But the young Fisherman answered not his Soul, but closed his lips with the seal of silence
and with a tight cord bound his hands, and journeyed back to the place from which he had come,
even to the little bay where his love had been wont to sing. And ever did his Soul tempt him
by the way, but he made it no answer, nor would he do any of the wickedness that it sought to
make him to do, so great was the power of the love that was within him.
And when he had reached the shore of the sea, he loosed the cord from his hands, and took the
seal of silence from his lips, and called to the little Mermaid. But she came not to his call,
though he called to her all day long and besought her.
And his Soul mocked him and said, 'Surely thou hast but little joy out of thy love. Thou art
as one who in time of death pours water into a broken vessel. Thou givest away what thou hast,
and nought is given to thee in return. It were better for thee to come with me, for I know
where the Valley of Pleasure lies, and what things are wrought there.'
But the young Fisherman answered not his Soul, but in a cleft of the rock he built himself a
house of wattles, and abode there for the space of a year. And every morning he called to the
Merma id, and every noon he called to her again, and at night-time he spake her name. Yet
never did she rise out of the sea to meet him, nor in any place of the sea could he find her
though he sought for her in the caves and in the green water, in the pools of the tide and
in the wells that are at the bottom of the deep.
And ever did his Soul tempt him with evil, and whisper of terrible things. Yet did it not
prevail against him, so great was the power of his love.
And after the year was over, the Soul thought within himself, 'I have tempted my master with
evil, and his love is stronger than I am. I will tempt him now with good, and it may be that
he will come with me.'
So he spake to the young Fisherman and said, 'I have told thee of the joy of the world, and
thou hast turned a deaf ear to me. Suffer me now to tell thee of the world's pain, and it
may be that thou wilt hearken. For of a truth pain is the Lord of this world, nor is there any
one who escapes from its net. There be some who lack raiment, and others who lack bread.
There be widows who sit in purple, and widows who sit in rags. To and fro over the fens go
the lepers, and they are cruel to each other. The beggars go up and down on the highways,
and their wallets are empty. Through the streets of the cities walks Famine, and the Plague
sits at their gates. Come, let us go forth and mend these things, and make them not to be.
Wherefore shouldst thou tarry here calling to thy love, seeing she comes not to thy call?
And what is love, that thou shouldst set this high store upon it?'
But the young Fisherman answered it nought, so great was the power of his love. And every
morning he called to the Mermaid, and every noon he called to her again, and at night-time
he spake her name. Yet never did she rise out of the sea to meet him, nor in any place of
the sea could he find her, though he sought for her in the rivers of the sea, and in the
valleys that are under the waves, in the sea that the night makes purple, and in the sea
that the dawn leaves grey.
And after the second year was over, the Soul said to the young Fisherman at night-time, and
as he sat in the wattled house alone, 'Lo! now I have tempted thee with evil, and I have
tempted thee with good, and thy love is stronger than I am.
Wherefore will I tempt thee no longer, but I pray thee to suffer me to enter thy heart, that
I may be one with thee even as before.'
'Surely thou mayest enter,' said the young Fisherman, 'for in the days when with no heart
thou didst go through the world thou must have much suffered.'
'Alas!' cried his Soul, 'I can find no place of entrance, so compassed about with love is
this heart of thine.'
'Yet I would that I could help thee,' said the young Fisherman.
And as he spake there came a great cry of mourning from the sea, even the cry that men hear
when one of the Sea-folk is dead. And the young Fisherman leapt up, and left his wattled
house, and ran down to the shore. And the black waves came hurrying to the shore, bearing
with them a burden that was whiter than silver. White as the surf it was, and like a flower
it tossed on the waves. And the surf took it from the waves, and the foam took it from the
surf, and the shore received it, and lying at his feet the young Fisherman saw the body of
the little Mermaid. Dead at his feet it was lying.
Weeping as one smitten with pain he flung himself down beside it, and he kissed the cold
red of the mouth, and toyed with the wet amber of the hair. He flung himself down beside
it on the sand, weeping as one trembling with joy, and in his brown arms he held it to his
breast. Cold were the lips, yet he kissed them. Salt was the honey of the hair, yet he tasted
it with a bitter joy. He kissed the closed eyelids, and the wild spray that lay upon their
cups was less salt than his tears.
And to the dead thing he made confession. Into the shells of its ears he poured the harsh
wine of his tale. He put the little hands round his neck, and with his fingers he touched
the thin reed of the throat. Bitter, bitter was his joy, and full of strange gladness was his
pain.
The black sea came nearer, and the white foam moaned like a leper. With white claws of foam
the sea grabbled at the shore. From the palace of the Sea-King came the cry of mourning again,
and far out upon the sea the great Tritons blew hoarsely upon their horns.
'Flee away,' said his Soul, 'for ever doth the sea come nigher, and if thou tarriest it will
slay thee. Flee away, for I am afraid, seeing that thy heart is closed against me by reason
of the greatness of thy love. Flee away to a place of safety. Surely thou wilt not send me
without a heart into another world?'
But the young Fisherman listened not to his Soul, but called on the little Mermaid and said,
'Love is better than wisdom, and more precious than riches, and fairer than the feet of the
daughters of men. The fires cannot destroy it, nor can the waters quench it. I called on thee
at dawn, and thou didst not come to my call. The moon heard thy name, yet hadst thou no heed
of me. For evilly had I left thee, and to my own hurt had I wandered away. Yet ever did thy
love abide with me, and ever was it strong, nor did aught prevail against it, though I have
looked upon evil and looked upon good. And now that thou art dead, surely I will die with thee
also.'
And his Soul besought him to depart, but he would not, so great was his love. And the sea
came
nearer, and sought to cover him with its waves, and when he knew that the end was at hand he
kissed with mad lips the cold lips of the Mermaid, and the heart that was within him brake.
And as through the fulness of his love his heart did break, the Soul found an entrance and
entered in, and was one with him even as before. And the sea covered the young Fisherman with
its waves.
And in the morning the Priest went forth to bless the sea, for it had been troubled. And with
him went the monks and the musicians, and the candle-bearers, and the swingers of censers,
and a great company.
And when the Priest reached the shore he saw the young Fisherman lying drowned in the surf,
and clasped in his arms was the body of the little Mermaid. And he drew back frowning, and
having made the sign of the cross, he cried aloud and said, 'I will not bless the sea nor
anything that is in it. Accursed be the Sea-folk, and accursed be all they who traffic with
them. And as for him who for love's sake forsook God, and so lieth here with his leman slain
by God's judgment, take up his body and the body of his leman, and bury them in the corner of
the Field of the Fullers, and set no mark above them, nor sign of any kind, that none may
know the place of their resting. For accursed were they in their lives, and accursed shall
they be in their deaths also.'
And the people did as he commanded them, and in the corner of the Field of the Fullers, where
no sweet herbs grew, they dug a deep pit, and laid the dead things within it.
And when the third year was over, and on a day that was a holy day, the Priest went up to the
chapel, that he might show to the people the wounds of the Lord, and speak to them about the
wrath of God.
And when he had robed himself with his robes, and entered in and bowed himself before the
altar, he saw that the altar was covered with strange flowers that never had been seen before.
Strange were they to look at, and of curious beauty, and their beauty troubled him, and their
odour was sweet in his nostrils. And he felt glad, and understood not why he was glad.
And after that he had opened the tabernacle, and incensed the monstrance that was in it, and
shown the fair wafer to the people, and hid it again behind the veil of veils, he began to
speak to the people, desiring to speak to them of the wrath of God. But the beauty of the
white flowers troubled him, and their odour was sweet in his nostrils, and there came another
word into his lips, and he spake not of the wrath of God, but of the God whose name is Love.
And why he so spake, he knew not.
And when he had finished his word the people wept, and the Priest went back to the sacristy,
and his eyes were full of tears. And the deacons came in and began to unrobe him, and took
from him the alb and the girdle, the maniple and the stole. And he stood as one in a dream.
And after that they had unrobed him, he looked at them and said, 'What are the flowers that
stand on the altar, and whence do they come?'
And they answered him, 'What flowers they are we cannot tell, but they come from the corner
of the Fullers' Field.' And the Priest trembled, and returned to his own house and prayed.
And in the morning, while it was still dawn, he went forth with the monks and the musicians,
and the candle-bearers and the swingers of censers, and a great company, and came to the
shore of the sea, and blessed the sea, and all the wild things that are in it. The Fauns
also he blessed, and the little things that dance in the woodland, and the bright-eyed
. Yet never again in the corner of the Fullers' Field grew flowers of any kind, but the
field remained barren even as before. Nor came the Sea-folk into the bay as they had been
wont to do, for they went to another part of the sea.