Part 1. The Caught Mermaid
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.’ Аnd 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 make me a promise that whenever I call thee, thou will 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.’
‘Will 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 swore 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.
Part 2. The Tales of the Sea
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 have a human soul,’ she
answered. ‘If only thou would 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 have sung of thou shall show me, and all that thou desire 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.
Part 3. The Priest’s Advice
Now early on the next morning, before the sun was the spanof a
man’s handabove 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 hindered 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
are mad, or have eaten of some poisonous herb, for the soul is the noblest part
of man, and was given to us by God that we should nobly use it. There is no
thing more precious than a human soul, nor any earthly thing that can be
weighed with it. It is worth all the gold that is in the world, and is more
precious than the rubies of the kings. Therefore, my son, think not any more of
this matter, for it is a sin that may not be forgiven. And as for the Sea-folk,
they are lost, and they who would traffic with them are lost also. They are as
the beasts of the field that know not good from evil, and for them the Lord has
not died.’
The young Fisherman’s eyes filled with tears when he heard the
bitter words of the Priest, and he rose up from his knees and said to him,
‘Father, the Fauns live in the forest and are glad, and on the rocks sit the
Mermen with their harps of red gold. Let me be as they are, I beseech thee, for
their days are as the days of flowers. And as for my soul, what do my soul
profit me, if it stand between me and the thing that I love?’
‘The love of the body is vile,’ cried the Priest, knitting his
brows, ‘and vile and evil are the pagan things God suffers to wander through
His world. Accursed be the Fauns of the woodland, and accursed be the singers
of the sea! I have heard them at
night-time, and they have sought to lure me from my beads. They tap at the
window, and laugh. They whisper into my ears the tale of their perilous joys.
They tempt me with temptations, and when I would pray they make mouths at me.
They are lost, I tell thee, they are lost. For them there is no heaven nor
hell, and in neither shall they praise God’s name.’
‘Father,’ cried the young Fisherman, ‘thou know not what thou say.
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 shall
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 has thou
to sell?’
‘I will sell thee my soul,’ he answered. ‘I pray thee buy it of
me, for I am weary of it. Of what use is my soul to me? I cannot see it. I may
not touch it. I do not know it.’
But the merchants mocked at him, and said, ‘Of what use is a man’s
soul to us? It is not worth a clipped piece of silver. Sell us thy body for a
slave, and we will clothe thee in sea-purple, and put a ring upon thy finger, and
make thee the minion of the great Queen. But talk not of the soul, for to us it
is nought, nor has it any value for our service.’
And the young Fisherman said to himself: ‘How strange a thing this
is! The Priest telleth me that the soul is worth all the gold in the world, and
the merchants say that it is not worth a clipped piece of silver.’ And he
passed out of the market-place, and went down to the shore of the sea, and
began to ponder on what he should do.
Part 4.The Witch
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 do you lack? What do you 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 do you lack? What do you 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 do you lack? What do you 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. Should 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 do you lack? What do you lack? I can pound a toad in a
mortar, and make broth of it, and stir the broth with a dead man’s hand.
Sprinkle it on thine enemy while he sleeps, and he will turn into a black
viper, and his own mother will slay him. With a wheel I can draw the Moon from
heaven, and in a crystal I can show thee Death. What do you lack? What do you
lack? Tell me thy desire, and I will give it thee, and thou shall pay me a
price, pretty boy, thou shall pay me a price.’
‘My desire is but for a little thing,’ said the young Fisherman,
‘yet has 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 would 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 will 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 shall 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.
‘Tonight 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 speak?’ he asked.
‘It matters not,’ she answered. ‘Go thou tonight, 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 will 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 are the best of the witches,’ cried the young Fisherman,
‘and I will surely dance with thee tonight on the top of the mountain. I would
indeed that thou had asked of me either gold or silver. But such as thy price
is thou shall 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.’
Part 5. The Sabbath
And that evening, when the moon had risen, the young Fisherman
climbed up to the top of the mountain, and stood under the branches of the
hornbeam. Like a targe of polished metal the round sea lay at his feet, and the
shadows of the fishing-boats moved in the little bay. A great owl, with yellow
sulphurous eyes, called to him by his name, but he made it no answer. A black
dog ran towards him and snarled. He struck it with a rod of willow, and it went
away whining.
At midnight the witches came flying through the air like bats.
‘Phew!’ they cried, as they lit upon the ground, ‘there is some one here we
know not!’ and they sniffed about, and chattered to each other, and made signs.
Last of all came the young Witch, with her red hair streaming in the wind. She
wore a dress of gold tissue embroidered with peacocks’ eyes, and a little cap
of green velvet was on her head.
‘Where is he, where is he?’ shrieked the witches when they saw
her, but she only laughed, and ran to the hornbeam, and taking the Fisherman by
the hand she led him out into the moonlight and began to dance.
Round and round they whirled, and the young Witch jumped so high
that he could see the scarlet heels of her shoes. Then right across the dancers
came the sound of the galloping of a horse, but no horse was to be seen, and he
felt afraid.
‘Faster,’ cried the Witch, and she threw her arms about his neck,
and her breath was hot upon his face. ‘Faster, faster!’ she cried, and the
earth seemed to spin beneath his feet, and his brain grew troubled, and a great
terror fell on him, as of some evil thing that was watching him, and at last he
became aware that under the shadow of a rock there was a figure that had not
been there before.
It was a man dressed in a suit of black velvet, cut in the Spanish
fashion. His face was strangely pale, but his lips were like a proud red
flower. He seemed weary, and was leaning back toying in a listless manner with
the pommel of his dagger. On the grass beside him lay a plumed hat, and a pair
of riding-gloves gauntleted with gilt lace, and sewn with seed-pearls wrought
into a curious device. A short cloak lined with sables hang from his shoulder,
and his delicate white hands were gemmed with rings. Heavy eyelids drooped over
his eyes.
The young Fisherman watched him, as one snared in a spell. At last
their eyes met, and wherever he danced it seemed to him that the eyes of the
man were upon him. He heard the Witch laugh, and caught her by the waist, and
whirled her madly round and round.
Suddenly a dog bayed in the wood, and the dancers stopped, and
going up two by two, knelt down, and kissed the man’s hands. As they did so, a
little smile touched his proud lips, as a bird’s wing touches the water and
makes it laugh. But there was disdain in it. He kept looking at the young
Fisherman.
‘Come! let us worship,’ whispered the Witch, and she led him up,
and a great desire to do as she besought him seized on him, and he followed
her. But when he came close, and without knowing why he did it, he made on his
breast the sign of the Cross, and called upon the holy name.
No sooner had he done so than the witches screamed like hawks and
flew away, and the pallid face that had been watching him twitched with a spasm
of pain. The man went over to a little wood, and whistled. A jennet with silver
trappings came running to meet him. As he leapt upon the saddle he turned
round, and looked at the young Fisherman sadly.
And the Witch with the red hair tried to fly away also, but the
Fisherman caught her by her wrists, and held her fast.
‘Loose me,’ she cried, ‘and let me go. For thou has 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 has 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.
Part 6. The Outcast Soul
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 will.’
And she took from her girdle a little knife that had a handle of green viper’s
skin, and gave it to him.
‘What shall this serve me?’ he asked of her, wondering.
She was silent for a few moments, and a look of terror came over
her face. Then she brushed her hair back from her forehead, and smiling
strangely she said to him, ‘What men call the shadow of the body is not the
shadow of the body, but is the body of the soul. Stand on the sea-shore with
thy back to the moon, and cut away from around thy feet thy shadow, which is
thy soul’s body, and bid thy soul leave thee, and it will do so.’
The young Fisherman trembled. ‘Is this true?’ he murmured.
‘It is true, and I would that I had not told thee of it,’ she
cried, and she clung to his knees weeping.
He put her from him and left her in the rank grass, and going to
the edge of the mountain he placed the knife in his belt and began to climb
down.
And his Soul that was within him called out to him and said, ‘Lo!
I have dwelt with thee for all these years, and have been thy servant. Send me
not away from thee now, for what evil have I done thee?’And the young Fisherman
laughed. ‘Thou has 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 will, but trouble me not, for my love
is calling to me.’
And his Soul besought him piteously, but he heeded it not, but
leapt from crag to crag, being sure-footed as a wild goat, and at last he
reached the level ground and the yellow shore of the sea.
Bronze-limbed and well-knit, like a statue wrought by a Grecian,
he stood on the sand with his back to the moon, and out of the foam came white
arms that beckoned to him, and out of the waves rose dim forms that did him
homage. Before him lay his shadow, which was the body of his soul, and behind
him hung the moon in the honey- coloured air.
And his Soul said to him, ‘If indeed thou must drive me from thee,
send me not forth without a heart. The world is cruel, give me thy heart to
take with me.’
He tossed his head and smiled. ‘With what should I love my love if
I gave thee my heart?’ he cried.
‘Nay, but be merciful,’ said his Soul: ‘give me thy heart, for the
world is very cruel, and I am afraid.’
‘My heart is my love’s,’ he answered, ‘therefore tarry not, but
get thee gone.’
‘Should I not love also?’ asked his Soul.
‘Get thee gone, for I have no need of thee,’ cried the young
Fisherman, and he took the little knife with its handle of green viper’s skin,
and cut away his shadow from around his feet, and it rose up and stood before
him, and looked at him, and it was even as himself.
He crept back, and thrust the knife into his belt, and a feeling
of awe came over him. ‘Get thee gone,’ he murmured, ‘and let me see thy face no
more.’
‘Nay, but we must meet again,’ said the Soul. Its voice was low
and flute-like, and its lips hardly moved while it spake.
‘How shall we meet?’ cried the young Fisherman. ‘Thou will 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 will have need of me.’
‘What need should I have of thee?’ cried the young Fisherman, ‘but
be it as thou will,’ 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.
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