The Old-Fangled Father and his New-Fangled Sons
Centuries ago, an old father—as old as one of them—lay on his couch feeling that his end was near. He was not surprised; in fact, he had foreseen it as he had foreseen many other events. And he was reputed wise beyond his years, and therefore far beyond those of the people who reputed it.
So he called softly to him his three sons. They didn’t hear him, being busy in different parts of the house; and it never occurred to him to ring the bell, because he was so old-fangled. He shouted to them, and they came.
“I have three things to say to you,” remarked the father solemnly.
The sons fidgeted visibly; they had been studying, were not at home to any one, and particularly had not wished to be disturbed in their work. They thought that their father was going to begin another anecdote, and it put them out of humour; but they were startled when he said—
“My sons, my end is near.”
Each one replied with an endearing term—just one, for they were not men of many words. And they told him “it was only his fuss.” That he was “only a hundred, and didn’t look as if he were going to be cut off prematurely.” “That he mustn’t give in and should never say ‘die.’”
“I cannot argue the point,” replied the old man. “Let me tell you my last wishes as briefly as I can, for my time is short.”
They tried to dissuade him from talking so much, but it was of no avail, for he protested that it was their duty to listen to him, and he insisted upon having last wishes as he had read that others had had before him, and it would be for the sons to obey and unravel them as best they could.
Then the father, addressing the eldest, who was ambitious and already past middle age, spoke as follows:—
“My son, my first-born, find out the furthermost summit of the world, and when you have surmounted that, you can surmount anything.”
To his second son, who was avaricious and also getting old and rather bald, he said:—
“Sit patiently, and wait, and when you can hear a voice that comes from no living throat, and can see its traces, you will want for nothing.”
To the third son, and consequently his favourite, who was romantic, being better looking and naturally younger than his elder brothers, the father spoke thus:—
“You, my son, who are the pride of my heart, the joy of my life, the light of mine eyes, search the atmosphere till at your bidding it showers down burning stars; then shall you go to the beautiful Princess who awaits you, and live without labour.”
And the three brothers murmured under their breath:—
“Poor old dad! He’s certainly very unwell.”
But he had not yet finished.
“Try to realise your ambition, my sons,” he continued. “I have shown you the ways you should go. Then, and only then, will you have earned that priceless jewel—Contentment.”
The old man then composed himself comfortably, and died a few years later, after a sharp attack of senile decay, leaving many regrets and unsettled accounts behind him.
When that happened the three sons were very sad all day and all night. The very next morning they called to mind his last wishes of a few years ago, and decided to ponder over them, give them the benefit of their doubt, and see if anything could be made out of them. And they stuck manfully to their resolution, especially as the creditors were hourly expected.
The eldest son looked up all the maps and geography books he could get hold of, and studied them until he came to the uncomfortable conclusion that he would certainly risk death by sea and cannibals many times before he could hope to reach the furthermost summit of the globe.
The second son sat and waited for the voice he was both to hear and trace, until at night he gave up in despair. So he decided that the only voice worth listening to was that of common-sense.
The favourite son, meanwhile, went for a long walk, bent on success, and, unlike the others, full of a new hope. Yet, search as he would, he could find no spot where the atmosphere changed into stars at his bidding, and he returned home long after dinner-time disconsolate to his supper of soup which had grown cold.
The next morning the three brothers arose in disappointment and vexation of mind. They murmured loud and long at having been sent on fairy-tale errands in a world where no clever talking animals really existed, or kind-hearted inanimate objects volunteered to befriend them on impossible quests.
As the first-born explained:—
“If I were to coax my parrot and ask him to help me in return for my many years of kindness, as they do successfully in fairy stories, he would bite me for my pains, as he always does whenever I feed him.”
And the second-born said:—
“If I were to fondle a pin and said, ‘Ah, pin! canst thou help me in my distress?’ ten to one I would get pricked, and serve me right for being so imbecile.”
“As for me,” exclaimed the romantic one, “were a gentle wolf to find me mooning about the forest thinking of my beauteous Princess, surely would he stop and, with a keen sense of the fitness of things, he would not trifle with politeness, but he would eat of me as much as would satisfy his present need—perhaps even more than he could digest.”
And the brothers laughed aloud in the splenetic bitterness of their three souls.
Another year went by. The sons had paid their father’s debts and made some on their own account; so they held a council, and they confessed that they had idled so long because they were haunted by the rosy promise their father’s words held out, and, do what they would, they could neither forget them nor yet find any solution.
Then together they pondered and thought, until one fine day (all the rest about that time had been wet) they concluded that as they were not believers in fairy tales, science perhaps might help them.
So they worked and worked and worked, each with his own object. They certainly did not lack brains, or test-tubes, or electric wire, yet just as certainly did they lack money; and, but for the occasional doing of menial work, they would have starved and starved and gone hungry.
At last the eldest son solved his mystery. Now could he surmount the furthest summit of the world, for he had invented a machine which could carry him soaring like a bird over mountains and over seas.
And the second son solved his mystery. Now he could hear a voice that came from no living throat and yet could see its traces, for he had invented an automaton that could speak and could record its words with a stylus upon tablets of wax.
And the third son solved his mystery. He had searched the atmosphere, and now at his bidding burning stars were showered down, for he had invented a kite fashioned on a wonderful wire, which went through the air and drew forth electric sparks. And his heart burned with love for the beautiful Princess whom he knew awaited him, though by this time she must be getting on.
The excitement of the brothers was great. “It is our genius we can thank!” they exclaimed all in three breaths. “Our father, steeped in his old-fangled lore, never could have foreseen our triumphs. He never could have guessed how we should solve his posers.” That was their conclusion. Then they shook hands all round, congratulated one another, and went their different ways.
The eldest flew off, mounted upon his wonderful air-steed, amid the gaping of the astonished villagers, and his two brothers looked after him wistfully until he disappeared far away behind the clouds. The hopes of the traveller rose ever higher and higher as for weeks and months he soared on, exhilarated beyond all imagination. At last he came to the furthermost summit of which his dear father had spoken so solemnly. Over it sailed the son as easily as a bird. When crack! the machine broke and collapsed, and the unfortunate inventor was hurled headlong into the sea, and every moment threatened to be his last, but wasn’t. As he floundered in the water he looked annoyed, and he murmured to himself:—
“There must be some mistake. Who can truly say that I have found Contentment here?”
Meanwhile the second son had borrowed a camel and gone off with his precious automaton to the great city, there to reap the reward of his labours. All the way he reckoned how he could best enjoy the vast sums of gold which would be poured into his lap. And he came to the conclusion that to gaze at it would give more pleasure than to spend any of it, except just a little for coffers to keep it in. He laughed aloud in anticipation. Arrived at his journey’s end, he unpacked his treasure and set it working, and was forthwith lodged in prison—for the city turned out to be as narrow-minded as it was great, and it assured him that he must be a wizard. He assured it he wasn’t, and proved that he didn’t believe in fairy tales, for he had not relied upon them for help. But it was of no avail; there was nothing more to be said. This disappointing ending to so much effort and such real success encouraged him in the conviction that in the position in which he found himself he could find no legitimate ground for Contentment.
During this time the favourite son had sallied forth singing in search of the beauteous Princess. His marvellous kite was slung behind him. He wended his steps toward the only Court he knew of, where dwelt a Princess good, beautiful, and unmarried—a combination of charms of marked rarity. So joyous and merry was he, that the squirrels squeaked and scurried away at sight of him, and the very hyenas laughed in harmony as he passed by singing, “Tra-la-la!” in his blithe lightsomeness. Ah, how gladsome and thrice happy was that merry, merry morn!
Now the Princess sat in the vast hall of the palace turning up her nose at the stream of suitors that promenaded in front of her, very bored and weary at the continuous routine. But she never seemed to tire of it in her certainty that “the right one” would put in his appearance at the right moment.
She was a very spoilt lady indeed; there was no one to gainsay her. Indeed, so spoilt was she, that every night she would cry for the stars, and blame the skies for being selfish and not sparing her a few when they knew (for she had often told them) that she wished to wear them in her hair. And every one said how illogical it was of her, and no one told her they were too large for practical purposes.
One bitterly cold night, whilst she was sitting thus at her open casement, bemoaning the selfishness of the skies, and heedless of everything else, a mighty hubbub arose outside.
“What ho!” called the pretty Princess. Her attendants came tumbling in to her in their eagerness to answer her summons.
“What’s without?” she inquired.
Nobody knew, and tumbled out to get to know. They rushed back and told her all at once that a brand new suitor had arrived at that unusual hour, and would she snub him at once or tarry till the morrow? It took her a little time to unravel what was said amidst such a babel of voices.
“La! Oh my!” suddenly exclaimed the Princess, her eyes riveted outside on the blackness of the night. She could scarcely believe her senses, for there, in her garden, stars were actually falling down in showers, lighting up the figure of a man who, with upstretched hand, was beckoning them to come!
He was summoned at once to the royal presence, shivering and blue with cold; but his romantic heart throbbed at the sight of so much beauty, and his face assumed a warmer hue. He was so intoxicated with delight that afterwards he could never quite tell how it all came about. As in a haze, he remembered the Princess greeting him as the one long awaited; he recollected her saying that as he could wrest the stars from the selfish skies, he could gratify her desire to wear some in her hair, and bade him go collect them.
He explained his invention. She grew impatient. He told her the electricity would kill him. She shrugged her shoulders and insisted. He declined to take the risk. Whereupon she turned into a fury in her pretty illogicality, and exclaiming that he must be the wrong man after all, she flung his invention into the fire and ordered him to be flung after it. He took the hint by the heels and fled through the window, far into the night.
Not at all Content with his romantic adventure, or with life as a whole, he enlisted and became a target in the front rank of the army.
It was, of course, some time later that the eldest brother—who had been plucked from the billows by a fisherman who happened to be passing by as usual—booked his passage home, and found on his arrival that the said home had been sold, as advertised, for building lots in eligible plots on easy terms, to pay expenses.
The second brother, in order to secure his freedom from prison, then and there smashed up his automaton and trudged home, arriving just in time to join his brother in being ordered away from their former doorstep, though still held responsible for the rates and taxes.
At that moment, too, the brother of the twain was deposited amongst them, having been invalided to his sold-up home for life.
So, in order not to trespass for fear of prosecution, they all three sat down a little outside the boundary line and recounted each to the others their adventures and their experiences. It was nightfall before they had done, and they really could hardly help laughing. And then, after thinking things out, they shook hands all round in silence.
For the prophecy had come true. They were content. The three sons were now thoroughly Content—to work no more, to do nothing more for the rest of their existence. It wasn’t worth it, they said. Their disappointments were over, and they were fully Content that they should be so. The villagers, once more open-mouthed in their gaping, and open-minded too, differed from the inhabitants of the great city, and looked upon the brothers as who should say “three wise men,” and took upon themselves the care of them in the workhouse, and were proud to get them, and to show them to visitors.
As to the beautiful Princess, she was changed by time into an old maid, and still kept on turning up her nose at elderly, rheumatic suitors as they passed on their usual rounds.
So the old father was right after all.
His ambitious son had surmounted everything, including disappointment.
His avaricious son had succeeded in having his wants supplied for nothing.
And his favourite son could jog along as romantically as the workhouse rules allowed, without labour and without effort.