Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and WomenMacDonald, George
Science
Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women
MacDonald, George
Fantasy fiction
“Will you come and see my little child’s room? She sleeps in the one I
told you of, looking towards the forest.”
“Willingly,” I said.
So we went together, the little girl running before to open the door
for us. It was a large room, full of old-fashioned furniture, that
seemed to have once belonged to some great house.
The window was built with a low arch, and filled with lozenge-shaped
panes. The wall was very thick, and built of solid stone. I could see
that part of the house had been erected against the remains of some old
castle or abbey, or other great building; the fallen stones of which
had probably served to complete it. But as soon as I looked out of the
window, a gush of wonderment and longing flowed over my soul like the
tide of a great sea. Fairy Land lay before me, and drew me towards it
with an irresistible attraction. The trees bathed their great heads in
the waves of the morning, while their roots were planted deep in gloom;
save where on the borders the sunshine broke against their stems, or
swept in long streams through their avenues, washing with brighter hue
all the leaves over which it flowed; revealing the rich brown of the
decayed leaves and fallen pine-cones, and the delicate greens of the
long grasses and tiny forests of moss that covered the channel over
which it passed in motionless rivers of light. I turned hurriedly to
bid my hostess farewell without further delay. She smiled at my haste,
but with an anxious look.
“You had better not go near the house of the ogre, I think. My son will
show you into another path, which will join the first beyond it.”
Not wishing to be headstrong or too confident any more, I agreed; and
having taken leave of my kind entertainers, went into the wood,
accompanied by the youth. He scarcely spoke as we went along; but he
led me through the trees till we struck upon a path. He told me to
follow it, and, with a muttered “good morning” left me.
CHAPTER VIII
“I am a part of the part, which at first was the whole.”
GOETHE.—_Mephistopheles in Faust_.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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