The Wild Swans
: Hans Andersens Fairy Tales
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
golden slates and learned their lessons so quickly and read so easily
that every one knew 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.
Happy, indeed, were these children; but they were not long to remain so,
for their father, the king, married a queen who did not love the
children, and who proved to be a wicked sorceress.
The queen began to show her unkindness the very first day. While the
great festivities were taking place in the palace, the children played
at receiving company; but the queen, instead of sending them the cakes
and apples that were left from the feast, as was customary, gave them
some sand in a teacup and told them to pretend it was something good.
The next week she sent the little Eliza into the country to a peasant
and his wife. Then she told the king so many untrue things about the
young princes that he gave himself no more trouble about them.
"Go out into the world and look after yourselves," said the queen. "Fly
like great birds without a voice." But she could not make it so bad for
them as she would have liked, for they were turned into eleven beautiful
With a strange cry, they flew through the windows of the palace, over
the park, to the forest beyond. It was yet early morning when they
passed the peasant's cottage where their sister lay asleep in her room.
They hovered over the roof, twisting their long necks and flapping their
wings, but no one heard them or saw them, so they at last flew away,
high up in the clouds, and over the wide world they sped till they came
to a thick, dark wood, which stretched far away to the seashore.
Poor little Eliza was alone in the peasant's room playing with a green
leaf, for she had no other playthings. She pierced a hole in the leaf,
and when she looked through it at the sun she seemed to see 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 rosebush and whispered to the roses, "Who can be more
beautiful than you?" And 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 truth.
When she was fifteen she returned home, but because she was so beautiful
the witch-queen became full of spite and hatred toward her. Willingly
would she have turned her into a swan like her brothers, but she did not
dare to do so for fear of the king.
Early one morning the queen went into the bathroom; it was built of
marble and had soft cushions trimmed with the most beautiful tapestry.
She took three toads with her, and kissed them, saying to the first,
"When Eliza comes to bathe seat yourself upon her head, that she may
become as stupid as you are." To the second toad she said, "Place
yourself on her forehead, that she may become as ugly as you are, and
that her friends may not know her." "Rest on her heart," she whispered
to the third; "then she will have evil inclinations and suffer because
of them." So she put the toads into the clear water, which at once
turned green. She next called Eliza and helped her undress and get into
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 from the water there were
three red poppies floating upon it. Had not the creatures been venomous
or had they not been kissed by the witch, they would have become 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
sorcery to have any power over her.
When the wicked queen saw this, she rubbed Eliza's face with walnut
juice, so that she was quite brown; then she tangled her beautiful hair
and smeared it with disgusting ointment until it was quite impossible to
The king was shocked, and declared she was not his daughter. No one but
the watchdog 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 far away. Sorrowfully she stole 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, like herself, had been driven out into
the world, that she was determined to seek them.
She had been in the wood only a short time 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 silent, and the soft, mild air fanned her forehead. The
light of hundreds of glowworms 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 dreamed of her brothers. She thought they were all
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 that 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 were 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. She could not see it,
for the lofty trees spread their branches thickly overhead, but its
gleams here and there shone through the leaves like a gauzy golden mist.
There was a sweet fragrance from the fresh verdure, and the birds came
near and almost perched on her shoulders. She heard water rippling from
a number of springs, all flowing into a lake with golden sands. Bushes
grew thickly round the lake, and at one spot, where an opening had been
made by a deer, 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 seemed painted
in the depths of the lake; for every leaf, whether in the shade or in
the sunshine, was reflected in the water.
When Eliza saw her own face she was quite terrified at finding it so
brown and ugly, but after she had wet her little hand and rubbed her
eyes and forehead, the white skin gleamed forth once more; and when she
had undressed and dipped herself in the fresh water, a more beautiful
king's daughter could not have been found anywhere 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 of her father and mother 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 showed her one of
these trees, which was so loaded with fruit that the boughs bent beneath
the weight. Here she ate her noonday meal, and then placing props under
the boughs, she 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 the
large, dark boughs of the trees. The lofty trunks stood so close
together that when she looked before her it seemed as if she were
enclosed within trelliswork. Here was such solitude as she had never
The night was very dark. Not a glowworm was glittering in the moss.
Sorrowfully Eliza laid herself down to sleep. After a while it seemed to
her as if the branches of the trees parted over her head and the mild
eyes of angels looked down upon her from heaven.
In the morning, when she awoke, she knew not whether this had really
been so or whether she had dreamed it. She continued her wandering, but
she had not gone far when she met an old woman who had berries in her
basket and who gave her a few to eat. 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 in the river close by." Then she led
Eliza a little distance to a sloping bank, at the foot of which ran a
little river. The trees on its banks stretched their long leafy branches
across the water toward each other, and where they did not meet
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 her 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 shore had been smoothed and rounded by the
action of the water. Glass, iron, stones, everything that lay there
mingled together, had been shaped by the same power until they were as
smooth as 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
lesson, bright rolling waves; my heart tells me you will one day lead me
to my dear brothers."
through the forest....]
On the foam-covered seaweeds lay eleven white swan feathers, which she
gathered and carried with her. Drops of water lay upon them; whether
they were dewdrops or tears no one could say. It was lonely on the
seashore, but she did not know it, for the ever-moving sea showed more
changes in a few hours than the most varying lake could produce in a
whole year. When 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 sunset, the sea looked like a rose leaf.
Sometimes it became green and sometimes white. But, however quietly it
lay, the waves were always restless on the shore and 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 toward the land, one behind the other,
like a long white ribbon. She went down the slope from the shore and hid
herself behind the bushes. The swans alighted quite close to her,
flapping 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. Very happy the princes were to see their little sister again;
they knew her, although she had grown so tall and beautiful. They
laughed and wept and told each other how cruelly they had been treated
by their stepmother.
"We brothers," said the eldest, "fly about as wild swans while the sun
is in the sky, but as soon as it sinks behind the hills we recover our
human shape. Therefore we must always be near a resting place before
sunset; for if we were flying toward the clouds when we recovered our
human form, we should sink deep into the sea.
"We do not dwell here, but in a land just as fair that lies far across
the ocean; the way is long, and there is no island upon which we can
pass the night--nothing but a little rock rising out of the sea, upon
which, even crowded together, we can scarcely stand with safety. If the
sea is rough, the foam dashes over us; yet we thank God 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 our home once every year and to remain
eleven days. Then 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
beneath whose shade our mother lies buried. The very trees and bushes
here seem 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 we must fly away to
a beautiful land which is not our home. How can we take you with us? We
have neither ship nor boat."
"How can I break this spell?" asked the sister. And they talked about it
nearly the whole night, slumbering only a few hours.
Eliza was awakened by the rustling of the wings of swans soaring above
her. Her brothers were again changed to swans. They flew in circles,
wider and wider, till they were far away; but one of them, the youngest,
remained behind and laid his head in his sister's lap, while she stroked
his wings. 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 bear you over the sea?"
"Yes, take me with you," said Eliza. They spent the whole night in
weaving a large, strong net of the pliant willow and rushes. On this
Eliza laid herself down to sleep, 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. When the
sunbeams fell on her face, one of the swans soared over her head so that
his broad wings might shade her.
They were far from the land when Eliza awoke. She thought she must still
be dreaming, it seemed so strange to feel herself being carried high in
the air over the sea. By her side lay a branch full of beautiful ripe
berries and a bundle of sweet-tasting roots; the youngest of her
brothers had gathered them and placed them there. She smiled her thanks
to him; she knew it was the same one that was hovering 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, like gigantic flying things.
Altogether it formed a more beautiful picture than she had ever before
seen; but as the sun rose higher and the clouds were left behind, the
Onward the whole day they flew through the air like winged arrows, yet
more slowly than usual, for they had their sister to carry. The weather
grew threatening, and Eliza watched the sinking sun with great anxiety,
for the little rock in the ocean was not yet in sight. It seemed to her
as if the swans were exerting themselves to the utmost. 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 rock
appeared. Dark clouds came nearer, the gusts of wind told of the 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 heart trembled; she
believed they were falling, but they again soared onward.
Presently, and by this time the sun was half hidden by the waves, she
caught sight of the rock just below them. It did not look larger than a
seal's head thrust out of the water. The sun sank so rapidly that at the
moment their feet touched the rock it shone only like a star, and at
last disappeared like the dying spark in a piece of burnt paper. Her
brothers stood close around her with arms linked together, for there was
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 thunder rolled from the clouds. But the sister and brothers
stood holding each other's hands, and singing hymns.
In the early dawn the air became calm and still, and at sunrise the
swans flew away from the rock, bearing their sister with them. The sea
was still rough, and from their great height 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 in the air, a range
of mountains with shining masses of ice on their summits. In the center
rose a castle that seemed a mile long, with rows of columns rising one
above another, while around it palm trees waved and flowers as large as
mill wheels bloomed. 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. She even fancied she could
hear the tones of the organ, but it was the music of the murmuring sea.
As they drew nearer to the churches, these too were changed and became
a fleet of ships, which seemed to be sailing beneath her; but when she
looked again she saw only a sea mist gliding over the ocean.
One scene melted into another, until 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 was sitting on
a rock in front of a large cave, the floor of which was overgrown with
delicate green creeping plants, 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 release 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
seemed to her that she was flying high in the air toward the cloudy
palace of the Fata Morgana, and that a fairy came out to meet her,
radiant and beautiful, yet 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 only have courage and
perseverance. Water is softer than your own delicate hands, and yet it
polishes and shapes stones. But it feels no pain such as your fingers
will 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 only these, and those that grow on the graves of a
churchyard, will be of any use to you. 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 well, that from the moment
you commence your task until it is finished, even though it occupy years
of your life, you must not speak. The first word you utter will pierce
the hearts of your brothers like a deadly dagger. Their lives hang upon
your tongue. Remember all that I have told you."
And as she finished speaking, she touched Eliza's hand lightly with the
nettle, and a pain as of burning fire awoke her.
It was broad daylight, and near her lay a nettle like the one she had
seen in her dream. She fell on her knees and offered thanks to God. Then
she went forth from the cave to begin work with her delicate hands. She
groped in amongst the ugly nettles, which burned great blisters on her
hands and arms, but she determined to bear the pain 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 much frightened when she did
not speak. They believed her to be under the spell of some new sorcery,
but when they saw her hands they understood what she was doing in their
behalf. The youngest brother wept, and where his tears touched her the
pain ceased and the burning blisters vanished. Eliza kept to her work
all night, for she could not rest till she had released her 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 a huntsman's horn and was struck with fear. As the sound came
nearer and nearer, she also heard dogs barking, and fled with terror
into the cave. She hastily bound together the nettles she had gathered,
and sat upon them. In a moment there came bounding toward her out of the
ravine a great dog, and then another and another; they ran back and
forth barking furiously, until in a few minutes all the huntsmen stood
before the cave. The handsomest of them was the king of the country,
who, when he saw the beautiful maiden, advanced toward her, saying, "How
did you come here, my sweet child?"
Eliza shook her head. She dared not speak, for it would cost her
brothers their deliverance and their lives. And she hid her hands under
her apron, so that the king might not see how she was 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 on your head, and you shall rule and make your home in my
richest castle." Then he lifted her onto his horse. She wept and wrung
her hands, but the king said: "I wish only your happiness. A time will
come when you will thank me for this."
He galloped away over the mountains, holding her before him on his
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 to draw soft gloves over
her blistered fingers. As she stood arrayed in her rich dress, she
looked so dazzlingly beautiful that the court bowed low in her
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 ensnared his heart.
The king would not listen to him, however, and ordered the music to
sound, the daintiest dishes to be served, and the loveliest maidens to
dance before them.
Afterwards 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
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. The
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; the
beautiful dumb girl of the woods was to be made queen of the country. A
single word would cost her brothers their lives, but she loved the kind,
handsome king, who did everything to make her happy, more and more each
day; she loved him with her whole heart, and her eyes beamed with the
love she dared not speak. Oh! if she could only 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?"
thought 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, Eliza crept into the garden in the broad moonlight, and passed
through the narrow walks and the deserted streets till she reached the
churchyard. 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 others slept. Now he felt sure that his suspicions were 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 tears rolled down the king's cheeks. He went home with doubt in his
heart, and at night pretended to sleep. But no real sleep came to his
eyes, for every night he saw Eliza get up and disappear from her
chamber. Day by day his brow became darker, and Eliza saw it, and
although she did not understand the reason, 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 queen.
In the meantime she had almost finished her task; only one of her
brothers' coats 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 went, and the king and the
archbishop followed her. The king turned away his head and said, "The
people must condemn her." Quickly she was condemned to suffer death by
Away from the gorgeous regal halls she was 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 ten coats which she had woven, to cover
her, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow. But they could have given
her nothing that 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.
Toward 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 probably this was the last night she had to
live. Still, she had 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. 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 she knew that she was innocent and diligently continued
Little mice ran about the floor, dragging the nettles to her feet, to
help as much as they could; and a thrush, sitting outside the grating of
the window, 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 night; the
king slept and could not be disturbed. They threatened, they entreated,
until the guard appeared, and even the king himself, inquiring what all
the noise meant. At this moment the sun rose, and the eleven brothers
were seen no more, but eleven wild swans flew away over the castle.
Now all the people came streaming forth from the gates of the city to
see the witch burned. 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 finished coats 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 into a
They pressed toward her, and doubtless would have destroyed the coats
had not, at that moment, eleven wild swans flown over her and alighted
on the cart. They flapped their large wings, and the crowd drew back in
"It is a sign from Heaven that she is innocent," whispered many of them;
but they did not venture 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 over the eleven 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 had happened, bowed to her as before a
saint; but she sank unconscious in her brothers' arms, overcome with
suspense, anguish, and pain.
"Yes, she is innocent," said the eldest brother, and related all that
had taken place. While he spoke, there rose in the air a fragrance as
from millions of roses. Every piece of fagot in the pile made to burn
her had taken root, and threw out branches until the whole appeared like
a thick hedge, large and high, covered with roses; while above all
bloomed a white, shining flower that glittered like a star. This flower
the king plucked, and when he placed it in Eliza's bosom she awoke from
her swoon with peace and happiness in her heart. Then all the church
bells rang of themselves, and the birds came in great flocks. And a
marriage procession, such as no king had ever before seen, returned to