The Nightingale and the Rose

A young Student sat in the garden and wept, because the girl he loved had said she would dance with him only if he brought her red roses.“There is not one red rose in my whole garden,” he cried. “Such a little thing, and yet my happiness depends on it.”In the oak tree a little Nightingale heard him, and thought, “Here at last is a true lover.”

The Nightingale flew from rose-tree to rose-tree, asking each one for a single red rose.One had only white roses, another only yellow, and the last had been so hurt by winter that it would give no roses at all.“There is one way,” the red rose-tree whispered, “but it is so terrible that I hardly dare to tell you.”

“If you want a red rose, you must sing all night with your heart pressed against a thorn.”“The thorn must pierce your heart, and your life’s blood must flow into mine and become the colour of the rose.”“Death is a high price for a red rose,” said the Nightingale, “but Love is worth more than life.”

That night the Nightingale set her breast against the sharp thorn and began to sing.Hour by hour she sang of love, and slowly a rose grew on the tree — first pale, then pink, then deep and glowing red.As the last of her song faded, the rose was perfect, but the Nightingale lay dead in the long grass.

In the morning the Student found the rose, amazed, and hurried with it to the girl.But she turned away and said the red rose would not match her dress, and that the rich man’s nephew had sent her real jewels instead.Angry, the Student threw the rose into the road, where a cart-wheel rolled over it and crushed it.

“What a foolish thing love is,” the Student said. “It is far less useful than logic, and it never tells you anything for certain.”So he went back to his room, opened a great dusty book, and began to read.