| Type | Contemporary review (original) |
|---|---|
| Collection | The Happy Prince and Other Tales |
| Publication country | United Kingdom |
| Publication name | The Queen: The Lady's Newspaper & Court Chronicle |
| Publication date | Year 1889Month 01Day 26 |
| Contributed by | Regina Martínez Ponciano |
| How to cite | The Queen: The Lady's Newspaper & Court Chronicle (United Kingdom), 1889-01-26, available at the Wilde Short Fiction database, https://wildeshortfiction.com/reviews/143. |
The world will never wax too old to care for fairy tales. In every heart there is a corner in which its childhood lingers, and that can still be entranced by the delightful impossibilities of stories of adventure with fairies and giants. To write a good fairy story is to give proof, not of fancy only, but of artistic, mastery tact in the choice of words. Mr Oscar Wilde shows in this volume that he can write such fairy stories. He carries us to a realm of imagination; there he weaves delicate parables with an admirable touch of naiveté in their form. Perhaps 'The Happy Prince' is our favourite of these stories. Its theme of pity touching a young heart, removed by the circumstances of its worldly state from the suffering of the majority of beings, is the leading idea of the story of Buddha, retold with sweetness and brevity. The chastening touch of sympathy for others' griefs never came to Mr Wilde's happy prince during his lifetime, but the golden statue of the prince weeps as it stands on its tall pillar overlooking the city and all the sorrow there contained. The swallow upon whom the tears of the statue falls questions it as to the cause of its sorrow. 'When I was alive and had a human heart,' answered the statue, 'I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the great hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall; but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy, indeed, I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died; and now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead, yet I cannot choose but weep.'Of the other stories, 'The Selfish Giant' has the same leading motif of the power of tenderness and love, and it is handled with that old-world simplicity of touch which is full of charm.