THE WOODCUTTER AND THE
THE MILKMAID by ROSANNE E. LORTZ
O
nce there was a woodcutter who lived in the village of East Wood. He labored long days cutting down trees and splitting kindling to sell for firewood to the neighboring villagers. He was too busy to stop for market days. He was too busy to stop for holy days. For in his house, he kept a chest of coin that was growing heavier and heavier until he would have a large enough fortune to marry the maiden beyond the forest who had caught his fancy. Across the forest in the village of West Wood lived a pretty milkmaid. She milked her father’s cows each morning and sold the milk to the baker. She milked her father’s cows each night and sold the milk to the neighboring villagers. As long as the cows gave milk every day, the milkmaid labored every day. In her room, she had a large purse of coins. She was saving them for her wedding day to buy a silk gown, gold eardrops, silver candlesticks, and pewter dishes. For a woodcutter beyond the forest had caught her fancy, and he had promised her that he would come calling upon her very soon. One day an old wise woman came hobbling through the wood clad in a green kirtle and a brown hood. Across the path lay a fallen tree. With her hunched back and shriveled form, she was too weak to clamber over it. She could hear a woodcutter whistling in the distance. “Good sir,” she called, “will you help me climb over this tree?” Between the blows of his ax, the woodcutter heard her speak. “I’m sorry, mother, but I have no time. This forest won’t fell itself.” Ignoring the request of the old woman, the woodcutter continued to cut firewood and split kindling. But the wise woman was more than just an old woman. She had the powers of the fairy kind. Seeing the selfishness of the woodcutter, she threw back her hood and revealed her true nature. “Because you would not stop to help an old woman, you are cursed to never stop until every tree in this wood is felled.” As the words of the curse were spoken, the woodcutter felt a change come over him. The handle of the ax seemed to fuse to his hand. Whereas before he had felt a strong desire to work, he now felt an almost otherworldly compulsion. He began to swing his ax with fiendish fervor, and when night fell he did not cease his labors. The forest must be felled. The forest must be felled. The wise woman continued through the forest until she came to the other side. There she met a pink-cheeked by the monstrous harpies that encircled the misty island. 34
