Prevod

Far out at sea, the water is as blue as the petals of the loveliest cornflower and as clear as the purest glass, but it is very deep, deeper than any anchor rope can reach. Many church towers would have to be stacked one upon another to reach from the bottom to above the water. Down there live the sea folk.

Now, you must not imagine that there is nothing there but a bare bed of white sand. No, the most wonderful trees and plants grow there, with stems and leaves so supple that they stir at the slightest movement of the water, just as though they were alive. All the fish, large and small, dart among the branches, just as birds fly through the air up here. At the very deepest spot stands the sea king's palace. Its walls are coral, and its tall, pointed windows are of the clearest amber, but its roof is made of mussel shells that open and close as the water moves. It is a lovely sight, for in each shell lie gleaming pearls, any one of which would make a splendid ornament in a queen's crown.

The sea king down there had been a widower for many years, but his old mother kept house for him. She was a wise woman, but proud of her noble birth, and so she wore twelve oysters on her tail, while the other highborn folk were allowed only six. Otherwise she deserved much praise, especially because she was so fond of the little sea princesses, her granddaughters. There were six lovely children, but the youngest was the most beautiful of them all. Her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose petal, her eyes as blue as the deepest lake, but like all the others she had no feet: her body ended in a fish's tail.

All day long they could play down in the palace, in the great halls where living flowers grew out of the walls. The great amber windows would be opened, and the fish would swim in to them, just as swallows fly in to us when we open our windows. But the fish swam straight up to the little princesses, ate from their hands, and let themselves be stroked.

Outside the palace was a great garden with fiery-red and dark-blue trees. The fruit shone like gold and the flowers like blazing fire, their stems and leaves forever swaying. The ground itself was the finest sand, but blue as a sulphur flame. A wondrous blue glow lay over everything down there; you might sooner have thought you were high in the air, with nothing but sky above and below you, than at the bottom of the sea. In a dead calm you could make out the sun, which looked like a purple flower, with all its light streaming from its cup.

Each little princess had her own small plot in the garden, where she could dig and plant just as she pleased. One made her flower bed in the shape of a whale; another preferred hers to look like a little mermaid. But the youngest made hers quite round, like the sun, and planted only flowers that shone as red as it did. She was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful, and while her sisters decorated their gardens with the most wonderful things they had found in wrecked ships, she wanted nothing, besides the rosy-red flowers that resembled the sun high above, but a beautiful marble statue. It was a handsome boy, carved from the clear white stone, which had sunk to the seabed in a shipwreck. Beside the statue she planted a rosy-red weeping willow. It flourished splendidly, hanging its fresh branches over him and down towards the blue sand, where their shadow looked violet and swayed just as the branches did. It seemed as though the crown and the roots were playing at kissing one another.

Nothing delighted her more than to hear about the human world above. Her old grandmother had to tell her everything she knew about ships and towns, people and animals. She thought it especially wonderful that up on land the flowers had a fragrance, for those at the bottom of the sea had none, and that the woods were green, and the fish seen among their branches could sing so loudly and sweetly that it was a joy to hear them. These were the little birds, which her grandmother called fish, for otherwise the children could not have understood her, since they had never seen a bird.

"When you turn fifteen," said their grandmother, "you shall be allowed to rise out of the sea, sit on the rocks in the moonlight, and watch the great ships sailing past. You shall see forests and towns!" In the coming year one of the sisters would turn fifteen, but each of the others was a year younger than the one before, so the youngest still had five whole years to wait before she would be allowed to come up from the bottom of the sea and see what our world was like. But each promised the others to tell them what she had seen and what she had thought most beautiful on that first day, for their grandmother did not tell them enough: there was so much they wanted to know.

No one longed for it as much as the youngest, the very one who had longest to wait and who was so quiet and thoughtful. Many a night she stood at the open window, gazing up through the dark-blue water where the fish beat their fins and tails. She could see the moon and stars; their light was very pale, to be sure, but through the water they looked much larger than they do to our eyes. And if something like a black cloud passed beneath them, she knew it was either a whale swimming above her or a ship carrying many people. Surely they never imagined that a lovely little mermaid was standing below, reaching her white hands up towards the keel.

At last the eldest princess was fifteen and was allowed to rise above the surface of the sea. When she returned, she had a hundred things to tell, but the loveliest of all, she said, was to lie in the moonlight on a sandbank in the calm sea and look at the great city close to the shore, where the lights twinkled like a hundred stars; to hear the music and the noise and bustle of carriages and people; to see the many church towers and spires, and hear the bells ringing. It was precisely because she could not go up there that she longed for all this most of all.

Oh, how eagerly the youngest sister listened! And when she stood at the open window later that evening, looking up through the dark-blue water, she thought of the great city with all its noise and bustle, and fancied she could hear the church bells ringing down to her.

The following year the second sister was allowed to rise through the water and swim wherever she pleased. She surfaced just as the sun was setting, and she thought that sight the loveliest of all. The whole sky had looked like gold, she said, and as for the clouds, she could never describe their beauty well enough! Red and violet, they had sailed above her, but far more swiftly than they, a flock of wild swans had flown like a long white veil across the water towards the sun. She swam towards it, but it sank, and the rosy glow faded from the surface of the sea and from the clouds.

The year after that, the third sister went up. She was the boldest of them all, so she swam up a broad river that flowed into the sea. She saw lovely green hills covered in vines, and castles and farmhouses peeping out among splendid woods. She heard all the birds singing, and the sun shone so warmly that she often had to dive beneath the water to cool her burning face. In a little bay she came upon a whole crowd of small human children, running naked and splashing in the water. She wanted to play with them, but they ran away in fright, and a little black animal came up. It was a dog, but she had never seen a dog before, and it barked at her so fiercely that she grew frightened and made for the open sea. But she could never forget the splendid woods, the green hills, and the pretty children who could swim on the water, although they had no fish tails.

The fourth sister was not so bold. She stayed far out in the wild sea and said that this was the most beautiful place of all. You could see for miles around you, and the sky overhead was like a great glass bell. She had seen ships, but far away, where they looked like seagulls. The amusing dolphins had turned somersaults, and the great whales had spouted water from their nostrils, so that it looked as though there were a hundred fountains all around.

Now it was the fifth sister's turn. Her birthday fell in winter, so she saw things the others had not seen on their first visit. The sea looked quite green, and great icebergs floated all around. Each looked like a pearl, she said, and yet was far larger than the church towers people built. They took the most wonderful shapes and glittered like diamonds. She had sat on one of the largest, and all the sailors had steered wide of it in fear as she sat there with the wind blowing her long hair. But towards evening the sky had clouded over, and there was thunder and lightning, while the black sea lifted the great blocks of ice high into the air and made them shine in the red flashes. Aboard every ship the sails were taken in; there was fear and dread everywhere. But she sat calmly on her floating iceberg and watched the blue lightning strike in zigzags down into the shining sea.

The first time each sister rose above the water, she was always enchanted by the new and beautiful things she saw. But now that they were grown girls and could go up whenever they pleased, they grew indifferent to it. They longed for home again, and after a month had passed, they said that down where they lived was the loveliest place of all, and that it was so pleasant to be at home.

Many an evening the five sisters would link arms and rise in a row above the water. They had lovely voices, more beautiful than any human being's, and when a storm was brewing and they thought ships might be wrecked, they would swim before the ships and sing sweetly of how beautiful it was at the bottom of the sea, telling the sailors not to be afraid to come down there. But the sailors could not understand the words; they thought it was the storm. Nor did they ever see the beauty down below, for when their ship sank, they drowned, and reached the sea king's palace only as dead men.

When the sisters rose arm in arm through the sea in the evening, their little sister was left standing all alone, watching them go. She felt as though she must weep, but a mermaid has no tears, and so she suffers all the more.

"Oh, if only I were fifteen!" she said. "I know I shall truly love the world up there, and the people who build their homes and live in it!"

At last she was fifteen. "Well, now we have you off our hands," said her grandmother, the old queen dowager. "Come, let me dress you up like your sisters!" And she placed a wreath of white lilies on her hair, but each petal of each flower was half a pearl. Then the old lady had eight large oysters fasten themselves to the princess's tail to show her high rank.

"It hurts so much!" said the little mermaid. "Well, one must suffer a little for finery!" said the old lady. Oh, how gladly she would have shaken off all this splendour and laid aside the heavy wreath! The red flowers in her garden suited her far better, but she did not dare change anything now. "Goodbye," she said, and rose through the water, as light and clear as a bubble.

The sun had just set as she lifted her head above the sea, but all the clouds still shone like roses and gold, and in the pale-red sky the evening star gleamed bright and beautiful. The air was mild and fresh, and the sea perfectly still. A great three-masted ship lay there with only one sail raised, for not a breath of wind was stirring, and sailors sat all about in the rigging and on the spars. There was music and singing, and as the evening grew darker, a hundred coloured lanterns were lit. They looked as though the flags of every nation were fluttering in the air. The little mermaid swam straight up to the cabin window, and whenever the water lifted her, she could look through the glass, clear as a mirror, and see the many finely dressed people within. But the handsomest of all was the young prince with his large black eyes. He could not have been much more than sixteen; it was his birthday, and that was the reason for all the splendour. The sailors were dancing on deck, and when the young prince came out, more than a hundred rockets shot into the air. They shone as bright as day, so that the little mermaid was quite frightened and dived beneath the water. But she soon raised her head again, and then it seemed as though all the stars in heaven were falling down to her. Never had she seen such fireworks. Great suns spun round, splendid fiery fish darted through the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, still sea. The ship itself was so brightly lit that every little rope could be seen, let alone the people. Oh, how handsome the young prince was! He shook hands with everyone, laughing and smiling, while the music rang out into the lovely night.

It grew late, but the little mermaid could not take her eyes off the ship and the handsome prince. The coloured lanterns were put out, no more rockets rose into the air, and the cannon shots had ceased. But deep down in the sea there was a humming and rumbling. Meanwhile she sat on the water, bobbing up and down so that she could see into the cabin. But the ship began to gather speed; one sail after another spread out, the waves grew stronger, great clouds gathered, and lightning flashed far away. Oh, a terrible storm was coming! The sailors took in the sails. The great ship pitched at a furious speed upon the wild sea. The water rose like great black mountains, threatening to topple over the mast, but the ship dived like a swan between the high waves and let itself be lifted once more upon the towering waters. The little mermaid thought it a very merry voyage, but the sailors did not. The ship creaked and groaned, the thick planks buckled beneath the heavy blows of the sea, the mast snapped in two as though it were a reed, and the ship lurched onto its side as water poured into the hold. Now the little mermaid saw that they were in danger. She herself had to beware of the beams and broken pieces of the ship drifting on the water. One moment it was so pitch-dark that she could not see a thing, but when the lightning flashed it grew so bright again that she could make out everyone on the ship. Each was struggling as best he could. She looked especially for the young prince, and when the ship broke apart she saw him sink into the deep sea. For an instant she was quite glad, for now he would come down to her. But then she remembered that human beings cannot live in water, and that he could only reach her father's palace as a dead man. No, he must not die! So she swam among the beams and planks drifting on the sea, quite forgetting that they might crush her. She dived deep beneath the water and rose high again among the waves, and at last reached the young prince, who could scarcely swim any longer in the stormy sea. His arms and legs were beginning to fail him, his beautiful eyes were closing; he would have died had the little mermaid not come. She held his head above the water and let the waves carry them both wherever they pleased.

By morning the storm had passed. Not a splinter of the ship was to be seen. The sun rose red and shining from the water, and it seemed to bring life back to the prince's cheeks, but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed his high, handsome forehead and stroked back his wet hair. She thought he looked like the marble statue in her little garden. She kissed him again and wished that he might live.

Now she saw dry land before her: high blue mountains with white snow gleaming on their peaks, as though swans were lying there. Down by the coast were lovely green woods, and in front of them stood a church or a convent—she was not quite sure which, but a building it was. Lemon and orange trees grew in its garden, and tall palm trees stood before the gate. Here the sea formed a little bay, perfectly still but very deep, right up to the rocks where fine white sand had washed ashore. She swam there with the handsome prince and laid him on the sand, taking particular care that his head rested high in the warm sunshine.

Now the bells rang in the great white building, and many young girls came through the garden. The little mermaid swam farther out, behind some high rocks jutting from the water, and spread sea foam over her hair and breast so that no one could see her little face. Then she watched to see who would come to the poor prince.

Before long a young girl came that way. She seemed quite frightened, but only for a moment; then she fetched more people, and the mermaid saw the prince revive and smile at everyone around him. But he did not smile out at her, for of course he did not know that she had saved him. She felt so sorrowful, and when he was carried into the great building, she dived sadly into the water and made her way home to her father's palace.

She had always been quiet and thoughtful, but now she became far more so. Her sisters asked what she had seen on her first visit above, but she told them nothing.

Many an evening and morning she rose to the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruit in the garden ripen and be picked; she saw the snow melt on the high mountains, but the prince she never saw, and so she always returned home sadder than before. There her only comfort was to sit in her little garden and twine her arms around the beautiful marble statue that looked like the prince. But she did not tend her flowers. They grew in a wilderness across the paths, weaving their long stems and leaves into the branches of the trees until it was quite dark there.

At last she could bear it no longer and told one of her sisters. At once all the others knew, but no one else except a couple of other mermaids, who told only their closest friends. One of these knew who the prince was. She too had seen the festivities aboard the ship, and knew where he came from and where his kingdom lay.

"Come, little sister!" said the other princesses, and with their arms around one another's shoulders they rose in a long line out of the sea before the place where they knew the prince's palace stood.

It was built of a pale-yellow, gleaming stone, with great marble stairways, one of which led straight down into the sea. Splendid gilded domes rose above the roof, and between the columns that encircled the whole building stood marble statues that looked alive. Through the clear glass of the tall windows you could see into magnificent halls, hung with costly silk curtains and tapestries, their walls adorned with great paintings that were a true pleasure to behold. In the middle of the largest hall a great fountain splashed, its jets rising high towards the glass dome in the ceiling, through which the sun shone upon the water and the lovely plants growing in the great basin.

Now she knew where he lived, and many an evening and night she came there over the water. She swam much closer to land than any of the others had dared, even venturing right into the narrow channel beneath the splendid marble balcony, which cast a long shadow across the water. Here she sat watching the young prince, who thought himself quite alone in the clear moonlight.

Many an evening she saw him sailing to music in his splendid boat, with flags flying. She would peep out among the green reeds, and if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil and anyone saw it, they thought it was a swan lifting its wings.

Many a night, when the fishermen were out on the sea with their flares, she heard them speak so well of the young prince, and it made her glad that she had saved his life when he was drifting half dead among the waves. She thought of how closely his head had rested against her breast and how tenderly she had kissed him then. He knew nothing at all of it; he could not even dream of her.

More and more she grew to love human beings, and more and more she wished she could rise up among them. Their world seemed to her far larger than her own. In their ships they could fly across the sea, climb the high mountains far above the clouds, and the lands they possessed stretched with woods and fields farther than her eyes could see. There was so much she longed to know, but her sisters could not answer all her questions, so she asked her old grandmother, who knew a great deal about the higher world, as she very properly called the lands above the sea.

"If human beings do not drown," asked the little mermaid, "can they live forever? Do they not die, as we do down here in the sea?" "Yes," said the old lady, "they too must die, and their lives are even shorter than ours. We may live for three hundred years, but when our existence here comes to an end, we become nothing but foam upon the water, without even a grave down here among those we love. We have no immortal soul; we shall never live again. We are like the green reeds: once cut down, they can never grow green again! Human beings, on the other hand, have a soul that lives forever, lives on after the body has turned to earth. It rises through the clear air, up to all the shining stars! Just as we rise out of the sea and see the lands of human beings, so they rise to lovely, unknown places that we shall never see."

"Why were we not given an immortal soul?" said the little mermaid sadly. "I would give all the three hundred years I have to live to be a human being for just one day, and afterwards to share in the heavenly world!"

"You must not dwell on such things!" said the old lady. "We are much happier and better off than the people up there!" "Then I must die and float as foam upon the sea, never hear the music of the waves or see the lovely flowers and the red sun! Is there nothing at all I can do to win an everlasting soul?" "No," said the old lady, "unless a human being were to love you so dearly that you meant more to him than his father and mother; if all his thoughts and love were bound up in you, and he let the priest place his right hand in yours with a promise of faithfulness here and for all eternity, then his soul would flow into your body, and you too would share in human happiness. He would give you a soul and yet keep his own. But that can never happen! The very thing that is beautiful here in the sea, your fish's tail, they think hideous up there on land. They know no better: there one must have two clumsy supports, which they call legs, to be beautiful!"

Then the little mermaid sighed and looked sadly at her fish's tail. "Let us be happy," said the old lady. "Let us leap and dance through the three hundred years we have to live. That is a good long time, after all, and afterwards we can rest all the more contentedly in our graves. Tonight we shall have a court ball!"

And indeed it was a splendour such as is never seen on land. The walls and ceiling of the great ballroom were made of thick but clear glass. Several hundred enormous mussel shells, rosy-red and grass-green, stood in rows on either side, each holding a blue flame that lit the whole hall and shone out through the walls, so that the sea outside was bright with light. You could see all the countless fish, large and small, swimming towards the glass walls; on some the scales shone crimson, while on others they looked like silver and gold. A broad current flowed through the middle of the hall, and on it mermen and mermaids danced to their own lovely singing. Human beings on land have no voices so beautiful. The little mermaid sang more sweetly than them all, and they clapped their hands for her. For a moment she felt joy in her heart, for she knew she had the loveliest voice of anyone on land or in the sea! But soon her thoughts returned to the world above her. She could not forget the handsome prince or her sorrow at not possessing, as he did, an immortal soul. So she slipped out of her father's palace, and while all within was song and merriment, she sat sadly in her little garden. Then she heard the sound of horns floating down through the water, and thought, "Now he must be sailing up there, the one I love more than father and mother, the one to whom all my thoughts cling, and in whose hands I would place my life's happiness. I will risk everything to win him and an immortal soul! While my sisters dance in my father's palace, I will go to the sea witch. I have always been so afraid of her, but perhaps she can advise and help me!"

Now the little mermaid left her garden and went towards the roaring whirlpools beyond which the witch lived. She had never been that way before. No flowers grew there, no seaweed; only the bare grey sandy bottom stretched towards the whirlpools, where the water spun like thundering millwheels, dragging everything it caught down into the depths. She had to pass between these crushing vortices to enter the sea witch’s domain, and for a long stretch the only way led over hot, bubbling mud, which the witch called her peat bog. Beyond it stood her house, in the midst of a strange forest. All the trees and bushes were polyps, half animal and half plant, looking like hundred-headed snakes growing out of the ground. All their branches were long, slimy arms, with fingers like supple worms, and they moved joint by joint from the root to the very tip. Whatever they could seize in the sea they wound themselves around and never let go again. The little mermaid stood outside, quite terrified. Her heart beat with fear, and she had almost turned back; but then she thought of the prince and of a human soul, and her courage returned. She bound her long, flowing hair tightly round her head so that the polyps could not seize her by it, folded her hands across her breast, and darted away as a fish darts through the water, in among the hideous polyps stretching their supple arms and fingers after her. She saw that each held something it had caught, clasped in a hundred little arms like strong iron bands. People who had perished at sea and sunk deep down there peered out as white skeletons from the polyps’ arms. They clutched ships’ rudders and chests, the skeletons of land animals, and a little mermaid they had caught and strangled; that was almost the most dreadful sight of all.

Now she came to a great slimy clearing in the forest, where huge, fat water snakes tumbled about, showing their ugly yellowish-white bellies. In the middle of the clearing stood a house built of the white bones of shipwrecked people. There sat the sea witch, feeding a toad from her mouth just as people let a little canary eat sugar. She called the hideous fat water snakes her little chicks and let them roll about on her great, spongy bosom.

“I know very well what you want!” said the sea witch. “It is foolish of you! Still, you shall have your way, for it will bring you to misfortune, my lovely princess. You want to be rid of your fish’s tail and have two stumps to walk on instead, like human beings, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and you may win him and an immortal soul!” At this the witch laughed so loudly and horribly that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground and tumbled about there. “You have come just in time,” said the witch. “After sunrise tomorrow, I could not help you again until another year had passed. I shall make you a potion, and before the sun rises you must swim to land with it, sit down on the shore, and drink it. Then your tail will split and shrink into what human beings call pretty legs. But it will hurt; it will be as though a sharp sword were passing through you. Everyone who sees you will say you are the loveliest human child they have ever seen! You will keep your floating grace; no dancer will glide as you do. But every step you take will be as though you were treading on a sharp knife, making your blood flow. If you are willing to suffer all this, I will help you.”

“Yes!” said the little mermaid in a trembling voice, thinking of the prince and of winning an immortal soul. “But remember,” said the witch, “once you have taken human form, you can never become a mermaid again! You can never descend through the water to your sisters and your father’s palace. And unless you win the prince’s love, so that for your sake he forgets his father and mother, clings to you with all his heart and mind, and lets the priest join your hands so that you become husband and wife, you will gain no immortal soul! On the first morning after he marries someone else, your heart must break, and you will become foam upon the water.”

“I will do it!” said the little mermaid, pale as death. “But you must pay me too!” said the witch. “And what I ask is no small thing. You have the loveliest voice of anyone down here at the bottom of the sea, and with it you no doubt think you will enchant him. But that voice you must give to me. I want the best thing you possess in return for my precious potion! After all, I must give you my own blood in it, to make it as sharp as a two-edged sword!”

“But if you take my voice,” said the little mermaid, “what will I have left?” “Your lovely figure,” said the witch, “your floating walk, and your speaking eyes. With those you can surely captivate a human heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue, and I shall cut it off as my payment, and you shall have the potent draught!”

“So be it!” said the little mermaid, and the witch put her cauldron on the fire to brew the magic potion. “Cleanliness is a good thing!” she said, scouring the cauldron with the snakes, which she tied into a knot. Then she scratched her breast and let her black blood drip into it. The steam took the strangest shapes, enough to fill anyone with dread. Every moment the witch put something new into the cauldron, and when it was boiling hard, it made a sound like a crocodile weeping. At last the potion was ready. It looked like the clearest water!

“There you are!” said the witch, and she cut out the little mermaid’s tongue, so that now she was mute and could neither sing nor speak. “If the polyps should seize you as you go back through my forest,” said the witch, “just throw a single drop of this potion on them, and their arms and fingers will burst into a thousand pieces!” But the little mermaid had no need to do so. The polyps shrank back in terror when they saw the shining potion, which glowed in her hand like a sparkling star. So she soon passed through the forest, the bog, and the roaring whirlpools.

She could see her father’s palace. The lights in the great ballroom had been put out; surely everyone inside was asleep. Yet she dared not go to them, now that she was mute and about to leave them for ever. It seemed as though her heart would break with sorrow. She stole into the garden, took one flower from each of her sisters’ flowerbeds, blew a thousand kisses towards the palace, and rose through the dark-blue sea.

The sun had not yet risen when she saw the prince’s palace and climbed the splendid marble steps. The moon shone beautifully clear. The little mermaid drank the burning, piercing potion, and it was as though a two-edged sword passed through her delicate body. She fainted and lay as if dead. When the sun shone across the sea, she awoke and felt a searing pain; but before her stood the handsome young prince, fixing his coal-black eyes upon her. She lowered her own and saw that her fish’s tail was gone, and that she had the prettiest little white legs any young girl could have. But she was quite naked, so she wrapped herself in her long, abundant hair. The prince asked who she was and how she had come there, and she gazed at him gently yet so sadly with her dark-blue eyes, for she 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 foretold, like treading on pointed awls and sharp knives, but she gladly endured it. Holding the prince’s hand, she moved as lightly as a bubble, and he and everyone else marvelled at her graceful, floating walk.

She was dressed in costly clothes of silk and muslin, and was the loveliest of all in the palace; but she was mute and could neither sing nor speak. Beautiful slave girls, dressed in silk and gold, came forward and sang for the prince and his royal parents. One sang more sweetly than all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her. Then the little mermaid grew sad, for she knew that she herself had sung far more sweetly! “Oh, if only he knew,” she thought, “that to be with him I have given away my voice for all eternity!”

Now the slave girls danced graceful, floating dances to the most glorious music. Then the little mermaid raised her beautiful white arms, rose on tiptoe, and glided across the floor, dancing as no one had ever danced before. Every movement revealed her beauty still more, and her eyes spoke more deeply to the heart than the slave girls’ songs.

Everyone was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling, and she danced on and on, though every time her foot touched the ground it was as if she were treading on sharp knives. The prince said she must always stay with him, and she was allowed to sleep outside his door on a velvet cushion.

He had a man’s riding clothes made for her, so that she could accompany him on horseback. They rode through fragrant woods, where green branches brushed her shoulders and little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed the high mountains with the prince, and though her delicate feet bled for all to see, she only laughed and followed him until they saw the clouds sailing beneath them like a flock of birds journeying to foreign lands.

At home in the prince’s palace, when everyone else was asleep at night, she went out onto the broad marble steps. Standing in the cold seawater cooled her burning feet, and then she thought of those down in the depths.

One night her sisters came arm in arm, singing so mournfully as they swam over the water. She beckoned to them, and they recognised her and told her how unhappy she had made them all. After that they visited her every night, and one night she saw, far out, her old grandmother, who had not risen above the sea for many years, and the sea king with his crown upon his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but did not venture as close to land as her sisters.

Day by day she grew dearer to the prince. He loved her as one might love a good, dear child, but it never entered his mind to make her his queen. Yet his wife she must become, or she would gain no immortal soul, but would turn to foam upon the sea on the morning after his wedding.

“Do you not love me best of them all?” the little mermaid’s eyes seemed to say when he took her in his arms and kissed her beautiful forehead.

“Yes, you are dearest to me,” said the prince, “for you have the kindest heart of them all, and you are the most devoted to me. You are like a young girl I once saw, but shall probably never find again. I was aboard a ship that was wrecked, and the waves washed me ashore beside a holy temple where several young girls served. The youngest found me on the beach and saved my life. I saw her only twice. She was the only one in this world I could ever love, but you resemble her; you almost drive her image from my soul. She belongs to the holy temple, and so my good fortune has sent me you. We shall never part!” “Alas, he does not know that I saved his life!” thought the little mermaid. “I carried him over the sea to the wood where the temple stands. I sat behind the foam and watched to see whether anyone would come. I saw the beautiful girl whom he loves more than me!” And the mermaid sighed deeply, for she could not weep. “The girl belongs to the holy temple, he said. She will never go out into the world; they will never meet again. I am with him and see him every day. I will tend him, love him, give my life for him!”

But now the prince was to marry the neighbouring king’s beautiful daughter! So people said; that was why he was fitting out such a splendid ship. The prince was going to see the neighbouring king’s lands, or so they were told, but it was really to see the neighbouring king’s daughter, and he was to take a great retinue with him. But the little mermaid shook her head and laughed; she knew the prince’s thoughts far better than anyone else. “I must go!” he had told her. “I must see the beautiful princess; my parents insist upon it. But they will not force me to bring her home as my bride! I cannot love her! She does not resemble the beautiful girl in the temple as you do. If ever I were to choose a bride, it would sooner be you, my mute little foundling with the speaking eyes!” And he kissed her red mouth, played with her long hair, and laid his head against her heart, so that it dreamed of human happiness and an immortal soul.

“You are not afraid of the sea, are you, my mute child?” he said as they stood on the splendid ship that was to carry him to the neighbouring king’s lands. And he told her of storms and calm seas, of strange fish in the depths and what divers had seen there. She smiled at his stories, for she knew more about the bottom of the sea than anyone else.

In the moonlit night, when everyone was asleep except the helmsman standing at the wheel, she sat by the ship’s rail and gazed down through the clear water. She thought she could see her father’s palace, and at its very top her old grandmother stood with her silver crown upon her head, gazing up through the rushing currents towards the ship’s keel. Then her sisters rose above the water, looking sorrowfully at her and wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, smiled, and wanted to tell them that all was going well and happily for her. But the cabin boy came towards her, and her sisters dived beneath the water, leaving him to believe that the whiteness he had seen was foam upon the sea.

The next morning the ship sailed into the harbour of the neighbouring king’s splendid city. All the church bells rang, and trumpets sounded from the high towers, while soldiers stood with waving banners and gleaming bayonets. Every day brought a celebration. Balls and parties followed one another, but the princess was not yet there. She was being brought up far away in a holy temple, they said, where she was learning all the royal virtues. At last she arrived.

The little mermaid was eager to see her beauty, and she had to acknowledge it: never had she seen a lovelier figure. Her skin was so delicate and clear, and beneath her long dark lashes smiled a pair of faithful, dark-blue eyes!

“It is you!” said the prince. “You who saved me when I lay like a corpse upon the shore!” And he clasped his blushing bride in his arms. “Oh, I am too happy!” he said to the little mermaid. “The best thing of all, what I never dared to hope for, has come true. You will rejoice in my happiness, for you love me best of them all!” And the little mermaid kissed his hand, and already she seemed to feel her heart breaking. The morning after his wedding would bring her death and turn her to foam upon the sea.

All the church bells rang, and heralds rode through the streets proclaiming the betrothal. On every altar, fragrant oil burned in costly silver lamps. The priests swung their censers, and the bride and bridegroom joined hands and received the bishop’s blessing. The little mermaid stood dressed in silk and gold, holding the bride’s train, but her ears heard none of the festive music, and her eyes saw nothing of the sacred ceremony. She thought of the night of her death, of all she had lost in this world.

That very evening the bride and bridegroom went aboard the ship. Cannons boomed, all the flags fluttered, and in the middle of the ship a sumptuous tent of gold and purple had been raised, furnished with the loveliest cushions. There the bridal pair were to sleep in the cool, still night.

The sails swelled in the wind, and the ship glided lightly and smoothly over the clear sea. As darkness fell, coloured lamps were lit, and the sailors danced merry dances on deck. The little mermaid could not help thinking of the first time she had risen from the sea and seen the same splendour and rejoicing. She whirled into the dance, gliding as a swallow glides when pursued, and everyone cheered her in admiration. Never had she danced so beautifully. It cut like sharp knives into her delicate feet, but she did not feel it; the pain cutting into her heart was greater. She knew this was the last evening she would see him for whom she had left her family and her home, given up her lovely voice, and suffered endless torment every day, all without his knowing. This was the last night she would breathe the same air as he, see the deep sea and the starry blue sky. An eternal night without thought or dream awaited her, who had no soul and could never win one. And all was joy and merriment aboard the ship until long after midnight. She laughed and danced with the thought of death in her heart. The prince kissed his beautiful bride, and she played with his black hair, and arm in arm they went to rest in the splendid tent.

The ship grew quiet and still; only the helmsman stood at the wheel. The little mermaid laid her white arms on the rail and looked east for the dawn. The first sunbeam, she knew, would kill her. Then she saw her sisters rising from the sea, pale as she was. Their long, beautiful hair no longer streamed in the wind; it had been cut off.

“We have given it to the witch so that she would help you, so that you need not die tonight! She has given us a knife. Here it is! Do you see how sharp it is? Before the sun rises, you must plunge it into the prince’s heart, and when his warm blood splashes on your feet, they will grow together into a fish’s tail. You will become a mermaid again and can come down into the water to us and live out your three hundred years before you turn into dead, salt sea-foam. Hurry! Either he or you must die before the sun rises! Our old grandmother is grieving so much that her white hair has fallen out, as ours fell beneath the witch’s scissors. Kill the prince and come back! Hurry! Do you see the red streak in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and then you must die!” And they gave a strange, deep sigh and sank into the waves.

The little mermaid drew aside the purple curtain of the tent and saw the beautiful bride sleeping with her head on the prince’s breast. She bent down and kissed his handsome forehead, looked at the sky where the dawn was growing ever brighter, looked at the sharp knife, and fixed her eyes once more on the prince, who spoke his bride’s name in his dreams. She alone was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the mermaid’s hand. But then she flung it far out into the waves. They shone red where it fell, as though drops of blood were welling up from the water. Once more she gazed at the prince with eyes already dimming in death, then threw herself from the ship into the sea, and felt her body dissolving into foam.

Now the sun rose from the sea. Its rays fell so gently and warmly upon the death-cold foam, and the little mermaid felt nothing of death. She saw the bright sun, and above her floated hundreds of beautiful, transparent creatures. Through them she could see the ship’s white sails and the red clouds in the sky. Their voices were music, but so ethereal that no human ear could hear them, just as no earthly eye could see them. Without wings they floated through the air by their own lightness. The little mermaid saw that she had a body like theirs, rising higher and higher out of the foam.

“To whom have I come?” she said, and her voice sounded like those of the other beings, so ethereal that no earthly music could convey it. “To the daughters of the air!” the others answered. “A mermaid has no immortal soul and can never gain one unless she wins a human being’s love. Her eternal existence depends upon another’s power. The daughters of the air have no eternal soul either, but through good deeds they can create one for themselves. We fly to hot countries where the stifling, plague-laden air kills human beings, and there we fan them with cool breezes. We spread the fragrance of flowers through the air and bring refreshment and healing. When for three hundred years we have striven to do all the good we can, we receive an immortal soul and share in the eternal happiness of human beings. You, poor little mermaid, have striven with all your heart for the same thing as we. You have suffered and endured, and raised yourself into the world of the spirits of the air. Now, through good deeds, you too can create an immortal soul for yourself in three hundred years.”

And the little mermaid lifted her transparent arms towards God’s sun, and for the first time she felt tears. Aboard the ship there was noise and life again. She saw the prince and his beautiful bride searching for her, gazing sadly at the bubbling foam as though they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen, she kissed the bride’s forehead, smiled at him, and rose with the other children of the air onto the rosy cloud sailing through the sky.

“In three hundred years we shall float like this into the kingdom of God!” “We may reach it even sooner!” whispered one. “Unseen, we float into human homes where there are children, and for every day we find a good child who brings its parents joy and deserves their love, God shortens our time of trial. The child does not know when we fly through the room, and when we smile at it with joy, a year is taken from the three hundred. But if we see a naughty, wicked child, we must weep tears of sorrow, and every tear adds a day to our time of trial!”