I wrapped myself up in my felt cloak and,sitting down on a rock by the fence,gazed into the distance.Before me stretched the sea,agitated by the storm of the previous night,and its monotonous roar,like the murmur of a town over which slumber is beginning to creep,recalled bygone years to my mind,and trans-ported my thoughts northward to our cold Capital.Agitated by my recollections,I became oblivious of my surroundings.
About an hour passed thus,perhaps even longer.Suddenly something resembling a song struck upon my ear.It was a song,and the voice was a woman's,young and fresh --but,where was it coming from?...I listened;it was a harmonious melody --now long-drawn-out and plaintive,now swift and lively.I looked around me --there was nobody to be seen.Ilistened again --the sounds seemed to be falling from the sky.I raised my eyes.On the roof of my cabin was standing a young girl in a striped dress and with her hair hanging loose --a regular water-nymph.Shading her eyes from the sun's rays with the palm of her hand,she was gazing intently into the distance.At one time,she would laugh and talk to herself,at another,she would strike up her song anew.
I have retained that song in my memory,word for word:
At their own free will They seem to wander O'er the green sea yonder,Those ships,as still They are onward going,With white sails flowing.
And among those ships My eye can mark My own dear barque:
By two oars guided (All unprovided With sails)it slips.
The storm-wind raves:
And the old ships --see!
With wings spread free,Over the waves They scatter and flee!
The sea I will hail With obeisance deep:
"Thou base one,hark!
Thou must not fail My little barque From harm to keep!"For lo!'tis bearing Most precious gear,And brave and daring The arms that steer Within the dark My little barque.
Involuntarily the thought occurred to me that I had heard the same voice the night before.
I reflected for a moment,and when I looked up at the roof again there was no girl to be seen.
Suddenly she darted past me,with another song on her lips,and,snapping her fingers,she ran up to the old woman.Thereupon a quarrel arose between them.The old woman grew angry,and the girl laughed loudly.And then Isaw my Undine running and gambolling again.
She came up to where I was,stopped,and gazed fixedly into my face as if surprised at my presence.
Then she turned carelessly away and went quietly towards the harbour.But this was not all.The whole day she kept hovering around my lodging,singing and gambolling without a moment's interruption.Strange creature!There was not the slightest sign of insanity in her face;on the contrary,her eyes,which were continually resting upon me,were bright and piercing.
Moreover,they seemed to be endowed with a certain magnetic power,and each time they looked at me they appeared to be expecting a question.
But I had only to open my lips to speak,and away she would run,with a sly smile.
Certainly never before had I seen a woman like her.She was by no means beautiful;but,as in other matters,I have my own prepossessions on the subject of beauty.There was a good deal of breeding in her...Breeding in women,as in horses,is a great thing:a discovery,the credit of which belongs to young France.It --that is to say,breeding,not young France --is chiefly to be detected in the gait,in the hands and feet;the nose,in particular,is of the greatest significance.In Russia a straight nose is rarer than a small foot.
My songstress appeared to be not more than eighteen years of age.The unusual suppleness of her figure,the characteristic and original way she had of inclining her head,her long,light-brown hair,the golden sheen of her slightly sunburnt neck and shoulders,and especially her straight nose --all these held me fascinated.Although in her sidelong glances I could read a certain wildness and disdain,although in her smile there was a certain vagueness,yet --such is the force of predilections --that straight nose of hers drove me crazy.I fancied that I had found Goethe's Mignon --that queer creature of his German imagination.And,indeed,there was a good deal of similarity between them;the same rapid transitions from the utmost restlessness to complete immobility,the same enigmatical speeches,the same gambols,the same strange songs.
Towards evening I stopped her at the door and entered into the following conversation with her.
"Tell me,my beauty,"I asked,"what were you doing on the roof to-day?""I was looking to see from what direction the wind was blowing.""What did you want to know for?"
"Whence the wind blows comes happiness."
"Well?Were you invoking happiness with your song?""Where there is singing there is also happi-ness."
"But what if your song were to bring you sorrow?""Well,what then?Where things won't be better,they will be worse;and from bad to good again is not far.""And who taught you that song?"
"Nobody taught me;it comes into my head and I sing;whoever is to hear it,he will hear it,and whoever ought not to hear it,he will not understand it.""What is your name,my songstress?"
"He who baptized me knows."
"And who baptized you?"
"How should I know?"
"What a secretive girl you are!But look here,I have learned something about you"--she neither changed countenance nor moved her lips,as though my discovery was of no concern to her --"I have learned that you went to the shore last night."And,thereupon,I very gravely retailed to her all that I had seen,thinking that I should embarrass her.Not a bit of it!She burst out laughing heartily.
"You have seen much,but know little;and what you do know,see that you keep it under lock and key.""But supposing,now,I was to take it into my head to inform the Commandant?"and here Iassumed a very serious,not to say stern,de-meanour.
She gave a sudden spring,began to sing,and hid herself like a bird frightened out of a thicket.
My last words were altogether out of place.
