- He said he will dance with me if I'll bring red roses - complained the young student - but in all my garden there is a single red rose.
From his nest in the oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and looked through the leaves, and wondered:
- I do not have a red rose in all my garden! - Complained about the student, and her beautiful eyes were full of tears.
- Ah, what nonsense from happiness depend! I read the writings of all the scholars, I know all the secrets of philosophy, however, the lack of a red rose upsets my life!
- Here at last was truly in love - said the Nightingale. - Night after night I sung to him, although I knew him not: night after night I fabled his story to the stars, and now I see. His hair is dark as the hyacinth curls, and her lips are red as the rose of his desire, the pain made his face like pale ivory, and the pain has placed his seal on the forehead.
- The Prince by a dance tomorrow night - hissed the young student - and my love will go there. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I will keep my arms and she bend her head on my shoulder and my hand clasp his. But there is a red rose in all my garden, so I'll sit alone, and she will pass in front of me without stopping. Will have no care of me. And my heart will be broken.
- is certainly a true love - said the Nightingale. - What I sing, he suffers, what for me is joy for him is worth it. Love really is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds and beautiful skies. Pearls and garnets can not buy it, and is not for sale on the marketplace. Merchants can not buy, nor weigh the scales of gold. []
- The musicians will sit in the gallery - he uttered the young student - and play their instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of and the violin. Dance so lightly that her feet will not touch around. But not dance with me, because I have to offer her a red rose and fell on the grass, closed his face in his hands and wept.
- Why are you crying? - Asked the Butterfly, that caper chasing here and there a ray of sunshine.
- Yeah, why? - Whispered a Daisy to his neighbor, his voice soft and tender.
- weeping for a red rose - "said the Nightingale.
- For a red rose! - Exclaimed ones. - How ridiculous! - And the green lizard, which was a bit 'contempt, laughed heartily.
But the Nightingale understood the Student secret pain, and remained silent on the oak, to think the mystery of . Suddenly stretched its dark wings and flew, hovered in the air. Passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow fluttered on the garden. At the center of the flower a beautiful grassy Rising Rose ', and as soon as he saw the Nightingale flew over him and landed on a branch.
- Give me a red rose - begged - and I will sing you my sweetest song.
But the Tree shook his head.
- My roses are white - said - how he wants the white foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow on the mountain. But go to my brother who grows near the ancient sundial, and perhaps will give you what you want.
So the Nightingale flew to the Rosary that sprouted next to the old sundial.
- Give me a red rose - begged - and I will sing you my sweetest song. But Rosario
shook his head.
- My roses are yellow - he claimed - yellow as the hair of the mermaid that sits on a throne of amber , and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother that grows under the window of the Student, and perhaps will give you what you want. So the Nightingale flew
Rosario on growing under the window of the Student.
- Give me a red rose - begged - and I will sing you my sweetest song. But Rosario
shook his head.
- My roses are red - he answered - as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral swaying in the caves of the ocean. But winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has torn my buds, and Hurricane has broken my branches, and shall have no roses this year.
- A single red rose is all I ask! - Cried the Nightingale. - Is there really no way to get it?
- One way is - said the rosary - but it is terrible that I dare not tell you.
- Tell me - cried the Nightingale - I'm not afraid.
- If you want a red rose - "said the rose - you are forced to form with the music in the moonlight, and stained with the blood of your heart. You must sing to me with his chest against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart and your blood has to live down in my veins and become mine.
- Death is a high price to pay for a red rose - the Nightingale complained - and life is so dear to all. It is sweet tarry in the forest green, and enjoy the sun in the golden chariot, and the luna nel suo cocchio d’argento. Dolce è il profumo della vitalba, e dolci le campanule azzurre che si celano nella valle, e l’erica che fiorisce sul colle. Ma l’Amore è più prezioso della Vita, e cos’è mai il cuore di un uccellino equiparato al cuore di un uomo?
Così piegò le ali brune nel volo, e si librò nell’aria. Passò attraverso il giardino come un’ombra, e come un’ombra volò sopra il boschetto. Lo Studente era ancora steso nell’erba, là dove lo aveva lasciato, e il pianto non s’era ancora rasciugato dai suoi occhi.
- Sii felice – gli urlò l’Usignolo. – Sii felice! Avrai la tua red rose! I will form with the music in the moonlight, and will color the blood of my heart. All that I ask in return is to be truly in love because love is the most judicious of Philosophy, for when it is wise, and the most authoritative of Power, for when it is powerful. Are the flame-colored wings, the color of flame is his body. Her lips are sweet as honey, and is similar to incense his breath.
The Student looked up from the grass and began to listen, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying, after only understand words that are written in books. But the oak head, and grieved, poiché voleva bene al piccolo Usignolo che si era costruito il nido fra i suoi rami.
- Cantami un’ultima canzone – gli bisbigliò. – Mi sentirò molto sola quando te ne sarai andata.
Così l’Usignolo cantò per la Quercia, e la voce era come l’acqua che si sparge gorgogliante da un’anfora d’argento. Finita che fu la canzone, lo Studente s’alzò, e trasse di tasca un taccuino e una matita.
- Questa creatura ha stile. Disse a se stesso – è un fatto che non si può contestare, ma avrà inoltre sentimenti? Ho timore di no. In verità, è come la maggior parte degli artisti, tutta forma, nessuna lealtà. Non si offrirebbe in sacrificio per gli altri. Pensa solamente alla musica, e tutti sanno che l’arte è egoista. Bisogna in ogni modo ammettere che ha note incantevoli nella sua voce. Peccato che non significano nulla, e non abbiamo alcuna utilità pratica. E andò in camera, e si stese sul suo piccolo letto, e cominciò nuovamente a pensare alla sua amata, e dopo un po’ di tempo, s’addormentò. E quando la Luna spiccò nei cieli l’Usignolo volò dal Rosaio, e pose il suo petto contro la spina. Tutta la notte cantò col petto contro la spina, e la fredda Luna di cristallo si chinò ad udirlo. Tutta la notte cantò, e la spina si spingeva sempre più profonda nel suo petto, e il suo sangue vitale fluiva da lui. Prima cantò dell’amore che germoglia nel cuore di un fanciullo e di una fanciulla. E sul ramo più alto del Rosaio fiorì una rosa magnifica, petalo dopo petalo come nota dopo nota. Pallida era in un primo momento, come la nebbia sospesa sul fiume, pallida come le orme del mattino, e argentea come le ali dell’alba. Come l’ombra di una rosa in uno specchio rosa che fioriva sul ramo più alto del Rosaio. Ma il Rosaio urlava all’Usignolo di premere più forte sulla spina.
- Premi più forte, piccolo Usignolo – urlava il Rosario – o il Giorno spunterà prima che la rosa sia completata.
Così l’Usignolo premette più forte sulla spina, e più forte si fece il suo canto, beings come into the world singing the passion in the soul of a man and a woman. A pale pink streak spread in the petals of the flower, similar to the redness that spreads on the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not reached the heart of the bird, the rose and the heart remained white, for only the blood of the heart of a Nightingale can invermigliato the heart of a rose. And the screaming Rosario Nightingale to press closer to the plug.
- Press closer, little Nightingale, or the day will dawn before the rose is finished. So the Nightingale pressed closer
strong on the spine, and the thorn touched her heart, and a violent spasm of pain hit him. More and more distressing was the pain, and more and more savage it was singing, because now he sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, and Love that dies not in the grave. And the beautiful rose became crimson, like the rose of the sky of the East. Vermilion band around the corolla of petals, and crimson as a ruby \u200b\u200bwas his heart. But Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a veil down her eyes. More and more it made her weak hand, and something in his throat choked him as a crying fit. Then let out one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and forgot the dawn, and hesitated in the sky. The red rose heard it, and trembles all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. The echo and repeated in her purple cavern in the hills, and woke up sleeping shepherds from their dreams. Wavered between the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
- Look! Look! - Shouted the rosary - the rose is perfect now!
But the Nightingale made no answer, because he was lying dead in the tall grass, with the thorn in my heart. At noon the Student opened his window and looked out.
- What amazing luck! - Said with emphasis. - A red rose! I've never seen a rose like this in my entire life. It's so beautiful that no doubt will have a long Latin name - leaned over and plucked it.
Then he put on his hat, and ran to the house of the Professor with the rose in his hand. The daughter of the Professor was sitting on the porch, curled up in blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at the foot.
- You promised to dance with me if I had brought a red rose - the student screamed - this is the reddest rose in all over the world. The evening will bring the heart and dance together and when you declare love you.
But the girl frowned.
- I am afraid that is not adapted to my dress - he answered - and then, Chamberlain's nephew has sent me a gift of real jewels, and everybody knows that jewelry worth more than flowers.
- In faith, you are really ungrateful! - Said the student in a rage, and threw the rose down the road, and it fell to a trickle, and the wheel of a wagon ran over there.
- I Ungrateful? - Repeated the girl. - Well, you know what you are? A great screanzato, after all, neither more nor less than a student. And I do not believe that you have the silver buckles on his shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew.
It rose from his chair and went inside.
- What folly is Love! - Said the student walked away. - It's no use even half of the Logic, because it does not express anything, always promising things that do not materialize and to believe in things that are not true. In fact, it is not at all practical, and as long as we live in is all the convenience, I will return to Philosophy and study Metaphysics. So
closed in his room, took him from the shelf a dusty old book and began reading.
Oscar Wilde
