“But if you take away my voice,” said the little mermaid, “what is left for
me?”
“Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes;
surely with these you can enchain a man’s heart. Well, have you lost your
courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut it off as my payment; then
you shall have the powerful draught.”
“It shall be,” said the little mermaid.
Then the witch placed her cauldron on the fire, to prepare the magic
draught.
“Cleanliness is a good thing,” said she, scouring the vessel with snakes,
which she had tied together in a large knot; then she pricked herself in the
breast, and let the black blood drop into it. The steam that rose formed itself
into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them without fear. Every
moment the witch threw something else into the vessel, and when it began
to boil, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the
magic draught was ready, it looked like the clearest water. “There it is for
you,” said the witch. Then she cut off the mermaid’s tongue, so that she
became dumb, and would never again speak or sing. “If the polypi should
seize hold of you as you return through the wood,” said the witch, “throw
over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers will be torn into a
thousand pieces.” But the little mermaid had no occasion to do this, for the
polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of the glittering
draught, which shone in her hand like a twinkling star.
