Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Narration: The Nightingale and the Rose

Oscar Wilde: The Nightingale and the Rose

-He said she would dance with me if I wore a red rose, the young student complained, 'but there is not a single red rose in my entire garden.
From him nest in the holm he heard the nightingale. He looked through the leaves amazed.
- There is not a red rose in all my garden! Cried the student.
And his beautiful eyes filled with tears.
- Ah, what most insignificant thing happiness depends! I read scholars have written as I possess all the secrets of philosophy and find my life destroyed for lack of a red rose.

'Here, at last, the true lover,' said the Nightingale. I've sung every night, even without knowing it, every night I tell his story to the stars, and now I see. His hair is dark as the hyacinth flower and lips red as the rose you want, but the passion has gone pale as ivory and pain has sealed his front.
The Prince gives a dance tomorrow night murmured the young student, and my beloved will attend the party. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall in my arms, will rest her head on my shoulder and her hand will narrow mine. But there is no red rose in my garden. Therefore, I have to be alone and she  do not do any case.
No notice me at all and my heart shatter.

-Here is the true lover, 'said the Nightingale. Suffer all that I sing all that is joy to me is worth it to him. Really love is a wonderful thing is more beautiful than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and rubies because he cannot afford is not exposed in the market. One cannot buy the seller or put it on a scale to acquire their weight in gold.

-The musicians will sit in their gallery, 'said the young student. They will play their stringed instruments, and my beloved dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. Vaporously dance as your feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will surround solicitous, but not dance with me because I have no red rose to give her.
And sinking into the grass covered his face with his hands and wept.

- Why are you crying? Asked the green lizard, running close to him, with its tail raised.
-Yes, why? -Said a butterfly fluttering chasing a sunbeam.
'That I say, why? -Whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, with a faint little voice.
-Weeping for a red rose.
- For a red rose? What nonsense!
And the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed with all his might.
But the nightingale, who understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, sat silent in the oak, reflecting on the mystery of love.

Suddenly spread its dark wings and took flight.
He went through the woods like a shadow, and like a shadow across the lawn.
In the center of the field stood a beautiful rose, and seeing him, flew to him and perched on a twig.

-Give me a red rose shouted - and I will sing you my sweetest song.
But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are white, he replied, white as sea foam, whiter than Snow Mountain.
But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree that was growing up around the old sundial.
-Give me a red rose shouted - and I will sing you my sweetest song.

But the Tree shook its head.
'My roses are yellow,' he said, as yellow as the hair of mermaids sitting on a tree trunk, yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with the sickle. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.
-Give me a red rose, I cried, and I will sing you my sweetest song.
But the bush shook his head.

-My roses are red, 'he said, as red as the feet of pigeons, redder than the great fans of coral that the ocean rocks in its depths, but the winter has chilled my veins, frost has withered my buttons, the hurricane has broken my branches, and I will have no roses this year.

-All I need is a red rose cried the Nightingale, a single red rose. Is there no way for me to get?
'There's half the Rosebush said, but it is so terrible that I dare not tell you.
'Tell me,' said the Nightingale. I'm not afraid.

-If you need a red rose said - you have to make it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with blood of your own heart. Sing to me with his chest resting on my thorns. Sing to me all night and the thorns will pass through the heart of your life blood must flow into my veins and  your blood will become mine.

'Death is a great price for a red rose,' said the Nightingale, and everybody loves life. It is pleasant to sit in the verdant forest and look at the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Tender is the aroma of the noble thorns. Sweet are the bluebells that hides in the valley and heather covering the h ill. However, love is better than life. And what is the heart of a bird compared to a man?

So he spread her wings and flew dark. He went through the garden like a shadow and like a shadow crossed the forest.
The young student was still lying on the grass where the nightingale left him and tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

-Be happy-cried not the Nightingale said, be happy, because you will have your red rose.
 The notes will create music with moonlight and reddish   with the blood of my own heart.
All I ask in return is that you have to be e a true lover, for Love is wiser than philosophy, though it is wise, more powerful than any  the power, however strong it is. Their wings are the color of fire and flame colored body, her lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.

The student looked up from the grass, and listened, but could not understand what the Nightingale was saying, because he  only knew the things that are written in the books.

But the oak got it and was sad, for he loved much to Nightingale who had built her nest in its branches.

-Sing to me the last song he murmured. I'll be so sad when you leave!
So the Nightingale sang to the oak, and his voice was like water in a fountain laughing Argentina.

After the song the Student got up, while drawing his notebook and pencil.

"The nightingale was said pacing the mall-the nightingale has an undeniable beauty, but do you feel?  'Afraid not. After all, is like many artists: style, devoid of sincerity. No sacrifices for others. He thinks only in music and art, as everyone knows, is selfish. Certainly no denying that his throat has beautiful notes. What a pity that none of this makes any sense, it does not pursue any purpose practical! "

And back to his room, lay down on his armchair and began to think of her beloved.
After a while he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the rose and placed her breast against the thorn.
And all night long he sang with his chest resting on thorns, and the cold crystal moon stopped and listened all night.
He hang all night, and thorns increasingly penetrated his chest, and the blood of his life flowed from his chest.
At first sang the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl, and on the highest branch of the rose blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, song after song.
First was pale as the mist that hangs over the river, pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn.
The rose that blossomed on the topmost branch of the rose seemed shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, the shade of pink in a lake.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
-Press closer, little Nightingale, he e would say, or the day before the rose is finished.
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder flowed his song, she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a virgin.

And a delicate flush appeared on the petals of the rose, like reddened face of a lover's lips kissing his bride.
But the thorn had not yet reached the heart of the nightingale, so the rose's heart remained white: because only the blood of a nightingale can color the heart of a rose.
And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn.
-Press closer, little Nightingale, she would say, or the day before the rose is finished.
So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and he felt inside a cruel torment of pain.
Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by death, the love that does not end in the grave.

And the marvelous rose blushed like roses of Bengal. Purple was the color of the petals and purple as a ruby ​​was the heart.
But the Nightingale's voice faltered. Their short wings began to beat and a cloud spread over his eyes.
Her singing was growing weaker. He felt something choking her in her throat.
Then his singing had a last flash. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn is still in the sky.

The red rose heard him, trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold air of dawn.
Echo led him to her purple cavern in the hills, awakening from their dreams asleep herds.
The song floated through the reeds of the river, which took their message to the sea.

-Look, look he cried the rose-the rose is finished.
But the Nightingale made no reply, lay dead in the long grass, his heart pierced with thorns.

At noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
- What a strange good luck! He exclaimed. Here is a red rose! I have not seen any rose like it in life. It is so beautiful that I am sure you must be very convoluted Latin name.
Stooped, picked it up.

Immediately put on his hat and ran to the teacher's home, carrying in his hand the rose.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway. Racked blue silk on a reel, with a dog lying at her feet.

You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose, the student said. Here is the reddest rose in the world. Tonight attach close to your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how much I love you.

But the girl frowned.
I'm afraid that this rose does not harmonize well with my dress replied. In addition, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me several jewels of truth, and everyone knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.

- Oh, how ungrateful you are! The student said in anger.
And he threw the rose into the stream. A heavy cart was crushed.

- Ungrateful! Said the girl. I'll tell you that you act like a rude, and after all, what are you?
A simple student. Bah! Do not think you can ever have silver buckles on the shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew.

And rising from his chair, went into his house.

"What nonsense is love, 'said the student is returning. Not even half as useful as logic, because you cannot prove anything; talks of things that will not happen and makes people believe things that not true. Really is not practical, and as today everything is to be practical, I will return to the philosophy and the study of metaphysics. "
And with that, the student, once in her room, opened a large dusty book and began to read.

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