[Picture: Book cover]

[Picture: The Happy Prince]

The Happy Prince

And Other Tales

BY OSCAR WILDE

ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE AND JACOMB HOOD

Seventh Impression

LONDON
DAVID NUTT, 57–59 LONG ACRE
1910

First Edition — May 1888
Second Impression — January 1889
Third Impression — February 1902
Fourth Impression — September 1905
Fifth Impression — February 1907
Sixth Impression — March 1908
Seventh Impression — March 1910

TO CARLOS BLACKER

[Picture: Decorative graphic of children]

Contents

• The Happy Prince — Page 1
• The Nightingale and the Rose — Page 25
• The Selfish Giant — Page 43
• The Devoted Friend — Page 57
• The Remarkable Rocket — Page 87

The Happy Prince

[Picture: Woman opening window and seeing bird]

High above the city, on a tall pillar, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was covered all over with thin sheets of gold. His eyes were two bright blue gems called sapphires, and a red gem called a ruby glowed on the handle of his sword.

Everyone admired him. "He is as beautiful as a weathervane," said one of the town leaders, who wanted people to think he had good taste in art. "Only not quite as useful," he added quickly, worried that people might think he was foolish—which he was not.

"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?" a sensible mother asked her little boy, who was crying because he wanted the moon. "The Happy Prince never cries for things he cannot have."

"I'm glad someone in this world is truly happy," muttered a disappointed man as he looked up at the statue.

"He looks just like an angel," said the children from the charity school as they left the cathedral in their bright red coats and clean white aprons.

"How would you know?" asked their math teacher. "You've never seen an angel."

"Oh, but we have—in our dreams," the children answered. The math teacher frowned. He did not think children should spend time dreaming.

---

One night, a little swallow flew over the city. His friends had left for Egypt six weeks earlier, but he had stayed behind. He was in love with a beautiful reed plant. He had met her in early spring while chasing a big yellow moth down the river, and he'd been so charmed by her slim, graceful shape that he stopped to talk with her.

"Shall I love you?" said the swallow, who liked to get straight to the point. The reed bowed low in reply. So the swallow flew around and around her, brushing the water with his wings and making silver ripples. This went on all summer—it was his way of courting her.

"What a silly match," the other swallows chirped. "She has no money and far too many relatives"—and indeed, the river was full of reeds. When autumn came, all the other swallows flew away.

After they left, the swallow felt lonely and began to grow tired of his reed. "She never talks," he said. "And I worry she's a flirt, always swaying for the wind." Indeed, whenever the wind blew, the reed bowed gracefully. "She's a homebody, I'll admit," he went on, "but I love to travel, and my wife should love it too."

"Will you come away with me?" he finally asked her. But the reed only shook her head—she loved her home too much.

"You have been playing with my feelings," he cried. "I'm off to the Pyramids! Goodbye!" And away he flew.

He flew all day, and by nightfall he reached the city. "Where shall I stay?" he wondered. "I hope the town has made some nice place ready for me."

Then he spotted the statue on the tall pillar.

"I'll stay there," he said. "It's a fine spot with plenty of fresh air." So he landed right between the feet of the Happy Prince.

"I have a golden bedroom," he said happily to himself, looking around. He was about to tuck his head under his wing to sleep when a large drop of water fell on him.

"How strange!" he said. "There's not a single cloud in the sky. The stars are clear and bright—yet it's raining. The weather in northern Europe is truly terrible. The reed liked rain, but that was just her selfishness."

Then another drop fell.

"What good is a statue if it can't keep the rain off?" he said. "I need to find a good chimney to sleep in." He got ready to fly away.

But before he opened his wings, a third drop fell. He looked up—and what did he see?

The Happy Prince's eyes were full of tears, and tears ran down his golden cheeks. His face looked so beautiful in the moonlight that the little swallow felt sorry for him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am the Happy Prince."

"Then why are you crying?" asked the swallow. "You've soaked me completely."

"When I was alive and had a human heart," the statue answered, "I didn't know what tears were. I lived in a palace called Sans-Souci, where sadness was never allowed. During the day, I played with my friends in the garden, and in the evening I led the dancing in the Great Hall. A very tall wall surrounded the garden, but I never wondered what was beyond it—everything around me was already so beautiful. My people called me the Happy Prince, and happy I truly was, if pleasure is the same as happiness. That's how I lived, and how I died. Now that I'm dead, they've placed me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and suffering in my city. Even though my heart is made of lead, I cannot help but weep."

"What! He's not solid gold?" the swallow thought to himself. But he was too polite to say it out loud.

"Far away," the statue continued in a soft, musical voice, "far away on a little street, there's a poor house. One window is open, and through it I can see a woman sitting at a table. Her face is thin and tired, and her rough, red hands are covered in needle pricks—she sews clothes for a living. Right now she's stitching flowers onto a fancy dress for one of the Queen's ladies to wear at the next royal ball. In a corner of the room, her little boy is lying sick in bed. He has a fever and is begging for oranges. But his mother has nothing to give him except river water, so he cries. Swallow, swallow, little swallow, will you carry the ruby from my sword to her? My feet are stuck to this pillar, and I cannot move."

"I'm expected in Egypt," said the swallow. "My friends are flying up and down the Nile River, chatting with the giant lotus flowers. Soon they'll rest near the tomb of the great king. The king himself lies there in his painted coffin, wrapped in yellow cloth and preserved with spices. Around his neck is a chain of pale green stone, and his hands look like dried-up leaves."

"Swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the Prince, "won't you stay with me just one night and carry my message? The boy is so thirsty, and his mother so sad."

"I don't think I like boys much," the swallow answered. "Last summer, by the river, two rude boys—the miller's sons—kept throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly much too well for that. Besides, my family is famous for being quick and graceful. Still, it wasn't very respectful of them."

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little swallow felt sorry for him. "It is very cold here," he said, "but I will stay with you one night, and be your messenger."

"Thank you, little swallow," said the Prince.

So the swallow pulled the great ruby from the Prince's sword and flew off with it in his beak, over the rooftops of the town.

He flew past the cathedral tower, where marble angels were carved into the stone. He flew past the palace and heard music and dancing inside. A beautiful young woman stepped out onto a balcony with the man she loved. "How amazing the stars are," he said to her, "and how amazing is the power of love!"

"I just hope my dress is ready in time for the royal ball," she replied. "I ordered flowers to be sewn onto it, but the seamstresses are so slow."

The swallow flew over the river and saw lanterns hanging from the ships' masts. He flew over the old Jewish quarter and saw merchants trading money using copper scales. At last he reached the poor house and looked inside. The boy was tossing and turning with fever, and his mother had fallen asleep, worn out from exhaustion. The swallow hopped in and placed the great ruby on the table right beside her sewing thimble. Then he flew gently around the bed, fanning the boy's hot forehead with his wings.

"How cool I feel," the boy said. "I must be getting better." And he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The swallow flew back to the Happy Prince and told him what he had done. "It's strange," he said, "but I feel quite warm now, even though it's so cold out."

"That's because you've done a kind deed," said the Prince. The little swallow thought about this for a while, then fell asleep—thinking always made him sleepy.

When morning came, he flew down to the river for a bath. "What a remarkable sight!" said a bird scientist passing over the bridge. "A swallow in winter!" He wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Everyone quoted the letter, even though it was full of big words nobody understood.

"Tonight I go to Egypt," the swallow said, feeling excited about the trip ahead. He visited all the famous statues and monuments around town and sat for a long while atop the church steeple. Everywhere he went, the sparrows chirped to one another, "What a distinguished visitor!" So he had a wonderful day.

When the moon rose, he flew back to the Happy Prince. "Do you have any errands for me in Egypt?" he called out. "I'm about to leave!"

"Swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the Prince, "won't you stay with me one more night?"

"I'm expected in Egypt," the swallow answered. "Tomorrow, my friends will fly up to a place called the Second Cataract, where the river narrows over rocks. A hippopotamus rests there among the reeds, and on a great stone throne sits a carved figure of the god Memnon. All night he watches the stars, and when the morning star appears, he lets out one cry of joy before falling silent again. At noon, yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink. Their eyes look like green gems, and their roar is louder than the rushing water."

"Swallow, swallow, little swallow," said the Prince, "far across the city I see a young man in a small attic room. He's leaning over a desk covered with papers, and beside him sits a cup holding a bunch of wilted violets. His hair is brown and curly, his lips are red, and his eyes are large and dreamy. He is trying to finish writing a play for the theater director, but he's too cold to keep working. There's no fire in his fireplace, and hunger has made him weak."

"I will stay with you one more night," said the swallow, who truly had a kind heart. "Should I bring him a ruby too?"

"Sadly, I have no more rubies," said the Prince. "My eyes are all I have left. They are made of rare sapphires brought from India a thousand years ago. Pluck one out and take it to him. He can sell it to a jeweler...