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 his sword-hilt. He was admired by everyone. 'Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?' mothers would ask their crying children. He was covered in gold, just like the King who wished for the Golden Touch but learned a harder lesson.
One night, a little Swallow flew over the city. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind because he was in love with a beautiful Reed. Now, with winter coming, he was flying south alone. He decided to rest at the feet of the golden statue.
Just as the Swallow put his head under his wing to sleep, a large drop of water fell on him. Then another. He looked up. The sky was clear, yet the statue was weeping. The Happy Prince’s face was beautiful in the moonlight, but his eyes were filled with tears.
'Who are you?' asked the Swallow. 'I am the Happy Prince.' 'Why are you weeping then?' The Prince explained: 'When I was alive, I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed. I played and danced, never knowing what lay beyond the garden wall. They called me happy. Now that I am dead, they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and misery of my city.'
'Far away,' continued the statue, 'I see a poor seamstress. Her face is thin. Her little boy is lying ill with a fever, asking for oranges. She has nothing to give him but river water. Swallow, please take her the ruby out of my sword-hilt.'
The Swallow wanted to go to Egypt, but the Prince looked so sad that he agreed to stay for one night. He picked out the great red ruby and flew over the roofs of the town. He laid the jewel on the seamstress's table while she slept and fanned the boy’s forehead with his wings.
The Swallow returned to the Prince. 'It is curious,' the bird remarked, 'but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold.' 'That is because you have done a good action,' said the Prince. The Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. The Swallow felt warm from helping others, unlike the Remarkable Rocket who only felt warm thinking about himself.
The next night, the Prince stopped the Swallow again. 'Far away across the city, I see a young man in a garret. He is trying to finish a play, but he is too cold to write, and hunger has made him faint. Take him one of my eyes. They are rare sapphires from India.'
'Dear Prince,' said the Swallow, 'I cannot pluck out your eye.' But the Prince commanded him. The Swallow wept, took the sapphire, and flew to the student. The young man found the beautiful stone and cried, 'Now I can finish my play!' He thought it was a gift from a great admirer.
The next night, the Swallow was ready to leave for Egypt. 'Swallow, stay one more night,' begged the Prince. 'In the square below, a little match-girl has let her matches fall in the gutter. Her father will beat her if she brings home no money. Pluck out my other eye and give it to her.'
'I will stay with you always,' said the Swallow softly, 'for now you are blind.' He took the other sapphire and swooped down. He slipped the jewel into the palm of the little girl’s hand. 'What a lovely bit of glass,' she laughed, and ran home happy.
The Swallow refused to leave the blind Prince. All day long he sat on the Prince’s shoulder and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands—of red ibises in Egypt, of the Sphinx, and of merchants with amber beads.
'Dear little Swallow,' said the Prince, 'you tell me of marvelous things, but more marvelous than anything is the suffering of men and women. Fly over my city and tell me what you see.' The Swallow saw the rich making merry while beggars sat at the gates. He saw starving children huddled under bridges.
He 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.'
The Swallow picked off the gold, leaf by leaf, until the Happy Prince looked dull and grey. He carried the gold to the poor. The children’s faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played in the street. 'We have bread now!' they cried.
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 well. He knew that he was going to die. He had just enough strength to fly up to the Prince’s shoulder one last time.
'Goodbye, dear Prince,' he murmured. 'Will you let me kiss your hand?' 'I am glad you are going to Egypt at last,' said the Prince. '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—his leaden heart had snapped right in two.
The next morning, the Mayor and Councillors walked by. 'Dear me! How shabby the Happy Prince looks!' they said. 'The ruby has fallen out, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer. He looks little better than a beggar!' And there was a dead bird at his feet.
They pulled down the statue and melted it in a furnace to make a new statue (of the Mayor, of course). But the broken lead heart would not melt. 'What a strange thing,' said the workmen. They threw it on a dust heap where the dead Swallow was also lying. They tried to destroy him, just as the fire consumed the Phoenix, but true beauty never really dies.
God asked one of His Angels: 'Bring me the two most precious things in the city.' The Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird. 'You have chosen rightly,' 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.'
