them cheerfully, but whispered once to Undine: "But, should not we get
within Kühleborn's power again, down there?" - "Let him come," said
she, laughing; "I shall be with you, and in my presence he durst not
attempt any mischief."
So the only possible objection seemed removed and they prepared for
departure, and were soon sailing along, full of spirit and of gay
hopes. But, O Man! it is not for thee to wonder when the course of
events differs widely from the paintings of thy fancy. The treacherous
foe, that lures us to our ruin, lulls his victim to rest with sweet
music and golden dreams. Our guardian angel, on the contrary, will
often rouse us by a sharp and awakening blow.
The first days they spent on the Danube were days of extraordinary
enjoyment. The further they floated down the proud stream the nobler
and fairer grew the prospect. But, just as they had reached a most
lovely district, the first sight of which had promised them great
delight, the unruly Kühleborn began openly to give signs of his
presence and power. At first they were only sportive tricks, because,
whenever he ruffled the stream and raised the wind, Undine repressed
him by a word or two, and made him again subside at once; but his
attempts soon began again, and again, Undine was obliged to warn him
off; so that the pleasure of the little party was grievously
disturbed. To make things worse, the watermen would mutter many a dark
surmise into each other's ears, and cast strange looks at the three
gentlefolks, whose very servants began to feel suspicion, and to show
distrust of their lord. Huldbrand said to himself more than once,
"This comes of uniting with other than one's like: a son of earth may
not marry a wondrous maid of ocean." To justify himself (as we all
love to do) he would add, "But I did not know she was a maid of ocean.
If I am to be pursued and fettered wherever I go by the mad freaks of
her relations, mine is the misfortune, not the fault." Such
reflections somewhat checked his self-reproaches; but they made him
the more disposed to accuse, nay, even to hate Undine. Already he
began to scowl upon her, and the poor wife understood but too well his
meaning. Exhausted by this, and by her constant exertions against
Kühleborn, she sank back one evening in the boat, and was lulled by
its gentle motion into a deep sleep.
But no sooner were her eyes closed, than everyone in the boat thought
he saw, just opposite his own eyes, a terrific human head rising above
the water; not like the head of a swimmer, but planted upright on the
surface of the river, and keeping pace with the boat. Each turned to
his neighbour to show him the cause of his terror, and found him
looking equally frightened, but pointing in a different direction,
where the half-laughing, half-scowling goblin met his eyes. When at
length they tried to explain the matter to each other, crying out,
"Look there; no, there!" each of them suddenly perceived the other's
phantom, and the water round the boat appeared all alive with ghastly
monsters. The cry which burst from every mouth awakened Undine. Before
the light of her beaming eyes the horde of misshapen faces vanished.
But Huldbrand was quite exasperated by these fiendish tricks and would
have burst into loud imprecations, had not Undine whispered in the
most beseeching manner, "For God's sake, my own lord, be patient now;
remember we are on the water." The Knight kept down his anger, and
soon sank into thought. Presently Undine whispered to him: "My love,
had not we better give up the foolish journey, and go home to
Ringstetten in comfort?" But Huldbrand muttered angrily, "Then I am to
be kept a prisoner in my own castle? and even there I may not breathe
freely unless the fountain is sealed up? Would to Heaven the absurd
connection" - But Undine pressed her soft hand gently upon his lips.
And he held his peace, and mused upon all she had previously told him.
In the meantime, Bertalda had yielded herself up to many and strange
reflections. She knew something of Undine's origin, but not all! and
Kühleborn in particular was only a fearful but vague image in her
mind; she had not even once heard his name. And as she pondered these
wonderful subjects, she half unconsciously took off a golden necklace
which Huldbrand had bought for her of a travelling jeweller a few days
before; she held it close to the surface of the river playing with
it, and dreamily watching the golden gleam that it shed on the glassy
water. Suddenly a large hand came up out of the Danube, snatched the
necklace, and ducked under with it. Bertalda screamed aloud, and was
answered by a laugh of scorn from the depths below. And now the Knight
could contain himself no longer. Starting up, he gave loose to his
fury, loading with imprecations those who chose to break into his
family and private life, and challenging them - were they goblins or
sirens - to meet his good sword. Bertalda continued to weep over the
loss of her beloved jewel, and her tears were as oil to the flames of
his wrath, while Undine kept her hand dipped into the water with a
ceaseless low murmur, only once or twice interrupting her mysterious
whispers to say to her husband in tones of entreaty, "Dearest love,
speak not roughly to me here; say whatever you will, only spare me
here; you know why!" and he still restrained his tongue (which
stammered with passion) from saying a word directly against her. She
soon drew her hand from under the water, bringing up a beautiful coral
necklace whose glitter dazzled them all. "Take it," said she, offering
it kindly to Bertalda; "I have sent for this, instead of the one you
lost; do not grieve any more, my poor child." But Huldbrand darted
forward, snatched the shining gift from Undine's hand, hurled it again
into the water, and roared furiously, "So you still have intercourse
with them? In the name of sorcery, go back to them with all your
baubles, and leave us men in peace, witch as you are!" With eyes
aghast, yet streaming with tears, poor Undine gazed at him, still
holding out the hand which had so lovingly presented to Bertalda the
bright jewel. Then she wept more and more, like a sorely injured,
innocent child. And at length she said faintly, "Farewell, my dearest;
farewell! They shall not lay a finger on thee; only be true to me,
that I may still guard thee from them. But I, alas! I must be gone;
all this bright morning of life is over. Woe, woe is me! what hast
thou done? woe, woe!" And she slipped out of the boat and passed away.
Whether she went down into the river, or flowed away with it, none
could tell; it was like both and yet like neither. She soon mingled
with the waters of the Danube, and nothing was to be heard but the
sobbing whispers of the stream as it washed against the boat, seeming
to say distinctly, "Woe, woe! Oh be true to me! woe, woe!"
Huldbrand lay flat in the boat, drowned in tears, till a deep swoon
came to the unhappy man's relief, and steeped him in oblivion.
XVI. - OF WHAT BEFELL HULDBRAND AFTERWARDS
Shall we say, Alas, or thank God, that our grief is so often
transient? I speak of such grief as has its source in the wellsprings
of life itself, and seems so identified with our lost friend, as
almost to fill up the void he has left; and his hallowed image seems
fixed within the sanctuary of our soul, until the signal of our
release comes, and sets us free to join him! In truth, a good man will
not suffer this sanctuary to be disturbed; yet even with him, it is
not the first, the all-engrossing sorrow which abides. New objects
will intermingle, and we are compelled to draw from our grief itself a
fresh proof of the perishableness of earthly things: alas, then, that
our grief is transient!
So it was with the Lord of Ringstetten; whether for his weal or woe,
the sequel of this story will show us. At first, he could do nothing
but weep abundantly, as his poor kind Undine had wept when he snatched
from her the beautiful gift, which she thought would have comforted
and pleased them so much. He would then stretch out his hand as she
had done, and burst into tears afresh, like her. He secretly hoped
that he might end by altogether dissolving in tears: and are there not
many whose minds have been visited by the same painfully pleasing
thought, at some season of great sorrow? Bertalda wept with him, and
they lived quietly together at Ringstetten a long while, cherishing
the memory of Undine, and seeming to have forgotten their own previous
attachment. Moreover, the gentle Undine often appeared to Huldbrand in
his dreams; she would caress him meekly and fondly, and depart again
with tearful resignation, so that when he awoke, he doubted whose
tears they were that bedewed his face - were they hers, or only his
own?
But as time went on these visions became less frequent, and the
Knight's grief milder; still he might perhaps have spent the rest of
his days contentedly, devoting himself to the memory of Undine, and
keeping it alive by talking of her, had not the old Fisherman
unexpectedly made his appearance, and laid his serious commands upon
Bertalda, his daughter, to return home with him. The news of Undine's
disappearance had reached him, and he would no longer suffer Bertalda
to remain in the castle alone with its lord. "I do not ask whether my
daughter cares for me or not," said he; "her character is at stake,
and where that is the case, nothing else is worth considering."
This summons from the old man, and the prospect of utter loneliness
amid the halls and long galleries of the castle after Bertalda's
departure, revived in Huldbrand's heart the feeling that had lain
dormant, and as it were buried under his mourning for Undine, namely,
his love for the fair Bertalda. The Fisherman had many objections to
their marriage; Undine had been very dear to the old man and he
thought it hardly certain yet that his lost darling was really dead.
But, if her corpse were indeed lying stiff and cold in the bed of the
Danube, or floating down its stream to the distant ocean, then
Bertalda ought to reproach herself for her death, and it ill became
her to take the place of her poor victim. However, the Fisherman was
very fond of Huldbrand also; the entreaties of his daughter, who was
now grown much more gentle and submissive, had their effect, and it
seems that he did yield his consent at last; for he remained peaceably
at the castle, and an express was sent for Father Heilmann, who in
earlier, happier days had blessed Undine's and Huldbrand's union, that
he might officiate at the Knight's second marriage.
No sooner had the holy man read the Lord of Ringstetten's letter than
he set forth on his way thither, with far greater speed than the
messenger had used to reach him. If his straining haste took away his
breath, or he felt his aged limbs ache with fatigue, he would say to
himself: "I may be in time to prevent a wicked deed; sink not till
thou hast reached the goal, my withered frame!" And so he exerted
himself afresh, and pushed on, without flagging or halting, till late
one evening he entered the shady court of Ringstetten.
The lovers were sitting hand in hand under a tree, with the thoughtful
old man near them; as soon as they saw Father Heilmann, they rose
eagerly and advanced to meet him. But he, scarcely noticing their
civilities, begged the Knight to come with him into the castle. As he
stared at this request, and hesitated to comply, the pious old Priest
said, "Why, indeed, should I speak to you alone, my Lord of
Ringstetten? What I have to say equally concerns the Fisherman and
Bertalda; and as they must sooner or later know it, it had better be
said now. How can you be certain, Lord Huldbrand, that your own wife
is indeed dead? For myself, I can hardly think so. I will not venture
to speak of things relating to her wondrous nature; in truth I have
no clear knowledge about it. But a godly and faithful wife she proved
herself, beyond all about. And these fourteen nights has she come to
my bedside in dreams, wringing her poor hands in anguish, and sighing
out, 'Oh stop him, dear father! I am yet alive! Oh save his life! Oh
save his soul!' I understood not the meaning of the vision till your
messenger came; and I have now hastened hither, not to join but to
part those hands, which may not be united in holy wedlock. Part from
her, Huldbrand! Part from him, Bertalda! He belongs to another; see
you not how his cheek turns pale at the thought of his departed wife?
Those are not the looks of a bridegroom, and the spirit tells me this.
If thou leavest him not now, there is joy for thee no more." They all
three felt at the bottom of their hearts that Father Heilmann's words
were true but they would not yield to them. Even the old Fisherman was
so blinded as to think that what had been settled between them for so
many days, could not now be relinquished. So they resisted the
Priest's warnings, and urged the fulfilment of their wishes with
headlong, gloomy determination, till Father Heilmann departed with a
melancholy shake of the head, without accepting even for one night
their proffered hospitalities, or tasting any of the refreshments they
set before him. But Huldbrand persuaded himself that the old Priest
was a weak dotard; and early next morning he sent to a monk from the
nearest cloister, who readily promised to come and marry them in a few
days.
XVII. - THE KNIGHT'S DREAM
The morning twilight was beginning to dawn, and the Knight lay
half-awake on his couch. Whenever he dropped asleep he was scared by
mysterious terrors, and started up as if sleep were peopled by
phantoms. If he woke up in earnest, he felt himself fanned all around
by what seemed like swans' wings, and soothed by watery airs, which
lulled him back again into the half-unconscious, twilight state. At
length he did fall asleep and fancied himself lifted by swans on their
soft wings, and carried far away over lands and seas, all to the sound
of their sweetest melody. "Swans singing! swans singing!" thought he
continually; "is not that the strain of Death?" Presently he found
himself hovering above a vast sea. A swan warbled in his ear that it
was the Mediterranean; and as he looked down into the deep it became
like clear crystal, transparent to the bottom. This rejoiced him much,
for he could see Undine sitting in a brilliant hall of crystal.
She was shedding tears, indeed, and looked sadly changed since the
happy times which they had spent together at Ringstetten; happiest at
first, but happy also a short time since, just before the fatal sail
on the Danube. The contrast struck Huldbrand deeply; but Undine did
not seem to be aware of his presence. Kühleborn soon came up to her,
and began rating her for weeping. She composed herself, and looked at
him with a firmness and dignity, before which he almost quailed.
"Though I am condemned to live under these deep waters," said she, "I
have brought my soul with me; therefore my tears cannot be understood
by thee. But to me they are blessings, like everything that belongs to
a loving soul." He shook his head incredulously, and said, after a
pause: "Nevertheless, niece, you are still subject to the laws of our
element; and you know you must execute sentence of death upon him as
soon as he marries again, and breaks faith with you." - "To this hour
he is a widower," said Undine, "and loves and mourns me truly." - "Ah,
but he will be bridegroom soon," said Kühleborn with a sneer; "wait a
couple of days only; and the marriage blessing will have been given,
and you must go up and put the criminal to death." - "I cannot!"
answered the smiling Undine. "I have had the fountain sealed up,
against myself and my whole race." "But suppose he leaves his castle,"
said Kühleborn, "or forgets himself so far as to let them set the
fountain 'free,' for he thinks mighty little of those matters." - "And
that is why," said Undine, still smiling through her tears, "that is
why his spirit hovers at this moment over the Mediterranean, and
listens to our conversation as in a dream. I have contrived it on
purpose, that he may take warning." On hearing this Kühleborn looked
up angrily at the Knight, scowled at him, stamped, and then shot
upward through the waves like an arrow. His fury seemed to make him
expand into a whale. Again the swans began to warble, to wave their
wings, and to fly; the Knight felt himself borne high over alps and
rivers, till he was deposited in the Castle of Ringstetten, and awoke
in his bed.
He did awake in his bed, just as one of his squires entered the room,
and told him that Father Heilmann was still lingering near the castle;
for he had found him the evening before in the forest, living in a
shed he had made for himself with branches and moss. On being asked
what he was staying for since he had refused to bless the betrothed
couple? He answered, "It is not the wedded only who stand in need of
prayer, and though I came not for the bridal, there may yet be work
for me of another kind. We must be prepared for everything. Sometimes
marriage and mourning are not so far apart; and he who does not
wilfully close his eyes may perceive it." The Knight built all manner
of strange conjectures upon these words, and upon his dream. But if
once a man has formed a settled purpose, it is hard indeed to shake
it. The end of this was, that their plans remained unchanged.
XVIII. - OF THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND'S SECOND BRIDAL
Were I to tell you how the wedding-day at Ringstetten passed, you
might imagine yourself contemplating a glittering heap of gay objects,
with a black crape thrown over them, through which the splendid
pageant, instead of delighting the eye, would look like a mockery of
all earthly joys. Not that the festive meeting was disturbed by any
spectral apparitions: we have seen that the castle was safe from any
intrusion of the malicious water-sprites. But the Knight, the
Fisherman, and all the guests were haunted by a feeling that the chief
person, the soul of the feast, was missing; and who was she but the
gentle, beloved Undine? As often as they heard a door open, every eye
turned involuntarily toward it, and when nothing ensued but the
entrance of the steward with some more dishes, or of the cupbearer
with a fresh supply of rich wine, the guests would look sad and blank,
and the sparks of gayety kindled by the light jest or the cheerful
discourse, were quenched in the damp of melancholy recollections. The
bride was the most thoughtless, and consequently the most cheerful
person present; but even she, at moments, felt it unnatural to be
sitting at the head of the table, decked out in her wreath of green
and her embroidery of gold, while Undine's corpse was lying cold and
stiff in the bed of the Danube, or floating down its stream to the
ocean. For, ever since her father had used these words, they had been
ringing in her ears, and to-day especially they pursued her without
ceasing.
The party broke up before night had closed in; not, as usual,
dispersed by the eager impatience of the bridegroom to be alone with
his bride; but dropping off listlessly, as a general gloom spread over
the assembly; Bertalda was followed to her dressing-room by her women
only, and the Knight by his pages. At this gloomy feast, there was no
question of the gay and sportive train of bridesmaids and young men,
who usually attend the wedded pair.
Bertalda tried to call up brighter thoughts; she bade her women
display before her a splendid set of jewels, the gift of Huldbrand,
together with her richest robes and veils, that she might select the
gayest and handsomest dress for the morrow. Her maids seized the
opportunity of wishing their young mistress all manner of joy, nor did
they fail to extol the beauty of the bride to the skies. Bertalda,
however, glanced at herself in the glass, and sighed: "Ah, but look at
the freckles just here, on my throat!" They looked and found it was
indeed so, but called them beauty spots that would only enhance the
fairness of her delicate skin. Bertalda shook her head, and replied,
"Still it is a blemish, and I once might have cured it!" said she with
a deep sigh. "But the fountain in the court is stopped up - that
fountain which used to supply me with precious, beautifying water. If
I could but get one jugful to-day!" - "Is that all?" cried an
obsequious attendant, and slipped out of the room. "Why, she will not
be so mad," asked Bertalda in a tone of complacent surprise, "as to
make them raise the stone this very night?" And now she heard men's
footsteps crossing the court; and on looking down from her window, she
saw the officious handmaid conducting them straight to the fountain;
they carried levers and other tools upon their shoulders. "Well, it
is my will to be sure," said Bertalda, smiling, "provided they are not
too long about it." And, elated by the thought that a hint from her
could now effect what had once been denied to her entreaties, she
watched the progress of the work in the moonlit court below.
The men began straining themselves to lift the huge stone;
occasionally a sigh was heard, as someone recollected that they were
now reversing their dear lady's commands. But the task proved lighter
than they had expected. Some power from beneath seemed to second their
efforts, and help the stone upward. "Why!" said the astonished workmen
to each other, "it feels as if the spring below had turned into a
waterspout." More and more did the stone heave, till, without any
impulse from the men it rolled heavily along the pavement with a
hollow sound. But, from the mouth of the spring arose, slowly and
solemnly, what looked like a column of water; at first they thought
so, but presently saw that it was no waterspout, but the figure of a
pale woman, veiled in white. She was weeping abundantly, wringing her
hands and clasping them over her head, while she proceeded with slow
and measured step toward the castle. The crowd of servants fell back
from the spot; while, pale and aghast, the bride and her women looked
on from the window.
When the figure had arrived just under that window, she raised her
tearful face for a moment, and Bertalda thought she recognised
Undine's pale features through the veil. The shadowy form moved on
slowly and reluctantly, like one sent to execution. Bertalda screamed
out that the Knight must be called; no one durst stir a foot, and the
bride herself kept silence, frightened at the sound of her own voice.
While these remained at the window, as if rooted to the spot, the
mysterious visitor had entered the castle, and passed up the
well-known stairs, and through the familiar rooms, still weeping
silently. Alas! how differently had she trodden those floors in days
gone by!
The Knight had now dismissed his train; half-undressed, and in a
dejected mood, he was standing near a large mirror, by the light of a
dim taper. He heard the door tapped by a soft, soft touch. It was thus
Undine had been wont to knock, when she meant to steal upon him
playfully. "It is all fancy!" thought he. "The bridal bed awaits
me." - "Yes, but it is a cold one," said a weeping voice from without;
and the mirror then showed him the door opening slowly, and the white
form coming in, and closing the door gently behind her. "They have
opened the mouth of the spring," murmured she; "and now I am come, and
now must thou die." His beating heart told him this was indeed true;
but he pressed his hands over his eyes, and said: "Do not bewilder me
with terror in my last moments. If thy veil conceals the features of a
spectre, hide them from me still, and let me die in peace." - "Alas!"
rejoined the forlorn one, "wilt thou not look upon me once again? I am
fair, as when thou didst woo me on the promontory." - "Oh, could that
be true!" sighed Huldbrand, "and if I might die in thy embrace!" - "Be
it so, my dearest," said she. And she raised her veil, and the
heavenly radiance of her sweet countenance beamed upon him.
Trembling, at once with love and awe, the Knight approached her; she
received him with a tender embrace; but instead of relaxing her hold,
she pressed him more closely to her heart, and wept as if her soul
would pour itself out. Drowned in her tears and his own, Huldbrand
felt his heart sink within him, and at last he fell lifeless from the
fond arms of Undine upon his pillow.
"I have wept him to death!" said she to the pages, whom she passed in
the ante-chamber; and she glided slowly through the crowd, and went
back to the fountain.
XIX. - HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS INTERRED
Father Heilmann had returned to the castle, as soon as he heard of the