WHAT FURTHER HAPPENED ON THE EVENING OF THE WEDDING.
Both before and during the ceremony, Undine had shown herself gentle
and quiet; but it now seemed as if all the wayward humors which
rioted within her, burst forth all the more boldly and unrestrainedly.
She teased her bridegroom and her foster-parents, and even the
holy man whom she had so lately reverenced, with all sorts of
childish tricks; and when the old woman was about to reprove her,
she was quickly silenced by a few grave words from the knight,
speaking of Undine now as his wife. Nevertheless, the knight
himself was equally little pleased with Undine's childish behavior:
but no signs, and no reproachful words were of any avail. It is
true, whenever the bride noticed her husband's dissatisfaction--and
this occurred occasionally--she became more quiet, sat down by his
side, caressed him, whispered something smilingly into his ear, and
smoothed the wrinkles that were gathering on his brow. But
immediately afterward, some wild freak would again lead her to
return to her ridiculous proceedings, and matters would be worse
than before. At length the priest said in a serious and kind tone:
"My fair young maiden, no one indeed can look at you without
delight; but remember so to attune your soul betimes, that it may
ever harmonize with that of your wedded husband."
"Soul!" said Undine, laughing; "that sounds pretty enough, and may
be a very edifying and useful caution for most people. But when one
hasn't a soul at all, I beg you, what is there to attune then? and
that is my case." The priest was silent and deeply wounded, and with
holy displeasure he turned his face from the girl. She, however,
went up to him caressingly, and said: "No! listen to me first,
before you look angry, for your look of anger gives me pain, and you
must not give pain to any creature who has done you no wrong--only
have patience with me, and I will tell you properly what I mean."
It was evident that she was preparing herself to explain something
in detail, but suddenly she hesitated, as if seized with an inward
shuddering, and burst out into a flood of tears. They none of them
knew what to make of this ebullition, and filled with various
apprehensions they gazed at her in silence. At length, wiping away
her tears, and looking earnestly at the reverend man, she said:
"There must be something beautiful, but at the same time extremely
awful, about a soul. Tell me, holy sir, were it not better that we
never shared such a gift?" She was silent again as if waiting for an
answer, and her tears had ceased to flow. All in the cottage had
risen from their seats and had stepped back from her with horror.
She, however, seemed to have eyes for no one but the holy man; her
features wore an expression of fearful curiosity, which appeared
terrible to those who saw her. "The soul must be a heavy burden,"
she continued, as no one answered her, "very heavy! for even its
approaching image overshadows me with anxiety and sadness. And, ah!
I was so light-hearted and so merry till now!" And she burst into a
fresh flood of tears, and covered her face with the drapery she
wore. Then the priest went up to her with a solemn air, and spoke to
her, and conjured her by the name of the Most Holy to cast aside the
veil that enveloped her, if any spirit of evil possessed her. But
she sank on her knees before him, repeating all the sacred words he
uttered, praising God, and protesting that she wished well with the
whole world.
Then at last the priest said to the knight: "Sir bridegroom, I will
leave you alone with her whom I have united to you in marriage. So
far as I can discover there is nothing of evil in her, but much
indeed that is mysterious. I commend to you--prudence, love, and
fidelity." So saying, he went out, and the fisherman and his wife
followed him, crossing themselves.
Undine had sunk on her knees: she unveiled her face and said,
looking timidly round on Huldbrand: "Alas! you will surely now not
keep me as your own; and yet I have done no evil, poor child that I
am!" As she said this, she looked so exquisitely graceful and
touching, that her bridegroom forgot all the horror he had felt, and
all the mystery that clung to her, and hastening to her he raised
her in his arms. She smiled through her tears; it was a smile like
the morning-light playing on a little stream.
"You cannot leave me," she whispered, with confident security,
stroking the knight's cheek with her tender hand. Huldbrand tried to
dismiss the fearful thoughts that still lurked in the background of
his mind, persuading him that he was married to a fairy or to some
malicious and mischievous being of the spirit world, only the single
question half unawares escaped his lips: "My little Undine, tell me
this one thing, what was it you said of spirits of the earth and of
Kuhleborn, when the priest knocked at the door?"
"It was nothing but fairy tales!--children's fairy tales!" said
Undine, with all her wonted gayety; "I frightened you at first with
them, and then you frightened me, that's the end of our story and of
our nuptial evening."
"Nay! that it isn't," said the knight, intoxicated with love, and
extinguishing the tapers, he bore his beautiful beloved to the
bridal chamber by the light of the moon which shone brightly through
the windows.