Oscar Wilde’s Stories for All Ages. Stephen Fry

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      And when the Bishop had heard them he knit his brows, and said, ‘My son, I am an old man, and in the winter of my days, and I know that many evil things are done in the wide world. The fierce robbers come down from the mountains, and carry off the little children, and sell them to the Moors. The lions lie in wait for the caravans, and leap upon the camels. The wild boar roots up the corn in the valley, and the foxes gnaw the vines upon the hill. The pirates lay waste the sea-coast and burn the ships of the fishermen, and take their nets from them. In the salt-marshes live the lepers; they have houses of wattled reeds, and none may come nigh them. The beggars wander through the cities, and eat their food with the dogs. Canst thou make these things not to be? Wilt thou take the leper for thy bedfellow, and set the beggar at thy board? Shall the lion do thy bidding, and the wild boar obey thee? Is not He who made misery wiser than thou art? Wherefore I praise thee not for this that thou hast done, but I bid thee ride back to the Palace and make thy face glad, and put on the raiment that beseemeth a king, and with the crown of gold I will crown thee, and the sceptre of pearl will I place in thy hand. And as for thy dreams, think no more of them. The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the world’s sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer.’

      ‘Sayest thou that in this house?’ said the young King, and he strode past the Bishop, and climbed up the steps of the altar, and stood before the image of Christ.

      He stood before the image of Christ, and on his right hand and on his left were the marvellous vessels of gold, the chalice with the yellow wine, and the vial with the holy oil. He knelt before the image of Christ, and the great candles burned brightly by the jewelled shrine, and the smoke of the incense curled in thin blue wreaths through the dome. He bowed his head in prayer, and the priests in their stiff copes crept away from the altar.

      And suddenly a wild tumult came from the street outside, and in entered the nobles with drawn swords and nodding plumes, and shields of polished steel. ‘Where is this dreamer of dreams?’ they cried. ‘Where is this King, who is apparelled like a beggar—this boy who brings shame upon our state? Surely we will slay him, for he is unworthy to rule over us.’

      And the young King bowed his head again, and prayed, and when he had finished his prayer he rose up, and turning round he looked at them sadly.

      And lo! through the painted windows came the sunlight streaming upon him, and the sunbeams wove round him a tissued robe that was fairer than the robe that had been fashioned for his pleasure. The dead staff blossomed, and bare lilies that were whiter than pearls. The dry thorn blossomed, and bare roses that were redder than rubies. Whiter than fine pearls were the lilies, and their stems were of bright silver. Redder than male rubies were the roses, and their leaves were of beaten gold.

      He stood there in the raiment of a king, and the gates of the jewelled shrine flew open, and from the crystal of the many-rayed monstrance shone a marvellous and mystical light. He stood there

       ‘He stood there in the raiment of a king, and the gates of the jewelled shrine flew open, and from the crystal of the many-rayed monstrance shone a marvellous and mystical light.’

      in a king’s raiment, and the Glory of God filled the place, and the saints in their carven niches seemed to move. In the fair raiment of a king he stood before them, and the organ pealed out its music, and the trumpeters blew upon their trumpets, and the singing boys sang.

      And the people fell upon their knees in awe, and the nobles sheathed their swords and did homage, and the Bishop’s face grew pale, and his hands trembled. ‘A greater than I hath crowned thee,’ he cried, and he knelt before him.

      And the young King came down from the high altar, and passed home through the midst of the people. But no man dared look upon his face, for it was like the face of an angel.

THE SELFISH GIANT

       Introduction

      I have a great affection for The Selfish Giant. Scenes of Oscar reading it to his sons Cyril and Vyvyan served as a kind of running thread through the narrative frame of the film Wilde, in which I had the impossible pleasure and imponderable honour of playing Oscar.

      As with Wilde’s stories The Happy Prince and The Young King, we can discern a religious element in the conclusion to The Selfish Giant; in this case we are treated to the specific revelation that the sobbing boy the giant had handed up into the tree is in fact the Christ Child. Wilde’s famous lines from The Ballad of Reading Gaol—‘each man kills the thing he loves’—are recalled when the child says of his scars, his stigmata, ‘Nay…but these are the wounds of Love.’

      Wilde’s obsessions often shuttled between suffering and joy, pain and pleasure, love and death, each seeming to be necessary for the other. In his letter to Lord Alfred Douglas, De Profundis, written in prison, he lays out a theory of suffering and a theory of Christ the Artist both of which repay careful reading, but it is in this sweet and lovely story that those ideas come together most naturally and easily.

      Wilde himself could be thought of as a Selfish Giant, of course. He was a very large man in frame—well over six foot in height and surprisingly broad and strong for one whose reputation was that of a velvet-clad dandy whose greatest professed ambition was to be able to live up to his collection of blue and white china. He was a giant in intellect and a giant of his age in talent, fame and brilliance. Did he guiltily feel that his ‘garden’ was barren, that his neglect of his wife and children was not unlike that of the giant in his story? A religious person might note Wilde’s own deathbed conversion to Roman Catholicism and draw strong parallels between this story and Wilde’s life. Happily the story is strong enough to stand without any such knowledge or belief, but there it is for you to consider just the same.

       THE SELFISH GIANT

      EVERY AFTERNOON, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden.

      It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. ‘How happy we are here!’ they cried to each other.

      One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.

       ‘It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore СКАЧАТЬ