"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 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 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 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 pa.s.sed 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 little better 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.
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 quarreled.
"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 G.o.d to one of His angels; and the angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.
"You have rightly chosen," said G.o.d, "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."
THE LEGEND OF KING WENCESLAUS
(A Legend of Mercy)
"Good King Wenceslaus looked out On the Feast of Saint Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep and crisp and even."
King Wenceslaus sat in his palace. He had been watching from the narrow window of the turret chamber where he was, the sunset as its glory hung for a moment in the western clouds, and then died away over the blue hills. Calm and cold was the brightness. A freezing haze came over the face of the land. The moon brightened towards the southwest and the leafless trees in the castle gardens and the quaint turret and spires of the castle itself threw clear dark shadows on the unspotted snow.
Still the king looked out upon the scene before him. The ground sloped down from the castle towards the forest. Here and there on the side of the hill a few bushes grey with moss broke the unvaried sheet of white. And as the king turned his eye in that direction a poor man came up to these bushes and pulled something from them.
"Come hither, page," called the king. One of the servants of the palace entered in answer to the king"s call. "Come, my good Otto; come stand by me. Do you see yonder poor man on the hillside? Step down to him and learn who he is and where he dwells and what he is doing.
Bring me word at once."
Otto went forth on his errand while the good king watched him go down the hill. Meanwhile, the frost grew more and more intense and an east wind blew from the black mountains. The snow became more crisp and the air more clear. In a few moments the messenger was back.
"Well, who is he?"
"Sire," said Otto, "it is Rudolph, the swineherd,--he that lives down by the Brunweis. Fire he has none, nor food, and he was gathering a few sticks where he might find them, lest, as he says, all his family perish with the cold. It is a most bitter night, Sire."
"This should have been better looked to," said the king. "A grievous fault it is that it has not been done. But it shall be amended now. Go to the ewery, Otto, and fetch some provisions of the best.
"Bring me flesh and bring me wine, Bring me pine logs. .h.i.ther; Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them hither."
"Is your Majesty going forth?" asked Otto in surprise.
"Yes, to the Brunweis, and you shall go with me. When you have everything ready meet me at the wood-stacks by the little chapel.
Come, be speedy."
"I pray you, Sire, do not venture out yourself. Let some of the men-at-arms go forth. It is a freezing wind and the place is a good league hence."
"Nevertheless, I go," said the king. "Go with me, if you will, Otto; if not, stay. I can carry the food myself."
"G.o.d forbid, Sire, that I should let you go alone. But I pray you be persuaded."
"Not in this," said King Wenceslaus. "Meet me then where I said, and not a word to any one besides."
The n.o.blemen of the court were in the palace hall, where a mighty fire went roaring up the chimney and the shadows played and danced on the steep sides of the dark roof. Gayly they laughed and lightly they talked. And as they threw fresh logs into the great chimney-place one said to another that so bitter a wind had never before been known in the land. But in the midst of that freezing night the king went forth.
"Page and Monarch forth they went, Forth they went together; Through the rude wind"s wild lament, And the bitter weather."
The king had put on no extra clothing to shelter himself from the nipping air; for he would feel with the poor that he might feel for them. On his shoulders he bore a heap of logs for the swineherd"s fire. He stepped briskly on while Otto followed with the provisions.
He had imitated his master and had gone out in his common garments. On the two trudged together, over the crisp snow, across fields, by lanes where the hedge trees were heavy with their white burden, past the pool, over the stile where the rime cl.u.s.tered thick by the wood, and on out upon the moor where the snow lay yet more unbroken and where the wind seemed to nip one"s very heart.
Still King Wenceslaus went on and still Otto followed. The king thought it but little to go forth into the frost and snow, remembering Him who came into the cold night of this world of ours; he disdained not, a king, to go to the beggar, for had not the King of King"s visited slaves? He grudged not, a king, to carry logs on his shoulders, for had not the Kings of Kings borne heavier burdens for his sake?
But at each step Otto"s courage and zeal failed. He tried to hold out with a good heart. For very shame he did not wish to do less than his master. How could he turn back, while the king held on his way? But when they came forth on the white, bleak moor, he cried out with a faint heart:
"My liege, I cannot go on. The wind freezes my very blood. Pray you, let us return."
"Seems it so much?" asked the king. "Follow me on still. Only tread in my footsteps and you will proceed more easily."
The servant knew that his master spoke not at random. He carefully looked for the footsteps of the king. He set his own feet in the print of his master"s.
"In the master"s steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the saint had printed."
And so great was the fire of love that kindled in the heart of the king that, as the servant trod in his steps, he gained life and heat.
Otto felt not the wind; he heeded not the frost; for the master"s footprints glowed as with holy fire and zealously he followed the king on his errand of mercy.