When the master was alone with her, he said: “You see, Rosella (Rusidda), you are now mistress here,” and gave her all the keys. She was perfectly happy (literally, “was happy to the hairs of her head”).
Okay, as idioms go, that one’s pretty neat.
One day, while the green bird was away,
“Important green bird business. You understand. Gotta check the radish harvest out in the back forty.”
her sisters took it into their heads to visit her, and asked her about her husband.
“Dad showed up with a bag of gold babbling about naked birds and radishes the size of doors. We were pretty sure he got high and sold you on the black market. It’s been awkward.”
Rosella said she did not know, for he had made her promise not to try to find out who he was.
The storyteller would introduce Chekhov’s gun in the third act, by saying “Also, he put a gun on the mantle two acts ago.”
Her sisters, however, persuaded her,
See, the sisters always get a bad rap for this. It’s usually jealousy or something. However, because the storyteller can’t be bothered with character motivation, we’re free to assume that her sisters are going “You are married to a naked bird man with a radish problem?! Who bathes in milk? And you don’t know who he is? Uh. Hmm. Hon, this isn’t normal.”
and when the bird returned and became a man, Rosella put on a downcast air.
“What is the matter?” asked her husband.
“Nothing.”
“You had better tell me.”
You know she said “Nothing” in that one tone of voice, too. Props to the bird for knowing that means “Everything, and part of the problem is that you don’t know what the problem is!”
She let him question her a while, and at last said: “Well, then, if you want to know why I am out of sorts, it is because I wish to know your name.”
Her husband told her that it would be the worse for her, but she insisted on knowing his name. So he made her put the gold basins on a chair, and began to bathe his feet.
“I like to have milk on my feet when I reveal my identity. Helps me think.”
“Rosella, do you really want to know my name?”
“Yes.” And the water came up to his waist, for he had become a bird, and had got into the basin.
This water was milk a minute ago.
Then he asked her the same question again, and again she answered yes, and the water was up to his mouth. “Rosella, do you really want to know my name?”
… glub … drowning … in three inches … of water … or possibly milk … throw me a life radish …
“Yes, yes, yes!”
Rosella’s being kind of a jerk about this, honestly. I mean, he climbs into the basin and starts drowning himself and you still insist on the name thing. Call him Bob and be done with it.
Although for all I know, this was like the third time they’ve done this. The first time she was all “Mother of God! Stop! I don’t need to know!” and then the next time she was like “I think you’re just doing this for attention, honestly,” and finally she just let it go. “Sure, drown yourself in a bird-bath, I don’t even care any more.”
“Then know that I am called The King of Love!”
But some people call him Maurice.
And saying this he disappeared, and the basins and the palace disappeared likewise, and Rosella found herself alone out in an open plain, without a soul to help her.
She called her servants, but no one answered her. Then she said “Since my husband has disappeared, I must wander about alone and forlorn to seek him!”
Wandering about with a spunky, upbeat attitude and a group of companions acquired along the way was right out.
The poor woman, who expected before long to become a mother,
I KNEW THAT RADISH WAS A EUPHEMISM.
began her wanderings, and at night arrived at another lonely plain;
You could tell the difference between this and the first plain because there was a sign saying “Now Leaving Plain of Misery. Now Entering Plain of Loneliness.”
then she felt her heart sink, and, not knowing what to do, she cried out: —
“Ah! King of Love; You did it, and said it. You disappeared from me in a golden basin, And who will shelter to-night This poor unfortunate one?”
“You did it and said it.” Well, that would explain why she’s expecting. I’m just going to assume that this whole thing is much more elegant in Italian.
When she had uttered these words an ogress appeared and said: “Ah! wretch, how dare you go about seeking my nephew!”
“Nobody looks for my nephew! Nobody! You hear me?”
and was going to eat her up; but she took pity on her miserable state, and gave her shelter for the night. The next morning she gave her a piece of bread, and said: “We are seven sisters, all ogresses, and the worst of all is your mother-in-law; look out for her!”
See, this is why your sisters were looking out for you, Rosella. You marry a naked bird dude because of his … erm … vast tracts of radish … and it turns out that he’s actually half-ogre on his mom’s side and has six aunts.
To be brief, the poor girl wandered about six days, and met all six of the ogresses, who treated her in the same way. The seventh day, in great distress, she uttered her usual lament, and the sister of the King of Love appeared and said, “Rosella, while my mother is out, come up!” and she lowered the braids of her hair, and pulled her up.
Pulled her up what? Where? Are they still in the lonely plain?
Somewhere the storyteller was like “Eh? What? Oh, sorry. There was a tower. Yeah. And the sister has long hair. And she threw it down and said “Come up” and then the prince— ”
“That’s Rapunzel.”
“Oh, right.”
Then she gave her something to eat, and told her
