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.”

								Rate this book:
5.0 / 1 vote