by Ken Brosky
The bird now flew to the juniper-tree and began singing:
“My mother killed her little son …”
The mother shut her eyes and her ears, that she might see and hear nothing, but there was a roaring sound in her ears like that of a violent storm, and in her eyes a burning and flashing like lightning.
“My father grieved when I was gone …”
“Look, mother,” said the man, “at the beautiful bird that is singing so magnificently; and how warm and bright the sun is, and what a delicious scent of spice in the air!”
“My sister loved me best of all …”
Then little Marleen laid her head down on her knees and sobbed.
“I must go outside and see the bird nearer,” said the man.
“Ah, do not go!” cried the wife. “I feel as if the whole house were in flames!”
But the man went out and looked at the bird.
“She laid her kerchief over me … And took my bones that they might lie … Underneath the juniper-tree … Kywitt, Kywitt … what a beautiful bird am I!”
With that the bird let fall the gold chain, and it fell just round the man’s neck, so that it fitted him exactly.
He went inside, and said, “See, what a splendid bird that is; he has given me this beautiful gold chain, and looks so beautiful himself.”
But the wife was in such fear that she fell on the floor, and her cap fell from her head.
Then the bird began again:
“My mother killed her little son …”
“Ah me!” cried the wife, “if I were but a thousand feet beneath the earth, that I might not hear that song.”
“My father grieved when I was gone …”
Then the woman fell down again as if dead.
“My sister loved me best of all …”
“Well,” said little Marleen, “I will go out too and see if the bird will give me anything.”
So she went out.
“She laid her kerchief over me … And took my bones that they might lie …”
And he threw down the shoes to her.
“Underneath the juniper-tree … Kywitt, Kywitt … what a beautiful bird am I!”
And she now felt quite happy and lighthearted; she put on the shoes and danced and jumped about in them. “I was so miserable,” she said, “when I came out, but that has all passed away; that is indeed a splendid bird, and he has given me a pair of red shoes.”
The wife sprang up, with her hair standing out from her head like flames of fire. “Then I will go out too,” she said, “and see if it will lighten my misery, for I feel as if the world were coming to an end.”
But as she crossed the threshold, crash! The bird threw the millstone down on her head, and she was crushed.
The father and little Marleen heard the sound and ran out, but they only saw mist and flame and fire rising from the spot, and when these had passed, there stood the little brother, and he took the father and little Marleen by the hand; then they all three rejoiced, and went inside together and sat down to their dinners and ate.
[iii] THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE
By the Brothers Grimm
There was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a pigsty, close by the seaside. The fisherman used to go out all day long a-fishing; and one day, as he sat on the shore with his rod, looking at the sparkling waves and watching his line, all on a sudden his float was dragged away deep into the water: and in drawing it up he pulled out a great fish. But the fish said, “Pray let me live! I am not a real fish; I am an enchanted prince: put me in the water again, and let me go!”
“Oh, ho!” said the man, “you need not make so many words about the matter; I will have nothing to do with a fish that can talk: so swim away, sir, as soon as you please!”
Then he put him back into the water, and the fish darted straight down to the bottom, and left a long streak of blood behind him on the wave.
When the fisherman went home to his wife in the pigsty, he told her how he had caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was an enchanted prince, and how, on hearing it speak, he had let it go again. “Did not you ask it for anything?” said the wife, “we live very wretchedly here, in this nasty dirty pigsty; do go back and tell the fish we want a snug little cottage.”
The fisherman did not much like the business: however, he went to the seashore; and when he came back there the water looked all yellow and green. And he stood at the water's edge, and said:
“O man of the sea!
Hearken to me!
My wife Ilsabill
Will have her own will,
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
Then the fish came swimming to him, and said, “Well, what is her will? What does your wife want?”
“Ah!” said the fisherman, “she says that when I had caught you, I ought to have asked you for something before I let you go; she does not like living any longer in the pigsty, and wants a snug little cottage.”
“Go home, then,” said the fish; “she is in the cottage already!”
So the man went home, and saw his wife standing at the door of a nice trim little cottage. “Come in, come in!” said she; “is not this much better than the filthy pigsty we had?” And there was a parlor, and a bedchamber, and a kitchen; and behind the cottage there was a little garden, planted with all sorts of flowers and fruits; and there was a courtyard behind, full of ducks and chickens.
“Ah!” said the fisherman, “how happily we shall live now!”
“We will try to do so, at least,” said his wife.
Everything went right for a week or two, and then Dame Ilsabill said, “Husband, there is not near room enough for us in this cottage; the courtyard and the garden are a great deal too small; I should like to have a large stone castle to live in: go to the fish again and tell him to give us a castle.”
“Wife,” said the fisherman, “I don't like to go to him again, for perhaps he will be angry; we ought to be easy with this pretty cottage to live in.”
“Nonsense!” said the wife; “he will do it very willingly, I know; go along and try!”
The fisherman went, but his heart was very heavy: and when he came to the sea, it looked blue and gloomy, though it was very calm; and he went close to the edge of the waves, and said:
“O man of the sea!
Hearken to me!
My wife Ilsabill
Will have her own will,
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
“Well, what does she want now?” said the fish.
“Ah!” said the man, dolefully, “my wife wants to live in a stone castle.”
“Go home, then,” said the fish, “she is standing at the gate of it already.” So away went the fisherman, and found his wife standing before the gate of a great castle.
“See,” said she, “is not this grand?” With that they went into the castle together, and found a great many servants there, and the rooms all richly furnished, and full of golden chairs and tables; and behind the castle was a garden, and around it was a park half a mile long, full of sheep, and goats, and hares, and deer; and in the courtyard were stables and cow-houses.
“Well,” said the man, “now we will live cheerful and happy in this beautiful castle for the rest of our lives.”
“Perhaps we may,” said the wife, “but let us sleep upon it, before we make up our minds to that.” So they went to bed.
The next morning when Dame Ilsabill awoke it was broad daylight, and she jogged the fisherman with her elbow, and said, “Get up, husband, and bestir yourself, for we must be king of all the land.”
“Wife, wife,” said the man, “why should we wish to be the king? I will not be king.”
“Then I will,” said she.
“But, wife,” said the fisherman, “how can you be king—the fish cannot make you a king?”
“Husband,” said she, “say no more about it, but go and try! I will be king.” So the man went away quite sorrowful to think that his
wife should want to be king. This time the sea looked a dark grey color, and was overspread with curling waves and the ridges of foam as he cried out:
“O man of the sea!
Hearken to me!
My wife Ilsabill
Will have her own will,
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
“Well, what would she have now?” said the fish.
“Alas!” said the poor man, “my wife wants to be king.”
“Go home,” said the fish; “she is king already.”
Then the fisherman went home; and as he came close to the palace he saw a troop of soldiers, and heard the sound of drums and trumpets. And when he went in he saw his wife sitting on a throne of gold and diamonds, with a golden crown upon her head; and on each side of her stood six fair maidens, each a head taller than the other. “Well, wife,” said the fisherman, “are you king?”
“Yes,” said she, “I am king.”
And when he had looked at her for a long time, he said, “Ah, wife! what a fine thing it is to be king! Now we shall never have anything more to wish for as long as we live.”
“I don't know how that may be,” said she; “never is a long time. I am king, it is true; but I begin to be tired of that, and I think I should like to be emperor.”
“Alas, wife! why should you wish to be emperor?” said the fisherman.
“Husband,” said she, “go to the fish! I say I will be emperor.”
“Ah, wife!” replied the fisherman, “the fish cannot make an emperor, I am sure, and I should not like to ask him for such a thing.”
“I am king,” said Ilsabill, “and you are my slave; so go at once!”
So the fisherman was forced to go; and he muttered as he went along, “This will come to no good, it is too much to ask; the fish will be tired at last, and then we shall be sorry for what we have done.” He soon came to the seashore; and the water was quite black and muddy, and a mighty whirlwind blew over the waves and rolled them about, but he went as near as he could to the water's brink, and said:
“O man of the sea!
Hearken to me!
My wife Ilsabill
Will have her own will,
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
“What would she have now?” said the fish.
“Ah!” said the fisherman, “she wants to be emperor.”
“Go home,” said the fish; “she is emperor already.”
So he went home again; and as he came near he saw his wife Ilsabill sitting on a very lofty throne made of solid gold, with a great crown on her head full two yards high; and on each side of her stood her guards and attendants in a row, each one smaller than the other, from the tallest giant down to a little dwarf no bigger than my finger. And before her stood princes, and dukes, and earls: and the fisherman went up to her and said, “Wife, are you emperor?”
“Yes,” said she, “I am emperor.”
“Ah!” said the man, as he gazed upon her, “what a fine thing it is to be emperor!”
“Husband,” said she, “why should we stop at being emperor? I will be pope next.”
“O wife, wife!” said he, “how can you be pope? there is but one pope at a time in Christendom.”
“Husband,” said she, “I will be pope this very day.”
“But,” replied the husband, “the fish cannot make you pope.”
“What nonsense!” said she; “if he can make an emperor, he can make a pope: go and try him.”
So the fisherman went. But when he came to the shore the wind was raging and the sea was tossed up and down in boiling waves, and the ships were in trouble, and rolled fearfully upon the tops of the billows. In the middle of the heavens there was a little piece of blue sky, but towards the south all was red, as if a dreadful storm was rising. At this sight the fisherman was dreadfully frightened, and he trembled so that his knees knocked together: but still he went down near to the shore, and said:
“O man of the sea!
Hearken to me!
My wife Ilsabill
Will have her own will,
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
“What does she want now?” said the fish.
“Ah!” said the fisherman, “my wife wants to be pope.”
“Go home,” said the fish; “she is pope already.”
Then the fisherman went home, and found Ilsabill sitting on a throne that was two miles high. And she had three great crowns on her head, and around her stood all the pomp and power of the Church. And on each side of her were two rows of burning lights, of all sizes, the greatest as large as the highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no larger than a small rushlight. “Wife,” said the fisherman, as he looked at all this greatness, “are you pope?”
“Yes,” said she, “I am pope.”
“Well, wife,” replied he, “it is a grand thing to be pope; and now you must be easy, for you can be nothing greater.”
“I will think about that,” said the wife. Then they went to bed: but Dame Ilsabill could not sleep all night for thinking what she should be next. At last, as she was dropping asleep, morning broke, and the sun rose. “Ha!” thought she, as she woke up and looked at it through the window, “after all I cannot prevent the sun rising.” At this thought she was very angry, and wakened her husband, and said, “Husband, go to the fish and tell him I must be lord of the sun and moon.” The fisherman was half asleep, but the thought frightened him so much that he started and fell out of bed.
“Alas, wife!” said he, “cannot you be easy with being pope?”
“No,” said she, “I am very uneasy as long as the sun and moon rise without my leave. Go to the fish at once!”
Then the man went shivering with fear; and as he was going down to the shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the very rocks shook. And all the heavens became black with stormy clouds, and the lightnings played, and the thunders rolled; and you might have seen in the sea great black waves, swelling up like mountains with crowns of white foam upon their heads. And the fisherman crept towards the sea, and cried out, as well as he could:
“O man of the sea!
Hearken to me!
My wife Ilsabill
Will have her own will,
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!”
“What does she want now?” said the fish.
“Ah!” said he, “she wants to be lord of the sun and moon.”
“Go home,” said the fish, “to your pigsty again.”
And there they live to this very day.
[iv]Moby-Dick
By Herman Melville
Chapter 1
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at
the crowds of water-gazers there.
Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?
But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?
Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.
But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd's head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd's eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June, when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea? Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.