Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 386 The Unhappy Prince!
Inside a respectable townhouse in Kensington, London.

The gas lamps at night illuminated the living room warmly and brightly, and the air was filled with the faint aroma of tea and beeswax.

The virtuous Mrs. Wainwright, dressed in a silk house dress, sat by her youngest son Thomas's bedside.

The boy had just taken a shower; his hair was still wet, and his face was flushed.

Thomas blinked and asked, "Mom, what story are you going to tell tonight? 'Jack and the Beanstalk'? Or 'Sleeping Beauty'? I'm so tired of those."

Mrs. Wainwright smiled gently, got up and walked to the small bookshelf in the living room.

Her gaze swept over the familiar fairy tale books, finally landing on the "Good Words" magazine that had just been delivered that day.

She remembered her husband casually mentioning at dinner that, in addition to The Sign of Four, this issue also featured a new fairy tale called The Happy Prince, which was said to be beautifully written.

"The Happy Prince..." she murmured, finding the name reassuring and suggesting it was a heartwarming and beautiful story, perfect for bedtime reading.

She picked up the magazine and went back to the bedside.

She said softly, "Tonight we'll tell a new story called 'The Happy Prince'." Then she turned to that page in the magazine.

Thomas wrapped himself tighter in the blanket with anticipation.

"The statue of the Happy Prince stands tall above the city..." Mrs. Wainwright began to read, her voice soft and soothing.

She described the prince's magnificent appearance, adorned with gold and jewels, and Thomas listened intently.

However, as the story unfolds, the poverty of the seamstress, the hunger and cold of the playwright, the helplessness of the little match girl, and the poor children under the bridge...

Mrs. Wainwright's voice gradually lost its cheerfulness.

She read about the swallow repeatedly delaying its southward flight, taking the prince's jewels and gold to help the poor; she read about the swallow dying at the prince's feet;

I read about the prince's broken heart; I read about the mayor and senators arguing about whose statue should be erected...

She abruptly closed the magazine, her heart heavy, and refused to read any further—this was nothing like the "heartwarming fairy tale" she had imagined.

She looked at Thomas, assuming the child was already asleep, but instead met a pair of big, teary eyes.

The boy pursed his lips tightly, his small chest heaving: "Mommy... the prince... the prince and the swallow... are they really dead?"

Mrs. Wainwright was speechless for a moment; she didn't know how to explain the sorrow, sacrifice, and indifference in the story to her child.

She could only bend down and hug her son, gently patting his back, clumsily trying to comfort him, but her heart, like Thomas's, felt heavy and choked with anxiety.

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Meanwhile, inside the White Club on St. James Street, a completely different scene unfolded.

The main theme here is dark wood paneling, heavy leather seats, and the blue smoke of cigars.

Several gentlemen sat around the fireplace, with the latest issue of "Good Words" magazine tossed on the mahogany coffee table in the center.

Sir Osbert, the banker, snorted and then scolded, "Nonsense! What is this fellow called 'Bond' trying to imply?"
To imply that our empire's prosperity is built on the suffering of the poor? This is a slander against 'imperial glory' and the dedication of us gentlemen!

Professor Mortimer, the historian sitting opposite him, spoke up: "I think, Osbert, you're being too sensitive."

This is merely a literary work, exploring themes of beauty, sacrifice, and compassion. Moreover, the phenomena described in the text are objectively real.

We cannot turn a blind eye!

Retired Royal Navy officer Captain Fitzwilliam couldn't help but retort: ​​"Sympathy? I think it's incitement! Did you notice the description of Egypt by that swallow?"

'Water lilies in full bloom along the banks of the Nile,' 'Lions and monkeys sitting on temple steps'... At a time like this? Humph!
I think this is clearly an allusion to the Empire's actions in Egypt! It implies that we have disturbed the 'peace' and 'beauty' of that land!

In the corner, the young nobleman Lord Ashburton, who had been silent all along, gently swirled the brandy in his glass: "My dear friends, why be so agitated?"
In my opinion, this story precisely illustrates that people should enjoy life while they can and not feel too morally burdened! The Happy Prince gave away everything, but what was the result?

He himself became a pile of rubble, the swallows died, and poverty and injustice still existed in the city.

Everything he did was in vain! Society operates according to its own laws, and poverty is inevitable!

Professor Mortimer frowned. "Inevitable? That's far too cold-blooded. We need more effective ways of providing relief, not to deny compassion itself!"

Sir Osbert stated unequivocally: "The effective way is order, discipline, and hard work! Not this sentimental outburst! It will only disrupt the existing order!"

The argument continued amidst the swirling smoke, neither side able to convince the other...

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The lights were also on in the living room near Regent's Park, which was filled with books.

Friedrich handed Karl a cup of hot water and picked up the magazine "Good Words" on the table: "Have you read it, Karl? This article on 'The Happy Prince' is wonderful."

Karl's face was still tired. He took the water glass and nodded: "A wonderful fable, Friedrich."

It used the most poetic language to burst the soap bubble of 'personal charity' that governments and churches are so eager to promote today.

He leaned forward slightly, as if there were an invisible audience in front of him: "Look, the Happy Prince can be seen as a wealthy philanthropist."

He stood on high ground, overlooking the city's suffering, and tried to alleviate the pain of individuals—even many, many individuals—by giving away his wealth!

Doesn't this resemble those factory owners and nobles who run charitable factories and distribute bread as charity?

Friedrich lit his pipe: "Yes, they hope to use charity to prove that the existing society still has a 'conscience' and to cover up those sharp contradictions."

Karl raised his voice slightly: "But what was the result? The prince lost everything, became ugly, and was ultimately abandoned and destroyed without mercy."

That swallow, too, perished. Have the city's fundamental problems changed? No! The mayor and senators are still in their positions!

He coughed a few times as he said this, and Friedrich looked somewhat worried.

But Carl waved his hand and continued, "In today's social relations, trying to eradicate poverty through individual philanthropy is a doomed fantasy."

It may help a few individuals temporarily, but it cannot address the root causes of poverty. The "conscience awakening" and charity of a few wealthy people cannot save society.

What we need is not a self-sacrificing, happy prince!

Friedrich took a puff of his pipe in agreement: "This 'James Bond' makes people recognize the absurdity and hypocrisy of advocating individual philanthropy before reason can grasp it emotionally..."

Who exactly is he?

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Unlike other places, the "Gentlemen's Club" in Piccadilly is filled with a dramatic and sentimental atmosphere.

Oscar Wilde stood among a group of well-dressed young artists, holding a copy of "Good Words," and recited excerpts from "The Happy Prince."

“…‘My dear little swallow,’ the prince said, ‘you told me everything about the beasts and birds in Egypt.’”

But the suffering of men and women is greater than that of any beast, and more wondrous than that of any bird.

Nothing is more unbelievable than human suffering…

After the recitation came to an end, Wilde pressed the magazine to his chest, as if embracing a precious secret.

He looked around at the crowd, his eyes seemingly glistening with tears: "Gentlemen! We have been talking about 'art for art's sake' and about beauty that transcends the mundane."

But what does The Happy Prince tell us? It tells us that the deepest sorrow and the most extreme sacrifice are themselves a breathtaking beauty!
That unmeltable leaden heart, that swallow that died at its lover's feet—they are closer to the essence of beauty than any jewel or any gold!

Then, Oscar Wilde raised his hands and declared: "I declare that from the day the Happy Prince was born, aestheticism has found its place on earth!"

Beauty can take root in suffering and blossom in sacrifice; sorrowful tears are as precious as the brilliance of wisdom!

He shoved the magazine into the hand of a friend beside him and grabbed his cane and top hat.

“I must find him immediately! This ‘James Bond’! He is a true poet, a priest of beauty!”
London, no, the whole world, should know him!

After saying that, he ignored the astonished looks of the others and rushed out of the club like a gust of wind.

He's going to Good Words magazine; he's going to ask Norman McLeod directly!

(End of this chapter)