CHAPTER V
HOW THE KNIGHT FARED ON THE PENINSULA
Now my story hath a pause. Perchance, thou too, who readest these lines, may, after many a buffet in this rude world, have reached at length some haven where all was well with thee. Home and the peace of home, which all must needs desire, appeal strongly to thy heart; and here thou thinkest is a home where the flowers of childhood may bloom ay, and that pure deep love which resteth on the graves of our dead may encircle thee. ’Tis good thou sayest to be here, and here will I build me a habitation. Nay, an thou mayest have erred and have had afterwards to do bitter penance for thine error, that mattereth not to thee now, nor wilt thou sadden thyself with unwelcome memories. But call up again in thy sweet hopes of future joy which no tongue may utter, bring back again to thy mind that heavenly sense of peace, and then, methinks, thou shalt know somewhat of how it was with Huldbrand while he lived on the peninsula.
Full oft he saw, and it pleasured him right well, how every day the forest stream rolled along more wildly; how it made its bed ever wider and wider, and so prolonged his stay on the island. Part of the day it was his wont to ramble with an old crossbow which he had found in a corner of the cottage and had repaired; and watching for the waterfowl, he shot all he could for the cottage kitchen. When he brought back his booty, Undine would oft upbraid him for his cruelty in robbing the happy birds of their life; yea, she would shed bitter tears at the sight. But, if it chanced that he brought nothing home, then she would scold him no less earnestly, for that now, through his carelessness and want of skill, they must be content with a fare of fish alone. Nathless, her pretty scoldings pleased him right well, the more so as she made amends for her angry reproaches by the sweetest caresses.
Now the old people saw how it was with the young pair, and they were well content; they looked upon them as betrothed or as already married, so that they might still live on in this isolation, and be a succour and a help to them in their old age. Nay, to Huldbrand himself, the loneliness of the place seemed to suggest the thought that he was already Undine’s accepted suitor. To him it appeared as if there were no world beyond these encircling waters, and no other men with whom he might mingle if he recrossed them. When at times his horse might chance to neigh to remind him of knightly deeds, or the coat of arms on his saddle and horse-gear confront him with a frown, or his sword of a sudden fall from its nail on the wall, slipping from its scabbard, as it fell; he would stay his uneasiness by murmuring to himself “Undine, certès, is no fisherman’s daughter, she is sprung more likely from a princely house in some foreign land.” But one matter irked him sore. It was when the old dame scolded Undine in his presence. Not that the maiden cared a jot, she was wont to laugh and took no pains to hide her mirth. But his own honour seemed concerned therein, albeit that he could not blame the fisherman’s wife, for Undine ever deserved ten times the, reproof that she received. In his heart he could not but feel that the balance was in the old woman’s favour. And so his life flowed on in happiness and peace.
