Origin of the Violet

"Origin of the Violet" by Julia Darrow Cowles is a captivating exploration of nature and identity, blending rich prose with deep philosophical inquiry. The narrative delves into the intricate relationships between humans and the natural world, particularly focusing on the symbolism of the violet flower. Through its lyrical language and vivid imagery, the book invites readers to reflect on themes of beauty, transformation, and the interconnectedness of life. Cowles weaves personal stories with broader ecological insights, creating a poignant meditation on our place within the tapestry of nature.

• Short story

								
THREE wonderful deeds had the Indian youth performed: three deeds for
which the older men of the tribe gave him honor.

First of all he had gone forth with his bow and arrow and, taking true
aim with a strong and steady hand, had pierced the heart of the great
heron flying overhead: the great heron that was the enemy of his
people. Often had the bird caught the children of the tribe and
carried them away to devour them. And now the young brave, who was
little more than a lad, had slain the great heron.

On the second occasion he had gone forth alone, and sought out the
cave of the witches. And from the cave he had brought away the roots
which alone would cure his people of the great sickness which we call
the plague. The journey was long and difficult, and food was scarce,
but only the witches knew the secret of the roots.

When the young brave returned with the medicine and the people were
made well, the old men of the tribe gave him honor, and the women of
the tribe blessed him.

On the third occasion the young warrior led a band of his fellows in
combat with a tribe of their enemies, and overthrew them. Those who
were not killed fled in confusion. And again he was honored by all his
tribe.

But now the young warrior’s mind was troubled, and favor and honor no
longer satisfied his heart. Among the tribe of the enemy that he had
conquered, he had seen a maiden who had won his love.

Unknown to her, and hidden, he had watched as she moved about the
wigwam of her father. He had followed the fleeing enemy, and had come
silently to the outskirts of their village, and there he discovered
the maiden who alone had stirred his heart.

“I must have her for my very own! She shall be the light of my
wigwam!” he cried.

So he stayed in the forest near the village of the enemy, and there he
sang all the songs that the Indian lover sings, and always they were
in praise of the graceful maiden whom he loved.

So sweet and tender were the words, and so rich the music, that the
birds of the forest learned to sing them after him. And so often were
they repeated that even the roving animals knew the words, and
wondered of whom the strange warrior sang.

One day the Indian maiden, enticed by the freshness of the woods and
the caroling of the birds, wandered away to the forest alone. Unknown
to her, a young Indian of her own tribe, who long had loved her,
followed at a distance.

When she reached the forest she listened happily to the singing birds,
and she thought she heard, too, a strong, clear voice that was
different from the voice of the birds.

Farther into the woods she went, when suddenly a young brave sprang
toward her, clasped her in his arms, and ran swiftly away, bearing her
with him.

The maiden, looking into his face, saw that it was strong, and
fearless, and loving; and with his voice he reassured her, promising
that he would do her no harm. And the maiden’s heart went out to him,
as his had done to her.

The unseen lover of her own tribe saw what had happened and,
recognizing the young brave who had stolen the maiden from him as the
one who had defeated his people, was afraid. He ran back to the
village to tell the men, and to get help for the pursuit.

“And you came back!” cried the men of the village in a voice of scorn.
“You did not save the maiden you claim to love! Stay here at home with
the women while we ride forth and overtake them!”

So the men mounted their ponies and rode away; and toward evening they
came in sight of the brave young warrior, and the maiden of their
tribe.

But as they drew nearer they saw that the maiden had braided the long
tresses of her hair and had bound them about the neck of the young
warrior who bore her in his arms. And this was the sign to them that
she loved him, and wished to go with him and become his wife.

Then the Indians of her own tribe were doubly angry, and drawing their
bows they shot both the young warrior and the maiden through the
heart, and returned to their own village.

And where the two fell, there sprang from the earth a new flower, the
purple violet, which speaks of courage and of love.
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