The Happy Prince

High above the city, on a tall stone column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was covered all over with thin sheets of gold leaf, his eyes were two bright sapphires (a deep blue gemstone), and a large red ruby glowed on his sword hilt.

People admired him greatly. "He's as handsome as a weathervane," remarked one Town Councillor, hoping to seem cultured, "though not nearly so useful"—he added this quickly, worried people might think him impractical, which he wasn't.

"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?" a sensible mother asked her small son, who was crying because he wanted the moon. "The Happy Prince never cries for anything."

"I'm glad someone in this world is truly happy," muttered a disappointed man, staring up at the splendid 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 (a kind of apron).

"How would you know?" said their Mathematics teacher. "You've never seen one."

"Oh, but we have—in our dreams," the children answered. The teacher frowned; he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night, a little Swallow flew over the city. His friends had left for Egypt six weeks earlier, but he had stayed behind, in love with a beautiful Reed. He'd met her in early spring while chasing a large yellow moth down the river, and had been so charmed by her slender waist that he stopped to speak with her.

"Shall I love you?" the Swallow asked—he liked to get straight to the point—and the Reed bowed low in reply. So he circled her again and again, brushing the water with his wings and stirring up silver ripples. This courtship lasted the whole summer.

"It's a ridiculous match," the other swallows twittered. "She has no money, and far too many relatives"—and indeed, the river was crowded with reeds. When autumn came, they all flew away.

Once his friends were gone, the Swallow felt lonely and began to lose interest in his love. "She has no conversation," he said, "and I worry she's a flirt—she's always swaying toward the wind." True enough, whenever the wind blew, the Reed dipped into the most graceful curtsies. "She's devoted to her home, I'll grant her that," he went on, "but I love to travel, and my wife ought to love it too."

"Will you come away with me?" he finally asked her, but she only shook her head—she was too attached to her home.

"You've been toying with me!" he cried. "I'm off to the Pyramids. Farewell!" And away he flew.

He flew the whole day, and by nightfall reached the city. "Where shall I stay?" he wondered. "I hope the town has made arrangements."

Then he spotted the statue on its tall column.

"I'll stay up there," he said. "Good spot—plenty of fresh air." So he landed right between the Happy Prince's feet.

"I have a golden bedroom," he murmured happily, looking around, and settled in to sleep. But just as he tucked his head under his wing, a large drop of water splashed onto him. "How strange!" he exclaimed. "Not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are bright and clear, and yet it's raining. The weather in northern Europe truly is dreadful. The Reed liked rain, but that was only her selfishness."

Then another drop fell.

"What good is a statue if it can't keep the rain off?" he grumbled. "I'd better find a proper chimney-pot," and he prepared to fly off.

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

The Happy Prince's eyes were filled with tears, which ran down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow felt a rush of pity.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am the Happy Prince."

"Then why are you crying?" said the Swallow. "You've soaked me through."

"When I was alive, with a human heart," the statue answered, "I didn't know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci (a French name meaning 'without worry'), where sorrow was never allowed in. By day I played with my friends in the garden; by night I led the dancing in the Great Hall. A high wall surrounded the garden, but I never thought to ask what lay beyond it—everything around me was so beautiful already. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy I was, if pleasure is the same thing as happiness. So I lived, and so I died. Now that I'm dead, they've placed me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and suffering of my city—and even though my heart is made of lead, I cannot help but weep."

He's not solid gold after all? the Swallow thought to himself—but he was too polite to say so aloud.

"Far away," the statue continued in a low, musical voice, "far off 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, her hands rough and red, pricked all over by needles—she's a seamstress. She's embroidering passion-flowers onto a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honor to wear at the next royal ball. In a corner of the room, her little boy lies sick with fever, crying for oranges. She has nothing to give him but river water, so he weeps. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow—won't you bring her the ruby from my sword hilt? My feet are fixed to this pedestal; I cannot move."

"I'm expected in Egypt," said the Swallow. "My friends are flying up and down the Nile right now, 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 be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and his mother so sad."

"I don't think I care much for boys," the Swallow replied. "Last summer, while I stayed by the river, two rude boys—the miller's sons—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 its quickness. Still, it showed a lack of respect."

But the Happy Prince looked so sorrowful 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 plucked the great ruby from the Prince's sword and flew off with it in his beak, over the rooftops of the town.

He passed the cathedral tower, where marble angels were carved in white stone. He passed the palace and heard music and dancing inside. A beautiful girl stepped out onto the balcony with her lover. "How wonderful the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"

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

He flew over the river and saw lanterns swinging from the ships' masts. He flew over the Jewish quarter and saw old men bargaining, weighing coins on copper scales. At last he reached the poor house and looked inside. The boy tossed feverishly in his bed, and his exhausted mother had fallen asleep. The Swallow hopped in and laid the great ruby on the table beside her thimble. Then he flew gently around the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel," the boy murmured. "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 remarked, "but I feel quite warm now, even though it's so cold."

"That's because you've done a good deed," said the Prince. The little Swallow began to think about this—and thinking always made him sleepy, so he soon dozed off.

At dawn he flew down to the river for a bath. "What a remarkable sight," said the Professor of Ornithology (the study of birds), crossing the bridge. "A swallow, in winter!" He wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper, and everyone quoted it, since it was full of words nobody could understand.

"Tonight I leave for Egypt," the Swallow said, in high spirits at the thought. He visited every famous monument in town and perched a long while atop the church steeple. Wherever he went, the sparrows chirped to one another, "What a distinguished visitor!"—which pleased him greatly.

When the moon rose, he flew back to the Happy Prince. "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 one more night?"

"I'm expected in Egypt," the Swallow answered. "Tomorrow my friends fly up to the Second Cataract (a rocky stretch of the Nile). The hippopotamus rests there among the reeds, and on a great granite throne sits the god Memnon. All night he watches the stars, and when the morning star appears, he cries out once in joy, then falls silent. At noon, yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink. Their eyes gleam like green gemstones, and their roar is louder than the rushing rapids."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "far across the city I see a young man in an attic room. He's bent 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 red as a pomegranate, his eyes 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 the hearth, and hunger has made him faint."

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

"Alas, 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 ago. Pluck out one and take it to him. He can sell it to the jeweler...