The Happy Prince Page #7

The Happy Prince and Other Tales is a collection of stories for children by Oscar Wilde first published in May 1888. It contains five stories: "The Happy Prince", "The Nightingale and the Rose", "The Selfish Giant", "The Devoted Friend", and "The Remarkable Rocket".

• Children

								

named Hans.”

“Was he very distinguished?” asked the Water-rat.

“No,” answered the Linnet, “I don’t think he was distinguished at all,
except for his kind heart, and his funny round good-humoured face.  He
lived in a tiny cottage all by himself, and every day he worked in his
garden.  In all the country-side there was no garden so lovely as his.
Sweet-william grew there, and Gilly-flowers, and Shepherds’-purses, and
Fair-maids of France.  There were damask Roses, and yellow Roses, lilac
Crocuses, and gold, purple Violets and white.  Columbine and Ladysmock,
Marjoram and Wild Basil, the Cowslip and the Flower-de-luce, the Daffodil
and the Clove-Pink bloomed or blossomed in their proper order as the
months went by, one flower taking another flower’s place, so that there
were always beautiful things to look at, and pleasant odours to smell.

“Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of all
was big Hugh the Miller.  Indeed, so devoted was the rich Miller to
little Hans, that he would never go by his garden without leaning over
the wall and plucking a large nosegay, or a handful of sweet herbs, or
filling his pockets with plums and cherries if it was the fruit season.

“‘Real friends should have everything in common,’ the Miller used to say,
and little Hans nodded and smiled, and felt very proud of having a friend
with such noble ideas.

“Sometimes, indeed, the neighbours thought it strange that the rich
Miller never gave little Hans anything in return, though he had a hundred
sacks of flour stored away in his mill, and six milch cows, and a large
flock of woolly sheep; but Hans never troubled his head about these
things, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to listen to all the
wonderful things the Miller used to say about the unselfishness of true
friendship.

“So little Hans worked away in his garden.  During the spring, the
summer, and the autumn he was very happy, but when the winter came, and
he had no fruit or flowers to bring to the market, he suffered a good
deal from cold and hunger, and often had to go to bed without any supper
but a few dried pears or some hard nuts.  In the winter, also, he was
extremely lonely, as the Miller never came to see him then.

“‘There is no good in my going to see little Hans as long as the snow
lasts,’ the Miller used to say to his wife, ‘for when people are in
trouble they should be left alone, and not be bothered by visitors.  That
at least is my idea about friendship, and I am sure I am right.  So I
shall wait till the spring comes, and then I shall pay him a visit, and
he will be able to give me a large basket of primroses and that will make
him so happy.’

“‘You are certainly very thoughtful about others,’ answered the Wife, as
she sat in her comfortable armchair by the big pinewood fire; ‘very
thoughtful indeed.  It is quite a treat to hear you talk about
friendship.  I am sure the clergyman himself could not say such beautiful
things as you do, though he does live in a three-storied house, and wear
a gold ring on his little finger.’

“‘But could we not ask little Hans up here?’ said the Miller’s youngest
son.  ‘If poor Hans is in trouble I will give him half my porridge, and
show him my white rabbits.’

“‘What a silly boy you are!’ cried the Miller; ‘I really don’t know what
is the use of sending you to school.  You seem not to learn anything.
Why, if little Hans came up here, and saw our warm fire, and our good
supper, and our great cask of red wine, he might get envious, and envy is
a most terrible thing, and would spoil anybody’s nature.  I certainly
will not allow Hans’ nature to be spoiled.  I am his best friend, and I
will always watch over him, and see that he is not led into any
temptations.  Besides, if Hans came here, he might ask me to let him have
some flour on credit, and that I could not do.  Flour is one thing, and
friendship is another, and they should not be confused.  Why, the words
are spelt differently, and mean quite different things.  Everybody can
see that.’

“‘How well you talk!’ said the Miller’s Wife, pouring herself out a large
glass of warm ale; ‘really I feel quite drowsy.  It is just like being in
church.’

“‘Lots of people act well,’ answered the Miller; ‘but very few people
talk well, which shows that talking is much the more difficult thing of
the two, and much the finer thing also’; and he looked sternly across the
table at his little son, who felt so ashamed of himself that he hung his
head down, and grew quite scarlet, and began to cry into his tea.
However, he was so young that you must excuse him.”

“Is that the end of the story?” asked the Water-rat.

“Certainly not,” answered the Linnet, “that is the beginning.”

“Then you are quite behind the age,” said the Water-rat.  “Every good
story-teller nowadays starts with the end, and then goes on to the
beginning, and concludes with the middle.  That is the new method.  I
heard all about it the other day from a critic who was walking round the
pond with a young man.  He spoke of the matter at great length, and I am
sure he must have been right, for he had blue spectacles and a bald head,
and whenever the young man made any remark, he always answered ‘Pooh!’
But pray go on with your story.  I like the Miller immensely.  I have all
kinds of beautiful sentiments myself, so there is a great sympathy
between us.”

“Well,” said the Linnet, hopping now on one leg and now on the other, “as
soon as the winter was over, and the primroses began to open their pale
yellow stars, the Miller said to his wife that he would go down and see
little Hans.

“‘Why, what a good heart you have!’ cried his Wife; ‘you are always
thinking of others.  And mind you take the big basket with you for the
flowers.’

“So the Miller tied the sails of the windmill together with a strong iron
chain, and went down the hill with the basket on his arm.

“‘Good morning, little Hans,’ said the Miller.

“‘Good morning,’ said Hans, leaning on his spade, and smiling from ear to
ear.

“‘And how have you been all the winter?’ said the Miller.

“‘Well, really,’ cried Hans, ‘it is very good of you to ask, very good
indeed.  I am afraid I had rather a hard time of it, but now the spring
has come, and I am quite happy, and all my flowers are doing well.’

“‘We often talked of you during the winter, Hans,’ said the Miller, ‘and
wondered how you were getting on.’

“‘That was kind of you,’ said Hans; ‘I was half afraid you had forgotten
me.’

“‘Hans, I am surprised at you,’ said the Miller; ‘friendship never
forgets.  That is the wonderful thing about it, but I am afraid you don’t
understand the poetry of life.  How lovely your primroses are looking,
by-the-bye!”

“‘They are certainly very lovely,’ said Hans, ‘and it is a most lucky
thing for me that I have so many.  I am going to bring them into the
market and sell them to the Burgomaster’s daughter, and buy back my
wheelbarrow with the money.’

“‘Buy back your wheelbarrow?  You don’t mean to say you have sold it?
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