王尔德 The Young King Oscar Wilde

The Young King

Oscar Wilde

IT was the night before the day fixed for his coronation, and the young King was sitting alone in

his

beautiful

chamber. His courtiers

had all

taken

their

leave

of

him,

bowing

their

heads

to

the

ground, according to the ceremonious usage of the day, and had retired to the Great Hall of the

Palace, to receive a few last lessons from the Professor of Etiquette; there being some of them who

had still quite natural manners, which in a courtier is, I need hardly say, a very grave offence.

The lad - for he was only a lad, being but sixteen years of age - was not sorry at their departure,

and

had

flung

himself

back

with

a

deep

sigh

of

relief

on

the

soft

cushions

of

his

embroidered

couch,

lying

there,

wild-eyed

and

open-mouthed,

like

a

brown

woodland

Faun,

or

some

young

animal of the forest newly snared by the hunters.

And,

indeed,

it

was

the

hunters

who

had

found

him,

coming

upon

him

almost

by

chance

as,

bare-limbed and pipe in hand, he was following the flock of the poor goatherd who had brought

him

up,

and

whose

son

he

had

always

fancied

himself

to

be.

The

child

of

the

old

King's

only

daughter by a secret marriage with one much beneath her in station - a stranger, some said, who,

by the wonderful magic of his lute-playing, had made the young Princess love him; while others

spoke of an artist from Rimini, to whom the Princess had shown much, perhaps too much honour,

and who had suddenly disappeared from the city, leaving his work in the Cathedral unfinished - he

had been, when but a week old, stolen away from his mother's side, as she slept, and given into the

charge of a common peasant and his wife, who were without children of their own, and lived in a

remote part of the forest, more than a day's ride from the town. Grief, or the plague, as the court

physician stated, or, as some suggested, a swift Italian poison administered in a cup of spiced wine,

slew, within an hour of her wakening, the white girl who had given him birth, and as the trusty

messenger who bare the child across his saddle-bow, stooped from his weary horse and knocked at

the rude door of the goatherd's hut, the body of the Princess was being lowered into an open grave

that had been dug in a deserted churchyard, beyond the city gates, a grave where, it was said, that

another body was also lying, that of a young man of marvellous and foreign beauty, whose hands

were tied behind him with a knotted cord, and whose breast was stabbed with many red wounds.

Such, at least, was the story that men whispered to each other. Certain it was that the old King,

when on his death-bed, whether moved by remorse for his great sin, or merely desiring that the

kingdom should not pass away from his line, had had the lad sent for, and, in the presence of the

Council, had acknowledged him as his heir.

And it seems that from the very first moment of his recognition he had shown signs of that strange

passion

for

beauty

that

was

destined

to

have

so

great

an

influence

over

his

life.

Those

who

accompanied him to the suite of rooms set apart for his service, often spoke of the cry of pleasure

that broke from his lips when he saw the delicate raiment and rich jewels that had been prepared

for him, and of the almost fierce joy with which he flung aside his rough leathern tunic and coarse

sheepskin cloak. He missed, indeed, at times the fine freedom of his forest life, and was always

apt to chafe at the tedious Court ceremonies that occupied so much of each day, but the wonderful

palace - Joyeuse, as they called it - of which he now found himself lord, seemed to him to be a

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new world fresh-fashioned for his delight; and as soon as he could escape from the council-board

or audience- chamber, he would run down the great staircase, with its lions of gilt bronze and its

steps of bright porphyry, and wander from room to room, and from corridor to corridor, like one

who was seeking to find in beauty an anodyne from pain, a sort of restoration from sickness.

Upon

these

journeys

of

discovery,

as

he

would

call

them

-

and,

indeed,

they

were

to

him

real

voyages through a marvellous land, he would sometimes be accompanied by the slim, fair-haired

Court pages, with their floating mantles, and gay fluttering ribands; but more often he would be

alone, feeling through a certain quick instinct, which was almost a divination, that the secrets of

art are best learned in secret, and that Beauty, like Wisdom, loves the lonely worshipper.

Many curious stories were related about him at this period. It was said that a stout Burgomaster,

who

had

come

to

deliver

a

florid

oratorical

address

on

behalf

of

the

citizens

of

the

town,

had

caught sight of him kneeling in real adoration before a great picture that had just

been brought

from Venice, and that seemed to herald the worship of some new gods. On another occasion he

had been missed for several hours, and after a lengthened search had been discovered in a little

chamber in one of the northern turrets of the palace gazing, as one in a trance, at a Greek gem

carved with the figure of Adonis. He had been seen, so the tale ran, pressing his warm lips to the

marble brow of an antique statue that had been discovered in the bed of the river on the occasion

of

the

building

of

the

stone

bridge,

and

was

inscribed

with

the

name

of

the

Bithynian

slave

of

Hadrian. He had passed a whole night in noting the effect of the moonlight on a silver image of

Endymion.

All

rare

and

costly

materials

had

certainly

a

great

fascination

for

him,

and

in

his

eagerness

to

procure

them

he

had

sent

away

many

merchants,

some

to

traffic

for

amber

with

the

rough

fisher- folk of the north seas, some to Egypt to look for that curious green turquoise which is found

only in

the tombs of kings,

and is said to possess

magical properties, some

to Persia for silken

carpets and painted pottery, and others to India to buy gauze and stained ivory, moonstones and

bracelets of jade, sandalwood and blue enamel and shawls of fine wool.

But what had occupied him most was the robe he was to wear at his coronation, the robe of tissued

gold, and the ruby-studded crown, and the sceptre with its rows and rings of pearls. Indeed, it was

of this that he was thinking to-night, as he lay back on his luxurious couch, watching the great

pinewood log that was burning itself out on the open hearth. The designs, which were from the

hands of the most famous artists of the time, had been submitted to him many months before, and

he had given orders that the artificers were to toil night and day to carry them out, and that the

whole world was to be searched for jewels that would be worthy of their work. He saw himself in

fancy standing at the high altar of the cathedral in the fair raiment of a King, and a smile played

and lingered about his boyish lips, and lit up with a bright lustre his dark woodland eyes.

After some time he rose from his seat, and leaning against the carved penthouse of the chimney,

looked

round

at

the

dimly-lit

room.

The

walls

were

hung

with

rich

tapestries

representing

the

Triumph of Beauty. A large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli, filled one corner, and facing

the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold,

on

which

were

placed

some

delicate

goblets

of Venetian

glass, and

a

cup

of

dark-veined

onyx.

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Pale poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed, as though they had fallen from the

tired hands of sleep, and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare

up the velvet canopy, from

which great

tufts

of

ostrich

plumes

sprang,

like

white

foam,

to

the

pallid

silver

of

the

fretted

ceiling.

A

laughing Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat

bowl of amethyst.

Outside

he

could

see

the

huge

dome

of

the

cathedral,

looming

like

a

bubble

over

the

shadowy

houses, and the weary sentinels pacing up and down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away, in

an orchard, a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the open window.

He

brushed

his

brown

curls

back

from

his

forehead,

and

taking

up

a

lute,

let

his

fingers

stray

across the cords. His heavy eyelids drooped, and a strange languor came over him. Never before

had he felt so keenly, or with such exquisite joy, the magic and the mystery of beautiful things.

When

midnight

sounded

from

the

clock- tower

he

touched

a

bell,

and

his

pages

entered

and

disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water over his hands, and strewing flowers on

his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the room, he fell asleep.

And as he slept he dreamed a dream, and this was his dream. He thought that he was standing in a

long,

low

attic,

amidst

the

whirr

and

clatter

of

many

looms.

The

meagre

daylight

peered

in

through the grated windows, and showed him the gaunt figures of the weavers bending over their

cases.

Pale,

sickly-looking

children

were

crouched

on

the

huge

cross-beams.

As

the

shuttles

dashed through the warp they lifted up the heavy battens, and when the shuttles stopped they let

the battens fall and pressed the threads together. Their faces were pinched with famine, and their

thin hands shook and trembled. Some haggard women were seated at a table sewing. A horrible

odour filled the place. The air was foul and heavy, and the walls dripped and streamed with damp.

The young King went over to one of the weavers, and stood by him and watched him.

And the weaver looked at him angrily, and said, `Why art thou watching me? Art thou a spy set on

us by our master?'

`Who is thy master?' asked the young King.

`Our

master!'

cried

the

weaver,

bitterly.

`He

is

a

man

like

myself.

Indeed,

`there

is

but

this

difference between us that he wears fine clothes while I go in rags, and that while I am weak from

hunger he suffers not a little from overfeeding.'

`The land is free,' said the young King, `and thou art no man's slave.'

`In war,' answered the weaver, `the strong make slaves of the weak, and in peace the rich make

slaves of the poor. We must work to live, and they give us such mean wages that we die. We toil

for them all day long, and they heap up gold in their coffers, and our children fade away before

their

time,

and

the

faces

of

those

we

love

become

hard

and

evil.

We

tread

out

the

grapes,

and

another drinks the wine. We sow the corn, and our own board is empty. We have chains, though

no eye beholds them; and are slaves, though men call us free.'

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`Is it so with all?' he asked.

`It is so with all,' answered the weaver, `with the young as well as with the old, with the women as

well as with the men, with the little children as well as with those who are stricken in years. The

merchants grind us down, and we must needs do their bidding. The priest rides by and tells his

beads, and no man has care of us. Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes,

and

Sin

with

his

sodden

face

follows

close

behind

her.

Misery

wakes

us

in

the

morning,

and

Shame sits with us at night. But what are these things to thee? Thou art not one of us. Thy face is

too happy.' And he turned away scowling, and threw the shuttle across the loom, and the young

King saw that it was threaded with a thread of gold.

And a great terror seized upon him, and he said to the weaver,

`What robe is

this that thou art

weaving?'

`It is the robe for the coronation of the young King,' he answered; `what is that to thee?'

And the young King gave a loud cry and woke, and lo! he was in his own chamber, and through

the window he saw the great honey-coloured moon hanging in the dusky air.

And he fell asleep again and dreamed, and this was his dream.

He thought that he was lying on the deck

of a huge galley that was being rowed by a hundred

slaves. On a carpet by his side the master of the galley was seated. He was black as ebony, and his

turban was of crimson silk. Great earrings of silver dragged down the thick lobes of his ears, and

in his hands he had a pair of ivory scales.

The slaves were naked, but for a ragged loincloth, and each man was chained to his neighbour.

The hot sun `beat brightly upon them, and the negroes ran up and down the gangway and lashed

them with whips of hide. They stretched out their lean arms and pulled the heavy oars through the

water. The salt spray flew from the blades.

At last they reached a little bay, and began to take soundings. A light wind blew from the shore,

and covered the deck and the great lateen sail with a fine red dust. Three Arabs mounted on wild

asses rode out and threw spears at them. The master of the galley took a painted bow in his hand

and shot one of them in the throat. He fell heavily into the surf, and his companions galloped away.

A woman wrapped in a yellow veil followed slowly on a camel, looking back now and then at the

dead body.

As

soon

as

they

had

cast

anchor

and

hauled

down

the

sail,

the

negroes

went

into

the

hold

and

brought up a long rope- ladder, heavily weighted with lead. The master of the galley threw it over

the side, making the ends fast to two iron stanchions. Then the negroes seized the youngest of the

slaves, and knocked his gyves oil, and filled his nostrils and his ears with wax, and tied a big stone

round his waist. He crept wearily down the ladder, and disappeared into the sea. A few bubbles

rose where he sank. Some of the other slaves peered curiously over the side. At the prow of the

galley sat a shark-charmer, beating monotonously upon a drum.

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After some time the diver rose up out of the water, and clung panting to the ladder with a pearl in

his right hand. The negroes seized it from him, and thrust him back. The slaves fell asleep over

their oars.

Again and again he came up, and each time that he did so he brought with him a beautiful pearl.

The master of the galley weighed them, and put them into a little bag of green leather.

The young King tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and his

lips refused to move. The negroes chattered to each other, and began to quarrel over a string of

bright beads. Two cranes flew round and round the vessel.

Then the diver came up for the last time, and the pearl that he brought with him was fairer than all

the pearls of Ormuz, for it was shaped like the full moon, and whiter than the morning star. But his

face was strangely pale, and as he fell upon the deck the blood gushed from his ears and nostrils.

He quivered for a little, and then he was still. The negroes shrugged their shoulders, and threw the

body overboard.

And the master of the galley laughed, and, reaching out, he took the pearl, and when he saw it he

pressed it to his forehead and bowed. `It shall be,' he said, `for the sceptre of the young King,' and

he made a sign to the negroes to draw up the anchor.

And when the young King heard this he gave a great cry, and woke, and through the window he

saw the long grey fingers of the dawn clutching at the fading stars.

And he fell asleep again, and dreamed, and this was his dream.

He

thought

that

he

was

wandering

through

a

dim

wood,

hung

with

strange

fruits

and

with

beautiful poisonous flowers. The adders hissed at him as he went by, and the bright parrots flew

screaming from branch to branch. Huge tortoises lay asleep upon the hot mud. The trees were full

of apes and peacocks.

On

and

on

he

went,

till

he

reached

the

outskirts

of

the

wood,

and

there

he

saw

an

immense

multitude of men toiling in the bed of a dried-up river. They swarmed up the crag like ants. They

dug deep pits in the ground and went down into them. Some of them cleft the rocks with great

axes; others grabbled in the sand. They tore up the cactus by its roots, and trampled on the scarlet

blossoms. They hurried about, calling to each other, and no man was idle.

From the darkness of a cavern Death and Avarice watched them, and Death said, `I am weary;

give me a third of them and let me go.'

But Avarice shook her head. `They are my servants,' she answered.

And Death said to her, `What hast thou in thy hand?'

`I have three grains of corn,' she answered; `what is that to thee?'

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