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-clad valleys. 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. Neither of them spoke a word else.
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 wilderness. Rolf, dost thou know them? The sight of
them makes me shudder.”
“Sir,” answered the old man, “your disturbed mind deceives you. 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 rustles the crisp snow.”
“Rolf, now they are both coming towards us. Now they are standing before
us, quite close.”
“Sir, it is we who get nearer to them as we walk on, and the setting
moon throws such long giant-like shadows over the plain.”
“Good-evening!” said a hollow voice; and Sintram knew it was the crazy
pilgrim, near to whom stood the malignant little Master, 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 his 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 I will tend thee, poor pale pilgrim; and as
to thee, frightful Master, most evil dwarf, I will make thee shorter by
the head, to reward thee for thy deeds yesterday.”
“That would be a fine thing,” sneered the little Master; “and perhaps
thou imaginest that thou wouldst be doing a great service to the whole
world? And, indeed, who knows? Something might be gained by it! Only,
poor wretch, thou canst not do it.”
The pilgrim meantime was waving his pale head to and fro thoughtfully,
saying, “I believe truly that thou wouldst willingly have me, and I
would go to thee willingly, but I may not yet. Have patience awhile;
thou wilt yet surely see me come, but at a distant time; and first we
must again visit thy father together, and then also thou wilt learn to
call me by my right name, my poor friend.”
“Beware of disappointing me again!” said the 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 thou canst!”
Then the first rays fell on the snow, and the little Master ran,
muttering, down a precipice; but the pilgrim walked on in the bright
beams, calmly and with great solemnity, towards a neighbouring 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 blessed sun, and the other has
no sooner set foot in a dwelling than tidings of death wail after his
track. 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, and
mounted up to the stone fortress. The castellan, an old, gloomy man,
the more devoted to the young knight from his dark melancholy and wild
deeds, hastened to 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.