text for the 2 nd course

The Nightingale and the Rose. Part 2 (for

Слова для понимания:

• like a shadow — как тень
• build it out of my song — создать из мелодии своей песни
• crimson — окрасить в темно-красный цвет
• fell asleep — заснул
• appeared — появилась
• I have never seen — Я никогда еще не видел

So she flew into the air. She flew over the garden like a shadow and like a shadow she flew through the wood.

The young student was still lying on the grass where she left him, and his beautiful eyes were still full of tears.

«Be happy,» cried the Nightingale, «be happy. You will have your red rose. I will build it out of my song by moonlight, and crimson it with my own heart’s blood. I only ask you to be a true lover, for love is wiser than philosophy.»

The student looked up and lis­tened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him.

But the oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who lived in his branches. «Sing me one last song,» he whispered, «I will feel lonely without you.» So the Nightingale sang to the oak-tree.

When she finished her song, the student stood up and went through the wood to the house, lay down on his bed, and began to think of his love: «She is so beautiful,» he said to himself, «but has she got feeling? I must say that sometimes she has some selfish notes in her voice.» And then he fell asleep.

When the moon was in the sky, the Night­ingale flew to the rose-tree, and pressed her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast and her blood flowed out.

She sang of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top of the rose-tree appeared a beautiful rose. Pale it was at first. But the rose-tree cried to the Nightingale, «Press closer, little Nightingale, or the day will come be­fore the rose is finished.»

So the Nightingale pressed closer and closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maiden.

The leaves of the rose became faintly pink. But the thorn had not yet reached the Nightingale’s heart, so the rose’s heart was white, for only a Nightingale’s blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and she felt a sharp pain. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang about the love that never dies.

And the beautiful rose became crimson. But the Nightingale’s voice grew weaker and her little wings began to beat. She gave one last burst of mu­sic. The red rose heard it and opened to the cold morning air.

«Look, look!» cried the rose-tree. «The rose is fin­ished now!» But the Nightingale did not answer for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the student opened his window and looked out. «How wonderful!» he cried. «Here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like this in all my life. It is so beautiful,» and he picked it with joy in his heart. Then he ran 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 lying at her feet. «Will you dance with me? Because I brought you a red rose,» cried the student. «Here is the red­dest rose in all the world. You will wear it on your dress next to your heart. We will dance together and I will tell you how I love you.»

But the girl answered, «I am afraid it will not go with my dress, and, be­sides, another man sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels are better than flowers.»

«Well, you are very ungrateful,» said the young student angrily and he threw the rose into the street.

«Ungrateful!» said the girl. «I’ll tell you what, you are rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a poor student!» and she stood up from her chair and went into the house.

«What a silly thing love is,» said the student as he went away. «It is about things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical. In this age to be practical is everything, so I will go back and study philosophy.»

Нe came back to his room, took out a dusty book, and began to read.