Immensee and Other Stories

by Theodor Storm

  “I cannot find the lily of the valley we brought home the other day,” she said, after they had arranged the whole collection.

  Reinhard pulled a small white book, bound in parchment, out of his pocket.

  “Here is one for you,” he said, taking a half-dried flower from between the pages.

  Elisabeth recognized his writing in the book.

  “Have you been composing fairy stories again?” she asked.

  “Not fairy stories,” he replied, handing her the book.

  It was full of poems, most of them not more than one page long. Elisabeth looked through them, apparently reading only the titles: ‘The Time She Was Scolded by the Teacher’; ‘The Time They Lost Their Way in the Forest’; ‘The Easter Tale’; ‘The First Time She Wrote to Me’ – almost all of them were in this vein.

  Reinhard watched her attentively and observed that, as she turned the pages, a delicate flush came to her fair cheeks and spread over her face. He tried to look into her eyes but she would not raise her head. Finally she put the book down without saying a word.

  “Don’t give it back to me just like that!” he said.

  She took a brown sprig from the collecting-box.

  “I’ve put your favourite leaf inside it,” she said, and handed the book back to him.

  The vacation was over and the day of Reinhard’s departure had arrived. At her request Elisabeth was allowed to accompany him to the stagecoach, which left from a few streets away. As they went out of the house, Reinhard offered the slender young girl his arm, and the two walked silently side by side. The nearer they came to the coach-stop, the more urgently did Reinhard feel that there was something he had to tell her before he went away for such a long time, something on which the whole value and enjoyment of his future life depended. Yet he could not find the words that would relieve his mind of its burden, and in his despondency he began to walk more and more slowly.

  “You will be late,” she said. “The clock on the Marienkirche has already struck ten.”

  But this did not make him walk any faster. At last he stammered:

  “Elisabeth, we shall not see each other for two years. Will you be as fond of me when I come back as you are now?”

  She nodded her head and looked kindly at him. There was a pause. Then she said:

  “I defended you, too.”

  “Defended me? Against whom?”

  “My mother. We talked about you for a long time yesterday evening after you had left. She said you were not as affectionate as you used to be.”

  Reinhard was silent for a moment. Then taking her hand and gazing earnestly into her childlike eyes, he said:

  “I am as affectionate as I always was. You do believe that, Elisabeth, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He let go her hand, and they walked rapidly down the last street. The closer the moment of departure came, the happier his expression grew, and she could scarcely keep up with him.

  “What is the matter, Reinhard?” she asked.

  “I have a wonderful secret,” he said, looking at her in radiant happiness. “I’ll tell you what it is in two years’ time, when I come back.”

  They had reached the coach, which was still waiting there. Taking her hand for the last time, he said:

  “Goodbye, Elisabeth! Don’t forget what I told you!”

  She shook her head.

  “Goodbye,” she echoed.

  He got into the coach and the horses galloped away. As it went round the corner, he caught a final glimpse of her walking slowly back along the road.

  A Letter

  Almost two years had passed. Reinhard was sitting at his desk between piles of books and papers, waiting for a friend who used to come and study with him. He heard footsteps ascending the stairs.

  “Come in!” he called out.

  It was his landlady.

  “A letter for you, Herr Werner,” she said. She handed it to him and went out.

  Since his last visit home Reinhard had neither written to Elisabeth nor received any letters from her. And this was not from her either, but from his mother. He opened it and began to read. Then he came to this passage:

  “When one is at your age, my son, each year seems to take on a different appearance. Youth is always looking for new fields to conquer. Here at home certain things have happened which, if I understand your mood aright, may at first bring you grief. Yesterday Elisabeth finally consented to marry Erich, who had twice asked for her hand in the past three months. Although on these occasions she had not been able to bring herself to accept him, this time she has finally made her decision – young though she is. The wedding is to take place shortly, and they will then leave here, together with her mother.”

  Immensee

  The years went by. One warm spring afternoon a sturdy young man with sun-tanned features was striding along a shady woodland track that led down the hillside. His grey eyes gazed searchingly into the distance, as though he expected the path to change its course at some point, but it never did.

  A horse and cart came into view, moving slowly up the slope.

  “Good-day, friend!” the man called out to the farmer who was walking at the side of the cart, “Is this the way to Immensee?”

  “Straight on,” answered the farmer, touching his cap.

  “Is it far?”

  “You’re almost there. Before you’ve smoked half a pipeful of tobacco, you’ll see the lake. The house is close by.”

  The farmer trudged onwards, while the young man quickened his pace as he passed beneath the trees.

  A quarter of an hour later the woods on his left came abruptly to an end, and the track led past a steep slope from the bottom of which oak trees a hundred years old and more stretched upwards, almost reaching the path with their topmost branches. A sunlit landscape stretched into the distance beyond the trees, and in the depths below nestled the lake, its tranquil, deep-blue waters almost completely surrounded with bright-green woodlands, which parted at a single point to allow a glimpse of the hazy blue mountains that dominated the horizon. On the other side, amid the green foliage of the forest, stood fruit trees in full bloom, their white blossom gleaming like a carpet of snow, and from their midst emerged the white house with its red tiled roof.

  A stork flew up from the chimney and circled slowly above the lake.

  “Immensee!” cried the traveller.

  He felt as though he had already reached his journey’s end. He stood still for a moment, looking out across the trees below him towards the other side of the lake, where the gentle ripples caught the reflection of the house. Then he walked quickly on.

  The path led steeply down the mountainside. He was now in the shade of the trees again, but the lake was hidden to open view and its shining waters were only visible for seconds between the swaying branches. After a while the track began to climb again, and the trees on both sides stopped; in their place grew thick vines, behind which stood an orchard of fruit trees, where the bees buzzed happily from blossom to blossom.

  A distinguished-looking man in a brown cloak came towards the traveller. As he reached him, he swung his cap in the air and cried joyously:

  “Welcome, Brother Reinhard! Welcome to Immensee!”

  “God’s blessing on you, Erich – and my thanks for your wel­come!”

  The two men shook each other warmly by the hand.

  “Is it really you?” exclaimed Erich, looking closely at his friend’s grave features.

  “Of course it is! And it’s really you, too – though you seem to look happier than you ever did before.”

  A smile of pleasure crossed Erich’s face, making his homely features look even more cheerful.

  “Well,” he said, shaking Reinhard’s hand again, “Fortune has smiled on me since then, as you know.”

  He rubbed h
is hands in delight and cried: “What a surprise! You are the last person she expects to see!”

  “A surprise for whom?” asked Reinhard.

  “For Elisabeth!”

  “But did you not tell her I was coming?”

  “Not a word. She has no idea, nor has her mother. I kept it to myself so that they would be all the more delighted. I always had secret plans for this.”

  As they came nearer the house, Reinhard lapsed into silence. A constricting hand seemed to stifle his breath.

  On the left side of the path the vines now gave way to an extensive kitchen garden which stretched down almost to the lakeside. The stork was now strutting solemnly to and fro between the vegetable beds.

  “Off with you!” shouted Erich, clapping his hands. “Just look at that lanky Egyptian eating my pea shoots!”

  The bird slowly raised its neck and then flew off to the end of the garden, perching on the roof of a new building against whose walls peach and apricot trees were growing in a criss-cross pattern.

  “That’s the distillery,” said Erich. “I only put it up two years ago. My grandfather built the living quarters, and my late father had the farm buildings renovated. So, step by step, new things get done.”

  They came to a broad courtyard enclosed by the farm buildings at the sides and the family mansion at the rear. Built on to the two wings of the mansion was a high wall behind which could be seen the dark outline of yew hedges, while occasional lilac bushes cast their blossoms over the courtyard itself. Sun-tanned men, their faces bathed in perspiration, bade the two friends good-day as they walked past and Erich called out to them to enquire about the day’s work or to give them fresh instructions.

  They reached the mansion and entered a cool, lofty hallway, from the end of which a dark corridor branched off to the left. Erich opened a door, and they passed into a spacious drawing room which led into the garden. The sun shone through the thick foliage that hung down in front of the windows, bathing the walls in a green glow, while the centre of the room was illuminated by the full glory of the spring sunlight as it poured through the tall French windows, which stood wide open. Beyond the windows was a view of the garden with its round flower-beds and its tall hedgerows. A broad, straight path ran right through the centre of the garden, and by looking down it, one could see the lake and the forest beyond. A wave of perfume greeted the friends as they entered.

  On the terrace sat a girl-like figure, dressed in white. As the two men entered the room, she rose from her seat and walked towards them. Suddenly she stopped as though rooted to the spot, and stared at the stranger. Smilingly he stretched out his hands towards her.

  “Reinhard!” she cried. “Reinhard! Can it really be you? It is years since we last saw each other!”

  “Years!” he repeated. His voice faltered and he could not go on. The sound of her voice pierced his heart, and when he raised his eyes, he saw her standing before him, the same slim, delicate creature to whom he had said goodbye years ago in his home town.

  Beaming with pleasure, Erich watched from the door.

  “Well, Elisabeth,” he said, “this was the last person you expected to see, was it not?”

  She looked at him with the affection of a sister.

  “How kind you are, Erich!” she said.

  He took her delicate hand in his and caressed it.

  “And now that he is here,” he continued, “we shall not let him go in a hurry. He has been roaming the world long enough, and we are going to make him feel at home again. Look what a foreign and distinguished appearance he has acquired!”

  Elisabeth glanced shyly at Reinhard.

  “He only looks like that because we have not seen him for so long,” she said.

  At that moment her mother entered, carrying a basket on her arm. Catching sight of Reinhard, she exclaimed:

  “Well, well! Herr Werner! An unexpected but ever welcome guest!”

  And then the conversation began to flow back and forth. The women sat down at their needlework, and while Reinhard partook of the refreshments that had been prepared for him, Erich lit his massive meerschaum and puffed away as he sat talking at Reinhard’s side.

  The next day Reinhard was made to accompany Erich on a tour of inspection of the fields, the vineyards, the hop gardens and the distillery. Everything was in perfect repair; the workers, both those in the fields and those in the distillery, looked healthy and contented.

  At noon the family met in the drawing room and spent as much of the remainder of the day together as their free time allowed. The hours before the evening meal, like those at the very beginning of the day, Reinhard spent working in his room. For years he had been collecting folk songs and rhymes, wherever he could find them; he was now engaged in arranging his collection, and hoped to add some items to it from the neighbourhood.

  Elisabeth was at all times kind and gentle. She accepted Erich’s attentions with almost humble gratitude, and Reinhard could not resist the thought that the vivacious friend of his childhood had seemed likely to grow into a less sedate person than the woman he now saw before him.

  Since his second day in Erich’s house Reinhard had made it a habit to take an evening stroll by the lake shore. The path led close by the garden, and at the end of it, on a raised promontory and overhung with tall birches, stood a bench. Elisabeth’s mother had christened it the “evening bench”, because it faced the setting sun, and because it was in the evening that the family usually sat there.

  One evening Reinhard was returning from his walk along this path when it began to rain. He tried to shelter beneath a linden tree which stood at the water’s edge, but soon the heavy raindrops started to come through the leaves. He was already soaked to the skin, so he resigned himself to the situation and resumed his homeward trek.

  The rain became heavier, and it was almost dark. As he came near to the “evening bench”, he imagined that he saw a woman dressed in white standing motionless beneath the glistening birch trees, facing in his direction as though expecting someone to pass. Her features seemed like those of Elisabeth. He hastened his steps, but as he made to approach her and accompany her back to the house, she turned slowly away and vanished along the dark paths at the side.

  He was baffled, and almost felt a surge of resentment against Elisabeth, but he could not be certain that it had really been she whom he had seen. Yet he was reluctant to ask her, and when he got back to the house, he did not go into the drawing room for fear she might come in through the French windows.

  My Mother Wished it So

  A few evenings later the family were sitting together in the drawing room as usual. The windows were open and the sun had already sunk behind the trees on the far side of the lake.

  They asked Reinhard to let them hear some of the folk songs which a friend living in the country had sent him that afternoon. He went up to his room and returned with a sheaf of papers covered with fine handwriting.

  They sat down at the table, Reinhard next to Elisabeth.

  “We must hope for the best,” he said. “I have not yet looked through them myself.”

  Elisabeth unrolled the manuscript.

  “There is music as well,” she said. “You must sing it to us, Reinhard.”

  He read out a few Tyrolese Schnaderhüpferl,* casually interspersing a few snatches of the cheerful melody. A happy mood settled over the little group.

  “Who composed such pretty songs?” asked Elisabeth.

  “That’s easy to guess,” said Erich: “barbers, tailors’ apprentices and other light-hearted folk.”

  “But they are not composed,” said Reinhard, “they just grow, or fall from the sky, and spread hither and thither over the countryside like gossamer. People sing them in a thousand different places at the same time, expressing in them man’s most personal thoughts and deeds. It is as though we have all taken part in their making.”r />
  Picking up another, he read:

  “I stood upon a mountain top…”

  “I know that one!” cried Elisabeth. “Come on, Reinhard, I’ll sing it with you!”

  And together, Elisabeth singing the descant in her soft contralto voice, they sang that melody which sounds so mysterious that it seems hardly to be the creation of human minds.

  Elisabeth’s mother was busy with her needlework, while Erich folded his hands and listened devotedly

  When they had finished, Reinhard put the music away without a word.

  The sound of cowbells floated up from the lakeshore on the stillness of the evening air, and as they listened they heard the ringing tones of a boy’s voice:

  “I stood upon a mountain top

  And saw the depths below…”

  “You see?” smiled Reinhard as he listened. “These songs live on.”

  “We often hear singing in these parts,” said Elisabeth.

  “It’s the boy driving the cattle home,” added Erich.

  They listened until the sound of the bells finally died away behind the farm buildings on the hillside.

  “Those are the sounds of primeval nature,” said Reinhard. “They come from the depths of the earth, and no one knows who invented them.”

  He picked out another sheet from the pile.

  The sun was setting, and a hazy red glow settled over the woods beyond the lake. Reinhard unrolled the manuscript. Elisabeth held one side of it in her hand, and they looked at it together as Reinhard read:

  “My mother wished it so,

  Yet it was not my will

  That I should leave the love I had,

  Surrender to another lad,

  And bid my heart be still.

  My mother bears the blame

  For my unhappy state: