Hello guys,
Here is the first part of a short story by Oscar Wilde
Enjoy!
The Young King by Oscar Wilde - Part 1
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 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. 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
(to be continued)
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