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The Moral Cost of Industrialization in “Undine”

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In “The Day After the Wedding, from Undine,” Undine’s speech focuses on the literary elements of nature, romanticizing and spiritualizing nature amongst a world of industrialization. Froqué’s romanticized and spiritualized depiction of nature is used to contrast and emphasize industrial and moral decay. By doing this, the audience understands the need to critique the moral and spiritual implications of industrialization, both in the past and in modern day. The consequence of modernization is nature’s purity and thus humanity’s spiritual decay. 

Undine begins her speech to Huldbrand by describing “A vast family of water spirits live in the lakes and streams and brooks. […] they wander over the pure sand of the sea, and among lovely variegated shells […] which the present is no longer worthy to enjoy” (Penguin 104). Froque vividly illustrates these water spirits environment that has “lakes and streams and brooks” as well as “lovely variegated shells.” Such imagery paints this place as magnificent and “other worldly.” Though somewhat supernatural the water spirits, contrastingly, are personified with human-like qualities such as “wandering” and “living;” suggesting movement and community in the environment. The mystical imagery, along with the aspects of human qualities amongst these spirits, present nature and wildlife (or the inhuman) as being very much alive and animated. This world and these entities in the quote and passage are descriptively romanticized, which makes sense for a 19th-century text. Specifically, this passage contains a lyrical quality in its alliteration within the s sounds of “streams and brooks” and “pure sand of the sea.” The alliteration gives the imagery rhythm that makes it literally sound as beautiful as the imagery paints it out to be. In turn, the imagery and romanticizing of this supernatural world and entity beautifies the “other,” turning it into something attractive. This attractiveness for which the “Other” has, is no longer “worthy” to be enjoyed by the “present,” or ideology of the industrial age, due to its push toward urban growth, destroying its beauty. 

Furthermore, Froqué not only romanticizes the water spirits but also exalts their beauty more than that of humans, emphasizing purity in things untouched by civilization. Undine tells Huldbrand that “Those, however, who dwell” in such elements “are very fair and lovely to behold, and for the most part more beautiful than human beings” (Penguin 105). Froqué, again, creates this ethereal image of beauty with diction such as “fair,” “lovely,” and “beautiful.” There is a hyperbolic sense of charm to Undine’s words, that water spirits are “more beautiful than humans.” It is a way of “exaggerating” the depiction of water spirits as manifestations of beauty and the supernatural perfection beyond human standards. Doing so idealizes nature, tying it back to Romantic themes, making nature pure and uncorrupted, whereas humankind has fallen, relating back to “the present” (ideology of the industrial age), no longer being “worthy to enjoy” its beauty. Froqué depicts the water spirits in this pure light to show the importance of and purity in what humankind’s urbanization cannot or has not touched, that it is important to uphold these things in a higher place than human nature. 

Later, as Undine continues her speech to Huldbrand, she confesses that her kind “vanish into dust, and pass away, body and spirit, so that none of the stage of us remains behind; and when you mortals hereafter awake to a purer life, we remain with the sand and the sparks and the wind and the waves” (Penguin 105). Dust, in this context, can be seen as a symbol of divine morality and the decay of industrialization. Modernization of nature turns nature to dust, eroding and destroying its purity. Undine describes these elements of nature, the “sand,” “wind,” and “waves” as idyllic and eternal, yet with industry’s materialism, these things are reduced to dust. This elemental imagery of dust reflects that of Genesis 3:19: “for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.” The scripture from the Book of Genesis is supposed to be a reminder that there is no amount of human achievement that can defy human destiny. Allusions to such scripture are used as a way to mourn how humankind’s “progress” loses its spiritual and natural connection to the environment, and due to Industrialization, people have turned the environment, not to a sacred dust, but to a polluted ash. Romantic ideals of spirituality are tied to Christian cosmology, “awakening to a purer life,” both of which long to move beyond industrial corruption and instead put spiritual and natural divinity above it. Ultimately, Undine’s fear of vanishing into dust reflects that of humanity’s fear of spiritually losing themselves amidst mechanization. A world in which moral worth is measured by production, and not a person’s soul. 

In the following quote from that stated previously Undine goes on to say that water spirits “have no souls; the element moves [them], and is often obedient to [them] while [they] live, though it scatters [them] to dust when [they] die; and [they] are merry, without having aught to give [them] […] but all beings aspire to be higher than they are” (Penguin 105). Froqué’s depiction of the water spirits as “soulless,” counteracts his previous hyperbolic depictions of their beauty. This contrast from being something beautifully lively to being “soulless” parallels what industrial society does to nature and its laborers. The people and environment become valued for their work and function, rather than what they have inside or, in other words, their soul. The environment and its elements, in this case, are personified—“the elements moves us.” The personification of the elements depicts Romantic views on nature having spiritual vitality, while the mechanical world, in contrast, “moves” humans with a mechanized obedience. Undine and the water spirits lack a “soul” is a symbol of modernization alienating people from the divine and natural world. The final line that “all beings aspire to be higher than they are” is a Romantic and Christian view on this need to reunite with the natural world’s surroundings. Christian rhetoric is used by Froqué as a means of expressing Romantic ideals. The use of Christian teleology critiques industrial times’ view on “progress” away from the sublime. Religious framing, in essence, reinforces Romantic ideals that salvation is not just found through faith but the preservation and restoration of spirituality with nature. 

Froqué’s Romanticization of nature in Undine’s speech functions as a moral critique of industrialization values. There is a spiritual cost in the name of “modern progress,” that the liveliness and purity of nature give way to “soullessness” in a world of industry. Undine’s speech to Huldbrand acts as a warning to him and humanity that a loss of connection to nature means losing connection to divinity, echoing Romantic and Christian ideals of morality. Froqué’s use of imagery elevates nature to a higher status as a way to call for humanity’s re-evaluation of “progress” as a connection to nature rather than industry. 

Discovery #1

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In “Freakshows and Fantasies” Chapter 4, Vaughn Scribner writes, “Just as Eades’s and Barnum’s mermaids brought the Western merpeople craze to fever pitch ( in London and America respectively), so did they implode it.” The moment when a widely accepted belief and a communal sense of wonder turn into disbelief and ridicule represents a pivotal point in society’s ongoing negotiation between truth, spectacle, and cultural imagination. This observation captures a central paradox of the nineteenth century: Even though science progressed and skepticism evolved, the public’s desire for mystery and spectacle only grew greater. The mermaid craze is a perfect example of how the elements of modernity’s fascination with the marvelous and its faith in reason and progress intersected. The reveal of mermaid belief showcases how easily fascination can turn into cynicism when confronted by modernity’s competing demands for both reason and wonder. The change of mermaids from potential objects of wonder to objects of fraud and satire depicts a larger trend in nineteenth-century Western culture. It shows how the same forces that wanted to encourage science, media, truth, and capitalism, also perpetuated they very myths they tried to disprove.

The Western fascination with mermaids did not spring up in a vacuum. It grew, as did empire and exploration, and the age’s desire to know more about the unknown. While sea expeditions reached more new land, and new discovered species were being documented such as the platypus and kangaroo, the line between possible and impossible started to become faint. The global awareness of these curiosities developed fertile ground for hybrid creatures such as the mermaid to possibly seem real. Spectacle and science continued to grow in tandem with the other and both continued to feed off each other’s inspiration. The public was deeply fond of this tension, and they began to blur the boundaries between true knowledge and myth.

The ultimate demise of this mermaid craze, especially after the Fejee Mermaid by Barnum, revealed contradictions around modernity during the nineteenth century. Society celebrated rationality but still adored spectacle and emotionality. Barnum’s mermaid captured that tension. While his mermaid was fully described as fact and real, it was ultimately taken as entertainment. Audiences were enraptured based on the confusion between real or fake. The mermaid was never scientific; it was about the joy of deception but a joy felt in the moment of believing, however temporary.

Barnum perfected a technique he called “humbuggery,” an intricate process of conjuring belief without the not-so-simple act of demanding it. He prompted spectators to enjoy their own indecision–to be both skeptic and believer. This typified a cultural moment where a promise of the grand truth would no longer be held as a situated, ideal way of understanding the world but instead exhibited, called into question, and eventually turned into profit. Barnum’s mermaid was representative of the contradictory affection for wonder in modernity: A culture prideful of rational progress, but eager for amazement. That audiences were drawn in to this event demonstrated that even in a supposed age of enlightenment, people still longed for the delight of mystery–especially when wearing the clothing of science.

While this was happening, the media that had stimulated the public’s curiosity was also engaged in dismantling it. As scientists examined the material and newspapers began exposing hoaxes, the idea of mermaids shifted from legitimate curiosity to ironic amusement. What had been touted as a mystery of nature had become a story of gullibility. Nonetheless, debunking did not erase mermaids from the cultural landscape, it only adjusted their form. The belief underwent a transformation from a possible reality to a sign of deceit and mass credulity. The unveiling of the Fejee Mermaid demonstrates how the mass media, on the one hand could manufacture excitement, yet, on the other, could destroy it, profiting from the very wonder it later disparaged. The same presses the printed enthusiastic accounts of discovery sold issues by ridiculing the credulous. Disbelief, it seems, became entertaining in its own right.

This change in tone demonstrates the broader media logic of the nineteenth century. Newspapers and periodicals put curiosity into commerce. Reports of mermaids sightings made appearances before 1845, sometimes with semi-serious musings that relied on natural history or comparative anatomy. After hoaxes were revealed, journalists took on a more cynical tone, using mermaid reports to ridicule ignorance and the human desire to believe. This represented the professionalization of journalism, and however simplistic, the skepticism became an indicator of modern intelligence. But it also demonstrated how capitalism and and mediation had mechanisms by which they can carry on impressions while emoting them wrecked them. By retrievably printing, ridiculing and mentioning mermaids, the media had ‘realized’ a cultural presence, even without consideration for belief.

The enduring popularity of the mermaid myth highlights something basic about spectatorship in the nineteenth century. Modern viewers were not merely duped; they engaged in a performance for credulity. To attend a freak show, or to read about a peculiar specimen, involved a social experience where wonder was shared as a form of collective wonder, where curiosity was counterbalanced with irony. This shared disbelief went on to become a characteristic of modern culture and continues to inform out enjoyment of mass media and spectacle today. Thus, Barnum’s presentations anticipated the cultural patters of modern entertainment, where disbelief and fascination are enjoyed together.

The shift of mermaids from potential objects of wonder to objects of fraud and satire represents a larger trend in nineteenth-century Western culture. As science allegedly “banished” superstition, the same social processes – capitalism, mass media, and the hunger for spectacle – ensured the survival of the very figures they mocked. The mermaid, then, persists not as an object of belief but as a cultural icon that reminds us that even in a so-called age of reason, the distinctions between knowledge, entertainment, and belief are not clearly distinguished.

Overall, the similarities among science, media, and myth in the nineteenth century captured a deeper dissonance in modernity: disbelief and belief are not oppositional; they are rather alike. Although the true reveal of the Fejee Mermaid did not stop the fascination of the Mermaid, it did transform it. Myth continued as satire, while the truth became yet another performance. The mermaid swims in the Western cultural memory because she encapsulated that which modern life cannot fully abandon – a yearning for wonder amid an obsession with proof.

Back to the wilderness: Environmental History

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The Trouble With Wilderness, by William Cronon is a beautifully crafted academic article detailing the role change that the environment endured as society modernized. The environment began to be seen more as a commodity rather than the true natural world in which we should live and appreciate.

After the Civil War, “wilderness” was less discovered than manufactured by urban elites as a leisure asset, and that invention still distorts environmental ethics by erasing people and responsibility. As railroads carved into “sublime” landscapes, the wealthy turned wild places into curated playgrounds: Adirondack “camps,” dude ranches, guided hunts, resort hotels. They arrived not as producers bound to the land but as consumers purchasing managed roughness, with local guides and workers recast as stage props for frontier fantasies. National parks followed the final Indian wars, fixing boundaries that made violence invisible and Indigenous presence removable. Visitors could then savor a carefully policed “virgin” nature—precisely because those who had lived there were moved out.

This rebranding hardens a dualism: nature is “true” only without us. It’s a seductive story for city dwellers, because it lets us praise wilderness while dodging accountability for the industrial systems that power our daily lives—and our trips “back” to nature. We drive cars to escape civilization, then use the landscape we reached by highway as a moral yardstick against which our world always fails. Policy often echoes the myth: single-species battles stand in for protecting “pristine” places; distant rainforests are imagined as savable only by removing the people who live there. As one historian puts it, “there is nothing natural about the concept of wilderness” (Cronon). A more honest environmentalism starts by naming the myth and placing humans back inside nature’s history. That means recognizing working landscapes and Indigenous stewardship as part of what makes ecosystems flourish. Success shouldn’t be measured by how well we exclude people, but by how well we live with the places that sustain us—owning the infrastructures we depend on, and building conservation that includes, rather than erases, the communities already there.

Discovery 1

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Hans Christen Anderson portrays the ocean, and thus the unknown, in a very dark and alien light through the use of menacing imagery of the depths compared to the bright and jubilant descriptions of the land. By taking into account an older work’s portrayal of the classic mermaid fairy tale, we can compare the dual perceptions that society has crafted about the unknown, especially regarding the deep ocean.

When reading Hans Christen Anderson’s version of the popular Little Mermaid story, it made me realize different ways people have reacted to and decided to depict the unknown. Obviously, Anderson’s older version is much different than the modern version that Disney produced, being much darker and less fantastical, as the mermaid literally dies at the end of the story. 

Anderson’s introduction to the ocean in his version was, “But it is very deep—so deep, indeed, that no rope can fathom it; and many church steeples need be piled one upon the other to reach from the bottom to the surface. It is there that the sea-folk dwell” (Penguins, 108). The way he used the description of fallen churches and being unreachable even by rope creates a foreboding, mysterious tone about the depths. I find it interesting how in older versions like this, the unknown, (the ocean and sea) was depicted as menacing and dark, something that the main character wanted to desperately escape from in favor of the bright and vibrant land. In contrast, in describing how the mermaid viewed the land, Anderson writes, “She saw beautiful green hills covered with vines; castles and citadels peeped out from stately woods; she heard the birds singing” (Penguins, 111). Instead of fallen, crumbling churches, the land is described to have towering buildings and beautiful landscape, which goes to show how Anderson deliberately is perpetuating the ocean in a much more negative and dangerous light than the beautiful land, simply because the ocean is more unknown to humans. In this case, the unknown reminds people of danger and fear. 

While this fascination with the land and sun and desire to escape from the depths of the ocean remains consistent across both versions. It is described as sort of alien, strange, and not something to be admired in Anderson’s version. The unknown is seen as a dark and bad thing because since so much of the ocean is and was unexplored, it was completely up to human’s minds and preexisting notions of what the depths would look like. However, in modern versions, like Disney, they portray the unknown ocean in a much different light. In this case, the unknown does not automatically mean dangerous, but it provides room for imaginative creativity, which we can see through the upbeat musical numbers of Disney’s version. Instead of the ocean being dark and menacing, it is fantastical and magical, both depictions being based off of something unknown. 

This juxtaposition reminds me of the previous reading on Barnum and freak shows. Both depictions of “freak shows” lure in specific audiences but for different reasons. Back then, audiences wanted to gawk at “freaks” even if they knew deep down that it was simply a show and not real. Nowadays, children want to see their favorite Disney characters in admiration at places like Disneyland, even if some might know that they are only costumes. 

Week 8: The Actual Little Mermaid

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When reading Hans Christen Anderson’s version of the popular Little Mermaid story, it made me realize different ways people can react and decide to depict the unknown. Obviously, Anderson’s older version is much different than the modern version that Disney produced, being much darker and less fantastical. I find it interesting how before, the unknown, (the ocean and sea) was depicted as alien-like and dark, something that the main character wanted to escape from, in contrast to the land as something to be desired. According to the text, the youngest daughter has a fascination with the land, especially the sun (as said on page 109).

While this fascination with the land and sun and desire to escape from the depths of the ocean remains consistent across both versions, I find it interesting how differently both creators depict the ocean, representing the unknown. Previously, it is described as sort of alien, strange, and not something to be admired. The unknown is seen as a dark and bad thing because since so much of the ocean is and was unexplored, it was completely up to human’s minds and preexisting notions of what the depths would look like. However, in modern versions, they portray the ocean, still as unknown, however not in a negative way. Instead of it being dark and scary, it is fantastical and magical, both depictions being based off of something unknown. The unknown can either be scary and dark, or bright and whimsical. This reminded me of the previous reading on Barnum and freak shows. Both depictions lure in specific audiences but for different reasons. Back then, audiences wanted to gawk at “freaks”, nowadays children want to see their favorite Disney mermaid in admiration at places like Disneyland.

The Little Mermaid: Full Commitment. No Payoff.

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At first glance, it would be a lie to claim that one began read the story without thinking (at least subconsciously) about the Disney iteration. However what is truly surreal is the fact that the Hans Christian Anderson story of “The Little Mermaid” was truly nothing as expected in terms of tone and over all motives displayed throughout the tale. Apart from the huge disparities between the film adaptation and the tale by Anderson, there seems to be a reoccurring sense of longing for something that we as the readers, already know that it is only highlighting the positive aspects of being human without truly understanding the hardships and flaws humanity has to offer.

The claim that Anderson’s “The Little Mermaid” is a cautionary tale that showcases the attractive qualities of being a human is not only supported by moments where the characters glorify certain superficial and materialistic things, “The little mermaid swam close to the cabin window, and as often as the water lifted up, she peeped in through the transparent panes, and saw a number of well-dressed persons” (Penguins, 113). Now this is just an observation on the mermaids part and can entirely be done just out of sheer admiration for the clean and presentable appearance of the gentlemen, but it is also a telling piece of information which implies that this sort of fondness towards all things “classy” and “fancy” is natural and tailored only to humans (which is why the mermaid is so intrigued by the prince). Not only does this correlate with humans as a whole, but it also demonstrates the sacrifices women make in society as a result of marriage and motherhood which can be interpreted from the witch’s warnings, “if once you obtain a human form, you can never be a mermaid again!” (Penguins, 120). While not blatantly stated, this may very well be an allegory for dedicating ones entire life and leaving everything behind in order to seek for marriage and a relationship that is built on materialism and physical qualities. The ending (which is quite depressing) serves as an example of said sacred bonds that do not have a legitimate foundation comprised of love and understanding, rather one that is constructed by unrealistic expectations and hope which in the very end, leads the little mermaid to end up risking everything for someone that did not share the same passion.

The Little Mermaid: Under the Seas 

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The first thing to stand out to me regarding our reading of the Little Mermaid is that the ocean/the realm below is well defined and beautiful. Compared to Melusine, the natural world is beautiful, rather than neutral or worse. The comparative opaqueness—unfamiliarity—is toned down, the world underwater reflects/emulates the surface world through its architecture and flora. The Little Mermaid’s grandmother answers her curiosities about the surface world, and the denizens of the deep have relationships that exist outside of conflict or servicing surface dwellers. Some commonalities with some earlier works include a focus on royalty/people of elevated social status through the Little Mermaid’s royal lineage as well as the prince.

The Little Mermaid’s eldest sister’s recount of her observation of the surface world is an inverse of human’s admiration for the natural world, as she “gaze[d] upon the large city near the coast, where lights were shining like hundreds of stars”, finding beauty in the music, technology, and decorations of humans. 

There’s a portion lifted directly from Undine regarding the mermaid’s lack of souls and the finality of their deaths, which is a driving force behind the Little Mermaid’s desire to deal with the sea witch. It was interesting to also see non-mermaid hybrids within the story. The end of the story is noteworthy due to the presence of an alternative path to heaven, the existence of slavery in the surface world, and the option to kill the prince for what can be perceived as a slight. I feel as though this story intends to act as a mirror for which to appreciate the time in which the story occurs, reconsider the theological and philosophical approaches to dealing with the natural world as well as the non-Christian peoples under control of European and euro-descended empires and colonial systems. This may even be a story with a Unitarian world view for dealing with these new social and environmental situations.

Exposure

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In the eyes of the little mermaid we are amazing species that can “…fly across the sea upon ships, and scale mountains that towered above the clouds; and the lands they possessed— their fields and their forests— stream held away far beyond the reach of her sight.”(118) hold a much higher value in comparison to her own life. As she is saying this while herself being apart of a specie that can live up to 300 years underwater and become one with the sea. Anderson uses this part of the story to reflect on moments where one might show appreciation for the capabilities of different creatures(or people) while simultaneously downplaying our own. What we feel we are lacking in can turn into an obsessive desire that we must obtain, for only then will we be content with who we are.

The little mermaid continues this idea when discussing with her grandmother the afterlife for humans sorrowfully comparing her end of life “I would willingly give all the hundreds of years I may have to live, to be a human being but for one say, and to have the hope of sharing int he joys of the heavenly world.”(118) The yearn to have a soul—to live beyond the enclosure of the water, is strong enough to direct the little mermaid into wanting to give up the life she would have.

Comparing this to the human relationship to other creatures on the planet who live in the air, live in the water, etc., I think Anderson in this part of they story at least— shows gratitude and appreciation towards other creatures. Showing sensibility to the others that we share the land with, even if we might wish we could fly or live in the water, helps with our understanding of the environment.

To Sing? Or to Cry? The Dilemma of the Wannabe Human…

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In Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid, a young mermaid’s journey is followed by readers as she longs to become closer to humans both physically and emotionally. First off, one of the most powerful details shared to build the contrast between humans and mermaids is the display of the lacking emotional capacity of the mermaid. Specifically for the young mermaid whom the story follows, when she watches sailors perish in the waters of her fellow mermaids, she ” (feels) ready to cry; only mermaids have no tears, and therefore suffers all the more” (Andersen 110). So for the little mermaid, there is already a developing desire to become closer to feeling human emotions, even though she can’t, as she doesn’t have a soul such as a human does.

Andersen uses the absence of tears as a powerful symbol of the boundary between the human and the nonhuman. Tears, a distinctly human expression of pain and empathy, represent the capacity to externalize and release emotion. The mermaid’s inability to cry, despite her immense sorrow, captures her tragic position between two worlds; she feels with human intensity but cannot express it humanly. Her suffering is intensified precisely because she lacks this natural outlet for grief, suggesting that emotional repression is a form of silent torment.

This theme deepens as Andersen describes the mermaid’s yearning for a soul and for human love. In negotiations dealing with the witch to gain human form, the mermaid asks, “If you take away my voice, what have I left?” The witch responds, “Your lovely form” (Andersen 120). Here, the mermaid’s willingness to sacrifice her voice, her very means of expression, underscores her desperate desire to transcend the limitations of her nature. Andersen contrasts the physical silence she chooses with the emotional silence imposed by her mermaid form, suggesting that to be human is not merely to have a body, but to possess a soul capable of both feeling and expression.

Together, these moments illustrate how Andersen transforms the mermaid’s longing into a commentary on the cost of humanity. To be human, in Andersen’s world, is to be able to love, suffer, and express, even through tears. The Little Mermaid’s tragedy lies in her discovery that to gain a soul requires both sacrifice and suffering, yet it is this very suffering that makes her truly human.

The Little mermaid

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As I began reading the little mermaid the big thing I found was that living things arent just since it states “nor should it be imagined that there is nothing but bare,white,sandy ground below” and how the sea was “many church steeples deep”.I had found this introduction very interesting that the narrator is making it clear that we shouldnt have to use our imagination and just believe him that there is much below.This brings me to believe that instead of the handerson of stating that he doesnt know what lies below the ocean he said things like “the soil produces most curious trees and flowers” which makes it seem that ocean is a entire different planet compared to ours as such and tries to discourage his readers from trying to prove him wrong by saying that ocean ground is unreachable.He then proceeds to further this claim by comparing the fish as “birds that fly through trees”.I think that handerson makes the ocean floor as a different universe or different planet where the “humans” arent us but the mermaids.While we may see ourselves as the creatures that are superior the whole story could be reversed as well since it could be that the prince could be seen as the creature who has to seek to adapt to the mermaid.It makes the reader put themselve in the perspective that maybe is the situation was swapped then humans could be seen as the mermaid instead.