for me to describe to you the beauty of the clouds. Now red, now violet,
they glided over me; but still more swiftly flew over the water a flock
of white swans, just where the sun was descending; I looked after them,
but the sun disappeared, and the bright rosy light on the surface of the
sea and on the edges of the clouds was gradually extinguished.’
[Illustration: SHE WAS ON THE WHOLE A SENSIBLE SORT OF LADY]
It was now time for the third sister to visit the upper world. She was
the boldest of the six, and ventured up a river. On its shores she saw
green hills covered with woods and vineyards, from among which arose
houses and castles; she heard the birds singing, and the sun shone with
so much power, that she was continually obliged to plunge below, in
order to cool her burning face. In a little bay she met with a number of
children, who were bathing and jumping about; she would have joined in
their gambols, but the children fled back to land in great terror, and a
little black animal barked at her in such a manner, that she herself was
frightened at last, and swam back to the sea. She could not, however,
forget the green woods, the verdant hills, and the pretty children,
who, although they had no fins, were swimming about in the river so
fearlessly.
The fourth sister was not so bold, she remained in the open sea, and
said on her return home she thought nothing could be more beautiful. She
had seen ships sailing by, so far off that they looked like sea-gulls,
she had watched the merry dolphins gambolling in the water, and the
enormous whales, sending up into the air a thousand sparkling fountains.
The year after, the fifth sister attained her fifteenth year. Her
birthday happened at a different season to that of her sisters; it was
winter, the sea was of a green colour, and immense icebergs were
floating on its surface. These, she said, looked like pearls; they were,
however, much larger than the church-towers in the land of human beings.
She sat down upon one of these pearls, and let the wind play with her
long hair, but then all the ships hoisted their sails in terror, and
escaped as quickly as possible. In the evening the sky was covered with
sails; and whilst the great mountains of ice alternately sank and rose
again, and beamed with a reddish glow, flashes of lightning burst forth
from the clouds, and the thunder rolled on, peal after peal. The sails
of all the ships were instantly furled, and horror and affright reigned
on board, but the princess sat still on the iceberg, looking
unconcernedly at the blue zig-zag of the flashes.
The first time that either of these sisters rose out of the sea, she was
quite enchanted at the sight of so many new and beautiful objects, but
the novelty was soon over, and it was not long ere their own home
appeared more attractive than the upper world, for there only did they
find everything agreeable.
Many an evening would the five sisters rise hand in hand from the depths
of the ocean. Their voices were far sweeter than any human voice, and
when a storm was coming on, they would swim in front of the ships, and
sing,--oh! how sweetly did they sing! describing the happiness of those
who lived at the bottom of the sea, and entreating the sailors not to be
afraid, but to come down to them.
The mariners, however, did not understand their words; they fancied the
song was only the whistling of the wind, and thus they lost the hidden
glories of the sea; for if their ships were wrecked, all on board were
drowned, and none but dead men ever entered the Mer-king’s palace.
Whilst the sisters were swimming at evening-time, the youngest would
remain motionless and alone, in her father’s palace, looking up after
them. She would have wept, but mermaids cannot weep, and therefore, when
they are troubled, suffer infinitely more than human beings do.
‘Oh, if I were but fifteen!’ sighed she, ‘I know that I should love the
upper world and its inhabitants so much.’
At last the time she had so longed for arrived.
‘Well, now it is your turn,’ said the grandmother; ‘come here, that I
may adorn you like your sisters.’ And she wound around her hair a wreath
of white lilies, whose every petal was the half of a pearl, and then
commanded eight large oysters to fasten themselves to the princess’s
tail, in token of her high rank.
‘But that is so very uncomfortable!’ said the little princess.
‘One must not mind slight inconveniences when one wishes to look well,’
said the old lady.
How willingly would the princess have given up all this splendour, and
exchanged her heavy crown for the red flowers of her garden, which were
so much more becoming to her. But she dared not do so. ‘Farewell,’ said
she; and she rose from the sea, light as a flake of foam.
[Illustration: THE YOUNGEST WAS THE MOST LOVELY]
When, for the first time in her life, she appeared on the surface of the
water, the sun had just sunk below the horizon, the clouds were beaming
with bright golden and rosy hues, the evening star was shining in the
pale western sky, the air was mild and refreshing, and the sea as smooth
as a looking-glass. A large ship with three masts lay on the still
waters; one sail only was unfurled, but not a breath was stirring, and
the sailors were quietly seated on the cordage and ladders of the
vessel. Music and song resounded from the deck, and after it grew dark
hundreds of lamps all on a sudden burst forth into light, whilst
innumerable flags were fluttering overhead. The little mermaid swam
close up to the captain’s cabin, and every now and then when the ship
was raised by the motion of the water, she could look through the clear
window panes. She saw within many richly dressed men; the handsomest
among them was a young prince with large black eyes. He could not
certainly be more than sixteen years old, and it was in honour of his
birthday that a grand festival was being celebrated. The crew were
dancing on the deck, and when the young prince appeared among them, a
hundred rockets were sent up into the air, turning night into day, and
so terrifying the little mermaid, that for some minutes she plunged
beneath the water. However, she soon raised her little head again, and
then it seemed as if all the stars were falling down upon her. Such a
fiery shower she had never even seen before, never had she heard that
men possessed such wonderful powers. Large suns revolved around her,
bright fishes swam in the air, and everything was reflected perfectly on
the clear surface of the sea. It was so light in the ship, that
everything could be seen distinctly. Oh, how happy the young prince was!
He shook hands with the sailors, laughed and jested with them, whilst
sweet notes of music mingled with the silence of night.
It was now late, but the little mermaid could not tear herself away from
the ship and the handsome young prince. She remained looking through the
cabin window, rocked to and fro by the waves. There was a foaming and
fermentation in the depths beneath, and the ship began to move on
faster; the sails were spread, the waves rose high, thick clouds
gathered over the sky, and the noise of distant thunder was heard. The
sailors perceived that a storm was coming on, so they again furled the
sails. The great vessel was tossed about on the tempestuous ocean like a
light boat, and the waves rose to an immense height, towering over the
ship, which alternately sank beneath and rose above them. To the little
mermaid this seemed most delightful, but the ship’s crew thought very
differently. The vessel cracked, the stout masts bent under the violence
of the billows, the waters rushed in. For a minute the ship tottered to
and fro, then the main-mast broke, as if it had been a reed; the ship
turned over, and was filled with water. The little mermaid now perceived
that the crew was in danger, for she herself was forced to beware of the
beams and splinters torn from the vessel, and floating about on the
waves. But at the same time it became pitch dark so that she could not
distinguish anything; presently, however, a dreadful flash of lightning
disclosed to her the whole of the wreck. Her eyes sought the young
prince--the same instant the ship sank to the bottom. At first she was
delighted, thinking that the prince must now come to her abode; but she
soon remembered that man cannot live in water, and that therefore if the
prince ever entered her palace, it would be as a corpse.
‘Die! no, he must not die!’ She swam through the fragments with which
the water was strewn regardless of the danger she was incurring, and at
last found the prince all but exhausted, and with great difficulty
keeping his head above water. He had already closed his eyes, and must
inevitably have been drowned, had not the little mermaid come to his
rescue. She seized hold of him and kept him above water, suffering the
current to bear them on together.
Towards morning the storm was hushed; no trace, however, remained of the
ship. The sun rose like fire out of the sea; his beams seemed to
restore colour to the prince’s cheeks, but his eyes were still closed.
The mermaid kissed his high forehead and stroked his wet hair away from
his face. He looked like the marble statue in her garden; she kissed him
again and wished most fervently that he might recover.
She now saw the dry land with its mountains glittering with snow. A
green wood extended along the coast, and at the entrance of the wood
stood a chapel or convent, she could not be sure which. Citron and lemon
trees grew in the garden adjoining it, an avenue of tall palm trees led
up to the door. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the water was
quite smooth but very deep, and under the cliffs there were dry, firm
sands. Hither swam the little mermaid with the seemingly dead prince;
she laid him upon the warm sand, and took care to place his head high,
and to turn his face to the sun.
The bells began to ring in the large white building which stood before
her, and a number of young girls came out to walk in the garden. The
mermaid went away from the shore, hid herself behind some stones,
covered her head with foam, so that her little face could not be seen,
and watched the prince with unremitting attention.
It was not long before one of the young girls approached. She seemed
quite frightened at finding the prince in this state, apparently dead;
soon, however, she recovered herself, and ran back to call her sisters.
The little mermaid saw that the prince revived, and that all around
smiled kindly and joyfully upon him--for her, however, he looked not, he
knew not that it was she who had saved him, and when the prince was
taken into the house she felt so sad, that she immediately plunged
beneath the water, and returned to her father’s palace.
If she had been before quiet and thoughtful, she now grew still more
so. Her sisters asked her what she had seen in the upper world, but she
made no answer.
Many an evening she rose to the place where she had left the prince. She
saw the snow on the mountains melt, the fruits in the garden ripen and
gathered, but the prince she never saw, so she always returned
sorrowfully to her subterranean abode. Her only pleasure was to sit in
her little garden gazing on the beautiful statue so like the prince. She
cared no longer for her flowers; they grew up in wild luxuriance,
covered the steps, and entwined their long stems and tendrils among the
boughs of the trees, so that her whole garden became a bower.
At last, being unable to conceal her sorrow any longer, she revealed the
secret to one of her sisters, who told it to the other princesses, and
they to some of their friends. Among them was a young mermaid who
recollected the prince, having been an eye-witness herself to the
festivities in the ship; she knew also in what country the prince lived,
and the name of its king.
‘Come, little sister!’ said the princesses, and embracing her, they rose
together arm in arm, out of the water, just in front of the prince’s
palace.
This palace was built of bright yellow stones, a flight of white marble
steps led from it down to the sea. A gilded cupola crowned the building,
and white marble figures, which might almost have been taken for real
men and women, were placed among the pillars surrounding it. Through the
clear glass of the high windows one might look into magnificent
apartments hung with silken curtains, the walls adorned with magnificent
paintings. It was a real treat to the little royal mermaids to behold so
splendid an abode; they gazed through the windows of one of the largest
rooms, and in the centre saw a fountain playing, whose waters sprang up
so high as to reach the glittering cupola above, through which the
sunbeams fell dancing on the water, and brightening the pretty plants
which grew around it.
The little mermaid now knew where her beloved prince dwelt, and
henceforth she went there almost every evening. She often approached
nearer the land than her sisters had ventured, and even swam up the
narrow channel that flowed under the marble balcony. Here on a bright
moonlight night, she would watch the young prince, who believed himself
alone.
Sometimes she saw him sailing on the water in a gaily painted boat with
many coloured flags waving above. She would then hide among the green
reeds which grew on the banks, listening to his voice, and if any one in
the boat noticed the rustling of her long silver veil, which was caught
now and then by the light breeze, they only fancied it was a swan
flapping his wings.
Many a night when the fishermen were casting their nets by the beacon’s
light, she heard them talking of the prince, and relating the noble
actions he had performed. She was then so happy, thinking how she had
saved his life when struggling with the waves, and remembering how his
head had rested on her bosom, and how she had kissed him when he knew
nothing of it, and could never even dream of such a thing.
Human beings became more and more dear to her every day; she wished that
she were one of them. Their world seemed to her much larger than that of
the mer-people; they could fly over the ocean in their ships, as well as
climb to the summits of those high mountains that rose above the clouds;
and their wooded domains extended much farther than a mermaid’s eye
could penetrate.
There were many things that she wished to hear explained, but her
sisters could not give her any satisfactory answer; she was again
obliged to have recourse to the old queen-mother, who knew a great deal
about the upper world, which she used to call ‘the country above the
sea.’
‘Do men when they are not drowned live for ever?’ she asked one day. ‘Do
they not die as we do, who live at the bottom of the sea?’
‘Yes,’ was the grandmother’s reply, ‘they must die like us, and their
life is much shorter than ours. We live to the age of three hundred
years, but when we die, we become foam on the sea, and are not allowed
even to share a grave among those that are dear to us. We have no
immortal souls, we can never live again, and are like the grass which,
when once cut down, is withered for ever. Human beings, on the contrary,
have souls that continue to live when their bodies become dust, and as
we rise out of the water to admire the abode of man, they ascend to
glorious unknown dwellings in the skies which we are not permitted to
see.’
‘Why have not _we_ immortal souls?’ asked the little mermaid. ‘I would
willingly give up my three hundred years to be a human being for only
one day, thus to become entitled to that heavenly world above.’
‘You must not think of that,’ answered her grandmother, ‘it is much
better as it is; we live longer and are far happier than human beings.’
‘So I must die, and be dashed like foam over the sea, never to rise
again and hear the gentle murmur of the ocean, never again see the
beautiful flowers and the bright sun! Tell me, dear grandmother, are
there no means by which I may obtain an immortal soul?’
‘No!’ replied the old lady. ‘It is true that if thou couldst so win the
affections of a human being as to become dearer to him than either
father or mother; if he loved thee with all his heart, and promised
whilst the priest joined his hands with thine to be always faithful to
thee; then his soul would flow into thine, and thou wouldst then become
partaker of human bliss. But that can never be! for what in our eyes is
the most beautiful part of our body, the tail, the inhabitants of the
earth think hideous, they cannot bear it. To appear handsome to them,
the body must have two clumsy props which they call legs.’
The little mermaid sighed and looked mournfully at the scaly part of her
form, otherwise so fair and delicate.
‘We are happy,’ added the old lady, ‘we shall jump and swim about
merrily for three hundred years; that is a long time, and afterwards we
shall repose peacefully in death. This evening we have a court ball.’
The ball which the queen-mother spoke of was far more splendid than any
that earth has ever seen. The walls of the saloon were of crystal, very
thick, but yet very clear; hundreds of large mussel-shells were planted
in rows along them; these shells were some of rose-colour, some green as
grass, but all sending forth a bright light, which not only illuminated
the whole apartment, but also shone through the glassy walls so as to
light up the waters around for a great space, and making the scales of
the numberless fishes, great and small, crimson and purple, silver and
gold-coloured, appear more brilliant than ever.
Through the centre of the saloon flowed a bright, clear stream, on the
surface of which danced mermen and mermaids to the melody of their own
sweet voices, voices far sweeter than those of the dwellers upon earth.
The little princess sang more harmoniously than any other, and they
clapped their hands and applauded her. She was pleased at this, for she
knew well that there was neither on earth or in the sea a more beautiful
voice than hers. But her thoughts soon returned to the world above her:
she could not forget the handsome prince; she could not control her
sorrow at not having an immortal soul. She stole away from her father’s
palace, and whilst all was joy within, she sat alone lost in thought in
her little neglected garden. On a sudden she heard the tones of horns
resounding over the water far away in the distance, and she said to
herself, ‘Now he is going out to hunt, he whom I love more than my
father and my mother, with whom my thoughts are constantly occupied, and
to whom I would so willingly trust the happiness of my life! All! all,
will I risk to win him--and an immortal soul! Whilst my sisters are
still dancing in the palace, I will go to the enchantress whom I have
hitherto feared so much, but who is, nevertheless, the only person who
can advise and help me.’
[Illustration: THEY ATE FROM THEIR HANDS]
So the little mermaid left the garden, and went to the foaming whirlpool
beyond which dwelt the enchantress. She had never been this way
before--neither flowers nor sea-grass bloomed along her path; she had to
traverse an extent of bare grey sand till she reached the whirlpool,
whose waters were eddying and whizzing like mill-wheels, tearing
everything they could seize along with them into the abyss below. She
was obliged to make her way through this horrible place, in order to
arrive at the territory of the enchantress. Then she had to pass through
a boiling, slimy bog, which the enchantress called her turf-moor: her
house stood in a wood beyond this, and a strange abode it was. All the
trees and bushes around were polypi, looking like hundred-headed
serpents shooting up out of the ground; their branches were long slimy
arms with fingers of worms, every member, from the root to the uttermost
tip, ceaselessly moving and extending on all sides. Whatever they seized
they fastened upon so that it could not loosen itself from their grasp.
The little mermaid stood still for a minute looking at this horrible
wood; her heart beat with fear, and she would certainly have returned
without attaining her object, had she not remembered the prince--and
immortality. The thought gave her new courage, she bound up her long
waving hair, that the polypi might not catch hold of it, crossed her
delicate arms over her bosom, and, swifter than a fish can glide through
the water, she passed these unseemly trees, who stretched their eager
arms after her in vain. She could not, however, help seeing that every
polypus had something in his grasp, held as firmly by a thousand little
arms as if enclosed by iron bands. The whitened skeletons of a number of
human beings who had been drowned in the sea, and had sunk into the
abyss, grinned horribly from the arms of these polypi; helms, chests,
skeletons of land animals were also held in their embrace; among other
things might be seen even a little mermaid whom they had seized and
strangled! What a fearful sight for the unfortunate princess!
But she got safely through this wood of horrors, and then arrived at a
slimy place, where immense, fat snails were crawling about, and in the
midst of this place stood a house built of the bones of unfortunate
people who had been shipwrecked. Here sat the witch caressing a toad in
the same manner as some persons would a pet bird. The ugly fat snails
she called her chickens, and she permitted them to crawl about her.
‘I know well what you would ask of me,’ said she to the little princess.
‘Your wish is foolish enough, yet it shall be fulfilled, though its
accomplishment is sure to bring misfortune on you, my fairest princess.
You wish to get rid of your tail, and to have instead two stilts like
those of human beings, in order that a young prince may fall in love
with you, and that you may obtain an immortal soul. Is it not so?’
Whilst the witch spoke these words, she laughed so violently that her
pet toad and snails fell from her lap. ‘You come just at the right
time,’ continued she; ‘had you come after sunset, it would not have been
in my power to have helped you before another year. I will prepare for
you a drink with which you must swim to land, you must sit down upon the
shore and swallow it, and then your tail will fall and shrink up to the
things which men call legs. This transformation will, however, be very
painful; you will feel as though a sharp knife passed through your body.
All who look on you after you have been thus changed will say that you
are the loveliest child of earth they have ever seen; you will retain
your peculiar undulating movements, and no dancer will move so lightly,
but every step you take will cause you pain all but unbearable; it will
seem to you as though you were walking on the sharp edges of swords, and
your blood will flow. Can you endure all this suffering? If so, I will
grant your request.’
‘Yes, I will,’ answered the princess, with a faltering voice; for she
remembered her dear prince, and the immortal soul which her suffering
might win.
‘Only consider,’ said the witch, ‘that you can never again become a
mermaid, when once you have received a human form. You may never return
to your sisters, and your father’s palace; and unless you shall win the
prince’s love to such a degree that he shall leave father and mother for
you, that you shall be mixed up with all his thoughts and wishes, and
unless the priest join your hands, so that you become man and wife, you
will never obtain the immortality you seek. The morrow of the day on
which he is united to another will see your death; your heart will break
with sorrow, and you will be changed to foam on the sea.’
‘Still I will venture!’ said the little mermaid, pale and trembling as a
dying person.
‘Besides all this, I must be paid, and it is no slight thing that I
require for my trouble. Thou hast the sweetest voice of all the dwellers
in the sea, and thou thinkest by its means to charm the prince; this
voice, however, I demand as my recompense. The best thing thou
possessest I require in exchange for my magic drink; for I shall be
obliged to sacrifice my own blood, in order to give it the sharpness of
a two-edged sword.’
‘But if you take my voice from me,’ said the princess, ‘what have I left
with which to charm the prince?’
‘Thy graceful form,’ replied the witch, ‘thy modest gait, and speaking
eyes. With such as these, it will be easy to infatuate a vain human
heart. Well now! hast thou lost courage? Put out thy little tongue, that
I may cut it off, and take it for myself, in return for my magic drink.’