{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3714/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3714","id":"gutenberg_3714","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3714","summary":null,"tags":["Category: German Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Romance","Fairy tales -- Germany","Fantasy fiction","Romances -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by Charles Franks, Greg Weeks, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nUNDINE\n\n\nBY\n\nDE LA MOTTE FOUQUE\n\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN\n\nBY F. E. BUNNETT\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nDEDICATION\n\nCHAPTER\n\n     I.   HOW THE KNIGHT CAME TO THE FISHERMAN\n    II.   IN WHAT WAY UNDINE HAD COME TO THE FISHERMAN\n   III.   HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN\n    IV.   OF THAT WHICH THE KNIGHT ENCOUNTERED IN THE WOOD\n     V.   HOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE LITTLE PROMONTORY\n    VI.   OF A NUPTIAL CEREMONY\n   VII.   WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING OF THE WEDDING\n  VIII.   THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING\n    IX.   HOW THE KNIGHT TOOK HIS YOUNG WIFE WITH HIM\n     X.   HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CITY\n    XI.   THE ANNIVERSARY OF BERTALDA'S NAME-DAY\n   XII.   HOW THEY DEPARTED FROM THE IMPERIAL CITY\n  XIII.   HOW THEY LIVED AT CASTLE RINGSTETTEN\n   XIV.   HOW BERTALDA RETURNED HOME WITH THE KNIGHT\n    XV.   THE JOURNEY TO VIENNA\n   XVI.   HOW IT FARED FURTHER WITH HULDBRAND\n  XVII.   THE KNIGHT'S DREAM\n XVIII.   HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND IS MARRIED\n   XIX.   HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS BURIED\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION.\n\n  Undine, thou image fair and blest,\n    Since first thy strange mysterious glance,\n    Shone on me from some old romance,\n    How hast thou sung my heart to rest!\n\n  How hast thou clung to me and smiled,\n    And wouldest, whispering in my ear,\n    Give vent to all thy miseries drear,\n    A little half-spoiled timorous child!\n\n  Yet hath my zither caught the sound,\n    And breathed from out its gates of gold,\n    Each gentle word thy lips have told,\n    Until their fame is spread around.\n\n  And many a heart has loved thee well,\n    In spite of every wayward deed,\n    And many a one will gladly read,\n    The pages which thy history tell.\n\n  I catch the whispered hope expressed,\n    That thou should'st once again appear;\n    So cast aside each doubt and fear,\n    And come, Undine! thou spirit blest!\n\n  Greet every noble in the hall,\n    And greet 'fore all, with trusting air,\n    The beauteous women gathered there;\n    I know that thou art loved by all.\n\n  And if one ask thee after me,\n    Say: he's a true and noble knight,\n    Fair woman's slave in song and fight\n    And in all deeds of chivalry.\n\n\n\nUNDINE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nHOW THE KNIGHT CAME TO THE FISHERMAN.\n\n\nThere was once, it may be now many hundred years ago, a good old\nfisherman, who was sitting one fine evening before his door, mending\nhis nets. The part of the country in which he lived was extremely\npretty. The greensward, on which his cottage stood, ran far into the\nlake, and it seemed as if it was from love for the blue clear waters\nthat the tongue of land had stretched itself out into them, while\nwith an equally fond embrace the lake had encircled the green\npasture rich with waving grass and flowers, and the refreshing shade\nof trees. The one welcomed the other, and it was just this that made\neach so beautiful. There were indeed few human beings, or rather\nnone at all, to be met with on this pleasant spot, except the\nfisherman and his family. For at the back of this little promontory\nthere lay a very wild forest, which, both from its gloom and\npathless solitude as well as from the wonderful creatures and\nillusions with which it was said to abound, was avoided by most\npeople except in cases of necessity.\n\nThe pious old fisherman, however, passed through it many a time\nundisturbed, when he was taking the choice fish, which he had caught\nat his beautiful home, to a large town situated not far from the\nconfines of the forest. The principal reason why it was so easy for\nhim to pass through this forest was because the tone of his thoughts\nwas almost entirely of a religious character, and besides this,\nwhenever he set foot upon the evil reputed shades, he was wont to\nsing some holy song, with a clear voice and a sincere heart.\n\nWhile sitting over his nets this evening, unsuspicious of any evil,\na sudden fear came upon him, at the sound of a rustling in the gloom\nof the forest, as of a horse and rider, the noise approaching nearer\nand nearer to the little promontory. All that he had dreamed, in\nmany a stormy night, of the mysteries of the forest, now flashed at\nonce through his mind; foremost of all, the image of a gigantic\nsnow-white man, who kept unceasingly nodding his head in a\nportentous manner. Indeed, when he raised his eyes toward the wood\nit seemed to him as if he actually saw the nodding man approaching\nthrough the dense foliage. He soon, however, reassured himself,\nreflecting that nothing serious had ever befallen him even in the\nforest itself, and that upon this open tongue of land the evil\nspirit would be still less daring in the exercise of his power. At\nthe same time he repeated aloud a text from the Bible with all his\nheart, and this so inspired him with courage that he almost smiled\nat the illusion he had allowed to possess him. The white nodding man\nwas suddenly transformed into a brook long familiar to him, which\nran foaming from the forest and discharged itself into the lake. The\nnoise, however, which he had heard, was caused by a knight\nbeautifully apparelled, who, emerging from the deep shadows of the\nwood, came riding toward the cottage. A scarlet mantle was thrown\nover his purple gold-embroidered doublet; a red and violet plume\nwaved from his golden-colored head-gear; and a beautifully and\nrichly ornamented sword flashed from his shoulder-belt. The white\nsteed that bore the knight was more slenderly formed than war-horses\ngenerally are, and he stepped so lightly over the turf that this\ngreen and flowery carpet seemed scarcely to receive the slightest\ninjury from his tread.\n\nThe old fisherman did not, however, feel perfectly secure in his\nmind, although he tried to convince himself that no evil was to be\nfeared from so graceful an apparition; and therefore he politely\ntook off his hat as the knight approached, and remained quietly with\nhis nets.\n\nPresently the stranger drew up, and inquired whether he and his\nhorse could have shelter and care for the night. \"As regards your\nhorse, good sir,\" replied the fisherman. \"I can assign him no better\nstable than this shady pasture, and no better provender than the\ngrass growing on it. Yourself, however, I will gladly welcome to my\nsmall cottage, and give you supper and lodging as good as we have.\"\nThe knight was well satisfied with this; he alighted from his horse,\nand, with the assistance of the fisherman, he relieved it from\nsaddle and bridle, and turned it loose upon the flowery green. Then\naddressing his host, he said: \"Even had I found you less hospitable\nand kindly disposed, my worthy old fisherman, you would nevertheless\nscarcely have got rid of me to-day, for, as I see, a broad lake lies\nbefore us, and to ride back into that mysterious wood, with the\nshades of evening coming on, heaven keep me from it!\"\n\n\"We will not talk too much of that,\" said the fisherman, and he led\nhis guest into the cottage.\n\nThere, beside the hearth, from which a scanty fire shed a dim light\nthrough the cleanly-kept room, sat the fisherman's aged wife in a\ncapacious chair. At the entrance of the noble guest she rose to give\nhim a kindly welcome, but resumed her seat of honor without offering\nit to the stranger. Upon this the fisherman said with a smile: \"You\nmust not take it amiss of her, young sir, that she has not given up\nto you the most comfortable seat in the house; it is a custom among\npoor people, that it should belong exclusively to the aged.\"\n\n\"Why, husband,\" said the wife, with a quiet smile, \"what can you be\nthinking of? Our guest belongs no doubt to Christian men, and how\ncould it come into the head of the good young blood to drive old\npeople from their chairs? Take a seat, my young master,\" she\ncontinued, turning toward the knight; \"over there, there is a right\npretty little chair, only you must not move about on it too roughly,\nfor one of its legs is no longer of the firmest.\" The knight fetched\nthe chair carefully, sat down upon it good-humoredly, and it seemed\nto him as if he were related to this little household, and had just\nreturned from abroad.\n\nThe three worthy people now began to talk together in the most\nfriendly and familiar manner. With regard to the forest, about which\nthe knight made some inquiries, the old man was not inclined to be\ncommunicative; he felt it was not a subject suited to approaching\nnight, but the aged couple spoke freely of their home and former\nlife, and listened also gladly when the knight recounted to them his\ntravels, and told them that he had a castle near the source of the\nDanube, and that his name was Sir Huldbrand of Ringstetten. During\nthe conversation, the stranger had already occasionally heard a\nsplash against the little low window, as if some one were sprinkling\nwater against it. Every time the noise occurred, the old man knit\nhis brow with displeasure; but when at last a whole shower was\ndashed against the panes, and bubbled into the room through the\ndecayed casement, he rose angrily, and called threateningly from the\nwindow: \"Undine! will you for once leave off these childish tricks?\nand to-day, besides, there is a stranger knight with us in the\ncottage.\" All was silent without, only a suppressed laugh was\naudible, and the fisherman said as he returned: \"You must pardon it\nin her, my honored guest, and perhaps many a naughty trick besides;\nbut she means no harm by it. It is our foster-child, Undine, and she\nwill not wean herself from this childishness, although she has\nalready entered her eighteenth year. But, as I said, at heart she is\nthoroughly good.\"\n\n\"You may well talk,\" replied the old woman, shaking her head; \"when\nyou come home from fishing or from a journey, her frolics may then\nbe very delightful, but to have her about one the whole day long,\nand never to hear a sensible word, and instead of finding her a help\nin the housekeeping as she grows older, always to be obliged to be\ntaking care that her follies do not completely ruin us, that is\nquite another thing, and the patience of a saint would be worn out\nat last.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said her husband with a smile, \"you have your troubles\nwith Undine, and I have mine with the lake. It often breaks away my\ndams, and tears my nets to pieces, but for all that, I have an\naffection for it, and so have you for the pretty child, in spite of\nall your crosses and vexations. Isn't it so?\"\n\n\"One can't be very angry with her, certainly,\" said the old woman,\nand she smiled approvingly.\n\nJust then the door flew open, and a beautiful, fair girl glided\nlaughing into the room, and said \"You have only been jesting,\nfather, for where is your guest?\"\n\nAt the same moment, however, she perceived the knight, and stood\nfixed with astonishment before the handsome youth, Huldbrand was\nstruck with her charming appearance, and dwelt the more earnestly on\nher lovely features, as he imagined it was only her surprise that\ngave him this brief enjoyment, and that she would presently turn\nfrom his gaze with increased bashfulness. It was, however, quite\notherwise; for after having looked at him for some time, she drew\nnear him confidingly, knelt down before him, and said, as she played\nwith a gold medal which he wore on his breast, suspended from a rich\nchain: \"Why, you handsome, kind guest, how have you come to our poor\ncottage at last? Have you been obliged then to wander through the\nworld for years, before you could find your way to us? Do you come\nout of that wild forest, my beautiful knight?\" The old woman's\nreproof allowed him no time for reply. She admonished the girl to\nstand up and behave herself and to go to her work. Undine, however,\nwithout making any answer drew a little footstool close to\nHuldbrand's chair, sat down upon it with her spinning, and said\npleasantly: \"I will work here.\" The old man did as parents are wont\nto do with spoiled children. He affected to observe nothing of\nUndine's naughtiness and was beginning to talk of something else.\nBut this the girl would not let him do; she said: \"I have asked our\ncharming guest whence he comes, and he has not yet answered me.\"\n\n\"I come from the forest, you beautiful little vision,\" returned\nHuldbrand; and she went on to say:--\n\n\"Then you must tell me how you came there, for it is usually so\nfeared, and what marvellous adventures you met with in it, for it is\nimpossible to escape without something of the sort.\"\n\nHuldbrand felt a slight shudder at this remembrance, and looked\ninvoluntarily toward the window, for it seemed to him as if one of\nthe strange figures he had encountered in the forest were grinning\nin there; but he saw nothing but the deep dark night, which had now\nshrouded everything without. Upon this he composed himself and was\non the point of beginning his little history, when the old man\ninterrupted him by saying: \"Not so, sir knight! this is no fit hour\nfor such things.\" Undine, however, sprang angrily from her little\nstool, and standing straight before the fisherman with her fair arms\nfixed in her sides, she exclaimed: \"He shall not tell his story,\nfather? He shall not? but it is my will. He shall! He shall in spite\nof you!\" and thus saying she stamped her pretty little foot\nvehemently on the floor, but she did it all with such a comically\ngraceful air that Huldbrand now felt his gaze almost more riveted\nupon her in her anger than before in her gentleness.\n\nThe restrained wrath of the old man, on the contrary, burst forth\nviolently. He severely reproved Undine's disobedience and unbecoming\nbehavior to the stranger, and his good old wife joined with him\nheartily. Undine quickly retorted: \"If you want to chide me, and\nwon't do what I wish, then sleep alone in your old smoky hut!\" and\nswift as an arrow she flew from the room, and fled into the dark\nnight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nIN WHAT WAY UNDINE HAD COME TO THE FISHERMAN\n\n\nHuldbrand and the fisherman sprang from their seats and were on the\npoint of following the angry girl. Before they reached the cottage\ndoor, however, Undine had long vanished in the shadowy darkness\nwithout, and not even the sound of her light footstep betrayed the\ndirection of her flight. Huldbrand looked inquiringly at his host;\nit almost seemed to him as if the whole sweet apparition, which had\nsuddenly merged again into the night, were nothing else than one of\nthat band of the wonderful forms which had, but a short time since,\ncarried on their pranks with him in the forest. But the old man\nmurmured between his teeth: \"This is not the first time that she has\ntreated us in this way. Now we have aching hearts and sleepless eyes\nthe whole night through; for who knows, that she may not some day\ncome to harm, if she is thus out alone in the dark until daylight.\"\n\n\"Then let us for God's sake follow her,\" cried Huldbrand, anxiously.\n\n\"What would be the good of it?\" replied the old man. \"It would be a\nsin were I to allow you, all alone, to follow the foolish girl in\nthe solitary night, and my old limbs would not overtake the wild\nrunaway, even if we knew in what direction she had gone.\"\n\n\"We had better at any rate call after her, and beg her to come\nback,\" said Huldbrand; and he began to call in the most earnest\nmanner: \"Undine! Undine! Pray come back!\" The old man shook his\nhead, saying, that all that shouting would help but little, for the\nknight had no idea how self-willed the little truant was. But still\nhe could not forbear often calling out with him in the dark night:\n\"Undine! Ah! dear Undine, I beg you to come back--only this once!\"\n\nIt turned out, however, as the fisherman had said. No Undine was to\nbe heard or seen, and as the old man would on no account consent\nthat Huldbrand should go in search of the fugitive, they were at\nlast both obliged to return to the cottage. Here they found the fire\non the hearth almost gone out, and the old wife, who took Undine's\nflight and danger far less to heart than her husband, had already\nretired to rest. The old man blew up the fire, laid some dry wood on\nit, and by the light of the flame sought out a tankard of wine,\nwhich he placed between himself and his guest. \"You, sir knight,\"\nsaid he, \"are also anxious about that silly girl, and we would both\nrather chatter and drink away a part of the night than keep turning\nround on our rush mats trying in vain to sleep. Is it not so?\"\nHuldbrand was well satisfied with the plan; the fisherman obliged\nhim to take the seat of honor vacated by the good old housewife, and\nboth drank and talked together in a manner becoming two honest and\ntrusting men. It is true, as often as the slightest thing moved\nbefore the windows, or even at times when nothing was moving, one of\nthe two would look up and say: \"She is coming!\" Then they would be\nsilent for a moment or two, and as nothing appeared, they would\nshake their heads and sigh and go on with their talk.\n\nAs, however, neither could think of anything but of Undine, they\nknew of nothing better to do than that the old fisherman should tell\nthe story, and the knight should hear, in what manner Undine had\nfirst come to the cottage. He therefore began as follows:--\n\n\"It is now about fifteen years ago that I was one day crossing the\nwild forest with my goods, on my way to the city. My wife had stayed\nat home, as her wont is, and at this particular time for a very good\nreason, for God had given us, in our tolerably advanced age, a\nwonderfully beautiful child. It was a little girl; and a question\nalready arose between us, whether for the sake of the new-comer, we\nwould not leave our lovely home that we might better bring up this\ndear gift of heaven in some more habitable place. Poor people indeed\ncannot do in such cases as you may think they ought, sir knight,\nbut, with God's blessing, every one must do what he can. Well, the\nmatter was tolerably in my head as I went along. This slip of land\nwas so dear to me, and I shuddered when, amid the noise and brawls\nof the city, I thought to myself, 'In such scenes as these, or in\none not much more quiet, thou wilt also soon make thy abode!' But at\nthe same time I did not murmur against the good God; on the\ncontrary, I thanked him in secret for the new-born babe; I should be\ntelling a lie, too, were I to say, that on my journey through the\nwood, going or returning, anything befell me out of the common way,\nand at that time I had never seen any of its fearful wonders. The\nLord was ever with me in those mysterious shades.\"\n\nAs he spoke he took his little cap from his bald head, and remained\nfor a time occupied with prayerful thoughts; he then covered himself\nagain, and continued:--\n\n\"On this side the forest, alas! a sorrow awaited me. My wife came to\nmeet me with tearful eyes and clad in mourning. 'Oh! Good God!' I\ngroaned, 'where is our dear child? speak!'--'With him on whom you\nhave called, dear husband,' she replied; and we now entered the\ncottage together weeping silently. I looked around for the little\ncorpse, and it was then only that I learned how it had all\nhappened.\"\n\n\"My wife had been sitting with the child on the edge of the lake,\nand as she was playing with it, free of all fear and full of\nhappiness, the little one suddenly bent forward, as if attracted by\nsomething very beautiful in the water. My wife saw her laugh, the\ndear angel, and stretch out her little hands; but in a moment she\nhad sprung out of her mother's arms, and had sunk beneath the watery\nmirror. I sought long for our little lost one; but it was all in\nvain; there was no trace of her to be found.\"\n\n\"The same evening we, childless parents, were sitting silently\ntogether in the cottage; neither of us had any desire to talk, even\nhad our tears allowed us. We sat gazing into the fire on the hearth.\nPresently, we heard something rustling outside the door: it flew\nopen, and a beautiful little girl three or four years old, richly\ndressed, stood on the threshold smiling at us. We were quite dumb\nwith astonishment, and I knew not at first whether it were a vision\nor a reality. But I saw the water dripping from her golden hair and\nrich garments, and I perceived that the pretty child had been lying\nin the water, and needed help. 'Wife,' said I, 'no one has been able\nto save our dear child; yet let us at any rate do for others what\nwould have made us so blessed.' We undressed the little one, put her\nto bed, and gave her something warm; at all this she spoke not a\nword, and only fixed her eyes, that reflected the blue of the lake\nand of the sky, smilingly upon us. Next morning we quickly perceived\nthat she had taken no harm from her wetting, and I now inquired\nabout her parents, and how she had come here. But she gave a\nconfused and strange account. She must have been born far from here,\nnot only because for these fifteen years I have not been able to\nfind out anything of her parentage, but because she then spoke, and\nat times still speaks, of such singular things that such as we are\ncannot tell but that she may have dropped upon us from the moon. She\ntalks of golden castles, of crystal domes, and heaven knows what\nbesides. The story that she told with most distinctness was, that\nshe was out in a boat with her mother on the great lake, and fell\ninto the water, and that she only recovered her senses here under\nthe trees where she felt herself quite happy on the merry shore. We\nhad still a great misgiving and perplexity weighing on our heart. We\nhad, indeed, soon decided to keep the child we had found and to\nbring her up in the place of our lost darling; but who could tell us\nwhether she had been baptized or not? She herself could give us no\ninformation on the matter. She generally answered our questions by\nsaying that she well knew she was created for Gods praise and glory,\nand that she was ready to let us do with her whatever would tend to\nHis honor and glory.\"\n\n\"My wife and I thought that if she were not baptized, there was no\ntime for delay, and that if she were, a good thing could not be\nrepeated too often. And in pursuance of this idea, we reflected upon\na good name for the child, for we now were often at a loss to know\nwhat to call her. We agreed at last that Dorothea would be the most\nsuitable for her, for I once heard that it meant a gift of God, and\nshe had surely been sent to us by God as a gift and comfort in our\nmisery. She, on the other hand, would not hear of this, and told us\nthat she thought she had been called Undine by her parents, and that\nUndine she wished still to be called. Now this appeared to me a\nheathenish name, not to be found in any calendar, and I took counsel\ntherefore of a priest in the city. He also would not hear of the\nname of Undine, but at my earnest request he came with me through\nthe mysterious forest in order to perform the rite of baptism here\nin my cottage. The little one stood before us so prettily arrayed\nand looked so charming that the priest's heart was at once moved\nwithin him, and she flattered him so prettily, and braved him so\nmerrily, that at last he could no longer remember the objections he\nhad had ready against the name of Undine. She was therefore baptized\n'Undine,' and during the sacred ceremony she behaved with great\npropriety and sweetness, wild and restless as she invariably was at\nother times. For my wife was quite right when she said that it has\nbeen hard to put up with her. If I were to tell you\"--\n\nThe knight interrupted the fisherman to draw his attention to a\nnoise, as of a rushing flood of waters, which had caught his ear\nduring the old man's talk, and which now burst against the\ncottage-window with redoubled fury. Both sprang to the door. There they\nsaw, by the light of the now risen moon, the brook which issued from\nthe wood, widely overflowing its banks, and whirling away stones and\nbranches of trees in its sweeping course. The storm, as if awakened\nby the tumult, burst forth from the mighty clouds which passed\nrapidly across the moon; the lake roared under the furious lashing\nof the wind; the trees of the little peninsula groaned from root to\ntopmost bough, and bent, as if reeling, over the surging waters.\n\"Undine! for Heaven's sake, Undine.\" cried the two men in alarm. No\nanswer was returned, and regardless of every other consideration,\nthey ran out of the cottage, one in this direction, and the other in\nthat, searching and calling.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nHOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN.\n\n\nThe longer Huldbrand sought Undine beneath the shades of night, and\nfailed to find her, the more anxious and confused did he become.\n\nThe idea that Undine had been only a mere apparition of the forest,\nagain gained ascendancy over him; indeed, amid the howling of the\nwaves and the tempest, the cracking of the trees, and the complete\ntransformation of a scene lately so calmly beautiful, he could\nalmost have considered the whole peninsula with its cottage and its\ninhabitants as a mocking illusive vision; but from afar he still\never heard through the tumult the fisherman's anxious call for\nUndine, and the loud praying and singing of his aged wife. At length\nhe came close to the brink of the swollen stream, and saw in the\nmoonlight how it had taken its wild course directly in front of the\nhaunted forest, so as to change the peninsula into an island. \"Oh\nGod!\" he thought to himself, \"if Undine has ventured a step into\nthat fearful forest, perhaps in her charming wilfulness, just\nbecause I was not allowed to tell her about it; and now the stream\nmay be rolling between us, and she may be weeping on the other side\nalone, among phantoms and spectres!\"\n\nA cry of horror escaped him, and he clambered down some rocks and\noverthrown pine-stems, in order to reach the rushing stream and by\nwading or swimming to seek the fugitive on the other side. He\nremembered all the awful and wonderful things which he had\nencountered, even by day, under the now rustling and roaring\nbranches of the forest. Above all it seemed to him as if a tall man\nin white, whom he knew but too well, was grinning and nodding on the\nopposite shore; but it was just these monstrous forms which forcibly\nimpelled him to cross the flood, as the thought seized him that\nUndine might be among them in the agonies of death and alone.\n\nHe had already grasped the strong branch of a pine, and was standing\nsupported by it, in the whirling current, against which he could\nwith difficulty maintain himself; though with a courageous spirit he\nadvanced deeper into it. Just then a gentle voice exclaimed near\nhim: \"Venture not, venture not, the old man, the stream, is full of\ntricks!\" He knew the sweet tones; he stood as if entranced beneath\nthe shadows that duskily shrouded the moon, and his head swam with\nthe swelling of the waves, which he now saw rapidly rising to his\nwaist. Still he would not desist.\n\n\"If thou art not really there, if thou art only floating about me\nlike a mist, then may I too cease to live and become a shadow like\nthee, dear, dear Undine!\" Thus exclaiming aloud, he again stepped\ndeeper into the stream. \"Look round thee, oh! look round thee,\nbeautiful but infatuated youth!\" cried a voice again close beside\nhim, and looking aside, he saw by the momentarily unveiled moon, a\nlittle island formed by the flood, on which he perceived under the\ninterweaved branches of the overhanging trees, Undine smiling and\nhappy, nestling in the flowery grass.\n\nOh! how much more gladly than before did the young man now use the\naid of his pine-branch!\n\nWith a few steps he had crossed the flood which was rushing between\nhim and the maiden, and he was standing beside her on a little spot\nof turf, safely guarded and screened by the good old trees. Undine\nhad half-raised herself, and now under the green leafy tent she\nthrew her arms round his neck, and drew him down beside her on her\nsoft seat.\n\n\"You shall tell me your story here, beautiful friend,\" said she, in\na low whisper; \"the cross old people cannot hear us here: and our\nroof of leaves is just as good a shelter as their poor cottage.\"\n\n\"It is heaven itself!\" said Huldbrand, embracing the beautiful girl\nand kissing her fervently.\n\nThe old fisherman meanwhile had come to the edge of the stream, and\nshouted across to the two young people; \"Why, sir knight, I have\nreceived you as one honest-hearted man is wont to receive another,\nand now here you are caressing my foster-child in secret, and\nletting me run hither and thither through the night in anxious\nsearch of her.\"\n\n\"I have only just found her myself, old father,\" returned the\nknight.\n\n\"So much the better,\" said the fisherman; \"but now bring her across\nto me without delay upon firm ground.\"\n\nUndine, however, would not hear of this; she declared she would\nrather go with the beautiful stranger, into the wild forest itself,\nthan return to the cottage, where no one did as she wished, and from\nwhich the beautiful knight would himself depart sooner or later.\nThen, throwing her arms round Huldbrand, she sang with indescribable\ngrace:--\n\n  \"A stream ran out of the misty vale\n  Its fortunes to obtain,\n  the ocean's depths it found a home\n  And ne'er returned again.\"\n\nThe old fisherman wept bitterly at her song, but this did not seem\nto affect her particularly. She kissed and caressed her new friend,\nwho at last said to her: \"Undine, if the old man's distress does not\ntouch your heart, it touches mine--let us go back to him.\"\n\nShe opened her large blue eyes in amazement at him, and spoke at\nlast, slowly and hesitatingly: \"If you think so--well, whatever you\nthink is right to me. But the old man yonder must first promise me\nthat he will let you, without objection, relate to me what you saw\nin the wood, and--well, other things will settle themselves.\"\n\n\"Come, only come,\" cried the fisherman to her, unable to utter\nanother word: and at the same time he stretched out his arms far\nover the rushing stream toward her, and nodded his head as if to\npromise the fulfilment of her request, and as he did this, his white\nhair fell strangely over his face, and reminded Huldbrand of the\nnodding white man in the forest. Without allowing himself, however,\nto grow confused by such an idea the young knight took the beautiful\ngirl in his arms, and bore her over the narrow passage which the\nstream had forced between her little island and the shore.\n\nThe old man fell upon Undine's neck and could not satisfy the\nexuberance of his joy; his good wife also came up and caressed the\nnewly-found in the heartiest manner. Not a word of reproach passed\ntheir lips; nor was it thought of, for Undine, forgetting all her\nwaywardness, almost overwhelmed her foster-parents with affection\nand fond expressions.\n\nWhen at last they had recovered from the excess of their joy, day\nhad already dawned, and had shed its purple hue over the lake;\nstillness had followed the storm, and the little birds were singing\nmerrily on the wet branches. As Undine now insisted upon hearing the\nknight's promised story, the aged couple smilingly and readily\nacceded to her desire. Breakfast was brought out under the trees\nwhich screened the cottage from the lake, and they sat down to it\nwith contented hearts--Undine on the grass at the knight's feet, the\nplace chosen by herself.\n\nHuldbrand then proceeded with his story.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nOF THAT WHICH THE KNIGHT ENCOUNTERED IN THE WOOD.\n\n\n\"It is now about eight days ago since I rode into the free imperial\ncity, which lies on the other side of the forest. Soon after my\narrival, there was a splendid tournament and running at the ring,\nand I spared neither my horse nor my lance. Once when I was pausing\nat the lists, to rest after my merry toil, and was handing back my\nhelmet to one of my squires, my attention was attracted by a female\nfigure of great beauty, who was standing richly attired on one of\nthe galleries allotted to spectators.\"\n\n\"I asked my neighbor, and learned from him, that the name of the\nfair lady was Bertalda, and that she was the foster-daughter of one\nof the powerful dukes living in the country. I remarked that she\nalso was looking at me, and, as it is wont to be with us young\nknights, I had already ridden bravely, and now pursued my course\nwith renovated confidence and courage. In the dance that evening I\nwas Bertalda's partner, and I remained so throughout the festival.\"\n\nA sharp pain in his left hand, which hung down by his side, here\ninterrupted Huldbrand's narrative, and drew his attention to the\naching part. Undine had fastened her pearly teeth upon one of his\nfingers, appearing at the same time very gloomy and angry. Suddenly,\nhowever, she looked up in his eyes with an expression of tender\nmelancholy, and whispered in a soft voice: \"It is your own fault.\"\nThen she hid her face, and the knight, strangely confused and\nthoughtful, continued his narrative.\n\n\"This Bertalda was a haughty, wayward girl. Even on the second day\nshe pleased me no longer as she had done on the first, and on the\nthird day still less. Still I continued about her, because she was\nmore pleasant to me than to any other knight, and thus it was that I\nbegged her in jest to give me one of her gloves. 'I will give it you\nwhen you have quite alone explored the ill-famed forest,' said she,\n'and can bring me tidings of its wonders.' It was not that her glove\nwas of such importance to me, but the word had been said, and an\nhonorable knight would not allow himself to be urged a second time\nto such a proof of valor.\"\n\n\"I think she loved you,\" said Undine, interrupting him.\n\n\"It seemed so,\" replied Huldbrand.\n\n\"Well,\" exclaimed the girl, laughing, \"she must be stupid indeed. To\ndrive away any one dear to her. And moreover, into an ill-omened\nwood. The forest and its mysteries might have waited long enough for\nme!\"\n\n\"Yesterday morning.\" continued the knight, smiling kindly at Undine,\n\"I set out on my enterprise. The stems of the trees caught the red\ntints of the morning light which lay brightly on the green turf, the\nleaves seemed whispering merrily with each other, and in my heart I\ncould have laughed at the people who could have expected anything to\nterrify them in this pleasant spot. 'I shall soon have trotted\nthrough the forest there and back again,' I said to myself, with a\nfeeling of easy gayety, and before I had even thought of it I was\ndeep within the green shades, and could no longer perceive the plain\nwhich lay behind me. Then for the first time it struck me that I\nmight easily lose my way in the mighty forest, and that this perhaps\nwas the only danger which the wanderer had to fear. I therefore\npaused and looked round in the direction of the sun, which in the\nmean while had risen somewhat higher above the horizon. While I was\nthus looking up I saw something black in the branches of a lofty\noak. I thought it was a bear and I grasped my sword; but with a\nhuman voice, that sounded harsh and ugly, it called to me from\nabove: 'If I do not nibble away the branches up here, Sir Malapert,\nwhat shall we have to roast you with at midnight?' And so saying it\ngrinned and made the branches rustle, so that my horse grew furious\nand rushed forward with me before I had time to see what sort of a\ndevil it really was.\"\n\n\"You must not call it so,\" said the old fisherman as he crossed\nhimself; his wife did the same silently. Undine looked at the knight\nwith sparkling eyes and said: \"The best of the story is that they\ncertainly have not roasted him yet; go on now, you beautiful youth!\"\n\nThe knight continued his narration: \"My horse was so wild that he\nalmost rushed with me against the stems and branches of trees; he\nwas dripping with sweat, and yet would not suffer himself to be held\nin. At last he went straight in the direction of a rocky precipice;\nthen it suddenly seemed to me as if a tall white man threw himself\nacross the path of my wild steed; the horse trembled with fear and\nstopped: I recovered my hold of him, and for the first time\nperceived that my deliverer was no white man, but a brook of silvery\nbrightness, rushing down from a hill by my side and crossing and\nimpeding my horse's course.\"\n\n\"Thanks, dear Brook,\" exclaimed Undine, clapping her little hands.\nThe old man, however, shook his head and looked down in deep\nthought.\n\n\"I had scarcely settled myself in the saddle,\" continued Huldbrand.\n\"and seized the reins firmly, when a wonderful little man stood at\nmy side, diminutive, and ugly beyond conception. His complexion was\nof a yellowish brown, and his nose not much smaller than the rest of\nhis entire person. At the same time he kept grinning with stupid\ncourtesy, exhibiting his huge mouth, and making a thousand scrapes\nand bows to me. As this farce was now becoming inconvenient to me, I\nthanked him briefly and turned about my still trembling steed,\nthinking either to seek another adventure, or in case I met with\nnone, to find my way back, for during my wild chase the sun had\nalready passed the meridian; but the little fellow sprang round with\nthe speed of lightning and stood again before my horse. 'Room!' I\ncried, angrily; 'the animal is wild and may easily run over you.'--\n'Ay, ay!' snarled the imp, with a grin still more horribly stupid.\n'Give me first some drink-money, for I have stopped your horse;\nwithout me you and your horse would be now both lying in the stony\nravine; ugh!'--'Don't make any more faces,' said I, 'and take your\nmoney, even if you are telling lies; for see, it was the good brook\nthere that saved me, and not you, you miserable wight! And at the\nsame time I dropped a piece of gold into his grotesque cap, which he\nhad taken off in his begging. I then trotted on; but he screamed\nafter me, and suddenly with inconceivable quickness was at my side.\nI urged my horse into a gallop; the imp ran too, making at the same\ntime strange contortions with his body, half-ridiculous, half-horrible,\nand holding up the gold-piece, he cried, at every leap,\n'False money!, false coin!, false coin!, false money!'--and this he\nuttered with such a hollow sound that one would have supposed that\nafter every scream he would have fallen dead to the ground.\"\n\n\"His horrid red tongue moreover hung far out of his mouth. I\nstopped, perplexed, and asked: 'What do you mean by this screaming?\ntake another piece of gold, take two, but leave me.' He then began\nagain his hideous burlesque of politeness, and snarled out: 'Not\ngold, not gold, my young gentleman. I have too much of that trash\nmyself, as I will show you at once?'\"\n\n\"Suddenly it seemed to me as if I could see through the solid soil\nas though it were green glass and the smooth earth were as round as\na ball; and within, a multitude of goblins were ranking sport with\nsilver and gold; head over heels they were rolling about, pelting\neach other in jest with the precious metals, and provokingly blowing\nthe gold-dust in each other's eyes. My hideous companion stood\npartly within and partly without; he ordered the others to reach him\nup heaps of gold, and showing it to me with a laugh, he then flung\nit back again with a ringing noise into the immeasurable abyss.\"\n\n\"He then showed the piece of gold I had given him to the goblins\nbelow, and they laughed themselves half-dead over it and hissed at\nme. At last they all pointed at me with their metal-stained fingers,\nand more and more wildly, and more and more densely, and more and\nmore madly, the swarm of spirits came clambering up to me. I was\nseized with terror as my horse had been before: I put spurs to him,\nand I know not how far I galloped for the second time wildly into\nthe forest.\"\n\n\"At length, when I again halted, the coolness of evening was around\nme. Through the branches of the trees I saw a white foot-path\ngleaming, which I fancied must lead from the forest toward the city.\nI was anxious to work my way in that direction; but a face perfectly\nwhite and indistinct, with features ever changing, kept peering at\nme between the leaves; I tried to avoid it, but wherever I went it\nappeared also. Enraged at this, I determined at last to ride at it,\nwhen it gushed forth volumes of foam upon me and my horse, obliging\nus half-blinded to make a rapid retreat. Thus it drove us step by\nstep ever away from the foot-path, leaving the way open to us only\nin one direction. When we advanced in this direction, it kept indeed\nclose behind us, but did not do us the slightest harm.\"\n\n\"Looking around at it occasionally, I perceived that the white face\nthat had besprinkled us with foam belonged to a form equally white\nand of gigantic stature. Many a time I thought that it was a moving\nstream, but I could never convince myself on the subject. Wearied\nout, the horse and his rider yielded to the impelling power of the\nwhite man, who kept nodding his head, as if he would say, 'Quite\nright, quite right!' And thus at last we came out here to the end of\nthe forest, where I saw the turf, and the lake, and your little\ncottage, and where the tall white man disappeared.\"\n\n\"It's well that he's gone,\" said the old fisherman; and now he began\nto talk of the best way by which his guest could return to his\nfriends in the city. Upon this Undine began to laugh slyly to\nherself; Huldbrand observed it, and said: \"I thought you were glad\nto see me here; why then do you now rejoice when my departure is\ntalked of?\"\n\n\"Because you cannot go away,\" replied Undine. \"Just try it once, to\ncross that overflowed forest stream with a boat, with your horse, or\nalone, as you may fancy. Or rather don't try it, for you would be\ndashed to pieces by the stones and trunks of trees which are carried\ndown by it with the speed of lightning. And as to the lake, I know\nit well; father dare not venture out far enough with his boat.\"\n\nHuldbrand rose, smiling, in order to see whether things were as\nUndine had said; the old man accompanied him, and the girl danced\nmerrily along by their side. They found every thing, indeed, as\nUndine had described, and the knight was obliged to submit to remain\non the little tongue of land, that had become an island, till the\nflood should subside. As the three were returning to the cottage\nafter their ramble, the knight whispered in the ear of the little\nmaiden \"Well, how is it, my pretty Undine--are you angry at my\nremaining?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" she replied, peevishly, \"let me alone. If I had not bitten\nyou, who knows how much of Bertalda would have appeared in your\nstory?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nHOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE LITTLE PROMONTORY.\n\n\nAfter having been much driven to and fro in the world, you have\nperhaps, my dear reader, reached at length some spot where all was\nwell with thee; where the love for home and its calm peace, innate\nto all, has again sprung up within thee; where thou hast thought\nthat this home was rich with all the flowers of childhood and of the\npurest, deepest love that rests upon the graves of those that are\ngone, and thou hast felt it must be good to dwell here and to build\nhabitations. Even if thou hast erred in this, and hast had afterward\nbitterly to atone for the error, that is nothing to the purpose now,\nand thou wouldst not, indeed, voluntarily sadden thyself with the\nunpleasant recollection. But recall that inexpressibly sweet\nforeboding, that angelic sense of peace, and thou wilt know somewhat\nof the knight Huldbrand's feelings during his abode on the little\npromontory.\n\nHe often perceived with hearty satisfaction that the forest stream\nrolled along every day more wildly, making its bed ever broader and\nbroader, and prolonging his sojourn on the island to an indefinite\nperiod. Part of the day he rambled about with an old cross-bow,\nwhich he had found in a corner of the cottage and had repaired; and,\nwatching for the water-fowl, he killed all that he could for the\ncottage kitchen. When he brought his booty home, Undine rarely\nneglected to upbraid him with having so cruelly deprived the happy\nbirds of life; indeed she often wept bitterly at the sight he placed\nbefore her. But if he came home another time without having shot\nanything she scolded him no less seriously, since now, from his\ncarelessness and want of skill, they had to be satisfied with living\non fish. He always delighted heartily in her graceful little\nscoldings, all the more as she generally strove to compensate for\nher ill-humor by the sweetest caresses.\n\nThe old people took pleasure in the intimacy of the young pair; they\nregarded them as betrothed, or even as already united in marriage,\nand living on this isolated spot, as a succor and support to them in\ntheir old age. It was this same sense of seclusion that suggested\nthe idea also to Huldbrand's mind that he was already Undine's\naccepted one. He felt as if there were no world beyond these\nsurrounding waters, or as if he could never recross them to mingle\nwith other men; and when at times his grazing horse would neigh as\nif inquiringly to remind him of knightly deeds, or when the coat of\narms on his embroidered saddle and horse-gear shone sternly upon\nhim, or when his beautiful sword would suddenly fall from the nail\non which it was hanging in the cottage, gliding from the scabbard as\nit fell, he would quiet the doubts of his mind by saving: \"Undine is\nno fisherman's daughter; she belongs in all probability to some\nillustrious family abroad.\" There was only one thing to which he had\na strong aversion, and this was, when the old dame reproved Undine\nin his presence. The wayward girl, it is true, laughed at it for the\nmost part, without attempting to conceal her mirth; but it seemed to\nhim as if his honor were concerned, and yet he could not blame the\nold fisherman's wife, for Undine always deserved at least ten times\nas many reproofs as she received; so, in his heart he felt the\nbalance in favor of the old woman, and his whole life flowed onward\nin calm enjoyment.\n\nThere came, however, an interruption at last. The fisherman and the\nknight had been accustomed at their mid-day meal, and also in the\nevening when the wind roared without, as it was always wont to do\ntoward night, to enjoy together a flask of wine. But now the store\nwhich the fisherman had from time to time brought with him from the\ntown, was exhausted, and the two men were quite out of humor in\nconsequence.\n\nUndine laughed at them excessively all day, but they were neither of\nthem merry enough to join in her jests as usual. Toward evening she\nwent out of the cottage to avoid, as she said, two such long and\ntiresome faces. As twilight advanced, there were again tokens of a\nstorm, and the water rushed and roared. Full of alarm, the knight\nand the fisherman sprang to the door, to bring home the girl,\nremembering the anxiety of that night when Huldbrand had first come\nto the cottage. Undine, however, met them, clapping her little hands\nwith delight. \"What will you give me,\" she said, \"to provide you\nwith wine?\" or rather, \"you need not give me anything,\" she\ncontinued, \"for I am satisfied if you will look merrier and be in\nbetter spirits than you have been throughout this whole wearisome\nday. Only come with me; the forest stream has driven ashore a cask,\nand I will be condemned to sleep through a whole week if it is not a\nwine-cask.\" The men followed her, and in a sheltered creek on the\nshore, they actually found a cask, which inspired them with the hope\nthat it contained the generous drink for which they were thirsting.\n\nThey at once rolled it as quickly as possible toward the cottage,\nfor the western sky was overcast with heavy storm-clouds, and they\ncould observe in the twilight the waves of the lake raising their\nwhite, foaming heads, as if looking out for the rain which was\npresently to pour down upon them. Undine helped the men as much as\nshe was able, and when the storm of rain suddenly burst over them,\nshe said, with a merry threat to the heavy clouds: \"Come, come, take\ncare that you don't wet us; we are still some way from shelter.\" The\nold man reproved her for this, as simple presumption, but she\nlaughed softly to herself, and no mischief befell any one in\nconsequence of her levity. Nay, more: contrary to all expectation,\nthey reached the comfortable hearth with their booty perfectly dry,\nand it was not till they had opened the cask, and had proved that it\ncontained some wonderfully excellent wine, that the rain burst forth\nfrom the dark cloud, and the storm raged among the tops of the\ntrees, and over the agitated billows of the lake.\n\nSeveral bottles were soon filled from the great cask, which promised\na supply for many days, and they were sitting drinking and jesting\nround the glowing fire, feeling comfortably secured from the raging\nstorm without. Suddenly the old fisherman became very grave and\nsaid: \"Ah, great God! here we are rejoicing over this rich treasure,\nand he to whom it once belonged, and of whom the floods have robbed\nit, has probably lost this precious life in their waters.\"\n\n\"That he has not,\" declared Undine, as she smilingly filled the\nknight's cup to the brim.\n\nBut Huldbrand replied: \"By my honor, old father, if I knew where to\nfind and to rescue him, no knightly errand and no danger would I\nshirk. So much, however, I can promise you, that if ever again I\nreach more inhabited lands, I will find out the owner of this wine\nor his heirs, and requite it twofold, nay, threefold.\"\n\nThis delighted the old man; he nodded approvingly to the knight, and\ndrained his cup with a better conscience and greater pleasure.\n\nUndine, however, said to Huldbrand: \"Do as you will with your gold\nand your reimbursement; but you spoke foolishly about the venturing\nout in search; I should cry my eyes out, if you were lost in the\nattempt, and isn't it true, that you would yourself rather stay with\nme and the good wine.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" answered Huldbrand, smiling.\n\n\"Then,\" said Undine, \"you spoke unwisely. For charity begins at\nhome, and what do other people concern us?\"\n\nThe old woman turned away sighing and shaking her head; the\nfisherman forgot his wonted affection for the pretty girl and\nscolded her.\n\n\"It sounds exactly,\" said he, as he finished his reproof, \"as if\nTurks and heathens had brought you up; may God forgive both me and\nyou, you spoiled child.\"\n\n\"Well,\" replied Undine, \"for all that, it is what I feel, let who\nwill hate brought me up, and all your words can't help that.\"\n\n\"Silence!\" exclaimed the fisherman, and Undine, who, in spite of her\npertness, was exceedingly fearful, shrank from him, and moving\ntremblingly toward Huldbrand, asked him in a soft tone: \"Are you\nalso angry, dear friend?\"\n\nThe knight pressed her tender hand and stroked her hair. He could\nsay nothing, for vexation at the old man's severity toward Undine\nclosed his lips: and thus the two couples sat opposite to each\nother, with angry feelings and embarrassed silence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nOF A NUPTIAL CEREMONY.\n\n\nA low knocking at the door was heard in the midst of this stillness,\nstartling all the inmates of the cottage; for there are times when a\nlittle circumstance, happening quite unexpectedly, can unduly alarm\nus. But there was here the additional cause of alarm that the\nenchanted forest lay so near, and that the little promontory seemed\njust now inaccessible to human beings. They looked at each other\ndoubtingly, as the knocking was repeated accompanied by a deep\ngroan, and the knight sprang to reach his sword. But the old man\nwhispered softly: \"If it be what I fear, no weapon will help us.\"\n\nUndine meanwhile approached the door and called out angrily and\nboldly: \"Spirits of the earth, if you wish to carry on your\nmischief, Kuhleborn shall teach you something better.\"\n\nThe terror of the rest was increased by these mysterious words; they\nlooked fearfully at the girl, and Huldbrand was just regaining\ncourage enough to ask what she meant, when a voice said without: \"I\nam no spirit of the earth, but a spirit indeed still within its\nearthly body. You within the cottage, if you fear God and will help\nme, open to me.\" At these words, Undine had already opened the door,\nand had held a lamp out in the stormy night, by which they perceived\nan aged priest standing there, who stepped back in terror at the\nunexpected sight of the beautiful maiden. He might well think that\nwitchcraft and magic were at work when such a lovely form appeared\nat such an humble cottage door: he therefore began to pray: \"All\ngood spirits praise the Lord!\"\n\n\"I am no spectre,\" said Undine, smiling; \"do I then look so ugly?\nBesides you may see the holy words do not frighten me. I too know of\nGod and understand how to praise Him; every one to be sure in his\nown way, for so He has created us. Come in, venerable father; you\ncome among good people.\"\n\nThe holy man entered, bowing and looking round him, with a profound,\nyet tender demeanor. But the water was dropping from every fold of\nhis dark garment, and from his long white beard and from his gray\nlocks. The fisherman and the knight took him to another apartment\nand furnished him with other clothes, while they gave the women his\nown wet attire to dry. The aged stranger thanked them humbly and\ncourteously, but he would on no account accept the knight's splendid\nmantle, which was offered to him; but he chose instead an old gray\novercoat belonging to the fisherman. They then returned to the\napartment, and the good old dame immediately vacated her easy-chair\nfor the reverend father, and would not rest till he had taken\npossession of it. \"For,\" said she, \"you are old and exhausted, and\nyou are moreover a man of God.\" Undine pushed under the stranger's\nfeet her little stool, on which she had been wont to sit by the side\nof Huldbrand, and she showed herself in every way most gentle and\nkind in her care of the good old man. Huldbrand whispered some\nraillery at it in her ear, but she replied very seriously: \"He is a\nservant of Him who created us all; holy things are not to be jested\nwith.\" The knight and the fisherman then refreshed their reverend\nguest with food and wine, and when he had somewhat recovered\nhimself, he began to relate how he had the day before set out from\nhis cloister, which lay far beyond the great lake, intending to\ntravel to the bishop, in order to acquaint him with the distress\ninto which the monastery and its tributary villages had fallen on\naccount of the extraordinary floods.\n\nAfter a long, circuitous route, which these very floods had obliged\nhim to take, he had been this day compelled, toward evening, to\nprocure the aid of a couple of good boatmen to cross an arm of the\nlake, which had overflowed its banks.\n\n\"Scarcely however,\" continued he, \"had our small craft touched the\nwaves, than that furious tempest burst forth which is now raging\nover our heads. It seemed as if the waters had only waited for us,\nto commence their wildest whirling dance with our little boat. The\noars were soon torn out of the hands of my men, and were dashed by\nthe force of the waves further and further beyond our reach. We\nourselves, yielding to the resistless powers of nature, helplessly\ndrifted over the surging billows of the lake toward your distant\nshore, which we already saw looming through the mist and foam.\nPresently our boat turned round and round as in a giddy whirlpool; I\nknow not whether it was upset, or whether I fell overboard. In a\nvague terror of inevitable death I drifted on, till a wave cast me\nhere, under the trees on your island.\"\n\n\"Yes, island!\" cried the fisherman; \"a short time ago it was only a\npoint of land; but now, since the forest-stream and the lake have\nbecome well-nigh bewitched, things are quite different with us.\"\n\n\"I remarked something of the sort,\" said the priest, \"as I crept\nalong the shore in the dark, and hearing nothing but the uproar\naround me. I at last perceived that a beaten foot-path disappeared\njust in the direction from which the sound proceeded. I now saw the\nlight in your cottage, and ventured hither, and I cannot\nsufficiently thank my heavenly Father that after preserving me from\nthe waters, He has led me to such good and pious people as you are;\nand I feel this all the more, as I do not know whether I shall ever\nbehold any other beings is this world, except those I now address.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the fisherman.\n\n\"Do you know then how long this commotion of the elements is to\nlast?\" replied the holy man. \"And I am old in years. Easily enough\nmay the stream of my life run itself out before the overflowing of\nthe forest-stream may subside. And indeed it were not impossible\nthat more and more of the foaming waters may force their way between\nyou and yonder forest, until you are so far sundered from the rest\nof the world that your little fishing-boat will no longer be\nsufficient to carry you across, and the inhabitants of the continent\nin the midst of their diversions will have entirely forgotten you in\nyour old age.\"\n\nThe fisherman's wife started at this, crossed herself and exclaimed.\n\"God forbid.\" But her husband looked at her with a smile, and said\n\"What creatures we are after all! even were it so, things would not\nbe very different--at least not for you, dear wife--than they now\nare. For have you for many years been further than the edge of the\nforest? and have you seen any other human beings than Undine and\nmyself? The knight and this holy man have only come to as lately.\nThey will remain with us if we do become a forgotten island; so you\nwould even be a gainer by it after all.\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said the old woman; \"it is somehow a gloomy thought,\nwhen one imagines that one is irrecoverably separated from other\npeople, although, were it otherwise, one might neither know nor see\nthem.\"\n\n\"Then you will remain with us! then you will remain with us!\"\nwhispered Undine, in a low, half-singing tone, as she nestled closer\nto Huldbrand's side. But he was absorbed in the deep and strange\nvisions of his own mind.\n\nThe region on the other side of the forest-river seemed to dissolve\ninto distance during the priest's last words: and the blooming\nisland upon which he lived grew more green, and smiled more freshly\nin his mind's vision. His beloved one glowed as the fairest rose of\nthis little spot of earth, and even of the whole world, and the\npriest was actually there. Added to this, at that moment an angry\nglance from the old dame was directed at the beautiful girl,\nbecause even in the presence of the reverend father she leaned so\nclosely on the knight, and it seemed as if a torrent of reproving\nwords were on the point of following. Presently, turning to the\npriest, Huldbrand broke forth: \"Venerable father, you see before you\nhere a pair pledged to each other: and if this maiden and these good\nold people have no objection, you shall unite us this very evening.\"\nThe aged couple were extremely surprised. They had, it is true,\nhitherto often thought of something of the sort, but they had never\nyet expressed it, and when the knight now spoke thus, it came upon\nthem as something wholly new and unprecedented.\n\nUndine had become suddenly grave, and looked down thoughtfully while\nthe priest inquired respecting the circumstances of the case, and\nasked if the old people gave their consent. After much discussion\ntogether, the matter was settled; the old dame went to arrange the\nbridal chamber for the young people, and to look out two consecrated\ntapers which she had had in her possession for some time, and which\nshe thought essential to the nuptial ceremony. The knight in the\nmean while examined his gold chain, from which he wished to\ndisengage two rings, that he might make an exchange of them with his\nbride.\n\nShe, however, observing what he was doing, started up from her\nreverie, and exclaimed: \"Not so! my parents have not sent me into\nthe world quite destitute; on the contrary, they must have\nanticipated with certainty that such an evening as this would come.\"\nThus saving, she quickly left the room and reappeared in a moment\nwith two costly rings, one of which she gave to her bridegroom, and\nkept the other for herself. The old fisherman was extremely\nastonished at this, and still more so his wife, who just then\nentered, for neither had ever seen these jewels in the child's\npossession.\n\n\"My parents,\" said Undine, \"sewed these little things into the\nbeautiful frock which I had on, when I came to you. They forbid me,\nmoreover, to mention them to anyone before my wedding evening, so I\nsecretly took them, and kept them concealed until now.\"\n\nThe priest interrupted all further questionings by lighting the\nconsecrated tapers, which he placed upon a table, and summoned the\nbridal pair to stand opposite to him. He then gave them to each\nother with a few short solemn words; the elder couple gave their\nblessing to the younger, and the bride, trembling and thoughtful,\nleaned upon the knight. Then the priest suddenly said: \"You are\nstrange people after all. Why did you tell me you were the only\npeople here on the island? and during the whole ceremony, a tall\nstately man, in a white mantle, has been looking at me through the\nwindow opposite. He must still be standing before the door, to see\nif you will invite him to come into the house.\"\n\n\"God forbid,\" said the old dame with a start; the fisherman shook\nhis head in silence, and Huldbrand sprang to the window. It seemed\neven to him as if he could still see a white streak, but it soon\ncompletely disappeared in the darkness. He convinced the priest that\nhe must have been absolutely mistaken, and they all sat down\ntogether round the hearth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nWHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING OF THE WEDDING.\n\n\nBoth before and during the ceremony, Undine had shown herself gentle\nand quiet; but it now seemed as if all the wayward humors which\nrioted within her, burst forth all the more boldly and unrestrainedly.\nShe teased her bridegroom and her foster-parents, and even the\nholy man whom she had so lately reverenced, with all sorts of\nchildish tricks; and when the old woman was about to reprove her,\nshe was quickly silenced by a few grave words from the knight,\nspeaking of Undine now as his wife. Nevertheless, the knight\nhimself was equally little pleased with Undine's childish behavior:\nbut no signs, and no reproachful words were of any avail. It is\ntrue, whenever the bride noticed her husband's dissatisfaction--and\nthis occurred occasionally--she became more quiet, sat down by his\nside, caressed him, whispered something smilingly into his ear, and\nsmoothed the wrinkles that were gathering on his brow. But\nimmediately afterward, some wild freak would again lead her to\nreturn to her ridiculous proceedings, and matters would be worse\nthan before. At length the priest said in a serious and kind tone:\n\"My fair young maiden, no one indeed can look at you without\ndelight; but remember so to attune your soul betimes, that it may\never harmonize with that of your wedded husband.\"\n\n\"Soul!\" said Undine, laughing; \"that sounds pretty enough, and may\nbe a very edifying and useful caution for most people. But when one\nhasn't a soul at all, I beg you, what is there to attune then? and\nthat is my case.\" The priest was silent and deeply wounded, and with\nholy displeasure he turned his face from the girl. She, however,\nwent up to him caressingly, and said: \"No! listen to me first,\nbefore you look angry, for your look of anger gives me pain, and you\nmust not give pain to any creature who has done you no wrong--only\nhave patience with me, and I will tell you properly what I mean.\"\n\nIt was evident that she was preparing herself to explain something\nin detail, but suddenly she hesitated, as if seized with an inward\nshuddering, and burst out into a flood of tears. They none of them\nknew what to make of this ebullition, and filled with various\napprehensions they gazed at her in silence. At length, wiping away\nher tears, and looking earnestly at the reverend man, she said:\n\"There must be something beautiful, but at the same time extremely\nawful, about a soul. Tell me, holy sir, were it not better that we\nnever shared such a gift?\" She was silent again as if waiting for an\nanswer, and her tears had ceased to flow. All in the cottage had\nrisen from their seats and had stepped back from her with horror.\nShe, however, seemed to have eyes for no one but the holy man; her\nfeatures wore an expression of fearful curiosity, which appeared\nterrible to those who saw her. \"The soul must be a heavy burden,\"\nshe continued, as no one answered her, \"very heavy! for even its\napproaching image overshadows me with anxiety and sadness. And, ah!\nI was so light-hearted and so merry till now!\" And she burst into a\nfresh flood of tears, and covered her face with the drapery she\nwore. Then the priest went up to her with a solemn air, and spoke to\nher, and conjured her by the name of the Most Holy to cast aside the\nveil that enveloped her, if any spirit of evil possessed her. But\nshe sank on her knees before him, repeating all the sacred words he\nuttered, praising God, and protesting that she wished well with the\nwhole world.\n\nThen at last the priest said to the knight: \"Sir bridegroom, I will\nleave you alone with her whom I have united to you in marriage. So\nfar as I can discover there is nothing of evil in her, but much\nindeed that is mysterious. I commend to you--prudence, love, and\nfidelity.\" So saying, he went out, and the fisherman and his wife\nfollowed him, crossing themselves.\n\nUndine had sunk on her knees: she unveiled her face and said,\nlooking timidly round on Huldbrand: \"Alas! you will surely now not\nkeep me as your own; and yet I have done no evil, poor child that I\nam!\" As she said this, she looked so exquisitely graceful and\ntouching, that her bridegroom forgot all the horror he had felt, and\nall the mystery that clung to her, and hastening to her he raised\nher in his arms. She smiled through her tears; it was a smile like\nthe morning-light playing on a little stream.\n\n\"You cannot leave me,\" she whispered, with confident security,\nstroking the knight's cheek with her tender hand. Huldbrand tried to\ndismiss the fearful thoughts that still lurked in the background of\nhis mind, persuading him that he was married to a fairy or to some\nmalicious and mischievous being of the spirit world, only the single\nquestion half unawares escaped his lips: \"My little Undine, tell me\nthis one thing, what was it you said of spirits of the earth and of\nKuhleborn, when the priest knocked at the door?\"\n\n\"It was nothing but fairy tales!--children's fairy tales!\" said\nUndine, with all her wonted gayety; \"I frightened you at first with\nthem, and then you frightened me, that's the end of our story and of\nour nuptial evening.\"\n\n\"Nay! that it isn't,\" said the knight, intoxicated with love, and\nextinguishing the tapers, he bore his beautiful beloved to the\nbridal chamber by the light of the moon which shone brightly through\nthe windows.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING.\n\n\nThe fresh light of the morning awoke the young married pair.\nWonderful and horrible dreams had disturbed Huldbrand's rest; he had\nbeen haunted by spectres, who, grinning at him by stealth, had tried\nto disguise themselves as beautiful women, and from beautiful women\nthey all at once assumed the faces of dragons, and when he started\nup from these hideous visions, the moonlight shone pale and cold\ninto the room; terrified he looked at Undine, who still lay in\nunaltered beauty and grace. Then he would press a light kiss upon\nher rosy lips, and would fall asleep again only to be awakened by\nnew terrors. After he had reflected on all this, now that he was\nfully awake, he reproached himself for any doubt that could have led\nhim into error with regard to his beautiful wife. He begged her to\nforgive him for the injustice he had done her, but she only held out\nto him her fair hand, sighed deeply, and remained silent. But a\nglance of exquisite fervor beamed from her eyes such as he had never\nseen before, carrying with it the full assurance that Undine bore\nhim no ill-will. He then rose cheerfully and left her, to join his\nfriends in the common apartment.\n\nHe found the three sitting round the hearth, with an air of anxiety\nabout them, as if they dared not venture to speak aloud. The priest\nseemed to be praying in his inmost spirit that all evil might be\naverted. When, however, they saw the young husband come forth so\ncheerfully the careworn expression of their faces vanished.\n\nThe old fisherman even began to jest with the knight, so pleasantly,\nthat the aged wife smiled good-humoredly as she listened to them.\nUndine at length made her appearance. All rose to meet her and all\nstood still with surprise, for the young wife seemed so strange to\nthem and yet the same. The priest was the first to advance toward\nher with paternal arms affection beaming in his face, and, as he\nraised his hand to bless her, the beautiful woman sank reverently on\nher knees before him. With a few humble and gracious words she\nbegged him to forgive her for any foolish things she might have said\nthe evening before, and entreated him in an agitated tone to pray\nfor the welfare of her soul. She then rose, kissed her foster-parents,\nand thanking them for all the goodness they had shown her,\nshe exclaimed: \"Oh! I now feel in my innermost heart, how much, how\ninfinitely much, you have done for me, dear, kind people!\" She could\nnot at first desist from her caresses, but scarcely had she\nperceived that the old woman was busy in preparing breakfast, than\nshe went to the hearth, cooked and arranged the meal, and would not\nsuffer the good old mother to take the least trouble.\n\nShe continued thus throughout the whole day, quiet, kind, and\nattentive--at once a little matron and a tender, bashful girl. The\nthree who had known her longest expected every moment to see some\nwhimsical vagary of her capricious spirit burst forth. But they\nwaited in vain for it. Undine remained as mild and gentle as an\nangel. The holy father could not take his eyes from her, and he said\nrepeatedly to the bridegroom: \"The goodness of heaven, sir, has\nintrusted a treasure to you yesterday through me, unworthy as I am;\ncherish it as you ought, and it will promote your temporal and\neternal welfare.\"\n\nToward evening Undine was hanging on the knight's arm with humble\ntenderness, and drew him gently out of the door, where the declining\nsun was shining pleasantly on the fresh grass, and upon the tall,\nslender stems of the trees. The eyes of the young wife were moist,\nas with the dew of sadness and love, and a tender and fearful secret\nseemed hovering on her lips, which, however, was only disclosed by\nscarcely audible sighs. She led her husband onward and onward in\nsilence; when he spoke, she only answered him with looks, in which,\nit is true, there lay no direct reply to his inquiries, but whole\nheaven of love and timid devotion. Thus they reached the edge of the\nswollen forest stream, and the knight was astonished to see it\nrippling along in gentle waves, without a trace of its former\nwildness and swell. \"By the morning it will be quite dry,\" said the\nbeautiful wife, in a regretful tone, \"and you can then travel away\nwherever you will, without anything to hinder you.\"\n\n\"Not without you, my little Undine,\" replied the knight, laughing:\n\"remember, even if I wished to desert you, the church, and the\nspiritual powers, and the emperor, and the empire would interpose\nand bring the fugitive back again.\"\n\n\"All depends upon you, all depends upon you,\" whispered his wife,\nhalf-weeping and half-smiling. \"I think, however, nevertheless, that\nyou will keep me with you: I love you so heartily. Now carry me\nacross to that little island that lies before us. The matter shall\nbe decided there. I could easily indeed glide through the rippling\nwaves, but it is so restful in your arms, and if you were to cast me\noff, I shall have sweetly rested in them once more for the last\ntime.\" Huldbrand, full as he was of strange fear and emotion, knew\nnot what to reply. He took her in his arms and carried her across,\nremembering now for the first time that this was the same little\nisland from which he had borne her back to the old fisherman on that\nfirst night. On the further side he put her down on the soft grass,\nand was on the point of placing himself lovingly near his beautiful\nburden, when she said: \"No, there opposite to me! I will read my\nsentence in your eyes, before your lips speak; now, listen\nattentively to what I will relate to you.\" And she began:--\n\n\"You must know, my loved one, that there are beings in the elements\nwhich almost appear like mortals, and which rarely allow themselves\nto become visible to your race. Wonderful salamanders glitter and\nsport in the flames; lean and malicious gnomes dwell deep within the\nearth; spirits, belonging to the air, wander through the forests,\nand a vast family of water-spirits live in the lakes, and streams,\nand brooks. In resounding domes of crystal, through which the sky\nlooks in with its sun and stars, these latter spirits find their\nbeautiful abode; lofty trees of coral with blue and crimson fruits\ngleam in their gardens; they wander over the pure sand of the sea,\nand among lovely variegated shells, and amid all exquisite treasures\nof the old world, which the present is no longer worthy to enjoy;\nall these the floods have covered with their secret veils of silver,\nand the noble monuments sparkle below, stately and solemn, and\nbedewed by the loving waters which allure from them many a beautiful\nmoss-flower and entwining cluster of sea-grass. Those, however, who\ndwell there are very fair and lovely to behold, and for the most\npart are more beautiful than human beings. Many a fisherman has been\nso fortunate as to surprise some tender mermaid as she rose above\nthe waters and sang. He would tell afar of her beauty, and such\nwonderful beings have been given the name of Undines. You, however,\nare now actually beholding an Undine.\"\n\nThe knight tried to persuade himself that his beautiful wife was\nunder the spell of one of her strange humors, and that she was\ntaking pleasure in teasing him with one of her extravagant\ninventions. But repeatedly as he said this to himself, he could not\nbelieve it for a moment; a strange shudder passed through him;\nunable to utter a word, he stared at the beautiful narrator with an\nimmovable gaze. Undine shook her head sorrowfully, drew a deep sigh,\nand then proceeded as follows:--\n\n\"Our condition would be far superior to that of other human\nbeings--for human beings we call ourselves, being similar to them in form\nand culture--but there is one evil peculiar to us. We and our like\nin the other elements, vanish into dust and pass away, body and\nspirit, so that not a vestige of us remains behind; and when you\nmortals hereafter awake to a purer life, we remain with the sand and\nthe sparks and the wind and the waves. Hence we have also no souls;\nthe element moves us, and is often obedient to us while we live,\nthough it scatters us to dust when we die; and we are merry, without\nhaving aught to grieve us--merry as the nightingales and the little\ngold-fishes and other pretty children of nature. But all things\naspire to be higher than they are. Thus, my father, who is a\npowerful water-prince in the Mediterranean Sea, desired that his\nonly daughter should become possessed of a soul, even though she\nmust then endure many of the sufferings of those thus endowed. Such\nas we are, however, can only obtain a soul by the closest union of\naffection with one of your human race. I am now possessed of a soul,\nand my soul thanks you, my inexpressibly beloved one, and it will\never thank you, if you do not make my whole life miserable. For what\nis to become of me, if you avoid and reject me? Still, I would not\nretain you by deceit. And if you mean to reject me, do so now, and\nreturn alone to the shore. I will dive into this brook, which is my\nuncle; and here in the forest, far removed from other friends, he\npasses his strange and solitary life. He is, however, powerful, and\nis esteemed and beloved by many great streams; and as he brought me\nhither to the fisherman, a light-hearted, laughing child, he will\ntake me back again to my parents, a loving, suffering, and\nsoul-endowed woman.\"\n\nShe was about to say still more, but Huldbrand embraced her with the\nmost heartfelt emotion and love, and bore her back again to the\nshore. It was not till he reached it, that he swore amid tears and\nkisses, never to forsake his sweet wife, calling himself more happy\nthan the Greek Pygmalion, whose beautiful statue received life from\nVenus and became his loved one. In endearing confidence, Undine\nwalked back to the cottage, leaning on his arm; feeling now for the\nfirst time, with all her heart, how little she ought to regret the\nforsaken crystal palaces of her mysterious father.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nHOW THE KNIGHT TOOK HIS YOUNG WIFE WITH HIM.\n\n\nWhen Huldbrand awoke from his sleep on the following morning, and\nmissed his beautiful wife from his side, he began to indulge again\nin the strange thoughts, that his marriage and the charming Undine\nherself were but fleeting and deceptive illusions. But at the same\nmoment she entered the room, sat down beside him, and said: \"I have\nbeen out rather early to see if my uncle keeps his word. He has\nalready led all the waters back again into his own calm channel, and\nhe now flows through the forest, solitarily and dreamily as before.\nHis friends in the water and the air have also returned to repose:\nall will again go on quietly and regularly, and you can travel\nhomeward when you will, dry-shod.\" It seemed to Huldbrand as though\nhe were in a waking dream, so little could he reconcile himself to\nthe strange relationship of his wife. Nevertheless he made no\nremark on the matter, and the exquisite grace of his bride soon\nlulled to rest every uneasy misgiving. When he was afterward\nstanding before the door with her, and looking over the green\npeninsula with its boundary of clear waters, he felt so happy\nin this cradle of his love, that he exclaimed: \"Why shall we\ntravel so soon as to-day? We shall scarcely find more pleasant days\nin the world yonder than those we have spent in this quiet little\nshelter. Let us yet see the sun go down here twice or thrice more.\"\n\n\"As my lord wills,\" replied Undine, humbly. \"It is only that the old\npeople will, at all events, part from me with pain, and when they\nnow for the first time perceive the true soul within me, and how I\ncan now heartily love and honor, their feeble eyes will be dimmed\nwith plentiful tears. At present they consider my quietness and\ngentleness of no better promise than before, like the calmness of\nthe lake when the air is still; and, as matters now are, they will\nsoon learn to cherish a flower or a tree as they have cherished me.\nDo not, therefore, let me reveal to them this newly-bestowed and\nloving heart, just at the moment when they must lose it for this\nworld; and how could I conceal it, if we remain longer together?\"\n\nHuldbrand conceded the point; he went to the aged people and talked\nwith them over the journey, which he proposed to undertake\nimmediately. The holy father offered to accompany the young married\npair, and, after a hasty farewell, he and the knight assisted the\nbeautiful bride to mount her horse, and walked with rapid step by\nher side over the dry channel of the forest-stream into the wood\nbeyond. Undine wept silently but bitterly, and the old people gave\nloud expression to their grief. It seemed as if they had a\npresentiment of all they were now losing in their foster-child.\n\nThe three travellers had reached in silence the densest shades of\nthe forest. It must have been a fair sight, under that green canopy\nof leaves, to see Undine's lovely form, as she sat on her noble and\nrichly ornamented steed, with the venerable priest in the white garb\nof his order on one side of her, and on the other the blooming young\nknight in his gay and splendid attire, with his sword at his girdle.\nHuldbrand had no eyes but for his beautiful wife Undine, who had\ndried her tears, had no eyes but for him, and they soon fell into a\nmute, voiceless converse of glance and gesture, from which they were\nonly roused at length by the low talking of the reverend father with\na fourth traveller, who in the mean while had joined them\nunobserved.\n\nHe wore a white garment almost resembling the dress of the priests\norder, except that his hood hung low over his face, and his whole\nattire floated round him in such vast folds that he was obliged\nevery moment to gather it up, and throw it over his arm, or dispose\nof it in some way, and yet it did not in the least seem to impede\nhis movements. When the young couple first perceived him, he was\njust saying \"And so, venerable sir. I have now dwelt for many years\nhere in the forest, and yet no one could call me a hermit, in your\nsense of the word. For, as I said, I know nothing of penance, and I\ndo not think I have any especial need of it. I love the forest only\nfor this reason, that its beauty is quite peculiar to itself, and it\namuses me to pass along in my flowing white garments among the eases\nand dusky shadows, while now and then a sweet sunbeam shines down\nunexpectedly upon me.\"\n\n\"You are a very strange man,\" replied the priest, \"and I should like\nto be more closely acquainted with you.\"\n\n\"And to pass from one thing to another, who may you be yourself?\"\nasked the stranger.\n\n\"I am called Father Heilmann,\" said the holy man; \"and I come from\nthe monastery of 'our Lady' which lies on the other side of the\nlake.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" replied the stranger; \"my name is Kuhleborn, and so far as\ncourtesy is concerned I might claim the title of Lord of Kuhleborn,\nor free Lord of Kuhleborn; for I am as free as the birds in the\nforest and perhaps a little more so. For example, I have now\nsomething to say to the young lady there.\" And before they were\naware of his intention, he was at the other side of the priest,\nclose beside Undine, stretching himself up to whisper something in\nher ear.\n\nBut she turned from him with alarm, and exclaimed: \"I have nothing\nmore to do with you.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho,\" laughed the stranger, \"what is this immensely grand\nmarriage you have made, that you don't know your own relations any\nlonger? Have you forgotten your uncle Kuhleborn, who so faithfully\nbore you on his back through this region?\"\n\n\"I beg you, nevertheless,\" replied Undine, \"not to appear in my\npresence again. I am now afraid of you; and suppose my husband\nshould learn to avoid me when he sees me in such strange company and\nwith such relations!\"\n\n\"My little niece,\" said Kuhleborn, \"you must not forget that I am\nwith you here as a guide; the spirits of earth that haunt this place\nmight otherwise play some of their stupid pranks with you. Let me\ntherefore go quietly on with you; the old priest there remembered me\nbetter than you appear to have done, for he assured me just now that\nI seemed familiar to him, and that I must have been with him in the\nboat, out of which he fell into the water. I was so, truly enough;\nfor I was the water-spout that carried him out of it and washed him\nsafely ashore for your wedding.\"\n\nUndine and the knight turned toward Father Heilmann; but he seemed\nwalking on, as in a sort of dream, and no longer to be conscious of\nall that was passing. Undine then said to Kuhleborn, \"I see yonder\nthe end of the forest. We no longer need your help, and nothing\ncauses us alarm but yourself. I beg you, therefore, in all love and\ngood-will, vanish, and let us proceed in peace.\"\n\nKuhleborn seemed to become angry at this; his countenance assumed a\nfrightful expression, and he grinned fiercely at Undine, who\nscreamed aloud and called upon her husband for assistance. As quick\nas lightning, the knight sprang to the other side of the horse, and\naimed his sharp sword at Kuhleborn's head. But the sword cut through\na waterfall, which was rushing down near them from a lofty crag; and\nwith a splash, which almost sounded like a burst of laughter, it\npoured over them and wet them through to the skin.\n\nThe priest, as if suddenly awaking, exclaimed \"I have long been\nexpecting that, for the stream ran down from the height so close to\nus. At first it really seemed to me like a man, and as if it could\nspeak.\" As the waterfall came rushing down, it distinctly uttered\nthese words in Huldbrand's ear:--\n\n  \"Rash knight,\n  Brave knight,\n  Rage, feel I not,\n  Chide, will I not.\n  But ever guard thy little wife as well,\n  Rash knight, brave knight! Protect her well!\"\n\nA few footsteps more, and they were upon open ground. The imperial\ncity lay bright before them, and the evening sun, which gilded its\ntowers, kindly dried the garments of the drenched wanderers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nHOW THEY LIVED IN THE CITY.\n\n\nThe sudden disappearance of the young knight, Huldbrand von\nRingstetten, from the imperial city, had caused great sensation and\nsolicitude among those who had admired him, both for his skill in\nthe tournament and the dance, and no less so for his gentle and\nagreeable manners. His servants would not quit the place without\ntheir master, although not one of them would have had the courage to\ngo in quest of him into the shadowy recesses of the forest. They\ntherefore remained in their quarters, inactively hoping, as men are\nwont to do, and keeping alive the remembrance of their lost lord by\ntheir lamentations. When, soon after, the violent storms and floods\nwere observed, the less doubt was entertained as to the certain\ndestruction of the handsome stranger; and Bertalda openly mourned\nfor him and blamed herself for having allured the unfortunate knight\ninto the forest. Her foster-parents, the duke and duchess, had come\nto fetch her away, but Bertalda entreated them to remain with her\nuntil certain intelligence had been obtained of Huldbrand's fate.\nShe endeavored to prevail upon several young knights, who were\neagerly courting her, to follow the noble adventurer to the forest.\nBut she would not pledge her hand as a reward of the enterprise,\nbecause she always cherished the hope of belonging to the returning\nknight, and no glove, nor riband, nor even kiss, would tempt any one\nto expose his life for the sake of bringing back such a dangerous\nrival.\n\nWhen Huldbrand now suddenly and unexpectedly appeared, his servants.\nand the inhabitants of the city, and almost every one, rejoiced.\nBertalda alone refused to do so; for agreeable as it was to the\nothers that he should bring with him such a beautiful bride, and\nFather Heilmann as a witness of the marriage, Bertalda could feel\nnothing but grief and vexation. In the first place, she had really\nloved the young knight with all her heart, and in the next, her\nsorrow at his absence had proclaimed this far more before the eyes\nof all, than was now befitting. She still, however, conducted\nherself as a wise maiden, reconciled herself to circumstances, and\nlived on the most friendly terms with Undine, who was looked upon\nthroughout the city as a princess whom Huldbrand had rescued in the\nforest from some evil enchantment. When she or her husband were\nquestioned on the matter, they were wise enough to be silent or\nskilfully to evade the inquiries. Father Heilmann's lips were sealed\nto idle gossip of any kind, and moreover, immediately after\nHuldbrand's arrival, he had returned to his monastery; so that\npeople were obliged to be satisfied with their own strange\nconjectures, and even Bertalda herself knew no more of the truth\nthan others.\n\nDay by day, Undine felt her affection increase for the fair maiden.\n\"We must have known each other before,\" she often used to say to\nher, \"or else, there must be some mysterious connection between us,\nfor one does not love another as dearly as I have loved you from the\nfirst moment of our meeting without some cause--some deep and secret\ncause.\" And Bertalda also could not deny the fact that she felt\ndrawn to Undine with a tender feeling of confidence, however much\nshe might consider that she had cause for the bitterest lamentation\nat this successful rival. Biassed by this mutual affection, they\nboth persuaded--the one her foster-parents, the other her husband--to\npostpone the day of departure from time to time; indeed, it was\neven proposed that Bertalda should accompany Undine for a time to\ncastle Ringstetten, near the source of the Danube.\n\nThey were talking over this plan one beautiful evening, as they were\nwalking by starlight in the large square of the Imperial city, under\nthe tall trees that enclose it. The young married pair had incited\nBertalda to join them in their evening walk, and all three were\nstrolling up and down under the dark-blue sky, often interrupting\ntheir familiar talk to admire the magnificent fountain in the middle\nof the square, as its waters rushed and bubbled forth with wonderful\nbeauty. It had a soothing happy influence upon them; between the\nshadows of the trees there stole glimmerings of light from the\nadjacent houses; a low murmur of children at play, and of others\nenjoying their walk, floated around them; they were so alone, and\nyet in the midst of the bright and living world; whatever had\nappeared difficult by day, now became smooth as of itself; and the\nthree friends could no longer understand why the slightest\nhesitation had existed with regard to Bertalda's visit to\nRingstetten. Presently, just as they were on the point of fixing the\nday for their common departure, a tall man approached them from the\nmiddle of the square, bowed respectfully to the company, and said\nsomething in the ear of the young wife. Displeased as she was at the\ninterruption and its cause, she stepped a little aside with the\nstranger, and both began to whisper together, as it seemed, in a\nforeign tongue. Huldbrand fancied he knew the strange man, and he\nstared so fixedly at him that he neither heard nor answered\nBertalda's astonished inquiries.\n\nAll at once Undine, clapping her hands joyfully, and laughing,\nquitted the stranger's side, who, shaking his head, retired hastily\nand discontentedly, and vanished in the fountain. Huldbrand now felt\ncertain on the point, but Bertalda asked: \"And what did the master\nof the fountain want with you, dear Undine?\"\n\nThe young wife laughed within herself, and replied: \"The day after\nto-morrow, my dear child, on the anniversary of your name-day, you\nshall know it.\" And nothing more would she disclose. She invited\nBertalda and sent an invitation to her foster-parents, to dine with\nthem on the appointed day, and soon after they parted.\n\n\"Kuhleborn? was it Kuhleborn?\" said Huldbrand, with a secret\nshudder, to his beautiful bride, when they had taken leave of\nBertalda, and were now going home through the darkening streets.\n\n\"Yes, it was he,\" replied Undine, \"and he was going to say all sorts\nof nonsensical things to me. But, in the midst, quite contrary to\nhis intention, he delighted me with a most welcome piece of news. If\nyou wish to hear it at once, my dear lord and husband, you have but\nto command, and I will tell it you without reserve. But if you would\nconfer a real pleasure on your Undine, you will wait till the day\nafter to-morrow, and you will then have your share too in the\nsurprise.\"\n\nThe knight gladly complied with his wife's desire, which had been\nurged so sweetly, and as she fell asleep, she murmured smilingly to\nherself: \"Dear, dear Bertalda! How she will rejoice and be\nastonished at what her master of the fountain told me!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE ANNIVERSARY OF BERTALDA'S NAME-DAY.\n\n\nThe company were sitting at dinner; Bertalda, looking like some\ngoddess of spring with her flowers and jewels, the presents of her\nfoster-parents and friends, was placed between Undine and Huldbrand.\nWhen the rich repast was ended, and the last course had appeared,\nthe doors were left open, according to a good old German custom,\nthat the common people might look on, and take part in the festivity\nof the nobles. Servants were carrying round cake and wine among the\nspectators. Huldbrand and Bertalda were waiting with secret\nimpatience for the promised explanation, and sat with their eyes\nfixed steadily on Undine. But the beautiful wife still continued\nsilent, and only kept smiling to herself with secret and hearty\nsatisfaction. All who knew of the promise she had given could see\nthat she was every moment on the point of betraying her happy\nsecret, and that it was with a sort of longing renunciation that she\nwithheld it, just as children sometimes delay the enjoyment of their\nchoicest morsels. Bertalda and Huldbrand shared this delightful\nfeeling, and expected with fearful hope the tidings which were to\nfall from the lips of Undine. Several of the company pressed Undine\nto sing. The request seemed opportune, and ordering her lute to be\nbrought, she sang the following words:--\n\n  Bright opening day,\n    Wild flowers so gay,\n    Tall grasses their thirst that slake,\n    On the banks of the billowy lake!\n\n  What glimmers there so shining\n    The reedy growth entwining?\n    Is it a blossom white as snow\n    Fallen from heav'n here below?\n\n  It is an infant, frail and dear!\n    With flowerets playing in its dreams\n    And grasping morning's golden beams;\n    Oh! whence, sweet stranger, art thou here?\n\n  From some far-off and unknown strand,\n    The lake has borne thee to this land.\n\n  Nay, grasp not tender little one,\n    With thy tiny hand outspread;\n    No hand will meet thy touch with love,\n    Mute is that flowery bed.\n\n  The flowers can deck themselves so fair\n    And breathe forth fragrance blest,\n    Yet none can press thee to itself,\n    Like that far-off mother's breast.\n\n  So early at the gate of life,\n    With smiles of heav'n on thy brow,\n    Thou hast the best of treasures lost,\n    Poor wand'ring child, nor know'st it now.\n\n  A noble duke comes riding by,\n    And near thee checks his courser's speed,\n    And full of ardent chivalry\n    He bears thee home upon his steed.\n\n  Much, endless much, has been thy gain!\n    Thou bloom'st the fairest in the land!\n    Yet ah! the priceless joy of all,\n    Thou'st left upon an unknown strand.\n\nUndine dropped her lute with a melancholy smile, and the eyes of\nBertalda's foster-parents were filled with tears. \"Yes, so it was on\nthe morning that I found you, my poor sweet orphan,\" said the duke,\ndeeply agitated; \"the beautiful singer is certainly right; we have\nnot been able to give you that `priceless joy of all.'\"\n\n\"But we must also hear how it fared with the poor parents,\" said\nUndine, as she resumed her lute, and sang:--\n\n  Thro' every chamber roams the mother,\n    Moves and searches everywhere,\n    Seeks, she scarce knows what, with sadness,\n    And finds an empty house is there.\n\n  An empty house! Oh, word of sorrow,\n    To her who once had been so blest,\n    Who led her child about by day\n    And cradled it at night to rest.\n\n  The beech is growing green again,\n    The sunshine gilds its wonted spot,\n    But mother, cease thy searching vain!\n    Thy little loved one cometh not.\n\n  And when the breath of eve blows cool,\n    And father in his home appears,\n    The smile he almost tries to wear\n    Is quenched at once by gushing tears.\n\n  Full well he knows that in his home\n    He naught can find but wild despair,\n    He hears the mother's grieved lament\n    And no bright infant greets him there.\n\n\"Oh! for God's sake, Undine, where are my parents?\" cried the weeping\nBertalda; \"you surely know; you have discovered them, you wonderful\nbeing, for otherwise you would not have thus torn me heart. Are they\nperhaps already here? Can it be?\" Her eye passed quickly over the\nbrilliant company and lingered on a lady of high rank who was\nsitting next her foster-father. Undine, however, turned toward the\ndoor, while her eyes overflowed with the sweetest emotion. \"Where\nare the poor waiting parents?\" she inquired, and, the old fisherman\nand his wife advanced hesitatingly from the crowd of spectators.\nTheir glance rested inquiringly now on Undine, now on the beautiful\ngirl who was said to be their daughter \"It is she,\" said the\ndelighted benefactress, in a faltering tone, and the two old people\nhung round the neck of their recovered child, weeping and praising\nGod.\n\nBut amazed and indignant, Bertalda tore herself from their embrace.\nSuch a recognition was too much for this proud mind, at a moment\nwhen she had surely imagined that her former splendor would even be\nincreased, and when hope was deluding her with a vision of almost\nroyal honors. It seemed to her as if her rival had devised all this\non purpose signally to humble her before Huldbrand and the whole\nworld. She reviled Undine, she reviled the old people, and bitter\ninvectives, such as \"deceiver\" and \"bribed impostors,\" fell from her\nlips. Then the old fisherman's wife said in a low voice to herself:\n\"Ah me, she is become a wicked girl; and yet I feel in my heart that\nshe is my child.\"\n\nThe old fisherman, however, had folded his hands, and was praying\nsilently that this might not be his daughter. Undine, pale as death,\nturned with agitation from the parents to Bertalda, and from\nBertalda to the parents; suddenly cast down from that heaven of\nhappiness of which she had dreamed, and overwhelmed with a fear and\na terror such as she had never known even in imagination. \"Have you\na soul? Have you really a soul, Bertalda?\" she cried again and again\nto her angry friend, as if forcibly to rouse her to consciousness\nfrom some sudden delirium or maddening nightmare. But when Bertalda\nonly became more and more enraged, when the repulsed parents began\nto weep aloud, and the company, in eager dispute, were taking\ndifferent sides, she begged in such a dignified and serious manner\nto be allowed to speak in this her husband's hall, that all around\nwere in a moment silenced. She then advanced to the upper end of the\ntable, where Bertalda has seated herself, and with a modest and yet\nproud air, while every eye was fixed upon her, she spoke as\nfollows:--\n\n\"My friends, you look so angry and disturbed and you have\ninterrupted my happy feast by your disputings. Ah! I knew nothing of\nyour foolish habits and your heartless mode of thinking, and I shall\nnever all my life long become accustomed to them. It is not my fault\nthat this affair has resulted in evil; believe me, the fault is with\nyourselves alone, little as it may appear to you to be so. I have\ntherefore but little to say to you, but one thing I must say: I have\nspoken nothing but truth. I neither can nor will give you proofs\nbeyond my own assertion, but I will swear to the truth of this. I\nreceived this information from the very person who allured Bertalda\ninto the water, away from her parents, and who afterward placed her\non the green meadow in the duke's path.\"\n\n\"She is an enchantress!\" cried Bertalda, \"a witch, who has\nintercourse with evil spirits. She acknowledges it herself.\"\n\n\"I do not,\" said Undine, with a whole heaven innocence and\nconfidence beaming, in her eyes. \"I am no witch; only look at me.\"\n\n\"She is false and boastful,\" interrupted Bertalda, \"and she cannot\nprove that I am the child of these low people. My noble parents, I\nbeg you to take me from this company and out of this city, where\nthey are only bent on insulting me.\"\n\nBut the aged and honorable duke remained unmoved, and his wife,\nsaid: \"We must thoroughly examine how we are to act. God forbid that\nwe should move a step from this hall until we have done so.\"\n\nThen the old wife of the fisherman drew near, and making a low\nreverence to the duchess, she said: \"Noble, god-fearing lady, you\nhave opened my heart. I must tell you, if this evil-disposed young\nlady is my daughter, she has a mark, like a violet, between her\nshoulders, and another like it on the instep of her left foot. If\nshe would only go out of the hall with me!\"\n\n\"I shall not uncover myself before the peasant woman!\" exclaimed\nBertalda, proudly turning her back on her.\n\n\"But before me you will.\" rejoined the duchess, very gravely.\n\"Follow me into that room, girl, and the good old woman shall come\nwith us.\" The three disappeared, and the rest of the company\nremained where they were, in silent expectation. After a short time\nthey returned; Bertalda was pale as death. \"Right is right.\" said\nthe duchess; \"I must therefore declare that our hostess has spoken\nperfect, truth. Bertalda is the fisherman's daughter, and that is as\nmuch as it is necessary to inform you here.\"\n\nThe princely pair left with their adopted daughter; and at a sign\nfrom the duke, the fisherman and his wife followed them. The other\nguests retired in silence or with secret murmurs, and Undine sank\nweeping into Huldbrand's arms.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nHOW THEY DEPARTED FROM THE IMPERIAL CITY.\n\n\nThe lord of Ringstetten would have certainly preferred the events of\nthis day to have been different; but even as they were, he could\nscarcely regret them wholly, as they had exhibited his charming wife\nunder such a good and sweet and kindly aspect. \"If I have given her\na soul,\" he could not help saying to himself, \"I have indeed given\nher a better one than my own;\" and his only thought now was to speak\nsoothingly to the weeping Undine, and on the following morning to\nquit with her a place which, after this incident, must have become\ndistasteful to her. It is true that she was not estimated\ndifferently to what she had been. As something mysterious had long\nbeen expected of her, the strange discovery of Bertalda's origin had\ncaused no great surprise, and every one who had heard the story and\nhad seen Bertalda's violent behavior, was disgusted with her alone.\nOf this, however, the knight and his lady knew nothing as yet; and,\nbesides, the condemnation or approval of the public was equally\npainful to Undine, and thus there was no better course to pursue\nthan to leave the walls of the old city behind them with all the\nspeed possible.\n\nWith the earliest beams of morning a pretty carriage drove up to the\nentrance gate for Undine: the horses which Huldbrand and his squires\nwere to ride stood near, pawing the ground with impatient eagerness.\nThe knight was leading his beautiful wife from the door, when a\nfisher-girl crossed their way. \"We do not need your fish,\" said\nHuldbrand to her, \"we are now starting on our journey.\" Upon this\nthe fisher-girl began to weep bitterly, and the young couple\nperceived for the first time that it was Bertalda. They immediately\nreturned with her to their apartment, and learned from her that the\nduke and duchess were so displeased at her violent and unfeeling\nconduct on the preceding way, that they had entirely withdrawn their\nprotection from her, though not without giving her a rich portion.\n\nThe fisherman, too, had been handsomely rewarded, and had the\nevening before set out with his wife to return to their secluded\nhome.\n\n\"I would have gone with them,\" she continued, \"but the old\nfisherman, who is said to be my father\"--\n\n\"And he is so indeed, Bertalda,\" interrupted Undine. \"Look here, the\nstranger, whom you took for the master of the fountain, told me the\nwhole story in detail. He wished to dissuade me from taking you with\nme to castle Ringstetten, and this led him to disclose the secret.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Bertalda, \"if it must be so, my father said, 'I\nwill not take you with me until you are changed. Venture to come to\nus alone through the haunted forest; that shall be the proof whether\nyou have any regard for us. But do not come to me as a lady; come\nonly as a fisher-girl!' So I will do just as he has told me, for I\nam forsaken by the whole world, and I will live and die in solitude\nas a poor fisher-girl, with my poor parents. I have a terrible dread\nthough of the forest. Horrible spectres are said to dwell in it, and\nI am so fearful. But how can I help it? I only came here to implore\npardon of the noble lady of Ringstetten for my unbecoming behavior\nyesterday. I feel sure, sweet lady, you meant to do me a kindness,\nbut you knew not how you would wound me, and in my agony and\nsurprise, many a rash and frantic expression passed my lips. Oh\nforgive, forgive! I am already so unhappy. Only think yourself what\nI was yesterday morning, yesterday at the beginning of your banquet,\nand what I am now!\"\n\nHer voice became stifled with a passionate flood of tears, and\nUndine, also weeping bitterly, fell on her neck. It was some time\nbefore the deeply agitated Undine could utter a word; at length she\nsaid:--\n\n\"You can go with us to Ringstetten; everything shall remain as it\nwas arranged before; only do not speak to me again as 'noble lady.'\nYou see, we were exchanged for each other as children; our faces\neven then sprang as it were from the same stem, and we will now so\nstrengthen this kindred destiny that no human power shall be able to\nseparate it. Only, first of all, come with us to Ringstetten. We\nwill discuss there how we shall share all things as sisters.\"\n\nBertalda looked timidly toward Huldbrand. He pitied the beautiful\ngirl in her distress, and offering her his hand he begged her\ntenderly to intrust herself with him and his wife. \"We will send a\nmessage to your parents,\" he continued, \"to tell them why you are\nnot come;\" and he would have added more with regard to the worthy\nfisherman and his wife, but he saw that Bertalda shrunk with pain\nfrom the mention of their name, and he therefore refrained from\nsaying more.\n\nHe then assisted her first into the carriage, Undine followed her;\nand he mounted his horse and trotted merrily by the side of them,\nurging the driver at the same time to hasten his speed, so that very\nsoon they were beyond the confines of the imperial city and all its\nsad remembrances; and now the ladies began to enjoy the beautiful\ncountry through which their road lay.\n\nAfter a journey of some days, they arrived one exquisite evening, at\ncastle Ringstetten. The young knight had much to hear from his\noverseers and vassals, so that Undine and Bertalda were left alone.\n\nThey both repaired to the ramparts of the fortress, and were\ndelighted with the beautiful landscape which spread far and wide\nthrough fertile Swabia.\n\nPresently a tall man approached them, greeting them respectfully,\nand Bertalda fancied she saw a resemblance to the master of the\nfountain in the imperial city. Still more unmistakable grew the\nlikeness, when Undine angrily and almost threateningly waved him\noff, and he retreated with hasty steps and shaking head, as he had\ndone before, and disappeared into a neighboring copse. Undine,\nhowever, said:\n\n\"Don't be afraid, dear Bertalda, this time the hateful master of the\nfountain shall do you no harm.\" And then she told her the whole\nstory in detail, and who she was herself, and how Bertalda had been\ntaken away from the fisherman and his wife, and Undine had gone to\nthem. The girl was at first terrified with this relation; she\nimagined her friend must be seized with sudden madness, but she\nbecame more convinced that all was true, for Undine's story was so\nconnected, and fitted so well with former occurrences, and still\nmore she had that inward feeling with which truth never fails to\nmake itself known to us. It seemed strange to her that she was now\nherself living, as it were, in the midst of one of those fairy tales\nto which she had formerly only listened.\n\nShe gazed upon Undine with reverence, but she could not resist a\nsense of dread that seemed to come between her and her friend, and\nat their evening repast she could not but wonder how the knight\ncould behave so lovingly and kindly toward a being who appeared to\nher, since the discovery she had just made, more of a phantom than a\nhuman being.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nHOW THEY LIVED AT CASTLE RINGSTETTEN.\n\n\nThe writer of this story, both because it moves his own heart, and\nbecause he wishes it to move that of others, begs you, dear reader,\nto pardon him, if he now briefly passes over a considerable space of\ntime, only cursorily mentioning the events that marked it. He knows\nwell that he might portray skilfully, step by step, how Huldbrand's\nheart began to turn from Undine to Bertalda; how Bertalda more and\nmore responded with ardent affection to the young knight, and how\nthey both looked upon the poor wife as a mysterious being rather to\nbe feared than pitied; how Undine wept, and how her tears stung the\nknight's heart with remorse without awakening his former love, so\nthat though he at times was kind and endearing to her, a cold\nshudder would soon draw him from her, and he would turn to his\nfellow-mortal, Bertalda. All this the writer knows might be fully\ndetailed, and perhaps ought to have been so; but such a task would\nhave been too painful, for similar things have been known to him by\nsad experience, and he shrinks from their shadow even in\nremembrance. You know probably a like feeling, dear reader, for such\nis the lot of mortal man. Happy are you if you have received rather\nthan inflicted the pain, for in such things it is more blessed to\nreceive than to give. If it be so, such recollections will only\nbring a feeling of sorrow to your mind, and perhaps a tear will\ntrickle down your cheek over the faded flowers that once caused you\nsuch delight. But let that be enough. We will not pierce our hearts\nwith a thousand separate things, but only briefly state, as I have\njust said, how matters were.\n\nPoor Undine was very sad, and the other two were not to be called\nhappy. Bertalda especially thought that she could trace the effect\nof jealousy on the part of the injured wife whenever her wishes were\nin any way thwarted by her. She had therefore habituated herself to\nan imperious demeanor, to which Undine yielded in sorrowful\nsubmission, and the now blinded Huldbrand usually encouraged this\narrogant behavior in the strongest manner. But the circumstance that\nmost of all disturbed the inmates of the castle, was a variety of\nwonderful apparitions which met Huldbrand and Bertalda in the\nvaulted galleries of the castle, and which had never been heard of\nbefore as haunting the locality. The tall white man, in whom\nHuldbrand recognized only too plainly Uncle Kuhleborn, and Bertalda\nthe spectral master of the fountain, often passed before them with a\nthreatening aspect, and especially before Bertalda; so much so, that\nshe had already several times been made ill with terror, and had\nfrequently thought of quitting the castle. But still she stayed\nthere, partly because Huldbrand was so dear to her, and she relied\non her innocence, no words of love having ever passed between them,\nand partly also because she knew not whither to direct her steps.\nThe old fisherman, on receiving the message from the lord of\nRingstetten that Bertalda was his guest, had written a few lines in\nan almost illegible hand, but as good as his advanced age and long\ndis-would admit of.\n\n\"I have now become,\" he wrote, \"a poor old widower, for my dear and\nfaithful wife is dead. However lonely I now sit in my cottage,\nBertalda is better with you than with me. Only let her do nothing to\nharm my beloved Undine! She will have my curse if it be so.\" The\nlast words of this letter, Bertalda flung to the winds, but she\ncarefully retained the part respecting her absence from her\nfather--just as we are all wont to do in similar circumstances.\n\nOne day, when Huldbrand had just ridden out, Undine summoned\ntogether the domestics of the family, and ordered them to bring a\nlarge stone, and carefully to cover with it the magnificent fountain\nwhich stood in the middle of the castle-yard. The servants objected\nthat it would oblige them to bring water from the valley below.\nUndine smiled sadly. \"I am sorry, my people,\" she replied, \"to\nincrease your work. I would rather myself fetch up the pitchers, but\nthis fountain must be closed. Believe me that it cannot be\notherwise, and that it is only by so doing that we can avoid a\ngreater evil.\"\n\nThe whole household were glad to be able to please their gentle\nmistress; they made no further inquiry, but seized the enormous\nstone. They were just raising it in their hands, and were already\npoising it over the fountain, when Bertalda came running up, and\ncalled out to them to stop, as it was from this fountain that the\nwater was brought which was so good for her complexion, and she\nwould never consent to its being closed. Undine, however, although\ngentle as usual, was more than usually firm. She told Bertalda that\nit was her due, as mistress of the house, to arrange her household\nas she thought best, and that, in this, she was accountable to no\none but her lord and husband. \"See, oh, pray see,\" exclaimed\nBertalda, in an angry, yet uneasy tone, \"how the poor beautiful\nwater is curling and writhing at being shut out from the bright\nsunshine and from the cheerful sight of the human face, for whose\nmirror it was created!\"\n\nThe water in the fountain was indeed wonderfully agitated and\nhissing; it seemed as if something within were struggling to free\nitself, but Undine only the more earnestly urged the fulfilment of\nher orders. The earnestness was scarcely needed. The servants of the\ncastle were as happy in obeying their gentle mistress as in opposing\nBertalda's haughty defiance; and in spite of all the rude scolding\nand threatening of the latter the stone was soon firmly lying over\nthe opening of the fountain. Undine leaned thoughtfully over it, and\nwrote with her beautiful fingers on its surface. She must, however,\nhave had something very sharp and cutting in her hand, for when she\nturned away, and the servants drew near to examine the stone, they\nperceived various strange characters upon it, which none of them had\nseen there before.\n\nBertalda received the knight, on his return home in the evening,\nwith tears and complaints of Undine's conduct. He cast a serious\nlook at his poor wife, and she looked down as if distressed. Yet she\nsaid with great composure: \"My lord and husband does not reprove\neven a bondslave without a hearing, how much less then, his wedded\nwife?\"\n\n\"Speak,\" said the knight with a gloomy countenance, \"what induced\nyou to act so strangely?\"\n\n\"I should like to tell you when we are quite alone,\" sighed Undine.\n\n\"You can tell me just as well in Bertalda's presence,\" was the\nrejoinder.\n\n\"Yes, if you command me,\" said Undine; \"but command it not. Oh pray,\npray command it not!\"\n\nShe looked so humble, so sweet, and obedient, that the knight's\nheart felt a passing gleam from better times. He kindly placed her\narm within his own, and led her to his apartment, when she began to\nspeak as follows:--\n\n\"You already know, my beloved lord, something of my evil uncle,\nKuhleborn, and you have frequently been displeased at meeting him in\nthe galleries of this castle. He has several times frightened\nBertalda into illness. This is because he is devoid of soul, a mere\nelemental mirror of the outward world, without the power of\nreflecting the world within. He sees, too, sometimes, that you are\ndissatisfied with me; that I, in my childishness, am weeping at\nthis, and that Bertalda perhaps is at the very same moment laughing.\nHence he imagines various discrepancies in our home life, and in\nmany ways mixes unbidden with our circle. What is the good of\nreproving him? What is the use of sending him angrily away? He does\nnot believe a word I say. His poor nature has no idea that the joys\nand sorrows of love have so sweet a resemblance, and are so closely\nlinked that no power can separate them. Amid tears a smile shines\nforth, and a smile allures tears from their secret chambers.\"\n\nShe looked up at Huldbrand, smiling and weeping; and he again\nexperienced within his heart all the charm of his old love. She felt\nthis, and pressing him more tenderly to her, she continued amid\ntears of joy:--\n\n\"As the disturber of our peace was not to be dismissed with words, I\nhave been obliged to shut the door upon him. And the only door by\nwhich he obtains access to us is that fountain. He is cut off by the\nadjacent valleys from the other water-spirits in the neighborhood,\nand his kingdom only commences further off on the Danube, into which\nsome of his good friends direct their course. For this reason I had\nthe stone placed over the opening of the fountain, and I inscribed\ncharacters upon it which cripple all my uncle's power, so that he\ncan now neither intrude upon you, nor upon me, nor upon Bertalda.\nHuman beings, it is true, can raise the stone again with ordinary\neffort, in spite of the characters inscribed on it. The inscription\ndoes not hinder them. If you wish, therefore, follow Bertalda's\ndesire, but, truly! she knows not what she asks. The rude Kuhleborn\nhas set his mark especially upon her; and if much came to pass which\nhe has predicted to me, and which might, indeed, happen without your\nmeaning any evil, ah! dear one, even you would then be exposed to\ndanger!\"\n\nHuldbrand felt deeply the generosity of his sweet wife, in her\neagerness to shut up her formidable protector, while she had even\nbeen chided for it by Bertalda. He pressed her in his arms with the\nutmost affection, and said with emotion: \"The stone shall remain,\nand all shall remain, now and ever, as you wish to have it, my sweet\nUndine.\"\n\nShe caressed him with humble delight, as she heard the expressions\nof love so long withheld, and then at length she said: \"My dearest\nhusband, you are so gentle and kind to-day, may I venture to ask a\nfavor of you? See now, it is just the same with you as it is with\nsummer. In the height of its glory, summer puts on the flaming and\nthundering crown of mighty storms, and assumes the air of a king\nover the earth. You, too, sometimes, let your fury rise, and your\neyes flash and your voice is angry, and this becomes you well,\nthough I, in my folly, may sometimes weep at it. But never, I pray\nyou, behave thus toward me on the water, or even when we are near\nit. You see, my relatives would then acquire a right over me. They\nwould unrelentingly tear me from you in their rage; because they\nwould imagine that one of their race was injured, and I should be\ncompelled all my life to dwell below in the crystal palaces, and\nshould never dare to ascend to you again; or they would send me up\nto you--and that, oh God, would be infinitely worse. No, no, my\nbeloved husband, do not let it come to that, if your poor Undine is\ndear to you.\"\n\nHe promised solemnly to do as she desired, and they both returned\nfrom the apartment, full of happiness and affection. At that moment\nBertalda appeared with some workmen, to whom she had already given\norders, and said in a sullen tone, which she had assumed of late: \"I\nsuppose the secret conference is at an end, and now the stone may be\nremoved. Go out, workmen, and attend to it.\"\n\nBut the knight, angry at her impertinence, desired in short and very\ndecisive words that the stone should be left: he reproved Bertalda,\ntoo, for her violence toward his wife. Whereupon the workmen\nwithdrew, smiling with secret satisfaction: while Bertalda, pale\nwith rage, hurried away to her room.\n\nThe hour for the evening repast arrived, and Bertalda they waited for\nin vain. They sent after her, but the domestic found her apartments\nempty, and only brought back with him a sealed letter addressed to\nthe knight. He opened it with alarm, and read: \"I feel with shame\nthat I am only a poor fisher-girl. I will expiate my fault in having\nforgotten this for a moment by going to the miserable cottage of my\nparents. Farewell to you and your beautiful wife.\"\n\nUndine was heartily distressed. She earnestly entreated Huldbrand to\nhasten after their friend and bring her back again. Alas! she had no\nneed to urge him. His affection for Bertalda burst forth again with\nvehemence. He hurried round the castle, inquiring if any one had\nseen which way the fugitive had gone. He could learn nothing of her,\nand he was already on his horse in the castle-yard, resolved at a\nventure to take the road by which he had brought Bertalda hither.\nJust then a page appeared, who assured him that he had met the lady\non the path to the Black Valley. Like an arrow the knight sprang\nthrough the gateway in the direction indicated, without hearing\nUndine's voice of agony, as she called to him from the window:--\n\n\"To the Black Valley! Oh, not there! Huldbrand, don't go there! or,\nfor heaven's sake, take me with you!\" But when she perceived that\nall her calling was in vain, she ordered her white palfrey to be\nimmediately saddled, and rode after the knight, without allowing any\nservant to accompany her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nHOW BERTALDA RETURNED HOME WITH THE KNIGHT.\n\n\nThe Black Valley lies deep within the mountains. What it is now\ncalled we do not know. At that time the people of the country gave\nit this appellation on account of the deep obscurity in which the\nlow land lay, owing to the shadows of the lofty trees, and\nespecially firs, that grew there. Even the brook which bubbled\nbetween the rocks wore the same dark hue, and dashed along with none\nof that gladness with which streams are wont to flow that have the\nblue sky immediately above them. Now, in the growing twilight of\nevening, it looked wild and gloomy between the heights. The knight\ntrotted anxiously along the edge of the brook, fearful at one moment\nthat by delay he might allow the fugitive to advance too far, and at\nthe next that by too great rapidity he might overlook her in case\nshe were concealing herself from him. Meanwhile he had already\npenetrated tolerably far into the valley, and might soon hope to\novertake the maiden, if he were on the right track. The fear that\nthis might not be the case made his heart beat with anxiety. Where\nwould the tender Bertalda tarry through the stormy night, which was\nso fearful in the valley, should he fail to find her? At length he\nsaw something white gleaming through the branches on the slope of\nthe mountain. He thought he recognized Bertalda's dress, and he\nturned his course in that direction. But his horse refused to go\nforward; it reared impatiently; and its master, unwilling to lose a\nmoment, and seeing moreover that the copse was impassable on\nhorseback, dismounted; and, fastening his snorting steed to an\nelm-tree, he worked his way cautiously through the bushes. The branches\nsprinkled his forehead and cheeks with the cold drops of the evening\ndew; a distant roll of thunder was heard murmuring from the other\nside of the mountains; everything looked so strange that he began to\nfeel a dread of the white figure, which now lay only a short\ndistance from him on the ground. Still he could plainly see that it\nwas a female, either asleep or in a swoon, and that she was attired\nin long white garments, such as Bertalda had worn on that day. He\nstepped close up to her, made a rustling with the branches, and let\nhis sword clatter, but she moved not. \"Bertalda!\" he exclaimed, at\nfirst in a low voice, and then louder and louder--still she heard\nnot. At last, when he uttered the dear name with a more powerful\neffort, a hollow echo from the mountain-caverns of the valley\nindistinctly reverberated \"Bertalda!\" but still the sleeper woke\nnot. He bent down over her; the gloom of the valley and the\nobscurity of approaching night would not allow him to distinguish\nher features.\n\nJust as he was stooping closer over her, with a feeling of painful\ndoubt, a flash of lightning shot across the valley, and he saw\nbefore him a frightfully distorted countenance, and a hollow voice\nexclaimed: \"Give me a kiss, you enamoured swain!\"\n\nHuldbrand sprang up with a cry of horror, and the hideous figure\nrose with him. \"Go home!\" it murmured; \"wizards are on the watch. Go\nhome! or I will have you!\" and it stretched out its long white arms\ntoward him.\n\n\"Malicious Kuhleborn!\" cried the knight, recovering himself, \"What\ndo you concern me, you goblin? There, take your kiss!\" And he\nfuriously hurled his sword at the figure. But it vanished like\nvapor, and a gush of water which wetted him through left the knight\nno doubt as to the foe with whom he had been engaged.\n\n\"He wishes to frighten me back from Bertalda,\" said he aloud to\nhimself; \"he thinks to terrify me with his foolish tricks, and to\nmake me give up the poor distressed girl to him, so that he can\nwreak his vengeance on her. But he shall not do that, weak spirit of\nthe elements as he is. No powerless phantom can understand what a\nhuman heart can do when its best energies are aroused.\" He felt the\ntruth of his words, and that the very expression of them had\ninspired his heart with fresh courage. It seemed too as if fortune\nwere on his side, for he had not reached his fastened horse, when he\ndistinctly heard Bertalda's plaintive voice not far distant, and\ncould catch her weeping accents through the ever-increasing tumult\nof the thunder and tempest. He hurried swiftly in the direction of\nthe sound, and found the trembling girl just attempting to climb the\nsteep, in order to escape in any way from the dreadful gloom of the\nvalley. He stepped, however, lovingly in her path, and bold and\nproud as her resolve had before been, she now felt only too keenly\nthe delight, that the friend whom she so passionately loved should\nrescue her from this frightful solitude, and that the joyous life in\nthe castle should be again open to her. She followed almost\nunresisting, but so exhausted with fatigue that the knight was glad\nto have brought her to his horse, which he now hastily unfastened,\nin order to lift the fair fugitive upon it; and then, cautiously\nholding the reins, he hoped to proceed through the uncertain shades\nof the valley.\n\nBut the horse had become quite unmanageable from the wild apparition\nof Kuhleborn. Even the knight would have had difficulty in mounting\nthe rearing and snorting animal, but to place the trembling Bertalda\non its back was perfectly impossible. They determined, therefore, to\nreturn home on foot. Drawing the horse after him by the bridle, the\nknight supported the tottering girl with his other hand. Bertalda\nexerted all her strength to pass quickly through the fearful valley,\nbut weariness weighed her down like lead, and every limb trembled,\npartly from the terror she had endured when Kuhleborn had pursued\nher, and partly from her continued alarm at the howling of the storm\nand the pealing of the thunder through the wooded mountain.\n\nAt last she slid from the supporting arm of her protector, and\nsinking down on the moss, she exclaimed: \"Let me lie here, my noble\nlord; I suffer the punishment due to my folly, and I must now perish\nhere through weariness and dread.\"\n\n\"No, sweet friend, I will never leave you!\" cried Huldbrand, vainly\nendeavoring to restrain his furious steed; for, worse than before,\nit now began to foam and rear with excitement, until at last the\nknight was glad to keep the animal at a sufficient distance from the\nexhausted maiden lest her fears should be increased. But scarcely\nhad he withdrawn a few paces with the wild steed, than she began to\ncall after him in the most pitiful manner, believing that he was\nreally going to leave her in this horrible wilderness. He was\nutterly at a loss what course to take. Gladly would he have given\nthe excited beast its liberty and have allowed it to rush away into\nthe night and spend its fury, had he not feared that is this narrow\ndefile it might come thundering with its iron-shod hoofs over the\nvery spot where Bertalda lay.\n\nIn the midst of this extreme perplexity and distress, he heard with\ndelight the sound of a vehicle driving slowly down the stony road\nbehind them. He called out for help; and a man's voice replied,\nbidding him have patience, but promising assistance; and soon after,\ntwo gray horses appeared through the bushes, and beside them the\ndriver in the white smock of a carter; a great white linen cloth was\nnext visible, covering the goods apparently contained in the wagon.\nAt a loud shout from their master, the obedient horses halted. The\ndriver then came toward the knight, and helped him in restraining\nhis foaming animal.\n\n\"I see well,\" said he, \"what ails the beast. When I first travelled\nthis way, my horses were no better. The fact is, there is an evil\nwater-spirit haunting the place, and he takes delight in this sort\nof mischief. But I have learned a charm; if you will let me whisper\nit in your horse's ear, he will stand at once just as quiet as my\ngray beasts are doing there.\"\n\n\"Try your luck then, only help us quickly!\" exclaimed the impatient\nknight. The wagoner then drew down the head of the rearing charger\nclose to his own, and whispered something in his ear. In a moment\nthe animal stood still and quiet, and his quick panting and reeking\ncondition was all that remained of his previous unmanageableness.\nHuldbrand had no time to inquire how all this had been effected. He\nagreed with the carter that he should take Bertalda on his wagon,\nwhere, as the man assured him, there were a quantity of soft\ncotton-bales, upon which she could be conveyed to castle Ringstetten, and\nthe knight was to accompany them on horseback. But the horse\nappeared too much exhausted by its past fury to be able to carry its\nmaster so far, so the carter persuaded Huldbrand to get into the\nwagon with Bertalda. The horse could be fastened on behind. \"We are\ngoing down hill,\" said he, \"and that will make it light for my gray\nbeasts.\"\n\nThe knight accepted the offer and entered the wagon with Bertalda;\nthe horse followed patiently behind, and the wagoner, steady and\nattentive, walked by the side.\n\nIn the stillness of the night, as its darkness deepened and the\nsubsiding tempest sounded more and more remote, encouraged by the\nsense of security and their fortunate escape, a confidential\nconversation arose between Huldbrand and Bertalda. With flattering\nwords he reproached her for her daring flight; she excused herself\nwith humility and emotion, and from every word she said a gleam\nshone forth which disclosed distinctly to the lover that the beloved\nwas his. The knight felt the sense of her words far more than he\nregarded their meaning, and it was the sense alone to which he\nreplied. Presently the wagoner suddenly shouted with loud voice,--\n\n\"Up, my grays, up with your feet, keep together! remember who you\nare!\"\n\nThe knight leaned out of the wagon and saw that the horses were\nstepping into the midst of a foaming stream or were already almost\nswimming, while the wheels of the wagon were rushing round and\ngleaming like mill-wheels, and the wagoner had got up in front, in\nconsequence of the increasing waters.\n\n\"What sort of a road is this? It goes into the middle of the\nstream.\" cried Huldbrand to his guide.\n\n\"Not at all, sir.\" returned the other, laughing, \"it is just the\nreverse, the stream goes into the very middle of our road. Look\nround and see how everything is covered by the water.\"\n\nThe whole valley indeed was suddenly filled with the surging flood,\nthat visibly increased. \"It is Kuhleborn, the evil water-spirit, who\nwishes to drown us!\" exclaimed the knight. \"Have you no charm,\nagainst him, my friend?\"\n\n\"I know indeed of one,\" returned the wagoner, \"but I cannot and may\nnot use it until you know who I am.\"\n\n\"Is this a time for riddles?\" cried the knight. \"The flood is ever\nrising higher, and what does it matter to me to know who you are?\"\n\n\"It does matter to you, though,\" said the wagoner, \"for I am\nKuhleborn.\"\n\nSo saying, he thrust his distorted face into the wagon with a grin,\nbut the wagon was a wagon no longer, the horses were not horses--all\nwas transformed to foam and vanished in the hissing waves, and even\nthe wagoner himself, rising as a gigantic billow, drew down the\nvainly struggling horse beneath the waters, and then swelling higher\nand higher, swept over the heads of the floating pair, like some\nliquid tower, threatening to bury them irrecoverably.\n\nJust then the soft voice of Undine sounded through the uproar, the\nmoon emerged from the clouds, and by its light Undine was seen on\nthe heights above the valley. She rebuked, she threatened the floods\nbelow; the menacing, tower-like wave vanished, muttering and\nmurmuring, the waters flowed gently away in the moonlight, and like\na white dove, Undine flew down from the height, seized the knight\nand Bertalda, and bore them with her to a fresh, green, turfy spot\non the hill, where with choice refreshing restoratives, she\ndispelled their terrors and weariness; then she assisted Bertalda to\nmount the white palfrey, on which she had herself ridden here, and\nthus all three returned back to castle Ringstetten.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nTHE JOURNEY TO VIENNA.\n\n\nAfter this last adventure, they lived quietly and happily at the\ncastle. The knight more and more perceived the heavenly goodness of\nhis wife, which had been so nobly exhibited by her pursuit, and by\nher rescue of them in the Black Valley, where Kuhleborn's power\nagain commenced; Undine herself felt that peace and security, which\nis never lacking to a mind so long as it is distinctly conscious of\nbeing on the right path, and besides, in the newly-awakened love and\nesteem of her husband, many a gleam of hope and joy shone upon her.\nBertalda, on the other hand, showed herself grateful, humble and\ntimid, without regarding her conduct as anything meritorious.\nWhenever Huldbrand or Undine were about to give her any explanation\nregarding the covering of the fountain or the adventure in the Black\nValley, she would earnestly entreat them to spare her the recital,\nas she felt too much shame at the recollection of the fountain, and\ntoo much fear at the remembrance of the Black Valley. She learned\ntherefore nothing further of either; and for what end was such\nknowledge necessary? Peace and joy had visibly taken up their abode\nat castle Ringstetten. They felt secure on this point, and imagined\nthat life could now produce nothing but pleasant flowers and fruits.\n\nIn this happy condition of things, winter had come and passed away,\nand spring, with its fresh green shoots and its blue sky, was\ngladdening the joyous inmates of the castle. Spring was in harmony\nwith them, and they with spring. What wonder then, that its storks\nand swallows inspired them also with a desire to travel? One day\nwhen they were taking a pleasant walk to one of the sources of the\nDanube, Huldbrand spoke of the magnificence of the noble river, and\nhow it widened as it flowed through countries fertilized by its\nwaters, how the charming city of Vienna shone forth on its banks,\nand how with every step of its course it increased in power and\nloveliness.\n\n\"It must be glorious to go down the river as far as Vienna!\"\nexclaimed Bertalda, but immediately relapsing into her present\nmodesty and humility, she paused and blushed deeply.\n\nThis touched Undine deeply, and with the liveliest desire to give\npleasure to her friend, she said: \"What hinders us from starting on\nthe little voyage?\"\n\nBertalda exhibited the greatest delight, and both she and Undine\nbegan at once to picture the tour of the Danube in the brightest\ncolors. Huldbrand also gladly agreed to the prospect; only he once\nwhispered anxiously in Undine's ear,--\n\n\"But Kuhleborn becomes possessed of his power again out there!\"\n\n\"Let him come,\" she replied with a smile, \"I shall be there, and he\nventures upon none of his mischief before me.\" The last impediment\nwas thus removed; they prepared for the journey, and soon after set\nout upon it with fresh spirits and the brightest hopes.\n\nBut wonder not, oh man, if events always turn out different to what\nwe have intended. That malicious power, lurking for our destruction,\ngladly lulls its chosen victim to sleep with sweet songs and golden\ndelusions; while on the other hand the rescuing messenger from\nHeaven often knocks sharply and alarmingly at our door.\n\nDuring the first few days of their voyage down the Danube they were\nextremely happy. Everything grew more and more beautiful as they\nsailed further and further down the proudly flowing stream. But in a\nregion otherwise so pleasant, and in the enjoyment of which they had\npromised themselves the purest delight, the ungovernable Kuhleborn\nbegan, undisguisedly, to exhibit his power of interference. This was\nindeed manifested in mere teasing tricks, for Undine often rebuked\nthe agitated waves, or the contrary winds, and then the violence of\nthe enemy would be immediately humbled; but again the attacks would\nbe renewed, and again Undine's reproofs would become necessary, so\nthat the pleasure of the little party was completely destroyed. The\nboatmen too were continually whispering to each other in dismay, and\nlooking with distrust at the three strangers, whose servants even\nbegan more and more to forebode something uncomfortable, and to\nwatch their superiors with suspicious glances. Huldbrand often said\nto himself: \"This comes from like not being linked with like, from a\nman uniting himself with a mermaid!\" Excusing himself as we all love\nto do, he would often think indeed as he said this: \"I did not\nreally know that she was a sea-maiden, mine is the misfortune, that\nevery step I take is disturbed and haunted by the wild caprices of\nher race, but mine is not the fault.\" By thoughts such as these, he\nfelt himself in some measure strengthened, but on the other hand, he\nfelt increasing ill-humor, and almost animosity toward Undine. He\nwould look at her with an expression of anger, the meaning of which\nthe poor wife understood well. Wearied with this exhibition of\ndispleasure, and exhausted by the constant effort to frustrate\nKuhleborn's artifices, she sank one evening into a deep slumber,\nrocked soothingly by the softly gliding bark.\n\nScarcely, however, had she closed her eyes than every one in the\nvessel imagined he saw, in whatever direction he turned, a most\nhorrible human head; it rose out of the waves, not like that of a\nperson swimming, but perfectly perpendicular as if invisibly\nsupported upright on the watery surface, and floating along in the\nsame course with the bark. Each wanted to point out to the other the\ncause of his alarm, but each found the same expression of horror\ndepicted on the face of his neighbor, only that his hands and eyes\nwere directed to a different point where the monster, half-laughing\nand half-threatening, rose before him. When, however, they all\nwished to make each other understand what each saw, and all were\ncrying out: \"Look there! No, there!\" the horrible heads all at one\nand the same time appeared to their view, and the whole river around\nthe vessel swarmed with the most hideous apparitions. The universal\ncry raised at the sight awoke Undine. As she opened her eyes, the\nwild crowd of distorted visages disappeared. But Huldbrand was\nindignant at such unsightly jugglery. He would have burst forth in\nuncontrolled imprecations had not Undine said to him with a humble\nmanner and a softly imploring tone: \"For God's sake, my husband, we\nare on the water, do not be angry with me now.\"\n\nThe knight was silent, and sat down absorbed in revery. Undine\nwhispered in his ear: \"Would it not be better, my love, if we gave\nup this foolish journey, and returned to castle Ringstetten in\npeace?\"\n\nBut Huldbrand murmured moodily: \"So I must be a prisoner in my own\ncastle, and only be able to breathe so long as the fountain is\nclosed! I would your mad kindred\"--Undine lovingly pressed her fair\nhand upon his lips. He paused, pondering in silence over much that\nUndine had before said to him.\n\nBertalda had meanwhile given herself up to a variety of strange\nthoughts. She knew a good deal of Undine's origin, and yet not the\nwhole, and the fearful Kuhleborn especially had remained to her a\nterrible but wholly unrevealed mystery. She had indeed never even\nheard his name. Musing on these strange things, she unclasped,\nscarcely conscious of the act, a gold necklace, which Huldbrand had\nlately purchased for her of a travelling trader; half dreamingly she\ndrew it along the surface of the water, enjoying the light glimmer\nit cast upon the evening-tinted stream. Suddenly a huge hand was\nstretched out of the Danube, it seized the necklace and vanished\nwith it beneath the waters. Bertalda screamed aloud, and a scornful\nlaugh resounded from the depths of the stream. The knight could now\nrestrain his anger no longer. Starting up, he inveighed against the\nriver; he cursed all who ventured to interfere with his family and\nhis life, and challenged them, be they spirits or sirens, to show\nthemselves before his avenging sword.\n\nBertalda wept meanwhile for her lost ornament, which was so precious\nto her, and her tears added fuel to the flame of the knight's anger,\nwhile Undine held her hand over the side of the vessel, dipping it\ninto the water, softly murmuring to herself, and only now and then\ninterrupting her strange mysterious whisper, as she entreated her\nhusband: \"My dearly loved one, do not scold me here; reprove others\nif you will, but not me here. You know why!\" And indeed, he\nrestrained the words of anger that were trembling on his tongue.\nPresently in her wet hand which she had been holding under the\nwaves, she brought up a beautiful coral necklace of so much\nbrilliancy that the eyes of all were dazzled by it.\n\n\"Take this,\" said she, holding it out kindly to Bertalda; \"I have\nordered this to be brought for you as a compensation, and don't be\ngrieved any more, my poor child.\"\n\nBut the knight sprang between them. He tore the beautiful ornament\nfrom Undine's hand, hurled it again into the river, exclaiming in\npassionate rage: \"Have you then still a connection with them? In the\nname of all the witches, remain among them with your presents, and\nleave us mortals in peace, you sorceress!\"\n\nPoor Undine gazed at him with fixed but tearful eyes, her hand still\nstretched out, as when she had offered her beautiful present so\nlovingly to Bertalda. She then began to weep more and more\nviolently, like a dear innocent child bitterly afflicted. At last,\nwearied out she said:\n\n\"Alas, sweet friend, alas! farewell! They shall do you no harm; only\nremain true, so that I may be able to keep them from you. I must,\nalas! go away; I must go hence at this early stage of life. Oh woe,\nwoe! what have you done! Oh woe, woe!\"\n\nShe vanished over the side of the vessel. Whether she plunged into\nthe stream, or flowed away with it, they knew not; her disappearance\nwas like both and neither. Soon, however, she was completely lost\nsight of in the Danube; only a few little waves kept whispering, as\nif sobbing, round the boat, and they almost seemed to be saying: \"Oh\nwoe, woe! oh remain true! oh woe!\"\n\nHuldbrand lay on the deck of the vessel, bathed in hot tears, and a\ndeep swoon soon cast its veil of forgetfulness over the unhappy man.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nHOW IT FARED FURTHER WITH HULDBRAND.\n\n\nShall we say it is well or ill, that our sorrow is of such short\nduration? I mean that deep sorrow which affects the very well-spring\nof our life, which becomes so one with the lost objects of our love\nthat they are no longer lost, and which enshrines their image as a\nsacred treasure, until that final goal is reached which they have\nreached before us! It is true that many men really maintain these\nsacred memories, but their feeling is no longer that of the first\ndeep grief. Other and new images have thronged between; we learn at\nlength the transitoriness of all earthly things, even to our grief,\nand, therefore. I must say \"Alas, that our sorrow should be of such\nshort duration?\"\n\nThe lord of Ringstetten experienced this whether for his good, we\nshall hear in the sequel to this history. At first he could do\nnothing but weep, and that as bitterly as the poor gentle Undine had\nwept when he had torn from her hand that brilliant ornament with\nwhich she had wished to set everything to rights. And then he would\nstretch out his hand, as she had done, and would weep again, like\nher. He cherished the secret hope that he might at length dissolve\nin tears; and has not a similar hope passed before the mind of many\na one of us, with painful pleasure, in moments of great affliction?\nBertalda wept also, and they lived a long while quietly together at\nCastle Ringstetten, cherishing Undine's memory, and almost wholly\nforgetful of their former attachment to each other. And, therefore,\nthe good Undine often visited Huldbrand in his dreams; caressing him\ntenderly and kindly, and then going away, weeping silently, so that\nwhen he awoke he often scarcely knew why his cheeks were so wet;\nwhether they had been bathed with her tears, or merely with his own?\n\nThese dream-visions became, however, less frequent as time passed\non, and the grief of the knight was less acute; still he would\nprobably have cherished no other wish than thus to think calmly of\nUndine and to talk of her, had not the old fisherman appeared one\nday unexpectedly at the castle, and sternly insisted on Bertalda's\nreturning with him as his child. The news of Undine's disappearance\nhad reached him, and he had determined on no longer allowing\nBertalda to reside at the castle with the widowed knight.\n\n\"For,\" said he, \"whether my daughter love me or no, I do not care to\nknow, but her honor is at stake, and where that is concerned,\nnothing else is to be thought of.\"\n\nThis idea of the old fisherman's, and the solitude which threatened\nto overwhelm the knight in all the halls and galleries of the\ndesolate castle, after Bertalda's departure, brought out the\nfeelings that had slumbered till now and which had been wholly\nforgotten in his sorrow for Undine; namely, Huldbrand's affection\nfor the beautiful Bertalda. The fisherman had many objections to\nraise against the proposed marriage. Undine had been very dear to\nthe old fisherman, and he felt that no one really knew for certain\nwhether the dear lost one were actually dead. And if her body were\ntruly lying cold and stiff at the bottom of the Danube, or had\nfloated away with the current into the ocean, even then Bertalda was\nin some measure to blame for her death, and it was unfitting for her\nto step into the place of the poor supplanted one. Yet the fisherman\nhad a strong regard for the knight also; and the entreaties of his\ndaughter, who had become much more gentle and submissive, and her\ntears for Undine, turned the scale, and he must at length have given\nhis consent, for he remained at the castle without objection, and a\nmessenger was despatched to Father Heilmann, who had united Undine\nand Huldbrand in happy days gone by, to bring him to the castle for\nthe second nuptials of the knight.\n\nThe holy man, however, had scarcely read the letter from the knight\nof Ringstetten, than he set out on his journey to the castle, with\nfar greater expedition than even the messenger had used in going to\nhim. Whenever his breath failed in his rapid progress, or his aged\nlimbs ached with weariness, he would say to himself: \"Perhaps the\nevil may yet be prevented; fail not, my tottering frame, till you\nhave reached the goal!\" And with renewed power he would then press\nforward, and go on and on without rest or repose, until late one\nevening he entered the shady court-yard of castle Ringstetten.\n\nThe betrothed pair were sitting side by side under the trees, and\nthe old fisherman was near them, absorbed in thought. The moment\nthey recognized Father Heilmann, they sprang up, and pressed round\nhim with warm welcome. But he, without making much reply, begged\nHuldbrand to go with him into the castle; and when the latter looked\nastonished, and hesitated to obey the grave summons, the reverend\nfather said to him:--\n\n\"Why should I make any delay in wishing to speak to you in private,\nHerr von Ringstetten? What I have to say concerns Bertalda and the\nfisherman as much as yourself, and what a man has to hear, he may\nprefer to hear as soon as possible. Are you then so perfectly\ncertain, Knight Huldbrand, that your first wife is really dead? It\nscarcely seems so to me. I will not indeed say anything of the\nmysterious condition in which she may be existing, and I know, too,\nnothing of it with certainty. But she was a pious and faithful wife,\nthat is beyond all doubt; and for a fortnight past she has stood at\nmy bedside at night in my dreams, wringing her tender hands in\nanguish and sighing out: 'Oh, prevent him, good father! I am still\nliving! oh, save his life! save his soul!' I did not understand what\nthis nightly vision signified; when presently your messenger came,\nand I hurried thither, not to unite, but to separate, what ought not\nto be joined together. Leave her, Huldbrand! Leave him, Bertalda! He\nyet belongs to another; and do you not see grief for his lost wife\nstill written on his pale cheek? No bridegroom looks thus, and a\nvoice tells me that if you do not leave him, you will never be\nhappy.\"\n\nThe three listeners felt in their innermost heart that Father\nHeilmann spoke the truth, but they would not believe it. Even the\nold fisherman was now so infatuated that he thought it could not be\notherwise than they had settled it in their discussions during the\nlast few days. They therefore all opposed the warnings of the priest\nwith a wild and gloomy rashness, until at length the holy father\nquitted the castle with a sad heart, refusing to accept even for a\nsingle night the shelter offered, or to enjoy the refreshments\nbrought him. Huldbrand, however, persuaded himself that the priest\nwas full of whims and fancies, and with dawn of day he sent for a\nfather from the nearest monastery, who, without hesitation, promised\nto perform the ceremony in a few days.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTHE KNIGHT'S DREAM.\n\n\nIt was between night and dawn of day that the knight was lying on\nhis couch, half-waking, half-sleeping. Whenever he was on the point\nof falling asleep a terror seemed to come upon him and scare his\nrest away, for his slumbers were haunted with spectres. If he tried,\nhowever, to rouse himself in good earnest he felt fanned as by the\nwings of a swan, and he heard the soft murmuring of waters, until\nsoothed by the agreeable delusion, he sunk back again into a\nhalf-conscious state. At length he must have fallen sound asleep, for\nit seemed to him as if he were lifted up upon the fluttering wings of\nthe swans and borne by them far over land and sea, while they sang\nto him their sweetest music. \"The music of the swan! the music of\nthe swan!\" he kept saying to himself; \"does it not always portend\ndeath?\" But it had yet another meaning. All at once he felt as if he\nwere hovering over the Mediterranean Sea. A swan was singing\nmusically in his ear that this was the Mediterranean Sea. And while\nhe was looking down upon the waters below they became clear as\ncrystal, so that he could see through them to the bottom. He was\ndelighted at this, for he could see Undine sitting beneath the\ncrystal arch. It is true she was weeping bitterly, and looking much\nsadder than in the happy days when they had lived together at the\ncastle of Ringstetten, especially at their commencement, and\nafterward also, shortly before they had begun their unhappy Danube\nexcursion. The knight could not help thinking upon all this very\nfully and deeply, but it did not seem as if Undine perceived him.\n\nMeanwhile Kuhleborn had approached her, and was on the point of\nreproving her for her weeping. But she drew herself up, and looked\nat him with such a noble and commanding air that he almost shrunk\nback with fear. \"Although I live here beneath the waters,\" said she,\n\"I have yet brought down my soul with me; and therefore I may well\nweep, although you can not divine what such tears are. They too are\nblessed, for everything is blessed to him in whom a true soul\ndwells.\"\n\nHe shook his head incredulously, and said, after some reflection:\n\"And yet, niece, you are subject to the laws of our element, and if\nhe marries again and is unfaithful to you, you are in duty bound to\ntake away his life.\"\n\n\"He is a widower to this very hour,\" replied Undine, \"and his sad\nheart still holds me dear.\"\n\n\"He is, however, at the same time betrothed,\" laughed Kuhleborn,\nwith scorn; \"and let only a few days pass, and the priest will have\ngiven the nuptial blessing, and then you will have to go upon earth\nto accomplish the death of him who has taken another to wife.\"\n\n\"That I cannot do,\" laughed Undine in return; \"I have sealed up the\nfountain securely against myself and my race.\"\n\n\"But suppose he should leave his castle,\" said Kuhleborn, \"or should\nhave the fountain opened again! for he thinks little enough of these\nthings.\"\n\n\"It is just for that reason,\" said Undine, still smiling amid her\ntears, \"it is just for that reason, that he is now hovering in\nspirit over the Mediterranean Sea, and is dreaming of this\nconversation of ours as a warning. I have intentionally arranged it\nso.\"\n\nKuhleborn, furious with rage, looked up at the knight, threatened,\nstamped with his feet, and then swift as an arrow shot under the\nwaves. It seemed as if he were swelling in his fury to the size of a\nwhale. Again the swans began to sing, to flap their wings, and to\nfly. It seemed to the knight as if he were soaring away over\nmountains and streams, and that he at length reached the castle\nRingstetten, and awoke on his couch.\n\nHe did, in reality, awake upon his couch, and his squire coming in\nat that moment informed him that Father Heilmann was still lingering\nin the neighborhood; that he had met him the night before in the\nforest, in a hut which he had formed for himself of the branches of\ntrees, and covered with moss and brushwood. To the question what he\nwas doing here, since he would not give the nuptial blessing, he had\nanswered: \"There are other blessings besides those at the nuptial\naltar, and though I have not gone to the wedding, it may be that I\nshall be at another solemn ceremony. We must be ready for all\nthings. Besides, marrying and mourning are not so unlike, and every\none not wilfully blinded must see that well.\"\n\nThe knight placed various strange constructions upon these words,\nand upon his dream, but it is very difficult to break off a thing\nwhich a man has once regarded as certain, and so everything remained\nas it had been arranged.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nHOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND IS MARRIED.\n\n\nIf I were to tell you how the marriage-feast passed at castle\nRingstetten, it would seem to you as if you saw a heap of bright and\npleasant things, but a gloomy veil of mourning spread over them all,\nthe dark hue of which would make the splendor of the whole look less\nlike happiness than a mockery of the emptiness of all earthly joys.\nIt was not that any spectral apparitions disturbed the festive\ncompany, for we know that the castle had been secured from the\nmischief of the threatening water-spirits. But the knight and the\nfisherman and all the guests felt as if the chief personage were\nstill lacking at the feast, and that this chief personage could be\nnone other than the loved and gentle Undine. Whenever a door opened,\nthe eyes of all were involuntarily turned in that direction, and if\nit was nothing but the butler with new dishes, or the cup-bearer\nwith a flask of still richer wine, they would look down again sadly,\nand the flashes of wit and merriment which had passed to and fro,\nwould be extinguished by sad remembrances. The bride was the most\nthoughtless of all, and therefore the most happy; but even to her it\nsometimes seemed strange that she should be sitting at the head of\nthe table, wearing a green wreath and gold-embroidered attire, while\nUndine was lying at the bottom of the Danube, a cold and stiff\ncorpse, or floating away with the current into the mighty ocean.\nFor, ever since her father had spoken of something of the sort, his\nwords were ever ringing in her ear, and this day especially they\nwere not inclined to give place to other thoughts.\n\nThe company dispersed early in the evening, not broken up by the\nbridegroom himself, but sadly and gloomily by the joyless mood of\nthe guests and their forebodings of evil. Bertalda retired with her\nmaidens, and the knight with his attendants; but at this mournful\nfestival there was no gay, laughing train of bridesmaids and\nbridesmen.\n\nBertalda wished to arouse more cheerful thoughts; she ordered a\nsplendid ornament of jewels which Huldbrand had given her, together\nwith rich apparel and veils, to be spread out before her, in order\nthat from these latter she might select the brightest and most\nbeautiful for her morning attire. Her attendants were delighted at\nthe opportunity of expressing their good wishes to their young\nmistress, not failing at the same time to extol the beauty of the\nbride in the most lively terms. They were more and more absorbed in\nthese considerations, till Bertalda at length, looking in a mirror,\nsaid with a sigh: \"Ah, but don't you see plainly how freckled I am\ngrowing here at the side of my neck?\"\n\nThey looked at her throat, and found the freckles as their fair\nmistress had said, but they called them beauty-spots, and mere tiny\nblemishes only, tending to enhance the whiteness of her delicate\nskin. Bertalda shook her head and asserted that a spot was always a\ndefect.\n\n\"And I could remove them,\" she sighed a last, \"only the fountain is\nclosed from which I used to have that precious and purifying water.\nOh! if I had but a flask of it to-day!\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" said an alert waiting-maid, laughing, as she slipped\nfrom the apartment.\n\n\"She will not be mad,\" exclaimed Bertalda, in a pleased and\nsurprised tone, \"she will not be so mad as to have the stone removed\nfrom the fountain this very evening!\" At the same moment they heard\nthe men crossing the courtyard, and could see from the window how\nthe officious waiting-woman was leading them straight up to the\nfountain, and that they were carrying levers and other instruments\non their shoulders. \"It is certainly my will,\" said Bertalda,\nsmiling, \"if only it does not take too long.\" And, happy in the\nsense that a look from her now was able to effect what had formerly\nbeen so painfully refused her, she watched the progress of the work\nin the moonlit castle-court.\n\nThe men raised the enormous stone with an effort; now and then\nindeed one of their number would sigh, as he remembered that they\nwere destroying the work of their former beloved mistress. But the\nlabor was far lighter than they had imagined. It seemed as if a\npower within the spring itself were aiding them in raising the\nstone.\n\n\"It is just,\" said the workmen to each other in astonishment, \"as if\nthe water within had become a springing fountain.\" And the stone\nrose higher and higher, and almost without the assistance of the\nworkmen, it rolled slowly down upon the pavement with a hollow\nsound. But from the opening of the fountain there rose solemnly a\nwhite column of water; at first they imagined it had really become a\nspringing fountain, till they perceived that the rising form was a\npale female figure veiled in white. She was weeping bitterly,\nraising her hands wailingly above her head and wringing them, as she\nwalked with a slow and serious step to the castle-building. The\nservants fled from the spring; the bride, pale and stiff with\nhorror, stood at the window with her attendants. When the figure had\nnow come close beneath her room, it looked moaningly up to her, and\nBertalda thought she could recognize beneath the veil the pale\nfeatures of Undine. But the sorrowing form passed on, sad,\nreluctant, and faltering, as if passing to execution.\n\nBertalda screamed out that the knight was to be called, but none of\nher maids ventured from the spot; and even the bride herself became\nmute, as if trembling at her own voice.\n\nWhile they were still standing fearfully at the window, motionless\nas statues, the strange wanderer had reached the castle, had passed\nup the well-known stairs, and through the well-known halls, ever in\nsilent tears. Alas! how differently had she once wandered through\nthem!\n\nThe knight, partly undressed, had already dismissed his attendants,\nand in a mood of deep dejection he was standing before a large\nmirror; a taper was burning dimly beside him. There was a gentle tap\nat his door. Undine used to tap thus when she wanted playfully to\ntease him \"It is all fancy,\" said he to himself; \"I must seek my\nnuptial bed.\"\n\n\"So you must, but it must be a cold one!\" he heard a tearful voice\nsay from without, and then he saw in the mirror his door opening\nslowly--slowly--and the white figure entered, carefully closing it\nbehind her. \"They have opened the spring,\" said she softly, \"and now\nI am here, and you must die.\"\n\nHe felt in his paralyzed heart that it could not be otherwise, but\ncovering his eyes with his hands he said: \"Do not make me mad with\nterror in my hour of death. If you wear a hideous face behind that\nveil, do not raise it, but take my life, and let me see you not.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" replied the figure, \"will you then not look upon me once\nmore? I am as fair as when you wooed me on the promontory.\"\n\n\"Oh, if it were so!\" sighed Huldbrand, \"and if I might die in your\nfond embrace!\"\n\n\"Most gladly, my loved one,\" said she; and throwing her veil back,\nher lovely face smiled forth divinely beautiful. Trembling with love\nand with the approach of death, she kissed him with a holy kiss; but\nnot relaxing her hold she pressed him fervently to her, and as if\nshe would weep away her soul. Tears rushed into the knight's eyes,\nand seemed to surge through his heaving breast, till at length his\nbreathing ceased, and he fell softly back from the beautiful arms of\nUndine, upon the pillows of his couch--a corpse.\n\n\"I have wept him to death,\" said she to some servants who met her in\nthe ante-chamber; and, passing through the affrighted group, she\nwent slowly out toward the fountain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nHOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS BURIED.\n\n\nFather Heilmann had returned to the castle as soon as the death of\nthe lord of Ringstetten had been made known in the neighborhood, and\nhe appeared at the very same moment that the monk who had married\nthe unfortunate couple was fleeing from the gates overwhelmed with\nfear and terror.\n\n\"It is well,\" replied Heilmann, when he was informed of this; \"now\nmy duties begin, and I need no associate.\"\n\nUpon this he began to console the bride, now a widow, small result\nas it produced upon her worldly thoughtless mind. The old fisherman,\non the other hand, although heartily grieved, was far more resigned\nto the fate which had befallen his daughter and son-in-law, and\nwhile Bertalda could not refrain from abusing Undine as a murderess\nand sorceress, the old man calmly said: \"It could not be otherwise\nafter all; I see nothing in it but the judgment of God, and no one's\nheart has been more deeply grieved by Huldbrand's death than that of\nher by whom it was inflicted--the poor forsaken Undine!\"\n\nAt the same time he assisted in arranging the funeral solemnities as\nbefitted the rank of the deceased.\n\nThe knight was to be interred in the village churchyard which was\nfilled with the graves of his ancestors. And this church had been\nendowed with rich privileges and gifts both by these ancestors and\nby himself. His shield and helmet lay already on the coffin, to be\nlowered with it into the grave, for Sir Huldbrand, of Ringstetten,\nhad died the last of his race; the mourners began their sorrowful\nmarch, singing requiems under the bright, calm canopy of heaven;\nFather Heilmann walked in advance, bearing a high crucifix, and the\ninconsolable Bertalda followed, supported by her aged father.\nSuddenly, in the midst of the black-robed attendants in the widow's\ntrain, a snow-white figure was seen, closely veiled, and wringing\nher hands with fervent sorrow. Those near whom she moved felt a\nsecret dread, and retreated either backward or to the side,\nincreasing by their movements the alarm of the others near to whom\nthe white stranger was now advancing, and thus a confusion in the\nfuneral-train was well-nigh beginning. Some of the military escort\nwere so daring as to address the figure, and to attempt to remove it\nfrom the procession; but she seemed to vanish from under their\nhands, and yet was immediately seen advancing again amid the dismal\ncortege with slow and solemn step. At length, in consequence of the\ncontinued shrinking of the attendants to the right and to the left,\nshe came close behind Bertalda. The figure now moved so slowly that\nthe widow did not perceive it, and it walked meekly and humbly\nbehind her undisturbed.\n\nThis lasted till they came to the churchyard, where the procession\nformed a circle round the open grave. Then Bertalda saw her unbidden\ncompanion, and starting up half in anger and half in terror, she\ncommanded her to leave the knight's last resting-place. The veiled\nfigure, however, gently shook her head in refusal, and raised her\nhands as if in humble supplication to Bertalda, deeply agitating her\nby the action, and recalling to her with tears how Undine had so\nkindly wished to give her that coral necklace on the Danube. Father\nHeilmann motioned with his hand and commanded silence, as they were\nto pray in mute devotion over the body, which they were now covering\nwith the earth. Bertalda knelt silently, and all knelt, even the\ngrave-diggers among the rest, when they had finished their task. But\nwhen they rose again, the white stranger had vanished; on the spot\nwhere she had knelt there gushed out of the turf a little silver\nspring, which rippled and murmured away till it had almost entirely\nencircled the knight's grave; then it ran further and emptied itself\ninto a lake which lay by the side of the burial-place. Even to this\nday the inhabitants of the village show the spring, and cherish the\nbelief that it is the poor rejected Undine, who in this manner still\nembraces her husband in her loving arms.","title":"Undine","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":29512}