THE DEVOTED FRIEND


By Oscar Wilde


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 on 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-williams 
grew there, and Gilly-flowers, and Shepherds'-purses, and Fair-maids of 
France. There were damask Roses, and yellow Roses, lilac Crocuses and gold, 
purple Violets and white. Columbine and Ladysmock, Marjoram and Wild Basil, 
the Cowslip and the Flower-de-luce, the Daffodil and the Clove-Pink bloomed 
or blossomed in their proper order as the months went by, one flower taking 
another flower's place, so that there were always beautiful things to look 
at, and pleasant odours to smell.
"Little Hans had a great many friends, but the most devoted friend of all 
was big Hugh the Miller. Indeed, so devoted was the rich Miller to little 
Hans, that he 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 
storyteller 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, and 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 at last he reached the market. After 
he had waited there some time, he sold the sack of flour for a very good 
price, and then he returned home at once, for he was afraid that if he 
stopped too late he might meet some robbers on the way.
" 'It has certainly been a hard day,' said little Hans to himself as he was 
going to bed, 'but I am glad I did not refuse the Miller, for he is my best 
friend, and, besides, he is going to give me his wheelbarrow.'
"Early the next morning the Miller came down to get the money for his sack 
of flour, but little Hans was so tired that he was still in bed.
" 'Upon my word,' said the Miller, 'you are very lazy. Really, considering 
that I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, I think you might work harder. 
Idleness is a great sin, and I certainly don't like any of my friends to be 
idle or sluggish. You must not mind my speaking quite plainly to you. Of 
course I should not dream of doing so if I were not your friend. But what 
is the good of friendship if one cannot say exactly what one means? Anybody 
can say charming things and try to please and to flatter, but a true friend 
always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he 
is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows that then he is doing 
good.'
" 'I am very sorry,' said little Hans, rubbing his eyes and pulling off his 
nightcap, ' 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 tomorrow.'
"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 notebook, 
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.
" 'It is some poor traveller,' said little Hans to himself, and he ran to 
the door.
"There stood the Miller with a lantern in one hand and a big stick in the 
other.
"'Dear little Hans,' cried the Miller, 'I am in great trouble. My little 
boy has fallen off a ladder and hurt himself, and I am going for the 
Doctor. But he lives so far away, and it is such a bad night, that it has 
just occurred to me that it would be much better if you went instead of me. 
You know I am going to give you my wheelbarrow, and so it is only fair that 
you should do something for me in return.'
" 'Certainly,' cried little Hans, 'I take it quite as a compliment your 
coming to me, and I will start off at once. But you must lend me your 
lantern, as the night is so dark that I am afraid I might fall into the 
ditch.'
" 'I am very sorry,' answered the Miller, 'but it is my new lantern, and it 
would be a great loss to me if anything happened to it.'
" 'Well, never mind, I will do without it,' cried little Hans, and he took 
down his great fur coat, and his warm scarlet cap, and tied a muffler round 
his throat, and started off.
"What a dreadful storm it was! The night was so black that little Hans 
could hardly see, and the wind was so strong that he could scarcely stand. 
However, he was very courageous, and after he had been walking about three 
hours, he arrived at the Doctor's house, and knocked at the door.
" 'Who is there?' cried the Doctor, putting his head out of his bedroom 
window.
" 'Little Hans, Doctor.'
" 'What do you want, little Hans?'
" 'The Miller's son has fallen from a ladder, and has hurt himself, and the 
Miller wants you to come at once.'
" 'All right!' said the Doctor; and he ordered his horse, and his big 
boots, and his lantern, and came downstairs, and rode off in the direction 
of the Miller's house, little Hans trudging behind him.
"But the storm grew worse and worse, and the rain fell in torrents, and 
little Hans could not see where he was going, or keep up with the horse. At 
last he lost his way, and wandered off on the moor, which was a very 
dangerous place, as it was full of deep holes, and there poor little Hans 
was drowned. His body was found the next day by some goatherds, floating in 
a great pool of water, and was brought back by them to the cottage. 
"Everybody went to little Hans' funeral, as he was so popular, and the 
Miller was the chief mourner.
" 'As I was his best friend,' said the Miller, 'it is only fair that I 
should have the best place;' so he walked at the head of the procession in 
a long black cloak, and every now and then he wiped his eyes with a big 
pocket-handkerchief.
" 'Little Hans is certainly a great loss to every one,' said the 
Blacksmith, when the funeral was over, and they were all seated comfortably 
in the inn, drinking spiced wine and eating sweet cakes.
"'A great loss to me at any rate,' answered the Miller; 'why, I had as good 
as given him my wheelbarrow, and now I really don't know what to do with 
it. It is very much in my way at home, and it Is in such bad repair that I 
could not get anything for it if I sold it. I will certainly take care not 
to give away anything again. One always suffers for being generous.' "
"Well?" said the Water-rat, after a long pause.
"Well, that is the end," said the Linnet.
"But what became of the Miller?" asked the Water-rat.
"Oh! I really don't know," replied the Linnet; "and I am sure that I don't 
care."
"It is quite evident then that you have no sympathy in your nature," said 
the Water-rat.
"I am afraid you don't quite see the moral of the story," remarked the 
Linnet.
"The what?" screamed the Water-rat.
"The moral."
"Do you mean to say that the story has a moral?"
"Certainly," said the Linnet.
"Well, really," said the Water-rat, in a very angry manner, "I think you 
should have told me that before you began. If you had done so, I certainly 
would not have listened to you; in fact, I should have said 'Pooh,' like 
the critic. However, I can say it now;" so he shouted out "Pooh," at the 
top of his voice, gave a whisk with his tail, and went back into his hole.
"And how do you like the Water-rat?" asked the Duck, who came paddling up 
some minutes afterwards. "He has a great many good points, but for my own 
part I have a mother's feelings, and I can never look at a confirmed 
bachelor without the tears coming into my eyes."
"I am rather afraid that I have annoyed him," answered the Linnet. "The 
fact is that I told him a story with a moral."
"Ah! that is always a very dangerous thing to do," said the Duck.
And I quite agree with her.