Once upon a time, in the middle of the deep dark forest, there lived a troll.
He was a harmless, quiet creature, who kept a little cottage and a garden, and who grew flowers, and never bothered anybody. He kept to himself and never thought about the world outside the forest.
Then one day a bird flying over the cottage let fall a seed from its beak, which landed in the garden of the troll. It took root immediately, and began to grow into a large rose bush.
The troll watered it and hoed and weeded around it, and gave it fertilizer, and it sprouted branches and the branches sprouted buds and the buds burst into deep red blooms. It was the most beautiful rose bush the troll had ever seen. He pulled up the zinnias and herbs nearby so that it would have more room, and pruned it so that it would grow more thickly.
Time went on. The rose bush became as large as his cottage, and drove out everthing else in his garden, but the troll didn�t care. He spent all day long caring for the rose bush, which rewarded him by growing steadily more beautiful.
Then one day a procession wound through the forest. Musicians and children with baskets went first, playing a whirl of bright songs and scattering flowers along the path. Then came ladies in waiting, each dressed in a different shade of silk, and mounted on a magnificent white mare. After them there rode knights, each a champion, each riding a prancing charger and wearing a different colored plume in his helmet and carrying a shield with a fantastic device painted on it.
Then, at the very end, came a coach, with footmen and driver all in red livery, and the coach red to match and trimmed with pure gold. The coach stopped, and the door opened, and a beautiful woman got out. She went to the edge of the troll�s garden and stood looking at the rose bush.
As she looked, all her beauty drooped. �I can never match this,� she said. She turned away, looking old and plain, and got back into her coach, and went away, the music stilled, and the children�s baskets empty. When she reached her home, outside the forest, the troll heard later, she soon died of grief.
When he heard this, the troll went out to look at his rose, and a little shiver went through him. He wondered if there were not something evil in such a blood red beauty as this. But he put the thought away, and went for the pruning shears and clipped off some yellowing leaves.
A few months later, another parade came through the forest. These were young men, making their horses cavort, and whooping and calling out challenges to one another. Bright as sunlight, they came up to the troll�s garden.
Among them was the prince of a kingdom outside the forest. He came forward, dismounted from his horse, and went to stand before the rose bush.
As he looked on the rose bush, the light went out of him. He sagged. His face darkened. He said, �I can never be as fine and perfect as this.� He turned away, and went to his horse and mounted and trudged away, and his followers trudged afer him, utterly downcast. Soon the news came that he too was dead.
Now the troll knew that the rose bush had a ruthless power. But he loved it, and he would not think of cutting it down, and in fact, he was secretly proud of it. He watered it, picked off bugs, dusted it for powdery mildew, clipped off the blossoms as soon as they were a moment past their best. The rose bush grew even larger, its blooms even darker red, like clots of heart�s blood.
Meanwhile outside the forest bad things were happening. The old queen had died, and the prince soon after, and a wicked king from across the mountains attacked their kingdoms. He came down like a wolf, slaughtered many, and drove the rest of the people into slavery. Whatever he wanted, he took, and let the people suffer and die. Any who opposed him, he hanged, or threw into dungeons. Then he heard about the rose bush.
In the grey dawn, he came through the forest, a single rider on a black horse. The troll went inside, and peeped through a window. But his heart boiled with glee. He would see the rose bush destroy this king.
The wicked king stood before the bush for a long time. He did not wilt. He stood straight as a pine tree--straighter, in fact, as he watched. Finally, he turned, and shouted, �Now I know how evil I have been, how mistaken and confused.� He turned and got on his horse, and went back to his kingdom. He released the prisoners in his dungeons, abolished all the taxes, and gave up his own lands to his people, and went down and worked among them. His kingdom bloomed. He became beloved.
The troll was furious. The rose bush had betrayed him. The King was more powerful than before. He took an axe, and he hacked every stem and blossom to pieces, and raked the pieces up and burned them. He dug up the ground and planted narcissus and lobelia there. He put the rest of the garden to vegetables, stopped thinking about the world outside the forest. He lived a long time more, but he was never happy again; nor could he ever after bear to see a rose.