Undine | Page 3

Friedrich de la Motte-Fouquée
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,
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