One foggy evening in early autumn Eckbert was sitting with his friend and his wife, Bertha, around the hearth-fire.  The flames threw a bright glow out into the room and played on the ceiling above.  The night looked in darkly through the windows, and the trees outside were shivering in the damp cold.  Walther was lamenting that he had so far to go to get back home, and Eckbert proposed that he remain there and spend half the night in familiar talk, and then sleep until morning in one of the rooms of the castle.  Walther accepted the proposal, whereupon wine and supper were brought in, the fire was replenished with wood, and the conversation of the two friends became more cheery and confidential.

After the dishes had been cleared off, and the servants had gone out, Eckbert took Walther’s hand and said: 

“Friend, you ought once to let my wife tell you the story of her youth, which is indeed strange enough.”

“Gladly,” replied Walther, and they all sat down again around the hearth.  It was now exactly midnight, and the moon shone intermittently through the passing clouds.

“You must forgive me,” began Bertha, “but my husband says your thoughts are so noble that it is not right to conceal anything from you.  Only you must not regard my story as a fairy-tale, no matter how strange it may sound.

“I was born in a village, my father was a poor shepherd.  The household economy of my parents was on a humble plane—­often they did not know where they were going to get their bread.  But what grieved me far more than that was the fact that my father and mother often quarreled over their poverty, and cast bitter reproaches at each other.  Furthermore I was constantly hearing about myself, that I was a simple, stupid child, who could not perform even the most trifling task.  And I was indeed extremely awkward and clumsy; I let everything drop from my hands, I learned neither to sew nor to spin, I could do nothing to help about the house.  The misery of my parents, however, I understood extremely well.  I often used to sit in the corner and fill my head with notions—­how I would help them if I should suddenly become rich, how I would shower them with gold and silver and take delight in their astonishment.  Then I would see spirits come floating up, who would reveal subterranean treasures to me or give me pebbles which afterward turned into gems.  In short, the most wonderful fantasies would occupy my mind, and when I had to get up to help or carry something, I would show myself far more awkward than ever, for the reason that my head would be giddy with all these strange notions.

“My father was always very cross with me, because I was such an absolutely useless burden on the household; so he often treated me with great cruelty, and I seldom heard him say a kind word to me.  Thus it went along until I was about eight years old, when serious steps were taken to get me to do and to learn something.  My father believed that it was sheer obstinacy and indolence on my part, so that I might spend my days in idleness.  Enough—­he threatened me unspeakably, and when this turned out to be of no avail, he chastised me most barbarously, adding that this punishment was to be repeated every day because I was an absolutely useless creature.