The king’s son rode for the glass and golden carriage; the maiden climbed the willow where she hid. Now, what came of the affair, and what did not, while the king’s son was gone a crawfish-gathering gypsy girl happened under the willow-tree, and looking in the water she saw the quivering image of the charming maiden. Putting her hand on her hip she said: “What a beautiful shadow I have, quite worthy of a princess.”
“It’s thine of course! I’ll tell whose it is,” said a golden bird from the tree, in a golden voice.
The gypsy looked into the tree, where she saw the world-beautiful princess, for the sight of whom the sun would have stood still in heaven. The girl said nothing, but in a twinkle she dragged the maiden from the tree by her white foot, pulled off her purple velvet robe, and threw her into the water. The maiden did not sink, but shaking herself, turned into a golden-feathered duck and swam on the lake. The gypsy then, ill or well, put on the purple velvet robe, which sat on her as if it had been put on with a fork and rake; then she sat with great importance on the tree. But she did not sit long; for seeing the golden duck, she jumped down and began to throw stones at her. She threw and threw so many that her arm grew tired, but she could not hit, for the golden duck dived into the water the moment a stone flew over her. At last the gypsy was tired, climbed into the willow-tree and waited for fortune.
She had not long to wait, for soon the king’s son came with a gold and glass carriage to take home the golden bird; but the gypsy had her mind, for she would not come down from the tree—at least she said so—till he should shoot the golden duck on the lake, so she might drink its red blood, and eat its tender flesh.
The king’s son took his arrow, aimed to kill the golden duck; but the gypsy will not drink its red blood, will not eat its tender flesh, for the arrow never went with its point to the duck, but always turned towards her the feathered end. If it had found her, it would not have been her death. The king’s son had shot away all his arrows, and besides it was evening; he had to leave the amusement and turn his wagon-tongue homeward.
At home he had told how beautiful a wife he was bringing; all the greater was the surprise when he led in the bride with raised veil. The king’s son had praised the world-beautiful Reed Maiden, and now before the wedding assembly stands a leather-cheeked gypsy girl. The guests know not whether to laugh or to be angry.
Now, the queen—the former gypsy—thought that it could not remain thus, without the world-beautiful Reed Maiden visiting her husband in the night; therefore she put a sleeping-powder into his drink every God-given evening, from which the king’s son slept like a shepherd’s coat.
The world-beautiful Reed Maiden shook herself, turned into a little bird, and at midnight she came to the king’s son’s window. She knocked with her little beak, the window opened of itself, and she flew in; then the little bird shook herself, turned into a princess such as had not been born before, nor since, nor after that. She went to the king’s son, spoke to him fondling words, but he did not hear; roused him, but he did not wake; bent over him, and at last cried long, but he did not feel the hot tears which burned his cheek,—he lay there motionless as a block.
Then she said: “Oh, king’s son, youth of my soul, thy dear lips are dumb; open them for one, two words, to cheer thy beautiful love, thy tender violet. I will come yet twice, then never again.”
But the king’s son did not wake. When the clock struck one after midnight the maiden shook herself, turned into a bird, and flew out through the window; the window closed after her of itself.