Rusalka: A Supernatural Czech Fairy Tale

by Odelia Floris

  The gold-hued light of the dipping sun touched the castle and the oak trees growing all around. It stepped in through the windows of the banqueting hall and basked on the gallery and the sweeping staircase leading up to it. In front was a most ancient and mossy grove of oaks which stood in a circle around a pond, leaning their heads in towards each other like elders in council.

  Into this scene came the kitchen boy. There was sauce on his cheek and broth down his front, a dusting of flour in his hair and a bright bloom on his face from standing near the hot ovens. He stepped a little stealthily and furtively, with much peeping and peering. He shut the side door, cast a final look, and crept on past the stairs. But a sudden voice stopped him mid-step.

  ‘Come, come, my dear boy, don’t keep your uncle Vaňek in the dark! What is all the bustle about? The hall is swarming with guests, and the kitchens are all fevered work, with spoons, plates and bowls on every table. As for the maids, they haven’t breath left to say two words!’

  The boy crossed his arms with a very self-important air. ‘We of the Prince’s inner circle do know these things…’

  ‘Well then, tell your story,’ said his uncle, good-naturedly but growing rather impatient.

  ‘We are all in a great hurry, dearest Uncle Vanya,’ replied the boy, leaning in with a knowing, conspiratorial look. ‘From dawn till dusk and all through the night we work without rest or respite! And have you ever heard of such a thing? Just think of it!’

  ‘Of what, my boy?’ frowned the gamekeeper.

  ‘The prince found a creature in your forest and brought her home with him! It seems he wants to marry her. He came upon her deep, deep in your gloomy forest. But wherever he found her, I’d be afraid of her! She utters not a single word, she has not a drop of red blood, she goes around as if in a trance – a fine bride she’ll make!’

  ‘So the rumours I’ve heard are true!’ He shook his head. ‘As you say, it will not end well. God deliver us from evil. There is, I suspect, some strange sorcery behind the Prince’s infatuation.’

  The kitchen boy’s eyes grew wide with fear. He crouched at his uncle’s feet where he sat on a bench beside the pond.

  ‘The forest is haunted by sinister powers,’ continued the gamekeeper. ‘Stranger still are the creatures which gather there at midnight. Weaklings are in danger of being caught by Ježibaba the witch, and at the lake the Vodník will drag you fast down into the depths.’

  At this, the kitchen boy started up and peered nervously into the pool. All he saw was his own reflection, but it frightened him nonetheless. He snatched up a stick and poked at it a bit.

  ‘And any who see the wood nymphs unclothed go mad with desire for love,’ the gamekeeper added sternly. ‘Lord deliver us from that wickedness!’

  ‘Uncle, I’m frightened!’ cried the boy, tossing aside his stick and backing quickly away from the water.

  ‘I think I know very well why. May the Lord have mercy on your sinful soul!’

  The kitchen boy shuffled and sullenly adjusted his cap. Then, making an effort to regain his earlier air, he shrugged and picked up the stick. ‘The Prince was once smiling and carefree,’ he said, poking about in the leaves. ‘But no longer! He has been changed. He wonders around as if in a dream. Auntie Háta, his old nurse, prays for him day and night. And when the priest heard of the creature from the forest, he came to warn our prince. But said the Prince: “No, no, she stays! I’ll not hear another word against her!”’

  ‘So that is why all the noble guests are here and why the pantry’s nearly bare!’ said Uncle Vaňek, stroking his beard. ‘And also why I had to quickly catch and bring all that game!’

  The boy crossed his arms and gave a grownup sort of nod. ‘With luck, nothing will come of it and another woman will profit from our preparations! Old Háta says the Prince’s heart is fickle, that his love is already cooling. His head has been turned by a beautiful foreign princess. It is on her his mind now dwells.’

  ‘God be praised,’ said Uncle Vaňek, wiping his brow. ‘May He bless and keep our prince and give him peace. If I were him I’d chase out that forest creature before she drags me down to hell!’

  ‘Here comes the prince and his forest witch!’ the boy cried suddenly, pointing to one of the doors leading out onto the gallery.

  The gamekeeper jumped up. ‘I don’t want to see her! May God save us all!’

  And the two of them fled in opposite directions.

  The sun had set and evening was upon the castle and the park. The dying day stained the sky red from west to east, and the forest-clad mountains were a dark, hazy blue in the distance. Rusalka came out on the prince’s arm attired in a beautiful gown of blue silk chiffon beaded with tiny river pearls. But radiant as her loveliness was, her face was sad and pale.

  She lingered at the banister and gazed silently out at the dusky park.

  The Prince watched her with troubled eyes. ‘You have now dwelt with me a week,’ he said standing on the steps as she passed down. ‘And still you seem but an apparition. In vain I search your eyes to find your secret! Will our marriage bring what I have long yearned for? Will you ever burn with passion as a true woman should?’

  Rusalka turned her head away in silent anguish.

  ‘Why is your embrace so cold?’ cried the Prince. ‘Why do you flee from passion? Why do I tremble afraid when I hold you in my arms? In vain I try to banish this feeling, yet I cannot free myself from you – even if you were a hundred times colder I still would have to possess you!’

  His final passionate words breathed a fragile delight across pale Rusalka’s face. But before she could take the Prince’s hand, a sound disturbed the peaceful dusk. It was the thick, dull rustle of costly silken skirts and the tip-tap of a lady’s fancy feet. It was the beautiful Foreign Princess. Her thick red hair was piled high on her head and adorned with glittering rubies. Her long, full red brocade skirt and green silk train whooshed along with her progress, a jewelled belt marked the curve of her form, and rings glimmered on her slightly plump fingers.

  When she caught sight of the Prince and Rusalka down below, her eyes hardened and her nostrils flared subtly. Anger simmered in her heart. There that freakish, waif-like creature stands, in the place where I by rights should be, thought she. But if I cannot have him, neither shall she! They will not live in happiness if I have anything to do with it!

  And the princess stepped forward. ‘Lover you may be, Prince, but you are still a host too – I trust you have not forgotten?’ She seductively tilted her head a little to the side. ‘Must your guests be but onlookers to your happiness, and partake of no enjoyment themselves?’ The foreign princess had come down the stairs, and now stood between the Prince and Rusalka.

  ‘Your reproach is justified, Princess,’ said the Prince, stepping up and bending to kiss the hand she held out. ‘From your lips I hear it gladly. Even the bridegroom, your highness, must be your servant above all else!’

  Feeling a little more satisfied, the Foreign Princess grandly turned her eyes upon Rusalka. ‘How come this beauty who is queen of your heart looks on mutely while you neglect your guests?’ she demanded, pointing her jewel-weighted finger at the shrinking girl. ‘Are her eyes so full of feeling that she speaks to you through them alone?’

  Rusalka regarded the foreign princess with pained, angry eyes. But she could say nothing.

  ‘My bride’s eyes have forgotten to remind me of my duty!’ said the embarrassed Prince. ‘Allow me to now make amends to you, Princess, for my earlier negligence.’ He offered her his hand.

  But before the Foreign Princess could take it, Rusalka seized the Prince’s hand and fell to her knees at his feet.

  ‘What is the matter with you? Why do you tremble?’ the Prince demanded, angrily freeing himself. ‘Go, make haste to prepare yourself for the ball!’

  And he turned from her and gave the Foreign Princess his escorting arm.

  As he led the regal lady away, she looked bitterly back to Rusalka. ‘D
ress in your finest gown; I might have his gallantry, but it is you who has his heart.’

  Rusalka watched as the Prince and the Foreign Princess passed up the stairs and through the gallery. But her relief was stabbed with bitterness when she saw the Prince press the Foreign Princess’ hand to his lips as they paused in the doorway. Her rival’s gratified laughter showered on Rusalka’s ears like winter raindrops: bitingly cold and hard with ice. She turned away and clutched the banister with her pale, trembling hands. Night had fallen. The silver moon watched the darkened world from high in the heavens above. The all-seeing moon offered little comfort now. Sad and heartbroken, Rusalka departed through the gallery.

  Lights now shone bright from the hall, whence festive music and merry laughter drifted. More guests were arriving in the hall by the minute. Long tables almost groaned beneath the weight of the food piled high upon them, and flowers from the meadows, forests and gardens decked the hall. Looking like a host of flowers themselves, the maidens passed in dressed in silks of pink, red, yellow, purple, green and blue. Jewels glittered at fair throats and dangled from delicate wrists, and their lace and gold headdresses rayed about them like halos.

  A group of fine, handsome young lads stepped forward and offered their arms to the maidens. With faintly flushed cheeks and smiles all the brighter for their occasional shyness, they accepted and stepped out to dance, forming pairs and then circles. They circled faster, then spun away and were caught up by the lads, who tossed the light-footed girls high and set them down. The vigorous stumps of the lads’ boots and the laughter of the girls passed out through the open doors and drifted down into the night-cloaked park. A faint white mist trailed after the night here and there among the oaks and birches, like a bride’s tattered veil floating from her dark-haired head. This vaporous veil gathered thickest around the pool beneath the ancient oak trees.

  There was a stirring beneath the water. Dark ripples rayed out to the mossy stones ringing it. A shape moved in the depths, rising closer and closer. It was the Vodník. His thick, dark, blue-and-green hued mane rose slowly up out of the waters. River pearls glimmered in it like fireflies in the night. His eyes, dark and blue as a deep lake, were full of sadness.

  ‘Poor, pale Rusalka!’ he lamented. ‘Caught in the humans’ web. Alas! Alas! Alas!’

  With water streaming off him and water-plants clinging to him, the Vodník emerged from the pool to stand upon the rocks. From there, he looked in through the windows of the bright, gaily animated hall.

  ‘You cannot find in this world what my own realm is rich in, my poor Rusalka,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘Human or not, a primeval bond fetters you to the waters. Whether he loves you or not, he cannot be yours. Poor, pale Rusalka, caught in the web of human evil! Your sisters yearn to embrace you, the waters long to receive you. But when you do return to us, you will bring death with you. Weary of life will you come, and cursed eternally… Poor, pale Rusalka!’

  Bubbles rose around the Vodník as he sank lower in the water. A joyful chorus sung by youthful voices came from the hall:

  White roses were blooming

  All along the roadside

  As on a day fine and fair

  A lad was riding

  To see his maiden dear.

  Hurry, my boy, and do not be hiding,

  For near is the year

  When you a man shall be evermore.

  When upon this way

  You come riding back as before,

  It will be red roses that sway

  Alongside the path and not white;

  They are the first to succumb to the ray

  Of the sun burning above us so bright.

  The roses of fiery red

  Shall adorn your bridal bed.

  Within the hall, the smiling Prince gave the Foreign Princess his arm and led her to join the dance.

  The Vodník sadly shook his head once again. ‘It is white water lilies which will be your sad companions, my poor Rusalka. No red roses will ever adorn your marriage bed…’

  As the Prince danced with the Foreign Princess, he whispered low in her ear and looked attentively upon her, and here and there brushed her arm or neck with his fingers. The onlookers noted it well; there was much murmuring and shaking of heads among their ranks. As the hands of the great clock neared midnight, the Prince had not once offered Rusalka his hand to join the dance. With her eyes downcast and her pale hands tightly entwined, she shrunk in a corner. Now and then she started as a deer grazing a forest clearing might, and darted her wide blue eyes about the room. She saw the festive throng; handsome lads offering escorting hands to blushing favoured maids, matrons smiling as they remembered their own morning years, wise silver heads nodding in considered discussion, young husbands leaning in close to their fair brides. Rusalka began to tremble and shudder. It felt as though ice flowed in her veins. The waters called to her as the air calls to the hunted bird.

  Desperate Rusalka flung open a door and stumbled into the gallery. Deathly pale and with tears making silvered paths down her cheeks, she ran from the castle and into the park. She flew to the pool, heedless of the mud and leaves her chiffon hem and silver slippers gathered as she went.

  ‘Rusalka, my daughter!’ cried the surprised Vodník.

  The girl fell to her knees at the water’s edge. ‘Dearest father!’

  ‘I come to your splendid palace and find you weeping already?’

  Rusalka grasped the hand he held out to her. ‘Save me, save me, father! A terror has seized me; how I tremble and quake! Woe that I ever betrayed you; woe to any of us who come to know the humans! Alas! Alas that I ever saw a human form! Have mercy on me, father!’

  ‘What is it, my child?’ asked he. ‘What has happened to you?’

  ‘Another’s allure has captured the Prince’s heart, a throbbing, red-blooded human beauty. I, Rusalka from the forest, am nothing to him. He has forgotten me!’

  ‘The Prince has rejected you?’ asked the Vodník. ‘But he loved you so fervently! You must persevere, for there is surely hope of winning him back.’

  ‘No, father. Useless, useless it is! My heart is empty.’ And she laid her cheek upon the mossy stone and gazed sad and pale into the waters. ‘All my charms are for nothing, for I am only half human. He thinks of me, his Rusalka from the forest, no more. He dreams only of her whose eyes burn with accursed human passion. I, born from the cold, clear waters, blaze with no such passion. Useless, useless it is. My heart is empty…’ Her chill tears rolled silently down and dropped into the waters.

  The Vodník shook his head mournfully.

  ‘I am cursed by you and rejected by him, nothing but a faint echo of Nature’s elements!’ sobbed Rusalka. ‘I am not nature-spirit, nor am I woman. I cannot live, yet I cannot die!’ And she plunged her hand into the dully reflected face gazing at her from the dark deep.

  A noise from the castle made Rusalka lift her head. It was the Prince and the Foreign Princess, who appeared in the gallery.

  ‘Oh, see them, father!’ she cried, reaching out to the waters. ‘Save me! Save me!’

  The Prince led the Foreign Princess down the sweeping steps and twirled her in his arms under the moonlight.

  ‘A strange fire lights your eyes, my prince,’ said the Foreign Princess. ‘Your words are becoming more ardent, your glances sweeter. How they enchant me! Say, my host, what is the meaning of this? Where is your chosen bride, she who has no name and will speak none? Where has she fled to? She ought to see her prince now!’

  ‘Where has she gone?’ The Prince removed his arms from her and turned away. ‘God alone knows.’ He looked into the darkened park with troubled eyes. Then he turned back and smiled upon the Foreign Princess. ‘It is you who have caused this change, not merely the charms of this summer night and its glowing moon. If you like, call it a whim that I loved her for a little while. My Princess!’ – he seized her hand – ‘blaze as bright fire where the pale moonlight ruled before! Replace her wan light with yo
ur burning fire!’

  The Foreign Princess drew her hand back. ‘And when my fire has burnt you and I am gone far, far away from you, what will you think of her lunar light then? Your silent sleepwalker will embrace you in her lovely arms – who will your heart leap for then? Will you forget me?’

  Full of passion, the Prince took her hand and ardently pressed it to his lips. ‘You are like the red rose whose bloom is but fleeting! Only now do I see it is you my soul seeks to return my dying body to health!’

  ‘Now I see – I am being courted,’ the Princess said sourly. ‘The bridegroom does not know himself whether he courts me or her!’

  ‘What remains of that love which once entrapped me?’ said the Prince. ‘Its bonds I’d gladly break if you’ll be mine!’

  Suddenly desperate, pale Rusalka ran out from the shadows and threw herself into the Prince’s arms.

  ‘Your arms are cold as ice!’ cried the frightened Prince, pushing her back. ‘Away with you, freezing beauty!’

  A sudden shape appeared in the pool, lit bright by the light of the full moon. It was the Vodník. ‘Flee into that mortal woman’s arms if you will; Rusalka’s embrace you cannot escape!’ he cried. And he seized Rusalka and dragged her down into the depths.

  The Prince fell to his knees at the Foreign Princess’ feet. ‘Save me from the hand of this mysterious force! Help me! Save me!’

  The Foreign Princess threw back her head and laughed a cruel, mocking laugh. ‘Go, follow your bride into the dark abyss of hell!’ she cried.

  And still laughing and chuckling, she stalked haughtily away to rejoin the feasting throng within.