Prevod

Far away from here, where the swallows fly when winter comes to us, there lived a king who had eleven sons and one daughter, Elisa. The eleven brothers, who were princes, went to school with stars on their breasts and sabres at their sides; they wrote on golden slates with diamond pencils, and could recite their lessons as well as they could read them from a book. You could tell at once that they were princes. Their sister Elisa sat on a little stool of looking-glass and had a picture book that had cost half the kingdom.

Oh, those children were so happy, but it was not always to be so! Their father, who was king of the whole country, married a wicked queen who was not at all kind to the poor children; they felt it from the very first day. There were great festivities throughout the palace, and the children played at paying visits; but instead of giving them all the cakes and baked apples they could eat, as they usually had, she gave them only sand in a teacup and told them to pretend it was something good.

The following week she sent their little sister Elisa into the country to live with some peasants, and before long she had filled the king's head with so many stories about the poor princes that he no longer cared for them at all.

"Fly out into the world and fend for yourselves!" said the wicked queen. "Fly like great birds, without a voice!" But she could not make things quite as bad as she wished: they became eleven beautiful wild swans. With a strange cry they flew out through the palace windows, over the park and the forest.

It was still very early in the morning when they passed the place where their sister Elisa lay asleep in the peasant's cottage. Here they hovered above the roof, twisting their long necks and beating their wings, but no one heard or saw them. They had to fly on again, high towards the clouds, far out into the wide world, until they came to a great dark forest that stretched all the way to the shore.

Poor little Elisa stood in the peasant's cottage, playing with a green leaf; she had no other toy. She pierced a hole in the leaf and looked through it at the sun, and then it seemed as though she saw her brothers' bright eyes; and whenever the warm sunbeams shone upon her cheek, she thought of all their kisses.

One day passed much like another. When the wind blew through the great rose hedges outside the house, it whispered to the roses, "Who could be more beautiful than you?" But the roses shook their heads and said, "Elisa is." And when the old woman sat in the doorway on Sundays, reading her hymnbook, the wind turned its pages and said to the book, "Who could be more devout than you?" "Elisa is!" said the hymnbook; and what the roses and the hymnbook said was nothing but the truth.

When she was fifteen, she was to return home; and when the queen saw how beautiful she was, she grew angry and full of hatred towards her. She would gladly have turned her into a wild swan like her brothers, but she dared not do so at once, for the king wanted to see his daughter.

Early in the morning the queen went into the bathhouse, which was built of marble and adorned with soft cushions and the loveliest carpets. She took three toads, kissed them, and said to the first, "Sit on Elisa's head when she comes into the bath, so that she may grow as sluggish as you! Sit on her forehead," she told the second, "so that she may grow as ugly as you, and her father will not know her! Rest upon her heart," she whispered to the third, "and give her an evil nature, so that she may suffer for it!" Then she put the toads into the clear water, which at once turned greenish, called Elisa, undressed her, and let her step down into the water. As she dipped beneath it, one toad settled in her hair, the second on her forehead, and the third upon her breast, but Elisa did not seem to notice them at all. As soon as she stood up, three red poppies floated on the water. Had the creatures not been poisonous and kissed by the witch, they would have turned into red roses; yet flowers they became, simply by resting upon her head and beside her heart. She was too devout and innocent for witchcraft to have any power over her.

When the wicked queen saw this, she rubbed her with walnut juice until her skin was quite dark brown, smeared her lovely face with a foul-smelling ointment, and let her beautiful hair become tangled. It was impossible to recognise the lovely Elisa.

And so, when her father saw her, he was quite horrified and said she was not his daughter. Nor would anyone else acknowledge her, except the watchdog on its chain and the swallows; but they were poor creatures whose opinion counted for nothing.

Then poor Elisa wept and thought of her eleven brothers, who were all gone. Sorrowfully she slipped out of the palace and walked all day across fields and marshes into the great forest. She did not know where she was going, but she felt so sad and longed for her brothers. Surely they, too, had been driven out into the world, as she had; she would seek them out and find them.

She had been in the forest only a short while when night fell; she had strayed far from every road and path. Then she lay down on the soft moss, said her evening prayer, and rested her head against a tree stump. All was so still, the air so mild, and all around her in the grass and on the moss more than a hundred glow-worms shone like green fire. When she gently touched one of the branches with her hand, the shining insects fell about her like shooting stars.

All night she dreamed of her brothers. They were playing together again as children, writing with diamond pencils on golden slates and looking at the beautiful picture book that had cost half the kingdom. But on their slates they no longer wrote only rows of noughts and strokes as before; no, they wrote of the boldest deeds they had performed, of everything they had seen and experienced. And in the picture book everything was alive: the birds sang, and the people stepped out of the book and spoke to Elisa and her brothers. But whenever she turned a page, they sprang straight back in, so that the pictures would not get muddled.

When she awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. She could not see it, for the tall trees spread their branches in a dense canopy, but its rays played up above like a fluttering veil of gold. The air was fragrant with greenery, and the birds almost perched upon her shoulders. She heard water splashing: many great springs were pouring into a pool with the loveliest sandy bottom. Thick bushes grew all around it, but in one place the deer had worn a wide opening, and here Elisa went down to the water. It was so clear that, had the wind not stirred the branches and bushes into motion, she would have thought they were painted on the bottom, so distinctly was every leaf reflected there, both those through which the sunlight shone and those that lay entirely in shadow.

As soon as she saw her own face, she was quite frightened, so brown and ugly was it. But when she wet her little hand and rubbed her eyes and forehead, her white skin shone through again. Then she took off all her clothes and stepped into the fresh water; there was no lovelier king's daughter in all the world.

When she was dressed again and had braided her long hair, she went to the bubbling spring, drank from her cupped hand, and wandered deeper into the forest, not knowing where she was going. She thought of her brothers, and of the good God, who surely would not forsake her. He made the wild crab apples grow to feed the hungry; he showed her just such a tree, its branches weighed down with fruit. Here she ate her midday meal, put props beneath its branches, and then went on into the darkest part of the forest. It was so still that she could hear her own footsteps and every little withered leaf that bent beneath her feet. Not a bird was to be seen, not a sunbeam could penetrate the great, thick branches. The tall trunks stood so close together that, when she looked straight ahead, it seemed as though one wall of timber after another enclosed her. Oh, here was a loneliness such as she had never known before.

The night grew very dark. Not a single little glow-worm shone from the moss, and sorrowfully she lay down to sleep. Then it seemed to her that the branches overhead parted and the Lord looked down upon her with gentle eyes, while little angels peeped out above his head and beneath his arms.

When she awoke in the morning, she did not know whether she had dreamed it or whether it had really happened. She walked a few steps farther and met an old woman with berries in her basket, who gave her some of them. Elisa asked whether she had seen eleven princes riding through the forest.

"No," said the old woman, "but yesterday I saw eleven swans with golden crowns on their heads swimming down the river close by!" And she led Elisa a little farther on to a steep bank, below which a river wound its way. The trees along its banks stretched their long, leafy branches towards one another, and wherever their natural growth would not let them meet, they had torn their roots loose from the earth and leaned out over the water with their branches intertwined.

Elisa said goodbye to the old woman and followed the river to where it flowed into the wide, open sea. The whole beautiful ocean lay before the young girl, but not a sail appeared upon it, not a boat was to be seen. How was she to go any farther? She looked at the countless pebbles on the shore; the water had worn them all round. Glass, iron, stones—everything washed up there had been shaped by the water, though it was far softer than her delicate hand. "It rolls on tirelessly, and so the hard edges are worn smooth. I will be just as tireless! Thank you for your lesson, you clear, rolling waves. One day, my heart tells me, you will carry me to my dear brothers!"

On the seaweed washed ashore lay eleven white swan feathers. She gathered them into a bunch; drops of water clung to them, but whether they were dew or tears, no one could tell. It was lonely by the shore, but she did not feel it, for the sea offered an endless variety of sights—indeed, more in a few hours than freshwater lakes could show in a whole year. When a great black cloud appeared, it was as though the sea were saying, "I, too, can look dark," and then the wind blew and the waves turned their white sides out. But when the clouds glowed red and the winds slept, the sea was like a rose petal. Now it turned green, now white; yet however still it lay, there was always a gentle movement along the shore, where the water rose softly like the breast of a sleeping child.

As the sun was about to set, Elisa saw eleven wild swans with golden crowns on their heads flying towards the land. They glided one behind another, looking like a long white ribbon. Elisa climbed the bank and hid behind a bush; the swans settled close beside her and beat their great white wings.

The moment the sun sank beneath the water, their swan skins suddenly fell away, and there stood eleven handsome princes, Elisa's brothers. She gave a loud cry, for although they had changed greatly, she knew it was they, felt that it must be they. She sprang into their arms and called them by name, and they were filled with joy when they saw and recognised their little sister, who had grown so tall and beautiful. They laughed and wept, and soon each had learned how cruel their stepmother had been to them all.

"We brothers," said the eldest, "fly as wild swans as long as the sun is in the sky. When it has set, we regain our human shape; so at sunset we must always make sure we have somewhere to rest our feet. If we were flying up among the clouds then, we would plunge into the depths as men. We do not live here. Beyond the sea lies a country as beautiful as this, but the way there is long: we must cross the great ocean, and there is no island on our route where we can spend the night. Only a single little rock rises out of the water midway across; it is just large enough for us to rest on side by side. When the sea is rough, the water sprays high over us, yet we thank our God for it. There we spend the night in our human shape; without it we could never visit our beloved homeland, for our flight takes two of the longest days of the year. Only once a year are we allowed to visit our father's home. We may stay here for eleven days and fly over this great forest, from which we can glimpse the palace where we were born and where our father lives, and see the tall tower of the church where our mother lies buried. Here the trees and bushes seem like our own kin; here the wild horses run across the plains as we saw them do in childhood; here the charcoal burner sings the old songs we danced to as children. Here is our native land, here our hearts draw us, and here we have found you, our dear little sister! We may stay only two days more, and then we must fly across the sea to a beautiful country, but one that is not our own! How can we take you with us? We have neither ship nor boat!"

"How can I save you?" said their sister. And they talked together almost the whole night, sleeping for only a few hours. Elisa awoke to the sound of swans' wings rushing above her. Her brothers had been transformed again and were flying in great circles, until at last they flew far away; but one of them, the youngest, remained behind. The swan laid his head in her lap, and she stroked his white wings; they stayed together all day. Towards evening the others returned, and when the sun had set, they stood once more in their natural shape.

"Tomorrow we must fly away, and we may not return for a whole year; but we cannot leave you like this! Have you the courage to come with us? My arm is strong enough to carry you through the forest; surely all our wings together will be strong enough to carry you across the sea."

"Yes, take me with you!" said Elisa. They spent the whole night weaving a net from supple willow bark and tough reeds, and it grew large and strong. Elisa lay down upon it, and when the sun rose and her brothers were changed into wild swans, they took hold of the net with their beaks and flew high towards the clouds with their dear sister, who was still asleep. The sunbeams fell straight upon her face, so one of the swans flew above her head to shade her with his broad wings. They were far from land when Elisa awoke. She thought she must still be dreaming, so strange did it seem to be carried across the sea, high through the air. Beside her lay a branch of lovely ripe berries and a bundle of tasty roots. The youngest brother had gathered them and placed them there for her, and she smiled gratefully at him, for she knew he was the one flying just above her head and shading her with his wings.

They were so high up that the first ship they saw beneath them looked like a white gull resting on the water. A great cloud rose behind them, a whole mountain of cloud, and on it Elisa saw the shadows of herself and the eleven swans flying there, enormous in size. It was a picture more splendid than any she had ever seen; but as the sun rose higher and the cloud fell farther behind them, the floating shadow-picture disappeared.

All day they flew on like an arrow whistling through the air, yet more slowly than usual, for now they had their sister to carry. A storm was gathering, and evening drew near. Elisa watched anxiously as the sun sank, and still the lonely rock in the sea was nowhere to be seen. It seemed to her that the swans were beating their wings harder. Alas, it was her fault they could not fly fast enough! When the sun had set, they would turn into men, fall into the sea, and drown. From the depths of her heart she prayed to the Lord, but still she could see no rock. The black cloud drew nearer; fierce gusts foretold a storm. The clouds massed into one great threatening wave, solid as lead, sweeping forward; flash followed flash of lightning.

Now the sun was on the very edge of the sea. Elisa's heart trembled. Then the swans swooped down so swiftly that she thought she was falling, but now they were gliding again. The sun was half beneath the water; only then did she glimpse the little rock below her. It looked no bigger than a seal poking its head out of the water. The sun was sinking so fast; now it was no more than a star. Then her foot touched firm ground, and the sun went out like the last spark in burning paper. She saw her brothers standing arm in arm around her, but there was only just enough room for them and her. The sea struck the rock and swept over them like driving rain; the heavens shone with ceaseless flame, and peal upon peal of thunder rolled. But sister and brothers held one another's hands and sang a hymn, which gave them comfort and courage.

At dawn the air was clear and still. As soon as the sun rose, the swans flew away from the little island with Elisa. The sea was still running high, and when they were far up in the air, the white foam on the black-green water looked like millions of swans floating on the sea.

As the sun rose higher, Elisa saw before her, half floating in the air, a mountainous country with gleaming masses of ice upon its peaks. In its midst stretched a castle surely miles long, with one soaring colonnade above another; below it swayed forests of palms and splendid flowers as large as mill wheels. She asked whether this was the country they were going to, but the swans shook their heads, for what she saw was Fata Morgana's lovely, ever-changing castle in the clouds. No human being might they bring inside it. Elisa gazed at it; then mountains, forests, and castle collapsed, and in their place stood twenty stately churches, all alike, with tall towers and pointed windows. She thought she could hear the organ sounding, but it was the sea she heard. Now she was quite close to the churches, when they changed into a whole fleet sailing beneath her; she looked down, and it was only sea mist racing over the water. Ever-changing sights passed before her eyes, and now she saw the real country to which she was bound. Beautiful blue mountains rose there, with cedar forests, towns, and castles. Long before sunset she was sitting on the mountainside in front of a great cave overgrown with delicate green climbing plants that looked like embroidered hangings.

"Now we shall see what you dream here tonight!" said the youngest brother, showing her her bedchamber. "If only I might dream how to save you!" she said. And this thought filled her mind so completely, and she prayed so fervently to God for his help, that even in her sleep she continued her prayer. Then it seemed to her that she flew high into the air to Fata Morgana's castle in the clouds, and the fairy came to meet her, so beautiful and radiant, and yet looking exactly like the old woman who had given her berries in the forest and told her about the swans with golden crowns.

"Your brothers can be saved!" she said. "But have you courage and endurance? The sea is softer than your delicate hands, yet it reshapes the hard stones; but it does not feel the pain your fingers will feel. It has no heart, and does not suffer the fear and torment you must endure. Do you see this stinging nettle I hold in my hand? Many of this kind grow around the cave where you sleep. Only those, and those that grow upon graves in the churchyard, can be used—remember that. You must gather them, though they will sting your skin into blisters. Crush the nettles with your feet, and you will have flax; with it you must spin and knit eleven shirts of mail with long sleeves. Throw these over the eleven wild swans, and the spell will be broken. But remember well: from the moment you begin this work until it is finished, even if years should pass, you must not speak. The first word you utter will pierce your brothers' hearts like a deadly dagger. Their lives hang upon your tongue. Remember all this!"

At that same moment she touched Elisa's hand with the nettle. It burned like fire, and Elisa awoke. It was broad daylight, and close beside the place where she had slept lay a nettle like the one she had seen in her dream. Then she fell upon her knees, thanked the Lord, and went out of the cave to begin her work.

With her delicate hands she grasped the dreadful nettles; they were like fire, raising great burning blisters on her hands and arms. But gladly would she suffer it if she could save her dear brothers. She crushed each nettle with her bare feet and spun the green flax.

When the sun had set, her brothers came and were alarmed to find her so silent. They thought it was some new spell cast by their wicked stepmother; but when they saw her hands, they understood what she was doing for their sake. The youngest brother wept, and wherever his tears fell, she felt no pain, and the burning blisters vanished.

She spent the night at her work, for she could find no rest until she had saved her dear brothers. All the next day, while the swans were away, she sat alone, yet never had the time flown so quickly. One shirt of mail was already finished; now she began the next.

Then hunting horns sounded among the mountains, and she grew very frightened. The sound came nearer; she heard dogs barking. In alarm she took refuge in the cave, tied the nettles she had gathered and combed into a bundle, and sat down upon it.

Just then a great dog came bounding out of the thicket, and at once another followed, and then another. They barked loudly, ran back, and came forward again. Within a few minutes all the huntsmen stood outside the cave, and the handsomest among them was the king of the country. He went up to Elisa; never had he seen a lovelier girl.

"How did you come here, you beautiful child?" he asked. Elisa shook her head, for she dared not speak: her brothers' deliverance and their lives depended on it. And she hid her hands beneath her apron so that the king would not see what she had to suffer.

"Come with me!" he said. "You must not stay here! If you are as good as you are beautiful, I will dress you in silk and velvet, set a golden crown upon your head, and you shall make your home in my most splendid palace!" Then he lifted her onto his horse. She wept and wrung her hands, but the king said, "I wish only for your happiness! One day you will thank me for it!" And away he rode through the mountains, holding her before him on the horse, while the huntsmen galloped after them.

As the sun went down, the magnificent royal city, with its churches and domes, lay before them. The king led her into the palace, where great fountains splashed in lofty marble halls and paintings adorned the walls and ceilings. But she had no eyes for any of it; she wept and grieved. Without resistance she let the women dress her in royal garments, braid pearls into her hair, and draw fine gloves over her blistered fingers.

As she stood there in all her splendour, she was so dazzlingly beautiful that the court bowed still more deeply before her, and the king chose her for his bride. But the archbishop shook his head and whispered that the beautiful forest girl must be a witch: she had dazzled their eyes and bewitched the king's heart.

But the king paid no heed. He ordered music to be played and the costliest dishes brought in, and had the loveliest maidens dance around her. She was led through fragrant gardens into splendid halls, but not a smile passed over her lips or lit her eyes; sorrow dwelt there as though it were hers for ever. Then the king opened a little chamber close to where she was to sleep. It was adorned with costly green hangings and looked just like the cave where she had lived. On the floor lay the bundle of flax she had spun from the nettles, and from the ceiling hung the shirt of mail she had finished knitting. One of the huntsmen had brought all these things away as curiosities.

"Here you can dream yourself back in your former home!" said the king. "Here is the work that occupied you there. Now, amid all your splendour, it will amuse you to think back on those days."

When Elisa saw these things so dear to her heart, a smile played about her lips and the colour returned to her cheeks. She thought of her brothers' deliverance and kissed the king's hand; he pressed her to his heart and ordered all the church bells to proclaim their wedding. The beautiful, silent girl from the forest was queen of the land.

Then the archbishop whispered wicked words into the king’s ear, but they did not reach his heart. The wedding was to take place, and the archbishop himself had to set the crown upon her head. With spiteful ill will he pressed the narrow circlet down so hard upon her brow that it hurt; yet a heavier ring lay about her heart, her sorrow for her brothers, and she did not feel the bodily pain. Her lips were silent, for a single word would cost her brothers their lives, but in her eyes shone a deep love for the kind, handsome king who did all he could to make her happy. With all her heart she grew to love him more each day. Oh, if only she dared confide in him and tell him of her suffering! But silent she must remain, and in silence she must finish her work. So at night she slipped away from his side and went into the little secret chamber, which had been furnished like the cave, and there she knitted one shirt of mail after another. But when she began the seventh, she had no more flax.

She knew that the nettles she needed grew in the churchyard, but she had to gather them herself. How was she to get there? “Oh, what is the pain in my fingers beside the anguish of my heart!” she thought. “I must dare it! Our Lord will not forsake me!” With a fearful heart, as though she were setting out to do some wicked deed, she stole down into the garden in the moonlit night, passed along the long avenues and out into the deserted streets, and made her way to the churchyard. There, on one of the broadest gravestones, she saw a circle of lamias, hideous witches. They took off their rags as though they meant to bathe, then dug their long, bony fingers into the fresh graves, pulled out the corpses, and devoured their flesh. Elisa had to pass close by them, and they fixed their wicked eyes upon her, but she said her prayer, gathered the stinging nettles, and carried them home to the palace.

Only one person had seen her: the archbishop, who was awake while others slept. Now at last he had proof of what he had believed all along—that all was not as it should be with the queen. She was a witch, and that was how she had bewitched the king and all the people.

In the confessional he told the king what he had seen and what he feared, and as the harsh words fell from his tongue, the carved images of the saints shook their heads, as though to say, “It is not so! Elisa is innocent!” But the archbishop interpreted it differently; he thought they were bearing witness against her, shaking their heads at her sin. Then two heavy tears rolled down the king’s cheeks, and he went home with doubt in his heart. At night he pretended to sleep, but no peaceful sleep came to his eyes. He noticed Elisa rise, and every night she did the same; each time he followed quietly and saw her disappear into her secret chamber.

Day by day his expression grew darker. Elisa saw it but could not understand why, and it frightened her. And what anguish she suffered in her heart for her brothers! Her salt tears fell upon the royal velvet and purple, where they lay like glittering diamonds, and everyone who saw all that rich splendour wished to be the queen. Yet her work was nearly done now; only one shirt of mail remained. But she had no more flax, nor a single nettle. Once more, just this last time, she would have to go to the churchyard and gather a few handfuls. She thought with dread of the lonely walk and the terrible lamias, but her resolve was as firm as her trust in Our Lord.

Elisa set out, but the king and the archbishop followed. They saw her disappear through the iron gate into the churchyard, and when they drew near, there on the gravestone sat the lamias, just as Elisa had seen them. The king turned away, for he imagined among them the woman whose head had rested upon his breast that very evening.

“The people must judge her!” he said, and the people gave their judgment: she must burn in the red flames. From the splendid royal halls she was led into a dark, damp cell, where the wind whistled through the barred window. Instead of velvet and silk, they gave her the bundle of nettles she had gathered; she could rest her head upon that. The rough, stinging shirts of mail she had knitted were to serve as quilt and blanket. Yet they could have given her nothing dearer. She took up her work again and prayed to her God. Outside, the street boys sang mocking songs about her; not a soul comforted her with a loving word.

Then towards evening a swan’s wing swept past close to the bars. It was the youngest of her brothers; he had found his sister. She sobbed aloud for joy, though she knew that the coming night might be the last she had to live. But now her work was almost finished, and her brothers were here.

The archbishop came to spend the last hour with her, as he had promised the king, but she shook her head and begged him with her eyes and gestures to leave. That very night she must finish her work, or all would have been in vain—everything, the pain, the tears, and the sleepless nights. The archbishop went away with bitter words against her, but poor Elisa knew she was innocent and went on with her work.

The little mice ran about the floor, dragging the nettles to her feet to give what help they could, and the thrush perched on the window bars and sang all night as cheerfully as it could, so that she would not lose heart.

It was only daybreak, with another hour before the sun would rise, when the eleven brothers stood at the palace gate and demanded to be brought before the king. But that was impossible, they were told; it was still night, the king was asleep and must not be woken. They pleaded, they threatened, the guards came, and at last the king himself appeared and asked what it all meant. Just then the sun rose, and there were no brothers to be seen, but eleven wild swans flew over the palace.

All the people streamed out through the city gate to see the witch burned. A wretched horse drew the cart in which she sat. They had dressed her in a shift of coarse sackcloth, and her lovely long hair hung loose about her beautiful head. Her cheeks were deathly pale, her lips moved softly, while her fingers twisted the green flax. Even on the way to her death she did not let go of the work she had begun. The ten shirts of mail lay at her feet, and she was knitting the eleventh. The mob jeered at her.

“Look at the witch, how she mutters! She has no hymnbook in her hand—no, there she sits with her loathsome witchcraft! Tear it from her into a thousand pieces!”

And they all pressed in upon her, meaning to tear it to shreds. Then eleven white swans came flying down, settled around her on the cart, and beat their great wings. The crowd shrank back in terror.

“It is a sign from Heaven! Surely she is innocent!” many whispered, but they dared not say it aloud. Now the executioner took her by the hand, and she hastily flung the eleven shirts over the swans. There stood eleven handsome princes, but the youngest had a swan’s wing in place of one arm, for a sleeve was missing from his shirt of mail; she had not managed to finish it.

“Now I dare speak!” she said. “I am innocent!” And the people, seeing what had happened, bowed before her as before a saint. But she sank lifeless into her brothers’ arms, so utterly had suspense, fear, and pain exhausted her.

“Yes, she is innocent!” said the eldest brother, and he told them all that had happened. As he spoke, a fragrance spread through the air as though from millions of roses, for every piece of wood in the pyre had taken root and put out branches. There stood a great, tall, fragrant hedge covered in red roses. At its very top shone a single flower, white and radiant as a star. The king plucked it and laid it upon Elisa’s breast, and she awoke with peace and bliss in her heart.

And all the church bells rang of their own accord, and the birds came in great flocks. The procession back to the palace became a wedding procession such as no king had ever seen.