Undine
Bertalda, so that, through terror, she had several times already fallen
sick, and had, in consequence, frequently thought of quitting the
castle. Yet partly because Huldbrand was but too dear to her, and she
trusted to her innocence, since no words of love had passed between
them, and partly also because she knew not whither to direct her steps,
she lingered where she was.
The old fisherman, on receiving the message from the lord of Ringstetten
that Bertalda was his guest, returned answer in some lines almost too
illegible to be deciphered, but still the best his advanced life and
long disuse of writing permitted him to form.
“I have now become,” he wrote, “a poor old widower, for my beloved and
faithful wife is dead. But lonely as I now sit in my cottage, I prefer
Bertalda’s remaining where she is, to her living with me. Only let her
do nothing to hurt my dear Undine, else she will have my curse.”
The last words of this letter Bertalda flung to the winds; but the
permission to remain from home, which her father had granted her, she
remembered and clung to--just as we are all of us wont to do in similar
circumstances.
One day, a few moments after Huldbrand had ridden out, Undine called
together the domestics of the family, and ordered them to bring a large
stone, and carefully to cover with it a magnificent fountain, that was
situated in the middle of the castle court. The servants objected that
it would oblige them to bring water from the valley below. Undine smiled
sadly.
“I am sorry, my friends,” replied she, “to increase your labour; I would
rather bring up the water-vessels myself: but this fountain must indeed
be closed. Believe me when I say that it must be done, and that only by
doing it we can avoid a greater evil.”
The domestics were all rejoiced to gratify their gentle mistress; and
making no further inquiry, they seized the enormous stone. While they
were raising it in their hands, and were now on the point of adjusting
it over the fountain, Bertalda came running to the place, and cried,
with an air of command, that they must stop; that the water she used,
so improving to her complexion, was brought from this fountain, and that
she would by no means allow it to be closed.
This time, however, Undine, while she showed her usual gentleness,
showed more than her usual resolution: she said it belonged to her, as
mistress of the house, to direct the household according to her best
judgment; and that she was accountable in this to no one but her lord
and husband.
“See, O pray see,” exclaimed the dissatisfied and indignant Bertalda,
“how the beautiful water is curling and curving, winding and waving
there, as if disturbed at being shut out from the bright sunshine, and
from the cheerful view of the human countenance, for whose mirror it was
created.”
In truth the water of the fountain was agitated, and foaming and hissing
in a surprising manner; it seemed as if there were something within
possessing life and will, that was struggling to free itself from
confinement. But Undine only the more earnestly urged the accomplishment
of her commands. This earnestness was scarcely required. The servants
of the castle were as happy in obeying their gentle lady, as in opposing
the haughty spirit of Bertalda; and however the latter might scold
and threaten, still the stone was in a few minutes lying firm over the
opening of the fountain. Undine leaned thoughtfully over it, and wrote
with her beautiful fingers on the flat surface. She must, however,
have had something very sharp and corrosive in her hand, for when she
retired, and the domestics went up to examine the stone, they discovered
various strange characters upon it, which none of them had seen there
before.
When the knight returned home, toward evening, Bertalda received him
with tears, and complaints of Undine’s conduct. He cast a severe glance
of reproach at his poor wife, and she looked down in distress; yet she
said very calmly:
“My lord and husband, you never reprove even a bondslave before you hear
his defence; how much less, then, your wedded wife!”
“Speak! what moved you to this singular conduct?” said the knight with a
gloomy countenance.
“I could wish to tell you when we are entirely alone,” said Undine, with
a sigh.
“You can tell me equally well in the presence of Bertalda,” he replied.
“Yes, if you command me,” said Undine; “but do not command me--pray,
pray do not!”
She looked so humble, affectionate, and obedient, that the heart of the
knight was touched and softened, as if it felt the influence of a ray
from better times. He kindly took her arm within his, and led her to his
apartment, where she spoke as follows:
“You already know something, my beloved lord, of Kuhleborn, my
evil-disposed uncle, and have often felt displeasure at meeting him in
the passages of this castle. Several times has he terrified Bertalda
even to swooning. He does this because he possesses no soul, being a
mere elemental mirror of the outward world, while of the world within
he can give no reflection. Then, too, he sometimes observes that you
are displeased with me, that in my childish weakness I weep at this, and
that Bertalda, it may be, laughs at the same moment. Hence it is that he
imagines all is wrong with us, and in various ways mixes with our circle
unbidden. What do I gain by reproving him, by showing displeasure, and
sending him away? He does not believe a word I say. His poor nature has
no idea that the joys and sorrows of love have so sweet a resemblance,
and are so intimately connected that no power on earth is able to
separate them. A smile shines in the midst of tears, and a smile calls
forth tears from their dwelling-place.”
She looked up at Huldbrand, smiling and weeping, and he again felt
within his heart all the magic of his former love. She perceived it, and
pressed him more tenderly to her, while with tears of joy she went on
thus:
“When the disturber of our peace would not be dismissed with words, I
was obliged to shut the door upon him; and the only entrance by which
he has access to us is that fountain. His connection with the other
water-spirits here in this region is cut off by the valleys that border
upon us; and his kingdom first commences farther off on the Danube, in
whose tributary streams some of his good friends have their abode. For
this reason I caused the stone to be placed over the opening of the
fountain, and inscribed characters upon it, which baffle all the efforts
of my suspicious uncle; so that he now has no power of intruding either
upon you or me, or Bertalda. Human beings, it is true, notwithstanding
the characters I have inscribed there, are able to raise the stone
without any extraordinary trouble; there is nothing to prevent them. If
you choose, therefore, remove it, according to Bertalda’s desire; but
she assuredly knows not what she asks. The rude Kuhleborn looks with
peculiar ill-will upon her; and should those things come to pass that he
has predicted to me, and which may happen without your meaning any evil,
ah! dearest, even you yourself would be exposed to peril.”
Huldbrand felt the generosity of his gentle wife in the depth of
his heart, since she had been so active in confining her formidable
defender, and even at the very moment she was reproached for it by
Bertalda. He pressed her in his arms with the tenderest affection, and
said with emotion:
“The stone shall remain unmoved; all remains, and ever shall remain,
just as you choose to have it, my sweetest Undine!”
At these long-withheld expressions of tenderness, she returned his
caresses with lowly delight, and at length said:
“My dearest husband, since you are so kind and indulgent to-day, may I
venture to ask a favour of you? See now, it is with you as with
summer. Even amid its highest splendour, summer puts on the flaming and
thundering crown of glorious tempests, in which it strongly resembles a
king and god on earth. You, too, are sometimes terrible in your rebukes;
your eyes flash lightning, while thunder resounds in your voice; and
although this may be quite becoming to you, I in my folly cannot but
sometimes weep at it. But never, I entreat you, behave thus toward me
on a river, or even when we are near any water. For if you should, my
relations would acquire a right over me. They would inexorably tear me
from you in their fury, because they would conceive that one of their
race was injured; and I should be compelled, as long as I lived, to
dwell below in the crystal palaces, and never dare to ascend to you
again; or should THEY SEND me up to you!--O God! that would be far worse
still. No, no, my beloved husband; let it not come to that, if your poor
Undine is dear to you.”
He solemnly promised to do as she desired, and, inexpressibly happy and
full of affection, the married pair returned from the apartment. At this
very moment Bertalda came with some work-people whom she had meanwhile
ordered to attend her, and said with a fretful air, which she had
assumed of late:
“Well, now the secret consultation is at an end, the stone may be
removed. Go out, workmen, and see to it.”
The knight, however, highly resenting her impertinence, said, in brief
and very decisive terms: “The stone remains where it is!” He reproved
Bertalda also for the vehemence that she had shown towards his wife.
Whereupon the workmen, smiling with secret satisfaction, withdrew; while
Bertalda, pale with rage, hurried away to her room.
When the hour of supper came, Bertalda was waited for in vain. They sent
for her; but the domestic found her apartments empty, and brought back
with him only a sealed letter, addressed to the knight. He opened it in
alarm, and read:
“I feel with shame that I am only the daughter of a poor fisherman. That
I for one moment forgot this, I will make expiation in the miserable hut
of my parents. Farewell to you and your beautiful wife!”
Undine was troubled at heart. With eagerness she entreated Huldbrand to
hasten after their friend, who had flown, and bring her back with him.
Alas! she had no occasion to urge him. His passion for Bertalda again
burst forth with vehemence. He hurried round the castle, inquiring
whether any one had seen which way the fair fugitive had gone. He
could gain no information; and was already in the court on his horse,
determining to take at a venture the road by which he had conducted
Bertalda to the castle, when there appeared a page, who assured him that
he had met the lady on the path to the Black Valley. Swift as an arrow,
the knight sprang through the gate in the direction pointed out, without
hearing Undine’s voice of agony, as she cried after him from the window:
“To the Black Valley? Oh, not there! Huldbrand, not there! Or if you
will go, for Heaven’s sake take me with you!”
But when she perceived that all her calling was of no avail, she ordered
her white palfrey to be instantly saddled, and followed the knight,
without permitting a single servant to accompany her.
The Black Valley lies secluded far among the mountains. What its present
name may be I am unable to say. At the time of which I am speaking, the
country-people gave it this appellation from the deep obscurity produced
by the shadows of lofty trees, more especially by a crowded growth of
firs that covered this region of moorland. Even the brook, which bubbled
between the rocks, assumed the same dark hue, and showed nothing of that
cheerful aspect which streams are wont to wear that have the blue sky
immediately over them.
It was now the dusk of evening; and between the heights it had become
extremely wild and gloomy. The knight, in great anxiety, skirted the
border of the brook. He was at one time fearful that, by delay, he