The Blue Flower [1]
First Christmas-Tree
THE BLUE FLOWER
The parents were abed and sleeping. The clock on the wall
ticked loudly and lazily, as if it had time to spare. Outside
the rattling windows there was a restless, whispering wind.
The room grew light, and dark, and wondrous light again, as
the moon played hide-and-seek through the clouds. The boy,
wide-awake and quiet in his bed, was thinking of the Stranger
and his stories.
"It was not what he told me about the treasures," he said
to himself, "that was not the thing which filled me with so
strange a longing. I am not greedy for riches. But the Blue
Flower is what I long for. I can think of nothing else.
Never have I felt so before. It seems as if I had been
dreaming until now--or as if I had just slept over into a new
world.
"Who cared for flowers in the old world where I used to
live? I never heard of anyone whose whole heart was set upon
finding a flower. But now I cannot even tell all that I
feel--sometimes as happy as if I were enchanted. But when the
flower fades from me, when I cannot see it in my mind, then it is
like being very thirsty and all alone. That is what the other
people could not understand.
"Once upon a time, they say, the animals and the trees and
the flowers used to talk to people. It seems to me, every
minute, as if they were just going to begin again. When I
look at them I can see what they want to say. There must be
a great many words that I do not know; if I knew more of them
perhaps I could understand things better. I used to love to
dance, but now I like better to think after the music."
Gradually the boy lost himself in sweet fancies, and
suddenly he found himself again, in the charmed land of sleep.
He wandered in far countries, rich and strange; he traversed
wild waters with incredible swiftness; marvellous creatures
appeared and vanished; he lived with all sorts of men, in
battles, in whirling crowds, in lonely huts. He was cast into
prison. He fell into dire distress and want. All experiences
seemed to be sharpened to an edge. He felt them keenly, yet
they did not harm him. He died and came alive again; he loved to
the height of passion, and then was parted forever from his
beloved. At last, toward morning, as the dawn was stealing
near, his soul grew calm, and the pictures showed more clear
and firm.
It seemed as if he were walking alone through the deep
woods. Seldom the daylight shimmered through the green veil.
Soon he came to a rocky gorge in the mountains. Under the
mossy stones in the bed of the stream, he heard the water
secretly tinkling downward, ever downward, as he climbed
upward.
The forest grew thinner and lighter. He came to a fair
meadow on the slope of the mountain. Beyond the meadow was a
high cliff, and in the face of the cliff an opening like the
entrance to a path. Dark was the way, but smooth, and he
followed easily on till he came near to a vast cavern from
which a flood of radiance streamed to meet him.
As he entered he beheld a mighty beam of light which
sprang from the ground, shattering itself against the roof in
countless sparks, falling and flowing all together into a
great pool in the rock. Brighter was the light-beam than molten
gold, but silent in its rise, and silent in its fall. The sacred
stillness of a shrine, a never-broken hush of joy and wonder,
filled the cavern. Cool was the dripping radiance that softly
trickled down the walls, and the light that rippled from them was
pale blue.
But the pool, as the boy drew near and watched it,
quivered and glanced with the ever-changing colours of a
liquid opal. He dipped his hands in it and wet his lips. It
seemed as if a lively breeze passed through his heart.
He felt an irresistible desire to bathe in the pool.
Slipping off his clothes he plunged in. It was as if he
bathed in a cloud of sunset. A celestial rapture flowed
through him. The waves of the stream were like a bevy of
nymphs taking shape around him, clinging to him with tender
breasts,
THE BLUE FLOWER
The parents were abed and sleeping. The clock on the wall
ticked loudly and lazily, as if it had time to spare. Outside
the rattling windows there was a restless, whispering wind.
The room grew light, and dark, and wondrous light again, as
the moon played hide-and-seek through the clouds. The boy,
wide-awake and quiet in his bed, was thinking of the Stranger
and his stories.
"It was not what he told me about the treasures," he said
to himself, "that was not the thing which filled me with so
strange a longing. I am not greedy for riches. But the Blue
Flower is what I long for. I can think of nothing else.
Never have I felt so before. It seems as if I had been
dreaming until now--or as if I had just slept over into a new
world.
"Who cared for flowers in the old world where I used to
live? I never heard of anyone whose whole heart was set upon
finding a flower. But now I cannot even tell all that I
feel--sometimes as happy as if I were enchanted. But when the
flower fades from me, when I cannot see it in my mind, then it is
like being very thirsty and all alone. That is what the other
people could not understand.
"Once upon a time, they say, the animals and the trees and
the flowers used to talk to people. It seems to me, every
minute, as if they were just going to begin again. When I
look at them I can see what they want to say. There must be
a great many words that I do not know; if I knew more of them
perhaps I could understand things better. I used to love to
dance, but now I like better to think after the music."
Gradually the boy lost himself in sweet fancies, and
suddenly he found himself again, in the charmed land of sleep.
He wandered in far countries, rich and strange; he traversed
wild waters with incredible swiftness; marvellous creatures
appeared and vanished; he lived with all sorts of men, in
battles, in whirling crowds, in lonely huts. He was cast into
prison. He fell into dire distress and want. All experiences
seemed to be sharpened to an edge. He felt them keenly, yet
they did not harm him. He died and came alive again; he loved to
the height of passion, and then was parted forever from his
beloved. At last, toward morning, as the dawn was stealing
near, his soul grew calm, and the pictures showed more clear
and firm.
It seemed as if he were walking alone through the deep
woods. Seldom the daylight shimmered through the green veil.
Soon he came to a rocky gorge in the mountains. Under the
mossy stones in the bed of the stream, he heard the water
secretly tinkling downward, ever downward, as he climbed
upward.
The forest grew thinner and lighter. He came to a fair
meadow on the slope of the mountain. Beyond the meadow was a
high cliff, and in the face of the cliff an opening like the
entrance to a path. Dark was the way, but smooth, and he
followed easily on till he came near to a vast cavern from
which a flood of radiance streamed to meet him.
As he entered he beheld a mighty beam of light which
sprang from the ground, shattering itself against the roof in
countless sparks, falling and flowing all together into a
great pool in the rock. Brighter was the light-beam than molten
gold, but silent in its rise, and silent in its fall. The sacred
stillness of a shrine, a never-broken hush of joy and wonder,
filled the cavern. Cool was the dripping radiance that softly
trickled down the walls, and the light that rippled from them was
pale blue.
But the pool, as the boy drew near and watched it,
quivered and glanced with the ever-changing colours of a
liquid opal. He dipped his hands in it and wet his lips. It
seemed as if a lively breeze passed through his heart.
He felt an irresistible desire to bathe in the pool.
Slipping off his clothes he plunged in. It was as if he
bathed in a cloud of sunset. A celestial rapture flowed
through him. The waves of the stream were like a bevy of
nymphs taking shape around him, clinging to him with tender
breasts,