The Six Swans

Long ago, there was a king who had seven children: six sons and one little daughter. He loved them dearly. One day, while hunting deep in a dark forest, he lost his way. An old woman met him among the trees and said, "I can show you the path out, if you promise to marry my daughter." The king, frightened and desperate, agreed. He kept his word and brought the new queen home.

But the king feared that his new wife might not be kind to his children. To keep them safe, he hid them in a secret castle, tucked far inside the forest, and visited them alone by a hidden path that no one else knew. The queen, however, was cunning. She watched him slip away and followed him in secret. She learned where the children lived.

One day she crept into the lonely castle with six small white shirts sewn with strange stitches. Before the boys could run, she flung a shirt over each of them. In an instant, the six princes turned into swans, beat their great white wings, and flew away through the window. The queen searched for the little sister too, but the girl had hidden herself, trembling and still.

When the danger passed, the girl came out and found the house empty. She cried, but then wiped her tears and set out to look for her brothers. She walked through woods and across fields and slept under leaves and stars. At last, she found a lake where six swans glided over the water. At sunset, when the last light faded, the swans came ashore, shook their feathers, and turned into six young men—her brothers!

They hugged her and told her what the queen had done. "We must be swans by day," they said, "but for a quarter of an hour each evening we are ourselves again." The sister asked, "How can I break the spell?" The eldest brother answered, "You must be silent and not laugh or speak for six whole years. In that time, you must sew six shirts for us from star-flowers that grow in the forest. If you utter even a single word before the last shirt is finished, all will be lost."

The girl looked at her brothers, at their kind faces and the white feathers waiting on the shore, and she nodded. She went into the forest at once, picked the tiny white star-flowers with careful fingers, and began to sew. Day after day she worked. She did not sing. She did not speak. She gathered flowers at dawn and stitched by moonlight, her heart steady and brave.

Soon the brothers said they would carry her to a safer place. They wove a woven basket, and in the morning, when they were swans again, they lifted the basket in their beaks and flew with their sister over hills and rivers, far away to another kingdom. They set her high in an old oak tree near a castle, and each evening, for a short time, they returned in human form to watch over her as she sewed.

One day, the king of that land came hunting in the forest. He looked up, saw the silent maiden in the tree, and was struck by her gentle eyes and quiet courage. He called up to her, but she only smiled and held her bundle of stitching. The king helped her down and asked, with kindness, if she would be his queen. She could not speak, but she placed her hand in his, and that was her answer. They were married, and the people wondered at their silent queen who went about her days in kindness, always with flowers and thread.

Time passed, and the queen had a child. The king’s mother, however, was jealous and cold. While the king was away, the old woman took the baby in the night and hid the child where no one would find him. Then she smeared the sleeping queen’s mouth with stains and whispered to the court that their silent queen had done an awful, cruel thing. The queen heard the whispering and could not defend herself. She only bowed her head and kept sewing.

When a second child was born, the same wicked trick was done. Again the baby disappeared; again the silent queen’s name was darkened. The king loved his wife and would not believe evil of her, yet doubts and sorrow fell over the palace like fog. Still the queen walked the halls, gentle and quiet, and her hands never stopped their work.

A third time, a child came—and a third time, the old woman hid the little one and spread her poison. The people murmured; the court grew angry; and at last, though the king’s heart broke, the queen was judged without a defense she could speak. They said she must be punished.

On the very day set for the punishment, the last hour of the six years finally arrived. The queen had sewn all six shirts—except the last one lacked a sleeve, for time was almost gone. She held the shirts close and walked to the great square with calm steps. Above the roofs, six white swans swept out of the sky, circling and crying.

As the swans flew low, the queen threw the shirts over them—one, two, three, four, five, six. With each shirt, a swan became a prince again. Only the youngest had one white wing instead of an arm, because his shirt had no sleeve. At that moment the six years ended, and the queen’s voice returned.

She lifted her head and spoke clearly at last. She told the whole story—the secret castle, the cruel enchantment, the star-flowers, her vow of silence, and the true fate of her children. Her words were like light in a dark room. The king embraced her, full of joy and shame for having doubted. Servants were sent at once to search, and they found all three children hidden and safe, just as the queen had said.

The king’s mother, who had done the harm, was judged for her wickedness and taken away so she could trouble no one ever again. Peace returned to the kingdom. The youngest prince, with his one strong wing, learned to do everything with courage and grace, and never complained.

The brothers stayed with their sister and the kind king. The old father, when he heard of all that had happened, welcomed them joyfully when they visited. The queen planted star-flowers in the palace gardens to remember the vow that had saved her brothers. And from then on, the land was filled with truth, gentleness, and the steady brightness of loyalty that never gives up.