THE LUCK of THE ROSES
by Laurence Housman · from Moonshine & Clover
Adapted Version
Once, a kind Gardener and his Wife lived there. They had a good garden. It was full of bright red roses. The Gardener and his Wife were happy. They loved their pretty garden.
The Gardener and his Wife loved roses. They cared for each rose. The roses were like their children. They gave the roses much love. The roses grew big and strong.
The garden was very special. The Gardener's Wife at times thought this. A good spirit helped roses grow. She felt a gentle magic there. The garden was always full of life.
One morning, the Gardener went to garden. It was still dark. He saw a tiny, pretty fairy. She wore a rose and green dress. The fairy looked very sad. She kissed each red rose. She said goodbye to each flower.
The Rose Fairy spoke to them. "I am Luck of Roses," she said. "I must go to sleep now. I must sleep for a long time. The cold wind will come soon. I will get smaller and weaker. Then I will sleep."
The Gardener and his Wife felt sad. They brought the little fairy inside. They made a warm bed for her. They used soft rose leaves. They wanted to keep her warm. But the fairy got smaller. She got smaller and smaller.
The sun went down. The Rose Fairy got very tiny. She was smaller than a small bird. Then she was smaller than a bug. She was so very, very tiny. She was very weak now.
In the night, she spoke. Her voice was very soft. "Put me in a red rose," she said. "I want to go to sleep there. I want to sleep with my roses."
The Gardener and his Wife went outside. They carried the tiny fairy. They put her in a red rose. She slipped into the rose. She was gone.
Morning came. A soft, sad sound came from garden. The Gardener and his Wife looked outside. All the red roses were white. The roses changed color. It was a sign of sadness. It was a new kind of pretty.
The Gardener and his Wife felt change. They thought of the Rose Fairy. They felt a quiet sadness. But they also felt love.
They held hands. They walked to the garden. They gathered the white roses. They would care for their garden. They would think of the Rose Fairy. The garden was still pretty.
Original Story
THE LUCK OF THE ROSES
NOT far from a great town, in the midst of a well-wooded valley, lived a rose-gardener and his wife. All round the old home green sleepy hollows lay girdled by silver streams, long grasses bent softly in the wind, and the half fabulous murmur of woods filled the air.
Up in their rose-garden, on the valley's side facing the sun, the gardener and his wife lived contentedly sharing toil and ease. They had been young, they were not yet old; and though they had to be frugal they did not call themselves poor. A strange fortune had belonged always to the plot of ground over which they laboured; whether because the soil was so rich, or the place so sheltered from cold, or the gardener so skilled in the craft, which had come down in his family from father to son, could not be known; but certainly it was true that his rose-trees gave forth better bloom and bore earlier and later through the season than any others that were to be found in those parts.
The good couple accepted what came to them, simply and gladly, thanking God. Perhaps it was from the kindness of fortune, or perhaps because the sweet perfume of the roses had mixed itself in their blood, that her man and his wife were so sweet-tempered and gentle in their ways. The colour of the rose was in their faces, and the colour of the rose was in their hearts; to her man she was the most beautiful and dearest of sweethearts, to his wife he was the best and kindest of lovers.
Every morning, before it was light, her man and his wife would go into the garden and gather all the roses that were ripe for sale; then with full baskets on their backs they would set out, and get to the market just as the level sunbeams from the east were striking all the vanes and spires of the city into gold. There they would dispose of their flowers to the florists and salesmen of the town, and after that trudge home again to hoe, and dig, and weed, and water, and prune, and plant for the rest of the day. No man ever saw them the one without the other, and the thought that such a thing might some day happen was the only fear and sorrow of their lives.
That they had no children of their own was scarcely a sorrow to them. "It seems to me," said her man after they had been married for some years, "that God means that our roses are to be our children since He has made us love them so much. They will last when we are grown grey, and will support and comfort us in our old age."
All the roses they had were red, and varied little in kind, yet her man and his wife had a name for each of them; to every tree they had given a name, until it almost seemed that the trees knew, and tried to answer when they heard the voices which spoke to them.
"Jane Janet, and you ought to blossom more freely at your age!" his wife might say to one some evening as she went round and watered the flowers; and the next day, when the two came to their dark morning's gathering, Jane Janet would show ten or twelve great blooms under the light of the lantern, every one of them the birth of a single night.
"Mary Maudlin," the gardener would say, as he washed the blight off a favourite rose, "to be sure, you are very beautiful, but did I not love you so, you were more trouble than all your sisters put together." And then all at once great dew-drops would come tumbling down out of Mary Maudlin's eyes at the tender words of his reproach. So day by day the companionable feet of the happy couple moved to and fro, always intent on the nurture and care of their children.
In their garden they had bees too, who by strange art, unlike other bees, drew all their honey from the roses, and lived in a cone-thatched hive close to the porch; and that honey was famous through all the country-side, for its flavour was like no other honey made in the world.
Sometimes his wife said to her man, "I think our garden is looked after for us by some good Spirit; perhaps it is the Saints after whom we have named our rose-children."
Her man made answer, "It is rich in years, which, like an old wine, have made it gain in flavour; it has been with us from father to son for three hundred years, and that is a great while."
"A full fairy's lifetime!" said his wife. "'Tis a pity we shall not hand it on, being childless."
"When we two die," said her man, "the roses will make us a grave and watch over us." As he spoke a whole shower of petals fell from the trees.
"Did no one pass, just then?" said his wife.
Now one morning, soon after this, in the late season of roses, her man had gone before his wife into the garden, gathering for the market in the grey dusk before dawn; and wherever he went moths and beetles came flocking to the light of his lantern, beating against its horn shutters and crying to get in. Out of each rose, as the light fell on it, winged things sprang up into the darkness; but all the roses were bowed and heavy as if with grief. As he picked them from the stem great showers of dew fell out of them, making pools in the hollow of his palm.
There was such a sound of tears that he stopped to listen; and, surely, from all round the garden came the "drip, drip" of falling dew. Yet the pathways under foot were all dry; there had been no rain and but little dew. Whence was it, then, that the roses so shook and sobbed? For under the stems, surely, there was something that sobbed; and suddenly the light of the lantern took hold of a beautiful small figure, about three feet high, dressed in old rose and green, that went languidly from flower to flower. She lifted up such tired hands to draw their heads down to hers; and to each one she kissed she made a weary little sound of farewell, her beautiful face broken up with grief; and now and then out of her lips ran soft chuckling laughter, as if she still meant to be glad, but could not.
The gardener broke into tears to behold a sight so pitiful; and his wife had stolen out silently to his side, and was weeping too.
"Drip, drip," went the roses: wherever she came and kissed, they all began weeping. The gardener and his wife knelt down and watched her; in and out, in and out, not a rose blossom did she miss. She came nearer and nearer, and at last was standing before them. She seemed hardly able to draw limb after limb, so weak was she; and her filmy garments hung heavy as chains.
A little voice said in their ears, "Kiss me, I am dying!"
They tasted her breath of rose.
"Do not die!" they said simply.
"I have lived three hundred years," she answered. "Now I must die. I am the Luck of the Roses, but I must leave them and die."
"When must you die?" said her man and his wife.
The little lady said: "Before the last roses are over; the chills of night take me, the first frost will kill me. Soon I must die. Now I must dwindle and dwindle, for little life is left to me, and only so can I keep warm. As life and heat grow less, so must I, till presently I am no more."
She was a little thing already—not old, she did not seem old, but delicate as a snowflake, and so weary. She laid her head in the hand of the gardener's wife, and sobbed hard.
"You dear people, who belong so much to me too, I have watched over you."
"Let us watch over you!" said they. They lifted her like a feather-weight, and carried her into the house. There, in the ingle-nook, she sat and shivered, while they brought rose-leaves and piled round her; but every hour she grew less and less.
Presently the sun shone full upon her from the doorway: its light went through her as through coloured glass; and her man and his wife saw, over the ingle behind her, shadows fluttering as of falling rose-petals: it was the dying rose of her life, falling without end.
All day long she dwindled and grew more weak and frail. Before sunset she was smaller than a small child when it first comes into the world. They set honey before her to taste, but she was too weary to uncurl her tiny hands: they lay like two white petals in the green lap of her gown. The half-filled panniers of roses stood where they had been set down in the porch: the good couple had taken nothing to the market that day. The luck of the house lay dying, for all their care; they could but sit and watch.
When the sun had set, she faded away fast: now she was as small as a young wren. The gardener's wife took her and held her for warmth in the hollow of her hand. Presently she seemed no more than a grasshopper: the tiny chirrup of her voice was heard, about the middle of the night, asking them to take her and lay her among the roses, in the heart of one of the red roses, that there she and death might meet sweetly at the last.
They went together into the dark night, and felt their way among the roses; presently they quite lost her tiny form: she had slipped away into the heart of a Jane Janet rose.
The gardener and his wife went back into the house and sat waiting: they did not know for what, but they were too sad at heart to think just then of sleep.
Soon the first greys of morning began to steal over the world; pale shivers ran across the sky, and one bird chirped in its sleep among the trees.
All at once there rang a soft sound of lamentation among the roses in the rose-garden; again and again, like the cry of many gentle wounded things in pain. The gardener and his wife went and opened the door: they had to tell the bees of the fairy's death. They looked out under the twilight, into the garden they loved. "Drip," "drip," "drip" came the sound of steady weeping under the leaves. Peering out through the shadows they saw all the rose-trees rocking softly for grief.
"Snow?" said his wife to her man.
But it was not snow.
Under the dawn all the roses in the garden had turned white; for they knew that the fairy was dead.
The gardener and his wife woke the bees, and told them of the fairy's death; then they looked in each other's faces, and saw that they, too, had become white and grey.
With gentle eyes the old couple took hands, and went down into the garden to gather white roses for the market.
Story DNA
Plot Summary
A devoted rose-gardener and his wife live a blissful life tending their uniquely prosperous red rose garden, which they cherish like children. One morning, they discover a tiny, beautiful fairy, the 'Luck of the Roses,' who reveals she is 300 years old and must die before the first frost, dwindling away. Despite their tender care, the fairy shrinks to almost nothing, eventually asking to be laid among the roses to die. At dawn, the couple finds all their red roses have turned white in grief, and they too have become white and grey, forever marked by the loss of their garden's spirit.
Themes
Emotional Arc
contentment to profound sorrow
Writing Style
Narrative Elements
Cultural Context
Reflects a pre-industrial, rural European setting where close ties to nature and family heritage were central. The concept of a 'luck' or 'spirit' tied to a specific place or object is common in folklore.
Plot Beats (12)
- A rose-gardener and his wife live a happy, frugal life tending their exceptionally fertile rose garden, which has been in the family for 300 years.
- They treat their roses like children, naming them and believing the plants respond to their affection.
- They also keep special bees that make unique rose honey, and the wife sometimes wonders if a good spirit watches over their garden.
- One morning, the gardener finds a tiny, beautiful fairy, dressed in rose and green, weeping and kissing each rose in farewell.
- The fairy reveals she is the 'Luck of the Roses,' 300 years old, and must die before the first frost, dwindling away as her life fades.
- The couple, heartbroken, brings the fairy into their home, trying to keep her warm with rose-leaves, but she continues to shrink.
- As the sun sets, the fairy becomes smaller than a wren, and later, a grasshopper, too weak to eat the honey offered.
- In the middle of the night, the tiny fairy asks to be laid among the roses, in the heart of a red rose, to meet death.
- The couple takes her to the garden, and she slips away into a Jane Janet rose.
- At dawn, a sound of lamentation comes from the garden, and the couple discovers all their red roses have turned white.
- They tell their bees of the fairy's death, and realize they too have become white and grey.
- The old couple, hand in hand, go to gather the white roses for market, forever marked by their loss.
Characters
The Rose-Gardener ★ protagonist
A man of moderate height and build, his face is described as having 'the colour of the rose,' suggesting a healthy, rosy complexion from outdoor work. He is not yet old but has been married for some years, implying he is in his prime working years. By the end of the story, his hair and face have turned white and grey from grief.
Attire: Practical, durable clothing suitable for a gardener of the era, likely made of sturdy linen or wool in earthy tones, possibly a smock or tunic with trousers, and sturdy boots. Nothing ostentatious, reflecting his frugal lifestyle.
Wants: To nurture his roses, live contentedly with his wife, and maintain the family legacy of the rose garden. Later, to protect the Luck of the Roses.
Flaw: His deep emotional attachment to his roses and his wife makes him vulnerable to profound grief when they are threatened or lost.
He begins as a content, hardworking gardener who views his roses as his children. He experiences profound grief and helplessness as he witnesses the death of the Luck of the Roses, which also causes him and his wife to age prematurely, turning their hair and faces white.
Sweet-tempered, gentle, content, hardworking, deeply loving towards his wife and his roses, observant, and empathetic. He is also accepting of his fate and thankful.
Image Prompt & Upload
A middle-aged man with a kind, gentle expression, a healthy, rosy complexion, and dark hair that is beginning to show flecks of grey. He wears a simple, practical linen smock in a muted green, sturdy brown trousers, and leather boots. His hands are strong and calloused from work. He holds a horn-shuttered lantern in one hand and a wicker basket in the other, filled with red roses. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
The Rose-Gardener's Wife ★ protagonist
A woman of moderate height and build, her face is described as having 'the colour of the rose,' suggesting a healthy, rosy complexion from outdoor work. She is not yet old but has been married for some years, implying she is in her prime working years. By the end of the story, her hair and face have turned white and grey from grief.
Attire: Practical, durable clothing suitable for a gardener's wife of the era, likely a simple linen dress or gown in a muted color, possibly with an apron, and sturdy shoes. Nothing ostentatious, reflecting her frugal lifestyle.
Wants: To nurture her roses, live contentedly with her husband, and share in their toil and ease. Later, to protect the Luck of the Roses.
Flaw: Her deep emotional attachment to her roses and her husband makes her vulnerable to profound grief when they are threatened or lost.
She begins as a content, hardworking gardener's wife who views her roses as her children. She experiences profound grief and helplessness as she witnesses the death of the Luck of the Roses, which also causes her and her husband to age prematurely, turning their hair and faces white.
Sweet-tempered, gentle, content, hardworking, deeply loving towards her husband and her roses, observant, and empathetic. She is also accepting of her fate and thankful, with a touch of wonder about the garden's magic.
Image Prompt & Upload
A middle-aged woman with a kind, gentle expression, a healthy, rosy complexion, and dark hair pulled back in a simple bun, beginning to show flecks of grey. She wears a modest, long-sleeved linen dress in a soft blue, with a cream-colored apron tied at the waist. Her hands are capable and gentle. She holds a tiny, almost imperceptible figure in the hollow of her hand, looking down with a sorrowful expression. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
The Luck of the Roses (Fairy) ◆ supporting
Initially, a beautiful small figure, about three feet high, dressed in old rose and green. She is delicate as a snowflake and appears weary. As she dwindles, she becomes progressively smaller: smaller than a small child, then as small as a young wren, and finally no more than a grasshopper before disappearing entirely.
Attire: Filmy garments in old rose and green, which initially hang heavy as chains due to her weakness. The fabric would be delicate and translucent, like petals.
Wants: To say farewell to her beloved roses before she dies, and to find a peaceful end.
Flaw: Her life force is tied to the roses and the warmth of the season; the chill of night and the first frost are fatal to her. Her existence is finite.
She begins as a beautiful, grief-stricken fairy saying her farewells. Throughout the story, she dwindles in size and strength, eventually fading away completely into the heart of a rose, signifying the end of her three-hundred-year life cycle.
Grief-stricken, weary, gentle, and resigned to her fate. Despite her sorrow, she occasionally lets out soft chuckling laughter, suggesting a past joy or an attempt to maintain it.
Image Prompt & Upload
A tiny, ethereal female figure, about three feet tall, with delicate features and a beautiful face etched with profound grief. Her skin is pale and translucent. She has soft, flowing hair in a muted rose color. She wears a flowing, translucent gown in shades of old rose and soft green, appearing almost like layered petals. Her hands are small and tired. She is gently kissing the head of a large, vibrant red rose. Plain white background, full body visible head to toe, single figure, no watermark, no text, no signature.
Locations
The Rose-Gardener's Cottage
A cozy, old home nestled in a well-wooded valley, likely a traditional English cottage with an ingle-nook (a chimney corner with a built-in seat) where a fire would burn. The interior is warm and comforting, a sanctuary.
Mood: Warm, comforting, but becomes sorrowful and watchful as the Luck of the Roses dwindles.
The gardener and his wife bring the dying Luck of the Roses inside to try and save her, watching her dwindle throughout the day and night.
Image Prompt & Upload
A warm, rustic English cottage interior. Sunlight streams through a small, leaded-pane window, illuminating dust motes in the air and casting a soft glow on the rough-hewn timber beams of the ceiling. In the ingle-nook, a small fire crackles gently in a stone hearth, its warmth reflecting on the polished wooden mantelpiece. Piles of deep red rose petals are scattered on the flagstone floor around a small, empty space. no border, no frame, no watermark, no text, no signature, edge-to-edge illustration.
The Rose Garden
A vibrant rose garden situated on the valley's side, facing the sun, surrounded by green sleepy hollows and silver streams. It is meticulously cared for, with many varieties of red roses, each named. A cone-thatched beehive is located near the porch.
Mood: Initially industrious and loving, then becomes mysterious and sorrowful, finally transformed by grief.
The gardener discovers the weeping Luck of the Roses, who later asks to be laid among the roses to die. The roses weep for her and turn white at her death.
Image Prompt & Upload
A meticulously tended English rose garden at pre-dawn. Rows of vibrant red rose bushes, heavy with dew, stretch towards a distant, misty valley. A narrow, well-trodden dirt path winds between the bushes. The sky is a deep, bruised purple, just beginning to lighten with the first hint of grey. A single lantern casts a warm, flickering glow on the nearest roses, highlighting individual dewdrops clinging to their petals. no border, no frame, no watermark, no text, no signature, edge-to-edge illustration.
