The Happy Prince

Once upon a time, high above a city on a tall column stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over and had two bright sapphire eyes. His sword hilt was decorated with a sparkling ruby.

He was very much admired indeed. “He is as beautiful as a weathervane,” remarked one of the town council members who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes.

“Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for a toy he couldn't have. “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.”

One night there flew over the city a little bird, a swallow. His friends had all flown to Egypt for the winter, but he had stayed behind. He saw the statue on the tall column and decided to rest there for the night. So he landed there just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

Just as he was putting his head under his wing to sleep, a large drop of water fell on him. “How strange!” he cried, “there is not a single cloud in the sky.”

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,” and he decided to fly away. But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw that the eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little swallow was filled with pity.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you crying?” asked the swallow.

“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the statue, “I did not know what tears were, because I lived in the palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed. I was called the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if you think pleasure is happiness. Now that I am dead, they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and misery of my city. And though my heart is made of lead I can't help but cry.

“Far away,” continued the statue, “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. 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, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt since I can't move?”

“My friends are waiting for me in Egypt,” said the swallow.

“Swallow,” said the prince, “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.”

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. 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. 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,” murmured the boy, “I must be getting better.”

Then the swallow flew back to the Happy Prince and told him what he had done. “It is strange,” he remarked, “but I feel quite warm now, even though it's so cold.”

“That is because you have done a good deed,” said the prince.

“Tonight I go to Egypt,” said the swallow, and he was happy at the thought. When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. “I am getting ready to go to Egypt,” he told the prince.

“Swallow,” asked the prince, “will you please stay one more night?”

“My friends are waiting for me in Egypt,” answered the swallow.

“Swallow,” said the prince, “far away across the city I see a young man in an attic. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers. He is trying to finish a play, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate.”

“I will stay one more night,” said the swallow, who really had a good heart. “Shall I take him another ruby?”

“Unfortunately, I have no rubies now,” said the prince. “My eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweler, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play.”

“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I can't do that,” and he began to cry.

“Swallow,” said the prince, “do as I ask of you.”

So the swallow plucked out the prince's eye and flew away to the student's attic. 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.

“This must be from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play,” he said, and he looked quite happy.

The next evening, the swallow came to bid the prince good-bye.

“Swallow,” said the prince, “please stay one more night.”

“Dear Prince,” said the swallow, “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 blind then.”

“Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I ask.”

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.”

“No, 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.

“Dear little swallow,” said the prince, “you tell me of marvelous things, but more important than anything is the sadness of men and women. 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.

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, piece by piece, and give it to my poor.”

The swallow picked off the gold, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and gray. He brought leaf after leaf of the fine gold to the poor. The children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street.

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.

The poor little swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the prince; he loved him so much. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just enough strength to fly up to the prince's shoulder once more.

“Goodbye, dear Prince!” he murmured.

“I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little swallow,” said the prince, “you have stayed too long here.”

“It is not to Egypt that I am going,” said the swallow. “I am dying.”

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 with the town council members. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: “How shabby the Happy Prince looks!” he said.

“The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he isn't golden anymore,” said the mayor. “In fact, he is little better than a beggar!

“And, to make things worse, there is actually a dead bird at his feet!” continued the mayor.

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.

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!” cried each of the town council members and they quarreled. In fact, they are quarreling still.

The statue was dismantled and sent to be melted down, but the prince's broken lead heart would not melt. It was tossed into the garbage, where it landed next to the poor dead swallow.