The Six Swans

Once upon a time, there lived a king who ruled over a vast and prosperous kingdom. He was a widower with seven children—six sons and one daughter, all of whom he loved dearly. The king often took his children on hunts through the great forest that bordered his lands, finding joy in their company and teaching them the ways of the wilderness.

One day, while pursuing a magnificent white stag deep into unfamiliar parts of the forest, the king became separated from his hunting party. As he wandered through the ancient trees, trying to find his way back, he came upon a cottage he had never seen before. Outside stood a woman of remarkable beauty, though there was something unsettling in her eyes.

“Are you lost, Your Majesty?” she asked, her voice as sweet as honey yet somehow discordant.

“Indeed, I am,” admitted the king. “I have strayed from my path and cannot find my way back to my castle.”

“Rest here awhile,” the woman suggested, “and I shall provide you with refreshment before guiding you home.”

The king, weary from his day’s adventures, accepted her invitation. What he did not know was that the woman was a witch who had recognized him and set her heart on becoming queen. Through her enchantments and false kindness, she beguiled the king, and within a fortnight, they were wed.

The king’s children, especially his daughter, regarded their new stepmother with suspicion. There was something in her manner—a coldness that belied her outward beauty—that made them uneasy. The young princess often noticed the new queen watching her brothers with a calculating gaze that chilled her to the bone.

The queen, for her part, resented the king’s children, particularly his sons, who stood between her and absolute power. One day, while the king was away on a diplomatic mission, she enacted her wicked plan.

She sewed six shirts of white silk and imbued them with powerful magic. Then she called the six princes to her chambers, feigning motherly affection.

“My dear sons,” she said, presenting the shirts, “I have made these for you with my own hands. Would you honor me by trying them on?”

The princes, raised to be courteous even to those they distrusted, took the shirts. The moment they slipped them over their heads, the queen’s spell took effect. Where six young men had stood, there now flapped six magnificent swans. With cries of distress, they beat their wings and flew out the open window into the fading light of evening.

The young princess, who had been watching from a hidden alcove, stifled a scream of horror. Before she could confront the queen, the witch turned and looked directly at the alcove, a cruel smile spreading across her face.

“Come out, little one,” she called. “Don’t you want to join your brothers?”

The princess fled, running through the castle and into the forest beyond. She ran until her feet were bleeding and her lungs burning, following the direction in which her swan-brothers had flown. For six days and six nights, she traveled through the wilderness, sustained only by wild berries and her determination to find her brothers.

On the seventh day, as the sun was setting, she came to a small lake deep in the forest. There on the water swam six white swans, each with a small golden crown around its neck—the only remnants of their human form. As twilight faded into darkness, the swans flew to the shore and shook their feathers. The enchantment weakened with the setting of the sun, and for one hour each night, the princes could resume their human form.

The princess, hiding behind a tree, watched this transformation with joy and sorrow mingled in her heart. When her brothers stood before her, she ran to them, embracing each one through tears of relief.

“Sister!” they exclaimed, amazed to find her so far from home. “How did you find us? And what has become of the kingdom in our absence?”

The princess recounted what she had witnessed and her subsequent flight from the castle. The eldest prince then explained their condition.

“We can take human form for only one hour after sunset each day,” he said gravely. “The rest of the time, we are bound to the form of swans. And there is more—we cannot return to the castle or approach any human dwelling while under this enchantment.”

“There must be a way to break this curse,” insisted the princess. “Tell me what I must do, and I shall do it, no matter the cost.”

As if in answer to her determination, an old woman emerged from the forest, her face lined with the wisdom of years. The princes tensed, fearing another witch, but the princess sensed no malice in the aged figure.

“There is a way,” said the old woman, “but it requires sacrifice beyond what most could bear. To break the enchantment, you must gather stinging nettles that grow only in graveyards. With your bare hands, you must harvest them, crush them, and weave them into six shirts—one for each of your brothers. During this time, from the moment you begin until the task is complete, you must maintain absolute silence. No word, no laugh, no cry may pass your lips, or your brothers will remain swans forever.”

“I will do it,” the princess declared without hesitation.

“Consider carefully,” warned the old woman. “The nettles will burn your flesh, leaving your hands raw and blistered. The task will take years to complete. And throughout it all, you must not speak, not even to defend yourself should danger threaten.”

“My brothers gave me their protection and love all my life,” said the princess. “Now it is my turn to save them, whatever the cost.”

That very night, as her brothers slept in human form, the princess began her journey to the nearest graveyard. There, by the light of the moon, she gathered the first batch of nettles, wincing as they stung her delicate hands but making no sound of pain.

She established a small shelter in the forest, close enough to the lake that her brothers could find her each night during their hour of humanity. There she began her labor of love, crushing the nettles and preparing them for spinning. Each day, her hands grew more wounded, and each day, she endured the pain in silence.

As months passed, the first shirt took shape, then the second. Her brothers visited her each night, bringing her food they had foraged and comfort through their presence, though they grieved to see her suffering hands and her face grown thin with the strain of her task.

Two years into her silent labor, the princess was discovered by hunters from a neighboring kingdom. Struck by her beauty and curious about a maiden living alone in the forest, they brought her to their king. Though she could not speak to explain herself, the young king was captivated by her quiet dignity and the mysterious sadness in her eyes. Despite her ragged appearance, he sensed her noble birth and, in time, asked for her hand in marriage.

The princess, unable to refuse verbally and seeing in this development a more secure place to continue her work, accepted with a nod. She brought with her to the castle the nettles she had gathered and the shirts she had begun, continuing her work in a tower room provided by her new husband.

The king’s mother, however, was suspicious of this silent bride. “Who marries a woman who neither speaks nor laughs?” she would ask her son. “There is something unnatural about her.”

The king defended his bride, but seeds of doubt were planted in the court. These doubts grew when the queen was seen gathering nettles in the castle graveyard by night, her hands bleeding from the task.

“She is a witch,” whispered the courtiers. “She performs dark rituals in the cemetery.”

When the queen gave birth to their first child, and still maintained her silence, even the king began to harbor concerns. His mother, seizing the opportunity, stole the infant from its cradle one night and smeared blood on the sleeping queen’s lips. In the morning, she accused the young queen of devouring her own child.

The queen, bound by her vow of silence, could not defend herself. Tears streamed down her face, but no words passed her lips. The king, torn between love and horror, spared her life but watched her more closely.

When a second child was born and then mysteriously disappeared in the same manner, with blood again found on the queen’s lips, the court’s outrage could no longer be contained. The queen was condemned as a witch and sentenced to be burned at the stake.

On the day of her execution, the queen was led to the pyre, carrying with her the six nettle shirts—five completed and the sixth lacking only a left sleeve, for time had run out before she could finish it. As the executioner bound her to the stake and the flames were about to be lit, six swans descended from the sky, circling the pyre.

The queen cast the shirts over her brothers, and immediately five of them transformed completely back into men. The sixth, whose shirt was missing a sleeve, retained a swan’s wing in place of his left arm. The brothers, now able to speak for their sister, revealed the truth of her sacrifice and the wickedness of the king’s mother.

The king, realizing the terrible injustice about to be committed, rushed to free his wife from her bonds. As he reached her side, the years of silence came to an end, and the queen spoke for the first time since beginning her task.

“My beloved,” she said, her voice rusty from disuse, “now you shall know the truth.”

She recounted the tale of her brothers’ enchantment and her vow of silence, explaining how she had endured pain and injustice to save them from their fate. The king’s mother, confronted with her deception, confessed to hiding the royal children, who were found alive and well in a secret chamber.

The king fell to his knees before his queen, begging forgiveness for his doubt. The reunited family—the queen, the king, their children, and the six princes (one with a swan’s wing)—lived thereafter in harmony and understanding.

As for the witch-queen who had caused such suffering, the king’s soldiers found her in her forest cottage, but upon their arrival, they discovered only a gnarled juniper tree where the cottage had stood. Some say that on certain nights, when the moon is dark, the tree weeps tears of black sap, paying an eternal penance for the pain she inflicted on the innocent.

And so the tale of the Six Swans reminds us that love can endure the most terrible trials, that sacrifice made willingly for those we love ennobles the heart, and that silence, though painful, sometimes speaks more powerfully than any words could express.