<
previous page
back
to coverpage
The Young King
...as told by the king to his daughter the
witch, who told it to her
daughter who tells it to her son the
Star-Child, who told it to his daughter, who told it to her
daughter the
Spanish Princess, who told it to her granddaughter, who is telling it
to her son Cyril...
After growing up the son of a sheepherder and peasant, at the age of
sixteen I was suddenly swept away one day to the palace of the king.
They told me I was the long-lost grandson of the king, who had just
died. I was immediately put in place as the new king, and my coronation
would take place in a few weeks.
Over
those weeks I was introduced to life as royalty. I was taught to read,
write, ride a horse, fight with a sword, eat at a banquet. I was given
many beautiful clothes and possessions. These things began to consume
me. I worshiped the beauty of a painting, or a set of jewels. I loved
to put on the expensive, rich clothes. I ordered jewels and fine things
to be brought to the palace. For my coronation, I had a special robe
woven of the finest gold tissue, and embroidered with gold thread and
tiny jewels. I had a scepter studded with pearls and a crown covered
thickly with precious stones. I loved these things and eagerly awaited
the day of my coronation, when I could stand in front of my people
wearing these beautiful things.
Finally
the night before my coronation day came, and I went to bed filled with
excitement. When I fell asleep, though, I was troubled by many
disturbing dreams.
First I
dreamt that I was in a tiny room overcrowded with people huddled over
work tables. They were all feverishly spinning and weaving beautiful
fabrics. The room was dark, foul-smelling, and insufferably hot. As I
looked closer, I saw that the workers were small children and old
people. Their life was wasting away before my eyes. I spoke to one of
them and he said that the only way they could make enough pennies to
buy bread was to work in this room, spinning and weaving fabrics for
royalty. I asked him what he was making, and he showed me the beautiful
robe of gold tissue that he was weaving for the king's coronation day.
I woke
up with a start. That man was suffering in that tiny room at my orders.
After falling back into fitful sleep, I dreamt again.
This
time I found myself on a small ship out on the water. It was being
rowed by a dozen slaves, all gaunt and sick-looking. As I watched, one of the slaves came forward and
prepared to dive underwater. When he came back to the surface, after
some time, he had one pearl in his hand. He dove back into the deep
over and over, each time bringing a pearl which his master would
examine greedily. Finally, the slave took especially long to come back
up. He was dragged onto the ship and he lay on the deck, bleeding out
of his ears and nose. He gasped for air a few times then died. In his
hands was the largest pearl yet. The body was thrown overboard while
the master examined the last pearl. It was just the thing, he said, for
the top of the king's new scepter.
Again I awoke at the realization that this pearl, and this man's life,
was for me.
I dreamt
again and found myself at a dry riverbed. The hot sun beat down on the
backs of dozens of men, covered in dust, plagued by insects, working to
dig precious stones out of the unyielding earth. I wept at the sight of
the suffering men, and cried aloud, What are they doing? What is this
for? But even as I cried out, I wept because I knew the answer. These
men were toiling in the sun to find the precious gems I had ordered for
my coronation crown. As this realization hit me, I awoke.
It
was the day of my coronation. My servants came into my chambers,
carrying my robe of tissued gold, my scepter with pearls and my crown,
heavy with jewels. The sight of them made me ill as I recalled how this
finery had been obtained.
To the
surprise of the men, I refused to put the things on. They protested
that I would not be recognized as king without my fine crown. Ignoring
them, I found my old cloak that I had worn while herding sheep, picked
up my crooked staff, twisted a crown of thistles for my head, and went
forth.
As I
walked through the streets, men by turns mocked me and tried to
convince me to return to my finery. By the time I reached the church, a
crowd had gathered. I stood on the
steps, and explained why I would not wear those things. As I spoke,
light streamed down from heaven through the stained glass windows. As
it fell upon me, the sun wove a robe around me far more beautiful than
the tissued gold. The staff I was holding blossomed white lilies far
surpassing my pearls in their beauty, and the thistles on my head
blossomed blood-red roses far superior to the rubies I had ordered for
myself. I stood, adorned as a king by the sunlight and God himself, and
my people fell on their knees in awe.
-----------
"And there you have it, Cyril," his mother concluded. "That is the
story of the cloak you are holding right now. That king passed his
unworn cloak on to his granddaughter the witch, and you know what
happened after that. That is the history I have never told you. It is a
sad and dangerous story, which is why I kept it locked in the trunk.
But now I have told you and you must decide what you will do with this
knowledge, and with this cloak. Because now it is yours."
Cyril
sat and stared at the cloak in his lap, recalling all the pain and
suffering that had surrounded it for so many years. He wondered what
would happen to him if he chose to wear it...
Author's
Note: I didn't change the plot of this story as
much as I changed the other ones. But I did change the point of view to
make it from the king's perspective, and I added a lot of his feelings
in to make the story more emotional and to make the king easier to
relate to. In the original there is a lot more description of how the
king, after coming to the palace, fell in love with beauty and fine
things and would worship and desire those things. There is also a lot
more description and detail to his dreams. The third one I changed some
because the king stood alongside Death and Avarice as they argued over
the souls of the men who were working in the riverbed. Also there was a
man dressed as a pilgrim who revealed to the king that his dreams were
about himself. In my version the king figures it out on his own. Also
in the other version, there is more debate about the king renouncing
his finery, including people telling him that the workers who make the
fabric and find the jewels would have no way to earn their bread if
they did not work for him, even though their working conditions are
bad. I left all of that out.
Bibliography: "The
Young King," by Oscar Wilde. From The
House of Pomegranates, 1891. web source: SurLaLane
Fairy Tales.
Image: The Young King. web
source: ArtsyCraftsy.
<
previous page
back
to
coverpage