The Prince and The Pear Tree

copyright L. Ivison 2013

The Prince and the Pear Tree by Foutoux
All Rights Reserved Copyright L.Ivison 2013

Pietro Orlovski was a Russian Prince who had fled Russia just before the Revolution.  He had bought a chateau in N. in France and now his son cultivated a rose garden which was famous throughout the region.  Prince Orlovski, now 70 years old himself, prided himself on Crimson Neige, a hybrid rose which bloomed throughout winter.  When the hortentias had brown heads and the copper beeches held tight to their curled leaves from October, Crimson Neige bloomed under the grey skies of N. in the rain and the frost.

One morning early in March the Prince woke, stretched, walked to the window and saw the landscape covered in six inches of snow.   A stone fish in the  middle of the fountain spouted water which had frozen in mid air, icicles hung from the chateau, and the birds shivered.

The Prince dressed hurriedly and planting his boots in the fine snow he reached his rose garden where all the other bushes, cut-back and jagged, had not so much as a leaf.  But his Crimson Neige was in full bloom, and the rich velvet petals were covered in white powder.  The Prince brushed the dusty snow off each rose blowing the last remnants off the buds.  He worked slowly smelling each bloom and marvelled at his invention.

He returned home, kicked off his boots, shook the snow off and his face, now as crimson as his off-spring, sat by the fire.  He considered that with this first success there was no reason  why he shouldn't bring some more colour to the winter landscape.

The following Spring he planted a pear tree which, if all went well the Prince calculated, would bear its fruit in January and, sure enough, under the grey skies golden pears hung from every brancy.  By February the snow had fallen and the summer green leaves were coated with snow - each pear had its own bonnet and the hungry birds pecked at the fruit.

The Prince went out to admire his new work, reached up, brushed the snow off a ripe pear and bit into it.  The juice ran down his chin and he threw the core over his shoulder.

The following year he had cultivated lilac trees which bloomed from Christmas to Easter - lilac of every shade from white to deep purpe and when he looked out of his window in mid winter he saw the crimson roses, the golden pears and the lilac trees.

Gradually, his winter landscape was as rich in colour as any summer's day and then he realised  with dismay that when May came he had lost his delight in the new season.