THE Child started up, and, to recover himself from his fright, went into
the little flower-garden behind his cottage, where the beds were
surrounded by ancient palm-trees, and where he knew that all the flowers
would nod kindly at him. But, behold, the Tulip turned up her nose, and
the Ranunculus held her head as stiffly as possible, that she might not
bow good-morrow to him. The Rose, with her fair round cheeks, smiled and
greeted the Child lovingly; so he went up to her and kissed her fragrant
mouth. And then the Rose tenderly complained that he so seldom came into
the garden, and that she gave out her bloom and her fragrance the
live-long day in vain; for the other flowers could not see her, because
they were too low, or did not care to look at her, because they
themselves were so rich in bloom and fragrance. But she was most
delighted when she glowed in the blooming head of a child, and could pour
out all her heart’s secrets to him in sweet odours. Among other things,
the Rose whispered in his ear that she was the fulness of beauty.
And in truth the Child, while looking at her beauty, seemed to have quite
forgotten to go on; till the Blue Larkspur called to him, and asked
whether he cared nothing more about his faithful friend; she said that
she was unchanged, and that even in death she should look upon him with
eyes of unfading blue.
The Child thanked her for her true-heartedness, and passed on to the
Hyacinth, who stood near the puffy, full-cheeked, gaudy Tulips. Even
from a distance the Hyacinth sent forth kisses to him, for she knew not
how to express her love. Although she was not remarkable for her beauty,
yet the Child felt himself wondrously attracted by her, for he thought no
flower loved him so well. But the Hyacinth poured out her full heart and
wept bitterly, because she stood so lonely; the Tulips indeed were her
countrymen, but they were so cold and unfeeling that she was ashamed of
them. The Child encouraged her, and told her he did not think things
were so bad as she fancied. The Tulips spoke their love in bright looks,
while she uttered hers in fragrant words; that these, indeed, were
lovelier and more intelligible, but that the others were not to be
despised.
Then the Hyacinth was comforted, and said she would be content; and the
Child went on to the powdered Auricula, who, in her bashfulness, looked
kindly up to him, and would gladly have given him more than kind looks,
had she had more to give. But the Child was satisfied with her modest
greeting; he felt that he was poor too, and he saw the deep, thoughtful
colours that lay beneath her golden dust. But the humble flower, of her
own accord, sent him to her neighbour, the Lily, whom she willingly
acknowledged as her queen. And when the Child came to the Lily, the
slender flower waved to and fro and bowed her pale head with gentle pride
and stately modesty, and sent forth a fragrant greeting to him. The
Child knew not what had come to him: it reached his inmost heart, so that
his eyes filled with soft tears. Then he marked how the lily gazed with
a clear and steadfast eye upon the sun, and how the sun looked down again
into her pure chalice, and how, amid this interchange of looks, the three
golden threads united in the centre. And the Child heard how one scarlet
Lady-bird at the bottom of the cup said to another, “Knowest thou not
that we dwell in the flower of heaven?” and the other replied, “Yes; and
now will the mystery be fulfilled.” And as the Child saw and heard all
this, the dim image of his unknown parents, as it were veiled in a holy
light, floated before his eyes: he strove to grasp it, but the light was
gone, and the Child slipped, and would have fallen, had not the branch of
a currant bush caught and held him; and he took some of the bright
berries for his morning’s meal, and went back to his hut and stripped the
little branches.