of them, the one they thought dead. She tripped in, and jumped upon
the upper end of the sausage-stick with the black crape. She had been
journeying day and night, travelling on the railroad by the goods
train, in which she took great pleasure, and yet she had almost
arrived too late; but she hurried forward, puffing and panting, and
looking very much jaded. She had lost her sausage-stick, but not her
voice; for she began talking with the utmost velocity, as if every one
was dying to hear her, and no one could say anything to the purpose
but herself. How she did chatter! But she had arrived so unexpectedly
that no one had time to find fault with her or her talking, so she
went on. Now let us listen.
IV.
WHAT THE FOURTH MOUSE--WHO SPOKE BEFORE THE THIRD ONE HAD SPOKEN--HAD
TO RELATE.
"I went straight to the greatest city," she said. "I do not remember
its name. I do not recollect names well. I came from the railway with
confiscated goods to the town council-hall, and there I ran to the
jailer. He spoke of his prisoners, especially of one of them, who had
uttered some very imprudent words; and when these had been repeated,
and written down and read, 'The whole,' said he, 'was only--soup of a
sausage-stick; but that soup may cost him dear.' I felt interested in
the prisoner," continued the little mouse, "and I watched for an
opportunity to go in where he was. There is always a mouse-hole behind
locked doors. He looked very pale, had a dark beard, and large shining
eyes. The lamp smoked; but the walls were accustomed to this. They did
not turn any blacker. The prisoner was scratching on them both
pictures and verses; but I did not read the latter. I fancy he was
tired of being alone, for I was a welcome guest. He enticed me with
crumbs of bread, with his flute, and kind words. He was so happy with
me! I put confidence in him, and we became friends. He shared with me
bread and water, and gave me cheese and sausages. I lived luxuriously;
but it was not alone the good cheer that detained me. He allowed me to
run upon his hand and arm all the way up to his shoulder; he allowed
me to creep into his beard, and called me his little friend. I became
very dear to him, and our regard was mutual. I forgot my errand out in
the wide world; I forgot my sausage-stick in a crevice in the floor;
and there it still lies. I wished to remain where I was; for, if I
left him, the poor prisoner would have nothing to care for in this
world. I remained; but he, alas! did not. He spoke to me so sadly for
the last time, gave me a double allowance of bread and cheese parings,
kissed his finger to me, and then he was gone--gone, never to return.
I do not know his history. 'Soup of a sausage-stick!' said the jailer,
and I went to him; but I was wrong to trust in him. He took me up,
indeed, in his hand; but he put me in a cage, a treadmill. That was
hard work--jumping and jumping without getting on a bit, and only to
be laughed at.
"The jailer's grandchild was a pretty little fellow, with waving hair
as yellow as gold, sparkling, joyous eyes, and a laughing mouth.
"'Poor little mouse!' he exclaimed, peeping in at my horrid cage, and
at the same time drawing up the iron pin that closed it.
"I seized the opportunity, and sprang first to the window-ledge, and
thence to the conduit-pipe. Free, free! that was all I could think of,
and not the object of my journey.
"It became dark--it was almost night. I took up my lodgings in a
tower, where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I could not trust either of
them, and the owl least of the two. It resembles a cat, and has one
great fault--that it eats mice. But one can be on one's guard, and
that I assuredly would be. She was a respectable, extremely
well-educated old owl. She knew more than the watchman, and almost as
much as I myself did. The young owls made a great fuss about
everything.
"'Don't make soup of a sausage-stick,' said she.
"This was the severest thing she could say to them, she was so very
fond of her family. I felt so much inclined to place some reliance in
her that I cried "Pip!" from the crevice in which I was concealed. My
confidence in her seemed to please her, and she assured me that I
should be safe under her protection; that no animal would be permitted
to injure me until winter, when she might herself fall upon me, as
food would be scarce.
"She was very wise in all things. She proved to me that the watchman
could not blow a blast without his horn, which hung loosely about him.
"He piques himself exceedingly upon his performances, and fancies he
is the owl of the tower. The sound ought to be very loud, but it is
extremely weak. 'Soup of a sausage-stick!'
"I begged her to give me the recipe for the soup, and she explained it
to me thus:--
"'Soup of a sausage-stick is but a cant phrase among men, and is
differently interpreted. Every one fancies his own interpretation the
best, but in sober reality there is nothing in it whatsoever.'
"'Nothing!' cried I. That was a poser. 'Truth is not always pleasant,
but truth is always the best.' So also said the old owl. I considered
the matter, and came to the conclusion that when I brought _the best_
I brought more than 'soup of a sausage-stick;' and thereupon I
hastened homewards, so that I might arrive in good time to bring what
is most valuable--THE TRUTH. The mice are an enlightened community,
and their king is the cleverest of them all. He can make me his queen
for the sake of Truth."
"Thy truth is a falsehood," said the mouse who had not yet had an
opportunity of speaking. "I can make the soup, and I will do it."
V.
HOW THE SOUP WAS MADE.
"I have not travelled at all," said the last mouse. "I remained in our
own country. It is not necessary to go to foreign lands--one can
learn as well at home. I remained there. I have not acquired any
information of unnatural beings. I have not eaten information, or
conversed with owls. I confined myself to original thoughts. Will some
one now be so good as to fill the kettle with water, and put it on?
Let there be plenty of fire under it. Let the water boil--boil
briskly; then throw the sausage-stick in. Will his majesty the King of
the Mice be so condescending as to put his tail into the boiling pot,
and stir it about? The longer he stirs it, the richer the soup will
become. It costs nothing, and requires no other ingredients--it only
needs to be stirred."
"Cannot another do this?" asked the king.
"No," said the mouse. "The effect can only be produced by the royal
tail."
The water was boiled, and the King of the Mice prepared himself for
the operation, though it was rather dangerous. He stuck his tail out,
as mice are in the habit of doing in the dairy, when they skim the
cream off the dish with their tails; but he had no sooner popped his
tail into the warm steam than he drew it out and sprang down.
"Of course you are my queen," said he; "but we shall wait for the soup
till our golden wedding, and the poor in my kingdom will have
something to rejoice over in the future."
So the nuptials were celebrated; but many of the mice, when they went
home, said, "It could not well be called soup of a sausage-stick, but
rather soup of a mouse's tail."
They allowed that each of the narratives was very well told, but the
whole might have been better. "I, for instance, would have related my
adventures in such and such words...."
These were the critics, and they are always so wise--afterwards.
* * * * *
And this history went round the world. Opinions were divided about it,
but the historian himself remained unmoved. And this is best in great
things and in small.
_The Neck of a Bottle._
Yonder, in the confined, crooked streets, amidst several poor-looking
houses, stood a narrow high tenement, run up of framework that was
much misshapen, with corners and ends awry. It was inhabited by poor
people, the poorest of whom looked out from the garret, where, outside
the little window, hung in the sunshine an old, dented bird-cage,
which had not even a common cage-glass, but only the neck of a bottle
inverted, with a cork below, and filled with water. An old maid stood
near the open window; she had just been putting some chickweed into
the cage, wherein a little linnet was hopping from perch to perch, and
singing until her warbling became almost overpowering.
"Yes, you may well sing," said the neck of the bottle; but it did not
say this as we should say it, for the neck of a bottle cannot speak,
but it thought so within itself, just as we human beings speak
inwardly.
"Yes, you may well sing, you who have your limbs entire. You should
have experienced, like me, what it is to have lost your lower part, to
have only a neck and a mouth, and the latter stopped up with a cork,
as I have; then you would not sing. But it is well that somebody is
contented. I have no cause to sing, and I cannot. I could once though,
when I was a whole bottle. How I was praised at the furrier's in the
wood, when his daughter was betrothed! Yes, I remember that day as if
it were yesterday. I have gone through a great deal when I look back.
I have been in fire and in water, down in the dark earth, and higher
up than many; and now I am suspended outside of a bird-cage in the air
and sunshine. It might be worth while to listen to my story; but I do
not speak it aloud, because I cannot."
So it went on thinking over its own history, which was curious enough;
and the little bird poured forth its strains, and in the street below
people walked and drove, every one thinking of himself, some scarcely
thinking at all; but the neck of the bottle _was_ thinking.
It remembered the blazing smelt-furnace at the manufactory where it
was blown into life. It remembered even now that it had been extremely
warm; that it had looked into the roaring oven, its original home, and
had felt strongly inclined to spring back into it; but that by
degrees, as it felt cooler, it found itself comfortable enough where
it was, placed in a row with a whole regiment of brothers and sisters
from the same furnace, some of which, however, were blown into
champagne bottles, others into ale bottles; and that made a
difference, since out in the world an ale bottle may contain the
costly LACRYMAE CHRISTI, and a champagne bottle may be filled with
blacking; but what they were born to every one can see by their shape,
so that noble remains noble even with blacking in it.
All the bottles were packed up, and our bottle with them. It then
little thought that it would end in being only the neck of a bottle
serving as a bird's glass--an honourable state of existence truly, but
still something. It did not see daylight again until it was unpacked
along with its comrades in the wine merchant's cellar, and was washed
for the first time. That was a funny sensation. After that it lay
empty and uncorked, and felt so very listless; it wanted something,
but did not know what it wanted. At length it was filled with an
excellent, superior wine, and, when corked and sealed, a label was
stuck on it outside with the words, "Best quality." It was as if it
had taken its first academic degree. But the wine was good, and the
bottle was good. The young are fond of music, and much singing went on
in it, the songs being on themes about which it scarcely knew
anything--the green sunlit hills where the wine grapes grew, where
beautiful girls and handsome swains met, and danced, and sang, and
loved. Ah! there it is delightful to dwell. And all this was made into
songs in the bottle, as it is made into songs by young poets, who also
frequently know nothing at all about the subjects they choose.
One morning it was bought. The furrier's boy was ordered to purchase a
bottle of the best wine, and this one was carried away in a basket,
with ham, cheese, and sausage; there were also the nicest butter and
the finest bread. The furrier's daughter herself packed the basket.
She was so young, so pretty! Her brown eyes laughed, and the smile on
her sweet mouth was almost as expressive as her eyes. She had
beautiful soft hands--they were so white; yet her throat and neck were
still whiter. It could be seen at once that she was one of the
prettiest girls in the neighbourhood, and, strange to say, not yet
engaged.
The basket of provisions was placed in her lap when the family drove
out to the wood. The neck of the bottle stuck out above the parts of
the white napkins that were visible. There was red wax on its cork,
and it looked straight into the eyes of the pretty girl, and also into
those of the young sailor--the mate of a ship--who sat beside her. He
was the son of a portrait painter, and had just passed a first-rate
examination for mate, and was to go on board his vessel the next day
to sail for far-distant countries. Much was said about his voyage
during the drive; and when _it_ was spoken of, there was not exactly
an expression of joy in the eyes and about the mouth of the furrier's
daughter.
The two young people wandered away into the green wood. They were in
earnest conversation. Of what were they speaking? The bottle did not
hear that, for it was still standing in the basket of provisions. It
seemed a long time before it was taken out, but then it saw pleasant
faces round. Everybody was smiling, and the furrier's daughter also
smiled; but she spoke less, and her cheeks were blushing like two red
roses.
The father took the full bottle and the corkscrew. Oh! it is
astonishing to a bottle the first time a cork is drawn from it. The
neck of the bottle could never afterwards forget that important moment
when, with a low sound, the cork flew, and the wine streamed out into
the awaiting glasses.
"To the health of the betrothed pair!" cried the father, and every
glass was drained; and the young mate kissed his lovely bride. "May
happiness and every blessing attend you both!" said the old people;
and the young man begged them to fill their glasses again for his
toast.
"To my return home and my wedding, within a year and a day!" he
cried; and when the glasses were empty he took the bottle, and lifted
it high above his head. "Thou hast been present during the happiest
day of my life; thou shalt never serve another!"
And he cast the bottle high up in the air. Ah! little did the
furrier's daughter think then that she should often look on that which
was flung up; but she was destined to do so. It fell among the thick
mass of reeds that bordered a pond in the woods. The neck of the
bottle remembered distinctly what it thought as it lay there, and it
was this: "I gave them wine, and they give me bog-water; but it was
well meant." It could no more see the betrothed young couple, or the
happy old people; but it heard in the distance the sounds of music and
of mirth. Then came two little peasant children peering among the
reeds. They saw the bottle, and carried it off with them: so it was
provided for.
At home, in the cottage among the woods where they lived, their eldest
brother, who was a sailor, had, the day before, come to say farewell;
for he was about to start on a long voyage. The mother was busy
packing various little matters, which the father was to take with him
to the town in the evening, when he went to see his son once more
before his departure, and give him again his mother's blessing. A
phial with spiced brandy was placed in the package; but at that moment
the children came in with the larger, stronger bottle which they had
found. A larger quantity could go into it than into the phial. It was
not the red wine, as before, that the bottle received, but some bitter
stuff. However, it also was excellent as a stomachic. Our bottle was
thus again to set forth on its travels. It was carried on board to
Peter Jensen, who happened to be in the same ship as was the young
mate; but he did not see the bottle, and, if he had seen it, he would
not have known it to have been the same from which were drunk the
toasts in honour of his betrothal, and to his safe return.
Although there was no longer wine in it, there was something quite as
good; and whenever Peter Jensen brought it forth, his comrades called
it "the apothecary." The nice medicine was so much in vogue that very
soon there was not a drop of it left. The bottle had a pleasant time
of it, upon the whole, while its contents were in such high favour. It
acquired the name of the great "Loerke"--"Peter Jensen's
Loerke."[4]
[Footnote 4: "Loerke," which generally means "lark," is the name
given among the lower classes in Denmark to a spirit bottle of a
peculiar shape. There is no word that corresponds with it in
English.--_Trans._]
But this time was passed, and it had lain long neglected in a corner.
It did not know whether it was on the voyage out or homewards; for it
had never been on shore anywhere. One day a great storm arose; the
black, heavy waves rolled mountains high, and heaved the ship up and
cast it down by turns; the mast came down with a crash; the sea stove
in a plank; the pumps were no longer of any avail. It was a pitch-dark
night. The ship sank; but at the last minute the young mate wrote on a
slip of paper, "_In the name of Jesus--we are lost!_" He wrote down
the name of his bride, his own name, and that of his ship; then he
thrust the note into an empty bottle that was within reach, pressed in
the cork tightly, and cast the bottle out into the raging sea. Little
did he know that it was the identical bottle which had contained the
wine in which had been drunk the toasts of joy and hope for him and
her, that was now tossing on the billows with these last
remembrances, and the message of death.
The ship sank--the crew sank--but the bottle skimmed the waves like a
sea-fowl. It had a heart then--the letter of love within it. And the
sun rose, and the sun set. This sight recalled to the bottle the scene
of its earliest life--the red glowing furnace, to which it had once
longed to return. It encountered calms and storms; but it was not
dashed to pieces against any rocks. It was not swallowed by any shark.
For more than a year and a day it drifted on--now towards the north,
now towards the south--as the currents carried it. In other respects
it was its own master; but one can become tired even of that.
The written paper--the last farewell from the bridegroom to his
bride--would only bring deep sorrow if it ever reached the proper
hands. But where were these hands, that had looked so white when they
spread the tablecloth on the fresh grass in the green wood on the
betrothal-day? Where was the furrier's daughter? Nay, where was her
country? and to what country was it nearest? The bottle knew not. It
drifted and drifted, and it was so tired of always drifting on; but it
could not help itself. Still, still it had to drift, until at last it
reached the land; but it was a foreign country. It did not understand
a word that was said, for the language was not such as it had been
formerly accustomed to hear; and one feels quite lost if one does not
understand the language spoken around.
The bottle was taken up and examined; the slip of paper in it was
observed, taken out, and opened; but nobody could make out what was
written on it, though every one knew that the bottle must have been
cast overboard, and that some information was contained in the paper;
but what _that_ was remained a mystery, and it was put back into the
bottle, and the latter laid by in a large press, in a large room, in a
large house.
Whenever any stranger came the slip of paper was taken out, opened,
and examined, so that the writing, which was only in pencil, became
more and more illegible from the frequent folding and unfolding of the
paper, till at length the letters could no longer be discerned. After
the bottle had remained about a year in the press it was removed to
the loft, and was soon covered with dust and cobwebs. Ah! then it
thought of its better days, when red wine was poured from it in the
shady wood, and when it swayed about upon the waves, and had a secret
to carry--a letter, a farewell sigh.
It now remained in the loft for twenty mortal years, and it might have
remained longer, had not the house been going to be rebuilt. The roof
was taken off, the bottle discovered and talked about; but it did not
understand what was said. One does not learn languages, living up
alone in a loft, even in twenty years. "Had I but been down in the
parlour," it thought, and with truth, "I would, of course, have
learned it."
It was now washed and rinsed. It certainly wanted cleaning sadly, and
very clear and transparent it felt itself after it--indeed, quite
young again in its old age; but the slip of paper committed to its
charge, that was lost in the washing. The bottle was now filled with
seeds. Such contents were new to it. Well stopped up and wrapped up it
was, and it could see neither a lantern nor a candle, not to mention
the sun or the moon. "One ought to see something when one goes on a
journey," thought the bottle; but it did not, however, until it
reached the place it was going to, and was there unpacked.
"What trouble these people abroad have taken about it!" was remarked;
"yet no doubt it is cracked." But it was not cracked. The bottle
understood every word that was said, for they were spoken in the
language it had heard at the furnace, at the wine merchant's, in the
wood, and on board ship--the only right good old language, one which
could be understood. The bottle had returned to its own country, and
in its joy had nearly jumped out of the hands that were holding it. It
scarcely observed that the cork had been removed, its contents shaken
out, and itself put away in the cellar to be kept and forgotten. But
home is dearest, even in a cellar. It had enough to think over, and
time enough to think, for it lay there for years; but at last one day
folks came down there to look for some bottles, and took this one with
them.
Outside, in the garden, there were great doings; coloured lamps hung
in festoons; paper lanterns, formed like large tulips, gave forth
their subdued light. It was also a charming evening; the air was calm
and clear; the stars began, one after the other, to shine in the deep
blue heavens above; while the round moon looked like a pale
bluish-grey ball, with a golden border encircling it.
There were also some illuminations in the side walks, at least enough
to let people see their way; bottles with lights in them were placed
here and there among the hedges; and amidst these stood the bottle we
know, the one that was destined to end as the mere neck of a bottle
and the glass of a bird-cage. At the period just named, however, it
found everything so exquisitely charming. It was again among flowers
and verdure, again surrounded by joy and festivity; it again heard
singing and musical instruments, and the hum and buzz of a crowd of
people, especially from that part of the gardens which were most
brilliantly illuminated. It had a good situation itself, and stood
there useful and happy, bearing its appointed light. During such a
pleasant time it forgot the twenty years up in the loft, and it is
good to be able to forget.
Close by it passed a couple arm-in-arm, like the happy pair in the
wood, the mate and the furrier's daughter. It seemed to the bottle as
if it were living that time over again. Guests and visitors of
different ages wandered up and down, gazing upon the illuminations;
and among these was an old maid, without relations, but not without
friends. Probably her thoughts were occupied, as were those of the
bottle; for she was thinking of the green woods, and of a young couple
just betrothed. These _souvenirs_ affected her much, for she had been
a party in them--a prominent party. This was in her happier hours; and
one never forgets these, even when one becomes a very old maid. But
she did not recognise the bottle, and it did not recognise her. So it
is we wear out of each other's knowledge in this world, until people
meet again as these two did.
The bottle passed from the public gardens to the wine merchant's; it
was there again filled with wine, and sold to an aeronaut, who was to
go up in a balloon the following Sunday. There was a multitude of
people to witness the ascent, there was a regimental band, and there
were many preparations going on. The bottle saw all this from a
basket, in which it lay with a living rabbit, who was very much
frightened when it saw it was to go up in the parachute. The bottle
did not know where it was to go; it beheld the balloon extending
wider and wider, and becoming so large that it could not be larger;
then lifting itself up higher and higher, and rolling restlessly until
the ropes that held it were cut, when it arose majestically into the
air, with the aeronaut, the basket, the bottle, and the rabbit; then
the music played loudly, and the assembled crowd shouted, "Hurra!
hurra!"
"It is droll to go aloft," thought the bottle; "it is a novel sort of
a voyage. Up yonder one cannot run away."