First meeting..

HIGH above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the

Happy Prince. He was gilded 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.

One night there flew over the city a little swallow. His friends

had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed

behind; then he decided to go to Egypt too.

All day long he flew,

and at night time he

arrived at the city.“Where shall I put

up?” he said. “I hope

the town has made

preparations.”

Then he saw the

statue 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

bed-room,” he said

softly to himself as he

looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but 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.”

Then another drop fell.

“What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off ?” he said.

“I must look for a good chimney pot,” and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he

looked up, and saw — Ah! What did he see?

The eyes of the Happy 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 you?” he said.

“I am the Happy Prince.”

“Why are you weeping then?” asked the swallow. “You have

quite drenched me.”

“When I was alive and had a human heart,” answered the

statue, “I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace,

where sorrow is not allowed to enter. My courtiers called me the

Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was. 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 the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my

heart is made of lead yet I cannot choose but weep.”

‘What! Is he not solid gold?’ said the swallow to himself. He

was too polite to make any personal remarks.

“Far away,” continued the statue in a low musical voice, “far

away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is

open, 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 embroidering 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. He has a fever, and is asking his mother

to give him oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river

water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you

not bring her the ruby out of my sword hilt? My feet are fastened

to this pedestal and I cannot move.”

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