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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 quite blind then."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command

you."

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."

"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. He told him of the red ibises, who

stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their

beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the

side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of

the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a

large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has

twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail

over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the

butterflies.

"Dear little Swallow," said the Prince, "you tell me of marvellous

things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of

women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. 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.

He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children

looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge

two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves

warm. "How hungry we are!" they said. "You must not lie here,"

shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

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,

leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can

make them happy."

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy

Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he

brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed

and played games in the street. "We have bread now!" they cried.

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;

long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses,

everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and

skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the

baker's door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself

warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to

fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more. "Good-bye, dear Prince!" he

murmured, "will you let me kiss your hand?"

"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said the

Prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips,

for I love you."

"It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow. "I am going to

the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"

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 in

company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he

looked up at the statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!"

he said.

"How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed

with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is

golden no longer," said the Mayor in fact, "he is litttle beter than a

beggar!"

"Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.

"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor.

"We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to

die here." And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

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.

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and 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," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled.

When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

"What a strange thing!" said the overseer of the workmen at the

foundry. "This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must

throw it away." So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow

was also lying.

"Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one of

His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

"You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise

this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy

Prince shall praise me."

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE

ROSE

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses,"

cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she

looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled

with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have

read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy

are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night

have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told

his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-

blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has

made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow."

"The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young

Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose

she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold

her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her

hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I

shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me,

and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of,

he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful

thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals.

Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be

weighed out in the balance for gold."

"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and

play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound

of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not

touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her.

But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he

flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and

wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him

with his tail in the air.

"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a

sunbeam.

"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low

voice.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale. "For a red

rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was

something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and

she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air.

She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed

across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and

when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest

song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea,

and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who

grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you

want."

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round

the old sun-dial.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest

song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the

mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil

that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But

go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he

will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing

beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest

song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and

redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern.

But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and

the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this

year."

"One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose!

Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not

tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music

by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to

me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me,

and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into

my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale,

"and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to

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The Happy Prince and Other Tales

watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl.

Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in

the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than

Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She

swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through

the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him,

and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red

rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own

heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true