The frog trembled: the words had bridged the gap between its body and its soul. Tears started to well in its eyes.
“A terrible time will befall us both,” said the Viking’s wife. “It would have been better if you’d been left in the road and the night wind had lulled you to sleep.”
The Viking’s wife wept bitterly and walked away. The frog crouched alone in the corner. The room was silent except for a stifled sigh that came from its mouth – from Helga’s mouth. A new life was beginning in her heart.
She hopped forward and pushed open the heavy door. It was as if something powerful inside her was giving her strength. She picked up a flickering torch and crept into the cellar. The prisoner was asleep and when he awoke he saw such a large, hideous frog that he believed it must be a spirit. She cut the ropes that were tied around his hands and feet, and then she stood beside him.
He made the sign of the cross and said, “Who are you? Why do you appear as a hideous animal when your heart is so kind?”
The frog-woman beckoned him to follow her. She led him out to the stables and she pointed to a horse. The two mounted it and galloped into the night.
The priest felt how loving and merciful the creature was, despite its ugliness. He believed that it must be God who had sent this monstrous spirit. He prayed and sang, and Helga started to tremble. Was she cold, or did the words hold some kind of power over her? She wanted to stop the horse and get off, but the priest held her with all his strength and continued to sing. He hoped that his words would break the spell that had turned her into this ghastly creature. The horse galloped faster than ever and the sun rose, flooding the land with its brilliant light. The frog changed its form and there appeared the beautiful, but wild, Helga. The priest was horrified when he saw her; the spell must be even more terrible than he had thought. He jumped off the horse, as did Helga. She drew her knife and lunged at the astonished priest.
“I’ll get you!” she screamed, and they struggled. But the priest seemed to have an invisible power and he was able to hold her still. Suddenly, the roots of the old oak tree above them curled around Helga’s feet so that she could not move. The priest sprinkled her face with water from a nearby spring and commanded the evil spirit in her to leave. He blessed her, but nothing happened because Helga had no faith in her heart.
But the priest would not give up. He continued to bless Helga until his words overpowered her. She dropped her hands and gazed at him with frightened eyes and pale cheeks. To her, the priest looked like a mighty magician with great knowledge of secret arts; he seemed to speak in a dark language and to be making strange signs in the air. Helga shook when he signed her with the cross, and then she sat with her head bowed like a tame bird.
The priest told her how she had appeared to him as a hideous frog and freed him. He explained that as long as she was under the spell she would be more of a prisoner than he had been, but that he would release her. He would take her to Hedeby, to the holy man Ansgarius, and in the Christian city the spell would be broken. But he would not let her sit at the front of the horse.
“You must sit behind me,” he said. “Your beauty comes from evil and I am frightened by it, but I am sure that it will disappear when you have faith.”
He knelt down and prayed. It was as though his prayer turned the woodland into a holy church; the birds sang like a choir and the wild flowers were as fragrant as incense.
Helga was in a daze; not awake but not asleep, as if she were a sleepwalker. The priest lifted her onto the horse and tied two branches together to make a cross, which he held up high as they rode on through the forest. The wood became thicker as they rode, until it was just a wilderness.
The priest spoke about faith and Christian love as he tried to lead the poor lost girl towards the light.
People say that raindrops can wear away hard stone, and that the waves can smooth the rough edges of the rocks. In the same way, the dew of mercy smoothed Helga’s rough surface and the harshness inside her. It was not obvious at first, but the priest had sown the seed of faith and kindness, which would one day blossom in Helga. Just as children repeat their mother’s words without knowing what they mean, and only begin to understand them as they grow older, Helga did not yet realise the importance of the priest’s words.
They rode on through the dense forest. As it grew dark, they came across a group of thieves who dragged Helga and the priest to the ground. The priest tried to defend them using Helga’s knife, but one of the thieves swung an axe at him. The priest sprang to the side and the axe hit the horse’s neck and killed it. At the sight of blood, Helga awoke from her trance and threw herself on the animal. The priest tried to defend her, but one of the thieves swung his hammer on the priest’s head with an almighty blow. The priest sank to the ground, dead.
The thieves seized Helga and rode off. As the sun went down, she transformed once again into a frog. A huge white-green mouth spread over her face, her arms became thin and slimy and her webbed fingers spread out like fans. The thieves were terrified and let her go, so she hopped into the bushes. The thieves believed that the frog must have been an evil spirit, so they hurried away.
The moon shone over the earth, and Helga crept through the bushes in her frog-like form. She stood beside the body of the priest and the carcass of the horse. She let out a croak like a child bursting into tears, and then she wept. She sprinkled them with water, but they were dead and finally she understood. She could not bear the thought that soon the wild animals would come to devour the bodies, so she dug a grave for them as well as she could with her webbed hands. Before long, her hands were torn and bleeding, and she could dig no more. She washed the priest’s face again and covered him with green leaves and stones, which she then covered with moss until the grave hill was secure. The sun rose and Helga stood there in all her beauty with bleeding hands and tears flowing – the first to have ever touched her cheeks.
It was as if two personalities were struggling inside her. Her body trembled and she looked around as if she had awoken from a terrible dream. She climbed to the top of a tree and held on tight. She stayed there in the silent solitude of the wood all day, like a startled squirrel. The butterflies flapped around her and the bees went about their work, while all the other winged creatures buzzed around. The wood was silent except for the noise of the animals. No one noticed Helga except a flock of crows that flew above her. They hopped close to her, but when she looked at them they flew away. They could not understand what she was, and neither could she.
“HE KNELT DOWN AND PRAYED FERVENTLY”
When twilight came, the transformation happened again. Yet this time Helga’s eyes glistened with beauty even greater than when she took the form of a beautiful girl. Her eyes were pure and lovely, and they showed her deep feelings and the gentleness of her heart. Her eyes overflowed with tears and the precious drops were a wonder to see.
On the grave hill there lay the cross that the priest had made. Helga lifted it up and planted it in the ground. Then she drew the same cross in the sand around the grave. As she drew the sign the webbed skin fell from her hand like a torn glove. She washed her hands in the spring and was amazed at the pale skin that appeared. She made the sign of the cross in the air and then her lips trembled. She spoke God’s name, which the priest had told her during their ride through the forest. The frog skin fell from her and she was a beautiful girl again, but she was so tired that she fell into a deep sleep.
At midnight, Helga awoke. In front of her there stood the dead horse. It was beaming and full of life. Close beside it stood the priest – as beautiful as Balder. But he seemed to be standing in a flame. His eyes had a look that was so powerful and just, and so piercing, that it penetrated every corner of Helga’s heart. She trembled as though she were being judged. She remembered every good deed that had ever been done for her and every loving word that had been spoken. Finally, she understood that it had been love that had kept her in the wood. Helga realised that in the past she had been cr
uel. She now knew that everything that was happening was because of God. She bowed down before Him, He who knows every thought in every heart, and she confessed that she was not perfect. Then the priest spoke: “Daughter of the moor,” he said, “you came from the earth, and from the earth you shall rise. I come from the land of the dead. You, too, will pass through the valleys between the mountains where mercy and wholeness live. I cannot lead you to Hedeby and baptise you until you have burst the spell of the water on the wild moor and freed your mother. You must show that you are good before you can be blessed.”
He lifted her onto the horse and gave her a golden censer, like the ones she had seen in the castle. The wound in the priest’s head shone like a crown. They rode through the air, over the wood and the hills where the old heroes and their horses lay, and the figures rose up and stationed themselves ready for battle. Each wore a halo and a cloak, which floated in the night breeze. The dragon that guards buried treasure lifted its head and looked at them. The gnomes and spirits of the wood peeked from the hills and from the fields, and they flittered around with red, green and blue torches, like sparks in the ashes of burnt paper.
The priest and Helga fled up to the wild moor and hovered over it. The priest held the cross up and it gleamed like gold. He spoke in prayer and Helga joined in as he sang hymns, like a child joining in with its mother’s song. She swung the gold vessel and the incense swept over the moor. The reeds and grass blossomed and plants sprung from the ground. Everything that was alive lifted itself up and water-lilies spread out into a carpet of flowers. Helga thought she saw herself sleeping in the calm waters, but it was her mother: the Marsh King’s wife, the princess from Egypt.
The priest ordered that the sleeping woman be lifted onto the horse, and then the three glided from the moor to more stable land.
The cock crowed in the Viking’s castle. The ghosts faded away until just the mother and her daughter stood looking at one another.
“Am I looking at myself ?” asked the mother.
“Is it my own reflection I can see in front of me?” exclaimed the daughter.
And then they hugged. The mother knew in her heart that this was her daughter.
“My child! The flower of my heart, the lotus flower from the deep waters!” And she hugged the girl again and wept. The tears were like a baptism of new life and love for Helga.
“I came here in a cloak of swan’s feathers,” said the mother, “and I took it off here, but then I sank deep into the black slime. A force pulled me deeper and deeper until I was asleep, and my dreams hovered all around me. I dreamt that I was back in the pyramid, but the weeping birch willow was always in front of me and then it became a mummy. I couldn’t tell if it was the Egyptian pharaoh or the Marsh King. He seized me and I thought I was going to die. When I woke up, a little bird was sitting on my chest, twittering and singing. It flew up towards the dark surface of the lake, but I was still held to it by a green band. I understood its words, ‘Freedom! Sunlight! To our Father!’ it said. Then I thought of my own father and sunny Egypt, of my life and love, and I loosened the green band and let the bird soar away to its Father. Since then I haven’t dreamt at all. I was in a long, deep sleep until your harmony and fragrant incense set me free.”
Where had the green band gone that tied the mother’s heart to the bird’s wings? Only the stork had seen it; it was the green stalk from the beautiful flower, the cradle of the child that had become a beautiful girl, and who had now been reunited with her mother.
While the two were hugging, the father stork flew above them. Then he flew back to his own nest. He brought out the swan feather cloaks and threw one onto each of the women so that the feathers closed around them. They soared into the air like two white swans.
“Now you can understand me,” said the father stork. “I’m glad you came tonight because tomorrow we are flying to Egypt. Mother stork always said that the princess would help herself! At dawn we’ll set off together. We’ll guide you so that you don’t get lost.”
“And the flower that I was supposed to take home,” said the Egyptian princess, “is flying by my side in the swan’s feathers. I am bringing with me the flower of my heart, as the prophecy told.”
But Helga would not leave until she had seen the kind-hearted Viking woman one last time. Helga remembered all the woman’s tears and her kind words, and she felt as though she loved the Viking woman most of all.
“Yes, we’ll go to the castle,” said the father stork, “mother stork and the young ones are waiting for us there. They’ll be so excited!”
When they arrived at the castle everyone was asleep, except for the Viking woman. She was worried about Helga, who had vanished with the priest three days before. She knew Helga must have helped him to escape because her horse was missing from the stables, but she couldn’t work out how it could all have happened. The woman had heard the priest talk of miracles, and, as she lay there thinking about him, she fell asleep. She dreamt that she was lying awake on her bed and that outside a storm was drawing near. She heard the roar of the waves and she knew that the northern gods were about to fall. The war-trumpet sounded and the gods, dressed in their armour, rode over a rainbow to fight their last battle. It was a terrible hour.
The Viking woman saw Helga crouching nearby in her hideous frog form, and she hugged her as the battle passed overhead. The sky was going to burst, the stars would fall and everything would be swallowed up in a sea of fire. But she knew that a new heaven and earth would be formed and that God would reign. The priest rose up to Him, and the Viking woman kissed the forehead of the frog. Then the frog skin fell off and Helga stood in all her beauty, more gentle and lovely than ever before. She kissed the Viking woman’s hands and thanked her for the kindness that she had sown in her. Then Helga rose in the form of a magnificent swan, spread her white wings and soared into the air.
The Viking woman awoke and she heard the same roaring noise outside. She knew the storks would be leaving and thought that it must be their wings that she could hear. She went outside and saw them flying overhead in large circles. But in front of the well, where she had often sat with Helga, there were two white swans gazing at her with knowing eyes. She remembered her dream, which had felt so real, and thought of the priest and Helga as two swans. At that thought, she rejoiced.
The swans arched their necks and flapped their wings as if they were greeting her. She opened her arms and felt the truth all around her. She smiled and stood deep in thought.
Then the storks set off. “We can’t wait for the swans any longer,” said the mother stork, “if they want to join us, they will have to come now.”
And so they set off together for Egypt. The birds flew over the Alps towards the Mediterranean.
“Egypt!” sang the Egyptian princess as they reached the shore.
They flew faster and faster at the sight of land.
“I can smell the mud and the frogs,” said the mother stork, “and it’s making me hungry.”
“The storks have arrived,” said the Egyptian people in the wealthy households on the banks of the Nile. The royal lord still lay on his bed, not alive and not dead, but waiting and hoping for the flower from the moor in the north. His friends and family had gathered once again.
“SHE WAS ONCE A MORE BEAUTEOUS MAIDEN”
Suddenly, the two beautiful swans flew into the room, accompanied by storks. The swans threw off their feathers and two beautiful women stood in their place. They were almost identical, and they both bent over the pale old man. When Helga bent over her grandfather the colour rushed into his cheeks and his eyes grew brighter. Life came back into his limbs and he stood up, cheerful and healthy as his daughter and granddaughter hugged him.
The house was filled with joy. The wise men wrote down the story of the two princesses, and of the flower of health. Meanwhile, the stork father told the story to his young ones.
“Now they’ll appreciate you, there’s no doubt,” whispered the mother stork.
“But I haven’t done anything,” replied the father stork.
“You’ve done more than anyone else. If it wasn’t for you, the two princesses would never have returned to Egypt and cured the old man. I’m sure they will honour you, and the honour will be passed from you to our young ones, to their young and so on.”
“I can’t tell the story as well as the wise men can,” said the father stork, who had overheard the wise men talking, and was now telling his own family. “They told it so wisely that they were honoured and given presents.”
“And what did they give to you?” asked the mother stork. “Surely they didn’t forget to honour the most important person of all! The wise men did nothing but talk.”
Late that night, when everyone else was asleep, Helga stood on the balcony and looked at the stars. She thought of the Viking woman in the wild moor, of her gentle eyes and the tears she had wept for the hideous frog-child. That same hideous frog-child now lived in Egyptian splendour, under gleaming stars, on the bank of the Nile. She looked at the water and thought of the glory that had shone from the priest’s wound when they had flown across the moor. She remembered the words that had come from the great fountain of love that embraces all of mankind.
Day and night, Helga thought about how happy she was. She knew it was a miracle that had brought her here and given her such bliss. But she thought about her happiness so much that she forgot to think about God. Her happiness made her courageous, and she was unfolding her wings for a great flight. Then she saw two ostriches running around in a circle. She had never seen such clumsy creatures, with such ineffective wings, and in her mind she heard the Egyptian legend of the ostrich.
Once, ostriches were beautiful and glorious birds with strong, large wings. One day, one of the largest birds of the forest said to the ostrich, “Shall we fly to the river to drink, God willing?” And the ostrich answered that they should. At dawn they flew high up towards the sun, which gleamed like the eye of God. They flew higher and higher, the ostrich flying highest of all. Proudly, he flew straight at the light, boasting of his strength and not thinking about God, or saying “God willing”. Suddenly, an avenging angel drew the veil off the flaming sun and the heat scorched the proud ostrich’s feathers so that he fell to the ground. Since then he has not been able to fly, but instead has had to run feebly on the ground. The story is a warning not to forget to say, “God willing”.
Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales: Twenty Tales Illustrated by Harry Clarke Page 14
