Quarrel and disagreement ruled in the Sparrow family. Mother Sparrow
squatted unhappily in her nest all day and Father Sparrow swore and
grumbled and found fault with everything. The family that had once been
so gay and happy was completely changed. And for all this misery the
youngest Sparrow was to blame. One evening at supper he had declared,
briefly and boldly, “I’m not going to school any more. I’ve had enough
of being insulted by those aristocrats. Above all, I’m tired of all
this life. I want to go out into the world.” He stuck up his bill and
looked at his parents defiantly.
Mother Sparrow was so shocked that all her feathers stood up. She
started helplessly at her naughty son, and all she could do was to say
weakly, “Peep, peep.”
But Father Sparrow opened his mouth so wide in anger that the worm he
had meant to eat slid quickly away. He was a person of action, did not
believe in talking much, and proceeded to beat his son in the face with
his sharp beak.
The young Sparrow screamed more defiantly than ever, “I won’t stay here
any longer. I’ve had enough. I’m going out into the world.”
Then Mother Sparrow found her voice again and said tearfully, “You
wicked child! That’s how you thank your parents for their love. Haven’t
we brought you up well? You are the first sparrow in our village to
attend Professor Swallow’s school of architecture and learn to build
artistic nests. You belong to the best society and mingle with
Swallows, Starlings and Yellow-bills. And this is how you repay us.”
“I don’t care a pin about fine society,” replied the excited young
Sparrow. And he whistled defiantly, “Tweet, tweet!”
“No other Sparrow is studying such a respectable profession,”
despairingly piped Mother Sparrow.
Then the young Sparrow began to make such a fuss that the whole nest
shook. “A respectable profession, truly a beautiful profession. To
build nests in which others live. To slave in the heat of the sun,
carrying straws from all over, to weave them together, to see that
everything is just perfect—and then the fine ladies and gentlemen move
in, and throw me a little worm for my wages, hardly enough for a decent
meal. Above all, these fine people. The swallows, always dressed up in
their frock-coats; the Yellow-bills, always showing off their fine
jewelry. And how they treat our own people, full of pride and scorn.
Common laborer, they call me. I’ve had enough of it. I’m as good as
they are, and maybe better.”
Mother Sparrow shrank in horror, but Father Sparrow blew up until he
nearly burst and shouted, “Be silent, you lost soul, you
whipper-snapper. You talk like a Bolshevik. You forget that I am
chairman of the Council of Jesters. My son must not rebel against law
and order.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Mother Sparrow, “and suppose the neighbors should hear
you! How dreadful!”
The young Sparrow laughed shamelessly, seated himself on the edge of
the nest and whistled a revolutionary song.
Father Sparrow rose hastily and grumbled in an undertone to his wife,
“See to that young fool and make him behave. I must go to the meeting
of the Singing Society.” He flew away without one look at his naughty
son.
Mother Sparrow sighed deeply and asked in a complaining voice, “Now
what is it you really want?”
The young Sparrow came closer, nestled against his mother, and said
with a sweet smile, “I want to go away little mother, far away. To
foreign lands where it is always summer.”
“But son of my heart, you know that even the stupid children of men
learn in their schools that the Sparrow is not a migratory bird.”
“What is that to me? I can’t stand it here any longer. Always seeing
the same things; in the distance the old church steeple, here before
our noses the farm-house, and the dung-hill. No, I want to go away, far
away.”
At that he spread out his wings and pushed himself head first out of
the nest into space. It seemed very dangerous, but his wings carried
him safely through the air.
But the young Sparrow was by no means as joyous and light-hearted as he
seemed to be. The words of his parents had aroused all sorts of doubts
in his mind. “Mother was really right,” he said to himself. “The
Sparrow is not a migratory bird. No one has ever heard of a Sparrow
that has flown across the great ocean and gone to foreign lands. But
why shouldn’t I be the first one to do this?” he asked himself, with
defiant courage. “Some one must always be the first one. If my venture
succeeds, I will have proven to all the Sparrow folk that they need not
freeze and starve in the winter-time, but can move to the warm
countries and live happily. Certainly, the ocean....” The young
Sparrow’s heart lost courage, he thought of what his teacher, the
Swallow had once told him about the great, wild water that never seemed
to end, about the angry frothy waves over which one had to fly daily.
If one’s wings lost their strength, one fell down and was lost. One was
swallowed by the waves.
At these thoughts the Sparrow almost wanted to give up the idea. He
shrank together and began shivering. Then suddenly he thought how in
past hard winters many wretched Sparrows had died of hunger and cold.
“No, no,” said he to himself. “I must not be so cowardly. This matter
does not concern only myself, but all my brother Sparrows, all the
Sparrows of future generations, who will live when I have been long
dead. It will be worth every danger and every sacrifice if I can help
them to a happier life.”
And the brave young Sparrow decided to leave the next day.
He spent that night in his parents’ nest, nestled close to his mother,
wept a little secretly because it was hard for him to leave. Father
returned late, and he was quite drunk, threw himself on his bed so that
it cracked and fell asleep immediately.
The grey-white sky began to turn rosy, morning came flying on the wings
of the wind and brought light to the world. The young Sparrow awoke,
looked for the last time at his sleeping parents, and flew forth. He
knew in which direction he must fly, for he remembered the stories of
the Swallows. Now he flew exactly that way.
The sun climbed higher into the heavens, it became hotter and hotter,
the poor Sparrow could hardly breathe. His wings were so tired and sore
that he could hardly lift them. Still he flew further. He had resolved
not to rest until the shadows would fall upon the earth.
Never had he lived through so long a day. Vainly his bright little eyes
explored the heavens, but the great golden sphere of the sun shone
brightly, would not go down.
“I was a fool,” thought the Sparrow. “Now I might be sitting at home in
our nest, or be bathing in the puddle by the cherry-tree. Ah, how
pleasant it would be to bathe; at this moment even the ocean would not
be too large.”
Still he flew steadily on. But now he flew slowly, every beat of his
wings caused him dreadful pain. He began to hate the sun, this
merciless glowing red sphere that would not go down. To give himself
courage, he made up a little song, singing it very softly and moving
his tired wings in time to its rhythm.
“My cause is the cause of my brothers,
My strength must save them all;
If I fail I do wrong to the others,
And their chains will never fall.”
At last, at last, great black shadows fell upon the earth. A refreshing
breeze came flying, coolly fanning the weary Sparrow, carrying him
gently along on its mighty wings.
As the sun went down behind a blue hill, the tired Sparrow alighted on
a large meadow. He lay panting in the tall grass. The soft chirping of
the crickets lulled him to sleep; his eyes closed.
Rough, loud voices of men awakened him. Under a knotty old nut tree he
saw two ragged, dust-covered men seated. One of them pulled his torn
boots off, looked woefully at his blistered feet and said, “I can’t run
any more, I must rest a day.”
“Just another half hour,” the other man said comfortingly. “Just to the
next railroad station. There we will hide in a freight car and ride
until morning. Then it will not be far to the sea.”
The Sparrow had listened carefully to their conversation. “So people
get tired, too,” thought he, “and then they ride. I don’t know what
that means, but I know that one does not tire oneself that way. If
people ride, why shouldn’t Sparrows also ride?” He decided to follow
the men, and since they left in a short time he flew after them.
They arrived at a house in front of which two shining bands were
stretched on the ground. Now night had really come. All was hidden in
darkness, only the stars shone faintly in the sky. The Sparrow stayed
near the two men and waited.
Suddenly something dreadful appeared. Through the darkness a gigantic
black beast came rattling, its red eyes shining so brightly that one
could see them from a great distance, it puffed and panted, the earth
shook after it. It shrieked frightfully as it came near. Then suddenly
it stopped. It let out clouds of smoke from its long black nose.
The Sparrow was astonished that neither of the two men, nor the rest of
the people, seemed to be afraid of the monster. On the contrary, they
ran up to it, disappearing in its smoke. Then the Sparrow saw that the
monster pulled some black houses behind it. He saw the two men sneak
into one of these houses and flew on to the roof of the same house.
Scarcely had he settled himself when the monster again began to puff
and pant and started on its journey.
The poor Sparrow thought he would die of fright. The monster rushed
with such speed that the little bird could not hear or see. At home he
had often flown with the wind for the sport of it and had enjoyed the
swift motion. But this was altogether different. He made himself very
small, settled himself firmly, and believed his last hour had come. If
men called this rest they surely are strange creatures. Perhaps it
wasn’t so terrible where the people were. He was a clever Sparrow and
when the monster stopped again to take breath, he flew down from the
roof of the house and examined it. The door was not quite closed. The
Sparrow squeezed through the crack, entered a dark room where many
boxes were piled. He squatted on one of the chests and waited to see
what would happen.
The monster began to run again. The Sparrow laughed with joy; now he
had guessed right. He sat here quietly, comfortably, and the monster
had to slave to carry him further. So this is what people call “to
ride.” Truly, people are not so stupid as he had thought.
The countless feet of the monster pounded over the earth singing a
rattling, rumbling, monotonous song. The Sparrow understood the words
to mean “Into the distance! Into the distance!” For a while he listened
to the song, then he fell asleep.
He must have slept a long time. When he awoke the sun was high in the
sky and its rays came into the dark room through narrow cracks in the
door. The Sparrow saw that his two acquaintances had hidden themselves
between two tall boxes. They seemed to be in good humor, chatting with
one another and laughing.
“We have traveled a good part of our journey without trouble,” said the
older one. “Now we only have to walk another day and ride another
night. Then we will reach the ocean.”
“How long will we have to swim?”
“About five days.”
The Sparrow was frightened. Five days he would have to swim over the
endless waters, five long days he could not rest or cease if he wished
to save himself from sinking into the waves. How could he endure it? He
began to reflect carefully. Could men swim so long in water? He had
seen boys bathing in the village pond, yet they would come out of the
water in a short time and none of them ever remained in the water all
day long. But perhaps there were also tame monsters which carried men
over the water. Again he decided not to leave the two men and to do
everything they did.
When the two men jumped, unnoticed, off the freight train at a railway
station, the Sparrow followed them. He flew very close to them. He felt
that they were both his friends and so long as he would not leave them
nothing would happen to him.
All day long the men journeyed, walking through fields and meadows,
through little villages with queer pointed church steeples. The younger
of the two men limped, he could only walk slowly. This was very
pleasing to the Sparrow, because he did not have to move fast, he could
fly comfortably. When the men stopped, the Sparrow followed their
example, meantime seeking his food, as the long journey made him
unusually hungry. He also chatted with a few strange birds, all of whom
advised him not to continue his dangerous journey. The migratory birds
looked him over scornfully, saying with a sneer, “Do you believe you
can do the same as we distinguished people? To travel, to see the
world, to spend the winter in warm countries—that is not for common
people.”
An old blackbird minister, black-frocked and solemn, delivered a sermon
to him from a branch. “We must obey God’s commandments. God has
ordained that Sparrows must spend the winter in the north.”
“If God has decreed that all our people shall freeze and starve and
that only the aristocrats, the Capitalists, like the Swallows and
Starlings, shall fly away to the warm places, I don’t want to know
anything about him!” cried the Sparrow and his feathers bristled up in
anger.
The old blackbird minister primped his shining feathers with his bill
and growled senselessly. But the Sparrow was sad. “How cruel the birds
are to one another,” he thought to himself. “I want to do something
that will help all and am just laughed at. Can’t anybody understand
me?”
“Hark, hark!” called a soft voice from a great height, and a young Lark
shot downward as swift as lightning to the side of the sad Sparrow. “I
understand you. Everybody jeers at me too, because I don’t fly close to
the earth like they do, but always seek to fly higher and higher, into
the blue sky. Do not be downcast, beloved brother, you will reach your
goal.”
The young Lark flew quite close to the Sparrow, looked at him and said,
“Fly a little for me, brother, so I can see how strong your wings are.”
The Sparrow flew up, hovering over the Lark.
As he returned she looked at him sadly and said earnestly, “Your wings
cannot carry you over the great ocean, my poor friend. But you must not
give up on account of that, you must do as men do, who cannot fly and
yet travel all over the world. They have invented a sort of house that
swims over the water. They call it a ship. You must....”
The Sparrow did not wait to hear the end. The two men had left during
the conversation, and now the Sparrow saw them in the distance looking
like two dark spots. Frightened, he cried. “My two men have left me,”
and he flew after them as fast as he could.
When it grew dark, the men once again sneaked into a freight train. The
Sparrow followed them and slept all night, while the black monster
again took him over hills and mountains, past rivers and streams.
As dawn came, the two men crept out of the train and the Sparrow flew
after them. They walked for a little while, then the Sparrow saw an
immense body of water lying before him. Endless, extending beyond his
vision, this blue-gray body of water extended, and on its surface
stormed wild, white-capped, monstrously high billows.
So this was the ocean! Never had the Sparrow felt so small and helpless
as at the sight of this dreadful water. What was he in comparison to
this? A poor, helpless little bird, a tiny something. Deep sighs lifted
his little breast, from his bright eyes the tears fell. “If I were only
at home, in the safe little nest,” cried he to himself. “I could creep
under mother’s wings as I did when I was little.”
The waves roared dismally, threateningly; the white froth squirted
upwards. The two men walked unconcernedly on the damp, sandy ground.
With beating heart the Sparrow followed them. And then he saw something
surprising. In a great bay some strange things tossed. They were
something like a house, but had few windows and tall chimneys from
which streamed heavy grey smoke; some things that looked like a forest;
bare trees without branches seemed to grow in it. Although these trees
bore neither fruit not leaves, the Sparrow was delighted to see them.
They gave him confidence. He began to feel at home. But how strange it
was that these houses with trees on them were tossed up and down by the
waves. Suddenly the Sparrow remembered the words of the Lark. “Men call
these houses that swim on the water ‘ships’.” So these were ships! On
one of these tossing, swimming houses he would journey to warm lands.
But which should he choose?
It occurred to him that at home the largest trees could best withstand
the wind. Evidently the same was true of ships, and so he must choose
the largest.
His two friends went to a small ship, and the Sparrow piped, “Good
luck! Good luck!” but they did not hear him.
The Sparrow flew on to an immense ship from whose chimneys streamed
great clouds of grey smoke, and hid himself high up at the top of one
of the leafless trees.
What noise and excitement there was below. Countless people ran hither
and thither, calling and shouting to one another; something rattled,
something clattered, the great chimneys shrieked loudly. A bridge that
attached the boat to the land flew up into the air, then fell into the
boat with a bang. The boat started on its journey. Slowly, solemnly it
cut through the water that bubbled on either side. The large house with
the leafless trees, the little bird’s new home, swam away from the
land.
The Sparrow’s mind was quite confused with the noise and hurry. And now
another great fright came to him. Suddenly a young fellow climbed up
his tree. The Sparrow believed that he wanted to capture him, but the
fellow didn’t seem to notice him and after a little while climbed back.
As it grew dark, the boat became quiet and one could only hear the
noise of the waves. The Sparrow flew down from his tree and sat down on
the roof, where he soon fell asleep.
When he awoke in the morning, he thought he would die of fear. The land
had disappeared. Wherever he looked he saw only water; great grey waves
rolled against the ship, shaking it gently as a soft wind shakes the
nests in the trees. Nowhere a tree, a shrub, a flower. The boat swam
all alone on the great ocean, that would not end.
The poor Sparrow felt quite lonesome and deserted. “If I could just
find any bird,” sighed he. “Even if it were a haughty Swallow or a
strange Blackbird. At least I could speak with some one who knows my
world, who speaks my language.” Finally he lost all his courage and
began to weep bitterly.
“Who are you?” suddenly asked a thin, piping voice, and the Sparrow
beheld a little mouse standing before him, who stared at him with large
round eyes.
The Sparrow was happy, for he was acquainted with mice at home. He bent
down and hopefully answered the questions of the mouse.
“You are a brave Sparrow,” she said, after she had heard his story. “I
bid you welcome to my ship.”
“To your ship?” exclaimed the Sparrow. “I thought that the ship belongs
to the people.”
“The people also believe that,” replied the Mouse sharply. “But don’t
you know that people believe that everything belongs to them?”
“That is true. The farmer at home believed that the church-steeple was
his, and yet it is quite clear that the church-steeple was made for us
Sparrows.”
While they were speaking thus, a very old mouse came over and began to
speak. “Not all people believe that everything belongs to them,” said
she learnedly. “There are also people who do not possess anything. You
can observe that on the ship. Above live people in large, beautiful
rooms, and eat all day long. My mouth waters when I smell the rich
foods that are set before them.”
“But down below the people are crowded together, so that they can
hardly find place to lie down at night, and many have only dry bread
along with them to eat on the whole journey. This stupid phrase ‘my
boat’ you have also learned from men,” she said scolding the mouse.
“You know that the common things are ours. Don’t let me hear false
words from you.”
“Excuse me, grandmother,” begged the young Mouse.
“You are a stranger here,” said the Grandmother Mouse to the Sparrow.
“We will be helpful to you, so that you can endure the long journey. I
advise you not to fly to the rich people, they will play with you a day
or two, and then forget you. Indeed, it is only among the poor people,
on the lower deck, that you will find a few breadcrumbs, and these
people will be good to you because they know how a poor, unfortunate
creature feels.”
The Sparrow followed the advice of the wise Grandmother Mouse and soon
realized that she had spoken truthfully. The children were delighted
with him, and they spared him breadcrumbs from the few that were
provided for their own little mouths. And because they were children,
they understood the language of the Sparrow, and chatted with him. In
this way the Sparrow heard many sad stories. The children told of
poverty and distress, how hard parents had to work and how often there
was nothing to eat at home. The honest Sparrow felt very sad to hear
this. “There must also be a beautiful land for men, where conditions
are good and they do not have to hunger and freeze,” said he to his
little friend.
“Perhaps,” said a pale little girl. “But we have not yet found the road
to it.”
“When I am big,” declared a little boy dressed in black, “then I will
go out to search for that land. When I find it I will lead all the poor
people to it.”
The two mice also visited the Sparrow often, they always came towards
evening, when all was quiet.
So passed a long time, and one day the Sparrow saw land in the
distance, saw houses and trees and knew that now his goal was reached.
The grey ocean had become quite blue and gleamed in the sunshine. It
was very hot, and Grandmother Mouse said that in this land there was no
winter.
When the ship landed, the Sparrow flew after his friends for a while
and then contemplated his new home.
All the people had brown faces and wore strange clothes. The faces of
the women were covered so that one could only see their large black
eyes. He also saw queer animals that walked on four legs and had great
humps on their backs. Even the trees were different than those at home,
there were some with long pointed leaves and brown fruit that the
Sparrow relished. There was plenty to eat; here no Sparrow had to
suffer hunger, and there was no snow or cold.
“Isn’t this also the right country for the poor people?” the Sparrow
asked himself. But then he saw that in this sunny land there were also
rich and poor, that some were richly dressed and others wore rags, that
some lazy ones rode in handsome carriages and some dragged heavy
burdens. And he thought, “It is much easier to find a Sparrow paradise
than a land in which people may enjoy happiness.” This pained him,
because on his journey he had learned to love the poor people. “But how
strange this is. People can tame wild animals to carry them through all
lands, they know how to build houses that swim on the water and yet
they are so poor and destitute and let a few evil wretches take
everything for themselves.”
Now that he had reached the warm country, the Sparrow rested from his
long and wearisome journey, flew about lazily, and spent each night in
a different tree.
One day he came to a beautiful green stream and flew along its course.
He came to a great, large plain. At first he thought he had reached the
ocean again, but as far as he could see lay fine yellow sand. In the
distance he saw something rising out of the sand which looked like a
monstrous animal. He flew closer to it and saw that it really was a
gigantic creature with the head of a human being and two large paws. It
was made of grey-brown stone and was partly covered with sand.
The ugly animal lay quite still and grinned angrily. The Sparrow
curtseyed carefully: would the beast wish to eat him? But no, it
graciously acknowledged his greeting and said: “I have been lying here
thousands of years, yet I have never seen a bird like you. Who are you?
What are you doing here?”
The Sparrow related his story and the great beast listened patiently.
Then the little bird inquired, “Will you tell me who you are? We have
no animals like you at home.”
The great beast laughed and replied, “People call me the Sphinx. I am
so old that I have lost count of my years; have seen everything, know
everything.”
“In my country the Owls say that, too,” was the Sparrow’s pert remark.
The Sphinx looked at him angrily. “The Owl is a conceited boaster!” he
cried excitedly.
“Excuse me!” stammered the Sparrow, frightened. “I did not wish to
insult you. You look much older than the Owl.”
“Indeed I am. I count my years by the thousands.”
“How much you must have seen!” cried the Sparrow.
The Sphinx opened her gigantic mouth and yawned so hugely that the sand
flew about her as though a whirlwind had hit it.
“Since the year 1000,” said she. “I always see the same; I see people
who have riches and joy, forcing their starving slaves to drudge. At
first the slaves were driven with whips which the overseer used to beat
them with when they became tired from the heat of the sun. Often these
slaves were kept at work with chains on their feet so that they should
not run away. Later the whips disappeared, the masters bragged of their
kindness, saying, ‘In these progressive times, no man is a slave.’ But
secretly they concealed a dreadful whip, Hunger, and this drove the
people to slavery as surely as the whip they had used previously. I see
people pass here, rich strangers who visit this country out of
curiosity, and see the poor Arabs, who work as muleteers and drag heavy
stones, and are barely kept alive with a few dates and a little corn,
just like their ancestors thousands of years ago.”
The Sphinx became silent, gazing gloomily at the desert. Then she spoke
again, “For thousands of years there were gorgeously dressed, jeweled
priests here, who belonged in the same class as the rich people. They
preached to the people, threatening them with the anger of the gods if
they became dissatisfied with their fate. Today these priests are
dressed in black, but they also lie and stand by the rich ones, they
also worship a God who was a bad mechanic. It has always been the same,
for thousands of years.” And again the Sphinx yawned.
“Can’t you also see into the future, wise Beast?” bashfully questioned
the Sparrow.
“Yes, I can also see that. Listen to my words, little bird. A day will
come when all slaves will arise in a dreadful struggle against their
oppressors. After long bloody battles they will conquer and then there
will be a new world, where everything belongs to all the people and all
people are free. Even today the earth trembles in happy expectation,
and in the quiet night I feel its trembling. For thousands of years I
have not spoken to any being, I will only speak again when the day of
freedom dawns. Then my voice will join in the jubilations of the freed
people.”
The Sparrow flew out of the desert where he could find nothing to eat,
back to the green stream, and enjoyed many pleasant days there.
One day he was sitting on a stone on the bank of the stream, when he
heard familiar voices, “Tweet! Tweet!”
He looked up and saw three Swallows who flew slowly toward him.
“Are you here already?” the Sparrow asked in surprise.
“Certainly, certainly,” twittered the Swallows. “At home rough winds
are blowing, the frost is in the meadows at night, winter is coming.”
How frightened the Sparrow was at that. Here in this beautiful land
where he had plenty of fat worms and warm sunshine, he had forgotten
about his Sparrow brothers. And in the meantime the deadly winter had
come! He must rush home to teach them how to reach the sunny land.
Would he reach there in time? How selfish he had been; if Sparrows were
freezing and starving at home, it was his fault.
Even while he was thinking this he spread out his little wings and flew
toward the ocean.
In the harbor many silvery-white Seagulls flew about, crying with
shrill voices, “A storm is coming! A storm is coming!”
“Which ship is going north?” he asked hastily.
“None,” answered a Seagull; but this was not true, they were
disagreeable birds and wanted to frighten the Sparrow.
But he believed them. “Then I must fly over the ocean,” thought he,
fearfully. “I must do it, for on me depends the life or death of my
Sparrow brothers. I must make good.”
Sadly he looked back once more on the wonderland; then flew out on the
great waters.
Wild waves dashed up, the storm howled and rain fell. In a few hours,
the Sparrow was so tired that he could no longer fly high. The billows
made his feathers wet, they were heavy with the water and drew him
deeper and deeper down. A monstrous wave reached out for him with white
arms and the Sparrow fell into the ocean and was swallowed by the
waves.
For that reason the Sparrows must still freeze and starve every winter,
for there has not been another courageous Sparrow to show them the way
to the sunny country.
But had the Sparrow suffered so much and died in vain?
No, the little black-haired boy on the ship had paid special attention
to the story which the Sparrow had told him and had listened to what
the Sparrow wanted to do for his Sparrow brothers, and this the little
boy wanted to do for his fellow-humans. He grew up, and wherever
oppressed workers struggled against their oppressors, he was the
leader. But the story of the black-haired boy, of his life and his
death, is another tale and does not belong here.