The Elf of the Rose Page #2

								

sprig of jasmine that bloomed in the wood, near the spot where he
was buried, and carried them home with her. As soon as she was in
her room, she took the largest flower-pot she could find, and in
this she placed the head of the dead man, covered it up with earth,
and planted the twig of jasmine in it.

"Farewell, farewell," whispered the little elf. He could not any
longer endure to witness all this agony of grief, he therefore flew
away to his own rose in the garden. But the rose was faded; only a few
dry leaves still clung to the green hedge behind it.

"Alas! how soon all that is good and beautiful passes away,"
sighed the elf.

After a while he found another rose, which became his home, for
among its delicate fragrant leaves he could dwell in safety. Every
morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and always found her
weeping by the flower pot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine
twig, and each day, as she became paler and paler, the sprig
appeared to grow greener and fresher. One shoot after another sprouted
forth, and little white buds blossomed, which the poor girl fondly
kissed. But her wicked brother scolded her, and asked her if she was
going mad. He could not imagine why she was weeping over that
flower-pot, and it annoyed him. He did not know whose closed eyes were
there, nor what red lips were fading beneath the earth. And one day
she sat and leaned her head against the flower-pot, and the little elf
of the rose found her asleep. Then he seated himself by her ear,
talked to her of that evening in the arbor, of the sweet perfume of
the rose, and the loves of the elves. Sweetly she dreamed, and while
she dreamt, her life passed away calmly and gently, and her spirit was
with him whom she loved, in heaven. And the jasmine opened its large
white bells, and spread forth its sweet fragrance; it had no other way
of showing its grief for the dead. But the wicked brother considered
the beautiful blooming plant as his own property, left to him by his
sister, and he placed it in his sleeping room, close by his bed, for
it was very lovely in appearance, and the fragrance sweet and
delightful. The little elf of the rose followed it, and flew from
flower to flower, telling each little spirit that dwelt in them the
story of the murdered young man, whose head now formed part of the
earth beneath them, and of the wicked brother and the poor sister. "We
know it," said each little spirit in the flowers, "we know it, for
have we not sprung from the eyes and lips of the murdered one. We know
it, we know it," and the flowers nodded with their heads in a peculiar
manner. The elf of the rose could not understand how they could rest
so quietly in the matter, so he flew to the bees, who were gathering
honey, and told them of the wicked brother. And the bees told it to
their queen, who commanded that the next morning they should go and
kill the murderer. But during the night, the first after the
								Rate this book:
0.0 / 0 votes