AD
1520
He
meandered along the quay meeting few people.
On a Saturday afternoon most housewives had finished their marketing and
were busy baking, readying baths for the once-a-week ritual, refurbishing
clothes, and otherwise preparing for the Sabbath.
Many of the men would be at their barber’s for the same reason or
tending their gardens, which they had no time to look after during the week.
He strolled as far as the Ratsmühle, the town mill, for which a special
narrow sluice had been built to lead the water over the great mill wheel.
Suddenly
he heard someone singing, a sweet, plaintive song, although he could not make
out the words. At first he could
see no one, but as he drew closer he saw a girl sitting all by herself on the
great stones that formed the edge of the sluice.
Apparently she did not hear his approach. Then suddenly she turned, saw him, and stopped singing.
With
more courage than he thought he possessed, he said,
“I thought it was the Lorelei. Your
song is lovely. Please do not stop
singing.”
She
gave him a puzzled look, and he could see she was more than a girl, a young
woman, but tiny as a fairy. He
expected her to fly away any minute. “I
do not sing in front of other people,” she said.
“Then
pretend I am not here,” he suggested as he sat down on another stone close by,
but not near enough to frighten her. “You
have a lovely voice. I should like
to hear your song again. Methinks
it is a very old one.”
She
turned her back to him and said nothing for a while as she stared out over the
river. Then she started to sing.
It was a simple song of unrequited love:
“He has gone away on the breast of the river
To the sea, to the sea
The Goddess has taken him from my heart
Send him back, Lady, to me.”
“Beautiful,” he said when she finished.
“It is a song from the old times, isn’t it?
Do you know any more?”
“Lots
of them,” she replied. “My
grandmother taught me.”
“I
knew I was not mistaken about the Lorelei.”
She blushed becomingly but said nothing. “But you are a Christian, are
you not?” he asked.
“Of
course I am a Christian,” she replied indignantly, “But she taught me all
about the old religion, the old stories, the old songs. There is a lot of truth
in them, you know.”
“I
suppose. I wish I had a grandmother
like that,” he sighed nostalgically. “I
never knew my grandparents. I am an
orphan.”
“So
am I,” she said brightly, “but at least I had Grandmama until she died.
I shall always thank Our Lady for that.”
“I
had my mother and she remarried before she died.
So I do have a stepfather. Of
whom I am quite fond. But it is not
the same.”
“No,
it’s not,” she agreed.
He
was amazed at himself that he could confide so much in her.
He did not feel shy at all. Maybe
because she was equally shy.
“How
are you called?” he asked.
“I
am Ilsebe,” she replied, but did not ask his name.
“And
I am Hinrik,” he volunteered. He
wanted to keep the conversation going but could think of nothing else to say.
The he thought of her song. “That
song you were singing – do you really have a love who has gone away to sea?”
“Nay,”
she replied with a sigh. “It is
only a song. I have not yet had a
lover.”
“Nor
I,” he replied. There was another
lull in the conversation. He wanted
to know more about her. “Do you
work?” he asked. “Or are you a
lady of leisure?” The moment he
asked, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“Of
course I work,” she snapped. “We
poor people have to work to eat, you know.
Not like young lords who stroll about in their finery.”
He
looked at his clothes. They did not
seem that fine to him. He could not
ignore the sarcasm but was at a loss to know how to answer. “I have been very poor, too,” he said almost
apologetically. “But I guess I
was very lucky. I have recently
finished my journey years and am now an associate of Gewandschneider and
Bürgermeister von Sehnden.”
“Bürgermeister von Sehnden! She exclaimed.
“Then you are many cuts, several ells, above me, a poor lacemeaker.”
“But
lacemaking takes a lot of skill and talent.
It is an art. Do not
belittle it,” he chided.
“Maybe
so, but I have yet to earn my living at it.
I, too, have finished my apprenticeship and must work for the Mistress
for seven years to pay for it. There
was no money to pay her when I started.”
“It
will go by fast,” he assured her, but he knew how she felt.
The
sun was rapidly sinking behind the town at their backs. Balthasar would be wondering where he was.
“May I walk with you back to your house?” he asked hopefully.
“No,
thank you,” she replied. “I
should like to sit here for a while and sing to the river and then to the stars
when they come out.”
“Very
well, but be careful. It is not
safe after dark.”
“Don’t
worry. I shall not fall into the
sluice.”
That
was not what he meant, but he realized she was being deliberately dense.
“May I see you again, Ilsebe?” he asked.
“I
come here often,” she replied, “to commune with the Goddess,” and would
say no more.
He
decided she really wanted to be alone. So
he left her and headed home. Unwittingly
he found himself whistling the song she had sung.
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