Before entering the rocky pass, the knight, with a prayer and
thanksgiving, looked back once more at the castle of Drontheim. 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, as if 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 crept, terrified, under his
master’s war-horse. But even the noble steed appeared to have forgotten
his once so fearless and warlike ardour. 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 beasts with you,” said the latter, in a low,
smothered voice.
Sintram was 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. 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 under his neck, was made to
give a strange sound. After a short silence, Sintram replied: “Noble
steeds avoid those of a worse race, because they are ashamed of them;
and the boldest dogs are attacked by a secret terror at sight of forms
to which they are not accustomed. I have no cowardly beasts with me.”
“Good, sir knight; then ride with me through the valley.”
“I am going through the valley, but I want no companions.”
“But perhaps I want one. Do you not see that I am unarmed? And at this
season, at this hour, there are frightful, unearthly beasts about.”
Just then, as though 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 about to slide down upon the knight
or his companion. Sintram levelled his spear, and pierced the creature
through. But, with the most hideous contortions, it fixed itself firmly
on the spear-head; and in vain did the knight endeavour to rub it off
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 company; 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 mercy 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 steadfast. The snow had slipped down from the
smooth rocks, and by the light of the rising moon could be seen various
strange twisted shapes on 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 Weigand. I am that other, 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 moonlight. 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 mushrooms 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 dog?”
Then some one called after him, in a yelling voice, “Stop! stop! Take me
also with you!”
Looking round, Sintram perceived a small, frightful figure with 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 little Master himself, who, laughing wildly, 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!”
“Thou art awake,” replied the rider of the little horse, “but thou
knowest me also in thy dreams. For, behold! I am Death.” And his
garments fell from him, and there appeared a mouldering skeleton, its
ghastly head crowned with serpents; that 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 Sintram; and full of
earnest devotion he rode after Death, who beckoned him on.
“He has thee not yet! He has thee not yet!” screamed the fearful fiend.
“Give thyself up to me rather. In one instant,--for swift are thy
thoughts, swift is my might,--in one instant thou shalt be in Normandy.
Helen yet blooms in beauty as when she departed hence, and this very
night she would be thine.” 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 Sintram’s countenance, and then it
seemed to him as if eternity in all its calm majesty were rising before
him, and a world of confusion 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, more fearful than a thunderclap, burst despairingly from the
lips of the Tempter, and he disappeared.
“He will return no more,” said Death, in a kindly tone.
“And now I am become wholly thine, my stern companion?”
“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 indeed. 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 in the moonlight; and the bell gave forth sounds as of
sweet lullabies. 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, which now obeyed his master willingly and gladly, and
the faithful dog also again ran beside him fearlessly. Death had
disappeared; but in front of Sintram there floated a bright morning
cloud, which continued visible after the sun had risen clear and warm in
the bright winter sky.