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Friedrich de la Motte Fouque >> Undine
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UNDINE
BY
DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
BY F. E. BUNNETT
CONTENTS.
DEDICATION
CHAPTER
I. HOW THE KNIGHT CAME TO THE FISHERMAN
II. IN WHAT WAY UNDINE HAD COME TO THE FISHERMAN
III. HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN
IV. OF THAT WHICH THE KNIGHT ENCOUNTERED IN THE WOOD
V. HOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE LITTLE PROMONTORY
VI. OF A NUPTIAL CEREMONY
VII. WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING OF THE WEDDING
VIII. THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING
IX. HOW THE KNIGHT TOOK HIS YOUNG WIFE WITH HIM
X. HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CITY
XI. THE ANNIVERSARY OF BERTALDA'S NAME-DAY
XII. HOW THEY DEPARTED FROM THE IMPERIAL CITY
XIII. HOW THEY LIVED AT CASTLE RINGSTETTEN
XIV. HOW BERTALDA RETURNED HOME WITH THE KNIGHT
XV. THE JOURNEY TO VIENNA
XVI. HOW IT FARED FURTHER WITH HULDBRAND
XVII. THE KNIGHT'S DREAM
XVIII. HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND IS MARRIED
XIX. HOW THE KNIGHT HULDBRAND WAS BURIED
DEDICATION.
Undine, thou image fair and blest,
Since first thy strange mysterious glance,
Shone on me from some old romance,
How hast thou sung my heart to rest!
How hast thou clung to me and smiled,
And wouldest, whispering in my ear,
Give vent to all thy miseries drear,
A little half-spoiled timorous child!
Yet hath my zither caught the sound,
And breathed from out its gates of gold,
Each gentle word thy lips have told,
Until their fame is spread around.
And many a heart has loved thee well,
In spite of every wayward deed,
And many a one will gladly read,
The pages which thy history tell.
I catch the whispered hope expressed,
That thou should'st once again appear;
So cast aside each doubt and fear,
And come, Undine! thou spirit blest!
Greet every noble in the hall,
And greet 'fore all, with trusting air,
The beauteous women gathered there;
I know that thou art loved by all.
And if one ask thee after me,
Say: he's a true and noble knight,
Fair woman's slave in song and fight
And in all deeds of chivalry.
UNDINE.
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE KNIGHT CAME TO THE FISHERMAN.
There was once, it may be now many hundred years ago, a good old
fisherman, who was sitting one fine evening before his door, mending
his nets. The part of the country in which he lived was extremely
pretty. The greensward, on which his cottage stood, ran far into the
lake, and it seemed as if it was from love for the blue clear waters
that the tongue of land had stretched itself out into them, while
with an equally fond embrace the lake had encircled the green
pasture rich with waving grass and flowers, and the refreshing shade
of trees. The one welcomed the other, and it was just this that made
each so beautiful. There were indeed few human beings, or rather
none at all, to be met with on this pleasant spot, except the
fisherman and his family. For at the back of this little promontory
there lay a very wild forest, which, both from its gloom and
pathless solitude as well as from the wonderful creatures and
illusions with which it was said to abound, was avoided by most
people except in cases of necessity.
The pious old fisherman, however, passed through it many a time
undisturbed, when he was taking the choice fish, which he had caught
at his beautiful home, to a large town situated not far from the
confines of the forest. The principal reason why it was so easy for
him to pass through this forest was because the tone of his thoughts
was almost entirely of a religious character, and besides this,
whenever he set foot upon the evil reputed shades, he was wont to
sing some holy song, with a clear voice and a sincere heart.
While sitting over his nets this evening, unsuspicious of any evil,
a sudden fear came upon him, at the sound of a rustling in the gloom
of the forest, as of a horse and rider, the noise approaching nearer
and nearer to the little promontory. All that he had dreamed, in
many a stormy night, of the mysteries of the forest, now flashed at
once through his mind; foremost of all, the image of a gigantic
snow-white man, who kept unceasingly nodding his head in a
portentous manner. Indeed, when he raised his eyes toward the wood
it seemed to him as if he actually saw the nodding man approaching
through the dense foliage. He soon, however, reassured himself,
reflecting that nothing serious had ever befallen him even in the
forest itself, and that upon this open tongue of land the evil
spirit would be still less daring in the exercise of his power. At
the same time he repeated aloud a text from the Bible with all his
heart, and this so inspired him with courage that he almost smiled
at the illusion he had allowed to possess him. The white nodding man
was suddenly transformed into a brook long familiar to him, which
ran foaming from the forest and discharged itself into the lake. The
noise, however, which he had heard, was caused by a knight
beautifully apparelled, who, emerging from the deep shadows of the
wood, came riding toward the cottage. A scarlet mantle was thrown
over his purple gold-embroidered doublet; a red and violet plume
waved from his golden-colored head-gear; and a beautifully and
richly ornamented sword flashed from his shoulder-belt. The white
steed that bore the knight was more slenderly formed than war-horses
generally are, and he stepped so lightly over the turf that this
green and flowery carpet seemed scarcely to receive the slightest
injury from his tread.
The old fisherman did not, however, feel perfectly secure in his
mind, although he tried to convince himself that no evil was to be
feared from so graceful an apparition; and therefore he politely
took off his hat as the knight approached, and remained quietly with
his nets.
Presently the stranger drew up, and inquired whether he and his
horse could have shelter and care for the night. "As regards your
horse, good sir," replied the fisherman. "I can assign him no better
stable than this shady pasture, and no better provender than the
grass growing on it. Yourself, however, I will gladly welcome to my
small cottage, and give you supper and lodging as good as we have."
The knight was well satisfied with this; he alighted from his horse,
and, with the assistance of the fisherman, he relieved it from
saddle and bridle, and turned it loose upon the flowery green. Then
addressing his host, he said: "Even had I found you less hospitable
and kindly disposed, my worthy old fisherman, you would nevertheless
scarcely have got rid of me to-day, for, as I see, a broad lake lies
before us, and to ride back into that mysterious wood, with the
shades of evening coming on, heaven keep me from it!"
"We will not talk too much of that," said the fisherman, and he led
his guest into the cottage.
There, beside the hearth, from which a scanty fire shed a dim light
through the cleanly-kept room, sat the fisherman's aged wife in a
capacious chair. At the entrance of the noble guest she rose to give
him a kindly welcome, but resumed her seat of honor without offering
it to the stranger. Upon this the fisherman said with a smile: "You
must not take it amiss of her, young sir, that she has not given up
to you the most comfortable seat in the house; it is a custom among
poor people, that it should belong exclusively to the aged."
"Why, husband," said the wife, with a quiet smile, "what can you be
thinking of? Our guest belongs no doubt to Christian men, and how
could it come into the head of the good young blood to drive old
people from their chairs? Take a seat, my young master," she
continued, turning toward the knight; "over there, there is a right
pretty little chair, only you must not move about on it too roughly,
for one of its legs is no longer of the firmest." The knight fetched
the chair carefully, sat down upon it good-humoredly, and it seemed
to him as if he were related to this little household, and had just
returned from abroad.
The three worthy people now began to talk together in the most
friendly and familiar manner. With regard to the forest, about which
the knight made some inquiries, the old man was not inclined to be
communicative; he felt it was not a subject suited to approaching
night, but the aged couple spoke freely of their home and former
life, and listened also gladly when the knight recounted to them his
travels, and told them that he had a castle near the source of the
Danube, and that his name was Sir Huldbrand of Ringstetten. During
the conversation, the stranger had already occasionally heard a
splash against the little low window, as if some one were sprinkling
water against it. Every time the noise occurred, the old man knit
his brow with displeasure; but when at last a whole shower was
dashed against the panes, and bubbled into the room through the
decayed casement, he rose angrily, and called threateningly from the
window: "Undine! will you for once leave off these childish tricks?
and to-day, besides, there is a stranger knight with us in the
cottage." All was silent without, only a suppressed laugh was
audible, and the fisherman said as he returned: "You must pardon it
in her, my honored guest, and perhaps many a naughty trick besides;
but she means no harm by it. It is our foster-child, Undine, and she
will not wean herself from this childishness, although she has
already entered her eighteenth year. But, as I said, at heart she is
thoroughly good."
"You may well talk," replied the old woman, shaking her head; "when
you come home from fishing or from a journey, her frolics may then
be very delightful, but to have her about one the whole day long,
and never to hear a sensible word, and instead of finding her a help
in the housekeeping as she grows older, always to be obliged to be
taking care that her follies do not completely ruin us, that is
quite another thing, and the patience of a saint would be worn out
at last."
"Well, well," said her husband with a smile, "you have your troubles
with Undine, and I have mine with the lake. It often breaks away my
dams, and tears my nets to pieces, but for all that, I have an
affection for it, and so have you for the pretty child, in spite of
all your crosses and vexations. Isn't it so?"
"One can't be very angry with her, certainly," said the old woman,
and she smiled approvingly.
Just then the door flew open, and a beautiful, fair girl glided
laughing into the room, and said "You have only been jesting,
father, for where is your guest?"
At the same moment, however, she perceived the knight, and stood
fixed with astonishment before the handsome youth, Huldbrand was
struck with her charming appearance, and dwelt the more earnestly on
her lovely features, as he imagined it was only her surprise that
gave him this brief enjoyment, and that she would presently turn
from his gaze with increased bashfulness. It was, however, quite
otherwise; for after having looked at him for some time, she drew
near him confidingly, knelt down before him, and said, as she played
with a gold medal which he wore on his breast, suspended from a rich
chain: "Why, you handsome, kind guest, how have you come to our poor
cottage at last? Have you been obliged then to wander through the
world for years, before you could find your way to us? Do you come
out of that wild forest, my beautiful knight?" The old woman's
reproof allowed him no time for reply. She admonished the girl to
stand up and behave herself and to go to her work. Undine, however,
without making any answer drew a little footstool close to
Huldbrand's chair, sat down upon it with her spinning, and said
pleasantly: "I will work here." The old man did as parents are wont
to do with spoiled children. He affected to observe nothing of
Undine's naughtiness and was beginning to talk of something else.
But this the girl would not let him do; she said: "I have asked our
charming guest whence he comes, and he has not yet answered me."
"I come from the forest, you beautiful little vision," returned
Huldbrand; and she went on to say:--
"Then you must tell me how you came there, for it is usually so
feared, and what marvellous adventures you met with in it, for it is
impossible to escape without something of the sort."
Huldbrand felt a slight shudder at this remembrance, and looked
involuntarily toward the window, for it seemed to him as if one of
the strange figures he had encountered in the forest were grinning
in there; but he saw nothing but the deep dark night, which had now
shrouded everything without. Upon this he composed himself and was
on the point of beginning his little history, when the old man
interrupted him by saying: "Not so, sir knight! this is no fit hour
for such things." Undine, however, sprang angrily from her little
stool, and standing straight before the fisherman with her fair arms
fixed in her sides, she exclaimed: "He shall not tell his story,
father? He shall not? but it is my will. He shall! He shall in spite
of you!" and thus saying she stamped her pretty little foot
vehemently on the floor, but she did it all with such a comically
graceful air that Huldbrand now felt his gaze almost more riveted
upon her in her anger than before in her gentleness.
The restrained wrath of the old man, on the contrary, burst forth
violently. He severely reproved Undine's disobedience and unbecoming
behavior to the stranger, and his good old wife joined with him
heartily. Undine quickly retorted: "If you want to chide me, and
won't do what I wish, then sleep alone in your old smoky hut!" and
swift as an arrow she flew from the room, and fled into the dark
night.
CHAPTER II.
IN WHAT WAY UNDINE HAD COME TO THE FISHERMAN
Huldbrand and the fisherman sprang from their seats and were on the
point of following the angry girl. Before they reached the cottage
door, however, Undine had long vanished in the shadowy darkness
without, and not even the sound of her light footstep betrayed the
direction of her flight. Huldbrand looked inquiringly at his host;
it almost seemed to him as if the whole sweet apparition, which had
suddenly merged again into the night, were nothing else than one of
that band of the wonderful forms which had, but a short time since,
carried on their pranks with him in the forest. But the old man
murmured between his teeth: "This is not the first time that she has
treated us in this way. Now we have aching hearts and sleepless eyes
the whole night through; for who knows, that she may not some day
come to harm, if she is thus out alone in the dark until daylight."
"Then let us for God's sake follow her," cried Huldbrand, anxiously.
"What would be the good of it?" replied the old man. "It would be a
sin were I to allow you, all alone, to follow the foolish girl in
the solitary night, and my old limbs would not overtake the wild
runaway, even if we knew in what direction she had gone."
"We had better at any rate call after her, and beg her to come
back," said Huldbrand; and he began to call in the most earnest
manner: "Undine! Undine! Pray come back!" The old man shook his
head, saying, that all that shouting would help but little, for the
knight had no idea how self-willed the little truant was. But still
he could not forbear often calling out with him in the dark night:
"Undine! Ah! dear Undine, I beg you to come back--only this once!"
It turned out, however, as the fisherman had said. No Undine was to
be heard or seen, and as the old man would on no account consent
that Huldbrand should go in search of the fugitive, they were at
last both obliged to return to the cottage. Here they found the fire
on the hearth almost gone out, and the old wife, who took Undine's
flight and danger far less to heart than her husband, had already
retired to rest. The old man blew up the fire, laid some dry wood on
it, and by the light of the flame sought out a tankard of wine,
which he placed between himself and his guest. "You, sir knight,"
said he, "are also anxious about that silly girl, and we would both
rather chatter and drink away a part of the night than keep turning
round on our rush mats trying in vain to sleep. Is it not so?"
Huldbrand was well satisfied with the plan; the fisherman obliged
him to take the seat of honor vacated by the good old housewife, and
both drank and talked together in a manner becoming two honest and
trusting men. It is true, as often as the slightest thing moved
before the windows, or even at times when nothing was moving, one of
the two would look up and say: "She is coming!" Then they would be
silent for a moment or two, and as nothing appeared, they would
shake their heads and sigh and go on with their talk.
As, however, neither could think of anything but of Undine, they
knew of nothing better to do than that the old fisherman should tell
the story, and the knight should hear, in what manner Undine had
first come to the cottage. He therefore began as follows:--
"It is now about fifteen years ago that I was one day crossing the
wild forest with my goods, on my way to the city. My wife had stayed
at home, as her wont is, and at this particular time for a very good
reason, for God had given us, in our tolerably advanced age, a
wonderfully beautiful child. It was a little girl; and a question
already arose between us, whether for the sake of the new-comer, we
would not leave our lovely home that we might better bring up this
dear gift of heaven in some more habitable place. Poor people indeed
cannot do in such cases as you may think they ought, sir knight,
but, with God's blessing, every one must do what he can. Well, the
matter was tolerably in my head as I went along. This slip of land
was so dear to me, and I shuddered when, amid the noise and brawls
of the city, I thought to myself, 'In such scenes as these, or in
one not much more quiet, thou wilt also soon make thy abode!' But at
the same time I did not murmur against the good God; on the
contrary, I thanked him in secret for the new-born babe; I should be
telling a lie, too, were I to say, that on my journey through the
wood, going or returning, anything befell me out of the common way,
and at that time I had never seen any of its fearful wonders. The
Lord was ever with me in those mysterious shades."
As he spoke he took his little cap from his bald head, and remained
for a time occupied with prayerful thoughts; he then covered himself
again, and continued:--
"On this side the forest, alas! a sorrow awaited me. My wife came to
meet me with tearful eyes and clad in mourning. 'Oh! Good God!' I
groaned, 'where is our dear child? speak!'--'With him on whom you
have called, dear husband,' she replied; and we now entered the
cottage together weeping silently. I looked around for the little
corpse, and it was then only that I learned how it had all
happened."
"My wife had been sitting with the child on the edge of the lake,
and as she was playing with it, free of all fear and full of
happiness, the little one suddenly bent forward, as if attracted by
something very beautiful in the water. My wife saw her laugh, the
dear angel, and stretch out her little hands; but in a moment she
had sprung out of her mother's arms, and had sunk beneath the watery
mirror. I sought long for our little lost one; but it was all in
vain; there was no trace of her to be found."
"The same evening we, childless parents, were sitting silently
together in the cottage; neither of us had any desire to talk, even
had our tears allowed us. We sat gazing into the fire on the hearth.
Presently, we heard something rustling outside the door: it flew
open, and a beautiful little girl three or four years old, richly
dressed, stood on the threshold smiling at us. We were quite dumb
with astonishment, and I knew not at first whether it were a vision
or a reality. But I saw the water dripping from her golden hair and
rich garments, and I perceived that the pretty child had been lying
in the water, and needed help. 'Wife,' said I, 'no one has been able
to save our dear child; yet let us at any rate do for others what
would have made us so blessed.' We undressed the little one, put her
to bed, and gave her something warm; at all this she spoke not a
word, and only fixed her eyes, that reflected the blue of the lake
and of the sky, smilingly upon us. Next morning we quickly perceived
that she had taken no harm from her wetting, and I now inquired
about her parents, and how she had come here. But she gave a
confused and strange account. She must have been born far from here,
not only because for these fifteen years I have not been able to
find out anything of her parentage, but because she then spoke, and
at times still speaks, of such singular things that such as we are
cannot tell but that she may have dropped upon us from the moon. She
talks of golden castles, of crystal domes, and heaven knows what
besides. The story that she told with most distinctness was, that
she was out in a boat with her mother on the great lake, and fell
into the water, and that she only recovered her senses here under
the trees where she felt herself quite happy on the merry shore. We
had still a great misgiving and perplexity weighing on our heart. We
had, indeed, soon decided to keep the child we had found and to
bring her up in the place of our lost darling; but who could tell us
whether she had been baptized or not? She herself could give us no
information on the matter. She generally answered our questions by
saying that she well knew she was created for Gods praise and glory,
and that she was ready to let us do with her whatever would tend to
His honor and glory."
"My wife and I thought that if she were not baptized, there was no
time for delay, and that if she were, a good thing could not be
repeated too often. And in pursuance of this idea, we reflected upon
a good name for the child, for we now were often at a loss to know
what to call her. We agreed at last that Dorothea would be the most
suitable for her, for I once heard that it meant a gift of God, and
she had surely been sent to us by God as a gift and comfort in our
misery. She, on the other hand, would not hear of this, and told us
that she thought she had been called Undine by her parents, and that
Undine she wished still to be called. Now this appeared to me a
heathenish name, not to be found in any calendar, and I took counsel
therefore of a priest in the city. He also would not hear of the
name of Undine, but at my earnest request he came with me through
the mysterious forest in order to perform the rite of baptism here
in my cottage. The little one stood before us so prettily arrayed
and looked so charming that the priest's heart was at once moved
within him, and she flattered him so prettily, and braved him so
merrily, that at last he could no longer remember the objections he
had had ready against the name of Undine. She was therefore baptized
'Undine,' and during the sacred ceremony she behaved with great
propriety and sweetness, wild and restless as she invariably was at
other times. For my wife was quite right when she said that it has
been hard to put up with her. If I were to tell you"--
The knight interrupted the fisherman to draw his attention to a
noise, as of a rushing flood of waters, which had caught his ear
during the old man's talk, and which now burst against the cottage-
window with redoubled fury. Both sprang to the door. There they saw,
by the light of the now risen moon, the brook which issued from the
wood, widely overflowing its banks, and whirling away stones and
branches of trees in its sweeping course. The storm, as if awakened
by the tumult, burst forth from the mighty clouds which passed
rapidly across the moon; the lake roared under the furious lashing
of the wind; the trees of the little peninsula groaned from root to
topmost bough, and bent, as if reeling, over the surging waters.
"Undine! for Heaven's sake, Undine." cried the two men in alarm. No
answer was returned, and regardless of every other consideration,
they ran out of the cottage, one in this direction, and the other in
that, searching and calling.
CHAPTER III.
HOW THEY FOUND UNDINE AGAIN.
The longer Huldbrand sought Undine beneath the shades of night, and
failed to find her, the more anxious and confused did he become.
The idea that Undine had been only a mere apparition of the forest,
again gained ascendancy over him; indeed, amid the howling of the
waves and the tempest, the cracking of the trees, and the complete
transformation of a scene lately so calmly beautiful, he could
almost have considered the whole peninsula with its cottage and its
inhabitants as a mocking illusive vision; but from afar he still
ever heard through the tumult the fisherman's anxious call for
Undine, and the loud praying and singing of his aged wife. At length
he came close to the brink of the swollen stream, and saw in the
moonlight how it had taken its wild course directly in front of the
haunted forest, so as to change the peninsula into an island. "Oh
God!" he thought to himself, "if Undine has ventured a step into
that fearful forest, perhaps in her charming wilfulness, just
because I was not allowed to tell her about it; and now the stream
may be rolling between us, and she may be weeping on the other side
alone, among phantoms and spectres!"
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