CHAPTER I.
THE ROSE.
In the month of Flowers, in Farsistan, the Land of Roses, threeyouths inhaled the perfumed air of the morning, as they sported inthe flower-covered fields, and amid the leaves, sparkling with dew.Pleasure directed their steps towards the depths of a dark grove, intowhich the heat of the first beams of day had not yet penetrated. Acelestial fragrance mingled with the first exhalations of the verdure.One single sunbeam had pierced the thick foliage, as if to point out,with its golden finger, a Rose, the loveliest of roses. The dew-dropsbathed it as they passed, or crept, for its refreshment, into itsbosom, coloured with transparent tints of light and shade; and thezephyr of the grove seemed to have no other care than to balance iton its delicate stem. Proudly, but timidly, did it raise its head,expanding like the countenance of a young girl, whose lips scarce dareto smile, while already happiness is beaming in her eyes.
"Oh! lovely flower," said Zuleiman, "I will carry thee to Schiraz;this day shalt thou adorn the feast; the poets of Persia shall sing ofthy perfume and thy beauty;" and already was his hand stretched forthto pluck the Rose.
"Stop!" cried Massour, "why thus cut short the bright hours of itslife? Think, Zuleiman, think how, after shining for a few brief momentsin the crown of a guest, or in the garland destined to adorn the vasesof the feast, consumed by the burning breath of men, and sinkingbeneath the vapour of their cups, it will droop that head now so fullof vigour, and let fall, one after the other, its fading petals, untilat night, trodden under foot, it will scarcely leave upon the ground afaint trace of its existence."
"What matters it," continued the impetuous Zuleiman, "whether it perishamid the splendours of a court, or upon its slender stem? A single dayis the term of its existence, and that day will at least have been aglorious one. Poor flower! I will not suffer thee thus to lavish inforgetfulness thy fragrant odour and soft beauty in this secluded spot,where thou art scarce known, even to the nightingale and the zephyr."
"And is it not enough," said Massour, "that it should possess anexistence thus fragrant and beautiful, that it should enjoy thethick shade, and inhale the delicious freshness of this grove; herepeacefully to bloom away its life, here gently to shed its leaves when,pale but not withered, they fall one by one, as vanish, without pain,blessings that have been enjoyed, as glide away the last days of ahappy life, softly coloured by remembrance?"
"Wretched happiness," said Zuleiman; "noble flower, thou wilt notaccept it! I see thee swell and unfold thy leaves, proud with thethought of shining in the world." And a second time he was about topluck the flower.
"Stop!" cried Nadir, in his turn seizing the arm of Zuleiman; thenfor a moment he was silent, his eyes fixed upon the rose; a painfulanxiety tormented his heart: he shuddered at the thought of abandoningto such sudden destruction that flower, so brilliant and so happy,while at the same time he sighed to see it waste, useless and unknown,the treasures of its precious existence. "Stop! Zuleiman!" hecontinued, "let us not thus rashly precipitate things into the abyss ofour wills before examining what may be the destiny marked out for themby the Father of beings."
At this moment, a sage was seen approaching. The world had no secretsfrom him. He understood the language of the birds, and could divine thethoughts of the flowers. He knew what is still more difficult: how toselect the narrow path of duty in the intricate ways of life, and totrace out its precise direction; the only rule capable of sustainingthe mind of man, and of guiding his will amidst the uncertainties ofdesire. The three youths addressed him at once: "Father," said they,"enlighten our doubts, unfold to us the destiny of this Rose."
As the sage was about to reply, warlike sounds were heard. Zuleimansprang forward, seized his arms, and hurried to range himself beneaththe standard of the Sophi. Massour, with a smile, inhaled the perfumeof the flower which he fancied he had preserved, and returned to thepalace of his father, to enjoy the delights of life.
"My son," said the sage to Nadir, "this is the hour in which thygrandsire has need of thy assistance, that he may warm himself in therays of the morning sun. Let not an old man lose one of those revivingbeams." And Nadir hastened to obey the words of the Sage.
In the evening, his mind still perplexed with the same doubt, Nadirreturned to the grove. The sage was there; and there, also, was theRose. Its perfume was beginning to languish; its full-blown leavesseemed to have exhausted the plenitude of existence, and to beexpending their last powers. "One night, at most, will terminate itslife," said Nadir: "perhaps the morning zephyr is already commissionedto waft away its remains. Tell me, O father! if, in thus wasting on itsstem, it has fulfilled the destiny appointed for it by the Most High,and to which it was called by its own nature."
"This morning, my son," resumed the sage, "it might have cast a look ofsadness on the obscure retreat to which Providence had condemned it.It might have inquired of the Most High, wherefore that rich fragranceenclosed within its breast; wherefore the ravishing colours with whichit is adorned? but at noon there came a traveller, overpowered byfatigue; his eyes, distressed by the dazzling brilliancy of the day,demanded comfort; his sense of smell sought deliverance from the dustof the road; all his senses required refreshment, all his body calledfor repose. Attracted by the fragrance of the Rose, he penetratedinto its retreat; it delighted his eye, and revived his senses; itremained suspended over his head while he slept, lavishing on him itsrich perfume till the evening; and he departed, refreshed, happy, andblessing the Rose whose dying fragrance now rises in thankfulnesstowards the Most High, for the destiny he had assigned it." Nadir alsoraised his thoughts to heaven, and blessed the Lord of nature for thedestiny of the Rose.