Now for successive ages it has been well known among the denizens of the ocean that trouble and misfortune must certainly fall on the mermaiden who should visit the shore too frequently, or permit her likeness to be taken in any form whatsoever.
Long, long ago, the most beautiful of the sea-nymphs rose in her gambols to the surface of the billows; and as in those days mermaids wore no tails, and were consequently unable to steer themselves properly, she was carried on shore by the force of the waves, where such was the confusion caused by her charms, that gods and goddesses themselves quarrelled about her, and artists in their enthusiasm neglected everything else to depict in all its bewildering beauty the sea-born loveliness of "Aphrodite." Great was the indignation excited by the appearance of this fair interloper in the aerial courts, and "Hera," the Queen of Olympus, persuaded her husband, the awful "Jove," to issue a decree ordaining that henceforth and for evermore all mermaidens should bear long tails; thus confining their dangerous influence to their own native element; and furthermore forbidding them, on pain of severest penalties, to hold communication with the inhabitants of earth or sky.
Though centuries have rolled away, this dread command is still remembered and obeyed, and hence the extreme difficulty experienced by those whose artistic longings had been kindled afresh by the glowing descriptions of the sweet Danish writer.
One golden evening during the brief but glorious northern summer, the young sculptor, Eothwald, after a weary day of unavailing search for the far-famed mermaidens, threw himself down on the soft grass by a river's side, and lulled by the soft ceaseless murmur of the rushing waters, sank into deep dreamless sleep. As the drowsiness of fatigue wore itself away, he became gradually conscious of ravishing strains of music, and rousing himself half awakened to listen to the dulcet sounds, he still heard the harmonious cadences of some stringed instrument swell and thrill in tones of unearthly beauty.
Eothwald arose softly from his grassy couch, and stole noiselessly along. Keeping himself carefully concealed behind rocks and brushwood, he followed the sound, till at a bend of the stream he beheld the young river god Näcken, seated at the entrance to a grotto, playing and singing to his harp strains of heaven-born music; while, bathed in the evening sunshine, and with their arms lovingly intertwined, there on the surface of the water, in rapt attention, floated the lovely mermaiden sisters, Duva and Himingläfa, unsuspicious of danger, and forgetful of all else, for the spell of love's magic numbers hung over them and rivetted their attention.
The inspired Näcken continued his impassioned lay; the blushing Himingläfa, to whom his song of homage was addressed, shook her long chestnut tresses until they formed a veil around her, and laid her soft cheek on the shoulder of the innocent Duva, who, childlike, wondered at her sister's excess of emotion.
A while Eothwald remained motionless, overwhelmed by the beauty of the scene, but soon the surpassing loveliness of the sea-sisters fired his artistic mind with keen ardour; he felt within himself that could he but reproduce these enchanting forms in marble, he would die content. He resolved to seek his home, and return thence provided with all the necessary materials for working. He had noticed during his wanderings, not far from this very spot, a cave, where he fancied he could work undisturbed. The clay by this river being famous for its plastic properties, it would be easy for him to model by day concealed from all beholders, and at eventide to steal forth unobserved, and gain new ideas of beauty from the fair sisters now before him.
As he silently pondered and matured this plan, a silvery voice was heard afar, and, quick as light, Duva and Himingläfa sprang away through the darkening waters at their mother's call, while Näcken, carrying his harp with him, abruptly disappeared within the shadowy entrance of the grotto.
Darkness came suddenly on; the river, cold and black, ran past Eothwald with sullen murmurings; the wild owl swept close by where he stood, brushing his face with her wing, and uttering her desolate cry. The startled sculptor well-nigh missed his footing, and only escaped falling into the stream by catching hold of the boughs above his head. But undismayed and undaunted, he groped his way successfully out of the wood, and then hastened cheerfully homewards, light-hearted and content; for what were darkness, danger, or fatigue? The quenchless fire of genius burned within his breast; the long dreamt-of ideal was no longer a faint, far-off vision, but had become to him a reality of dazzling beauty.
Ere daylight returned Eothwald had been to his home and informed his old housekeeper that he was bound for a few days' trip into the country. He put together his working tools, and having at her earnest request taken some provisions in his knapsack, he swallowed a hasty meal, and before the sun was yet high in the heavens, was already ensconced in the cave and fast asleep in its welcome shade, after all the fatigue and excitement of the last few but eventful hours.