THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                       THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER

                       by Hans Christian Andersen



THE storks relate to their little ones a great many stories, and

they are all about moors and reed banks, and suited to their age and

capacity. The youngest of them are quite satisfied with "kribble,

krabble," or such nonsense, and think it very grand; but the elder

ones want something with a deeper meaning, or at least something about

their own family.

We are only acquainted with one of the two longest and oldest

stories which the storks relate- it is about Moses, who was exposed by

his mother on the banks of the Nile, and was found by the king's

daughter, who gave him a good education, and he afterwards became a

great man; but where he was buried is still unknown.

Every one knows this story, but not the second; very likely

because it is quite an inland story. It has been repeated from mouth

to mouth, from one stork-mamma to another, for thousands of years; and

each has told it better than the last; and now we mean to tell it

better than all.

The first stork pair who related it lived at the time it happened,

and had their summer residence on the rafters of the Viking's house,

which stood near the wild moorlands of Wendsyssell; that is, to

speak more correctly, the great moorheath, high up in the north of

Jutland, by the Skjagen peak. This wilderness is still an immense wild

heath of marshy ground, about which we can read in the "Official

Directory." It is said that in olden times the place was a lake, the

ground of which had heaved up from beneath, and now the moorland

extends for miles in every direction, and is surrounded by damp

meadows, trembling, undulating swamps, and marshy ground covered

with turf, on which grow bilberry bushes and stunted trees. Mists

are almost always hovering over this region, which, seventy years ago,

was overrun with wolves. It may well be called the Wild Moor; and

one can easily imagine, with such a wild expanse of marsh and lake,

how lonely and dreary it must have been a thousand years ago. Many

things may be noticed now that existed then. The reeds grow to the

same height, and bear the same kind of long, purple-brown leaves, with

their feathery tips. There still stands the birch, with its white bark

and its delicate, loosely hanging leaves; and with regard to the

living beings who frequented this spot, the fly still wears a gauzy

dress of the same cut, and the favorite colors of the stork are white,

with black and red for stockings. The people, certainly, in those

days, wore very different dresses to those they now wear, but if any

of them, be he huntsman or squire, master or servant, ventured on

the wavering, undulating, marshy ground of the moor, they met with the

same fate a thousand years ago as they would now. The wanderer sank,

and went down to the Marsh King, as he is named, who rules in the

great moorland empire beneath. They also called him "Gunkel King," but

we like the name of "Marsh King" better, and we will give him that

name as the storks do. Very little is known of the Marsh King's

rule, but that, perhaps, is a good thing.

In the neighborhood of the moorlands, and not far from the great

arm of the North Sea and the Cattegat which is called the

Lumfjorden, lay the castle of the Viking, with its water-tight stone

cellars, its tower, and its three projecting storeys. On the ridge

of the roof the stork had built his nest, and there the stork-mamma

sat on her eggs and felt sure her hatching would come to something.

One evening, stork-papa stayed out rather late, and when he came

home he seemed quite busy, bustling, and important. "I have

something very dreadful to tell you," said he to the stork-mamma.

"Keep it to yourself then," she replied. "Remember that I am

hatching eggs; it may agitate me, and will affect them."

"You must know it at once," said he. "The daughter of our host

in Egypt has arrived here. She has ventured to take this journey,

and now she is lost."

"She who sprung from the race of the fairies, is it?" cried the

mother stork. "Oh, tell me all about it; you know I cannot bear to

be kept waiting at a time when I am hatching eggs."

"Well, you see, mother," he replied, "she believed what the

doctors said, and what I have heard you state also, that the

moor-flowers which grow about here would heal her sick father; and she

has flown to the north in swan's plumage, in company with some other

swan-princesses, who come to these parts every year to renew their

youth. She came, and where is she now!"

"You enter into particulars too much," said the mamma stork,

"and the eggs may take cold; I cannot bear such suspense as this."

"Well," said he, "I have kept watch; and this evening I went among

the rushes where I thought the marshy ground would bear me, and

while I was there three swans came. Something in their manner of

flying seemed to say to me, 'Look carefully now; there is one not

all swan, only swan's feathers.' You know, mother, you have the same

intuitive feeling that I have; you know whether a thing is right or

not immediately."

"Yes, of course," said she; "but tell me about the princess; I

am tired of hearing about the swan's feathers."

"Well, you know that in the middle of the moor there is

something like a lake," said the stork-papa. "You can see the edge

of it if you raise yourself a little. Just there, by the reeds and the

green banks, lay the trunk of an elder-tree; upon this the three swans

stood flapping their wings, and looking about them; one of them

threw off her plumage, and I immediately recognized her as one of

the princesses of our home in Egypt. There she sat, without any

covering but her long, black hair. I heard her tell the two others

to take great care of the swan's plumage, while she dipped down into

the water to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw there. The

others nodded, and picked up the feather dress, and took possession of

it. I wonder what will become of it? thought I, and she most likely

asked herself the same question. If so, she received an answer, a very

practical one; for the two swans rose up and flew away with her swan's

plumage. 'Dive down now!' they cried; 'thou shalt never more fly in

the swan's plumage, thou shalt never again see Egypt; here, on the

moor, thou wilt remain.' So saying, they tore the swan's plumage

into a thousand pieces, the feathers drifted about like a snow-shower,

and then the two deceitful princesses flew away."

"Why, that is terrible," said the stork-mamma; "I feel as if I

could hardly bear to hear any more, but you must tell me what happened

next."

"The princess wept and lamented aloud; her tears moistened the

elder stump, which was really not an elder stump but the Marsh King

himself, he who in marshy ground lives and rules. I saw myself how the

stump of the tree turned round, and was a tree no more, while long,

clammy branches like arms, were extended from it. Then the poor

child was terribly frightened, and started up to run away. She

hastened to cross the green, slimy ground; but it will not bear any

weight, much less hers. She quickly sank, and the elder stump dived

immediately after her; in fact, it was he who drew her down. Great

black bubbles rose up out of the moor-slime, and with these every

trace of the two vanished. And now the princess is buried in the

wild marsh, she will never now carry flowers to Egypt to cure her

father. It would have broken your heart, mother, had you seen it."

"You ought not to have told me," said she, "at such a time as

this; the eggs might suffer. But I think the princess will soon find

help; some one will rise up to help her. Ah! if it had been you or

I, or one of our people, it would have been all over with us."

I mean to go every day," said he, "to see if anything comes to

pass;" and so he did.

A long time went by, but at last he saw a green stalk shooting

up out of the deep, marshy ground. As it reached the surface of the

marsh, a leaf spread out, and unfolded itself broader and broader, and

close to it came forth a bud.

One morning, when the stork-papa was flying over the stem, he

saw that the power of the sun's rays had caused the bud to open, and

in the cup of the flower lay a charming child- a little maiden,

looking as if she had just come out of a bath. The little one was so

like the Egyptian princess, that the stork, at the first moment,

thought it must be the princess herself, but after a little reflection

he decided that it was much more likely to be the daughter of the

princess and the Marsh King; and this explained also her being

placed in the cup of a water-lily. "But she cannot be left to lie

here," thought the stork, "and in my nest there are already so many.

But stay, I have thought of something: the wife of the Viking has no

children, and how often she has wished for a little one. People always

say the stork brings the little ones; I will do so in earnest this

time. I shall fly with the child to the Viking's wife; what

rejoicing there will be!"

And then the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup,

flew to the castle, picked a hole with his beak in the

bladder-covered, window, and laid the beautiful child in the bosom

of the Viking's wife. Then he flew back quickly to the stork-mamma and

told her what he had seen and done; and the little storks listened

to it all, for they were then quite old enough to do so. "So you see,"

he continued, "that the princess is not dead, for she must have sent

her little one up here; and now I have found a home for her."

"Ah, I said it would be so from the first," replied the

stork-mamma; "but now think a little of your own family. Our

travelling time draws near, and I sometimes feel a little irritation

already under the wings. The cuckoos and the nightingale are already

gone, and I heard the quails say they should go too as soon as the

wind was favorable. Our youngsters will go through all the

manoeuvres at the review very well, or I am much mistaken in them."

The Viking's wife was above measure delighted when she awoke the

next morning and found the beautiful little child lying in her

bosom. She kissed it and caressed it; but it cried terribly, and

struck out with its arms and legs, and did not seem to be pleased at

all. At last it cried itself to sleep; and as it lay there so still

and quiet, it was a most beautiful sight to see. The Viking's wife was

so delighted, that body and soul were full of joy. Her heart felt so

light within her, that it seemed as if her husband and his soldiers,

who were absent, must come home as suddenly and unexpectedly as the

little child had done. She and her whole household therefore busied

themselves in preparing everything for the reception of her lord.

The long, colored tapestry, on which she and her maidens had worked

pictures of their idols, Odin, Thor, and Friga, was hung up. The

slaves polished the old shields that served as ornaments; cushions

were placed on the seats, and dry wood laid on the fireplaces in the

centre of the hall, so that the flames might be fanned up at a

moment's notice. The Viking's wife herself assisted in the work, so

that at night she felt very tired, and quickly fell into a sound

sleep. When she awoke, just before morning, she was terribly alarmed

to find that the infant had vanished. She sprang from her couch,

lighted a pine-chip, and searched all round the room, when, at last,

in that part of the bed where her feet had been, lay, not the child,

but a great, ugly frog. She was quite disgusted at this sight, and

seized a heavy stick to kill the frog; but the creature looked at

her with such strange, mournful eyes, that she was unable to strike

the blow. Once more she searched round the room; then she started at

hearing the frog utter a low, painful croak. She sprang from the couch

and opened the window hastily; at the same moment the sun rose, and

threw its beams through the window, till it rested on the couch

where the great frog lay. Suddenly it appeared as if the frog's

broad mouth contracted, and became small and red. The limbs moved

and stretched out and extended themselves till they took a beautiful

shape; and behold there was the pretty child lying before her, and the

ugly frog was gone. "How is this?" she cried, "have I had a wicked

dream? Is it not my own lovely cherub that lies there." Then she

kissed it and fondled it; but the child struggled and fought, and

bit as if she had been a little wild cat.

The Viking did not return on that day, nor the next; he was,

however, on the way home; but the wind, so favorable to the storks,

was against him; for it blew towards the south. A wind in favor of one

is often against another.

After two or three days had passed, it became clear to the

Viking's wife how matters stood with the child; it was under the

influence of a powerful sorcerer. By day it was charming in appearance

as an angel of light, but with a temper wicked and wild; while at

night, in the form of an ugly frog, it was quiet and mournful, with

eyes full of sorrow. Here were two natures, changing inwardly and

outwardly with the absence and return of sunlight. And so it

happened that by day the child, with the actual form of its mother,

possessed the fierce disposition of its father; at night, on the

contrary, its outward appearance plainly showed its descent on the

father's side, while inwardly it had the heart and mind of its mother.

Who would be able to loosen this wicked charm which the sorcerer had

worked upon it? The wife of the Viking lived in constant pain and

sorrow about it. Her heart clung to the little creature, but she could

not explain to her husband the circumstances in which it was placed.

He was expected to return shortly; and were she to tell him, he

would very likely, as was the custom at that time, expose the poor

child in the public highway, and let any one take it away who would.

The good wife of the Viking could not let that happen, and she

therefore resolved that the Viking should never see the child

excepting by daylight.

One morning there sounded a rushing of storks' wings over the

roof. More than a hundred pair of storks had rested there during the

night, to recover themselves after their excursion; and now they

soared aloft, and prepared for the journey southward.

"All the husbands are here, and ready!" they cried; "wives and

children also!"

"How light we are!" screamed the young storks in chorus.

"Something pleasant seems creeping over us, even down to our toes,

as if we were full of live frogs. Ah, how delightful it is to travel

into foreign lands!"

"Hold yourselves properly in the line with us," cried papa and

mamma. "Do not use your beaks so much; it tries the lungs." And then

the storks flew away.

About the same time sounded the clang of the warriors' trumpets

across the heath. The Viking had landed with his men. They were

returning home, richly laden with spoil from the Gallic coast, where

the people, as did also the inhabitants of Britain, often cried in

alarm, "Deliver us from the wild northmen."

Life and noisy pleasure came with them into the castle of the

Viking on the moorland. A great cask of mead was drawn into the

hall, piles of wood blazed, cattle were slain and served up, that they

might feast in reality, The priest who offered the sacrifice sprinkled

the devoted parishioners with the warm blood; the fire crackled, and

the smoke rolled along beneath the roof; the soot fell upon them

from the beams; but they were used to all these things. Guests were

invited, and received handsome presents. All wrongs and unfaithfulness

were forgotten. They drank deeply, and threw in each other's faces the

bones that were left, which was looked upon as a sign of good

feeling amongst them. A bard, who was a kind of musician as well as

warrior, and who had been with the Viking in his expedition, and

knew what to sing about, gave them one of his best songs, in which

they heard all their warlike deeds praised, and every wonderful action

brought forward with honor. Every verse ended with this refrain,-

           "Gold and possessions will flee away,

            Friends and foes must die one day;

            Every man on earth must die,

            But a famous name will never die."

And with that they beat upon their shields, and hammered upon the

table with knives and bones, in a most outrageous manner.

The Viking's wife sat upon a raised cross seat in the open hall.

She wore a silk dress, golden bracelets, and large amber beads. She

was in costly attire, and the bard named her in his song, and spoke of

the rich treasure of gold which she had brought to her husband. Her

husband had already seen the wonderfully beautiful child in the

daytime, and was delighted with her beauty; even her wild ways pleased

him. He said the little maiden would grow up to be a heroine, with the

strong will and determination of a man. She would never wink her eyes,

even if, in joke, an expert hand should attempt to cut off her

eye-brows with a sharp sword.

The full cask of mead soon became empty, and a fresh one was

brought in; for these were people who liked plenty to eat and drink.

The old proverb, which every one knows, says that "the cattle know

when to leave their pasture, but a foolish man knows not the measure

of his own appetite." Yes, they all knew this; but men may know what

is right, and yet often do wrong. They also knew "that even the

welcome guest becomes wearisome when he sits too long in the house."

But there they remained; for pork and mead are good things. And so

at the Viking's house they stayed, and enjoyed themselves; and at

night the bondmen slept in the ashes, and dipped their fingers in

the fat, and licked them. Oh, it was a delightful time!

Once more in the same year the Viking went forth, though the

storms of autumn had already commenced to roar. He went with his

warriors to the coast of Britain; he said that it was but an excursion

of pleasure across the water, so his wife remained at home with the

little girl. After a while, it is quite certain the foster-mother

began to love the poor frog, with its gentle eyes and its deep

sighs, even better than the little beauty who bit and fought with

all around her.

The heavy, damp mists of autumn, which destroy the leaves of the

wood, had already fallen upon forest and heath. Feathers of plucked

birds, as they call the snow, flew about in thick showers, and

winter was coming. The sparrows took possession of the stork's nest,

and conversed about the absent owners in their own fashion; and

they, the stork pair and all their young ones, where were they staying

now? The storks might have been found in the land of Egypt, where

the sun's rays shone forth bright and warm, as it does here at

midsummer. Tamarinds and acacias were in full bloom all over the

country, the crescent of Mahomet glittered brightly from the cupolas

of the mosques, and on the slender pinnacles sat many of the storks,

resting after their long journey. Swarms of them took divided

possession of the nests- nests which lay close to each other between

the venerable columns, and crowded the arches of temples in

forgotten cities. The date and the palm lifted themselves as a

screen or as a sun-shade over them. The gray pyramids looked like

broken shadows in the clear air and the far-off desert, where the

ostrich wheels his rapid flight, and the lion, with his subtle eyes,

gazes at the marble sphinx which lies half buried in sand. The

waters of the Nile had retreated, and the whole bed of the river was

covered with frogs, which was a most acceptable prospect for the stork

families. The young storks thought their eyes deceived them,

everything around appeared so beautiful.

"It is always like this here, and this is how we live in our

warm country," said the stork-mamma; and the thought made the young

ones almost beside themselves with pleasure.

"Is there anything more to see?" they asked; "are we going farther

into the country?"

"There is nothing further for us to see," answered the

stork-mamma. "Beyond this delightful region there are immense forests,

where the branches of the trees entwine round each other, while

prickly, creeping plants cover the paths, and only an elephant could

force a passage for himself with his great feet. The snakes are too

large, and the lizards too lively for us to catch. Then there is the

desert; if you went there, your eyes would soon be full of sand with

the lightest breeze, and if it should blow great guns, you would

most likely find yourself in a sand-drift. Here is the best place

for you, where there are frogs and locusts; here I shall remain, and

so must you." And so they stayed.

The parents sat in the nest on the slender minaret, and rested,

yet still were busily employed in cleaning and smoothing their

feathers, and in sharpening their beaks against their red stockings;

then they would stretch out their necks, salute each other, and

gravely raise their heads with the high-polished forehead, and soft,

smooth feathers, while their brown eyes shone with intelligence. The

female young ones strutted about amid the moist rushes, glancing at

the other young storks and making acquaintances, and swallowing a frog

at every third step, or tossing a little snake about with their beaks,

in a way they considered very becoming, and besides it tasted very

good. The young male storks soon began to quarrel; they struck at each

other with their wings, and pecked with their beaks till the blood

came. And in this manner many of the young ladies and gentlemen were

betrothed to each other: it was, of course, what they wanted, and

indeed what they lived for. Then they returned to a nest, and there

the quarrelling began afresh; for in hot countries people are almost

all violent and passionate. But for all that it was pleasant,

especially for the old people, who watched them with great joy: all

that their young ones did suited them. Every day here there was

sunshine, plenty to eat, and nothing to think of but pleasure. But

in the rich castle of their Egyptian host, as they called him,

pleasure was not to be found. The rich and mighty lord of the castle

lay on his couch, in the midst of the great hall, with its many

colored walls looking like the centre of a great tulip; but he was

stiff and powerless in all his limbs, and lay stretched out like a

mummy. His family and servants stood round him; he was not dead,

although he could scarcely be said to live. The healing moor-flower

from the north, which was to have been found and brought to him by her

who loved him so well, had not arrived. His young and beautiful

daughter who, in swan's plumage, had flown over land and seas to the

distant north, had never returned. She is dead, so the two

swan-maidens had said when they came home; and they made up quite a

story about her, and this is what they told,-

"We three flew away together through the air," said they: "a

hunter caught sight of us, and shot at us with an arrow. The arrow

struck our young friend and sister, and slowly singing her farewell

song she sank down, a dying swan, into the forest lake. On the

shores of the lake, under a spreading birch-tree, we laid her in the

cold earth. We had our revenge; we bound fire under the wings of a

swallow, who had a nest on the thatched roof of the huntsman. The

house took fire, and burst into flames; the hunter was burnt with

the house, and the light was reflected over the sea as far as the

spreading birch, beneath which we laid her sleeping dust. She will

never return to the land of Egypt." And then they both wept. And

stork-papa, who heard the story, snapped with his beak so that it

might be heard a long way off.

'Deceit and lies!" cried he; "I should like to run my beak deep

into their chests."

"And perhaps break it off," said the mamma stork, "then what a

sight you would be. Think first of yourself, and then of your

family; all others are nothing to us."

"Yes, I know," said the stork-papa; "but to-morrow I can easily

place myself on the edge of the open cupola, when the learned and wise

men assemble to consult on the state of the sick man; perhaps they may

come a little nearer to the truth." And the learned and wise men

assembled together, and talked a great deal on every point; but the

stork could make no sense out of anything they said; neither were

there any good results from their consultations, either for the sick

man, or for his daughter in the marshy heath. When we listen to what

people say in this world, we shall hear a great deal; but it is an

advantage to know what has been said and done before, when we listen

to a conversation. The stork did, and we know at least as much as

he, the stork.

"Love is a life-giver. The highest love produces the highest life.

Only through love can the sick man be cured." This had been said by

many, and even the learned men acknowledged that it was a wise saying.

"What a beautiful thought!" exclaimed the papa stork immediately.

"I don't quite understand it," said the mamma stork, when her

husband repeated it; "however, it is not my fault, but the fault of

the thought; whatever it may be, I have something else to think of."

Now the learned men had spoken also of love between this one and

that one; of the difference of the love which we have for our

neighbor, to the love that exists between parents and children; of the

love of the plant for the light, and how the germ springs forth when

the sunbeam kisses the ground. All these things were so elaborately

and learnedly explained, that it was impossible for stork-papa to

follow it, much less to talk about it. His thoughts on the subject

quite weighed him down; he stood the whole of the following day on one

leg, with half-shut eyes, thinking deeply. So much learning was

quite a heavy weight for him to carry. One thing, however, the papa

stork could understand. Every one, high and low, had from their inmost

hearts expressed their opinion that it was a great misfortune for so

many thousands of people- the whole country indeed- to have this man

so sick, with no hopes of his recovery. And what joy and blessing it

would spread around if he could by any means be cured! But where

bloomed the flower that could bring him health? They had searched

for it everywhere; in learned writings, in the shining stars, in the

weather and wind. Inquiries had been made in every by-way that could

be thought of, until at last the wise and learned men has asserted, as

we have been already told, that "love, the life-giver, could alone

give new life to a father;" and in saying this, they had overdone

it, and said more than they understood themselves. They repeated it,

and wrote it down as a recipe, "Love is a life-giver." But how could

such a recipe be prepared- that was a difficulty they could not

overcome. At last it was decided that help could only come from the

princess herself, whose whole soul was wrapped up in her father,

especially as a plan had been adopted by her to enable her to obtain a

remedy.

More than a year had passed since the princess had set out at

night, when the light of the young moon was soon lost beneath the

horizon. She had gone to the marble sphinx in the desert, shaking

the sand from her sandals, and then passed through the long passage,

which leads to the centre of one of the great pyramids, where the

mighty kings of antiquity, surrounded with pomp and splendor, lie

veiled in the form of mummies. She had been told by the wise men, that

if she laid her head on the breast of one of them, from the head she

would learn where to find life and recovery for her father. She had

performed all this, and in a dream had learnt that she must bring home

to her father the lotus flower, which grows in the deep sea, near

the moors and heath in the Danish land. The very place and situation

had been pointed out to her, and she was told that the flower would

restore her father to health and strength. And, therefore, she had

gone forth from the land of Egypt, flying over to the open marsh and

the wild moor in the plumage of a swan.

The papa and mamma storks knew all this, and we also know it

now. We know, too, that the Marsh King has drawn her down to

himself, and that to the loved ones at home she is forever dead. One

of the wisest of them said, as the stork-mamma also said, "That in

some way she would, after all, manage to succeed;" and so at last they

comforted themselves with this hope, and would wait patiently; in

fact, they could do nothing better.

"I should like to get away the swan's feathers from those two

treacherous princesses," said the papa stork; "then, at least, they

would not be able to fly over again to the wild moor, and do more

wickedness. I can hide the two suits of feathers over yonder, till

we find some use for them."

"But where will you put them?" asked the mamma stork.

"In our nest on the moor. I and the young ones will carry them

by turns during our flight across; and as we return, should they prove

too heavy for us, we shall be sure to find plenty of places on the way

in which 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

travelling wrappers."

"No one will thank you for it," said stork-mamma; "but you are

master; and, excepting at breeding time, I have nothing to say."

In the Viking's castle on the wild moor, to which the storks

directed their flight in the following spring, the little maiden still

remained. They had named her Helga, which was rather too soft a name

for a child with a temper like hers, although her form was still

beautiful. Every month this temper showed itself in sharper

outlines; and in the course of years, while the storks still made

the same journeys in autumn to the hill, and in spring to the moors,

the child grew to be almost a woman, and before any one seemed aware

of it, she was a wonderfully beautiful maiden of sixteen. The casket

was splendid, but the contents were worthless. She was, indeed, wild

and savage even in those hard, uncultivated times. It was a pleasure

to her to splash about with her white hands in the warm blood of the

horse which had been slain for sacrifice. In one of her wild moods she

bit off the head of the black cock, which the priest was about to slay

for the sacrifice. To her foster-father she said one day, "If thine

enemy were to pull down thine house about thy ears, and thou shouldest

be sleeping in unconscious security, I would not wake thee; even if

I had the power I would never do it, for my ears still tingle with the

blow that thou gavest me years ago. I have never forgotten it." But

the Viking treated her words as a joke; he was, like every one else,

bewitched with her beauty, and knew nothing of the change in the

form and temper of Helga at night. Without a saddle, she would sit

on a horse as if she were a part of it, while it rushed along at

full speed; nor would she spring from its back, even when it

quarrelled with other horses and bit them. She would often leap from

the high shore into the sea with all her clothes on, and swim to

meet the Viking, when his boat was steering home towards the shore.

She once cut off a long lock of her beautiful hair, and twisted it

into a string for her bow. "If a thing is to be done well," said

she, "I must do it myself.

The Viking's wife was, for the time in which she lived, a woman of

strong character and will; but, compared to her daughter, she was a

gentle, timid woman, and she knew that a wicked sorcerer had the

terrible child in his power. It was sometimes as if Helga acted from

sheer wickedness; for often when her mother stood on the threshold

of the door, or stepped into the yard, she would seat herself on the

brink of the well, wave her arms and legs in the air, and suddenly

fall right in. Here she was able, from her frog nature, to dip and

dive about in the water of the deep well, until at last she would

climb forth like a cat, and come back into the hall dripping with

water, so that the green leaves that were strewed on the floor were

whirled round, and carried away by the streams that flowed from her.

But there was one time of the day which placed a check upon Helga.

It was the evening twilight; when this hour arrived she became quiet

and thoughtful, and allowed herself to be advised and led; then also a

secret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother. And as usual,

when the sun set, and the transformation took place, both in body

and mind, inwards and outwards, she would remain quiet and mournful,

with her form shrunk together in the shape of a frog. Her body was

much larger than those animals ever are, and on this account it was

much more hideous in appearance; for she looked like a wretched dwarf,

with a frog's head, and webbed fingers. Her eyes had a most piteous

expression; she was without a voice, excepting a hollow, croaking

sound, like the smothered sobs of a dreaming child.

Then the Viking's wife took her on her lap, and forgot the ugly

form, as she looked into the mournful eyes, and often said, "I could

wish that thou wouldst always remain my dumb frog child, for thou

art too terrible when thou art clothed in a form of beauty." And the

Viking woman wrote Runic characters against sorcery and spells of

sickness, and threw them over the wretched child; but they did no

good.

"One can scarcely believe that she was ever small enough to lie in

the cup of the water-lily," said the papa stork; "and now she is grown

up, and the image of her Egyptian mother, especially about the eyes.

Ah, we shall never see her again; perhaps she has not discovered how

to help herself, as you and the wise men said she would. Year after

year have I flown across and across the moor, but there was no sign of

her being still alive. Yes, and I may as well tell you that you that

each year, when I arrived a few days before you to repair the nest,

and put everything in its place, I have spent a whole night flying

here and there over the marshy lake, as if I had been an owl or a bat,

but all to no purpose. The two suit of swan's plumage, which I and the

young ones dragged over here from the land of the Nile, are of no use;

trouble enough it was to us to bring them here in three journeys,

and now they are lying at the bottom of the nest; and if a fire should

happen to break out, and the wooden house be burnt down, they would be

destroyed."

"And our good nest would be destroyed, too," said the mamma stork;

"but you think less of that than of your plumage stuff and your

moor-princess. Go and stay with her in the marsh if you like. You

are a bad father to your own children, as I have told you already,

when I hatched my first brood. I only hope neither we nor our children

may have an arrow sent through our wings, owing to that wild girl.

Helga does not know in the least what she is about. We have lived in

this house longer than she has, she should think of that, and we

have never forgotten our duty. We have paid every year our toll of a

feather, an egg, and a young one, as it is only right we should do.

You don't suppose I can wander about the court-yard, or go

everywhere as I used to do in old times. I can do it in Egypt, where I

can be a companion of the people, without forgetting myself. But

here I cannot go and peep into the pots and kettles as I do there. No,

I can only sit up here and feel angry with that girl, the little

wretch; and I am angry with you, too; you should have left her lying

in the water lily, then no one would have known anything about her."

"You are far better than your conversation," said the papa

stork; "I know you better than you know yourself." And with that he

gave a hop, and flapped his wings twice, proudly; then he stretched

his neck and flew, or rather soared away, without moving his outspread

wings. He went on for some distance, and then he gave a great flap

with his wings and flew on his course at a rapid rate, his head and

neck bending proudly before him, while the sun's rays fell on his

glossy plumage.

"He is the handsomest of them all," said the mamma stork, as she

watched him; "but I won't tell him so."

Early in the autumn, the Viking again returned home laden with

spoil, and bringing prisoners with him. Among them was a young

Christian priest, one of those who contemned the gods of the north.

Often lately there had been, both in hall and chamber, a talk of the

new faith which was spreading far and wide in the south, and which,

through the means of the holy Ansgarius, had already reached as far as

Hedeby on the Schlei. Even Helga had heard of this belief in the

teachings of One who was named Christ, and who for the love of

mankind, and for their redemption, had given up His life. But to her

all this had, as it were, gone in one ear and out the other. It seemed

that she only understood the meaning of the word "love," when in the

form of a miserable frog she crouched together in the corner of the

sleeping chamber; but the Viking's wife had listened to the

wonderful story, and had felt herself strangely moved by it.

On their return, after this voyage, the men spoke of the beautiful

temples built of polished stone, which had been raised for the

public worship of this holy love. Some vessels, curiously formed of

massive gold, had been brought home among the booty. There was a

peculiar fragrance about them all, for they were incense vessels,

which had been swung before the altars in the temples by the Christian

priests. In the deep stony cellars of the castle, the young

Christian priest was immured, and his hands and feet tied together

with strips of bark. The Viking's wife considered him as beautiful

as Baldur, and his distress raised her pity; but Helga said he ought

to have ropes fastened to his heels, and be tied to the tails of

wild animals.

"I would let the dogs loose after him" she said; "over the moor

and across the heath. Hurrah! that would be a spectacle for the

gods, and better still to follow in its course."

But the Viking would not allow him to die such a death as that,

especially as he was the disowned and despiser of the high gods. In

a few days, he had decided to have him offered as a sacrifice on the

blood-stone in the grove. For the first time, a man was to be

sacrificed here. Helga begged to be allowed to sprinkle the

assembled people with the blood of the priest. She sharpened her

glittering knife; and when one of the great, savage dogs, who were

running about the Viking's castle in great numbers, sprang towards

her, she thrust the knife into his side, merely, as she said, to prove

its sharpness.

The Viking's wife looked at the wild, badly disposed girl, with

great sorrow; and when night came on, and her daughter's beautiful

form and disposition were changed, she spoke in eloquent words to

Helga of the sorrow and deep grief that was in her heart. The ugly

frog, in its monstrous shape, stood before her, and raised its brown

mournful eyes to her face, listening to her words, and seeming to

understand them with the intelligence of a human being.

"Never once to my lord and husband has a word passed my lips of

what I have to suffer through you; my heart is full of grief about

you," said the Viking's wife. "The love of a mother is greater and

more powerful than I ever imagined. But love never entered thy

heart; it is cold and clammy, like the plants on the moor."

Then the miserable form trembled; it was as if these words had

touched an invisible bond between body and soul, for great tears stood

in the eyes.

"A bitter time will come for thee at last," continued the Viking's

wife; "and it will be terrible for me too. It had been better for thee

if thou hadst been left on the high-road, with the cold night wind

to lull thee to sleep." And the Viking's wife shed bitter tears, and

went away in anger and sorrow, passing under the partition of furs,

which hung loose over the beam and divided the hall.

The shrivelled frog still sat in the corner alone. Deep silence

reigned around. At intervals, a half-stifled sigh was heard from its

inmost soul; it was the soul of Helga. It seemed in pain, as if a

new life were arising in her heart. Then she took a step forward and

listened; then stepped again forward, and seized with her clumsy hands

the heavy bar which was laid across the door. Gently, and with much

trouble, she pushed back the bar, as silently lifted the latch, and

then took up the glimmering lamp which stood in the ante-chamber of

the hall. It seemed as if a stronger will than her own gave her

strength. She removed the iron bolt from the closed cellar-door, and

slipped in to the prisoner. He was slumbering. She touched him with

her cold, moist hand, and as he awoke and caught sight of the

hideous form, he shuddered as if he beheld a wicked apparition. She

drew her knife, cut through the bonds which confined his hands and

feet, and beckoned to him to follow her. He uttered some holy names

and made the sign of the cross, while the form remained motionless

by his side.

"Who art thou?" he asked, "whose outward appearance is that of

an animal, while thou willingly performest acts of mercy?"

The frog-figure beckoned to him to follow her, and led him through

a long gallery concealed by hanging drapery to the stables, and then

pointed to a horse. He mounted upon it, and she sprang up also

before him, and held tightly by the animal's mane. The prisoner

understood her, and they rode on at a rapid trot, by a road which he

would never have found by himself, across the open heath. He forgot

her ugly form, and only thought how the mercy and loving-kindness of

the Almighty was acting through this hideous apparition. As he offered

pious prayers and sang holy songs of praise, she trembled. Was it

the effect of prayer and praise that caused this? or, was she

shuddering in the cold morning air at the thought of approaching

twilight? What were her feelings? She raised herself up, and wanted to

stop the horse and spring off, but the Christian priest held her

back with all his might, and then sang a pious song, as if this

could loosen the wicked charm that had changed her into the

semblance of a frog.

And the horse galloped on more wildly than before. The sky painted

itself red, the first sunbeam pierced through the clouds, and in the

clear flood of sunlight the frog became changed. It was Helga again,

young and beautiful, but with a wicked demoniac spirit. He held now

a beautiful young woman in his arms, and he was horrified at the

sight. He stopped the horse, and sprang from its back. He imagined

that some new sorcery was at work. But Helga also leaped from the

horse and stood on the ground. The child's short garment reached

only to her knee. She snatched the sharp knife from her girdle, and

rushed like lightning at the astonished priest. "Let me get at

thee!" she cried; "let me get at thee, that I may plunge this knife

into thy body. Thou art pale as ashes, thou beardless slave." She

pressed in upon him. They struggled with each other in heavy combat,

but it was as if an invisible power had been given to the Christian in

the struggle. He held her fast, and the old oak under which they stood

seemed to help him, for the loosened roots on the ground became

entangled in the maiden's feet, and held them fast. Close by rose a

bubbling spring, and he sprinkled Helga's face and neck with the

water, commanded the unclean spirit to come forth, and pronounced upon

her a Christian blessing. But the water of faith has no power unless

the well-spring of faith flows within. And yet even here its power was

shown; something more than the mere strength of a man opposed

itself, through his means, against the evil which struggled within

her. His holy action seemed to overpower her. She dropped her arms,

glanced at him with pale cheeks and looks of amazement. He appeared to

her a mighty magician skilled in secret arts; his language was the

darkest magic to her, and the movements of his hands in the air were

as the secret signs of a magician's wand. She would not have blinked

had he waved over her head a sharp knife or a glittering axe; but

she shrunk from him as he signed her with the sign of the cross on her

forehead and breast, and sat before him like a tame bird, with her

head bowed down. Then he spoke to her, in gentle words, of the deed of

love she had performed for him during the night, when she had come

to him in the form of an ugly frog, to loosen his bonds, and to lead

him forth to life and light; and he told her that she was bound in

closer fetters than he had been, and that she could recover also

life and light by his means. He would take her to Hedeby to St.

Ansgarius, and there, in that Christian town, the spell of the

sorcerer would be removed. But he would not let her sit before him

on the horse, though of her own free will she wished to do so. "Thou

must sit behind me, not before me," said he. "Thy magic beauty has a

magic power which comes from an evil origin, and I fear it; still I am

sure to overcome through my faith in Christ." Then he knelt down,

and prayed with pious fervor. It was as if the quiet woodland were a

holy church consecrated by his worship. The birds sang as if they were

also of this new congregation; and the fragrance of the wild flowers

was as the ambrosial perfume of incense; while, above all, sounded the

words of Scripture, "A light to them that sit in darkness and in the

shadow of death, to guide their feet into the way of peace." And he

spoke these words with the deep longing of his whole nature.

Meanwhile, the horse that had carried them in wild career stood

quietly by, plucking at the tall bramble-bushes, till the ripe young

berries fell down upon Helga's hands, as if inviting her to eat.

Patiently she allowed herself to be lifted on the horse, and sat there

like a somnambulist- as one who walked in his sleep. The Christian

bound two branches together with bark, in the form of a cross, and

held it on high as they rode through the forest. The way gradually

grew thicker of brushwood, as they rode along, till at last it

became a trackless wilderness. Bushes of the wild sloe here and

there blocked up the path, so that they had to ride over them. The

bubbling spring formed not a stream, but a marsh, round which also

they were obliged to guide the horse; still there were strength and

refreshment in the cool forest breeze, and no trifling power in the

gentle words spoken in faith and Christian love by the young priest,

whose inmost heart yearned to lead this poor lost one into the way

of light and life. It is said that rain-drops can make a hollow in the

hardest stone, and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the rough

edges of the rocks; so did the dew of mercy fall upon Helga, softening

what was hard, and smoothing what was rough in her character. These

effects did not yet appear; she was not herself aware of them; neither

does the seed in the lap of earth know, when the refreshing dew and

the warm sunbeams fall upon it, that it contains within itself power

by which it will flourish and bloom. The song of the mother sinks into

the heart of the child, and the little one prattles the words after

her, without understanding their meaning; but after a time the

thoughts expand, and what has been heard in childhood seems to the

mind clear and bright. So now the "Word," which is all-powerful to

create, was working in the heart of Helga.

They rode forth from the thick forest, crossed the heath, and

again entered a pathless wood. Here, towards evening, they met with

robbers.

"Where hast thou stolen that beauteous maiden?" cried the robbers,

seizing the horse by the bridle, and dragging the two riders from

its back.

The priest had nothing to defend himself with, but the knife he

had taken from Helga, and with this he struck out right and left.

One of the robbers raised his axe against him; but the young priest

sprang on one side, and avoided the blow, which fell with great

force on the horse's neck, so that the blood gushed forth, and the

animal sunk to the ground. Then Helga seemed suddenly to awake from

her long, deep reverie; she threw herself hastily upon the dying

animal. The priest placed himself before her, to defend and shelter

her; but one of the robbers swung his iron axe against the Christian's

head with such force that it was dashed to pieces, the blood and

brains were scattered about, and he fell dead upon the ground. Then

the robbers seized beautiful Helga by her white arms and slender

waist; but at that moment the sun went down, and as its last ray

disappeared, she was changed into the form of a frog. A greenish white

mouth spread half over her face; her arms became thin and slimy; while

broad hands, with webbed fingers, spread themselves out like fans.

Then the robbers, in terror, let her go, and she stood among them, a

hideous monster; and as is the nature of frogs to do, she hopped up as

high as her own size, and disappeared in the thicket. Then the robbers

knew that this must be the work of an evil spirit or some secret

sorcery, and, in a terrible fright, they ran hastily from the spot.

The full moon had already risen, and was shining in all her

radiant splendor over the earth, when from the thicket, in the form of

a frog, crept poor Helga. She stood still by the corpse of the

Christian priest, and the carcase of the dead horse. She looked at

them with eyes that seemed to weep, and from the frog's head came

forth a croaking sound, as when a child bursts into tears. She threw

herself first upon one, and then upon the other; brought water in

her hand, which, from being webbed, was large and hollow, and poured

it over them; but they were dead, and dead they would remain. She

understood that at last. Soon wild animals would come and tear their

dead bodies; but no, that must not happen. Then she dug up the

earth, as deep as she was able, that she might prepare a grave for

them. She had nothing but a branch of a tree and her two hands,

between the fingers of which the webbed skin stretched, and they

were torn by the work, while the blood ran down her hands. She saw

at last that her work would be useless, more than she could

accomplish; so she fetched more water, and washed the face of the

dead, and then covered it with fresh green leaves; she also brought

large boughs and spread over him, and scattered dried leaves between

the branches. Then she brought the heaviest stones that she could

carry, and laid them over the dead body, filling up the crevices

with moss, till she thought she had fenced in his resting-place

strongly enough. The difficult task had employed her the whole

night; and as the sun broke forth, there stood the beautiful Helga

in all her loveliness, with her bleeding hands, and, for the first

time, with tears on her maiden cheeks. It was, in this transformation,

as if two natures were striving together within her; her whole frame

trembled, and she looked around her as if she had just awoke from a

painful dream. She leaned for support against the trunk of a slender

tree, and at last climbed to the topmost branches, like a cat, and

seated herself firmly upon them. She remained there the whole day,

sitting alone, like a frightened squirrel, in the silent solitude of

the wood, where the rest and stillness is as the calm of death.

Butterflies fluttered around her, and close by were several

ant-hills, each with its hundreds of busy little creatures moving

quickly to and fro. In the air, danced myriads of gnats, swarm upon

swarm, troops of buzzing flies, ladybirds, dragon-flies with golden

wings, and other little winged creatures. The worm crawled forth

from the moist ground, and the moles crept out; but, excepting

these, all around had the stillness of death: but when people say

this, they do not quite understand themselves what they mean. None

noticed Helga but a flock of magpies, which flew chattering round

the top of the tree on which she sat. These birds hopped close to

her on the branches with bold curiosity. A glance from her eyes was

a signal to frighten them away, and they were not clever enough to

find out who she was; indeed she hardly knew herself.

When the sun was near setting, and the evening's twilight about to

commence, the approaching transformation aroused her to fresh

exertion. She let herself down gently from the tree, and, as the

last sunbeam vanished, she stood again in the wrinkled form of a frog,

with the torn, webbed skin on her hands, but her eyes now gleamed with

more radiant beauty than they had ever possessed in her most beautiful

form of loveliness; they were now pure, mild maidenly eyes that

shone forth in the face of a frog. They showed the existence of deep

feeling and a human heart, and the beauteous eyes overflowed with

tears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart.

On the raised mound which she had made as a grave for the dead

priest, she found the cross made of the branches of a tree, the last

work of him who now lay dead and cold beneath it. A sudden thought

came to Helga, and she lifted up the cross and planted it upon the

grave, between the stones that covered him and the dead horse. The sad

recollection brought the tears to her eyes, and in this gentle

spirit she traced the same sign in the sand round the grave; and as

she formed, with both her hands, the sign of the cross, the web skin

fell from them like a torn glove. She washed her hands in the water of

the spring, and gazed with astonishment at their delicate whiteness.

Again she made the holy sign in the air, between herself and the

dead man; her lips trembled, her tongue moved, and the name which

she in her ride through the forest had so often heard spoken, rose

to her lips, and she uttered the words, "Jesus Christ." Then the

frog skin fell from her; she was once more a lovely maiden. Her head

bent wearily, her tired limbs required rest, and then she slept.

Her sleep, however, was short. Towards midnight, she awoke; before

her stood the dead horse, prancing and full of life, which shone forth

from his eyes and from his wounded neck. Close by his side appeared

the murdered Christian priest, more beautiful than Baldur, as the

Viking's wife had said; but now he came as if in a flame of fire. Such

gravity, such stern justice, such a piercing glance shone from his

large, gentle eyes, that it seemed to penetrate into every corner of

her heart. Beautiful Helga trembled at the look, and her memory

returned with a power as if it had been the day of judgment. Every

good deed that had been done for her, every loving word that had

been said, were vividly before her mind. She understood now that

love had kept her here during the day of her trial; while the creature

formed of dust and clay, soul and spirit, had wrestled and struggled

with evil. She acknowledged that she had only followed the impulses of

an evil disposition, that she had done nothing to cure herself;

everything had been given her, and all had happened as it were by

the ordination of Providence. She bowed herself humbly, confessed

her great imperfections in the sight of Him who can read every fault

of the heart, and then the priest spoke. "Daughter of the moorland,

thou hast come from the swamp and the marshy earth, but from this thou

shalt arise. The sunlight shining into thy inmost soul proves the

origin from which thou hast really sprung, and has restored the body

to its natural form. I am come to thee from the land of the dead,

and thou also must pass through the valley to reach the holy mountains

where mercy and perfection dwell. I cannot lead thee to Hedeby that

thou mayst receive Christian baptism, for first thou must remove the

thick veil with which the waters of the moorland are shrouded, and

bring forth from its depths the living author of thy being and thy

life. Till this is done, thou canst not receive consecration."

Then he lifted her on the horse and gave her a golden censer,

similar to those she had already seen at the Viking's house. A sweet

perfume arose from it, while the open wound in the forehead of the

slain priest, shone with the rays of a diamond. He took the cross from

the grave, and held it aloft, and now they rode through the air over

the rustling trees, over the hills where warriors lay buried each by

his dead war-horse; and the brazen monumental figures rose up and

galloped forth, and stationed themselves on the summits of the

hills. The golden crescent on their foreheads, fastened with golden

knots, glittered in the moonlight, and their mantles floated in the

wind. The dragon, that guards buried treasure, lifted his head and

gazed after them. The goblins and the satyrs peeped out from beneath

the hills, and flitted to and fro in the fields, waving blue, red, and

green torches, like the glowing sparks in burning paper. Over woodland

and heath, flood and fen, they flew on, till they reached the wild

moor, over which they hovered in broad circles. The Christian priest

held the cross aloft, and it glittered like gold, while from his

lips sounded pious prayers. Beautiful Helga's voice joined with his in

the hymns he sung, as a child joins in her mother's song. She swung

the censer, and a wonderful fragrance of incense arose from it; so

powerful, that the reeds and rushes of the moor burst forth into

blossom. Each germ came forth from the deep ground: all that had

life raised itself. Blooming water-lilies spread themselves forth like

a carpet of wrought flowers, and upon them lay a slumbering woman,

young and beautiful. Helga fancied that it was her own image she saw

reflected in the still water. But it was her mother she beheld, the

wife of the Marsh King, the princess from the land of the Nile.

The dead Christian priest desired that the sleeping woman should

be lifted on the horse, but the horse sank beneath the load, as if

he had been a funeral pall fluttering in the wind. But the sign of the

cross made the airy phantom strong, and then the three rode away

from the marsh to firm ground.

At the same moment the cock crew in the Viking's castle, and the

dream figures dissolved and floated away in the air, but mother and

daughter stood opposite to each other.

"Am I looking at my own image in the deep water?" said the mother.

"Is it myself that I see represented on a white shield?" cried the

daughter.

Then they came nearer to each other in a fond embrace. The

mother's heart beat quickly, and she understood the quickened

pulses. "My child!" she exclaimed, "the flower of my heart- my lotus

flower of the deep water!" and she embraced her child again and

wept, and the tears were as a baptism of new life and love for

Helga. "In swan's plumage I came here," said the mother, "and here I

threw off my feather dress. Then I sank down through the wavering

ground, deep into the marsh beneath, which closed like a wall around

me; I found myself after a while in fresher water; still a power

drew me down deeper and deeper. I felt the weight of sleep upon my

eyelids. Then I slept, and dreams hovered round me. It seemed to me as

if I were again in the pyramids of Egypt, and yet the waving elder

trunk that had frightened me on the moor stood ever before me. I

observed the clefts and wrinkles in the stem; they shone forth in

strange colors, and took the form of hieroglyphics. It was the mummy

case on which I gazed. At last it burst, and forth stepped the

thousand years' old king, the mummy form, black as pitch, black as the

shining wood-snail, or the slimy mud of the swamp. Whether it was

really the mummy or the Marsh King I know not. He seized me in his

arms, and I felt as if I must die. When I recovered myself, I found in

my bosom a little bird, flapping its wings, twittering and fluttering.

The bird flew away from my bosom, upwards towards the dark, heavy

canopy above me, but a long, green band kept it fastened to me. I

heard and understood the tenor of its longings. Freedom! sunlight!

to my father! Then I thought of my father, and the sunny land of my

birth, my life, and my love. Then I loosened the band, and let the

bird fly away to its home- to a father. Since that hour I have

ceased to dream; my sleep has been long and heavy, till in this very

hour, harmony and fragrance awoke me, and set me free."

The green band which fastened the wings of the bird to the

mother's heart, where did it flutter now? whither had it been

wafted? The stork only had seen it. The band was the green stalk,

the cup of the flower the cradle in which lay the child, that now in

blooming beauty had been folded to the mother's heart.

And while the two were resting in each other's arms, the old stork

flew round and round them in narrowing circles, till at length he flew

away swiftly to his nest, and fetched away the two suits of swan's

feathers, which he had preserved there for many years. Then he

returned to the mother and daughter, and threw the swan's plumage over

them; the feathers immediately closed around them, and they rose up

from the earth in the form of two white swans.

"And now we can converse with pleasure," said the stork-papa;

"we can understand one another, although the beaks of birds are so

different in shape. It is very fortunate that you came to-night.

To-morrow we should have been gone. The mother, myself and the

little ones, we're about to fly to the south. Look at me now: I am

an old friend from the Nile, and a mother's heart contains more than

her beak. She always said that the princess would know how to help

herself. I and the young ones carried the swan's feathers over here,

and I am glad of it now, and how lucky it is that I am here still.

When the day dawns we shall start with a great company of other

storks. We'll fly first, and you can follow in our track, so that

you cannot miss your way. I and the young ones will have an eye upon

you."

"And the lotus-flower which I was to take with me," said the

Egyptian princess, "is flying here by my side, clothed in swan's

feathers. The flower of my heart will travel with me; and so the

riddle is solved. Now for home! now for home!"

But Helga said she could not leave the Danish land without once

more seeing her foster-mother, the loving wife of the Viking. Each

pleasing recollection, each kind word, every tear from the heart which

her foster-mother had wept for her, rose in her mind, and at that

moment she felt as if she loved this mother the best.

"Yes, we must go to the Viking's castle," said the stork;

"mother and the young ones are waiting for me there. How they will

open their eyes and flap their wings! My wife, you see, does not say

much; she is short and abrupt in her manner; but she means well, for

all that. I will flap my wings at once, that they may hear us coming."

Then stork-papa flapped his wings in first-rate style, and he and

the swans flew away to the Viking's castle.

In the castle, every one was in a deep sleep. It had been late

in the evening before the Viking's wife retired to rest. She was

anxious about Helga, who, three days before, had vanished with the

Christian priest. Helga must have helped him in his flight, for it was

her horse that was missed from the stable; but by what power had all

this been accomplished? The Viking's wife thought of it with wonder,

thought on the miracles which they said could be performed by those

who believed in the Christian faith, and followed its teachings. These

passing thoughts formed themselves into a vivid dream, and it seemed

to her that she was still lying awake on her couch, while without

darkness reigned. A storm arose; she heard the lake dashing and

rolling from east and west, like the waves of the North Sea or the

Cattegat. The monstrous snake which, it is said, surrounds the earth

in the depths of the ocean, was trembling in spasmodic convulsions.

The night of the fall of the gods was come, "Ragnorock," as the

heathens call the judgment-day, when everything shall pass away,

even the high gods themselves. The war trumpet sounded; riding upon

the rainbow, came the gods, clad in steel, to fight their last

battle on the last battle-field. Before them flew the winged vampires,

and the dead warriors closed up the train. The whole firmament was

ablaze with the northern lights, and yet the darkness triumphed. It

was a terrible hour. And, close to the terrified woman, Helga seemed

to be seated on the floor, in the hideous form of a frog, yet

trembling, and clinging to her foster-mother, who took her on her lap,

and lovingly caressed her, hideous and frog-like as she was. The air

was filled with the clashing of arms and the hissing of arrows, as

if a storm of hail was descending upon the earth. It seemed to her the

hour when earth and sky would burst asunder, and all things be

swallowed up in Saturn's fiery lake; but she knew that a new heaven

and a new earth would arise, and that corn-fields would wave where now

the lake rolled over desolate sands, and the ineffable God reign. Then

she saw rising from the region of the dead, Baldur the gentle, the

loving, and as the Viking's wife gazed upon him, she recognized his

countenance. It was the captive Christian priest. "White Christian!"

she exclaimed aloud, and with the words, she pressed a kiss on the

forehead of the hideous frog-child. Then the frog-skin fell off, and

Helga stood before her in all her beauty, more lovely and

gentle-looking, and with eyes beaming with love. She kissed the

hands of her foster-mother, blessed her for all her fostering love and

care during the days of her trial and misery, for the thoughts she had

suggested and awoke in her heart, and for naming the Name which she

now repeated. Then beautiful Helga rose as a mighty swan, and spread

her wings with the rushing sound of troops of birds of passage

flying through the air.

Then the Viking's wife awoke, but she still heard the rushing

sound without. She knew it was the time for the storks to depart,

and that it must be their wings which she heard. She felt she should

like to see them once more, and bid them farewell. She rose from her

couch, stepped out on the threshold, and beheld, on the ridge of the

roof, a party of storks ranged side by side. Troops of the birds

were flying in circles over the castle and the highest trees; but just

before her, as she stood on the threshold and close to the well

where Helga had so often sat and alarmed her with her wildness, now

stood two swans, gazing at her with intelligent eyes. Then she

remembered her dream, which still appeared to her as a reality. She

thought of Helga in the form of a swan. She thought of a Christian

priest, and suddenly a wonderful joy arose in her heart. The swans

flapped their wings and arched their necks as if to offer her a

greeting, and the Viking's wife spread out her arms towards them, as

if she accepted it, and smiled through her tears. She was roused

from deep thought by a rustling of wings and snapping of beaks; all

the storks arose, and started on their journey towards the south.

"We will not wait for the swans," said the mamma stork; "if they

want to go with us, let them come now; we can't sit here till the

plovers start. It is a fine thing after all to travel in families, not

like the finches and the partridges. There the male and the female

birds fly in separate flocks, which, to speak candidly, I consider

very unbecoming."

"What are those swans flapping their wings for?"

"Well, every one flies in his own fashion," said the papa stork.

"The swans fly in an oblique line; the cranes, in the form of a

triangle; and the plovers, in a curved line like a snake."

"Don't talk about snakes while we are flying up here," said

stork-mamma. "It puts ideas into the children's heads that can not

be realized."

"Are those the high mountains I have heard spoken of?" asked

Helga, in the swan's plumage.

"They are storm-clouds driving along beneath us," replied her

mother.

"What are yonder white clouds that rise so high?" again inquired

Helga.

"Those are mountains covered with perpetual snows, that you see

yonder," said her mother. And then they flew across the Alps towards

the blue Mediterranean.

"Africa's land! Egyptia's strand!" sang the daughter of the

Nile, in her swan's plumage, as from the upper air she caught sight of

her native land, a narrow, golden, wavy strip on the shores of the

Nile; the other birds espied it also and hastened their flight.

"I can smell the Nile mud and the wet frogs," said the

stork-mamma, "and I begin to feel quite hungry. Yes, now you shall

taste something nice, and you will see the marabout bird, and the

ibis, and the crane. They all belong to our family, but they are not

nearly so handsome as we are. They give themselves great airs,

especially the ibis. The Egyptians have spoilt him. They make a

mummy of him, and stuff him with spices. I would rather be stuffed

with live frogs, and so would you, and so you shall. Better have

something in your inside while you are alive, than to be made a parade

of after you are dead. That is my opinion, and I am always right."

"The storks are come," was said in the great house on the banks of

the Nile, where the lord lay in the hall on his downy cushions,

covered with a leopard skin, scarcely alive, yet not dead, waiting and

hoping for the lotus-flower from the deep moorland in the far north.

Relatives and servants were standing by his couch, when the two

beautiful swans who had come with the storks flew into the hall.

They threw off their soft white plumage, and two lovely female forms

approached the pale, sick old man, and threw back their long hair, and

when Helga bent over her grandfather, redness came back to his cheeks,

his eyes brightened, and life returned to his benumbed limbs. The

old man rose up with health and energy renewed; daughter and

grandchild welcomed him as joyfully as if with a morning greeting

after a long and troubled dream.

Joy reigned through the whole house, as well as in the stork's

nest; although there the chief cause was really the good food,

especially the quantities of frogs, which seemed to spring out of

the ground in swarms.

Then the learned men hastened to note down, in flying

characters, the story of the two princesses, and spoke of the

arrival of the health-giving flower as a mighty event, which had

been a blessing to the house and the land. Meanwhile, the stork-papa

told the story to his family in his own way; but not till they had

eaten and were satisfied; otherwise they would have had something else

to do than to listen to stories.

"Well," said the stork-mamma, when she had heard it, "you will

be made something of at last; I suppose they can do nothing less."

"What could I be made?" said stork-papa; "what have I done?-

just nothing."

"You have done more than all the rest," she replied. "But for

you and the youngsters the two young princesses would never have

seen Egypt again, and the recovery of the old man would not have

been effected. You will become something. They must certainly give you

a doctor's hood, and our young ones will inherit it, and their

children after them, and so on. You already look like an Egyptian

doctor, at least in my eyes."

"I cannot quite remember the words I heard when I listened on

the roof," said stork-papa, while relating the story to his family;

"all I know is, that what the wise men said was so complicated and

so learned, that they received not only rank, but presents; even the

head cook at the great house was honored with a mark of distinction,

most likely for the soup."

"And what did you receive?" said the stork-mamma. "They

certainly ought not to forget the most important person in the affair,

as you really are. The learned men have done nothing at all but use

their tongues. Surely they will not overlook you."

Late in the night, while the gentle sleep of peace rested on the

now happy house, there was still one watcher. It was not stork-papa,

who, although he stood on guard on one leg, could sleep soundly. Helga

alone was awake. She leaned over the balcony, gazing at the

sparkling stars that shone clearer and brighter in the pure air than

they had done in the north, and yet they were the same stars. She

thought of the Viking's wife in the wild moorland, of the gentle

eyes of her foster-mother, and of the tears she had shed over the poor

frog-child that now lived in splendor and starry beauty by the

waters of the Nile, with air balmy and sweet as spring. She thought of

the love that dwelt in the breast of the heathen woman, love that

had been shown to a wretched creature, hateful as a human being, and

hideous when in the form of an animal. She looked at the glittering

stars, and thought of the radiance that had shone forth on the

forehead of the dead man, as she had fled with him over the woodland

and moor. Tones were awakened in her memory; words which she had heard

him speak as they rode onward, when she was carried, wondering and

trembling, through the air; words from the great Fountain of love, the

highest love that embraces all the human race. What had not been won

and achieved by this love?

Day and night beautiful Helga was absorbed in the contemplation of

the great amount of her happiness, and lost herself in the

contemplation, like a child who turns hurriedly from the giver to

examine the beautiful gifts. She was over-powered with her good

fortune, which seemed always increasing, and therefore what might it

become in the future? Had she not been brought by a wonderful

miracle to all this joy and happiness? And in these thoughts she

indulged, until at last she thought no more of the Giver. It was the

over-abundance of youthful spirits unfolding its wings for a daring

flight. Her eyes sparkled with energy, when suddenly arose a loud

noise in the court below, and the daring thought vanished. She

looked down, and saw two large ostriches running round quickly in

narrow circles; she had never seen these creatures before,- great,

coarse, clumsy-looking birds with curious wings that looked as if they

had been clipped, and the birds themselves had the appearance of

having been roughly used. She inquired about them, and for the first

time heard the legend which the Egyptians relate respecting the

ostrich.

Once, say they, the ostriches were a beautiful and glorious race

of birds, with large, strong wings. One evening the other large

birds of the forest said to the ostrich, "Brother, shall we fly to the

river to-morrow morning to drink, God willing?" and the ostrich

answered, "I will."

With the break of day, therefore, they commenced their flight;

first rising high in the air, towards the sun, which is the eye of

God; still higher and higher the ostrich flew, far above the other

birds, proudly approaching the light, trusting in its own strength,

and thinking not of the Giver, or saying, "if God will." When suddenly

the avenging angel drew back the veil from the flaming ocean of

sunlight, and in a moment the wings of the proud bird were scorched

and shrivelled, and they sunk miserably to the earth. Since that

time the ostrich and his race have never been able to rise in the air;

they can only fly terror-stricken along the ground, or run round and

round in narrow circles. It is a warning to mankind, that in all our

thoughts and schemes, and in every action we undertake, we should say,

"if God will."

Then Helga bowed her head thoughtfully and seriously, and looked

at the circling ostrich, as with timid fear and simple pleasure it

glanced at its own great shadow on the sunlit walls. And the story

of the ostrich sunk deeply into the heart and mind of Helga: a life of

happiness, both in the present and in the future, seemed secure for

her, and what was yet to come might be the best of all, God willing.

Early in the spring, when the storks were again about to journey

northward, beautiful Helga took off her golden bracelets, scratched

her name on them, and beckoned to the stork-father. He came to her,

and she placed the golden circlet round his neck, and begged him to

deliver it safely to the Viking's wife, so that she might know that

her foster-daughter still lived, was happy, and had not forgotten her.

"It is rather heavy to carry," thought stork-papa, when he had

it on his neck; "but gold and honor are not to be flung into the

street. The stork brings good fortune- they'll be obliged to

acknowledge that at last."

"You lay gold, and I lay eggs," said stork-mamma; "with you it

is only once in a way, I lay eggs every year But no one appreciates

what we do; I call it very mortifying."

"But then we have a consciousness of our own worth, mother,"

replied stork-papa.

"What good will that do you?" retorted stork-mamma; "it will

neither bring you a fair wind, nor a good meal."

"The little nightingale, who is singing yonder in the tamarind

grove, will soon be going north, too." Helga said she had often

heard her singing on the wild moor, so she determined to send a

message by her. While flying in the swan's plumage she had learnt

the bird language; she had often conversed with the stork and the

swallow, and she knew that the nightingale would understand. So she

begged the nightingale to fly to the beechwood, on the peninsula of

Jutland, where a mound of stone and twigs had been raised to form

the grave, and she begged the nightingale to persuade all the other

little birds to build their nests round the place, so that evermore

should resound over that grave music and song. And the nightingale

flew away, and time flew away also.

In the autumn, an eagle, standing upon a pyramid, saw a stately

train of richly laden camels, and men attired in armor on foaming

Arabian steeds, whose glossy skins shone like silver, their nostrils

were pink, and their thick, flowing manes hung almost to their slender

legs. A royal prince of Arabia, handsome as a prince should be, and

accompanied by distinguished guests, was on his way to the stately

house, on the roof of which the storks' empty nests might be seen.

They were away now in the far north, but expected to return very soon.

And, indeed, they returned on a day that was rich in joy and gladness.

A marriage was being celebrated, in which the beautiful Helga,

glittering in silk and jewels, was the bride, and the bridegroom the

young Arab prince. Bride and bridegroom sat at the upper end of the

table, between the bride's mother and grandfather. But her gaze was

not on the bridegroom, with his manly, sunburnt face, round which

curled a black beard, and whose dark fiery eyes were fixed upon her;

but away from him, at a twinkling star, that shone down upon her

from the sky. Then was heard the sound of rushing wings beating the

air. The storks were coming home; and the old stork pair, although

tired with the journey and requiring rest, did not fail to fly down at

once to the balustrades of the verandah, for they knew already what

feast was being celebrated. They had heard of it on the borders of the

land, and also that Helga had caused their figures to be represented

on the walls, for they belonged to her history.

"I call that very sensible and pretty," said stork-papa.

"Yes, but it is very little," said mamma stork; "they could not

possibly have done less."

But, when Helga saw them, she rose and went out into the

verandah to stroke the backs of the storks. The old stork pair bowed

their heads, and curved their necks, and even the youngest among the

young ones felt honored by this reception.

Helga continued to gaze upon the glittering star, which seemed

to glow brighter and purer in its light; then between herself and

the star floated a form, purer than the air, and visible through it.

It floated quite near to her, and she saw that it was the dead

Christian priest, who also was coming to her wedding feast- coming

from the heavenly kingdom.

"The glory and brightness, yonder, outshines all that is known

on earth," said he.

Then Helga the fair prayed more gently, and more earnestly, than

she had ever prayed in her life before, that she might be permitted to

gaze, if only for a single moment, at the glory and brightness of

the heavenly kingdom. Then she felt herself lifted up, as it were,

above the earth, through a sea of sound and thought; not only around

her, but within her, was there light and song, such as words cannot

express.

"Now we must return;" he said; "you will be missed."

"Only one more look," she begged; "but one short moment more."

"We must return to earth; the guests will have all departed.

Only one more look!- the last!"

Then Helga stood again in the verandah. But the marriage lamps

in the festive hall had been all extinguished, and the torches outside

had vanished. The storks were gone; not a guest could be seen; no

bridegroom- all in those few short moments seemed to have died. Then a

great dread fell upon her. She stepped from the verandah through the

empty hall into the next chamber, where slept strange warriors. She

opened a side door, which once led into her own apartment, but now, as

she passed through, she found herself suddenly in a garden which she

had never before seen here, the sky blushed red, it was the dawn of

morning. Three minutes only in heaven, and a whole night on earth

had passed away! Then she saw the storks, and called to them in

their own language.

Then stork-papa turned his head towards here, listened to her

words, and drew near. "You speak our language," said he, "what do

you wish? Why do you appear,- you- a strange woman?"

"It is I- it is Helga! Dost thou not know me? Three minutes ago we

were speaking together yonder in the verandah."

"That is a mistake," said the stork, "you must have dreamed all

this."

"No, no," she exclaimed. Then she reminded him of the Viking's

castle, of the great lake, and of the journey across the ocean.

Then stork-papa winked his eyes, and said, "Why that's an old

story which happened in the time of my grandfather. There certainly

was a princess of that kind here in Egypt once, who came from the

Danish land, but she vanished on the evening of her wedding day,

many hundred years ago, and never came back. You may read about it

yourself yonder, on a monument in the garden. There you will find

swans and storks sculptured, and on the top is a figure of the

princess Helga, in marble."

And so it was; Helga understood it all now, and sank on her knees.

The sun burst forth in all its glory, and, as in olden times, the form

of the frog vanished in his beams, and the beautiful form stood

forth in all its loveliness; so now, bathed in light, rose a beautiful

form, purer, clearer than air- a ray of brightness- from the Source of

light Himself. The body crumbled into dust, and a faded lotus-flower

lay on the spot on which Helga had stood.

"Now that is a new ending to the story," said stork-papa; "I

really never expected it would end in this way, but it seems a very

good ending."

"And what will the young ones say to it, I wonder?" said

stork-mamma.

"Ah, that is a very important question," replied the stork.





                        THE END

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