Eothwald: The Young Sculptor

It will not surprise you, dear children, to learn that after Hans Christian Andersen wrote his touching story of "The Little Mermaid," the whole world sighed with a strong desire to behold the true likeness of that loving and lovely heroine.

Painters and sculptors wandered anxiously by the sea-shore; not alone in Denmark, but in many other countries, seeking thus to obtain a glimpse of one of the mermaidens--whose whole race has been for ever immortalized by the gentle Dane--longing to depict on canvas, or to carve in marble, the fair lineaments of the faithful sea-child who gave her voice and her life for the Prince she loved.

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.

And now night after night, sheltered by brushwood, rock, and fern, the enthusiastic youth engraved on his heart the exquisite beauty of those fair denizens of the sea; nay more, in the ardour of his pursuit he became himself enamoured of the lovely childlike Duva. Often while Näcken and Himingläfa held sweet converse together, their companion unobserved would float silently nearer and nearer to the shore. Sometimes she amused herself by twining long wreaths of the ferns and creepers which hung over the river bank. Sometimes she laughingly lifted small silvery fish from their holes beneath the bank; then remembering that air to them was death, she would place them gently once more in their native element, and smiling, watch their playful movements when they frisked around her, as if in gratitude, before they swam away. Sometimes flinging her long tresses of hair over the grass by the river margin, clasping her hands above her head, reposing half on land and half on water, she would lie with all a maiden's dreamy thoughts of the unknown future, her clear blue eyes fixed on the starry vault above, her every action a study of grace and poetry, until Himingläfa's soft summons roused her, when springing again into life and motion, the agile Duva excited new admiration in the sculptor's mind as with the swiftness of a startled bird she flitted across the water and disappeared with her sweet sister beneath the briny wave.

It is not given to me to say how Duva and Eothwald first became acquainted; but it is certain that before the young sculptor had spent many nights by the water's side, that innocent child of the sea grew to know what it was that made the long hours pass so swiftly to Himingläfa and Näcken, when they were together; for a feeling hitherto unknown sprang up within her own simple breast, and taught her to welcome with beating heart the appearance of her new friend.

What long happy hours they passed together by starlight and moonlight on that river brink! How endless were the words they had to say to each other in those stolen interviews! and yet, though all seemed so untroubled, a secret care disturbed the peace of either loving bosom. It is true that Duva had attempted to lighten hers by confiding it to her lover, for early in their acquaintance she told him that she longed to whisper in her mother's ear the story of her Eothwald, and to find in the majestic Ran's motherly bosom a soft pillow whereon to still the flutterings of her awakened heart; but in tones of displeasure the young sculptor chid her childlike impulse, and went so far as to threaten that should she ever breathe to her family the fact of his existence, he could never seek her more.

Chilled and frightened at hearing Eothwald address her in accents such as he had never used before, the gentle Duva tearfully promised to comply with his request, and to conceal from all the knowledge of her earthly lover. But the concealment preyed on her mind, and though in his presence she forgot all save the bliss of being beloved, yet she had for ever lost the joyous serenity of her early youth; while the very look which roused her watchful mother's anxiety, gave her in her lover's eye, a more etherial air of languor and grace.

Eothwald's secret care was widely different: he knew that his Duva might in some terrible unknown manner have to suffer for his love; but his anxiety was lest he should not succeed in obtaining her perfect likeness, and thence partly came his reluctance to allow her to speak of him to her people. He made sure they would remind her of the perils of holding intercourse with mankind, and probably put a complete stop to their clandestine meetings, now only carried on under the shadow of the more legitimate attachment of Himingläfa and Näcken.

While the inexperienced Duva only knew and felt she loved, the more worldly Eothwald gazed upon her with a critical and artistic eye, and often sent a chill of cold presentiment to her very heart's core, when to her gentlest words he vouchsafed no answer; but, absently scanning her perfect form, would strive to compare and calculate in his mind the accuracy of his progressing model in the cave.

He found it easy to obtain Duva's compliance with all his requests save one; but it was for long in vain that he besought her to leave her watery home. Many a time and oft they parted almost in anger, and the poor little sea-nymph more than once weepingly entreated him sooner to quit her for ever, and go back to his own kith and kind. But Eothwald always returned afresh to the charge, for, besides his real attachment to the gentle maid herself, he knew that could he but once behold her fair proportions near him in the cave, he could successfully finish his now nearly completed model; and, by imparting to it those life-like touches which alone it required, he would be enabled to give to the world for the first time the perfect image of a mermaiden. With true artistic fervour he forgot his mortal love in the eager pursuit of his immortal art, and, brought completely to a standstill by the harassing intensity of his longing to have the living form at hand to aid him in his work, he grew so unkind towards Duva that with saddened heart the poor child promised to comply with his prayer, and arranged to accompany him through the wood the following night, when the yellow harvest moon would reign in her fullest beauty.

Words cannot paint the overflowing sorrow that oppressed the pale mermaiden's heart that eventful day as she joined her parents and sisters, for what an inward voice told her, was the last time. Old Agir, her father, gathered her to his bosom, and pressed his little Duva to tell her trouble, but with a forced smile she first nestled closer to that protecting shoulder and then sprang half sobbing away, and they thought she grieved over the approaching bridals of Näcken and Himingläfa and the prospect of losing her favourite sister.

The wild young Kolga blew through her shell, and in her efforts to cheer Duva made such a bubbling amid the water, that people passing in boats far above the sea-king's palace, paused on their oars to watch the agitated surface and thought they had discovered a new ocean spring.

Häfring and Blodughadda caressed their little sister and playfully asked her to choose whether they should all wear coral or pearls at Himingläfa's wedding, but with trembling lip she turned away, unable to trust her voice in answer to their laughing affection, and for the first time they deemed their pet Duva was sullen. Ah! how little they knew the aching throbs of pain that strangled her sweet voice and silenced their sorrow-stricken playmate.

At last the hour of sunset drew near. Together, as usual, Himingläfa and Duva rose to the surface of the darkening ocean, and soon were greeted by the entrancing strains of Näcken's harp. Slowly Duva disengaged herself from her sister's embrace and lingered long near the companion, till now the sharer of every joy or care. But time's relentless wheel rolled on, and through the woods by the river's brink gleamed the golden radiance of the harvest moon, as the mermaiden at length approached the shore where her lover kept anxious watch. With joyful eagerness Eothwald greeted her, and in low trembling tones whispered loving thanks into her ear; even then Duva would have withdrawn her consent, but the impatient Eothwald, without pausing, threw his strong arms around her, raised his beloved burden from the glittering water, and bore her swiftly towards the cave.

A feeling of deadly sickness came over the little sea-maid as she was thus lifted from her native element, but the soothing words of her lover infused new life into her fainting frame, and in safety they reached the cave, where Eothwald joyfully deposited his lovely charge on the couch he had so long prepared for her use.

Uttering but scant welcome the sculptor flew rapidly to his work, for already fatigue and exhaustion clouded the sweet eyes, that were wont to sparkle so merrily, and spread a new languor over the limbs of his exquisite model. With passionate energy Eothwald moulded his plastic clay, completely forgetting in his ardour the unwonted position of the sea-king's daughter, and her need of watchful tenderness.

A stranger in a new and untried world--a timid maiden strayed for the first time far beyond the protecting care of parents and brethren, the little Duva reclined amazed upon her fragrant bed of leaves. Strange thrills were sent through her by the strong night perfumes exhaled on every side from earthly leaf, tree, and flower.

At last she was upon that land about which from childhood she had dreamed, with an eager desire to explore its forbidden mysteries. But she thought not of these things, her whole heart was absorbed in Eothwald. The young sculptor no longer gazed on her with the melting eye of love. By the flickering light of the torch which shed its ruddy glow over the cave, she could perceive the artist's glance now fixed on his clay figure, now turned upon herself with a searching look of restless dissatisfaction due in reality to the shortcomings of his own handiwork, but which chilled and saddened Duva's sensitive heart.

Again and again the gentle maiden nerved her voice to speak, but faintness overpowered her, and a dreamless sleep already fanned her with its over-shadowing wings. Eothwald's form swam magnified before her eyes, and then vanished altogether amid the mist of gathering tears. The cave grew dim--the little sea-child again beheld the palace of her father--her lovely sisters waved a mute welcome through the changing atmosphere. With the tremulous sigh of a repentant child that has erred, but returns with glad sorrow to fling itself on its mother's breast, Duva, forgetting all save that joyful vision, stretched forth her innocent arms with a low murmur of tenderness, and a gesture of delight.

"Can you not remain as I placed you?" impatiently muttered the sculptor, as the sudden movement of Duva's arms altered her whole position, and lost irretrievably the graceful attitude he was striving faithfully to immortalise. Even as he spoke, something about his beloved alarmed him; he rushed across the cave, but ere he could touch her, Duva's fair form had disappeared--she was gone!

The red torch flickered high, and suddenly expired. The moon's ray, cold and pale, penetrated within the cave, and lo! upon the spot so lately pressed by the enchanting figure of the poor little stranger, pure and transparent in the silvery light, glistened a white pearly shell, while a tiny rivulet stole silently from beneath it, and trickled into the moonlit glen without.

Eothwald threw himself wildly on his knees, and felt the couch all over in vain--in vain!--then in desperation he fled out into the wood and searched for his lost love, breathing her name in fondest accents through the silence of the night, but alas! awakening no response from the desolate solitudes around him. Wearied and heart-broken he returned at length from his fruitless errand, and sank into heavy slumber.

Hours had passed unheeded away, when with troubled recollection he awoke and sprang to his feet. Gradually he remembered that in his dreams Duva had again appeared to him. With bitter tears she sorrowfully told him that his own thoughtless actions had parted them. He first tempted her by mortal love to deceive and leave her fond parents and her beloved home; then as he moulded his clay from her beautiful form, in the self-abstraction of genius, he half forgot her sacrifice, and neglected her tender spirit. Wounded and unable to struggle against her altered condition of life without the comforting care of her mortal lover, she had fallen a victim to the law that ruled supreme over herself and her kindred, and lost her visible shape, which became again transformed into the water, whence it originally sprang. With streaming eyes she waved a long farewell, then, lovely as a morning dream, faded from his view.

Eothwald flew back to his work with fierce energy; he felt indeed a high soaring ambition. He yearned to represent worthily, to this and future generations, the fair lineaments, the tender immortal beauty of the sea-king's daughter, who had given him her simple young heart, and whose affection he had so rudely requited. A solemn inward voice told him he had no time to spend in useless remorse, or in unavailing lamentation. Death's shadowy finger already beckoned him to the "silent land." Grief had snapped the first chord of life's hitherto sweet melody, and his days on earth were numbered.

He returned in a short space to his native city. His half-finished work was slowly removed to the studio. There by day and by night he laboured almost ceaselessly, and wove into a wild poetical dream the young life of the fair Duva and her family, as she herself in days gone by had frequently, half romancing and half in earnest, described it to him.

He designed a lofty fountain, and upon its six sides placed in groups of wondrous imagery her parents, their nine lovely daughters, and the young river-god Näcken, whose strains had first led him to his beloved. As in his lonely studio he ceaselessly toiled, he wrote down at intervals this explanation of his labours--that to all futurity might be known the names and history of those whose divine beauty he thus strove to commemorate.[2]

[2] The description of the different groups represented on
the fountain, is taken from a beautiful work of art, designed
and executed by Molin, a young Swedish sculptor of great
promise, now dead.

"Agir, the ocean god, who hates mankind, I represent in the prime of life, with a long flowing beard, which he holds back with one hand, in the other he grasps a sceptre. Enthroned on a gigantic shell, and planting his foot on a dolphin, his handsome features wear an expression of proud disdain.

"When the winter has passed (as our Northern poets have sung) and the May sun melts the ice, the ships in the harbour lift their anchors ready to sail, and only the wind is wanting. Thereupon Agir (who delights in punishing the pride of mankind by robbing them of their treasures--taking husbands from their homes, their wives, and their children, and drowning the mourners in floods of bitter tears) calls to his youngest daughter Kolga to begin the sport.

"In the next shell-like division of the fountain, I place Kolga, who, with short rough hair and hoydenish action, distends to the full her rosy cheeks as she blows through the valves of her shell a soft, seductive wind, sufficient to swell the sails, and tempt the ill-fated ships to sea. Above her, shrouded in her long veil, is the mysterious and majestic Ran (Agir's princely consort, and the anxious mother of his many children). She encourages Rönn, her second youngest, who gently and dreamingly along the blue ripples stirs the first breath on the calm waters. Häfring, Unn, and Bylgia, with the little water-elves and sprites, help to raise the swelling seas until the waves are mountains high.

"Then the hard-hearted and vindictive Boara (once scorned and deserted by a mortal lover) crushes the prows to atoms. She delights in the destruction of human handiwork, and is therefore portrayed with a sternly beautiful though cruel countenance. Next Agir calls on Blodughadda, enveloped in her long flowing tresses, to descend through the deeper waters and secure the ships' rich treasures, for no lock or key any longer protects them.

"But the fond father misses his favourite children, Himingläfa and Duva; he loudly calls on Ran to tell him where they are. 'Alas,' answers his queen, 'our daughters are held captive in the web of Näcken; up there, on the fresh water-stream, they float, like one charmed, listening to his melodious song. I have begged and threatened, but all in vain. Methinks one or both of them is befooled by first love.'

"Then Agir arose in fearful rage, calling upon his remaining daughters to entice Näcken forth from the precincts of his grotto (which, being in fresh water, was beyond the sea-king's domain) into the deep ocean, there to take him captive, and deliver their sisters from his thraldom.

"So they all float on, displaying their charms like roses and lilies playing on the waters: their beautiful dishevelled hair, their graceful forms, their coral chains, their strings of pearls, triumphantly making sure of enticing the hapless youth into the salt waters. But no sooner have they reached the entrance to the grotto, than behold! a youth, divinely beautiful, is seen. Harp in hand, he sings a soft, melancholy strain with the purest of voices. The beauteous sisters, scarce moving, tarry on the heaving waters, and listen, entranced, to his heart-thrilling song.

"Awakening from his own love-dreams as he marks the approach of Himingläfa's lovely sisters, the young river-god sings of his happy youth, when amid green meadows, and under verdant trees, he listened to the melodies of birds, and learnt from them the sweet art of song--until, restless and eager for change, he wandered forth from his early home into the wide world, with endless longing for the unattainable. To punish his presumption, he was at length condemned only to exist in water, and became the genius of running streams. Thus he pours out his lament in strains so moving, that even the wild swan is arrested in her flight, and the daughters of Agir, deeply enthralled, heedless of their parents' call to action, remain motionless before the grotto, allowing ships and mariners to sail by in perfect calm.

"At length, Agir and Ran, angry and impatient, hasten towards them, when, enchanted like their children, by Näcken's exquisite lay, they also remain to listen, forgetful of the time and of the passing hours, till daylight breaks suddenly upon them. The relentless laws of fate forbidding their escape (if found within fresh water at sunrise), they all then become spell-bound."

Such was the description Eothwald wrote of his wondrous fountain, on which Näcken still dreams on, harp in hand, singing of the days of yore. The beautiful Himingläfa leans forward, modestly drawing her long tresses across her white shoulders, drinking in, with downcast eyes, every intonation of her betrothed. The child-like Duva, adorned as when the sculptor first beheld her, with long strands of priceless pearls intertwined on hair, neck, and bosom, raises herself from the water in the attitude he had studied a thousand times, and half surrounds her beloved sister with her arm, listening intently, as on that well-remembered evening, to Näcken's heart-thrilling music. No shadow of future sorrow clouds Duva's fair brow; but moulded in all the fresh innocence of her dewy youth, she remains to this hour the loveliest mermaiden that ever gladdened mortal eye.

The shell she left upon the couch of leaves, the artist introduced again and again in his labour of love, and indeed took from its shape the designs for the six sides of his fountain, the figures on which were the size of life.

At last the story of Duva's early life was given. Raised from ocean, cavern, and grotto by Eothwald's genius, her family were immortalized by his art. The sculptor's task was completed. In a paroxysm of agony, he fell on his knees as he realized that though instinct with life his inspired work arose in all its chill perfection before him, yet the living, loving, lovely mermaiden would never more greet him with her warm, shy smile, and her low, tender voice.

At daybreak the old housekeeper came to light the studio fire; for it was now winter-time, and the snow lay thick upon the ground. By the first dim ray of light she descried Eothwald kneeling before his finished sculpture. Her heart misgave her; he was her foster-child--dear to her as her own. She stumbled forward and touched his arm; it was cold and motionless as his own marble figures. Then a loud cry of grief told the tale of death. Eothwald was no more. His immortal spirit had fled. Whether in the regions of the unknown invisible world he may once more meet and clasp his Duva to his breast by the blessed waters of Paradise, we cannot tell, but such may be the merciful will of that loving Father who watches unceasingly over the creatures of his hand, and feels a divine sympathy in their sorrows.

One of Eothwald's hands rested on the word Duva, which he had finished chiselling beneath his beauteous beloved. In his other hand was found, fast clasped--so fast indeed that they could not remove it from his stiffened fingers--a gleaming white pearly shell.