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安徒生童話故事第80篇：聰明人的寶石The Philosopher’s Stone
引導(dǎo)語(yǔ)：寶石是奢侈品，那么聰明人的寶石是如何的呢?我們一起來(lái)閱讀下文的這篇安徒生童話故事吧。
你當(dāng)然知道《丹麥人荷爾格》這個(gè)故事。我不會(huì)再講這個(gè)故事給你聽(tīng)，但是我可要問(wèn)，你記不記得它里面說(shuō)過(guò)：“荷爾格獲得了印度廣大的國(guó)土以后，一直向東走，走到世界的盡頭，甚至走到那棵太陽(yáng)樹(shù)的跟前。”——這是克利斯仙·貝德生講的話。你知道貝德生嗎?你不知道他也沒(méi)有什么關(guān)系。丹麥人荷爾格把治理印度的一切大權(quán)都交給約恩牧師。你知道約恩牧師嗎?如果你不知道他，這也不要緊，因?yàn)樗@個(gè)故事完全沒(méi)有關(guān)系。你將聽(tīng)到一個(gè)關(guān)于太陽(yáng)樹(shù)的故事。這樹(shù)是“在印度——那世界的盡頭的東方”。人們都是這樣說(shuō)，因?yàn)樗麄儧](méi)有像我們一樣學(xué)過(guò)地理。不過(guò)目前這也沒(méi)有什么關(guān)系!
太陽(yáng)樹(shù)是一棵華貴的樹(shù);我們從來(lái)沒(méi)有看見(jiàn)過(guò)它，將來(lái)恐怕也永遠(yuǎn)不會(huì)看到它。樹(shù)頂上的枝葉向周圍伸出好幾里路遠(yuǎn)。它本身就是一個(gè)不折不扣的樹(shù)林，因?yàn)樗恳桓斝〉闹ψ佣际且豢脴?shù)。這上面長(zhǎng)著棕櫚樹(shù)、山毛櫸、松樹(shù)和梧桐樹(shù)，還長(zhǎng)著許多其他種類的樹(shù)——事實(shí)上世界各地的樹(shù)這兒都有了。它們作為小枝從大枝上冒出來(lái)，而這些大枝東一個(gè)結(jié)，西一個(gè)彎，好像是溪谷和山丘——上面還蓋著天鵝絨般的草地和無(wú)數(shù)的花朵呢。每一根枝子像一片開(kāi)滿了花的廣闊草坪，或者像一個(gè)最美麗的花園。太陽(yáng)向它射著溫暖的光，因?yàn)樗且恢晏?yáng)樹(shù)。
世界各個(gè)角落里的鳥(niǎo)兒都飛到它上面來(lái)：有的來(lái)自美洲的原始森林，有的來(lái)自大馬士革的玫瑰花園，有的來(lái)自非洲的沙漠地帶——這個(gè)地帶的大象和獅子以為它們自己是唯一的統(tǒng)治者。南極和北極的鳥(niǎo)兒也飛來(lái)了;當(dāng)然，鸛鳥(niǎo)和燕子也決不會(huì)不到場(chǎng)的。但是鳥(niǎo)兒并不是來(lái)到這兒的唯一的生物，雄鹿、松鼠、羚羊以及上百種其他會(huì)跳的可愛(ài)的動(dòng)物也在這兒住下來(lái)。
樹(shù)頂本身就是一個(gè)廣大的、芬芳的花園。許多巨大的枝權(quán)在它里面像綠色的山丘似地向四周伸展開(kāi)來(lái)。這些山丘之中有一座水晶宮，俯視著世界上所有的國(guó)家。它上面的每一座塔看起來(lái)都像一朵百合花;人們可以在花梗子里爬上去，因?yàn)楣Ｗ永镉新菪龢翘?因此你現(xiàn)在也不難懂得，人們可以走到葉子上去，因?yàn)槿~子就是陽(yáng)臺(tái)�；椑镉幸粋�(gè)美麗、輝煌的圓廳，它的天花板就是嵌著太陽(yáng)和星星的蔚藍(lán)的天。
在下邊的宮殿里，那些廣大的廳堂也是同樣輝煌燦爛的，雖然它們表現(xiàn)的方式不同。整個(gè)世界就在那些墻上被反射出來(lái)。人們可以看到世界上發(fā)生的一切事情。因此人們都沒(méi)有讀報(bào)紙的必要，事實(shí)上這里也沒(méi)有什么報(bào)紙。人們可以通過(guò)活動(dòng)的圖畫看到一切東西——這也就是說(shuō)，你能夠看到、或者愿意看的那點(diǎn)東西，因?yàn)槭裁礀|西都有一個(gè)限度，就是連聰明人都不能例外，而這兒卻住著一個(gè)聰明人。
這個(gè)人的名字很難念。你也念不出來(lái)，所以也就不用提它了。人們所知道的事情，或者人們?cè)谶@個(gè)世界上所能知道的事情，他全都知道。每一件已經(jīng)完成了的發(fā)明，或者快要完成的發(fā)明，他全都知道。但是除此以外的事情他就不知道了，因?yàn)橐磺芯烤惯�是有一個(gè)限度。以聰明著名的君主所羅門①，也不過(guò)只有他一半的聰明。但這位君主還要算是一個(gè)非常聰明的人呢。他統(tǒng)治著大自然的一切威力，管理著所有兇猛的精靈。的確，連死神每天早晨都不得不把當(dāng)天要死的人的名單送給他看。然而所羅門自己也不能不死。住在太陽(yáng)樹(shù)上宮殿里的這位法力很大的主人——這位探討者——就經(jīng)常在思索這個(gè)問(wèn)題。不管他的智慧比人類要高多少，總有一天他也不免死亡。他知道，他的子孫也會(huì)死亡，正如樹(shù)林里的葉子會(huì)枯萎并且化為塵土一樣。他看得出，人類會(huì)像樹(shù)上的葉子一樣凋謝，為的是好讓新的一代來(lái)接替。但是葉子一落下來(lái)就再也活不轉(zhuǎn)來(lái);它只有化為塵土，或者成為別的植物的一部分。
當(dāng)死神到來(lái)的時(shí)候，人會(huì)得到一個(gè)什么結(jié)果呢?死究竟是什么呢?身體消滅了，但是靈魂會(huì)怎樣呢?它會(huì)變成什么呢?它將到什么地方去呢?“到永恒的生命中去，”這是宗教所說(shuō)的安慰話。但是怎樣轉(zhuǎn)變過(guò)去呢?人在什么地方生活，同時(shí)怎樣生活呢?“生活在天上，”虔誠(chéng)的人說(shuō)，“我們將要到天上去!”
“到天上去?”這位聰明人重復(fù)著這句話說(shuō)，同時(shí)向太陽(yáng)和星星凝望。
“到天上去!”從這個(gè)圓形的地球上看，天和地是一體，是同樣的東西。這完全要看一個(gè)人在這個(gè)旋轉(zhuǎn)的球體上從一個(gè)什么角度觀察而定。如果他爬到地球上最高山的最高峰，那么他就可以看到，我們?cè)谙逻吽^澄凈透明的東西——“蒼天”——不過(guò)是漆黑一團(tuán)。它像一塊布似地覆在一切東西上面，而太陽(yáng)在這種情形下也不過(guò)是一個(gè)不發(fā)光的火球，地球上飄著的不過(guò)是一層橙黃的煙霧。肉眼的限制是多么大!靈魂的眼睛所能看到的東西是多么少!與我們最有切身關(guān)系的事情，即使智慧最高的圣人也只能看到很微小的一點(diǎn)。
在這宮殿的一個(gè)最秘密的房間里藏著世界上一件最偉大的寶物：《真理之書》。這位圣人一頁(yè)一頁(yè)地翻著讀。這本書誰(shuí)都可以讀，但是只能讀幾個(gè)片斷。在許多人的眼中，這本書上的字母似乎都在發(fā)抖，人們沒(méi)有辦法把它們拼成完整的字句。某些頁(yè)上的字跡很淡，很模糊，看起來(lái)好像是一無(wú)所有的空頁(yè)。一個(gè)人越具有智慧，他就越能讀得懂，因此具有大智的人就能讀懂得最多。正因?yàn)檫@個(gè)緣故，聰明人知道怎樣把太陽(yáng)光和星光跟理智之光和靈魂的潛在力結(jié)合起來(lái)。在這種混合的強(qiáng)光中，書頁(yè)上所寫的東西在他面前就顯得非常清楚。不過(guò)有一章叫做《死后的生活》，這里面沒(méi)有一個(gè)字可以看得清楚。這使他感到非常難過(guò)。難道他在這世界上找不到一線光明，使他能看清楚《真理之書》上所寫的一切東西嗎?
他像聰明的國(guó)王所羅門一樣，懂得動(dòng)物的語(yǔ)言。他能解釋它們所唱的歌和講的話。但是他井不因此而變得更聰明。他發(fā)現(xiàn)了植物和金屬的力量——能夠治療疾病和延遲死亡的力量。可是他卻找不到制止死亡的辦法，他在他所能接觸到的一切創(chuàng)造出來(lái)的事物之中，希望尋求到一種可以使生命永恒不滅的啟示;但是卻尋求不到。《真理之書》擺在他面前，但是書頁(yè)卻是一張白紙�；浇淘凇妒ソ�(jīng)》里給了他一個(gè)關(guān)于永恒生命的諾言。但是他希望在自己的書中讀到它，當(dāng)然在這書中他是讀不到的。
他有5個(gè)孩子，其中4個(gè)是男孩子;他們都得到一個(gè)最聰明的父親所能供給他們的教育。另外一個(gè)是女孩子;她既美麗，又溫柔，又聰明，但她卻是一個(gè)瞎子。然而這不能算是一個(gè)缺點(diǎn)。爸爸和哥哥們都是她的眼睛，而她的敏銳的感覺(jué)也能看得見(jiàn)東酉。
兒子們離開(kāi)宮殿大廳的時(shí)候，從來(lái)不走出從樹(shù)干伸出的樹(shù)枝的那個(gè)范圍。妹妹更不會(huì)走遠(yuǎn)。他們生活在兒時(shí)的家里，在兒時(shí)的國(guó)度里，在美麗、芬芳的太陽(yáng)村里，是非常幸福的。像所有的孩子一樣，他們非常喜歡聽(tīng)故事。爸爸告訴他們?cè)S多別的孩子怎么也聽(tīng)不懂的故事。這些孩子聰明的程度，可以與我們中間的許多成年人相比。他把他們?cè)趯m殿墻上所看到的一些活動(dòng)圖畫——人所做的事情和世界各國(guó)所發(fā)生的事情解釋給他們聽(tīng)——兒子們也希望他們能夠到外面去參加別人所做的一切偉大的事情。爸爸告訴他們說(shuō)，外邊的世界是既艱難而又辛苦，跟他們這個(gè)美麗的兒時(shí)世界是完全兩樣。
他對(duì)他們談?wù)撝妗⒚篮蜕�，而且告訴他們說(shuō)，這三件東西把世界維系在一起。它們?cè)谒鼈兯袚?dān)的壓力下，凝結(jié)成一塊寶石。這塊寶石的光澤度勝過(guò)金剛鉆的光澤度。它的光澤就是在上帝的眼中也是非常有價(jià)值的。它比什么東西都光亮。它叫做“聰明人的寶石”。他告訴他們說(shuō)，一個(gè)人可以通過(guò)創(chuàng)造出來(lái)的事物認(rèn)識(shí)上帝;同樣，一個(gè)人也可通過(guò)人類知道“聰明人的寶石”的確存在。他只能告訴他們這一點(diǎn)，他也只知道這一點(diǎn)。這種說(shuō)法對(duì)于別的孩子是很難理解的，不過(guò)這些孩子卻能夠理解。以后別的孩子也可以漸漸理解了。
他們問(wèn)爸爸，什么叫做真、善、美。他一一解釋給他們聽(tīng)。他告訴他們很多事情。還說(shuō)，上帝用泥土造成人，并且還在這個(gè)創(chuàng)造物身上吻了5次——火熱的吻，心里的吻，我們上帝的溫柔的吻。我們現(xiàn)在把這叫做5種感官。通過(guò)這些感官，我們可以看見(jiàn)、感覺(jué)和理解真、善、美，可以判斷它們的價(jià)值，保護(hù)它們和使它們向前發(fā)展。我們從身體到思想，從里到外，從根到頂，從肉體到靈魂，都具有這5種感官。
孩子們把這些事情想了很久，他們?nèi)找苟荚谏钏肌Ｓ谑亲畲蟮母绺缱隽艘粋�(gè)美麗的夢(mèng)。奇怪的是，第二個(gè)兄弟也做了同樣的夢(mèng)，接著第三個(gè)、第四個(gè)也做了同樣的夢(mèng)。每個(gè)人恰恰夢(mèng)見(jiàn)同樣的東西。每個(gè)人都?jí)粢?jiàn)走向廣大的世界，找到了“聰明人的寶石”。夢(mèng)見(jiàn)有一天大清早，他們各騎著一匹快馬穿過(guò)家里天鵝絨般的綠草地，走進(jìn)父親的城堡里去，這寶石就在每個(gè)人的額上射出強(qiáng)烈的光輝。當(dāng)這寶石的祥光射到書頁(yè)上的時(shí)候，書上所描寫的關(guān)于死后的生活就全都現(xiàn)出來(lái)了。但是妹妹卻沒(méi)有夢(mèng)見(jiàn)走進(jìn)廣大的世界里去：她連想都沒(méi)有想到。爸爸的家就是她的世界。
“我要騎著馬到廣大的世界里去!”大哥說(shuō)。“我要體驗(yàn)實(shí)際的生活，我要在人群之間來(lái)往。我要遵從善和真，我要用善和真來(lái)保護(hù)美。只要我一去，許多東西就會(huì)改觀!”
的確，他的思想是勇敢和偉大的。當(dāng)我們待在家中一個(gè)溫暖的角落里的時(shí)候，在我們沒(méi)有到外面遇見(jiàn)荊棘和風(fēng)雨以前，我們大家都是這個(gè)樣子。
這5種感官在他和他的幾個(gè)弟弟身上，里里外外都獲得了高度的發(fā)展。不過(guò)他們每個(gè)人都有一種特殊的感官，它的敏銳和發(fā)展的程度都超過(guò)了其余的4個(gè)人。在大哥身上，這是視覺(jué)。這對(duì)于他有特別的好處。他說(shuō)，他能看見(jiàn)一切時(shí)代，一切國(guó)家;他能直接看見(jiàn)地下的寶藏，看見(jiàn)人的心，好像這些東西外面罩著的只不過(guò)是一層玻璃。這也就是說(shuō)，他能看見(jiàn)的東西，不僅僅是臉上所現(xiàn)出的紅暈或者慘白，眼睛里的哭泣或者微笑。雄鹿和羚羊陪送他向西走，一直走到邊境;野天鵝到這兒來(lái)迎接他，然后再向西北飛。他跟著它們走。他現(xiàn)在走到世界遼遠(yuǎn)的角落，遠(yuǎn)離他的父親的國(guó)土——一直伸向東、達(dá)到世界盡頭的國(guó)土。
但是他的眼睛因驚奇而睜得多么大啊!要看的東西真是太多。不管他在他父親的房子里看到的圖畫多么真實(shí)，他現(xiàn)在親眼看見(jiàn)的許多東西，完全跟他在圖畫中看到的不同。起初，他的眼睛驚奇得幾乎失去辨別的能力，因?yàn)槊朗怯迷S多廉價(jià)的東西和狂歡節(jié)的一些裝飾品顯現(xiàn)出來(lái)的。但是他還沒(méi)有完全受到迷惑，他的眼睛還沒(méi)有失去作用。
他要徹底地、誠(chéng)實(shí)地花一番功夫來(lái)認(rèn)識(shí)美、真和善。但是這幾樣?xùn)|西在這個(gè)世界上是用什么表示出來(lái)的呢?他發(fā)現(xiàn)，應(yīng)該屬于美的花束，常常被丑奪去了;善沒(méi)有被人理會(huì);而應(yīng)該被噓下臺(tái)的劣等東西，卻被人鼓掌稱贊。人們只是看到名義，而沒(méi)有看到實(shí)質(zhì);只是看到衣服，而沒(méi)有看到穿衣服的人;只要虛名，不要美德;只是看到地位，而沒(méi)有看到才能。處處都是這種現(xiàn)象。
“是的，我要認(rèn)真地來(lái)糾正這種現(xiàn)象!”他想。于是他就來(lái)糾正了。
不過(guò)當(dāng)他正在追求真的時(shí)候，魔鬼來(lái)了。它是欺騙的祖先，而它本身就是欺騙。它倒很想把這位觀察家的一雙眼睛挖下來(lái)，但是它覺(jué)得這直截了當(dāng)了。魔鬼的手段是很狡猾的。它讓他去觀察和尋求真，而且也讓他去觀察美和善;不過(guò)當(dāng)他正在沉思地注視他們的時(shí)候，魔鬼就把塵埃吹進(jìn)他的眼睛里——他的兩只眼睛里。魔鬼一粒接著一粒地吹，弄得眼睛完全看不見(jiàn)東面——即使最好的眼睛也看不見(jiàn)。魔鬼一直把塵埃吹成一道光。于是這位觀察家的眼睛也就失去作用了。這樣，他在這個(gè)茫茫的大世界里就成了一個(gè)瞎子，同時(shí)也失去了信心。他對(duì)世界和對(duì)自己都沒(méi)有好感。當(dāng)一個(gè)人對(duì)世界和對(duì)自己都沒(méi)有好感的時(shí)候，那么他的一切也就都完了。
“完了!”橫渡大海、飛向東方的野天鵝說(shuō)。“完了!”飛向東方的太陽(yáng)樹(shù)的燕子說(shuō)。這對(duì)于家里的人說(shuō)來(lái)，并不是好消息。
“我想那位‘觀察家’的運(yùn)氣大概不太好;”第二個(gè)兄弟說(shuō)。“但是‘傾聽(tīng)者’的運(yùn)氣可能要好些!”這位傾聽(tīng)者的聽(tīng)覺(jué)非常敏銳，他甚至連草的生長(zhǎng)都能聽(tīng)出來(lái)。
他高高興興地向家人告別。他帶著頭等的聽(tīng)覺(jué)和滿腔的善意騎著馬走了。燕子跟著他，他跟著天鵝。他離開(kāi)了家很遠(yuǎn)，走到茫茫的世界里去。
太好了就吃不消——他現(xiàn)在對(duì)這句話有了體會(huì)。他的聽(tīng)覺(jué)太敏銳。他不僅能聽(tīng)到草生長(zhǎng)，還能聽(tīng)到每個(gè)人的心在悲哀或快樂(lè)時(shí)的搏動(dòng)。他覺(jué)得這個(gè)世界好像一個(gè)鐘表匠的大工作室，里面所有的鐘都在“滴答!滴答!”地響，所有的屋頂上的鐘都在敲著：“叮當(dāng)!叮當(dāng)!”嗨，這真叫人吃不消!不過(guò)他還是盡量地讓他的耳朵聽(tīng)下去。最后，這些吵聲和鬧聲實(shí)在太厲害，弄得人怎么也支持不了。這時(shí)就有一群60歲的野孩子——人不應(yīng)該以年齡來(lái)判斷——到來(lái)了。他們狂叫了一陣子，使人不禁要發(fā)笑。但是這時(shí)“謠言”就產(chǎn)生了。它在屋子、大街和小巷里流傳著，一直流傳到公路上去。“虛偽”高聲叫喊起來(lái)，想當(dāng)首領(lǐng)。愚人帽上的鈴檔②響起來(lái)，自稱是教堂的鐘聲。這些噪音弄得“傾聽(tīng)者”太吃不消了。他馬上用指頭塞住兩個(gè)耳朵。但是他仍然能聽(tīng)到虛偽的歌聲，邪惡的喧鬧聲，以及謠言和誹謗。不值半文錢的廢話從嘴里飛濺出來(lái)，吵嚷不休。里里外外都是號(hào)叫、哀鳴和喧鬧。請(qǐng)上帝大發(fā)慈悲!他用手指把耳朵塞得更緊，更深，弄得后來(lái)把耳鼓都頂破了�，F(xiàn)在他什么也聽(tīng)不見(jiàn)了。他也聽(tīng)不見(jiàn)美、真和善的聲音，因?yàn)槁?tīng)覺(jué)是通到他的思想的一座橋梁。他現(xiàn)在變得沉默起來(lái)，懷疑起來(lái)。他什么人也不相信;最后連自己也不相信了——這真是一件非常不幸的事情，他再也不想去找那塊寶貴的寶石，把它帶到家里。他完全放棄了這個(gè)念頭，也放棄了自己——這是最糟糕的事情。飛向東方的鳥(niǎo)兒帶著這個(gè)消息，送到太陽(yáng)樹(shù)里的父親的城堡里去。那時(shí)沒(méi)有郵政，因此也沒(méi)有回信。
“我現(xiàn)在要試一試!”第三個(gè)兄弟說(shuō)。“我有一個(gè)很敏銳的鼻子!”
這話說(shuō)得不太雅觀，但是他卻這樣說(shuō)了，你不得不承認(rèn)他是這樣一個(gè)人物。他的心情老是很好。他是一個(gè)詩(shī)人，一個(gè)真正的詩(shī)人。有許多事情他說(shuō)不出來(lái)，但是唱得出來(lái)。有許多東西他比別人感覺(jué)得早些。
“人家心中想象的事情我都可以嗅得出來(lái)!”他說(shuō)。他有高度發(fā)達(dá)的嗅覺(jué);這擴(kuò)大了他對(duì)于美的知識(shí)。
“有的人喜歡蘋果香，有的人喜歡馬廄的氣味!”他說(shuō)。“在美的領(lǐng)域里，每一種氣味都有它的群眾。有的人喜歡酒店的那種氣味，包括冒煙的蠟燭、酒和廉價(jià)煙草的混合氣味。有的人喜歡坐在強(qiáng)烈的素馨花香中，或者把濃郁的丁香花油噴得滿身都是。有的人喜歡尋找清新的海風(fēng)，有的人喜歡登最高的山頂，俯視下面那些忙碌的眾生。”
這是他說(shuō)的話�？礃幼雍孟袼麖那霸�(jīng)到過(guò)這茫茫的大世界，好像他曾經(jīng)跟人有過(guò)來(lái)往，而且認(rèn)識(shí)他們。不過(guò)這種知識(shí)是從他的內(nèi)心產(chǎn)生的，因?yàn)樗且粋�(gè)詩(shī)人——這是當(dāng)他在搖籃里的時(shí)候，我們的上帝賜給他的一件禮物。
他告別了藏在太陽(yáng)村里的父母的家。他在故鄉(xiāng)美麗的風(fēng)景中步行出去，但是當(dāng)他一走出了邊境以后，就騎上一只鴕鳥(niǎo)，因?yàn)轼r鳥(niǎo)比馬跑得快些。后來(lái)當(dāng)他看到一群野天鵝的時(shí)候，就爬到一只最強(qiáng)壯的野天鵝的背上。他喜歡換換口味。他飛過(guò)大海，飛向一個(gè)擁有大樹(shù)林、深湖、雄偉的山和美麗的城市的、陌生的國(guó)家。他無(wú)論向什么地方走，總是似乎覺(jué)得太陽(yáng)在田野上跟著他。每一朵花，每一個(gè)灌木叢，都發(fā)出一種強(qiáng)烈的香氣，因?yàn)樗鼈冎酪晃粣?ài)護(hù)它們和了解它們的朋友和保護(hù)者就在它們附近。一叢凋零的玫瑰花也豎起枝子，展開(kāi)葉兒，開(kāi)出最美麗的花來(lái)。每個(gè)人都可以看得見(jiàn)它的美，甚至樹(shù)林里潮濕的黑蝸牛也注意到它的美。
“我要在這朵花上留下一點(diǎn)紀(jì)念!”蝸牛說(shuō)。“我要在花上吐一口唾沫，因?yàn)槲覜](méi)有別的東西!”
“世界上的美的東西的命運(yùn)就是這樣!”詩(shī)人說(shuō)。
于是他唱了一首關(guān)于它的歌，是用他自己特有的一種調(diào)子唱的;但是誰(shuí)也不聽(tīng)。因此他送給一位鼓手兩個(gè)銀毫和一根孔雀毛，叫他把這支歌編成拍子，在這城市的大街小巷中用鼓把它傳播出去。大家都聽(tīng)到了，而且還聽(tīng)得懂——它的內(nèi)容很深?yuàn)W!詩(shī)人唱著關(guān)于美、真和善的歌。人們?cè)诔錆M了蠟燭煙味的酒店中，在新鮮的草原上，在樹(shù)林里，在廣闊的海上聽(tīng)著他的歌�？礃幼�，這位兄弟的運(yùn)氣要比其他的兩位好得多。
但是魔鬼卻對(duì)此很生氣，于是它立刻著手吹起香粉，燃起香煙。它的手段實(shí)在是非常高明，這些煙的氣味連安琪兒都能給迷住，一個(gè)可憐的詩(shī)人當(dāng)然更不在話下。魔鬼是知道怎樣對(duì)付這種人的。它用香煙把這個(gè)詩(shī)人層層包住，把他弄得昏頭昏腦，結(jié)果他忘掉了他的任務(wù)和他的家，最后他把自己也忘掉了。他在煙霧中死去了。
當(dāng)所有的小鳥(niǎo)聽(tīng)到這個(gè)消息的時(shí)候，都感到非常傷心。它們有三天沒(méi)有唱歌。樹(shù)林里的黑蝸牛變得更黑——這并不是因?yàn)樗鼈�，而是因�(yàn)樗刀省?/p>
“香煙應(yīng)該是為我而焚的，”它說(shuō)，“因?yàn)樗倪@首最馳名的、叫做‘世事’的擊鼓歌是受了我的啟發(fā)而寫的，玫瑰花上的粘液就是我吐出來(lái)的!我可以提出證明。”
不過(guò)這件消息沒(méi)有傳到詩(shī)人在印度的家里，因?yàn)樗械镍B(niǎo)兒三天沒(méi)有唱歌。當(dāng)哀悼期結(jié)束以后，它們就感到非常悲痛，它們甚至忘記了自己是為什么人而哭。事情就是這樣!
“現(xiàn)在我要到外面的世界上去，像別的兄弟一樣遠(yuǎn)行!”第四個(gè)兄弟說(shuō)。
他像剛才說(shuō)的那個(gè)兄弟一樣，心情也非常好;不過(guò)他并非詩(shī)人。因此他的心情好是理所當(dāng)然。這兩個(gè)兄弟使整個(gè)宮殿充滿了快樂(lè)，但是現(xiàn)在連這最后的快樂(lè)也要沒(méi)有了。視覺(jué)和聽(tīng)覺(jué)一直被認(rèn)為是人類最重要的兩種感官，所以誰(shuí)都希望這兩種感官變得敏銳。其余的三種感官一般都認(rèn)為是不太重要的。不過(guò)這位少爺卻不是如此想法。他尤其注重從各方面培養(yǎng)他的味覺(jué)，而他的味覺(jué)非常強(qiáng)烈，范圍也廣。凡是放進(jìn)嘴里和深入心里的東西，都由它來(lái)控制。因此罐子里和鍋里的東西，瓶子里和桶里的東西，他都要嘗一下。他說(shuō)，這是他的工作中的粗活兒。對(duì)于他來(lái)說(shuō)，每個(gè)人都是一個(gè)炒菜的鍋，每個(gè)國(guó)家是一個(gè)龐大的廚房——思想的廚房。
“這是一件細(xì)致的事情，”他說(shuō)。他現(xiàn)在就要到外面的世界去研究一下，究竟它細(xì)致到什么程度。
“可能我的運(yùn)氣要比我的幾個(gè)哥哥好些!”他說(shuō)。“我要去了。但是我用什么工具去旅行呢?人們發(fā)明了氣球沒(méi)有?”他問(wèn)他的父親。這個(gè)老頭兒知道已經(jīng)發(fā)明過(guò)的和快要發(fā)明的一切東西，不過(guò)氣球還沒(méi)有人發(fā)明出來(lái)，汽船和鐵路也沒(méi)有發(fā)明出來(lái)。
“好吧，那么我就乘氣球吧!”他說(shuō)。“我的父親知道怎樣制造它，怎樣駕駛它，我將要學(xué)習(xí)使用它。現(xiàn)在還沒(méi)有誰(shuí)把它發(fā)明出來(lái)，因此大家會(huì)認(rèn)為它是一個(gè)空中幻影。我用過(guò)氣球以后，就把它燒掉。因此你必須給我一些下次發(fā)明的零件——也就是所謂化學(xué)火柴!”
他所需要的東西他都得到了。于是他就飛走了。鳥(niǎo)兒陪著他飛了一程——比陪著其他幾個(gè)兄弟飛得遠(yuǎn)。它們很想看看，這次飛行會(huì)有一個(gè)什么結(jié)果。鳥(niǎo)兒越來(lái)越多，因?yàn)樗鼈兌己芎闷妫核鼈円詾楝F(xiàn)在飛行的這個(gè)家伙是一只什么新的鳥(niǎo)兒。是的，現(xiàn)在他的朋友倒是不少!天空都被這些鳥(niǎo)兒遮黑了。它們像一大塊烏云似地飛來(lái)，像飛在埃及國(guó)土上的蝗蟲(chóng)。他就是這樣向廣大的世界里飛去的。
“東風(fēng)是我的好朋友，是幫助我的人，”他說(shuō)。
“你是指東風(fēng)和西風(fēng)嗎?”風(fēng)兒說(shuō)。“我們兩個(gè)人一同合作，否則你就不會(huì)飛到西北方來(lái)了!”
但是他卻沒(méi)有聽(tīng)到風(fēng)兒說(shuō)的話，因此這等于不說(shuō)。鳥(niǎo)兒現(xiàn)在也不再陪著他飛了。當(dāng)它們的數(shù)目一多的時(shí)候，就有好幾只對(duì)于飛行感到厭煩起來(lái)。這簡(jiǎn)直是小題大做!它們這樣說(shuō)，他的腦子里裝的完全是一堆幻想。“跟他一起飛毫無(wú)道理，完全是浪費(fèi)!完全是胡鬧!”于是它們就都回去了，全體都回去了。
氣球在一個(gè)最大的城市上空降落。氣球的駕駛?cè)嗽谧罡叩囊稽c(diǎn)停下來(lái)——在教堂的尖塔頂上。氣球又升起來(lái)了;這種事情實(shí)在不應(yīng)該發(fā)生。它究竟要飛到什么地方去呢，誰(shuí)也不知道;不過(guò)這也沒(méi)有什么了不起的關(guān)系，因?yàn)樗�沒(méi)有被人發(fā)明出來(lái)。
他坐在教堂的尖塔頂上。身邊再?zèng)]有什么鳥(niǎo)兒在飛，因?yàn)樗鼈儗?duì)他感到厭煩，而他對(duì)它們也感到厭煩。
城里所有的煙囪都在快活地冒煙。
“這都是為你而建立起來(lái)的祭壇!”風(fēng)兒說(shuō)。它想對(duì)他說(shuō)點(diǎn)愉快的事情。
他目空一切地坐在那上面，俯視著街上的人群。有一個(gè)人走過(guò)去，對(duì)于自己的錢包感到驕傲;另一個(gè)對(duì)于懸在自己腰上的鑰匙感到得意，雖然他并沒(méi)有鎖著什么寶貴的東西。還有一個(gè)人對(duì)自己蟲(chóng)蛀了的上衣感到驕傲，另外還有一個(gè)人覺(jué)得他那個(gè)無(wú)用的身軀很了不起。
“這全是虛榮!我必須趕快爬下去，把手指伸進(jìn)罐子里，嘗嘗里面的味道!”他說(shuō)。“但是我還不如在這兒坐一會(huì)兒。風(fēng)吹在我的背上怪舒服的——這是一樁很大的快事。風(fēng)吹多久，我就坐多久。我要在這里休息一會(huì)兒。懶人說(shuō)，一個(gè)人的事情多，就應(yīng)該在早晨多睡一會(huì)兒。不過(guò)懶是萬(wàn)惡之本，而我們家里井沒(méi)有什么惡事。我敢于這樣說(shuō)，所有的人也這樣說(shuō)。風(fēng)吹多久，我就要在這兒坐多久。我喜歡這味道。”
于是他就坐下來(lái)，不過(guò)他是坐在風(fēng)信雞上，而風(fēng)信雞是隨著他轉(zhuǎn)的，因此他以為風(fēng)向一直沒(méi)有變。他坐著，而且可以一直坐下去欣賞風(fēng)吹的滋味。
但是在印度，太陽(yáng)村里的宮殿是空洞和寂寞的，因?yàn)槟莾旱膸讉�(gè)兄弟就這樣一個(gè)接著一個(gè)地離去了。
“他們的遭遇并不好!”父親說(shuō)。“他們永遠(yuǎn)也不會(huì)把那顆亮晶晶的寶石拿回來(lái)。那不是我能夠獲得的。他們都走了，死去了!”
他低下頭來(lái)讀著《真理之書》。書頁(yè)上寫著關(guān)于死后生活的問(wèn)題。不過(guò)他什么也看不見(jiàn)，什么也不知道。
他的盲目的女兒是他唯一的安慰和快樂(lè)。她對(duì)他懷著真誠(chéng)的感情。為了他的快樂(lè)和安寧，她希望那顆寶石能夠?qū)さ�，帶回家�?lái)。她悲哀地、渴望地思念著她的幾個(gè)哥哥，他們?cè)谑裁吹胤侥?他們住在什么地方呢?她希望能夠在夢(mèng)中見(jiàn)到他們，不過(guò)說(shuō)來(lái)也奇怪，即使在夢(mèng)中她也見(jiàn)不到他們。最后她總算做了一個(gè)夢(mèng)，聽(tīng)到了幾個(gè)哥哥的聲音。他們?cè)谕饷鎻V大的世界里呼喚她。她不得不走出去，走得很遠(yuǎn)。但是又似乎覺(jué)得她仍然在父親的屋子里。她沒(méi)有遇見(jiàn)幾個(gè)哥哥，不過(guò)她覺(jué)得手上有火在燒。但是火燒得并不痛，原來(lái)那顆亮晶晶的寶石就在她的手上。她要把它送給她的父親。
當(dāng)她醒來(lái)以后，有一忽兒還覺(jué)得手中捏著那顆寶石。事實(shí)上，她捏著的是紡車的把手。她經(jīng)常在漫漫長(zhǎng)夜里紡紗。她在紡錘上紡出了一根比最細(xì)的蜘蛛絲還要細(xì)的線。肉眼是看不見(jiàn)這根線的。她用眼淚把它打濕了，因此它比錨索還要結(jié)實(shí)。她從床上爬起來(lái)，下了一個(gè)決心，要把這個(gè)夢(mèng)變成真亭。
這正是黑夜，她的父親還在睡覺(jué)。她吻了他的手。她拿起紡錘，把那根線的一端聯(lián)在父親的屋子上。的確，要不是這樣做，她這樣一個(gè)瞎子將永遠(yuǎn)不會(huì)找到家的。她必須緊緊地捏著這根線，而且必須依靠它，自己和別人都是靠不住的。她從太陽(yáng)樹(shù)上摘下4片葉子，委托風(fēng)和雨把它們作為她的信和問(wèn)候帶給她的4個(gè)哥哥，因?yàn)樗略谶@廣闊的大世界里遇不見(jiàn)他們。
她這個(gè)可憐的小瞎子，她在外面的遭遇是怎樣的呢?她有那根看不見(jiàn)的線可以作為依靠。她有哥哥們?nèi)既鄙俚囊环N官能：敏感性。有了這種敏感性，她的手指就好像是眼睛，她的心就好像是耳朵。
她一聲不響地走進(jìn)這個(gè)熙熙攘攘的、忙忙碌碌的新奇的世界。她走到的地方，天空就變得非常明朗。她可以感覺(jué)到溫暖的太陽(yáng)光。虹從烏黑的云層里現(xiàn)出來(lái)，懸在蔚藍(lán)色的天空上。她聽(tīng)見(jiàn)鳥(niǎo)兒在唱著歌;她能夠聞到橙子和蘋果園的香氣。這種香氣是那么強(qiáng)烈，她幾乎覺(jué)得自己嘗到了果子的味道。她聽(tīng)到柔和的音調(diào)和美妙的歌聲，但是她也聽(tīng)到號(hào)哭和吼叫。思想和判斷彼此起了不調(diào)和的沖突。人的思想和感情在她的心的最深處發(fā)出回響。這形成一個(gè)合唱：
人間的生活不過(guò)是一個(gè)幻影——
一個(gè)可以使我們哭泣的黑夜!
但是另外一支歌又升起來(lái)了：
人間的生活是一個(gè)玫瑰花叢，
充滿了太陽(yáng)光，充滿了歡樂(lè)。
接著又有一個(gè)這樣痛苦的調(diào)子唱出來(lái)了：
每個(gè)人只是為自己打算，
我們多少次都認(rèn)識(shí)到了這個(gè)真理。
于是來(lái)了一個(gè)響亮的回答：
愛(ài)的河流在不停地流，
在我們?nèi)碎g的生活中流!
她聽(tīng)到了這樣的話語(yǔ)：
世上的一切都是非常渺小，
無(wú)論什么東西，有利必有弊。
但是她又聽(tīng)到安慰的聲音：
世上偉大和善良的東西不知多少，
只是一般的人很難知道!
有時(shí)從各處飄來(lái)一陣嘲諷的曲調(diào)：
關(guān)吧，把一切東西當(dāng)作一個(gè)玩笑!
笑吧，跟犬吠聲一起發(fā)笑!
但是盲女子的心中有另外一個(gè)更響的歌聲：
依靠你自己，依靠上帝，
上帝的意志總會(huì)實(shí)現(xiàn)，阿門!
在所有的男人和女人、老年人和少年人的心中，只要她一到來(lái)，真、美、善的光輝就閃耀起來(lái)了。她走到哪里——在藝術(shù)家的工作室里也好，在金碧輝煌的大廳里也好，在機(jī)聲隆隆、擁擠不堪的工廠里也好——哪里就似乎有太陽(yáng)光射進(jìn)來(lái)，有音樂(lè)奏起來(lái)，有花香噴來(lái)，枯葉子也似乎得到了新鮮的露水。
但是惡魔卻不喜歡這種情況。它的狡猾超過(guò)了不只萬(wàn)人;它總有辦法達(dá)到它的目的。它走到沼澤地上去，它收集一大堆死水的泡沫，它在這些泡沫上注入七倍以上的謊言的回音，使這些謊言更有力量。于是它盡量收集許多用錢買來(lái)的頌詞和騙人的墓志銘，把這些東西搗碎，再放進(jìn)“嫉妒”哭出來(lái)的眼淚中煮開(kāi)，然后再加上一位小姐的干枯的臉上的胭脂。它把這些東西塑成一個(gè)姑娘。她在體態(tài)和動(dòng)作上跟那個(gè)虔誠(chéng)的盲女子是一模一樣——人們把她叫做“溫柔的、真誠(chéng)的安琪兒"。魔鬼的巧計(jì)就這樣成功了。世人都不知道，她們之中究竟哪一個(gè)是真的。的確，世人怎么能夠知道呢?
依靠你自己，依靠上帝，
上帝的意志總會(huì)實(shí)現(xiàn)，阿門!
盲女滿懷信心地唱著這支歌。她把她從太陽(yáng)樹(shù)上摘下的那4片葉子交給風(fēng)雨.作為地帶給她哥哥們的信和問(wèn)候。她相信，這些信定能夠到達(dá)他們的手里，同時(shí)那顆寶石也一定找得到，這顆寶石的光輝將會(huì)超過(guò)世上一切的光輝;它將從人的額上一直射到她的父親的宮殿里去。
“射到父親的屋子里去，”她重復(fù)著說(shuō)。“是的，寶石在這個(gè)世界上是存在的;這一點(diǎn)我可以保證，而我?guī)Щ丶胰サ膶⒉恢皇沁@個(gè)保證。我感到它在我緊握的手里發(fā)光，膨脹!一毫一厘的真理，不管它是怎樣微小，只要銳利的風(fēng)能把它托起，向我吹來(lái)，我就要把它撿起，珍藏起來(lái)。我要讓一切美麗東西的香氣滲進(jìn)它里面去——而世界上美的東西，即使對(duì)于一個(gè)盲女子說(shuō)來(lái)，也是多得不可勝數(shù)。我還要把善良的心的搏動(dòng)聲也加進(jìn)去。我現(xiàn)在得到的不過(guò)是一顆塵埃，然而它卻是我們正在尋找的那塊寶石的塵埃。我有很多這樣的塵埃——我滿把都是這樣的塵埃。”
于是她把手伸向她的父親。她立刻就回到家里來(lái)了。她是騎在思想的翅膀上回到家里來(lái)的。但是她一直沒(méi)有放棄連結(jié)著她的家的那根看不見(jiàn)的線。
惡魔的威力以暴風(fēng)雨的迅猛向太陽(yáng)樹(shù)襲來(lái)，像狂風(fēng)似地闖進(jìn)敞開(kāi)著的大門，一直闖進(jìn)藏著《真理之書》的秘室。
“暴風(fēng)會(huì)把它吹走!”父親驚叫著，同時(shí)緊握著她伸著的手。
“決不可能!”她滿懷信心地說(shuō)。“吹不走的!我在我的靈魂中已經(jīng)感覺(jué)到了那種溫暖的光線!”
這時(shí)父親看到了一道強(qiáng)烈的光。這光是從她手中那些塵埃上射出來(lái)的。它射到《真理之書》的那些空白頁(yè)上——那上面應(yīng)該寫著這樣的話：永恒的生命一定是存在的。但是在這耀眼的光中，書頁(yè)上只看到兩個(gè)字：信心。
那4個(gè)哥哥又回到家里來(lái)了。當(dāng)那4片綠葉子落到他們胸口上的時(shí)候，他們就渴望回家。這種心情把他們引回家來(lái)。他們現(xiàn)在回來(lái)了;候鳥(niǎo)、雄鹿、羚羊和樹(shù)林中的一切動(dòng)物也跟著他們一起來(lái)了，因?yàn)樗鼈円蚕敕窒硭麄兊臍g樂(lè)。只要可能的話，它們?yōu)槭裁床粊?lái)分享呢?
我們常�？吹剑�(dāng)一絲太陽(yáng)光從門上的隙縫里射進(jìn)一間充滿灰塵的房間里的時(shí)候，就有一根旋轉(zhuǎn)的灰塵的光柱。這不能算是一股平凡、微小的灰塵，因?yàn)楦拿辣绕饋?lái)，甚至天空的彩虹都顯得缺少生氣。同樣，從這書頁(yè)上，從“信心”這光輝的字上，每一顆真理的微粒，帶著真的光彩和善的音調(diào)，射出比黑夜里照著摩西帶領(lǐng)以色列人穿過(guò)沙漠走向迦南的火炬還要強(qiáng)烈的光來(lái)。無(wú)限的希望之橋就是從“信心”這兩個(gè)字開(kāi)始的——而這是一座把我們引向無(wú)限博愛(ài)的橋。
�、偎_門是公元前十世紀(jì)以色列的國(guó)王，據(jù)說(shuō)他具有非凡的智慧。
�、趶那暗湴缪莩蠼堑娜�，頭上戴一種尖帽子，上面掛著鈴鐺。
聰明人的寶石英文版：
The Philosopher’s Stone
FAR away towards the east, in India, which seemed in those days the world’s end, stood the Tree of the Sun; a noble tree, such as we have never seen, and perhaps never may see.
The summit of this tree spread itself for miles like an entire forest, each of its smaller branches forming a complete tree. Palms, beech-trees, pines, plane-trees, and various other kinds, which are found in all parts of the world, were here like small branches, shooting forth from the great tree; while the larger boughs, with their knots and curves, formed valleys and hills, clothed with velvety green and covered with flowers. Everywhere it was like a blooming meadow or a lovely garden. Here were birds from all quarters of the world assembled together; birds from the primeval forests of America, from the rose gardens of Damascus, and from the deserts of Africa, in which the elephant and the lion may boast of being the only rulers. Birds from the Polar regions came flying here, and of course the stork and the swallow were not absent. But the birds were not the only living creatures. There were stags, squirrels, antelopes, and hundreds of other beautiful and light-footed animals here found a home.
The summit of the tree was a wide-spreading garden, and in the midst of it, where the green boughs formed a kind of hill, stood a castle of crystal, with a view from it towards every quarter of heaven. Each tower was erected in the form of a lily, and within the stern was a winding staircase, through which one could ascend to the top and step out upon the leaves as upon balconies. The calyx of the flower itself formed a most beautiful, glittering, circular hall, above which no other roof arose than the blue firmament and the sun and stars.
Just as much splendor, but of another kind, appeared below, in the wide halls of the castle. Here, on the walls, were reflected pictures of the world, which represented numerous and varied scenes of everything that took place daily, so that it was useless to read the newspapers, and indeed there were none to be obtained in this spot. All was to be seen in living pictures by those who wished it, but all would have been too much for even the wisest man, and this man dwelt here. His name is very difficult; you would not be able to pronounce it, so it may be omitted. He knew everything that a man on earth can know or imagine. Every invention already in existence or yet to be, was known to him, and much more; still everything on earth has a limit. The wise king Solomon was not half so wise as this man. He could govern the powers of nature and held sway over potent spirits; even Death itself was obliged to give him every morning a list of those who were to die during the day. And King Solomon himself had to die at last, and this fact it was which so often occupied the thoughts of this great man in the castle on the Tree of the Sun. He knew that he also, however high he might tower above other men in wisdom, must one day die. He knew that his children would fade away like the leaves of the forest and become dust. He saw the human race wither and fall like leaves from the tree; he saw new men come to fill their places, but the leaves that fell off never sprouted forth again; they crumbled to dust or were absorbed into other plants.
“What happens to man,” asked the wise man of himself, “when touched by the angel of death? What can death be? The body decays, and the soul. Yes; what is the soul, and whither does it go?”
“To eternal life,” says the comforting voice of religion.
“But what is this change? Where and how shall we exist?”
“Above; in heaven,” answers the pious man; “it is there we hope to go.”
“Above!” repeated the wise man, fixing his eyes upon the moon and stars above him. He saw that to this earthly sphere above and below were constantly changing places, and that the position varied according to the spot on which a man found himself. He knew, also, that even if he ascended to the top of the highest mountain which rears its lofty summit on this earth, the air, which to us seems clear and transparent, would there be dark and cloudy; the sun would have a coppery glow and send forth no rays, and our earth would lie beneath him wrapped in an orange-colored mist. How narrow are the limits which confine the bodily sight, and how little can be seen by the eye of the soul. How little do the wisest among us know of that which is so important to us all.
In the most secret chamber of the castle lay the greatest treasure on earth—the Book of Truth. The wise man had read it through page after page. Every man may read in this book, but only in fragments. To many eyes the characters seem so mixed in confusion that the words cannot be distinguished. On certain pages the writing often appears so pale or so blurred that the page becomes a blank. The wiser a man becomes, the more he will read, and those who are wisest read most.
The wise man knew how to unite the sunlight and the moonlight with the light of reason and the hidden powers of nature; and through this stronger light, many things in the pages were made clear to him. But in the portion of the book entitled “Life after Death” not a single point could he see distinctly. This pained him. Should he never be able here on earth to obtain a light by which everything written in the Book of Truth should become clear to him? Like the wise King Solomon, he understood the language of animals, and could interpret their talk into song; but that made him none the wiser. He found out the nature of plants and metals, and their power in curing diseases and arresting death, but none to destroy death itself. In all created things within his reach he sought the light that should shine upon the certainty of an eternal life, but he found it not. The Book of Truth lay open before him, but, its pages were to him as blank paper. Christianity placed before him in the Bible a promise of eternal life, but he wanted to read it in his book, in which nothing on the subject appeared to be written.
He had five children; four sons, educated as the children of such a wise father should be, and a daughter, fair, gentle, and intelligent, but she was blind; yet this deprivation appeared as nothing to her; her father and brothers were outward eyes to her, and a vivid imagination made everything clear to her mental sight. The sons had never gone farther from the castle than the branches of the trees extended, and the sister had scarcely ever left home. They were happy children in that home of their childhood, the beautiful and fragrant Tree of the Sun. Like all children, they loved to hear stories related to them, and their father told them many things which other children would not have understood; but these were as clever as most grownup people are among us. He explained to them what they saw in the pictures of life on the castle walls—the doings of man, and the progress of events in all the lands of the earth; and the sons often expressed a wish that they could be present, and take a part in these great deeds. Then their father told them that in the world there was nothing but toil and difficulty: that it was not quite what it appeared to them, as they looked upon it in their beautiful home. He spoke to them of the true, the beautiful, and the good, and told them that these three held together in the world, and by that union they became crystallized into a precious jewel, clearer than a diamond of the first water—a jewel, whose splendor had a value even in the sight of God, in whose brightness all things are dim. This jewel was called the philosopher’s stone. He told them that, by searching, man could attain to a knowledge of the existence of God, and that it was in the power of every man to discover the certainty that such a jewel as the philosopher’s stone really existed. This information would have been beyond the perception of other children; but these children understood, and others will learn to comprehend its meaning after a time. They questioned their father about the true, the beautiful, and the good, and he explained it to them in many ways. He told them that God, when He made man out of the dust of the earth, touched His work five times, leaving five intense feelings, which we call the five senses. Through these, the true, the beautiful, and the good are seen, understood, and perceived, and through these they are valued, protected, and encouraged. Five senses have been given mentally and corporeally, inwardly and outwardly, to body and soul.
The children thought deeply on all these things, and meditated upon them day and night. Then the eldest of the brothers dreamt a splendid dream. Strange to say, not only the second brother but also the third and fourth brothers all dreamt exactly the same thing; namely, that each went out into the world to find the philosopher’s stone. Each dreamt that he found it, and that, as he rode back on his swift horse, in the morning dawn, over the velvety green meadows, to his home in the castle of his father, that the stone gleamed from his forehead like a beaming light; and threw such a bright radiance upon the pages of the Book of Truth that every word was illuminated which spoke of the life beyond the grave. But the sister had no dream of going out into the wide world; it never entered her mind. Her world was her father’s house.
“I shall ride forth into the wide world,” said the eldest brother. “I must try what life is like there, as I mix with men. I will practise only the good and true; with these I will protect the beautiful. Much shall be changed for the better while I am there.”
Now these thoughts were great and daring, as our thoughts generally are at home, before we have gone out into the world, and encountered its storms and tempests, its thorns and its thistles. In him, and in all his brothers, the five senses were highly cultivated, inwardly and outwardly; but each of them had one sense which in keenness and development surpassed the other four. In the case of the eldest, this pre-eminent sense was sight, which he hoped would be of special service. He had eyes for all times and all people; eyes that could discover in the depths of the earth hidden treasures, and look into the hearts of men, as through a pane of glass; he could read more than is often seen on the cheek that blushes or grows pale, in the eye that droops or smiles. Stags and antelopes accompanied him to the western boundary of his home, and there he found the wild swans. These he followed, and found himself far away in the north, far from the land of his father, which extended eastward to the ends of the earth. How he opened his eyes with astonishment! How many things were to be seen here! and so different to the mere representation of pictures such as those in his father’s house. At first he nearly lost his eyes in astonishment at the rubbish and mockery brought forward to represent the beautiful; but he kept his eyes, and soon found full employment for them. He wished to go thoroughly and honestly to work in his endeavor to understand the true, the beautiful, and the good. But how were they represented in the world? He observed that the wreath which rightly belonged to the beautiful was often given the hideous; that the good was often passed by unnoticed, while mediocrity was applauded, when it should have been hissed. People look at the dress, not at the wearer; thought more of a name than of doing their duty; and trusted more to reputation than to real service. It was everywhere the same.
“I see I must make a regular attack on these things,” said he; and he accordingly did not spare them. But while looking for the truth, came the evil one, the father of lies, to intercept him. Gladly would the fiend have plucked out the eyes of this Seer, but that would have been a too straightforward path for him; he works more cunningly. He allowed the young man to seek for, and discover, the beautiful and the good; but while he was contemplating them, the evil spirit blew one mote after another into each of his eyes; and such a proceeding would injure the strongest sight. Then he blew upon the motes, and they became beams, so that the clearness of his sight was gone, and the Seer was like a blind man in the world, and had no longer any faith in it. He had lost his good opinion of the world, as well as of himself; and when a man gives up the world, and himself too, it is all over with him.
“All over,” said the wild swan, who flew across the sea to the east.
“All over,” twittered the swallows, who were also flying eastward towards the Tree of the Sun. It was no good news which they carried home.
“I think the Seer has been badly served,” said the second brother, “but the Hearer may be more successful.”
This one possessed the sense of hearing to a very high degree: so acute was this sense, that it was said he could hear the grass grow. He took a fond leave of all at home, and rode away, provided with good abilities and good intentions. The swallows escorted him, and he followed the swans till he found himself out in the world, and far away from home. But he soon discovered that one may have too much of a good thing. His hearing was too fine. He not only heard the grass grow, but could hear every man’s heart beat, whether in sorrow or in joy. The whole world was to him like a clockmaker’s great workshop, in which all the clocks were going “tick, tick,” and all the turret clocks striking “ding, dong.” It was unbearable. For a long time his ears endured it, but at last all the noise and tumult became too much for one man to bear.
There were rascally boys of sixty years old—for years do not alone make a man—who raised a tumult, which might have made the Hearer laugh, but for the applause which followed, echoing through every street and house, and was even heard in country roads. Falsehood thrust itself forward and played the hypocrite; the bells on the fool’s cap jingled, and declared they were church-bells, and the noise became so bad for the Hearer that he thrust his fingers into his ears. Still, he could hear false notes and bad singing, gossip and idle words, scandal and slander, groaning and moaning, without and within. “Heaven help us!” He thrust his fingers farther and farther into his ears, till at last the drums burst. And now he could hear nothing more of the true, the beautiful, and the good; for his hearing was to have been the means by which he hoped to acquire his knowledge. He became silent and suspicious, and at last trusted no one, not even himself, and no longer hoping to find and bring home the costly jewel, he gave it up, and gave himself up too, which was worse than all.
The birds in their flight towards the east, carried the tidings, and the news reached the castle in the Tree of the Sun.
“I will try now,” said the third brother; “I have a keen nose.” Now that was not a very elegant expression, but it was his way, and we must take him as he was. He had a cheerful temper, and was, besides, a real poet; he could make many things appear poetical, by the way in which he spoke of them, and ideas struck him long before they occurred to the minds of others. “I can smell,” he would say; and he attributed to the sense of smelling, which he possessed in a high degree, a great power in the region of the beautiful. “I can smell,” he would say, “and many places are fragrant or beautiful according to the taste of the frequenters. One man feels at home in the atmosphere of the tavern, among the flaring tallow candles, and when the smell of spirits mingles with the fumes of bad tobacco. Another prefers sitting amidst the overpowering scent of jasmine, or perfuming himself with scented olive oil. This man seeks the fresh sea breeze, while that one climbs the lofty mountain-top, to look down upon the busy life in miniature beneath him.”
As he spoke in this way, it seemed as if he had already been out in the world, as if he had already known and associated with man. But this experience was intuitive—it was the poetry within him, a gift from Heaven bestowed on him in his cradle. He bade farewell to his parental roof in the Tree of the Sun, and departed on foot, from the pleasant scenes that surrounded his home. Arrived at its confines, he mounted on the back of an ostrich, which runs faster than a horse, and afterwards, when he fell in with the wild swans, he swung himself on the strongest of them, for he loved change, and away he flew over the sea to distant lands, where there were great forests, deep lakes, lofty mountains, and proud cities. Wherever he came it seemed as if sunshine travelled with him across the fields, for every flower, every bush, exhaled a renewed fragrance, as if conscious that a friend and protector was near; one who understood them, and knew their value. The stunted rose-bush shot forth twigs, unfolded its leaves, and bore the most beautiful roses; every one could see it, and even the black, slimy wood-snail noticed its beauty. “I will give my seal to the flower,” said the snail, “I have trailed my slime upon it, I can do no more.”
“Thus it always fares with the beautiful in this world,” said the poet. And he made a song upon it, and sung it after his own fashion, but nobody listened. Then he gave a drummer twopence and a peacock’s feather, and composed a song for the drum, and the drummer beat it through the streets of the town, and when the people heard it they said, “That is a capital tune.” The poet wrote many songs about the true, the beautiful, and the good. His songs were listened to in the tavern, where the tallow candles flared, in the fresh clover field, in the forest, and on the high-seas; and it appeared as if this brother was to be more fortunate than the other two.
But the evil spirit was angry at this, so he set to work with soot and incense, which he can mix so artfully as to confuse an angel, and how much more easily a poor poet. The evil one knew how to manage such people. He so completely surrounded the poet with incense that the man lost his head, forgot his mission and his home, and at last lost himself and vanished in smoke.
But when the little birds heard of it, they mourned, and for three days they sang not one song. The black wood-snail became blacker still; not for grief, but for envy. “They should have offered me incense,” he said, “for it was I who gave him the idea of the most famous of his songs—the drum song of ’The Way of the World;’ and it was I who spat at the rose; I can bring a witness to that fact.”
But no tidings of all this reached the poet’s home in India. The birds had all been silent for three days, and when the time of mourning was over, so deep had been their grief, that they had forgotten for whom they wept. Such is the way of the world.
“Now I must go out into the world, and disappear like the rest,” said the fourth brother. He was as good-tempered as the third, but no poet, though he could be witty.
The two eldest had filled the castle with joyfulness, and now the last brightness was going away. Sight and hearing have always been considered two of the chief senses among men, and those which they wish to keep bright; the other senses are looked upon as of less importance.
But the younger son had a different opinion; he had cultivated his taste in every way, and taste is very powerful. It rules over what goes into the mouth, as well as over all which is presented to the mind; and, consequently, this brother took upon himself to taste everything stored up in bottles or jars; this he called the rough part of his work. Every man’s mind was to him as a vessel in which something was concocting; every land a kind of mental kitchen. “There are no delicacies here,” he said; so he wished to go out into the world to find something delicate to suit his taste. “Perhaps fortune may be more favorable to me than it was to my brothers. I shall start on my travels, but what conveyance shall I choose? Are air balloons invented yet?” he asked of his father, who knew of all inventions that had been made, or would be made.
Air balloons had not then been invented, nor steam-ships, nor railways.
“Good,” said he; “then I shall choose an air balloon; my father knows how they are to be made and guided. Nobody has invented one yet, and the people will believe that it is an aerial phantom. When I have done with the balloon I shall burn it, and for this purpose, you must give me a few pieces of another invention, which will come next; I mean a few chemical matches.”
He obtained what he wanted, and flew away. The birds accompanied him farther than they had the other brothers. They were curious to know how this flight would end. Many more of them came swooping down; they thought it must be some new bird, and he soon had a goodly company of followers. They came in clouds till the air became darkened with birds as it was with the cloud of locusts over the land of Egypt.
And now he was out in the wide world. The balloon descended over one of the greatest cities, and the aeronaut took up his station at the highest point, on the church steeple. The balloon rose again into the air, which it ought not to have done; what became of it is not known, neither is it of any consequence, for balloons had not then been invented.
There he sat on the church steeple. The birds no longer hovered over him; they had got tired of him, and he was tired of them. All the chimneys in the town were smoking.
“There are altars erected to my honor,” said the wind, who wished to say something agreeable to him as he sat there boldly looking down upon the people in the street. There was one stepping along, proud of his purse; another, of the key he carried behind him, though he had nothing to lock up; another took a pride in his moth-eaten coat; and another, in his mortified body. “Vanity, all vanity!” he exclaimed. “I must go down there by-and-by, and touch and taste; but I shall sit here a little while longer, for the wind blows pleasantly at my back. I shall remain here as long as the wind blows, and enjoy a little rest. It is comfortable to sleep late in the morning when one had a great deal to do,” said the sluggard; “so I shall stop here as long as the wind blows, for it pleases me.”
And there he stayed. But as he was sitting on the weather-cock of the steeple, which kept turning round and round with him, he was under the false impression that the same wind still blew, and that he could stay where he was without expense.
But in India, in the castle on the Tree of the Sun, all was solitary and still, since the brothers had gone away one after the other.
“Nothing goes well with them,” said the father; “they will never bring the glittering jewel home, it is not made for me; they are all dead and gone.” Then he bent down over the Book of Truth, and gazed on the page on which he should have read of the life after death, but for him there was nothing to be read or learned upon it.
His blind daughter was his consolation and joy; she clung to him with sincere affection, and for the sake of his happiness and peace she wished the costly jewel could be found and brought home.
With longing tenderness she thought of her brothers. Where were they? Where did they live? How she wished she might dream of them; but it was strange that not even in dreams could she be brought near to them. But at last one night she dreamt that she heard the voices of her brothers calling to her from the distant world, and she could not refrain herself, but went out to them, and yet it seemed in her dream that she still remained in her father’s house. She did not see her brothers, but she felt as it were a fire burning in her hand, which, however, did not hurt her, for it was the jewel she was bringing to her father. When she awoke she thought for a moment that she still held the stone, but she only grasped the knob of her distaff.
During the long evenings she had spun constantly, and round the distaff were woven threads finer than the web of a spider; human eyes could never have distinguished these threads when separated from each other. But she had wetted them with her tears, and the twist was as strong as a cable. She rose with the impression that her dream must be a reality, and her resolution was taken.
It was still night, and her father slept; she pressed a kiss upon his hand, and then took her distaff and fastened the end of the thread to her father’s house. But for this, blind as she was, she would never have found her way home again; to this thread she must hold fast, and trust not to others or even to herself. From the Tree of the Sun she broke four leaves; which she gave up to the wind and the weather, that they might be carried to her brothers as letters and a greeting, in case she did not meet them in the wide world. Poor blind child, what would become of her in those distant regions? But she had the invisible thread, to which she could hold fast; and she possessed a gift which all the others lacked. This was a determination to throw herself entirely into whatever she undertook, and it made her feel as if she had eyes even at the tips of her fingers, and could hear down into her very heart. Quietly she went forth into the noisy, bustling, wonderful world, and wherever she went the skies grew bright, and she felt the warm sunbeam, and a rainbow above in the blue heavens seemed to span the dark world. She heard the song of the birds, and smelt the scent of the orange groves and apple orchards so strongly that she seemed to taste it. Soft tones and charming songs reached her ear, as well as harsh sounds and rough words—thoughts and opinions in strange contradiction to each other. Into the deepest recesses of her heart penetrated the echoes of human thoughts and feelings. Now she heard the following words sadly sung,—
“Life is a shadow that flits away
In a night of darkness and woe.”
But then would follow brighter thoughts:
“Life has the rose’s sweet perfume
With sunshine, light, and joy.”
And if one stanza sounded painfully—
“Each mortal thinks of himself alone,
Is a truth, alas, too clearly known;”
Then, on the other hand, came the answer—
“Love, like a mighty flowing stream,
Fills every heart with its radiant gleam.”
She heard, indeed, such words as these—
“In the pretty turmoil here below,
All is a vain and paltry show.”
Then came also words of comfort—
“Great and good are the actions done
By many whose worth is never known.”
And if sometimes the mocking strain reached her—
“Why not join in the jesting cry
That contemns all gifts from the throne on high?”
In the blind girl’s heart a stronger voice repeated—
“To trust in thyself and God is best,
In His holy will forever to rest.”
But the evil spirit could not see this and remain contented. He has more cleverness than ten thousand men, and he found means to compass his end. He betook himself to the marsh, and collected a few little bubbles of stagnant water. Then he uttered over them the echoes of lying words that they might become strong. He mixed up together songs of praise with lying epitaphs, as many as he could find, boiled them in tears shed by envy; put upon them rouge, which he had scraped from faded cheeks, and from these he produced a maiden, in form and appearance like the blind girl, the angel of completeness, as men called her. The evil one’s plot was successful. The world knew not which was the true, and indeed how should the world know?
“To trust in thyself and God is best,
In his Holy will forever to rest.”
So sung the blind girl in full faith. She had entrusted the four green leaves from the Tree of the Sun to the winds, as letters of greeting to her brothers, and she had full confidence that the leaves would reach them. She fully believed that the jewel which outshines all the glories of the world would yet be found, and that upon the forehead of humanity it would glitter even in the castle of her father. “Even in my father’s house,” she repeated. “Yes, the place in which this jewel is to be found is earth, and I shall bring more than the promise of it with me. I feel it glow and swell more and more in my closed hand. Every grain of truth which the keen wind carried up and whirled towards me I caught and treasured. I allowed it to be penetrated with the fragrance of the beautiful, of which there is so much in the world, even for the blind. I took the beatings of a heart engaged in a good action, and added them to my treasure. All that I can bring is but dust; still, it is a part of the jewel we seek, and there is plenty, my hand is quite full of it.”
She soon found herself again at home; carried thither in a flight of thought, never having loosened her hold of the invisible thread fastened to her father’s house. As she stretched out her hand to her father, the powers of evil dashed with the fury of a hurricane over the Tree of the Sun; a blast of wind rushed through the open doors, and into the sanctuary, where lay the Book of Truth.
“It will be blown to dust by the wind,” said the father, as he seized the open hand she held towards him.
“No,” she replied, with quiet confidence, “it is indestructible. I feel its beam warming my very soul.”
Then her father observed that a dazzling flame gleamed from the white page on which the shining dust had passed from her hand. It was there to prove the certainty of eternal life, and on the book glowed one shining word, and only one, the word BELIEVE. And soon the four brothers were again with the father and daughter. When the green leaf from home fell on the bosom of each, a longing had seized them to return. They had arrived, accompanied by the birds of passage, the stag, the antelope, and all the creatures of the forest who wished to take part in their joy.
We have often seen, when a sunbeam burst through a crack in the door into a dusty room, how a whirling column of dust seems to circle round. But this was not poor, insignificant, common dust, which the blind girl had brought; even the rainbow’s colors are dim when compared with the beauty which shone from the page on which it had fallen. The beaming word BELIEVE, from every grain of truth, had the brightness of the beautiful and the good, more bright than the mighty pillar of flame that led Moses and the children of Israel to the land of Canaan, and from the word BELIEVE arose the bridge of hope, reaching even to the unmeasurable Love in the realms of the infinite.
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