The Little Mermaid

  Contents

  Title Page

  The Little Mermaid

  The True-Hearted Tin Soldier

  About the Publisher

  Copyright

  AR OUT AT SEA, the water is as blue as cornflower petals and as clear as the purest glass. Yet it’s very deep—deeper than the reach of any anchor rope. You’d have to stack a lot of steeples on top of each other to reach from the bottom to the surface. And down at the bottom is where the sea folk live.

  Now, you mustn’t think that the sea floor is only bare white sand—no, because the most marvellous trees and plants grow there. Their leaves and stems are so flexible, the smallest movement of water makes them sway as if they were dancing. All the fish, big and small, flit through their branches, just like birds in the air up here. In the deepest spot of all stands the palace of the Sea King. Its walls are coral and its high pointed windows the clearest amber, while the roof is made of clamshells that open and close with the current. It looks magnificent, because in each shell there are glistening pearls, and any one of them would be the pride of a queen’s crown.

  The Sea King had been widowed for many years, and his old mother ran the royal household. She was a wise mermaid, though proud of her high rank; so she paraded about with twelve oysters on her tail, while the other mermaids at court could only have six. But she was admirable in all other things, especially her affection for the young sea princesses—her granddaughters. There were six of these lovely princesses, but the youngest was the most beautiful of all. Her skin glowed like a rose petal and her eyes were as blue as the deepest sea. And just like her sisters, she had no feet, for her body ended in a fish’s tail.

  All day long they played in the great palace halls, where living flowers grew from the walls. When they threw open the tall amber windows, the fish would swim inside, just as swallows fly through our windows when we open them. But these fish swam right over to the little princesses, ate from their hands and let themselves be petted.

  Outside the palace lay a large garden with trees that were fiery red and navy blue. The fruit shone like gold and the flowers looked like burning flames, their stems and leaves forever flickering. The ground was the finest sand, but it was the blue colour of sulphur when it burns. Everything was bathed in a wonderful azure glow, so that you might imagine you were high in the air, gazing only at the sky above and below you, rather than at the ocean floor. When the sea was calm, you could glimpse the crimson flower that all the light seemed to be streaming from—the sun.

  Each princess had her own little garden plot where she could dig and plant just as she wished. One made her flowerbed in the shape of a whale, another preferred a small mermaid, but the youngest made hers perfectly round like the sun, and only planted flowers that glowed with the same red colour. She was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful. While the other sisters decorated their gardens with the many marvellous things they had taken from shipwrecks, hers had only one thing besides its rosy red, sunlike flowers. This was a beautiful marble statue, a handsome boy carved from bright white stone, which had sunk with a ship to the bottom of the sea. Next to this statue she planted a red weeping willow that grew wild and lush. Its long, slender branches hung down over the boy and stretched towards the blue sandy seabed, where they cast violet shadows that were always moving, just like the branches. It looked as if the leaves and roots were playing a kissing game.

  Her greatest delight was to hear stories about the human world above, and the old grandmother had to tell her and her sisters everything she knew about ships and towns, people and animals. It amazed the little Princess that up on land the flowers had scents, as they didn’t smell of anything at the bottom of the ocean; and that the forests were green, and the fish in the branches could sing so loudly and lovely, it was pure pleasure. “Fish” was what their grandmother called songbirds, for otherwise the princesses couldn’t understand her—because they had never seen a bird.

  “The day you turn fifteen,” their grandmother told them, “you’ll be allowed to go up into the open air, sit on the rocks in the moonlight and watch the great ships sail past. You’ll see towns and forests too!”

  Later that year, the first of the sisters would be fifteen, but the others—well, there was a year between each of their ages. That meant the youngest had five long years to wait before she could swim up from the bottom of the ocean and glimpse the things that you and I see every day. But each sister promised to tell the others the best things she saw and heard on her first day above water, because their grandmother didn’t tell them nearly enough. And there was so much they wanted to know.

  No one was filled with more longing than the youngest, who was precisely the one who had to wait the longest and was so quiet and thoughtful. Many nights, she lingered by her open window and looked up through the dark blue water, where the fish were flapping their fins and tails. She could see the moon and stars shining—quite faintly to be sure, yet through the water they seemed much larger than to our eyes. Once in a while, something like a big black cloud would glide overhead and blot them out, and then she knew it was either a whale swimming above her, or a ship sailing past, filled with people. They certainly weren’t thinking that a sweet little mermaid might be far beneath them, stretching her white hands up towards the keel.

  Then the oldest princess turned fifteen and ventured up above the surface of the sea.

  When she returned, she had a hundred things to tell. But the loveliest thing of all, she said, was lying in the moonlight on a sandbar in the calm sea and looking up at the big town near the shore, where the lights twinkled like a hundred stars; listening to the music, and the clatter and racket of wagons and people; seeing all the steeples and spires; and hearing how the bells pealed. Since she couldn’t go up on land, those were things the oldest sister yearned for most of all.

  Oh, how intently the youngest sister listened! And later that evening, when she was at her open window, gazing up through the dark blue water, she imagined the great town with all its noise and bustle, and she thought she could hear the church bells ringing down to her.

  The next year, the second sister was allowed to swim up through the water and go wherever she wished. She surfaced just as the sun was setting, and that was the sight she found prettiest. The entire sky was golden, she said, and the clouds… Well, she could hardly describe their beauty! Red and violet, they had sailed overhead. But flying much faster than the clouds was something like a long white veil—a flock of wild swans that flew across the water to where the sun perched on the edge. She swam towards the sun until it sank, and then the rosy glow faded from the face of the sea and the clouds.

  The year after that, the third sister made the journey to the top, and since she was the most daring of them all, she swam up a broad river that flowed out into the sea. She saw pretty green hills with grapevines, and castles and farms peeping through magnificent forests. She listened to how all the birds sang, and the sun blazed so hot that she kept ducking underwater to cool her burning face. At a bend in the river she came upon an entire group of human children. They ran about quite naked, splashing in the water. She wanted to play, but they ran away frightened, and then a small black animal ran down to the water. It was a dog, but she’d never seen a dog before, and it barked so fiercely that she got scared and hurried back to the open ocean. But never would she forget the splendid forests, the green hills or the charming children who could swim—even without tails.

  The fourth sister was not so bold, and so she stayed out in the middle of the wild ocean. She told the others that it was definitely the best place to be because she could see for miles around, and the sky arched overhead like an immense glass bell. Ships far off in the distance bobbed like seagulls
; playful dolphins turned somersaults; and huge whales spouted water through their blowholes, so that it looked as if a hundred fountains were spraying all around her.

  A year later it was the fifth sister’s turn. Her birthday was in winter, and so she saw things that none of the others had seen on their first day. The ocean appeared quite green, and all about her floated great icebergs. Each one resembled a pearl, she said, and yet they were much bigger in size than the church towers that people built. They had the most fantastic shapes and they glittered like diamonds. She had seated herself on one of the largest ones, and the sailing boats all kept their distance, their crews terrified, while she sat there and let her hair fly in the wind. Then, late in the evening, clouds covered the sky, lightning flashed and thunder cracked, and the black sea heaved the huge ice blocks high in the air, to be lit for an instant by blue lightning. The ships all lowered their sails in fear and horror, yet the fifth sister sat calmly on her floating iceberg and watched the blue bolts zigzag into the bright ocean.

  The first time each sister had come up into the air, she’d been overjoyed at all the new and beautiful things she saw. But once she was allowed to go up there anytime she wished, it no longer seemed so special and she would pine for the others. And after a month had passed, she would say that the most beautiful place was down on the sea floor, and nothing was as pleasant as home.

  Nevertheless, the five older sisters would often join arms in the evenings and swim to the surface in a row. They had lovely voices—lovelier than any human voices. And when a storm was brewing and they thought that ships might sink, they would swim in front of them and sing sweetly about how wonderful it was at the bottom of the sea, and how the sailors shouldn’t be afraid to go down there. But the sailors couldn’t understand their words; they thought it was the storm singing. Nor did they ever get to see the wonders of the deep, because when a ship sank, the sailors drowned, and the only way they could enter the palace of the Sea King was as dead men.

  Every evening that the sisters swam up through the ocean, arm in arm, they would leave their younger sister behind, floating there all alone and gazing up after them. And each time it seemed as if she would cry. But a mermaid has no tears, and so she suffers all the more.

  “Oh, how I wish I were fifteen!” she would lament. “I know that I’ll learn to love the upper world—and all the people who live there and build so many things!”

  Then finally her birthday came, and at last she was fifteen.

  “Well, at least you’ll be off my hands now,” said her grandmother, the old Queen. “Come on, let’s dress you up, just like your sisters!” She placed a wreath of white lilies on the little mermaid’s head, and each petal was made from half a pearl. Then she ordered eight oysters to clamp themselves tightly to her granddaughter’s tail, to show her high rank.

  “Ouch! That hurts!” the little mermaid said.

  “Naturally,” the old mermaid replied. “One must suffer to keep up appearances.”

  Oh, how she wanted to take off the heavy wreath and shake off all that finery! The red flowers in her garden would have suited her much better, but she didn’t dare undo her grandmother’s work. “Goodbye,” the little mermaid said—and then she rose up through the water, as light and bright as a bubble.

  The sun had just gone down when her head peeped above the surface. All the clouds gleamed like roses and gold, and the evening star shone brilliant and fine in the middle of a pink sky. The air was fresh and mild, the sea completely calm. A large ship with three masts lay upon the water with just a single sail unfurled, for there was hardly a breath of a breeze. Sailors perched on the spars and rigging. There was music and song, and as the evening grew dark, the crew lit a hundred lanterns of every colour; it looked like the flags of all nations were fluttering in the breeze.

  The little mermaid swam up to a porthole, and each time a swell lifted her in the air she caught a glimpse of finely dressed people through the glass. The handsomest of them all was a young prince with large jet-black eyes. He wasn’t much more than sixteen—in fact, it was his birthday too, and that’s why there was so much pomp and hullaballoo. Then the sailors began to dance on deck and, when the Prince stepped out, scores of rockets shot through the air and the ship lit up as bright as day, which frightened the little mermaid and made her dive underwater. But she quickly poked her head up again, and it seemed as if all the stars of heaven were tumbling down around her. Never had she seen such fireworks! Big suns spun round, splendid fire-fish swooped down out of nowhere, and all of it was reflected in the calm, clear sea. It made everything so brilliant on board that she could see every little rope, to say nothing of the people. My, how handsome the young Prince looked! He shook everyone’s hand, laughing and smiling as music rang out in the gorgeous night.

  It grew late, but the little mermaid couldn’t tear her eyes from the ship and the fine Prince. After a time, the coloured lanterns were blown out and no more rockets split the air; no more cannons boomed. Yet the deeps of the ocean hummed and thrummed around her as she floated there, bobbing up and down so she could peer through the porthole. Then the ship began to move and it picked up speed as sail after sail was unfurled and filled with wind. Now the waves grew higher, great clouds gathered and lightning flashed in the distance. Oh, the weather was turning terrible! The sailors took down the sails, and the great ship plunged through the wild ocean. The water rose up like black mountains, trying to knock down the masts, and the ship slid down the great waves like a swan before climbing back up the towering crests.

  The little mermaid still thought this was all great fun—but not the sailors. The ship creaked and cracked, its thick planks bulging from the mighty beating of the sea. Then the mainmast snapped in the middle like a matchstick and the ship pitched over on its side as water rushed into the hold. Now the little mermaid saw the danger they were in as she dodged spinning beams and timbers in the water. One moment everything would be black as coal and she couldn’t see a thing, then lightning would strike and for an instant it would be so bright, she could recognize each person on deck, tumbling every which way. She searched and sought for the Prince—and then, just as the ship was breaking up, she saw him plummet into the deep sea.

  The little mermaid rejoiced, for now he was coming down to join her! But then she remembered that people cannot live underwater, and that he couldn’t enter her father’s palace except as a dead man. Don’t die, she thought, you mustn’t! And she swam in among the pitching planks and timbers, completely forgetting that they could crush her, diving deep beneath the flotsam and coming up high among the waves till at last she reached the young Prince. He could barely swim another stroke, his arms and legs faltering in the heaving sea, and his beautiful eyes closed. He would have drowned if the little mermaid hadn’t reached him, but now she held his head above the water and let the storm drive the two of them wherever the waves wished.

  By early morning the bad weather had passed. Not a splinter remained of the ship. The sun rose from the ocean, so red and bright that it seemed to restore the Prince’s cheeks to life, yet his eyes stayed shut. The mermaid stroked the wet hair back from his fine high forehead and kissed it. He looked like the marble statue in her little garden, she thought, and she kissed him again. If only he might live.

  Now she could see the mainland in front of them, with its high blue mountains where the white snow shone like sleeping swans. Gorgeous green forests stretched along the coast, and before them rose a church or a convent, she really didn’t know, but a building in any case. Lemon and orange trees grew in the courtyard, and tall palm trees stood before the gates. The sea here formed a small bay, glassy but very deep. She swam with the handsome Prince up to the base of a cliff and laid him down on the fine white sand at its foot, making sure his head was resting in the warm sunshine.

  The bells in the large white building began to peal, and a throng of young girls filtered through the courtyard. The little mermaid swam back behind some high rocks that stuck up f
rom the water. There she covered her hair and upper body with foam so that no one would notice her small face peering out, watching to see who might find the poor Prince.

  It didn’t take long. The girl who discovered him seemed quite frightened, but only for a moment. Then she got more people, and the mermaid saw the Prince wake up. He smiled at all the people around him, but not at the little mermaid; he didn’t even know she was there. She felt devastated. And when they led him into the big building she dived deep into the water, full of sorrow, and found her way back to her father’s palace.

  The little mermaid had always been quiet and thoughtful; now she was even more so. Her sisters asked her what she’d seen during her first time above water, but she wouldn’t tell them anything.

  Often in the morning and evening she would swim up to where she’d left the Prince. She watched how the fruit in the garden ripened; she watched how it was plucked. She watched how the snow melted on the high mountains. But she never saw the Prince, and so she would turn home sadder than ever. Her only comfort was to sit in her little garden and fling her arms around the handsome marble statue that looked so much like the Prince. But she didn’t tend her flowers, and they grew wild—spreading out across the paths, braiding their long stems and leaves into the branches of the trees, till her garden became quite dark.

  In the end the little mermaid couldn’t bear it any longer and told one of her sisters, and straight away all her other sisters knew. But no one else did—except for a couple of the other mermaids, who only told their closest friends. And one of them happened to know who the Prince was; she had seen the fancy ship too, and she told them where he came from and where his kingdom lay.

  “Come, little sister!” the other princesses called. And with their arms draped around each other’s shoulders, the six of them rose from the ocean in a long row in front of the Prince’s castle.