me true. She believed that the moor flowers would bring healing to her
sick father, and she has flown here in swan's plumage, in company with
the other swan-princesses, who come to the North every year to renew
their youth. She has come here, and she is gone!"
"You are much too long-winded!" exclaimed the stork-mamma, "and the
eggs might catch cold. I can't bear being kept in such suspense!"
"I have kept watch," said the stork-papa; "and to-night, when I went
into the reeds--there where the marsh ground will bear me--three swans
came. Something in their flight seemed to say to me, 'Look out! That's
not altogether swan; it's only swan's feathers!' Yes, mother, you have
a feeling of intuition just as I have; you know whether a thing is
right or wrong."
"Yes, certainly," she replied; "but tell me about the princess. I'm
sick of hearing of the swan's feathers."
"Well, you know that in the middle of the moor there is something like
a lake," continued stork-papa. "You can see one corner of it if you
raise yourself a little. There, by the reeds and the green mud, lay a
great alder stump; and on this the three swans sat, flapping their
wings and looking about them. One of them threw off her plumage, and I
immediately recognized her as our house princess from Egypt! There she
sat, with no covering but her long black hair. I heard her tell the
others to pay good heed to the swan's plumage, while she dived down
into the water to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw growing
there. The others nodded, and picked up the empty feather dress and
took care of it. 'I wonder what they will do with it?' thought I; and
perhaps she asked herself the same question. If so, she got an
answer--a very practical answer--for the two rose up and flew away
with her swan's plumage. 'Do thou dive down,' they cried; 'thou shalt
never see Egypt again! Remain thou here in the moor!' And so saying,
they tore the swan's plumage into a thousand pieces, so that the
feathers whirled about like a snow-storm; and away they flew--the two
faithless princesses!"
[Illustration: THE PRINCESS LEFT IN THE MARSH.]
"Why, that is terrible!" said stork-mamma. "I can't bear to hear any
more of it. But now tell me what happened next."
"The princess wept and lamented aloud. Her tears fell fast on the
alder stump, and the latter moved; for it was not a regular alder
stump, but the marsh king--he who lives and rules in the depths of the
moor! I myself saw it--how the stump of the tree turned round, and
ceased to be a tree stump; long thin branches grew forth from it like
arms. Then the poor child was terribly frightened, and sprang up to
flee away. She hurried across to the green slimy ground; but that
cannot even carry me, much less her. She sank immediately, and the
alder stump dived down too; and it was he who drew her down. Great
black bubbles rose up out of the moor-slime, and the last trace of
both of them vanished when these burst. Now the princess is buried in
the wild moor, and never more will she bear away a flower to Egypt.
Your heart would have burst, mother, if you had seen it."
"You ought not to tell me anything of the kind at such a time as
this," said stork-mamma; "the eggs might suffer by it. The princess
will find some way of escape; some one will come to help her. If it
had been you or I, or one of our people, it would certainly have been
all over with us."
"But I shall go and look every day to see if anything happens," said
stork-papa.
And he was as good as his word.
A long time had passed, when at last he saw a green stalk shooting up
out of the deep moor-ground. When it reached the surface, a leaf
spread out and unfolded itself broader and broader; close by it, a bud
came out. And one morning, when stork-papa flew over the stalk, the
bud opened through the power of the strong sunbeams, and in the cup of
the flower lay a beautiful child--a little girl--looking just as if
she had risen out of the bath. The little one so closely resembled the
princess from Egypt, that at the first moment the stork thought it
must be the princess herself; but, on second thoughts, it appeared
more probable that it must be the daughter of the princess and of the
marsh king; and that also explained her being placed in the cup of the
water-lily.
"But she cannot possibly be left lying there," thought stork-papa;
"and in my nest there are so many persons already. But stay, I have a
thought. The wife of the Viking has no children, and how often has she
not wished for a little one! People always say, 'The stork has brought
a little one;' and I will do so in earnest this time. I shall fly with
the child to the Viking's wife. What rejoicing there will be yonder!"
And the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup, flew to
the wooden house, picked a hole with his beak in the bladder-covered
window, laid the charming child on the bosom of the Viking's wife, and
then hurried up to the stork-mamma, and told her what he had seen and
done; and the little storks listened to the story, for they were big
enough to do so now.
"So you see," he concluded, "the princess is not dead, for she must
have sent the little one up here; and now that is provided for too."
"Ah, I said it would be so, from the very beginning!" said the
stork-mamma; "but now think a little of your own family. Our
travelling time is drawing on; sometimes I feel quite restless in my
wings already. The cuckoo and the nightingale have started; and I
heard the quails saying that they were going too, so soon as the wind
was favourable. Our young ones will behave well at the exercising, or
I am much deceived in them."
The Viking's wife was extremely glad when she woke next morning and
found the charming infant lying in her arms. She kissed and caressed
it; but it cried violently, and struggled with its arms and legs, and
did not seem rejoiced at all. At length it cried itself to sleep; and
as it lay there still and tranquil, it looked exceedingly beautiful.
The Viking's wife was in high glee: she felt light in body and soul;
her heart leapt within her; and it seemed to her as if her husband and
his warriors, who were absent, must return quite as suddenly and
unexpectedly as the little one had come.
Therefore she and the whole household had enough to do in preparing
everything for the reception of her lord. The long coloured curtains
of tapestry, which she and her maids had worked, and on which they had
woven pictures of their idols, Odin, Thor, and Freya, were hung up;
the slaves polished the old shields, that served as ornaments; and
cushions were placed on the benches, and dry wood laid on the
fireplace in the midst of the hall, so that the flame might be fanned
up at a moment's notice. The Viking's wife herself assisted in the
work, so that towards evening she was very tired, and went to sleep
quickly and lightly.
When she awoke towards morning, she was violently alarmed, for the
infant had vanished! She sprang from her couch, lighted a pine-torch,
and searched all round about; and, behold, in the part of the bed
where she had stretched her feet, lay, not the child, but a great ugly
frog! She was horror-struck at the sight, and seized a heavy stick to
kill the frog; but the creature looked at her with such strange,
mournful eyes, that she was not able to strike the blow. Once more she
looked round the room--the frog uttered a low, wailing croak, and she
started, sprang from the couch, and ran to the window and opened it.
At that moment the sun shone forth, and flung its beams through the
window on the couch and on the great frog; and suddenly it appeared as
though the frog's great mouth contracted and became small and red, and
its limbs moved and stretched and became beautifully symmetrical, and
it was no longer an ugly frog which lay there, but her pretty child!
"What is this?" she said. "Have I had a bad dream? Is it not my own
lovely cherub lying there?"
And she kissed and hugged it; but the child struggled and fought like
a little wild cat.
Not on this day nor on the morrow did the Viking return, although he
certainly was on his way home; but the wind was against him, for it
blew towards the south, favourably for the storks. A good wind for one
is a contrary wind for another.
When one or two more days and nights had gone, the Viking's wife
clearly understood how the case was with her child, that a terrible
power of sorcery was upon it. By day it was charming as an angel of
light, though it had a wild, savage temper; but at night it became an
ugly frog, quiet and mournful, with sorrowful eyes. Here were two
natures changing inwardly as well as outwardly with the sunlight. The
reason of this was that by day the child had the form of its mother,
but the disposition of its father; while, on the contrary, at night
the paternal descent became manifest in its bodily appearance, though
the mind and heart of the mother then became dominant in the child.
Who might be able to loosen this charm that wicked sorcery had worked?
The wife of the Viking lived in care and sorrow about it; and yet her
heart yearned towards the little creature, of whose condition she felt
she should not dare tell her husband on his return; for he would
probably, according to the custom which then prevailed, expose the
child on the public highway, and let whoever listed take it away. The
good Viking woman could not find it in her heart to allow this, and
she therefore determined that the Viking should never see the child
except by daylight.
One morning the wings of storks were heard rushing over the roof; more
than a hundred pairs of those birds had rested from their exercise
during the previous night, and now they soared aloft, to travel
southwards.
"All males here, and ready," they cried; "and the wives and children
too."
"How light we feel!" screamed the young storks in chorus: "it seems to
be creeping all over us, down into our very toes, as if we were filled
with frogs. Ah, how charming it is, travelling to foreign lands!"
"Mind you keep close to us during your flight," said papa and mamma.
"Don't use your beaks too much, for that tires the chest."
And the storks flew away.
At the same time the sound of the trumpets rolled across the heath,
for the Viking had landed with his warriors; they were returning
home, richly laden with spoil, from the Gallic coast, where the
people, as in the land of the Britons, sang in frightened accents:
"Deliver us from the wild Northmen!"
[Illustration: THE VIKING'S FEAST.]
And life and tumultuous joy came with them into the Viking's castle on
the moorland. The great mead tub was brought into the hall, the pile
of wood was set ablaze, horses were killed, and a great feast was to
begin. The officiating priest sprinkled the slaves with the warm
blood; the fire crackled, the smoke rolled along beneath the roof; but
they were accustomed to that. Guests were invited, and received
handsome gifts: all feuds and all malice were forgotten. And the
company drank deep, and threw the bones of the feast in each others'
faces, and this was considered a sign of good humour. The bard, a kind
of minstrel, but who was also a warrior, and had been on the
expedition with the rest, sang them a song, in which they heard all
their warlike deeds praised, and everything remarkable specially
noticed. Every verse ended with the burden:
"Goods and gold, friends and foes will die; every man must one day die;
But a famous name will never die!"
And with that they beat upon their shields, and hammered the table in
glorious fashion with bones and knives.
The Viking's wife sat upon the high seat in the open hall. She wore a
silken dress, and golden armlets, and great amber beads: she was in
her costliest garb. And the bard mentioned her in his song, and sang
of the rich treasure she had brought her rich husband. The latter was
delighted with the beautiful child, which he had seen in the daytime
in all its loveliness; and the savage ways of the little creature
pleased him especially. He declared that the girl might grow up to be
a stately heroine, strong and determined as a man. She would not wink
her eyes when a practised hand cut off her eyebrows with a sword by
way of a jest.
The full mead barrel was emptied, and a fresh one brought in; for
these were people who liked to enjoy all things plentifully. The old
proverb was indeed well known, which says, "The cattle know when they
should quit the pasture, but a foolish man knoweth not the measure of
his own appetite." Yes, they knew it well enough; but one _knows_ one
thing, and one _does_ another. They also knew that "even the welcome
guest becomes wearisome when he sitteth long in the house;" but for
all that they sat still, for pork and mead are good things; and there
was high carousing, and at night the bondmen slept among the warm
ashes, and dipped their fingers in the fat grease and licked them.
Those were glorious times!
Once more in the year the Viking sallied forth, though the storms of
autumn already began to roar: he went with his warriors to the shores
of Britain, for he declared that was but an excursion across the
water; and his wife stayed at home with the little girl. And thus
much is certain, that the poor lady soon got to love the frog with its
gentle eyes and its sorrowful sighs, almost better than the pretty
child that bit and beat all around her.
The rough damp mist of autumn, which devours the leaves of the forest,
had already descended upon thicket and heath. "Birds feather-less," as
they called the snow, flew in thick masses, and winter was coming on
fast. The sparrows took possession of the storks' nests, and talked
about the absent proprietors according to their fashion; but
these--the stork pair, with all the young ones--what had become of
them?
* * * * *
The storks were now in the land of Egypt, where the sun sent forth
warm rays, as it does here on a fine midsummer day. Tamarinds and
acacias bloomed in the country all around; the crescent of Mahomet
glittered from the cupolas of the temples, and on the slender towers
sat many a stork pair resting after the long journey. Great troops
divided the nests, built close together on venerable pillars and in
fallen temple arches of forgotten cities. The date-palm lifted up its
screen as if it would be a sunshade; the greyish-white pyramids stood
like masses of shadow in the clear air of the far desert, where the
ostrich ran his swift career, and the lion gazed with his great grave
eyes at the marble sphinx which lay half buried in the sand. The
waters of the Nile had fallen, and the whole river bed was crowded
with frogs, and this spectacle was just according to the taste of the
stork family. The young storks thought it was optical illusion, they
found everything so glorious.
"Yes, it's delightful here; and it's always like this in our warm
country," said the stork-mamma; and the young ones felt quite frisky
on the strength of it.
"Is there anything more to be seen?" they asked. "Are we to go much
farther into the country?"
"There's nothing further to be seen," answered stork-mamma. "Behind
this delightful region there are luxuriant forests, whose branches are
interlaced with one another, while prickly climbing plants close up
the paths--only the elephant can force a way for himself with his
great feet; and the snakes are too big, and the lizards too quick for
us. If you go into the desert, you'll get your eyes full of sand when
there's a light breeze, but when it blows great guns you may get into
the middle of a pillar of sand. It is best to stay here, where there
are frogs and locusts. I shall stay here, and you shall stay too."
And there they remained. The parents sat in the nest on the slender
minaret, and rested, and yet were busily employed smoothing and
cleaning their feathers, and whetting their beaks against their red
stockings. Now and then they stretched out their necks, and bowed
gravely, and lifted their heads, with their high foreheads and fine
smooth feathers, and looked very clever with their brown eyes. The
female young ones strutted about in the juicy reeds, looked slyly at
the other young storks, made acquaintances, and swallowed a frog at
every third step, or rolled a little snake to and fro in their bills,
which they thought became them well, and, moreover, tasted nice. The
male young ones began a quarrel, beat each other with their wings,
struck with their beaks, and even pricked each other till the blood
came. And in this way sometimes one couple was betrothed, and
sometimes another, of the young ladies and gentlemen, and that was
just what they wanted, and their chief object in life: then they took
to a new nest, and began new quarrels, for in hot countries people are
generally hot-tempered and passionate. But it was pleasant for all
that, and the old people especially were much rejoiced, for all that
young people do seems to suit them well. There was sunshine every day,
and every day plenty to eat, and nothing to think of but pleasure. But
in the rich castle at the Egyptian host's, as they called him, there
was no pleasure to be found.
The rich mighty lord reclined on his divan, in the midst of the great
hall of the many-coloured walls, looking as if he were sitting in a
tulip; but he was stiff and powerless in all his limbs, and lay
stretched out like a mummy. His family and servants surrounded him,
for he was not dead, though one could not exactly say that he was
alive. The healing moor flower from the North, which was to have been
found and brought home by her who loved him best, never appeared. His
beauteous young daughter, who had flown in the swan's plumage over sea
and land, to the far North, was never to come back. "She is dead!" the
two returning swan-maidens had said, and they had concocted a complete
story, which ran as follows:
"We three together flew high in the air: a hunter saw us, and shot his
arrow at us; it struck our young companion and friend; and slowly,
singing her farewell song, she sunk down, a dying swan, into the
woodland lake. By the shore of the lake, under a weeping birch tree,
we laid her in the cool earth. But we had our revenge. We bound fire
under the wings of the swallow who had her nest beneath the huntsman's
thatch; the house burst into flames, the huntsman was burnt in the
house, and the glare shone over the sea as far as the hanging birch
beneath which she sleeps. Never will she return to the land of Egypt."
And then the two wept. And when stork-papa heard the story, he clapped
with his beak so that it could be heard a long way off.
[Illustration: THE KING OF EGYPT DECEIVED BY THE PRINCESSES.]
"Treachery and lies!" he cried. "I should like to run my beak deep
into their chests."
"And perhaps break it off," interposed the stork-mamma; "and then you
would look well. Think first of yourself, and then of your family, and
all the rest does not concern you."
"But to-morrow I shall seat myself at the edge of the open cupola,
when the wise and learned men assemble, to consult on the sick man's
state: perhaps they may come a little nearer the truth."
And the learned and wise men came together and spoke a great deal, out
of which the stork could make no sense--and it had no result, either
for the sick man or for the daughter in the swampy waste. But for all
that we may listen to what the people said, for we have to listen to a
great deal of talk in the world.
But then it's an advantage to hear what went before, what has been
said; and in this case we are well informed, for we know just as much
about it as stork-papa.
"Love gives life! the highest love gives the highest life! Only
through love can his life be preserved." That is what they all said,
and the learned men said it was very cleverly and beautifully spoken.
"That is a beautiful thought!" stork-papa said immediately.
"I don't quite understand it," stork-mamma replied: "and that's not my
fault, but the fault of the thought. But let it be as it will, I've
something else to think of."
And now the learned men had spoken of love to this one and that one,
and of the difference between the love of one's neighbour and love
between parents and children, of the love of plants for the light,
when the sunbeam kisses the ground and the germ springs forth from
it,--everything was so fully and elaborately explained that it was
quite impossible for stork-papa to take it in, much less to repeat it.
He felt quite weighed down with thought, and half shut his eyes, and
the whole of the following day he stood thoughtfully on one leg: it
was quite heavy for him to carry, all that learning.
But one thing stork-papa understood. All, high and low, had spoken out
of their inmost hearts, and said that it was a great misfortune for
thousands of people, yes, for the whole country, that this man was
lying sick, and could not get well, and that it would spread joy and
pleasure abroad if he should recover. But where grew the flower that
could restore him to health? They had all searched for it, consulted
learned books, the twinkling stars, the weather and the wind; they had
made inquiries in every byway of which they could think; and at length
the wise men and the learned men had said, as we have already told,
that "Love begets life--will restore a father's life;" and on this
occasion they had surpassed themselves, and said more than they
understood. They repeated it, and wrote down as a recipe, "Love
begets life." But how was the thing to be prepared according to the
recipe? that was a point they could not get over. At last they were
decided upon the point that help must come by means of the princess,
through her who clave to her father with her whole soul; and at last a
method had been devised whereby help could be procured in this
dilemma. Yes, it was already more than a year ago since the princess
had sallied forth by night, when the brief rays of the new moon were
waning: she had gone out to the marble sphinx, had shaken the dust
from her sandals, and gone onward through the long passage which leads
into the midst of one of the great pyramids, where one of the mighty
kings of antiquity, surrounded by pomp and treasure, lay swathed in
mummy cloths. There she was to incline her ear to the breast of the
dead king; for thus, said the wise men, it should be made manifest to
her where she might find life and health for her father. She had
fulfilled all these injunctions, and had seen in a vision that she was
to bring home from the deep lake in the northern moorland--the very
place had been accurately described to her--the lotos flower which
grows in the depths of the waters, and then her father would regain
health and strength.
And therefore she had gone forth in the swan's plumage out of the land
of Egypt to the open heath, to the woodland moor. And the stork-papa
and stork-mamma knew all this; and now we also know it more accurately
than we knew it before. We know that the marsh king had drawn her down
to himself, and know that to her loved ones at home she is dead for
ever. One of the wisest of them said, as the stork-mamma said too,
"She will manage to help herself;" and at last they quieted their
minds with that, and resolved to wait and see what would happen, for
they knew of nothing better that they could do.
"I should like to take away the swan's feathers from the two faithless
princesses," said the stork-papa; "then, at any rate, they will not be
able to fly up again to the wild moor and do mischief. I'll hide the
two swan-feather suits up there, till somebody has occasion for them."
"But where do you intend to hide them?" asked stork-mamma.
"Up in our nest in the moor," answered he. "I and our young ones will
take turns in carrying them up yonder, on our return, and if that
should prove too difficult for us, there are places enough on the way
where we can conceal them till our next journey. Certainly, one suit
of swan's feathers would be enough for the princess, but two are
always better. In those northern countries no one can have too many
wraps."
"No one will thank you for it," quoth stork-mamma; "but you're the
master. Except at breeding-time, I have nothing to say."