called Two-Legs. I am in service with human beings. My mistress is a great
baroness and she will die of fright if I don’t come home to her soon.”
“Just so,” said the lion. “Human beings, that’s what Two-Legs’ confounded
descendants call themselves. They have subdued the whole earth. There is
hardly a place left where an honest lion can go hunting in royal style.
I know the whole story: it has been handed down in my house, from father
to son. I heard it all, the night before I was captured, in the desert
to which the men had driven us: how Two-Legs and his wife came naked and
unarmed to the forest; how my ancestor protected them; how they gradually
outwitted all the animals: you alone entered their service of your own
free will. The others they caught and tamed and dulled their senses until
they no longer knew how to lead the lives of free animals and resigned
themselves to slavery. Finally, Two-Legs killed my ancestor with his
spear: yes, yes, I know the whole shameful story.”
“I don’t,” said the dog. “And I don’t mind if I never know it. I only know
that I have a cosy little basket at home with my mistress and that she
pets and kisses me and gives me the loveliest food. I want to get out! I
want to go home!”
The lion made no reply, but thought to himself:
“When I lie here in my cage, where I shall soon die of sorrow and
coughing, it is a comfort to me to see how wretched Two-Legs’ descendants
have grown. For he was lithe and slender and fair to look upon: he was
an animal! But these people here! One can hardly see a morsel of their
bodies, they are so wrapped up. Two-Legs could bound through the forest
and climb trees: these people here can hardly stir hand or foot. He was
a fighter; and it’s really amusing to watch the terror in these fellows’
eyes as I get up and move to the bars when I roar. They shake like aspen
leaves, though they know that I am only a wretched prisoner.”
“I want to get out! I want to go home!” whined the dog.
The lion rose and went to the bars of his cage. He lashed his lean flanks
with his tail and opened his jaws till his terrible teeth gleamed and
glistened. The little dog trembled with fear before his yellow eyes.
“And you!” said the lion. “Ha, ha, ha! It’s better to be a captive lion in
a cage than a miserable little lap-dog, with bells and a rug.”
He gave such a roar that all the people in the village started up in their
beds. Then he lay down at the far end of the cage, turned on one side and
slept.
The little dog shivered and whined until some one came and let him out.
[Illustration]
TWO-LEGS CONQUERS THE WIND
[Illustration]
1
Now you who have read this story will remember how Two-Legs, many years
ago, mastered all the animals on earth.
Those which he could use and which obeyed him as they should he tamed
and took into his service. Those which he could not employ he let alone,
provided only that they left him and his in peace. If they did not, then
he waged war upon them, nor ceased until he had prevailed against them.
He always ended by prevailing, for he was the cleverest, you see, and
therefore the strongest.
And, little by little, the tame animals grew so much accustomed to being
with him and so completely lost the qualities with which they had been
wont to shift for themselves that they could no longer do without their
bondage. When, once in a way, they escaped and tried to live like the
other, free, wild animals, they could not manage at all, but perished
miserably.
But the wild animals which Two-Legs had no use for lurked round about in
their hiding-places and cavilled and muttered and made no progress and did
themselves no good.
2
At the time when this particular story begins, Two-Legs had put up a new
summer tent in a green meadow, not far from the beach.
He was sitting outside it one evening, while the twilight was closing
in. All the family had gone to bed and were sleeping soundly after the
exertions of the day. All the cattle lay in the grass, munching and
chewing the cud. The dog, his faithful servant, lay on the ground before
him, pricking up his ears at every sound, sleeping with one eye and
watching with the other.
Two-Legs did not sleep himself.
He was old now and no longer needed so much rest. And he was not
tired either as in former days, for he now had so many children and
grandchildren that they were able to do most of the work. Himself, he
loved best to sit quietly, to think of what had happened to him in his
life and to meditate on the things that were yet to come.
When he sat like that, he often seemed to hear voices on either side of
him. They came from the spring that rippled past him, from the tree whose
leaves whispered over his head, from the evening breeze that cooled his
brow:
“Two-Legs ... the lord of the earth ... the cleverest ... the strongest,”
rippled the spring.
“Two-Legs ... the vanquisher of the lion ... the terror of the wild
animals ... the protector of the tame,” whispered the tree.
“Two-Legs ... whom no one can understand ... to whom all things belong,”
sang the evening breeze.
Two-Legs sat and listened. He liked to hear that sort of thing, the more
the better.
But, as the evening wore on, the wind grew stronger and shook the tent.
The gentle whispering in the leaves sounded less home-like than before.
The billows in the brook did not babble softly, but made a mighty uproar
and sent their foam splashing right over his feet.
“What’s the matter?” asked Two-Legs, who was beginning to feel cold, and
wrapped his cloak round him.
“Yes, who knows what’s the matter?” whispered the leaves.
“Who can tell what’s at the bottom of it?” rippled the spring.
“There is more between heaven and earth than Two-Legs knows of,” said the
wind.
Two-Legs leant back against the tent and looked about him proudly:
“Then let it come,” he said. “I have vanquished the lion and subdued the
horse and the wild ox; so I daresay I can conquer what remains.”
Just as he said this, there came a terrible gust of wind.
It knocked Two-Legs over, till he rolled along the ground and fell into
the brook. It tore three great deer-skins from the tent and woke all those
who were lying asleep inside. They started up and screamed and did not
know what was happening. The dog howled at the top of his voice, with his
tail between his legs. Two-Legs crawled out of the brook, dripping wet.
The moment he tried to rise to his feet, another gust came ... and another
... and another.
Two-Legs crept along the ground on all fours. The whole tent was blown
down and the people inside ran and fell over one another and shouted and
wailed so that it was horrible to hear.
But no one heard it, for each had enough to do to think of saving his own
life. The cows and the goats and the sheep lowed and bleated with fright
and ran up against one another and trampled on one another. Many of them
fell down the slope and broke their legs. The horses galloped off over the
meadow and ran till they dropped from exhaustion far away inland. The big
tree above Two-Legs’ tent snapped in two like a stalk of grass.
3
When day broke, Two-Legs sat and wept at all the destruction which he saw
around him. He let the family drive the cattle together and set up the
tent again. He himself sat huddled in his cloak and brooded and stared
before him. Then he said:
“You bad Wind!”
And he raised his clenched fist in the direction from which it was still
blowing violently.
“You destroyed my property last night,” he cried, “and might easily have
killed me and mine. Now, we are setting up the tent and collecting the
cattle; but you may come back, to-night or to-morrow night, and ruin
everything once more.”
“So I may,” said the wind.
“You bad Wind!”
“I am not bad,” said the wind.
“Would you have me call you good, after the way you’ve treated me?” asked
Two-Legs.
“I am not good,” said the wind.
“Very well, you are neither bad nor good,” said Two-Legs.
“Just so,” said the wind. “You’ve hit it.”
“I don’t know,” said Two-Legs. “But can you tell me what use it is for
me to vanquish the lion and tame the ox and the horse, the camel and the
elephant, when a puff of wind can destroy all that I have done? Can you
tell me how I can get you into my service and what I am to use you for?”
“I can tell you nothing,” said the wind. “Catch me, conquer me, use me!”
He darted across the fields and took with him a great piece of skin that
belonged to the old tent, blew it out, lifted it high in the air and
carried it far away over the water. Two-Legs sat and watched it until it
was out of sight.
[Illustration: ‘VERY WELL, YOU ARE NEITHER BAD NOR GOOD’]
4
Then the eldest son came:
“We can’t stay here any longer,” he said. “The storm has destroyed both
the corn and the grass; and our cattle have nothing to eat. It was the
same wherever I rode this morning, for miles around. I don’t know what we
shall do.”
Two-Legs sat and looked out over the water, where the wind had carried the
skin away. Far in the distance lay a great land that was ever so green.
“There’s good grass over there,” he said.
“What use is that to us?” replied the son. “There’s deep water and a rapid
current in between. We could never get across.”
“Which way is the wind blowing?” asked Two-Legs.
“Towards the island,” said his son. “Is it your intention that he should
blow us across?”
“Just so,” said Two-Legs, throwing off his cloak and standing up. “I have
decided to take the wind into my service.”
The son stared at him without understanding a word of what his father
said. But Two-Legs called all his family together and bade them put aside
any work that they were doing. He set them to saw planks, to drag the
planks down to the sea and to bind them firmly together into a big raft.
Next he told the men to put up a tall mast made of a young oak-tree,
while the women sat and sewed hides together into a great sail. Then they
hoisted the sail to the top of the mast and fastened the ends below to the
raft. The wind filled the sail, but the raft was tied to the shore with
strong ropes, so that it could not get loose.
Two-Legs made all his family and all his cattle go on the raft. When the
last had come on board, he let go. The wind stretched the big sail and
bore them swiftly over the water. Towards evening, they landed, rejoicing,
on the good green land.
5
Henceforward, one of Two-Legs’ sons devoted himself entirely to the raft.
He rebuilt it and improved it, hit upon new methods of setting sail and
invented a rudder to steer with. He made the raft taper in front, so that
it cut more easily through the water. He put ballast at the bottom of it,
so that it could not be readily upset by a sudden squall. He learnt to
make use of the wind, even if it did not blow exactly the way it should.
By degrees, he ventured to sail far out to sea and caught fish and came
home again safe and sound.
But Two-Legs sat outside his tent again and thought:
“So I got you into my service after all,” he said to the wind, who was
fanning his cheek. “But the end is not yet. You just wait. You will have
to toil for me like the ox and the horse.”
“I have no objection,” said the wind. “I am what I am and what I do I
must. Catch me, conquer me, use me!”
Two-Legs sat and watched them bruise corn in the mill, so that it could be
used for baking.
Once, many years ago, he had hollowed out a stone and taught the women to
bruise the corn in it with another stone. Since then, he had thought of
letting two stones grind one against the other. He had fixed a pole and
harnessed an ox to it, who went round, turning the mill. At that time, he
was awfully proud of his invention.
The ox was now going round and round patiently. But, as it happened, one
of Two-Legs’ sons came and asked if the grinding could not wait, for he
had a use for all the cattle out in the fields. The women said that this
would not do, for they were short of flour for the baking. Two-Legs let
them fight it out among themselves and sat and looked at the mill until
evening.
“What are you thinking about?” asked the wind, who came and blew over his
forehead as usual.
“That’s it!” said Two-Legs, springing up. “I have it! I put you to the
raft and you carried me and all my belongings across to this green land.
Why should I not also put you to the mill?”
“Catch me if you can!” said the wind.
[Illustration]
6
Next morning early, Two-Legs set to work. He built a big scaffold, which
rose high in the air. At the top, he fixed four broad sails, which were
covered with hides and fastened to an axle, so that they could whirl round
and round easily. That was the cap of the mill. The mill-stones were put
down at the bottom and were connected with the sails, by means of poles
and ropes, in such a way that, when the sails whirled round and round, the
stones turned. Two-Legs’ children stood wondering and looking at it.
“We are not ready yet,” said Two-Legs.
He arranged the cap so that it could turn and the sails catch the wind,
whichever side it came from:
“Now we’ll grind,” said Two-Legs.
And the wind came and turned the sails; and the mill ground that it was a
joy to see. They poured the grain into the top of the mill and the fine,
white flour dropped into sacks which they fastened underneath.
“I caught you again, friend Wind,” said Two-Legs.
“I shall blow the other way to-morrow,” said the wind.
“Indeed, I thought of that,” said Two-Legs. “I don’t mind if you do.”
When evening came, he turned the cap round. The next morning the wind came
from the other side and had to grind just as briskly as the day before.
“I shall go down to-morrow,” said the wind.
“It’s only right that you should take a rest now and then,” said Two-Legs,
pleasantly. “The horse and the ox do as much and so do the other beasts of
burden in my service. I daresay you will get up again when you must.”
“Who says I must?” said the wind.
“I don’t know,” said Two-Legs. “Not yet. But I am meditating upon it and
I shall find out sooner or later. You see, one hits upon everything by
degrees, when one sits and looks at things. I know this much already, that
it’s the sun that gives you your orders.”
“How do you know that?” asked the wind.
“I’ve noticed it,” said Two-Legs. “Whenever it changes from cold to warm
or from warm to cold, you blow from a fresh quarter.”
“What a clever man you are!” said the wind.
“It helps,” said Two-Legs.
“But there is still a hard nut for you to crack,” said the wind. “For,
even if you can’t put me to your ship and your mill, I can come rushing
up, for all that, as I did once before, and knock down the mill and smash
up the ship and scatter your cattle all over the country.”
“You can,” said Two-Legs. “And I can’t be angry with you for it either,
for you are neither bad nor good, as you said.”
“Well, well, now I’m going down,” said, the wind. “And I don’t think I
shall get up again for ever so many days. Then your mill will stand still.”
“So it will,” said Two-Legs. “But I have thought of that, too. Come over
here and see.”
He went down to the brook and showed, the wind another mill which he had
built. It had no sails, but a big wheel with wide floats, which went
down into the water. The wheel was connected with the mill-stones in the
same way as the sails and, as the water ran, the wheel turned and the
mill-stones ground.
“That’s my water-mill,” said Two-Legs, proudly.
Then he went into his tent and lay down to sleep, for it was late and all
the others had gone to bed.
The wind lay down too, as he had said, and so they all lay and slept.
[Illustration]
TWO-LEGS CONQUERS STEAM
[Illustration]
1
Two-Legs was now a very old man.
His race was constantly increasing. It lived dispersed over a large and
glorious plain, where the rich corn waved in the fields and the cattle
waded through the tall and luscious grass. Some of the men followed the
sea, others tilled the soil and tended the cattle, others felled timber in
the forests. The women kept house and weaved and span.
Wherever the plain rose into a little hill, a wind-mill strutted. Every
brook that ran turned the wheel of a water-mill.
Two-Legs himself constantly sat and observed what went on around him in
nature and pondered upon it. All looked up to him with respect, as the
eldest of the race and the cleverest man in the world. All came to him for
advice and help and seldom went away unaided.
In the middle of the plain rose a tall, cone-shaped mountain. From its
top, off and on, came a column of smoke. Two-Legs often looked at this
mountain. Once he rode up to the top and stood and stared into the hole
whence the smoke ascended, but the heat that came out of it was so great
that he could not endure it or remain there.
Then he rode back to his house again and sat and gazed at the mountain and
thought and wondered what there could be in its depths. He knew mountains
that contained gold and iron and other metals; and he taught his children
to extract the ore and smelt it and shape the metal into tools and
ornaments. But a mountain like this, which smoked at the top, he had never
seen before.
2
Now, one day, as he was sitting plunged in thought, he heard voices round
about him, as he was wont to do. They whispered in the stately palm-tree
that raised its crown high above his head:
“Two-Legs is mighty ... greater than any other in the world ... he rules
the earth and all that is upon it.”
They sang in the river that ran down to the sea:
“Two-Legs rules the waters ... they carry his ships wherever he will ...
they breed fish for his table.”
The warm wind blew over his face:
“Two-Legs is greater than any other ... he rules me ... I have to toil
in his service, like the ox and the horse.... Blow east, blow west, he
catches me and uses me.”
Two-Legs passed his hand down his long, white beard and nodded with pride
and contentment.
At that moment, a peculiar thundering noise was heard. It was as though it
came from the interior of the earth; and, indeed, one could not imagine
where else it should come from. For the sky was cloudless and clear and
the sun shone bright and warm, just at noonday.
“What was that?” said Two-Legs.
“Who knows?” said the palm-tree, trembling right down to its roots. “Who
can fathom the forces that prevail in nature?”
“Who can say?” said the river, tossing its waves in terror, like a rearing
horse. “What do any of us know, after all?”
“Who has so much as an idea?” said the wind, dropping suddenly, like a
tiger preparing to spring. “The earth is full of mighty forces, which not
one of us knows anything about.”
There came another booming sound. Two-Legs rose. He looked at the mountain
in the middle of the plain and saw that the column of smoke had turned
into a great black cloud, which grew and spread faster than his eyes could
follow it.
Now, it masked the sun; now, the waves in the river foamed and met the
waves of the sea, which came dashing over the land; now, the wind rose, in
a moment, into a furious gale.
And, before Two-Legs could look round, it was suddenly black as midnight.
He saw, just as the light disappeared, that something dropped from the
sky, but could not see what it was. He groped his way to the stable, where
his horse stood tethered, jumped on its back and darted away from the
region where danger lay. The beast was mortally frightened, like himself,
and ran for its life.
He could not see his hand before his eyes, but thought he heard a wailing
and crying through the storm, all over the plain, wherever he came. He was
able to tell a voice here and there, but he merely rushed on and on, until
his horse dropped under him.
Then he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, stumbled and fell and got
up again and ran and ran, while the cries rang out around him, when they
were not drowned in the roar of the storm and the thundering noise from
the mountain.
He was struck by a stone on the back of the head and felt the blood
trickle down his neck. His foot trod in something that was like boiling
water. He drew it back with a cry and ran the other way. At last, he lost
consciousness and had not himself the least idea how he had managed to
escape. When he recovered, he was lying on a knoll, right at the end
of the plain. Round about him lay half a score of people of his family,
bewildered and exhausted like himself. They did not speak, but gazed at
one another in dismay and wept, with trembling hands.
3
Two-Legs shaded his brows with his hand and looked out over the plain.
It had become light again, suddenly, even as it had become dark. The black
clouds had drifted away and the sun was setting in crimson and gold as on
the most perfect summer’s evening.
Here and there, on the neighbouring hillocks, were some of his family, who
had saved themselves as he had. They also had a few of the tame animals
with them; and Two-Legs suddenly noticed that his faithful dog was licking
his hand.
But the whole country, except the few hillocks, was buried under an ocean
of boiling and bubbling mud that soon stiffened to a hard crust. All the
houses and mills were destroyed and drowned in the sea of mud. All the
people and animals lay dead and buried under it. All the rich and glorious
plain looked like a desert in which nothing had ever lived; and in its
midst stood the mountain, tall and calm, with the column of smoke on its
top.
Two-Legs’ kinsmen set to work to collect what had been saved.
With wailing and lamentation, they withdrew from the ruined country where
they had made their home, together with the poor remnants of their wealth.
The women carried in their arms the babes which they had saved and cried
over those which were dead. The herdsmen counted the few head of cattle
that had been spared. The sailors scanned the sea in vain for a single
ship that had escaped unhurt.
“Come, Father Two-Legs,” they said. “Let us leave this accursed land.
There must be some place in the world where we can find peace and begin
afresh to build up all that these terrible hours have destroyed.”
But Two-Legs shook his head:
“Do you go,” he said. “I will follow you.”
4
They went; and he did not so much as look after them, but only sat and
gazed at the strange mountain from which the disaster had come. He sat far
into the night, which was clear and mild, and had none with him but the
dog, who would not leave him. The smoke from the mountain was carried past
him, now and then, by the wind; but now it was only like a light, thin
stream.
“Who caused that? Who caused it?” said Two-Legs and gazed before him.
“I did,” said Steam.
“You?” said Two-Legs. “Who are you? You are flowing past me like a mist.
How did you have the strength to do it? Who are you?... Where do you come
from?”
“I am Steam,” he said. “I come from the mountain up there. I was shut in
until I grew mad and furious and had to get air. Then I broke out and
destroyed the whole country. Now that’s over and I have found peace and am
as you see me.”
“You bad Steam,” said Two-Legs.
“I am not bad,” said Steam.
“Would you have me call you good?” asked Two-Legs. “You have destroyed my
rich land and killed nearly all my children and grandchildren and most of
my cattle. All that I invented so cleverly and successfully to make life
easy and pleasant for me and mine you have spoilt in a few hours, though I
have done nothing to offend you. Are you good?”
“I am not good,” said Steam.
“Very well, you are neither bad nor good,” said Two-Legs. “I seem to have
heard that nonsense once before. Wait a bit: it was the wind who made the
same remark, when he too had been the cause of my misfortune.”
“Exactly,” said Steam. “I am neither bad nor good. It is just as the wind
said. Didn’t you see, at the time, that the wind was right?”
“Yes,” said Two-Legs, quietly.
“Didn’t you take the wind into your service?” asked Steam. “You caught him
and put him to your boat and your mill. You watched him and learnt to know
his ways, so that you could use him as he came. Am I not right?”
“Aye,” said Two-Legs. “I became the wind’s master. But I do not understand
how I am to conquer you, who are mightier than the wind, or how to employ
your formidable power in my service.”
“Catch me, use me!” said Steam. “I serve the strongest.”
5
Two-Legs sat and gazed and thought. He looked at the ruined land, at the
sun, which shone as mildly as though nothing had happened, at Steam, who
floated quietly over the wilderness. There was not a house left standing,
not a tree; and not a bird was singing.
Once, he turned round and looked after his kinsmen. He saw them far away
on the horizon, but still it did not occur to him to follow them. Then he
said to Steam:
“Who are you? Tell me something about yourself.”
“I am like this at present,” said Steam. “You see me now and you saw me a
little while ago. Look out across the sea and you shall see me there, too.”
“I don’t see you there,” said Two-Legs.
[Illustration: ‘CATCH ME! USE ME!’]
“That’s because you don’t know,” said Steam. “As a matter of fact I am
water, to start with.”