[7] An ancient folk-song which treats of a beautiful but poor maiden,
who, being unable to marry 'the young count,' retired to a convent.
"I know that one," cried Elisabeth; "begin it, do, Reinhard, and I
will help you out."
So they sang that famous melody, which is so mysterious that one can
hardly believe that it was ever conceived by the heart of man,
Elisabeth with her slightly clouded contralta taking the second part
to the young man's tenor.
The mother meanwhile sat busy with her needlework, while Eric listened
attentively, with one hand clasped in the other. The song finished,
Reinhard laid the sheet on one side in silence. Up from the lake-shore
came through the evening calm the tinkle of the cattle bells; they
were all listening without knowing why, and presently they heard a
boy's clear voice singing:
I stood on the mountain height
And viewed the deep valley beneath....
Reinhard smiled. "Do you hear that now? So it passes from mouth to
mouth."
"It is often sung in these parts," said Elisabeth.
"Yes," said Eric, "it is Casper the herdsman; he is driving the heifers
home."[8]
[8] _Starke_ is the southern dialect word for _Färse_, 'young cow,'
'heifer.'
They listened a while longer until the tinkle of the bells died away
behind the farm buildings. "These melodies are as old as the world,"
said Reinhard; "they slumber in the depths of the forest; God knows
who discovered them."
He drew forth a fresh sheet.
It had now grown darker; a crimson evening glow lay like foam over the
woods in the farther side of the lake. Reinhard unrolled the sheet,
Elisabeth caught one side of it in her hand, and they both examined it
together. Then Reinhard read:
By my mother's hard decree
Another's wife I needs must be;
Him on whom my heart was set,
Him, alas! I must forget;
My heart protesting, but not free.
Bitterly did I complain
That my mother brought me pain.
What mine honour might have been,
That is turned to deadly sin.
Can I ever hope again?
For my pride what can I show,
And my joy, save grief and woe?
Oh! could I undo what's done,
O'er the moor scorched by the sun
Beggarwise I'd gladly go.
During the reading of this Reinhard had felt an imperceptible
quivering of the paper; and when he came to an end Elisabeth gently
pushed her chair back and passed silently out into the garden. Her
mother followed her with a look. Eric made as if to go after, but the
mother said:
"Elisabeth has one or two little things to do outside," so he remained
where he was.
But out of doors the evening brooded darker and darker over garden and
lake. Moths whirred past the open doors through which the fragrance of
flower and bush floated in increasingly; up from the water came the
croak of the frogs, under the windows a nightingale commenced his song
answered by another from within the depths of the garden; the moon
appeared over the tree-tops.
Reinhard looked for a little while longer at the spot where
Elisabeth's sweet form had been lost to sight in the thick-foliaged
garden paths, and then he rolled up his manuscript, bade his friends
good-night and passed through the house down to the water.
The woods stood silent and cast their dark shadow far out over the
lake, while the centre was bathed in the haze of a pale moonlight. Now
and then a gentle rustle trembled through the trees, though wind there
was none; it was but the breath of summer night.
Reinhard continued along the shore. A stone's throw from the land he
perceived a white water-lily. All at once he was seized with the
desire to see it quite close, so he threw off his clothes and entered
the water. It was quite shallow; sharp stones and water plants cut his
feet, and yet he could not reach water deep enough for him to swim in.
Then suddenly he stepped out of his depth: the waters swirled above
him; and it was some time before he rose to the surface again. He
struck out with hands and feet and swam about in a circle until he had
made quite sure from what point he had entered the water. And soon too
he saw the lily again floating lonely among the large, gleaming
leaves.
He swam slowly out, lifting every now and then his arms out of the
water so that the drops trickled down and sparkled in the moonlight.
Yet the distance between him and the flower showed no signs of
diminishing, while the shore, as he glanced back at it, showed behind
him in a hazy mist that ever deepened. But he refused to give up the
venture and vigorously continued swimming in the same direction.
At length he had come so near the flower that he was able clearly to
distinguish the silvery leaves in the moonlight; but at the same time
he felt himself entangled in a net formed by the smooth stems of the
water plants which swayed up from the bottom and wound themselves
round his naked limbs.
The unfamiliar water was black all round about him, and behind him he
heard the sound of a fish leaping. Suddenly such an uncanny feeling
overpowered him in the midst of this strange element that with might
and main he tore asunder the network of plants and swam back to land
in breathless haste. And when from the shore he looked back upon the
lake, there floated the lily on the bosom of the darkling water as far
away and as lonely as before.
He dressed and slowly wended his way home. As he passed out of the
garden into the room he discovered Eric and the mother busied with
preparations for a short journey which had to be undertaken for
business purposes on the morrow.
"Where ever have you been so late in the dark?" the mother called out
to him.
"I?" he answered, "oh, I wanted to pay a call on the water-lily, but I
failed."
"That's beyond the comprehension of any man," said Eric. "What on
earth had you to do with the water-lily?"
"Oh, I used to be friends with the lily once," said Reinhard; "but
that was long ago."
* * * * *