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_The Little Mermaid_ was written by Hans Christian Andersen
(1805-1875), and was translated from the Danish by M. R.
James (1862-1936) as part of his _Hans Andersen Forty-Two
Stories_ (1930).

Title: Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories -- The Little Mermaid
Author: Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875)
Translator: M. R. James (1862-1936)
Date of first publication: 1930
Place and date of edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: Faber and Faber, 1953
Date first posted: 14 February 2008
Date last updated: 14 February 2008
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #81

This ebook was produced by: Dr Mark Bear Akrigg




The Little Mermaid


Far out in the sea the water is as blue as the petals of the
loveliest of cornflowers, and as clear as the clearest
glass; but it is very deep, deeper than any anchor-cable can
reach, and many church towers would have to be put one on
the top of another to reach from the bottom out of the
water. Down there live the sea people.

Now you must not think for a moment that there is only a
bare white sandy bottom there; no, no: there the most
extraordinary trees and plants grow, which have stems and
leaves so supple that they stir at the slightest movement of
the water, as if they were alive. All the fish, big and
little, flit among the branches, like the birds in the air
up here. In the deepest place of all lies the sea king's
palace. The walls are of coral, and the tall pointed windows
of the clearest possible amber, but the roof is of
mussel-shells that open and shut themselves as the water
moves. It all looks beautiful, for in everyone of them lie
shining pearls, a single one of which would be the principal
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 clever
woman, but proud of her rank, for which reason she went
about with twelve oysters on her tail, while the rest of the
nobility might only carry six. For the rest she deserved
high praise, especially because she was so fond of the
little sea Princesses, her grandchildren. There were six of
them, beautiful children, but the youngest was the prettiest
of them all. Her skin was as bright and pure as a rose-leaf,
her eyes were as blue as the deepest lake; but like all the
rest, she had no feet--her body ended in a fish's tail. All
the love-long day they might play down in the palace in the
great halls where live flowers grew out of the walls. The
big windows of amber stood open, and the fishes swam in
through them, just as with us swallows fly in when we open
the windows; but the fishes used to swim right up to the
little Princesses and feed out of their hands and allow
themselves to be stroked.

Outside the palace there was a large garden with fiery red
and dark blue trees, whose fruit shone like gold, and their
flowers were like a flaming fire, because they were always
moving their stems and leaves. The ground was of the finest
sand, but blue like the flame of sulphur. Over the whole
expanse down there lay a wonderful blue sheen. You could
more easily imagine that you were far up in the air and
could see the sky above you and below you, than that you
were at the bottom of the sea. In a dead calm you could see
the sun: it looked like a purple flower out of whose cup all
the light was streaming.

Each of the young Princesses had her little plot in the
garden, where she could dig and plant as she liked. One
would make her flower-bed in the shape of a whale, another
preferred to have hers like a little mermaid, but the
youngest made hers quite round, like the sun, and would only
have flowers that shone red like it. She was an odd child,
quiet and thoughtful, and whereas the other sisters would
deck out their gardens with the quaintest things, that they
had got from sunken ships, she would only have--besides the
rose-red flowers that were like the sun far up in the sky--a
pretty statue of marble. It was of a handsome boy, carved
out of bright white stone, which had come down to the sea
bottom from a wreck. Beside the statue she planted a
rose-red weeping willow, which grew splendidly and hung its
fresh branches over it, right down to the blue sand bottom,
on which the shadows showed violet, and moved with the
branches; it looked as if the top and the roots of the tree
were playing at kissing each other.

She had no greater delight than in dreaming about the world
of men up above. The old grandmother had to tell her all she
knew about ships and horses and men and animals. It seemed
to her particularly delightful that up there on earth the
flowers smelt sweet (which they did not at the sea bottom),
and that the woods were green and the fish which one saw
among the branches could sing so loud and prettily that it
was a joy to hear them. It was the little birds that the
grandmother called fish, otherwise they could not have
understood, for they had never seen a bird.

"When you're full fifteen years old," said the grandmother,
"you shall have leave to come up out of the sea and sit on
the rocks in the moonlight, and see the big ships that come
sailing by; and forests and houses you shall see."

During the year that was passing one of the sisters was
fifteen years old; but the rest--why, each was a year
younger than the next, and so the youngest had a clear five
years to wait before she could come up from the sea bottom
and see how things go with us. But the first promised the
next one to tell her what she had seen and had thought
beautiful on the first day, for their grandmother didn't
tell them enough: there were very many things they wanted to
know about.

None of them was so full of longing as the youngest, the
very one who had the longest time to wait, and was so quiet
and thoughtful. Many a night she stood at the open window
and gazed up through the dark blue waters where the fish
went waving their fins and tails. She could see the moon and
the stars; of course they were very pale, but, seen through
the water, they looked much larger than they do to our eyes.
If something like a black cloud passed along beneath them,
she knew that it was either a whale swimming above her, or
even a ship with a number of people in it. Certainly they
never thought that beneath them there was a lovely little
mermaid stretching her hands up towards the keel.

And now the eldest Princess was fifteen years old and could
rise up above the surface of the sea.

When she came back she had a hundred things to tell; but the
most beautiful thing, she said, was to lie on a sandbank in
the moonlight in the calm sea, and to see close by the shore
the big town where the lights twinkled like hundreds of
stars, and to hear the sound of music and the noise and stir
of carts and people, and see all the church towers and
steeples and hear the bells ringing; and just because she
couldn't go up there, she longed after all that, most of
all.

Oh, how the youngest sister did listen! And when, later on
in the evening, she stood at the open window and gazed up
through the dark blue water, she thought about the big town
and all the noise and stir, and then she fancied she could
hear the church bells ringing down to her.

The year after, the second sister had leave to rise up
through the water and swim where she liked; she ducked up
just as the sun was going down, and the sight of that she
thought the most beautiful of all. The whole heaven, she
said, had looked like gold, and the clouds--oh! the beauty
of them she could not describe: red and violet, they sailed
past above her, but far swifter than they there flew, like a
large white ribbon, a skein of wild swans away over the
water, to where the sun was. She swam towards it, but it
sank, and the rosy glow died from the clouds and the face of
the sea.

Next year the third sister went up; she was the boldest of
them all; and so she swam up a broad river that ran into the
sea. Beautiful green hills she saw, with rows of vines upon
them. Palaces and mansions peeped out from among stately
woods. She heard all the birds singing, and the sun shone so
hot that she had to dive beneath the water to cool her
burning face. In a little inlet she came upon a whole crowd
of young human children; they were quite naked, and ran
about and splashed in the water. She wanted to play with
them, but they ran away in a fright, and then came a little
black creature (it was a dog, but she had never seen a dog
before) and it barked at her so dreadfully that she was
terrified and took refuge in the open sea; but never could
she forget the splendid woods and the green hills and the
pretty children who could swim in the water, though they had
no fish-tails.

The fourth sister was not so daring. She stayed out in the
lonely sea, and told them that that was the most beautiful
of all. You could see many many miles all round, and the sky
arched over you like a great bell of glass. Ships she had
seen, but far away they looked like gulls. The merry
dolphins had turned somersaults, and the big whales had
squirted up water out of their nostrils, so that it looked
like hundreds of fountains all around her.

Now came the turn of the fifth sister. Her birthday, it
happened, was in winter, and so she saw what the others had
not seen on their first visit. The sea was all green to look
at, and round about there floated large icebergs, everyone
looking like a pearl, she said, and yet they were far bigger
than the church towers that men built. They showed
themselves in the strangest shapes and were like diamonds.
She had seated herself on one of the largest, and all the
ships made a wide circle in fear, away from the place where
she was sitting and letting the wind set her long hair
flying; but on towards evening the sky was covered with
clouds, it lightened and thundered, while the black sea
lifted the masses of ice high up, and made them glitter in
the fierce lightning. Aboard of all the ships they took in
sail, and there was anxiety and fear, but she sat calmly on
her floating iceberg and watched the blue flashes strike
zig-zagging into the shining sea.

The first time any of the sisters came to the top of the
water, each one of them was always entranced by all the new
pretty sights she saw, but now that, as grown girls, they
had leave to go up whenever they liked, it became quite
ordinary to them, and they longed to be at home again; and
after a month had passed they said that after all it was far
prettier down at the bottom, and there one was so
comfortable at home.

On many an evening the five sisters would link arms together
and rise in a row above the water. They had lovely voices,
more beautiful than any human being's, and when a storm was
coming on, and they thought some ships might be lost, they
would swim before the ships and sing most beautifully of how
pretty it was at the bottom of the sea, and bade the
seafarers not to be afraid of coming down there.

But they could not understand their words; they thought it
was the storm. Nor did they see any beautiful things down
there either, for when the ship sank they were drowned, and
only as dead corpses did they ever reach the sea King's
palace.

When of an evening the sisters rose like this, arm in arm,
up through the sea, their little sister was left behind
quite alone, looking after them, and it seemed as if she
must have wept, but a mermaid has no tears, and that makes
her suffer all the more.

"Oh! if only I was fifteen," she said, "I know I shall
become really fond of that world up there and of the people
who have their homes there!"

At last she was fifteen years old.

"There now! We've got you off our hands," said the
grandmother, the old widow Queen. "Come here, and let me
dress you out like your other sisters"; and she put a wreath
of white lilies on her hair, only every petal in the flower
was a half-pearl, and the old lady made eight large oysters
take tight hold of the Princess's tail, to indicate her high
rank.

"But it hurts so," said the little mermaid.

"Yes, one must suffer a little for smartness' sake," said
the old lady.

Oh dear! She would gladly have shaken off all this finery
and put away the heavy wreath. The red flowers in her garden
became her much better; but she dare not change it.
"Good-bye," she said, and rose bright and light as a bubble,
up through the water. The sun had just gone down when she
lifted her head above the sea, but all the clouds were still
glowing like gold and roses, and in the midst of the pale
red heaven the evening star shone clear and beautiful. The
air was soft and cool, and the sea dead calm. There lay a
great ship with three masts; only a single sail was set, for
no wind was stirring, and round about on the rigging and on
the yard, sailors were sitting. There was music and singing,
and as evening grew darker hundreds of variegated lamps were
lit. They looked as if the flags of all nations were waving
in the air. The little mermaid swam straight up to the cabin
window, and every time a wave lifted her, she could see
through at the windows, clear as mirrors, numbers of gaily
dressed people; but the handsomest of them all was the young
Prince with the big black eyes: he was certainly not much
over sixteen, and this was his birthday, and that was why
there were all these fine doings. The sailors danced on the
deck, and when the young Prince came out there, more than a
hundred rockets shot up into the sky. They shone as bright
as day, and the little mermaid was quite frightened and
dived down beneath the water, but soon she put up her head
again, and then it seemed as if all the stars in the sky
were falling down on her. She had never seen fireworks like
that. Great suns whizzed round, splendid fire-fish darted
into the blue heaven, and everything was reflected back from
the bright calm sea. On the ship itself there was so much
light that you could see every least rope, let alone the
people. Oh! how handsome the young Prince was; he shook
hands with the crew and smiled and laughed, while the music
rang out into the beautiful night. It grew late, but the
little mermaid could not take her eyes off the ship and the
beautiful Prince. The coloured lamps were put out, no more
rockets flew up into the sky, no more guns were let off, but
deep down in the sea there was a murmur and a rumbling.
Meanwhile she sat on the water and swung up and down, so
that she could see into the cabin; but the ship now took a
swifter pace, one sail after another was spread, the waves
rose higher, great clouds came up in the distance, there was
lightning. Oh, there would be a terrible storm; and the
seamen took in sail. The great ship ploughed with the speed
of a bird over the wild sea, the water piled itself into
huge black mountains, as if to top the masts, but the ship
dived down like a swan between the tall billows, and rose
again over the heaving waters. To the little mermaid it
seemed just a pleasant jaunt, but not so to the sailors. The
ship creaked and cracked, the stout planks bent with the
mighty blows that the sea dealt. The mast snapped in the
midst as if it had been a reed, and the ship heeled over on
her side, while the water rushed into her hull. Now the
little mermaid saw they were in peril; she herself had to
beware of the beams and broken pieces of the ship that were
driven about in the sea. At one instant it was so pitch-dark
that she could see nothing whatever; then, when it
lightened, it was so bright that she could see everyone on
board. Everyone was leaping off as best he could. The young
Prince above all she looked for, and she saw him, when the
ship parted, sink down into the deep. For a moment she was
full of joy that now he was coming down to her; but then she
remembered that men could not live in the water, and that he
could never come alive to her father's palace. No, die he
must not! So she swam in among the beams and planks that
drove about in the water, quite forgetting that they might
have crushed her--dived deep beneath the water, and rose
high among the billows, and so came at last to the young
Prince, who could hardly keep himself afloat any longer in
the stormy sea. His arms and legs were beginning to tire,
his beautiful eyes were closing; but he would perforce have
died had not the little mermaid come to him. She held his
head above the water, and let the waves drive her with him
whither they would.

     *     *     *     *     *

At dawn the tempest was over; of the ship there was not a
bit to be seen. The sun rose red and bright out of the
water, and it seemed as if thereat life came into the
Prince's cheeks; but his eyes were still closed. The mermaid
kissed his fair high forehead and stroked back his wet hair.
She thought he resembled the marble statue down in her
little garden. She kissed him again and wished that he might
live after all.

And now she saw in front of her the dry land, high blue
hills on whose top the white snow shone as if swans were
lying there. Down by the shore were lovely green woods, and
in front of them lay a church or an abbey (she knew not
what), but at least a building. Lemon and apple trees grew
in the garden, and before the gate were tall palms. At this
spot the sea made a little bay; it was dead calm, but very
deep right up to the rocks where the fine white sand was
washed up. Hither she swam with the fair Prince and laid him
on the sand, but took care that his head should rest
uppermost in the warm sunshine.

Now the bells rang out from the great white building, and a
number of young maidens came out through the gardens. The
little mermaid swam further out, behind some high boulders
which stuck up out of the water, laid some sea-foam over her
hair and her bosom, so that no one could see her little
face, and there she watched to see who would come to the
poor Prince. It was not long before a young girl came that
way, and seemed to be quite terrified, but only for a
moment. Then she fetched more people, and the mermaid saw
the Prince revive, and smile on all those about him. But on
her, out there, he did not smile; he had, of course, no
notion that she had rescued him. She felt very sad, and when
he was carried into the great building, she dived
sorrowfully down into the water, and betook herself home to
her father's palace.

She had always been quiet and thoughtful, but now she became
much more so. The sisters asked her what she had seen the
first time she went up, but she did not tell them anything
about it.

Every evening and morning did she go up to the place where
she had left the Prince. She saw how the fruits in the
garden grew ripe and were picked; she saw how the snow
melted on the high mountains; but the Prince she never saw,
so she always turned homeward sadder than before. It was her
one comfort to sit in her little garden and throw her arms
about the fair marble statue which was like the Prince; but
she took no care of her flowers, and they spread as in a
wild wood over all the paths, and wove their long stems and
leaves in among the branches of the trees, so that it was
quite dark there.

At last she could contain herself no longer, but told one of
her sisters, and at once all the others got to know it, but
nobody else except them and just one or two other mermaids,
who didn't tell anyone but their dearest friends. One of
these could tell who the Prince was: she too had seen the
fete on the ship, and knew where he came from and where his
kingdom lay.

"Come, little sister," said the other Princesses, and with
their arms about each other's shoulders they rose in a long
line out of the sea in front of the spot where they knew the
Prince's palace was.

It was built of a kind of pale yellow shining stone, with
great marble steps that you could go down straight into the
sea. Stately gilded domes rose above the roof, and between
the pillars that surrounded the whole building stood statues
of marble which seemed alive. Through the clear glass of the
tall windows you could see into the noble halls, where
costly silk curtains and tapestries were hung, and all the
walls were decked with great paintings that it was
delightful to gaze at. In the middle of the largest hall a
great fountain splashed; its jet soared high up towards the
glass dome in the roof, through which the sun shone on the
water and on the beautiful plants that grew in the wide
basin.

Now she knew where he lived, and thither she came on many an
evening and night upon the water. She swam much closer to
the land than any of the others had dared to do; she even
went right up the narrow canal beneath the stately balcony
of marble, which cast a shadow far over the water. Here she
would sit and gaze at the young Prince, who believed himself
to be quite alone in the bright moonlight.

Many an evening she saw him sail, to the sound of music, in
his splendid boat, where the flags waved; she peeped out
from among the green weed, and if the breeze caught her long
silver white veil, and anyone saw it, they thought it was a
swan flapping its wings.

Many a night when the fishermen lay out at sea with torches,
she heard them telling all manner of good about the young
Prince, and it made her glad that she had saved his life
when he was being tossed half dead upon the waves, and she
thought of how close his head had lain on her bosom, and how
lovingly she had kissed him then; he knew nothing whatever
about it, and could not so much as dream about her.

She became fonder and fonder of human people, and more and
more did she long to be able to go up amongst them. Their
world, she thought, was far larger than hers: for they could
fly far over the sea in ships, climb high up above the
clouds on the lofty mountains; and the lands they owned
stretched over forests and fields farther than she could
see. There was a great deal she wanted to know, but her
sisters could not answer all her questions, so she asked the
old grandmother: she knew well the upper world, as she very
properly called the countries above the sea.

"If the human people aren't drowned," the little mermaid
inquired, "can they go on living always? Don't they die as
we do down here in the sea?"

"Yes," said the old lady, "they have to die, too, and
besides, their lifetime is shorter than ours. We can live
for three hundred years, but when we cease to be here, we
only turn to foam on the water, and have not even a grave
down here among our dear ones. We have no immortal souls, we
never live again; we are like the green weed: once it is cut
down it never grows green again. Human kind, on the other
hand, have a soul that lives always after the body has
turned into earth. It rises up through the clear air, up to
all the shining stars; just as we rise out of the sea and
look at the human people's country, so do they rise up to
unknown beautiful places, which we never attain."

"Why did we have no immortal souls given us?" said the
little mermaid, very sadly. "I would give all my hundreds of
years that I have to live to be a human being for only one
day, and then get a share in the heavenly world."

"You mustn't go thinking about that," said the old lady, "we
have a much happier and better lot than the people up
there."

"So then I've got to die and float like foam on the sea, and
not hear the noise of the waves and see the lovely flowers
and the red sun! Can't I do anything at all to gain an
everlasting soul?"

"No," said the old lady, "only if a human being held you so
dear that you were to him more than father or mother, and if
with all his thoughts and affections he clung to you and
made the priest lay his right hand in yours with the promise
to be faithful to you here and for ever, then his soul would
flow over into your body, and you too would have a share in
the destiny of men. He would give you a soul and still keep
his own. But that can never happen. The very thing that is
counted beautiful here in the sea, I mean your fish's tail,
they think horrid up there on the earth; they have no notion
of what's proper: up there people must needs have two clumsy
props which they call legs, if they're to look nice."

The little mermaid sighed and looked sadly at her fish's
tail. "Let's be cheerful," said the old lady. "We'll jump
and dance about for the three hundred years we have to live.
It's long enough in all conscience; after that one can sleep
it out all the pleasanter in one's grave. To-night we're to
have a court ball."

     *     *     *     *     *

Truly, it was a magnificent affair, such as you never see on
earth. The walls and ceilings of the great ballroom were of
glass, thick but clear. Many hundreds of large
mussel-shells, rose-red and grass-green, were set in rows on
either side, with a blue flame burning in them that lighted
up the whole hall and shone out through the walls, so that
the sea outside was all lit up. You could see all the
innumerable fish, big and little, swimming round the glass
walls. The scales of some of them shone purple-red, on
others they shone like silver and gold. In the middle of the
hall there flowed a broad rapid stream, and on it mermen and
mermaids danced to their own beautiful singing. Such
charming voices no one on earth possesses. The little
mermaid sang the most beautifully of them all, and they
clapped their hands at her, and for a moment she felt joy at
her heart, for she knew that she had the loveliest voice of
anyone on earth or sea. But soon she began to think again
about the world above her. She could not forget the handsome
Prince, and her own sorrow that she did not, like him,
possess an immortal soul. So she stole out of her father's
palace, and while everything there was song and merriment
she sat sadly in her little garden. There she heard the
beating waves sounding down through the water, and she
thought, sure, he is sailing up there, he whom I love more
than father or mother, he to whom my thoughts cling and in
whose hand I would lay the destiny of my life. I would risk
everything to win him and an immortal soul. While my sisters
are dancing in my father's palace, I will go to the old Sea
Witch. I've always been dreadfully afraid of her, but it may
be she can advise me and help me.

So the little mermaid went off out of her garden, towards
the roaring maelstrom behind which the witch lived. She had
never been that way before. No flowers grew there, and no
sea grass: only the bare grey sandy bottom stretched out
round the maelstrom, where the water whirled round like a
roaring millwheel and swept everything it caught hold of
down with it into the deep. Right through those tearing
whirls she must go to enter the Sea Witch's domain, and here
for a long way the only path ran over hot bubbling mire
which the Witch called her peat moss. Behind it lay her
house, in the middle of a hideous wood. All the trees and
bushes of it were polypi, half animal and half plant, which
looked like hundred-headed snakes growing out of the ground.
All their branches were long slimy arms with fingers like
pliant worms, and joint after joint they kept in motion from
the root till the outermost tip. Everything in the sea that
they could grasp they twined themselves about, and never let
it go again. The little mermaid was in terrible fear as she
stopped outside the wood. Her heart beat with terror, and
she almost turned back, but then she thought of the Prince
and of the human soul, and so she took courage. She bound
her long flowing hair close about her head, so that the
polypi should not catch her by it; she joined her two hands
together on her breast, and darted along as a fish darts
through the water, in among the terrible polypi, which
stretched out their pliant arms and fingers after her. She
saw that everyone of these held something it had caught, and
hundreds of little arms held it like strong bands of iron.
Men who had been lost at sea and had sunk deep down there,
looked out, white skeletons, from among the arms of the
polypi. Rudders of ships and chests they held fast;
skeletons of land beasts, and even a little mermaid, which
they had caught and killed. That, to her, was almost the
most frightful thing of all.

Now she came to a great slimy clearing in the wood, where
large fat water-snakes wallowed, showing their ugly
whitey-yellow coils. In the centre of the clearing was a
house built of the white bones of men: there the Sea Witch
sat, making a toad feed out of her mouth, as we make a
little canary bird eat sugar.

The hideous fat water-snakes she called her little chicks,
and let them coil about over her great spongy bosom.

"I know well enough what you want," said the Sea Witch, "and
a silly thing, too; all the same, you shall have your way,
for it'll bring you to a bad end, my pretty Princess. You
want to be rid of your fish tail and have two props to walk
on instead, like humans, so that the young Prince may fall
in love with you, and you may get him and an immortal soul."
With that the Witch laughed so loud and so hideously that
the toad and the snakes tumbled down on to the ground and
wallowed about there. "You've come just in the nick of
time," said the Witch; "to-morrow after sunrise I couldn't
help you till another year came round. I shall make a drink
for you, and with it you must swim to the land before the
sun rises, put yourself on the beach there, and drink it up;
then your tail will part and open into what men call pretty
legs. But it'll hurt, it'll be like a sharp sword going
through you. Everybody that sees you will say you are the
prettiest human child they ever saw. You'll keep your
swimming gait, and no dancer will be able to float along
like you. But every step you take will be as if you were
treading on a sharp knife, so that you would think your
blood must gush out. If you can bear all that, I will do
what you wish."

"Yes," said the little mermaid, with a faltering voice; and
she thought of the Prince and of winning an immortal soul.
"But remember," said the Witch, "when you've once taken a
human shape, you can never become a mermaid again, you can
never go down through the water to your sisters or to your
father's palace; and if you don't win the love of the
Prince, so that for you he forgets father and mother, and
clings to you with all his thoughts, and makes the priest
lay your hands in one another's, so that you become man and
wife, then you won't get your immortal soul. On the first
morning after he is married to anyone else, your heart will
break and you will become foam on the water."

"It is my wish," said the little mermaid, pale as a corpse.

"But I must be paid, too," said the witch, "and it's not a
small matter that I require. You have the loveliest voice of
anyone down here at the bottom of the sea, and with it no
doubt you think you'll be able to charm him; but that voice
you must give me. I must have the best thing you possess as
the price of my precious drink. I shall have to give you my
own blood in it, that the drink may be as sharp as a
two-edged sword.

"But if you take away my voice," said the little mermaid,
"what have I left?"

"Your beautiful form," said the witch, "and your floating
gait, and your speaking eyes: with them you can easily
delude a human heart. What, have you lost courage? Put out
your little tongue, and I'll cut it off for the price, and
you shall have the potent drink."

"So be it," said the little mermaid, and the witch put her
cauldron on the fire to boil the magic drink. "Cleanliness
is a good thing," said she, and scoured out the cauldron
with some snakes which she tied in a knot. Then she
scratched herself in the breast and let the black blood drip
into the pot. The steam took the most dreadful shapes,
enough to fill one with fear and horror. Every moment the
witch cast something afresh into the cauldron, and when it
was really boiling, the sound was like that of a crocodile
weeping. At last the drink was ready, and it looked like the
clearest of water.

"There you are," said the witch, and cut off the tongue of
the little mermaid. Now she was dumb, she could neither sing
nor speak.

"If the polypi should catch you when you are going back
through my wood," said the Witch, "just throw one drop of
that drink on them, and their arms and fingers will break
into a thousand bits." But there was no need for the little
mermaid to do that; the polypi shrank back in fear before
her when they saw the shining drink which glittered in her
hand as if it had been a twinkling star. So she passed
quickly through the wood, and the marsh, and the roaring
maelstrom.

She could see her father's palace. The torches were quenched
in the great ballroom. No doubt everyone in there was
asleep, but she dared not go to them now that she was dumb
and was going to leave them for ever. It seemed as if her
heart must burst asunder with sorrow. She stole into the
garden and took one flower from each of her sister's
flower-beds, and blew on her fingers a thousand kisses
towards the palace, and rose up through the dark blue sea.

The sun was not yet up when she saw the Prince's palace, and
clambered up the stately marble steps. The moon was shining
beautifully bright. The little mermaid swallowed the sharp
burning drink, and it was as though a two-edged sword was
piercing her delicate body: she swooned with the pain, and
lay as one dead. When the sun shone out over the sea, she
awoke and felt a torturing pang, but right in front of her
stood the beautiful young Prince. He fixed his coal-black
eyes on her, so that she cast her own eyes down, and saw
that her fish's tail was gone and that she now had the
prettiest small white legs that any young girl could have.
But she was quite naked, so she wrapped herself in her
masses of long hair. The Prince asked who she was and how
she had come there, and she gazed at him sweetly and yet
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 warned her, as if she
was treading on pointed swords and sharp knives, yet she
bore it gladly. Led by the Prince's hand, she walked light
as a bubble, and he and everyone else marvelled at her
graceful floating gait.

Costly robes of silk and muslin were put upon her, and she
was the fairest of all in the palace; but she was dumb and
could neither speak nor sing. Beautiful slave girls clad in
silks and gold came forward and sang to the Prince and his
royal parents. One sang more sweetly than all the rest, and
the Prince applauded her and smiled on her. Then the little
mermaid was sad, for she knew that she herself had sung far
more sweetly; and she thought: Oh! if he could but know that
to be near him I have given my voice away for ever!

Then the slave girls danced graceful floating dances to the
noblest of music, and now the little mermaid raised her
pretty white arms and rose on tip-toe and floated over the
floor, and danced as none had ever yet danced. At every
movement her beauty grew yet more on the sight, and her eyes
spoke more deeply to the heart than the song of the slave
girls.

Everyone was enraptured by it, and more than all, the
Prince, who called her his little foundling; and she danced
again and again, though every time her foot touched the
ground it was as though she was treading on sharp knives.
The Prince said that now she should always be near him, and
she was allowed to sleep outside his door on a cushion of
silk.

He had a boy's dress made for her, so that she might ride
with him on horseback. They rode through the sweet-smelling
woods, where the green boughs brushed her shoulders, and the
little birds sang in the cover of the young leaves. With the
Prince she clambered up the high mountains, and though her
delicate feet were cut so that everyone could see, she only
laughed, and followed him till they could see the clouds
beneath them like a flock of birds flying towards the
distant lands.

At home at the Prince's palace, when at night all the others
were asleep, she would go out to the broad marble stairs,
and it cooled her burning feet to stand in the cold sea
water, and then she thought about those who were down in the
deeps below.

One night her sisters came up arm in arm, singing mournfully
as they swam on the water, and she beckoned to them, and
they recognized her, and told her how sad she had made them
all. After that they visited her every night; and one night
she saw far out in the sea, the old grandmother, who had not
been to the top of the water for many a year; and the Sea
King, with his crown on his head. They stretched their arms
towards her, but they dared not trust themselves so near the
land as the sisters.

Day by day she grew dearer to the Prince: he loved her as
one might love a dear good child, but he never had a thought
of making her his Queen: and his wife she must be, or else
she could never win an immortal soul, but on his wedding
morning she would turn into foam on the sea.

"Are not you fonder of me than of all the rest?" the little
mermaid's eyes seemed to say when he took her in his arms
and kissed her fair brow. "Yes, you are dearest of all to
me," said the Prince, "for you have the best heart of them
all. You are dearest to me, and you are like a young maiden
whom I saw once and certainly shall never meet again. I was
on a ship that was wrecked, and the waves drove me to land
near a holy temple where a number of young maidens
ministered. The youngest of them found me on the bank and
saved my life. I saw her only twice. She was the only one I
could love in all the world, but you are like her, you
almost stamp her likeness on my soul. She belongs to that
holy temple, and therefore my good fortune has sent you to
me, and we never will part." "Ah, he doesn't know that I
saved his life," thought the little mermaid. "I bore him
over the sea, away to the grove where the temple stands; I
sat behind him in the foam and watched to see if anyone
would come, and saw the pretty maiden whom he loves more
than me"; and the mermaid heaved a deep sigh. Weep she could
not: "'The maiden belongs to the holy temple,' he said; she
will never come out into the world: they will never meet
again. I am with him, I see him every day. I will tend him
and love him and give up my life to him."

But now the Prince was to be married, people said, and to
take the beautiful daughter of the neighbouring king; and it
was for that that he was fitting out such a splendid ship.
"They say, of course, that the Prince is going to travel to
see the country of the king next door, but it really is to
see his daughter. He's to have a great suite with him." But
the little mermaid shook her head and laughed: she knew the
Prince's mind better than anyone else. "I must travel," he
had said to her, "I must see the pretty Princess; my father
and mother require that, but they will not force me to bring
her home as my bride. I cannot love her. She is not like the
fair maiden of the temple, as you are. If ever I chose a
bride it would be you first, my dumb foundling with the
speaking eyes." And he kissed her red lips and played with
her long hair and laid his head on her heart, so that it
dreamed of man's destiny and an undying soul.

"You're not afraid of the sea, are you, my dumb child?" said
he as they stood on the splendid ship that was to bear them
to the country of the neighbouring King. And he told her of
storms and calm, of strange fishes in the deep, and of what
divers had seen down there, and she smiled at his
description, for, of course, she knew more than anybody else
about the bottom of the sea. In the moonlit night, when all
but the steersman were asleep, she sat on the gunwale of the
ship and gazed down through the clear water and fancied she
saw her father's palace. On the summit of it stood the old
grandmother, with a crown of silver on her head, gazing up
through the swift current at the ship's keel. Then her
sisters came up upon the water, and looked mournfully at her
and wrung their white hands. She beckoned to them and
smiled, and wanted to tell them that all was going well and
happily with her; but then the ship's boy came towards her,
and the sisters dived down: so he thought the white arms he
had seen were foam on the sea.

Next morning the ship sailed into the harbour of the
neighbouring King's fine city. All the church bells rang
out, and from the tall towers there came blaring of
trumpets, while the soldiers paraded with waving flags and
glittering bayonets. Every day there was a fete, balls and
parties followed on one another; but as yet the Princess was
not there. She was being brought up far away in a sacred
temple, they said, and there was learning all royal
accomplishments. At last she arrived.

The little mermaid waited, eager to see her beauty, and she
had to confess that a more graceful form she had never seen.
The skin was so delicate and pure, and behind the long dark
eyelashes a pair of dark-blue beautiful eyes smiled out.

"It is you!" said the Prince, "you, who saved me when I lay
like a corpse on the shore!" and he clasped his blushing
bride in his arms. "Oh, I am more than happy!" he said to
the little mermaid; "my dearest wish, the thing I never
dared hope for, has been granted me. You will rejoice in my
happiness, for you are fonder of me than all the rest"; and
the little mermaid kissed his hand, and thought she felt her
heart breaking. His wedding morning would bring death to
her, and would change her into foam upon the sea.

All the church bells were ringing; the heralds rode about
and proclaimed the betrothal. On every altar fragrant oil
was burning in precious silver lamps; the priests swung
their censers, and the bride and bridegroom joined hands and
received the blessing of the Bishop. The little mermaid,
clad in silk and gold, stood holding the bride's train; but
her ears heard not the festal music, her eyes saw not the
holy rite; she thought, on the eve of her death, of all that
she had lost in the world.

That very evening the bride and the bridegroom embarked on
the ship, and the cannons were fired and the flags waved,
and amid-ship was raised a royal tent of gold and purple
with the loveliest of curtains, and there the married pair
were to sleep in that calm cool night.

The sails bellied in the wind, and the ship glided easily
and with little motion, away over the bright sea.

When it grew dark, variegated lamps were lit and the crew
danced merry dances on the deck. The little mermaid could
not but think of the first time she rose up out of the sea
and saw that same splendour and merriment; and she too
whirled about in the dance, swerving as the swallow swerves
when it is chased; and everyone was in ecstasies of wonder
at her: never before had she danced so wonderfully. Sharp
knives seemed to be cutting her delicate feet, but she
hardly felt it: the wounds in her heart were sharper. She
knew that was the last night she would see him for whom she
had forsaken her race and her home, and given up her lovely
voice, and daily had suffered unending pain unknown to him.
This was the last night that she would breathe the same air
as he, or see the deep ocean and the starlit heavens. An
eternal night without thought, without dream, awaited her
who neither had a soul nor could win one.

But all was joy and merriment aboard the ship till long past
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.

It was still and quiet now on the ship: only the helmsman
stood at the tiller. The little mermaid laid her white arms
on the bulwark and gazed eastward for the red of dawn: the
first ray of the sun, she knew, would kill her. Then she saw
her sisters rise out of the sea; they were pale as she,
their beautiful long hair no longer fluttered in the breeze:
it had been cut off.

"We have given it to the witch to make her help us, that you
may not die to-night. 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
gushes out upon your feet, they will grow together into a
fish tail and you will become a mermaid again, and will be
able to come down to us in the water and live out your three
hundred years before you turn into the dead salt sea foam.
Make haste! He or you must die before the sun rises. Our old
grandmother has been mourning till her white hair has fallen
off as ours fell before the witch's shears. Kill the Prince
and come back! Make haste: do you not see the red band in
the heavens? In a few minutes the sun will climb into the
sky, and then you must die'; and with a strange heavy sigh
they sank beneath 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, and she stopped and kissed him on his fair
brow, and looked at the sky where the red of the dawn was
shining brighter and brighter, looked at the sharp knife,
and fixed her eyes again on the Prince, who in his sleep was
murmuring the name of his bride. She alone was in his
thoughts, and the knife quivered in the mermaid's hand--but
then--she cast it far out into the waves, and where it fell
they shone red, and it seemed as if drops of blood spurted
up out of the water. Once more she gazed with a half-dying
glance on the Prince, and then threw herself from the ship
into the sea, and felt that her body was dissolving into
foam.

Now the sun ascended out of the sea, and his rays fell mild
and warm upon the death-cold foam, and the little mermaid
felt no touch of death. She saw the bright sun, and above
her floated hundreds of lovely transparent forms. Through
them she could see the white sails of the ship and the rosy
clouds in the sky. Their voices were as music, but so
ethereal that no human ear could hear it, just as no earthly
eye could see them: wingless, they floated by their own
lightness through the air. The little mermaid saw that she
too had a body like theirs, which was rising further and
further up out of the foam.

"To whom am I coming?" said she, and her voice rang like
that of the other beings, so ethereally that no earthly
music can re-echo its sound.

"To the daughters of the air," the others answered; "the
mermaid has no immortal soul, and can never gain one unless
she wins the love of a mortal; it is on a power outside her
that her eternal being depends. The daughters of the air
have no everlasting soul either, but they can by good deeds
shape one for themselves. We are flying to the hot
countries, where the stagnant air of pestilence kills men:
there we waft coolness, we spread the perfume of the flowers
through the air and send men new life and healing. When for
three hundred years we have striven to do the good we can,
we receive an immortal soul and have a share in the
everlasting happiness of mankind. You, poor little mermaid,
have striven for that too with all your heart; you have
suffered and endured and raised yourself into the world of
the spirits of the air, and you also, by good deeds, can
shape for yourself an immortal soul in the space of three
hundred years."

And the little mermaid raised her bright arms towards God's
sun, and for the first time she felt the gift of tears.

On the ship there was stir and life again. She saw the
Prince with his fair bride seeking for her: in deep sorrow
they gazed down into the bubbling foam as if they knew she
had cast herself into the waves. Unseen, she kissed the
bride's forehead, and on him she smiled and then soared
upward with the other children of the air to a rose-red
cloud sailing in the heavens. "So, when three hundred years
are over, we shall float into the heavenly kingdom, and we
may reach it yet sooner," whispered one of them. "Unseen we
float into the homes of men, where children are, and for
every day on which we find a good child that makes its
parents happy and earns their love, God shortens our time of
trial. The child does not know it when we are flying through
the room; and when we smile on it in happiness, a year is
taken from the three hundred. But if we see a perverse and
evil child, we have to weep in sorrow, and every tear we
shed adds a day to our time of trial."




Transcriber's note:

The edition used as base for this book contained the
following errors, which have been corrected:

Page 85: certainly they never thought that beneath them
=> Certainly they never thought that beneath them

Page 92:
We have no mortal souls
=> We have no immortal souls

Page 96:
'Ill cut it off for the price
=> I'll cut it off for the price

Page 100:
"It is you!" said the Prince, 'you, who saved me
=> "It is you!" said the Prince, "you, who saved me


[End of _The Little Mermaid_ by Hans Christian Andersen,
from _Hans Andersen Forty-Two Stories_, translated by
M. R. James]