評論
打印
“In that case，” said the mouse-king， “we will hear what the third mouse has to say.”
“Squeak， squeak，” cried a little mouse at the kitchen door； it was the fourth， and not the third， of the four who were contending for the prize， one whom the rest supposed to be dead. She shot in like an arrow， and overturned the sausage peg that had been covered with crape. She had been running day and night. She had watched an opportunity to get into a goods train， and had travelled by the railway； and yet she had arrived almost too late. She pressed forward， looking very much ruffled. She had lost her sausage skewer， but not her voice； for she began to speak at once as if they only waited for her， and would hear her only， and as if nothing else in the world was of the least consequence. She spoke out so clearly and plainly， and she had come in so suddenly， that no one had time to stop her or to say a word while she was speaking. And now let us hear what she said.
What the Fourth Mouse， Who Spoke Before the Third， Had to Tell
STARTED off at once to the largest town，“ said she， ”but the name of it has escaped me. I have a very bad memory for names. I was carried from the railway， with some forfeited goods， to the jail， and on arriving I made my escape， and ran into the house of the turnkey. The turnkey was speaking of his prisoners， especially of one who had uttered thoughtless words. These words had given rise to other words， and at length they were written down and registered： 'The whole affair is like making soup of sausage skewers，' said he， 'but the soup may cost him his neck.'
“Now this raised in me an interest for the prisoner，” continued the little mouse， “and I watched my opportunity， and slipped into his apartment， for there is a mouse-hole to be found behind every closed door. The prisoner looked pale； he had a GREat beard and large， sparkling eyes. There was a lamp burning， but the walls were so black that they only looked the blacker for it. The prisoner scratched pictures and verses with white chalk on the black walls， but I did not read the verses. I think he found his confinement wearisome， so that I was a welcome guest. He enticed me with bread-crumbs， with whistling， and with gentle words， and seemed so friendly towards me， that by degrees I gained confidence in him， and we became friends； he divided his bread and water with me， gave me cheese and sausage， and I really began to love him. Altogether， I must own that it was a very pleasant intimacy. He let me run about on his hand， and on his arm， and into his sleeve； and I even crept into his beard， and he called me his little friend. I forgot what I had come out into the world for； forgot my sausage skewer which I had laid in a crack in the floor—it is lying there still. I wished to stay with him always where I was， for I knew that if I went away the poor prisoner would have no one to be his friend， which is a sad thing. I stayed， but he did not. He spoke to me so mournfully for the last time， gave me double as much bread and cheese as usual， and kissed his hand to me. Then he went away， and never came back. I know nothing more of his history.
“the jailer took possession of me now. He said something about soup from a sausage skewer， but I could not trust him. He took me in his hand certainly， but it was to place me in a cage like a tread-mill. Oh how dreadful it was！ I had to run round and round without getting any farther in advance， and only to make everybody laugh. The jailer's grand-daughter was a charming little thing. She had curly hair like the brightest gold， merry eyes， and such a smiling mouth.
“'You poor little mouse，' said she， one day as she peeped into my cage， 'I will set you free.' She then drew forth the iron fastening， and I sprang out on the window-sill， and from thence to the roof. Free！ free！ that was all I could think of； not of the object of my journey. It GREw dark， and as night was coming on I found a lodging in an old tower， where dwelt a watchman and an owl. I had no confidence in either of them， least of all in the owl， which is like a cat， and has a great failing， for she eats mice. One may however be mistaken sometimes； and so was I， for this was a respectable and well-educated old owl， who knew more than the watchman， and even as much as I did myself. The young owls made a great fuss about everything， but the only rough words she would say to them were， 'You had better go and make some soup from sausage skewers.' She was very indulgent and loving to her children. Her conduct gave me such confidence in her， that from the crack where I sat I called out 'squeak.' This confidence of mine pleased her so much that she assured me she would take me under her own protection， and that not a creature should do me harm. The fact was， she wickedly meant to keep me in reserve for her own eating in winter， when food would be scarce. Yet she was a very clever lady-owl； she explained to me that the watchman could only hoot with the horn that hung loose at his side； and then she said he is so terribly proud of it， that he imagines himself an owl in the tower；—wants to do great things， but only succeeds in small； all soup on a sausage skewer. Then I begged the owl to give me the recipe for this soup. 'Soup from a sausage skewer，' said she， 'is only a proverb amongst mankind， and may be understood in many ways. Each believes his own way the best， and after all， the proverb signifies nothing.' 'Nothing！' I exclaimed. I was quite struck. Truth is not always agreeable， but truth is above everything else， as the old owl said. I thought over all this， and saw quite plainly that if truth was really so far above everything else， it must be much more valuable than soup from a sausage skewer. So I hastened to get away， that I might be home in time， and bring what was highest and best， and above everything—namely， the truth. The mice are an enlightened people， and the mouse-king is above them all. He is therefore 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 do so.”
How It Was Prepared
DID not travel，“ said the third mouse； ”I stayed in this country： that was the right way. One gains nothing by travelling—everything can be acquired here quite as easily； so I stayed at home. I have not obtained what I know from supernatural beings. I have neither swallowed it， nor learnt it from conversing with owls. I have got it all from my reflections and thoughts. Will you now set the kettle on the fire—so？ Now pour the water in—quite full—up to the brim； place it on the fire； make up a good blaze； keep it burning， that the water may boil； it must boil over and over. There， now I throw in the skewer. Will the mouse-king be pleased now to dip his tail into the boiling water， and stir it round with the tail. The longer the king stirs it， the stronger the soup will become. Nothing more is necessary， only to stir it.“
“Can no one else do this？” asked the king.
“No，” said the mouse； “only in the tail of the mouse-king is this power contained.”
And the water boiled and bubbled， as the mouse-king stood close beside the kettle. It seemed rather a dangerous performance； but he turned round， and put out his tail， as mice do in a dairy， when they wish to skim the cream from a pan of milk with their tails and afterwards lick it off. But the mouse-king's tail had only just touched the hot steam， when he sprang away from the chimney in a GREat hurry， exclaiming， “Oh， certainly， by all means， you must be my queen； and we will let the soup question rest till our golden wedding， fifty years hence； so that the poor in my kingdom， who are then to have plenty of food， will have something to look forward to for a long time， with great joy.”
And very soon the wedding took place. But many of the mice， as they were returning home， said that the soup could not be properly called “soup from a sausage skewer，” but “soup from a mouse's tail.” They acknowledged also that some of the stories were very well told； but that the whole could have been managed differently. “I should have told it so—and so—and so.” These were the critics who are always so clever afterwards.
When this story was circulated all over the world， the opinions upon it were divided； but the story remained the same. And， after all， the best way in everything you undertake， GREat as well as small， is to expect no thanks for anything you may do， even when it refers to “soup from a sausage skewer.”
