Children’s Stories - Oscar Wilde (that summer book txt) 📗

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 someone 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 hast 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 hast 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.

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 wilt.” 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 seashore 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