Wood Magic: A Fable
everywhere he can, and does not like me to be in the shadow. Sometimes I
sing to the wind, who loves me next most dearly, and will come to me
everywhere, in places where the sun cannot get. He plays with me
whenever he can, and strokes me softly, and tells me the things he has
heard in the woods and on the hills, and sends down the leaves to float
along, for he knows I like something to carry. Fling me in some leaves,
Bevis dear.
"Sometimes I sing to the earth and the grass; they are fond of me too,
and listen the best of all. I sing loudest at night, to the stars, for
they are so far away they would not otherwise hear me."
"But what do you say?" said Bevis; but the brook was too occupied now to
heed him, and went on.
"Sometimes I sing to the trees; they, too, are fond of me, and come as
near as they can; they would all come down close to me if they could.
They love me like the rest, because I am so happy, and never cease my
chanting. If I am broken to pieces against a stone, I do not mind in the
least; I laugh just the same, and even louder. When I come over the
hatch, I dash myself to fragments; and sometimes a rainbow comes and
stays a little while with me. The trees drink me, and the grass drinks
me, the birds come down and drink me; they splash me, and are happy. The
fishes swim about, and some of them hide in deep corners. Round the bend
I go, and the osiers say they never have enough of me. The long grass
waves and welcomes me; the moor-hens float with me; the kingfisher is
always with me somewhere, and sits on the bough to see his ruddy breast
in the water. And you come too, Bevis, now and then to listen to me; and
it is all because I am so happy."
"Why are you so happy?" said Bevis.
"I do not know," said the brook. "Perhaps it is because all I think of
is this minute; I do not know anything about the minute just gone by,
and I do not care one bit about the minute that is just coming; all I
care about is this minute, this very minute now. Fling me in some more
leaves, Bevis. Why do you go about asking questions, dear? Why don't you
sing, and do nothing else?"
"Oh, but I want to know all about everything," said Bevis. "Where did
you come from, and where are you going, and why don't you go on and let
the ground be dry--why don't you run on, and run all away? Why are you
always here?"
The brook laughed, and said: "My dear, I do not know where I came from,
and I do not care at all where I am going. What does it matter, my love?
All I know is I shall come back again; yes, I shall come back again."
The brook sang very low, and rather sadly now: "I shall go into the sea,
and shall be lost; and even you would not know me--ask your father,
love, he has sailed over the sea in the ships that come to Southampton,
and I was close to him, but he did not know me. But by-and-by, when I am
in the sea, the sun will lift me up, and the clouds will float
along--look towards the hills, Bevis dear, every morning, and you will
see the clouds coming and bringing me with them; and the rain and the
dew, and sometimes the thunder and the lightning, will put me down
again, and I shall run along here and sing to you, my sweet, if you will
come and listen. Fling in some little twigs, my dear, and some bits of
bark from the tree."
Then the brook sang very low and very sad, and said: "I shall come back
again, Bevis; I always come back, and I am always happy; and yet I do
not know either if I am really happy when I am singing so joyously.
Bevis dear, try and think and tell me. Am I really happy, Bevis? Tell
me, dear; you can see the sun sparkling on me, and the wind stroking me,
just as he strokes your hair (he told me he was very fond of you, and
meant to tell you a story some day), and the reeds whispering, and the
willows drooping over me, and the bright kingfisher; you can hear me
singing, Bevis, now am I happy?"
"I do not know," said Bevis; "sometimes you sound very happy, but just
now you sound very sad. Stop a little while and think about it."
"Oh, no, Bevis; I cannot stop, I must keep running. Nothing can stop,
dear: the trees cannot stop growing, they must keep on growing till they
die; and then they cannot stop decaying, till they are all quite gone;
but they come back again. Nor can you stop, Bevis dear."
"I will stop," said Bevis.
"You cannot," said the brook.
"But I will."
"You cannot. You are a very clever boy, Bevis, but you cannot stop; nor
can your papa, nor anybody, you must keep on. Let me see, let me think.
I remember, I have seen you before; it was so many, many thousand years
ago, but I am almost sure it was you. Now I begin to think about it, I
believe I have seen you two or three times, Bevis; but it was before the
hippopotamus used to come and splash about in me. I cannot be quite
certain, for it is a long time to remember your face, dear."
"I do not believe it," said Bevis; "you are babbling, Brook. My mamma
says you babble--it is because you are so old. I am sure I was not born
then."
"Yes, you were, dear; and I daresay you will come back again, when all
the hills are changed and the roads are covered with woods, and the
houses gone. I daresay you will come back again and splash in me, like
the blackbirds."
"Now you are talking nonsense, you silly Brook," said Bevis; "the hills
will never change, and the roads will always be here, and the houses
will not be gone: but why are you sighing, you dear old Brook?"
"I am sighing, my love, because I remember."
"What do you remember?"
"I remember before the hills were like they are now; I remember when I
was a broad deep river; I remember the stars that used to shine in me,
and they are all gone, you cannot see them now, Bevis ('Pooh,' said
Bevis); I remember the stories the lions used to tell me when they came
down to drink; I remember the people dancing on the grass by me, and
sing, singing; they used to sing like me, Bevis, without knowing what it
was they sung, and without any words (not stupid songs, Bevis, like your
people sing now), but I understood them very well. I cannot understand
the songs the folk sing now, the folk that live now have gone away so
far from me."
"What nonsense you say, old Brook; why, we live quite close, and the
waggons go over your bridge every day."
"I remember (the brook took no notice, but went on), I remember them
very well, and they loved me dearly too; they had boats, Bevis, made out
of trees, and they floated about on me."
"I will have a boat," said Bevis, "and float about on you."
"And they played music, which was just like my singing, and they were
very happy, because, as I told you about myself, they did not think
about the minute that was coming, or the minute that had gone by, they
only thought about this minute."
"How long was that ago?" said Bevis.
"Oh," said the brook, "I daresay your papa would tell you it was
thousands upon thousands of years, but that is not true, dear; it was
only a second or two since."
"I shall not stay to listen much longer, silly Brook, if you talk like
that; why, it must be longer than that, or I should have seen it."
"My dear," said the brook, "that which has gone by, whether it happened
a second since, or a thousand thousand years since, is just the same;
there is no real division betwixt you and the past. You people who live
now have made up all sorts of stupid, very stupid stories, dear; I hope
you will not believe them; they tell you about time and all that. Now
there is no such thing as time, Bevis my love; there never was any time,
and there never will be; the sun laughs at it, even when he marks it on
the sun-dial. Yesterday was just a second ago, and so was ten thousand
years since, and there is nothing between you and then; there is no wall
between you and then--nothing at all, dear,"--and the brook sang so low
and thoughtfully that Bevis could not catch what he said, but the tune
was so sweet, and soft, and sad that it made him keep quite still. While
he was listening the kingfisher came back and perched on the hatch, and
Bevis saw his ruddy neck and his blue wings.
"There is nothing between you and then," the brook began again, "nothing
at all, dear; only some stories which are not true; if you will not
believe me, look at the sun, but you cannot look at the sun, darling; it
shines so bright. It shines just the same, as bright and beautiful; and
the wind blows as sweet as ever, and I sparkle and sing just the same,
and you may drink me if you like; and the grass is just as green; and
the stars shine at night. Oh, yes, Bevis dear, _we_ are all here just
the same, my love, and all things are as bright and beautiful as ten
thousand times ten thousand years ago, which is no longer since than a
second.
"But your people have gone away from us--that is their own fault. I
cannot think why they should do so; they have gone away from us, and
they are no longer happy, Bevis; they cannot understand our songs--they
sing stupid songs they have made up themselves, and which they did not
learn of us, and then because they are not happy, they say: 'The world
is growing old'. But it is not true, Bevis, the world is not old, it is
as young as ever it was. Fling me a leaf--and now another. Do not you
forget me, Bevis; come and see me now and then, and throw twigs to me
and splash me."
"That I will," said Bevis; and he picked up a stone and flung it into
the water with such a splash that the kingfisher flew away, but the
brook only laughed, and told him to throw another, and to make haste and
eat the peck of salt, and grow bigger and jump over him. "That I will,"
said Bevis, "I am very hungry now--good-morning, I am going home to
dinner."
"Good-morning, dear," said the brook, "you will always find me here when
you want to hear a song." Bevis went home to dinner humming the tune the
brook had taught him, and by-and-by, when the hot sun had begun to sink
a little, he started again for the copse, and as before the dragon-fly
met him, and led him to the timber, and from there to the raspberries.
The squirrel was waiting for him on a bough of the oak, and while Bevis
picked the fruit that had ripened since yesterday, told him the news the
peewits had brought about the great rebel Choo Hoo. A party of the
peewits, who had been watching ever so far away, thought they saw a stir
and a movement in the woods; and presently out came one of the captains
of the wood-pigeons with two hundred of his soldiers, and they flew over
the border into King Kapchack's country and began to forage in one of
his wheat-fields, where the corn was ripe. When they saw this, the
peewits held a council on the hill, and they sent a messenger to
Kapchack with the news. While they were waiting for him to return, some
of the wood-pigeons, having foraged enough, went home to the woods, so
that there was not much more than half of them left.
Seeing this--for his soldiers who were wheeling about in the air came
and told him--the captain of the peewits thought: "Now is my time! This
is a most lucky and fortunate circumstance, and I can now win the high
approval of King Kapchack, and obtain promotion. The captain of the
wood-pigeons has no idea how many of us are watching his proceedings,
for I have kept my peewits behind the cover of the hill so that he could
not count them, and he has allowed half of the wood-pigeons to go home.
We will rush down upon the rest, and so win an easy victory."
So saying he flew up, and all the peewits followed him in the
expectation of an easy conquest. But, just as they were descending upon
the wheat-field, up flew the wood-pigeons with such a terrible clangour
of their strong wings, and facing towards them, showed such a
determination to fight to the last breath, that the peewits, who were