Fertram and Hildur

Long, long ago, in a distant land, there lived a king and queen, who

were quite happy, save for one thing—they had no children. Some years

passed, and then, to their great joy, a little baby girl arrived, who

was named Hildur. When the christening feast came to an end, the king,

who was devoted to hunting, set out with his courtiers for a long day

in the great forest which surrounded the castle. Nothing unusual

happened until the hunting party began to turn homewards. The king was

riding alone, a little in front of his gaily dressed retinue, when he

suddenly saw an enormous dragon flying swiftly through the air towards

him, holding a small child in his talons. In an instant the king drew

his bow; the arrow, shot by his practised hand, sped to its mark, and

the monster fell to the ground, pierced through the heart. The king

leapt from his horse, and by the time his courtiers reached his side,

he was holding in his arms the rescued child, a beautiful boy of about

a year old, quite unhurt.

There were plenty of willing arms ready to carry the little fellow; but

the King refused.

“I rescued him; and now he shall be a playmate for my little daughter,”

he said. And the whole party went back to the castle.

Years passed on. The children grew up together, and loved each other

dearly. The king and queen had named the little boy Fertram, and they

treated him in all respects like their own child. If one of the little

ones had a present, the other had the same, and at last they were never

happy if they parted even for a day.

Now, Hildur’s grandmother was deeply versed in all kinds of magic arts,

and even when the young princess was still quite a girl, she taught her

many of her secrets. The child was the one being whom she loved. On the

other hand, she had an unreasoning dislike to the boy who had so

strangely become part of the family, and when she saw the affection of

the young people for one another, she determined to poison Fertram.

“Never shall my beloved grandchild wed this foundling boy,” she said to

herself. “The son of one of our rich neighbours is the mate I destine

for her.”

So she waited for an opportunity.

One day Fertram came in very hungry from a long day’s hunting. The

grandmother caused a dainty dish to be set before him, and begged him

to partake of it. But Hildur, who had noticed her grandmother’s dislike

to the young prince, came in at the moment, and, seeing the dish was

poisoned, prevented his eating it.

Another time the grandmother attempted to kill him as he lay asleep in

his bed, but Hildur again divined her intentions. She warned Fertram,

and they placed a log of wood in the bed. When night came, the old

woman entered, and with a dagger pierced the figure in the bed, as she

thought; but, to her surprise, the weapon remained firmly fixed in the

log, whilst her hands were fastened to the handle, and she had to

remain thus until morning broke, when the spell gave way.

Twice had Hildur thus been able to save Fertram, but they both saw that

he was no longer safe. At any moment the old woman might exercise some

magic art, and prevent Hildur saving him again. They decided that they

must take some other course.

One morning early, before even the sleepy guards at the gate were

awake, the young princess and Fertram passed through, and turned their

steps towards the unknown world lying beyond their own grounds. At

first they wandered through fields, and found the way easy.

“It was the only way, Fertram,” said Hildur, when the young man

regretted leaving without a word of thanks or love to those who had

cared for him through the long years since his childhood—“it was the

only way. Nowhere in my father’s castle would you have been safe, and

my grandmother would only have vented her anger upon my parents, if

they had known of our flight.”

At length a small river stopped their way. In an instant Hildur changed

herself and Fertram into trout, and, glittering in the sunlight, they

leaped into the water. Hardly had they got below the surface when they

saw the grandmother walking along the bank of the river. She had

tracked them at once, and now used her spells to try and catch them in

their present form. The day wore on, but her art was useless—nothing

would entrap the wary trout; and at last, filled with rage, she

retraced her steps to the castle.

It was sunset now, and the two young people, having resumed their

natural shape, pursued their way into the forest.

“We must no longer take the form of fish,” Hildur said. “Even now

grandmother will be weaving a magic net, out of which no fish can

possibly escape.”

And up in her tower, the grandmother went on weaving, weaving. At first

the work went smoothly; but soon the netting became entangled, the

knots no longer held together, and her spells showed her that the

fugitives were no longer fish, but had resumed their own forms.

“Go forth immediately,” she said to her servants. “Take every one who

can be spared. Search all through the forest, and kill every living

thing that you see.”

So the servants searched all day in every direction, but not a creature

was to be seen. At last, as night drew on, they met two beautiful dogs;

they were the most magnificent animals they had ever seen. But,

although they were quite friendly with the servants, they did not allow

themselves to be touched. The men therefore returned to the castle and

told what had happened.

The wrath of the grandmother was terrible to see. She knew at once that

the dogs were Fertram and Hildur, and she commanded the servants to be

thrown into the dungeons for not carrying out her orders.

Hildur, by her magic power, knew what had taken place.

“We must not stay here, Fertram,” she said sadly; “my grandmother will

never rest now until she kills us. Even her love for me seems to have

turned to hatred.”

“But what can we do?” Fertram asked. “Better let me go by myself out

into the world, and do you return. Then all will be well.”

But Hildur made no answer. Presently she unfolded a square of green

cloth.

“Sit on this beside me,” she said.

In a moment they were floating high up in the air. The day wore on.

Sometimes they were borne along swiftly by a strong breeze, then a soft

gentle wind would come and seem almost to rock them to sleep, till just

as the sun was setting, and the sky was one blaze of gold and crimson,

Hildur made the cloth descend slowly to the earth again, and they found

themselves in a great flowery plain. Magnificent trees shaded it here

and there. A beautiful river wound its way gently through luxuriant

banks covered with ferns, and in the distance rose the tower of a great

city, surmounted by a magnificent castle, standing out distinctly

against the sky.

“Fertram,” Hildur said, in a low voice, laying her hand on his arm,

“this is your native land. You are the son of the king who once reigned

here. Now he has been dead for some years. When you were only a year

old, your mother carried you into the beautiful orchard which lies at

the foot of the castle, when suddenly a great dragon swooped down, tore

you from her arms, and she saw you no more. Your father grieved even

more for you than your mother; you were his only child, and the loss

preyed upon him, till at length he died of grief. The kingdom will soon

have no ruler, for your mother, who hid her grief for your father’s

sake, is now pining away, and they fear for her life too. Now, Fertram,

you must go to her, tell her your history, and receive the kingdom from

her hands.”

“Hildur, dear Hildur, can it be true? Have I really a mother of my own,

as you have? It is almost too delightful to believe. Come, let us

hasten to her!” cried Fertram.

“No,” Hildur answered; “I must not go with you. You must go alone. But

I will remain quietly in that small hut which is under the great tree

yonder, until you come for me. But, oh, Fertram,” and she clasped his

arm with her two white hands, “remember I am alone in a strange

country; do not forget me.”

“Forget you, when you have been everything to me all these years!

Hildur, how could I? Such a thing could never happen. I love you better

than myself.”

“Yes, I know,” Hildur answered; “but I fear some evil. I know not

what.”

Then, to prevent her grandmother’s spells taking effect, she rubbed

some salve out of a small box she carried, over his hands and face, and

bade him a sorrowful farewell.

Fertram embraced her tenderly, laughed away her fears, and then took

his way towards the town. He looked very handsome, as he turned once

more to wave his cap to her, and the sun’s rays lit up his fair hair.

She watched him till she could see him no longer, and then went on to

the little hut she had destined for her temporary abode.

Fertram only stopped once on his way to the city. Feeling tired with

the long journey, he sat down under an oak tree, on a grassy mound.

While he was resting, a beautiful dog came up, and as he patted and

stroked it, the dog licked his face and hands. Immediately Fertram

forgot all his past life, and that Hildur was waiting for him in the

hut under the trees.

Having rested, he rose up and pursued his way into the town.

“Can I see the queen?” he inquired. “I have news for her, which will

give her joy.”

At first no one paid any heed, but the youth’s noble appearance struck

the courtiers, and at length he was admitted into the palace.

There he was brought before the queen, who was lying, pale and languid,

on a great couch of rich silks and cloth of gold. When he bowed before

her, she rose to a sitting position, startled out of her apathy and

weakness by his likeness to the dead king.

“Who is this youth? Where does he come from?” she asked.

“Madam,” the courtiers answered, “he is a stranger, who craves

admittance as a bearer of good tidings to your majesty.”

Then, in a few words, Fertram told his tale. Before it was done he was

clasped in the loving arms of his mother, who felt it was indeed her

long-lost son. The court was summoned together to hear the glad

tidings, the news was proclaimed in the streets of the city, the queen

gave the government at once into the hands of her son, and the young

king was crowned amid universal rejoicings.

Day after day went by, Fertram was absorbed with the affairs of his

kingdom, and his love for his mother. All thought of Hildur had gone

like a dream.

One day the city was roused to great excitement by the appearance of a

most beautiful maiden. No one knew whence she had come, but all agreed

that her loveliness could not be surpassed, and when the queen saw her,

she sent for her to the palace, treated her like a daughter, and

besought Fertram to marry her. This, however, he steadily refused to

do.

After a time, whispers went abroad that the beautiful girl was not as

good as she was lovely. Her fair face was constantly disfigured by an

ugly frown if things were not arranged as she liked, and the courtiers

began to think that the king was right, after all, in preferring to

seek another wife.

Just then one of the royal swineherds happened to lose his way in the

forest, and he wandered on until he came to a little hut. There he

found an old man and his wife, and with them a fair maiden, whom they

called their daughter. Never had the swineherd seen any one so

beautiful, and he determined to stay the night with these people, and

if possible carry off the maiden. He found that her name was Hildur;

and when the old people had gone up to bed, while Hildur was closing

the windows, and putting things straight before following their

example, he suggested that they should go out and look at the beautiful

moon rising. But Hildur said—

“I must first make up the fire on the hearth.”

The man offered to do it for her; but no sooner had he knelt down, than

his hands became fastened to the hearth. In vain he struggled to get

away, it was all of no avail. Hildur was nowhere to be seen, and it was

not until morning that he felt free once more. Then, rising to his

feet, he fled from the uncanny place without once looking back.

When he reached the castle, his fellow servants soon heard the whole

tale, and the report of the beauty of the woodcutter’s daughter was

circulated from one to the other. The royal huntsman thought he, too,

would like to see her. So, setting off at once, he reached the hut, and

begged for a night’s rest. The old people granted it willingly. The

beautiful girl was still there, and the huntsman in his turn planned to

carry her off that night. He begged Hildur to come for a walk, as it

was such a beautiful night. But she refused.

“My time is too fully occupied for idle wanderings,” she said. “Will

you help me by locking up the door for the night?”

“Willingly,” said the huntsman, intending to put the key in his pocket,

and carry her off later on.

But no sooner had his hands touched the lock, than they remained

fastened to it. A mocking laugh behind him made him look round, and he

saw Hildur disappearing up the stairs to her room.

When the sun was well up in the sky, and the old couple beginning to

stir, the huntsman found he could remove his hands, and he hurried off

shamefaced to his home.

Shortly after this, the king was out hunting in the forest, when

suddenly a thick black fog enveloped everything. He lost his way

completely, and became separated from his people. At length, after some

hours, he arrived at a little hut, knocked joyfully at the door, and on

its being opened by an old man, craved leave to rest. He was at once

invited to enter; and then the old man, recognizing the king, begged

him to excuse the poverty of the place.

The king sat down, wearied with his long wandering, and the old man

waited upon him, bringing food and drink of the best he had. Just as

the meal was ended Hildur came in, and the king thought he had never

seen any one so beautiful before. She was dressed as a simple peasant,

but she looked like a royal princess. The king begged leave to stay the

night, as it was still too foggy for him to find his way, and the old

man acceded, only apologizing for the poorness of the accommodation.

“I will not disturb you,” the king said. “Let me only rest in this room

for the night, as I have been doing now.”

So it was arranged.

After the old couple had gone to bed, the king begged Hildur to stay

and talk with him; but she said she must see to the calves in the

stable.

“That I can do for you,” he answered; and, rising, he went out into the

stable, put the straw and hay right for the calves, and had made

everything tidy, when one of them got out. After great trouble he

caught hold of it by the tail; but, alas! his hands remained fastened

to it, and he was found in this plight by Hildur just before dawn.

She laughed merrily when she saw him.

“It hardly suits a king, my lord,” she said, “to be hanging on to the

tail of a calf!”

But Fertram humbly begged her to release him. As she did so, she looked

up at him.

“Do you not recognize me?” she said.

“No,” replied Fertram, much astonished. “I have never seen you before,

I am certain.”

“Perhaps, then, I remind you of some one?” she asked again. “Of Hildur,

the king’s daughter, who brought you back to your kingdom?”

“No,” he said again, more puzzled still; “I never even remember hearing

the name of Hildur.”

Then Hildur went and fetched the little box of ointment, and directly

she rubbed it on his hands and face, his past life came back to him. He

embraced Hildur again and again, thanking her for all she had done for

him, and asking her to forgive his apparent coldness and forgetfulness.

“You, and you alone, have had my love all this time, at any rate,” he

said; “for I could love no one else. And you alone shall be my queen.”

Sitting down together in the early morning sunshine under one of the

great forest trees, Hildur told him what he did not know; namely, that

the beautiful girl whom his mother had taken into the palace was really

her old grandmother. She had followed them, and transformed herself so

that Fertram should marry her. Then she meant to kill him and his

mother, and seize the kingdom.

“So far I have guarded you from her wicked schemes,” Hildur said,

laying her hand on his; “but, knowing that the past was no longer in

your mind, I have feared each day that she might succeed in winning

you. For had you been unfaithful to me, I could no longer have done

anything for you against her wiles.”

Again and again Fertram thanked her; then he bade her a tender

farewell, and went straight back to the city. The great council of the

kingdom was summoned, and to them the young king disclosed the real

history of the wicked grandmother. But she was too cunning to be caught

and punished. Divining what had happened, she disappeared amid a cloud

of fire and smoke.

Then Fertram, accompanied by a magnificent retinue, with glittering

dresses, splendid horses, and all the nobles of the kingdom, went to

fetch his bride. She was still in her simple peasant’s dress, but her

beauty made all forget what she wore. Mounting the beautiful steed

brought for her, she rode back beside Fertram to the palace; and on the

steps, waiting to receive her, was Fertram’s mother. This was indeed a

joyful day for her. The wish of her heart was granted, in the

loveliness and goodness of her son’s bride.

The wedding was celebrated with the utmost pomp and magnificence, and

Fertram and Hildur lived happily together, surrounded, as years passed

on, by their beautiful children and grandchildren.