A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde (free ebook novel .txt) 📖

the Earth seemed to them like a flower of silver, and

the Moon like a flower of gold.

 

Yet, after that they had laughed they became sad, for they

remembered their poverty, and one of them said to the other, ‘Why

did we make merry, seeing that life is for the rich, and not for

such as we are? Better that we had died of cold in the forest, or

that some wild beast had fallen upon us and slain us.’

 

‘Truly,’ answered his companion, ‘much is given to some, and little

is given to others. Injustice has parcelled out the world, nor is

there equal division of aught save of sorrow.’

 

But as they were bewailing their misery to each other this strange

thing happened. There fell from heaven a very bright and beautiful

star. It slipped down the side of the sky, passing by the other

stars in its course, and, as they watched it wondering, it seemed

to them to sink behind a clump of willow-trees that stood hard by a

little sheepfold no more than a stone’s-throw away.

 

‘Why! there is a crook of gold for whoever finds it,’ they cried,

and they set to and ran, so eager were they for the gold.

 

And one of them ran faster than his mate, and outstripped him, and

forced his way through the willows, and came out on the other side,

and lo! there was indeed a thing of gold lying on the white snow.

So he hastened towards it, and stooping down placed his hands upon

it, and it was a cloak of golden tissue, curiously wrought with

stars, and wrapped in many folds. And he cried out to his comrade

that he had found the treasure that had fallen from the sky, and

when his comrade had come up, they sat them down in the snow, and

loosened the folds of the cloak that they might divide the pieces

of gold. But, alas! no gold was in it, nor silver, nor, indeed,

treasure of any kind, but only a little child who was asleep.

 

And one of them said to the other: ‘This is a bitter ending to our

hope, nor have we any good fortune, for what doth a child profit to

a man? Let us leave it here, and go our way, seeing that we are

poor men, and have children of our own whose bread we may not give

to another.’

 

But his companion answered him: ‘Nay, but it were an evil thing to

leave the child to perish here in the snow, and though I am as poor

as thou art, and have many mouths to feed, and but little in the

pot, yet will I bring it home with me, and my wife shall have care

of it.’

 

So very tenderly he took up the child, and wrapped the cloak around

it to shield it from the harsh cold, and made his way down the hill

to the village, his comrade marvelling much at his foolishness and

softness of heart.

 

And when they came to the village, his comrade said to him, ‘Thou

hast the child, therefore give me the cloak, for it is meet that we

should share.’

 

But he answered him: ‘Nay, for the cloak is neither mine nor

thine, but the child’s only,’ and he bade him Godspeed, and went to

his own house and knocked.

 

And when his wife opened the door and saw that her husband had

returned safe to her, she put her arms round his neck and kissed

him, and took from his back the bundle of faggots, and brushed the

snow off his boots, and bade him come in.

 

But he said to her, ‘I have found something in the forest, and I

have brought it to thee to have care of it,’ and he stirred not

from the threshold.

 

‘What is it?’ she cried. ‘Show it to me, for the house is bare,

and we have need of many things.’ And he drew the cloak back, and

showed her the sleeping child.

 

‘Alack, goodman!’ she murmured, ‘have we not children of our own,

that thou must needs bring a changeling to sit by the hearth? And

who knows if it will not bring us bad fortune? And how shall we

tend it?’ And she was wroth against him.

 

‘Nay, but it is a Star-Child,’ he answered; and he told her the

strange manner of the finding of it.

 

But she would not be appeased, but mocked at him, and spoke

angrily, and cried: ‘Our children lack bread, and shall we feed

the child of another? Who is there who careth for us? And who

giveth us food?’

 

‘Nay, but God careth for the sparrows even, and feedeth them,’ he

answered.

 

‘Do not the sparrows die of hunger in the winter?’ she asked. ‘And

is it not winter now?’

 

And the man answered nothing, but stirred not from the threshold.

 

And a bitter wind from the forest came in through the open door,

and made her tremble, and she shivered, and said to him: ‘Wilt

thou not close the door? There cometh a bitter wind into the

house, and I am cold.’

 

‘Into a house where a heart is hard cometh there not always a

bitter wind?’ he asked. And the woman answered him nothing, but

crept closer to the fire.

 

And after a time she turned round and looked at him, and her eyes

were full of tears. And he came in swiftly, and placed the child

in her arms, and she kissed it, and laid it in a little bed where

the youngest of their own children was lying. And on the morrow

the Woodcutter took the curious cloak of gold and placed it in a

great chest, and a chain of amber that was round the child’s neck

his wife took and set it in the chest also.

 

So the Star-Child was brought up with the children of the

Woodcutter, and sat at the same board with them, and was their

playmate. And every year he became more beautiful to look at, so

that all those who dwelt in the village were filled with wonder,

for, while they were swarthy and black-haired, he was white and

delicate as sawn ivory, and his curls were like the rings of the

daffodil. His lips, also, were like the petals of a red flower,

and his eyes were like violets by a river of pure water, and his

body like the narcissus of a field where the mower comes not.

 

Yet did his beauty work him evil. For he grew proud, and cruel,

and selfish. The children of the Woodcutter, and the other

children of the village, he despised, saying that they were of mean

parentage, while he was noble, being sprang from a Star, and he

made himself master over them, and called them his servants. No

pity had he for the poor, or for those who were blind or maimed or

in any way afflicted, but would cast stones at them and drive them

forth on to the highway, and bid them beg their bread elsewhere, so

that none save the outlaws came twice to that village to ask for

alms. Indeed, he was as one enamoured of beauty, and would mock at

the weakly and ill-favoured, and make jest of them; and himself he

loved, and in summer, when the winds were still, he would lie by

the well in the priest’s orchard and look down at the marvel of his

own face, and laugh for the pleasure he had in his fairness.

 

Often did the Woodcutter and his wife chide him, and say: ‘We did

not deal with thee as thou dealest with those who are left

desolate, and have none to succour them. Wherefore art thou so

cruel to all who need pity?’

 

Often did the old priest send for him, and seek to teach him the

love of living things, saying to him: ‘The fly is thy brother. Do

it no harm. The wild birds that roam through the forest have their

freedom. Snare them not for thy pleasure. God made the blind-worm

and the mole, and each has its place. Who art thou to bring pain

into God’s world? Even the cattle of the field praise Him.’

 

But the Star-Child heeded not their words, but would frown and

flout, and go back to his companions, and lead them. And his

companions followed him, for he was fair, and fleet of foot, and

could dance, and pipe, and make music. And wherever the Star-Child

led them they followed, and whatever the Star-Child bade them do,

that did they. And when he pierced with a sharp reed the dim eyes

of the mole, they laughed, and when he cast stones at the leper

they laughed also. And in all things he ruled them, and they

became hard of heart even as he was.

 

Now there passed one day through the village a poor beggar-woman.

Her garments were torn and ragged, and her feet were bleeding from

the rough road on which she had travelled, and she was in very evil

plight. And being weary she sat her down under a chestnut-tree to

rest.

 

But when the Star-Child saw her, he said to his companions, ‘See!

There sitteth a foul beggar-woman under that fair and green-leaved

tree. Come, let us drive her hence, for she is ugly and ill-favoured.’

 

So he came near and threw stones at her, and mocked her, and she

looked at him with terror in her eyes, nor did she move her gaze

from him. And when the Woodcutter, who was cleaving logs in a

haggard hard by, saw what the Star-Child was doing, he ran up and

rebuked him, and said to him: ‘Surely thou art hard of heart and

knowest not mercy, for what evil has this poor woman done to thee

that thou shouldst treat her in this wise?’

 

And the Star-Child grew red with anger, and stamped his foot upon

the ground, and said, ‘Who art thou to question me what I do? I am

no son of thine to do thy bidding.’

 

‘Thou speakest truly,’ answered the Woodcutter, ‘yet did I show

thee pity when I found thee in the forest.’

 

And when the woman heard these words she gave a loud cry, and fell

into a swoon. And the Woodcutter carried her to his own house, and

his wife had care of her, and when she rose up from the swoon into

which she had fallen, they set meat and drink before her, and bade

her have comfort.

 

But she would neither eat nor drink, but said to the Woodcutter,

‘Didst thou not say that the child was found in the forest? And

was it not ten years from this day?’

 

And the Woodcutter answered, ‘Yea, it was in the forest that I

found him, and it is ten years from this day.’

 

‘And what signs didst thou find with him?’ she cried. ‘Bare he not

upon his neck a chain of amber? Was not round him a cloak of gold

tissue broidered with stars?’

 

‘Truly,’ answered the Woodcutter, ‘it was even as thou sayest.’

And he took the cloak and the amber chain from the chest where they

lay, and showed them to her.

 

And when she saw them she wept for joy, and said, ‘He is my little

son whom I lost in the forest. I pray thee send for him quickly,

for in search of him have I wandered over the whole world.’

 

So the Woodcutter and his wife went out and called to the Star-Child, and said to him, ‘Go into the house, and there