Fairy Tales

by Ганс Христиан Андерсен

  Oh, those children had a good life, but it wasn’t going to stay that way!

  Their father, who was the king of the entire country, married an evil queen, who was not good to the poor children; they noticed it already on the first day. There was a big celebration at the castle, and the children were playing house, but instead of the cookies and baked apples they usually got plenty of, she gave them sand in a teacup and told them to pretend it was something else.

  The next week she farmed little sister Elisa out to some peasants in the country, and it wasn’t long before she was able to get the king to imagine all sorts of wicked things about the princes so that finally he didn’t care about them anymore.

  “Fly out in the world and take care of yourselves!” said the evil queen. “Fly as great voiceless birds!” but she wasn’t able to make it quite as bad as she wanted—they became eleven lovely wild swans. With a strange cry they flew out of the castle windows and over the park and the forest.

  It was still early morning when they flew over the peasant’s cottage where their sister Elisa was sleeping. They hovered over the roof, twisted their long necks, and flapped their wings, but no one saw or heard them. They flew away again, high up towards the clouds and far away into the wide world and into a big dark forest that stretched all the way to the sea.

  Poor little Elisa stood in the peasant’s cottage playing with a green leaf because she didn’t have any other toys. She pierced a hole in the leaf and peeked up at the sun through it, and it was as if she saw her brothers’ clear eyes, and each time the sunshine hit her cheek, she thought about their many kisses.

  One day passed like another. When the wind blew through the big rose hedges outside the house, it whispered to the roses, “Who can be more beautiful than you?” but the roses shook their heads and answered, “Elisa.” And when the old woman sat by the door reading her hymnal on Sundays, the wind turned the pages and said to the book, “Who can be more pious than you?” “Elisa,” said the hymnal, and what the roses and the hymnal said was the solemn truth.

  When she was fifteen years old, she was to return home, and as soon as the queen saw how beautiful she was, she became angry and hateful to her. She would have liked to turn Elisa into a wild swan, like she did to her brothers, but she didn’t dare do it right away since the king wanted to see his daughter.

  Early in the morning the queen went into her bathroom, which was built of marble and was decorated with soft cushions and the loveliest carpets. She took three toads, kissed them, and said to the first, “Sit on Elisa’s head when she gets into the bath, so that she will become sluggish, like you.”

  “Sit on her forehead,” she said to the second one, “so she will become ugly like you, and her father won’t recognize her.”

  “Sit on her heart,” she whispered to the third. “Give her a bad disposition, so she’ll suffer from it.”

  Then she put the toads into the clear water, which immediately took on a greenish hue, called Elisa, undressed her, and had her step into the bath, and as she went under the water, the first toad sat on her hair, the second on her forehead, and the third on her breast, but Elisa didn’t seem to notice. As soon as she rose up, there were three red poppies floating on the water. If the animals hadn’t been poisonous and kissed by the witch, they would have been changed to red roses, but they became flowers anyway by resting on her head and on her heart. She was too pious and innocent for the black magic to have any power over her.

  When the evil queen saw this, she rubbed walnut oil on Elisa so she became dark brown. Then she spread a stinking salve over the beautiful face and left her lovely hair tangled and matted. It was no longer possible to recognize the lovely Elisa at all.

  When her father saw her, he became quite alarmed and claimed that she wasn’t his daughter. No one else would acknowledge her either, except the watchdog and the swallows, but they were just poor animals and didn’t count.

  Poor Elisa wept and thought about her eleven brothers, all of whom were gone. She crept sadly out of the castle and wandered the whole day over moor and meadow and into the big forest. She didn’t know where she wanted to go, but she felt so sad and longed for her brothers, who had been chased out into the world like her. Now she would search them out and find them.

  She had only been in the woods for a short time before night fell. She had wandered clear away from the path, so she lay down on the soft moss, said her prayers, and rested her head on a stump. It was so quiet, the air was so mild, and around about her in the grass and on the moss there were hundreds of glowworms shining like green fire. When she gently touched one of the branches with her hand, the shining insects fell down to her like falling stars.

  All night she dreamed about her brothers. They were children playing again, writing with the diamond pencil on golden slates, and looking at the lovely picture book that had cost half the kingdom. But they didn’t draw only circles and lines on the slates, like before, rather they wrote about the most daring deeds that they had done, everything they had experienced and seen. Everything in the picture book was alive. Birds sang and the people came out of the book and talked to Elisa and her brothers, but when she turned the page, they leaped back in again, so that the pictures wouldn’t get mixed up.

  When she awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. She couldn’t see it because the branches of the tall trees were spread across the sky, but the rays danced up there in the treetops like a fluttering veil of gold. All the green plants gave off a fragrance, and the birds almost perched on her shoulders. She heard water splashing from a great many large springs that all pooled into a pond with a lovely sand bottom. All around the pond bushes were growing densely, but in one spot the deer had cleared a big opening, and Elisa was able to get to the water, which was so clear that if the wind hadn’t stirred the branches and bushes so they moved, you would have thought that they were painted on the bottom, so vividly was every leaf reflected there, both in sunshine and in shade.

  When she saw her own face, she was frightened because it was so brown and ugly, but when she took water in her little hand and rubbed her eyes and forehead, the white skin shone through again. Then she took off all her clothes and went into the refreshing water, and there was no more beautiful princess anywhere.

  When she was dressed and had braided her long hair, she went to the bubbling spring, drank from the hollow of her hand, and wandered further into the forest, not knowing where she was going. She thought about her brothers and about the good Lord, who wouldn’t desert her. He let the wild crab apples grow, to feed the hungry, and He showed her such a tree with branches heavy with fruit. She had her dinner here, propped up the branches of the tree, and then walked into the darkest part of the forest. It was so quiet that she could hear her own footsteps, hear every little shriveled leaf that crunched under her feet. Not a bird could be seen, and not a ray of sunshine could shine through the big thick tree branches. The tall trunks stood so close together that when she looked straight ahead, it was as if she had a fence of thick posts all around her. Oh, here was a loneliness such as she’d never known!

  The night became pitch dark, and there was not a single little glowworm shining on the moss. Sadly she lay down to sleep. Then she thought that the tree branches above her parted, and the Lord with gentle eyes looked down on her, and small angels peered out over his head and under his arms.

  When she awoke in the morning she didn’t know if it had been a dream or if it had really happened. After walking a short way, she met an old woman who had some berries in her basket. The old woman gave her some of these, and Elisa asked if she had seen eleven princes riding through the forest.

  “No,” said the old woman, “but yesterday I saw eleven swans with gold crowns on their heads swimming in the river not far from here.”

  And she led Elisa a little further to a steep slope with a river winding below it. The trees on each bank stretched out their long leafy branches towards each other, and wherever they couldn’t reach with na
tural growth, they had torn their roots out from the soil and were leaning out over the water with branches woven together. Elisa said goodbye to the old woman and walked alongside the river until it flowed out onto a wide open shore.

  The whole beautiful ocean lay there in front of the young girl, but neither a sail nor a boat could be seen out there. How was she to get any further? She looked at all the innumerable little stones on the shore; the water had polished them smooth. Glass, iron, stone—everything that was washed up on the beach had been shaped by water, water that was softer still than her white hand. “They roll tirelessly, and so they smooth out the roughness; I’ll be just as tireless! Thank you for your wisdom, you clear rolling waves. My heart tells me that some day you’ll carry me to my dear brothers.”

  Lying in the washed-up seaweed there were eleven white swan feathers that she gathered in a bouquet. There were water drops on them, but no one could tell if it was dew or tears. It was lonely there on the beach, but she didn’t feel it since the ocean changed constantly—more in a few hours than a lake would change in a whole year. If a big black cloud came over, it was as if the ocean said, “I can also look dark,” and then the wind blew, and the waves showed their white caps. If the clouds were glowing red and the wind was sleeping, then the sea was like a rose petal. First it was green, then white, but no matter how quietly it rested, there was always a slight movement by the shore; the water swelled softly, like the chest of a sleeping child.

  Just before the sun went down, Elisa saw eleven white swans with gold crowns on their heads flying towards land. They were gliding across the sky one after the other like a long white ribbon. Elisa climbed up on the slope and hid behind a bush while the swans landed close by her and flapped with their great white wings.

  After the sun had set, the swan skins suddenly slipped off, and there stood eleven handsome princes, Elisa’s brothers. She gave a loud cry, because even though they had changed a lot, she knew that it was them. Indeed, she felt that it must be them and ran into their arms, calling them by name, and they became so happy when they saw and recognized their little sister, who had grown so big and beautiful. They laughed and they cried, and soon told each other how badly their step-mother had treated them all.

  The eldest brother said, “We brothers fly as wild swans so long as the sun is up, but when it sets, our human shapes are returned to us. That’s why we always have to be careful to be on land at sunset because, if we were to be flying up in the clouds, then we would fall to the ground. We don’t live here, but in a land just as beautiful as this one on the other side of the sea. It’s far far away, and we have to cross the ocean. There is no island on our route where we can spend the night except a lonely little rock that sticks up way out in the middle of the sea. It’s so small that we have to rest there side by side. In high seas the waves spray over us, but still we thank God for it. We spend the night there in our human shape, and without it we could never visit our dear fatherland because it takes two of the longest days of the year to make the flight. We can only visit our homeland once a year, and we don’t dare stay more than eleven days. We fly over this huge forest, from where we can see the castle where we were born, and where father lives. We can see the high tower of the church, where mother is buried.—We feel related to the trees and bushes here. The wild horses run over the plains here, as we saw them in our childhood. The coal-burners still sing the same old songs here that we danced to as children. Our fatherland is here. We’re drawn here, and here we have found you, dear little sister! We can only stay two more days, and then we have to fly over the sea to that lovely country that isn’t our native land. How can we bring you with us? We have neither ship nor boat.”

  “How can I save you?” their sister responded.

  They spoke together almost the whole night and slept only a few hours.

  Elisa awoke to the sound of swans’ wings whistling over her. Her brothers were once again transformed, and they flew in a big circle and finally far away, but one of them, the youngest, stayed behind and laid his head in her lap. She patted his white wings, and they spent the whole day together. Towards evening, the others came back, and when the sun went down, they stood there in their natural form.

  “We have to fly away tomorrow and don’t dare come back for a whole year, but we can’t leave you! Do you have the courage to come with us? My arm is strong enough to carry you through the forest. Together we should have strong enough wings to fly with you across the sea.”

  “Yes! Take me along!” said Elisa.

  They spent the whole night braiding a net of the supple willow bark and thick rushes, and it was of great size and strength. Elisa laid down on this, and after the sun came up, and the brothers were changed to swans, they took hold of the net with their beaks and flew high up towards the clouds with their dear sister, who was still sleeping. When the rays of the sun shone on her face, one of the swans flew over her head so that his wide wings shaded her.

  They were far from land when Elisa woke up. She thought she was still dreaming because it was so strange for her to be carried high in the air above the ocean. By her side lay a branch with delicious ripe berries and a bunch of tasty roots. Her youngest brother had gathered them and placed them there for her, and she smiled her thanks at him. She knew that it was he who was flying right above her head, shading her with his wings.

  They were so high up that the first ship they saw under them looked like a white seagull floating on the water. There was a huge cloud behind them like a mountain, and on it Elisa could see the enormous shadows of herself and the eleven swans as they flew. It was a picture more magnificent than anything she had seen before, but as the sun rose higher and the cloud receded behind them, the floating shadow picture disappeared.

  All day they flew, like a rushing arrow through the air.

  All day they flew, like a rushing arrow through the air, but it was slower than usual since they had to carry their sister. A storm was gathering, and evening was coming. Anxiously, Elisa saw the sun sink, and the lonely rock in the sea was not in sight. It seemed to her that the swans were strengthening their wing strokes. Alas! It was her fault that they weren’t moving faster! When the sun set, they would change into men, fall into the sea, and drown. Deep in her heart she said a prayer to the Lord, but she still couldn’t see the rock. The black cloud came closer, and strong gusts of wind told of the storm’s approach. The clouds came rolling towards them like a single big threatening wave of lead, and lightning bolt followed lightning bolt.

  The sun was just at the rim of the sea, and Elisa’s heart trembled. The swans shot downward so quickly that she thought she was falling—then they glided again. The sun was halfway down in the sea when she first saw the little rock below her. It didn’t look any bigger than a seal sticking its head up from the water. The sun sank quickly and was now no bigger than a star. Then her foot felt the hard rock as the sun went out like the last spark in a piece of burning paper. She saw her brothers standing around her, arm in arm, but there wasn’t room for anyone else. The sea crashed against the rock and splashed over them like a cloudburst of rain. The sky was shining like never-ending fire, and clap after clap of thunder rolled by, but the sister and her brothers held hands and sang a hymn, which gave them comfort and courage.

  At dawn the air was clear and still, and as soon as the sun came up, the swans flew away from the rock with Elisa. There was still a high sea, and when they were high in the air, the white foam on the dark green sea looked like millions of swans floating on the water.

  When the sun climbed higher, Elisa saw ahead of her, half floating in the air, a mountainous land with shining glaciers on the mountains, and in the middle was a mile-long castle with one bold colonnade on top of the other. Below there were waving palm forests and gorgeous flowers big as mill wheels. She asked if that was their destination, but the swans shook their heads. What she saw was a mirage, Fata Morgana’s1 lovely sky castle that was constantly changing, and they didn’t dare bring hum
ans there. As Elisa stared at it, the mountain, forests, and castle collapsed and twenty splendid churches stood there, all alike, with high steeples and arched windows. She thought she heard the organ playing, but it was the ocean she heard. When she was quite close to the churches, they changed to an entire fleet of ships that sailed below her. She looked down, and it was only sea-fog chasing across the water. She was watching an ever-changing scene, and then she saw the real country that was their destination. There were lovely blue mountains with cedar forests, towns and castles. Long before sunset, she was sitting on a mountain in front of a big cave, overgrown with fine green twining plants, which looked like embroidered carpets.

  “Now we’ll see what you dream about here tonight,” said the youngest brother and showed her to her bedroom.

  “I wish I would dream about how I could rescue you all!” she said, and this thought occupied her so vividly that she prayed fervently to God for help. Even in sleep she continued her prayer; and it seemed to her that she flew high up in the air to Fata Morgana’s sky castle, and a fairy came towards her, lovely and glittering, but she looked exactly like the old woman who had given her berries in the forest and told her about the swans wearing the gold crowns.

  “Your brothers can be rescued,” she said, “if you have the courage and perseverance. It’s true that the sea is softer than your fine hands and can shape the hard stones, but it doesn’t feel the pain your fingers will feel. It has no heart and doesn’t suffer the dread and terror you must tolerate. Do you see this stinging nettle I’m holding in my hand? Many of these grow around the cave where you’re sleeping. Only those and those that grow on the graves in the churchyard can be used—take note of that. You have to pick them, although they will burn your skin to blisters. Then you must tramp the nettles with your feet to get flax, and with that you must spin and knit eleven thick shirts with long sleeves. Throw these over the eleven wild swans, and the spell will be broken. But remember this: from the moment you begin this work and until the day it is finished you cannot speak, even if your work takes years. The first word you speak would be like a dagger in your brothers’ hearts, and it would kill them. Their lives hang upon your tongue. Pay attention to all that I’ve told you!”