THE KNIGHT STAYS AT THE COTTAGE
Day after day the forest stream rushed wildly on. The bed along which
it thus hastened grew wider and wider, separating the island with the
fisherman's cottage yet farther from the mainland.
The knight was well pleased to linger where he was. Never had he found
the days pass by so swiftly.
He discovered an old crossbow in a corner of the cottage. When he had
mended it he would wander forth in search of birds, and if he
succeeded in bringing some down with his arrows, he would carry them
back to fill the larder of the little cottage.
And Undine, for she was pitiful, would not fail to upbraid the knight
for taking the life of the little birds, so glad, so free. Seeing them
lying there, quiet and still, she would weep.
Yet, did Huldbrand return without his prey, so wilful was the maiden
that she would blame him, and complain that she could now have nought
to eat save fish or crabs.
But the knight loved Undine's wayward words. And well he knew that
after she had shown her anger most, she would in but a little while be
again kind and gentle as before.
On the quiet island Huldbrand heard no call to knightly deeds. His
sword hung unused on the cottage wall, his steed fed undisturbed among
the sweet-scented meadows.
'The maiden is the daughter of a great prince, thought the knight. 'It
is not possible that she should remain in this humble cottage all her
life. She shall be my bride, and in days to come she shall dwell in my
castle of Ringstetten on the banks of the Danube.'
Meanwhile, naught disturbed the dwellers in the little cottage, save
now and again when her foster-mother would chide Undine in the
presence of the knight.
Now, though this displeased Huldbrand, he could not blame the old
woman, for it was ever true that the maiden deserved reproof more
often than she received it.
At length wine and food began to grow scarce in the little cottage.
In the evening, when the wind howled around their home, the fisherman
and the knight had been used to cheer themselves with a flask of wine.
But now that the fisherman was not able to reach the city, his supply
of wine had come to an end. Without it the old man and the knight grew
silent and dull.
Undine teased them, laughed at them, but they did not join in her
merriment.
Then one evening the maiden left the cottage, to escape, so she said,
from the gloomy faces in the little kitchen. It was a stormy night,
and as it grew dark the wind began to blow, the waters to rise.
Huldbrand and the fisherman thought of the terrible night on which
they had sought so long in vain for the wilful maiden. They even began
to fear that they had lost her again, and together they rushed to the
door. But to their great delight Undine was standing there, laughing
and clapping her little hands.
'Come with me,' she cried when she saw them, 'come with me and I will
show you a cask which the stream has thrown ashore. If it is not a
wine cask you may punish me as you will.'
The men went with her, and there in a little creek they found the
cask and began to roll it toward the cottage.
But though they rolled it rapidly the storm crept quickly up. So black
were the clouds, so threatening, that it seemed each moment that the
rain would burst forth upon them.
Undine helped the men to roll the cask, and as the sky grew yet more
threatening she looked up at the dark clouds and said in a warning
voice, 'Beware, beware that you wet us not.'
'It is wrong of you thus to try to rebuke the storm,' said her
foster-father, but at his words the maiden only laughed low to herself
in the darkness.
It would seem, however, that Undine's warning had been of use, for it
was not until the cask was rolled in at the cottage door that the
storm broke.
By the bright glow of the fire they opened the cask and found that it
did indeed hold wine. They tasted it and found it very good, and soon
they were once more as gay as the maiden could wish.
Then suddenly the fisherman grew grave, grieving for him who had lost
the cask.
'Nay, grieve not,' said the knight, 'I will seek for the owner and
repay him for his loss when I come again to my castle at
Ringstetten.'
The fisherman smiled and was content.
Undine, however, was angry with the knight. 'It is foolish,' said she,
'to talk of seeking for the owner of the cask. Were you lost in the
search I should weep. Would you not rather stay by my side?'
'Yes, and that do you right well know,' answered the knight.
'Then,' said the maiden, 'why should you speak of helping other
people. It is but foolish talk.'
The foster-mother sighed as she listened to Undine's careless words,
while the fisherman forgot his usual quiet and scolded her sharply.
'Your words are wild, and are such as no Christian maiden should
utter,' he said. 'May God forgive both you and those who have allowed
you thus to speak.'
'It is indeed true,' said Undine, 'that as I think I speak. Why,
therefore, should you scold me for my words.'
'Say no more,' said the fisherman, for he was very angry.
Then the maiden, who, for all her wilfulness, was timid as a bird,
drew close to the knight and whispered, 'Are you also angry with me,
Sir Knight.'
Huldbrand could find no words with which to comfort the maiden, whom
he had learned to love. He could only hold her hand and stroke her
golden hair, but with this Undine was well content.