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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.
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.
The Happy
Prince
Oscar Wilde
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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 curtsies. ‘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
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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 choose 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.’
‘Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,’ said the
Prince, ‘will you not stay with me for
one
night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty,
and the mother so sad.’
‘I don’t think I
like boys,’ answered the Swallow. ‘Last summer,
when I was
staying on the river, there were
two rude boys, the miller’s sons, who were
always throwing stones at me. They never hit
me, of course; we swallows fly far
too well
for that, and besides, I come of a family famous
for its agility; but still, it
was a mark of
disrespect.’
But the Happy Prince looked
so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. ‘It is
very
cold here,’ he said; ‘but I will stay
with you for one night, and be your messenger.’
‘Thank you, little Swallow,’ said the
Prince.
So the Swallow picked out the
great ruby from the Prince’s sword, and flew away
with it in his beak over the roofs of the
town.
He passed by the cathedral tower,
where the white marble angels were
sculptured.
He passed by the palace and heard the sound of
dancing. A beautiful
girl came out on the
balcony with her lover. ‘How wonderful the stars
are,’ he
said to her, and how wonderful is the
power of love!’
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‘I hope my
dress will be ready in time for the State-ball,’
she answered; ‘I have
ordered passion-flowers
to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are
so
lazy.’
He passed over the river,
and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the
ships.
He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the
old jews bargaining with each other, and
weighing out money in copper scales. At last
he came to the poor house and
looked in. The
boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the
mother had fallen
asleep, she was so tired. In
he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table
beside
the woman’s thimble. Then he flew
gently round the bed, fanning the boy’s
forehead with his wings. ‘How cool I feel,’
said the boy, ‘I must be getting better;’
and
he sank into a delicious slumber.
Then
the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and
told him what he had done.
‘It is curious,’ he
remarked, ‘but I feel quite warm now, although it
is so cold.’
‘That is because you have
done a good action,’ said the Prince. And the
little
Swallow began to think, and then he
fell asleep. Thinking always made him
sleepy.
When day broke he flew down to the river
and had a bath. ‘What a remarkable
phenomenon,’ said the Professor of Ornithology
as he was passing over the
bridge. ‘A swallow
in winter!’ And he wrote a long letter about it to
the local
newspaper. Every one quoted it, it
was full of so many words that they could not
understand.
‘To-night I go to Egypt,’
said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at
the
prospect. He visited all the public
monuments, and sat a long time on top of the
church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows
chirruped, and said to each
other, ‘What a
distinguished stranger!’ so he enjoyed himself
very much.
When the moon rose he flew
back to the Happy Prince. ‘Have you any
commissions for Egypt?’ he cried; ‘I am just
starting.’
‘Swallow, Swallow, little
Swallow,’ said the Prince, ‘will you not stay with
me one
night longer?’
‘I am waited
for in Egypt,’ answered the Swallow. ‘To-morrow my
friends will fly
up to the Second Cataract.
The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes,
and on a great granite throne sits the God
Memnon. All night long he watches the
stars,
and when the morning star shines he utters one cry
of joy, and then he is
silent. At noon the
yellow lions come down to the water’s edge to
drink. They
have eyes like green beryls, and
their roar is louder than the roar of the
cataract.’
‘Swallow, Swallow, little
Swallow,’ said the prince, ‘far away across the
city I see
a young man in a garret. He is
leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a
tumbler by his side there is a bunch of
withered violets. His hair is brown and
crisp,
and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has
large and dreamy eyes.
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He is
trying to finish a play for the Director of the
Theatre, but he is too cold to
write any more.
There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made
him faint.’
‘I will wait with you one
night longer,’ said the Swallow, who really had a
good
heart. ‘Shall I take him another ruby?’
‘Alas! I have no ruby now,’ said the
Prince; ‘my eyes are all that I have left. They
are made of rare sapphires, which were brought
out of India a thousand years
ago. Pluck out
one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to
the jeweller, and
buy food and firewood, and
finish his play.’
‘Dear Prince,’ said the
Swallow, ‘I cannot do that;’ and he began to weep.
‘Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,’ said
the Prince, ‘do as I command you.’
So the
Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew
away to the student’s
garret. It was easy
enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof.
Through this
he darted, and came into the
room. The young man had his head buried in his
hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the
bird’s wings, and when he looked up
he found
the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered
violets.
‘I am beginning to be
appreciated,’ he cried; ‘this is from some great
admirer.
Now I can finish my play,’ and he
looked quite happy.
The next day the
Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the
mast of a large
vessel and watched the sailors
hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes.
‘Heave a-hoy!’ they shouted as each chest came
up. ‘I am going to Egypt!’ cried
the Swallow,
but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew
back to the
Happy Prince.
‘I am come
to bid you good-bye,’ he cried.
‘Swallow,
Swallow, little Swallow,’ said the Prince, ‘will
you not stay with me one
night longer?’
‘It is winter,’ answered the Swallow, ‘and the
chill snow will soon be here. In
Egypt the sun
is warm on the green palm-trees, and the
crocodiles lie in the mud
and look lazily
about them. My companions are building a nest in
the Temple of
Baalbec, and the pink and white
doves are watching them, and cooing to each
other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I
will never forget you, and next spring I
will
bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of
those you have given away.
The ruby shall be
redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be
as blue as the
great sea.’
‘In the
square below,’ said the Happy Prince, ‘there
stands a little match-girl. She
has let her
matches fall in the gutter, and they are all
spoiled. Her father will beat
her if she does
not bring home some money, and she is crying. She
has no shoes
or stockings, and her little head
is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to
her,
and her father will not beat her.’
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‘I will stay with you one night
longer,’ said the Swallow, ‘but I cannot pluck out
your eye. You would be quite blind then.’
‘Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,’ said the
Prince, ‘do as I command you.’
So he
plucked out the Prince’s other eye, and darted
down with it. He swooped
past the match-girl,
and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand.
‘What a
lovely bit of glass,’ cried the little
girl; and she ran home, laughing.
Then
the Swallow came back to the Prince. ‘You are
blind now,’ he said, ‘so I will
stay with you
always.’
‘No, little Swallow,’ said the
poor Prince, ‘you must go away to Egypt.’
‘I will stay with you always,’ said the
Swallow, and he slept at the Prince’s feet.
All the next day he sat on the Prince’s
shoulder, and told him stories of what he
had
seen in strange lands. He told him of the red
ibises, who stand in long rows
on the banks of
the Nile, and catch gold fish in their beaks; of
the Sphinx, who is
as old as the world itself
and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of
the
merchants, who walk slowly by the side of
their camels, and carry amber beads
in their
hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon,
who is as black as ebony,
and worships a large
crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a
palm-tree,
and has twenty priests to feed it
with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail
over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are
always at war with the butterflies.
‘Dear
little Swallow,’ said the Prince, ‘you tell me of
marvellous things, but more
marvellous than
anything is the suffering of men and of women.
There is no
Mystery so great as Misery. Fly
over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you
see there.’
So the Swallow flew over
the great city, and saw the rich making merry in
their
beautiful houses, while the beggars were
sitting at the gates. He flew into dark
lanes,
and saw the white faces of starving children
looking out listlessly at the
black streets.
Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were
lying in one
another’s arms to try and keep
themselves warm. ‘How hungry we are!’ they said.
‘You must not lie here,’ shouted the Watchman,
and they wandered out into the
rain.
Then he flew back and told the Prince what he
had seen.
‘I am covered with fine gold,’
said the Prince, ‘you must take it off, leaf by
leaf,
and give it to my poor; the living
always think that gold can make them happy.’
Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow
picked off, till the Happy Prince looked
quite
dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he
brought to the poor, and the
children’s faces
grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in
the street.
‘We have bread now!’ they cried.
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Then the snow came, and
after the snow came the frost. The streets looked
as if
they were made of silver, they were so
bright and glistening; long icicles like
crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of
the houses, everybody went about
in furs, and
the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on
the ice.
The poor little Swallow grew
colder and colder, but he would not leave the
Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up
crumbs outside the baker’s door
where the
baker was not looking, and tried to keep himself
warm by flapping his
wings.
But at
last he knew that he was going to die. He had just
strength to fly up to the
Prince’s shoulder
once more. ‘Good-bye, dear Prince!’ he murmured,
‘will you let
me kiss your hand?’
‘I
am glad that you are going to Egypt at last,
little Swallow,’ said the Prince, ‘you
have
stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the
lips, for I love you.’
‘It is not to
Egypt that I am going,’ said the Swallow. ‘I am
going to the House of
Death. Death is the
brother of Sleep, is he not?’
And he
kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down
dead at his feet.
At that moment a
curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if
something had
broken. The fact is that the
leaden heart had snapped right in two. It
certainly
was a dreadfully hard frost. Early
the next morning the Mayor was walking in the
square below in company with the Town
Councillors. As they passed the column
he
looked up at the statue: ‘Dear me! how shabby the
Happy Prince looks!’ he
said.
‘How
shabby indeed!’ cried the Town Councillors, who
always agreed with the
Mayor, and they went up
to look at it.
‘The ruby has fallen out
of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden
no
longer,’ said the Mayor; ‘in fact, he is
little better than a beggar!’
‘Little
better than a beggar’ said the Town councillors.
‘And here is actually a dead bird at his
feet!’ continued the Mayor. ‘We must
really
issue a proclamation that birds are not to be
allowed to die here.’ And the
Town Clerk made
a note of the suggestion.
So they pulled
down the statue of the Happy Prince. ‘As he is no
longer beautiful
he is no longer useful,’ said
the Art Professor at the University.
Then
they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor
held a meeting of the
Corporation to decide
what was to be done with the metal. ‘We must have
another statue, of course,’ he said, ‘and it
shall be a statue of myself.’
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‘Of myself,’ said each of the Town
Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last
heard of them they were quarrelling still.
‘What a strange thing!’ said the overseer
of the workmen at the foundry. ‘This
broken
lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must
throw it away.’ So they
threw it on a dust-
heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.
‘Bring me the two most precious things in the
city,’ said God to one of His Angels;
and the
Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead
bird.
‘You have rightly chosen,’ said
God, ‘for in my garden of Paradise this little
bird
shall sing for evermore, and in my city
of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me.’
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