[Illustration: Decorative O]
ne night after dining with Hans Pumpernickel at his house in
Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz, I recalled to his mind that he had
promised some time to introduce me to the three sages of the town--the
only persons residing there who at all approached Fritz von Hatzfeldt,
the wizard, in wisdom.
"True," said he, "I did promise that, and if you like I will take you to
them this evening. They are a wonderful trio, and between you and me, I
really think they know more in a day than Von Hatzfeldt does in a year.
The maxims of Otto the Shoemaker alone contain wisdom enough to set ten
wizards up in business. Did you ever hear any of Otto the Shoemaker's
maxims?"
"No," said I. "I never even heard of Otto the Shoemaker. Does he write
maxims?"
"Not exactly," replied Hans, filling his pipe and putting on his hat.
"He cannot write, but he can speak. He says maxims."
"How interesting!" I observed, following Hans's example and putting on
my hat and filling my pipe also. "I should like to hear some of them."
"You shall," replied Hans. "Here is one of them: 'One never misses one's
shoes until he has to do without them.' That, you see, is undeniable,
and is full of wisdom. Then there was this one addressed to his son:
'Rise in the world, but be careful how. The man who goes up in a balloon
cannot stay up after the gas gives out. Therefore, my son, rise not up
at random, even as the balloonist does, but rather move up slowly but
surely, like him who builds a tower of rock beneath him, and is thus
able to stay up as long as he pleases.'"
"Wonderful," said I. "And you say that this philosopher, this deep
thinker, this Maximilian, is content to remain a shoemaker?"
"Yes," Hans answered, "he is, for, as he himself once said, 'The throne
itself rests upon society merely, but upon what does society stand?
Boots and shoes! I make boots and shoes, wherefore I am the cornerstone
of the empire.'"
"I must meet this Otto the Shoemaker," was my response, and to that end
Hans Pumpernickel and I went out to the little back street where Otto
the Shoemaker, Eisenberg the Keysmith, and Jurgurson the Innkeeper, the
three sages of the town, dwelt peacefully and happily together in
neighborly intercourse. We found them having a quiet little gossip after
tea. Eisenberg was leaning out of his shop window, his long, white clay
pipe unfilled in his hand, lovingly discoursing to Otto the Shoemaker,
who, clad in his leather apron, hung upon his every word as though each
were a pearl of thought, and to Jurgurson the Innkeeper, who sat
opposite him with a look upon his face which indicated how much he
marvelled at the wisdom which bubbled out of Eisenberg's lips like water
from a geyser.
"It is as I tell you," Eisenberg was saying; "thought is the key to
every mystery; wherefore I, being the maker of keys of all sorts,
necessarily manufacture thoughts. It is a part of my business. Why,
therefore, should the world express surprise at my being a thinker?"
"Wherefore, indeed?" replied Jurgurson; "or me, too? As the keeper of
the inn is it not for me to dispense entertainment for man and beast? Is
not wisdom the entertainment of many men, and do not many men come here?
Why should I, too, then, not have wisdom on draught just as likewise I
have ginger-ale and lemonade?"
"You are both right," put in Otto the Shoemaker. "And as for me, what?
This: the labor of the shoemaker is confining. I am kept at my bench all
day. I must have exercise or I die; with my body busy at my trade, what
can I exercise else? My wits--yah! That is, then, the cause of no
surprise that I, too, am sagacious."
"We have never said anything more wise," said Eisenberg, proudly, and
the others agreed with him.
At this point Hans presented me to the sages.
"Gentlemen," he said, after he had given to each an appropriate
greeting, "I have brought with me one who wishes to know you. He is an
American and a poet."
"Ach!" cried Eisenberg. "An American--that is good. A poet? Well we
shall see. That is not always so good. Do you write, sir?"
"Occasionally," I answered.
"Good," said Otto. "That is better than often."
"True," assented Jurgurson, "though not so good as hardly ever."