Rusalka: A Supernatural Czech Fairy Tale

  A rumpled grey sky hung low over the forest. The lake in the glade dully reflected its grim, shaded light, murmuring in ominous tongue as dark ripple chased dark ripple to the shore. It was a silent shore they beached upon. No birds sing to such heavy, brooding skies, and, like fishing boats do, the dragonflies stayed harboured in their rushy moorings.

  But one living creature – if she can be called so – stirred beneath these silent, sad clouds which hung overhead like tattered scraps of rag caught in a thorn bush. It was Rusalka. Her skin was wan and white, her hair an ashen grey, and her eyes now not crystal lakes, but murky marshland pools. On an old swamp willow she sat, mournfully trailing her fingers in the waters.

  ‘Cruel waters who have fettered my to your depths’ said she, ‘why can I not die in your cold embrace? Robbed of my sisters and my youth, and forever banished because of my ill-fated love, I grieve alone in these cold, bleak currents. My sweet charms I have lost, my beloved has cursed me. I seek my sisters in vain, and in vain do I long for the world. Those enchanted summer nights when the white water lilies bloomed; where are they now? Gone, gone never to return… O cruel waters who have fettered me to your dark, icy deeps, let me, oh let me die in your cold, pitiless embrace!’

  The cursed nymph’s cry moaned low over the lonely waters and silent forest. Perhaps it was few listening ears who heard it, or perhaps it was many. But there was only one pair whose owner answered.

  Wrinkling her nose and narrowing her shrewd little eyes, Ježibaba the witch came shuffling out of her cottage. ‘Ah!’ croaked she, ‘Rusalka has returned, has she? You’ve been gone but a gnat’s wing-flap. And looking so tattered and white. Why do you sit here all alone disturbing my peace with your lamenting? Were human kisses not to your taste, eh?’ She prodded Rusalka with her staff. ‘Did the warmth of his bed fail to thaw the cold in your veins?’

  ‘Alas,’ cried Rusalka, ‘they all have betrayed me and everything is lost!’

  ‘Your joy was short, but after kissing human lips, your suffering will be long,’ the witch replied sternly. ‘A man is an outcast of Nature, uprooted from the earth long ago. Woe unto them who longed for his love and because of his betrayal are now cursed!’

  ‘Is there truly no hope for me? Surely you can help, wise auntie?’ implored Rusalka.

  ‘Your lover has abandoned you for another, and again you expect Ježibaba to help you?’

  ‘Please help me, auntie!’

  ‘After tasting worldly pleasures you now wish to return to your sisters in the waters?’

  Clasping her hands in pleading, the wan nymph nodded her head.

  Ježibaba grunted. ‘Very well. I will tell you what to do – although whether or not you will heed my counsel is another thing!’ She planted herself upon a rotting tree stump and set her staff down. ‘There is but one thing which will wash Nature’s curse from you: human blood! You sought love in the arms of a mortal and that is the price you must pay. Do this and you will return to what you were ere I changed you.’

  ‘Rusalka quivered. ‘Human blood?’

  ‘Nothing but the warm blood of a man will ease your suffering and make you happy again!’ And the witch struck her staff upon the ground – whereon a stunned squirrel fell from the branches above. ‘With your own hand you must take the lifeblood of he who seduced you!’

  Rusalka’s smile of growing joy was snuffed in an instant. ‘Ježibaba,’ cried the nymph, ‘have pity; you ask too much!’

  The witch pressed a knife into Rusalka’s hand. ‘Take this blade and plunge it into his heart – vow you will obey!’

  ‘No!’ cried Rusalka, and she tossed the knife far out into the lake. ‘I would rather suffer my curse for all eternity than take a single drop of his blood. I’ll live in unending torment, rejected and despairing. But he, my mortal beloved, must live happy!’

  The witch burst into wild, cackling laughter. ‘Longing enticed you to brave life among the foolish, deceitful humans, and yet now you haven’t the strength to spill a drop of mortal blood? Mind you, man only became man when he stained his hands with blood, when through passion he killed his brother!’ The witch spat over her shoulder and poked away a toad that hopped at her feet. ‘And you, pale, insipid water-bubble, thought to win a man with love! Bah, you empty moon-ray, good for nothing!’ The witch struck Rusalka with her staff. ‘Go, have it as you wish; suffer through all ages, dry up in longing for your beloved mortal!’

  After giving the nymph a final contemptuous poke, Ježibaba shuffled away into the forest, muttering and mumbling sourly to herself all the while.

  Rusalka dragged herself up from where she had fallen amid the leaf-mould. She staggered to the lake edge and slipped into the darkening waters.

  ‘Banished, rejected, despised, I sink into the lonely deeps without my sisters,’ she sorrowed. ‘Beloved Prince, never again will I see you. Never! Alas! Alas!’ And she submerged in the lake.

  But voices cried all around her as she descended: ‘You fled from our games and left us to walk among mortals. Now you are cursed, do not come near us! She who has known a man’s embrace may not join our dance! We will flee at your approach. Your grief and suffering frighten us; we cannot enjoy our games with you near. Play with the willow-the-wisps upon the marsh at night! Linger at the crossroads and lead human souls astray with your pale blue light. Lure them to their graves in the murky depths! But to us do not dare return!’

  Silence reclaimed lake and glade. The skies had faded with the dying day. Only an evening glow now remained low in the west. A pair of water birds passed over the forest and glided down to settle on the lake. Then a short while later, another thing came into the scene. Shuffling, scowling, looking over his shoulder – it was the kitchen boy, with the gamekeeper, dear uncle Vaňek, pushing him along.

  ‘Frightened, my boy?’ the gamekeeper asked gruffly. ‘There is no need to be so silly; many have come here before us. Call at her door and calmly say what we ordered you to say: An evil forest creature came to the castle, the Prince is gravely ill and has lost his mind, and old Háta begs Ježibaba’s advice!’

  The kitchen boy planted his feet as though stuck in treacle. ‘My knees are knocking and my eyes are foggy – for heaven’s sake, uncle, go in my stead!’

  ‘I’ve walked past this way many times during the dark night hours,’ Vaňek replied placidly, holding the boy in place (for he had turned to flee!) ‘Only the worst coward is afraid of an old woman!’

  ‘It is you with your stories who frightened me, uncle. You oughtn’t be surprised that I’m afraid of the dark forest!’

  The gamekeeper waved a dismissive hand. ‘It was just idle talk, boy, idle talk – I exaggerate a little from time to time! Now, never mind what I said. Go quickly and’ – the gamekeeper grasped the boy just in time before he could sneak off – ‘go quickly and summon the old hag for her answer.’

  They were now near the witch’s cottage. Uncle Vaňek pushed his nephew forward and pointed at the door.

  But again the boy’s feet stuck fast. ‘I’m in such a fright I’d do nothing but mumble! Better if you ask her yourself!’ Step by step he retreated backwards...

  The gamekeeper’s stick arrested his progress. ‘If you were my son I’d be ashamed! And just to show you how a real man walks without fear, I’ll call her myself.’

  ‘No, no –’ the boy was shaking his head and tugging at his uncle’s sleeve – ‘don’t call her!’

  ‘Ježibaba!’ called the gamekeeper, ‘Ježibaba! Hola there, hola!’

  ‘Who’s making that noise? Who’s calling me?’ croaked the witch, coming shuffling out of her cottage.

  The kitchen boy instantly darted to hide behind his uncle. He cowered there with eyes round as saucers and knees knocking together as he shuddered and shook.

  The witch wrinkled her nose and stubbed her staff impatiently on the ground.

  Quickly the gamekeeper thrust his nephew in front of him. ‘Old Háta s-sent us h-here, Ježibaba, to ask for your adv
ice!’ he stammered, trembling at the knees.

  ‘And as payment for that bit of wit, she sends me this sapling to eat?’ Frowning, Ježibaba pinched the boy’s arm and poked at his ribs. ‘I see this cornstalk needs fattening. But after, he’ll make a tasty roast!’ She smacked her lips with relish.

  The kitchen boy flapped desperately at her grasping, pinching fingers. ‘Let go of me, let go of me! Uncle, you heard: she wants to eat me! Uncle!’

  ‘Ha! Ha! Ha!’ The witch was shaking with laughter. ‘Bah, you scrawny mite – a bad bit of meat you’d make, dim-witted creature! Hell can have you and your clan to swallow whole! Now don’t be standing there rattling your teeth any longer; tell me what you want!’

  ‘Our – prince is – very – very sick,’ recited the boy, fixing his round eyes directly ahead. ‘A – great – sorceress – cast a – spell upon him! Yes indeed.’ His eyes wandered to the departing path. But his uncle’s stick poked in his back before his feet could follow. ‘The Prince brought her to the castle and gave her everything she could wish for,’ the boy continued bravely. ‘He loved her as he loves his own life. It was all arranged; the pretty witch was to be his bride. But she didn’t wait for their wedding day. Once the web of her spell was drawn tight, the faithless witch all of a sudden disappeared. The castle is still under her spell. I suppose the devil himself must have yanked her back to hell!’

  Suddenly the Vodník emerged from the lake. ‘Who did you say took her?’ he boomed. ‘Who did you say she betrayed?’ Dark and glistening in the rippling waters, his rearing form made a terrifying sight. ‘A curse upon the one who sent you here! You low, snivelling creatures, weavers of lies! It is he, your prince, who betrayed her and brought the curse upon her!’

  ‘The Vodník, the Vodník!’ shrieked the gamekeeper. And, wild-eyed and trembling from top to toe, he threw aside his stick and his bag and took to his heels.

  ‘Uncle, uncle, wait, for heaven’s sake! Uncle!’ cried the kitchen boy, fleeing as best he could but trailing behind.

  Soon they were gone, never to return.

  ‘With all the might that is mine I will take my revenge!’ roared the Vodník, in a terrible voice.

  Cackling wildly, Ježibaba hobbled back to her cottage.

  Night had now fallen and the moon was above the treetops, peeping over and peering into the secret glade, where her serene silver countenance gazed back from the dark lake surface. Shapes flitted to and fro among the trees. They wove and danced and turned.

  The trio of wood nymphs danced out into the moonlit glade. One silvery-voiced nymph sang:

  Hair, golden hair have I,

  Around which at night whirls the firefly.

  My pearly hand now has loosed my hair from its stays

  And the moon above is combing it with her silver rays.

  Her sister twirled forward:

  Feet, white feet have I,

  Upon them in the glade I go running by.

  Barefoot I’ve been dancing, with dew my feet have been washed clean,

  And the moon above has shod them with slippers of golden gleam.

  And the third nymph sang:

  Slender, my limbs are slender,

  In the glade they glisten in splendour.

  Wherever in the glade with my lovely form I traipsed,

  I find dresses of silver moonbeams are around it draped.

  ‘Let us dance, sisters!’ they sang together, joining hands and whirling in a circling throng. ‘Let us dance in the soft evening breeze! It’s nearly that time when the Vodník calls us up from the reeds!’

  ‘Oh, there he is, there he is, already mending his nets!’ cried the first wood nymph, pointing to where the Vodník was moving in the shallows.

  ‘Hey, old father river! Heya, heya, hey!’ they sang, skipping down to the shore and tripping from boulder to boulder, circling around him. ‘Try to catch us if you can, and the one you catch, old man, and do not miss, might reward you with a kiss! But, heyda, heyda, hey, then your wife will box your ears next day!’ On they danced, splashing water at the Vodník with their fine white feet.

  The Vodník sadly shook his matted mane. ‘Cease your games, my golden-haired children. For, alas, our native waters have been polluted by human evil.’

  The wood nymphs stood still. ‘Who is it that has spoiled our carefree dance?’ they asked, their eyes growing grim. ‘Tell us!’

  ‘Tell us!’ echoed her sister.

  ‘Tell us!’

  ‘In the dark depths, rejected by her sisters, poor, pale Rusalka sits sorrowing. Alas! Alas! Alas!’ cried the Vodník. And he slowly submerged into the lake.

  The wood nymphs looked at each other.

  ‘My eyes are misted with tears, and suddenly I feel cold,’ said the first nymph, shuddering.

  ‘Dark clouds have blotted out the moon,’ said the second, stepping to the shore.

  ‘Darkness oppresses my being!’ cried the third. ‘Sisters, let us flee this place!’

  The wood nymphs darted away and faded into the shadowy forest.

  The waters whispered to the night, and the dreaming willows dipped their tresses low into the lake. The nocturnal breeze shivered in the birch leaves and rustled the grass heads out in the glade and the purple irises at the shore. An owl cried shrilly in the distant forest, and closer, a startled water bird rose from among the reeds.

  Then a sudden movement disturbed the night. It was the Prince, who came running out of the forest like a madman, his eyes wild and vacant, his dark curls in disarray, his short cloak hanging from him by a thread.

  ‘Where are you, my white hart?’ he cried desperately. ‘My dream, my silent vision! Will there never be an end to my grief and my constant searching?’ With his dark eyes wild, he looked franticly about the glade. ‘Day after day, driven by longing, I seek you in the forest! At the approach of night I feel your presence near. I look for you in the moonlit mist. I search for you everywhere – my beloved dream, come to me!’

  Breathless and pale, he fell to his knees at the water’s edge. With a hand bleeding from the forest thorns, he dipped into the cool, crystal water and watched the drops he brought up trickle through his fingers. He gazed out over the mysterious waters, which murmured softly in the darkness. Then, with a clammy dew beading his brow, he lifted his head and looked anew at the tall trees looming out of the night.

  ‘Here, here is the place it happened!’ he whispered, as recognition came upon him. ‘Speak, silent forest. Tell me your secret…’ His yearning gaze wandered the water’s edge. ‘O beloved phantom, where are you? Where…?’

  A rustle came from somewhere. The prince started to his feet and run towards the sound. ‘Where are you, my white hart?’ he cried, becoming frantic once more. ‘Where are you? By all that still remains in my dead heart, I implore heaven and earth, gods and demons: speak to me, tell me where she is! Show yourself to me, beloved!’

  The Prince stopped. The sound had brought him to the bleak marsh. Grassy islands stood here and there among the grey, murky water, and here and there a black, bare-branched tree was stark against the dim sky. A lonely wind wandered the marsh, moaning among the reeds, disturbing the glassy waters, parting the tall grasses as if searching for something lost. A presence drew the Prince on. His feet moved as if compelled by an invisible force. The wind that wandered the marsh blow back his dark curls and cooled his fevered cheeks. Entranced, he walked onwards.

  Then, slowly and silently, moon emerged from behind the clouds.

  ‘Do you still remember me, my love?’ asked a sad voice of tenderness. ‘Do you think of me sometimes, beloved?’

  The Prince slowly turned. Illuminated by the silvery moon, Rusalka stood above the dark, still waters. She appeared as if a veil of ash had been cast over her. Her face was wan, her eyes were grey, and her once-golden hair now looked like grass stalks after a fire had passed through them, ready to fall into dust at the lightest touch.

  Reaching out with her pale, translucent hand, she
stepped towards him. ‘Do you still recognise me, my love?’

  ‘If you are dead, let me die; if you still live, save me!’ cried the Prince.

  Rusalka looked mournfully upon him. ‘Neither living nor dead, neither mortal woman nor spirit, I wander accursed through the night. In vain I dreamt in your arms. My poor, wretched boy – once I was your beloved, now I can only be your death!’

  The Prince’s dark eyes were fixed upon Rusalka with anguished yearning. He reached his hand out towards her. ‘I cannot live without you. Can you, oh can you forgive me?’

  ‘Why did you take me in your arms? Why did you speak lies to me?’ Rusalka asked sadly, standing still in the marsh while the wind tugged at her tattered dress and tossed her hair. ‘Now I am nothing but a lunar phantom destined forever to torment you. I am a cursed ghost in the night, wandering with the will-o-the-wisps in the treacherous marsh, luring you to your death. I never possessed the passion you desired, but if I kiss you now, you are lost for eternity!’

  The Prince tore his hanging cloak off and tossed it aside. ‘Kiss me, kiss me and give me peace!’ he begged, staggering towards her. ‘I shall never return to the world; kiss me, kiss me until I am dead!’

  Rusalka lifted a stilling hand. ‘And you, my dear boy, gave me so much. Why did you betray me? Do you know, my beloved, that from my embrace there is no returning? In my arms you will meet your doom!’

  Still with his dark eyes fixed upon her, the Prince clasped the hand Rusalka held out. ‘I want to give you everything. Kiss me, kiss me a thousand times! I don’t want to return to the world’s circling dance. Let me die in your embrace. Kiss me and give me peace! Kiss me, and forget the past!’

  ‘My love will freeze your heart and you will die!’ Rusalka cried in warning. ‘And yet I must take you into my icy arms!’

  She stepped from the water, took him in her arms, and kissed him again and again.

  The Prince fell as though pierced through the heart. ‘Your kiss has bestowed peace,’ he gasped, as she helped him to the ground, still embracing him in her arms. ‘I know your loving kisses will redeem my sin. I die happy in your embrace…’

  That word was formed with his last breath. Peace was upon his pale countenance. He looked up at Rusalka with love. Then, with a soft sigh, he died, and his head fell against her breast.

  A slight sob caught Rusalka’s breath. Still with her hand entwined in his clasp, she laid her cheek tenderly against her Prince’s.

  Then a booming voice came from deep down in the depths. ‘He dies in your arms in vain! All sacrifice is useless! Poor, pale Rusalka! Alas! Alas! Alas!’

  Rusalka tenderly laid the Prince’s body down on the soft grass and placed his cloak beneath his head as a pillow. Then she leaned over him and kissed his lips one last time.

  ‘For your love, for your beauty, for your inconstant human heart, for all that cursed my fate, God have mercy on you, dear human soul!’ And she raised her hands to heaven.

  Then, sadly and quietly, she turned away and returned to the waters. But before she sank beneath the waves, she looked one last time upon her Prince. And as she did, a glittering golden light came down from above and descended upon him. It spread around him and tenderly bore his human soul upwards as it returned to the heavens. Silent tears of joy slid down Rusalka’s pale, moon-washed cheeks.

  As the shimmering golden light receded into the heavens, a golden teardrop fell down and dropped into the lake. Rusalka reached out and took the glowing orb. Then, pressing the glowing golden light to her heart, she sunk down into the depths of the lake.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR