“It is so, O illustrious king;” said the boy, “and may I be forgiven for the audacity of going into the king’s garden. I went and cut for myself a flute from the stem of the willow tree, and when I began to blow it, it played, ‘Do not blow so hard, O boy, for my heart is aching within me,’ etc.” Then he told him he had gone back to his father, who instead of praising him for the marvellous flute, gave him a good shaking. He had then gone a second time into the garden, and had cut off one of the branches to make a flute; but this did not play like the first one. The king gave the boy a very rich gift, and he ordered the Gipsy to be killed.
Some time afterwards, the queen came to the king and asked leave to go to her mother to tell her all that had happened to her, and to say good-bye for ever now, as she henceforth would live among human beings. The king reluctantly gave way. She then made three somersaults, and again became a swan, as she had been when the king found her for the first time on the waters of the lake.
Spreading her wings she flew far away until she reached the house of her mother, who was quite alone. Her two sisters were not there. They had left her some time ago and no one knew whither they had gone. The young queen did not go into the house, she was probably afraid lest her mother would not let her go back again, so she settled on the roof, and there she sang: “Remain in health, good mother mine, as the joy is no longer granted thee to have me with thee in thine house, for thou wilt only see me again when I lose my kingdom, dear mother mine, not before, and not till then.” And without waiting for the answer of her mother she returned back again to her husband. Sitting on the window sill, she sung again: “Rise up, O husband, open the doors, wake up the servants and let them be a witness of my faithfulness to thee, for since I have married thee I have left my mother, and my sisters have gone away from me, and from a swan I have become a true wife to live in happiness with thee. Henceforth I shall no longer be a swan, but thou must take care of me that I do not go hence from thee. I do not know whether my fate will be a better one by being a queen in this world. O sweet water, how I long to bathe in thee! And my white feathers, they will belong to my sisters. Since I am to leave them for ever, and my mother with them, O Lord, what have I done? Shall I be able to live upon the earth, and shall I keep the kingdom? Thou, O Lord, O merciful, hearken unto me and grant that this kingdom may not be in vain.” And turning again head over heels, she became a woman as before, and entering the palace she lived there with her husband—the king—and if they have not died since they are still alive.
Here we have the origin of the swans, for since that time the swans have come to this world.
It is a remarkable tale, in which the element of the swan-maiden story has been mixed up with the type of the false wife. It claims, however, special attention, for we have here what I believe to be “the song of the dying swan.” It is practically the song of the swan before her death as a swan, and her rebirth as a fairy maiden, which is contained in the concluding portion.
I am not aware of any other parallel to this peculiar song, although the fable that the swan sings a very beautiful song before his death is well known from antiquity.
Here follows another version of the swan legend in the form of a ballad.