When all the ladies were seated, I pushed
off from the shore. One of the young gentlemen who stood in the prow
began, unperceived, to rock the boat. The ladies looked frightened,
and one or two screamed. The Lady fair, who had a lily in her hand,
and was sitting well in the centre of the skiff, looked down with a
quiet smile into the clear water, touching the surface of the pond now
and then with a lily, her image, amid the reflections of the clouds
and trees, appearing like an angel soaring gently through the deep
blue skies.
As I was gazing at her, the other of my two ladies, the plump, merry
one, suddenly took it into her head that I must sing as we glided
along. A very elegant young gentleman with an eye-glass, who sat
beside her, instantly turned to her, and, as he kissed her hand, said,
"Thanks for the poetic idea! A folk-song sung by one of the people in
the open air is an Alpine rose, upon the very Alps--the Alpine horns
are nothing but herbaria--the soul of the national consciousness."
But I said I did not know anything fine enough to sing to such great
people. Then the pert lady's-maid, who was beside me with a basket of
cups and bottles, and whom I had not perceived before, said, "He knows
a very pretty little song about a lady fair." "Yes, yes, sing that
one!" the lady exclaimed. I felt hot all over, and the Lady fair
lifted her eyes from the water and gave me a look that went to my very
soul.
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