From a balcony of her castle on the Maine Hildegardis was wont to
refresh herself in the cool of the evening by gazing on the rich
landscape below, but gazing more eagerly on the glitter of arms,
which often came in sight from many a distant road; for knights were
approaching singly, or with a train of followers, all eager to prove
their courage and their strength in striving for the high prize of the
tournament. She was in truth a proud and high-minded maiden--perhaps
more so than became even her dazzling beauty and her princely rank. As
she now gazed with a proud smile on the glittering roads a damsel of her
train began the following lay:--
“The joyous song of birds in spring
Upon the wing
Doth echo far through wood and dell,
And freely tell
Their treasures sweet of love and mirth,
Too gladsome for this lowly earth.
“The gentle breath of flowers in May,
O’er meadows gay,
Doth fill the pure and balmy air
With perfume rare;
Still floating round each slender form,
Though scorched by sun, or torn by storm.
“But every high and glorious aim,
And the pure flame
That deep abiding in my heart
Can ne’er depart,
Too lofty for my falt’ring tongue,
Must die with me, unknown, unsung.”
“Wherefore do you sing that song, and at this moment?” said Hildegardis,
striving to appear scornful and proud, though a deep and secret sadness
was plainly enough seen to overshadow her countenance. “It came into my
head unawares,” replied the damsel, “as I looked upon the road by which
the gentle Edwald with his pleasant lays first approached us; for it was
from him I learnt it. But seems it not to you, my gracious lady, and to
you too, my companions, as if Edwald himself were again riding that way
towards the castle?” “Dreamer!” said Hildegardis, scornfully--and yet
could not for some space withdraw her eyes from the knight, till at
length, with an effort, she turned them on Froda, who rode beside him,
saying: “Yes, truly, that knight is Edwald; but what can you find
to notice in the meek-spirited, silent boy? Here, fix your eyes, my
maidens, on this majestic figure, if you would behold a knight indeed.”
She was silent. A voice within her, as though of prophecy, said, “Now
the victor of the tournament rides into the courtyard;” and she, who
had never feared the presence of any human being, now felt humbled, and
almost painfully awed, when she beheld the northern knight.
At the evening meal the two newly-arrived knights were placed opposite
to the royal Hildegardis. As Froda, after the northern fashion, remained
in full armour, the golden image of Aslauga gleamed from his silver
breast-plate full before the eyes of the haughty lady. She smiled
scornfully, as if conscious that it depended on her will to drive that
image from the breast and from the heart of the stranger-knight.
Then suddenly a clear golden light passed through the hall, so that
Hildegardis said, “O, the keen lightning!” and covered her eyes with
both her hands. But Froda looked into the dazzling radiance with a
joyful gaze of welcome. At this Hildegardis feared him yet more, though
at the same time she thought, “This loftiest and most mysterious of men
must be born for me alone.” Yet could she not forbear, almost against
her will, to look from time to time in friendly tenderness on the poor
Edwald, who sat there silent, and with a sweet smile seemed to pity and
to mock his own suffering and his own vain hopes.
When the two knights were alone in their sleeping-chamber Edwald looked
for a long time in silence into the dewy, balmy night. Then he sang to
his lute:
“A hero wise and brave,
A lowly, tender youth,
Are wandering through the land
In steadfast love and truth.
“The hero, by his deeds,
Both bliss and fame had won,
And still, with heartfelt joy,
The faithful child looked on.”
But Froda took the lute from his hands, and said, “No, Edchen, I will
teach you another song; listen--!
“‘There’s a gleam in the hall, and like morning’s light
Hath shone upon all her presence bright.
Suitors watch as she passes by--
She may gladden their hearts by one glance of her eye:
But coldly she gazeth upon the throng,
And they that have sought her may seek her long.
She turns her away from the richly clad knight,
She heeds not the words of the learned wight;
The prince is before her in all his pride,
But other the visions around her that glide.
Then tell me, in all the wide world’s space,
Who may e’er win that lady’s grace?
In sorrowful love there sits apart
The gentle squire who hath her heart;
They all are deceived by fancies vain,
And he knows it not who the prize shall gain.’”
Edwald thrilled. “As God wills,” said he, softly to himself. “But I
cannot understand how such a thing could be.” “As God wills,” repeated
Froda. The two friends embraced each other, and soon after fell into a
peaceful slumber.
Some days afterwards Froda sat in a secluded bower of the castle garden,
and was reading in the ancient book of his lovely mistress Aslauga. It
happened at that very time that Hildegardis passed by. She stood still,
and said, thoughtfully, “Strange union that you are of knight and sage,
how comes it that you bring forth so little out of the deep treasures of
your knowledge? And yet I think you must have many a choice history at
your command, even such as that which now lies open before you; for I
see rich and bright pictures of knights and ladies painted amongst the
letters.”
“It is, indeed, the most surpassing and enchanting history in all the
world,” said Froda; “but you have neither patience nor thoughtfulness to
listen to our wonderful legends of the north.”
“Why think you so?” answered Hildegardis, with that pride which she
rejoiced to display towards Froda, when she could find courage to do so;
and, placing herself on a stone seat opposite, she commanded him at once
to read something to her out of that fair book.
Froda began, and in the very effort which he made to change the old
heroic speech of Iceland into the German tongue, his heart and mind were
stirred more fervently and solemnly. As he looked up from time to time,
he beheld the countenance of Hildegardis beaming in ever-growing beauty
with joy, wonder, and interest; and the thought passed through his mind
whether this could indeed be his destined bride, to whom Aslauga herself
was guiding him.
Then suddenly the characters became strangely confused; it seemed as
if the pictures began to move, so that he was obliged to stop. While he
fixed his eyes with a strong effort upon the book, endeavouring to drive
away this strange confusion, he heard a well-known sweetly solemn voice,
which said, “Leave a little space for me, fair lady. The history which
that knight is reading to you relates to me; and I hear it gladly.”
Before the eyes of Froda, as he raised them from his book, sat Aslauga
in all the glory of her flowing golden locks beside Hildegardis, on
the seat. With tears of affright in her eyes, the maiden sank back and
fainted. Solemnly, yet graciously, Aslauga warned her knight with a
motion of her fair right hand, and vanished.
“What have I done to you?” said Hildegardis when recovered from her
swoon by his care, “what have I done to you, evil-minded knight, that
you call up your northern spectres before me, and well-nigh destroy me
through terror of your magic arts?” “Lady,” answered Froda, “may God help
me, as I have not called hither the wondrous lady who but now appeared
to us. But now her will is known to me, and I commend you to God’s
keeping.”
With that he walked thoughtfully out of the bower. Hildegardis fled in
terror from the gloomy shade, and, rushing out on the opposite side,
reached a fair open grass-plot, where Edwald, in the soft glow of
twilight, was gathering flowers, and, meeting her with a courteous
smile, offered her a nosegay of narcissus and pansies.