I will tell you something about Little Johannes and his quest. My storyis very like a fairy tale, but everything in it really happened. As soonas you lose faith in it, read no farther, for then it was not writtenfor you. And, should you chance to meet Little Johannes, you must neverspeak to him about it, for that would grieve him and make me sorry I hadtold you all this.
Johannes lived in an old house with a big garden. It was hard to findthe way about them, for in the house were many dark halls, flights ofstairs, chambers, and spacious garrets; and in the garden everywherewere fencings and hot-houses. To Johannes it was a whole world initself. He could make far journeys in it, and he gave names toeverything he discovered. For the house he chose names from the animalkingdom; the caterpillar loft, because there he fed the caterpillars andwatched them change their state; the chicken room, because once he hadfound a hen there. This had not come of itself, but had been put thereby Johannes' mother, to brood. For things in the garden, preferringthose products of which he was most fond, he chose names from thevegetable kingdom, such as Raspberry Mountain, Gooseberry Woods, andStrawberry Valley. Behind all was a little spot he named Paradise; andthere, of course, it was exceedingly delightful. A great sheet of waterlay there—a pond where white water-lilies were floating, and where thereeds held long, whispered conversations with the wind. On the oppositeside lay the dunes. Paradise itself was a little grass-plot on the nearshore, encircled by shrubbery. From the midst of this shot up the tallnightingale-plant. There, in the thick grass, Johannes often lay gazingthrough the swaying stalks to the gentle hill-tops beyond the water. Heused to go every warm summer evening and lie looking for hours, withoutever growing weary of it. He thought about the still depths of the clearwater before him—how cozy it must be down amid the water plants, inthat strange half-light. And then again, he thought of the far-away,gloriously-tinted clouds which hovered above the dunes—wondering whatmight be behind them, and if it would not be fine to be able to flythither. Just as the sun was sinking, the clouds piled up upon oneanother till they seemed to form the entrance to a grotto; and from thedepths of that grotto glowed a soft, red light. Then Johannes would feela longing to be there. Could I only fly into it! he thought. What wouldreally be beyond? Shall I sometime—sometime be able to get there?
But often as he made this wish, the grotto always fell apart in ashen,dusky flecks, and he never was able to get nearer to it. Then it wouldgrow cold and damp by the pond, and again he would seek his dark littlebedroom in the old house.
He lived there not entirely alone. He had a father who took good care ofhim, a dog named Presto, and a cat named Simon. Of course, he thoughtmost of his father, but he by no means considered Presto and Simon sovery much beneath him, as a big man would have. He confided even moresecrets to Presto than to his father, and for Simon he felt a devoutrespect. That was not strange, for Simon was a big cat with glossy,black fur, and a thick tail. By merely looking at him one could see thathe was perfectly convinced of his own greatness and wisdom. He alwaysremained dignified and proper, even when he condescended to play with arolling spool, or while gn