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.