EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE故事

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　EVERYTHING IN THE RIGHT PLACE故事
　　    IT is more than a hundred years ago! At the border of the
　　    wood, near a large lake, stood the old mansion: deep ditches
　　    surrounded it on every side, in which reeds and bulrushes
　　    grew. Close by the drawbridge, near the gate, there was an old
　　    willow tree, which bent over the reeds.
　　    From the narrow pass came the sound of bugles and the
　　    trampling of horses' feet; therefore a little girl who was
　　    watching the geese hastened to drive them away from the
　　    bridge, before the whole hunting party came galloping up; they
　　    came, however, so quickly, that the girl, in order to avoid
　　    being run over, placed herself on one of the high
　　    corner-stones of the bridge. She was still half a child and
　　    very delicately built; she had bright blue eyes, and a gentle,
　　    sweet expression. But such things the baron did not notice;
　　    while he was riding past the little goose-girl, he reversed
　　    his hunting crop, and in rough play gave her such a push with
　　    it that she fell backward into the ditch.
　　    "Everything in the right place!" he cried. "Into the ditch
　　    with you."
　　    Then he burst out laughing, for that he called fun; the
　　    others joined in- the whole party shouted and cried, while the
　　    hounds barked.
　　    While the poor girl was falling she happily caught one of
　　    the branches of the willow tree, by the help of which she held
　　    herself over the water, and as soon as the baron with his
　　    company and the dogs had disappeared through the gate, the
　　    girl endeavoured to scramble up, but the branch broke off, and
　　    she would have fallen backward among the rushes, had not a
　　    strong hand from above seized her at this moment. It was the
　　    hand of a pedlar; he had witnessed what had happened from a
　　    short distance, and now hastened to assist her.
　　    "Everything in the right place," he said, imitating the
　　    noble baron, and pulling the little maid up to the dry ground.
　　    He wished to put the branch back in the place it had been
　　    broken off, but it is not possible to put everything in the
            
            

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　　    right place;" therefore he stuck the branch into the soft
　　    ground.
　　    "Grow and thrive if you can, and produce a good flute for
　　    them yonder at the mansion," he said; it would have given him
　　    great pleasure to see the noble baron and his companions well
　　    thrashed. Then he entered the castle- but not the banqueting
　　    hall; he was too humble for that. No; he went to the servants'
　　    hall. The men-servants and maids looked over his stock of
　　    articles and bargained with him; loud crying and screaming
　　    were heard from the master's table above: they called it
　　    singing- indeed, they did their best. Laughter and the howls
　　    of dogs were heard through the open windows: there they were
　　    feasting and revelling; wine and strong old ale were foaming
　　    in the glasses and jugs; the favourite dogs ate with their
　　    masters; now and then the squires kissed one of these animals,
　　    after having wiped its mouth first with the tablecloth. They
　　    ordered the pedlar to come up, but only to make fun of him.
　　    The wine had got into their heads, and reason had left them.
　　    They poured beer into a stocking that he could drink with
　　    them, but quick. That's what they called fun, and it made them
　　    laugh. Then meadows, peasants, and farmyards were staked on
　　    one card and lost.
　　    "Everything in the right place!" the pedlar said when he
　　    had at last safely got out of Sodom and Gomorrah, as he called
　　    it. "The open high road is my right place; up there I did not
　　    feel at ease."
　　    The little maid, who was still watching the geese, nodded
　　    kindly to him as he passed through the gate.
　　    Days and weeks passed, and it was seen that the broken
　　    willow-branch which the peddlar had stuck
　　into the ground near
　　    the ditch remained fresh and green- nay, it even put forth
　　    fresh twigs; the little goose-girl saw that the branch had
　　    taken root, and was very pleased; the tree, so she said, was
　　    now her tree. While the tree was advancing, everything else at
　　    the castle was going backward, through feasting and gambling,
            
            

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　　    for these are two rollers upon which nobody stands safely.
　　    Less than six years afterwards the baron passed out of his
　　    castle-gate a poor beggar, while the baronial seat had been
　　    bought by a rich tradesman. He was the very pedlar they had
　　    made fun of and poured beer into a stocking for him to drink;
　　    but honesty and industry bring one forward, and now the pedlar
　　    was the possessor of the baronial estate. From that time
　　    forward no card-playing was permitted there.
　　    "That's a bad pastime," he said; "when the devil saw the
　　    Bible for the first time he wanted to produce a caricature in
　　    opposition to it, and invented card-playing."
　　    The new proprietor of the estate took a wife, and whom did
　　    he take?- The little goose-girl, who had always remained good
　　    and kind, and who looked as beautiful in her new clothes as if
　　    she had been a lady of high birth. And how did all this come
　　    about? That would be too long a tale to tell in our busy time,
　　    but it really happened, and the most important events have yet
　　    to be told.
　　    It was pleasant and cheerful to live in the old place now:
　　    the mother superintended the household, and the father looked
　　    after things out-of-doors, and they were indeed very
　　    prosperous.
　　    Where honesty leads the way, prosperity is sure to follow.
　　    The old mansion was repaired and painted, the ditches were
　　    cleaned and fruit-trees planted; all was homely and pleasant,
　　    and the floors were as white and shining as a pasteboard. In
　　    the long winter evenings the mistress and her maids sat at the
　　    spinning-wheel in the large hall; every Sunday the counsellor-
　　    this title the pedlar had obtained, although only in his old
　　    days- read aloud a portion from the Bible. The children (for
　　    they had children) all received the best education, but they
　　    were not all equally clever, as is the case in all families.
　　    In the meantime the willow tree near the drawbridge had
　　    grown up into a splendid tree, and stood there, free, and was
　　    never clipped. "It is our genealogical tree," said the old
            
            

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　　    people to their children, "and therefore it must be honoured."
　　    A hundred years had elapsed. It was in our own days; the
　　    lake had been transformed into marsh land; the whole baronial
　　    seat had, as it were, disappeared. A pool of water near some
　　    ruined walls was the only remainder of the deep ditches; and
　　    here stood a magnificent old tree with overhanging branches-
　　    that was the genealogical tree. Here it stood, and showed how
　　    beautiful a willow can look if one does not interfere with it.
　　    The trunk, it is true, was cleft in the middle from the root
　　    to the crown; the storms had bent it a little, but it still
　　    stood there, and out of every crevice and cleft, in which wind
　　    and weather had carried mould, blades of grass and flowers
　　    sprang forth. Especially above, where the large boughs parted,
　　    there was quite a hanging garden, in which wild raspberries
　　    and hart's-tongue ferns throve, and even a little mistletoe
　　    had taken root, and grew gracefully in the old willow
　　    branches, which were reflected in the dark water beneath when
　　    the wind blew the chickweed into the corner of the pool. A
　　    footpath which led across the fields passed close by the old
　　    tree. High up, on the woody hillside, stood the new mansion.
　　    It had a splendid view, and was large and magnificent; its
　　    window panes were so clear that one might have thought there
　　    were none there at all. The large flight of steps which led to
　　    the entrance looked like a bower covered with roses and
　　    broad-leaved plants. The lawn was as green as if each blade of
　　    grass was cleaned separately morning and evening. Inside, in
　　    the hall, valuable oil paintings were hanging on the walls.
　　    Here stood chairs and sofas covered with silk and velvet,
　　    which could be easily rolled about on castors; there were
　　    tables with polished marble tops, and books bound in morocco
　　    with gilt edges. Indeed, well-to-do and distinguished people
　　    lived here; it was the dwelling of the baron and his family.
　　    Each article was in keeping with its surroundings. "Everything
            
            

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　　    acted here, and therefore all the paintings which had once
　　    been the honour and glory of the old mansion were now hung up
　　    in the passage which led to the servants' rooms. It was all
　　    old lumber, especially two portraits- one representing a man
　　    in a scarlet coat with a wig, and the other a lady with
　　    powdered and curled hair holding a rose in her hand, each of
　　    them being surrounded by a large wreath of willow branches.
　　    Both portraits had many holes in them, because the baron's
　　    sons used the two old people as targets for their crossbows.
　　    They represented the counsellor and his wife, from whom the
　　    whole family descended. "But they did not properly belong to
　　    our family," said one of the boys; "he was a pedlar and she
　　    kept the geese. They were not like papa and mamma." The
　　    portraits were old lumber, and "everything in its right
　　    place." That was why the great-grandparents had been hung up
　　    in the passage leading to the servants' rooms.
　　    The son of the village pastor was tutor at the mansion.
　　    One day he went for a walk across the fields with his young
　　    pupils and their elder sister, who had lately been confirmed.
　　    They walked along the road which passed by the old willow
　　    tree, and while they were on the road she picked a bunch of
　　    field-flowers. "Everything in the right place," and indeed the
　　    bunch looked very beautiful. At the same time she listened to
　　    all that was said, and she very much liked to hear the
　　    pastor's son speak about the elements and of the great men and
　　    women in history. She had a healthy mind, noble in thought and
　　    deed, and with a heart full of love for everything that God
　　    had created. They stopped at the old willow tree, as the
　　    youngest of the baron's sons wished very much to have a flute
　　    from it, such as had been cut for him from other willow trees;
　　    the pastor's son broke a branch off. "Oh, pray do not do it!"
　　    said the young lady; but it was already done. "That is our
            
            

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　　    famous old tree. I love it very much. They often laugh at me
　　    at home about it, but that does not matter. There is a story
　　    attached to this tree." And now she told him all that we
　　    already know about the tree- the old mansion, the pedlar and
　　    the goose-girl who had met there for the first time, and had
　　    become the ancestors of the noble family to which the young
　　    lady belonged.
　　    "They did not like to be knighted, the good old people,"
　　    she said; "their motto was 'everything in the right place,'
　　    and it would not be right, they thought, to purchase a title
　　    for money. My grandfather, the first baron, was their son.
　　    They say he was a very learned man, a great favourite with the
　　    princes and princesses, and was invited to all court
　　    festivities. The others at home love him best; but, I do not
　　    know why, there seemed to me to be something about the old
　　    couple that attracts my heart! How homely, how patriarchal, it
　　    must have been in the old mansion, where the mistress sat at
　　    the spinning-wheel with her maids, while her husband read
　　    aloud out of the Bible!"
　　    "They must have been excellent, sensible people," said the
　　    pastor's son. And with this the conversation turned naturally
　　    to noblemen and commoners; from the manner in which the tutor
　　    spoke about the significance of being noble, it seemed almost
　　    as if he did not belong to a commoner's family.
　　    "It is good fortune to be of a family who have
　　    distinguished themselves, and to possess as it were a spur in
　　    oneself to advance to all that is good. It is a splendid thing
　　    to belong to a noble family, whose name serves as a card of
　　    admission to the highest circles. Nobility is a distinction;
　　    it is a gold coin that bears the stamp of its own value. It is
　　    the fallacy of the time, and many poets express it, to say
　　    that all that is noble 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
            
            

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　　    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;
            
            

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　　    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; the pastor's son had the seat next to her; the two sat
　　    there as if they were a bridal pair. An old Count, belonging
　　    to one of the oldest families of the country, remained
　　    untouched in his place of honour; the flute was just, and it
            
            

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　　    is one's duty to be so. The sharp-tongued cavalier who had
　　    caused the flute to be played, and who was the child of his
　　    parents, flew headlong into the fowl-house, but not he alone.
　　    The flute was heard at the distance of a mile, and strange
　　    events took place. A rich banker's family, who were driving in
　　    a coach and four, were blown out of it, and could not even
　　    find room behind it with their footmen. Two rich farmers who
　　    had in our days shot up higher than their own corn-fields,
　　    were flung into the ditch; it was a dangerous flute.
　　    Fortunately it burst at the first sound, and that was a good
　　    thing, for then it was put back into its owner's pocket- "its
　　    right place."
　　    The next day, nobody spoke a word about what had taken
　　    place; thus originated the phrase, "to pocket the flute."
　　    Everything was again in its usual order, except that the two
　　    old pictures of the peddlar and the goose-girl were hanging in
　　    the banqueting-hall. There they were on the wall as if blown
　　    up there; and as a real expert said that they were painted by
　　    a master's hand, they remained there and were restored.
　　    "Everything in the right place," and to this it will come.
　　    Eternity is long, much longer indeed than this story.
　　    THE END