DOVER CHILDREN’S CLASSICS

  AESOP’S FABLES, AESOP. (0486-28020-9)

  LITTLE WOMEN, LOUISA MAY ALCOTT. (0-486-29634-2)

  NORBY THE MIXED-UP ROBOT, JANET AND ISAAC ASIMOV. (0-486-47243-4)

  THE THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF AND OTHER READ-ALOUD STORIES, CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY. (0-486-28021-7)

  ROBIN HOOD, EDITED BY BOB BLAISDELL. (0486-27573-6)

  FAVORITE GREEK MYTHS, BOB BLAISDELL. (0-486-28859-5)

  THE ADVENTURES OF HAPPY JACK, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-43321-8)

  THE ADVENTURES OF PRICKLY PORKY, THORNTON W BURGESS. (0-486-29170-7)

  THE ADVENTURES OF BUSTER BEAR, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-27564-7)

  THE ADVENTURES OF GRANDFATHER FROG, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-27400-4)

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  OLD MOTHER WEST WIND, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-28849-8)

  MOTHER WEST WIND’S NEIGHBORS, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-42846-X)

  THE ADVENTURES OF PETER COTTONTAIL, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-26929-9)

  THE ADVENTURES OF BOBBY RACCOON, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-28617-7)

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  THE ADVENTURES OF CHATTERER THE RED SQUIRREL, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-27399-7)

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  MOTHER WEST WIND’S ANIMAL FRIENDS, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-43030-8)

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  BLACKY THE CROW, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-40550-8)

  THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMY SKUNK, THORNTON W. BURGESS. (0-486-28023-3)

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  TARZAN, EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS. (0-486-29530-3)

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  THE STORY OF KING ARTHUR, TOM CRAWFORD. (0-486-28347-X)

  ROBINSON CRUSOE, DANIEL DEFOE. (0-486-28816-1)

  THE STORY OF POCAHONTAS, BRIAN DOHERTY. (0-486-28025-X)

  THE STORY OF THE NUTCRACKER, E. T. A. HOFFMANN. (0-486-29153-7)

  THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW AND RIP VAN WINKLE, WASHINGTON IRVING. (0-486-28828-5)

  CINDERELLA AND OTHER STORIES FROM “THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK”, EDITED BY ANDREW LANG. (0-486-29389-0)

  CHINESE FAIRY TALES, FREDERICK H. MARTENS. (0-486-40140-5)

  ANNE OF GREEN GABLES, LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY. (0-486-28366-6)

  ADVENTURES OF DON QUIXOTE, ARGENTINA PALACIOS. (0-486-40791-8)

  PETER RABBIT AND ELEVEN OTHER FAVORITE TALES, BEATRIX POTTER (0486-27845-X)

  BLACK BEAUTY, ANNA SEWELL. (0-486-27570-1)

  FRANKENSTEIN, MARY SHELLEY. (0-486-29930-9)

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  DOVER JUVENILE CLASSICS

  Editor of This Volume: Kathy Casey

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2001 by Dover Publications, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Bibliographical Note

  This Dover edition, first published in 2001, includes all nine of Oscar Wilde’s stories for children, which originally appeared in A Happy Prince and Other Tales (David Nutt, London, 1888) and A House of Pomegranates (Osgood, Mcllvaine, London, 1891). The introductory Note was prepared for this edition.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Wilde, Oscar, 1854–1900.

  The happy prince and other fairy tales / Oscar Wilde.

  p. cm.—(Dover juvenile classics)

  Reprint of: The happy prince and other tales, and A house of pomegranates.

  Contents: Selfish giant—Remarkable rocket—Devoted friend—Happy prince—Young king—Nightingale and the rose—Star-child—Fisherman and his soul—Birthday of the Infanta.

  9780486145969

  1. Fairy tales—England. [1. Fairy tales.] I. Wilde, Oscar, 1854–1900. Happy prince and other tales. II. Wilde, Oscar, 1854–1900. House of pomegranates. III. Title. IV Series.

  PZ8.W647 Har 2001

  [Fic]—dc21

  2001032321

  Manufactured in the United States by Courier Corporation

  41723902

  www.doverpublications.com

  Note

  Most people who know something about Oscar Wilde (1854–1900) think of him as a sophisticated British gentleman of the late Victorian era who was a witty conversationalist and playwright (The Importance of Being Earnest perhaps is the work most widely identified with him). A “dandy” in dress and manner, he not only was unconventional, but enjoyed being “outrageous” by the standards of his time and place. One of his maxims was, “One should always be a little improbable,” and his public image included appearing to lecture on aesthetics with a giant sunflower on its sturdy stalk, instead of wearing the expected carnation in his buttonhole.

  Relatively few people are aware that, in addition to clever plays, poignant poetry, critical essays and reviews, many magazine articles, and more than a dozen short stories, Wilde concocted several fairy tales and other stories that explore human virtues and vices. This book brings together all nine of those tales (originally published in two separate volumes). Some of these stories have been favorites, for generations, of young people who have been introduced to them.

  The common theme of these diverse stories is that love (of all varieties) not only is better than wealth, beauty, power, or even wisdom, it is the only quality that brings happiness to human beings. Closely related, and expressed strongly in several stories, is the belief that the Judeo-Christian God is pleased by human creatures who offer loving-kindness to others. Equally striking in Wilde’s tales is his entrancing ability to describe—always in fresh, perceptive, and joyous ways—both the beauty of nature and the beauty created by human artistry.

  In Wilde’s tales, animals and plants, as well as people, have personalities, emotions, and the ability to affect human lives, as well as those of their own kind. Although all kinds of animals think and speak in some of the stories, Wilde perhaps especially liked to use birds to express empathy, generosity, and kindness: the swallow in “The Happy Prince” and the gallant songbird in “The Nightingale and the Rose” play such roles. Trees, as well as garden flowers, also actively bring comfort, cheer, or dismay to the children and adults who encounter them in Wilde’s imagined landscapes.

  Wilde’s stories of goodness and its absence combine the realistic and the fantastic, taking the reader to faraway places with many different climates, scenes, and human customs, and to times earlier than his own, the last quarter of the 19th century and the first decade of the 20th. However, Wilde did not create imaginary worlds in which “all’s right” and every trouble or sorrow has a happy ending. Each tale depicts physical or emotional pain, and in three cases broken hearts literally occur. Love and pain are felt in the heart of a carefree child, of a metal statue that represents a sympathetic young prince, and of a nightingale who sacrifices her life so others can be happy. Some of Wilde’s stories satirize either personal selfishness or social injustice. “The Happy Prince” and “The Young King” consider a single basic question in contrasting ways: whether a few people, or many people, can enjoy comforts and luxuries without most people having to suffer misery and injustice to make that prosperity possible.

  EDITOR’S NOTE: British spelling has been retained in the stories. Some of the most frequently encountered differences between U.S. and British spelling are those represented by the British usages colour, offence, grey, and skilfully. Because Wilde’s vocabulary in these tales includes outmoded British words used in his own and earlier times, as well as place names not familiar to most young readers in 2001, a brief Glossary has been provided on pages 138–140.

  Table of Contents

  DOVER CHILDREN’S CLASSICS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Note

  The Selfish Giant

  The Remarkable Rocket

  The Devoted Friend

  The Happy Prince

  The Young King

  The Nightingale and the Rose

  The Star-Child

  The Fisherman and His Soul

  The Birthday of the Infanta

  Glossary

  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

  PROSECUTED

  He 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 arm-chair, 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 nail, 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 sword and slay him.”

  “Nay,” answered the child: “but these are the wounds of Love.”

  “Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.

  And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.”

  And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

  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.