Read Online The Complete Short Fiction by Oscar Wilde, Ian Small - Free Book Online Page B

reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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 to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you.’
    But the girl frowned.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜What 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 iseverything, 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.

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.
    â€˜What are you doing here?’ he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.
    â€˜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.

    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.
    â€˜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