By
Oscar Wilde
To H.S.H. Alice, Princess
of Monaco
Every evening the young Fisherman went out upon the
sea, and threw his nets into the water.
When the wind blew from the
land he caught nothing, or but little at best, for it was a bitter and
black-winged wind, and rough waves rose up to meet it. But when the wind blew
to the shore, the fish came in from the deep, and swam into the meshes of his
nets, and he took them to the market-place and sold them.
Every evening he went out
upon the sea, and one evening the net was so heavy that hardly could he draw it
into the boat. And he laughed, and said to himself, ‘Surely I have caught all
the fish that swim, or snared some dull monster that will be a marvel to men,
or some thing of horror that the great Queen will desire,’ and putting forth
all his strength, he tugged at the coarse ropes till, like lines of blue enamel
round a vase of bronze, the long veins rose up on his arms. He tugged at the
thin ropes, and nearer and nearer came the circle of flat corks, and the net
rose at last to the top of the water.
But no fish at all was in
it, nor any monster or thing of horror, but only a little Mermaid lying fast
asleep.
Her hair was as a wet
fleece of gold, and each separate hair as a thread of fine gold in a cup of
glass. Her body was as white ivory, and her tail was of silver and pearl.
Silver and pearl was her tail, and the green weeds of the sea coiled round it;
and like sea-shells were her ears, and her lips were like sea-coral. The cold
waves dashed over her cold breasts, and the salt glistened upon her eyelids.
So beautiful was she that
when the young Fisherman saw her he was filled with wonder, and he put out his
hand and drew the net close to him, and leaning over the side he clasped her in
his arms. And when he touched her, she gave a cry like a startled sea-gull, and
woke, and looked at him in terror with her mauve-amethyst eyes, and struggled
that she might escape. But he held her tightly to him, and would not suffer her
to depart.
And when she saw that she
could in no way escape from him, she began to weep, and said, ‘I pray thee let
me go, for I am the only daughter of a King, and my father is aged and alone.’
But the young Fisherman
answered, ‘I will not let thee go save thou makest me a promise that whenever I
call thee, thou wilt come and sing to me, for the fish delight to listen to the
song of the Sea-folk, and so shall my nets be full.’
‘Wilt thou in very truth
let me go, if I promise thee this?’ cried the Mermaid.
‘In very truth I will let
thee go,’ said the young Fisherman.
So she made him the promise
he desired, and sware it by the oath of the Sea-folk. And he loosened his arms
from about her, and she sank down into the water, trembling with a strange
fear.
Every evening the young
Fisherman went out upon the sea, and called to the Mermaid, and she rose out of
the water and sang to him. Round and round her swam the dolphins, and the wild
gulls wheeled above her head.
And she sang a marvellous
song. For she sang of the Sea-folk who drive their flocks from cave to cave,
and carry the little calves on their shoulders; of the Tritons who have long
green beards, and hairy breasts, and blow through twisted conchs when the King
passes by; of the palace of the King which is all of amber, with a roof of
clear emerald, and a pavement of bright pearl; and of the gardens of the sea
where the great filigrane fans of coral wave all day long, and the fish dart
about like silver birds, and the anemones cling to the rocks, and the pinks
bourgeon in the ribbed yellow sand. She sang of the big whales that come down
from the north seas and have sharp icicles hanging to their fins; of the Sirens
who tell of such wonderful things that the merchants have to stop their ears
with wax lest they should hear them, and leap into the water and be drowned; of
the sunken galleys with their tall masts, and the frozen sailors clinging to
the rigging, and the mackerel swimming in and out of the open portholes; of the
little barnacles who are great travellers, and cling to the keels of the ships
and go round and round the world; and of the cuttlefish who live in the sides
of the cliffs and stretch out their long black arms, and can make night come
when they will it. She sang of the nautilus who has a boat of her own that is
carved out of an opal and steered with a silken sail; of the happy Mermen who
play upon harps and can charm the great Kraken to sleep; of the little children
who catch hold of the slippery porpoises and ride laughing upon their backs; of
the Mermaids who lie in the white foam and hold out their arms to the mariners;
and of the sea-lions with their curved tusks, and the sea-horses with their
floating manes.
And as she sang, all the
tunny-fish came in from the deep to listen to her, and the young Fisherman
threw his nets round them and caught them, and others he took with a spear. And
when his boat was well-laden, the Mermaid would sink down into the sea, smiling
at him.
Yet would she never come
near him that he might touch her. Oftentimes he called to her and prayed of
her, but she would not; and when he sought to seize her she dived into the
water as a seal might dive, nor did he see her again that day. And each day the
sound of her voice became sweeter to his ears. So sweet was her voice that he
forgot his nets and his cunning, and had no care of his craft. Vermilion-finned
and with eyes of bossy gold, the tunnies went by in shoals, but he heeded them
not. His spear lay by his side unused, and his baskets of plaited osier were
empty. With lips parted, and eyes dim with wonder, he sat idle in his boat and
listened, listening till the sea-mists crept round him, and the wandering moon
stained his brown limbs with silver.
And one evening he called
to her, and said: ‘Little Mermaid, little Mermaid, I love thee. Take me for thy
bridegroom, for I love thee.’
But the Mermaid shook her
head. ‘Thou hast a human soul,’ she answered. ‘If only thou wouldst send away
thy soul, then could I love thee.’
And the young Fisherman
said to himself, ‘Of what use is my soul to me? I cannot see it. I may not
touch it. I do not know it. Surely I will send it away from me, and much
gladness shall be mine.’ And a cry of joy broke from his lips, and standing up
in the painted boat, he held out his arms to the Mermaid. ‘I will send my soul
away,’ he cried, ‘and you shall be my bride, and I will be thy bridegroom, and
in the depth of the sea we will dwell together, and all that thou hast sung of
thou shalt show me, and all that thou desirest I will do, nor shall our lives
be divided.’
And the little Mermaid
laughed for pleasure and hid her face in her hands.
‘But how shall I send my
soul from me?’ cried the young Fisherman. ‘Tell me how I may do it, and lo! it
shall be done.’
‘Alas! I know not,’ said
the little Mermaid: ‘the Sea-folk have no souls.’ And she sank down into the
deep, looking wistfully at him.
Now early on the next
morning, before the sun was the span of a man’s hand above the hill, the young
Fisherman went to the house of the Priest and knocked three times at the door.
The novice looked out
through the wicket, and when he saw who it was, he drew back the latch and said
to him, ‘Enter.’
And the young Fisherman
passed in, and knelt down on the sweet-smelling rushes of the floor, and cried
to the Priest who was reading out of the Holy Book and said to him, ‘Father, I
am in love with one of the Sea-folk, and my soul hindereth me from having my
desire. Tell me how I can send my soul away from me, for in truth I have no
need of it. Of what value is my soul to me? I cannot see it. I may not touch
it. I do not know it.’
And the Priest beat his
breast, and answered, ‘Alack, alack, thou art mad, or hast eaten of some
poisonous herb, for the soul is the noblest part of man, and was given to us by
God that we should nobly use it. There is no thing more precious than a human
soul, nor any earthly thing that can be weighed with it. It is worth all the
gold that is in the world, and is more precious than the rubies of the kings.
Therefore, my son, think not any more of this matter, for it is a sin that may
not be forgiven. And as for the Sea-folk, they are lost, and they who would
traffic with them are lost also. They are as the beasts of the field that know
not good from evil, and for them the Lord has not died.’
The young Fisherman’s eyes
filled with tears when he heard the bitter words of the Priest, and he rose up
from his knees and said to him, ‘Father, the Fauns live in the forest and are
glad, and on the rocks sit the Mermen with their harps of red gold. Let me be
as they are, I beseech thee, for their days are as the days of flowers. And as
for my soul, what doth my soul profit me, if it stand between me and the thing
that I love?’
‘The love of the body is
vile,’ cried the Priest, knitting his brows, ‘and vile and evil are the pagan
things God suffers to wander through His world. Accursed be the Fauns of the
woodland, and accursed be the singers of the sea! I have heard them at
night-time, and they have sought to lure me from my beads. They tap at the
window, and laugh. They whisper into my ears the tale of their perilous joys.
They tempt me with temptations, and when I would pray they make mouths at me.
They are lost, I tell thee, they are lost. For them there is no heaven nor
hell, and in neither shall they praise God’s name.’
‘Father,’ cried the young
Fisherman, ‘thou knowest not what thou sayest. Once in my net I snared the
daughter of a King. She is fairer than the morning star, and whiter than the
moon. For her body I would give my soul, and for her love I would surrender
heaven. Tell me what I ask of thee, and let me go in peace.’
‘Away! Away!’ cried the
Priest: ‘thy leman is lost, and thou shalt be lost with her.’
And he gave him no blessing,
but drove him from his door.
And the young Fisherman
went down into the market-place, and he walked slowly, and with bowed head, as
one who is in sorrow.
And when the merchants saw
him coming, they began to whisper to each other, and one of them came forth to
meet him, and called him by name, and said to him, ‘What hast thou to sell?’
‘I will sell thee my soul,’
he answered. ‘I pray thee buy it of me, for I am weary of it. Of what use is my
soul to me? I cannot see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it.’
But the merchants mocked at
him, and said, ‘Of what use is a man’s soul to us? It is not worth a clipped
piece of silver. Sell us thy body for a slave, and we will clothe thee in
sea-purple, and put a ring upon thy finger, and make thee the minion of the
great Queen. But talk not of the soul, for to us it is nought, nor has it any
value for our service.’
And the young Fisherman
said to himself: ‘How strange a thing this is! The Priest telleth me that the
soul is worth all the gold in the world, and the merchants say that it is not
worth a clipped piece of silver.’ And he passed out of the market-place, and
went down to the shore of the sea, and began to ponder on what he should do.
And at noon he remembered
how one of his companions, who was a gatherer of samphire, had told him of a
certain young Witch who dwelt in a cave at the head of the bay and was very
cunning in her witcheries. And he set to and ran, so eager was he to get rid of
his soul, and a cloud of dust followed him as he sped round the sand of the
shore. By the itching of her palm the young Witch knew his coming, and she
laughed and let down her red hair. With her red hair falling around her, she
stood at the opening of the cave, and in her hand she had a spray of wild
hemlock that was blossoming.
‘What d’ye lack? What d’ye
lack?’ she cried, as he came panting up the steep, and bent down before her.
‘Fish for thy net, when the wind is foul? I have a little reed-pipe, and when I
blow on it the mullet come sailing into the bay. But it has a price, pretty
boy, it has a price. What d’ye lack? What d’ye lack? A storm to wreck the
ships, and wash the chests of rich treasure ashore? I have more storms than the
wind has, for I serve one who is stronger than the wind, and with a sieve and a
pail of water I can send the great galleys to the bottom of the sea. But I have
a price, pretty boy, I have a price. What d’ye lack? What d’ye lack? I know a
flower that grows in the valley, none knows it but I. It has purple leaves, and
a star in its heart, and its juice is as white as milk. Shouldst thou touch
with this flower the hard lips of the Queen, she would follow thee all over the
world. Out of the bed of the King she would rise, and over the whole world she
would follow thee. And it has a price, pretty boy, it has a price. What d’ye
lack? What d’ye lack? I can pound a toad in a mortar, and make broth of it, and
stir the broth with a dead man’s hand. Sprinkle it on thine enemy while he
sleeps, and he will turn into a black viper, and his own mother will slay him.
With a wheel I can draw the Moon from heaven, and in a crystal I can show thee
Death. What d’ye lack? What d’ye lack? Tell me thy desire, and I will give it
thee, and thou shalt pay me a price, pretty boy, thou shalt pay me a price.’
‘My desire is but for a
little thing,’ said the young Fisherman, ‘yet hath the Priest been wroth with
me, and driven me forth. It is but for a little thing, and the merchants have
mocked at me, and denied me. Therefore am I come to thee, though men call thee
evil, and whatever be thy price I shall pay it.’
‘What wouldst thou?’ asked
the Witch, coming near to him.
‘I would send my soul away
from me,’ answered the young Fisherman.
The Witch grew pale, and
shuddered, and hid her face in her blue mantle. ‘Pretty boy, pretty boy,’ she
muttered, ‘that is a terrible thing to do.’
He tossed his brown curls
and laughed. ‘My soul is nought to me,’ he answered. ‘I cannot see it. I may
not touch it. I do not know it.’
‘What wilt thou give me if
I tell thee?’ asked the Witch, looking down at him with her beautiful eyes.
‘Five pieces of gold,’ he
said, ‘and my nets, and the wattled house where I live, and the painted boat in
which I sail. Only tell me how to get rid of my soul, and I will give thee all
that I possess.’
She laughed mockingly at
him, and struck him with the spray of hemlock. ‘I can turn the autumn leaves
into gold,’ she answered, ‘and I can weave the pale moonbeams into silver if I
will it. He whom I serve is richer than all the kings of this world, and has their
dominions.’
‘What then shall I give
thee,’ he cried, ‘if thy price be neither gold nor silver?’
The Witch stroked his hair
with her thin white hand. ‘Thou must dance with me, pretty boy,’ she murmured,
and she smiled at him as she spoke.
‘Nought but that?’ cried
the young Fisherman in wonder and he rose to his feet.
‘Nought but that,’ she
answered, and she smiled at him again.
‘Then at sunset in some
secret place we shall dance together,’ he said, ‘and after that we have danced
thou shalt tell me the thing which I desire to know.’
She shook her head. ‘When
the moon is full, when the moon is full,’ she muttered. Then she peered all
round, and listened. A blue bird rose screaming from its nest and circled over
the dunes, and three spotted birds rustled through the coarse grey grass and
whistled to each other. There was no other sound save the sound of a wave
fretting the smooth pebbles below. So she reached out her hand, and drew him
near to her and put her dry lips close to his ear.
‘To-night thou must come to
the top of the mountain,’ she whispered. ‘It is a Sabbath, and He will be
there.’
The young Fisherman started
and looked at her, and she showed her white teeth and laughed. ‘Who is He of
whom thou speakest?’ he asked.
‘It matters not,’ she
answered. ‘Go thou to-night, and stand under the branches of the hornbeam, and
wait for my coming. If a black dog run towards thee, strike it with a rod of
willow, and it will go away. If an owl speak to thee, make it no answer. When
the moon is full I shall be with thee, and we will dance together on the
grass.’
‘But wilt thou swear to me
to tell me how I may send my soul from me?’ he made question.
She moved out into the
sunlight, and through her red hair rippled the wind. ‘By the hoofs of the goat
I swear it,’ she made answer.
‘Thou art the best of the
witches,’ cried the young Fisherman, ‘and I will surely dance with thee
to-night on the top of the mountain. I would indeed that thou hadst asked of me
either gold or silver. But such as thy price is thou shalt have it, for it is
but a little thing.’ And he doffed his cap to her, and bent his head low, and
ran back to the town filled with a great joy.
And the Witch watched him
as he went, and when he had passed from her sight she entered her cave, and
having taken a mirror from a box of carved cedarwood, she set it up on a frame,
and burned vervain on lighted charcoal before it, and peered through the coils
of the smoke. And after a time she clenched her hands in anger. ‘He should have
been mine,’ she muttered, ‘I am as fair as she is.’
And that evening, when the
moon had risen, the young Fisherman climbed up to the top of the mountain, and
stood under the branches of the hornbeam. Like a targe of polished metal the
round sea lay at his feet, and the shadows of the fishing-boats moved in the
little bay. A great owl, with yellow sulphurous eyes, called to him by his
name, but he made it no answer. A black dog ran towards him and snarled. He
struck it with a rod of willow, and it went away whining.
At midnight the witches
came flying through the air like bats. ‘Phew!’ they cried, as they lit upon the
ground, ‘there is some one here we know not!’ and they sniffed about, and
chattered to each other, and made signs. Last of all came the young Witch, with
her red hair streaming in the wind. She wore a dress of gold tissue embroidered
with peacocks’ eyes, and a little cap of green velvet was on her head.
‘Where is he, where is he?’
shrieked the witches when they saw her, but she only laughed, and ran to the
hornbeam, and taking the Fisherman by the hand she led him out into the
moonlight and began to dance.
Round and round they
whirled, and the young Witch jumped so high that he could see the scarlet heels
of her shoes. Then right across the dancers came the sound of the galloping of
a horse, but no horse was to be seen, and he felt afraid.
‘Faster,’ cried the Witch,
and she threw her arms about his neck, and her breath was hot upon his face.
‘Faster, faster!’ she cried, and the earth seemed to spin beneath his feet, and
his brain grew troubled, and a great terror fell on him, as of some evil thing
that was watching him, and at last he became aware that under the shadow of a
rock there was a figure that had not been there before.
It was a man dressed in a
suit of black velvet, cut in the Spanish fashion. His face was strangely pale,
but his lips were like a proud red flower. He seemed weary, and was leaning
back toying in a listless manner with the pommel of his dagger. On the grass
beside him lay a plumed hat, and a pair of riding-gloves gauntleted with gilt
lace, and sewn with seed-pearls wrought into a curious device. A short cloak
lined with sables hang from his shoulder, and his delicate white hands were
gemmed with rings. Heavy eyelids drooped over his eyes.
The young Fisherman watched
him, as one snared in a spell. At last their eyes met, and wherever he danced
it seemed to him that the eyes of the man were upon him. He heard the Witch
laugh, and caught her by the waist, and whirled her madly round and round.
Suddenly a dog bayed in the
wood, and the dancers stopped, and going up two by two, knelt down, and kissed
the man’s hands. As they did so, a little smile touched his proud lips, as a
bird’s wing touches the water and makes it laugh. But there was disdain in it.
He kept looking at the young Fisherman.
‘Come! let us worship,’
whispered the Witch, and she led him up, and a great desire to do as she
besought him seized on him, and he followed her. But when he came close, and
without knowing why he did it, he made on his breast the sign of the Cross, and
called upon the holy name.
No sooner had he done so
than the witches screamed like hawks and flew away, and the pallid face that
had been watching him twitched with a spasm of pain. The man went over to a
little wood, and whistled. A jennet with silver trappings came running to meet
him. As he leapt upon the saddle he turned round, and looked at the young
Fisherman sadly.
And the Witch with the red
hair tried to fly away also, but the Fisherman caught her by her wrists, and
held her fast.
‘Loose me,’ she cried, ‘and
let me go. For thou hast named what should not be named, and shown the sign
that may not be looked at.’
‘Nay,’ he answered, ‘but I
will not let thee go till thou hast told me the secret.’
‘What secret?’ said the
Witch, wrestling with him like a wild cat, and biting her foam-flecked lips.
‘Thou knowest,’ he made
answer.
Her grass-green eyes grew
dim with tears, and she said to the Fisherman, ‘Ask me anything but that!’
He laughed, and held her
all the more tightly.
And when she saw that she
could not free herself, she whispered to him, ‘Surely I am as fair as the
daughters of the sea, and as comely as those that dwell in the blue waters,’
and she fawned on him and put her face close to his.
But he thrust her back
frowning, and said to her, ‘If thou keepest not the promise that thou madest to
me I will slay thee for a false witch.’
She grew grey as a blossom
of the Judas tree, and shuddered. ‘Be it so,’ she muttered. ‘It is thy soul and
not mine. Do with it as thou wilt.’ And she took from her girdle a little knife
that had a handle of green viper’s skin, and gave it to him.
‘What shall this serve me?’
he asked of her, wondering.
She was silent for a few
moments, and a look of terror came over her face. Then she brushed her hair
back from her forehead, and smiling strangely she said to him, ‘What men call
the shadow of the body is not the shadow of the body, but is the body of the
soul. Stand on the sea-shore with thy back to the moon, and cut away from
around thy feet thy shadow, which is thy soul’s body, and bid thy soul leave
thee, and it will do so.’
The young Fisherman
trembled. ‘Is this true?’ he murmured.
‘It is true, and I would
that I had not told thee of it,’ she cried, and she clung to his knees weeping.
He put her from him and
left her in the rank grass, and going to the edge of the mountain he placed the
knife in his belt and began to climb down.
And his Soul that was
within him called out to him and said, ‘Lo! I have dwelt with thee for all
these years, and have been thy servant. Send me not away from thee now, for
what evil have I done thee?’
And the young Fisherman
laughed. ‘Thou hast done me no evil, but I have no need of thee,’ he answered.
‘The world is wide, and there is Heaven also, and Hell, and that dim twilight
house that lies between. Go wherever thou wilt, but trouble me not, for my love
is calling to me.’
And his Soul besought him
piteously, but he heeded it not, but leapt from crag to crag, being sure-footed
as a wild goat, and at last he reached the level ground and the yellow shore of
the sea.
Bronze-limbed and well-knit,
like a statue wrought by a Grecian, he stood on the sand with his back to the
moon, and out of the foam came white arms that beckoned to him, and out of the
waves rose dim forms that did him homage. Before him lay his shadow, which was
the body of his soul, and behind him hung the moon in the honey-coloured air.
And his Soul said to him,
‘If indeed thou must drive me from thee, send me not forth without a heart. The
world is cruel, give me thy heart to take with me.’
He tossed his head and
smiled. ‘With what should I love my love if I gave thee my heart?’ he cried.
‘Nay, but be merciful,’
said his Soul: ‘give me thy heart, for the world is very cruel, and I am
afraid.’
‘My heart is my love’s,’ he
answered, ‘therefore tarry not, but get thee gone.’
‘Should I not love also?’
asked his Soul.
‘Get thee gone, for I have
no need of thee,’ cried the young Fisherman, and he took the little knife with
its handle of green viper’s skin, and cut away his shadow from around his feet,
and it rose up and stood before him, and looked at him, and it was even as
himself.
He crept back, and thrust
the knife into his belt, and a feeling of awe came over him. ‘Get thee gone,’
he murmured, ‘and let me see thy face no more.’
‘Nay, but we must meet
again,’ said the Soul. Its voice was low and flute-like, and its lips hardly
moved while it spake.
‘How shall we meet?’ cried
the young Fisherman. ‘Thou wilt not follow me into the depths of the sea?’
‘Once every year I will
come to this place, and call to thee,’ said the Soul. ‘It may be that thou wilt
have need of me.’
‘What need should I have of
thee?’ cried the young Fisherman, ‘but be it as thou wilt,’ and he plunged into
the waters and the Tritons blew their horns and the little Mermaid rose up to
meet him, and put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth.
And the Soul stood on the
lonely beach and watched them. And when they had sunk down into the sea, it
went weeping away over the marshes.
And after a year was over
the Soul came down to the shore of the sea and called to the young Fisherman,
and he rose out of the deep, and said, ‘Why dost thou call to me?’
And the Soul answered,
‘Come nearer, that I may speak with thee, for I have seen marvellous things.’
So he came nearer, and couched
in the shallow water, and leaned his head upon his hand and listened.
And the Soul said to him,
‘When I left thee I turned my face to the East and journeyed. From the East
cometh everything that is wise. Six days I journeyed, and on the morning of the
seventh day I came to a hill that is in the country of the Tartars. I sat down
under the shade of a tamarisk tree to shelter myself from the sun. The land was
dry and burnt up with the heat. The people went to and fro over the plain like
flies crawling upon a disk of polished copper.
‘When it was noon a cloud
of red dust rose up from the flat rim of the land. When the Tartars saw it,
they strung their painted bows, and having leapt upon their little horses they
galloped to meet it. The women fled screaming to the waggons, and hid
themselves behind the felt curtains.
‘At twilight the Tartars
returned, but five of them were missing, and of those that came back not a few
had been wounded. They harnessed their horses to the waggons and drove hastily
away. Three jackals came out of a cave and peered after them. Then they sniffed
up the air with their nostrils, and trotted off in the opposite direction.
‘When the moon rose I saw a
camp-fire burning on the plain, and went towards it. A company of merchants
were seated round it on carpets. Their camels were picketed behind them, and
the negroes who were their servants were pitching tents of tanned skin upon the
sand, and making a high wall of the prickly pear.
‘As I came near them, the
chief of the merchants rose up and drew his sword, and asked me my business.
‘I answered that I was a
Prince in my own land, and that I had escaped from the Tartars, who had sought
to make me their slave. The chief smiled, and showed me five heads fixed upon
long reeds of bamboo.
‘Then he asked me who was
the prophet of God, and I answered him Mohammed.
‘When he heard the name of
the false prophet, he bowed and took me by the hand, and placed me by his side.
A negro brought me some mare’s milk in a wooden dish, and a piece of lamb’s flesh
roasted.
‘At daybreak we started on
our journey. I rode on a red-haired camel by the side of the chief, and a
runner ran before us carrying a spear. The men of war were on either hand, and
the mules followed with the merchandise. There were forty camels in the
caravan, and the mules were twice forty in number.
‘We went from the country
of the Tartars into the country of those who curse the Moon. We saw the
Gryphons guarding their gold on the white rocks, and the scaled Dragons
sleeping in their caves. As we passed over the mountains we held our breath
lest the snows might fall on us, and each man tied a veil of gauze before his
eyes. As we passed through the valleys the Pygmies shot arrows at us from the
hollows of the trees, and at night-time we heard the wild men beating on their
drums. When we came to the Tower of Apes we set fruits before them, and they
did not harm us. When we came to the Tower of Serpents we gave them warm milk
in howls of brass, and they let us go by. Three times in our journey we came to
the banks of the Oxus. We crossed it on rafts of wood with great bladders of
blown hide. The river-horses raged against us and sought to slay us. When the
camels saw them they trembled.
‘The kings of each city
levied tolls on us, but would not suffer us to enter their gates. They threw us
bread over the walls, little maize-cakes baked in honey and cakes of fine flour
filled with dates. For every hundred baskets we gave them a bead of amber.
‘When the dwellers in the
villages saw us coming, they poisoned the wells and fled to the hill-summits.
We fought with the Magadae who are born old, and grow younger and younger every
year, and die when they are little children; and with the Laktroi who say that
they are the sons of tigers, and paint themselves yellow and black; and with
the Aurantes who bury their dead on the tops of trees, and themselves live in
dark caverns lest the Sun, who is their god, should slay them; and with the
Krimnians who worship a crocodile, and give it earrings of green glass, and
feed it with butter and fresh fowls; and with the Agazonbae, who are dog-faced;
and with the Sibans, who have horses’ feet, and run more swiftly than horses. A
third of our company died in battle, and a third died of want. The rest
murmured against me, and said that I had brought them an evil fortune. I took a
horned adder from beneath a stone and let it sting me. When they saw that I did
not sicken they grew afraid.
‘In the fourth month we
reached the city of Illel. It was night-time when we came to the grove that is
outside the walls, and the air was sultry, for the Moon was travelling in
Scorpion. We took the ripe pomegranates from the trees, and brake them, and
drank their sweet juices. Then we lay down on our carpets, and waited for the
dawn.
‘And at dawn we rose and
knocked at the gate of the city. It was wrought out of red bronze, and carved
with sea-dragons and dragons that have wings. The guards looked down from the
battlements and asked us our business. The interpreter of the caravan answered
that we had come from the island of Syria with much merchandise. They took
hostages, and told us that they would open the gate to us at noon, and bade us
tarry till then.
‘When it was noon they
opened the gate, and as we entered in the people came crowding out of the
houses to look at us, and a crier went round the city crying through a shell.
We stood in the market-place, and the negroes uncorded the bales of figured
cloths and opened the carved chests of sycamore. And when they had ended their
task, the merchants set forth their strange wares, the waxed linen from Egypt
and the painted linen from the country of the Ethiops, the purple sponges from
Tyre and the blue hangings from Sidon, the cups of cold amber and the fine
vessels of glass and the curious vessels of burnt clay. From the roof of a
house a company of women watched us. One of them wore a mask of gilded leather.
‘And on the first day the
priests came and bartered with us, and on the second day came the nobles, and
on the third day came the craftsmen and the slaves. And this is their custom
with all merchants as long as they tarry in the city.
‘And we tarried for a moon,
and when the moon was waning, I wearied and wandered away through the streets
of the city and came to the garden of its god. The priests in their yellow
robes moved silently through the green trees, and on a pavement of black marble
stood the rose-red house in which the god had his dwelling. Its doors were of
powdered lacquer, and bulls and peacocks were wrought on them in raised and
polished gold. The tilted roof was of sea-green porcelain, and the jutting
eaves were festooned with little bells. When the white doves flew past, they
struck the bells with their wings and made them tinkle.
‘In front of the temple was
a pool of clear water paved with veined onyx. I lay down beside it, and with my
pale fingers I touched the broad leaves. One of the priests came towards me and
stood behind me. He had sandals on his feet, one of soft serpent-skin and the
other of birds’ plumage. On his head was a mitre of black felt decorated with
silver crescents. Seven yellows were woven into his robe, and his frizzed hair
was stained with antimony.
‘After a little while he
spake to me, and asked me my desire.
‘I told him that my desire
was to see the god.
‘“The god is hunting,” said
the priest, looking strangely at me with his small slanting eyes.
‘“Tell me in what forest,
and I will ride with him,” I answered.
‘He combed out the soft
fringes of his tunic with his long pointed nails. “The god is asleep,” he
murmured.
‘“Tell me on what couch,
and I will watch by him,” I answered.
‘“The god is at the feast,”
he cried.
‘“If the wine be sweet I
will drink it with him, and if it be bitter I will drink it with him also,” was
my answer.
‘He bowed his head in
wonder, and, taking me by the hand, he raised me up, and led me into the
temple.
‘And in the first chamber I
saw an idol seated on a throne of jasper bordered with great orient pearls. It
was carved out of ebony, and in stature was of the stature of a man. On its
forehead was a ruby, and thick oil dripped from its hair on to its thighs. Its
feet were red with the blood of a newly-slain kid, and its loins girt with a
copper belt that was studded with seven beryls.
‘And I said to the priest,
“Is this the god?” And he answered me, “This is the god.”
‘“Show me the god,” I
cried, “or I will surely slay thee.” And I touched his hand, and it became
withered.
‘And the priest besought
me, saying, “Let my lord heal his servant, and I will show him the god.”
‘So I breathed with my
breath upon his hand, and it became whole again, and he trembled and led me
into the second chamber, and I saw an idol standing on a lotus of jade hung
with great emeralds. It was carved out of ivory, and in stature was twice the
stature of a man. On its forehead was a chrysolite, and its breasts were
smeared with myrrh and cinnamon. In one hand it held a crooked sceptre of jade,
and in the other a round crystal. It ware buskins of brass, and its thick neck
was circled with a circle of selenites.
‘And I said to the priest,
“Is this the god?”
‘And he answered me, “This
is the god.”
‘“Show me the god,” I
cried, “or I will surely slay thee.” And I touched his eyes, and they became
blind.
‘And the priest besought
me, saying, “Let my lord heal his servant, and I will show him the god.”
‘So I breathed with my
breath upon his eyes, and the sight came back to them, and he trembled again,
and led me into the third chamber, and lo! there was no idol in it, nor image
of any kind, but only a mirror of round metal set on an altar of stone.
‘And I said to the priest,
“Where is the god?”
‘And he answered me: “There
is no god but this mirror that thou seest, for this is the Mirror of Wisdom.
And it reflecteth all things that are in heaven and on earth, save only the
face of him who looketh into it. This it reflecteth not, so that he who looketh
into it may be wise. Many other mirrors are there, but they are mirrors of
Opinion. This only is the Mirror of Wisdom. And they who possess this mirror
know everything, nor is there anything hidden from them. And they who possess
it not have not Wisdom. Therefore is it the god, and we worship it.” And I
looked into the mirror, and it was even as he had said to me.
‘And I did a strange thing,
but what I did matters not, for in a valley that is but a day’s journey from
this place have I hidden the Mirror of Wisdom. Do but suffer me to enter into
thee again and be thy servant, and thou shalt be wiser than all the wise men,
and Wisdom shall be thine. Suffer me to enter into thee, and none will be as
wise as thou.’
But the young Fisherman
laughed. ‘Love is better than Wisdom,’ he cried, ‘and the little Mermaid loves
me.’
‘Nay, but there is nothing better than Wisdom,’ said
the Soul.
‘Love is better,’ answered
the young Fisherman, and he plunged into the deep, and the Soul went weeping
away over the marshes.
And after the second year
was over, the Soul came down to the shore of the sea, and called to the young
Fisherman, and he rose out of the deep and said, ‘Why dost thou call to me?’
And the Soul answered,
‘Come nearer, that I may speak with thee, for I have seen marvellous things.’
So he came nearer, and
couched in the shallow water, and leaned his head upon his hand and listened.
And the Soul said to him,
‘When I left thee, I turned my face to the South and journeyed. From the South
cometh everything that is precious. Six days I journeyed along the highways
that lead to the city of Ashter, along the dusty red-dyed highways by which the
pilgrims are wont to go did I journey, and on the morning of the seventh day I
lifted up my eyes, and lo! the city lay at my feet, for it is in a valley.
‘There are nine gates to
this city, and in front of each gate stands a bronze horse that neighs when the
Bedouins come down from the mountains. The walls are cased with copper, and the
watch-towers on the walls are roofed with brass. In every tower stands an
archer with a bow in his hand. At sunrise he strikes with an arrow on a gong,
and at sunset he blows through a horn of horn.
‘When I sought to enter,
the guards stopped me and asked of me who I was. I made answer that I was a
Dervish and on my way to the city of Mecca, where there was a green veil on
which the Koran was embroidered in silver letters by the hands of the angels.
They were filled with wonder, and entreated me to pass in.
‘Inside it is even as a
bazaar. Surely thou shouldst have been with me. Across the narrow streets the
gay lanterns of paper flutter like large butterflies. When the wind blows over
the roofs they rise and fall as painted bubbles do. In front of their booths
sit the merchants on silken carpets. They have straight black beards, and their
turbans are covered with golden sequins, and long strings of amber and carved
peach-stones glide through their cool fingers. Some of them sell galbanum and
nard, and curious perfumes from the islands of the Indian Sea, and the thick
oil of red roses, and myrrh and little nail-shaped cloves. When one stops to
speak to them, they throw pinches of frankincense upon a charcoal brazier and
make the air sweet. I saw a Syrian who held in his hands a thin rod like a
reed. Grey threads of smoke came from it, and its odour as it burned was as the
odour of the pink almond in spring. Others sell silver bracelets embossed all
over with creamy blue turquoise stones, and anklets of brass wire fringed with
little pearls, and tigers’ claws set in gold, and the claws of that gilt cat,
the leopard, set in gold also, and earrings of pierced emerald, and finger-rings
of hollowed jade. From the tea-houses comes the sound of the guitar, and the
opium-smokers with their white smiling faces look out at the passers-by.
‘Of a truth thou shouldst
have been with me. The wine-sellers elbow their way through the crowd with
great black skins on their shoulders. Most of them sell the wine of Schiraz,
which is as sweet as honey. They serve it in little metal cups and strew rose
leaves upon it. In the market-place stand the fruitsellers, who sell all kinds
of fruit: ripe figs, with their bruised purple flesh, melons, smelling of musk
and yellow as topazes, citrons and rose-apples and clusters of white grapes,
round red-gold oranges, and oval lemons of green gold. Once I saw an elephant
go by. Its trunk was painted with vermilion and turmeric, and over its ears it
had a net of crimson silk cord. It stopped opposite one of the booths and began
eating the oranges, and the man only laughed. Thou canst not think how strange
a people they are. When they are glad they go to the bird-sellers and buy of
them a caged bird, and set it free that their joy may be greater, and when they
are sad they scourge themselves with thorns that their sorrow may not grow
less.
‘One evening I met some
negroes carrying a heavy palanquin through the bazaar. It was made of gilded
bamboo, and the poles were of vermilion lacquer studded with brass peacocks.
Across the windows hung thin curtains of muslin embroidered with beetles’ wings
and with tiny seed-pearls, and as it passed by a pale-faced Circassian looked
out and smiled at me. I followed behind, and the negroes hurried their steps
and scowled. But I did not care. I felt a great curiosity come over me.
‘At last they stopped at a
square white house. There were no windows to it, only a little door like the door
of a tomb. They set down the palanquin and knocked three times with a copper
hammer. An Armenian in a caftan of green leather peered through the wicket, and
when he saw them he opened, and spread a carpet on the ground, and the woman
stepped out. As she went in, she turned round and smiled at me again. I had
never seen any one so pale.
‘When the moon rose I
returned to the same place and sought for the house, but it was no longer
there. When I saw that, I knew who the woman was, and wherefore she had smiled
at me.
‘Certainly thou shouldst
have been with me. On the feast of the New Moon the young Emperor came forth
from his palace and went into the mosque to pray. His hair and beard were dyed
with rose-leaves, and his cheeks were powdered with a fine gold dust. The palms
of his feet and hands were yellow with saffron.
‘At sunrise he went forth
from his palace in a robe of silver, and at sunset he returned to it again in a
robe of gold. The people flung themselves on the ground and hid their faces,
but I would not do so. I stood by the stall of a seller of dates and waited.
When the Emperor saw me, he raised his painted eyebrows and stopped. I stood
quite still, and made him no obeisance. The people marvelled at my boldness,
and counselled me to flee from the city. I paid no heed to them, but went and
sat with the sellers of strange gods, who by reason of their craft are
abominated. When I told them what I had done, each of them gave me a god and
prayed me to leave them.
‘That night, as I lay on a
cushion in the tea-house that is in the Street of Pomegranates, the guards of
the Emperor entered and led me to the palace. As I went in they closed each
door behind me, and put a chain across it. Inside was a great court with an
arcade running all round. The walls were of white alabaster, set here and there
with blue and green tiles. The pillars were of green marble, and the pavement
of a kind of peach-blossom marble. I had never seen anything like it before.
‘As I passed across the
court two veiled women looked down from a balcony and cursed me. The guards
hastened on, and the butts of the lances rang upon the polished floor. They
opened a gate of wrought ivory, and I found myself in a watered garden of seven
terraces. It was planted with tulip-cups and moonflowers, and silver-studded
aloes. Like a slim reed of crystal a fountain hung in the dusky air. The
cypress-trees were like burnt-out torches. From one of them a nightingale was
singing.
‘At the end of the garden
stood a little pavilion. As we approached it two eunuchs came out to meet us.
Their fat bodies swayed as they walked, and they glanced curiously at me with
their yellow-lidded eyes. One of them drew aside the captain of the guard, and
in a low voice whispered to him. The other kept munching scented pastilles,
which he took with an affected gesture out of an oval box of lilac enamel.
‘After a few moments the
captain of the guard dismissed the soldiers. They went back to the palace, the
eunuchs following slowly behind and plucking the sweet mulberries from the
trees as they passed. Once the elder of the two turned round, and smiled at me
with an evil smile.
‘Then the captain of the
guard motioned me towards the entrance of the pavilion. I walked on without
trembling, and drawing the heavy curtain aside I entered in.
‘The young Emperor was
stretched on a couch of dyed lion skins, and a gerfalcon perched upon his
wrist. Behind him stood a brass-turbaned Nubian, naked down to the waist, and
with heavy earrings in his split ears. On a table by the side of the couch lay a
mighty scimitar of steel.
‘When the Emperor saw me he
frowned, and said to me, “What is thy name? Knowest thou not that I am Emperor
of this city?” But I made him no answer.
‘He pointed with his finger
at the scimitar, and the Nubian seized it, and rushing forward struck at me
with great violence. The blade whizzed through me, and did me no hurt. The man
fell sprawling on the floor, and when he rose up his teeth chattered with
terror and he hid himself behind the couch.
‘The Emperor leapt to his
feet, and taking a lance from a stand of arms, he threw it at me. I caught it
in its flight, and brake the shaft into two pieces. He shot at me with an
arrow, but I held up my hands and it stopped in mid-air. Then he drew a dagger
from a belt of white leather, and stabbed the Nubian in the throat lest the
slave should tell of his dishonour. The man writhed like a trampled snake, and
a red foam bubbled from his lips.
‘As soon as he was dead the
Emperor turned to me, and when he had wiped away the bright sweat from his brow
with a little napkin of purfled and purple silk, he said to me, “Art thou a
prophet, that I may not harm thee, or the son of a prophet, that I can do thee
no hurt? I pray thee leave my city to-night, for while thou art in it I am no
longer its lord.”
‘And I answered him, “I
will go for half of thy treasure. Give me half of thy treasure, and I will go
away.”
‘He took me by the hand,
and led me out into the garden. When the captain of the guard saw me, he
wondered. When the eunuchs saw me, their knees shook and they fell upon the
ground in fear.
‘There is a chamber in the
palace that has eight walls of red porphyry, and a brass-sealed ceiling hung
with lamps. The Emperor touched one of the walls and it opened, and we passed
down a corridor that was lit with many torches. In niches upon each side stood
great wine-jars filled to the brim with silver pieces. When we reached the
centre of the corridor the Emperor spake the word that may not be spoken, and a
granite door swung back on a secret spring, and he put his hands before his
face lest his eyes should be dazzled.
‘Thou couldst not believe
how marvellous a place it was. There were huge tortoise-shells full of pearls,
and hollowed moonstones of great size piled up with red rubies. The gold was
stored in coffers of elephant-hide, and the gold-dust in leather bottles. There
were opals and sapphires, the former in cups of crystal, and the latter in cups
of jade. Round green emeralds were ranged in order upon thin plates of ivory,
and in one corner were silk bags filled, some with turquoise-stones, and others
with beryls. The ivory horns were heaped with purple amethysts, and the horns
of brass with chalcedonies and sards. The pillars, which were of cedar, were
hung with strings of yellow lynx-stones. In the flat oval shields there were
carbuncles, both wine-coloured and coloured like grass. And yet I have told
thee but a tithe of what was there.
‘And when the Emperor had
taken away his hands from before his face he said to me: “This is my house of
treasure, and half that is in it is thine, even as I promised to thee. And I
will give thee camels and camel drivers, and they shall do thy bidding and take
thy share of the treasure to whatever part of the world thou desirest to go.
And the thing shall be done to-night, for I would not that the Sun, who is my
father, should see that there is in my city a man whom I cannot slay.”
‘But I answered him, “The
gold that is here is thine, and the silver also is thine, and thine are the
precious jewels and the things of price. As for me, I have no need of these.
Nor shall I take aught from thee but that little ring that thou wearest on the
finger of thy hand.”
‘And the Emperor frowned.
“It is but a ring of lead,” he cried, “nor has it any value. Therefore take thy
half of the treasure and go from my city.”
‘“Nay,” I answered, “but I
will take nought but that leaden ring, for I know what is written within it,
and for what purpose.”
‘And the Emperor trembled,
and besought me and said, “Take all the treasure and go from my city. The half
that is mine shall be thine also.”
‘And I did a strange thing,
but what I did matters not, for in a cave that is but a day’s journey from this
place have, I hidden the Ring of Riches. It is but a day’s journey from this
place, and it waits for thy coming. He who has this Ring is richer than all the
kings of the world. Come therefore and take it, and the world’s riches shall be
thine.’
But the young Fisherman
laughed. ‘Love is better than Riches,’ he cried, ‘and the little Mermaid loves
me.’
‘Nay, but there is nothing
better than Riches,’ said the Soul.
‘Love is better,’ answered
the young Fisherman, and he plunged into the deep, and the Soul went weeping
away over the marshes.
And after the third year
was over, the Soul came down to the shore of the sea, and called to the young
Fisherman, and he rose out of the deep and said, ‘Why dost thou call to me?’
And the Soul answered,
‘Come nearer, that I may speak with thee, for I have seen marvellous things.’
So he came nearer, and
couched in the shallow water, and leaned his head upon his hand and listened.
And the Soul said to him,
‘In a city that I know of there is an inn that standeth by a river. I sat there
with sailors who drank of two different-coloured wines, and ate bread made of
barley, and little salt fish served in bay leaves with vinegar. And as we sat
and made merry, there entered to us an old man bearing a leathern carpet and a
lute that had two horns of amber. And when he had laid out the carpet on the
floor, he struck with a quill on the wire strings of his lute, and a girl whose
face was veiled ran in and began to dance before us. Her face was veiled with a
veil of gauze, but her feet were naked. Naked were her feet, and they moved
over the carpet like little white pigeons. Never have I seen anything so
marvellous; and the city in which she dances is but a day’s journey from this
place.’
Now when the young
Fisherman heard the words of his Soul, he remembered that the little Mermaid
had no feet and could not dance. And a great desire came over him, and he said
to himself, ‘It is but a day’s journey, and I can return to my love,’ and he
laughed, and stood up in the shallow water, and strode towards the shore.
And when he had reached the
dry shore he laughed again, and held out his arms to his Soul. And his Soul
gave a great cry of joy and ran to meet him, and entered into him, and the
young Fisherman saw stretched before him upon the sand that shadow of the body
that is the body of the Soul.
And his Soul said to him,
‘Let us not tarry, but get hence at once, for the Sea-gods are jealous, and
have monsters that do their bidding.’
So they made haste, and all
that night they journeyed beneath the moon, and all the next day they journeyed
beneath the sun, and on the evening of the day they came to a city.
And the young Fisherman
said to his Soul, ‘Is this the city in which she dances of whom thou didst
speak to me?’
And his Soul answered him,
‘It is not this city, but another. Nevertheless let us enter in.’ So they
entered in and passed through the streets, and as they passed through the
Street of the Jewellers the young Fisherman saw a fair silver cup set forth in
a booth. And his Soul said to him, ‘Take that silver cup and hide it.’
So he took the cup and hid
it in the fold of his tunic, and they went hurriedly out of the city.
And after that they had
gone a league from the city, the young Fisherman frowned, and flung the cup
away, and said to his Soul, ‘Why didst thou tell me to take this cup and hide
it, for it was an evil thing to do?’
But his Soul answered him,
‘Be at peace, be at peace.’
And on the evening of the
second day they came to a city, and the young Fisherman said to his Soul, ‘Is
this the city in which she dances of whom thou didst speak to me?’
And his Soul answered him,
‘It is not this city, but another. Nevertheless let us enter in.’ So they
entered in and passed through the streets, and as they passed through the
Street of the Sellers of Sandals, the young Fisherman saw a child standing by a
jar of water. And his Soul said to him, ‘Smite that child.’ So he smote the
child till it wept, and when he had done this they went hurriedly out of the
city.
And after that they had
gone a league from the city the young Fisherman grew wroth, and said to his
Soul, ‘Why didst thou tell me to smite the child, for it was an evil thing to
do?’
But his Soul answered him,
‘Be at peace, be at peace.’
And on the evening of the
third day they came to a city, and the young Fisherman said to his Soul, ‘Is
this the city in which she dances of whom thou didst speak to me?’
And his Soul answered him,
‘It may be that it is in this city, therefore let us enter in.’
So they entered in and
passed through the streets, but nowhere could the young Fisherman find the
river or the inn that stood by its side. And the people of the city looked
curiously at him, and he grew afraid and said to his Soul, ‘Let us go hence,
for she who dances with white feet is not here.’
But his Soul answered,
‘Nay, but let us tarry, for the night is dark and there will be robbers on the
way.’
So he sat him down in the
market-place and rested, and after a time there went by a hooded merchant who
had a cloak of cloth of Tartary, and bare a lantern of pierced horn at the end
of a jointed reed. And the merchant said to him, ‘Why dost thou sit in the
market-place, seeing that the booths are closed and the bales corded?’
And the young Fisherman
answered him, ‘I can find no inn in this city, nor have I any kinsman who might
give me shelter.’
‘Are we not all kinsmen?’
said the merchant. ‘And did not one God make us? Therefore come with me, for I
have a guest-chamber.’
So the young Fisherman rose
up and followed the merchant to his house. And when he had passed through a
garden of pomegranates and entered into the house, the merchant brought him
rose-water in a copper dish that he might wash his hands, and ripe melons that
he might quench his thirst, and set a bowl of rice and a piece of roasted kid
before him.
And after that he had
finished, the merchant led him to the guest-chamber, and bade him sleep and be
at rest. And the young Fisherman gave him thanks, and kissed the ring that was
on his hand, and flung himself down on the carpets of dyed goat’s-hair. And
when he had covered himself with a covering of black lamb’s-wool he fell
asleep.
And three hours before
dawn, and while it was still night, his Soul waked him and said to him, ‘Rise
up and go to the room of the merchant, even to the room in which he sleepeth,
and slay him, and take from him his gold, for we have need of it.’
And the young Fisherman
rose up and crept towards the room of the merchant, and over the feet of the
merchant there was lying a curved sword, and the tray by the side of the
merchant held nine purses of gold. And he reached out his hand and touched the
sword, and when he touched it the merchant started and awoke, and leaping up
seized himself the sword and cried to the young Fisherman, ‘Dost thou return
evil for good, and pay with the shedding of blood for the kindness that I have
shown thee?’
And his Soul said to the
young Fisherman, ‘Strike him,’ and he struck him so that he swooned and he
seized then the nine purses of gold, and fled hastily through the garden of
pomegranates, and set his face to the star that is the star of morning.
And when they had gone a
league from the city, the young Fisherman beat his breast, and said to his
Soul, ‘Why didst thou bid me slay the merchant and take his gold? Surely thou
art evil.’
But his Soul answered him,
‘Be at peace, be at peace.’
‘Nay,’ cried the young
Fisherman, ‘I may not be at peace, for all that thou hast made me to do I hate.
Thee also I hate, and I bid thee tell me wherefore thou hast wrought with me in
this wise.’
And his Soul answered him,
‘When thou didst send me forth into the world thou gavest me no heart, so I
learned to do all these things and love them.’
‘What sayest thou?’
murmured the young Fisherman.
‘Thou knowest,’ answered
his Soul, ‘thou knowest it well. Hast thou forgotten that thou gavest me no
heart? I trow not. And so trouble not thyself nor me, but be at peace, for
there is no pain that thou shalt not give away, nor any pleasure that thou shalt
not receive.’
And when the young
Fisherman heard these words he trembled and said to his Soul, ‘Nay, but thou
art evil, and hast made me forget my love, and hast tempted me with
temptations, and hast set my feet in the ways of sin.’
And his Soul answered him,
‘Thou hast not forgotten that when thou didst send me forth into the world thou
gavest me no heart. Come, let us go to another city, and make merry, for we
have nine purses of gold.’
But the young Fisherman
took the nine purses of gold, and flung them down, and trampled on them.
‘Nay,’ he cried, ‘but I
will have nought to do with thee, nor will I journey with thee anywhere, but
even as I sent thee away before, so will I send thee away now, for thou hast
wrought me no good.’ And he turned his back to the moon, and with the little
knife that had the handle of green viper’s skin he strove to cut from his feet
that shadow of the body which is the body of the Soul.
Yet his Soul stirred not
from him, nor paid heed to his command, but said to him, ‘The spell that the
Witch told thee avails thee no more, for I may not leave thee, nor mayest thou
drive me forth. Once in his life may a man send his Soul away, but he who
receiveth back his Soul must keep it with him for ever, and this is his
punishment and his reward.’
And the young Fisherman
grew pale and clenched his hands and cried, ‘She was a false Witch in that she
told me not that.’
‘Nay,’ answered his Soul,
‘but she was true to Him she worships, and whose servant she will be ever.’
And when the young Fisherman
knew that he could no longer get rid of his Soul, and that it was an evil Soul
and would abide with him always, he fell upon the ground weeping bitterly.
And when it was day the
young Fisherman rose up and said to his Soul, ‘I will bind my hands that I may
not do thy bidding, and close my lips that I may not speak thy words, and I
will return to the place where she whom I love has her dwelling. Even to the
sea will I return, and to the little bay where she is wont to sing, and I will
call to her and tell her the evil I have done and the evil thou hast wrought on
me.’
And his Soul tempted him
and said, ‘Who is thy love, that thou shouldst return to her? The world has
many fairer than she is. There are the dancing-girls of Samaris who dance in
the manner of all kinds of birds and beasts. Their feet are painted with henna,
and in their hands they have little copper bells. They laugh while they dance,
and their laughter is as clear as the laughter of water. Come with me and I
will show them to thee. For what is this trouble of thine about the things of
sin? Is that which is pleasant to eat not made for the eater? Is there poison
in that which is sweet to drink? Trouble not thyself, but come with me to
another city. There is a little city hard by in which there is a garden of
tulip-trees. And there dwell in this comely garden white peacocks and peacocks
that have blue breasts. Their tails when they spread them to the sun are like
disks of ivory and like gilt disks. And she who feeds them dances for their
pleasure, and sometimes she dances on her hands and at other times she dances
with her feet. Her eyes are coloured with stibium, and her nostrils are shaped
like the wings of a swallow. From a hook in one of her nostrils hangs a flower
that is carved out of a pearl. She laughs while she dances, and the silver
rings that are about her ankles tinkle like bells of silver. And so trouble not
thyself any more, but come with me to this city.’
But the young Fisherman
answered not his Soul, but closed his lips with the seal of silence and with a
tight cord bound his hands, and journeyed back to the place from which he had
come, even to the little bay where his love had been wont to sing. And ever did
his Soul tempt him by the way, but he made it no answer, nor would he do any of
the wickedness that it sought to make him to do, so great was the power of the
love that was within him.
And when he had reached the
shore of the sea, he loosed the cord from his hands, and took the seal of
silence from his lips, and called to the little Mermaid. But she came not to
his call, though he called to her all day long and besought her.
And his Soul mocked him and
said, ‘Surely thou hast but little joy out of thy love. Thou art as one who in
time of death pours water into a broken vessel. Thou givest away what thou
hast, and nought is given to thee in return. It were better for thee to come
with me, for I know where the Valley of Pleasure lies, and what things are
wrought there.’
But the young Fisherman
answered not his Soul, but in a cleft of the rock he built himself a house of
wattles, and abode there for the space of a year. And every morning he called
to the Mermaid, and every noon he called to her again, and at night-time he
spake her name. Yet never did she rise out of the sea to meet him, nor in any
place of the sea could he find her though he sought for her in the caves and in
the green water, in the pools of the tide and in the wells that are at the
bottom of the deep.
And ever did his Soul tempt
him with evil, and whisper of terrible things. Yet did it not prevail against
him, so great was the power of his love.
And after the year was
over, the Soul thought within himself, ‘I have tempted my master with evil, and
his love is stronger than I am. I will tempt him now with good, and it may be
that he will come with me.’
So he spake to the young
Fisherman and said, ‘I have told thee of the joy of the world, and thou hast
turned a deaf ear to me. Suffer me now to tell thee of the world’s pain, and it
may be that thou wilt hearken. For of a truth pain is the Lord of this world,
nor is there any one who escapes from its net. There be some who lack raiment,
and others who lack bread. There be widows who sit in purple, and widows who
sit in rags. To and fro over the fens go the lepers, and they are cruel to each
other. The beggars go up and down on the highways, and their wallets are empty.
Through the streets of the cities walks Famine, and the Plague sits at their
gates. Come, let us go forth and mend these things, and make them not to be. Wherefore
shouldst thou tarry here calling to thy love, seeing she comes not to thy call?
And what is love, that thou shouldst set this high store upon it?’
But the young Fisherman
answered it nought, so great was the power of his love. And every morning he called
to the Mermaid, and every noon he called to her again, and at night-time he
spake her name. Yet never did she rise out of the sea to meet him, nor in any
place of the sea could he find her, though he sought for her in the rivers of
the sea, and in the valleys that are under the waves, in the sea that the night
makes purple, and in the sea that the dawn leaves grey.
And after the second year
was over, the Soul said to the young Fisherman at night-time, and as he sat in
the wattled house alone, ‘Lo! now I have tempted thee with evil, and I have
tempted thee with good, and thy love is stronger than I am. Wherefore will I
tempt thee no longer, but I pray thee to suffer me to enter thy heart, that I
may be one with thee even as before.’
‘Surely thou mayest enter,’
said the young Fisherman, ‘for in the days when with no heart thou didst go
through the world thou must have much suffered.’
‘Alas!’ cried his Soul, ‘I
can find no place of entrance, so compassed about with love is this heart of
thine.’
‘Yet I would that I could
help thee,’ said the young Fisherman.
And as he spake there came
a great cry of mourning from the sea, even the cry that men hear when one of
the Sea-folk is dead. And the young Fisherman leapt up, and left his wattled
house, and ran down to the shore. And the black waves came hurrying to the shore,
bearing with them a burden that was whiter than silver. White as the surf it
was, and like a flower it tossed on the waves. And the surf took it from the
waves, and the foam took it from the surf, and the shore received it, and lying
at his feet the young Fisherman saw the body of the little Mermaid. Dead at his
feet it was lying.
Weeping as one smitten with
pain he flung himself down beside it, and he kissed the cold red of the mouth,
and toyed with the wet amber of the hair. He flung himself down beside it on
the sand, weeping as one trembling with joy, and in his brown arms he held it
to his breast. Cold were the lips, yet he kissed them. Salt was the honey of
the hair, yet he tasted it with a bitter joy. He kissed the closed eyelids, and
the wild spray that lay upon their cups was less salt than his tears.
And to the dead thing he
made confession. Into the shells of its ears he poured the harsh wine of his
tale. He put the little hands round his neck, and with his fingers he touched
the thin reed of the throat. Bitter, bitter was his joy, and full of strange
gladness was his pain.
The black sea came nearer,
and the white foam moaned like a leper. With white claws of foam the sea
grabbled at the shore. From the palace of the Sea-King came the cry of mourning
again, and far out upon the sea the great Tritons blew hoarsely upon their
horns.
‘Flee away,’ said his Soul,
‘for ever doth the sea come nigher, and if thou tarriest it will slay thee.
Flee away, for I am afraid, seeing that thy heart is closed against me by
reason of the greatness of thy love. Flee away to a place of safety. Surely
thou wilt not send me without a heart into another world?’
But the young Fisherman
listened not to his Soul, but called on the little Mermaid and said, ‘Love is
better than wisdom, and more precious than riches, and fairer than the feet of
the daughters of men. The fires cannot destroy it, nor can the waters quench
it. I called on thee at dawn, and thou didst not come to my call. The moon
heard thy name, yet hadst thou no heed of me. For evilly had I left thee, and
to my own hurt had I wandered away. Yet ever did thy love abide with me, and
ever was it strong, nor did aught prevail against it, though I have looked upon
evil and looked upon good. And now that thou art dead, surely I will die with
thee also.’
And his Soul besought him
to depart, but he would not, so great was his love. And the sea came nearer,
and sought to cover him with its waves, and when he knew that the end was at
hand he kissed with mad lips the cold lips of the Mermaid, and the heart that
was within him brake. And as through the fulness of his love his heart did
break, the Soul found an entrance and entered in, and was one with him even as
before. And the sea covered the young Fisherman with its waves.
And in the morning the
Priest went forth to bless the sea, for it had been troubled. And with him went
the monks and the musicians, and the candle-bearers, and the swingers of
censers, and a great company.
And when the Priest reached
the shore he saw the young Fisherman lying drowned in the surf, and clasped in
his arms was the body of the little Mermaid. And he drew back frowning, and
having made the sign of the cross, he cried aloud and said, ‘I will not bless
the sea nor anything that is in it. Accursed be the Sea-folk, and accursed be
all they who traffic with them. And as for him who for love’s sake forsook God,
and so lieth here with his leman slain by God’s judgment, take up his body and
the body of his leman, and bury them in the corner of the Field of the Fullers,
and set no mark above them, nor sign of any kind, that none may know the place
of their resting. For accursed were they in their lives, and accursed shall
they be in their deaths also.’
And the people did as he
commanded them, and in the corner of the Field of the Fullers, where no sweet
herbs grew, they dug a deep pit, and laid the dead things within it.
And when the third year was
over, and on a day that was a holy day, the Priest went up to the chapel, that
he might show to the people the wounds of the Lord, and speak to them about the
wrath of God.
And when he had robed
himself with his robes, and entered in and bowed himself before the altar, he
saw that the altar was covered with strange flowers that never had been seen
before. Strange were they to look at, and of curious beauty, and their beauty
troubled him, and their odour was sweet in his nostrils. And he felt glad, and
understood not why he was glad.
And after that he had
opened the tabernacle, and incensed the monstrance that was in it, and shown
the fair wafer to the people, and hid it again behind the veil of veils, he
began to speak to the people, desiring to speak to them of the wrath of God.
But the beauty of the white flowers troubled him, and their odour was sweet in
his nostrils, and there came another word into his lips, and he spake not of
the wrath of God, but of the God whose name is Love. And why he so spake, he knew not.
And when he had finished
his word the people wept, and the Priest went back to the sacristy, and his
eyes were full of tears. And the deacons came in and began to unrobe him, and
took from him the alb and the girdle, the maniple and the stole. And he stood
as one in a dream.
And after that they had
unrobed him, he looked at them and said, ‘What are the flowers that stand on
the altar, and whence do they come?’
And they answered him,
‘What flowers they are we cannot tell, but they come from the corner of the
Fullers’ Field.’ And the Priest trembled, and returned to his own house and
prayed.
And in the morning, while
it was still dawn, he went forth with the monks and the musicians, and the
candle-bearers and the swingers of censers, and a great company, and came to
the shore of the sea, and blessed the sea, and all the wild things that are in
it. The Fauns also he blessed, and the little things that dance in the
woodland, and the bright-eyed things that peer through the leaves. All the
things in God’s world he blessed, and the people were filled with joy and
wonder. Yet never again in the corner of the Fullers’ Field grew flowers of any
kind, but the field remained barren even as before. Nor came the Sea-folk into
the bay as they had been wont to do, for they went to another part of the sea.
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