THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER


    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