A House of Pomegranates - Oscar Wilde (reading in the dark .txt) 📗

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 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 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.

THE STAR-CHILD

[TO MISS MARGOT TENNANT—MRS. ASQUITH]

 

Once upon a time two poor Woodcutters were making their way home

through a great pine-forest. It was winter, and a night of bitter

cold. The snow lay thick upon the ground, and upon the branches of

the trees: the frost kept snapping the little twigs on either side

of them, as they passed: and when they came to the Mountain-Torrent she was hanging motionless in air, for the Ice-King had

kissed her.

 

So cold was it that even the animals and the birds did not know

what to make of it.

 

‘Ugh!’ snarled the Wolf, as he limped through the brushwood with

his tail between his legs, ‘this is perfectly monstrous weather.

Why doesn’t the Government look to it?’

 

‘Weet! weet! weet!’ twittered the green Linnets, ‘the old Earth is

dead and they have laid her out in her white shroud.’

 

‘The Earth is going to be married, and this is her bridal dress,’

whispered the Turtle-doves to each other. Their little pink feet

were quite frost-bitten, but they felt that it was their duty to

take a romantic view of the situation.

 

‘Nonsense!’ growled the Wolf. ‘I tell you that it is all the fault

of the Government, and if you don’t believe me I shall eat you.’

The Wolf had a thoroughly practical mind, and was never at a loss

for a good argument.

 

‘Well, for my own part,’ said the Woodpecker, who was a born

philosopher, ‘I don’t care an atomic theory for explanations. If a

thing is so, it is so, and at present it is terribly cold.’

 

Terribly cold it certainly was. The little Squirrels, who lived

inside the tall fir-tree, kept rubbing each other’s noses to keep

themselves warm, and the Rabbits curled themselves up in their

holes, and did not venture even to look out of doors. The only

people who seemed to enjoy it were the great horned Owls. Their

feathers were quite stiff with rime, but they did not mind, and

they rolled their large yellow eyes, and called out to each other

across the forest, ‘Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! what

delightful weather we are having!’

 

On and on went the two Woodcutters, blowing lustily upon their

fingers, and stamping with their huge iron-shod boots upon the

caked snow. Once they sank into a deep drift, and came out as

white as millers are, when the stones are grinding; and once they

slipped on the hard smooth ice where the marsh-water was frozen,

and their faggots fell out of their bundles, and they had to pick

them up and bind them together again; and once they thought that

they had lost their way, and a great terror seized on them, for

they knew that the Snow is cruel to those who sleep in her arms.

But they put their trust in the good Saint Martin, who watches over

all travellers, and retraced their steps, and went warily, and at

last they reached the outskirts of the forest, and saw, far down in

the valley beneath them, the lights of the village in which they

dwelt.

 

So overjoyed were they at their deliverance that they laughed

aloud, and