A House of Pomegranates, Oscar Wilde [suggested reading TXT] 📗

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 sealions with their curved tusks, and

the sea-horses with their floating manes.

 

And as she sang, all the tunny-fish came in from the deep to listen

to her, and the young Fisherman threw his nets round them and

caught them, and others he took with a spear. And when his boat

was well-laden, the Mermaid would sink down into the sea, smiling

at him.

 

Yet would she never come near him that he might touch her.

Oftentimes he called to her and prayed of her, but she would not;

and when he sought to seize her she dived into the water as a seal

might dive, nor did he see her again that day. And each day the

sound of her voice became sweeter to his ears. So sweet was her

voice that he forgot his nets and his cunning, and had no care of

his craft. Vermilion-finned and with eyes of bossy gold, the

tunnies went by in shoals, but he heeded them not. His spear lay

by his side unused, and his baskets of plaited osier were empty.

With lips parted, and eyes dim with wonder, he sat idle in his boat

and listened, listening till the sea-mists crept round him, and the

wandering moon stained his brown limbs with silver.

 

And one evening he called to her, and said: ‘Little Mermaid,

little Mermaid, I love thee. Take me for thy bridegroom, for I

love thee.’

 

But the Mermaid shook her head. ‘Thou hast a human soul,’ she

answered. ‘If only thou wouldst send away thy soul, then could I

love thee.’

 

And the young Fisherman said to himself, ‘Of what use is my soul to

me? I cannot see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it.

Surely I will send it away from me, and much gladness shall be

mine.’ And a cry of joy broke from his lips, and standing up in

the painted boat, he held out his arms to the Mermaid. ‘I will

send my soul away,’ he cried, ‘and you shall be my bride, and I

will be thy bridegroom, and in the depth of the sea we will dwell

together, and all that thou hast sung of thou shalt show me, and

all that thou desirest I will do, nor shall our lives be divided.’

 

And the little Mermaid laughed for pleasure and hid her face in her

hands.

 

‘But how shall I send my soul from me?’ cried the young Fisherman.

‘Tell me how I may do it, and lo! it shall be done.’

 

‘Alas! I know not,’ said the little Mermaid: ‘the Sea-folk have

no souls.’ And she sank down into the deep, looking wistfully at

him.

 

Now early on the next morning, before the sun was the span of a

man’s hand above the hill, the young Fisherman went to the house of

the Priest and knocked three times at the door.

 

The novice looked out through the wicket, and when he saw who it

was, he drew back the latch and said to him, ‘Enter.’

 

And the young Fisherman passed in, and knelt down on the sweet-smelling rushes of the floor, and cried to the Priest who was

reading out of the Holy Book and said to him, ‘Father, I am in love

with one of the Sea-folk, and my soul hindereth me from having my

desire. Tell me how I can send my soul away from me, for in truth

I have no need of it. Of what value is my soul to me? I cannot

see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it.’

 

And the Priest beat his breast, and answered, ‘Alack, alack, thou

art mad, or hast eaten of some poisonous herb, for the soul is the

noblest part of man, and was given to us by God that we should

nobly use it. There is no thing more precious than a human soul,

nor any earthly thing that can be weighed with it. It is worth all

the gold that is in the world, and is more precious than the rubies

of the kings. Therefore, my son, think not any more of this

matter, for it is a sin that may not be forgiven. And as for the

Sea-folk, they are lost, and they who would traffic with them are

lost also. They are as the beasts of the field that know not good

from evil, and for them the Lord has not died.’

 

The young Fisherman’s eyes filled with tears when he heard the

bitter words of the Priest, and he rose up from his knees and said

to him, ‘Father, the Fauns live in the forest and are glad, and on

the rocks sit the Mermen with their harps of red gold. Let me be

as they are, I beseech thee, for their days are as the days of

flowers. And as for my soul, what doth my soul profit me, if it

stand between me and the thing that I love?’

 

‘The love of the body is vile,’ cried the Priest, knitting his

brows, ‘and vile and evil are the pagan things God suffers to

wander through His world. Accursed be the Fauns of the woodland,

and accursed be the singers of the sea! I have heard them at

night-time, and they have sought to lure me from my beads. They

tap at the window, and laugh. They whisper into my ears the tale

of their perilous joys. They tempt me with temptations, and when I

would pray they make mouths at me. They are lost, I tell thee,

they are lost. For them there is no heaven nor hell, and in

neither shall they praise God’s name.’

 

‘Father,’ cried the young Fisherman, ‘thou knowest not what thou

sayest. Once in my net I snared the daughter of a King. She is

fairer than the morning star, and whiter than the moon. For her

body I would give my soul, and for her love I would surrender

heaven. Tell me what I ask of thee, and let me go in peace.’

 

‘Away! Away!’ cried the Priest: ‘thy leman is lost, and thou

shalt be lost with her.’

 

And he gave him no blessing, but drove him from his door.

 

And the young Fisherman went down into the market-place, and he

walked slowly, and with bowed head, as one who is in sorrow.

 

And when the merchants saw him coming, they began to whisper to

each other, and one of them came forth to meet him, and called him

by name, and said to him, ‘What hast thou to sell?’

 

‘I will sell thee my soul,’ he answered. ‘I pray thee buy it of

me, for I am weary of it. Of what use is my soul to me? I cannot

see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it.’

 

But the merchants mocked at him, and said, ‘Of what use is a man’s

soul to us? It is not worth a clipped piece of silver. Sell us

thy body for a slave, and we will clothe thee in sea-purple, and

put a ring upon thy finger, and make thee the minion of the great

Queen. But talk not of the soul, for to us it is nought, nor has

it any value for our service.’

 

And the young Fisherman said to himself: ‘How strange a thing this

is! The Priest telleth me that the soul is worth all the gold in

the world, and the merchants say that it is not worth a clipped

piece of silver.’ And he passed out of the market-place, and went

down to the shore of the sea, and began to ponder on what he should

do.

 

And at noon he remembered how one of his companions, who was a

gatherer of samphire, had told him of a certain young Witch who

dwelt in a cave at the head of the bay and was very cunning in her

witcheries. And he set to and ran, so eager was he to get rid of

his soul, and a cloud of dust followed him as he sped round the

sand of the shore. By the itching of her palm the young Witch knew

his coming, and she laughed and let down her red hair. With her

red hair falling around her, she stood at the opening of the cave,

and in her hand she had a spray of wild hemlock that was

blossoming.

 

‘What d’ye lack? What d’ye lack?’ she cried, as he came panting up

the steep, and bent down before her. ‘Fish for thy net, when the

wind is foul? I have a little reed-pipe, and when I blow on it the

mullet come sailing into the bay. But it has a price, pretty boy,

it has a price. What d’ye lack? What d’ye lack? A storm to wreck

the ships, and wash the chests of rich treasure ashore? I have

more storms than the wind has, for I serve one who is stronger than

the wind, and with a sieve and a pail of water I can send the great

galleys to the bottom of the sea. But I have a price, pretty boy,

I have a price. What d’ye lack? What d’ye lack? I know a flower

that grows in the valley, none knows it but I. It has purple

leaves, and a star in its heart, and its juice is as white as milk.

Shouldst thou touch with this flower the hard lips of the Queen,

she would follow thee all over the world. Out of the bed of the

King she would rise, and over the whole world she would follow

thee. And it has a price, pretty boy, it has a price. What d’ye

lack? What d’ye lack? I can pound a toad in a mortar, and make

broth of it, and stir the broth with a dead man’s hand. Sprinkle

it on thine enemy while he sleeps, and he will turn into a black

viper, and his own mother will slay him. With a wheel I can draw

the Moon from heaven, and in a crystal I can show thee Death. What

d’ye lack? What d’ye lack? Tell me thy desire, and I will give it

thee, and thou shalt pay me a price, pretty boy, thou shalt pay me

a price.’

 

‘My desire is but for a little thing,’ said the young Fisherman,

‘yet hath the Priest been wroth with me, and driven me forth. It

is but for a little thing, and the merchants have mocked at me, and

denied me. Therefore am I come to thee, though men call thee evil,

and whatever be thy price I shall pay it.’

 

‘What wouldst thou?’ asked the Witch, coming near to him.

 

‘I would send my soul away from me,’ answered the young Fisherman.

 

The Witch grew pale, and shuddered, and