Undine
as he had never witnessed there before, left him in undoubted assurance
that Undine bore him no ill-will.
He then rose joyfully, and leaving her, went to the common apartment,
where the inmates of the house had already met. The three were sitting
round the hearth with an air of anxiety about them, as if they feared
trusting themselves to raise their voice above a low, apprehensive
undertone. The priest appeared to be praying in his inmost spirit, with
a view to avert some fatal calamity. But when they observed the young
husband come forth so cheerful, they dispelled the cloud that remained
upon their brows: the old fisherman even began to laugh with the
knight till his aged wife herself could not help smiling with great
good-humour.
Undine had in the meantime got ready, and now entered the room; all
rose to meet her, but remained fixed in perfect admiration--she was so
changed, and yet the same. The priest, with paternal affection beaming
from his countenance, first went up to her; and as he raised his hand to
pronounce a blessing, the beautiful bride sank on her knees before him
with religious awe; she begged his pardon in terms both respectful and
submissive for any foolish things she might have uttered the evening
before, and entreated him with emotion to pray for the welfare of her
soul. She then rose, kissed her foster-parents, and, after thanking them
for all the kindness they had shown her, said:
“Oh, I now feel in my inmost heart how much, how infinitely much, you
have done for me, you dear, dear friends of my childhood!”
At first she was wholly unable to tear herself away from their
affectionate caresses; but the moment she saw the good old mother busy
in getting breakfast, she went to the hearth, applied herself to cooking
the food and putting it on the table, and would not suffer her to take
the least share in the work.
She continued in this frame of spirit the whole day: calm, kind
attentive--half matronly, and half girlish. The three who had been
longest acquainted with her expected every instant to see her capricious
spirit break out in some whimsical change or sportive vagary. But their
fears were quite unnecessary. Undine continued as mild and gentle as an
angel. The priest found it all but impossible to remove his eyes from
her; and he often said to the bridegroom:
“The bounty of Heaven, sir, through me its unworthy instrument,
entrusted to you yesterday an invaluable treasure; cherish it as you
ought, and it will promote your temporal and eternal welfare.”
Toward evening Undine was hanging upon the knight’s arm with lowly
tenderness, while she drew him gently out before the door, where the
setting sun shone richly over the fresh grass, and upon the high,
slender boles of the trees. Her emotion was visible: the dew of sadness
and love swam in her eyes, while a tender and fearful secret seemed to
hover upon her lips, but was only made known by hardly-breathed sighs.
She led her husband farther and farther onward without speaking. When he
asked her questions, she replied only with looks, in which, it is true,
there appeared to be no immediate answer to his inquiries, but a whole
heaven of love and timid devotion. Thus they reached the margin of the
swollen forest stream, and the knight was astonished to see it gliding
away with so gentle a murmuring of its waves, that no vestige of its
former swell and wildness was now discernible.
“By morning it will be wholly drained off,” said the beautiful wife,
almost weeping, “and you will then be able to travel, without anything
to hinder you, whithersoever you will.”
“Not without you, dear Undine,” replied the knight, laughing; “think,
only, were I disposed to leave you, both the Church and the spiritual
powers, the Emperor and the laws of the realm, would require the
fugitive to be seized and restored to you.”
“All this depends on you--all depends on you,” whispered his little
companion, half weeping and half smiling. “But I still feel sure that
you will not leave me; I love you too deeply to fear that misery. Now
bear me over to that little island which lies before us. There shall
the decision be made. I could easily, indeed, glide through that mere
rippling of the water without your aid, but it is so sweet to lie in
your arms; and should you determine to put me away, I shall have rested
in them once more,... for the last time.”
Huldbrand was so full of strange anxiety and emotion, that he knew not
what answer to make her. He took her in his arms and carried her over,
now first realizing the fact that this was the same little island from
which he had borne her back to the old fisherman, the first night of his
arrival. On the farther side, he placed her upon the soft grass, and
was throwing himself lovingly near his beautiful burden; but she said to
him, “Not here, but opposite me. I shall read my doom in your eyes, even
before your lips pronounce it: now listen attentively to what I shall
relate to you.” And she began:
“You must know, my own love, that there are beings in the elements which
bear the strongest resemblance to the human race, and which, at the
same time, but seldom become visible to you. The wonderful salamanders
sparkle and sport amid the flames; deep in the earth the meagre and
malicious gnomes pursue their revels; the forest-spirits belong to the
air, and wander in the woods; while in the seas, rivers, and streams
live the widespread race of water-spirits. These last, beneath
resounding domes of crystal, through which the sky can shine with its
sun and stars, inhabit a region of light and beauty; lofty coral-trees
glow with blue and crimson fruits in their gardens; they walk over the
pure sand of the sea, among exquisitely variegated shells, and amid
whatever of beauty the old world possessed, such as the present is no
more worthy to enjoy--creations which the floods covered with their
secret veils of silver; and now these noble monuments sparkle below,
stately and solemn, and bedewed by the water, which loves them, and
calls forth from their crevices delicate moss-flowers and enwreathing
tufts of sedge.
“Now the nation that dwell there are very fair and lovely to behold,
for the most part more beautiful than human beings. Many a fisherman has
been so fortunate as to catch a view of a delicate maiden of the waters,
while she was floating and singing upon the deep. He would then spread
far the fame of her beauty; and to such wonderful females men are wont
to give the name of Undines. But what need of saying more?--You, my dear
husband, now actually behold an Undine before you.”
The knight would have persuaded himself that his lovely wife was under
the influence of one of her odd whims, and that she was only amusing
herself and him with her extravagant inventions. He wished it might be
so. But with whatever emphasis he said this to himself, he still could
not credit the hope for a moment: a strange shivering shot through his
soul; unable to utter a word, he gazed upon the sweet speaker with a
fixed eye. She shook her head in distress, sighed from her full heart,
and then proceeded in the following manner:--“We should be far superior
to you, who are another race of the human family,--for we also call
ourselves human beings, as we resemble them in form and features--had
we not one evil peculiar to ourselves. Both we and the beings I have
mentioned as inhabiting the other elements vanish into air at death and
go out of existence, spirit and body, so that no vestige of us remains;
and when you hereafter awake to a purer state of being, we shall remain
where sand, and sparks, and wind, and waves remain. Thus we have no
souls; the element moves us, and, again, is obedient to our will, while
we live, though it scatters us like dust when we die; and as we
have nothing to trouble us, we are as merry as nightingales, little
gold-fishes, and other pretty children of nature.
“But all beings aspire to rise in the scale of existence higher than
they are. It was therefore the wish of my father, who is a powerful
water-prince in the Mediterranean Sea, that his only daughter should
become possessed of a soul, although she should have to endure many of
the sufferings of those who share that gift.
“Now the race to which I belong have no other means of obtaining a soul
than by forming with an individual of your own the most intimate union
of love. I am now possessed of a soul, and my soul thanks you, my best
beloved, and never shall cease to thank you, if you do not render my
whole future life miserable. For what will become of me, if you avoid
and reject me? Still, I would not keep you as my own by artifice. And
should you decide to cast me off, then do it now, and return alone to
the shore. I will plunge into this brook, where my uncle will receive
me; my uncle, who here in the forest, far removed from his other
friends, passes his strange and solitary existence. But he is powerful,
as well as revered and beloved by many great rivers; and as he brought
me hither to the fisherman a light-hearted and laughing child, he will
take me home to my parents a woman, gifted with a soul, with power to
love and to suffer.”
She was about to add something more, when Huldbrand, with the most
heartfelt tenderness and love, clasped her in his arms, and again bore
her back to the shore. There, amid tears and kisses, he first swore
never to forsake his affectionate wife, and esteemed himself even more
happy than Pygmalion, for whom Venus gave life to his beautiful statue,
and thus changed it into a beloved wife. Supported by his arm, and in
the confidence of affection, Undine returned to the cottage; and now
she first realized with her whole heart how little cause she had for
regretting what she had left--the crystal palace of her mysterious
father.
CHAPTER 5
Next morning, when Huldbrand awoke from slumber, and perceived that his
beautiful wife was not by his side, he began to give way again to
his wild imaginations--that his marriage, and even the lovely Undine
herself, were only shadows without substance--only mere illusions of
enchantment. But she entered the door at the same moment, kissed him,
seated herself on the bed by his side, and said:
“I have been out somewhat early this morning, to see whether my uncle
keeps his word. He has already restored the waters of the flood to
his own calm channel, and he now flows through the forest a rivulet as
before, in a lonely and dreamlike current. His friends, too, both of
the water and the air, have resumed their usual peaceful tenor; all will
again proceed with order and tranquillity; and you can travel homeward,
without fear of the flood, whenever you choose.”
It seemed to the mind of Huldbrand that he must be in some waking dream,
so little was he able to understand the nature of his wife’s strange
relative. Notwithstanding this he made no remark upon what she had
told him, and her surpassing loveliness soon lulled every misgiving and
discomfort to rest.
Some time afterwards, while he was standing with her before the door,
and surveying the verdant point of land, with its boundary of bright
waters, such a feeling of bliss came over him in this cradle of his
love, that he exclaimed:
“Shall we, then, so early as to-day, begin our journey? Why should
we? It is probable that abroad in the world we shall find no days more
delightful than those we have spent in this green isle so secret and so
secure. Let us yet see the sun go down here two or three times more.”
“Just as my lord wills,” replied Undine meekly. “Only we must remember,
that my foster-parents will, at all events, see me depart with pain; and
should they now, for the first time, discover the true soul in me, and
how fervently I can now love and honour them, their feeble eyes would