笔趣屋

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第10部分（第1页）

“I　am　glad　there　is　some　one　in　the　world　who　is　quite　happy，”　muttered　a　disappointed　man　as　he　gazed　at　the　wonderful　statue。

“He　looks　just　like　an　angel，”　said　the　Charity　Children　as　they　came　out　of　the　cathedral　in　their　bright　scarlet　cloaks　and　their　clean　white　pinafores。

“How　do　you　know？”　said　the　Mathematical　Master，　“you　have　never　seen　one。”

“Ah！　but　we　have，　in　our　dreams，”　answered　the　children；　and　the　Mathematical　Master　frowned　and　looked　very　severe，　for　he　did　not　approve　of　children　dreaming。

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，　for　he　was　in　love　with　the　most　beautiful　Reed。　He　had　met　her　early　in　the　spring　as　he　was　flying　down　the　river　after　a　big　yellow　moth，　and　had　been　so　attracted　by　her　slender　waist　that　he　had　stopped　to　talk　to　her。

“Shall　I　love　you？”　said　the　Swallow，　who　liked　to　e　to　the　point　at　once，　and　the　Reed　made　him　a　low　bow。　So　he　flew　round　and　round　her，　touching　the　water　with　his　wings，　and　making　silver　ripples。　This　was　his　courtship，　and　it　lasted　all　through　the　summer。

“It　is　a　ridiculous　attachment，”　twittered　the　other　Swallows；　“she　has　no　money，　and　far　too　many　relations；”　and　indeed　the　river　was　quite　full　of　Reeds。　Then，　when　the　autumn　came　they　all　flew　away。

After　they　had　gone　he　felt　lonely，　and　began　to　tire　of　his　lady　love。　“She　has　no　conversation，”　he　said，　“and　I　am　afraid　that　she　is　a　coquette，　for　she　is　always　flirting　with　the　wind。”　And　certainly，　whenever　the　wind　blew，　the　Reed　made　the　most　graceful　curtseys。　“I　admit　that　she　is　domestic，”　he　continued，　“but　I　love　travelling，　and　my　wife，　consequently，　should　love　travelling　also。”

“Will　you　e　away　with　me？”　he　said　finally　to　her；　but　the　Reed　shook　her　head，　she　was　so　attached　to　her　home。

“You　have　been　trifling　with　me，”　he　cried。　“I　am　off　to　the　Pyramids。　Good…bye！”　and　he　flew　away。

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　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　daytime　I　played　with　my　panions　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　happiness。　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　all　the　ugliness　and　all　the　misery　of　my　city，　and　though　my　heart　is　made　of　lead　yet　I　cannot　chose　but　weep。”

“What！　is　he　not　solid　gold？”　said　the　Swallow　to　himself。　He　was　too　polite　to　make　any　personal　remarks　out　loud。

“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　passion…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　for　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。”

“I　am　waited　for　in　Egypt，”　said　the　Swallow。　“My　friends　are　flying　up　and　down　the　Nile，　and　talking　to　the　large　lotus…flowers。　Soon　they　will　go　to　sleep　in　the　tomb　of　the　great　King。　The　King　is　there　himself　in　his　painted　coffin。　He　is　wrapped　in　yellow　linen，　and　embalmed　with　spices。　Round　his　neck　is　a　chain　of　pale　green　jade，　and　his　hands　are　like　withered　leaves。”

“Swallow，　Swallow，　little　Swallow，”　said　the　Prince，　“will　you　not　stay　with　me　for　one　night，　and　be　my　messenger？　The　boy　is　so　thirsty，　and　the　mother　so　sad。”

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