Story of Waldemar Daae and his Daughters.
When the wind sweeps over the grass it ripples like water; when it
sweeps over the corn, it undulates like waves of the sea. All that is the
wind's dance. But listen to what the wind tells. It sings it aloud, and it is
repeated amidst the trees in the wood, and carried through the loopholes and
the chinks in the wall. Look how the wind chases the skies up yonder, as if
they were a flock of sheep! Listen how the wind howls below through the
half-open gate, as if it were the warder blowing his horn! Strangely does it
sound down the chimney and in the fireplace; the fire flickers under it; and
the flames, instead of ascending, shoot out towards the room, where it is
warm and comfortable to sit and listen to it. Let the wind speak. It knows
more tales and adventures than all of us put together. Hearken now to what
it is about to relate.
It blew a tremendous blast: that was a prelude to its story.
“There lay close to the Great Belt an old castle with thick red walls,” said
the wind. “I knew every stone in it. I had seen them before, when they were
in Marshal Stig's castle at the Næs. It was demolished. The stones were
used again, and became new walls-a new building-at another place, and that
was Borreby Castle as it now stands. I have seen and known the high-born
ladies and gentlemen, the various generations that have dwelt in it; and now
I shall tell about Waldemar Daae and his Daughters.
“He held his head so high: he was of royal extraction. He could do more
than hunt a stag and drain a goblet: that would be proved some day, he said
to himself.
“His proud lady, apparelled in gold brocade, walked erect over her
polished inlaid floor. The tapestry was magnificent, the furniture costly, and
beautifully carved; vessels of gold and silver she had in profusion; there
were stores of German ale in the cellars; handsome spirited horses neighed
in the stables; all was superb within Borreby Castle when wealth was there.
