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

wild swans.

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

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 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

recognize her.

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

known before!

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

picture vanished.

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

her work.

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

thousand pieces."

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

the castle.