THUS the days and weeks of her young life passed for little Maya among the insects in a lovely summer world—a happy roving in garden and meadow, occasional risks and many joys. For all that, she often missed the companions of her early childhood and now and again suffered a pang1 of homesickness, an ache of longing2 for her people and the kingdom she had left. There were hours, too, when she yearned3 for regular, useful work and association with friends of her own kind.
However, at bottom she had a restless nature, little Maya had, and was scarcely ready 134to settle down for good and live in the community of the bees; she wouldn’t have felt comfortable. Often among animals as well as human beings there are some who cannot conform to the ways of the others. Before we condemn4 them we must be careful and give them a chance to prove themselves. For it is not always laziness or stubbornness that makes them different. Far from it. At the back of their peculiar5 urge is a deep longing for something higher or better than what every-day life has to offer, and many a time young runaways6 have grown up into good, sensible, experienced men and women.
Little Maya was a pure, sensitive soul, and her attitude to the big, beautiful world came of a genuine eagerness for knowledge and a great delight in the glories of creation.
Yet it is hard to be alone even when you are happy, and the more Maya went through, the greater became her yearning7 for companionship and love. She was no longer so very young; she had grown into a strong, superb creature with sound, bright wings, a sharp, dangerous sting, and a highly developed sense 135of both the pleasures and the hazards of her life. Through her own experience she had gathered information and stored up wisdom, which she now often wished she could apply to something of real value. There were days when she was ready to return to the hive and throw herself at the queen’s feet and sue for pardon and honorable reinstatement. But a great, burning desire held her back—the desire to know human beings. She had heard so many contradictory8 things about them that she was confused rather than enlightened. Yet she had a feeling that in the whole of creation there were no beings more powerful or more intelligent or more sublime9 than they.
A few times in her wanderings she had seen people, but only from afar, from high up in the air—big and little people, black people, white people, red people, and such as dressed in many colors. She had never ventured close. Once she had caught the glimmer10 of red near a brook11, and thinking it was a bed of flowers had flown down. She found a human being fast asleep among the brookside blossoms. It had golden hair and a pink face and wore a 136red dress. It was dreadfully large, of course, but still it looked so good and sweet that Maya thrilled, and tears came to her eyes. She lost all sense of her whereabouts; she could do nothing but gaze and gaze upon the slumbering12 presence. All the horrid13 things she had ever heard against man seemed utterly14 impossible. Lies they must have been—mean lies that she had been told against creatures as charming as this one asleep in the shade of the whispering birch-trees.
After a while a mosquito came and buzzed greetings.
“Look!” cried Maya, hot with excitement and delight. “Look, just look at that human being there. How good, how beautiful! Doesn’t it fill you with enthusiasm?”
The mosquito gave Maya a surprised stare, then turned slowly round to glance at the object of her admiration15.
“Yes, it is good. I just tasted it. I stung it. Look, my body is shining red with its blood.”
Maya had to press her hand to her heart, so startled was she by the mosquito’s daring.
“Will it die?” she cried. “Where did you 137wound it? How could you? How could you screw up your courage to sting it? And how vile16! Why, you’re a beast of prey17!”
The mosquito tittered.
“Why, it’s only a very little human being,” it answered in its high, thin voice. “It’s the size called girl—the size at which the legs are covered half way up with a separate colored casing. My sting, of course, goes through the casing but usually doesn’t reach the skin.—Your ignorance is really stupendous. Do you actually think that human beings are good? I haven’t come across one who willingly let me take the tiniest drop of his blood.”
“But of all the insects you bees have most to do with human beings. That’s a well-known fact.”
“I left our kingdom,” Maya confessed timidly. “I didn’t like it. I wanted to learn about the outside world.”
“Well, well, what do you think of that!” The mosquito drew a step nearer. “How do you like your free-lancing? I must say, I admire 138you for your independence. I for one would never consent to serve human beings.”
“But they serve us too!” said Maya, who couldn’t bear a slight to be put upon her people.
“Maybe.—To what nation do you belong?”
“I come of the nation in the castle park. The ruling queen is Helen VIII.”
“Indeed,” said the mosquito, and bowed low. “An enviable lineage. My deepest respects.—There was a revolution in your kingdom not so long ago, wasn’t there? I heard it from the messengers of the rebel swarm19. Am I right?”
“Yes,” said Maya, proud and happy that her nation was so respected and renowned20. Homesickness for her people awoke again, deep down in her heart, and she wished she could do something good and great for her queen and country. Carried away on the wings of this dream, she forgot to ask about human beings. Or, like as not, she refrained from questions, feeling that the mosquito would not tell her things she would be glad to hear. The mite21 of a creature impressed her as a saucy22 139Miss, and people of her kind usually had nothing good to say of others. Besides, she soon flew away.
“I’m going to take one more drink,” she called back to Maya. “Later I and my friends are going flying in the light of the westering sun. Then we’ll be sure to have good weather to-morrow.”
Maya made off quickly. She couldn’t bear to stay and see the mosquito hurt the sleeping child. And how could she do this thing and not perish? Hadn’t Cassandra said: “If you sting a human being, you will die?”
Maya still remembered every detail of this incident with the child and the mosquito, but her craving23 to know human beings well had not been stilled. She made up her mind to be bolder and never stop trying until she had reached her goal.
At last Maya’s longing to know human beings was to be satisfied, and in a way far, far lovelier and more wonderful than she had dreamed.
Once, on a warm evening, having gone to 140sleep earlier than usual, she woke up suddenly in the middle of the night—something that had never happened to her before. When she opened her eyes, her astonishment24 was indescribable: her little bedroom was all steeped in a quiet bluish radiance. It came down through the entrance, and the entrance itself shone as if hung with a silver-blue curtain.
Maya did not dare to budge25 at first, though not because she was frightened. No. Somehow, along with the light came a rare, lovely peacefulness, and outside her room the air was filled with a sound finer, more harmonious26 than any music she had ever heard. After a time she rose timidly, awed27 by the glamour29 and the strangeness of it all, and looked out. The whole world seemed to lie under the spell of an enchantment30. Everything was sparkling and glittering in pure silver. The trunks of the birch-trees, the slumbering leaves were overlaid with silver. The grass, which from her height seemed to lie under delicate veils, was set with a thousand pale pearls. All things near and far, the silent distances, were shrouded31 in this soft, bluish sheen.
141
“This must be the night,” Maya whispered and folded her hands.
High up in the heavens, partly veiled by the leaves of a beech-tree, hung a full clear disk of silver, from which the radiance poured down that beautified the world. And then Maya saw countless32 bright, sharp little lights surrounding the moon in the heavens—oh, so still and beautiful, unlike any shining things she had ever seen before. To think she beheld33 the night, the moon, and the stars—the wonders, the lovely wonders of the night! She had heard of them but never believed in them. It was almost too much.
Then the sound rose again, the strange night sound that must have awakened34 her. It came from nearby, filling the welkin, a soaring chirp35 with a silvery ring that matched the silver on the trees and leaves and grass and seemed to come rilling down from the moon on the beams of silver light.
Maya looked about for the source, in vain; in the mysterious drift of light and shadow it was difficult to make out objects in clear outline, everything was draped so mysteriously; 142and yet everything showed up true and in such heroic beauty.
As she was about to fly off through the silver light to her favorite meadow, now lying full under the moon, she saw a winged creature alight on a beech-tree leaf not far away. Scarcely alighted, it raised its head to the moon, lifted its narrow wings, and drew the edge of one against the other, for all the world as though it were playing on a violin. And sure enough, the sound came, the silvery chirp that filled the whole moonlit world with melody.
“Exquisite,” whispered Maya, “heavenly, heavenly, heavenly.”
She flew over to the leaf. The night was so mild and warm that she did not notice it was cooler than by day. When she touched the leaf, the chirper38 broke off playing abruptly39, and to Maya it seemed as if there had never 143been such a stillness before, so profound was the hush40 that followed. It was uncanny. Through the dark leaves filtered the light, white and cool.
“Good night,” said Maya, politely, thinking “good night” was the greeting for the night like “good morning” for the morning. “Please excuse me for interrupting, but the music you make is so fascinating that I had to find out where it came from.”
The chirper stared at Maya, wide-eyed.
“What sort of a crawling creature are you?” it asked after some moments had passed. “I have never met one like you before.”
“I am not a crawling insect. I am Maya, of the nation of bees.”
“Oh, of the nation of bees. Indeed ... you live by day, don’t you? I have heard of your race from the hedgehog. He told me that in the evening he eats the dead bodies that are thrown out of your hive.”
“Yes,” said Maya, with a faint chill of apprehension41, “that’s so; Cassandra told me about him; she heard of him from the sentinels. He comes when twilight42 falls and 144snouts in the grass looking for dead bodies.—But do you associate with the hedgehog? Why, he’s an awful brute43.”
“I don’t think so. We tree-crickets get along with him splendidly. We call him Uncle. Of course he always tries to catch us, but he never succeeds, so we have great fun teasing him. Everybody has to live, doesn’t he? Just so he doesn’t live off me, what do I care?”
Maya shook her head. She didn’t agree. But not caring to insult the cricket by contradicting, she changed the subject.
“So you’re a tree-cricket?”
“Yes, a snowy tree-cricket.—But I must play, so please don’t keep me any longer. It’s full moon, a wonderful night. I must play.”
“Oh, do make an exception this once. You play all the time.—Tell me about the night.”
“A midsummer night is the loveliest in the world,” answered the cricket. “It fills the heart with rapture44.—But what my music doesn’t tell you I shan’t be able to explain. Why need everything be explained? Why 145know everything? We poor creatures can find out only the tiniest bit about existence. Yet we can feel the glory of the whole wide world.” And the cricket set up its happy silvery strumming. Heard from close by, where Maya sat, the music was overpowering in its loudness.
The little bee sat quite still in the blue summer night listening and musing45 deeply about life and creation.
Silence fell. There was a faint whirr, and Maya saw the cricket fly out into the moonlight.
“The night makes one feel sad,” she reflected.
Her flowery meadow drew her now. She flew off.
At the edge of the brook stood the tall irises46 brokenly reflected in the running water. A glorious sight. The moonlight was whirled along in the braided current, the wavelets winked48 and whispered, the irises seemed to lean over asleep. “Asleep from sheer delight,” thought the little bee. She dropped down on a blue petal49 in the full light of the 146moon and could not take her eyes from the living waters of the brook, the quivering flash, the flashing come and go of countless sparks. On the bank opposite, the birch-trees glittered as if hung with the stars.
“Where is all that water flowing to?” she wondered. “The cricket is right. We know so little about the world.”
Of a sudden a fine little voice rose in song from the flower of an iris47 close beside her, ringing like a pure, clear bell, different from any earthly sound that Maya knew. Her heart throbbed50, she held her breath.
“Oh, what is going to happen? What am I going to see now?”
The iris swayed gently. One of the petals51 curved in at the edge, and Maya saw a tiny snow-white human hand holding on to the flower’s rim52 with its wee little fingers. Then a small blond head arose, and then a delicate luminous53 body in white garments. A human being in miniature was coming up out of the iris.
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The tiny being climbed to the edge of the blossom, lifted its arms up to the moonlight, and looked out into the bright shining night with a smile of bliss55 lighting56 up its face. Then a faint quiver shook its luminous body, and from its shoulders two wings unfolded, whiter than the moonlight, pure as snow, rising above its blond head and reaching down to its feet. How lovely it was, how exquisitely57 lovely. Nothing that Maya had ever seen compared with it in loveliness.
Standing58 there in the moonlight, holding its hands up to heaven, the luminous little being lifted its voice again and sang. The song rang out in the night, and Maya understood the words.
My home is Light. The crystal bowl
Of Heaven’s blue, I love it so!
Both Death and Life will change, I know,
But not my soul, my living soul.
My soul is that which breathes anew
From all of loveliness and grace;
And as it flows from God’s own face,
It flows from His creations, too.
148
The little human being turned around.
“Who is crying?” he asked in his chiming voice.
“But why are you crying?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps just because you are so beautiful. Who are you? Oh, do tell me, if I am not asking too much. You are an angel, aren’t you? You must be.”
“Oh, no,” said the little creature, quite serious. “I am only a sprite, a flower-sprite.—But, dear little bee, what are you doing out here in the meadow so late at night?”
The sprite flew over to a curving iris blade beside Maya and regarded her long and kindly61 from his swaying perch62 in the moonlight.
Maya told him all about herself, what she had done, what she knew, and what she longed for. And while she spoke63, his eyes never left her, those large dark eyes glowing in the white 149fairy face under the golden hair that ever and anon shone like silver in the moonlight.
When she finished he stroked her head and looked at her so warmly and lovingly that the little bee, beside herself with joy, had to lower her gaze.
“We sprites,” he explained, “live seven nights, but we must stay in the flower in which we are born, else we die at dawn.”
Maya opened her eyes wide in terror.
“Then hurry, hurry! Fly back into your flower!”
The, sprite shook his head sadly.
“Too late.—But listen. I have more to tell you. Most of us sprites are glad to leave our flowers never to return, because a great happiness is connected with our leaving. We are endowed with a remarkable64 power: before we die, we can fulfill65 the dearest wish of the first creature we meet. It is when we make up our minds seriously to leave the flower for the purpose of making someone happy that our wings grow.”
“How wonderful!” cried Maya. “I’d leave the flower too, then. It must be lovely to fulfill 150another person’s wish.” That she was the first being whom the sprite on his flight from the flower had met, did not occur to her. “And then—must you die?”
The sprite nodded, but not sadly this time.
“We live to see the dawn still,” he said, “but when the dew falls, we are drawn66 into the fine cobwebby veils that float above the grass and the flowers of the meadows. Haven’t you often noticed that the veils shine white as though a light were inside them? It’s the sprites, their wings and their garments. When the light rises we change into dew-drops. The plants drink us and we become a part of their growing and blooming until in time we rise again as sprites from out their flowers.”
“Then you were once another sprite?” asked Maya, tense, breathless with interest.
The earnest eyes said yes.
“But I have forgotten my earlier existence. We forget everything in our flower-sleep.”
“Oh, what a lovely fate!”
“It is the same as that of all earthly creatures, 151when you really come to think of it, even if it isn’t always flowers out of which they wake up from their sleep of death. But we won’t talk of that to-night.”
“Oh, I’m so happy!” cried Maya.
“Then you haven’t got a wish? You’re the first person I’ve met, you know, and I possess the power to grant your dearest wish.”
“I? But I’m only a bee. No, it’s too much. It would be too great a joy. I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve that you should be so good to me.”
“No one deserves the good and the beautiful. The good and the beautiful come to us like the sunshine.”
Maya’s heart beat stormily. Oh, she did have a wish, a burning wish, but she didn’t dare confess it. The elf seemed to guess; he smiled so you couldn’t keep anything a secret from him.
“Well?” He stroked his golden hair off his pure forehead.
“I’d like to know human beings at their best and most beautiful,” said the little bee. She spoke quickly and hotly. She was afraid 152she would be told that so great a wish could not be granted.
But the sprite drew himself up, his expression was serious and serene67, his eyes shone with confidence. He took Maya’s trembling hand and said:
“Come. We’ll fly together. Your wish shall be granted.”
153
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1
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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runaways
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| （轻而易举的）胜利( runaway的名词复数 ) | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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contradictory
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| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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awe
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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chirp
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| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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bent
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chirper
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abruptly
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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irises
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| n.虹( iris的名词复数 )；虹膜；虹彩；鸢尾（花） | |
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iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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53
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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55
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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58
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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59
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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60
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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62
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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63
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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64
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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65
fulfill
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| vt.履行，实现，完成；满足，使满意 | |
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66
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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