- 
 ering skeleton, its ghastly head crowned with serpents ; thai 
 which he had kept hidden under his mantle, was an hour-glass 
 with the sand almost run out. Death held it towards the knight 
 in his fleshless hand. The bell at the neck of the little horse 
 gave forth a solemn sound. It was a passing-bell. 
 
 " Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit !" prayed Sin- 
 tram ; and full of earnest demotion ne rode after Death, who 
 beckoned him on. 
 
 " He has not got you yet ! He has not got you yet !" 
 screamed the fearful fiend. " Give yourself up to me rather. 
 In one instant, — for swift are your thoughts, swift is my might, 
 — in one instant you shall be in Normandy. Helen yet blooms 
 in beauty as when she departed hence, and this very night she 
 would be yours." And once again he began his unholy praises 
 of Gabrielle's loveliness, and Sintram's heart glowed like wild- 
 fire in his weak breast. 
 
 Death said nothing more, but raised the hour-glass in his 
 right hand yet higher and higher, and as the sand now ran out 
 more quickly, a soft light streamed from the glass over Sin- 
 tram's countenance, and then it seemed to him as if eternity in 
 all its calm majesty were rising before him, and a world of con- 
 fusion dragging him back with a deadly grasp. 
 
 " I command thee, wild form that followest me," cried he, " I 
 command thee in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to cease' 
 from thy seducing words, and to call thyself by that name by 
 which thou art recorded in Holy Writ!" A name, which 
 sounded more fearful than a thunder-clap, burst despairingly 
 from the lips of the Tempter, and he disappeared. 
 
S30 
 
 SIN TRAM, 
 
 [cjiAP. xxvn 
 
 " He will return no more," said Death in a kindly tone, 
 " And now I am become wholly thine, my stern compan- 
 ion ?" 
 
 " Not yet, my Sintram. I shall not come to thee till many, 
 many years are past. But thou must not forget me the while." 
 
 " I will keep the thought of thee steadily before my soul, 
 thou fearful yet wholesome monitor, thou awful yet loving 
 guide !" 
 
 " Oh ! I can truly appear very gentle." And so it proved in- 
 deed. His form became more softly defined in the increasing 
 gleam of light which shone from the hour-glass, the features 
 which had been awful in their sternness wore a gentle smile, 
 the crown of serpents became a bright palm-wreath, instead of 
 the horse appeared a white misty cloud on which the moon- 
 beams played, and the bell gave forth sounds as of sweet lulla- 
 bies. Sintram thought he could hear these words amidst 
 them : — 
 
 * " The world and Satan are o'ercome, 
 
 Before thee gleams eternal light. 
 Warrior, who hast won the strife. 
 
 Save from darkest shades of night, 
 Him before whose aged eyes. 
 All my terrors soon shall rise. ' 
 
 The knight well knew that his father was meant, and he 
 urged on his noble steed, who now obeyed his master willingly 
 and gladly, and the faithful dog also again ran beside him fear- 
 lessly. Death had disappeared, but in front of Sintram there 
 floated a bright morning cloud, which continued visible after the 
 sun had risen in the clear winter sky to cheer and j.rm the earth. 
 
CHAP, xxviii ] AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 231 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " He is dead ! the horrors of that fearful night of storm and tem- 
 pest have killed him !" Thus said, about tnis time, some of 
 Biorn's retainers, who had not been able to bring him back to 
 his senses since the morning of the day before ; they had made 
 a couch of wolf and bear skins for him in the great hall, in the 
 midst of the armour which still lay scattered around. One of 
 the esquires said with a low sigh : " T'he Lord have mercy on 
 his poor wild soul." 
 
 Just then the warder blew his horn from his tower, and a 
 trooper came into the room with a look of surprise. " A knight 
 is coming towards here," said he ; " a wonderful knight. I 
 could have taken him for our lord Sintram — ^but a bright, bright 
 morning-cloud floats so close before him, and throws over him 
 such clear light, that one could fancy red flowers were show- 
 ered down upon him. Besides, his horse has a reddish wreath 
 of flowers on his head, which was never a custom of the son of 
 our dead lord." 
 
 " It was exactly such a one," replied another, " that I wove for 
 him yesterday. He was not pleased with it at first, but after- 
 wards he let it remain." 
 
 " But why did you do that ?" 
 
 " It seemed to me as if I heard a voice singing again and 
 again in my ear : ' Victory ! victory ! the noblest victory ! 
 The knight rides forth to victory 1' And then I saw a branch 
 of our oldest oak tree stretched towards me, which had kept on 
 almost all its red and yellow leaves in spite of the snow. So I 
 did according to what I had heard sung ; and I plucked some 
 of the leaves, and wove a triumphal wreath for the noble war- 
 horse. At the same time Skovmark, — you know that the 
 faithful beast had always a great dislike to Biorn, and therefore 
 
232 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap, xxviil 
 
 had gone to the stable with the horse, — Skovmark jumped upon 
 me, fawning and seeming pleased, as if he wanted to thank me 
 for my work ; and such noble animals understand well about 
 good prognostics." 
 
 They heard the sound of Sintram's spurs on the stone steps, 
 and Sko\'Tnark's joyous bark. At that instant the supposed 
 corpse of old Biorn sat up, — looked around with rolling, staring 
 eyes, — and asked ot the terrified retainers in a hollow voice : 
 " Who comes there, ye people 1 who comes there? I know it 
 is my son. But who comes with him 1 On the answer to that 
 hangs the decision of my fate. For see, good people, Gotthard 
 and Rudlieb have prayed much for me : yet if the Little Master 
 comes w^ith him, I am lost in spite of them !" 
 
 " You are not lost, my beloved father !" Sintram's kind voice 
 was heard to say, as he softly opened the door, and the bright 
 red morning-cloud floated in with him. 
 
 Biorn joined his hands, cast a look of thankfulness up to 
 Heaven, and said, smiling : " Yes, praised be God ! it is the 
 right companion ! It is sweet gentle Death !" And then he 
 made a sign to his son to approach, saying : " Come here, my 
 deliverer ; come blessed of the Lord, that I may relate to you 
 all that has passed within me." 
 
 As Sintram now^ sat close by his father's couch, all who were 
 in the room perceived a remarkable and striking change. For . 
 old Biorn, whose whole countenance, and not his eyes alone, 
 had been wont to have a fiery aspect, — was now quite pylc, 
 almost like white marble : while, on the other hand, the cheeks 
 of the once deadly-pale Sintram glowed with a bright bloom 
 like that of early youth. It was caused by the morning-cloud 
 which still shone upon him, and the presence of which in the 
 room was rather felt than seen ; but it produced a gentle thrill 
 in every heart. 
 
 " See, my son," began the old man, softly and mildly, " I have 
 lain for a long time in a death-like sleep, and have known 
 nothing of what was going on around me; but within, — ah! 
 within, I have had but too entire consciousness ! I thought that 
 
CHAP. KXVIA.] 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 233 
 
 my soul would be destroyed by the eternal anguish ; and yet 
 again I felt with much greater horror, that my soul was undy- 
 ing like that anguish. Beloved son, your cheeks that glowed 
 so brightly are beginning to grow pale at my words. I refrain 
 from mere. But let me relate to you something more cheering : 
 lar, far away, I could see a bright, lofty church, where Gott- 
 hard and Rudlieb Lenz were kneeling and praying for me. 
 Gotthard had grown very old, and looked like one of our moun- 
 tains covered with snow, on which the evening sun is shining ; 
 and Rudlieb was also an elderly man, but very vigorous and 
 very strong ; and they both, with all their strength and vigour, 
 wtre calling upon God to aid me, their enemy. Then I heard 
 a voice like that of an angel, saying : ' His son does the most 
 for him ! He must this night wrestle with Death and with the 
 Fallen One ! His victory will be victory, — and his defeat will 
 be defeat, for the old man as well as for himself Thereupon 
 I awoke ; and I knew that all depended upon whom you would 
 bring with you. You have conquered. Next to God, the praise 
 be to you !" 
 
 " Gotthard and Rudlieb have helped much," replied Sintram ; 
 " and, beloved father, so have the fervent prayers of the chap- 
 lain of Drontheim. I felt, in the midst of temptation and deadly 
 fear, how the heaven-directed prayers of good men floated round 
 me and aided me." 
 
 I am most willing to believe that, my noble son, and every 
 thing you say to me," answered the old man : and at the same 
 moment the chaplain also coming in, Biorn stretched out his 
 hand towards him with a smile of peace and joy. And now all 
 seemed to be surrounded with a bright circle of unity and bless- 
 ed ness. "But see," said old Biorn, "how the faithful Skov- 
 mark jumps upon me now, and tries to caress me. It is not 
 'cng since he used always to howl with terror when he saw me." 
 
 " My dear lord," said the chaplain, " there is a spirit dwell- 
 ing m good beasts, although they are unconscious of it." 
 
 As the day wore on, the stillness in the hall increased. The 
 last hour of the aged knight was drawing near, but he met it 
 
S34 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. XXVIIl 
 
 calmly and fearlessly. The chaplain and Sintram prayed be- 
 side his couch. The retainers knelt devoutly around. At 
 length the dying man said : " Is that the vesper-bell in Verena's 
 cloister?" and Sintram made a sign to express his undoubting 
 belief that it was, while warm tears fell on the colourless cheeks 
 of his father. A gleam shone in the old man's eyes, — the 
 morning-cloud stood close over him, and then the gleam, the 
 morning-cloud, and life with them departed from him. 
 
CHAP, xxix ] AND HIS COMPANIONS. 835 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A FEW days afterwards Sintram stood in the parlour of the 
 convent, and waited with a beating heart for his mother to ap- 
 pe^ir. He had seen her for the last time, when, a slumbering 
 c\iild, he had been awoke by her tender, farewell kisses, and 
 then had fallen asleep again to wonder in his dreams what his 
 mother had wanted with him, and to seek her in vain the next 
 morning in the castle and in the garden. The chaplain was 
 now at his side, rejoicing in the chastened rapture of the knight, 
 whose fierce spirit had been overcome, on whose cheeks a soft 
 reflection of that solemn morning-cloud yet lingered. 
 
 The innfer doors opened. — In her white veil, stately and no- 
 ble, the lady Verena came forward, and with a heavenly smile 
 she beckoned her son to approach the grating. There could 
 be no thought here of any passionate outbreak, whether of sor- 
 row or of joy.* The holy peace which had its abode within 
 these walls, would have found its way to a heart less tried and 
 less purified than that which beats in Sintram's bosom. Shed- 
 ding some placid tears, the son knelt before his mother, kissed 
 her flowing garments through the grating, and felt as if he were 
 in Paradise, — where every wish and every care is hushed. 
 " Beloved mother," said he, " let me become a recluse like you. 
 Then I will betake myself to the cloister yonder ; and perhaps 
 I might one day be deemed worthy to be your confessor, if ill- 
 r.ess or the weakness of old age should keep the good chaplain 
 within the castle of Drontheim." 
 
 " That would be a sweet, quietly-happy life, my good child," 
 
 * " In whose sweet presence sorrow dares not lower, 
 Nor expectation rise, 
 Too high for earth." 
 
 Christian Year. 
 
236 
 
 SINTRAM, 
 
 [chap. XXIX 
 
 replied the lady Verena ; " but such is not your, vocation. 
 You must continue to be a bold, powerful knight, and you must 
 spend the long life which is almost always granted to us, chil- 
 dren of the north, in , succouring the weak, in keeping down 
 the lawless, and in yet another more bright and honourable 
 e-nployment which I now rather dimly foresee, than clearly 
 know." 
 
 " God's v/ill be done !" said the knight, and he rose up full 
 of self-devotion and firmness. 
 
 " That is my good son," said the lady Verena. " Ah ! h pw 
 many sweet calm joys spring up for us ! See, already is our 
 longing desire of meeting again satisfied, and you will never 
 more be so entirely estranged from me. Every week on this 
 day you will come back to me, and you will relate what glori- 
 ous deeds you have done, and take back with you my advice 
 and my blessing." 
 
 " Am I not once more a good and happy child !" cried Sin- 
 tram joyously ; " only that the merciful God has given me in 
 addition the strength of a man in body and spirit. Oh ! how 
 blessed is that son to whom it is allowed to gladden his mother's 
 heart with the blossoms and the fruit of his life !" 
 
 Thus he left the quiet cloister's shade, joyful in spirit and 
 lichly laden with blessings, to enter on his noble career. He 
 was not content with going about wherever there might be a 
 rightful cause to defend, or evil to be averted ; the gates of the 
 now hospitable castle stood always open also to receive and 
 shelter every stranger, — and old Rolf, who was almost grown 
 young again at sight of his lord's excellence, was established as 
 seneschal. The winter of Sintram's life set in bright and glori- 
 ous, and it was only at times that he would sigh within himself 
 and say : " Ah ! Montfau9on, ah ! Gabrielle, if I could dare to 
 hope that you have quite forgiven me I" 
 
eiiAp. XXX 
 
 AND HIS COMPANIONS. 
 
 2:37 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The spring had ccine in its brightness to that northern land, 
 when one morning Sintram turned his horse homewards after a 
 successful encounter with one of the most formidable disturbers 
 of the peace of his neighbourhood. His horsemen rode after 
 him, singing as they went. As they drew near the castle they 
 heard the sound of joyous notes wound on the horn. " Some 
 welcome visitor must have arrived," said the knight, and he 
 'purred his horse to a quicker pace over th.e dewy meadow. 
 While still at some distance, they descried old Rolf busily en- 
 gaged in preparing a table for the morning meal, under the 
 trees in front of the castle gates. From all the turrets and bat- 
 tlements floated banners and flags in the fresh morning breeze, 
 esquires were running to and fro in their gayest apparel. As 
 soon as the good Rolf saw his master, he clapped his hands 
 joyfully over his gray head, and hastened into the castle. Im- 
 mediately the wide gates were thrown open, and Sintram, as he 
 entered, was met by Rolf, whose eyes were filled with tears of 
 joy as he pointed towards three noble forms that were following 
 him. 
 
 Two men of high stature, — one in extreme old age, the other 
 gray-headed, and both remarkably alike, — were leading between 
 them a fair young boy, in a page's dress of blue velvet, richly 
 embroidered with gold. The two old men wore the dark velret 
 dress of German burghers, and had massive gold chains and 
 large shining medals hanging round their necks. 
 
 Sintram had never before seen his honoured guests, and yet 
 he felt as if they were well known and valued friends. The 
 very aged man reminded him of his dying father's words about 
 the snow-covered mountains lighted up by the evening sun ; 
 and then he remembered, he could scarcely tell how, that he 
 
S38 
 
 SINTRAM, AND HIS COMPANIONS. [ciup. xxx 
 
 had heard Folko say that one of the highest mountains of that 
 soit in his southern land was called the St. Gotthard. And at 
 the same time he knew that the old but yet vigorous man on 
 the other side was named Rudlieb. But the boy who stood be- 
 tween them, — ah ! Sintram's humility dared scarcely form a 
 hope as to who he might be, however much his features, so no- 
 ble and soft, called up two highly honoured images before his 
 mind. 
 
 Then the aged Gotthard Lenz, the prhice of old men, ad- 
 vanced with a solemn step, and said : " This is the noble boy 
 Engeltram of Montfaufon, the only son of the great baron, and 
 his father and mother send him to you. Sir Sintram, knowing 
 well your holy and glorious knightly career, that you may bring 
 him up to all the honourable and valiant deeds of this northern 
 land, and may make of him a Christian knight, like yourself" 
 
 Sintram threw himself from his horse. Engeltram of Mont- 
 fau^on held the stirrup gracefully for him, checking the retain- 
 ers, who pressed forward, with these words : " I am the noblest 
 born esquire of this knight, and the service nearest to his persoD 
 belongs to me." 
 
 Sintram knelt on the turf to offer a silent prayer, then lifting 
 up the image of Folko and Gabrielle in his arms, towards the 
 rising sun, he cried : " With the help of God, my Engeltram, 
 you will become glorious as that sun, and your course will be 
 like his !" 
 
 And Rolf said, as he wept for joy, " Lord, now iettest Thou 
 Thy servant depart in peace." 
 
 Gotthard Lenz and Rudlieb were pressed to Sintram's heart , 
 the chaplain of Drontheim, who just then came from Verena's 
 cloister, to bring a joyful greeting to her brave son, stretched out 
 his hands to bless them all. 
 
 END OF SINTilAM.