Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 03.djvu/100

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78 THE WRITINGS OF OSCAR WILDE.

And he gave him no blessing, but drove him from his door. 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 off 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

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