The
Wild Swans
FAR away in the land to which the swallows fly when it is
winter, dwelt a king who had eleven sons, and one daughter, named Eliza. The eleven
brothers were princes, and each went to school with a star on his breast, and a
sword by his side. They wrote with diamond pencils on gold slates, and learnt
their lessons so quickly and read so easily that every one might know they were
princes. Their sister Eliza sat on a little stool of plate-glass, and had a
book full of pictures, which had cost as much as half a kingdom. Oh, these
children were indeed happy, but it was not to remain so always. Their father,
who was king of the country, married a very wicked queen, who did not love the
poor children at all. They knew this from the very first day after the wedding.
In the palace there were great festivities, and the children played at
receiving company; but instead of having, as usual, all the cakes and apples
that were left, she gave them some sand in a tea-cup, and told them to pretend
it was cake. The week after, she sent little Eliza into the country to a
peasant and his wife, and then she told the king so many untrue things about
the young princes, that he gave himself no more trouble respecting them.
"Go out into the world and get your own living," said
the queen. "Fly like great birds, who have no voice." But she could
not make them ugly as she wished, for they were turned into eleven beautiful
wild swans. Then, with a strange cry, they flew through the windows of the
palace, over the park, to the forest beyond. It was early morning when they
passed the peasant's cottage, where their sister Eliza lay asleep in her room.
They hovered over the roof, twisted their long necks and flapped their wings,
but no one heard them or saw them, so they were at last obliged to fly away,
high up in the clouds; and over the wide world they flew till they came to a
thick, dark wood, which stretched far away to the seashore. Poor little Eliza
was alone in her room playing with a green leaf, for she had no other
playthings, and she pierced a hole through the leaf, and looked through it at
the sun, and it was as if she saw her brothers' clear eyes, and when the warm sun
shone on her cheeks, she thought of all the kisses they had given her. One day
passed just like another; sometimes the winds rustled through the leaves of the
rose-bush, and would whisper to the roses, "Who can be more beautiful than
you!" But the roses would shake their heads, and say, "Eliza
is." And when the old woman sat at the cottage door on Sunday, and read
her hymn-book, the wind would flutter the leaves, and say to the book,
"Who can be more pious than you?" and then the hymn-book would answer
"Eliza." And the roses and the hymn-book told the real truth. At
fifteen she returned home, but when the queen saw how beautiful she was, she
became full of spite and hatred towards her. Willingly would she have turned
her into a swan, like her brothers, but she did not dare to do so yet, because
the king wished to see his daughter. Early one morning the queen went into the
bath-room; it was built of marble, and had soft cushions, trimmed with the most
beautiful tapestry. She took three toads with her, and kissed them, and said to
one, "When Eliza comes to the bath, seat yourself upon her head, that she
may become as stupid as you are." Then she said to another, "Place
yourself on her forehead, that she may become as ugly as you are, and that her
father may not know her." "Rest on her heart," she whispered to
the third, "then she will have evil inclinations, and suffer in
consequence." So she put the toads into the clear water, and they turned
green immediately. She next called Eliza, and helped her to undress and get
into the bath. As Eliza dipped her head under the water, one of the toads sat
on her hair, a second on her forehead, and a third on her breast, but she did
not seem to notice them, and when she rose out of the water, there were three
red poppies floating upon it. Had not the creatures been venomous or been
kissed by the witch, they would have been changed into red roses. At all events
they became flowers, because they had rested on Eliza's head, and on her heart.
She was too good and too innocent for witchcraft to have any power over her.
When the wicked queen saw this, she rubbed her face with walnut-juice, so that
she was quite brown; then she tangled her beautiful hair and smeared it with
disgusting ointment, till it was quite impossible to recognize the beautiful
Eliza.
(The Wild Swans - audiobook for kids)
When her father saw her, he was much shocked, and declared she
was not his daughter. No one but the watch-dog and the swallows knew her; and
they were only poor animals, and could say nothing. Then poor Eliza wept, and
thought of her eleven brothers, who were all away. Sorrowfully, she stole away
from the palace, and walked, the whole day, over fields and moors, till she
came to the great forest. She knew not in what direction to go; but she was so
unhappy, and longed so for her brothers, who had been, like herself, driven out
into the world, that she was determined to seek them. She had been but a short
time in the wood when night came on, and she quite lost the path; so she laid
herself down on the soft moss, offered up her evening prayer, and leaned her
head against the stump of a tree. All nature was still, and the soft, mild air
fanned her forehead. The light of hundreds of glow-worms shone amidst the grass
and the moss, like green fire; and if she touched a twig with her hand, ever so
lightly, the brilliant insects fell down around her, like shooting-stars.
All night long she dreamt of her brothers. She and they were
children again, playing together. She saw them writing with their diamond
pencils on golden slates, while she looked at the beautiful picture-book which
had cost half a kingdom. They were not writing lines and letters, as they used
to do; but descriptions of the noble deeds they had performed, and of all they
had discovered and seen. In the picture-book, too, everything was living. The
birds sang, and the people came out of the book, and spoke to Eliza and her
brothers; but, as the leaves turned over, they darted back again to their
places, that all might be in order.
When she awoke, the sun was high in the heavens; yet she could
not see him, for the lofty trees spread their branches thickly over her head;
but his beams were glancing through the leaves here and there, like a golden
mist. There was a sweet fragrance from the fresh green verdure, and the birds
almost perched upon her shoulders. She heard water rippling from a number of
springs, all flowing in a lake with golden sands. Bushes grew thickly round the
lake, and at one spot an opening had been made by a deer, through which Eliza
went down to the water. The lake was so clear that, had not the wind rustled
the branches of the trees and the bushes, so that they moved, they would have
appeared as if painted in the depths of the lake; for every leaf was reflected
in the water, whether it stood in the shade or the sunshine. As soon as Eliza
saw her own face, she was quite terrified at finding it so brown and ugly; but
when she wetted her little hand, and rubbed her eyes and forehead, the white
skin gleamed forth once more; and, after she had undressed, and dipped herself
in the fresh water, a more beautiful king's daughter could not be found in the
wide world. As soon as she had dressed herself again, and braided her long
hair, she went to the bubbling spring, and drank some water out of the hollow
of her hand. Then she wandered far into the forest, not knowing whither she
went. She thought of her brothers, and felt sure that God would not forsake
her. It is God who makes the wild apples grow in the wood, to satisfy the
hungry, and He now led her to one of these trees, which was so loaded with
fruit, that the boughs bent beneath the weight. Here she held her noonday
repast, placed props under the boughs, and then went into the gloomiest depths
of the forest. It was so still that she could hear the sound of her own footsteps,
as well as the rustling of every withered leaf which she crushed under her
feet. Not a bird was to be seen, not a sunbeam could penetrate through the
large, dark boughs of the trees. Their lofty trunks stood so close together,
that, when she looked before her, it seemed as if she were enclosed within
trellis-work. Such solitude she had never known before. The night was very
dark. Not a single glow-worm glittered in the moss.
Sorrowfully she laid herself down to sleep; and, after a while,
it seemed to her as if the branches of the trees parted over her head, and that
the mild eyes of angels looked down upon her from heaven. When she awoke in the
morning, she knew not whether she had dreamt this, or if it had really been so.
Then she continued her wandering; but she had not gone many steps forward, when
she met an old woman with berries in her basket, and she gave her a few to eat.
Then Eliza asked her if she had not seen eleven princes riding through the
forest.
"No," replied the old woman, "But I saw yesterday
eleven swans, with gold crowns on their heads, swimming on the river close
by." Then she led Eliza a little distance farther to a sloping bank, and
at the foot of it wound a little river. The trees on its banks stretched their
long leafy branches across the water towards each other, and where the growth
prevented them from meeting naturally, the roots had torn themselves away from
the ground, so that the branches might mingle their foliage as they hung over
the water. Eliza bade the old woman farewell, and walked by the flowing river,
till she reached the shore of the open sea. And there, before the young
maiden's eyes, lay the glorious ocean, but not a sail appeared on its surface,
not even a boat could be seen. How was she to go farther? She noticed how the
countless pebbles on the sea-shore had been smoothed and rounded by the action
of the water. Glass, iron, stones, everything that lay there mingled together,
had taken its shape from the same power, and felt as smooth, or even smoother
than her own delicate hand. "The water rolls on without weariness,"
she said, till all that is hard becomes smooth; so will I be unwearied in my
task. Thanks for your lessons, bright rolling waves; my heart tells me you will
lead me to my dear brothers." On the foam-covered sea-weeds, lay eleven
white swan feathers, which she gathered up and placed together. Drops of water
lay upon them; whether they were dew-drops or tears no one could say. Lonely as
it was on the sea-shore, she did not observe it, for the ever-moving sea showed
more changes in a few hours than the most varying lake could produce during a
whole year. If a black heavy cloud arose, it was as if the sea said, "I
can look dark and angry too;" and then the wind blew, and the waves turned
to white foam as they rolled. When the wind slept, and the clouds glowed with
the red sunlight, then the sea looked like a rose leaf. But however quietly its
white glassy surface rested, there was still a motion on the shore, as its
waves rose and fell like the breast of a sleeping child. When the sun was about
to set, Eliza saw eleven white swans with golden crowns on their heads, flying
towards the land, one behind the other, like a long white ribbon. Then Eliza
went down the slope from the shore, and hid herself behind the bushes. The
swans alighted quite close to her and flapped their great white wings. As soon
as the sun had disappeared under the water, the feathers of the swans fell off,
and eleven beautiful princes, Eliza's brothers, stood near her. She uttered a
loud cry, for, although they were very much changed, she knew them immediately.
She sprang into their arms, and called them each by name. Then, how happy the
princes were at meeting their little sister again, for they recognized her,
although she had grown so tall and beautiful. They laughed, and they wept, and
very soon understood how wickedly their mother had acted to them all. "We
brothers," said the eldest, "fly about as wild swans, so long as the
sun is in the sky; but as soon as it sinks behind the hills, we recover our
human shape. Therefore must we always be near a resting place for our feet
before sunset; for if we should be flying towards the clouds at the time we
recovered our natural shape as men, we should sink deep into the sea. We do not
dwell here, but in a land just as fair, that lies beyond the ocean, which we
have to cross for a long distance; there is no island in our passage upon which
we could pass, the night; nothing but a little rock rising out of the sea, upon
which we can scarcely stand with safety, even closely crowded together. If the
sea is rough, the foam dashes over us, yet we thank God even for this rock; we
have passed whole nights upon it, or we should never have reached our beloved
fatherland, for our flight across the sea occupies two of the longest days in
the year. We have permission to visit out home once in every year, and to
remain eleven days, during which we fly across the forest to look once more at
the palace where our father dwells, and where we were born, and at the church,
where our mother lies buried. Here it seems as if the very trees and bushes
were related to us. The wild horses leap over the plains as we have seen them
in our childhood. The charcoal burners sing the old songs, to which we have
danced as children. This is our fatherland, to which we are drawn by loving
ties; and here we have found you, our dear little sister., Two days longer we
can remain here, and then must we fly away to a beautiful land which is not our
home; and how can we take you with us? We have neither ship nor boat."
"How can I break this spell?" said their sister. And
then she talked about it nearly the whole night, only slumbering for a few
hours. Eliza was awakened by the rustling of the swans' wings as they soared
above. Her brothers were again changed to swans, and they flew in circles wider
and wider, till they were far away; but one of them, the youngest swan,
remained behind, and laid his head in his sister's lap, while she stroked his
wings; and they remained together the whole day. Towards evening, the rest came
back, and as the sun went down they resumed their natural forms.
"To-morrow," said one, "we shall fly away, not to return again
till a whole year has passed. But we cannot leave you here. Have you courage to
go with us? My arm is strong enough to carry you through the wood; and will not
all our wings be strong enough to fly with you over the sea?"
"Yes, take me with you," said Eliza. Then they spent
the whole night in weaving a net with the pliant willow and rushes. It was very
large and strong. Eliza laid herself down on the net, and when the sun rose,
and her brothers again became wild swans, they took up the net with their
beaks, and flew up to the clouds with their dear sister, who still slept. The
sunbeams fell on her face, therefore one of the swans soared over her head, so
that his broad wings might shade her. They were far from the land when Eliza
woke. She thought she must still be dreaming, it seemed so strange to her to
feel herself being carried so high in the air over the sea. By her side lay a
branch full of beautiful ripe berries, and a bundle of sweet roots; the
youngest of her brothers had gathered them for her, and placed them by her
side. She smiled her thanks to him; she knew it was the same who had hovered over
her to shade her with his wings. They were now so high, that a large ship
beneath them looked like a white sea-gull skimming the waves. A great cloud
floating behind them appeared like a vast mountain, and upon it Eliza saw her
own shadow and those of the eleven swans, looking gigantic in size. Altogether
it formed a more beautiful picture than she had ever seen; but as the sun rose
higher, and the clouds were left behind, the shadowy picture vanished away.
Onward the whole day they flew through the air like a winged arrow, yet more
slowly than usual, for they had their sister to carry. The weather seemed
inclined to be stormy, and Eliza watched the sinking sun with great anxiety,
for the little rock in the ocean was not yet in sight. It appeared to her as if
the swans were making great efforts with their wings. Alas! she was the cause
of their not advancing more quickly. When the sun set, they would change to
men, fall into the sea and be drowned. Then she offered a prayer from her
inmost heart, but still no appearance of the rock. Dark clouds came nearer, the
gusts of wind told of a coming storm, while from a thick, heavy mass of clouds
the lightning burst forth flash after flash. The sun had reached the edge of
the sea, when the swans darted down so swiftly, that Eliza's head trembled; she
believed they were falling, but they again soared onward. Presently she caught
sight of the rock just below them, and by this time the sun was half hidden by
the waves. The rock did not appear larger than a seal's head thrust out of the
water. They sunk so rapidly, that at the moment their feet touched the rock, it
shone only like a star, and at last disappeared like the last spark in a piece
of burnt paper. Then she saw her brothers standing closely round her with their
arms linked together. There was but just room enough for them, and not the
smallest space to spare. The sea dashed against the rock, and covered them with
spray. The heavens were lighted up with continual flashes, and peal after peal
of thunder rolled. But the sister and brothers sat holding each other's hands,
and singing hymns, from which they gained hope and courage. In the early dawn
the air became calm and still, and at sunrise the swans flew away from the rock
with Eliza. The sea was still rough, and from their high position in the air,
the white foam on the dark green waves looked like millions of swans swimming
on the water. As the sun rose higher, Eliza saw before her, floating on the
air, a range of mountains, with shining masses of ice on their summits. In the
centre, rose a castle apparently a mile long, with rows of columns, rising one
above another, while, around it, palm-trees waved and flowers bloomed as large
as mill wheels. She asked if this was the land to which they were hastening.
The swans shook their heads, for what she beheld were the beautiful
ever-changing cloud palaces of the "Fata Morgana," into which no
mortal can enter. Eliza was still gazing at the scene, when mountains, forests,
and castles melted away, and twenty stately churches rose in their stead, with
high towers and pointed gothic windows. Eliza even fancied she could hear the
tones of the organ, but it was the music of the murmuring sea which she heard.
As they drew nearer to the churches, they also changed into a fleet of ships,
which seemed to be sailing beneath her; but as she looked again, she found it
was only a sea mist gliding over the ocean. So there continued to pass before
her eyes a constant change of scene, till at last she saw the real land to
which they were bound, with its blue mountains, its cedar forests, and its
cities and palaces. Long before the sun went down, she sat on a rock, in front
of a large cave, on the floor of which the over-grown yet delicate green
creeping plants looked like an embroidered carpet. "Now we shall expect to
hear what you dream of to-night," said the youngest brother, as he showed
his sister her bedroom.
"Heaven grant that I may dream how to save you," she
replied. And this thought took such hold upon her mind that she prayed earnestly
to God for help, and even in her sleep she continued to pray. Then it appeared
to her as if she were flying high in the air, towards the cloudy palace of the
"Fata Morgana," and a fairy came out to meet her, radiant and
beautiful in appearance, and yet very much like the old woman who had given her
berries in the wood, and who had told her of the swans with golden crowns on
their heads. "Your brothers can be released," said she, "if you
have only courage and perseverance. True, water is softer than your own
delicate hands, and yet it polishes stones into shapes; it feels no pain as
your fingers would feel, it has no soul, and cannot suffer such agony and
torment as you will have to endure. Do you see the stinging nettle which I hold
in my hand? Quantities of the same sort grow round the cave in which you sleep,
but none will be of any use to you unless they grow upon the graves in a
churchyard. These you must gather even while they burn blisters on your hands.
Break them to pieces with your hands and feet, and they will become flax, from
which you must spin and weave eleven coats with long sleeves; if these are then
thrown over the eleven swans, the spell will be broken. But remember, that from
the moment you commence your task until it is finished, even should it occupy
years of your life, you must not speak. The first word you utter will pierce
through the hearts of your brothers like a deadly dagger. Their lives hang upon
your tongue. Remember all I have told you." And as she finished speaking,
she touched her hand lightly with the nettle, and a pain, as of burning fire,
awoke Eliza.
It was broad daylight, and close by where she had been sleeping
lay a nettle like the one she had seen in her dream. She fell on her knees and
offered her thanks to God. Then she went forth from the cave to begin her work
with her delicate hands. She groped in amongst the ugly nettles, which burnt
great blisters on her hands and arms, but she determined to bear it gladly if
she could only release her dear brothers. So she bruised the nettles with her
bare feet and spun the flax. At sunset her brothers returned and were very much
frightened when they found her dumb. They believed it to be some new sorcery of
their wicked step-mother. But when they saw her hands they understood what she
was doing on their behalf, and the youngest brother wept, and where his tears
fell the pain ceased, and the burning blisters vanished. She kept to her work
all night, for she could not rest till she had released her dear brothers.
During the whole of the following day, while her brothers were absent, she sat
in solitude, but never before had the time flown so quickly. One coat was
already finished and she had begun the second, when she heard the huntsman's
horn, and was struck with fear. The sound came nearer and nearer, she heard the
dogs barking, and fled with terror into the cave. She hastily bound together
the nettles she had gathered into a bundle and sat upon them. Immediately a
great dog came bounding towards her out of the ravine, and then another and
another; they barked loudly, ran back, and then came again. In a very few
minutes all the huntsmen stood before the cave, and the handsomest of them was
the king of the country. He advanced towards her, for he had never seen a more
beautiful maiden.
"How did you come here, my sweet child?" he asked. But
Eliza shook her head. She dared not speak, at the cost of her brothers' lives.
And she hid her hands under her apron, so that the king might not see how she
must be suffering.
"Come with me," he said; "here you cannot remain.
If you are as good as you are beautiful, I will dress you in silk and velvet, I
will place a golden crown upon your head, and you shall dwell, and rule, and
make your home in my richest castle." And then he lifted her on his horse.
She wept and wrung her hands, but the king said, "I wish only for your
happiness. A time will come when you will thank me for this." And then he
galloped away over the mountains, holding her before him on this horse, and the
hunters followed behind them. As the sun went down, they approached a fair
royal city, with churches, and cupolas. On arriving at the castle the king led
her into marble halls, where large fountains played, and where the walls and
the ceilings were covered with rich paintings. But she had no eyes for all
these glorious sights, she could only mourn and weep. Patiently she allowed the
women to array her in royal robes, to weave pearls in her hair, and draw soft
gloves over her blistered fingers. As she stood before them in all her rich
dress, she looked so dazzingly beautiful that the court bowed low in her
presence. Then the king declared his intention of making her his bride, but the
archbishop shook his head, and whispered that the fair young maiden was only a
witch who had blinded the king's eyes and bewitched his heart. But the king
would not listen to this; he ordered the music to sound, the daintiest dishes
to be served, and the loveliest maidens to dance. After-wards he led her
through fragrant gardens and lofty halls, but not a smile appeared on her lips
or sparkled in her eyes. She looked the very picture of grief. Then the king
opened the door of a little chamber in which she. was to sleep; it was adorned
with rich green tapestry, and resembled the cave in which he had found her. On
the floor lay the bundle of flax which she had spun from the nettles, and under
the ceiling hung the coat she had made. These things had been brought away from
the cave as curiosities by one of the huntsmen.
"Here you can dream yourself back again in the old home in
the cave," said the king; "here is the work with which you employed
yourself. It will amuse you now in the midst of all this splendor to think of
that time."
When Eliza saw all these things which lay so near her heart, a
smile played around her mouth, and the crimson blood rushed to her cheeks. She
thought of her brothers, and their release made her so joyful that she kissed
the king's hand. Then he pressed her to his heart. Very soon the joyous church
bells announced the marriage feast, and that the beautiful dumb girl out of the
wood was to be made the queen of the country. Then the archbishop whispered
wicked words in the king's ear, but they did not sink into his heart. The
marriage was still to take place, and the archbishop himself had to place the
crown on the bride's head; in his wicked spite, he pressed the narrow circlet
so tightly on her forehead that it caused her pain. But a heavier weight
encircled her heart- sorrow for her brothers. She felt not bodily pain. Her
mouth was closed; a single word would cost the lives of her brothers. But she
loved the kind, handsome king, who did everything to make her happy more and
more each day; she loved him with all her heart, and her eyes beamed with the
love she dared not speak. Oh! if she had only been able to confide in him and
tell him of her grief. But dumb she must remain till her task was finished.
Therefore at night she crept away into her little chamber, which had been
decked out to look like the cave, and quickly wove one coat after another. But
when she began the seventh she found she had no more flax. She knew that the
nettles she wanted to use grew in the churchyard, and that she must pluck them
herself. How should she get out there? "Oh, what is the pain in my fingers
to the torment which my heart endures?" said she. "I must venture, I
shall not be denied help from heaven." Then with a trembling heart, as if
she were about to perform a wicked deed, she crept into the garden in the broad
moonlight, and passed through the narrow walks and the deserted streets, till
she reached the churchyard. Then she saw on one of the broad tombstones a group
of ghouls. These hideous creatures took off their rags, as if they intended to
bathe, and then clawing open the fresh graves with their long, skinny fingers,
pulled out the dead bodies and ate the flesh! Eliza had to pass close by them,
and they fixed their wicked glances upon her, but she prayed silently, gathered
the burning nettles, and carried them home with her to the castle. One person only
had seen her, and that was the archbishop- he was awake while everybody was
asleep. Now he thought his opinion was evidently correct. All was not right
with the queen. She was a witch, and had bewitched the king and all the people.
Secretly he told the king what he had seen and what he feared, and as the hard
words came from his tongue, the carved images of the saints shook their heads
as if they would say. "It is not so. Eliza is innocent."
But the archbishop interpreted it in another way; he believed
that they witnessed against her, and were shaking their heads at her
wickedness. Two large tears rolled down the king's cheeks, and he went home
with doubt in his heart, and at night he pretended to sleep, but there came no
real sleep to his eyes, for he saw Eliza get up every night and disappear in
her own chamber. From day to day his brow became darker, and Eliza saw it and
did not understand the reason, but it alarmed her and made her heart tremble
for her brothers. Her hot tears glittered like pearls on the regal velvet and
diamonds, while all who saw her were wishing they could be queens. In the mean
time she had almost finished her task; only one coat of mail was wanting, but
she had no flax left, and not a single nettle. Once more only, and for the last
time, must she venture to the churchyard and pluck a few handfuls. She thought
with terror of the solitary walk, and of the horrible ghouls, but her will was
firm, as well as her trust in Providence. Eliza went, and the king and the
archbishop followed her. They saw her vanish through the wicket gate into the
churchyard, and when they came nearer they saw the ghouls sitting on the
tombstone, as Eliza had seen them, and the king turned away his head, for he
thought she was with them- she whose head had rested on his breast that very
evening. "The people must condemn her," said he, and she was very
quickly condemned by every one to suffer death by fire. Away from the gorgeous
regal halls was she led to a dark, dreary cell, where the wind whistled through
the iron bars. Instead of the velvet and silk dresses, they gave her the coats
of mail which she had woven to cover her, and the bundle of nettles for a
pillow; but nothing they could give her would have pleased her more. She
continued her task with joy, and prayed for help, while the street-boys sang
jeering songs about her, and not a soul comforted her with a kind word. Towards
evening, she heard at the grating the flutter of a swan's wing, it was her
youngest brother- he had found his sister, and she sobbed for joy, although she
knew that very likely this would be the last night she would have to live. But
still she could hope, for her task was almost finished, and her brothers were
come. Then the archbishop arrived, to be with her during her last hours, as he
had promised the king. But she shook her head, and begged him, by looks and
gestures, not to stay; for in this night she knew she must finish her task,
otherwise all her pain and tears and sleepless nights would have been suffered
in vain. The archbishop withdrew, uttering bitter words against her; but poor
Eliza knew that she was innocent, and diligently continued her work.
The little mice ran about the floor, they dragged the nettles to
her feet, to help as well as they could; and the thrush sat outside the grating
of the window, and sang to her the whole night long, as sweetly as possible, to
keep up her spirits.
It was still twilight, and at least an hour before sunrise, when
the eleven brothers stood at the castle gate, and demanded to be brought before
the king. They were told it could not be, it was yet almost night, and as the
king slept they dared not disturb him. They threatened, they entreated. Then
the guard appeared, and even the king himself, inquiring what all the noise
meant. At this moment the sun rose. The eleven brothers were seen no more, but
eleven wild swans flew away over the castle.
And now all the people came streaming forth from the gates of
the city, to see the witch burnt. An old horse drew the cart on which she sat.
They had dressed her in a garment of coarse sackcloth. Her lovely hair hung
loose on her shoulders, her cheeks were deadly pale, her lips moved silently,
while her fingers still worked at the green flax. Even on the way to death, she
would not give up her task. The ten coats of mail lay at her feet, she was
working hard at the eleventh, while the mob jeered her and said, "See the
witch, how she mutters! She has no hymn-book in her hand. She sits there with
her ugly sorcery. Let us tear it in a thousand pieces."
And then they pressed towards her, and would have destroyed the
coats of mail, but at the same moment eleven wild swans flew over her, and
alighted on the cart. Then they flapped their large wings, and the crowd drew
on one side in alarm.
"It is a sign from heaven that she is innocent,"
whispered many of them; but they ventured not to say it aloud.
As the executioner seized her by the hand, to lift her out of
the cart, she hastily threw the eleven coats of mail over the swans, and they
immediately became eleven handsome princes; but the youngest had a swan's wing,
instead of an arm; for she had not been able to finish the last sleeve of the
coat.
"Now I may speak," she exclaimed. "I am
innocent."
Then the people, who saw what happened, bowed to her, as before
a saint; but she sank lifeless in her brothers' arms, overcome with suspense,
anguish, and pain.
"Yes, she is innocent," said the eldest brother; and
then he related all that had taken place; and while he spoke there rose in the
air a fragrance as from millions of roses. Every piece of faggot in the pile
had taken root, and threw out branches, and appeared a thick hedge, large and
high, covered with roses; while above all bloomed a white and shining flower,
that glittered like a star. This flower the king plucked, and placed in Eliza's
bosom, when she awoke from her swoon, with peace and happiness in her heart.
And all the church bells rang of themselves, and the birds came in great
troops. And a marriage procession returned to the castle, such as no king had ever
before seen.
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