EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE [3]
is bad and stupid, and
that, on the contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more
brilliant virtues one finds. I do not share this opinion, for it is
wrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly beautiful traits;
my own mother has told me of such, and I could mention several. One
day she was visiting a nobleman's house in town; my grandmother, I
believe, had been the lady's nurse when she was a child. My mother and
the nobleman were alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old
woman on crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every
Sunday to carry a gift away with her.
"'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is so
difficult for her to walk.'
"My mother had hardly understood what he said before he
disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to save her
the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch. Of course this is
only a little incident, but it has its good sound like the poor
widow's two mites in the Bible, the sound which echoes in the depth of
every human heart; and this is what the poet ought to show and point
out- more especially in our own time he ought to sing of this; it does
good, it mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because he
is of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind legs
and neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says when a
commoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the street have been
here,' there nobility is decaying; it has become a mask of the kind
that Thespis created, and it is amusing when such a person is
exposed in satire."
Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but while he
delivered it he had finished cutting the flute.
There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from the
neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were ladies with
tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall was quite crowded
with people. The clergymen stood humbly together in a corner, and
looked as if they were preparing for a funeral, but it was a festival-
only the amusement had not yet begun. A great concert was to take
place, and that is why the baron's young son had brought his willow
flute with him; but he could not make it sound, nor could his
father, and therefore the flute was good for nothing.
There was music and songs of the kind which delight most those
that perform them; otherwise quite charming!
"Are you an artist?" said a cavalier, the son of his father;
"you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it is genius that
rules- the place of honour is due to you."
"Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of course
one can't help."
"I hope you will delight us all with the little instrument- will
you not?" Thus saying he handed to the tutor the flute which had
been cut from the willow tree by the pool; and then announced in a
loud voice that the tutor wished to perform a solo on the flute.
They wished to tease him- that was evident, and therefore the tutor
declined to play, although he could do so very well. They urged and
requested him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and
placed it to his lips.
That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as the
whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger, for it
sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in the wood, and
many miles round in the country; at the same time a storm rose and
roared; "Everything in the right place." And with this the baron, as
if carried by the wind, flew out of the hall straight into the
shepherd's cottage, and the shepherd flew- not into the hall,
thither he could not come- but into the servants' hall, among the
smart footmen who were striding about in silk stockings; these haughty
menials looked horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at
table with them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the
place of honour at the end of the table- she was worthy to sit
there;
that, on the contrary, the lower one goes among the poor, the more
brilliant virtues one finds. I do not share this opinion, for it is
wrong. In the upper classes one sees many touchingly beautiful traits;
my own mother has told me of such, and I could mention several. One
day she was visiting a nobleman's house in town; my grandmother, I
believe, had been the lady's nurse when she was a child. My mother and
the nobleman were alone in the room, when he suddenly noticed an old
woman on crutches come limping into the courtyard; she came every
Sunday to carry a gift away with her.
"'There is the poor old woman,' said the nobleman; 'it is so
difficult for her to walk.'
"My mother had hardly understood what he said before he
disappeared from the room, and went downstairs, in order to save her
the troublesome walk for the gift she came to fetch. Of course this is
only a little incident, but it has its good sound like the poor
widow's two mites in the Bible, the sound which echoes in the depth of
every human heart; and this is what the poet ought to show and point
out- more especially in our own time he ought to sing of this; it does
good, it mitigates and reconciles! But when a man, simply because he
is of noble birth and possesses a genealogy, stands on his hind legs
and neighs in the street like an Arabian horse, and says when a
commoner has been in a room: 'Some people from the street have been
here,' there nobility is decaying; it has become a mask of the kind
that Thespis created, and it is amusing when such a person is
exposed in satire."
Such was the tutor's speech; it was a little long, but while he
delivered it he had finished cutting the flute.
There was a large party at the mansion; many guests from the
neighbourhood and from the capital had arrived. There were ladies with
tasteful and with tasteless dresses; the big hall was quite crowded
with people. The clergymen stood humbly together in a corner, and
looked as if they were preparing for a funeral, but it was a festival-
only the amusement had not yet begun. A great concert was to take
place, and that is why the baron's young son had brought his willow
flute with him; but he could not make it sound, nor could his
father, and therefore the flute was good for nothing.
There was music and songs of the kind which delight most those
that perform them; otherwise quite charming!
"Are you an artist?" said a cavalier, the son of his father;
"you play on the flute, you have made it yourself; it is genius that
rules- the place of honour is due to you."
"Certainly not! I only advance with the time, and that of course
one can't help."
"I hope you will delight us all with the little instrument- will
you not?" Thus saying he handed to the tutor the flute which had
been cut from the willow tree by the pool; and then announced in a
loud voice that the tutor wished to perform a solo on the flute.
They wished to tease him- that was evident, and therefore the tutor
declined to play, although he could do so very well. They urged and
requested him, however, so long, that at last he took up the flute and
placed it to his lips.
That was a marvellous flute! Its sound was as thrilling as the
whistle of a steam engine; in fact it was much stronger, for it
sounded and was heard in the yard, in the garden, in the wood, and
many miles round in the country; at the same time a storm rose and
roared; "Everything in the right place." And with this the baron, as
if carried by the wind, flew out of the hall straight into the
shepherd's cottage, and the shepherd flew- not into the hall,
thither he could not come- but into the servants' hall, among the
smart footmen who were striding about in silk stockings; these haughty
menials looked horror-struck that such a person ventured to sit at
table with them. But in the hall the baron's daughter flew to the
place of honour at the end of the table- she was worthy to sit
there;