Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the petals of the loveliest cornflower, and is clear as the purest glass, the sea is deeper than any anchor can reach.
If you were to pile many church steeples one on top of the other, they would not reach from the sandy bed to the surface. It is down there, in the quiet depths, that the sea people live.
This is a story that comes to us from Denmark, written down nearly 200 years ago by a man named Hans Christian Anderson. He gathered the whispers of the cold northern seas and shaped them into a tale that has been told in many ways since.
But today, we return to the very heart of his original story. A story of deep water, great sacrifice, and a longing that reaches beyond the stars.
You must not imagine that there is nothing down there but bare white sand. No, the most remarkable plants and trees grow there, with stalks and leaves so pliable that they bend at the slightest stir of the water, just as if they were alive.
Great and small fish glide through the branches, just as birds fly through the trees in the air above. In the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the sea king. Its walls are built of coral, and its long pointed windows are made of the clearest amber.
The roof is formed of muscle shells that open and shut as the water flows over them, exposing the glittering pearls inside, any one of which would be the pride of a queen's crown in the world above.
The sea king had been a widower for many years, and his old mother kept house for him. She was a wise woman, though very proud of her noble birth. Because of this, she wore 12 oysters on her tail, while the other lords of the sea were allowed only six.
Aside from this small vanity, she deserved great praise, especially for her care of her six granddaughters, the sea princesses. They were all beautiful children, but the youngest was the loveliest of them all.
Her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose petal. Her eyes were as blue as the deepest lake. But, like her sisters, she had no feet. Her body ended in a fish's tail.
All day long, the sisters played in the great halls of the castle, where living flowers grew out of the stone walls. When the amber windows were opened, fish swam into them, just as swallows fly into our rooms when we open the windows.
Only the fish swam right up to the young princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to be stroked.
In front of the castle was a large garden, and here, each of the princesses had her own little plot where she could dig and plant whatever she liked. One gave her garden the shape of a whale. Another thought it nicer to have hers look like a little mermaid.
But the youngest made hers quite round, like the sun, and planted it only with flowers that glowed red like a sunset. She was a strange, quiet child, who spent much of her time thinking.
While her sisters decorated their gardens with wonderful things they had gathered from shipwrecks, she cared for nothing but her red flowers, and a beautiful marble statue of a handsome boy, carved from pure white stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the sea from some wrecked vessel.
Beside this statue, she planted a rose red weeping willow, which grew splendidly, and draped its fresh branches over the marble boy, casting violet shadows on the blue sand.
To her, there was no greater pleasure than hearing about the world of humans above. She made her old grandmother tell her everything she knew about ships and towns, people and land animals.
It seemed wonderful to her that on the earth, the flowers had a sweet scent, which they did not have at the bottom of the sea, and that the forests were green, and the fish that lived in the trees there could sing so sweetly that it was a pleasure to listen to them.
Her grandmother called the little birds fish, because otherwise the princesses, who had never seen a bird, would not have understood her.
"When you have reached your 15th year," said the grandmother, "you will be allowed to rise up out of the sea, sit on the rocks in the moonlight, and see the great ships sailing by. You will see the forests and the towns."
None of the sisters longed for this day so much as the youngest, she who had the longest to wait, and who was always so quiet and thoughtful.
Many a night she stood at the open window, looking up through the dark blue water, watching the fish as they lashed the water with their fins and tails. She could see the moon and the stars shining through the water.
To her eyes, they looked larger than they do to us, and when a dark shadow passed over them, she knew it was either a whale swimming above her, or a ship filled with human beings.
They never dreamed that a beautiful little mermaid stood below, stretching her white hands up toward the keel of their vessel.
Little mermaid story.
At last, the eldest sister reached her 15th year and was allowed to rise to the surface. When she returned, she had a thousand things to tell. She said the most delightful thing of all was to lie in the moonlight on a sandbank in the quiet sea, looking at the lights of the large town on the coast, which twinkled like hundreds of stars, and listening to the music, the hum of carriages, and the voices of people.
The next year, the second sister was allowed to rise. She reached the surface just as the sun was setting, and she said that this sight was the most beautiful of all. The whole sky had looked like gold, and the clouds, she could not find words to describe their beauty as they sailed red and violet over her head.
A flock of wild swans had flown like a long white veil across the water toward the setting sun, and she had swum toward them. But the sun sank and the rosy light faded from the sea and the sky.
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 beautiful green hills covered with vines, and castles and houses rising out of the magnificent forests.
She heard the birds singing, and the sun shone so hotly that she often had to dive under the water to cool her burning face. In a little cove, she met a crowd of human children playing in the water. She wanted to play with them, but they ran away in terror.
And a little black animal, it was a dog, though she had never seen one before, barked so fiercely at her that she became frightened and swam back to the open sea.
The fourth sister was more timid. She remained out in the middle of the ocean, but she said that was the most beautiful spot of all. You could see for miles around, and the sky hung over the water like a great glass bell.
She saw ships, but they were so far off, they looked like seagulls, and the playful dolphins turned somersaults, while great whales spouted water from their nostrils, looking like a hundred fountains in the sea.
Then came the turn of the fifth sister. Her birthday was in the winter, so she saw what the others had not seen on their first visits. The sea was quite green, and great icebergs were floating about.
Each one, she said, looked like a pearl, yet they were far larger than the church towers built by humans. They appeared in the most wonderful shapes and sparkled like diamonds.
She sat on one of the largest, and all the ships sailed past in terror while she sat there, letting the wind play with her long wet hair.
But now, the youngest princess was 15. "Now you are grown," said her grandmother, the old queen dowager. "Come, let me adorn you like your sisters."
And she placed a wreath of white lilies in her hair, but every petal was made of half a pearl. Then, the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the princess's tail to show her high rank.
"But it hurts so," said the little mermaid. "One must suffer to be beautiful," replied the grandmother.
The little mermaid would gladly have shaken off all this heavy splendor and laid aside her wreath. Her red flowers from her garden suited her much better, but she did not dare to change things.
She said goodbye and rose through the water as lightly and easily as a bubble. The sun had just set when she raised her head above the waves, but the clouds still glowed with gold and rose.
And in the pale pink sky, the evening star shone clearly. The air was mild and fresh, and the sea was as smooth as a mirror. A large three-masted ship lay on the water, with only one sail set, for there was not a breath of wind, and the sailors were sitting quietly on the deck.
There was music and singing on board, and as the darkness grew deeper, hundreds of colored lanterns were lighted, looking as if the flags of all nations were waving in the air.
The little mermaid swam close to the cabin window, and every time the water lifted her up, she could look through the clear glass and see a crowd of brilliantly dressed people inside.
The most beautiful of all was a young prince with large, dark eyes. He could not have been more than 16 years old, and it was his birthday that was being celebrated.
The sailors danced on the deck, and when the young prince stepped out amongst them, more than a hundred rockets were let off into the air, making the night as bright as day.
The little mermaid was so frightened that she dived under the water, but she soon raised her head again, and then it seemed as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her.
She had never seen such fireworks. Great suns whirled round, firefish darted through the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, still sea.
It was late, but the little mermaid could not turn her eyes away from the ship, or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanterns were put out, the rockets ceased to rise, and the deep sea rumbled from its depths.
But she remained floating on the water, rocking up and down, so she could look into the cabin.
But soon, the ship began to move more rapidly. The sails were spread, the waves rose higher, and black clouds gathered across the sky. Lightning flashed in the distance.
A dreadful storm was coming, and the sailors began to reef the sails. The great ship pitched and tossed as it hurried through the angry sea, and the waves rose up like giant black mountains, threatening to break over the mast.
But the ship dived down like a swan between the billows, and then rose again on the crest of the foaming waters. To the little mermaid, this seemed like merry sport.
But the sailors knew the danger. The ship's timbers creaked and groaned. The thick planks yielded to the violent blows of the waves. The mast snapped in two like a reed, and the ship rolled on her side as the water rushed into the hold.
Now the little mermaid saw that they were in great danger. She herself had to be careful to avoid the beams and pieces of wreckage floating on the water. For a moment, it was so dark that she could see nothing at all.
But when a flash of lightning split the sky, she saw everyone on board clearly. Every man was looking out for himself. She looked eagerly for the young prince, and just as the ship split apart and began to sink, she saw him fall into the deep sea.
At first, she was filled with joy, because she thought he was coming down to her world. But then she remembered that human beings cannot live in the water, and that he would be dead by the time he reached her father's palace.
No, he must not die.
She swam in among the drifting planks and beams that could have crushed her to pieces. She dived deep under the water and rose again on the waves, forgetting her own safety until she reached the prince.
He was fast losing the power to swim in the stormy sea. His limbs were growing stiff, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he would surely have died if the little mermaid had not come to his rescue.
She held his head above the water and let the waves carry them both wherever they would.
By morning, the storm had passed. Not a scrap of the ship was to be seen. The sun rose red and bright out of the water, and its light seemed to bring back the color to the prince's pale cheeks, though his eyes remained closed.
The mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead and stroked his wet hair. He looked like the marble statue in her little garden, and she prayed that he might live.
She saw the dry land before her, with high blue mountains whose summits were covered with white snow. Near the shore was a beautiful green forest, and in front of it stood a large white building.
She did not know if it was a church or a convent, but it was a place of peace. Lemon and orange trees grew in the garden, and tall palms stood before the gate.
The sea formed a quiet little bay here, where the water was deep but calm. She swam toward the beach with the pale prince, laid him gently on the soft, warm sand, and made sure his head was raised in the warm sunshine.
Then a bell rang from the white building, and several young girls came out into the garden. The little mermaid swam further out behind some large rocks that rose from the water, covered her hair and breast with seafoam so that no one could see her face, and watched to see who would find the prince.
It was not long before a young girl walked down to the beach. She seemed frightened at first when she saw the prince and saw those who stood around him, but he did not look out toward the sea, for he did not know that a little mermaid had saved his life.
She felt a deep sadness weight her heart as he was led into the white building, and she dived sorrowfully into the water and returned to her father's palace.
She had always been quiet and thoughtful, but now she became much more so. Her sisters asked her what she had seen on her first visit to the surface, but she would tell them nothing.
Many an evening and many a morning she rose to the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruits of the garden ripen and saw them gathered. She saw the snow melt on the high mountains, but she never saw the prince, and so she always returned home sadder than before.
Her only comfort was to sit in her little garden and throw her arms around the beautiful marble statue that looked so much like him. She no longer cared for her flowers, which grew wild and tangled over the paths, until the whole place was dark and gloomy.
At last, she could bear her secret no longer, and she told it to one of her sisters. The sister immediately told the others, and soon several other mermaids knew it, one of whom had a friend who knew who the prince was.
She too had seen the festival on the ship, and she knew where his kingdom lay.
"Come, little sister," said the other princesses, and with their arms around each other's shoulders, they rose in a long line to the surface of the water, close to the spot where they knew the prince's palace stood.
This palace was built of pale yellow glistening stone, with broad flights of marble steps, one of which reached down to the sea. Magnificent gilded domes rose above the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the building, stood lifelike statues of marble.
Through the clear glass of the high windows, one could see into splendid halls hung with costly silk curtains and tapestries, while the walls were covered with beautiful paintings.
In the center of the largest hall, a great fountain played, its jets of water throwing their spray high up toward the glass dome, through which the sun shone down upon the water and the rare plants growing in the basin.
Now that she knew where he lived, she spent many an evening on the water nearby. She swam much closer to the land than any of the others had dared to do. Indeed, she went right up the narrow canal, under the marble balcony, which cast a long shadow on the water.
Here she would sit and look at the young prince, who believed himself to be alone in the bright moonlight. She saw him often, sailing in his splendid boat with music playing and flags waving.
She would peer out from among the green reeds, and if the wind caught her long silver white veil, those who saw it thought it was only a swan spreading its wings over the water.
Her grandmother told her more and more about the human world, and the little mermaid's longing to be among them grew stronger every day.
"If humans do not drown," she asked one day, "do they live forever? Don't they die as we do down here in the water?" "Yes," replied the old lady. "They must die too, and their lifetime is even shorter than ours.
We can live to be 300 years old, but when we die, we turn to foam on the water, and do not even have a grave among those we love. We have no immortal soul. We never live again.
We are like the green seaweed. Once it is cut, it can never grow green again. But humans have a soul that lives forever, long after the body has turned to dust.
It rises up through the clear air, up to the shining stars. And just as we rise out of the water to see the earth, so they rise to beautiful unknown places that we shall never see."
"Why were we not given an immortal soul?" asked the little mermaid sadly. "I would give all my 300 years of life to be a human being for only one day, and then have a share in that heavenly world."
"You must not think of that," said the old grandmother. "We are much happier and better off than the humans above." "But is there no way for me to win a soul?"
"No," said the grandmother. "Only if a human should love you so dearly that you were more to him than father or mother, if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed on you, and a priest were to join your hands together, promising to be true to you here and for all eternity.
Then his soul would glide into your body, and you would have a share in human happiness. He would give you a soul and yet keep his own. But that can never happen. What we think beautiful down here, your fish's tail, is considered quite ugly on the earth.
They do not know any better. They think one must have two clumsy props, 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. "We will leap and dance during our 300 years of life, which is surely long enough. Tonight, we shall have a court ball."
It was a splendid affair, far more magnificent than anything seen on earth. The walls and ceiling of the great ballroom were of thick, clear glass. Hundreds of giant shells, rose pink and grass green, were arranged in rows along the walls, carrying blue flames that lighted up the whole hall and shone through the glass walls into the sea outside.
Thousands of fish, great and small, swam against the glass, their scales glowing with purple, gold, and silver.
The princesses and the lords of the sea danced to the singing of the mermen and mermaids, whose voices were more beautiful than any human voice. The youngest princess sang too, and her voice was the loveliest of all.
Everyone clapped their hands, and for a moment, her heart was glad, for she knew she had the most beautiful voice on the earth or in the sea. But soon, she began to think again of the world above.
She could not forget the handsome prince, or her sorrow at not possessing an immortal soul like his. She stole quietly out of her father's palace, while everyone inside was singing and rejoicing, and sat down in her quiet little garden.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of a horn echoing through the water, and she thought, "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 gladly place my life's happiness.
I will dare everything to win him and an immortal soul. While my sisters are dancing in my father's palace, I will go to the sea witch. I have always been terrified of her, but she may be able to advise and help me."
The little mermaid left her garden and went toward the roaring whirlpools, behind which the sea witch lived. She had never been that way before. No flowers grew there, no sea grass. There was nothing but bare gray sand, stretching toward the abyss, where the water swirled like rushing mill wheels, dragging everything it clutched down into the deep.
She had to pass between these twisting waters to reach the witch's domain, and for a long stretch, there was no other path than over warm, bubbling mud, which the witch called her peat bog.
Behind this lay her house, built in the midst of a strange forest. The trees and bushes were polypi, half animal and half plant, looking like hundred-headed snakes growing out of the ground.
Their branches were long, slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms, and they were constantly moving, reaching out to catch everything that came within their grasp.
The little mermaid stopped at the edge of this forest, her heart beating with fear. She almost turned back, but then she thought of the prince and of the human soul, and her courage returned.
She bound her long, beautiful hair tightly around her head so that the polypi might not seize it, folded her hands across her breast, and darted through the water like a fish, passing the terrible arms that reached out to clutch her.
She saw that each of them held something it had caught, skeletons of shipwrecked men, chests of treasure, and even a little mermaid they had caught and strangled, which frightened her more than anything else.
At last, she came to a large, slimy clearing in the forest, where great fat water snakes rolled in the mud, showing their ugly yellow bellies. In the middle of this clearing, stood a house built of the bones of shipwrecked men.
There sat the sea witch, letting a toad eat out of her mouth, just as humans might let a canary eat sugar. She called the ugly water snakes her little chickens and let them crawl over her cold, bony shoulders.
"I know what you want," said the sea witch, her voice like a grating hinge. "It is very foolish of you, but you shall have your way, for it will bring you into trouble, my beautiful princess.
You want to get rid of your fish's tail and have two stumps instead, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and you may win him and an immortal soul."
The witch laughed so loud and so horribly that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground, where they lay wriggling.
"You have come just in time," she continued. "Tomorrow, after the sun rises, I could not help you until another year had passed. I will prepare a draught for you, and before the sun rises, you must swim to the land, sit on the shore, and drink it.
Your tail will then shrink and draw itself back until it becomes what humans call beautiful legs. But it will hurt. It will feel as if a sharp sword were passing through your body.
All who see you will say you are the most beautiful human being they have ever seen. You will keep your graceful movements, and no dancer will be able to glide as lightly as you.
But remember, every step you take will feel as if you were treading on sharp knives, so sharp that your feet must bleed. If you are willing to suffer all this, I will help you."
"I am," said the little mermaid, her voice trembling, but her eyes steady. She thought of the prince and the immortal soul.
"But think again," said the witch. "Once you have taken a human form, you can never become a mermaid again. You can never swim down through the water to your sisters or to your father's palace.
And if you do not win the prince's love, so that he forgets father and mother for your sake, and cleaves to you with his whole heart, and lets the priest join your hands to make you man and wife, you will never win an immortal soul.
On the morning after he marries another, your heart will break, and you will become nothing but foam on the crest of the waves."
"I will do it," said the little mermaid, though she was as pale as death.
"But you must pay me too," said the witch, "and it is no small price I ask. You have the most beautiful voice of all the dwellers in the sea, and you think you will enchant him with it.
But you must give that voice to me. I will have the best thing you possess in exchange for my costly draft, for I must put my own blood into the potion to make it as sharp as a two-edged sword."
"But if you take my voice," said the little mermaid, "what will be left to me?" "Your beautiful form," said the witch, "your graceful movements, and your speaking eyes.
Surely with these you can win a human heart. Come, have you lost your courage? Put out your tongue, and I will cut it off as my payment, and then you shall have the draft."
"So be it," said the little mermaid. The witch hung up her cauldron to brew the magic potion. "Cleanliness is a good thing," she said, as she wiped the cauldron out with a bundle of live snakes.
Then she scratched her own breast and let her black blood drip into the vessel. The steam that rose from it took the most horrible shapes, terrifying to look at.
Every moment the witch threw new things into the pot, and when it boiled, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. At last, the draft was ready. It was as clear and pure as drinking water.
"There it is," said the witch, and she cut off the little mermaid's tongue. The princess was now mute. She could neither speak nor sing.
"If the polypi should seize you as you return through my forest," said the witch, "throw but one drop of this liquid upon them, and their arms will break into a thousand pieces."
But the little mermaid did not need to do this, for the polypi drew back in terror when they saw the sparkling draft shining in her hand like a star. So she passed safely through the forest, the mud, and the roaring whirlpools.
She looked at her father's palace. The lights were out in the great ballroom, and she knew they were all asleep. She did not dare to go in, for she was mute and was about to leave them forever.
Her heart felt as if it would break with sorrow. She gathered a single flower from each of her sister's gardens, kissed her hand toward the palace, and rose through the dark blue sea.
The sun had not yet risen when she reached the prince's palace and stepped onto the marble stairs. The moon was shining bright and clear. She drank the burning sharp draft, and immediately it felt as if a two-edged sword were driven through her delicate body.
She fell down in a swoon and lay there as if she were dead. When the sun rose and shone upon the sea, she awoke and felt a sharp pain. But before her stood the handsome young prince.
He fixed his dark eyes upon her so intensely that she cast her own down. And then she saw that her fish's tail was gone, and she had two small white legs, as beautiful as any young girl could have.
But she was entirely unclothed, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair.
The prince asked who she was and how she had come there, but she could only look at him with her dark blue eyes, full of sweetness and sorrow, for she could not speak.
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 sharp knives and needles, but she bore the pain willingly.
She glided along by the prince's side as lightly as a bubble, and he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful movements. They dressed her in costly robes of silk and muslin, and she was the most beautiful girl in the palace.
But she remained mute and could neither speak nor sing.
Beautiful slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward to sing before the prince and his royal parents. One of them sang more sweetly than the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her.
This made the little mermaid's heart ache, for she thought, "Oh, if he only knew that I gave away my voice forever so that I might be near him."
Next, the slaves began to dance, performing graceful, floating steps to the sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, and glided across the floor, dancing as no one had ever danced before.
Every movement showed her exquisite grace, and her eyes spoke more directly to the heart than the singing of the slaves. Everyone was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling.
She danced again and again, though every time her foot touched the floor, she felt the sharp pain of knives. The prince said she must always remain with him, and she was given permission to sleep on a velvet cushion outside his door.
He had a page's dress made for her so that she might accompany him on horseback. They rode together through the fragrant forests, where the green branches brushed her shoulders and the little birds sang in the leaves.
She climbed the highest mountains with him, and though her feet bled so that others could see it, she only laughed and followed him until they could see the clouds sailing beneath them like a flock of birds.
At night, in the prince's palace, while others slept, she would go down the broad marble steps and cool her burning feet in the cold seawater. And then she would look down into the deep, thinking of her home.
One night, her sisters rose from the water, arm in arm, singing mournfully as they floated over the waves. She beckoned to them, and they recognized her and told her how much she had grieved them all.
After that, they visited her every night, and once she saw, far out in the distance, her old grandmother, who had not risen above the surface for many years, and the sea king himself, with his crown upon his head.
They stretched out their hands toward her, but they did not venture as near the land as her sisters. Day by day, the prince became more fond of her. He loved her as one might love a dear, sweet child, but he never thought of making her his queen.
Yet, unless she became his wife, she could never receive an immortal soul, and on the morning after his marriage to another, she would turn to seafoam.
"Do you not love me best of all?" her eyes seemed to ask when he took her in his arms and kissed her forehead.
"Yes, you are very dear to me," said the prince, "for you have the best heart of all, and you are more devoted to me than anyone else. Besides, you look like a young girl I once saw, whom I fear I shall never find again.
I was on a ship that was wrecked, and the waves carried me ashore near a holy temple. A young girl who served there found me on the beach and saved my life. I saw her only twice, but she is the only one in the world I could ever love.
You look so much like her that you almost take her place in my heart. She belongs to the holy temple, and so my good fortune has sent you to me, and we will never part."
"Alas, he does not know that it was I who saved his life," thought the little mermaid. "I carried him over the waves to the forest where the temple stands. I sat behind the rocks and watched to see if anyone would come.
I saw the beautiful girl whom he loves more than me." She sighed deeply, for she could not weep. "The girl belongs to the temple," he said. "She will never come out into the world, and so they will never meet.
I am with him. I see him every day. I will care for him, love him, and give up my life to him." But soon, rumors arose that the prince was to marry the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king, and that a splendid ship was being fitted out for his journey.
It was said that the prince was going to visit the neighboring country, merely to see the land, but everyone knew it was to see the princess. The little mermaid shook her head and smiled.
She knew the prince's thoughts far better than anyone else.
"I must go," he said to her before they set sail. "I must see this beautiful princess, for my parents wish it, but they will not force me to bring her home as my bride. I cannot love her, for she is not the beautiful girl of the temple, whom you resemble.
If I were forced to choose a bride, I would rather choose you, my silent foundling with the speaking eyes." And he kissed her rosy lips, played with her long hair, and laid his head against her heart, which beat with the hope of a human soul and eternal happiness.
"You are not afraid of the sea, my silent child?" he asked, as they stood together on the deck of the magnificent ship that was to carry them to the neighboring kingdom. And he told her of storms and calms, of strange fish that lived in the deep, and of what divers had seen down there.
She smiled at his stories, for she knew more about the bottom of the sea than anyone else.
The ship arrived at the harbor of the neighboring king's capital. The city was decorated, bells were ringing, and soldiers marched with waving flags and glittering bayonets.
Every day brought a new festival, but the princess had not yet arrived. She had been brought up in a distant temple, where she had learned all royal virtues.
At last, she came. The little mermaid stood by, anxious to see her beauty, and she was forced to admit that she had never seen a more lovely face. Her skin was incredibly clear and fair, and from behind her long, dark eyelashes, looked out a pair of eyes as blue and trustworthy as the sea itself.
When the prince saw her, he cried, "It is you! You are the one who saved my life when I lay like a corpse on the beach!" And he folded his beautiful bride in his arms.
"Oh, I am too happy," he said to the little mermaid. "My fondest hope, which I never dared to expect, has been fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness, for you love me more than anyone else."
The little mermaid kissed his hand, but she felt as if her heart were already breaking. The morning after his wedding was to bring her death, and she would dissolve into foam on the sea.
The church bells rang, and heralds rode through the streets to announce the betrothal. On every altar, precious oil was burned in silver lamps. The priests swung their censors, and the bride and bridegroom joined hands and received the bishop's blessing.
The little mermaid, dressed in silk and gold, held the bride's train, but her ears heard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw nothing of the holy ceremony. She thought only of her night of death, and of all she had lost in this world.
That very evening, the bride and bridegroom went on board the ship. The cannons roared, the flags waved, and in the middle of the deck, a magnificent tent of purple and gold had been raised, containing the most luxurious beds for the royal pair.
The sails swelled in the gentle breeze, and the ship glided smoothly over the calm sea. As it grew dark, colored lanterns were lighted, and the sailors danced merrily on the deck.
The little mermaid could not help thinking of her first rise to the surface of the sea, when she had seen the same joy and splendor. She joined in the dance, flitting and gliding as a swallow does when it is pursued.
Everyone cheered her, for she had never danced so exquisitely. Her delicate feet felt as if they were pierced by sharp knives, but she did not feel it, for the pain in her heart was far greater.
She knew this was the last evening she would ever see the prince, for whom she had left her home and her family, for whom she had given up her beautiful voice, and for whom she had suffered daily agony, while he knew nothing of her sacrifice.
It was the last night she would breathe the same air with him, or look upon the deep sea and the starlit sky. An eternal night, without thoughts or dreams, awaited her, for she had no soul and had not been able to win one.
The festival on board continued long past midnight. She laughed and danced with the rest, though the thought of death was in her heart. At last, the prince and his beautiful bride went to their tent.
The ship became silent, and only the helmsman remained at the wheel. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the ship's rail and looked toward the east, waiting for the first blush of dawn.
The first ray of the sun, she knew, would kill her. Suddenly, she saw her sisters rise from the water. They were as pale as she was, and their beautiful long hair was no longer waving in the wind.
It had been cut off. "We have given our hair to the sea witch," they whispered, "so that she might help us, and so that you might not die tonight. She has given us a knife. Look, here it is. See how sharp it is?
Before the sun rises, you must plunge it into the prince's heart. When his warm blood drips upon your feet, they will grow together again into a fish's tail, and you will become a mermaid once more.
You can come down to us in the water, and live out your 300 years before you turn into salt seafoam. Hasten! 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 did under the witch's shears.
Kill the prince and return to us. Hasten! Do you not see the red streak in the sky?" And with a strange, deep sigh, they sank beneath the waves.
The little mermaid drew back 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 fair forehead.
Then looked up at the sky, where the rosy dawn was growing brighter and brighter. She looked at the sharp knife. She looked again at the prince, who in his sleep murmured the name of his bride.
She was the only one in his thoughts. The knife trembled in the mermaid's hand. Then she threw the weapon far out into the waves. The water turned red like blood where it fell, and it seemed as if drops of fire rose from the spot.
She cast one last, long look at the prince, then threw herself from the ship into the sea, and felt her body dissolving into foam.
The sun rose bright and warm over the sea. The rays fell gently and warmly upon the cold seafoam, and the little mermaid did not feel the coldness of death. She saw the bright sun, and above her floated hundreds of beautiful, transparent beings.
She could see through them. She could see the white sails of the ship and the red clouds in the sky. Their voices were like music, but so spiritual and light that no human ear could hear them, just as no human eye could see them.
They floated through the air without wings, borne up by their own lightness. The little mermaid saw that she had a body like theirs, which rose higher and higher out of the foam.
"Where am I?" she asked, and her voice sounded like the music of the sky, which no earthly music could imitate.
"Among the daughters of the air," answered the others. "A mermaid has no immortal soul and can never have one, unless she wins the love of a human being. Her eternal life depends on a power outside herself.
We, the daughters of the air, do not have an immortal soul either, but by our own good deeds, we can create one for ourselves. We fly to warm countries, where the burning air kills human beings, and we bring cool breezes to refresh them.
We spread the fragrance of flowers through the air and bring healing and peace. When we have striven for 300 years to do all the good we can, we receive an immortal soul and share in the eternal happiness of mankind.
You, poor little mermaid, have striven with your whole heart for the same thing. You have suffered, you have endured, and you have raised yourself to the world of spirits by your noble deeds.
Now, by 300 years of good works, you may win an immortal soul for yourself." The little mermaid raised her wet, translucent arms toward the sun, and for the first time in her life, she felt tears rise in her eyes.
On the ship, all was life and movement again. She saw the prince and his beautiful bride searching for her. They looked sadly at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had cast herself into the waves.
Unseen by them, she kissed the bride's forehead, smiled upon the prince, and rose with the other spirits of the air up into the rosy clouds that floated across the sky.
In 300 years, she whispered, "We shall enter the kingdom of heaven."
And so, the little mermaid's journey did not end in the cold, silent dark of the ocean floor, nor did it end in the easy comfort of a life she had outgrown.
It began anew, in the wide and open sky, where every breath of wind she carried was a step toward the soul she had longed for.
As you close your eyes tonight, let your thoughts drift out to that wide, blue sea, and then up, past the sails of the ships, into the cool night air, where the stars are beginning to shine.
Think of the choices we make for the people we care about, and the worlds we leave behind to find who we are meant to be.
What does it mean to love someone and to want a life enough to give up your whole world for the chance? And when the world does not give us the ending we planned, where do we find the strength to choose mercy anyway, and to look for a different kind of hope?
Sleep quietly now, and keep that question with you as you drift into dreams.