Part 28 (1/2)

”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.”