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.
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.
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.
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.