The Happy Prince, and Other Tales
the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and
round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his
breath was like ice.
“I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,” said the
Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white
garden; “I hope there will be a change in the weather.”
But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit
to every garden, but to the Giant’s garden she gave none. “He is too
selfish,” she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind,
and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.
One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely
music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the
King’s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing
outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in
his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the
world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind
ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open
casement. “I believe the Spring has come at last,” said the Giant; and
he jumped out of bed and looked out.
What did he see?
He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the
children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the
trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And
the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had
covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above
the children’s heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with
delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and
laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter.
It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little
boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the
tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree
was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was
blowing and roaring above it. “Climb up! little boy,” said the Tree, and
it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.
And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have
been!” he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will
put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock
down the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever
and ever.” He was really very sorry for what he had done.
So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went
out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so
frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.
Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that
he did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and
took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree
broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the
little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s
neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the
Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came
the Spring. “It is your garden now, little children,” said the Giant,
and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people
were going to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with
the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.
All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to
bid him good-bye.
“But where is your little companion?” he said: “the boy I put into the
tree.” The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.
“We don’t know,” answered the children; “he has gone away.”
“You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,” said the Giant.
But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had
never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.
Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with
the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again.
The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first
little friend, and often spoke of him. “How I would like to see him!” he
used to say.
Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not
play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the
children at their games, and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful
flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of
all.”
One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He
did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring
asleep, and that the flowers were resting.
Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It
certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden
was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were
all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood
the little boy he had loved.
Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He
hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came
quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, “Who hath dared to
wound thee?” For on the palms of the child’s hands were the prints of
two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.
“Who hath dared to wound thee?” cried the Giant; “tell me, that I may
take my big sword and slay him.”
“Nay!” answered the child; “but these are the wounds of Love.”
“Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he
knelt before the little child.
And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once
in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is
Paradise.”
And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying
dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.
[Picture: Decorative graphic of wreath]
The Devoted Friend.
[Picture: Hans and the Miller]
ONE morning the old Water-rat put his head out of his hole. He had
bright beady eyes and stiff grey whiskers and his tail was like a long
bit of black india-rubber. The little ducks were swimming about in the
pond, looking just like a lot of yellow canaries, and their mother, who
was pure white with real red legs, was trying to teach them how to stand
on their heads in the water.
“You will never be in the best society unless you can stand on your
heads,” she kept saying to them; and every now and then she showed them
how it was done. But the little ducks paid no attention to her. They
were so young that they did not know what an advantage it is to be in
society at all.
“What disobedient children!” cried the old Water-rat; “they really
deserve to be drowned.”
“Nothing of the kind,” answered the Duck, “every one must make a
beginning, and parents cannot be too patient.”
“Ah! I know nothing about the feelings of parents,” said the Water-rat;
“I am not a family man. In fact, I have never been married, and I never
intend to be. Love is all very well in its way, but friendship is much
higher. Indeed, I know of nothing in the world that is either nobler or
rarer than a devoted friendship.”
“And what, pray, is your idea of the duties of a devoted friend?” asked a
Green Linnet, who was sitting in a willow-tree hard by, and had overheard
the conversation.
“Yes, that is just what I want to know,” said the Duck; and she swam away
to the end of the pond, and stood upon her head, in order to give her
children a good example.
“What a silly question!” cried the Water-rat. “I should expect my
devoted friend to be devoted to me, of course.”
“And what would you do in return?” said the little bird, swinging upon a
silver spray, and flapping his tiny wings.
“I don’t understand you,” answered the Water-rat.
“Let me tell you a story on the subject,” said the Linnet.
“Is the story about me?” asked the Water-rat. “If so, I will listen to
it, for I am extremely fond of fiction.”
“It is applicable to you,” answered the Linnet; and he flew down, and
alighting upon the bank, he told the story of The Devoted Friend.
“Once upon a time,” said the Linnet, “there was an honest little fellow
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