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Various - Famous Stories Every Child Should Know

V >> Various >> Famous Stories Every Child Should Know




"Kuehleborn?" said Huldbrand to his wife with a suppressed shudder, as
they walked home through the dark streets. "Yes, it was he," replied
Undine "and he tried to put all sorts of nonsense into my head.
However, without intending it he delighted me by one piece of news. If
you wish to hear it, now, my kind lord, you have but to say so, and I
will tell you every word. But if you like to give your Undine a _very_
great delight, you will wait two days, and then have your share in the
surprise."

The Knight readily granted her what she had asked so meekly and
gracefully; and as she dropped asleep she murmured, "How it will
delight her! how little she expects such a message from the mysterious
man--dear, dear Bertalda!"


XI.--BERTALDA'S BIRTHDAY

The guests were now assembled at table; Bertalda sat at the top,
adorned with flowers like the goddess of spring, and flashing with
jewels, the gifts of many friends and relations. Undine and Huldbrand
were on either side of her. When the sumptuous meal was ended, and the
dessert served, the doors were opened--according to the good old
German custom--to let the common people look in and have their share
in the gaiety of the rich. The attendants offered wine and cake to the
assembled crowd. Huldbrand and Bertalda were eagerly watching for the
promised disclosure, and both kept their eyes fixed upon Undine. But
she was still silent; her cheeks dimpled occasionally with a bright,
conscious smile. Those that knew what she was about to do, could
perceive that her interesting secret was ready to burst from her lips,
but that she was playfully determined to keep it in, as children
sometimes will save their daintiest morsels for the last. Her silent
glee communicated itself to the other two, who watched impatiently for
the happy news that was about to gladden their hearts. Some of the
company now asked Undine for a song. She seemed to be prepared with
one, and sent for her lute, to which she sang as follows:--

The sun gilds the wave,
The flowers are sweet,
And the ocean doth lave
The grass at our feet!

What lies on the earth
So blooming and gay?
Doth a blossom peep forth
And greet the new day?

Ah, 'tis a fair child!
She sports with the flowers,
So gladsome and mild,
Through the warm sunny hours

O sweet one, who brought thee?
From far distant shore
Old Ocean he caught thee,
And many a league bore.

Poor babe, all in vain
Thou dost put forth thy hand
None clasp it again,
'Tis a bleak foreign land:

The flowers bloom brightly,
And soft breathes the air,
But all pass thee lightly:
Thy mother is far!

Thy life scarce begun,
Thy smiles fresh from heaven,
Thy best treasure is gone,
To another 'tis given.

A gallant charger treads the dell,
His noble rider pities thee;
He takes thee home, he tends thee well,
And cares for thee right gen'rously.

Well thou becom'st thy station high,
And bloom'st the fairest in the land;
And yet, alas! the purest joy
Is left on thine own distant strand.

Undine put down her lute with a melancholy smile and the eyes of the
Duke and Duchess filled with tears: "So it was when I found you, my
poor innocent orphan!" said the Duke with great emotion "as the fair
singer said, your best treasure was gone and we have been unable to
supply its place."

"Now let us think of the poor parents," said Undine and she struck
the chords and sang:--

I

Mother roves from room to room
Seeking rest, she knows not how,
The house is silent as the tomb,
And who is there to bless her now?

II

Silent house! Oh words of sorrow!
Where is now her darling child?
She who should have cheered the morrow,
And the evening hours beguiled?

III

The buds are swelling on the tree,
The sun returns when night is o'er;
But, mother, ne'er comes joy to thee,
Thy child shall bless thine eyes no more.

IV

And when the evening breezes blow,
And father seeks his own fireside,
He smiles, forgetful of his woe,
But ah! his tears that smile shall hide.

V

Father knows that in his home
Deathlike stillness dwells for aye;
The voice of mirth no more shall come,
And mother sighs the livelong day.

"O Undine, for God's sake, where are my parents?" cried Bertalda,
weeping. "Surely you know, you have discovered it, most wonderful
woman; else how could you have stirred my inmost heart as you have
done? They are perhaps even now in the room--can it be?"--and her eyes
glanced over the gay assembly, and fixed upon a reigning Princess who
sat next to the Duke. But Undine bent forward to the door, her eyes
overflowing with the happiest tears. "Where are they, the poor anxious
parents?" said she; and the old Fisherman and his wife came out from
the crowd of bystanders. They turned an inquiring eye upon Undine, and
then upon the handsome lady whom they were to call daughter. "There
she is," faltered the delighted Undine, and the aged couple caught
their long-lost child in their arms, thanking God, and weeping aloud.

Affrighted and enraged, Bertalda shrank from their embrace. It was
more than her proud spirit could bear, to be thus degraded; at a
moment, too, when she was fully expecting an increase of splendour,
and fancy was showering pearls and diadems upon her head. She
suspected that her rival had contrived this, on purpose to mortify her
before Huldbrand and all the world. She reviled both Undine and the
old people; the hateful words, "Treacherous creature! and bribed
wretches!" burst from her lips. The old woman said in a half whisper,
"Dear me, she has grown up a wicked woman; and yet my heart tells me
she is my own child." The Fisherman has clasped his hands, and was
praying silently that this girl might not prove to be theirs indeed.
Undine, pale as death, looked from Bertalda to the parents, from the
parents to Bertalda, and could not recover the rude shock she had
sustained, at being plunged from all her happy dreams into a state of
fear and misery, such as she had never known before.

"Have you a soul? Have you indeed a soul, Bertalda?" she exclaimed
once or twice, trying to recall her angry friend to reason, from what
she took for a fit of madness, or a kind of nightmare. But Bertalda
only stormed the louder; the repulsed parents wailed piteously, and
the company began to dispute angrily and to side with one or the
other; when Undine stepped forward, and asked with so much earnest
gentleness to be listened to in her husband's house that all was
hushed in a moment. She took the place which Bertalda had left, at
the head of the table, and as she stood there in modest dignity, the
eyes of all turned toward her, and she said: "You all that cast such
angry looks at each other, and so cruelly spoil the joy of my poor
feast, alas! I little knew what your foolish angry passions were, and
I think I never shall understand you. What I had hoped would do so
much good has led to all this; but that is not my fault, it is your
own doing, believe me; I have little more to say, but one thing you
must hear: I have told no falsehood. Proofs I have none to give,
beyond my word, but I will swear to the truth of it. I heard it from
him who decoyed Bertalda from her parents into the water, and then
laid her down in the meadow where the Duke was to pass."

"She is a sorceress," cried Bertalda, "a witch who has dealings with
evil spirits! she has acknowledged it."

"I have not," said Undine, with a heaven of innocence and
guilelessness in her eyes. "Nor am I a witch--only look at me!"

"Then she lies," cried Bertalda, "and she dares not assert that I was
born of these mean people. My noble parents, I beseech you take me out
of this room, and this town, where they are leagued together to insult
me."

But the venerable Duke stood still, and his lady said, "We must first
sift this matter to the bottom. Nothing shall make me leave the room
till my doubts are satisfied."

Then the old woman came up, made a deep obeisance to the Duchess, and
said, "You give me courage to speak, my noble, worthy lady. I must
tell you, that if this ungodly young woman is my daughter, I shall
know her by a violet mark between her shoulders, and another on the
left instep. If she would but come with me into another room--"

"I will not uncover myself before that country-woman," said Bertalda,
proudly turning away.

"But before me, you will," rejoined the Duchess gravely. "You shall go
with me into that room, young woman, and the good dame will accompany
us." They withdrew together, leaving the party in silent suspense. In
a few minutes they came back; Bertalda was deadly pale, and the
Duchess said, "Truth is truth, and I am bound to declare that our Lady
Hostess has told us perfectly right. Bertalda is the Fisherman's
daughter; more than that, it concerns nobody to know." And the
princely pair departed, taking with them their adopted child, and
followed (upon a sign from the Duke) by the Fisherman and his wife.
The rest of the assembly broke up, in silence or with secret murmurs,
and Undine sank into Huldbrand's arms, weeping bitterly.


XII.--HOW THEY LEFT THE IMPERIAL CITY

There was certainly much to displease the Lord of Ringstetten in the
events of this day; yet he could not look back upon them, without
feeling proud of the guileless truth and the generosity of heart shown
by his lovely wife. "If indeed her soul was my gift," thought he, "it
is nevertheless much better than my own;" and he devoted himself to
the task of soothing her grief, and determined he would take her away
the next morning from a spot now so full of bitter recollections.

They were mistaken, however, in thinking that she had lost in the eyes
of the world by this adventure. So prepared were the minds of the
people to find something mysterious in her, that her strange discovery
of Bertalda's origin scarcely surprised them; while, on the other
hand, everyone that heard of Bertalda's history and of her passionate
behaviour, was moved with indignation. Of this, the Knight and Undine
were not aware; nor would it have given them any comfort, for she was
still as jealous of Bertalda's good name as of her own. Upon the
whole, they had no greater wish than to leave the town without delay.

At daybreak next morning, Undine's chariot was in readiness at the
door, and the steeds of Huldbrand and of his squires stood around it,
pawing the ground with impatience. As the Knight led his fair bride to
the door, a fishing girl accosted them. "We want no fish," said
Huldbrand; "we are just going away." The girl began to sob bitterly,
and they then recognised her as Bertalda. They immediately turned back
into the house with her; and she said that the Duke and Duchess had
been so incensed at her violence the day before, as to withdraw their
protection from her, though not without giving her a handsome
allowance. The Fisherman too had received a liberal gift, and had
departed that evening with his wife, to return to the promontory. "I
would have gone with them," she continued, "but the old Fisherman,
whom they call my father--"

"And so he is, Bertalda," interrupted Undine. "He is your father. For
the man you saw at the fountain told me how it is. He was trying to
persuade me that I had better not take you to Ringstetten, and he let
drop the secret."

"Well then," said Bertalda, "my father--if so it must be--my father
said, 'You shall not live with us till you are an altered creature.
Take courage and come across the haunted forest to us; that will show
that you sincerely wish to belong to your parents. But do not come in
your finery; be like what you are, a fisherman's daughter.' And I will
do as he bids me; for the whole world has forsaken me, and I have
nothing left, but to live and die humbly in a poor hut, alone with my
lowly parents. I do dread the forest very much. They say it is full of
grim spectres, and I am so timid! But what can I do? I came here only
to implore the Lady of Ringstetten's pardon for my rude language
yesterday. I have no doubt you meant what you did kindly, noble Dame;
but you little knew what a trial your words would be to me, and I was
so alarmed and bewildered, that many a hasty, wicked word escaped my
lips. Ah forgive me, forgive me! I am unhappy enough already. Only
consider what I was yesterday morning, even at the beginning of your
feast, and what I am now."

Her words were lost in a flood of bitter tears, and Undine, equally
affected, fell weeping on her neck. It was long before her emotion
would let her speak: at length she said, "You shall go to Ringstetten
with us; all shall be as we had settled it before; only call me Undine
again, and not 'Lady' and 'noble Dame.' You see, we began by being
exchanged in our cradles; our lives have been linked from that hour,
and we will try to bind them so closely that no human power shall
sever us. Come with us to Ringstetten, and all will be well. We will
live like sisters there, trust me for arranging that." Bertalda looked
timidly at Huldbrand. The sight of this beautiful, forsaken maiden
affected him; he gave her his hand and encouraged her kindly to trust
herself to him and his wife. "As to your parents," said he, "we will
let them know why you do not appear;" and he would have said much more
concerning the good old folks, but he observed that Bertalda shuddered
at the mention of them, and therefore dropped the subject. He gave her
his arm, placed first her and then Undine in the carriage, and rode
cheerfully after them; he urged the drivers on so effectually, that
they very soon found themselves out of sight of the city, and beyond
the reach of sad recollections--and the two ladies could fully enjoy
the beautiful country through which the road wound along.

After a few days' travelling, they arrived, one sunny evening, at the
Castle of Ringstetten. Its young lord had much business with his
steward and labourers to occupy him, so that Undine was left alone
with Bertalda. They took a walk on the high ramparts of the castle,
and admired the rich Swabian landscape, which lay far and wide around
them. A tall man suddenly came up, with a courteous obeisance; and
Bertalda could not help thinking him very like the ominous man of the
fountain. The likeness struck her still more, when, upon an impatient
and even menacing gesture of Undine's, he went away with the same
hasty step and shake of the head as before.

"Do not be afraid, dear Bertalda," said Undine, "the ugly man shall
not harm you this time." After which she told her whole history,
beginning from her birth, and how they had been exchanged in their
earliest childhood. At first her friend looked at her with serious
alarm; she thought Undine was possessed by some delirium. But she
became convinced it was all true, as she listened to the
well-connected narrative, which accounted so well for the strange
events of the last months; besides which, there is something in
genuine truth which finds an answer in every heart, and can hardly be
mistaken. She was bewildered, when she found herself one of the actors
in a living fairy tale, and as wild a tale as any she had read. She
gazed upon Undine with reverence; but could not help feeling a chill
thrown over her affection for her; and that evening at supper time,
she wondered at the Knight's fond love and familiarity toward a being,
whom she now looked upon as rather a spirit than a human creature.


XIII.--HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CASTLE OF RINGSTETTEN

As he who relates this tale is moved to the heart by it, and hopes
that it may affect his readers too, he entreats of them one favour;
namely, that they will bear with him while he passes rapidly over a
long space of time; and be content if he barely touches upon what
happened therein. He knows well that some would relate in great
detail, step by step, how Huldbrand's heart began to be estranged from
Undine, and drawn toward Bertalda; while she cared not to disguise
from him her ardent love; and how between them the poor injured wife
came to be rather feared than pitied--and when he showed her kindness,
a cold shiver would often creep over him and send him back to the
child of earth, Bertalda;--all this the author knows, might be dwelt
upon; nay, perhaps it ought to be so. But his heart shrinks from such
a task, for he has met with such passages in real life, and cannot
even abide their shadows in his memory. Perhaps, gentle reader, such
feelings are known to thee also, for they are the common lot of mortal
man. Well is thee if thou hast felt, not inflicted, these pangs; in
these cases it is more blessed to receive than to give. As such
recollections wake up from their cells, they will but cast a soft
shade over the past; and it may be the thought of thy withered
blossoms, once so fondly loved, brings a gentle tear down thy cheek.
Enough of this: we will not go on to pierce our hearts with a thousand
separate arrows, but content ourselves with saying, that so it
happened in the present instance.

Poor Undine drooped day by day, and the others were neither of them
happy; Bertalda especially was uneasy, and ready to suspect the
injured wife, whenever she fancied herself slighted by Huldbrand;
meantime she had gradually assumed the command in the house, and the
deluded Huldbrand supported her openly. Undine looked on, in meek
resignation. To increase the discomfort of their lives, there was no
end to the mysterious sights and sounds that haunted Huldbrand and
Bertalda in the vaulted galleries of the castle; such as had never
been heard of before. The long white man, too well known to him as
Uncle Kuehleborn, and to her as the spirit of the fountain, often
showed his threatening countenance to both; but chiefly to Bertalda,
who had more than once been made ill by the fright, and thought
seriously of leaving the castle. But her love for Huldbrand detained
her, and she quieted her conscience by thinking, that it had never
come to a declaration of love between them; and, besides, she would
not have known which way to turn. After receiving the Lord of
Ringstetten's message, that Bertalda was with them, the old Fisherman
had traced a few lines, scarcely legible, from infirmity and long
disuse, saying, "I am now a poor old widower; for my dear good wife is
dead. But, lonely as I am by my fireside, I had rather Bertalda stayed
away than come here. Provided she does not harm my dear Undine! My
curse be upon her if she does." Bertalda scattered these last words to
the winds, but treasured up her father's command that she should not
join him: as is the way with us selfish beings.

One day, when Huldbrand had just ridden out, Undine sent for her
servants and desired them to fetch a large stone and carefully to stop
up the mouth of the magnificent fountain, which played in the centre
of the court. The men objected, that they must then always go down the
valley to a great distance for water. Undine smiled mournfully. "It
grieves me to add to your burdens, my good friends," said she, "I had
rather go and fill my pitcher myself; but this fountain must be
sealed up. Trust me, nothing else will do, and it is our only way of
escaping a much worse evil."

The servants rejoiced at any opportunity of pleasing their gentle
mistress; not a word more was said, and they lifted the huge stone.
They had raised it, and were about to let it down on the mouth of the
spring, when Bertalda ran up, calling out to them to stop: the water
of this fountain was the best for her complexion, and she never would
consent to its being stopped. But Undine, instead of yielding as
usual, kept firmly, though gently, to her resolution; she said that it
behooved her, as mistress of the house, to order all such matters as
appeared best to her, and none but her lord and husband should call
her to account. "Look, oh look!" cried Bertalda, eagerly and angrily,
"how the poor bright water curls and writhes, because you would
deprive it of every gleam of sunshine, and of the cheerful faces of
men, whose mirror it was created to be!" In truth, the spring did
writhe and bubble up wonderfully, just as if someone were trying to
force his way through; but Undine pressed them the more to dispatch
the work. Nor was there much need to repeat her commands. The
household people were too glad at once to obey their gentle lady, and
to mortify the pride of Bertalda, in spite of whose threats and wrath,
the stone was soon firmly fastened down on the mouth of the spring.
Undine bent over it thoughtfully, and wrote on its surface with her
delicate fingers. Something very hard and sharp must have been hidden
in her hand; for when she walked away, and the others came up, they
found all manner of strange characters on the stone, none of which
were there before.

When the Knight came home that evening, Bertalda received him with
tears and complaints of Undine. He looked sternly at his poor wife,
who mournfully cast down her eyes, saying, however, with firmness, "My
lord and husband would not chide the meanest of his vassals, without
giving him a hearing, much less his wedded wife."--"Speak, then; what
was your reason for this strange proceeding?" said the Knight with a
frown. "I would rather tell it you quite alone!" sighed Undine. "You
can say it just as well in Bertalda's presence," replied he. "Yes, if
thou requirest it," said Undine, "but require it not." She looked so
humble, and so submissive in her touching beauty, that the Knight's
heart was melted, as by a sunbeam from happier days. He took her
affectionately by the hand, and led her to his own room, where she
spoke to him as follows.

"You know that wicked Uncle Kuehleborn, my dearest lord, and have often
been provoked at meeting him about the castle. Bertalda, too, has been
often terrified by him. No wonder; he is soulless, shallow, and
unthinking as a mirror, in whom no feeling can pierce the surface. He
has two or three times seen that you were displeased with me, that I
in my childishness could not help weeping, and that Bertalda might
chance to laugh at the same moment. And upon this he builds all manner
of unjust suspicions, and interferes, unasked, in our concerns. What
is the use of my reproaching him, or repulsing him with angry words?
He believes nothing that I say. A poor cold life is his! How should he
know, that the sorrows and the joys of love are so sweetly alike, so
closely linked, that it is not in human power to part them. When a
tear gushes out, a smile lies beneath; and a smile will draw the tears
from their secret cells."

She smiled through her tears in Huldbrand's face, and a warm ray of
his former love shot through his heart. She perceived this, pressed
closer to him, and with a few tears of joy she went on.

"As I found it impossible to get rid of our tormentor by words, I had
nothing for it, but to shut the door against him. And his only access
to us was that fountain. He has quarrelled with the other fountain
spirits in the surrounding valleys, and it is much lower down the
Danube, below the junction of some friends with the great river, that
his power begins again. Therefore I stopped the mouth of our fountain,
and inscribed the stone with characters which cripple the might of my
restless uncle; so that he can no longer cross your path, or mine, or
Bertalda's. Men can indeed lift the stone off as easily as ever; the
inscription has no power over them. So you are free to comply with
Bertalda's wish; but indeed, she little knows what she asks. Against
her the wild Kuehleborn has a most particular spite, and if some of his
forebodings were to come true, (as they might, without her intending
any harm) O, dearest, even thou wert not free from danger!"

Huldbrand deeply felt the generosity of his noble-minded wife, in so
zealously shutting out her formidable protector, even when reviled by
Bertalda for so doing. He clasped her fondly in his arms, and said
with much emotion, "The stone shall remain; and everything shall be
done as thou wishest, now and hereafter, my sweetest Undine."

Scarce could she trust these words of love, after so dreary an
estrangement; she returned his caresses with joyful but timid
gratitude, and at length said, "My own dear love, as you are so
exceedingly kind to me to-day, may I ask you to promise one thing?
Herein you are like the summer: is he not most glorious when he decks
his brows with thunders, and frowns upon us from his throne of clouds?
So it is when your eyes flash lightning; it becomes you well,
although in my weakness I may often shed a tear at it. Only--if you
would promise to refrain from it when we are sailing, or even near any
water. For there, you see, my relations have a right to control me.
They might relentlessly tear me from you in their wrath, fancying that
there is an insult offered to one of their race; and I should be
doomed to spend the rest of my life in the crystal palaces below,
without ever coming to you; or if they did send me up again--oh
Heaven, that would be far worse! No, no, my best beloved; you will not
let it come to that, if you love your poor Undine."

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