The Happy Prince, and Other Tales
“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.”
“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.
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 when 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.”
“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.”
[Picture: Decorative graphic of two birds]
The Nightingale and the Rose.
[Picture: Decorative graphic of young man lying on grass]
“SHE said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,” cried
the young Student; “but in all my garden there is no red rose.”
From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she
looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
“No red rose in all my garden!” he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled
with tears. “Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have
read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of
philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made
wretched.”
“Here at last is a true lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after night
have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told
his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the
hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but
passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal
upon his brow.”
“The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night,” murmured the young Student,
“and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will
dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in
my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will
be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall
sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my
heart will break.”
“Here indeed is the true lover,” said the Nightingale. “What I sing of,
he suffers—what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful
thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals.
Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the
marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be
weighed out in the balance for gold.”
“The musicians will sit in their gallery,” said the young Student, “and
play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound
of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will
not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng
round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to
give her”; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in
his hands, and wept.
“Why is he weeping?” asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with
his tail in the air.
“Why, indeed?” said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a
sunbeam.
“Why, indeed?” whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
“He is weeping for a red rose,” said the Nightingale.
“For a red rose?” they cried; “how very ridiculous!” and the little
Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s sorrow, and
she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.
She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed
across the garden.
In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and
when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
“Give me a red rose,” she cried, “and I will sing you my sweetest song.”
But the Tree shook its head.
“My roses are white,” it answered; “as white as the foam of the sea, and