The Well at the World's End: A TaleMorris, William
Science
The Well at the World's End: A Tale
Morris, William
Fantasy fiction; Quests (Expeditions) -- Fiction
"She drew near and I saw that it was an old woman grey haired, uncomely
of raiment, but with shining bright eyes in her wrinkled face. And she
made an obeisance to me and said: 'I was passing through this lonely
wilderness and I looked down into the little valley and saw these goats
there and the lovely lady lying naked amongst them, and I said I am too
old to be afraid of aught; for if she be a goddess come back again from
yore agone, she can but make an end of a poor old carline, a gangrel
body, who hath no joy of her life now. And if she be of the daughters
of men, she will belike methink her of her mother, and be kind to me
for her sake, and give me a piece of bread and a draught of her goats'
milk.'
"I spake hastily, for I was ashamed of her words, though I only half
understood them: 'I hear thee and deem that thou mockest me: I have
never known a mother; I am but a poor thrall, a goatherd dwelling with
a mistress in a nook of this wildwood: I have never a piece of bread;
but as to the goats' milk, that thou shalt have at once.' So I called
one of my goats to me, for I knew them all, and milked her into a
wooden bowl that I carried slung about me, and gave the old woman to
drink: and she kissed my hand and drank and spake again, but no longer
in a whining voice, like a beggar bidding alms in the street, but frank
and free.
"'Damsel,' she said, 'now I see that thy soul goes with thy body, and
that thou art kind and proud at once. And whatever thou art, it is no
mock to say of thee, that thou art as fair as the fairest; and I think
that this will follow thee, that henceforth no man who seeth thee once
will forget thee ever, or cease to long for thee: of a surety this is
thy weird. Now I see that thou knowest no more of the world and its
ways than one of the hinds that run in these woods. So if thou wilt, I
will sit down by thee and tell thee much that shall avail thee; and
thou in thy turn shalt tell me all the tale concerning thy dwelling and
thy service, and the like.'
"I said, 'I may not, I durst not; I serve a mighty mistress, and she
would slay me if she knew that I had spoken to thee; and woe's me! I
fear that even now she will not fail to know it. Depart in peace.'
"'Nay,' she said, 'thou needest not tell me, for I have an inkling of
her and her ways: but I will give thee wisdom, and not sell it thee at
a price. Sit down then, fair child, on this flowery grass, and I will
sit beside thee and tell thee of many things worth thine heeding.' So
there we sat awhile, and in good sooth she told me much of the world
which I had not yet seen, of its fairness and its foulness; of life and
death, and desire and disappointment, and despair; so that when she had
done, if I were wiser than erst, I was perchance little more joyous;
and yet I said to myself that come what would I would be a part of all
that.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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