"^ Jl M ?Smz. Class. GoipghtN''. iq±^ COFVRIGHT DEPOSrr UNDINE UNDINE A POEM ADAPTED IN PART FROM THE ROMANCE BY DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE BY ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON PHILADELPHIA H. W. FISHER & COMPANY MDCCCCXIV ■T5 Copyright, 19 1 4 By a. De C. Patterson Published, September, 1914 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. Of'. OCT I 19/4 'CI,A380673 TO I. De C. FOREWORD Since earliest childhood I have felt the charm of De La Motte Fouque's story of Undine ; but in later years, re-reading the tale, it seemed to me he had somewhat over-crowded the stage. And so I wrote this poem, narrowing the number of char- acters to the fewest possible, while realizing that all that was best in the verses was due primarily to M. Fouque. A. De C. p. UNDINE UNDINE A POEM ADAPTED IN PART FROM THE ROMANCE BY DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE The interior of a fisherman's cottage, one window looking on the sea, the other on the Enchanted Forest. THE fisherman's WIFE How wild the night is, Husband, and the waves Roll : mountain high! Dire news the mom will bring. THE FISHERMAN {resignedly) We fisher-folk inherit watery graves. Lives must end somehow: — pain and f^: suffering Come with our birth. But listen! There's a cry Like a young child's. The Fisherman opens the door and re- veals a little girl in tears. The tears change into happy laughter. [ II 1 UNDINE I thought some one would come To let me in! It's cold out here, and I Am all alone, and strange. My hands are numb — I '11 warm them at your fire. I 'm hun- gry, too— I 'd like a little cake and cup of tea — That cup up there, of pretty green and bluel Undine points to a cupboard. Imme- diately the best cup and saucer is taken down. After Undine has supped she again addresses her hosts. And now make up a little bed for me; I 'm tired and sleepy in a funny way — Such as I think I never was before! THE fisherman's WIFE First tell us where you come from, child, I pray. UNDINE I know not: — only this, that to your door A great wave brought me. Ah, I like it here, 1 12] And I am going to stay, and be your child I She throws herself lightly upon a hastily made cot, and in a moment is fast asleep. THE fisherman's WIFE {making the sign of the cross over her) No one has taught her how to pray, I fear. But when I made the blessed sign, she smiled. [13I The same cottage ten years later. Sir Huldbrand of Ringstettin, who has just ridden through the Enchanted Forest, begs of the Fisherman and his wife entertainment for the night. SIR HULDBRAND Kind Folks, I do beseech of you a bed Where I may sleep in peace, ere I return The way I came. At night such spectres dread Infest those woods, that every tree and fern Seems to vibrate with presences malign. THE FISHERMAN You're more than welcome to our poor abode: Be seated while we bring you bread and wine. Your coming serves to lift from us the load Of loneliness we sometimes feel, my wife And I, and our sole child, the little one [14] Who, years ago now, came into our life In strangest way; brought here indeed by none But the great sea itself I Suddenly, though the moon is shining, there is a dash of water against the window. The Fisherman continues, apologetically. Ahl that's Undine I— Full of wild tricks as ever, since the night She first came to us. All our care has been To tame this little wildling, but a sprite She seems, although with a most loving heart. He calls sternly at the window: Undine, Undine, can't thou for once be still! Beside our hearth a stranger sits. De- part, I beg of thee, — or come in, if thy will. There is another splash on the window, followed by a sound of silvery laughter. Then Undine appears. She does not see Huldbrand. Turning to her f)ster- father, she stamps her foot and cries: [i5l I knew that thou wert makiiig game of me. There's no one here! Sir Huldtrand, darJtd ty her young, fair beauty, comes forward. Ah, but this time I 'm wrong. I pray you, Sir, be seated. I shall be Quiet as one could wish. The hours seemed long To-day. but now they will ha\'e swiftest wings. She drazTS up a little cricket beside the knight. You must ha\e come through \'onder woods and dales, — I 'd like to hear of \'our strange happen- ings. THE FI5HE?-M\N*5 WIFE ^annoyed ut such boldness) The night is no fit time to hear such tales! UNDINE {spriniini to her feet) Nay, but it is my will the tales to hear! [i6] THE FISHEE^AN'S WIFE Undine, thou art a most unruly child! Go to thy room, and do not thou appear Again 'til thou hast curbed thy temper wild. Undine opens the door and darts into the night. The sound of a mighty wind rises, followed by the roar of waters. The moon goes out like a candle. The Fisherman quickly lights a lantern, but Huldbrand takes it from him. HULDBRAND My friend, this tempest needeth younger blood To cope with it in all its rising strength. Mark how the sea hath risen, for the flood Is even at your doorway I He starts to ford the torrent. Now at length I know what love means, for I know despair I Death may already have her in its hold. That child! I thought above the waters there I caught a glimpse of tresses spun of gold. [17] HiiUtrand reaches a small island sheltered ty thick trees from the storm. He hears a ripple of laughter, and, to his amazement, finds Undine. The moon appears again . UNDINE {ziinding her arms about the knighfs neck) Here will I listen to thee; — far away From noise of scolding tongues, and angr\' e\'es That do reprove me all the night and da\-I Here will I kiss thee, 'til the moonlight dies. For the first time I know what kisses are! Winged things — flame-tipped — and with the strength to bear The spirit upward to that farthest star; — And then beyond — to — ah, I know not where! HULDBRAN'D {after returning her tender caresses) Meanwhile, dear Child, two other hearts must ache With fear lest any harm has come to thee. [i8] UNDINE I care not in the least if they should break I Yet somehow just thy wish seems law for me. I will go home, if thou wilt but remain Beside me. See, already dawn is here. Thy tales they 'II hear now without fear of bane. Ah, the great joy of feeling thee so near! The foster-parents, relieved at Undine's safe return, make no further objection when she again demands from Huld- brand a recital of his recent expe- riences. HULDBRAND Mine was a restless spirit, so I went To the Imperial City first, to seek Adventure. And I found it there and spent Most freely of my substance! Many a week Two bright black eyes helped hold me, eyes like flame, Which burned for me alone, so gossip said, [19] Praising the while that most fair lady's name. At her request through these wild woods I sped, Which in my mem'ry ever will be fraught With horror of strange sound and stranger sight; Of rushing water, while a creature caught And held me in its arms so cold and white, Until my very heart seemed to congeal. I thought at last death had me in its thrall, My head swam and I could no longer feel ; When lol— the thing proved but a water- fall 1 I had the promise, if I safe returned, My fair one would reward me with her glove. Huldbrand is suddenly conscious of a sharp pain in the hand next to Un- dine. He finds she has bitten it al- most to the bone. He continues, quickly but quietly. But yet my heart before I went had spurned All thoughts of her proud beauty and her love — I only wished my courage bold to prove. I 20] Huldbrand looks steadily at Undine, who returns his ga^e, and then without a word goes to her room. Huldbrand falls asleep, to dream con- tinuously of the beautiful girl. But curious questionings mingle with his dreams. HULDBRAND Her eyes with changefu lights and shad- ows gleam; Like rippling water is her laughter clear; But though she doth illumine every dream, My heart is burdened with the strangest fear. Is she a water-sprite or human child — More light she is, more lovely than a fay — If I should wed her, would she prove a mild And loving wife — or turn to foamy spray? In spite of these suspicions, the knight lingers at the cottage, and finally, when a priest comes to visit the fisher-folk, he persuades them to let him make Undine his wife. Just before the ceremony Undine seems particularly elfish. [21] UNDINE A brave new game is this they're teach- ing me — I think I '11 like it! It will be more fun Than chasing wavelets back into the sea, Or blowing rainbow bubbles in the sun. A brave new game, where I am called the bride. She must be always pretty, with gold hair As bright as mine is, coral-lipped, blue- eyed, And with a heart that knoweth naught of care! [22] The next morning reveals an Undine so gentle and considerate that her foster- parents and even her husband regard her almost with awe. Before leaving for the knighfs home they revisit the island which sheltered them the time of the storm. UNDINE When I come here the strangest memories Flutter like white-winged moths, now here, now there: Only on one I seem at times to seize That tells me I was born, not of the air Nor of the earth, but of the wave;— a sprite Who cared for me wished I might have a soul, Which could not come unless I should unite My being with a mortal's. You control Me now. You gave me soul as well as name. But with it must earth's sorrow also go? I know not. Only I 'm no more the same [23] Light-hearted child, once free as winds that blow, Glad as the fish that dart like tiny fires Through lake and river, loving just their life, So free of care and these new strange de- sires — So ignorant of human pain and strife. Will the moon some day seem all white with pain — The streams that I have loved made up of tears? Beloved, take me to your heart again, And stop with kisses all these haunting fears I HULDBRAND (caressing his young wife tenderly, though shivering somewhat, as a huge wave, which advances threateningly toward the island, at a gesture from undine, recedes) May all the powers of heaven, earth and sea Shield and protect thee, little bride of mine! Most guilty of mankind regarding me Should I prove faithless to this trust of thine. [24] Rest here, Undine, in happy confidence; Here on my breast no terrors can af- fright,— The very love of thee must drive them hence. E'en as the day dispels the shades of night. [25] // is two years later. Sir Huldbrand still loves his ^ood and beautiful wife, but the charms of the lady for whom he had once dared the Enchanted Forest have also taken hold of his impressionable nature. UNDINE {addressing her husband before the three set out for a row on the lake) This morning I have had thy men seal tight The fountain in the courtyard, for I fear Malicious tricks from the great Water- Sprite Whose home within the lake is far too near. And, Huldbrand, I must warn thee yet again — Thou dost forget now to be always kind — Refrain from any harsh words to me when Upon the water. O keep this in mind! The lady joins them. Undine sits silent in one end of the boat while the other two converse in low tones. After [26] a while the lady unfastens a necklace given her by Sir Huldbrand. She regards it dreamily as it drags along the waves. THE LADY The waters lap it 'round caressingly, As though they thought it were a living thing; Indeed it seemeth all alive to me, Amid the waves there, flashing, quiv- ering. Each golden link in form is like a star, Sparkling with many gems of brightest ray,— Ah, how I love the jewel, never far Is it from me, I wear it night and day! A great hand, from which hang strands of seaweed, rises from the waves and, seizing the necklace, disappears with it. Its owner bursts into frightened tears. UNDINE (with quick solicitude) Poor child 1 Perhaps, though, I can comfort thee And still thy grief, by offering instead [27] The fairest gems afforded by the sea; — For pearls I 'II send, and coral rosy red. Undine dips her hand into the water and in a few moments, with a smile of in- effable sweetness, extends to her rival a necklace far more exquisite. But Sir Huldbrand snatches it from her. HULDBRAND Must I be always troubled in this way, Not knowing what strange thing will happen next? Peace is an unknown word now: — since the day I met thee has my soul been sorely vexed I Have done with all these heathen ways of thine — From thee and all thy brood I would be free I This necklace with its witch-like shade and shine I hurl with curses back into the seal Undine, turning white as the foam it- self, slips quietly over the side of the boat. After vain attempts to find her, her former companions seek the shore. [28 1 A voice seems to follow them. It is like Undine's, hut strangely muffled. Again and again it repeats the same prayer. THE VOICE Beloved, fare thee well, but O be true To poor Undine! She fain would ever keep Thee safe from evil they will plan to do — The water-spirits — who know naught of sleep When one they love endures a grievous wrong 1 Be true to her, Undine, who is not dead: Elsewise her power cannot shield thee long And thy brief days must end in pain and dread. Be faithful to her, as thy living wife, For thine own sake, nor for a moment dwell On thoughts of a new bride to cheer thy life: Beloved, O Beloved, fare thee well I And then, fainter still, as though it were but an echo, come the words: [29] The fountain in the courtyard keep tight sealed. If ever the great stone be rolled away The strength of things unseen will be revealed, To crown with swiftest doom that fatal day. [30] For many months Sir Huldbrand in anguish of spirit mourns his wife. Often he is consoled in dreams, but finally when he becomes betrothed to the companion of his misfortune the dreams cease. He continues, however, the mournfulest of lovers, even to the time of the wedding. THE LADY (on the night of their marriage) I must shake free of some strange influ- ence Which seems to compass us in baleful way. Perchance my scorn of it might drive it thence; — T is worth the trying, come what evil may! (To one of her maidens) Go, have the courtyard fountain swift unsealed: Its waters I am told have magic power; The face they lave but once will be re- vealed As fragrant and as lovely as a flower. [31] The fountain, at the bride's request, is unsealed. The bridegroom, in no hurry to part with his gloomy thoughts, is standing by a window in his own room thinking of his first marriage. There is a tap on his door. HULDBRAND (too full of fear to look around) Thus was she wont to do, so long ago, With lightest touch. Ah, may the heav- ens forgive My many sinsl They seem to burn and glow, Tormenting every moment that I live! UNDINE {entering) No longer can I save thee, for the spring Is opened — I am here, and thou must die. HULDBRAND A terror grips me I I fear not the thing Called death — I welcome it most eagerly- Only the thought that some dread form at last Will, with its horrid features drive me mad, [32] In just revenge for my neglectful past Of her who once made life so blessed and glad. UNDINE Nay, Huldbrand, have no fear, for it is she. Undine. Alas I thy life she cannot save, But she can take it. Thus will the decree Of the great Water-Spirit seem less grave And dread. Look in her face again — Tis she. Undine I She throws her arms about her husband's neck, who lifts the white veil which enshrouds her that he may the better kiss her lips. HULDBRAND {in an ecstasy) I die in thy embrace. Thy tears absolve me— I know naught of pain — I only know the beauty of thy face. Undine, weeping steadily, folds the knight closely, ever more closely, in her arms. Then she lays him on a couch. [33] UNDINE Thy smile is lovely, as upon that night I called thee mine I — Ah, mine once more thou art! Nothing can come between us to affright Thy soul again, nor wound a faithful heart. Thou art at peace from griefs that over- whelm, At sweetest peace from all the haunting fears — Those flowers dark that blossom in love's realm — Beloved, I have drowned thee with my tears! Undine glides softly from the room. . . , At the funeral a white figure is seen, only for a moment, kneeling at the grave. Where she had knelt, a little spring gushes forth, which, after al- most encircling the mound, finally loses itself in the lake. [34] ^ Printed for H. IV. Fisher and Company by The University Press of Cambridge, Massachusetts, in September, 191 4 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 407 426 6