the fisherman and his soul

[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

mans 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 fishermans 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 gods 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 mans

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 dye lack? what dye 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 dye lack? what dye 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 dye lack? what dye 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 dye

lack? what dye lack? i can pound a toad in a mortar, and make

broth of it, and stir the broth with a dead mans 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

dye lack? what dye 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 mans hands. as

they did so, a little smile touched his proud lips, as a birds

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 vipers 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 souls 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 loves, 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

vipers 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

mares milk in a wooden dish, and a piece of lambs 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 days 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 days journey from this place have, i hidden the

ring of riches. it is but a days 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 worlds

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

days 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 days 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 goats-hair.

and when he had covered himself with a covering of black lambs-

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 vipers 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 worlds 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

loves sake forsook god, and so lieth here with his leman slain by

gods 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 gods 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.