THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL BY OSCAR WILDE

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THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL BY OSCAR WILDE

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PUBLISHED AND PRINTED BY JOS. ISHILL FERRER COLONY, STELTON, N. J. 1916

IN MEMORIAM

C. T. W.

SOMETIME TROOPER OF THE ROYAL

HORSE GUARDS

OBIIT

H. M. PRISON, READING, BERKSHIRE,

JULY 7, 1896

FOREWORD

HEN ASKED TO WRITE A "FOR E- W O R D" TO A CHARMING EDITION OF "THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL" GOT UP BY Mr. ISHILL OF the Ferrer Colonu of Stelton, N.J., I could not but accept though I have said nearlu all I wanted to sau in mu book — "OSCAR WILDE; His Life and Confessions."

"The Ballad of Reading Gaol" is to me in- comparably the greatest ballad in all English poetry. It is even more; it is the topmost reach of the human spirit in the whole nineteenth century, and in some sort a flag, or first in- dication in literature of that re-birth of religion which with the renascence of art will consti- tute the chief characteristic of the twentieth century. I venture to repeat here what I have said in various ways for nearly twentu years now, that Oscar Wilde's condemnation of prisons and punishment must lead directlu to

FOREWORD II

their abolition. The old bad past will die and Oscar Wilde's ballad helped to kill it.

They hanged him as a beast is hanged:

Theu did not even toll A requiem that might have brought

Rest to his startled soul, But hurriedly theu took him out

And hid him in a hole

The chaplain would not kneel to prau

Bu his dishonored grave; Nor mark it with that blessed Cross

That Christ for sinners gave; Because the man was one of those

Whom Christ came down to save.

The verses shame all of us for we know their truth. Hospitals and doctors and nurses must take the place of prisons and judges and jailors and the sooner the better. W i 1 d e's verses sound the requiem: theu remind us that only he who is without sin has anu right to punish. Listen to the words:

But this I know, that every Law That men have made for Man,

Since first Man took his brother's life And the sad world began,

But straws the wheat and saves the chaff With a most evil fan.

Ill FOREWORD

This too I know — and wise it were If each could know the same —

That every prison that men build Is built with bricks of shame,

And bound with bars lest Christ should see How men their brothers maim.

With bars theu blur the gracious moon,

And blind the goodly sun: And they do well to hide their Hell,

For in it things are done That Son of God nor son of Man

Ever should look upon.

The vilest deeds like poison weeds

Bloom well in prison air: It is only what is good in Man

That wastes and withers there: Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,

And the Warder is Despair.

For theu starve the little frightened child Till it weeps both night and day:

And theu scourge the weak, and flog the fool, And gibe the old and grau,

And some grow mad, and all grow bad, And none a word mau sau.

But I will not part from Oscar Wilde as if it were the prophet and seer in him that I chieflu

FOREWORD IV

prize: he was one of the "Shining Ones"; and he came to us with lips athirst with love of life and eyes shining with life's jou and de- light, and that is how I love to think of him in these grau days of hatred and butcheru.

Whenever I meet anyone who knew Oscar Wilde at anu period of his life I am sure to hear a new stortj of him — some humorous or wittu thing he said.

The other dau I saw a man who had met Wilde in New York after his first lecture tour. He told him he hoped tit had been a success and Oscar answered him gravelu but with dancing eyes:

"A great success. I had two secretaries, one to answer mu letters, the other to send locks of hair. I have had to let them both go, poor fellows, the one is in hospital with writer's cramp, and the other is quite bald."

The other dau I lunched with Sir Herbert Tree at the Plaza Hotel. In speaking of mu book he said:

"Oscar never came to rehearsal without say- ing something that set us all laughing. I think I have still got a letter from him written from

V FOREWORD

Paris in which he asks me to go there assur- ing me that I shall have a great reception and a tremendous success; though, he says, —

"The evening papers will persist in referring to you as Lord Beerbohm, autrefois si bien connu sous le nom d'Irving — for the evening papers are capable of any- thing because they are written in the day- time — a period at which journalists are al- most invariably sober."

And so with happu laughter on his lips I give mu friend once more to the affection of men as he has been given already to their rever- ence and their pity.

FRANK HARRIS.

X TE did not wear fbe scarlet coat,

For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on Kis bands

Wben me$ found bim wifb fbe dead, Tne poor dead woman wbom be loved,

And murdered in ber bed.

He walked amongst fbe Trial Men

In a suit of sbabby gray; A cricket cap was on bis bead,

And bis step seemed ligbt and gay; But I never saw a man v?bo lookod

So \\>istfulb? at fbe day.

I never saw a man wbo looked

Wifb sucb a wistful eye Upon fbat little tent of blue

Wbicb prisoners call me sky, And at every drifting cloud fbat went

Witb sails of silver by\

I walked, ^itb otber souls in pain,

Witbin anomer ring, And was wondering if tbe man bad done

A great or little fbing, Wben a voice bebind me ^bispered low,

"Tbat fellow's got to swing."

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Dear Ckrist! the very prison walls

Suddenly seemed to reel, And the sky above my Head became

Like a casque of scorcking steel; And, thougk I was a soul in pain,

M$ pain I could not feel.

I only knew what kunted tkougkt Quickened kis step, and wk$

He looked upon fke garisk day Witk suck a wistful eye;

One man kad killed me thing ke loved, And so ke kad to die.

Yet eack man kills fne thing ke loves,

B;9 eack let mis be keard, Some do it witk a bitter look.

Some with a flattering word; OTke coward does it witk a kiss,

One brave man witk a sword!

Some kill their love wken they are young, And some wken they are old;

Some strangle witk tke kands of Lust, Some witk tke kands of Gold:

*The kindest use a knife, because ^The dead so soon grow cold.

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Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and ofners buy; Some do me deed wim many tears,

And some wimout a sign; For each man kills me thing Ke loves,

I et each man does not die.

He does not die a death of shame

On a day of dark disgrace, Nor have a noose about his neck,

Nor a cloth upon his face, Nor drop feet foremost through me floor

Into an emp$ space.

He does not sit with silent men Who watch him night and day;

Who watch him when he tries to w"eep, And w'hen he tries to pray;

Who watch him lest himself should rob CThe prison of its prey.

He does not wake at dawn to see Dread figures throng his room,

^The shivering Chaplain robed in white, ^TheSheriff stern v?ith gloom,

And fne Governor all in shiny black,

^ With the yellow face of Doom.

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He does not rise in piteous Kaste

To put on convict clothes, While some coarse-mouthed Doctor gloats,

[and notes

Each new* and nerve-twitched pose, Fingering a watch whose little ticks

Are like horrible hammer-blows.

He does not know mat sickening thirst dnat sands one's throat, before

*Tne hangman with his gardener's gloves Slips through the padded door,

And binds one wim fTiree leathern thongs Mtnat fne throat may thirst no more.

He does not bend his head to hear

*Tne Burial Office read, Nor, while fne terror of his soul

Tells him he is not dead, Cross his coffin, as he moves

Into fne hideous shed.

He does not stare upon fhe air ^Through a little roof of glass:

He does not pray with lips of claj) For his agony to pass;

Nor feel upon his shuddering cheek ^The kiss of Caiaphas.

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SIX weeks our guardsman walked me yard, In me suit of shabby gray; His cricket cap was on his Kead,

And his step seemed light and gay\ But I never saw a man who looked So wistfully at me day.

I never saw a man ^ho looked

Wim such a wistful eye Upon me little tent of blue

Which prisoners call me sk}\ And at every wandering cloud mat trailed

Its ravelled fleeces by.

He did not wring his hands, as do *Those witless men who dare

To try to rear me changeling Hope In me cave of black Despair:

He onlj) looked upon me sun, And drank me morning air.

He did not wring his hands nor weep,

Nor did he peek or pine, But he drank the air as though it held

Some healthful anodyne; With open mouth he drank the sun

As though it had been wine!

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And I and all tke souls in pain, WKo tramped the other ring,

Forgot if we ourselves had done A great or little thing,

And -watched with gaze of dull amaze m*e man who had to swing.

And strange it was to see him pass With a step so light and gay,

And strange it was to see him look So wistfully at the day,

And strange it \>?as to think that he Had such a debt to pay.

For oak and elm have pleasant leaves nixat in the spring-time shoot:

But grim to see is the gallows-tree, With its adder-titten root,

And, green or dry\ a man must die Before it bears its fruit !

<The loftiest place is that seat of grace For w'hich all worldlings trp:

But who would stand in hempen band Upon a scajfold high,

And through a murderer's collar take His last look at the sk$?

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It is sweet to dance to violins Wken Love and Life are fair:

To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes Is delicate and rare:

But it is not sweet with nimble feet To dance upon me air!

So v?ith curious eyes and sick surmise We watched Kim day by day,

And wondered if each one of us Would end fhe self-same way,

For none can tell to what red Hell His sightless soul may stray\

At last fhe dead man walked no more

Amongst the Trial Men, And I knew* that he was standing up

In fhe black dock's dreadful pen, And mat never w'ould I see his face

In God's sweet world again.

Like two doomed ships that pass in storm We had crossed each other's way\

But we made no sign, we said no word, We had no word to sa$;

For v?e did not meet in fne holy night, But in fhe shameful day.

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A prison wall was round us bom, Two outcast men we were:

Hire w"orld had fnrust us from its heart, And God from out His care:

And me iron gin mat waits for Sin Had caught us in its snare.

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III.

IN Debtor's Yard fne stones are hard And fhe dripping wall is nigh, So it was fhere he took fhe air

Beneath fhe leaden sky, And by each side a Warder walked, For fear fne man might die.

Or else he sat with fhose who hatched

His anguish night and da)?; Who watched him when he rose to w"eep,

And when he crouched to pray; Who watched him lest himself should rob

^Tneir scaffold of its prey\

*The Governor was strong upon

nite Regulations Act: ^The Doctor said fne deafn was but

A scientific fact: And twice a day" (he Chaplain called,

And left a little tract.

And twice a day" he smoked his pipe, And drank his quart of beer:

His soul was resolute, and held KTo hiding-place for fear;

He often said fhat he was glad 'lite hangman's hands were near.

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But why he said so strange a ming

No Warder dared to ask: For he to v?hom a watcher's doom

Is given as his task, Must set a lock upon his lips,

And make his face mask.

Or else he might be moved, and try*

To comfort or console: And -what should Human Pit}) do

Pent up in Murderers' Hole? What word of grace in such a place

Could help a brother's soul?

With slouch and swing around me ring

We trod the Fools' Parade! We did not care: w*e knew we were

HTie Devil's Own Brigade: And shaven head and feet of lead

Make a merry masquerade.

We tore the tarry rope to shreds With blunt and bleeding nails;

We rubbed the doors, & scrubbed the floors, And cleaned the shining rails:

And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank, And clattered with the pails.

We sewed me sacks, we broke me stones,

We turned me dusty drill: We banged fne tins, & bawled me hymns,

And sweated on me mill: But in me Heart of every man

Terror was lying still.

So still it lay tkat every day*

Crawled like a weed-clogged wave:

And we forgot me bitter lot OTnat waits for fool and knave,

Till, once, as we tramped in from work, We passed an open grave.

Witk yawning mouth {he fellow hole

Gaped for a living thing; ni\e very mud cried out for blood

To fhe thirsty asphalt ring: And we knew that ere one dawn grew" fair

Some prisoner had to swing.

Right in we went, \tfith soul intent On Death and Dread and Doom:

Qlie hangman, with his little bag, Went shuffling mrough the gloom:

And each man trembled as he crept Into his numbered tomb.

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Hliat night fhe empty corridors

Were full of forms of Fear, And up and down the iron town

Stole feet we could not hear, And through the bars mat hide the stars

White faces seemed to peer.

He lay as one who lies and dreams

In a pleasant meadow -land, Qlie watchers watched him as he slept,

And could not understand How* one could sleep so sweet a sleep

With a hangman close at hand.

But mere is no sleep when men must weep

Who never yet have wept: So we — me fool, the fraud, the knave —

QT\at endless vigil kept, And mrough each brain on hands of pain

Another's terror crept.

Alas! it is a fearful thing

To feel another's guilt! For, right wimin, the sword of Sin

Pierced to its poisoned hilt, And as molton lead were the tears we shed

For the blood we had not spilt.

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Hlie Warders with fheir shoes of felt Crept by" each padlocked door,

And peeped and saw, with eyes of awe, Gray figures on me poor,

And wondered w*hy wen knelt to pray Who never prayed before.

All through fhe night xtfe knelt and prayed,

Mad mourners of a corpse! HTie troubled plumes of midnight were

*Tl\e plumes upon a hearse: And bitter wine upon a sponge

Was che savor of Remorse.

nixe gray cock crew, fhe red cock crew,

But never came fhe day: And crooked shapes of Terror crouched,

In fhe corners where we lay: And each evil sprite fhat walks by* night

Before us seemed to play\

^They* glided past, fhey glided fast, Like travelers through a mist:

OThey mocked the moon in a rigadoon Of delicate turn and twist,

And with formal pace and loathsome grace ^The phantoms kept their tryst.

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With mop and mow, we saw them go, Slim shadow's Hand in Hand:

About, about, in gkostly* rout Tney trod a saraband:

And me damned grotesques made

[arabesques, Like the wind upon me sand!

With me pirouettes of marionettes, Hlxey tripped on pointed tread:

But with flutes of Fear mey filled me ear, As meir grisly masque mey led,

And loud mey sang, and long mey sang, For mey sang to wake me dead.

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"Oho!" they cried, "The world is wide

But fettered limbs go lame! And once, or trdice, to throv? the dice

Is a gentlemanly* game, But he does not win tfho plays with Sin

In the secret House of Shame."

No things of air these antics were, OThat frolicked with such glee:

To men whose lives were held in gyves, And whose feet might not go free,

Ah! wounds of Christ! they were living

[things, Most terrible to see.

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Around, around, they waltzed and wound;

Some wheeled in smirking pairs; With the mincing step of a demirep

Some sidled up the stairs: And with subtle sneer, and fawning leer, _ Each helped us at our prayers.

Trie morning wind began to moan,

But still the night went on: Through its giant loom the web of gloom

Crept till each thread v?as spun: And, as we prayed, w*e grev? afraid]

Of the Justice of the Sun.

The moaning wind went wandering round

The weeping prison -wall: Till like a w"heel of turning steel

We felt the minutes crawl: O moaning v?ind! what had we done

To have such a seneschal?

At last I saw* the shadowed bars, Like a lattice wrought in lead,

Move right across the whitewashed wall That faced my three-plank bed,

And I knew that somewhere in the world God's dreadful dav?n was red.

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At six o'clock \Ce cleaned our cells,

At seven all was still, But fhe sough and swing of a mighty wing

*The prison seemed to fill, For me Lord of Deam wim icy bream

Had entered in to kill.

He did not pass in purple pomp, Mor ride a moon-white steed.

*Three yards of cord and a sliding board Are all me gallows need:

So with rope of shame me Herald came To do me secret deed.

We were as men who through a fen

Of filmy darkness grope: We did not dare to breathe a prater,

Or to give an anguish scope: Something was dead in each of us,

And w*hat was dead was Hope.

For Man's grim Justice goes its way,

And \£ill not swerve aside: It slays the weak, it slays me strong,

It has a deadly stride : With iron heel it slays me strong,

Ofhe monstrous parricide !

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We waited for trie stroke of eight: Each tongue w*as thick with thirst:

For the stroke of eight is fhe stroke of Fate MLnat makes a man accursed,

And Fate will use a running noose For me best man and the worst.

We had no other thing to do,

Save to wait for the sign to come:

So, like things of stone in a valley lone, Quiet we sat and dumb:

But each man's heart beat fhick and quick, Like a madman on a drum!

With sudden shock the prison-clock

Smote on the shivering air, And from all the gaol rose up a wail

Of impotent despair, Like the sound that frightened marshes hear

From some leper in his lair.

And as one sees most fearful things

In the crystal of a dream, We saw the greasy hempen rope

Hooked to the blackened beam, And heard the prayer the hangman's snare

Strangled into a scream.

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And all the woe that moved Kim so HTiat Ke gave tkat bitter cry,

And me wild regrets, and me bloody sweats, None knew so well as I: »

For he wko lives more lives than one More deaths than one must die.

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IV.

THERE is no chapel on me day On which mey* hang a man: <The Chaplain's heart is far too sick,

Or his face is far too wan, Or there is that written in his eyes Which none should look upon.

So they kept us close till nigh on noon, And then they rang me bell,

And the Warders \tfith their jingling keys Opened each listening cell,

And down me iron stair we tramped, Each from his separate Hell.

Out into God's sweet air we went,

But not in wonted way, For mis man's face was white witn fear,

And mat man's face \tfas gray, And I never saw" sad men who looked

So wistfully at the day\

I never saw sad men who looked

With such a wistful eye Upon mat little tent of blue

We prisoners called the sky, And at ev*erp careless cloud that passed

In happy freedom by.

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But there v?ere those amongst us all Who walked with downcast head,

And knew that, had each got his due, They should have died instead:

He had but killed a thing that lived, Whilst thej) had killed the dead.

For he who sins a second time

Wakes a dead soul to pain, And draw's it from its spotted shroud,

And makes it bleed again, And makes it bleed great gouts of blood,

And makes it bleed in vain!

Like ape or clown, in monstrous garb With crooked arrow's starred,

Silently we went round and round niie slippery asphalte $ard;

Silently w"e went round and round, And no man spoke a word.

Silently* we w"ent round and round, And through each hollow mind

OTie Memory of dreadful things Rushed like a dreadful wind,

And Horror stalked before each man, And Terror crept behind.

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^The Warders strutted up and down, And kept their herd of brutes,

Qheir uniforms were spick and span, And fhej) wore their Sunday suits,

But we knew the ^ork they had been at, By the quicklime on their boots.

For where a grav^e had opened wide,

Mnere was no grave at all : Onl;9 a stretch of mud and sand

By the hideous prison-wall, And a little heap of burning lime,

Qnat the man should have his pall.

For he has a pall, this wretched man,

Such as few men can claim: Deep down below a prison-yard,

Naked for greater shame, He lies, with fetters on each foot,

Wrapt in a sheet of flame.

And all the v?hile the burning lime

Eats flesh and bone away. It eats the brittle bone by night,

And me soft flesh by day, It eats me flesh and bone by turns,

But it eats me heart alv?ay.

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For three long years they" w*ill not sow

Or root or seedling there: For three long $ears &e unblessed spot

Will sterile be and bare, And look upon me wondering sky

With unreproackful stare.

^Tkey mink a murderer's keart would taint

EacK simple seed me}? sow. It is not true! God's kindly earth

Is kindlier man men know, And me red rose would but blow more red,

The w'hite rose whiter blow.

Out of his mourn a red, red rose!

Out of his heart a white! For who can say h$ \>?hat strange w"ay,

Christ brings his will to light, Since me barren staff the pilgrim bore

Bloomed in me great Pope's sight?

But neither milk-w'hite rose nor red

May bloom in prison air; ^The shard, the pebble, and me flint,

Are what they give us mere: For flowers ha\)e been knov?n to heal

A common man's despair.

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So nev*er \flill vJine-red rose or white,

Petal by petal, fall On that stretcK of mud and sand mat lies

By me hideous prison-wall, To tell me men who tramp me yard

m^at God's Son died for all.

Yet fnough me hideous prison-wall Still hems him round and round,

And a spirit may" not walk by* night ^That is with fetters bound,

And a spirit may but weep that lies In such unholy ground,

He is at peace — this wretched man — ,

At peace, or will be soon: ^There is no tiling to make him mad,

Nor does Terror walk at noon, For the lampless Earth in which he lies

Has neither Sun nor Moon.

<The>> hanged him as a beast is hanged:

They did not even toll A requiem mat might have brought

Rest to his startled soul, But hurriedly fhey took him out,

And hid him in a hole.

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Hliey stripped him of his canvas clothes,

And gave him to the flies; Hliey mocked the swollen purple throat,

And the stark and staring eyes: And with laughter loud they heaped

the shroud

In which their convict lies.

Hlie Chaplain would not kneel to pray

By his dishonored grave: Nor mark it wim mat blessed Cross

^That Christ for sinners gave, Because fne man was one of those

Whom Christ came down to save.

Yet all is well; he has but passed

To Life's appointed bourne: And alien tears will fill for him

Pity's long-broken urn, For his mourners will be outcast men,

And outcasts always mourn.

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V.

IKNCW not wketker Laws be rigkt, Or whether Laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol

Is that me wall is strong; And that each day is like a j)ear, A year whore days are long.

But this I know, mat every Law* <That men have made for Man,

Since first Man took kis brotker's life, And me sad world began,

But straws me wkeat and saves me ckaff Witk a most evil fan.

^This too I know* — and wise it w*ere If eack could know" me same —

OThat every prison mat men build Is built witk bricks of skame,

And bound witk bars lest Ckrist skould see How men meir brotkers maim.

Witk bars mey blur fke gracious moon,

And blind me goodly sun: And mey do well to kide meir Hell,

For in it things are done niiat Son of God nor son of Man

Ever skould look upon!

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OThe vilest deeds like poison weeds

Bloom well in prison-air: It is only what is good in Man

OThat wastes and withers mere: Pale Anguish keeps me heavy* gate,

And me Warder is Despair.

For fhey starve me little frightened child Till it weeps both night and day:

And tney scourge the weak,and flog me fool, And gibe me old and gray,

And some grow mad, and all grotf bad, And none a word may. say\

Each narrow cell in which we d\>?ell

Is a foul and dark latrine, And the fetid breath of living Death

Chockes up each grated screen, And all, but Lust, is turned to dust

In Humanity's machine.

*"The brackish water mat ^e drink Creeps with a loathsome slime,

And me bitter bread tney weigh in scales Is full of chalk and lime,

And Sleep will not lie down, but walks Wild-eyed, and cries to Time.

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But {hough lean Hunger and green mkirst

Like asp with adder fight, We have little care of prison fare,

For what chills and kills outright Is fhat every stone one lifts by day

Becomes one's heart by night.

With midnight always in one's heart,

And twilight in one's cell, We turn the crank, or tear fhe rope,

Each in his separate Hell, And fhe silence is more awful far

<Trtan fhe sound of a brazen bell.

And never a human voice comes near

To speak a gentle word: And fhe eye fhat watches through fhe door

Is pitiless and hard: And b$ all forgot, we rot and rot,

With soul and bod;p marred.

And thus we rust Life's iron chain

Degraded and alone: And some men curse, and some men w*eep,

And some men make no moan: But God's eternal Laws are kind

And break fhe heart of stone.

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And every human heart fhat breaks,

In prison-cell or yard, Is as that broken box fhat gave

Its treasure to (he Lord, And filled the unclean leper's house

With the scent of costliest nard.

Ah! happy the>> whose heart can break

And peace of pardon win! How* else maj) man make straight his plan

And cleanse his soul from Sin? How else but through a broken heart

May* Lord Christ enter in?

And he of the swollen purple throat, And the stark and staring eyes,

Waits for the holy hands that took Qne Thief to Paradise;

And a broken and a contrite heart nThe Lord w"ill not despise.

^The man in red w"ho reads the Law* Gave him three weeks of life,

CThree little weeks in which to heal His soul of his soul's strife,

And cleanse from every blot of blood *The hand fhat held fhe knife.

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And wim tears of blood he cleansed

[4te hand,

Hilxe hand that held the steel: For only blood can -wipe out blood,

And only tears can heal: And the crimson stain mat was of Cain

Became Christ's snow-white seal.

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VI.

IN Reading Gaol by Reading town ^There is a pit of shame, And in it lies a wretched man

Eaten by teeth and flame, In a burning winding-sheet he lies, And his grave has got no name.

And mere, till Christ call forth the dead,

In silence let him lie: No need to waste the foolish tear,

Or heave the v?indy sigh: Qhe man had killed the thing he loved,

And so he had to die.

And all men kill the thing they love,

B3? all let this be heard, Some do it witn a bitter look,

Some witn a flattering word. nThe coward does it vJith a kiss,

Hiixe brave man with a sv?ord!

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