turned towards the south to commence their long journey.
"We will not wait any longer for the swans," said the stork-mother.
"If they choose to go with us, they must come at once; we cannot be
lingering here till the plovers begin their flight. It is pleasant to
travel as we do in a family party, not like the chaffinches and
strutting cocks. Among their species the males fly by themselves, and
the females by themselves: that, to say the least of it, is not at all
seemly. What a miserable sound the stroke of the swans' wings has
compared with ours!"
"Every one flies in his own way," said the stork-father. "Swans fly
slantingly, cranes in triangles, and plovers in serpentine windings."
"Name not serpents or snakes when we are about to fly up yonder," said
the stork-mother. "It will only make the young ones long for a sort of
food which they can't get just now."
* * * * *
"Are these the high hills, beneath yonder, of which I have heard?"
asked Helga, in the disguise of a swan.
"These are thunder-clouds driving under us," replied her mother.
"What are these white clouds that seem so stationary?" asked Helga.
"These are the mountains covered with everlasting snow that thou
seest," said her mother; and they flew over the Alps towards the blue
Mediterranean.
* * * * *
"There is Africa! there is Egypt!" cried in joyful accents, under her
swan disguise, the daughter of the Nile, as high up in the air she
descried, like a whitish-yellow, billow-shaped streak, her native
soil.
The storks also saw it, and quickened their flight.
"I smell the mud of the Nile and the wet frogs," exclaimed the
stork-mother. "It makes my mouth water. Yes, now ye shall have nice
things to eat, and ye shall see the marabout, the ibis, and the crane:
they are all related to our family, but are not nearly so handsome as
we are. They think a great deal, however, of themselves, particularly
the ibis: he has been spoiled by the Egyptians, who make a mummy of
him, and stuff him with aromatic herbs. _I_ would rather be stuffed
with living frogs; and that is what ye would all like also, and what
ye shall be. Better a good dinner when one is living than to be made a
grand show of when one is dead. That is what I think, and I know I am
right."
"The storks have returned," was told in the splendid house on the
banks of the Nile, where, within the open hall, upon soft cushions,
covered with a leopard's skin, the king lay, neither living nor dead,
hoping for the lotus flower from the deep morass of the north. His
kindred and his attendants were standing around him.
And into the hall flew two magnificent white swans--they had arrived
with the storks. They cast off the dazzling magic feather garbs, and
there stood two beautiful women, as like each other as two drops of
water. They leaned over the pallid, faded old man; they threw back
their long hair; and, as little Helga bowed over her grandfather, his
cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkled, life returned to his stiffened
limbs. The old man rose hale and hearty; his daughter and his
grand-daughter pressed him in their arms, as if in a glad morning
salutation after a long heavy dream.
* * * * *
And there was joy throughout the palace, and in the storks' nest also;
but _there_ the joy was principally for the good food, the swarms of
nice frogs; and whilst the learned noted down in haste, and very
carelessly, the history of the two princesses and of the lotus flower
as an important event, and a blessing to the royal house, and to the
country in general, the old storks related the history in their own
way to their own family; but not until they had all eaten enough, else
these would have had other things to think of than listening to any
story.
"Now thou wilt be somebody," whispered the stork-mother; "it is only
reasonable to expect that."
"Oh! what should _I_ be?" said the stork-father. "And what have _I_
done? Nothing!"
"Thou hast done more than all the others put together. Without thee
and the young ones the two princesses would never have seen Egypt
again, or cured the old man. Thou wilt be nothing! Thou shouldst, at
the very least, be appointed court doctor, and have a title bestowed
on thee, which our young ones would inherit, and their little ones
after them. Thou dost look already exactly like an Egyptian doctor in
my eyes."
The learned and the wise lectured upon "the fundamental notion," as
they called it, which pervaded the whole tissue of events. "Love
bestows life." Then they expounded their meaning in this manner:--
"The warm sunbeam was the Egyptian princess; she descended to the
mud-king, and from their meeting sprang a flower----"
"I cannot exactly repeat the words," said the stork-father, who had
been listening to the discussion from the roof, and was now telling in
his nest what he had heard. "What they said was not easy of
comprehension, but it was so exceedingly wise that they were
immediately rewarded with rank and marks of distinction. Even the
prince's head cook got a handsome present--that was, doubtless, for
having prepared the repast."
"And what didst thou get?" asked the stork-mother. "They had no right
to overlook the most important actor in the affair, and that was
thyself. The learned only babbled about the matter. But so it is
always."
Late at night, when the now happy household reposed in peaceful
slumbers, there was one who was still awake; and that was not the
stork-father, although he was standing upon his nest on one leg, and
dozing like a sentry. No; little Helga was awake, leaning over the
balcony, and gazing through the clear air at the large blazing stars,
larger and brighter than she had ever seen them in the North, and yet
the same. She was thinking upon the Viking's wife near "the wild
morass"--upon her foster-mother's mild eyes--upon the tears she had
shed over the poor frog-child, who was now standing under the light of
the glorious stars, on the banks of the Nile, in the soft spring air.
She thought of the love in the heathen woman's breast--the love she
had shown towards an unfortunate being, who in human form was as
vicious as a wild beast, and in the form of a noxious animal was
horrible to look upon or to touch. She gazed at the glittering stars,
and thought of the shining circle on the brow of the dead priest, when
they flew over the forest and the morass. Tones seemed again to sound
on her ears--words she had heard spoken when they rode together, and
she sat like an evil spirit there--words about the great source of
love, the highest love, that which included all races and all
generations. Yes, what was not bestowed, won, obtained? Helga's
thoughts embraced by day, by night, the whole of her good fortune;
she stood contemplating it like a child who turns precipitately from
the giver to the beautiful gifts; she passed on to the increasing
happiness which might come, and would come. Higher and higher rose her
thoughts, till she so lost herself in the dreams of future bliss that
she forgot the Giver of all good. It was the superabundance of
youthful spirits which caused her imagination to take so bold a
flight. Her eyes were flashing with her thoughts, when suddenly a loud
noise in the court beneath recalled her to mundane objects. She saw
there two enormous ostriches running angrily round in a narrow circle.
She had never before seen these large heavy birds, who looked as if
their wings were clipped; and when she asked what had happened to
them, she heard for the first time the Egyptian legend about the
ostrich.
Its race had once been beautiful, its wings broad and strong. Then one
evening the largest forest birds said to it, "Brother, shall we fly
to-morrow, God willing, to the river, and drink?" And the ostrich
answered, "Yes, I will." At dawn they flew away, first up towards the
sun, higher and higher, the ostrich far before the others. It flew on
in its pride up towards the light; it relied upon its own strength,
not upon the Giver of that strength; it did not say, "God willing."
Then the avenging angel drew aside the veil from the streaming flames,
and in that moment the bird's wings were burnt, and he sank in
wretchedness to the earth. Neither he nor his species were ever
afterwards able to raise themselves up in the air. They fly
timidly--hurry along in a narrow space; they are a warning to mankind
in all our thoughts and all our enterprises to say, "God willing."
And Helga humbly bowed her head, looked at the ostriches rushing past,
saw their surprise and their simple joy at the sight of their own
large shadows on the white wall, and more serious thoughts took
possession of her mind, adding to her present happiness--inspiring
brighter hopes for the future. What was yet to happen? The best for
her, "God willing."
* * * * *
In the early spring, when the storks were about to go north again,
Helga took from her arm a golden bracelet, scratched her name upon it,
beckoned to the stork-father, hung the gold band round his neck, and
bade him carry it to the Viking's wife, who would thereby know that
her adopted daughter lived, was happy, and remembered her.
"It is heavy to carry," thought the stork, when it was hung round his
neck; "but gold and honour must not be flung away upon the high road.
The stork brings luck--they must admit that up yonder."
"Thou layest gold, and I lay eggs," said the stork-mother; "but thou
layest only once, and I lay every year. But neither of us gets any
thanks, which is very vexatious."
"One knows, however, that one has done one's duty," said the
stork-father.
"But that can't be hung up to be seen and lauded; and if it could be,
fine words butter no parsnips."
So they flew away.
The little nightingale that sang upon the tamarind tree would also
soon be going north, up yonder near "the wild morass." Helga had often
heard it--she would send a message by it; for, since she had flown in
the magical disguise of the swan, she had often spoken to the storks
and the swallows. The nightingale would therefore understand her, and
she prayed it to fly to the beech wood upon the Jutland peninsula,
where the tomb of stone and branches had been erected. She asked it
to beg all the little birds to protect the sacred spot, and frequently
to sing over it.
And the nightingale flew away, and time flew also.
* * * * *
And the eagle stood upon a pyramid, and looked in the autumn on a
stately procession with richly-laden camels, with armed and splendidly
equipped men on snorting Arabian horses shining white like silver,
with red trembling nostrils, with long thick manes hanging down to
their slender legs. Rich guests--a royal Arabian prince, handsome as a
prince should be--approached the gorgeous palace where the storks'
nests stood empty. Those who dwelt in these nests were away in the far
North, but they were soon to return; and they arrived on the very day
that was most marked by joy and festivities. It was a wedding feast;
and the beautiful Helga, clad in silk and jewels, was the bride. The
bridegroom was the young prince from Arabia. They sat at the upper end
of the table, between her mother and grandfather.
But she looked not at the bridegroom's bronzed and manly cheek, where
the dark beard curled. She looked not at his black eyes, so full of
fire, that were fastened upon her. She gazed outwards upon the bright
twinkling stars that glittered in the heavens.
Then a loud rustling of strong wings was heard in the air. The storks
had come back; and the old pair, fatigued as they were after their
journey, and much in need of rest, flew immediately down to the rails
of the verandah, for they knew what festival was going on. They had
heard already at the frontiers that Helga had had them painted upon
the wall, introducing them into her own history.
"It was a kind thought of hers," said the stork-father.
"It is very little," said the stork-mother. "She could hardly have
done less."
And when Helga saw them she rose, and went out into the verandah to
stroke their backs. The old couple bowed their necks, and the youngest
little ones felt themselves much honoured by being so well received.
And Helga looked up towards the shining stars, that glittered more and
more brilliantly; and between them and her she beheld in the air a
transparent form. It floated nearer to her. It was the dead Christian
priest, who had also come to her bridal solemnity--come from the
kingdom of heaven.
"The glory and the beauty up yonder far exceed all that is known on
earth," he said.
And Helga pleaded softly, earnestly, that but for one moment she might
be allowed to ascend up thither, and to cast one single glance on
those heavenly scenes.
Then he raised her amidst splendour and magnificence, and a stream of
delicious music. It was not around her only that all seemed to be
brightness and music, but the light seemed to stream in her soul, and
the sweet tones to be echoed there. Words cannot describe what she
felt.
"We must now return," he said; "thou wilt be missed."
"Only one more glance!" she entreated. "Only one short minute!"
"We must return to earth--the guests are all departing."
"But one more glance--the last!"
And Helga stood again in the verandah, but all the torches outside
were extinguished; all the light in the bridal saloon was gone; the
storks were gone; no guests were to be seen--no bridegroom. All had
vanished in these three short minutes.
Then Helga felt anxious. She wandered through the vast empty
halls--there slept foreign soldiers. She opened the side door which
led to her own chambers, and, as she fancied she was entering them,
she found herself in the garden: it had not stood there. Red streaks
crossed the skies; it was the dawn of day.
Only three minutes in heaven, and a whole night on earth had passed
away.
Then she perceived the storks. She called to them, spoke their
language, and the old stork turned his head towards her, listened, and
drew near.
"Thou dost speak our language," said he. "What wouldst thou? Whence
comest thou, thou foreign maiden?"
"It is I--it is Helga! Dost thou not know me? Three minutes ago we
were talking together in the verandah."
"That is a mistake," said the stork. "Thou must have dreamt this."
"No, no," she said, and reminded him of the Viking's castle, "the wild
morass," the journey thence.
Then the old stork winked with his eyes.
"That is a very old story; I have heard it from my great,
great-grandmother's time. Yes, truly there was once in Egypt a
princess from the Danish land; but she disappeared on the evening of
her wedding, many hundred years ago, and was never seen again. Thou
canst read that thyself upon the monument in the garden, upon which
are sculptured both swans and storks, and above it stands one like
thyself in the white marble."
And so it was. Helga saw, comprehended it all, and sank on her knees.
The sun burst forth in all its morning splendour, and as, in former
days, with its first rays fell the frog disguise, and the lovely form
became visible; so now, in the baptism of light, arose a form of
celestial beauty, purer than the air, as if in a veil of radiance to
the Father above. The body sank into dust, and where she had stood lay
a faded lotus flower!
* * * * *
"Well, this is a new finale to the story," said the stork-father,
"which I by no means expected; but I am quite satisfied with it."
"I wonder what the young ones will say to it?" replied the
stork-mother.
"Ah! that, indeed, is of the most consequence," said the
stork-father.
_The Quickest Runners._
There was a large reward offered--indeed, there were two rewards
offered, a larger and a lesser one--for the greatest speed, not in one
race alone, but to such as had got on fastest throughout the year.
"I got the highest prize," said the hare. "One had a right to expect
justice when one's own family and best friends were in the council;
but that the snail should have got the second prize I consider as
almost an insult to me."
"No," observed the wooden fence, which had been a witness to the
distribution of the prizes; "you must take diligence and good will
into consideration. That remark was made by several very estimable
persons, and that was also my opinion. To be sure the snail took half
a year to cross the threshold; but he broke his thigh-bone in the
tremendous exertion which that was for him. He devoted himself
entirely to this race; and, moreover, he ran with his house on his
back. All these weighed in his favour, and so he obtained the second
prize."
"I think my claims might also have been taken into consideration,"
said the swallow. "More speedy than I, in flight and motion, I believe
no one has shown himself. And where have I not been? Far, far away!"
"And that is just your misfortune," said the wooden fence. "You gad
about too much. You are always on the wing, ready to start out of the
country when it begins to freeze. You have no love for your
fatherland. You cannot claim any consideration in it."
"But if I were to sleep all the winter through on the moor," inquired
the swallow--"sleep my whole time away--should I be thus entitled to
be taken into consideration?"
"Obtain an affidavit from the old woman of the moor that you did sleep
half the year in your fatherland, then your claims will be taken into
consideration."
"I deserved the first prize instead of the second," said the snail. "I
know very well that the hare only ran from cowardice, whenever he
thought there was danger near. I, on the contrary, made the trial the
business of my life, and I have become a cripple in consequence of my
exertions. If any one had a right to the first prize it was I; but I
make no fuss; I scorn to do so."
"I can declare upon my honour that each prize, at least as far as my
voice in the matter went, was accorded with strict justice," said the
old sign-post in the wood, who had been one of the arbitrators. "I
always act with due reflection, and according to order. Seven times
before have I had the honour to be engaged in the distribution of the
prizes, but never until to-day have I had my own way carried out. My
plan has always hitherto been thwarted--that was, to give the first
prize to one of the first letters in the alphabet, and the second
prize to one of the last letters. If you will be so good as to grant
me your attention, I will explain it to you. The eighth letter in the
alphabet from _A_ is _H_--that stands for _Hare_, and therefore I
awarded the greatest prize to the Hare; and the eighth letter from the
end is _S_, therefore the _Snail_ obtained the second prize. Next time
the _I_ will carry off the first prize, and _R_ the second. A due
attention to order and rotation should prevail in all rewards and
appointments. Everything should go according to rule. _Rule_ must
precede merit."
"I should certainly have voted for myself, had I not been among the
judges," said the mule. "People must take into account not only how
quickly one goes, but what other circumstances are in question; as,
for instance, how much one carries. But I would not this time have
thought about that, neither about the hare's wisdom in his flight--his
tact in springing suddenly to one side, to put his pursuers on the
wrong scent, away from his place of concealment. No; there is one
thing many people think much of, and which ought never to be
disregarded. It is called THE BEAUTIFUL. I saw that in the hare's
charming well-grown ears; it is quite a pleasure to see how long they
are. I fancied that I beheld myself when I was little, and so I voted
for him."
"Hush!" said the fly. "As for me, I will not speak; I will only say
one word. I know right well that I have outrun more than one hare. The
other day I broke the hind legs of one of the young ones. I was
sitting on the locomotive before the train: I often do that. One sees
so well there one's own speed. A young hare ran for a long time in
front of the engine: he had no idea that I was there. At length he was
just going to turn off the line, when the locomotive went over his
hind legs and broke them, for I was sitting on it. The hare remained
lying there, but I drove on. That was surely getting before him; but I
do not care for the prize."
"It appears to me," thought the wild rose, but she did not say it--it
is not her nature to express her ideas openly, though it might have
been well had she done so--"it appears to me that the sunbeam should
have had the first prize of honour, and the second also. It passes in
a moment the immeasurable space from the sun down to us, and comes
with such power that all nature is awakened by it. It has such beauty,
that all we roses redden and become fragrant under it. The high
presiding authorities do not seem to have noticed _it_ at all. Were I
the sunbeam, I would give each of them a sunstroke, that I would; but
it would only make them crazy, and they will very likely be that
without it. I shall say nothing," thought the wild rose. "There is
peace in the wood; it is delightful to blossom, to shed refreshing
perfume around, to live amidst the songs of birds and the rustling of
trees; but the sun's rays will outlive us all."
"What is the first prize?" asked the earth-worm, who had overslept
himself, and only now joined them.
"It gives free entrance to the kitchen garden," said the mule. "I
proposed the prize, as a clear-sighted and judicious member of the
meeting, with a view to the hare's advantage. I was resolved he should
have it, and he is now provided for. The snail has permission to sit
on the stone fence, and to enjoy the moss and the sunshine; and,
moreover, he is appointed to be one of the chief judges of the next
race. It is well to have one who is practically acquainted with the
business in hand--on a committee, as human beings call it. I must say
I expect great things from the future--we have made so good a
beginning."
_The Bell's Hollow._
"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded from the buried bell in Odensee river.
What sort of a river is that? Every child in the town of Odensee knows
it. It flows round the foot of the gardens, from the locks to the
water-mill, away under the wooden bridges. In the river grow yellow
water-lilies, brown feather-like reeds, and the soft velvet-like
bulrushes, so high and so large. Old, split willow trees, bent and
twisted, hang far over the water by the side of the monks' meadows and
the bleaching greens; but a little above is garden after garden--the
one very different from the other; some with beautiful flowers and
arbours, clean and in prim array, like dolls' villages; some only
filled with cabbages; while in others there are no attempts at a
garden to be seen at all, only great elder trees stretching themselves
out, and hanging over the running water, which here and there is
deeper than an oar can fathom.
Opposite to the nunnery is the deepest part. It is called "The Bell's
Hollow," and there dwells the merman. He sleeps by day when the sun
shines through the water, but comes forth on the clear starry nights,
and by moonlight. He is very old. Grandmothers have heard of him from
their grandmothers. They said he lived a lonely life, and had scarcely
any one to speak to except the large old church bell. Once upon a time
it hung up in the steeple of the church; but now there is no trace
either of the steeple or the church, which was then called Saint
Albani.
"Ding-dong! ding-dong!" rang the bell while it stood in the steeple;
and one evening when the sun was setting, and the bell was in full
motion, it broke loose, and flew through the air, its shining metal
glowing in the red sunbeams. "Ding-dong! ding-dong! now I am going to
rest," sang the bell; and it flew out to Odensee river, where it was
deepest, and therefore that spot is now called "The Bell's Hollow."
But it found neither sleep nor rest there. Down at the merman's it
still rings; so that at times it is heard above, through the water,
and many people say that its tones foretell a death; but there is no
truth in that, for it rings to amuse the merman, who is now no longer
alone.
And what does the bell relate? It was so very old, it was there before
our grandmothers' grandmothers were born, and yet it was a child
compared with the merman, who is an old, quiet, strange-looking
person, with eel-skin leggings, a scaly tunic adorned with yellow
water-lilies, a wreath of sedges in his hair, and weeds in his beard.
It must be confessed he was not very handsome to look at.