The Nixie of the Mill-Pond

Long ago a mill stood beside a deep, shiny pond. The water turned the wheel, but the miller and his wife were poor. One morning the miller went to check his nets and found them empty. As he stared into the dark green water, it began to ripple. Out of the pond rose a tall woman with hair like dripping weeds and eyes as clear as glass. She was the nixie of the mill-pond.

“Why do you sigh?” the nixie asked softly.

“I work and work, yet I have nothing,” said the miller.

“I can make you rich,” said the nixie. “Gold will clatter in your chests and grain will spill from your sacks. Only promise me what has just been born at your house.”

The miller felt a chill but thought, Surely it is a kitten or a puppy. He nodded. The nixie smiled, sank into the water, and the pond grew still.

When the miller hurried home, his wife was cradling a newborn son. The miller’s heart turned heavy as a stone. “What have I done?” he cried. But it was too late. From that day on, the mill prospered. Grain piled high, and money jingled in the drawers. The miller tried to forget his promise, but the year always turns, and boys always grow.

The child became a good and gentle young man. He learned to hunt and to play the horn, and he loved a brave, kind girl from the village. Everyone warned him never to go near the mill-pond. He obeyed—until one hot day when he chased a deer close to the waterside. His hands and face were dusty, and the pond looked so cool. He knelt to wash, and in a flash two pale arms reached up, pulled him under, and the water closed over his head. The nixie had taken her due.

The young man did not return. His sweetheart waited and wept. She sat by the pond day after day, calling his name, but only reeds answered with whispering. One evening, as the light turned golden, an old woman with bright eyes and a walking stick stepped out of the trees.

“Why do you cry, child?” she asked.

“The nixie has stolen the one I love,” the girl said. “I will never stop looking for him.”

“Then listen,” said the old woman. “Faithful heart, you shall have a chance. Do exactly as I say.” From her bundle she took three things: a golden comb that gleamed like sunlight, a golden flute that glowed like moonlight, and a golden spinning wheel fine as a spider’s web. She also gave the girl a small square of white cloth.

“Go to the pond at the full moon,” the old woman instructed. “When the moon rises, sit on the bank and comb your hair with this golden comb. The water will grow quiet, and the nixie will loosen her grip. Your beloved will rise. If you cannot hold him, return at the next full moon and play the flute. If you fail again, come a third time and spin at the water’s edge. And if you get his hand in yours, run with him to this white cloth. Lay it on the ground and step upon it—no water-spirit can cross that border.”

The girl thanked her and waited for the full moon. When it climbed round and bright, she sat by the pond and drew the golden comb through her hair. The water, which always swirled and lapped, turned smooth as glass. A little wave lifted, and from it rose the young man, pale but smiling, reaching out. The girl sprang forward—but the nixie flashed up like a green shadow, snatched him back, and the pond shivered and swallowed them both.

The girl did not give up. She returned at the next full moon. She raised the golden flute and played. Music like silver threads drifted over the pond. The reeds swayed; the frogs fell silent. The water lifted again, and the young man rose higher, his hand so close she felt its warmth. She grasped—but the nixie hissed, a cold spray broke her hold, and down he went.

The third full moon came. The girl set the golden spinning wheel at the water’s edge and drew out a line of shining flax. As she spun, the thread hummed like bee-wings, and the wheel sang softly. The pond stilled. The young man rose from the depths, closer than before, eyes clear, breath in his chest. The girl caught his hand with all her strength, leaped to her feet, and ran. Behind her the water surged and rushed, but she flung the white cloth upon the ground and pulled him onto it. The wave struck the edge and fell back. The nixie could not cross.

A long, terrible cry came from the pond. The water heaped up and burst its banks, roaring after them. The girl and the young man ran hand in hand, but the flood was faster. A huge wave rose between them like a wall. It lifted the young man and carried him away to a distant mountain. It swept the girl into a dark forest. When the waters sank and the world grew quiet, they were far apart and did not know where the other had been cast.

The girl tightened her shoes and set out to find him. She walked until her feet ached and the roads changed from dust to stones and back again. She crossed fields and towns, slept under hedges and in barns, and asked every traveler, “Have you seen a huntsman whose smile is like sunrise?” Time passed. She wore out one pair of shoes, then a second, then a third.

At last she came to a great city. In the royal hunting park she heard the clear call of a horn, and her heart leaped. She followed the sound and saw a huntsman riding under the trees. It was her beloved—older, handsome, and alive. But when she ran to him, he looked at her kindly and puzzled. “Do I know you?” he asked. The nixie’s flood had washed the past from his mind.

The girl did not weep this time. She went to the palace cook and begged for work. “Let me earn my bread,” she said. The cook, who liked her steady hands and quiet eyes, took her in. That evening, when the hunters returned, the girl stood in the courtyard and lifted the golden flute to her lips. She played the same melody she had played beside the pond, the song that had called him up from the deep.

The huntsman stopped. The horn fell from his hand. The music found a door in his heart and opened it. Memories rushed in—the moonlit water, the golden wheel’s humming, the white cloth on the ground, a brave girl’s hand gripping his. He stepped toward her, whispering her name, and the rest of the world faded away.

They held each other and laughed and cried. Then they went to the miller and his wife, who had grown gray with worry and shame. The miller begged their forgiveness for the promise he had made. The young couple forgave him, for his fear had taught them courage, and his mistake had taught them faithfulness.

From then on they lived together in love and in peace. The mill wheel turned, the pond lay quiet, and never again did the nixie rise from its depths to trouble them.