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 Eye sitting
gloomy and speechless in his castle. He had taken no leave of his
guests. There was more of proud fear of Montfaucon 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 displeasure, in stern
reproachful displeasure. He had it 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 committing 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 characters of fire, what kind of
war his father was waging. Yet he went on towards the spot where the
army was mustered, but only to offer 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
before the vengeance of their enemies. 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 he said: “Father, do what you
will; but I join not in your godless warfare.”
Biorn of the Fiery Eyes laughed scornfully: “It seems I am always to
have a spy over me here; my son succeeds to the dainty French knight!”
But nevertheless he came to himself, accepted Sintram’s mediation,
made amends for the injuries he had done, and 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 nevertheless 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 thou mayst pretend to
the contrary, that thou art, and wilt ever remain, my true and beloved
heir!”
After thus fearfully erring, 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
and repentance, and again raise up the broken-hearted youth; but would
often say: “Oh, how nearly hadst thou reached thy last trial, and gained
the victory, and looked on Verena’s countenance, and atoned for all! Now
thou hast thrown thyself back for years. Think, my son, on the shortness
of man’s life; if thou art always falling back anew, how wilt thou ever
gain the summit 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
leave the stone fortress; and sometimes he said: “I feel it a burden
that my life should yet be prolonged; but also there is much comfort in
it, for I still think the good God has in store for me here below some
great happiness; and it must be something in which you are concerned, my
beloved Sir Sintram, for what else in the whole world could rejoice me?”
But all remained as it was, and Sintram’s fearful dreams at
Christmas-time each year rather increased 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 till it should come, 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 father. 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 Sintram.
He took his horse from the stable and rode forth in the gathering
darkness. The noble steed slipped and stumbled and fell in the trackless
way, but his rider always raised him up, and urged him only more swiftly
and eagerly towards the object which he longed and yet dreaded to 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 precipices and treacherous ice under the snow.
Thus they arrived about midnight at Biorn’s castle. The windows of the
hall shone opposite to them with a brilliant light, as though some great
feast were kept there, and confused sounds, as of singing, met
their ears. Sintram gave his horse hastily to some retainers in
the court-yard, and ran up the steps, whilst Skovmark stayed by the
well-known horse.
A good esquire came towards Sintram 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 hateful 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 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 features with so red a flare, that he perfectly enacted 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 his dark hood.
“Yes, just see, my fair son,” said the wild Biorn; “thou hast not been
here for a long while,--and so to-night this jolly comrade has paid me
a visit, and thy place has been taken. But throw one of the suits of
armour out of the way, and put a seat for thyself 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 together, 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 so terrible words, and was fixing a calm, steady look on the
little Master’s face, the old man cried out, “Why dost thou look at him
so? Does it seem as though thou sawest thyself in a mirror? Now that you
are together, I do not see it so much; but a while ago I thought that
you were like enough to each other to be mistaken.”
“God forbid!” said Sintram, walking up close to the fearful apparition:
“I command thee, detestable stranger, to depart from this castle, in
right of my authority as my father’s heir,--as a consecrated knight and
as a spirit!”
Biorn seemed as if he wished to oppose himself to this command with all
his savage might. The little Master muttered to himself, “Thou art not
by any means the master in this house, pious knight; thou hast never
lighted a fire on this hearth.” Then Sintram drew the sword which
Gabrielle had given him, held the cross of 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 lightning
speed, that it could scarcely be seen whether he had sprung through the
window or the door. But in going he overthrew some of the armour, the
tapers went out, and it seemed that the pale blue flame which lighted
up the whole in a marvellous manner gave a fulfilment to the little
Master’s former 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 himself. Biorn wished to have his hateful guest
back again; and the power of his will was seen when the little Master’s
step resounded anew on the stairs, and his brown shrivelled hand shook
the lock of the door. On the other hand, Sintram ceased not to say
within himself, “We are lost, if he come back! We are lost to all
eternity, if he come back!” And he fell on his knees, and prayed
fervently from his troubled heart to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Then
the little Master left the door, and again Biorn willed him to return,
and again Sintram’s prayers drove him away. So went on this strife of
wills throughout the long night; and howling 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 appeared 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 came 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.