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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