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bells, and
each note rang clear and true. It was always Mathew who sang the closing
hymn. Early one evening, when all the fishing boats bobbed at anchor,
and all the fisher families were in church and all the birds at nest,
and even the waves rested themselves and came quietly to shore,
something moved softly in the twilight. The waves parted without a sound, and, from
deep beneath them, some creature rose and climbed out
onto a rock, there in the cove of Zennor. It was both a
sea creature and a she-creature. For, though it seemed to
be a girl, where the girl's legs should have been was the
long and silver-shiny tail of a fish. It was a mermaid,
one of the daughters of Llyr, king of the ocean, and her
name was Morveren. Morveren
sat upon the rock and looked at herself in the quiet
water, and then combed all the little crabs and seashells
from her long, long hair. As she combed, she listened to
the murmur of the waves and wind. And borne on the wind
was Mathew's singing. "What
breeze is there that blows such a song?" wondered
Morveren. But then the wind died, and Mathew's song with
it. The sun disappeared, and Morveren slipped back
beneath the water to her home. The
next evening she came again. But not to the rock. This
time she swam closer to shore, the better to hear. And
once more Mathew's voice carried out to sea, and Morveren
listened. "What
bird sings so sweet?" she asked, and she looked all
about. But darkness had come, and her eyes saw only
shadows. The
next day Morveren came even earlier, and boldly. She
floated right up by the fishermen's boats. And when she
heard Mathew's voice, she called, "What reed is
there that pipes such music?" There
was no answer save the swishing of the water round the
skiffs. Morveren
would and must know more about the singing. So she pulled
herself up on the shore itself. From there she could see
the church and hear the music pouring from its open doors.
Nothing would do then but she must peek in and learn for
herself who sang so sweetly. Still,
she did not go at once. For, looking behind her, she saw
that the tide had begun to ebb and the water pull back
from the shore. And she knew that she must go back, too,
or be left stranded on the sand like a fish out of water. So
she dived down beneath the waves, down to the dark sea
cave where she lived with her father the king. And there
she told Llyr what she had heard. Llyr
was so old he appeared to be carved of driftwood, and his
hair floated out tangled and green, like seaweed. At
Morveren's words, he shook that massive head from side to
side.
"To
hear is enough, my child. To see is too much."
"I
must go, Father," she pleaded, "for the music
is magic." "Nay,"
he answered. "The music is man-made, and it comes
from a man's mouth. We people of the sea do not walk on
the land of men." A
tear, larger than an ocean pearl, fell from Morveren's
eye. "Then surely I may die from the wanting down
here." Llyr
sighed, and his sigh was like the rumbling of giant waves
upon the rocks; for a mermaid to cry was a thing unheard
of and it troubled the old sea king greatly. "Go,
then," he said at last, "but go with care.
Cover your tail with a dress, such as their women wear.
Go quietly, and make sure that none shall see you. And
return by high tide, or you may not return at all." "I
shall take care, Father!" cried Morveren, excited.
"No one shall snare me like a herring!" Llyr
gave her a beautiful dress crusted with pearls and sea
jade and coral and other ocean jewels. It covered her
tail, and she covered her shining hair with a net, and so
disguised she set out for the church and the land of men.
Slippery
scales and fish's tail are not made for walking, and it
was difficult for Morveren to get up the path to the
church. Nor was she used to the dress of an earth woman
dragging behind. But get there she did, pulling herself
forward by grasping on the trees, until she was at the
very door of the church. She was just in time for the
closing hymn. Some folks were looking down at their
hymnbooks and some up at the choir, so, since none had
eyes in the backs of their heads, they did not see
Morveren. But she saw them, and Mathew as well. He was as
handsome as an angel, and when he sang it was like a harp
from heaven -- although Morveren, of course, being a
mermaid, knew nothing of either. So
each night thereafter, Morveren would dress and come up
to the church, to look and to listen, staying but a few
minutes and always leaving before the last note faded and
in time to catch the swell of high tide. And night by
night, month by month, Mathew grew taller and his voice
grew deeper and stronger (though Morveren neither grew
nor changed, for that is the way of mermaids). And so it
went for most of a year, until the evening when Morveren
lingered longer than usual. She had heard Mathew sing one
verse, and then another, and begin a third. Each refrain
was lovelier than the one before, and Morveren caught her
breath in a sigh. It
was just a little sigh, softer than the whisper of a wave.
But it was enough for Mathew to hear, and he looked to
the back of the church and saw the mermaid. Morveren's
eyes were shining, and the net had slipped from her head
and her hair was wet and gleaming, too. Mathew stopped
his singing. He was struck silent by the look of her --
and by his love for her. For these things will happen. Morveren
was frightened. Mathew had seen her, and her father had
warned that none must look at her. Besides, the church
was warm and dry, and merpeople must be cool and wet.
Morveren felt herself shriveling, and turned in haste
from the door. "Stop!"
cried Mathew boldly. "Wait!" And he ran down
the aisle of the church and out the door after her. Then
all the people turned, startled, and their hymn-books
fell from their laps. Morveren
tripped, tangled in her dress, and would have fallen had
not Mathew reached her side and caught her. "Stay!"
he begged. "Whoever ye be, do not leave!"
Tears, real tears, as salty as the sea itself, rolled
down Morveren's cheeks. "I cannot stay. I am a sea
creature, and must go back where I belong." Mathew
stared at her and saw the tip of her fish tail poking out
from beneath the dress. But that mattered not at all to
him. "Then I will go with ye. For with ye is where I
belong." He
picked Morveren up, and she threw her arms about his neck.
He hurried down the path with her, toward the ocean's
edge. And all the people from the church saw this. "Mathew,
stop!" they shouted. "Hold back!"
"No!
No, Mathew!" cried that boy's mother. But Mathew was
bewitched with love for the mermaid, and ran the faster
with her toward the sea. Then
the fishermen of Zennor gave chase, and all others, too,
even Mathew's mother. But Mathew was quick and strong and
outdistanced them. And Morveren was quick and clever. She
tore the pearls and coral from her dress and flung them
on the path. The fishermen were greedy, even as men are
now, and stopped in their chase to pick up the gems. Only
Mathew's mother still ran after them. The
tide was going out. Great rocks thrust up from the dark
water. Already it was too shallow for Morveren to swim.
But Mathew plunged ahead into the water, stumbling in to
his knees. Quickly his mother caught hold of his
fisherman's jersey. Still Mathew pushed on, until the sea
rose to his waist, and then his shoulders. Then the
waters closed over Morveren and Mathew, and his mother
was left with only a bit of yarn in her hand, like a
fishing line with nothing on it. Never
again were Mathew and Morveren seen by the people of
Zennor. They had gone to live in the land of Llyr, in
golden sand castles built far below the waters in a blue-green
world. But
the people of Zennor heard Mathew. For he sang to
Morveren both day and night, love songs and lullabies.
Nor did he sing for her ears only. Mathew learned songs
that told of the sea as well. His voice rose up soft and
high if the day was to be fair, deep and low if Llyr was
going to make the waters boil. From his songs, the
fishermen of Zennor knew when it was safe to put to sea,
and when it was wise to anchor snug at home. There
are some still who find meanings in the voices of the
waves and understand the whispers of the winds. These are
the ones who say Mathew sings yet, to them that will
listen.
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