A HELENA NYBLOM FAIRYTALE

All the Wild Waves of the Sea 

 

There was once a poor widow who lived with her two children, Fridolf and Violanta, in a little cottage high up on the mountain-side.

The house stood amongst tall trees, but in front was a clearing whence one could see far over forest and plain, hills and dales, meadows and ploughed lands, and away on the farthest horizon gleamed a dark-blue streak, and that was the sea.

Up on the ridge where the cottage stood, a little spring welled up which, quickly growing into a little stream, hurried noisily over the stones and found its way through covert and bush to the valley below.

Here in the brook the mother washed the yarn she had spun, whilst the children splashed about in the water with bare feet, or made little boats which they launched into the stream and sent sailing down with the current.

When the children grew bigger, they began to help their mother with work of all kinds. Fridolf carried water from the well, gathered firewood, and dug in the garden. Violanta learned to sew and spin; in winter she sat oftenest indoors at her distaff, but when the spring came she would go down to the brook and wash the wool she had spun.

Now it happened one day in spring, when she was sixteen years old, and a tall, comely maiden, that she went down as usual to the brook with her wool. She knelt on the grass and bent over the water which, rippling and gurgling over her hands, rushed noisily onwards and dashed down and away towards the fall. It seemed to Violanta as if its waters could not get away quickly enough down the mountain and out on to the plain. She knelt on there watching the white foaming water, and at last she asked:

“Whither are you hurrying, you noisy little bubbling brook?”

Then the brook called out, “To the wild waves of the sea! To the wild waves of the sea!” and dashed onwards.

Just behind Violanta stood a cherry tree in full bloom. When the wind played in its topmost branches the white petals would flutter down like a shower of snow into the brook and float away with the current.

“Whither away are you floating, you dainty white blossoms?” asked Violanta when she saw the flowers whirling away down the stream. 


“To the wild waves of the sea, to the wild waves of the sea!” answered the cherry blossoms as they disappeared over the slope of the hill.

When it was blowing up among the fells the blue line on the horizon would become darker and darker, turning at last to a stormy blue, deep as indigo.

“What is that black line far away over there” Violanta asked her mother one summer day.

“Over yonder are the wild waves of the sea,” answered her mother.

And so another summer passed in the same way, the mother and her children living happily together up there in the little cottage on the mountain-side.

And now all the wild roses were over and the cherries were beginning to ripen.

One day as Fridolf and Violanta were sitting together under the cherry tree beside the brook the boy said:

“Say, sister, do you think there is anywhere on earth a lovelier spot than this?”

“That I cannot tell,” answered Violanta, “for I have never seen what it looks like elsewhere.”

“Well at least there is no one on earth as happy as we,” said Fridolf.

“Who is to know that?” answered Violanta, “for we do not know how it is with other folks.”

“Yes, but every day is happy here with us,” urged Fridolf, “and all the days are alike.”

“Yes, all the days are alike,” said Violanta, and sighed.

Just then a couple of cherries fell from the tree into the brook and were swept away down the stream.

“Whither are you sailing?” cried Violanta.

“To the wild waves of the sea! To the wild waves of the sea,” the cherries replied, and disappeared like drops of blood in the stream.

Violanta rose and gazed over the wide expanse of country below her.

The wind was blowing across the plains, and far away towards the horizon the blue streak was deepening to black.

“The wild waves of the sea! The wild waves of the sea!” said Violanta. “I too would go to them.”

Fridolf laughed. “You would not leave mother and me and our dear little home up here among the cherry trees?” he asked.  

Violanta did not answer, but Fridolf could see she was turning something over in her mind.

After that day she began to grow strangely quiet and likes best to sit alone beside the brook, gazing out across the wide country which lay stretched beneath her feet, and one morning when her mother and Fridolf awoke, Violanta had disappeared. They sought her everywhere; they waited for her from early morning til noon, and from noon til evening, but she did not come.

Then her mother went down to the brook and asked:

“Can you tell me, you stormy little brook, who has tempted my child away?”

“The wild waves of the sea! The wild waves of the sea!” sang the brook, and went foaming and eddying on its way.

Then the mother looked up into the cherry tree and asked:

“Will she ever come back? Will my child never come back any more?”

Then the cherry tree rustled its crown of branches and whispered:

“The wild waves of the sea! The wild waves of the sea!” Then her mother and Fridolf wept, for they knew within themselves that they would never see Violanta any more.

Violanta had awakened early one autumn morning. She got up and stole out of the cottage on bare feet, and not until she was well outside did she put on her shoes. She bound a red and white kerchief about her head that the sun might not burn her too much, and then she began to run. She followed the brook as it leapt from one rocky ledge to another until she reached the valley. Here the stream flowed more tranquilly in many a sweeping curve, winding and looping back upon itself as if it were now really bent upon seeing all it could, and on its banks long rows of willows and alders stood, looking on to see how quickly it could flow. It murmured and laughed and scattered its spray over the blue forget-me-nots, yet ever it hastened unwearily onwards. By degrees it grew broader and deeper, flowing at last a wide river through dark, silent forests where the branches of tall trees rustled and stirred above its waters. But Violanta still ran on, keeping always with the stream.

“I will follow it,” she thought; “I will follow it wherever it goes, then I shall be sure to reach them at last, those wild waves of the sea.”

And the stream grew and grew, and now it flowed onwards like a mighty river, tranquil and strong. AT last it reached a wide, shining lake, and flung itself into its waters; but Violanta kept along the shore, and on the further side the river flowed out again, stronger and fresher, as though it had gathered new strength from the waters of the lake.

And just here there was a mill. The miller who had built it had made a dam across the river, and its waters were no driving the big mill-wheels.

There was such a roaring noise of rushing water, such a rattle and din of clattering mill-wheels, that it made Violanta’s head spin.

High up on the steps above the mill-wheel stood the miller himself as round and as white as a sack of flour, and beside him stood his three children as white and as round as new-baked wheaten loaves, and with eyes as black as currants. When the miller caught sight of Violanta coming running along, he called out to her:

“Whither away so early in the day?”

“To the wild waves of the sea!” answered Violanta, and was going to run on.

“Oh, stop awhile,” shouted the miller; “stop awhile and rest here a little with us! No waves can be wilder than these in the river here, but see I have forced them to drive the mill-wheel and grind the corn, and everything goes on merrily here, I can tell you, both work and play.”

Violanta stood still. She heard the clatter and boom of the mill-wheel; she heard them laugh and sing in the mill, and there was something so hearty and gay about it all that it made her feel happy too.

“If you will enter my service,” said the fat miller from the steps, “you shall have more than enough to eat and drink and a new gown at Christmas.”

“What will the stuff be like?” asked Violanta.

“Oh, that you will see when Christmas comes!” answered the miller laughing.

Violanta stood and heistated a moment and looked across towards the tumbling, foam-flecked water of the river, but she was a little tired after having run such a long way, besides she thought the large garden which she caught sight of across the wall, and the mill itself, looked so pleasant and inviting, so she finally consented to take service with the miller.

Here at the mill the work rarely, if ever, came to a standstill. The shell turned by day and by night, and sack after sack of the whitest flour was borne up to the mill loft. The miller was as kind and jolly as he was fat, and his wife was even kinder and fatter than he. They were well-to-do and were kind to their servants, and the work went forward right merrily. The only ones who did not work were the children. They spent their time sitting on the sacks of flour, eating little cakes of wheaten bread, playing hide-and-seek among the sacks in the loft, or watching the wheel as it went whirring round and round in the water.

Violanta was a strong sturdy girl who worked with a will at all she had give her to do, and she was liked by her master and mistress and all the people about the mill. She was as light of foot in the dance as she was quick and ready at her work, for on Saturday evenings, when the week’s work was ended and the wheel stood still, the folks at the mill were allowed to dance on the green above the rapids. Here it was fresh and pleasant beside the roaring waters, which whirled away below, whilst the lads and lassies whirled round and round in the dance above.

The first mill-hand played the fiddle. He was a capital fellow, with a merry heart and a pair of bright eyes. He would play faster and faster to see how easily and lightly Violanta could swing around and how high she could spring, and then he would laugh and say:

“Upon my word you are smarter than the mill-wheel itself!”

When Christmas came they all received their wages and a Christmas fit into the bargain, Violanta had a new pair of new shoes and the stuff for a gown, which the miller had promiser her. It was good homespun with a little blue pattern like small leaves all over it; but Violanta felt disappointed. She had imagined something bright yellow with a flaming pattern, or something light with roses; but the miller’s wife explained to her how strong and serviceable her gown would be, and after that she thought no more about it.

During Christmas they had merry times at the mill with dancing and fiddling and plenty of home-brewed ale and saffron buns as large as the small round air-holes in the mill.

Guests came from the neighbouring mills and farms to join in the merry-making in the evening, and all the lads who came wanted to dance with Violanta. She was so pretty and could dance like the whirlwind. The first apprentice had to play his fiddle, but while he played his eyes would follow Violanta, and every time she danced past him he would send a friendly word after her. Now it happened one evening when she was dancing that her braids became loosened and her hair fell in rippling waves about her neck and shouldres. She ran off to plait it afresh, and as she passed the miller’s apprentice he caught the flying ends of her hair and called out:

“Just look at all the wild waves of the sea?”

“What do you mean?” Asked Violanta, stopping short.

“I only mean that your curly locks ripple and wave like the wild waves of the sea,” he answered gently, as he noticed how her bright face clouded over. But his words seemed to have reminded her of something she had forgotten, and from that evening Violanta was not the same person. She went about her work more quietly and no longer danced with the same zest.

When the spring came and the bird-cherries were in flower Violanta would often go down to the green above the rapids and seat herself on the little bench under the big blossoming cherry-tree. Here she would sit by the hour looking down at the river, and sometimes she would bend so low over the water that she could even feel the cold spray dash up into her face.

One evening whilst she was sitting there alone the miller’s lad came along and asked if he might sit awhile beside her on the bench.

Yes, certainly he might, she said, and made room for him beside her on the narrow seat. He sat for a long time at first and said nothing, as if he found it difficult to tell her what he wanted to say, but at last out it came, and he asked Violanta very nicely and humbly if she could not care for him a little - nay, a great deal, be his wife in fact. The miller had raised his wages and it certainly would not be very long before he was his own master. If Violanta would promise to be his wife he would promise to make her whole life as happy as any of their dances there above the rapids. They were made for one another, so he seemed to think. Violanta looked at him astonished, even a little startled. She had never thought that she and the miller’s lad were made for one another, but when she saw by his face how honestly he meant it, and how fearful he was lest she should go away without giving him his answer, she sat on and began to think it over. And she thought such a friendship as his was by no means lightly to be despised; few could work and none could play like him. Besides she knew well enough he had a heart one could trust, but for all that she could not all in a moment as it were, say what she really wanted. So she begged him to come early next morning to the place where they were now sitting, when she would give him her answer, and with this he had to be content.

Early the next morning, before the sun was up, Violanta went down to the dancing green beside the river. The air was fresh and light. The balsam poplars were scenting the air deliciously, the grass and the bushes around had put on their first spring green, and the bird-cherries, laden with their white blossoms, leaned far out over the white, foaming waters of the rapids below. Bulfinches whistled and swallows twittered, breaking into one another’s song from sheer delight, and out in the river the waves were having a mad and merry time. Dashing and whirling about they swung over the fall and hurried onwards in stormy haste. Violanta bent so low over the water that the spray dashed up into her face.

“Whither away do you hasten?” she whispered, “whither away?”

“To the wild waves of the sea! To the wild waves of the sea!” answered the river, and rushed on and away.

“Ah, yes!” said Violanta aloud, and spread out her arms. “The wild waves of the sea, thither I too will go along with you.” And she fastened her kerchief firmly about her head, made fast the shoes upon her feet, and began to run as fast as she could along the narrow path which led through the coppice fringing the banks of the river.

When the sun rose the miller’s lad rose too, and went down to the green.

When he found that Violanta was not there he smiled and said to himself:

“She will come right enough, the sun has only just risen.”

So he sat there till noonday sun shone warm upon the water, and as she still did not come, he sighed and said again:

“She will come right enough, the sun has only just risen.”

So he sat there till the noonday sun shone warm upon the water, and as she still did not come, he sighed and said again:

“She will come right enough, the sun has not yet set.”

Being a Sunday, he was able to sit there as long as he liked, and as for food and drink he did not care a straw about them now, he only sat on waiting for Violanta. But when the sun set at the end of the long, clear, spring day, and the mists began to rise from the river, he wept and said to himself:

“She will never come again”; and she never did.

But Violanta followed the looping of the river which wound its way through woodland and thicket, open countermand level pastures, till it came to a long ridge of green hills, between which it slips its winding way along.

When the river and Violanta had come out upon the other side of the hills, a magnificent tract of country lay stretched before them.

Meadows full of tall grass and fragrant flowers spread out on every side, shaded by big oaks and linden trees, and in the very middle of the loveliest meadow lay a big white house surrounded by a flower garden. All the outside blinds were drawn down, and it looked so silent and deserted that it did not seem possible anyone could be living there. But when Violanta peeped into the garden she saw that the place must be inhabited, for everything was so beautifully kept. The lilac bushes were quite big and bunchy, so full were they of white and purple blossoms. The laburnums bent beneath their long golden chains, and all the flower beds were a blaze of bright-coloured tulips, auricles and irises. But all the same Violanta thought it was most beautiful of all out in the meadow. The turf was as green and as smooth as velvet and quite full of scented violents. The big chestnut trees flung wide their broad branches, spreading a welcome shade around, and through the leaves came the flickering sunshine, sparkling and smiling. And here in the meadows the river flowed as gently and as silently as if it indeed wished to stay there for ever, so beautiful was it all.

And now Violanta caught sight of a lady lying in a reclining chair, reading a book beneath the shade of a big chestnut. She was tall and slender and very pale. Her black lashes cast a shadow upon her wan cheeks, and over her black hair she wore a purple veil which fell away on each side like the broad dusky wings of a night moth. Her gown was the softest silk shot with all the bright colours of the rainbow. She lay so still that Violanta thought at first she was asleep, but suddenly she looked up out of a pair of great, thoughtful eyes.

“Come nearer,” she said in a gentle voice, stretching out her hand. It was a slender white hand on which a blue jewel shone like a star.

“Whither are you running on such a day as this?” She asked Violanta.

“Violanta stood still, hot and breathless. “To the wild waves of the sea,” she replied softly.

“Indeed?” Said the beautiful lady, and smiled.

“Many go that way but few return. Do but stay here with me instead, you can be useful to me. IT is good to be here, and the longer you stay with me the more you will get to like it.”

Then Violanta asked in what way she could be of service to her, for she thought it would be a delightful place indeed to stop in.

“Well, you see,” began the stranger, here I lie at my ease, comfortably and quietly under the big trees. I can see the sky and the earth and the river, and I can read of all the wonders of nature in this book. But one thing is wanting - I cannot walk. I must always lie quite, quite still.” And then she told Violanta how in the past she had always wandered freely everywhere. No forest was too dense, no mountain too steep for her. Everything in nature did she long to see and know, everything did she wish to reach and hold within her grasp. One day, whilst wandering high up on a mountain, she caught sight of a little flower she had never seen before, growing on the face of the rock. Its form was most beautiful and its colour bright blue - “as blue as the stone in my ring,” she said. It grew so far out over the precipice that she at once realised it would be difficult to get, be she could not turn her eyes away from it, and her heart beat fast with longing to possess it, so she crept carefully on her hands and knees out over the edge of the precipice to pluck the flower. She was already so near that she had stretched out her hand to take it when her foot had slipped and she fell - not to the bottom of the precipice, but a long way down the mountain side, and there she lay insensible upon a pile of stones. When she came to herself she found herself lying with a broken hip. And now she added mildly, “Now I cannot even pick the flowers in my own garden. But you, little maid,” she continued, “you are young and strong, you can climb up to heights I cannot reach, and penetrate into forests depths where I have never been. You shall fetch me flowers hidden away in the most secret places, and the lightest winged butterflies, and bear hither stones and crystals from the mountains, and I will tell you the most wonderful things of them all. You cannot even dream of the secrets that are written in letters of gold in the very smallest of stones, and every flower has its own story to tell.”

Violanta listend to the beautiful lady’s words. Her voice was so gentle and her eyes so full of light, and about her resting-place the violets were scenting so deliciously.

“Yes,” said Violanta, “I will stay. It is good to be here. But what shall I call you?” she added, “for I do not know your name.”

“Call me Penserosa,” answered the stranger; “I have forgotten my name.”

So Violanta entered the service of the beautiful Penserosa.

Here she was not allowed to wear her coarse working dress from the mill. She had a light tunic instead, with sandals for her feet and a thin veil for her hair. She was to have nothing to burden her so that she might climb the mountains freely or penetrate into the forests. All that she found on her wanderings she took home to her mistress. Penserosa would then half raise herself on her couch beneath the chestnuts, throw back her violet-coloured veil from off her forehead, and making Violanta kneel in the grass at her side she would begin with sparkling eyes to explain to Violanta about the many treasures she had found. It was just as if the faded flowers she had picked had become fresh again, and were telling her all about the spot where they grew and what they had seen and heard from the moment they had peeped above the earth. The dead butterflies became alive once more; they whispered softly and fluttered above Violanta’s head dancing the loveliest of dances. Even the stones murmured in low wistful tones, words which Penserosa could understand and explain. Everything in nature became so new and wonderful, the earth so full of riches, the river so deep and mysterious, the sky above so boundless and so high, high up. Violanta was never weary of sitting at her mistress’s feet, listening to the words of wisdom which fell from her lips. Even when Penserosa was not speaking but merely lying stretched upon her couch silently gazing into the leafy branches over her head, her eyes always seemed so full of thoughts that Violanta could not help gazing eagerly into them.

It came about just as Penserosa had said, the longer Violanta lived here the more she liked it. For it was after all only very little she could carry home to her mistress, and now she wanted to hear her explain everything, everything in the world. She wanted to learn all the secrets of nature, and for this a whole lifetime was not enough.

And thus the summer passed like a single sunshiny day. Then the roses began to fade, the leaves dropped off one by one from the trees, the sun disappeared earlier in the day behind the forest, but Violanta’s mistress still lay undisturbed upon her sheltered couch, and Violanta brought her flowers all aglow with colour, and ripe fruit from the woods and meadows. At last one evening an icy-cold breeze swept across the river and the first withered leaves of the chestnut tree came whirling to the ground.

“Ah me,” said Penserosa, and sighed; “that was winter’s first greeting, now he will soon drive us away from here. The storks and the swallows and the wild geese will soon be flying away to the south,” she continued, looking up at the clouds, “but you, Violanta, you will stay with me always, will you not? Promise me this.”

“Always, that is no light word,” answered Violanta; “I promise nothing.”

“There you are right,” said her mistress, looking grave, “for you would not keep your promise.”

Violanta blushed; for you may very well criticise yourself but you don’t like to hear others doing so.

“Why don’t you think I could not keep my word?” she asked.

“I can see it in your eyes,” answered her mistress, looking deep into Violanta’s eyes; “I see all the wild waves of the sea there.”

“The wild waves of the sea! The wild waves of the sea!” sang the wind in the trees above her head.

“The wild waves of the sea! The wild waves of the sea!” roared the waters of the river at her feet.

“Ah yes!” sighed Violanta; “the wild waves of the sea! It is for them after all that I long. If I could but see them once! I must see them, I will go to them, all those wild waves of the sea!…”

Violanta awoke the next morning to find a gale blowing. The branches of the trees beat against the window panes, the river rushed stormily along, and the leaves flew like flocks of birds over the meadow.

She dressed hastily and ran out. The gusty wind caught her garments and lifted her like a leaf. She was whirled away across the open country and on into the woods. Here the wind howled in the tree-tops and ever and again a blast as from a great bassoon swept through the air, making the giant oak-trees tremble and quake, and snapping off the twigs and branches of the forest trees.

“The wild waves of the sea!” howled the wind through the forest.

“The wild waves of the sea!” roared the river.

“Ah, yes! Ah, yes! The wild waves of the sea!” cried Violanta, and flew onwards like a wild swan, with her veil fluttering like wings behind her.

The brambles tore her clothes, she tripped over the rough ground and ran up against the trees yet on she sped in breathless haste.

From the forest she came out upon a wide heath where neither trees nor bushes grew, and here she went twice as fast as before. The storm drove her on like a thistle-down nearer and nearer the sea. Her feet scarcely touched the ground, she could hardly breathe and she was blown along, half-stupefied at last, across the heath towards the long stretches of sandy waster beside the seashore. Then all at once a violent gust of wind flung her to the ground and she lay unconscious at the foot of a sand-hill.

When she came to herself again she did not realise at first where she way, for there was nothing but the wide sky above and all around a desolate waste; after a while she rose and went on further over the sandy ground. She saw something sparkling and blue lying beyond the sand dune; it was the sea. The storm had died down, and the sea was perfectly calm, vast and silent as air. As far as the eye could reach there was no trace of land; not a boat, not a sail could be seen, right away to the farthest horizon it was all one wide, sparkling, calm expanse of blue.

That is not the sea,” thought Violanta, “that must be the sky”; and she went right down to the water’s edge and stuck the point of her shoe in the water. There was not the smallest movement to show that the sea was stirring. It lay like some huge animal, lying in wait for its prey.

“Is this the sea?” said Violanta again, and looked round. “Why I never thought it was like this. Shall I never, never see you then, all you wild waves of the sea!”

But all at once, right away on the horizon, it began to darken; the rim of the sea became steel blue, then coal black, and suddenly, as if some unknown terror stirred in its depths, long streaks shot shivering across the surface of the deep. A whole army of small crisping waves rolled shorewards, glistening blue like the glint of steel. Then Violanta laughed and clapped her hands: “Now, now they come! They come! All the wild waves of the sea!”

Just then a fearsome blast rent the air, and on a sudden the whole ocean, turned to indigo, uprose with a mighty roar, and in massed columns like a charging host came rolling in towards the shore.

“These are the wild waves of the sea!” said Violanta, slowly. “How grand they are to watch!” Yet a vague feeling of terror seized her, they come on so surely and in such battalions.

And now a whistling wind shrilled through the air, the waves reared up on high and stretched their necks, they changed to sea-green, to dark blue, to coal black, and as if at some mysterious command their curving tops were crested all at once with white, glistening foam. With a terrific roar they thundered in upon the beach.

“O-h, O-h!” Whispered Violanta, “they are terrible, the wild waves of the sea!”

But the sea rose ever higher and higher. The waves became as tall as houses, as churches, as cathedral spires. Great deep, black hollow gaped between as they reared themselves to dizzy heights, their spiral tops flinging the white spray wide. They crouched low and reared up, they leaped forward like tigers, they roared like lions, they howled like evil spirits, they boomed, thundered and rolled towards the coast as though they would swallow up the very earth itself.

Then Violanta raised her arms in terror towards the heavens.

“The wild waves of the sea!” she cried aloud. ““The wild waves of the sea! Whither shall I fly?” She turned round to flee away from them, but the sea was swift upon her. The first wave laid snares about her feet so that she stumbled and fell, the next dragged her down and away, those that followed after dashed mercilessly over her. She just uttered one cry and then she disappeared into the depths of the sea.

And all the billows hopped and danced over her, beat her and buffeted her, trampled upon her and crushed her, laughed and shrieked and howled at her.

“Do you know us now?” they called to her where she lay floating like white foam upon the waters. “Do you know us now? All the wild waves of the sea!”

 

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