[Novel] 《夜莺与玫瑰》作者：[英]奥斯卡·王尔德/译者：林徽因

很美

赞个~！

有才气

王尔德的毒舌和他的才气一样出名，很喜欢他的文章，嬉笑怒骂，可惜天妒英才啊

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★、The Young King

It was the night before the day fixed for his coronation， and the young King was sitting alone in his beautiful chamber. His courtiers had all taken their leave of him， bowing their heads to the ground， according to the ceremonious usage of the day， and had retired to the Great Hall of the Palace， to receive a few last lessons from the Professor of Etiquette; there being some of them who had still quite natural manners， which in a courtier is， I need hardly say， a very grave offence.
The lad—for he was only a lad， being but sixteen years of age—was not sorry at their departure， and had flung himself back with a deep sigh of relief on the soft cushions of his embroidered couch， lying there， wild-eyed and open-mouthed， like a brown woodland Faun， or some young animal of the forest newly snared by the hunters.
And， indeed， it was the hunters who had found him， coming upon him almost by chance as， bare-limbed and pipe in hand， he was following the flock of the poor goatherd who had brought him up， and whose son he had always fancied himself to be. The child of the old King’s only daughter by a secret marriage with one much beneath her in station—a stranger， some said， who， by the wonderful magic of his lute-playing， had made the young Princess love him; while others spoke of an artist from Rimini， to whom the Princess had shown much， perhaps too much honour， and who had suddenly disappeared from the city， leaving his work in the Cathedral unfinished—he had been， when but a week old， stolen away from his mother’s side， as she slept， and given into the charge of a common peasant and his wife， who were without children of their own， and lived in a remote part of the forest， more than a day’s ride from the town. Grief， or the plague， as the court physician stated， or， as some suggested， a swift Italian poison administered in a cup of spiced wine， slew， within an hour of her wakening， the white girl who had given him birth， and as the trusty messenger who bare the child across his saddle-bow stooped from his weary horse and knocked at the rude door of the goatherd‘s hut， the body of the Princess was being lowered into an open grave that had been dug in a deserted churchyard， beyond the city gates， a grave where it was said that another body was also lying， that of a young man of marvellous and foreign beauty， whose hands were tied behind him with a knotted cord， and whose breast was stabbed with many red wounds.
Such， at least， was the story that men whispered to each other. Certain it was that the old King， when on his deathbed， whether moved by remorse for his great sin， or merely desiring that the kingdom should not pass away from his line， had had the lad sent for， and， in the presence of the Council， had acknowledged him as his heir.
And it seems that from the very first moment of his recognition he had shown signs of that strange passion for beauty that was destined to have so great an influence over his life. Those who accompanied him to the suite of rooms set apart for his service， often spoke of the cry of pleasure that broke from his lips when he saw the delicate raiment and rich jewels that had been prepared for him， and of the almost fierce joy with which he flung aside his rough leathern tunic and coarse sheepskin cloak. He missed， indeed， at times the fine freedom of his forest life， and was always apt to chafe at the tedious Court ceremonies that occupied so much of each day， but the wonderful palace—Joyeuse， as they called it—of which he now found himself lord， seemed to him to be a new world fresh-fashioned for his delight; and as soon as he could escape from the council-board or audience-chamber， he would run down the great staircase， with its lions of gilt bronze and its steps of bright porphyry， and wander from room to room， and from corridor to corridor， like one who was seeking to find in beauty an anodyne from pain， a sort of restoration from sickness.
Upon these journeys of discovery， as he would call them—and， indeed， they were to him real voyages through a marvellous land， he would sometimes be accompanied by the slim， fair-haired Court pages， with their floating mantles， and gay fluttering ribands; but more often he would be alone， feeling through a certain quick instinct， which was almost a divination， that the secrets of art are best learned in secret， and that Beauty， like Wisdom， loves the lonely worshipper.
Many curious stories were related about him at this period. It was said that a stout Burgo-master， who had come to deliver a florid oratorical address on behalf of the citizens of the town， had caught sight of him kneeling in real adoration before a great picture that had just been brought from Venice， and that seemed to herald the worship of some new gods. On another occasion he had been missed for several hours， and after a lengthened search had been discovered in a little chamber in one of the northern turrets of the palace gazing， as one in a trance， at a Greek gem carved with the figure of Adonis. He had been seen， so the tale ran， pressing his warm lips to the marble brow of an antique statue that had been discovered in the bed of the river on the occasion of the building of the stone bridge， and was inscribed with the name of the Bithynian slave of Hadrian. He had passed a whole night in noting the effect of the moonlight on a silver image of Endymion.
All rare and costly materials had certainly a great fascination for him， and in his eagerness to procure them he had sent away many merchants， some to traffic for amber with the rough fisher-folk of the north seas， some to Egypt to look for that curious green turquoise which is found only in the tombs of kings， and is said to possess magical properties， some to Persia for silken carpets and painted pottery， and others to India to buy gauze and stained ivory， moonstones and bracelets of jade， sandal-wood and blue enamel and shawls of fine wool.
But what had occupied him most was the robe he was to wear at his coronation， the robe of tissued gold， and the ruby-studded crown， and the sceptre with its rows and rings of pearls. Indeed， it was of this that he was thinking tonight， as he lay back on his luxurious couch， watching the great pinewood log that was burning itself out on the open hearth. The designs， which were from the hands of the most famous artists of the time， had been submitted to him many months before， and he had given orders that the artificers were to toil night and day to carry them out， and that the whole world was to be searched for jewels that would be worthy of their work. He saw himself in fancy standing at the high altar of the cathedral in the fair raiment of a King， and a smile played and lingered about his boyish lips， and lit up with a bright lustre his dark woodland eyes.
After some time he rose from his seat， and leaning against the carved penthouse of the chimney， looked round at the dimly-lit room. The walls were hung with rich tapestries representing the Triumph of Beauty. A large press， inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli， filled one corner， and facing the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold， on which were placed some delicate goblets of Venetian glass， and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed， as though they had fallen from the tired hands of sleep， and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up the velvet canopy， from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang， like white foam， to the pallid silver of the fretted ceiling. A laughing Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat bowl of amethyst.
Outside he could see the huge dome of the cathedral， looming like a bubble over the shadowy houses， and the weary sentinels pacing up and down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away， in an orchard， a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the open window. He brushed his brown curls back from his forehead， and taking up a lute， let his fingers stray across the cords. His heavy eyelids drooped， and a strange languor came over him. Never before had he felt so keenly， or with such exquisite joy， the magic and the mystery of beautiful things.
When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell， and his pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony， pouring rose-water over his hands， and strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the room， he fell asleep.
And as he slept he dreamed a dream， and this was his dream.
He thought that he was standing in a long， low attic， amidst the whir and clatter of many looms. The meagre daylight peered in through the grated windows， and showed him the gaunt figures of the weavers bending over their cases. Pale， sickly-looking children were crouched on the huge crossbeams. As the shuttles dashed through the warp they lifted up the heavy battens， and when the shuttles stopped they let the battens fall and pressed the threads together. Their faces were pinched with famine， and their thin hands shook and trembled. Some haggard women were seated at a table sewing. A horrible odour filled the place. The air was foul and heavy， and the walls dripped and streamed with damp.
The young King went over to one of the weavers， and stood by him and watched him.
And the weaver looked at him angrily， and said， “Why art thou watching me? Art thou a spy set on us by our master?”
“ Who is thy master?” asked the young King.
“Our master！”cried the weaver， bitterly. “ He is a man like myself. Indeed， there is but this difference between us—that he wears fine clothes while I go in rags， and that while I am weak from hunger he suffers not a little from overfeeding. ”
“ The land is free，” said the young King， “ and thou art no man’s slave. ”
“In war，”answered the weaver， “the strong make slaves of the weak， and in peace the rich make slaves of the poor. We must work to live， and they give us such mean wages that we die. We toil for them all day long， and they heap up gold in their coffers， and our children fade away before their time， and the faces of those we love become hard and evil. We tread out the grapes， and another drinks the wine. We sow the corn， and our own board is empty. We have chains， though no eye beholds them;and are slaves， though men call us free.”
“Is it so with all?” he asked.
“It is so with all，” answered the weaver， “with the young as well as with the old， with the women as well as with the men， with the little children as well as with those who are stricken in years. The merchants grind us down， and we must needs do their bidding. The priest rides by and tells his beads， and no man has care of us. Through our sunless lanes creeps Poverty with her hungry eyes， and Sin with his sodden face follows close behind her. Misery wakes us in the morning， and Shame sits with us at night. But what are these things to thee? Thou art not one of us. Thy face is too happy.” And he turned away scowling， and threw the shuttle across the loom， and the young King saw that it was threaded with a thread of gold.
And a great terror seized upon him， and he said to the weaver， “What robe is this that thou art weaving?”
“ It is the robe for the coronation of the young King，” he answered; “what is that to thee?”
And the young King gave a loud cry and woke， and lo！ he was in his own chamber， and through the window he saw the great honey-coloured moon hanging in the dusky air.
And he fell asleep again and dreamed， and this was his dream.
He thought that he was lying on the deck of a huge galley that was being rowed by a hundred slaves. On a carpet by his side the master of the galley was seated. He was black as ebony， and his turban was of crimson silk. Great earrings of silver dragged down the thick lobes of his ears， and in his hands he had a pair of ivory scales.
The slaves were naked， but for a ragged loin-cloth， and each man was chained to his neighbour. The hot sun beat brightly upon them， and the negroes ran up and down the gangway and lashed them with whips of hide. They stretched out their lean arms and pulled the heavy oars through the water. The salt spray flew from the blades.
At last they reached a little bay， and began to take soundings. A light wind blew from the shore， and covered the deck and the great lateen sail with a fine red dust. Three Arabs mounted on wild asses rode out and threw spears at them. The master of the galley took a painted bow in his hand and shot one of them in the throat. He fell heavily into the surf， and his companions galloped away. A woman wrapped in a yellow veil followed slowly on a camel， looking back now and then at the dead body.
As soon as they had cast anchor and hauled down the sail， the negroes went into the hold and brought up a long rope-ladder， heavily weighted with lead. The master of the galley threw it over the side， making the ends fast to two iron stanchions. Then the negroes seized the youngest of the slaves and knocked his gyves off， and filled his nostrils and his ears with wax， and tied a big stone round his waist. He crept wearily down the ladder， and disappeared into the sea. A few bubbles rose where he sank. Some of the other slaves peered curiously over the side. At the prow of the galley sat a shark-charmer， beating monotonously upon a drum.
After some time the diver rose up out of the water， and clung panting to the ladder with a pearl in his right hand. The negroes seized it from him， and thrust him back. The slaves fell asleep over their oars.
Again and again he came up， and each time that he did so he brought with him a beautiful pearl. The master of the galley weighed them， and put them into a little bag of green leather.
The young King tried to speak， but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth， and his lips refused to move. The negroes chattered to each other， and began to quarrel over a string of bright beads. Two cranes flew round and round the vessel.
Then the diver came up for the last time， and the pearl that he brought with him was fairer than all the pearls of Ormuz， for it was shaped like the full moon， and whiter than the morning star. But his face was strangely pale， and as he fell upon the deck the blood gushed from his ears and nostrils. He quivered for a little， and then he was still. The negroes shrugged their shoulders， and threw the body overboard.
And the master of the galley laughed， and， reaching out， he took the pearl， and when he saw it he pressed it to his forehead and bowed. “It shall be，”he said， “for the sceptre of the young King，” and he made a sign to the negroes to draw up the anchor.
And when the young King heard this he gave a great cry， and woke， and through the window he saw the long grey fingers of the dawn clutching at the fading stars.
And he fell asleep again， and dreamed， and this was his dream.
He thought that he was wandering through a dim wood， hung with strange fruits and with beautiful poisonous flowers. The adders hissed at him as he went by， and the bright parrots flew screaming from branch to branch. Huge tortoises lay asleep upon the hot mud. The trees were full of apes and peacocks.
On and on he went， till he reached the outskirts of the wood， and there he saw an immense multitude of men toiling in the bed of a dried-up river. They swarmed up the crag like ants. They dug deep pits in the ground and went down into them. Some of them cleft the rocks with great axes;others grabbled in the sand.
They tore up the cactus by its roots， and trampled on the scarlet blossoms. They hurried about， calling to each other， and no man was idle.
From the darkness of a cavern Death and Avarice watched them， and Death said， “I am weary;give me a third of them and let me go.”But Avarice shook her head.“They are my servants， ” she answered.
And Death said to her， “What hast thou in thy hand?”
“I have three grains of corn，” she answered;“ what is that to thee?”
“Give me one of them，”cried Death， “to plant in my garden;only one of them， and I will go away.”
“ I will not give thee anything，”said Avarice， and she hid her hand in the fold of her raiment.
And Death laughed， and took a cup， and dipped it into a pool of water， and out of the cup rose Ague. She passed through the great multitude， and a third of them lay dead. A cold mist followed her， and the water-snakes ran by her side.
And when Avarice saw that a third of the multitude was dead she beat her breast and wept. She beat her barren bosom， and cried aloud. “Thou hast slain a third of my servants，”she cried， “get thee gone. There is war in the mountains of Tartary， and the kings of each side are calling to thee. The Afghans have slain the black ox， and are marching to battle. They have beaten upon their shields with their spears， and have put on their helmets of iron. What is my valley to thee， that thou shouldst tarry in it?Get thee gone， and come here no more.”
“Nay，”answered Death， “ but till thou hast given me a grain of corn I will not go.”
But Avarice shut her hand， and clenched her teeth. “I will not give thee anything，” she muttered.
And Death laughed， and took up a black stone， and threw it into the forest， and out of a thicket of wild hemlock came Fever in a robe of flame. She passed through the multitude， and touched them， and each man that she touched died. The grass withered beneath her feet as she walked.
And Avarice shuddered， and put ashes on her head. “Thou art cruel，”she cried; “thou art cruel. There is famine in the walled cities of India， and the cisterns of Samarcand have run dry. There is famine in the walled cities of Egypt， and the locusts have come up from the desert. The Nile has not overflowed its banks， and the priests have cursed Isis and Osiris. Get thee gone to those who need thee， and leave me my servants.”
“Nay，” answered Death， “but till thou hast given me a grain of corn I will not go.”
“I will not give thee anything，”said Avarice.
And Death laughed again， and he whistled through his fingers， and a woman came flying through the air. Plague was written upon her forehead， and a crowd of lean vultures wheeled round her. She covered the valley with her wings， and no man was left alive.
And Avarice fled shrieking through the forest， and Death leaped upon his red horse and galloped away， and his galloping was faster than the wind.
And out of the slime at the bottom of the valley crept dragons and horrible things with scales， and the jackals came trotting along the sand， sniffing up the air with their nostrils.
And the young King wept， and said： “Who were these men， and for what were they seeking?”
“For rubies for a king’s crown，” answered one who stood behind him.
And the young King started， and， turning round， he saw a man habited as a pilgrim and holding in his hand a mirror of silver.
And he grew pale， and said： “For what king?”
And the pilgrim answered： “Look in this mirror， and thou shalt see him. ”
And he looked in the mirror， and， seeing his own face， he gave a great cry and woke， and the bright sunlight was streaming into the room， and from the trees of the garden and pleasaunce the birds were singing.
And the Chamberlain and the high officers of State came in and made obeisance to him， and the pages brought him the robe of tissued gold， and set the crown and the sceptre before him.
And the young King looked at them， and they were beautiful. More beautiful were they than aught that he had ever seen. But he remembered his dreams， and he said to his lords： “Take these things away， for I will not wear them.”
And the courtiers were amazed， and some of them laughed， for they thought that he was jesting.
But he spake sternly to them again， and said： “Take these things away， and hide them from me. Though it be the day of my coronation， I will not wear them. For on the loom of Sorrow， and by the white hands of Pain， has this my robe been woven. There is Blood in the heart of the ruby， and Death in the heart of the pearl.”And he told them his three dreams.
And when the courtiers heard them they looked at each other and whispered， saying： “Surely he is mad; for what is a dream but a dream， and a vision but a vision? They are not real things that one should heed them. And what have we to do with the lives of those who toil for us? Shall a man not eat bread till he has seen the sower， nor drink wine till he has talked with the vinedresser?”
And the Chamberlain spake to the young King， and said， “My lord， I pray thee set aside these black thoughts of thine， and put on this fair robe， and set this crown upon thy head. For how shall the people know that thou art a king， if thou hast not a king’s raiment?”
And the young King looked at him. “Is it so， indeed?”he questioned. “Will they not know me for a king if I have not a king’s raiment?”
“They will not know thee， my lord， ” cried the Chamber-lain.
“I had thought that there had been men who were kinglike，” he answered， “but it may be as thou sayest. And yet I will not wear this robe， nor will I be crowned with this crown， but even as I came to the palace so will I go forth from it.”
And he bade them all leave him， save one page whom he kept as his companion， a lad a year younger than himself. Him he kept for his service， and when he had bathed himself in clear water， he opened a great painted chest， and from it he took the leathern tunic and rough sheepskin cloak that he had worn when he had watched on the hillside the shaggy goats of the goatherd. These he put on， and in his hand he took his rude shepherd’s staff.
And the little page opened his big blue eyes in wonder， and said smiling to him， “My lord， I see thy robe and thy sceptre， but where is thy crown?”
And the young King plucked a spray of wild briar that was climbing over the balcony， and bent it， and made a circlet of it， and set it on his own head.
“This shall he my crown，” he answered.
And thus attired he passed out of his chamber into the Great Hall， where the nobles were waiting for him.
And the nobles made merry， and some of them cried out to him， “My lord， the people wait for their king， and thou showest them a beggar，” and others were wroth and said， “He brings shame upon our state， and is unworthy to be our master.”But he answered them not a word， but passed on， and went down the bright porphyry staircase， and out through the gates of bronze， and mounted upon his horse， and rode towards the cathedral， the little page running beside him.
And the people laughed and said， “It is the King’s fool who is riding by，” and they mocked him.
And he drew rein and said，“Nay， but I am the King.” And he told them his three dreams.
And a man came out of the crowd and spake bitterly to him， and said，“Sir， knowest thou not that out of the luxury of the rich cometh the life of the poor? By your pomp we are nurtured， and your vices give us bread. To toil for a hard master is bitter， but to have no master to toil for is more bitter still. Thinkest thou that the ravens will feed us?And what cure hast thou for these things? Wilt thou say to the buyer， ‘Thou shalt buy for so much，’ and to the seller， ‘Thou shalt sell at this price?’ I trow not. Therefore go back to thy Palace and put on thy purple and fine linen. What hast thou to do with us， and what we suffer?”
“Are not the rich and the poor brothers?”asked the young King.
“Ay， ” answered the man， “and the name of the rich brother is Cain.”
And the young King’s eyes filled with tears， and he rode on through the murmurs of the people， and the little page grew afraid and left him.
And when he reached the great portal of the cathedral， the soldiers thrust their halberts out and said， “What dost thou seek here?None enters by this door but the King.”
And his face flushed with anger， and he said to them， “I am the King，” and waved their halberts aside and passed in.
And when the old Bishop saw him coming in his goatherd’s dress， he rose up in wonder from his throne， and went to meet him， and said to him， “My son， is this a king’s apparel? And with what crown shall I crown thee， and what sceptre shall I place in thy hand? Surely this should be to thee a day of joy， and not a day of abasement.”
“Shall Joy wear what Grief has fashioned?” said the young King. And he told him his three dreams.
And when the Bishop had heard them he knit his brows， and said， “My son， I am an old man， and in the winter of my days， and I know that many evil things are done in the wide world. The fierce robbers come down from the mountains， and carry off the little children， and sell them to the Moors. The lions lie in wait for the caravans， and leap upon the camels. The wild boar roots up the corn in the valley， and the foxes gnaw the vines upon the hill. The pirates lay waste the sea-coast and burn the ships of the fishermen， and take their nets from them. In the salt-marshes live the lepers;they have houses of wattled reeds， and none may come nigh them. The beggars wander through the cities， and eat their food with the dogs. Canst thou make these things not to be? Wilt thou take the leper for thy bedfellow， and set the beggar at thy board? Shall the lion do thy bidding， and the wild boar obey thee? Is not He who made misery wiser than thou art? Wherefore I praise thee not for this that thou hast done， but I bid thee ride back to the Palace and make thy face glad， and put on the raiment that beseemeth a king， and with the crown of gold I will crown thee， and the sceptre of pearl will I place in thy hand. And as for thy dreams， think no more of them. The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear， and the world’s sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer. ”
“Sayest thou that in this house?”said the young King， and he strode past the Bishop， and climbed up the steps of the altar， and stood before the image of Christ.
He stood before the image of Christ， and on his right hand and on his left were the marvellous vessels of gold， the chalice with the yellow wine， and the vial with the holy oil. He knelt before the image of Christ， and the great candles burned brightly by the jewelled shrine， and the smoke of the incense curled in thin blue wreaths through the dome. He bowed his head in prayer， and the priests in their stiff copes crept away from the altar.
And suddenly a wild tumult came from the street outside， and in entered the nobles with drawn swords and nodding plumes， and shields of polished steel. “Where is this dreamer of dreams?” they cried. “Where is this King who is apparelled like a beggar—this boy who brings shame upon our state? Surely we will slay him， for he is unworthy to rule over us. ”
And the young King bowed his head again， and prayed， and when he had finished his prayer he rose up， and turning round he looked at them sadly.
And lo！ through the painted windows came the sunlight streaming upon him， and the sun-beams wove round him a tissued robe that was fairer than the robe that had been fashioned for his pleasure. The dead staff blossomed， and bare lilies that were whiter than pearls. The dry thorn blossomed， and bare roses that were redder than rubies. Whiter than fine pearls were the lilies， and their stems were of bright silver. Redder than male rubies were the roses， and their leaves were of beaten gold.
He stood there in the raiment of a king， and the gates of the jewelled shrine flew open， and from the crystal of the many-rayed monstrance shone a marvellous and mystical light. He stood there in a king’s raiment， and the Glory of God filled the place， and the saints in their carven niches seemed to move. In the fair raiment of a king he stood before them， and the organ pealed out its music， and the trumpeters blew upon their trumpets， and the singing boys sang.
And the people fell upon their knees in awe， and the nobles sheathed their swords and did homage， and the Bishop’s face grew pale， and his hands trembled. “A greater than I hath crowned thee，” he cried， and he knelt before him.
And the young King came down from the high altar， and passed home through the midst of the people. But no man dared look upon his face， for it was like the face of an angel.

★、少年王
我们的道路上没有太阳，“贫穷”睁着一双饥饿的眼睛爬进我们的家门，“罪恶”便紧随在它的身后。早晨惊醒我们的是“苦难”，夜里陪伴我们的是“羞辱”，但这些于你有什么关系呢？少年王从梦中惊醒……
在行加冕礼的前一天晚上，少年王独自坐在华丽的卧室里。朝臣都向他低身鞠躬后退了出去，按照历来行加冕礼的惯例，一齐到王宫大厅听礼仪教授演讲。他们中有许多还不是很懂宫廷礼仪，作为朝臣而不懂礼仪，这自然是不可理喻的事。
那孩子（他的确是个孩子，目前才十六岁）看见他们走开，也并不觉得难过，只是长叹一声，把身子往后一靠，倒在一张绣花大椅上。他躺在那儿，眼睛张着，嘴唇微启，活像一位棕树林里半羊半人形的牧神，又像一只才被猎人捉住的森林小野兽。
老国王独生女的儿子，是同一个出身卑贱的人偷养的——有人说，是个异乡人，靠魔法的笛音，使公主爱上了他；又有人说，是个里米尼的艺术家，公主待他十分殷勤，或许是太殷勤了，突然在城里失踪，连礼拜堂的壁画都没有完成。
他生下来才满七天，就在母亲睡着的时候被人偷偷抱走，送给了一位牧羊人的妻子。那户人家没有孩子，住在很偏远的森林里。至于公主，在生下他之后就死了。据王宫里的医生说，有可能是气急而亡，又据别人猜测，有可能是用一种掺在香酒里的意大利毒药，在醒来的一小时内毒死的。一个忠仆把婴儿载在鞍轿上，当他从倦马上下来，弯腰去敲那户牧羊人家门的时候，公主的尸身已埋葬在荒地掘好的坟地里。那坟在城外，据说里面还葬着一个人，是个极漂亮的青年，双手被反捆在背后，胸部还有许多伤痕。
至少，以上所述的是许多人常常谈论着的话。那老国王在临死的时候，或许是良心发现，觉得过去实在罪大恶极，或是为了皇室永传一家，就把那孩子找回来，在朝廷上公布他为自己的继承人。
孩子被找回宫里后，立刻就表现出爱美的热情来，这种热情注定要影响他的一生。据那些陪伴他进宫的人说，当他刚看见那些为他预备的衣服珠宝，就欢喜得叫起来，似乎已经忘乎所以，立刻就把穿在身上的皮袄、皮褂脱了下来。不过有时他的确也想念从前那种悠然自在的山林生活，繁重的宫廷礼节经常占据他很多的时间，这常常使他感到厌烦。但这座富丽堂皇的宫殿（人们称它做“欢乐宫”，他现在是它的主人了），似乎对于他来说又是一个新世界，只要他能从会议厅或朝驾殿里逃出来，就会立刻跑下那两边立着铜狮的云母大石梯，从一间屋子走到另一间屋子，从一条走廊走到另一条走廊，好像要从里面寻找一副止痛药，或者一种治病的仙方似的。
他把这称之为一种探险——的确，这对于他来说是异地的旅行，陪伴他的是一些瘦小的美发宫仆，穿着飘动的外衣，系着漂亮的缎带，但多数时间是他一个人。他以一种直觉或者先知预卜般的能力，觉得艺术最好秘密地去追求。美犹如智慧一样，喜欢那些孤独的崇拜者。
这个时期流传着很多关于他古怪的故事。
据说有位邑长代表人民来演讲，昧着良心说了一番歌功颂德的话，他很虔敬地跪在一幅由威尼斯买来的画面前，神情犹如朝拜天神。又一次，他失踪好几个钟头，经过长久搜寻，才发现他在宫内北方小塔的屋子里，犹如丢了魂似的，呆看着一尊由希腊宝石镶成的爱多尼斯雕像。据传闻，当时他把嘴唇紧压在这尊雕像的眉毛上。这尊雕像是在河边修桥的时候发现的，上面还刻着海德利安俾斯尼亚的奴隶的名字。他还花了整夜的工夫，去观察月光照在恩地眠银像上的奇异景象。
各种稀有值钱的东西对他都有很大的吸引力，为取得这些东西，他派出不少商人四处搜寻。有的到北海边，同渔夫做琥珀交易；有的到埃及去找青宝石，这种宝石只有皇墓中才有，价值连城；有的到波斯去买丝织地毯以及花陶器；有的到印度去买薄纱、红象牙、透明石、玉珠、檀香木、蓝珐琅和上等羊毛围巾。
但最让他劳心的要算加冕那天穿的袍子，金丝织成的袍子，红宝石镶成的王冠，珍珠串联而成的王节。的确，今晚靠在华丽的躺椅上，双眼望着火炉中渐渐燃烧成灰烬的松木柴，想的便是这些。衣服的图样是由最著名的艺术家绘制的，几个月前已经呈给他看过。他当时就下令叫工人日夜加点赶工，还指派专员到全世界找寻配得上它的珠宝。他在幻想中，见自己穿着华丽的王服，站在礼拜堂的高祭坛前，孩子气的嘴角边流露出微笑，深黑的眼睛里，闪动着尊贵的光辉。
隔了一会儿，他站起身来，靠在火炉的雕花护栏上，看着四面光线阴暗的屋子。壁上挂着华丽的帷帐，代表美之胜利。一个角落里，放着一架镶着玛瑙和蓝宝石的印字机。对窗口的地方，有一个箱子，装着金粉涂的镜板，上面放着一些维尼丁琉璃以及黑纹碧玉制成的杯子。床毯上绣着罂粟花，好像随手抛在上边似的。丝绒华盖上镶着象牙雕成的芦苇草，上面插着一把驼鸟羽毛，一直触到平整的银天花板。一个青铜的笑菩萨头上，顶着一面光滑的镜子，桌上放着一只紫水晶的碗。
窗外，他可以看见教堂那高高的楼顶耸立在阴暗的天空里，像虚幻水泡似的一层层堆积着。疲乏的�

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★、The Remarkable Rocket

The King’s son was going to be married， so there were general rejoicings. He had waited a whole year for his bride， and at last she had arrived. She was a Russian Princess， and had driven all the way from Finland in a sledge drawn by six reindeer. The sledge was shaped like a great golden swan， and between the swan’s wings lay the little Princess herself. Her long ermine cloak reached right down to her feet， on her head was a tiny cap of silver tissue， and she was as pale as the Snow Palace in which she had always lived. So pale was she that as she drove through the streets all the people wondered. “She is like a white rose！” they cried， and they threw down flowers on her from the balconies.
At the gate of the Castle the Prince was waiting to receive her. He had dreamy violet eyes， and his hair was like fine gold. When he saw her he sank upon one knee， and kissed her hand.
“Your picture was beautiful，” he murmured， “but you are more beautiful than your picture;” and the little Princess blushed.
“She was like a white rose before，” said a young Page to his neighbour， “but she is like a red rose now;” and the whole Court was delighted.
For the next three days everybody went about saying， “White rose， Red rose， Red rose， White rose;” and the King gave orders that the Page’s salary was to be doubled. As he received no salary at all this was not of much use to him， but it was considered a great honour， and was duly published in the Court Gazette.
When the three days were over the marriage was celebrated. It was a magnificent ceremony， and the bride and bridegroom walked hand in hand under a canopy of purple velvet embroidered with little pearls. Then there was a State Banquet， which lasted for five hours. The Prince and Princess sat at the top of the Great Hall and drank out of a cup of clear crystal. Only true lovers could drink out of this cup， for if false lips touched it， it grew grey and dull and cloudy.
“It’s quite clear that they love each other，” said the little Page， “as clear as crystal！” and the King doubled his salary a second time. “What an honour！” cried all the courtiers.
After the banquet there was to be a Ball. The bride and bridegroom were to dance the Rose-dance together， and the King had promised to play the flute. He played very badly， but no one had ever dared to tell him so， because he was the King. Indeed， he knew only two airs， and was never quite certain which one he was playing; but it made no matter， for， whatever he did， everybody cried out， “Charming！ charming！”
The last item on the programme was a grand display of fireworks， to be let off exactly at midnight. The little Princess had never seen a firework in her life， so the King had given orders that the Royal Pyrotechnist should be in attendance on the day of her marriage.
“What are fireworks like?” she had asked the Prince， one morning， as she was walking on the terrace.
“They are like the Aurora Borealis，” said the King， who always answered questions that were addressed to other people， “only much more natural. I prefer them to stars myself， as you always know when they are going to appear， and they are as delightful as my own flute-playing. You must certainly see them.”
So at the end of the King’s garden a great stand had been set up， and as soon as the Royal Pyrotechnist had put everything in its proper place， the fireworks began to talk to each other.
“The world is certainly very beautiful，” cried a little Squib. “Just look at those yellow tulips. Why！ if they were real crackers they could not be lovelier. I am very glad I have travelled. Travel improves the mind wonderfully， and does away with all one’s prejudices.”
“The King’s garden is not the world， you foolish squib，” said a big Roman Candle; “the world is an enormous place， and it would take you three days to see it thoroughly.”
“Any place you love is the world to you，” exclaimed a pensive Catherine Wheel， who had been attached to an old deal box in early life， and prided herself on her broken heart; “but love is not fashionable any more， the poets have killed it. They wrote so much about it that nobody believed them， and I am not surprised. True love suffers， and is silent. I remember myself once—But it is no matter now. Romance is a thing of the past.”
“Nonsense！” said the Roman Candle， “Romance never dies. It is like the moon， and lives for ever. The bride and bridegroom， for instance， love each other very dearly. I heard all about them this morning from a brown-paper cartridge， who happened to be staying in the same drawer as myself， and knew the latest Court news.”
But the Catherine Wheel shook her head. “Romance is dead， Romance is dead， Romance is dead，” she murmured. She was one of those people who think that， if you say the same thing over and over a great many times， it becomes true in the end.
Suddenly， a sharp， dry cough was heard， and they all looked round.
It came from a tall， supercilious-looking Rocket， who was tied to the end of a long stick. He always coughed before he made any observation， so as to attract attention.
“Ahem！ ahem！” he said， and everybody listened except the poor Catherine Wheel， who was still shaking her head， and murmuring， “Romance is dead.”
“Order！ order！” cried out a Cracker. He was something of a politician， and had always taken a prominent part in the local elections， so he knew the proper Parliamentary expressions to use.
“Quite dead，” whispered the Catherine Wheel， and she went off to sleep.
As soon as there was perfect silence， the Rocket coughed a third time and began. He spoke with a very slow， distinct voice， as if he was dictating his memoirs， and always looked over the shoulder of the person to whom he was talking. In fact， he had a most distinguished manner.
“How fortunate it is for the King’s son，” he remarked， “that he is to be married on the very day on which I am to be let off. Really， if it had been arranged beforehand， it could not have turned out better for him; but， Princes are always lucky.”
“Dear me！” said the little Squib， “I thought it was quite the other way， and that we were to be let off in the Prince’s honour.”
“It may be so with you，” he answered; “indeed， I have no doubt that it is， but with me it is different. I am a very remarkable Rocket， and come of remarkable parents. My mother was the most celebrated Catherine Wheel of her day， and was renowned for her graceful dancing. When she made her great public appearance she spun round nineteen times before she went out， and each time that she did so she threw into the air seven pink stars. She was three feet and a half in diameter， and made of the very best gunpowder. My father was a Rocket like myself， and of French extraction. He flew so high that the people were afraid that he would never come down again. He did， though， for he was of a kindly disposition， and he made a most brilliant descent in a shower of golden rain. The newspapers wrote about his performance in very flattering terms. Indeed， the Court Gazette called him a triumph of Pylotechnic art.”
“Pyrotechnic， Pyrotechnic， you mean，” said a Bengal Light; “I know it is Pyrotechnic， for I saw it written on my own canister.”
“Well， I said Pylotechnic，” answered the Rocket， in a severe tone of voice， and the Bengal Light felt so crushed that he began at once to bully the little squibs， in order to show that he was still a person of some importance.
“I was saying，” continued the Rocket， “I was saying—What was I saying?”
“You were talking about yourself，” replied the Roman Candle.
“Of course; I knew I was discussing some interesting subject when I was so rudely interrupted. I hate rudeness and bad manners of every kind， for I am extremely sensitive. No one in the whole world is so sensitive as I am， I am quite sure of that.”
“What is a sensitive person?” said the Cracker to the Roman Candle.
“A person who， because he has corns himself， always treads on other people’s toes，” answered the Roman Candle in a low whisper; and the Cracker nearly exploded with laughter.
“Pray， what are you laughing at?” inquired the Rocket; “I am not laughing.”
“I am laughing because I am happy，” replied the Cracker.
“That is a very selfish reason，” said the Rocket angrily. “What right have you to be happy? You should be thinking about others. In fact， you should be thinking about me. I am always thinking about myself， and I expect everybody else to do the same. That is what is called sympathy. It is a beautiful virtue， and I possess it in a high degree. Suppose， for instance， anything happened to me to-night， what a misfortune that would be for every one！ The Prince and Princess would never be happy again， their whole married life would be spoiled; and as for the King， I know he would not get over it. Really， when I begin to reflect on the importance of my position， I am almost moved to tears.”
“If you want to give pleasure to others，” cried the Roman Candle， “you had better keep yourself dry.”
“Certainly，” exclaimed the Bengal Light， who was now in better spirits; “that is only common sense.”
“common sense， indeed！” said the Rocket indignantly; “you forget that I am very uncommon， and very remarkable. Why， anybody can have common sense， provided that they have no imagination. But I have imagination， for I never think of things as they really are; I always think of them as being quite different. As for keeping myself dry， there is evidently no one here who can at all appreciate an emotional nature. Fortunately for myself， I don’t care. The only thing that sustains one through life is the consciousness of the immense inferiority of everybody else， and this is a feeling that I have always cultivated. But none of you have any hearts. Here you are laughing and making merry just as if the Prince and Princess had not just been married.”
“Well， really，” exclaimed a small Fire-balloon， “why not? It is a most joyful occasion， and when I soar up into the air I intend to tell the stars all about it. You will see them twinkle when I talk to them about the pretty bride.”
“Ah！ what a trivial view of life！” said the Rocket; “but it is only what I expected. There is nothing in you; you are hollow and empty. Why， perhaps the Prince and Princess may go to live in a country where there is a deep river， and perhaps they may have one only son， a little fair-haired boy with violet eyes like the Prince himself; and perhaps some day he may go out to walk with his nurse; and perhaps the nurse may go to sleep under a great elder-tree; and perhaps the little boy may fall into the deep river and be drowned. What a terrible misfortune！ Poor people， to lose their only son！ It is really too dreadful！ I shall never get over it.”
“But they have not lost their only son，” said the Roman Candle; “no misfortune has happened to them at all.”
“I never said that they had，” replied the Rocket; “I said that they might. If they had lost their only son there would be no use in saying anything more about the matter. I hate people who cry over spilt milk. But when I think that they might lose their only son， I certainly am very much affected.”
“You certainly are！” cried the Bengal Light. “In fact， you are the most affected person I ever met.”
“You are the rudest person I ever met，” said the Rocket， “and you cannot understand my friendship for the Prince.”
“Why， you don’t even know him，” growled the Roman Candle.
“I never said I knew him，” answered the Rocket. “I dare say that if I knew him I should not be his friend at all. It is a very dangerous thing to know one’s friends.”
“You had really better keep yourself dry，” said the Fire-balloon. “That is the important thing.”
“Very important for you， I have no doubt，” answered the Rocket， “but I shall weep if I choose;” and he actually burst into real tears， which flowed down his stick like rain-drops， and nearly drowned two little beetles， who were just thinking of setting up house together， and were looking for a nice dry spot to live in.
“He must have a truly romantic nature，” said the Catherine Wheel， “for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about;” and she heaved a deep sigh， and thought about the deal box.
But the Roman Candle and the Bengal Light were quite indignant， and kept saying， “Humbug！ humbug！” at the top of their voices. They were extremely practical， and whenever they objected to anything they called it humbug.
Then the moon rose like a wonderful silver shield; and the stars began to shine， and a sound of music came from the palace.
The Prince and Princess were leading the dance. They danced so beautifully that the tall white lilies peeped in at the window and watched them， and the great red poppies nodded their heads and beat time.
Then ten o’clock struck， and then eleven， and then twelve， and at the last stroke of midnight every one came out on the terrace， and the King sent for the Royal Pyrotechnist.
“Let the fireworks begin，” said the King; and the Royal Pyrotechnist made a low bow， and marched down to the end of the garden. He had six attendants with him， each of whom carried a lighted torch at the end of a long pole.
It was certainly a magnificent display.
Whizz！ Whizz！ went the Catherine Wheel， as she spun round and round. Boom！ Boom！ went the Roman Candle. Then the Squibs danced all over the place， and the Bengal Lights made everything look scarlet. “Good-bye，” cried the Fire-balloon， as he soared away， dropping tiny blue sparks. Bang！ Bang！ answered the Crackers， who were enjoying themselves immensely. Every one was a great success except the Remarkable Rocket. He was so damp with crying that he could not go off at all. The best thing in him was the gunpowder， and that was so wet with tears that it was of no use. All his poor relations， to whom he would never speak， except with a sneer， shot up into the sky like wonderful golden flowers with blossoms of fire. Huzza！ Huzza！ cried the Court; and the little Princess laughed with pleasure.
“I suppose they are reserving me for some grand occasion，” said the Rocket; “no doubt that is what it means，” and he looked more supercilious than ever.
The next day the workmen came to put everything tidy. “This is evidently a deputation，” said the Rocket; “I will receive them with becoming dignity” so he put his nose in the air， and began to frown severely as if he were thinking about some very important subject. But they took no notice of him at all till they were just going away. Then one of them caught sight of him. “Hallo！” he cried， “what a bad rocket！” and he threw him over the wall into the ditch.
“Bad Rocket? Bad Rocket?” he said， as he whirled through the air; “impossible！ Grand Rocket， that is what the man said. Bad and grand sound very much the same， indeed they often are the same”； and he fell into the mud.
“It is not comfortable here，” he remarked， “but no doubt it is some fashionable watering-place， and they have sent me away to recruit my health. My nerves are certainly very much shattered， and I require rest.”
Then a little Frog， with bright jewelled eyes， and a green mottled coat， swam up to him.
“A new arrival， I see！” said the Frog. “Well， after all there is nothing like mud. Give me rainy weather and a ditch， and I am quite happy. Do you think it will be a wet afternoon? I am sure I hope so， but the sky is quite blue and cloudless. What a pity！”
“Ahem！ ahem！” said the Rocket， and he began to cough.
“What a delightful voice you have！” cried the Frog. “Really it is quite like a croak， and croaking is of course the most musical sound in the world. You will hear our glee-club this evening. We sit in the old duck pond close by the farmer’s house， and as soon as the moon rises we begin. It is so entrancing that everybody lies awake to listen to us. In fact， it was only yesterday that I heard the farmer’s wife say to her mother that she could not get a wink of sleep at night on account of us. It is most gratifying to find oneself so popular.”
“Ahem！ ahem！” said the Rocket angrily. He was very much annoyed that he could not get a word in.
“A delightful voice， certainly，” continued the Frog; “I hope you will come over to the duck-pond. I am off to look for my daughters. I have six beautiful daughters， and I am so afraid the Pike may meet them. He is a perfect monster， and would have no hesitation in breakfasting off them. Well， good-bye： I have enjoyed our conversation very much， I assure you.”
“Conversation， indeed！” said the Rocket. “You have talked the whole time yourself. That is not conversation.”
“Somebody must listen，” answered the Frog， “and I like to do all the talking myself. It saves time， and prevents arguments.”
“But I like arguments，” said the Rocket.
“I hope not，” said the Frog complacently. “Arguments are extremely vulgar， for everybody in good society holds exactly the same opinions. Good-bye a second time; I see my daughters in the distance;” and the little Frog swam away.
“You are a very irritating person，” said the Rocket， “and very ill-bred. I hate people who talk about themselves， as you do， when one wants to talk about oneself， as I do. It is what I call selfishness， and selfishness is a most detestable thing， especially to any one of my temperament， for I am well known for my sympathetic nature. In fact， you should take example by me; you could not possibly have a better model. Now that you have the chance you had better avail yourself of it， for I am going back to Court almost immediately. I am a great favourite at Court; in fact， the Prince and Princess were married yesterday in my 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.

★、驰名的火箭
不论什么地方，只要你爱它，它便是你的世界。不过如今爱已不时髦，诗人已把它抹杀。他们不停地写着爱，泛滥成河，于是人们再也不相信爱了。我也不觉得惊异，真正的爱人多是痛苦的、沉默的。
王子准备结婚了，人人都露出欢欣的神情，他已经等待新娘一年的时间，如今终于得偿所愿。
新娘是一位俄国公主，坐着六只驯鹿拉的雪车，从芬兰一路而来。那雪车的形状犹如白天鹅，公主坐在天鹅的翅膀之间，身穿长长的貂皮衣，头上戴着一顶银丝织物的小绒帽，脸色苍白得就像她历来所住的雪宫一样。当车从街上经过，人们都对她的肤色感到非常惊奇。
“她真像一朵白玫瑰！”人们这样叫着，然后就从露台上抛些花朵撒在她身上。
正在城门口迎接她的王子生着一双梦幻似的紫色眼睛，头发犹如纯金一般。他见公主到来，单膝跪在地上，吻着她的手。他喃喃说道：“你的画像美极了，但本人比画像更漂亮。”说完，小公主的面颊一片绯红。
一个小仆人对他身边的人说：“公主先前像一朵白玫瑰，现在却像一朵红玫瑰了。”宫廷里的人听到这句话，个个都十分欢喜。
后来三天里，人人几乎都在说着：“白玫瑰，红玫瑰，红玫瑰，白玫瑰。”于薀旺王下令给那个小仆人加双倍薪俸，只是小仆人以前根本就没有薪俸，奖励依旧对他来说一无所有。但人人都认为这是极大的光荣，照例登在“公报”上面加以颂扬。
三天过后，婚礼正式开始。
这是一场盛大的典礼，新娘、新郎手挽着手，在绣着小明珠的紫绒华盖下走着，大宴欢饮至五小时之久。王子和公主坐在大厅的首位，用漂亮的水晶杯子对饮。只有真正相爱的人才能用这种水晶杯子喝酒，若是虚假的爱人，嘴唇一触碰到它，它就会立刻变成灰色，永远失去清亮的光彩。
小仆人说：“他俩确实非常相爱，犹如水晶一样分明！”国王又给他加双倍薪俸，臣仆们无不叫着：“多光荣呀！”
欢宴过后，接着是舞会，新娘、新郎一起跳玫瑰舞，国王亲自吹笛子助兴。他吹得很难听，但没有谁敢说他吹得难听，因为他薀旺王。的确，他只知道两个乐谱，这时吹的那一曲，最是让人莫名其妙。但没关系，只要是他吹的，人人都叫着：“妙呀！妙呀！”
节目单上最后的活动是放烟火，要到半夜时分才举行。小公主从来没有看过烟火，所以国王命烟火师在今晚专门为她举行这个节目。
早晨，小公主正在庭园中散步，向王子问道：“烟火是什么样儿呀？”
国王向来喜欢替别人答话，当下插嘴说：“烟火就像北极光那样，只是更自然一些，我拿它们比天上的星儿，有机会你欣赏一下就知道了，犹如我吹的笛子一样美妙，你到时一定要看看不可！”因此在御花园后面，早早就竖起一个高架，皇家烟火师刚把一切安排好，烟火们就谈起话来了。
一个小鞭炮叫着：“世界真的很美丽呀，看看这些郁金香，嘿嘿！如果他们也变成真的爆竹，就不会这样可爱了。我很高兴能够经常去旅行，旅行能使人思想进步，并打消一个人的所有成见。”
一个大柳花烟火说：“你这傻小子，御花园才多大，世界广着呢，三天的时间都不一定能逛得完！”
“不论什么地方，只要你爱它，它便是你的世界。”一个伤感的旋转烟火说。她年轻时爱过一个旧杉木匣子，现在常常以失恋自许。她接着道：“不过如今爱已经不时髦了，诗人已经把它抹杀。他们不停地写着爱，泛滥成河，于是人们再也不相信爱了。我也不觉得惊异，真正的爱人多是痛苦的、沉默的，记得曾有一次——不过现在已没有说的必要，再浪漫的情史都会成为过去。”
“荒谬！”柳花烟火说，“浪漫是不会死的，它像月亮一样永恒存在，例如这对新婚夫妇，他俩就非常相亲相爱。今天早晨有个棕色纸做的火药筒，把他们的事情详细地对我说了，他刚好跟我同住一个抽屉里头，知道许多最近宫廷里的新闻。”
但是旋转烟火只是摇头。“浪漫早死了，浪漫早死了，浪漫早死了！”她喃喃地说着，以为把一件事重复许多遍，那件事就能成为真理似的。
突然间，一声干咳响起，大家赶紧转头四下张望——那是一个傲慢的高大火箭发出的声音，他的身子被捆在一根长棍上。他想要表达自己的意见，故意干咳几声，以便引起大家的注意。
“喂！喂！”火箭说，人人都竖起耳朵倾听，唯有那可怜的旋转烟火仍摇着头，继续喃喃道：“浪漫早已死了。”
有一个爆竹叫了起来：“秩序啊！秩序啊！”他是政客一类的人，常在各地方选举中活动，所以学会那套国会派的口气。
“早就死光了！”旋转烟火这样低语着，就睡觉去了。
正当完全沉寂无声的时候，火箭又响起第三声咳嗽，开始说起话来。他的声音慢条斯理，字音咬得十分清晰，似乎在背诵什么东西，一面说还不时地看看大家的表情。的确，他的举止非常出众。
他说：“王子的运气真是太好了，婚礼竟然刚巧在我燃放的这天，若这都是预先安排好的，那他真是命运的宠儿啊！”
“啊，老天爷！”小鞭炮说，“我的想法完全不同，我觉得我们是托王子的福，才最终得以燃放呢！”
火箭道：“在你或者是这样，我也不怀疑，只是在我则完全不同。我是个很驰名的火箭，祖上就很有名气。我母亲是当时最出色的旋转烟火，她的舞姿优美，在人前献技可以旋转九次才冲上天空，而且每旋转一次，就会在空中洒下七个紫色的星花。她的直径有三尺半，是用最上等的火药做的；我父亲是一个像我一样的火箭，出自尊贵的法国血统，他飞得高不可及，人们都怕他再也不会落下，但他天性善良，依然会洒下许多极漂亮的金雨。报纸上的评论用许多献媚的词句来记录他的表演，王宫里的‘公报’还称赞他烟火术已达到大成的境界。”
“烟火，你是说烟火吧！”一个蓝色烟火说，“我知道是烟火，因为我看见自己的火药包上是这样写的。”
火箭用一种严肃的口气说：“是的，我说烟火！”
蓝色烟火感到深受凌辱，于是马上去欺负旁边的小鞭炮，表示他仍不失为重要角色。
火箭继续说：“我在说，我说——我在说什么呀？”
柳花烟火说：“你在说你自己的事。”
“对，想起来了，我知道我正在讨论一个有趣味的话题，就让人很无礼地打岔了。我最恨无礼和鲁莽这一类的事，因为我很敏感。我敢说，世间再没有人比我更敏感了。”火箭气愤地道。
爆竹对柳花烟火说：“敏感的人是怎样的？”
柳花烟火低声回答：“是脚上生着鸡眼，喜欢踩别人脚趾的那种人。”爆竹忍不住大笑起来。
火箭问道：“喂！你笑什么？我都没有笑。”
爆竹说：“我笑，因为我高兴。”
“这理由太自私了，”火箭说，“你有什么权力高兴？你应该想着别人，至少，也得想着我。我就时常想着我自己，希望人家也对我这样，这便是所谓的同情，一种很好的品格，我做得十分完美。例如，若今晚我出了什么事情，对大家来说将是很不幸的，王子与公主也不会再快乐了，他们的婚姻生活也从此受到破坏。至于国王，我晓得他当然也受不了，真的，我只要想到自己是如何重要，就忍不住要潸然泪下。”
柳花烟火叫起来：“如果你想给别人快乐，最好还是别哭，免得把自己的身子弄湿了。”
蓝色烟火这时心情好了，也大叫起来：“的确，这是很简单的常识。”
“的确是常识，”火箭怒气冲冲地说，“可你忘了我是个卓尔不群、出类拔萃的人。无论是谁，只要是没有想象力的，就得有常识。可是我有想象力，因为我从不照着事物的真相去理解它们，我老是把它们当做完全不同的事物来想象。至于说不要流眼泪，很明显，这里没有一个人是能够欣赏多愁善感的，幸而我自己并不介意，只有想着任何人都比我差，靠着这个念头，一个人才能够活下去。我平日培养的就是这样一种感觉，你们全是没有心肠的。你们只顾着开玩笑，好像王子同公主刚才并没有结婚似的。”
“真是的！”一个发光的气球叫道，“为什么不这样呢？这正是最快活的时候呀！我飞上天去一定会告诉星儿，你看好，当我同他谈那漂亮的新娘时，星儿一定闪闪发亮！”
“啊，多浅薄的人生观！”火箭说，“但我早料到是这样的，你只不过空空一无所有罢了。你应该像这样想：或许王子和公主都去乡下住，或许那儿有一条深深的河，或许他们只生了一个儿子，像王子一样有着美发紫眼的儿子，或许哪天他同保姆出去散步，保姆跑到大树下睡觉，或许那孩子就落在河里淹死了，这该是多么的不幸啊！可怜人，连唯一的儿子都失去了，真是太可怕了，我肯定承受不住。”
柳花烟火说：“但是他们并没有把儿子失去呀，也并没有什么不幸。”
火箭说：“我并没有说他们有什么不幸，我只是猜测他们将来可能会出现不幸罢了，如果他们已经失去儿子，再说什么也没用。我最恨那些泼了牛奶再来哭的人，但是我每想到他们或许会失去唯一的儿子，就难过得无以复加。”
蓝色烟火叫道：“你的确是这样的，的确是，我从来没有见过像你这样容易感动的人。”
火箭说：“我从来没有见过像你这样鲁莽的人，你不明白我同王子的友谊。”
“得了，你根本不了解他。”柳花烟火叫了起来。
“我又没有说我了解他！”火箭道，“我敢说，如果我了解他，我就不会做他的朋友了。了解朋友，是一件非常危险的事。”
发光气球说：“你最好把自己的身子弄干燥一点吧，这是很重要的啊！”
“我相信，这件事于你倒是很要紧的，”火箭说，“但是，如果我喜欢哭，还是要哭的。”说完他就真的哭起来，泪水像雨点似的从身子上直流而下，几乎把两个小甲虫淋湿了。小甲虫正想找个干燥的地方，一起营造住宅。
“他有一种真正的浪漫精神，因为他可以在那儿毫无理由地乱哭。”旋转烟火说，她又叹口长气，想着那杉木匣子。但是柳花烟火和蓝色烟火却气极了：“笨蛋！笨蛋！”一齐用力叫着。他们素来是很实际的人，无论什么事情，只要他们不赞成的，他们都说是“笨蛋”。
安静的天空中月亮升了起来，活像一个银色的贝壳，星儿也趁机放出亮光。宫中传来一阵音乐声，王子与公主在人群中开始跳舞。他们优美的舞姿，就连高高的白色水仙花儿也忍不住在窗口偷瞧，红色的大罂粟花也在点头打着拍子。
十点，十一点，十二点，到了午夜，国王把烟火师叫到跟前。“放烟火吧！”国王命令道。
烟火师深深鞠了一躬，来到后花园。
他有六个手下，每人手里拿着一个长火把。
这的确是非常壮观的场面。
呼！呼！旋转烟火一路旋转着去了；蓬！蓬！柳花烟火也去了；跟着小鞭炮天女散花，四处飞舞开来；而蓝色烟火使一切都变成了蓝色；再会吧——发光气球叫着飞上了天，撒下许多红色的小花来；噼里啪啦——爆竹们搭着腔，正玩得起劲。除了驰名的火箭，人人都成功了。
火箭哭得一塌糊涂，全身湿透，再也飞不上天了。他全身最好的是火药，现在火药全被眼泪淋湿，一点用处也没有。那些他平日不屑跟他们说话的穷亲戚，现在也都飞上天空，犹如一片开着金花的火红玫瑰。
好呀！好呀！宫廷

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★、The Selfish Giant Every afternoon， as they were coming from school， the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden. It was a large lovely garden， with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars， and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl， and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. “How happy we are here！” they cried to each other. One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre， and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say， for his conversation was limited， and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden. “What are you doing here?” he cried in a very gruff voice， and the children ran away. “My own garden is my own garden，” said the Giant; “any one can understand that， and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.” So he built a high wall all round it， and put up a notice-board. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTEDHe was a very selfish Giant. The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road， but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones， and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over， and talk about the beautiful garden inside. “How happy we were there，” they said to each other. Then the Spring came， and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children， and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass， but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again， and went off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. “Spring has forgotten this garden，” they cried， “so we will live here all the year round.” The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak， and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them， and he came. He was wrapped in furs， and he roared all day about the garden， and blew the chimney-pots down. “This is a delightful spot，” he said， “we must ask the Hail on a visit.” So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of 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 tomorrow，” 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， today 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. ★、巨人的花园 怡人的大花园里，遍地生长着绿草。绿草地上，到处生长着美丽的花朵，犹如天上的星儿一样璀璨。十二棵英姿飒爽的桃树，春天开着红白的小花，秋天结满丰盛的果子。鸟儿坐在桃树枝上，唱着甜蜜而动听的歌。孩子们沉醉在歌声里，玩着玩着便歇下来，侧耳静听。他们互相叫着：“我们在这多快乐呀！” 每天下午放学，孩子们会跑到巨人的花园里玩耍。 怡人的大花园里，遍地生长着绿草。绿草地上，到处生长着美丽的花朵，犹如天上的星儿一样璀璨。十二棵英姿飒爽的桃树，春天开着红白的小花，秋天结满丰盛的果子。鸟儿坐在桃树枝上，唱着甜蜜而动听的歌。孩子们沉醉在歌声里，玩着玩着便歇下来，侧耳静听。他们互相叫着：“我们在这多快乐呀！” 有一天，巨人回来了。 巨人原本是去拜访朋友，一个住在森林里的吃人大怪兽。巨人同他住了七年，说完想要说的话便决定回家，才回到家便看见这些小孩子竟然在自己的花园里玩耍。 他用一种粗暴的声音叫着：“你们在这儿干吗？” 孩子们被他骇跑了。 “人人都知道这花园是属于我的，这里除了我，谁也不许来玩！”巨人说。他筑起一道高墙把花园围起来，并且挂出一块告示牌：他是个非常自私的巨人。 那些可怜的孩子从此没有了玩耍的地方，只有转移到大街上，但是大街上灰沙太多，四处都是坚硬的石头，他们不喜欢，依旧热爱以前那个怡人的花园。于是下课之后，他们便经常在花园的高墙外徘徊，谈论着园子里有趣的风景，互相叫嚷着：“我们从前在那儿多快乐呀！” 春天到了，山野遍地都开满鲜艳的小花，鸟儿也开始四处飞翔，只有自私的巨人花园里，仍旧一片冬天的萧瑟。鸟儿不到没有孩子的地方玩耍，树木也忘记了开花。 有一次，一株美丽的花儿刚从草丛中把头伸出，看见那块告示牌，很替孩子们不平，也就缩到地下去睡觉了。最得意的只有霜和雪，他们叫着：“春天已把这个园子忘记，我们终年都可以居住在这儿了。”雪用她白色的大衣覆盖草地，霜把花园里的树枝一齐镀成银色。他们邀请北风，北风也来和他们一同居住，他裹着兽皮，整天在园子里号叫，把烟囱都刮倒了。他说：“这地方很不错，我们把雹请来就更好了。” 因此雹也来了，他每天在房顶上胡闹，弄坏了许多石板，然后又在花园里狂奔。他穿着灰色的衣服，呼吸像冰一般冷飕飕。 “真是不懂，春天怎么还不来呢？”自私的巨人坐在窗口，看着一片雪白、冰冷的花园，自言自语，“我多么希望天气变换一下啊！” 但是春天始终没有来，夏天更是不见踪影，秋天赐给其他花园许多金果，唯独对巨人的花园吝啬不给，她说：“巨人太自私了。”因此巨人的花园里永远都是冬天，冰雹终日在树丛中跳舞，冷风严霜，一片凄凉。 一天早晨，巨人在床上睁开双眼，忽然听见一曲动人的音乐。乐声很优美，他以为是皇家乐队从这儿路过，其实只是一只小红雀在园子外唱歌。 巨人好久没在自己园子里听见小鸟的叫声，所以这似乎是世间最动人的音乐了。这时候，冰雹也在他头上停止狂舞，北风也不再怒号，敞开的窗户外，吹来一阵馥郁的薰香。 “我相信春天终于来了。”巨人从床上跳起，从窗口往外望去。 他看见一个非常奇特的场景，只见许多小孩竟然从墙角的小洞爬进园子，坐在树枝上。他在每一棵树上，都可以看到一个小孩。小孩回来了，树木非常高兴，立刻全身遍开花朵，手臂在孩子头上摇来摇去。鸟儿也上下飞舞，欢喜而婉转地开始唱歌。花儿也从绿草丛中露出脸颊，在那儿欢笑。这是一幅多么可爱的图画，只有花园最偏僻的角落，仍旧弥漫在冬天的萧瑟里。 就在那花园最偏僻的角落，有一个小孩站在那儿，他人太小，爬不上树，在那儿转来转去，很悲伤地哭着。可怜的树，仍全身覆盖霜雪，北风依旧在头上怒吼。树儿尽量把枝条弯下，说：“爬上来呀，小朋友！”但那孩子太小了，始终攀爬不上去。 巨人默默看着这一切，心忽然软了，说：“我是多么自私啊，现在知道春天为什么不来了。我应该把那小孩抱上树去，再把墙推倒，让花园永远做孩子的游乐场。”他对于以往的行为充满懊悔。 他走下楼，轻轻推开房门，来到花园里。但是，那些孩子刚看见他，就吓得跑开了，花园立刻又恢复了冬天的景象。只有那最小的孩子没有跑，他没有看见巨人走来，眼里噙满泪水。巨人偷偷来到他的身后，轻轻把他抱起来放到树枝上，那树瞬间鲜花盛开，鸟儿也瞬间飞来开始歌唱。 那小孩伸出双臂，抱着巨人的脖子，甜甜地亲了他一口。其他的孩子看见巨人已经不是坏人，也都跑回来，春天又同他们一起回到了园子里。 “这是你们的花园了，孩子们！”巨人说道，然后拿起一柄大斧砍倒了围墙。中午赶集的人们经过这里，看见巨人同许多孩子正在这最美丽的花园里玩耍。 他们玩了一整天，傍晚时分都到巨人面前来告辞。 “你们那个小伙伴哪里去了，我抱上树的那个孩子？”巨人说，他最爱的就是那个小孩，因为他螣妄他。 孩子们回答：“我们不知道，他早走了。” 巨人说：“你们一定要告诉他，叫他明天再来。”但那些孩子说他们不知道他住在哪儿，从前也没有见过他，巨人觉得非常郁闷。 后来每天放学，孩子们都会来同巨人一起玩耍，可巨人最爱的那个小孩却不曾再出现。巨人对这些孩子都很慈和，但他还是牵挂他的第一个朋友，并且时常想起他。“我多么希望再见到他啊！”他说。 许多年以后，巨人老了，再也没力气玩耍。他每天只能坐在一张大靠椅上，看着小孩子游戏，然后尽情欣赏花园里这幅怡人的景象。他说：“我有许多美丽的花，但是孩子才是这些花中最美丽的。” 现在他不恨冬天了，因为他知道，冬天只是春天在睡觉，花木在休息而已。一个冬天的早晨，他正在穿衣服，不经意地从窗口望了出去，忽然他揉揉眼睛，惊奇地发现，在花园极偏的角落里有一棵桃树，桃树上开满漂亮的白色花朵，树枝全是金色的，挂着银色的果儿，树下竟然站着那个他满心牵挂的小孩。 巨人高兴极了，他跑下楼去，跃过草地来到小孩身边，忽然他气得满脸通红。“谁害你的？”他怒道，原来孩子的手掌与脚掌，分别有两个清晰的钉子印。 “谁害你的？告诉我，我拿大刀去杀了他！”巨人大叫。 那小孩回答：“不，这是爱的伤痕！” “你是谁？”巨人问，忽然感到一股异常的力量，使他立刻在那小孩面前跪了下来。 那小孩向巨人笑笑，对他说：“你让我在你花园里玩过一次，今天我也让你到我的花园里去玩一次吧，那里可是乐园呢！” 那天下午，孩子们依旧跑进花园里来玩耍，但是却看见巨人死在了树下，身上覆盖着白花。

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★、The Devoted Friend

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 be 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? 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 today. 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 as 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 any of the others.
“ ‘

★、The Happy Prince High above the city， on a tall column， stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold， for eyes he had two bright sapphires， and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt. He was very much admired indeed. “He is as beautiful as a weathercock，” remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; “only not quite so useful，” he added， fearing lest people should think him unpractical， which he really was not. “Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.” “I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy，” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue. “He looks just like an angel，” said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores. “How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master， “you have never seen one.” “Ah！ but we have， in our dreams，” answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe， for he did not approve of children dreaming. One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before， but he had stayed behind， for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth， and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her. “Shall I love you?” said the Swallow， who liked to come to the point at once， and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her， touching the water with his wings， and making silver ripples. This was his courtship， and it lasted all through the summer. “It is a ridiculous attachment，” twittered the other Swallows; “she has no money， and far too many relations;” and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then， when the autumn came they all flew away. After they had gone he felt lonely， and began to tire of his lady love. “She has no conversation，” he said， “and I am afraid that she is a coquette， for she is always flirting with the wind.” And certainly， whenever the wind blew， the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. “I admit that she is domestic，” he continued， “but I love travelling， and my wife， consequently， should love travelling also.” “Will you come away with me?” he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head， she was so attached to her home. “You have been trifling with me，” he cried. “I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye！” and he flew away. All day long he flew， and at night-time he arrived at the city. “Where shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.” Then he saw the statue on the tall column. “I will put up there，” he cried; “it is a fine position， with plenty of fresh air.” So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince. “I have a golden bedroom，” he said softly to himself as he looked round， and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. “What a curious thing！” he cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky， the stars are quite clear and bright， and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain， but that was merely her selfishness.” Then another drop fell. “What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off ？” he said; “I must look for a good chimney-pot，” and he determined to fly away. But before he had opened his wings， a third drop fell， and he looked up， and saw—Ah！ what did he see? The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears， and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity. “Who are you?” he said. “I am the Happy Prince.” “Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow; “you have quite drenched me.” “When I was alive and had a human heart，” answered the statue， “I did not know what tears were， for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci， where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden， and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall， but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it， everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince， and happy indeed I was， if pleasure be happiness. So I lived， and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city， and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but weep.” “What！ is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud. “Far away，” continued the statue in a low musical voice， “far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open， and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn， and she has coarse， red hands， all pricked by the needle， for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever， and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water， so he is crying. Swallow， Swallow， little Swallow， will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move.” “I am waited for in Egypt，” said the Swallow. “My friends are flying up and down the Nile， and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen， and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade， and his hands are like withered leaves.” “Swallow， Swallow， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “will you not stay with me for one night， and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty， and the mother so sad.” “I don’t think I like boys，” answered the Swallow. “Last summer， when I was staying on the river， there were two rude boys， the miller’s sons， who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me， of course; we swallows fly far too well for that， and besides， I come of a family famous for its agility; but still， it was a mark of disrespect.” But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. “It is very cold here，” he said; “but I will stay with you for one night， and be your messenger.” “Thank you， little Swallow，” said the Prince. So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince’s sword， and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town. He passed by the cathedral tower， where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. “How wonderful the stars are，” he said to her， “and how wonderful is the power of love！” “I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball，” she answered; “I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy.” He passed over the river， and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto， and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other， and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed， and the mother had fallen asleep， she was so tired. In he hopped， and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman’s thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed， fanning the boy’s forehead with his wings. “How cool I feel，” said the boy， “I must be getting better;” and he sank into a delicious slumber. Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince， and told him what he had done. “It is curious，” he remarked， “but I feel quite warm now， although it is so cold.” “That is because you have done a good action，” said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think， and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy. When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. “What a remarkable phenomenon，” said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge. “A swallow in winter！” And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it， it was full of so many words that they could not understand. “Tonight I go to Egypt，” said the Swallow， and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments， and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped， and said to each other， “What a distinguished stranger！” so he enjoyed himself very much. When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. “Have you any commissions for Egypt?” he cried; “I am just starting.” “Swallow， Swallow， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “will you not stay with me one night longer?” “I am waited for in Egypt，” answered the Swallow. “Tomorrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes， and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long he watches the stars， and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy， and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water’s edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls， and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract. “Swallow， Swallow， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers， and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp， and his lips are red as a pomegranate， and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre， but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate， and hunger has made him faint.” “I will wait with you one night longer，” said the Swallow， who really had a good heart. “Shall I take him another ruby?” “Alas！ I have no ruby now，” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires， which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller， and buy food and firewood， and finish his play.” “Dear Prince，” said the Swallow， “I cannot do that”； and he began to weep. “Swallow， Swallow， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “do as I command you.” So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye， and flew away to the student’s garret. It was easy enough to get in， as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted， and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands， so he did not hear the flutter of the bird’s wings， and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets. “I am beginning to be appreciated，” he cried; “this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play，” and he looked quite happy. The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. “Heave a-hoy！” they shouted as each chest came up. “I am going to Egypt！” cried the Swallow， but nobody minded， and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. “I am come to bid you good-bye，” he cried. “Swallow， Swallow， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “will you not stay with me one night longer?” “It is winter，” answered the Swallow， “and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees， and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec， and the pink and white doves are watching them， and cooing to each other. Dear Prince， I must leave you， but I will never forget you， and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose， and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea.” “In the square below，” said the Happy Prince， “there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter， and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money， and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings， and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye， and give it to her， and her father will not beat her.” “I will stay with you one night longer，” said the Swallow， “but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then.” “Swallow， Swallow， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “do as I command you.” So he plucked out the Prince’s other eye， and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl， and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. “What a lovely bit of glass，” cried the little girl; and she ran home， laughing. Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. “You are blind now，” he said， “so I will stay with you always.” “No， little Swallow，” said the poor Prince， “you must go away to Egypt.” “I will stay with you always，” said the Swallow， and he slept at the Prince’s feet. All the next day he sat on the Prince’s shoulder， and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises， who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile， and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx， who is as old as the world itself， and lives in the desert， and knows everything; of the merchants， who walk slowly by the side of their camels， and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon， who is as black as ebony， and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree， and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves， and are always at war with the butterflies. “Dear little Swallow，” said the Prince， “you tell me of marvellous things， but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city， little Swallow， and tell me what you see there.” So the Swallow flew over the great city， and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses， while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes， and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another’s arms to try and keep themselves warm. “How hungry we are！” they said. “You must not lie here，” shouted the Watchman， and they wandered out into the rain. Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen. “I am covered with fine gold，” said the Prince， “you must take it off， leaf by leaf， and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy.” Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off， till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor， and the children’s faces grew rosier， and they laughed and played games in the street. “We have bread now！” they cried. Then the snow came， and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver， they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses， everybody went about in furs， and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice. The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder， but he would not leave the Prince， he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker’s door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings. But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder once more. “Good-bye， dear Prince！” he murmured， “will you let me kiss your hand?” “I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last， little Swallow，” said the Prince， “you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips， for I love you.” “It is not to Egypt that I am going，” said the Swallow. “I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep， is he not?” And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips， and fell down dead at his feet. At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue， as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost. Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue： “Dear me！ how shabby the Happy Prince looks！” he said. “How shabby indeed！” cried the Town Councillors， who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it. “The ruby has fallen out of his sword， his eyes are gone， and he is golden no longer，” said the Mayor， “in fact he is litttle beter than a beggar！” “Little better than a beggar，” said the Town Councillors. “And here is actually a dead bird at his feet！” continued the Mayor. “We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here.” And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion. So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. “As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful，” said the Art Professor at the University. Then they melted the statue in a furnace， and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. “We must have another statue， of course，” he said， “and it shall be a statue of myself.” “Of myself，” said each of the Town Councillors， and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still. “What a strange thing！” said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. “This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.” So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying. “Bring me the two most precious things in the city，” said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird. “You have rightly chosen，” said God， “for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore， and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me.” ★、幸福王子 以前我还活着的时候，有着一颗人类的心，那时我根本不知道什么是眼泪。我住在无訜同里，无訜同里从来没有忧愁、哀伤与烦恼。白天我与同伴在花园里玩乐，晚间我们便在大厅里跳舞。花园四周是高高的围墙，我从没有好奇过外面的世界。我身边的一切就是美丽的化身，我的臣子叫我幸福王子。 城中屹立着一根圆形高柱，幸福王子的雕像站立在上面。他全身贴满金叶，宝玉镶成的眼睛纯洁晶莹，腰刀悬挂在身上，刀柄镶着一粒闪闪发亮的大红玉。 如此姿态让所有人倾慕，一位市参议员赞道：“他真是玉树临风，英俊不凡。”这样说，无非是为了表现自己有艺术鉴赏力，只是说完他又连忙补上一句：“可惜除了好看外，没什么具体用处。”又怕别人骂他是一个爱慕虚荣的人。 一位聪明的母亲，对那哭着要月亮的娃娃说：“你为什么不像幸福王子那样呢？他做梦都不会哭着向人要东西。” 一位失意的人呆看着雕像喃喃说：“世间原来有如此快乐幸福的人呀！” 孤儿院的孩子们穿着华丽的小红袄，披着洁净的白色围巾从教堂里走出来，其中一个说：“他看起来就像安琪儿。” 老师说：“你不曾见过安琪儿，怎么知道他像安琪儿？” 学生答：“我当然见过，不过是在梦里。” “梦可不能随便做。”老师紧皱双眉，神情肃然。 一天夜里，一只小燕子从城外飞来。他的伙伴六个星期前已去埃及，但由于他爱上美丽的芦苇，耽误了行程，所以落在了最后面。 小燕子与芦苇初遇是在早春时节，那时他正追着一只黄蛾。当他从河边飞过的时候，被芦苇那纤弱的细腰，点燃了内心爱情的火焰，他忍不住停下来与她攀谈。 “我可以爱你吗？”小燕子激动得想立刻飞到芦苇的身边。 芦苇红着脸，深深地弯了一下腰，点点头。 从此小燕子便绕着她飞来飞去，向她表示浓烈的爱意。他的翅膀拍打着水面，水中泛起一圈圈银色的涟漪，一个夏天都不曾停止。 “这样的恋爱真可笑，她又没有钱，亲戚还如此众多。”别的燕子嘲笑他。的确，那条河里生满成片的芦苇，密密麻麻。不过小燕子却不理这些闲言碎语，依旧天天待在芦苇的身边。 到了秋天，其他燕子都飞往埃及准备过冬去了。他们飞走后，只剩下小燕子孤独一人，久了之后，他也开始对意中人产生厌倦。 “她又不会跟我说话，而且整天跟风在一起嬉戏，或许是个风流女子。”每当微风拂过，芦苇便行着最动人的屈膝礼，与风儿交融在一起，是如此温情，让人嫉妒。他又继续说：“也或许她是个很顾家的女人，而我则喜欢旅行，我的妻子应追随我的脚步，与我一起浪迹天涯。” “你能同我走吗？”小燕子最后问她。 芦苇摇摇头，拒绝了小燕子。她对自己的家有着深深的眷念，绝不会离家出走。 “原来你一直在玩弄我呀，”小燕子大叫起来，“我到金字塔那边去了，再会！”他飞走了。飞了一整天，傍晚时分，小燕子来到一座城市里。 “我到哪儿去投宿呢？城里要是有给我预备妥当的地方该多好呀！”他迷茫起来，随后看见高柱上的雕像。 “就住在这儿吧，这地方空气新鲜，我很喜欢。”他心想，于是便在幸福王子的脚边栖息下来。 “我有一间金子筑成的卧室了。”小燕子向四周望去，轻轻地自言自语，准备睡觉，只是他刚把头藏在柔软的翅膀下，就有一滴“水”落在他身上。 “咦？”他叫了起来，“天上又没有乌云，星儿也眨着眼睛，怎么会下雨呢？欧洲的天气真薀团怪，我记得芦苇也特别喜欢雨滴，但我想那只是她的自私罢了。” 这时又有一滴“水”落在他身上。 他郁闷地说：“若不能遮雨，这雕像还有什么用呢？我还是去找一个烟囱吧！”他决心飞走了。 只是还没展开翅膀，又落下第三滴“水”来。他抬头望去——呀，吓了一跳！只见雕像的眼睛里噙满泪水，一滴滴晶莹剔透的泪珠，顺着金色的面颊滑落而下。月光照耀在雕像的脸上，是多么的美丽呀！小燕子心里泛起波澜，一股莫名的同情之心油然而生。 “你是谁呀？”小燕子问。 “我是幸福王子。”雕像回答道。 “你为什么哭呀？你把我身子都打湿了。”小燕子说。 幸福王子道：“以前我还活着的时候，有着一颗人类的心，那时我根本不知道什么是眼泪。我住在无訜同里，无訜同从来没有忧愁、哀伤与烦恼。白天我与同伴在花园里玩乐，晚间我们便在大厅里跳舞。花园四周是高高的围墙，我从没有好奇过外面的世界。我身边的一切就是美丽的化身，我的臣子叫我幸福王子。如果快乐就是幸福，那么我的确是幸福的。我就这样快乐地生活直到死亡。如今我死了，他们把我竖立在这高高的圆柱上，让我看见城里的一切丑恶与肮脏，虽然我的心是铅做的，但我还是忍不住流下泪来。” “怎么，他不是纯金的？”小燕子暗自心想。他很有礼貌，没有去询问对方的秘密。 幸福王子又用音乐般委婉的声音说：“很远很远的那条小街上，有一户穷人，他们家的窗子被冷风吹开了，我看见一位沧桑的妇人，坐在破旧的木桌边，面黄肌瘦。她是缝衣服的裁缝，一双生满老趼的手全被针刺破，正在为一件华丽的衣服绣着娇艳的花朵。那件衣服是为女王身边最美的女官缝制的，她要在皇家的舞会上大放异彩。妇人的小孩生病了，睡在屋角的那张小床上，全身发热，想吃甘甜可口的橘子。但他母亲除了给他喝不干净的河水，穷得什么也没有，那孩子正在大声地哭泣。燕子，燕子，小燕子！我的脚钉死在这圆柱之上，一步也不能挪动，你可以把我刀柄上的那颗红玉拿去给她吗？” 小燕子说：“我的朋友都在美丽的尼罗河上，与大朵的莲花聊着知心话儿，不久还要去国王的坟墓里投宿。臒旺王静静地沉睡在彩色的棺材里，身上裹着黄布，遍身涂着香料，颈上挂着淡绿色的玉珠，干涸的双手犹如两片枯黄的树叶。他们都在埃及等我，我必须和他们去会合。” “燕子，燕子，小燕子！”幸福王子说，“你不能在这儿住一晚，替我当回使者吗？那孩子如此饥渴，他母亲多么难过啊！” “我不喜欢小孩子，”小燕子道，“去年夏天我在河边歇息，磨房老板两个撒野的小孩，经常丢石子打我。我飞得极快，然后逃走了。我祖上的人都非常善于飞翔，但用石子打我总是一种无礼的行为呀！” 幸福王子的神情露出悲伤，小燕子也很难过，他转而心软：“这里虽然很冷，但我还是同你住一晚，当一回你的使者吧！” 王子说：“谢谢你，小燕子！” 小燕子把王子刀柄上的那颗大红玉取下来，用嘴衔着从屋顶上飞去。他经过教堂尖塔，只见白色大理石雕刻而成的天使亭亭玉立。他又飞过王宫，跳舞的乐声弥漫而来。 一个美丽少女挽着她的情郎来到露台上，男子对少女说：“夜空的星星多可爱呀，爱情的诱惑实在让人难以抗拒！” 少女答道：“我希望在舞会时衣服就已经做好，我已经叫人绣上艳丽的花朵，但是那些裁缝都是懒虫，不见得能按时完工。” 他又从河上飞过，见到船桅的尖端挂着很多灯笼。穿过犹太街，见到一些老犹太人在那儿做买卖，用铜制的天平称着银两。最后到了穷人家里，他朝里面望去，那孩子在床头翻来覆去，可怜地呻吟着。母亲由于过度疲倦，早已昏昏睡去。他从窗口跳进屋内，把大红玉放在桌上，那妇人的顶针旁边，又绕着床头飞舞，用翅膀扇着孩子发烧的额头。 “好凉快呀，我一定快好起来了！”那孩子恍惚地说，沉入甜蜜的梦乡。 小燕子飞回幸福王子那儿，告诉他自己当使者的经过。“真奇怪，虽然天气很冷，可我这时候却觉得特别温暖。”他如此感慨道。 “当然，”幸福王子说，“这是因为你做了一件好事。” 小燕子开始思索起来，随即睡着了。 天亮后，他飞到河里洗澡，一位动物学教授从桥上路过，看见他后相当惊奇：“真薀椭事啊，冬天竟然还有燕子！”他把这事写成一封长信，寄给了本地报社。 “今晚我要到埃及去了。”小燕子心想，他非常渴望完成自己的梦想。于是他游览了许多公共纪念碑，还在教堂尖塔上坐了许久，准备晚上告别幸福王子。无论他到什么地方，都有一只麻雀儿唧唧地叫着：“多么出众的客人呀！”小燕子玩得非常愉快。 月儿悄悄爬上天空，他飞回幸福王子身边说：“你在埃及有什么事需要我代办的吗？我就要起程了。” “燕子，燕子，小燕子！”幸福王子说，“你不能再同我住一晚吗？” 小燕子回答：“埃及有人等着我呢，明天我的朋友就要飞往第二瀑布，那里非常美丽。肥壮的河马睡在芦苇丛中。威武的斗芒神坐在花岗石宝座，整夜守望星辰，每当晨星出来，就会愉快地欢声鸣叫，然后再也不做声。正午时分，黄色的狮子也会跑到河边饮水，他们的眼睛犹如绿玉，吼声像瀑布一般响亮。” “燕子，燕子，小燕子！”幸福王子说，“城市的那头有一个年轻人，他靠在一张铺满稿纸的桌上，桌上放着花瓶，花瓶里插着一束枯萎的紫罗兰。他的头发泛黄像波纹，生着一双梦幻似的大眼睛，嘴唇犹如石榴一样红。他正准备为戏院导演完成一部戏剧，但是天气太冷了，火炉里没有火，人又饿得憔悴不堪，他什么也写不了。” 确实生就一副好心肠的燕子说：“那我再同你住一晚吧，要我也送他一块红玉去吗？” “唉，可惜我没有红玉了！”幸福王子说，“我只剩下一双青玉制成的眼睛，那是一千年前从印度那儿采来的，你挖一颗送给他吧。他可以卖给珠宝商换来食物与木炭，完成他的剧本。” “亲爱的王子，这事我不能做。”小燕子说道，之后他就哭了起来。 “燕子，燕子，小燕子，”幸福王子说，“你就照我说的做吧！” 因此小燕子挖出幸福王子的一颗眼珠，往青年的住所处飞去。那房子的屋顶有一个破洞，他从这儿钻进屋里。 年轻人趴在桌子上，没有听见小鸟进来的声音，当他抬起头时，漂亮的青玉已经放在枯萎的紫罗兰花束上。他惊叫起来：“才华终究不会被埋没，金子总有闪亮的一天，这必定是哪个赏识我的人送来的，现在终于可以完成我的戏剧了。”脸上露出兴奋的色彩。 第二天，小燕子飞到码头边，坐在一艘大船的桅杆上，只见船夫用绳子把柜子拖出船舱，每拖出一个，他们就同呼：“哎哟！哎哟！” “我真的要到埃及去了。”小燕子这样想着，但没有谁关心他，当月亮再次爬上树梢，他飞回幸福王子那儿。 “我来同你道别了。”小燕子道。 “燕子，燕子，小燕子！”幸福王子说，“你不能再同我住一晚吗？” “冬天已经来临，这儿马上就要下雪了，”小燕子答道，“不过埃及却依旧温暖如春，太阳照在绿油油的棕榈树上，鳄鱼睡在淤泥里打滚。我的同伴正在太阳神庙里筑巢，淡红、雪白的鸽子望着他们，互相咕咕咕地叫着。亲爱的王子，我一定要离开你了，我永远不会忘记你，明年的春天我会给你带两颗漂亮的美玉，补偿你送给别人的损失，那玉比玫瑰还要红，比大海还要青。” 幸福王子说：“下面那条街上站着一位卖火柴的小姑娘，她不小心把火柴丢到水里打湿了。如果没有钱拿回家，她父亲就会狠狠地用鞭子抽她。她没有鞋袜穿，小小的脑袋连一顶遮风挡雨的帽子也没有。你把我那只眼睛也挖去给她，这样她父亲就不会再抽她了。” 小燕子说：“我可以再同你住一晚，但我不能再挖你的眼睛，否则你不是完全瞎了吗？” “燕子，燕子，小燕子！”幸福王子说，“你就照我的吩咐去做吧！” 于是小燕子流着眼泪挖掉幸福王子的另一只眼睛，飞了出去。他从卖火柴的小姑娘身边掠过，轻轻地把宝玉放在她手心，那小姑娘叫着：“多美的一块玻璃呀！”一路笑着往家里跑去。 小燕子飞回幸福王子身边，说：“你现在完全瞎了，我要永远同你住在一起。” 可怜的幸福王子说：“不，小燕子呀，你还是得赶紧去埃及。” “我要永远同你住在一起。”小燕子说着，就在王子脚下睡着了。 第二天，他整日坐在幸福王子的肩上，给他讲述异乡的所见所闻：譬如那赤色的仙鹤，成群列队地站在尼罗河畔，用细长的嘴捕捉金鱼；譬如那狮首人身的怪物，住在沙漠里，既知万事，寿命亦悠久如同天地；譬如那经营买卖的人，慢慢地跟在骆驼身边，手里拿着琥珀珠；譬如那月山之王，黑如沉檀，崇拜大水晶；譬如那睡在棕榈树干里的大绿蛇，二十个和尚喂它蜜糕；还有那小人国的矮人，能在大湖中漂游，坐在平坦的大树叶上，同蝴蝶发生争斗。 “亲爱的小燕子呀，”幸福王子说，“这都是奇闻逸事，人世间的苦难才最是让人惊心动魄，没有什么比贫穷更不可思议的了。你去城里转一圈，再告诉我发现些什么吧！” 于是小燕子飞去城市上空，看见富人在华丽的房屋中吃喝玩乐，而乞丐却坐在门外忍受饥寒。他飞进黑巷里，看见孩子苍白如纸的面颊，因为饥饿而模糊扭曲。还有肮脏的桥洞下面，两个孩子睡在那儿，颤抖着抱成一团，想要温暖彼此。 “好饿呀！”他们嘶哑着说。 这时城市的管理者来了，对他们吼道：“你们不能睡这儿！”于是他们又彷徨在寒冷的街道中。 小燕子回去，把看见的一切对幸福王子说了。 幸福王子道：“我身上贴满着金叶，你一张张撕下来，把它拿去送给穷人吧，世上的人都以为钱最能使他们幸福。” 小燕子把金叶一张张撕下来，最后幸福王子变成一个灰暗难看的人。小燕子把金叶一张张送给穷人，孩子的脸变得更加红润，笑着闹着在街上玩耍。他们叫着：“我们现在有面包了！” 冷风呼啸，雪花漫天，寒冷的冬天终于到来了。天地间白雪皑皑，银装素裹，地上结着厚厚的冰，街道犹如蜡烛做成的一样。长长的冰条就像水晶刀，挂在屋檐上。人们穿着厚厚的皮衣，孩子们戴着大红帽在冰上滑行。 可怜的小燕子不能离开幸福王子，他爱对方胜过自己的生命。由于没有了食物，只能趁烘面包的人不留心，在门外衔一些面包屑充饥，然后不住地拍打翅膀取暖。后来他知道自己马上就要死亡了，仅仅只有一次飞到幸福王子肩上的气力。 “再会了，亲爱的王子！”他低声地对幸福王子说，“你能让我吻吻你的手吗？” “你终于要去埃及了吗？我真高兴，你在这儿住得太久了。”幸福王子道，“你吻我的嘴唇吧，因为我爱你呀！” 小燕子说：“我不是去埃及，而是奔向‘死亡’，死是睡的兄弟，不是吗？”小燕子吻了幸福王子的嘴唇，随即倒在他的脚下停止了呼吸。 这时候雕像里面发出怪怪的声响，似乎有什么东西碎裂似的，原来是幸福王子那颗铅做的心碎裂成了两半，这真是一场可怕的寒冻啊！ 第二天早晨，市参议员陪同市长在街上散步，他们抬头望向雕像，“哎呀，幸福王子怎么变成了这样子，多狼狈啊！”市长说。 “的确狼狈！”市参议员也这样叫着，他素来喜欢拍市长马屁。说完他们又靠近了些。 市长说：“刀柄上的红玉丢了，眼睛也被人挖走了，身上的金叶子也不见踪影了，如今他真是比乞丐还不如啊！” “的确比乞丐还不如。”市参议员同样附和。 市长接着说：“瞧，他脚边还有一只死燕子呢！我们得发出公告，以后不允许鸟儿死在这里。”市参议员连忙用笔记录下来，随后他们把幸福王子的雕像推倒。 大学里的艺术教授说：“他已经没有了美丽的容颜，再也没有任何用处了。” 他们把雕像熔进炉里，市长又召开会议，讨论如何处置这些废弃的金属。他说：“我们应该再建立一座铜像，而且这铜像应该是我的样子。” “应该是我的！”其他市参议员说，为此他们争执起来。 “真薀椭事啊，”铸造厂的监工说，“这破碎的铅心竟不能熔化，我们把它丢了吧！”便把那颗铅心丢在不远的垃圾堆里，正好死去的小燕子也躺在那儿。 上帝对一个天使说：“把城里两样最宝贵的东西给我拿来！” 天使便把铅心和死去的小燕子送到上帝面前。 “你们选得很对，”上帝说，“从此以后这只小燕子可以永远在我的乐园里唱歌，幸福王子可以永远在我的黄金城里赞美我。”

★、The Nightingale and the Rose “She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses，” cried the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red rose.” From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him， and she looked out through the leaves， and wondered. “No red rose in all my garden！” he cried， and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. “Ah， on what little things does happiness depend！ I have read all that the wise men have written， and all the secrets of philosophy are mine， yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.” “Here at last is a true lover，” said the Nightingale. “Night after night have I sung of him， though I knew him not： night after night have I told his story to the stars， and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom， and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory， and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.” “The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night，” murmured the young Student， “and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose， I shall hold her in my arms， and she will lean her head upon my shoulder， and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden， so I shall sit lonely， and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me， and my heart will break.” “Here indeed is the true lover，” said the Nightingale. “What I sing of， he suffers： what is joy to me， to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds， and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it， nor is it set forth in the market-place. It may not be purchased of the merchants， nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.” “The musicians will sit in their gallery，” said the young Student， “and play upon their stringed instruments， and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor， and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance， for I have no red rose to give her”； and he flung himself down on the grass， and buried his face in his hands， and wept. “Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard， as he ran past him with his tail in the air. “Why， indeed?” said a Butterfly， who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. “Why， indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour， in a soft， low voice. “He is weeping for a red rose，” said the Nightingale. “For a red rose?” they cried; “how very ridiculous！” and the little Lizard， who was something of a cynic， laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow， and she sat silent in the oak-tree， and thought about the mystery of Love. Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight， and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow， and like a shadow she sailed across the garden. In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree， and when she saw it she flew over to it， and lit upon a spray. “Give me a red rose，” she cried， “and I will sing you my sweetest song.” But the Tree shook its head. “My roses are white，” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea， and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial， and perhaps he will give you what you want.” So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial. “Give me a red rose，” she cried， “and I will sing you my sweetest song.” But the Tree shook its head. “My roses are yellow，” it answered; “as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne， and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student’s window， and perhaps he will give you what you want.” So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student’s window. “Give me a red rose，” she cried， “and I will sing you my sweetest song.” But the Tree shook its head. “My roses are red，” it answered， “as red as the feet of the dove， and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins， and the frost has nipped my buds， and the storm has broken my branches， and I shall have no roses at all this year.” “One red rose is all I want，” cried the Nightingale， “only one red rose！ Is there no way by which I can get it?” “There is a way，” answered the Tree; “but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.” “Tell it to me，” said the Nightingale， “I am not afraid.” “If you want a red rose，” said the Tree， “you must build it out of music by moonlight， and stain it with your own heart’s-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me， and the thorn must pierce your heart， and your life-blood must flow into my veins， and become mine.” “Death is a great price to pay for a red rose，” cried the Nightingale， “and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood， and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold， and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn， and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley， and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life， and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?” So she spread her brown wings for flight， and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow， and like a shadow she sailed through the grove. The young Student was still lying on the grass， where she had left him， and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. “Be happy，” cried the Nightingale， “be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight， and stain it with my own heart’s-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover， for Love is wiser than Philosophy， though she is wise， and mightier than Power， though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings， and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey， and his breath is like frankincense.” The Student looked up from the grass， and listened， but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him， for he only knew the things that are written down in books. But the Oak-tree understood， and felt sad， for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches. “Sing me one last song，” he whispered; “I shall feel very lonely when you are gone.” So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree， and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song the Student got up， and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket. “She has form，” he said to himself， as he walked away through the grove— “that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact， she is like most artists; she is all style， without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music， and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still， it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything， or do any practical good.” And he went into his room， and lay down on his little pallet-bed， and began to think of his love; and， after a time， he fell asleep. And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree， and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn， and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang， and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast， and her life-blood ebbed away from her. She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose， petal following petal， as song followed song. Pale was it， at first， as the mist that hangs over the river—pale as the feet of the morning， and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver， as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool， so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree. But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer， little Nightingale，” cried the Tree， “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.” So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn， and louder and louder grew her song， for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid. And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose， like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart， so the rose’s heart remained white， for only a Nightingale’s heart’s-blood can crimson the heart of a rose. And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. “Press closer， little Nightingale，” cried the Tree， “or the Day will come before the rose is finished.” So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn， and the thorn touched her heart， and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter， bitter was the pain， and wilder and wilder grew her song， for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death， of the Love that dies not in the tomb. And the marvellous rose became crimson， like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals， and crimson as a ruby was the heart. But the Nightingale’s voice grew fainter， and her little wings began to beat， and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song， and she felt something choking her in her throat. Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it， and she forgot the dawn， and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it， and it trembled all over with ecstasy， and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills， and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river， and they carried its message to the sea. “Look， look！” cried the Tree， “the rose is finished now;” but the Nightingale made no answer， for she was lying dead in the long grass， with the thorn in her heart. And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out. “Why， what a wonderful piece of luck！” he cried; “here is a red rose！ I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name;” and he leaned down and plucked it. Then he put on his hat， and ran up to the Professor’s house with the rose in his hand. The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel， and her little dog was lying at her feet. “You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose，” cried the Student. “Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it tonight next your heart， and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.” But the girl frowned. “I am afraid it will not go with my dress，” she answered; “and， besides， the Chamberlain’s nephew has sent me some real jewels， and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.” “Well， upon my word， you are very ungrateful，” said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street， where it fell into the gutter， and a cart-wheel went over it. “Ungrateful！” said the girl. “I tell you what， you are very rude; and， after all， who are you? Only a Student. Why， I don’t believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain’s nephew has;” and she got up from her chair and went into the house. “What I a silly thing Love is，” said the Student as he walked away. “It is not half as useful as Logic， for it does not prove anything， and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen， and making one believe things that are not true. In fact， it is quite unpractical， and， as in this age to be practical is everything， I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics.” So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book， and began to read. ★、夜莺与玫瑰 爱果然是非常奇妙的东西，比翡翠还珍重，比玛瑙更宝贵。珍珠、宝石买不到它，黄金买不到它，因为它不是在市场上出售的，也不是商人贩卖的东西。 “她说只要我为她采得一朵红玫瑰，便与我跳舞，”青年学生哭着说，“但我的花园里何曾有一朵红玫瑰？” 橡树上的夜莺在巢中听见了，从叶丛里往外望，心中诧异。 “我的园子中并没有红玫瑰，”青年学生的秀眼里满含泪珠，“唉，难道幸福就寄托在这些小东西上面吗？古圣贤书我已读完，哲学的玄奥我已领悟，然而就因为缺少一朵红玫瑰，生活就如此让我难堪吗？” “这才是真正的有情人，”夜莺叹道，“以前我虽然不曾与他交流，但我却夜夜为他歌唱，夜夜将他的一切故事告诉星辰。如今我见着他了，他的头发黑如风信子花，嘴唇犹如他想要的玫瑰一样艳红，但是感情的折磨使他的脸色苍白如象牙，忧伤的痕迹也已悄悄爬上他的眉梢。” 青年学生又低声自语：“王子在明天的晚宴上会跳舞，我的爱人也会去那里。我若为她采得红玫瑰，她就会和我一直跳舞到天明。我若为她采得红玫瑰，将有机会把她抱在怀里。她的头，在我肩上枕着；她的手，在我掌心中握着。但花园里没有红玫瑰，我只能寂寞地望着她，看着她从我身旁擦肩而过，她不理睬我，我的心将要粉碎了。” “这的确是一个真正的有情人，”夜莺又说，“我所歌唱的，正是他的痛苦；我所快乐的，正是他的悲伤。‘爱’果然是非常奇妙的东西，比翡翠还珍重，比玛瑙更宝贵。珍珠、宝石买不到它，黄金买不到它，因为它不是在市场上出售的，也不是商人贩卖的东西。” 青年学生说：“乐师将在舞会上弹弄丝竹，我那爱人也将随着弦琴的音乐声翩翩起舞，神采飞扬，风华绝代，莲步都不曾着地似的。穿着华服的少年公子都艳羡地围着她，但她不跟我跳舞，因为我没有为她采得红玫瑰。”他扑倒在草地里，双手掩着脸哭泣。 “他为什么哭泣呀？”绿色的小壁虎，竖起尾巴从他身前跑过。 蝴蝶正追着阳光飞舞，也问道：“是呀，他为什么哭泣？” 金盏花也向她的邻居低声探问：“是呀，他到底为什么哭泣？” 夜莺说：“他在为一朵红玫瑰哭泣。” “为一朵红玫瑰吗？真是笑话！”他们叫了起来，那小壁虎本就刻薄，更是大声冷笑。 然而夜莺了解那青年学生烦恼的秘密，她静坐在橡树枝上，细想着“爱情”的玄妙。忽然，她张开棕色的双翼，穿过那如同影子一般的树林，如同影子一般地飞出花园。 青青的草地中站着一棵艳美的玫瑰树，夜莺看见了，向前飞去，歇在一根小小的枝条上。 她对玫瑰树说：“能给我一朵鲜红的玫瑰吗？我为你唱我最婉转的歌。” 那玫瑰树摇摇头。 “我的玫瑰是白色的，”那玫瑰树回答她，“白如海涛的泡沫，白如山巅上的积雪，请你到日晷旁找我兄弟，或许他能答应你的要求。” 夜莺飞到日晷旁边那棵玫瑰树上。 她又叫道：“能给我一朵鲜红的玫瑰吗？我为你唱我最醉人的歌。” 那玫瑰树摇摇头。 “我的玫瑰是黄色的，”他回答她，“黄如琥珀座上美人鱼的头发，黄如盛开在草地未被割除的水仙，请你到那个青年学生的窗下找我兄弟，或许他能答应你的要求。” 夜莺飞到青年学生窗下那棵玫瑰树上。 她仍旧叫道：“能给我一朵鲜红的玫瑰吗？我为你唱我最甜美的歌。” 那玫瑰树摇摇头。 他回答她说：“我的玫瑰是红色的，红如白鸽的脚趾，红如海底岩下蠕动的珊瑚。只是严冬已冰冻我的血脉，寒霜已啮伤我的萌芽，暴风已打断我的枝干，今年我不能再次盛开了。” 夜莺央告说：“一朵红玫瑰就够了，我只要一朵红玫瑰呀，难道没有其他法子了？” 那玫瑰树答道：“有一个法子，只有一个，但是太可怕了，我不敢告诉你。” “告诉我吧，”夜莺勇敢地说，“我不怕！” “方法很简单，”那玫瑰树说，“你需要的红玫瑰，只有在月色里用歌声才能使她诞生；只有用你的鲜血对她进行浸染，才能让她变红。你要在你的胸口插一根尖刺，为我歌唱，整夜地为我歌唱，那刺插入你的心窝，你生命的血液将流进我的心房。” 夜莺叹道：“用死来买一朵红玫瑰，代价真不小，谁的生命不是宝贵的？坐在青郁的森林里，看那驾着金马车的太阳、月亮在幽深的夜空驰骋，是多么的快乐呀！山楂花的味儿真香，山谷里的桔梗和山坡上的野草真美，然而‘爱’比生命更可贵，一只小鸟的心又怎能和人的心相比呢？” 忽然她张开棕色的双翼，穿过那如同影子一般的花园，从树林子里激射而出，冲天飞去。 那青年学生仍旧僵卧在方才她离去的草地上，一双美丽的秀眼里，泪珠还没有干。 “高兴吧，快乐吧，”夜莺喊道，“你将要采到那朵红玫瑰了。我将在月光中用歌声来使她诞生，我向你索取的报酬，仅是要你做一个忠实的情人。因为哲理虽智，爱却比她更慧；权力虽雄，爱却比她更伟。焰光的色彩是爱的双翅，烈火的颜色是爱的躯干，她的唇甜如蜜，她的气息香如乳。” 青年学生在草丛里抬头侧耳静听，但是他不懂夜莺所说的话，只知道书上所写的东西。 那橡树却是明白了，悲伤漫延在他的心头，他非常怜爱在树枝上结巢的小夜莺。他轻声说：“唱一首最后的歌给我听吧，你离去后，我将会感到无限的寂寞。” 于是夜莺为橡树歌唱，婉转的音调就像银瓶里涌溢的水浪一般清越。 唱罢过后，那青年学生站起身来，从衣袋里掏出一本日记簿和一支笔，一边往树林外走，一边自语道：“那夜莺的样子生得确实很漂亮，这是不可否认的，但是她有感情吗？我怕没有！她其实就像许多美术家一般，尽是表面的形式，没有诚心的内涵，肯定不会为别人而牺牲。她所想的无非是音乐，可是谁不知道艺术是自私的。虽然，我们总须承认她有醉人的歌喉，可惜那种歌声是毫无意义的，一点也不实用。” 他回到自己房间，躺在小草垫上，继续想念他的爱人，过了片刻就熟睡过去。 待月亮升上天空，月光洒向宁静的大地，夜莺就飞到那棵玫瑰树上，将胸口压向尖刺。疼痛顿时传遍她的身躯，鲜红的血液从体内流了出来。她张开双唇，开始整夜地歌唱起来，那夜空中晶莹的月亮，也倚在云边静静地聆听。 她整夜地，啭着歌喉，那刺越插越深，生命的血液渐渐溢去。 她最先歌唱的，是少男少女心里纯真的爱情，唱着唱着，玫瑰枝上开始生长一苞卓绝的玫瑰蕾，歌儿一首接着一首地唱，花瓣一片跟着一片地开。起先那花瓣是黯淡的，如同河上笼罩的薄雾，如同晨曦交际的天色，那枝上的玫瑰蕾，就像映在银镜里的玫瑰花影子，映照在池塘的玫瑰倒影。 但是那玫瑰树还再催迫着夜莺往自己的身子紧插那根刺。 “靠紧一些，小夜莺呀，”那树连声叫唤，“不然，玫瑰还没盛开，黎明就要来临了！” 夜莺赶紧把尖刺插得更深，悠扬的歌声更加响亮。她这回所歌颂的是成年男女心中热烈如火的爱情，唱着唱着，玫瑰瓣上生长出一层娇嫩的红晕，如同初吻新娘时新郎的绛颊。只是那刺还未插到夜莺的心房，玫瑰花的花心尚留着白色，只有夜莺的心血才可以把玫瑰的花心彻底染红。 那树又催迫着夜莺往自己的胸口紧插那根刺。 “靠紧一些，小夜莺呀，”那树连声叫唤，“不然，玫瑰还没盛开，黎明就要来临了！” 夜莺赶紧把刺又插深一些，深入骨髓的疼痛传遍她的全身，玫瑰花刺终于刺入她的心房。那挚爱和冢中不朽的爱情呀，卓绝的白色花心如同东方的天色，终于变作鲜红，花的外瓣红如烈火，花的内心赤如绛玉。 夜莺的声音越唱越模糊，她拍动着小小的双翅，眼睛蒙上一层灰色的薄膜。她的歌声越来越模糊，觉得喉咙里有什么东西哽咽住似的。 但她还是唱出最后的歌声，白色的残月听见后，似乎忘记了黎明，在天空踌躇着。那玫瑰花凝神战栗着，在清冷的晓风里瓣瓣开放。回音将歌声领入山坡上的暗紫色洞穴，将牧童从梦里惊醒过来。歌声流入河边的芦苇丛中，苇叶将信息传与大海。 那玫瑰树叫道：“看呀，看呀，这朵红玫瑰生成了！” 然而夜莺再也不能回答，她已躺在乱草丛中死去，那尖刺还插在她的心头。 中午时分，青年学生打开窗户，忽然，他惊呆了。 “怪事，今天真是难得的幸运，这儿居然有朵红玫瑰！”他叫着，“如此美丽的红玫瑰，我从来没有见过，她一定有个很繁长的拉丁名字。”便俯身下去，把红玫瑰采摘下来，然后戴上帽子，手里拈着玫瑰花，往教授家跑去。 教授的女儿正坐在门前卷着一轴蓝色绸子，一只温顺的小狗伏在她脚边。 青年学生叫道：“你说过，我若为你采得红玫瑰，你便同我跳舞。这里有一朵全世界最珍贵的红玫瑰，你可以将她插在你的胸前，我们同舞的时候，这花便会告诉你，我是怎样地爱你。” 但那女郎却皱着眉头。 她说：“我怕这花儿配不上我的衣服吧，而且大臣的侄子送我许多珠宝首饰，人人都知道珠宝比花草要贵重得多。” 青年学生傻了，这就是爱情的真相吗？失望顿时占据他的整个心神。 “你简直是个无情无义的人。”他怒道，将红玫瑰掷在街心，一个车轮从红玫瑰上面辗过。 “无情无义？”女郎说，“我告诉你吧，你实在无礼，况且你到底是谁啊？不过一个学生文人，我看像大臣侄子鞋上的那种银纽扣，你都没有。”说完就站起身走进屋子。 青年学生懊恼地走着，自语道：“爱情是多么无聊啊，远不如伦理学实用。它所告诉人们的，全是空中楼阁与缥缈虚无的幻想。在现实的世界里，首要的是实用，我还是回到我的哲学和玄学书上去吧！” 他回到房中，取出一本笨重的、满堆着尘土的大书埋头细读起来。