安徒生童话故事第：沼泽王的女儿The Marsh King’s Daug

安徒生童话故事第87篇：沼泽王的女儿The Marsh King’s Daughter

　　引导语：安徒生童话故事《沼泽王的女儿》讲述了赫尔伽由海盗女孩被青年教父所指导，而步入正轨的故事。下面是小编整理的中英文版本，欢迎大家阅读!

　　鹳鸟讲了许多故事给自己的孩子听，都是关于沼泽地和洼地的事情。这些故事一般说来，都适合听众的年龄和理解力。最小的那些鸟儿只须听听“叽叽，喳喳，呱呱”，就感到有趣，而且还会认为这很了不起呢。不过年纪大点的鸟儿则希望听到意义比较深的事情，或者无论如何与它们自己有关的事情。在鹳鸟之中流传下来的两个最老和最长的故事中，有一个是我们大家都知道的——那就是关于摩西的故事。他的母亲把他放在尼罗河上，后来他被国王的女儿发现了，得到了很好的教养，终于成为一个伟大的人物①。他的葬地至今还没有人知道。这个故事是大家都知道的。

　　第二个故事人们还不知道，可能因为它是一个本地故事的缘故，这个故事是几千年来鹳鸟妈妈世代相传下来的。它们一个比一个讲得好。现在我们可以把它讲得更好了。

　　讲这故事和亲身参加这个故事的头一对鹳鸟夫妇，住在一个威金人②木屋子里，把它当作它们夏天的别墅。这是在温德素色尔的荒野沼泽地旁边;如果我们要表示我们学识渊博，那就不妨说，这地方是在叔林③区的大沼泽地附近，在尤兰极北的斯卡根一带。那儿仍然是一片茫茫的沼泽。关于它的记载，我们可以在地方志中看到。据说这儿本来是海底，后来变得高起来了。它向四面扩展了许多英里，它的周围是一片潮湿的草原和泥泞的沼泽地，上面长满了能变成泥炭的青苔、野黄莓和矮小的树。这地方的上空差不多老是有一层烟雾;70年以前，这儿还有豺狼出没。把它叫做荒野的沼地是一点也不错的。人们不难想象，它曾经是多么荒凉，它在一千年以前该有多少沼泽和湖水!

　　是的，那时候可以看到的东西，现在仍然可以看到，一丝也没有改变。那时的芦苇跟现在的一样高，而且长着跟现在一样长的叶子和开着蓝而带棕色的绒毛般的花。跟现在一样，那时的桦木也长出白色的皮和细嫩的松散的叶子。至于住在那儿的生物，唔，苍蝇穿的纱衣服，跟它现在穿的没有两样。那时鹳鸟的上衣的颜色仍然是白中夹着黑点;袜子仍然是红的。但是那时人们所穿的上衣，却跟现在所穿的式样不同;不过，无论谁在这泥泞的沼泽地上走过，不管他是猎人或者随从，他在一千年前遭遇的命运，决不会与现在两样。他会陷下去，一直沉落到大家所谓的沼泽王那儿去。沼泽王统治着地下的那个广大的沼泽帝国。人们也可以把他叫做泥地王，不过，我们觉得最好还是把他叫做沼泽王——鹳鸟也是这样叫他的。人们对于他的统治，知道的并不多;可能这是一件好事情。

　　那个威金人的木房子就在沼泽地的附近，紧贴着林姆海峡、这房子有石建的地下室、尖塔和三层楼。鹳鸟在屋顶上建筑了一个窝;鹳鸟妈妈在这儿孵卵。它很有把握，认为它孵的卵一定会有良好的结果。

　　有一天晚上，鹳鸟爸爸在外面呆了很久。当它回到家里来的时候，它显得很慌张和忙乱。

　　“我有一件非常可怕的事情要告诉你!”它对鹳鸟妈妈说。

　　“让它去吧!”它回答说。“‘请记住，我在孵卵呀。这会搅乱我，蛋会受到影响!”

　　“你应该知道这事情!”它说。“她——我们埃及主人的女儿——已经到这儿来了!她冒险旅行到这儿来——现在她却不见了!”

　　“她，她是仙女的后代呀!快点告诉我吧!你知道，我在孵卵，我可受不了你这么吞吞吐吐呀!”

　　“你知道，妈妈，她一定相信了医生的话——这是你告诉我的。她相信这儿沼泽地里的花可以把她父亲的病治好。她穿着天鹅的羽衣，跟另外两个天鹅公主一起飞来了。这两个公主每年飞到北方来，洗一次澡，恢复她们的青春!她到这儿来了。现在她却不见了!”

　　“你有些太罗唆!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“这些蛋可能伤风呀。你把我弄得紧张起来，我可受不了!”

　　“我已经观察过了!”鹳鸟爸爸说。“今晚我到芦苇丛里去过一次——那儿的泥巴可以承受住我。那时飞来了三只天鹅。它们飞行的样子似乎告诉我说：‘不对!这不太像天鹅;这只是天鹅的羽衣!’妈妈，你像我一样，一看就知道;你知道什么东西是真的。”

　　“我当然知道!”它说。“不过快点把那个公主的事情告诉我吧!什么天鹅的羽衣，我已经听厌了!”

　　“你知道，沼泽中央很像一个湖，”鹳鸟爸爸说。“如果你稍微立起一点，就可以看到一部分。在那儿芦苇和绿泥巴的近旁，躺着一根接骨木树的残株。有三只天鹅坐在那上面;它们拍着翅膀，向四周观察。其中有一只脱下羽衣;我马上认出她就是我们埃及主人的公主!她坐在那儿，除了她的黑发以外，身上什么衣服也没有穿。我听到她请另外两位好好看着她的天鹅羽衣;然后她就跳到水里去采她幻想中看见在那里开着的花朵。那两位点点头，飞到空中，把那脱下的羽衣衔起来。她们把它拿去干什么呢?我想。我想她可能也要问同样的问题。她马上得到了回答，而且很干脆：那两位拿着她的天鹅羽衣飞走了!‘你沉下去吧!’她们喊着说;‘你将永远也不能再穿着天鹅的羽衣飞，你将永远也不能再看到埃及了!请你在沼泽地里住下吧!’于是她们就把天鹅羽衣撕成100块碎片，弄得羽毛像暴风雪似地在四处乱飞。于是这两位不守信义的公主就飞走了!”

　　“那真可怕!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“我听到真难过!不过请赶快把结果告诉我吧。”

　　“公主伤心地哭着，真是可怜!她的眼泪滴到那根接骨木材的残株上。这根残株就动起来，因为它就是沼泽王本人——他就住在这块沼泽地里!我亲眼看见残株怎样一转身就不再是残株了。粘满了泥土的长枝桠伸出来了，像手臂一样。于是这个可怜的孩子就非常害怕起来，她想从这块泥泞地里逃走。但是这块地方连我都承受不住，当然更谈不到她了，她马上就陷下去，接骨木树的残株也沉下去了。事实上，是他把她拉下去了。黑色的大泡沫冒出来了;他们没有留下一点痕迹。公主现在是埋到荒凉的沼泽地里去了，她永远也不能再带一朵花儿回到埃及去了。妈妈，你一定不忍心看到这情景的!”

　　“在这样一个时候，你不该讲这类事儿给我听!这些蛋可能受到影响呀!那个公主会自己想办法的!一定会有人来帮助她!如果这事情发生在你或我的身上，或者在我们家族的任何人身上，我们就统统都完了!”

　　“但是我要每天去看看会发生什么事!”鹳鸟爸爸说。它说得到就做得到。

　　很长的一段时间过去了。

　　有一天，它看到一根绿梗子从深深的沼泽地里长出来了。当它达到水面的时候，便冒出一片叶子来。叶子越长越宽;旁边又冒出一个花苞来了。有一天早晨，当鹳鸟在梗子上飞过的时候，花苞在强烈的太阳光中开出一朵花来;花心里面躺着一个漂亮的孩子——一个好像刚刚洗完澡的小女孩。她很像埃及的那位公主——鹳鸟一看见就认为她是那位公主，不过缩小了一些罢了。可是仔细想一下，它又觉得她很可能是公主跟沼泽王生的孩子，因此她才躺在睡莲的花心里。

　　“她决不能老躺在那儿!”鹳鸟爸爸想。“不过我窝里的孩子已经不少了!我有了一个办法!那个威金人的妻子还没有孩子，她早就盼望有一个小家伙!人们说小孩子是我送来的;这一次我倒真的要送一个去了!我要带着这孩子飞到威金人的妻子那儿去：那将是一件喜事!”

　　于是鹳鸟把这女孩抱起来，飞到那个木房子里去。它用嘴在那个镶着膀胱皮的窗子上啄开一个洞，然后把孩子放在威金人的妻子的怀里。接着它就马上飞到鹳鸟妈妈这边来，把它所看到和做过的事情讲给它听。小鹳鸟们静静地听这个故事，因为现在它们已经长得够大，可以听了。

　　“你看，公主并没有死呀!她已经送一个小家伙到地面上来了，而且这小家伙现在还有人养!”

　　“我一开头就说过，结果就会是这样!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“现在请你想想你自己的孩子吧。我们旅行的时候快到了;我已经感到我的翅膀开始发痒了，杜鹃和夜莺已经动身;我听到鹌鹑说，一有顺风，他们就走。我觉得，我们的孩子们一定得好好操练一下才对!”

　　嗨，威金人的妻子第二天早晨醒来，看见怀里有一个漂亮的孩子，她是多么高兴呀，她吻她，摸她，但是孩子却哭得厉害，用手臂和腿乱踢乱打，看样子一点也不感到快乐。最后她哭得睡去了。当她睡着的时候，那副模样儿才可爱呢。威金人的妻子真是高兴极了，她感到非常愉快，非常舒服。于是她就幻想，她的丈夫和他的部下一定也会像这个小家伙一样，某一天意外地回到家里来。

　　因此她就和全家的人忙着准备一切东西。她和她的女仆人所织的彩色长挂毯——上面有他们的异教神祗奥丁、多尔和佛列亚④的像——也挂起来了;奴隶们把那些作为装饰品的旧盾牌也擦亮了;凳子上放好了垫子：堂屋中间的火炉旁边放好了干柴，以便火随时就可以点起来。威金人的妻子亲自安排这些事情，因此到天黑的时候她就很困了。这天晚上她睡得很好。

　　她在天明前醒来的时候，真是惊恐极了，因为孩子已经不见了!她跳下床来，点起一根松枝，四处寻找。她发现在她的床脚头有一只很丑的大青蛙，而没有那个孩子。她一看到这东西就起恶心。于是她拿起一根粗棍子，想要把这两栖动物打死。不过它用一种非常奇怪和悲哀的眼光望着她，结果她不忍下手。她又向屋子的四周望了一眼——青蛙发出一个低沉、哀哭的声音。这使她打了一个寒颤。于是她从床边一脚跳到窗子边，立刻把窗子打开。这时太阳经出来了;阳光从窗子射到床上这只大青蛙的身上。忽然间，青蛙的大嘴仿佛在收缩，变得又小又红;它的四肢在动，在伸、变成一个非常可爱的生物。床上又是她自己可爱的孩子，而不再是一只奇丑的青蛙了。

　　“这是怎么回事情?”她说。“难道我做了一个噩梦不成?这不就是我的美丽的天使吗?”

　　于是她吻她;把她紧紧地贴在自己的心上。不过这孩子像一只小野猫似地挣扎着，咬着。

　　威金人在这天和第二天的早晨都没有回来，虽然他现在正是在回家的路上。风在朝相反的方向吹，朝有利于鹳鸟旅行的南方吹，一人的顺风就是他人的逆风。

　　又过了两天两夜，威金人的妻子才弄明白她的孩子是怎么一回事：原来她身上附着一种可怕的魔力。在白天她美丽得像一个光明之女神，但是她却有一个粗矿和野蛮的性格。可是在晚上她就变成了一只丑恶的青蛙，非常安静，只是叹气，睁着一对忧郁的眼睛。她身上有两重不同的性格在轮流地变幻着。鹳鸟送来的这个小姑娘的外表在白天像母亲，但是性情却像父亲。在晚间，恰恰相反，她父亲的遗传在她身体的外部表现出来，而她母亲的性格和感情则主宰着她的内心，谁能把她从这种魔力中解放出来呢?

　　威金人的妻子为这件事感到焦虑和悲哀。她为这个小小的生物担心。她觉得，在丈夫回来的时候，她不能把孩子的情况告诉他，因为他可能依照当时的习惯，把孩子放在公共的大路上，让随便什么人抱走。这个善良的威金女人不忍心这样做，因此她就决定只让威金人白天看到这个孩子。

　　有一天早晨，屋顶上响着鹳鸟拍翅的声音。头天晚上有100多对这类的鸟儿在操练.后来又在这儿休息;现在它们起身飞到南方去。

　　“所有的男子，准备!”它们喊着。“妻子和孩子们也要准备!”

　　“我真觉得轻快!”年轻的鹳鸟们说。“我的腿里发痒，好像肚皮里装满了活青蛙似的。啊，飞到外国去多么痛快啊!”

　　“你们必须成群结队地飞行!”爸爸和妈妈说。“话不要讲得太多，那会伤精神的!”

　　于是这些鹳鸟飞走了。。

　　在这同时，号角声在荒地上响起来了，因为威金人和他的部下已经登岸了。他们满载着战利品，正向家里走来，这些战利品是从高卢人的领海上劫掠来的。那儿的人，像住在不列颠的人一样，在恐怖中唱：

　　上帝啊，请把我们从野蛮的诺曼人⑤手中救出来!

　　啊，在沼泽地上威金人的堡寨中，生活是多么活跃，多么愉快啊!大桶的蜜酒搬到堂屋里来了，火烧起来了，马被斩了，这儿要热闹起来了。祭司把马的热血洒在奴隶们身上作为祭礼;火在熊熊地烧着，烟在屋顶下翻腾，烟灰从梁上落下来，不过这种情形他们早已经习惯了。许多客人到来了，他们得到许多贵重的礼物，他们之间的仇恨和恶意现在都忘掉了。他们痛快地喝酒，彼此把啃过的骨头向对方脸上抛——这表示他们的高兴。他们的歌手——他是一个乐师，也是一个武士——为他们唱了一首歌;因为他曾经和他们在一起，所以他们知道他唱的是什么。在这首歌里面，他们听到他们的战斗事迹和功勋。每一段歌的结尾都是同样的叠句：

　　财富、敌友和生命都不能持久，

　　只有光荣的名字会永垂不朽。

　　他们击着盾牌，或用刀子和骨头敲着桌子。

　　威金人的妻子坐在宽广的大厅里的十字凳上。她穿着绸衣服，戴着金臂环和大颗的琥珀珠：这是她最华贵的打扮。那个歌手在他的歌中也提到了她，并且还唱出她带给她富有的丈夫的那些贵重的嫁妆。她的丈夫在白天的光中看到了这个可爱的孩子的美貌，感到万分地高兴。这个小生物的狂野动作特别讨他的欢心。他说，这个女孩子长大的时候，可能成为一个堂堂的女英雄，敢于和巨人作战，当一只熟练的手开玩笑地用快刀削掉她的眉毛的时候，她连眼睛都不眨一下。

　　蜜酒桶已经空了，新的一桶又运进来了，因为这群人一喝就要喝个痛快，而且他们能喝。那时有这样一句谚语：“家畜知道在什么时候应该离开牧场，但是一个傻气的人却不知道他的胃能装多少。”是的，他们知道，不过知和行却是两回事!他们也知道：“一个受欢迎的客人在人家坐久了，也会引起人家讨厌的!”不过，他们仍然坐着不动，因为肉和蜜酒毕竟是好吃的东西!时间过得非常愉快!夜间，奴隶们睡在温暖的灰里，舔着在油脂里浸过的手指。这是一个快乐的时代!

　　这一年，威金人又出征了，虽然晚秋的风暴已经开始在咆哮。他和他的武士们登上不列颠的海岸，照他的说法，这不过“只是过一次海”而已。他的妻子和那个女孩子留在家里。有一件事是可以肯定的：这位养母不久就会喜爱这只有温柔的眼睛和发出叹息的青蛙，胜过喜爱在她身边打着、闹着的那个漂亮女孩子。

　　秋天潮湿的浓雾——能够把树叶咬掉的“无嘴兽”——已经笼罩在灌木林和荒地上了。人们所谓的“没有羽毛的鸟儿”——雪花——在纷乱地飞舞。冬天很快地到来了。麻雀占据了鹳鸟的窝;它们根据自己的看法，谈论着那些离去了的主人。不过这对鹳鸟夫妇和它们的孩子现在在什么地方呢?

　　鹳鸟现在在埃及。那里太阳照得很暖和，正如这儿的晴朗的夏天一样。附近一带的罗望子树和阿拉伯胶木已经开满了花。穆罕默德的新月在清真寺的回屋顶上闪耀着;在那细长的尖塔上坐着许多对鹳鸟夫妇——它们做了一番长途旅行，现在正在休息。整群的鸟儿，在庄严的圆柱上，在倒坍的清真寺的拱门上，在被遗忘了的纪念碑上，筑了窝，这些窝一个接着一个地联在一起。枣树展开它的青枝绿叶，像一把阳伞。灰白色的金字塔，在遥远的沙漠上的晴空中耸立着，像大块的阴影。在这儿，鸵鸟知道怎样运用它们的长腿，狮子睁着巨大而灵敏的眼睛，注视着半埋在沙里的斯芬克斯大理石像，尼罗河的水位降低了;河床上全是青蛙——这景象，对鹳鸟的族人说来，是这国家里最值得看的东西。年轻的鹳鸟们以为这不过是视觉的幻影，因为这一切是太可爱了。

　　“这儿的情形就是如此。在我们温暖的国度里，它永远是这样的!”鹳鸟妈妈说。小家伙们的肚皮马上就觉得痒起来。

　　“还有什么别的东西可以看吗?”它们问。“我们是不是还要飞向遥远的内地去呢?”

　　“再也没有什么别的东西可看了，”鹳鸟妈妈说。“这丰饶的地带里现在只有莽莽的森林。那里面的树木紧密地交织着，并且被多刺的爬藤连接在一起—一只有大象才能用粗笨的脚打开一条路。蛇对我们说来是太大了，而蜥蜴又太快了。假如你们要到沙漠里去，有一点儿风吹来，你们的眼睛便会塞满了沙子;可是风猛刮起来的时候，你们可能被卷到沙柱⑥中去的。唉，最好还是待在这儿吧!这儿有的是青蛙和蝗虫!我要在这儿住下来;你们也将要在这儿住下来!”

　　于是它们就住下来了。爸爸妈妈坐在一个尖塔顶上的窝里;休息了一会儿以后，它们就忙着理羽毛，在红色的腿上磨嘴。

　　它们不时伸出颈项来，庄严地致敬礼，然后又把头举起来，露出高额角，展示美丽而柔滑的羽毛，射出聪明的光亮的棕色眼睛。年轻的女鹳鸟们在丰茂的芦苇中高视阔步地走着，顽皮地瞧着别的年轻鹳鸟，交了一些朋友，每走三步就吞一只青蛙，或者用嘴衔着一条小蛇前后摆动——它们认为这东西对于它们的身体有益，而且味道很美。

　　年轻的男鹳鸟们开始吵闹起来，用翅膀互相打着，用嘴互相啄着，有时甚至啄得流出血来。年轻的男鹳鸟和女鹳鸟就这么订了婚。有时另一对也订了婚。这就是它们生活的目的。于是它们就建筑一个新的窝，又开始新的吵闹，因为在热带的国度里，人们的脾气总是急躁的。不过这也很有趣，特别引起老年人的高兴，因为自己的孩子所做的事情总是可爱的!这里每天都有太阳光，每天都有许多东西吃。它们除了娱乐以外，什么也不想。但是在它们埃及主人——它们这样称呼他——的宫殿里，愉快的事情可就没有了。

　　那位富有的、威严的主人躺在床榻上;在这四壁五光十色的大厅里，他像一具木乃伊似的，僵直地伸展着四肢;看样子，他像是躺在一朵郁金香里面一样。他的家人和奴仆都站在他的周围，因为他并没有死，虽然人们不能肯定地说他是活着的。那朵产自北国沼泽地的，能治病的花儿，原是要由一个最爱他的女儿去采来送回家的;但是她永远没有送回来。他美丽的年轻女儿，穿着天鹅的羽衣，越过大海和陆地飞到那遥远的北方去，以后永远也没有再回来。“她已经死了!”回来的那两位天鹅姑娘报告说。她们编了一套完整的故事，内容是这样的：

　　“我们三个人一起在空中高高地飞，一个猎人看到了我们，向我们射出话来。那箭射中了我们年轻的伙伴和朋友。她一边唱着告别之歌，一边就慢慢地落下来了。她作为一只要死的天鹅，落到树林中的湖里去了。我们把地埋葬在湖岸旁的一株芬芳的、低垂的赤杨树下。但是我们报了仇。燕子在那猎人的草屋顶下筑了一个窝;我们就在这燕子的翅膀下绑上了一把火。房子烧起来了;那个猎人就在房子里烧死了。火光照到湖上，一直照到那株低垂的赤杨——她在赤杨树根旁的泥土底下安息。她永远也不能再回到埃及来了!”

　　这两个人于是就哭起来。当鹳鸟爸爸听到这个故事的时候，它的嘴就响起来，弄得很远都可以听得见。

　　“全是捏造的谎话!”它说。“我真想把我的嘴啄进她们的胸口里去!”

　　“可能会把你的嘴啄断了!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“那时你的一副尊容才好看呢!你先想想自己和家庭吧!别的事情你都不用管!”

　　“不过明天早晨我要到那个圆屋顶上坐下来。学者和聪明人将要在那里集会，研究病人的情况：可能他们的结论比较更能接近真理。”

　　学者和聪明人都来了，讲了许多话，许多高深的话;鹳鸟完全摸不着头脑。而且这些话对于病人和在那个荒凉沼泽地的女儿也没有什么好处。不过我们听听也没有什么关系，因为在这个世界上我们得听许多话。

　　不过把过去发生的事情再听一次，了解清楚，也是完全应该的。这样，我们就可以把整个事儿了解得更多一些，最低限度至少了解得和鹳鸟爸爸一样多。

　　“爱产生生命!最高贵的爱情产生最美好的生命!只有通过爱才能把他的生命保住。”人们这样说。那些学者说，这些话讲得非常聪明，很有道理。

　　“这是一种非常好的想法!”鹳鸟爸爸立刻说。

　　“这话的意思我不太了解!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“而且这不能怪我，只能怪那个想法，不过让它去吧，我有别的问题要考虑!”

　　那些学者讨论着这种爱，那种爱，爱与爱之间的分别，邻里之间的爱，父母和儿女之间的爱，植物和阳光之间的爱，太阳光怎样吻着沼泽地，怎样使嫩芽冒出来——这一切被阐释得那么复杂和深奥，弄得鹳鸟爸爸完全没有办法听懂，当然更谈不上传达出来了。学问把它压得透不过气来。它半闭着眼睛;第二天它若有所思地用一只腿立了一整天。这么多的学问，它真是负担不了。

　　不过鹳鸟爸爸懂得一件事情：它听到富贵贫贱的人都讲出心里的话。他们说，这个病人躺下来，不能恢复健康;这对于成千成万的人——对于整个国家——说来，是一桩极大的不幸。他们说，如果他能复元的话，那么大家都会感到快乐和幸福。“不过能使他恢复健康的那朵花儿，是生长在什么地方呢?”大家都探讨过这个问题，查阅过高深的书籍，跟闪耀的星星，跟天气和风探讨过。他们探讨过他们所能想到的种种法门。最后;学者和聪明人，正如我们已经说过的，都说：“爱产生生命——父亲的生命”在这种场合之下，他们所说出的东西比他们所能理解的多。他们反复地说，并且开出药方：“爱产生生命。”不过他们怎样照这个药方来准备这服药呢?这时他们遇到了一个难题。

　　最后他们取得了一致的意见：只有全心全意爱她父亲的那个公主能够解决这个问题。他们后来想出了一个解决问题的办法。是的，在这件事发生以前，许多年已经过去了：一天夜里，当新月正要落下去的时候，公主向沙漠里的大理石斯芬克斯像走去;她把石像基石入口前面的沙拨开，走过一条通向一个大金字塔的长廊。古代一个伟大的皇帝，躺在装满金银财宝的木乃伊匣子里，就葬在这个金字塔里。在这里面，她把头贴着死者，为的是要听出在什么地方可以找到恢复父亲的生命和健康的法宝。

　　这些事做完了以后，她做了一个梦：她必须到丹麦一块很深的沼泽地去取回一朵莲花，地点已经详细地指点给她了。她可以用她的胸脯在深水里触到这朵莲花——它可以使她的父亲恢复健康。

　　由于这个缘故，她才穿着天鹅的羽衣，飞出埃及，来到这荒野的沼泽地里来。这全部经过，鹳鸟爸爸和鹳鸟妈妈都知道得清清楚楚。现在我们也比以前知道得更详细了。我们的沼泽王把她拖下去了;我们还知道，对于她家里的人说来，她算是永远死掉了。他们中只有最聪明的人才像鹳鸟妈妈那样说：“她会自己想办法!”因此他们只有等待，因为他们再也没有更好的办法。

　　“我倒想把那两个恶毒公主的天鹅羽衣偷走呢!”鹳鸟爸爸说，“好叫她们不能再飞到沼泽地去捣鬼。我将把那两件天鹅羽衣藏起来，等到要用的时候再拿出来!”

　　“不过你打算把它们藏在什么地方呢?”鹳鸟妈妈问。

　　“藏在我们沼泽地的窝里!”他说。“我和我们年幼的孩子们可以一道把它们运走。如果这样还有困难，我们可以在路上找到适当的地方把它们藏起来，直到我们下次旅行的时候再搬运。当然，那个公主只须有一件天鹅羽衣就够了，但是有两件也并不坏。在北国，人们总是不会嫌衣服多的。”

　　“谁也不会感谢你的!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“不过你是家长。与孵卵无关的事情，我都没有意见!”

　　那个威金人的堡寨是在荒野沼泽地的近旁。在春天的时候，鹳鸟就向那儿飞去。人们替那个小女孩子起了一个名字，叫做赫尔珈。不过这个名字对于有这种脾气和这种美貌的女子说来，是太柔和了。她的这种脾气每过一个月就显得更加突出。在几年之内——在这期间，鹳鸟们往返做过好几次同样的旅行：秋天飞向尼罗河，春天飞回沼泽的湖地里来——这个小小的孩子就长成为一个大姑娘了。她在人们不知不觉之中变成了一个16岁的美女。虽然她的外表可爱，她的内心却是非常残暴，比那个艰苦、阴暗时代中的大多数人还要残暴。

　　她喜欢把那为祭奠而杀死的马的冒着热气的血，洒在她雪白的手上。在狂野中，她把祭司献给神的一只黑公鸡的颈项用牙齿咬断。她一本正经地对她的养父说：

　　“你在睡着的时候，如果敌人到来，把绳子套在你的屋梁上、把你的屋子拉倒，我也不会喊醒你的，哪怕我有这个气力也不会!我听不见，因为你多少年以前，打在我耳朵上的巴掌，现在还在我的耳边响!你知道，我永远也忘记不了这件事!”

　　可是威金人不相信这话，因为他也像别的人一样，被她的美迷住了。此外，他不知道脾气和外貌是怎样在小赫尔珈身上变幻着。

　　她骑马可以不用马鞍，好像她是生在马身上似的。马飞快地奔驰，她也不会掉下来，哪怕这匹马跟别的马在互相嘶叫、斗咬，她也不在乎。当威金人的船要靠岸的时候，她常常穿着衣服从悬崖上跳到海峡的波涛里，游过去迎接他。她把她美丽的长头发剪下来，搓成弦装在她的弓上。

　　“自己做的东西总是最好的!”她说。

　　照那个时代的标准，威金人的妻子是一个有坚强性格和意志的人。不过比起她的女儿来，她要算是一个软弱和胆小的女人了。此外，她也知道，这个不幸的孩子身上附有一种魔力。

　　当她的母亲站在走廊里或走进院子里来的时候，赫尔珈总是要故意恶作剧一番。她坐在井边，摆动着手臂和腿。接着就一纵身跳到那个又窄又深的井里去。这时她青蛙的特性便使她下沉、上升，直到她最后像一头猫似的又爬出来。她全身滴着水，走进大厅;落在地上的许多绿叶，在水滴里旋转。

　　不过有一条线可以牵制住小赫尔珈，那就是黄昏的幽暗。在黄昏中，她就变得很安静，很深沉;同时她也很容易接受使唤和指挥。这时某种内在的情感似乎把她吸向她的母亲。太阳一下山，她的外表和内心就起着变化;于是她就安静地、悲哀地坐着，收缩成为一只青蛙。的确，她的身体要比青蛙大得多，但她也就因此更难看。她的外表像一个长着青蛙头和蹼的可怜的矮子。她的眼睛里露出一种非常阴郁的表情。她不能讲话，只能像一个在梦中哭泣的孩子，发出一种空洞的呱呱声。这时威金人的妻子就把她抱到膝上。她忘记了这种奇丑的外形，只是朝女儿那对悲哀的眼睛直望。她不只一次说过这样的话：

　　“我倒希望你永远是我可怜的青蛙哑巴孩子呢!你一变得美丽的时候，你的样子就显得更可怕。”

　　于是她写出一些驱魔祛病的神秘文字，把它放在这可怜的孩子的身上，但是这并没有产生出什么好的效果。

　　“谁也不会相信，她曾经是那么小，小得可以躺在一朵睡莲的花瓣里!”鹳鸟爸爸说。“现在她长成为一个女人，跟她的埃及母亲完全一模一样。我们再也没有看到这个母亲!正如你和那最有学问的人的看法一样，她完全不知道怎样照料自己。我们年年在荒野的沼泽上空飞来飞去，但是从来没有任何迹象表现出她仍然活在人间!是的，我现在可以告诉你，每年我比你先几天到这儿来，修理窝和办理许多其他事情。那时我就花一整夜工夫，像一只猫头鹰或蝙蝠似的，在这湖上，在这广阔的水上，飞来飞去，但是从来没有得到一点结果。我和那几个小家伙从尼罗河的国家运来那两件羽衣，也就因此一直没有机会使用。我们费了很大的劲，在三次旅行中把它们带到这儿来。现在它们垫在窝底上已经有好多年了。如果闹起火灾，把这座水房子烧掉了，那么羽衣也就完事了!”

　　“那么我们舒服的窝也就完事了!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“不过在这一点上，你动的脑筋似乎没有比在什么羽毛衣、什么沼泽公主身上动得多!你最好还是钻到泥巴里去，和她待在一起吧!自从我孵第一窝孩子的时候起，我就说过，对于你的孩子，你是一个最糟糕的父亲。我只希望那个野蛮的女孩子不会在我们和我们孩子的翅膀上射一箭。她干起事情来是不考虑后果的。我希望她能想想：我们在这儿比她住得久!我们从来没有忘记我们的义务：我们每年付出我们应该付的税钱——一根羽毛、一个蛋、一只小雏。当她在外面荡来荡去的时候，你以为我像往时一样，愿意走下来么?你以为我可以像在埃及那样，成为那儿人们的一个玩伴，同时也不忘记我自己，偶尔朝罐子里和壶里东张西望一下吗?不，我坐在这儿满肚子都是生她的气——她这个丫头!我对你也生气啦!你应该让她躺在睡莲里才好，让她死掉才好!”

　　“你的心比你的嘴要慈善得多，”鹳鸟爸爸说。“我了解你，比你了解你自己要透彻得多!”

　　说完这话以后，它就跳了一下，重重地拍了两下翅膀，把腿向后一伸，便飞走了——也可以说连翅膀都没有动一下就滑走了。当它飞到相当远的时候，就使劲地拍一下!太阳照在它白色的羽毛上;它把脖子和头向前伸着!这表示它的速度和敏捷。

　　“它毕竟是一切鹳鸟中最漂亮的一只!”鹳鸟妈妈说，“但是这话我不愿意当它的面讲!”

　　在这年秋天，威金人很早就带着许多战利品和俘虏回家来了。在俘虏之中有一个年轻的信仰基督的神甫;他是一个反对北欧异教神的人。

　　在那个时候，人们常常在客厅和闺房里谈论着这个新的宗教。这个宗教正在所有的南方国家传播，而且通过圣·安斯加里乌斯⑦已经传播到斯里恩⑧的赫得埠去了。

　　连小赫尔珈也听到了人们对这个白基督⑨的信仰。这个人为了爱人类，不惜牺牲自己的生命，来解救他们。不过对于她说来，正如俗话所说的，她只是一只耳朵进，一只耳朵出。看样子只有当她变成一只可怜的青蛙，待在一个紧闭的房间里的时候，才会懂得“爱”这个字的意义。不过威金人的妻子听到过，而且还特别被那些在南方流传着的、关于这个唯一真正上帝的儿子的故事和传说感动过。

　　远征回来的人也谈起那些用昂贵的石头为他所砌的许多壮丽的教堂——他这个传播“爱”的人。他们带回了两个雕刻得很精致的、沉重的金容器，每只都发出特别的香气，因为那都是香炉——基督的神甫在祭坛面前摇晃的香炉，在这祭坛面前流着的不是血而是酒;圣餐就是他的血——他为世世代代的后人所流的血。

　　这个基督的年轻的神甫被囚禁在威金人家里的阴森的石窖里;他的脚和手都被皮条绑着。威金人的妻子说，他非常好看，“简直像巴尔都⑩!”他的不幸感动了她的心。不过年轻的赫尔珈说，他的脚应该用绳子捆住，然后再把他系在野牛的尾巴上。

　　“那么我就把狗放出来——好呀!让它们在沼泽地和水潭上飞跑，向那荒地跑去!那才有趣呢!不过更有趣的是跟在这个人后面跑。”

　　但野蛮的威金人不愿意让他这样死去。他建议第二天把这神甫放在树林里的处死石上。把他作为众神的蔑视者和敌人，拿来活活地祭神。这将是第一次把一个活人献给神。

　　年轻的赫尔珈要求亲自把这牺牲者的血拿来洒在神像上和集会的人的身上。她磨快她那把明晃晃的刀子。当一只大恶狗——这样的狗，威金人家里有的是——在她身边跑过去的时候，她就把刀口捅进它的身体里去，“为了要试试这把刀子快不快!”她说。威金人的妻子悲哀地望着这个狂野和恶毒的女孩子。当黑夜到来，这个姑娘把美丽的形态换成了温柔的心灵的时候，她就用温暖的话语告诉赫尔珈说，在她心的深处她是感到多么悲哀。

　　这只外形古怪的丑青蛙，现在站在她的面前。她的棕色的、阴郁的眼睛盯着她的面孔，静听着她讲话，仿佛她也有人的智力，能够理解这些话似的。

　　“我从来没有讲过半个字，把我因为你而感到的痛苦告诉我的丈夫!”威金人的妻子说。“我心中对于你的怜悯比我自己能够体会得到的要多得多。一个母亲的爱是无边际的!但是你的心里却是一点爱的痕迹也没有——你的心简直像一块寒冷的沼泽地!你从什么地方来到我家里的呢?”

　　于是这个可怜的怪物就奇怪地哆嗦起来，好像这句话触动了联系身体和灵魂的那根看不见的弦似的。大颗的泪珠在她的眼里亮着。

　　“你的艰苦的日子不久就会到来的!”威金人的妻子说。“对我说来，那也是一件可怕的事情!如果把你作为一个孩子放在大路上，让夜风把你吹得睡去，那也许对于你是有好处的。”

　　威金人的妻子哭得流出悲痛的眼泪，怀着忿怒和苦痛的心情走开了。她走到那张挂在大梁上、把堂屋隔开的毛毯后面就不见了。

　　这只缩作一团的青蛙单独蹲在一个角落里。周围是一片深沉的静寂;不过一种半抑制住的叹息声不时从她的胸中发出来。一种新的生命仿佛在痛苦中、在她心的深处萌芽了。她向前爬了一步，静听着。于是她又向前爬，用她笨拙的手握着那横搁在门上的沉重的门闩。她静静地把门闩拉开，静静地把插销抽掉。她把前房里那盏闪动着的灯拿起来。一种坚强的意志似乎使她鼓起了勇气。她把地窖门上的铁插销取出来，然后轻轻地爬进囚室里去。他睡着了。她用冰冷和粘湿的手摸了他一下。他一睁开眼睛，看见这只奇丑可憎的动物的时候，就打了一个寒颤，好像看见了一个邪恶的幻象似的。她把刀子抽出来，割断他的绳子.同时对他示意，叫他跟着她走。

　　他口中念出一些神圣的名字，同时划了十字。这动物丝毫没有改变它的形状，于是他念出《圣经》上的话来：

　　“一个人能为穷困的人着想是有福的;在他困难的时候上帝就会救助他!⑾你是谁?你从什么地方得到这样一个动物的形体的?但你却是那么温柔慈善!”

　　这个蛙形女子示意，叫他跟着她走。她领着他在掩蔽着他的帷帘后面，在一个静寂无人的走廊上走，一直走到马厩里去。她指着一匹马给他看。他跳上马，她也坐在他的面前，紧紧地抓住马鬃。这囚徒懂得她的意思。他们赶着马急速地奔上一条路——这条路他自己是决不会找得到的。他们向一块广阔的荒地上驰去。

　　他忘记了她丑恶的形体。他通过这个怪物的形象，感觉到上帝的仁慈和恩典。他虔诚地祈祷，虔诚地唱着赞美歌。这时她就发起抖来。难道是赞美歌和祈祷在她身上发生了作用，或者是那快要到来的寒冷的黎明，使她发抖吗?她现在起了一种什么情感呢?她高高地站起来，想勒住马，跳到地上。可是这位信仰基督的神甫用所有的气力把她抱住，同时高声地唱了一首圣诗，好像这就可以解除使她变成可憎的青蛙的那种魔力似的。马更狂野地奔驰起来。天边在发红，初升的太阳从云块里射出光彩。阳光一出现，青蛙也就变形了。赫尔珈又成了一个充满邪恶精神的美女。他怀里抱着这样一个绝美的姑娘，心中不禁感到非常惊骇。他跳下马，把它勒住。他相信他现在又遇见了一种新的破坏性的魔力。不过年轻的赫尔珈也同时跳下马来，站在地上。她身上的短短童装只达到她的膝头。她抽出腰间的快刀，跑到这位惊愕的神甫面前来。

　　“等着我吧!”她大声说。“等着我吧，等着刀子捅进你身体里去吧!你简直白得像草一样!你这个奴隶!你这个没有胡须的家伙!”

　　她逼近他。他们你死我活地斗争着，不过上天似乎给了这个信仰基督的人一种看不见的力量。他牢牢地抱着她。他们旁边的那株老栎树也来帮他的忙，因为它半露在地面上的根似乎要抱住这女孩子的脚——事实上已经把她缠住了。在他们附近有一股泉水在流动着。他把这新鲜的水洒到赫尔珈的脸上和颈上，命令那不洁的废气散开，同时依照基督的教规祝福她。可是这作为洗礼的水对于她不发生作用，因为信心的源泉还没有从她内心里流出来。

　　但是，即使在这种情况下，他也表示出他的力量——他的行动产生一种超乎常人的力量，足以对付这种凶猛的魔气。他的行动似乎降服了她：她垂下手，用惊奇的眼光和惨白的面孔望着他。在她看来，他似乎是一个知道一切秘密法术的、有威力的魔法师。他似乎在念那神秘的尤尼文⑿，在空中划着魔术的符号!如果他在她面前挥着明晃晃的尖刀或利斧，她也决不会眨眼睛的。不过当他在她的眉间和胸口上划着十字的时候，她就发起抖来，于是她就坐下来，垂着头，像一只驯服的鸟儿一样。

　　他温柔地对她讲起她头天晚上为他所作的善行。那时她以一个面貌可憎的青蛙的形态向他走来，割断他的羁绊，把他引向生命和光明的道路。他对她说，她被缚得比他还牢，但她也会和他一起走向生命和光明。他要把她带到赫得埠去，带到神圣的安斯加里乌斯那儿去。在这个城市里，他可以解除她身上的魔力。不过当他骑上马、领着她走的时候，他不敢让她坐在他前面，虽然她有这个意思。

　　“你应该坐在后面，不能坐在我的前面!”他说。“你的妖魁的美是从魔力中产生出来的——我害怕它。但是信心会使我得到胜利!”

　　于是他就跪下来，热忱地祈祷着。

　　这时静寂的山林仿佛变成了一个神圣的教堂。鸟儿开始唱着歌。好像它们也是新信徒中的一员。野薄荷发出香气，好像就是龙涎香和供香。他高声地念着福音：

　　“上天的光明现在降到我们身上，照着那些坐在黑暗中和死神的阴影里的人们，使他们走上安息的大道!”

　　于是他谈起永恒的生命。当他正在讲的时候，驮着他们没命地奔驰的那匹马也在一些高大的黑莓子下面停了下来，好使得那些成熟多汁的莓子落到小赫尔珈的手中，自动献给她作为食品。

　　她耐心地让神甫把她抱到马上。她像一个梦游病者似地坐着，既没有完全睡，也没有完全醒来。这位信仰上帝的男子用树皮把两根枝子绑成一个十字架。他高高地把它举起来，在森林中骑着马向前走。他们越向前走，就发现树木越浓密，简直连路径都找不到了。

　　路上长满了野李树，因此他们不得不绕着走。泉水没有形成溪流，而是积成一潭死水。他们也得绕行过去。森林的凉风给人带来了力量，令人神清气爽。温柔的话语也产生出同样的力量——这些话语是凭信心、凭基督的爱、凭一种要把这迷途的孩子引到光明和生活的路上去的那种内心的渴望而讲出来的。

　　人们说，雨点可以滴穿坚硬的石头，海浪可以把石崖的尖角磨圆。滴到赫尔珈身上的慈悲的露水，也可以打穿她的坚硬，磨圆她的尖角。但是人们却看不出效果;她自己也看不出来。不过埋在地里的种子，一接触到新鲜的露水和温暖的太阳光，知道不知道它身体里面已经有了生长和开花的力量呢?

　　同样，母亲的歌声不知不觉地印在孩子的心里，于是孩子就喃喃地学着这些声音，虽然孩子不懂得其中的意义。这些声音后来慢慢代表一种思想，它的意义也就愈变愈清楚了。上帝的话语，也跟这一样，能发挥出创造的力量。

　　他们骑着马走出森林，走过荒地，然后又走进没有路的森林。在黄昏的时候，他们碰到了一群强盗。

　　“你是从什么地方偷来这个漂亮的姑娘的?”强盗们吼着。他们抓住马的僵绳，把这两个人从马上拉下来，因为他们的人数很多。神甫除了他从赫尔珈身上取来的那把刀子以外，没有带别的武器。他挥着这把刀子来保卫自己。有一个强盗举起斧头，但是这位年轻的神甫避开了，否则他就会被砍着了。斧头深深地砍进马的脖颈里，弄得血花四溅，这动物就倒在地上。这时小赫尔珈好像是从她长期梦境中醒转来了似的，急忙跑过来，倒在这个正在断气的动物身上。神甫站在她面前作为她的护卫者来保护她，不过另一个强盗把一个铁锤向这基督的信徒的脑袋上打来。他打得那么猛烈，血和脑浆喷满一地。神甫倒在地上死了。

　　这些强盗抓住赫尔珈的白手臂。这时太阳已经下山了，最后一丝阳光也消失了，于是她又变成了一只丑恶的青蛙。她半边脸上张着一个白而带绿的嘴，手臂变得又细又粘，长着鸭掌的大手张开来，像一把扇子。强盗们见了害怕、便把她放了。她站在他们中间，完全是一个可憎的怪物。她显出青蛙的特性，跳得比她自己还要高，随后就在丛林中不见了。这些强盗认为这一定是洛基⒀或者别的妖魔在恶作剧。他们恐惧地从这地方逃走。

　　圆圆的月亮已经升起来了，发出美丽的光辉。小赫尔珈披着一身难看的青蛙皮，从丛林里爬出来;她站在神甫的尸体和被砍死的马的尸体旁边，用哭泣的眼睛望着他们。青蛙的脑袋里发出呱呱的声音，好像一个孩子忽然哭起来似的。她一下倒在神甫身上，一下倒在马身上。她那变得更空更大的长着茧的手，现在捧着水，洒在他们身上。这时她懂得了：他们已经死了，永远也活不转来。不久野兽就会走来，咬他们的尸体。不成!决不能让这样的事情发生。因此她就掘着土，能掘多深就掘多深。她要为他们挖一个坟墓。

　　但是除了一根坚硬的树枝和一双手以外，她再也没有其他的器具，手指间长着的蹼被撕开了，流出血来。最后她看出她的工作不会有什么结果，于是就取些水来，把死人的脸洗了，然后把新鲜的绿叶盖在他的脸上。她搬来一些大树枝架在他的身上，再用枯叶填满其中的空隙，又尽力搬了一些大石头来压在他身上，最后又用青苔把空处填满。这时她才相信，坟墓是坚固和安全的。这一夜就是在这种艰苦的工作中过去的。太阳冲出了云层。美丽的小赫尔珈站在那儿，完全是一个美的形象。她的双手流着血，红润的少女的脸上第一次出现泪珠。

　　在这种转变之中，她的两重性格仿佛就在她的内心里斗争。她整个身体在颤抖着。她向四周望，好像她是刚从一个噩梦中醒来似的。她跑向那株瘦长的山毛接，紧紧地抱着它作为倚靠;不一会儿她忽然像一只猫似地爬到树顶上，抓住它不放，她像一个受了惊的松鼠，坐在那上面。她在寂静的树林中这样呆了一整天。这儿一切都是沉寂的，而且像人们说的那样，没有生命。没有生命!但是这儿却有两只蝴蝶在飞，在嬉戏，或互相追逐。周围有许多蚁穴——每一个穴里有无数忙碌的小居民在成群地走来走去。天空中飞舞着数不清的、一群一群的蚊蚋。嗡嗡的苍蝇、瓢虫、金色的甲虫以及其他有翅膀的小生物也飞过来了。蚯蚓从潮湿的地里爬出来，鼹鼠也跑出来了。除了这些东西以外，四周是一片静寂——正如人们所说的和所理解的一样，死一般的静寂。

　　谁也没有注意到赫尔珈，只有几群喜鹊在她坐着的那株树顶上飞着，叫着，这些鸟儿，怀着大胆的好奇心，在她身旁的枝子上向她跳过来，不过只要她一眨眼，它们就逃走了。它们不理解她，她也不理解她自己。

　　薄暮时，太阳开始下沉。她变了形，又重新活跃起来。她从树上溜下来。等到太阳最后的光线消逝了，她又成了一只萎缩的青蛙;她手上仍然长着撕裂了的蹼。不过她的眼睛射出美丽的光彩;这种光彩，当她有一个美丽的人体的时候，是不曾有过的。这是一对温和的、虔诚的、少女的眼睛。它们虽然是长在青蛙的脸上，却代表一种深沉的感情，一颗温柔的心。这对美丽的眼睛充满了眼泪，流出安慰人的、大颗的泪珠。

　　在她建造的那个坟墓旁边仍然有着那个由两根树枝绑成的十字架——这是那个死者的最后的作品。小赫尔珈把它拿起来，这时心中想起了一件事情：她把它插在石头中间，竖在神甫和死马的上面。她的悲哀的回忆使得她又流出眼泪来。她怀着难过的心情，在坟墓周围的土上划出许多十字，像一道好看的围墙，当她用手划这些十字的时候，手上的蹼就像撕碎了的手套似地脱落下来了。当她在泉水里洗濯并惊奇地望着她柔嫩的手的时候，她又在死者和她之间的空中划了一些十字。于是她的嘴唇颤抖起来，她的舌头在动;那个神圣的名字——她在树林里骑着马的时候，曾听见人唱过许多次，念过许多次——也在她的嘴上飘出来了。她念：“耶稣基督!”

　　青蛙的皮脱落了，她又成了一个美丽的少女。但是她的头倦怠地垂下来;她的肢体需要休息，于是她便睡去了。

　　但是睡眠的时间是很短促的。到半夜的时候，她醒转来了。那匹死了的马现在站在她面前，生命的光辉从它的眼里和砍伤的脖子上射出来。它旁边站着那个被杀害了的神甫。像威金女人说过的一样，他比“巴尔都还要好看得多”。然而他仿佛是站在火焰的中央。

　　他温厚的大眼睛射出一种庄严的光辉，一种正义而锐利的目光。这种目光似乎透进这个被考验者的心中的每一个角落。小赫尔珈颤抖起来;她的记忆苏醒过来了.好像是在世界末日的那天一样。神甫为她做过的每一件事，对她说过的每一个充满了爱的字眼，现在似乎都有了生命。她懂得了，在考验的日子里，当泥土和灵魂所造成的生物⒁在斗争和挣扎着的时候，爱在保护着她。她现在认识到了，她一直是在凭感情用事，没有切实地为自己做过任何工作。她所需要的一切都有了，而且上天在指导她。她在这能洞察人心的神力面前卑微地、羞惭地垂下头来忏悔。在这片刻间，她似乎看到了一道纯洁的火焰。一道圣灵的光。

　　“你这沼泽的女儿!”神甫说。“你是从土里，从沼地里出生的。但是你将从土里重生。你身体里的太阳光——它不是从太阳里产生的，而是从上帝产生的——将要自动地回到它原来的地方去。没有任何灵魂是不能得救的，不过把生命变成永恒却要花很多的时间。我是从死人的国度里来的。你将也会走过深沉的峡谷，而到达光华灿烂的山国——在那里只有慈悲和圆满。我不能领你到赫得埠去接受基督的洗礼。你得渡过淹没那深沼泽的水，拔起那给你生命和使你发育的生命之根。你得做出实际的行动才能获得超升。”

　　他把她抱起来，放在马上，同时给她一个金香炉——这跟她在威金人家里所看到的那个香炉一样，发出非常强烈的香气。这个被杀害的神甫额上的那块伤口发出光来，像一顶王冠。他把十字架从坟上拿起来，高高地举起。于是他们就开始驰骋起来，越过簌簌响的树林，越过和战马一起被埋葬掉的古代英雄的坟墓。这些威武的人物都站起来，也向前奔驰，直到后来在山丘上停下来。他们额上那个有金钮扣的宽大的金环在月光中发着光，他们的披肩在夜风中飘荡着。看守宝藏的飞龙抬起头来，凝望着这些骑士。

　　山精和村精在山里，在田野的沟里窥看。它们举着红色的、蓝色的和绿色的火炬，像烧过了的纸灰里的火星一样，拥挤成为一团。

　　他们驰过山林和荒地，河流和池塘，一直来到这荒野的沼泽。他们在这上面绕着圈子奔驰。这位信仰基督的神甫高高地举着十字架：它像金子似的发亮：他的嘴唇唱着弥撒。小小的赫尔珈也跟着他一起唱，像一个孩子跟母亲唱一样。她摇晃着香炉。一股神圣的、强烈的异香从它里面飘出来，使得沼泽地里的芦苇和草都开出了花朵。所有的嫩芽都从深泥底里冒出来。凡是有生命的东西都立起来了。一朵大睡莲，像绣花地毯一样展开花瓣。这花毯上躺着一个年轻美丽的、睡着的女人。小赫尔珈以为她在这平静的水上看到的就是她自己的倒影。但是她看到的正是她的母亲——沼泽王的妻子：从尼罗河上来的那位公主。

　　那个没有生命的神甫下命令，叫把这个昏睡的女人抱到马背上来。不过马儿却被她的重量压塌了，好像它的身体只不过是飘在风中的一块裹尸布似的。但是那个神圣的十字架增强了这个缥缈的幽灵的气力，所以这三个人又能从沼泽向坚实的地上奔来。

　　这时威金人堡寨里的鸡叫起来，这些幽灵就在风中飘来的烟雾里消逝了。但是母亲和女儿面对面站着。

　　“我在深水中看到的是我自己吗?”母亲问。

　　“我在那光滑的水上看到的东西，就是我自己吗?”女儿大声说。

　　于是她们走拢来，心贴着心拥抱着。母亲的心跳得最快;她懂得其中的道理。

　　“我的孩子!我心中的一朵花!我的在深水里长出来的莲花!”

　　她又把她的孩子拥抱了一次，然后就哭起来。对于小赫尔珈说来，这眼泪就是新生命和爱的洗礼。

　　“我是穿着天鹅的羽衣到这儿来的，后来我把它脱掉了!”母亲说。“我沉到滑动的泥泞里去了，沉到沼泽的污泥里去了。污泥像一堵墙，牢牢地把我抱住。但是不久我就感到一股新鲜的激流，一种力量——它拉着我越沉越深。我感到我眼皮上沉重地压着睡意。我睡过去了，在做梦。我仿佛觉得自己又躺在埃及的金字塔里，然而那根摇摆着的赤杨残株——它曾经在沼泽的水面上使得我害怕——却一直站在我的面前。我望着它树皮上的裂纹;它们射出种种不同颜色的光彩;形成象形的文字：我所望着的原来是一个木乃伊的匣子。匣子裂开了，一位1000岁的老国王从里面走出来。他具有木乃伊的形状，黑得像漆，发出类似树上蜗牛或沼泽地的肥泥的那种黑光，究竟他是沼泽王，还是金字塔里的木乃伊，我一点也不知道。他用双臂抱住我，我觉得自己一定会死去;只有当我感到胸口上有点温暖的时候，才恢复了知觉，我的胸口上立着一只小鸟，它拍着翅膀，喃喃地唱着歌。它从我的胸口上飞走，向那沉重漆黑的顶盖飞去，但是一条长长的绿带仍然把它和我系在一起。我听到、同时也懂得它渴望的声调：‘自由啊!阳光啊!到我的父亲那儿去!’于是我就想起住在那充满了阳光的故乡的父亲、我的生活和我的爱。于是我解开这条带子，让鸟儿向我的住在故乡的父亲飞去。从这一点钟起，我就再也不做梦了。我睡了一觉，很长很深沉的一觉，直到此刻和谐的声音和香气把我唤醒、把我解放为止!”

　　这条系着母亲的心和鸟儿翅膀的绿带子，现在飘到什么地方去了呢?它现在落到什么地方去了呢?只有鹳鸟看到过它。这带子就是那根绿梗子，它上面的一个蝴蝶结就是那朵鲜艳的花——孩子的摇篮。孩子长成为一个美女，重新躺在她母亲的心上。

　　当母女两人紧紧地拥抱着的时候，鹳鸟爸爸就在她们上面盘旋。后来它就一直飞到自己的窝里去，它把它藏了许多年的那两件天鹅羽衣送来，向她们每人掷下一件。羽衣紧紧地裹着她们，于是她们就以两只白天鹅的形态，从地上向高空飞起来。

　　“现在我们可以谈谈话了!”鹳鸟爸爸说，“我们现在能够彼此了解，虽然我们嘴的形状不大相同。你们今天晚上来了，这是再幸运不过的事情。明天我们——妈妈，我自己和孩子们——就要走了!我们要回到南方去!是的，请你们看看我吧!我是从尼罗河国度来的一个老朋友呀;妈妈也是一样——它的心比它的嘴要慈善得多。它一直在说，公主会有办法解救自己的;我和孩子们把天鹅的羽衣运到这儿来。咳，我是多么高兴啊!我现在还在这儿，这是多么幸运啊!天一亮，我们就要从这儿飞走，我们这一大群鹳鸟!我们在前头飞，你们在后面飞，这样你们就不会迷路了。当然，我和孩子们也会照顾你们的!”’

　　“还有那朵莲花，我也得带着，”这位埃及的公主说、“她也穿上天鹅的羽衣，和我一道飞!我把这朵心爱的花带走，这样一切问题就解决了。回家去啊!回家去啊!”

　　不过，赫尔珈说，她得先去看看她的养母——那个慈爱的威金女人，否则她就不愿离开丹麦这个国家了，关于她养母的每一个甜蜜的记忆，每一句慈爱的话，和养母为她所流的每一滴慈爱的眼泪，现在都回到她的心上来了。在这个时刻，她仿佛觉得她最爱的就是这个威金女人。

　　“是的，我们必须到威金人的家里去一趟!”鹳鸟爸爸说。“妈妈和孩子们都在那儿等我们!他们该会把眼睛睁得多么大，把翅膀拍得多么响啊!是的，你看，妈妈现在不喜欢罗唆了——妈妈的话总是简单明了，而且用意是很好的!我马上就要叫一声，好让它们知道我们来了!”

　　鹳鸟爸爸嘴里弄出一个声音。于是它和天鹅们就向威金人的堡寨飞去。

　　堡寨里的人还在熟睡。威金人的妻子是睡得最晚的一个，因为赫尔珈跟那个信仰基督的神甫在三天以前失踪了，她心里非常焦急。一定是赫尔珈帮助他逃跑的，因为她拴在马厩里的一匹马不见了。一种什么力量使这样的事情发生的呢?威金女人思量着她所听到的关于那个白衣基督的奇迹和那些信仰他、追随他的人。她的这些思想在梦里变成了事实。她仿佛觉得她仍然是睁着眼睛坐在床上思索，外面是漆黑一团。大风暴逼近来了：她听到海中的巨浪在北海和卡特加海峡之间一下滚向东，一下滚向西。那条在海底下把整个地球盘着的巨蛇，现在在痉挛着。她梦见众神灭亡的那一个晚上到来了;异教徒所谓的末日“拉格纳洛克”⒂到来了：在这天，一切东西就要灭亡，甚至那些伟大的神祗也要灭亡。战斗的号角吹起来了;众神骑在虹上，穿着银甲，要作最后一次战斗。长着翅膀的女神⒃在他们前面飞;最后面跟着的是阵亡战士的幽灵。在他们周围，整个天空闪耀着北极光，然而黑暗仍然占着优势。这是一个可怕的时刻。

　　在这惊恐的威金女人的身旁，小赫尔珈以可憎的青蛙的形态出现，坐在地上。她紧贴着她的养母，全身在发抖。这女人把她抱在膝上;虽然她的青蛙皮是难看极了，却仍然亲热地拥抱着她。空中发出棍棒和剑的回音，箭在嘘嘘地四射，好像天上有一阵冰雹要向她们打下来似的。这一时刻到来了：地球和天空要爆炸，星星要坠落，一切东西将要被苏尔特的火海所吞没。不过她知道，一个新的世界和新的天空将要出生;在海浪冲洗着的这一片荒凉的沙地上，泛着金黄色的麦田将要出现;一个不知名的上帝将会来统治着;从死者的王国里解救出来的那个温和、慈爱的巴尔都将向他走去。他到来了。威金女人看到他，认出他的面孔——这就是那个信仰基督的、被俘的神甫。

　　“白基督!”她大声地喊。在念出这个名字的同时，她吻了这个难看的青蛙孩子的前额。于是她的青蛙皮就脱落掉了，小赫尔珈现出了她全部的美;她的眼睛射出亮光，她从来没有像现在这样温柔可爱，她吻了养母的手，为了她在那艰苦的受考验的日子里所给予她的爱和关怀。她祝福她，她感谢她，为了她在她心中启发了一个思想，为了她告诉了她一个她现在常常念的名字：“白基督”。于是美丽的赫尔珈变成了一只庄严的天鹅，飞起来。她展开双翼，发出像一群候鸟掠过高空时的声音。

　　威金女人这时醒过来了，外面的拍翅声仍然可以听得见。她知道，这正是鹳鸟离去的时候;她知道，她听到的就是它们的声音。她希望再看到它们一次，在它们动身的时候和它们说声再会!因此她就站起来，走到阳台上去。她看到鹳鸟在邻屋的屋脊上一行一行地排列着。成群的鹳鸟在树顶上，在庭院的上空盘旋着。不过在她的对面，在那口井边——小赫尔珈常常坐在那边，做出野蛮的样子来恐吓她——有两只天鹅在用聪明的眼睛朝她望。于是她就记起了她的梦——这梦仍然在她的脑海中萦绕着，像真事一样。她在想着变成了天鹅的小赫尔珈，她在想着那个信仰基督的神甫。于是她心里感到一种稀有的愉快。

　　那些天鹅拍着翅膀，弯下脖子，好像是在向她致敬。威金人的妻子向它们伸开双臂，好像她懂得它们的意思。她噙着眼泪微笑，想起了许多事情。

　　所有的鹳鸟都升到空中，拍着翅膀，嘴里咯咯地响着，一齐向南方飞行。

　　“我们不再等待天鹅了，”鹳鸟妈妈说。“如果她们要同我们一道去，那最好马上就来!我们不能等在这儿让鹬鸟飞在我们前面。像我们这样的整个家庭在一起飞要漂亮得多;不要像鹬鸟和千鸟那样，男的在一边飞，女的在另一边飞——老实讲，那太不像样了!那儿的天鹅又在拍着翅膀干什么呢?”

　　“每一种鸟儿部有自己飞行的方式，”鹳鸟爸爸说。“天鹅成一条斜线飞，白鹤成一个三角形飞，鹬鸟成一个蛇形飞!”

　　“当我们在高空飞的时候，请不要提起蛇来吧!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“这只会叫我的小家伙们嘴馋，而又吃不到口!”

　　“这就是我所听说过的那些高山吗?”穿着天鹅羽衣的赫尔珈问。

　　“那是浮在我们下面的暴风雨的云块，”妈妈说。

　　“那些升得很高的白云是什么呢?”赫尔珈问。

　　“你所看到的，是覆盖着永不融化的积雪的高山，”妈妈说。

　　它们飞过高大雄伟的阿尔卑斯山脉，向蔚蓝的地中海前进。

　　“非洲的陆地!埃及的海滩!”穿着天鹅羽衣的尼罗河的女儿欢呼着。这时她在高空中看到一条淡黄色的、波浪形的缎带——她的祖国。

　　其他的鸟儿也都看到了这一情景，所以它们加快速度飞行。

　　“我已经能嗅到尼罗河的泥土和湿青蛙的气味!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“这真叫我的喉咙发痒!是的，现在你们可以尝到一点了。你们将会看到秃鹳⒄、白鹤和朱鹭!它们都是属于我们这个家族的，虽然它们一点也不及我们漂亮。它们喜欢摆架子，特别是朱鹭。它被埃及人惯坏了，他们把它装满香料，做成木乃伊。我自己倒是愿意装满青蛙呢;你们也会是这样的，而你们也将做得到!与其死后大排场一番，倒不如活着时吃个痛快。这是我的看法，而我永远是对的!”

　　“现在鹳鸟飞来了，”住在尼罗河岸上的那个富有的家庭里的人说。那位皇族的主人，在华丽的大厅里，躺在铺着豹皮的柔软的垫子上。他既没有活，也没有死，只是等待那从北国的沼泽地里采来的莲花。他的亲属和仆人都守候在他的周围。

　　这时有两只美丽的白天鹅飞进厅堂里来了。它们是跟鹳鸟一起来的。它们脱掉光亮的羽衣，于是两个美丽的女子就出现了。她们两人的外貌一模一样，像两颗露珠。她们对这衰老的、惨白的老人弯下腰来，把她们的长头发披在脑后。当赫尔珈弯下腰来望着她的外祖父的时候，他的双颊就发出红光，他的眼睛就有了光彩，他僵硬的四肢就获得了生命力。这位老人站起来，变得年轻而又健康。女儿和外孙女把他紧紧地拥抱着。好像她们做了一个很长的噩梦，现在来祝他早安。

　　整个的宫廷里现在充满了快乐。那只鹳鸟的窝里也充满了快乐，不过主要是因为窝里现在有了很好的食物——数不清的青蛙。这时那些学者们就忙着记下关于这两位公主和那朵能治病的花的简要历史。对于这个家庭和这个国家说来，这是一件幸福的大事。那对鹳鸟夫妇按照自己的一套方式把这故事讲给它们的家族听，不过它们得先吃饱，否则它们宁愿做点别的事情而不愿听故事。

　　“嗯!你到底成为一个人物了!”鹳鸟妈妈低声说。“这是不用怀疑的了!”

　　“咳，我成了什么人物呢?”鹳鸟爸爸问。“我做了什么呢?什么也没有做!”

　　“你做的事情比任何人都多!没有你和孩子们，那两位公主恐怕永远也看不到埃及了，也治不好那个老人的病了。你是一个了不起的人!你一定会得到一个博士学位，我们未来的孩子和孩子们的孩子将会继承它、一代一代地传下去，你的样子很像一个埃及的博士——起码在我的眼中是如此!”

　　学者和聪明人把贯串这整个事件的那个基本概念——他们这样叫它——又向前发展了一步。“爱产生生命”——他们对这句话各人有各人的解释。“这位埃及的公主是温暖的太阳光;她下降到沼泽王那里去。他们的会合就产生了那朵花——”

　　“那段话我不能完全传达出来!”鹳鸟爸爸说。它把它在屋顶上听见的话;现在在窝里传达出来。“他们讲得那么深奥，那么聪明和有学问，所以他们马上就得到了学位和礼品：甚至那个厨师长也受到了特别的表扬——可能是因为他的汤做得好的缘故。”

　　“你得到了什么呢?”鹳鸟妈妈问。“无疑，他们不应该把最重要的人物忘记，而重要的人物当然就是你呀!那批学者只是空口讲白话。不过你无疑会得到你应该得到的东西的!”

　　在深夜，当那个幸福的家正在安静地睡眠的时候，有一个人仍然醒着。这不是鹳鸟爸爸，虽然它是用一只腿站在窝里，似睡非睡地守望着。不，醒着的是小赫尔珈。她在阳台上向前弯着腰，朝晴空里望。晴空里的星星又大又亮，它们的光彩比她在北国所看到的要大得多，晶莹得多，但它们仍然是一样的星星。她想起住在荒野沼泽地上的那个威金女人，想起她养母的温柔的眼睛，想起这个慈爱的女人为那个可怜的青蛙孩子所流的眼泪——这个孩子现在立在美丽的明星下面，沐浴着尼罗河上的舒畅的春天空气。她想起这个异教徒女人心中蕴藏着的爱。那个可怜的生物——它变成人的时候是一个可恶的动物，变成动物的时候样子可憎，谁也不敢接近它——曾经得到了这种爱。她望着那闪耀着的星星;她记起那个死人额上射出的光辉。那时她跟他一起驰过树林和沼泽地。声音现在回到她的记忆中来了：她听到他所讲的话语——从爱的伟大源泉中发出的、拥抱着一切生物的话语。那时他们正在向前奔驰，她像着了魔似地坐在他前面。

　　是的，什么都获得、争取和赢到手了!小小的赫尔珈日日夜夜沉浸在深思之中——沉思她一切幸福的成果。她站在那儿沉思，就像一个孩子从赠送礼物给她的人面前急忙掉转身来，去看她所得到的礼品——精美的礼品。在这不断增长的幸福中，她似乎完全忘记了自己;这种幸福可能到来，而且一定会到来。的确，她曾经被奇迹带到不断增长的快乐和幸福中去过。有一天她完全沉醉到这种感受中去，甚至把幸福的赐予者也完全忘记了。这是因为她年少气盛，所以才变得这样荒唐!她的眼睛里露出这种神气。这时她下面的院子里发生了一个巨大的响声，把她从漫无边际的思想中拉回来，她看到两只巨大的鸵鸟在绕着一个小圈子跑。她以前从来没有看见过这种动物——这样庞大的鸟儿，这样又笨又重，好像它们的翅膀被剪掉了似的。这两只鸟儿似乎曾经受过伤害。因此她就问这究竟是怎么一回事情。这时她第一次听到埃及人讲到关于鸵鸟的故事。

　　鸵鸟曾经是一种漂亮的鸟儿，翅膀又大又强。有一天晚上，森林里强大的鸟儿对鸵鸟说：“兄弟，只要上帝准许，我们明天飞到河边去喝水好吗?”鸵鸟回答说：“好吧。”天明的时候，它们就起飞了。起初它们向太阳——上帝的眼睛——飞，越飞越高。鸵鸟远远地飞到别的鸟儿前面去了。鸵鸟骄傲地一直向太阳飞。它夸耀自己的气力，一点也没有想到造物主，也没有想到这句话：“只要上帝准许!”这时惩罚的安琪儿忽然把掩着太阳的火焰的帷慢拉开。不一会儿，这只骄傲的鸟儿的翅膀就被烧焦了，于是它就悲惨地落到地上来。从那时起，鸵鸟和它的族人就再也不能飞起来了;它只能胆怯地在地上跑，绕着一个小圈子跑。这对于我们人类是一个警告，使我们在一切思想中，在一切行为中，要记起“只要上帝准许”这句话。

　　赫尔珈深思地垂下头来，望着那跑着的鸵鸟，望着它的害怕的神情，望着它看到自己粗大的影子射到太阳照着的白墙上时产生的一种愚蠢的快感。她心中和思想中起了一种庄严的感觉，她已经被赐予了和获得了丰富的生活和不断增长的幸福。还有什么会发生呢?还有什么会到来呢?最好的东西是：“只要上帝准许!”

　　当鹳鸟在早春又要向北方飞去的时候，小小的赫尔珈把她的金手镯脱下来，把自己的名字刻在上面，对鹳鸟爸爸招手，把这金圆环戴在它的颈项上，请求它带给威金女人，使她知道自己的养女现在生活得很好，而且没有忘记她。

　　“这东西戴起来太重了，”鹳鸟爸爸把金圆环戴到颈项上的时候想。“但是金子和荣誉是不能随便扔到路上去的!鹳鸟带来幸运;那儿的人们不得不承认这个事实!”

　　“你生下金子，我生下蛋!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“不过这类事儿你只是偶尔做一次，而我却是年年生蛋。不过谁也不感谢我们——这真是太岂有此理!”

　　“不过我们自己心里知道呀，妈妈!”鹳鸟爸爸说。

　　“但是你不能把它戴在身上，”鹳鸟妈妈说。“它既不能给你顺风，也不能给你饭吃。”

　　于是它们就飞走了。

　　在罗望子村里唱着歌的那只小夜莺，很快地也要飞到北国去。小小的赫尔珈以前在那块荒凉的沼泽地也听到过它的歌声。她现在也要它带一件消息，因为当她穿着天鹅羽衣飞行的时候，她已经学会了鸟类的语言：她常常跟鹳鸟和燕子谈话，夜莺一定会懂得她的。因为她请求这只小鸟飞到尤兰半岛上那个山毛榉树林里去。她曾经在那儿用石头和树枝建造了一个坟墓。她请求夜莺告诉一切别的小鸟在这坟墓周围做窝，并且经常在那儿唱歌。

　　于是夜莺便飞走了——时间也飞走了!

　　一只苍鹰站在金字塔的顶上，望见秋天里的一群雄壮的骆驼，背着很多的东西。和它们一道的是一群服装华丽的武士。他们骑在喷着鼻息的阿拉伯的骏马上。这些白马儿像银子似地发亮，它们红色的鼻孔在颤抖着，它们密密的马鬃铺到细长的腿上。华贵的客人们和一位阿拉伯的王子——他具有一个王子绝顶的美貌——现在朝这个豪华的大厅里走来。这屋子上面的鹳鸟窝都已经空了。因为住在窝里的主人都飞到遥远的北国去了，但是它们不久就要回来的。的确，在这豪华、快乐、高兴的一天，它们回来了。这儿一个婚礼正在进行。新嫁娘就是小小的赫尔珈;她身上的珍珠和丝绸射出光彩。新郎是阿拉伯的一位年轻工子。新郎和新娘一起坐在桌子的上端，坐在母亲和外祖父之间。

　　但是她的视线并没有集中在这新郎英俊的、棕色的、留着黑色卷须的面孔上。她也没有看着他那双凝视着她的、火热的、深沉的眼睛。她正在朝上面望，望着天上照着的一颗明星。

　　这时空中发出一阵强健的翅膀的拍击声。鹳鸟们飞回来了。那对年老的鹳鸟夫妇，不管旅行得多么困倦，也不管多么需要休息，却一直飞到阳台的栏杆上来，因为它们知道，人们是在举行一个多么盛大的宴会。它们在飞入这个国家的国境的时候，就已经听说赫尔珈曾经把它们的像绘在墙上——因为它们也成了她的历史的一部分。

　　“这倒想得很周到!”鹳鸟爸爸说。

　　“但是这所费有限!”鹳鸟妈妈说。“他们不可能连这点表示都没有。”

　　赫尔珈一看到它们就站起来，走到阳台上去，抚摸着鹳鸟的背。这对老夫妇垂下头来。那些年轻的鹳鸟呆呆地在旁边望着，也感到荣幸。

　　赫尔珈又抬起头来望了望明亮的星星，星星的光显得比以前更亮。在星星和她之间飘着一个比空气还要纯洁的形体，但是可以看得见。它在飘来了。这就是那个死去了的信仰基督的神甫。他也是来参加她的婚礼的——从天国里来的。

　　“天上的光华灿烂，超过地上所有的一切美景!”他说。

　　美丽的赫尔珈温柔地、诚恳地祈求——她从来没有这样祈求过——准许她向天国望一眼，向天父望一眼，哪怕一分钟也好。

　　于是他把她在和谐的音乐和思想的交流中带到光华灿烂的景象中去。现在不仅在她的周围是一片光明和和谐的音乐，而且在她的内心里也是这样。语言无法把这表达出来。

　　“现在我们要回去了;客人在等着你!”他说。

　　“请再让我看一眼吧!”她要求着。“只看短短的一分钟!”

　　“我们必须回到人间去，客人都快要走光了。”

　　“请再让我看一眼——最后一眼吧!”

　　美丽的赫尔珈又回到阳台上来。但是屋子外面的火炬已经没有了，洞房里的灯也灭了，鹳鸟也走了，客人也不见了，新郎也没有了，一切在瞬息间都消逝了。

　　赫尔珈的心里这时起了一阵恐怖。她走过空洞的大厅，走进旁边的一个房间里去。这儿睡着一些陌生的武士。她打开一个通到自己卧房的房门。当她正以为她在走进自己的房间里的时候，忽然发现自己是在花园里面。这里的情况和刚才的完全不一样。天空中现出了朝霞，天快要亮了。

　　在天上过的三分钟，恰恰是地上的一整夜!

　　于是她看到了那些鹳鸟。她喊着它们，用它们的语言讲话。掴鸟爸爸把头抬起来，听着她讲，然后便向她走近来。

　　“你讲我们的语言!”它说。“你想要什么呢?你为什么在这儿出现呢——你，陌生的女人?”

　　“是我呀!——是赫尔珈呀!你不认识我么?三分钟以前我们还在阳台上一起讲话呀!”

　　“那是一个误会!”鹳鸟说。“你一定是在做梦!”

　　“不是，不是!”她说。于是她就提起威金人的堡寨，沼泽地和回到这儿来的那次旅行。

　　鹳鸟爸爸眨了眨眼睛，说：“那是一个老故事。我听说它发生在我曾祖母的曾祖母的那个时代里!的确，在埃及曾经有过那样一个公主;她是从丹麦来的，不过她在结婚那天就不见了，以后就再也没有回来，那是好几百年以前的事!你自己可以在花园的石碑上读到这个故事。那上面刻着天鹅和鹳鸟;石碑顶上就是你自己的大理石像。”

　　事情的经过就是如此。赫尔珈看见它，了解它。她跪下来。

　　太阳出来了。像在远古的时代里一样，青蛙一接触到它的光线就不见了，变成一个美丽的人形。现在在太阳光的洗礼中，同样一个美丽的、比空气还要纯洁的人形——一条光带——向天上飘去!

　　她的身体化作尘土。赫尔珈站过的地方，现在只剩下一朵萎谢了的莲花。

　　“这就是那个故事的一个新的结尾，”鹳鸟爸爸说。“我的确没有想到!不过我倒不讨厌它。”

　　“不过我们的孩子们对它会有什么意见呢?”鹳鸟妈妈问。

　　“是的，这倒是一个重要的问题!”鹳鸟爸爸说。

　　①根据古代希伯莱人的传说，犹太人摩西生在埃及。那时埃及的国王，为了要消灭犹太种族，下命令说：凡是犹太人生下的男孩子都要杀死。摩西的母亲因此就把摩西放在尼罗河上的一个方舟里。埃及国王的女儿看到这个美丽的孩子，就把他收来作为养子。他后来带领犹太民族离开埃及到迦南去开始新的生活。事见《圣经·旧约全书·出埃及记》。

　　②威金人(Viking)是最先住在北欧的好战的民族，被称为北欧海盗，他们在第八世纪和第九世纪征服过英国，并曾在爱尔兰建立一个王国。

　　③叔林(Hjoring)是现在丹麦的一个县。

　　④这都是古代北欧神话中的神仙，与基督教无关。

　　⑤这是古代土著的北欧人，经常到法国和英国从事掳掠的活动。

　　⑥沙柱是沙漠中被旋风卷起成柱子形状的沙子。

　　⑦圣·安斯加里乌斯(St Ansgariu，801-865)是第一个到丹麦、瑞典和德国去宣传基督教的神甫，他是法兰克人。

　　⑧斯里恩(Slien)是德国普鲁士境内位于波罗的海的一个海湾。

　　⑨即宣传基督的教义的神甫，因为他穿着白色的长袍。

　　⑩巴尔都(Baldur)是北欧神话中光明之神，他是一个美男子。

　　⑾见《圣经·旧约全书·诗篇》第四十一篇第一节。通行中译本中译为：“眷顾贫穷的有福了，他遭难的日子，耶和华必搭救他。”

　　⑿这是北欧古时的一种文字。

　　⒀洛基(Loki)是北欧神话中的一个神仙。

　　⒁据基督教《圣经》上说，人是上帝用泥巴照自己的形状捏成的，然后再把灵魂吹进去，使它有生命。见《旧约·创世纪》第一章。

　　⒂“拉格纳洛克”(Raglarok)是北欧神话中的神的末日。这时神的敌人苏尔特(Surt)来与神作战。战争结束后整个旧世界都被烧毁。

　　⒃“女神”，在北欧神话中是一群决定战争胜负的女神。

　　⒄这是产于非洲和东印度的一种鸟。

　　沼泽王的女儿英文版：

　　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’s1 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 Hedeby2 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.