The Fisherman and His Soul 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.
