the blue flower- 第1部分

The　Blue　Flower

by　Henry　van　Dyke




The　desire　of　the　moth　for　the　star；
Of　the　night　for　the　morrow；
The　devotion　for　something　afar
From　the　sphere　of　our　sorrow。
SHELLEY。




　　　　　　　　To
　THE　DEAR　MEMORY　OF
　BERNARD　VAN　DYKE
　　　　　1887…1897
　AND　THE　LOVE　THAT　LIVES
　　BEYOND　THE　YEARS



PREFACE

Sometimes　short　stories　are　brought　together　like　parcels　in
a　basket。　　Sometimes　they　grow　together　like　blossoms　on　a
bush。　　Then；　of　course；　they　really　belong　to　one　another；
because　they　have　the　same　life　in　them。

The　stories　in　this　book　have　been　growing　together　for　a
long　time。　　It　is　at　least　ten　years　since　the　first　of　them；
the　story　of　The　Other　Wise　Man；　came　to　me；　and　all　the
others　I　knew　quite　well　by　heart　a　good　while　before　I　could
find　the　time；　in　a　hard…worked　life；　to　write　them　down　and
try　to　make　them　clear　and　true　to　others。　　It　has　been　a　slow
task；　because　the　right　word　has　not　always　been　easy　to　find；
and　I　wanted　to　keep　free　from　conventionality　in　the　thought
and　close　to　nature　in　the　picture。　　It　is　enough　to　cause　a
man　no　little　shame　to　see　how　small　is　the　fruit　of　so　long
labour。

And　yet；　after　all；　when　one　wishes　to　write
about　life；　especially　about　that　part　of　it　which　is　inward；
the　inwrought　experience　of　living　may　be　of　value。　　And　that
is　a　thing　which　one　cannot　get　in　haste；　neither　can　it　be
made　to　order。　　Patient　waiting　belongs　to　it；　and　rainy　days
belong　to　it；　and　the　best　of　it　sometimes　comes　in　the　doing
of　tasks　that　seem　not　to　amount　to　much。　　So　in　the　long　run；
I　suppose；　while　delay　and　failure　and　interruption　may　keep
a　piece　of　work　very　small；　yet　in　the　end　they　enter　into　the
quality　of　it　and　bring　it　a　little　nearer　to　the　real　thing；
which　is　always　more　or　less　of　a　secret。

But　the　strangest　part　of　it　all　is　the　way　in　which　a
single　thought；　an　idea；　will　live　with　a　man　while　he　works；
and　take　new　forms　from　year　to　year；　and　light　up　the　things
that　he　sees　and　hears；　and　lead　his　imagination　by　the　hand
into　many　wonderful　and　diverse　regions。　　It　seems　to　me　that
there　am　two　ways　in　which　you　may　give　unity　to　a　book　of
stories。　　You　may　stay　in　one　place　and　write　about　different
themes；　preserving　always　the　colour　of　the　same　locality。　　Or
you　may　go　into　different　places　and　use　as　many　of　the　colours
and　shapes　of　life　as　you　can　really　see　in　the　light　of　the　same
thought。

There　is　such　a　thought　in　this　book。　　It　is　the　idea　of
the　search　for　inward　happiness；　which　all　men　who　are　really
alive　are　following；　along　what　various　paths；　and　with　what
different　fortunes！　　Glimpses　of　this　idea；　traces　of　this
search；　I　thought　that　I　could　see　in　certain　tales　that　were
in　my　mind；tales　of　times　old　and　new；　of　lands　near　and　far
away。　　So　I　tried　to　tell　them；　as　best　as　I　could；　hoping
that　other　men；　being　also　seekers；　might　find　some　meaning　in
them。

There　are　only　little；　broken　chapters　from　the　long　story
of　life。　　None　of　them　is　taken　from　other　books。　　Only　one　of
themthe　story　of　Winifried　and　the　Thunder…Oakhas　the
slightest　wisp　of　a　foundation　in　fact　or　legend。　　Yet　I　think
they　are　all　true。

But　how　to　find　a　name　for　such　a　book；a　name　that　will　tell
enough　to　show　the　thought　and　yet　not　too　much　to　leave　it　free？
I　have　borrowed　a　symbol　from　the　old
German　poet　and　philosopher；　Novalis；　to　stand　instead　of　a
name。　　The　Blue　Flower　which　he　used　in　his　romance　of
Heinrich　von　Ofterdingen　to　symbolise　Poetry；　the　object　of
his　young　hero's　quest；　I　have　used　here　to　signify　happiness；
the　satisfaction　of　the　heart。

Reader；　will　you　take　the　book　and　see　if　it　belongs　to
you？　　Whether　it　does　or　not；　my　wish　is　that　the　Blue　Flower
may　grow　in　the　garden　where　you　work。

AVALON；
December　1；　1902。




CONTENTS

I。　　　　　The　Blue　Flower
II。　　　　The　Source
III。　　　The　Mill
IV。　　　　Spy　Rock
V。　　　　　Wood…Magic
VI。　　　　The　Other　Wise　Man
VII。　　　I　Handful　of　Clay
VIII。　　The　Lost　Word
IX。　　　　The　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　nowor　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
feelsometimes　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；　as　he　floated　onward；　lost　in　delight；　yet　keenly
sensitive　to　every　impression。　　Swiftly　the　current　bore　him
out　of　the　pool；　into　a　hollow　in　the　cliff。　　Here　a　dimness
of　slumber　shadowed　his　eyes；　while　he　felt　the　pressure　of
the　loveliest　dreams。

When　he　awoke　again；　he　was　aware　of　a　new　fulness　of　light；
purer　and　steadier　than　the　first　radiance。　He　found　himself
lying　on　the　green　turf；　in　the　open　air；　beside　a　little
fountain；　which　sparkled　up　and　melted　away　in　silver　spray。
Dark…blue　were　the　rocks　that　rose　at　a　little　distance；　veined
with　white　as　if　strange　words　were　written　upon　them。　　Dark…blue
was　the　sky；　and　cloudless。

All　passion　had　dissolved　away　from　him；　every　sound　was
music；　every　breath　was　peace；　the　rocks　were　like　sentinels
protecting　him；　the　sky　was　like　a　cup　of　blessing　full　of
tranquil　light。

But　what　charmed　him　most；　and　drew　him　with　resistless
power；　was　a　tall；　clear…blue　flower；　growing　beside　the
spring；　and　almost　touching　him　with　its　broad；　glistening
leaves。　　Round　about　were　many　other　flowers；　of　all　hues。
Their　odours　mingled　in　a　p