order to mix her potion. ‘Cleanliness is a good thing,’ remarked she,
as she began to rub the caldron with a handful of toads and snails. She
then scratched her bosom, and let the black blood trickle down into the
caldron, every moment throwing in new ingredients, the smoke from the
mixture assuming such horrible forms, as were enough to fill beholders
with terror, and a moaning and groaning proceeding from it, which might
be compared to the weeping of crocodiles. The magic drink at length
became clear and transparent as pure water; it was ready.
‘Here it is!’ said the witch to the princess, cutting out her tongue at
the same moment. The poor little mermaid was now dumb: she could neither
sing nor speak.
‘If the polypi should attempt to seize you, as you pass through my
little grove,’ said the witch, ‘you have only to sprinkle some of this
magic drink over them, and their arms will burst into a thousand
pieces.’ But the princess had no need of this counsel, for the polypi
drew hastily back, as soon as they perceived the bright phial, that
glittered in her hand like a star; thus she passed safely through the
formidable wood over the moor, and across the foaming mill-stream.
She now looked once again at her father’s palace; the lamps in the
saloon were extinguished, and all the family were asleep. She would not
go in, for she could not speak if she did; she was about to leave her
home for ever; her heart was ready to break with sorrow at the thought;
she stole into the garden, plucked a flower from the bed of each of her
sisters as a remembrance, kissed her hand again and again, and then rose
through the dark blue waters to the world above.
The sun had not yet risen when she arrived at the prince’s dwelling, and
ascended those well-known marble steps. The moon still shone in the sky
when the little mermaid drank off the wonderful liquid contained in her
phial. She felt it run through her like a sharp knife, and she fell
down in a swoon. When the sun rose, she awoke; and felt a burning pain
in all her limbs, but--she saw standing close to her the object of her
love, the handsome young prince, whose coal-black eyes were fixed
inquiringly upon her. Full of shame she cast down her own, and
perceived, instead of the long fish-like tail she had hitherto borne,
two slender legs; but she was quite naked, and tried in vain to cover
herself with her long thick hair. The prince asked who she was, and how
she had got there; and she, in reply, smiled and gazed upon him with her
bright blue eyes, for alas! she could not speak. He then led her by the
hand into the palace. She found that the witch had told her true--she
felt as though she were walking on the edges of sharp swords, but she
bore the pain willingly; on she passed, light as a zephyr, and all who
saw her wondered at her light, undulating movements.
When she entered the palace, rich clothes of muslin and silk were
brought to her; she was lovelier than all who dwelt there, but she could
neither speak nor sing. Some female slaves, gaily dressed in silk and
gold brocade, sang before the prince and his royal parents; and one of
them distinguished herself by her clear sweet voice, which the prince
applauded by clapping his hands. This made the little mermaid very sad,
for she knew that she used to sing far better than the young slave.
‘Alas!’ thought she, ‘if he did but know that, for his sake, I have
given away my voice for ever.’
The slaves began to dance; our lovely little mermaiden then arose,
stretched out her delicate white arms, and hovered gracefully about the
room. Every motion displayed more and more the perfect symmetry and
elegance of her figure; and the expression which beamed in her speaking
eyes touched the hearts of the spectators far more than the song of the
slaves.
All present were enchanted, but especially the young prince, who called
her his dear little foundling. And she danced again and again, although
every step cost her excessive pain. The prince then said she should
always be with him; and accordingly a sleeping-place was prepared for
her on velvet cushions in the anteroom of his own apartment.
The prince caused a suit of male apparel to be made for her, in order
that she might accompany him in his rides; so together they traversed
the fragrant woods, where green boughs brushed against their shoulders,
and the birds sang merrily among the fresh leaves. With him she climbed
up steep mountains, and although her tender feet bled, so as to be
remarked by the attendants, she only smiled, and followed her dear
prince to the heights, whence they could see the clouds chasing each
other beneath them, like a flock of birds migrating to other countries.
During the night she would, when all in the palace were at rest, walk
down the marble steps, in order to cool her feet in the deep waters; she
would then think of those beloved ones who dwelt in the lower world.
One night, as she was thus bathing her feet, her sisters swam together
to the spot, arm in arm and singing, but alas! so mournfully! She
beckoned to them, and they immediately recognised her, and told her how
great was the mourning in her father’s house for her loss. From this
time the sisters visited her every night; and once they brought with
them the old grandmother, who had not seen the upper world for a great
many years; they likewise brought their father, the Mer-king, with his
crown on his head; but these two old people did not venture near enough
to land to be able to speak to her.
The little mermaiden became dearer and dearer to the prince every day;
but he only looked upon her as a sweet, gentle child, and the thought of
making her his wife never entered his head. And yet his wife she must
be, ere she could receive an immortal soul; his wife she must be, or she
would change into foam, and be driven restlessly over the billows of the
sea!
‘Dost thou not love me above all others?’ her eyes seemed to ask, as he
pressed her fondly in his arms, and kissed her lovely brow.
[Illustration: MANY AN EVENING SHE ROSE TO THE PLACE]
‘Yes,’ the prince would say, ‘thou art dearer to me than any other, for
no one is as good as thou art! Thou lovest me so much; and thou art so
like a young maiden whom I have seen but once, and may never see again.
I was on board a ship, which was wrecked by a sudden tempest; the waves
threw me on the shore, near a holy temple, where a number of young girls
are occupied constantly with religious services. The youngest of them
found me on the shore, and saved my life. I saw her only once, but her
image is vividly impressed upon my memory, and her alone can I love. But
she belongs to the holy temple; and thou who resemblest her so much hast
been given to me for consolation; never will we be parted!’
‘Alas! he does not know that it was I who saved his life,’ thought the
little mermaiden, sighing deeply; ‘I bore him over the wild waves, into
the wooded bay, where the holy temple stood; I sat behind the rocks,
waiting till some one should come. I saw the pretty maiden approach,
whom he loves more than me,’--and again she heaved a deep sigh, for she
could not weep. ‘He said that the young girl belongs to the holy temple;
she never comes out into the world, so they cannot meet each other
again,--and I am always with him, see him daily; I will love him, and
devote my whole life to him.’
‘So the prince is going to be married to the beautiful daughter of the
neighbouring king,’ said the courtiers, ‘that is why he is having that
splendid ship fitted out. It is announced that he wishes to travel, but
in reality he goes to see the princess; a numerous retinue will
accompany him.’ The little mermaiden smiled at these and similar
conjectures, for she knew the prince’s intentions better than any one
else.
‘I must go,’ he said to her, ‘I must see the beautiful princess; my
parents require me to do so; but they will not compel me to marry her,
and bring her home as my bride. And it is quite impossible for me to
love her, for she cannot be so like the beautiful girl in the temple as
thou art; and if I were obliged to choose, I should prefer thee, my
little silent foundling, with the speaking eyes.’ And he kissed her rosy
lips, played with her locks, and folded her in his arms, whereupon arose
in her heart a sweet vision of human happiness, and immortal bliss.
‘Thou art not afraid of the sea, art thou, my sweet silent child?’ asked
he tenderly, as they stood together in the splendid ship, which was to
take them to the country of the neighbouring king. And then he told her
of the storms that sometimes agitate the waters; of the strange fishes
that inhabit the deep, and of the wonderful things seen by divers. But
she smiled at his words, for she knew better than any child of earth
what went on in the depths of the ocean.
At night-time, when the moon shone brightly, and when all on board were
fast asleep, she sat in the ship’s gallery, looking down into the sea.
It seemed to her, as she gazed through the foamy track made by the
ship’s keel, that she saw her father’s palace, and her grandmother’s
silver crown. She then saw her sisters rise out of the water, looking
sorrowful and stretching out their hands towards her. She nodded to
them, smiled, and would have explained that everything was going on
quite according to her wishes; but just then the cabin boy approached,
upon which the sisters plunged beneath the water so suddenly that the
boy thought what he had seen on the waves was nothing but foam.
The next morning the ship entered the harbour of the king’s splendid
capital. Bells were rung, trumpets sounded, and soldiers marched in
procession through the city, with waving banners, and glittering
bayonets. Every day witnessed some new entertainments, balls and parties
followed each other; the princess, however, was not yet in the town; she
had been sent to a distant convent for education, and had there been
taught the practice of all royal virtues. At last she arrived at the
palace.
The little mermaid had been anxious to see this unparalleled princess;
and she was now obliged to confess that she had never before seen so
beautiful a creature.
The skin of the princess was so white and delicate that the veins might
be seen through it, and her dark eyes sparkled beneath a pair of finely
formed eye-brows.
‘It is herself!’ exclaimed the prince, when they met, ‘it is she who
saved my life, when I lay like a corpse on the sea-shore!’ and he
pressed his blushing bride to his beating heart.
‘Oh, I am all too happy!’ said he to his dumb foundling. ‘What I never
dared to hope for has come to pass. Thou must rejoice in my happiness,
for thou lovest me more than all others who surround me.’--And the
little mermaid kissed his hand in silent sorrow; it seemed to her as if
her heart was breaking already, although the morrow of his marriage-day,
which must inevitably see her death, had not yet dawned.
Again rung the church-bells, whilst heralds rode through the streets of
the capital, to announce the approaching bridal. Odorous flames burned
in silver candlesticks on all the altars; the priests swung their golden
censers; and bride and bridegroom joined hands, whilst the holy words
that united them were spoken. The little mermaid, clad in silk and cloth
of gold, stood behind the princess, and held the train of the bridal
dress; but her ear heard nothing of the solemn music; her eye saw not
the holy ceremony; she remembered her approaching end, she remembered
that she had lost both this world and the next.
That very same evening bride and bridegroom went on board the ship;
cannons were fired, flags waved with the breeze, and in the centre of
the deck stood a magnificent pavilion of purple and cloth of gold,
fitted up with the richest and softest couches. Here the princely pair
were to spend the night. A favourable wind swelled the sails, and the
ship glided lightly over the blue waters.
As soon as it was dark, coloured lamps were hung out and dancing began
on the deck. The little mermaid was thus involuntarily reminded of what
she had seen the first time she rose to the upper world. The spectacle
that now presented itself was equally splendid--and she was obliged to
join in the
[Illustration: WHEN THE SUN AROSE SHE AWOKE]
dance, hovering lightly as a bird over the ship boards. All applauded
her, for never had she danced with more enchanting grace. Her little
feet suffered extremely, but she no longer felt the pain; the anguish
her heart suffered was much greater. It was the last evening she might
see him, for whose sake she had forsaken her home and all her family,
had given away her beautiful voice, and suffered daily the most violent
pain--all without his having the least suspicion of it. It was the last
evening that she might breathe the same atmosphere in which he, the
beloved one, lived; the last evening when she might behold the deep blue
sea, and the starry heavens--an eternal night, in which she might
neither think nor dream, awaited her. And all was joy in the ship; and
she, her heart filled with thoughts of death and annihilation, smiled
and danced with the others, till past midnight. Then the prince kissed
his lovely bride, and arm in arm they entered the magnificent tent
prepared for their repose.
All was now still; the steersman alone stood at the ship’s helm. The
little mermaid leaned her white arms on the gallery, and looked towards
the east, watching for the dawn; she well knew that the first sunbeam
would witness her dissolution. She saw her sisters rise out of the sea;
deadly pale were their features; and their long hair no more fluttered
over their shoulders, it had all been cut off.
‘We have given it to the witch,’ said they, ‘to induce her to help thee,
so that thou mayest not die. She has given to us a penknife: here it is!
Before the sun rises, thou must plunge it into the prince’s heart; and
when his warm blood trickles down upon thy feet they will again be
changed to a fish-like tail; thou wilt once more become a mermaid, and
wilt live thy full three hundred years, ere thou changest to foam on the
sea. But hasten! either he or thou must die before sunrise. Our aged
mother mourns for thee so much her grey hair has fallen off through
sorrow, as ours fell before the scissors of the witch. Kill the prince,
and come down to us! Hasten! hasten! dost thou not see the red streaks
on the eastern sky, announcing the near approach of the sun? A few
minutes more and he rises, and then all will be over with thee.’ At
these words they sighed deeply and vanished.
The little mermaid drew aside the purple curtains of the pavilion, where
lay the bride and bridegroom; bending over them, she kissed the prince’s
forehead, and then glancing at the sky, she saw that the dawning light
became every moment brighter. The prince’s lips unconsciously murmured
the name of his bride--he was dreaming of her, and her only, whilst the
fatal penknife trembled in the hand of the unhappy mermaid. All at once,
she threw far out into the sea that instrument of death; the waves rose
like bright blazing flames around, and the water where it fell seemed
tinged with blood. With eyes fast becoming dim and fixed, she looked
once more at her beloved prince; then plunged from the ship into the
sea, and felt her body slowly but surely dissolving into foam.
The sun rose from his watery bed; his beams fell so softly and warmly
upon her, that our little mermaid was scarcely sensible of dying. She
still saw the glorious sun; and over her head hovered a thousand
beautiful, transparent forms; she could still distinguish the white
sails of the ship, and the bright red clouds in the sky; the voices of
those airy creatures above her had a melody so sweet and soothing, that
a human ear would be as little able to catch the sound as her eye was
capable of distinguishing their forms; they hovered around her without
wings, borne by their own lightness through the air. The little mermaid
at last saw that she had a body as transparent as theirs; and felt
herself raised gradually from the foam of the sea to higher regions.
‘Where are they taking me?’ asked she, and her words sounded just like
the voices of those heavenly beings.
‘Speak you to the daughters of air?’ was the answer. ‘The mermaid has no
immortal soul, and can only acquire that heavenly gift by winning the
love of one of the sons of men; her immortality depends upon union with
man. Neither do the daughters of air possess immortal souls, but they
can acquire them by their own good deeds. We fly to hot countries, where
the children of earth are sinking under sultry pestilential breezes--our
fresh cooling breath revives them. We diffuse ourselves through the
atmosphere; we perfume it with the delicious fragrance of flowers; and
thus spread delight and health over the earth. By doing good in this
manner for three hundred years, we win immortality, and receive a share
of the eternal bliss of human beings. And thou, poor little mermaid!
who, following the impulse of thine own heart, hast done and suffered so
much, thou art now raised to the airy world of spirits, that by
performing deeds of kindness for three hundred years, thou mayest
acquire an immortal soul.’
The little mermaid stretched out her transparent arms to the sun; and,
for the first time in her life, tears moistened her eyes.
And now again all were awake and rejoicing in the ship; she saw the
prince, with his pretty bride; they had missed her; they looked
sorrowfully down on the foamy waters, as if they knew she had plunged
into the sea; unseen she kissed the bridegroom’s forehead, smiled upon
him, and then, with the rest of the children of air, soared high above
the rosy cloud which was sailing so peacefully over the ship.
[Illustration]
‘After three hundred years we shall fly in the kingdom of Heaven!’
‘We may arrive there even sooner,’ whispered one of her sisters. ‘We fly
invisibly through the dwellings of men, where there are children; and
whenever we find a good child, who gives pleasure to his parents and
deserves their love, the good God shortens our time of probation. No
child is aware that we are flitting about his room, and that whenever
joy draws from us a smile, a year is struck out of our three hundred.
But when we see a rude naughty child, we weep bitter tears of sorrow,
and every tear we shed adds a day to our time of probation.’
[Illustration]
[Illustration: FATHER-STORK]
THE STORKS
On the roof of a house situated at the extremity of a small town, a
stork had built his nest. There sat the mother-stork, with her four
young ones, who all stretched out their little black bills, which had
not yet become red. Not far off, upon the parapet, erect and proud,
stood the father-stork; he had drawn one of his legs under him, being
weary of standing on two. You might have fancied him carved in wood, he
stood so motionless. ‘It looks so grand,’ thought he, ‘for my wife to
have a sentinel to keep guard over her nest; people cannot know that I
am her husband, they will certainly think that I am commanded to stand
here--how well it looks!’ and so he remained standing on one leg.
In the street below, a number of children were playing together. When
they saw the storks, one of the liveliest amongst them began to sing as
much as he could remember of some old rhymes about storks, in which he
was soon joined by the others--
‘Stork! stork! long-legged stork!
Into thy nest I prithee walk;
There sits thy mate,
With her four children so great.
The first we’ll hang like a cat,
The second we’ll burn,
The third on a spit we’ll turn,
The fourth drown dead as a rat!’
‘Only listen to what the boys are singing,’ said the little storks;
‘they say we shall be hanged and burnt!’
‘Never mind,’ said the mother, ‘don’t listen to them; they will do you
no harm.’
But the boys went on singing, and pointed their fingers at the storks:
only one little boy, called Peter, said ‘it was a sin to mock and tease
animals, and that he would have nothing to do with it.’
The mother-stork again tried to comfort her little ones. ‘Never mind,’
said she; ‘see how composedly your father is standing there, and upon
one leg only.’
‘But we are so frightened!’ said the young ones, drawing their heads
down into the nest.
The next day, when the children were again assembled to play together,
and saw the storks, they again began their song--
‘The first we ‘ll hang like a cat,
The second we’ll burn!’
‘And are we really to be hanged and burnt?’ asked the young storks.
‘No indeed!’ said the mother. ‘You shall learn to fly: I will teach you
myself. Then we can fly over to the meadow, and pay a visit to the
frogs. They will bow to us in the water, and say, “Croak, croak!” and
then we shall eat them; will not that be nice?’
‘And what then?’ asked the little storks.
‘Then all the storks in the country will gather together, and the
autumnal exercise will begin. It is of the greatest consequence that you
should fly well then; for every one who does not, the general will stab
to death with his bill; so you must pay great attention when we begin to
drill you, and learn very quickly.’
‘Then we shall really be killed after all, as the boys said? Oh, listen!
they are singing it again!’
‘Attend to me, and not to them!’ said the mother. ‘After the grand
exercise, we shall fly to warm countries, far, far away from here, over
mountains and forests. We shall fly to Egypt, where are the
three-cornered stone houses whose summits reach the clouds; they are
called pyramids, and are older than it is possible for storks to
imagine. There is a river too, which overflows its banks, so as to make
the whole country like a marsh, and we shall go into the marsh and eat
frogs.’
‘Oh!’ said the young ones.
‘Yes, it is delightful! one does nothing but eat all the day long. And
whilst we are so comfortable, in this country not a single green leaf is
left on the trees, and it is so cold that the clouds are frozen, and
fall down upon the earth in little white pieces.’--She meant snow, but
she could not express herself more clearly.
‘And will the naughty boys be frozen to pieces too?’ asked the young
storks.
‘No, they will not be frozen to pieces; but they will be nearly as badly
off as if they were; they will be obliged to crowd round the fire in
their little dark rooms; while you, on the contrary, will be flying
about in foreign lands, where there are beautiful flowers and warm
sunshine.’
Well, time passed away, and the young storks grew so tall, that when
they stood upright in the nest they could see the country around to a
great distance. The father-stork used to bring them every day the nicest
little frogs, as well as snails, and all the other stork tit-bits he
could find. Oh! it was so droll to see him show them his tricks; he
would lay his head upon his tail, make a rattling noise with his bill,
and then tell them such charming stories all about the moors.
‘Now you must learn to fly!’ said the mother one day; and accordingly,
all the four young storks were obliged to come out upon the parapet.
Oh, how they trembled! And though they balanced themselves on their
wings, they were very near falling.
‘Only look at me,’ said the mother. ‘This is the way you must hold your
heads; and in this manner place your feet,--one, two! one, two! this
will help you to get on.’ She flew a little way, and the young ones made
an awkward spring after her,--bounce! down they fell; for their bodies
were heavy.
[Illustration: ‘STORK! STORK! LONG-LEGGED STORK!’]
‘I will not fly,’ said one of the young ones, as he crept back into the
nest. ‘I do not want to go into the warm countries!’
‘Do you want to be frozen to death during the winter? Shall the boys
come, and hang, burn, or roast you? Wait a little, I will call them!’
‘Oh no!’ said the little stork; and again he began to hop about on the
roof like the others. By the third day they could fly pretty well, and
so they thought they could also sit and take their ease in the air; but
bounce! down they tumbled, and found themselves obliged to make use of
their wings. The boys now came into the street, singing their favourite
song--
‘Stork! stork! long-legged stork!’
‘Shall not we fly down and peck out their eyes?’ said the young ones.