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.