Chapter 3 nightingale and rose

nightingale and rose "She said she would dance with me if I gave her some red roses," exclaimed a young student. "But I don't have a single red rose in my garden." These words were heard by the Nightingale in her nest in the holm oak, and she poked her head out from among the green leaves and looked about. "I can't find red roses anywhere in my garden," he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ugh, Does happiness depend on such small things!I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the mysteries of knowledge are contained in

In my head, yet for want of one red rose I live a miserable life. " "Here is a true lover at last," said Nightingale to herself, "though I don't know him, but I will see him every night and every day." I will sing to him night after night, and I will tell his story to the stars night after night.Now I finally see him, his hair Black as a hyacinth, his lips were as red as a rose he would have liked; but the torments of emotion made him pale as Teeth, traces of sadness also climbed up his brow. " "The prince is having a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young student to himself, "and the one I love is going. If I

Give her a red rose, and she'll dance with me till dawn; if I give her a red rose, I can wrap my arms around her waist, and she'll She will rest her head on my shoulder, and her hand will be in mine.But there are no red roses in my garden, so I can only Sitting there alone, watching her pass by.She won't notice me and my heart will break. " "This is indeed a true lover," said the Nightingale, "for it is he who suffers that I sing about, and I What was joy was pain to him.Love is a wonderful thing, it is more precious than emeralds, more precious than opals

Even more strange.It cannot be exchanged for pearls or pomegranates, it cannot be bought in the market, it cannot be bought from merchants, let alone yellow Kim came and weighed it. " "Musicians will sit in their halls," said the young student, "and play their stringed instruments. My beloved There will be dancing to the music of harps and violins.She danced with such ease and joy that her heels didn't even seem to touch the floor.That She was surrounded by courtiers in splendid attire.But she just won't dance with me 'cause I don't have any red roses

Dedicated to her. ’ So he threw himself on the grass, covered his face with his hands and burst into tears. "Why is he crying?" asked a small green lizard as it ran past him with its tail raised high. "Yes, but why?" said a Butterfly, who was dancing after a ray of sunshine. "Yes, why on earth?" a daisy whispered to her neighbor in a low voice. "He wept for a red rose," the Nightingale told them all. "For a red rose?" they cried. "That's funny!" said the little lizard, who was a sarcastic Man, couldn't help laughing.

But only Nightingale understood the reason for the student's sadness. She sat silently on the oak tree, imagining the mystery of love. Suddenly she spread her brown wings and flew into the air.She flew through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow It seemed to fly over the garden. In the middle of a meadow grew a beautiful rose tree, and when she saw it she flew towards it and landed on a small tree. on the branch. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the tree shook his head. "My rose is white," it answered, "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the accumulations on the hilltops."

Snow.But you can go to my brother who grows by the ancient sundial, maybe he can meet your needs. " So the nightingale flew to the rose tree that grew by the old sundial. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the tree shook his head. "My rose is yellow," it answered, "as yellow as the hair of a mermaid sitting on an amber throne, as yellow as Over the daffodils that bloomed in the meadow before the mower with the scythe came.But you can go to my brother who grows under the student window Brother, maybe he can meet your needs. "

So the night apartment flew towards the rose tree growing under the student's window. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the tree shook his head. "My roses are red," he answered, "as red as a dove's feet, redder than fluttering in sea-caves coral fan.But winter has frozen my veins, frost and snow have crushed my buds, storms have broken me foliage, I won't have roses this year. " "I want only one rose," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way I can get it? "

"There is a way," replied the tree, "but it is too dreadful for me to tell you." "Tell me," said Nightingale, "I am not afraid." "If you want a red rose," said the tree, "you must make it with music by the light of the moon, and with The blood of your breast to stain it red.You must sing with your chest against one of my thorns.you gotta sing me a whole song Night, that thorn must penetrate your chest, and your blood must flow into my veins and become mine. " "Exchanging death for a rose is a very high price," cried Nightingale. "Life is dear to everyone."

very precious.It is a pleasure to sit in a green tree and watch the sun drive her golden chariot and the moon her pearl chariot matter.The hawthorn gave off a scent, as did the bluebells hiding in the valleys and the heather blooming on the hills.However love Love is better than life, and how can a bird's heart be better than a human's? " So she spread her brown wings and flew into the sky.She flew across the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow Through the woods. The young student was still lying on the grass, just as she had left him, with tears in his beautiful eyes.

"Be merry," cried the Nightingale, "be merry, for you are about to have your red rose. I made it with music, and gave it red with the blood of my breast.The only thing I ask of you in return is you Be a true lover, for though philosophy is wise, love is wiser than she, and though power is great, Love is greater than him.The flames reddened the wings of love, making his body as red as the flames.his lips are like honey sweet; his breath is as fragrant as frankincense. " The student looked up from the grass and listened, but he did not understand what the nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew The things that are written in the books. But Oak knew in his heart, and he felt very sorry, for he loved Little Night so much that it nested in its own branch. warbler. "Sing me one last song," he said softly, "I'll be so lonely when you're gone." So the nightingale sang to the oak, and her voice was like water boiling in a silver pot. As soon as her singing stopped, the student stood up from the grass and took a notebook and a pencil from his pocket. "She looks so pretty," he said to himself, and walked away through the grove—"it cannot be denied; But does she have emotions?I don't think she has.In fact, like most artists, she is concerned only with form, without any How sincere.She will not make sacrifices for others.All she thought about was music, and everyone knows art is selfish.But I can't Not to admit that her singing voice is also somewhat beautiful.It's just a pity they don't make any sense and aren't of any real good place. "He went into the house, lay on his humble little bed, thought of his beloved, and entered the room after a while. Dreamland. When the moon was high in the sky, the nightingale flew to the rose tree, and pressed her breast against the thorn.she uses her chest Singing all night with the thorns on, even the bright moon, as cold as crystal, bent down to listen.All night long she sang, piercing The puncture on her chest became deeper and deeper, and the blood on her body was about to flow out. She began to sing of the love that sprouted in the hearts of boys and girls.On the highest branch of the rose tree blooms an unusual rose Rose, the song sang one after another, and the petals opened up one by one.At first, the flowers were milky white, like hanging on the river The smog -- as white as the morning shoes, as white as the dawn's wings.The rose that bloomed on the highest branch, Like the shadow of a rose in a silver mirror, in a pool. But then the Tree cried out to the Nightingale to push the thorn closer. "Hold tight, little Nightingale," cried the tree, "or Rose The rose is not yet finished, and it will be dawn. " So the Nightingale pressed the thorn tighter, and her song became louder and louder, for she sang about the love between a grown man and a woman. Born of passion. A faint blush crept up the rose petals, like the blush on the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the bride.But the thorn It has not yet reached the nightingale's heart, so the rose's heart is still white, because only the blood in the nightingale's heart can dye the rose red Playboy. Then the Tree called out to the Nightingale to press on tighter, "Tighter, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or else, Rose It's not finished yet and it's dawn. " So Nightingale pressed the rose thorn tighter, piercing her heart, and a sharp pain hit her whole body. body.The pain grew worse, and the song more violent, for she sang of the love consummated by death, In immortal love. In the end, this extraordinary rose turned deep red, just like the red glow of the eastern sky. The outer ring of the petals is deep red, and the flower The heart is redder like a ruby. However, Nightingale's singing became weaker and weaker, her pair of small wings began to flap, and a film of fog climbed onto her wings. head.Her singing became weaker, and she felt something clog her throat. Then she sang the last song.Listening to the singing, Mingyue even forgot the dawn and just wandered in the sky.Red rose Hearing the singing, I was even more ecstatic, and opened all the petals to meet the cool morning breeze.The echo brings the song back to its own mountain In the purple cave, wake up the sleeping shepherd boy from his dreamland.The song floated over the reeds in the river, and the reeds carried the sound to the sea. "Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is ready." But the Nightingale did not answer, for she was already lying down. Died in the long grass with the thorn in his heart. At noon, the students opened the windows and looked out. "Oh, what luck!" he cried, "and here is a red rose! I never had such a rose in my life." have seen.It's so beautiful, and dare I say it has a long Latin name. ’ He leaned down and plucked it off. Immediately he put on his hat, picked up the rose, and ran towards the professor's house. The professor's daughter was sitting in the doorway, spinning blue silk on the spinning wheel, and her little dog lay at her feet. "You said you would dance with me if I gave you a red rose," said the student loudly. One red rose.You wear it on your chest tonight and when we dance together it'll tell you how much I am love you. " However, the girl frowned. "I'm afraid it won't match my dress," she replied, "and besides, the nephew of the court minister has given me some Precious jewelry, everyone knows that jewelry is worth more than flowers. " "Oh, I'm going to say, you're an ungrateful person," said the student angrily.Throw the rose on the street at once, Mei Rose fell into the gutter and a carriage ran over it. "Ingratitude!" said the maiden. "I tell you, you are very rude; besides, what are you? Just a student. Ah, I dare say you don't have silver buckles on your shoes like the court minister's nephew. "After she finished speaking, she stood up from her chair and walked towards the house. walk in. "How stupid is love!" said the student as they walked along, "it is not half as valid as logic, because it proves everything It can't be understood, but it always tells people something that won't happen, and makes people believe something that is not true.to be honest, It was not practical at all, in those days, everything had to be practical.I want to go back to philosophy and learn metaphysics oo. " So he went back to his room, took out his big, dusty book, and began to read. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE "She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose." From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered. "No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched." "Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and Sorrow has set her seal upon his brow." "The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break." "Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold." "The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept. "Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air. "Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. "Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice. "He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale. "For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright. But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Students sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love. Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden. In the center of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head. "My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want." So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head. "My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Students window, and perhaps he will give you what you want." So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Students window. "Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head. "My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year." "One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?" "There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you." "Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid." "If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own hearts-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine." "Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?" So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove. The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes. "Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own hearts-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame- Colored are his wings, and colored like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense." The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books. But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches. "Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone." So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket. "She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep. And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her. She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvelous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree. But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished." So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and Louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid. And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the roses heart remained white, for only a Nightingales hearts-blood can crimson the heart of a rose. And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished." So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb. And the marvelous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart. But the Nightingales voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fanter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat. Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea. "Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now"; Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart. And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out. "Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it. Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professors house with the rose in his hand. The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet. "You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance Together it will tell you how I love you." But the girl frowned. "I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlains nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers." "Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it. "Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I dont believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlains nephew has"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house. "What I a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is Everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics." So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.