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 there is no red rose in my garden."

From her nest in a tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves and wondered.

"No red rose in my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, happiness depends on such little things! I have read everything that the wise men have written and I know all the secrets of Science, but because I have no red rose, my life is miserable."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night I have sung about him although I did not know him: night after night I have told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is as black as night and his lips are as red as roses; but passion has made his face pale, and sadness shows on his face."

"The Prince is having a party tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be there. If I bring her a red rose she’ll dance with me till dawn. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit alone, and she will pass me by. She will pay me no attention and my heart will break."

"Here is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "What is happiness to me, is pain to him. Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than diamonds. Pearls cannot buy it; it’s not sold in the market."

"Why is he crying?" asked a little green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

"Yes, why?" said a Butterfly, who was dancing in the sunlight.

"He is crying for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" they cried. "How ridiculous!" and the little Lizard laughed aloud.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sadness and she sat silent in the tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she opened her brown wings and flew into the air. She passed like a shadow across the garden. In the centre of the grass there was a beautiful rose bush, and when she saw it she flew over to it and landed on a branch.

"Give me a red rose," she asked, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the bush shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered, "whiter than the snow on the mountains. But go to my brother who grows round the old bench, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the rose bush that was growing round the old bench.

"Give me a red rose," she asked, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the bush shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered, "as yellow as the flowers in the fields before the grass is cut. But go to my brother who grows under the Student's window and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the rose bush that was growing beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she asked, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the bush shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "But the winter has killed my flowers 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 I can get it?"

"There is a way," answered the bush, "but it is so terrible that I cannot tell you."

"Tell me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it from music by moonlight, and colour it with your own heart's blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must enter your heart and your life-blood must flow into my branches, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very important to all of us. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood and to watch the Sun and the Moon. The flowers that hide in the valley are sweet. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared with the heart of a man?"

So she opened her brown wings and flew into the air. She flew over the garden like a shadow.

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 from music by moonlight, and colour it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Science, although Science is wise, and stronger than Power, although Power is strong. Love’s wings are the colour of fire. Their lips are sweet as honey."

The Student looked up from the grass and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him because he only knew the things that are written in books.

But the tree understood, and felt sad because he loved the Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered. "I’ll feel very lonely when you are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the tree and her voice was like water running in a river.

When she had finished her song the Student got up and pulled a notebook and a pencil out of his pocket.

"She has style," he said to himself, as he walked away, "but has she got feeling? I'm afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists: she is all style, without any sincerity. She only thinks of music and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity they don’t mean anything or do any good." And he went into his room and lay down on his bed and thought of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the sky, the Nightingale flew to the rose bush, and put her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon looked down and listened. All night long she sang and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood flowed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top of the rose bush there grew a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. It was pale, at first, like the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn.

But the bush cried to the Nightingale to push closer against the thorn. "Push closer, little Nightingale," cried the bush, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pushed closer against the thorn, and her song grew louder and louder because she sang about the birth of passion in a man and a girl.

And a light pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the colour of the face of the bridegroom when he marries the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained light pink, for only a Nightingale's heart's blood can make the heart of a rose deep, deep red.

And the bush cried to the Nightingale to push closer against the thorn. "Push closer, little Nightingale," cried the bush, "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 terrible pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain and her song became wilder and wilder because she sang of the Love that does not die in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became dark, dark red, like the rose of the eastern sky.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings slowed and water filled her eyes. Her song grew fainter and fainter.

Then she gave one last song, full of all the music she had ever learnt. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and stayed in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with pleasure, and opened its petals to the cold morning air.

"Look, look!" cried the bush, "the rose is finished now". But the Nightingale made no answer because she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at lunchtime the Student opened his window and looked out.

"What a wonderful piece of luck!" he shouted. "Here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life." Then he put on his hat and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway and her little dog was 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 the whole world. You’ll wear it tonight next to your heart and, as we dance together, it will tell you how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I'm afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered, "and, anyway, the prince's nephew has sent me some real diamonds and everybody knows that diamonds cost far more than flowers."

"Well, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily and he threw the rose into the street and a boy ran over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude and, after all, who are you? Only a Student"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What a stupid thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It’s not half as useful as Science because it does not prove anything and it’s always saying things that are not going to happen, and making us believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite impractical and in this age to be practical is everything, and so I’ll go back and study Science."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a very long and old book and began to read.