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Page 32
CHAPTER 7
The writer of this tale, both because it moves his own heart and he
wishes it to move that of others, asks a favour of you, dear reader.
Forgive him if he passes over a considerable space of time in a few
words, and only tells you generally what therein happened. He knows
well that it might be unfolded skilfully, and step by step, how
Huldbrand's heart began to turn from Undine and towards Bertalda--how
Bertalda met the young knight with ardent love, and how they both
looked upon the poor wife as a mysterious being, more to be dreaded
than pitied--how Undine wept, and her tears stung the conscience of
her husband, without recalling his former love; so that though at
times he showed kindness to her, a cold shudder soon forced him to
turn from her to his fellow-mortal Bertalda;--all this, the writer
knows, might have been drawn out fully, and perhaps it ought to have
been. But it would have made him too sad; for he has witnessed such
things, and shrinks from recalling even their shadow. Thou knowest,
probably, the like feeling, dear reader; for it is the lot of mortal
man. Happy art thou if thou hast received the injury, not inflicted
it; for in this case it is more blessed to receive than to give.
Then only a soft sorrow at such a recollection passes through thy
heart, and perhaps a quiet tear trickles down thy cheek over the
faded flowers in which thou once so heartily rejoiced. This is
enough: we will not pierce our hearts with a thousand separate
stings, but only bear in mind that all happened as I just now said.
Poor Undine was greatly troubled; and the other two were very far
from being happy. Bertalda in particular, whenever she was in the
slightest degree opposed in her wishes, attributed the cause to the
jealousy and oppression of the injured wife. She was therefore daily
in the habit of showing a haughty and imperious demeanour, to which
Undine yielded with a sad submission; and which was generally
encouraged strongly by the now blinded Huldbrand.
What disturbed the inmates of the castle still more, was the endless
variety of wonderful apparitions which assailed Huldbrand and
Bertalda in the vaulted passages of the building, and of which
nothing had ever been heard before within the memory of man. The
tall white man, in whom Huldbrand but too plainly recognized Undine's
uncle Kuhleborn, and Bertalda the spectral master of the waterworks,
often passed before them with threatening aspect and gestures; more
especially, however, before Bertalda, so that, through terror, she
had several times already fallen sick, and had, in consequence,
frequently thought of quitting the castle. Yet partly because
Huldbrand was but too dear to her, and she trusted to her innocence,
since no words of love had passed between them, and partly also
because she knew not whither to direct her steps, she lingered where
she was.
The old fisherman, on receiving the message from the lord of
Ringstetten that Bertalda was his guest, returned answer in some
lines almost too illegible to be deciphered, but still the best his
advanced life and long disuse of writing permitted him to form.
"I have now become," he wrote, "a poor old widower, for my beloved
and faithful wife is dead. But lonely as I now sit in my cottage, I
prefer Bertalda's remaining where she is, to her living with me.
Only let her do nothing to hurt my dear Undine, else she will have my
curse."
The last words of this letter Bertalda flung to the winds; but the
permission to remain from home, which her father had granted her, she
remembered and clung to--just as we are all of us wont to do in
similar circumstances.
One day, a few moments after Huldbrand had ridden out, Undine called
together the domestics of the family, and ordered them to bring a
large stone, and carefully to cover with it a magnificent fountain,
that was situated in the middle of the castle court. The servants
objected that it would oblige them to bring water from the valley
below. Undine smiled sadly.
"I am sorry, my friends," replied she, "to increase your labour; I
would rather bring up the water-vessels myself: but this fountain
must indeed be closed. Believe me when I say that it must be done,
and that only by doing it we can avoid a greater evil."
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