As for
myself, I will go to the City of the Seven Sins, that is but three days'
journey from this place, and for my purple they will give me pleasure,
and for my pearls they will sell me joy.' And he took up the purple and
the pearls and went swiftly away.

And the Hermit cried out and followed him and besought him. For the
space of three days he followed the young Robber on the road and
entreated him to return, nor to enter into the City of the Seven Sins.

And ever and anon the young Robber looked back at the Hermit and called
to him, and said, 'Will you give me this knowledge of God which is more
precious than purple and pearls? If you will give me that, I will not
enter the city.'

And ever did the Hermit answer, 'All things that I have I will give thee,
save that one thing only. For that thing it is not lawful for me to give
away.'

And in the twilight of the third day they came nigh to the great scarlet
gates of the City of the Seven Sins. And from the city there came the
sound of much laughter.

And the young Robber laughed in answer, and sought to knock at the gate.
And as he did so the Hermit ran forward and caught him by the skirts of
his raiment, and said to him: 'Stretch forth your hands, and set your
arms around my neck, and put your ear close to my lips, and I will give
you what remains to me of the knowledge of God.' And the young Robber
stopped.

And when the Hermit had given away his knowledge of God, he fell upon the
ground and wept, and a great darkness hid from him the city and the young
Robber, so that he saw them no more.

And as he lay there weeping he was ware of One who was standing beside
him; and He who was standing beside him had feet of brass and hair like
fine wool. And He raised the Hermit up, and said to him: 'Before this
time thou hadst the perfect knowledge of God. Now thou shalt have the
perfect love of God. Wherefore art thou weeping?' And he kissed
him.--_Poems in Prose_.

WILDE GIVES DIRECTIONS ABOUT 'DE PROFUNDIS'

H.M. PRISON, READING.

April 1st, 1897.

My Dear Robbie,--I send you a MS. separate from this, which I hope will
arrive safely. As soon as you have read it, I want you to have it
carefully copied for me. There are many causes why I wish this to be
done. One will suffice. I want you to be my literary executor in case
of my death, and to have complete control of my plays, books, and papers.
As soon as I find I have a legal right to make a will, I will do so. My
wife does not understand my art, nor could be expected to have any
interest in it, and Cyril is only a child. So I turn naturally to you,
as indeed I do for everything, and would like you to have all my works.
The deficit that their sale will produce may be lodged to the credit of
Cyril and Vivian. Well, if you are my literary executor, you must be in
possession of the only document that gives any explanation of my
extraordinary behaviour . . . When you have read the letter, you will see
the psychological explanation of a course of conduct that from the
outside seems a combination of absolute idiotcy with vulgar bravado. Some
day the truth will have to be known--not necessarily in my lifetime . . .