Life in the castle took from this time quite another form.Those two bright beings, Folko and Gabrielle, spent most part of the day in their apartments, and when they showed themselves, it was with quiet dignity and grave silence, while Biorn and Sintram stood before them in humble fear.Nevertheless, Biorn could not bear the thought of his guests seeking shelter in any other knight's abode.When Folko once spoke of it, something like a tear stood in the wild man's eye.
His head sank, and he said softly, "As you please; but I feel that if you go, I shall run among the rocks for days."And thus they all remained together; for the storm continued to rage with such increasing fury over the sea, that no sea voyage could be thought of, and the oldest man in Norway could not call to mind such an autumn.The priests examined all the runic books, the bards looked through their lays and tales, and yet they could find no record of the like.Biorn and Sintram braved the tempest; but during the few hours in which Folko and Gabrielle showed themselves, the father and son were always in the castle, as if respectfully waiting upon them; the rest of the day--nay, often through whole nights, they rushed through the forests and over the rocks in pursuit of bears.
Folko the while called up all the brightness of his fancy, all his courtly grace, in order to make Gabrielle forget that she was living in this wild castle, and that the long, hard northern winter was setting in, which would ice them in for many a month.Sometimes he would relate bright tales; then he would play the liveliest airs to induce Gabrielle to lead a dance with her attendants; then, again, handing his lute to one of the women, he would himself take a part the dance, well knowing to express thereby after some new fashion his devotion to his lady.Another time he would have the spacious halls of the castle prepared for his armed retainers to go through their warlike exercises, and Gabrielle always adjudged the reward to the conqueror.Folko often joined the circle of combatants; so that he only met their attacks, defending himself, but depriving no one of the prize.The Norwegians, who stood around as spectators, used to compare him to the demi-god Baldur, one of the heroes of their old traditions, who was wont to let the darts of his companions be all hurled against him, conscious that he was invulnerable, and of his own indwelling strength.
At the close of one of these martial exercises, old Rolf advanced towards Folko, and beckoning him with an humble look, said softly, "They call you the beautiful mighty Baldur,--and they are right.
But even the beautiful mighty Baldur did not escape death.Take heed to yourself.Folko looked at him wondering."Not that I know of any treachery," continued the old man; "or that I can even foresee the likelihood of any.God keep a Norwegian from such a fear.But when you stand before me in all the brightness of your glory, the fleetingness of everything earthly weighs down my mind, and I cannot refrain from saying, 'Take heed, noble baron! oh, take heed! Even the most beautiful glory comes to an end.'""Those are wise and pious thoughts," replied Folko calmly, "and Iwill treasure them in a pure heart."
The good Rolf was often with Folko and Gabrielle, and made a connecting link between the two widely differing parties in the castle.For how could he have ever forsaken his own Sintram! Only in the wild hunting expeditions through the howling storms and tempests he no longer was able to follow his young lord.
At length the icy reign of winter began in all its glory.On this account a return to Normandy was impossible, and therefore the magical storm was lulled.The hills and valleys shone brilliantly in their white attire of snow, and Folko used sometimes, with skates on his feet, to draw his lady in a light sledge over the glittering frozen lakes and streams.On the other hand, the bear-hunts of the lord of the castle and his son took a still more desperate and to them joyous course.
About this time,--when Christmas was drawing near, and Sintram was seeking to overpower his dread of the awful dreams by the most daring expeditions,--about this time, Folko and Gabrielle stood together on one of the terraces of the castle.The evening was mild; the snow-clad fields were glowing in the red light of the setting sun; from below there were heard men's voices singing songs of ancient heroic times, while they worked in the armourer's forge.At last the songs died away, the beating of hammers ceased, and, without the speakers being seen, or there being any possibility of distinguishing them by their voices, the following discourse arose:--"Who is the bravest amongst all those whose race derives its origin from our renowned land?""It is Folko of Montfaucon."
"Rightly said; but tell me, is there anything from which even this bold baron draws back?""In truth there is one thing,--and we who have never left Norway face it quite willingly and joyfully.""And that is--?"
"A bear-hunt in winter, over trackless plains of snow, down frightful ice-covered precipices.""Truly thou answerest aright, my comrade.He who knows not how to fasten our skates on his feet, how to turn in them to the right or left at a moment's warning, he may be a valiant knight in other respects, but he had better keep away from our hunting parties, and remain with his timid wife in her apartments." At which the speakers were heard to laugh well pleased, and then to betake themselves again to their armourer's work.
Folko stood long buried in thought.A glow beyond that of the evening sky reddened his cheek.Gabrielle also remained silent, considering she knew not what.At last she took courage, and embracing her beloved, she said: "To-morrow thou wilt go forth to hunt the bear, wilt thou not? and thou wilt bring the spoils of the chase to thy lady?"The knight gave a joyful sign of assent; and the rest of the evening was spent in dances and music.
