THE END.
  1872
  FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
  THE LOVELIEST ROSE IN THE WORLD
  by Hans Christian Andersen
  THERE lived once a great queen, in whose garden were found atall seasons the most splendid flowers, and from every land in theworld. She specially loved roses, and therefore she possessed the mostbeautiful varieties of this flower, from the wild hedge-rose, with itsapple-scented leaves, to the splendid Provence rose. They grew nearthe shelter of the walls, wound themselves round columns andwindow-frames, crept along passages and over the ceilings of thehalls. They were of every fragrance and color.
  But care and sorrow dwelt within these halls; the queen lay upon asick bed, and the doctors declared that she must die. "There isstill one thing that could save her," said one of the wisest amongthem. "Bring her the loveliest rose in the world; one which exhibitsthe purest and brightest love, and if it is brought to her beforeher eyes close, she will not die."
  Then from all parts came those who brought roses that bloomed inevery garden, but they were not the right sort. The flower must be onefrom the garden of love; but which of the roses there showed forth thehighest and purest love? The poets sang of this rose, the loveliest inthe world, and each named one which he considered worthy of thattitle; and intelligence of what was required was sent far and wideto every heart that beat with love; to every class, age, andcondition.
  "No one has yet named the flower," said the wise man. "No onehas pointed out the spot where it blooms in all its splendor. It isnot a rose from the coffin of Romeo and Juliet, or from the grave ofWalburg, though these roses will live in everlasting song. It is notone of the roses which sprouted forth from the blood-stained fame ofWinkelreid. The blood which flows from the breast of a hero who diesfor his country is sacred, and his memory is sweet, and no rose can beredder than the blood which flows from his veins. Neither is it themagic flower of Science, to obtain which wondrous flower a man devotesmany an hour of his fresh young life in sleepless nights, in alonely chamber."
  "I know where it blooms," said a happy mother, who came with herlovely child to the bedside of the queen. "I know where theloveliest rose in the world is. It is seen on the blooming cheeks ofmy sweet child, when it expresses the pure and holy love of infancy;when refreshed by sleep it opens its eyes, and smiles upon me withchildlike affection."
  "This is a lovely rose," said the wise man; "but there is onestill more lovely."
  "Yes, one far more lovely," said one of the women. "I have seenit, and a loftier and purer rose does not bloom. But it was white,like the leaves of a blush-rose. I saw it on the cheeks of thequeen. She had taken off her golden crown, and through the long,dreary night, she carried her sick child in her arms. She wept overit, kissed it, and prayed for it as only a mother can pray in thathour of her anguish."
  "Holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of grief, butit is not the one we seek."
  "No; the loveliest rose in the world I saw at the Lord's table,"said the good old bishop. "I saw it shine as if an angel's face hadappeared. A young maiden knelt at the altar, and renewed the vows madeat her baptism; and there were white roses and red roses on theblushing cheeks of that young girl. She looked up to heaven with allthe purity and love of her young spirit, in all the expression ofthe highest and purest love."
  "May she be blessed!"