The Nightingale And The Rose

The Nightingale And The Rose

By Oscar Wilde

“ 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!” and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student’s 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.

ادامه نوشته

Oscar Wilde

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born October 16, 1854 in Dublin, Ireland. Both of his parents were writers, and from an early age, Wilde was exposed to brilliant literary thinkers. Wilde's mother composed revolutionary Irish poetry and published under the name Speranza. Wilde's father, Sir William Wilde, published more than a dozen books on archaeology and Irish folklore, in addition to his career as an eminent ear and eye surgeon.

Wilde published his first book entitled Poems in 1881. The next year, he embarked on a successful lecture tour in the United States. While in the United States, Wilde saw the first play he had written, Vera, or the Nihilists (1882), performed in New York City. Wilde returned to Great Britain in 1883 and settled in London. In 1884, he married a wealthy Irish woman named Constance Lloyd. They had two sons, Cyril and Vyvyan, after which Wilde devoted all of his time to writing.

For two years, Wilde edited Woman's World and worked as a reviewer for the Pall Mall Gazette. In addition, he published a book of fairy tales entitled The Happy Prince and Other Tales (1888). Wilde's most successful and prolific period began in the 1890s. His only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray was published in 1891. Some considered the book immoral, but others called it brilliant. In 1892, Wilde published two additional books of fairy tales entitled Lord Arthur Savile's Crime, and Other Stories and A House of Pomegranates.

During the 1890s, Wilde also became known as one of London's most prominent playwrights for his society comedies. His first success was Lady Windermere's Fan (1892), followed by A Woman of No Importance (1893), An Ideal Husband (1895), and The Importance of Being Earnest (1895). Another play, SalomÌ (1893) was banned in London but later translated and produced in Paris.

In 1895, at the height of his career, Wilde was accused by the Marquess of Queensberry of being a sodomite based on his relationship with the Marquess' son Lord Alfred Douglas. In turn, Wilde sued Queensberry for libel. Wilde lost his suit and was prosecuted by the government for indecent acts. He was found guilty and sentenced to two years at hard labor. During his incarceration, Wilde wrote an extensive letter to Douglas, which was later edited and published as De Profundis (1905). He also based The Ballad of Reading Gaol (1898) on his experience in prison.

Wilde was released from prison in May, 1897. He was bankrupt, with few future prospects. He moved to Paris but was unable to revive his literary career. Wilde died suddenly on November 30, 1900 of an acute brain inflammation. A complete edition of his literary works and critical writings were published in 1908.