  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. |
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