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.
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.