Once upon a time, in a day now long since past, there lived a farmer by the name of Bertram. He was not one of those who might boast of grand furnishings, lavish fare, or fashionable raiment. Quite the opposite, in fact, for he was so wretchedly poor that he could scarcely afford a single loaf of bread for the morrow. Each day, Bertram would journey to the village to sell bottles of milk, fresh eggs, churned butter, and his home-baked bread to the townsfolk, but though many of his goods were sold, he did return to his farmstead each evening as poor as he had ever been. It had long been Bertram’s wish to employ a clever manservant and a helpful scullery maid, but his dire poverty had forever hindered this worthy desire.
But there was another sorrow, far greater than his want of coin, which caused Bertram to shed bitter tears each day, and that was the mournful memory of his daughter, Hertha. In times past, Bertram and his dear Hertha had lived a most content life upon the farm, despite their humble station. It is true that Hertha had never been afforded the opportunity to attend school, but this mattered little to her, for she found great joy in assisting her father in the tending of his vast wheat field. Then, one fateful day, the Black Death swept across the land, and poor Hertha, a most delicate and vulnerable child, was afflicted by the ghastly malady and passed from this world but two days later. Bertram’s grief at his daughter’s passing had grown so profound that all the wheat in his great field had literally withered and shrunk to naught. The crushing combination of poverty and a broken heart had left Bertram himself in such a state of despair that he was nigh upon perishing from his sorrow.
One evening, as Bertram lay abed, he was roused by the sound of a voice singing. The one who sang possessed the most beautiful and ethereal voice he had ever heard; it was so enchanting that even the farmer’s cat, named Hans, was moved to tears, though it is not in the nature of felines to weep. Bertram sat bolt upright, his senses not yet fully returned, and peered into the deep, black spring night, but without his window, he could discern no one. He could still hear the mysterious girl’s voice, yet he could not so much as catch a glimpse of the lass to whom the fair song belonged.
“What a peculiar thing!” Bertram thought to himself, scratching his head. “I would swear upon my very soul that I hear a girl singing without my house, and yet, I cannot see her in the least.” He gave a great yawn and concluded, “I am like to be imagining many strange things on account of my great weariness.”
Bertram then lay down to sleep once more.
In the morning, Bertram was awakened by the crowing of the cockerel, which hailed the new day at the top of his lungs. The clock struck seven, which signified that it was time to rise and commence his labours.
After Bertram had completed his morning ablutions and consumed his porridge, he stepped out upon the field. And there he did behold a sight so wondrous and fantastic that it caused him to question whether his mind was playing a trick upon him.
Where the brown and withered stalks of wheat had lain but the day before, there now lay a multitude of gold nuggets that shimmered like the very sun in the morning light. Each stalk, each ear, had been transformed into a treasure akin to the sun's own tears—soft and warm, yet of an incalculable worth. The field appeared as a sea of small, shining isles, and the wind carried a sound through the glistening wheat that was naught but a gentle, melodic whisper.
Bertram knelt down cautiously, and as his fingertips met the gold, they felt cold yet possessed of a life of their own, as if they held a heart that beat in time with his. He took a deep breath and looked about, the air filled with a stillness so profound that it felt like a breath held in awe. Even the birds seemed to hold their peace, as if they knew a great miracle had befallen this vast but lonely wheat field.
“This cannot be possible!” Bertram exclaimed, his voice brimming with a most profound joy. “All my wheat has been turned to gold! I know not how such a thing could have come to pass, but to be frank, I do not concern myself with the how of it. The main thing is that I have become the wealthiest farmer in the land!”
Bertram could scarce trust his own eyes as he returned to his home with hands full of glittering golden grains from the field. His cottage, which had been so poor and worn, now felt a home worthy of a man whose heart was filled with felicity. For the first time in many a year, the warmth of hope spread through his breast.
He hitched his three black horses to his cart and rode to the village. There, he procured clothing such as only the grace of wealth could provide: a cape of deep blue cloth, so soft and lustrous that it seemed to bear the night sky upon its surface; a grand, well-tailored flat hat with four yellow feathers; a shirt of linen as white as new-fallen snow; and boots of the finest leather, adorned with simple yet noble stitching, which made him appear a worthy man of both town and country. At home, he replaced his old, dilapidated furniture with a table and chairs of sun-kissed oak, and a bed with carved legs that seemed to whisper tales of slumber and tranquility.
But true wealth, he soon learned, was not merely gold and finery; the greatest joy lay in companionship and work. Therefore, Bertram journeyed to the village market the following day and came upon a beautiful but workless woman named Annemarie, whose kindness and fairness were in full bloom. Bertram asked her if she would consider serving as a milkmaid upon his farmstead, and he further told her that she would be paid in gold nuggets should she accept his offer. Annemarie smiled at Bertram and replied thusly:
“I should consider it an honour, if I may be permitted to begin my service as a milkmaid for you, for I do so adore the sound of lowing cows and calves in the morning!”
Annemarie’s presence filled the farmstead with life, and her laughter, mingled with the clinking sound of golden milk pails, became a small song of their new-found happiness. Bertram often stood and regarded her with a heart full of gratitude and reverence. On one such occasion, he cast a glance toward Annemarie and remarked thus:
“Annemarie would make a most excellent wife for me. She possesses all that a man may love in a fair woman such as she: she is kind, helpful, and exceedingly civil, and not only that, she is also astonishingly beautiful!”
At last, Bertram's home was filled with beauty and life, from the gleaming furniture and his own magnificent clothes to the kindly milkmaid who shared his days. And without his knowing, another miracle awaited him, one that would soon alter his life in a manner no gold in the world could ever purchase.
That night, as Bertram lay sleeping, he was suddenly awoken by the sound of that same beautiful girl’s singing voice he had heard a few days prior. In the very next moment, Annemarie rushed into the room, her hair in disarray and her face as white as a sheet.
“What in heaven’s name is the matter?!” Bertram asked with great alarm.
“Master, master!” Annemarie cried, trembling with fear. “It is frightful, terrible, nay, utterly dreadful!” she shrieked, flapping her arms like a frenzied crow.
“What is so dreadful? You come rushing in as if the house were on fire! Pray, what has transpired, speak plainly, woman!” said Bertram, now far more alarmed than before.
Annemarie stood shivering in Bertram’s chamber, her eyes wide and filled with terror. She took a deep breath, attempting to muster her courage, and spoke in a voice that was but a whisper:
“Master… I… I beheld something in the field… a sight I cannot explain in words. It was… a girl… but not like a living girl. Her hair fluttered in the breeze like threads of silver, and her eyes shone with a most peculiar, pale light. She stood in the very midst of the wheat, and wherever she walked, the stalks seemed to bow before her as if greeting a queen. Her raiment was as if woven of mist, and yet I could make out the form of a young, fair lass who sang; her voice was so wondrous that it seemed the entire world had ceased to turn simply to listen.”
Bertram felt a cold chill run down his spine, but his curiosity soon overwhelmed his fright. Annemarie collapsed onto a chair, still pale and quivering, while Bertram stared out at the fields, wondering if the mysterious miracle that had transformed his wheat to gold had some connection to this ethereal girl.
Bertram felt the fire of curiosity begin to burn in his breast. He looked at Annemarie, whose eyes were still wide with terror, but in them also shone a glimmer of resolve.
“We must go and see what or who this is,” Bertram said, his voice now a mixture of courage and reverence. “We cannot remain indoors whilst wonders and mysteries reveal themselves in our own field.”
Annemarie nodded, her determination firm. They first went to the kitchen cabinet, where they seized a torch apiece, the flames of which flickered and cast dancing shadows upon the walls. Bertram also took his old and trusty scythe, in case any evil should threaten them, whilst Annemarie secured a rope about her waist, ready to assist or hold fast to whatever might be required.
With torches in hand, they stepped out into the cold night wind. The wheat field lay under a quiet and almost sacred glow, and the golden nuggets glittered in the moonlight. Every step they took caused the grass to rustle, and the wind carried the mysterious, enchanting song. The closer they drew, the clearer the voice became, now filled with both sorrow and gladness.
Suddenly, Annemarie stopped and pointed. There, in the midst of the shining stalks, stood the girl. But when the light of their torches fell upon her, the image in their eyes was transformed. Her face was familiar. It was no stranger; it was Hertha—Bertram’s daughter, pale and diaphanous as mist, but with the same gentle features she had possessed in life. Her eyes sparkled like stars, and her hair, like silver threads in the wind, danced about her face.
“Hertha…?” Bertram whispered, his voice choked with both joy and sorrow. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. Annemarie carefully took a step forward and placed a hand on Bertram’s shoulder, yet she herself could not conceal her astonishment.
The girl smiled faintly at them, and her song faded into a harmony that was almost unearthly.
“Father… I have returned… to watch over our home and our lands,” Hertha said with a voice that was both light and warm, yet shimmered with the essence of another world.
“So, it was you, then, who was behind this whole spectacle of the wheat transformed into gold?” Bertram asked.
Hertha nodded.
“That is correct, my dear father. I missed you so very much that I resolved to make you happy, and I wished to do so by caring for your wheat field. It was with the aid of my fair song that I managed to turn all the wheat into gold nuggets,” Hertha replied.
Bertram fell to his knees before his daughter, his heart overflowing with longing and joy. He carefully took her thin, shimmering hands in his, and felt the warmth of her presence spread through his body.
“Hertha, my beloved daughter,” he whispered, his tears glistening in the torchlight, “you have returned to me, and I never thought I would gaze upon your face again.”
Hertha smiled gently, but she still hovered between this world and the other. Bertram slowly knelt by her side and began to sing a lullaby, a song he used to hum to her when she was but a child:
“Sleep, little heart, sleep in the night’s embrace, The stars keep silent watch, and the wind doth bear you on. No more worry, no more dark can find thee, For thy father is beside thee, and safe thou shalt be.”
His voice was soft and full of love, and the notes swirled through the glittering gold of the wheat field. Slowly, as if by a sorcerer’s spell, Hertha’s pale, ghostly form began to fill with flesh and blood. Her silvery hair became golden once more, and the rose of her cheeks returned. She blinked at her father with living eyes, and when she took a deep breath, she was human once more.
“Father… I… I am back,” she said with a trembling but real voice, and she threw herself into his arms. Bertram held her for a long while, feeling all the sorrow that had weighed him down for years slowly wash away.
Annemarie stood by, watching, filled with warmth and gratitude. Her heart swelled with happiness as she beheld father and daughter reunited, and Bertram turned to her with a smile that radiated with love and respect.
“Annemarie,” he said, “you have stood by my side in both joy and dread, and without you, my happiness would not be complete. Will you share my home and my life as my wife?”
Annemarie smiled, and her eyes twinkled in the torchlight. “Yes, Bertram, I shall,” she replied.
The days passed, and the village buzzed with expectation. The news of Bertram’s wealth and his reunion with his daughter Hertha had spread like wildfire through dry haystacks. As the wedding day approached, the farmstead was transformed into a place of celebration and splendour, worthy of the greatest royal court.
The field, which had once shimmered with gold, now sparkled under the sun’s rays like a sea of small, shining jewels. Cows and sheep wandered peacefully about, and songbirds chirped in coral-red trees as the townsfolk began to gather, curious but filled with joy.
Bertram himself stood at the door in his dark blue cape, adorned with golden buttons that gleamed like the sun’s rays. His hat was grand and neatly decorated with feathers, and his boots shone with carefully polished leather. Hertha stood by his side, clad in a dress of the finest white linen, embroidered with stitching that glittered like morning dew upon the wheat fields. Her hair, now golden and living, was braided with small silver ribbons that caught the light and made it dance about her face.
Annemarie arrived with a smile that could illuminate any cloudy day, dressed in a magnificent gown of blue silk, with simple but noble embroidery and a veil that fluttered like the wind’s own song. As she met Bertram’s gaze, their hearts were filled with love and gratitude, and for a moment, time stood still.
The townsfolk gathered around the flower-bedecked altar which Hertha herself had helped to decorate. Rose petals, daisies, and lilies were scattered upon the ground, casting forth a scent so sweet that the entire atmosphere became an enchanting dreamscape. Musicians played the violin, flute, and harp, and the wind carried the melody over the golden wheat fields as if nature itself wished to celebrate with them.
The priest, an old friend of Bertram, raised his voice and said:
“Dear friends, we are assembled here to unite two hearts in eternal fellowship. May their lives together be filled with love, joy, and peace.”
Bertram took Annemarie’s hand, and her eyes twinkled like stars. Hertha stood by their side, her own hand resting comfortably in her father’s, and smiled with all the warmth of her heart. When they spoke their vows, their voices rang out clear and strong, filled with the purest truth and love.
After the ceremony, a feast followed that was worthy of a king’s court. Long tables of sun-kissed oak groaned under the weight of food, fresh-baked bread, golden butter, honey sauces, fruit, and cider, all served in gleaming vessels. The villagers, kinsmen, and friends danced and sang until the last rays of the sun had vanished behind the horizon. Hertha and Bertram danced together under the starry sky, whilst Annemarie held him close, their hearts united in a silent song of happiness.
Thus, they celebrated the reunion with Hertha, and the marriage of Bertram and Annemarie brought yet more warmth and life to the farmstead. The wheat field glittered with gold under the sun’s rays, but now it was not only wealth that filled the farm, but also love, joy, and the fellowship of family.
Hertha played once more among the stalks, and from time to time one could hear her humming the very same song her father had sung to her, a song of security, love, and the miracle that had restored both a ghost and a heart to life.
And from that day forth, they lived happily ever after, bound by bonds of love that were stronger than any gold in the world76Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuO9lw2d1Bi
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