The Happy Prince, and Other Tales
honour. Of course you know nothing of these matters, for you are a
provincial.”
“There is no good talking to him,” said a Dragon-fly, who was sitting on
the top of a large brown bulrush; “no good at all, for he has gone away.”
“Well, that is his loss, not mine,” answered the Rocket. “I am not going
to stop talking to him merely because he pays no attention. I like
hearing myself talk. It is one of my greatest pleasures. I often have
long conversations all by myself, and I am so clever that sometimes I
don’t understand a single word of what I am saying.”
“Then you should certainly lecture on Philosophy,” said the Dragon-fly;
and he spread a pair of lovely gauze wings and soared away into the sky.
“How very silly of him not to stay here!” said the Rocket. “I am sure
that he has not often got such a chance of improving his mind. However,
I don’t care a bit. Genius like mine is sure to be appreciated some
day”; and he sank down a little deeper into the mud.
After some time a large White Duck swam up to him. She had yellow legs,
and webbed feet, and was considered a great beauty on account of her
waddle.
“Quack, quack, quack,” she said. “What a curious shape you are! May I
ask were you born like that, or is it the result of an accident?”
“It is quite evident that you have always lived in the country,” answered
the Rocket, “otherwise you would know who I am. However, I excuse your
ignorance. It would be unfair to expect other people to be as remarkable
as oneself. You will no doubt be surprised to hear that I can fly up
into the sky, and come down in a shower of golden rain.”
“I don’t think much of that,” said the Duck, “as I cannot see what use it
is to any one. Now, if you could plough the fields like the ox, or draw
a cart like the horse, or look after the sheep like the collie-dog, that
would be something.”
“My good creature,” cried the Rocket in a very haughty tone of voice, “I
see that you belong to the lower orders. A person of my position is
never useful. We have certain accomplishments, and that is more than
sufficient. I have no sympathy myself with industry of any kind, least
of all with such industries as you seem to recommend. Indeed, I have
always been of opinion that hard work is simply the refuge of people who
have nothing whatever to do.”
“Well, well,” said the Duck, who was of a very peaceable disposition, and
never quarrelled with any one, “everybody has different tastes. I hope,
at any rate, that you are going to take up your residence here.”
“Oh! dear no,” cried the Rocket. “I am merely a visitor, a distinguished
visitor. The fact is that I find this place rather tedious. There is
neither society here, nor solitude. In fact, it is essentially suburban.
I shall probably go back to Court, for I know that I am destined to make
a sensation in the world.”
“I had thoughts of entering public life once myself,” remarked the Duck;
“there are so many things that need reforming. Indeed, I took the chair
at a meeting some time ago, and we passed resolutions condemning
everything that we did not like. However, they did not seem to have much
effect. Now I go in for domesticity, and look after my family.”
“I am made for public life,” said the Rocket, “and so are all my
relations, even the humblest of them. Whenever we appear we excite great
attention. I have not actually appeared myself, but when I do so it will
be a magnificent sight. As for domesticity, it ages one rapidly, and
distracts one’s mind from higher things.”
“Ah! the higher things of life, how fine they are!” said the Duck; “and
that reminds me how hungry I feel”: and she swam away down the stream,
saying, “Quack, quack, quack.”
“Come back! come back!” screamed the Rocket, “I have a great deal to say
to you”; but the Duck paid no attention to him. “I am glad that she has
gone,” he said to himself, “she has a decidedly middle-class mind”; and
he sank a little deeper still into the mud, and began to think about the
loneliness of genius, when suddenly two little boys in white smocks came
running down the bank, with a kettle and some faggots.
“This must be the deputation,” said the Rocket, and he tried to look very
dignified.
“Hallo!” cried one of the boys, “look at this old stick! I wonder how it
came here”; and he picked the rocket out of the ditch.
“OLD Stick!” said the Rocket, “impossible! GOLD Stick, that is what he
said. Gold Stick is very complimentary. In fact, he mistakes me for one
of the Court dignitaries!”
“Let us put it into the fire!” said the other boy, “it will help to boil
the kettle.”
So they piled the faggots together, and put the Rocket on top, and lit
the fire.
“This is magnificent,” cried the Rocket, “they are going to let me off in
broad day-light, so that every one can see me.”
“We will go to sleep now,” they said, “and when we wake up the kettle
will be boiled”; and they lay down on the grass, and shut their eyes.
The Rocket was very damp, so he took a long time to burn. At last,
however, the fire caught him.
“Now I am going off!” he cried, and he made himself very stiff and
straight. “I know I shall go much higher than the stars, much higher
than the moon, much higher than the sun. In fact, I shall go so high
that—”
Fizz! Fizz! Fizz! and he went straight up into the air.
“Delightful!” he cried, “I shall go on like this for ever. What a
success I am!”
But nobody saw him.
Then he began to feel a curious tingling sensation all over him.
“Now I am going to explode,” he cried. “I shall set the whole world on
fire, and make such a noise that nobody will talk about anything else for
a whole year.” And he certainly did explode. Bang! Bang! Bang! went the
gunpowder. There was no doubt about it.
But nobody heard him, not even the two little boys, for they were sound
asleep.
Then all that was left of him was the stick, and this fell down on the
back of a Goose who was taking a walk by the side of the ditch.
“Good heavens!” cried the Goose. “It is going to rain sticks”; and she
rushed into the water.
“I knew I should create a great sensation,” gasped the Rocket, and he
went out.
* * * * *
Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO. LIMITED
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
[Picture: Decorative graphic of bird]