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298 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1965
There was a castle up in the heights above the Oder. Quiet and lost in dreams, it sat in the middle of a large old park that seemed to be made for wandering around in and writing poetry. Indeed, a poet had once lived there. Some of the loveliest poems ever were created in that garden. The surrounding countryside was so beautiful that the poet never tired of singing its praises—he wrote about the gentle valley, the hillsides full of flowers, and the river rushing along between waving woods. His songs can make you feel odd and sad and full of longing—as if they come up from the depth of your own soul.
It was as if the sky
had gently kissed the earth
so, covered with blossoms,
she can but dream of him.
My soul
stretched wide her wings
and flew through the quiet lands,
as if she were flying home.
No one who has loved a little piece of land on this earth so much that it became a part of his soul would ever forget it. The poet wrote some of his most famous poems when he was away from home, his heart aching from homesickness. It would hardly be surprising to learn that he still walks along the same paths today, over one hundred years later, blessing them and loving them.
In fact, as Dott and her friends were flying by, there he was, walking through his park, tall, slender, and slightly hunched over just as he was in his own day, wearing his dark coat, with the vest closed all the way to the neck, crowned by a black scarf. He did not wear a hat. His silky soft white hair and his pale face were lit up by the morning sun.
Joseph Baron von Eichendorff walked through the park of his home, Castle Lubowitz, at Ratibor near the Oder. He stopped in front of an old pear tree and ran his hand over the gnarly bark. Why did he stop next to that frail old tree? As a boy, he used to climb up to the top of the tree and read. He read everything—legends, novels, and poems that opened his eyes to the marvelous secret behind all things, so that he, himself, came to wish to write himself. He turned and walked up the hill to an opening in the hedge of yew trees from where he could look down at the entire land below.
On just this morning, the two children and the flock of crows came from the church in Rosenberg in search of the Hodernyx. When the poet reached the opening in the hedge, he saw an odd assortment of beings on the other side. There were two children — a boy and a girl. Both looked exhausted as if they had been on a long hike through stormy mountains. They were surrounded by a flock of crows. Two of the birds stood out: one almost blind, old, and grey; and the other scruffy, but tough and strong looking. Being a poet, Eichendorff was not at all surprised to see the crows stand comfortably right alongside the children. It seemed that this was the way it should be everywhere between animals and human beings. Nor did he find it at all odd that the children and the crows talked to each — each in their own language but completely able to understand the other. A poet has to understand the language of all beings, and Eichendorff had been able to do that, too. Now that he had left his earthly life behind, he could perhaps do it even better.
"I think Schuschu the owl was already half asleep when he told us how we could recognize the Nöck," muttered the girl. "He said the Nöck Utoplotz appears as a leaf and as a grass blade, as a ball and as a ribbon, as a drop of water and as a fire brand, as a black horse and as gleaming gold. That means he could be practically anywhere and we would never even notice. We could be searching forever!" The girl looked sad and hopeless.
The tough-looking crow coughed a little and said: "True. The spirits can be anywhere without your noticing. That is why they are invisible. Or have you ever met one of the spirits if he did not want to show himself to you?"
The old grey crow intervened: "Let's not go on talking. I suggest that we leave the two human children here until they are in a better frame of mind so that a meeting with the Nöck Utoplotz might actually be productive."
The other crow chuckled and said: "Arrrah Let's go. Let's see if we can find some news about where the Nöck was last seen."
The crows took off—the younger ones in front, followed by the two old birds. The girl had blushed when the old crow spoke. Now, she brushed her hair out of her face and looked at the boy, who had sat down on the hill, watching her silently.
The girl threw herself down on the grass next to the boy. "Oh, Klaus, I am so unhappy. I really don't know, anymore, what I want. Until now it hadn't be so difficult—everything sort of happened all by itself. But during all this fruitless searching for the Nöck, I have been thinking all sorts of things. I know only one thing for sure. As soon as the Nöck tells us how we can be released, nothing will happen by itself, anymore. Then we will have to decide for ourselves whether we want to go back home or not— and now I just don't know what I want."