by Oscar Wilde
53 Sonnet 81. In the expanded version Wilde at this point inserted a lengthy new passage concerning the actor as the dramatist’s deliberate and self-conscious fellow worker, followed immediately by another new passage concerning the influence of Neoplatonism on the Renaissance and its importance to our understanding of Renaissance love poetry. See Appendix, p. 284 below. Wilde concluded the expanded section 2 of the story with these new additions.
54 A Lover’s Complaint (not The Lover’s Complaint) was published immediately following Shakespeare’s sonnets in Thorpe’s first quarto edition of 1609. Though frequently attributed to Shakespeare, its authorship is disputed.
55 Walter Devereux (b. 1541), first Earl of Essex, died in 1576, officially of natural causes though it was rumored by assassination. His daughter was Penelope Rich, Lady Rich, the inspiration for Sir Philip Sidney’s sonnet sequence Astrophil and Stella. Wilde is quoting from the account of Essex’s death given in Massey, Shakespeare’s Sonnets Never Before Interpreted, pp. 382–383, although Massey had confused Knell (Essex’s chaplain), with Edward Waterhouse (his secretary).
56 Margaret Hughes (1630–1719), sometimes spelt Margaret Hewes, was the first professional actress in England. She was the mistress of Prince Rupert of the Rhine, a general during the English Civil War and later an admiral during the Restoration.
57 In the expanded version, Wilde at this point inserted a lengthy new passage concerning the genesis of the boy-actor, the ambiguity of the sexes, and the “essentially male” culture of the English Renaissance. See Appendix p. 293 below. Along with the bulk of the present paragraph, the new material constituted the story’s new section 3.
58 In lieu of this sentence, Wilde inserted into the expanded version a lengthy new passage concerning the identity and character of the “dark lady,” her influence over Shakespeare, and the death of Willie Hughes. See Appendix p. 301 below. Together with a revised version of the final paragraph of the present section 2, this passage constituted the story’s new section 4.
59 A death mask purported to be that of Shakespeare was found in Mainz, Germany, in 1849. It is inscribed 1616 (not 1615), the year of Shakespeare’s death.
60 “The Enlightening, the Aufklärung, … was effected by … Lessing and Herder, brilliant precursors of the age of genius which centered in Goethe” (Walter Pater, Imaginary Portraits, in Vol. 4 of The Works of Walter Pater [London: Macmillan, 1900], 152).
61 Actors from Britain.
62 Dionysus, or Bacchus, was the Greek god of wine and ritual madness. His drunken followers sometimes pretended to be half-animal, half-human creatures, and maenads, or “mad women.” In “A Study of Dionysus” (1876), Walter Pater wrote “It is out of the sorrows of Dionysus … that all Greek tragedy grows.”
63 Antinous, from Bithynia in Turkey, was the beloved slave of the Roman emperor Hadrian. Though Antinous drowned in the Nile in mysterious circumstances in CE 130, he was deified after his death and frequently made the subject of Roman sculpture. Charmides, the interlocutor of Socrates, was a handsome, intellectual young Athenian (possibly imaginary) who features in Plato’s dialogue of that name. Wilde borrowed the name for his 1881 poem “Charmides.” Wilde here imagines that Charmides was interred in the Cerameicus cemetery in Athens.
64 In the expanded version, Wilde began this section—renumbered as section 5—with a passage concerning art’s capacity to reveal us to ourselves. See Appendix p. 311 below.
65 But see n.49 above.
66 In the late-nineteenth century, after Henry Brougham, first Baron Brougham and Vaux had built a palatial holiday home there, the French Mediterranean resort city of Cannes became a popular destination for aristocratic English tourists.
67 Like Cyril Graham’s suicide earlier, Erskine’s apparent suicide links him to the tragic forger Chatterton.
68 See p. 70 n.55 above.
69 Consumption, now known as tuberculosis, is a deadly infectious disease that usually attacks the lungs. Before the development of the BCG vaccine in the 1920s, it was the source of as many as one in four deaths in Britain. After its registration as a certifiable disease in the 1880s, and because of the high concentration of sufferers in large cities, doctors often felt that removal to the open air and a temperate climate would alleviate the symptoms.
70 At this point Wilde inserted into the expanded version the new paragraph concerning the pathetic fallacy of martyrdom reprinted in the Appendix (p. 315) below.
71 In the expanded version Wilde added to this sentence “one of whom has etched it for me.” This is a coded reference to the “portrait” of Mr. W. H. made for Wilde by Charles Ricketts. See headnote, n.3, and p. 197 above.
72 Possibly a slip for P. Oudry, whose 1578 portrait of Mary, Queen of Scots, Wilde may have seen at the Stuart exhibition at London’s New Gallery in 1889. For Clouet, see n.4 above.
THE FISHERMAN AND HIS SOUL*
· · · EVERY EVENING THE YOUNG Fisherman went out upon the sea, and threw his nets into the water.
When the wind blew from the land he caught nothing, or but little at best, for it was a bitter and black-winged wind, and rough waves rose up to meet it. But when the wind blew to the shore, the fish came in from the deep, and swam into the meshes of his nets, and he took them to the market-place and sold them.
Every evening he went out upon the sea, and one evening the net was so heavy that hardly could he draw it into the boat. And he laughed, and said to himself, “Surely I have caught all the fish that swim, or snared some dull monster that will be a marvel to men, or some thing of horror that the great Queen will desire,” and putting forth all his strength, he tugged at the coarse ropes till, like lines of blue enamel round a vase of bronze, the long veins rose up on his arms. He tugged at the thin ropes, and nearer and nearer came the circle of flat corks, and the net rose at last to the top of the water.
But no fish at all was in it, nor any monster or thing of horror, but only a little Mermaid lying fast asleep.
Her hair was as a wet fleece of gold, and each separate hair as a thread of fine gold in a cup of glass. Her body was as white ivory, and her tail was of silver and pearl. Silver and pearl was her tail, and the green weeds of the sea coiled round it; and like sea-shells were her ears, and her lips were like sea-coral. The cold waves dashed over her cold breasts, and the salt glistened upon her eyelids.
So beautiful was she that when the young Fisherman saw her he was filled with wonder, and he put out his hand and drew the net close to him, and leaning over the side he clasped her in his arms. And when he touched her, she gave a cry like a startled sea-gull, and woke, and looked at him in terror with her mauve-amethyst eyes, and struggled that she might escape. But he held her tightly to him, and would not suffer her to depart.
And when she saw that she could in no way escape from him, she began to weep, and said, “I pray thee let me go, for I am the only daughter of a King, and my father is aged and alone.”
Heinrich Vogeler, illustration to “Der Fischer Und Seine Seele” (“The Fisherman and His Soul”), from Die Erzählungen und Märchen, von Oscar Wilde (Leipzig: Insel-Verlag, 1912).
But the young Fisherman answered, “I will not let thee go save thou makest me a promise that whenever I call thee, thou wilt come and sing to me, for the fish delight to listen to the song of the Sea-folk, and so shall my nets be full.”
“Wilt thou in very truth let me go, if I promise thee this?” cried the Mermaid.
“In very truth I will let thee go,” said the young Fisherman.1
So she made him the promise he desired, and sware it by the oath of the Sea-folk. And he loosened his arms from about her, and she sank down into the water, trembling with a strange fear.
* * *
EVERY EVENING THE YOUNG Fisherman went out upon the sea, and called to the Mermaid, and she rose out of
the water and sang to him. Round and round her swam the dolphins, and the wild gulls wheeled above her head.
And she sang a marvellous song. For she sang of the Sea-folk who drive their flocks from cave to cave, and carry the little calves on their shoulders; of the Tritons who have long green beards, and hairy breasts, and blow through twisted conchs when the King passes by; of the palace of the King which is all of amber, with a roof of clear emerald, and a pavement of bright pearl; and of the gardens of the sea where the great filigrane fans of coral wave all day long, and the fish dart about like silver birds, and the anemones cling to the rocks, and the pinks bourgeon in the ribbed yellow sand. She sang of the big whales that come down from the north seas and have sharp icicles hanging to their fins; of the Sirens who tell of such wonderful things that the merchants have to stop their ears with wax lest they should hear them, and leap into the water and be drowned; of the sunken galleys with their tall masts, and the frozen sailors clinging to the rigging, and the mackerel swimming in and out of the open portholes; of the little barnacles who are great travellers, and cling to the keels of the ships and go round and round the world; and of the cuttlefish who live in the sides of the cliffs and stretch out their long black arms, and can make night come when they will it. She sang of the nautilus who has a boat of her own that is carved out of an opal and steered with a silken sail; of the happy Mermen who play upon harps and can charm the great Kraken to sleep;2 of the little children who catch hold of the slippery porpoises and ride laughing upon their backs; of the Mermaids who lie in the white foam and hold out their arms to the mariners; and of the sea-lions with their curved tusks, and the sea-horses with their floating manes.
And as she sang, all the tunny-fish came in from the deep to listen to her, and the young Fisherman threw his nets round them and caught them, and others he took with a spear. And when his boat was well-laden, the Mermaid would sink down into the sea, smiling at him.
Yet would she never come near him that he might touch her. Oftentimes he called to her and prayed of her, but she would not; and when he sought to seize her she dived into the water as a seal might dive, nor did he see her again that day. And each day the sound of her voice became sweeter to his ears. So sweet was her voice that he forgot his nets and his cunning, and had no care of his craft. Vermilion-finned and with eyes of bossy gold, the tunnies went by in shoals, but he heeded them not. His spear lay by his side unused, and his baskets of plaited osier were empty. With lips parted, and eyes dim with wonder, he sat idle in his boat and listened, listening till the sea-mists crept round him, and the wandering moon stained his brown limbs with silver.
And one evening he called to her, and said: “Little Mermaid, little Mermaid, I love thee. Take me for thy bridegroom, for I love thee.”
But the Mermaid shook her head. “Thou hast a human soul,” she answered. “If only thou wouldst send away thy soul, then could I love thee.”
And the young Fisherman said to himself, “Of what use is my soul to me? I cannot see it. I may not touch it. I do not know it. Surely I will send it away from me, and much gladness shall be mine.” And a cry of joy broke from his lips, and standing up in the painted boat, he held out his arms to the Mermaid. “I will send my soul away,” he cried, “and you shall be my bride, and I will be thy bridegroom, and in the depth of the sea we will dwell together, and all that thou hast sung of thou shalt show me, and all that thou desirest I will do, nor shall our lives be divided.”3
And the little Mermaid laughed for pleasure and hid her face in her hands.4
“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.”5
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?”6
“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 leman7 is lost, and thou shalt be lost with her.”
And he gave him no blessing, but drove him from his door.8
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 cunni
ng 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.9
“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.”
