should not have trusted him. He took me in his hand, certainly, but he
popped me into a cage, a treadmill. That's a horrible engine, in which
you go round and round without getting any farther; and people laugh
at you into the bargain.
"The gaoler's granddaughter was a charming little thing, with a mass
of curly hair that shone like gold, and such merry eyes, and such a
smiling mouth!
"'You poor little mouse,' she said, as she peeped into my ugly cage;
and she drew out the iron rod, and forth I jumped, to the window
board, and from thence to the roof spout. Free! free! I thought only
of that, and not of the goal of my journey.
"It was dark, and night was coming on. I took up my quarters in an old
tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. That is a creature like a
cat, who has the great failing that she eats mice. But one may be
mistaken, and so was I, for this was a very respectable, well-educated
old owl: she knew more than the watchman, and as much as I. The young
owls were always making a racket; but 'go and make soup on a sausage
peg' were the hardest words she could prevail on herself to utter, she
was so fondly attached to her family. Her conduct inspired me with so
much confidence, that from the crack in which I was crouching I called
out 'peep!' to her. This confidence of mine pleased her hugely, and
she assured me I should be under her protection, and that no creature
should be allowed to do me wrong; she would reserve me for herself,
for the winter, when there would be short commons.
"She was in every respect a clever woman, and explained to me how the
watchman could only 'whoop' with the horn that hung at his side,
adding, 'He is terribly conceited about it, and imagines he's an owl
in the tower. Wants to do great things, but is very small--soup on a
sausage-peg!' I begged the owl to give me the recipe for this soup,
and then she explained the matter to me.
"'Soup on a sausage-peg,' she said, 'was only a human proverb, and was
to be understood thus: Each thinks his own way the best, but the whole
signifies nothing.'
"'Nothing!'" I exclaimed. "I was quite struck. Truth is not always
agreeable, but truth is above everything; and that's what the old owl
said. I now thought about it, and readily perceived that if I brought
what was _above everything_ I brought something far beyond soup on a
sausage-peg. So I hastened away, that I might get home in time, and
bring the highest and best, that is above everything--namely, _the
truth_. The mice are an enlightened people, and the king is above them
all. He is capable of making me queen, for the sake of truth."
"Your truth is a falsehood," said the Mouse who had not yet spoken. "I
can prepare the soup, and I mean to prepare it."
V.
_How it was prepared._
"I did not travel," the third Mouse said. "I remained in my
country--that's the right thing to do. There's no necessity for
travelling; one can get everything as good here. I stayed at home.
I've not learnt what I know from supernatural beings, or gobbled it
up, or held converse with owls. I have what I know through my own
reflections. Will you make haste and put that kettle upon the fire?
So--now water must be poured in--quite full--up to the brim!--So--now
more fuel--make up the fire, that the water may boil--it must boil
over and over!--So--I now throw the peg in. Will the king now be
pleased to dip his tail in the boiling water, and to stir it round
with the said tail? The longer the king stirs it, the more powerful
will the soup become. It costs nothing at all--no further materials
are necessary, only stir it round!"
"Cannot any one else do that?" asked the Mouse King.
"No;" replied the mouse. "The power is contained only in the tail of
the Mouse King."
And the water boiled and bubbled, and the Mouse King stood close
beside the kettle--there was almost danger in it--and he put forth his
tail, as the mice do in the dairy, when they skim the cream from a
pan of milk, afterwards licking their creamy tails; but his tail only
penetrated into the hot steam, and then he sprang hastily down from
the hearth.
"Of course--certainly you are my queen," he said. "We'll adjourn the
soup question till our golden wedding in fifty years' time, so that
the poor of my subjects, who will then be fed, may have something to
which they can look forward with pleasure for a long time."
[Illustration: THE MOUSE KING UNDERSTANDS HOW THE SOUP IS MADE.]
And soon the wedding was held. But many of the mice said, as they were
returning home, that it could not be really called soup on a
sausage-peg, but rather soup on a mouse's tail. They said that some of
the stories had been very cleverly told; but the whole thing might
have been different. "_I_ should have told it so--and so--and so!"
Thus said the critics, who are always wise--after the fact.
And this story went out into the wide world, everywhere; and opinions
varied concerning it, but the story remained as it was. And that's the
best in great things and in small, so also with regard to soup on a
sausage-peg--not to expect any thanks for it.
THE STONE OF THE WISE MEN.
Far away in the land of India, far away towards the East, at the end
of the world, stood the Tree of the Sun, a noble tree, such as we have
never seen, and shall probably never see. The crown stretched out
several miles around: it was really an entire wood; each of its
smallest branches formed, in its turn, a whole tree. Palms, beech
trees, pines, plane trees, and various other kinds grew here, which
are found scattered in all other parts of the world: they shot out
like small branches from the great boughs, and these large boughs with
their windings and knots formed, as it were, valleys and hills,
clothed with velvety green, and covered with flowers. Everything was
like a wide, blooming meadow, or like the most charming garden. Here
the birds from all quarters of the world assembled together--birds
from the primeval forests of America, the rose gardens of Damascus,
from the deserts of Africa, in which the elephant and the lion boast
of being the only rulers. The Polar birds came flying hither, and of
course the stork and the swallow were not absent; but the birds were
not the only living beings: the stag, the squirrel, the antelope, and
a hundred other beautiful and light-footed animals were here at home.
The crown of the tree was a widespread fragrant garden, and in the
midst of it, where the great boughs raised themselves into a green
hill, there stood a castle of crystal, with a view towards every
quarter of heaven. Each tower was reared in the form of a lily.
Through the stem one could ascend, for within it was a winding-stair;
one could step out upon the leaves as upon balconies; and up in the
calyx of the flower itself was the most beautiful, sparkling round
hall, above which no other roof rose but the blue firmament with sun
and stars.
Just as much splendour, though in another way, appeared below, in the
wide halls of the castle. Here, on the walls, the whole world around
was reflected. One saw everything that was done, so that there was no
necessity of reading any papers, and indeed papers were not obtainable
there. Everything was to be seen in living pictures, if one only
wished to see it; for too much is still too much even for the wisest
man; and this man dwelt here. His name is very difficult--you will not
be able to pronounce it; therefore it may remain unmentioned. He knew
everything that a man on earth can know, or can get to know; every
invention which had already been or which was yet to be made was
known to him; but nothing more, for everything in the world has its
limits. The wise King Solomon was only half as wise as he, and yet he
was very wise, and governed the powers of nature, and held sway over
potent spirits: yes, Death itself was obliged to give him every
morning a list of those who were to die during the day. But King
Solomon himself was obliged to die too; and this thought it was which
often in the deepest manner employed the inquirer, the mighty lord in
the castle on the Tree of the Sun. He also, however high he might
tower above men in wisdom, must die one day. He knew that, and his
children also must fade away like the leaves of the forest, and become
dust. He saw the human race fade away like the leaves on the tree; saw
new men come to fill their places; but the leaves that fell off never
sprouted forth again--they fell to dust, or were transformed into
other parts of plants. "What happens to man?" the wise man asked
himself, "when the angel of death touches him? What may death be? The
body is dissolved--and the soul. Yes, what is the soul? whither doth
it go? To eternal life, says the comforting voice of religion; but
what is the transition? where does one live, and how? Above, in
heaven, says the pious man, thither we go. Thither?" repeated the wise
man, and fixed his eyes upon the moon and the stars; "up yonder?" But
he saw, from the earthly ball, that above and below were alike
changing their position, according as one stood here or there on the
rolling globe; and even if he mounted as high as the loftiest
mountains of earth rear their heads, to the air which we below call
clear and transparent--the pure heaven--a black darkness spread abroad
like a cloth, and the sun had a coppery glow, and sent forth no rays,
and our earth lay wrapped in an orange-coloured mist. How narrow were
the limits of the corporeal eye, and how little the eye of the soul
could see!--how little did even the wisest know of that which is the
most important to us all!
In the most secret chamber of the castle lay the greatest treasure of
the earth: the Book of Truth. Leaf for leaf, the wise man read it
through: every man may read in this book, but only by fragments. To
many an eye the characters seem to tremble, so that the words cannot
be put together; on certain pages the writing often seems so pale, so
blurred, that only a blank leaf appears. The wiser a man becomes, the
more he will read; and the wisest read most. He knew how to unite the
sunlight and the moonlight with the light of reason and of hidden
powers; and through this stronger light many things came clearly
before him from the page. But in the division of the book whose title
is "Life after Death" not even one point was to be distinctly seen.
That pained him. Should he not be able here upon earth to obtain a
light by which everything should become clear to him that stood
written in the Book of Truth?
[Illustration: THE BOOK OF TRUTH.]
Like the wise King Solomon, he understood the language of the animals,
and could interpret their talk and their songs. But that made him none
the wiser. He found out the forces of plants and metals--the forces to
be used for the cure of diseases, for delaying death--but none that
could destroy death. In all created things that were within his reach
he sought the light that should shine upon the certainty of an eternal
life; but he found it not. The Book of Truth lay before him with
leaves that appeared blank. Christianity showed itself to him in the
Bible with words of promise of an eternal life; but he wanted to read
it in _his_ book; but here he saw nothing written on the subject.
He had five children--four sons, educated as well as the children of
the wisest father could be, and a daughter, fair, mild, and clever,
but blind; yet this appeared no deprivation to her--her father and
brothers were outward eyes to her, and the vividness of her feelings
saw for her.
Never had the sons gone farther from the castle than the branches of
the tree extended, nor had the sister strayed from home. They were
happy children in the land of childhood--in the beautiful fragrant
Tree of the Sun. Like all children, they were very glad when any
history was related to them; and the father told them many things that
other children would not have understood; but these were just as
clever as most grown-up people are among us. He explained to them what
they saw in the pictures of life on the castle walls--the doings of
men and the march of events in all the lands of the earth; and often
the sons expressed the wish that they could be present at all the
great deeds and take part in them; and their father then told them
that out in the world it was difficult and toilsome--that the world
was not quite what it appeared to them as they looked forth upon it
from their beauteous home. He spoke to them of the true, the
beautiful, and the good, and told them that these three held together
in the world, and that under the pressure they had to endure they
became hardened into a precious stone, clearer than the water of the
diamond--a jewel whose splendour had value with God, whose brightness
outshone everything, and which was the so-called "Stone of the Wise."
He told them how men could attain by investigation to the knowledge of
the existence of God, and that through men themselves one could attain
to the certainty that such a jewel as the "Stone of the Wise" existed.
This narration would have exceeded the perception of other children,
but these children understood it, and at length other children, too,
will learn to comprehend its meaning.
They questioned their father concerning the true, the beautiful, and
the good; and he explained it to them, told them many things, and told
them also that God, when He made man out of the dust of the earth,
gave five kisses to His work--fiery kisses, heart kisses--which we now
call the five senses. Through these the true, the beautiful, and the
good is seen, perceived, and understood; through these it is valued,
protected, and furthered. Five senses have been given corporeally and
mentally, inwardly and outwardly, to body and soul.
The children reflected deeply upon these things; they meditated upon
them by day and by night. Then the eldest of the brothers dreamt a
splendid dream. Strangely enough, the second brother had the same
dream, and the third, and the fourth brother likewise; all of them
dreamt exactly the same thing--namely, that each went out into the
world and found the "Stone of the Wise," which gleamed like a beaming
light on his forehead when, in the morning dawn, he rode back on his
swift horse over the velvety green meadows of his home into the castle
of his father; and the jewel threw such a heavenly light and radiance
upon the leaves of the book, that everything was illuminated that
stood written concerning the life beyond the grave. But the sister
dreamt nothing about going out into the wide world. It never entered
her mind. Her world was her father's house.
"I shall ride forth into the wide world," said the eldest brother. "I
must try what life is like there, and go to and fro among men. I will
practise only the good and the true; with these I will protect the
beautiful. Much shall change for the better when I am there." Now his
thoughts were bold and great, as our thoughts generally are at home,
before we have gone forth into the world and have encountered wind and
rain, and thorns and thistles.
In him and in all his brothers the five senses were highly developed,
inwardly and outwardly; but each of them had _one_ sense which in
keenness and development surpassed the other four. In the case of the
eldest this pre-eminent sense was Sight. This was to do him especial
service. He said he had eyes for all time, eyes for all nations, eyes
that could look into the depths of the earth, where the treasures lie
hidden, and deep into the hearts of men, as though nothing but a pane
of glass were placed before them: he could read more than we can see
on the cheek that blushes or grows pale, in the eye that droops or
smiles. Stags and antelopes escorted him to the boundary of his home
towards the west, and there the wild swans received him and flew
north-west. He followed them. And now he had gone far out into the
world--far from the land of his father, that extended eastward to the
end of the earth.
But how he opened his eyes in astonishment! Many things were here to
be seen; and many things appear very different when a man beholds them
with his own eyes, or when he merely sees them in a picture, as the
son had done in his father's house, however faithful the picture way
be. At the outset he nearly lost his eyes in astonishment at all the
rubbish and all the masquerading stuff put forward to represent the
beautiful; but he did not lose them, and soon found full employment
for them. He wished to go thoroughly and honestly to work in the
understanding of the beautiful, the true, and the good. But how were
these represented in the world? He saw that often the garland that
belonged to the beautiful was given to the hideous; that the good was
often passed by without notice, while mediocrity was applauded when it
should have been hissed off. People looked to the dress, and not to
the wearer; asked for a name, and not for desert; and went more by
reputation than by service. It was the same thing everywhere.
"I see I must attack these things vigorously," he said; and attacked
them with vigour accordingly. But while he was looking for the truth,
came the Evil One, the father of lies. Gladly would the fiend have
plucked out the eyes of this Seer; but that would have been too
direct; the devil works in a more cunning way. He let him see and seek
the true and the good; but while the young man was contemplating them,
the evil spirit blew one mote after another into each of his eyes; and
such a proceeding would be hurtful even to the best sight. Then the
fiend blew upon the motes, so that they became beams; and the eyes
were destroyed, and the Seer stood like a blind man in the wide world,
and had no faith in it: he lost his good opinion of it and himself;
and when a man gives up the world and himself, all is over with him.
"Over!" said the wild swan, who flew across the sea towards the east.
"Over!" twittered the swallows, who likewise flew eastward, towards
the Tree of the Sun. That was no good news that they carried to the
young man's home.
"I fancy the _Seer_ must have fared badly," said the second brother;
"but the _Hearer_ may have better fortune." For this one possessed the
sense of hearing in an eminent degree: he could hear the grass grow,
so quick was he to hear.
He took a hearty leave of all at home, and rode away, provided with
good abilities and good intentions. The swallows escorted him, and he
followed the swans; and he stood far from his home in the wide world.
But he experienced the fact that one may have too much of a good
thing. His hearing was _too_ fine. He not only heard the grass grow,
but could hear every man's heart beat, in sorrow and in joy. The whole
world was to him like a great clockmaker's workshop, wherein all the
clocks were going "tick, tick!" and all the turret clocks striking
"ding dong!" It was unbearable. For a long time his ears held out, but
at last all the noise and screaming became too much, for one man.
There came blackguard boys of sixty years old--for years alone don't
make men--and raised a tumult at which the hearer might certainly have
laughed, but for the applause which followed, and which echoed through
every house and street, and was audible even in the country high road.
Falsehood thrust itself forward, and played the master; the bells on
the fool's cap jangled, and declared they were church bells; and the
noise became too bad for the _Hearer_, and he thrust his fingers into
his ears; but still he could hear false singing and bad sounds, gossip
and idle words, scandal and slander, groaning and moaning without and
within. Heaven help us! He thrust his fingers deeper and deeper into
his ears, but at last the drums burst. Now he could hear nothing at
all of the good, the true, and the beautiful, for his hearing was to
have been the bridge by which he crossed. He became silent and
suspicious, trusted no one at last, not even himself, and, no longer
hoping to find and bring home the costly jewel, he gave it up, and
gave himself up; and that was the worst of all. The birds who winged
their flight towards the east brought tidings of this, till the news
reached the castle in the Tree of the Sun.
"_I_ will try now!" said the third brother. "I have a sharp _nose_!"
Now that was not said in very good taste; but it was his way, and one
must take him as he was. He had a happy temper, and was a poet, a real
poet: he could sing many things that he could not say, and many things
struck him far earlier than they occurred to others. "I can smell
fire!" he said; and he attributed to the sense of smelling, which he
possessed in a high degree, a great power in the region of the
beautiful. "Every fragrant spot in the realm of the beautiful has its
frequenters," he said. "One man feels at home in the atmosphere of the
tavern, among the flaring tallow candles, where the smell of spirits
mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. Another prefers sitting among
the overpowering scent of jessamine, or scenting himself with strong
clove oil. This man seeks out the fresh sea breeze, while that one
climbs to the highest mountain top and looks down upon the busy little
life beneath." Thus he spake. It seemed to him as if he had already
been out in the world, as if he had already associated with men and
known them. But this experience arose from within himself: it was the
poet within him, the gift of Heaven, and bestowed on him in his
cradle.
He bade farewell to his paternal roof in the Tree of the Sun, and
departed on foot through the pleasant scenery of home. Arrived at its
confines, he mounted on the back of an ostrich, which runs faster
than a horse; and afterwards, when he fell in with the wild swans, he
swung himself on the strongest of them, for he loved change; and away
he flew over the sea to distant lands with great forests, deep lakes,
mighty mountains, and proud cities; and wherever he came it seemed as
if sunshine travelled with him across the fields, for every flower,
every bush, every tree exhaled a new fragrance, in the consciousness
that a friend and protector was in the neighbourhood, who understood
them and knew their value. The crippled rose bush reared up its twigs,
unfolded its leaves, and bore the most beautiful roses; every one
could see it, and even the black damp wood-snail noticed its beauty.
"I will give my seal to the flower," said the Snail; "I have spit at
it, and I can do no more for it."
"Thus it always fares with the beautiful in this world!" said the
poet; and he sang a song concerning it, sang it in his own way; but
nobody listened. Then he gave the drummer twopence and a peacock's
feather, and set the song for the drum, and had it drummed in all the
streets of the town; and the people heard it, and said, "That's a
well-constructed song." Then the poet sang several songs of the
beautiful, the true, and the good. His songs were listened to in the
tavern, where the tallow candles smoked, in the fresh meadow, in the
forest, and on the high seas. It appeared as if this brother was to
have better fortune than the two others. But the evil spirit was angry
at this, and accordingly he set to work with incense powder and
incense smoke, which he can prepare so artfully as to confuse an
angel, and how much more therefore a poor poet! The Evil One knows how
to take that kind of people! He surrounded the poet so completely with
incense, that the man lost his head, and forgot his mission and his
home, and at last himself--and ended in smoke.
But when the little birds heard of this they mourned, and for three
days they sang not one song. The black wood-snail became blacker
still, not for grief, but for envy. "They should have strewed incense
for me," she said, "for it was I who gave him his idea of the most
famous of his songs, the drum song of 'The Way of the World;' it was I
who spat at the rose! I can bring witness to the fact."
But no tidings of all this penetrated to the poet's home in India, for
all the birds were silent for three days; and when the time of
mourning was over, their grief had been so deep that they had
forgotten for whom they wept. That's the usual way!
[Illustration: THE DEPARTURE OF THE THIRD BROTHER.]