[Illustration: 182]
THREE children of the same village, Pierre, Jacques, and Jean, stand
staring, side by side in a row, where they look for all the world like
a mouth-organ or Pandean Pipes, only with three pipes instead of seven.
Pierre, to the left, is a tall lad; Jean, to the right, is a short
child; Jacques, who is betwixt the two, may call himself tall _or_
short, according as he looks at his left-hand or his right-hand
neighbour. It is a situation I would beg you to ponder, for it is
your own, and mine, and everybody else’s. Each one of us is just like
Jacques, and deems himself great or small according as his neighbours’
inches are many or few.
That is the reason why it is true to say that Jacques is neither tall
nor short, and why it is also true to say he is tall _and_ he is short.
He is what God chooses him to be. For us, he is the middle reed of our
living Pandean Pipes.
But what is he doing, and what are his two comrades doing? They are
staring, staring hard, all three. What at? At something that has
disappeared in the distance, something that has vanished out of
sight; yet they can see it still, and their eyes are dazzled with its
splendours. It makes little Jean clean forget his eel-skin whiplash and
the peg-top he has always been so fond of keeping for ever spinning with
it in the dusty roads. Pierre and Jacques stand stolidly, their hands
behind their backs.
What is the wonderful sight that has bewildered all three? A pedlar’s
cart, a handcart; they had seen it stop in the village street.
Then the pedlar drew back his oil-cloth covering, and all, men, women,
and children, feasted their eyes on knives, scissors, popguns, jumping
Jacks, wooden soldiers and lead soldiers, bottles of scent, cakes of
soap, coloured pictures, and a thousand other splendid objects. The
servant-wenches from the farm and the mill turned pale with longing;
Pierre and Jacques flushed red with delight. Little Jean put out his
tongue at it all. Everything the barrow held seemed to them rich and
rare. But what they coveted most of all were those mysterious articles
whose meaning and use they could make nothing of. For instance, there
were polished globes like mirrors that reflected their feces with the
features ludicrously distorted. There were Epinal wares with figures in
impossibly vivid colours; there were little cases and boxes with nobody
knows what inside.
The women made purchases of muslins and laces by the yard, and the
pedlar rolled the black oil-cloth cover back again over the treasures
of his barrow. Then, pulling at the collar, he hauled off his load after
him along the highroad. And now barrow and barrow-man have disappeared
below the horizon.