The spring had come in its brightness to the northern lands, when one
morning Sintram turned his horse homewards, after a successful
encounter with one of the most formidable disturbers of the peace of
his neighbourhood. His horsemen rode after him, singing as they went. As
they drew near the castle, they heard the sound of joyous notes wound on
the horn. “Some welcome visitor must have arrived,” said the knight; and
he spurred his horse to a quicker pace over the dewy meadow. While still
at some distance, they descried old Rolf, busily engaged in preparing
a table for the morning meal, under the trees in front of the
castle-gates. From all the turrets and battlements floated banners and
flags in the fresh morning breeze: esquires were running to and fro
in their gayest apparel. As soon as the good Rolf saw his master, he
clapped his hands joyfully over his grey head, and hastened into the
castle. Immediately the wide gates were thrown open; and Sintram, as he
entered, was met by Rolf, whose eyes were filled with tears of joy while
he pointed towards three noble forms that were following him.
Two men of high stature--one in extreme old age, the other grey-headed,
and both remarkably alike--were leading between them a fair young boy,
in a page’s dress of blue velvet, richly embroidered with gold. The two
old men wore the dark velvet dress of German burghers, and had massive
gold chains and large shining medals hanging round their necks.
Sintram had never before seen his honoured guests, and yet he felt as if
they were well known and valued friends. The very aged man reminded him
of his dying father’s words about the snow-covered mountains lighted up
by the evening sun; and then he remembered, he could scarcely tell how,
that he had heard Folko say that one of the highest mountains of that
sort in his southern land was called the St. Gotthard. And at the same
time, he knew that the old but yet vigorous man on the other side was
named Rudlieb. But the boy who stood between them ah! Sintram’s humility
dared scarcely form a hope as to who he might be, however much his
features, so noble and soft, called up two highly honoured images before
his mind.
Then the aged Gotthard Lenz, the king of old men, advanced with a solemn
step, and said--“This is the noble boy Engeltram of Montfaucon, the only
son of the great baron; and his father and mother send him to you, Sir
Sintram, knowing well your holy and glorious knightly career, that
you may bring him up to all the honourable and valiant deeds of this
northern land, and may make of him a Christian knight, like yourself.”
Sintram threw himself from his horse. Engeltram of Montfaucon held the
stirrup gracefully for him, checking the retainers, who pressed forward,
with these words: “I am the noblest born esquire of this knight, and the
service nearest to his person belongs to me.”
Sintram knelt in silent prayer on the turf; then lifting up in his arms,
towards the rising sun, the image of Folko and Gabrielle, he cried,
“With the help of God, my Engeltram, thou wilt become glorious as that
sun, and thy course will be like his!”
And old Rolf exclaimed, as he wept for joy, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy
servant depart in peace.”
Gotthard Lenz and Rudlieb were pressed to Sintram’s heart; the chaplain
of Drontheim, who just then came from Verena’s cloister to bring a
joyful greeting to her brave son, stretched out his hands to bless them
all.