The Nix of the Mill-Pond

There was once upon a time a miller who lived with his wife in great
contentment. They had money and land, and their prosperity increased
year by year more and more. But ill-luck comes like a thief in the
night, as their wealth had increased so did it again decrease, year by
year, and at last the miller could hardly call the mill in which he
lived, his own. He was in great distress, and when he lay down after
his day's work, found no rest, but tossed about in his bed, full of
care. One morning he rose before daybreak and went out into the open
air, thinking that perhaps there his heart might become lighter. As he
was stepping over the mill-dam the first sunbeam was just breaking
forth, and he heard a rippling sound in the pond. He turned round and
perceived a beautiful woman, rising slowly out of the water. Her long
hair, which she was holding off her shoulders with her soft hands, fell
down on both sides, and covered her white body. He soon saw that she
was the Nix of the Mill-pond, and in his fright did not know whether he
should run away or stay where he was. But the nix made her sweet voice
heard, called him by his name, and asked him why he was so sad? The
miller was at first struck dumb, but when he heard her speak so kindly,
he took heart, and told her how he had formerly lived in wealth and
happiness, but that now he was so poor that he did not know what to do.
"Be easy," answered the nix, "I will make thee richer and happier than
thou hast ever been before, only thou must promise to give me the young
thing which has just been born in thy house." "What else can that be,"
thought the miller, "but a young puppy or kitten?" and he promised her
what she desired. The nix descended into the water again, and he
hurried back to his mill, consoled and in good spirits. He had not yet
reached it, when the maid-servant came out of the house, and cried to
him to rejoice, for his wife had given birth to a little boy. The
miller stood as if struck by lightning; he saw very well that the
cunning nix had been aware of it, and had cheated him. Hanging his
head, he went up to his wife's bedside and when she said, "Why dost
thou not rejoice over the fine boy?" he told her what had befallen him,
and what kind of a promise he had given to the nix. "Of what use to me
are riches and prosperity?" he added, "if I am to lose my child; but
what can I do?" Even the relations, who had come thither to wish them
joy, did not know what to say. In the meantime prosperity again
returned to the miller's house. All that he undertook succeeded, it was
as if presses and coffers filled themselves of their own accord, and as
if money multiplied nightly in the cupboards. It was not long before
his wealth was greater than it had ever been before. But he could not
rejoice over it untroubled, for the bargain which he had made with the
nix tormented his soul. Whenever he passed the mill-pond, he feared she
might ascend and remind him of his debt. He never let the boy himself
go near the water. "Beware," he said to him, "if thou dost but touch
the water, a hand will rise, seize thee, and draw thee down." But as
year after year went by and the nix did not show herself again, the
miller began to feel at ease. The boy grew up to be a youth and was
apprenticed to a huntsman. When he had learnt everything, and had
become an excellent huntsman, the lord of the village took him into his
service. In the village lived a beautiful and true-hearted maiden, who
pleased the huntsman, and when his master perceived that, he gave him a
little house, the two were married, lived peacefully and happily, and
loved each other with all their hearts.

One day the huntsman was chasing a roe; and when the animal turned
aside from the forest into the open country, he pursued it and at last
shot it. He did not notice that he was now in the neighbourhood of the
dangerous mill-pond, and went, after he had disembowelled the stag, to
the water, in order to wash his blood-stained hands. Scarcely, however,
had he dipped them in than the nix ascended, smilingly wound her
dripping arms around him, and drew him quickly down under the waves,
which closed over him. When it was evening, and the huntsman did not
return home, his wife became alarmed. She went out to seek him, and as
he had often told her that he had to be on his guard against the snares
of the nix, and dared not venture into the neighbourhood of the
mill-pond, she already suspected what had happened. She hastened to the
water, and when she found his hunting-pouch lying on the shore, she
could no longer have any doubt of the misfortune. Lamenting her sorrow,
and wringing her hands, she called on her beloved by name, but in vain.
She hurried across to the other side of the pond, and called him anew;
she reviled the nix with harsh words, but no answer followed. The
surface of the water remained calm, only the crescent moon stared
steadily back at her. The poor woman did not leave the pond. With hasty
steps, she paced round and round it, without resting a moment,
sometimes in silence, sometimes uttering a loud cry, sometimes softly
sobbing. At last her strength came to an end, she sank down to the
ground and fell into a heavy sleep. Presently a dream took possession
of her. She was anxiously climbing upwards between great masses of
rock; thorns and briars caught her feet, the rain beat in her face, and
the wind tossed her long hair about. When she had reached the summit,
quite a different sight presented itself to her; the sky was blue, the
air soft, the ground sloped gently downwards, and on a green meadow,
gay with flowers of every colour, stood a pretty cottage. She went up
to it and opened the door; there sat an old woman with white hair, who
beckoned to her kindly. At that very moment, the poor woman awoke, day
had already dawned, and she at once resolved to act in accordance with
her dream. She laboriously climbed the mountain; everything was exactly
as she had seen it in the night. The old woman received her kindly, and
pointed out a chair on which she might sit. "Thou must have met with a
misfortune," she said, "since thou hast sought out my lonely cottage."
With tears, the woman related what had befallen her. "Be comforted,"
said the old woman, "I will help thee. Here is a golden comb for thee.
Tarry till the full moon has risen, then go to the mill-pond, seat
thyself on the shore, and comb thy long black hair with this comb. When
thou hast done, lay it down on the bank, and thou wilt see what will
happen." The woman returned home, but the time till the full moon came,
passed slowly. At last the shining disc appeared in the heavens, then
she went out to the mill-pond, sat down and combed her long black hair
with the golden comb, and when she had finished, she laid it down at
the water's edge. It was not long before there was a movement in the
depths, a wave rose, rolled to the shore, and bore the comb away with
it. In not more than the time necessary for the comb to sink to the
bottom, the surface of the water parted, and the head of the huntsman
arose. He did not speak, but looked at his wife with sorrowful glances.
At the same instant, a second wave came rushing up, and covered the
man's head. All had vanished, the mill-pond lay peaceful as before, and
nothing but the face of the full moon shone on it. Full of sorrow, the
woman went back, but again the dream showed her the cottage of the old
woman. Next morning she again set out and complained of her woes to the
wise woman. The old woman gave her a golden flute, and said, "Tarry
till the full moon comes again, then take this flute; play a beautiful
air on it, and when thou hast finished, lay it on the sand; then thou
wilt see what will happen." The wife did as the old woman told her. No
sooner was the flute lying on the sand than there was a stirring in the
depths, and a wave rushed up and bore the flute away with it.
Immediately afterwards the water parted, and not only the head of the
man, but half of his body also arose. He stretched out his arms
longingly towards her, but a second wave came up, covered him, and drew
him down again. "Alas, what does it profit me?" said the unhappy woman,
"that I should see my beloved, only to lose him again!" Despair filled
her heart anew, but the dream led her a third time to the house of the
old woman. She set out, and the wise woman gave her a golden
spinning-wheel, consoled her and said, "All is not yet fulfilled, tarry
until the time of the full moon, then take the spinning-wheel, seat
thyself on the shore, and spin the spool full, and when thou hast done
that, place the spinning-wheel near the water, and thou wilt see what
will happen." The woman obeyed all she said exactly; as soon as the
full moon showed itself, she carried the golden spinning-wheel to the
shore, and span industriously until the flax came to an end, and the
spool was quite filled with the threads. No sooner was the wheel
standing on the shore than there was a more violent movement than
before in the depths of the pond, and a mighty wave rushed up, and bore
the wheel away with it. Immediately the head and the whole body of the
man rose into the air, in a water-spout. He quickly sprang to the
shore, caught his wife by the hand and fled. But they had scarcely gone
a very little distance, when the whole pond rose with a frightful roar,
and streamed out over the open country. The fugitives already saw death
before their eyes, when the woman in her terror implored the help of
the old woman, and in an instant they were transformed, she into a
toad, he into a frog. The flood which had overtaken them could not
destroy them, but it tore them apart and carried them far away. When
the water had dispersed and they both touched dry land again, they
regained their human form, but neither knew where the other was; they
found themselves among strange people, who did not know their native
land. High mountains and deep valleys lay between them. In order to
keep themselves alive, they were both obliged to tend sheep. For many
long years they drove their flocks through field and forest and were
full of sorrow and longing. When spring had once more broken forth on
the earth, they both went out one day with their flocks, and as chance
would have it, they drew near each other. They met in a valley, but did
not recognize each other; yet they rejoiced that they were no longer so
lonely. Henceforth they each day drove their flocks to the same place;
they did not speak much, but they felt comforted. One evening when the
full moon was shining in the sky, and the sheep were already at rest,
the shepherd pulled the flute out of his pocket, and played on it a
beautiful but sorrowful air. When he had finished he saw that the
shepherdess was weeping bitterly. "Why art thou weeping?" he asked.
"Alas," answered she, "thus shone the full moon when I played this air
on the flute for the last time, and the head of my beloved rose out of
the water." He looked at her, and it seemed as if a veil fell from his
eyes, and he recognized his dear wife, and when she looked at him, and
the moon shone in his face she knew him also. They embraced and kissed
each other, and no one need ask if they were happy.
