The Story Without an End (Austin, 1913)/Chapter 7
VII.
But the Child went away from the place, and as he hung down his head thoughtfully, he did not observe that he took the wrong path, nor see how the flowers on either side bowed their heads to welcome him, nor hear how the old birds from the boughs, and the young from the nests, cried aloud to him, “God bless thee, our dear little prince!” And he went on, and on, farther and farther into the deep wood; and he thought over the foolish and heartless talk of the two selfish chatterers, and could not understand it. He would fain have forgotten it, but he could not. And the more he pondered, the more it seemed to him as if a malicious spider had spun her web around him, and as if his eyes were weary with trying to look through it.
And suddenly he came to a still water, above which young beeches lovingly entwined their arms. He looked in the water, and his eyes were riveted to it as if by enchantment. He could not move, but stood and gazed in the soft, placid mirror, from the bosom of which the tender green foliage, with the deep blue heavens between, gleamed so wondrously upon him. His sorrow was all forgotten, and even the echo of the discord in his little heart was hushed. That heart was once more in his eyes, and fain would he have drunk in the soft beauty of the colours that lay beneath him, or have plunged into the lovely deep.
Then the breeze began to sigh among the tree-tops. The Child raised his eyes and saw overhead the quivering green, and the deep blue behind it, and he knew not whether he were awake or dreaming: which were the real leaves and the real heaven–those in the heights above, or the depths beneath? Long did the Child waver, and his thoughts floated in a delicious dreaminess from one to the other, till the dragon-fly flew to him in affectionate haste, and with rustling wings greeted her kind host. The Child returned her greeting, and was glad to meet an acquaintance with whom he could share the rich feast of his joy. But first he asked the dragon-fly if she could decide for him between the Upper and the Nether–the height and the depth? The dragon-fly flew above, and beneath, and around; but the water spake: “The foliage and the sky above are not the true ones: the leaves wither and fall; the sky is often overcast, and sometimes quite dark.” Then the leaves and the sky said: “The water only apes us; it must change its pictures at our pleasure, and can retain none.” Then the dragon-fly remarked that the height and the depth existed only in the eyes of the Child, and that the leaves and the sky were true and real only in his thoughts, because in the mind alone the picture was permanent and enduring, and could be carried with him whithersoever he went.
This she said to the Child; but she immediately warned him to return, for the leaves were already beating the tattoo in the evening breeze, and the lights were disappearing one by one in every corner. Then the Child confessed to her with alarm that he knew not how he should find the way back, and that he feared the dark night would overtake him if he attempted to go home alone; so the dragon-fly flew on before him and showed him a cave in the rock where he might pass the night. And the Child was well content, for he had often wished to try if he could sleep out of his accustomed bed.