Short Stories
“I have a golden bedroom,” 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. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful.
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 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
of Sans-Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the day-
time I played with my companions in the garden, and in the
evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran
a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it,
everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me
the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be
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