The Blue Rose

A folktale from China

Retold by Rose Owens

 There was
once an Emperor who had but one child—a daughter. She was his pride and joy, his treasure. He cherished her above all else. As he became old and his health began to fail,
he realized that he might not always be there to care for and protect this
precious daughter. He determined that
it would be best if he were to find a husband for his daughter. 

 When it
became known that the Emperor was seeking a husband for the Princess, many men
found their way to the palace to request his daughter’s hand in marriage. The Princess pleaded with her father. “Father, let me remain with you to care for you. I have no wish to marry and leave you.” But her father was adamant. Finally he said he would allow her to name
one qualification that her chosen husband must meet—be it wealth or looks or
special ability or whatever. The
Princess said she would name that qualification on the morrow.

 That
evening the Princess went to the garden to talk with the gardener’s son—her
childhood playmate. “If I say my
husband must be handsome, he might be handsome but have a cruel heart. If I say my husband must be kind, he might
also be terribly old. Oh what
qualification should I specify?”

 As they
discussed the problem, the Princess and the gardener’s son determined that it
should take the form of a test—difficult but not so difficult as to be
impossible. “And it must be ambiguous,”
said the gardener’s son, “ so that it is up to you to determine if the man
qualifies.” Late that night they
finally determined what that qualification must be.

 The next
morning the Princess told her father, “I will marry the man who can bring me a
blue rose.”

 The
neverending stream of suitors ended for none could find a blue rose. 

 A wealthy
merchant, not wanting to waste time looking for the blue rose, went to a flower
vendor. “I will give you a bag of gold
if you can find me a blue rose,” he said. After a long, fruitless search, the flower vendor gave up. He bought a strong dye and dipped the stem
into it. The petals of the rose turned a pale blue. “Keep the rose in the vase
with the dye,” he told the merchant, “until just before you give it to the
Princess.”

 The
merchant brought the rose to the Princess. The Princess reached out and took the rose from his hand. As she looked at the rose, a drop of blue
dye fell from the stem and puddled in her hand. She looked at the bluish-green leaves and then looked into the
merchant’s eyes. He could not meet her
gaze. “I cannot marry you,” she
said. You have tried to deceive
me. I would have a husband who is
true.”

 There was a
handsome young warrior who would marry the Princess. He was strong and powerful. None dared to stand against him. The young warrior went to the king of a neighboring kingdom. “Bring me the blue rose,” he said, “or I
will kill you and half the people in your kingdom.” The king, who valued peace and did not wish to fight, presented
the warrior with a blue sapphire that was carved in the shape of a rose.

 The young
warrior presented the sapphire rose to the Princess. She looked into his cold eyes—eyes that were as hard as the rose
of stone. She said, “I cannot marry
you. I must have a blue rose that is
real—not one that is cold and hard.”

 The
youngest of the king’s advisors also sought the Princess’ hand. He conceived a clever plan. He commissioned an artist to make a blue
bowl. On the side of the bowl was
painted a blue rose. The rim of the
bowl was edged in gold. It was fragile
and delicate—a thing of rare beauty. The young advisor presented it to the Princess on bended knee. The Princess looked at the bowl and looked
into the eyes of the young man. “Marry
me, Princess,” he said, “I will help you rule your kingdom.”

 The Princess
shook her head, “I must have a rose that is real.” 

 That
evening the Princess sat in the garden talking to the gardener’s son. “None of them could bring me the blue
rose. I must marry someone who will be
honest and true with me—as you have always been. 

He cannot be hard and cruel. I need someone who is kind and patient—as
you have been. 

I do not want a husband who seeks
only for power and riches. I want one
who will value me for myself—as you have. . . . .” 

 “Princess,”
said the gardener’s son. “Tomorrow I
will bring you the blue rose. Wait for
me in the blue room just before sundown.” 

 The next
day when the sun was almost gone, the Princess sat in the blue room. The gardener’s son approached bearing a
plain white rose in his hands. 

 “But it is
a common white rose,” said one.

 “He is the
gardener’s son,” said another.

 “Surely the
Princess will send him away,” said a third.

 The
gardener’s son knelt before the Princess. Through the blue stain glass windows, the rays of the setting sun shone
touched the petals of the white rose. 

 As the
Princess reached out to take the rose, a murmur arose. “He is only the gardener’s son.”

“The rose is not truly blue.”

The Princess stood. “My people, let me tell you what I see. I see a young man who has always been honest
and true. I see a young man who has had
the courage to be patient and kind enough to wait until I knew what was in my
heart. I see a young man who values me
for myself. In his hands he hold a gift
of love. And it is blue. And if you cannot see that the rose is blue,
I say that you are colorblind.

The old Emperor took his daughter’s
hand and he took the hand of the gardener’s son and joined them. And the Princess married the gardener’s son and
they lived happily ever after—not because this storyteller said so—not because
that’s the way that love stories should end. But because the Princess and the gardener’s son knew that their
happiness was in their own hands and that each was responsible for making sure
that the other was happy. 

Retold by Rose Owens

Copyright 2000