A few days afterwards Sintram stood in the parlour of the convent, and
waited with a beating heart for his mother to appear. He had seen her
for the last time when, a slumbering child, he had been awakened by her
warm 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 softened, on whose cheeks a light reflection of that
solemn morning cloud yet lingered.
The inner doors opened. In her white veil, stately and noble, 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 sorrow or of joy.
“In whose sweet presence sorrow dares not lower
Nor expectation rise
Too high for earth.”--Christian Year
(Footnote in 1901 text.)
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 beat in
Sintram’s bosom. Shedding some placid tears, the son knelt before his
mother, kissed her flowing garments through the grating, and felt as
if in paradise, where every wish and every care is hushed. “Beloved
mother,” said he, “let me become a holy man, as thou art a holy woman.
Then I will betake myself to the cloister yonder; and perhaps I might
one day be deemed worthy to be thy confessor, if illness 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,” replied the
Lady Verena; “but such is not thy vocation. Thou must remain a bold,
powerful knight, and thou must spend the long life, which is almost
always granted to us children of the North, in succouring the weak, in
keeping down the lawless, and in yet another more bright and honourable
employment which I hitherto rather honour than know.”
“God’s will 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! how many sweet calm
joys spring up for us! See, already is our longing desire of meeting
again satisfied, and thou wilt never more be so entirely estranged from
me. Every week on this day thou wilt come back to me, and thou wilt
relate what glorious deeds thou hast done, and take back with thee my
advice and my blessing.”
“Am I not once more a good and happy child!” cried Sintram 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 richly
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 avert; 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 the sight of his lord’s excellence, was established
as seneschal. The winter of Sintram’s life set in bright and glorious,
and it was only at times that he would sigh within himself and say,
“Ah, Montfaucon! ah, Gabrielle! if I could dare to hope that you have
quite forgiven me!”