Little Johannes

For a moment he could hardly be sure whether his tears of joy had not, in vexation, turned to tears of fear and contrition; but then he remembered Windekind, who was now his friend, his friend and ally; and the Elfin King's gift; and the splendid, indisputable reality of all that had happened; – and so he made his way homeward calmly, and prepared for whatever might betide.

It fell out as he had anticipated. But he had not imagined that the distress and alarm of the house-hold could be so serious a matter. He must solemnly promise never again to be so naughty and heedless. This quite restored his presence of mind.

'That I cannot promise,' he said very resolutely.

They looked at him in amazement. He was questioned, coaxed, threatened. But he thought of Windekind and was firm. What did he care for punishment so long as he had Windekind for his friend – and what would he not endure for Windekind's sake? He clutched the little key tightly to his breast and shut his mouth firmly, answering every question with a shrug of his shoulders.

'I cannot promise,' was all he replied.

But his father said: 'Leave him in peace; he is quite in earnest about it. Something strange must have happened to him. He will tell us all about it some day.'

Johannes smiled, ate his breakfast in silence, and crept up to his little room. There he nipped off a bit of the blind-cord, slipped it through his precious little key and hung it round his neck next to his breast. Then he very contentedly went to school.

Things went ill with him at school that day. He knew none of his lessons and paid no attention at all. His thoughts were constantly wandering to the pool, and the wonderful things which had happened last evening. He could scarcely believe that a friend of the fairy king's could be expected and required to do sums and conjugate verbs. But it had all been true, and no one there knew anything about it, or would believe it or understand it; not even the master, however cross he might be, calling Johannes an idle little boy in a tone of great contempt. He took the bad marks he had earned with a light heart, and did the task set him as a punishment for his inattention.

'You, none of you understand anything about it. You may scold me as much as you please. I am Windekind's friend, and Windekind is worth more to me than all of you put together. Ay, with the master into the bargain!'

This was not respectful of Johannes. But his estimation of his fellow-creatures had not been raised by all the evil he had heard said of them the evening before.

But, as is often the case, he was not yet wise enough to use his wisdom wisely, or, better still, to keep it to himself.

When the master went on to say that man alone of all creatures was endowed by God with speech, and appointed lord over all other animals, Johannes began to laugh. This cost him a bad mark and serious reproof. And when his next neighbour read the following sentence out of an exercise-book: 'The age of my wilful aunt is great, but not so great as that of the Sun' – parsing 'the Sun' correctly as feminine, Johannes shouted out loudly, correcting him: 'Masculine, masculine!'

Every one laughed excepting the master, who was amazed at such utter stupidity as he thought it, and he desired Johannes to remain in school and write out a hundred times: 'The age of my wilful aunt is great, but not so great as that of the Sun (feminine), and greater still is my arrogant stupidity.'

His school-fellows had departed, and Johannes sat alone writing, in the great empty school-room. The sun shone in brightly, making the dust-motes glitter in its beams, and painting the wall with patches of light which crept round as time went on. The master, too, was gone, slamming the door behind him. Johannes had just got to the fifty-second 'wilful aunt' when a tiny, brisk mouse, with black, beady little eyes and erect ears, came out of the farthest corner of the room and ran noiselessly along by the wall. Johannes kept as still as death, not to scare the pretty little thing; but it was not shy and came close to where he was sitting. It looked sharply about for a minute or two, with its small, bright eyes; then with one spring leaped on to the bench, and with a second on to the desk on which Johannes was writing.

'Well done!' said he half to himself, 'you are a very bold little mouse.'

'I ought to know whom I should be afraid of,' said a wee-wee voice, and the mouse showed his little white teeth as if he were laughing.

Johannes was by this time quite used to marvels; still, this made him open his eyes very wide. Here, in school, in the middle of the day – it was incredible.

'You need not be afraid of me,' said he, very gently for fear of frightening the mouse. 'Did Windekind send you?'

'I am sent to tell you that the master was quite right, and that you thoroughly deserved your extra task.'

'But it was Windekind who told me that the sun was masculine. He said he was his father.'

'Yes; but no one else need know it. What have men to do with that? You must never discuss such delicate matters with men; they are too gross to understand them. Man is an astonishingly perverse and stupid creature that only cares to catch or kill whatever comes within his reach. Of that we mice have ample experience.'

'But why then, little mouse, do you live among men? Why do you not run away to the woods?'

'Oh, that we cannot do now. We are too much accustomed to town living. And so long as we are prudent, and always take care to avoid their traps and their heavy feet, we get on very well among men. Fortunately we are very nimble. The worst of it is, that man ekes out his own slowness by an alliance with the cat; that is a great grievance. But in the woods there are owls and hawks, and we should all be starved. Now, Johannes, mind my advice – here comes the master.'

'Mouse, mouse; do not go away. Ask Windekind what I am to do with my little key. I have tied it round my neck, next my skin. But on Saturday I am tubbed, and I am so afraid that it will be found. Tell me, where can I hide it?'

'Underground, always underground, that is always safest. Shall I keep it for you?'

'No, not here in school.'

'Then bury it out in the sand-hills. I will tell my cousin the field-mouse that he must take care of it.'

'Thank you, little mouse.'

Tramp, tramp! In came the master. While Johannes was dipping his pen the mouse had vanished. The master, who wanted to go home, let Johannes off the other forty-eight lines.

For two days Johannes lived in constant dread. He was kept strictly within sight, and had no opportunity of slipping off to the sand-hills. It was already Friday, and still the precious key was about his neck. The following evening he would inevitably be stripped; the key would be discovered and taken from him – his blood turned cold at the thought. He dared not hide it in the house or garden – no place seemed to him safe enough.

Friday afternoon, and dusk was creeping down! Johannes sat at his bedroom window, gazing with longing at the distance, over the green shrubs in the garden to the downs beyond.

'Windekind, Windekind, help me!' he whispered anxiously.

He heard a soft rustling of wings close at hand, he smelt the scent of lilies of the valley, and suddenly heard the sweet, well-known voice. Windekind sat by him on the window-sill, waving the bells of a lily of the valley on their slender stems.

'Here you are at last!' cried Johannes; 'I have longed for you so much!'

'Come with me, Johannes, we will bury your little key.'

'I cannot,' said Johannes sadly.

But Windekind took him by the hand and he felt himself wafted through the still evening air, as light as the wind-blown down of a dandelion.

'Windekind,' said Johannes, as they floated on, 'I love you so dearly. I believe I would give all the people in the world for you, and Presto into the bargain.'

'And Simon?'

'Oh, Simon does not care whether I love him or not. I believe he thinks it too childish. Simon loves no one but the fish-woman, and that only when he is hungry. Do you think that Simon is a common cat, Windekind?'

'No, formerly he was a man.'

Whrrr – bang! There went a fat cockchafer buzzing against Johannes.

'Can you not look where you are going?' grumbled the cockchafer, 'those Elves fly abroad as though the whole air were theirs by right. That is always the way with idlers who go flitting about for pleasure; those who, like me, are about their business, seeking their food and eating as hard as they can, are pushed out of their road.' And he flew off, scolding loudly.

'Does he think the worse of us because we do not eat?' asked Johannes.

'Yes, that is the way of cockchafers. According to them, the highest duty is to eat a great deal. Shall I tell you the history of a young cockchafer?'

'Ay, do,' said Johannes.

'There was a pretty young cockchafer who had just crept out of the earth. That was a great surprise. For a whole year he had sat waiting in the dark earth, watching for the first warm summer evening. And when he put his head out of the clod, all the greenery, and the waving grass, and the singing-birds quite bewildered him. He had no idea what to be about. He touched the blades of grass with his feelers, spreading them out in a fan. Then he observed that he was a male cockchafer, very handsome in his way, with shining black legs, a large, fat body, and a breastplate that shone like a mirror. As luck would have it, he at once saw, not far off, another cockchafer, not indeed so handsome as himself, but who had come out the day before and who was quite old. Very modestly, being still so young, he crept towards the other.

'What do you want, my friend?' said the second cockchafer rather haughtily, seeing that the other was a youngster, 'do you wish to ask me the way?'

'No, I am obliged to you,' said the younger one civilly, 'but I do not know what I ought to be doing. What is there for cockchafers to do?'

'Dear me,' said the other, 'do not you know that much? Well, I cannot blame you, for I was young myself once. Listen, then, and I will tell you. The principal thing in a cockchafer's life is to eat. Not far from this is a delicious lime-walk which was placed there for us, and it is our duty to eat there as diligently as we can.'

'Who put the lime-walk there?' asked the younger beetle.

'Well, a great being who means very kindly to us. He comes down the Avenue every morning, and those who have eaten most he takes away to a splendid house where a beautiful light shines, and where chafers are all happy together. Those, on the other hand, who, instead of eating, spend the night in flying about are caught by the Bat.'

'What is that?' asked the young one.

'A fearful monster with sharp teeth who comes flying down on us all on a sudden and eats us up with a horrible crunch.

As the chafer spoke they heard a shrill squeak overhead which chilled them to the very marrow.

'Hark! There he is!' cried the elder, 'beware of him, my young friend, and be thankful that I have given you timely warning. You have the whole night before you. Make good use of your time. The less you eat, the greater the risk of the bat's seizing you. And none but those who choose a serious vocation in life ever go to the house where the beautiful light is. Mark that; a serious vocation.'

Then the chafer, who was by a whole day the elder, disappeared among the blades of grass, leaving the other greatly impressed.

'Do you know what a vocation is, Johannes? No? Well, the young chafer did not know. It had something to do with eating – he understood that. But how was he to find the lime-walk? Close at hand stood a slender but stalwart grass-stem, waving softly in the evening air. This he firmly clutched with his six crooked legs. It seemed a long journey up to the top, and very steep. But the cockchafer was determined to reach it. 'This is a vocation!' he thought to himself, and began to climb with much toil. He went but slowly and often slipped back; but he got on, and when at last he found himself on the slender tip, and rocked with its swaying, he felt triumphant and happy. What a view he had from thence! It seemed to him that he could see the whole world. How blissful it was to be surrounded by air on all sides! He eagerly breathed his fill. What a wonderful feeling had come over him! Now he craved to go higher!'

'In his rapture he raised his wing-cases and quivered his gauzy wings. Higher! and yet higher I His wings fluttered, his legs released the grass-stem, and then – oh joy! Whoo-oo I He was flying – freely and gladly, in the still, warm evening air!'

'And then?' said Johannes.

'The end is not happy. I will tell it you some day later.'

They were hovering over the pool. A pair of white butterflies fluttered to meet them.

'Whither are you travelling, elves?' they asked.

'To the large wild rose-tree which blooms by yonder mound.'

'We will go with you; we will go too!'

The rose-bush was already in sight in the distance, with its abundance of pale-yellow sheeny blossoms. The buds were red and the open flowers were dashed with red, as if they remembered the time when they were still buds.

The wild down-rose bloomed in peaceful solitude, and filled the air with its wonderfully sweet odours. They are so fine that the down-elves live on nothing else. The butterflies fluttered about and kissed flower after flower.

'We have come to place a treasure in your charge,' cried Windekind. 'Will you keep it safe for us?'

'Why not – why not?' whispered the rose. 'It is no pain to me to keep awake – and I have no thought of going away unless I am dragged away. And I have sharp thorns.'

Then came the field-mouse – the cousin of the school-mouse – and burrowed quite under the roots of the rose-tree. And there he buried the little key.

'When you want it again you must call me; for you must on no account hurt the rose.'

The rose twined its thorny arms thickly over the entrance and took a solemn oath to guard it faithfully. The butterflies were witnesses.

Next morning Johannes awoke in his own little bed, with Presto, and the clock against the wall. The cord with the key was gone from round his neck.

IV

'Children! children! A summer like this is a terrible infliction!' sighed one of three large stoves which stood side by side to bewail their fate in a garret of the old house. 'For weeks I have not seen one living soul or heard one rational remark. And always that hollow within! It is fearful!'

'I am full of spiders' webs,' said the second. 'And that would never happen in the winter.'

'And I am so dry and dusty that I shall be quite ashamed when, as winter comes on, the Black Man appears again, as the poet says.'

This piece of learning the third stove had of course picked up from Johannes, who had repeated some verses last winter, standing before the hearth.

'You must not speak so disrespectfully of the smith,' said the first stove, who was the eldest. 'It annoys me.'

A few shovels and tongs which lay on the floor, wrapped in paper to preserve them from rust, also expressed their opinion of this frivolous mode of speech.

But suddenly they were all silent, for the shutter in the roof was raised; a beam of light shone in on the gloomy place, and the whole party lapsed into silence under their dust and confusion.

It was Johannes who had come to disturb their conversation. This loft was at all times a delightful spot to him, and now, after the strange adventures of the last few days, he often came here. Here he found peace and solitude. There was a window, too, closed by a shutter, which looked out towards the sand-hills. It was a great delight to open the shutter suddenly, and, after the mysterious twilight of? the garret, to see all at once the sunlit landscape shut in by the fair, rolling dimes.

It was three weeks since that Friday evening, and Johannes had seen nothing of his friend since. The key was gone, and there was nothing now to assure him that he had not dreamed it all. Often, indeed, he could not conquer a fear that it was all nothing but fancy. He grew very silent, and his father was alarmed, for he observed that since that night out of doors Johannes had certainly had something the matter with him. But Johannes was only pining for Windekind.

'Can he be less fond of me than I of him?' he murmured, as he stood at the garret window and looked out over the green and flowery garden. 'Why is it that he never comes near me now? If I could – but perhaps he has other friends, and perhaps he loves them more than me. I have no other friend, not one. I love no one but him! I love him so much – oh so much!'

Then, against the deep blue sky he saw a flight of six white doves, who wheeled, flapping their wings, above the roof over his head. It seemed as though they were moved by one single impulse, so quickly did they veer and turn all together, as if to enjoy to the utmost the sea of sunshine and summer air in which they were flying.

Suddenly they swept down towards Johannes' window in the roof, and settled with much flapping and fussing on the water-pipe, where they pattered to and fro with endless cooings. One of them had a red feather in his wing. He plucked and pulled at it till he had pulled it out, and then he flew to Johannes and gave it to him.

Hardly had Johannes taken it in his hand when he felt that he was as light and swift as one of the doves. He stretched out his arms, the doves flew up, and Johannes found himself in their midst, in the spacious free air and glorious sunshine. There was nothing around him but the pure blue, and the bright shimmer of fluttering white wings.

They flew across the great garden, towards the wood, where the thick tree-tops waved in the distance like the swell of a green sea. Johannes looked down and saw his father through the open window, sitting in the house-place, – Simon was lying in the window seat with his crossed forepaws, basking in the sun.

'I wonder if they see me!' thought he; but he dared not call out to them.

Presto was trotting about the garden walks, sniffing at every shrub and behind every wall, and scratching against the door of every shed or greenhouse to find his master.

'Presto, Presto!' cried Johannes. The dog looked up and began to wag his tail and yelp most dolefully.

'I am coming back, Presto! only wait,' cried Johannes, but he was too far away.

They soared over the wood, and the rooks flew cawing out of the top branches where they had built their nests. It was high summer, and the scent of the blossoming limes came up in steamy gusts from the green wood.

In an empty nest, at the top of a tall lime-tree, sat Windekind, with his wreath of bindweed. He nodded to Johannes.

'There you are! that is good,' said he. 'I sent for you; now we can remain together for a long time – if you like.'

'I like it very much,' said Johannes.

Then he thanked the friendly doves who had brought him hither, and went down with Windekind into the woods. There it was cool and shady. The oriole piped his tune, almost always the same, but still a little different.

'Poor bird!' said Windekind. 'He was once a bird of Paradise. That you still may see by his strange yellow feathers; but he was transformed and turned out of Paradise. There is a word which can restore him to his former splendid plumage, and open Paradise to him once more; but he has forgotten the word; and now, day after day, he tries to find his way back there. He says something like the word, but it is not quite right.'

Numberless insects glittered like dancing crystals in the sun's rays where they pierced between the thick leaves. When they listened sharply they could hear a humming, like a great concert on one string, filling the whole wood. This was the song of the sunbeams.

The ground was covered with deep dark-green moss, and Johannes had again grown so tiny that it appeared to him like another wood on the ground, beneath the greater wood. What elegant little stems! and how closely they grew! It was difficult to make a way between them, and the moss forest seemed terribly large.

Presently they crossed an ants' track. Hundreds of ants were hurrying up and down, some dragging chips of wood or little blades of grass in their jaws. There was such a bustle that Johannes was almost bewildered.

It was a long time before one of the ants would spare them a word. They were all too busy. At last they found an old ant who was set to watch the plant-lice from which the ants get honeydew. As his herd was a very quiet one he could very well give a little time to the strangers, and let them see the great nest. It was situated at the foot of an old tree-trunk, and was very large, with hundreds of passages and cells. The plant-louse herd led the way, and conducted the visitors into every part of it, even into the nurseries where the young larvæ were creeping out of their cocoons. Johannes was amazed and delighted.

The old ant told them that every one was very busy by reason of the campaign which was immediately at hand. Another colony of ants, dwelling not far off, was to be attacked by a strong force, their nest destroyed and the larvæ carried off or killed; and as all the strength at their command must be employed, all the most necessary tasks must be got through beforehand.

'What is the campaign about?' said Johannes. 'I do not like fighting.'

'Nay, nay!' replied the herdsman. 'It is a very grand and praiseworthy war. You must remember that it is the soldier-ants we are going to attack; we shall exterminate the race, and that is a very good work.'

'Then you are not soldier-ants?'

'Certainly not. What are you thinking about? We are the peace-loving ants.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Do not you know? Well, I will explain. Once upon a time all ants were continually fighting, not a day passed without some great battle. Then there came a good, wise ant, who thought that he should save much sorrow if he could persuade them all to agree among themselves to fight no more. But when he said so every one thought him very odd, and for that reason they proceeded to bite him in pieces. Still, after this, other ants came who said the same thing, and they too were bitten to pieces. But at last so many were of this opinion that biting them to pieces was too hard work for the others. So then they called themselves the Peaceful Ants, and they did everything which their first teacher had done, and those who opposed them they, in their turn, bit in pieces. In this way almost all the ants at the present time have become Peaceful Ants, and the fragments of the first Peaceful Ant are carefully and reverently preserved. We have his head – the genuine head. We have devastated and annihilated twelve other colonies who pretended to have the True Head. Now there are but four who dare to do so. They call themselves Peaceful Ants, but in fact they are Fighting Ants by nature – but we have the True Head, and the Peaceful Ant had but one head. Now we are going to-morrow to destroy the thirteenth colony. So you see it is a good work.'

'Yes, yes,' said Johannes. 'It is very strange!'

He was in fact a little uneasy, and felt happier when, after thanking the herd-keeper, they had taken their leave, and were sitting far from the Ant colony, rocked on the top of a tall grass-stem, under the shade of a graceful fern.

'Hooh!' sighed Johannes, 'that was a bloodthirsty and stupid tribe!'

Windekind laughed, and swung up and down on the grass haulm.

'Oh!' said he, 'you must not call them stupid. Men go to the ants to get wisdom.'

Then Windekind showed Johannes all the wonders of the wood; they flew up to visit the birds in the tree-tops and in the thick shrubs, went down into the moles' clever dwellings, and saw the bees' nest in the old hollow tree.

At last they came out on an open place surrounded by brushwood. Honeysuckle grew there in great abundance. Its luxuriant trails climbed over everything, and the scented flowers peeped from among the greenery. A swarm of tomtits hopped and fluttered among the leaves with a great deal of twittering and chirping.

'Let us stay here a little while,' said Johannes; 'this is splendid.'

'Very well,' said Windekind. 'And you shall see something very droll.'

There were blue-bells in the grass. Johannes sat down by one of them and began to talk with the bees and the butterflies. They were friends of the blue-bells', so the conversation went on at a great rate.