Note:
Oscar Wilde intended this story to be read to children
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 [Hans] 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 milk cows, and a large stock
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. Jn 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 wears 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's 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-by!"
'"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? What a
very stupid thing to do!"
'"Well,
the fact is," said Hans, "that I was obliged to. You see
the winter was a very bad time for me, and I really had no money at
all to buy bread with. So I first sold the silver buttons off my
Sunday coat, and then I sold my silver chain, and then I sold my big
pipe, and at last I sold my wheelbarrow. But I am going to buy them
all back again now."
'"Hans,"
said the Miller, "I will give you my wheelbarrow. It is not in
very good repair; indeed, one side is gone, and there is something
wrong with the wheel-spokes; but in spite of that I will give it to
you. I know it is very generous of me, and a great many people would
think me extremely foolish for parting with it, but I am not like the
rest of the world. I think that generosity is the essence of
friendship, and, besides, I have got a new wheelbarrow for myself.
Yes, you may set your mind at ease, I will give you my wheelbarrow."
'"Well,
really, that is generous of you," said little Hans, and his
funny round face glowed all over with pleasure. "I can easily
put it in repair, as I have a plank of wood in the house."
'"A
plank of wood" said the Miller; "why, that is just what I
want for the roof of my barn. There is a very large hole in it, and
the corn will all get damp if I don't stop it up. How lucky you
mentioned it! It is quite remarkable how one good action always
breeds another. I have given you my wheelbarrow, and now you are
going to give me your plank. Of course, the wheelbarrow is worth far
more than the plank, but true friendship never notices things like
that. Pray get it at once, and I will set to work at my barn this
very day."
'"Certainly,"
cried little Hans, and he ran into the shed and dragged the plank
out.
'"It
is not a very big plank," said the Miller, looking at it, "and
I am afraid that after I have mended my barn-roof there won't be any
left for you to mend the wheelbarrow with; but, of course, that is
not my fault. And now, as I have given you my wheelbarrow, I am sure
you would like to give me some flowers in return. Here is the basket,
and mind you fill it quite full."
'"Quite
full?" said little Hans, rather sorrowfully, for it was really a
very big basket, and he knew that if he filled it he would have no
flowers left for the market, and he was very anxious to get his
silver buttons back.
'"Well,
really," answered the Miller, "as I have given you my
wheelbarrow, I don't think that it is much to ask you for a few
flowers. I may be wrong, but I should have thought that friendship,
true friendship, was quite free from selfishness of any kind."
'"My
dear friend, my best friend," cried little Hans, "you are
welcome to all the flowers in my garden. I would much sooner have
your good opinion than my silver buttons, any day;" and he ran
and plucked all his pretty primroses, and filled the Miller's basket.
'"Good-bye,
little Hans," said the Miller, as he went up the hill with the
plank on his shoulder, and the big basket in his hand.
'"Good-bye,"
said little Hans, and he began to dig away quite merrily, he was so
pleased about the wheelbarrow.
'The
next day he was nailing up some honeysuckle against the porch, when
he heard the Miller's voice calling to him from the road. So he
jumped off the ladder, and ran down the garden, and looked over the
wall.
'There
was the Miller with a large sack of flour on his back.
'"Dear
little Hans," said the Miller, "would you mind carrying
this sack of flour for me to market?"
'"Oh,
I am so sorry," said Hans,"but I am really very busy
to-day. I have got all my creepers to nail up, and all my flowers to
water, and all my grass to roll."
'"Well,
really," said the Miller, "I think that, considering that I
am going to give you my wheelbarrow, it is rather unfriendly of you
to refuse."
'"Oh,
don't say that," cried little Hans, "I wouldn't be
unfriendly for the whole world;" and he ran in for his cap, and
trudged off with the big sack on his shoulders.
'It
was a very hot day, and the road was terribly dusty, and before Hans
had reached the sixth milestone he was so tired that he had to sit
down and rest. However, he went on bravely, and at last he reached
the market. After he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of
flour for a very good price, and then he returned home at once, for
he was afraid that if he stopped too late he might meet some robbers
on the way.
"It
has certainly been a hard day," said little Hans to himself as
he was going to bed, "but I am glad I did not refuse the Miller,
for he is my best friend, and, besides, he is going to give me his
wheelbarrow."
'Early
the next morning the Miller came down to get the money for his sack
of flour, but little Hans was so tired that he was still in bed.
'"Upon
my word," said the Miller, "you are very lazy. Really,
considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, I think you
might work harder. Idleness is a great sin, and I certainly don't
like any of my friends to be idle or sluggish. You must not mind my
speaking quite plainly to you. Of course I should not dream of doing
so if I were not your friend. But what is the good of friendship if
one cannot say exactly what one means? Anybody can say charming
things and try to please and to flatter, but a true friend always
says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he
is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows that then he is
doing good."
'"I
am very sorry," said little Hans, rubbing his eyes and pulling
off his night-cap, "but I was so tired that I thought I would
lie in bed for a little time, and listen to the birds singing. Do you
know that I always work better after hearing the birds sing?"
'"Well,
I am glad of that," said the Miller, clapping little Hans on the
back, "for I want you to come up to the mill as soon as you are
dressed, and mend my barn-roof for me."
'Poor
little Hans was very anxious to go and work in his garden, for his
flowers had not been watered for two days, but he did not like to
refuse the Miller, as he was such a good friend to him.
'"Do
you think it would be unfriendly of me if I said I was busy?" he
inquired in a shy and timid voice.
'"Well,
really," answered the Miller, "I do not think it is much to
ask of you, considering that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow;
but of course if you refuse I will go and do it myself."
'"Oh!
on no account," cried little Hans; and he jumped out of bed, and
dressed himself, and went up to the barn.
'He
worked there all day long, till sunset, and at sunset the Miller came
to see how he was getting on.
'"Have
you mended the hole in the roof yet, little Hans?" cried the
Miller in a cheery voice.
'"It
is quite mended," answered little Hans, coming down the ladder.
'"Ah!"
said the Miller, "there is no work so delightful as the work one
does for others."
'"It
is certainly a great privilege to hear you talk," answered
little Hans, sitting down and wiping his forehead, "a very great
privilege. But I am afraid I shall never have such beautiful ideas as
you have."
'"Oh!
they will come to you," said the Miller, "but you must take
more pains. At present you have only the practice of friendship; some
day you will have the theory also."
'"Do
you really think I shall?" asked little Hans.
'"I
have no doubt of it," answered the Miller; "but now that
you have mended the roof, you had better go home and rest, for I want
you to drive my sheep to the mountain to-morrow."
'Poor
little Hans was afraid to say anything to this, and early the next
morning the Miller brought his sheep round to the cottage, and Hans
started off with them to the mountain. It took him the whole day to
get there and back; and when he returned he was so tired that he went
off to sleep in his chair, and did not wake up till it was broad
daylight.
'"What
a delightful time I shall have in my garden," he said, and he
went to work at once.
'But
somehow he was never able to look after his flowers at all, for his
friend the Miller was always coming round and sending him off on long
errands, or getting him to help at the mill. Little Hans was very
much distressed at times, as he was afraid his flowers would think he
had forgotten them, but he consoled himself by the reflection that
the Miller was his best friend. "Besides," he used to say,
"he is going to give me his wheelbarrow, and that is an act of
pure generosity."
'So
little Hans worked away for the Miller, and the Miller said all kinds
of beautiful things about friendship, which Hans took down in a
note-book, and used to read over at night, for he was a very good
scholar.
'Now
it happened that one evening little Hans was sitting by his fireside
when a loud rap came at the door. It was a very wild night, and the
wind was blowing and roaring round the house so terribly that at
first he thought it was merely the storm. But a second rap came, and
then a third, louder than either of the others.
'"It
is some poor traveller," said little Hans to himself, and he ran
to the door.
'There
stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the
other.
'"Dear
little Hans," cried the Miller, "I am in great trouble. My
little boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I am going
for the Doctor. But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night,
that it has just occurred to me that it would be much better if you
went instead of me. You know I am going to give you my wheelbarrow,
and so it is only fair that you should do something for me in
return."
'"Certainly,"
cried little Hans, "I take it quite as a compliment your coming
to me, and I will start off at once. But you must lend me your
lantern, as the night is so dark that I am afraid I might fall into
the ditch."
'"I
am very sorry," answered the Miller, "but it is my new
lantern, and it would be a great loss to me if anything happened to
it."
'"Well,
never mind, I will do without it," cried little Hans, and he
took down his great fur coat, and his warm scarlet cap, and tied a
muffler round his throat, and started off.
'What
a dreadful storm it was! The night was so black that little Hans
could hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarcely
stand. However, he was very courageous, and after he had been walking
about three hours, he arrived at the Doctor's house, and knocked at
the door.
'"Who
is there?"' cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his
bedroom window.
'"Little
Hans, Doctor."
'"What
do you want, little Hans?"
'"The
Miller's son has fallen from a ladder, and has hurt himself, and the
Miller wants you to come at once."
'"All
right!" said the Doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his big
boots, and his lantern, and came downstairs, and rode off in the
direction of the Miller's house, little Hans trudging behind him.
'But
the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fell in torrents, and
little Hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the
horse. At last he lost his way, and wandered off on the moor, which
was a very dangerous place, as it was full of deep holes, and there
poor little Hans was drowned. His body was found the next day by some
goatherds, floating in a great pool of water, and was brought back by
them to the cottage. 'Everybody went to little Hans's funeral, as he
was so popular, and the Miller was the chief mourner.
'"As
I was his best friend," said the Miller, "it is only fair
that I should have the best place;" so he walked at the head of
the procession in a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped
his eyes with a big pocket-handkerchief.
'"Little
Hans is certainly a great loss to every one," said the
Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated
comfortably in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes.
'"A
great loss to me at any rate," answered the Miller; "why, I
had as good as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don't know
what to do with it. It is very much in my way at home, and it is in
such bad repair that I could not get anything for it if I sold it. I
will certainly take care not to give away anything again. One always
suffers for being generous."
'Well?'
said the Water-rat, after a long pause. 'Well, that is the end,' said
the Linnet.
'But
what became of the Miller?' asked the Water-rat. 'Oh! I really don't
know,' replied the Linnet, 'and I am sure that I don't care.'
'It
is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature,' said
the Water-rat.
'I
am afraid you don't quite see the moral of the story,' remarked the
Linnet.
'The
what?' screamed the Water-rat.
'The
moral.'
'Do
you mean to say that the story has a moral?'
'Certainly,'
said the Linnet.
'Well,
really,' said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, 'I think you
should have told me that before you began. If you had done so, I
certainly would not have listened to you; in fact, I should have said
"Pooh," like the critic. However, I can say it now;' so he
shouted out 'Pooh' at the top of his voice, gave a whisk with his
tail, and went back into his hole.
'And
how do you like the Water-rat?' asked the Duck, who came paddling up
some minutes afterwards. 'He has a great many good points, but for my
own part I have a mother's feelings, and I can never look at a
confirmed bachelor without the tears coming into my eyes.'
'I
am rather afraid that I have annoyed him,' answered the Linnet. 'The
fact is, that I told him a story with a moral.
'Ah!
that is always a very dangerous thing to do,' said the Duck.
And
I quite agree with her.
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