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Not far from the little village of Dietenhain, in Saxony, there stands, on the bank of the Zschopau river, where it winds through the forest, a great rock full of narrow clefts. In the days of long ago, when fairies and spirits were still visible to the eyes of Sunday-children,[7] there dwelt in a cleft of this rock the King of the Nixies, who held sway over all the water-folk of the Zschopau and its tributary rivers. No one could have told, looking by day at the outside of that rugged cliff, and at the narrow entrance of the Nixies’ dwelling, how beautiful it was when night fell, and the moonbeams lit up the broad sweep of the river and crept in among the dusky trees upon its banks. For then the belated fisherman might see how all the face of the cliff seemed to melt away like a dream, and how a stately castle, built of shining crystal, arose in its place. A soft, unearthly light shone through the walls, so that one could look from end to end of the vast halls and galleries, and see how the doors and windows were cut each from a single opal, and how the whole building was hung with garlands of lotus-flowers and water-lilies. Light figures, clad in misty draperies, moved airily to and fro, and sounds of such exquisite music rang out from the place, that the very fishes rose to the surface of the river to listen, and the passing boatmen hung upon their oars as if spell-bound. But the castle was never to be seen if crowds of people set out from home on purpose to gaze at it; and always with the first ray of sunlight in the morning, it vanished like a summer cloud, the music was silenced, and the little fishes dived to the bottom of the river again.

Now, it was small wonder that there was sometimes music and dancing in the Nixie’s castle, for he had three beautiful daughters, and doubtless they often invited their friends from the neighbouring streams and caves to the palace, that they might disport themselves together. Yet it seemed that this did not satisfy the beautiful Nixies, but that they still pined for the company of mortal men, as we, too, must needs ever hanker after all that lies out of our reach and is fraught with danger. So the Nix-maidens now and then had leave, when the new moon rose at a favourable time, to go to the village dances at Dietenhain, and liked them better than the splendours of their own crystal palace. And they, too, were the despair of all the village youths, and the envy of all the village beauties, for what mortal maidens could be compared to these, with their strange, unearthly loveliness? Their delicate features were as though moulded in wax; their cheeks were as white and glistening as the foam on their own river, and, despite all the heat and agitation of the dance, remained ever as pure, as pale, and as cold as ice. Only their eyes shone with a warmer light, that would sometimes deepen to the glow of passion when they met the burning glances of their partners in the dance. But kind and sweet as they might show themselves to these partners, none of them ever heard a word pass the Nixies’ lips. Their flaxen tresses, fair to whiteness, were decked with trailing wreaths of water-plants, and their veils and draperies were woven of mist, that glistened, as they moved, with the faintest rainbow hues. A broad girdle of cunningly plaited rushes confined these draperies at the waist, and a necklace of many rows of crystal dewdrops sparkled on their bosoms. From this chain hung a fresh-water lily, that was as good as a watch to the fairy sisters, for as soon as they saw their lilies fading, they knew that the first ray of sunlight was at hand, and vanished like a dream from the dancers’ midst. Yet sometimes they would suffer a favoured partner to bear them company for a little way through the forest, but as they neared the river-bank, their gentle yet warning glances and gestures forbade the eager lovers to pursue them farther. And though many a heart was heavy for their sake, yet none ever dared disobey their warnings or rouse their displeasure, either among the youths who loved them, or the maidens whose loves they had crossed; for it was known that it is an ill thing to anger the water-folk, and that they bid their rivers take a human life for every slight that is put upon them.

So a hundred summers passed by; men were born, and grew old, and died in the village, but the Nixies’ beauty blossomed each year anew, and the lips that had kissed the grandfather, now pressed the same warm kisses on the mouths of father and son, and the kisses never grew colder.

But one day there came back from the wars to Dietenhain a young soldier, the finest lad and the most stalwart the village had ever seen. All the maidens strove to win his favour, but among them all he had eyes for one alone—Katrine, the miller’s daughter—Katrine, the boldest, proudest girl in the country-side; and the bravest, too. Had she not saved a child from drowning that had fallen into the mill-stream, and did she not drive away the wolf that had crept from the forest and prowled around the village, one winter’s day, when all the men were from home? Nay, Katrine was afraid of nothing—handsome, too, she was; but soldier Veit maintained that he cared more for a stout heart and a strong arm than for beauty, even in a woman. But perhaps Veit scarcely knew his own mind on this subject.

To be sure, nothing had yet been said of betrothal, for Veit had only been home a month; but he was always willing to carry the neighbours’ sacks of corn to be ground, and would stay leaning over the mill-bridge and talking to Katrine by the hour, till her mother said she had need of one of the friendly forest-dwarfs to come and finish her neglected work for her. But her father began to look askance at Veit, and said soldiers were wont to make too light of home-work, and of many other things.

Now a great holiday fell about this time, and there was to be a fine dance in the village on that evening. Mysterious whispers began to creep about among the lads and maidens. “The moon is in its first quarter—who knows? perhaps the Nixies will be seen at the dance,” they said; “it is many months since they were last among us.”

And one timid maiden cried, “Oh, I pray not! There is no pleasure in the dance for me when I know they are by, the silent, uncanny creatures!”

“Little care I for that,” rejoined Katrine, who was standing near; “’tis for another cause I would wish them away. They say many a heart has been broken in the village, ay, through these hundred years and more, for the sake of the vain, misty things. Now ’tis enough! Let not one of them touch aught that concerns me!”

The maidens shrank back in terror. “Hush, hush, Katrine!” they cried; “how canst thou dare speak thus—thou who dwellest by the water-side, too? Who can tell what may befall?”

Katrine laughed scornfully, all the more so, no doubt, that Veit had just joined the group, and was listening with a mocking air.

“To be sure,” he said, “Katrine is not afraid, I’ll be bound; and why should she be? I, for one, do not believe in these Nixies and their spells; there is not a Nixie of them all can lay a spell on me!”

Now it was the men’s turn to murmur. “’Tis the ignorant who boast,” said an old white-haired fellow, who leaned, smoking his pipe, against the tavern door. “Thou art a foolish fellow, Veit. There is many a one among us could speak of the Nixies’ spells. Dost thou mind poor Heinrich, who wanders about as if he were daft and speaks to no one? Hast thou marked him sitting alone in a corner of the ale-house at night? He is a living proof that the Nixies are no dream. To be sure, he has not taken the matter aright. A kiss and a laugh—that is the way to use with them.”

“They may get the laugh from me, but never a kiss,” rejoined Veit, angered at the old man’s reproof; and he exchanged a glance with Katrine, who turned away with an unwonted blush upon her cheek.

The dance was at its height. Lanterns, fastened with garlands of flowers, hung from the trees that surrounded the village-green, but their light was not needed, for the rays of the young moon flooded the dancing-space with their silvery radiance. Veit leaned against a tree; he was hot from the dance, and glad to rest as he waited for his turn to lead Katrine out. All at once he felt a cool breeze fan his cheek, and yet no wind stirred the branches above him. This was as the cool, moist breath of a fountain. He turned his head, for he fancied he caught a glimpse of something glistening in the shadow behind him. Yes, indeed, there was some one standing by him, a misty form, whose white draperies shone like a ray of moonlight among the trees. And then a pair of eyes were raised to his—eyes as deep, and yet transparent, as the waters of some mountain lake, eyes that shone, beneath the masses of pale hair, as the lake shines when the stars are mirrored in it. And that gaze drank up Veit’s very soul, and with it the memory of Katrine, and of all his promises and all his boasts. In vain Katrine waited for her partner, and turned at last in a rage to seek another, hoping by jealousy to win back her truant lover. In vain! All night long Veit danced with that misty form on the outskirts of the green, where the trees throw their deepest shadow. For the Nixies do not willingly mingle with the throng of mortal youths and maidens. There, too, in the shadow, Heinrich danced, the clouds all lifted from his brow; and yet another dancer drew near and clasped the third fairy sister in his arms. The hours flew by, and the enraptured dancers could hardly believe that the dawn was breaking, but there, on the necklace of each of the sisters, hung the water-lily, scarcely whiter than the fair bosom on which it rested—and the petals of the flower were drooping! Then suddenly Veit felt the gentle pressure lifted from his arm, and even as he looked round, the glistening forms were already disappearing among the dark pine-stems. He hastened after them, his comrades at his heels, but not all their entreaties could stay the Nixies’ fast-fleeting steps; and when their partners reached the edge of the forest, where it meets the lush, green river-meadows, the rising mists of morning had already swallowed up those fairy beings, that seemed, indeed, born of the mists themselves.

Heinrich sighed heavily, and wandered away by himself down another path that led to the river-side; and the third youth, a merry, reckless fellow, sauntered off with a careless laugh; but Veit made an angry gesture, and exclaimed as he turned his steps homeward: “I shall catch them yet; it is not thus she shall baulk me.”

But many a time was Veit doomed to disappointment. True, the Nixies returned, and oftener than was their wont; for now, whenever the moon shone, and the lads and maidens danced on the green in their spare moments, even though it might be but of a work-day evening, the white sisters crept like the moonbeams through the trees, seeking out always the same partners. And between times Heinrich grew more and more melancholy, and Veit more forgetful of his old love for Katrine, and more reckless, withal, in his speech. The old folk in the village shook their heads ever more gravely, and whispered ancient tales of boatmen who had been drawn down into the deep water by the Nixies’ rock. “Veit had better guard his tongue, and not try to blind their eyes with his foolish boasts, now that he was plainly more under the spell than any man of them all.” What would they have said had they known that the white sisters, too, had warnings whispered to them by the friendly folk who came to the crystal palace? “It was ill for Nixies ever to seek out the same man among mortals, and, indeed, to love the haunts of any mortals over-much.” Perhaps these speeches were prompted by jealousy as much in the crystal palace as they might have been in the village hut, but however this may be, the Nix-maidens heeded them not, and seemed, indeed, more eager than ever before to join the dances on the green.

Now if Veit forgot, Katrine never did; and her anger against the interlopers grew hotter and more cruel as her own pain and heartache grew deeper. She sat at home and brooded over thoughts of revenge, and she spoke with all the wise elders of the village who could tell her anything of the traditions concerning the Nixies. They dreaded being surprised by the sunlight—that was plain. But why? No one had ever yet had the courage to gainsay them, or try to hold them back and find out the truth. Love, however, gives courage, and Karl, the third partner whom the fairy sisters sought out, had sworn he loved Katrine, and only went with the Nix-maidens because Katrine slighted him. True, Katrine had given her heart to Veit, but the longing for revenge, and the desire to win back her lost love at any cost, had grown so strong in her that there was nothing she would not do to gain her end. So it was Karl now who talked with Katrine on the mill-bridge, and promised, if her love was to be his reward, to carry out the plot they made together. Then the cunning Karl set about fanning the flame that was already raging in Veit’s veins, and consuming the life of poor, foolish Heinrich. How often, Karl insinuated, had they not been on the point of winning the love of the wayward Nix-maidens, when the first rays of dawn had interrupted them! Were they always to be cheated thus? What mystery was there about these Nixies, that they would not let themselves be followed, or persuaded to outstay the rising of the sun? Nay, they had not managed wisely! At the next dance, let them lead the fairy sisters away, while the night was yet dark, to the deepest part of the forest, where no light of dawn could penetrate, and try if thus the spell might not be broken, and the love of these evasive maidens won.

He spoke to willing ears. Had not Veit said long ago that he would be master of his fairy partner at last? The plan was a good one. Why had it never been thought of before? It must be, Veit concluded, the spell that the wilful creature had laid upon him that had so dulled his mind! Heinrich, too, needed no pressing; he was clean daft for love, and hardly knew what he did any longer. So the plan was laid, and woe betide the Nixies when the time for the next dance arrived. Katrine watched for it now with anxious eyes, and her heart throbbed with bitter satisfaction when at last she saw those rainbow draperies glisten once more in the moonlight beneath the trees. But they were not long to be seen. The Nixies had suffered their fancy to ensnare them too far, and when the eager lovers spoke of a quiet space amid distant forest trees where they could dance and dally undisturbed, they consented only too easily to follow them thither. No one knew how the hours sped by in that quiet and dusky spot. Once, as they lay resting upon the grass, Karl contrived with cunning hand to unfasten the lilies from the crystal chains, and the flowers that might have warned the Nixies from their fate withered unheeded upon the moss. They were missed too late. Too late the fairy sisters grasped at their chains and sought with anxious eyes for their guardian lilies. When they espied them, they were already faded and dying. At that sight a moan, the only sound that mortal ears had ever heard from the Nixies’ lips, escaped the ill-fated sisters. They fled, as the spray of the fountain flies before the wind, through the forest-glades; but even as they reached the river-meadow, a ray of sunlight greeted them upon its verge—sunlight, that gladdens the heart of man, but to them was the shaft of death. No friendly mist spread forth a sheltering veil over the meadow; and as they felt the warmth of those piercing rays, they melted as wax before the fire, as foam upon the water. In a moment the fairy sisters were gone, and in their stead three slender rivulets, whose foamy whiteness was stained with a faint streak of red, wound their way with a complaining murmur through the green meadow, towards the river and the great rock. They disappeared among its hollows, and he who doubts the tale need but seek out the river-bank by Dietenhain, and he will find the three streamlets, and the spot that is still called the “Nixies’ cleft.”

But the spell that the fairy sisters had laid upon two human hearts was not to be broken thus. From that time Heinrich could find no rest from his remorse and sorrow, so that they drove him at last to seek his death in the fatal river. Veit, too, flying in horror from the village, was drowned in crossing the Elbe, by the great rock at Strehla, where it is said that the Nixies yearly require the sacrifice of one human life. Only the reckless Karl and the bold Katrine seem to have gone scot-free. They married after a while, and lived on beside the mill-stream without fear of the Nixies; nor can I learn that the water-folk ever succeeded in doing them any harm.

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