Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm

by Philip Pullman

  The day had already dawned. Since there was nothing to keep her at home, she decided to follow the dream. She knew where the mountain was, and so she set off at once; and as she made her way there the weather changed and became just as she’d experienced it in the dream, the wind wild, the rain as hard as hail. Nevertheless she struggled up, and found everything just as she’d seen it: the blue sky, the flower-covered meadow, the neat little hut, the white-haired old woman.

  ‘Come in, my dear,’ the old woman said, ‘and sit down beside me. I can see you’ve had an unhappy time; you must have done, to seek out my lonely hut.’

  Hearing her kindly words the young wife began to sob, but soon she gathered herself and told the whole story.

  ‘There now, don’t you worry,’ said the old woman. ‘I can help you. Take this golden comb. Wait till the next full moon, and then go to the millpond, sit down on the bank, and comb your long black hair with this comb. When you’ve done that, lie down right there, and see what happens.’

  The young wife went home, and the next few days were very slow in passing. Finally the full moon rose above the trees, and she went to the millpond, sat on the grassy bank, and began to comb her hair with the golden comb. When she’d finished she laid the comb at the water’s edge and lay down; and almost at once there was a stirring in the water, and a wave rose up and rushed to the bank, and when the water subsided, it took the comb with it. And at that very moment the surface of the water parted, and the huntsman’s head rose above the surface and gazed in anguish at his wife, but she only saw him for a second, because another wave came along at once and took him under again. When the water was finally still there was nothing to be seen except the reflection of the full moon.

  The young wife went home heartsick. But that night she had the dream again, so once more she set off to find the hut in the flowery meadow. This time the old woman gave her a golden flute.

  ‘Wait till the next full moon,’ she said, ‘and take the flute to the water. Sit on the bank and play a beautiful tune, and when you’ve done that, lay it down on the grass and see what happens.’

  The huntsman’s wife did just as the old woman told her. She played a tune, and as soon as she’d set the flute down on the grass, the water surged towards the bank and took it down into the depths; and a moment later, there was a disturbance in the middle of the pond, and the water parted to let the huntsman’s head and the upper part of his body appear above the surface. He reached out towards her desperately, as she reached to him, but just as their hands were almost touching, the waves pulled him under, and yet again she was left alone on the bank.

  ‘Oh, this will break my heart!’ she thought. ‘To see my dear one twice, only to lose him again – it’s too much to bear!’

  But when she slept, she had the dream again. So she set off for the mountain for the third time, and the old woman comforted her.

  ‘Don’t be too distressed, my dear. It’s not all over yet. You must wait for another full moon, and take this golden spinning wheel to the millpond. Sit on the bank and spin, and when the spindle is full, leave the spinning wheel and see what happens.’

  The young wife did exactly what she was told. When the moon was full, she spun a full spindle of flax at the water’s edge, and then left the golden wheel and stepped aside. The water swirled and bubbled and then rushed at the bank with more violence than ever, and a great wave swept the spinning wheel down into the pool. And at the same moment another wave surged up, and brought with it first the huntsman’s head and arms, and then his whole body, and he leaped for the bank and seized his wife’s hand, and they ran for their lives.

  But behind them a great convulsion was sweeping the water up and out of the millpond altogether. It rushed up the bank and across the meadow after the fleeing couple with terrible force, smashing down trees and bushes, so that they feared for their lives. In her terror the wife called out to the old woman, and at once wife and husband were transformed into a toad and a frog. When the water overwhelmed them it couldn’t drown them, but it tore them apart from each other and carried them a long way away.

  After the flood had subsided, and the two little animals were left on dry land, they regained their human forms again; but neither knew where the other was, and they were each among strangers in strange lands. Many high mountains and deep valleys lay between them. To earn a living, they each found work herding sheep, and for some years they tended their flocks among the fields and the forests; and wherever they wandered, each of them felt a constant sadness and yearning.

  One day, when spring had come again and the air was fresh and warm, they both set out with their sheep. As chance would have it, they began moving towards the same place. The huntsman saw a flock of sheep on a distant mountain slope, and drove his own in that direction, and in the valley that lay between them the two flocks and the two shepherds came together. They didn’t recognize each other, but they were glad to have each other’s company in that lonely place, and from then on they drove their flocks together, not speaking much, but each taking comfort from the other’s presence.

  One night, when the moon was full in the sky and the sheep were safely gathered in, the huntsman took a flute from his pocket and played a sad and beautiful little tune. When he put the flute down, he saw that the shepherdess was weeping.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘the moon was full just like this when I played that same tune on a flute, and the head of my darling rose out of the water . . .’

  He looked at her, and it was as if a veil had fallen from his eyes, for he recognized his dear wife. And when she looked at his face in the moonlight, she knew him as well. They fell into each other’s arms and kissed and hugged and kissed again, and no one need ask whether they were happy; indeed, they lived in bliss for the rest of their lives.

  ***

  Tale type: ATU 316, ‘The Nix of the Mill-Pond’

  Source: a story by Moritz Haupt, published in Zeitschrift für Deutsches Alterthum (Magazine of German Antiquity), vol. 2 (1842)

  Nixies, selkies, mermaids, rusalki, whatever they’re called they’re trouble. This one is no exception to the rule, but she’s beaten in the end: the faithful wife outloves her. The depiction of the mutual discovery of husband and wife at the end is very touching, and the pattern of lunar imagery set up earlier requires that the discovery be made at the full moon, which thus makes artistic as well as ocular sense. On any other night they wouldn’t have been able to see each other so clearly.

  I’d like to know the tune that was played on the flute. ‘Song to the Moon’, from his opera Rusalka of 1901, would do very well.