THE BLACKSMITH'S BRIDE

      In the midst of the forest was a black-green lake surrounded by very ancient giant fir-trees. The brooklets which came leaping down from every height like wanton kids, grew more and more quiet as they approached the pond, and finally flowed silently into the dark water. And when they came into sight again at the outlet of the lake, united in a stately stream, it was as if they had seen something uncanny, for they ran swiftly over gravel and stones, and only when they had left a good bit of the course behind them, did the waters again begin to murmur and to babble, and the white-breasted water-thrush, whose nest was on the bank, overheard strange things.
      Now there lived in one of the villages which lay scattered among the forest mountains a young fisherman who earned his livelihood with net and hook. The bright-colored trout in the brooks crowded about the bait that he threw to them, and when he drew his net through the waters of the forest lake, huge pike and big bream with long whiskers floundered in the meshes, so that he had some difficulty in bringing his haul to land.
      One day he was sitting on the shore of the lake watching his hook. It seemed to him that just beneath the smooth surface he saw a woman's face of rare beauty. He was frightened, and jumped up from his seat. Just then there was a rustling in the bushes, and when he turned around he looked into the mild eyes of a maiden carrying a scythe over he shoulders.
      “Are you busy, Heini?” asked the pretty maid; and the fisherman told her what he was doing.
      “Heini,” continued the maiden, “let me give you some advice; it is kindly meant. Let the fish be in the lake. The people tell dreadful stories about - about -”
      “About the water-sprite,” interrupted the youth.
      “Be still! for Heaven's sake, be still!” said the maiden, timidly. “Listen to me, Heini, and keep away from these quiet waters. You will find fish enough somewhere else. It would be a pity if you should some day find your cottage afloat on the water.”
      “Gertrude,” said the fisherman, angrily, “why must you worry so much about that?”
      The maiden turned aside. “Yes, I should feel badly, very badly, for I love you like a sister. You have known that for a long time.”
      “Like a sister,” sighed the youth, and then they were silent.
      A fish leaped up out of the water, and Heini seized his rod as if in a dream.
      “Good by,” said the maiden.
      “Good by, Gertrude. Where are you going?”
      “To the blacksmith's. The scythe- You know it's haying-time now. The blacksmith has to mend the scythe.”
      “Go, then!” said the fisherman, roughly, and turned his face towards the lake.
      Once more the maiden called out in a gentle voice, “Good by, Heini; do as I have asked you.”
      But the youth gave her no answer. The maiden turned away, and went on into the woods.
      Silent and sullen, the fisherman looked after his jerking rod, and as he cut open the throat of a big pike he had caught, his eyes shone with an uncanny light.
      The young fellow sat a long time by the pond. The mountain-tops took on a rosy hue, and the trees cast long shadows on the mirror-like surface of the water. The magpie fluttered along, laughed in her way, and said:-
      “Black and white is the suit I wear; Black the smith, but the maiden fair. When the smith his love embraced, Her lily-white brow with soot was defaced.”
      With a loud laugh the magpie flew off into the dark forest, and the fisherman hastily gathered up his belongings and left the lake with a heavy heart.
      
      Weeks and weeks had passed away. Heini was again sitting by the pond in the forest, but he was not fishing. He was leaning his head on his hands and gazing into the water. The poor fellow looked utterly wretched; the color had faded from his cheeks, and his eyes were dull and sad. And as he thus gazed down into the depths of the water, he thought that he again saw the form of a lovely woman, beckoning to him with her white hand.
      “Yes, it would be much better for me if I were laid away down below there,” he groaned. “Oh, if it were only all ended!” A low chuckling startled him. He looked around; but this time it was no rosy-cheeked maiden, but an old, toothless woman, who stood behind him. On her arm hung a basket full of scarlet toad-stools.
      “Oh, it is you, Mother Bridget?”
      “Yes, my little son; it is. I heard your sighs away off in the forest there. I know, too, why you groan like a tree cleft to the heart. I've been in the church to-day and heard how the minister has published the banns of your fair-haired sweetheart and Hans, the forest blacksmith. I saw the maiden's bridal linen, too, and the gay bedstead, with its two flaming red hearts.”
      “Hold your tongue, woman!” growled the fisherman.
      “Oho! not so hasty, my son! Choke it down.
      Slender maidens, young and sweet, 'Neath the moon you still may meet
      If there isn't one, there's another.”
      The youth covered his eyes with his hand and motioned the woman away. But the old woman did not go.
      “You are my sweetheart, my own little son,” she said flatteringly. “You have brought me many a supper of fish, and I have not forgotten the otter skin you gave me for a warm hood. I will help you, my precious lad, I will help you.”
      The youth suddenly jumped up. “Mother Bridget,” he said, trembling, “people say-”
      “That I am a witch. No, I am not able to anoint the tongs that they will carry me out at the chimney and through the air; but I know a thing or two, my son; I know a thing or two that few people besides myself know about, and if you wish, I will serve you with my art.”
      “Can you brew a love-potion, Mother Bridget?” asked Heini, in a whisper.
      “No, but I know another little trick. And if you do as I tell you, she will never become his wife, for all their exchanging of rings and getting blessed by the priest. Whenever he, glowing with love, wishes to take his maiden to his heart, she shall turn away from him; and whenever she eagerly longs to twine her arms about his neck, he shall push her away. Then at last, if he leaves her or she grows tired of him, she will still be yours. That I can do, and I will teach you the spell.”
      “Tell me how,” said Heini, in an undertone; and the old woman began to whisper in his ear.
      “Buy a steel padlock of the locksmith, and pay whatever price he asks without haggling, saying, 'In Gottes Namen.'
      “Then on the day of the wedding go to the church, - pay close attention, my son, - and when the priest unites the pair at the altar, clap the lock together, saying in a low voice, 'in Teufels Namen.' Then throw the padlock into the lake, and what I have predicted will come true. Have you understood me?”
      “I have understood,” answered the fisherman, and a cold shiver ran down his back.
      
      The bells were pealing from the tower, and happy people in gay holiday attire were making their way through the arched doorway of the church. The young blacksmith is to wed the beautiful Gertrude. Indeed, she is beautiful, and her yellow hair shines in the sunlight falling aslant through the window, even brighter than her bridal wreath of tinsel and glass beads. Now the choir-master takes his seat on the organ-bench; his wrinkled face beams with joy as he thinks of the wedding millet-broth, which, according to an old custom, must be so stiff that the spoon will stand up in it; and of the leg of lamb, which comes after the broth. He draws out all the stops, the mighty tones of the organ peal through the church, and the wooden angels over the chancel blowing trumpets puff out their cheeks even more than usual. Then everything is still; the minister raises his voice and addresses the couple, kneeling before the altar. He has never before been so impressive as today. The women feel after their handkerchiefs, and here and there is heard a muffled choking and sobbing.
      Now the minister took the wedding-ring from the plate, which stood on the altar. Then the bride raised her eyes, but quickly dropped them again, for she saw the fisherman Heini leaning against a pillar. He looked deathly pale; he held his right hand in his jacket pocket, and his lips moved slightly. The bride no longer heard what the minister said, neither did she hear the congratulations of the relatives and friends who surrounded them after the service was over. She passed out of the church by the side of her spouse like one who walks in a dream.
      The wedding procession started towards the bride's house which was decorated with garlands of leaves, and on the gable stood a little fir-tree trimmed with floating ribbons. The musicians took a good draught to strengthen themselves for their approaching duties, and soon the merry sound of violins and flutes broke through the Sunday stillness.
      In the meantime there was one who was hastening with swift steps towards the forest. In his heart he carried bitter pain; in his pocket, a fastened lock. He turned his steps to the forest lake. There he sat on the shore the whole day long, holding the lock hesitantly in his hand. The little gray water-wagtails tripped along on the sand at his feet, and looked up wonderingly at the pale youth. The fished jumped up out of the water, and their scaly coats shone like silver in the sunlight. The blue-green dragon-flies danced over the waves and dipped into the water. But he paid no attention to the little creatures. The sun was going down behind the ridges of the blue mountains, the shadows were growing longer, and still the fisherman sat brooding by the pond.
      In the distance there sounded something like violins, and the sound came nearer and nearer. The youth listened and gave a groan. It is the smith leading home his bride, and the wedding guests and the musicians are escorting them.
      Heini shut his teeth together and drew out the padlock. An owl flew past, and as he flew his voice rang out:-
      “Do it, do it, do it!” the owl seemed to say, and the padlock made a wide arch as it fell into the pond. Filled with terror, Heini fled into the woods.
      
      The magic spell which the old woman had taught the fisherman had its effect. Instead of the expected joy, bitter discontent entered the home of the forest blacksmith. The newly married couple avoided each other timidly; yet if they were separated, they were consumed with a longing for each other: their love was blighted, and yet their love could not die. The beautiful Gertrude wasted away to a shadow, and the sturdy young blacksmith, too, began to look weak and sickly. “Somebody has bewitched them,” whispered the women in the village; and many fearful things were hinted at in the spinning-room.
      The fisherman, too, seemed to be suffering from some strange malady. He wandered idly through the woods and over the fields, and avoided human beings. If the people from the village met him, they looked after him compassionately and tapped their foreheads significantly: they took the unfortunate fellow to be crazy. He was not really crazy; but bitter remorse tormented him, as he thought with a shudder of the mischief of which he had been the cause.
      Finally he sought old Bridget's hut, and begged her on his knees to break the charm.
      The old woman giggled. “You have a soft heart, my little son; but I will help you; I will break the charm. Procure the padlock for me. Give it a good blow with the hammer, saying, 'In Gottes Namen,' and it will break the steel padlock, and so render the charm worthless. Bring me the padlock, my treasure.”
      The youth struck his forehead and rushed out of the hut; and the old woman chuckled maliciously behind his back.
      “Procure the padlock” kept sounding in his ears, as he again wandered restlessly through the woods; “procure the padlock.” And he turned his step towards the lake, which he had carefully avoided since he had committed that dark deed.
      The evening breeze blew across the dark-green pond, and the moonlight quivered on the gently stirring waters. But the shore, on a moss-covered stone, sat the form of a woman clad in white garments. She had long, waving, yellow hair, and wore a crown of rushes and water-lilies.
      “Hast thou at last come once more to my lake, thou dear child of man?” said the nixie to the fisherman; “long, long have I been waiting for thee; but I knew that thou wouldst return to me again. Come, descend to my pleasure garden, and in my arms forget those who torment thee and have taken the color out of thy rosy cheeks; forget the earth and the heavens and the sunlight.” She bent towards the panting youth and twined her shining arms about his neck. “See,” she continued, “I wear the pledge that thou gavest me;” and with these words she lifted the steel padlock, which hung from a coral necklace on her breast. “Thou art mine.”
      The fisherman seized the padlock hastily. “Give it back, give it back!” he cried; but the nixie, laughing, shook her head and wound her arms more tightly about his neck. “Come!” she whispered in his ear.
      “Give me the padlock!” cried the fisherman, beseechingly; “give me the padlock, and let me go away with it for but a little while. I swear to you that I will come back to the lake this very night, and I will stay with you always. Only give me that padlock!”
      The water-sprite unfastened the padlock from her necklace, saying: “Very well; I will give the pledge back to thee, but only in exchange for another. Give me one of the brown ringlets that play about thy brow.”
      Heini took out his knife and cut off a lock of his hair, and handed it to the water-sprite. She hid it in her dress, and gave the padlock back to the fisherman. “Forget not what thou hast promised me. I hold the curl, and hold thee by the curl. And here, take my veil. When thou returnest from thy errand, gird the veil about thy loins and step down fearlessly into the water. Down below there I will tarry for thee, my sweet beloved; down below there await thee more pleasures than there are needles in the fir forest, or drops of water in the lake. Come back quickly.”
      Thus spoke the water-nymph, kissed the youth on the mouth, and stepped down into the dark water. But before she disappeared, she turned her face once more towards her beloved, and said warningly: “Forget not the veil, or thou wilt be lost, and even I could not save thee from death; forget not the veil!”
      With these words she disappeared beneath the water; but the fisherman hurried away with the padlock.
      
      By the forge in the smithy sadly sat the young blacksmith staring at the glowing coals. The door creaked, and in walked Heini, the fisherman. The smith greeted the belated guest with a hostile look, and asked sharply what he wanted.
      “I have a favor to ask of you,” said the fisherman; “let me take your heaviest hammer for a moment.”
      The other looked distrustfully at his rival. What can the crazy fellow want with a hammer? Will he try to get possession of the woman he loves by one fell blow? But he is enough of a man to meet an attack; so he handed the hammer to the fisherman and seized an iron bar to ward off the blow if it came.
      The fisherman stepped up to the anvil, and the blacksmith saw with astonishment that he laid a padlock on it.
      “In Gottes Namen!” cried Heini, and lifted the hammer. It fell with a crash, and the splinters of the steel padlock flew all about the shop.
      And then Heini took out of his jacket a delicate tissue and threw it on the glowing coals in the forge. A flame leaped up and in a twinkling died down again. Then he gave his hand to the blacksmith, and said in a low voice, “Farewell, and be happy!” With these words he rushed out of the door and disappeared in the darkness of the night.
      The smith shook his head as he watched the crazy youth, and he stood still wrapt in thought, when two white arms were thrown about his neck, and two warm lips were lifted up to his. Laughing and weeping, his young wife clung about his neck and stammered words of love; and he lifted her with his strong arms and bore her into the house.
      The red glow died away in the smithy, and a shivering man, who had been crouching breathless beneath the low window, rose and walked noiselessly away into the gloomy forest.
      Good luck and happiness entered the blacksmith's home, and a troop of rosy-cheeked boys and girls came to bless it.
      The fisherman Heini disappeared that night, and no earthly eye ever saw him again. But the brook which flows out of the lake knows a new and dreadful tale of a dead youth, who lies at the bottom of the lake in a crystal coffin, and a beautiful water-sprite sits at his head and weeps.