Chapter I: The Rose

In the month of Flowers, in Farsistan, the Land of Roses, three youths inhaled the perfumed air of the morning, as they sported in the flower-covered fields, and amid the leaves, sparkling with dew. Pleasure directed their steps towards the depths of a dark grove, into which the heat of the first beams of day had not yet penetrated. A celestial 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-drops bathed it as they passed, or crept, for its refreshment, into its bosom, coloured with transparent tints of light and shade; and the zephyr of the grove seemed to have no other care than to balance it on its delicate stem. Proudly, but timidly, did it raise its head, expanding like the countenance of a young girl, whose lips scarce dare to smile, while already happiness is beaming in her eyes.

"Oh! lovely flower," said Zuléiman, "I will carry thee to Schiraz; this day shalt thou adorn the feast; the poets of Persia shall sing of thy perfume and thy beauty;" and already was his hand stretched forth to pluck the Rose.

"Stop!" cried Massour, "why thus cut short the bright hours of its life? Think, Zuléiman, think how, after shining for a few brief moments in the crown of a guest, or in the garland destined to adorn the vases of the feast, consumed by the burning breath of men, and sinking beneath the vapour of their cups, it will droop that head now so full of vigour, and let fall, one after the other, its fading petals, until at night, trodden under foot, it will scarcely leave upon the ground a faint trace of its existence."

"What matters it," continued the impetuous Zuléiman, "whether it perish amid the splendours of a court, or upon its slender stem? A single day is the term of its existence, and that day will at least have been a glorious one. Poor flower! I will not suffer thee thus to lavish in forgetfulness 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 an existence thus fragrant and beautiful, that it should enjoy the thick shade, and inhale the delicious freshness of this grove; here peacefully 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 a happy life, softly coloured by remembrance?"

"Wretched happiness," said Zuléiman; "noble flower, thou wilt not accept it! I see thee swell and unfold thy leaves, proud with the thought of shining in the world." And a second time he was about to pluck the flower.

"Stop!" cried Nadir, in his turn seizing the arm of Zuléiman; then for a moment he was silent, his eyes fixed upon the rose; a painful anxiety tormented his heart: he shuddered at the thought of abandoning to 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! Zuléiman!" he continued, "let us not thus rashly precipitate things into the abyss of our wills before examining what may be the destiny marked out for them by the Father of beings."

At this moment, a sage was seen approaching. The world had no secrets from him. He understood the language of the birds, and could divine the thoughts of the flowers. He knew what is still more difficult: how to select the narrow path of duty in the intricate ways of life, and to trace out its precise direction; the only rule capable of sustaining the mind of man, and of guiding his will amidst the uncertainties of desire. 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. Zuléiman sprang forward, seized his arms, and hurried to range himself beneath the standard of the Sophi. Massour, with a smile, inhaled the perfume of the flower which he fancied he had preserved, and returned to the palace of his father, to enjoy the delights of life.

"My son," said the sage to Nadir, "this is the hour in which thy grandsire has need of thy assistance, that he may warm himself in the rays of the morning sun. Let not an old man lose one of those reviving beams." And Nadir hastened to obey the words of the Sage.

In the evening, his mind still perplexed with the same doubt, Nadir returned to the grove. The sage was there; and there, also, was the Rose. Its perfume was beginning to languish; its full-blown leaves seemed to have exhausted the plenitude of existence, and to be expending their last powers. "One night, at most, will terminate its life," said Nadir: "perhaps the morning zephyr is already commissioned to waft away its remains. Tell me, O father! if, in thus wasting on its stem, 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 of sadness on the obscure retreat to which Providence had condemned it. It might have inquired of the Most High, wherefore that rich fragrance enclosed within its breast; wherefore the ravishing colours with which it is adorned? but at noon there came a traveller, overpowered by fatigue; his eyes, distressed by the dazzling brilliancy of the day, demanded comfort; his sense of smell sought deliverance from the dust of the road; all his senses required refreshment, all his body called for repose. Attracted by the fragrance of the Rose, he penetrated into its retreat; it delighted his eye, and revived his senses; it remained suspended over his head while he slept, lavishing on him its rich perfume till the evening; and he departed, refreshed, happy, and blessing the Rose whose dying fragrance now rises in thankfulness towards the Most High, for the destiny he had assigned it." Nadir also raised his thoughts to heaven, and blessed the Lord of nature for the destiny of the Rose.