Child Life in Prose

by Unknown

The child laid himself down to sleep, for he was very tired; but he could not sleep, for his couch of moss was quite another thing than his little bed, and the cave was all strange to him. He turned himself on one side and then on the other, and, as nothing would do, he raised himself and sat upright, to wait till sleep might choose to come. But sleep would not come at all; and the only wakeful eyes in the whole wood were the child's. For the harebells had rung themselves weary, and the fire-flies had flown about till they were tired, and even the dragon-fly, who would fain have kept watch in front of the cave, had dropped sound asleep.

The wood grew stiller and stiller, here and there fell a dry leaf which had been driven from its old dwelling-place by a fresh one, here and there a young bird gave a soft chirp when its mother squeezed it in the nest; and from time to time a gnat hummed for a minute or two in the curtain, till a spider crept on tiptoe along its web, and gave him such a gripe in the windpipe as soon spoiled his trumpeting. And the deeper the silence became, the more intently did the child listen, and at last the slightest sound thrilled him from head to foot. At length, all was still as death in the wood; and the world seemed as if it never would wake again. The child bent forward to see whether it were as dark abroad as in the cave, but he saw nothing save the pitch dark night, who had wrapped everything in her thick veil. Yet as he looked upwards his eyes met the friendly glance of two or three stars; and this was a most joyful surprise to him, for he felt himself no longer so entirely alone. The stars were indeed far, far away, but yet he knew them, and they knew him; for they looked into his eyes.

The child's whole soul was fixed in his gaze; and it seemed to him as if he must needs fly out of the darksome cave thither, where the stars were beaming with such pure and serene light; and he felt how poor and lowly he was when he thought of their brilliancy; and how cramped and fettered, when he thought of their free unbounded course along the heavens.

XI.

But the stars went on their course, and left their glittering picture only a little while before the child's eyes. Even this faded, and then vanished quite away. And he was beginning to feel tired, and to wish to lay himself down again, when a flickering will-o'-the-wisp appeared from behind a bush,—so that the child thought, at first, one of the stars had wandered out of its way and had come to visit him, and to take him with it. And the child breathed quick with joy and surprise, and then the will-o'-the-wisp came nearer, and set himself down on a damp mossy stone in front of the cave, and another fluttered quickly after him, and sat down over against him, and sighed deeply, "Thank God, then, that I can rest at last!" "Yes," said the other, "for that you may thank the innocent child who sleeps there within; it was his pure breath that freed us." "Are you, then," said the child, hesitatingly, "not of yon stars which wander so brightly there above?" "O, if we were stars," replied the first, "we should pursue our tranquil path through the pure element, and should leave this wood and the whole darksome earth to itself." "And not," said the other, "sit brooding on the face of the shallow pool."

The child was curious to know who these could be who shone so beautifully and yet seemed so discontented. Then the first began to relate how he had been a child too, and how, as he grew up, it had always been his greatest delight to deceive people and play them tricks, to show his wit and cleverness. He had always, he said, poured such a stream of smooth words over people, and encompassed himself with such a shining mist, that men had been attracted by it to their own hurt.

But once on a time there appeared a plain man who only spoke two or three simple words, and suddenly the bright mist vanished, and left him naked and deformed, to the scorn and mockery of the whole world. But the man had turned away his face from him in pity, while he was almost dead with shame and anger. And when he came to himself again, he knew not what had befallen him, till at length he found that it was his fate to hover, without rest or change, over the surface of the bog as a will-o'-the-wisp.

"With me it fell out quite otherwise," said the first; "instead of giving light without warmth, as I now do, I burned without shining. When I was only a child, people gave way to me in everything, so that I was intoxicated with self-love. If I saw any one shine, I longed to put out his light; and the more intensely I wished this, the more did my own small glimmering turn back upon myself, and inwardly burn fiercely while all without was darker than ever. But if any one who shone more brightly would have kindly given me of his light, then did my inward flame burst forth to destroy him. But the flame passed through the light and harmed it not: it shone only the more brightly, while I was withered and exhausted. And once upon a time I met a little smiling child, who played with a cross of palm branches, and wore a beaming coronet around his golden locks. He took me kindly by the hand, and said, 'My friend, you are now very gloomy and sad, but if you will become a child again, even as I am, you will have a bright circlet such as I have.' When I heard that, I was so angry with myself and with the child that I was scorched by my inward fire. Now would I fain fly up to the sun to fetch rays from him, but the rays drove me back with these words: 'Return thither whence thou camest, thou dark fire of envy, for the sun lightens only in love; the greedy earth, indeed, sometimes turns his mild light into scorching fire. Fly back, then, for with thy like alone must thou dwell!' I fell, and when I recovered myself I was glimmering coldly above the stagnant waters."

While they were talking, the child had fallen asleep; for he knew nothing of the world, nor of men, and he could make nothing of their stories. Weariness had spoken a more intelligible language to him; that he understood, and had fallen asleep.

XII.