評論
打印
“So I went forth into the world， and turned my steps towards the west， that I might become a poet. Understanding is the most important matter in everything. I knew that， for the two other qualifications are not thought much of； so I went first to seek for understanding. Where was I to find it？ 'Go to the ant and learn wisdom，' said the GREat Jewish king. I knew that from living in a library. So I went straight on till I came to the first great ant-hill， and then I set myself to watch， that I might become wise. The ants are a very respectable people， they are wisdom itself. All they do is like the working of a sum in arithmetic， which comes right. 'To work and to lay eggs，' say they， 'and to provide for posterity， is to live out your time properly；' and that they truly do. They are divided into the clean and the dirty ants， their rank is pointed out by a number， and the ant-queen is number ONE； and her opinion is the only correct one on everything； she seems to have the whole wisdom of the world in her， which was just the important matter I wished to acquire. She said a great deal which was no doubt very clever； yet to me it sounded like nonsense. She said the ant-hill was the loftiest thing in the world， and yet close to the mound stood a tall tree， which no one could deny was loftier， much loftier， but no mention was made of the tree. One evening an ant lost herself on this tree； she had crept up the stem， not nearly to the top， but higher than any ant had ever ventured； and when at last she returned home she said that she had found something in her travels much higher than the ant-hill. The rest of the ants considered this an insult to the whole community； so she was condemned to wear a muzzle and to live in perpetual solitude. A short time afterwards another ant got on the tree， and made the same journey and the same discovery， but she spoke of it cautiously and indefinitely， and as she was one of the superior ants and very much respected， they believed her， and when she died they erected an eggshell as a monument to her memory， for they cultivated a great respect for science. I saw，” said the little mouse， “that the ants were always running to and fro with her burdens on their backs. Once I saw one of them drop her load； she gave herself a great deal of trouble in trying to raise it again， but she could not succeed. Then two others came up and tried with all their strength to help her， till they nearly dropped their own burdens in doing so； then they were obliged to stop for a moment in their help， for every one must think of himself first. And the ant-queen remarked that their conduct that day showed that they possessed kind hearts and good understanding. 'These two qualities，' she continued， 'place us ants in the highest degree above all other reasonable beings. Understanding must therefore be seen among us in the most prominent manner， and my wisdom is greater than all.' And so saying she raised herself on her two hind legs， that no one else might be mistaken for her. I could not therefore make an error， so I ate her up. We are to go to the ants to learn wisdom， and I had got the queen.
“I now turned and went nearer to the lofty tree already mentioned， which was an oak. It had a tall trunk with a wide-spreading top， and was very old. I knew that a living being dwelt here， a dryad as she is called， who is born with the tree and dies with it. I had heard this in the library， and here was just such a tree， and in it an oak-maiden. She uttered a terrible scream when she caught sight of me so near to her； like many women， she was very much afraid of mice. And she had more real cause for fear than they have， for I might have gnawed through the tree on which her life depended. I spoke to her in a kind and friendly manner， and begged her to take courage. At last she took me up in her delicate hand， and then I told her what had brought me out into the world， and she promised me that perhaps on that very evening she should be able to obtain for me one of the two treasures for which I was seeking. She told me that Phantaesus was her very dear friend， that he was as beautiful as the god of love， that he remained often for many hours with her under the leafy boughs of the tree which then rustled and waved more than ever over them both. He called her his dryad， she said， and the tree his tree； for the grand old oak， with its gnarled trunk， was just to his taste. The root， spreading deep into the earth， the top rising high in the fresh air， knew the value of the drifted snow， the keen wind， and the warm sunshine， as it ought to be known. 'Yes，' continued the dryad， 'the birds sing up above in the branches， and talk to each other about the beautiful fields they have visited in foreign lands； and on one of the withered boughs a stork has built his nest，—it is beautifully arranged， and besides it is pleasant to hear a little about the land of the pyramids. All this pleases Phantaesus， but it is not enough for him； I am obliged to relate to him of my life in the woods； and to go back to my childhood， when I was little， and the tree so small and delicate that a stinging-nettle could overshadow it， and I have to tell everything that has happened since then till now that the tree is so large and strong. Sit you down now under the GREen bindwood and pay attention， when Phantaesus comes I will find an opportunity to lay hold of his wing and to pull out one of the little feathers. That feather you shall have； a better was never given to any poet， it will be quite enough for you.'
“And when Phantaesus came the feather was plucked， and，” said the little mouse， “I seized and put it in water， and kept it there till it was quite soft. It was very heavy and indigestible， but I managed to nibble it up at last. It is not so easy to nibble one's self into a poet， there are so many things to get through. Now， however， I had two of them， understanding and imagination； and through these I knew that the third was to be found in the library. A GREat man has said and written that there are novels whose sole and only use appeared to be that they might relieve mankind of overflowing tears—a kind of sponge， in fact， for sucking up feelings and emotions. I remembered a few of these books， they had always appeared tempting to the appetite； they had been much read， and were so greasy， that they must have absorbed no end of emotions in themselves. I retraced my steps to the library， and literally devoured a whole novel， that is， properly speaking， the interior or soft part of it； the crust， or binding， I left. When I had digested not only this， but a second， I felt a stirring within me； then I ate a small piece of a third romance， and felt myself a poet. I said it to myself， and told others the same. I had head-ache and back-ache， and I cannot tell what aches besides. I thought over all the stories that may be said to be connected with sausage pegs， and all that has ever been written about skewers， and sticks， and staves， and splinters came to my thoughts； the ant-queen must have had a wonderfully clear understanding. I remembered the man who placed a white stick in his mouth by which he could make himself and the stick invisible. I thought of sticks as hobby-horses， staves of music or rhyme， of breaking a stick over a man's back， and heaven knows how many more phrases of the same sort relating to sticks， staves， and skewers. All my thoughts rein on skewers， sticks of wood， and staves； and as I am， at last， a poet， and I have worked terribly hard to make myself one， I can of course make poetry on anything. I shall therefore be able to wait upon you every day in the week with a poetical history of a skewer. And that is my soup.”
