American prose literature; English prose literature; Narration (Rhetoric)
“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “far away across
the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk
covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of
withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red
as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to
finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to
write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made
him faint.”
“I will wait with you one night longer,” said the Swallow, who really
had a good heart. “Shall I take him another ruby?”
“Alas! I have no ruby now,” said the Prince; “my eyes are all that I
have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out
of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to
him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and
finish his play.”
“Dear Prince,” said the Swallow, “I cannot do that”; and he began to
weep.
“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “do as I command
you.”
So the Swallow plucked out the Prince’s eye, and flew away to the
student’s garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole
in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The
young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the
flutter of the bird’s wings, and when he looked up he found the
beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.
“I am beginning to be appreciated,” he cried; “this is from some
great admirer. Now I can finish my play,” and he looked quite happy.
The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast
of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of
the hold with ropes. “Heave a-hoy!” they shouted as each chest came
up. “I am going to Egypt,” cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and
when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.
“I am come to bid you good-bye,” he cried.
“Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,” said the Prince, “will you not
stay with me one night longer?”
“It is winter,” answered the Swallow, “and the chill snow will soon
be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the
crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions
are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white
doves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I
must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will
bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given
away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire
shall be as blue as the great sea.”
“In the square below,” said the Happy Prince, “there stands a little
match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are
all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some
money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her
little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and
her father will not beat her.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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