The Happy Prince

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince.

He was covered all over with thin leaves of fine gold. For eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on the hilt of his sword. Everyone admired him. "He is as beautiful as a weathercock," said one of the town councillors, who wanted to be thought artistic.

One night a little swallow flew over the city. His friends had left for Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, because he had been in love with a reed by the river. Now he was late, and alone, and the nights were growing cold.

"Where shall I stay?" he said. "I hope the town has made preparations."

Then he saw the statue on its tall column. "I'll stay there," he said. "It's a fine position, with plenty of fresh air." And he settled down between the feet of the Happy Prince.

Tears

Just as he was tucking his head under his wing, a large drop of water fell on him. Then another, and another. But the sky was clear, and the stars were bright.

He looked up. The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks.

"Who are you?" asked the swallow.

"I am the Happy Prince."

"Then why are you crying?"

"When I was alive and had a human heart," said the statue, "I did not know what tears were. I lived in a palace where sorrow was not allowed to enter. A high wall ran round the garden, and I never cared to ask what lay beyond it. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy I was, if pleasure is happiness. So I lived, and 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, I cannot help weeping."

The ruby

"Far away, in a little street," the statue went on, "there is a poor house. Through an open window I can see a woman sitting at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and her hands are red and pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen's ladies to wear at the next ball. In a bed in the corner her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, little swallow, will you not take her the ruby from my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal, and I cannot move."

"I am waited for in Egypt," said the swallow. But the Happy Prince looked so sad that he agreed to stay for one night.

He picked out the great ruby and flew over the roofs with it in his beak. He found the house. The boy was tossing feverishly in bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. The swallow laid the ruby on the table beside her thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings.

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

When the swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, he said, "It's curious, but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold."

"That is because you have done a good deed," said the Prince.

The sapphires

The next night the swallow said he must leave. But the Prince asked him to stay one more night.

"Far away across the city, I see a young man in an attic. He is trying to finish a play for the director of the theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire, and hunger has made him faint."

"Shall I take him another ruby?" asked the swallow.

"I have no ruby now," said the Prince. "My eyes are all I have left. They are rare sapphires, brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller and buy firewood, and finish his play."

"Dear Prince," said the swallow, "I cannot do that." And he began to weep.

But the Prince asked again, and so the swallow did as he was told.

The next night, the Prince asked him to take the other sapphire to a little match-girl in the square below, who had dropped her matches in the gutter and was afraid her father would beat her.

"But then you will be quite blind," said the swallow.

"Do as I command you," said the Prince.

So the swallow plucked out the Prince's other eye and dropped it into the palm of the little girl's hand. "What a lovely bit of glass," she cried, and ran home laughing.

Then the swallow came back. "You are blind now," he said. "So I will stay with you always."

The gold

All through the winter the swallow stayed. He flew over the city and told the Prince what he saw: rich people making merry in their beautiful houses while beggars sat at their gates; hungry children in dark lanes; two little boys lying in each other's arms under a bridge to keep warm.

"I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince. "You must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor."

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the swallow picked off, until the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf 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.

Winter

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The poor little swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince. He loved him too much.

At last he knew that he was going to die. He had just enough strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more.

"Goodbye, dear Prince. Will you let me kiss your hand?"

"I am glad 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." 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 lead heart had snapped right in two.

The two most precious things

Early next morning the Mayor walked past with the town councillors. "Dear me! How shabby the Happy Prince looks," he said. "His ruby has fallen out, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer. He is little better than a beggar. And there is actually a dead bird at his feet!"

So they pulled down the statue and melted it in a furnace. But the broken lead heart would not melt, 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," God said to one of His angels. And the angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

"You have rightly chosen," said God. "In my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me."

About this story

Oscar Wilde (1854–1900) wrote "The Happy Prince" as one of a set of fairy tales first published in 1888. He is said to have told such stories to his own young sons. This is a shortened retelling that keeps close to Wilde's words in places; the original is in the public domain and a joy to read aloud.