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She had never felt the knife before, when she had been only Rosa Damascena: it hurt her very much, and her heart bled. "Il faut souffrir pour etre belle," said the Banksiae in a good- natured effort at consolation.
They knew she had once been Rosa Damascena and never would wash it out of their minds the tiresome, spiteful, malignant creatures! Even aloft in the vase, in all her glory, the rose could have shed tears of mortification, and was ready to cry like Themistocles, "Can nobody give us oblivion?"
The botany of roses appears to be in a transition and somewhat unsatisfactory state. Thus the otto-yielding rose is variously styled Rosa damascena, R. sempervirens, R. moschata, R. gallica, R. centifolia, R. provincialis.
Beyond the river Euphrates, quite westward to the Mediterranean, and northward to Mount Taurus, even into Armenia, and southward to near Egypt, are many countries, namely Comagene, Phenicia, Damascena, Coelle, Moab, Ammon, Idumea, Judea, Palestine, and Sarracene, all of which are comprehended under the general name of Syria.
There are the common Provence Roses, the miniature Provence or Pompon Roses, and the Moss Rose all of which are merely races of R. centifolia. R. DAMASCENA. Damask Rose. Orient, 1573. A bushy shrub varying from 2 feet to 8 feet in height according to cultural treatment and age. The flowers are white or red, large, borne in corymbose clusters, and produced in great profusion during June and July.
She herself leaned against the wall of an orange-house, in company with a Banksia, a buoyant, active, simple-minded thing, for whom Rosa Damascena, who thought herself much better born than these climbers, had a natural contempt.
Rosa Damascena would have given all her brilliant carnation hues to be pale and yellow like the Princesse Adelaide, or delicately colorless like Her Grace of Devoniensis.
She bore bud after bud in this crystal temple, and became a very crown of blossom; and her spirit grew so elated, and her vanity so supreme, that she ceased to remember she had ever been a simple Rosa Damascena, except that she was always saying to herself, "How great I am! how great I am!" which she might have noticed that those born ladies, the Devoniensis and the Louise de Savoie, never did.
And her mistress, who had known her long as simple Rosa Damascena, answered, "Yes, sir; it is a Niphetos." Oh, to have lived for that hour! The silly thing thought it worth all her suffering from the gardener's knife, all the loss of her robust health and delightful power of flowering in all four seasons.
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