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.
