This took place in a large greenhouse that belonged to a very strange man, a millionaire and unsociable, who spent all his myriad income on rare and beautiful flowers. This greenhouse in its structure, in the size of the premises and in the richness of the plants collected in it surpassed the most famous greenhouses in the world. The most varied, most capricious plants, from tropical palms to pale polar mosses, grew in it as freely as in their homeland. There were: giant patches and phoenixes with their wide umbrella leaves; fig and banana, sago and coconut palms raised long, bare trunks to the glass ceiling, topped with lush bunches of spreading leaves. Many outlandish specimens grew here, such as an ebony tree with a black trunk, strong as iron, bushes of a predatory mimosa, in which leaves and flowers, at one touch of a small insect, quickly shrink and suck the juices out of it; dracaena, from the stems of which a thick, red as blood, poisonous juice flows. In a round, unusually large pool, the royal Victoria swam, each leaf of which can hold a child on itself, and here the white corollas of the Indian lotus peeped out, opening only at night its delicate flowers. The solid walls were dark, fragrant cypresses, oleanders with pale pink flowers, myrtles, orange and almond trees, fragrant Chinese oranges, hard-leaved ficuses, southern acacia bushes and laurel trees.
Thousands of different flowers filled the air of the greenhouse with their aromas: variegated with a tart smell of carnations; bright Japanese chrysanthemums; brooding daffodils, lowering their thin white petals before night; hyacinths and levkoi - decorating tombs; silvery bells of virgin lilies of the valley; white with an intoxicating smell of pankration; purple and red hydrangea caps; modest fragrant violets; waxy, unbearably fragrant tuberoses, originating from the island of Java; sweet pea; peonies that smell like a rose; verveena, whose flowers the Roman beauties attributed to the property of giving the skin a special freshness and tenderness and therefore put them in their baths, and finally, magnificent varieties of roses of all kinds of shades: purple, bright red, crimson, brown, pink, dark yellow, pale yellow , fawn and dazzling white.
Other flowers, devoid of fragrance, were distinguished by their magnificent beauty, such as cold beauties of camellias, multi-colored azaleas, Chinese lilies, Dutch tulips, huge bright dahlias and heavy asters.
But there was one strange plant in the greenhouse, which, apparently, could not have attracted attention in anything, except for its ugliness. Straight from the root came out long, two arshins, leaves, narrow, fleshy and covered with sharp thorns. These leaves, about ten in number, did not rise up, but spread on the ground. They were cold during the day and warm at night. The flowers were never shown between them, but a long, straight green rod was sticking up. This plant was called the Centenary.
Flowers in the greenhouse lived their own special, incomprehensible life for people. Of course, they did not have a language to speak, but still they understood each other. Perhaps for this they were served by their scent, the wind, which carried flower dust from one cup to another, or the warm rays of the sun that flooded the entire greenhouse through its glass walls and glass ceiling. If bees and ants understand each other so amazingly, why not assume that, at least to a small extent, this is possible for flowers as well?
There was enmity between some flowers, and tender love and friendship between others. Many competed among themselves in beauty, aroma and height. Others were proud of the antiquity of the family.It sometimes happened that on a bright spring morning, when the whole greenhouse seemed filled with gold dust and dew diamonds trembled in the blossoming cups, a general incessant conversation began between the flowers. Wonderful fragrant stories were told about distant hot deserts, about shady and damp forest corners, about strange colorful insects glowing at night, about the free, blue sky of the homeland and about the free air of distant fields and forests.
Only one freak Centenary was an exile in this family. He never knew any friendship, no sympathy, no compassion, not once, during many long years, no love warmed him with its warmth. And he was so accustomed to the general contempt that he endured it for a long time in silence, harboring acute suffering in the depths of his soul. He is also used to being a constant subject of general ridicule. Flowers never forgive their fellows for ugliness.
One July morning a flower of a rare cashmere rose bloomed in the greenhouse, dark carmine in color, with a black velvet tint on the folds, amazing beauty and a wonderful smell. When the first rays of the sun peeped through the glass and flowers, waking up one after the other from a light night doze, saw a blossoming rose, then from all sides noisy exclamations of admiration were heard:
- How good is this young Rose! How fresh and fragrant it is! She will be the best decoration of our society! This is our queen.
And she listened to these praises, bashful, all blushing, all bathed in the gold of the sun, like a real queen. And all the flowers in the form of greetings bowed their magic corollas in front of her.
The unfortunate Stoletnik also woke up, looked - and trembled with delight.
- Oh, how beautiful you are, Queen! he whispered. And when he said this, the whole greenhouse was filled with uncontrollable laughter. The inflated boobed tulips swayed with laughter, the leaves of slender palm trees quivered, the white bells of the lilies of the valley rang, even the modest violets smiled compassionately from their dark round leaves.
- The monster! - shouted, choking with laughter, a fat Peony, tied to a stick. - How did you get the audacity to say compliments? Don't you understand that even your delight is disgusting?
- Who is this? - asked, smiling, the young Queen.
- This freak? - exclaimed Peony. “None of us know who he is or where he is from. He has a very stupid name - Stoletnik.
“I was brought here as a very small tree, but it was just as big and just as disgusting then,” said the tall old Palm.
“It never blooms,” said Oleander.
“But it’s all covered with thorns,” added Myrtle. - We are only surprised at the people who are assigned to us. They look after him much more than they look after us. As if this is some kind of treasure!
- I quite understand why they take such care of him, - said Peony. - Such monsters are so rare that they can be found only once in a hundred years. This is probably why he is called Stoletnik.
So until noon the flowers mocked poor Centenary, and he was silent, pressing cold leaves to the ground.
It became unbearably stuffy in the afternoon. A thunderstorm was approaching in the air. The clouds that floated across the sky grew darker and darker. It was getting hard to breathe. Flowers in languor drooped with delicate heads and died down in the motionless expectation of rain.
Finally, in the distance, like the roar of an approaching beast, the first dull clap of thunder was heard. There was a moment of agonizing calm, and the rain drummed dully on the boards, with which the gardeners were quickly covering the glass of the greenhouse. The greenhouse became as dark as night. And suddenly Rose heard a faint whisper near her:
- Listen to me, Queen. This is me, the unfortunate Centenary, whose delight in front of your beauty made you smile in the morning. Night darkness and thunderstorm make me bolder. I fell in love with you, beauty. Don't reject me!
But Rosa was silent, languishing with stuffiness and horror before the thunderstorm.
- Listen, beauty, I am ugly, my leaves are prickly and ugly, but I will tell you my secret.In the virgin forests of America, where impenetrable networks of vines twine around the trunks of thousand-year-old baobabs, where no human foot has yet set, - there is my homeland. Once in a hundred years I bloom for only three hours and immediately perish. New shoots grow from my roots, in order to die again in a hundred years. And so I feel that in a few minutes I have to blossom. Don't reject me, beauty! For you, for you alone, I will bloom and for you I will die!
But Rose, drooping her head, did not answer a word.
- The Rose! For just one moment of happiness, I will give you my whole life. Is this not enough of your royal pride? In the morning, when the first rays of the sun rise ...
But at that moment a thunderstorm broke out with such terrible force that Stoletnik had to be silent. When the thunderstorm ended just before morning, a loud crack was heard in the greenhouse, as if from several rifle shots.
“The Centenary has blossomed,” said the head gardener and ran to wake the owner of the greenhouse, who had been waiting impatiently for this event for two weeks.
The boards were removed from the glass walls. People stood around Stoletnik in silence, and all the flowers with fear and admiration turned their heads to him.
Lush clusters of snow-white flowers of unprecedented beauty bloomed on the high green shaft of the Stoletnik, which emitted a wonderful, indescribable aroma that immediately filled the entire greenhouse. But in less than half an hour, the lights began to imperceptibly turn pink, then they turned red, turned purple and, finally, almost black.
When the sun rose, the flowers of the Centenarian wilted one after another. Following them, the ugly leaves wilted and curled up, and the rare plant died to revive again in a hundred years.
And the Queen bowed her fragrant head.
1895
