One day Nixcobt calls upon the tax collector of a little town on the Rhine, whom he finds in great consternation. His wife has left his house and he does not know what has become of her. To console him Nixcobt tells him that she is dead, having drowned herself, and as a proof of it, he shows him a letter which he has with his own hands taken from the pockets of the deceased. The husband, whose tears had been flowing freely, dries them quickly, becomes furious, and looks at his children with fierce glances. He is jealous of their dead mother. Nixcobt laughs and goes to some one else. That some one else, an honest vintner of the Rheingau, has the night before killed his friend in an excess of passion and then thrown the body into the Rhine, together with the knife with which {302}he had committed the murder. This knife Nix-cobt now presents to him, for he takes delight in restoring lost objects of this kind. While the murderer stands petrified at the sight of the still bloody knife, the Gnome hastens to the Mayor to report to him the whole matter. An inquiry is held, the vintner is found, holding the bloody knife in his hand, he is hanged and Nixcobt laughs heartily. One night a notary of Badenheim, near Mayence, hears in his sleep a voice saying:-- “John Harnisch, the great Nichus is courting your wife, who has been changed into an Undine three months ago; she will not listen to him, and {303}he wants you to tell him how he must manage to please her.” The notary thought it was a bad dream, uttered a sigh as he thought of his deceased wife, and fell asleep once more. But a chilly hand resting upon his breast waked him once more, and the voice said:-- “John Harnisch, speak, speak promptly and be sincere, or you shall never sleep again.” John Harnisch resisted for some time longer, but a red flame dimly lighted up his alcove and he saw a row of green teeth and scaly cheek bones. Thoroughly frightened, he said what he could. “Thanks!” cries Nixcobt, and breaks out into a far sounding laugh. We might fill folios with all the lugubrious jokes of this messenger of the dead, but we will abstain. Besides, Nixcobt has lost all respect now-a-days. He is no longer seen gliding along the houses in towns or slipping through the rows in the vineyards. We might in like manner tell a vast number of interesting stories and quote endless _Lieder_ and ballads, which treat of Nixen and Undines. For there are, besides, Undines of rivers and Undines of lakes, and there are even some in the ocean; in Germany all watercourses, down to the tiniest rills, have their Undines. {304}Only day before yesterday I was walking on the banks of the Rhine; only yesterday on those of the Moselle, This morning, wandering about at haphazard I encountered a brook, a mere rill, which attracted me by its sweet murmurs. I followed it, followed it for two hours. I happened to have nothing else to do.