Undine
by
Friedrich de la Motte Fouque
Part 1 out of 2
This etext was produced by Charles Franks, Greg Weeks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
UNDINE
BY
DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
BY F. E. BUNNETT
CONTENTS.
DEDICATION
CHAPTER
I. HOW THE KNIGHT CAME TO THE FISHERMAN
II. IN WHAT WAY UNDINE HAD COME TO THE FISHERMAN
III. HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN
IV. OF THAT WHICH THE KNIGHT ENCOUNTERED IN THE WOOD
V. HOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE LITTLE PROMONTORY
VI. OF A NUPTIAL CEREMONY
VII. WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING OF THE WEDDING
VIII. THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING
IX. HOW THE KNIGHT TOOK HIS YOUNG WIFE WITH HIM
X. HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CITY
XI. THE ANNIVERSARY OF BERTALDA'S NAME-DAY
XII. HOW THEY DEPARTED FROM THE IMPERIAL CITY
XIII. HOW THEY LIVED AT CASTLE RINGSTETTEN
XIV. HOW BERTALDA RETURNED HOME WITH THE KNIGHT
XV. THE JOURNEY TO VIENNA
XVI. HOW IT FARED FURTHER WITH HULDBRAND
XVII. THE KNIGHT'S DREAM
XVIII. HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND IS MARRIED
XIX. HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS BURIED
DEDICATION.
Undine, thou image fair and blest,
Since first thy strange mysterious glance,
Shone on me from some old romance,
How hast thou sung my heart to rest!
How hast thou clung to me and smiled,
And wouldest, whispering in my ear,
Give vent to all thy miseries drear,
A little half-spoiled timorous child!
Yet hath my zither caught the sound,
And breathed from out its gates of gold,
Each gentle word thy lips have told,
Until their fame is spread around.
And many a heart has loved thee well,
In spite of every wayward deed,
And many a one will gladly read,
The pages which thy history tell.
I catch the whispered hope expressed,
That thou should'st once again appear;
So cast aside each doubt and fear,
And come, Undine! thou spirit blest!
Greet every noble in the hall,
And greet 'fore all, with trusting air,
The beauteous women gathered there;
I know that thou art loved by all.
And if one ask thee after me,
Say: he's a true and noble knight,
Fair woman's slave in song and fight
And in all deeds of chivalry.
UNDINE.
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE KNIGHT CAME TO THE FISHERMAN.
There was once, it may be now many hundred years ago, a good old
fisherman, who was sitting one fine evening before his door, mending
his nets. The part of the country in which he lived was extremely
pretty. The greensward, on which his cottage stood, ran far into the
lake, and it seemed as if it was from love for the blue clear waters
that the tongue of land had stretched itself out into them, while
with an equally fond embrace the lake had encircled the green
pasture rich with waving grass and flowers, and the refreshing shade
of trees. The one welcomed the other, and it was just this that made
each so beautiful. There were indeed few human beings, or rather
none at all, to be met with on this pleasant spot, except the
fisherman and his family. For at the back of this little promontory
there lay a very wild forest, which, both from its gloom and
pathless solitude as well as from the wonderful creatures and
illusions with which it was said to abound, was avoided by most
people except in cases of necessity.
The pious old fisherman, however, passed through it many a time
undisturbed, when he was taking the choice fish, which he had caught
at his beautiful home, to a large town situated not far from the
confines of the forest. The principal reason why it was so easy for
him to pass through this forest was because the tone of his thoughts
was almost entirely of a religious character, and besides this,
whenever he set foot upon the evil reputed shades, he was wont to
sing some holy song, with a clear voice and a sincere heart.
While sitting over his nets this evening, unsuspicious of any evil,
a sudden fear came upon him, at the sound of a rustling in the gloom
of the forest, as of a horse and rider, the noise approaching nearer
and nearer to the little promontory. All that he had dreamed, in
many a stormy night, of the mysteries of the forest, now flashed at
once through his mind; foremost of all, the image of a gigantic
snow-white man, who kept unceasingly nodding his head in a
portentous manner. Indeed, when he raised his eyes toward the wood
it seemed to him as if he actually saw the nodding man approaching
through the dense foliage. He soon, however, reassured himself,
reflecting that nothing serious had ever befallen him even in the
forest itself, and that upon this open tongue of land the evil
spirit would be still less daring in the exercise of his power. At
the same time he repeated aloud a text from the Bible with all his
heart, and this so inspired him with courage that he almost smiled
at the illusion he had allowed to possess him. The white nodding man
was suddenly transformed into a brook long familiar to him, which
ran foaming from the forest and discharged itself into the lake. The
noise, however, which he had heard, was caused by a knight
beautifully apparelled, who, emerging from the deep shadows of the
wood, came riding toward the cottage. A scarlet mantle was thrown
over his purple gold-embroidered doublet; a red and violet plume
waved from his golden-colored head-gear; and a beautifully and
richly ornamented sword flashed from his shoulder-belt. The white
steed that bore the knight was more slenderly formed than war-horses
generally are, and he stepped so lightly over the turf that this
green and flowery carpet seemed scarcely to receive the slightest
injury from his tread.
The old fisherman did not, however, feel perfectly secure in his
mind, although he tried to convince himself that no evil was to be
feared from so graceful an apparition; and therefore he politely
took off his hat as the knight approached, and remained quietly with
his nets.
Presently the stranger drew up, and inquired whether he and his
horse could have shelter and care for the night. "As regards your
horse, good sir," replied the fisherman. "I can assign him no better
stable than this shady pasture, and no better provender than the
grass growing on it. Yourself, however, I will gladly welcome to my
small cottage, and give you supper and lodging as good as we have."
The knight was well satisfied with this; he alighted from his horse,
and, with the assistance of the fisherman, he relieved it from
saddle and bridle, and turned it loose upon the flowery green. Then
addressing his host, he said: "Even had I found you less hospitable
and kindly disposed, my worthy old fisherman, you would nevertheless
scarcely have got rid of me to-day, for, as I see, a broad lake lies
before us, and to ride back into that mysterious wood, with the
shades of evening coming on, heaven keep me from it!"
"We will not talk too much of that," said the fisherman, and he led
his guest into the cottage.
There, beside the hearth, from which a scanty fire shed a dim light
through the cleanly-kept room, sat the fisherman's aged wife in a
capacious chair. At the entrance of the noble guest she rose to give
him a kindly welcome, but resumed her seat of honor without offering
it to the stranger. Upon this the fisherman said with a smile: "You
must not take it amiss of her, young sir, that she has not given up
to you the most comfortable seat in the house; it is a custom among
poor people, that it should belong exclusively to the aged."
"Why, husband," said the wife, with a quiet smile, "what can you be
thinking of? Our guest belongs no doubt to Christian men, and how
could it come into the head of the good young blood to drive old
people from their chairs? Take a seat, my young master," she
continued, turning toward the knight; "over there, there is a right
pretty little chair, only you must not move about on it too roughly,
for one of its legs is no longer of the firmest." The knight fetched
the chair carefully, sat down upon it good-humoredly, and it seemed
to him as if he were related to this little household, and had just
returned from abroad.
The three worthy people now began to talk together in the most
friendly and familiar manner. With regard to the forest, about which
the knight made some inquiries, the old man was not inclined to be
communicative; he felt it was not a subject suited to approaching
night, but the aged couple spoke freely of their home and former
life, and listened also gladly when the knight recounted to them his
travels, and told them that he had a castle near the source of the
Danube, and that his name was Sir Huldbrand of Ringstetten. During
the conversation, the stranger had already occasionally heard a
splash against the little low window, as if some one were sprinkling
water against it. Every time the noise occurred, the old man knit
his brow with displeasure; but when at last a whole shower was
dashed against the panes, and bubbled into the room through the
decayed casement, he rose angrily, and called threateningly from the
window: "Undine! will you for once leave off these childish tricks?
and to-day, besides, there is a stranger knight with us in the
cottage." All was silent without, only a suppressed laugh was
audible, and the fisherman said as he returned: "You must pardon it
in her, my honored guest, and perhaps many a naughty trick besides;
but she means no harm by it. It is our foster-child, Undine, and she
will not wean herself from this childishness, although she has
already entered her eighteenth year. But, as I said, at heart she is
thoroughly good."
"You may well talk," replied the old woman, shaking her head; "when
you come home from fishing or from a journey, her frolics may then
be very delightful, but to have her about one the whole day long,
and never to hear a sensible word, and instead of finding her a help
in the housekeeping as she grows older, always to be obliged to be
taking care that her follies do not completely ruin us, that is
quite another thing, and the patience of a saint would be worn out
at last."
"Well, well," said her husband with a smile, "you have your troubles
with Undine, and I have mine with the lake. It often breaks away my
dams, and tears my nets to pieces, but for all that, I have an
affection for it, and so have you for the pretty child, in spite of
all your crosses and vexations. Isn't it so?"
"One can't be very angry with her, certainly," said the old woman,
and she smiled approvingly.
Just then the door flew open, and a beautiful, fair girl glided
laughing into the room, and said "You have only been jesting,
father, for where is your guest?"
At the same moment, however, she perceived the knight, and stood
fixed with astonishment before the handsome youth, Huldbrand was
struck with her charming appearance, and dwelt the more earnestly on
her lovely features, as he imagined it was only her surprise that
gave him this brief enjoyment, and that she would presently turn
from his gaze with increased bashfulness. It was, however, quite
otherwise; for after having looked at him for some time, she drew
near him confidingly, knelt down before him, and said, as she played
with a gold medal which he wore on his breast, suspended from a rich
chain: "Why, you handsome, kind guest, how have you come to our poor
cottage at last? Have you been obliged then to wander through the
world for years, before you could find your way to us? Do you come
out of that wild forest, my beautiful knight?" The old woman's
reproof allowed him no time for reply. She admonished the girl to
stand up and behave herself and to go to her work. Undine, however,
without making any answer drew a little footstool close to
Huldbrand's chair, sat down upon it with her spinning, and said
pleasantly: "I will work here." The old man did as parents are wont
to do with spoiled children. He affected to observe nothing of
Undine's naughtiness and was beginning to talk of something else.
But this the girl would not let him do; she said: "I have asked our
charming guest whence he comes, and he has not yet answered me."
"I come from the forest, you beautiful little vision," returned
Huldbrand; and she went on to say:--
"Then you must tell me how you came there, for it is usually so
feared, and what marvellous adventures you met with in it, for it is
impossible to escape without something of the sort."
Huldbrand felt a slight shudder at this remembrance, and looked
involuntarily toward the window, for it seemed to him as if one of
the strange figures he had encountered in the forest were grinning
in there; but he saw nothing but the deep dark night, which had now
shrouded everything without. Upon this he composed himself and was
on the point of beginning his little history, when the old man
interrupted him by saying: "Not so, sir knight! this is no fit hour
for such things." Undine, however, sprang angrily from her little
stool, and standing straight before the fisherman with her fair arms
fixed in her sides, she exclaimed: "He shall not tell his story,
father? He shall not? but it is my will. He shall! He shall in spite
of you!" and thus saying she stamped her pretty little foot
vehemently on the floor, but she did it all with such a comically
graceful air that Huldbrand now felt his gaze almost more riveted
upon her in her anger than before in her gentleness.
The restrained wrath of the old man, on the contrary, burst forth
violently. He severely reproved Undine's disobedience and unbecoming
behavior to the stranger, and his good old wife joined with him
heartily. Undine quickly retorted: "If you want to chide me, and
won't do what I wish, then sleep alone in your old smoky hut!" and
swift as an arrow she flew from the room, and fled into the dark
night.
CHAPTER II.
IN WHAT WAY UNDINE HAD COME TO THE FISHERMAN
Huldbrand and the fisherman sprang from their seats and were on the
point of following the angry girl. Before they reached the cottage
door, however, Undine had long vanished in the shadowy darkness
without, and not even the sound of her light footstep betrayed the
direction of her flight. Huldbrand looked inquiringly at his host;
it almost seemed to him as if the whole sweet apparition, which had
suddenly merged again into the night, were nothing else than one of
that band of the wonderful forms which had, but a short time since,
carried on their pranks with him in the forest. But the old man
murmured between his teeth: "This is not the first time that she has
treated us in this way. Now we have aching hearts and sleepless eyes
the whole night through; for who knows, that she may not some day
come to harm, if she is thus out alone in the dark until daylight."
"Then let us for God's sake follow her," cried Huldbrand, anxiously.
"What would be the good of it?" replied the old man. "It would be a
sin were I to allow you, all alone, to follow the foolish girl in
the solitary night, and my old limbs would not overtake the wild
runaway, even if we knew in what direction she had gone."
"We had better at any rate call after her, and beg her to come
back," said Huldbrand; and he began to call in the most earnest
manner: "Undine! Undine! Pray come back!" The old man shook his
head, saying, that all that shouting would help but little, for the
knight had no idea how self-willed the little truant was. But still
he could not forbear often calling out with him in the dark night:
"Undine! Ah! dear Undine, I beg you to come back--only this once!"
It turned out, however, as the fisherman had said. No Undine was to
be heard or seen, and as the old man would on no account consent
that Huldbrand should go in search of the fugitive, they were at
last both obliged to return to the cottage. Here they found the fire
on the hearth almost gone out, and the old wife, who took Undine's
flight and danger far less to heart than her husband, had already
retired to rest. The old man blew up the fire, laid some dry wood on
it, and by the light of the flame sought out a tankard of wine,
which he placed between himself and his guest. "You, sir knight,"
said he, "are also anxious about that silly girl, and we would both
rather chatter and drink away a part of the night than keep turning
round on our rush mats trying in vain to sleep. Is it not so?"
Huldbrand was well satisfied with the plan; the fisherman obliged
him to take the seat of honor vacated by the good old housewife, and
both drank and talked together in a manner becoming two honest and
trusting men. It is true, as often as the slightest thing moved
before the windows, or even at times when nothing was moving, one of
the two would look up and say: "She is coming!" Then they would be
silent for a moment or two, and as nothing appeared, they would
shake their heads and sigh and go on with their talk.
As, however, neither could think of anything but of Undine, they
knew of nothing better to do than that the old fisherman should tell
the story, and the knight should hear, in what manner Undine had
first come to the cottage. He therefore began as follows:--
"It is now about fifteen years ago that I was one day crossing the
wild forest with my goods, on my way to the city. My wife had stayed
at home, as her wont is, and at this particular time for a very good
reason, for God had given us, in our tolerably advanced age, a
wonderfully beautiful child. It was a little girl; and a question
already arose between us, whether for the sake of the new-comer, we
would not leave our lovely home that we might better bring up this
dear gift of heaven in some more habitable place. Poor people indeed
cannot do in such cases as you may think they ought, sir knight,
but, with God's blessing, every one must do what he can. Well, the
matter was tolerably in my head as I went along. This slip of land
was so dear to me, and I shuddered when, amid the noise and brawls
of the city, I thought to myself, 'In such scenes as these, or in
one not much more quiet, thou wilt also soon make thy abode!' But at
the same time I did not murmur against the good God; on the
contrary, I thanked him in secret for the new-born babe; I should be
telling a lie, too, were I to say, that on my journey through the
wood, going or returning, anything befell me out of the common way,
and at that time I had never seen any of its fearful wonders. The
Lord was ever with me in those mysterious shades."
As he spoke he took his little cap from his bald head, and remained
for a time occupied with prayerful thoughts; he then covered himself
again, and continued:--
"On this side the forest, alas! a sorrow awaited me. My wife came to
meet me with tearful eyes and clad in mourning. 'Oh! Good God!' I
groaned, 'where is our dear child? speak!'--'With him on whom you
have called, dear husband,' she replied; and we now entered the
cottage together weeping silently. I looked around for the little
corpse, and it was then only that I learned how it had all
happened."
"My wife had been sitting with the child on the edge of the lake,
and as she was playing with it, free of all fear and full of
happiness, the little one suddenly bent forward, as if attracted by
something very beautiful in the water. My wife saw her laugh, the
dear angel, and stretch out her little hands; but in a moment she
had sprung out of her mother's arms, and had sunk beneath the watery
mirror. I sought long for our little lost one; but it was all in
vain; there was no trace of her to be found."
"The same evening we, childless parents, were sitting silently
together in the cottage; neither of us had any desire to talk, even
had our tears allowed us. We sat gazing into the fire on the hearth.
Presently, we heard something rustling outside the door: it flew
open, and a beautiful little girl three or four years old, richly
dressed, stood on the threshold smiling at us. We were quite dumb
with astonishment, and I knew not at first whether it were a vision
or a reality. But I saw the water dripping from her golden hair and
rich garments, and I perceived that the pretty child had been lying
in the water, and needed help. 'Wife,' said I, 'no one has been able
to save our dear child; yet let us at any rate do for others what
would have made us so blessed.' We undressed the little one, put her
to bed, and gave her something warm; at all this she spoke not a
word, and only fixed her eyes, that reflected the blue of the lake
and of the sky, smilingly upon us. Next morning we quickly perceived
that she had taken no harm from her wetting, and I now inquired
about her parents, and how she had come here. But she gave a
confused and strange account. She must have been born far from here,
not only because for these fifteen years I have not been able to
find out anything of her parentage, but because she then spoke, and
at times still speaks, of such singular things that such as we are
cannot tell but that she may have dropped upon us from the moon. She
talks of golden castles, of crystal domes, and heaven knows what
besides. The story that she told with most distinctness was, that
she was out in a boat with her mother on the great lake, and fell
into the water, and that she only recovered her senses here under
the trees where she felt herself quite happy on the merry shore. We
had still a great misgiving and perplexity weighing on our heart. We
had, indeed, soon decided to keep the child we had found and to
bring her up in the place of our lost darling; but who could tell us
whether she had been baptized or not? She herself could give us no
information on the matter. She generally answered our questions by
saying that she well knew she was created for Gods praise and glory,
and that she was ready to let us do with her whatever would tend to
His honor and glory."
"My wife and I thought that if she were not baptized, there was no
time for delay, and that if she were, a good thing could not be
repeated too often. And in pursuance of this idea, we reflected upon
a good name for the child, for we now were often at a loss to know
what to call her. We agreed at last that Dorothea would be the most
suitable for her, for I once heard that it meant a gift of God, and
she had surely been sent to us by God as a gift and comfort in our
misery. She, on the other hand, would not hear of this, and told us
that she thought she had been called Undine by her parents, and that
Undine she wished still to be called. Now this appeared to me a
heathenish name, not to be found in any calendar, and I took counsel
therefore of a priest in the city. He also would not hear of the
name of Undine, but at my earnest request he came with me through
the mysterious forest in order to perform the rite of baptism here
in my cottage. The little one stood before us so prettily arrayed
and looked so charming that the priest's heart was at once moved
within him, and she flattered him so prettily, and braved him so
merrily, that at last he could no longer remember the objections he
had had ready against the name of Undine. She was therefore baptized
'Undine,' and during the sacred ceremony she behaved with great
propriety and sweetness, wild and restless as she invariably was at
other times. For my wife was quite right when she said that it has
been hard to put up with her. If I were to tell you"--
The knight interrupted the fisherman to draw his attention to a
noise, as of a rushing flood of waters, which had caught his ear
during the old man's talk, and which now burst against the cottage-
window with redoubled fury. Both sprang to the door. There they saw,
by the light of the now risen moon, the brook which issued from the
wood, widely overflowing its banks, and whirling away stones and
branches of trees in its sweeping course. The storm, as if awakened
by the tumult, burst forth from the mighty clouds which passed
rapidly across the moon; the lake roared under the furious lashing
of the wind; the trees of the little peninsula groaned from root to
topmost bough, and bent, as if reeling, over the surging waters.
"Undine! for Heaven's sake, Undine." cried the two men in alarm. No
answer was returned, and regardless of every other consideration,
they ran out of the cottage, one in this direction, and the other in
that, searching and calling.
CHAPTER III.
HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN.
The longer Huldbrand sought Undine beneath the shades of night, and
failed to find her, the more anxious and confused did he become.
The idea that Undine had been only a mere apparition of the forest,
again gained ascendancy over him; indeed, amid the howling of the
waves and the tempest, the cracking of the trees, and the complete
transformation of a scene lately so calmly beautiful, he could
almost have considered the whole peninsula with its cottage and its
inhabitants as a mocking illusive vision; but from afar he still
ever heard through the tumult the fisherman's anxious call for
Undine, and the loud praying and singing of his aged wife. At length
he came close to the brink of the swollen stream. and saw in the
moonlight how it had taken its wild course directly in front of the
haunted forest, so as to change the peninsula into an island. "Oh
God!" he thought to himself, "if Undine has ventured a step into
that fearful forest, perhaps in her charming wilfulness, just
because I was not allowed to tell her about it; and now the stream
may be rolling between us, and she may be weeping on the other side
alone, among phantoms and spectres!"
A cry of horror escaped him, and he clambered down some rocks and
overthrown pine-stems, in order to reach the rushing stream and by
wading or swimming to seek the fugitive on the other side. He
remembered all the awful and wonderful things which he had
encountered, even by day, under the now rustling and roaring
branches of the forest. Above all it seemed to him as if a tall man
in white, whom he knew but too well, was grinning and nodding on the
opposite shore; but it was just these monstrous forms which forcibly
impelled him to cross the flood, as the thought seized him that
Undine might be among them in the agonies of death and alone.
He had already grasped the strong branch of a pine, and was standing
supported by it, in the whirling current, against which he could
with difficulty maintain himself; though with a courageous spirit he
advanced deeper into it. Just then a gentle voice exclaimed near
him: "Venture not, venture not, the old man, the stream, is full of
tricks!" He knew the sweet tones; he stood as if entranced beneath
the shadows that duskily shrouded the moon, and his head swam with
the swelling of the waves, which he now saw rapidly rising to his
waist. Still he would not desist.
"If thou art not really there, if thou art only floating about me
like a mist, then may I too cease to live and become a shadow like
thee, dear, dear Undine!" Thus exclaiming aloud, he again stepped
deeper into the stream. "Look round thee, oh! look round thee,
beautiful but infatuated youth!" cried a voice again close beside
him, and looking aside, he saw by the momentarily unveiled moon, a
little island formed by the flood, on which he perceived under the
interweaved branches of the overhanging trees, Undine smiling and
happy, nestling in the flowery grass.
Oh! how much more gladly than before did the young man now use the
aid of his pine-branch!
With a few steps he had crossed the flood which was rushing between
him and the maiden, and he was standing beside her on a little spot
of turf, safely guarded and screened by the good old trees. Undine
had half-raised herself, and now under the green leafy tent she
threw her arms round his neck, and drew him down beside her on her
soft seat.
"You shall tell me your story here, beautiful friend," said she, in
a low whisper; "the cross old people cannot hear us here: and our
roof of leaves is just as good a shelter as their poor cottage."
"It is heaven itself!" said Huldbrand, embracing the beautiful girl
and kissing her fervently.
The old fisherman meanwhile had come to the edge of the stream, and
shouted across to the two young people; "Why, sir knight, I have
received you as one honest-hearted man is wont to receive another,
and now here you are caressing my foster-child in secret, and
letting me run hither and thither through the night in anxious
search of her."
"I have only just found her myself, old father," returned the
knight.
"So much the better," said the fisherman; "but now bring her across
to me without delay upon firm ground."
Undine, however, would not hear of this; she declared she would
rather go with the beautiful stranger, into the wild forest itself,
than return to the cottage, where no one did as she wished, and from
which the beautiful knight would himself depart sooner or later.
Then, throwing her arms round Huldbrand, she sang with indescribable
grace:--
"A stream ran out of the misty vale
Its fortunes to obtain,
the ocean's depths it found a home
And ne'er returned again."
The old fisherman wept bitterly at her song, but this did not seem
to affect her particularly. She kissed and caressed her new friend,
who at last said to her: "Undine, if the old man's distress does not
touch your heart, it touches mine--let us go back to him."
She opened her large blue eyes in amazement at him, and spoke at
last, slowly and hesitatingly: "If you think so--well, whatever you
think is right to me. But the old man yonder must first promise me
that he will let you, without objection, relate to me what you saw
in the wood, and--well, other things will settle themselves."
"Come, only come," cried the fisherman to her, unable to utter
another word: and at the same time he stretched out his arms far
over the rushing stream toward her, and nodded his head as if to
promise the fulfilment of her request, and as he did this, his white
hair fell strangely over his face, and reminded Huldbrand of the
nodding white man in the forest. Without allowing himself, however,
to grow confused by such an idea the young knight took the beautiful
girl in his arms, and bore her over the narrow passage which the
stream had forced between her little island and the shore.
The old man fell upon Undine's neck and could not satisfy the
exuberance of his joy; his good wife also came up and caressed the
newly-found in the heartiest manner. Not a word of reproach passed
their lips; nor was it thought of, for Undine, forgetting all her
waywardness, almost overwhelmed her foster-parents with affection
and fond expressions.
When at last they had recovered from the excess of their joy, day
had already dawned, and had shed its purple hue over the lake;
stillness had followed the storm, and the little birds were singing
merrily on the wet branches. As Undine now insisted upon hearing the
knight's promised story, the aged couple smilingly and readily
acceded to her desire. Breakfast was brought out under the trees
which screened the cottage from the lake, and they sat down to it
with contented hearts--Undine on the grass at the knight's feet, the
place chosen by herself.
Huldbrand then proceeded with his story.
CHAPTER IV.
OF THAT WHICH THE KNIGHT ENCOUNTERED IN THE WOOD.
"It is now about eight days ago since I rode into the free imperial
city, which lies on the other side of the forest. Soon after my
arrival, there was a splendid tournament and running at the ring,
and I spared neither my horse nor my lance. Once when I was pausing
at the lists, to rest after my merry toil, and was handing back my
helmet to one of my squires, my attention was attracted by a female
figure of great beauty, who was standing richly attired on one of
the galleries allotted to spectators."
"I asked my neighbor, and learned from him, that the name of the
fair lady was Bertalda, and that she was the foster-daughter of one
of the powerful dukes living in the country. I remarked that she
also was looking at me, and, as it is wont to be with us young
knights, I had already ridden bravely, and now pursued my course
with renovated confidence and courage. In the dance that evening I
was Bertalda's partner, and I remained so throughout the festival."
A sharp pain in his left hand, which hung down by his side, here
interrupted Huldbrand's narrative, and drew his attention to the
aching part. Undine had fastened her pearly teeth upon one of his
fingers, appearing at the same time very gloomy and angry. Suddenly,
however, she looked up in his eyes with an expression of tender
melancholy, and whispered in a soft voice: "It is your own fault."
Then she hid her face, and the knight, strangely confused and
thoughtful, continued his narrative.
"This Bertalda was a haughty, wayward girl. Even on the second day
she pleased me no longer as she had done on the first, and on the
third day still less. Still I continued about her, because she was
more pleasant to me than to any other knight, and thus it was that I
begged her in jest to give me one of her gloves. 'I will give it you
when you have quite alone explored the ill-famed forest,' said she,
'and can bring me tidings of its wonders.' It was not that her glove
was of such importance to me, but the word had been said, and an
honorable knight would not allow himself to be urged a second time
to such a proof of valor."
"I think she loved you," said Undine, interrupting him.
"It seemed so," replied Huldbrand.
"Well," exclaimed the girl, laughing, "she must be stupid indeed. To
drive away any one dear to her. And moreover, into an ill-omened
wood. The forest and its mysteries might have waited long enough for
me!"
"Yesterday morning." continued the knight, smiling kindly at Undine,
"I set out on my enterprise. The stems of the trees caught the red
tints of the morning light which lay brightly on the green turf, the
leaves seemed whispering merrily with each other, and in my heart I
could have laughed at the people who could have expected anything to
terrify them in this pleasant spot. 'I shall soon have trotted
through the forest there and back again,' I said to myself, with a
feeling of easy gayety, and before I had even thought of it I was
deep within the green shades, and could no longer perceive the plain
which lay behind me. Then for the first time it struck me that I
might easily lose my way in the mighty forest, and that this perhaps
was the only danger which the wanderer had to fear. I therefore
paused and looked round in the direction of the sun, which in the
mean while had risen somewhat higher above the horizon. While I was
thus looking up I saw something black in the branches of a lofty
oak. I thought it was a bear and I grasped my sword; but with a
human voice, that sounded harsh and ugly, it called to me from
above: 'If I do not nibble away the branches up here, Sir Malapert,
what shall we have to roast you with at midnight?' And so saying it
grinned and made the branches rustle, so that my horse grew furious
and rushed forward with me before I had time to see what sort of a
devil it really was."
"You must not call it so," said the old fisherman as he crossed
himself; his wife did the same silently. Undine looked at the knight
with sparkling eyes and said: "The best of the story is that they
certainly have not roasted him yet; go on now, you beautiful youth!"
The knight continued his narration: "My horse was so wild that he
almost rushed with me against the stems and branches of trees; he
was dripping with sweat, and yet would not suffer himself to be held
in. At last he went straight in the direction of a rocky precipice;
then it suddenly seemed to me as if a tall white man threw himself
across the path of my wild steed; the horse trembled with fear and
stopped: I recovered my hold of him, and for the first time
perceived that my deliverer was no white man, but a brook of silvery
brightness, rushing down from a hill by my side and crossing and
impeding my horse's course."
"Thanks, dear Brook," exclaimed Undine, clapping her little hands.
The old man, however, shook his head and looked down in deep
thought.
"I had scarcely settled myself in the saddle," continued Huldbrand.
"and seized the reins firmly, when a wonderful little man stood at
my side, diminutive, and ugly beyond conception. His complexion was
of a yellowish brown, and his nose not much smaller than the rest of
his entire person. At the same time he kept grinning with stupid
courtesy, exhibiting his huge mouth, and making a thousand scrapes
and bows to me. As this farce was now becoming inconvenient to me, I
thanked him briefly and turned about my still trembling steed,
thinking either to seek another adventure, or in case I met with
none, to find my way back, for during my wild chase the sun had
already passed the meridian; but the little fellow sprang round with
the speed of lightning and stood again before my horse. 'Room!' I
cried, angrily; 'the animal is wild and may easily run over you.'--
'Ay, ay!' snarled the imp, with a grin still more horribly stupid.
'Give me first some drink-money, for I have stopped your horse;
without me you and your horse would be now both lying in the stony
ravine; ugh!'--'Don't make any more faces,' said I, 'and take your
money, even if you are telling lies; for see, it was the good brook
there that saved me, and not you, you miserable wight! And at the
same time I dropped a piece of gold into his grotesque cap, which he
had taken off in his begging. I then trotted on; but he screamed
after me, and suddenly with inconceivable quickness was at my side.
I urged my horse into a gallop; the imp ran too, making at the same
time strange contortions with his body, half-ridiculous, half-
horrible, and holding up the gold-piece, he cried, at every leap,
'False money!, false coin!, false coin!, false money!'--and this he
uttered with such a hollow sound that one would have supposed that
after every scream he would have fallen dead to the ground."
"His horrid red tongue moreover hung far out of his mouth. I
stopped, perplexed, and asked: 'What do you mean by this screaming?
take another piece of gold, take two, but leave me.' He then began
again his hideous burlesque of politeness, and snarled out: 'Not
gold, not gold, my young gentleman. I have too much of that trash
myself, as I will show you at once?'"
"Suddenly it seemed to me as if I could see through the solid soil
as though it were green glass and the smooth earth were as round as
a ball; and within, a multitude of goblins were ranking sport with
silver and gold; head over heels they were rolling about, pelting
each other in jest with the precious metals, and provokingly blowing
the gold-dust in each other's eyes. My hideous companion stood
partly within and partly without; he ordered the others to reach him
up heaps of gold, and showing it to me with a laugh, he then flung
it back again with a ringing noise into the immeasurable abyss."
"He then showed the piece of gold I had given him to the goblins
below, and they laughed themselves half-dead over it and hissed at
me. At last they all pointed at me with their metal-stained fingers,
and more and more wildly. and more and more densely, and more and
more madly, the swarm of spirits came clambering up to me. I was
seized with terror as my horse had been before: I put spurs to him,
and I know not how far I galloped for the second time wildly into
the forest."
"At length, when I again halted, the coolness of evening was around
me. Through the branches of the trees I saw a white foot-path
gleaming, which I fancied must lead from the forest toward the city.
I was anxious to work my way in that direction; but a face perfectly
white and indistinct, with features ever changing, kept peering at
me between the leaves; I tried to avoid it, but wherever I went it
appeared also. Enraged at this, I determined at last to ride at it,
when it gushed forth volumes of foam upon me and my horse, obliging
us half-blinded to make a rapid retreat. Thus it drove us step by
step ever away from the foot-path, leaving the way open to us only
in one direction. When we advanced in this direction, it kept indeed
close behind us, but did not do us the slightest harm."
"Looking around at it occasionally, I perceived that the white face
that had besprinkled us with foam belonged to a form equally white
and of gigantic stature. Many a time I thought that it was a moving
stream, but I could never convince myself on the subject. Wearied
out, the horse and his rider yielded to the impelling power of the
white man, who kept nodding his head, as if he would say, 'Quite
right, quite right!' And thus at last we came out here to the end of
the forest, where I saw the turf, and the lake, and your little
cottage, and where the tall white man disappeared."
"It's well that he's gone," said the old fisherman; and now he began
to talk of the best way by which his guest could return to his
friends in the city. Upon this Undine began to laugh slyly to
herself; Huldbrand observed it, and said: "I thought you were glad
to see me here; why then do you now rejoice when my departure is
talked of?"
"Because you cannot go away," replied Undine. "Just try it once, to
cross that overflowed forest stream with a boat, with your horse, or
alone, as you may fancy. Or rather don't try it, for you would be
dashed to pieces by the stones and trunks of trees which are carried
down by it with the speed of lightning. And as to the lake, I know
it well; father dare not venture out far enough with his boat."
Huldbrand rose, smiling, in order to see whether things were as
Undine had said; the old man accompanied him, and the girl danced
merrily along by their side. They found every thing, indeed, as
Undine had described, and the knight was obliged to submit to remain
on the little tongue of land, that had become an island, till the
flood should subside. As the three were returning to the cottage
after their ramble, the knight whispered in the ear of the little
maiden "Well, how is it, my pretty Undine--are you angry at my
remaining?"
"Ah!" she replied, peevishly, "let me alone. If I had not bitten
you, who knows how much of Bertalda would have appeared in your
story?"
CHAPTER V.
HOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE LITTLE PROMONTORY.
After having been much driven to and fro in the world, you have
perhaps, my dear reader, reached at length some spot where all was
well with thee; where the love for home and its calm peace, innate
to all, has again sprung up within thee; where thou hast thought
that this home was rich with all the flowers of childhood and of the
purest, deepest love that rests upon the graves of those that are
gone, and thou hast felt it must be good to dwell here and to build
habitations. Even if thou hast erred in this, and hast had afterward
bitterly to atone for the error, that is nothing to the purpose now,
and thou wouldst not, indeed, voluntarily sadden thyself with the
unpleasant recollection. But recall that inexpressibly sweet
foreboding, that angelic sense of peace, and thou wilt know somewhat
of the knight Huldbrand's feelings during his abode on the little
promontory.
He often perceived with hearty satisfaction that the forest stream
rolled along every day more wildly, making its bed ever broader and
broader, and prolonging his sojourn on the island to an indefinite
period. Part of the day he rambled about with an old cross-bow,
which he had found in a corner of the cottage and had repaired; and,
watching for the water-fowl, he killed all that he could for the
cottage kitchen. When he brought his booty home, Undine rarely
neglected to upbraid him with having so cruelly deprived the happy
birds of life; indeed she often wept bitterly at the sight he placed
before her. But if he came home another time without having shot
anything she scolded him no less seriously, since now, from his
carelessness and want of skill, they had to be satisfied with living
on fish. He always delighted heartily in her graceful little
scoldings, all the more as she generally strove to compensate for
her ill-humor by the sweetest caresses.
The old people took pleasure in the intimacy of the young pair; they
regarded them as betrothed, or even as already united in marriage,
and living on this isolated spot, as a succor and support to them in
their old age. It was this same sense of seclusion that suggested
the idea also to Huldbrand's mind that he was already Undine's
accepted one. He felt as if there were no world beyond these
surrounding waters, or as if he could never recross them to mingle
with other men; and when at times his grazing horse would neigh as
if inquiringly to remind him of knightly deeds, or when the coat of
arms on his embroidered saddle and horse-gear shone sternly upon
him, or when his beautiful sword would suddenly fall from the nail
on which it was hanging in the cottage, gliding from the scabbard as
it fell, he would quiet the doubts of his mind by saving: "Undine is
no fisherman's daughter; she belongs in all probability to some
illustrious family abroad." There was only one thing to which he had
a strong aversion, and this was, when the old dame reproved Undine
in his presence. The wayward girl, it is true, laughed at it for the
most part, without attempting to conceal her mirth; but it seemed to
him as if his honor were concerned, and yet he could not blame the
old fisherman's wife, for Undine always deserved at least ten times
as many reproofs as she received; so, in his heart he felt the
balance in favor of the old woman, and his whole life flowed onward
in calm enjoyment.
There came, however, an interruption at last. The fisherman and the
knight had been accustomed at their mid-day meal, and also in the
evening when the wind roared without, as it was always wont to do
toward night, to enjoy together a flask of wine. But now the store
which the fisherman had from time to time brought with him from the
town, was exhausted, and the two men were quite out of humor in
consequence.
Undine laughed at them excessively all day, but they were neither of
them merry enough to join in her jests as usual. Toward evening she
went out of the cottage to avoid, as she said, two such long and
tiresome faces. As twilight advanced, there were again tokens of a
storm, and the water rushed and roared. Full of alarm, the knight
and the fisherman sprang to the door, to bring home the girl,
remembering the anxiety of that night when Huldbrand had first come
to the cottage. Undine, however, met them, clapping her little hands
with delight. "What will you give me," she said, "to provide you
with wine?" or rather, "you need not give me anything, "she
continued," for I am satisfied if you will look merrier and be in
better spirits than you have been throughout this whole wearisome
day. Only come with me; the forest stream has driven ashore a cask,
and I will be condemned to sleep through a whole week if it is not a
wine-cask." The men followed her, and in a sheltered creek on the
shore, they actually found a cask, which inspired them with the hope
that it contained the generous drink for which they were thirsting.
They at once rolled it as quickly as possible toward the cottage,
for the western sky was overcast with heavy storm-clouds, and they
could observe in the twilight the waves of the lake raising their
white, foaming heads, as if looking out for the rain which was
presently to pour down upon them. Undine helped the men as much as
she was able, and when the storm of rain suddenly burst over them,
she said, with a merry threat to the heavy clouds: "Come, come, take
care that you don't wet us; we are still some way from shelter. "The
old man reproved her for this, as simple presumption, but she
laughed softly to herself, and no mischief befell any one in
consequence of her levity. Nay, more: contrary to all expectation,
they reached the comfortable hearth with their booty perfectly dry,
and it was not till they had opened the cask, and had proved that it
contained some wonderfully excellent wine, that the rain burst forth
from the dark cloud, and the storm raged among the tops of the
trees, and over the agitated billows of the lake.
Several bottles were soon filled from the great cask, which promised
a supply for many days, and they were sitting drinking and jesting
round the glowing fire, feeling comfortably secured from the raging
storm without. Suddenly the old fisherman became very grave and
said: "Ah, great God! here we are rejoicing over this rich treasure,
and he to whom it once belonged, and of whom the floods have robbed
it, has probably los this precious life in their waters."
"That he has not," declared Undine, as she smilingly filled the
knight's cup to the brim.
But Huldbrand replied: "By my honor, old father, if I knew where to
find and to rescue him, no knightly errand and no danger would I
shirk. So much, however, I can promise you, that if ever again I
reach more inhabited lands, I will find out the owner of this wine
or his heirs, and requite it twofold, nay, threefold."
This delighted the old man; he nodded approvingly to the knight, and
drained his cup with a better conscience and greater pleasure.
Undine, however, said to Huldbrand: "Do as you will with your gold
and your reimbursement; but you spoke foolishly about the venturing
out in search; I should cry my eyes out, if you were lost in the
attempt, and isn't it true, that you would yourself rather stay with
me and the good wine."
"Yes, indeed," answered Huldbrand, smiling.
"Then," said Undine, "you spoke unwisely. For charity begins at
home, and what do other people concern us?"
The old woman turned away sighing and shaking her head; the
fisherman forgot his wonted affection for the pretty girl and
scolded her.
"It sounds exactly," said he, as he finished his reproof, "as if
Turks and heathens had brought you up; may God forgive both me and
you, you spoiled child."
"Well," replied Undine, "for all that, it is what I feel, let who
will hate brought me up, and all your words can't help that."
"Silence!" exclaimed the fisherman, and Undine, who, in spite of her
pertness, was exceedingly fearful, shrank from him, and moving
tremblingly toward Huldbrand, asked him in a soft tone: "Are you
also angry, dear friend?"
The knight pressed her tender hand and stroked her hair. He could
say nothing, for vexation at the old man's severity toward Undine
closed his lips: and thus the two couples sat opposite to each
other, with angry feelings and embarrassed silence.
CHAPTER VI.
OF A NUPTIAL CEREMONY.
A low knocking at the door was heard in the midst of this stillness,
startling all the inmates of the cottage; for there are times when a
little circumstance, happening quite unexpectedly, can unduly alarm
us. But there was here the additional cause of alarm that the
enchanted forest lay so near, and that the little promontory seemed
just now inaccessible to human beings. They looked at each other
doubtingly, as the knocking was repeated accompanied by a deep
groan, and the knight sprang to reach his sword. But the old man
whispered softly: "If it be what I fear, no weapon will help us."
Undine meanwhile approached the door and called out angrily and
boldly: "Spirits of the earth, if you wish to carry on your
mischief, Kuhleborn shall teach you something better."
The terror of the rest was increased by these mysterious words; they
looked fearfully at the girl, and Huldbrand was just regaining
courage enough to ask what she meant, when a voice said without: "I
am no spirit of the earth, but a spirit indeed still within its
earthly body. You within the cottage, if you fear God and will help
me, open to me." At these words, Undine had already opened the door,
and had held a lamp out in the stormy night, by which they perceived
an aged priest standing there, who stepped back in terror at the
unexpected sight of the beautiful maiden. He might well think that
witchcraft and magic were at work when such a lovely form appeared
at such an humble cottage door: he therefore began to pray: "All
good spirits praise the Lord!"
"I am no spectre," said Undine, smiling; "do I then look so ugly?
Besides you may see the holy words do not frighten me. I too know of
God and understand how to praise Him; every one to be sure in his
own way, for so He has created us. Come in, venerable father; you
come among, good people."
The holy man entered, bowing and looking round him, with a profound,
yet tender demeanor. But the water was dropping from every fold of
his dark garment, and from his long white beard and from his gray
locks. The fisherman and the knight took him to another apartment
and furnished him with other clothes, while they gate the women his
own wet attire to dry. The aged stranger thanked them humbly and
courteously, but he would on no account accept the knight's splendid
mantle, which was offered to him; but he chose instead an old gray
overcoat belonging to the fisherman. They then returned to the
apartment, and the good old dame immediately vacated her easy-chair
for the reverend father, and would not rest till he had taken
possession of it. "For," said she, "you are old and exhausted, and
you are moreover a man of God." Undine pushed under the stranger's
feet her little stool, on which she had been wont to sit by the side
of Huldbrand, and she showed herself in every way most gentle and
kind in her care of the good old man. Huldbrand whispered some
raillery at it in her ear, but she replied very seriously: "He is a
servant of Him who created us all; holy things are not to be jested
with." The knight and the fisherman then refreshed their reverend
guest with food and wine, and when he had somewhat recovered
himself, he began to relate how he had the day before set out from
his cloister, which lay far beyond the great lake, intending to
travel to the bishop, in order to acquaint him with the distress
into which the monastery and its tributary villages had fallen on
account of the extraordinary floods.
After a long, circuitous route, which these very floods had obliged
him to take, he had been this day compelled, toward evening, to
procure the aid of a couple of good boatmen to cross an arm of the
lake, which had overflowed its banks.
"Scarcely however," continued he, "had our small craft touched the
waves, than that furious tempest burst forth which is now raging
over our heads. It seemed as if the waters had only waited for us,
to commence their wildest whirling dance with our little boat. The
oars were soon torn out of the hands of my men, and were dashed by
the force of the waves further and further beyond our reach. We
ourselves, yielding to the resistless powers of nature, helplessly
drifted over the surging billows of the lake toward your distant
shore, which we already saw looming through the mist and foam.
Presently our boat turned round and round as in a giddy whirlpool; I
know not whether it was upset, or whether I fell overboard. In a
vague terror of inevitable death I drifted on, till a wave cast me
here, under the trees on your island."
"Yes, island!" cried the fisherman; "a short time ago it was only a
point of land; but now, since the forest-stream and the lake have
become well-nigh bewitched, things are quite different with us."
"I remarked something of the sort," said the priest, "as I crept
along the shore in the dark, and hearing nothing but the uproar
around me. I at last perceived that a beaten foot-path disappeared
just in the direction from which the sound proceeded. I now saw the
light in your cottage, and ventured hither, and I cannot
sufficiently thank my heavenly Father that after preserving me from
the waters, He has led me to such good and pious people as you are;
and I feel this all the more, as I do not know whether I shall ever
behold any other beings is this world, except those I now address."
"What do you mean?" asked the fisherman.
"Do you know then how long this commotion of the elements is to
last?" replied the holy man. "And I am old in years. Easily enough
may the stream of my life run itself out before the overflowing of
the forest-stream may subside. And indeed it were not impossible
that more and more of the foaming waters may force their way between
you and yonder forest, until you are so far sundered from the rest
of the world that your little fishing-boat will no longer be
sufficient to carry you across, and the inhabitants of the continent
in the midst of their diversions will have entirely forgotten you in
your old age."
The fisherman's wife started at this, crossed herself and exclaimed.
"God forbid." But her husband looked at her with a smile, and said
"What creatures we are after all! even were it so, things would not
be very different--at least not for you, dear wife--than they now
are. For have you for many years been further than the edge of the
forest? and have you seen any other human beings than Undine and
myself? The knight and this holy man have only come to as lately.
They will remain with us if we do become a forgotten island; so you
would even be a gainer by it after ail."
"I don't know," said the old woman; "it is somehow a gloomy thought,
when one imagines that one is irrecoverably separated from other
people, although, were it otherwise, one might neither know nor see
them."
"Then you will remain with us! then you will remain with us!"
whispered Undine, in a low, half-singing tone, as she nestled closer
to Huldbrand's side. But he was absorbed in the deep and strange
visions of his own mind.
The region on the other side of the forest-river seemed to dissolve
into distance during the priest's last words: and the blooming
island upon which he lived grew more green, and smiled more freshly
in his mind's vision. His beloved one glowed as the fairest rose of
this little spot of earth, and even of the whole world, and the
priest was actually there. Added to this, at that moment an angry
glance from the old flame was directed at the beautiful girl,
because even in the presence of the reverend father she leaned so
closely on the knight, and it seemed as if a torrent of reproving
words were on the point of following. Presently, turning to the
priest, Huldbrand broke forth: "Venerable father, you see before you
here a pair pledged to each other: and if this maiden and these good
old people have no objection, you shall unite us this very evening."
The aged couple were extremely surprised. They had, it is true,
hitherto often thought of something of the sort, but they had never
yet expressed it, and when the knight now spoke thus, it came upon
them as something wholly new and unprecedented.
Undine had become suddenly grave, and looked down thoughtfully whip
the priest inquired respecting the circumstances of the case, and
asked if the old people gave their consent. After much discussion
together, the matter was settled; the old dame went to arrange the
bridal chamber for the young people, and to look out two consecrated
tapers which she had had in her possession for some time, and which
she thought essential to the nuptial ceremony. The knight in the
mean while examined his gold chain, from which he wished to
disengage two rings, that he might make an exchange of them with his
bride.
She, however, observing what he was doing, started up from her
reverie, and exclaimed: "Not so! my parents have not sent me into
the world quite destitute; on the contrary, they must have
anticipated with certainty that such an evening as this would come."
Thus saving, she quickly left the room and reappeared in a moment
with two costly rings, one of which she gave to her bridegroom, and
kept the other for herself. The old fisherman was extremely
astonished at this, and still more so his wife, who just then
entered, for neither had ever seen these jewels in the child's
possession.
"My parents," said Undine, "sewed these little things into the
beautiful frock which I had on, when I came to you. They forbid me,
moreover, to mention them to anyone before my wedding evening, so I
secretly took them, and kept them concealed until now."
The priest interrupted all further questionings by lighting the
consecrated tapers, which he placed upon a table, and summoned the
bridal pair to stand opposite to him. He then gave them to each
other with a few short solemn words; the elder couple gave their
blessing to the younger, and the bride, trembling and thoughtful,
leaned upon the knight. Then the priest suddenly said: "You are
strange people after all. Why did you tell me you were the only
people here on the island? and during the whole ceremony, a tall
stately man, in a white mantle, has been looking at me through the
window opposite. He must still be standing before the door, to see
if you will invite him to come into the house."
"God forbid," said the old dame with a start; the fisherman shook
his head in silence, and Huldbrand sprang to the window. It seemed
even to him as if he could still see a white streak, but it soon
completely disappeared in the darkness. He convinced the priest that
he must have been absolutely mistaken, and they all sat down
together round the hearth.
CHAPTER VII.
WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING OF THE WEDDING.
Both before and during the ceremony, Undine had shown herself gentle
and quiet; but it now seemed as if all the wayward humors which
rioted within her, burst forth all the more boldly and
unrestrainedly. She teased her bridegroom and her foster-parents,
and even the holy man whom she had so lately reverenced, with all
sorts of childish tricks; and when the old woman was about to
reprove her, she was quickly silenced by a few grave words from the
knight, speaking of Undine now as his wife. Nevertheless, the knight
himself was equally little pleased with Undine's childish behavior:
but no signs, and no reproachful words were of any avail. It is
true, whenever the bride noticed her husband's dissatisfaction--and
this occurred occasionally--she became more quiet, sat down by his
side, caressed him, whispered something smilingly into his ear, and
smoothed the wrinkles that were gathering on his brow. But
immediately afterward, some wild freak would again lead her to
return to her ridiculous proceedings, and matters would be worse
than before. At length the priest said in a serious and kind tone:
"My fair young maiden, no one indeed can look at you without
delight; but remember so to attune your soul betimes, that it may
ever harmonize with that of your wedded husband."
"Soul!" said Undine, laughing; "that sounds pretty enough, and may
be a very edifying and useful caution for most people. But when one
hasn't a soul at all, I beg you, what is there to attune then? and
that is my case." The priest was silent and deeply wounded, and with
holy displeasure he turned his face from the girl. She, however,
went up to him caressingly, and said: "No! listen to me first,
before you look angry, for your look of anger gives me pain, and you
must not give pain to any creature who has done you no wrong--only
have patience with me, and I will tell you properly what I mean."
It was evident that she was preparing herself to explain something
in detail, but suddenly she hesitated, as if seized with an inward
shuddering, and burst out into a flood of tears. They none of them
knew what to make of this ebullition, and filled with various
apprehensions they gazed at her in silence. At length, wiping away
her tears, and looking earnestly at the reverend man, she said:
"There must be something beautiful, but at the same time extremely
awful, about a soul. Tell me, holy sir, were it not better that we
never shared such a gift?" She was silent again as if waiting for an
answer, and her tears had ceased to flow. All in the cottage had
risen from their seats and had stepped back from her with horror.
She, however, seemed to have eyes for no one but the holy man; her
features wore an expression of fearful curiosity, which appeared
terrible to those who saw her. "The soul must be a heavy burden,"
she continued, as no one answered her, "very heavy! for even its
approaching image overshadows me with anxiety and sadness. And, ah!
I was so light-hearted and so merry till now!" And she burst into a
fresh flood of tears, and covered her face with the drapery she
wore. Then the priest went up to her with a solemn air, and spoke to
her, and conjured her by the name of the Most Holy to cast aside the
veil that enveloped her, if any spirit of evil possessed her. But
she sank on her knees before him, repeating all the sacred words he
uttered, praising God, and protesting that she wished well with the
whole world.
Then at last the priest said to the knight: "Sir bridegroom, I will
leave you alone with her whom I have united to you in marriage. So
far as I can discover there is nothing of evil in her, but much
indeed that is mysterious. I commend to you--prudence, love, and
fidelity." So saying, he went out, and the fisherman and his wife
followed him, crossing themselves.
Undine had sunk on her knees: she unveiled her face and said,
looking timidly round on Huldbrand: "Alas! you will surely now not
keep me as your own; and yet I have done no evil, poor child that I
am!" As she said this, she looked so exquisitely graceful and
touching, that her bridegroom forgot all the horror he had felt, and
all the mystery that clung to her, and hastening to her he raised
her in his arms. She smiled through her tears; it was a smile like
the morning-light playing on a little stream.
"You cannot leave me," she whispered, with confident security,
stroking the knight's cheek with her tender hand. Huldbrand tried to
dismiss the fearful thoughts that still lurked in the background of
his mind, persuading him that he was married to a fairy or to some
malicious and mischievous being of the spirit world, only the single
question half unawares escaped his lips: "My little Undine, tell me
this one thing, what was it you said of spirits of the earth and of
Kuhleborn, when the priest knocked at the door?"
"It was nothing but fairy tales!--children's fairy tales!" said
Undine, with all her wonted gayety; "I frightened you at first with
them, and then you frightened me, that's the end of our story and of
our nuptial evening."
"Nay! that it isn't," said the knight, intoxicated with love, and
extinguishing the tapers, he bore his beautiful beloved to the
bridal chamber by the light of the moon which shone brightly through
the windows.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING.
The fresh light of the morning awoke the young married pair.
Wonderful and horrible dreams had disturbed Huldbrand's rest; he had
been haunted by spectres, who, grinning at him by stealth, had tried
to disguise themselves as beautiful women, and from beautiful women
they all at once assumed the faces of dragons, and when he started
up from these hideous visions, the moonlight shone pale and cold
into the room; terrified he looked at Undine, who still lay in
unaltered beauty and grace. Then he would press a light kiss upon
her rosy lips, and would fall asleep again only to be awakened by
new terrors. After he had reflected on all this, now that he was
fully awake, he reproached himself for any doubt that could have led
him into error with regard to his beautiful wife. He begged her to
forgive him for the injustice he had done her, but she only held out
to him her fair hand, sighed deeply, and remained silent. But a
glance of exquisite fervor beamed from her eyes such as he had never
seen before, carrying with it the full assurance that Undine bore
him no ill-will. He then rose cheerfully and left her, to join his
friends in the common apartment.
He found the three sitting round the hearth, with an air of anxiety
about them, as if they dared not venture to speak aloud. The priest
seemed to be praying in his inmost spirit that all evil might be
averted. When, however, they saw the young husband come forth so
cheerfully the careworn expression of their faces vanished.
The old fisherman even began to jest with the knight, so pleasantly,
that the aged wife smiled good-humoredly as she listened to them.
Undine at length made her appearance. All rose to meet her and all
stood still with surprise, for the young wife seemed so strange to
them and yet the same. The priest was the first to advance toward
her with paternal arms affection beaming in his face, and, as he
raised his hand to bless her, the beautiful woman sank reverently on
her knees before him. With a few humble and gracious words she
begged him to forgive her for any foolish things she might have said
the evening before, and entreated him in an agitated tone to pray
for the welfare of her soul. She then rose, kissed her foster-
parents, and thanking them for all the goodness they had shown her,
she exclaimed: "Oh! I now feel in my innermost heart, how much, how
infinitely much, you have done for me, dear, kind people!" She could
not at first desist from her caresses, but scarcely had she
perceived that the old woman was busy in preparing breakfast, than
she went to the hearth, cooked and arranged the meal, and would not
suffer the good old mother to take the least trouble.
She continued thus throughout the whole day, quiet, kind, and
attentive--at once a little matron and a tender, bashful girl. The
three who had known her longest expected every moment to see some
whimsical vagary of her capricious spirit burst forth. But they
waited in vain for it. Undine remained as mild and gentle as an
angel. The holy father could not take his eyes from her, and he said
repeatedly to the bridegroom: "The goodness of heaven, sir, has
intrusted a treasure to you yesterday through me, unworthy as I am;
cherish it as you ought, and it will promote your temporal and
eternal welfare."
Toward evening Undine was hanging on the knight's arm with humble
tenderness, and drew him gently out of the door, where the declining
sun was shining pleasantly on the fresh grass, and upon the tall,
slender stems of the trees. The eyes of the young wife were moist,
as with the dew of sadness and love, and a tender and fearful secret
seemed hovering on her lips, which, however, was only disclosed by
scarcely audible sighs. She led her husband onward and onward in
silence; when he spoke, she only answered him with looks, in which,
it is true, there lay no direct reply to his inquiries, but whole
heaven of love and timid devotion. Thus they reached the edge of the
swollen forest stream, and the knight was astonished to see it
rippling along in gentle waves, without a trace of its former
wildness and swell. "By the morning it will be quite dry," said the
beautiful wife, in a regretful tone, "and you can then travel away
wherever you will, without anything to hinder you."
"Not without you, my little Undine," replied the knight, laughing:
"remember, even if I wished to desert you, the church, and the
spiritual powers, and the emperor, and the empire would interpose
and bring the fugitive back again."
"All depends upon you, all depends upon you," whispered his wife,
half-weeping and half-smiling. "I think, however, nevertheless, that
you will keep me with you: I love you so heartily. Now carry me
across to that little island that lies before us. The matter shall
be decided there. I could easily indeed glide through the rippling
waves, but it is so restful in your arms, and if you were to cast me
off, I shall have sweetly rested in them once more for the last
time." Huldbrand, full as he was of strange fear and emotion, knew
not what to reply. He took her in his arms and carried her across,
remembering now for the first time that this was the same little
island from which he had borne her back to the old fisherman on that
first night. On the further side he put her down on the soft grass,
and was on the point of placing himself lovingly near his beautiful
burden, when she said: "No, there opposite to me! I will read my
sentence in your eyes, before your lips speak; now, listen
attentively to what I will relate to you." And she began:--
"You must know, my loved one, that there are beings in the elements
which almost appear like mortals, and which rarely allow themselves
to become visible to your race. Wonderful salamanders glitter and
sport in the flames; lean and malicious gnomes dwell deep within the
earth; spirits, belonging to the air, wander through the forests,
and a vast family of water-spirits live in the lakes, and streams,
and brooks. In resounding domes of crystal, through which the sky
looks in with its sun and stars, these latter spirits find their
beautiful abode; lofty trees of coral with blue and crimson fruits
gleam in their gardens; they wander over the pure sand of the sea,
and among lovely variegated shells, and amid all exquisite treasures
of the old world, which the present is no longer worthy to enjoy;
all these the floods have covered with their secret veils of silver,
and the noble monuments sparkle below, stately and solemn, and
bedewed by the loving waters which allure from them many a beautiful
moss-flower and entwining cluster of sea-grass. Those, however, who
dwell there are very fair and lovely to behold, and for the most
part are more beautiful than human beings. Many a fisherman has been
so fortunate as to surprise some tender mermaid as she rose above
the waters and sang. He would tell afar of her beauty, and such
wonderful beings have been given the name of Undines. You, however,
are now actually beholding an Undine."
The knight tried to persuade himself that his beautiful wife was
under the spell of one of her strange humors, and that she was
taking pleasure in teasing him with one of her extravagant
inventions. But repeatedly as he said this to himself, he could not
believe it for a moment; a strange shudder passed through him;
unable to utter a word, he stared at the beautiful narrator with an
immovable gaze. Undine shook her head sorrowfully, drew a deep sigh,
and then proceeded as follows:--
"Our condition would be far superior to that of other human beings--
for human beings we call ourselves, being similar to them in form
and culture--but there is one evil peculiar to us. We and our like
in the other elements, vanish into dust and pass away, body and
spirit, so that not a vestige of us remains behind; and when you
mortals hereafter awake to a purer life, we remain with the sand and
the sparks and the wind and the waves. Hence we have also no souls;
the element moves us, and is often obedient to us while we live,
though it scatters us to dust when we die; and we are merry, without
having aught to grieve us--merry as the nightingales and the little
gold-fishes and other pretty children of nature. But all things
aspire to be higher than they are. Thus, my father, who is a
powerful water-prince in the Mediterranean Sea, desired that his
only daughter should become possessed of a soul, even though she
must then endure many of the sufferings of those thus endowed. Such
as we are, however, can only obtain a soul by the closest union of
affection with one of your human race. I am now possessed of a soul,
and my soul thanks you, my inexpressibly beloved one, and it will
ever thank you, if you do not make my whole life miserable. For what
is to become of me, if you avoid and reject me? Still, I would not
retain you by deceit. And if you mean to reject me, do so now, and
return alone to the shore. I will dive into this brook, which is my
uncle; and here in the forest, far removed from other friends, he
passes his strange and solitary life. He is, however, powerful, and
is esteemed and beloved by many great streams; and as he brought me
hither to the fisherman, a light-hearted, laughing child, he will
take me back again to my parents, a loving, suffering, and soul-
endowed woman."
She was about to say still more, but Huldbrand embraced her with the
most heartfelt emotion and love, and bore her back again to the
shore. It was not till he reached it, that he swore amid tears and
kisses, never to forsake his sweet wife, calling himself more happy
than the Greek Pygmalion, whose beautiful statue received life from
Venus and became his loved one. In endearing confidence, Undine
walked back to the cottage, leaning on his arm; feeling now for the
first time, with all her heart, how little she ought to regret the
forsaken crystal palaces of her mysterious father.
CHAPTER IX.
HOW THE KNIGHT TOOK HIS YOUNG WIFE WITH HIM.
When Huldbrand awoke from his sleep on the following morning, and
missed his beautiful wife from his side, he began to indulge again
in the strange thoughts, that his marriage and the charming Undine
herself were but fleeting and deceptive illusions. But at the same
moment she entered the room, sat down beside him, and said: "I have
been out rather early to see if my uncle keeps his word. He has
already led all the waters back again into his own calm channel, and
he now flows through the forest, solitarily and dreamily as before.
His friends in the water and the air have also returned to repose:
all will again go on quietly and regularly, and you can travel
homeward when you will, dry-shod." It seemed to Huldbrand as though
he were in a waking dream, so little
could he reconcile himself to the strange relationship of his wife.
Nevertheless he made no remark on the matter, and the exquisite
grace of his bride soon lulled to rest every uneasy misgiving. When
he was afterward standing before the door with her, and looking over
the green peninsula with its boundary of clear waters, he felt so
happy in this cradle of his love, that he exclaimed: "Why shall we
travel so soon as to-day? We shall scarcely find more pleasant days
in the world yonder than those we have spent in this quiet little
shelter. Let us yet see the sun go down here twice or thrice more."
"As my lord wills," replied Undine, humbly. "It is only that the old
people will, at all events, part from me with pain, and when they
now for the first time perceive the true soul within me, and how I
can now heartily love and honor, their feeble eyes will be dimmed
with plentiful tears. At present they consider my quietness and
gentleness of no better promise than before, like the calmness of
the lake when the air is still; and, as matters now are, they will
soon learn to cherish a flower or a tree as they have cherished me.
Do not, therefore, let me reveal to them this newly-bestowed and
loving heart, just at the moment when they must lose it for this
world; and how could I conceal it, if we remain longer together?"
Huldbrand conceded the point; he went to the aged people and talked
with them over the journey, which he proposed to undertake
immediately. The holy father offered to accompany the young married
pair, and, after a hasty farewell, he and the knight assisted the
beautiful bride to mount her horse, and walked with rapid step by
her side over the dry channel of the forest-stream into the wood
beyond. Undine wept silently but bitterly, and the old people gave
loud expression to their grief. It seemed as if they had a
presentiment of all they were now losing in their foster-child.
The three travellers had reached in silence the densest shades of
the forest. It must have been a fair sight, under that green canopy
of leaves, to see Undine's lovely form, as she sat on her noble and
richly ornamented steed, with the venerable priest in the white garb
of his order on one side of her, and on the other the blooming young
knight in his gay and splendid attire, with his sword at his girdle.
Huldbrand had no eyes but for his beautiful wife Undine, who had
dried her tears, had no eyes but for him, and they soon fell into a
mute, voiceless converse of glance and gesture, from which they were
only roused at length by the low talking of the reverend father with
a fourth traveller, who in the mean while had joined them
unobserved.
He wore a white garment almost resembling the dress of the priests
order, except that his hood hung low over his face, and his whole
attire floated round him in such vast folds that he was obliged
every moment to gather it up, and throw it over his arm, or dispose
of it in some way, and yet it did not in the least seem to impede
his movements. When the young couple first perceived him, he was
just saying "And so, venerable sir. I have now dwelt for many years
here in the forest, and yet no one could call me a hermit, in your
sense of the word. For, as I said, I know nothing of penance, and I
do not think I have any especial need of it. I lose the forest only
for this reason, that its beauty is quite peculiar to itself, and it
amuses me to pass along in my flowing white garments among the eases
and dusky shadows, while now and then a sweet sunbeam shines down
unexpectedly upon me."
"You are a very strange man," replied the priest, "and I should like
to be more closely acquainted with you."
"And to pass from one thing to another, who may you be yourself?"
asked the stranger.
"I am called Father Heilmann," said the holy man; "and I come from
the monastery of 'our Lady' which lies on the other side of the
lake."
"Indeed," replied the stranger; "my name is Kuhleborn, and so far as
courtesy is concerned I might claim the title of Lord of Kuhleborn,
or free Lord of Kuhleborn; for I am as free as the birds in the
forest and perhaps a little more so. For example, I have now
something to say to the young lady there." And before they were
aware of his intention, he was at the other side of the priest,
close beside Undine, stretching himself up to whisper something in
her ear.
But she turned from him with alarm, and exclaimed: "I have nothing
more to do with you."
"Ho, ho," laughed the stranger, "what is this immensely grand
marriage you have made, that you don't know your own relations any
longer? Have you forgotten your uncle Kuhleborn, who so faithfully
bore you on his back through this region?"
"I beg you, nevertheless," replied Undine, "not to appear in my
presence again. I am now afraid of you; and suppose my husband
should learn to avoid me when he sees me in such strange company and
with such relations!"
"My little niece," said Kuhleborn, "you must not forget that I am
with you here as a guide; the spirits of earth that haunt this place
might otherwise play some of their stupid pranks with you. Let me
therefore go quietly on with you; the old priest there remembered me
better than you appear to have done, for he assured me just now that
I seemed familiar to him, and that I must have been with him in the
boat, out of which he fell into the water. I was so, truly enough;
for I was the water-spout that carried him out of it and washed him
safely ashore for your wedding."
Undine and the knight turned toward Father Heilmann; but he seemed
walking on, as in a sort of dream, and no longer to be conscious of
all that was passing. Undine then said to Kuhleborn, "I see yonder
the end of the forest. We no longer need your help, and nothing
causes us alarm but yourself. I beg you, therefore, in all love and
good-will, vanish, and let us proceed in peace."
Kuhleborn seemed to become angry at this; his countenance assumed a
frightful expression, and he grinned fiercely at Undine, who
screamed aloud and called upon her husband for assistance. As quick
as lightning, the knight sprang to the other side of the horse, and
aimed his sharp sword at Kuhleborn's head. But the sword cut through
a waterfall, which was rushing down near them from a lofty crag; and
with a splash, which almost sounded like a burst of laughter, it
poured over them and wet them through to the skin.
The priest, as if suddenly awaking, exclaimed "I have long been
expecting that, for the stream ran down from the height so close to
us. At first it really seemed to me like a man, and as if it could
speak." As the waterfall came rushing down, it distinctly uttered
these words in Huldbrand's ear:--
"Rash knight,
Brave knight,
Rage, feel I not,
Chide, will I not.
But ever guard thy little wife as well,
Rash knight, brave knight! Protect her well!"
A few footsteps more, and they were upon open ground. The imperial
city lay bright before them, and the evening sun, which gilded its
towers, kindly dried the garments of the drenched wanderers.
CHAPTER X.
HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CITY.
The sudden disappearance of the young knight, Huldbrand von
Ringstetten, from the imperial city, had caused great sensation and
solicitude among those who had admired him, both for his skill in
the tournament and the dance, and no less so for his gentle and
agreeable manners. His servants would not quit the place without
their master, although not one of them would have had the courage to
go in quest of him into the shadowy recesses of the forest. They
therefore remained in their quarters, inactively hoping, as men are
wont to do, and keeping alive the remembrance of their lost lord by
their lamentations. When, soon after, the violent storms and floods
were observed, the less doubt was entertained as to the certain
destruction of the handsome stranger; and Bertalda openly mourned
for him and blamed herself for having allured the unfortunate knight
into the forest. Her foster-parents, the duke and duchess, had come
to fetch her away, but Bertalda entreated them to remain with her
until certain intelligence had been obtained of Huldbrand's fate.
She endeavored to prevail upon several young knights, who were
eagerly courting her, to follow the noble adventurer to the forest.
But she would not pledge her hand as a reward of the enterprise,
because she always cherished the hope of belonging to the returning
knight, and no glove, nor riband, nor even kiss, would tempt any one
to expose his life for the sake of bringing back such a dangerous
rival.
When Huldbrand now suddenly and unexpectedly appeared, his servants.
and the inhabitants of the city, and almost every one, rejoiced.
Bertalda alone refused to do so; for agreeable as it was to the
others that he should bring with him such a beautiful bride, and
Father Heilmann as a witness of the marriage, Bertalda could feel
nothing but grief and vexation. In the first place, she had really
loved the young knight with all her heart, and in the next, her
sorrow at his absence had proclaimed this far more before the eyes
of all, than was now befitting. She still, however, conducted
herself as a wise maiden, reconciled herself to circumstances, and
lived on the most friendly terms with Undine, who was looked upon
throughout the city as a princess whom Huldbrand had rescued in the
forest from some evil enchantment. When she or her husband were
questioned on the matter, they were wise enough to be silent or
skilfully to evade the inquiries. Father Heilmann's lips were sealed
to idle gossip of any kind, and moreover, immediately after
Huldbrand's arrival, he had returned to his monastery; so that
people were obliged to be satisfied with their own strange
conjectures, and even Bertalda herself knew no more of the truth
than others.
Day by day, Undine felt her affection increase for the fair maiden.
"We must have known each other before," she often used to say to
her. "or else, there must be some mysterious connection between us,
for one does not love another as dearly as I have loved you from the
first moment of our meeting without some cause--some deep and secret
cause." And Bertalda also could not deny the fact that she felt
drawn to Undine with a tender feeling of confidence, however much
she might consider that she had cause for the bitterest lamentation
at this successful rival. Biassed by this mutual affection, they
both persuaded--the one her foster-parents, the other her husband--
to postpone the day of departure from time to time; indeed, it was
even proposed that Bertalda should accompany Undine for a time to
castle Ringstetten, near the source of the Danube.
They were talking over this plan one beautiful evening, as they were
walking by starlight in the large square of the Imperial city, under
the tall trees that enclose it. The young married pair had incited
Bertalda to join them in their evening walk, and all three were
strolling up and down under the dark-blue sky, often interrupting
their familiar talk to admire the magnificent fountain in the middle
of the square, as its waters rushed and bubbled forth with wonderful
beauty. It hid a soothing happy influence upon them; between the
shadows of the trees there stole glimmerings of light from the
adjacent houses; a low murmur of children at play, and of others
enjoying their walk, floated around them; they were so alone, and
yet in the midst of the bright and living world; whatever had
appeared difficult by day, now became smooth as of itself; and the
three friends could no longer understand why the slightest
hesitation had existed with regard to Bertalda's visit to
Ringstetten. Presently, just as they were on the point of fixing the
day for their common departure, a tall man approached them from the
middle of the square, bowed respectfully to the company, and said
something in the ear of the young wife. Displeased as she was at the
interruption and its cause, she stepped a little aside with the
stranger, and both began to whisper together, as it seemed, in a
foreign tongue. Huldbrand fancied he knew the strange man, and he
stared so fixedly at him that he neither heard nor answered
Bertalda's astonished inquiries.
All at once Undine, clapping her hands joyfully, and laughing,
quitted the stranger's side, who, shaking his head, retired hastily
and discontentedly, and vanished in the fountain. Huldbrand now felt
certain on the point, but Bertalda asked: "And what did the master
of the fountain want with you, dear Undine?"
The young wife laughed within herself, and replied: "The day after
to-morrow, my dear child, on the anniversary of your name-day, you
shall know it." And nothing more would she disclose. She invited
Bertalda and sent an invitation to her foster-parents, to dine with
them on the appointed day, and soon after they parted.
"Kuhleborn? was it Kuhleborn?" said Huldbrand, with a secret
shudder, to his beautiful bride, when they had taken leave of
Bertalda, and were now going home through the darkening streets.
"Yes, it was he," replied Undine, "and he was going to say all sorts
of nonsensical things to me. But, in the midst, quite contrary to
his intention, he delighted me with a most welcome piece of news. If
you wish to hear it at once, my dear lord and husband, you have but
to command, and I will tell it you without reserve. But if you would
confer a real pleasure on your Undine, you will wait till the day
after to-morrow, and you will then have your share too in the
surprise."
The knight gladly complied with his wife's desire, which had been
urged so sweetly, and as she fell asleep, she murmured smilingly to
herself: "Dear, dear Bertalda! How she will rejoice and be
astonished at what her master of the fountain told me!"
CHAPTER XI.
THE ANNIVERSARY OF BERTALDA'S NAME-DAY.
The company were sitting at dinner; Bertalda, looking like some
goddess of spring with her flowers and jewels, the presents of her
foster-parents and friends, was placed between Undine and Huldbrand.
When the rich repast was ended, and the last course had appeared,
the doors were left open, according to a good old German custom,
that the common people might look on, and take part in the festivity
of the nobles. Servants were carrying round cake and wine among the
spectators. Huldbrand and Bertalda were waiting with secret
impatience for the promised explanation, and sat with their eyes
fixed steadily on Undine. But the beautiful wife still continued
silent, and only kept smiling to herself with secret and hearty
satisfaction. All who knew of the promise she had given could see
that she was every moment on the point of betraying her happy
secret, and that it was with a sort of longing renunciation that she
withheld it, just as children sometimes delay the enjoyment of their
choicest morsels. Bertalda and Huldbrand shared this delightful
feeling, and expected with fearful hope the tidings which were to
fall from the lips of Undine. Several of the company pressed Undine
to sing. The request seemed opportune, and ordering her lute to be
brought, she sang the following words:--
Bright opening day,
Wild flowers so gay,
Tall grasses their thirst that slake,
On the banks of the billowy lake!
What glimmers there so shining
The reedy growth entwining?
Is it a blossom white as snow
Fallen from heav'n here below?
It is an infant, frail and dear!
With flowerets playing in its dreams
And grasping morning's golden beams;
Oh! whence, sweet stranger, art thou here?
From some far-off and unknown strand,
The lake has borne thee to this land.
Nay, grasp not tender little one,
With thy tiny hand outspread;
No hand will meet thy touch with love,
Mute is that flowery bed.
The flowers can deck themselves so fair
And breathe forth fragrance blest,
Yet none can press thee to itself,
Like that far-off mother's breast.
So early at the gate of life,
With smiles of heav'n on thy brow,
Thou hast the best of treasures lost,
Poor wand'ring child, nor know'st it now.
A noble duke comes riding by,
And near thee checks his courser's speed,
And full of ardent chivalry
He bears thee home upon his steed.
Much, endless much, has been thy gain!
Thou bloom'st the fairest in the land!
Yet ah! the priceless joy of all,
Thou'st left upon an unknown strand.
Undine dropped her lute with a melancholy smile, and the eyes of
Bertalda's foster-parents were filled with tears. "Yes, so it was on
the morning that I found you, my poor sweet orphan," said the duke,
deeply agitated; "the beautiful singer is certainly right; we have
not been able to give you that `priceless joy of all.'"
"But we must also hear how it fared with the poor parents," said
Undine, as she resumed her lute, and sang:--
Thro' every chamber roams the mother,
Moves and searches everywhere,
Seeks, she scarce knows what, with sadness,
And finds an empty house is there.
An empty house! Oh, word of sorrow,
To her who once had been so blest,
Who led her child about by day
And cradled it at night to rest.
The beech is growing green again,
The sunshine gilds its wonted spot,
But mother, cease thy searching vain!
Thy little loved one cometh not.
And when the breath of eve blows cool,
And father in his home appears,
The smile he almost tries to wear
Is quenched at once by gushing tears.
Full well he knows that in his home
He naught can find but wild despair,
He hears the mother's grieved lament
And no bright infant greets him there.
"Oh! for God's sake, Undine, where are my parents" cried the weeping
Bertalda; "you surely know; you have discovered them, you wonderful
being, for otherwise you would not have thus torn me heart. Are they
perhaps already here? Can it be?" Her eye passed quickly over the
brilliant company and lingered an a lady of high rank who was
sitting next her foster-father. Undine, however, turned toward the
door, while her eyes overflowed with the sweetest emotion. "Where
are the poor waiting parents?" she inquired, and, the old fisherman
and his wife advanced hesitatingly from the crowd of spectators.
Their glance rested inquiringly now on Undine, now on the beautiful
girl who was said to be their daughter "It is she," said the
delighted benefactress, in a faltering tone, and the two old people
hung round the neck of their recovered child, weeping and praising
God.
But amazed and indignant, Bertalda tore herself from their embrace.
Such a recognition was too much for this proud mind, at a moment
when she had surely imagined that her former splendor would even be
increased, and when hope was deluding her with a vision of almost
royal honors. It seemed to her as if her rival had devised all this
on purpose signally to humble her before Huldbrand and the whole
world. She reviled Undine, she reviled the old people, and bitter
invectives, such as "deceiver" and "bribed impostors," fell from her
lips. Then the old fisherman's wife said in a low voice to herself:
"Ah me, she is become a wicked girl; and yet I feel in my heart that
she is my child."
The old fisherman, however, had folded his hands, and was praying
silently that this might not be his daughter. Undine, pale as death,
turned with agitation from the parents to Bertalda, and from
Bertalda to the parents; suddenly cast down from that heaven of
happiness of which she had dreamed, and overwhelmed with a fear and
a terror such as she had never known even in imagination. "have you
a soul? Have you really a soul, Bertalda?" she cried again and again
to her angry friend, as if forcibly to rouse her to consciousness
from some sudden delirium or maddening nightmare. But when Bertalda
only became more and more enraged, when the repulsed parents began
to weep aloud, and the company, in eager dispute, were taking
different sides, she begged in such a dignified and serious manner
to be allowed to speak in this her husband's hall, that all around
were in a moment silenced. She then advanced to the upper end of the
table, where Bertalda has seated herself, and with a modest and yet
proud air, while every eye was fixed upon her, she spoke as
follows:--
"My friends, you look so angry and disturbed and you have
interrupted my happy feast by your disputings. Ah! I knew nothing of
your foolish habits and your heartless mode of thinking, and I shall
never all my life long become accustomed to them. It is not my fault
that this affair has resulted in evil; believe me, the fault is with
yourselves alone, little as it may appear to you to be so. I have
therefore but little to say to you, but one thing I must say: I have
spoken nothing but truth. I neither can nor will give you proofs
beyond my own assertion, but I will swear to the truth of this. I
received this information from the very person who allured Bertalda
into the water, away from her parents, and who afterward placed her
on the green meadow in the duke's path."
"She is an enchantress!" cried Bertalda, "a witch, who has
intercourse with evil spirits. She acknowledges it herself."
"I do not," said Undine, with a whole heaven innocence and
confidence beaming, in her eyes. "I am no witch; only look at me."
"She is false and boastful," interrupted Bertalda, "and she cannot
prove that I am the child of these low people. My noble parents, I
beg you to take me from this company and out of this city, where
they are only bent on insulting me."
But the aged and honorable duke remained unmoved, and his wife,
said: "We must thoroughly examine how we are to act. God forbid that
we should move a step from this hall until we have done so."
Then the old wife of the fisherman drew near, and making a low
reverence to the duchess, she said: "Noble, god-fearing lady, you
have opened my heart. I must tell you. if this evil-disposed young
lady is my daughter, she has a mark, like a violet, between her
shoulders, and another like it on the instep of her left foot. If
she would only go out of the hall with me!"
"I shall not uncover myself before the peasant woman!" exclaimed
Bertalda, proudly turning her back on her.
"But before me you will." rejoined the duchess, very gravely.
"Follow me into that room, girl, and the good old woman shall come
with us." The three disappeared, and the rest of the company
remained where they were, in silent expectation. After a short tune
they returned; Bertalda was pale as death. "Right is right." said
the duchess; "I must therefore declare that our hostess has spoken
perfect, truth. Bertalda is the fisherman's daughter, and that is as
much as it is necessary to inform you here."
The princely pair left with their adopted daughter; and at a sign
from the duke, the fisherman and his wife followed them. The other
guests retired in silence or with secret murmurs, and Undine sank
weeping into Huldbrand's arms.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW THEY DEPARTED FROM THE IMPERIAL CITY.
The lord of Ringstetten would have certainly preferred the events of
this day to have been different; but even as they were, he could
scarcely regret them wholly, as they had exhibited his charming wife
under such a good and sweet and kindly aspect. "If I have given her
a soul," he could not help saying to himself, "I have indeed given
her a better one than my own;" and his only thought now was to speak
soothingly to the weeping Undine, and on the following morning to
quit with her a place which, after this incident, must have become
distasteful to her. It is true that she was not estimated
differently to what she had been. As something mysterious had long
been expected of her, the strange discovery of Bertalda's origin had
caused no great surprise, and every one who had heard the story and
had seen Bertalda's violent behavior, was disgusted with her alone.
Of this, however, the knight and his lady knew nothing as yet; and,
besides, the condemnation or approval of the public was equally
painful to Undine, and thus there was no better course to pursue
than to leave the walls of the old city behind them with all the
speed possible.
With the earliest beams of morning a pretty carriage drove up to the
entrance gate for Undine: the horses which Huldbrand and his squires
were to ride stood near, pawing the ground with impatient eagerness.
The knight was leading his beautiful wife from the door. when a
fisher-girl crossed their way. "We do not need your fish," said
Huldbrand to her, "we are now starting on our journey." Upon this
the fisher-girl began to weep bitterly, and the young couple
perceived for the first time that it was Bertalda. They immediately
returned with her to their apartment, and learned from her that the
duke and duchess were so displeased at her violent and unfeeling
conduct on the preceding way, that they had entirely withdrawn their
protection from her, though not without giving her a rich portion.
The fisherman, too, had been handsomely rewarded, and had the
evening before set out with his wife to return to their secluded
home.
"I would have gone with them," she continued, "but the old
fisherman, who is said to be my father"--
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