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the Marsh King's Daughter
by Hans Christian Andersen（1858）
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！”
