A House of Pomegranates

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OSCAR WILDE

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Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was an Irish writer and poet. After writing in different forms throughout the 1880s, he became one of London's most popular playwrights in the early 1890s.

Born: October 16, 1854, Dublin, Ireland
Died:November 30, 1900, Paris, France

Books:

The Picture of Dorian Gray,The Happy Prince and Other Tales, The Importance of being Earnest, A House of Pomegranates, The Ballad of Reading Gaol etc.

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1. A HOUSE OF POMIGRANATES
by Oscar Wilde

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CHAPTER 1
THE YOUNG KING

[TO MARGARET LADY BROOKE - THE RANEE OF SARAWAK]

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, andlived in a remote part of the forest, more than a day's ride from the town.

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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 deathbed, 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.

[internetpremi]

I love nearly all the great quotes attributed to him.
He was a very witty person.

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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 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, 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 Burgo-master, 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.

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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, sandal-wood 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 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.

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After some time he rose from his seat, and leaning against thecarved penthouse of the chimney, looked round at the dimly-litroom. The walls were hung with rich tapestries representing theTriumph of Beauty. A large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-
lazuli, filled one corner, and facing the window stood a curiouslywrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold,on which were placed some delicate goblets of Venetian glass, and acup of dark-veined onyx.

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 Narcissusin green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On thetable stood a flat bowl of amethyst.

Outside he could the huge dome of the cathedral, looming like abubble over the shadowy houses, and the weary sentinels pacing upand down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away, in anorchard, a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasminecame through the open window. He brushed his brown curls back fromhis forehead, and taking up a lute, let his fingers stray acrossthe cords. His heavy eyelids drooped, and a strange languor cameover him. Never before had he so keenly, or with suchexquisite, the magic and the mystery of beautiful things.

When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he a bell, andhis pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony, pouringrose-water over his hands, and strewing flowers on his pillow. Afew moments after that they had left the room, he fell asleep.

And as he slept he dreamed a dream, and this was his.

He that he was standing in a long, low attic, amidst thewhir and clatter of many looms. The meagre daylight peered inthrough the grated windows, and showed him the gaunt figures of theweavers bending over their cases. Pale, sickly-looking childrenwere crouched on the huge crossbeams.

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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 threadstogether. Their faces were pinched with famine, and their thinhands shook and trembled. Some haggard women were seated at atable sewing. A horrible odour filled the place. The air was fouland heavy, and the walls dripped and streamed with damp.The young King went over to one of the weavers, and stood by himand watched him.

And the weaver looked at him angrily, and said, 'Why art thouwatching 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 hewears 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'sslave.'


'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 tolive, and they give us such mean wages that we die. We toil forthem all day long, and they heap up gold in their coffers, and ourchildren fade away before their time, and the faces of those welove become hard and evil. We tread out the grapes, and anotherdrinks the wine. We sow the corn, and our own board is empty. We have chains, though no eye beholds them; and are slaves, though mencall 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 dream, 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.

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The slaves were naked, but for a ragged loin-cloth, 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 off, 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. 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.