You are the april day of the world

Translation of Chapter 25
nightingale and rose

——Osk Wilde Myth

"She said that if I picked a red rose for her, she would dance with me," cried the young student, "but there was never a red rose in all my garden."

The nightingale heard it from her nest in the oak tree, and looked out through the leaves, amazed.

The young man cried: "There are no red roses in my garden!" His eyes were full of tears. "Ah! Happiness depends on these little things! I have finished reading the books of ancient sages and sages, and I have thoroughly understood the mysteries of philosophy, but because I can't ask for a red rose, my life is so embarrassing."

Nightingale sighed: "The true lover is here. Although I didn't know him before, I sang him every night: I told the stars every night about him, and now I see him. His hair is as black as Hyacinth blossoms, redder lips than roses he longed for, But enthusiasm haggles his countenance, and troubles mark his brows."

The young man whispered to himself again: "The prince dances at the banquet tonight, and my lover will also attend. If I pick red roses for her, she will dance with me until dawn. If I pick red roses for her, I will take She is in my arms, her head is resting on my shoulder, and her hand is in my palm. But there are no red roses in my garden, so I can only sit lonely and watch her walk by me , she ignored me, and my heart was about to break."

"This is really a true lover." Nightingale said again, "What I sing is the pain he experienced: to me it is joy, but to him it is sorrow. 'Love' is indeed an extraordinary thing. It is more precious than emeralds. Precious, more precious than agate. Pearls and garnets cannot buy him, nor gold can be his price, for he is not sold in the market, nor is it sold by merchants."

The young man said: "Musicians will play silk and bamboo on the music scene, and my lover will also dance to the syllables of the stringed qin. She dances so gracefully that her lotus steps don't even touch the ground, and young people in beautiful clothes will surround her enviously." She. But she will not dance with me, because I have not gathered red roses for her." Then he lay down in the grass, and wept with his face in his hands.

The little green gecko said, "Why is he crying?" Then he ran past him with his tail up.

Butterflies were chasing the sun, and she asked, "Oh, what?" Marigold whispered to his neighbor, "Oh, what?" Nightingale said, "He wept for a red rose." .”

They cried, "For a red rose! What a joke!" The little gecko, who was mean, laughed.

However, Nightingale understands the secret of the youth's troubles, and she sits quietly on the oak branch and fantasizes about the mysteries of "love".

Suddenly she spread her brown wings and flew towards the sky.Like a shadow she passed through the wood, and like a shadow she flew out of the garden.

A beautiful rose tree stood in the middle of the meadow, and she saw it, flew forward and landed on a branch.

She cried, "Give me a bright red rose, and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the tree shook its head.

"My rose is white," the tree answered her. "As white as the foam of the sea, whiter than the snow on the mountains. Please go to my brother by the sundial, or he may answer your request."

So the nightingale flew to the rose bush beside the sundial.

She cried again: "Give me a bright red rose, and I will sing you the most enchanting song."

But the tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," the tree answered her, "yellow as the hair of the Mermaid God on the Amber Seat, and yellower than the golden daffodils before the Mowers cut them. Please find my brother under the window of the youth, or he Can do what you ask for."

So the nightingale flew to the rose bush under the young man's window.

Still she cried, "Give me a bright red rose, and I will sing the sweetest song for you."

But the tree shook its head.

The tree answered her, "My roses are red, as red as the dove's toes, as red as the bottom of the sea, and the fluttering coral beneath the rocks. But winter has frozen my veins, and frost has gnawed my buds, The storm has broken off my branches, and I can't grow them this year."

"One red rose is enough," said the Nightingale. "Just one red rose! Is there anything I can do?"

The tree replied: "There is a way, only one, but it is too terrible, I dare not tell you."

"Tell me." Nightingale said bravely, "I'm not afraid."

The tree said: "If you want a red rose, you must make it with music in the moonlight, and then dye it with your own blood. You must sing for me with a thorn on your breast. You must Sing to me all night long, that thorn will pierce your heart, and your life-blood will flow into mine and become mine."

Nightingale sighed: "It's not a small price to buy a red rose with death. Whose life is not precious, sitting in the green forest and watching the sun in the golden car, and the moon maiden galloping in the white beaded chariot. What a pleasure. The smell of camellias is so sweet, the bellflowers in the valley and the weeds on the hillsides are beautiful. But love is more precious than life, how can a bird's heart compare with a human's?"

So she spread her brown wings and flew into the sky.She passed the garden like a shadow, like a shadow she swung out of the woods.

The young man was still lying on the grass just where she was away from him, and there were no tears in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy, be happy," cried the Nightingale; you are about to gather your red rose. I will make her out of the songs of the moon, and stain her red with my own blood. The reward I ask of you , just want you to be a sincere lover, because although philosophy is wise, love is wiser than her; although power is powerful, love is greater than her. The color of flames is the wings of love, and the color of fire is the torso of love. She has lips like honey, and Ruolan's breath."

The young man looked up from the grass and listened quietly, but he did not understand what the nightingale said to him, for he only knew everything that was said in the book.

The oak tree understood, and he felt sad, because he loved the little nightingale that nested on its branch very much.

He said softly: "Sing me the last song, after you don't go, I will feel infinitely lonely."

So the nightingale sang for the oak.Her love tones are as clear and joyful as water waves overflowing in a silver vase.

When she finished singing, the young man stood up and took out a diary and a pen from his pocket.

As he walked out of the woods, he said to himself: "That nightingale is indeed a bit unruly.

This is undeniable; but does she have feelings?I'm afraid not.In fact, like many artists, she is full of rituals and has no sincerity.She will not be sacrificed for man.All she thought of was music, but who doesn't know that art is for oneself.Although, we always have to admit that she has an intoxicating singing voice.It's a pity that the singing is also meaningless and useless. ’ So he went back to his room, and lay on his little straw bed, thinking of his lover; after a while he fell asleep.

When the moon maiden rose to the sky and released her brilliance, the nightingale also came to the rose branch and stuck her chest on the thorn.With spikes on her chest, she sang all night, and the crystal moon leaned against the clouds and listened.She sang and sang day and night, and the thorn penetrated deeper and deeper, and the blood of her life gradually overflowed.

The first thing to sing is the birth of love in the hearts of young boys and girls.Then the top branch of the rose had a beautiful rosebud, and the songs were sung one after another, and the petals opened one by one.At first the petals were as dim as the mist that hangs over the river--as dim as the trails of dawn, silvery as the wings of dawn, and the rosebuds on that branch were like shadows of roses reflected in a silver mirror or The rose incarnation of the pond.

But the tree still urged the nightingale to plant the thorn. "Stay close to the thorn, little Nightingale."

The tree called repeatedly, "Otherwise, before the roses are fully bloomed, Xiaoguang will come."

So the nightingale inserted the thorn more tightly, and sang her song louder, because what she sang this time was the birth of passion in the souls of men and women.

Now the petals of the rose had a delicate blush, like the crimson cheeks of the bridegroom when he kissed the bride for the first time.But the thorn had not yet penetrated the nightingale's heart, so the heart remained white, for only the blood of the nightingale can dye the heart of a rose.

The tree urged the nightingale to insert the thorn tightly: "Stay close to the thorn, little nightingale." The tree called repeatedly, "Otherwise, the dawn will come before the roses bloom."

So Nightingale stuck tightly into the thorn, and the thorn actually pierced her heart, but a strange pain passed through her whole body. The pain became more severe and more intense, and her singing became wilder and stronger, because she What is sung back is the love completed by death and the undying passion in the tomb.

Then the splendid rose turned bright red, like the sky in the east.The outer petals of the flower are as red as fire, and the inner part of the flower is as red as crimson jade.

The nightingale's voice became more and more indistinct, her wings fluttered, and a film formed over her eyes.Her singing was indistinct, and she felt a sudden choke.

So she let out her last song, heard by the white waning moon, forgetting the dawn, hanging in the air and stopping.When the red rose heard it, it trembled intently, and opened its petals in the cold morning wind.Huiyin led the singing into the purple cave on the hillside, awakening the shepherd boy from his dream.The singing flowed to the reeds beside the river, and the reeds carried the message to the sea.

"Look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is made." But the Nightingale made no answer, for she lay dead in the grass, with the thorn still in her heart.

At noon, the young man opened the window and looked out.

He exclaimed: "Strange thing: what a sad luck; here is a red rose; such a fine rose as I have never seen in my life. He must have a very long Latin name for such a beautiful red rose." As he spoke, he bent down and folded took the flower.

So he put on his hat and ran to the professor's house with a red rose in his hand.

The professor's daughter was sitting in front of the door, rolling a spool of blue silk, with her puppy at her feet.

The young man cried, "You said that if I picked red roses for you, you would dance with me.

Here is one of the most precious red roses in the world.You can put it on your chest, and when we dance together, this flower will tell you how much I love you. "

The girl just frowned.

She replied, "I'm afraid that the flowers won't match my clothes; and the minister's nephew gave me a lot of jewelry. Everyone knows that jewelry is more valuable than flowers and plants."

The young man said angrily: "I dare say you are a heartless person." He threw the rose in the middle of the street; it fell into the rut and was run over by a wheel.

The girl said: "Unkind? Let me tell you, you are really rude; besides, who are you? You are just a student scholar. I think you don't have the silver buckle on the shoe of the minister's nephew." She stood up as she spoke. Go back to the room.

The young man walked and said to himself: "Oh, it's so secluded. It's far less practical than ethics. What she tells us is nothing more than castles in the air, things that won't happen in reality, and unreliable events. In the present To exist in the world of the world, there are practical things first, I'd better go back to my philosophy and metaphysics books."

So he went back to his room and took out a heavy, dusty book and read it carefully.

published in
December 1923, 12 "Morning Post Fifth Anniversary Supplement"

(End of this chapter)