Tales From Watership Down

  He was a magnificent stag. His smooth coat shone in the sunlight like that of a groomed horse. His black hooves also shone, and he carried his superb, branching antlers with such grandeur and majesty that he instantly silenced the whole, chattering assembly. Walking to the center of the lawn, he turned to let his kindly gaze travel slowly here and there among his subjects.

  When he noticed El-ahrairah, glittering silver not more than thirty feet away, he stared at him intently.

  "What sort of animal are you?" he asked in a deep, smooth voice--the voice of one who never hurried and was always obeyed.

  "May it please Your Majesty," replied El-ahrairah, "I'm an English rabbit, come from very far to petition for your royal bounty."

  "Come here," said the King.

  El-ahrairah came forward and sat up, rabbit fashion, before the King's gleaming front hooves.

  "What is it you want?" asked the King.

  "I am here to plead for my people, Your Majesty. They have no sense of smell--none at all--and this not only hinders them greatly in feeding and in finding their way about, but also leaves them in great danger from their enemies the predators, whom they can't smell coming. Noble King, only help us, I beg."

  Again there was silence. The King turned to one of his retinue. "Have I this power?"

  "You have, Your Majesty."

  "Have I ever used it?"

  "Never, Your Majesty."

  The King seemed to be reflecting. Very quietly, he spoke to himself. "But this would be to assume the power of Lord Frith: to confer upon a whole species a faculty they lack."

  Suddenly El-ahrairah cried out loudly to the King, "Your Majesty, do but give us this sense, and I promise you and every creature here that my people shall become to the human race the greatest scourge and tribulation in the world. We will be to them, everywhere, a relentless bane and affliction. We will destroy their greenstuff, burrow under their fences, spoil their crops, harass them by night and day."

  At this, cheering broke out among all the creatures in the audience. Someone shouted, "Give it to him, Your Majesty! Let his people become the humans' worst enemy, as the humans are ours."

  The babel continued for some little while, until at length the King gazed round for silence. Then he lowered his beautiful head and pressed his muzzle against El-ahrairah. His tremendous antlers seemed to enclose the Rabbit Prince like an invincible palisade. "Be it so," he said. "Take my blessing to your people, and with it the Sense of Smell, to be theirs forever."

  On the instant, El-ahrairah himself could smell: the damp grass, the surrounding crowd of animals, the King's warm breath. He felt so much overcome with joy and gratitude that he could hardly find words to thank the King. All the creatures applauded him and wished him well.

  A golden eagle carried him home. When it set him down in his own meadow, the first animals he saw were Rabscuttle and several more of his faithful Owsla. "You did it, then--you did it!" they cried, crowding round him. "We can all smell! All of us!"

  "Come on, master," said Rabscuttle. "You must be hungry. Can you smell those splendid cabbages in the kitchen garden over there? Come and help us chew them up. I've tunneled under the fence already."

  So all of you who've listened to this story, just remember, when next you steal flayrah from men: you're not only stuffing your bellies; you're fulfilling the solemn promise of El-ahrairah to the King of Tomorrow, as all good rabbits should.

  2

  The Story of the Three Cows

  Cows are my passion.

  CHARLES DICKENS, Dombey and Son

  "You're talking nonsense, Fiver," said Bigwig.

  They were sitting in the Honeycomb, together with Vilthuril and Hyzenthlay, one wet, chilly afternoon of early summer. "Of course El-ahrairah must get old in time, like all of us; like every other rabbit. Otherwise he wouldn't be real."

  "No, he doesn't," replied Fiver. "He always remains the same age."

  "Have you ever met him or even seen him?"

  "You know I haven't."

  "Who were his father and mother?"

  "We aren't told. But you know the story tells that in those first days Lord Frith made all the animals and birds, and that to begin with they were all friends; and El-ahrairah, it says, was among the animals in those days. So obviously he doesn't get older--or at least not in the same way that we do."

  "And I'm sure that he does; he must."

  They broke off the argument for the time being, but that evening, when several more rabbits were assembled in the Honeycomb, Bigwig resumed.

  "If he doesn't get older, how can he be a real rabbit?"

  "There's a story about that, if I'm not mistaken," replied Fiver. "I can't remember it at the moment. Isn't there a story, Dandelion?"

  "You mean about El-ahrairah and the Three Cows?"

  "The Three Cows?" said Bigwig. "What on earth have three cows got to do with it? That must be wrong."

  "Well, I can tell you the story," said Dandelion, "as it was told to me--oh, a long time ago, before we came here. But I can't add anything to it or try to explain it. You'll just have to hear it--all of it--for yourselves, and that's the best I can do."

  "Right you are!" said Bigwig. "Let's all hear it. Three cows, indeed!"

  They say, you know (began Dandelion), that long ago El-ahrairah lived for a time on these very downs. He lived as we do, as merrily as could be, eating the grass and making occasional expeditions to the grounds of the big house at the bottom to steal flayrah. His happiness would have lasted forever if he had not begun to feel, little by little, a change in himself. He knew well enough what it meant. Gradually, he was growing old. He knew this mainly because his marvelous hearing was becoming less keen and there was a stiffness in one of his front paws.

  One morning, as he was feeding in the dew outside his burrow, he saw a yellowhammer bobbing about among the thorn and juniper bushes nearby. At length he realized that this little bird was trying to talk to him: but it was timid and would not do more than flitter from the bushes and back. He waited patiently, and at last--or so it seemed to him--it sang clearly and into his understanding.

  "El-ahrairah would not grow old

  If his mind were strong and his heart were bold."

  "Stop, little bird!" said El-ahrairah. "Tell me what you mean and tell me what to do."

  But the little bird only sang again:

  "El-ahrairah would not grow old

  If his mind were strong and his heart were bold."

  It flew away, and El-ahrairah was left upon the turf to think. He felt bold enough--or so it seemed to him--but where should he look and what was the task that demanded his boldness? Finally he set off to find out.

  He asked birds and beetles, frogs and even the yellow-and-brown caterpillars on the ragwort, but none could tell him where he could seek the business of not growing old. At last, after wandering for many days, he met an old, gnarled hare squatting in its form in a patch of long grass. The old hare stared at him in silence, and it took El-ahrairah some little time to pluck up the courage to ask his question.

  "Try the moon," said the old hare, hardly looking at El-ahrairah as he spoke.

  Then El-ahrairah felt sure that that old hare knew more than he would say unless he pressed him hard; and he went close up to him and said, "I know you are bigger than I am and can run faster, but I am here to learn what you know, and I will press you with all the means in my power until you tell me. I am no foolish, inquisitive rabbit come to waste your time, but one engaged on this search up to the depths of my heart."

  "Then I pity you," replied the old hare, "for you seem to have pledged yourself to seek for what cannot be found and to throw your life away in the search."

  "Tell me," said El-ahrairah, "and I will undertake whatever you instruct."

  "There is only one way you can attempt," replied the old hare. "The secret you are looking for lies with the Three Cows and with no one else. Have you heard of the Three Cows?"

  "No, I haven't," said El
-ahrairah. "What have rabbits to do with cows? I have seen cows but never had dealings with them."

  "Nor can I tell you where to find them," answered the old hare. "But the Three Cows' secret--or rather, the secret they guard--is the only one which can reward your search."

  And with this the old hare went to sleep.

  El-ahrairah went asking everywhere for the Three Cows, but received no replies, except bantering and mocking ones, until he began to feel that he was doing nothing but make a fool of himself. Sometimes he was maliciously misdirected and went on journeys only to find at the end that he had been tricked. Yet he would not give up.

  One evening of early May, when he was lying under a bush of flowering blackthorn and the sun was setting in a silver sky, he once again heard, close by, his friend the yellowhammer singing among the low-growing branches.

  "Come here, friend," he called. "Come and help me!"

  Then the yellowhammer sang:

  "El-ahrairah, behind and before

  The bluebell wood and the wide downs o'er,

  El-ahrairah need search no more."

  "Oh, where? Where, little bird?" cried El-ahrairah, springing up. "Only tell me!"

  "Now by my wings, my tail and beak,

  The First Cow isn't far to seek.

  Just under the Down, in the neighborhood,

  Lies the brindled cow's enchanted wood."

  The yellowhammer flew away and left El-ahrairah sniffing among the first burnets and early purple orchids. He was puzzled, for he knew that there was no wood anywhere in the neighborhood of the Down. At last, however, he went to the very foot, and there, to his astonishment, he saw a deep wood on the far side of the meadow. In front of the outskirts sat the biggest brown-and-white cow he had ever seen.

  This could only be the cow he had been looking for; and El-ahrairah knew that the wood must in some way or other be enchanted, for how else could it have come to be standing where to his knowledge no wood had been before? If he hoped to find what he was looking for, into that wood he would have to go.

  He approached the cow cautiously, for he had no idea whether she would attack him, although he thought that if the worst came to the worst he could always run away. The cow simply stared at him out of her great brown eyes and said nothing.

  "Frith bless you, mother!" said El-ahrairah. "I am looking for a way through the wood."

  The cow said nothing for so long that El-ahrairah wondered whether she had heard him. At last she replied, "There is no way through."

  "Yet through I must go," said El-ahrairah.

  He could see now that the edge of the wood was thick with thorns and briers, tangled and twisted so that nothing bigger than a beetle could possibly get through. Only where the cow sat was there a gap, which she filled entirely. Perhaps, he thought, she would be bound to move, yet it would be useless to ask her to do so, for had she not said there was no way?

  Night fell, and the cow had not moved. In the morning she was still there in the same place, and El-ahrairah knew then that it must be a cow of sorcery, for it seemed to feel no need to graze or to drink. He perceived that he would have to resort to a trick. He got up, still watched by the cow, and wandered slowly away down the length of the outskirts until at last he came to a place where the mass of trees and brambles curved inward. He had hoped for a corner of the wood, where he might try to go round it, but as far as he could see, there was none. He made his way some distance into the curve, came out running and hurried back to the cow.

  "Are you sure that no one goes into your wood, mother?" he asked.

  "No one enters the wood," answered the cow. "It is sacred to Lord Frith and enchanted by sunlight and moonlight."

  "Well, I don't know about sunlight and moonlight," said El-ahrairah. "But round that curving bit, there are two badgers who evidently mean to get in. They're digging like fury, and it won't take them long."

  "They have no chance," replied the cow. "The enchantment is too strong. Nevertheless, I had better go and stop them." She clambered up and went lumbering away.

  As soon as she had rounded the corner by the curve, El-ahrairah lost not a moment, but dashed through the open gap and found himself in the strange light of the wood.

  It was not like any wood he had ever known. To start with, it was full of odd sounds: Frightening sounds, which might have come from the trees or might have been made by animals; though what animals he could not tell. Furthermore, he could not find a single track or path. Sometimes he thought he could smell and hear water, but when he tried to go toward it he became confused. To go through the wood was something he had supposed would be easy to a rabbit of his knowledge and experience, but soon he found it was otherwise and that he was wandering in circles. He also felt sure that despite the noises, there was not a bird or any other living creature throughout the length and breadth he covered.

  For four days and more--for hrair days--El-ahrairah wandered starving in that terrible wood, for there was no grass there. More than once he would have gone back, but he no more knew the way back than the way on. At last, one day, he came to a steep slope in the solitude, and at the foot of the slope ran a little stream, all overgrown. He determined to follow that stream, for sooner or later it must, he felt sure, run out of the wood, though on which side he could not tell.

  He followed the stream for two days and became so faint that he could go no further. He sank down and fell asleep, and when he woke could see that lower down the course of the stream there was a faint glow of brighter light. He stumbled toward it and at last came to a marshy place, where the water ran out of the wood into a smooth, green meadow stretching away as far as he could see. The grass was the best he had ever eaten and full of cowslips. He ate all he wanted, found a hole in a bank and slept for a full day and night.

  When he woke he began to wander across the great meadow. It was full of flowers: buttercups and moon daisies, tormentil and orchid and salad burnet. His energy returned, and he began to wonder which way he ought now to take in his strange journey. As he rested on a bank where clumps of scented valerian were growing, he was startled to see once again his friend the yellowhammer, flitting about in the hedge.

  "El-ahrairah! El-ahrairah!" [sang the yellowhammer]

  "El-ahrairah is healed and full,

  And he must seek the great white bull."

  El-ahrairah was puzzled at this, for he had supposed that he would now have to seek the Second Cow, of whom there was no sign. But he trusted the yellowhammer and went on with his journey over the grassy plain. He met no other animals and felt so safe that for two nights he lay down to sleep in the open.

  On the third day he came to a place where the grass was all grazed short and trodden, and there, ahead of him, he saw the white bull. He had never seen so noble a creature. His great eyes were blue as the sky, and his long, curved horns were pure golden in color, while his coat was soft and white as summer clouds.

  El-ahrairah greeted the bull as a friend, for he could tell that he would not harm him. They sat together in the grass and talked of nothing--of flowers and sunshine.

  "Do you live here alone?" asked El-ahrairah.

  "Alas! I am alone," replied the bull. "I long for a mate, and in time gone by Frith promised me her whom they call the Second Cow; but I can never reach her, for she is surrounded by a great expanse of sharp rocks and pointed boulders, which cut my legs and break my hooves. I have lived here many months, but I can find no way to pass that cruel ravine."

  "Show me the way," said El-ahrairah. "It may be that a rabbit can get through."

  Then the white bull led him a long way over the plain, until at last they came to the edge of the ravine about which he had spoken. It was a mass of stones sharp as gorse and thick as brambles, stretching, as it seemed, for miles.

  "No bull can ever cross that," sighed the white bull sorrowfully. "Yet that is the only way to the Second Cow."

  "A rabbit may very well be able to go where a bull cannot," replied El-ahrairah. "I will go, f
riend bull, and bring you back word of what I find."

  Then El-ahrairah set off to slip in and out of the pointed boulders and between the sharp rocks. It was hard going even for a rabbit, and many times he was forced to stop and judge how best he could make his way forward. For three days he went on, over stones which cut his feet and rocks which scraped his sides as he squeezed between them. And at sunset on the third day he came out onto a flat place beyond the stones and saw facing him the Second Cow.

  She was gaunt and thin, with an air of lonely sorrow which moved him at once to pity her. He greeted her cheerfully, but she barely answered him, only telling him that he was welcome to make the best of the poor grass and to sleep under the nearest bank. In the morning he again spoke to her as a friend and told her of his journey and of the white bull, but she seemed so distracted and wretched that he could not tell whether she had understood him or not.

  El-ahrairah stayed several days with the poor, unhappy cow but could not find any way to dispel her gloom. One day, as he was following her over the thin grass, he saw sharp rocks springing out of the ground in her very hoofsteps. He knew then the secret of her enchantment. The bitter land all around--yes, and the harsh, impassable ravine itself--were the reflection of her stony heart.

  El-ahrairah set himself to use all his powers to comfort and encourage the Second Cow. He told her of the shallows of streams at sunset, where minnows swim and marsh marigolds grow thick in the little pools. He told her of sorrel and buttercups in the meadows where cows swish their tails in the long afternoons of June and July. He told her of newborn calves leaping and playing on the grass. He told her everything he could think of which could gladden and lighten her spirits.

  At first she seemed to take in little of what he had to say, but as the days went by and the rain fell and the sun shone in that harsh place, gradually her heart seemed to lighten. At last, one night, she told him that if he would guide her she would do her best to cross the ravine. But lo and behold! next morning, when they came to the edge, they saw the sharp rocks crumbling and green grass springing up between them. It was the melting of her own distracted heart.