There was once an old castle in the midst of a large and thick forest, and in it an old woman who was a witch dwelt all alone. In the day-time she changed herself into a cat or a screech-owl, but in the evening she took her proper shape again as a human being. She could lure wild beasts and birds to her, and then she killed and boiled and roasted them. If any one came within one hundred paces of the castle he was obliged to stand still, and could not stir from the place until she bade him be free. But whenever an innocent maiden came within this circle, she changed her into a bird, and shut her up in a wicker-work cage, and carried the cage into a room in the castle. She had about seven thousand cages of rare birds in the castle.
Now, there was once a maiden who was called Jorinda, who was fairer than all other girls. She and a handsome youth named Joringel had promised to marry each other. They were still in the days of betrothal, and their greatest happiness was being together. One day in order that they might be able to talk together in quiet they went for a walk in the forest. "Take care," said Joringel, "that you do not go too near the castle."
Now, there was once a maiden who was called Jorinda, who was fairer than all other girls. She and a handsome youth named Joringel had promised to marry each other. They were still in the days of betrothal, and their greatest happiness was being together. One day in order that they might be able to talk together in quiet they went for a walk in the forest. "Take care," said Joringel, "that you do not go too near the castle."
It was a beautiful evening; the sun shone brightly between the trunks of the trees into the dark green of the forest, and the turtle-doves sang mournfully upon the young boughs of the birch-trees.
Jorinda wept now and then: she sat down in the sunshine and was sorrowful. Joringel was sorrowful too; they were as sad as if they were about to die. Then they looked around them, and were quite at a loss, for they did not know by which way they should go home. The sun was still half above the mountain and half set.
Joringel looked through the bushes, and saw the old walls of the castle close at hand. He was horror-stricken and filled with deadly fear. Jorinda was singing,
"My little bird, with the necklace red,
Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow,
He sings that the dove must soon be dead,
Sings sorrow, sor -- jug, jug, jug."
Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow,
He sings that the dove must soon be dead,
Sings sorrow, sor -- jug, jug, jug."
Joringel looked for Jorinda. She was changed into a nightingale, and sang, "jug, jug, jug." A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round about her, and three times cried, "to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo!"
Joringel could not move: he stood there like a stone, and could neither weep nor speak, nor move hand or foot.
The sun had now set. The owl flew into the thicket, and directly afterwards there came out of it a crooked old woman, yellow and lean, with large red eyes and a hooked nose, the point of which reached to her chin. She muttered to herself, caught the nightingale, and took it away in her hand.
Joringel could neither speak nor move from the spot; the nightingale was gone. At last the woman came back, and said in a hollow voice, "Greet thee, Zachiel. If the moon shines on the cage, Zachiel, let him loose at once." Then Joringel was freed. He fell on his knees before the woman and begged that she would give him back his Jorinda, but she said that he should never have her again, and went away. He called, he wept, he lamented, but all in vain,"Ah, what is to become of me?"
Joringel went away, and at last came to a strange village; there he kept sheep for a long time. He often walked round and round the castle, but not too near to it. At last he dreamt one night that he found a blood-red flower, in the middle of which was a beautiful large pearl; that he picked the flower and went with it to the castle, and that everything he touched with the flower was freed from enchantment; he also dreamt that by means of it he recovered his Jorinda.
In the morning, when he awoke, he began to seek over hill and dale if he could find such a flower. He sought until the ninth day, and then, early in the morning, he found the blood-red flower. In the middle of it there was a large dew-drop, as big as the finest pearl.
Day and night he journeyed with this flower to the castle. When he was within a hundred paces of it he was not held fast, but walked on to the door. Joringel was full of joy; he touched the door with the flower, and it sprang open. He walked in through the courtyard, and listened for the sound of the birds. At last he heard it. He went on and found the room from whence it came, and there the witch was feeding the birds in the seven thousand cages.
When she saw Joringel she was angry, very angry, and scolded and spat poison and gall at him, but she could not come within two paces of him. He did not take any notice of her, but went and looked at the cages with the birds; but there were many hundred nightingales, how was he to find his Jorinda again?
Just then he saw the old woman quietly take away a cage with a bird in it, and go towards the door.
Swiftly he sprang towards her, touched the cage with the flower, and also the old woman. She could now no longer bewitch any one; and Jorinda was standing there, clasping him round the neck, and she was as beautiful as ever!
C'era una volta un vecchio castello nel cuore di una foresta grande e fitta; là abitava, tutta sola, una vecchia strega molto potente. Di giorno si trasformava in gatto o in civetta, mentre la sera riprendeva l'aspetto umano. Sapeva come attirare la selvaggina e gli uccelli, poi li macellava e li cucinava lessi o arrosto. Se qualcuno arrivava a cento passi dal castello, era costretto a fermarsi e non poteva più muoversi finché‚ ella non lo liberava Ma se una vergine entrava in quel cerchio, la vecchia la trasformava in uccello e la rinchiudeva in una gabbia che metteva in una delle stanze del castello. Di quelle gabbie ne aveva ben settemila, con dentro uccelli tanto rari. C'era una fanciulla che si chiamava Jorinda, più bella di ogni altra. Era promessa sposa a un giovane leggiadro di nome Joringhello. Il giorno delle nozze si avvicinava, ed essi erano felici in compagnia l'uno dell'altro. Per poter parlare e confidarsi, se ne andarono nel bosco a passeggiare. -Fai attenzione- disse il giovane -di non avvicinarti troppo al castello.- Era una bella serata, il sole brillava fra i tronchi degli alberi, chiaro nel verde cupo della foresta, e la tortora gemeva sulle vecchie betulle. Ogni tanto Jorinda piangeva, si sedeva al sole lamentandosi, e così pure faceva Joringhello. Erano sgomenti come se dovessero morire. Si guardarono intorno: si erano persi e non sapevano come ritrovare la via di casa. Il sole era già tramontato per metà dietro al monte. Il giovane guardò fra i cespugli e vide in prossimità le vecchie mura del castello; a quella vista si spaventò a morte. Jorinda cantava:-Il mio uccellino dal rosso anellino, canta lamenti, lamenti, lamenti. Predice alla colomba la morte fra i tormenti; canta lamenti, sì! Chiù, chiù, chiù!-Joringhello la guardò: Jorinda si era mutata in un usignolo che cantava: -Chiuì, chiuì-. Una civetta dagli occhi ardenti le volò attorno tre volte, e per tre volte gridò: -Sciù, uh, uh, uh-. Joringhello non poteva muoversi: era rigido come pietra e non poteva piangere, n‚ parlare, n‚ muovere la mano o il piede. Ora il sole era tramontato: la civetta volò in un cespuglio, e, subito dopo, ne venne fuori una vecchia tutta curva, gialla e rinsecchita con degli occhiacci rossi e il naso tanto adunco che le toccava il mento con la punta. Ella borbottò qualcosa, poi afferrò l'usignolo e lo portò via. Joringhello non poteva dire nulla n‚ muoversi; l'usignolo era scomparso. Finalmente la vecchia ritornò e disse con voce roca: -Salute, Zachiele, quando la luna splende nel cerfoglio, sciogli, Zachiele, alla buon'ora-. E Joringhello fu libero. Si gettò ai piedi della vecchia pregandola di ridargli la sua Jorinda; ma ella rispose che non l'avrebbe riavuta mai più e se ne andò. Egli gridò, pianse, si lamentò, ma invano. -Oh, che sarà mai di me?- Joringhello se ne andò e giunse infine in un villaggio sconosciuto, dove fece il guardiano di pecore per lungo tempo. Spesso si aggirava intorno al castello, senza tuttavia avvicinarsi troppo. Infine una notte sognò di trovare un fiore rosso sangue con in mezzo una perla bella grossa. Egli colse il fiore e andò al castello, e tutto ciò che toccava con il fiore si liberava dall'incantesimo. Sognò inoltre che in quel modo era riuscito a riavere la sua Jorinda. La mattina, quando si svegliò, incominciò a cercare quel fiore per monti e valli. Cercò fino al nono giorno, e, di mattino presto, trovò il fiore rosso sangue. In mezzo c'era una goccia di rugiada, grossa come la perla più bella. Portò con s‚ il fiore giorno e notte, finché‚ giunse al castello. Là, non fu più immobilizzato dall'incantesimo, ma proseguì fino al portone. Joringhello se ne rallegrò, lo toccò con il fiore, e il portone si spalancò. Egli entrò, attraversò il cortile e tese l'orecchio per capire di dove venisse il canto degli uccelli. Infine lo capi, andò e trovò la sala dove si trovava la strega che stava dando da mangiare agli uccelli nelle settemila gabbie. Quand'ella vide Joringhello, andò su tutte le furie, lo maledì, gli sputò addosso fiele e veleno, ma dovette fermarsi a due passi da lui. Egli non si curò di lei e andò a vedere le gabbie con gli uccelli. Ma c'erano molte centinaia di usignoli e, fra tanti, come poteva ritrovare la sua Jorinda? Mentre guardava, si accorse che la vecchia prendeva di nascosto una gabbietta con un uccello e si avviava verso la porta. Le si avvicinò d'un balzo e, con il fiore, toccò la gabbietta e anche la vecchia, che non pot‚ più fare incantesimi. Jorinda era là, gli aveva gettato le braccia intorno al collo, ed era bella come un tempo. Egli ridiede aspetto umano anche agli altri uccelli, poi se ne ritornò a casa con la sua Jorinda e vissero a lungo insieme felici e contenti.