Text: C. F. Briggs (?), Literary, Broadway Journal (New York), April 5, 1845, vol. 1, no. 14, p. ??

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REVIEWS.

UNDINE AND SINTRAM. No. 3 of Wiley & Putnam's Library of Choice Reading.

The Undine of Fouque is too widely known and universally admired to require a word of commendation at this day, but Sintram and his Companions, by the same author, is comparatively unknown to American readers. It appears from the author's preface. that the tale was immediately suggested by Albrecht Durer's wood-cut of “The Knight, Death, and Satan,” and that the wild harmonies of Ole Bull had some influence in shaping it forth. A story so begot and so brought forth, must needs be wild, mysterious, and startling. An aura like a witch-element pervades the pages, and as we turn over the leaves a sensation of terror is imbibed, seemingly, at our fingers’ ends. The tale opens with the following wild and startling chapter: —

“In the Castle of Drontheim there were many knights assembled to hold council on the affairs of the kingdom; and after their debate, they remained till past midnight carousing together around the huge stone table in the vaulted hall. A rising storm drove the snow wildly against the rattling windows’ all the thick oak doors groaned, the massive locks shook, the castle clock slowly and heavily struck the hour of one.

“At that instant a boy, pale as death, with disordered hair and closed eyes, rushed into the hall, uttering a wild scream of terror. He stopped behind the richly carved seat of the mighty Biorn, clung to the knight with both his hands, and shrieked in a piercing voice, My knightly father! Death and another are closely pursuing me.’

“An awful stillness reigned suddenly in the whole assembly, broken only by the agonized shrieks of the boy. But one of Biorn's numerous retainers, an old esquire, known by the name of Rolf the Good, advanced toward the terrified child, took him in his arms, and half chanted this prayer: ‘ Oh, Father! 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 good Rolf bore him from the h ill unresisting, yet still shedding hot tears, and murmuring confused sounds.

“The lords and knights looked at one another in mute amazement, until the mighty Biorn said, in a fierce but scornfully-deriding tone, ‘Do not suffer yourselves to be disturbed by the appearance of that strange being. He is my only son; and has been in this state since he was five years 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 upon him only once in the year. and always at this same time. But forgive me for having spent so many words on my poor Sintram, and let us pass on to some worthier subject for our discourse.’

“Again there was a silence during some minutes. Then a solitary voice began here and there to attempt renewing their former conversation, but witho it success. Two of the youngest and most joyous spirits began a drinking song; but the storm howled and raged so wildly without, that their mirth was soon checked. And now they all sat silent and motionless in the lofty hall; the lamp flickered under the vaulted roof; the whole party of knights looked like pale, lifeless images, dressed up in gigantic armour.

“Then arose the chaplain of the castle of Drontheim, the only priest among the knightly throng, and said, Sir Biorn, our eyes and thoughts have all been directed to you and your son in a wonderful manner; but so it has been ordered by the providence of God. You perceive that we cannot withdraw them, andyou would do well to tell us exactly what you know concerning the fearful state in which we have seen your boy. Perchance, such a solemn narration, as I look forward to, might be of much use to our disturbed minds.’

“Biorn cast a look of displeasure on the priest, and answered, You are more concerned in the history, than either you or I could desire. Excuse me, if I am unwilling to trouble these light-hearted Warriors with such a rueful tale.’

“But the chaplain approached nearer to the knight, and said, in a [column 2:] firm yet very mild tone, Sir knight, up to this moment it rested with you to relate, or not to relate it: but now that you have so strangely hinted at the share which I have had in your son's calamity, I must positively request that you will repeat word for word how every thing came to pass. My honour demands such an explanation, and that will weigh with you as much as with me.’

“In stern compliance, Biorn bowed his haughty head, and began the following narration This time seven years, I was keeping Christmas-feast with my assembled followers. We have many venerable old customs which have descended to us by inheritance from our forefathers; as, for instance, that of placing a gilded boar's head on the table, and making thereon knightly vows ofdaring and wondrous deeds. Our chaplain there, who iu those days used frequently to visit me, was never a friend to keeping up such traditions of the ancient heathen world. Men of his sort were not much in favour in those olden times.’

“ ‘My excellent predecessors,’ interrupted the chaplain, were infinitely more concerned in obtaining the favor of God, than that of the world, and they were not unsuccessful in their aim. By that means they converted your ancestors; and if I can in like manner be of service to you, even your jeering will not vex me’

“With looks yet darker, and an involuntary shudder, the knight resumed: ‘Yes, yes; I know all your promises and threats concern. ing an invisible Power; and how they are meant to persuade us to part more readily with whatever of this world's goods we may possess. There was a time when such belonged to me! Occasionally a strange fancy seizes me, and I feel as if ages had passed over me since then, and as if I were alone the survivor, so fearfully is every thing changed. But now I recall to mind, that the greater part of this noble company knew me in my days of happiness, and have seen my wife, my lovely Verona.,

“He pressed his hands on his eyes, and many thought that he wept. The tempest was now lulled; the soft light of the moon shone through the windows, and her beams played on his wild features. Suddenly he started up, so that his heavy armour rattled with a fearful sound, and he cried out in a thundering voice, ‘ Shall I turn monk, because 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 openness and sincerity have I put heaven and hell before you during the space of six years; and you gave full consent to the step which the holy Verona took. But what all that has to do with your son's sufferings, I have yet to learn; and I wait for your further narration.’

“ ‘You may wait long enough for that,’ said Biorn with a sneer. Sooner shall ——’

“ ‘Swear not!’ said the chaplain in a loud commanding tone; and his eyes flashed almost fearfully.

“ ‘Hurra,’ cried Biorn in wild affright; hurry! Death and his companion are let loose!’ and he dashed madly out of the chamber, and down the steps. The loud wild notes of his horn were heard summoning his retainersi and presently the clatter of horses’ feet gave to. ken of their departure.

“The knights retired silent and shuddering; while the chaplain remained alone at the huge stone table, engaged earnest prayer.”