THE WILD SWANS [7]
and ate the flesh! Eliza had to pass close by them, and they
fixed their wicked glances upon her, but she prayed silently, gathered
the burning nettles, and carried them home with her to the castle. One
person only had seen her, and that was the archbishop- he was awake
while everybody was asleep. Now he thought his opinion was evidently
correct. All was not right with the queen. She was a witch, and had
bewitched the king and all the people. Secretly he told the king
what he had seen and what he feared, and as the hard words came from
his tongue, the carved images of the saints shook their heads as if
they would say. "It is not so. Eliza is innocent."
But the archbishop interpreted it in another way; he believed that
they witnessed against her, and were shaking their heads at her
wickedness. Two large tears rolled down the king's cheeks, and he went
home with doubt in his heart, and at night he pretended to sleep,
but there came no real sleep to his eyes, for he saw Eliza get up
every night and disappear in her own chamber. From day to day his brow
became darker, and Eliza saw it and did not understand the reason, but
it alarmed her and made her heart tremble for her brothers. Her hot
tears glittered like pearls on the regal velvet and diamonds, while
all who saw her were wishing they could be queens. In the mean time
she had almost finished her task; only one coat of mail was wanting,
but she had no flax left, and not a single nettle. Once more only, and
for the last time, must she venture to the churchyard and pluck a
few handfuls. She thought with terror of the solitary walk, and of the
horrible ghouls, but her will was firm, as well as her trust in
Providence. Eliza went, and the king and the archbishop followed
her. They saw her vanish through the wicket gate into the
churchyard, and when they came nearer they saw the ghouls sitting on
the tombstone, as Eliza had seen them, and the king turned away his
head, for he thought she was with them- she whose head had rested on
his breast that very evening. "The people must condemn her," said
he, and she was very quickly condemned by every one to suffer death by
fire. Away from the gorgeous regal halls was she led to a dark, dreary
cell, where the wind whistled through the iron bars. Instead of the
velvet and silk dresses, they gave her the coats of mail which she had
woven to cover her, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow; but
nothing they could give her would have pleased her more. She continued
her task with joy, and prayed for help, while the street-boys sang
jeering songs about her, and not a soul comforted her with a kind
word. Towards evening, she heard at the grating the flutter of a
swan's wing, it was her youngest brother- he had found his sister, and
she sobbed for joy, although she knew that very likely this would be
the last night she would have to live. But still she could hope, for
her task was almost finished, and her brothers were come. Then the
archbishop arrived, to be with her during her last hours, as he had
promised the king. But she shook her head, and begged him, by looks
and gestures, not to stay; for in this night she knew she must
finish her task, otherwise all her pain and tears and sleepless nights
would have been suffered in vain. The archbishop withdrew, uttering
bitter words against her; but poor Eliza knew that she was innocent,
and diligently continued her work.
The little mice ran about the floor, they dragged the nettles to
her feet, to help as well as they could; and the thrush sat outside
the grating of the window, and sang to her the whole night long, as
sweetly as possible, to keep up her spirits.
It was still twilight, and at least an hour before sunrise, when
the eleven brothers stood at the castle gate, and demanded to be
brought before the king. They were told it could not be, it was yet
almost night, and as the king slept they dared not disturb him. They
threatened, they entreated. Then the guard appeared,
fixed their wicked glances upon her, but she prayed silently, gathered
the burning nettles, and carried them home with her to the castle. One
person only had seen her, and that was the archbishop- he was awake
while everybody was asleep. Now he thought his opinion was evidently
correct. All was not right with the queen. She was a witch, and had
bewitched the king and all the people. Secretly he told the king
what he had seen and what he feared, and as the hard words came from
his tongue, the carved images of the saints shook their heads as if
they would say. "It is not so. Eliza is innocent."
But the archbishop interpreted it in another way; he believed that
they witnessed against her, and were shaking their heads at her
wickedness. Two large tears rolled down the king's cheeks, and he went
home with doubt in his heart, and at night he pretended to sleep,
but there came no real sleep to his eyes, for he saw Eliza get up
every night and disappear in her own chamber. From day to day his brow
became darker, and Eliza saw it and did not understand the reason, but
it alarmed her and made her heart tremble for her brothers. Her hot
tears glittered like pearls on the regal velvet and diamonds, while
all who saw her were wishing they could be queens. In the mean time
she had almost finished her task; only one coat of mail was wanting,
but she had no flax left, and not a single nettle. Once more only, and
for the last time, must she venture to the churchyard and pluck a
few handfuls. She thought with terror of the solitary walk, and of the
horrible ghouls, but her will was firm, as well as her trust in
Providence. Eliza went, and the king and the archbishop followed
her. They saw her vanish through the wicket gate into the
churchyard, and when they came nearer they saw the ghouls sitting on
the tombstone, as Eliza had seen them, and the king turned away his
head, for he thought she was with them- she whose head had rested on
his breast that very evening. "The people must condemn her," said
he, and she was very quickly condemned by every one to suffer death by
fire. Away from the gorgeous regal halls was she led to a dark, dreary
cell, where the wind whistled through the iron bars. Instead of the
velvet and silk dresses, they gave her the coats of mail which she had
woven to cover her, and the bundle of nettles for a pillow; but
nothing they could give her would have pleased her more. She continued
her task with joy, and prayed for help, while the street-boys sang
jeering songs about her, and not a soul comforted her with a kind
word. Towards evening, she heard at the grating the flutter of a
swan's wing, it was her youngest brother- he had found his sister, and
she sobbed for joy, although she knew that very likely this would be
the last night she would have to live. But still she could hope, for
her task was almost finished, and her brothers were come. Then the
archbishop arrived, to be with her during her last hours, as he had
promised the king. But she shook her head, and begged him, by looks
and gestures, not to stay; for in this night she knew she must
finish her task, otherwise all her pain and tears and sleepless nights
would have been suffered in vain. The archbishop withdrew, uttering
bitter words against her; but poor Eliza knew that she was innocent,
and diligently continued her work.
The little mice ran about the floor, they dragged the nettles to
her feet, to help as well as they could; and the thrush sat outside
the grating of the window, and sang to her the whole night long, as
sweetly as possible, to keep up her spirits.
It was still twilight, and at least an hour before sunrise, when
the eleven brothers stood at the castle gate, and demanded to be
brought before the king. They were told it could not be, it was yet
almost night, and as the king slept they dared not disturb him. They
threatened, they entreated. Then the guard appeared,