“Now we’ll see what you dream about here tonight,” said the youngest brother and showed her to her bedroom.
“I wish I would dream about how I could rescue you all!” she said, and this thought occupied her so vividly that she prayed fervently to God for help. Even in sleep she continued her prayer; and it seemed to her that she flew high up in the air to Fata Morgana’s sky castle, and a fairy came towards her, lovely and glittering, but she looked exactly like the old woman who had given her berries in the forest and told her about the swans wearing the gold crowns.
“Your brothers can be rescued,” she said, “if you have the courage and perseverance. It’s true that the sea is softer than your fine hands and can shape the hard stones, but it doesn’t feel the pain your fingers will feel. It has no heart and doesn’t suffer the dread and terror you must tolerate. Do you see this stinging nettle I’m holding in my hand? Many of these grow around the cave where you’re sleeping. Only those and those that grow on the graves in the churchyard can be used—take note of that. You have to pick them, although they will burn your skin to blisters. Then you must tramp the nettles with your feet to get flax, and with that you must spin and knit eleven thick shirts with long sleeves. Throw these over the eleven wild swans, and the spell will be broken. But remember this: from the moment you begin this work and until the day it is finished you cannot speak, even if your work takes years. The first word you speak would be like a dagger in your brothers’ hearts, and it would kill them. Their lives hang upon your tongue. Pay attention to all that I’ve told you!”
And she touched Elisa’s hand with the nettle, which like a burning fire, woke her up. It was bright day, and right next to where she had been sleeping, lay a nettle like the one she had seen in her dream. Then she fell on her knees and thanked God, and went out of the cave to begin her work.
With her fine hands, she reached down into the nasty nettles, which were like scorching fire. They burned big blisters on her hands and arms, but she bore it gladly, to rescue her dear brothers. And so she broke each nettle with her bare feet and spun the green flax.
When the sun went down, her brothers came, and they were frightened to find her so silent. They thought their evil step-mother had cast a new spell, but when they saw her hands, they realized what she was doing for their sakes, and the youngest brother burst into tears. Wherever his tears fell, the pain left her, and the burning blisters disappeared.
She worked all night because she could have no rest until she had saved her beloved brothers. All the next day, while the swans were away, she sat there alone, but time had never flown so quickly. One shirt was already finished, and she started on the next one.
Then she heard a hunting horn echo through the hills, and it scared her. The sound came closer, and she heard dogs barking. Frightened, she ran into the cave and wound the nettles and her knitting into a bundle and sat down on it.
Just then a big dog sprang from the thicket, and then another and another; they barked loudly and ran back and forth. Within a few minutes all the hunters were standing outside the cave, and the most handsome of them all was the king of the country. He went into the cave, and never had he seen a more beautiful girl than Elisa.
“How did you get here, you beautiful child?” he asked.
Elisa shook her head. She didn’t dare speak, of course, since her brothers’ lives and safety were at stake, and she hid her hands under her apron, so the king would not see what she was suffering.
“Come with me!” he said, “You can’t stay here! If you’re as good as you are beautiful, I’ll dress you in silk and velvet and set a gold crown on your head, and you’ll live in my richest castle.”
He lifted her up onto his horse, and she cried and wrung her hands, but the king said, “I only want your happiness. Some day you’ll thank me for this.” Then he galloped away through the hills with her in front of him on the horse, and the hunters followed after them. As the sun was setting, the magnificent royal city with its churches and domes was lying before them, and the king led her into the castle, where enormous fountains splashed under the high ceilings in rooms of marble. The walls and ceilings were decorated with paintings, but she had no eye for them. She cried and grieved, and passively let the women dress her in royal clothing, braid pearls in her hair, and draw fine gloves over her burned fingers.
When she stood there in all her glory, she was so dazzlingly beautiful that the court bowed down deeply to her, and the king chose her for his queen, even though the arch-bishop shook his head and whispered that the beautiful forest maiden must be a witch, who had bedazzled their eyes and bewitched the king’s heart.
But the king didn’t listen to him. Instead he had the musicians play and had the most splendid dishes served. The most beautiful girls danced around Elisa, and she was led through fragrant gardens into magnificent chambers, but not a smile crossed her lips, or appeared in her eyes, where sorrow seemed to have taken up eternal residence. Then the king opened a door to a tiny room, close by her bedroom; it was decorated with expensive green carpets and resembled the cave where she had been. The bundles of flax she had spun from the nettles were lying on the floor, and hanging up by the ceiling was the shirt she had finished. One of the hunters had brought all this along as a curiosity.
“You can dream about your former home here,” said the king. “Here’s the work that you used to do. It’ll amuse you to think back to that time now that you’re surrounded with luxury.”
When Elisa saw these things that were so close to her heart, a smile came to her lips, and the blood returned to her cheeks. She thought about her brothers’ salvation and kissed the king’s hand. In return he pulled her to his heart and had all the church bells proclaim the wedding feast. The beautiful silent girl from the forest was to be queen of the land.
The arch-bishop whispered evil words into the king’s ear, but they did not reach his heart. The wedding was set, and the arch-bishop himself had to place the crown on her head. Although he pressed the narrow band down on her forehead with evil resentment so that it hurt, there was a heavier band pressing on her heart—the sorrow she felt about her brothers, and she did not feel the bodily pain. Since a single word would kill her brothers, her mouth was silent, but in her eyes lay a deep love for the good, handsome king, who did everything he could to please her. Day by day she grew to love him more and more. Oh, if only she dared to confide in him, to tell him of her suffering! But she had to remain silent, and in silence she had to finish her work. Night after night she stole away from his side and went into her little closet that resembled the cave. She knit one thick shirt after the other, but when she started on the seventh one, she ran out of flax.
She knew that the nettles that she should use grew in the churchyard, but she had to pick them herself. How was she going to get there?
“Oh, what is the pain in my fingers compared to the agony in my heart!” she thought. “I must risk it. God won’t desert me!” With terror in her heart, as if she were on her way to do an evil deed, she stole down to the garden in the moonlit night. She went through the long avenues of trees and out on the empty streets, to the churchyard. On one of the widest tombstones she saw a ring of vampires—hideous witches, who took off their rags as if they were going to bathe and then dug down into the fresh graves with their long, thin fingers, pulled the corpses out, and ate their flesh. Elisa had to pass right by them, and they cast their evil eyes on her; but she said her prayers, gathered the burning nettles, and carried them home to the castle.
Only a single person saw her—the arch-bishop. He was awake when others slept. Now he felt vindicated, for the queen was not what she seemed. She was a witch, who had bewitched the king and all the people.
In the confessional he told the king what he had seen, and what he feared, and when the harsh words came from his tongue, the images of the carved saints shook their heads as if they wanted to say, “It isn’t so. Elisa is innocent!” But the arch-bishop explained it differently. He said
they were witnessing against her and shaking their heads over her sin. Two heavy tears rolled down the king’s cheeks, and he went home with doubt in his heart. He pretended to sleep that night, but remained wide awake. He noticed how Elisa got up, and how she repeated this every night, and every night he followed her quietly and saw her disappear into her little chamber.
Day by day his face grew more troubled. Elisa saw this and didn’t know why, but it worried her, and she was still suffering in her heart for her brothers. Her salty tears streamed down and fell upon her royal velvet and purple clothing. They lay there like glimmering diamonds, and everyone who saw the rich magnificence wished to be the queen. In the meantime she had finished her work. Only one shirt was left, but she was again out of flax and didn’t have a single nettle. One last time she would have to go to the churchyard and pick a few handfuls. She thought about the lonely trip and about the terrible vampires with dread, but her will was firm, as was her faith in God.
Elisa went, but the king and arch-bishop followed her. They saw her disappear at the wrought iron gate of the cemetery, and when they came closer to the gravestones, they saw the vampires, as Elisa had seen them. The king turned away because he thought she was among them—his wife whose head had rested against his breast this very night!
“The people must judge her,” he said, and the people judged that she should be burned in the red flames.
From the splendid royal chambers she was led into a dark, damp hole, where the wind whistled through the barred windows. Instead of velvet and silk they gave her the bundle of nettles she had gathered; she could rest her head on those. The hard, burning shirts she had knit were to be her bedding, but they couldn’t have given her anything dearer to her. She started her work again and prayed to God while outside the street urchins sang mocking ditties about her, and not a soul consoled her with a friendly word.
Toward evening a swan wing whistled right by the window grate. It was the youngest brother who had found his sister, and she sobbed aloud in joy, even though she knew that the approaching night could be the last she would live. But now the work was almost done, and her brothers were here.
The arch-bishop came to spend the last hours with her, as he had promised the king he would do, but she shook her head and asked him to leave with expressions and gestures. She had to finish her work this night, or everything would be to no avail—everything: pain, tears and the sleepless nights. The arch-bishop went away with harsh words for her, but poor Elisa knew that she was innocent and continued her work.
Little mice ran around on the floor, and pulled the nettles over to her feet, to help a little. By the barred window the thrush sat and sang all night long, as merrily as he could, so she wouldn’t lose her courage.
It was an hour before dawn when the eleven brothers stood by the gate to the castle and asked to see the king, but they were told that they couldn’t because it was still night. The king was sleeping, and they didn’t dare wake him. They begged, and they threatened. The guards came, and even the king himself appeared and asked what this meant. At that moment the sun came up, and there were no brothers to be seen, but over the castle flew eleven wild swans.
All the people in the town streamed out of the gates. They wanted to see the witch burn. A miserable horse pulled the cart she was sitting in. They had given her a smock of coarse sackcloth, and her lovely long hair hung loosely around her beautiful head. Her cheeks were deathly pale, and her lips moved slowly while her fingers twined the green flax. Even on her way to her death she did not stop the work she had started. Ten shirts lay by her feet, and she was knitting the eleventh. The mob insulted her.
“Look at the witch! See how she’s mumbling. And she doesn’t have her hymnal in her hands! She is sitting with her magic things. Let’s tear them into a thousand pieces!”
And the crowd approached her and wanted to tear her things apart, but then eleven white swans flew down and sat around her on the cart and flapped with their huge wings. The mob fell back terrified.
“It’s a sign from heaven! She must be innocent!” many whispered, but they didn’t dare say it aloud.
As the executioner grabbed her hand, she hastily threw the eleven shirts over the swans. There stood eleven handsome princes, but the youngest one had a swan’s wing instead of one arm, since there was a sleeve missing in the shirt. She hadn’t been able to finish it.
“Now I dare speak!” she said, “I am innocent!”
And the people who saw what had happened bowed down before her as if for a saint, but she sank lifeless into the arms of her brothers. The tension, terror, and pain had affected her this way.
“Yes, she’s innocent!” said the eldest brother, and he told them everything that had happened. While he was speaking, the people could smell the scent as of a million roses because all of the logs in the bonfire had sprouted roots and branches. There was a fragrant hedge standing there, big and tall with red roses. At the top was a flower, white and shining that lit up like a star. The king picked it and set it on Elisa’s breast, and she awoke with peace and happiness in her heart.
Then all the church bells rang by themselves, birds came flying in big flocks, and the bridal procession that led back to the castle was like no other seen before by any king.
NOTE
1. A mirage (an optical phenomenon, often characterized by distortion) that appears near an object, often at sea; named after the sorceress Morgan le Fay, sister to King Arthur, who was said to be able to change her shape.
THE SWINEHERD
ONCE UPON A TIME there was a poor prince. He had a kingdom that was quite small, but it was big enough so he could afford to get married, and that’s what he wanted to do.
Now it was pretty fresh of him to ask the emperor’s daughter, “Do you want to marry me?” But he dared it because his name was known far and wide, and there were hundreds of princesses who would have accepted him, but we’ll see if she does.
Now listen to what happened.
On the grave of the prince’s father there grew a rose tree, and a lovely rose tree it was! It only flowered every five years and then only with a single rose, but it was a rose that smelled so sweet that when you smelled it, you forgot all your sorrows and worries. The prince also had a nightingale that could sing as if all the most beautiful melodies sat in its little throat. That rose and that nightingale were to be given to the princess, and so they were both placed in big silver cases and were sent to her.
The emperor had the cases brought into the big room where the princess was playing house with her chambermaids, and when she saw the big cases with the gifts inside, she clapped her hands in joy.
“If only it’s a little pussycat!” she said, but then the rose tree with the lovely rose was unveiled.
“Oh, how beautifully it’s made,” said all the chambermaids.
“It’s more than beautiful,” the emperor said. “It’s neat!”
But the princess felt it and then was ready to cry.
“Oh yuck, pappa!” she said. “It’s not artificial, it’s real!”
“Yuck!” all the chambermaids said. “It’s real!”
On the grave of the prince’s father there grew a rose tree, and a lovely rose tree it was!
“Let’s see what’s in the other case before we get angry,” said the emperor, and then the nightingale was brought forth. It sang so beautifully that it would be impossible to say anything against it.
“Superbe! Charmant!” said the chambermaids for they all spoke French, one more badly than the next.
“How that bird reminds me of the saintly old empress’s music box,” said an old gentleman-in-waiting. “Oh yes, it’s just the same tone, the same delivery!”
“Yes indeed!” said the emperor, and he cried like a little child.
“But I don’t believe it’s real,” said the princess.
“Yes, it’s a real bird,” said those who had brought it.
“So let the bird fly away with the ideas of that prince,”
said the princess, and she would not allow him to come under any circumstances.
But he kept his spirits up and smeared his face brown and black, pulled a peaked cap low on his head, and knocked at the door.
“Hello, emperor,” he said. “Do you have a job for me here at the castle?”
“Sure,” said the emperor. “I need someone to take care of the pigs because we have a lot of them.”
So the prince was hired as the royal swineherd. He was given a humble little room down by the pig sty, and that’s where he had to stay, but all day he sat and worked, and when it was evening, he had made a lovely little pot. There were bells all around it, and as soon as the pot boiled, they rang beautifully and played the old melody:
Ach, Du lieber Augustine,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg. 1
But the most wonderful thing of all was that when you held your finger in the steam from the pot, you could immediately smell what food was being cooked at each chimney in town. See, this was really something different than that rose!
Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen Page 18