High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilde
d all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a larg
e red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.He was very much admired indeed. “He is as beautiful
as a weathercock,” remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation fo
r having artistic tastes; “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing lest people should
think him unpractical, which he really was not.“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?”
asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. “The Happy Prince
never dreams of crying for anything.”“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quit
e happy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.“He looks just l
ike an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright
scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.“How do you know?” said the Mathematical M
aster, “you have never seen one.”“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children;
and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of chil
dren dreaming.One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone a
way to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most
beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after
a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to t
alk to her.“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, a
nd the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with h
is wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through th
e summer.“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered the other Swallows; “she has no money,
and far too many relations”; and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then, when th
e autumn came they all flew away.After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of
his lady-love. “She has no conversation,” he said, “and I am afraid that she is a coquett
e, for she is always flirting with the wind.” And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the
Reed made the most graceful curtseys. “I admit that she is domestic,” he continued, “but
I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.”“Will you come
away with me?” he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to
her home.“You have been trifling with me,” he cried. “I am off to the Pyramids. Good-by
e!” and he flew away.All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. “Whe
re shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”Then he saw the statu
e on the tall column.“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a fine position, with plenty
of fresh air.” So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.“I have a golden
bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; bu
t just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. “What
a curious thing!” he cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite
clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dre
adful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness.”Then another
drop fell.“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?” he said; “I must l
ook for a good chimney-pot,” and he determined to fly away.But before he had opened his wi
ngs, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw—Ah! what did he see?The eyes of the Happ
y Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face
was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.“Who are yo
u?” he said.“I am the Happy Prince.”“Why are you weeping then?” asked the Swallow; “you ha
ve quite drenched me.”“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the statue, “I di
d not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not a
llowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the eve
ning I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I nev
er cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers ca
lled me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, a
nd so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all
the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cann
ot chose but weep.”“What! is he not solid gold?” said the Swallow to himself. He was too
polite to make any personal remarks out loud.“Far away,” continued the statue in a low mus
ical voice, “far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is ope
n, 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. She is embroi
dering passion-flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen’s maids-of-honour to
wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying
ill.