# The Fisherman and His Soul

_Oscar Wilde_ · 74 min read · ages 10-14

A young Fisherman loves a little Mermaid he caught in his net, and since she cannot love a man with a soul, he sends his soul away and follows her into the sea. The Fisherman later drowns holding the Mermaid’s dead body, and when strange flowers from the Fullers’ Field cover the altar, the Priest blesses the sea.

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Every evening the young Fisherman went out on the sea and cast his nets into the water.

When the wind blew from the land, he caught nothing, or very little at best, for it was a bitter, black-winged wind, and rough waves rose up to meet it. But when the wind blew toward the shore, the fish came in from the deep and swam into the meshes of his nets, and he carried them to the marketplace and sold them.

Every evening he went out on the sea, and one evening the net was so heavy that he could hardly haul it into the boat. He laughed and said to himself, “I must have caught every fish that swims, or snared some sluggish monster that people will marvel at, or some horrible thing the great Queen will want for herself.”

He pulled on the coarse ropes with all his strength, until the long veins stood out on his arms like lines of blue enamel around a bronze vase. He pulled on the thin ropes, and the ring of flat corks came nearer and nearer, until at last the net rose to the top of the water.

But there was no fish in it at all, and no monster or horrible thing, only a little Mermaid, fast asleep.

Her hair was like a wet fleece of gold, and each separate hair was like a thread of fine gold in a glass cup. Her body was as white as ivory, and her tail was silver and pearl. Silver and pearl was her tail, and green seaweed was coiled around it. Her ears were like seashells, and her lips were like sea coral. The cold waves washed over her cold breast, and salt glistened on her eyelids.

She was so beautiful that the young Fisherman was filled with wonder. He reached out, drew the net close, leaned over the side, and took her in his arms. The moment he touched her, she gave a cry like a startled gull and woke. She looked at him in terror with her mauve-amethyst eyes and struggled to get free. But he held her tight and would not let her go.

When she saw there was no way to escape, she began to cry. “Please let me go,” she said. “I am the only daughter of a King, and my father is old and alone.”

“I won’t let you go,” the young Fisherman answered, “unless you promise that whenever I call you, you will come and sing to me. The fish love to listen to the song of the Sea-folk, and so my nets will be full.”

“Will you truly let me go if I promise you this?” cried the Mermaid.

“Truly, I will let you go,” said the young Fisherman.

So she made the promise he asked for and swore it by the oath of the Sea-folk. He loosened his arms, and she sank down into the water, trembling with a strange fear.

Every evening after that the young Fisherman went out on the sea and called to the Mermaid, and she rose out of the water and sang to him. The dolphins swam around and around her, and the wild gulls wheeled over her head.

And she sang a marvelous song. 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 with long green beards and hairy chests, who blow through twisted conchs whenever the Sea-King goes by; of the Sea-King’s palace, which is all of amber, with a roof of clear emerald and a floor of bright pearl.

Then came the gardens of the sea, where the great lacy fans of coral wave all day long, the fish dart about like silver birds, the anemones cling to the rocks, and the sea pinks bloom in the ribbed yellow sand.

She sang of the big whales that come down from the northern seas with sharp icicles hanging from their fins; of the Sirens who tell of such wonderful things that merchants must stop their ears with wax, for if they heard them they would leap into the water and drown; of the sunken galleys with their tall masts, the frozen sailors clinging to the rigging, and the mackerel swimming in and out of the open portholes.

There were songs of the little barnacles, who are great travelers and cling to the keels of ships and go around and around the world; and of the cuttlefish who live in the sides of the cliffs, stretch out their long black arms, and can make night fall whenever they wish.

She sang of the nautilus, who has a boat of her own carved out of an opal and steered with a silken sail; of the happy Mermen who play on harps and can charm the great Kraken to sleep; of the little children who catch hold of the slippery porpoises and ride on their backs, laughing; of the Mermaids who lie in the white foam and hold out their arms to the sailors; and of the sea lions with their curved tusks and the sea horses with their floating manes.

As she sang, all the tuna came in from the deep to listen. The young Fisherman cast his nets around them and caught them, and he speared still more. When his boat was full, the Mermaid would sink down into the sea, smiling at him.

Yet she never came close enough for him to touch her. Often he called to her and pleaded with her, but she would not come, and when he tried to seize her, she dived into the water the way a seal dives, and he did not see her again that day. Every day the sound of her voice grew sweeter to him. It was so sweet that he forgot his nets and his skill and stopped caring about his trade.

The tuna went by in shoals, with vermilion fins and eyes like studs of gold, but he paid them no attention. His spear lay unused beside him, and his wicker baskets stayed empty. He sat idle in his boat with his lips parted and his eyes dim with wonder, and listened, and went on listening until the sea mists crept around him and the wandering moon stained his brown arms and legs with silver.

One evening he called to her and said, “Little Mermaid, little Mermaid, I love you. Take me for your bridegroom, for I love you.”

But the Mermaid shook her head. “You have a human soul,” she answered. “If only you would send your soul away, then I could love you.”

The young Fisherman said to himself, “What use is my soul to me? I cannot see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it. I’ll send it away, and then I’ll be very happy.” 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 will be my bride, and I will be your bridegroom, and we will live together in the depths of the sea. You will show me everything you have sung about, and I will do everything you wish, and our lives will never be parted.”

The little Mermaid laughed with pleasure and hid her face in her hands.

“But how do I send my soul away?” cried the young Fisherman. “Tell me how to do it, and it will be done.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the little Mermaid. “The Sea-folk have no souls.” And she sank down into the deep, looking back at him wistfully.

Early the next morning, before the sun stood a hand’s width above the hill, the young Fisherman went to the Priest’s house and knocked three times at the door.

The novice looked out through the little grille in the door, and when he saw who it was, he drew back the latch and said, “Come in.”

The young Fisherman went in and knelt on the sweet-smelling rushes that covered the floor. The Priest was reading from the Holy Book, and the Fisherman cried out to him, “Father, I am in love with one of the Sea-folk, and my soul stands between me and what I long for. Tell me how I can send my soul away, for truly I have no need of it. What is my soul worth to me? I cannot see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it.”

The Priest beat his breast. “Alas, alas,” he answered, “you are mad, or you have eaten some poisonous herb. The soul is the noblest part of a man. God gave it to us to use nobly. There is nothing more precious than a human soul, and nothing on earth can be weighed against it. It is worth all the gold in the world, and it is more precious than the rubies of kings. So, my son, put this matter out of your mind, for it is a sin that cannot be forgiven.

“As for the Sea-folk, they are lost, and those who have dealings with them are lost too. They are like the beasts of the field that do not know good from evil, and the Lord did not die for them.”

The young Fisherman’s eyes filled with tears at the Priest’s bitter words. He rose from his knees and said, “Father, the Fauns live in the forest and are happy, and the Mermen sit on the rocks with their harps of red gold. Let me be like them, I beg you, for their days are like the days of flowers. And as for my soul, what good is my soul to me if it stands between me and the one I love?”

“The love of the body is vile,” cried the Priest, frowning, “and vile and evil are the pagan things God allows to wander through His world. Cursed be the Fauns of the woods, and cursed be the singers of the sea! I have heard them at night, and they have tried to lure me away from my rosary. They tap at my window and laugh. They whisper in my ears the tale of their dangerous pleasures.

“They tempt me, and when I try to pray, they make faces at me. They are lost, I tell you, they are lost. For them there is neither heaven nor hell, and in neither will they praise God’s name.”

“Father,” cried the young Fisherman, “you do not know what you are saying. Once I caught the daughter of a King in my net. 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 give up heaven. Answer what I asked you, and let me go in peace.”

“Away! Away!” cried the Priest. “Your sweetheart is lost, and you will be lost with her.”

The Priest gave him no blessing and drove him from his door.

The young Fisherman went down to the marketplace. He walked slowly, with his head bowed, like someone in sorrow.

When the merchants saw him coming, they began to whisper among themselves, and one of them came out to meet him, called him by name, and said, “What have you got to sell?”

“I will sell you my soul,” he answered. “Please buy it from me, for I am tired of it. What use is my soul to me? I cannot see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it.”

But the merchants laughed at him. “What use is a man’s soul to us?” they said. “It isn’t worth a clipped piece of silver. Sell us your body as a slave, and we will dress you in sea purple and put a ring on your finger and make you the favorite of the great Queen. But don’t talk to us about the soul. It means nothing to us, and it would be no use to us in our trade.”

The young Fisherman said to himself, “How strange this is! The Priest tells me the soul is worth all the gold in the world, and the merchants say it isn’t worth a clipped piece of silver.” He left the marketplace, went down to the shore, and began to think about what he should do.

At noon he remembered that one of his friends, who gathered samphire on the rocks, had told him about a certain young Witch who lived in a cave at the head of the bay and was very cunning in her witchcraft. He set off running, so eager was he to be rid of his soul, and a cloud of dust followed him as he raced around the curve of the sandy shore.

The young Witch knew he was coming by the itching of her palm. She laughed and let down her red hair, and with it falling all around her she stood at the mouth of the cave, holding a sprig of wild hemlock in flower.

“What do you lack? What do you lack?” she cried, as he came panting up the slope and bowed before her. “Fish for your 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 do you lack? What do you lack? A storm to wreck the ships and wash the chests of 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 it has a price, pretty boy, it has a price.

“What do you lack? What do you lack? I know a flower that grows in the valley, and nobody knows it but me. It has purple leaves and a star in its heart, and its juice is as white as milk. If you touched the hard lips of the Queen with this flower, she would follow you all over the world. She would rise from the King’s own bed and follow you over the whole world. And it has a price, pretty boy, it has a price.

“What do you lack? What do you lack? I can pound a toad in a mortar and make a broth of it, and stir the broth with a dead man’s hand. Sprinkle it on your enemy while he sleeps, and he will turn into a black viper, and his own mother will kill him. With a wheel I can draw the Moon down from the sky, and in a crystal I can show you Death.

“What do you lack? What do you lack? Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you, and you will pay me a price, pretty boy, you will pay me a price.”

“What I want is only a little thing,” said the young Fisherman, “and yet the Priest was angry with me and drove me away. It is only a little thing, and the merchants laughed at me and turned me down. So I have come to you, though people call you evil, and whatever your price is, I will pay it.”

“What do you want?” asked the Witch, coming close to him.

“I want to send my soul away,” answered the young Fisherman.

The Witch turned pale and shuddered and hid her face in her blue cloak. “Pretty boy, pretty boy,” she muttered, “that is a terrible thing to do.”

He tossed his brown curls and laughed. “My soul is nothing to me,” he answered. “I cannot see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it.”

“What will you give me if I tell you?” asked the Witch, looking down at him with her beautiful eyes.

“Five pieces of gold,” he said, “and my nets, and the wattle hut I live in, and the painted boat I sail in. Only tell me how to get rid of my soul, and I will give you everything I own.”

She laughed at him mockingly and struck him with the sprig of hemlock. “I can turn the autumn leaves into gold,” she answered, “and I can weave the pale moonbeams into silver if I want to. He whom I serve is richer than all the kings of this world, and their kingdoms are his.”

“Then what can I give you,” he cried, “if your price is neither gold nor silver?”

The Witch stroked his hair with her thin white hand. “You must dance with me, pretty boy,” she murmured, smiling at him as she spoke.

“Nothing but that?” cried the young Fisherman in surprise, and he rose to his feet.

“Nothing but that,” she answered, and smiled at him again.

“Then we will dance together at sunset in some secret place,” he said, “and when we have danced, you will tell me what I want to know.”

She shook her head. “When the moon is full, when the moon is full,” she muttered. She peered all around her and listened. A blue bird rose screaming from its nest and circled over the dunes, and three speckled birds rustled through the coarse gray grass and whistled to one another. There was no other sound except a wave fretting at the smooth pebbles below. Then she reached out, drew him close, and put her dry lips to his ear.

“Tonight you must come to the top of the mountain,” she whispered. “It is a Sabbath, and He will be there.”

The young Fisherman gave a start and stared at her, and she showed her white teeth and laughed.

“Who is He?” he asked. “Who are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “Go there tonight and stand under the branches of the hornbeam tree, and wait for me to come. If a black dog runs at you, strike it with a willow switch, and it will go away. If an owl speaks to you, give it no answer. When the moon is full, I will be with you, and we will dance together on the grass.”

“But will you swear to tell me how to send my soul away?” he asked.

She stepped out into the sunlight, and the wind rippled through her red hair. “By the hooves of the goat, I swear it,” she answered.

“You are the best of all the witches,” cried the young Fisherman, “and I will dance with you tonight on the top of the mountain. I really wish you had asked me for gold or silver. But whatever your price is, you will have it, for it is only a little thing.” He took off his cap to her and bowed low, and ran back to the town full of joy.

The Witch watched him go, and when he was out of sight, she went into her cave. She took a mirror from a box of carved cedarwood, set it up on a stand, burned vervain on glowing charcoal in front of it, and peered through the coiling smoke. After a while she clenched her fists in anger. “He should have been mine,” she muttered. “I am as beautiful as she is.”

That evening, when the moon had risen, the young Fisherman climbed to the top of the mountain and stood under the branches of the hornbeam. The round sea lay at his feet like a shield of polished metal, and the shadows of the fishing boats moved in the little bay. A great owl with yellow, sulfurous eyes called him by his name, but he gave it no answer. A black dog ran at him, snarling. He struck it with a willow switch, and it went away whining.

At midnight the witches came flying through the air like bats. “Phew!” they cried as they landed. “There is someone here we don’t know!” They sniffed about, chattered to one another, and made signs. Last of all came the young Witch, her red hair streaming in the wind. She wore a dress of cloth of gold embroidered with peacocks’ eyes, and a little cap of green velvet sat 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, took the Fisherman by the hand, led him out into the moonlight, and began to dance.

Around and around they whirled, and the young Witch leaped so high that he could see the scarlet heels of her shoes. Then the sound of a galloping horse swept right across the dancers, but no horse could be seen, and he was afraid.

“Faster,” cried the Witch, and she threw her arms around his neck, and her breath was hot on his face. “Faster, faster!” The earth seemed to spin beneath his feet, his head reeled, and a great terror came over him, as if some evil thing were watching him. At last he became aware of a figure in the shadow of a rock, a figure that had not been there before.

It was a man dressed in black velvet, cut in the Spanish fashion. His face was strangely pale, but his lips were like a proud red flower. He seemed tired, and he leaned back, idly toying with the pommel of his dagger. On the grass beside him lay a plumed hat and a pair of riding gloves with cuffs of gold lace, sewn with seed pearls in a curious pattern. A short cloak lined with sable hung from his shoulder, and his delicate white hands glittered with rings. Heavy eyelids drooped over his eyes.

The young Fisherman watched him like someone caught in a spell. At last their eyes met, and wherever he danced, it seemed to him that the man’s eyes were on him. He heard the Witch laugh, and he caught her by the waist and whirled her wildly around and around.

Just then a dog bayed in the woods, and the dancers stopped. They went up two by two, knelt down, and kissed the man’s hands. As they did, a little smile touched his proud lips, the way a bird’s wing touches the water and makes it laugh. But there was scorn in that smile. He kept looking at the young Fisherman.

“Come, let us worship,” whispered the Witch, and she led him forward. A great desire to do as she asked took hold of him, and he followed her. But when he came close, without knowing why, he made the sign of the Cross on his breast and called on the holy name.

The moment he did, the witches screamed like hawks and flew away, and the pale face that had been watching him twitched with a spasm of pain. The man walked over to a little grove and whistled. A slender horse with silver trappings came running to meet him. As he leaped into the saddle, he turned and looked at the young Fisherman sadly.

The red-haired Witch tried to fly away too, but the Fisherman caught her by the wrists and held her fast.

“Let me go,” she cried. “Let me go! You have named what must not be named and shown the sign that must not be looked at.”

“No,” he answered. “I won’t let you go until you tell me the secret.”

“What secret?” said the Witch, fighting him like a wildcat and biting her foam-flecked lips.

“You know,” he answered.

Her grass-green eyes filled with tears, and she said to the Fisherman, “Ask me anything but that!”

He laughed and held her all the tighter.

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 lovely as those who live in the blue waters.” And she fawned on him and put her face close to his.

But he pushed her away, frowning, and said, “If you don’t keep the promise you made me, I will kill you for the false witch you are.”

She turned as gray as a blossom of the Judas tree and shuddered. “So be it,” she muttered. “It is your soul and not mine. Do with it what you like.” From her belt she took a little knife with a handle of green viper’s skin and gave it to him.

“What is this for?” he asked her, puzzled.

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, said to him, “What men call the shadow of the body is not the shadow of the body. It is the body of the soul. Stand on the seashore with your back to the moon, and cut your shadow away from around your feet, for it is your soul’s body. Then tell your soul to leave you, and it will.”

The young Fisherman trembled. “Is this true?” he murmured.

“It is true, and I wish I had not told you,” she cried, and she clung to his knees, weeping.

He pushed her from him and left her in the long, rank grass. At the edge of the mountain he put the knife in his belt and began to climb down.

And his Soul, which was inside him, called out to him, “Listen to me. I have lived with you all these years and been your servant. Don’t send me away now. What harm have I ever done you?”

The young Fisherman laughed. “You have done me no harm, but I have no need of you,” he answered. “The world is wide, and there is Heaven too, and Hell, and that dim twilight house that lies between them. Go wherever you like, but don’t trouble me, for my love is calling me.”

His Soul begged him pitifully, but he paid it no attention and leaped from rock to rock, as sure-footed as a wild goat, until at last he reached the level ground and the yellow shore of the sea.

Bronze-limbed and strongly built, like a statue carved by a Greek sculptor, he stood on the sand with his back to the moon. Out of the foam came white arms beckoning to him, and out of the waves rose dim shapes that bowed down before him. In front of him lay his shadow, which was the body of his soul, and behind him the moon hung in the honey-colored air.

His Soul said to him, “If you really must drive me away, don’t send me out without a heart. The world is cruel. Give me your heart to take with me.”

He tossed his head and smiled. “What would I love my love with, if I gave you my heart?” he cried.

“Please, have mercy,” said his Soul. “Give me your heart, for the world is very cruel, and I am afraid.”

“My heart belongs to my love,” he answered, “so don’t linger. Go.”

“Am I not to love as well?” asked his Soul.

“Go, for I have no need of you,” cried the young Fisherman. He took the little knife with the handle of green viper’s skin and cut his shadow away from around his feet, and it rose up and stood before him and looked at him, and it was exactly like himself.

He backed away and pushed the knife into his belt, and a feeling of awe came over him. “Go,” he murmured, “and let me never see your face again.”

“No, we must meet again,” said the Soul. Its voice was low, like a flute, and its lips hardly moved as it spoke.

“How can we meet?” cried the young Fisherman. “Surely you won’t follow me into the depths of the sea?”

“Once every year I will come to this place and call you,” said the Soul. “It may be that you will need me.”

“What could I need you for?” cried the young Fisherman. “But have it your way.” And he plunged into the water, and the Tritons blew their horns, and the little Mermaid rose up to meet him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the mouth.

The Soul stood on the lonely beach and watched them. And when they had sunk down into the sea, it went away weeping over the marshes.

When a year had passed, the Soul came down to the shore of the sea and called to the young Fisherman. He rose out of the deep and said, “Why do you call to me?”

The Soul answered, “Come nearer, that I may speak with you, for I have seen marvelous things.”

So he came nearer and lay down in the shallow water, rested his head on his hand, and listened.

And the Soul said to him, “When I left you, I turned my face to the East and traveled. From the East comes everything that is wise. For six days I traveled, and on the morning of the seventh day I came to a hill in the country of the Tartars. I sat down in the shade of a tamarisk tree to shelter from the sun. The land was dry and scorched by the heat. The people went back and forth across the plain like flies crawling on a disk of polished copper.

“At noon a cloud of red dust rose from the flat rim of the land. When the Tartars saw it, they strung their painted bows, leaped onto their little horses, and galloped out to meet it. The women fled screaming to the wagons and hid behind the felt curtains.

“At twilight the Tartars came back, but five of them were missing, and many of those who returned were wounded. They harnessed their horses to the wagons and drove off in a hurry. Three jackals came out of a cave and peered after them. Then they sniffed the air and trotted off the other way.

“When the moon rose, I saw a campfire burning on the plain and went toward it. A company of merchants sat around it on carpets. Their camels were tethered behind them, and their servants were pitching tents of tanned hide on the sand and building a high wall of prickly pear.

“As I came near, the chief of the merchants stood up, drew his sword, and asked me my business.

“I told him I was a prince in my own land and had escaped from the Tartars, who had tried to make me their slave. The chief smiled and showed me five heads fixed on long bamboo poles.

“Then he asked me who was the prophet of God, and I answered, ‘Mohammed.’

“When he heard that name, he bowed, took me by the hand, and seated me at his side. A servant brought me mare’s milk in a wooden bowl and a piece of roast lamb.

“At daybreak we set out. I rode a red-haired camel beside the chief, and a runner ran ahead of us carrying a spear. The fighting men rode on either side, and the mules followed with the goods. There were forty camels in the caravan, and twice forty mules.

“We went from the country of the Tartars into the country of the people who curse the Moon. We saw the Griffins guarding their gold on the white rocks, and the scaly Dragons asleep in their caves. As we crossed the mountains, we held our breath for fear the snows would come down on us, and every man tied a gauze veil over his eyes. As we passed through the valleys, the Pygmies shot arrows at us from hollow trees, and at night we heard the wild men beating their drums.

“When we came to the Tower of Apes, we set fruit before them, and they did us no harm. When we came to the Tower of Serpents, we gave them warm milk in brass bowls, and they let us go by. Three times on our journey we came to the banks of the Oxus. We crossed it on wooden rafts buoyed up by great bladders of blown-up hide. The river horses raged against us and tried to kill us. When the camels saw them, they trembled.

“The kings of every city made us pay tolls, but they would not let us through their gates. They threw bread to us over the walls: little cornmeal 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 villagers saw us coming, they poisoned the wells and fled to the hilltops. We fought with the Magadae, who are born old, grow younger every year, and die when they are little children; with the Laktroi, who say they are the sons of tigers and paint themselves yellow and black; with the Aurantes, who bury their dead in the tops of trees and live in dark caves themselves, for fear that the Sun, who is their god, will kill them.

“We fought with the Krimnians, who worship a crocodile, give it earrings of green glass, and feed it butter and fresh chickens; with the Agazonbae, who have the faces of dogs; and with the Sibans, who have horses’ feet and run faster than horses.

“A third of our company died in battle, and a third died of hardship. The rest grumbled against me and said I had brought them bad luck. I took a horned adder from under a stone and let it bite me. When they saw that I did not fall sick, they grew afraid.

“In the fourth month we reached the city of Illel. It was night when we came to the grove outside the walls, and the air was sultry, for the Moon was passing through Scorpio. We picked the ripe pomegranates from the trees, broke them open, and drank their sweet juice. Then we lay down on our carpets and waited for dawn.

“At dawn we rose and knocked at the city gate. It was made of red bronze and carved with sea dragons and winged dragons. The guards looked down from the battlements and asked our business. The caravan’s interpreter answered that we had come from the island of Syria with many goods to sell. They took hostages and told us they would open the gate at noon, and that we must wait until then.

“At noon they opened the gate, and as we went in, the people came crowding out of their houses to stare at us, and a crier went around the city calling through a shell. We stood in the marketplace, and the servants untied the bales of patterned cloth and opened the carved chests of sycamore wood.

“When they had finished, the merchants laid out their strange wares: waxed linen from Egypt and painted linen from the land of the Ethiopians, purple sponges from Tyre and blue hangings from Sidon, cups of cool amber, fine glassware, and curious pots of fired clay. A group of women watched us from the roof of a house. One of them wore a mask of gilded leather.

“On the first day the priests came to bargain with us, on the second day the nobles, and on the third day the craftsmen and the slaves. That is their custom with all merchants for as long as they stay in the city.

“We stayed for a month, and when the moon was waning, I grew weary and wandered off through the streets until I came to the garden of the city’s god. The priests in their yellow robes moved silently among the green trees, and on a floor of black marble stood the rose-red house where the god lived. Its doors were of powdered lacquer, with bulls and peacocks worked on them in raised and polished gold.

“The sloping roof was of sea-green porcelain, and the jutting eaves were hung 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 lined with veined onyx. I lay down beside it, and with my pale fingers I touched the broad leaves. One of the priests came toward me and stood behind me. He wore sandals, one of soft snakeskin and the other of bird feathers. On his head was a miter of black felt decorated with silver crescents. Seven shades of yellow were woven into his robe, and his frizzled hair was stained with antimony.

“After a while he spoke to me and asked me what I wanted.

“I told him I wanted to see the god.

“‘The god is hunting,’ said the priest, looking at me strangely 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 keep watch beside him,’ I answered.

“‘The god is at the feast,’ he cried.

“‘If the wine is sweet, I will drink it with him, and if it is bitter, I will drink it with him too,’ was my answer.

“He bowed his head in wonder, took me by the hand, raised me up, and led me into the temple.

“In the first room I saw an idol seated on a throne of jasper edged with great Eastern pearls. It was carved out of ebony and stood as tall as a man. On its forehead was a ruby, and thick oil dripped from its hair onto its thighs. Its feet were red with the blood of a young goat newly killed, and around its waist was a copper belt studded with seven beryls.

“I said to the priest, ‘Is this the god?’

“He answered me, ‘This is the god.’

“‘Show me the god,’ I cried, ‘or I will surely kill you.’ And I touched his hand, and it withered.

“The priest begged me, saying, ‘Let my lord heal his servant, and I will show him the god.’

“So I breathed on his hand, and it was whole again. Trembling, he led me into the second room, and there I saw an idol standing on a lotus of jade hung with great emeralds. It was carved out of ivory and stood twice as tall as a man. On its forehead was a chrysolite, and its breast was smeared with myrrh and cinnamon. In one hand it held a crooked scepter of jade, and in the other a round crystal. It wore high boots of brass, and its thick neck was ringed with a collar of moonstones.

“I said to the priest, ‘Is this the god?’

“He answered me, ‘This is the god.’

“‘Show me the god,’ I cried, ‘or I will surely kill you.’ And I touched his eyes, and they went blind.

“The priest begged me, saying, ‘Let my lord heal his servant, and I will show him the god.’

“So I breathed on his eyes, and their sight came back. He trembled again and led me into the third room, and there was no idol in it, nor any image of any kind, only a round metal mirror set on an altar of stone.

“I said to the priest, ‘Where is the god?’

“He answered me, ‘There is no god but this mirror that you see, for this is the Mirror of Wisdom. It reflects all things that are in heaven and on earth, except only the face of the one who looks into it. That face it does not reflect, so that whoever looks into it may be wise. There are many other mirrors, but they are mirrors of Opinion. This alone is the Mirror of Wisdom.

“‘Those who own this mirror know everything, and nothing is hidden from them. Those who do not own it do not have Wisdom. That is why it is the god, and why we worship it.’ And I looked into the mirror, and it was just as he had told me.

“And I did a strange thing, but what I did does not matter, for in a valley only a day’s journey from here I have hidden the Mirror of Wisdom. Only let me come back into you and be your servant, and you will be wiser than all the wise men, and Wisdom will be yours. Let me come back into you, and no one will be as wise as you.”

But the young Fisherman laughed. “Love is better than Wisdom,” he cried, “and the little Mermaid loves me.”

“No, 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 away weeping over the marshes.

When the second year had passed, the Soul came down to the shore of the sea and called to the young Fisherman. He rose out of the deep and said, “Why do you call to me?”

The Soul answered, “Come nearer, that I may speak with you, for I have seen marvelous things.”

So he came nearer and lay down in the shallow water, rested his head on his hand, and listened.

And the Soul said to him, “When I left you, I turned my face to the South and traveled. From the South comes everything that is precious. For six days I traveled along the highways that lead to the city of Ashter, the dusty, red-dyed highways the pilgrims take, and on the morning of the seventh day I raised my eyes, and there was the city at my feet, for it lies in a valley.

“The city has nine gates, and in front of each gate stands a bronze horse that neighs when the Bedouins come down from the mountains. The walls are sheathed in copper, and the watchtowers on them are roofed with brass. In every tower stands an archer with a bow in his hand. At sunrise he strikes a gong with an arrow, and at sunset he blows on a horn.

“When I tried to go in, the guards stopped me and asked who I was. I told them I was a dervish on my way to the city of Mecca, where there was a green veil with the Koran embroidered on it in silver letters by the hands of angels. They were filled with wonder and begged me to go in.

“Inside, the whole city is like a bazaar. Truly, you should have been with me. Over the narrow streets, bright paper lanterns flutter like large butterflies. When the wind blows across the roofs, they rise and fall the way painted bubbles do. The merchants sit on silk carpets in front of their booths. They have straight black beards, their turbans are covered with gold sequins, and long strings of amber and carved peach stones slip through their cool fingers.

“Some of them sell galbanum and nard, and strange perfumes from the islands of the Indian Ocean, and the thick oil of red roses, and myrrh, and little nail-shaped cloves. When you stop to talk to them, they throw pinches of frankincense on a charcoal brazier and make the air sweet. I saw a Syrian holding a thin rod like a reed. Gray threads of smoke rose from it, and as it burned it smelled like pink almond blossom in spring.

“Others sell silver bracelets set all over with creamy blue turquoise, and anklets of brass wire fringed with little pearls, and tigers’ claws set in gold, and the claws of that gilded cat, the leopard, set in gold as well, and earrings of pierced emerald, and rings of hollowed jade. From the teahouses comes the sound of guitars, and the opium smokers look out at the passersby with their white, smiling faces.

“Truly, you should have been with me. The wine sellers elbow their way through the crowd with great black wineskins on their shoulders. Most of them sell the wine of Shiraz, which is as sweet as honey. They serve it in little metal cups and scatter rose petals on top.

“In the marketplace stand the fruit sellers, who sell every kind of fruit: ripe figs with their bruised purple flesh, melons that smell of musk and are as yellow as topaz, 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 it wore a net of crimson silk cord over its ears. It stopped in front of one of the booths and began eating the oranges, and the man only laughed. You cannot imagine how strange a people they are. When they are happy, they go to the bird sellers, buy a caged bird, and set it free, so that their joy may be greater; and when they are sad, they whip themselves with thorns, so that their sorrow may not grow less.

“One evening I met some bearers carrying a heavy palanquin through the bazaar. It was made of gilded bamboo, and the poles were of vermilion lacquer studded with brass peacocks. Thin muslin curtains embroidered with beetles’ wings and tiny seed pearls hung across its windows, and as it passed, a pale-faced Circassian woman looked out and smiled at me. I followed, and the bearers hurried their steps and scowled. But I did not care. A great curiosity had come over me.

“At last they stopped at a square white house. It had no windows, 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 grille, and when he saw them, he opened the door and spread a carpet on the ground, and the woman stepped out. As she went in, she turned and smiled at me again. I had never seen anyone so pale.

“When the moon rose, I went back to the same place and looked for the house, but it was no longer there. When I saw that, I knew who the woman was, and why she had smiled at me.

“Truly, you should have been with me. On the feast of the New Moon, the young Emperor came out of his palace and went into the mosque to pray. His hair and beard were dyed with rose petals, and his cheeks were powdered with fine gold dust. The soles of his feet and the palms of his hands were yellow with saffron.

“At sunrise he came out of his palace in a robe of silver, and at sunset he went back in a robe of gold. The people threw themselves on the ground and hid their faces, but I would not. I stood by the stall of a date seller and waited. When the Emperor saw me, he raised his painted eyebrows and stopped. I stood quite still and did not bow to him.

“The people marveled at my boldness and urged me to flee the city. I paid no attention, but went and sat with the sellers of strange gods, whom everyone despises because of their trade. When I told them what I had done, each of them gave me a god and begged me to leave them.

“That night, as I lay on a cushion in the teahouse on the Street of Pomegranates, the Emperor’s guards came in and took me to the palace. As I went in, they shut each door behind me and put a chain across it. Inside was a great courtyard with an arcade running all around it. The walls were of white alabaster, set here and there with blue and green tiles. The pillars were of green marble, and the floor was of a kind of peach-blossom marble. I had never seen anything like it.

“As I crossed the courtyard, two veiled women looked down from a balcony and cursed me. The guards hurried on, and the butts of their lances rang on the polished floor. They opened a gate of carved ivory, and I found myself in a watered garden of seven terraces. It was planted with tulips and moonflowers and silver-studded aloes. A fountain hung in the dusky air like a slim reed of crystal. The cypress trees were like burned-out torches. In one of them a nightingale was singing.

“At the end of the garden stood a little pavilion. As we came near, two eunuchs came out to meet us. Their fat bodies swayed as they walked, and they glanced at me curiously with their yellow-lidded eyes. One of them drew the captain of the guard aside and whispered to him. The other kept munching scented lozenges, which he took with an affected little gesture from an oval box of lilac enamel.

“After a few moments the captain of the guard sent the soldiers away. They went back to the palace, and the eunuchs followed slowly behind, picking sweet mulberries from the trees as they passed. Once the older of the two turned around and smiled at me, an evil smile.

“Then the captain of the guard waved me toward the entrance of the pavilion. I walked on without trembling, drew the heavy curtain aside, and went in.

“The young Emperor lay stretched out on a couch of dyed lion skins, with a gyrfalcon perched on his wrist. Behind him stood a Nubian in a brass turban, bare to the waist, with heavy earrings in his split ears. On a table beside the couch lay a mighty scimitar of steel.

“When the Emperor saw me, he frowned and said, ‘What is your name? Do you not know that I am Emperor of this city?’ But I gave him no answer.

“He pointed at the scimitar, and the Nubian seized it, rushed forward, and struck at me with great force. The blade whizzed through me and did me no harm. The man fell sprawling on the floor, and when he got up, his teeth were chattering with terror, and he hid behind the couch.

“The Emperor leaped to his feet, took a lance from a rack of weapons, and threw it at me. I caught it in flight and broke the shaft in two. He shot an arrow at me, but I held up my hands, and it stopped in midair. Then he drew a dagger from a belt of white leather and stabbed the Nubian in the throat, so that the slave could never tell of his disgrace. The man writhed like a trampled snake, and red foam bubbled from his lips.

“As soon as the slave was dead, the Emperor turned to me. He wiped the shining sweat from his brow with a little napkin of embroidered purple silk and said, ‘Are you a prophet, that I may not harm you, or the son of a prophet, that I can do you no hurt? I beg you, leave my city tonight, for while you are in it, I am no longer its lord.’

“I answered him, ‘I will go for half of your treasure. Give me half of your 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 was amazed. When the eunuchs saw me, their knees shook, and they fell to the ground in fear.

“There is a room in the palace with eight walls of red porphyry and a brass-paneled ceiling hung with lamps. The Emperor touched one of the walls, and it opened, and we went down a corridor lit with many torches. In niches on either side stood great wine jars filled to the brim with silver coins.

“When we reached the middle of the corridor, the Emperor spoke the word that may not be spoken, and a granite door swung back on a secret spring, and he covered his face with his hands so that his eyes would not be dazzled.

“You would not believe how marvelous it was. There were huge tortoiseshells full of pearls, and great hollowed moonstones heaped with red rubies. The gold was stored in chests of elephant hide, and the gold dust in leather bottles. There were opals in cups of crystal and sapphires in cups of jade. Round green emeralds lay in rows on thin plates of ivory, and in one corner stood silk bags, some filled with turquoises and others with beryls.

“The ivory horns were heaped with purple amethysts, and the brass horns with chalcedonies and sards. The cedar pillars were hung with strings of yellow lynx stones. In the flat oval shields lay carbuncles, some the color of wine and some the color of grass. And yet I have told you only a tenth of what was there.

“When the Emperor took his hands from his face, he said to me, ‘This is my treasure house, and half of what is in it is yours, just as I promised you. And I will give you camels and camel drivers, and they will do as you say and carry your share of the treasure to whatever part of the world you wish to go. And it will be done tonight, for I would not have the Sun, who is my father, see that there is a man in my city whom I cannot kill.’

“But I answered him, ‘The gold here is yours, and the silver is yours too, and yours are the precious jewels and the costly things. As for me, I have no need of them. I will take nothing from you but that little ring you wear on your finger.’

“The Emperor frowned. ‘It is only a ring of lead,’ he cried. ‘It has no value at all. So take your half of the treasure and leave my city.’

“‘No,’ I answered. ‘I will take nothing but that lead ring, for I know what is written inside it, and what it is for.’

“The Emperor trembled and begged me, ‘Take all the treasure and leave my city. The half that is mine will be yours as well.’

“And I did a strange thing, but what I did does not matter, for in a cave only a day’s journey from here I have hidden the Ring of Riches. It is only a day’s journey from here, and it is waiting for you to come. Whoever has this Ring is richer than all the kings of the world. So come and take it, and the riches of the world will be yours.”

But the young Fisherman laughed. “Love is better than Riches,” he cried, “and the little Mermaid loves me.”

“No, 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 away weeping over the marshes.

When the third year had passed, the Soul came down to the shore of the sea and called to the young Fisherman. He rose out of the deep and said, “Why do you call to me?”

The Soul answered, “Come nearer, that I may speak with you, for I have seen marvelous things.”

So he came nearer and lay down in the shallow water, rested his head on his hand, and listened.

And the Soul said to him, “In a city that I know, there is an inn that stands beside a river. I sat there with sailors who drank wines of two different colors and ate barley bread and little salted fish served in bay leaves with vinegar. And as we sat there making merry, an old man came in carrying a leather carpet and a lute with two horns of amber.

“When he had spread the carpet on the floor, he struck the wire strings of his lute with a quill, and a girl whose face was veiled ran in and began to dance for us. Her face was hidden by a veil of gauze, but her feet were bare. Bare were her feet, and they moved over the carpet like little white doves. I have never seen anything so marvelous, and the city where she dances is only a day’s journey from here.”

When the young Fisherman heard his Soul’s words, he remembered that the little Mermaid had no feet and could not dance. A great longing came over him, and he said to himself, “It is only a day’s journey, and then I can come back to my love.” He laughed, stood up in the shallow water, and strode toward the shore.

On the dry beach he laughed again and held out his arms to his Soul. His Soul gave a great cry of joy, ran to meet him, and entered into him, and the young Fisherman saw, stretched out on the sand before him, that shadow of the body which is the body of the Soul.

Then his Soul said to him, “Let us not linger here. We must get away at once, for the Sea-gods are jealous, and they have monsters that do their bidding.”

So they hurried, and all that night they traveled under the moon, and all the next day they traveled under the sun, and in the evening they came to a city.

The young Fisherman said to his Soul, “Is this the city where she dances, the girl you told me about?”

His Soul answered, “It is not this city, but another. Still, let us go in.” So they went in and walked through the streets, and as they passed through the Street of the Jewelers, the young Fisherman saw a beautiful silver cup set out 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 hurried out of the city.

When they had gone a league from the city, the young Fisherman frowned, threw the cup away, and said to his Soul, “Why did you tell me to take this cup and hide it? It was an evil thing to do.”

But his Soul answered him, “Be at peace, be at peace.”

On the evening of the second day they came to a city, and the young Fisherman said to his Soul, “Is this the city where she dances, the girl you told me about?”

His Soul answered, “It is not this city, but another. Still, let us go in.” So they went in and walked through the streets, and as they passed through the Street of the Sellers of Sandals, the young Fisherman saw a child standing beside a jar of water. And his Soul said to him, “Beat that child.”

So he beat the child until it cried, and when he had done it, they hurried out of the city.

A league outside the city, the young Fisherman grew angry and said to his Soul, “Why did you tell me to beat the child? It was an evil thing to do.”

But his Soul answered him, “Be at peace, be at peace.”

On the evening of the third day they came to a city, and the young Fisherman said to his Soul, “Is this the city where she dances, the girl you told me about?”

His Soul answered, “Perhaps it is this city, so let us go in.”

So they went in and walked through the streets, but nowhere could the young Fisherman find the river or the inn that stood beside it. The people of the city looked at him curiously, and he grew afraid and said to his Soul, “Let us leave, for she who dances with white feet is not here.”

But his Soul answered, “No, let us stay, for the night is dark and there will be robbers on the road.”

So he sat down in the marketplace to rest, and after a while a hooded merchant went by. He wore a cloak of cloth from Tartary and carried a lantern of pierced horn on the end of a jointed reed. The merchant said to the young Fisherman, “Why are you sitting in the marketplace, when the booths are shut and the bales are tied up?”

The young Fisherman answered, “I can find no inn in this city, and I have no kin here who might take me in.”

“Are we not all kin?” said the merchant. “Did not one God make us all? So come with me, for I have a guest room.”

So the young Fisherman got up and followed the merchant to his house. When he had passed through a garden of pomegranates and gone inside, the merchant brought him rose water in a copper bowl to wash his hands, and ripe melons to quench his thirst, and set a bowl of rice and a piece of roast kid before him.

After the meal, the merchant led him to the guest room and told him to sleep and rest. The young Fisherman thanked him, kissed the ring on his hand, and threw himself down on the carpets of dyed goat’s hair. When he had covered himself with a blanket of black lamb’s wool, he fell asleep.

Three hours before dawn, while it was still night, his Soul woke him and said, “Get up and go to the merchant’s room, the very room where he sleeps, and kill him, and take his gold, for we need it.”

The young Fisherman got up and crept toward the merchant’s room. Across the merchant’s feet lay a curved sword, and the tray beside him held nine purses of gold. The young Fisherman reached out and touched the sword, and at that touch the merchant started and woke. He leaped up, seized the sword himself, and cried to the young Fisherman, “Do you return evil for good, and pay with bloodshed for the kindness I have shown you?”

And his Soul said to him, “Strike him.”

The young Fisherman struck the merchant so hard that the man fell senseless. Then he seized the nine purses of gold, fled through the garden of pomegranates, and set his face toward the morning star.

When they had gone a league from the city, the young Fisherman beat his breast and said to his Soul, “Why did you tell me to kill the merchant and take his gold? Surely you are evil.”

But his Soul answered him, “Be at peace, be at peace.”

“No,” cried the young Fisherman, “I cannot be at peace, for I hate everything you have made me do. I hate you too, and I order you to tell me why you have treated me this way.”

His Soul answered him, “When you sent me out into the world, you gave me no heart, so I learned to do all these things and to love them.”

“What are you saying?” murmured the young Fisherman.

“You know,” answered his Soul, “you know it well. Have you forgotten that you gave me no heart? I think not. So trouble neither yourself nor me, but be at peace, for there is no pain you will not cause, and no pleasure you will not take.”

At these words the young Fisherman trembled and said to his Soul, “No, you are evil. You have made me forget my love, and you have tempted me and set my feet on the paths of sin.”

His Soul answered him, “You have not forgotten that when you sent me out into the world, you gave 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, threw them down, and trampled on them.

“No,” he cried, “I will have nothing to do with you, and I will not travel anywhere with you. I sent you away before, and I will send you away now, for you have done me no good.” He turned his back to the moon, and with the little knife with the handle of green viper’s skin, he tried to cut from his feet that shadow of the body which is the body of the Soul.

Yet his Soul did not stir from him or heed his command, but said to him, “The spell the Witch told you is no use to you anymore, for I may not leave you, and you may not drive me out. Once in his life a man may send his Soul away, but whoever takes his Soul back must keep it with him forever, and this is his punishment and his reward.”

The young Fisherman turned pale and clenched his fists and cried, “She was a false Witch, for she never told me that.”

“No,” answered his Soul, “she was true to Him she worships, whose servant she will be forever.”

When the young Fisherman understood that he could never again be rid of his Soul, and that it was an evil Soul and would stay with him always, he fell to the ground and wept bitterly.

At daybreak he got up and said to his Soul, “I will tie my hands so that I cannot do what you tell me, and close my lips so that I cannot speak your words, and I will go back to the place where the one I love lives. I will go back to the sea, to the little bay where she used to sing, and I will call to her and tell her the evil I have done and the evil you have done to me.”

But his Soul tempted him and said, “Who is your love, that you should go back to her? The world has many fairer than she is. There are the dancing girls of Samaris, who dance in the manner of every kind of bird and beast. Their feet are painted with henna, and in their hands they hold 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 you.

“Why do you worry so much about sin? Isn’t what is pleasant to eat made for the one who eats it? Is there poison in what is sweet to drink? Don’t trouble yourself, but come with me to another city. There is a little city nearby with a garden of tulip trees. In that lovely garden live white peacocks and peacocks with blue breasts. When they spread their tails to the sun, they are like disks of ivory and disks of gold.

“The girl who feeds them dances to please them, and sometimes she dances on her hands and sometimes on her feet. Her eyes are painted with kohl, and her nostrils are shaped like the wings of a swallow. From a hook in one of her nostrils hangs a flower carved out of a pearl. She laughs while she dances, and the silver rings around her ankles tinkle like silver bells. So don’t trouble yourself anymore, but come with me to this city.”

But the young Fisherman did not answer his Soul. He sealed his lips with the seal of silence and tied his hands with a tight cord, and he traveled back to the place he had come from, to the little bay where his love used to sing. All along the way his Soul tempted him, but he gave it no answer and would do none of the wicked things it tried to make him do, so great was the power of the love within him.

When he reached the seashore, he untied the cord from his hands and took the seal of silence from his lips, and called to the little Mermaid. But she did not come to his call, though he called to her all day long and begged her to come.

His Soul mocked him and said, “Your love gives you very little joy. You are like a man who pours water into a broken jar in a time of drought. You give away what you have, and nothing is given back to you. You would do better to come with me, for I know where the Valley of Pleasure lies, and what things are done there.”

The young Fisherman did not answer his Soul. In a cleft of the rock he built himself a hut of woven branches and lived there for a whole year. Every morning he called to the Mermaid, and every noon he called to her again, and at night he spoke her name. Yet she never rose out of the sea to meet him, and nowhere in the sea could he find her, though he searched for her in the caves and in the green water, in the tide pools, and in the wells at the bottom of the deep.

All the while his Soul tempted him with evil and whispered of terrible things. Yet it could not win against him, so great was the power of his love.

When the year was over, the Soul thought to itself, “I have tempted my master with evil, and his love is stronger than I am. Now I will tempt him with good, and perhaps he will come with me.”

So it spoke to the young Fisherman and said, “I have told you of the joy of the world, and you have turned a deaf ear to me. Let me tell you now of the world’s pain, and perhaps you will listen. For truly, pain is the Lord of this world, and no one escapes its net. Some have no clothes, and others have no bread. There are widows who sit in purple, and widows who sit in rags.

“The lepers wander back and forth over the marshes, and they are cruel to one another. The beggars go up and down the highways, and their bags are empty. Famine walks through the streets of the cities, and the Plague sits at their gates. Come, let us go out and mend these things and put an end to them. Why should you stay here calling to your love, when she does not come to your call? And what is love, that you should set such store by it?”

But the young Fisherman gave it no answer, so great was the power of his love. Every morning he called to the Mermaid, and every noon he called to her again, and at night he spoke her name. Yet she never rose out of the sea to meet him, and nowhere in the sea could he find her, though he searched for her in the rivers of the sea and in the valleys under the waves, in the sea that the night turns purple and in the sea that the dawn leaves gray.

When the second year was over, the Soul spoke to the young Fisherman at night, as he sat alone in his hut of woven branches. “Now I have tempted you with evil, and I have tempted you with good, and your love is stronger than I am. So I will tempt you no longer, but I beg you, let me enter your heart, so that I may be one with you as before.”

“Of course you may enter,” said the young Fisherman, “for in the days when you went through the world without a heart, you must have suffered greatly.”

“Alas!” cried his Soul. “I can find no way in, for your heart is surrounded by love.”

“Still, I wish I could help you,” said the young Fisherman.

As he spoke, a great cry of mourning came from the sea, the cry men hear when one of the Sea-folk has died. The young Fisherman leaped up, left his hut, and ran down to the shore. The black waves came hurrying in, bearing a burden whiter than silver. It was as white as the surf, and it tossed on the waves like a flower.

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. She lay dead at his feet.

Weeping like a man struck with pain, he threw himself down beside her and kissed the cold red of her mouth and played with the wet amber of her hair. He threw himself down beside her on the sand, weeping like a man trembling with joy, and held her to his breast in his brown arms. 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 in their hollows was less salt than his tears.

To the dead girl he made his confession. Into the shells of her ears he poured the harsh wine of his story. He put her little hands around his neck, and with his fingers he touched the thin reed of her 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. The sea clawed at the shore with white claws of foam. From the palace of the Sea-King came the cry of mourning again, and far out on the sea the great Tritons blew hoarsely on their horns.

“Flee,” said his Soul, “for the sea keeps coming nearer, and if you stay, it will kill you. Flee, for I am afraid; your love is so great that your heart is closed against me. Flee to a safe place. Surely you will not send me without a heart into another world?”

But the young Fisherman did not listen to his Soul. He called to 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. Fire cannot destroy it, and water cannot quench it.

“I called to you at dawn, and you did not come to my call. The moon heard your name, yet you paid no heed to me. I did wrong to leave you, and I wandered away to my own harm. Yet your love stayed with me always, and it was always strong, and nothing prevailed against it, though I have looked on evil and looked on good. And now that you are dead, surely I will die with you too.”

His Soul begged him to go, but he would not, so great was his love. And the sea came nearer and tried to cover him with its waves, and when he knew that the end had come, he kissed the cold lips of the Mermaid with mad lips, and the heart within him broke. And as his heart broke from the fullness of his love, the Soul found a way in and entered, and was one with him as before. And the sea covered the young Fisherman with its waves.

In the morning the Priest went out to bless the sea, for it had been troubled. With him went the monks and the musicians, the candle bearers and the swingers of censers, and a great crowd of people.

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. He drew back, frowning, made the sign of the Cross, and cried aloud, “I will not bless the sea, nor anything that is in it. Cursed be the Sea-folk, and cursed be all who have dealings with them.

“As for this man, who forsook God for love’s sake and now lies here with his sweetheart, struck down by God’s judgment, take up his body and the body of his sweetheart and bury them in the corner of the Fullers’ Field. Set no mark above them, nor sign of any kind, so that no one may know where they rest. For they were cursed in their lives, and cursed they shall be in their deaths as well.”

The people did as he commanded, and in the corner of the Fullers’ Field, where no sweet herbs grew, they dug a deep pit and laid the dead in it.

When the third year was over, on a holy day, the Priest went up to the chapel to show the people the wounds of the Lord and to speak to them of the wrath of God.

He put on his vestments, went in, and bowed before the altar, and then he saw that the altar was covered with strange flowers that had never been seen before. They were strange to look at and curiously beautiful, and their beauty troubled him, and their scent was sweet to him. He felt glad, and he did not understand why he was glad.

He opened the tabernacle and swung incense before the monstrance inside it, showed the white wafer to the people, and hid it again behind the veil of veils. Then he began to speak to the people, meaning to speak to them of the wrath of God. But the beauty of the white flowers troubled him, and their scent was sweet to him, and another word came to his lips, and he spoke not of the wrath of God but of the God whose name is Love. And why he spoke so, he did not know.

When he had finished, the people wept, and the Priest went back to the sacristy with his eyes full of tears. The deacons came in and began to take off his vestments, removing the alb and the cord, the maniple and the stole. And he stood like a man in a dream.

When they had finished, he looked at them and said, “What are those flowers on the altar, and where do they come from?”

They answered him, “What flowers they are, we cannot tell, but they come from the corner of the Fullers’ Field.”

The Priest trembled and went back to his own house, and prayed.

The next morning, while it was still dawn, he went out with the monks and the musicians, the candle bearers and the swingers of censers, and a great crowd, and came to the shore of the sea, and blessed the sea and all the wild things that are in it. He blessed the Fauns as well, and the little things that dance in the woods, 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 did flowers of any kind grow in the corner of the Fullers’ Field, and the field stayed as barren as it had been before. Nor did the Sea-folk come into the bay as they used to, for they went away to another part of the sea.

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- Read online: https://talerie.com/en/tales/the-fisherman-and-his-soul-original
- Wikidata: https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q108273652
- Source: A House of Pomegranates, by Oscar Wilde (Project Gutenberg #873) (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/873)
- Public-domain basis: Talerie contemporary retelling (CC0 2026), based on: A House of Pomegranates, by Oscar Wilde (Project Gutenberg #873) — original: author died 1900 (+70 passed)
- License: CC0-1.0 (https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/)