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Here the Priest put a stop to the conversation, by lighting the holy
tapers, placing them on the table, and calling the young pair to him.
With few and solemn words he joined their hands; the aged couple gave
their blessing, while the bride leaned upon her husband, pensive and
trembling.

When it was over, the Priest said: "You are strange people after all!
What did you mean by saying you were the only inhabitants of this
island? During the whole ceremony there was a fine-looking tall man,
in a white cloak, standing just outside the window opposite me. He
must be near the door still, if you like to invite him in."--"Heaven
forbid!" said the dame shuddering; the old man shook his head without
speaking; and Huldbrand rushed to the window. He could fancy he saw a
streak of white, but it was soon lost in darkness. So he assured the
Priest he must have been mistaken; and they all sat down comfortably
round the fire.

VII.--HOW THE REST OF THE EVENING PASSED AWAY

Undine had been perfectly quiet and well-behaved both before and
during the marriage ceremony; but now her wild spirits seemed the more
uncontrollable from the restraint they had undergone, and rose to an
extravagant height. She played all manner of childish tricks on her
husband, her foster parents, and even the venerable Priest, and when
the old woman began to check her, one or two words from Huldbrand, who
gravely called Undine "his wife," reduced her to silence. The Knight
himself, however, was far from being pleased at Undine's childishness;
but no hint or sign would stop her. Whenever she perceived his
disapproving looks--which she occasionally did--it subdued her for the
moment; she would sit down by him, whisper something playfully in his
ear, and so dispel the frown as it gathered on his brow. But the next
instant some wild nonsense would dart into her head, and set her off
worse than ever. At last the Priest said to her, in a kind but grave
manner, "My dear young lady, no one that beholds you can be severe
upon you, it is true; but remember, it is your duty to keep watch over
your soul, that it may be ever in harmony with that of your wedded
husband." "Soul!" cried Undine, laughing; "that sounds very fine, and
for most people may be very edifying and moral advice. But if one has
no soul at all, pray how is one to keep watch over it? And that is my
case." The Priest was deeply hurt, and turned away his face in mingled
sorrow and anger. But she came up to him beseechingly, and said, "Nay,
hear me before you are angry, for it grieves me to see you displeased,
and you would not distress any creature who has done you no harm. Only
have patience with me, and I will tell you all, from the beginning."

They saw she was preparing to give them a regular history; but she
stopped short, appearing thrilled by some secret recollection, and
burst into a flood of gentle tears. They were quite at a loss what to
think of her, and gazed upon her, distressed from various causes. At
length drying her eyes, she looked at the Priest earnestly and said,
"There must be much to love in a soul, but much that is awful too. For
God's sake, holy father, tell me--were it not better to be still
without one?" She waited breathlessly for an answer, restraining her
tears. Her hearers had all risen from their seats, and now stepped
back from her, shuddering. She seemed to have no eyes but for the
saintly man; her countenance assumed an expression of anxiety and awe
which yet more alarmed the others. "Heavy must be the burden of a
soul," added she, as no one answered her--"heavy indeed! for the mere
approach of mine over-shadows me with anxious melancholy. And ah! how
light-hearted, how joyous I used to be!" A fresh burst of weeping
overcame her, and she covered her face with her veil.

The Priest then approached her with much gravity, and adjured her by
the holiest names to confess the truth, if any evil lurked in her,
unknown to them. But she fell on her knees before him, repeated after
him all his words of piety, gave praise to God, and declared she was
in charity with all the world. The Priest turned to the young Knight.
"Sir bridegroom," said he, "I leave you alone with her whom I have
made your wife. As far as I can discover, there is no evil, although
much that is mysterious, in her. I exhort you to be sober, loving, and
faithful." So he went out; and the old people followed; crossing
themselves.

Undine was still on her knees; she uncovered her face and looked
timidly at Huldbrand, saying, "Ah, thou wilt surely cast me off now;
and yet I have done nothing wrong, poor, poor child that I am!" This
she said with so touching and gentle an expression, that her husband
forgot all the gloom and mystery that had chilled his heart; he
hastened toward, her and raised her in his arms. She smiled through
her tears--it was like the glow of dawn shining upon a clear fountain.
"Thou canst not forsake me!" whispered she, in accents of the firmest
reliance; and she stroked his cheeks with her soft little hands. He
tried to shake off the gloomy thoughts which still lurked in a corner
of his mind, suggesting to him that he had married a fairy, or some
shadowy being from the world of spirits: one question, however, he
could not help asking: "My dear little Undine, just tell me one thing:
what was that you said about spirits of earth, and Kuehleborn, when the
Priest knocked at the door?"--"All nonsense!" said Undine, laughing,
with her usual gayety. "First I frightened you with it, and then you
frightened me. And that is the end of the story, and of our
wedding-day!"

VIII.--THE DAY AFTER THE MARRIAGE

A bright morning light wakened the young people; and Huldbrand lay
musing silently. As often as he had dropped asleep, he had been scared
by horrible dreams of spectres who suddenly took the form of fair
women, or of fair women who were transformed into dragons. And when he
started up from these grim visions, and saw the pale, cold moonlight
streaming in at the window, he would turn an anxious look toward
Undine; she lay slumbering in undisturbed beauty and peace. Then he
would compose himself to sleep again--soon again to wake in terror.
When he looked back upon all this in broad daylight, he was angry with
himself for having let a suspicion, a shade of distrust of his
beautiful wife, enter his mind. He frankly confessed to her this
injustice; she answered him only by pressing his hand, and sighing
from the bottom of her heart. But a look, such as her eyes had never
before given, of the deepest and most confiding tenderness, left him
no doubt that she forgave him. So he arose cheerfully, and joined the
family in the sitting-room. The three others were gathered round the
hearth looking uneasy, and neither of them having ventured to speak
his thoughts yet. The Priest seemed to be secretly praying for
deliverance from evil. But when the young husband appeared, beaming
with happiness, the care-worn faces brightened up; nay, the Fisherman
ventured upon a few courteous jokes with the Knight, which won a smile
even from the good housewife. Meanwhile Undine had dressed herself,
and now came in; they could not help rising to meet her, and stood
still, astonished; the young creature was the same, yet so different.
The Priest was the first to address her, with an air of paternal
kindness, and when he raised his hands in benediction, the fair woman
sank on her knees, trembling with pious awe. In a few meek and humble
words, she begged him to forgive the folly of the day before, and
besought him, with great emotion, to pray for the salvation of her
soul. Then rising, she kissed her foster parents, and thanking them
for all their kindness, she said: "Oh, now I feel from the bottom of
my heart how much you have done for me, how deeply grateful I ought to
be, dear, dear people!" She seemed as if she could not caress them
enough; but soon, observing the dame glance toward the breakfast, she
went toward the hearth, busied herself arranging and preparing the
meal, and would not suffer the good woman to take the least trouble
herself.

So she went on all day; at once a young matron, and a bashful, tender,
delicate bride. The three who knew her best were every moment
expecting this mood to change, and give place to one of her crazy
fits; but they watched in vain. There was still the same angelic
mildness and sweetness. The Priest could not keep his eyes away from
her, and he said more than once to the bridegroom, "Sir, it was a
great treasure which Heaven bestowed upon you yesterday, by my poor
ministration; cherish her worthily, and she will be to you a blessing
in time and eternity."

Toward evening, Undine clasped the Knight's arm with modest
tenderness, and gently led him out before the door, where the rays of
the setting sun were lighting up the fresh grass, and the tall, taper
stems of trees. The young wife's face wore a melting expression of
love and sadness, and her lips quivered with some anxious, momentous
secret, which as yet betrayed itself only by scarce audible sighs. She
silently led her companion onward; if he spoke, she replied by a look
which gave him no direct answer, but revealed a whole heaven of love
and timid submission. So they reached the banks of the stream which
had overflowed, and the Knight started on finding the wild torrent
changed into a gentle rippling brook, without a trace of its former
violence left. "By to-morrow it will have dried up completely," said
the bride, in a faltering voice, "and thou mayest begone whither thou
wilt."--"Not without thee, my Undine," said the Knight, playfully;
"consider, if I had a mind to forsake thee, the Church, the Emperor,
and his ministers might step in, and bring thy truant home."--"No, no,
you are free; it shall be as you please!" murmured Undine, half tears,
half smiles. "But I think thou wilt not cast me away; is not my heart
bound up in thine? Carry me over to that little island opposite. There
I will know my fate. I could indeed easily step through the little
waves; but I love to rest in thine arms! and thou _mayest_ cast me
off; this may be the last time." Huldbrand, full of anxious emotion,
knew not how to answer. He took her up in his arms, and carried her
over, now recollecting that from this very island he had borne her
home to the Fisherman, on the night of his arrival. When there, he
placed his fair burden on the turf, and was going to sit down beside
her; but she said, "No, sit there, opposite me--I will read my doom in
your eyes, before your lips have spoken it. Now listen, and I will
tell you all." And she began:--

"You must know, my own love, that in each element exists a race of
beings, whose form scarcely differs from yours, but who very seldom
appear to mortal sight. In the flames, the wondrous Salamanders
glitter and disport themselves; in the depths of earth dwell the dry,
spiteful race of Gnomes; the forests are peopled by Wood-nymphs, who
are also spirits of air; and the seas, the rivers and brooks contain
the numberless tribes of Water-sprites. Their echoing halls of
crystal, where the light of heaven pours in, with its sun and stars,
are glorious to dwell in; the gardens contain beautiful coral plants,
with blue and red fruits; they wander over bright sea-sands, and
gay-coloured shells, among the hidden treasures of the old world, too
precious to be bestowed on these latter days, and long since covered
by the silver mantle of the deep: many a noble monument still gleams
there below, bedewed by the tears of Ocean, who garlands it with
flowery sea-weeds and wreaths of shells. Those that dwell there below,
are noble and lovely to behold, far more so than mankind. Many a
fisherman has had a passing glimpse of some fair water-nymph, rising
out of the sea with her song; he would then spread the report of her
apparition, and these wonderful beings came to be called _Undines_.
And you now see before you, my love, an Undine."

The Knight tried to persuade himself that his fair wife was in one of
her wild moods, and had invented this strange tale in sport. But
though he said this to himself, he could not for a moment believe it;
a mysterious feeling thrilled him; and, unable to utter a word, he
kept his eyes rivetted on the beautiful speaker. She shook her head
sadly, heaved a deep sigh, and went on:--

"We might be happier than our human fellow-creatures (for we call you
fellow-creatures, as our forms are alike), but for one great evil. We,
and the other children of the elements, go down to the dust, body and
spirit; not a trace of us remains and when the time comes for you to
rise again to a glorified existence, we shall have perished with our
native sands, flames, winds, and waves. For we have no souls; the
elements move us, obey us while we live, close over us when we die;
and we light spirits live as free from care as the nightingale, the
gold-fish, and all such bright children of Nature. But no creatures
rest content in their appointed place. My father, who is a mighty
prince in the Mediterranean Sea, determined that his only child should
be endowed with a soul, even at the cost of much suffering, which is
ever the lot of souls. But a soul can be infused into one of our race,
only by being united in the closest bands of love to one of yours. And
now I have obtained a soul; to thee I owe it, O best beloved! and for
that gift I shall ever bless thee, unless thou dost devote my whole
futurity to misery. For what is to become of me should thou recoil
from me, and cast me off? Yet I would not detain thee by deceit. And
if I am to leave thee, say so now; go back to the land alone. I will
plunge into this brook; it is my uncle, who leads a wonderful,
sequestered life in this forest, away from all his friends. But he is
powerful, and allied to many great rivers; and as he brought me here
to the Fisherman, a gay and laughing child, so he is ready to take me
back to my parents, a loving, suffering, forsaken woman."

She would have gone on; but Huldbrand, full of compassion and love,
caught her in his arms, and carried her back. There, with tears and
kisses, he swore never to forsake his beloved wife; and said he felt
more blessed than the Greek sculptor Pygmalion, whose beautiful statue
dame Venus transformed into a living woman. Hanging on his arm in
peaceful reliance, Undine returned; and she felt from her inmost
heart, how little cause she had to regret the crystal palaces of her
father.

IX.--HOW THE KNIGHT AND HIS YOUNG BRIDE DEPARTED

When Huldbrand awoke from sleep the next morning, he missed his fair
companion; and again he was tormented with a doubt, whether his
marriage, and the lovely Undine, might not be all a fairy dream. But
she soon reappeared, came up to him, and said, "I have been out early,
to see if my uncle had kept his word. He has recalled all the straying
waters into his quiet bed, and now takes his lonely and pensive course
through the forest as he used to do. His friends in the lake and the
air are gone to rest also; all things have returned to their usual
calmness; and you may set out homeward on dry land, as soon as you
please." Huldbrand felt as if dreaming still, so little could he
understand his wife's wonderful relations. But he took no notice of
this, and his sweet Undine's gentle attentions soon charmed every
uneasy thought away.

A little while after, as they stood at the door together, looking over
the fair scene with its boundary of clear waters, his heart yearned so
toward this cradle of his love that he said: "But why should we go
away so soon? we shall never spend happier days in yonder world, than
we have passed in this peaceful nook. Let us at least see two or three
more suns go down here."--"As my Lord wishes," answered Undine, with
cheerful submission; "but, you see, the old people will be grieved at
parting with me, whenever it is; and if we give them time to become
acquainted with my soul, and with its new powers of loving and
honouring them, I fear that when I go, their aged hearts will break
under the load of sorrow. As yet, they take my gentle mood for a
passing whim, such as they saw me liable to formerly, like a calm on
the lake when the winds are lulled; and they will soon begin to love
some favourite tree or flower in my place. They must not learn to know
this newly obtained, affectionate heart, in the first overflowings of
its tenderness, just at the moment when they are to lose me for this
world; and how could I disguise it from them, if we remained together
longer?"

Huldbrand agreed with her; he went to the old couple and finding them
ready to consent, he resolved upon setting out that very hour. The
Priest offered to accompany them; after a hasty farewell, the pretty
bride was placed on the horse by her husband, and they crossed the
stream's dry bed quickly, and entered the forest. Undine shed silent
but bitter tears, while the old folks wailed after her aloud. It
seemed as if some foreboding were crossing their minds, of how great
their loss would prove.

The three travellers reached the deepest shades of the forest, without
breaking silence. It was a fair sight to behold, as they passed
through the leafy bowers: the graceful woman sitting on her noble
steed, guarded on one side by the venerable Priest in the white habit
of his order; on the other, by the youthful Knight, with his gorgeous
attire and glittering sword. Huldbrand had no eyes but for his
precious wife; Undine, who had dried her duteous tears, no thought but
for him; and they soon fell into a noiseless interchange of glances
and signs, which at length was interrupted by the sound of a low
murmur, proceeding from the Priest and a fourth fellow-traveller, who
had joined them unobserved. He wore a white robe, very like the
Priest's dress, except that the hood almost covered his face, and the
rest of it floated round him in such large folds that he was
perpetually obliged to gather up, throw it over his arm, or otherwise
arrange it; yet it did not seem to impede him at all in walking; when
the young people saw him he was saying, "And so, my worthy father, I
have dwelt in the forest for many a year, yet I am not what you
commonly call a hermit. For, as I told you, I know nothing of penance,
nor do I think it would do me much good. What makes me so fond of the
woods is, that I have a very particular fancy for winding through the
dark shades and forest walks, with my loose white clothes floating
about me; now and then a pretty sunbeam will glance over me as I
go."--"You seem to be a very curious person," replied the Priest "and
I should like to know more about you."--"And pray who are you, to
carry on the acquaintance?" said the stranger. "They call me Father
Heilmann," answered the Priest, "and I belong to St. Mary's
monastery, beyond the lake."--"Ay, ay!" rejoined the other. "My name
is Kuehleborn, and if I stood upon ceremony, I might well call myself
Lord of Kuehleborn, or Baron (Freiherr) Kuehleborn; for free I am, as
the bird of the air, or a trifle more free. For instance, I must now
have a word with the young woman there." And before they could look
round, he was on the other side of the Priest, close to Undine, and
stretching up his tall figure to whisper in her ear. But she turned
hastily away, saying, "I have nothing more to do with you
now."--"Heyday!" said the stranger, laughing, "what a prodigiously
grand marriage yours must be, if you are to cast off your relations in
this way! Have you forgotten Uncle Kuehleborn, who brought you all the
way here on his back so kindly?"

"But I entreat you," said Undine, "never come to me again. I am afraid
of you now; and will not my husband become afraid of me, if he finds I
have so strange a family?"--"My little niece," said Kuehleborn, "please
to remember that I am protecting you all this time; the foul Spirits
of Earth might play you troublesome tricks if I did not. So you had
better let me go on with you, and no more words. The old Priest there
has a better memory than yours, for he would have it he knew my face
very well, and that I must have been with him in the boat, when he
fell into the water. And he may well say so, seeing that the wave
which washed him over was none but myself, and I landed him safe on
the shore, in time for your wedding."

Undine and the Knight looked at Father Heilmann, but he seemed to be
plodding on in a waking dream, and not listening to what was said.
Undine said to Kuehleborn, "There, I can see the end of the wood; we
want your help no longer, and there is nothing to disturb us but you.
So in love and kindness I entreat you, begone, and let us go in
peace." This seemed to make Kuehleborn angry; he twisted his face
hideously, and hissed at Undine, who cried aloud for help. Like
lightning the Knight passed round her horse, and aimed a blow at
Kuehleborn's head with his sword. But instead of the head, he struck
into a waterfall, which gushed down a high cliff near them, and now
showered them all with a splash that sounded like laughter, and wetted
them to the bone. The Priest, seeming to wake up, said, "Well, I was
expecting this, because that brook gushed down the rock so close to
us. At first I could not shake off the idea that it was a man, and was
speaking to me." The waterfall whispered distinctly in Huldbrand's
ear, "Rash youth, dashing youth, I chide thee not, I shame thee not;
still shield thy precious wife safe and sure, rash young soldier,
dashing Knight!"

A little further on they emerged into the open plains. The city lay
glittering before them, and the evening sun that gilded her towers,
lent its grateful warmth to dry their soaked garments.

X.--OF THEIR WAY OF LIFE IN THE TOWN

The sudden disappearance of the young Knight Huldbrand of Ringstetten
had made a great stir in the city, and distressed the inhabitants,
with whom his gallantry in the lists and the dance, and his gentle,
courteous manners, had made him very popular. His retainers would not
leave the place without their master, but yet none had the courage to
seek him in the haunted forest. They therefore remained in their
hostelry, idly hoping, as men are so apt to do, and keeping alive the
remembrance of their lost lord by lamentations. But soon after, when
the tempest raged and the rivers overflowed, few doubted that the
handsome stranger must have perished. Bertalda, among others, mourned
him for lost, and was ready to curse herself, for having urged him to
the fatal ride through the forest. Her ducal foster parents had
arrived to take her away, but she prevailed upon them to wait a
little, in hope that a true report of Huldbrand's death or safety
might reach them. She tried to persuade some of the young knights who
contended for her favour, to venture into the forest and seek for the
noble adventurer. But she would not offer her hand as the reward,
because she still hoped to bestow it some day on the wanderer himself;
and to obtain a glove, a scarf, or some such token from her, none of
them cared to expose his life to bring back so dangerous a rival.

Now, when Huldbrand unexpectedly reappeared, it spread joy among his
servants, and all the people generally, except Bertalda; for while the
others were pleased at his bringing with him such a beautiful wife,
and Father Heilmann to bear witness to their marriage, it could not
but grieve _her_: first, because the young Knight had really won her
heart; and next, because she had betrayed her feelings by so openly
lamenting his absence, far more than was now becoming. However, she
behaved like a prudent woman and suited her conduct to the
circumstances, by living in the most cordial intimacy with Undine--who
passed in the town for a princess, released by Huldbrand from the
power of some wicked enchanter of the forest. If she or her husband
were questioned about it, they gave evasive answers; Father Heilmann's
lips were sealed on all such idle topics, beside which, he had left
them soon after they arrived, and returned to his cloister: so the
citizens were left to their own wondering conjectures, and even
Bertalda came no nearer the truth than others.

Meanwhile, Undine grew daily more fond of this winning damsel. "We
must have known each other before," she would often say, "or else some
secret attraction draws us toward each other; for without some cause,
some strange, mysterious cause, I am sure nobody would love another as
I have loved you from the moment we met." Bertalda, on her part, could
not deny that she felt strongly inclined to like Undine,
notwithstanding the grounds of complaint she thought she had against
this happy rival. The affection being mutual, the one persuaded her
parents, the other her wedded lord, to defer the day of departure
repeatedly; they even went so far as to propose that Bertalda should
accompany Undine to the castle of Ringstetten, near the source of the
Danube.

They were talking of this one fine evening, as they sauntered by
starlight round the market-place, which was surrounded by high trees;
the young couple had invited Bertalda to join their evening stroll,
and they now paced backward and forward in pleasant talk, with the
dark blue sky over their heads, and a beautiful fountain before them
in the centre, which, as it bubbled and sprang up into fanciful
shapes, often caught their attention, and interrupted the
conversation. All around them was serene and pleasant; through the
foliage gleamed the light of many a lamp from the surrounding houses;
and the ear was soothed by the hum of children at play, and of
sauntering groups like themselves; they enjoyed at once the pleasure
of solitude, and the social happiness of being near the cheerful
haunts of men. Every little difficulty that had occurred to their
favourite plan, seemed to vanish upon nearer examination, and the
three friends could not imagine that Bertalda's consent to the journey
need be delayed a moment. But as she was on the point of naming a day
for joining them and setting out, a very tall man came forward from
the middle of the place, bowed to them respectfully, and began
whispering in Undine's ear. She though apparently displeased with the
interruption and with the speaker, stepped aside with him, and they
began a low discourse together, in what sounded like a foreign
language. Huldbrand thought he knew this strange man's face, and fixed
his attention upon him so earnestly, that he neither heard nor
answered the astonished Bertalda's questions. All at once Undine
clapped her hands joyfully, and turned her back, laughing, upon the
stranger; he shook his head and walked off in an angry, hurried
manner, and stepped into the fountain. This confirmed Huldbrand in his
guess; while Bertalda inquired, "My dear Undine, what business had
that man of the fountain with you?" Her friend smiled archly and
replied, "On your birthday, the day after to-morrow, I will tell you,
my sweet girl;" and she would say no more. She only pressed Bertalda
to come and dine with them on that day, and bring her foster parents;
after which they separated.

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