Fairytale: The Seven Swan Brothers
A retelling of Hans Christian Anderson’s classic
The Seven Swan Brothers
Once, many many moons ago in a land quite like ours, there lived a royal family with seven sons. Though each son was brave, virtuous, and wise, it was their youngest, a daughter named Catherine, who was the family’s pride and joy. She was kind, beautiful, always helpful, and absolutely devoted to her family.
Not far from them lived an evil, ancient sorceress. When she heard of this daughter she immediately wished for her to marry her son, a twisted man in face and heart. His mother’s evil had rubbed off on him, been his meat and drink for so long it had deformed him, his evil immediately apparent to all who looked upon him. Why else would the gods see fit to twist and pull someone’s face and figure as such?
To her credit, the evil sorceress first tried asking for Catherine’s hand in marriage to her son, sending her son with a gift of magical potions that could either poison or sweeten water. The king, horrifed at the thought of sending his daughter - for he thought her far more delicate than she actually was - into such a den of terrors, refused the gift. Her brothers were relieved, unable to bear the thought of their precious sister wed to such a twisted man. For all his attempts at courtly manners, they had still seen him torturing cats when he thought no-one was looking, and laughing at such sport. THey sent him back to the evil sorceress with a polite but firm ‘no.’
In all the years since she had become a sorceress, and even quite a few years before that, the sorceress had not been told ‘no’ by anyone. That the king had such gall as to refuse her and alliance with someone as powerful as her drove her mad to distraction, and she decided to make the princess hers no matter what it took.
At the next full moon, when the seven brothers set forth on a moonlit hunt, she sat, watched them file out enthused and return exhausted, and planned.
For the next month, she carefully lay down traps and spells and enchantments along the route the brothers favoured. They rode out to the hunt, unsuspecting, only to find that once they reached the deep woods, the enchantress was waiting for them. The smiled tightly, a smile that did not reach her eyes, and with a wave of her hand she turned them all to swans.
At the same time, she had sent her son, under enchantments so as not to be seen, to take young Catherine from the castle. He was warned not to harm her, for she was still a child, and the evil enchantress wished to pay revenge upon her for refusing by offering her an impossible task to save her brothers.
The next morning the mother and son returned to her fortress, he with Catherine slung over his back sleeping fitfully, and she with a wagonload of swans. Their eyes grew large at the sight of Catherine, but they could do nothing. Already their humanity was slipping away from them.
Together, mother and son put Catherine to sleep in a sumptuously appointed chamber, stuffed end to end with anything one might need to sew, weave, or spin. When she awoke, the evil enchantress was there, watching her.
“Good morning,” said the enchantress.
Ever polite, Catherine answered “Good morning to you too, mistress. MAy I ask where I am?”
The sorceress laughed. ”You are in my fortress, but do not worry. Your brothers are here, too.”
“May I see them?”
“Of course.”
The sorceress led her down stairs for what seemed like a full hour before taking her to the courtyard. In a pen, seven swans milled about, plucking at their feathers. Catherine watched them, not wanting to understand.
“Where are my brothers?”
“Right in front of you.”
“Can you change them back?”
“No, only you can.”
“How?”
At that the enchantress laid an arm around Catherine’s shoulders and led her inside to where her son sat. ”I offer you a deal, darling,” she said, removing her arm and smiling once more. ”If, within seven years, you can make seven shirts as I describe them to you for your brothers and put them over their wings, they will once more be as men. If, within seven years, you do not, you will marry my son. If you do not try, they will remain swans forever and you will marry my son regardless.”
Seeing no other choice, Catherine nodded her head. ”I accept. How do I make these shirts?” she asked with all the dignity and bravery her ten-year-old self could muster.
“A day’s walk from here is a field full of nettles. You must pick them by the light of the moon, spin them into the finest thread you can, and make this into cloth. Once you have woven it, it must be cut with silver shears and sewn with silver needles and fine nettle thread. Once all seven have been made, you must put them on your brothers at sunrise.”
Catherine nodded solemnly at these instructions. “Have you these silver shears and needles?” She tried her best to avoid looking at the son, who was eyeing her like a starving man would a feast.
“You will find anything you need to complete your task in your bedroom. You will, of course, be given any clothes you need already made, and take meals with us. I wish for you to get to know my son.”
From his seat at the table, he grinned at her and waved. She suppressed a shudder.
For the next seven years, she picked nettles, spun them, wove them, and set about creating such magical shirts. Her hands grew coarse from the constant pricks, her eyes dry from staying awake as long as possible to work on the shirts. She grew thin from worrying despite eating three full meals a day with the enchantress and her son.
As the end of the seventh year grew closer, she did more and more with less and less sleep. Frantically she spun and wove, until the last three days came. All she had left to do was the sleeves on the shirts, no small feat, as they had to fit a swan’s wings. She had finished six of the shirts and was sewing the last sleeve on to the seventh when the sun began to rise. ”This will have to do,” she thought, gathered up everything and raced down the stairs.
At the pen, she started shoving shirts over swans, pushing their wings through. Though they had little of their humanity left, they sensed that she was someone to be kind too and did not peck her. She shoved the last shirt, the one with only one sleeve, over the last swan just as the sun cleared the hills.
As the light hit them, the swans stretched up their necks, spread their wings, and became men once more. Each was whole and exactly the same except the youngest, who still had one swan wing. She hugged and kissed each of them, glad to have them back, as the enchantress stood silently fuming, cursing herself for not specifying that they had to be complete shirts.
The seven brothers gathered up their sister and they set off back to their castle, free of the evil witch and her twisted son forever.
