The Ballad of Reading Gaol

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This is a fully illustrated edition of Oscar Wilde's classic poetic account of his imprisonment following his sensational trial for homosexual offences. The poetry is rich in human sympathy and infused with the author's suffering.

52 pages, Paperback

First published February 13,1898

About the author

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Oscar Fingal O'Fflahertie Wills Wilde was an Irish poet and playwright. After writing in different forms throughout the 1880s, he became one of the most popular playwrights in London in the early 1890s. He is best remembered for his epigrams and plays, his novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, and his criminal conviction for gross indecency for homosexual acts.
Wilde's parents were Anglo-Irish intellectuals in Dublin. In his youth, Wilde learned to speak fluent French and German. At university, he read Greats; he demonstrated himself to be an exceptional classicist, first at Trinity College Dublin, then at Magdalen College, Oxford. He became associated with the emerging philosophy of aestheticism, led by two of his tutors, Walter Pater and John Ruskin. After university, Wilde moved to London into fashionable cultural and social circles.
Wilde tried his hand at various literary activities: he wrote a play, published a book of poems, lectured in the United States and Canada on "The English Renaissance" in art and interior decoration, and then returned to London where he lectured on his American travels and wrote reviews for various periodicals. Known for his biting wit, flamboyant dress and glittering conversational skill, Wilde became one of the best-known personalities of his day. At the turn of the 1890s, he refined his ideas about the supremacy of art in a series of dialogues and essays, and incorporated themes of decadence, duplicity, and beauty into what would be his only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890). Wilde returned to drama, writing Salome (1891) in French while in Paris, but it was refused a licence for England due to an absolute prohibition on the portrayal of Biblical subjects on the English stage. Undiscouraged, Wilde produced four society comedies in the early 1890s, which made him one of the most successful playwrights of late-Victorian London.
At the height of his fame and success, while An Ideal Husband (1895) and The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) were still being performed in London, Wilde issued a civil writ against John Sholto Douglas, the 9th Marquess of Queensberry for criminal libel. The Marquess was the father of Wilde's lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. The libel hearings unearthed evidence that caused Wilde to drop his charges and led to his own arrest and criminal prosecution for gross indecency with other males. The jury was unable to reach a verdict and so a retrial was ordered. In the second trial Wilde was convicted and sentenced to two years' hard labour, the maximum penalty, and was jailed from 1895 to 1897. During his last year in prison he wrote De Profundis (published posthumously in abridged form in 1905), a long letter that discusses his spiritual journey through his trials and is a dark counterpoint to his earlier philosophy of pleasure. On the day of his release, he caught the overnight steamer to France, never to return to Britain or Ireland. In France and Italy, he wrote his last work, The Ballad of Reading Gaol (1898), a long poem commemorating the harsh rhythms of prison life.

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April 17,2025
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This is my 4th time to read Oscar Wilde and the more I read his works, the more he becomes one of my favorite writers.

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) was a married man and he had two children. Yet, he had homosexual affairs. His sexual preference, considered lewd and taboo during the Victorian era, led him to his incarceration in a town prison or gaol in Reading, England. That explains the title. In the prison, he witnessed the execution of a man who killed his wife while drunk. A year later, when he was out of his cell, he wrote this sad and haunting poem, The Ballad of Reading Gaol and it was so famous, his friends put some passages from it on his epitaph (tombstone).

The effect of this poem to me was that for almost a week, I stopped reading. I could not stop the scenes in the poem that kept playing in my head: a dead wife whose throat is slit by a knife. The drunk husband standing in the corner of the room shocked amidst the eerie silence regretting what he did. The same man being led to his execution while Wilde looking at murderer's "bitter" eyes. That adjective in quotation comes from the famous passage from the poem:
n  "Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard.
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word.
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
n
We all do this right? Not killing our love ones with a sword of course but hurting the people we love. Sometimes we want to test how they would react because we know they will not stop loving us. Sometimes, it is our sheer foolishness. Or maybe, just like the man who actually killed his wife, he was just drunk.

Prior to joining Goodreads in 2009, I did not know anything about Oscar Wilde but when I read his heartbreaking memoir De Profundis (4 stars), I immediately read The Happy Prince and Other Tales (3 stars) followed right away by his most famous work, The Picture of Dorian Gray (3 stars). I liked them all but I am always curious about the "dark" side (not that homosexuality is dark but it is normally not put in the open so there goes my interest) of an author's mind. So with the previous knowledge of Oscar Wilde's life story (his downfall because of his incarceration) I read this poem slowly and so those scenes got imprinted in my mind and stayed there for almost a week that I could not understand what was going on while trying to read the other books in my currently-reading shelf.

That's how powerful this poem is. It is haunting. The vivid description of the gaol. The cries of a man thrown into the jail waiting for his death. The pleas of Wilde and his surrender to God. Wilde used to be flamboyant, happy, famous and rich suffering from hunger and spite of the town's people. The brilliant author not being allowed even a pen and paper to write his thoughts. Only because he committed homosexual affairs.

Oscar Wilde, your fault was this: you were born at the wrong time.
April 17,2025
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“Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
"The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow

Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.”

Page: 9
April 17,2025
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This is a beautiful and moving poem by Oscar Wild. Based on personal observation and experience of his time in Reading jail, Wild wrote this sad and haunting poem while living in exile. I have not read any poems by Wild, so this is my first experience. I have known him as an excellent playwright and recently discovered him as a great essayist. Now I'm discovering a great poet in him too.

This poem is mainly based on an execution that took place while he was in the prison. Making it the center of theme, Wild goes on to expose the dire conditions of prison life, the despair of its inmates, the degradation, and the shame that he personally felt at being imprisoned. The sincere and passionate expression with which he says it all is heartbreaking. I read the whole poem with blurry eyes and a quivering voice (I do recite them when I read poems).

This work showed me an entirely different literary side of Oscar Wild. I have for the most part associated him with wit, sarcasm, and his thoughtful and philosophical insights. But what I saw in this work is the raw display of emotion and absolute sincerity. His personal experience has poured so much feeling into this poem and it is no exaggeration when I say it is one of the most emotional poems that I have read.

Ballad of Reading Gaol was his last work and there was no more writing before his death. Being impoverished, degraded, and utterly shamed, he produced no more after this poem stating that "something killed in me". It is regrettable, for Wild is one of the best literary products of the 19th century. And it is very sad to think that a brilliant mind and a wonderfully gifted artist had to come to such a pathetic end.
April 17,2025
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Éramos como hombres que por un pantano
de inmunda oscuridad avanzan tanteando;
no nos atrevíamos a susurrar una oración
ni a dar suelta a nuestra angustia;
algo había muerto en cada uno de nosotros
y lo que había muerto era la esperanza.


Oscar Wilde fue sentenciado a dos años en la cárcel de Reading por sus relaciones y enfrentamientos a los convencionalismos victorianos. Wilde se enfrentó sin más armas que su ingenio y, como era de esperar, le trituraron. Perdió a su mujer, a sus hijos, sus derechos y sus propiedades tras conocerse que se movía en ambientes homosexuales.

Los versos nos demuestran cómo su paso por la prisión acabaron con él y, a pesar de que escribió en la cárcel La balada de la cárcel de Reading y De Profundis (una extensa carta para su ex-amante), quedaron plasmadas un absoluto desgarro y el más profundo dolor, dejando a un lado la habitualidad de expresar el sufrimiento y la angustia de otres.
April 17,2025
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در هیچ قتلگاه هنگام روز
کسی را به دار نمی آویزند:
زیرا یا قلب کشیش خیلی ضعیف است
یا صورت او خیلی رنگ پریده می باشد
و یا چیزی در چشمان او نوشته شده است
که هنگام روز هیچ کس نمی تواند به آن بنگرد.

من هرگز مردان غمگینی را ندیده بودم
که با چنان چشمان خیره
به آن خیمه آبی رنگ که
زندانیان آسمانش می خوانند
و به هر قطعه ابر بی خیالی که
با آزادی از صحنه آسمان گذر می کند بنگرند.

و نیز می دانم ( و چه خوب بود
اگر هر کسی آن را می دانست)
هر زندانی که به دست مردم بنا می گردد
با آجرهای ریا و تزویر ساخته می‌شود
و آن را با میله های آهنی محصور می نمایند
تا خدا نبیند که بنی نوع بشر چطور یکدیگر را شکنجه می کنند.

یا میله های آهنی آن ها، ماه با وقار را
از نظرها پوشاندند و خورشید زیبا را کور کردند
و البته لازم بود جهنم خودشان را مخفی کنند
زیرا در آن کارهایی می کردند
که نه خدا و نه فرزند آدمی
می توانست به آن بنگرد.
April 17,2025
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And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!


Oscar Wilde will never cease to impress me. This poem in one word is a masterpiece. Oscar was a genius.
April 17,2025
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There is such a Nightmarish Depth to Oscar Wilde!

Q: Is being condemned of a once-upon-a-time-felony at the merely SUBJECTIVE imputation of guilt therefore itself a CRIME?

A: “Elementary, my dear Watson (mumbles in Watson’s ear)...”

- “Dash it all, Holmes! I take your assessment quite deucedly to heart! Forsooth, you would cut us ALL to the very quick... have you no COUTH?!”

(See O.W.’s attached reiteration of his - Oscar Wilde’s - guilt in his grand finale. Better yet, read the whole brief work in the public domain, everywhere left on the planet where Good Books are still Free.)

Well then. OK. Enough half-hearted attempts at humour... for this ballad is ANYTHING BUT DROLL.

No wonder - Wilde was serving the Prison sentence that would KILL him. His Crime?

LOVE.

Wilde says we always kill the one we LOVE. Any liaison is as hellish as it is heavenly. Due to a variety of reasons.

Let’s put it THIS way: IS Wilde right here? Do we REALLY kill the one we love, and if so... HOW?

Well, if we have a dearth of love in our life we're probably faking that life.

Let’s say we’re watching TV, late at night, when the others in your life are safely tucked in. Just reruns. Dumb, stupid reruns, which we’ve maybe seen a zillion times. But you’ve GOT to get your mind off your looney-tunes job!

Then your sleepy daughter appears, distraught. “Daddy, I had an ac-... er, ac-ci-dent!”

You hardly bat an eye. “Later, honey. Just go back to sleep. OK? You’ll probably feel better in the morning...”

“But, Daddy...”

Too late, kid. Now you’re chuckling over Hawkeye and Radar’s dumb antics.

You hardly bat an eye when she disappears upstairs.

Before you call it a night, you FINALLY go to tuck her in.

Her bed’s rumpled and empty. And it’s SOAKED. She’s curled up in a corner, shivering and shaking.

You let her down badly.

And you KILLED a part of her fragile soul tonight.
***

And now for my main point. Something that's not so obvious:

Wilde's famous law can KILL US ALL.

I'll start with myself. I was known, at home, at school and at work in previous years, as a guy who accepted discipline. For me then, no one got outta line without paying for it. A cradle Christian.

But I cracked under extreme duress when I was 20.

I became contrarious, and acted right outta line. Subconconsciously, I blamed myself, and woulda accepted the doctors' stern discipline, but then I changed.

I blamed the doctors for it. I said to myself, THEY had ulterior motives.

For I HID the truth from myself. That reversal by manufacturing a scapegoat in them may have been in the superficial interests of self-preservation, but it only prolonged my pain for 60 years.

I had shifted the blame to others - but its intense guilt killed the one I loved - Myself. And guess what?

It was that way for Wilde too.

You see, by hiding the fact of his loathing of an obsolete Law from the ones he loved, he was killing those ones he loved!

For then, his subsequent sulking sentence to Reading Gaol -

Blighted his own forever happily-ever-after charm for himself -

And for the more privileged denizens of the Gilded Age, from that time on.
April 17,2025
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Oscar Wilde escribió "La Balada de la cárcel de Reading" precisamente cuando todavía estaba en prisión, luego de ser sentenciado a dos años de trabajos forzados por sodomía en 1895 y otros cargos que asumió a partir de hacer pública su condición de homosexual, perdiendo un juicio contra el padre de Alfred "Bosie" Douglas, su propio amante.
Tuvo que sufrir el oprobio, la injusticia y crueles ataques de parte de una pacata sociedad victoriana ya agonizante. Soportó estoicamente y con valor esos años de hondo sufrimiento de la misma manera que hace casi cincuenta años atrás había tenido que soportar también otro gran escritor, Fiódor Dostoievski, condenado a cuatro años de trabajos forzados en Siberia.
Reponiendo parcialmente su relación con Douglas, terminó escribiendo esta balada en la casa de éste, incluso luego de esa famosa carta que le enviara un año atrás y que todos conocemos como "De Profundis", que es un texto epistolar durísimo y desgarrador en donde realiza su catarsis y su mea culpa intentando reponer su orgullo de artista.
Escribió esta balada bajo el seudónimo de Sebastian Melmoth, durante su estancia en Bernebal, cuando ya la enfermedad y la muerte le acechaban y luego de la muerte de su ex esposa en 1898. Dos años más tarde, le tocaría a él morir sólo y abandonado en la habitación de un modesto hotel de París.
Esta balada es un homenaje a otro preso que él conoció, que se llamaba Charles T. Woolridge y que fue ejecutado en esa misma cárcel de Reading en 1896.
La balada es un largo y desolador poema del cual extraigo algunas líneas:
"¡Ah, Cristo! Los mismos muros de la cárcel parecieron temblar de repente y el ciclo sobre mi cabeza se convirtió en un casco de acero enrojecido; y aunque yo también era un alma en pena, mi pena casi no podía sentirla.
Supe entonces qué pensamiento opresor apresuraba su paso y por qué miraba la cegadora claridad del día con aquella mirada tan intensa; aquel hombre había matado lo que amaba, y por eso debía morir.
Y, sin embargo, cada hombre mata lo que ama, sépanlo todos; unos lo hacen con una mirada de odio; otros, con palabras acariciadoras; el cobarde, con un beso; ¡el valiente, con una espada!"


Ante tanta hermosura poética, sobran ya mis palabras.
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