the witch, 'just drop a single drop of this liquid on them, and their
arms and fingers will burst into a thousand pieces.' But the little
mermaid had no need to do this, for at the mere sight of the bright
liquid, which sparkled in her hand like a shining star, they drew back
in terror. So she soon got past the wood, the bog, and the eddying
whirlpools.
She saw her father's palace; the lights were all out in the great
ballroom, and no doubt all the household was asleep, but she did not
dare to go in now that she was dumb and about to leave her home for
ever. She felt as if her heart would break with grief. She stole into
the garden and plucked a flower from each of her sisters' plots, wafted
with her hand countless kisses towards the palace, and then rose up
through the dark blue water.
[Illustration: _But the little mermaid had no need to do this, for at
the mere sight of the bright liquid which sparkled in her hand like a
shining star, they drew back in terror._]
The sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince's palace
and landed at the beautiful marble steps. The moon was shining bright
and clear. The little mermaid drank the burning, stinging draught, and
it was like a sharp, two-edged sword running through her tender frame;
she fainted away and lay as if she were dead. When the sun rose on the
sea she woke up and became conscious of a sharp pang, but just in front
of her stood the handsome young prince, fixing his coal black eyes on
her; she cast hers down and saw that her fish's tail was gone, and that
she had the prettiest little white legs any maiden could desire; but she
was quite naked, so she wrapped her long thick hair around her. The
prince asked who she was and how she came there. She looked at him
tenderly and with a sad expression in her dark blue eyes, but could not
speak. Then he took her by the hand and led her into the palace. Every
step she took was, as the witch had warned her beforehand, as if she
were treading on sharp knives and spikes, but she bore it gladly; led by
the prince, she moved as lightly as a bubble, and he and every one else
marvelled at her graceful gliding gait.
Clothed in the costliest silks and muslins she was the greatest beauty
in the palace, but she was dumb, and could neither sing nor speak.
Beautiful slaves clad in silks and gold came forward and sang to the
prince and his royal parents; one of them sang better than all the
others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her; that made
the little mermaid very sad, for she knew that she used to sing far
better herself. She thought, 'Oh! if he only knew that for the sake of
being with him I had given up my voice for ever!' Now the slaves began
to dance, graceful undulating dances to enchanting music; thereupon the
little mermaid, lifting her beautiful white arms and raising herself on
tiptoe, glided on the floor with a grace which none of the other dancers
had yet attained. With every motion her grace and beauty became more
apparent, and her eyes appealed more deeply to the heart than the songs
of the slaves. Every one was delighted with it, especially the prince,
who called her his little foundling; and she danced on and on,
notwithstanding that every time her foot touched the ground it was like
treading on sharp knives. The prince said that she should always be near
him, and she was allowed to sleep outside his door on a velvet cushion.
He had a man's dress made for her, so that she could ride about with
him. They used to ride through scented woods, where the green branches
brushed her shoulders, and little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She
climbed up the highest mountains with the prince, and although her
delicate feet bled so that others saw it, she only laughed and followed
him until they saw the clouds sailing below them like a flock of birds,
taking flight to distant lands.
[Illustration: _The prince asked who she was and how she came there; she
looked at him tenderly and with a sad expression in her dark blue eyes,
but could not speak._]
At home in the prince's palace, when at night the others were
asleep, she used to go out on to the marble steps; it cooled her
burning feet to stand in the cold sea-water, and at such times she used
to think of those she had left in the deep.
One night her sisters came arm in arm; they sang so sorrowfully as they
swam on the water that she beckoned to them, and they recognised her,
and told her how she had grieved them all. After that they visited her
every night, and one night she saw, a long way out, her old grandmother
(who for many years had not been above the water), and the Merman King
with his crown on his head; they stretched out their hands towards her,
but did not venture so close to land as her sisters.
Day by day she became dearer to the prince; he loved her as one loves a
good sweet child, but it never entered his head to make her his queen;
yet unless she became his wife she would never win an everlasting soul,
but on his wedding morning would turn to sea-foam.
'Am I not dearer to you than any of them?' the little mermaid's eyes
seemed to say when he took her in his arms and kissed her beautiful
brow.
'Yes, you are the dearest one to me,' said the prince, 'for you have the
best heart of them all, and you are fondest of me; you are also like a
young girl I once saw, but whom I never expect to see again. I was on
board a ship which was wrecked; I was driven on shore by the waves close
to a holy Temple where several young girls were ministering at a
service; the youngest of them found me on the beach and saved my life; I
saw her but twice. She was the only person I could love in this world,
but you are like her, you almost drive her image out of my heart. She
belongs to the holy Temple, and therefore by good fortune you have been
sent to me; we will never part!'
'Alas! he does not know that it was I who saved his life,' thought the
little mermaid. 'I bore him over the sea to the wood where the Temple
stands. I sat behind the foam and watched to see if any one would come.
I saw the pretty girl he loves better than me.' And the mermaid heaved a
bitter sigh, for she could not weep.
'The girl belongs to the holy Temple, he has said; she will never return
to the world, they will never meet again. I am here with him; I see him
every day. Yes! I will tend him, love him, and give up my life to him.'
But now the rumour ran that the prince was to be married to the
beautiful daughter of a neighbouring king, and for that reason was
fitting out a splendid ship. It was given out that the prince was going
on a voyage to see the adjoining countries, but it was without doubt to
see the king's daughter; he was to have a great suite with him. But the
little mermaid shook her head and laughed; she knew the prince's
intentions much better than any of the others. 'I must take this
voyage,' he had said to her; 'I must go and see the beautiful princess;
my parents demand that, but they will never force me to bring her home
as my bride; I can never love her! She will not be like the lovely girl
in the Temple whom you resemble. If ever I had to choose a bride it
would sooner be you with your speaking eyes, my sweet, dumb foundling!'
And he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long hair, and laid his
head upon her heart, which already dreamt of human joys and an immortal
soul.
'You are not frightened of the sea, I suppose, my dumb child?' he said,
as they stood on the proud ship which was to carry them to the country
of the neighbouring king; and he told her about storms and calms, about
curious fish in the deep, and the marvels seen by divers; and she smiled
at his tales, for she knew all about the bottom of the sea much better
than any one else.
At night, in the moonlight, when all were asleep, except the steersman
who stood at the helm, she sat at the side of the ship trying to pierce
the clear water with her eyes, and fancied she saw her father's palace,
and above it her old grandmother with her silver crown on her head,
looking up through the cross currents towards the keel of the ship. Then
her sisters rose above the water; they gazed sadly at her, wringing
their white hands. She beckoned to them, smiled, and was about to tell
them that all was going well and happily with her, when the cabin-boy
approached, and the sisters dived down, but he supposed that the white
objects he had seen were nothing but flakes of foam.
The next morning the ship entered the harbour of the neighbouring king's
magnificent city. The church bells rang and trumpets were sounded from
every lofty tower, while the soldiers paraded with flags flying and
glittering bayonets. There was a _fête_ every day, there was a
succession of balls, and receptions followed one after the other, but
the princess was not yet present; she was being brought up a long way
off, in a holy Temple they said, and was learning all the royal virtues.
At last she came. The little mermaid stood eager to see her beauty, and
she was obliged to confess that a lovelier creature she had never
beheld. Her complexion was exquisitely pure and delicate, and her
trustful eyes of the deepest blue shone through their dark lashes.
'It is you,' said the prince, 'you who saved me when I lay almost
lifeless on the beach?' and he clasped his blushing bride to his heart.
'Oh! I am too happy!' he exclaimed to the little mermaid.
'A greater joy than I had dared to hope for has come to pass. You will
rejoice at my joy, for you love me better than any one.' Then the little
mermaid kissed his hand, and felt as if her heart were broken already.
His wedding morn would bring death to her and change her to foam.
All the church bells pealed and heralds rode through the town
proclaiming the nuptials. Upon every altar throughout the land fragrant
oil was burnt in costly silver lamps. Amidst the swinging of censers by
the priests the bride and bridegroom joined hands and received the
bishop's blessing. The little mermaid dressed in silk and gold stood
holding the bride's train, but her ears were deaf to the festal strains,
her eyes saw nothing of the sacred ceremony; she was thinking of her
coming death and of all that she had lost in this world.
That same evening the bride and bridegroom embarked, amidst the roar of
cannon and the waving of banners. A royal tent of purple and gold softly
cushioned was raised amidships where the bridal pair were to repose
during the calm cool night.
The sails swelled in the wind and the ship skimmed lightly and almost
without motion over the transparent sea.
At dusk lanterns of many colours were lighted and the sailors danced
merrily on deck. The little mermaid could not help thinking of the first
time she came up from the sea and saw the same splendour and gaiety; and
she now threw herself among the dancers, whirling, as a swallow skims
through the air when pursued. The onlookers cheered her in amazement,
never had she danced so divinely; her delicate feet pained her as if
they were cut with knives, but she did not feel it, for the pain at her
heart was much sharper. She knew that it was the last night that she
would breathe the same air as he, and would look upon the mighty deep,
and the blue starry heavens; an endless night without thought and
without dreams awaited her, who neither had a soul, nor could win one.
The joy and revelry on board lasted till long past midnight; she went on
laughing and dancing with the thought of death all the time in her
heart. The prince caressed his lovely bride and she played with his
raven locks, and with their arms entwined they retired to the gorgeous
tent. All became hushed and still on board the ship, only the steersman
stood at the helm; the little mermaid laid her white arms on the gunwale
and looked eastwards for the pink-tinted dawn; the first sunbeam, she
knew, would be her death. Then she saw her sisters rise from the water;
they were as pale as she was; their beautiful long hair no longer
floated on the breeze, for it had been cut off.
[Illustration: _Once more she looked at the prince, with her eyes
already dimmed by death, then dashed overboard and fell, her body
dissolving into foam._]
'We have given it to the witch to obtain her help, so that you may not
die to-night! She has given us a knife; here it is, look how sharp it
is! Before the sun rises, you must plunge it into the prince's heart,
and when his warm blood sprinkles your feet they will join together and
grow into a tail, and you will once more be a mermaid; you will be able
to come down into the water to us, and to live out your three hundred
years before you are turned into dead, salt sea-foam. Make haste! you or
he must die before sunrise! Our old grandmother is so full of grief that
her white hair has fallen off as ours fell under the witch's scissors.
Slay the prince and come back to us! Quick! Quick! do you not see
the rosy streak in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise and then
you must die!' saying this they heaved a wondrous deep sigh and sank
among the waves.
The little mermaid drew aside the purple curtain from the tent and
looked at the beautiful bride asleep with her head on the prince's
breast. She bent over him and kissed his fair brow, looked at the sky
where the dawn was spreading fast, looked at the sharp knife, and again
fixed her eyes on the prince, who, in his dream called his bride by
name. Yes! she alone was in his thoughts! For a moment the knife
quivered in her grasp, then she threw it far out among the waves, now
rosy in the morning light, and where it fell the water bubbled up like
drops of blood.
Once more she looked at the prince, with her eyes already dimmed by
death, then dashed overboard and fell, her body dissolving into foam.
Now the sun rose from the sea and with its kindly beams warmed the
deadly cold foam, so that the little mermaid did not feel the chill of
death. She saw the bright sun, and above her floated hundreds of
beauteous ethereal beings, through which she could see the white ship
and the rosy heavens; their voices were melodious, but so spirit-like
that no human ear could hear them, any more than earthly eye could see
their forms. Light as bubbles they floated through the air without the
aid of wings. The little mermaid perceived that she had a form like
theirs; it gradually took shape out of the foam. 'To whom am I coming?'
said she, and her voice sounded like that of the other beings, so
unearthly in its beauty that no music of ours could reproduce it.
'To the daughters of the air!' answered the others; 'a mermaid has no
undying soul, and can never gain one without winning the love of a human
being. Her eternal life must depend upon an unknown power. Nor have the
daughters of the air an everlasting soul, but by their own good deeds
they may create one for themselves. We fly to the tropics where mankind
is the victim of hot and pestilent winds; there we bring cooling
breezes. We diffuse the scent of flowers all around, and bring
refreshment and healing in our train. When, for three hundred years, we
have laboured to do all the good in our power, we gain an undying soul
and take a part in the everlasting joys of mankind. You, poor little
mermaid, have with your whole heart struggled for the same thing as we
have struggled for. You have suffered and endured, raised yourself to
the spirit-world of the air, and now, by your own good deeds you may, in
the course of three hundred years, work out for yourself an undying
soul.'
Then the little mermaid lifted her transparent arms towards God's sun,
and for the first time shed tears.
On board ship all was again life and bustle. She saw the prince with his
lovely bride searching for her; they looked sadly at the bubbling foam,
as if they knew that she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she
kissed the bride on her brow, smiled at the prince, and rose aloft with
the other spirits of the air to the rosy clouds which sailed above.
'In three hundred years we shall thus float into Paradise.'
'We might reach it sooner,' whispered one. 'Unseen we flit into those
homes of men where there are children, and for every day that we find a
good child who gives pleasure to its parents and deserves their love God
shortens our time of probation. The child does not know when we fly
through the room, and when we smile with pleasure at it one year of our
three hundred is taken away. But if we see a naughty or badly disposed
child, we cannot help shedding tears of sorrow, and every tear adds a
day to the time of our probation.'
THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES
Many years ago there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of new
clothes that he spent all his money on them. He cared nothing about his
soldiers, nor for the theatre, nor for driving in the woods except for
the sake of showing off his new clothes. He had a costume for every hour
in the day, and instead of saying, as one does about any other king or
emperor, 'He is in his council chamber,' here one always said, 'The
Emperor is in his dressing-room.'
Life was very gay in the great town where he lived; hosts of strangers
came to visit it every day, and among them one day two swindlers. They
gave themselves out as weavers, and said that they knew how to weave the
most beautiful stuffs imaginable. Not only were the colours and patterns
unusually fine, but the clothes that were made of the stuffs had the
peculiar quality of becoming invisible to every person who was not fit
for the office he held, or if he was impossibly dull.
'Those must be splendid clothes,' thought the Emperor. 'By wearing them
I should be able to discover which men in my kingdom are unfitted for
their posts. I shall distinguish the wise men from the fools. Yes, I
certainly must order some of that stuff to be woven for me.'
He paid the two swindlers a lot of money in advance so that they might
begin their work at once.
They did put up two looms and pretended to weave, but they had nothing
whatever upon their shuttles. At the outset they asked for a quantity of
the finest silk and the purest gold thread, all of which they put into
their own bags, while they worked away at the empty looms far into the
night.
'I should like to know how those weavers are getting on with the stuff,'
thought the Emperor; but he felt a little queer when he reflected that
any one who was stupid or unfit for his post would not be able to see
it. He certainly thought that he need have no fears for himself, but
still he thought he would send somebody else first to see how it was
getting on. Everybody in the town knew what wonderful power the stuff
possessed, and every one was anxious to see how stupid his neighbour
was.
'I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,' thought the
Emperor. 'He will be best able to see how the stuff looks, for he is a
clever man, and no one fulfils his duties better than he does!'
So the good old minister went into the room where the two swindlers sat
working at the empty loom.
'Heaven preserve us!' thought the old minister, opening his eyes very
wide. 'Why, I can't see a thing!' But he took care not to say so.
Both the swindlers begged him to be good enough to step a little nearer,
and asked if he did not think it a good pattern and beautiful colouring.
They pointed to the empty loom, and the poor old minister stared as hard
as he could, but he could not see anything, for of course there was
nothing to see.
'Good heavens!' thought he, 'is it possible that I am a fool. I have
never thought so, and nobody must know it. Am I not fit for my post? It
will never do to say that I cannot see the stuffs.'
'Well, sir, you don't say anything about the stuff,' said the one who
was pretending to weave.
'Oh, it is beautiful! quite charming!' said the old minister, looking
through his spectacles; 'this pattern and these colours! I will
certainly tell the Emperor that the stuff pleases me very much.'
'We are delighted to hear you say so,' said the swindlers, and then they
named all the colours and described the peculiar pattern. The old
minister paid great attention to what they said, so as to be able to
repeat it when he got home to the Emperor.
[Illustration: _They pointed to the empty loom, and the poor old
minister stared as hard as he could, but he could not see anything, for
of course there was nothing to see._]
Then the swindlers went on to demand more money, more silk, and
more gold, to be able to proceed with the weaving; but they put it all
into their own pockets--not a single strand was ever put into the loom,
but they went on as before weaving at the empty loom.
The Emperor soon sent another faithful official to see how the stuff was
getting on, and if it would soon be ready. The same thing happened to
him as to the minister; he looked and looked, but as there was only the
empty loom, he could see nothing at all.
'Is not this a beautiful piece of stuff?' said both the swindlers,
showing and explaining the beautiful pattern and colours which were not
there to be seen.
'I know I am not a fool!' thought the man, 'so it must be that I am
unfit for my good post! It is very strange, though! However, one must
not let it appear!' So he praised the stuff he did not see, and assured
them of his delight in the beautiful colours and the originality of the
design. 'It is absolutely charming!' he said to the Emperor. Everybody
in the town was talking about this splendid stuff.
Now the Emperor thought he would like to see it while it was still on
the loom. So, accompanied by a number of selected courtiers, among whom
were the two faithful officials who had already seen the imaginary
stuff, he went to visit the crafty impostors, who were working away as
hard as ever they could at the empty loom.
'It is magnificent!' said both the honest officials. 'Only see, your
Majesty, what a design! What colours!' And they pointed to the empty
loom, for they thought no doubt the others could see the stuff.
'What!' thought the Emperor; 'I see nothing at all! This is terrible! Am
I a fool? Am I not fit to be Emperor? Why, nothing worse could happen to
me!'
'Oh, it is beautiful!' said the Emperor. 'It has my highest approval!'
and he nodded his satisfaction as he gazed at the empty loom. Nothing
would induce him to say that he could not see anything.
The whole suite gazed and gazed, but saw nothing more than all the
others. However, they all exclaimed with his Majesty, 'It is very
beautiful!' and they advised him to wear a suit made of this wonderful
cloth on the occasion of a great procession which was just about to take
place. 'It is magnificent! gorgeous! excellent!' went from mouth to
mouth; they were all equally delighted with it. The Emperor gave each of
the rogues an order of knighthood to be worn in their buttonholes and
the title of 'Gentlemen weavers.'
[Illustration: _Then the emperor walked along in the procession under
the gorgeous canopy, and everybody in the streets and at the windows
exclaimed, 'How beautiful the Emperor's new clothes are!'_]
The swindlers sat up the whole night, before the day on which the
procession was to take place, burning sixteen candles; so that people
might see how anxious they were to get the Emperor's new clothes ready.
They pretended to take the stuff off the loom. They cut it out in the
air with a huge pair of scissors, and they stitched away with
needles without any thread in them. At last they said: 'Now the
Emperor's new clothes are ready!'
The Emperor, with his grandest courtiers, went to them himself, and both
the swindlers raised one arm in the air, as if they were holding
something, and said: 'See, these are the trousers, this is the coat,
here is the mantle!' and so on. 'It is as light as a spider's web. One
might think one had nothing on, but that is the very beauty of it!'
'Yes!' said all the courtiers, but they could not see anything, for
there was nothing to see.
'Will your imperial majesty be graciously pleased to take off your
clothes,' said, the impostors, 'so that we may put on the new ones,
along here before the great mirror?'
The Emperor took off all his clothes, and the impostors pretended to
give him one article of dress after the other of the new ones which they
had pretended to make. They pretended to fasten something round his
waist and to tie on something; this was the train, and the Emperor
turned round and round in front of the mirror.
'How well his majesty looks in the new clothes! How becoming they are!'
cried all the people round. 'What a design, and what colours! They are
most gorgeous robes!'
'The canopy is waiting outside which is to be carried over your majesty
in the procession,' said the master of the ceremonies.