yesterday, then all will-o’-the-wisps born at that hour and minute can become human beings. And each of them flits around for a whole year exercising their power. A will-o‘-the-wisp can travel around the country and the world too, if he’s not afraid to fall in the sea, or to be blown out in a great storm. He can get right inside a person, speak for him, and make all the movements he wants to. The will-o’-the-wisp can take any form, male or female, act in their minds, but with all his own nature, so he can get what he wants. In one year he must show that he can lead three hundred and sixty five people astray, and in grand fashion. He must lead them away from what’s true and right. Then he’ll obtain the highest a will-o‘-the-wisp can aspire to: becoming a runner in front of the Devil’s finest coach. He’ll receive a glowing orange uniform and breathe fire from his throat. That’s something a common will-o’-the-wisp can really lick his lips over. But there’s also danger and a lot of worry for an ambitious will-o‘-the-wisp who intends to play a part. If a person becomes aware of who he is, he can blow him away, and the will-o’-the-wisp is put out and must return to the swamp. And if the will-o‘-the-wisp is moved by longing for his family before the year is over and betrays himself, then he’s also out of it. He no longer burns clearly and soon goes out and can’t be relit. And if the year ends without him leading three hundred and sixty five people away from truth, and what’s good and beautiful, then he’s sentenced to lie in a rotten tree and shine without moving, and that’s the worst possible punishment for a lively will-o’-the-wisp. I knew all of this, and I told all of it to the twelve little will-o’ -the-wisps, who were sitting on my lap. They were wild with joy. I told them that it was surest and most comfortable to give up glory and not do anything. But the young licks didn’t want that. They already saw themselves in glowing orange with flames coming out of their mouths.
“‘Stay with us!’ said some of the elders.
“‘Trick the humans!’ said others. ‘People are drying out our meadows, draining them. What will become of our descendants?’
“‘We want to go blow blazes!’ said the newborn will-o’-the-wisps, and so it was decided.
“They immediately had a minute-long dance. It couldn’t have been shorter. The elf maidens swung around three times with all the others because they didn’t want to appear haughty. They actually preferred to dance by themselves. Then it was time for the godparents’ gifts. ‘Skipping stones’ as it’s called. The presents flew like small stones across the bog water. Each of the elf maidens gave a piece of her veil. ‘Take it!’ they said, ‘and then you will right away at a pinch know the higher forms of dance with the most difficult swings and turns. You’ll have the proper carriage and can appear at the most elegant parties.’ The nightjar3 taught each of the young will-o’-the-wisps to say, ‘Braaa, braaa, braaa’ and to say it at the right times, and that’s a big gift that pays off. The owl and the stork also gave something, but they said it wasn’t worth mentioning so we won’t talk about it.
“Just then King Valdemar on his wild hunt4 came thundering over the bog, and when that company heard about the celebration, they sent a couple of fine dogs as gifts, dogs who could hunt with the wind and could surely carry a will-o‘-the-wisp or three. Two old nightmares, who make a living by riding, were at the party. They taught the young will-o’-the-wisps the art of slipping through keyholes, which would open every door to them. They offered to convey the young will-o’-the-wisps to town, where they knew their way around. Usually they ride through the air on their own long manes, that they tie into knots to sit firmly on, but this time each of them straddled the back of a wild hunt dog and took the young Wills who were to trick and bewilder people on their laps. Swoosh! They were gone.
“That was all last night. Now the will-o’-the-wisps are in town. They have set to work. But how and what they are doing, you tell me! I have a pain in my big toe because of a weather wire that always tells me something is up!”
“But this is a whole fairy tale!” said the man.
“Well, it’s really just the beginning of one,” said the bog witch. “Can you tell me how the will-o’-the-wisps are romping about and carrying on, and in what shape they are appearing in order to lead people astray?”
“I do think,” said the man, “that a whole novel could be writ ten about the will-o‘-the-wisps with twelve chapters, one for each will-o’-the-wisp; or maybe even better, an entire folk comedy!”
“You should write that!” said the bog witch, “or maybe it’s best to let it go.”
“Yes, that’s more comfortable and pleasant,” said the man. “Then you avoid being staked in the newspapers which is just as hard as it is for a will-o’-the-wisp to lie in a rotten tree, shining but unable to say a word!”
“It’s all the same to me,” said the bog witch. “But just let the others write, those who are able and those who are not. I’ll give an old tap from my barrel that will open up the cupboard with poetry in bottles, and from there they can get what they’re lacking. As for you, my good man, it seems to me that you have gotten enough ink on your fingers and have reached the age and maturity not to run after fairy tales every year, when there are much more important things to do here now. You must have understood what is going on, haven’t you?”
“The will-o‘-the-wisps are in town!” said the man. “I have heard it, and I understand it! But what do you want me to do about it? I’ll just be raked over the coals if I see one and tell people: Look! There goes a will-o’-the-wisp in the guise of an honest man.”
“They also wear skirts!” said the bog witch. “The will-o’-the-wisp can assume all shapes and appear in all places. He goes to church, not for the Lord’s sake, but maybe he’s gone into the minister! He speaks on election day, not for the country’s sake, but just for his own. He’s an artist, both in the painter’s paint jar and the theater’s make-up jar, but when he gets complete power, then there’s the end of it: the jar’s empty. I talk and talk, but I must get out of my throat what’s stuck there, even though it harms my own family. I’m going to be the savior of humanity. It’s truly not something I can help, and I’m not doing it for the sake of a medal. But I’m doing the craziest thing I could—I’m telling a poet, so then the whole town will soon know about it!”
“The town won’t pay any attention,” said the man. “It won’t affect a single person. They’ll all think I’m telling a fairy tale when I tell them in complete seriousness ‘The will-o’-the-wisps are in town,’ said the bog witch. ‘Beware! ”’
NOTES
1 Reference to
2 Reference to Paul de Kock ( 1793-1871 ) , French author of popular novels of Parisian life.
3 In Danish the word the nightjar teaches the will-o’-the-wisps to say is
4 According to legend, fourteenth-century King Valdemar mocked God by preferring hunting to heaven. Hence he was condemned to ride and hunt the Danish countryside every night.
