Part 8

“No, because we have other food. But why are we fed? Because we catch mice. If we no longer caught mice, people would no longer feed us, or even let us stay in our library. Then we should see how we could manage.”

“There is food for everybody in the wide world,” said Lise.

“That’s enough!” screamed the cat, furiously. “Begin—or woe be unto you!”

The five kittens did not stir. Their mother sprang upon them, but they all ran through the open door, and kept on till the old cat stopped chasing them.

They rested in a meadow near a farm-house.

“We will begin a new life, a more beautiful, more just, and better one,” said Miese, when she had recovered her breath a little.

“Very well,” said Purr; “but meanwhile I am hungry, and would like to have my supper.”

“You never think of anything but eating,” replied Lise, reproachfully.

Murr came to his brother’s support. “I will gladly live for fraternity and justice. I will gladly be a progressive cat; but the stomach wants its rights, too.”

“You are right,” said Miese. “Only have a little patience. You’ll see that your virtue will not fail to have its reward. I have confidence in our good cause. Follow me.”

She had seen a barn in the meadow, and quickly led her brothers and sisters to it. They entered without any trouble through an open window. Inside was a perfect mountain of wheat, over which countless mice were swarming. At the sudden entrance of the five cats, they scattered, squeaking with fright, and vanished under, behind, and within the mountain of wheat, in mouse holes, and between the beams of the roof.

Purr looked after them with sparkling eyes, Murr made a movement to follow, but Hinz stopped him with a sharp “Mew.” Miese climbed slowly up the wheat mountain, and when she had reached the top, solemnly began: “Honored mice! Dear fellow-creatures! You have fled from us. We can understand this, after the experiences you have had with our race. But we come without any hostile designs upon you. We are no mouse hunters. We are progressive cats. We lament all the evil which our relatives have done you, and would like to atone for their wickedness during thousands of years. Dear mice, let us be brothers. We offer you the paw of friendship. Clasp it. Join hands. A bond of love shall unite us in the future, and we will work together until there is light in the world, till the innocent blood no longer flows, till cats and mice beautify each other’s short lives according to their powers.”

During Miese’s speech many mice had put their sharp noses out of their hiding places and listened with increasing astonishment. When she had finished, all was still for a time. At last an old mouse spoke. “I have lived a long while and had many experiences,” she said; “but I have never heard such words from the mouth of a cat. If we could only believe you.”

“Your distrust is unfair,” replied Miese. “Why should we pretend to feelings we do not possess?”

“Why?” answered the old mouse. “To lull us into security, so that you can eat us comfortably when we are so stupid as to obey your call.”

“Dear brothers,” said Miese, “you are doing us grave injustice. Our hearts are full of love for you, and we only wish there might be an opportunity to show it in other ways than by mere words.” There was so much warmth in her voice, that it made an impression upon the mouse.

“Do you speak in the name of the whole cat people?” asked the old mouse.

“For the present we can speak only in our own name,” replied Miese. “There is still much prejudice among us. Our old people will not give up their wicked customs. But the young ones are with us. I am sure of that. The future will be ours. We will set an example, which all our race will soon follow enthusiastically. Come, brothers, come, dear mice! Let us embrace one another. Let us celebrate the festival of peace and fraternity.”

The mice began to whisper and mutter. Some wanted to accept Miese’s invitation, others hesitated. Suddenly a young mouse squeaked: “I’ll risk it! Fraternity is so grand a thought that I will gladly stake my life to learn whether the progressive cat means honestly.” And, in spite of the anxious squeaking of the timid ones, it came boldly out of its hole. Miese went very gently up, that she might not startle it by hasty movements, stroked its back with a velvet paw, licked its nose with her rough tongue, and said, “Come to my heart, brother, this is the happiest day of my life.”

The mouse was terribly frightened, but did not show it, and bravely endured the caresses of the cat, even timidly returned them. At this sight the mice burst into cheers, and a large number of them boldly approached the cats. A few minutes later old and young mice were crowding eagerly around the cats, exchanging embraces and kisses with them, racing merrily through the barn, and calling to the more timid ones, who were cautiously watching this new spectacle from their holes: “Out with you all, cowards! The cats are our best friends! You will offend them by your reserve! Long live the cats! Hurrah for fraternity!”

This went on for some time, then a young mouse began: “Dear brothers and sisters! Love for love! Faith for faith! Since the cats have seen their injustice, we will forgive them without reserve. We will bear them no grudge and, in future, we will be one heart and one soul. Let us appoint them honorary mice. Let the difference in parentage be forgotten. Let us never reproach them for their origin. We will always treat our honorary mice like brothers, and admit them to the full rights of citizenship among us.”

Purr and Murr looked at each other in bewilderment, but Miese cried enthusiastically, “We will always try to show ourselves worthy of the name of honorary mice.” An old mouse protested against undue haste, and asked that the honorary mice should have their claws gnawed off, before they were admitted to citizenship in the mouse nation; but the young mice cried down the old fogy slow coach, reproached him for his distrust, told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, the mouse nation must not be outdone in generosity by the cats, and the motion to bestow the rights of citizenship upon the cats was passed by a very large majority.

“And now,” cried several young mice, “we will celebrate this historic hour by a great festival. Come, dear honorary mice, we will share what we have fraternally with you.”

This invitation greatly pleased the cats, especially Purr, whose stomach was complaining, for it was long after his usual hour for eating. He looked eagerly around, switched his tail to and fro, and asked earnestly, “Where is there anything to nibble?”

The mice squeaked merrily, and one answered: “Don’t you see it? You certainly have plenty of everything before you.”

Purr sniffed and peered around in all directions, then he answered angrily, “I smell nothing, and I see nothing.”

“Is it possible?” replied the mouse. “You are standing in front of a whole mountain of the finest wheat; you see how our whole people are feasting, and you find nothing to satisfy your hunger?”

Purr looked provoked and began to spit. “I suppose you take me for a fool,” he growled.

Miese interposed. “Dear fellow-citizens,” she said to the mouse, “we can do nothing with your wheat. It is no food for us.”

“See the despisers of our fare!” cried a saucy mouse. “You don’t know what is good,” exclaimed another. “What would you like? Probably a young mouse?” shouted a third, snappishly. But other mice reproved them for these unfriendly speeches, and turning to the cats, said: “Forgive this rudeness, and don’t be offended by it. All sensible mice condemn them. We do not yet know your taste. What do you eat, if you cannot take wheat?”

“Could we perhaps have some beef liver?” asked Miese.

The mice looked at each other, and answered: “Beef liver? What’s that? We don’t know it.”

“Or a little milk?” said Lise.

“Mice do not drink. There is no milk here,” was the reply. “Would you perhaps like nuts? They are the most delicious food there is; we haven’t many of them, but we will give them to you gladly.”

“Nuts? No,” answered Hinz; “people play with nuts, but they don’t eat them.”

The mice smiled, and one of them said, “Perhaps, if you prefer bacon—”

“Bacon! Capital! Bring it out!” cried all five of the kittens at once, joyously holding their tails straight up in the air.

The mice eagerly collected a few scraps of bacon, on which the cats sprang with such haste that the mice were startled, and ran into their holes. In an instant it was devoured, and Purr cried, “More!”

The mice, who had looked on in horror, answered: “Is it possible! That was our whole supply for the winter. And you have eaten it at one meal!”

“Hold your tongues, you louts!” cried Murr in a rage.

Miese soothed him and, turning to the mice, said: “No offence. We are somewhat hungry after our long walk. And, to tell the truth, we are still. If you could perhaps tell us where this nice bacon is—”

For a long time there was no reply. The mice put their heads together and whispered. At last an old one said, “In the farm-house over yonder is a garret filled with flitches of bacon.”

“Quick! Let us run over there!” cried Purr.

“Gently,” replied the old mouse, “that won’t do. You can’t get in, for the door is locked. We have dug a passage into the room, but it is too narrow for you.”

“Then do us the favor to go over yourselves and bring us some bacon,” said Miese.

“We’ll take precious good care not to do that,” cried several mice at once. “There are two abominable cats in the garret, and we can only venture in when these two bloodthirsty murderers have gone out.”

The cats made wry faces when they heard their relatives spoken of in this way. A mouse noticed it, and said quickly: “You see, we are doing you the honor of considering you entirely as mice. A harsh word against cats cannot offend you, for you certainly have nothing more in common with those miserable bandits.”

“That is true,” said Miese. “But I thought that, for our sakes, you would think somewhat more kindly of the cats and admit that they are not all miserable bandits.”

“Surely you would not wish to defend the horrible cat tribe—you, whom we have just made honorary mice?” screamed several mice, excitedly.

Miese saw that the conversation threatened to take a bad turn, and remained silent. Meanwhile the mice had finished their banquet and, going back to their holes well satisfied, bade the cats good night. They were left alone in the barn and, looking at each other in perplexity, made all sorts of unpleasant reflections.

Hinz was the first to break the silence, “Well, dear honorary mouse,” he asked Miese, “how do you like our new countrymen?”

“Pretty fellows,” replied Lise in the same subdued tones; “I would like to eat them.”

Purr laughed grimly, “So would I.” And Murr added, “Miese, you are the most clever one of us all; but to-day, I’m afraid, you have done a very foolish thing.”

“Let me alone,” Miese spit angrily. “Of course, the old humdrum way is easier than the bold, progressive one. We are treading entirely new paths. We have undertaken a great educational work. So we must have patience, and bear some discomfort without grumbling. The poor mice are not lacking in good-will. If some of them still doubt the purity of our intentions, we must not wonder at it. This will soon pass away.”

“But just now my stomach is hollow,” growled Purr.

“We will learn to eat wheat,” said Miese, and resolutely taking some grains in her mouth began to chew them. But, in spite of the most desperate efforts, she could not swallow them, and secretly spit them out. Meanwhile there was no quiet in the holes of the mice. In every passage and room they put their heads together, talking in low but eager tones about the great event. Some said, “This will come to no good end,” others, “Cats will be cats, even if we appoint them honorary mice,” and others added, “Perhaps they are spies.”

A young mouse defended the new friends and said, “The leader of the progressive cats is really a noble creature,” but was interrupted by cries from all sides, “If she isn’t a swindler, if she isn’t sneaking in among us with evil designs, she is surely crazy.”

Several voices added: “Her brothers have regular murderers’ faces. They are tramps, who want us to feed them. All our bacon is gone already; if we could only get rid of them pleasantly.”

But the mice finally fell asleep; for they were tired and in a safe place. The five hungry cats on their hard beds found the night very long. All thought of their mother’s warm fur and their ample meals, and Miese asked herself if the whole mouse nation was worth so much privation and hardship.

When day dawned, the rested mice came out of their holes and began to attend to their business, without troubling themselves about the five sulky kittens. Some were peeling grains of wheat for breakfast, others were cleaning themselves, others still were playing. Lise watched the bustle awhile, then she asked impatiently: “What does this mean? Are we to have no breakfast?”

A mouse answered rudely: “I suppose we ought to feed you with pap, poor little things?” The others laughed.

“Pardon me,” said Miese, gently. “We belong to you. You cannot let us starve to death.”

“You bore us!” screamed a mouse. “If you won’t eat wheat, steal some meat from the farmer, or catch birds on the trees and roofs.”

“You are not in earnest,” replied Miese. “To kill birds would be a crime. Surely we want to have fraternity, love, and virtue reign in the world.”

All the mice laughed. “To kill mice is murder; but to catch birds is earning one’s living honestly.”

“Bravo!” shouted Hinz, in a terrible voice, sprang with a single bound upon the mouse which had made this remark, killed it with one bite, and devoured it in an instant, before Miese could prevent him. The mice scattered in terror, pursued by Purr and Murr, who each seized a victim before they could escape into their holes. Scarcely were they safe when they all began to shriek: “Traitors! Murderers! Bandits! Robbers! May you all break your necks! May you be drowned! Vagabond rabble! Pestilent pack!”

This was too much for Miese, and she dashed furiously toward the holes, but could not catch a single mouse. “Let us go,” she said, turning to her brothers and sister; “nothing sensible can be done with these uneducated creatures.”

They set out on the way to their library, and, after a long walk, reached home weary, ashamed, starved, and downcast. The old cat received them on the threshold with the exclamation: “Why, here come the runaways! Have you converted the world to your reforms already?”

“Mother, give us something to eat; we are almost starved,” said Miese, humbly. “The world is not yet ripe for our grand thoughts. And the mice, especially, are an infamous set of wretches, who must be exterminated. We will catch them again to your heart’s content.”

THE ELF CHILD

Once upon a time there was a large clearing in the midst of a thick beechwood, and in the middle of this clearing was a big, deep pond, on whose shores grew rushes, and on whose surface floated water-lilies. In this pond lived many elves, who slept all through the day on a bed of fine sand and soft plants, but in the evening came up to breathe the air of the upper world. Then they sat down on the grass in the glade, parted and braided their golden hair, wrapped themselves in rainbow-colored veils, adorned themselves with pearls and precious stones from little mother-of-pearl caskets, ate fruit and honey, drank dew and sweet flower juices, and played forfeits and blindman’s-buff. During the weeks when the nightingale sang and also at other times, when there was a full moon, they formed into a large ring and danced until the cock crowed. The gnomes, too, often came from the neighboring mountains, and if they were very well behaved, and the elves were in a good humor, they were allowed to dance and play with them until the gray dawn drove them home, too. In the meadow where the elves held their summer festivals, the grass grew more luxuriantly and more beautiful, flowers bloomed in the places where their silver-white feet had floated in dancing. The inhabitants of the wood knew that the glade was used by the elves of the pond for a playground, and timidly avoided it; for they were aware that the beautiful water women, though they did not usually trouble themselves about mortals, and did them no harm, grew very angry if they were impertinently watched, or even surprised by accident at their games.

Now it happened that there lived in the village at the edge of the wood a young fellow, who thought of nothing but mischievous tricks and practical jokes. When he was a little boy he used to let loose in the school-room and church, beetles, to whose legs he had tied bits of paper with pieces of thread. When he grew larger, he sawed the back legs of the schoolmaster’s chair three-quarters through, so that it broke down when the teacher sat in it. When he was a half-grown lad, he tied dogs and cats together by their tails, and laughed maliciously when the poor animals fought furiously with one another. Of course such a fellow always robbed birds’ nests, and stole fruit from the trees. This rascal had often heard of the elves of the pond in the forest meadow, their dances in the moonlight summer nights, and their sports with the gnomes, and he could not rest until he had seen the merry pastime with his own eyes. One warm June evening, when the moon was full, he stole through the forest and across the glade to a spot on the shore of the pond, where the rushes grew thick, and, hidden among them, waited with some little anxiety for what would happen.

During the first hours after sunset he heard nothing except the croaking of the frogs near by, and the bell-like tones of the more distant bullfrogs, and saw in the twilight owls and bats flying noiselessly hither and thither. Just after midnight the moon rose, the pond and the woodland meadow were lighted almost as brilliantly as day, and suddenly the impudent scoundrel cowering among the rushes started, almost frightened to death. Close beside his hiding place a silvery laugh rang out and, at the same moment, a young elf rose from the water and clapped her hands loudly. Instantly dozens of other elves appeared in the pond, surrounded the first one, shouted joyously, splashed the water till it foamed, dashed drops and streams into one another’s faces, and at last swam swiftly, in a long line, to the shore. There they had apparently concealed clothes and jewels in the bushes, or in holes in the ground, for in a short time they glided out of the reeds, clad in shimmering, floating veils, and glittering with gems, and frolicked about on the meadow.

The first elves were young girls. After them came young mothers with little elf children, many of whom could already walk alone; others fell down when they tried to stand on their small fat legs, and not a few were still on pillows. The mothers who had children at the breast nursed them, rocked them in their arms till they fell asleep, laid them in the tall grass on the shore, and hurried back to their companions to join their games and ring dancing. One baby in long clothes was laid by its mother among the rushes so near the spy that he could almost touch it with his outstretched hand. It was as beautiful as the angels in the pictures of Paradise, more beautiful than any mortal child he had ever seen. But he did not look at it long, for the scene in the meadow attracted his attention far more strongly. Some were playing blindman’s-buff, others tag, others still were dancing or striking shuttlecocks, then they all joined in songs with choruses, which sounded so sweet that even the hardened rascal in the reeds felt his eyes fill with tears, and finally they sat down in the grass and amid jests and laughter began to feast. At this part of the nocturnal festival the gnomes appeared, queer little men with long beards, who came tripping along laden with all sorts of dainties, and were received by the elves with shouts of joy. They were allowed to sit on the grass beside them and share their banquet, to which they contributed sweet fruit juices and delicious fruit. The water and mountain folk talked together for several hours, during which time an elf mother ran once or twice to the baby that lay near the rascal, to see if it was sleeping. Then the gnomes turned up their noses, beckoned to each other, pointed to the sky, where the first dim light of dawn was appearing in the east, took leave of the elves with many bows, and skipped hastily off to the forest, in which they vanished. The elves, too, felt the morning air and prepared to depart. Just at that moment the young rascal was possessed by the idea that he would play them a trick. At first he had had such a dread and horror of them that it almost stifled his breath. But after he had watched them awhile, and found them so beautiful and merry, so delicate and dainty, all fear had vanished and he did not believe that they could do him any harm. So, yielding to his natural spitefulness, he crept gently to the elf child, which was sleeping sweetly near him with its little fists tightly shut, hastily picked it up, and ran with it as fast as he could out of the rushes, across the clearing to the edge of the wood.

The elves saw him as soon as he stood up, and uttered a loud cry. Some sprang nimbly into the pond, others hastened to their children to protect them. A shriek of horror told the fugitive that the young elf mother had discovered the theft of her child. He turned his head and saw that several elves were pursuing him. Laughing scornfully, he increased his speed in order to reach the forest. Then there was a rushing noise in the air, fierce shouts echoed through the glade and across the pond, a strange whistling and hissing were heard, the rascal looked back again, and now he saw a large number of terrible serpents, which dashed out of the water and chased him with tremendous bounds. Terror seized him, he dropped the stolen child, and ran as if Satan and all his imps were at his heels.