Produced by Sandra Laythorpe
SINTRAM AND HIS COMPANIONS
By Friedrich de la Motte Fouque
with foreword by Charlotte M. Yonge
Introduction
Four tales are, it is said, intended by the Author to be appropriate tothe Four Seasons: the stern, grave "Sintram", to winter; the tearful,smiling, fresh "Undine", to Spring; the torrid deserts of the "TwoCaptains", to summer; and the sunset gold of "Aslauga's Knight", toautumn. Of these two are before us.
The author of these tales, as well as of many more, was Friedrich, Baronde la Motte Fouque, one of the foremost of the minstrels or tale-tellersof the realm of spiritual chivalry--the realm whither Arthur's knightsdeparted when they "took the Sancgreal's holy quest,"--whence Spenser'sRed Cross knight and his fellows came forth on their adventures, and inwhich the Knight of la Mancha believed, and endeavoured to exist.
La Motte Fouque derived his name and his title from the French Huguenotancestry, who had fled on the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. HisChristian name was taken from his godfather, Frederick the Great,of whom his father was a faithful friend, without compromising hisreligious principles and practice. Friedrich was born at Brandenburg onFebruary 12, 1777, was educated by good parents at home, served in thePrussian army through disaster and success, took an enthusiastic partin the rising of his country against Napoleon, inditing as manybattle-songs as Korner. When victory was achieved, he dedicated hissword in the church of Neunhausen where his estate lay. He lived there,with his beloved wife and his imagination, till his death in 1843.
And all the time life was to him a poet's dream. He lived in a continualglamour of spiritual romance, bathing everything, from the old deitiesof the Valhalla down to the champions of German liberation, in an idealglow of purity and nobleness, earnestly Christian throughout, even inhis dealings with Northern mythology, for he saw Christ unconsciouslyshown in Baldur, and Satan in Loki.
Thus he lived, felt, and believed what he wrote, and though his dramasand poems do not rise above fair mediocrity, and the great number of hisprose stories are injured by a certain monotony, the charm of them isin their elevation of sentiment and the earnest faith pervading all. Hisknights might be Sir Galahad--
"My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure."
Evil comes to them as something to be conquered, generally as a form ofmagic enchantment, and his "wondrous fair maidens" are worthy of them.Yet there is adventure enough to afford much pleasure, and often we havea touch of true genius, which has given actual ideas to the world, andprecious ones.
This genius is especially traceable in his two masterpieces, Sintram andUndine. Sintram was inspired by Albert Durer's engraving of the "Knightof Death," of which we give a presentation. It was sent to Fouque by hisfriend Edward Hitzig, with a request that he would compose a balladon it. The date of the engraving is 1513, and we quote the descriptiongiven by the late Rev. R. St. John Tyrwhitt, showing how differently itmay be read.
"Some say it is the end of the strong wicked man, just overtaken byDeath and Sin, whom he has served on earth. It is said that the tuft onthe lance indicates his murderous character, being of such unusual size.You know the use of that appendage was to prevent blood running downfrom the spearhead to the hands. They also think that the object underthe horse's off hind foot is a snare, into which the old oppressor isto fall instantly. The expression of the faces may be taken either way:both good men and bad may have hard, regular features; and both good menand bad would set their teeth grimly on seeing Death, with the sands oftheir life nearly run out. Some say they think the expression of Deathgentle, or only admonitory (as the author of "Sintram"); and I have tothank the authoress of the "Heir of Redclyffe" for showing me a fineimpression of the plate, where Death certainly had a not ungentlecountenance--snakes and all. I think the shouldered lance, and quiet,firm seat on horseback, with gentle bearing on the curb-bit, indicategrave resolution in the rider, and that a robber knight would have hislance in rest; then there is the leafy crown on the horse's head; andthe horse and dog move on so quietly, that I am inclined to hope thebest for the Ritter."
Musing on the mysterious engraving, Fouque saw in it the life-longcompanions of man, Death and Sin, whom he must defy in order to reachsalvation; and out of that contemplation rose his wonderful romance,not exactly an allegory, where every circumstance can be fitted with anappropriate meaning, but with the sense of the struggle of life, withexternal temptation and hereditary inclination pervading all, whileGrace and Prayer aid the effort. Folko and Gabrielle are revived fromthe Magic Ring, that Folko may by example and influence enhance allhigher resolutions; while Gabrielle, in all unconscious innocence,awakes the passions, and thus makes the conquest the harder.
It is within the bounds of possibility that the similarities offolk-lore may have brought to Fouque's knowledge the outline of thestory which Scott tells us was the germ of "Guy Mannering"; where a boy,whose horoscope had been drawn by an astrologer, as likely to encounterpeculiar trials at certain intervals, actually had, in his twenty-firstyear, a sort of visible encounter with the Tempter, and came offconqueror by his strong faith in the Bible. Sir Walter, betweenreverence and realism, only took the earlier part of the story, butFouque gives us the positive struggle, and carries us along with thefinal victory and subsequent peace. His tale has had a remarkable powerover the readers. We cannot but mention two remarkable instances ateither end of the scale. Cardinal Newman, in his younger days, wasso much overcome by it that he hurried out into the garden to read italone, and returned with traces of emotion in his face. And when CharlesLowder read it to his East End boys, their whole minds seemed engrossedby it, and they even called certain spots after the places mentioned.Imagine the Rocks of the Moon in Ratcliff Highway!
May we mention that Miss Christabel Coleridge's "Waynflete" bringssomething of the spirit and idea of "Sintram" into modern life?
"Undine" is a story of much lighter fancy, and full of a peculiar grace,though with a depth of melancholy that endears it. No doubt itwas founded on the universal idea in folk-lore of the nixies orwater-spirits, one of whom, in Norwegian legend, was seen weepingbitterly because of the want of a soul. Sometimes the nymph is a wickedsiren like the Lorelei; but in many of these tales she weds an earthlylover, and deserts him after a time, sometimes on finding her divingcap, or her seal-skin garment, which restores her to her ocean kindred,sometimes on his intruding on her while she is under a periodicaltransformation, as with the fairy Melusine, more rarely if he becomesunfaithful.
There is a remarkable Cornish tale of a nymph or mermaiden, who thusvanished, leaving a daughter who loved to linger on the beach ratherthan sport with other children. By and by she had a lover, but no soonerdid he show tokens of inconstancy, than the mother came up from the seaand put him to death, when the daughter pined away and died. Her namewas Selina, which gives the tale a modern aspect, and makes us wonderif the old tradition can have been modified by some report of Undine'sstory.
There was an idea set forth by the Rosicrucians of spirits abiding inthe elements, and as Undine represented the water influences, Fouque'swife, the Baroness Caroline, wrote a fairly pretty story on the sylphsof fire. But Undine's freakish playfulness and mischief as an elementalbeing, and her sweet patience when her soul is won, are quiteoriginal, and indeed we cannot help sharing, or at least understanding,Huldbrand's beginning to shrink from the unearthly creature to somethingof his own flesh and blood. He is altogether unworthy, and though inthis tale there is far less of spiritual meaning than in Sintram, wecannot but see that Fouque's thought was that the grosser human natureis unable to appreciate what is absolutely pure and unearthly.
C. M. YONGE.
CHAPTER 1
In the high castle of Drontheim many knights sat assembled to holdcouncil for the weal of the realm; and joyously they caroused togethertill midnight around the huge stone table in the vaulted hall. A risingstorm drove the snow wildly against the rattling windows; all the oakdoors groaned, the massive locks shook, the castle-clock slowlyand heavily struck the hour of one. Then a boy, pale as death, withdisordered hair and closed eyes, rushed into the hall, uttering a wildscream of terror. He stopped beside the richly carved seat of the mightyBiorn, clung to the glittering knight with both his hands, and shriekedin a piercing voice, "Knight and father! father and knight! Death andanother are closely pursuing me!"
An awful stillness lay like ice on the whole assembly, save that the boyscreamed ever the fearful words. But one of Biorn's numerous retainers,an old esquire, known by the name of Rolf the Good, advanced towards theterrified child, took him in his arms, and half chanted this prayer: "OFather, help Thy servant! I believe, and yet I cannot believe." The boy,as if in a dream, at once loosened his hold of the knight; and the goodRolf bore him from the hall unresisting, yet still shedding hot tearsand murmuring confused sounds.
The lords and knights looked at one another much amazed, until themighty Biorn said, wildly and fiercely laughing, "Marvel not at thatstrange boy. He is my only son; and has been thus since he was fiveyears old: he is now twelve. I am therefore accustomed to see him so;though, at the first, I too was disquieted by it. The attack comes uponhim only once in the year, and always at this same time. But forgive mefor having spent so many words on my poor Sintram, and let us pass on tosome worthier subject for our discourse."
Again there was silence for a while; then whisperingly and doubtfullysingle voices strove to renew their broken-off discourse, but withoutsuccess. Two of the youngest and most joyous began a roundelay; butthe storm howled and raged so wildly without, that this too was sooninterrupted. And now they all sat silent and motionless in the loftyhall; the lamp flickered sadly under the vaulted roof; the whole partyof knights looked like pale, lifeless images dressed up in giganticarmour.
Then arose the chaplain of the castle of Drontheim, the only priestamong the knightly throng, and said, "Dear Lord Biorn, our eyes andthoughts have all been directed to you and your son in a wonderfulmanner; but so it has been ordered by the providence of God. Youperceive that we cannot withdraw them; and you would do well to tellus exactly what you know concerning the fearful state of the boy.Perchance, the solemn tale, which I expect from you, might do good tothis disturbed assembly."
Biorn cast a look of displeasure on the priest, and answered, "Sirchaplain, you have more share in the history than either you or I coulddesire. Excuse me, if I am unwilling to trouble these light-heartedwarriors with so rueful a tale."
But the chaplain approached nearer to the knight, and said, in a firmyet very mild tone, "Dear lord, hitherto it rested with you alone torelate, or not to relate it; but now that you have so strangely hintedat the share which I have had in your son's calamity, I must positivelydemand that you will repeat word for word how everything came to pass.My honour will have it so, and that will weigh with you as much as withme."
In stern compliance Biorn bowed his haughty head, and began thefollowing narration. "This time seven years I was keeping the Christmasfeast with my assembled followers. We have many venerable old customswhich have descended to us by inheritance from our great forefathers;as, for instance, that of placing a gilded boar's head on the table, andmaking thereon knightly vows of daring and wondrous deeds. Our chaplainhere, who used then frequently to visit me, was never a friend tokeeping up such traditions of the ancient heathen world. Such men as hewere not much in favour in those olden times."
"My excellent predecessors," interrupted the chaplain, "belonged moreto God than to the world, and with Him they were in favour. Thus theyconverted your ancestors; and if I can in like manner be of service toyou, even your jeering will not vex me."
With looks yet darker, and a somewhat angry shudder, the knight resumed:"Yes, yes; I know all your promises and threats of an invisible Power,and how they are meant persuade us to part more readily with whatever ofthis world's goods we may possess. Once, ah, truly, once I too had such!Strange!--Sometimes it seems to me as though ages had passed over sincethen, and as if I were alone the survivor, so fearfully has everythingchanged. But now I bethink me, that the greater part of this noblecompany knew me in my happiness, and have seen my wife, my lovelyVerena."
He pressed his hands on his eyes, and it seemed as though he wept. Thestorm had ceased; the soft light of the moon shone through the windows,and her beams played on his wild features. Suddenly he started up, sothat his heavy armour rattled with a fearful sound, and he cried outin a thundering voice, "Shall I turn monk, as she has become a nun? No,crafty priest; your webs are too thin to catch flies of my sort."
"I have nothing to do with webs," said the chaplain. "In all opennessand sincerity have I put heaven and hell before you during the space ofsix years; and you gave full consent to the step which the holy Verenatook. But what all that has to do with your son's sufferings I know not,and I wait for your narration."
"You may wait long enough," said Biorn, with a sneer. "Sooner shall--"
"Swear not!" said the chaplain in a loud commanding tone, and his eyesflashed almost fearfully.
"Hurra!" cried Biorn, in wild affright; "hurra! Death and his companionare loose!" and he dashed madly out of the chamber and down the steps.The rough and fearful notes of his horn were heard summoning hisretainers; and presently afterwards the clatter of horses' feet on thefrozen court-yard gave token of their departure. The knights retired,silent and shuddering; while the chaplain remained alone at the hugestone table, praying.
CHAPTER 2
After some time the good Rolf returned with slow and soft steps, andstarted with surprise at finding the hall deserted. The chamber where hehad been occupied in quieting and soothing the unhappy child was in sodistant a part of the castle that he had heard nothing of the knight'shasty departure. The chaplain related to him all that had passed, andthen said, "But, my good Rolf, I much wish to ask you concerning thosestrange words with which you seemed to lull poor Sintram to rest.They sounded like sacred words, and no doubt they are; but I could notunderstand them. 'I believe, and yet I cannot believe.'"
"Reverend sir," answered Rolf, "I remember that from my earliest yearsno history in the Gospels has taken such hold of me as that of the childpossessed with a devil, which the disciples were not able to cast out;but when our Saviour came down from the mountain where He had beentransfigured, He broke the bonds wherewith the evil spirit had held themiserable child bound. I always felt as if I must have known and lovedthat boy, and been his play-fellow in his happy days; and when I grewolder, then the distress of the father on account of his lunatic son layheavy at my heart. It must surely have all been a foreboding of our pooryoung Lord Sintram, whom I love as if he were my own child; and nowthe words of the weeping father in the Gospel often come into mymind,--'Lord, I believe; help Thou my unbelief;' and something similarI may very likely have repeated to-day as a chant or a prayer. Reverendfather, when I consider how one dreadful imprecation of the father haskept its withering hold on the son, all seems dark before me; but, Godbe praised! my faith and my hope remain above."
"Good Rolf," said the priest, "I cannot clearly understand what yousay about the unhappy Sintram; for I do not know when and how thisaffliction came upon him. If no oath or solemn promise bind you tosecrecy, will you make known to me all that is connected with it?"
"Most willingly," replied Rolf. "I have long desired to have anopportunity of so doing; but you have been almost always separatedfrom us. I dare not now leave the sleeping boy any longer alone; andto-morrow, at the earliest dawn, I must take him to his father. Will youcome with me, dear sir, to our poor Sintram?"
The chaplain at once took up the small lamp which Rolf had brough
t withhim, and they set off together through the long vaulted passages. In thesmall distant chamber they found the poor boy fast asleep. The light ofthe lamp fell strangely on his very pale face. The chaplain stood gazingat him for some time, and at length said: "Certainly from his birth hisfeatures were always sharp and strongly marked, but now they are almostfearfully so for such a child; and yet no one can help having a kindlyfeeling towards him, whether he will or not."
"Most true, dear sir," answered Rolf. And it was evident how his wholeheart rejoiced at any word which betokened affection for his belovedyoung lord. Thereupon he placed the lamp where its light could notdisturb the boy, and seating himself close by the priest, he began tospeak in the following terms:--"During that Christmas feast of which mylord was talking to you, he and his followers discoursed much concerningthe German merchants, and the best means of keeping down the increasingpride and power of the trading-towns. At length Biorn laid his impioushand on the golden boar's head, and swore to put to death without mercyevery German trader whom fate, in what way soever, might bringalive into his power. The gentle Verena turned pale, and would haveinterposed--but it was too late, the bloody word was uttered. Andimmediately afterwards, as though the great enemy of souls weredetermined at once to secure with fresh bonds the vassal thus devotedto him, a warder came into the hall to announce that two citizens of atrading-town in Germany, an old man and his son, had been shipwreckedon this coast, and were now within the gates, asking hospitality of thelord of the castle. The knight could not refrain from shuddering; buthe thought himself bound by his rash vow and by that accursed heathenishgolden boar. We, his retainers, were commanded to assemble in thecastle-yard, armed with sharp spears, which were to be hurled at thedefenceless strangers at the first signal made to us. For the first,and I trust the last time in my life, I said 'No' to the commands ofmy lord; and that I said in a loud voice, and with the heartiestdetermination. The Almighty, who alone knows whom He will accept andwhom He will reject, armed me with resolution and strength. And Biornmight perceive whence the refusal of his faithful old servant arose, andthat it was worthy of respect. He said to me, half in anger and half inscorn: 'Go up to my wife's apartments; her attendants are running toand fro, perhaps she is ill. Go up, Rolf the Good, I say to thee, and sowomen shall be with women.' I thought to myself, 'Jeer on, then;' and Iwent silently the way that he had pointed out to me. On the stairsthere met me two strange and right fearful beings, whom I had never seenbefore; and I know not how they got into the castle. One of them was agreat tall man, frightfully pallid and thin; the other was a dwarf-likeman, with a most hideous countenance and features. Indeed, when Icollected my thoughts and looked carefully at him, it appeared to me--"