and when the bird returned and became a man, Rosella put on a downcast air.
“What is the matter?” asked her husband.
“Nothing.”
“You had better tell me.”
You know she said “Nothing” in that one tone of voice, too. Props to the bird for knowing that means “Everything, and part of the problem is that you don’t know what the problem is!”
She let him question her a while, and at last said: “Well, then, if you want to know why I am out of sorts, it is because I wish to know your name.”
Her husband told her that it would be the worse for her, but she insisted on knowing his name. So he made her put the gold basins on a chair, and began to bathe his feet.
“I like to have milk on my feet when I reveal my identity. Helps me think.”
“Rosella, do you really want to know my name?”
“Yes.” And the water came up to his waist, for he had become a bird, and had got into the basin.
This water was milk a minute ago.
Then he asked her the same question again, and again she answered yes, and the water was up to his mouth. “Rosella, do you really want to know my name?”
… glub … drowning … in three inches … of water … or possibly milk … throw me a life radish …
“Yes, yes, yes!”
Rosella’s being kind of a jerk about this, honestly. I mean, he climbs into the basin and starts drowning himself and you still insist on the name thing. Call him Bob and be done with it.
Although for all I know, this was like the third time they’ve done this. The first time she was all “Mother of God! Stop! I don’t need to know!” and then the next time she was like “I think you’re just doing this for attention, honestly,” and finally she just let it go. “Sure, drown yourself in a bird-bath, I don’t even care any more.”
“Then know that I am called The King of Love!”
But some people call him Maurice.
And saying this he disappeared, and the basins and the palace disappeared likewise, and Rosella found herself alone out in an open plain, without a soul to help her.
She called her servants, but no one answered her. Then she said “Since my husband has disappeared, I must wander about alone and forlorn to seek him!”
Wandering about with a spunky, upbeat attitude and a group of companions acquired along the way was right out.
The poor woman, who expected before long to become a mother,
I KNEW THAT RADISH WAS A EUPHEMISM.
began her wanderings, and at night arrived at another lonely plain;
You could tell the difference between this and the first plain because there was a sign saying “Now Leaving Plain of Misery. Now Entering Plain of Loneliness.”
then she felt her heart sink, and, not knowing what to do, she cried out: —
“Ah! King of Love; You did it, and said it. You disappeared from me in a golden basin, And who will shelter to-night This poor unfortunate one?”
“You did it and said it.” Well, that would explain why she’s expecting. I’m just going to assume that this whole thing is much more elegant in Italian.
When she had uttered these words an ogress appeared and said: “Ah! wretch, how dare you go about seeking my nephew!”
“Nobody looks for my nephew! Nobody! You hear me?”
and was going to eat her up; but she took pity on her miserable state, and gave her shelter for the night. The next morning she gave her a piece of bread, and said: “We are seven sisters, all ogresses, and the worst of all is your mother-in-law; look out for her!”
See, this is why your sisters were looking out for you, Rosella. You marry a naked bird dude because of his … erm … vast tracts of radish … and it turns out that he’s actually half-ogre on his mom’s side and has six aunts.
To be brief, the poor girl wandered about six days, and met all six of the ogresses, who treated her in the same way. The seventh day, in great distress, she uttered her usual lament, and the sister of the King of Love appeared and said, “Rosella, while my mother is out, come up!” and she lowered the braids of her hair, and pulled her up.
Pulled her up what? Where? Are they still in the lonely plain?
Somewhere the storyteller was like “Eh? What? Oh, sorry. There was a tower. Yeah. And the sister has long hair. And she threw it down and said “Come up” and then the prince— ”
“That’s Rapunzel.”
“Oh, right.”
Then she gave her something to eat, and told her how to seize and pinch her mother until she cried out: “Let me alone for the sake of my son, the King of Love!”
I feel that someone is omitting some really critical details here. Is there a particular way to pinch ogresses? Is Rosella simply supposed to overpower her mother in law and pinch her savagely? Either this is a very weak ogress or Rosella is a strapping young lass or there was one heck of a training montage in here.
I rather like the idea that Rosella was just “No, it’s fine. I can handle this. I used to throw bales of hay around on the farm, you know,” and simply pinned the ogress down and started pinching.
Rosella did as she was told, but the ogress was so angry she was going to eat her.
How dare you pinch me! Cannibalism is the only possible response!
But her daughters threatened to abandon her if she did.
There were extra daughters. Just, y’know. Hanging out. On the plain. As one does.
“Well, then, I will write a letter, and Rosella must carry it to my friend.” Poor Rosella was disheartened when she saw the letter, and descending, found herself in the midst of a plain.
It’s a different plain. This is the plain of … um … sorrow.
There were a couple of daughters off in the distance, but she was really getting very tired of the whole family. Also plains.
She uttered her usual complaint
You’ve been down from the tower for five minutes and you’re already back to blank verse.
when the King of Love appeared, and said: “You see your curiosity has brought you to this point!”
No, your cavorting with nameless naked avian radish farmers is what’s brought you to this point! There is a moral here, but not the one you think!
Poor thing! when she saw him she began to cry, and begged his pardon for what she had done.
He took pity on her, and said: “Now listen to what you must do. On your way you will come to a river of blood;
River of blood! Always a strong start!
you must bend down and take some up in your hands, and say: ‘How beautiful is this crystal water! such water as this I have never drunk!’
Praise the river of blood! It’s sensitive and requires validation!
Then you will come to another stream of turbid water, and do the same there.
But don’t let the river of blood hear you, or it’ll think you say that to all the rivers.
Then you will find yourself in a garden where there is a great quantity of fruit; pick some and eat it, saying: ‘What fine pears! I have never eaten such pears as these. Afterward, you will come to an oven that bakes bread day and night, and no one buys any.
When you come there, say: ‘Oh, what fine bread! bread like this I have never eaten,’ and eat some.
Rosella is now wandering the surprisingly densely populated plain providing emotional support for random landmarks.
Then you will come to an entrance guarded by two hungry dogs; give them a piece of bread to eat. Then you will come to a doorway all dirty and full of cob-webs; take a broom and sweep it clean. Half-way up the stairs you will find two giants, each with a dirty piece of meat by his side; take a brush and clean it for them.
The storyteller didn’t do much cooking. He wasn’t real clear on how one cleans meat.
When you have entered the house, you will find a razor, a pair of scissors, and a knife; take something and polish them.
Something that polishes. You know. A radish, maybe.
> When you have done this, go in and deliver your letter to my mother’s friend. When she wants to make you enter, snatch up a little box on the table, and run away. Take care to do all the things I have told you, or else you will never escape alive.”
Holy crap that’s quite a litany. It’ll take all night to get through all those things!
Rosella did as she was told, and while the ogress was reading the letter Rosella seized the box and ran for her life.
… I am feeling a little let down here, gang. “She did as she was told. You don’t need to see it. No, we’re not going to get into descriptions of rivers of blood or what was up with the garden full of pears and why the pears needed to be told that they were pretty or why nobody buys the bread in the oven or why the giants are just sitting gloomily on the steps with dirty meat. That smacks of plot and thematic repetition and we will have no truck with it!”
When the ogress had finished reading her letter, she called: “Rosella! Rosella! “When she received no answer, she perceived that she had been betrayed,
The bit where Rosella grabbed the box and ran out of the room at top speed didn’t tip her off. Ogress probably just figured she had to use the bathroom.
and cried out: “Razor, Scissors, Knife, cut her in pieces!” They answered: “As long as we have been razor, scissors, and knife, when did you ever deign to polish us? Rosella came and brightened us up.”
“Speak for yourself” said Scissors. “I seem to be embedded in a radish.”
The ogress, enraged, exclaimed: “Stairs, swallow her up!”
“As long as I have been stairs, when did you ever deign to sweep me? Rosella came and swept me.”
The ogress cried in a passion: “Giants, crush her!”
“As long as we have been giants, when did you ever deign to clean our food for us? Rosella came and did it.’’
Then the furious ogress called on the entrance to bury her alive, the dogs to devour her, the furnace to burn her, the fruit-tree to fall on her, and the rivers to drown her; but they all remembered Rosella’s kindness, and refused to injure her.
The fruit-tree didn’t actually care very much, but it didn’t feel like fatally uprooting itself and just went with the flow.
Meanwhile Rosella continued her way, and at last became curious to know what was in the box she was carrying. So she opened it, and a great quantity of little puppets came out; some danced, some sang, and some played on musical instruments.
This could get really creepy really quickly, and if I was writing it, it would.
She amused herself some time with them; but when she was ready to go on, the little figures would not return to the box. Night approached, and she exclaimed, as she had so often before: —
“Ah! King of Love,” etc.
I kinda like to think that she’s actually saying “Ah, King of Love, etc!” and he’s appearing anyway.
Then her husband appeared and said, “Oh, your curiosity will be the death of you!” and commanded the puppets to enter the box again.
You never said not to open the box! Not opening the box was never mentioned! IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN RADISHES, BOB.
Then Rosella went her way, and arrived safely at her mother-in-law’s. When the ogress saw her she exclaimed: “You owe this luck to my son, the King of Love!” and was going to devour poor Rosella, but her daughters said: “Poor child! she has brought you the box; why do you want to eat her?”
There was all that pinching earlier, but let’s let bygones be bygones, since you did send her to deliver a letter to a cannibal. Another cannibal, anyhow.
“Well and good. You want to marry my son, the King of Love; then take these six mattresses, and go and fill them with birds’ feathers!”
Rosella descended, and began to wander about, uttering her usual lament.
Somewhat muffled by the weight of all the mattresses that she was carrying.
When her husband appeared Rosella told him what had happened. He whistled and the King of the Birds appeared, and commanded all the birds to come and drop their feathers, fill the six beds, and carry them back to the ogress, who again said that her son had helped Rosella.
You know, in a better fairy tale, Rosella would have saved a bird at some point and succeed through her own virtue, not because she keeps going “King of Love, etc!” and her husband pops up and happens to know the King of Birds. I mean, it’s great that he’s well connected and all …
However, she went and made up her son’s bed with the six mattresses, and that very day she made him marry the daughter of the King of Portugal.
… Really, really well-connected …
Then she called Rosella, and, telling her that her son was married, bade her kneel before the nuptial bed, holding two lighted torches.
Okay, that’s pretty brutal. “You, kneel here and hold the light while your husband gets it on with his new wife.” Ogress gets points for psychological torture.
Rosella obeyed, but soon the King of Love, under the plea that Rosella was not in a condition to hold the torches any longer, persuaded his bride to change places with her.
Um … what?
“Honey, my pregnant ex-wife is really tired, will you take the torches for a bit while she lies in the bed?”
The daughter of the King of Portugal is either a sweetheart who is being very nice about this, or is incomprehensibly stupid.
Then again, Bird-boy seems to attract women like that.
Just as the queen took the torches in her hands, the earth opened and swallowed her up, and the king remained happy with Rosella.
… I really, really hope that the queen was being stupid, or else a very nice woman trying to help out the servant girl with swollen ankles just got swallowed up by the earth.
Either way, this seems like it would cause an international incident.
When the ogress heard what had happened she clasped her hands over her head, and declared that Rosella’s child should not be born until she unclasped her hands.
This is kind of a neat curse. Pregnant women hearing this curse cross their legs and wince. “You’re gonna carry that baby until he’s ready for college!”
Then the King of Love had a catafalque erected, and stretched himself on it as though he were dead, and had all the bells tolled, and made the people cry, “How did the King of Love die?”
The ogress heard it, and asked: “What is that noise?”
Her daughters told her that their brother was dead from her fault. When the ogress heard this she unclasped her hands, saying, “How did my son die?”
At that moment Rosella’s child was born. When the ogress heard it she burst a blood-vessel (in her heart) and died. Then the King of Love took his wife and sisters, and they remained happy and contented.
Okay, so that was a reasonably clever trick by the King of Love, who is the only one who shows an ounce of brain-power in this entire fairy tale, but what about the daughter of the King of Portugal? Is the King of Portugal mad? And at no point was the bit where the King turns into a bird ever referred to a curse or anything else, so presumably Rosella’s just married to a were-bird.
Which is fine. I’m not here to judge. You want to marry a were-bird, you live happily ever after with your bad self.
I do wonder if every time she wanted him to do something, she’d do the “Ah King of Love, etc!” and he’d have to appear. “Hmm, gonna need him to pick up some milk. Ah, King of Love —!”
“HONEY I WAS IN THE BATHROOM!”
And now, a few final thoughts from Crane …
There is another version of this story in Pitre (No. 281) entitled, “The Crystal King,” which resembles more closely the classic myth.
A father marries the youngest of his three daughters to a cavalier (the enchanted son of a king) who comes to his wife at night only. The cavalier once permits his wife to visit her sisters, and they learn from her that she has never seen her husband’s face. The eldest gives her a wax candle, and tells her to light it when her husband is asleep,
and then she can see him and tell them what he is like. She did so, and beheld at her side a handsome youth; but while she was gazing at him some of the melted wax fell on his nose. He awoke, crying, “Treason! Treason!” and drove his wife from the house. On her wanderings she meets a hermit, and tells him her story. He advises her to have made a pair of iron shoes, and when she has worn them out in her travels she will come to a palace where they will give her shelter, and where she will find her husband. The remainder of the story is of no interest here.
IT WAS OF INTEREST TO ME, CRANE!
Gah. Now I have story interruptus. Thanks a lot.
TOAD WORDS
AND OTHER
STORIES
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, large waterfowl, events, or actual historical personages, living, dead, or trapped in a hellish afterlife is purely coincidental.
© 2014 Ursula Vernon
For Ben
Introduction
For a very long time — rather an embarrassingly long time — I did not believe that I could write short stories.
I held this belief despite the fact that I had written several. Those didn’t count. They were some other thing, a story, yes, and one that was not terribly long, but not a short story.
Because I didn’t write short stories.
It was mostly a belief that I was not capable of doing something so disciplined. I wrote long sprawling rambling epics. I could not possibly be brief enough for a short story. Those short … things … had probably started life as haiku and run to five thousand words. That seemed plausible.
(I wrote blog posts, of course, many of which were stories of things that had happened to me, but that was different. My life was never required to have a plot.)
And then one day I sat down and wrote the first half of a story — I believe it was “The Wolf and the Woodsman”— and because it was fundamentally the story of Little Red Riding Hood, I finished it up a few days later and it was done and over and I did not need to follow the heroine until she died or spend a chapter discussing the issues faced by talking wolves in modern-day society.
The Halcyon Fairy Book Page 19