There once lived a husband and wife in a little house that stood beside a high wall of old stone. Behind that wall lay a garden that no one ever entered. In the spring, fine green rapunzel grew there in neat beds, looking fresh and pale after the rain. The wife was expecting a child, and day after day she stood at the small back window, looking out over the wall. At last she turned away with empty hands, and she could eat nothing that was set before her.
Her husband brought her broth, bread, and apples, but she only shook her head. Then she said very faintly, “If I cannot taste the rapunzel from that garden, I think I shall fade like a leaf kept from water.” The husband looked at her, and then he looked at the wall. When evening came and the shadows deepened, he climbed over the stones, gathered a handful of rapunzel, and hurried home with it hidden under his coat.
The wife ate it at once, and for one day she smiled again. But the very next morning, she wanted more. So when dusk returned, the husband climbed the wall a second time. He had just bent down to pull the pale roots from the dark earth when a voice spoke behind him. “You gather what is mine.” He turned and saw the enchantress who owned the garden. Her cloak hung as straight as winter ivy, and her eyes were as steady as glass.
6 chapters
