Some weeks after this, in the twilight of evening, Sintram, very
disturbed, came down to the castle-garden. Although the presence of
Gabrielle never failed to soothe 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 strength. So even now, after having long
and kindly read legends of the olden times to his father Biorn, she had
retired to her chamber. The tones of her lute could be distinctly heard
in the garden below; but the sounds only drove the bewildered youth more
impetuously through the shades of the ancient elms. Stooping suddenly
to avoid some overhanging branches, he unexpectedly came upon something
against which he had almost struck, and which, at first sight, he took
for a small bear standing on its hind legs, with a long and strangely
crooked horn on its head. He drew back in surprise and fear. It
addressed him in a grating man’s voice: “Well, my brave young knight,
whence come you? whither go you? wherefore so terrified?” And then first
he saw that he had before him 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 come YOU and whither go YOU?” returned the angry Sintram.
“For of you such questions should be asked. What have you to do in our
domains, you hideous little being?”
“Well, well,” sneered the other one, “I am thinking that I am quite big
enough as I am--one cannot always be a giant. And as to the rest, why
should you find fault that I go here hunting for snails? Surely snails
do not belong to the game which your high mightinesses consider that
you alone have a right to follow! Now, on the other hand, I know how to
prepare from them an excellent high-flavoured drink; and I have taken
enough for to-day: marvellous fat little beasts, 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 garment; but
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 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 them! But you are afraid of me.”
“Afraid of you!” cried Sintram, with a wild laugh.
“Many a better man than you has been so before now,” muttered 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 stands high in the heavens. But you must tell me one
of your stories the while.”
The little man, much pleased, nodded his head; and as they paced
together up and down a retired elm-walk, 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 bowed his head in 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 the
garb of a peasant, piping in the woods and mountains and pasturing
his flocks. Here one day three beautiful sorceresses appeared to him,
disputing about a golden apple; and from him they sought to know which
of them was the most beautiful, since to her the golden fruit was to be
awarded. The first knew how to give thrones, and sceptres, and crowns;
the second could give wisdom and knowledge; and the third could prepare
philtres and love-charms which could not fail of 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 adjudge
the apple to her. But as fair women charmed him more than anything else
in the world, he said that the third was the most beautiful--her name
was Venus. The two others departed in great displeasure; but Venus
bid him put on his knightly armour and his helmet adorned with waving
feathers, and then she led him to a famous city called Sparta, where
ruled the noble Duke Menelaus. His young Duchess Helen was the loveliest
woman on earth, and the sorceress 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 must have been a sorry knight,” interrupted Sintram. “Such things
are easily settled. The husband is challenged to a single combat, and he
that is victorious carries off the wife.”
“But Duke Menelaus was the host of the young knight,” said the narrator.
“Listen to me, little Master,” cried Sintram; “he might have asked the
sorceress for some other beautiful woman, and then have mounted his
horse, or weighed anchor, and departed.”
“Yes, yes; it is very easy to say so,” replied the old man. “But if you
only knew how bewitchingly lovely this Duchess Helen was, no room was
left for change.” And then he began a glowing description of the charms
of this wondrously beautiful woman, but likening the image to Gabrielle
so closely, feature for feature, that Sintram, tottering, was forced to
lean against a tree. The little Master stood opposite to him grinning,
and asked, “Well now, could you have advised that poor knight Paris to
fly from her?”
“Tell me at once what happened next,” stammered Sintram.
“The sorceress acted honourably towards Paris,” continued the old man.
“She declared to him that if he would carry away the lovely duchess 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 himself in Troy, and rejoice in the sweet love of Helen.”
“And he accepted those terms, or 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, the look of
things then was just as they are happening to-day. The newly-risen moon,
partly veiled by clouds, was shining dimly through the thick branches of
the trees in the silence of evening. Leaning against an old tree, as you
now are doing, stood the young enamoured knight Paris, and at his side
the enchantress Venus, but so disguised and transformed, that she did
not look much more beautiful than I do. And by the silvery light of the
moon, the form of the beautiful beloved one was seen sweeping by alone
amidst the whispering boughs.” He was silent, and like as in the mirror
of his deluding words, Gabrielle just then actually herself appeared,
musing as she walked alone down the alley of elms.
“Man,--fearful Master,--by what name shall I call you? To what would you
drive me?” muttered the trembling Sintram.
“Thou knowest thy father’s strong stone castle on the Moon-rocks?”
replied the old man. “The castellan and the garrison are true and
devoted to thee. It could stand a ten years’ siege; and the little gate
which leads to the hills is open, as was that of the citadel of Sparta
for Paris.”
And, in fact, the youth saw through a gate, left open he knew not how,
the dim, distant mountains glittering in the moonlight. “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 stood close by him. She was within reach of his
grasp, had he made the least movement; and a moonbeam, suddenly breaking
forth, transfigured, as it were, her heavenly beauty. The youth had
already bent forward--
“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 still margin of the castle fish-pond, where he prayed alone to
Heaven, full of foreboding care. They reached Sintram’s ear; he stood
as if spellbound and made the Sign of the Cross. Immediately the little
master fled away, jumping uncouthly on one leg, through the gates and
shutting them after him with a yell.
Gabrielle shuddered, terrified at the wild noise. Sintram approached her
softly, and said, offering his arm to her: “Suffer me to lead you back
to the castle. The night in these northern regions is often wild and
fearful.”