Prevod

Once upon a time there was an old castle in the middle of a great, dense forest, where an old woman lived all alone. She was a mighty sorceress. By day she turned herself into a cat or an owl, but in the evening she took on human form again. She could lure wild beasts and birds to her, and then she would slaughter them and boil or roast them. If anyone came within a hundred paces of the castle, they had to stand still and could not move from the spot until she released them with a word. But if a chaste maiden entered this circle, the sorceress turned her into a bird, shut her in a basket, and carried the basket into a chamber of the castle. She had some seven thousand such baskets in the castle, filled with rare birds.

Now there was once a maiden named Jorinde, who was more beautiful than any other girl. She and a very handsome young man named Joringel had pledged themselves to one another. They were betrothed, and their greatest delight was in each other’s company. One day, so that they might talk together in private, they went for a walk in the forest. “Take care,” said Joringel, “not to go too close to the castle.” It was a beautiful evening. The sun shone brightly between the tree trunks into the dark green of the forest, and the turtledove sang mournfully in the old beech trees.

Jorinde wept now and then, sat down in the sunshine, and lamented; Joringel lamented too. They were as distraught as if they were about to die. They looked around, but they had lost their way and did not know which way to go to get home. Half the sun still stood above the hill, and half had sunk below it. Joringel peered through the bushes and saw the old castle wall close beside him. He started with fright and was filled with mortal dread. Jorinde sang:

“My little bird with the ring so red sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow: it sings to the little dove of its death, sings sorrow, sor—jug-jug, jug-jug, jug-jug.”

Joringel looked at Jorinde. She had been changed into a nightingale, singing jug-jug, jug-jug. An owl with glowing eyes flew around them three times and cried three times, “Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo.” Joringel could not move. He stood there like a stone, unable to weep or speak or stir hand or foot. Now the sun had set. The owl flew into a bush, and a moment later an old, bent woman emerged from it, yellow and gaunt, with great red eyes and a hooked nose whose tip reached her chin. She muttered, caught the nightingale, and carried it away on her hand. Joringel could neither speak nor move from the spot; the nightingale was gone. At last the woman returned and said in a hollow voice, “Hail to you, Zachiel! When the little moon shines into the little basket, loose the bonds, Zachiel, at the appointed hour.” Then Joringel was set free. He fell on his knees before the woman and begged her to give him back his Jorinde, but she said he should never have her again, and went away. He cried out, he wept, he lamented, but all in vain. “Oh, what is to become of me?” Joringel went away and at last came to a strange village, where he tended sheep for a long time. Often he walked around the castle, but never too close to it. At last, one night, he dreamed that he found a blood-red flower with a beautiful great pearl at its heart. He plucked the flower and went with it to the castle. Everything he touched with the flower was freed from the enchantment, and he dreamed that in this way he had won back his Jorinde as well. In the morning, when he awoke, he began searching over hill and dale to see whether he could find such a flower. He searched until the ninth day, when, early in the morning, he found the blood-red flower. At its heart was a great dewdrop, as large as the loveliest pearl. Carrying this flower, he travelled day and night until he reached the castle. When he came within a hundred paces of it, he was not held fast, but walked on to the gate. Joringel was overjoyed. He touched the gate with the flower, and it sprang open. He went inside and crossed the courtyard, listening for the sound of all those birds. At last he heard them. He followed the sound and found the hall where the sorceress was feeding the birds in their seven thousand baskets. When she saw Joringel, she grew angry, terribly angry, and cursed and spat venom at him, but she could not come within two paces of him. He paid her no heed and went about examining the baskets of birds. But there were many hundreds of nightingales: how was he to find his Jorinde? As he looked, [he noticed] that the old woman was secretly taking a little basket with a bird in it and making for the door. In a flash he sprang towards her and touched the basket with the flower, and the old woman too. Now she could work no more magic, and there stood Jorinde, as beautiful as ever, with her arms around his neck. Then he changed all the other birds back into maidens as well, and went home with his Jorinde, and they lived happily together for many a long year.