The Happy Prince and Other Tales

[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 stone pillar, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was covered all over with thin sheets of gold, his eyes were two bright sapphires (a bright blue gem), and a large red ruby glowed on the handle of his sword.

Everyone admired him greatly. "He's as beautiful as a weathervane," remarked one of the Town Councillors, hoping people would think he had good artistic taste. "Only not quite as useful," he quickly added, worried that people might think he was impractical—which he certainly 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 can't have."

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

"He looks just like an angel," said the Charity Children as they left the cathedral in their bright red cloaks and clean white pinafores (apron-like garments).

"How would you know?" said their Math Teacher. "You've never seen an angel."

"Oh, but we have—in our dreams," the children answered. The Math Teacher frowned and looked very stern, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night, a little Swallow flew over the city. All his friends had left for Egypt six weeks earlier, but he had stayed behind because he was in love with a beautiful Reed. He had met her in early spring while chasing a big yellow moth down the river, and he'd been so charmed by her slender 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 response. So he flew around and around her, brushing the water with his wings and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted the whole summer.

"What a ridiculous romance," the other swallows twittered. "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 sweetheart. "She never has anything interesting to say," he said, "and I'm afraid she's a flirt, always fluttering for the wind." Indeed, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made graceful little bows. "I'll admit she's good at keeping house," he continued, "but I love to travel, and my wife should love traveling too."

"Will you come away with me?" he finally asked her. But the Reed just shook her head—she was too attached to her home by the river.

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

He flew all day, and by nightfall he reached the city. "Where should I stay?" he wondered. "I hope the town has prepared something nice."

Then he spotted the statue on the tall pillar.

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

"I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself, looking around. He tucked his head under his wing to sleep, but just then a large drop of water fell on him. "How strange," he said. "There's not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are perfectly clear, and 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 even keep the rain off?" he said. "I should find a proper chimney instead." He decided to fly away.

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

The eyes of the Happy Prince were full of tears, which were running 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, because I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci (a French phrase meaning "without worry"), where sadness was never allowed in. 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 bothered to ask what was on the other side—everything around me was already so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy I truly was, if pleasure is the same thing as happiness. That's how I lived, and that's 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. And even though my heart is made of lead, I cannot help but weep."

"So he's not solid gold after all?" the Swallow thought to himself. He was too polite to say this out loud.

"Far away," the statue continued in a low, 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 hands are rough and red, pricked all over by needles—she's a seamstress (someone who sews for a living). She's embroidering passion-flowers onto a silk gown for the most beautiful of the Queen's maids-of-honor to wear at the next royal ball. In a bed in the corner of the room, her little boy lies sick with fever, crying for oranges. But his mother has nothing to give him except river water, so he keeps crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, won't you carry her the ruby from my sword? My feet are fixed 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 great lotus flowers. Soon they'll rest in the tomb of the great King. The King himself lies there in his painted coffin, wrapped in yellow linen and preserved with spices. Around his neck hangs a chain of pale green jade, and his hands look like withered 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 very much," the Swallow replied. "Last summer, while I was staying by the river, there were two rude boys, sons of the miller, who kept throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course—we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, my family is famous for being quick—but it was disrespectful all the same."

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow felt sorry for him. "It's very cold here," he said, "but I'll 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 in white stone. He flew past the palace and heard the sound of dancing inside. A beautiful girl stepped out onto the balcony with her boyfriend. "How wonderful the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"

"I just hope my dress is ready in time for the royal ball," she answered. "I ordered passion-flowers embroidered on it, but the seamstresses are so slow."

He flew over the river and saw lanterns hanging from the masts of ships. He flew over the Jewish quarter of the city and saw old men bargaining with each other, weighing out coins on copper scales. Finally, he reached the poor house and looked inside. The boy tossed feverishly in his bed, while his exhausted mother had fallen asleep. The Swallow hopped inside and laid the great ruby on the table beside her sewing thimble. Then he flew gently around the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel," the boy said. "I must be getting better." And he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Then 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 good deed," said the Prince. The little Swallow began thinking about this—and thinking always made him sleepy, so he soon dozed off.

When morning came, he flew down to the river for a bath. "What a remarkable sight," said the Professor of Bird Studies as he crossed 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 so full of big words that hardly anyone understood it.

"Tonight I leave for Egypt," said the Swallow, feeling excited about the trip ahead. He visited all the famous landmarks in the city and perched for a long while atop the church steeple. Wherever he went, the sparrows chirped to one another, "What a distinguished visitor!" This made him very pleased with himself.

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

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

"I'm expected in Egypt," the Swallow answered. "Tomorrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract (a rocky stretch of the Nile River). The hippopotamus rests there among the reeds, and on a great granite throne sits the god Memnon. All night long 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 gemstones, and their roar is louder than the roar of the rushing water."

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

"I'll stay with you one more night," said the Swallow, who truly had a kind heart. "Should I bring him another ruby?"

"Sadly, I have no ruby left," said the Prince. "My eyes are all I have now. They're made of rare sapphires, brought from India a thousand years