Undine
F >> Friedrich de la Motte Fouquee >> UndineTOLD TO THE CHILDREN SERIES
EDITED BY LOUEY CHISHOLM
[Illustration: On the threshold stood a little maiden.]
Friedrich de la Motte Fouquee
UNDINE
TOLD TO THE CHILDREN BY
MARY MACGREGOR
WITH PICTURES BY
KATHARINE CAMERON
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
* * * * *
TO MARGARET
* * * * *
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Undine is the name of the water maiden whose story you will read as
you turn the leaves of this little book.
Undine is beautiful as the dawn stealing across the waters, beautiful
as the spray of the crystal waves.
Yet when she comes to earth she comes to seek for that without which
her beauty will be for ever cold, cold and chill as the surge of the
salt, salt sea.
Look deep into her blue eyes and you will see why her beauty is so
cold, so chill.
In the eyes of every mortal you may see a soul. In the gay blue eyes
of Undine, look you long and never so deep, no soul will look forth to
meet your gaze.
Love, joy, sorrow, these are the pearls that shine in the eyes of
every mortal. But in the eyes of the water maiden there is no gleam
of love, no sparkle of joy, no tear of sorrow.
Undine has come to earth to seek for a soul. Without one she may never
know the golden gifts God has given to each mortal, gifts these of
love, joy, sorrow.
You will read in this little book how Undine, the water maiden, won
for herself a human soul.
MARY MACGREGOR.
CONTENTS
Chap.
I. The Fisherman and the Knight
II. Undine is Lost
III. Undine is Found
IV. The Knight's Story
V. The Knight stays at the Cottage
VI. The Wedding
VII. Undine's Story
VIII. Huldbrand and Undine leave the Cottage
IX. The Knight returns to the City
X. The Birthday Feast
XI. The Journey to Castle Ringstetten
XII. Castle Ringstetten
XIII. The Black Valley
XIV. Huldbrand forgets his Promise
XV. Huldbrand and Bertalda
XVI. Bertalda's Wedding
XVII. The Burial
LIST OF PICTURES
On the threshold stood a little maiden _Frontispiece_
Amid the sweet-scented grass, safe from the fury of the storm
'I saw in a great cavern a group of little goblins'
In the little cottage were heard the solemn words of the marriage service
The three travellers soon reached the leafy shades of the forest
At the sound of his voice the girl burst into tears
The little waves seemed to sob as they whispered, 'Alas! alas!'
Slowly, slowly there rose out of the mouth of the well a white figure
CHAPTER I
THE FISHERMAN AND THE KNIGHT
A fisherman brought a stool to the doorway of his home and, sitting
down, he began to mend his nets.
His cottage stood in the midst of green meadows, and his eyes grew
glad as he looked at the green grass. After the heat of the fair
summer's day it was so cool, so refreshing.
At the foot of the meadows lay a large lake of clear blue water. The
fisherman knew it well. It was there his work was done, through
sunshine or through storm.
To-day, as his gaze wandered from the green meadows to the blue lake,
he thought he saw the waters stretch out soft arms, until slowly they
drew the fair meadows, the little cottage into a loving embrace.
The fisherman, his wife and their foster-child lived very quietly on
this pleasant spot. It was but seldom that any one passed their door,
for between the beautiful meadows and the nearest town lay a wood. So
wild and gloomy was the wood, so tangled its pathway, that no one
cared to enter it.
Moreover, it was said that there were strange beings lurking amid the
gloom--ugly goblins, misshapen gnomes; and there were shadowy spirits
too, which flitted through the branches of the strongest trees, and
these even the bravest would not wish to see.
Through this dark and haunted wood the old fisherman had often to
journey.
It was true that he entered the dreaded shades with fear, yet no
spectre ever crossed his path. But perhaps that was because the
thoughts of the old man were pure, or perhaps because he never entered
the forest without singing a hymn in a clear brave voice.
As the fisherman sat mending his nets on this fair summer eve he began
to move restlessly, to glance around uneasily.
Then a sudden terror fell upon him as he heard a noise in the forest
behind.
Ah, how the trees rustled and how the grass was being trampled
underfoot! Could it be a horseman who made haste to escape from some
terrible foe?
And now, although he was wide awake, the fisherman seemed to see a
figure, which he had seen before only in his dreams.
He saw the figure of a tall, strong, snow-white man, who came with
slow steps toward him, and at each step he took, the figure nodded his
great white head.
The fisherman rubbed his eyes as he glanced toward the wood. At the
same moment the wind seemed to blow the leaves aside to make room for
the snow-white man, whose head never ceased to nod.
'Well,' said the fisherman to himself, 'I have ever passed through the
forest unharmed, why should I fear that evil will befall me here?' and
he began to repeat aloud a verse of the Bible.
At the sound of his own voice courage crept back into the heart of the
fisherman, moreover the words of the Holy Book rebuked his fears. Nor
was it long before he was able even to laugh and to see how foolish he
had been.
For listen! The white nodding man was after all only a stream which
the fisherman knew very well, a stream which ran and bubbled out of
the forest and fell into the lake. As for the rustling noise, the
fisherman saw what had caused that, as a gaily clad knight rode forth
from the forest shadows toward the little cottage.
This was no spectre or spirit of the wood, this stranger who wore the
garments of a knight of high degree. He rode a white horse, which
stepped softly, so that the flowers in the meadows lifted their
delicate heads uninjured by his tread.
The fisherman raised his cap as the stranger drew near, and then
quietly went on mending his nets.
Now when the knight saw the old man's face it was welcome to him, as
indeed any human face would have been after the terrors of the forest.
There he had seen strange mocking faces peering at him whichever way
he turned, there he had been followed by strange shadowy forms from
which escape had been wellnigh impossible; here at length was a kind
and friendly mortal. He would ask him for the food and shelter of
which both he and his steed stood in need.
'Dear sir,' answered the fisherman when he had listened to the
knight's request, 'dear sir, if you will deign to enter our lonely
cottage, you will find a welcome with the food and shelter we offer.
As for your horse, can it have a better stable than this tree-shaded
meadow, or more delicious fodder than this green grass?'
Well pleased with this answer, the knight dismounted, and together he
and the fisherman freed the white horse from its saddle and bridle,
and turned it loose into the waving meadow.
Then the old man led the stranger into the cottage.
Here, by the light of the kitchen fire, sat the fisherman's wife. She
rose, with a kind greeting for the unexpected guest. Then seating
herself again in her armchair, she pointed to an old stool with a
broken leg. 'Sit there, good knight,' she said; 'only you must sit
still, lest the broken leg prove too weak to bear you.'
Carrying the stool over beside the old woman, the knight placed it
carefully on the floor and seated himself as he was bidden. As he sat
there talking with the good old fisherman and his wife, it seemed to
him almost as though he were their son, who had come home again after
journeying in a distant land.
It was only when the knight began to speak of the wood that the
fisherman grew restless and refused to listen.
'It were wiser, Sir Knight,' he said, 'not to talk of the wood at
nightfall, or indeed to say much of it at any time.'
And then the old couple told their guest how simply they lived in the
little cottage by the lake, and they in their turn listened eagerly
while the knight told them of himself. He was named Sir Huldbrand, and
he dwelt in his castle of Ringstetten, which stood near the source of
the river Danube.
Now, as he talked or listened to the quiet tales of the old fisherman,
the knight heard a strange sound that seemed to come from the
direction of the window. Again and again it came, a strange sound as
of water being dashed against the window-panes.
It was plain that the fisherman heard it too, for at each splash a
frown crossed his good-natured face.
A louder splash, and a shower of water streamed through the loosely
built window-frame into the kitchen.
Then the old man could sit still no longer. He hastened to the window,
and opening it called out in an angry voice, 'Undine, cease these
childish tricks. A stranger, and he a knight, is in our cottage.'
A low laugh answered him. Hearing it, the old man shut the window and
sat down again, saying to his guest, 'Sir Knight, forgive this rude
behaviour. Undine my foster-daughter is still only a child, although
she is now nearly eighteen years of age. Yet her tricks are harmless,
and she herself is full of kindness.'
'Ah,' said the old woman to her husband, 'to you, who are not with her
save when the day's work is over, her pranks may seem harmless. But
you would not talk so lightly of her ways were she by your side all
day. Ever I must watch her, lest she spoil my baking, or undo my
spinning or burn the soup. Nay--'
'It is true,' said the old man, interrupting his wife with a smile,
'it is true that you have the maiden by your side throughout the
livelong day, while I have but the sea. Yet when the sea is rough and
breaks down my dykes I do not love it the less. Even so do you love
the little one no less for all her tricks and tiresome ways.'
The old woman turned to her guest. 'Indeed, Sir Knight, he speaks
truly. It is not possible to be angry with the maiden long.'
At that moment the door flew open, and she, the maiden of whom they
spoke, entered the little kitchen. She was fairer far than any one the
knight had ever seen.
'Father,' she cried, 'where is he, the stranger guest?'
Even as she spoke her eyes fell on the knight, who had sprung to his
feet as she entered the cottage. He stood gazing in wonder at the
marvellous beauty of the maiden.
But before he could greet her, she was at his side, trustingly looking
up into his face. Then kneeling before him, she seized his hand and
made him seat himself again on the broken old stool.
'You are beautiful, Sir Knight,' she said, 'but how did you come to
this little cottage? Have you looked for us long before you could find
us? Have you had to pass through the terrible forest ere you could
reach us, Sir Knight?'
The knight would have told the maiden the story of his adventures in
the wood, but Undine's foster-mother was already speaking, and her
tones were loud and angry.
'Go, maiden, go get you to work, and trouble not the stranger with
your questions.'
Then Undine, unashamed, drew a little footstool near to Huldbrand, and
sitting down to her spinning, cried, 'I shall work here, close to the
beautiful knight.'
The old fisherman took no notice of the wilful maiden, and began to
speak of other things, hoping that the guest would forget his
foster-daughter's questions.
But even had the knight been able to forget, Undine did not mean to
sit there quietly, her questions unanswered.
Her sweet voice broke upon the silence. 'Our beautiful guest has not
yet told me how he reached our cottage,' she said.
'It is even as you thought,' answered the knight. 'I journeyed through
the haunted wood ere I found this safe and hospitable shelter.'
'Then tell me of your wonderful adventures,' demanded the maiden, 'for
without these no one may pass through the forest.'
Huldbrand shuddered as he remembered the strange beings who had
startled him as he rode through the wood. He glanced distrustfully
toward the window. Were the grim figures there, peering at him through
the window-pane? No, he could see nothing save the dim night light,
which now closed them in.
The knight drew himself up, ashamed of his foolish fears, and turning
toward the maiden, he was beginning to tell her of the wonders which
had befallen him, when the fisherman hurriedly interrupted.
'Nay, now, Sir Knight,' he cried, 'tell not your tale until the hours
of dark have passed.'
At her foster-father's words Undine sprang angrily from the footstool
and stood before him. Her eyes flashed and grew larger, colder.
'You say to the stranger not to tell his tale, father,' she cried,
'you say to him not to answer me. But he shall speak, he shall, he
shall!' And in her anger she stamped her little feet.
The knight wellnigh smiled as he watched the maiden's wrath, but the
old man was grieved that the stranger should see the wayward behaviour
of his foster-child, and he reproved her for her anger. The old woman
also muttered her displeasure.
Then Undine slipped quickly toward the door of the little cottage. She
did not choose to listen to these rebukes.
'I will not stay with you, for you do nothing but scold me, and you
will not do anything that I wish,' she cried, and before they could
reach her she had opened the door, and was away and out, out into the
dark night.
CHAPTER II
UNDINE IS LOST
Huldbrand and the fisherman sprang after the maiden, but when they
reached the door of the cottage and looked out into the night she was
nowhere to be seen, nor could they catch the sound of her tiny feet to
guide them whither she had fled.
The knight looked in astonishment at his host. Was the beautiful
maiden only another of the wonderful beings who had bewildered him in
the forest? Was she some lovely elf or sprite who had come but to vex
them with her pranks?
But as he looked at the old man standing by his side, and saw the
tears streaming from his eyes, he knew it was for no spirit of the
wood that he thus grieved.
'Alas,' sighed the fisherman, 'this is not the first time that the
maiden has treated us thus. It may be she will not return the
livelong night, and until she returns it is not possible that we
should close our eyes. For what terror may not seize upon her as she
wanders hither and thither in the darkness.'
'We must follow her, father, follow her without delay!' cried the
young knight.
'Nay,' answered the fisherman, 'my limbs are stiff. Though I knew
whither she had fled, I could never follow with speed enough to reach
her. Ever she would vanish as I drew near, for she is fleet, fleet as
an arrow from the bow.'
'If we may not follow her, at least let us call and entreat her to
return,' said the young knight, and without waiting for an answer he
called, 'Undine! Undine!'
But the old man shook his head. 'It is useless to call,' he said, 'the
little one will not heed your voice.' Yet still the knight's cry rang
out into the night, 'Undine, dear Undine, I pray you return!'
No answer came back from the darkness, and at length Huldbrand
returned with the fisherman to the cottage.
The old woman, who seemed little troubled by Undine's flight, had gone
to bed and the fire was wellnigh out. But the fisherman, drawing the
ashes together, placed wood on the top of them, and soon the fire
blazed brightly.
Then in the light of the flames they sat and talked, yet they thought
only of Undine. The window rattled. They raised their heads to listen.
The rain fell in heavy drops, pitter, patter. They thought it was the
tread of tiny feet.
'It is she, it is Undine!' they would cry, yet still the maiden did
not come. Then they shook their heads sadly, but as they went on
talking they listened still.
'It was fifteen years ago, on such a night of wind and rain, that she
came,' murmured the old man. 'Our home was sad and desolate, for we
had lost our own little child.'
'Ah,' said the knight, 'tell me how the beautiful maiden came to your
little cottage.'
Now this is the story the fisherman told to the knight.
'It is fifteen years ago,' began the old man, 'since I went through
the forest, hoping to sell my fish in the city beyond. I was alone,
for my wife was at home watching our little babe. Our little babe was
dear to us and very fair.
'In the evening, having sold all my fish, I went home through the
haunted forest, nor did I fear its gloom, for the Lord was at my
right hand.
'But no sooner had I left the wood than I saw my wife running toward
me, while tears streamed from her eyes. She had dressed herself, I
noticed, in black garments, and this she was not used to do. I felt
sure that trouble had befallen us.
'"Where is our child, our little one?" I cried, though even as I spoke
my voice was choked with sobs.
'"Our child is with God, the great Father," answered my wife.
'Then in the midst of her tears the poor mother told her sad tale.
'"I took our child down to the edge of the lake, and there we played
together, so happy, so merry. Suddenly the little one bent forward as
though she saw something beautiful in the water. Then she smiled, and
stretched out her tiny hands, and even as she did so, she slipped from
my arms into the lake, and I saw her no more."
'That evening,' said the fisherman, 'my wife and I sat by our hearth
in silence, we were too sad for words. Suddenly the door of our
cottage flew open, and there before us,[1] on the threshold, stood a
little maiden, three or four years of age. Her eyes were blue and her
hair was gold and she was clothed in beautiful garments.
[Footnote 1: See frontispiece.]
'We gazed in wonder at the tiny vision. Who was she? From whence had
she come? Was she only a magic child come to mock us in our
loneliness, or was she a real, a living child?
'Then as we looked we saw that water trickled from her golden hair and
that little streams were gathering at her tiny feet, as the water
dripped and dripped from her beautiful clothing.
'"She must have fallen into the lake," I said to my wife, "and in some
strange way have wandered into our cottage. We have lost our own dear
child, let us now do all we can to help this little one." Thus it came
to pass that the little stranger slept in the cot in which until now
our own babe had lain.
'When morning dawned my wife fed our tiny guest with bread and milk,
and the little one looked upon us, and her blue eyes danced merrily,
but never a word did she say.
'We asked her where her father and mother dwelt and how she had come
to our cottage. But her only answer was some childish talk of crystal
palaces and shining pearls. Even now indeed she speaks of things so
marvellous that we know not what to think.
'After some days we asked her once again from whence she came. She
told us that she had been on the sea with her mother, and had fallen
from her arms into the water, nor had she known more until she awoke
under the trees, close to our cottage, so well pleased with the fair
shore that she felt no fear.
'Then we said, "Let us keep the little stranger, and care for her as
we would have cared for our own lost child." We sent for a priest, who
baptized her, giving her the name by which she called herself, though
indeed it seemed no name for a Christian child.
'"Undine," said the priest as he performed the holy rite, while she,
the little one, stood before him gentle and sweet. No sooner, however,
was the service ended than she grew wild, wilful as was her way. For
it is true that my wife has had much trouble with the maiden--'
At that moment the knight interrupted the fisherman.
'Listen,' he cried, 'how the stream roars as it dashes past the
window!'
Together they sprang to the door. The moon had risen, and the knight
and the fisherman saw that the stream which ran from the wood had
burst its banks. It was now rushing wildly along, carrying with it
stones and roots of trees. As they looked, the clouds grew dark and
crept across the face of the moon, the wind rose and lashed the water
of the lake into great waves.
'Undine! Undine!' cried the two men together, but no answer reached
them save the shrieking of the wind among the trees of the forest.
Then, careless of the storm, the fisherman and the knight rushed from
the cottage in search of the maiden.
CHAPTER III
UNDINE IS FOUND
As Huldbrand rushed out into the night, followed by the fisherman, the
storm seemed to rage yet more fiercely. The old man was soon left far
behind in the search for the lost maiden.
The knight, battling bravely with the storm, hastened hither and
thither, but all his efforts were vain. Undine was nowhere to be
found.
And now, as the rain dashed down upon him and the wind hustled him,
Huldbrand grew bewildered. The storm seemed to have changed the
peaceful meadows into a weary wilderness, and even the maiden herself
seemed to flit before him as a phantom spirit of the wind.
Could it all have been but a dream? Had the cottage, the fisherman and
his wife been as unreal as the figures that had followed him in the
haunted forest? No, that he would not believe, for even yet in the
distance he could hear the faint echo of the fisherman's voice as he
called out pitifully, 'Undine! Undine!' Now in his search the knight
had reached the edge of the stream. The stream, as you know, had
already overflowed its bank, and as the moon suddenly shone through
the dark clouds, Huldbrand saw that the water was rushing back toward
the forest. In this way the little bit of meadow-land on which the
fisherman's cottage stood was turned into an island.
A terrible thought struck the knight. Had Undine strayed into the
fearful forest she could not now return to the cottage, save across
the raging stream, nay, she might even now be surrounded by the
spirits of the wood. She would be among them alone, helpless.
At once Huldbrand made up his mind to cross the torrent. He plunged
into the water, and even as he did so he seemed to see on the other
shore the figure of a tall white man, who nodded his head and mocked
him as he struggled on. Huldbrand knew the tall white figure only too
well. It was the one that had followed him as he journeyed through the
forest.
Now; in his haste to find Undine, the knight was leaping from stone to
stone, sometimes slipping into the water, then with a struggle
placing his feet once again upon the stones. These, tossed by the
rushing stream, gave no firm foothold to the knight, and he was forced
to seize the branch of a fir-tree to help him across the dangerous
passage.
While he was still in the midst of the current, he heard a sweet voice
crying, 'Trust not the stream, trust it not, for it is full of craft!'
The knight knew the voice. It was that of the maiden for whom he
sought. Yet though he peered eagerly through the gloom he could see no
trace of her.
'See! you can find me now, Sir Knight, for the moon is shining clear,'
cried the voice he longed to hear, and looking around him Huldbrand
saw where Undine had found a shelter. It was on a little island,
beneath the branches of a great tree, that the maiden sat. There was
no terror of the storm in her eyes. She was even smiling happily as
she nestled amid the sweet scented grass, safe from the fury of the
storm.
A few quick strides and the knight had crossed the stream and stood by
the side of the maiden. She bade him sit down on the grass, and then,
whispering low, she said, 'You shall tell me your story here, Sir
Knight, on this quiet island here, where no cross old people will
disturb us, and where we are sheltered from the storm that rages
beyond.'
[Illustration: Amid the sweet-scented grass, safe from the fury of the
storm]
Then Huldbrand forgot all about the old man who was still seeking for
his child, forgot too all about the old woman who was alone in the
little cottage by the lake, and he sat down to tell his tale as the
maiden wished.
Meanwhile the fisherman had reached the brink of the stream, and great
was his surprise to see the knight seated by the side of his lost
child.
'You have found her, you have found my little one!' he cried
reproachfully. 'Why did you not hasten to tell me she was found, Sir
Knight?'
Then Huldbrand was ashamed, though, as he told the old man, it was but
a little while since his search had ceased.
'Bring her without more delay to the mainland!' shouted the fisherman,
when he had listened to the sorry excuse which was all the knight
could offer.
But Undine had no wish to go home. She would rather stay with the
knight in the forest than go back to the cottage, for there, so she
said, no one would do as she wished.
Then, flinging her arms around the knight, she clung to him and
begged him to stay with her in the forest.
The old fisherman wept as he heard her words, yet Undine did not seem
to notice his tears. But the knight could not help seeing the old
man's grief, and he was troubled.