«Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.»
German Proverb
Based on the brothers Grimm Version («Die Eule»), which is much shorter but addresses the same folly. I added the young man as contrast. Not only to the way the townsfolk deal with fear, but also as contrast to stories such as «The Emperor’s New Clothes» (Andersen was an optimist).
The Owl
Several hundred years ago, when people were not yet so crafty and cunning as they are today, a great owl flew into a barn.
She was of the largest kind, with ear-tufts like horns and eyes like banked fire. She had left the neighboring woods to hunt, and when morning came, she flew straight through the open barn doors. Hiding in the barn seemed better to her than spending the day out in the open. Though the day was low and sunless, the fields were still too wide for her. The crows would spy her at once and fall upon her with black wings and bitter cries.
In the early morning, a manservant entered the barn to fetch some straw, still half asleep and cursing his lot. He made his way through the gloomy barn, muttering about this and that, about his warm bed and the forgotten lantern, when his gaze was drawn to a dark shape above him. From among the shadows he saw great orange eyes staring unblinkingly at him, piercing his very soul.
Before he could find another thought, or regret the thoughts he had, his legs had started to think for him. He ran outside as if he had met the devil, and what else could have had those unblinking eyes that glowed in the dark? And what else could have made him run? So when he passed the mistress of the house with her maid, he cried:
«There is a devil in the rafters. I must fetch the master!»
The mistress of the house watched him run.
«Such a silly servant,» she said to her maid, «afraid of his own shadow, more likely. Come, let us have a look.»
The maid was not pleased, but she fetched a lantern. When they entered the barn, she held it low, casting great shadows across the walls. Suddenly they heard a rustling above them. When the owl spread her wings, the lantern-light threw a huge shadow on the wall. They might have stood it, but suddenly the owl turned her head around, farther than any being had a right to turn it. Bright orange eyes stared down at them without blinking. The maid, almost dropping the lantern, ran off, and the mistress, left suddenly in the gloomy barn, followed close behind.
«Shadow and eyes,» she gasped when she reached the barnyard. «Shadow and eyes!»
Her maid was crying wildly.
So the master of the house found them, and he listened to their cries.
«It has wings like a grave-cloth,» cried the maid.
«Its head,» added the wife. «Oh, it must be possessed by a demon. Nothing good could turn its head so far.»
«And it watched me, master,» said the servant. «Like it could see into my very soul.»
The master’s face grew firm.
«What are you saying,» he said, «that there is some devil in my barn?» He looked at his servant. «You have courage enough to chase a blackbird from the fields, but when you see a dead hen lying still, you have to get a stick before you go near it. You cannot get an animal out of my barn — or worse, a vagabond? And you womenfolk had better stay out of the way.»
So he took a hay-fork, and muttering, «My ground, my barn, I’ll show you …» he went quite boldly inside. But once he was in the gloomy barn, and saw no animal on the ground and no vagabond hiding in the hay, he stopped. It was silent. Not even a single mouse rustled in the straw. Straining, he tried to peer into the shadow when he heard a terrible noise above him.
«Oo-hu! Oo-hu!» it cried.
Staring upward, he saw those terrible eyes peering from the shadows and a beak that opened and closed with a dry snap. He dropped the hay-fork and with two bounds he sprang out, closing the barn doors behind him.
«The beast tried to eat me,» he cried. «It is a monster.»
Then he ran to his neighbors and implored them to lend him assistance against an unknown and dangerous beast.
«The whole town may be in danger,» he said, «if it breaks loose from the barn.»
The neighbors knew the master as a hard and serious man, and his word carried weight. They were themselves in no small measure intimidated by his standing. Yet that beast had not fled from him. They also saw the servant pale, the mistress trembling, and the maid still beside herself.
So they came armed with spears, hay-forks, scythes, and axes, as if they were going against an enemy. And drawn by the great noise and clamor, their neighbors came as well, and theirs after them. Fear had gone from hand to hand like a coal, and each man blew on it before passing it along.
When the mayor saw fear running through the town, he came in his chain of office, and wherever the chain went, two town guards went before it and six respectable men behind. Thus he had passed many dangers in his life without ever standing nearest to one.
The militia moved to the front, and the other men were pressed after them, for no man wished to be seen where women, old men, and boys might stand without shame. Those behind craned their necks to see and called courage forward, but did not press so hard as to be carried with it. Among those at the back, a little apart, stood a young man, still more a boy, who had come with the others and said nothing.
Then the stealthiest militiaman entered as a scout, his spear lowered. He crept, silent as a mouse, from shadow to shadow as if he feared the light, looking for the monster. But when he looked up, he found the monster looking straight at him — wings spread wide, with a terrible piercing gaze. Surprised to be exposed even in the deep shadow, he let out a shriek and ran out. Pale as death he crashed into the waiting militiamen and could not utter a single word.
Now there was a great debate among the militia. Some wanted to charge right in at the monster, while more experienced minds warned against attacking an unknown enemy in a dark and confined space. The mayor was glad to leave the monster to the militia, but his wife grew impatient.
«Is there no man here?» she cried from the back.
The young man who had said nothing wanted to take a look, but the townsfolk would not have it. For he was well known to jump at sudden noises, and not quick to rush where others pointed. If such a one went in and came out safely, what would become of those who had stood armed before the door? So they pushed him back among the boys and told him not to meddle in men’s business.
The young man did not argue. He only went to the back of the crowd. Then he continued walking, around the barn, where the nettles had grown high and the wall had warped from the damp. With most of the noise behind him, he looked at the wall, and high up he saw a hatch. Before long, he had found an old ladder on the ground.
At the doors of the barn, the militia had settled on sending three men inside — brothers who knew and depended on each other, and who could fight well together. The unfortunate scout had finally managed to tell them where the monster had surprised him, so they entered with spears in their hands, covering one another and looking to strike it in its hiding place.
But the owl had meanwhile hopped to another rafter. And when the three men found only shadow, they suddenly heard a terrible noise behind them:
«Oo-hu! Oo-hu!» it cried.
None of them had covered that side, which gave them a terrible fright, and they ran out. If one of them had looked back, he would have seen the owl in a shaft of light, but they were desperately trying not to stumble over one another.
Meanwhile, the young man had started to climb the ladder. He had already made sure that the way back was clear, but still his heart beat loudly in his chest. The ladder did not help, for rot had set in while it lay on the damp earth. The rungs bent under his steps, and more than once he stopped climbing. Then fear laid one cold hand under his ribs and ran the other up his spine.
‹There you are,› he thought, for he knew the grip of it.
A memory came unbidden to him. He had been in the forest one evening when he suddenly felt a terrible fear. Listening for the cause, he noticed that the birds had stopped singing. Not by degrees, as birds do when evening gathers, but all at once. He had quickly climbed the nearest tree and scarcely found hold in the crown when, beneath him, a pack of large wolves passed by, silent, with their ribs and shoulders moving in the fern. He had stayed up in that tree, trembling, for a long time, long after the birds had resumed their song.
He thought about that memory for a moment. Fear had saved him then. It had urged him to climb. Here it wanted to pull him to the ground. But then his late father’s words echoed in his ears:
«When fear comes, ask what sent it.»
So he tied himself to the moment, holding still. He heard the noise from the front of the barn, the voices fanning the flames of fear higher and higher. But the cattle were calm, and the cats did not care. Only some dogs were nervous, but then, they followed their masters’ lead.
Standing alone on the ladder, he felt the rungs in his hands and beneath his feet, the texture of the wood, the slight bending under his weight. He breathed in deeply, smelling the autumn air.
‹If it is a devil,› he thought, ‹then where is the brimstone?›
Then he looked down to see his escape route still open, and climbed higher.
At the barn doors, the mayor looked from one armed man to another to find the courage he could command. There was among them a great strong man, famous for warlike deeds, of whom it was said that fear had never found the door to his heart. When the mayor called for that hero, all faces turned to him. Had no one looked, perhaps he would have remained where he stood. But now his own name drove him forward. So he called for armor, sword, and spear, for he knew how to face a man across a field. He did not know how to face two eyes in the rafters.
«Looking will not rid us of it,» he said, though his voice nearly failed him. «Since no other man will go, I must.»
The townsfolk praised his courage, though many feared for his life. The two barn doors were opened, and they saw the monster perched in the middle of a great crossbeam.
So he had a sturdy ladder brought, raised it, and readied himself to climb up. The townsfolk cried out that he was to bear himself bravely, and commended him to St. George, who slew the dragon.
Under their encouragement he got to the top. But then the owl perceived that he had designs upon her, and bewildered by the crowd and the shouting, and with no way to escape, she rolled her eyes, ruffled her feathers, flapped her wings, snapped her beak, and cried «Oo-hu! Oo-hu!» in a harsh, deep voice.
«Strike home! Strike home!» screamed the crowd outside to the valiant hero.
«Anyone who stood where I am standing,» answered the hero, «would not cry, Strike home!»
He did plant his foot one rung higher on the ladder, but then he began to tremble, and half fainting, went back down again. He stumbled out of the barn, half scared and half ashamed.
«It breathed at me,» he whispered to the waiting townsfolk.
At the side of the barn, with slow and reluctant steps, the young man had reached the hatch and opened it carefully. Light fell into the barn. At first he could not make out what he saw. Then something moved. Something large had been disturbed by the shaft of light. It stared at him from the shadow with bright unblinking eyes.
He shrank back and dropped the hatch, which closed with a clang. Standing trembling on the ladder, he did not dare to climb down, lest his legs betray him. His heart beat high in his chest, but he felt the rungs and made his breath come slower.
‹Still here,› he thought.
Then his father’s voice echoed again:
«Fear knows what a man may lose, but not always what stands before him.»
He was still afraid, so he looked again, opening the hatch carefully. He saw claws gripping wood, not paws or cloven feet. He saw thick feathers, not fur or skin.
‹It could be a bird,› he thought.
He saw a beak, not fangs or teeth.
‹It is an owl,› he thought. And when he saw the eyes and the head turning too far, as owls do, it did not scare him as much. She was a terrible owl, larger and darker than any he had ever seen, but still an owl.
Then a laugh broke from him, for the monster had feathers.
«They all looked at your eyes,» he thought as he climbed down. «They should have started with your feet.»
In front of the barn, there was no one left who dared to put himself in such danger.
«The monster,» said the mayor in a grave voice, «has poisoned and mortally wounded the very strongest man among us by snapping at him and breathing on him! Are we, too, to forfeit our lives?»
For a long time, everything seemed of no use.
«Let us barricade the door,» cried one.
«It might break through,» replied another.
«We can wall it in,» said a third.
«Who says the wall will hold?» asked a fourth.
At last, the mayor found an expedient.
«We cannot risk the town,» he said, «so I propose that we pay, out of the common purse, for the barn and whatsoever corn, straw, or hay it contains, to indemnify the owner, and burn down the whole building, and the terrible beast within it.» He looked around, anxious about their reactions, and encouraged by what he saw, he continued:
«So no one will have to endanger his life. That is a small price to pay, and he who thinks otherwise may step forth and deal with the beast on his own terms.»
None of the townsfolk stepped forth, for each waited for another man’s courage and feared to lose his own before all eyes. But then the young man walked up to the mayor. Relief was still running through him, so he nearly laughed when he said:
«It is not a monster, but an owl.»
The mayor looked sharply at the young man. «What are you saying?»
«It is only an owl,» he repeated, and because he remembered his fear breaking all at once, a laugh escaped him. He saw the mayor’s face darken, and the laughter died in his mouth.
«This is no laughing matter,» said the mayor. «Do not speak of things you know nothing about.»
«But I …» the young man started.
«You saw nothing,» said another. «You were not even here when it struck down our strongest man.»
«Get back to the boys in the back, you coward,» said a third, «and don’t you dare mock your better men.»
Then they began to gather torches, pitch, and oil, while the young man looked on in terror. Then he shook himself and ran back to the ladder. He climbed up as fast as he dared, higher than the last time. Stepping precariously on the last rungs of the ladder, he opened the hatch wide.
«Out, out, foolish bird!» he cried. «Better the crows than this!»
But the owl only looked at him, fearing to come closer. Then the barn doors were opened wide, and the townsfolk threw the pitch and oil inside, followed by the torches. The inside of the barn burst into flame. Scared to death, the owl swept past the young man, wings wide and silent, except for one harsh cry.
Even though the young man had expected her to fly out, he jumped at the sudden movement and nearly fell from the ladder. His heart hammered in his chest as he looked down to the ground far below and felt the heat from inside the barn.
Glad that the owl was out, he managed to climb down, his legs shaking. At the base of the ladder lay a single feather. The owl must have lost it when she escaped. So he picked it up and walked back, keeping his distance from the burning barn.
In front of the barn, the villagers were celebrating their courage, the fire now taking the beams.
«That will teach such beasts to trouble us,» cried one.
«Had we not burned the barn, the whole town would have been lost,» claimed another.
«The fire is costly,» said the mayor, «but caution is never wasted.»
They cheered when the roof collapsed, not knowing what they had paid.
The young man walked up to the mayor, feather in hand. But when he saw him and the celebrating townsfolk, he closed his hand around it.
«What do you want?» asked the mayor when he saw him.
«Nothing,» he replied, «that you could hear.»
So he walked away from the cheering crowd, the feather closed in his hand.