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, and even the king himself, inquiring what all the noise
meant. At this moment the sun rose. The eleven brothers were seen no
more, but eleven wild swans flew away over the castle.
And now all the people came streaming forth from the gates of the city, to
see the witch burnt. An old horse drew the cart on which she sat. They had
dressed her in a garment of coarse sackcloth. Her lovely hair hung loose on
her shoulders, her cheeks were deadly pale, her lips moved silently, while
her fingers still worked at the green flax. Even on the way to death, she
would not give up her task. The ten coats of mail lay at her feet, she was
